-/ 

 
 OP CALIF. UBR1BY, LOS 1HGEU6S
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S
 
 CVTHBERTS 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 ROBERT E. KNOWLES 
 
 New York Chicago Toronto 
 
 FLEMING H. RESELL COMPANY 
 
 London and Edinburgh
 
 Copyright, 1905, by 
 FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY 
 
 First Edition, September, 1905. 
 Second Edition, October, 1905. 
 Third Edition, October 15, i95- 
 Fourth Edition, November 1905. 
 Fifth Edition, December 1905- 
 
 New York: 158 Fifth Avenue 
 Chicago: 80 Wabash Avenue 
 Toronto: 27 Richmond Street, W. 
 London: 21 Paternoster Square 
 Edinburgh: 100 Princes Street
 
 The Canadian Pilgrim 
 Fathers 
 
 f% Ji e~% r-v ,> f~\ fw> 
 
 2130688
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 I THE TURN OF THE TIDE .... 9 
 
 II A MAN WITH A SECRET . . . . 20 
 
 III OUR MUTUAL TRIAL 26 
 
 IV OUR MUTUAL VERDICT .... 34 
 
 V MY KIRK SESSION ..... 42 
 
 VI THE FIRST PARISH ROUND .... 50 
 
 VII " THE CHILD OF THE REGIMENT " . . 58 
 
 VIII " A NEW FOOT ON THE FLOOR " . . .64 
 
 IX " ANGELS UNAWARES " . . . 73 
 
 X MY Pious PROFLIGATE .... 78 
 
 XI PLUCKING A FIERY BRAND . . . .88 
 
 XII BY THAT SAME TOKEN " . . . .98 
 
 XIII WITH THE WORKMEN 1 06 
 
 XIV WITH THE EMPLOYERS . . . .119 
 
 XV A BOLD PROPOSAL . . . . .128 
 
 XVI GEORDIE'S OOT-TURN . . . .141 
 
 XVII " Noo, THE IN-TURN " . . . .154 
 
 XVIII How ELSIE WON THE GATE . . .159 
 
 XIX A MAIDEN'S LOVE 175 
 
 XX A FATHER'S CRUCIFIXION . . . .187 
 
 XXI THE OLD PRECENTOR'S NEW SONG . . 199 
 
 XXII " THE MILLS OF THE GODS " . . .215 
 
 XXIII A MAIDEN PRIESTESS 229 
 
 XXIV THE SWEET SUNNY SOUTH . . . .241 
 
 7
 
 8 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 XXV ST. CUTHBERT'S SECOND CALL . 
 
 XXVI LOVE'S SINGING SACRIFICE . . 
 
 XXVII THE HIDDEN CRUCIFIX 
 
 XXVIII THE HEATHERY HILLS 
 
 XXIX " AND ALL BUT HE DEPARTED " 
 
 XXX LOVE'S VICTORY OVER SIN 
 
 XXXI LOVE'S TRIUMPH OVER ALT 
 
 258 
 
 276 
 290 
 300 
 
 3" 
 
 3 2 3 
 33
 
 . CUTHBERT'S 
 
 The TURN of The TIDE 
 
 " "W" F you don't get the call you needn't come back 
 here," said my wife to me as I stood upon the 
 
 ^ door-sill, bag in hand, and my hard-bought 
 ticket in my pocket. 
 
 " Well, dear one, I would be sure of it if they 
 could only see the perquisite that goes along with 
 me." 
 
 " You must be more serious, Tom, if you expect 
 great calls ; but come inside a minute till I say good- 
 bye. When you brought me first to Canada we had 
 half a dozen good-byes to every one farewell. Good- 
 bye again, and if they don't call you they will deserve 
 what they lose." 
 
 Thus spoke my wife, and thus was I despatched on 
 the mission that was big with moment. 
 
 It was a wondrous hour that brought to us the 
 invitation which I was now proceeding to accept* 
 Not that we were unhappy because our salary was 
 small ; we had not lived by bread alone, and our souls 
 
 9
 
 io ST. CUrHBERTS 
 
 were well content. But my wife had delirious visions, 
 which she affirmed were sane and reasonable, of her 
 husband's coming yet into his own, and indulged 
 every now and then in savage and delicious little 
 declarations of the great misfit, which misfit was in 
 my being the minister of a little church which af- 
 forded a little salary and provoked a little fame. 
 
 Her other days had been spent in luxury and amid 
 the refinement and the pleasures which money only 
 can provide. And when, our wedding day drawing 
 near apace, I sent her my budget letter, bitterly 
 revealing impecunious facts at which I had before 
 but darkly hinted, and warning her of all the sacri- 
 fice which lay beyond, she replied with vehement re- 
 pudiation of any fears, and in that hour made me 
 rich. 
 
 " Cheese and kisses," wrote she, " are considered 
 good fare in my South land for all who have other 
 resources in their hearts." And I mentally averred 
 that half of that would be enough for me. 
 
 And so we went ahead oh, progressive step ! 
 And we were never poor again. 
 
 But there came a more heroic hour. It was hard, 
 so hard to do, but the pressure rendered concealment 
 quite impossible, for the note I had endorsed was 
 handed in for suit. So I told her one twilight hour 
 that our already limited income must be shared with
 
 The TURN of The TIDE n 
 
 an unromantic creditor. There was a little tightening 
 of the lips, then of the arms, then of those mutual 
 heart cords entangled in their eternal root. 
 
 We were boarding then, three rooms in a family 
 hotel, and when I returned next day at evening I 
 found everything books, furniture, piano all moved 
 to a room upon the topmost story. I was directed 
 thither by the smiling landlord, more enlightened 
 than I, and I entered with furtive misgivings in my 
 soul and with visions of that spacious Southern home 
 before my rueful eyes. 
 
 But she was there, radiant and triumphant, still 
 flushed with exercise of hand and heart, viewing 
 proudly her proof of a new axiom that two or 
 more bodies may occupy the same space at the 
 selfsame time. 
 
 " I am so glad you didn't come before," she said. 
 " I wanted to be all settled before you saw it. This 
 is just as good as we had before, and only half the 
 price. Isn't it cozy? And everything just fits. 
 And we are away from all the noise. And look 
 at that lovely view. And now we can pay off that 
 horrid note. Aren't you glad ? " 
 
 " But, Emmeline, my heart breaks to see you 
 caged like this. It is noble of you, just like you, 
 but I cannot forgive myself that I have brought you 
 to this," said I, my voice trembling with pain and joy.
 
 12 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " Why, dear one, how can you speak like that ? 
 We have everything here, and each other too, and 
 we shall be caged together." 
 
 I kissed that girlish face again and blessed the gift 
 of heaven, murmuring only, in tones that could not 
 be heard, " He setteth the solitary in families," and 
 as we went down together I wondered if that sudden 
 elevation had not brought us nearer heaven than we 
 had been below. 
 
 It was largely owing to this lion-hearted courage 
 that I now found myself swiftly borne towards the 
 vacant pulpit which yawned in stately expectation of 
 its weekly candidate. 
 
 The invitation " to conduct divine services in St. 
 Cuthbert's, whose pulpit is now vacant," had come 
 unsought from the kirk session of that distant 
 temple. 
 
 St. Cuthbert's was [the [stately cathedral of all ad- 
 joining Presbyterianism. It was the pride and crown 
 of a town which stood in prosperous contentment 
 upon the verge of cityhood. Its history was great 
 and honourable ; its traditions warlike and evangel- 
 ical ; its people intelligent and intense. Its vast area 
 was famed for its throng of acute and reflective 
 hearers, almost every man of whom was a sermon 
 taster, while its officers were the acknowledged pos- 
 sessors of letters patent to the true ecclesiastical no-
 
 The TURN of The TIDE 13 
 
 bility. In my student days, medals and scholarships 
 were never quoted among the trophies of our divinity 
 men if it could be justly said of any one that he had 
 preached twice before the hard heads of St. Cuth- 
 bert's. This triumph was recited with the same rev- 
 erent air as when men used to say, " He preached 
 before the Queen." 
 
 Some hundreds of miles must be traversed before 
 I reached the place, but only some four-and-twenty 
 hours before I reached the time, of my trial sermons. 
 Therefore did I convert my car into a study and my 
 unsteady knee into a desk, giving myself to the re- 
 hearsal of those discourses by which I was to stand 
 or fall. Every weak hand thereof I laboured to 
 strengthen, and every feeble knee I endeavoured to 
 confirm. And what motley hours were those I spent 
 on that fast-flying train ! All my reflections tended 
 to devotion, but yet my errand was throbbing with 
 ambition. 
 
 Whereupon I fell into a strange and not un- 
 profitable reverie, painfully striving to separate my 
 thoughts, the sheep from the goats, and to reconcile 
 them the one to the other. I knew well enough the 
 human frame to be persuaded that ambition could 
 not altogether be cast out from the spirit of a man, 
 which led me to reflect upon its possible place and 
 purpose if controlled by a master hand beyond the
 
 14 ST. CUTHBERTS 
 
 hand of time. I strove to discover my inmost mo- 
 tive, far behind all other aims, and consoled myself 
 with the hope that God might make it the dominant 
 and sovereign one, to which all others might be un- 
 conscious ministers, even as all other lesser ones obey 
 the driving wheel. 
 
 I somehow felt that the vision of that radiant face 
 at home, for whom ambition sprung like a fountain, 
 was in no wise inconsistent with the holiest work 
 which awaited me on the morrow. 
 
 At thought of her, my ambition, earth-born though 
 it was, seemed to be robed in white and to be un- 
 ashamedly ministering unto God. And I was fain to 
 believe at last that this very hope of a larger place 
 was from Himself, and that He was the shepherd of 
 the sheep and of the goats alike. Whereupon I fell 
 upon my sermons afresh with a clearer conscience, 
 which means a stronger mind, and swiftly prayed, 
 even while I worked, that the Lord of the harvest 
 would winnow my tumultuous thoughts, garnering 
 the wheat unto Himself and burning the tares with 
 unquenchable fire. 
 
 Onward rushed the hours, and onward rolled the 
 train in its desperate struggle with them, till the set- 
 ting sun, victorous over both, reminded me that I 
 would be in New Jedboro before the dusk deepened 
 into dark. Then restored I my sermon notes, re-
 
 The TURN of The TIDE 15 
 
 burnished and repaired, to the trusty keeping of my 
 well-worn valise, settling myself for one of those de- 
 licious baths of thought to be truly enjoyed only on 
 the farther side of toil. 
 
 I had but well begun to compose my mind and to 
 forecast the probable experiences of the morrow, 
 when a rich Scotch voice broke in upon me with 
 the unmistakable inquiry, " And where micht ye be 
 gaein ? " 
 
 I responded with the name of New Jedboro, as- 
 suming the air of a man who was bent only upon a 
 welcome visit to long-separated friends. But I had 
 reckoned without my host. My interrogator was a 
 Scot, with the Scot's incurable curiosity, always to 
 be estimated by the indifference of his air. If his 
 face be eloquent of profound unconcern, then may 
 you know that a fever of inquisitiveness is burning at 
 his heart. 
 
 My questioner seemed to scarcely listen for my 
 answer, yet a tutored eye could tell that he was 
 camping on my trail. 
 
 His next interrogation was launched with courteous 
 composure : " Ye'll no' be the man wha's expeckit in 
 St. Cuthbert's ower the Sabbath ? " 
 
 I now saw that this was no diluted Scotsman. 
 Bred on Canadian soil, he was yet original and pure. 
 He had struck the native Scottish note, the ecclesias-
 
 16 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 tical. Like all his countrymen, he had a native taste 
 for a minister. His instincts were towards the Kirk, 
 and for all things akin to Psalm or Presbytery he in 
 tuitively took the scent. I have maintained to this 
 day that he sniffed my sermons from afar, undeceived 
 by the worldly flavour of my rusty bag. 
 
 I collected myself heroically, and replied that I 
 was looking forward to the discharge of the high 
 duty to which he had referred. Upon this admis- 
 sion he moved nearer, as a great lawyer stalks his 
 quarry in the witness box. He eyed me solemnly for 
 a moment, with the look of one taking aim, and 
 then said slowly 
 
 " I'm no' an elder in that kirk." 
 
 " Are you not ? " said I, with as generous an 
 intonation of surprise as conscience would per- 
 mit. 
 
 " I'm no' an elder," he repeated. " But I gang till 
 it," he added. 
 
 Then followed a pause, which I dared to break 
 with the remark, " I am told it is a spacious 
 edifice." 
 
 He merely glanced at me, as if to say that all 
 irrelevant conversation was out of place, and then 
 continued 
 
 " And I'm no' the precentor ; I'm no' the man, ye 
 ken, that lifts the tune."
 
 The TURN of The TIDE 17 
 
 I nodded sympathetically, trying to convey my 
 sense of the mistake the congregation had made in 
 its choice of both elders and precentor. 
 
 " Ye wud say, to luik at me, that I'm no' an office- 
 seeker, an' ye're richt. But I haud an office for a' 
 that." 
 
 This time I smiled as if light had come to me, and 
 as one who has been reassured in his belief in an over- 
 ruling Providence. 
 
 " What office do you hold ? " said I. 
 
 " Ye wudna guess in a twalmonth. I'm no' the 
 treasurer, as ye're thinkin' I'm the beadle." 
 
 I uttered a brief eulogy upon the honour and re- 
 sponsibility of that position, pointing out that the 
 beadle had a dignity all his own, as well as the elders 
 and other officers of the kirk. 
 
 He endorsed my views with swift complacent 
 nods. 
 
 " That's what I aye think o' when I see the elders 
 on the Sabbath mornin'," said he ; " forbye, there's 
 severals o' them, but wha ever heard tell o' mair than 
 ae beadle ? And what's mair, I had raither be a door- 
 keeper in the Lord's hoose than dwall in tents o' sin. 
 Them's Dauvit's words, and they aye come to me 
 when I compare mysel' wi' the elders." 
 
 I hurriedly commended his reference to the Scrip- 
 tures, at the same time avoiding any share in his
 
 i8 ST. CUrHBERT'S 
 
 rather significant classification, remarking on the 
 other hand that elders had their place, and that 
 authority was indispensable in all churches, and the 
 very essence of the Presbyterian system. 
 
 He interrupted me, fearing he had been misunder- 
 stood. 
 
 " Mind ye," he declared fervently, " I'm no' settin' 
 mysel' up even wi' the minister. I regard him as 
 mair important than me far mair important," he 
 affirmed, with reckless humility, "but the elders, 
 they are juist common fowk like mysel'. An' at 
 times they are mair than common. Me an' the 
 minister bear a deal frae the elders. He aye bids 
 me to bear wi' them, an' I aye bid him no' to mind. 
 I tell him whiles that we'd meet an' we'd greet whaur 
 the elders cease frae troublin' them's the poet's 
 words." 
 
 We were now some two miles or so from the town 
 and the church wherein he exercised his gifts and 
 magnified his office ; and my rugged friend, dismiss- 
 ing the elders for the time, reverted to the inquiry he 
 had seen fit previously to ignore. 
 
 " Ye were askin' me aboot the kirk." 
 
 " Yes," said I in a chastened voice, " I asked you 
 if it was not very large." 
 
 " Thae was no' yir exact words, but I ken yir 
 meanin'. It's a gran' kirk, St. Cuthbert's, an' ye'll
 
 The TURN of The TIDE. 19 
 
 need to speak oot no' to yell, ye ken, for I'm nigh 
 deefened wi' the roarin' o' the candidates sin' oor 
 kirk was preached vacant by the Presbytery. Dinna 
 be ower lang ; and be sure to read a' the psalm afore 
 ye sit doon, and hae the sough o' Sinai in yir dis- 
 coorse, specially at the mornin' diet ; an' aye back 
 up the Scriptures wi' the catechism, an' hae a word 
 or twa aboot the Covenanters, them as sealed their 
 testimony wi' their bluid, ye ken. Ye'll tak' ma ad- 
 vice as kindly ; it's mair than likely we'll never meet 
 again gin the morrow's gone." 
 
 I thanked him for his counsel and reached for my 
 bag, at the signal of escaping steam. 
 
 The car door had just closed behind me when I 
 felt a hand upon my arm and heard a now familiar 
 voice 
 
 " An' dinna pray ower muckle for yir ain devoted 
 folk at hame ; an' dinna ask the King an' Head o' 
 the Kirk to fetch till us a wise under-shepherd o' the 
 flock." 
 
 With a word of additional acknowledgment I 
 stepped on to the station platform, but my parley 
 with a burly cabman was interrupted by the same 
 voice whispering in my ear 
 
 " Ye micht mind the elders in yir prayer ; gin they 
 were led mair into the licht it wad dae nae harm to 
 onybody."
 
 II 
 
 A MAN With a SECRET 
 
 THERE was no one about the station to wel- 
 come me and none to direct, but there were 
 many to stare and wonder. 
 
 The moderator of the vacant kirk had provided me 
 with the address of the house to which he said I 
 should repair. I was in no wise mortified by this ap- 
 parent lack of hospitality, for the aforesaid modera- 
 tor had reminded me in his postscript that the folk 
 of St. Cuthbert's were notoriously Scotch, untrained 
 to any degree of devotion at the beginning, but 
 famous for the fervour of their loyalty at the close of 
 their ministers' careers. 
 
 Whether or not I should have any career at all 
 amongst them was the subject of my thoughts as I 
 wended my way to " Inglewood," for such was the 
 melodious title of the house which was to be my 
 home during my sojourn in New Jedboro. 
 
 Beautiful for situation it proved to be, nestling 
 among its sentinels of oak, upon the highest hill of 
 seven which garrisoned the town. The signs of 
 wealth and good taste were everywhere about, and 
 my probationer's heart was beating fast when I 
 
 20
 
 A MAN With a SECRET 21 
 
 pulled the polished silver knob whose patrician 
 splendour had survived the invasion of all electrical 
 upstarts. 
 
 I heard the answering bell far within, breaking 
 again and again into its startled cry, and my soul 
 answered it with peals of such humiliation as is 
 known only to the man whose heart affords a home 
 to that ill-matched pair, the discomfiture of the can- 
 didate and the pride of the Presbyterian. 
 
 The door was opened by the master of the house, 
 Michael Blake, a man of forty-five or so, the 
 wealthy senior of New Jedboro's greatest manu- 
 facturing firm. 
 
 I suppose he looked first at me, but my first sensa- 
 tion was of his keen eye swiftly falling on the shabby 
 travelling-bag in my left hand, my right kept disen- 
 gaged for any friendly overture which might await 
 me. 
 
 Oh, the shame and the anguish of those swift 
 glances towards one's travelling-bag ! Can no kind 
 genius devise a scheme for their temporary conceal- 
 ment such as the modern book agent has brought to 
 its perfection, full armed beneath the treacherous 
 shelter of his cloak ? 
 
 I broke the silence : " Have I the pleasure of ad- 
 dressing Mr. Blake ? " 
 
 " Yes, that is my name," responded a rich, soulful
 
 22 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 voice, resonant with the finest Scottish flavour, " and 
 what can I do for you, sir ? " 
 
 Presuming that it would be hardly delicate for me 
 to state the particular duty I was expecting him to 
 discharge, I betook myself to the association of ideas, 
 and replied 
 
 " I am to preach in St. Cuthbert's to-morrow," 
 hoping that this might suggest to him the informa- 
 tion he had sought. 
 
 Swift and beautiful was the transformation. The 
 soul of hospitality leaped from his face, stern and 
 secretive though it was. His eye, which had seemed 
 to hold my blushing bag at bay, turned now upon 
 me with all the music of a great welcome in its 
 glance. He looked at me with that frank abruptness 
 which true cordiality creates, and when he took my 
 hand in his my heart leaped to the warm shelter of 
 its grasp. 
 
 " I have been looking for you ; you are welcome 
 here," he said, in the quietest of tones. He drew 
 me gently within the massive door, and in that mo- 
 ment I knew that I was in the custody of love. 
 
 A grandfather's clock, proud and stately in its 
 sense of venerable faithfulness, was gravely ticking off 
 the moments with hospitality in its tone. A 
 pleasant-faced lassie showed me to my room, remind- 
 ing me that the evening meal awaited my descent.
 
 A MAN With a SECRET 23 
 
 My host justified my every impression. While we 
 disposed of the plain but appetizing fare, whose 
 crown was the speckled trout which his skill had 
 lured from home, he submitted me to the kindliest of 
 cross-examinations concerning my past, my scholar- 
 ship, my evangelical positions, my household, and 
 much else that nestled among them all. Throughout, 
 I felt the charm and the power of his gentleness, and 
 under its secret influence I yielded up what many an- 
 other would have sought in vain. Some natures 
 there are which search you as the sun lays bare the 
 flowers, making for itself a pathway to their inmost 
 heart, every petal opening before its siege of love. 
 
 But reciprocity there was none. His lips seemed 
 to stand like inexorable sentinels before his heart, in 
 league with its great secret, the guardians of a past 
 which no-man had heard revealed. One or two ten- 
 tative attempts to discover his antecedents were foiled 
 by his charming taciturnity. 
 
 " I came from the old country many years ago," 
 was the only information he vouchsafed me. 
 
 The evening was spent in conversation which never 
 flamed but never flagged. My increasing opportunity 
 for observation served but to confirm my conviction 
 that I was confronted with a man who had one great 
 and separate secret hidden within the impenetrable 
 recesses of a contrite heart. He said little about St.
 
 24 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 Cuthbert's or the morrow, his most significant obser- 
 vation being to the effect that the serious-minded of 
 the kirk were looking forward to my appearance with 
 hopeful interest. 
 
 After he had bidden me good-night, he again 
 sought me in my chamber, interrupting the devo- 
 tions which I was striving to conduct in oblivion of 
 to-morrow and in the sombre light of the Judgment 
 Day. 
 
 " Will you do me a kindness in the kirk to- 
 morrow ? " he said, with almost pathetic eagerness. 
 
 I responded fervently that nothing could be a 
 greater kindness to myself than the sense of one 
 bestowed on him. 
 
 " Very well, then, will you give us the Fifty-first 
 Psalm to sing at the morning service it always 
 seems to me that it is the soul's staple food ; and let 
 us begin with the fifth verse 
 
 " < Behold, Thou in the inward parts 
 With truth delighted art.' 
 
 It falls like water on the thirsty heart. And per- 
 haps, if your previous selection will permit, you 
 would give us in the evening the paraphrase 
 
 " ' Come let us to the Lord our God 
 With contrite hearts return.' 
 
 My mother first taught me that," he added, with
 
 A MAN With a SECRET 25 
 
 the first quiver of the lip I yet had seen, " and I have 
 learned it anew from God." 
 
 He then swiftly departed, little knowing that he 
 had given me that night a pillow for both head and 
 heart. I fell asleep, his great quotations and his 
 earnest words flowing about my soul even as the 
 ocean laves the shore.
 
 Ill 
 
 OUR MUTUAL TRIAL 
 
 THE Sabbath morning broke serene and fair. 
 Thus also awoke my spirit, still invigorated 
 by its contact with one I felt to be an hon- 
 est and God-fearing man, whose ardour I knew was 
 chastened by a long-waged conflict of the soul. 
 
 Our morning worship was led by Mr. Blake him- 
 self, who besought the Divine blessing upon the 
 labours of him who was " for this day ' our servant 
 for Jesus' sake.' " 
 
 We walked to the church together, mingling with 
 the silent and reverent multitude pressing towards a 
 common shrine. 
 
 As he left me at the vestry door, he said ear- 
 nestly 
 
 " Forget that you are a candidate of St. Cuthbert's, 
 and remember that you are a minister of God." 
 
 The beadle recognized me with a confidential nod, 
 inspected the pulpit robe which I had donned, and 
 taking up the " Books," he led the way to the pulpit 
 steps with an air which might have provoked the 
 envy of the most solemn mace-bearer who ever 
 
 served his king. 
 
 26
 
 OUR MUTUAL TRIAL 27 
 
 He opened the door, and then there appeared to 
 my wondering view a sea of expectant faces, vast 
 beyond my utmost dream. They were steeped in 
 silence, a silence so intense that it left the impress 
 on my mind of an ocean, majestic in its heaving 
 grandeur ; for the stiller you find the sea of human 
 faces the more reasonably may you dread the trough 
 of human waves. 
 
 The wonder of the reverent and the sneer of the 
 scornful have alike been prompted by the preaching 
 of a candidate. Something strange and incongruous 
 seems to pertain to the performance of a man whose 
 acknowledged purpose is the dual one of winning 
 alike the souls and the smiles of men. He seeks, 
 as all preachers are supposed to do, the uplift of his 
 hearers' souls, while his very appearance is a pledge 
 of his desire to so commend himself as to be their 
 favourite and their choice. Much hath been written, 
 and more hath been said, of the humiliation to which 
 he must submit who occupies a vacant pulpit as the 
 applicant for a vacant kirk. 
 
 But, whatever ground there be for these reflections, 
 I felt the force of none of them that radiant Sabbath 
 morning in St. Cuthbert's. My Calvinism, which is 
 regarded by those who know it not as dragonlike 
 and altogether drastic, proved now my comfort and 
 my stay, and within its vast pavilion I seemed to
 
 28 ST. CUTHBBRT'S 
 
 hide as in the covert of the Eternal. For there 
 surged through heart and brain the stately thought 
 that such experimental dealings between a minister 
 and a people might be sublimated before reverent 
 eyes, hallowed as a holy venture, and destined to play 
 its part in the economy of God. 
 
 His claim seemed loftier far than any obligation 
 between my heart and man, and so uplifted was 
 I by the sense of a commission which even candida- 
 ture could neither invalidate nor deform, that all 
 sense of servility, all cringing thought of livelihood, 
 all fear of faltering and all faltering of fear, seemed 
 to flee away even as the blasphemy of darkness 
 retreats before the sanctities of the morn. In very 
 truth I forgot that I was a candidate of St. Cuthbert's 
 and seemed but to remember that I was a minister 
 of God. 
 
 Whether my sermon was good or ill I could not 
 then have told; but I could well have told that a 
 victorious secret is to him who strives after earnest- 
 ness of heart, unvexed by the clamour of his own 
 rebellious and ambitious soul. 
 
 The congregation was vast and reverent as be- 
 fitted the purpose of the hour; the most careless 
 eye could mark the strong and reflective cast of 
 those Scottish faces, whose native adamant was but 
 little softened by their sojourn beneath Canadian
 
 OUR MUTUAL TRIAL 29 
 
 skies. Reverence seemed to clothe these worship- 
 pers like a garment. They were as men who believed 
 in God, whereby are men most fearsome and yet 
 most glorious to look upon. It was the fearsome- 
 ness of such a face, garrisoned in God, which had 
 beat back the haughty gaze of Mary when she met 
 the eye of Knox, burning with a fire which no torch 
 of time had kindled. 
 
 And when they sang their opening hymn, they 
 seemed to stride upwards as mountaineers, for they 
 lifted up their eyes as men who would cast them 
 down again only before God Himself. From word 
 to word they climbed, and from line to line, as 
 though each word or line were some abutting crag 
 of the very hill of God. Besides, the psalm they 
 sung was this 
 
 " I to the hills will lift mine eyes 
 
 From whence doth come mine aid." 
 
 Their intensity steadied my very soul. They 
 seemed to look at me as if to say, " We are in earnest 
 if you are ; our kirk is vacant but our hearts are 
 full," and the pulpit in which I stood, and in which 
 many a hapless man had stood before, was hallowed 
 by its solemn garrison of waiting souls, and redeemed 
 of all taint of treason towards its sacred trust. 
 
 When I called them unto prayer, they answered as
 
 30 57. CUTHBERT' S 
 
 the forest answers when the wind brings it word 
 from heaven, save some venerable few who rose erect 
 (as was their fathers' way), standing like sentinel 
 oaks amid lesser trees, they also bending with an 
 obeisance prompted from within. It seemed not 
 hard to lead these earnest hearts in prayer they 
 seemed the rather to lead my soul as by a more fa- 
 miliar path ; or, to state the truth more utterly, their 
 devoutness seemed to bear me on, as the deep ocean 
 bears itself and its every burden towards the shore. 
 
 This intensity of worship pervaded its every act. 
 They joined in the reading of the Word as those who 
 must both hear and see it for themselves, their books 
 opening and closing in unison with the larger one 
 which decked their pulpit like a crown. 
 
 Even when the collection was taken up they main- 
 tained their loftiness of poise. It had been often told 
 me that Scotch folk contribute to an offering with 
 the same heroism wherewith their ancestors opened 
 their unshrinking veins, doling forth their money, 
 like their blood, with a martyr's air. But although I 
 remarked that some Scottish eyes followed their de- 
 parting coins with glances of parental tenderness, 
 there was yet a solemn stateliness about the opera- 
 tion which greatly won me, even those who dedicated 
 the homeliest copper doing it unbashedly, as if to 
 the Lord, and not unto men.
 
 OUR MUTUAL TRIAL 31 
 
 We closed with the penitential psalm which Mr. 
 Blake had asked, and its great words seemed charged 
 with the strong reality of men who believed in sin 
 with the same old-fashioned earnestness as marked 
 their faith in God, the two answering the one to the 
 other as deep calleth unto deep, eternally harmonious 
 as they are. 
 
 The congregation swayed slowly down the aisle, 
 Scottishly cold and still, like the processional of the 
 ice in the spring-time. They reminded me of noble 
 bergs drifting through the Straits of Belle Isle. It 
 was a Presbyterian flood, and every man a floe. But 
 I suspected mightily that they were nevertheless the 
 product of the spring, and somehow felt that they 
 dwelt near the confines of the summer. The fire 
 which warmed their hearts had touched my own, and 
 in that very moment wherein they turned their backs 
 upon me, I pursued them with surrendering tender- 
 ness, and coveted for my own the rugged faithfulness 
 which hath now enriched these many golden years. 
 
 One or two turned to glance at me, but when their 
 gaze met mine they despatched their eyes on some 
 impartial quest, as if caressing their noble church or 
 looking for some lingering friend. 
 
 The precentor, whose place was in a kind of 
 songster's pulpit just below me, was wreathed in the 
 complacent air of a man who has discharged a lofty
 
 32 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 duty and has done it well. He had borne himself 
 throughout as the real master of the entire service, 
 and as one who had ruled from an untitled throne. 
 He cast me one or two swift glances, such as would 
 become an engineer who had brought his train or a 
 pilot who had brought his ship to the desired haven. 
 I returned his overture with a look of humble grati- 
 tude, and he thereupon relaxed as one well content 
 with what was his hard-earned due, but nothing 
 more. I have well learned since then that by so 
 much as one values one's peace, by that much must 
 one reverence the precentor. 
 
 When I regained the vestry I found it peopled 
 with six or seven elders (a great and sweltering pop- 
 ulation), but no word of favour or approval escaped 
 a single Scottish lip. Their hour had not yet come ; 
 but I knew it not, and was proportionately cast down 
 by what seemed to me a silent rhetoric of scorn. 
 But it was the will of heaven to somewhat set aside 
 what I unknowingly estimated to be the verdict of 
 indifference. The beadle, as one with whom I had 
 had a past, beckoned me without, whispering that a 
 " wumman body," a stranger, desired to speak with 
 me in an adjoining room. 
 
 Her story was short and sad; her request, the 
 sobbing entreaty of a broken heart that I would pray 
 for her darling and her prodigal, her first-born, wan-
 
 OUR MUTUAL TRIAL 33 
 
 dering in that farthest of all countries which lies 
 beyond the confines of a mother's ken. I answered 
 her with a glance which owned the kinship of her 
 tears, and pledged it with a hand which, thank God, 
 has ever found its warmest welcome in the hand of 
 woe. Then I went back to the vestry unafraid. 
 " For what," thought I, " can these elders do either 
 for me or against me, if I am really a priest unto 
 God for one mother's son? This woman has evi- 
 dently forgotten that I am a candidate of St. Cuth- 
 bert's, and has remembered only that I am a minister 
 of God."
 
 IV 
 
 OUR MUTUAL YERDICT 
 
 THE evening service was like unto that of 
 the morning, the only difference being that 
 I saw this sturdy folk, mountain-like, in the 
 light of the setting, instead of the rising sun. But 
 still no word or hint revealed to me the favour or dis- 
 favour with which my efforts had been received by 
 the people of St. Cuthbert's, save only that one man 
 ventured to remark that I had brought him in mind 
 of Thomas Chalmers. 
 
 I hurriedly exclaimed, " Is that so ? " in a tone 
 which all too plainly implored him to go on. 
 
 " Yes," said he. " When ye blawed yir nose, if ma 
 een had been shut, I cud hae swore it was Cham- 
 mers," whereupon the last state of me was worse than 
 the first. 
 
 But I was a little comforted in overhearing one 
 Scot say to another as they passed me on their home- 
 ward way, " He's no' to be expeckit to preach like 
 yon man frae Hawick," to which the other replied, 
 and I caught his closing words, " But there was a bit 
 at the end that wasna bad." 
 
 This was but a thin gruel to satisfy one's wonder- 
 34
 
 OUR MUTUAL VERDICT 35 
 
 ing soul, but it was shortly thickened by the beadle. 
 He was waiting for us at Mr. Blake's, wishing in- 
 struction about some task that fell within his duties, 
 but he managed to have a word with me 
 
 " I canna tell what waits ye, but, gin ye'd like to 
 see through the manse, I'll tak' ye through the 
 morn." 
 
 I thanked him, declining, but secretly blessed him 
 and inwardly rejoiced. 
 
 At worship that night my gentle host read the 
 story of the prodigal, and when we knelt to pray he 
 repeated twice, " I will arise and go unto my Father," 
 and in the pause I felt that the wave of some beset- 
 ting memory was beating on the shore ; more and 
 more was it borne in upon me that this man had a 
 past, shared only by himself and God and some one 
 else unknown. 
 
 The morning witnessed my departure from New 
 Jedboro, and from the window of the train I watched 
 its fast-retreating hills, so often trodden by me since 
 with the swinging stride of joy, or clambered with 
 the heavy step of care. 
 
 There is neither time nor space to set down in de- 
 tail all that followed. Let it suffice to say that while 
 they were musing the fire burned, and the good folk 
 of St. Cuthbert's slowly and solemnly resolved to call 
 me to their ancient church.
 
 36 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 They were scandalized by a report, which spread 
 with pestilential ease, that I had known my wife but 
 three short weeks when I asked her to walk the long 
 walk with me. This and other rumours provoked 
 them to despatch a sage and ponderous officer to the 
 distant scene of my labours, that he might investigate 
 them on the spot. He came, he saw, he was con- 
 quered. My wife lassoed him at a throw. He went 
 home in fetters, his eloquence alone unloosed. Long 
 before the night on which they should meet to call, 
 he had brandished his opinion as to the wisdom of 
 my delirious haste. 
 
 " But did he mak' his choice so redeek'lus sud- 
 den ? " he was asked. 
 
 " I dinna ken," he answered tropically, " and I 
 dinna care. If he bided three weeks, he bided ower 
 lang. I kent that fine when ance I saw her. Noo, 
 I pit it till ye, gin ye were crossin' a desert place, an' 
 ye saw the Rose o' Sharon afore ye, wad ye no' pluck 
 it gin ye micht, and pluck it quick ? I pit it till ye." 
 And they answered him not a word, for there is no 
 debater like the heart. 
 
 I was told in after days that my historic friend the 
 beadle canvassed for me night and day, laying mighty 
 stress upon the fact that he knew me well, since he 
 had travelled with me, assuring every ear that I was 
 " uncommon ceevil," and proudly laying bare the in-
 
 OUR MUTUAL YERDICT 37 
 
 dependent scorn with which I had met his proposi- 
 tion to inspect the manse. 
 
 " But we micht get him yet," he concluded, " gin 
 we gang richt aboot it." 
 
 These testimonials, together with his plaintive ap- 
 peal to be relieved of the responsibility which the 
 absence of a fixed minister threw upon himself, went 
 far to confirm the wavering. 
 
 Nor shall I linger to trace the workings of that 
 ponderous machinery whereby I was at last installed 
 as the minister of St. Cuthbert's Church. Even the 
 great assemblage which gathered to welcome us, with 
 its infinite introductions, its features social, devotional, 
 and deputational, its addresses civic and ecclesiastical, 
 must be dismissed with a word. 
 
 It reminded me of nothing so much as of the 
 launching of a ship, and beneath all its tumult of 
 artillery there thrummed the deep undertone of joy. 
 For St. Cuthbert's, contrary to its historic way, had 
 parted with its last minister, a man of great ability, 
 amid the smoke of battle, and he had gone forth as 
 Napoleon went, with a martial record which the cor- 
 roding years even yet have scarcely tarnished. Fierce 
 had been the fight, the factions grimly equal, and be- 
 clouded with a sublime confusion as to which side had 
 been led by heaven and which by Belial. On this 
 point, even now, they do not exactly see eye to eye.
 
 38 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 And this deep joy, whose untiring hum (joy's na- 
 tive voice) had entwined itself with every exercise of 
 our exultant gathering was born of the assurance of 
 returning harmony and the welcome calm which fol- 
 lows the departing storm. The gentle vines of peace 
 were beginning to clothe their scarred and disfigured 
 Zion. 
 
 St. Cuthbert's hailed that night as the hour of its 
 convalescence. In consequence, every speech, even 
 those from dry and desiccated lips, was coloured with 
 the melody of hope. Even hoary jokes and ances- 
 tral stories, kept for tea-meetings as hard tack is 
 kept for the army and navy, were disinfected by 
 the kindly flavour which brooded like an April cloud. 
 
 And now it is my purpose to set down as best I 
 may some of the features of my life, and a few of 
 my most vivid observations among these remarkable 
 folk. 
 
 The greater number of them had been born in 
 bonnie Scotland, and all of them, even those who 
 had never seen their ancestral home, spoke and lived 
 and thought as though they had just come from the 
 heathery hills. They were sprung from the loins of 
 heroes, the stalwart pioneers from Roxburghshire 
 and Ayrshire and Dumfries, and many another noble 
 spot whose noblest sons had gone forth to earth's re- 
 motest bound, flaming with love of liberty and God
 
 OUR MUTUAL YERDICT 39 
 
 Seventy years before they had settled about New 
 Jedboro, thinking of the well-loved Scottish town 
 whose name it bore. 
 
 Soon the echoing forest bowed before their 
 gleaming axes, and they made the wilderness to 
 blossom like the rose. Comfort, and even wealth, 
 came to them at the imperious beck of industry. 
 Stern and earnest, reckoning frivolity a sin, finding 
 their pleasure in a growing capacity for self-denial 
 and a growing scorn of needless luxury, they 
 cherished in their blood the iron which had been be- 
 queathed by noble sires. 
 
 Hand in hand with God like sons of Knox, they 
 built the school and the church with the first- 
 fruits of their toil, disporting themselves again in 
 their unforgotten psalms, worshipping after the dear- 
 bought manner of their fathers, not a few of whom 
 had paid the price of blood, nor deemed it sacrifice. 
 
 Like draws to like, they say. With St. Cuthbert's 
 this had certainly been the case ; for every minister 
 who had served them heretofore had been both born 
 and educated in their motherland. 
 
 Three had they had. The first was the Reverend 
 John Grant, Doctor of Divinity, from Greenock ; the 
 second, the Reverend James Kay, from Aberdeen ; 
 the third, my immediate predecessor, the Reverend 
 Henry Alexander from Glasgow.
 
 40 S7. CUTHBER T' S 
 
 Like a mountain peak towered the memory of 
 their first minister, a man of gigantic power, scholarly 
 and profound, grimly genial, carrying with him every- 
 where the air of the Eternal. He was as eloquent al- 
 most as human lips can be, magnetic to the point of 
 tyranny, and grandly independent of everything and 
 every one but God. His fame covered Canada like a 
 flood. American colleges sought the honour of 
 their laurel on his brow, and from one of the best he 
 accepted his Doctor's hood. City congregations 
 coveted him with pious envy, but he hearkened to 
 few and coquetted with none. He had assumed the 
 cure of St. Cuthbert's when it was almost entirely 
 (as it was still considerably) a country congregation, 
 revelling in solitude and souls, both of which were 
 nearer here to Nature's heart than amid the swelter- 
 ing throng. Here he cherished his mighty heart and 
 gave eternal bent to hearts only less mighty than his 
 own. 
 
 " Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 
 Nor e'er had changed nor wished to change his place." 
 
 Throughout my ministry in St. Cuthbert's the 
 mention of his name was the signal for a cloud of 
 witnesses. Forty years had elapsed since the coun- 
 tryside followed him to his grave, shrouded in gown 
 and bands, a regalia more than royal to their loving
 
 OUR MUTUAL YERD1CT 41 
 
 eyes. But they had guarded his memory with the 
 vigilance which belongs only to the broken heart, 
 and the traditions of his greatness were fresh among 
 them still. 
 
 " I likit the ither twa fine," said a shrewd sermon 
 taster to me soon after my arrival, " but their ser- 
 mons didna plough the soul like the Doctor's ; we 
 hae na had the fallow grun' turned up sin' he dee'd." 
 
 And so said, or thought, they all.
 
 My KIRK SESSION 
 
 HE would need a brave and facile pen who 
 would venture to portray the kirk session 
 of St. Cuthbert's Church. For any kirk 
 session is far from commonplace, let alone the session 
 of such a church as mine. Kirk sessions are the 
 bloom of Scottish character in particular and the 
 crown and glory of mankind in general. Piety, 
 sobriety, severity, these are the three outstanding 
 graces which they illustrate supremely; but inter- 
 locked with these are many other gifts and virtues in 
 varying degrees of culture. 
 
 In St. Cuthbert's, the pride of eldership was chiefly 
 vested in their wives and daughters. 
 
 " Ye mauna be ower uplifted aboot yir faither's 
 office," was the oft-repeated admonition of the elder's 
 wife to the elder's children, and the children were not 
 slow to remark that her words were one part rebuke 
 and ten parts pride. For to mothers and bairns alike 
 he appeared as one of God's kings and priests when 
 he walked down the aisle with the vessels of the 
 Lord. 
 
 Many of these men were poor, grandly and 
 4*
 
 My KIRK SESSION 43 
 
 pathetically poor, but none was poor enough to ap- 
 pear at the sacramental board without his " blacks," 
 radiant with the lustre of open love and sacred 
 sacrifice. This I afterwards learned was their wives' 
 doing, and marvellous in my eyes. Ah me ! How 
 many a decently apparelled husband, how many a 
 white-robed child, has come forth out of great tribu- 
 lation not their own. Indeed, uncounted multitudes 
 there are who shall walk in white before the throne 
 of God, whose robes the secret sacrifice of loving 
 hearts hath whitened as no fuller of earth can whiten 
 them. 
 
 My first meeting with the kirk session of St. 
 Cuthbert's was an epoch-marking incident. Twenty- 
 eight there were who sat about the session-room, 
 every man but one an importation from Caledonia's 
 rugged hills. Roxburgh's covenanting heroes, Wig- 
 tonshire's triumphant martyrs, Dumfriesshire and her 
 Cameronians, with their great namesake's lion 
 heart ; Ayrshire, with her bloody memories of moor 
 and moss-hags, of quarry and conventicle, of Laud 
 and liberty all these had filtered through and reap- 
 peared in these silent and stalwart men. 
 
 Of these eight-and-twenty faces at least one score 
 had the cast of marble and the stamp of eternity upon 
 them. I felt like a hillock nestling at the feet of 
 lofty peaks, for I do make my oath that when you are
 
 44 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 begirt by men in whose veins there flows the blood 
 of martyrs, who have been slowly nurtured upon 
 such stately doctrines as are their daily food, who 
 actually believe in God as a living participator in the 
 affairs of time, whose mental pabulum has been 
 Thomas Boston and Samuel Rutherford and Philip 
 Doddridge, and who have used these worthies but as 
 helps to climb that unpinnacled hill of the Eternal 
 Word when you get such men as these, multiplied 
 a hundredfold by the stern consciousness of a relig- 
 ious trust, if you are not then among the Rockies of 
 flesh and blood, I am as one who sees men like walk- 
 ing trees, ignorant of the true altitudes of human 
 life. 
 
 But I was yet to learn, and to learn by heart (the 
 great medium of all real character), that many a fra- 
 grant flower may bloom in secret clefts of rock- 
 bound hills, frowning and forbidding though they be. 
 For God loves to surprise us, especially in happy 
 ways ; and His is a sanguine sun. 
 
 It should now be stated that I began my ministry 
 in St. Cuthbert's with the handicap of an Irish an- 
 cestry. How then was I to wear the hodden gray ? 
 Or how was I to commingle myself with that historic 
 tide which I well knew the Scottish heart regarded 
 as fed more than any other from the river that makes 
 glad the city of God ?
 
 My KIRK SESSION 45 
 
 My every vein was already full to overflowing with 
 Irish blood. My father was from Ballymena and my 
 mother was from Cork, a solution which no chemistry 
 could cure. I was inclined by nature and confirmed 
 by practice towards a reasonable pride in my ances- 
 tral land. But odds were against me. Even the 
 mistress of my manse, whose judgment was wont to 
 take counsel of her kindly heart, even she remon- 
 strated when she first discovered my nativity, and has 
 never since been altogether thankful, though she 
 strives hard to be resigned. 
 
 " Why do you always flaunt your Irish origin ? " 
 she reasoned once. " If it is good stock, be modest 
 about it ; and if it is not, the less said the better." 
 
 Then she remarked that she was no do.ubt prej- 
 udiced, for she had once witnessed the noble proces- 
 sion in New York on St. Patrick's Day; and she 
 added that they all seemed to have mouths like the 
 Mammoth Cave of Kentucky and complexions like 
 an asphalt pavement under repairs. My wife's power 
 of detecting analogies was uncommonly acute. 
 ****** 
 
 When the session had been duly constituted, the 
 minutes of the last meeting were read by the session 
 clerk. It is probably quite within the mark to say 
 that all ecclesiastical officialdom can produce no other 
 dignitary with the same stern grandeur as pertains to
 
 46 57. CUTHBERTS 
 
 the clerk of a Scottish session. I have witnessed 
 archbishops in their robes and with their mitres, and 
 have marvelled at the gravity with which they clothed 
 the most ponderous frivolities, at their stately genu- 
 flections, at the swift shedding and donning of their 
 bewildering millineries. I have seen General Booth 
 resplendent in his flaming clericals. I have even 
 looked on the bespangled Dowie, dazzling and be- 
 dazzled but none of these has the majesty of poise, 
 the aroma of responsibility, or the inexorable air of 
 authority which mark the true-bred session clerk. 
 
 The minutes having been read and hermetically 
 sealed, I addressed the elders briefly, referring to my 
 great duties and my poor abilities, after which I in- 
 vited them to a general deliberation, and begged 
 them to acquaint me with the mind and temper of 
 the congregation, asking such advice as might be 
 useful in entering upon my labours. 
 
 " We bid ye welcome, moderator," began the 
 senior elder, by name Sandy Grant, " an' we'll do 
 what in us lies to haud up yir hands ; ye're no' oor 
 servant, but oor minister, and we're a' ready to do 
 yir biddin', gin it's the will o' God. Ye're sittin' in 
 a michty seat, moderator. It was frae that chair that 
 oor first minister spak' till us in far ither days." 
 
 At this reference to the golden age, I saw a wave 
 of tenderness break over the faces of the older men.
 
 My KIRK SESSION 47 
 
 " Ay, I mind weel the nicht Doctor Grant sat 
 amang us for the first time, as ye're sittin' noo." 
 
 This time it was Ronald M'Gregor who had spoken, 
 the love-light on whose face even sixty winters could 
 not disguise. 
 
 ' We'll never look upon his like again. Ye've 
 mebbe watched the storm, sir, when it beat upon the 
 shore. His style o' delivery was like the ragin' o' 
 the waves. Ye see that buik, moderator, yir haun's 
 restin' on the tap o't. Weel, he dune for sax o' them 
 the while he was oor minister. We bocht the strong- 
 est bound o' them, but he banged them to tatters 
 amazin' fast. A page at a skite. Times it was like 
 the driftin' o' the leaves in the fall. He was graun' 
 on the terrors o' the law. We haena been what's to 
 say clean uplifted wi' the michty truth o' the punish- 
 ment o' the lost sin' his mooth was closed in death," 
 and Ronald sighed the sigh of the hungry heart. 
 
 " Div ye no' mind the Doctor on the decrees, the 
 simmer o' the cholera div ye no' mind yon, Ron- 
 ald t 1 " said Thomas Laidlaw, swept into the seething 
 tide of reminiscence ; but here the session clerk rose 
 to a point of order. 
 
 " The members o' this court will address the mod- 
 erator," he said sternly. " Moreover, we are here for 
 business, not for history. We might well think 
 shame of ourselves, glorifying the old when we
 
 48 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 should be welcoming the new. We're no' to be aye 
 dwellin' amang the tombs " (this with a rise in feeling 
 and a drop in language). " Besides, Doctor Grant 
 was no' a common man, and it's no becomin' to be 
 comparin' common men along wi' the likes o' him." 
 
 So this, thought I, is the Scottish mode of paying 
 compliments. I had always heard that their little 
 tributes were more medicinal than confectionery. 
 
 Then followed a painful calm, for Scottish calms 
 are stormy things. 
 
 It was Michael Blake who first resumed. 
 
 " Let us forget the things which are behind," he 
 said, " if we only can," and there was a wealth of 
 agony in his words, " and let us press forth unto those 
 things which are before. We greet you, moderator, 
 as the messenger of peace, for we are all but sinful 
 men and unworthy of the trust we hold. I hope 
 you will preach to us the grace of God, for we have 
 learned ourselves the terrors of the law." 
 
 " I move that we adjourn," interjected Ronald 
 M'Gregor, alarmed for the retirement of Sinai, and 
 fearful of a too early spring. 
 
 " I second that," said a rugged patriarch, hitherto 
 silent. 
 
 " But I hope the moderator '11 permit me to ex- 
 press the hope that he'll no' shorten up the services, 
 and that he'll gie the young fowk mair o' the cate
 
 My KIRK SESSION 49 
 
 chism than we hae been gettin', and mak' the sacra- 
 ments mair searchin' to the soul," said Saunders 
 M'Tavish. 
 
 " Ye're oot o' order," interrupted the clerk ; 
 " there's a motion to adjourn afore the Chair." 
 
