-'■V««*. fyu 
 
 I ffif-q
 
 Afterwards * 9 
 And Other Stories
 
 WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR 
 
 Beside the Bonnie Brier Bush 
 
 Crown 8vo, gilt top, 6s. 
 
 The Days of Auld Lang Syne 
 
 Crown 8vo, gilt top, 6s. 
 
 Kate Carnegie and those Ministers 
 
 Crown 8vo, gilt top, 6^. 
 
 A Doctor of the Old School 
 
 With numerous Illustrations. Cloth, gilt edges, 
 2s. 6d. 
 
 Rabbi Saunderson 
 
 Twelve Illustrations by A. S. BOYn. Cloth, 
 gilt edges, is. 6d. 
 
 Ian Maclaren Year Book 
 
 Daily Readings from the Writings of lAN 
 Maclaren. Cloth, 3^. 6d. 
 
 LONDON : HODDER AND STOUGHTON 
 27, Paternoster Row, E.G.
 
 A 
 
 FTERWARDS ^ ^ 
 
 and Other Stories ^^ by 
 Ian Maclaren a^ ^ a^ 
 
 Second 
 Edition 
 
 London : Hodder & Stoughton 
 27 Paternoster Row -*> -^ 1898
 
 BulUy and Tanner The Sclu'ooi pyintins Works Frctne and LontioH
 
 
 To 
 Lady Grainger-Stewart 
 
 IN REMEMBRANCE 
 
 OF THE 
 
 DAYS OF LONG AGO 
 
 AND THE 
 
 FRIENDS WHO ARE FAR AWAY
 
 Contents 
 
 PARE 
 I 
 
 AFTERWARDS 3 
 
 II 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S .... 45 
 
 III 
 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 89 
 
 IV 
 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 113 
 
 V 
 
 A PROBATIONER I39 
 
 VI ' 
 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAI 167
 
 viii CONTENTS 
 
 fAGR 
 
 VII 
 THE RIGHT HAND OF SAMUEL DODSON . . 193 
 
 VIII 
 SAVED BY FAITH 247 
 
 IX 
 
 THE LAST SACRIFICE 275 
 
 X 
 
 AN EVANGELIST .... ... 299 
 
 XI 
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY . . .329 
 
 XII 
 FATHER JINKS 369 
 
 XIII 
 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 417 
 
 XIV 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS . . .441
 
 AFTERWARDS 
 
 A.
 
 AFTERWARDS 
 
 I 
 
 He received the telegram in a garden where he 
 was gazing on a vision of blue, set in the fronds 
 of a palm, and listening to the song of the fishers, 
 as it floated across the bay. 
 
 " You look so utterly satisfied," said his hostess, 
 in the high, clear voice of Englishwomen, " that 
 I know you are tasting the luxury of a contrast. 
 The Riviera is charming in December ; imagine 
 London, and Cannes is Paradise." 
 
 As he smiled assent in the grateful laziness of 
 a hard-worked man, his mind was stung with the 
 remembrance of a young wife swathed in the 
 dreary fog, who, above all things, loved the open 
 air and the shining of the sun. 
 
 Her plea was that Bertie would weary alone, 
 and that she hated travelling, but it came to him 
 quite suddenly that this was always the pro-
 
 4 AFTERWARDS 
 
 gramme of their holidays — some Mediterranean 
 villa, full of clever people, for him, and the awful 
 dulness of that Bloomsbury street for her ; or he 
 went North to a shooting-lodge, where he told his 
 best stories in the smoking-room, after a long day 
 on the purple heather ; and she did her best for 
 Bertie at some watering-place, much frequented on 
 account of its railway facilities and economical 
 lodgings. Letters of invitation had generally a 
 polite reference to his wife — " If Mrs. Trevor can 
 accompany you I shall be still more delighted " — 
 but it was understood that she would not accept. 
 
 " We have quite a grudge against Mrs. Trevor, 
 because she will never come with her husband ; 
 there is some beautiful child who monopolises 
 her," his hostess would explain on his arrival ; and 
 Trevor allowed it to be understood that his wife 
 was quite devoted to Bertie, and would be miser- 
 able without him. 
 
 When he left the room, it was explained : " Mrs. 
 Trevor is a hopelessly quiet person, what is called 
 a ' good wife,' you know." 
 
 " The only time she dined with us, Tottie 
 Fribbyl — he was a Theosophist then, it's two years
 
 AFTERWARDS 5 
 
 ago — was too amusing for words, and told us what 
 incarnation he was going through. 
 
 " Mrs. Trevor, I believe, had never heard of 
 Theosophy, and looked quite horrified at the idea 
 of poor Tottie's incarnation. 
 
 " * Isn't it profane to use such words ? ' she said 
 to me. So I changed to skirt dancing, and would 
 you believe me, she had never seen it ? 
 
 " What can you do with a woman like that ? 
 Nothing remains but religion and the nursery. 
 Why do clever men marry those impossible 
 women ? " 
 
 Trevor was gradually given to understand, as 
 by an atmosphere, that he was a brilliant man 
 wedded to a dull wife, and there were hours — 
 his worst hours — when he agreed. 
 
 Cara viia, cava uiia, sang the sailors ; and his 
 wife's face in its perfect refinement and sweet 
 beauty suddenly replaced the Mediterranean. 
 
 Had he belittled his wife, with her wealth of 
 sacrifice and delicate nature, beside women in 
 spectacles who wrote on the bondage of marriage, 
 and leaders of fashion who could talk of every- 
 thing from horse-racing to palmistry ?
 
 6 AFTERWARDS 
 
 He had only glanced at her last letter; now 
 he read it carefully : — 
 
 " The flowers were lovely, and it was so mindful 
 of you to send them, just like my husband. Bertie 
 and I amused ourselves arranging and rearranging 
 them in glasses, till we had made our tea-table 
 lovely. But I was just one little bit disappointed 
 not to get a letter — you see how exacting I am, 
 sir. I waited for every post, and Bertie said, ' Has 
 father's letter come yet ? ' When one is on holi. 
 day, writing letters is an awful bore ; but please 
 just a line to Bertie and me. We have a map 
 of the Riviera, and found out all the places you 
 have visited in the yacht ; and we tried to im- 
 agine you sailing on that azure sea, and landing 
 among those silver olives. I am so grateful to 
 every one for being kind to you, and I hope you 
 will enjoy yourself to the full. Bertie is a little 
 stronger, I'm sure ; his cheeks were quite rosy 
 to-day for him. It was his birthday on Wednes- 
 day, and I gave him a little treat. The sun was 
 shining brightly in the forenoon, and we had a 
 walk in the Gardens, and made believe that it
 
 AFTERWARDS 7 
 
 was Italy ! Then we went to Oxford Street, and 
 Bertie chose a regiment of soldiers for his birthday 
 present. He wished some guns so much that I 
 allowed him to have them as a present from you. 
 They only cost one-and-sixpence, and I thought 
 you would like him to have something. Jane and 
 he had a splendid game of hide-and-seek in the 
 evening, and my couch was the den, so you see 
 we have our own gaiety in Bloomsbury. 
 
 " Don't look sulky at this long scribble and say, 
 ' What nonsense women write ! ' for it is almost the 
 same as speaking to you, and I shall imagine the 
 letter all the way till you open it in the sun- 
 shine. 
 
 " So smile and kiss my name, for this comes 
 with my heart's love from 
 
 " Your devoted wife, 
 
 " Maud Trevor. 
 
 "P.S. — Don't be alarmed because I have to rest; 
 the doctor does not think that there is any danger, 
 and I'll take great care." 
 
 " A telegram." It was the shattering of a 
 dream. " How wicked of some horrid person.
 
 8 AFTERWARDS 
 
 Business ought not to be allowed to enter Para- 
 dise. Let's hope it's pleasure ; perhaps some one 
 has won a lot of money at Monte Carlo, and 
 wishes us to celebrate the affair. 
 
 "Whom is it for? Oh! Mr. Edward Trevor; 
 then it's a brief by telegraph, I suppose. Some 
 millionaire's will case, and the Attorney-General 
 can't manage it alone. What a man he is, to 
 have briefs in holiday time. 
 
 "There it is, but remember, before you open 
 it, that you are bound to remain here over Christ- 
 mas at any rate, and help us with our theatricals. 
 My husband declares that a successful barrister 
 must be a born actor." . . . 
 
 An hour later Trevor was in the Paris express, 
 and for thirty hours he prayed one petition, that 
 she might live till he arrived. He used to have 
 a berth in the Wagon Lit as a matter of course, 
 and had begun to complain about the champagne 
 in the dining-car, but the thought of comfort made 
 him wince on this journey, and he twice changed 
 his carriage, once when an English party would 
 not cease from badinage that mocked his ears, 
 and again because a woman had brown eyes with
 
 AFTERWARDS 9 
 
 her expression of dog-like faithfulness. The dark- 
 ness of the night after that sunlit garden, and the 
 monotonous roar of the train, and the face of 
 smiling France covered with snow, and the yeasty 
 waters of the Channel, and the moaning of the 
 wind, filled his heart with dread. 
 
 Will that procession of luggage at Dover never 
 come to an end ? A French seaman — a fellow 
 with earrings and a merry face — appears and re- 
 appears with maddening regularity, each time with 
 a larger trunk. One had X. Y. on it in big white 
 letters. Why not Z. also ? Who could have such 
 a name ? That is a lady's box, black and brown, 
 plastered with hotel labels. Some bride, perhaps 
 . . . they are carrying the luggage over his 
 heart. Have they no mercy? 
 
 The last piece is in, and the sailors make a 
 merry group at the top of the gangway. They 
 look like Bretons, and that fellow is laughing 
 again — some story about a little child ; he can 
 just hear Ma petite. . . . 
 
 " Guard, is this train never to start ? We're 
 half-an-hour late already." 
 
 " Italian mail very heavy, sir ; still bringing up
 
 10 AFTERWARDS 
 
 bags ; so many people at Riviera in winter, writ- 
 ing home to their friends." . . . 
 
 How cruel every one is! He had not written 
 for ten days. Something always happened, an 
 engagement of pleasure. There was a half- 
 finished letter; he had left it to join a Monte 
 Carlo party. 
 
 " Writing letters — home, of course, to that idol- 
 ised wife. It's beautiful, and you are an example 
 to us all ; but Mrs. Trevor will excuse descrip- 
 tions of scenery ; she knows you are enjoying 
 yourself." 
 
 Had she been expecting that letter from post 
 to post, calculating the hour of each delivery, 
 identifying the postman's feet in that quiet street, 
 holding her breath when he rang, stretching her 
 hand for a letter, to let it drop unopened, and 
 bury her face in the pillow? Had she died 
 waiting for a letter that never came ? Those 
 letters that he wrote from the Northern Circuit in 
 that first sweet year, a letter a day, and one day 
 two — it had given him a day's advantage over her. 
 Careful letters, too, though written between cases, 
 with bits of description and amusing scenes.
 
 AFTERWARDS ii 
 
 Some little sameness towards the end, but she 
 never complained of that, and even said those 
 words were the best. And that trick he played 
 — the thought of the postman must have brought 
 it up — how pleasant it was, and what a success ! 
 He would be his own letter one day, and take 
 her by surprise. " A letter, ma'am," the girl said 
 — quite a homely girl, who shared their little joys 
 and anxieties — and then he showed his face with 
 apologies for intrusion. The flush of love in her 
 face, will it be like that to-night, or . . . 
 What can be keeping the train now ? Is' this a 
 conspiracy to torment a miserable man ? 
 
 He thrusts his head out of the window in 
 despair, and sees the guard trying to find a com- 
 partment for a family that had mistaken their 
 train. 
 
 The husband is explaining, with English gar- 
 rulity, all the station hearing, what an inconveni- 
 ence it would have been had they gone in the 
 Holborn Viaduct carriages. 
 
 " Half an hour's longer drive, you know, and 
 it's very important we should get home in time ; 
 we are expected . . ."
 
 12 AFTERWARDS 
 
 For what? Dinner, most likely. What did it 
 matter when they got home, to-day or next year ? 
 Yet he used to be angry if he were made late 
 for dinner. They come into his compartment, 
 and explain the situation at great length, while 
 he pretends to listen. 
 
 A husband and wife returning from a month 
 in Italy, full of their experiences : the Corniche 
 Road, the palaces of Genoa, the pictures in the 
 Pitti, St. Peter's at Rome. Her first visit to the 
 Continent, evidently ; it reminded them of a cer- 
 tain tour round the Lakes in '80, and she with- 
 drew her hand from her husband's as the train 
 came out from the tunnel. They were not smart 
 people — very pronounced middle-class — but they 
 were lovers, after fifteen years. 
 
 They forgot him, who was staring on the bleak 
 landscape with white, pinched face. 
 
 " How kind to take me this trip. I know how 
 much you denied yourself, but it has made me 
 young again," and she said " Edward." Were all 
 these coincidences arranged ? had his purgatorio 
 begun already ? 
 
 " Have you seen the Globe, sir ? Bosworth,
 
 AFTERWARDS 13 
 
 M.P. for Pedlington, has been made a judge, and 
 there's to be a keen contest, 
 
 " Trevor, I see, is named as the Tory candi- 
 date — a clever fellow, I've heard. Do you know 
 about him ? he's got on quicker than any man 
 of his years. 
 
 " Some say that it's his manner ; he's such a 
 good sort, the juries cannot resist him, a man 
 told me — a kind heart goes for something even 
 in a lawyer. Would you like to look. . . . 
 
 " Very sorry ; would you take a drop of brandy ? 
 No ? The passage was a little rough, and you 
 don't look quite up to the mark." 
 
 Then they left him in peace, and he drank his 
 cup to the dregs. 
 
 It was for Pedlington he had been working and 
 saving, for a seat meant society and the bench, 
 perhaps. . . . What did it matter now ? 
 
 She was to come and sit within the cage 
 when he made his first speech, and hear all the 
 remarks. 
 
 "Of course it will be a success, for you do 
 everything well, and your wifie will be the proudest 
 woman in London.
 
 14 AFTERWARDS 
 
 " Sir Edward Trevor, M.P. I know it's foolish, 
 but it's the fooh'shncss of love, dear, so don't look 
 cross ; you are everything to me, and no one loves 
 you as I do." 
 
 What are they slowing for now ? There's no 
 station. Did ever train drag like this one ? 
 
 Off again, thank God .... if she only 
 were conscious, and he could ask her to forgive 
 his selfishness. 
 
 At last, and the train glides into Victoria. No, 
 he had nothing to declare ; would they let him 
 go, or they might keep his luggage altogether. 
 
 Some vision was ever coming up, and now he 
 saw her kneeling on the floor and packing that 
 portmanteau, the droop of her figure, her thin 
 white hands. 
 
 He was so busy that she did these offices for 
 him — tried to buckle the straps even ; but he 
 insisted on doing that. It gave him half an 
 hour longer at the Club. What a brute he had 
 been. . . . 
 
 " Do anything you like with my things. I'll 
 come to-morrow ... as fast as you can 
 drive."
 
 AFTERWARDS 15 
 
 Huddled in a corner of the hansom so that you 
 might have thought he slept, this man was calcu- 
 lating every foot of the way, gloating over a long 
 stretch of open, glistening asphalt, hating unto 
 murder the immovable drivers whose huge vans 
 blocked his passage. If they had known, there 
 was no living man but would have made room 
 for him . . . but he had not known himself 
 . . . Only one word to tell her he knew now. 
 
 As the hansom turned into the street he bent 
 forward, straining his eyes to catch the first 
 glimpse of home. Had it been day-time the 
 blinds would have told their tale ; now it was 
 the light he watched. 
 
 Dark on the upper floors ; no sick light burn- 
 ing . . . have mercy . . . then the blood 
 came back to his heart with a rush. How could 
 he have forgotten ? 
 
 Their room was at the back for quietness, and 
 it might still be well. Some one had been watch- 
 ing, for the door was instantly opened, but he 
 could not see the servant's face. 
 
 A doctor came forward and beckoned him to 
 go into the study. . , .
 
 i6 AFTERWARDS 
 
 It seemed as if his whole nature had been 
 smitten with insensibility, for he knew everything 
 without words, and yet he heard the driver de- 
 manding his fare, and noticed that the doctor 
 had been reading the evening paper while he 
 waited ; he saw the paragraph about that seat. 
 
 What work those doctors have to do. . , . 
 
 " It was an hour ago ... we were amazed 
 that she lived so long ; with any other woman it 
 would have been this morning ; but she was de- 
 termined to live till you came home. 
 
 "It was not exactly will-power, for she was 
 the gentlest patient I ever had ; it was " — the 
 doctor hesitated — a peremptory Scotchman hiding 
 a heart of fire beneath a coating of ice — *' it was 
 simply love." 
 
 When the doctor had folded up the evening 
 paper, and laid it on a side table, which took 
 some time, he sat down opposite that fixed, hag- 
 gard face, which had not yet been softened by a 
 tear. 
 
 " Yes, I'll tell you everything if you desire 
 me ; perhaps it will relieve your mind ; and 
 Mrs. Trevor said you would wish to know, and
 
 AFTERWARDS 17 
 
 I must be here to receive you. Her patience and 
 thoughtfulness were marvellous. 
 
 " I attend many very clever and charming 
 women, but I tell you, Mr. Trevor, not one has 
 so impressed me as your wife. Her self-forget- 
 fulness passed words ; she thought of every one 
 except herself; why, one of the last things she 
 did was to give directions about your room ; she 
 was afraid you might feel the change from the 
 Riviera. But that is by the way, and these 
 things are not my business. 
 
 " From the beginning I was alarmed, and urged 
 that you should be sent for ; but she pledged me 
 not to write ; you needed your holiday, she said, 
 and it must not be darkened with anxiety. 
 
 "She spoke every day about your devotion 
 and unselfishness ; how you wished her to go with 
 you, but she had to stay with the boy. . . . 
 
 " The turn for the worse ? it was yesterday 
 morning, and I had Sir Reginald at once. We 
 agreed that recovery was hopeless, and I tele- 
 graphed to you without delay. 
 
 " We also consulted whether she ought to be 
 told, and Sir Reginald said, ' Certainly ; that 
 
 A. 2
 
 i8 AFTERWARDS 
 
 woman has no fear, for she never thinks of her- 
 self, and she will want to leave messages,' 
 
 " * If we can only keep her alive till to-morrow 
 afternoon,' he said, and you will like to remember 
 that everything known to the best man in London 
 was done. Sir Reginald came back himself un- 
 asked to-day, because he remembered a restora- 
 tive that might sustain the failing strength. She 
 thanked him so sweetly that he was quite shaken ; 
 the fact is, that both of us would soon have played 
 the fool. But I ought not to trouble you with 
 these trifles at this time, only as you wanted to 
 know all. . . . 
 
 "Yes, she understood what we thought before 
 I spoke, and only asked when you would arrive. 
 ' I want to say " Good-bye," and then I will be 
 ready,' but perhaps. . . . 
 
 "'Tell you everything?' That is what I am 
 trying to do, and I was here nearly all day, for I 
 had hoped we might manage to fulfil her wish. 
 
 " No, she did not speak much, for we enjoined 
 silence and rest as the only chance ; but she had 
 your photograph on her pillow, and some flowers 
 you had sent.
 
 AFFERWARDS 19 
 
 " They were withered, and the nurse removed 
 them when she was sleeping ; but she missed 
 them, and we had to put them in her hands. ' My 
 husband was so thoughtful.' 
 
 " This is too much for you, I see ; it is simply 
 torture. Wait till to-morrow. . . . 
 
 " Well, if you insist. Expecting a letter . . . 
 yes ... let me recollect. . . . No, I am 
 not hiding anything, but you must not let this 
 get upon your mind. 
 
 " We would have deceived her, but she knew 
 the hour of the Continental mails, and could detect 
 the postman's ring. Once a letter came, and she 
 insisted upon seeing it in case of any mistake. 
 But it was only an invitation for you, I think, to 
 some country house. 
 
 "It can't be helped now, and you ought not 
 to vex yourself ; but I believe a letter would have 
 done more for her than . . . What am I say- 
 ing now? 
 
 " As she grew weaker she counted the hours, 
 and I left her at four full of hope. ' Two hours 
 more and he'll be here,' and by that time she 
 had your telegram in her hand.
 
 20 AFTERWARDS 
 
 " When I came back the change had come, and 
 she said, ' It's not God's will ; bring Bertie.' 
 
 " So she kissed him, and said something to him, 
 but we did not listen. After the nurse had carried 
 him out — for he was weeping bitterly, poor little 
 chap — she whispered to me to get a sheet of paper 
 and sit down by her bedside. ... I think it 
 would be better . . . very well, I will tell you 
 all. 
 
 " I wrote what she dictated with her last breath, 
 and I promised you would receive it from her 
 own hand, and so you will. She turned her face 
 to the door and lay quite still till about six, 
 when I heard her say your name very softly, and 
 a minute afterwards she was gone, without pain 
 or struggle." . . . 
 
 She lay as she had died, waiting for his coming, 
 and the smile with which she had said his name 
 was still on her face. It was the first time she 
 did not colour with joy at his coming, that her 
 hand was cold to his touch. He kissed her, but 
 his heart was numbed, and he could not weep. 
 
 Then he took her letter and read it beside that 
 silence.
 
 AFTERWARDS 21 
 
 " Dearest, — 
 
 "They tell me now that I shall not live 
 to see you come in and to cast my arms once 
 more round your neck before we part. Be kind 
 to Bertie, and remem.ber that he is delicate and 
 shy. He will miss me, and you will be patient 
 with him for my sake. Give him my watch, and 
 do not let him forget me. My locket with your 
 likeness I would like left on my heart. You will 
 never know how much I have loved you, for I 
 could never speak. You have been very good to 
 me, and I want you to know that I am grateful ; 
 but it is better perhaps that I should die, for I 
 might hinder you in your future life. Forgive me 
 because I came short of what your wife should 
 have been. None can ever love you better. You 
 will take these poor words from a dead hand, but 
 I shall see you, and I shall never cease to love 
 you, to follow your life, to pray for you — my first, 
 my only love." 
 
 The fountains within him were broken, and he 
 flung himself down by the bedside in an agony 
 of repentance.
 
 2 2 AFTERWARDS 
 
 " Oh, if I had known before ; but now it is too 
 late, too late ! " 
 
 For we sin against our dearest not because we 
 do not love, but because we do not imagine.
 
 AFTERWARDS 23 
 
 II 
 
 ]\Iaud Trevor was a genuine woman, and kept 
 her accounts with the aid of six purses. One 
 was an ancient housewife of her grandmother's, 
 which used to be equipped with silk and thread 
 and needles and buttons, and from a secret place 
 yielded to the third generation a bank note of 
 value. This capacious receptacle was evidently 
 intended for the household exchequer, whose 
 transactions were innumerable, and whose monthly 
 budget depended for success on an unfailing 
 supply of copper. Another had come from her 
 mother, and was of obsolete design — a bag closed 
 at both extremities, with a long narrow slit in 
 the middle, and two rings which compressed the 
 gold into one end and the silver into the other. 
 This was marked out by Providence for charity, 
 since it made no provision for pennies, and laid 
 a handicap of inconvenience on threepenny bits. 
 It retained a subtle trace of an old-fashioned
 
 24 AFTERWARDS 
 
 scent her mother loved, and recalled her mother 
 going out on some errand of mercy — a St. Clare 
 in her sacrifices and devotion. Purse three de- 
 scended from her father, and was an incarnation 
 of business — made of chamois leather with a steel 
 clasp that closed with a click, having three com- 
 partments within, one of which had its own clasp 
 and was reserved for gold. In this bank Maud 
 kept the funds of a clothing society, whose more 
 masterly bargains ran sometimes into farthings, 
 and she was always haunted with anxiety lest a 
 new farthing and a half-sovereign should some 
 day change places. A pretty little purse with 
 ivory sides and silver hinges — a birthday gift of 
 her girlhood — was large enough to hold her dress 
 allowance, which Trevor had fixed at a most 
 generous rate when he had barely four hundred 
 a year, and had since forgotten to increase. One 
 in sealskin had been a gift of engagement days, 
 and held the savings of the year against birthday 
 and Christmas presents — whose contents were 
 the subject of many calculations. A cast-off 
 purse of Trevor's had been devoted to Bertie, 
 and from its resources came one way or other
 
 AFTERWARDS 25 
 
 all he needed ; but it happened that number six 
 was constantly reinforced from the purse with 
 the ivory sides. 
 
 Saturday afternoon was sacred to book-keep- 
 ing, and Maud used her bed as a table for this 
 critical operation, partly because it was so much 
 larger than an escritoire, but chiefly because you 
 could empty the purses into little pools with steep 
 protecting banks. Of course if one sat down 
 hurriedly there was great danger of amalgamation, 
 with quite hopeless consequences ; and Trevor 
 held over Maud's head the chance of his making 
 this mistake. It was his way, before he grew 
 too busy, to watch till the anxious face would 
 suddenly brighten and a rapid change be made 
 in the pools — the household contributing some- 
 thing to presents and the dress purse to Bertie, 
 while private and public charity would accom- 
 modate each other with change. Caresses were 
 strictly forbidden in those times of abstruse cal- 
 culation, and the Evil One who stands at every 
 man's elbow once tempted Trevor to roll the 
 counterpane into a bundle — purses, money, and 
 all — but Maud, when he confessed, said that no
 
 26 AFTERWARDS 
 
 human being would be allowed to fall into such 
 wickedness. 
 
 Trevor was obliged to open her wardrobe, four- 
 teen days after the funeral, and the first thing 
 he lighted upon was the purses. They lay in a 
 row on an old account-book — a motley set indeed 
 — but so absurd and tricky a spirit is pathos, 
 they affected him more swiftly than the sight of 
 a portrait. Was ever any one so faithful and 
 conscientious, so self-forgetful and kind, so capable 
 also and clever in her own sphere ? Latterly he 
 had sneered at the purses, and once, being vexed 
 at something in a letter, he had told Maud she 
 ought to have done with that folly and keep her 
 accounts like an educated woman. " A girl of 
 twelve would be ashamed." . . . What a merci- 
 less power memory wields. She only drooped 
 her head, * . . it was on the sealskin purse 
 the tear fell, and at once he saw the bend of the 
 Wye at Tintern where he had surprised her with 
 the gift of that purse. He was moved to kiss away 
 that tear, but his heart hardened. Why could she 
 not be like the women he knew ? . . . Well, he 
 would not be troubled any longer with her simple
 
 AFTERWARDS 27 
 
 ways ... he could do as he pleased now 
 with the purses. ... A bitter madness of 
 grief took possession of him, and he arranged 
 them on the bed. 
 
 One was empty, the present purse, and he 
 understood . . . the dress purse, of course, a 
 little silver only . . . the rest had gone that 
 he might have something beautiful. . . . He 
 knew that it must be done sooner or later, and 
 to-day was best, for his heart could be no sorer. 
 . . . Yes, here they were, the ungiven gifts. 
 For every person, from himself to the nurse ; all 
 wrapped in soft white paper and ready in good 
 time. , . . She used to arrange everything on 
 Christmas Eve . . . this year he had intended 
 to stay at Cannes, . . . there would just have 
 been Bertie and his mother, now . . . But he 
 must open it — an inkstand for his study in solid 
 brass, with pens and other things complete — he 
 noted every detail as if to estimate its value. It 
 came back to him how she had cunningly ques- 
 tioned him about his needs before he left for 
 Cannes, till he grew impatient. " Don't bother 
 me about ink-bottles." Yes, the very words, and
 
 2 8 AFTERWARDS 
 
 others ... the secret writing of memory came 
 out in this fire of sorrow. "Why won't women 
 understand that a man can't answer questions 
 about trifles when he has work on hand?" He 
 could swear to the words, and he knew how Maud 
 looked, although he did not see. 
 
 " Don't go away ; you promised that you would 
 sit beside me when I worked — hinder me ? I 
 suppose you are bidding for a kiss ; you know < 
 the sight of your face inspires me." . . . That 
 was ten years ago ... he might have borne 
 with her presence a little longer. . . . She 
 never would come again ... he would have 
 no interruptions of that kind. . . . 
 
 Her gloves, sixes — what a perfect hand it was 
 (smoothes out the glove). His memory brings up 
 a dinner table. Mrs. Chatterby gives her opinion 
 on Meredith's last novel, and helps herself to salt 
 — he sees a disgusting hand, with stumpy fingers, 
 and, for impudence, a street arab of a thumb. A 
 vulgar little woman through and through, and yet 
 because she picked up scraps from the monthlies, 
 and had the trick of catch-words, people paid her 
 court. And he had sometimes thought, but he
 
 AFTERWARDS 
 
 29 
 
 knew better to-day ... of all things in the 
 world a glove is the surest symbol. Mended, 
 too, very neatly . . , that he might have his 
 hansoms. 
 
 It was the last thing he ever could have im- 
 agined, and yet it must be a diary — Maud's diary ! 
 Turns over the leaves, and catches that woman's 
 name against whom he has suddenly taken a 
 violent dislike. 
 
 " January 25. Was at Mrs. Chatterby's — how 
 strange one does not say anything of her husband 
 — yet he is the nicer of the two — and I think 
 it will be better not to go again to dinner. One 
 can always make some excuse that will not be 
 quite untrue. 
 
 " ' The dinner is in honour of Mr. Fynical, 
 who is leaving his College and coming to live in 
 London, to do literary work,' as Mrs. Chatterby 
 has been explaining for weeks, ' and to give tone 
 to the weeklies.' 
 
 " * The younger men are quite devoted to him, 
 and we ought all to be so thankful that he is to 
 be within reach. His touch reminds one of,' — I
 
 30 AFTERWARDS 
 
 don't know the French writer, but she does not 
 always give the same name. * We hope to see a 
 great deal of him. So delightfully cynical, you 
 know, and hates the bourgeoisie.' 
 
 " I was terrified lest I should sit next Mr. 
 Fynical, but Mrs. Chatterby was merciful, and 
 gave me Janie Godfrey's father. Edward says 
 that he is a very able man, and will be Lord 
 Chancellor some day, but he is so quiet and 
 modest, that one feels quite at home with him. 
 Last summer he was yachting on the west coast 
 of Scotland, and he described the sunset over the 
 Skye hills ; and I tried to give him a Devonshire 
 sunrise. We both forgot where we were, and 
 then Mrs. Chatterby asked me quite loud, so that 
 every one looked, what I thought of ' Smudges,' 
 
 " The dinner-table seemed to wait for my 
 answer, and I wish that the book had never 
 come from the library, but I said that I had sent 
 it back because it seemed so bitter and cruel, and 
 one ought to read books which showed the noble 
 side of life. 
 
 " ' You are one of the old-fashioned women,' 
 she replied. 'You believe in a novel for the
 
 AFTERWARDS 
 
 31 
 
 young person,' with a smile that hurt me, and I 
 told her that I had been brought up on Sir 
 Walter Scott. I was trying to say something 
 about his purity and chivalry, when I caught 
 Mr. Fynical's eye, and blushed red. If I had 
 only been silent, — for I'm afraid every one was 
 laughing, and Edward did not say one word to 
 me all the way home. 
 
 "February 20. Another ordeal, but not so 
 unfortunate as the last. The Browne-Smythes 
 are very kind friends, but I do think they are 
 too much concerned about having clever people 
 at their house. One evening Mrs. Browne- 
 Smythe said she was happy because nothing had 
 been talked about except translations of Homer. 
 A certain guest was so miserable on that occasion 
 that I begged Edward to leave me at home this 
 time, but he said it would not be Greek again. 
 It was science, however, and when we came in 
 Mrs. Browne-Smythe was telling a very learned- 
 looking person that she simply lived for fossils. 
 A young lady beside me was talking about gases 
 to a nervous man, who grew quite red, and tried 
 to escape behind a table. I think she was wrong
 
 32 AFTERWARDS 
 
 in her words, and he was too polite to correct 
 her. To my horror, he was obliged to take me 
 in to dinner, and there never could have been 
 two people more deserving of pity, for I was 
 terrified of his knowledge, and he was afraid of 
 my ignorance. We sat in perfect silence till a 
 fatherly old man, quite like a farmer, on my left, 
 began to talk to me so pleasantly that I described 
 our country people, and was really sorry when 
 the ladies had to leave. Edward says that he is 
 one of the greatest discoverers in the world, and 
 has all kinds of honours. We became so friendly 
 that he has promised to take tea with me, and I 
 think he does not despise my simplicity. How 
 I long to be cleverer for Edward's sake, for I'm 
 sure he must be ashamed of me among those 
 brilliant women. I cannot blame him ; I am 
 proud of my husband. 
 
 "May 15. I am quite discouraged, and have 
 resolved never to go to any charitable committee 
 again. Miss Tabitha Primmer used shameful 
 language at the Magdalene meeting to-day, and 
 Mrs. Wood-Ruler showed me that I had broken 
 Law 43 by giving a poor girl personal aid. It
 
 AFTERWARDS 33 
 
 seems presumptuous on my part to criticise such 
 able and diligent workers, but my mother never 
 spoke about certain subjects, and it is agony for 
 me to discuss them. When the vicar insisted on 
 Sunday that thoughtful women were required for 
 Christian service to-day, and that we must read 
 up all kinds of bocks and know all kinds of 
 painful things, my heart sank. It does not seem 
 as if there was any place left for simple folk like 
 me. Perhaps it would be better to give up going 
 out altogether, and live for Edward and Bertie. 
 I can always do something for them, and their 
 love will be enough reward. 
 
 " Nov. 30. I have not slept all night, for I 
 made a dreadful mistake about a new book that 
 every one is reading, and Edward was so angry. 
 He did not mean all he said, but he never called 
 me a fool before. Perhaps he is right, and it is 
 hard on him, who is so bright. Sometimes I 
 
 wish " And then there was no writing, only 
 
 a tear mark. . . , 
 
 Afterwards he opened the letters that had come 
 since her death, and this is what he read : 
 A. 3
 
 34 AFTERWARDS 
 
 " My dear Trevor,— 
 
 " The intelligence of Mrs. Trevor's death has 
 given me a great shock of regret, and you will 
 allow me to express my sympathy. Many men 
 not given to enthusiasm had told me of her face 
 and goodness, and before I had seen your wife I 
 knew she was a very perfect type of womanliness 
 The few times I met her, Mrs. Trevor cast a 
 certain spell over me — the nameless grace of the 
 former days — and I felt myself unworthy in her 
 presence. Once when a silly woman referred to 
 one of the most miserable examples of decadent 
 fiction, your wife spoke so nobly of true literature 
 that I was moved to thank her, but I gathered 
 from her face that this would not be acceptable. 
 It seemed to me that the mask had fallen from 
 a beautiful soul, and one man at least, in whom 
 there is too little reverence, took the shoes from 
 off his feet. Pardon me if I have exceeded, and 
 "Believe me, 
 
 " Yours faithfully, 
 
 "Bernard Fynical." 
 
 The next was from the F.R.S.
 
 AFTERWARDS 35 
 
 "My dear Sir, — 
 
 " It is quite wrong for me, a stranger, to in- 
 trude on your grief, but I am compelled to tell 
 you that an old fellow who only spoke to your 
 wife once, had to wipe his spectacles over the 
 Times this morning. It came about this way. 
 The lady I had taken in to dinner at the Browne- 
 Smythes gabbled about science till I lost my 
 temper, and told her it would be a good thing 
 if women would keep to their own sphere. Your 
 wife was on the other side, and I turned to her 
 in despair. She delighted me by confessing utter 
 ignorance of my subject, and then she won my 
 heart by some of the loveliest stories of peasant 
 life in Devonshire I ever heard, so full of insight 
 and delicacy. If the parsons preached like that 
 I would be in church next Sunday. She put 
 me in mind of a sister I lost long ago — who 
 had the same low, soft voice and honest, trusty 
 eyes. When she found I was a lonely man, your 
 wife had pity on me, and asked me to call on 
 her. But I had to go to America, and only 
 returned two days ago. I intended to wish her 
 a Happy New Year, but it's too late. I cannot
 
 36 AFTERWARDS 
 
 get you out of my mind, and I thought it might 
 comfort you to know how a fossil lil-:e myself 
 was melted by that kind heart. 
 "Believe me, my dear sir, 
 
 "Your obedient servant, 
 
 " Archibald Gilmore." 
 
 The third was also from a man, but this time 
 a lad in rooms whom Trevor had seen at the 
 house. 
 
 "Dear Mr. Trevor, — 
 
 " You perhaps know that Mrs. Trevor allowed 
 me to spend an hour with her of an evening, 
 when I felt downhearted or had any trouble, 
 but no one will ever know how much she did 
 for me. When I came up to London my faith 
 began to go, and I saw that in a short time I 
 would be an Agnostic. This did not trouble 
 me so much on my own account as my mother's, 
 who is dead, and made me promise something 
 on her death-bed. So I bought books and heard 
 sermons on unbelief till I was quite sick of the 
 whole business. Mrs. Trevor took me to hear
 
 AFTERWARDS 37 
 
 your own clergyman, who did not help me one 
 bit, for he was too clever and logical ; but 
 you remember I came home with you, and after 
 you had gone to your study I told Mrs. Trevor 
 my difficulties, and she did me more good than 
 all the books. She never argued nor preached, 
 but when I was with her one felt that religion 
 was a reality, and that she knew more about it 
 than any one I had met since I lost my mother. 
 It is a shame to trouble you with my story 
 when you are in such sorrow, and no one need 
 tell you how noble a woman Mrs. Trevor was ; 
 but I could not help letting you know that her 
 goodness has saved one young fellow at least 
 from infidelity and worse. 
 
 " You will not mind my having sent a cross 
 to put on the coffin ; it was all I could do. 
 "Yours gratefully, 
 
 "George Benson." 
 
 There was neither beginning nor end to the 
 fourth letter, but it was written in a lady's hand. 
 
 " I am a clergyman's daughter, who left her 
 father's house, and went astray. I have been in
 
 38 AFTERWARDS 
 
 the Inferno, and have seen what I read in 
 Dante while I was innocent. One day the old 
 rectory rose up before my eyes — the roses hang- 
 ing over my bedroom window ; the birds flying 
 in and out the ivy ; my father on the lawn, 
 aged and broken through my sin — and I resolved 
 that my womanhood should no longer be dragged 
 in the mire. My home was closed years ago, I 
 had no friends, so I went in my desperation to 
 a certain Institute, and told my case to a matron. 
 She was not unkindly, but the committee were 
 awful, without either sympathy or manners ; and 
 when an unmarried woman wished to pry into 
 the details of my degradation — but I can't tell 
 a man the shame they would have put upon 
 me — my heart turned to flint, and I left the 
 place. I would have gone back to my life and 
 perished had it not been for one woman who 
 followed me out, and asked me to go home with 
 her for afternoon tea. Had she said one word 
 about my past, I had flung myself away ; but 
 because she spoke to me as if I were still in 
 the rectory, I could not refuse, Mrs. Trevor 
 never once mentioned my sin, and she saved
 
 AFTERWARDS 39 
 
 my soul. I am now a nurse in one of the 
 hospitals, and full of peace. As long as I live 
 I shall lay white flowers on her grave, who 
 surely was the wisest and tenderest of women." 
 
 Trevor's fortitude was failing fast before this 
 weight of unconscious condemnation, and he was 
 only able to read one more — an amazing pro- 
 duction, that had cost the writer great pains. 
 
 " Honoured Sir, — 
 
 "Bill says as it's tyking too much on the 
 likes o' me to be addressing you on your missus' 
 death, but it's not her husband that will despise 
 a pore working woman oo's lost her best friend. 
 When Bill 'ad the rumatiks, and couldn't do no 
 work, and Byby was a-growing that thin you 
 could see thro' 'im, Mrs. Byles says to me, 
 ' Mrs. 'Awkes, you goes to the Society for the 
 Horganisation of Female Toilers.' Says I, ' Wot 
 is that ? ' and she declares, ' It's a set of ladies 
 00 wants to 'elp women to work, and they 'ill 
 see you gets it.' So I goes, and I saw a set 
 of ladies sitting at a table, and they looks at 
 me ; and one with spectacles, and a vice like an
 
 40 AFTERWARDS 
 
 'and-saw, arsks me, ' Wot's yer name ? ' and 
 "Ow old are you?' and *'0w many children 
 have you ? ' and ' Are your 'ablts temperate ? ' 
 And tJien she says, ' If you pay a shilling we 
 'ill put your nyme down for work has an un- 
 skilled worker.' ' I 'avn't got a shilling, and 
 Byby's dyin' for want of food.' * This ain't a 
 Poor 'ouse,* says she ; ' this is a Booro.' When 
 I wos a-going down the stairs, a lady comes 
 after me. ' Don't cry, Mrs. 'Awkes,' for she had 
 picked up my name. ' I've some charring for 
 you, and we 'ill go to get something for Byby.' 
 If ever there wos a hangel in a sealskin jacket 
 and a plain little bonnet, but the true lady hall 
 hover, 'er name was Mrs. Trevor. Bill, he looked 
 up from that day, and wos on his keb in a 
 week, and little Jim is the biggest byby in the 
 court. Mrs. Trevor never rested till I got three 
 hoffices to clean, to say nothing of 'elping at 
 cleanings and parties in 'ouses. She wos that 
 kind, too, and free, when she'd come hin with 
 noos of some hoffice. ' We're horganisin' you, 
 Missus 'Awkes, just splendid,' with the prettiest 
 bit smile. Bill, he used to say, ' 'Er 'usband's a
 
 AFTERWARDS 41 
 
 proud man, for I never saw the like o' her for 
 a downright lady in 'er wys ' — and 'e knows, 
 does Bill, being a kebman. When I told 'im 
 he wos that bad that 'e never put a match to 
 'is pipe the 'ole night. ' Mariar,' 'e says to me, 
 'you an' me 'as seen somethink of her, but you 
 bet nobody knew what a saint she wos 'xcept 
 'er 'usband.'" . , . 
 
 Trevor could read no more, for it had dawned 
 at last upon him that Christ had lived with 
 him for more than ten years, and his eyes had 
 been holden.
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 I 
 
 It was in the sixties that a southern distiller, 
 who had grown rich through owning many public- 
 houses and much selling of bad gin, bought Glen- 
 alder from its poverty-stricken laird, and cleared 
 out the last of the Macdonalds from Lochaber. 
 They arose and departed on a fine spring day, 
 when the buds were bursting on the trees, and 
 the thorn was white as snow, and the birds were 
 bringing forth their young, and the heather was 
 beginning to bloom. Early in the morning, while 
 the grass was yet wet with dew and the sun had 
 not come over the hill, Ian Dhu, at the head of 
 the Glen, with his brothers and their families, their 
 sons and their sons' wives, began the procession, 
 which flowed as a stream of sorrow by the side 
 of the Alder, all the day, gathering its rivulets
 
 46 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 from every forsaken home. When it reached the 
 poor little clachan, where were the kirk and the 
 graveyard, the emigrants halted, and leaving their 
 goods upon the road went in to worship God for 
 the last time in Glenalder kirk. A very humble 
 sanctuary, with earthen floor and bare benches, 
 and mightily despised by the kind of southron 
 who visited the new laird's mansion, but beautiful 
 and holy to those who had been baptised there, 
 and married there, and sat with their heart's love 
 there, and who, in that place, but after many 
 years and in old age, had received the sacrament. 
 When they were all in their places, the minister 
 of the Glen, who would fain have gone with them, 
 but was now too old, ascended the pulpit and 
 spake to them from the words, " He went out, 
 not knowing whither he went," charging them 
 never to forget their native country nor their 
 fathers' faith, beseeching them to trust in God 
 and do righteousness, calling them all kinds of 
 tender names in the warm Gaelic speech, till they 
 fell a-weeping, men and women together, and the 
 place was full of lamentation. After which Alister 
 Macdonald, who had been through the Crimean War
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 47 
 
 and the Mutiny, and now was a catechist great in 
 opening mysteries, committed them to the care of 
 their fathers' God. They would hardly leave the 
 kirk, and the sun was westering fast when they 
 came to the elbow of the hill where the traveller 
 gets his last look of the Glen. There they sang 
 " If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand 
 forget her cunning," but it was Glenalder they 
 meant, a parcel of whose earth each family carried 
 with them into exile ; and as the pipes played 
 " Lochaber no more " they went away for ever 
 from the land they loved and which had cast them 
 forth. For an hour the minister and Alister, with 
 a handful of old people, watched their kinsfolk 
 till they could see them no more, and then they 
 went back, no one speaking with his neighbour, 
 to the empty Glen. 
 
 Besides the huge staring castle, with its lodges, 
 built by the foreigner, there are only some twenty 
 houses now in all bonnie Glenalder. Tourists 
 venturing from the main road come, here and 
 there, across a little heap of stones and the re- 
 mains of a garden; with some patches of bright 
 green still visible among the heather. It is the
 
 48 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 memorial of a home where generation after gene- 
 ration of well-built, clean-blooded, God-fearing 
 Highland folk were raised. From those humble 
 cottages went up morning and evening the psalm 
 of praise to God. From them also came hardy 
 men to fill the ranks of the Highland regiments, 
 who had tasted none of the city vices and did not 
 know what fear was. Nor were they a fierce or 
 morose people, for the Glen sounded of a summer 
 evening with the sound of the pipes, playing reels 
 and strathspeys, and in the winter time the min- 
 ister would lend his barn for a dance, saying, like 
 the shrewd man he was, " The more dancing the 
 less drinking." The very names of those desolate 
 homesteads and the people that lived therein are 
 now passing out of mind in Glenalder, but away 
 in North-West Canada there is a new Glenalder, 
 where every name has been reproduced, and the 
 cuttings of the brier roses bloom every year in 
 memory of the land that is " far awa." And if 
 any man from Lochaber, or for that matter from 
 any part of Scotland, lights on this place, it will 
 be hard for him to get away from the warm hearts 
 that are there, and he must depart a better man
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 49 
 
 after hearing the kindly speech and seeing the 
 sword dance once more. 
 