 " But I maun tak' ma staun," exclaimed Saunders. 
 
 " Ye mauna," retorted the clerk, " ye maun tak' 
 yir seat," and Saunders dropped where he stood, 
 while his fellow-elders looked into each other's faces 
 as if to say that this thing might have befallen any 
 one of them.
 
 VI 
 
 The FIRST PARISH ROUND 
 
 I SOON began, of course, the visitation of my 
 flock. Although my title to youth was at that 
 time undisputed, and although the unreflective 
 would have labelled me " new school," the impor- 
 tance of faithful visiting was ever before my mind. 
 
 The curate's place (unhappiest of men) had more 
 than once been offered me at the hands of portly 
 ministers, prepared to deny themselves all the visit- 
 ing, they to take all the preaching and nearly all the 
 salary, while their untitled slave was to deny himself 
 the high joy of the pulpit, to starve on the salary's 
 dregs, and to indulge himself royally in a very carni- 
 val of unceasing visitation. These overtures I had 
 had little hesitation in declining, for observation had 
 taught me that the slave's place soon makes the 
 slave's spirit, unless that slavery be an indenture 
 unto God, which is but the sterner name for liberty. 
 
 Moreover, curates (especially Presbyterian, which 
 implieth the greater perversion) seemed to lack the 
 breath of the uplands which the pulpit breathes, and 
 too often degenerate into society favourites, whose 
 
 5
 
 The FIRST PARISH ROUND 51 
 
 flapping tails of black may be seen as these curates 
 ring at fashionable doors, where " five-o'clocks " 
 within await the kid-gloved ministers of men who 
 are supposed to be the stewards of eternal life. I 
 had once overheard an enamelled queen of fashion 
 declare, with much emotion, that their curate was in- 
 dispensable to a high-class "at home," and even 
 panegyrize his graceful transportation of cups of tea, 
 however full. 
 
 Whereupon I forever swore that I would frizzle 
 upon no such heathen altar ; I vowed to be either a 
 minister or a butler one thing or the other but 
 never a Right Reverend Butler, which is a monster 
 and a tongue-cheeked comedy to both God and man. 
 
 As the minister of a vast congregation like St. 
 Cuthbert's, I might on the other hand have requested 
 an assistant who should relieve me of the visiting, 
 leaving me only the duties of the pulpit, oceanic 
 enough for any man. Indeed, one of the stalwarts 
 had suggested this to me, averring that I needed 
 more time for my sermons, whereat I looked at him 
 sharply; but his face was placid as a sea of milk, 
 which is the way of Scotsmen when they mean to 
 score. But this dual ministry was ever the object of 
 my disfavour, for he preaches best who visits best, 
 and the weekly garner makes the richest grist for the 
 Sunday mill. True and tender visiting is the ser-
 
 52 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 mon's fuse, and what God hath put together no man 
 can safely put asunder. 
 
 One of my first visits was to the farmhouse of 
 Donald M'Phatter, a belated member of the fold, for 
 he and his wife Elsie had not beshadowed St. Cuth- 
 bert's door for many a year. This parochial policy 
 had been suggested to me by the beadle : 
 
 " Ye maun luik to the driftwood first pit oot the 
 laggin' log frae the shore, ye ken," he said to me, 
 following this up with an exhaustive narrative of the 
 raftsman's life which had once been his. 
 
 I found Donald dour but deferential, full-armed 
 against every appeal for his reform. 
 
 " I willna gang," he exclaimed, " till ony kirk that 
 pits oot the token l at the sacrament, and taks up wi' 
 they bit cairds they're usin' the noo. Cairds at the 
 sacrament ! it's fair insultin' to the Almichty." 
 
 I parried the blow as best I could, and was on the 
 verge of winning in the argument when he suddenly 
 took another tack. 
 
 " Forbye, I hae dune ma duty. Didna I gang 
 steady when the Doctor was oor meenister ? Ilka 
 Sabbath day I gaed an' hearkened till the graun" ser- 
 mons twa oors at a time, an' God grippit me thae 
 days, an' He hasna loosened His haud o' me yet. 
 
 1 A small piece of metal with the words " This do in remembrance 
 of Me," given in Scottish churches, before the Sacrament of The 
 Supper, to those entitled to participate.
 
 The FIRST PARISH ROUND 53 
 
 Ance saved, aye saved. That's ma doctrine. Wha 
 can slip awa frae grace, forbye it be thae Methody 
 buddies an' ither Armenian fowk, an' there was na 
 ane o' them in the parish in the doctor's day. The 
 fields was fine an' fu' o' wheat thae days, but there's 
 muckle mustard noo, I tell ye that." 
 
 " But you will surely admit, Mr. M'Phatter, that 
 the nourishment of years ago will not suffice for to- 
 day. Yesterday's dinner will not forestall the ne- 
 cessity of the day that follows," I urged, inwardly 
 ashamed of the threadbare argument. 
 
 He saw its threadbareness too, for he retorted 
 
 " That's a verra auld argyment ; in fac', it's clean 
 stala, if it's no' rotten. Doctor Grant wud hae sniffit 
 at it. And what's mair, it's no' an argyment ava', 
 for I hae mony a dinner o' the sermons that I gath- 
 ered in thae far back days. I aye eat and sup off 
 that when ye an' yir fowk's fummlin' wi' yir cairds at 
 the kirk. Bide a meenit." 
 
 He hurried into an adjoining room, and soon re- 
 turned with a sheaf of rusty notes, clearing his throat 
 awhile with the sound of a trumpeter calling to the 
 fray. 
 
 " I wasna ane o' the sleepin' kind ; I aye paid at- 
 tention in the hoose o' God. I only sleepit ance an' 
 I cudna help it, for oor Jeanie was born that mornin' 
 an' that was a work o' needcessity. An' what's
 
 54 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 mair, I aye took notes o' the discoorse, an' I hae 
 them yet. 
 
 " They's ma dinners noo, tae use yir word, minister 
 they's ma dinners, an' they hunger nae mair wha 
 tak's them saxteen or seventeen coorses, ilka ane o' 
 them ; nane o' yir bit lunches wi' napkins an' flowers 
 and finger bowls like ye hae the noo, no' worth the 
 bit grace ye say ower them they's nane o' yir teas, 
 tastin' an' sniffin', wi' sweeties an' sic like they's 
 meat, sir, strong meat for strong men, an' the bane's 
 in the baith o' them like." 
 
 He stopped, as a cannon stops after it has fired, 
 the aroma of battle still pouring from its lips. 
 
 " What are these papers in your hand ? " I asked, 
 not for information, but for breath. (You have seen 
 a caged canary leap from its perch to its swing, and 
 back again, when sorely pressed.) He speedily closed 
 that door. 
 
 " They, sir ? Div ye no' ken what's they ? They's 
 Doctor Grant's heids and pertikklers. Doctor Grant's 
 heids and pertikklers, I'm tellin' ye. A' o' them but 
 ane is the heids an' pertikklers o' sermons that made 
 St. Cuthbert's ring like the wood on an August nicht 
 when the thunder roams it. That ither ane he 
 preach't in a graun city kirk wha soucht to get him, 
 and they cudna an' it was croodit like the barn mou' 
 when harvest's dune, an' I was there masel', an' he
 
 The FIRST PARISH ROUND 55 
 
 kent me an' I'm the man that held his cane in ma 
 haun the time he preach't, I'm tellin' ye." And 
 Donald's withered face was now aglow with such a 
 tenderness as only bygone years can loan to age ; 
 his eyes were ashine with tears, each one the home of 
 sheeted days that had come back from the dead, and 
 his parted lips were drinking deep of the mystic tides 
 
 of memory. 
 
 ****** 
 
 A rich mosaic was the visitation of this sterling 
 race. The lovely valleys and the picturesque hills of 
 their ancestral sires I have often roamed since then, 
 but never have I seen the Scottish character in its 
 homely beauty as it appeared to me in their happy 
 Canadian life among the cozy farmhouses of this 
 fruitful countryside. The traditions of their native 
 land were tenderly cherished by them all, and many 
 were the stories they related of the old days in Scot- 
 land and of the day whereon they looked their last 
 upon the unforgotten heather. 
 
 One of my first visits was to Mrs. Gavin Toshack, 
 whom I found in a reminiscent mood. 
 
 " Ay," she said, " we're a' Scotch aboot thae pairts ; 
 an' God keep us sae. There's been scarce a fly in 
 the ointment, forbye Sandy Trother's wife, who gied 
 him, an' gied us a', a heap o' tribble ; but she was 
 Irish, ye ken. An' oor ministers hae a' been frae
 
 56 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 Scotland ; but we had ane for mebbe twa month or 
 mair nae oor ain minister, but only a kin' o' evan- 
 gelist buddy. He was an Irish buddy tae, but there 
 were severals converted. That was nae Irish wark 
 whatever, but the grace o' God. We were na lang 
 oot frae the auld country when he cam' ; I mind fine. 
 It was in the year '37. We sailed frae Annan Water 
 Foot in July, an' eight weeks or mair it took us afore 
 we landit in Quebec. Then by canal and wagon till 
 we reach't New Jedboro ; 'twas a sair, weary ride. 
 But the breath o' freedom an' o' promise was in the 
 air an' we hae oor ain hame noo an' twa hunner 
 acres o' the finest land in a' the country. An' we're 
 independent noo, wi' eneuch for a bite an' a sup till 
 we hunger nae mair nor thirst ony mair. An' oor 
 bairnies is a' daein' fine : Jamie's a doctor i' Chicago ; 
 an' oor Jeanie's mairrit on Allan Sutherland, him as 
 will be the new Reeve o' the coonty ; an' Chairlie has 
 a ranch i' Alberta like the Duke o' Roxburgh's estate ; 
 an' Willie '11 hae oor ain land here, when we sleep 
 aneath it. 
 
 " I aften sit an' think we micht hae been aye 
 herdin' sheep on the Dumfries hills, wi' scarce eneuch 
 to eat, wi' this man ' my Laird ' an' yon man ' yir 
 Grace ' an' oor ain bairns little mair nor slaves. The 
 duke we knelt doon afore in Scotland aften paid mair 
 for a racin' filly nor we paid for a' this bonnie land
 
 The FIRST PARISH ROUND 57 
 
 we ca' oor ain the day. Canada's nae sae guid for 
 earls an' lairds, but it's graun' for puir honest fowk. 
 An' what's mair," continued Mrs. Gavin, " we didna 
 hae the preachin' i' the auld country we hae in Can- 
 ada leastwise, no' as graun' as we used to hae i' the 
 time o' Doctor Grant. Div ye ken, sir, the grandest 
 thing I ever heard come oot o' his mooth ? No ? 
 Weel, it was this. He aye preach't fearfu' lang, as 
 ye've nae doot heard, an' at times the men fowk wad 
 weary an' gang oot, some to tak' a reek wi' their 
 pipes an' mair to gang ower the way an' hae a drap 
 juist to liven the concludin' heids o' the discoorse 
 Jfor they aye steppit back) ; but the Doctor didna 
 seem to understaun'. Weel, ae day some o' them was 
 stampin' doon the aisle, an' the Doctor, he juist stop- 
 pit an' sat doon, an' then he says, ' Ma freens, we'll 
 bide a wee till the chaff blaws awa'.' Losh, hoo they 
 drappit whaur they stood ! There was nae mair gaun 
 oot that day, I tell ye, nor mony a day. But mind 
 ye, 'twas fearsome the time atween when he sat doon 
 in the pulpit an' when he speakit oot like I telt ye ; 
 it was clean fearsome."
 
 VII 
 " The CHILD of The REGIMENT" 
 
 MY labours in St. Cuthbert's had covered 
 but a few fleeting years (oh, relentless 
 ticking of the clock ! at once the harbin- 
 ger and the echo of eternity), when there came into 
 our lives life's greatest earthly joy. Serene and 
 peaceful our lives had been, every hour garlanded 
 with love and every year festooned by the Hand Un- 
 seen. 
 
 Trials and difficulties there had been indeed, but 
 they were as billows which carried in their secret 
 bosom the greeting of the harbour and the shore. 
 Even the roots of sorrow had been moistened by the 
 far-off wells of joy. To many a guest of God, dis- 
 guised in the habiliments of gloom, we had turned a 
 frowning face and had bidden such begone. But 
 such guests heeded not, pressing relentlessly in upon 
 our trembling hearth, when lo ! the passing days re- 
 vealed their mission; we saw the face hidden be- 
 neath the sombre hood, and prayed the new-discov- 
 ered guest to abide with us unto the end. For God 
 loveth the masquerade, and doth use it everywhere. 
 
 58
 
 "The CHILD of The REGIMENT" 59 
 
 The way to hell appeareth glorious oftentimes, but 
 the pathway unto life is robed in shadows and its 
 sign-post is the cross which things are a masquerade 
 and to be witnessed every day ; for in one single day 
 all God's great drama is rehearsed in miniature. 
 
 Our manse was a pleasant place, and its site had 
 been selected by some one with the nursery-heart. 
 Spacious and genial was the old homely house, with 
 its impartial square. Rooms there were, and halls, 
 waiting to echo back some voice uncoarsened by the 
 clang of time and uncorroded by the salt of tears. 
 Rich terraces flowed in velvet waves down to the 
 waiting river, murmuring its trysting joy; a full- 
 robed choir of oak and elm and maple kept their 
 eternal places in a grander loft than man could build 
 them, while pine and spruce and cedar, disrobing 
 never, but snatching their bridal garments from the 
 winter storm, swelled the sylvan harmony. 
 
 Here came the crocuses and the snowdrops, trem- 
 bling like the waifs of winter, and hither came the 
 violet and the dandelion to reassure these daring 
 pioneers ; later on, the pansy and the rose utterly 
 convinced them that they had not lost their way, but 
 had been guided by the pilgrims' Friend. 
 
 But no child's voice had waked these sombre 
 echoes, no child's gentle feet had pressed this velvet 
 sward; no radiant shadow such as childhood alone
 
 60 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 can cast had flitted here and there beneath these 
 lonely trees, nor had these flowers felt their life's 
 great and only thrill in the touch of a baby's dimpled 
 hand. But that golden door at last swung gently 
 open. That hour of ecstasy and anguish brought us 
 life's crown and joy, and the hills of time, erstwhile 
 green and beautiful, were now radiant with a light 
 kindled from afar. 
 
 St. Cuthbert's rejoiced exceedingly when our little 
 Margaret was given unto us, but we knew it not 
 at first, for Scotch joy is a deep and silent thing, 
 a fermentation at the centre rather than an effer- 
 vescence at the surface. For our Margaret was as 
 one born out of due time, the first child whose infant 
 cry had awakened the echoes of their ancient manse, 
 though seventy long years had flown since their first 
 minister had come among them. Thus she became 
 the child of the regiment and they silently exulted. 
 Jubilant, one hour after this new star had swung into 
 the firmament, I hoisted the Union Jack to the top- 
 most notch of our towering flag-pole, and never has 
 it flaunted its triumph more jubilantly since. 
 
 The beadle reported to me afterwards that the 
 other churches were mightily jealous of our late 
 autumn bloom, and one of their devotees, an Episco- 
 palian, had asked him sneeringly 
 
 " What's that flag doing there ? "
 
 "The CHILD of The REGIMENT" 61 
 
 " It's blawin' i' the wind," retorted my diplomatic 
 beadle. 
 
 " It's nothing to be so joyful over," urged the 
 Episcopalian brother. 
 
 " It's mair nor ever happened in yon kirk o' yours ; 
 an' it's mair nor could happen to the Pope o' Rome, 
 wha's a true freen o' yours, I'm jalousin'," snorted my 
 beadle back triumphantly ; for William was unchari- 
 table, and despaired of all ritualists, the iron of cove- 
 nanting protest running hot within his blood. 
 
 Nor were these the only swords that flashed above 
 our Margaret's cradle ; for a Methodist mother in 
 Israel, hopeful of a sympathetic response from Elsie 
 M'Phatter (the non-churchgoing one), ventured the 
 comment that similar events in her own brilliant 
 maternal record had provoked no unseemly joy; to 
 which Elsie responded tartly 
 
 " I ken that fine, and it's very nat'ral, for ye've 
 had mair nor maist ; but gin ye hadna had ane for 
 a maitter o' seventy year or mair, like us, wad ye no' 
 hae been clean daft aboot it ? " and the field there- 
 after was Elsie's own. 
 
 The Sabbath morning after Margaret's dawn St. 
 Cuthbert's was full to overflowing, as seemed to be 
 every heart, especially every aged heart, finding its
 
 62 57. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 morning anew in the life of a little child. For the 
 morning and the evening are wondrously alike. In 
 summer especially, the sun-bathed mountains, the 
 pendant dewdrop, the melodious silences all these 
 belong so much to both alike that I find it hard 
 to distinguish the matins and the vespers of God's 
 cathedral days. 
 
 My voice trembled just a little as I gave out the 
 psalm 
 
 " Such pity as a father hath 
 Unto his children dear," 
 
 but we sang it to the tune of " Dunfermline," and 
 soon I was borne out to sea upon its far-flung bil- 
 lows ; for of a truth these old Scottish tunes have the 
 swing of eternity in them, and seem to grandly over- 
 lap the bourne of time and space. And when we 
 prayed the only liturgy which Presbyterians will own, 
 I could not forbear to say " Our Father " twice, and 
 lo ! a strange thing happened unto me. For a great 
 light seemed to shine upon the words, and that little 
 helpless life at home within the manse, and its thrice- 
 blessed cry, and its yearning look of wonder, and its 
 hand whose only prowess was to lie in some stronger 
 hand of love all these became a commentary, illus- 
 trating God, and in their cordial light I beheld Him 
 as mother, or professor, or minister had never shown
 
 "The CHILD of The REGIMENT" 63 
 
 Him to me before, bending over the souls of men, 
 otherwise orphaned evermore. That vision has 
 tarried with me ever since, and my people have been 
 the better of it ; for he alone can caress his people's 
 souls who has felt the caress of His father's love. 
 God's tenderness is the great contagion for the heal- 
 ing of life's long disease.
 
 VIII 
 
 "A NEW FOOT on The FLOOR" 
 
 WHEN our daughter (are there any two other 
 words so well-wed as these ? What music 
 their union makes ! ) was only about ten 
 years old, her mother, which is my wife writ large and 
 heavenly, and I were taking tea at Inglewood, which 
 my long-suffering readers will remember as the home 
 which first welcomed me to New Jedboro and the res- 
 idence of Mr. Michael Blake. When our meal was 
 over, Mr. Blake and I were enjoying a quiet game of 
 billiards, which was a game I loved. But I may 
 have more to say about this later on, for so had some 
 of my pious people, though I am inclined to think 
 that they objected not so much because they thought 
 the game was wrong as because they feared I was en- 
 joying it. For, to some truly good Scotch folk the 
 measure of enjoyableness is the measure of sin, and a 
 thing needeth no greater fault than to be guilty of 
 deliciousness. But the converse of this they also 
 hold as true, namely, that what maketh miserable is 
 of God, and to be wretched is to be pious at the 
 heart. For which reason, I have observed often- 
 
 64
 
 "A NEW FOOT on The FLOOR" 65 
 
 times, they deem that to be a truly well-spent 
 Sabbath day which had banished all possible happi- 
 ness from their children's lives, bringing them to its 
 close limp and cramped and sore, but catechism-full 
 and with a good mark in the book of life for every 
 weary hour. 
 
 Was it Johnson who ventured the opinion that the 
 Puritans put bear-baiting under the ban, not because 
 it was painful to the bears but because it was 
 pleasant to the people ? Whether it was or no, I 
 shall not discuss it. Neither shall I discuss the 
 ethics of billiards, unless it be to say this much, that 
 if there be games in heaven, I do not doubt it will 
 have an honoured place, for it is an ivory game and 
 truthful, abhorring vagrant luck and scoring only by 
 eternal laws which Euclid made his own. And I 
 make no doubt that many a hand hath plied the 
 billiard cue which long ere this hath touched with its 
 finger-tips the ivory gates and golden. 
 
 But to return. We were in the very midst of our 
 game, of which I remember very little, often and 
 often though I have tried to recall every feature of 
 that eventful night. But I do recall that we spoke 
 about our Margaret, and there was a deep strain of 
 wistful envy in Mr. Blake's voice. I remember well 
 his saying that God's richest earthly gift was that of 
 wife and child and hearth.
 
 66 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " Though I speak," he added almost bitterly, " as I 
 might speak of distant stars, for I have no one of the 
 three," and his lips closed tightly while he drove his 
 ball with a savage hand. 
 
 " You have not wife or child," I said, " but no 
 man who has been sheltered by your friendship can 
 agree with you about your hearth. It has warmed 
 my heart too many times when that heart was cold." 
 
 " There is no hearth where there is neither wife 
 nor child," he answered almost passionately. 
 " Hearths are not built with hands. Do you not 
 know, sir, that if a man would have a fireside he 
 must begin to kindle it when youth is still throbbing 
 in his heart ? From boyhood up he is preparing it, 
 or else he is quenching it in darkness. Do you 
 know, sir, if I were a preacher I would burn that 
 into young men's hearts till they would feel that 
 heaven or hell were all bound up with how they 
 reverence or despise their future fireside. I would 
 tell them that no man can lay his hearth in ashes in 
 the hot days of youth, and then build it up again in 
 the rainy days of age. 
 
 " I would tell every wastrel, and every man who is 
 rehearsing hell with his youthful follies, that he can- 
 not eat his cake and have it. For hearth and wife 
 and child are not for him. I would tell him that he 
 cannot breed a cancer in his heart while he is young
 
 "A NEW FOOT: on The FLOOR" 67 
 
 and cure it with some pious perfume brewed by the 
 hand of age. I would tell them that till my lips 
 blistered, and then they should hear of the grace of 
 God till those same lips were rosy with its healing." 
 
 Amazed, I stood and gazed at him, for there was a 
 fearful fascination in his face. The face of a saint 
 it was, with that warlike peace which only a battling 
 and victorious life can give, but it had for the time 
 the half-hunted look of one who trembles at the 
 sound of footsteps he had hoped were forever still, 
 of one whose soul was overstormed by surging waves 
 of memory. There is sometimes a dread ghastliness 
 in the thought that out of the abundance of a man's 
 heart his mouth is speaking, though he declares it 
 not. It is like the procession of a naked soul ; or, to 
 change the figure, it is like beholding a man unearth 
 some very corpse he had long sought to hide. 
 
 It was his turn to play ah me ! the grim variety 
 of life and his ball failed but narrowly of a delicate 
 ambition. 
 
 " If I could but have it back and play it over," I 
 heard him rather sigh than say, whereat I bethought 
 myself of the high allegory of a game. 
 
 Musing still, I stood apart, gazing as one gazes at 
 a fire, which in very truth I was. 
 
 " It is your shot, sir," he said, in a voice as passion- 
 less as when I first heard it years before.
 
 68 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 My ball had but left my cue when the door opened 
 and a servant said 
 
 " There's a young man doon the stair, sir, and he 
 says he wants to speak wi' the minister." 
 
 I descended, hearing as I went a rattling fusilade 
 of ivory, which I knew was the echo of a soul's 
 thunder-storm. 
 
 ****** 
 
 How often do we meet new faces, little recking their 
 relation to coming years ! Yet many an unfading 
 light and many an incurable eclipse has come with a 
 transient meeting such as this ! How many a 
 woman of Samaria goes to draw water from the 
 well, and sees the Lord ! For I met only a boy, or 
 better, a laddie boyhood-breathing word ! about 
 sixteen years of age, openly poor but pathetically 
 decent. His clothes were coarse and cheap and even 
 darned, bearing here and there the signatures of 
 poverty and motherhood. 
 
 I advanced and took his hand ; for that is an easy 
 masonry, and its exercise need never be regretted 
 even if it never be repeated. My wife once spent a 
 plaintive day because she had wasted a hand-shake 
 upon a caller whom she took to be an applicant for 
 matrimony, whose emoluments were hers, but who 
 turned out to be an agent for Smith's Dictionary of
 
 "A NEW FOOT on The FLOOR" 69 
 
 the Bible, whose emoluments were his own. Never- 
 theless I have always held that no true hand-shake is 
 unrecorded in the book of life. 
 
 " And what can I do for you, my lad?" I said. 
 
 " I dinna ken, sir," he answered, in a voice that 
 suggested a sea voyage, for it was redolent of what 
 lies only beyond the sea. 
 
 " What is your name ? " 
 
 " Angus Strachan, sir, and I come frae Ettrick, and 
 I hae my lines frae the minister o' the Free Kirk." 
 
 " And when did you land, Mr. Strachan ? " 
 
 " Ca' me Angus, sir, if ye please. Naebody has 
 ca'd me by that name sin' my mither pairted wi' me 
 at the stage coach road, and she was fair chokit wi' 
 cryin', and when I cudna see her mair for the bush 
 aboon the burn, I could aye hear her bleatin' like a 
 lamb an' it was the gloamin'. An' I can fair hear 
 her yet. Will ye no' ca' me Angus ? " 
 
 Accursed be the heart which has no opening door 
 for the immigrant's weary feet, and thrice accursed 
 be the heart which remembers strangerhood against 
 some mother's homeless boy. Such malediction, 
 thank God, my soul has never won, for if there be 
 one sight which more than another fills me with 
 hopeful pity, it is the spectacle of some peasant lad 
 making the great venture of an untried shore, press- 
 ing in to those who were also foreigners one far-back
 
 70 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 cheerless day, and asking if this Western land may 
 harbour still another exile from the poverty he seeks 
 to flee. Especially is this true of Scottish laddies ; 
 for upon their faces seems to be written : " I ask for 
 but a chance such as thou hadst thyself," which was 
 the plea of Tom Carlyle when he first knocked at 
 London's mighty door. 
 
 So I drew nearer to him, and my heart flowed 
 through my voice as I said again 
 
 " When did you land, Angus lad ? and tell me all 
 about yourself. I have heard that mother's cry be- 
 fore." For I was thinking of my own mother's part- 
 ing blessing, save that hers was wondrously exultant 
 ds becometh one who calls back from the unseen 
 Chariot of God. 
 
 " I landed yesterday at Montreal, and I cam' ower 
 on the Lake Ontario. And I hae but little to tell, 
 and it wunna tak' me lang. Ma mither weaves in 
 Ettrick, and I herded sheep upon the hills sin' I was 
 able. But I was aye hame at nicht, and she aye 
 keepit a licht in the window when the nicht was dark 
 and her shadow fell upon it, for she aye cam' oot to 
 meet me when she heard me lilt the sang. And she 
 lilted tae, and we baith sang it thegither till we met, 
 and then we gaed ben thegither and gaed na mair 
 oot till the mirk was by." 
 
 I detected the serious and lofty figure in his words,
 
 "A NEW FOOT on The FLOOR" 71 
 
 and the vision of Scotland's lowly altars and thatched 
 cathedrals rose before me. No man could mistake 
 the ritual of which that strain was bred. 
 
 " And why came you here, Angus ? " 
 
 " I cam' here," he answered, " to better masel'. I 
 heard tell o' Canada sin' I was a bairn, and they a' 
 spak' it fair for a land whaur an honest man micht 
 mak' an honest leevin' and mair tae," he added, true 
 to the Scotch afterthought of an extra. 
 
 " And what line do you propose to follow ? What 
 work do you intend to do ? " 
 
 " Ilka line that's straight, an' ony wark that willna 
 soil the soul even gin it may soil the hands," he 
 answered quickly. 
 
 My soul went out to the lad, for I saw that his 
 heart's roots were deep in the best heart-soil the 
 world hath known, and that the Atlantic's billows 
 had not quenched the light of his mother's cottage 
 fire. 
 
 "Your father is dead, is he, Angus?" was the 
 next step in my examination for discovery, as the 
 lawyers say. 
 
 " No, he's no' deid, he's alive," replied the lad, with 
 the exactitude which marks his race ; " but I dinna 
 care to speak aboot him." 
 
 " Very well, very well, boy," I rejoined hastily ; 
 " spends his time and his money and your mother's
 
 72 57'. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 money, when he can get it, at the Red Cow, or the 
 Cock and Hens, a drunken wastrel and cruel too ; for 
 I have been enough in Scotland to know that such 
 hens lay deadly eggs and such red cows' milk is red 
 with blood." All this latter part, of course, I said to 
 myself, but no word of it to the lad before me, for 
 no honest youth can bear any lips to miscall his father 
 save his own. 
 
 " You will come to the manse with us and stay 
 the night ; it is too late to seek other lodging now." 
 
 "Thank ye kindly, sir, but I hae a wee pickle 
 siller in my pocket," he replied, with modest inde- 
 pendence. I verily believe that in heaven all Scots- 
 men (and even Scotch Freemasons) will be found wi' 
 a wee pickle siller in their pockets when they receive 
 that great degree. 
 
 But I insisted, and I won ; for he who wages the 
 campaign of hospitality hath God for his ally, and 
 no heart can finally resist that siege.
 
 IX 
 "ANGELS UNAWARES" 
 
 I PRESENTED him to my wife and to my host, 
 whose cordiality was worthy of his wealth and 
 his success. Perhaps he was thinking of an 
 hour like unto this when, so many long years before, 
 he too had reached New Jedboro by night, friendless 
 and poor, also craving work, beginning that steady 
 climb which had brought him to the dizzy heights of 
 wealth and influence. 
 
 For memories of poverty, like poor relations, 
 should not be thrust out at wealth's back gate, but 
 should have a choice room in the mansion at whose 
 door the sated heart will often knock, seeking rest. 
 
 My wife has frequently told me that she liked 
 Angus from the start because he seemed so robed in 
 health and draped in a kind of pathetic modesty, with 
 eyes whose colour she was certain would not fade. 
 How women do love the metaphors of millinery ! 
 How better than the sage of Chelsea they understand 
 the philosophy of clothes ! But she also added that 
 she was charmed by the way he spoke his mother's 
 name, for in his tone she caught the flavour of a 
 quick caress ; and woman is more facile far than man 
 
 73
 
 74 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 in her translation of these Hebraic breathings. Be- 
 sides all this, he held the gate open as she passed 
 through into our manse estate ; she still remarks that 
 this was a little thing, but contends that he did it in 
 a great way. 
 
 We showed the tired stranger to his room. Dis- 
 tinguished guests we have had beneath the roof of 
 St. Cuthbert's manse. We once had Major Pond, 
 the great cicerone of great lecturers ; he had brought 
 Ian Maclaren to our town, who in turn brought the 
 spring to all of us, beguiling moisture even from 
 long-sullen clouds. 
 
 He had stayed with Mr. Blake, which was but fair, 
 for these are wealth's real prerogatives ; but the 
 genial Major stayed with us. We were greatly 
 charmed, for he charmed us till two o'clock in the 
 morning; and my wife, fearful that she might 
 stampede him to his bed, rose at intervals and hid her 
 face in the geranium window when she had to yawn. 
 But it was the clock and not the Major that provoked 
 these mild convulsions. He rehearsed to us his glo- 
 rious achievements with his "stars." Some few 
 plaints he had, wherein he " wept o'er his wounds," 
 but almost all his tales were " tales of valour done," 
 He told the number of his " stars," vividly described 
 how he held them in his right hand, pointed out to 
 us how one " star " differeth from another " star " in
 
 "ANGELS UNAWARES" 75 
 
 glory, and went to bed at last with the air of a man 
 who had gilded the Pleiades, brushed up Castor and 
 Pollux, and house-cleaned the heavens generally. 
 
 Stanley, Farrar, Beecher, and a score of others 
 filtered through him as he sat by our humble fire, 
 turning his telescope this way and that as a sports- 
 man turns his gun, while the very clock ticked slow 
 to listen. My wife became quite confused, probably 
 sun-struck, for she has since affirmed that the Major 
 claimed to have been present at the birth of every 
 one of these famous men on whom he early resolved 
 to confer immortality. My recollection of his night's 
 autobiography is rather that of a lane of dazzling 
 Jight, in which there stood now one and now another 
 giant, but all alike clinging to the Major's hand. 
 
 But thjs does not exhaust our list of the famous 
 men whose ponderous heads have pressed the pillow 
 whereon the exiled Angus now laid his own to rest. 
 For we once had the Moderator. The Moderator of 
 what? some unsophisticated gentile will wish to 
 know. Of the General Assembly, of course, for that 
 is the Westminster Assembly of Divines in recurring 
 resurrection, and it hath its unadjourning court in 
 heaven, as the ambushed correspondent of the He- 
 brews doth inform us. Which proves, my precentor 
 tells me, that the New Jerusalem is a Presbyterian 
 city and singeth nothing but the psalms.
 
 76 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 The Moderator, as I have already said, abode with 
 us over night, and we almost begrudged the sleeping 
 hours, for, if you will waste sleep upon a Moderator, 
 let it be when he is preaching and not when he is 
 filling your house with dignity and smoke. For the 
 Moderator loved his pipe, and so did I, and together 
 we revelled in those clouds before which all other 
 clouds retreat. What a great leveller is that demo- 
 crat, tobacco. For while we smoked we were both 
 moderators, and even an Assembly clerk could not 
 have told which was which. Twice, too, the Moder- 
 ator filled from my pouch, with no air of patronage, 
 and I shall never forget it of him. When he went to 
 his bed, still redolent of Virginia, he asked me for a 
 little soda water, very little, he said emphatically. I 
 brought it to him, and passing by his door ,a moment 
 later, I heard a low gurgling sound like that of an 
 infant brook, then silence, then an honest smack 
 soon after there emerged a festive flavour, a healing 
 aroma, sweetly distilling. As I went back to our 
 room, I said to my wife, " What a fine spirit a Moder- 
 ator can shed through a house," in which opinion 
 she agreed, though she knew not what I said. I was 
 all but asleep when she aroused me with 
 
 " Tom, why is a Moderator called a Moderator ? " 
 " Because he takes it moderately, dear," I an- 
 swered, being only in the twilight of intelligence.
 
 "ANGELS UNAWARES" 77 
 
 " Takes what, Tom ? " she asked. 
 
 " His honours, sweetheart go to sleep." 
 
 But although we have had great guests like these, 
 I do not know that I was ever more glad with the 
 thought of a sleeping stranger than with the knowl- 
 edge that this homeless lad was beneath our roof 
 that night. For he who homes the honest poor has 
 borrowed the guests of God, and a mother's wander- 
 ing son is His peculiar care. 
 
 I knew that the great Executor of all praying 
 mothers leaves them not long indebted to any man ; 
 He Himself shall speak with their creditors in the 
 gate.
 
 X 
 
 My PIOUS PROFLIGATE 
 
 MY wandering but faithful pen, whose every 
 child, though homely, is its legitimate 
 own, must now forsake Angus and his 
 fortunes for a season. It shall again return to him, 
 if it be spared. For the good folk of St. Cuthbert's 
 have taught me to insert this phrase at every season- 
 able opening indeed, they deem it fitting for every 
 season, and the very first marriage in New Jedboro 
 at which I officiated afforded a vivid proof of this. 
 
 The young couple were just emerging from the 
 heavenly operation, still somewhat under the celes- 
 tial chloroform, when Ronald M'Gregor admon- 
 ished them. His admonition was after a fashion 
 almost ministerial, for Ronald had once culled him- 
 self from out the common herd as meant for a min- 
 ister, and had abandoned his pursuit only when he 
 found that he had every qualification except the gifts. 
 
 " Ye maun bear in mind," he said, " that ye're nae 
 mair twa, but ae flesh ; an' ye'll bide wi' ane anither 
 till deith shall ye pairt that is, gin ye're spared." 
 
 Meantime, this friendly pen must record this news 
 of Angus, that the very morning he left St. Cuth- 
 
 78
 
 My PIOUS PROFLIGATE 79 
 
 bert's manse he entered upon his apprentice term in 
 the great iron manufactory of which Mr. Blake was 
 the head and the propelling power ; for behind every 
 engine is the ingenuity, not of many men, but of 
 one. 
 
 And leaving him there to ply his fortune and to 
 confront that unseen antagonist against whom every 
 ambitious man plays move and move about, I betake 
 myself again to the records of St. Cuthbert's. 
 
 Yet I find it hard to dismiss the lad, for his is a be- 
 setting face, and besides, it stubbornly appears above 
 the main current of all the story I have yet to tell. 
 
 My fortunes with these strange Scotch folk must 
 be recorded, and chief among my handiwork I think 
 of Geordie Lorimer. For he was a typical Scot, and 
 supremely so in this, that he could be both very re- 
 ligious and very bad. Of which the remarkable thing 
 lies here, that he was both of these at one and the 
 self-same time. 
 
 Now, although I am an Irishman, and boast the 
 most romantic blood of time, yet must I frankly 
 admit that few countrymen of mine have such 
 facility. Many of them there are who could be 
 religious, and more who could be bad, with spon- 
 taneous ease, but few there be who know how to 
 be both at once. But Geordie did. He was a prof- 
 ligate, but a pious profligate ; a terror he was, but he
 
 8o S7. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 was a holy terror. Mind you well, I do not mean to 
 impugn Geordie's sincerity in the last appeal ; not for 
 one moment, for I believe implicitly that Geordie, in 
 the very heart of him, meant to do well. Indeed, I 
 will go further, and say that in his very soul he wished 
 to be closer to God ; for he could not well help that 
 wish it was his inseparable heritage from a saintly 
 father, long a beloved elder in St. Cuthbert's, whose 
 sacred suit of " blacks " Geordie had inherited, himself 
 wearing them to the sacrament till the session denied 
 him his token, and shut him out, blacks and all. 
 The memory of his mother's life was still fragrant to 
 hundreds, fresh and dewy in love's unwithering 
 morn ; upon the tide of prayer had Geordie's infant 
 life been launched, and its gentle waves, faint but 
 palpable, still sought to lave his soul. 
 
 How many a Northern island-life, bleak and wild, 
 is redeemed from utter destruction by that great gulf- 
 stream, the prayers of a mother who was in league 
 with God ! Thus it came about that Geordie 
 Lorimer's life was a muddy stream, still tinged with 
 the crystal waters of its hill-born spring. He had 
 made the ghastly find, that when he would do good, 
 evil was present with him ; to will was present with 
 him, but how to perform that which was good he 
 found not. For Geordie had, alas ! a stronger thirst 
 than that for righteousness. He was given to " tast-
 
 My PIOUS PROFLIGATE 81 
 
 ing," a homeopathic word which Scotsmen use to in- 
 dicate a trough. I soon heard of him as incorrigibly 
 religious but incorrigibly dry. 
 
 Geordie was the best-known character in New 
 Jedboro, as well known as the town pump, the one 
 famed for its outgiving, the other for its intaking 
 powers, but both alike for liquid prowess. His 
 principal occupation was in his wife's name, being a 
 boarding-house whose inmates were secretly and 
 shamefully proud of Geordie's unique superiority in 
 his own particular line, for he could outdrink the 
 countryside. 
 
 The very Saturday which preceded my Sunday as 
 a candidate of St. Cuthbert's (they afterwards told 
 me) Geordie was in the kindly grip of the town con- 
 stable, who was bearing him towards the jail, his 
 victim loudly proclaiming to the world that the 
 guardian of the law had arrested him only when 
 he, Geordie, had refused to treat for the eleventh 
 time. 
 
 " He tret the ainst, an' I tret ten times or mair," 
 Geordie was vehemently affirming to a sympathetic 
 street. Turning a corner, they met no less a person- 
 age than Sandy Weir, the session clerk. 
 
 " Sandy, dinna let him tak' me to the lock-up. 
 There's to be a new minister i' the kirk," he cried, 
 " an' I maun gang to hear him preach the morn.
 
 82 ST. CUTHBERTS 
 
 Sandy, wull ye no' bid him no' to tak' me to the 
 lock-up ? " 
 
 But Sandy was a man under authority, having 
 elders under him, and he refrained, knowing the 
 boundaries of his power. 
 
 Passing along a quiet street some years after this, 
 I beheld the unreforming Geordie in a savage fight 
 with a kindred spirit, who drew his inspiration from 
 the same source as his antagonist ; for many a cork 
 they had released together. The two men fought 
 like tigers, abandoning themselves the more cheer- 
 fully to the combat they both knew would end in a 
 renewal of brotherhood and beer. This thought lent 
 a sanguine enthusiasm to their every effort, for each 
 felt it a point of honour to make the engagement 
 worthy of the " treaty " (a fitting word) that awaited 
 them at the Travellers' Rest. 
 
 Above the din of battle I heard a voice emerging 
 from Geordie's head, which head emerged from his 
 opponent's oxter 
 
 " Dinna mark me, Jock, dinna mark me ; for we're 
 gaun to hae the bairn baptized i' the kirk the morn," 
 and I knew not which to admire more, Geordie's 
 moral versatility, or the beautiful comity of war. 
 
 Geordie did appear in the kirk with the bairn the 
 next morning, unmarked, except by unusual 
 solemnity. He did not take the vows, of course
 
 My PIOUS PROFLIGATE 83 
 
 these were assumed by his long-suffering and de- 
 voted wife ; but Geordie felt he should be there as 
 collateral security. 
 
 I coveted Geordie's soul, and longed to add his re- 
 generation to the new Acts of the Apostles. No 
 opportunity to speak with him was ever allowed to 
 slip, and one came to me whose details I must re- 
 count. There had been an election for the town 
 council, which had, half in joke and half in jealousy, 
 returned Geordie as the councillor of his ward ; for 
 our glorious manhood suffrage, as some one has 
 pointed out, makes Judas Iscariot as influential at the 
 polls as the Apostle Paul. 
 
 Returning, the night of the election, from a sick- 
 bed visit, I overtook the jubilant Geordie, full of 
 emotion and other things. His locomotion was ir- 
 regular and spasmodic, his course original, pictur- 
 esque, and variable. Geordie was having it out with 
 the law of gravitation. 
 
 He was as a ship returning from Jamaica, a pre- 
 cious cargo of spirits in its hold, and labouring heavily 
 in the trough of the sea. I essayed to take his arm, 
 intending to be his wheelsman home, but it was like 
 trying to board a vessel in a storm ; for Geordie had 
 at least a hundred routes which he must traverse 
 with impartial feet. After I had somewhat managed 
 to adopt his swing, I sought to deal faithfully with
 
 84 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 him, though it was like preaching from the plunging 
 deck of a ship at sea, while the breath of my swaying 
 auditor suggested that the aforesaid cargo had sprung 
 a leak. 
 
 He was raising a double paean to voice a twofold 
 joy: the first, the joy of triumph in the recent con- 
 test; the second, the historic and imperishable joy 
 that he was a Scotsman born. 
 
 " Yon whelp I skelpit the day was naething but an 
 Irishman," he cried loftily. " I canna get Robbie 
 Burns' graun' words oot o' my heid : ' The Scotsmen 
 staun' an' Irish fa' let him on wi' me,' " and on this 
 wave of martial spirit Geordie took another plunge at 
 right angles from our previous course, bearing me 
 after him like a skiff tied to a schooner amid stormy 
 seas. 
 
 After we had put about and regained our bearings, 
 I nimbly took advantage of this patriotic opening, 
 having ever a quick mind for the transition of ideas. 
 
 " Yes, Geordie, many good things are Scotch, and 
 many Scotch things are good. Some misguided 
 persons think even that Scotch liquor is good. Now, 
 
 George " But I got no further. This time 
 
 Geordie swung around before me, like a boat that 
 trusts its moorings 
 
 " Ye're richt, minister ; wha wad hae thocht ye 
 kent the difference ? But ye're richt a' whusky is
 
 My PIOUS PROFLIGATE 85 
 
 guid, but some's mair guid nor ithers, an' Scotch is 
 mair guid nor ony ithers. Those feckless Irish fowk 
 aye tak' the speerits o' oor native land gin they hae 
 the siller, which isna likely. An' I dinna blame 
 them muckle." 
 
 I now saw that there was no opening along this 
 line, favourable at first sight as it had appeared. The 
 attack must be plain and straight. 
 
 " Geordie," I began, " this is a pitiable situation for 
 a minister to be in, and you know, George " 
 
 " That's a' richt, minister dinna fash yersel'. I'll 
 no' mention it to a soul. Mony's the time I hae been 
 fou masel', ' peetiably seetivated,' as ye ca' it, bein' 
 mair learned nor me ; to be honest wi' ye, I'm juist a 
 wee bit ' peetiably seetivated ' this vera nicht. But 
 I'll tak' ye hame for a' that, an nane '11 hear tell o't 
 frae Geordie Lorimer." 
 
 Then he plunged again, propelled by the sense of 
 a new responsibility, and for a minute we two per- 
 formed, unaided and alone, the several different parts 
 of an eight-hand reel. 
 
 Nevertheless, I relinquished not my hold, for I was 
 truly attached to the fellow, and in due time we made 
 a mile, though I know the cyclometer would have 
 recorded ten. More hopeful, I was steaming on, a 
 clerical tugboat, when of a sudden Geordie stopped, 
 pointing with his right leg high in air, trusting me
 
 86 ST. CUrHBERT'S 
 
 and his left to perform the relief duty thus de- 
 manded. 
 
 " Yon's ma coo, ma Ayrshire coo," he exclaimed, 
 pointing with his initial leg to the white- faced cow 
 which lay among its kindred, its jaw gently swing- 
 ing. 
 
 " The beast disna ken," I heard him mutter ; then 
 he suddenly bolted, breaking his tether, and before I 
 could recover him he had shambled on to the road 
 with the gait of a delirious camel, and kicking his 
 innocent property from behind, cried out 
 
 " Get oot o' that. Sic like a thing, to be lyin' wi' 
 the common herd. Mind ye, ye're no' an or'nar^- 
 man's coo ye're a cooncillor's coo." Then he 
 retraced his labyrinthian steps in a corresponding 
 swath. 
 
 As we drew near his humble gate (how often 
 Geordie had made that last port with pain), he mut- 
 tered to himself reflectively 
 
 " I gied him hell," referring doubtless to the van- 
 quished candidate. 
 
 Whereat I took him to task right sternly, giving 
 him sharply to understand that such language was an 
 insult to his minister and friend. 
 
 In reply, he fell upon me, literally and figuratively, 
 with tones of reproachful tenderness. 
 
 " Minister," he said, " I own ye as a faithfu' guide."
 
 My PIOUS PROFLIGATE 87 
 
 (" You'd better," said I to myself, for I was weary.) 
 " I own ye as a faithfu' guide, an' I wudna gie ye 
 pain. For we've had oor ain times thegither. I 
 micht maist say as 'at ' We twa hae paiddled i' the 
 burn,' only it wudna be becomin'. But aboot that 
 word I've heard ye say yirsel' frae the pulpit as 
 how hell is a maist awfu' feelin' i' the breist. Verra 
 well, dinna ye think as hoo yon Irish whelp I skelpit 
 the day '11 hae a waesome feelin' i' his breist ? That's 
 a' the meanin' I desired till convey. It's nae wrang 
 when it's expoun'it. Guid-nicht till ye, minister."
 
 XI 
 
 PLUCKING A FIERY BRAND 
 
 BUT there are others of whom I have better 
 things to record, and indeed better things 
 shall yet be set down by me concerning 
 Geordie Lorimer before these short and simple an- 
 nals shall have ended. For there is nothing so joy- 
 some to record as the brightening story of a soul 
 coming to its real birth from the travail of its sin and 
 struggle. For perchance time itself is God's great 
 midwife, and man's writhing agony is to the end that 
 he may soon be born. 
 
 The serious will doubtless wish to learn what befell 
 me in my effort to beguile the rugged Donald 
 M'Phatter and his wife, who had quit the kirk when 
 the kirk quit the tokens, back to the worship of the 
 sanctuary. It is many years since they returned to 
 St. Cuthbert's hallowed shrine, and they now sing 
 the uncreated song. 
 
 For they have joined that choir invisible whose 
 voices, trained by God, blend in perfect unison, but 
 not in time ; for they reckon not by days and years 
 where they have gone to dwell.
 
 PLUCKING A FIERY BRAND 89 
 
 It may be set down as certain that I would never 
 have won them back to church had it not been that 
 I abandoned argument and adopted friendship. 
 
 For argument, to my mind, satisfies a people's 
 souls as well as a bill of fare will suffice a hungry 
 man ; but the heart's food is a different matter. 
 Argument may be botany, but friendship is a flower ; 
 and one little violet is better than one big volume, 
 or a thousand of them, as far as that goes. This is 
 perhaps the same thing as to say that a living dog 
 is better than a dead lion, for most big books are 
 sepulchres but I think that my figure hath a sweeter 
 flavour than the other. 
 
 And when I deliver the Yale lectures to young 
 ministers, I shall tell them that there is a blessed 
 guile, a holy cozenage of the heart whereby they 
 may win their people's souls by stealth. And if a 
 parson hath some obdurate parishioner or some 
 gnarled and snarling elder, let him attack him as a 
 thief in the night, and turn its darkness into day. 
 
 I had to build my friendship with Donald brick by 
 brick, and oftentimes it swayed before his blasts. A 
 hundred times I could have been justly angry and for- 
 ever done with him. But I knew a man, a very near 
 relation, with whom God might oftener have done 
 the same, and had not; besides, I remembered that 
 adroit petition in the Lord's Prayer, which is the
 
 90 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 plummet of the soul's sincerity and I had read of 
 One who reviled not again. 
 
 " In days far by," he charged, " oor faithers said 
 wi' pride as hoo the ministers o' God were dyin' 
 for the truth ; but in thae modern days, a' men say 
 as hoo they're dyin' for their steepin' " (stipend). 
 
 Now this was hard to bear, for I had declined 
 larger stipends than I accepted from St. Cuthbert's, 
 and some would say that this was a right and proper 
 time to stand upon my dignity. But what is so 
 dignified as the Cross, planted in the very centre of 
 shame's garden ? I had long before determined that 
 no man can stand on dignity, for it must be dignity 
 that stands upon the man, and by no act or word of 
 his, be it remarked, but by the high act of God. 
 For those men who stand on dignity are top-heavy 
 things, pigmies upon stilts, triangles upside down. 
 
 Therefore I was patient with Donald, and guarded 
 our infant friendship as a lost hunter shields his last 
 remaining match. I said little to him about church, 
 and much about the Highlands. For Donald was a 
 belated Highlander, his parents having lapsed to the 
 lowlands, where birth took him at a disadvantage ; 
 but he was ever struggling to recover Inverness. 
 
 " I was a hielandman afore I was born and a low- 
 landman after. I kind o' flawed doon like, ye ken," 
 he said.
 
 PLUCKING A FIERY BRAND 91 
 
 I nodded acquiescence, for it is a favourite theory 
 of mine that a man is born of his grandparents just 
 as much as of his father and his mother ; they are 
 equally responsible, I hold, but have the advantage 
 of an earlier retreat. 
 
 It was Donald's great delight to recount the fight- 
 ing stories of his highland ancestors. In all that 
 bloody reel he joined again with joy. The slightest 
 reference to it, and Donald was off over the hills 
 and far away, his guid blue bonnet on his head, his 
 burly knees as bare as the bayonet his fathers bore, 
 and the wild skirl of the bagpipes in his heart. 
 Those pagan-Christian days, those shameful splen- 
 dours of feud and raid and massacre, those mutual 
 pleasantries of human pig-sticking, those civilized 
 savageries and chivalric demonries all these were 
 Donald's sanguinary food. 
 
 " Mind ye," he would say, " half the time they 
 didna ken what they were fechtin' aboot. But they 
 focht a' the better for that the graun' human 
 principle was there; they kent that fine, an' that was 
 a' they needit for to ken. Forbye, they foucht 
 when the chief bade them fecht. When he gied 
 the word, hieland foot was never slow and heiland 
 bluid was never laggin'. Man, what a graun' chief 
 Bonyparte wad hae made, gin the M'Phatters had 
 ta'en him up ! "
 
 92 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " Dinna be aye speakin' aboot yir M'Phatters," 
 interrupted his gentle wife, now somewhat aroused, 
 for her maiden name was Elsie Campbell, and she 
 had her own share of highland memories. " They 
 were guid eneuch fechters in their way, nae doot, 
 but it wasna the Campbell way. Yir M'Phatter feet 
 that ye're haverin' aboot was never slow when the 
 Campbells was comin', I'll grant ye that the Camp- 
 bells did them, ye ken that fine, Donald." 
 
 " Hoots, wumman, ye dinna ken what yir sayin'. 
 Div ye no' mind the battle o' the bluidy shirt, 
 an' " 
 
 " Haud yir wheesht I canna bide to hear aboot 
 thae bluidy shirts an' things. It's a fair scunner', 
 and the minister hearin' ye to the bargain," Elsie 
 shut him off triumphantly in propriety's great name. 
 
 The first real olive branch of friendship which 
 Donald extended to me was under cover of the bag- 
 pipes. I knew he was relenting when he first asked 
 me if I would like to hear him play. I forged a 
 pious lie, declaring it would give me the greatest 
 pleasure. Surely that sin has been atoned for; I 
 have suffered for it as no tongue can tell. The world 
 needeth a new Dante, to write a new Inferno, with 
 the bagpipes thrown in. Then will that sombre 
 picture of future suffering be complete. I make no 
 reckless charge against those aforesaid instruments
 
 PLUCKING A FIERY BRAND 93 
 
 of music, facetiously so called. The bagpipes are a 
 good thing in their place, but their place is with 
 Dante and his Inferno. 
 
 They have survived only as bulldogs survive, from 
 perverted sentiment, and mal-educated taste. For 
 the Scotsman is the most sentimental among men, 
 stubbornly and maliciously and relentlessly sentimen- 
 tal. The bagpipes are a legacy from the grim testa- 
 ment of war, and the savage breath of other days 
 belches through them yet. Ah me ! with what 
 secret pride I hear again far other music wafted from 
 my native Emerald Isle ! Nor can I well conceal my 
 joy that the emblem of Ireland, despised and rejected 
 though she be, is the sweetest-tongued of all music- 
 making things in this vale of tears. For her, no 
 lion, tempest-crowned, for her no prowling bear, 
 for her no screaming eagle but the harp, melliflu- 
 ous and tender. And although its liquid strain hath 
 for centuries been touched by sorrow, yet there hath 
 been music in its voice for all the happier listening 
 world, and the day draweth near, please God, when 
 its unfleeting joy shall descend and rest on her own 
 fields and meadows, making glad the hearts within 
 her humble cottages, whose only wealth is love. 
 
 But Donald's fervent passion for this warlike 
 weapon of his fathers was unrestrained by thoughts 
 of other lands. Had any man suggested that Irish
 
 94 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 music was superior, he would doubtless have bidden 
 him begone and dwell with other lyres. Such sug- 
 gestion I did not dare to make. On the contrary, 
 I smiled as he fondled his windy octopus, which he 
 did with mysterious tenderness. Then he adjusted 
 the creature to his lips, while I calmly braced myself 
 for the gathering storm. 
 
 I had not long to wait. He paced dramatically back 
 and forward for a minute in a preliminary sort of 
 way, like one who pushes his shallop from the shore, 
 gently pressing the huge belly of the thing with his 
 elbow as if to prompt it for the ensuing fray. The 
 thing emitted one or two sample sounds, not odious 
 particularly, but infantile and grimly prophetic, like 
 the initial squeaks of some windful babe awaking 
 from its sleep. Then the thing seemed to feel its 
 strength, to recognize its dark enfranchisement, and 
 broke into such a blasphemy of sound as hath not 
 been heard since the angels alighted where they fell. 
 
 I have heard the deep roar of the ocean, and 
 have listened to the screech of the typhoon through 
 befiddled sails ; I have shuddered at the savage yell 
 of the hyena, and have grown cold, even in the 
 tropics, before the tooting of the wounded elephant ; 
 I have heard the eagle rend the firmament and the 
 midnight fog-horn ring the changes on eternity 
 join them all together, and they will be still but as a
 
 PLUCKING A FIERY BRAND 95 
 
 village choir compared to the infinite and full-orbed 
 bray of the highland bagpipes. 
 
 After the first shock of sky-quake had subsided, 
 Donald turned and looked at me with a rapt and 
 heavenly smile, the thing emitting sundry noises all 
 the while, like fragments from a crash of sound, 
 comparatively mild, as a stream which has just run 
 Niagara. 
 
 I stood, dripping with noise, fearful lest the tide 
 might rush in again, and looking about for my hat, 
 if haply it might have been cast up upon the beach. 
 
 " Wasna that a graun' ane ? " said the machinator. 
 " It's nae often ye'll hear the like o' that in Canada. 
 There's jist ae man beside masel' can gie ye that this 
 side o' Inverness and he's broke i' the win'." 
 
 " Thank God ! " I ejaculated fervently, not know- 
 ing what I said. 
 
 But Donald misunderstood me and I had nothing 
 to fear. 
 
 " Ye're richt there," he cried exultantly ; " it's what 
 I ca' a sacred preevilege to hear the like o' that, 
 maist as sacred as a psalm. Ma faither used to play 
 that verra tune at funerals i' the hielands, and the 
 words they aye sang till't was these : 
 
 " ' Take comfort, Christians, when your friends 
 In Jesus fall asleep,' 
 
 an' it used to fair owercome the mourners. If ye
 
 96 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 were gaun by a hoose i' the hieland glens, and heard 
 thae words and that tune, ye cud mak' sure there was 
 a deid corpse i' the hoose." 
 
 " I don't wonder," was my response ; but he per- 
 ceived nothing in the words except reverent assent. 
 
 "Ay," went on Donald, "it's a graun' means o' 
 rest to the weary heart. It's fair past everything for 
 puttin' the bairns to sleep. Mony's the time I hae 
 lulled them wi' that same tune when their mither 
 cud dae naethin' wi' them. I dinna mind as I ever 
 heard a bairn cry when I was gien them that tune." 
 
 " I quite believe that," I replied, burning to ask 
 him if they ever cried again. But I refrained, and 
 began my retreat towards the door. 
 
 "Bide a wee; I maun gie ye 'The MacGregor's 
 Lament.'" 
 
 But I was obstinate, having enough occasion for 
 my own. 
 
 " Hoots, man, dinna gang it's early yet." 
 
 " But I really feel that I must go. I would sooner 
 hear it some other time." At my own funeral, I 
 meant. " Besides, Mr. M'Phatter, the bagpipes 
 always influence me strangely. They give me such 
 a feeling of the other world as kind of unfits me for 
 my work." 
 
 Whereupon Donald let me go. As I fled along 
 the lane I watched him holding the thing still in his
 
 PLUCKING A FIERY BRAND 97 
 
 hand, and I feared even yet lest it might slip its 
 leash. 
 
 But I have been thankful ever since that Donald 
 did not ask me which other world I meant.
 
 XII 
 
 "By That SAME TOKEN" 
 
 THIS was the first step towards the return 
 of the MThatter family to St. Cuthbert's 
 Church. I waited patiently, stepped care- 
 fully, and endured cheerfully every hardship, from 
 the bagpipes down; but all the time I had before 
 my mind that triumphant day when Donald and his 
 household would once more walk down the kirk's 
 spacious aisle, like the ransomed of the Lord who 
 return and come to Zion with songs and everlasting 
 joy upon their heads. 
 
 One glorious summer evening I broached the mat- 
 ter to them both. It was the pensive hour of twi- 
 light, and Donald had been telling me with thrilling 
 eloquence of a service he had once attended in St. 
 Peter's Church, Dundee, when the saintly M'Cheyne 
 had cast the spell of eternity about him. When he 
 had got as nearly through as he ever got with his 
 favourite themes, I asked him to listen to me for 
 a little, and not to interrupt. He promised, and I 
 talked on to them for an hour or more, the twilight 
 deepening into darkness, and the sweet incense of 
 nature's evening mass arising about us where we sat. 
 It was the hour and the season that lent themselves 
 98
 
 "By That SAME TOKEN" 99 
 
 to memory, and I armed myself with all the unfor- 
 gotten years as I bore down upon their hearts. The 
 duty, the privilege, the joy of mingling with the 
 great congregation in united voice and heart to bless 
 the Creator's name, all this I urged with passionate 
 entreaty. 
 
 " Oh, Donald," I cried at last, forgetting his seventy 
 years and the title those years deserved, " come back, 
 come back, man, to the fountain at which you drank 
 with joy long years ago ! Oh, Donald, it is spring- 
 ing yet, and its living waters are for you. Years 
 have not quenched their holy stream, nor changed 
 the loving heart of Him who feeds them. Donald 
 man, your pride is playing havoc with your soul. 
 Are not the days shortening in upon you? You 
 saw the darkness fall since we sat down together, and 
 the night has come, and it is always night in the 
 grave. Man, hurry home before the gloaming be- 
 trays you to the dark. 
 
 " Do you not hear yonder clock ticking in the hall 
 that same old song of death, the same it sang, the 
 night your father's father was born in the glen, the 
 same it wailed the night he died ? It is none other 
 than the voice of God telling you that the night 
 cometh fast. Oh, Donald, was it not your mother 
 who first taught you the way to that holy spring, 
 even as she taught your boyish feet the path to
 
 ioo 57. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 yonder babbling burn which even now is lilting to 
 the night ? Donald man, be a little child again, and 
 come back before you die." 
 
 Then there was a silence deep as death, and we 
 heard the crickets sing and the drowsy tinkling on 
 the distant hill. I spoke not another word, for 
 when a great Scotch soul is in revolution, I would as 
 soon have offered to assist at the creation as seek 
 then to interfere. But I heard his wife Elsie sobbing 
 gently and I felt a tear on Donald's cheek. My 
 heart caught its distilling fragrance, like a bluebell on 
 some mountainside, and I knew that the seasons 
 were exchanging in Donald's soul, winter retreating 
 before the avenging spring. 
 
 Suddenly he arose and swiftly spoke 
 
 " I'll gang back on Sabbath mornin' ; I'll tak' ma 
 mither's psalm-buik, and I'll gang." 
 
 He strode quickly towards the house ; as he passed 
 me the rising moon shone upon his face, and it looked 
 like that of a soul which has the judgment day be- 
 hind and eternal mother-love before. 
 
 Elsie walked with me to the gate, and her face put 
 the now radiant night to shame. Her long eclipse 
 had ended. It was then she told me the secret of 
 the token and her husband's love for it. 
 
 " Ye mauna think ower hard on Donald ; I prom- 
 ised to tell naebody, but ye willna let him ken. It
 
 "By That SAME TOKEN" 101 
 
 wasna the token in itsel', but it was oor Elsie mair. 
 Elsie was oor little lassie that's gone to bide wi' God. 
 " Weel, when she was a bit bairn, she aye gaed 
 wi' us to the sacrament, and she was awfu' ta'en up 
 wi' the token. She wad spell oot the bit writin' on't, 
 and she thocht there was naethin' sae bonnie as the 
 picture o' the goblet on the ither side o't. And she 
 wad thrust her wee bit haun' intil Donald's wes'coat 
 pocket, where he aye keepit the token, an' she wad 
 tak' it oot an' luik at it, an' no' ask for sweeties or 
 gang to sleep or greet, like ither bairns. And when 
 she was deein', she askit for it, and she dee'd wi' it in 
 her haun'. An' that verra nicht, when Donald an' 
 me was sittin' fon'lin' her gowden curls an' biddin' 
 ane anither no' to greet for ae broken hairt can 
 comfort anither broken hairt he slippit the token 
 frae oot her puir cauld wee haun', an' he read the 
 writin' that's on't oot lood : ' This do in remembrance 
 of Me,' an' he says, ' I'll dae it in remembrance o' 
 them baith, mither o' Christ an' oor Elsie an' 
 when I show forth the Lord's death till He come, I'll 
 aye think o' them baith, an' think o' them baith 
 thegither in the yonderland Christ an' oor Elsie 
 an' me an' you tae, mither, a' thegither in the 
 Faither's hoose.' An' a' the time o' the funeral he 
 hauded the token ticht, an' he keepit aye sayin' till 
 himsel', ' Christ an' oor Elsie an' us a'.'
 
 102 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " Next Sabbath was the sacrament, an' Donald gaed 
 alane, for I cudna gang wi' him, and that was the 
 day they tell't the fowk hoo communion cairds was 
 better, an' hoo they wudna use the tokens ony mair. 
 Then Donald grippit the seat, an' he rose an' gaed 
 oot o' the kirk, an' cam hame, an' gaed till his room, 
 an' I didna see his face till the gloamin'. Oh, min- 
 ister, dinna think owre hard aboot him. That's why 
 he never gaed mair to the kirk, for he loved oor 
 Elsie sair." 
 
 I pressed her hand in parting, but I spoke no 
 word, for I was thinking passionately of those golden 
 curls, and that little hand in which the token lay 
 tightly clasped ; but it was our Margaret's face that 
 was white upon the pillow. Love is a great in- 
 terpreter. 
 
 The next Sabbath morning saw Donald and Elsie 
 in the courts of Zion, and great peace was upon their 
 brows. When I ascended the pulpit stairs, they 
 were already in their ancestral pew, now the property 
 of Hector Campbell, who had abandoned it with joy, 
 only asking that he be given one in the gallery from 
 which he might see Donald's face. 
 
 We opened our service with the Scottish psalm 
 
 "How 
 
 ow lovely is Thy dwelling-place, 
 Oh, Lord of hosts, to me,"
 
 "By That SAME TOKEN" 103 
 
 and a strange thing befell us then. Donald was 
 singing huskily, struggling with a storm which had 
 its centre in his heart, all the more violent because it 
 was a summer storm and fed from the inmost tropics 
 of his soul. But it was the part Elsie took in that 
 great psalm which is still the wonder of all who were 
 there that day, though her voice hath long been 
 silent in the grave. She had, years before, been 
 reckoned the sweetest singer of all who helped to 
 swell St. Cuthbert's praise. Her voice had been 
 trained by none but God, yet its power and richness 
 were unequalled. But her last song had been by the 
 bedside of her dying child, and those who heard her 
 say there was not a faltering note. 
 
 And now her voice was released again, and her 
 unchained soul, aflame with its long-silent love for 
 the courts of Zion, found in that voice its highway 
 up to God. No psalm-book, no note of music made 
 by hand, no human thought repressed her or tram- 
 melled her exultant wing. Uncaged, she sang as 
 the lark sings when native meadows bid its exile 
 cease. 
 
 From the first note, clear and radiant, as on a 
 golden staircase her voice went upward with its 
 loving sacrifice. All eyes were turned upon her, all 
 other voices hushed in wonder, while even the won- 
 dering precentor abdicated to join the vassal throng.
 
 104 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 But she knew it not knew nothing, indeed, but 
 that she was again in the unforgotten house of God, 
 and pouring out her soul to the soul's great Com- 
 forter. And she sat down with the others when 
 the psalm was done, but wist not that her face 
 shone. 
 
 The kirk session was convened in my room after 
 the great service ceased, and the glow of joy was on 
 every face. This joy they carefully concealed, as 
 was their way, but I felt its heat even when I could 
 not see its gleam. One or two spoke briefly, and 
 their parted lips disclosed their deep rejoicing, but 
 only for a moment, as you have caught the bed of 
 flame behind the furnace's swiftly closing door. I 
 told them, in a word, of Donald and his Elsie and his 
 token. 
 
 They were stern men, and ruled the kirk with 
 sternness ; they had dealt faithfully with more than 
 one who sought to restore the reign of the token 
 against the expressed ruling of the session. They 
 nipped contumacy in the bud. 
 
 But it was moved by Ronald M'Gregor, and sec- 
 onded by Saunders M'Dermott, and unanimously 
 carried, " That the clerk be instructed to inform 
 Donald MThatter, and his wife Elsie MThatter, that
 
 "By That SAME TOKEN" 105 
 
 it is the will of the kirk session of St. Cuthbert's that 
 they be in no wise admitted to the sacrament except 
 on presentation of tokens regularly stamped and 
 bearing the date of 1845."
 
 XIII 
 WITH The WORKMEN 
 
 I THINK we first realized the worth of Angus 
 Strachan the year of the great strike among the 
 mechanics of New jedboro. That was a ter- 
 rible year, and the memory of it is dark and clammy 
 yet. For our whole town, and almost every man's 
 bread and butter, rose and fell with the industry or 
 the idleness of our great iron manufactories. To my 
 mind, the cause of the trouble was twofold : first, 
 that the proprietors were very rich ; and second, that 
 the agitators were very scoundrels. For we had as 
 happy a class of working men in New Jedboro, take 
 them on the whole, as the God of work looked down 
 upon. They were in receipt of fair and considerable 
 wages, their shops were clean and well ventilated, and 
 their hours reasonably short, especially if compared 
 to those poor creatures whom greed and selfishness 
 keep behind the counters till twelve o'clock on a Sat- 
 urday night. And I have noticed that those who 
 howl the loudest about long hours are those who 
 postpone their shopping till ten or eleven of these 
 same Saturday nights. 4 
 
 For the most part, they owned their own homes 
 106
 
 WITH The WORKMEN 107 
 
 and the plots of ground they gardened, and I do 
 contend that the watering-can and the spade and 
 the pruning knife are a means of grace. Very many 
 of them made twelve shillings a day, which is three 
 dollars in our good Canadian money, and some of the 
 highest paid made twice as much. And there was 
 work for them every working day and every working 
 hour of the day. 
 
 The peace was broken when two sleek and well- 
 dressed agitators came to town, agents for the Central 
 Organization, whose mild and pleasant duty it was to 
 tell free-born working-men when they were to work 
 and when to starve. 
 
 These gentlemen soon precipitated a general strike, 
 in which they took a highly sympathetic part, reviving 
 the flagging courage of half-starving wives and chil- 
 dren, exhorting them to endure unto the end ; and 
 be it said to their lasting credit, these aforesaid gen- 
 tlemen toiled faithfully to spread their new evangel, 
 desisting only three times a day, when they repaired 
 to their six-course meals at the Imperial Hotel. 
 
 They pointed out, between meals, to the hun- 
 gry men how well-pleasing was their hunger in 
 the sight of heaven, for it would help some fellow- 
 workmen three thousand miles away, and possibly be 
 of benefit to some few who had not yet been born. 
 Hunger, they pointed out with lofty ardour, might
 
 108 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 not be comfortable in every case, but it was glorious, 
 and in the line of immortal fame. All of this was 
 somewhat marred by their occasional gulping and 
 hiccoughing, for six-course dinners are not friendly 
 to ethereal oratory. When one of them got through, 
 the other, having finished the picking of his teeth, 
 would take the stand and divulge anew to these un- 
 derfed immortals the secrets of the Book of Life. 
 
 Then their poor dupes would cheer with a desper- 
 ate attempt at courage, but it was to me like the 
 bleating of sheep that are led to the slaughter. 
 Wearily they sought their once happy homes, to find 
 empty larders and broken-hearted wives, their won- 
 dering children crying for the necessities they had 
 never lacked before, their clothes in tatters, and the 
 roses departed from their cheeks. 
 
 Many a sick wife and ailing child did I visit then, 
 pining for the little delicacies their breadwinner could 
 not afford to buy all of this at the behest of two 
 bespangled gentlemen, who even then were writing 
 to their distant wives, enclosing substantial checks, 
 and descanting eloquently upon the sumptuous fare 
 at the aforesaid Imperial Hotel. 
 
 Two sights there are in this panoramic world which 
 greatly madden me, and they are twins. 
 
 The first is the spectacle of a pot-bellied landlord, 
 his wife and family sated with every luxury, as he
 
 WITH The WORKMEN 109 
 
 smilingly takes across the bar have you ever seen a 
 snake swallow its prey, an equally slimy sight ? the 
 five-cent piece of some poor fellow whose child hath 
 neither toy nor bread, and whose broken wife, strug- 
 gling in God's name to shield her children from in- 
 decency and want, will tremblingly explore his 
 pocketbook at midnight, only to find every farthing 
 of his wages gone. For the aforesaid smiling land- 
 lord hath poured it into the satin lap of the equally 
 smiling wife at the Travellers' Rest. 
 
 And the other sight is the spectacle of a compla- 
 cent gentleman, organ for the Trades and Labour 
 Union, who alighteth from his Pullman car to ply his 
 incendiary trade, living in the lap of luxury, while 
 weeping wives stroke the famished faces of their 
 hungry bairns and dumbly plead with God that this 
 cruel strike may soon be over. 
 
 It was at such a time as this that Angus first im- 
 pressed us with his real power. We had seen much 
 of him in the years that had passed since he spent 
 his first New Jedboro night beneath our roof. Often 
 and often he would spend the evening with us, chat- 
 ting on pleasant topics or teaching our Margaret the 
 high things of chess, at which he was well-nigh a 
 master. But I little dreamed then what fateful moves 
 there may be even in a game of chess, what mating 
 and checkmating and sundry other operations
 
 no ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 may be sublimely mingled in that so interesting 
 struggle. 
 
 We heard with pleasure that Angus was making 
 rare progress in his chosen trade, and even now, al- 
 though early in his twenties, he was head draughts- 
 man in all that great establishment. Night schools, 
 with wide and constant reading, had made his Eng- 
 lish almost as good as new, and the shabby lad of 
 six or seven years ago was now a citizen amongst us 
 of repute and promise. 
 
 But that is no rare occurrence in this new world of 
 ours, where men have better chances than the rigid 
 ways of the old land will afford. For old Scotland 
 means that her mountains shall remain mountains, 
 and her valleys she purposes shall be valleys ever- 
 more; and I make little doubt that Mr. Carnegie 
 would have been ranked with the valleys till they re- 
 ceived his dust had he never sought the wider spaces 
 of our Western World. From which Western World 
 both their hills and valleys have received his dust in 
 rich abundance. 
 
 Passing a crowded hall one night when this indus- 
 trial storm was at its height, I heard a voice which 
 seemed familiar addressing the excited men, and 
 surely there hath never before or since been heard a 
 speech of greater sense and soundness. 
 
 " Are we working men fools enough," he was ask-
 
 WTIH The WORKMEN in 
 
 ing as I entered, " to be led by the nose at the will 
 of these strangers who want us to strike in the in- 
 terests of Chicago or St. Louis or San Francisco ? 
 Charity begins at home, and our first duty is to look 
 after our own. If we are going to have dictators in 
 this matter, let us choose them from honest workers 
 among ourselves, and not from high-salaried impor- 
 tations such as these. Look at their hands the next 
 time you get a chance, and tell me why they are so 
 smooth and white. None of your diamond-ringed 
 fraternity for me," cried Angus with growing passion. 
 
 At this point Jack Slater interrupted. Jack was 
 famed for his hearty resistance to every industrious 
 instinct, resolutely denying himself the much-lauded 
 sweets of toil. He was the leading Socialist of the 
 town, hating every man who was an actual toiler with 
 his hands, always excepting the well-fed agitators, 
 whom he worshipped with ignorant devotion. 
 
 " I just want fer to ask Mr. Strachan one question. 
 What right has them fellows what owns the foundries 
 to be makin' ropes of money while the likes of us 
 only gets our two dollars a day ? Let us have equal- 
 ity, that's what I say. Give me equality or give me 
 death. God made one man as good as another, and 
 it's the devil as tries to make them different. Let's 
 divide up, that's what I say, and don't have them fel- 
 lows sportin' round in their carriages and goin' to
 
 ti2 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 Europe, while the rest of us is sweatin' through the 
 dog days in the shops." 
 
 Loud murmurs of approval broke from a hundred 
 sullen lips, and Bob Taylor, encouraged by Jack's 
 success, jumped to his feet and shouted 
 
 " I hopes as how all the fellers '11 stand firm and 
 bring the bosses up with the short turn. We kin do 
 it, for we're the lads as makes their money for them. 
 What them kerridge fellows needs is a bash or two 
 in the jaw from the horny hand of toil. I goes in 
 fer rotten-eggin' all the scabs as agrees to work lower 
 nor the wage we set, and if that won't do, I goes in 
 fer duckin' 'em ; and if duckin' won't do, I goes in 
 fer fixin' 'em so's they won't work nowheres. If this 
 is a free country, let's have our share of the kerridges 
 I believe in equality the same as Jack." 
 
 These views were received with renewed expres- 
 sions of approval, for to most of the excited men 
 they seem quite unanswerable. 
 
 " That's the ticket ; make 'em walk the plank. 
 We're just as good as them," I heard some burly 
 mechanic mutter. 
 
 The eager audience turned towards Angus, await- 
 ing his reply, if haply reply could be provided. It 
 has been my lot to hear many strong addresses, but 
 I esteem this answering speech of Angus's among 
 the strongest utterances I have heard.
 
 The WORKMEN 113 
 
 " Mr. Slater wishes," he began, " to know by what 
 right our employers make more money than we do. 
 In answer, let me ask him by what right Bill Mont- 
 gomery, the foreman in the moulding shop, gets 
 more money every pay-day than Tom Coxford, who 
 is one of his men. I suppose he will admit it is be- 
 cause Bill has more ability and more experience than 
 Tom ; he will also admit that the difference in their 
 wages is a just difference, and indeed I have never 
 heard any one find fault with it. Well, carry out 
 that principle, and some one who has more skill 
 than Montgomery will get more money than he gets. 
 Then there will be some one above him again, and 
 so on till you get to the head of the firm. If differ- 
 ing wages are just at all and every one admits they 
 are then how can you deny their legitimate profits 
 to the men whose industry and business ability have 
 established the concern and guided it along to what 
 it is to-day ? 
 
 " Mr. Slater says that men are all equal. I don't 
 agree with him. It is clear that God means some 
 men to be rich and others to be less rich. If a man 
 quarrels with the inequality among men, his quarrel 
 is with God. God makes some men richer than 
 others to begin with. When we see the highest 
 riches, like those of brains and strength, unequally 
 divided, we need not wonder to see the lesser riches
 
 H4 ST. CUTHBER T' S 
 
 somewhat unevenly distributed. God gives one man, 
 or a woman like Jenny Lind, a voice that means a 
 thousand dollars a night as often as they want to 
 sing, and He gives another man a voice like an 
 alarm-clock or a buzz-saw. He gives one man a 
 mind that seems always to be full, and another man 
 a mind, let him do his best, that is always as empty 
 as a last year's nest. Surely I have more ground for 
 envying the man who is born with more brains than 
 I than the man who is born with more wealth than I. 
 And yet God alone is responsible for the first-named 
 inequality. We hear too much rubbish about this 
 theory of all men being equal born. 
 
 " As for Bob Taylor's hint that we should employ 
 violence to prevent men working for what wage they 
 please, I have only this to say, that nobody but a 
 lazy dog like him would suggest such a policy. 
 
 " We all know that when the whistle blows in 
 the morning, Bob always tries how much of it he 
 can hear before he goes in ; and when it blows at 
 night, he tries how much of it he can hear after he 
 gets out. Bob is always slow at the end where he 
 ought to be quick, and quick at the end where all 
 honest men try at least to be decently slow ; and then 
 he talks to us about ducking some poor fellow who 
 wants to make an honest living for his wife and chil- 
 dren. I will say this much, too, that if the time ever
 
 WITH The WORKMEN 115 
 
 comes when a free-born man cannot sell his labour 
 in the market for what price he likes, then I will turn 
 my back upon the old flag and leave its soil forever. 
 
 " Now, I am going to ask Mr. Slater a question 
 or two about this dividing up business. 
 
 " Do you think, Mr. Slater, if a man has a mil- 
 lion dollars, that he ought to divide up with the man 
 who has very little, if that man happens to be work- 
 ing for him ? " 
 
 " Most sartintly," replied Jack. 
 
 " Very well, if a man has ten thousand dollars, 
 should he divide up with a poorer man who works 
 for him ? " 
 
 " Sure," answered Jack promptly. 
 
 " Well, suppose a man has a house and a little gar- 
 den, and he has a man hired to help dig it or repair 
 it, should he divide up with this poorer workman who 
 has neither house nor garden ? " 
 
 Jack hesitated, his brows knit in thought ; then he 
 answered slowly 
 
 " Naw, I don't just think so. " 
 
 " Why not ? " said Angus. 
 
 "Well, 'twouldn't be fair; besides, I happen to 
 have a little house and garden of my own." 
 
 Then all that crowd of men exploded in a burst of 
 derisive laughter which set the seal of triumph on 
 Angus's argument.
 
 n6 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 After the uproar had subsided, an intrepid Scots- 
 man, only a few months in New Jedboro, volunteered 
 to address the meeting. 
 
 " I canna jist answer the argyments o' Mr. Strachan, 
 but I maun pit forrit my idea that oor wives and 
 bairns haena the luxuries o' them as owns the works. 
 I canna but mind that Robbie Burns said, 'A man's a 
 man for a' that,' an' I thocht the present a fittin' oc- 
 casion to mind ye o' the words, bein' as we're met 
 the nicht to speak oot against slavery o' ilka kind." 
 
 " No man who knows me," replied Angus, " will 
 say that I will either yield to slavery or assist it in 
 any form. But the man who calls himself a slave be- 
 cause his employer has more money than he, is no 
 friend to honest labour. We would all like wealth, but 
 wealth is neither happiness nor liberty. After all, 
 the men whom we envy have not so much more than 
 we ; they can only lie on one pillow at a time, can 
 only eat one mouthful at a time, can only smoke one 
 cigar at a time, and as for the kind of couch a man 
 sits down upon, it matters little so that he has earned 
 his rest by honest toil. 
 
 " My Scottish friend hardly realizes what he says. 
 I know he has a wife and a sweet little lassie. There 
 is Mr. Blake, the richest of our manufacturers, and he. 
 has neither the one nor the other. Now I ask my 
 compatriot, would he trade his lot for that of Mr,
 
 WITH The WORKMEN 117 
 
 Blake with all his money ? He answers no. Then 
 who is the richer man Mr. Blake, or our fellow- 
 workman from auld Scotland ? 
 
 " Speaking of Scotland, let me say this one word. 
 I lived there till I was a well-grown lad, as did scores 
 of you, and I defy you to contradict me when I say 
 that we are a hundred times better off here than 
 we were among the sheep or behind the ploughs 
 in the old land, neither of which we could hardly ever 
 hope to call our own. Were we not there accounted 
 almost as sheep for the slaughter ? How much bet- 
 ter were we than the kine we tended ? Were not we 
 even driven from the land we rented at a cruel price, 
 that some haughty lord might make a deer-run of 
 the place ? What were we there but grovelling vas- 
 sals, and what hope had we ever to be independent, 
 or to own even a house in which to die? 
 
 " I do not need to tell you of the difference here, 
 of how the most of us have our own little homes, 
 and count our friends among the best people in New 
 Jedboro ; and three-fourths of the aldermen in our 
 council, and the trustees of our schools, and the 
 elders of our kirks, are from the ranks of honest 
 labour. 
 
 " Let us thank God we have escaped from the class 
 tyranny and the peasant bondage of the land beyond 
 the seas."
 
 n8 S7. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 A new and different light was now upon the rapt 
 faces of the men and the end of it all was that they 
 turned the diamond-ringed gentlemen from their 
 doors.
 
 XIV 
 WITH The EMPLOYERS 
 
 NOR was this the last of Angus's eloquence. 
 A few days later the manufacturers, being 
 met in conclave at Mr. Blake's office, sent 
 for the young Scotsman and personally thanked him 
 for his good offices in settling the strike. Both sorts 
 were there the kind and the unkind, the gentleman 
 and the churl but all alike united in grateful praise 
 for the mediation which Angus had accomplished. 
 Many unctuous things were said, but when one 
 tyrant arose to speak his gratitude, Angus's face bore 
 a look which boded ill. 
 
 " We're glad," said Mr. M'Dougall, swelling with 
 vulgar pompousness, " to see that you recognize the 
 rights of property and the claims of vested interests. 
 And we trust," he added, " that Labour has learned 
 a lesson it will not soon forget." Then he sat down 
 with the majesty of a balloon descending. 
 
 " I am glad, sir," replied Angus, " to have been of 
 service in quelling a movement led by selfish and 
 grasping strangers, but I may at the same time say 
 
 that it would be well for Mr,. M'Dougall and his 
 
 119
 
 120 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 kind to pay more heed himself to the rights of 
 property. For skill and industry and faithfulness 
 are property just as much as Mr. M'Dougall's 
 vested interests. And he may as well be warned 
 that Labour will not forever tolerate the selfishness 
 and the pride with which he treats his hands." 
 
 " I move," interrupted Mr. Thoburn, himself a 
 gifted tyrant, " that this meeting do now adjourn." 
 
 " This meeting will do nothing of the sort." 
 This time it was Mr. Blake who spoke, and there 
 was iron in his voice. " None of us thought Mr. 
 Strachan spoke too long when he was dealing with 
 the agitators from Chicago, and let us hear him out, 
 unless we are bigger cowards than the men who 
 work for us." 
 
 The meeting endorsed these sentiments, and Angus 
 resumed 
 
 " I speak in the interests of Capital," he said, 
 " when I declare that the fault is not all on the side 
 of the working man. Many of our employers are 
 kind and sympathetic men, but others of them are 
 not. I envy no man among you the wealth he has 
 gathered, but the selfishness of some of our manu- 
 facturers is maddening to the working man. 
 
 " Some of you know nothing of our trials and our 
 difficulties, and, what is worse, you do not want 
 to know. You pass by the men who are mak-
 
 WITH The EMPLOYERS 121 
 
 ing you rich as though they were the dogs of the 
 street. You sit next pew to them in the kirk, and 
 yet treat them like the dirt beneath your feet. It is 
 doubtless your conviction that you have discharged 
 your whole duty to us when you pay our wages 
 every fortnight. I tell you," he cried passionately, 
 " that is the great fallacy which is yet to prove the un- 
 doing of the employers of labour. 
 
 " You forget we are men, as well as you, and have 
 higher claims upon you than your pay sheet ac- 
 knowledges. If our employer dies, we follow him 
 in a body to his grave. If one of us dies, you 
 drive past his hearse with your haughty carriages, 
 or bolt down a side street to avoid the association. 
 
 " Tom Lamplough, who has worked for Mr. 
 Thoburn twenty years, buried his only child last 
 Thursday, and his employer spent the afternoon 
 speeding his thoroughbred on the race-track beside 
 the cemetery. At the very moment when Tom was 
 groping about the open grave, struggling with his 
 broken heart and following his daughter with stream- 
 ing eyes, Mr. Thoburn was bawling out that his filly 
 had done it in two and a quarter and the clods 
 were falling on the coffin all the while." 
 
 At this juncture Thoburn arose, his face the very 
 colour of the corpse he had disdained. 
 
 " Will no man throttle this fanatic ? " he hoarsely
 
 122 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 craved. " Must we be insulted thus by a mere work- 
 ing man ? " 
 
 " I insult no man," retorted his accuser, " when I 
 tell him but the truth. It was you who insulted 
 the dead, and outraged her desolate father because 
 he was but your servant. Is what I say the truth ? " 
 
 " I decline to answer that," said Thoburn. 
 
 " You will not decline to answer before the throne 
 of God. For you and Tom will meet yonder. 
 Good God, man, did you ever think of that ? Did 
 it ever occur to you that you and Tom will take 
 your last ride in the same conveyance, and have the 
 same upholstery in the tomb? And somebody 
 else's filly will be making its mile in less time than 
 yours when the clods are falling on your coffin." 
 
 I have often marvelled at this strange power of 
 rhetoric in an untutored man ; but it only confirmed 
 what I am more and more inclined to believe that 
 emotion and intellect are twins, and that the soul is 
 oratory's native home. 
 
 There was a pause, but it was brief. For there 
 flew to the rescue of his beleaguered brother Mr. 
 Hiram Orme, the millionaire proprietor of the great 
 Acme works. Vulgar and proud, he lived a life of 
 ostentatious luxury. 
 
 No thought of the poor or the suffering ever dis- 
 turbed the shallow tenor of his enamelled existence
 
 WITH The EMPLOYERS 123 
 
 Secure in the fortress of wealth, which is a lie ! he 
 cared nothing for such wounded soldiers as had 
 helped to build it, or for their widows or their or- 
 phans. With all sail set, he careened on his incon- 
 siderate way, and the vessels whose side he sought 
 were never those bearing the signals of distress. 
 
 Mr. Hiram Orme had a high contempt for all 
 working men, and a keen suspicion of every attitude 
 which smacked of liberty. The working man, like 
 the negro, was happier far in a state of semi-slavery 
 such was the honest view of the honest man. 
 
 And now he was upon his feet, glaring with wrath, 
 profoundly complacent in the assurance of superior 
 wealth, and prepared to demolish both Angus and 
 the King's English at a blow. 
 
 " Them's nice words," he broke forth, " for a 
 working man to be using to the man what he's 
 dependent on for to get his bread and butter. And 
 I want for to tell this man Strachan that beggars 
 can't be choosers. A pretty preachment he's givin* 
 us about coffins and them like things. There's one 
 thing certain, and that is, me and the rest of my 
 brother manufacturers will have a sight finer coffins 
 than him and his sort will have." The manufacturers 
 shuddered, like men sitting in some deadly draught. 
 
 " We've had jist about enough sass from our 
 young friend, I think; he's nothin' but a hewer of
 
 I2 4 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 wood and a drawer of water for us anyhow. Doesn't 
 the Bible tell servants like him for to be obedient to 
 their masters ? " 
 
 Then Angus's Scotch blood leaped, protesting, to 
 his face, and his soul tore open his burning lips as 
 the tide bursts a dam built by children's hands. 
 
 " I eat honest bread, earned by honest toil," he 
 hotly cried, " and that is more than Mr. Orme can 
 say. I would beg from door to door before I would 
 munch, as he does, the crusts that are stained with 
 blood. We all know how he has ground his working 
 girls to the earth, how he has refused to ventilate his 
 factories, and even to heat them decently in the 
 winter time. We all know how he has spurned the 
 poor and the needy with his foot, and how he has 
 crawled upon his belly before the rich and great. I 
 will tell you something about Mr. Orme. It does 
 not apply to all of you. Some of you, thank God ! 
 have remembered that your working men were hu- 
 man beings like yourselves you have helped and 
 befriended the sick and the poor, you have pensioned 
 the closing years of faithful men. You have called 
 yourselves to ask for our sick and dying, and we 
 have blessed you for it. What poor burdened hearts 
 want is the warm heart touch from your own hands 
 or lips, but Mr. Orme has given neither the one nor 
 the other.
 
 WITH The EMPLOYERS 125 
 
 ' Mr. Orme, do you remember Dick Draper, who 
 was your boss carder, and who lives in a little house 
 behind your mansion ? Do you remember that he 
 worked for you ten or fifteen years, and that you dis- 
 charged him because he would not leave the Union ? " 
 
 " Yes, I remember him. Why ? " answered Orme 
 huskily. 
 
 " I will tell you why. A few months after you dis- 
 charged him, partly because his health failed and partly 
 because you blackballed him at all other shops, he 
 was still out of work, his money all gone, his pantry 
 bare, and his youngest boy dying of a slow disease 
 of the spine. Some of us went to you and asked 
 you to help us raise enough to send him to Montreal 
 for treatment that might save his life. You showed 
 us the door, and told us to tell him he could make 
 his money like you made yours. You said if the 
 boy died it would be one mouth less for Dick to 
 feed, and told us there was a grand old maxim about 
 every man for himself and the devil have the hinder- 
 most. As we were going down your splendid avenue, 
 you shouted that Dick's spine was stiff enough when 
 he joined the Union. Then you asked us if spines 
 were hereditary. Then you laughed and your barns 
 and your grand driving sheds echoed back its cruel 
 mockery." 
 
 Orme arose and started towards the door.
 
 Ii6 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " Mr. Chairman, I protest," he began. 
 
 " Sit doon," thundered Angus, lapsing into his 
 native tongue, " sit doon till I tell ye a'. The nicht 
 Dick's boy was deein', we went to ye and begged ye 
 to stop yir music and yir dancin'. For ye had some 
 graun' fowk at yir pairty, an' the flowers for it 
 cost ye mair nor wad hae sent the laddie to Montreal. 
 An' the noise fashed an' fretted the deein' bairn. 
 But ye bade us begone, an' said ye'd invite us to yir 
 pairty when ye wanted us an' the puir laddie dee'd 
 in his faither's airms to the cruel music o' yir riddles 
 an' yir reels, an' his farther sat wi' him a' the nicht, 
 croonin' wi' sorrow, an' yir graun' guests' laughter 
 breakin' on him like a blizzard frae the north." 
 
 " Is the sermon nearly done ? " said Mr. Orme, 
 with a sneer. " You missed your calling ; you're a 
 preacher." The hot tears were in Angus' eyes and 
 he seemed to have forgotten that Orme was present, 
 the taunt lost upon him. 
 
 " I will say no more," turning now to the others, 
 " and I have perhaps spoken over warmly. But I 
 have uttered no word other than the truth. And 1 
 will only make my last appeal, which I know will 
 have some weight, with most of you, at least. The 
 remedy for all this threatening trouble lies in mutual 
 sympathy, for I doubt not you have your own diffi- 
 culties, even as we have ours. I am glad to have
 
 WITH the EMPLOYERS 127 
 
 helped to allay this recent trouble, and my best serv- 
 ice shall never be denied you in the future. But I 
 pray you to consider the words of a man who wishes 
 you nothing else but good. Pardon what of violence 
 and ponder what of reason has been mixed with what 
 I said. Capital has its labour, and labour has its 
 capital and we are all toilers together." 
 
 He bowed to the employers and withdrew, but the 
 seed his hand had cast was fallen, some no doubt on 
 rocky ground, but some also on good and honest 
 soil. 
 
 And Angus had won a victory; but his greatest 
 triumph was unseen, for he had ruled his own spirit, 
 which high authority assures us is greater than the 
 taking of a city. 
 
 Not inconsiderable, too, were the outward pledges 
 of his victory. For, as we said, the sleek agitators 
 had been dismissed, the mills and factories were run- 
 ning again, and the industrial tides of life in New 
 Jedboro gradually subsided into their old channels. 
 
 And now those unseen forces that are ever silently 
 working to upset old standards and to displace old 
 ways, broke out in a new form, this time threatening 
 the very centre of one of St. Cuthbert's most estab- 
 lished customs.
 
 XV 
 A BOLD PROPOSAL 
 
 I HE old precentor's box beneath the pulpit 
 was still St. Cuthbert's only choir loft. 
 Many years back, the iconoclasts among 
 them had managed to gather a few of the most song- 
 ful ones together in a front pew, demurely sitting as 
 part of the congregation, but concentrated for pur- 
 poses of leadership. This proved, however, more 
 than St. Cuthbert's could abide, and its mal-odour of 
 " High Church " alarmed the Scottish Presbyterians. 
 Going down the aisle, Saunders M'Tavish voiced the 
 general alarm in sententious tones 
 
 " The thin end o' the wedge," he warningly ex- 
 claimed, " and it's no' a far cry noo to the candles an' 
 the incense. They'll be bringin' ower the pope 
 next," and the kirk session, convening the next 
 night, soon stopped that leakage in their ancestral 
 dyke. 
 
 Since then the precentor's box had preserved its 
 lonely splendour. Within it, in the far-back thun- 
 derous days of their great Boanerges, the precentor 
 stood to lead the swelling psalm as it rose from the 
 
 128
 
 A BOLD PROPOSAL 129 
 
 seated multitude for they stood to pray, but sat 
 to sing. From the fast-gathering mists that now 
 threaten those receding years, surviving ones still 
 rescue images of the precentor's ruffled locks, swept 
 by the pentecostal swirl so seemed it to his worship- 
 pers of Dr. Grant's Geneva gown. And in this 
 same box Sabbath after Sabbath appeared the stal- 
 wart form of Archie M'Cormack, modern in nothing 
 but his years. 
 
 His was a conservatism of the intense and pas- 
 sionate sort ; not the choice of his judgment, but the 
 deepest element of his life. He no more chose old 
 ways, old paths, or the spirit of earlier times, than 
 the trout chooses water or the Polar bear its native 
 snows. He was born not among them, but of them, 
 and remained till death their incarnate descendant. 
 No mere Scotch kirkman was Archie, but a prehis- 
 toric Calvinist, a Presbyterian by the act of God and 
 an elder from all eternity. Even his youthful 
 thoughts and imaginations adjusted themselves to 
 the scope of the Westminster Confession, abhorring 
 any horizon unillumined by the gray light which 
 flowed in mathematical exactitude from a hypothet- 
 ical heart in the Shorter Catechism. 
 
 Although, strangely enough, Archie could never 
 master the catechism. A random question was his 
 doom. Catechise him straight through, and his re-
 
 130 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 sponse was swift and accurate. No thrust availed 
 against him, a knight invincible in his well-pieced 
 coat of mail, a very dragon of orthodoxy from whose 
 lips there issued clouds of Calvinism, till the minister 
 himself was often well-nigh obscured thereby. But 
 once dip Archie into the middle of its mighty bosom 
 to search an answer there, and he would never reap- 
 pear, or, if he haply might, it would be with sorry 
 fragments of divers answers in his hands, incongruous 
 to absurdity. Is not the same true of babbling 
 guides in old cathedrals ? 
 
 " What is sin ? " the minister once suddenly asked 
 Archie in the course of catechetical visitation, the 
 district being assembled at one central house. 
 Archie's answer, being a mosaic, is still quoted by 
 those who heard it, terror-stricken where they sat. 
 
 " Sin," replied the wide-gleaning man, " is an act 
 of God's free grace, infinite, eternal, and unchange- 
 able in its full purpose of and endeavour after new 
 obedience." 
 
 This terrible and miscellaneous eruption was the 
 more lamentable from the fact that his poor wife 
 heard this blare of discordant dogmas with unbeliev- 
 ing ears, while even little Kirsty gasped, exclaiming 
 above her breath, " Ye're sair muddled, faither." 
 
 Archie looked vacantly from wife to daughter, like 
 one who has let something drop. Then gazing de-
 
 A BOLD PROPOSAL 131 
 
 spondently at the minister's struggling face, he said, 
 " I'm feart that's no' jist richt in a' its parteeklars." 
 The epilogue was worse than the tragedy. A grim 
 Presbyterian smile went round, more vocal than the 
 echoing laughter of less silent sects, and it smote on 
 Archie's ears like the scorners' bray. Forward went 
 the catechism, a penitential gloom succeeding the 
 sinful indulgence. The Scottish sun dips suddenly. 
 
 Sober enough now are the faces from which all mer- 
 riment has fled, forgetting the precentor's discom- 
 fiture, and looking only to their own deliverance 
 from the guns now turned against themselves. But 
 Archie did not forget into a secret Scottish place he 
 had retreated, his hot, burning heart forging some 
 weapon of revenge. It was ready in due time. An 
 hour after, just before the armistice which the bene- 
 diction alone made sure, he turned upon the honest 
 rustics with a look of belated triumph in his face, and 
 slew them with the retort which long travail had 
 brought forth. 
 
 " A'm no' sae gleg on the subject o' sin as some 
 fowk I ken." 
 
 The minister, by aid of special grace, said nothing. 
 Archie, although he held solemnly on his way 
 through the benediction, as became a precentor, yet 
 chuckled exultantly all the homeward road. At 
 evening worship he selected the Twenty-seventh
 
 132 57. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 Psalm and sang the second verse with rejoicing 
 unction 
 
 " Whereas mine enemies and foes, 
 
 Most wicked persons all, 
 To eat my flesh against me rose, 
 They stumbled and did fall," 
 
 and the honest rustics, as they sought the cover of 
 their homes with emancipated feet, pronounced one 
 to the other that most Scotch of all Scottish verdicts, 
 half of eulogy and half of condemnation : " He's a 
 lad, is Airchie. Ay, Airchie's a lad to be sure." 
 
 What sleuth-hounds women are in matters of the 
 heart! How quickly they take the scent of any 
 path, virgin though it be, if that path hath been 
 touched by the very feet of love, tracing its devious 
 course with passionate inerrancy. 
 
 I thought the news trifling, when I told my wife 
 that Angus and our Margaret had appeared before 
 St. Cuthbert's session to present a certain prayer. 
 My mind was taken up exclusively with the request 
 they proffered. But Margaret's mother was uncon- 
 cerned with their plea. Of the pleaders she thought 
 alone. Divers questions she flung forth at me, 
 furtive all, their author in ambush all the while. 
 
 " Did they seem interested in each other ? " was the
 
 A BOLD PROPOSAL 133 
 
 burden of them all ; for, though she avoided plain- 
 ness of speech, I could yet detect her hidden fear. 
 