 While the exiles halted on the elbow of the 
 hill, each man, woman and child, according to his 
 size and strength, carried a stone from the hillside 
 and placed it on a heap that grew before their 
 eyes, till it made a rough pyramid. This was 
 called the Cairn of Remembrance, and as often 
 as any one of the scanty remnant left the Glen 
 to go south it was a custom that his friends should 
 accompany him to this spot and bid him farewell, 
 where the past pledged him to love and faith- 
 fulness. It was here therefore that Henry Ruther- 
 ford parted from Magdalen Macdonald as he went 
 to his last session at the Divinity Hall. 
 
 " It's four years since I came first to Glenalder 
 to teach the school in the summer-time, Magdalen, 
 an' little I thought then I would ever be so near 
 the ministry or win my sweetheart in the Glen." 
 
 They were sitting on a heather bank below 
 the cairn, and as he spoke his arm slipped round 
 her waist. He was a typical Scot, with bony 
 frame, broad shoulders, strong face, deep-set eyes 
 of grey, and the somewhat assertive and self- 
 
 A. 4
 
 50 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 sufficient manner of his race. Slie was of the 
 finest type of Highland beauty, with an almost 
 perfect Grecian face, fair hair dashed with gold, 
 eyes of the blue of the Highland lochs, and a 
 queenly carriage of head and body. Deep-bosomed 
 and unfettered by fashionable city dress, with 
 strong hand and firm foot, she had the swinging 
 gait and proud independence of the free hill 
 woman. 
 
 " Had it not been for you," he went on, " I had 
 never persevered ; it was your faith put strength 
 in me and hope, and then . . . the help you 
 gave me; I can never forget or repay you. To 
 think that you should have slaved that I should 
 have books and — better food." 
 
 " Hush, I command you, for I will not be 
 hearing another word, and if you are saying more 
 I will be very angry. It is not good that any 
 man should be a minister and not keep his word. 
 And the day I gave you the purse with the two 
 or three pieces of gold you made a promise never 
 to speak about that day again. It is not many 
 quarrels we have had, Henry, and some will be 
 good quarrels, for afterward we were loving each
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 51 
 
 other more than ever. But it was not good when 
 you would lay the bits of gold on that very stone 
 there — for I am seeing them lie in the hollow — 
 and say hot words to me." 
 
 " Magdalen, I put the purse itself in my breast, 
 and I loved you more than ever for your thought 
 of me and your sacrifice, and I wanted to kiss 
 you, and . . . you ordered me to stand off, 
 and your eyes were blazing. Lassie, you looked 
 like a tigress ; I was feared of you." 
 
 " It was not for me to have my gifts given back, 
 and if I was driving home the cows and milking 
 the white milk into the pail, and churning the 
 sweet yellow butter, all that my love should not 
 be wanting anything, it is not for him to be so 
 proud and mighty." 
 
 " But I did take your kindness at last, and it 
 was more than two or three pounds, and so it 
 was you that sent me to Germany. You gave 
 me my learning, and some day, when we're in 
 our manse together, I'll show you all my books 
 and try ... to repay your love." 
 
 " Henry, it will come over me at times in the 
 twilight, when strange sights are seen, that we
 
 52 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 shall never be together in our house. Oh, yes, I 
 have seen a room with books round the walls, 
 and you will be sitting there, but I am not seeing 
 any Magdalen. Wait a minute, for there will 
 be another sight, and I am not understanding it. 
 It is not this land, but where it will be I do not 
 know ; but I will be there in a beautiful room, 
 and I will be in rich dress, but I am not seeing 
 you. 
 
 "Do not speak." She rose up and looked at 
 Rutherford, holding him at arm's length, with 
 her hand upon his shoulder. " Have you got the 
 broken piece ? " He thrust his hand into his 
 breast, and showed the jagged half of a common 
 penny hung round his neck by a blue ribbon. 
 
 " My half will be here " — Magdalen touched 
 her bosom — "but maybe it will be better for me 
 to give you it, and then . . . you will be free ; 
 each of us . . . must drink the cup that is 
 mixed. The visions will be very clear, though 
 I have not the second sight." 
 
 " What is the meaning of all this talk, Mag- 
 dalen ? " Rutherford's face was pale, and his voice 
 vibrated. "Are you tired of me because I am
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 53 
 
 not bonnie of face, but only a plain Scot, or is 
 it that you will not wait till I win a home for 
 you, or have you seen another man — some glib 
 English sportsman ? " 
 
 " God forgive you, Henry Rutherford, for saying 
 such words ; is it Alister Macdonald's grand- 
 daughter that would play her lover false ? Then 
 let him drive the skean dhu into her heart." 
 
 " Then it is me you suspect, and it is not what 
 I have deserved at your hands, Magdalen. A 
 Scot may seem cold and hard, but he can be 
 ' siccar,' and if I keep not my troth with you, and 
 deal not by you as you have by me, then may 
 God be my judge and do unto me as I have done 
 unto you." 
 
 They looked into one another's eyes, and then 
 tears put out the fire in hers, and she spoke with 
 a wail in her voice. 
 
 " This is all very foolish talk, and it is this girl 
 that will be sorry after you are gone and I am 
 sitting lonely, watching the sun go down. But 
 it was a thought that would be coming over my 
 mind, for you will be remembering that I am a 
 Highlander ; but it is not that you will not be
 
 54 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 faithful to me or I to you, oh, no, and I have 
 put it away, my love. Now may God be keeping 
 you " — and she took his hand — " and prospering 
 you in all your work, till you have your heart's 
 desire in knowledge and everything . . . that 
 would be good for you. This is the prayer Mag- 
 dalen Macdonald will be offering for you every 
 morning and night and all the day when it is 
 winter-time and the snow is heavy in Glenalder." 
 Then she kissed him full upon the lips as in 
 a sacrament, and looking back he saw her standing 
 against the evening light, the perfect figure of 
 a woman, and she waved to him, whom he was 
 not to see again for ten long years.
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 55 
 
 II 
 
 "Just ventured to look in for a single minute, 
 Mr. Rutherford, at the close of this eventful day, 
 to say how thankful we all are that you were so 
 wonderfully sustained. But you are busy — making 
 notes for next Sabbath, perhaps — and I must not 
 interrupt you. We must keep ourselves open to 
 the light ; in my small way I find there are times 
 when the thoughts just drop upon one. If we 
 were more lifted above the world they would come 
 oftener, far often er." 
 
 A very " sleekit " personage indeed, as they say 
 in Scotland, with a suave manner, a sickly voice, 
 and ways so childish that simple people thought 
 him almost silly ; but those who happened to 
 have had deals with him in business formed quite 
 another opinion, and expressed it in language 
 bordering on the libellous. 
 
 " Will you be seated ? " Rutherford laid aside
 
 56 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 a letter beginning "Dearest Magdalen," and telling 
 how it had fared with him on his first Sunday in 
 St. Bede's, Glasgow, W., a kirk which contained 
 many rich people and thought not a little of itself. 
 " You have a meeting on Sunday evening, I think 
 you said. I hope it was successful." 
 
 "There was blessing to-night, I am sure. I 
 felt the power myself. Lord Dunderhead was 
 passing through Glasgow and gave the address. 
 It was on ' The Badgers' Skins ' of the Tabernacle, 
 and was very helpful. And afterward we had a 
 delightful little 'sing.' You know his lord- 
 ship?" 
 
 " No, I never saw him," said Rutherford shortly, 
 with a Scot's democratic prejudice against religi- 
 ous snobbery, forgetting that people who will not 
 listen to a reasoned discourse from a clergyman 
 will crowd to the simplest utterance of a lord. 
 
 "You will allow me to introduce you on Tues- 
 day evening ; you got Mrs. Thompson's card. I 
 hope we may have a profitable gathering. Captain 
 Footyl, the hussar evangelist, will also be present 
 — a truly delightful and devoted young man." 
 
 Rutherford had not forgotten the card —
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 57 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Thompson 
 
 At Home 
 
 Tuesday, May 2nd, 
 
 To meet Lord Dunderhead, who ivill give a 
 
 Bible Reading. 
 
 8 to 10.30. Evening Dress. 
 
 And had sent it off to his college friend, Car- 
 michael of Drumtochty, with a running com- 
 mentary of a very piquant character. 
 
 "Thank you, but I fear that my work will 
 prevent me being with you on Tuesday ; it is no 
 light thing for a man to come straight from 
 college to St. Bede's without even a holiday." 
 
 " So sorry, but by-and-bye you will come to 
 one of our little meetings. Mrs. Thompson 
 greatly enjoyed your sermon to young men this 
 afternoon ; perhaps just a little too much of works 
 and too little of faith. Excuse the hint — you 
 know the danger of the day — all life, life ; but 
 that's a misleading test. By the way, we are all 
 hoping that you may get settled in a home as 
 well as in your church," continued Mr. Thompson, 
 with pious waggery, and then chilling at the want 
 of sympathy on the minister's face ; *' but that is
 
 58 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 a serious matter, and we trust you may be wisely 
 guided. A suitable helpmeet is a precious gift." 
 
 " Perhaps you may not have heard, Mr. Thomp- 
 son, that I am engaged" — and Rutherford eyed 
 the elder keenly, — "and to a girl of whom any 
 man and any congregation may be proud. I am 
 going north next week to see her and to settle 
 our marriage day." 
 
 " I am so pleased to hear you say so, and so 
 will all the elders be, for I must tell you that 
 a rumour came to our ears that gave us great 
 concern ; but I said we must not give heed to 
 gossip, for what Christian has not suffered in this 
 way at the hand of the world ? " 
 
 " What was the gossip ? " demanded Rutherford, 
 and there was that in his tone that brooked no 
 trifling. 
 
 " You must not take this to heart, dear Mr. 
 Rutherford ; it only shows how we ought to set 
 a watch upon our lips. Well — that you were to 
 marry a young woman in Glen — Glen " 
 
 " Alder. Go on," said Rutherford. 
 
 "Yes, in Glenalder, where we all rejoice to 
 know you did so good a work."
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 59 
 
 " I taught a dozen children in the summer 
 months to eke out my living. But about the 
 young woman — what did they say of her ? " 
 
 " Nothing at all, except that she was, perhaps, 
 hardly in that position of society that a clergy- 
 man's wife ought to be, especially one in the west 
 end of Glasgow. But do not let us say anything 
 more of the matter ; it just shows how the great 
 enemy is ever trying to create dissension and 
 injure the work." 
 
 " What you have heard is perfectly true, except 
 that absurd reference to Glasgow, and I have the 
 honour to inform you, as I intend to inform the 
 elders on my return next week, that I hope to 
 be married in a month or two to Magdalen Mac- 
 donald, who was brought up by her grandfather, 
 Alister Macdonald of the Black Watch, and who 
 herself has a little croft in Glenalder " — and 
 Rutherford challenged Mr. Thompson, expounder 
 of Scripture and speculator in iron, to come on 
 and do his worst. 
 
 " Will you allow me, my dear young friend, to 
 say that there is no necessity for this . . . 
 heat, and to speak with you ^s one who has
 
 6o THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 your . . . best interests at heart, and those of 
 St. Bede's. I feel it to be a special providence 
 that I should have called this evening." 
 
 "Well?" insisted Rutherford. 
 
 "What I feel, and I have no doubt you will 
 agree with me, is that Christians must not set 
 themselves against the arrangements of Provi- 
 dence, and you see we are set in classes for a 
 wise purpose. We are all equal before God, 
 neither * bond nor free,' as it runs, but it is ex- 
 pedient that the minister of St. Bede's should 
 marry in his own position. There are many sacri- 
 fices we must make for our work's sake ; and, oh, 
 Mr. Rutherford, what care we have to take lest 
 we cast a stumbling-block in the way of others ! 
 It was only last week that a valued fellow-worker 
 begged me to invite a young lady to my little 
 drawing-room meeting who was concerned about 
 spiritual things. ' Nothing would give me greater 
 pleasure,' I said, * if it would help her ; but it is 
 quite impossible, and you would not have asked 
 me had you known her history. Her father was 
 a shopkeeper, and in the present divided state of 
 society I dare not introduce her among the others.
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 6i 
 
 all wholesale without exception.' You will not 
 misunderstand me, Mr. Rutherford?" 
 
 "You have stated the case admirably, Mr. 
 Thompson, and from your standpoint in religion, 
 I think, conclusively. Perhaps the Sermon on 
 the Mount might . . . ; but we won't go into 
 that. Before deciding, however, what is my duty, 
 always with your aid, you might like to see the 
 face of my betrothed. There, in that light." 
 
 " Really quite beautiful, and I can easily under- 
 stand ; we were all young once and . . . im- 
 pressionable. As good-looking as any woman in 
 St. Bede's ? Excuse me, that is hardly a question 
 to discuss. Grace does not go with looks. We 
 all know that beauty is deceitful. Knows the 
 poets better than you do, I dare say. There is 
 a nurse of my sister's, a cabman's daughter — I 
 beg your pardon for dropping the photograph ; 
 you startled me. But you will excuse me saying 
 that it is not this kind of knowledge . . . 
 well, culture, which fits a woman to be a minister's 
 wife. Addressing a mothers' meeting is far more 
 important than reading poetry. Highland man- 
 ners more graceful than Glasgow? That is a
 
 62 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 very extraordinary comparison, and . . . can 
 do no good. Really no one can sympathise with 
 you more than I do, but I am quite clear as to 
 your duty as a minister of the Gospel." 
 
 " You mean " — and Rutherford spoke with much 
 calmness — " that I ought to break our troth. It 
 is not a light thing to do, sir, and has exposed 
 both men and women to severe . . . criticism." 
 
 " Certainly, if the matter be mismanaged, but 
 I think, although it's not for me to boast, that 
 it could be arranged. Now, there was Dr. Drum- 
 mer — this is quite between ourselves — he involved 
 himself with a teacher of quite humble rank 
 during his student days, and it was pointed out 
 to him very faithfully by his elders that such a 
 union would injure his prospects. He made it 
 a matter of prayer, and he wrote a beautiful letter 
 to her, and she saw the matter in the right light, 
 and you know what a ministry his has been. His 
 present wife has been a real helpmeet ; her means 
 are large and are all consecrated." 
 
 " Do you happen to know what became of the 
 teacher? I only ask for curiosity, for I know 
 what has become of Dr. Drummer."
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 63 
 
 " She went to England and caught some fever, 
 or maybe it was consumption, but at any rate 
 she died just before the Doctor married. It was 
 all ordered for the best, so that there were no 
 complications." 
 
 " Exactly ; that is evident, and my way seems 
 now much clearer. There is just one question 
 more I should like to ask. If you can answer 
 it I shall have no hesitation about my course. 
 Suppose a woman loved a man and believed in 
 him, and encouraged him through his hard college 
 days, and they both were looking forward with 
 one heart to their wedding day, and then he — 
 did not marry her — what would honourable men 
 think of him, and what effect would this deed of 
 — prudence have on his ministry of the Gospel ? " 
 
 *' My dear friend, if it were known that he had 
 taken this step simply and solely for the good of 
 the cause he had at heart and after prayerful 
 consideration, there is no earnest man — and we 
 need not care for the world — who would not 
 appreciate his sacrifice." 
 
 " I do not believe one word you say." Mr. 
 Thompson smiled feebly, and began to retire to
 
 64 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 the door at the look in Rutherford's eye. " But 
 whether you be right or wrong about the world 
 in which you move, I do not know. In my 
 judgment, the man who acted as you describe 
 would have only one rival in history, and that 
 would be Judas Iscariot."
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 65 
 
 III 
 
 Southern travellers wandering over Scotland in 
 their simplicity have a dim perception that the 
 Scot and the Celt are not of one kind, and, 
 as all racial characteristics go back to the land, 
 they might be helped by considering the unlike- 
 ness between a holding in Fife and a croft in a 
 western glen. The lowland farm stands amid its 
 neighbours along the highway, with square fields, 
 trim fences, slated houses, cultivated after the 
 most scientific method, and to the last inch a very 
 type of a shrewd, thrifty, utilitarian people. The 
 Highland farm is half a dozen patches of as many 
 shapes scattered along the hillside, wherever there 
 are fewest stones and deepest soil and no bog, and 
 those the crofter tills as best he can — sometimes 
 getting a harvest and sometimes seeing the first 
 snow cover his oats in the sheaf, sometimes build" 
 ing a rude dyke to keep off the big, brown, hairy 
 
 A. 5
 
 66 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 cattle that come down to have a taste of the sweet 
 green corn, but often finding it best to let his 
 barefooted children be a fence by day, and at 
 certain seasons to sit up all night himself to guard 
 his scanty harvest from the forays of the red deer. 
 Somewhere among the patches he builds his low- 
 roofed house, and thatches it over with straw, on 
 which, by-and-bye, grass with heather and wild 
 flowers begins to grow, till it is not easy to tell 
 his home from the hill. His farm is but a group 
 of tiny islands amid a sea of heather that is ever 
 threatening to overwhelm them with purple spray. 
 Any one can understand that this man will be 
 unpractical, dreamy, enthusiastic, the child of the 
 past, the hero of hopeless causes, the seer of 
 visions. 
 
 Magdalen had milked her cows at midday and 
 sent them forth to pasture, and now was sitting 
 before her cottage among wallflower and spring 
 lilies, reading for the third time the conclusion 
 of Rutherford's last letter : — 
 
 " Here I was interrupted by the coming of an 
 elder, a mighty man in the religious world, and
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 67 
 
 very powerful in St. Bede's. He tells me that 
 something has been heard of our engagement, and 
 I have taken counsel with him with the result 
 that it seems best we should be married without 
 delay. After loving for four years and there being 
 nothing to hinder, why should you be lonely on 
 your croft in Glenalder and I in my rooms at 
 Glasgow ? Answer me that, ' calf of my heart ' 
 (I do not attempt the Gaelic). But you cannot. 
 You will only kiss the letter, since I am not at 
 your side, and next week I shall come north, and 
 you will fix the day. 
 
 " My head is full of plans, and I do not think 
 that joy will let me sleep to-night for thinking 
 of you and all that we shall do together. We'll 
 be married early in the morning in the old kirk 
 of Glenalder, as soon as the sun has filled the 
 Glen and Nature has just awaked from sleep. 
 Mona Macdonald will be your bridesmaid, I know, 
 and she will wear white roses that shall not be 
 whiter than her teeth. Yes, I have learned to 
 notice all beautiful things since I knew you, Mag- 
 dalen. My best man will be Carmichael of Drum- 
 tochy, who is of Highland blood himself and a
 
 68 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 goodly man to look upon, and he has his own 
 love-story. All the Glen will come to our wed- 
 ding, and will grudge that a Lowland Scot has 
 spoiled the Glen of the Flower of Dalnabreck — 
 yes, I know what they call you. And we shall 
 have our breakfast in the manse, for the minister 
 has pledged us to that, and it is he and John 
 Carmichael that will be making the wonderful 
 speeches ! (You see how I've learned the style.) 
 But you and I will leave them and catch the 
 steamer, and then all the long June day we shall 
 sit on the deck together and see distant Skye, and 
 the little isles, and pass Mull and Ardnamurchan, 
 and sail through Oban Bay and down Loch Fyne, 
 and thread our way by Tighnabruaich, and come 
 into the Firth of Clyde when the sun is going 
 down away behind Ben Alder. Won't it be a 
 glorious marriage day, among lochs and hills and 
 islands the like of which travellers say cannot be 
 found in all the world ? 
 
 " Then I want to take you to Germany, and to 
 show you the old University town where I lived 
 one summer, and we will have one good day there, 
 too, my bride and I. Early in the morning we
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 69 
 
 shall stand in the market-place, where the women 
 are washing clothes at the fountain and the pea- 
 sants are selling butter and fruit, and the high- 
 gabled houses rise on three sides, and the old 
 Rathhaus, on whose roof the storks build their 
 nests, makes the fourth. We'll go to my rooms 
 near the Kirche, where I used to write a letter to 
 you every day, and here is what old Frau Hep- 
 zacker will say, ' Mein Gott, der Schottlander und 
 ein wunderschones madchen ' (you will English 
 and Gaelic this for yourself), and we will drink 
 a glass of (fearfully sour) wine with her, and go 
 out with her blessing echoing down the street. 
 Then we will watch the rafts coming down the 
 Neckar from the Black Forest, and walk among 
 the trees in the Vorstadt, where I lay and dreamed 
 of you far away in Glenalder. And we will go to 
 the University where you sent me . . . but 
 that is never to be mentioned again ; and the 
 students in their wonderful dress will come and 
 go — red hats and blue, besides the white, black 
 and gold I used to wear. And in the evening 
 we will drive through the vines and fruit-trees to 
 Bebenhausen, the king's hunting-seat. And those
 
 70 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 will only be two days out of our honeymoon, 
 Magdalen. It seems too good to be my lot that 
 I should be minister of Christ's evangel — of which 
 surely I am not worthy — and that you should be 
 my bride, of which I am as unworthy. Next 
 Monday I shall leave this smoky town and meet 
 you at the Cairn of Remembrance on Tuesday 
 morning. 
 
 " Meanwhile and ever I am your faithful lover, 
 " Henry Rutherford." 
 
 Magdalen kissed the name passionately and 
 thrust the letter into her bosom. Then she went 
 to the edge of the heather and looked along the 
 Glen, where she had been born and lived her 
 twenty-two years in peace, from which she was so 
 soon to go out on the most adventurous journey of 
 life. When a pure-bred Highland woman loves, it 
 is once and for ever, and earth has no more faith- 
 ful wife, or mother, or daughter. And Magdalen 
 loved Rutherford with all her heart. But it is not 
 given unto her blood to taste unmixed joy, and 
 now she was haunted with a sense of calamity. 
 The past flung its shadow over her, and the people
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 71 
 
 that were gone came back to their deserted homes. 
 She heard the far-off bleating of the sheep and the 
 wild cry of the curlew ; she crooned to herself a 
 Gaelic song, and was so carried away that she did 
 not see the stranger come along the track through 
 the heather till he spoke. 
 
 " Good evening ; may I ask whether this is eh 
 . . . Dalnabreck? and have I the pleasure of 
 addressing Miss Macdonald ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am Magdalen Macdonald " — and as she 
 faced him in her beauty the visitor was much 
 abashed. " Would you be wanting to see me, 
 sir ? " 
 
 " My name is Thompson, and I have the privi- 
 lege of being an elder in St. Bede's, Glasgow, and 
 as I happened to be passing through Glenalder — 
 just a few days' rest after the winter's work — how 
 the soul wears the body ! — I thought that it would 
 be ... a pleasure to . . . pay my respects 
 to one of whom I have . . . heard from our 
 dear pastor. Perhaps, however," — this with some 
 anxiety — " Mr. Rutherford may have mentioned 
 my humble name." 
 
 " There are so many good people in St. Bede's,
 
 72 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 and they are all so kind to him, that . . . 
 Henry" — the flush at her lover's name lent the 
 last attraction to her face and almost overcame 
 the astute iron merchant — " will not be able to tell 
 me all their names. But I will be knowing them 
 all for myself soon, and then I will be going to 
 thank every person for all that has been done to 
 . . . him. It is very gracious of you to be 
 visiting a poor Highland girl, and the road to 
 Dalnabreck is very steep ; you will come in and 
 rest in my house, and I will bring you milk to 
 drink. You must be taking care of the door, for 
 it is low, and the windows are small because of 
 the winter storms ; but there is room inside and 
 a heart welcome for our friends in our little homes. 
 When I am bringing the milk maybe you will be 
 looking at the medals on the wall. They are my 
 grandfather's, who was a brave man and fought 
 well in his day, and two will be my father's, who 
 was killed very young and had not time to get 
 more honour." 
 
 The elder made a hurried survey of the room, 
 with its bits of black oak and the arms on the 
 wall, and the deer-skins on the floor, and book-
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 73 
 
 shelves hanging on the wall, and wild flowers every- 
 where ; and, being an operator so keen that he was 
 said to know a market by scent, he changed his plan. 
 
 " I took a hundred pounds with me," he ex- 
 plained afterward to a friend of like spirit, " for 
 a promising ministry was not to be hindered for 
 a few pounds ! I intended to begin with fifty and 
 expected to bring back twenty-five, but I saw that 
 it would have been inexpedient to offer money 
 to the young woman. There was no flavour of 
 spirituality at all about her, and she was filled 
 with pride about war and such-like vanities. Her 
 manner might be called taking in worldly circles, 
 but it was not exactly . . . gentle, and she 
 might have . . . been rude, quite unpleasant, 
 if I had tried to buy her ... I mean arrange 
 on a pecuniary basis. Ah, Juitler, how much we 
 need the wisdom of the serpent in this life ! " 
 
 " What a position you are to occupy, my dear 
 friend," began the simple man, seated before the 
 most perfect of meals — rich milk of cows, fed on 
 meadow grass, yellow butter and white oat cakes 
 set among flowers. " I doubt not that you are 
 often weighed down by a sense of responsibility.
 
 74 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 and are almost afraid of the work before you. 
 After some slight experience in such matters I am 
 convinced that the position of a minister's wife is 
 the most ... I may say critical in Christian 
 service." 
 
 " You will be meaning that she must be taking 
 great care of her man, and making a beautiful 
 home for him, and keeping away foolish people, 
 and standing by him when his back will be at the 
 wall. Oh, yes, it is a minister that needs to be 
 loved very much, or else he will become stupid 
 and say bitter words, and no one will be wanting 
 to hear him " — and Magdalen looked across the 
 table with joyful confidence. 
 
 " Far more than that, I'm afraid " — and Mr. 
 Thompson's face was full of pity. " I was thinking 
 of the public work that falls to a minister's wife 
 in such a church as St. Bede's, which is trying and 
 needs much grace. The receiving of ladies alone 
 — Providence has been very good to our people, 
 twelve carriages some days at the church door — 
 requires much experience and wisdom. 
 
 " Mrs. Drummer, who has been much used 
 among the better classes, has often told me that
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 75 
 
 she considered tact in society one of her most 
 precious talents, and I know that it was largely 
 owing to her social gifts, sanctified, of course, 
 that the Doctor became such a power. Ah, yes " 
 — and Mr. Thompson fell into a soliloquy — " it 
 is the wife that makes or mars the minister." 
 
 " Glasgow then will not be like Glenalder " — 
 and Magdalen's face was much troubled — "for if 
 any woman here will tell the truth and speak 
 good words of people, and help when the little 
 children are sick, and have an open door for the 
 stranger, then we will all be loving her, and she 
 will not hurt her man in anything." 
 
 " Be thankful that you do not live in a city. 
 Miss Macdonald, for the world has much more 
 power there ; they that come to work are in the 
 thick of the battle and need great experience, 
 but you will learn in time and maybe you could 
 live . . . quietly for a year or two . . . 
 you will excuse me speaking like this . . . 
 you see it is for our beloved minister I am 
 anxious." 
 
 Magdalen's face had grown white, and she 
 once or twice took a long, sad breath.
 
 76 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 " As regards the public work expected of a 
 minister's wife— but I am wearying you, I fear, 
 and it is time to return to the inn. I cannot 
 tell you how much I have enjoyed this delicious 
 milk . . ." 
 
 " Will you tell me about the . . . the other 
 things ... I want to know all." 
 
 " Oh, it was the meetings I was thinking of, 
 for of course, as I am sure you know, our minis- 
 ter's wife is the head of the mothers' meeting. 
 Mrs. Drummer's addresses there were excellent, 
 and her liberality in giving treats — gospel treats, 
 I mean, with tea — was eh, in fact, queenly. And 
 then she had a Bible-class for young ladies that 
 was mentioned in the religious papers." 
 
 Magdalen had now risen and was visibly 
 trembling. 
 
 "There is a question I would like to ask, 
 Mister . . ." 
 
 " Thompson — Jabez Thompson." 
 
 " Mister Thompson — and you will be doing a 
 great kindness to a girl that has never been out- 
 side Glenalder, and ... is not wanting to 
 be a sorrow to the man she loves, if you will
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 77 
 
 answer it. Do you know any minister like . . . 
 your minister who married a country girl and 
 . . . what happened ? " 
 
 " Really, my dear friend, I . . . well, if you 
 insist, our neighbour in St. Thomas's — a very fine 
 young fellow — did, and he was a little hindered 
 at first ; but I am sure, in course of time, if he 
 had waited — yes, he left, and I hear is in the 
 Colonies, and doing an excellent work among 
 the squatters, or was it the Chinese? . . . No, 
 no, this is not good-bye. I only hope I have 
 not discouraged you. . . . What a lovely glen ! 
 How can we ever make up to you for this 
 heather ? " 
 
 For three days no one saw Magdalen, but a 
 shepherd attending to his lambs noticed that a 
 lamp burned every night in the cottage at Dalna- 
 breck. When Rutherford arrived at the cairn on 
 Tuesday he looked in vain for Magdalen. Old 
 Elspeth, Magdalen's foster-mother, was waiting 
 for him and placed a letter in his hands, which 
 he read in that very place where he had parted 
 from his betrothed.
 
 78 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 "Dearest of my Heart, — 
 
 " It is with the tears of my soul that I am 
 writing this letter, and it is with cruel sorrow you 
 will be reading it, for I must tell you that our 
 troth is broken and that Magdalen cannot be 
 your wife. Do not be thinking this day or any 
 day that she is not loving you, for never have 
 you been so dear to me or been in my eyes so 
 strong and brave and wise and good, and do not 
 be thinking that I do not trust you, for it is this 
 girl knows that you would be true to me although 
 all the world turned against me. 
 
 " Believe me, my beloved, it is because I love 
 you so much that I am setting you free that 
 you may not be put to shame because you have 
 married a Highland girl, who has nothing but 
 two cows, and who does not know the ways of 
 cities, and who cannot speak in public places, and 
 who can do nothing except love. 
 
 *' If it had been possible I would have been 
 waiting for you at the Cairn of Remembrance, 
 and it is my eyes that ache to see you once more, 
 but then I would be weak and could not leave 
 you, as is best for you.
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 79 
 
 "You will not be seeking after me, for I am 
 going far away, and nobody can tell you where, 
 and this is also best for you and me. But I will 
 be hearing about you, and will be knowing all 
 you do, and there will be none so proud of you 
 as your first love. 
 
 " And, Henry, if you meet a good woman and 
 she loves you, then you must not think that I 
 will be angry when you marry her, for this would 
 be selfish and not right. I am going away for 
 your sake, and I will be praying that the sun 
 be ever shining on you and that you become a 
 great man in the land. One thing only I ask — 
 that in those days you sometimes give a thought 
 to Glenalder and your faithful friend, 
 
 " Magdalen Macdonald."
 
 8o THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 IV 
 
 " It was a first-rate match, and we were fairly 
 beaten ; it was their forward turned the scale. I 
 had two hacks from him myself" — the captain 
 of the Glasgow Football Club nursed the tender 
 spots. " It's a mercy to-morrow's Sunday and 
 one can lie in bed." 
 
 " Olive oil is not bad for rubbing. You deserve 
 the rest, old man. It was a stiff fight. By-the- 
 way I saw Rutherford of St. Bede's there. He 
 cheered like a good 'un when you got that goal. 
 He's the best parson going in Glasgow." 
 
 " Can't bear the tribe nor their ways, Charlie, 
 they're such hypocrites, always preaching against 
 the world and that kind of thing and feathering 
 their own nests at every turn. Do you know I 
 calculated that six of them in Glasgow alone 
 have netted a hundred and twenty thousand 
 pounds by successful marriages. That's what 
 sickens a fellow at religion."
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 8i 
 
 " Well, you can't say that against Rutherford, 
 Jack, for he's not married, and works like a 
 coal-heaver. He's the straightest man I've come 
 across either in the pulpit or out of it, besides 
 being a ripping preacher. Suppose you look me 
 up to-morrow about six, and we'll hear what he's 
 got to say." 
 
 His friends said that Rutherford was only 
 thirty-four years of age, but he looked as if he 
 were near fifty, for his hair had begun to turn 
 gray, and he carried the traces of twenty years' 
 work upon his face. No one would have asked 
 whether he was handsome, for he had about him 
 an air of sincerity and humanity that at once 
 won your confidence. His subject that evening 
 was the " Sanctifying power of love," and, as his 
 passion gradually increased to white heat, he had 
 the men before him at his mercy. Women of the 
 world complained that he was hard and unsym- 
 pathetic ; some elderly men considered his state- 
 ments unguarded and even unsound ; but men 
 below thirty heard him gladly. This evening he 
 was stirred for some reason to the depths of his 
 being, and was irresistible. When he enlarged 
 
 A. 6
 
 82 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 on the love of a mother, and charged every son 
 present to repay it by his Hfe and loyalty, a 
 hundred men glared fiercely at the roof, and half 
 of them resolved to write home that very night. 
 As he thundered against lust, the foul counterfeit 
 of love, men's faces whitened, and twice there 
 was a distinct murmur of applause. His great 
 passage, however, came at the close, and con- 
 cerned the love of a man for a maid : " If it be 
 given to any man in his fresh youth to love a 
 noble woman with all his heart, then in that de- 
 votion he shall find an unfailing inspiration of 
 holy thoughts and high endeavours, a strong pro- 
 tection against impure and selfish temptations, a 
 secret comfort amid the contradictions and adver- 
 sities of life. Let him give this passion full play 
 in his life and it will make a man of him and a 
 good soldier in the great battle. And if it so be 
 that this woman pass from his sight or be be- 
 yond his reach, yet in this love itself shall he 
 find his exceeding reward." As he spoke in a 
 low, sweet, intense voice, those in the gallery saw 
 the preacher's left hand tighten on the side of the 
 pulpit till the bones and sinews could be counted,
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 83 
 
 but with his right hand he seemed to hold some- 
 thing that lay on his breast. 
 
 " Look here, Charlie " — as the two men stood 
 in a transept till the crowd passed down the main 
 aisle — "if you don't mind I would like ... to 
 shake hands with the preacher. When a man 
 takes his coat off and does a big thing like that 
 he ought to know that he has . . . helped a 
 fellow." 
 
 " I'll go in too, Jack, for he's straightened me, 
 and not for the first time. You know how I 
 used to live . . . well, that is over, and it was 
 Rutherford saved me." 
 
 " He looks as if he had been badly hit some 
 time. Do you know his record ? " 
 
 "There's some story about his being in love 
 with a poor girl and being determined to marry 
 her, but ' Iron Warrants ' got round her and per- 
 suaded her that it would be Rutherford's ruin ; 
 so she disappeared, and they say Rutherford is 
 waiting for her to this day. But I don't give it 
 as a fact." 
 
 " You may be sure every word of it is true, 
 old man ; it's like one of Thompson's tricks, for
 
 84 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 
 
 I was in his office once, and it's just what that 
 man in the pulpit would do ; poor chap, he's 
 served his time ... I say, though, suppose 
 that girl turns up some day." 
 
 They were near the vestry door and arranging 
 their order of entrance when a woman came 
 swiftly down the empty aisle as from some dis- 
 tant corner of the church and stood behind them 
 for an instant. 
 
 " Is this Mr. Rutherford's room, gentlemen " — 
 with a delicate flavour of Highland in the perfect 
 English accent — " and would it be possible for 
 me to see him . . . alone?" 
 
 They received a shock of delight on the very 
 sight of her and did instant homage. It was not 
 on account of her magnificent beauty — a woman 
 in the height of her glory — nor the indescribable 
 manner of good society, nor the perfection of her 
 dressing, nor a singular dignity of carriage. They 
 bowed before her for the look in her eyes, the 
 pride of love, and, although both are becoming 
 each day her more devoted slaves, yet they agree 
 that she could only look once as she did that 
 night.
 
 THE MINISTER OF ST. BEDE'S 85 
 
 It was Charlie that showed her in, playing 
 beadle for the occasion that this princess might 
 not have to wait one minute, and his honour 
 obliged him to withdraw instantly, but before the 
 door could be closed he heard Rutherford cry — 
 
 " At last, Magdalen, my love ! " 
 
 "Do you think, Charlie . . .?" 
 
 " Rutherford has got his reward, Jack, and 
 twenty years would not have been too long to 
 wait."
 
 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN
 
 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 
 
 I 
 
 " We must have Trixy Marsden on the Thurs- 
 day " — for Mrs. LesHe was arranging two dinner 
 parties. " She will be in her element that even- 
 ing ; but what are we to do with Mr. Marsden ? " 
 
 " Isn't it rather the custom to invite a husband 
 with his wife ? he might even expect to be in- 
 cluded," said John Leslie. " Do you know I'm 
 glad we came to Putney ; spring is lovely in the 
 garden." 
 
 " Never mind spring just now," as Leslie threat- 
 ened an exit to the lawn ; " you might have 
 some consideration for an afflicted hostess, and 
 give your mind to the Marsden problem." 
 
 " It was Marsden brought spring into my 
 mind," and Leslie sat down with that expression 
 of resignation on his face peculiar to husbands 
 
 89
 
 90 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 
 
 consulted on domestic affairs ; " he was telling 
 me this morning in the train that he had just 
 finished a table of trees in the order of their 
 budding, a sort of spring priority list ; his love 
 for statistics is amazing. 
 
 " He is getting to be known on the 9 train ; 
 the men keep their eye on him and bolt into 
 thirds to escape ; he gave a morning on the in- 
 fluenza death-rate lately, and that kind of thing 
 spreads. 
 
 " But he's not a bad fellow for all that," con- 
 cluded Leslie ; " he's perfectly straight in busi- 
 ness, and that is saying something ; I rather en- 
 joy half an hour with him." 
 
 " Very likely you do," said his wife with im- 
 patience, " because your mind has a squint, and 
 you get amusement out of odd people ; but every 
 one has not your taste for the tiresome. He is 
 enough to devastate a dinner table ; do you re- 
 member that escapade of his last year ? " 
 
 " You mean when he corrected you about the 
 length of the American passage, and gave the 
 sailings of the Atlantic liners since '80," and 
 Leslie lay back to enjoy the past : " it seemed
 
 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 91 
 
 to me most instructive, and every one gave up 
 conversation to listen." 
 
 " Because no one could do anything else with 
 that voice booming through the room. I can 
 still hear him : ' the Coltunba, six days, four hours, 
 five minutes.' Then I rose and delivered the 
 table." 
 
 " It was only human to be a little nettled by 
 his accuracy ; but you ought not to have re- 
 treated so soon, for he gave the express trains 
 of England a little later, and hinted at the 
 American lines. One might almost call such a 
 memory genius." 
 
 " Which is often another name for idiocy, 
 John. Some one was telling me yesterday that 
 quiet, steady men rush out of the room at the 
 sound of his voice, and their wives have to tell 
 all £orts of falsehoods about their absence. 
 
 " Trixy is one of my oldest and dearest friends, 
 and it would be a shame to pass her over ; but 
 I will not have her husband on any account." 
 
 " Perhaps you are right as a hostess ; it is a 
 little hard for a frivolous circle to live up to 
 Marsden, and I hear that he has got up the
 
 92 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 
 
 temperatures of the health resorts ; it's a large 
 subject, and lends itself to detail." 
 
 " It will not be given in this house. What 
 Trixy must endure with that man ! he's simply 
 possessed by a didactic devil, and ought never 
 to have married. Statistics don't amount to 
 cruelty, I suppose, as a ground of divorce ? " 
 
 " Hardly as yet ; by-and-bye incompatibility in 
 politics or fiction will be admitted ; but how do 
 you know, Florence, that Mrs. Marsden does not 
 appreciate her husband ? You never can tell what 
 a woman sees in a man. Perhaps this woman hun- 
 gers for statistics as a make-weight. She is very 
 amusing, but a trifle shallow, don't you think ? " 
 
 " She used to be the brightest and most charm- 
 ing girl in our set, and I have always believed 
 that she was married to Mr. Marsden by her 
 people. Trixy has six hundred a year settled 
 on her, and they were afraid of fortune-hunters. 
 Mothers are apt to feel that a girl is safe with 
 a man of the Marsden type, and that nothing 
 more can be desired." 
 
 "Perhaps they are not far wrong. Marsden is 
 not a romantic figure, and he is scarcely what
 
 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 93 
 
 you would call a brilliant raconteur ; but he 
 serves his wife like a slave, and he will never 
 give her a sore heart." 
 
 " Do you think it nothing, John, that a woman 
 with ideals should be tied to a bore all her 
 days ? What a contrast between her brother and 
 her husband, for instance. Godfrey is decidedly 
 one of the most charming men I ever met." 
 
 " He has a nice tenor voice, I grant, and his 
 drawing-room comedies are very amusing. Of 
 course, no one believes a word he says, and I 
 think that he has never got a discharge from his 
 last bankruptcy ; but you can't expect perfection. 
 Character seems to oscillate between dulness and 
 dishonesty." 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense for the sake of allitera- 
 tion, John. Trixy's brother was never intended 
 for business ; he ought to have been a writer, 
 and I know he was asked to join the staff of the 
 Boomeller. Happy thought! I'll ask him to come 
 with his sister instead of Mr. Marsden." 
 
 And this was the note :
 
 94 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 
 
 "My dear Trixy, — 
 
 "We are making up a dinner party for the 
 evening of June 2nd, at eight o'clock, and we 
 simply cannot go on without you and Mr. Mars- 
 den. Write instantly to say you accept ; it is an 
 age since I've seen you, and my husband is 
 absolutely devoted to Mr, Marsden. He was 
 telling me only a minute ago that one reason 
 why he goes by the 9 train is to get the benefit 
 of your husband's conversation. With much love, 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 "Florence Leslie. 
 
 " P.S. — It does seem a shame that Mr. Mars- 
 den should have to waste an evening on a set of 
 stupid people, and if he can't tear himself from 
 his books, then you will take home a scolding to 
 him from me. 
 
 " P.S. — If Mr. Marsden will not condescend, 
 bring Godfrey to take care of you, and tell him 
 that we shall expect some music."
 
 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 95 
 
 II 
 
 "Come to this corner, Trixy, and let us have 
 a quiet talk before the men arrive from the din- 
 ing-room. I hope your husband is duly grateful 
 to me for allowing him off this social ordeal. 
 Except perhaps John, I don't think there is a 
 person here fit to discuss things with him." 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Marsden does not care one straw 
 whether they know his subjects or not so long 
 as people will listen to him, and I'm sure he was 
 quite eager to come, but I wanted Godfrey to 
 have a little pleasure. 
 
 " I'm so sorry for poor Godfrey," and Mrs. 
 Marsden settled herself down to confidences, 
 "You know he lost all his money two years ago 
 through no fault of his own. It was simply the 
 stupidity of his partner, who was quite a com- 
 mon man, and could not carry out Godfrey's 
 plans. My husband might have helped the firm 
 through their difficulty but he was quite obsti-
 
 96 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 
 
 nate, and very unkind also. He spoke as if 
 Godfrey had been careless and lazy, when the 
 poor fellow really injured his health and had to 
 go to Brighton for two months to recruit." 
 
 " Yes, I remember," put in Mrs. Leslie ; " we 
 happened to be at the Metropole one week end, 
 and Godfrey looked utterly jaded." 
 
 " You have no idea how much he suffered, 
 Florrie, and how beautifully he bore the trial. 
 Why, had it not been for me, he would not have 
 had money to pay his hotel bill, and that was a 
 dreadful change for a man like him. He has 
 always been very proud, and much petted by 
 people. The poor fellow has never been able to 
 find a suitable post since, although he spends 
 days in the city among his old friends, and I 
 can see how it is telling on him. And — Florrie, 
 I wouldn't mention it to any one except an old 
 friend — Mr. Marsden has not made our house 
 pleasant to poor Godfrey." 
 
 " You don't mean that he . . . reflects on 
 his misfortunes." 
 
 " Doesn't he ? It's simply disgusting what he 
 will say at times. Only yesterday morning — this
 
 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 97 
 
 is absolutely between you and me, one must 
 have some confidant — Godfrey made some re- 
 mark in fun about the cut of Tom's coat ; he 
 will not go, you know, do what I like, to a 
 proper tailor," 
 
 " Godfrey is certainly much better dressed," 
 said Mrs. Leslie, " than either of our husbands." 
 
 "Perhaps it was that made Tom angry, but at 
 any rate he said quite shortly, ' I can't afford to 
 dress better,' and of course Godfrey knew what 
 he meant. It was cruel in the circumstances, for 
 many men spend far more on their clothes than 
 Godfrey. He simply gives his mind to the mat- 
 ter and takes care of his things ; he will spend 
 any time selecting a colour or getting a coat 
 fitted." 
 
 " Is your brother quite . . . dependent on 
 . . . his friends, Trixy ? " 
 
 "Yes, in the meantime, and that is the reason 
 why we ought to be the more considerate. I 
 wished to settle half my income on him, but it 
 is only a third of what it used to be — something 
 to do with investments has reduced it — and Mr. 
 Marsden would not hear of such a thing ; he al- 
 
 A. 7
 
 98 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 
 
 lows Godfrey one hundred a year, but that hardly 
 keeps him in clothes and pocket money." 
 