 But I must turn from this and tell of the enterprise 
 in whose interest Margaret and Angus bearded the 
 lions of St. Cuthbert's in their den. They repre- 
 sented the Young People's Guild, and presented the 
 startling request that the old kirk should henceforth 
 employ an organ to aid the service of praise on the 
 Sabbath day. And they further asked for the intro- 
 duction of the hymns. This implied a revolution, 
 for St. Cuthbert's, up to this time, had resolutely re- 
 sisted all attempts to hallow such profanities. 
 
 For the youthful pair of revolutionists I felt a 
 decided sympathy, such as pervades every generous 
 heart when it beholds the dauntless approach of 
 David towards Goliath. Such citadels of orthodoxy, 
 such Gibraltars of conservatism as Archie was, were 
 almost all the elders of St. Cuthbert's. And against 
 them all united did Angus and Margaret dare to 
 turn their poor artillery of persuasion. 
 
 The session received them cordially, having all 
 goodwill towards them personally, hating the sin 
 but loving the sinners, to employ a good old 
 theological phrase. Angus began, adroitly enough, 
 with a eulogy of the psalms and paraphrases, defin- 
 ing them as the mountain peaks of song in all ages 
 and in every tongue.
 
 134 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " In far-distant Scotland my mother is singing 
 them to-night," he said, " and I catch the glow 
 and the sweetness of the heather when the kirk 
 rings with their high refrain ilka Sabbath day. But 
 we feel that the hymns, even if they be inferior, will 
 add richness and variety to the service of our beloved 
 kirk." 
 
 As for the organ, he contended that it was only a 
 means towards an end, man-made though it was ; for 
 these stern men were rigid in their distinction be- 
 tween things made with hands and things inspired. 
 
 Angus quoted Scripture on behalf of the organ 
 plea, recalling David's use of instrumental music and 
 quoting the Ninety -second Psalm 
 
 " Upon a ten-stringed instrument 
 And on the psaltery, 
 Upon the harp with solemn sound 
 And grave, sweet melody." 
 
 I then called upon Margaret, and my heart mis- 
 gave me as I spoke her name, for she was full of 
 pathetic hopefulness, and seemed to think that 
 Angus 's argument had settled things beyond appeal. 
 But I knew better than she what spray could do with 
 frowning rocks. The elders, too, smiled tenderly 
 upon her, for they were chivalrous in their solemn 
 way, and besides, she was what you might call the 
 church's first-born child, the story of which I have
 
 A BOLD PROPOSAL 135 
 
 already told. But theirs was a kind of executioners' 
 smile, for they were iron-blooded men, who felt that 
 they had heard but now the trumpeting of the 
 enemy at the gate. 
 
 Margaret timidly expressed the view that she 
 need, and would, add nothing more, " for," she 
 concluded, " Mr. Strachan has covered the ground 
 completely." This phrase " covered the ground " I 
 do not believe she had ever used before, but every 
 true child of the manse and the kirk is born its 
 legitimate heir. " The previous question " is an- 
 other matter, and can be acquired only through 
 laborious years. It takes even a moderator all 
 his time to explain it; before most Presbyteries 
 quite master it, death moves it and then they 
 understand. 
 
 Poor Margaret seemed to think that Angus had 
 made out a case which no elder could successfully 
 assail. She knew not that there are some matters 
 which Scotch elders consider it impious even to dis- 
 cuss, holding in scorn the flaccid axiom that there 
 are two sides to every question. 
 
 The youthful petitioners withdrew, and the session 
 indulged itself in a long silence, their usual mode of 
 signifying that important business was before them. 
 
 The first to speak was Ronald M'Gregor : " We'll 
 no' be needin' a motion," he said, by way of indicat-
 
 136 ST. CUT HBER T'S 
 
 ing that there could be no two opinions on the matter 
 in hand. 
 
 " We'll hae to move that the peteetion be re- 
 jeckit," said Elder M'Tavish, nodding his head to 
 signify his agreement with Ronald's main contention. 
 
 " The puir bodies mean richt," he added, being 
 distinguished for Christian charity. 
 
 The motion was as good as agreed to, silent con- 
 sent appearing upon every face, when Michael Blake 
 arose. 
 
 " I move in amendment, that the young people's 
 request be referred to a committee, with a view to its 
 favourable consideration." 
 
 " I second that," said Sandy Grant, the session 
 clerk, " not thereby committin' masel' to its spirit, 
 but to bring it afore the court in regular order." 
 
 " What for div we need anither motion ? " said 
 Thomas Laidlaw, evidently perplexed. " There's 
 nane o' us gaun to gie in to thae man-made hymes 
 an' their kist o' whustles wad be fair redeek'lus." 
 
 " Let us hear what they have to say in its behalf," 
 said Mr. Blake. " Every honest man should be open 
 to conviction." 
 
 " We're a' honest men," replied Thomas, " an' 
 we're a' open to conviction, but I houp nane o' us 
 '11 be weak eneuch to be convickit. Oor faithers 
 wadna hae been convickit."
 
 A BOLD PROPOSAL 137 
 
 " It'll dae nae harm to hear the argyments," said 
 Andrew Hogg, the silent member of the session. 
 
 At this juncture, fearing what Saunders M'Tavish 
 had long ago called the thin edge o' the wedge, 
 Archie M'Cormack, the precentor, came forward 
 in hot alarm, championing the hosts of orthodoxy. 
 
 " The session '11 mebbe listen to me, for I've been 
 yir precentor these mony years. We'll hae nae mair 
 o' thae havers. Wha wants their hymes ? Naebody 
 excep' a wheen o' gigglin' birkies. Gie them the 
 hymes, an' we'll hear Martyrdom nae mair, an' 
 Coleshill an' Duke Street '11 be by. For what did 
 oor faithers dee if it wasna for the psalms o' Dauvit ? 
 An' they dee'd to the tunes I've named to ye." 
 
 " But Mr. M'Cormack will admit," said Mr. Blake, 
 " that many of God's people worship to profit with 
 the hymns. There is the Episcopal church across 
 the way. Last Sabbath I am told their soprano 
 sang ' Lead, kindly Light,' and it was well received." 
 
 " Wha receivit it ? " thundered Archie. " Tell me 
 that, sir. Wha receivit it ? Was it Almichty God, 
 or was it the itchin' lugs o' deein' men, aye heark- 
 enin' to thae skirlin' birkies wi' their men-made 
 hymes ? " 
 
 " Mr. M'Cormack is severe," replied Michael Blake 
 serenely, " but I think he is unnecessarily alarmed ; 
 we must keep our service up to date. As the session
 
 138 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 knows, I have always been in favour, for instance, of 
 the modern fashion of special services at Christmas, 
 Eastertide, and kindred seasons. And at such times 
 we ought to have a little special music." 
 
 " Up to date ! " retorted Archie scornfully ; " it's a 
 sair date an' a deein' ane. It'll dee the nicht, an' 
 there'll be a new ane the morn, an' wha ever heard 
 tell-o' an Easter Sabbath in the Kirk o' Scotland? 
 It'll dae weel eneuch for thae dissentin' bodies, wi' 
 their prayer-books, but what hae we, wi' the psalm- 
 buik, an' a regular ministry, an' a regular kirk, to dae 
 wi' siclike follies ? Ilka Sabbath day is Easter day, 
 I'm tellin' ye. Is oor Lord no' aye risin' frae the 
 dead ? Gin a soul braks intil new life, or a deein' 
 man pillows his weary heid on Him, or the heavy- 
 herted staun' up in His michty strength, ye hae yir 
 Easter Sabbath; an' that's ilka Sabbath, I'm sayin'. 
 Nane o' yir enawmelled bit toys for Presbyterian 
 fowk." 
 
 " I do not want to interfere with the good old 
 Presbyterian ways," responded Mr. Blake; for the 
 elders seemed to have committed the entire debate 
 to those two representatives of the old school and the 
 new. " But it seems to me the whole Christian re- 
 ligion is a religion of change," he continued ; " the 
 new path, the new and living way, the new covenant, 
 the new name, the new song and the new heart,"
 
 A BOLD PROPOSAL 139 
 
 he concluded fervently. Then a moment later he 
 added, " Thank God for that ! " and the elders looked 
 at him in astonishment, for his face bore again that 
 look of anguish and remorse to which I have referred 
 before, the oft-recurring evidence of some bitter 
 secret, deep hidden in his heart. 
 
 " We understaun' fine," the session clerk appended. 
 " Mr. Blake is only contending that there are two 
 sides to every question." 
 
 " Twa sides ! " shouted the precentor, now on his 
 feet again, "there's mair nor twa. There's three 
 sides to ilka question : there's yir ain side, an' there's 
 my side, an' there's God's side," he added almost 
 fiercely ; " an' when I ken God's side, there's nae 
 ither side ava." 
 
 The debate was not continued long, and closed 
 with the compromise that Mr. Blake's motion should 
 prevail, the whole matter to be referred to a com- 
 mittee composed of Mr. Blake, the precentor, the 
 moderator, and the clerk, no report to be made to 
 the kirk session unless the committee was unani- 
 mous in its finding. This committee was instructed 
 to meet and confer with the representatives of the 
 Young People's Guild. 
 
 While this resolution was being recorded, Archie 
 was still indulging in smothered protests, the dying 
 voice of the thunder-storm ; and as the session dis-
 
 140 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 persed he was heard to say, " Committee or no com- 
 mittee, as lang as I'm in the kirk they'll sing the 
 psalms o' Dauvit an' the tunes o' Dauvit tae." 
 
 The next evening I informed Angus of the ses- 
 sion's action, and told him the names of the commit- 
 tee. When I mentioned that of Mr. Blake, his eyes 
 flashed fire, and in bitter tones he said, " I will meet 
 no committee of which that man is one. I hate 
 him, sir. I would as lief confer with the devil as 
 with him." 
 
 This staggered me. I knew no cause for an out- 
 burst so passionate, nor any provocation for a resent- 
 ment so savage and so evidently real. My attempt 
 to question him concerning either met with an abrupt 
 but final refusal. Concerning these things I said 
 nothing to Margaret or her mother, but kept them 
 all and pondered them in my heart.
 
 XVI 
 
 GEORDIE'S OOT-TURN 
 
 IT was Geordie Lorimer who first taught me to 
 curl. This I still reckon a great kindness, for I 
 have gone from strength to strength till I am 
 now upon the verge of tankard skiphood. Besides, 
 Geordie's besetting sin still clinging close, I had 
 hoped in this social way the more readily to win his 
 friendship, with a view to his deliverance. 
 
 Some of the old elders looked askance at my 
 frivolity, for Sanderson's " Mountain Dew " flowed 
 freely at every bonspiel, and it was generally under- 
 stood that all bigoted teetotalism was justly suspended 
 till the ice vanished in the spring. These aforesaid 
 elders had no sympathy with men who tasted stand- 
 ing up, or who took their " Mountain Dew " un- 
 warmed. 
 
 They would gravely quote the scriptural admo- 
 nition that all things should be done decently and in 
 order, adding the exposition, logically deduced, that 
 the more important the transaction, the more impera- 
 tive that order and decency should be observed. For 
 which reason they took their whisky hot, and hal- 
 lowed by the gentler name of " toddy." At even- 
 Mi
 
 142 57. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 tide they took it, within the sacred precincts of theii 
 own firesides, and immediately after family worship. 
 Many a time and oft the very lips which fervently 
 sang the psalm 
 
 " Like Hermon's dew, the dew that doth," 
 
 were the same that sampled Sanderson's with solemn 
 satisfaction. 
 
 The session clerk once presented to the court a 
 letter from a worthy but wandering temperance 
 orator, craving permission to give his celebrated " dog 
 talk " in St. Cuthbert's on a Sabbath afternoon. 
 
 " I move that the kirk be no' granted," said Archie 
 M'Cormack. " He'll be revilin' the ways o' men far 
 abune him. Ma faither aye took a drappy ilka nicht, 
 haudin' his bonnet in his haun' the while. He wad 
 drink the health o' Her Majesty (' God bless her/ he 
 aye said), and mebbe ane to the auld kirk in bonnie 
 Scotland, an' mebbe ane to the laddies wha used to 
 rin wi' him aboot the braes, an' mebbe then he wad 
 hae jist ane mair to Her Majesty, for ma faither was 
 aye uncommon loyal at the hinner end. But atween 
 him an' ma mither he aye kent fine when to stop. 
 
 " An' a' oor faithers tasted afore they gaed to bed, 
 an' they a' dee'd wi' their faces to the licht ; an' I 
 wadna gie ane o' them for a wheen o' yir temperance 
 haverers wi' their dog talks on the Sabbath day."
 
 GEORDIE'S OOT-TURN 143 
 
 " I second that," said Ronald M'Gregor. " The 
 injudeecious use o' speerits, or o' ony ither needces- 
 sity, is no' to be commendit, but the Sabbath he's 
 askin' '11 be the sacrament, and that's no day for dog 
 talkin', I'm thinkin' " and the motion carried unani- 
 mously. 
 
 ****** 
 
 " How's the ice to-day ? " I asked Thomas Laid- 
 law, one winter's afternoon. 
 
 " Fair graun'," replied the solemn Thomas. " Ye'll 
 never throw a stane on better till ye draw by yir last 
 gaird ; 'twad dae fine for the New Jerusalem." 
 
 " You don't think there'll be curling there, 
 Thomas ? " I said. 
 
 " I dinna ken," he answered, " but I'm no' de- 
 spairin'. They aye speak o't as a land where ever- 
 lasting spring abides ; but I hae ma doots. There'll 
 be times when the ice'll hold, I'm thinkin'. Yon 
 crystal river's no' for naethin'." 
 
 Geordie Lorimer was my skip that day, and soon 
 the armoured floor was echoing to the " roarin' 
 game," the largest, noblest, brotherliest game known 
 to mortal men. The laird and the cottar were there, 
 the homely shepherd and the village snab who 
 cobbled his shoes, the banker and the carter, the 
 manufacturer and the mechanic all on that oft- 
 quoted platform which is built alone of curlers' ice.
 
 144 ST. CUTHBER T S 
 
 " Lay me a pat-lid richt here, man. Soop her up 
 soop, soop, man. Get her by the gaird. Let her 
 be. I'm wrang, bring her ben the hoose. Stop 
 stop, I'm tellin' ye. Noo, soop, soop her in, man." 
 
 " Noo, minister, be up this time," cries Geordie. 
 " Soop, soop her up. That's a graun' yin, minister. 
 Shake ye yir ain hatin'. Gin yir sermons were 
 deleevered like yir stanes, there wadna be an empty 
 seat i' the kirk. Lat her dee, she's ower fiery. 
 That'll dae fine for a gaird, an' Tam'll be fashed to 
 get roun' ye." 
 
 Thus roared the game along, and at its close 
 Geordie and I were putting our stones away together, 
 flushed with victory. The occasion seemed favour- 
 able for the moral influence which it was my constant 
 aim to exercise. 
 
 " By the way, Geordie," I began, " I have not seen 
 you in the kirk of late." 
 
 "What's that?" said Geordie, his invariable 
 challenge, securing time to adjust himself for the en- 
 counter. 
 
 " I have missed you nearly all winter from the 
 church on the Sabbath day," I replied, leaving no 
 room for further uncertainty. 
 
 Geordie capitulated slowly : " I'll grant ye I've 
 no' been by-ord'nar regglar," he admitted, " but I 
 hae a guid excuse. I haena been ower weel. Ma
 
 GEORDIE'S OOT-TURN 145 
 
 knee's been sair. To tell ye the truth, minister, half 
 the time 'twas a' I could dae to get doon to curl." 
 
 I sighed heavily and said no more, for Geordie 
 was hopelessly sincere in his idea of first things 
 first. 
 
 The very next night I was sitting quietly in my 
 study, talking to Margaret and Angus, though I was 
 beginning to suspect already that they had come to 
 endure my absence with heroic fortitude. 
 
 About eleven o'clock the door-bell rang, and I 
 answered it myself. It was Geordie's distracted wife! 
 Leading her to the drawing-room, I asked her mis- 
 sion, though her pale and care-rung face left little 
 room for doubt. 
 
 " Wad ye think it bold o' me, sir, gin I was to ask 
 you to find Geordie an' fetch him hame ? He's off 
 sin' yestere'en." 
 
 " Why, it was only yesterday evening I saw him on 
 the ice." 
 
 " Ay, sir, but he winned the game, an' that's aye a 
 loss for Geordie ; he aye tak's himsel' to the tavern 
 when he wins. Oh, sir, ma hairt's fair broken ; it's a 
 twalmonth this verra nicht sin' oor wee Jessie dee'd, 
 an' I was aye lippenin' to that to bring him till him- 
 sel' ; but he seems waur nor ever he seeks to droon 
 his sorrow wi' the drink." 
 
 I had often marvelled at this ; for Geordie's last
 
 146 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 word to his little daughter had been a promise to 
 meet her in the land o' the leal. But it is not chains 
 alone that make a slave. 
 
 After a little further conversation, I sent the poor 
 woman home, assuring her that I would do the best 
 I could for Geordie. Which promise I proceeded to 
 fulfill. Two or three of his well-known resorts had 
 been visited with fruitless quest, when I repaired to 
 the Maple Leaf, a notoriously sunken hole, which 
 thus blasphemed the name of the fairest emblem of 
 the nations. I observed a few sorry wastrels leaning 
 in maudlin helplessness upon the bar as I pressed in, 
 still cleaving to their trough but Geordie was not 
 among them. I was about to withdraw, when I 
 heard a familiar voice, above the noise of a phono- 
 graph, from one of the rooms just above the bar. It 
 was Geordie's. 
 
 " Gie us ' Nearer, my God, to Thee,' " I heard him 
 cry, with drunken unction. " Gin ye haena ane o' 
 the psalms o' Dauvit i' yir kist o' tunes, mak' the 
 creetur play ' Nearer, my God, to Thee.' " 
 
 Here was Geordie's evil genius in evidence again, 
 his profligacy and his piety hand in hand. Ascend- 
 ing the stairs, I reached the door just in time to see 
 the landlord, manipulator of the musical machine, 
 forcing Geordie to the door, one hand gripping his 
 throat, the other buffeting the helpless wretch in the
 
 GEORD/E'S OOT-TURN 147 
 
 face. Two or three of his unspeakable kindred were 
 applauding him. 
 
 " Get out of here, you beast," he muttered 
 savagely, " and let decent folk enjoy themselves. 
 You'll not get no music nor no whisky either, 
 hangfin' round an honest man's house without a 
 
 o 
 
 penny in your pocket get out, you brute." And he 
 struck him full in the face again. 
 
 It were wrong to say that I forgot I was a minister ; 
 I think I recalled that very thing, and it gave more 
 power to my arm, for I knew the poverty amid 
 which Geordie's poor wife strove to keep their home 
 together; and the pitiful bareness of wee Jessie's 
 death-chamber flashed before me. This well- 
 nourished vampire had sucked the life-blood from 
 them all, and remembering this, I rushed into the un- 
 equal conflict and smote the vampire between his 
 greedy eyes with such fervour that he fell where he 
 stood. In a moment he was on his feet again, but 
 my ministry with him was not complete, and I 
 seized him where he had gripped his own victim, by 
 the throat. 
 
 " Let me be. Remember you're a minister," he 
 gasped. 
 
 " God forbid I should forget," I thundered back, 
 for my blood was hot. I remembered just then that 
 wee Jessie had been dependent on charity for the
 
 148 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 little delicacies that go with death ; " and if God 
 helps me you won't forget it either," with which 
 addition I hurled him down the stairs, his final ar- 
 rival signalled back by the sulphurous aroma of 
 bruised and battered maledictions. 
 
 It may be incidentally inserted here that this un- 
 clerical encounter of mine was afterwards referred to 
 at a meeting of St. Cuthbert's session. One of the 
 elders, never very friendly to me, preferred the charge 
 of conduct unbecoming a minister. Only two of his 
 colleagues noticed the indictment, and they both 
 were elders of the old Scotch school. 
 
 " Oor minister's fine at the castin' doon o' the 
 strongholds o' Satan," said the one ; " it minds me o' 
 what the beasts got i' the temple." 
 
 " It's mebbe no' Solomon's exact words, but it's 
 gey like them : ' A time to pit on the goon an' a 
 time to tak' aff the coat ' an' it's the yae kin' o' pro- 
 heebeetion that's ony guid forbye," said the other. 
 
 The groaning landlord was soon removed by the 
 loving hands of his wife and the hostler ; and as I 
 convoyed Geordie out past their family sitting-room, 
 tenderly so called, the phonograph breathed out the 
 last expiring strains of " Wull ye no' come back 
 again ? " which the aforesaid landlord had selected in 
 preference to Geordie's pious choice. 
 
 Measures for the sufferer's relief had been swift ;
 
 GEORDIE'S OOT-TURN 149 
 
 the air was already rich with the fumes of high 
 wines, the versatile healer of internal griefs and ex- 
 ternal wounds alike. 
 
 When Geordie and I were well upon the street a 
 new difficulty presented itself. 
 
 " It's a sair shock, an' it'll kill the wife," I heard 
 him muttering beneath his breath. 
 
 This gave me some little hope, for I detected in it 
 the beauty of penitence. 
 
 " Your wife will forgive you, Geordie," I began ; 
 " and if this will only teach " 
 
 But he stopped me ; his face showed that he had 
 been sorely misunderstood. 
 
 " Forgie me forgie me ! It's no' me she'll hae 
 till forgie. Are ye no' the minister o' St. Cuthbert's ? 
 Ah, ye canna deny that. I ken that fine. I kent ye 
 as sune as ye cam' slippin' ben the taivern. It'll fair 
 kill the wife." 
 
 " What are you talking about ? " I said testily. 
 
 " To think I wad live to see my ain minister slip- 
 pin' by intil a taivern at sic a time o' nicht," he 
 groaned despondingly. 
 
 Then he turned upon me, his voice full of sad 
 reproof:. "I'm no' what I micht be masel', but I 
 dinna mak' no profession ; but to think I'd catch my 
 ain minister hangin' roon' a taivern at this time o' 
 nicht. It'll kill the wife. She thocht the warld o' ye."
 
 150 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 What the man was driving at was slowly borne in 
 upon me. 
 
 " But you do not understand, Geordie," I began. 
 
 He stopped me again : " Dinna mak' it waur wi' 
 yir explanations. I un'erstaun' fine. I un'erstaun' 
 noo why they ca' ye a feenished preacher ye're 
 damn weel feenished for me an' Betsy. An' gin I 
 tell hoo I fun' ye oot (which I'm no* sayin' I'll dae), 
 ilka sate i' the kirk will be empty the comin' Sabbath 
 day. Ye're a wolf in sheep's claes, an' I'm sair at 
 hairt the nicht." 
 
 I saw the useless ness of any attempt to enlighten 
 him, for he was evidently sincere in his illusion, and 
 the spirit of real grief could be detected, mingling 
 with another which poisoned the air at every breath. 
 Whereupon I left him to himself as we walked along, 
 Geordie swaying gently, overcome by the experi- 
 ences of the departed hour. 
 
 " It maun hae a fearfu' haud o' ye when ye cam' 
 oot at sic an oor," he said at length, half to himself. 
 " But it clean spiled a graun' nicht for me to see ye 
 slippin' ben. It was a graun' nicht up till that. I 
 canna jist mind if it was a funeral or a weddin' 
 but it was fair graun'. We drinkit the health o' 
 ane anither till there wasna ache or pain amangst 
 us, but this spiles it a' for me. An' it'll kiH the 
 wife."
 
 GEORDIE'S OOT-TURN 151 
 
 " You will see it differently," I could not help but 
 say ; " you know well how I have tried to help you 
 and tried to comfort your poor wife." 
 
 " That's what I aye thocht till noo," he responded 
 plaintively. " I was sayin' that same thing this verra 
 nicht to ane o' my freens at the taivern afore ye cam'. 
 It was auld Tarn Rutherford, wha's gaun to be mairrit 
 again, and him mair nor auchty years o' age. I 
 warnt him against it, an' I telt him his ither wumman 
 was deid but sax months. But Tarn said as hoo a 
 buddy at his age canna afford to wait ower lang, an' 
 I didna ken what answer to gie to that." 
 
 Then Geordie stopped, evidently resuming the 
 quest for an appropriate reply; for Scotch wit is 
 usually posthumous, their responses serial and their 
 arguments continued in their next. 
 
 I was naturally curious as to what part I could 
 have had in this discussion, and since Geordie seemed 
 to have forgotten the original subject, I asked, " What 
 has that to do with my trying to help or comfort 
 anybody ? " 
 
 " Ou ay," he resumed. " Tarn was sayin' as hoo 
 he'd no' hae yirsel' to mairry them, for he said ye're 
 ower affectionate wi' the brides. But I stuck up for 
 you. I telt him yir sympathies was braid, but ye 
 didna pick oot the lassies for it a'. I was at Wullie 
 Lee's the nicht Wullie dee'd; an' I was fair scun-
 
 152 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 nert at the elders. There was twa o' them, an' they 
 prayed turn aboot. 
 
 " When Wuliie slippit awa, at midnight his twa 
 dochters, Kirsty an' Ann, took on redeek'lus, an' 
 the auld wumman was waur. But the twa elders sat 
 an oor, comfortin' the twa lassies, ane to ilka ane, an' 
 baith o' them no' bad to luik at. They comfortit 
 them muckle the same as I comfortit Betsy when we 
 did oor coortin', but the puir auld buddy was left -her 
 lane wi' naebody to comfort her ava. I did it masel' 
 a wee while. That's what I telt Tarn, an' I pinted 
 oot the difference atween you an' the elders. I said 
 
 as hoo ye wad hae pickit oot the auld buddy first 
 
 But to think ma ain een saw ye comin' ben the 
 taivern ayont twal o'clock at nicht." 
 
 With such varied discourse did Geordie beguile 
 our homeward way, which at last brought us to his 
 dwelling-place. 
 
 " I want ye to promise me ae thing afore we pairt," 
 said Geordie. " It's for yir ain guid I'm askin' it." 
 
 " What is it ? " I asked curiously. 
 
 " I want ye to sign the pledge," he responded, with 
 a tearful voice, " for it maun hae a sair haud o' ye or 
 ye wadna be prowlin' aboot a taivern at sic a time o' 
 nicht." 
 
 " I will talk to you some other time about that." 
 
 * Weel, weel, jist as ye wull it'll dae again but
 
 GEORDIE'S DOT-TURN 153 
 
 man, hoo'll ye square it wi' the wife when ye gang 
 hame to the manse the nicht? We'll baith hae oor 
 ain times, I'm dootin'. Here's a sweetie for ye; it's 
 a peppermint lozenge, an' it's a graun' help. Guid- 
 nicht." 
 
 I had taken but forty steps or so when a solicitous 
 voice called out, " Lie wi' yir back to the wife an' 
 sip the sweetie an' breathe in to yersel'."
 
 XVII 
 
 "NOO, The IN-TURN" 
 
 THE Apostles' Creed should be revised 
 One great article of faith it lacks. " I be- 
 lieve in the communion of saints, the for- 
 giveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the 
 life everlasting" thus peal its bells of gold. But 
 where is the faithful and observant minister who 
 would not add, " I believe in the change of the leop- 
 ard's spots and of the Ethiopian's skin " ? Nowa- 
 days, we speak of conversion with pity and amuse- 
 ment, but it is the greatest word the Christian Church 
 can boast, and the Scripture miracles were long ago 
 entombed had they not lived again in their legitimate 
 descendants. 
 
 We are prone to think that men believe in modern 
 miracles because of those of long ago but the re- 
 verse is true : the modern miracles are the attestation 
 of those early wonders; and I myself believe the 
 Galilean records because of His credentials in this 
 Western World and in this present day. 
 
 The very morning after the eventful night de- 
 scribed above, I was busy at my desk, travailing in 
 birth with my sermon for the next Sabbath morning. 
 
 154
 
 "NOO, The IN-TURN" 155 
 
 Strangely enough, it was from the words, " Why 
 should it be thought a thing incredible? " which is at 
 heart no interrogative at all, but the eternal affirma- 
 tive of all religion, the basis of all faith, the inevitable 
 corollary of God. 
 
 I was casting about for a fitting illustration, 
 fumbling in imagery's twilight chamber and ran- 
 sacking the halls of history, when lo ! God sent one 
 knocking at the door. I responded to the knock 
 myself, and Geordie Lorimer stood before me. His 
 face seemed strangely chastened, and the voice which 
 craved a private interview rilled me somehow with 
 subtle hope and joy. For the voice is the soul's great 
 index ; and this of Geordie's spoke of a soul's secret 
 convalescence. The breath of spring exuded from 
 his words. 
 
 I locked my study door as we passed in together ; 
 for a Protestant confessional is a holy place, excelling 
 far the Catholic, even as a love-letter excels a bill of 
 lading. 
 
 " What is it, Geordie ? " I asked, with tender 
 eagerness. 
 
 " I dinna ken exactly, but I think it's life," he 
 answered with new-born passion, " and eternal life at 
 that. I canna tell it an' I canna thole it till I do tell 
 it. I maunna mak' ower free wi' God ; but it's my 
 soul, minister, it's my soul, an' I'm a new creature.
 
 156 ST. CUTHBER'T'S 
 
 I'm new in the sicht o' God an' He's new in mine 
 an' I prayed this mornin', a thing I haena dune for 
 mair than twenty years an' the auld burn was sweet 
 an' clear, like when my laddie's lips sippit there lang 
 syne I daurna speak His name ower often, but God 
 is gey guid to the sinfu' an' the weary." 
 
 " None but they can know how good," was my 
 response. 
 
 My remark seemed to pass unnoticed, for Geordie 
 had more to say. 
 
 " Hark ye, an' I'll tell ye hoo God cam' to me. 
 'Twas near the dawn this verra mornin' I had a 
 dream, an' wee Jessie cam' to me. An' that was 
 God, nae ither ane but God. ' Oot o' the mooth o' 
 babes/ is that no" i' the Buik ? For wee Jessie stood 
 beside the bed, an' I luikit at her an' I said, ' My lit- 
 tle dochter.' 'Twas a' I could say, an' she pit her 
 saft haun' on my heid sae gentle, an' sae blessed cool, 
 for my heid was burnin' hot. She luikit lang, an' 
 her een was fu' o' love : ' Faither,' she said, ' did ye 
 no" promise yir lassie to meet her in the Faither's 
 hoose ? Oh, faither, I've come to mind ye o' yir 
 promise an' to set yir puir feet upon the path ance 
 mair. God loves ye, faither ; I hae it frae Himsel' 
 an' there's mony a ane wi' Him noo in white wha 
 wandered farther bye nor you. An' God '11 try, gin 
 ye'll try yirsel', an' yir wee Jessie '11 no' be far frae ye.
 
 "NOO, The IN-TURN" 157 
 
 Wull ye no' come, faither ? for yir ain lassie, an' 
 mither, an' God, a' want ye.' 
 
 " I luikit lang intil her angel face, but I was feart 
 to speak, for I wasna worthy. The road was bricht 
 eneuch, but I wasna fit to gang. 
 
 " ' I ken what yir thinkin' o', faither. I ken yir 
 enemy an' God kens. It's the drink. But it'll pass 
 yir lips nae mair. I'll kiss them, faither, an' they'll 
 burn wi' the awfu' thirst nae mair.' 
 
 " An' she stoopit doon an' kissed my burnin' lips ; 
 an' I waukit up, an' the fever was a' past an' by. I 
 tell't Betsy, an' she grat wi' joy. ' It's i' the Buik/ 
 she said. 
 
 " ' What's i' the Buik ? ' I speirt. 
 
 " ' A little child shall lead them,' Betsy said." 
 
 I talked a little while with Geordie as one talks 
 with a shipwrecked sailor who has gained the shore. 
 He asked me to pray. 
 
 " Mak' it easy," he said, " I'm no' far ben the 
 Mystery yet. I'm but a bairn ; but my lips are pure, 
 an' the fever's by." 
 
 We knelt together, and I prayed : " O Friend of 
 sinners, help us both, for we are both sinners. Keep 
 us, blessed Lord, and let his little daughter be near 
 us both to help us on the way. We will both try our 
 best, and Thou wilt too. Amen." 
 
 My half-written sermon never has been finished.
 
 /5 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 I was constrained to take another text, and the next 
 Sabbath morn I saw Betsy Lorimer bow her head in 
 reverent adoration when I gave it out 
 
 " Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to 
 minister ? "
 
 XVIII 
 HOW ELSIE WON The GATE 
 
 THE forest's glory is departed when its giant 
 trees lie low. And, stroke by stroke, my 
 St. Cuthbert's Kirk was thus bereft of its 
 outstanding glories. For great men are like great 
 trees, the shelter of all others and the path-finders 
 towards the sky. 
 
 My sun is westering now, and the oft-repeated 
 crash as these mighty stalwarts fall keeps my heart 
 in almost abiding sadness. For the second growth 
 gives no promise of a stock which shall be worthy 
 successors to these noble pioneers, the conquering 
 gladiators of Canada's shadowy forests, the real 
 makers of her great and portentous national life. 
 And yet, strange to say, I never knew their real 
 greatness while I lived among them, sharing in the 
 varied chase, but only when they came to die. 
 
 This was especially true of those who boasted far- 
 back highland blood, for their depths of tenderness 
 and heights of faith and scope of spiritual vision were 
 sternly hidden till the helplessness of death betrayed 
 them. Then was the key to their secret life surren- 
 dered ; then might all men see the face at the pane. 
 159
 
 160 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 But not till then; for' every stolid feature, every 
 stifled word or glance of tenderness, every muffled 
 note of religious self-revealment, swelled their life's 
 noble perjury. To their own hurt they swore, 
 changing not. But at their real best he saw them 
 who saw them die. 
 
 In that ingenuous hour they spoke once more 
 their mother tongue of love and faith with an 
 accuracy which told of lifelong rehearsal within their 
 secret hearts. When the golden bowl was broken, 
 its holy contents, flowing free, poured forth the long- 
 imprisoned fragrance. 
 
 How many a day, cold and gray, flowers at sunset 
 into rich redemptive beauty, cheerless avenue leading 
 to its grand Cathedral West ! Thus have I seen these 
 Scottish lives, stern and cold and rayless, break into 
 flame at evening, in whose light I caught the glory 
 of the very gates of the City of God. 
 
 It was the winter of the strike, whose story I have 
 already told, that Elsie MThatter heard the Voice 
 which calls but once. Long and gentle had been the 
 slope towards the river, and I held Elsie's hand every 
 step of the way, myself striving to hold that other 
 Hand which is truly visible only in the darkness ; 
 but the last stage of the journey came swift and sud- 
 denly. About two in the morning I was awakened 
 by the loud alarm of my door-bell.
 
 HOW ELSIE WON 'The GATE 161 
 
 The minister knows well that at such an hour his 
 bell is rung only by eternal winds, and the alarm is 
 an almost certain message that the rapids are near 
 and that he is wanted at the helm. On Atlantic 
 liners I have never heard the ominous note that calls 
 the captain from his cabin to the bridge without 
 thinking of my midnight bell, and that deeper dark- 
 ness, and that more awful channel. 
 
 It was the doctor's boy who thus summoned me, 
 bidding me hurry to Elsie's bedside, for the tide was 
 ebbing fast, he said. I was soon on my way through 
 the frosty night, silently imploring the unseen Pilot 
 that He would safe into the haven guide. To His 
 great wisdom and His sheltering love I committed 
 all the case, making oath beneath the silent stars that 
 I had myself no other hope than this with which I 
 hurried to yonder dying one. For a man's own 
 heart must swear by the living Lord, or else he will 
 find no path through the dread wilderness of death 
 for the unreturning feet. 
 
 When the outskirts of the town were but well 
 behind me, I saw in the distance a solitary light 
 which I knew at once to be the death-chamber lamp ; 
 at sight whereof my heart has never outgrown a 
 strange leap of trembling fear, like a scout when he 
 catches the first warning gleam of the enemy's camp- 
 fire. Yonder, I said to myself, is the battle-field of a
 
 162 57. CUTHBEK. T' S 
 
 soul, struggling with its last great foe ; yonder the 
 central crisis of all time and all eternity ; yonder the 
 heaving breast, the eager, onward IOOK, the unravel- 
 ling of mystery, the launching of a soul upon eternal 
 seas. 
 
 No life is ever commonplace when that lamp burns 
 beside it, and no wealth, or genius, or greatness can 
 palliate its relentless gleam. There, continued I, 
 stands the dread unseen Antagonist, asking no chair, 
 demanding no courtesy, craving no welcome, resent- 
 ing no frowning and averted face ; calmly does he 
 brook the terror and the hatred excited by his unin- 
 vited advent, serene in the confidence that his is the 
 central figure, that the last word is his, though all 
 pretend to ignore his presence. Like a sullen cred- 
 itor he stands, careless that every man's hand is 
 against him, relentlessly following his prey, willing 
 that all others should wait his time and theirs, intent 
 only that this night shall have its own. 
 
 And yet, I thought, what a false picture is this that 
 my coward heart hath drawn ! There is Another in 
 that room, I cried half loud, Another there before 
 me, whose swift feet have outrun my poor trudging 
 through the snow. For He is there who lit that 
 feeble lamp itself, and it burns only by His will. 
 Death-lamp though it be, it is still a broken light of 
 Him, witness, in its own dark way, to the All-kind-
 
 HOW ELSIE WON The GATE 163 
 
 ling Hand. The Lover of the soul, is yonder, and 
 will share His dear-bought victory with my poor 
 dying one. 
 
 Whereat I pressed on eagerly, for I love to witness 
 a reprieve, such as many a time it hath been mine to 
 see when the Greater Antagonist prevails. 
 
 The death damp was on Elsie's brow when I knelt 
 beside her bed, but her eyes were kindled from afar, 
 and a great Presence filled the room. Donald was 
 bowed beside her, his wife's wasted hand clasped 
 passionately in his own. 
 
 I knelt over the dying woman and softly repeated 
 the swelling anthem which no lips can sing aright 
 till the great Vision quickens them : " These are 
 they which came out of great tribulation, and have 
 washed their robes and made them white in the blood 
 of the Lamb." 
 
 Elsie's voice blended with the great words, and 
 turning her lustrous eyes full on my face, she mur- 
 mured 
 
 " It's a' bricht and blythesome whaur I'm walkin' 
 noo there's no valley here nor nae glen ava, but the 
 way is fu' o' licht and beauty." 
 
 Her eyes sought her husband's face : " Oh, Donal' ! 
 To think we canna walk this way thegither ! We've 
 clomb the hill thegither, Donal', mony a time sair an' 
 weary, but oor hairts were stoot when the brae was
 
 164 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 stae ; but noo I've reached the bonnie bit ayont the 
 brae, an' ye're a' 'at's wantin', Donal', to mak' it fair 
 beautiful ! But ye'll no' be lang ahint me, wull ye, 
 Donal' ? an' the Maister '11 come back to guide ye, 
 gin I'm gone bye the gate. An' we'll aye walk the- 
 gither in the yonner-land." 
 
 Donald's face was dry, but drawn in its agony. 
 Its ache passed on into my soul. He bent over her 
 like some bowing oak, and the rustle of love's foliage 
 was fairly audible to the inward ear, though the oak 
 itself seemed hard and gnarled as ever. He whis- 
 pered something, like a mighty organ lilting low and 
 sweet some mother's lullaby, and no tutor except 
 Great Death could have taught Donald that gentle 
 language. For I caught the word " darling," and 
 again " oor Saviour," and once " the hameland," and 
 it was like a lark's gentlest note issuing from a 
 mighty mountain's cleft. 
 
 O Death, how unjustly thou hast been maligned ! 
 Men have painted thee as cruel, monstrous, hateful, 
 the enemy of love, the despoiler of the home, the 
 spirit of harshness, the destroyer of all poesy and 
 romance. And yet thou hast done more to fill life 
 with softness and with gentle beauty than all the 
 powers of life and light whose antagonist thou hast 
 been called. Thou hast heaped coals of fire on thy 
 traducers' heads. For hast thou not made the
 
 HOW ELSIE WON The GATE 165 
 
 heaviest foot fall lightly with love's considerate 
 tread ? Hast thou not made the rough, coarse palm 
 into a sanctuary and pavilion wherein the dying hand 
 may shelter ? Hast thou not taught the loud and 
 boisterous voice the new song of tenderness and 
 pity, whispering like a dove ? Within thy school 
 the rude and harsh have learned the nurse's gentle 
 art, and the world's swaggering warriors serve as 
 acolytes before thy shadowy altar. The peasant's 
 cottage owes to thee its transformation to cathedral 
 splendour, the censers gently swinging when thou 
 sayest the soul's great mass, at even, or at midnight, 
 or at the cock-crowing, or in the morning. Thou 
 hast classed together the hovel and the palace, glowing 
 with equal solemn grandeur, so that no man can tell 
 the one from the other when the crape upon the door 
 betokens that thou tarriest there. Thou hast pro- 
 moted sodden sleep to be the most awful metaphor 
 of time. Thou hast stripped wealth and grandeur, 
 leaving them but a shroud, and hast clothed obscurity 
 and poverty with their eternally suggestive robe; 
 thou hast affirmed, and thou preserved, that grim 
 average of life which greatness refuses, which little- 
 ness fears, to realize. Romance and Poetry and 
 Fancy are thy wards, making as thou dost the most 
 holden eyes to overleap time's poor horizon, follow- 
 ing departed treasure with wistful and unresigning
 
 /66 57. CUTHBER T S 
 
 love, as birds follow their ravaged nests, crying as 
 they go. Oh, sombre chantress ! Thou hast filled 
 the world with song, plaintive and piteous though 
 it be. 
 
 " What is it, mother ? " I heard Donald whisper ; 
 and the answer evidently came back to him from the 
 dying lips. For he turned to me, his face full of 
 tragedy : " She's talkin' aboot Robin," he said 
 hoarsely ; " but ye dinna ken. Robin was oor 
 laddie an' he's oor laddie yet, though we've had 
 nae word o' him for mony a year. Him an' me 
 pairted in wrath, an' he went oot intil the dark 
 nicht I was ower prood tae ca' him back, but his 
 mither followed him to the moor, cryin' after him 
 an' she cam' back alane." 
 
 Donald stopped suddenly, for the mother's strug- 
 gling voice was heard : " Come hame, Robin, for 
 it's cauld an' dark, an' ye've been ower lang awa ; 
 but there's a place at the ingle for ye yet, my bairn. 
 I've aye keepit it for ye, an' I keepit the fire burnin' 
 ever sin' ye left us. I wadna let it oot. An' ilka 
 nicht I pit the lamp i' the window, for I aye thocht, 
 * He'll mebbe come the nicht.' " 
 
 " She's wanderin'," Donald said to me, awe ming- 
 ling with his voice. 
 
 " She's found the wanderer," I said ; and we both 
 moved nearer, each signalling the other to be still.
 
 HOW ELSIE WON The GATE 167 
 
 Elsie's gaze passed us by, outgoing far into the 
 darkness. 
 
 " Na, na, Robin ; yir faither'll no' be angry. I ken 
 fine a' ye say is true, but he's yir faither for a' that. 
 An' he loves ye maist as weel as me ; but oh, my 
 bonnie, there's nane loves ye like yir mither ! His 
 hairt's fair broken for ye, Robin. I'll tell ye some- 
 thing, but ye maunna tell yir faither. I heard him 
 pray for ye all alane by himsel'. He prayed to God 
 to bring ye back he ca'd ye Robin richt to God. 
 An' I never heard yir faither greet afore or syne. 
 The Buik, tae, it wad open o' itsel' at the prodigal, 
 an' it was his daein', an' he didna think I kent ; but 
 I kent it fine, an' I thankit the Heavenly Faither 
 mony a time." 
 
 She stopped, exhausted, her soul flickering in her 
 voice. Donald moved, his great form coming athwart 
 her eager, kindling eyes. She stirred, her vision 
 evidently hindered, and Donald stepped quickly from 
 before her, gazing with passionate intentness, his eyes 
 shaded by his hand like one who peers into a lane of light. 
 
 " As one whom his mother comforteth, so will " 
 I began. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Donald sternly, " she's wi' him yet. 
 Hark ye ! " 
 
 Her strength seemed now returning, for she went 
 on
 
 168 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " Ay, Robin, I'm tellin' ye the truth. Yir faither's 
 thocht o' ye is the thocht he had when ye were a bit 
 bairn in his airms." 
 
 The anguished father flung himself upon his knees 
 beside the bed, his hand gently stroking his wife's 
 withered cheek. 
 
 " Tell him that again, mither ; tell him my thocht 
 o' him was aye the same as yir ain, when I thocht o' 
 him atween God an' me. Tell him me an' you baith 
 thocht the same. Bid him hame, Elsie. Oh, mither, 
 I've been the wanderer masel', an' I'm weary." 
 
 My heart melted in me at this, for the eternal 
 fatherly was sobbing through his voice. 
 
 The familiar tones seemed to call Elsie back from 
 her delirium, for she suddenly looked upon us as if 
 we had not <been there before. 
 
 " Oh, faither, Robin's comin' hame the nicht. Is 
 the lamp kindled in the window ? We've baith been 
 wae these mony years, but the mirk'll be past an' by 
 when oor laddie's safe hame wi' us again." 
 
 A strange sense of the nearness of the supernatural 
 took possession of me, for Elsie's voice was not the 
 voice of fevered fancy ; the fast ebbing tide of life 
 seemed to flow back again, her strength visibly in- 
 creased, as if she must remain till her Robin had been 
 welcomed home. 
 
 In spite of reason, I fell to listening eagerly, won-
 
 HOW ELSIE WON The GATE 169 
 
 dering if this were indeed the act of God. Why 
 should it be thought a thing incredible with us that 
 the Rebuilder of Bethany's desolated house should 
 still ply His ancient industry ? 
 
 " Raise me up a little, faither, for I maun watch 
 the gate." 
 
 Donald lifted his dying wife with caressing easi- 
 ness. 
 
 " That'll dae ; ay, we've baith been wae these mony 
 years, but the mirk is bye. 
 
 " ' Long hath the night of sorrow reigned, 
 The dawn shall bring us light.' 
 
 The morn is wi' us, Donal', an' Robin's at the gate." 
 
 Far past the flickering lamp she gazed, and her 
 eyes' light rose and fell in unison with approaching 
 steps. 
 
 " He's bye the gate," she cried ; and joy held death 
 at bay, for the words chimed like cathedral bells. 
 
 Fearsome to behold was the awestruck face which 
 Donald turned to mine, and full of questioning dread, 
 I doubt not^ were the eyes that met his own. Was 
 this the doing of the Lord, or was it but the handi- 
 work of death, that wizard oculist, so often lending 
 mystic vision to pilgrims setting under darkness out 
 to sea ? 
 
 Leaving death and Elsie to their unequal conflict,
 
 170 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 we started with one impulse to the window; but 
 Donald was there before me, his eyes shaded by his 
 hands, burning through the dark a pathway to the 
 gate. 
 
 " God be mercifu'," he muttered, and then turned 
 swiftly towards the stairs, for a hand was fumbling at 
 the latch. I waited trembling, and I heard no word ; 
 but the aroma of a soul's second spring stole sweet 
 and unafraid into the chamber of death. 
 
 ****** 
 
 I met them at the door as Donald said, "Yir 
 mither's deein'," and there broke from the rugged 
 man beside him a low moaning sound, like to many 
 waters when some opposing thing hath at length been 
 overswept. It was quickly checked, and the silence 
 of love and anguish took its place. 
 
 I drew Donald gently back and closed the door 
 upon them twain, the waiting mother and the wan- 
 dering son, for there was never bridal hour like to 
 this. 
 
 " My mither, oh, my mither ! " I heard him say ; 
 and Elsie spoke no word, but the long ache was 
 ended and the great wound was well. 
 
 'Twas but a moment again when a trembling voice 
 called, " Faither, she's wantin' ye." 
 
 We entered the love-lit room, and Elsie beckoned 
 him swiftly to her side.
 
 HOW ELSIE WON The GATE 171 
 
 " I maun be gaun sune," she whispered, and then 
 followed some words too low for my ears to catch. 
 
 Donald turned to me : " She wants to hae the 
 sacrament dispensit till us a'," and his face was full 
 of dubious entreaty, for the kirk session of St. Cuth- 
 bert's was sternly set against private administration. 
 
 The session and its rules were in that moment to 
 me but as the dust. Beyond their poor custody was 
 a holy hour such as this. The little table was 
 quickly spread, the snow-white bread and the wine 
 pressed by a mother's priestly hands. I was about 
 to proceed with the holy ordinance when Elsie 
 stopped me. 
 
 " Bide a meenit. Donal', get ye the token, the ane 
 wee Elsie loved. My hairt tells me she's no' far awa 
 the noo. She'll e'en show forth the Lord's deith 
 alang wi' us. The Maister o' the feast is here, and 
 why wad He no' bring oor Elsie wi' Him ? Wha 
 kens but I'll gang hame wi' them baith ? " 
 
 Her husband, obedient to the seer's voice, passed 
 quickly to an adjoining room, and in an instant re- 
 appeared, bearing the well-worn token in his hands, 
 the same his dying child had fondly held ; and I 
 heard again the low refrain which grief had taught 
 him years ago : " Christ an' oor Elsie an' her 
 mither." This last was new, learned in sorrow's latest 
 hour.
 
 172 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 He handed it to his wife, who took it, turning her 
 wan face to mine. 
 
 " There's only ane, but it'll dae us a' let Robin 
 haud it. Tak' it, laddie ; it's warm frae yir sister's 
 haun'." 
 
 The wanderer's reverent hand received it, and holy 
 memories, long banished, flowed back into the heart 
 that had not been their home since the golden days 
 of boyhood. Of his mother and his sister were 
 they all, and they laved that heart till it was almost 
 clean, for they were in disguise but memories of God, 
 foreshadowing the Greater Incarnation. 
 
 " Noo we're ready, an' we're a' here. Raise the 
 psalm, faither, the sacrament ane," she said faintly 
 " tak' St. Paul's," and Donald's quavering voice 
 essayed 
 
 " I'll of salvation take the cup, 
 On God's name will I call ; 
 I'll pay my vows now to the Lord 
 Before His people all. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Dear in God's sight is His saints' death, 
 Thy servant, Lord " 
 
 but the faltering voice refused. 
 
 I broke the bread and poured the wine, handing the 
 sacred emblems first to the dying one, so soon to take 
 them new in the kingdom of God. Then Donald 
 partook, and buried his face in his hands. To Robin
 
 HOW ELSIE WON The GATE 173 
 
 next I proffered the holy symbols, but he drew back, 
 stretching forth his hands towards the bed. 
 
 " I daurna I've wandered ower far," he said. " I 
 hear the russlin' o' the husks." 
 
 " Dinna fear, Robin," whispered his mother's lips. 
 " We're a' but bairns comin' back to oor Faither's 
 hoose ; God loves ye mair than either yir faither or 
 me, I'm near the kingdom, an' I ken." 
 
 " My son, my laddie," it was his father's broken 
 voice, " let us tak' the feast thegither. I'm a puir 
 prodigal masel' rbut the door is open wide, an' we'll 
 baith come hame to God." 
 . " I'll tak' it frae ma mither's hands," said Robin. 
 
 I handed the elements to her, ordained from all 
 eternity to minister to the son she bore ; with trem- 
 bling hands she dispensed them to him, high priestess 
 unto God, her dying eyes distilling the very love 
 which shed its fragrance when the all but dying 
 Saviour first brake the holy bread. 
 
 When we were through, Elsie's voice was heard 
 saying to herself " Unto Him who loved us, and 
 washed us from our sins in His own blood," which 
 was followed by a long silence. 
 
 " Wull ye no' pronounce the benediction ? " Donald 
 said at last, for he was by nature an ecclesiastic. 
 
 " Did you not hear it ? " I replied. 
 
 The silence deepened, the breathing grew heavier,
 
 174 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 and we two stood together looking down upon her 
 face. Robin's was by his mother's. Suddenly her 
 eyes opened wide, fastening themselves upon her son. 
 
 " I'll sune win hame," she murmured gladly, " an' I 
 want ye to say yir bit prayer to me, Robin, afore I 
 gang, the way ye did when ye were a bairnie. Kneel 
 doon, Robin, an' say it to me, an' we'll baith say it to 
 God, for I'm weary tae. ' Noo I lay me,' ye ken." 
 
 The strong man bowed beside his mother's bed, 
 and the great anthem began, the sobbing bass of the 
 broken heart mingling with the feeble dying voice 
 
 " Now I lay me down to sleep, 
 I pray Thee Lord my soul to keep ; 
 If I should die before I wake, 
 I pray Thee Lord my soul to take." 
 
 Suddenly she pointed with uplifted hand : " Oh, 
 faither, I see oor Elsie's face an' the token's in her 
 haun', an' it's a' bricht wi' gowden licht. She's bid- 
 din' us a' hame me, an' faither, an' Robin " and 
 
 she passed into the homeland bearing the prodigal's 
 name with her up to God. 
 
 I gently closed her eyes. Donald stood long be- 
 side the bed ; then, taking his son into his arms, he 
 said 
 
 " Yir mither's bye the gate."
 
 XIX 
 
 A MAIDEN' S LOVE 
 
 WHAT self-contradicting things we are! 
 The very joys we crave bring sorrow 
 when they come; for they crowd out 
 some only lesser joy, which, rejected, turns to bitter- 
 ness and takes its long revenge. It is one of the 
 blessed laws of life that no heart, however hospitable, 
 can entertain more than one sorrow at one time, how 
 many so ever be waiting at the door. Each must 
 wait its turn. 
 
 But alas ! Joy has its corresponding law ; every 
 heart's pleasure is an alternative, and if much we 
 would enjoy, much also we must renounce. Joy 
 usually comes as twins, and the great perplexity 
 is to discern which the first-born is, that our homage 
 may not return unto us void. 
 
 Of many of our deepest longings may it not be 
 said that their fulfillment would be our keenest disap- 
 pointment? For instance, the wife of our family 
 physician is forever lamenting that no spouse in all 
 New Jedboro sees as little of her husband as does 
 she, forever longing that he might be released to the 
 enjoyment of his own fireside. Yet should a fickle 
 
 175
 
 176 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 or convalescent public suddenly so release him, our 
 doctor's wife would be of all women most miserable. 
 
 Even as I write, I am disturbed by a lad of twenty 
 who starts to-day on his long journey to Athabasca 
 and the waiting prairies of our great Canadian West. 
 
 Full of pathetic joy is his youthful face ; but his 
 mother is bowed beside the bed whereon she gave 
 him birth her cup, she thinks, would be full to over- 
 flowing if her first-born son were suddenly to dispack 
 his box and take up the old nestling life again. The 
 sun would have turned back to its undimmed merid- 
 ian, she weens ; and yet she knows full well that this 
 very longing, were it gratified, would poison her over- 
 flowing cup and tarnish her mother's pride. If she 
 were asked to choose between these two, womanlike, 
 she would elect to have them both but God for- 
 bids. 
 
 The youth's father says : " Let the lad go forth " 
 and God is a Father, though He takes counsel of a 
 mother-heart. 
 
 All this reflective vein flows from this poor heart 
 of mine, the truth whereof that heart hath sorrow- 
 fully proved. 
 
 For my daughter Margaret holds within it a place 
 of solitary tenderness, more exclusively her own as 
 the years go by. And I too was forced to the great 
 alternative, the same which hath wrung uncounted
 
 A MAIDEN'S LOVE 177 
 
 parents' hearts before I saw the light, the same as will 
 rend thousands more when that poor light has filtered 
 through darkness into Day. 
 
 What father is there who can contemplate without 
 dismay the prospect of his only daughter surrendered 
 to another's care, though that other press the cruel 
 claim of a mate's more passionate love ? Where is 
 the father that does not long to shelter his child's 
 sweet innocence forever within the pavilion of his 
 heart's loving tenderness ? And yet, where is the 
 father who would be free from torture, were he as- 
 sured that his soul's yearning would be satisfied, and 
 that no high claim of unrelated love would ever rival 
 or dispute his own ? 
 
 It was my own fault that Margaret's attachment to 
 Angus Strachan came to me as a bolt from the blue. 
 I had never dreamed of it I was so sure of every- 
 body loving Margaret that I never thought of any- 
 body loving her. Of course it was easily seen that 
 their friendship was mutually cherished ; but friend- 
 ship, although a mother's hope, is a father's reassur- 
 ance. Margaret's mother had more than once spoken 
 of their friendship in that portentous tone which all 
 women hope to assume before they die ; and her 
 words exuded the far-off fragrance of orange blos- 
 soms. She began with the assurance that the friend- 
 ship between Angus and our Margaret had no par-
 
 178 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 ticular meaning to which I agreed. A little later 
 on she ventured the remark that she did not think 
 Angus cared for Margaret except as a friend to 
 which also I cheerfully agreed. Later still, she re- 
 sorted to the interrogative, and asked me if I thought 
 Margaret would ever marry, to which I answered : 
 " I hope so, but she shall not with my consent." 
 
 " I was married when I was Margaret's age," added 
 my wife. (What woman is there who does not love 
 to say the same ? ) " Margaret will soon be 
 twenty." 
 
 " Yes, my dear, but few women have the chance 
 that came to you and no man ever had provocation 
 like to mine." This was followed by a passage at 
 arms, during which, of course, the fair debater's lips 
 were sealed. 
 
 By degrees my wife's attack upon the subject grew 
 bolder and more frontal. 
 
 " Do you think Margaret cares anything for 
 Angus ? " she asked, the hour being that post-retir- 
 ing one sacred in every age to conjugal conference. 
 
 " I don't think so certainly not ; why should 
 she ? We have a triangular family altogether two 
 to each of us, and why should she want any more ? 
 She has you and me, just as I have you and her, and 
 you have her and me." 
 
 " But that is foolish ; you don't understand,"
 
 A MAIDEN'S LOfE 179 
 
 " I don't want to understand," I answered drowsily. 
 " Margaret's only a child and I want to go to sleep ; 
 if I don't sleep over my sermon to-night, the people 
 will to-morrow." For it was Saturday night. 
 
 But " the child " was not asleep. The love affairs 
 of other hearts are by others easily borne, even 
 though those others be the next nearest and dearest 
 of all. But how different with the maiden's heart 
 that loves, and tremblingly hopes that it loves not in 
 vain ! Then doth the pillow burn with holy passion, 
 and considerate sleep, like an indulgent nurse, turns 
 her steps aside, fearing to break in upon the soul's 
 solemn revelry. Even when she ventures nigh, 
 gently withdrawing the still unwearied heart from its 
 virgin joy, do the half open lips still sip from the new 
 found cisterns of sweet and tender bliss. 
 
 O holy love! Who shall separate the joy thou 
 bringest from the heart that opens wide to welcome 
 it, even as the flower bares its bosom to the sun ? 
 
 Darkness and tears and sorrow may follow fast ; 
 fears and misgivings and dread discoveries may come 
 close upon thy train ; broken-heartedness and bleak 
 perpetual maidenhood may be thine only relics ; or, 
 flowering with the years, the thorns of grief and pov- 
 erty and widowhood may grow where youthful fancy 
 looked for radiant flowers ; the heart which echoed 
 with thy bridal song may yet peal forth the Rachel
 
 i8o ST. CU-THBERTS 
 
 cry but thou belongest to the heart forever, and none 
 of these can dispossess the soul of its unforgotten 
 transport. Nor fire, nor flood, nor fraud can prevail 
 against thee ! Thy treasures moth and rust doth not 
 corrupt nor thieves break through and steal ! 
 
 As a burning building lends its heat to all beside 
 it, so was my own soul kindled, half with rapture and 
 half with anger, by the story of Margaret's passion. 
 Father's and daughter's hearts were never pressed 
 closer to each other than were mine and my only 
 child's. 
 
 It was the succeeding Sunday night that Margaret, 
 in her father's arms, breathed out the tender tale ; I 
 was enjoying my evening smoke (a post-sermonic 
 anodyne), but long before Margaret had finished, my 
 cigar was in ashes and my heart in flame. 
 
 " Father," she began, her face hidden on my 
 shoulder, " I am either very happy or very wretched, 
 and I cannot decide which till I know which you will 
 be." 
 
 " The old problem, daughter, is it not ? " I an- 
 swered. " Still longing to enter a hospital ? And you 
 want to wheedle your old father into giving you 
 up ? " for Margaret, like every other modern girl, had 
 been craving entrance to that noble calling. The 
 high-born and the love-lorn, those weary of life, or of 
 love, or both, find a refuge there.
 
 A MAIDEN'S LOVE 181 
 
 " No, father, I was not thinking of that at all. I 
 don't want to be a nurse any more." 
 
 "What is it then? You have never had any 
 secrets from your father and you will not have any 
 now, will you, dear one ? " 
 
 " Oh, father, I will tell you all I can but I cannot 
 tell you all." 
 
 I started in my chair, for the child note was absent 
 from her words, and the passion of womanhood was 
 in its stead. Awesome to a father's heart is that 
 moment wherein a daughter's voice unconsciously 
 asserts the suffrage of her soul. 
 
 " Go on, my daughter tell me what you may," I 
 said, for I knew now that the realm was one wherein 
 parental authority was of no avail. 
 
 Only silence followed ; her lips spoke no word, but 
 the heaving bosom had a rhetoric all its own and told 
 me that a new life, begotten not of mine, was throb- 
 bing there. An alien life it seemed to me, a soul's 
 expansion beyond the province of my own, an infini- 
 tude which denied the sway of even a father's love. 
 At length she spoke : 
 
 " Oh, father, I will tell you all that is, all I can. 
 But I am so lonely. You cannot follow me, father. 
 I have gone away in with another in where you 
 cannot go,"
 
 1 82 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " What mean you, Margaret ? In where ? Where 
 can I not come ? " I asked, perplexed. 
 
 " Father, let me tell you. I am speaking in a fig- 
 ure, I know but it is the only way and you will 
 understand. Love is a far country, and prodigals 
 take their journey there but they seek it two by 
 two. Oh, father, another one and I went off together 
 to that far, far land and those who go leave father 
 and mother far behind. But there is no hunger and 
 no famine there." 
 
 Rich the endowment love bestows ! While we 
 had all thought Margaret anything but dull, yet this 
 new speech of metaphor and music fell upon my ears 
 as a great surprise. That live coal from off God's 
 altar had touched her lips when first another's burn- 
 ing lips of love anointed them with flame. When 
 this new sun arises, the humblest of God's meadow 
 creatures know that the soul has wings and spread 
 them in that holy light. 
 
 Closer to my breast I pressed the heart whose 
 tumult, as it struggled with its muffled witnesses, 
 started the same passionate riot in my own. 
 
 "There are many voices in your heart, daughter 
 mine ; let them speak every one and tell me all their 
 story. Where is it that your father cannot come ? " 
 
 " Father," she answered, with sweet calmness but 
 with averted face, " I never loved you more than
 
 A MAIDEN'S LOYE 183 
 
 now. But love's joy is in its loneliness, its sweet 
 bridal loneliness. It was a long weary way that an- 
 other one and I you know his name, and I cannot 
 speak it yet walked together, but not alone to- 
 gether ; for others walked besides us and friendship 
 is a cruel thing. But oh, father dear, one day no, 
 it was in the gloaming, we saw an avenue far be- 
 yond ; and we both knew it was for us and for us 
 alone. I saw it first, but I did not let Angus know. 
 But he saw it in a moment and he started quickly on. 
 Then my feet fell back, though my heart pressed on 
 with his. But Angus would not let me stop. He 
 hurried me on ; and it was sweet to be overborne, for 
 love makes a man so strong and a woman so weak. 
 
 " When we came close up to where you enter in, 
 I saw that the way within was sweet, and shadowy, 
 so shadowy, but I saw that it was long, so long. 
 And I turned away, though my heart never turned. 
 But Angus 's eyes never moved from the avenue, and 
 he whispered that it was meant for us two just for 
 us two and for none on earth beside ; he said no 
 one could go in alone, because it would vanish if 
 they did and he held me close and we went in to- 
 gether and we shall come out no more forever. 
 That is where you cannot come, father nor mother, 
 nor dearest friend can. You could not if you would, 
 for it is God who keeps the gate/'
 
 i4 ST. CU'THBERTS 
 
 Her trembling voice was still, but throbbing heart 
 and swelling bosom still poured forth their passionate 
 utterance. 
 
 Soon her lips opened igain, yielding before the 
 inner tide. 
 
 " And father," her hot cheek pressed to mine fore- 
 told the ardent story, " it was at evening, as I said, 
 and Angus and I had wandered far farther than we 
 thought. We were resting on a grassy knoll. Angus 
 had been speaking of his mother, and he said that 
 the beauty of nature always made his heart ache. 
 Surely, father, there is nothing so lonesome as beauty 
 when the heart's lonesome ! Angus and I were still 
 a long time till it was growing dusk ; and then at 
 last he said, ' How lonely all this is if no one loves 
 you ! ' And I started at his tone, and when my eyes 
 met his I went down before them, for they caressed 
 me so. Father dear, I need not tell you all. I could 
 not if I would no girl could. I know, I remember, 
 oh, I remember what he said, and no one else knows 
 but me, and my soul trusted him and he took me 
 into the sheltering place where nobody but God 
 could see my soul's surrender." 
 
 " My daughter, my little daughter," was all I 
 said. 
 
 " Wait, father," her face now was hidden deep and 
 she was whispering into my very heart, " there is an-
 
 A MAIDEN'S LOVE 185 
 
 other thing I want to tell you no, two things, for 
 they were both together. 
 
 " Father, he kissed me on the lips and I did not 
 believe it ; for just a moment before we had been 
 listening to the crickets and looking at the sun. But 
 he kissed me on the lips and my whole soul surged 
 hot, and my eyes were closed for I felt him coming 
 and I could not speak or move. 
 
 " And I don't know why, but I thought of the 
 sacrament and the holy wine, and everything was 
 holy not like music, but like a bell, a great cathe- 
 dral bell with its unstained voice. And father (I 
 shall feel purer when I tell you this), father, that very 
 moment I felt a strange new life in my breast and the 
 old girlish life was gone and there came before my 
 closed eyes a vision of another just like Angus, white 
 and soft and helpless and I heard its cry and my 
 heart melted in me with the great compassion. And 
 I knew that what I called love was really life, just 
 life. And I felt no shame at all, but a great pride 
 that it was all so holy for it is holy, father, and no 
 one prompted it but God. Father, do you love me ? " 
 
 I bent to kiss the glowing lips, but I remembered, 
 and kissed her brow instead, beautiful and pure be- 
 fore my misty eyes. She drew herself gently from 
 my arms and in a moment the sweet presence had 
 departed. But the fragrance of love and innocence
 
 1 86 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 was left behind and my faltering answer came at last, 
 though she heard it not : 
 
 " Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see 
 God."
 
 XX 
 
 A FATHER'S CRUCIFIXION 
 
 IT is from joy alone that real sorrow can be 
 brewed. Were joy to perish from the earth 
 human lips would soon forget the bitter taste 
 of anguish. The only intolerable clouds are those 
 which follow swift upon some rosy morn, frowning 
 its every sunbeam into darkness, pursuing its fugitive 
 smiles as the hound pursues the deer. The soul's 
 great sickness is in joy's relapse. 
 
 Into the tide of our daughter's virgin gladness her 
 mother and I were soon gladly swept. Love and joy 
 are incendiary things and we soon succumbed to the 
 sweet contagion. Apart altogether from our daugh- 
 ter's choice, he might well have been our own ; for 
 Angus Strachan was strong of body and vigorous of 
 mind, and pure of soul. He had made swift strides in 
 his chosen calling, and was now a partner in one of the 
 manufacturing firms which were New Jedboro's 
 pride. At the door of industry he had knocked 
 with patient hand, and wealth had answered to that 
 knock herself. He was a man of influence, ever in- 
 creasing, in New Jedboro. In St. Cuthbert's, he was 
 held in high esteem by all, and the next election, we 
 
 187
 
 i88 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 knew, would call him to the elder's honoured place. 
 Prepossessing in appearance, manly in bearing, 
 musical in speech, fragrant in character, Angus might 
 well wake the echoes of even our Margaret's noble 
 heart. 
 
 Wherefore there was joy in St. Cuthbert's manse, 
 and in its three devoted hearts, beating high with a 
 common hope. Our morning sun shone radiantly. 
 
 But the eclipse came suddenly. It was again the 
 Sabbath evening, and Margaret again was nestling 
 close, her face bearing more and more the beauty 
 which love's tuition gives. 
 
 " Father," she suddenly began, " I want to ask 
 you something." 
 
 " What is it, child ? " I said. 
 
 " You know that verse in the Bible that says : 
 ' Who did sin, this man or his parents ? ' You know 
 the verse. Well father, who did sin ? Was it the 
 man, or was it his parents ? " 
 
 " What a strange question, child ! What on earth 
 has that to do with you ? " 
 
 " Never mind, father let us stick to the text," 
 she answered. " You are a minister and I want you 
 to stick to the text. Tell me who did sin ? " 
 
 " Well, if the man's blindness was because of sin, 
 since he was born blind and since he couldn't sin be- 
 fore he was born, I suppose it must have been his
 
 A FATHER'S CRUCIFIXION 189 
 
 parents," I answered slowly. " What difference does 
 it make to you ? " For I was curious to know. 
 
 " And don't you think," she went on unheedingly, 
 < that it was cruel for anybody to hold that poor man 
 responsible for his parents' sin ? " 
 
 " I suppose so, but why are you catechizing me 
 like this, burrowing among old questions of two 
 thousand years ago ? " 
 
 " Oh, father, there are no old questions," and there 
 was a strange cry in her voice, " because there are no 
 old lives. They are all new every day they all 
 live again, father. Sin is new and sorrow is new 
 and the Cross is new, father so new and so cruel," 
 she cried, the tears now flowing fast, "and that 
 question isn't old it is asked every day. And it 
 is asked of me and I have to answer it, and answer 
 it as you have done, and as the compassionate 
 Saviour would have done," she concluded, her voice 
 trembling with its passion. 
 
 " What on earth do you mean, Margaret ? Sin, 
 sorrow, the Cross, what have these to do with you ? " 
 I asked eagerly. 
 
 " It was only last night that Angus told me. Poor 
 fellow, his face was white when he came and his look 
 was full of agony. Of course I asked him to tell me 
 what was the matter. We were in the library, for I 
 always took him there because it has a fireplace, and
 
 190 ST. CUTHBER'T'S 
 
 we both love to watch the fire. I had laid the wood 
 myself last night before Angus came, and there was 
 never task so dear it was the gloaming when I laid 
 it, but I knew it would soon be bright. 
 
 " But about his answer to my question. Surely no 
 maiden yet had so strange an answer. For, without 
 a word, he went to the desk and took the Bible in his 
 hands. When he had found the place he stood be- 
 fore me and read me this : 
 
 " ' Then cometh Jesus with them unto the place 
 called Gethsemane. . . . My soul is exceeding 
 sorrowful unto death. . . . My Father if this cup 
 may not pass away from Me except I drink it, Thy 
 will be done.' 
 
 " His voice was strange to me, and I was trem- 
 bling for I didn't know what he meant. But I knew it 
 was my Judgment Day. 
 
 " ' Angus,' I said faintly, ' what do you mean ? 
 What has that to do with us ? That is a story of two 
 thousand years ago.' 
 
 " ' Margaret,' he answered, ' the story of Geth- 
 semane is never old. Its willows cast the same 
 shadows yet as those into which our Saviour crept. 
 And that cup is never empty, though human lips 
 are ever draining it to its dregs. It is close to my 
 lips to-night and to your sweet lips too, my darling 
 and we must drink it together.'
 
 A FATHER'S CRUCIFIXION 191 
 
 " ' Together, Angus,' I said, thank God for that.' 
 The word was sweet. Oh, father, head-winds are 
 precious unto love if only love's hands together hold 
 the sail. 
 
 " After a long silence Angus spoke again and my 
 poor heart had to listen. 
 
 " ' Margaret,' he began, ' no man ever renounced 
 what I renounce to-night, for no man ever loved as I 
 love you, though I reckon many a man would swear 
 the same, knowing not his perjury for none can 
 know my love. And joy, and pride, and home 
 and all with which our pure thought had enriched 
 our home all these must I surrender now. I must 
 give up everything but love and that is mine forever. 
 Oh, Margaret, I won you, did I not ? I, a poor 
 Scottish laddie, a herd among the heather. I came 
 to Canada lang syne, and by and by I won you, did 
 I not, Margaret ? 
 
 " But I must give you up and I will tell you 
 why. 
 
 " ' It was not hard for me to find that story of 
 Gethsemane. When I was but a laddie among the 
 Scottish hills my mother's Bible aye opened at that 
 very place; and laddie though I was, I noticed it, 
 for the page was marked and worn and soiled with 
 tears. 
 
 " ' I asked my mother many a time why the Book
 
 I 9 2 ST. 
 
 aye opened there and what soiled and marked it so. 
 She told me not for long, saying only that it was 
 marked and soiled before her laddie had been born. 
 
 " ' But the night before I sailed from Annan Foot, 
 she put her arms about me and she told me of the 
 anguish of her soul and all about the tear-stained 
 place for she told me of her own Gethsemane and 
 of the bitter cup, and said that her laddie's lips could 
 pass it by no more than hers. 
 
 " ' And ever since that night ma ain buik aye 
 opens at Gethsemane. Oh, Margaret, you under- 
 stand, do you not ? ' he cried, ' I am not worthy of 
 you and of your love. 
 
 " ' The far-off strain of sin starting from another 
 heart than mine (another than my mother's, by the 
 living God) has stained my name. Mine is an unhal- 
 lowed name. Mine is a shadowed birth. Mine is 
 the perpetual Gethsemane and mine the unemptied 
 cup ! 
 
 " ' Forgive me, Margaret, for the wrong I did you. 
 I should never have spoken love to you at all, or if I 
 did, I should have told you of the blight upon it ; 
 but the sky and the trees and the hill were clothed 
 that night in the beauty that wrapt my soul and I 
 thought that God had forgotten and had shrived me 
 in the same sacred light. But He does not forget. 
 That light itself cannot drive the shadow from Geth-
 
 A FATHER'S CRUCIFIXION 193 
 
 semane and the cup has never since been absent 
 from my lips.' 
 
 'Angus stopped and God watched over me; for 
 He pitied me. 
 
 " I thought of you and mother first, but God still 
 kept my will in His. I wanted God to lead me and 
 I asked Him to help me and I waited. 
 
 " ' Angus,' I said at last, your mother loved him, 
 did she not?' 
 
 " ' Loved ! ' he answered, ' her pure heart knew no 
 other passion. My own is but an echo. Behold ! I 
 was shapen in love.' 
 
 " ' Then,' said I, ' let her that is without love cast 
 the first stone at her. If any sinning woman love, 
 she has an advocate with the Father. Oh, Angus ! 
 Come to me ! ' I cried, for I was fainting." 
 
 ****** 
 
 Her story was finished now and my daughter added 
 not a word. But she arose and stood before me, her 
 eyes searching my pallid face for a verdict, if haply 
 it might be like her own. I noticed the woman's 
 tactics in her move, for woman's genius makes its 
 home within her soul ; she had left my arms that I 
 might, if I would, hold them out to her again and 
 take her back forever. But the arms have their 
 hinges in the heart and mine was tight locked like a 
 vise.
 
 194 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " Margaret," I said at last, and my voice was like 
 the voice of age, " you do not mean that you suffered 
 this man's caresses after he told you what you have 
 just told me ? " 
 
 Sorrow looked from Margaret's eyes. 
 
 " Suffered ! " she replied, " suffered ! I have learned 
 what suffering is, God knows, but He knows it was 
 not there I learned it. * This man.' Oh, father, I 
 love him am I all alone ? " 
 
 How strong is the weakness of love ! There is no 
 panoply like that which love provides, and she who 
 bears it has the whole armour 'of God. 
 
 " Margaret," I pleaded, " you surely will not ruin 
 your life and break your mother's heart and mine by 
 any madness such as this." 
 
 " ' Ruin my life/ father ! what ruin can there be 
 to the life that loves and is loved ? I have no life at 
 all apart from him. It seems so simple. I can't take 
 back my heart ! " 
 
 " Perhaps so, my daughter,* I replied, " perhaps so. 
 I know your love is no fickle thing. But Margaret, 
 you do not propose to link your life with his, shad- 
 owed as you yourself declare it to have been from his 
 birth ? " 
 
 " Father, it is already linked. It was not I who 
 linked our lives, nor was it he ; nor was it both to- 
 gether it was God. Surely He wouldn't have let
 
 A FATHER'S CRUCIFIXION 195 
 
 me love and trust, if it was wrong. I want you to 
 help me ; I am all alone." 
 
 " But you do not mean," I cried with growing 
 warmth, " that I, the minister of St. Cuthbert's Kirk, 
 New Jedboro, am to be called upon to take into my 
 family and to acknowledge as my son, a man who 
 cannot speak his father's name, who cannot," for I 
 was maddening fast, " speak it even to himself, for- 
 sooth, because he knows not what it is ? " 
 
 " Oh, father, do not press me so ; I love you and 
 I love him too, and " 
 
 " But about our family ? " I asked hotly. 
 
 " I forgot about families," she sobbed. " Oh, father, 
 teach this poor heart of mine to love no more and I 
 will obey your every wish but it is hard for love to 
 serve two masters." 
 
 My heart was wrung by her plaintive voice ; but 
 love dwells hard by cruelty, and my self-control was 
 going fast. Let those defend me who have known 
 my agony. 
 
 " You know, I suppose, the result that will issue 
 from your madness ? You know what it will mean 
 to your future relations here ? " I asked hoarsely, ex- 
 plaining my threat by a glance about the room. 
 
 " Don't call it madness, father," she replied, plead- 
 ingly. " There is no madness in love. I cannot help 
 it, father. Why should I ? Surely Angus is the
 
 196 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 same as he was when first I loved him. I haven't 
 learned anything new about the soul of him, 
 father." 
 
 " But his origin ? " I interrupted. 
 
 " But he is good, father, and kind and true 
 and he loves me." 
 
 It was but a moment till I was past the bounds of 
 reason. Disappointment, pride, shame, anger all 
 these had their cruel way with me. I am covered 
 with confusion as with a garment while I try to re- 
 cord what followed, though I could not tell it all, even 
 if I would. There is no cruelty like the cruelty of 
 love. For the anguished soul pours out the vials of 
 its remorse and self-reproach upon the well loved 
 head, and fury waxes with its shame. 
 
 " I want none of your preaching," and my voice 
 was coarse with anger ; " you are a willful and dis- 
 obedient child and you may as well learn first as last 
 who is the master of this house. Do you hear ? " 
 
 " Yes, I hear, and my heart is broken. You want 
 me to go away and not to see me any more. And I 
 don't know where to go." 
 
 She was kneeling now and the tears were dropping 
 hot upon my hand, which she had taken in both of 
 hers. " Oh, father, when birdlings leave the nest, 
 surely God wants them to go, because He gives them 
 wings. Father, dear, oh, do not push me out in this
 
 A FATHER'S CRUCIFIXION 197 
 
 cruel way. I want to keep you and Angus both 
 and mother. Ami really wrong ? 
 
 " Father, you are a preacher of the Everlasting 
 Gospel, and doesn't that say we were all born wrong 
 and need to be born again ? You said only last Sun- 
 day that if we're once on the Rock, God forgets all 
 about the pit and the miry clay. And you said God 
 makes the past new all new, and that all the re- 
 deemed ones are just the same in His sight all 
 good, and with the past away behind them. I 
 thought it was beautiful, because I thought about 
 Angus and it seemed just like the Saviour's way." 
 
 My heart was wrung with a great desire to take 
 the bended form unto myself. I half moved forward 
 to kiss the lips of this kneeling priestess unto love. 
 But as I did so the memory of other lips that had 
 been pressed to them rolled in upon me and swept 
 away the better impulse. I faltered into compro- 
 mise. 
 
 " Margaret, you are still my daughter and I am 
 touched by what you say. Let us find common 
 ground. Promise me that you will suspend judgment 
 in this matter for a year, your promise meantime to 
 be revoked and at the end of that time, we will take 
 it up afresh. This will give time for sober judg- 
 ment." 
 
 But her blanched face turned to mine, and the
 
 198 ST. CUTH BERT'S 
 
 white lips spoke again. " Oh, spare me, father, for I 
 cannot you know I cannot oh, father, pity me ! " 
 
 My soul flamed with ungovernable anger. I did 
 pity her and this it was that stirred my cruelty. For 
 my soul relapsed to barbarous coarseness and I said : 
 
 " Then choose between us you can have your ," 
 
 and I called him an awful word, the foulest of all 
 words, whose very sound speaks the shame it means 
 to tell, the curse of humanity hissed in its nauseous 
 syllables. 
 
 And more but how can I write it down ! I did 
 not strike her but I thrust her from me ; I laid my 
 coward hand upon her shoulder not in violence nor 
 heavily, but eternal menace was in it. For I pushed 
 her from me, crying brutally : " Quote me another 
 Scripture. Have you not chosen the better part? 
 There is the door which his shadow first accursed 
 you see the door ? " and I hurled the poisoned word 
 at her again. 
 
 She looked at me but once as one, suddenly 
 awakening, looks at her assassin. Then she went out, 
 a lover as white as snow.
 
 XXI 
 
 The OLD PRECENTOR'S NEW SONG 
 
 AS a stream emerges from its forest tunnel, 
 eluding the embrace of tangled shadows, 
 swiftly gliding from sombre swamps and 
 hurrying towards the sunlit plain, its phantom weeds 
 of widowhood exchanged for its bridal robe of light ; 
 so doth this tale of mine glide forth from the sable 
 shadows which garrison the chapter it has left be- 
 hind. 
 
 No man loves to linger by his scaffold, though it 
 be cheated of its last adornment, and though no eye 
 behold its grinning outline but its own. For there 
 are shadowy scaffolds, and invisible executioners, sit- 
 ting at our own boards and eating of our own bread, 
 discernible only in a glass. Our own Sheriffs and 
 Executioners are we all. 
 
 Swift in the wake of sorrow came the unromantic 
 form of toil. Thank God ! Work is sorrow's cure, 
 its hands like the hands of an enemy, but its voice 
 the voice of an Eternal friend. For duty is God's 
 midwife, sent to deliver the soul that travails in its 
 
 anguish. 
 
 199
 
 200 ST. CUT H BERT'S 
 
 It was but the day after Margaret had passed from 
 out my door, girding it as she went with crape, invis- 
 ible to other eyes, that I was called to Archie Mc- 
 Cormack's house. The day was bright and clear, but 
 I knew it not for in this doth sorrow make us like 
 to God, that then the darkness and the light are both 
 alike. 
 
 For some months past, my old precentor had been 
 failing fast. The doctor said it was his heart, but 
 none of us believed it ; for his heart had grown larger, 
 stronger, happier with every passing year. Its outer 
 life might perish if it would, but its inner life was re- 
 newed day by day. Indeed, his soul's second harvest 
 seemed to take the form of cheerfulness, the scantiest 
 crop of all in the stern seasons of his earlier life. 
 Even merriment sought to bloom before the frost 
 should come. 
 
 The very day before Margaret and I began our 
 life's Lenten season, I had been to see him, little think- 
 ing that my next visit was to be the last. My own 
 heart was full of that joy whose overflow Margaret 
 had entrusted to its care which is a great gift to a 
 minister, this gift of gladness, seeking as he does to 
 irrigate the thirsty plains of life about him. 
 
 " How is my precentor to-day ? " I asked as I sat 
 down at the blazing hearth. He was lying on the 
 couch, the fourth gradation the field, the veranda,
 
 The OLD PRECENTOR'S NEW SONG 201 
 
 the room, the couch, the bed, the grave thus the 
 promotion runs ! 
 
 " I'm by or'nar glad to see ye," he replied, 
 evasively. " The auld freens are the best." 
 
 " That's good, Archie, the old friends are glad to 
 hear it. They hear it seldom from Scottish lips, 
 however hopefully they suspect it." 
 
 " We're nae muckle given to compliments I'll 
 grant ye that. But whiles we think ; an" whiles we 
 speak an' whiles we wunna. But I'm no backward 
 in tellin' a man gin I care for him. Noo, I was 
 sayin' to the wife this verra day that yon man ye 
 brocht frae Montreal last simmer was like eneuch a 
 graun preacher I'm no disputin' that, mind ye. But 
 I was sayin' to the wife as hoo I likit yirsel' fully 
 mair nor him." 
 
 I smiled with pleasure, for the process was an in- 
 teresting one. Bouquets look strange in these rough 
 Scottish hands but their fragrance is the sweeter for 
 all that. 
 
 " I understand, Archie. You do not often pay a 
 compliment, but I know its sincerity when it comes 
 and I appreciate it all the same." 
 
 He had not finished, for he felt he had gone too far. 
 
 " Aye, that's what I was sayin' to the wife. I likit 
 yirsel' fully better nor him it's different ye see ; I'm 
 gettin' kind o' used to ye, ye ken ! "
 
 202 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 This made his tribute morally complete. Oh, 
 thou Scotchman ! Thou canst not withhold a tinc- 
 ture of lemon from the sweetest cup ! 
 
 " But how is my precentor to-day ? " I renewed, 
 fearful of additional repairs to his eulogy. 
 
 " Weel, I'm no' complainin' an' I'm no' boastin' ; 
 but there's mony a yin waur. I'm no* sufferin' pain 
 to speak o'. I can sleep at nicht, an' I tak my par- 
 ritch, an' I hae ma faculties an' I'm in God's hauns," 
 he said, the climax coming with unconscious power. 
 
 " There's no better bulletin than that," I responded. 
 " I see you still take your smoke, Archie," I added 
 cheerfully, nodding towards an ancient trusty pipe 
 which enjoyed its brief respite on a chair, long his 
 familiar friend, and noticeably breathing out its 
 loyalty where it lay. 
 
 " Ou, aye, I dinna lack for ony o' the needcessities 
 o' life, thank God," he replied gratefully, and with 
 utter seriousness. 
 
 " What a blessing that you are free from pain," I 
 hurriedly remarked ; for the mouth, like a capricious 
 steed, is more easily controlled when it is in motion. 
 
 " Aye, that's a great blessin'. I've been uncom- 
 mon free frae pain. A fortnight syne, I had a verra 
 worritsome feelin' in ma innerts a kind o' colic, I'm 
 jalousin'. Sandy Grant said as how whusky wi' a 
 little sulphur was gey guid. I tell 't him I never
 
 The OLD PRECENTOR'S NEW SONG 203 
 
 had novvt to dae wi' sulphur i' ma life, an' I wudna 
 begin to bother wi't noo ; " and Archie lifted his 
 eyebrows, adjusted his night-cap, and turned upon me 
 a very solemn smile. 
 
 He doubtless saw by my face that I approved his 
 caution, for I secretly believed that he was right. 
 Thus confirmed, he lay meditating for a time, but it 
 was soon made evident that his thoughts had not 
 wandered far from the matter in hand. 
 
 " Aye, sulphur's nae improvement to whusky," he 
 slowly averred at length, " forbye, I was richt. I was 
 richt frae a medeecinal standpoint, ye ken. The 
 verra next day ma doctor ordered me to tak a little 
 whusky for the pain I tell't ye o'. An' I did ; I took 
 it afore he tell't me." 
 
 "And it did you good, Archie?" I asked in- 
 dulgently. 
 
 " Guid ? " replied Archie, in a tone of much re- 
 proach. Then he said no more, scorning to demon- 
 strate an axiom. But he was not through with the 
 subject. The moral had still to be pointed. 
 
 " Is't no won'erfu', minister, the law o' compensa- 
 tion that oor Creator gies us, to reach a' through oor 
 lives? 
 
 " Pain has its ither side, ye ken. An' when we say 
 as hoo it's an ill wind that blaws naebody guid, 
 we're acknowledgin' the love o' the Almichty. Ilka
 
 204 ST. CUTHBERr'S 
 
 cloud has aye its siller linin'. Noo, for instance, it 
 was a fearfu' pain I took but the ither that I took 
 to cure it it was Scotch," and Archie drew a gentle 
 sigh, half of piety and half of reminiscence. 
 
 When next I turned my steps towards Archie's 
 door, though only two short days had fled, all life 
 had changed to me and darkness hung about me like 
 a pall. Upon which change I was bitterly reflecting 
 when I was interrupted by a message that Archie 
 was taken somewhat worse and not expected to live 
 longer than through the night. And I could not but 
 be glad of this summons from my own life's tragedy, 
 that I might share another's. It is God's blessed 
 way. The balm for secret sorrow is in the bosom of 
 another burden, unselfishly assumed ; and the Cyre- 
 nian of every age hath this for his hire, that, while he 
 bends beneath another's cross, he is disburdened of 
 his own. 
 
 I found my old precentor weak, and failing fast, 
 but " verra composed," as we say in New Jedboro. 
 
 He welcomed me with a gentle sniile. 
 
 " Ye'll pray wi' me," he said gravely, " but it'll no' 
 be the closin' prayer. I'm wearin' awa fast, but I'll 
 no' leave ye till the morn, I'm dootin'. Pit up a bit 
 prayer noo but there's ae thing dinna mind the
 
 The OLD PRECENTOR'S NEW SONG 205 
 
 Maister o' His promise to come again an' receive me 
 till Himsel' no' that it isna a gowden word ; but I 
 want it keepit till the last an' it's the last word I want 
 to hear. Speak it to me when I hear the surge. 
 That'll gie Him time eneuch, for He'll no' be far awa. 
 An' I want to hear it aboon the billows. Noo pit up 
 yir prayer." 
 
 Short and simple were our petitions; for the 
 prayer of little children is best for those who are 
 about to enter into the kingdom of God. 
 
 After we had finished, my eyes, unknown to him, 
 were long fixed on Archie's face. For a strange in- 
 terest centres about those whose loins are girded for 
 long journeys ; and I have never outgrown the boy- 
 ish awe with which I witnessed the loosening of the 
 ropes that held aerial travellers to the earth. I have 
 seen some scores of persons die, 
 
 " By many a death-bed I have been 
 And many a sinner's parting seen," 
 
 but the awful tragedy is ever new and familiarity 
 breeds increasing reverence. Death is a hero to his 
 valet. 
 
 " You are not afraid, Archie? " I said at length 
 the old question that springs, not to the dying, but to 
 the living lips. 
 
 " Afeart ! " said Archie, " what wad I be afeart 
 for?"
 
 206 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " You are not afraid to meet your Lord ? " I an- 
 swered, inwardly reproaching myself for the words. 
 
 " Afeart ! " repeated the dying man, " afeart to 
 meet ma Lord. Why should I be feart to meet a 
 Man that died for me ? " 
 
 I inwardly blessed him for the great reply and en- 
 gaged its unanswerable argument for my next Sab- 
 bath's sermon. No man dieth unto himself. 
 
 " Wull ye dae something for me ? " said Archie, 
 suddenly. " Wull ye write to a man I kent lang 
 syne ? " 
 
 " Certainly," said I. " Who is the man, Archie? " 
 
 " I'll tell ye, gin ma hairt hauds guid a meenit. 
 It's Andra Mathieson an' he lives in San Francisco. 
 Him an' me gaed to the schule thegither in the Auld 
 Country, an' I hadna seen him for nigh fifty year till 
 last Can'lemas a twalmonth, when I gaed to San 
 Francisco for ma health. He's awfu' rich. He lives 
 in a graun hoose an' he has a coachman wi' yin o' 
 thae coats wi' buttons. But I gaed to see him an' I 
 needna hae been sae feart, for he minded on me, an' 
 he wadna hear o' me bidin' at the taivern, an' he 
 took me to his graun hoose, an' he was ower guid to 
 a plain cratur like me. 
 
 " Weel, ae mornin', we was sittin', haein' oor crack 
 aboot the auld days, an' the schule, an' the sheep we 
 herded thegither on the Ettrick hills. But oor crack
 
 The OLD PRECENTOR'S NEW SONG 207 
 
 aye harkit back to the kirk an' the minister an' the 
 catechism, an' a' thae deeper things o' auld lang 
 syne. He said as hoo he had gane far bye thae 
 things, livin' amang the stour o' a' his siller but he 
 remarkit that he aften thocht o' the auld ways, an' 
 the auld tunes, an' the minister vvi' his goon an' 
 bands ; an' he said he was fair starvin' for a psalm 
 or a paraphrase. They dinna sing them in Amer- 
 iky. An' I lilted yin till him we was lookin' far 
 oot at the Gowden Gate, an' it lookit like the crystal 
 water ma een'll sune see." 
 
 Archie stopped, though apparently but little ex- 
 hausted. His eyes seemed flooded with tender mem- 
 ories of that momentous hour on the far distant 
 Pacific Coast. 
 
 " What psalm did you sing him ? " I ventured, 
 presently. 
 
 " It was a paraphrase," he answered, the smile still 
 upon his face. " It was the twenty-sixth : 
 
 " Ho ye that thirst approach the spring 
 Where living waters flow,' 
 
 an' Andra grat like a bairn : 
 
 " ' I haena heard it sin I ran barefit aboot the 
 hills,' he said, an' he wad hae me sing the lines 
 ower again : 
 
 " ' How long to streams of false delight 
 Will ye in crowds repair ? '
 
 208 ST. CUrHBERT'S 
 
 an' I'm no' worthy, I ken, but I pit up a bit prayer 
 wi' him ye mauna think I'm boastin', sir, but I 
 brocht him to Christ, an' when I think on't noo, it's 
 lichtsome, an' I'm minded o' that simmer sun on the 
 Gowden Gate. Ye'll write to him an' tell him we'll 
 sing a psalm thegither yet." 
 
 My promise given and Andrew Mathieson's ad- 
 dress taken, Archie lay silent for a little time. Swift 
 glances at myself, swiftly withdrawn, denoted his de- 
 sire to say something more. It came at length and 
 with unmistakable directness. 
 
 " I'm dootin' I've been wrang ; mebbe I was 
 ' righteous over-much.' " 
 
 " What is it, Archie ? " I said soothingly. " Some 
 sin ? Or some mistake in the days that are gone ? " 
 
 " I'm no' sayin' it was the yin or the ither," replied 
 the old precentor, a familiar frosty flavour in his 
 voice, " an' if it was, I'll no' confess it to ony yin but 
 God but I'm misdootin' I was ower hard on the 
 hymes." 
 
 " What hymns, Archie ? " I asked, seeking only to 
 make easier his acknowledgment of error, ever diffi- 
 cult to Scottish lips. For, if the truth were told, 
 Scotchmen secretly divide sins into three classes, 
 those of omission, of commission, and of admission. 
 
 " Ye ken fine," he made reply, " div ye no' mind 
 hoo Margaret an* Angus Strachan compeared afore
 
 The OLD PRECENTOR'S NEW SONG 209 
 
 the Kirk Session wi' their prayer for man-made 
 hymes i' the kirk ? " 
 
 " Yes, Archie, I remember the Session denied 
 their request." 
 
 Ah me, I thought, how much has befallen Marga- 
 ret and Margaret's father since that night ! 
 
 " Ay, I ken that ; an' I'm no' regrettin' but I'm 
 dootin' I was ower hard on the hymes. My speerit 
 was aye ower fiery for an elder. But King Dauvit 
 himsel' was mair fearsome than me wi' blasphemers 
 no' to ca' Margaret yin ; but I'm mindin' that the 
 Maister aye took anither way, a better yin, I'm 
 dootin'. An' I'm feart I was mair like Dauvit, for a' 
 I'd raither be like the Maister." 
 
 " You have the right of it, Archie ; He showed us 
 the more excellent way." 
 
 " Forbye," Archie went on, pursuing his line of 
 thought, " I've my misgivin's aboot wha wrote thae 
 hymes. It wasna the deevil, an' it wasna Watts, an' 
 it wasna yon great Methody body; they set them 
 doon, nae doot but wha started them? I'm sair 
 dootin' they had their rise amang the hills, the same 
 whaur Dauvit saw the glory o' God." 
 
 " Above the hills of time," I added softly. 
 
 " An' what's mair, it kind o' came to me that a 
 hyme micht be a prayer, ye ken. Noo, your prayer 
 in the kirk is no' inspired. That is, no' like Dauvit's
 
 2io ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 psalms but it's upliftin' for a' that. An' I'm thinkin' 
 that mebbe it's nae waur to lilt a prayer than to 
 speak yin, an' mebbe the great Methody was prayin' 
 when he said : 
 
 " Let me to Thy bosom fly,' 
 
 an' I'm dootin' we micht dae waur than jine wi' him." 
 " There is no more fitting prayer for such an hour 
 as this," I responded, thinking it meet to incline his 
 thoughts towards the encircling glow with which the 
 last great morning was already illumining his face. 
 
 But Archie still pursued his line of thought. No 
 such great concession as this was to be left unde- 
 fined ; this codicil to his whole life's will and testa- 
 ment must be explained. 
 
 " I ken the hymes never had what I micht ca' a 
 fair chance wi' me. My faither cudna thole them, 
 an' he cudna bide ony ither body to thole them. He 
 aye said the heather wasna dry yet wi' the Cove- 
 nanters' bluid. Ma ain girlie, wee Kirsty, she likit 
 them fine, but I forbade her. This was the way it 
 cam aboot div ye mind the year o' the Exposeetion 
 in Paris ? Weel, me an' Kirsty's mither took a jaunt 
 an' gaed till't. We was ower three weeks amang 
 thae foreign fowk, wi' nae parritch an' nae psalm. 
 We gaed frae Paris to the auld hame in Ettrick, an' 
 'twas like gae'n to Abraham's bosom frae the ither 
 place. Weel, the first Sabbath day, we gaed to the
 
 The OLD PRECENTOR'S NElf SONG 211 
 
 auld Scotch kirk, and we were starvin' for the bread 
 o' life. 
 
 " Naethin' had we had but the bit sweeties o' the 
 English kirk near by, wi' their confections an' ance 
 we gaed to the Catholic, but it was a holiday. Weel, 
 as I was sayin', we gaed to the Ettrick kirk an' the 
 minister came into the pulpit wi' his goon an' bands 
 fair graun it was. 
 
 " ' Let us worship God,' he said, an' 'twas like the 
 click o' the gate at hame. Then he gied oot a psalm : 
 
 ** So they from strength unwearied go 
 Still forward unto strength.' 
 
 " The precentor was naethin' graun. I have heard 
 better in St. Cuthbert's. He was oot mebbe a quar- 
 ter o' a beat in his time, but the auld words had 
 their power; 'twas like as if I heard my mither's voice 
 again, an' I cudna sing for greetin', but my hairt aye 
 keepit time, an' I resolved then no' to let Kirsty sing 
 the hymes ony mair but I'm misdootin' I've been 
 wrang." 
 
 Backward rolled the night and onward rolled the 
 day as we kept our vigil by the dying bed. Ever 
 solemn hour, rehearsal of a darker yet to be ! For 
 that same mystery shall wrap every watcher's heart, 
 and others then shall stand by the fallen sentinels. 
 
 Archie slumbered and waked by turns. We were
 
 212 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 just beginning to feel the approach of the magnetic 
 dawn when he awoke from an hour's sleep. 
 
 " The nicht's near gane," he said, " an' I'll sleep 
 nae mair ; for I aye likit to greet the mornin' licht." 
 
 We gathered closer, the old childish instinct which 
 drove us to the wharf's very edge when the sails were 
 being hoisted and the anchor weighed. 
 
 He beckoned me closer and I bent to catch his 
 words. 
 
 " Ye micht gie thae thochts o' mine to the Session 
 gin the maitter comes up again aboot the hymes, 
 ye ken, aboot hoo they micht be made intil a 
 prayer." 
 
 I silently gave the promise. 
 
 " An' mair I dinna forbid ye to sing a bit hyme 
 at the funeral. Let Wullie Allison lift the tune, for 
 he aye keeps the time. Yon Methody's hyme wad 
 dae: 
 
 " ' Hide me, oh, my Saviour hide 
 Till the storm of life is past," 
 
 for the wind'll be doon then, I'm hopin'. 
 
 " The fowk'll think it strange, for they a' ken my 
 convictions, sae ye'd better close wi" a paraphrase : 
 
 " Then will He own His servant's name 
 Before His father's face.' 
 
 That wad dae fine, for it's a' o' grace thegither."
 
 The OLD PRECENTOR'S NEW SONG 213 
 
 Archie lay silent for a time, breathing heavily, the 
 tumult of the last great conflict blending every mo- 
 ment with the peace of the last great surrender. An 
 instant later, the dying face seemed lightened, like 
 one who descries the lights of home. 
 