 "Still, don't you think it's all Godfrey could 
 expect ? " and Mrs. Leslie was inclined for 
 once to defend this abused man. "Few hus- 
 bands would do as much for a brother-in-law." 
 
 " Oh, of course he does it for my sake, and 
 he means to be kind. But, Florrie, Mr. Marsden 
 is so careful and saving, always speaking as if 
 we were poor and had to lay up for the future, 
 while I know he has a large income and a sure 
 business. 
 
 "Why, he would not leave that horrid street 
 in Highbury, say what I could ; and I owe it 
 to Godfrey that we have come to Putney. When 
 Tom went out to Alexandria, my brother simply 
 took our present house and had it furnished in 
 Mr. Marsden's name, and so when he came home 
 from Alexandria we were established in The 
 Cottage." 
 
 " John is the best of husbands, but I dare not 
 have changed our house in his absence," and 
 Mrs. Leslie began to get new views on the situa- 
 tion. "Was not Mr. Marsden rather startled?"
 
 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 99 
 
 " He was inclined to be angry with Godfrey, 
 but I sent the boy off to Scarborough for a 
 month ; and he is never hasty to me, only tire- 
 some — you can't imagine how tiresome." 
 
 "Is it the statistics?" 
 
 " Worse than that. He has begun the Refor- 
 mation now, and insists on reading from some 
 stuffy old book every evening, Dumas' History, 
 I think, till I wish there never had been such a 
 thing, and we were all Roman Catholics," 
 
 "Very likely he would have read about the 
 Popes, then, or the saints. My dear girl, you 
 don't wish to have your mind improved. You 
 ought to be proud of your husband ; most men 
 sleep after dinner with an evening paper in their 
 hands, and are quite cross if they're wakened. 
 But there they come, and we must have Godfrey's 
 last song."
 
 loo AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 
 
 III 
 
 " Nurse will rise at four and bring you a nice 
 cup of tea. Are you sure you will not weary, 
 being alone for two hours ? " and Mrs, Marsden, 
 in charming outdoor dress, blew eau-de-Cologne 
 about the room. " Don't you love scent ? " 
 
 " Where are you going ? " asked Marsden, 
 following her with fond eyes. " You told me 
 yesterday, but I forget ; this illness has made me 
 stupider than ever, I think. Wasn't it some 
 charity ? " 
 
 " It's the new society every one is so interested 
 in, ' The Working Wives' Culture Union.' What 
 is wanted is happy homes for the working men," 
 quoting freely from an eloquent woman orator, 
 " and the women must be elevated ; so the 
 East End is to be divided into districts, and 
 two young women will be allotted to each. Are 
 you listening ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear ; but it rests me to lie with my
 
 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN loi 
 
 eyes closed. Tell me all about your society. 
 What are the young ladies to do ? " 
 
 "Oh, they're to visit the wives in the after- 
 noon and read books to them : solid books, you 
 know, about wages and ... all kinds of 
 things working men like. Then in the evening 
 the wives will be able to talk with their husbands 
 on equal terms, and the men will not want to 
 go to the public-houses. Isn't it a capital 
 idea ? " 
 
 A sad little smile touched Marsden's lips for 
 an instant. "And where do you meet to-day? 
 It's a long way for you to go to Whitechapel." 
 
 " Didn't I tell you ? The Marchioness of 
 Gloucester is giving a Drawing Room at her town 
 house, and Lady Helen wrote an urgent note, 
 insisting that I should come, even though it 
 were only for an hour, as her mother depended 
 on my advice so much. 
 
 " Of course I know that's just a way of putting 
 it ; but I have taken lots of trouble about found- 
 ing the Union, so I think it would hardly do 
 for me to be absent. You're feeling much better, 
 too, to-day, aren't you, Thomas ? " 
 
 4
 
 I02 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 
 
 " Yes, much better ; the pain has almost 
 ceased ; perhaps it will be quite gone when you 
 return. Can you spare just ten minutes to sit 
 beside me ? There is something I have been 
 wanting to say, and perhaps this is my only 
 chance. When I am well again I may . . . 
 be afraid." 
 
 Mrs. Marsden sat down wondering, and her 
 husband waited a minute. 
 
 " One understands many things that puzzled 
 him before, when he lies in quietness for weeks 
 and takes an after look. I suspected it at times 
 before, but I was a coward and put the thought 
 away. It seemed curious that no one came to 
 spend an hour with me, as men do with friends ; 
 and I noticed that they appeared to avoid me. 
 I thought it was fancy, and that I had grown 
 self-conscious. 
 
 " Everything is quite plain now, and I . . . 
 am not hurt, dear, and I don't blame any person ; 
 that would be very wrong. People might have 
 been far more impatient with me, and might 
 have made my life miserable. 
 
 " God gave me a dull mind and a slow tongue ;
 
 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 103 
 
 it took me a long time to grasp anything, and 
 no one cared about the subjects that interested 
 me. Beatrice ... I wish now you had 
 told me how I bored our friends ; it would have 
 been a kindness ; but never mind that now ; you 
 did not like to give me pain. 
 
 " What troubles me most is that all these years 
 you should have been tied to a very tiresome 
 fellow," and Marsden made some poor attempt 
 at a smile. " Had I thought of what was before 
 you, I would never have asked you to marry 
 me. 
 
 " Don't cry, dear ; I did not wish to hurt you. 
 I wanted to ask your pardon for . . . all 
 that martyrdom, and ... to thank you for 
 . . . being my wife ; and there's something 
 else. 
 
 " You see when I get well and am not lying 
 in bed here, maybe I could not tell you, so let 
 me explain everything now, and then we need 
 not speak about such things again. 
 
 " Perhaps you thought me too economical, 
 but I was saving for a purpose. Your portion 
 has not brought quite so much as it did, and I
 
 I04 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 
 
 wished to make it up to you, and now you can 
 have your six hundred a year as before ; if this 
 illness had gone against me, you would have 
 been quite comfortable — in money, I mean, 
 dear. 
 
 " No, I insist on your going to Lady Glou- 
 cester's ; the change will do you good, and I'll 
 lie here digesting the Reformation, you know," 
 and he smiled, better this time, quite creditably, 
 in fact. "Will you give me a kiss, just to keep 
 till we meet again ? " 
 
 When the nurse came down at four to take 
 charge, she was horrified to find her patient 
 alone, and in the death agony, but conscious 
 and able to speak. 
 
 *' Don't ring . . . nor send for my wife 
 . . . I sent . . . her away knowing the 
 end was near . . . made her go, in fact 
 . . . against her will." 
 
 The nurse gave him brandy, and he became 
 stronger for a minute. 
 
 " She has had a great deal to bear with me, 
 and I . . . did not wish her to see death. 
 My manner has been always so wearisome . . .
 
 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 105 
 
 I hoped that . . . nobody would be here. 
 You are very kind, nurse ; no more, if you please. 
 
 " Would it trouble you ... to hold my 
 hand, nurse ? It's a little lonely ... I am 
 not afraid ... a wayfaring man 
 though a fool . . . not err therein ..." 
 
 He was not nearly so tedious with his dying 
 as he had been with his living ; very shortly 
 afterwards Thomas Marsden had done with 
 statistics for ever.
 
 io6 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 
 
 IV 
 
 Three days later Leslie came home from the 
 city with tidings on his face, and he told them 
 to his wife when they were alone that night. 
 
 " Marsden's lawyer made an appointment after 
 the funeral, and I had an hour with him. He 
 has asked me to be a trustee with himself in 
 Mrs. Marsden's settlement." 
 
 " I'm so glad ; you must accept, for it will be 
 such a comfort to poor Beatrice ; but I thought 
 Godfrey was her sole trustee." 
 
 " So he was," said Leslie grimly, " more's the 
 pity, and he embezzled every penny of the funds 
 — gambled them away in card-playing and . . . 
 other ways." 
 
 " Godfrey Harrison, Beatrice's brother ? " 
 
 "Yes, her much-admired, accomplished, ill- 
 used brother, tlie victim of her husband's stingi- 
 ness."
 
 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 107 
 
 "If that be true, then Godfrey is simply a 
 J) 
 
 " You mean an unmitigated scoundrel. Quite 
 so, Florence, and a number of other words we 
 won't go over. I tell you," and Leslie sprang to 
 his feet, " there is some use in swearing ; if it 
 had not been for one or two expressions that 
 came to my memory suddenly to-day, I should 
 have been ill. Curious to say, the lawyer seemed 
 to enjoy them as much as myself, so it must be 
 a bad case." 
 
 "But I don't understand — if Godfrey spent 
 Trixy's money, how is there anything to manage ? 
 Did he pay it back ? " 
 
 " No, he did not, and could not ; he has not 
 enough brains to earn eighteenpence except by 
 cheating, and if by any chance he came into a 
 fortune, would grudge his sister a pound." 
 
 '' Then . . . ? " 
 
 " Don't you begin to catch a glimpse of the 
 facts? Why, Marsden toiled and scraped, and 
 in the end, so the doctors say, killed himself to 
 replace the money, and he had just succeeded 
 before his death."
 
 io8 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 
 
 " How good of him ! but I don't see the 
 necessity of all this secrecy on his part, and all 
 those stories about low interest that he told 
 Trixy." 
 
 " There was no necessity ; if it had been some 
 of us, we would have let Mrs. Marsden know 
 what kind of brother she had, and ordered him 
 out of the country on threat of jail. 
 
 " It was Marsden's foolishness, let us call it, 
 to spare his wife the disgrace of her idol and the 
 loss of his company. So her husband was de- 
 spised beside this precious rascal every day." 
 
 "Trixy will get a terrible shock when she is 
 told ; it would almost have been kinder to let 
 her know the truth before he died." 
 
 " Mrs. Marsden is never to know," said Leslie ; 
 " that was his wish ; she's just to be informed 
 that new trustees have been appointed, and we 
 are to take care that she does not waste her 
 income on the fellow. 
 
 " People will send letters of condolence to Mrs. 
 Marsden, but they will say at afternoon teas 
 that it must be a great relief to her, and that 
 it's quite beautiful to see her sorrow. In two
 
 AN IMPOSSIBLE MAN 109 
 
 years she will marry some well-dressed fool, and 
 they will live on Marsden's money," and Leslie's 
 voice had an unusual bitterness. 
 
 " Did you ever hear of another case like this, 
 John ? " 
 
 " Never ; when old Parchment described Mars- 
 den giving him the instructions, he stopped sud- 
 denly. 
 
 " ' Marsden,' he said, ' was the biggest fool I 
 ever came across in the course of forty-two 
 years' practice,' and he went over to the win- 
 dow." 
 
 " And you ? " 
 
 " I went to the fireplace ; we were both so 
 disgusted with the man that we couldn't speak 
 for five minutes." 
 
 After a short while Mrs. Leslie said, "It 
 appears to me that this slow, uninteresting man, 
 whom every one counted a bore, was in his 
 own way . . . almost a hero." 
 
 " Or altogether," replied John Leslie.
 
 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH
 
 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 
 
 I 
 
 " How do you do, Crashaw ? didn't know you 
 condescended to conversaziones at the Town 
 Hall, at least when there is no dancing. Their 
 Worships will be satisfied this evening, for the 
 whole world and his wife seem to be here, and 
 some people that have never been in the world 
 before, one would judge." 
 
 "There is just one person I wish particularly 
 to see, and I can't find her ; that is Arkwright's 
 young wife. I passed the old man himself a 
 minute ago, conversing with Peterson, and lec- 
 turing on the effect of the American tariff on 
 wool. Has he left her at home. Jack, to keep 
 her out of harm and to tantalise the public ? " 
 
 "Not he. Jacob is quite proud of her, to do 
 him justice, and worships the ground on which 
 
 A. "3 8
 
 114 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 
 
 she treads, although I doubt whether she knows 
 that or cares. Mrs. Arkwright is very beautiful in 
 my humble judgment, but there is a wide gulf 
 between twenty-one and seventy. Besides, she has 
 a temper, and no sympathy with his religious 
 notions. When December weds May, it's bound 
 to be either a comedy or a tragedy, and this is 
 half and between." 
 
 " When you have quite finished your interesting 
 moral reflections, Jack, and can attend to prac- 
 tical detail, could you do me the pleasure of 
 pointing Mrs. Arkwright out to me, and, as 
 you seem to have seen a good deal of her, intro- 
 ducing your unworthy servant ? I'll be able then 
 to judge for myself. We are obliged to Ark- 
 wright for creating a piquant situation." 
 
 " Come to the next room, where the band is 
 playing ; Mrs. Arkwright was there ten minutes 
 ago. But I don't know whether I can intrude on 
 her at the present moment, even although pro- 
 vided with so good-looking and well-dressed an 
 excuse. Yes ; there, Crashaw, in the alcove, talk- 
 ing to a parson, that is Jacob's wife. Was I 
 right ? "
 
 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 115 
 
 "Your taste, Jack, is perfect; but, indeed, a 
 man who admires Mrs. Arkwright deserves no 
 credit; it is inevitable. There is prettiness, and 
 there is sweetness, and there is taking-ness, 
 and they are very well, but this is on another 
 level." 
 
 " I thought you would be astonished, and am 
 pleased to notice that even so blas^ a critic of 
 womankind can grow enthusiastic on occasion. 
 Isn't that a proud head ? " 
 
 "Why, Jack, that woman ought to have been 
 a duchess, and a leader of society in town, instead 
 of Mrs. Jacob Arkwright, wife of a self-made 
 wool-spinner and a deacon. Her face is the 
 most complete piece of Grecian beauty I ever 
 saw — nose, eyes, chin, mouth, perfect ; forehead 
 perhaps the slightest bit high — a Greek would 
 have worn a ribbon — and that glorious hair, 
 brown shot with gold." 
 
 "She is certainly looking splendid to-night. 
 Do you notice how she has put the other women 
 to confusion ? " 
 
 " Simply a goddess among a lot of peasants. 
 I say, Jack, how in the world did that girl, with
 
 ii6 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 
 
 such a face and such an air, ever marry Ark- 
 wright ? Where was she hidden away ? Had 
 she no opportunity ? Talk about waste, this is an 
 absolute sin. Do you know her history ? " 
 
 " Lived with her mother, and got her living by 
 teaching. Arkwright, who has all his life been 
 busy with wool and religious affairs, saw her in 
 chapel, and remembered he was human. Fell in 
 love with her on first sight, having lived scathe- 
 less unto threescore years and ten, and got a 
 fellow-deacon to negotiate the affair ; at least, so 
 it is reported." 
 
 " Most likely, I should say ; but, Jack, what an 
 abandoned criminal that mother of hers must 
 have been, and what did she herself do this thing 
 for ? She has a will of her own, or else I do not 
 know a woman's face." 
 
 " Oh, the old story. Her mother was proud 
 and poor, and considered Arkwright an excellent 
 suitor. Mrs. Arkwright is not much troubled 
 about religion, and I fancy has a very different 
 idea of things from her husband, but she had the 
 chance of a handsome provision for herself and 
 her mother, and she seized it. There could be
 
 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 117 
 
 no romance ; but can you blame the old lady, 
 Crashaw, urging such a marriage, or the daughter 
 escaping from the dreary governess life ? " 
 
 " No, I suppose not. The girl took the veil, 
 and obtained a settlement at the same time, after 
 a sound Protestant fashion ; but it does seem a 
 crime against nature to sacrifice a beautiful young 
 woman to a hard, bloodless old Puritan like Ark- 
 wright, who is, I grant you, very able in wool, 
 and perfectly straight in character, but who is 
 perfectly uncultured and hopelessly bigoted. 
 What a life of dreariness she must lead in the 
 Arkvvright circle ! " 
 
 " Well, of course she can't attend concerts, nor 
 dance, nor hunt, nor go into society, but she has 
 a good home, and a carriage, and as much money 
 as she can spend. I don't suppose that she cares 
 for Jacob, but she does her duty as a wife, and 
 does not seem unhappy." 
 
 " Certainly Mrs. Arkwright is not unhappy this 
 evening with her present companion. I will 
 hazard the guess. Jack, without any reflection on 
 her wifely character, that she never looked at her 
 worthy, but not very attractive, husband with the
 
 ii8 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 
 
 same interest which she is bestowing on that 
 handsome parson. Who is he, Jack?" 
 
 " Egerton's his name, and he's Arkwright's 
 minister — a CongregationaHst, or Baptist ; I can 
 never remember the difference. He is a very able 
 fellow, they say, and a rattling good preacher, 
 quite broad and liberal in his views, but a perfect 
 ascetic in his life. He must be very much in 
 Mrs. Arkwright's company, and he's certainly the 
 decentest man she knows." 
 
 " Arkwright is about seventy, and is not so 
 strong as he looks. Jack ; his wife will have 
 time to console herself, and her second husband 
 will be a very lucky man, for he will have a 
 fortune and her heart."
 
 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 119 
 
 II 
 
 " You have come quickly, Mr. Egerton, and 
 that was well done," said Jacob Arkwright, look- 
 ing very white and worn, propped up with pillows. 
 " I have much to say, and I'll take a sup o' 
 brandy ; them that never touches drink when 
 they're well get the good when they're ill. 
 
 " That gives me the strength I need for the 
 time, and ma work is nearly done. Don't go 
 away, Laura ; I want you to hear what I say to 
 the pastor. 
 
 " The doctor says 'at ma days are few, mayhap 
 only to-morrow, and it's best to speak when a 
 man's head is clear, and I thank God mine is 
 that, though my body be weakened by this sick- 
 ness." 
 
 His wife stood on one side of the bed, now 
 and then rearranging the pillows at his back and 
 bathing his forehead with vinegar — for scent he 
 would not have — and Egerton stood on the other,
 
 I20 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 
 
 refusing to sit down while she stood, and watch- 
 ing her strong white hands at their service, but 
 only once did he look her straight in the face. 
 
 " You're young. Pastor — thirty, did ye say ? — 
 and I'm owd, seventy-two this month, and I 
 havena known you long, but there's no mon I've 
 liked better or could trust more." And he looked 
 steadily at Egerton with a certain softening of 
 expression. 
 
 "You've been very kind to me and to the 
 chapel, Mr. Arkwright, and I hope it may be 
 God's will to spare you and raise you up again," 
 and although the words were formal, the accent 
 was tender and moving. 
 
 " No, no, lad ; our times are in His hand, and 
 I have received the summons, and so we 'ill go 
 to business. And first about ma affairs. I wish 
 ye to understand eveything, that ye may be able 
 to do your duty by ma widow." 
 
 Egerton was conscious that Mrs. Arkwright 
 straightened herself, and could feel the silence in 
 the room ; but the dying man was not one to 
 appreciate an atmosphere. 
 
 " It may be that I was too owd for marrying.
 
 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 121 
 
 and ma ways too old-fashioned. Ma house has 
 no been very bright for a young wife, and ma 
 conscience did not allow me liberty in worldly 
 amusements. But according to my nature I can 
 say before God that I loved ye, Laura, and have 
 tried to do ma part by ye." 
 
 "You m.arried me a poor girl, and have been 
 most . . . kind to me, Jacob. Why speak of 
 such things ? " and her voice was proud and 
 pained. 
 
 " You have been a faithful wife to me," he 
 went on, as one fulfilling a plan, "and have put 
 up with my . . . peculiarities — for I know you 
 do not think wi' me in things, and do not like 
 some of the men 'at came to the house. Oh, I 
 said nowt, but I saw aal." 
 
 Mrs. Arkwright laid her hand on her husband's, 
 and it occurred to Egerton from a slight flush on 
 his face that she had never done this before. 
 
 " Ma will has been made for a year " — it was 
 plain that Mr. Arkwright was to go on to the 
 end, and Egerton could not have lifted his eyes 
 for a ransom — " and I have left aal to my wife 
 without any condition, with just one legacy. It
 
 122 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 
 
 is to you, Egerton, and I hope you 'ill not refuse 
 it — just something to remind you of me, and 
 . . . get you books." 
 
 " It was very . . . good of you, sir, and I 
 am most . . . grateful, but I . . . really can't 
 accept your kindness. It is not likely that I will 
 ever marry, and I've got enough for myself" 
 
 As he spoke, Mrs. Arkwright shook up the 
 pillows hastily, and went to a side table for a 
 glass. 
 
 "Well, if you will not, then there's an end of 
 it ; but you will grant me another favour which 
 may be harder," and for a minute Arkwright 
 seemed to hesitate. 
 
 "Ma wife will be left young and rich, and 
 although I have never said it to you, ma lass, 
 she is . . . beautiful." 
 
 "Jacob, this is not seemly." Her voice was 
 vibrant with passion. 
 
 "Blame me not for saying this once, and if 
 another be present, he is our friend, and I am 
 coming to my point ; the brandy again, and I'll 
 soon be done. 
 
 "You have no brother, and I have no person
 
 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 123 
 
 of my blood to guide you, ma lass ; ye might 
 be persecuted by men 'at would bring you nowt 
 but trouble and vexation of heart. You need an 
 honest man to be your guardian and give you 
 advice. 
 
 "Ye may never want to marry again, for I 
 doubt ye have had little joy these years, or again 
 )'e may, to taste some joy, and I would count it 
 unjust to hinder you — peace, lass, till I be done ; 
 I was ever rough and plain — and some one 
 must see that your husband be a right mon. 
 
 " So I turned it over in ma mind, and I sought 
 for a friend 'at was sound o' heart and faithful. 
 This speaking is hard on me, but it 'ill soon be 
 done." And as Mrs, Arkwright stooped to give 
 him brandy once more, Egerton saw that her 
 cheeks were burning. 
 
 " An older mon might have been better, but 
 ye're old for your years. Pastor, and have parted 
 wi' the foolishness o' youth. You have some 
 notions I don't hold with, for I'm the owd sort — 
 believe and be saved, believe not and be damned 
 — but ye're no a mon to say yea and do nay. 
 Naa, naa, I have seen more than I said ; and
 
 124 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 
 
 though some 'at came to the house had the true 
 doctrine, they were shoddy stuff. 
 
 " George Egerton, as I have done good to you 
 and not ill these years, will ye count Laura Ark- 
 wright as your sister, and do to her a brother's 
 part, as ye will answer to God at the laast day ? ' 
 
 The wind lifted the blind and rustled in the 
 curtains ; the dying man breathed heavily, and 
 waited for an answer. Egerton looked across the 
 bed, but Mrs. Arkwright had withdrawn behind 
 the curtain. Arkwright's eyes met the minister's 
 with an earnest, searching glance. 
 
 " I will be as a brother to your wife while I 
 live." 
 
 As he spoke, Arkwright grasped his hand and 
 gave a sigh of content ; but when Egerton left 
 the room, Laura refused to touch his hand, and 
 her face was blazing with anger.
 
 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 125 
 
 III 
 
 " You have been very generous to the chapel, 
 and we thank you very much for keeping up all 
 Mr. Arkwright's subscriptions those three years. 
 The work of God would have been much crippled 
 had it not been for your liberality." 
 
 "Do you know, Mr. Egerton, that when you 
 talk in that grave, approving fashion, as if I were 
 one of your devout women like poor Mrs, Tootle, 
 who is really a good creature, although her hus- 
 band is a sanctimonious idiot, I feel a perfect 
 hypocrite." 
 
 " Why do you always depreciate yourself . . ." 
 
 " Do not interrupt me, for I am determined to 
 settle this matter once for all, and not walk about 
 in a vain show, as if I were a saint. You think 
 me good, and so do the chapel people, I suppose, 
 because I give to foreign missions and Bible- 
 women, and go to the prayer-meeting, and attend
 
 126 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 
 
 the special meetings. Do you know why I do 
 those things ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think so," said the minister ; " but I 
 will hear your reason." 
 
 " Because Mr. Arkwright believed in missions 
 and evangelists, and he was ... a better hus- 
 band to me than I was wife to him, and because 
 it would be dishonourable not to use his money 
 for the objects he approved." 
 
 " And the services ? Is that the reason you are 
 always present, and set such a good example ? " 
 And it was plain the minister did not take Mrs. 
 Arkwright at her value of herself. 
 
 "Oh, this is because . . . because . . ." 
 
 "Yes?" And Mr. Egerton smiled as one who 
 is giving checkmate. 
 
 "Because you were Jacob's friend, and the only 
 man he . . . loved, and because, although we 
 have quarrelled several times, and I have been 
 very rude to you once or twice, still" — and a 
 smile brought Mrs. Arkwright's face to perfection 
 — "we are friends also." 
 
 " You have been . . . angry with me," said 
 Egerton, "when I could not understand the
 
 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 127 
 
 reason, but I never doubted your friendship. If 
 I were in serious trouble, I would come to you 
 rather than to any man." 
 
 " Would you really ? " Then her tone changed. 
 " I don't believe you, for you would go to some 
 snuffy, maundering old minister." 
 
 " And you are good," he insisted, taking no 
 notice of her petulance. "You are honest, and 
 brave, and high-minded, and loyal, and . . ." 
 
 "Pious, with a gift of prayer, you had better 
 add. How blind you are, for all your knowledge 
 and . . . other qualities. You forgot to add 
 sweet-tempered ; but perhaps you were coming 
 to that." 
 
 " No, I would not say that, and I am rather 
 glad you are not gentle," — the minister was very 
 bold, — "for you would not be . , . your- 
 self." 
 
 " You had your suspicions, then, and are not 
 sure that I am ready for canonising? Do you 
 know I feel immensely relieved ; suppose we 
 celebrate this confession by tea ? Would you 
 ring the bell, Mr. Egerton ? " 
 
 " There is something I want to talk about, and
 
 128 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 
 
 as it's rather important, would you mind, Mrs. 
 Arkwright, giving me a few minutes first? Tea 
 is rather distracting." 
 
 " Composing, I find it — but as you please ; is 
 it the District Visitors, or the Nurses' Home, or 
 the Children's Holiday, and is it money ? " Mrs. 
 Arkwright for some reason was very gracious. 
 
 " No, it has nothing to do with the chapel. I 
 wish to speak about . . . yourself." 
 
 " Yes ? " and she looked curiously at him. 
 
 " You remember that day when Mr. Arkwright 
 committed you to my care, and I gave my word 
 to . . ." 
 
 " Do your best to look after a very troublesome 
 woman," Mrs. Arkwright interposed hurriedly ; 
 " it was a . . . risky task, and I thought you 
 were far too hasty, and just a little presumptuous, 
 in undertaking it, but you've been a very lenient 
 guardian for your age. Have I done anything 
 wrong ? " 
 
 " No, and you could not at any time in my 
 eyes," — Mrs. Arkwright made as though she would 
 curtsey, — " but others might do wrong to you, 
 and I have been anxious for some time.
 
 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 129 
 
 " Mr. Arkwright was afraid lest some unworthy 
 man should admire you or desire your wealth, 
 and . . . marry you, and your life be miser- 
 able. And he wished me to save you from this, 
 and I promised to do my best." 
 
 "Well?" and her voice had begun to freeze. 
 " I remember all that." 
 
 " It is difficult to speak about such things, but 
 you know that I . . . would do anything to 
 save you pain. . . ." 
 
 " Go on," and now her eyes were fixed on the 
 minister. 
 
 " It came to my ears and I saw for myself that 
 one whom I knew slightly and did not like was 
 paying you attentions, and it might be, as I also 
 heard, was favoured by you. So it seemed my 
 duty to make enquiries about Mr. Crashaw." 
 
 "And?" 
 
 " There is nothing against his character, and I 
 have heard much good of him — that he has cul- 
 tured tastes and is very well liked by those who 
 know him ; personally we could never be friends, 
 for various reasons, but he . . . is not un- 
 worthy to be the husband of ... a good 
 
 A. 9
 
 I30 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 
 
 woman. That is all I have to say"; and the saying 
 of it was plainly very hard to the minister. 
 
 "You recommend me to marry Mr. Crashaw, 
 if that gentleman should do me the honour to 
 ask my hand, or do you propose to suggest this 
 step to him, so as to complete your duty as guard- 
 ian ? " Mrs. Arkwright was now standing and 
 regarding Egerton with fierce scorn. 
 
 " My information seemed to me reliable " — he 
 was also standing, white and pained — " and I 
 thought it would help you in that case to know 
 what I have told you, when you came to de- 
 cide." 
 
 " If I knew who told you such falsehoods, I 
 would never speak to them again, and I would 
 make them suffer for their words. Mr. Crashaw ! 
 and it was to that cynical, worldly, supercilious 
 tailor's block you were to marry me. What ill 
 have I done you ? " 
 
 " God knows I did not desire. ... I mean 
 . . . do you not see that I tried to do what 
 was right at a cost ? . . . Why be so angry 
 with me ? " 
 
 " Because I do not really care what any person
 
 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 131 
 
 in this town or all Yorkshire says about me, but 
 I do care and cannot endure that you should turn 
 against me, and be content to see me Crashaw's 
 wife or any other man's." And she drove the 
 minister across the room in her wrath — he had 
 never seen her so beautiful — till he stood with his 
 back to the door, and she before him as a lioness 
 robbed of her cubs. 
 
 " It has been my mistake, for I understand not 
 women," he said, with proud humility. " I beg 
 your pardon, and am more than ever . . , 
 your servant." 
 
 She looked at him stormily for ten seconds ; 
 then she turned away. "If that is all you have 
 to say, you need not come again to this house."
 
 132 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 
 
 IV 
 
 " You will excuse me sending a verbal message 
 by the doctor, for, as you see, I am past writing, 
 and . . . the time is short. I wanted to 
 speak with you, Mrs. Arkwright, once before . . . 
 I died." And Egerton thought of the day she 
 had stood by her husband's deathbed as now she 
 stood by his, only that the nurse had left the 
 room and there was no third person to be an 
 embarrassment. 
 
 " Do not suppose I forget your words to me 
 the last time we met in private," he continued, 
 as she did not speak nor look at him, beyond one 
 swift glance as she came into the room ; " and 
 believe me, I would not have forced myself on 
 you, nor would I have asked this favour, had it 
 not been that ... I have something of which 
 I must deliver my soul." 
 
 " You are not dying ; you were a strong man, 
 and a few days' illness couldn't ... be fatal,"
 
 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 133 
 
 she burst out, and it seemed as if Mrs. Arkwright 
 for once was going to lose control and fall a- 
 vveeping. Then she mastered herself, and said 
 almost coldly, " Had I known you were so ill, I 
 would have called to inquire ; but nothing was 
 said of pneumonia, only a bad cold." 
 
 "You forgive me, then, that ill-judged inter- 
 ference, Mrs. Arkwright, and anything else in 
 which I have offended you or failed in . . . 
 my brother's part ? " 
 
 " Do not speak like that to me unless you wish 
 to take revenge ; it is I who ask your pardon for 
 my evil temper and insolence that day, and other 
 times ; but you are too . . . good, else you 
 would have understood." 
 
 " You did not, then, hate me, as I supposed ? " 
 and his voice was strained with eagerness. 
 
 " When you were prepared to approve my en- 
 gagement to Mr. Crashaw? Yes, I did, and I 
 could have struck you as you bore witness to his 
 character — whom you detested. Conscientious and 
 unselfish ... on your part, very. And yet 
 at the same time I . . . did not hate you ; 
 I could have . . . you are a dull man, Mr.
 
 134 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 
 
 Egerton, and I am not a saint. Is it milk you 
 drink ? " And when she raised his head, her 
 hands lingered as they had not done before on 
 her husband's. 
 
 " Are you really dying ? " She sat down and 
 looked at him, her head between her hands. 
 " You and I are, at least, able to face the situa- 
 tion." 
 
 " Yes, without doubt ; but I am not a martyr 
 to overwork, or anything else ; my death is not 
 a sentimental tragedy ; do not let any one speak 
 of me in that fashion : I simply caught a cold 
 and did not take care ; it's quite commonplace." 
 When he smiled his face was at its best, the dark 
 blue eyes having a roguish look as of a boy. 
 
 Mrs. Arkwright leant back on her chair and bit 
 her lower lip. 
 
 " This is good-bye, then, and our friendship — 
 six years long, isn't it ? — is over. Had I known 
 it was to be so short — well, we had not quar- 
 relled." 
 
 " Not over," and he looked wistfully at her ; 
 "this life does not end all." 
 
 " Ah, you have the old romantic faith, and one
 
 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 135 
 
 would like to share it, but no one knows ; this 
 life is the only certainty." 
 
 " In a few hours," he went on, " I shall know, 
 and I expect to see my friend Jacob Arkwright, 
 whom I loved, although we only knew one another 
 for three years, and he . . . will ask for you." 
 
 Mrs, Arkwright regarded Egerton with amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 " He will ask how I kept my trust, and I . . . 
 will be ashamed, unless you hear my confession 
 and forgive me. For I . . . have sinned 
 against you and your husband." 
 
 *' In what ? " she asked, with a hard voice. 
 
 " God knows that I had no thought of you he 
 might not have read while he was here. And 
 afterwards for a year I was in heart your brother ; 
 and then — oh, how can I say it and look you in 
 the face, who thought me a good and faithful 
 minister of Christ ? " and his eyes were large with 
 pain and sorrow. 
 
 " Say it," she whispered, " say it plain ; you 
 must," and she stretched out her hand in com- 
 mandment. 
 
 " I loved you as ... a man loves a woman
 
 136 RIGHTEOUS OVER MUCH 
 
 whom he would make his wife, till it came to 
 pass that I made excuses to visit you, till I 
 watched you on the street, till I longed for the 
 touch of your hand, till I . . . oh, the sin 
 and shame — thought of you in the service and 
 . . . at my prayers ; yet I had been left your 
 guardian and had promised to be as a brother to 
 you ; besides, nor was this the least of my shame, 
 you were rich." 
 
 "And no;v?" She hid risen to her feet. 
 
 " I have finally overcome, but only within these 
 few months, and my heart is at last single. You 
 are to me again my friend's wife, and I shall meet 
 him ... in peace, if you forgive me." 
 
 For a few seconds nothing was heard but his 
 rapid breathing, and then she spoke with low, 
 passionate voice. 
 
 " Your love needs no forgiveness ; your silence 
 . . . I can never forgive." 
 
 He lived for two hours, and he spoke twice. 
 Once he thanked his nurse for her attentions, and 
 just before he passed away she caught the words, 
 " through much tribulation . , . enter the 
 Kingdom . . . God."
 
 A PROBATIONER
 
 A PROBATIONER 
 
 One winter I forsook the cottage at Drum- 
 tochty, in spite of the pure white snow and the 
 snell, bracing wind from Ben Urtach, and took 
 rooms in Edinburgh. It was a poor exchange, 
 for the talk of professors and advocates, although 
 good enough in its way, was not to be compared 
 with the wisdom of James Soutar ; but there were 
 more books in Edinburgh than in the Glen, and 
 it was there that I met my probationer. From 
 time to time we passed upon the stair, when he 
 would shrink into a landing and apologise for his 
 obstruction, and if in sheer forgetfulness I said 
 " Fine day," with the rain beating on the win- 
 dows, he nervously agreed. With his suspicion 
 of clerical attire, and his deferential manner, he 
 suggested some helot of the ecclesiastical world, 
 
 J39
 
 I40 A PROBATIONER 
 
 whose chiefs live in purple and fine linen, and 
 whose subordinates share with tramway men and 
 sempstresses the honour of working harder and 
 receiving less pay than any other body in the 
 commonwealth. By his step I had identified him 
 as the tenant of a single room above my sitting- 
 room, and one wondered how any man could 
 move so little and so gently. If he shifted a 
 chair, it was by stealth, and if in poking his fire 
 a coal dropped on the hearth, he abandoned the 
 audacious attempt. 
 
 One grew so accustomed to these mouse-like 
 movements that it came as a shock when my 
 neighbour burst into activity. It was on a Friday 
 afternoon that he seemed to be rearranging his 
 furniture so as to leave a clear passage from end 
 to end of the room, and then, after he had 
 adjusted the chairs and table to his satisfaction, 
 he began a wonderful exercise. Sometimes he 
 would pace swiftly backwards and forwards with 
 a murmuring sound as one repeating passages by 
 rote, with occasional sudden pauses, when he re- 
 freshed his memory from some quarter. Some- 
 times he stood before the table and spoke aloud,
 
 A PROBATIONER 141 
 
 rising to a pitch, when one could catch a word 
 or two, and then he would strike a book, quite 
 fiercely for him, and once or twice he stamped 
 his foot almost as hard as a child could. After 
 this outbreak he would rest a while, and then 
 begin again on the lower key, and one knew when 
 he reached the height by the refrain, " Abana and 
 Pharpar, rivers of Damascus." It was an amazing 
 development, and stimulated thought. 
 
 " No," explained our excellent landlady, " he's 
 no daft, though ye micht think sae. He's a min- 
 ister without a kirk, an' he's juist learnin' his ser- 
 mon ; but, Losh keep us, he's by ordinar' the day. 
 " He's my cousin's son, ye see " — and Mrs. 
 Macfarlane settled to historical detail — " an' his 
 mother's a weedow. She focht to get him through 
 St. Andrew's, an' hoo she managed passes me. 
 Noo he's what is called a probationer, an', eh, but 
 he earns his livin' hard. 
 
 " His business," continued Mrs, Macfarlane, " is 
 to tak' the pulpit when a minister is awa' at a 
 Sacrament or on his holiday, and ae Sabbath he 
 micht be at Peterhead and the next at Wigtown. 
 He gets his orders on Friday, an' he sets aff wi'
 
 142 A PROBATIONER 
 
 his bit bag on Saturday, an' a weary body he is 
 on Monday nicht. An' it's Httle he maks for a' 
 he does, bare twenty shillin' a week clear ; but 
 naebody can stand this colie-shangie- (disturb- 
 ance)." For above the landlady's exposition rose 
 the probationer's voice : " Abana and Pharpar, 
 rivers of Damascus." 
 
 What she said to her cousin once removed I 
 know not, but it was not in vain, for in the even- 
 ing this was brought by the servant : — 
 
 "Dear Sir,— 
 
 "It affords me sincere regret to learn that 
 you have been disturbed in the midst of your 
 literary avocations by sounds and movements 
 emanating from my room. They are unfortu- 
 nately and unavoidably connected with a new 
 method of professional work which I have been 
 advised to adopt by experienced friends. It 
 would, however, be unrighteous that one man 
 should hinder another in his daily labour, and 
 I would be greatly obliged if you could indicate 
 any time of absence during which I might be 
 free to speak aloud and move with energy in my
 
 A PROBATIONER 143 
 
 chamber without offence. Apologising for my 
 unwitting annoyance, 
 "I am, 
 
 " Yours respectfully, 
 
 " Hiram Clunas." 
 
 It was written on poor paper and a single sheet, 
 but the handwriting was that of a scholar, a man 
 accustomed to form Hebrew and Greek charac- 
 ters, and the very flavour of pedantry was attrac- 
 tive, so that one wanted to know the writer, and 
 I seized the excuse of a personal answer. 
 
 He was quite unprepared for my coming, and 
 upset a Hebrew lexicon and four German books 
 on the Prophets before he could get a chair in 
 his single room below the slates ; nor had he any 
 small talk to offer, but he was ready enough to 
 speak about his own work, and seemed anxious 
 to explain his recent departure. It also occurred 
 to me that he wanted my judgment. 
 
 " My work, let me explain," he said, hesitatingly, 
 "is not pastoral or . . . devoted to a par- 
 ticular sphere, since my gifts have not yet . . . 
 commended themselves to a congregation after
 
 144 A PROBATIONER 
 
 such a fashion that they were inclined to . . . 
 in short, wished to have me as their minister. 
 Mine is a vagum ministerium. I am what is 
 called a probationer, that is, I have been duly 
 educated in profane and sacred learning for the 
 holy ministry, and have passed certain examina- 
 tions . . . without discredit." 
 
 " Of that I am sure," I interpolated with 
 sincerity, whereat the probationer ought to have 
 bowed and replied, " It is very good of you to 
 say so," but as it was he only blushed and looked 
 as if he had been caught boasting. 
 
 " And then ? " I suggested. 
 
 " It remains to discover whether I am . . . 
 fit for the practical work of my calling — if it be, 
 indeed, I am called at all . . ." And here 
 the little man came to a halt. 
 
 "You are examined again," I inquired, tenta- 
 tively, " or placed under a chief for a little ? " 
 
 " Well, no, although the latter would be an 
 excellent way — but it is not for me to criticise 
 the rules of my Church ; if any congregation has 
 lost its minister, then such as I, that is, persons 
 in a state of probation, are sent each Sabbath
 
 A PROBATIONER 145 
 
 to . . . preach, and then the people choose 
 the one who . . ." And again Mr. Clunas 
 came to a stand for want of fitting words. 
 
 " Who comes out first in the preaching 
 competition," I added, and in an instant was 
 sorry. 
 
 " It would ill become me to put the matter 
 . . . in such a form, and if I have done so 
 it has been an inadvertence, and indeed I did 
 not mean to complain, but rather to explain the 
 reason of . . . the noise." 
 
 " Please tell me whatever you please, but it 
 was not noise, for I heard some words. . . ." 
 
 " The rivers of Damascus ? I feared so, sir ; 
 that was the climax or point of repetition — but 
 I will relate the matter in order, with your per- 
 mission. 
 
 " It has been my habit, after I have duly 
 examined a passage in the original language and 
 the light of competent scholars, and verified its 
 lessons by my own reason and conscience — col- 
 lected the raw material, if I may so say — to com- 
 mit the same to writing according to my ability, 
 using language that can be understood of the 
 
 A. 10
 
 146 A PROBATIONER 
 
 people, and yet conforming as far as may be to 
 the Elizabethan standard." 
 
 In my opinion, I indicated, he had done well. 
 
 " I judged that I would have your approval so 
 far, but hereafter comes in a grave question of 
 expediency, on which I should like your mind 
 as a neutral person and one given to literary 
 pursuits. My habit is further to read to the 
 people what I have written in a clear voice, and 
 with such animation as is natural to me, in the 
 faith that whatsoever may have been given me 
 by the Spirit of Truth may be witnessed to the 
 hearers by the same Spirit." 
 
 This appeared to me a very reasonable method 
 and a just hope. 
 
 " Others, however, acting according to their 
 nature, commit their message to memory, and 
 deliver it to the people with many lively and 
 engaging gestures, which pleases the people and 
 wins their hearts." 
 
 "And so the groundlings prefer the wind- 
 bags," I interrupted, "and elect them to be their 
 minister." 
 
 " It is not so that I wished you to infer," and
 
 A PROBATIONER 147 
 
 the probationer's voice was full of reproof, " for 
 I trust my desire is not to obtain a church, but 
 the confirmation of my calling through the voice 
 of the people ; yet who knoweth his heart ? " 
 And the probationer was much distressed. 
 
 It was only my foolish thought, I hastened to 
 explain, and besought him to continue. 
 
 "A friend of . . . much shrewdness and, I 
 am sure, of good intention, has spoken to me at 
 length on my . . . want of favour with the 
 people, and has pointed out that the Word must 
 be placed before them after a winsome fashion." 
 
 " And so ? " 
 
 " He urged me to choose texts which could be 
 frequently repeated with effect, and so lodge their 
 idea in the mind of the people, and that I should 
 not use any manuscript, but should employ cer- 
 tain arts of oratory, such as beginning low and 
 raising the voice up to a climax where it would 
 be good to repeat the text with emphasis. 
 
 " As an example and . . . inducement he 
 dwelt upon the case of one probationer who had 
 taken for his text, ' And there shall be no more 
 sea,' whereon he composed a single sermon, to
 
 148 A PROBATIONER 
 
 which he devoted much pains. This he delivered 
 daily for some hours in his chamber, and at the 
 end of each paragraph said in a loud voice, ' And 
 there shall be no more sea.' He was elected to 
 three churches within a short space," concluded 
 Mr. Clunas. 
 
 " You have therefore thought it desirable to 
 amend your habit." 
 
 " Well, so far," and the probationer was much 
 embarrassed, " it was impossible for me to handle 
 what my adviser called ' repeaters,' such as that 
 I have mentioned, for my mind does not incline 
 to them ; but as I had been labouring the ten- 
 dency to prefer meretricious and sensational re- 
 ligion to that which is austere and pure from the 
 text, 'Are not Abana and Pharpar, rivers of 
 Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel ? ' 
 it seemed to me that I might for once . . . 
 make trial . . . that is, use the words Abana 
 and Pharpar as a symbol to ... fix the 
 truth, as it were. It is very laborious and . . . 
 not grateful to me. Do you think that . . 
 I am doing right ? " and my probationer fixed 
 me with an anxious eye.
 
 A PROBATIONER 149 
 
 "Quite so, sir, I understand perfectly," as I 
 was making a blundering effort to suggest that 
 Providence hardly intended that my probationer 
 should go round the country like a showman 
 with "repeaters." "You have confirmed my own 
 idea and . . . delivered my feet from falling, 
 for I had come nearly to unreality in a holy 
 thing, besides ridding me from an irksome task," 
 and he regarded the sheets — the " rivers " stand- 
 ing out in half text — with strong dislike. 
 
 " There is another matter," he continued, " on 
 which I would fain have your mind, since you 
 have shown so much sympathy. It is now, I 
 regret to say, the custom for a person in my 
 position, that is, on probation, to print a number 
 of certificates from influential persons and send 
 them to . . . the authorities in a vacant church. 
 This I have refused to do ; but there is a special 
 reason why I strongly desire to be settled . . 
 not quite unworthy, I hope," and a faint flush 
 came to the probationer's face. 
 
 " I understand " — for it was natural to suppose 
 that he was engaged, as many in his circum- 
 stances are, which grows into a pathetic tragedy
 
 15° 
 
 A PROBATIONER 
 
 as a girl waits for long years till her betrothed 
 is approved in his work and can offer her a 
 home — "and you have got your certificates." 
 
 " A few, and it may be that I could secure 
 more ; here is one which ... I value deeply 
 . count above gold. It's from Prof. Car- 
 phin ; you know what he has done, of course. 
 
 " Hebrew scholar " — the probationer rose from 
 his chair and paced the floor — ** that is inade- 
 quate, quite inadequate ; there are many Hebrew 
 scholars, thank God, but Prof Carphin has gone 
 deeper. Why, sir, he has made a race of scholars, 
 and changed the face of theological thought in 
 Scotland ; he is the modern Erasmus of our 
 land," and the probationer was very warm. 
 
 " This is what he has written of me, and it is 
 superfluous to say that from such a man this 
 testimony is the highest praise ; I ought hardly 
 to show such words, but you will not misjudge 
 me. 
 
 " I beg to certify that Mr. Hiram Clunas, Mas- 
 ter of Arts and Bachelor of Divinity, late Fellow 
 of this College, is in my judgment fully compe-
 
 A PROBATIONER 151 
 
 tent to expound the Hebrew Scriptures after an 
 accurate and spiritual fashion to any body of in- 
 telligent people. 
 
 "Zechariah Carphin, 
 
 " D.D., LL.D. 
 " Calvin College, Edinburgh." 
 
 " Pardon me, it is my foolishness, but you 
 notice ' fully ' ; this extremity of language is, I 
 need not say, undeserved, but that Dr. Carphin 
 should have written it is ... a compensation 
 for many little disappointments," and the proba- 
 tioner's voice trembled. 
 
 " No, it will not be of material service in the 
 way of gaining me a hearing, for it is a . . . 
 moral disgrace to my Church that the word of 
 this eminent man carries little weight with . . . 
 committees and such like, and that many people 
 in this University city do not know his face 
 when he walks along Princes Street. 
 
 " This is from another kind of man, who is 
 very . . . acceptable as a preacher, and has 
 much influence ... in vacancies ; it was an 
 indiscretion, I fear, to have asked him for . . .
 
 152 A PROBATIONER 
 
 a certificate, as he has only seen me once ; but 
 when one is pressed he is not always wise." 
 
 " I have had the pleasure of knowing the Rev. 
 Hiram Clunas for a considerable time, and have 
 much satisfaction in recommending him to the 
 favourable consideration of selection committees 
 of vacant congregations. He is a ripe scholar, 
 a profound divine, an eloquent preacher, a faithful 
 pastor, an experienced Christian, with an attrac- 
 tive and popular manner, and general knowledge 
 of a varied and rich character. Any congrega- 
 tion securing Mr. Clunas is certain to increase 
 both in number and finance, and I anticipate for 
 this talented young minister a future of remark- 
 able and rapid success. 
 
 "MacDuff MacLeear, D.D." 
 
 " Yes, it is a curious name, and I believe was, 
 so to say, adopted. Originally he was James Mac 
 Leear — MacLeear is his own — and some years 
 ago he inserted MacDuff, I am credibly informed, 
 and now he has dropped his Christian name. 
 
 " The reason for the change, it is understood,
 
 A PROBATIONER 153 
 
 is for purposes of advertisement in the public 
 prints, where, I am informed, ordinary names 
 such as James or John are less . . . striking, 
 so that preachers who desire to appeal to the 
 people use two surnames, as it were ; it seems 
 to me doubtful in ethics, but one must not be 
 ready to judge his neighbour in such straits. 
 
 " No, his degree is not from a Scots Univer- 
 sity, but from a seat of learning in a Western 
 State of America — Auroraville, I think it is 
 called, but I am not sure. Yes, he wrote a little 
 book on the Maidens of the Bible of a popular 
 cast. 
 
 " You agree with me that no one could use 
 such a testimony with . . . self-respect, and I 
 have resolved to print no certificates or make 
 any personal appeal ; but I do not regret the 
 effort I made, for it has gained me the Profes- 
 sor's letter," and the probationer folded up the 
 letter carefully and placed it in his desk. 
 
 " I fear that you must think me charged with 
 vain ambition, but ... it is not for my own 
 sake." 
 
 From time to time we spent an hour together.
 
 154 A PROBATIONER 
 
 and he told me of his journeys, many and toil- 
 some. 
 
 " Of course I am not sent to supply in cities, 
 for they require men of greater . . . experience ; 
 my allotment is always in the country, and I like 
 that better. 
 
 " When my station comes near I begin to look 
 out of the window and see whether the district 
 is level or hilly — for though climbing tries one a 
 little, one has a fair view to refresh the soul, and 
 I like woods because of the mystery and the 
 rustling of the leaves. 
 
 " Sometimes a farmer will meet me with a 
 dogcart — and there are no men so kind as far- 
 mers — but mostly I walk, and that is nothing 
 unless the distance be far and it be raining 
 heavily. No, it may be a weakness of the flesh, 
 but I do not like a night walk, and yet to see 
 the squares of light in the cottage windows, 
 flashing across a glen or breaking out of a wood, 
 is very pleasing." 
 
 One snowy morning in February he came into 
 my room in evident excitement, with a letter in 
 his hand.
 
 A PROBATIONER 155 
 
 " You have taken such an interest in my affairs 
 that I thought you would Hke to know . . * 
 I have received a letter informing me that I am 
 on the short leet for Tilliegask . . . just two, 
 and I am one . . . and I am to preach next 
 Sabbath . . . and the farmer with whom I 
 stayed has sent a very encouraging letter." 
 
 During the week the probationer was much 
 tried on a question of conscience, whether he 
 ought to act on a suggestion of his friend at 
 Tilliegask. 
 
 " It happens," he explained to me, " that the 
 people at Tilliegask are very conservative in their 
 views of the Bible, while, as you are aware, I 
 have been led to accept certain modern conclu- 
 sions regarding the history of the books, and my 
 good friend desires that I should . . . make 
 no allusion to them in my discourse. 
 
 " Now," went on the probationer, " it was not 
 my intention to do so, but after this advice am 
 I not bound in conscience to indicate, simply to 
 indicate, my position, that they may not be de- 
 ceived, and that I may not obtain a church by 
 guile ? " And he read to me the sentence, which
 
 156 A PROBATIONER 
 
 I make no doubt no one understood, but which 
 was to Mr. Clunas a great relief. He came home 
 from Tilliegask in high spirits, and speculated 
 every evening on his chances as against the other 
 man who was to preach on Sabbath. 
 
 " No, he was not what you would call a scholar," 
 and then the probationer laughed aloud — a rare 
 occurrence ; " well, it was a translation in the 
 Latin class ; he rendered adhuc jiivenis as ' a still 
 youth,' which was much tasted, and others, too, 
 as remarkable ; but it is not generous to remem- 
 ber such . . . failings." 
 
 The good man was indeed so distressed by 
 this disparaging allusion to his rival that he 
 searched his heart for the sins of pride and 
 jealousy, which with envy and worldliness, he 
 confessed to me, constantly beset him. He also 
 impressed upon me that although Mr. Tosh might 
 not be a scholar in the academic sense, yet he 
 had such gifts of speech that he would be an 
 excellent minister for Tilliegask if the choice of 
 that secluded place should fall on Tosh. But 
 the probationer waited anxiously for the first post 
 on Tuesday, which would give the result, and I 
 was only less anxious.
 
 A PROBATIONER 157 
 
 When he did not come down with tidings, 
 and only the faintest sound came from his room 
 as of a chair occasionally shifted before the fire, 
 I went up, and found my friend very low and 
 two open letters on the table. 
 
 "It has not been . . . God's will," and he 
 signed that I should read the letters. One was 
 from the ecclesiastical functionary who presides 
 over elections and church courts, and who is called 
 by the suggestive name of " moderator " ; that the 
 vote had been fifty-two for Mr. Clunas and ninety- 
 three for Mr. Tosh ; that Mr. Tosh had been 
 elected ; that on his, the moderator's appeal, the 
 minority had " fallen in " ; that he, the moderator, 
 was sure that Mr. Clunas would be pleased to 
 know that his supporters had shown so good a 
 spirit, and that there was no doubt that the Great 
 Head of the Church had something in store 
 for His servant ; and that in the event of Mr. 
 Clunas applying in another vacancy he, the 
 moderator, would be willing to give him a strong 
 certificate as to the impression he, Mr. Clunas, 
 had produced on the congregation of Tilliegask. 
 The second letter was from Wester Tilliegask, my
 
 IS8 A PROBATIONER 
 
 friend's host, who was full of genuine regret that 
 Mr. Clunas had not won the poll, who explained 
 that up to Sabbath his chance was excellent, but 
 that Mr. Tosh had carried all before him by a 
 sermon on " A Rainbow round about the Throne," 
 with very fetching illustrations and quotations — 
 Mr. Tosh had also won several votes by shaking 
 hands with the people at the door, and ingeniously 
 giving it to be understood that his idea of pastoral 
 duty was to visit his congregation four times a 
 year ; that, notwithstanding all these Tosh attrac- 
 tions, he, Wester Tilliegask, would have preferred 
 Mr. Clunas ; and that as there was a rumour that 
 the minister of Ballengeich would soon need a 
 colleague, he would arrange through his. Wester 
 Tilliegask's, wife's brother that Mr. Clunas should 
 have a hearing. He added that a certificate from 
 MacDuff MacLeear, placing Mr. Tosh a little 
 lower than St. Paul, had told. 
 
 The probationer was very brave and generous^ 
 blaming no one, and acknowledging that Tosh 
 would be a more suitable man for Tilliegask, but 
 it was evident he was hardly hit. 
 
 " It was not to escape the unrest of this life,"
 
 A PROBATIONER 159 
 
 he said, " nor for the position, nor even for the 
 sanction of my work ; it was for the sake of one 
 who . . . has waited long to see me an or- 
 dained minister. She may not ... be spared 
 much longer ; my mother is now nearly seventy." 
 So it was no sweetheart, but his mother of whom 
 he thought. 
 
 " If I had been elected, I had purposed to start 
 this forenoon and carry the news myself, and I 
 imagined the scene. I never could reach the cot- 
 tage unseen, for there is a window in the gable 
 which commands the road, so that mother is ever 
 waiting at the garden gate for me. 
 
 "Do not count me foolish, but I was to pre- 
 tend that I had just come to visit her for a day, 
 and then ask her how she would like to leave 
 the cottage and live in a manse. 
 
 "By this time she would jalouse something — 
 'tis her word — but I would tell nothing, only ex- 
 patiate on the manse and her room in it, and 
 . . . and . . . she would suddenly throw 
 her arms round my neck. . . . Excuse me, 
 sir; I will come down in the evening, if you 
 please."
 
 i6o A PROBATIONER 
 
 Before evening he was hurrying down to the 
 cottage, for after all he had to go to his mother, 
 and when he came back next Monday she was 
 dead and buried. 
 
 "Your sympathy is very grateful," as we sat 
 together, " and it helps me, but I think my heart 
 is . . . broken ; although I had to live in 
 Edinburgh in order to accomplish my railway 
 journeys, and we only saw one another at inter- 
 vals, we were all in all to one another. . . . 
 
 " There were things passed between us I cannot 
 tell, for it seems to me that a mother's death-bed 
 is a holy place ; but she knew that I had lost 
 Tilliegask, and . . . she was not cast down, 
 as I was for her sake. 
 
 " ' Dinna lose heart, Hiram,' she said, her hand 
 in mine, * for my faith will be justified ; when I 
 gave ye to the Lord the day your father died I 
 was sure, a' through the fecht o' education I was 
 sure, an' when you got your honours I was sure, 
 an' when you got no kirk I was still as sure, and 
 now my eyes are clear, an' I see that God has 
 savit you for a work that hath not entered into 
 my heart,' and she blessed me. . , ."
 
 A PROBATIONER i6i 
 
 From that day he began to fail, and although 
 he struggled to fulfil preaching engagements, he 
 had at last to give up public work. But he toiled 
 harder than ever at the Semitic languages. 
 
 " It is not that I am deceiving myself with vain 
 hopes," he explained to me one day, " for I know 
 full well that I am dying, but it seemeth good 
 that whatsoever talent I have should be cultivated 
 to the end. 
 
 "The future life is veiled, and speculation is 
 vain, but language must be used, and they who 
 have mastered the ancient roots will be of some 
 service ; it is all I can offer, and I must give of 
 my best." 
 
 The morning he died I looked over his few 
 affairs and balanced his accounts, which were 
 kept in a small pass-book, his poor fees on one 
 side and his slender expenses on the other to a 
 halfpenny. 
 
 ' " The expenditure may seem heavy the last few 
 journeys, but my strength failed by the way, and 
 I was unable to walk to my destination, but there 
 may still be enough at the end of the week for 
 what has to be done. 
 
 A. ri
 
 i62 A PROBATIONER 
 
 " There will be £^ 1 5^. 6d. when all is paid. 
 
 "With the sale of my books it will suffice, for 
 I have carefully enquired, to buy a grave and 
 defray the cost of burial. It is not possible to 
 be buried beside my mother, for our ground is 
 full, so let me lie where the sun is shining on 
 the Grange Cemetery." 
 
 Soon after his mind wandered, and I gathered 
 he was in the vestry of Tilliegask Kirk. 
 
 "Lord, be merciful to me and remember my 
 infirmities . . . deliver Thy servant from the 
 fear of man and all doubleness of heart . . . 
 give me grace to declare Thy truth and to set 
 Thee before me . . . bless my mother and 
 hear her prayers. . . ." 
 
 After a little while he began to preach, but 
 we could make nothing of the words till he 
 suddenly stopped and raised himself in the 
 bed. 
 
 "Thou, Lord," he cried, with great astonish- 
 ment, "hearing me . . . Forgive ... I 
 am not worthy to declare Thy Gospel. . . ." 
 
 What was said by the Master none of us heard, 
 but the astonishment passed into joy, and the
 
 A PROBATIONER 163 
 
 light thereof still touched and made beautiful his 
 face as the probationer fell on sleep. 
 
 It was a spring day when we laid his body to 
 rest, and any one who cares can find his grave 
 because a weeping willow hangs over it, and this 
 is the inscription on the stone : 
 
 Hiram Clunas, 
 
 Probationer. 
 
 "It is a very small thing that I should be judged o£ 
 
 man's judgment."
 
 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL
 
 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 
 
 Never had I met any man so methodical in 
 his habits, so neat in his dress, so accurate in 
 speech, so precise in manner as my fellow-lodger. 
 When he took his bath in the morning I knew 
 it was half-past seven, and when he rang for hot 
 water that it was a quarter to eight. Until a 
 quarter-past he moved about the room in his 
 slow, careful dressing, and then everything was 
 quiet next door till half-past eight, when the low 
 murmur of the Lord's Prayer concluded his devo- 
 tions. Two minutes later he went downstairs — 
 if he met a servant one could hear him say 
 " Good morning " — and read his newspaper — he 
 seldom had letters — till nine, when he rang for 
 breakfast. Twenty-past nine he went upstairs 
 and changed his coat, and he spent five minutes 
 in the lobby selecting a pair of gloves, brushing 
 his hat, and making a last survey for a speck of 
 
 167
 
 i6S A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 
 
 dust. One glove he put on opposite the hat- 
 stand, and the second on the doorstep, and when 
 he touched the pavement you might have set 
 your watch by nine-thirty. Once he was in the 
 lobby at five and twenty minutes to ten, distressed 
 and flurried. 
 
 " I cut my chin slightly when shaving," he 
 explained, "and the wound persists in bleeding. 
 It has an untidy appearance, and a drop of blood 
 might fall on a letter." 
 
 The walk that morning was quite broken, and 
 before reaching the corner, he had twice examined 
 his chin with a handkerchief, and shaken his 
 head as one whose position in life was now un- 
 certain. 
 
 " It is nothing in itself," he said afterwards, 
 with an apologetic allusion to his anxiety, "and 
 might not matter to another man. But any little 
 misadventure — a yesterday's collar or a razor cut, 
 or even an inky finger — would render me helpless 
 in dealing with people. They would simply look 
 at the weak spot, and one would lose all authority. 
 Some of the juniors smile when I impress on 
 them to be very careful about their dress — quiet,
 
 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 169 
 
 of course, as becomes their situation, but unob- 
 jectionable. With more responsibility they will 
 see the necessity of such details. I will remember 
 your transparent sticking-plaster — a most valu- 
 able suggestion." 
 
 His name was Frederick Augustus Perkins ; so 
 ran the card he left on my table a week after I 
 settled in the next rooms, and the problem of his 
 calling gradually became a standing vexation. It 
 fell under the class of conundrums, and one re- 
 membered from childhood that it is mean to be 
 told the answer, so I might not say to Mister 
 Perkins — for it was characteristic of the prim 
 little man that no properly constituted person 
 could have said Perkins — 
 
 " By the way, what is your line of things ? " or 
 any more decorous rendering of my curiosity. 
 
 Mrs. Holmes, who was as a mother to Mr. 
 Perkins and myself, as well as two younger men 
 of literary pursuits and irregular habits, had a gift 
 of charming irrelevance, and was able to combine 
 allusions to Mr. Perkins' orderly life and the 
 amatory tendencies of a new cook in a mosaic of 
 enthralling interest.
 
 I70 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 
 
 " No, Betsy Jane has 'ad her notice and goes 
 this day week ; not that her cookin's bad, but 
 her brothers don't know when to leave. One was 
 'ere no later than last night, though if he was her 
 born brother, 'e 'ad a different father and mother, 
 or my name ain't 'Olraes. 'Your brother, Betsy 
 Jane,' says I, ' ought not to talk in a strange 
 'ouse on family affairs till eleven o'clock.' 
 
 " ' 'E left at 'alf-past ten punctual,' says she, 
 looking as hinnocent as a child, ' for I 'eard Mr. 
 Perkins go up to 'is room as I was lettin' Jim 
 out.' 
 
 " ' Betsy Jane,' I says, quite calm, ' where do 
 you expeck to go to as doesn't know wot truth 
 is ? ' for Mr. Perkins leaves 'is room has the 'all 
 clock starts on eleven, and 'e's in 'is bedroom at 
 the last stroke. If she 'adn't brought in Mr. 
 Perkins she might 'ave deceived me, gettin' old 
 and not bein' so quick in my hearing as I was ; 
 but that settled her. 
 
 '"Alf-past," went on Mrs. Holmes, scornfully; 
 "and 'im never varied two minutes the last ten 
 years, except one night 'e fell asleep in 'is chair, 
 being bad with hinfluenza.
 
 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 171 
 
 " For a regular single gentleman as rises in the 
 morning and goes out, and comes in and takes 
 'is dinner, and goes to bed like the Medes and 
 Persians, I've never seen 'is equal ; an' it's five- 
 and-twenty years since 'Olmes died, 'avin' a bad 
 liver through takin' gin for rheumatics ; an' Liz- 
 beth Peevey says to me, ' Take lodgers, Jemima ; 
 not that they pays for the trouble, but it 'ill keep 
 an 'ouse.' . . . 
 
 " Mr. Perkins' business ; " it was shabby, but 
 the temptation came as a way of escape from the 
 flow of Mrs. Holmes' autobiography ; " now that 
 I couldn't put a name on, for why, 'e never 
 speaks about 'is affairs ; just * Good evening, Mrs. 
 'Olmes ; I'll take fish for breakfast to-morrow ; ' 
 no more than that, or another blanket on 'is bed 
 on the first of November, for it's by days, not 
 cold, 'e goes. . . ." 
 
 It was evident that I must solve the problem 
 for myself. 
 
 Mr. Perkins could not be a city man, for in the 
 hottest June he never wore a white waistcoat, 
 nor had he the swelling gait of one who made 
 an occasional coup in mines, and it went without
 
 172 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 
 
 saying that he did not write ; a man who went 
 to bed at eleven, and whose hair made no claim 
 to distinction. One's mind fell back on the idea 
 of law — conveyancing seemed probable — but his 
 face lacked sharpness, and the alternative of 
 confidential clerk to a firm of drysalters was 
 contradicted by an air of authority that raised 
 observations on the weather to the level of a 
 state document. The truth came upon me — a 
 flash of inspiration — as I saw Mr. Perkins coming 
 home one evening. The black frock-coat and 
 waistcoat, dark grey trousers, spotless linen, high, 
 old-fashioned collar, and stiff stock, were a sym- 
 bol, and could only mean one profession. 
 
 " By the way, Mr. Perkins," for this was all one 
 now required to know, " are you Income Tax or 
 Stamps ? " 
 
 " Neither, although my duty makes me familiar 
 with every department in the Civil Service. I 
 have the honour to be," and he cleared his throat 
 with dignity, " a first-class clerk in the Schedule 
 Office." 
 
 " Our work," he explained to me, " is very im- 
 portant, and in fact . . . vital to the adminis-
 
 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 173 
 
 tration of affairs. The efficiency of practical 
 government depends on the accurac}^ of the forms 
 issued, and every one is composed in our office. 
 
 " No, that is a common mistake," in reply to 
 my shallow remark ; " the departments do not 
 draw up their own forms, and in fact they are 
 not fit for such work. They send us a memo- 
 randum of what their officials wish to ask, and 
 we put it into shape. 
 
 "It requires long experience and, I may say, 
 some . . . ability to compose a really credit- 
 able schedule, one that will bring out every point 
 clearly and exhaustively — in fact, I have ventured 
 to call it a science " — here Mr. Perkins allowed 
 himself to smile — "and it might be defined 
 Schedulology. 
 
 "Yes, to see a double sheet of foolscap divided 
 up into some twenty-four compartments, each 
 with a question and a blank, space for the answer, 
 is pleasing to the eye, very pleasing indeed. 
 
 " What annoys one," and Mr. Perkins became 
 quite irritable, " is to examine a schedule after it 
 has been filled and to discover how it has been 
 misused — simply mangled.
 
 174 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 
 
 " It is not the public simply who are to blame ; 
 they are, of course, quite hopeless, and have an 
 insane desire to write their names all over the 
 paper, with family details ; but members of the 
 Civil Service abuse the most admirable forms 
 that ever came out of our office. 
 
 " Numerous ? Yes, naturally so ; and as gov- 
 ernmental machinery turns on schedules they will 
 increase every year. Could you guess, now, the 
 number of different schedules under our charge ? " 
 
 " Several hundred, perhaps." 
 
 Mr. Perkins smiled with much complacency. 
 " Sixteen thousand four hundred and four, be- 
 sides temporary ones that are only used in emer- 
 gencies. One department has now reached twelve 
 hundred and two ; it has been admirably organ- 
 ised, and its secretary could tell you the subject 
 of every form. 
 
 " Well, it does not become me to boast, but I 
 have had the honour of contributing two hundred 
 and twenty myself, and have composed forty-two 
 more that have not yet been accepted. 
 
 " Well, yes," he admitted, with much modesty, 
 " I have kept copies of the original drafts,"
 
 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 175 
 
 and he showed me a bound volume of his 
 works, 
 
 " An author ? It is very good of you to say 
 so," and Mr. Perkins seemed much pleased with 
 the idea, twice smiling to himself during the 
 evening, and saying as we parted, " It's my good 
 fortune to have a large and permanent circu- 
 lation." 
 
 All November Mr, Perkins was engaged with 
 what he hoped would be one of his greatest 
 successes. 
 
 "It's a sanitation schedule for the Education 
 Department, and is, I dare to say, nearly perfect. 
 It has eighty-three questions on every point, from 
 temperature to drains, and will present a com- 
 plete view of the physical condition of primary 
 schools. 
 
 " You have no idea," he continued, " what a 
 fight I have had with our Head to get it through 
 — eight drafts, each one costing three days' labour 
 — but now he has passed it. 
 
 " ' Perkins,' he said, ' this is the most exhaus- 
 tive schedule you have ever drawn up, and I'm 
 proud it's come through the hands of the draft-
 
 176 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 
 
 ing sub-department. Whether I can approve it 
 as Head of the publishing sub-department is very 
 doubtful.' " 
 
 "Do you mean that the same man would 
 approve your paper in one department to-day 
 and . . ." 
 
 " Quite so. It's a little difficult for an outsider 
 to appreciate the perfect order — perhaps I might 
 say symmetry — of the Civil Service," and Mr. 
 Perkins spoke with a tone of condescension as to 
 a little child. " The Head goes himself to the 
 one sub-department in the morning and to the 
 other in the afternoon, and he acts with absolute 
 impartiality. 
 
 "Why, sir," — Mr. Perkins began to warm and 
 grow enthusiastic, — " I have received a letter from 
 the other sub-department, severely criticising a 
 draft he had highly commended in ours two days 
 before, and I saw his hand in the letter . . . 
 distinctly ; an able review, too, very able indeed. 
 
 " * Very well put, Perkins,' he said to me him- 
 self; 'they've found the weak points; we must 
 send an amended draft ; ' and so we did, and 
 got a very satisfactory reply. It was a schedule
 
 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 177 
 
 about swine fever, 972 in the department of 
 Agriculture. I have had the pleasure of reading 
 it in public circulation when on my holidays." 
 
 " Does your Head sign the letters addressed to 
 himself? " 
 
 " Certainly ; letters between departments are 
 always signed by the chief officer." Mr. Perkins 
 seemed to have found another illustration of 
 public ignorance, and recognised his duty as a 
 missionary of officialism. " It would afford me 
 much pleasure to give you any information re- 
 garding our excellent system, which has been 
 slowly built up and will repay study ; but you 
 will excuse me this evening, as I am indisposed 
 — a tendency to shiver which annoyed me in the 
 office to-da}^" 
 
 Next morning I rose half an hour late, as Mr. 
 Perkins did not take his bath, and was not sur- 
 prised when Mrs. Holmes came to my room, over- 
 flowing with concern and disconnected speech. 
 
 " 'E's that regular in 'is ways, that when 'Annah 
 Mariar says 'is water's at 'is door at eight o'clock, 
 I went up that 'urried that I couldn't speak ; and 
 I 'ears him speaking to 'issclf, which is not what 
 
 A. 12
 
 178 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 
 
 you would expect of him, he being the quietest 
 gentleman as ever . . ." 
 
 ** Is Mr. Perkins ill, do you mean ? " for Mrs. 
 Holmes seemed now in fair breath, and was 
 always given to comparative reviews. 
 
 "So I knocks and says, 'Mr. Perkins, 'ow are 
 you feeling?' and all I could 'ear was 'temper- 
 ance ' ; it's little as he needs of that, for ex- 
 cepting a glass of wine at his dinner, and it 
 might be something 'ot before going to bed in 
 winter. . . . 
 
 " So I goes in," resumed Mrs. Holmes, " an' 
 there *e was sittin' up in 'is bed, with 'is face as 
 red as fire, an' not knowing me from Adam. If 
 it wasn't for 'is 'abits an' a-catching of 'is breath 
 you wud 'ave said drink, for 'e says, ' How often 
 have the drains been sluiced last year?'" After 
 which I went up to Mr. Perkins' room without 
 ceremony. 
 
 He was explaining, with much cogency, as it 
 seemed to me, that unless the statistics of tem- 
 perature embraced the whole year, they would 
 afford no reliable conclusions regarding the sani- 
 tary condition of Board Schools ; but when I
 
 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 179 
 
 addressed him by name with emphasis, he came 
 to himself with a start. 
 
 " Excuse me, sir ; I must apologise ... I 
 really did not hear ... in fact," and then, as 
 he realised his situation, Mr. Perkins was greatly 
 embarrassed. 
 
 " Did I forget myself so far as ... to send 
 for you ? . . . I was not feeling well. I have 
 a slight difficulty in breathing, but I am quite 
 able to go to the office . . . in a cab. 
 
 " You are most kind and obliging, but the 
 schedule I am ... it just comes and goes 
 . . . thank you, no more water ... is im- 
 portant and . . . intricate ; no one . . . 
 can complete it . . . except myself. 
 
 "With your permission I will rise ... in 
 a few minutes . . . ten o'clock, dear me . . . 
 this is most unfortunate . . . not get down 
 till eleven ... I must really insist . . ." But 
 the doctor had come, and Mr. Perkins obeyed 
 on one condition. 
 
 " Yes, doctor, I prefer, if you please, to know ; 
 you see I am not a young person . . . nor 
 nervous . . . thank you very much . . . quite
 
 i8o A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 
 
 so ; pneumonia is serious . . . and double 
 pneumonia dangerous, I understand . . . no, 
 it is not that . . . one is not alarmed at my 
 age, but . . . yes, I'll lie down . . . letter 
 must go to office . . . dictate it to my friend 
 . . . certain form . . . l^ave of absence, in 
 fact . . . trouble you too much . . . medical 
 certificate." 
 
 He was greatly relieved after this letter was 
 sent by special messenger with the key of his 
 desk, and quite refreshed when a clerk came up 
 with the chief's condolences. 
 
 " My compliments to Mr. Lighthead ... an 
 excellent young official, very promising indeed 
 . . . and would he step upstairs for a minute 
 . . . will excuse this undress in circumstances 
 . . . really I will not speak any more. 
 
 "Those notes, Mr. Lighthead, will make my 
 idea quite plain . . . and I hope to revise 
 final draft ... if God will . . . my dutiful 
 respect to the Board, and kind regards to the 
 chief clerk ... it was kind of you to come, 
 most thoughtful." 
 
 This young gentleman came into my room to
 
 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL iSi 
 
 learn the state of the case, and was much im- 
 pressed. 
 
 " Really this kind of thing — Perkins gasping in 
 bed and talking in his old-fashioned way — knocks 
 one out of time, don't you know ? If he had 
 gone on much longer I should have bolted. 
 
 " Like him in the office ? I should think so. 
 You should have seen the young fellows to-day 
 when they heard he was so ill. Of course we 
 laugh a bit at him — Schedule Perkins he's called 
 — because he's so dry and formal ; but that's 
 nothing. 
 
 " With all his little cranks, he knows his busi- 
 ness better than any man in the department ; 
 and then he's a gentleman, d'y see? could not 
 say a rude word or do a mean thing to save his 
 life — not made that way, in fact. 
 
 " Let me just give you one instance — show 
 you his sort. Every one knew that he ought to 
 have been chief clerk, and that Rodway's appoint- 
 ment was sheer influence. The staff was mad, 
 and some one said Rodway need not expect to 
 have a particularly good time. 
 
 " Perkins overheard him, and chipped in at
 
 1 82 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 
 
 once. * Mr. Rodway ' — you know his dry manner, 
 wagging his eyeglass all the time — ' is our superior 
 officer, and we are bound to render him every 
 assistance in our power, or,' and then he was 
 splendid, * resign our commissions.' Rodway, they 
 say, has retired ; but the worst of it is that as 
 Perkins has been once passed over he 'ill not 
 succeed. 
 
 " Perhaps it won't matter, poor chap. I say," 
 said Lighthead, hurriedly, turning his back and 
 examining a pipe on the mantel-piece, " do you 
 think he is going to ... I mean, has he a 
 chance ? " 
 
 "Just a chance, I believe. Have you been 
 long with him ? " 
 
 " That's not it — it's what he's done for a . . . 
 for fellows. Strangers don't know Perkins. You 
 might talk to him for a year, and never hear 
 anything but shop. Then one day you get into 
 a hole, and you would find out another Perkins. 
 
 " Stand by you ? " and he wheeled round. 
 " Rather, and no palaver either : with money and 
 with time and with . . . other things that do 
 a fellow more good than the whole concern, and
 
 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 183 
 
 no airs. There's more than one man in our office 
 has cause to . . . bless Schedule Perkins. 
 
 " Let me tell you how he got . . . one chap 
 out of the biggest scrape he '11 ever fall into. 
 Do you mind me smoking ? " And then he 
 made himself busy with matches and a pipe that 
 was ever going out for the rest of the story. 
 
 "Well, you see, this man, clerk in our office, 
 had not been long up from the country, and he 
 was young. Wasn't quite bad, but he couldn't 
 hold his own with older fellows. 
 
 " He got among a set that had suppers in 
 their rooms, and gambled a bit, and he lost and 
 borrowed, and ... in fact, was stone broke. 
 
 " It's not very pleasant for a fellow to sit in 
 his room a week before Christmas, and know 
 that he may be cashiered before the holidays, 
 and all through his own fault. 
 
 " If it were only himself, why, he might take 
 his licking and go to the Colonies ; but it was 
 hard ... on his mother — it's always going 
 out, this pipe — when he was her only son, and 
 she rather . . . believed in him. 
 
 " Didn't sleep much that night — told me him-
 
 1 84 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 
 
 self afterwards — and he concluded that the best 
 way out was to buy opium in the City next day, 
 and take it — pretty stiff dose, you know — next 
 night. 
 
 " Cowardly rather, of course, but it might be 
 easier for the mater down in Devon — his mother, 
 I mean — did I say he was Devon ? — same county 
 as myself — affair would be hushed up, and she 
 would have . . . his memory clean. 
 
 " As it happened, though, he didn't buy any 
 opium next day — didn't get the chance ; for 
 Perkins came round to his desk, and asked this 
 young chap to have a bit of dinner with him— 
 aye, and made him come. 
 
 " He had the jolliest little dinner ready you 
 ever saw, and he insisted on the fellow smoking, 
 though Perkins hates the very smell of 'baccy, 
 and — well, he got the whole trouble out of him, 
 except the opium. 
 
 " D'y think he lectured and scolded ? Not a 
 bit — that's not Perkins — he left the fool to do 
 his own lecturing, and he did it stiff. I'll tell 
 you what he said : * Your health must have been 
 much tried by this anxiety, so you must go
 
 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 185 
 
 down and spend Christmas with your mother, 
 and I would venture to suggest that you take 
 her a suitable gift. 
 
 " ' With regard to your debt, you will allow 
 me,' and Perkins spoke as if he had been ex- 
 plaining a schedule, 'to take it over, on two 
 conditions — that you repay me by instalments 
 every quarter, and dine with me every Saturday 
 evening for six months.' 
 
 *' See what he was after ? Wanted to keep 
 
 . . the fellow straight, and cheer him up ; 
 and you've no idea how Perkins came out those 
 Saturdays — capital stories as ever you heard — 
 and he declared that it was a pleasure to him. 
 
 " ' I am rather lonely,' he used to say, * and 
 it is most kind of a young man to sit with me.' 
 Kind ! " 
 
 " What was the upshot with your friend ? 
 Did he turn over a new leaf?" 
 
 " He 'ill never be the man that Perkins expects 
 but he's doing his level best, and . . .is 
 rising in the office. Perkins swears by him, and 
 that's made a man of the fellow. 
 
 " He's paid up the cash now, but ... he
 
 i86 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 
 
 can never pay up the kindness — confound those 
 wax matches, they never strike — he told his 
 mother last summer the whole story. 
 
 " She wrote to Perkins — of course I don't 
 know what was in the letter — but Perkins had 
 the fellow into his room. ' You ought to have 
 regarded our transaction as confidential. I am 
 grieved you mentioned my name ; ' and then as I 
 — I mean, as the fellow — was going out, ' I'll keep 
 that letter beside my commission,' said Perkins. 
 
 " If Perkins dies " — young men don't do that 
 kind of thing, or else one would have thought 
 — "it 'ill be ... a beastly shame," which 
 was a terrible collapse, and Mr. Geoffrey Light- 
 head, of the Schedule Department, left the house 
 without further remark or even shaking hands. 
 
 That was Wednesday, and on Friday morning 
 he appeared, flourishing a large blue envelope, 
 sealed with an imposing device, marked " On 
 Her Majesty's Service," and addressed to — 
 
 " Frederick Augustus Perkins, Esq., 
 " First Class Clerk in the Schedule Department, 
 " Somerset House, 
 
 " London,"
 
 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 187 
 
 an envelope any man might be proud to receive, 
 and try to live up to for a week. 
 
 " Rodway has retired," he shouted, " and we 
 can't be sure in the office, but the betting is 
 four to one — I'm ten myself— that the Board has 
 appointed Perkins Chief Clerk," and Lighthead 
 did some steps of a triumphal character. 
 
 " The Secretary appeared this morning after 
 the Board had met. * There's a letter their 
 Honours wish taken at once to Mr. Perkins, 
 Can any of you deliver it at his residence ? ' 
 Then the other men looked at me, because — 
 well, Perkins has been friendly with me ; and 
 that hansom came very creditably indeed. 
 
 " Very low, eh ? Doctors afraid not last over 
 the night — that's hard lines . . . but I say, 
 they did not reckon on this letter. Could not 
 you read it to him ? You see this was his one 
 ambition. He could never be Secretary, not 
 able enough, but he was made for Chief Clerk. 
 Now he's got it, or I would not have been sent 
 out skimming with this letter. Read it to him, 
 and the dear old chap will be on his legs in a 
 week."
 
 i8S A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 
 
 It seemed good advice, and this was what I 
 read, while Perkins lay very still and did his 
 best to breathe : — 
 
 " Dear Mr. Perkins, — 
 
 " I have the pleasure to inform you that the 
 Board have appointed you Chief Clerk in the 
 Schedule Department in succession to Gustavus 
 Rodway, Esq., who retires, and their Honours 
 desire me further to express their appreciation 
 of your long and valuable service, and their ear- 
 nest hope that you may be speedily restored to 
 health. I am, 
 
 " Your obedient servant, 
 
 "Arthur Wraxhall, 
 " Secretary y 
 
 For a little time it was too much for Mr. Per- 
 kins, and then he whispered : — 
 
 " The one thing on earth I wished, and . . . 
 more than I deserved . . . not usual, personal 
 references in Board letters . . . perhaps 
 hardly regular . . . but most gratifying . . . 
 and . . . strengthening.
 
 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 189 
 
 " I feel better already . . . some words I 
 would like to hear again . . . thank you, 
 where I can reach it . . . nurse will be so 
 good as to read it." 
 
 Mr. Perkins revived from that hour, having his 
 tonic administered at intervals, and astonished 
 the doctors. On Christmas Eve he had made 
 such progress that Lighthead was allowed to see 
 him for five minutes. 
 
 " Heard about your calling three times a day 
 • . . far too kind with all your work . . . 
 and the messages from the staff . . . touched 
 me to heart . . . never thought had so many 
 friends . . . wished been more friendly my- 
 self. 
 
 " My promotion, too . . . hope may be fit 
 for duty . . . can't speak much, but think 
 I'll be spared . . . Almighty very good to 
 me . . . Chief Clerk of Schedule Depart- 
 ment . . . would you mind saying Lord's 
 Prayer together ... it sums up every- 
 thing." 
 
 So we knelt one on each side of Perkins' bed 
 and I led with " Our Father " — the other two
 
 190 A GOVERNMENT OFFICIAL 
 
 being once or twice quite audible. The choir 
 of a neighbouring church were singing a Christ- 
 mas carol in the street, and the Christ came into 
 our hearts as a little child.
 
 THE RIGHT HAND OF SAMUEL 
 DODSON
 
 THE RIGHT HAND OF SAMUEL 
 DODSON 
 
 I 
 
 " Smoking, as usual, and wasting your time after 
 luncheon, instead of hurrying to your offices and 
 coining time into money like old Sam Dodson, 
 who can give the cash value of every five minutes," 
 and Welsby sat down beside three other young 
 Liverpool merchants in the club — all men who 
 had one eye on business and the other on the 
 good of the city. " Something's happened since 
 I saw you fellows last on 'Change. Guess." 
 
 " Cotton up three points ? A corn corner at 
 Chicago ? A big bear in lard ? Anything to 
 do with fruit ? " 
 
 " Nothing whatever to do with such prosaic 
 subjects, and I am ashamed to notice your mer- 
 cenary tempers ; this is a public affair, and is to 
 
 A. ^93 13
 
 194 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 be a profound secret for exactly seventy minutes, 
 after which it will appear in the fourth edition of 
 the Evening Trumpet. 
 
 " It's a pity that the early news could not be 
 used for an operation in cotton, but I'll take it 
 along to the ' Flags,' and tell it under pledge 
 of silence to half a dozen brokers. If you are 
 really interested in the matter, this will give it 
 a wider and more certain circulation than any 
 Trumpet could." 
 
 "We're all ears, Welsby." 
 
 " Well, to begin at the beginning, you know 
 how our people in Liverpool are crowded together 
 in courts and rookeries without room or air. It's 
 hard on the men and women, but it's hardest on 
 the children, who have no place to play in but 
 the gutter. 
 
 " So a man wrote a letter to the papers about 
 a month ago, pleading for a fund to put down 
 small playgrounds in the crowded districts, where 
 the little folk could come of an evening, and the 
 mothers could sit, and the men might smoke a 
 pipe. . . ." 
 
 " I remember the letter," broke in Cotton ; " it
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 195 
 
 was signed ' Philanthropist,' and was generally 
 supposed to have been composed in a moment 
 of inspiration by some proprietor of insanitary 
 property ; it was an elegant letter, and affected 
 me very much — to tears, in fact." 
 
 " It was signed * Charles Welsby,' and you never 
 read a word of it, because it had no reference to 
 polo nor the Macfarlane Institute for Working 
 Lads, the only subjects to which you give any 
 attention. Four people read it, however, and 
 wrote to me at once. One man denounced the 
 scheme as another instance of the patronage of 
 the rich. He added that it was a sop, and that 
 the toilers would soon find open places for them- 
 selves." 
 
 " He would mean your garden, Welsby," sug- 
 gested Lard. " The Socialist has two main prin- 
 ciples of action : first, to give nothing to any 
 good cause himself; and second, to appropriate 
 ■his neighbour's property on the first opportunity. 
 And your other correspondents ? " 
 
 " I had a letter from the inventor of a non- 
 intoxicating beer, offering ;^5 on condition that 
 we advertised his beverage, which he discovered
 
 196 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 by supernatural guidance and sold for philan- 
 thropic ends." 
 
 " All queer beverages and patent medicines are 
 owned by high-class religious people, as far as 
 I can understand," remarked Corn. " Go on." 
 
 " A third letter warned me that such spaces 
 would be abused by bad characters and sap the 
 morals of the people ; the writer also wanted to 
 know whether they would be closed on the Sab- 
 bath." 
 
 " A publican evidently," remarked Cotton ; " no 
 man is so concerned about Sabbath observance. 
 And so you got sick of the whole affair ? " 
 
 " Rather, till I got this letter. I'll read it, and 
 then you can make your guesses at the enclosure. 
 
 "* Liverpool, /2/«^ 9, 189-. 
 " ' My dear Sir, — Your letter of 7th ult, in the 
 issue of the Morning Trumpet of May 8, caught 
 my eye and received my most careful attention. 
 As you appeared to have established a primd 
 facie case for what you designate " People's Play- 
 grounds," I have occupied my leisure time in 
 examining the sanitary and social condition of
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 197 
 
 certain parts of our city which were more or less 
 distinctly indicated in your letter. As the result 
 of my investigations, I am thoroughly convinced, 
 in the first place, that you have proved your case 
 as regards the unfortunate circumstances of the 
 children in such parts, and, in the second place, 
 that your plan for their relief is practical and 
 wisely considered. 
 
 " ' It then became my duty as a citizen of Liver- 
 pool to consider what I could do to further the 
 ends of your scheme, and it seemed to me on 
 the whole most advisable to place a sum of money 
 at your disposal, on condition that it be spent with 
 such other sums as may be sent you in purchasing 
 decaying property and creating playgrounds — 
 said playgrounds to be vested in the Parks and 
 Gardens Committee of the City Council — and I 
 would suggest that people interested in each dis- 
 trict be allowed and encouraged to contribute to 
 the furnishing and adornment of the playgrounds. 
 
 " ' I beg therefore to enclose a draft in your 
 favour on Messrs. Goldbeater & Co., Lombard 
 Street, London, and I have only to add my sincere 
 approval of the good work you are doing among
 
 igS THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 the poor of Liverpool, and my wish, which, as 
 a man of honour, you will doubtless carefully 
 respect, that you will take no steps to discover 
 my name. — I have the honour to be, your obedient 
 servant, 
 
 " • Zaccheus.' " 
 
 "Satisfactory, very, although a trifle pedantic 
 and long-winded. And the sum, Welsby ? I say 
 
 " ;^5oo," said Cotton. 
 
 " £i,ooo" cried Lard. 
 
 " What do you say to ;^ 10,000 ? " and the draft 
 was handed round. 
 
 " Congratulate you, old man." Corn shook 
 hands with Welsby, and so did they all, for he 
 had worked hard in many a good cause. " You 
 deserve your luck ; think I'll take to writing 
 letters for my pet hospital. Who can he be ? 
 Do you suspect any one ? " 
 
 " Half a dozen, but I'm bound not to inquire ; 
 and I rather think that the trail is covered at 
 Goldbeater's beyond finding. But I know who 
 did not give it — Sam Dodson.
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON igg 
 
 " No, of course I did not ask him for help. One 
 does not court refusals ; but you know his med- 
 dling, ferreting ways. If he didn't stop me in the 
 street and ask fifty questions till I hinted at a 
 subscription, when he was off in a minute." 
 
 " Nothing frightens him like a suggestion of 
 that kind. He has raised meanness to the height 
 of genius. They say that he is worth i^200,ooo, 
 but I wouldn't change with him," said Lard, 
 " for a million. When he dies, Dodson will not 
 leave a soul to regret him, and there'll not be 
 six people at his funeral." 
 