 " I canna juist mind the words ; is it the outgoin' o' 
 the mornin' He makes to rejoice?" 
 
 " And the evening," I said quickly, " the evening 
 too, Archie." 
 
 " Aye," he answered peacefully, " I thocht He 
 wadna forget tke gloamin'. Aye, mair the evenin' 
 than the mornin', I'm thinkin'." 
 
 His face was radiant now, for the morning light 
 had passed us watchers by, its glory resting on the 
 face that loved to greet it. 
 
 " Haud ma haun, guid-wife," his voice upborne by 
 the buoyancy of death. " I'm slippin' fast into the 
 licht. I see what they ca' the gates o' deith. The 
 licht has found them oot. They've been sair 
 maligned, I'm thinkin'. The pulpit has misca'd 
 them, but the believer's deein' lips can ca' them fair. 
 They're the gates o' deith, nae doot, but the Maister 
 hauds the keys." 
 
 We stood as close to the old precentor as we 
 might, but we were in the shadow still. For death 
 seldom shares his surprises with the alien and is self- 
 ish with his secret luxuries.
 
 214 Sr. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " Hark ye ! " the dying man suddenly cried. 
 " Div ye no' hear the sang ? It's graun ayont the 
 thocht o' man. They're a' in white, an' it's ' Martyr- 
 dom ' is the tune. Wha's leadin' them ? I see Him 
 fine ; it's Him wha made the sang itsel'. It's Him 
 wha's leadin' them. Div ye no' ken what they're 
 singin'? It's the new sang, the sang o' Moses an' 
 the Lamb. An' hark ye ! it's the same as the psalm 
 my mither taught me. I canna tell the yin frae the 
 ither." 
 
 And the old precentor hurried on to join the choir 
 invisible.
 
 XXII 
 
 "The MILLS of The GODS" 
 
 MARGARET was home again. She had 
 been gone from us two immeasurable 
 days. It was Mr. Blake who rang the 
 bell, for it was his house had sheltered her when my 
 cruel anger drove her from my own. Need and sor- 
 row never turned to him in vain. 
 
 When the door was opened, Margaret stood before 
 it alone. Her mother it was who opened unto her, 
 for this is woman's oldest and holiest avocation, door- 
 keeper unto wandering feet. In all His delicate 
 missions woman is God's deputy. 
 
 Through all my narrative of this sad affair I have 
 said but little of Margaret's mother, but I know my 
 readers have discerned her presence amid it all, as one 
 discerns a brooding mountain through the mist. 
 The great background of every tragedy is a woman's 
 stately sorrow. 
 
 I had been visiting the sick, far more for my sake 
 than for theirs, and was not home when Margaret 
 returned. But a nameless fragrance greeted me at 
 the door, and in my study I found Margaret in her 
 mother's arms. The latter quietly withdrew and the 
 
 215
 
 216 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 compact between father and daughter was soon com- 
 plete. It was of mutual surrender, wherein is mutual 
 peace. Margaret's only word was that she could not 
 give her father up nor Angus that I must say 
 nothing more about her love and that we must wait 
 together. Which was all sweet enough to me, for 
 she was mine again, and our manse light had been 
 rekindled. 
 
 For the rest, I was willing to wait, on which after 
 all hangs the reality of all joy or sorrow. Every 
 grief hath that opportunity of cure ; every joy that 
 peril of vicissitude. Till time hath ceased from her 
 travail, no man can tell her offspring's sex, whether 
 it be rugged care, or sweet and tender joy. 
 
 Meantime, Margaret nestled again within the old 
 tender place and we both struggled to nourish our 
 phantom joy. Counterfeit though we both discerned 
 it, yet it passed unchallenged between us and at least 
 kept our souls' commerce from decay. Counterfeit 
 I have called it, for the tenure of another's love was 
 upon her ; and her stay with us was like that of a 
 sailor lad who is for a time ashore, waiting for the 
 
 tardy tide. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The ordination Sabbath was aglow with holy light. 
 God surely loves Presbyterian high days, for they are 
 nearly always beautiful. St. Cuthbert's was filled
 
 "The MILLS of The GODS" 217 
 
 long before eleven with a reverent and expectant con- 
 gregation. Five new elders had been elected, three 
 of them their father's successors, for this was a com- 
 mon custom in New Jedboro, and apostolic succession 
 in disguise was in high favour amongst us. Another 
 was a man of seventy or more, for every ordination 
 must recognize the stalwarts whose days of activity 
 were past but whose time for honour was at hand. 
 The remaining elder-elect was Angus Strachan. His 
 choice by the congregation had been unanimous and 
 cordial. His examination by the Session had re- 
 sulted in hearty confirmation. Our manse tragedy 
 was unknown to any of the elders except Mr. Blake, 
 who preserved complete silence throughout the in- 
 terview. The ordeal was painful beyond words to me 
 but it was over, and Angus sat in the front pew 
 with the other four, awaiting ordination to their sacred 
 office. 
 
 We had sung the psalm which from time immemo- 
 rial Presbyterian ministers have announced on all ec- 
 clesiastical occasions, the hundred and second psalm, 
 the second version, from the thirteenth verse, reading 
 over again, as their habit is, the first two lines : 
 
 " Thou shalt arise and mercy yet 
 Thou to Mount Zion shalt extend ; " 
 
 the venerable Dr. Inglis of Moffat had preached the 
 sermon from the text : " Feed the flock of God
 
 218 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 which is among you," and the elders elect took their 
 places before the pulpit. 
 
 I addressed them in what I considered fitting terms, 
 recalling the great traditions of the church they were 
 called to serve and the noble labours of the godly men 
 whose mantles had now fallen upon themselves. I 
 referred to our precious legacy, bequeathed to us from 
 the hands of Covenanters, and a reverent hush 
 throughout the whole congregation applauded the 
 names of Renwick and Peden and Cameron, as they 
 fell from my lips. 
 
 Then all the elders took their places beside me, for 
 the act of ordination was about to be performed. 
 This consisted of prayer and the laying on of hands 
 not of the minister's hands alone, for we in St. 
 Cuthbert's adhered to the ancient Scottish mode of 
 ordination by the laying on of the hands of the entire 
 Session. 
 
 The candidates kneeled before us, Angus on my 
 right, having changed his place for some unapparent 
 reason, soon to be abundantly revealed. The hands 
 first outstretched towards his bended head were those 
 of Mr. Blake. Whereupon an awful thing befell us ; 
 for the solemn stillness of the kirk was broken by the 
 ringing of a voice aflame with passion : " Take back 
 your hand touch not a hair of my head. Go 
 cleanse your hand. Go purify your heart they are
 
 "The MILLS of The GODS" 219 
 
 both polluted. Whited sepulchre, give up your 
 dead let the rotting memories walk forth. Go wash 
 another's blood from your guilty soul before you dare 
 to serve at God's altar ! " 
 
 The trembling object of this outburst shrank back 
 from before it. The kneeling candidates bowed 
 lower. I myself stood as one in a fearful dream, 
 while the horror-stricken people half rose within 
 their pews, bending forward as they gazed at the 
 sacrilegious scene. 
 
 Angus turned and looked unflinchingly into their 
 faces. I feared he was about to speak again and I 
 raised my hand to signify forbiddal but he saw it not, 
 and my inward protest yielded to his fiery purpose. 
 
 " Aye, you may well look," he cried to the awe- 
 struck worshippers. " God knows I had not meant to 
 do this thing or to speak these words. I came here 
 with the honest purpose to assume the vows that 
 should forever bind me to His service. My heart was 
 honest before God ; but when I felt the approach of 
 those guilty hands it was beyond my power to endure 
 their touch. Nor should I feel shame for what I have 
 done. You remember the scourge of knotted cords 
 and the holy temple. Is it wrong that I too should 
 now seek to drive forth this unworthy man ? He 
 stands unmasked before you. You know not who he 
 is ! He is my father and we share our shame together !
 
 220 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 Another shares it with her God where the Ettrick 
 water hears her prayer. And this is the man whose 
 hands would convey the grace of God ! " 
 
 He stopped ; and the blanched faces before him 
 gave back a voice, half cry, half sob, anguish rending 
 every heart. They were a proud folk in St. Cuth- 
 bert's ; besides no man of all the elders was so dear to 
 them as Mr. Blake, his piety and philanthropy so 
 long tried and proved. Although we know it not, 
 there is no asset held more dear than the solvency of 
 a man in whom we vest the precious savings of our 
 confidence. 
 
 Every eye and heart seemed turned towards the 
 man so fiercely accused, silently entreating him to re- 
 lieve the cruel tension. 
 
 None doubted that his swift denial would confirm 
 the confidence of our loyal hearts. But the silence 
 drew itself out, moment after moment, each bequeath- 
 ing its legacy of pain to its successor. Mr. Blake's 
 eyes were raptly fixed on his accuser his traducer, 
 as we secretly defined him. Their light was not the 
 glow of wrath, nor of resentment, but of a strange 
 wistful curiosity, mixed with eager yearning. Fear 
 and love seemed to look out together. 
 
 In the pause that followed, Angus swiftly handed 
 to me a small picture, encased after an ancient 
 fashion.
 
 'The MILLS of The GODS" 221 
 
 " Look at that, sir," he said, " that will tell its tale 
 that is my father's face." 
 
 I looked with eager intentness, and it required 
 but a glance to show that the pictured face before 
 me, and the pallid face beside me, were the same. 
 The picture was evidently taken long years before, 
 and the stamp of youth and hope and ardent faith 
 was upon the face. Locks raven black, and an un- 
 wrinkled brow, had been exchanged for those that 
 bore the scar of time and care ; but no careful eye 
 could fail to see that the youthful face of the picture 
 and the ashen face of the elder were one and the 
 same. 
 
 But, more striking and fatal far the photo- 
 graph's evidence was not required. No man who 
 saw, as I saw, the faces of Michael Blake and Angus 
 Strachan side by side need wait for other evidence- 
 Often had I seen them thus before but never in the 
 nakedness of passion. 
 
 Passion has the artist's magic hand and her master 
 sketch is ever of her home. As Titian's immortal 
 hills were but the reproduction of his far-off dwelling- 
 place, genius plighting its troth to childhood, so doth 
 passion illumine first the environs of her long time 
 home, how humble so ever it may be. Passion 
 paints the eternal childlike that is in us all. The 
 face is the window through which the vista of a
 
 222 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 soul's inner life is flashed by her mystic hand, and in 
 that moment the window glows with the unfeigned 
 light of childhood, its simple radiance still un- 
 quenched, though long draped by artificial years. 
 
 Thus transfigured were the faces of Angus 
 Strachan and Michael Blake the one with mingled 
 love and fear, the other with unmingled scorn. 
 With that swift intensity of passion came the re- 
 versal to their common type, and the great betrayal 
 was complete. The blood they shared together, 
 speaking a kindred language, had turned King's evi- 
 dence at last, and its unanswerable testimony leaped 
 from face and eye. 
 
 For God hath His silent witnesses, like John the 
 Baptist, by us shut up in prison and by us beheaded 
 but He calleth them to the witness-stand as pleas- 
 eth Him ; and they live forever in dreadful gospels 
 of love and doom, the latter sharing the power of 
 the former's endless life. Their voice is heard above 
 Herodias' strains of revelry and even sceptred Sad- 
 ducees tremble at the sound. 
 
 Vast is life's mighty forest, but the wronger and 
 the wronged meet somewhere amid its shadowy 
 glades. Surely life's wooded maze might afford a 
 hiding place to those who fly from armed memories 
 but God's rangers tread its every glen with stealthy 
 step and the foliage of every thicket gleams with the
 
 "The MILLS of The GODS" 223 
 
 armour of His detective host. A chance meeting, a 
 foundling acquaintance, a stray newspaper, an un- 
 destroyed letter, a resurgent memory, a neglected 
 photograph, or, as here, a tell-tale tide of blood all 
 these have accepted God's retainer and bear the in- 
 visible badge that denotes His world-spread Force. 
 All life's apparent discord is harmony itself when He 
 determines the departments and allots to every thing, 
 and to every man, his work ! 
 
 " You speak of Ettrick ! What know you of 
 Ettrick? What is her name that lives there?" I 
 heard Mr. Blake ask in a faltering whisper, unheard 
 by the rigid worshippers. 
 
 " She bears no name save that which you defiled 
 it shall not be spoken here, though I honour it 
 with my deepest heart but look on this," and 
 Angus held out before him what he had drawn from 
 his bosom as he spoke. 
 
 Michael Blake's gaze was fixed upon it, no word 
 or sound coming from his lips. His eyes clung to it 
 with tranquil eagerness, unconscious of all about, 
 still clinging when Angus withdrew it, wrapped it 
 in the paper which had enclosed it, and restored it to 
 its hiding-place. 
 
 I know not why, but I held out my hand to him 
 eagerly : 
 
 " Let me see it, A ngus ; my own mother is with God."
 
 224 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 He hesitated but a moment, then drew it forth and 
 handed it to me. 
 
 " All the world may see it," he said quietly, " it is 
 my mother you may read the letter if you will." 
 
 The portrait was of a woman still rich with girl- 
 hood's charm. Of about nineteen years, I should 
 say, tall and graceful and sweet of countenance, with 
 a great wealth of hair, with eyes that no flame but 
 love's could have kindled, her lips, even in a picture, 
 instinct with pure passion, and her whole being evi- 
 dently fragrant and luscious as Scottish girlhood 
 alone can be. For the sweetest flowers are nour- 
 ished at the breast of the most rugged hills. 
 
 I was still reading the story of love and innocence 
 and hope, all of which were written in the lovely 
 face before me, when Angus said very gently : 
 
 " Read the letter, sir." 
 
 The writing on the paper which enclosed the pic- 
 ture had escaped my notice. It was a letter from 
 Angus' mother, sent with the daguerreotypes. Its 
 closing words ran thus : 
 
 " I send ye this picture o' masel' and the ane o' 
 the man I loved sae weel. No ither picture have I 
 had taken, nor ither shall there be. It was taken for 
 yir faither before the gloamin' settled doon on you 
 and me, ma laddie. It was taken for him, as was 
 every breath I drew, for I loved him wi' every ane.
 
 "The MILLS of The GODS'' 225 
 
 " Ye maunna think ower hard o' him, laddie, for yir 
 mother canna drive him forth, so ye maun bide the- 
 gither in this broken hairt o' mine. And laddie, I 
 am askin' God to keep me pure, for my love will hae 
 its bloom some day far ayont us, like the bonny 
 heather when the winter's bye. And I want to be 
 worthy when it comes. I'm sair soiled, I ken, but 
 love can weave its robe o' white for the very hairt it 
 stained. And I maun be true till the gloamin's gone. 
 So think o' yir mother as aye true to yir faither, and 
 it'll mebbe help yir sorrow to ken there's aye this 
 bond between yir faither and her wha bore ye. And 
 Angus, dinna let him ken, gin ye should ever meet. 
 Yir mother's bearin' her sorrow all alane in Ettrick 
 and her laddie'll bear it ayont the ocean. We're a' 
 in God's guid hands. Your loving mother, 
 
 JANET STRACHAN." 
 
 I returned the well worn letter to the unhappy 
 hand from which I had received it. He tenderly 
 wrapped it about his mother's picture and thrust the 
 parcel back beside the loyal heart which shared, as it 
 was bidden, the great sorrow and disgrace. 
 
 I then cast about in my mind for the next step 
 which should be taken. Ordination I knew there could 
 now be none. The pestilence of anger and shame and 
 sin was upon us all. Dark horror sat upon the faces
 
 226 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 of the waiting congregation, their eyes still fixed on 
 these two actors of this so sudden tragedy. It may 
 have been that the proof of kinship, as demonstrated 
 by these confronting faces, was finding its way into 
 their hearts. These faces were still fastened the one 
 upon the other, the younger with glowing scorn, the 
 older with mingled love and tenderness, blended with 
 infinite self-reproach. 
 
 I could see no course open to me except the dis- 
 missal of the congregation, and so announced my 
 purpose. 
 
 " The Kirk Session is adjourned sine die," I said, 
 for this is an ancient phrase and the proper forms 
 must be observed. Even when our dearest lies in her 
 coffin, there are certain phrases which announce in 
 cold and heartless print that the heart's life-blood is 
 flowing from its wound, and, however sacred that 
 silent form, the undertaker's hands must have their 
 will with it. 
 
 " Moderator." It was Thomas Laidlaw's voice. 
 " Moderator, we hae heard but ae side. There's 
 aye twa sides. Will ye no' let the accused speak for 
 himsel' ? Fair play is bonny play." 
 
 A moment's thought was enough to assure me as 
 to what was right. 
 
 " By all means," I answered, sadly enough, for 1 
 had but little hope that any defense could be offered.
 
 "The MILLS of The GODS" 227 
 
 " Mr. Blake may certainly speak if he wishes it is 
 but fair. Have you anything to say, Mr. Blake ? " 
 
 As I turned towards the older man the younger 
 withdrew his eyes from the face on which they had 
 so long been fixed, and slowly rising, Angus walked 
 down the aisle towards the door, conscious that he 
 himself had proclaimed his bitter shame; but his 
 mother's name seemed written on his forehead, re- 
 deemed by the sacrifice of his own. He had gone 
 but a quarter of the way or so, when a trembling 
 voice was heard. 
 
 " Angus, wait," it said ; the voice was faint and 
 tremulous like a birdling's note but Angus heard it 
 and stood still. He turned towards the pew whence 
 it came, and a face met his own, a woman's face, 
 blanched and pale, except for two burning spots upon 
 her cheeks where the heart had unfurled its banners. 
 It was a woman's voice, I say, and the eyes that 
 looked out from it sought his own with a great caress 
 of loyalty and love. The glowing eyes, and the 
 parted lips, and the quick flowing breath, all spoke the 
 bridal passion ; for the bride's glory is in surrender, 
 the bodily sacrifice but the pledge of her blended and 
 surrendered life, lost in another's mastering love. 
 
 " Angus, wait," she murmured again, her dainty 
 gloved hand upon the book-board as she essayed to 
 rise. Her mother sought to restrain her, but her
 
 228 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 touch was powerless ; for the outgoing tide was at its 
 full. 
 
 " He shall not walk down that aisle alone," she 
 faltered to her mother, the words unheard by others. 
 " We shall go down together."
 
 XXIII 
 A MAIDEN PRIESTESS 
 
 PERHAPS her mother's woman-heart realized 
 in that moment that the one path irresistible 
 to a woman's love is the path of sacrifice. In 
 any case she ceased from her protest and the gentle 
 form arose; moving out to where he stood, she 
 slipped her dear hand into Angus's, and together 
 they walked slowly down the aisle of the crowded 
 church. No sideward glance they cast nor backward 
 did Margaret ever look. Sweet courage was shining 
 from her face, even joy, as they passed out together 
 the long stride of the stalwart man and the gentle 
 step of the dainty maiden, but ever hand in hand, 
 hidden from the strife of tongues, in love's pavilion 
 hidden. 
 
 They had wandered, knowing not where or 
 whither, some distance from the church, when Angus 
 stopped, and fixing his reverent look on Margaret's 
 strangely happy face, he said : 
 
 " You don't know what you have done ; you have 
 tarnished your name oh, Margaret, why did you do 
 it ? From henceforth you will share the shame that 
 belongs to me." 
 
 239
 
 230 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 Margaret's face was upturned to his own. 
 
 " Is not the sunshine sweet, Angus ? And so pure ! 
 Surely God loves us well ! " 
 
 " It shines upon no man so sad as I," he replied 
 bitterly. 
 
 " Angus ! After what I did and the church so 
 full!" 
 
 " Nor so happy and so proud ! " concluded Angus. 
 " Where shall we go ? " 
 
 " Anywhere," answered Margaret ; " we shall walk 
 the long walk together." 
 
 " No, dear one, not together, that cannot be 
 but not apart," said Angus, his voice trembling. 
 
 " Do you know, Angus," said Margaret after a pause, 
 " I had often read about how engagements should be 
 announced. And no one, almost no one knew that 
 you loved me. And after that first time when you told 
 me you loved me and before you told me that other 
 I so often used to lie awake and think about how 
 ours should be announced. For I think that is the 
 sweetest thing in a girl's life, the announcement I 
 mean no I don't mean that the sweetest thing is 
 what has to be told. And now it is all told and just 
 to think it was done in a church and before all those 
 people. And now they all know and I am so 
 glad ! No girl ever had it done like this before." 
 
 " Glad ? " said Angus.
 
 A MAIDEN PRIESTESS 231 
 
 " Yes, glad and proud aren't you ? " 
 
 But there was no response, save the old, old silent 
 eloquence of love, when lip speaks to lip its tender 
 tale, scorning the aid of words. 
 
 " Let us go this way," said Margaret at length. 
 
 " Where does it lead to ? " 
 
 " You shall see," she answered ; " come away " 
 and together, still hand in hand, they walked on. 
 
 " Let us rest here, Angus." He threw himself on 
 the grass at her feet. 
 
 " Do you not know the place ? " she said. 
 
 " No," said Angus, " were we ever here before ? " 
 
 " Oh, Angus, how could you forget ? Look 
 again." 
 
 He looked again and sacred twilight memories be- 
 gan to pour back upon him. 
 
 " That was in the gloaming, Angus, you remember. 
 .And the darkness has often brooded over it since 
 then but it is all past now and it never was so 
 bright before." 
 
 " The darkness will come again," said Angus. 
 
 " But it will never be able to forget the light and 
 
 it will wait There is never any real brightness 
 
 till the waiting's past." 
 
 The Sabbath stillness was about them and its peace 
 was in their hearts. They scarce knew why, and the 
 world would have said that Shadow was their por-
 
 232 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 tion ; but, then and ever, true peace passeth all un- 
 derstanding. 
 
 " Kneel down, Angus, kneel here beside me," she 
 suddenly exclaimed. 
 
 " Kneel, Margaret ! Why shall I kneel ? " 
 
 " Never mind why you shall see. Kneel down, 
 Angus." 
 
 He knelt, wondering still ; she removed his hat 
 with her now ungloved hands and threw it on the 
 grass. 
 
 " Darling, I love you," she said, " and I know you 
 are good and true. And I was so proud this morning 
 when you were to be ordained to God's holy service 
 and it must not be broken off like this. Oh, Angus, 
 when I saw your face this morning, I feared so that 
 your whole soul would turn to bitterness and give it- 
 self up t6 hatred of that man. But it must not be." 
 
 " Margaret, stop ! Surely you must know ' 
 
 " Be still, Angus it must not be. All this an- 
 guish must break in blessing. Sorrow such as yours 
 will be either a curse or a blessing and it must not 
 be a curse. God's love can turn it into blessing 
 and so can mine. We shall take up our cross to- 
 gether and shall see it blossom yet. Oh, Angus, if I 
 can forgive him, you can, for you are dearer to me 
 than to anybody else." Her hands were now upon 
 his head : " Angus Strachan, I ordain you to suffer
 
 A MAIDEN PRIESTESS 233 
 
 and to wait. I ordain you to God's service in the 
 name of love and sorrow and God and they're all 
 the same name and I love you so and you are an 
 elder now. Oh, dear Lord, take care of our love and 
 make us true and patient. And bless our sorrow 
 and make it sweet and keep us near the Man of Sor- 
 rows. Amen." 
 
 The white dimpled hands rested long upon the 
 auburn locks of the still bended head, and her com- 
 passion flowed through them to the more than 
 orphaned heart. It was the same head, she thought, 
 and the same heart, as had once been blessed by a 
 mother's anguished hand, doomed, as that mother 
 knew, to the world's unreasoning scorn. 
 
 Her own peace seemed to pass into his troubled 
 soul ; the anointed head bowed lower and the yoke 
 was laid upon him, never to be withdrawn. But its 
 bitterness was gone, purged from it by those white 
 dimpled hands, and the fragance of a soul's sweeter 
 life was there instead. For there had come to him 
 that great moment when secret rebellion turns to 
 secret prayer, craving blessing from the very hand 
 that had smitten him with lameness ; and Angus was 
 making his ordination vows to God. 
 
 Upon that grassy knoll, under heaven's tender sky, 
 with unmoving lips and broken heart he made the 
 great surrender. Patience he promised God ; and in
 
 234 ST. CUTHBERTS 
 
 return he begged the forgiving heart, the strength to 
 bear his lifelong load, and the aid which might enable 
 him to attain that miracle of grace when he yet should 
 pray for the man whose sin had foreclothed his life 
 in shame. 
 
 " Let us go back," said Margaret, at length, for the 
 sun was westering. 
 
 " Yes, we will go back," said he, for in the gentle 
 words he heard the bugle call ; " we will go back." 
 But first he kissed the ordaining hands, anointed as 
 they had been to cast out evil from the heart and to 
 bind up its brokenness. 
 
 Homeward they turned their steps, and the noises 
 of the uncaring world soon fell upon their ears, but 
 their hearts were holden of another song, and they 
 heard them not. 
 
 Backward they bent their way to the world and 
 its cruel pity but ever hand in hand. 
 
 As the reader already knows, Margaret and Angus 
 went forth from St. Cuthbert's Church just as 
 Michael Blake was invited to speak in his own de- 
 fense and to answer, if he might, the dread charge of 
 his accuser. 
 
 " Have you anything to say, Mr. Blake ? " were 
 the words I had just uttered when Margaret and her
 
 A MAIDEN PRIESTESS 235 
 
 lover left the church, with all the sequel which hath 
 been just recorded. 
 
 In answer, he watched the retreating forms till 
 they had departed, then buried his face in his hands. 
 He sat thus so long that I concluded he had no 
 heart to speak, and again arose, my hand outstretched 
 to give the blessing, if blessing there might be in 
 such an hour. The congregation arose to receive 
 the proffered benediction, but before my lips had 
 opened, a faint hand plucked my gown. 
 
 " I will speak, sir," and pale and trembling the un- 
 happy man rose and stood beside me. I resumed 
 my seat and the people dumbly did the same, gazing 
 towards their elder with eyes that pleaded for the as- 
 surance of his innocence. Twice or thrice he strove 
 for utterance before the words would come. At 
 length he spoke. 
 
 " Moderator and brethren," he began, " if such as 
 I may call you brethren. I am a sinful man. My 
 hour has come. God's clock has struck, and it is the 
 stroke of doom for my unworthy soul. Not that I 
 despair of final mercy, for mine is a scarlet sin, and 
 for such there is a special promise. But God's rod 
 hath fallen upon me. The Almighty hath scourged 
 me through my own son ; for he who has just gone 
 forth is none other than mine own child. My heart 
 went out to him since first I saw his face, though I
 
 236 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 knew not till to-day that he is my flesh and blood. 
 The picture you saw him hold out before me is none 
 other than the picture of his mother's face. 
 
 " I speak it not for my defense but I thought his 
 mother was dead. I was told from the old country 
 that she was gone, and more than one letter was re- 
 turned to me with the statement that she could not 
 be found. It was my heart's purpose to make a 
 worthy home for her here in Canada, and to bring 
 her out to it and to atone if I might for the cruel 
 wrong. The first is long since done, but the second 
 was beyond my power at least so I was led to think. 
 
 " And now, Moderator, I place in your hands the 
 resignation of the office on which I have brought such 
 deep disgrace. It was my pride to be an elder in St. 
 Cuthbert's, for it was here I first tasted of the Saviour's 
 forgiving grace ; it was here I first learned the luxury 
 of penitence, and here was born my heart's deep 
 purpose to retrieve the past it was my pride, I say 
 to be an elder here, but it is now my shame." 
 
 He was about to stop when Saunders McTavish 
 interrupted : 
 
 " Moderator, there'll be no need to proceed by 
 libel, for the accused party has confessed his guilt. 
 But he hasna said anything to the Court about his 
 soul, about his soul and his sin, and his relation to 
 his God. At least, not all he might like to say and
 
 A MAIDEN PRIESTESS 237 
 
 we might like to hear. Mebbe he'll have had re- 
 pentance unto life ? " 
 
 I waited. Mr. Blake's response came with humble 
 brokenness. 
 
 " Please God I have," he said, " and, unworthy 
 though I be, I have a great word for my fellow men 
 this day a word the unfallen angels could not 
 speak. Oh, my brethren, believe me, I have not 
 been leading a double life. I took the eldership at 
 your hands, I know, saying nothing of the dark blot 
 that soiled the past. My humble hope was that in 
 service I might seek to redeem my life and I remem- 
 bered One who said to a guilty soul like mine ; 
 ' Feed My sheep.' Penitence, and not remorse, I 
 thought, was well pleasing unto God. 
 
 " And you will bear me witness that I have tried 
 to warn all, especially the young men, against the 
 first approach of sin. I fell long years ago because 
 I cherished sinful images in my heart till even love 
 went down before them. Since then, God is my 
 witness, I have made it my lifework to drive them 
 forth and to make every thought captive to the Re- 
 deeming Christ. My lifework has not been in my 
 foundry, nor in my town, nor in my church but in 
 my heart, this guilty heart of mine. I have striven 
 to drive out evil thoughts out, in the blessed name 
 of Jesus. For long, I could not recall my sin with-
 
 238 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 out sinning anew. But I had a hope of final victory, 
 and having this, I purified myself even as He is 
 pure. 
 
 " It was my daily prayer that God would make me 
 useful, poor and all but sunken wreck as I was, that 
 he would yet make me a danger signal to the young 
 about me which I am this day. For a wrecked 
 ship does not tell of danger it swears to the peril 
 that itself has known. And to every young man 
 before me I swear to two things this hour. The first 
 is that your sin will find you out. Be sure of this. 
 All our phrases about lanes that have no turning and 
 the mills of the gods and justice that smites with iron 
 hand, and chickens that come home to roost all 
 these are only names for God's unsleeping vigilance, 
 all varied statements of the relentlessness of sin. 
 
 " The other truth to which I swear is this, that dark 
 and bitter memories of evil may be a blessing to the 
 soul, if we but count that sin our deadly enemy and 
 rest not till we take vengeance of it. It may yet be 
 God's messenger to us, if we lead humble chastened 
 lives, seeking to redeem the past and watching unto 
 prayer. There is no discipline so bitter and so 
 blessed as the discipline of an almost ruined soul. 
 For old sins do not decay and die ; they must be 
 nailed upon the cross. It is an awful truth that he 
 who was once filthy is filthy still, but it is still more
 
 A MAIDEN PRIES'TESS 239 
 
 true, thank God, that there is One whose blood 
 cleanseth from all sin." 
 
 He stopped suddenly, and in a moment he was 
 gone. Down that same aisle by which his child had 
 passed, he swiftly walked, his head bowed, his face 
 quivering in pain like one who was being scourged 
 out of the temple. For there are corded whips, 
 knotted by unseen hands. 
 
 After the door had closed behind him the Session 
 Clerk arose : 
 
 " I move, Moderator," he said, " that Mr. Blake's 
 resignation be laid on the table." 
 
 Before his motion was seconded Roger Lockie, 
 one of the stalwarts, stood in the middle of the 
 congregation. 
 
 " It's no becomin' in me to interfere," he began, 
 " but we're a' assembled here as a worshippin' people, 
 an' I move that the Kirk Session be requested no' to 
 accept the resignation. Oor brother fell, nae doot, 
 but it was lang syne, and he has walked worthy o' the 
 Lord unto a' pleasin' since, an' borne a guid witness 
 to his Maister. We a' ken fine what the great King 
 an' Heid o' the Kirk wad dae wi' his resignation. 
 Wi' my way o' thinkin', a sinfu' man wha has been 
 saved by grace is juist the ane to commend the Mais- 
 ter's love. I move the Session be asked to keep him 
 as oor elder."
 
 240 ST. CUTHBER'T'S 
 
 " I second that," said William Watson, a man of 
 fifty years. " He brocht me to Christ and that's ae 
 soul he saved. He broke the alabaster box upon his 
 Saviour's head this day and we a' felt the fragrance 
 o't. If God Himsel' canna despise the contrite hairt, 
 nae mair can we." 
 
 I was about to put the motion when the senior 
 elder arose: " I hae but a word," he said, "an' it's 
 nae word o' mine. The spirit o' the cross is wi' us 
 and I will read a bit frae the Buik : ' If a man be 
 overtaken in a fault ye which are spiritual restore 
 such an one in the spirit of meekness, considering 
 thyself lest thou also be tempted.' " 
 
 " Are you ready for the question ? " I asked. 
 
 " Aye, we're a' fine an' ready noo," said one of the 
 worshippers. 
 
 The vote was taken and there was no dissenting 
 voice. Michael Blake's long penance had done its 
 work on earth and its eternal outcome was in other 
 hands than ours.
 
 XXIV 
 The SWEET SUNNY SOUTH 
 
 I WAS strongly inclined to accept the call. Not 
 that I liked changes, for heart vines bleed freely 
 when uptorn, and friendship's stocks cannot be 
 bought on margin. But my heart was heavy, and 
 St. Cuthbert's had been sorely wounded. Therefore, 
 when the South Carolina church opened correspond- 
 ence with me regarding their vacant pulpit, I lent an 
 attentive ear. 
 
 All who have known sorrow in their work know 
 how sweet sounds the voice, even the siren voice, 
 which calls to distant scenes of toil. The world's 
 weary heart will some day learn that no far-leading 
 path, no journey by land or sea can separate us 
 from the sorrow we seek to flee ; because no path 
 hath been discovered, no route devised, which shall 
 lead us forth from our own hearts, where sorrow hath 
 her lair. 
 
 Nevertheless, I was strongly minded to go forth 
 from the work which had become my very life. It 
 is nature's favourite paradox that what we love the 
 most, the most hath power to give us pain. Could 
 we withhold our love, no hand could wound us 
 
 241
 
 242 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 sorely, for it takes a friend to make an enemy worth 
 the name. And since I loved St. Cuthbert's with 
 that love which only sacrifice can know, I was 
 oppressed with a corresponding fear that her frown 
 would quench whatever glimmer of gladness still 
 flickered in my heart. For I had almost forgotten 
 that ever I was glad. And is it to be wondered at? 
 
 My daughter's love was fixed upon a man whom I 
 deemed impossible, though by no fault of his. She 
 had renounced all purpose of their immediate union 
 in deference to her father's protest, but her love was 
 fixed upon him still, and her father felt like one who 
 was beating back the spring. Her mother was torn 
 with the torment of an armed neutrality. Further, 
 my beautiful church had been scarred by the explos- 
 ive riot of that ordination day, stricken with a soul's 
 lightning ; and the whole tragedy of our home life 
 had been laid bare to every eye. 
 
 Margaret, and her love, and her lover, and her 
 lover's genealogy, and her father's forbiddal of their 
 marriage, all these were daily herbs to those who 
 loved us, daily bread to native gossip-mongers, and 
 daily luxury to all who wished us ill. My attitude 
 towards Margaret's lover, and whether that attitude 
 was right or wrong, was the especial subject of de- 
 bate and all New Jedboro abandoned itself to a car- 
 nival of judgment. Even the most pious and in-
 
 The SWEET SUNNY SOUTH 243 
 
 dulgent could not forego the solemn luxury, and 
 those who denied themselves all of scandal's tooth- 
 some tidbits could not renounce this great repast. 
 
 I entertained no actual misgivings as to St. Cuth- 
 bert's permanent loyalty to me; but our self-con- 
 sciousness had become raw and sore, our manse had 
 turned suddenly to a house of glass, and the whole 
 situation was so fraught with embarrassment that no 
 mere man since the fall could have been free from an 
 instinctive longing to escape. 
 
 St. Andrew's, Charleston, an ancient church of that 
 ancient city, had offered me its pulpit. The South- 
 erners have a taste for British blood, and they stand 
 alone as connoisseurs of that commodity. Where- 
 fore, the St. Andrew's folk had cast about for a Brit- 
 ish minister, preferring the second growth, hopeful 
 that its advantage of American shade might have 
 made its excellence complete. 
 
 Their committee ranged all Canada, finally dis- 
 mounting beneath the stately steeple of St. Cuth- 
 bert's, their lasso loosed for action. Or, to change 
 the metaphor, they informed their church at home 
 that their eyes were fastened on their game at last ; 
 for the duty of such a committee is to tree their bird, 
 then hold him transfixed by various well-known 
 sounds till the congregation shall bring him down by 
 well directed aim, bag him, and bear him off.
 
 244 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 The Charleston Committee was composed of four, 
 who attended St. Cuthbert's both morning and even- 
 ing, when they came one Sabbath day to spy out the 
 land. 
 
 The proprietor of the Imperial Hotel, himself 
 an extinct Presbyterian, told me afterwards that they 
 arrived late at night, begged to be excused from 
 registering and went immediately to their rooms. 
 But he knew in the morning that they were not to 
 the manner born for they asked for " oatmeal " for 
 breakfast, which is called porridge by all who boast 
 even a tincture of that blood it hath so long enriched. 
 
 Then they ate it with outward signs of enjoyment, 
 which also flies in the face of all Scottish principle. 
 Besides all this, they gave the maid a quarter, which 
 was the most conclusive evidence of all. 
 
 They walked to St. Cuthbert's in four different de- 
 tachments and sat in separate sections of the church. 
 But they were not unnoticed ; every Scotch section 
 marked its man, for in New Jedboro strangers were 
 events. I myself remarked three of them ; devout 
 they seemed and yet vigilant as was natural, for 
 they had come to both watch and pray. 
 
 The psalms were too much for them ; they seemed 
 to enter heartily into the other portions of the service 
 but the psalms in metre are a great Shibboleth. My 
 beadle, who always sat where he could command the
 
 The SWEET SUNNY SOUTH 245 
 
 congregation, has often assured me that when a 
 psalm was announced he could soon tell the sheep 
 from the goats. 
 
 The service passed without special incident; for, 
 although I suspected their errand, all thought of it 
 vanished when I came to preach. God's jealous care 
 will hold to undivided loyalty the heart that seeks to 
 serve Him. 
 
 Monday morning brought the deputation to close 
 range. They interviewed me in my study, and the 
 house was redolent of Southern courtesy and grace. 
 Their accent had a foreign tang but their hearts' tone 
 was that of universal love. This latter word is not 
 too strong to use, for the Southerner has a rare 
 genius for laying claim to your very heart by the 
 surrender of his own. Affection blooms fast in the 
 Southern soul, but our Northern bud needs time. 
 Especially tardy is its ripening in Scottish hearts, but 
 the fruit is to Eternity. 
 
 The conversation was one of great interest and 
 pleasure to myself, and while I could give no definite 
 promise I made no secret of the attractiveness of their 
 proposal. 
 
 " You will be so good as to present our regards to 
 the mistress of the manse," said one of them, as they 
 rose to go, 
 
 " Thank you, it will give me great pleasure," I
 
 246 ST. CUTHBERTS 
 
 responded ; " my wife is a Southerner. Her father, 
 who is not living now, fought at Gettysburg. My 
 wife's standing instruction is to say that he was not 
 killed in battle, for that was many years ago, and she 
 has the Southern instinct for youth." 
 
 " And the Southern talent for it too, I reckon," the 
 courtly gentleman replied. " We are mighty glad 
 to hear that she belongs to us. Surely we will have 
 a friend at Court. Let her be considered our pleni- 
 potentiary-extraordinary. Does her heart still turn 
 towards her Southern home ? " 
 
 " I am sure it does," I made reply, " but it has 
 been long garrisoned within these rock-bound walls, 
 and I know she has come to love them. I have often 
 heard her say that there is no trellis for Southern 
 vines like these mountainous hearts, true and faithful 
 as the eternal hills themselves." 
 
 " I don't wonder at it," another of the deputation 
 interposed. " From what I have seen and learned of 
 these folk, I think they are our nearest kin. The 
 Scotch and the Southern nature are alike, the same 
 intensity of feeling, but with them it glows and 
 burns, while with us it flames and sparkles." 
 
 " The same stream," suggested the first, " but ours 
 breaks easier into flood." 
 
 " Well, I hope the flood will bear her back to her 
 native shore," said the youngest member of the com-
 
 The SWEET SUNNY SOUTH 247 
 
 mittee, who was a colonel, having been born during 
 the Civil War. 
 
 We all laughed pleasantly at our racial distinctions 
 and the gentlemen withdrew. 
 
 " We will not tell you good-bye, for we hope to 
 see you soon again," was the last word I heard, the 
 Southern idiom and the Southern cordiality both in 
 evidence. 
 
 Definite action on the part of the Charleston 
 church soon followed the return of their representa- 
 tives. And I knew not what to do. 
 
 In the hope of relieving my perplexity, I accepted 
 an invitation to spend a Sabbath with the St. An* 
 drew's people and occupy their proffered pulpit. 
 
 My heart had sore misgivings when I said good- 
 bye to Issie Hogg ; her years were but thirteen ; and 
 every year had bound her closer and closer to my 
 heart till I knew she was more dear to me than any 
 other child save one. The sands of life were nearly 
 run and I feared greatly lest they might be spent be- 
 fore I should return. 
 
 New Jedboro was winter-wrapped when I left it, 
 and, taking steamer from New York, I disembarked 
 at Charleston into almost intoxicating sweetness. 
 Their dear South land was aflame with early summer, 
 and my idea of Paradise was revised. How could 
 these Southern hearts be otherwise than warm and fra-
 
 248 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 grant! All the land about seemed like nature's temple, 
 breathing forth its silent anthem and celebrating 
 its perpetual mass. 
 
 Yet all its vernal beauty seemed but as a portal to 
 the inner shrine, the sanctuary of Southern hospi- 
 tality. Which hospitality is a separate brand and 
 hath no rival this side the Gates of Pearl. Let all 
 who would feel the surprise of heaven's welcome 
 forego the luxury of a visit to a Southern home ; for 
 they have stolen that celestial fire to kindle their 
 waiting hearths. 
 
 I was committed to the care of one of the families 
 of St. Andrew's whose household numbered five; and 
 every heart had many doors all open wide. That is, 
 open wide till you had entered, for then they seemed 
 tight closed, locked with a golden key. Ancient 
 pride seemed to be their family possession, never 
 flaunted, but suppressed rather and you knew it 
 only because your own heart acknowledged that this 
 must be its rightful dwelling place. 
 
 I noted again the pleasing custom of Southern 
 ladies, who shake hands on introduction, and forever 
 after. The candid graciousness that marks the act 
 is in happy contrast to the self-conscious agitation 
 of the underbred and the torpid panic of their stifled 
 bow. 
 
 My host and hostess were persons of rare interest
 
 The SWEET SUNNY SOUTH 249 
 
 Some of England's best blood was in their veins ; it 
 had come to them by way of Virginia, in their eyes the 
 last medium of refinement. The final touch of san- 
 guinary indigo is given only at Virginia's hands, the 
 Virginian aristocracy being a blessed union of the 
 English chivalric and the American intrinsic, the 
 heraldic of the old world blended with the romantic 
 of the new which might make the Duke of Devon- 
 shire proud to receive reordination at their hands. 
 
 English aristocracy ambles on in an inevitable path, 
 high banked by centuries but the Virginian hath 
 leaped the hurdle of the ocean and still retained its 
 coronet ; which proves that it was fashioned in eter- 
 nity after the express pattern of their patrician heads. 
 
 As I describe the lofty source of this gracious 
 Southern household, I bethink myself that to this 
 day I cannot tell how I came to know that theirs was 
 an ancient family. No reference to it from their own 
 lips can I recall ; certainly no boast, except the tran- 
 quil boast of proud serenity and noble bearing, and 
 the noblesse oblige of loving hearts. 
 
 Grave courtesy and sweet simplicity and mirthful 
 dignity seemed to be the heirlooms which they shared 
 as common heritors ; and, chiefest of credentials, 
 when they stood in the library amid the shades of 
 ancestors preserved in oils, I felt no sense of humour 
 in the situation.
 
 250 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 This is a great tribute ; for the plebeian may boast 
 his ancestors but he dare not paint them; and many a 
 pioneer aristocrat hath compassed his undoing be- 
 cause he thus tried to put new wine into old bottles. 
 Wishing to found a family, he proceeds to find one, 
 and both are covered with shame as with a garment. 
 
 Many of our new world nobility, finding in sudden 
 wealth the necessity for sudden pedigree, have res- 
 urrected their ancestors and tried in vain to touch 
 them into gentleness, committing to an artist the 
 secret task of God. Even those who have made 
 fortune in oils, consistently restoring their innocent 
 forefathers by the same, have only advertised their 
 weakness with their wares. 
 
 It is true that the Vardell family coat-of-arms 
 was not concealed but it was not brandished or ex- 
 pounded. In quiet but vigilant emblazonry, it 
 seemed to stand apart, like some far back member of 
 the family in whose pride it shared. 
 
 Which reminded me, by contrast, of a call I had 
 once made upon a certain Northern family, con- 
 spicuously rich and conspicuously new. While wait- 
 ing in the drawing-room, I observed four different 
 crests, or coats-of-arms, framed and hanging in a 
 separate place, smirking to one another in token of 
 their youthful fortune ; for the lines had fallen unto 
 them in pleasant places-
 
 The SWEET SUNNY SOUTH 251 
 
 Soon the mistress of the mansion swept into the 
 room, her locomotion accompanied by a wealthy 
 sound, silk skirts calling unto silk skirts as deep 
 calleth unto deep. A little pleasant conversation en- 
 sued, which, among other things informed me that 
 the Turkish rug beneath me had cost six hundred 
 dollars ; whereupon I anxiously lifted my unworthy 
 feet, my emotion rising with them. After both had 
 subsided, I sought to stir the sacred pool of memory, 
 pointing reverently to one of the aforesaid emblems 
 of heraldry. 
 
 " That is your family coat-of-arms, Mrs. Brown, is 
 it not ? " I asked, throwing wide the door for the re- 
 turn of the noble dead. 
 
 " Yes," she answered proudly, " that is my one, 
 and that one there is Mr. Brown's, and those other 
 two are the children's ; the yellow one is Victoria's 
 and the red one is Louisa Alexandra's. Mr. Brown 
 bought them in New York, and we thought when we 
 were getting them we might just as well get one 
 apiece for the children too." 
 
 How rich and reckless, I reflected, is the spend- 
 thrift generosity of our new world rich ! 
 
 I could not but recall how those mean old English 
 families make one such emblem do for centuries, and 
 the children have to be content with its rusty sym- 
 bols. But this lavish enterprise cheered me by its
 
 252 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 refreshing contrast ; for every one was new, and each 
 child had one for its very own. 
 
 There is no need to dwell on the succeeding Sab- 
 bath. St. Andrew's church bore everywhere the 
 evidences of wealth and refinement. Large and sym- 
 pathetic congregations were before me, evidently 
 hospitable to the truth ; for Huguenot and Scotch- 
 Irish blood does not lose its ruling passion, and South 
 Carolina has its generous portion of them both. 
 
 I sorely missed the psalms, without which, to those 
 who have acquired the stern relish, a service lacks its 
 greatest tonic. But my poor efforts seemed well re- 
 ceived and the flood of Southern fervour burst forth 
 later on, as we sat around the Vardells' dinner table. 
 
 I was being initiated into the mystic sweets of 
 " syllabub," a Southern concoction of which my 
 sober Scotch folks had never heard. Whoso takes it 
 may not look upon the wine when it is red, for its 
 glow is muffled by various other moral things ; but 
 the wine, waiting patiently at the bottom, cometh at 
 last unto its own ; and the glow which was absent 
 from the cup may be soon detected upon the face of 
 him who took it, beguiled by the innocent foliage 
 amidst which the historic serpent lurks. 
 
 Webster defines it as a dish of cream, flavoured 
 with wine, and beaten to a froth. But Webster was 
 from Massachusetts and his advantages were few
 
 The SWEET: SUNNY SOUTH 253 
 
 The cultured Southerner, more versed in luxury than 
 language, knoweth well that it is a dish of wine, fla- 
 voured with cream, and not beaten at all since the 
 foundation of the world. 
 
 Southerners incline to eulogy ; and syllabubs insist 
 upon it. Wherefore, after the third syllabub had run 
 the same course that its fathers had run, Miss Sadie 
 turned to me and said: 
 
 " That was a perfectly lovely sermon you preached 
 to us this morning." 
 
 " You are very frank," quoth I, for I was unaccus- 
 tomed to compliments, one every six or seven years, 
 and an extra thrown in at death, being the limit of 
 Scotch enthusiasm. 
 
 " Well," replied Miss Sadie, " I hope I am. I 
 think it is sweet and lovely to tell people if you like 
 them. What's the use of waiting till they're dead, 
 before you say nice things about your friends ? If 
 folks love me, or think me nice, I want them to tell 
 me so while I'm alive." 
 
 " I love you and I think you are sweet and beauti- 
 ful," said I, obedient. 
 
 Then came a dainty Southern cry not the bold 
 squeal of other girls, nor the loud honking of those 
 who mourn for girlhood gone but the woman-note 
 which only the Southern girl commands in its per- 
 fection.
 
 254 ST. CUTHBERTS 
 
 " Father ! Do you hear what that preacher said 
 to me just now?" she cried archly. "Isn't it per- 
 fectly dreadful for him to say things like that to a 
 simple maiden like me ? You awful man ! " 
 
 " Our guest is only flesh and blood, Sadie," an- 
 swered the courtly father when his laughing ceased, 
 " so I presume, like the rest of us, he thinks you 
 lovely. As for his telling you so, he was only 
 carrying out your own instructions." 
 
 " I don't see how you could have done anything 
 else," laughed Mrs. Vardell. " You shut him up to 
 it, you know, Sadie. After your precept, to have 
 said nothing nice would have meant that there was 
 nothing nice to say." 
 
 " But seriously," resumed Miss Sadie, turning 
 again to me, " that was really a lovely sermon this 
 morning. It is beautiful to be able to help a whole 
 congregation like that." 
 
 " Yes," chimed in Miss Vardell, Sadie's sweet 
 senior, " it was perfectly fascinating. I shall never 
 forget it as long as I live." 
 
 " I really think you will have to let us speak our 
 mind," added their mother. " Your Geneva gown 
 was so becoming ; I do so wish our Southern minis- 
 ters would adopt it. And the sermon was perfect. I 
 especially admired the way it seemed to grow out of
 
 rhe SWEET SUNNY SOUTH 255 
 
 the text ; they seemed to grow together like a vine 
 twining around a tree." 
 