 " You can't be sure, gentlemen," said a quiet 
 voice behind ; " I've overheard you on Dodson, 
 and I hope what you say is not true." 
 
 The speaker was one of those rare souls God 
 sends forth at a time to establish our faith in 
 goodness ; who are believed in by all parties, and 
 respected by all creeds, and loved by all classes ; 
 who sit on all the charitable boards, and help on 
 every good cause, and make peace in quarrels ; 
 whom old men consult in their perplexities, and 
 young men turn to in trouble, and people follow 
 with affectionate glances in the street ; who never
 
 200 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 suspect their own excellence, always take the 
 lowest seat, and have to be compelled to accept 
 an honour. 
 
 "You have a good word to say for everybody, 
 sir," said Cotton with deep respect ; " but have 
 you, even, ever got a penny from Mr. Dodson for 
 a charity ? " 
 
 " Well, I cannot say that I remember an in- 
 stance ; only I'm sure that he has his own way 
 of doing good. Every one has, unless he be 
 utterly bad ; and I'm seventy years old, gentle- 
 men, and I never met that kind yet." 
 
 "Greatheart is the only man in Liverpool who 
 would say a word for Dodson," said Lard a minute 
 later, " and in this case his charity has rather over- 
 shot the mark ; but it does one good to hear the 
 old man. He is a walking Sermon on the Mount, 
 and the best thing about him is that he believes 
 in everybody ; the very sight of his white hair 
 makes me a better man."
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 
 
 II 
 
 " How tired you must be, Fred, after four hours' 
 begging in offices ! I'll bring you a cup of tea 
 in the study at once, and then you are to have 
 a nice little dinner all to yourself. 
 
 " Oh, no, I've not been extravagant at all, and 
 I've not taken any money out of our alms-box, 
 and I'm not a wicked parson's wife who gets into 
 debt ; but a hamper came from the country, with 
 lots of good things in it, and you will have the 
 chicken ; the children and I simply rioted in 
 plenty to-day. Now, I'll not hear a word about 
 your expedition until you have had some food." 
 
 "There, I feel a perfect glutton, Ethel. I hope 
 you have sent some of the h-hamper to the sick." 
 
 " I've done nothing of the kind ; every single 
 bit is to be eaten in this Vicarage of St. 
 Ambrose ; you would starve yourself and your 
 family for the parish, and I am sure you are the
 
 202 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 hardest working man in it. Well, have you got 
 the money to furnish the playground of St. Am- 
 brose's ? " 
 
 " Do you mean have I come home with £^4- 
 in my pocket as the result of one r-raid by a poor, 
 dull, s-stammering parson, who couldn't make an 
 eloquent appeal to save his life ? " 
 
 " You don't stammer, Fred, and I wish you 
 wouldn't say such things ; you may . . . hesi- 
 tate at a time, and I am sure any one would 
 give you money for a good cause, because you 
 are ... so sincere and . . ." 
 
 " That will do, Ethel ; it's a great h-help to 
 an obscure parson in the poorest of parishes to 
 have a wife who believes in him, and makes four 
 hundred pounds out of two." 
 
 " And now about the money. Was the asking 
 hard ? " 
 
 " It might have been, but every one was so 
 j-jolly. The first man I went to was Mr. Welsby, 
 and as soon as I came into his room he cried out, 
 * Was just thinking of you : I hope you're on the 
 w-warpath for that playground, for I've a five- 
 pound note ready for you.'
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 203 
 
 " He sent me on to a cotton b-broker, and he 
 thanked me several times for coming on such a 
 good errand, and backed up Welsby with five 
 pounds. Every person had a kind word, and by 
 five o'clock I had . . ." 
 
 " The whole sum ? " 
 
 " With six p-pounds over, which will get a little 
 sheltered seat for old people. How good those 
 city fellows are when they fancy a cause." 
 
 " And when they fancy the man who pleads 
 it, Fred. Did you not get one refusal ? " 
 
 " Well, I was h-hurt by one man, who treated 
 me rather shabbily. He allowed me to explain 
 the whole scheme — swings, sand-heaps, seats and 
 all — and he asked me a hundred questions about 
 the parish and my work, till I think he knew 
 as much about the place as we do ourselves, and 
 then sent me off without a penny — said he didn't 
 give to subscriptions on p-principle." 
 
 " What a mean, hypocritical wretch ! " 
 
 " I left rather down, for I had lost h-half an 
 hour with him, and I was afraid I had offended 
 him by some remark, but when I met Welsby 
 again in the street and told him, he declared that
 
 204 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 I ought not to have been sent there, because 
 D-Dodson — that's his name— was the most in- 
 quisitive and hardest man on 'Change." 
 
 " He can't be a gentleman, at any rate, to 
 question you for mere curiosity ; I hope you gave 
 him something to think over." 
 
 " No, I didn't ; it's no use, and only frets oneself. 
 He had a big c-chance and lost it. What do you 
 say to inviting the subscribers down some evening 
 when the playground is in full occupation ? They 
 will get full value for their money at the sight 
 of the girls on the swings, and the boys at ball, 
 and the b-babies scooping up the sand, and the 
 old folks sunning themselves on their seats." 
 
 " It will be splendid ; but Fred, it goes to my 
 heart that our own boys can have no holiday, and 
 when their schoolfellows are away in Wales, will 
 be sweltering in this close house." 
 
 " How much have we in the h-holiday fund ? " 
 
 "Just two pounds and sixpence. Save as I 
 would, that is all I could manage . . . If we 
 had not given so much away we might . . ." 
 
 "You are just as r- ready to give as I am, my 
 little wife, and none of us regret anything we've
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 205 
 
 done for the poor souls around us ; but I'm sorry 
 for the boys. Did you tell them ? " 
 
 " No, I hadn't the heart, so I played the coward 
 and said you were thinking the matter over, and 
 that you would tell them, perhaps, to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 *' Do you know I rather s-suspected this would 
 be the end of it, and I was planning how to make 
 the best of things. I made up a series of cheap 
 trips, personally conducted, to New Brighton, and 
 Cheshire, and Hale ; you'll give us our l-lunch, 
 and we'll have a regular picnic. I have some 
 old knick-knacks of my schooldays at Shrewsbury, 
 and I'll offer them as p-prlzes for the best account 
 of the day. You'll come with us, too, and we'll 
 have a particularly jolly time. 
 
 " Letters ? The post is late to-night. That is 
 about the c-contract for swings, and this is a 
 diocesan circular, and there is a new company 
 p-prospectus — rather an irony sending it to me — 
 but here are two unknown hands ; let us see the 
 news. 
 
 " Now isn't this good ? ;^3 for the playground 
 from a Dissenter who c-complains I didn't call
 
 2o6 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 on him, and has a kind word about my hard 
 work, as he calls it ; and I've been often annoyed 
 at that man for the things he said on Disestablish- 
 ment. He may say anything he pleases now on 
 a platform ; I know there is a kind heart behind 
 the words. 
 
 " Will this be more money for the s-swings ? 
 Hurrah ! here is an enclosure of some sort. But 
 what is this . . . ? " 
 
 " What's wrong, Fred ? Is any one dead ? Are 
 you ill . . .?" 
 
 " Ethel, you are an excellent m-manager." The 
 Vicar, very white as to his cheeks, and somewhat 
 wet as to his eyes, stood on the hearthrug and 
 waved his wife to a distance. " Be g-good enough 
 to secure a commodious farmhouse in North 
 Wales, somewhere between Bettws-y-Coed and 
 Llanberis, for the month of August — with a little 
 f-fishing attached, if possible. 
 
 " Please sit down, Ethel, and don't interrupt. 
 I'm sane, quite sane ; much p-playground and 
 domestic affliction have not made me mad. Now, 
 where was I ? Yes, and arrange quite a s-series 
 of tours round by Festiniog, and up Snowdon,
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 207 
 
 and down to Llandudno, and another to the 
 Menai Straits. . . . 
 
 " You are an extravagant, d-dressy woman, 
 Ethel, so you may get a n-natty walking dress 
 and three blouses, but keep a trifle for f-fishing 
 apparatus and special provisions . . . you are 
 t-throttling me . . . then read it yourself, 
 read it aloud, and ... I will p-process round 
 the table. I wish the boys had not gone to bed." 
 
 "' Liverpool, /2//j/ 16, 189—. 
 " * Reverend and Dear Sir, — It has come to 
 my knowledge from various quarters that you and 
 your devoted partner in life are doing a most 
 beneficent work, both sacred and secular, in a very 
 necessitous district of our great city, and that you 
 are discharging this duty to your fellow-creatures 
 at severe cost to yourselves and your family. 
 . " ' My observation of life leads me to believe 
 that none of our citizens live harder lives, or make 
 greater sacrifices, than clergymen of limited means 
 whose sphere of labour lies in poor parishes, and, 
 without being in any sense a good man — for my 
 whole life is a struggle with one besetting sin,
 
 2o8 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 which often getteth the victory — I have been filled 
 with respectful admiration, and have wished to 
 assist, after a humble fashion, in this Christian 
 service. 
 
 " * As you may have some difficulty in securing 
 a suitable holiday for your family through your 
 notorious charity — for such is the report con- 
 cerning you — I venture with much diffidence to 
 enclose a draft on London, which can be cashed 
 at any bank, for your use, under two conditions, 
 which I must charge you to observe: (i) that 
 the whole sum be employed to the last penny 
 in holiday expenses — including such special outfit 
 as may be judged fit by your wife for you all ; 
 and (2) that you make no effort to discover the 
 name of your unworthy friend. The endorsement 
 of this draft will be sufficient acknowledgment. 
 
 " ' Trusting you will all have a health-giving, 
 happy, and long holiday, 
 
 " ' I have the honour to be, 
 
 " ' Your humble servant, 
 
 " ' Zaccheus.' " 
 
 "Your voice is a little shaky, Ethel . . .
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 209 
 
 don't wonder . . . such nonsense about me 
 and such c-compHments to you . . . yes, it 
 will be g-glorious, another honeymoon, and those 
 rascals of boys, why won't they . . . Let us 
 thank God, wifej it came from Him. . . ." 
 
 14
 
 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 III 
 
 " You will be pleased to hear, mater dear, that 
 corn is up twopence a cental, and that the market 
 is buoyant ; that's the good of new blood being 
 brought into corn. I would have been lost in 
 medicine. 
 
 " I have been studying the career of a corn 
 prince, and it has five chapters. He begins a poor 
 boy — from the North of Ireland by preference, 
 but that is not necessary — then he attracts his 
 chief's attention, who sends him out to America, 
 where even the Yankees can't hold their own with 
 him, and he becomes manager of his firm. His 
 next move is to start in partnership with some 
 young fellow who has money and no brains ; by- 
 and-bye he discovers by instinct that corn is going 
 to rise, so he buys it ahead by the cargo, and 
 piles up a gorgeous sum — say one hundred thou- 
 sand pounds. Afterwards he buys out Empty-
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 211 
 
 head, and becomes the chief of a big house with 
 lots of juniors, and he ends by being a Bank 
 director and moving resolutions at the Town 
 Hall. 
 
 " Please don't interrupt, mother, for I have not 
 done yet. Long before the Town Hall level this 
 rising corn man has gone up by stages from the 
 street off Princes Road to an avenue near the 
 Park, and then into the Park, and perhaps into 
 the country, whence he appears as High Sheriff. 
 
 " One minute more, you impatient mother. A 
 certain person who will pretend to be nearly fifty 
 when the corn man comes into his kingdom, but 
 will remain always at twenty-five exactly, and 
 grow prettier every year, will have a better set 
 of rooms in each new house, and, at last, will 
 have her own carriage, and visit whole streets of 
 poor folk, and have all Liverpool blessing her. 
 This is the complete history of the corn man and 
 his mother, as it will be expounded to after genera- 
 tions of schoolboys by informing and moral philan- 
 thropists. What do you think of it ? " 
 
 " I think that you are a brave boy, Jack, and 
 your mother is proud of you and grateful ; if it's
 
 212 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 any reward for you to know this, I can say 
 that the way you have taken your disappointment 
 has been one of my chief comforts in our great 
 sorrow." 
 
 " Don't talk as if I were a sort of little tin hero, 
 mater, or else I'll have to leave the room, for I'm 
 nothing of the sort, really. If you only saw me 
 at my desk, or fussing round the offices, or passing 
 the time of day on corn, you would see that I 
 was simply born for business." 
 
 " Jack," said Mrs. Laycock solemnly, " you have 
 not been without faults, I'm thankful to say, for 
 you've been hot-tempered, hot-headed, wilful, and 
 lots of things, but this is the first time you have 
 been deliberately untruthful." 
 
 " Mother, with all respect to you, I will not 
 stand this insult," and so he slipped down on the 
 floor and caressed his mother's hand. " You think 
 that I've no commercial ability. Wait for the 
 event. It will be swagger, you bet." 
 
 " I think everything that is good of you. Jack, 
 as I ought, and your father did ; but I know that 
 it was very hard that you could not go back to 
 Rugby this autumn and finish in the sixth, and
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 213 
 
 go to Cambridge and study at Calus, your father's 
 college, and get your M.D., and take up your 
 father's profession and the one you loved, the 
 noblest a man can live and . . . die in," and 
 there was a break in the widow's voice. 
 
 " Of course, mater, that is what I would have 
 preferred, and it was a bit . . . stiff when I 
 knew that it would all have to be given up ; but 
 that was nothing to . . . losing father. And 
 besides, I think that I may get on in business 
 and . . . help you, mother." 
 
 " Your father had set his heart on your being 
 a doctor, and I don't know whether he ever spoke 
 to you about it, but he hoped you might become 
 a specialist — in surgery, I think ; he said you had 
 the hands at least for a good surgeon. 
 
 "It was his own heart's desire, you know, to be 
 a surgeon, pure and simple, and Mr. Holman, the 
 great consultant, considered him to be one of the 
 best operators in the provinces, but he was obliged 
 to be a general practitioner. 
 
 " Why ? Oh, because he had no private means, 
 and he had you and me to support, so he couldn't 
 run any risks ; he had to secure a regular income ;
 
 214 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 and there is something I wish you to understand, 
 in case you should ever think hardly of your 
 father." 
 
 " Mother — as if I could ! The very people in 
 the street admired father ; you know what they 
 said in the Mornmg Trumpet about his self-sacri- 
 ficing life, and his skill being at the disposal of 
 the poorest, without money and without price." 
 
 "Yes, the papers were very kind, and his 
 patients adored your father ; but I am certain 
 some of our neighbours criticised him because 
 he did not make better provision for his wife 
 and child. As if he had been extravagant or im- 
 provident, who never spent a farthing on himself, 
 and was always planning for our welfare." 
 
 " You are just torturing yourself with delusions, 
 I am sure, mater. Did any single person ever 
 hint that father had not done ... his duty 
 by us ? I can't believe it." 
 
 " One man did, at any rate. Jack, and that 
 was our neighbour, Mr. Dodson." 
 
 " What did he say, the miserable old cur- 
 mudgeon ? Did he dare to bring a charge against 
 father ? I wish I had been with you."
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 215 
 
 " No, it was not that he said anything ; it was 
 rather what he implied ; he just questioned and 
 questioned in an indirect fashion, all by way of 
 interest in our affairs, but left the impression on 
 my mind that he thought the doctor ought to 
 have done better for his family," 
 
 "What business had Mr. Dodson to call at all 
 and to ferret into our affairs, who was never 
 before in our house ? If we needed help — which 
 we don't — he is the last man in this district to 
 give it. Do you know he's the hardest, meanest 
 creature in Liverpool? He'll leave a cab thirty 
 yards from his house when he's coming from the 
 station, to keep within the shilling limit, and he 
 goes down in the penny 'bus with the working- 
 women to save twopence." 
 
 " There is a certain young corn-broker," in- 
 terpolated Mrs. Laycock, " who walks all the 
 way to save even that penny, and I don't con- 
 sider him mean." 
 
 "That is economy, and indicates the begin- 
 ning of a fortune, which will be shared with a 
 certain sarcastic mater. But Dodson is a mil- 
 lionaire, and has nobody depending on him but
 
 ai6 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 an old housekeeper. Certainly father was not 
 economical by his standard." 
 
 " Your father was most careful and thrifty," 
 said the widow eagerly, " and that is what I 
 want to explain. He had to borrow money to 
 educate himself, and that he paid back, every 
 penny, with interest. Then, you know, a doctor 
 cannot keep himself for the first few years of his 
 practice — he only made £'^2 \os. 6d. the year 
 he began — and when he reached ;^200 he did a 
 . . . foolish thing." 
 
 " Let me guess, mater. Was it not marrying 
 the dearest, sweetest, prettiest . . ." 
 
 *' Hush, you stupid boy ! And we had to keep 
 up a certain appearance and pay a high rent, 
 and we were very poor — poorer than the public 
 ever knew. 
 
 " Of course, the doctor had a large practice 
 before he died, and people used to think he 
 made two and three thousand pounds a year ; 
 and Mrs. Tattler-Jones, who knows everything, 
 said our income was j^4,ooo. 
 
 " His last year, your father earned ;^i,8oo and 
 got in £1^200 ; the other £600 will never be
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 217 
 
 paid ; and yet he was so pleased because he had 
 cleared off the last penny of his debt, and thought 
 he would begin to lay something aside for your 
 education." 
 
 "But why did he not get the other £600? 
 Could the people not pay?" 
 
 " They could pay everybody else — wine mer- 
 chants, jewellers, and car-owners — but their 
 doctor's bill was left last, and often altogether, 
 and your father would never prosecute." 
 
 " And didn't father attend many people for 
 nothing ? " 
 
 " No one will ever know how man}', for he 
 did not even tell me ; he used to say that if he 
 didn't get often to church, he tried to do as 
 people were told to do there ; his commandment 
 was the eleventh, ' Love one another.' " 
 
 "Did father believe the same as clergymen 
 about things, mater ? " 
 
 - " No, not quite, and I suppose some people 
 would call him a heretic ; but you and I know, 
 Jack, that if to do good and to be quite selfless, 
 and to be high-minded, pure, and true, is to be 
 like Christ, then the doctor was a Christian, the 
 best I ever saw,"
 
 2i8 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 "Very likely he was the same sort of heretic 
 as Christ Himself. I say, mater, there will be a 
 good lot to speak up for father some day — widows 
 and orphans and such like. I'm proud to be 
 his son ; it's a deal better to have such a father, 
 of whom every person speaks well, than to come 
 in for a pot of money. If old Dodson had a 
 son, how ashamed he would be of his father." 
 
 " Money is not a bad thing, all the same, 
 Jack," and Mrs. Laycock sighed. "If we had 
 had a little more than the insurance policy, then 
 we would not have had to come to this house, 
 and you would not have been in an office." 
 
 " It's a jolly house, I think ; and when the 
 Christmas cards are stuck up the decorations 
 will be complete. I wonder if the advance ones 
 will come by this post ? We'll see who re- 
 members us." 
 
 " That's the bell ; and see, six, seven, I declare, 
 ten to begin with ! Here's one in a rare old- 
 fashioned hand. I'll take off the envelope and 
 you will see the name. Why, it's a letter, and 
 a long screed, and a . . . cheque ! " 
 
 " Have some of those thieves paid their ac-
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 219 
 
 count ? You are crying, mater. Is it about 
 
 father ? May I see the letter, or is it private ? " 
 
 " No, it's about you, too, my son. I wish you 
 
 would read it aloud ; I'm not . . . quite able." 
 
 "•Liverpool, December 24, 189—. 
 "'Dear Madam, — 
 
 "'Along with many others in Liverpool, I 
 experienced a feeling of keen regret that in the 
 inscrutable actings of Providence your respected 
 husband, Dr. Laycock, was, as it appears, prema- 
 turely removed from his work and family. 
 
 " ' It must be a sincere consolation for his widow 
 to know that no man could have rendered more 
 arduous and salutary service to his fellows, many 
 of whom he relieved in pain, not a few of whom 
 he was instrumental in restoring to their families 
 from the portals of death. Without curiously 
 inquiring into the affairs of private life, many 
 persons were persuaded that Dr. Laycock was 
 in the custom of attending persons of limited 
 means as an act of charity, whereby he did 
 much good, won much affection, and doubtless
 
 2 20 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 has laid up for himself great riches in the world 
 to come, if we are to believe the good Book. 
 
 " ' I have not, however, sent you this letter 
 merely to express my sympathy, shared with so 
 many who have the privilege, denied to me, of 
 your personal friendship, or to express the 
 admiration felt by all for the eminent departed. 
 My object is different, and must be its own 
 excuse. Unless I have been incorrectly informed 
 — and my authority seemed excellent — the noble 
 life of Dr. Laycock hindered him from making 
 that complete provision for his family which he 
 would have desired, and which other men in 
 less unselfish walks of life could have accom- 
 plished. This disability, I am given to under- 
 stand, has seriously affected the career of your 
 son, whom every one describes as a promising lad, 
 so that he has been removed from a public 
 school, and has been obliged to abandon the 
 hope of entering on the study of medicine. 
 
 " ' If my information be correct, it was his 
 father's wish that your son should follow in his 
 steps, and it is incumbent on those who honoured 
 Dr. Laycock for his example of humanity, to
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 221 
 
 see that his cherished wish be fulfilled. Will 
 you, therefore, in the light of the explanation I 
 have made at some length, accept the draft I 
 have the honour to send — value ;^ 1,000 — and use 
 the proceeds in affording to your son a complete 
 medical education at home and abroad? The 
 thought that the just desire of a good man has 
 not fallen to the ground, and that a certain 
 burden will be lifted from his widow's life, will 
 be more than sufficient recompense to one whom 
 you will never know, but who will, so long as he 
 may be spared, follow your son's career with 
 sincere interest. — Believe me, my dear madam, 
 your obliged and grateful servant, 
 
 " ' Zaccheus.' 
 
 " Hold it up against the light, mater ; it's the 
 prettiest Christmas card we'll ever see. . . . 
 You ought to be laughing, and not crying. 
 '. . . But I feel a little — ^just a tiny wee bit 
 watery myself 
 
 " He might as well have told us his name ; 
 but I suppose he was afraid of a row. Zaccheus ? 
 Why, that's the man who gave the playgrounds.
 
 222 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 He must have a pile, and he knows how to use 
 it ; he's no Dodson, you bet. At any rate, 
 though we don't know him, we can say, * God 
 bless him,' mater." 
 
 " Amen," said Mrs. Laycock. " I hope the 
 father knows."
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON ' 223 
 
 IV 
 
 " How do I know that there is something 
 wrong, Bert ? Because we've been married five 
 years last month, and I can read your face like 
 a book, or rather a great deal better than most 
 books, for I'm not clever in following deep books, 
 but I'm quite sure about your face. 
 
 " No, I don't imagine, for you may be able to 
 hide what you feel on the ' Flags,' but you let 
 out the secret at home ; and that is one reason 
 why I love you — because you are not cunning 
 and secretive. Now tell me, is cotton down, and 
 have you lost ? 
 
 " Oh, yes, Bert, I know your principle, that a 
 man ought to bear the burden outside, and the 
 woman inside the home ; but there are exceptions. 
 You have acted up to your principle splendidly. 
 You have never said a word all these years, al- 
 though I know you've had anxious times, and
 
 2 24 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 you've helped me many a time with my little 
 troubles. Let me help you in yours now." 
 
 " Queenie, if you want to put me to utter 
 shame, you have taken the right way, for it's 
 your thrift and good management which has 
 given us our happy home, and I . . ." 
 
 "Yes, you, Bert, you have idled your time, I 
 suppose, and spent your money on dress, and 
 generally neglected your family. For shame, sir, 
 when you have done so well, and every one says 
 that nobody is so much respected. Don't look 
 like that if you love me. What is it ? " 
 
 "It is necessary that you be told, and I was 
 going to speak this evening, but it is very hard. 
 Queenie, when I kissed the children and looked 
 at you all so happy, I felt like a . . . mur- 
 derer." 
 
 " Have you . . ." 
 
 " No, on my word of honour, I have done 
 nothing wrong, tJiat I can say ; neither you nor 
 the little ones have any cause to be ashamed of 
 me." 
 
 " If you had, I would have stood by your side, 
 Herbert, but I knew disgrace would never come
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 225 
 
 by you ; then what is it ? If it's only the loss 
 of some money, why, I know half a dozen eco- 
 nomies." 
 
 " It's far worse than that, wife, I fear. This 
 •will be our last Christmas in our dear little home, 
 and it's all my blame, and I feel . . . the 
 basest of men. As if you had trusted me when 
 I had deceived you all. 
 
 " You are the best wife ever man had. . . . 
 I feel better, and I'll explain it all to you. It is 
 not very difficult ; it is so easy to be ruined. 
 
 " You know we are brokers, and our business 
 is to buy or sell cotton for other people, and we 
 are responsible for them, so that if they cannot 
 pay the losses, we have to find the money. 
 
 " Two of our firms, which have been very kind 
 to us, were sure cotton would go up — and so it 
 ought to have done, and will in the end — and 
 they bought so many bales through us. 
 - " Well, a big house, which can do pretty much 
 as it likes, seized the opportunity of a fraud to 
 rush in and upset the market, so our friends and 
 many others have to face declines they cannot 
 meet. So unless our poor little firm can pay 
 
 A. IS
 
 226 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 ;^ 1 0,000 at least on Monday, we must stop, and 
 . . . all our hard work to build up an honour- 
 able name is lost. 
 
 "We can scrape ;^4,ooo, and my partner and 
 I have ;^i,ooo private means to put in, and . . . 
 that's all, ;^S,ooo short. 
 
 " Yes, we have tried the Bank, but they can't 
 do anything there. Goldsworthy, the manager, is 
 the nicest fellow living, and his * No ' is almost 
 as good as another's * Yes ' ; but of course it was 
 * No ' ; we had no security ; the cotton may go 
 lower before it turns, and he has told us we must 
 pay." 
 
 " But surely, Herbert, if the big firms knew 
 how you were situated, they would help you, be- 
 cause things would come right in a few weeks, 
 you say." 
 
 "Every man has to look after himself in the 
 market. But I did go to Huddleston, because he 
 has given me so much advice, and wanted me to 
 take an interest in the Church. ... I wish 
 my tongue had been burned before I crossed his 
 room. 
 
 " No, he wasn't rude — that's not his sin ; he
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 227 
 
 might be better if he were straighten He hoped 
 that I was prospering in business, and reminded 
 me that I must not allow the world to get too 
 much hold, and became eloquent on money being 
 only a stewardship. But when I opened up my 
 errand, he explained that he made it a principle 
 never to lend money, and suggested that this was 
 a chastening because we had hasted to be rich. 
 He hoped that the issue would be sanctified, and 
 . . . but I rose and left, quite sick." 
 
 " What a canting old wretch ! " Mrs. Ransome 
 was very angry. " I always hated that man's 
 soft sawder ; he's much too pussy to be 
 true." 
 
 " He was not bound to help me unless he 
 pleased. But what riled me was his religious 
 talk ; he might have spared me that at least. 
 And if those operators who have knocked the 
 market to pieces haul in ;^30,ooo, they will likely 
 give ;^i,ooo to missions. 
 
 " When a man has done his level best, and been 
 fairly prudent, and has worked hard, and is get- 
 ting a fair connection, and everything is taken 
 away by a big, unscrupulous, speculative firm,
 
 228 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 which sees a chance of making a pile at the 
 ruin of half a dozen struggling firms, it's a little 
 hard." 
 
 " They ought to be put in jail ; but they'll 
 catch it some day ; " and it was evident Mrs. 
 Ransome, like many other people in her circum- 
 stances, found much satisfaction from the belief 
 in future punishment. 
 
 " It's apt to make one bitter, too," Ransome 
 went on. "When I sat opposite old Dodson in 
 the 'bus this afternoon — come to the penny 'bus 
 now, you see, Queenie — looking out from below 
 his shaggy eyebrows like a Scotch terrier, with 
 meanness written over his shabby clothes, and 
 almost heard the gold chinking in his pockets, 
 and thought that he could save our home and 
 secure my future by a cheque, and never miss 
 the money — suppose he lost it, which he wouldn't 
 if I lived — I declare, I could have . . . well, 
 I did not feel as Christian as Huddleston would 
 desire." 
 
 " Bert, have you ever thought what we would 
 do if we became rich — how we would send flowers 
 to people who were not well off, and let them
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 229 
 
 use our carriage, and send overworked teachers 
 and clerks for holidays, and . . ." 
 
 " Help lame dogs in cotton over stiles, eh, 
 wifie ? Yes, I've had my dreams too. I'd go in 
 for the poor children's holiday fund, that would 
 be my extravagance. But we are no better than 
 other people. And were you never afraid that 
 we would grow selfish and pompous, and mean 
 and Pharisaical, like Huddleston, and maybe end 
 in being Dodsons?" 
 
 " No, no, that is impossible ! " cried his wife, 
 " because, for one thing, we have loved, and, per- 
 haps, Mr. Dodson never was loved, poor soul ; 
 and if things come to the worst, remember there 
 is a good deal left." 
 
 " There is something in that, Queenie ; run over 
 the inventory, and I'll check you." 
 
 " First of all there is you, the truest, kindest, 
 bravest husband in Liverpool. . . ." 
 
 " Stop ; that is your own private property, and 
 we were to go over our common means ; besides, 
 the valuation is ninety per cent, too high." 
 
 "You be quiet. And there are two children 
 whom every one looks at in the street, and who
 
 230 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 are the sweetest . . . Nobody hears us, so it 
 doesn't matter, and you know they are. Wouldn't 
 it have been far worse if we had lost Reggie 
 when he had diphtheria ? Well, we have him 
 and Maud, and they never looked better." 
 
 " That's true, wifie ; go on ; capital is mounting 
 up." 
 
 " Then there's your good name, which has never 
 been stained. Nobody says you are mean, or 
 hypocritical, or unmanly, or . . . anything 
 bad ; and if . . . you can't pay that money 
 on Monday, every person will know that it was 
 not your fault, and that you will repay all you 
 owe some day, if you can." 
 
 "Yes, please God, wife, we will. , , , You 
 think too much of me, but go on." 
 
 " We have half a dozen friends, and, although 
 they're not rich, they're true ; and if we have to 
 go into a smaller house and live very quietly, 
 they won't mind ; they'll just come closer, won't 
 they?" 
 
 " Right again ; you are getting on. We've 
 somewhere about ;^50,ooo working capital now." 
 
 "We have our books and our music, and , , .
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 231 
 
 five years of love and . . . spiritual blessings 
 one doesn't talk about. . . ." 
 
 " One piece of property wanting, which is best 
 of all — yourself, Queenie, surely the cleverest, 
 loyalest . . ." 
 
 " You are talking nonsense now, Bert ; and are 
 you aware that it is past eleven o'clock ? I'll 
 turn out the gas in the dining-room if you will 
 see that the door is fastened." 
 
 " Here is a letter which must have come by 
 the last post and been forgotten ; perhaps it's a 
 Christmas card in advance. Let's see. Oh, I 
 say, you've left me in darkness." 
 
 " Come up to our room ; we can open it there ; 
 very likely it's a bill. Well?" 
 
 " I say . . . Queenie . . . no, it can't 
 be a hoax . . . nobody would be so cruel 
 . . . and here's an enclosure . . . letter from 
 London bankers confirming ... sit down here 
 beside me ; we'll read it together ... so, as 
 near as you can, and your arm round my neck 
 . . . just a second before we begin . . . my 
 eyes are ... all right now."
 
 232 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 " Liverpool, December 22, 189 — . 
 
 " Dear Sir, — It has been my practice, as a man 
 engaged for many years in commercial pursuits, 
 to keep a watchful and, I hope, not unkindly 
 eye upon young firms beginning their business 
 career in Liverpool, For the last five years I 
 have observed your progress with much interest, 
 and you will pardon my presumption and take 
 no offence, when I express my satisfaction, as an 
 old merchant, with your diligence, caution, ability, 
 and, most of all, integrity, to which all bear wit- 
 ness. 
 
 " I was therefore greatly grieved to learn that 
 your firm may be hardly pressed next week, and 
 may be in danger of stoppage — all the more be- 
 cause I find no charge of folly can be brought 
 against you, but that you are the indirect vic- 
 tims of one firm's speculative operations. There 
 is no one, I am also informed, from whom you 
 can readily obtain the temporary assistance you 
 require and are morally entitled to receive. 
 
 " The only satisfaction I have in life is using 
 such means as Providence has been pleased to 
 put into my hands for the succour of people
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 233 
 
 who are in every way better than myself, but 
 who are in some kind of straits. I have there- 
 fore directed my London bankers to open an 
 account for you and to put ;^ 10,000 to your 
 credit. Upon this account you will be pleased 
 to draw such a sum as will tide you over the 
 present crisis, and such other sums as will enable 
 you to extend your business along the safe and 
 honourable lines you have hitherto followed. I 
 do not doubt that you will repay the said sum 
 or sums to the same account as you may be able 
 — no interest will be accepted — and I only lay 
 one other obligation on your honour, that you 
 make no endeavour to discover my name. 
 
 " Be pleased to accept my best wishes of this 
 season for your admirable wife, your two pleas- 
 ing children, and my confident hope for your 
 final and large success in business. — I remain, 
 your faithful friend, 
 
 " Zaccheus." 
 
 " Let us go and kiss the children, hubbie, and 
 then ... we might say the Lord's Prayer to- 
 gether."
 
 234 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 V 
 
 "A respectable, elderly woman, did you say, 
 Marshall ? " said Mr. Greatheart in his room at the 
 office ; " certainly, bring her in. Very likely a 
 widow wishing to get her son admitted to the 
 Bluecoat School, or some poor householder in 
 trouble about her taxes." For to this man came 
 all sorts and conditions of people in their dis- 
 tresses, and to each he gave patient audience and 
 practical succour. 
 
 "You don't trouble me. If I can be of any 
 use, nothing will please me better," he said, placing 
 a chair and making a kindly fuss to cover his 
 visitor's confusion. " Now sit down and tell me 
 all about it." That was why the respectable poor 
 loved him, from the Catholic Irish of Scotland 
 Road to the Orangemen of Toxteth. 
 
 " Is it your husband or your son you are so 
 anxious about ? " — for she was much agitated. 
 " I notice that a woman hardly ever comes about
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 235 
 
 herself. It's we men who are selfish, not the 
 women." 
 
 " No, it's neither, for I am an unmarried woman. 
 It's about my master, whom I believe you know, 
 sir — Mr. Dodson." 
 
 " Samuel Dodson, you mean ; I should think 
 so ! Have known him for fifty years — since we 
 served our time together in Palmer's shipping 
 office. What, is he ill?" 
 
 " He's dead . . . this morning. You'll excuse 
 me, I was his housekeeper for near thirty year, 
 and . . . I'm a little upset." 
 
 " Good gracious ! No wonder. Maria Wilkins, 
 did you say? . . . You may well be upset. 
 And thirty years with him ! Tell me how this 
 happened, for we've heard nothing in the city. 
 He couldn't have been ill long." 
 
 " No, sir, he was never ill at all — not what you 
 would say proper ; but I've seen him failin' for 
 some time — gettin' thin like and growin' down — 
 and last night he was that white and shaky, that 
 I wanted him to see a doctor. But no, he 
 wouldn't. If it had been me or the girl, he 
 would have had a doctor when there was nothing
 
 236 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 wrong with us, he was that concerned about other 
 people ; but for himself . . ." 
 
 Mr. Greatheart nodded — indicating that Mr. 
 Dodson's unselfish character was well known to 
 him. 
 
 " * No, no, Maria,' says he, ' a doctor can do no 
 good to me. I'm a tough old fellow' — speaking 
 that way to me, being long with him — ' I'll be 
 all right to-morrow.' But I made bold to put 
 a glass of brandy in his room, and pleaded with 
 him to ring the bell if he was unwell — he was 
 not easily managed — and that was all I could do, 
 sir." 
 
 Her hearer was of opinion that from what he 
 knew of Mr. Dodson's native obstinacy, Maria 
 Wilkins had done all in the power of mortal 
 woman, and possibly, more, than could have been 
 accomplished by any man. 
 
 " Twice during the night I rose and listened 
 at his door — his face, when he said good-night, 
 lyin' heavy on me, so to say — and I heard no- 
 thing ; but when he didn't answer in the mornin' 
 I took it on me to open the door. Mr. Dodson 
 was a-sittin' up in his bed. and at the sight of his
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 237 
 
 face I knew how it was, havin' seen death many 
 times. My old master . . . was gone," and 
 the housekeeper yielded to her feelings. 
 
 " Dear, dear ! So Sam Dodson is gone ; an 
 able and successful merchant, one who always 
 met his obligations, and whose word was as good 
 as his bond ; he had a warmer heart than any 
 person knew. I've seen a look in his face at a 
 time, and am sure that he did good in his own 
 way." 
 
 " God bless you for that, sir ! but it's what I 
 could have looked for from you, if I may say it 
 without offence. And you never spoke a truer 
 word, and that I can testify as has lived with 
 master for a lifetime, and could tell the difference 
 between the outside and the inside." 
 
 " Ah, yes, you saw the real man, Maria ; but 
 he was sometimes . . . well, hidden from the 
 public." 
 
 " He had his peculiarities, and '00 hasn't, I say ? 
 Now, my wages when I came to him was just 
 fourteen pounds, and they're just fourteen yet ; 
 but every Christmas, for many a year, master 
 slipped a ten-pound note into my hand. ' Put
 
 238 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 that into your bank, Maria,' he would say, ' and 
 never tell anybody you've got it.' 
 
 " As for food, he was aggravatin', for he would 
 have nothing as was not plain, and he would check 
 the books to a ha'penny ; but if you was ill, why, 
 he would bring home grapes with his own hand. 
 We dare not for our lives give a morsel to beggars 
 at the door, but if he heard of a poor family, 
 nothin' would serve him but he would go and 
 find out all about them." 
 
 " That's my Dodson, just as I imagined him," 
 cried Mr. Greatheart ; " tell me more, Maria ; it's 
 excellent, every word." 
 
 " Do you think he would let any person know 
 he was givin' help ? Not he ; and he was artful, 
 was master. Why, I've known him send me with 
 money to a clergyman, that he might give it, 
 and his words were, * No name, Maria, or we part ; 
 just a citizen of Liverpool.'" 
 
 " Dodson all over ! shrewd and unassuming, and 
 full of charity. Have you anything else to tell, 
 Maria?" 
 
 " Well, sir, I do not know for certain, and it was 
 not for me to spy on my master, but I'm much
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 239 
 
 mistaken if many a one in the better class was 
 not the better of Mr. Dodson in their troubles." 
 
 " How do you think that ? " inquired Mr. Great- 
 heart in huge delight. 
 
 " I've seen him read a letter maybe six times, 
 and he would wipe his eyes through pleasure 
 as I took it. You wouldn't believe, maybe, as 
 master could be like that." 
 
 " I do, Maria. I declare it's what I expected. 
 And what then ? " 
 
 " He would walk up and down the room, and 
 speak to himself, and read another bit, and rub 
 his hands . . ." 
 
 " I wish I had been there, Maria." 
 
 " And he would carry a letter like that in his 
 pocket for days, and then he would put it carefully 
 in the fire ; but I saw him take it out, half- 
 burned, and read a corner again before he burned 
 that letter." 
 
 " Maria, I cannot tell you how much obliged 
 I am to you for coming to me, and giving me 
 such a touching account of your dear master. 
 Now, is there anything I can do for you in this 
 loss?"
 
 240 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 " Lord bless me, sir, that I should have been 
 taking up your time like this, and you a magis- 
 trate, and never told you what brought me ! It's 
 more than a month past that master said to me, 
 ' Maria, if anything happens to me, go to Mr. 
 Greatheart's office, and give him my keys, and 
 ask him to open my desk. He is a good man, 
 and he's sure to come.' " 
 
 " Did he say so ? That was most generous of 
 him, and I appreciate it highly. I will come 
 instantly, and shall bring a lawyer with me, a 
 kind-hearted and able man. Good-bye for the 
 present, Maria ; you have fulfilled your charge, 
 as I believe you have all your duty, excellently 
 . . . excellently." 
 
 " You see, Welsby," as they went up to the 
 house, "Dodson had left his firm, and had few 
 friends, perhaps none — a reserved man about him- 
 self, but a true man at the bottom." 
 
 " So you have always said, Mr. Greatheart. 
 We'll know now ; my experience as a lawyer 
 proves that, as a rule, a man's papers reveal him, 
 and there are some curious surprises." 
 
 "If you look through that safe, and note the
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 241 
 
 contents, Welsby, I'll read this letter addressed 
 to me. I gather that I must be executor, and 
 there seems to be no lawyer ; very like Dodson, 
 very — do everything for himself. 
 
 "Liverpool, April i^th, 188 — . 
 "Barnabas Greatheart, Esq. 
 
 " My dear Sir, — You will peruse this letter 
 after my death, and you will be pleased to con- 
 sider it as intended for your eyes alone, since it 
 is in the nature of a confession. 
 
 " My early career was a continuous struggle with 
 narrow and arduous circumstances, and I suffered 
 certain disappointments at the hands of friends 
 which I considered undeserved. In consequence 
 of these experiences I grew penurious, cynical, 
 merciless, hopeless, and, let me say it plainly, a 
 sour, hard man, hating my neighbours, and de- 
 spised of them. May the Almighty forgive me ! 
 - " This year in which I write, a great change 
 has come over me, and my heart has been softened 
 and touched at last with human sympathy. The 
 force which has affected me is not any book nor 
 sermon, but your example of goodness and your 
 
 A. 16
 
 242 THE RIGHT HAND 
 
 charity towards all men. In spite of the general 
 judgment on me, which has been fully merited, 
 I have seen that you do not shun me, but rather 
 have gone out of your way to countenance me, and 
 I have heard that you speak kindly of me. It 
 is not my nature to say much ; it is not yours to 
 receive praise ; but I wish you to know you have 
 made me a new man. 
 
 " It seemed to me, however, dangerous that I 
 should begin to distribute my means openly 
 among charities, as I was inclined to do, since I 
 might pass from hardness to pride and be charged 
 with ostentation, as I had been once with miserli- 
 ness, with sad justice in both cases. 
 
 " So it came to me that, still retaining and 
 maintaining my character for meanness — as a 
 punishment for my past ill-doing and a check on 
 vanity — I would gradually use my capital in the 
 private and anonymous aid of respectable people 
 who are passing through material adversity, and 
 the help of my native city, so that my left hand 
 should not know what my right was doing. This 
 plan I have now, at this date, pursued for six 
 months, and hope to continue to my death, and
 
 OF SAMUEL DODSON 243 
 
 I did not know so great joy could be tasted by 
 any human being as God has given to me. And 
 now, to all the goodness you have shown me, 
 will you add one favour, to wind up my affairs 
 as follows : — 
 
 "(i) Provide for my housekeeper generously. 
 
 "(2) Give a liberal donation to the other ser- 
 vant. 
 
 "(3) Bury me quietly, without intimation to 
 any one. 
 
 "(4) Distribute all that remains, after paying 
 every debt, as you please, in the help of widows, 
 orphans, and young men. 
 
 "(5) Place a packet, marked * gilt-edged securi- 
 ties,' in my coffin. 
 
 " And consider that, among all your good 
 works, this will have a humble place, that you 
 saved the soul of — Your grateful friend, 
 
 "Samuel Dodson." 
 
 " What Dodson has done with his money, Mr. 
 Greatheart, I don't know; all the securities to- 
 gether don't amount to ;^5,ooo. He seems to 
 have been living on an annuity."
 
 244 RIGHT HAND OF SAMUEL DODSON 
 
 " His wealth is here, Welsby, in this packet of 
 cancelled cheques, two hundred and eighty-seven, 
 which go with him to the other side ; and I tell 
 you, Welsby, I know no man who has invested 
 his money so securely as Samuel Dodson. See, 
 read that top check." 
 
 "To Goldbeater, London, ;^io,ooo. Why, the 
 draft I got for playgrounds was on that bank, 
 and the date corresponds. Curious. 
 
 " Eh ? What ? You don't mean to say that 
 this man we slanged and . . . looked down 
 on was . . ." 
 
 "Yes, Zaccheus was Sam Dodson."
 
 SAVED BY FAITH
 
 SAVED BY FAITH 
 
 I 
 
 "So you have agreed to accept seven-and-six- 
 pence in the pound from Hatchard ? " Oxley said 
 in his slow, quiet manner, as he smoked with his 
 two friends after luncheon at the Club. " I could 
 not attend the meeting, but I hear that the affairs 
 showed badly." 
 
 " Yes, we took the sum he offered, and of course 
 it would have done no good to put him in the 
 Bankruptcy Court, as far as the dividend is con- 
 cerned : very likely we should only have netted 
 half-a-crown ; but I had a good mind to refuse 
 a composition." And in his excitement Beazley 
 established himself for oratorical purpose^ on the 
 hearthrug, — he had recently taken to municipal 
 politics. 
 
 " You mean that Hatchard has acted foolishly,
 
 248 SAVED BY FAITH 
 
 and ought not to have got into such a hole. I 
 suppose you are right : Tommy was ahvays a 
 sanguine chap." 
 
 " Sanguine has nothing to do with it, Oxley, 
 and I fancy you know that there's more than want 
 of judgment at Hatchard's door. Of course the 
 longest-headed men in the corn trade may make 
 a mistake and be caught by a falling market, 
 but that is no reason why a fellow should take 
 in every friend he could lay hands on. What 
 do you say, Macfarlane?" 
 
 That most phlegmatic and silent of Scots never 
 said anything unless speech was absolutely neces- 
 sary ; and as the proposition that a man ought 
 not to cheat his friends was one no person could 
 deny, Macfarlane gave no sign. 
 
 " I'm afraid that it is a rather bad case," Oxley 
 admitted with reluctance, "but I'm sorry for 
 Tommy : when a man is at his wits' end he's 
 apt to . . . forget himself, in fact, and do 
 things he would be the first to condemn at other 
 times. A man loses his moral presence of mind." 
 
 Macfarlane indicated, after consideration, his 
 agreement.
 
 SAVED BY FAITH 249 
 
 " That sounds very fine, Oxley," burst in Beaz- 
 ley, " but it's very dangerous doctrine and would 
 cover some curious transactions. Hatchard knew 
 quite well that when he was hopelessly bankrupt 
 he ought not to have borrowed a thousand from 
 Macfarlane and you and five hundred from me : 
 our business losses were enough." 
 
 " Had none," murmured Macfarlane to himself. 
 
 " I was so angry," continued Beazley, " that I 
 got hold of him afterwards in Fenwick Street 
 and gave him as sound a talking to as ever a 
 man got in this city : he'll not forget it in a 
 hurry. You see he is a friend, and that makes 
 me sore." 
 
 " Can you give us an idea what you said ? " 
 inquired Oxley drily, while Macfarlane showed 
 that he was listening. 
 
 " Well, I said various things ; but the gist was 
 that his friends were ashamed of him — not about 
 the cash, you know, but about the conduct, and 
 that he was little better than a swindler : yes, I 
 did." 
 
 Macfarlane smoked furiously, 
 
 " No, Oxley, he made no reply. Not one word
 
 2SO SAVED BY FAITH 
 
 of defence : he simply turned round and walked 
 away. I suppose you think that I ought not to 
 have been so hard on him ? " 
 
 "Well, no doubt you did what seemed right, 
 and Hatchard has not been quite straight ; but 
 I now understand what I saw two hours ago, and 
 what gave me a shock. You favoured him with 
 your mind about eleven, I should guess ? Yes : 
 then at twelve he came out of a restaurant in 
 Dale Street as if he had been drinking. That 
 is the first time Hatchard ever did that kind of 
 thing, I believe, but it will not be the last: his 
 face was quite changed — half woe-begone and 
 half desperate." 
 
 " If Thomas takes to tasting " — Macfarlane was 
 much moved — " it's all over with him : he's such 
 a soft-hearted chap." 
 
 " Nonsense, you're making too much of it ; but 
 I was a trifle sharp, perhaps : he's been very pro- 
 voking, and any other man would have said the 
 same except you two fellows, and the one of you 
 is so charitable that he would find an excuse for 
 a pickpocket, and the other is so cannie that he 
 can't make up his mind to say anything."
 
 SAVED BY FAITH 251 
 
 After which there was a pause. 
 
 "Yes," began Oxley again, falling into ancient 
 history, "he has gone off form a bit — the best 
 may do so at a time — but Tommy wasn't half a 
 bad fellow once : he got a study at Soundbergh 
 before me, and he was very decent with it, letting 
 me do ' prep.' in it before exams. ; and I never 
 counted him sidey, did you, B. ? " 
 
 " I should think not ; I'll say that for him at 
 any rate, there wasn't one scrap of humbug in 
 Tommy : why, he was a prefect when I was in 
 the fourth, and he didn't mind although a chap 
 ' ragged ' and chaffed him ; he was the jolliest 
 ' pre.' in the whole school. It was perhaps rather 
 hard lines to slang him to-day, — I half wish I 
 hadn't." 
 
 " If Tommy got a grub-box from home every 
 chap in Buttery's house knew," — Oxley was bent 
 on reminiscences, — " it was shared round in three 
 days, and his raspberry jam was not to be de- 
 spised. I hear him yet : ' All right. Ox., dig in, 
 there's lots left' Now there's Byles, who makes 
 speeches about hospitals : he was mean if you 
 please."
 
 252 SAVED BY FAITH 
 
 "Mean ain't the word for Byles," and in his 
 enthusiasm Freddie Beazley dropped into school 
 slang, which no public-schoolboy ever forgets, and 
 which lasts from generation to generation, like the 
 speech of the Gypsies : " Byles was a beastly gut, 
 and a sneak too ; why, for all his cheek now he 
 isn't fit to black Tommy's shoes. Tommy wasn't 
 what you would call ' pie,' but he was as straight 
 as a die. I'd give ten pounds not to have called 
 him that word to-day." Freddie was breaking 
 down. 
 
 " Poor old Tommy ! " went on Oxley : " one 
 never expected him to come such a cropper; 
 he was a good all-round man — cricket, football, 
 sports, Tommy did well for his house ; he was a 
 double-colour man." 
 
 *' Do ye mind the ten miles, lads ? " and Mac- 
 farlane chuckled. 
 
 " Rather," and Freddie could not sit still : " he 
 did it in one hour twelve minutes and was it 
 fifteen seconds ? " 
 
 "Thirteen and three-fifths seconds." Macfar- 
 lane spoke with decision. 
 
 " And he could have walked back to Buttery's,
 
 SAVED BY FAITH 253 
 
 as if he had never run a yard ; but didn't the 
 fellows carry him ? " 
 
 " I had a leg myself." Macfarlane was growing 
 loquacious. 
 
 " Yes, and he didn't swagger or brag about it," 
 — Oxley took up the running, — " not he, but was 
 just as civil as if he had won some footling little 
 race at the low-country schools, where they 
 haven't a hill within twenty miles, instead of 
 running round Baughfell in the Soundbergh ten- 
 mile." 
 
 " What did old Tommy do it for ? " and Freddie 
 Beazley almost wept at the thought that the 
 crack of Soundbergh had played foul : " it 
 couldn't be money ; he was never selfish — as 
 open-handed a chap as ever I saw," 
 
 " Wife and kids," answered Macfarlane, smok- 
 ing thoughtfully. 
 
 "The Scot has it," said Oxley. "Tommy 
 doesn't care one straw for himself, but he wanted, 
 I take it, to keep that dear little wife of his com- 
 fortable and get a good education for his boys, 
 and so he got deeper and deeper, trying to re- 
 trieve himself for their sakes. Mind you, I don't
 
 254 SAVED BY FAITH 
 
 defend him, but that was his excuse ; and now 
 Tommy has gone under." 
 
 " Not if I can help it, boys," and Beazley's 
 face flushed. " And I say, here are three of us : 
 why shouldn't we join and — and — tighten the 
 rope and haul Tommy on his feet again?" 
 
 Macfarlane took the briar root out of his mouth 
 and regarded Freddie with admiration. 
 
 *' We were all in the same house, and Tommy 
 likes us, and we could do . . . that sort of 
 thing when he wouldn't take it from others ; and 
 I say, it would be a jolly decent thing to do." 
 
 " You're all right, Freddie," — Oxley was evi- 
 dently pleased, — " and we're with you " (" shoulder 
 to shoulder," said Macfarlane, lighting his pipe 
 with ostentatious care). " Now the first step is 
 to let Tommy know that we have not turned our 
 backs on him : my idea is that if he knows we 
 three are going to stand by him he'll not throw 
 up the sponge." 
 
 "Look here," cried Beazley, "I'll go round this 
 minute, and I'll beg his pardon for what I said, 
 and I'll tell him that we haven't forgotten the old 
 days among the hills, and that we know he's a
 
 SAVED BY FAITH 255 
 
 white man, and ... in fact he'll take the 
 cup yet." 
 
 " That will help mightily ; and now let us make 
 up our plans," said Oxley. 
 
 And that was how three men joined in a con- 
 spiracy for the business and social and personal 
 salvation of Thomas Hatchard.
 
 2S6 SAVED BY FAITH 
 
 II 
 
 " How late you are, Tom — eight o'clock — and 
 how tired you look, poor fellow ! I've been think- 
 ing about you all day. Was it very trying this 
 morning, or were they nice ? They ought to have 
 been, for everybody must know that it wasn't 
 your fault." 
 
 " No, I don't think everybody could know that. 
 Amy dear, for I don't know it myself, and some 
 men have good reason to know the opposite. 
 Well, yes, I was . . . rather sick at the meet- 
 ing, and worse afterwards." 
 
 " Did they dare to insult you, Tom ? If they 
 had had one spark of gentlemanly feeling they 
 would have pitied you. Do you mean that they 
 . . . said things ? Tell me, for I want to share 
 every sorrow with you, darling." 
 
 " One man was very hard on me, and I didn't 
 expect it from him — no, I won't tell you his
 
 SAVED BV FAITH 257 
 
 name, for he behaved very handsomely in the 
 end. Perhaps I didn't deserve all the sharp 
 words, but I am sure I haven't deserved any of 
 the kind words that were said before the day was 
 done. But never mind about me just now : tell 
 me how you got on. Wasn't it your visiting 
 day ? did . . . any one call ? " 
 
 "So you were thinking about me in all your 
 troubles ! " — his wife put her arm round Hatch- 
 ard's neck — "and you were afraid I should be 
 deserted because you were victimised by those 
 speculators ! Now confess." 
 
 " Well, you know, Amy, society is not very 
 merciful, and I think women are the crudest of 
 all. What hits a man, if he is unfortunate, or 
 . . . worse, is that his poor wife is made to 
 suffer. If her husband has done ... I mean 
 has acted foolishly, well, say, has lost money, his 
 wife is neglected and cut and made to feel 
 miserable. It's a beastly shame, and I was afraid 
 that " 
 
 " I would be sitting all alone to-da}', because we 
 are poor. Do you know, Tom, I was just a tiny 
 bit nervous too, although I would not have told 
 
 A. 17
 
 258 SAVED BY FAITH 
 
 you this morning for worlds. And now I have 
 splendid news to give you : our friends are as 
 true as steel. Now answer a question, Tom, to 
 see whether you and I agree about the difference 
 between acquaintances and friends. Mention the 
 names of the three families you would expect to 
 stand by us in our trial." 
 
 " The Oxleys, of course, wife, and ... I 
 would have said the Beazleys, and, let me see, 
 yes, the Macfarlanes, although their manner 
 doesn't allow them to show what they feel. Am 
 I right?" 
 
 " To a man (and woman), they all called to- 
 day — the women, I mean : I daresay the men 
 called on you. And they all said the nicest 
 things, and what is best, they said the nicest 
 things about you : yes, they did, and if you doubt 
 my word we shall separate ... do you really 
 think I would chaff to-day ? 
 
 " Sit there, just where I can lay my head on 
 your shoulder, and I shall describe everything. 
 It was half-past two when I began to watch the 
 clock and wonder whether any one would come : 
 have other people had the same feeling ? About
 
 SAVED BY FAITH 259 
 
 a quarter to three the bell rang, and my heart 
 beat : who would it be ? It was nothing — a tax 
 paper ; and I began to think what I would have 
 done if the same thing had happened to one of 
 our friends — how I would have simply rushed 
 along and been in the house the first decent 
 minute after lunch, and how I would " 
 
 " I know you would, Pet, and that is why they 
 did it to you. Well, drive on." 
 
 " Exactly at eight minutes to three — oh, I 
 know the time to-day without mistake — the door 
 opened, and in came Mrs. Macfarlane ; and do 
 you know what she did ? " 
 
 " She didn't ! " cried Hatchard — " not kissed 
 you ? " 
 
 " Yes, she did, and a real kiss ; and she took 
 me in her arms, and I saw tears in her eyes, and 
 — and ... I cried for a minute ; I couldn't 
 help it, and it was quite a comfort. She hadn't 
 said a word all this time, and that was just 
 right, wasn't it ? " 
 
 " I'll never say a word against the Scots' man- 
 ner again," said Tom huskily. 
 
 " But she spoke quite beautifully afterwards,
 
 26o SAVED BY FAITH 
 
 and told me of some trials no one knows, which 
 they had ten years ago, and how they had never 
 loved one another so much before. When reti- 
 cent people give you their confidence it touches 
 your heart, and we used to think her voice harsh, 
 and to laugh at her accent." 
 
 " God forgive me ! " said Thomas : " I'm a 
 fool." 
 
 " She said : ' You know how quiet Ronald is, 
 and how he hardly ever gets enthusiastic. Well, 
 it would have done you good to have heard him 
 speak about Mr. Hatchard this morning. He 
 said ' " 
 
 " Don't tell me, Amy — it . . . hurts ; but 
 I'm grateful all the same, and will never forget 
 it. And who came next ? " 
 
 " Mrs. Oxley ; and what do you think ? We 
 are to have their house at Hoylake for August, 
 so the chicks will have their holiday. Mr. Oxley 
 has been quite cast down, she says, about you, 
 for he has such a respect " 
 
 " It's good of them to think about the children, 
 but never mind about me." 
 
 " You are very unfeeling, Tom, to stop me at
 
 SAVED BY FAITH 261 
 
 the best bits, when I had saved them up and 
 committed them to memory : perhaps you would 
 get vain, however, and become quite superior. 
 What do you think of your ' kindness,' and your 
 'generosity,' and your 'popularity,' and your 
 ' straightness ' ? You are shivering : are you 
 cold ? " 
 
 " No, no ; but you haven't told me if Mrs. 
 Beazley was kind to you : did she call between 
 four and five ? " 
 
 " Yes : how did you know the hour ? " 
 
 " Oh, I . . guessed, because she , . 
 was last, wasn't she ? " 
 
 " She apologised for being so late ; indeed, she 
 was afraid that she might not get round at all, 
 but I'm so glad she came, for no one was more 
 glowing about you : I saw, of course, that she 
 was just repeating Mr. Beazley's opinion, for 
 every one can see how he admires . . . 
 
 " Tom, you are very ungrateful, and for a 
 punishment I'll not tell you another word. What 
 is wrong ? has any one injured you ? Was it 
 Mr. Beazley?" 
 
 " Beazley said kinder things in m}^ office to
 
 262 SAVED BY FAITH 
 
 me, in difficult circumstances too, than I ever 
 got from any man : some day, Amy, I'll tell you 
 what he said, but not now — I cannot — and he 
 spent two hours canvassing for business to start 
 me as a corn broker, and he . . . got it." 
 
 " It could not be Mr. Oxley." 
 
 " Oxley has given me a cargo to dispose of, 
 and I never had any of his broking before ; and 
 he told me that some of my old friends were 
 going to ... to ... in fact, see me through 
 this strait, speaking a good word for me and put- 
 ting things in my way. 
 
 " Yes, of course Macfarlane came to the office, 
 and said nothing for fifteen minutes : just gripped 
 my hand and smoked, and then he rose, and as 
 he was leaving, he merely mentioned that Beazley 
 and Oxley had become securities for ;^5,ooo at 
 the bank ; he is in it, too, you may be sure." 
 
 " How grateful we ought to be, Tom dear ; 
 and how proud I am of you ! — for it's your char- 
 acter has affected every person, because you are 
 so honourable and high-minded. Tom, something 
 is wrong ; oh, I can't bear it : don't cry . . . 
 you are overstrung ... lie down on the couch,
 
 SAVED BY FAITH 263 
 
 and I'll bathe your forehead with eau de Cologne." 
 
 " No, I am not ill, and I don't deserve any 
 petting ; if you knew how mean I have been 
 you would never speak to me again. If they 
 had scolded me I would not have cared ; but I 
 can't bear their kindness. 
 
 " Amy, you must not send for the doctor, else 
 you will put me to shame ; my mind is quite 
 right, and it isn't overwork : it's . . . con- 
 science : I am not worthy to be your husband, 
 or the friend of these men." 
 
 " You will break my heart if you talk in this 
 way. You unworthy ! when you are the kindest, 
 truest, noblest man in all the world — don't say a 
 word — and everybody thinks so, and you must 
 let us judge. Now rest here, and I'll get a nice 
 little supper for you," and his wife kissed him 
 again and again. 
 
 " It's no use trying to undeceive her," Hatchard 
 said to himself when she was gone ; " she believes 
 in me, and those fellows believe in me — Freddie 
 more than anybody, after all he said ; and please 
 God they will not be disappointed in the end."
 
 264 SAVED BY FAITH 
 
 III 
 
 " You've got here before me, Mac," cried 
 Freddie Beazley, bursting into Oxley's private 
 room, "and I simply scooted round. Oh, I say, 
 you've broken every bone in my hand, you great 
 Scotch ruffian : take the ruler out of his fist. Ox., 
 for heaven's sake, or else he'll brain us. 
 
 " Ox., you old scoundrel, read that letter aloud. 
 Mac. wasn't a creditor— he wishes he was this 
 day — and he doesn't know it verbatim, and I'm 
 not sure about a word or two. Stand up, old 
 man, and do the thing properly. There now, 
 we're ready." 
 
 ''July 7, 189;. 
 "Dear Sir,— 
 
 " It will be in your recollection that in July, 
 1887, I was obliged to make a composition with 
 my creditors while trading as a corn merchant 
 under the style of Thomas Hatchard & Co., and
 
 SAVED BY FAITH 265 
 
 that they were good enough to accept the sum 
 of seven shilHngs and sixpence in the pound. 
 
 " Immediately thereafter, as you may be aware, 
 I began business as a corn broker, and owing to 
 the kind assistance of certain of my creditors and 
 other friends, have had considerable success. 
 
 " Having made a careful examination of my 
 affairs, I find that I can now afford to pay the 
 balance of twelve shillings and sixpence which is 
 morally due to my creditors of 1887, and it affords 
 me much personal satisfaction to discharge this 
 obligation. 
 
 " I therefore beg to enclose a cheque for the 
 amount owing to you, with 5 per cent, compound 
 interest, and with sincere gratitude for your con- 
 sideration ten years ago. 
 
 " I have the honour to remain, 
 
 " Your obedient servant, 
 " Thomas Hatchard." 
 
 " Isn't that great, young gentlemen ? " and 
 Beazley took a turn round the room : " it's the 
 finest thing done in Liverpool in our time. 
 Tommy has come in again an easy first on the
 
 266 SAVED BY FAITH 
 
 ten miles — ^just skipped round Baughfell : there's 
 nothing like the old school for rearing hardy 
 fellows with plenty of puff in them for a big hilL" 
 
 "Thomas 'ill be a proud man the night," re- 
 marked Macfarlane, "and his wife will be lifted." 
 
 "What about the Hatchard securities and en- 
 couragement company? isn't it a booming con- 
 cern, and aren't the three men lucky dogs who 
 took founders' shares? Oxley, old chap," and 
 Freddie grew serious, " it was you who put 
 Tommy on his legs, and helped him on to this 
 big thing." 
 
 " Nonsense ! we all had a share in the idea ; 
 and now that I remember, it was you, Beazley, 
 who sang his praises that day till Macfarlane 
 allowed his pipe to go out, and I had to join the 
 chorus. Isn't that so, Mac. ? " 
 
 Macfarlane was understood to give judgment 
 of strict impartiality — that the one was as bad 
 as another, and that he had been a victim in 
 their hands, but that the result had not been 
 destructive of morality in Liverpool, nor abso- 
 lutely ruinous to the character of Thomas Hatch- 
 ard, beyond which nothing more could be said.
 
 SAVED BY FAITH 267 
 
 He offered the opinion on his own account that 
 the achievement of Thomas had been mighty. 
 
 " You can put your money on that, Mac," and 
 Beazley went off again : " to pay up the balance 
 of that composition and every private loan with 
 interest, compound too, is simply Ai. T. H. has 
 taken the cake. And didn't he train for it, poor 
 chap ! 
 
 " No man enjoyed a good cigar more than 
 Tommy — could not take him in with bad tobacco. 
 Well, I happen to know that he hasn't had one 
 smoke since July 7th, "^y. Of course he could 
 have had as much 'baccy as he wanted ; but no, 
 it was a bit of the training — giving up every 
 luxury, d'ye see ? " 
 
 " I wish I was Thomas the night," remarked 
 Macfarlane. " He 'ill have a worthwhile smoke." 
 
 " He rather liked a good lunch, and did justice 
 to his grub, too," continued Beazley. " Well, for 
 ten years he's taken his midday meal standing, 
 on milk and bread — not half bad all the same — 
 at the Milk-Pail in Fenwick Street, and he 
 wouldn't allow himself a cup of tea. You saw 
 how he lived at Heswall, Oxley ? "
 
 2 68 SAVED BY FAITH 
 
 " Yes, he found out that he could get a Httle 
 house, with a bit of garden, for forty pounds, 
 taxes included, and so he settled there and cut 
 the whole concern here. There was one sitting- 
 room for the children and another for themselves, 
 and the garden was the drawing-room ; but I 
 don't believe Hatchard was ever happier, and 
 Mrs. Hatchard has turned out a heroine." 
 
 " Tommy played up well," broke in Beazley, 
 "and he never missed a chance. There has not 
 been any brokerage lying loose in the corn 
 market these ten years, you bet ; and what he 
 got he did well. Do you hear that MacConnell of 
 Chicago has given him his work to do ? Tommy 
 is steaming down the deep-water channel now, 
 full speed. What's to be done? that's the ques- 
 tion. We simply must celebrate." 
 
 " Well," replied Oxley, " I suppose the creditors 
 will be giving him a dinner at the Adelphi and 
 that sort of thing. But there's something Hatch- 
 ard would like far better than fifty dinners. He 
 has never entered the corn exchange since his 
 failure, and I know he never would till he could 
 look every man in the face. What do you say
 
 SAVED BY FAITH 269 
 
 to ask Barnabas Greatheart to call at his office 
 and take him ? " 
 
 " Oxley, you are inspired, and ought to take to 
 politics : it's just the thing Greatheart would like 
 to do, and it will please the men tremendously. 
 I bet you a new hat there will be a cheer, and 
 I see them shaking hands with Tommy : it will 
 touch up two or three scallawags on the raw first- 
 rate, too, who have made half a dozen compositions 
 in their time. But what about ourselves. Ox. ? " 
 
 " Aye," said Macfarlane ; " we're not common 
 shareholders in this concern : we're founders, 
 that's what we are." 
 
 " I was thinking before you men came in that 
 a nice piece of silver for their dinner-table — they 
 will come up to town now — say a bowl with some 
 little inscription on it. . . ." 
 
 " The very thing : we'll have it this afternoon ; 
 and Ox., you draw up the screed, but for my 
 sake, as well as Tommy's, put in something about 
 honour, and, old fellow, let it be strong ; it'll go 
 down to his boys, and be worth a fortune to them, 
 for it will remind them that their father was an 
 honest man."
 
 syo SAVED BY FAITH 
 
 It is not needful to describe, because everybody 
 in the Liverpool Corn Market knows, how Barnabas 
 Greatheart came into the room arm in arm with 
 Thomas Hatchard, and how every single man 
 shook hands with Thomas because he had gone 
 beyond the law and done a noble deed, and was 
 a credit to the corn business ; and how Tommy 
 tried to return thanks for his health a week after 
 at the Adelphi, and broke down utterly, but not 
 before he had explained that he wasn't at all the 
 good man they thought him, but that he hap- 
 pened to have had better friends than most men. 
 
 What is not known is that on the very evening 
 of the great day a special messenger brought over 
 to the cottage at Heswall a parcel, which, being 
 opened, contained a massive silver bowl, with this 
 inscription : — 
 
 TO 
 
 MRS. THOMAS HATCHARD, 
 
 From Three Friends, 
 
 In Admiration of her Husband's 
 
 Business Integrity and 
 
 Stainless Honour. 
 
 July 7, 189;.
 
 SAVED BY FAITH 271 
 
 and that on the first anniversary of the great day 
 the Hatchards gave a dinner-party in their new 
 house at Mossley Hill, where six guests were 
 present, whose names can be easily supplied, and 
 the bowl, filled with roses, stood in the centre of 
 the table so that all could read the writing there- 
 on ; that without any direct allusion to the cir- 
 cumstances, or any violation of good taste, the 
 bowl came into conversation eleven times : once 
 in praise of the roses ; once in discussion of the 
 pattern (Queen Anne) ; once with reference to 
 the pedestal of Irish bog-oak ; once in verifica- 
 tion of the fact that " honour " was spelt with a 
 " u " (it was Freddie who, with much ingenuity, 
 turned the search-light on honour) ; and seven 
 times in ways too subtle and fleeting for detec- 
 tion. When the ladies left the room there was 
 a look between the host and his wife as he held 
 the door ; and when the other men's cigars were 
 fully lit. Tommy made and finished, with some 
 pauses, a speech which may not sound very elo- 
 quent on paper, but which the audience will never 
 forget, " There's a text somewhere in the Bible," 
 he said, pretending that his cigar was not draw*
 
 2 72 SAVED BY FAITH 
 
 ing — " which runs something like this, ' saved by 
 faith,' and when I look at that bowl I remem- 
 ber that I . . . was saved that way ; but it 
 wasn't . . . my faith : it was the faith 
 of you three men."
 
 THE LAST SACRIFICE 
 
 IS
 
 THE LAST SACRIFICE 
 
 I 
 
 Firelight casts a weird enchantment over an 
 old-fashioned room in the gloaming, and cleanses 
 it from the commonplace. Distant corners are 
 veiled in a shadow full of mystery ; heavy curtains 
 conceal unknown persons in their folds ; a massive 
 cabinet, full of Eastern curios, is flung into relief, 
 so that one can identify an Indian god, who 
 distinctly grins and mocks with sardonic humour, 
 although in daylight he be a personage of awful 
 solemnity ; a large arm-chair, curiously embroi- 
 dered, grows into the likeness of a stout elderly 
 gentleman of benevolent heart but fierce political 
 prejudices ; the flickering flames sketch on the 
 ceiling scenes of past days which can never return ; 
 and on a huge mirror the whole interior is reflected 
 as in a phantasmagoria. 
 
 875
 
 2 76 THE LAST SACRIFICE 
 
 "It is, I do honestly believe, the dreariest room 
 in Bloomsbury, and one can hardly go farther," 
 said a young woman, lying at her ease on the 
 white bearskin before the fire ; " and yet it has 
 a beauty of its own — sober, of course, but kindly ; 
 yes, that is the word, and true. My room at 
 Kensington, that Reggie and his artist friends 
 have been doing up in their best style, as Maples 
 say, does not look prettier to-night, nor your lovely 
 black oak at the Rectory," 
 
 "If you had got your will, Frances," answered 
 a sister some six years older from the couch, 
 "every stick of this furniture would have been 
 sold long ago, and the walls draped in pale green. 
 You are full of sentiment to-night." 
 
 " It's the double wedding and the departure 
 from the ancestral mansion which is casting 
 shadows over my too susceptible heart and a 
 glamour over this prosaic old room with its solid 
 Philistine furniture," and Frances pretended to 
 conceal her rising emotion behind a fan. "Your 
 already matronly staidness, Gerty, is incapable 
 of entering into such moods. It is a mercy one 
 daughter, at least — [ think there are two — repro-
 
 THE LAST SACRIFICE 277 
 
 duces mother, and can never be accused of sen- 
 timent — and such a blessing for the Rector ! It 
 is a rule, one would say from observation, that 
 clergymen choose matter-of-fact and managing 
 wives, as a check, I suppose, on their own un- 
 worldliness and enthusiasm. As for me, so frivo- 
 lous and . . . affectionate, poor papa must 
 have the entire responsibility," and Frances sighed 
 audibly. 
 
 " Are you really deceived by mother's composure 
 and reserve ? " Gertrude's quiet tone emphasized 
 the contrast between her refined face and Frances' 
 Spanish beauty. " Strangers count her cold as 
 marble, and I can excuse them, for they judge 
 her in society. We ought to know better, and 
 she has always seemed to me the very type of 
 loyalty and faithfulness." 
 
 " Of course she is the dearest mater ever was, 
 and far too unselfish, and she has been most 
 patient with her wayward youngest daughter ; but 
 she is — well, I could not say that she is a creature 
 of emotion." 
 
 "You believe, I suppose," — Gertrude was slightly 
 nettled — " in women who kiss frantically on meet-
 
 2 78 THE LAST SACRIFICE 
 
 ing, first one cheek and then the other, and sign 
 themselves ' with a thousand remembrances and 
 much love, yours most affectionately,' who adopt 
 a new friend every month, and marry three times 
 for companionship." 
 
 " Gertrude, I am ashamed of you ; you are most 
 provoking and unjust ; my particular detestations, 
 as you know very well, are a couple of girls' 
 arms round each other's waists — studying one 
 another's dresses all the time — and a widow who 
 marries again for protection, — it's a widower 
 who says companionship, — but I enjoy your elo- 
 quence ; it will be a help to Fred when he is 
 sermon-making. You will collaborate — that is 
 the correct word, isn't it ? " 
 
 " None of us will ever know how deep and 
 strong is the mater's love," continued Gertrude, 
 giving no heed to her sister's badinage ; " she 
 cannot speak, and so she will always be mis- 
 understood, as quiet people are. Did you ever 
 notice that she writes her letters on that old desk, 
 instead of using the escritoire ? that is because it 
 was father's ; and although she never mentions 
 his name, I believe mother would rather starve
 
 THE LAST SACRIFICE 279 
 
 than leave this house or part with a chair that 
 was in it when he was hving. 
 
 " Frances, I'll tell you something I once saw 
 and can never forget. When I slept in mother's 
 room, I woke one night, and found she had risen. 
 She opened a drawer that was always kept locked, 
 and took out a likeness of father. After looking 
 at it again and again — can you believe that ? — she 
 laid it on a chair, and, kneeling down, prayed to 
 God for us all, and that they might meet again ; 
 and then she looked at him once more, and put 
 the picture in its place. 
 
 " Pray God, Frances, that you and I, who are 
 to be married on Tuesday, may love as she has 
 done, once for ever ; do you know I've often 
 thought that Grace is the only one of us that 
 has mother's power of affection, and yet we are 
 to be married and she is to be left." 
 
 "Yes, Grace is like mother, and yet I don't 
 think mother understands her one bit. What a 
 wife she would make to some man, Gerty ; only 
 it would be bad for him. She would serve him 
 like a slave, and he would be insufferable. 
 
 " But there is no fear of that calamity," Frances
 
 28o THE LAST SACRIFICE 
 
 went on, " for Grace will never marry. She is 
 beginning to have the airs of an old maid already, 
 a way of dressing and a certain primness which 
 is alarming." 
 
 " It passes me," said Gertrude, " how no man 
 has seen her excellence and tried to win her ; 
 do you know I've sometimes thought that Mr. 
 Lennox admired her ; they would certainly make 
 a perfect pair." 
 
 " You are the dearest old stupid, Gertrude. Of 
 course George Lennox adores Grace, as he would 
 do a saint in a painted window ; and Grace ap- 
 preciates him because he teaches astronomy or 
 conchology or something to working men in the 
 East End. Neither of them knows how to make 
 love ; their conversation is a sort of religious 
 exercise," and Frances' eyes danced with the de- 
 light of a mistress in her art. " Why, I once did 
 my best with him just to keep my hand in, and 
 Gertrude, you might as well have flirted with that 
 wretched god. I would rather have the god, for 
 he winked to me just now quite distinctly, the 
 reprobate old scoundrel." 
 
 " Perhaps you're right, and Grace does not wish
 
 THE LAST SACRIFICE 281 
 
 to marry. But it will be lonely in this big, empty 
 house for mother and her when we are gone." 
 
 " Dull ! Gerty, you do not understand the situ- 
 ation. It will be a relief for the two of them to 
 have this love traffic over, and no more men about 
 the house. Grace simply endures it, as a nun 
 might, and the mater resents any of her daughters 
 being married. They have their programme fixed. 
 Grace will visit her sick people in the forenoon, 
 and the mater will do her tradesmen ; in the 
 afternoon the two will attend the Committee for 
 the Relief of Decayed Washerwomen, and after 
 dinner Gracie will read to mother out of Hallam's 
 Middle Ages. 
 
 " I'll box that creature's ears," and Frances 
 jumped to her feet, a very winsome young woman 
 indeed ; " he's grinning from ear to ear on his 
 pedestal at some wicked joke, or as if he knew a 
 family secret. He's an old cynic, and regards us 
 as a pair of children prattling about life."
 
 THE LAST SACRIFICE 
 
 II 
 
 " My work at Court was finished a little earlier 
 to-day, and I have done myself the pleasure of 
 calling to inquire for Mrs. Leconte and you after 
 the marriage. Will you accept a few roses ? " 
 The manner was grave and a trifle formal, but 
 George Lennox was one in whom any woman 
 might safely put her trust — tall and well built, 
 with a strong face and kindly eyes — a modest 
 and courteous gentleman. 
 
 " It is good of you to remember us, but, indeed, 
 you have always been most kind," said Miss 
 Leconte, with the faintest flush on her cheek. 
 " Mother is out, and will be sorry to have 
 missed you. Will you not sit down, and I'll 
 order tea." 
 
 The London sun, which labours hard, with 
 many ingenuities, to do his part by every home
 
 THE LAST SACRIFICE 283 
 
 and give to each its morsel of brightness, found 
 the right angle at that moment, and played round 
 Grace's face with soft afternoon light. 
 
 She was not beautiful like her sisters, but one 
 man out of a thousand would learn to love her 
 for the loyalty that could be read in the grey 
 eyes, and the smile, a very revelation of tender- 
 ness, as if her soul had looked at you. 
 
 " Yes, mother and I have settled down to our 
 quiet round after the festivities ; mother needs 
 a rest, for you know how little she thinks of her- 
 self ; her unselfishness puts one to shame every 
 day." 
 
 Mr. Lennox looked as if he knew another un- 
 selfish person, and Grace continued hurriedly : 
 
 " Every one thought the marriage went off so 
 well, and the day was certainly perfect. Didn't 
 Gertrude and Frances make lovely brides, each 
 in her own way ? " 
 
 "So the people said, and I know how they 
 would look ; but it happened that I stood where 
 I could only see the bridesmaids." 
 
 " Will you excuse me putting the roses in 
 water ? they are the finest I've seen this summer,
 
 284 THE LAST SACRIFICE 
 
 and I want to keep them fresh," and she escaped 
 for the moment. 
 
 He watched her place one dish on the end of 
 the grand piano and another on a table near her 
 mother's chair, and a yearning look came over 
 his face. 
 
 They talked of many things, but both were 
 thinking of one only, and then it was she, in her 
 kindness, that provoked the catastrophe. 
 
 " You will come again and see mother ; she 
 misses Gerty and Frances, and it is very pleasant 
 to have a talk with old friends." 
 
 " And you, Grace — Miss Leconte, I mean — may 
 I not come to visit you ? " 
 
 " You know that I am glad when you come, 
 and always will be ; you are my friend also," and 
 she looked at him with frank, kind eyes. 
 
 " Nothing more than friend after all these years 
 — seven now since first we met. Do you not guess 
 what I was thinking as your sisters stood beside 
 their bridegrooms in church ? " But she did not 
 answer. 
 
 " Can you give me no hope, Grace ? If you 
 told me to come back in five years, I would count
 
 THE LAST SACRIFICE 285 
 
 them days for the joy of hearing you call me by 
 my name at the end, as a woman speaks to the 
 man she loves." 
 
 "You ought not to open this matter again," 
 but she was not angry, " for my mind is made 
 up, and cannot be changed. There is no man 
 living whom I respect more ; none to whom I 
 would rather go in time of trouble ; there is 
 nothing I would not do for you, Mr. Lennox, 
 except one " 
 
 " But it is the one thing I desire ; " and then 
 Lennox began to plead. " No man is worthy of 
 you, Grace, and I least of all. The world counts 
 me proud and cold, and I regret my manner every 
 day, but I can love, and I love you with all my 
 heart. You know I can give you a house and 
 every comfort of life — perhaps I may be able to 
 bring you honour and rank some day ; but these 
 are not the arguments I would urge or you would 
 care to hear. Love is my plea — that I never 
 loved before I saw you, and if you refuse me 
 that I will not love any other. 
 
 " Do not speak yet." His face was white, and 
 he stretched out his hands in appeal. " Have we
 
 286 THE LAST SACRIFICE 
 
 not the same . . . faith and the same ideals ? 
 Could not we work together for a lifetime, and 
 serve the world with our love ? Perhaps I ought 
 to have spoken years ago, but the Bar is an un- 
 certain profession, and my position was not made. 
 It seemed to me cowardly to ask a woman's love 
 before one could offer her marriage, so I kept 
 silent till last spring, when I saw your sisters' 
 lovers and their happiness — and then I could not 
 help telling you that one man hoped to win your 
 heart. Now I ask for your answer. 
 
 "If you love another man," he went on, " or 
 feel that you can never love me, tell me at once, 
 Grace, for this were better for us both. I would 
 never cease to love you, for we slow, cold men 
 do not change, and if you had need I would serve 
 you, but never again would I . . . trouble 
 you," and the ablest of the junior counsel at the 
 Chancery Bar broke down before a girl that had 
 no other attraction than the goodness of her 
 soul. 
 
 Grace Leconte was the calmer of the two 
 when she spoke, but her face was set like a 
 martyr's in his agony.
 
 THE LAST SACRIFICE 287 
 
 " I had hoped, Mr. Lennox, that you would 
 not have followed up what you said in March, 
 but yet so selfish is a woman, I am not sorry 
 to be told that I . . . am loved by such a 
 man. 
 
 " Believe me, it is I that am unworthy. You 
 have made too much of a very ordinary woman 
 But I am proud of . . . your love, and in 
 after years, when I find the strain too heavy, will 
 often say, * God has been good to me. George 
 Lennox loved me.' " 
 
 He was waiting anxiously, not knowing how 
 this would end. 
 
 " You have spoken frankly to me, and have 
 laid bare your heart," she went on. " I do not 
 see why I should be hindered by custom from 
 telling you the truth also," and then she hesitated, 
 but only for a little. " For years — I do not know 
 how long — I have . . . loved you, and have 
 followed your career as only a woman who loves 
 could — gathering every story of your success, and 
 rejoicing in it all as if you had been mine. Wait, 
 for I have not yet done. 
 
 " If I could say ' Yes,' I would, George — may
 
 288 THE LAST SACRIFICE 
 
 I call you this, only to-day ? — without any delay 
 but I must say ' No ' instead, although it may 
 break my heart. I can never be your wife." 
 
 " What do you mean . . . ? " 
 
 "Bear with me, and I will tell you all. You 
 know now it is not because I do not want to 
 marry you — I do ; I also can love, and I do not 
 wish to be an old maid — no woman does. I will 
 not pretend indifference, but it is not possible 
 for me to leave my mother," 
 
 " Is that all ? " cried Lennox, as one who has 
 cast off a great dread. " I would never ask Mrs. 
 Leconte to part from the last of her daughters. 
 She will come with you, and we shall strive to 
 make her life peaceful and glad. . . ." 
 
 " Please do not go on, for this can never be. 
 No power could induce mother to change her 
 way or live with us. She will live and die alone, 
 or I must stay with her. My duty is clear, and, 
 George, you must . . . accept this decision 
 as final." 
 
 "You will let me speak to her and put our 
 case . . . ? 
 
 " No, a thousand times no. She must never
 
 THE LAST SACRIFICE 289 
 
 know our secret. It would still be the same be- 
 tween you and me, but mother would fret every 
 year because I had made this sacrifice. As it 
 is she knows nothing, and will never guess the 
 truth. Promise me you will say nothing ; that 
 is one favour I have to ask, and there is another, 
 that . . . you do not call again, for I could 
 not bear to see you for a little ... for some 
 years. You will do so much for me, will you 
 not ? " 
 
 He had sat down, his head on his breast, a 
 figure of utter dejection, when she laid her hand 
 on his arm. 
 
 " Things cannot end after this fashion," and 
 Lennox sprang to his feet ; " does not the Book 
 say that a man will forsake father and mother 
 for love's sake, and should it not be so with a 
 woman also ? What right have you to deny your 
 love and blight two lives?" 
 - " Many would say that I am wrong, but my 
 mind is made up. Do not try me farther, George ; 
 God knows how hard it is to obey my conscience. 
 My duty, as I see it, and that is all one can go 
 by, is to mother, and if I made it second even 
 
 A. 19
 
 290 THE LAST SACRIFICE 
 
 to love, I should be inwardly ashamed, and you 
 . . . you could not respect me. 
 
 " Say you. understand," and her lips trembled ; 
 " say that you forgive me for the sorrow I have 
 brought upon you, and let us say farewell." 
 
 He made as though he would have clasped her 
 in his arms and compelled her to surrender, and 
 then he also conquered. 
 
 " God keep and bless you, Grace ; if I cannot 
 have you in my home, none can keep me from 
 carrying you in my heart," and he was gone. 
 
 She watched him till he disappeared round the 
 corner of the square, and noticed that he walked 
 as one stricken with age. One of their windows 
 commanded a corner of the square garden, where 
 the trees were in their first summer greenery, and 
 she could hear the birds singing. As she turned 
 away, the sunlight lingered on the white roses 
 which George Lennox had brought as the token 
 of his love, and then departed, leaving the faded 
 room in the shadow.
 
 THE LAST SACRIFICE 291 
 
 III 
 
 " This frame seems to have been made for our 
 purpose, Grace," and Mrs. Leconte arranged in 
 order Gertrude with her two girls and Frances 
 with her two boys. " It seems only a few months, 
 instead of four years, since the wedding day. 
 
 " They have good husbands and happy homes. 
 I only wish their father . . ." This was so 
 unusual that Grace looked at her mother, and 
 Mrs. Leconte checked herself. " You are going 
 down to the Rectory, I hope, next week ; Gertrude 
 is always anxious to have you, and August in 
 London is very trying." 
 
 " Certainly ; but on one condition, mother, that 
 you go too ; it would be such a joy to Gerty, 
 and you must have some change." 
 
 " Perhaps I will, a little later, but I never leave
 
 292 THE LAST SACRIFICE 
 
 London in August. I have always been very 
 strong, and I like a . . . quiet time then." 
 
 " Mother," and Mrs. Leconte turned at the 
 passion in her daughter's voice, " why will you 
 not allow any of us to share your remembrance 
 and your grief? We know why you shut yourself 
 up alone in August, and now, when there are just 
 you and I, it hurts me that I may not be with 
 you, if it were only to pray ... or weep. 
 Would it not be some help ? " and Grace took 
 her mother's hand, a very rare caress. 
 
 " You are a good daughter, Grace," she spoke 
 with much difficulty, " but . . . God made 
 me to be alone, and silent. I was not able to 
 tell either joy or sorrow even to your father. 
 You spoke of weeping ; do you know I've never 
 shed a tear since I was a child — not often 
 then. 
 
 "When he died, my eyes were dry. . . . 
 Oh, Grace, you are most like me : may God de- 
 liver you from a tearless grief; but it must be 
 so with me to the end." 
 
 " Dearest mother," said Grace, but she did not 
 kiss her.
 
 THE LAST SACRIFICE 293 
 
 "You are often in my thoughts, Grace," after 
 a long silence, " and I am concerned about you, 
 for you have aged beyond your years. Are you 
 . . . well?" 
 
 " What a question, mater ; you know that I 
 have the health of a donkey — save a headache 
 now and then that gives me an interesting pallor. 
 You forget that I am getting to be an old maid, 
 nearly thirty." 
 
 *' Is it really that ... I mean, do you not 
 feel lonely ? — it is a contrast, your sisters' lot and 
 yours, and a woman's heart was made for love, 
 but if it be so do not sorrow over-much . . . 
 I can't explain myself — there are many in this 
 world to love, and, at any rate . . . you will 
 never know the sense of loss." 
 
 " That is the postman's ring," and Grace made 
 an errand to obtain the letters, and lingered a 
 minute on the way. 
 
 " Only one letter, and it's for you, mother. I 
 think I know the handwriting." 
 
 " Of course you do ; it's from Mrs. Archer, 
 George Lennox's aunt. She is a capital corre- 
 spondent, and always sends lots of news. Let me
 
 294 THE LAST SACRIFICE 
 
 see. Oh, they've had Gertrude and her husband 
 staying a night with them for a dinner. 
 
 " * Everything went off well ' . . . ' Gerty 
 looked very distinguished, and has just the air 
 of a clergyman's wife.' Gerty was always suited 
 for that part, just as Frances does better among 
 the painters. ... I wish all the same they 
 were both here, Grace, but I suppose that's a 
 wrong feeling, for marriage is a woman's natural 
 lot ... that is in most cases, some have 
 another calling. 
 
 " Do you know who has been staying with the 
 Archers ? Why, you might guess that — George 
 Lennox ; he's Jane Archer's favourite nephew, 
 and I don't wonder ; no woman, I mean sensible 
 woman, could help liking him ; he's so reliable 
 and high-toned, as well as able, and do you know, 
 I always thought Mr. Lennox good-looking. 
 
 " What's this ? ' You will be sorry to hear 
 that George is looking very ill indeed, and just 
 like an old man, and he's not forty yet.' Are 
 you there, Grace ? Oh, I thought perhaps you 
 had left the room. Isn't that sad about Mr, 
 Lennox ?
 
 THE LAST SACRIFICE 295 
 
 " Mrs. Archer goes on to say that he overworks 
 shockingly, and that he is bound to break down 
 soon ; he will take no advice, and allows himself 
 no pleasure. What a pity to see a man throwing 
 away his life, isn't it ? " 
 
 "Perhaps he finds his ... satisfaction in 
 vork, mother." 
 