 I endured this tender pelting with the best grace 
 I could command, though this was the first time I 
 had ever been the centre of such a hosannah thun- 
 der-storm. The tribute to the kinship of text and 
 sermon, however, was really very pleasing to me. 
 Just at this juncture, when a new batch of compli- 
 ments was about to be produced, smoking hot, an 
 aged aunt, the prisoner of years, ventured an enquiry. 
 
 " I wish I could have been there but I am far 
 past that," she said. " What was the text, Sadie ? " 
 
 Sadie flew into the chamber of her memory to 
 catch it before it should escape. But the sudden in- 
 vasion had evidently alarmed it, for it had gone. 
 She silently pursued it into space, but returned empty- 
 handed. 
 
 " That's strange," she faltered ; " it was a lovely 
 text," she added, by way of consolation. " But it's 
 gone; I was so taken up with the sermon that I 
 must have failed to remember the text," she con- 
 cluded, false to her first love, but faithful to her 
 guest. 
 
 " Well, Josie," said the still unenlightened aunt, 
 " I will have to look to you. You will tell me what 
 it was."
 
 256 ST. CUTHBERTS 
 
 Josie joined in the chase, but their prey had had a 
 noble start and was now far beyond them. 
 
 " It was in the New Testament, I think," said 
 Josie, pleased with this pledge of accuracy, and satis- 
 fied that she had outrun her sister " and it was 
 tolerably long." This was said with the air of one 
 who had almost identified it and might justly leave 
 the rest to the imagination. " I reckon I could find 
 it if I had a Bible," she added hopefully. 
 
 No Bible was produced, for that would have been 
 taking an unfair advantage of the fugitive ; but the 
 eulogists began their mental search in unison, quot- 
 ing various fragments of my morning prayer at family 
 worship, which they carefully retained as witnesses. 
 After they had ransacked every mental corridor in 
 vain they acknowledged the fruitlessness of the quest, 
 and I myself told their aged relative the text. 
 
 " Of course," they cried together, each repeating 
 portions of it again and again in the spirit of atone- 
 ment. 
 
 " I suppose," said Mrs. Vardell, " that the mind 
 undergoes a kind of relaxation after a delicious ten- 
 sion such as we experienced to-day." 
 
 I marvelled greatly at this relentless sweetness. 
 
 " I knew it was in the New Testament," said Josie 
 triumphantly and we silently accorded her the 
 praise that was her due.
 
 The SWEET SUNNY SOUTH 257 
 
 But I inwardly bethought myself of those silent 
 granite lips in the frozen North, unthawed by tender 
 speeches, yet each one the reservoir of my texts and 
 sermons, as unforgotten as they were unsung.
 
 XXV 
 
 57. CUTHBERTS SECOND CALL 
 
 MY reluctant farewells had been said, my 
 gracious entertainers had grown dim upon 
 the wharf; and the Atlantic was greeting 
 our ship with boisterous welcome. For the Atlantic 
 is far travelled and loves to surprise those Southern 
 shores with the waves of Northern waters. 
 
 One by one the passengers retired from the deck, 
 some with slow dignity, some with solemn haste, and 
 some with volcanic candour. 
 
 I remained, sharing the scant survival of the fit, 
 and fell into a reflective mood, for I love to think to 
 music, none so grand as the accompaniment of ocean. 
 That mighty throat is attuned to the human ; its cry 
 of deep mysterious passion, its note of conflict, is 
 the epitome of the universal voice. It accorded well 
 with the mood that possessed me, for that mood was 
 gray. 
 
 The prevailing thought was this that I was going 
 back to winter. Grim relapse this, I mused, to go 
 forth from bud and bloom and bird, to pendant 
 icicle and drifted snow. For the blood soon warms 
 beneath Southern skies, and a man soon recognizes 
 
 258
 
 ST. CUTHBERTS SECOND CALL 259 
 
 that a garden was the ancestral home of him and of 
 all mankind. Even the Eskimo can be traced to 
 Eden. 
 
 Yes, I was going back to winter in very truth, 
 without and within; for there is a sharper winter 
 than any whose story the thermometer records. The 
 winter of my discontent, and of another's blighted 
 heart, and of still another's darkened life, awaited me 
 beyond these turbid waters ! My way was dark, and 
 my path obscure before me. Chart and compass 
 were blurred and numb. To remain in New Jed- 
 boro, and to remove to Charleston, seemed equally 
 distasteful. 
 
 I had given the Southern church no assurance of 
 my purpose, because purpose I had none. Yet the 
 stern necessity of choice was upon me, this most 
 sombre enfranchisement of manhood, that we are 
 compelled to choose, willing or unwilling. Saint 
 and sinner, believer and infidel, are alike under this 
 compulsion in matters moral and in all matters. We 
 speak of the stern pressure which demands that men 
 shall make a living ; but its dread feature is herein, 
 that our living is a succession of pregnant choices on 
 which ow deepest livelihood depends and these 
 choices melt into destiny, involving the infinite 
 itself. 
 
 My people, I ruminated, could help me to a deci-
 
 260 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 sion if they only would. But I knew how non-com- 
 mittal they would be ; for they, and all their kind, are 
 inclined to assume no responsibility of another's soul, 
 and to surrender no fragment of their own. 
 
 New York was reached at last, the waves still toss- 
 ing heavily. When I alighted from the train at 
 New Jedboro, the breath of winter greeted me. 
 
 One of my parishioners, an Aberdonian born, was 
 on the lookout. He shook hands, but said nothing of 
 welcome home. Yet his hand was warm, and its 
 grip had a voice that told me more than even sweet 
 Southern lips could say. For its voice was bass 
 which is God's. 
 
 " Issie's wantin' ye," he said calmly. " She's far 
 gone an' she's been askin' for ye." 
 
 The dawn as yet had hardly come, and seating 
 myself upon the box, I told the cabman to drive 
 quickly to Issie's home. As we passed through the 
 still unstirring town, he said : 
 
 " He'll be sittin' up with him," pointing to a dimly- 
 lighted window. 
 
 " Who'll be sitting up ? " I said. 
 
 " Oh, I forgot. You won't have heard. That is 
 Mr. Strachan's room. At least I think that is the 
 name. I only came here myself to work ten days 
 ago. A poor homeless woman landed here last 
 week from Ireland. One of those immigration
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S SECOND CALL 261 
 
 agent devils over there took her last penny and sent 
 her over to Canada, to starve for all he cared. She 
 showed smallpox after she landed here and her little 
 lad was with her. He took it too. Well, she died 
 but before she died she told her story. The old 
 story, you know had bad luck, you see, and the 
 fellow skipped out and left her. The woman gets 
 the worst of it every time, don't she? " 
 
 " She died ! " I exclaimed. " And the little one ? 
 Where is the boy you spoke of?" 
 
 " That's him ; that's what the light's burnin' for. 
 Angus Strachan, so they say, paid all the funeral 
 expenses, and they wanted to send the kid away 
 somewheres some hospital for them catchin' dis- 
 eases. But Strachan acted queer about it. He 
 wouldn't let them touch it. And he took it to his 
 own room and said he would take care of it himself." 
 
 " And did they let him ? " I asked. 
 
 "Let him. I just guess they did. They couldn't 
 help it. You see he'd been in, monkeyin' round the 
 smallpox already so they had to. And he wrapped 
 the kid up in a blanket and took it to his room. 
 They say his light's never been out at night since." 
 
 " He has not taken the disease himself, has he?" 
 I enquired. 
 
 " Oh, no ; leastwise, I never heard tell of it. But 
 them was queer actions for a young fellow, wasn't
 
 262 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 they ? No accountin' for tastes, as the fellow said ! 
 Can you understand it yourself, sir ? " 
 
 " I think I can," was my reply ; " let us hurry on," 
 and in a few minutes we were at Issie's house. 
 
 Little Issie had long since snuggled down in her 
 own separate place in my heart ; she was indeed a 
 favourite with all who knew her but I saw as I 
 stepped into the room that God loved her best of all. 
 The white thin hands were tightly held, one in her fath- 
 er's, the other in her mother's, as though they would 
 detain her ; but the angels heeded not and went on 
 with the preparations for her flight. These were 
 almost complete when I arrived; Issie alone knew 
 that they were of God's providing, for the face she 
 turned to me was full of childish sweetness, and her 
 smile was touched with other light. 
 
 " I'm glad you're home," she whispered, as I bent 
 low beside her. " Please don't go away again " and 
 as I kissed her she was gone. 
 
 Her curls were gold, still gold, though she was 
 gone. As we stood weeping beside the precious 
 dust the sun arose, still arose, though she was gone. 
 And his first errand was to the broken heart. Swift to 
 the window flew his first-flung rays, like eager couriers 
 who hear the cry of need. And entering in, unbid- 
 den, they set God's brighter seal of love upon the 
 golden tresses. Up and down among the glowing
 
 ST. CUTHBERTS SECOND CALL 263 
 
 strands, they wandered, smiling at God's gain, smiling 
 still, though she was gone. Unafraid, they caressed 
 the unconscious locks, anointing them for their burial. 
 When I went out, the winter seemed past and 
 gone; I knew then what made these snowbound 
 hearts so warm. 
 
 ****** 
 
 " Margaret has a new sorrow," said my wife, soon 
 after my arrival home. 
 
 What is it ? " 
 
 " A young woman and her child from Ireland " 
 
 " Yes," I interrupted, " I heard about it ; the driver 
 told me. Does Margaret seem to fret herself about 
 it?" 
 
 " I don't know," answered her mother, " but I am 
 afraid it has made it all the harder for us : I mean 
 that I fear that she is more devoted to him now than 
 ever. She read me a letter Angus wrote her just be- 
 fore he shut himself up with the child." 
 
 " What did it say ? " I asked, with eagerness. 
 
 " I don't remember very clearly : but he said that 
 this woman who died of smallpox, the child's mother, 
 you know, had opened all her heart to him before she 
 died. And he says there never was a gentler or 
 purer-hearted woman the old story, of love, and 
 trust, and anguish. Then he said he promised her to 
 care for her boy ; and he said something about his
 
 264 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 ordination vows, said he would try to be true to 
 them, and that this would help him to banish revenge 
 and hatred from his heart." 
 
 " His ordination vows ? " I exclaimed, " what do 
 you suppose he means ? Surely he is not trifling 
 with all that unhappy occurrence ? " 
 
 " I don't think so. There was no trifling tone 
 about his letter. I asked Margaret about that very 
 thing, but she wouldn't tell me, only she said there 
 was no elder in St. Cuthbert's more ordained to God's 
 service than Angus is." 
 
 " Did she say anything about their love affairs ? " 
 said I, after a man's poor bungling fashion. 
 
 " Not a word but she wouldn't let me see the let- 
 ter," this with a little womanly sigh : for women, 
 like children, have griefs that appear trifling to grown 
 men, but are very real to them. 
 
 After a pause my wife ventured : " Don't you 
 think that perhaps we are just a little unrelenting 
 about Margaret and Angus ? " 
 
 What? " I said. 
 
 " Oh, I don't mean that she should marry him, of 
 course, but it does seem hard, father and it really 
 wasn't his fault and perhaps we will regret it some 
 day." 
 
 " But, my dear, you know it is impossible think 
 of the humiliation of it, the shame of it, I might say."
 
 ST. CUTHBERTS SECOND CALL 265 
 
 " Yes, I know," she answered, " but I do admire 
 Angus more and more. He seems to be trying to 
 staunch his sorrow, only he does it by love and serv- 
 ice. Everybody is talking about how useful and 
 unselfish he is, in the church, and among the poor 
 and everywhere." 
 
 " I know it," admitted I, " I know it, and there is 
 no reason why we should not always be friends 
 but the other is an entirely different matter. It can- 
 not be." 
 
 " Well," went on my wife, " I do not think I want 
 to stay here ; I don't suppose the people understand 
 everything, but I feel sure many of them think we 
 are dealing harshly with Margaret. And yet they 
 would nearly all do the same. What kind of a manse 
 have they in Charleston ? " she concluded eagerly 
 for a woman's gift of transition is marvellous. 
 
 Whereupon I told her all about my Southern ex- 
 periences and impressions. 
 
 ****** 
 
 There was no tumult in St. Cuthbert's. A man 
 who knows nothing of the under-currents in the 
 heart's great ocean would have said that my people 
 were serenely indifferent as to whether I should stay 
 in New Jedboro or go to Charleston. There was no 
 open attempt to influence the outcome, for they be- 
 lieved in the sovereignty of God and would not in-
 
 266 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 terfere at least not till that very sovereignty so con- 
 strained them. Of course, they held prayer to be a 
 legitimate interference. This is a great mystery, but 
 it is cherished by the soul as persistently as it is chal- 
 lenged by the reason. Mysterious though this union 
 must ever be, the Scottish spirit takes full advantage 
 of it, and enjoys its fruit, let the root be hidden as it 
 may. 
 
 " Ye'll be givin' us yir decision some o' these 
 days," was about as far as the most emotional would 
 go, some even adding : " Charleston's a graun city, 
 nae doot, an' I'm hopin' ye'll like it fine if you leave 
 us," which last proved to me that such an one se- 
 cretly prayed for my remaining. The true Scotch- 
 man is like the Hebrew language to be understood, 
 he must be read backwards. 
 
 " It's a graun chance ye're gettin', to be called to 
 sic a kirk as that," said Wattie Gardner one day. 
 " I'm fearin' ye'll rue it if ye bide wi' us here." 
 
 This was far from the language of ardent wooing ; 
 yet I noticed that this same Wattie sought to reform 
 his ways, that they might tend to the increase of my 
 comfort. He had been an incorrigible sleeper in the 
 kirk, surrendering to sweet repose with the announce- 
 ment of the text, and emerging therefrom only to 
 join the closing paraphrase with unembarrassed unc- 
 tion. For no man was more ready with a verdict on
 
 Sr. CUTHBERTS SECOND CALL 267 
 
 the sermon than was Wattie, as he walked down the 
 aisle ; he never failed to demand the " heads and par- 
 ticulars " from his family at the dinner table, resent- 
 ing all imputation of somnolence for himself. 
 
 His defense was plausible, since he never slept ex- 
 posed; but always with his head bowed upon the 
 book-board, esteemed by the uncharitable as the atti- 
 tude of slumber, but explained by Wattie as the 
 posture of undistracted thought and pious meditation. 
 
 Shortly after my call to Charleston, however, Wa't- 
 tie abandoned this pious and reflective posture, sitting 
 bolt upright, beating back his tendency to thoughtful 
 retirement with the aid of cloves and peppermints. 
 I knew the meaning of this reform, for I knew Wat- 
 tie's love for me, clandestine though it was ; he and I 
 had watched death together once and after the wave 
 had overswept us, the ground beneath our feet was 
 firm as rock forever. 
 
 By and by St. Cuthbert's began to move. It was 
 known that I purposed announcing my decision on 
 the approaching Sabbath day, and I was informed 
 that one or two deputations wished to wait upon me 
 at the manse. The first was from the women of the 
 church, who had had a meeting of their own. 
 
 To my amazement the spokeswoman was Mrs. 
 Goodall. Now it must be told that this same Mrs. 
 Goodall, in all sincerity of conscience, had violently
 
 268 ST. CUrHBERT'S 
 
 withstood my advent to the pastorate of St. Cuth- 
 bert's years before. The ground of her opposition 
 was that I plied the festive pipe. 
 
 Never was there nobler Christian womanhood than 
 hers, never a more devoted life, never a more loving 
 heart. But no man's character could be fragrant, so 
 she thought, if it ripened amid the rich aroma of 
 tobacco ; and good old Virginia leaf was to her the 
 poison-ivy of mankind. That life was indeed be- 
 clouded which found shelter in the genial clouds of 
 the aforesaid leaf. But with all this heroic hostility 
 to our little weaknesses, there dwelt a sweet strain of 
 innocence in which we had come to glory. 
 
 " Ye needn't tell me," said the good Mrs. Goodall 
 once to a sympathetic circle, " that they dinna play 
 poker at the taivern an' in the daytime too for I 
 passed by this verra day, an' they were pokin' away, 
 wi' their coats off, wi' lang sticks in their hands, 
 pokin' at the wee white balls," and her listeners 
 needed no other proof. 
 
 The dear old saint made her plea for those she 
 represented, and it greatly pleased me, for I loved 
 her well ; and I remembered the scores and hundreds 
 who had felt the power of her godly life. Besides, it 
 confirmed me in this assurance, that, after all is said 
 and done, if a man is honestly trying to do his 
 Master's work, even those most sternly set against the
 
 ST. CUTHBERTS SECOND CALL 269 
 
 pipe will care but little whether or not he seeks the 
 comfort it undoubtedly affords. Which very thing 
 had been proved by my great predecessor, Dr. Grant, 
 half a century agone. 
 
 The second, and larger, deputation was composed 
 of ten or more, appointed to represent the kirk ses- 
 sion and the Board. Of this latter body, the princi- 
 pal spokesman was its chairman, William Collin, an 
 excerpt from Selkirkshire and one of my chiefest 
 friends. He was long, very long, almost six feet 
 three, with copious hair that never sank to rest, and 
 habitually adorned with a cravat that had caught the 
 same aspiring spirit. This was a rider perpetually 
 attached. 
 
 One suit of clothes after another, as the years 
 passed by, bore witness to the loyalty of his heart ; 
 for he would not abandon the pre-historic tailor 
 who was a sort of heirloom in the Collin family. In 
 consequence, the rise and fall of William's coat, in 
 its caudal parts, as he walked down the aisle with the 
 plate on the Sabbath day, had become part of St. 
 Cuthbert's ritual and we all thought it beautiful. 
 He was one of the two, referred to in the opening of 
 our story, who had been sent to spy out the land, and 
 to report upon the propriety of my conjugal enterprise. 
 The fluent panegyric in which his report was made 
 is already recorded and need not be here repeated.
 
 270 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 William had a talent for friendship beyond that of 
 any man I ever knew, and this talent flowered into 
 genius only after the clock struck midnight. Never 
 yet was there friend who would stay with you to the 
 last like William Collin, his shortcomings few, his 
 long-stayings many and delicious. 
 
 For never yet was friend so welcome, never speech 
 more sane and stimulating ; never farewell so sweetly 
 innocent when the clock struck two. May the God 
 of friendship bless thee, William Collin, for all that 
 thy friendship hath been to me ! And if these lines 
 outlive thee, let them bear witness to that joy which 
 is not denied to the humblest man, who hath but a 
 fireplace and a friend and a pipe and four feet on 
 the fender, while the storm howls without. For, with 
 alternate zeal, we cast the blocks upon the blaze 
 and its flame never faltered till thou wert gone. 
 
 William, as chairman, was the first to speak. He 
 presented St. Cuthbert's case with dignity and force, 
 beginning with the tidings that the Board wished me 
 henceforth to take two months' holidays instead of 
 one. This started in my mind a swift reflection upon 
 the native perversity of the Scotch. To prove that 
 they cannot do without you, they banish you alto- 
 gether for an extra month, but William Collin gave 
 the thing a more graceful turn :
 
 ST. CUTHBERTS SECOND CALL 271 
 
 " We love you weel eneuch to do without you 
 but no' for lang," he said. 
 
 Then he concluded, as was his inviolate custom, 
 with a reference to Burns, in whom he had sat down 
 and risen up for forty years : 
 
 " I canna better close what I hae to say," he as- 
 sured me, " than by the use o' the plowboy's words, 
 slightly changed for the occasion : 
 
 " Better lo'ed ye canna be 
 
 Will ye no' abide at hame ? ' " 
 
 With this he reached behind him (this too, a time- 
 honoured custom), seized the aforesaid caudal parts 
 of his coat, removed them from the path of descend- 
 ing danger, and lowered his stalwart form with easy 
 dignity, his kindly eyes aglow with friendship's light. 
 
 David Carrick was the next to speak. Cautious 
 and severe, his chief aim was to express the hope 
 that I was sincere in my indecision. 
 
 " We had a sair shock wi' a former minister long 
 years ago," he said, " he had a call, like yirsel', but he 
 aye kept puttin' us off, tellin' us he was aye seekin' 
 licht frae above; but Sandy Rutherford saw an 
 or'nary licht in the manse ae nicht after twal o'clock. 
 He peekit in the window, an' he saw the minister wi' 
 his coat off, packin' up the things. The twa lichts 
 kind o' muddled him, ye ken."
 
 272 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 His colleagues may have thought David un- 
 necessarily severe. In any case several of them be- 
 gan signalling to Geordie Bickell to take the floor. 
 Geordie responded with much modesty and misgiv- 
 ing, for he was the saintliest man amongst us ; and his 
 own estimate of himself was in direct antagonism to 
 our own. 
 
 " We willna urge ye, sir," he said, with a winsome 
 smile, " but I'm sure the maist of us hae been 
 pleadin' hard afore a higher court than this. A' I 
 want to tell ye is this there hasna been wound or 
 bruise upon yir relation to yir people. An' there's 
 but ae hairt amongst us, an' we're giein' ye an- 
 ither call this day an' we're hopin' it's the will o' 
 God." 
 
 The interview was almost closed, when a voice was 
 heard from the back of the room, a very eager voice, 
 and charged with the import of its message : 
 
 " It's mebbe no' worth mentionin'," said Archie 
 Blackwood, a fiery Scot whose father had fought at 
 Balaclava, " but it's gey important for a' that. Gin ye 
 should gang to Charleston ye'll hae to sing sma' on 
 their Fourth o" July, for that's their screechin' time, 
 they tell me ; an' ye wudna hae a psalm frae year's 
 end to year's end to wet yir burnin' lips an' ye 
 wadna ken when it was the Twenty-fourth o' May. 
 They tell me they haena kept the Twenty-fourth o'
 
 ST. CUTHBERTS SECOND CALL 273 
 
 May in Ameriky since 1776." Archie knew his duty 
 better than his dates. 
 
 I assured him of the importance of his warnings, 
 and acknowledged the various deprivations he had 
 foretold. 
 
 " Juist ae word afore we pairt," suddenly inter- 
 jected a humble little elder who had never been 
 known to speak before. " It's in my conscience, an' 
 I want to pit it oot. We a' ken fine we haena been 
 ower regular at the prayer meetin' ; but we'll try to 
 dae better in the time to come. It's death-bed re- 
 pentance, I ken, but it's better than nane." 
 
 One by one the delegates shook hands with me and 
 withdrew, after I had promised them as early a pro- 
 nouncement as my still unsettled mind could hope to 
 give. After they had gone, I sat long by myself, 
 pondering all that had been said, looking for light in- 
 deed, but striving to quench all other beams than 
 those whose radiance was from above. 
 
 While thus employed, a feeble footfall was heard 
 upon the steps, and a gentle knocking called me to 
 the door. It was no other than little Issie's grand- 
 father who stood before me. 
 
 " Come in, come in," I said cordially, for he was 
 dear to me, and we had the bond of a common sor- 
 row. " Have you forgotten something ? " 
 
 " No," he answered, " but I hae minded something.
 
 274 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 I didna speak when a' the ithers spoke ; but I want 
 to tell ye something by yirsel'. I think ye ought to 
 ken. It has to dae wi' yir decision. 
 
 "Ye mind wee Issie? Well, the mornin' ye came 
 back frae Charleston, she was lyin' white an' still on the 
 pillow. She hadna spoke a' through the nicht, an' 
 we a' thocht she wad speak nae mair but at six 
 o'clock yir train blew afore it came into the station. 
 An' wee Issie stirred on the pillow. Her lips moved 
 an' I pit doon my ear. 
 
 " ' He'll be on that train,' she whispered low. 
 ' Wha'll be on the train ? ' I askit her. ' The minis- 
 ter/ was a' she said. 
 
 " I was alane wi' her, an' I said : ' Mebbe so, Issie.' 
 Then she spoke nae mair for a little, but soon she 
 said : ' God '11 bring him back to open the gate for 
 me before I go. Grandfather,' she said, ' he first told 
 me of the gate and he said I would find it beautiful 
 when I got close and so it is but I want him to 
 push it farther open, for I am so weak and tired. 
 I'm sure God will bring him home in time.' " 
 
 My eyes were wet, and I could only take the old 
 man's hand in mine, the silent token that the great- 
 est argument of all had been kept until the last. 
 
 " There's mair of us," he said, as the sobs shook 
 his feeble frame, " there's mair of us wha's comin' 
 near the gate. I'm no' far frae it mysel'. An' I
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S SECOND CALL 275 
 
 want ye to wait my turn ; I want ye to bide wi' us 
 till ye see me through the gate. A stranger wadna 
 be the same. I maun be gaun." 
 
 It is long now since Issie's grandfather followed 
 her through the gate. He too found it beautiful ; for 
 I walked with him till even I could see its glory. It 
 swung wide open, for he was welcome home ; and I 
 caught a glimpse of the splendour just beyond. I 
 heard, too, rapturous snatches of the song they sing in 
 that better land. It may have been fancy, yet I am 
 sure I heard the old precentor's voice, and Issie's holy 
 strain was clearer still ; but it was the new song, and 
 these two blended wondrous well.
 
 XXVI 
 LOME'S SINGING SACRIFICE 
 
 DEATH is kinder than we think. None 
 other knew the way by which the little 
 foundling's mother had gone forth. But 
 death knew it well, having often passed over it be- 
 fore ; and the orphan's cry was more than he could 
 bear. So he took him in his kindly arms and bore 
 him on to his mother, smiling at the cruel names by 
 which he was accustomed to be called. 
 
 It is death's way to take the jewel only, for the 
 road is long; and who will may have the casket. 
 Wherefore the affrighted undertaker bore the latter 
 by night to its resting-place, for he knew that path 
 and had often trodden it before. But he was not a 
 deep sea pilot, like the other. 
 
 Angus was left alone. A faithful man, himself a 
 smallpox graduate, was his only companion. Strict 
 care was kept before the door of the now deserted 
 house, for panic hath its home in the heart of that 
 dread disease, though not so dreadful as we think. 
 
 Some of the misguided folk of New Jedboro fumi- 
 gated themselves at every mention of Angus' name, 
 sleeping meantime side by side with some consump- 
 276
 
 LOME'S SINGING SACRIFICE 277 
 
 tive form, knowing not that death slept between them. 
 But the great science of life is, and hath ever been, 
 the recognition of life's real enemies. 
 
 Angus was alone and fallen. The foundling's 
 plague was upon him, and there was none to care for 
 him but the faithful servant, smallpox-proof as he 
 happily knew himself to be. 
 
 The very night of the poor waif's hasty burial, a 
 note was handed in at our kitchen door. It was 
 from the health officer of New Jedboro : 
 
 " Can you find a nurse for Mr. Strachan ? " it ran. 
 " He has no one with him but Foster, who has had 
 the disease, and I need not tell you the necessity for 
 a woman's care. I have tried the hospital, but no 
 nurse will volunteer. Whoever goes, of course,. will 
 be under quarantine, as the guard has orders to let no 
 one enter or leave the house. Perhaps you may know 
 of some poor woman, or some kind of woman, who 
 will undertake the duty. If you do, I have ordered 
 the guard to let her into the house on presentation 
 of this note." 
 
 My wife and I were sitting in the study when the 
 letter was handed to me. " I will run down to Mrs. 
 Barrie's," I said, after long thinking. " She is not so 
 much of a nurse, but she is less of a coward ; and I 
 know she has taken care of diphtheria." 
 
 " I will walk down with you," said my wife ; " per-
 
 278 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 haps a woman's influence won't be amiss on such an 
 errand." 
 
 We were soon ready and went out into the winter 
 night. 
 
 " Isn't that too bad?" I suddenly exclaimed, as we 
 were turning into Mrs. Barrie's house. " I have for- 
 gotten that letter and the health officer says that 
 whoever goes must have it. Shall we go back for it ? " 
 
 " Not at all, she would have retired before we get 
 back. And in any case she would not go till the 
 morning, and you can give it to her before that," 
 said my long tried adviser. 
 
 " Very well, let us go in." 
 
 We had left Margaret at home. She was often 
 absent from our study fire, not in peevishness, or 
 gloom, for they were foreign to her nature'; but still 
 she bore evidence of her great renunciation. 
 
 As I have said, she was much alone, deeming it, I 
 doubt not, due to her lover that she should share his 
 solitude, even if separately borne. She sought to fill 
 up that which was behind of the sufferings of the man 
 she loved. This I make no doubt was her secret de- 
 light ; for only a woman knows the process of that 
 joy which is exhaled when sorrow and love flow 
 mingled down. 
 
 Margaret had not been beside our study fire that 
 winter night. But on our departure she came down
 
 LOME'S SINGING SACRIFICE 279 
 
 from her half widowed room to sit beside it. It was 
 the same hearth she had kindled in other days " in 
 expectation of a guest." As she entered the room, her 
 eye fell upon the note which I had left lying in my 
 chair. A glance at it revealed to her Angus' name. 
 It was soon perused and it needed to be read but 
 once. Swift action followed, for there is no such 
 thinker as the heart ; and if women were on the Bench 
 to-morrow, " Judgment reserved " would vanish from 
 our judicial records. 
 
 Margaret's decision was taken before she laid the 
 letter down, and a flush of eager joy glowed on her 
 face. In a moment she was back in her room, 
 quickly moving here and there, gathering this and 
 that together, bending over a small travelling-bag that 
 lay upon the bed. Her ruling thought was one of 
 gladness, even joy and the traveller's joy at that. 
 Who does not know the sudden thrill of rapture when 
 there comes to us a sudden summons to a long and 
 unexpected journey ? 
 
 And Margaret was starting on a long journey, how 
 long, only God could tell. She thought of this as she 
 glanced about the pretty room that had shared her 
 secret thoughts since childhood, that had seen the 
 awaking of her love, and had oftentimes kept with 
 her the vigil of unsleeping joy. More than once the 
 poor little room had feared it was soon to be out'
 
 280 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 grown, and left far behind; but still at night Margaret 
 would return to its pure protection, and still it knew 
 the fragrance of a virgin's trembling love. 
 
 She was almost through the door when she turned 
 once again and bade it a long farewell, the same as a 
 maiden on her bridal morn. For she too was on her 
 way to an altar ; and the vows for sickness or health, 
 for life or death, seemed to be upon her now. 
 
 She had got as far as the garden gate when she 
 stopped suddenly. 
 
 " I have forgotten the letter," she said to herself. 
 Laying her travelling-bag upon the ground, she ran 
 swiftly back, but the door had locked behind her, and 
 her latch-key was in her room. 
 
 " What shall I do ? What shall I do ?" she cried to 
 herself. " I cannot get in without the letter, and they 
 will soon be back." 
 
 She flew along the veranda to a window and 
 pressed it upward. It yielded, and her joy flowed 
 like a river. Up she flung it, far up, and with a 
 bound the active form was upon the sill and disap- 
 peared into the room. The letter lay where she had 
 left it, and in a moment the precious passport was 
 in its hiding-place. A moment later, the gate 
 swung shut behind her. Her bosom throbbed with 
 a new courage as it felt the touch of the letter that 
 was entrusted to its keeping ; for this was her war-
 
 LOME'S SINGING SACRIFICE 281 
 
 rant, her pledge of passage on that long journey to- 
 wards which she pressed so eagerly. Oh, woman ! 
 who countest pestilence thy friend when it is in league 
 with love ! 
 
 On she pressed, on through the frosty night. The 
 snow made music beneath her hurrying feet, the 
 bridge by which she crossed the river cracked and 
 echoed with the frost, and the Northern lights flashed 
 the signals of their heavenly masonry for what knew 
 they of plague and love and sorrow, and of the story 
 of this poor tracing-board of time ? 
 
 But Margaret never thought of this, for she, too, 
 had her own secret symbols, and her heart its own 
 mighty language, voiced, like the other's, in alternate 
 floods of light and gloom. 
 
 She never paused till she was challenged by the 
 guard before the plague-struck house. Then she laid 
 down her travelling-bag, for it had grown heavy ; but 
 her eyes never turned from the dim light that shone 
 from the window. Love and danger were there, and 
 the fascination of both was upon her. 
 
 " Where might you be goin', miss ? " said the 
 guard. His voice was thick, and his breath bore a 
 perfume which proved he had been hospitably en- 
 treated by some sympathetic friend. Doubtless it was 
 the good Samaritan's wine that had failed of its desti- 
 nation.
 
 282 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " I am going into that house, if you please," replied 
 Margaret. " I am going to take care of Mr. Strachan. 
 The health officer has asked for a nurse." 
 
 " Oh, no, my lady," said the guard, " no pretty face 
 like yours is going to be marked by the smallpox." 
 His chivalry was of the moist kind, and his emotion 
 made him hiccough several times. 
 
 Margaret winced : " I am entitled to go in," she 
 said boldly, " and I will thank you to let me pass," 
 with which she picked up her valise. 
 
 " Not by no means," the guard rejoined. " I've got 
 orders not to let no one in without a letter from the 
 officer." 
 
 " I have the letter," said Margaret, for in her ex- 
 citement she had forgotten it. She produced it and 
 handed it to the man. He walked over to a gas 
 lamp across the street. Feeling the need of exercise, 
 he proceeded thereto by several different routes. 
 Having reached it, he was seized with a great fear 
 lest the iron post should fall, and lent himself to its 
 support. Then he read the letter over aloud ; three 
 or four times he read it, punctuating it throughout 
 with the aforesaid tokens of emotion. He returned 
 to where she stood, selecting several new paths with 
 fine originality. 
 
 " I guess that's all right, an' you're the party," he 
 remarked, " but it ain't signed."
 
 LOME'S SINGING SACRIFICE 283 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Margaret in alarm. 
 " It certainly bears the health officer's name. I saw 
 it myself." 
 
 " Oh, yes, that's all right, but that ain't enough 
 business is business, you see," he added, with maudlin 
 solemnity. " You've got to sign it yourself, kind of 
 receipt the bill, you see." 
 
 He fumbled in his pocket for a pencil, produced 
 the rump thereof, spread the letter upon his knee, and 
 began writing on the back of it. It was like an 
 internal surgical operation, for his tongue protruded 
 as he wrote, marking his progress by a series of 
 serpentine writhings that suggested inward pain. 
 
 "There, that'll do," he said, when he emerged. 
 " You sign that." 
 
 Margaret took the paper and tried to read what he 
 had written. But, unfamiliar with hieroglyphics, his 
 handiwork was lost upon her. 
 
 " I cannot read it," she said presently ; " the light is 
 very bad." 
 
 " That's so besides it's too infernal cold to read 
 I'm awful cold. I wisht that cove in there'd get a 
 move on him, an' get better. He's got a snap. 
 Some one sent him a bottle of milk to-day, too," he 
 concluded, with a solemn wink, the tongue again ap- 
 pearing on the scene to bear internal witness " but 
 I forgot I'll read them words to you myself," which
 
 284 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 he proceeded to do, swaying gently, for the spirit of 
 rhetoric was within him. 
 
 " This is it," he began, " ' I'm the party what's 
 meant to nurse the man what's got the smallpox, an' 
 I got in because I wanted to' that's all right, ain't 
 it ? Now you sign that, an' if you die, that'll pro- 
 tect me after you're dead. And I'll sign it too, and 
 if I die, it'll protect you after I'm dead, see ? And if 
 we both die, it'll protect the officer after we're both 
 dead, see ? And if he dies, then we'll all be protected^ 
 because we'll all be dead, see ? You keep the paper, 
 and I'll keep the pencil, and we'll both keep our job, 
 see ? Gee whittaker ! Ain't it cold ! I wisht they'd 
 send some more milk." 
 
 Impatient for a release, Margaret signed the docu- 
 ment. After its author had made another picturesque 
 pilgrimage to the gas lamp and back again, the 
 signature was fervently commended, with signs of 
 increasing emotion ; he returned the letter to her 
 and she passed on into the house at which none 
 but love or death would have asked for bed and 
 board. 
 
 There are a thousand streams that flow from Cal- 
 vary. But the deepest of these is joy. Wherefore 
 as Margaret walked into the darkened house, her 
 heart thrilled with a sudden rapture it had never known 
 before. For he was there and she would be beside
 
 LOME'S SINGING SACRIFICE 285 
 
 him in a moment and they would be together 
 and none could break in upon them, for grim death 
 himself would guard the door. He was helpless too, 
 dependent on weak arms that love would gird with 
 might and this makes a woman's happiness com- 
 plete ; when love and service wed, joy is their first- 
 born child. 
 
 She was now standing at the door of his room, 
 her eyes fixed upon the face of the man she loved, 
 radiant with victory. 
 
 He had heard her footfall from the threshold, and 
 his heart clutched each one as it fell. Yes, it was 
 she, and the music of her rustling garments had the 
 sweet sound of rain for his was the thirsty heart. 
 It was surely she, and not another, and the whole 
 meaning of life seemed clear to him. He knew not 
 how or why, but he had been alone so long, and his 
 hungry heart had wondered, and life seemed such a 
 wounded thing. 
 
 But now he actually saw those silken strands, 
 gently waving from her haste, and the parted lips 
 that poured forth her soul's deep loyalty, and the 
 dear form of ardent love a maiden's form. All 
 these came upon him like the dawn, and the 
 citadel of life's frowning mystery was stormed at 
 last. How voluptuous, after all, in its holiest sense, 
 is God's purpose for the pure in heart !
 
 286 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 She stood, her eyes now suffused with tears, but 
 smiling still; the panic in her father's house, the 
 comment of cruel tongues, the fight with death, the 
 pestilence that walks in darkness these were all for- 
 gotten in the transport of her soul. She had chosen 
 her Gethsemane long ago, and this was its harvest 
 time. 
 
 Angus' eyes drank deeply from the spring. 
 
 " Margaret," he said at last, " how beautiful God 
 is ! " and Margaret understood. 
 
 She advanced towards the bed, her hands out- 
 stretched he sought to bid her back. 
 
 " Margaret, you know not what you do ; your 
 life " But it was in vain. 
 
 " My life is my love," she cried with defiant pas- 
 sion. " Oh, Angus, how beautiful God is ! " and, 
 stooping down, she overpowered him, spurning 
 death while love should claim its own. 
 
 As she stood above him again, her lips were moist 
 with love's anointing and she knew that nothing 
 could prevail against them now. Hers the promised 
 power that could take up serpents, and drink deadly 
 things, and be unharmed. Hers the commission to 
 lay hands on the sick that they might recover. Her 
 sombre foes seemed many ; shame clouded the name 
 she fain would bear, opposition frowned from the 
 faces of those who bore her, and now plague had
 
 LOYE'S SINGING SACRIFICE 287 
 
 joined the conspiracy but in all these things she 
 was more than conqueror. 
 
 ****** 
 
 The winter had retreated before the conquering 
 spring, and the vanquished pestilence had also fled 
 when they came forth again, these prisoners of love. 
 Nearly four long luscious weeks had flown, and their 
 souls' bridal time was past. They had baffled death 
 together ; and they came forth, each with the great 
 experience each with the unstained heart. 
 
 Angus bore a scar, only one, as the legacy of pes- 
 tilence but it could be clearly seen, and it was on 
 his brow. 
 
 " My life seems doomed to these single scars," he 
 had said, not bitterly, during one of the sweet con- 
 valescent days. 
 
 " But not through any fault of yours, dear one," 
 Margaret had answered. " I have the same wounds, 
 mark for mark, but they are in my heart," and she 
 kissed his brow, ordained to another burden. 
 
 "Where shall we go?" said Margaret. He had 
 heard the words before, and rich memories came 
 back. The freedom of the world was theirs; for 
 they had been absolved from the stigma of disease, 
 and the sentinel had ceased from his labours. 
 
 " I must go home now," she continued, " for it will 
 soon be dark."
 
 288 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " I had forgotten about darkness," said Angus. 
 " Come with me. I want to do something for my 
 mother's sake." 
 
 " ' Your mother's sake ! ' " she repeated, " did your 
 mother ever know the poor woman who died of the 
 disease ? or her little child ? Did you care for them 
 for her sake ? " 
 
 " I cared for them for her sake," Angus answered, 
 " but my mother never knew her ; they lived in dif- 
 ferent countries but their sorrows were related. 
 Let us turn here." 
 
 They turned off into a quiet street, and presently 
 entered the old stone-cutter's shop. Angus spoke 
 to him apart for a time ; finally the old man said : 
 
 " Perhaps you'd better write it down." 
 
 " Very well, I will," replied Angus. 
 
 The old stone-cutter adjusted his glasses: "Nothin' 
 on the big stone about her age?" 
 
 " No, nothing," answered Angus. 
 
 " Nor nothin' about her folks? " 
 
 " No, nothing," said Angus again. 
 
 " And nothin' on the little stone only this ? " 
 
 " Nothing more," said the other. 
 
 " All right, sir, I understand then. The big stone 
 is just to have 'Luke. 7 : 47 : For she loved much,' 
 and the little one : ' My brother.' All right, I'll 
 set 'em up to-morrow, only I kind o' thought it
 
 LOME'S SINGING SACRIFICE 289 
 
 didn't give a terrible lot of information. But I sup- 
 pose you know the meanin' of it." 
 
 " Yes, I know," said the man with the mark upon 
 his brow.
 
 XXVII 
 The HIDDEN CRUCIFIX 
 
 WE had only one incurable sorrow in St. 
 Cuthbert's manse. That of course had 
 to do with Margaret and her love for 
 whoso would heal sorrow must find a cure for love. 
 We could not find it in our hearts to give her up to 
 a union so wounding to our pride as her marriage to 
 Angus would have been. The righteous will have 
 cried out long ago against this unseemly spirit on 
 the part of a gospel minister. But my only care is 
 to set down things, myself among them, as they 
 really were. 
 
 Besides, it is easy to prescribe sacrifices for another, 
 or even for one's self, provided always that they be 
 made before the necessity arises. All parents are 
 models in their treatment of each other's offspring, 
 rivalling, in this regard, even those proverbial pat- 
 terns who never took the initial step to parentage. 
 
 Our relations with Margaret were happy enough, 
 marked by love and tenderness as of yore. We 
 were deliberately cheerful, and at times even reso- 
 lutely gay. But our house had its skeleton closet, 
 
 290
 
 291 
 
 and each of us kept a key. Apart from this, all our 
 home was bright. Other wounds had healed. Mar- 
 garet was home again, and she had been kept from 
 the scourge's awful breath. I had accepted St. 
 Cuthbert's second call, and I felt as though my pas- 
 torate had begun anew ; for young and old gathered 
 about me, and the chariot wheels rolled gladly. 
 
 Yet one dear and long honoured face was absent ; 
 and one seat in St. Cuthbert's, long occupied by a 
 familiar form, was vacant now. For Michael Blake 
 had gone. 
 
 Silently, without telling us why or where, he had 
 departed, although the heart of all New Jedboro 
 seemed warm to him, and although St. Cuthbert's 
 had given him its pledge of continued confidence. 
 But he had steadfastly refused to resume the duties 
 of his office. 
 
 This was almost a sorer wound to us than the 
 other ; for we somehow could not but construe it as 
 the collapse of shame. He shirks the discipline of 
 God, we said, or thought ; and some even voiced the 
 darksome fear that he had cast off the restraints of 
 his office, done with religion when he could no 
 longer wear its mask. He would be a saint, said 
 some, or nothing. The role of the publican has no 
 charm for him, said others, because he never really 
 knew its luxuries. And some were secretly angry
 
 292 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 that he had escaped, as they chose to term it, for 
 they loved to see the scarlet letter on another's 
 breast. 
 
 ****** 
 
 It was one of the first genial days of early spring, 
 and an ocean steamer was swiftly making for the 
 Mersey. The green fields of the initial isle had been 
 declared the greenest of God's green earth, and they 
 received the panegyric with national complacency, 
 knowing not that they had three thousand miles of 
 grassless ocean to thank for it every bit. The fra- 
 grance of the land was sweet to the weary voyagers, 
 and the most taciturn was disposed to unwonted 
 mirth. The Captain, question-driven, had taken 
 wing and soared aloft, looking down in safety from 
 the bridge. 
 
 'But neither mirth nor gladness was upon the face 
 of one traveller, though no face was turned more 
 intently towards the shore. Sadness of heart and 
 seriousness of purpose were there instead, not un- 
 mixed with light ; for memory and hope, these old- 
 world combatants, had joined battle in his soul. 
 
 His gaze was fixed on the still distant land, and 
 varying emotions played upon his face. This very 
 shore enclosed all whose memory filled his life with 
 shame and sorrow within it, therefore, by God's 
 unchanging law, must be found their relief and cure.
 
 rhe HIDDEN CRUCIFIX 295 
 
 For the serpent's bite, the healing is the serpent still, 
 but lifted high. 
 
 This man, so silent and self-contained, had been 
 the centre of much curious wonder among his fellow 
 passengers. Much apart he had been, unmingled 
 with the ship's social life, despite all allurement. 
 The children called him blessed, for he had entered 
 with their own relish into all their games, and when 
 these palled, he had brought forth things new and old 
 out of the treasure of his mind. The aged and ail- 
 ing were his almost worshippers, for he had made 
 their wants his daily care. 
 
 " I am sorry to part, Mr. Blake, although we have 
 seen so little of you on the voyage. One has to be 
 quite young, or quite sick, or quite old, to see much 
 of you aboard ship." 
 
 " You have neither of the last two qualifications," 
 answered the man addressed, with a pleasant 
 smile. 
 
 The voice which had broken in upon his reverie 
 was that of a lady past middle life, richly and fashion- 
 ably dressed ; for you never know the real plumage 
 of fair travellers till they are about to leave you. 
 She was beautifully enamelled, powdered, massaged, 
 and otherwise put in the best possible repair. Spark- 
 ling diamonds adorned her hands. A gold cross 
 hung upon her bosom.
 
 294 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 "Nor the first one either, I fear," she rejoined; 
 " however, I am trying to keep as young as I can. 
 I do wish we were at Liverpool. There is to be a 
 bridge party at one of my friends this afternoon and 
 a military ball to-night, and I had counted on get- 
 ting in for both. I accepted from New York ! I am 
 not thinking so much about the ball, but I shall die 
 if I miss the bridge." 
 
 " Indeed," replied her companion, glancing at the 
 cross. 
 
 " Yes, it will be too cruel. I have picked up some 
 awfully good points on bridge got them in New 
 York. I got them from my friend's clergyman, the 
 Rev. Dyson Bartlett, rector of the Holy Archangels. 
 He is a lovely man. You'd never think to hear him 
 preach that there was so much in him. Do you 
 know of him ? " 
 
 " No," answered Mr. Blake, " I don't think I ever 
 heard of him before." 
 
 " Probably not ; he lives a very quiet life very 
 restful sort of nature, he has ; he never gets up till 
 eleven ; but of course he is always up very late at 
 night. Can't burn the candle at both ends, can you? 
 Clergymen are only human, and must get their rest. 
 But on Sunday mornings he gets up at half-past six 
 for early mass, and of course he plays on Saturday 
 nights too, so sometimes he must get very little
 
 The HIDDEN CRUCIFIX 295 
 
 sleep. Clergymen don't have such an easy life after 
 all. Are you an Episcopalian, Mr. Blake ? " 
 
 " No, I don't belong to that church." 
 
 " Isn't that too bad ? But I don't know why I 
 should say that I think lots of people go to heaven 
 who belong to other churches. But then, of course, 
 I am very broad in my views. I can't bear narrow 
 people I just can't stand narrow people; and be- 
 sides, I met a lovely man once in Tarrytown, and 
 he was a Presbyterian. I hope I will meet him in 
 heaven." 
 
 " I hope you will," said Mr. Blake. 
 
 " Yes," she resumed, " that is what I liked about 
 Mr. Bartlett he was so broad in his views. I re- 
 member I asked him once if he thought dissenters 
 would go to heaven, and I shall never forget how 
 beautifully he spoke. We were having a little game 
 at the time only a dollar stake and it was his turn 
 to play. But when I asked him that about the dis- 
 senters, he laid down his cards on the table, and his 
 hands unconsciously took hold of the cross he al- 
 ways carried on his coat, and he said : * God is very 
 merciful, Mrs. Drake ' then he dropped the cross, 
 and took up the cards again, and gave a little sigh be- 
 fore he played, and there was a beautiful smile on his 
 face a kind of sad, sweet smile." 
 
 " Did you attend his church when in New
 
 296 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 York ? " said her listener, not knowing what else to 
 say. 
 
 " Yes, sometimes, but you wouldn't think he had 
 such deep thoughts, just from hearing him preach. 
 He was very deep. One night we were all discuss- 
 ing whether it was a sin to play for stakes. It was 
 after the game was over, and Mr. Bartlett had won the 
 whole thing. He put the money away quietly in his 
 pocket he gives it to the poor people in the Holy 
 Archangels, he said, for some of the Holy Arch- 
 angels are quite poor he put it quietly in his pocket, 
 and he took hold of his cross, and he was silent for a 
 little while. Then he said : ' Stakes are every- 
 where in life faith itself stakes the soul,' and that 
 sad, sweet, smile came back again. Wasn't that 
 deep ? " 
 
 " Yes, very deep," answered Mr. Blake, thinking 
 of the pocket. 
 
 " Another time, I remember, he said it had often 
 occurred to him that it was the great Creator who 
 had caused bridge to be discovered ; he said God gave 
 us bridge so that good Christians could give up play- 
 ing poker. Wasn't that deep ? " 
 
 Mr. Blake ventured some reply such as courtesy 
 and conscience could agree upon. " I really never 
 gave the matter much thought," he concluded. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! There we are at half speed again ! I
 
 The HIDDEN CRUCIFIX 297 
 
 know I'll be too late. Yes, even some of his sermons 
 were very deep. He had a beautiful poetic mind ; 
 and he gave everything such a lovely turn. I shall 
 never forget his last sermon. It was beautiful ; he 
 was preaching on the text : ' Wash me whiter 
 than snow ' the church was so hot, but you could 
 just see the snow. And his divisions were beauti- 
 ful. I can tell them yet. His first point was that we 
 should all be pure and white like the snow. Then 
 the second one, he said, grew out of the first, that if 
 we were pure and clean like the snow, we would not 
 be impure or unclean. And the last point was a 
 very solemn one. He said that if we were not pure 
 and white like the snow, by and by we would go 
 down where there was no more snow. That was a 
 beautiful thought, wasn't it ? I thought it was such a 
 lovely ending." 
 
 " I never heard a sermon just like that," remarked 
 Mr. Blake, his mind reverting to St. Cuthbert's. 
 