 " Nonsense ; no man ought to kill himself. Mr. 
 Lennox ought to have married years ago, and 
 tien he would not have been making a wreck of 
 himself; I don't know any man who would have 
 made a better husband, or of whom a woman 
 would have been prouder." And Mrs. Leconte 
 compelled a reply. 
 
 " He is a good man, and I think you are right, 
 mother." Something in her tone struck Mrs. 
 Leconte's ear. 
 
 " Grace, Mr. Lennox used to come frequently 
 to this house, and now I have noticed he never 
 calls." 
 
 Her daughter said nothing. 
 
 " It was after your sisters' wedding that he 
 ceased to call. Do you think ... I mean, 
 was he in love with Gerty ? Frances it couldn't
 
 296 THE LAST SACRIFICE 
 
 be. I never thought of that before, for I am not 
 very observant. Nothing would have given me 
 more pleasure, if my daughters were to be married, 
 than to have George Lennox for a son-in-law. 
 Can it be, Grace, that Gerty refused him, and we 
 have never known ? " 
 
 " I am sure she did not, mother ; " and again 
 Mrs. Leconte caught a strange note in her daugh- 
 ter's voice. 
 
 " Do you know, I suspect that if you had giver 
 him any encouragement, George Lennox woulc 
 have been a happy man to-day. Is that sq 
 Grace ? 
 
 " Pardon me, Grace, perhaps I ought not to ask 
 such a question ; it came suddenly into my mind. 
 Whatever you did was no doubt .right ; a womari 
 cannot give her hand without her heart even to 
 the best of men. If it be as I imagine, I do not 
 blame you, Grace, but ... I am sorry for 
 George Lennox." 
 
 Grace wept that night over the saddest of all 
 the ironies of life — a sacrifice which was a mistake 
 and which had no reward.
 
 AN EVANGELIST
 
 AN EVANGELIST 
 
 His private business was lard, which he bought 
 for the rise and sold for the fall — being a bull 
 or a bear without prejudice — and with a success 
 so distinguished that his name was mentioned 
 in highly complimentary terms on the American 
 market. When the famous lard corner of 18S7 
 had been wound up, and every man had counted 
 his gains (or losses), old man Perkins, of Chicago, 
 did justice to his chief opponent, like the operator 
 of honour that he was. 
 
 " No, sir, I ain't a slouch, and the man who 
 says that I don't know lard is a mining expert ; 
 but Elijah Higginbotham, of Victoria Street, 
 Liverpool, Great Britain, has come out on top : 
 he's a hustler from way back, is Elijah." 
 
 Mr. Perkins' opinion, which was a deduction 
 based on the results of at least six first-class 
 encounters, was generally accepted on both sides 
 
 2g9
 
 300 AN EVANGELIST 
 
 of the Atlantic, and it was conceded that what 
 Mr. Elijah Higginbotham did not know about that 
 capricious and volatile instrument of speculation 
 was not knowledge. As a matter of principle he 
 was opposed to gambling, and denounced it with 
 much eloquence and perfect sincerity at confer- 
 ences of a religious character, — warning his audi- 
 ence, composed mainly of old ladies, against the 
 Derby, — but if this evil and ruinous spirit should 
 happen to enter his market, where it seemed 
 quite at home, Elijah was prepared to overthrow 
 gambling with its own weapons, and on such 
 occasions it was worldly wisdom to bet on Elijah's 
 side. His ideas regarding the date of unfulfilled 
 prophecy might be crude, but his foresight re- 
 ofardinsf the future of lard was an instinct. 
 
 His public business was religion, and especially 
 the work of an evangelist, and to this Elijah gave 
 himself with incredible courage and diligence. 
 When he was not manipulating lard or asleep, he 
 was inquiring into the condition of his neighbour's 
 soul, and none could escape him. It was freely told 
 on 'Change how he had fallen on an alderman, 
 who had responded too generously to the loyal
 
 AN EVANGELIST 301 
 
 toasts at a municipal banquet, and so impressed 
 him with the shortness of hfe and the awfulness of 
 the future, that the worthy man was bathed in 
 tears, and promised if spared to join the Plymouth 
 Brethren next day. Bishops of the Church, who 
 are awful beings to ordinary people, and with 
 whom some of us hardly dare to speak about the 
 weather, w'ere to Elijah a chosen prey in railway 
 carriages, so that he would hunt a train to travel 
 with one for a long journey, and he has been 
 known to reduce one pompous prelate to the 
 verge of apoplexy by showing before a (secretly) 
 delighted company of " firsts " that this successor 
 to the Apostles did not really know wherein 
 conversion consisted, and, by not very indirect 
 inference, that the Bishop was himself still un- 
 converted. Unto Elijah belongeth also the doubt- 
 ful and perilous distinction of having been the 
 unwilling and (as he would himself say) unworthy 
 means of stopping a London express when going 
 at full speed. It was, of course, an old and 
 perhaps over-nervous gentleman who actually 
 pulled the cord and waved to the guard, and it 
 was Elijah who offered immediate and elaborate
 
 302 AN EVANGELIST 
 
 explanations ; but Elijah's fellow-passenger held a 
 strong position when he laid the blame on the 
 evangelist. 
 
 " It's well enough for him to say that he was 
 speaking spiritually, but he told me plainly that 
 I was going to Hell, and not to London, and I 
 put it to you, guard," — by this time there was a 
 large jury of interested passengers, — "when the 
 only other man in the compartment uses language 
 of that kind, and he much younger and stronger, 
 whether I wasn't justified in calling for assistance," 
 
 Quiet men, not prone to panics, just breaking 
 upon their luncheon at the Club, rose and fled 
 when Elijah sat down at the same table, knowing 
 well that not only would a forbidding silence 
 be no protection, but that even ingenious and 
 ensnaring allusions to the critical condition of the 
 lard market would be no protection against per- 
 sonal inquiries of the most searching character. 
 He was always provided with portable religious 
 literature of a somewhat startling character, and 
 was in this way able to supply his fellow-passen- 
 gers in the evening 'bus ; and it was stimulating 
 to any one with a sense of humour to see com*
 
 AN EVANGELIST 303 
 
 mercial magnates handling one of Elijah's tracts 
 as if it were dynamite, and late-comers taking in 
 the interior at a glance from the step, and hurriedly 
 climbing to the top — willing to risk bronchitis 
 rather than twenty minutes of Elijah. His con- 
 scientious opinion was that the limited number of 
 persons who held his particular opinions would 
 go to heaven, and the large number who did not 
 would go elsewhere, and in these circumstances no 
 one could blame him for being urgent. No doubt 
 Elijah — for indeed this was almost an official title 
 — was very insistent, and had no tact ; but then 
 when you are pulling people out of fires, and 
 handing them out of burning houses — these were 
 his favourite illustrations of the situation — one 
 does not pay much attention to ceremony or even 
 manners. It was often said that he alienated 
 people from religion, and so defeated his own 
 ends ; but I suppose that his reply would be that 
 ■ he left them no worse than he found them, and if 
 it was asserted that he influenced no one, he very 
 likely had some cases of success among that class 
 of persons who are never utterly persuaded until 
 they are felled by a blow between the eyes. Very
 
 304 AN EVANGELIST 
 
 likely he was not concerned about success or 
 failure, approval or disapproval, but simply was 
 determined to do his duty, which was to hold back 
 as many of his neighbours as he could from going 
 to Hell. This duty he discharged with all his 
 might and with undeniable courage, and Elijah 
 had his reward by universal consent in that no one 
 accused him of canting, for he never said anything 
 he did not believe with the marrow of his bones, 
 or of hypocrisy, for he certainly made no gain of 
 godliness. 
 
 When Elijah entered my room one morning — 
 his clean-shaven, heavy-jawed face more deter- 
 mined than ever — I was certain that he had not 
 come to talk over the weather, and prepared my- 
 self for faithful dealing. 
 
 " It is not my custom," he began, " to read 
 fiction, and I believe that the more people read 
 novels the less will they want to read their Bibles ; 
 but I was recommended to read a book of yours, 
 called The Days of Anld Lang Sy7ie, by a friend, 
 in whose judgment I have usually placed con- 
 fidence, and I feel it my duty to call and remon- 
 strate with you about that book."
 
 AN EVANGELIST 
 
 305 
 
 Was it the literary form that he wisliecl to 
 criticise, or the substance? In either case I hoped 
 he would speak with all frankness, an encourage- 
 ment which Mr. Higginbotham perhaps hardly 
 needed. 
 
 *' Well, I don't know anything about literature, 
 for I thank God that my Bible and the Pilgrim's 
 Progress are enough for me ; but I did once read 
 Scott — long ago before I knew the value of time — 
 and your book is certainly not up to that sample." 
 
 This, I assured Elijah, was my own fixed and 
 unalterable opinion, and I ventured to congratu- 
 late Elijah on the acuteness of his literary judg- 
 ment — which compliment was passed over without 
 acknowledgment — and then I pressed for his 
 farther criticism. 
 
 "What I have to say is just this, that there 
 are characters in the book who ought not to be 
 introduced to a Christian family, and views which 
 are sure to injure religion." 
 
 Now it happened that I had been reading that 
 morning an interesting and very caustic review, 
 in which it was pointed out that no people had 
 ever lived or ever would live so good as the in- 
 
 A. 20
 
 3o6 AN EVANGELIST 
 
 habitants of Drumtochty : that I had confused 
 together the (mythical) garden of Eden with a 
 Scots village ; that the places were really very 
 different in morals and general environment ; that 
 it was a pity that the author did not know the 
 limits of true art ; that what was wanted was 
 reality, not sentimental twaddle, and that in short 
 — but this is not how the critic put it — let the 
 writer of fiction stick to the ash-pit in a house, 
 and not attempt the picture gallery. The critic — 
 a young gentleman, I should say — was very severe, 
 on my London doctor, who had taken a servant 
 girl to his own house that she might die there 
 in peace, and assured me that such extravagant 
 unrealities showed my hopeless ignorance, and 
 proved ray unfitness to be an artist in life. Up 
 to this point I had been much humbled, and had 
 been trying to profit by every word of wisdom ; 
 but now I laid down the paper and had a few 
 moments of sinless enjoyment, for this incident 
 had been lifted bodily out of life, with only some 
 change in names, and was the only fact in the 
 book. A poor puling idealist ! — yet even in my 
 most foolish flights I had kept some hold on life — ,^
 
 AN EVANGELIST 307 
 
 but here was Elijah Higginbotham sitting cahnly 
 in my study and suggesting that I was a reah'st of 
 such a pronounced and shameless character that 
 my books were not fit for family reading. 
 
 When I pressed him for some evidence of his 
 charge, he cited " Posty," and spoke briefly but 
 strongly about that unfortunate man's taste for 
 alcoholic liquors. 
 
 " Could I reconcile it with my conscience to 
 introduce such a man to the Christian public, and 
 was I not aware of the injury which drink was 
 doing in our country?" 
 
 " Mr. Higginbotham," I said, " my business was 
 to represent life in a Scots parish, within limits, 
 as I had seen it, and although I say it with deep 
 regret, and hope the matter will never be men- 
 tioned outside this room, every Scot is not a 
 rigid and bigoted abstainer — a few, I hope fewer 
 every year, do ' taste.' " 
 
 " We are all perfectly aware of that, and more 
 than a few," — which was not generous on his part, 
 — "but that is not the question. It is whether 
 you, as a respectable — and I would fain believe in 
 spite of what I have read — Christian man, ought
 
 3o8 AN EVANGELIST 
 
 deliberately to condone and countenance this 
 conduct." 
 
 " Surely, sir, you do not suppose for one moment 
 that I have the slightest sympathy with intem- 
 perance, or that I did not deeply regret the habits 
 into which Posty had fallen ! Had I known that 
 you or any intelligent person would have imagined 
 such a thing, I would have added footnotes, when- 
 ever Posty forgot himself, such as (i) The author 
 deeply regrets Posty's conduct ; (2) The author 
 repudiates Posty's language with all his heart." 
 
 "It might have saved misunderstanding." Elijah 
 regarded me dubiously. " I would certainly not 
 have judged that you felt so strongly from the 
 book." 
 
 " Ah, there you are wrong, for again and again 
 I simply wrestled with Posty to take the blue 
 ribbon ; but you know one should not boast, and 
 it would have sounded egotistical to obtrude these 
 efforts, unhappily unsuccessful, in the book. 
 
 " It is," I ventured to add with some pathos, 
 " very hard that I should first of all have had 
 to suffer from my association, even in a literary 
 sense, with Posty, and then afterwards to be
 
 AN EVANGELIST 309 
 
 treated by religious and philanthropic persons as 
 if I had been his boon companion." 
 
 " No, no ; don't put words in my mouth," broke 
 in Elijah. " I said nothing of the kind ; but you 
 have not been careful to convey your own posi- 
 tion." 
 
 " Mr. Higginbotham, if I might give you a word 
 of advice, do not meddle with fiction, for you 
 never can tell into what company you may come. 
 Why, I may tell you that * Posty,' before his 
 lamented death, used to haunt this room — in a 
 literary sense, of course — and some evenings I 
 was terrified. 
 
 "If he were (comparatively) sober he would 
 confine himself to the news of the district, and 
 the subject of her Majesty's mails ; but if he had 
 been tasting he always took to theology, as Scots 
 generally do, and then he grew so profound and 
 eloquent on the doctrine of election that if you 
 had come in my character would have been worth 
 nothing : you would have jumped to the conclu- 
 sion, not without reason, that he had got his re- 
 freshments here." 
 
 " You will excuse mc," said Elijah, who had lost
 
 31 o AN EVANGELIST 
 
 his customary expression of cocksureness during 
 the last few minutes, "I am out of touch with 
 the market : am I not right in understanding that 
 the Postman was never ahve ? " 
 
 "Well, I'm sorry you have thought so, for it 
 would be rather a severe reflection on his author ; 
 but I think he must have had some life, else you 
 would not have done him (and me) the honour 
 of so much attention." 
 
 " He was your manufacture or creation, in fact 
 done for the book ; put it as you please — you know 
 what I mean" — and my visitor grew impatient. 
 " Then, if that be so, you could make him say and 
 do what you pleased." 
 
 "In fact, take the blue ribbon and become an 
 example for temperance speeches." 
 
 " Why not ? " replied Elijah stoutly ; " it might 
 have done good." 
 
 " Mr. Higginbotham," I said with much 
 solemnity, "be thankful that in your busy and 
 blameless life you have never meddled with fiction, 
 save, I fancy, in commercial transactions ; for 
 you have escaped trials of anxiety and disappoint- 
 ment beyond anything in the markets. You sup-
 
 AN EVANGELIST 311 
 
 pose, I notice, that because a story-teller creates 
 certain characters, he can do with them as he 
 pleases, putting words into their mouths and 
 dictating their marriages." 
 
 "Well, naturally I do." 
 
 " Nothing of the kind, sir. Once these characters 
 are fairly started on their career, and come of age, 
 as i': were, they go their own way, and the whole of 
 their author's time is taken up following them, 
 remonstrating with them, and trying, generally in 
 vain, to get them to work out his plan. Now you 
 would say, I fancy, that the poor author could 
 at least settle their marriages." 
 
 " I would do so," said Elijah grimly, " if I 
 were writing." 
 
 " Unfortunately that is one of the most difficult 
 and delicate parts of a poor novelist's work, and he 
 fails as often as he succeeds. The man marries 
 the wrong woman, and vice versd, till the author is 
 in despair, and sometimes wishes he had never 
 called such a set of rebels into existence." 
 
 Elijah looked incredulous. 
 
 " I can assure you, you never know what secret 
 they may have in their past lives, or what love
 
 312 AN EVANGELIST 
 
 affairs are going on behind your back. I'll give 
 you an illustration, if I may quote from very 
 simple fiction. A lady wrote me, after the 
 publication of the Brier Bush, that she believed 
 Drumsheugh was in love with Marget Howe, 
 and wished to know whether this was the case ? I 
 replied that this suspicion had crossed my avn 
 mind, and that I was watching events. And as 
 you have done me the honour of reading Auld 
 Lang Syne, you will remember that Drumsheugh 
 had been a faithful, although undeclared lover 
 of Marget since early manhood. Yet it came on 
 me as a surprise ; and if any one had said, Why did 
 not you tell this sooner ? my answer would have 
 been, I did not know. If I am not wearying you, 
 Mr. Higginbotham — I am on my defence, and I 
 should like to have your good opinion — I may 
 confess that I tried to arrange, in a book, a girl's 
 love affairs, and she married the wrong man, one 
 quite unsuited for her, and the result was — 
 although this is again a secret — they have had 
 many unnecessary trials. No, no, we are helpless 
 creatures, we so-called authors ; poor mother hens, 
 beseeching from the edge of the pond and lament-
 
 AN EVANGELIST 313 
 
 ing, while the brood of duckhngs swim away in all 
 directions." 
 
 " That's all very well ; and, as writing is not in 
 my line, you may be right ; but I have not come 
 to my most serious ground of complaint, and that 
 is the Postman's— er — ^judgment and future lot." 
 
 "Yes," I said, and waited for the indictment. 
 
 " Here, according to your own description, is a 
 man " — and Elijah checked off the list of my poor 
 gossip's sins on his fingers — " who makes no profes- 
 sion of religion — vital religion, I mean, for theology 
 is a mere matter of the head — who indulged in 
 spirituous liquors to excess, who refused tracts, 
 when they were offered, with contempt, who to all 
 appearance had never known any saving change. 
 He dies suddenly, and bravely, I admit, but with 
 no sign of repentance, and this man, dying in his 
 sin, is sent to Heaven as if he were a saint. If that 
 is what happened with the Postman," summed up 
 Elijah with uncompromising decision, " then I do 
 not know the Gospel. ' He that believeth shall be 
 saved, and he that believeth not shall be damned,' 
 is plain enough. He wasn't saved here — no one 
 could say that. ' As the tree falleth, so shall it lie.'
 
 314 AN EVANGELIST 
 
 He couldn't be saved there. Yes, it may sound 
 severe, but it is the truth, and there is no room for 
 sentiment in reHgion ; your story is grossly mis- 
 leading, and may do injury to many precious 
 souls," 
 
 " By moving people, do you mean, to give their 
 lives for others and to forget themselves ?" I 
 dared to ask. 
 
 " I don't deny that it was a gallant deed to 
 jump into the river and save the girl's life," replied 
 Elijah hastily. " I appreciate that ; but it's not by 
 works that any one can be saved. What right 
 had you to send that man to Heaven ? " 
 
 " Mr. Higginbotham, you are still making me the 
 scapegoat for other men's acts. I was only the 
 historian. It was Jamie Soutar and Carmichael, 
 the Free Kirk minister, who held a council on 
 the road one day, and decided that it must be well 
 with Posty because he died to save a little child. 
 Jamie has always been a trial to me, and a ground 
 of criticism, especially because he used to cloak 
 his good deeds with falsehood to escape praise 
 instead of proclaiming them at the corners of the 
 streets as the good people used to do. So little
 
 AN EVANGELIST 315 
 
 sympathy have I with Jamie, that before the proof 
 sheets of the book left this room I sent for Jamie 
 (in a Hterary sense), and he came (in the same 
 sense), and I placed him just where you are sitting 
 and spoke to him (always in the same sense) very 
 seriously. May I tell you — as it will further 
 vindicate me — what I said ? 
 
 " Thank you, sir, for your patience. ' James,' I 
 said — for if any one is usually called Jamie and on 
 some occasion you say James, it is very impressive 
 — ' if these sheets are printed as they stand, I'm 
 afraid both you and I will suffer at the hands of 
 the good people, and, with your permission, 
 there is one passage at least I would like to 
 amend.' 
 
 " ' What is it ? ' said Jamie quickly, but, I felt, 
 unresponsively. 
 
 " * It's where you go up to London solely to visit 
 the poor servant lass, and then say you are in 
 charge of Drumsheugh's cattle ; where you assure 
 Lily that her mistress had been enquiring for her, 
 when you had just rated her mistress for cruel 
 carelessness ; where you give Lily twenty pounds 
 as from her mistress, while it is your own money :
 
 3i6 AN EVANGELIST 
 
 all to cheer a poor dying lassie, James, I admit, 
 but not true, not true.' 
 
 " * What wud ye hev me to say ? ' enquired 
 Jamie, but very drily indeed. 
 
 " ' Well, I have written a sentence or two, James, 
 which I hope you will allow me to insert, and I am 
 sure our critics will be quite satisfied ; it's what 
 they would say themselves.' 
 
 " ' Read on,' said Jamie, looking very hard. 
 
 " ' Here I am, Lily, a' the way frae Drumtochty, 
 ane's errand to see ye — a matter o' five pounds 
 outlay, I reckon, but what's that 'atween friends ? 
 And here's twenty punds o' ma hard-earned 
 savin's a've brocht ye ; ye'll pay me back gin ye 
 be spared ; an' gin things come to the worst, yir 
 grandmother's honest ; interest needna be men- 
 tioned unless ye insist, and ye maunna tell 
 onybody what a've done for ye, except a friend or 
 two in the Glen.' 
 
 " ' Are ye prood o' that passage ? ' enquired 
 Jamie, and his tone was distinctly disagreeable ; 
 ' d'ye think it a credit to you or me ? ' 
 
 " ' It's safe, James, and will be acceptable.' 
 
 " Mr. Higginbotham, you will have some idea
 
 AN EVANGELIST 317 
 
 what sort of men I've had to deal with, and will be 
 more merciful to me when I tell you that Jamie 
 walked to the door without a word and then gave 
 me his answer : ' Ye hev ae Pharisee in yer book ; 
 an' gin ye want two, a'm no the man/ You can 
 see yourself what a man of Jamie Soutar's 
 peculiar disposition would do, if he had the 
 power, with poor Posty, who gave his life for a 
 little maid." 
 
 "More than Jamie Soutar would . . ■. in 
 fact, let Posty off" — Elijah spoke with some feel- 
 ing — "and it's a mercy that such decisions are 
 not in our hands. We must just go by Revelation, 
 and I do not see any way of escape. As regards 
 Jamie, I cannot approve of deliberate falsehood, 
 and I wish to say so distinctly, but I understand 
 and . . . appreciate his motive." 
 
 As Elijah said this, certain stories came suddenly 
 into my mind : how he would have a hot alterca- 
 tion with some man on religion, but afterwards 
 would do him a good turn in business ; how a 
 young fellow had insulted him in a 'bus, and in a 
 great strait, had been helped by some unknown 
 person, and he always believed himself that the
 
 3i8 AN EVANGELIST 
 
 person was Elijah. It seemed to me as if the 
 evangeHst's face had relaxed a little, and that 
 beneath this casing of doctrine a heart might be 
 beating. So I went on with my defence. 
 
 ** The other judge who took upon him to reward 
 'Posty' in the next world was the Free Kirk 
 minister, and I always regarded Carmichael as a 
 heady young man, too much inclined to take up 
 with new views, and not sufficiently respectful to 
 the past. But young men have generous impulses 
 and I suppose Carmichael's heart got the better of 
 his head as he thought of Posty giving all he had 
 — his life — for the drowning lassie." 
 
 " He would have been unworthy the name of a 
 man, let alone a minister," broke in Elijah, " if he 
 had not admired that deed. Do you think I 
 don't . . . appreciate the devotion of such a 
 man ? It was admirable, and Mr. Carmichael is 
 to be excused if he . . . did go too far." 
 
 So Elijah really was the " Produce Broker " who 
 headed the subscription for the widows and 
 orphans of the gallant lifeboats-men. Some had 
 laughed the idea to scorn, saying that he would 
 never give £ioo to any object except tracts or
 
 AN EVANGELIST 319 
 
 missions. They did not know my evangelist. 
 Whatever he compelled himself to think the 
 Almighty would do with men, Posty had been 
 very well off indeed with Elijah as judge. 
 
 " Mr. Higginbotham," I said, taking a rapid 
 resolution, " it does not matter what I think, for a 
 humble story-teller is no theologian, and it matters 
 as little what my friends of the book thought : let 
 me tell the story over again in brief, and I shall 
 leave you to pronounce ' Posty's ' doom." 
 
 " It's far later than I supposed," and Elijah 
 rose hastily, " and I'm afraid I must go : the 
 market is very sensitive at present. Some other 
 day we can talk the matter over. I have no wish 
 to be uncharitable, whatever people may think of 
 me, but we must obey the truth. Well, if you 
 insist — ^just ten minutes. . . . It is not by our 
 feelings, however, that such things are to be de- 
 cided." Elijah sat down again, looking just a 
 shade too stern, as if he were afraid of his own 
 integrity, and not perfectly sure that the Bible 
 would back him. 
 
 " It was Mrs, Macfadyen's youngest daughter, 
 you remember, who fell into the Tochty, and Elsie
 
 320 AN EVANGELIST 
 
 was everybody's favourite. She was a healthy and 
 winsome child, with fair hair and bright laughing 
 eyes. . . ." , 
 
 " Blue ? " suddenly enquired Elijah, and then 
 added in some confusion, " I beg your pardon ; I 
 was thinking of a child I once knew, and . . . 
 loved. Go on." 
 
 " Yes, blue, about the colour of a forget-me- 
 not. . . ." 
 
 " Hers were darker, like the sea, you know, and 
 in her last illness they were as deep ... I 
 interrupt you." 
 
 " People liked Elsie because she was such a 
 merry soul : coming to meet you on the road, 
 nodding to you over a hedge, or giving you a 
 kiss if you wished." 
 
 Elijah nodded as one who understood ; yet he 
 was a wifeless, childless man. Some child friend- 
 ship most likely ; and now, even as I glance at 
 him from the corner of my eyes, his friend is 
 putting her arms round his neck. Would they 
 recognise him in the 'bus at this moment ? 
 
 " Her mother was washing blankets by the edge 
 of the river, which was in flood, and rising, and the
 
 AN EVANGELIST 321 
 
 lassie was playing beside her with a doll. She was 
 singing at the very time in gladness of hear 
 and thinking of no danger." 
 
 " Poor little woman ! " It gave one a start, for 
 this was a new voice, unknown in the lard market 
 or the religious meeting. What had become of 
 Elijah Higginbotham? 
 
 " When she either stooped too near the flood, 
 or a larger wave had caught her where she sat, 
 and at the sound of a scream her mother looked 
 round, and saw the wee lassie disappear in the 
 black cauldron which whirled round and round 
 within the rocks." 
 
 " Ah ! " groaned Elijah, visibly moved, who had 
 spoken calmly of the everlasting damnation of the 
 greater portion of the human race times without 
 number. 
 
 " Her mother, in her agony, cried to God to 
 save Elsie." 
 
 " She could not have done better," cried Elijah ; 
 "and He answered her prayer." 
 
 " While she prayed, Posty was coming down 
 the footpath behind, and he heard her cry." 
 
 " Posty was the instrument," and Elijah rapped 
 
 A. 21
 
 322 AN EVANGELIST 
 
 the floor with his stick. " He obeyed the Divine 
 command within, and he cannot go without some 
 reward." 
 
 " He tore off his coat in an instant, and then — 
 I suppose if you had been there you would have 
 besought him to bethink himself: and to re- 
 member that he was a man unfit to die ! Is not 
 that so?" 
 
 " Sir," said Elijah, " you do me less than justice, 
 and . . . insult me. What right have you to 
 ask me such a question ? I have preached, and I 
 will preach again ; but there's a time for preach- 
 ing, and a time to refrain from preaching. I can 
 swim, and I have saved two lives in my time. I 
 am a fool for boasting, but I would . . ." 
 
 " I believe you would, Mr. Higginbotham " — I 
 saw an able-bodied man without fear — *' and I beg 
 your pardon . . ." 
 
 Elijah waved his hand. I was to go on to 
 the end without delay. 
 
 " It seemed fifteen minutes, it was only one, 
 while the mother hung over the edge of the black 
 seething whirlpool, and then he came up, bleeding 
 from a wound in the forehead, without Elsie."
 
 AN EVANGELIST 323 
 
 " I take you to witness," declared Elijah 
 solemnly, " that I said he was a brave man. Yes, 
 he had the natural virtues, and some who make 
 a profession have none." 
 
 " For a few seconds he hung on to the edge 
 to get breath, and Mrs. Macfadyen herself be- 
 sought him not to risk his life, for he was a 
 husband and father ; but he only answered : * I'll 
 hae Elsie oot.' " 
 
 " They, forgot themselves, — do you mark that ? — 
 both of them," cried Elijah. " Whose Spirit was 
 that? Didn't they keep the commandment of 
 Love, which is the chief commandment ? and — 
 answer me — can any one keep that commandment 
 without grace?" 
 
 It was not with me but with himself the 
 evangelist was arguing, and I went on : 
 
 " He came up again, this time with Elsie in one 
 arm, a poor, little limp bundle of clothes, her 
 yellow hair spread over her face, and her eyes 
 closed, I was afraid, for ever." 
 
 " But she lived, didn't she ? " There was no 
 Elijah Higginbotham anywhere to be found 
 now, only an excited man, concerned about the
 
 324 AN EVANGELIST 
 
 saving of a little maid. " Excuse me, I didn't 
 read that part about the saving so carefully as 
 I ought. I was more concerned about . . . 
 the judgment." 
 
 " Yes, Elsie was all right in a day or two, but 
 Posty had not strength to do more than hand 
 her to her mother, and then, exhausted by the 
 struggle with the water, he fell back, and was 
 dead when he was found." 
 
 " What were you doing that you did not lay 
 hold of Posty and pull him out ? " thundered 
 Elijah ; " you seem to have been there." 
 
 " Only in a literary sense," I hastened to explain, 
 for it now seemed likely that the evangelist, having 
 come to condemn Posty, was about to take up 
 the cudgels on his behalf. 
 
 " I wish to Heaven you had been there in a 
 physical sense ; you would have been far more 
 useful ! " replied Elijah. " And so he died and 
 Elsie was saved ? " 
 
 " Yes, Posty died and went to his account ; 
 that was how he lived, and that was how he 
 died." And I waited. 
 
 Elijah sprang out of his seat and stood on the
 
 AN EVANGELIST 325 
 
 hearthrug, his face flushed, and his eyes shin- 
 ing. 
 
 " It's a pity that he tasted ; I wish he hadn't. 
 It's a pity he did not think more about his own 
 soul ; I wish he had. But Posty was a hero, and 
 played the man that day. Posty will have 
 another chance. Posty loved, and God is Love ; 
 if there's such a thing as justice, it's all right 
 with Posty." 
 
 We did not look at one another for a full 
 minute — a print of Perugino's Crucifixion over 
 the mantelpiece interested me, and Elijah's eye 
 seemed to be arrested by the Encyclopcedia Brit- 
 annica on the other side of the room — a minute 
 later we shook hands upon the basis of the 
 Divine Love and our common humanity, and 
 nothing more passed between us. 
 
 From my window I could see him go along 
 the street. He stopped and slapped his leg 
 triumphantly, I seemed to hear the evangelist 
 say again with great joy : " It's all right with 
 Posty ! " I said, " And it's all right with Elijah 
 Higginbotham."
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCON- 
 SISTENCY
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 There were many capable men in the session 
 of the North Free Kirk, Muirtown — such as Bailie 
 MacCallum, from whom Drumsheugh bought Kate 
 Carnegie's wedding present after a historical tussle 
 — but they were all as nothing beside the Col- 
 lector, and this was so well known in Muirtown 
 that people spoke freely of the Collector's kirk. 
 When he arrived in Muirtown, it was understood 
 that he sampled six kirks, three Established and 
 three Free — the rumour about the Original Se- 
 ceders was never authenticated — and that the 
 importance of his visits was thoroughly appre- 
 ciated. No unseemly fuss was made on his 
 appearance ; but an ex-bailie, or the Clerk to the 
 Road Trustees, or some such official person, 
 happened to meet him at the door, and received 
 him into his pew with quiet, unostentatious re- 
 
 329
 
 330 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 spect ; and when he left, officious deacons did not 
 encompass his exit, rubbing their hands and ask- 
 ing how he liked their place, but an elder journey- 
 ing in the same direction entered into general 
 conversation and was able to mention with 
 authority next day what the Collector had said. 
 Various reasons were canvassed for his settle- 
 ment in the North Kirk, where old Dr. Pitten- 
 driegh was then drawing near to the close of his 
 famous exposition of the Epistle to the Romans, 
 published after the Doctor's death, and sold to 
 the extent of fifty-seven copies among the con- 
 gregation. It was, for one thing, a happy coinci- 
 dence that on that occasion the Doctor, having 
 taken an off day from Romans, had preached from 
 the text " Render unto Caesar the things which 
 are Caesar's," and had paid a high tribute to the 
 character of a faithful servant of the Crown. 
 Some importance, no doubt, also attached to the 
 fact that the Procurator Fiscal sat in the " North 
 Free," austere and mysterious, whose power of 
 detecting crime bordered on the miraculous, and 
 whose ways were veiled in impenetrable darkness, 
 so that any one with a past felt uncomfortable in
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 331 
 
 his presence ; and it was almost synonymous with 
 doom to say of a man, " The Fiscal has his eye 
 on him." Perhaps it was not without influence 
 that the Supervisors who was the Collector's sub- 
 ordinate, with power also of official life and death, 
 had long sat under Dr. Pittendriegh — the Doctor 
 and the Collector were indeed the only persons 
 the Supervisor did sit under. He had admirable 
 opportunities of enlarging to the Collector on the 
 solid and edifying qualities of Dr. Pittendriegh's 
 ministry, and the unfortunate defects in the 
 preaching and pastoral gifts of neighbouring 
 ministers, in the intervals of business, when the 
 two of them were not investigating into the de- 
 linquencies of some officer of excise, who had 
 levied a tax on the produce of Dunleith Distillery 
 not only in money but also in kind ; or concoct- 
 ing cunning plans for the detection of certain 
 shepherds who were supposed to be running an 
 entirely unlicensed still in the recesses of Glen 
 Urtach. It was at least through this official, him- 
 self an elder, that the Collector's decision was 
 intimated to the Doctor and the other authorities 
 of the North Kirk, and they lost no time in giving
 
 332 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 it proper and irrevocable effect. The Supervisor 
 set an example of patriotic sacrifice by surrender- 
 ing his pew in the centre of the church and 
 retiring to the modest obscurity of the side seats, 
 so that the Collector could be properly housed ; 
 for it was not to be thought of for a moment that 
 he should sit anywhere except in the eye of the 
 public, or that ordinary persons — imagine for in- 
 stance young children — should be put in the same 
 pew with him. So he sat there alone, for he had 
 neither wife nor child, from January to December, 
 except when on his official leave — which he took 
 not for pleasure but from a sense of duty — and he 
 gave a calm, judicial attention to all the statements 
 put before him by the preacher. Very soon after 
 this arrangement the Doctor discovered that the 
 Deacons' Court required strengthening, and, as a 
 man of affairs, the Collector was added at the 
 head of the list ; and when a year later a happy 
 necessity compelled an election of elders, the 
 Collector was raised to this higher degree, and 
 thereafter was "thirled" to the North Free, and 
 the history of that kirk and of the Collector be- 
 came one.
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 333 
 
 What exactly the great man collected, or what 
 functions and powers might be included in his 
 office, were not matters Muirtown pretended to 
 define or dared to pry into. It was enough that 
 he was, in the highest and final sense of the word. 
 Collector — no mere petty official of a local body, 
 but the representative of the Imperial Government 
 and the commissioned servant of Her Majesty the 
 Queen, raised above principalities and powers in 
 the shape of bailies and provosts, and owning no 
 authority save, as was supposed, the Chancellor of 
 the Exchequer. For any one to confound him 
 with the collector of, say, water rates was either 
 abysmal ignorance or, it might be, although one 
 hoped not, a piece of Radical insolence and a 
 despising of dignities. It was good manners to 
 call him by his title — many would have had diffi- 
 culty in mentioning his private name, which 
 was, I believe, Thomas Richard Thorne, just 
 as the Queen's, I believe, is Guelph — and it was 
 pleasing to hear a porter at the station shout, amid 
 a crowd of tourists going to the Kilspindie Arms, 
 " Collector's cab " ; or Bailie MacCallum on the 
 street, " Fine morning, Collector " ; and one did not
 
 334 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCE^ 
 
 wonder that the session of the " North Free " ex- 
 alted its head when this kind of thing went on 
 at its meetings : " Moderator, with your permis- 
 sion, I would like to have the mind of the Col- 
 lector " ; and then in reply, " Moderator, my views 
 practically coincide with those of the Fiscal," 
 And there were dinner tables, such as old Peter 
 MacCash's, the manager of the Muirtown Bank, 
 where conversation reached a very high level of 
 decoration, and nothing could be heard save 
 "Sheriff," "Provost," "Collector," "Town Clerk," 
 " Fiscal," " Banker," " Doctor," « Dean of Guild," 
 and such like, till an untitled person hardly dared 
 to defend his most cherished opinion. 
 
 As the movements of Government officials were 
 always mysterious, no one could tell whence the 
 Collector had come, but it was known to a few 
 that he was not really of Scots blood, and had not 
 been bred in the Presbyterian Kirk. When his 
 hand in the way of Church rule was heavy on the 
 " North Free " and certain sought anxiously for 
 grounds of revolt, they were apt to whisper that, 
 after all, this man, who laid down the ecclesiastical 
 law with such pedantic accuracy and such in-
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 335 
 
 flexible severity, was but a Gentile who had estab- 
 lished himself in the true fold, or at most a 
 proselyte of the gate. They even dared to ask 
 what, in the matter of churches, he had been 
 before he was appointed to Muirtown ; and so 
 unscrupulous and virulent are the mongers of 
 sedition, as every student of history knows, that 
 some insinuated that the Collector had been a 
 Nonconformist ; while others, considering that this 
 violence could only overreach itself, contented 
 themselves with allHsions to Swedenborg, Most 
 of his brethren treated him as if he had been 
 within the covenant from the beginning, and had 
 been granted the responsible privilege of Scots 
 birth either because hi course of time they had 
 forgotten the fact of alien origin in face of every 
 appearance to the contrary, or because, as we all 
 need mercy, it is not wise to search too curiously 
 into the dark chapters of a man's past. 
 
 Upon his part the Collector had wonderfully 
 adapted himself to the new environment, and it 
 defied the keenest critic to find in him any trace 
 of a former home. It is true that he did not use 
 the Scots dialect, merely employing a peculiarly
 
 336 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 felicitous word at a time for purposes of effect, 
 but he had stretched his vowels to the orthodox 
 breadth, and could roll off the letter " r " with a 
 sense of power. "Dour" he could say in a way 
 that deceived even the elect. Sometimes he 
 startled the Presbytery with a sound like " Yah, 
 yah," which indicates the shallow sharpness of 
 the English, instead of " He-e-er, he-e-er," which 
 reveals as in a symbol the solidity of the Scot ; 
 but then one cannot live in London for years — as 
 an official must — and be quite unscathed ; and an 
 acute observer might mark a subdued smartness 
 in dress — white tie instead of stock on sacrament 
 Sabbaths — which was not indigenous ; but then it 
 must be allowed that one in his position was 
 obliged to be, to a certain degree, a man of the 
 world. No one ever caught him quoting a clause 
 from the Prayer-Book on the rare occasions when 
 he was heard at his family devotions, or breaking 
 into a riotous " Hallelujah " in the midst of a 
 sermon. If misfortune had thrown him into 
 Episcopalian or Methodist folds in earlier years, 
 he had since been thoroughly purged and cleansed. 
 He had a way of alluding to " the Disruption
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 337 
 
 principles laid down in 1843," or "my younger 
 brethren will allow me to say that the Disruption," 
 which was very convincing ; and on the solitary 
 occasion when he made a set speech in public — for 
 his strength lay in silence rather than eloquence — 
 he had a peroration on our " covenanted fore- 
 fathers" which left an indelible impression. It 
 was understood that he spent his holidays in 
 visiting remote districts of the Highlands where 
 the people took strong peppermints in church 
 without scruple or apology, and preserved the 
 primeval simplicity of Presbyterian worship entire ; 
 and it was supposed that he was looking for a 
 birthplace which would finally establish his 
 position as an elder of the Kirk. 
 
 What gave the Collector his supreme influence 
 in the session of the Free North, and extended 
 his sphere of ecclesiastical influence to the Pres- 
 bytery of Muirtown, was an amazing knowledge 
 of Church law and a devouring love for order. 
 The latter may have been the natural outcome of 
 his professional training, wherein red-tape has been 
 raised to a science, but the former was an acquired 
 accomplishment. Dr. Pittendriegh remembered 
 
 A. 22
 
 338 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 almost painfully that on the day of his election 
 to the eldership the Collector enquired the names 
 of the most reliable authorities on Church law, and 
 that he (Dr. Pittendriegh) had not only given him 
 a list, but had urged him to their study, judging 
 from past experience that no man was likely to 
 go too far in the pursuit of this branch of know- 
 ledge. For a while the Collector sat silent and 
 observant at the meetings of Session, and then 
 suddenly one evening, and in the quietest manner, 
 he inquired whether a certain proceeding was in 
 order. 
 
 " Well, at any rate, that is how we have done 
 here for twenty years," said the Doctor, with just 
 a flavour of indignation, and the startled Fiscal 
 confirmed the statement. 
 
 " That may be so. Moderator, and I am obliged 
 to Mr. Fiscal for his assurance, but you will par- 
 don me for saying, with much respect, that the 
 point is not whether this action has been the 
 custom, but whether it is legal. On that. 
 Moderator, I should like your deliverance." 
 
 He took the opportunity, however, of showing 
 that only one deliverance could be given by long
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 339 
 
 quotations from Church law, supported by 
 references which extended back to the seven- 
 teenth century. Every one knew that, unlike his 
 distinguished colleague in Muirtown Dr. Dow- 
 biggin, the minister of the Free North was more 
 at home in Romans than in Canon Law ; but, like 
 every true Scot, he loved a legal point, and he not 
 only announced at next Session meeting that the 
 Collector was quite right, but expressed his satis- 
 faction that they had such a valuable addition to 
 their number in the Collector. His position from 
 that evening was assured beyond dispute ; and 
 when the Clerk of Session resigned on the ground 
 of long service, but really through terror that there 
 might be a weak place in his minutes, the Col- 
 lector succeeded, and made the proceedings of the 
 Free North Session to be a wonder unto many. 
 It was a disappointment to some that, when the 
 Collector was sent to the Presbytery, he took no 
 part for several meetings ; but others boldly de- 
 clared that even in that high place he was only 
 biding his time, which came when the Presbytery 
 debated for one hour and ten minutes whether a 
 certain meeting had been pro re nata^ or in hunc
 
 340 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 effectum, while the learned Clerk listened with 
 delight as one watches the young people at 
 play. 
 
 " Moderator," said the Collector, " I have given 
 the most careful attention to the arguments on both 
 sides, and I venture to suggest that the meeting 
 was neither pro re nata nor in hunc effectum^ but 
 was a meeting per saltum " ; and, after referring to 
 Pardovan's Institutes, he sat down amid a silence 
 which might be felt. Several ministers openly 
 confessed their ignorance one to another with 
 manifest chagrin, and one young minister laughed 
 aloud : " Per saltum^ I declare — what next ? " as if 
 it were a subject for jesting. 
 
 " The Collector is quite right, Moderator," said 
 the Clerk with his unspeakable air of authority ; 
 "the meeting referred to was undoubtedly per 
 saltimt, but I did not wish to interfere prematurely 
 with the debate " ; and from that date the Clerk, 
 who used to address his more recondite deliver- 
 ances to Dr. Dowbiggin as the only competent 
 audience, was careful to include the Collector in a 
 very marked and flattering fashion. 
 
 While it was only human that his congregation
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 341 
 
 should be proud of the Collector, and while there 
 is no question that he led them in the paths of 
 order, they sometimes grumbled — in corners — and 
 grew impatient under his rule. He was not only 
 not a man given to change himself, but he bitterly 
 resented and resisted to the uttermost any pro- 
 posal of change on the part of other people. 
 What was in the Free North, when he, so to say, 
 mounted the throne, was right, and any departure 
 therefrom he scented afar off and opposed as folly 
 and mischief There are men whom you can con- 
 vince by argument ; there are others whom you 
 can talk round on trifles ; but whether the matter 
 were great or small — from Biblical criticism, on 
 which the Collector took a liberal line, to the print- 
 ing of the congregational report, where he would not 
 allow a change of type — once his mind was made 
 up he remained unchangeable and inaccessible. 
 He prevented the introduction of hymns for ten 
 years, and never consented to the innovation on 
 the ground of the hold which the metrical psalms 
 had upon Presbyterians from their earliest days, 
 and he did succeed in retaining that remarkable 
 custom of the Scots Kirk by which a communi-
 
 342 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 cant cannot receive the Sacrament without first 
 presenting a leaden token, and his argument was 
 again the sacred associations of the past. He did 
 certainly agree to the recovering of the pulpit 
 cushions, which the exposition of Romans had 
 worn bare, only however on the assurance of Bailie 
 MacCallum, given officially, that he had the same 
 cloth in store ; but a scheme for a ventilating 
 chamber in the roof — an improvement greatly 
 needed in a church which was supposed to have 
 retained the very air of the Disruption — he de- 
 nounced as an irresponsible fad. 
 