 " Neither did I," went on the worshipper, " and I 
 told him so the next night when we met at Mrs. 
 Bronson's for a little farewell game. He took hold 
 of his cross again and he said : ' We must deal 
 faithfully, Mrs. Drake' and he was just starting to 
 deal as he spoke. But he never smiled, except that 
 sad, sweet smile that he always wore except when 
 he lost. And he told us that after that service he
 
 298 ST. CUTHBER'T'S 
 
 found the curate weeping in the vestry. But the 
 curate fairly worships Mr. Bartlett. It was Mr. Bart- 
 lett who first taught him bridge, I think. Do you 
 play bridge, Mr. Blake ? " 
 
 " No, I never learned the game." 
 
 " Oh, I forgot ; you're a Presbyterian, you said. 
 It's pretty much a church game, I fancy. Excuse 
 my rudeness, but why don't you wear a cross, Mr. 
 Blake?" 
 
 " What ? " said Mr. Blake abruptly, " why don't I 
 what?" 
 
 " Isn't that dreadful ? The engines are scarcely 
 moving ; I know we won't get in till five, and the 
 bridge begins at three. There is nothing but dis- 
 appointments in this world. Oh, yes, why don't you 
 wear a cross? Not so much for the ornament, of 
 course. I got this one at Tiffany's and it cost me ten 
 pounds. But, as Mr. Bartlett said, the cross stands 
 for sacrifice, so I don't begrudge it. I think, in this 
 world of sin and sorrow every one should wear a 
 cross. We're going a little faster now, don't you 
 think?" 
 
 " Yes, madam, I think we are and I do wear a 
 cross if you have not forgotten your question." 
 
 " Oh, you do. I am so glad. Where ? I suppose 
 you've changed your clothes. But I never noticed it 
 before."
 
 The HIDDEN CRUCIFIX 299 
 
 " No, I don't think you have seen it." 
 
 " Oh, I see, lots of men carry them under their 
 
 vests. But I think we should let the world see it. 
 
 Do you carry yours next your heart ? " 
 No, madam, deeper still," said Mr. Blake.
 
 XXVIII 
 The HE A THER Y HILLS 
 
 THE anchor had been cast, and the good ship, 
 panting, lay at rest. The bugle note had 
 followed the departing tender with wistful 
 strains of " Auld Lang Syne," and the emancipated 
 passengers were pouring out upon old England's hos- 
 pitable soil. The happy crowd, catching already the 
 contagion of English jollity, swayed about the land- 
 ing stage, then flowed in separate streams into the 
 Customs pen ; for this is the first tug of the tether, 
 just when all who have escaped the sea think they 
 are safe at last. Out through the fingers of the 
 stern inspectors flowed the crowd in still thinner 
 streams, till all this community of the deep is scat- 
 tered to the winds. 
 
 Swift-hurrying, they go their separate ways, and 
 the happy little bubble has burst and vanished, as its 
 successors, now forming on the bosom of the deep, 
 will burst and vanish too. What friendships, what 
 ardent loves, what molten vows, ocean born, have 
 begun to languish on the wharf at Liverpool, like 
 sunfish separated from their native wave ! 
 300
 
 The HEATHERY HILLS 301 
 
 Michael Blake hailed a hansom and drove to the 
 North- Western. As he passed through the turbid 
 streets, dense loneliness settled about him like a fog. 
 This was old England, this the land which exiles 
 across the sea in their fondness call the " old 
 country." 
 
 But he could not free himself from the thought 
 that, when he left it, youth's sun was burning bright ; 
 and now more than the early afternoon was gone. 
 
 " The evening too will pass, as the afternoon has 
 passed," he said to himself, " only more quickly." 
 And he glanced at the descending sun, God's meta- 
 phor of warning, the recurring epitome of life. His 
 lips moved to speak a text, the native instinct strong 
 therefor. They had meant to say " the night 
 cometh " ; but some one interfered and he said to 
 himself: "The night is far spent the day is at 
 hand," for, after all, the setting sun has morning in 
 its heart. 
 
 He dismissed the cab, and entering the hotel, made 
 some enquiry about the trains for the North. He 
 could not start North before midnight. The evening 
 was fine, and he walked out. St. George's Hall ar- 
 rested him with its elaborate grandeur. What 
 beauty, what chastity, what becoming signs of civic 
 wealth ! When he came to its massive steps he cast 
 his eyes upon them, and behold, they were dripping
 
 302 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 with poverty! The victims of want in mid-careei 
 were there, and drooping age, unequally yoked with 
 poverty, and frowzy women with ribald face ; and 
 chief among them all, little children, some blear- 
 eyed, some pallid with want, some with the legacy 
 of sores for they had been shapen in iniquity. 
 
 But all alike and herein was the anguish of it 
 all alike were bent on play, and persisted pitifully in 
 the cruel farce. The little bare feet pattered up and 
 down the steps but the steps were stone. 
 
 Michael Blake thought of his adopted home across 
 the sea and its green fields and tree-graced meadows. 
 Then he thought of the far Western plains, vast be- 
 yond human fancy, waiting and calling for the tired 
 feet of all who spend weary lives in the old land, 
 playing on stone steps, while wealth and grandeur 
 smile above them. In a few minutes he turned 
 away, for the folk of his country are not accustomed 
 to the sight of hungry children ; and a woman under 
 drink is something that many of their eldest have 
 never seen at all. 
 
 The sound of martial music, and the voice of cheer- 
 ing thousands, fell upon his ear. He moved towards 
 it. Soon the surging procession broke upon him. 
 " Who are these ? " he asked, " these fellows in 
 Khaki ? " They had their rifles in their hands, and 
 some were slightly lame, and some had the signs of
 
 The HEATHERY HILLS 303 
 
 wounds and all had the rich stain of battle on them. 
 " Art thou only a stranger ? " he is asked in turn, 
 " and knowest not the things that are come to pass ? 
 These are they who have come out of Paardeburg, 
 homeward bound by way of the ancestral home, and 
 the tide of British love and gratitude wafts them on 
 their course." 
 
 He is soon caught in the swelling throng, his own 
 head bare, his own voice blending in the Imperial 
 hosannah. He catches a familiar face among the 
 soldiers ; he hears the strain of the " Maple Leaf " 
 mingling with the mighty bass of the Mother 
 Anthem. He beholds the Union Jack, enriched 
 with the Canadian emblem. Gazing on the battered 
 few, he sees the survivors of the battle, and he knows 
 that the unreturning feet rest in the soil they have 
 won to freedom ; Canadian lads were these who have 
 insisted with dying lips that Britains never shall be 
 slaves. His adopted land has given of its choicest 
 blood to swell the sacred tide that for centuries hath 
 laved the shores of liberty. 
 
 All this surges in upon him, and the savage joy of 
 empire fills his heart. His loneliness has fled, and he 
 feels that beyond the ocean he is at home, the old 
 home, with its ever open gate for its far-flung chil- 
 dren. The mighty roar becomes the gentle whisper 
 of Britain's lips, bidding him draw closer to the im-
 
 304 ST. CUTHBER'T'S 
 
 perial fireside and warm himself at its imperishable 
 flame. 
 
 He follows them for a time, then turns and slowly 
 wends his way bac}< to the hotel. As he walks on, 
 the shouting and the tumult die, the banners gleam 
 no more, and he is left alone with the empire of his 
 heart, and with other worlds to conquer. We need 
 no swift-flying transport to bear us to life's greatest 
 battle-fields. 
 
 A little waif, a boy of ten, pinched and ragged, 
 was gazing in a window as Mr. Blake passed along. 
 A question from the man, a quick and pathetic an- 
 swer from the boy and they went in together. Then 
 the man came out alone, and the fervent joy of an 
 hour ago was gone, but a deeper gladness had taken 
 the room it left behind. It is still there a life-ten- 
 ant for its lease cannot be broken till memory dies. 
 
 When he re-entered the hotel, the clerk recognized 
 him and said : 
 
 "Your train goes in an hour, sir. You are 
 going up to Scotland, I think you said." 
 
 Scotland ! The word inflamed him ; and he hurried 
 to his room to prepare for departure. 
 
 The guard's sharp whistle sounded, and the train, 
 with British promptness, flew out of the Lime Street 
 station, one heart at least strangely thrilled, one face 
 steadfastly set towards Scotland's waiting hills.
 
 The HEATHERY HILLS 305 
 
 He was alone in the compartment, and the long 
 night seemed only like a watch thereof. He was 
 alone, yet not alone for Memory sat beside him, 
 and Conscience, and Hope. No, he was not alone ; for 
 there wrestled a Man with him till the breaking of 
 the day. And still the train flew on, as though it 
 knew; on it flew, as though the unseen Wrestler 
 himself had his hand upon the engine's throat. 
 
 The sun was rising when he left the train. The 
 train flew on, uncaring, for trains know not that they 
 are carriers unto destiny. 
 
 Michael Blake looked long at the rising sun it 
 was the same. Then his eyes caressed the surround- 
 ing hills, playfellows of bygone years they had not 
 changed. The flowers still were there, the grass had 
 never withered ; the heather, too, in unfading purity. 
 
 And the trees, the old mighty elms, these were 
 still the same the foliage of a larger life they had, 
 but the selfsame branches held out their kindly hands 
 as in the long ago. Still upturned were their rever- 
 ent heads, still seeking God and the baptism of the 
 morning was upon them, attested by the morning 
 light. 
 
 He turned towards one of the familiar hills and be- 
 gan the old boyhood climb. 
 
 Midway, he came to a spring, and a great thirst 
 clutched his heart. It was life's long, quenchless
 
 306 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 thirst, crying out again for the children's portion. 
 His face is close to its crystal water, his lips burning 
 with desire. Another's face moves upward to greet 
 his own but it is not the same and memory swiftly 
 paints another till he actually sees it, the ardent face 
 of youth. And beside it is a maiden's face for they 
 had often stooped together a maiden's face, laugh- 
 ing for very love. But they vanish and he sees again 
 his own, worn and wrinkle-signed and alone. 
 
 Yet the spring still is there, unwrinkled and un- 
 worn, and his fevered lips drink deeply. How sweet, 
 how delicious, and how wondrous cool ! It is still 
 the same as when rosy lips of love sipped from its 
 surface long ago. He rises and turns from the hal- 
 lowed spot ; but the flood-gates of memory are un- 
 loosed, and his heart melts within him. The tears 
 are flowing fast and the old luxury, because the old 
 innocence, of childhood, seems to bathe his broken 
 heart. 
 
 " Oh, God,' he cries aloud, " hast Thou no foun- 
 tain for the soul, no living springs farther up the 
 hill?" and as he cried, he glanced again into the 
 limpid spring. And lo ! that gentle face was there 
 again, love's laughter still upon its lips, and a great 
 hope looking out from grave and tender eyes. 
 
 Then farther up the hill he climbed, the quick step 
 of boyhood coming back and soon he stood upon
 
 The HEATHERY HILLS 307 
 
 its brow. He threw himself upon the grass and cast 
 his eyes over all the unforgotten valley. It was 
 slumbering still, for the sun is over early in Scottish 
 latitudes, and he quickly searched the hillside that 
 confronted him. Behind a sheltering bush he lay, 
 peering far beyond. 
 
 All the valley is forgotten now for, across the 
 ravine beneath him, he sees a cottage. The same, 
 the very same it is, save that the thatch has been re- 
 newed ! A humble shepherd's cottage, only a but 
 and a ben, built long ago by thrifty hands but he 
 first learned to worship there. 
 
 Yet is it still the same ? He knows not but he 
 knows the risk of passing years. Unchanged the 
 cottage stands, and the same gate hangs half open as 
 in the far back yesterday. Yet it is the spirit alone 
 that giveth life, and of this he may not know. He 
 looks at his watch it is near six o'clock, and he had 
 seen a man walk sleepily to the byre from a distant 
 house. He waits and watches, while a strange fever 
 burns his heart, unknown to youthful passion. His 
 lips are parched, though the water from the spring is 
 scarce dry upon them yet. 
 
 Still gazing, he sees no sign of life about the house. 
 He thinks, yet knows not why, of Mary and the 
 empty tomb. Hope is sinking fast, when of a sud- 
 den a timid wreath of smoke flows slowly from the
 
 ^o8 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 chimney, and Michael Blake's hand reaches swiftly 
 towards his heart. " Be still, be still," he murmurs, 
 " who knows that it is for thee ? " but his eyes follow 
 it greedily, for it is to him a soul-signal from afar, 
 God's altar smoke, and he knows now that the house 
 is not a sepulchre. 
 
 " Now I shall go and knock," he said to himself; 
 but a new thought possessed him, and he bowed 
 again behind the slender furze, his eyes still fixed 
 upon the house. 
 
 They were but minutes that he waited, but they 
 came disguised as hours for God can compel us to 
 rehearse eternity. He must have felt it coming, for 
 his eyes have forsaken all else, and are fixed upon the 
 cottage door. Yes, it moved, it surely moved ; and 
 the strong man's eyes are numb. They rally and 
 renew the vigil. Yes, it moves, wider still and the 
 flutter of a dress is seen. His heart leaps wildly, and 
 his eyes fly at the face that follows. It is too far to 
 see clearly but he soon must know ! 
 
 A comely form emerges from the door, and the 
 face looks up at the morning sun. The woman walks 
 out and on, lithe grace in every movement. Then 
 the valley swims before him for it is, it is, the 
 woman he had loved. He knows the dainty step, 
 the erect carriage, the shapely frame. Nearer still 
 she comes, skirting the base of the hill he had
 
 The HEATHERY HILLS 309 
 
 climbed, still often looking towards the sun, pausing 
 now and then to pluck a flower by the way. Where 
 can she be going ? 
 
 No bonnet binds her waving hair, and now he can 
 catch the light of the morning sun upon it. Streaks 
 of gray, here and there, can be seen, but they are few ; 
 the breeze rallies the loose-flowing strands and they 
 make merry and are glad together. He can see the 
 pure bosom, lightly robed, that swells with buoyant 
 life. She is nearer to him now, and the face swims 
 in upon him across the chasm of long silent years, 
 the same pure face, still bright with tender love. She 
 is now beside the spring for thither was she bent 
 and the overflowing pail is laid down beside her. 
 
 She too glances into the bosom of the water and 
 he wonders if memory guides the wistful gaze. 
 Does she too see another face preserved against the 
 years in the pure keeping of the spring? He knows 
 not but he thinks, yes, he is sure he saw the move- 
 ment of the lips, and her face is again upturned but 
 its thought is far beyond the sun. He uncovers his 
 head and joins the holy quest. 
 
 She has returned to the cottage and the door is 
 closed; but Michael Blake has never moved. Now 
 he steps out from behind his shelter and starts 
 towards the house. Then he stops, turns back and 
 begins to descend the hill by the same course as had
 
 3io ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 led him up. Yet once more he turns and gazes long 
 at the dwelling-place, starts towards it, stops again. 
 
 " Not now," he said to himself, " I cannot it is 
 too light." 
 
 And he walked back to the hamlet ; he was wait- 
 ing for the tender dark.
 
 XXIX 
 "AND ALL BUT HE DEPARTED" 
 
 THE little inn seemed to have no guests ex- 
 cept the traveller from beyond the sea. 
 But no such tavern is ever long deserted, for 
 the Scotch nature, while it may be dry, is ever loyal. 
 Michael Blake had read but a line or two of the 
 Edinburgh Scotsman, ten days of age, when a man 
 walked solemnly in and sat down beside him. His 
 face, his breath, and especially his nose, bore eloquent 
 testimony to the aforesaid loyalty of his nature. He 
 bade Mr. Blake a cheerful good-morning, glancing at 
 the same time towards the counter beneath which 
 the liquid necessities were stored. 
 
 " It's a fine mornin'," he began. 
 
 " A beautiful day," assented Mr. Blake. 
 
 " Ye'll no' live aboot these pairts ? " inquired the 
 other. 
 
 " No, I live far from here." 
 
 "Ye'll mebbe be frae Ameriky?" ventured his 
 interrogator, closing in upon him. 
 
 " Yes, I live in Canada," was the response. 
 
 " Canady," said the man. " We're gey prood o' 
 Canady the noo. I ken't a man once wha went to 
 311
 
 ?i2 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 Canady. I had a drink wi' him afore he went," he 
 continued, his eye lighting with the dewy memory, 
 " ye'll likely ken him ? Oliver was his name, Wattie 
 Oliver, a bow-leggit wee body." 
 
 " I cannot say I ever met with him," replied Mr. 
 Blake. " Canada is larger than you think over here." 
 
 " Mebbe so," said the friendly stranger, " mair nor 
 likely he's deid noo ; one o' thae red Indians micht 
 hae killed him, like eneuch." 
 
 " Yes, or perhaps a bear," Mr. Blake replied gravely. 
 
 There was a pause. A bell was ringing, its notes 
 floating in clear and sweet upon them. 
 
 " What bell is that ? " inquired Mr. Blake. 
 
 " That's oor bell i' the parish kirk ; there's no ither 
 ane." 
 
 "What is it ringing for? To-day is Thursday." 
 asked Mr. Blake. 
 
 " Aye," responded the other, " this is the fast day. 
 Sabbath's the sacrament, ye ken, and they're maist 
 awfu' strict aboot the fast day. They wadna work 
 that day, nae mair than on the Sabbath. They willna 
 even whustle. Ae mornin' I met Davie Drewry, an' 
 'twas the fast day. Noo, of course, it was juist an 
 or'nary day in Dr. Cameron's parish across the burn 
 the burn divides the twa, ye ken. Weel, Davie 
 was a lad for whustlin' he cudna leeve withoot 
 whustlin' but he was gey religious too. Weel, I
 
 "AND ALL BUT HE DEPARTED" 313 
 
 met Davie that mornin', walkin' awfu' fast, maist rin- 
 nin' an' his face was red. 
 
 " ' Whaur micht ye be gaun, Davie ? ' says I, ' nae- 
 body ailin' ? 
 
 " ' Na, na,' says Davie, ' but it's the fast day, an' I 
 canna stand it ony longer. I'm gaun ower the burn 
 to hae a whustle.' Wasna that fair redeek'lus ! " 
 
 " Quite ingenious," answered Mr. Blake. " You 
 go to that church, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Na, I dinna. I quit it when they brocht the kist 
 o' whustles intill't. I wadna stand it. There's nae 
 real Presbyterians there, forbye me an' Jock Camp- 
 bell an' I'm sair feart aboot Jock. I doot he's 
 weakenin'. They tell me he speaks to the minister 
 on the street, an' if that's true, there's no" muckle o' 
 the auld religion aboot Jock, I'm fearin'." 
 
 " Do you not speak to the minister ? " 
 
 " Na, I dinna. There's naething o' the hypocrite 
 aboot me, I'm tellin' ye. I settled the minister fine 
 the last word I spoke to him. He came to see me ; 
 an' he thocht he could wheedle me aboot the organ 
 i' the hoose o' God. 
 
 " ' Div ye no' ken/ he says to me, ' aboot Dauvit, 
 the sweet singer o' Israel how he played a' kinds o' 
 instruments i' the Lord's hoose ? ' He thocht he had 
 me. But I gied him as guid as he brocht. What 
 think ye I answered him ? "
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " I really have no idea," said Mr. Blake. " What 
 was it ? " 
 
 " ' Div ye think,' says I, lookin' fair at him, ' div ye 
 think I tak Dauvit for a paittern ? ' and it did for 
 him. ' I'll hae to be gaein',' says he, ' I hae a 
 funeral.' Aye,' says I, ' ye'd better hae a funeral ' 
 an' we haena spoken to ane anither since." 
 
 " That's a pity," said Mr. Blake, " it seems too bad 
 that the soul's interests should suffer because of a 
 matter of that kind. Of course," he continued, " I 
 don't say that a man may not be religious because he 
 doesn't go to church. Men may scorn the bridge 
 and still get across the river, but they would have got 
 along better by the bridge." 
 
 " I dinna ken aboot the brig," said the other, 
 " that isna to the point," for he was not of a meta- 
 phorical turn of mind " but I've nae doot aboot 
 bein' religious. A man in my walk o' life, in my 
 business, ye ken, canna weel help bein' religious. 
 He's the same as the Apostle Paul." 
 
 " What ? " said Mr. Blake, " are you a tent- 
 maker ? " 
 
 " Na, na, certainly not ; there's nane o' them now- 
 adays. A man in my callin' doesna do the same as 
 Paul, but he can say the same, ye see. I can say wi' 
 Paul : ' Death to me is great gain ' I'm an under- 
 taker, ye ken."
 
 "AND ALL BUT HE DEPARTED" 315 
 
 " An undertaker," exclaimed his listener, uncon- 
 sciously pushing back his chair, shocked at the 
 gruesome humour. Besides, the man was looking at 
 him with something like a professional eye, as if 
 making an estimate of time, and space. 
 
 " Aye," responded he of the apostolic claim, " I'm 
 an undertaker but times is dull. I was an under- 
 taker ten year in Lockerby, but I left there lang syne. 
 I had ae fine customer, the bailie ; he had eleven o' 
 a family. But I lost his trade. The bailie was sick 
 an' my laddie, wee Sandy, was aye plaguin' me for 
 a sled. I tell't him I'd get him ane when I had mair 
 siller. Weel, wee Sandy was aye rinnin" ower to the 
 hoose an' askin' aboot the bailie. 'Twas nat'ral 
 eneuch ; the laddie meant nae harm, but he wanted 
 his sled afore the snaw was gone. Ony way, they 
 tuk offense." 
 
 " Did he get his sled ? " asked Mr. Blake mechan- 
 ically, staring at the man. 
 
 " Na, poor wee Sandy never got his sled. I had 
 juist ae ither customer ye miclu ca' guid. He was 
 deein' o' consumption, an' I took guid care o' Sandy's 
 sympathy. There was no askin' aboot him, mind ye. 
 But there was a mean man i' the business, wha was 
 never meant to be an undertaker. His name was 
 Creighton, Tom Creighton, an' what dae ye think 
 Tom did, to get his trade ? "
 
 316 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 " I don't know," said Mr. Blake, rising to depart. 
 
 " Weel, I'll tell ye. Twa days afore he died, Tom 
 Creighton tuk him oot for a drive he was awfu' fair 
 to his face an' he got around him ; tell't him at the 
 gate that he hoped to gie him anither drive later on. 
 Of course, he got his trade he had to gie him 
 his trade after that. But I wadna stoop to sic like 
 tricks for nae man's trade. So I left Lockerby an' 
 came here I'm the only yin here." 
 
 Mr. Blake was glad to escape his garrulous ac- 
 quaintance, and had heard enough of his sombre an- 
 nals. He walked out, and wandered far o'er moor 
 and fen, o'er hill and valley, by many an unforgotteu 
 path, he wandered past his boyhood's school, where 
 he heard again the laughing shout that seemed 
 scarcely to have died away from lips now silent long. 
 
 He loitered again by the babbling stream which 
 had been the fishing-ground of boyhood, and lay once 
 more on mossy beds, and bathed his face in the same 
 friendly tide. He gazed far up into the leafy trees 
 and saw the very nooks where boyhood's form had' 
 rested ; again he saw the sun gleam on the happy 
 heads of those who gambolled far beneath. 
 
 He drank his fill of the long yesterday, thirsty still. 
 No familiar face, no voice of long ago, had he seen 
 or heard ; and he tasted that unreasoning pain which 
 comes to the man who knows, and is wounded by the
 
 "AND ALL BUT HE DEPARTED" 317 
 
 truth, that his native heath is reconciled to his exile, 
 careless of his loneliness, indifferent to bid it cease. 
 
 When he returned to the hospitable inn, he was as 
 one seeking rest, and finding none. He sat, reflec- 
 tive, while memory bathed the soul of love with tears. 
 Presently the sound of voices floated out from an 
 adjoining room. He listened eagerly, for one was 
 evidently the voice of a returned wanderer like him- 
 self. The other was that of a man who had never 
 wandered from his native spot. The home-keeper's 
 tongue had still its mother-Scotch, but his companion 
 had been cured. 
 
 " I know I shouldn't do it, Gavin," he heard the 
 latter say, " I'm really a teetotaler in Australia. 
 Used to take a drop or two before I emigrated ; but 
 I'm an elder now, and I haven't tasted for years. 
 However this is a special occasion." 
 
 Mr. Blake moved his chair to where he could 
 catch a glimpse of the men. They were advanced 
 in years, both about sixty-five, and their heads were 
 gray. Their dress betokened plainness of nature, 
 though that of the Australian might indicate pros- 
 perity. Both would seem uncultured, except in 
 heart. 
 
 " A speecial occasion ! " cried the one addressed as 
 Gavin, " a speecial occasion ! I should say it is 
 verra speecial ! It's twa an' forty years sin we claspit
 
 318 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 ane anither's hand man, Andra, friendship's sweet, 
 an' God's guid ! It wad be fair sinfu' no' ta tak a 
 drop at sic a time as this. The minister himsel' wad 
 taste, gin an auld schulemate came back after forty 
 year. Sae wad the Apostle Paul the stomach's sake 
 was naethin' compared wi' this. What'll ye hae, 
 Andra?" 
 
 " Let this be mine, Gavin," answered Andrew, 
 reaching for his pocketbook. When it appeared, it 
 was fat and full, and Gavin stole a wistful glance ; for, 
 in Scotland, colonial pocketbooks are proverbially 
 plump. " What shall it be ? " he added. 
 
 " Whatever ye say, Andra," answered Gavin. He 
 glanced again at the disappearing purse and heaved 
 a little sigh. Patriotism is not good for pocket- 
 books, thought Gavin. 
 
 " Well," said his old schoolmate, holding a sover- 
 eign between his thumb and finger as fondly as 
 though he had lived in Scotland all his life ; " well," 
 said he, " I say champagne here, waiter ! " 
 
 But Gavin interrupted : " Na, na, Andra, dinna 
 get champagne. I took it ance when the young 
 Duke came o' age, an' I cudna hae tell't I had ony- 
 thing, half an hour later. I dinna care for ony o' thae 
 aeryated waters. Forbye, it's awfu' dear, an* we can 
 hae far mair o' the ither," he concluded, smiling ten- 
 derly at Andrew.
 
 "AND ALL BUT HE DEPARTED" 319 
 
 "The other" was produced; and it justified the 
 trust reposed in it. Well it knew its duty, and well 
 it played its part ; for it burnished memory bright, 
 stirred emotion from its hiding place, and even led 
 tears out by long deserted paths. 
 
 The lonely man in the outer room watched, and 
 envied, and secretly absolved his brother elder the 
 latter was giving abundant proof of his freedom from 
 all narrow bigotry. Like himself, his old prowess 
 had come back. He was confidential now : 
 
 " She wouldn't have me, Gavin. I told her I was 
 rich, and that I loved her ever since I left. But she 
 wouldn't listen to me. Then I told her I owned ten 
 thousand sheep, and that I dreamed about her every 
 night. But it never moved her. I told her I had 
 twenty thousand pounds in the bank, and her picture 
 next my heart besides but she wouldn't She said 
 she was promised to another. Did you ever hear of 
 Janet Strachan caring for any one else ? " 
 
 " Na," said Gavin, absently, " she'll no' hae nocht 
 to dae wi' onybody in the way o' love hae anither, 
 Andra. Dinna droon the miller. Wad we no' hae 
 been fules to tak champagne ? It wad hae been a' 
 dune by noo." 
 
 Then Gavin stood erect, motioning to Andrew to 
 do the same. Andrew rose ; one on each side of the 
 little table they stood, a glass in the left hand of
 
 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 each, for they were about to enact one of Scotland's 
 great scenes. Far scattered are her sons, but they 
 have the homing heart, and unforgetting cronies wait 
 to welcome them. 
 
 Gavin's hand is outstretched and Andrew's goes 
 forth to meet it. They clasp, the same hands as 
 fought and played together in the golden boyhood 
 days. 
 
 " Andra," said Gavin, " I'll repeat to you the twa 
 best lines o' rhyme i' the language : An' div ye ken 
 hoo true they are ? 
 
 " ' We twa hae paidl't i' the burn 
 Frae mornin' sun till dine ' 
 
 mind ye that, we twa hae paidl't i' the burn an' 
 it's flowin' yet, an' God's gey guid here's to ye, 
 Andra," and the men drank together, the elder and 
 the unordained, but the past was sacred to them both 
 and childhood's tears came back to make that past 
 complete. 
 
 About an hour later, Andrew and Gavin passed 
 out through the adjoining room. They came upon 
 Mr. Blake, whereupon they immediately sat down, 
 neither being in the mood for walking far. Both 
 greeted him with warmth, and invited him to try for 
 himself the process which they had undergone in the 
 adjoining room. Mr. Blake gratefully declined.
 
 "AND ALL BUT HE DEPARTED" 321 
 
 " Ye'll have travelled far ? " said Gavin, avoiding 
 the direct interrogative. 
 
 " A long way, indeed," said Mr. Blake. 
 
 " Come from America, stranger?" said Andrew. 
 
 " Yes, from Canada." 
 
 " Shake, I'm a fellow colonial I'm from Australia 
 delightful this, to come back to the old homestead 
 and meet a brother you never saw before." 
 
 " Maist wonderfu', is't no' ? " interjected Gavin 
 then the responsibilities of a host began to weigh 
 upon him, and he urged Mr. Blake to reconsider his 
 decision about the process; but Mr. Blake was 
 firm. 
 
 " I ken't fine there was somebody frae Ameriky 
 i' these pairts," said Gavin. " Brownie Telfer tell't 
 me there was a saxpence i' the plate last Sabbath 
 day. It'll be yir ain ? " 
 
 "No, I'm afraid I cannot claim it," said Mr. 
 Blake. " I only landed yesterday." 
 
 " Ye'll be rinnin' aboot at a graun rate," said 
 Gavin, trying a new vein ; " came ower a sicht seein', 
 did ye ? " 
 
 " No," said Mr. Blake, " not particularly." 
 
 " Took a little run over on business, I suppose?" 
 amended the Australian. 
 
 " Yes," assented Mr. Blake. 
 
 " You said you were born in Scotland; have you
 
 322 ST. CUrHBERT'S 
 
 any old friends still about? Kind of lonely business 
 if you haven't," continued Andrew. 
 
 " I really cannot say I have," said Mr. Blake, 
 moving towards the door. " I'm a fish out of its 
 accustomed waters, even in its old hunting-ground, 
 if you will excuse mixed metaphors. Good-evening 
 to you both; I'm glad to have met with you." 
 
 " Good-evening to you," cried the men. 
 
 The Canadian was gone, but the two old cronies 
 sat smoking ; and the twilight, that great gleaner of 
 the past, crept about them, bringing tender memories 
 that mistrusted the garish day. In the very midst 
 of them, Gavin said : 
 
 " What did the cratur mean when he spoke aboot 
 ' mixed metaphors ' ? I never heard tell o' them 
 before." 
 
 " I'm not very sure," answered Andrew, cautiously ; 
 " he must have meant something." 
 
 " ' Mixed metaphors,' " mused Gavin, " an' the body 
 wadna tak onythin' ; it'll be somethin' they tak in 
 Ameriky I'll ask Ronnie." 
 
 Now Ronnie was the bartender !
 
 XXX 
 
 LOPE'S VICTORY OPER S/N 
 
 THE curtain of the night had fallen and 
 human souls were on their trial ; for human 
 life is then behind the scenes, and the can- 
 dour of its purity or shame comes with the shelter 
 of the falling night. In their noblest acts, and in 
 their basest deeds, men are aided by the impartial 
 dark. Both alike she screens, though with fickle 
 folds, retreating when she hears the first footfall of 
 the dawn ; then is every man's work made manifest 
 of what sort it is and the great judgment day shall 
 be but relentless light. 
 
 The landscape no longer glimmered on the sight 
 when Michael Blake set out from the little inn, his 
 heart burning with fear. And hope heaped fuel on 
 the flame, for fear would die if it were not for hope. 
 He walked on beneath the stately elms, their far- 
 spread branches whispering as he passed, for they 
 knew well his step, and wondered that it hurried so. 
 He paused at the spring and drank again, but his 
 thirst was still unquenched. 
 
 He looked about him at the holy night ; and surg- 
 ing shame flooded neck and face with crimson. For 
 it had been thus and there, amid the sanctities of the 
 
 3 2 3
 
 324 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 night, and by their trysting-place, that the soul's 
 great wound was made, the blood oozing ever since, 
 oozing still. Memory, ermine-robed, half enchant- 
 ress and half avenger, turned her face full on his as 
 he sat by the spring ; but he turned his own away 
 and started on, ever on. 
 
 " Oh, my God ! Give me a chance," he cried, 
 " give me a chance," and the darkness answered not, 
 but the whispering trees seemed to have the woman- 
 voice. 
 
 He sees the light now ; it is the harbour light, and 
 Michael Blake presses swiftly on, his heart upbraid- 
 ing the laggard feet. 
 
 He stands now before the door, but that same 
 heart, strangely wavering, refuses to go in. The 
 hour has struck for Michael Blake, the hour for 
 which his soul has waited long ; but strange forces 
 seek to hold him back. The chiefest of these is fear; 
 he feels he is hurrying his judgment day, and when 
 God would punish men, thinks he, He endows them 
 with deep and burning love for otherwise He can- 
 not speak to them in the eternal tongue. The trem- 
 bling man turns as if to go back. 
 
 " It is too light," he murmured, " still too light," 
 for the memory of another night has arisen upon 
 him with judgment in its wings. 
 
 As he moves noiselessly from the door-step, he
 
 LOME'S VICTORY OVER SIN 325 
 
 pauses by the window. It is partly open, for the 
 night is mild. A woman's figure moves before it, so 
 close that he could almost touch and his arms go 
 out unbidden, God's retrievers, though they knew it 
 not. He controls himself, and steps back a pace, for 
 she has passed to the other side of the room. Beside 
 an old chest of drawers she kneels, and his heart 
 burns with eager passion as he beholds the beauty of 
 her face. Time, and sorrow, and God, have worked 
 together. Unto them all she hath submitted, and 
 they have held to their holy task till the beauty of 
 peace rewards their secret toil. 
 
 She is lifting something from the drawer and the 
 light falls upon it. Another, and still another, she 
 takes up in her gentle hands, smiling down on them 
 the while they are a child's outgrown possessions, 
 bits of clothing some, and some, broken toys, such as 
 mothers take into their immortal keeping when chil- 
 dren have spurned them from their own. 
 
 And what is that, shining bright, held longer than 
 the others, still smiling down upon it, her bosom 
 heaving more heavily than before ? He knows, he 
 knows it is a little brooch, so little, but of gold, 
 given her long ago in the first glad sacrifice of love. 
 She kisses it, and the tears fall fast upon it, the lovely 
 face suffused. It is tenderly restored to its hiding- 
 place, and the graceful form is full-bowed now.
 
 326 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 He can see the white clasped hands, and the move- 
 ment of the pure lips he also sees. The words he 
 cannot catch for God is close, and the voice is low. 
 But the fragrance of prayer steals out to him, and 
 the Interpreter, once called the Man of Sorrows, tells 
 him for whom she prays. " Make me worthy, oh, 
 God," he cries, his heart melted within him. Again 
 he turns to the door, and this time he falters not, but 
 knocks. In a moment it is opened. 
 
 " Guid evenin' sir," said the woman's voice. " I 
 canna see ye for the dark ; is it some one I ken ? " 
 for wayfarers often sought guidance at her door. 
 
 " No, I fear you do not know me," the man re- 
 sponded, " and I crave your pardon for thus disturbing 
 you. I have travelled far." 
 
 " Will ye come in ? Or is there something I can 
 do?" 
 
 " No, thank you," said the man ; " I have travelled 
 far and am thirsty. I seek but a draught of water, 
 and I shall go on my way." 
 
 " I'll sune gie ye that," replied the woman's cheery 
 voice, " but what's here is mebbe raither warm. Bide 
 ye here till I rin doon to the spring." 
 
 The sweet face gleamed in the candle-light as she 
 turned within, picking up a light plaid shawl, so 
 strong is habit, which she threw across her shoulders. 
 The tall gracious form was gone a moment, one dark-
 
 LOME'S VICTORY OVER SIN 327 
 
 some moment, returning instantly, a pitcher in her 
 hand. Down the steps she tripped, and out into the 
 night, her white gown mingling with the darkness. 
 
 Michael Blake stealthily followed her, his heart in 
 wild tumult again. Her pace was swift and he found 
 it difficult to keep the path. But again he saw the 
 flutter of white before him, and he knew that it was 
 Janet, none other, the same whom he had held so 
 close in other days. He ran a little, panting as he 
 ran, his thirst a torment now for the chase was of 
 the soul. He is not far from her. 
 
 " Janet," he cried. 
 
 She stopped and stood still, as a deer stops when it 
 hears the hunter's voice. 
 
 He was closer now, and again he cried : " Janet, 
 oh, Janet, wait for me." 
 
 Her pitcher was thrown upon the sward and she 
 came back a little way, eye and heart and bosom 
 calling to each other through the storm. 
 
 " Wha's callin' me ? " she cried, her voice bleating 
 like a lamb's. 
 
 " Oh, Janet, you know who's calling you I have 
 called you long," and holy passion burned in the 
 voice that spoke, leaped from the face that came 
 closer, still closer, to her own. 
 
 The white figure swayed in the darkness. Then 
 the night glowed about her like the noon, and the
 
 328 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 strong arms held her close, and time and sorrow and 
 God all gave her up ungrudgingly to the bliss they 
 had planned together ; for in secret had they be- 
 decked her as a bride adorned for her husband. 
 ****** 
 
 It was long after, how long may not be told, for 
 God would let no angel mark the time ; but the dark 
 still was brooding, and the trees whispering still, when 
 he said : " To-morrow, Janet all the years have 
 made us ready yet not to-morrow, for it is to-day 
 to-day, please God." 
 
 She came closer, closer to him still, for hers had 
 been an unsheltered life, and the warmth was strangely 
 sweet. 
 
 " Let us go to the spring, dear heart. Let us be 
 children again." Together they went on, these pil- 
 grims of the night. While they were going the day 
 began to break. " The night is far spent," he heard 
 her whisper joyously. 
 
 They knelt together, nor thought it strange for 
 the youthful heart of love was theirs again ; and 
 they drank from the unsleeping spring, smiling back 
 at them as their lips kissed its face together. The 
 same spring, the same lips but purer both ! 
 
 And as they stooped, two faces from the bosom of 
 the water rose again to meet them. Each of the 
 lovers saw but one, for each saw the other's face.
 
 LOME'S YICrORY OfER SIN 329 
 
 And lo ! each was the face of happy youth, the light 
 of love within its eyes, unchanged by years, except 
 for a graver innocence. But each saw the face that 
 had looked up and smiled in the years so long gone 
 by. 
 
 The scientist and the philosopher and the deeply- 
 learned in nature's laws will read of this with gener- 
 ous disdain ; but they forget that this spring had its 
 charter right from God, and was fed from other foun- 
 tains farther up the hill. Besides, optics is God's 
 own science and this was the morning light.
 
 XXXI 
 
 ALL things were in readiness, and the people 
 of St. Cuthbert's were awaiting the Sabbath 
 day with eager souls. For it was the Sab- 
 bath of the sacrament, dispensed but twice a year, 
 according to the custom of their fathers. I myself 
 looked forward to this communion with a kindling 
 heart, for I knew its healing grace ; and this was the 
 first dispensation since the shadow of that ordination 
 day had fallen on our church's life. 
 
 The morning came, radiant in its robe of early 
 spring, and we knew that a great multitude would 
 throng St. Cuthbert's. For the aged and long im- 
 prisoned, denied the regular services of the kirk, 
 would yet venture forth to show the Lord's death 
 once again, some to drink that cup no more till they 
 should drink it new in their Father's kingdom. 
 
 Down the aisle would they come, leaning heavily 
 upon the staff but they knew their accustomed 
 places, the places which were so soon to know them 
 no more forever ; when the service was over, they 
 would retrace their steps to the door of the now de- 
 serted church, and backward turning, would cast one 
 
 33
 
 LOME'S TRIUMPH OYER ALL 331 
 
 longing, lingering look behind, then set their peace- 
 ful faces towards their home, the long rough journey 
 near its end at last. 
 
 The elders, including the four recently added to their 
 number, met as usual, for preparatory prayer. More 
 than ordinary tenderness seemed to mark their peti- 
 tions, for their hearts were with the absent ; and the 
 senior elder thrilled us when he prayed for " him 
 whom we had hoped to begin his ministry this day, 
 and for Thy servant who was wont in the days that 
 are past to serve with us before Thine altar." 
 
 As I walked into the pulpit, I caught a glimpse of 
 Margaret's face, and never have I seen sweeter peace 
 than rested upon it. Her eyes reposed on the snowy 
 cloth that hid the emblems of a greater sacrifice, and 
 she knew, as few could know, the deep sacramental 
 
 joy- 
 But hardly had my heart warmed at sight of her 
 before sorrow chilled its ardour ; for right opposite 
 Margaret's pew was that of Michael Blake and its 
 emptiness smote my heart with pain. Not there, nor 
 in his rightful place among the elders, was my old- 
 time friend. Where, I could not help but wonder, 
 where to-day is the unhappy man who has cast his 
 ministry behind him? And bitter memories of 
 varied verdicts flitted before me as I went up the pul- 
 pit steps.
 
 332 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 We had begun the psalm, and were in the midst 
 of the line never can I forget it : 
 
 " As far as east is distant from 
 The west, so far hath he " 
 
 when I noticed the volume of song become gradually 
 less, and a nameless sense of discomfort possessed me. 
 
 I looked up, and could scarce restrain a cry. 
 
 For I saw the face of Michael Blake and he was 
 
 walking down the aisle And that other, who is 
 
 that ? For beside him is a woman's comely form, her 
 sweet face lowly bent as though it would be hidden, 
 the light of purity mingling with the conscious flame. 
 
 Upon Mr. Blake's face is the humble chastened 
 look of one whom God has touched in the hollow 
 of his thigh, mayhap and the limp may be seen of 
 all men to the last. But pride is there too, the 
 solemn pride of one who has wrestled and prevailed, 
 to go henceforth forever halting, but forever heaven- 
 ward. 
 
 Down the aisle, the same aisle by which he had 
 departed from us, they walked together, while won- 
 dering faces drank in the meaning of it all, joy 
 breaking forth upon them like the sun when darken- 
 ing clouds have gone. 
 
 He leads her to his old-time pew, and she takes the 
 place that is henceforth to be her own. The singing
 
 LOME'S TRIUMPH OVER ALL 333 
 
 has stopped, save those silent strains with which God 
 is well pleased, the same as angels echo round the 
 throne. 
 
 It was hard for me to proceed with the service, for 
 I knew that God Himself had spoken. The sacred 
 bush was in flame before us as in the olden time, and 
 the place whereon we stood was holy ground. The 
 portion I had chosen for the reading was from 
 i Corinthians, the apostle's great eulogy on love ; 
 and my voice faltered as I read some of its wondrous 
 words. 
 
 Before I had finished it, my resolve was taken. I 
 came down from the pulpit and stood before it, the 
 elders all about me. 
 
 " Let us have our unbroken number," I began ; 
 " the kirk session is constituted, and I call upon such 
 as have been chosen to serve within it, to come for- 
 ward and assume the holy office. After this, the 
 sacrament of forgiving love will be dispensed." 
 
 I paused and no one of all the multitude seemed 
 to breathe. But a moment passed, and then a sound 
 broke the stillness. It was the sound of moving feet, 
 and the elder-elect arose and came slowly forward, 
 his head bowed as he came. 
 
 " Kneel down, Angus," I said, softly. He kneeled, 
 and I had almost begun, my hands outstretched 
 above his head. He raised his face to mine, lowered
 
 334 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 to meet it. A moment told me what he wished to 
 say. 
 
 " Stand up," I whispered. 
 
 When he had risen, I said aloud : " Angus Strachan, 
 ordained already, I give you the right hand of fellow- 
 ship into the eldership of St. Cuthbert's church. The 
 Lord bless thee and keep thee ; the Lord make His 
 face to shine upon thee and be gracious unto thee ; 
 the Lord lift the light of His countenance upon thee 
 and give thee peace." 
 
 Again I raised my voice as I faced the worshippers. 
 
 " I extend yet another invitation in my Master's 
 name. I call upon any who may be among us, once 
 serving in the eldership of this church, to come for- 
 ward and aid us to dispense the pledges of forgiving 
 love to other sinful men." 
 
 I waited, but there was no response. One sat with 
 bowed head, his hand held in the gentle keeping of 
 another's. The moments passed, but still silence 
 reigned. 
 
 " Come awa', man," it was Ronald McGregor's 
 trembling voice from among the elders " come awa' ; 
 it's the wounded hand that beckons ye we're a' here 
 o' the Saviour's grace alane." 
 
 Michael Blake moved slightly, but his head was 
 lower bowed. 
 
 " Gang forrit, Michael, gang forrit to the table
 
 LOME'S TRIUMPH OYER ALL 335 
 
 He's been gey guid to us baith an' oor Angus 
 wants ye," whispered the woman beside him. 
 
 Then he came ; and, as he walked to the table, the 
 meaning of God's pardoning love seemed borne in 
 upon us as it had never been before. 
 
 He had hardly taken his seat beside us when we 
 heard a faint rustling sound, some one moving. I 
 turned my head, and saw Margaret, her face lovely 
 through its tears, slip into the empty place and take 
 in her own the hand that had been just released. 
 Burning hot it was, but she held it tight and Janet 
 took her into her heart forever. 
 
 Then the sacred emblems were poured and broken 
 by our sinful hands, redeemed by love alone. The 
 elders bore them forth to the waiting souls, and when 
 Angus came to his mother's place, great grace was 
 upon us all. He had bent one moment, before she 
 took the chalice in her trembling hand. One word 
 was spoken, only one, and what it was no one heard 
 nor Margaret, nor any one but God. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Because of more abounding grace, and because of 
 that alone, I cherish the trembling hope that I shall 
 yet hear the new and holy song in the blessed home- 
 land yonder. Yonder, I say, for on clear days I have 
 seen the dim outline of the hills beyond the river ; 
 and sometimes in the night I have caught the glow
 
 336 ST. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 of an unsetting sun. Only for a moment, it is true 
 but it was enough. My sight is failing, they tell 
 me, and the light is not so clear as in the early after- 
 noon, but these yonder things are seen the clearest 
 in the failing light, and by eyes that are past their 
 best. 
 
 Wherefore, as I set out to say, I think I shall be 
 welcomed thither by the pilgrims' friend, and hear that 
 song of the redeemed. 
 
 But not till then can I expect to ever hear again 
 such melody as poured from our hearts that morning 
 in St. Cuthbert's. As for myself, I could scarcely 
 sing ; I was so torn 'twixt joy and sorrow. Sorrow 
 for what ? For all my stubborn wilfullness, that had 
 stood so long between loving hearts but I did it for 
 the best ; and God will forgive me, who knows a 
 father's tender love. 
 
 Therefore my lips were almost dumb, but my heart 
 joined in the swelling praise that rolled about St. 
 Cuthbert's like a flood. And I heard one voice clear 
 and sweet among all the rest ; it came from the pew 
 where sat our Margaret, but it was not Margaret's 
 voice : 
 
 " Long hath the night of sorrow reigned 
 The dawn shall bring us light " 
 
 Thus reads our noble paraphrase and thus reads the
 
 LOME'S TRIUMPH Ol^ER ALL 337 
 
 providence of God. This it was we sang that day ; 
 and this all broken hearts shall one day sing, when 
 life's long twilight breaks. 
 
 After the congregation had dispersed, I saw 
 Margaret lead her mother to the pew. It was^beauti- 
 ful, my wife's gentle grace to the timid stranger, for 
 Margaret received of her mother whatever of that 
 
 o 
 
 gift she hath and I have always said her mother's is 
 the rarer of the two. I heard her bid her new-found 
 friend to the manse, and I echoed the mandate to the 
 man beside me, his head still bowed in prayer. 
 
 The elders retired in a body to the vestry, there to 
 be dismissed by the benediction, which I pro- 
 nounced upon them, the triune blessing of the triune 
 God. Usually, they lingered for a little subdued con- 
 versation, but this day they went out with unwonted 
 speed, each grasping the hands of the old elder and 
 the new, and each without a word. 
 
 In a moment I saw their purpose, and went out 
 along with them, leaving those twain together, the 
 father and the son. We heard no word; but we 
 knew the best robe, and the ring, and the shoes, were 
 there, and that God would dispense them in sacramen- 
 tal love. 
 
 It was not long till they came out again, life's fra- 
 grance about them as they came. I had lingered in 
 the church.
 
 338 5T. CUTHBERT'S 
 
 <f Just wait a minute," I said as they came in, " I 
 left my notes in the vestry and I will be back imme- 
 diately." 
 
 I had hardly reached the room when a light foot- 
 fall was heard behind me. It was my daughter. 
 
 " Margaret ! Is this you ? I thought you had 
 gone home. Where is your mother ? " Lovely was 
 her face and beautiful the light of joy upon it. 
 
 She did not seem to hear, but came straight on, and 
 in a moment her arms were about my neck, and the 
 brave heart told all its story in tears of utter gladness. 
 
 " Daughter mine," I whispered, " you will forgive " 
 but the gentle hand stopped the words. 
 
 " Where is your mother ? " I asked again. 
 
 " Gone to the manse they went together," and 
 the sun shone through the rain " I waited for you." 
 
 " Wait a moment," I said, " stay here a moment," 
 for I knew the ways of love. 
 
 I hurried without, ?nd in the church I found the 
 two men lingering for me. 
 
 " Mr. Blake, we will walk down to the manse to- 
 gether Margaret is waiting for you in my room, 
 Angus." 
 
 No maiden's fluttering form betrays the soul of 
 love as doth a strong man's face. Ah me ! as I 
 looked on Angus's in that moment, I knew to whom 
 my child belonged the most. But the broken em-
 
 LOME'S TRIUMPH OYER ALL 339 
 
 blems of Another's lay before me, and I made the 
 lesser sacrifice with joy. 
 
 I watched his eager step, nor did he seek to control 
 its pace. Swiftly he walked, and I could not forbear 
 to follow with my eyes till he stood before the door. 
 
 A moment he paused, I know not why then he 
 slowly entered and the door was shut
 
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