 He gave much watchful attention to the Sabbath 
 schools — " Sunday " was a word he abhorred — 
 and between the Collector and the younger people 
 engaged in that work there was almost constant 
 conflict, which extended to every detail, and 
 came to a head over the matter of entertainments. 
 It was their belief that once a year it was neces- 
 sary for the success and well-being of a Sabbath 
 school that the children should be gathered on an 
 evening and fed with tea and buns, and afterwards 
 elevated by magic slides representing various 
 amusing situations in life and concluding with a
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 343 
 
 vivid picture of rats disappearing into a gaping 
 man's mouth, which opened to receive them with a 
 jerk. The fact that this festivity was opened and 
 closed with a hymn in no way sanctified it in 
 the eyes of the Collector, who declared it to be 
 without any Scripture warrant and injurious to 
 true religion, as well as — and this was hardly less 
 important — quite without sanction by the laws of 
 the Kirk. By sheer force of will — the weight 
 of a silent, obstinate uncompromising nature, he 
 brought the "treats" — very modest, innocent, if 
 not particularly refined efforts to give some bright- 
 ness to the life of the poor children in Muirtown — 
 to an end, and in place thereof he provided, at his 
 own expense, views of the mission stations of the 
 world, with a gratuitous distribution of missionary 
 literature. This was endured for three years with 
 much discontent and with sudden and disorderly 
 demands for the rats in place of the interesting 
 Blthough somewhat monotonous faces of Chinese 
 Christians, and then the rebellion was organized 
 which had so unexpected and felicitous a result. 
 
 The party of the Juniors, some of them approach- 
 ing forty years of age, took a covenant that they
 
 344 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 would stand by one another, and they made their 
 plan that upon a certain evening in March they 
 would gather together their corps of Muirtown 
 Arabs and feed them with dainties even unto 
 the extent of raisins and oranges. They were not 
 unconscious that oranges, on account of their pro- 
 nounced colour, would be an offence to the Col- 
 lector, and that that estimable man had already 
 referred to this fruit, as a refreshment at a religious 
 meeting, in terms of deep contempt ; and there 
 would not only be a magic lantern with scenes of 
 war and sport, to say nothing of amusement, but 
 also a sacred cantata to be sung by the children. 
 When the Collector heard of the programme, he 
 grasped the situation at once, and knew that in the 
 coming battle quarter could not be given — that the 
 *' Reds " would be completely reduced to subor- 
 dination, or that a severely constitutional monarchy 
 would be finally closed. This was indeed the 
 general opinion ; and when the Juniors appeared 
 before the Session to present their ultimatum, no- 
 thing but a sense of decency prevented the Free 
 North attending in a body, and Bailie MacCallum 
 took a gloomy view of the issue.
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 345 
 
 " Oranges and the what-ye-call-it," alluding to 
 the cantata, " the Collector '11 never stand, and ye 
 couldna expect him." 
 
 Dr. Pittendriegh was now einerittis^ which means 
 that he had retired from the active duty of the 
 ministry and was engaged in criticising those who 
 were still in the yoke ; and many pitied young Mr. 
 Rutherford, brother of Rutherford of Glasgow, who 
 had to preside over so critical a meeting. His prayer 
 was, however, favourably received by both sides, 
 and his few remarks before calling on the leader of 
 the " Reds " were full of tact and peace. As for 
 that intrepid man — grocer by trade and full of 
 affability, but a Radical in politics and indifferent 
 to the past — he discharged a difficult duty with 
 considerable ability. For himself and his friends he 
 disclaimed all desire to offend any one, and least of 
 all one whom every one respected so much for his 
 services both to Church and State — both the Bailie 
 and Fiscal felt bound to say " hear, hear," and the 
 Collector bowed stiffly — but they must put the 
 work they had carried on in the Vennel before any 
 individual : they were dealing with a poor and 
 neglected class of children very different from the
 
 346 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 children in grand houses — this with some teethi- 
 ness. They must make religion attractive, and 
 show that they were interested in the children's lives 
 as well as their souls. None of them could see 
 anything wrong in a cup of tea or a bit of music ; 
 and if the Session was to forbid this small 
 pleasure, he and his friends would respectfully 
 resign the position they had held for many years, 
 and allow the elders to carry on the work on any 
 plan they pleased. 
 
 There was a faint rustle ; the Bailie gave a low 
 whistle, and then the Collector rose from the table, 
 where he sat as clerk, removed the gold eyeglass 
 from his nose with much deliberation, coughed 
 slightly, and waving his eyeglass gently with his 
 left hand, gave his deliverance. He acknowledged 
 with somewhat cold courtesy the generous expres- 
 sions regarding any slight services he had been 
 allowed to render in his dual capacity, and he 
 desired to express his profound sense of the de- 
 votion with which his friends on the other side, if 
 he might just for the occasion speak of sides, 
 carried on their important work. His difficulty, 
 however, was this — and he feared that it was
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 347 
 
 insuperable — Christian work must be carried on in 
 accordance with sound principles, by the example 
 of the Bible and according to the spirit of the 
 Scots Kirk. He was convinced that the enter- 
 tainments in question, with the accompaniments 
 to which he would not further allude in this place, 
 were quite contrary to the sound and solid tra- 
 ditions which were very dear to some of them, and 
 from which he ventured to hope the Free North 
 Church of Muirtown would never depart. If the 
 Session should take another view than that of 
 his humble judgment, then nothing would remain 
 for him but to resign his position as Session 
 Clerk and Elder. There was general consterna- 
 tion on the faces of his brethren, and even the 
 Juniors looked uncomfortable, and the Moder- 
 ator did wisely in adjourning the meeting for a 
 week. 
 
 The idea was some kind of compromise ; but no 
 one was particularly hopeful, and the first essays 
 were not very encouraging. It was laid on the Bailie 
 to deal with the leader of the insurgents, for the 
 sound reason that, as every class has its own free- 
 masonry, one tradesman was likely to know how to
 
 348 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 deal with another. No man had a more plausible 
 tongue, as was well known in municipal circles, 
 and the Bailie plied the grocer with the arguments 
 of expediency : that the Collector was an ornament 
 to the Free North ; that any disruption in their 
 congregation would be a sport to the Philistines ; 
 that if you offended the Collector, you touched the 
 Fiscal and the other professional dignitaries ; that 
 it would be possible to go a good way in the direc- 
 tion that the insurgents desired without attracting 
 any notice ; and that the Collector ..." Well, 
 ye see, Councillor " — for the grocer had so far at- 
 tained — " there's bound to be changes ; we maun be 
 prepared for that. He's failin' a wee, an' there's nae 
 use counterin' him." So, with many shrugs and 
 suggestions, the astute politician advised that the 
 insurgents should make a nominal submission and 
 wait their time. Then the Councillor informed 
 the Bailie that he would fight the battle to the 
 end, although the Collector should join the Estab- 
 lished Kirk, and Bailie MacCallum knew that his 
 labour had been all in vain. 
 
 It was the Fiscal who approached the Collector, 
 as was most meet, and he considered that the best
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 349 
 
 time was after dinner, and when the two were dis- 
 cussing their second glass of port. 
 
 " That's a sound wine, Collector, and a credit to 
 a Muirtown firm. Remarkable man, old Sande- 
 man ; established a good port in Scotland and in- 
 vented a new denomination, when to save my life 
 I couldn't have thought of another." 
 
 " So far as I can judge, I do not think that 
 Sandemanianism is any credit to Muirtown. How 
 any Scots Kirkman can sink down into that kind 
 of thing passes me. But the wine is unexception- 
 able, and I never tasted any but good wine at 
 your table ; yet I suppose young men would prefer 
 claret — not the rich claret Scots gentlemen used 
 to drink, but that feeble Gladstone stuff," and the 
 Collector wagged his head in sorrow over the de- 
 cadent taste of the day. 
 
 " I quite agree with you, Collector, but you 
 know de gustibus ; and when the young fellows 
 do me the honour of dining with me, I let them 
 have their claret : there must be give and take be- 
 tween the seniors and juniors, eh, Collector ? " — this 
 with some adroitness. 
 
 " There I venture to disagree with you, Fiscal,"
 
 350 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 and the Collector's face hardened at once. " It is 
 the young who ought to yield to the old ; I see 
 no reason why the old should give in to the young ; 
 if they do, the end will be anarchy in Church and 
 State." 
 
 " There is a great deal in what you say, Collec- 
 tor ; but have you never been afraid that if we of 
 the old school refuse to make any concessions, we 
 shall simply lose our influence, and things will be 
 done foolishly, which, with our help, might have 
 been done wisely ? " 
 
 "If there be one word I detest, it is * conces- 
 sions * ; they are ruinous, both in th6 Civil Service 
 and in the Church ; and it just comes to this, 
 Fiscal : if you yield an inch, you must yield a yard. 
 Nothing will preserve order save resistance from 
 the beginning, obsta principiis, yes, obsta princU 
 
 The Fiscal recognised the expression on the 
 Collector's face, and knew that it was useless to 
 continue the subject, and so his labour was also 
 in vain. 
 
 It only now remained that the minister should 
 try his hand upon this inflexible man, and one
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 351 
 
 of the urgent duties of his pastoral office hindered 
 him until the evening before the meeting. During 
 the last few days Rutherford had been trying 
 to get the key to this type of character, and had 
 been touched by the Collector's loneliness. With- 
 out wife or child, engaged in routine year by year, 
 moving in a narrow set of officials or ecclesiastics, 
 he had withered and contracted till he had be- 
 come a mere pedant. People spoke of his narrow- 
 ness and obstinacy. They were angry with him, 
 and would not be sorry to teach him a lesson. 
 The minister's heart was full of pity and charity ; 
 and, so optimistic is youth, he believed that there 
 must be springs of emotion and romance in the 
 old man ; but this faith he did not mention to 
 the Bailie or the Fiscal, considering, with some 
 reason, that they would put it down as a foolish 
 dream, and be inwardly much amused. As he 
 stood before the Collector's residence, as it was 
 called in the Muirtown Advertiser, his pity 
 deepened, and he seemed to be confirmed in his 
 compassion. The Collector did not live in rooms 
 or in a small "house as did other bachelors, for 
 this would be unworthy of his position, and a
 
 352 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 reflection on the State ; but he must needs live 
 in a house on the North Meadow. The large 
 drawing-room lay unused and empty, since no 
 ladies came to the house ; and of the bedrooms 
 only three were furnished — one for his servants, 
 one for himself, and another a guest-room, which 
 was never occupied save by some Government 
 official from London on inspection, or a minister 
 attending the Presbytery. The Collector was eager 
 to secure Rabbi Saunderson, but that learned man, 
 of absent mind, was apt to forget that he had 
 been invited. The dining-room was a bare, 
 sombre room, where the Collector took his meals 
 in solitary state and entertained half a dozen 
 men to simple but well-cooked dinners, after 
 which the tablecloth was removed from the 
 polished dark mahogany, and the sound old port 
 coasted round in silver slides. As the minister 
 entered the dimly lit lobby everything seemed to 
 him significant and eloquent : the middle-aged 
 housekeeper with her air of severe propriety ; 
 the hat-stand, with no careless, unkempt exuber- 
 ance of undress hats, shooting caps country sticks, 
 but with two silk hats only — one for good weather
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 353 
 
 and Sundays, one for bad and funerals ; a bamboo 
 cane, with an ivory and silver head of straight 
 and unadorned pattern ; and two coats — one for 
 cold, one for milder temperature. His sitting- 
 room, where he spent his unofficial time, seemed 
 to the minister that evening the very embodiment 
 of the man — a physical shape, as it were, revealing 
 his character. There was no comfortable disorder 
 of papers, books, pipes, which sets one at ease 
 in some rooms. Everything had its place ; and 
 the daily paper, after having been read, was sent 
 down to the kitchen, unless there was some 
 news of an unedifying description, in which case 
 it was burned. Instead of a couch whereon one 
 could lie and meditate after dinner on the problems 
 of existence, there were two straight-backed arm- 
 chairs, one on each side of the fireplace. The 
 bookcase had glass doors, and one could read 
 the titles on one shelf : The Incidence of the Income 
 Tax, The Abolition of the Malt Duty, Rules for 
 the Collectors of H.M. Inland Revenue, Practice 
 of the Free Church of Scotlajid, Abstract oj the 
 Acts of Assembly 1700 to 1840, and TJic Eldo^s 
 Manjial. The Collector u^is reading another book 
 A. 2.1
 
 354 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 of the same genial and exhilarating class, and 
 the minister noticed its contents with some dismay, 
 The Authority of Kirk Sessions ; but the Collector 
 was quite cordial (for him). 
 
 " I am much pleased to see you, Mr. Rutherford, 
 and should be gratified if your onerous duties 
 allowed you to call more frequently ; but I never 
 forget that while our hours in the service of the 
 Queen are, as a rule, fixed, yours, in a higher 
 service, have no limit. Do not, I pray you, sit 
 there ; that is in the draught between the door 
 and the fire : here, if you will be so good, opposite 
 me. Well, sir, how is your work prospering ? " 
 
 The minister explained that he had intended 
 to call sooner, but had been occupied with various 
 cases of sickness, one of which had touched him 
 closely. The people were not in the Collector's 
 district ; but perhaps he might have noticed 
 them : they sat before him in church. 
 
 " Do you refer to a couple who have come quite 
 recently, within a year, and who, as I judge, are 
 newly married ; they are interesting young people, 
 it seemed to me, and most attentive, as I can 
 testify to their religious duties."
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 355 
 
 " Yes, the same. They were engaged for many 
 years — a love affah* of childhood, and they have 
 been married less than eight months. They have 
 a beautiful little home at Craigie, and they simply 
 lived one for another." 
 
 " I can believe that, Mr, Rutherford ; for I may 
 mention that on one occasion, when you touched 
 on love in appropriate and . . . somewhat 
 moving terms, I happened to notice, without 
 espionage I trust, that the wife slipped her hand 
 into her husband's, and so they sat until the close 
 of the sermon. Has trouble come to them ? " 
 and the Collector looked anxiously at the minister 
 over his spectacles. 
 
 " Very dangerous and sudden trouble, I am 
 sorry to say. Last Monday Mrs. Fortune was 
 prematurely confined, and I . . . don't under- 
 stand about these things ; but the doctor con- 
 sidered it a very bad case." 
 • " There had been complications, I fear ; that 
 sometimes happens, and, I don't know why, often 
 with those whose lives are most precious. How 
 is she ? I earnestly hope that she . . . that 
 he has not lost his bride." And Rutherford
 
 356 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 was struck by the anxiety and sadness in the 
 Collector's voice. 
 
 " It was feared he might, and I have never seen 
 any man so utterly broken down ; and yet he 
 kept calm for her sake. On Wednesday I stayed 
 with him all the afternoon, and then I returned 
 for the night after the prayer meeting." 
 
 " You were never more needed, be sure of that, 
 sir ; and is there hope of her recovery ? I pray 
 God, if it be His will, that the young wife be 
 spared. Sitting before me has given me . . . 
 an interest in the case." The Collector felt as 
 if he must apologise for his unusual emotion. 
 
 " Their own doctor took a gloomy view, but 
 they called in Dr. Manley. If there's real danger 
 of death in Muirtown, or a radius of twenty miles, 
 people must have Manley. And when he came 
 into the parlour — you know his brusque, decided 
 way — Manley turned to poor Fortune, who 
 couldn't say one word, only look." 
 
 " It is, Mr. Rutherford, I will dare to say, the 
 bitterest hour in all human sorrow " — the Collector 
 spoke with strong feeling — " and Dr. Manley said ? " 
 
 " ' You thcRight you were going to lose your
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 357 
 
 wife. No wonder ; very bad case ; but you're not, 
 please God you're not. Dr. Gellatly knows his 
 business. Mrs. Fortune will get better with 
 care, mark me, immense care.' That's his way, 
 you know, Collector ; then Fortune . . . well, 
 lost command of himself So Manley went on, 
 — ' with care and skill ; and Gellatly will see to 
 that.'" 
 
 " God be praised ! " exclaimed the Collector. 
 " How many Dr. Manley has comforted in Muir- 
 town ! yet all medical skill is of no avail some- 
 times. But you have said nothing of the child." 
 
 " Manley was very doubtful about it — a girl, 
 I think — and that is the only danger now with 
 Mrs. Fortune. She is always asking for the child, 
 which she has not seen ; and so long as the news 
 are good she is satisfied ; but if the baby dies, 
 it will go hard with the mother. Collector," cried 
 Rutherford suddenly, " what mothers suffer, and 
 how they love ! " 
 
 The Collector took off his spectacles and ex- 
 amined them carefully, and then he wiped his eyes. 
 
 " When can the doctors be certain about the 
 child, Mr. Rutherford ? "
 
 358 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 " Dr. Manley is going again this evening, and 
 we hope he will be able to give a good report. 
 I intended to call after seeing you ; for if all be 
 well, we would return thanks to God ; and if 
 . . . the child is not to live, there will be 
 the more need of prayer. You will excuse me, 
 Collector?" 
 
 "Go at once, sir, and ... do you mind 
 me going with you — ^just to the door, you know ? 
 I would sleep better to-night if I knew mother 
 and child were safe." And the Collector was 
 already moving to the door as one in haste. 
 
 " It is very good of you. Collector, and Fortune 
 will value your sympathy ; but there is something 
 I called to talk about, and in my concern about 
 Mrs. Fortune I , . . quite forgot it. It's 
 about that unfortunate Sabbath-school entertain- 
 ment." 
 
 " It's of no importance beside this trial — none 
 whatever. Let us not delay, and I'll hear you 
 on the other matter as we cross the South Mea- 
 dow." 
 
 So Rutherford was hustled out of the house in 
 growing amazement
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 359 
 
 " Let me say, first of all, Collector, that we 
 are all much concerned . . ." 
 
 " Who could be otherwise, my good sir, if he 
 had a heart in his bosom — only eight months 
 married, and in danger of being separated. 
 Mother and child taken, and the husband . . . 
 left desolate . . . desolate for life ! " 
 
 "If you could see your way," resumed Ruther- 
 ford, after a respectful pause, and still harking 
 back to the dispute, "to do anything . . ." 
 
 " Why did you not say that before ? Only tell 
 me ; and if it be in my power, it shall be done. 
 May I undertake the doctor's fees, or arrange 
 with the nurse — through you of course, and in 
 any way that will be in keeping with their feelings ? 
 Command me ; I shall count it more than a 
 privilege — a duty of pity and . . . love." 
 
 " It was not the Fortunes I was thinking of," 
 said Rutherford ; " but that can be left over. It 
 is kind of you to offer help ; they are not, however, 
 in need of pecuniary assistance. Fortune has 
 a good post in the railway. He's a first-rate 
 engineer and a rising man. But if you cared to 
 send flowers . . ."
 
 36o THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 " I am obliged to you for the hint, and I'll 
 attend to this to-morrow morning." (The invalid 
 had a fresh bouquet every day for a month.) " No, 
 I will not go in. Just present my compliments 
 and sympathy to Mr. Fortune. Here is my card, 
 and . . . I'll just wait for the bulletin, if 
 you would be so good as to come with it to 
 the door." 
 
 " Baby's going to live too, and Manley says she 
 will be a thumping big child in a few months ! " 
 
 "Thank God, Mr. Rutherford! You cannot 
 imagine how this incident has affected me. I'll 
 go home now, and as I cross through the dark- 
 ness of the Meadow my humble thanksgiving 
 will mingle with yours, that in this home it has 
 been God's pleasure to turn the darkness . . . 
 into light." The voice of the Collector was 
 charged with emotion, and Rutherford was con- 
 firmed in his romantic belief, although it seemed 
 as if he had laboured in vain in the affair of the 
 Sabbath school. 
 
 It was known before the meeting of that even- 
 ing that no compromise had been effected ; and 
 when the Collector rose to speak, his face and
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 361 
 
 manner charged with solemnity, it was felt that a 
 crisis in the Free North had arrived. He began by 
 saying that the subject of last meeting had never 
 been long out of his thoughts, and that he had 
 now arrived at a decision which commended itself 
 to his judgment, and which he would submit with 
 all brevity. 
 
 " Moderator " — for the Collector's historical utter- 
 ance must be given in his own words — " if a 
 man lives alone for many years, through the 
 providence of God, and has come almost to the 
 limit of ordinary human life as set down by 
 the Psalmist, he is apt to become censorious and 
 to be out of sympathy with young people ; and 
 if I have erred in this respect, you will kindly 
 assign it to the habits of my life, not to the 
 feelings of my heart." 
 
 There was so much gracious tenderness and 
 unaffected humility in the Collector's tone that 
 the grocer — unless roused, himself the most 
 generous of men — wished to rise and withdraw the 
 oranges instantly, and to leave the other details 
 of tea and cantata absolutely to the Collector's 
 decision, but was checked by the Moderator.
 
 362 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 " So far, therefore, as I am concerned, I beg. 
 Moderator, to withdraw all opposition to the 
 programme of my excellent friends, and I do 
 so with all my heart ; but, with your permission, 
 I must annex one condition, which I hope my 
 good friends will see their way to grant." 
 
 " Whatever the Collector wants shall be done ! " 
 burst in the Councillor, with chorus of applause 
 from his side. 
 
 "Mr. Councillor must not be too rash lest he 
 be caught in a snare," resumed the Collector 
 facetiously, "for I am contemplating an innova- 
 tion. However agreeable an evening entertain- 
 ment in winter may be to the Vennel children, 
 it appears to me that it would be even better 
 for them to go to the country and admire the 
 works of the Creator. There is a beautiful spot, 
 only some twelve miles from here, which few 
 Muirtown people have seen. I refer to the Tochty 
 woods, where are the graves of Bessie Bell and 
 Mary Gray, and my condition is that in the 
 height of summer our poor Muirtown children 
 be driven there and spend a long summer's day 
 on the grass and by the river. I have only
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 363 
 
 to add that if this proposal should meet with my 
 friends' and my colleagues' approval, I shall count 
 it a privilege and, er . . . honour to de- 
 fray the cost." And for the first time in his 
 public life the Collector sat down covered v>'ith 
 confusion as with a garment. 
 
 The Tochty excursion came off on midsummer 
 day, and is now a chapter of ancient history, to 
 which what remains of the " Old Guard " turn 
 back with fond recollection ; for though the things 
 reported were almost incredible in Muirtovvn, yet 
 were they all less than true. How there had been 
 preparation in the unsavoury homes of the Vennel 
 for weeks before, with the result that the children 
 appeared in such spotless cleanliness and varied 
 gaiety of attire that the Councillor was filled with 
 pride, and the Collector declared that they looked 
 like ladies and gentlemen. How the Collector 
 was himself dressed in a light-grey summer suit, 
 with a blue tie and a soft hat — this was never be- 
 lieved in his " Collection," but could any one have 
 invented it? — and received many compliments 
 on his appearance from all sides. How he had 
 provided a barouche from the Kilspindic Arms
 
 364 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 
 
 for the Councillor and his wife, as chiefs of the 
 school, and for his guests the Fortunes, whose 
 baby crowed triumphantly half the way, and 
 smiled in her sleep the other half; but the 
 Collector travelled on the box-seat of the first 
 break with the children — I tremble while I write 
 — through the main streets of Muirtown. How 
 the Collector had arranged with Burnbrae, the 
 Free Kirk elder of Drumtochty, to supply every 
 one on arrival with a pint of sweet, fresh milk ; 
 and how a quarrel arose in the end of the 
 days between the town and country elders be- 
 cause Burnbrae gave the bairns a pint and a 
 half at the price of a pint, and was never 
 brought to a state of repentance. How . al- 
 most every game known to children in ancient 
 and modern times was played that day in Tochty 
 woods, and the Collector patronised them all, 
 from "tig" to "jingo-ring," with great access of 
 popularity, if not conspicuous proficiency. How 
 they all gathered together in front of the Lodge 
 before leaving, and the Councillor — he has since 
 risen to be Lord Provost — made the great speech 
 of his life in proposing a vote of thanks to the
 
 THE COLLECTOR'S INCONSISTENCY 365 
 
 Collector ; and the Collector, to save himself from 
 breaking down, called for three cheers in honour 
 of the Councillor, and led them himself. And 
 how they drove back past Kilbogie in the pleasant 
 evening-time, and at the dispersing half the 
 children of the Vennel shook hands with H.M. 
 Collector of Inland Revenue for Muirtown. 
 
 The Collector returned home, his heart full 
 of peace, and went to a certain closet of his 
 bedroom, wherein was a box he had not opened 
 for forty years. Within it lay a bridal dress, and 
 an unfinished set of baby clothes, with a needle 
 still fastened in the hem of a garment. And the 
 Collector wept; but his tears were half sorrow 
 and half joy, and he did not sorrow as one who 
 had no hope.
 
 FATHER JINKS
 
 FATHER JINKS 
 I 
 
 When I give him this title, I am perfectly aware 
 that his right to it was at the best very doubtful, 
 and that the Romans at St. Francis Xavier's 
 laughed openly at his conceit ; but he was always 
 greatly encouraged by any one calling him 
 " Father " ; and now that he is gone I, for one, 
 who knew both his little eccentricities and his 
 hard sacrifices, will not throw stones at his grave — 
 plenty were thrown at himself in his lifetime — 
 nor shall I wound his memory by calling him Mr, 
 Jinks. My opinion, as a layman, unattached and 
 perhaps not even intelligent, is of very small ac- 
 count, but it is that of many other laymen ; and 
 to us it is of no importance what the servant of 
 the Master is called, whether, like my dear old 
 friend Father Pat Reilly, who has brought back 
 more prodigals from the far country and rescued 
 more waifs from the streets than any man I can 
 
 A. 369 24
 
 370 FATHER JINKS 
 
 hear of, or after the fashion of that worthy man, 
 Pastor John Jump, as he deh'ghts to describe him- 
 self, who attends to business all the week — some- 
 thing in tinned meats, I think — and on Sunday 
 preaches to a congregation of " baptized believers " 
 with much force and earnestness, also without 
 money or price. Both the Father and the Pastor 
 had some doubts about my salvation — the one be- 
 cause I was not a member of the Anglican Com- 
 munion, and the other because I was not a " strait 
 Baptist " ; but I never had any doubt about theirs 
 — much less indeed than they had of one another's 
 — and of the two I liked . . . but no, there is 
 no use of comparisons, especially as the Pastor, as 
 well as the Father, has gone to the land where, 
 doubtless, many surprises are waiting for us all. 
 
 Nor does it seem of grave concern to some of 
 us — but here again we may only be displaying 
 our own ignorance of ecclesiastical subtleties — 
 how a minister of religion is set apart to his office, 
 if so be that he is an educated man and does 
 the work put to his hand faithfully. Jinks was 
 priested — I think that was what he called it, but 
 he is not responsible for my mistakes — in a cathe-
 
 FATHER JINKS 371 
 
 dral by a Right Rev. Father in God, and he used 
 often to insist that only through such a channel 
 could the grace of Orders come ; but when the 
 successor of the apostles advised Jinks in a most 
 kindly, fatherly spirit to cease from some of his 
 amiable extravagances — he had added a bran-new 
 chasuble to his other bravery, which greatly 
 pleased his female devotees — " the dear Father do 
 look so pretty in his new chalice," one of his ad- 
 mirers said — Jinks repaid the Episcopal counsel 
 with thinly-veiled scorn, and preached a sermon 
 which ran to the unwonted length of twenty 
 minutes to show that the bishop was himself a 
 law-breaker and little better than a Protestant. 
 
 My friend Carmichael, again, was ordained in 
 the little Free Kirk of Drumtochty by the Presby- 
 tery of Muirtown, — that heavy body of Church 
 Law and Divinity, Dr. Dowbiggin, being Moder- 
 ator, — and I cannot recollect Carmichael once re- 
 ferring to his Orders but he regarded his spiritual 
 superiors with profound respect, and was very 
 much relieved when his heresy case was dismissed 
 — knowing very well that if they took it into their 
 heads he would be turned out of his Church with-
 
 372 FATHER JINKS 
 
 out delay and deposed from the ministry beyond 
 human remedy. Carmichael was in the custom 
 of denouncing priestcraft, and explaining that he 
 had no claim to be a priest ; but he adminis- 
 tered a ghostly discipline so minute and elabor- 
 ate, with sins which could be loosed by him, and 
 reserved sins which could only be loosed by a 
 higher authority, that the Father would have re- 
 garded it with envy. And Carmichael exercised 
 an unquestioned authority among the hard-headed 
 and strong-willed people of Drumtochty which 
 Jinks would have cheerfully given ten years of 
 his life to possess in the parish of St. Agatha's. 
 Between the two there was this difference, that 
 the vicar of St. Agatha's had the form of authority' 
 without the power, and the minister of Drum- 
 tochty had the power of authority without the 
 form ; and, as no man could be personally more 
 humble or in heart more sincere than Jinks, this 
 was the weary pity of the situation for my little 
 Father. 
 
 Had St. Agatha's been in the West End, where 
 his ritualism would have been accepted with grace- 
 ful enthusiasm because it was fashionable — which
 
 FATHER JINKS 373 
 
 would, however, have caused him much searching 
 of heart : or in the East End, where it would have 
 been condoned with a wink on account of his alms- 
 giving, which would have wounded him deeply 
 — Father Jinks had not been a subject of mockery 
 and reproach. As it was Providence had dealt 
 severely with the good man in sending him 
 to the obdurate and stiff-necked parish of St 
 Agatha's, where the people were anything but 
 open soil for his teaching. The houses ranged 
 from twenty pounds of rent up to forty, and were 
 inhabited by foremen artisans, clerks, shopkeepers, 
 single women letting lodgings, and a few people 
 retired on a modest competence. The district 
 had not one rich man, although it was wonderful 
 what some of the shopkeepers gave to special 
 efforts at their chapels, nor any person in the 
 remotest contact with society, but neither were 
 there any evil livers or wastrels. Every one 
 worked hard, lived frugally — with a special Sun- 
 day dinner — paid his taxes promptly, as well as 
 his other debts, and lived on fairly good terms 
 with his neighbours. The parish had certainly no 
 enthusiasms, and would not have known what an
 
 374 FATHER JINKS 
 
 ideal was, but it had a considerable stock of com- 
 mon sense, and most people possessed a tra- 
 ditional creed which they were prepared to defend 
 with much obstinacy. St. Agatha's parish was a 
 very home of Philistinism, and, as everybody 
 knows, the Philistines have always had an in- 
 stinctive dislike to Catholic usages and teachings.
 
 FATHER JINKS 375 
 
 II 
 
 The congregation of St. Agatha's were a pre- 
 judiced people, and had long been established 
 in their own ways. The previous vicar, who had 
 a certain fame as an orator of the florid order 
 and rose to be an honorary canon, was a church- 
 man of the lowest depths, and did things which 
 Father Jinks used to mention with a shudder. 
 He preached in a black gown, and delighted to 
 address religious meetings in unlicensed places 
 without any gown at all ; he administered the 
 Sacrament of the Lord's Supper once a month, 
 and preferred to do so at evening service ; he 
 delighted to offer an extempore prayer before 
 sermon, and never concluded a discourse without 
 witnessing against the errors of the Church of 
 Rome ; he delighted in a three-decker pulpit, and 
 would occasionally, in visiting the church for a
 
 376 FATHER JINKS 
 
 baptism, leave his hat on the communion table 
 where there was no other ornament. In his early 
 days the music was led by a barrel organ, which 
 was turned by the clerk, and later, when a large 
 harmonium was introduced, the Psalms were read 
 — the clerk leading the congregation with a 
 stentorian voice — and Moody and Sankey's 
 hymns were freely used. It was understood that 
 the Canon had received a sudden call to the 
 ministry while engaged in commercial pursuits, 
 and had not found time for a University education 
 — the hood which he wore at marriages was an 
 invention of his wife's — and he was therefore very 
 careful to correct the inaccuracies of the accepted 
 versions, saying, with much impressiveness, " In 
 the original Hebrew of this Gospel," or, " The 
 Greek of Isaiah has it," although, in order to pre- 
 vent monoto ny, he would next Sunday reverse the 
 order of languages and again conform to tra- 
 ditional belief Critical persons, connected by 
 blood with the families of St. Agatha's and at- 
 tending services there on occasion, declared 
 openly that the Canon was a preposterous per- 
 sonage and a wind-bag ; but he had without
 
 FATHER JINKS 377 
 
 doubt a certain vein of genuine piety, which 
 unsympathising people were apt to call unc- 
 tuous, but which was, at any rate, warm ; and a 
 turn for rhetoric — he was of Irish birth — which 
 might not be heavily charged with thought, but 
 was very appetizing to the somewhat heavy minds 
 of St. Agatha's parish. While he did not allow 
 excessive charity to interfere with comfortable 
 living, and while he did not consider it his duty 
 to risk a valuable life by reckless visitation of 
 persons with contagious diseases, the Canon, by 
 his popular religious manner — his funeral addresses 
 which ;he delivered at the grave, wearing a tall 
 hat and swaying an umbrella, moved all to open 
 grief, — and by his sermons, — an hour long and rich 
 in anecdotes — held the parish in his hand and 
 kept St. Agatha's full. People still speak of a 
 course of lectures on " The Antichrists ot the 
 Bible," in which Rome was compared to Egypt, 
 Samaria, Nineveh, and Babylon, and the strangers 
 sat in the aisles ; and there can be no doubt that 
 the Canon convinced the parish that a Higli 
 Churchman was a Jesuit in disguise, and that a 
 priest was (probably") an immoral person. So far
 
 378 FATHER JINKS 
 
 as I could gather, the worthy man believed every- 
 thing he said — although his way of saying it 
 might savour of cant — and he was greatly im- 
 pressed by an anonymous letter threatening his 
 life and telling him that the eye of Rome was 
 on him. He had been guided to marry three 
 times — possibly as a protest against celibacy — 
 with cumulative financial results of a fairly suc- 
 cessful character, and his last wife mourns her 
 loss at Cheltenham, where she subscribes freely 
 to "escaped nuns," and greedily anticipates the 
 field of Armageddon. 
 
 When the new patron, who had bought his 
 position for missionary purposes, appointed the 
 Rev. John James Jinks to be vicar of St. Agatha's, 
 there was a rebellion in the parish, which, of 
 course, came to nothing, and an appeal to the 
 Bishop, which called forth a letter exhorting every 
 person to peace and charity. Various charges 
 were made against the new vicar, ranging from 
 the fact that he had been curate in a church where 
 the confessional was in full swing, and that the 
 morals of the matrons of St. Agatha's would be 
 in danger, to the wicked calumny that he was
 
 FATHER JINKS 379 
 
 an ex-Primitive Methodist, and was therefore, as 
 is natural in such circumstances, very strong on 
 the doctrine of apostoh'cal succession. As the 
 last insinuation cut Jinks to the quick, and was, 
 indeed, almost the only attack he really felt, it 
 is due to his memory to state that he was the 
 son (and only child) of a country rector, whose 
 living was worth ;!Ci29, and who brought up his 
 lad in the respectable, if somewhat arid, principles 
 of the historical High Church school, which in 
 the son blossomed rapidly into the luxuriance of 
 Ritualism. It was only by the severest economy 
 at the Rectory that Jinks could be sent to one 
 of the cheaper Halls at Oxford, and it was the 
 lasting sorrow of his blameless life that the Rector 
 and his wife both died before he secured his 
 modest pass degree. His mother used to call 
 him John James, and had dreams that he would 
 be raised to the Episcopate long after she had 
 been laid to rest ; but he knew very well from the 
 beginning that his intellectual gifts were limited, 
 and that his career would not be distinguished. 
 While he magnified his priestly office beyond 
 bounds, and was as bold as a lion for the Church
 
 38o FATHER JINKS 
 
 in all her rights and privileges, he had no ambition 
 for himself and was the most modest of men. 
 Because he was only five feet four in height, and 
 measured thirty-two inches round the chest, and 
 had a pink and white boyish face, and divided 
 his hair down the middle, and blushed when he 
 was spoken to by women and dons, and stam- 
 mered slightly in any excitement, they called him 
 Jinksy at Tommy's Hall, and he answered cheer- 
 fully ; and when our big Scots doctor availed 
 himself on occasion of the same familiar form 
 of address he showed no resentment. No one, 
 however, could say, when he was with us in St. 
 Agatha's, that he forgot his position, not only as 
 a priest with power to bind and loose, but also 
 as the disciple of his Lord ; for if any clergyman 
 ever did, our little Father adorned the doctrine 
 of Christ by his meekness and lowliness of 
 character, and by a self-sacrifice and self-forget- 
 fulness which knew no limits. He wore a low- 
 crowned, broad-brimmed hat, and in winter a 
 garment resembling a Highland cloak, which gave 
 him as he imagined a certain resemblance to a 
 continental abbe ; and as he skimmed at all hours
 
 FATHER JINKS 381 
 
 along our sombre, monotonous streets on errands 
 which were often very poorly requited, and in 
 many cases may have been quite uncalled for, he 
 was, if you pleased to see him from a certain 
 angle, a rather absurd figure ; but as his simple, 
 boyish face grev/ thinner and paler every month, 
 and his eyes grew brighter and more spiritual, 
 one's smile rather passed into the tears of the 
 heart. And now that he is gone, and no one in 
 St. Agatha's is vexed either by his chasuble or 
 his kindness, it comes to us that Father Jinks 
 followed the light given to him without flinching, 
 and has rendered in a good account.
 
 382 FATHER JINKS 
 
 III 
 
 When Father Jinks read himself into St. Aga- 
 tha's, the church seemed to him little better than 
 a conventicle, a mere preaching-house, and it was 
 his business to change it into a place fit for Catho- 
 lic worship. His success in this direction was 
 marvellous. Before his death there was a chancel 
 with screen and choir stalls, a side pulpit of 
 carved stone with scenes from the Gospels there- 
 on, a reredos, and an altar with cross and candle- 
 sticks, besides other pieces of ecclesiastical furni- 
 ture of lesser importance and beyond the lay 
 intelligence. There was also an organ, for which 
 so many pews were removed, and a font near the 
 door, for which other pews were removed, and an 
 east window, containing the life and death of our 
 patron saint, about whom nobody knew anything 
 before, and for which a magnificent geometrical 
 design in red and blue, greatly admired by the
 
 FATHER JINKS 383 
 
 parish, had to be removed. The very plaster, with 
 ornate pattern of roses, he had stripped from the 
 roof, and had the oak laid bare ; and although the 
 walls had been tastefully decorated by a local firm 
 with a mixed border on a ground of green, so 
 fierce and unrelenting was the Vicar's iconoclastic 
 passion that this also was sacrificed, and nothing 
 was to be seen in St. Agatha's save stone and 
 wood. "It was the 'omeliest church you ever see," 
 that excellent woman Mrs. Judkin remarked to 
 me, " in the old Canon's time, with the bits of 
 colour, and 'im a looking down at you in 'is black 
 gown ; and now it chills your 'art to sit there, 
 let alone that you're hexpected to bow 'alf the 
 time ; " and so Mrs. Judkin, with many of like 
 mind, went off to Ebenezer, where the firmament 
 was represented on the roof and the service was 
 decidedly warm. The structural reformation (or 
 deformation, as it was generally considered) was 
 a very achievement of persevering and ingenious 
 begging, in which he taxed the patron and all the 
 patron's friends, as well as every old lady or eccle- 
 siastical layman with the reputation of highness, 
 obtaining a pulpit from one and a font from
 
 384 FATHER JINKS 
 
 another, picking up crosses, candlesticks, stools, 
 altar-cloths in all quarters, and being mightily 
 cheered by every addition to the full equipment 
 of this neglected edifice. Nor did Father Jinks 
 ask from other people what he would not give 
 himself, for he dispensed with a curate that he 
 might repair the chancel, and, as appeared after- 
 wards, he expended all his little patrimony on 
 the apocryphal life of St. Agatha, whose doings 
 and appearance as represented on that window 
 were a subject of derision to the wits of the parish. 
 When Jinks held his first festival in her honour, 
 and preached a discourse eleven minutes in length 
 on St. Agatha 's example and miracles, an interest- 
 ing correspondence followed in the local paper, in 
 which it was asserted that the church, then in the 
 country and a chapel of ease to the famous church 
 of St. Paul's-in-the-Fields, was named in the 
 evil Laudian times, and ought to have been re- 
 christened by the name of Wycliffe or Latimer in 
 the days of the late lamented Canon ; that St. 
 Agatha never existed ; that if she did, she was a 
 Papist ; that if we knew enough, we should likely 
 find that her antecedents were very doubtful.
 
 FATHER JINKS 385 
 
 This correspondence, in which my friend him- 
 self was freely handled, did not in the least disturb 
 him, for the Festival of St. Agatha was a height 
 to which he had been working for the three years, 
 and it was the last function of his public ministry. 
 When the procession came out of the vestry, with 
 a cross-bearer — Jack Storgiss, the grocer, to whose 
 deformed little boy Jinks had been very kind — 
 the banners of the Guild of St. Agatha, a choir 
 of six men and twelve boys in varied garments, 
 Father Jinks himself with everything on he knew, 
 attended by acolytes — two little monkeys on 
 whose ingenuous countenances self-importance 
 struggled with mischief — and, having marched 
 round the church singing "Onward, Christian 
 soldiers," re-entered the chancel, so far as out- 
 ward things went, the Father's heart was almost 
 satisfied ; and as, in his stall, he thought of the 
 desolation of the past he was as one that 
 dreamed. 
 
 If Jinks allowed himself to be proud of any- 
 thing, it was of his choir ; and when people spoke 
 of my friend as a weakling because he was in- 
 significant in appearance and a feeble preacher — 
 
 A. 25
 
 386 FATHER JINKS 
 
 he himself thanked God daily that he was a priest, 
 to whom Pastor Jumps' oratorical gifts were un- 
 necessary — one could always point to the choir, 
 for the qualities which created and held together 
 that remarkable body were peculiar to Jinks and 
 were quite wanting in the Pastor. Three years 
 before this advertisement had appeared in the 
 Anglo- Catholic : — 
 
 " Wanted, an organist and choirmaster, who 
 will be prepared, for the glory of God and the 
 love of sacred music, to assist a priest in afford- 
 ing Catholic worship to a neglected parish." 
 
 This unworldly invitation caught the eye (and 
 fancy) of Harold de Petre — his original name was 
 Henry Peter — about whom his friends were much 
 concerned because he had a small competency 
 and would do nothing except work at music ; 
 because he wore a brown velvet coat and a 
 loose red bow, and three ancient gems on his 
 left hand, and his hair falling over his ears ; and 
 because he practised a certain luxurious softness 
 of life which might pass any day into positive 
 vice. Two more different men could not have 
 been found in a day's journey, but they became
 
 FATHER JINKS 387 
 
 friends at once. The priestly instinct detected at 
 once in Petre a gift whose consecration would be 
 the salvation of a soul and an assistance to the 
 Church of God ; and the humility and sincerity 
 of the little priest were very attractive to the 
 aesthete. From that time the curiously assorted 
 pair worked together in perfect harmony and 
 ever-growing affection, with one common desire to 
 beautify the worship and edifice of St. Agatha's. 
 In order to secure an organ Petre sacrificed one- 
 third of his means, and was daily designing some 
 improvement in his loved instrument ; for her 
 help he had even learned some organ handicraft, 
 and could be seen almost any day toiling in his 
 shirt-sleeves. As he watched the life of the Vicar, 
 Petre began also to make many personal sacrifices, 
 giving up his wine — used to spend a good deal on 
 Chateau Lafitte — to defray choir expenses ; teach- 
 ing the piano in the more ambitious homes of the 
 parish, and with the proceeds providing two tenors 
 and two basses of distinction for the choir. One 
 year he took no holiday that the altar might be 
 becomingly dressed according to the season of the 
 Church year, whether of joy or sorrow. Working
 
 388 FATHER JINKS 
 
 with Jinks, a certain change even came over 
 Petre's outer man ; with every year he shed a 
 gem ; black velvet replaced the brown, and his 
 hair became almost decorous ; and one evening, 
 when the two were having a lemon squash after 
 hard work at the Easter decorations, Petre made 
 a confession to his friend. 
 
 " There is something I wanted to tell you 
 Jinks," lighting his pipe slowly. " My name is not 
 really Harold de Petre : it's . . . just Henry 
 Peter. Didn't sound very artistic, you know, and 
 I just . . . improved it in fact. Rather think 
 that I should go back to old signature." 
 
 " My own name," said the Vicar with much 
 simplicity, " isn't a high-class name, and I was 
 once tempted to change it — it lends itself too 
 easily to abbreviations — but it seemed unreal to 
 do that kind of thing." 
 
 " Do you know. Father, I expect that anthem 
 to go well to-morrow ; that little rascal Bags took 
 the high notes magnificently to-night, I told him 
 so, and he was awfully pie ased : he's as keen as 
 mustard at practice." 
 
 Nothing further was said about fancy pseudo-
 
 FATHER JINKS 389 
 
 nyms, but next time the Father saw the organist's 
 signature it was Henry Peter. 
 
 The boys in St. Agatha's choir were not angels, 
 but they were Jinks' particular friends, and would 
 do more for him than for their own parents. He 
 had picked them up one by one in the parish as 
 he visited — for he had no school — upon the two 
 qualifications that each one had an ear, and each 
 was an out-and-out boy. Because he was so good 
 himself Jinks would have nothing to do with prigs 
 and smugs ; and because he did nothing wrong 
 himself he delighted in the scrapes of his boys. 
 It was to him they went in trouble, and he some- 
 how found a way of escape. Every one knew who 
 paid for the broken glass in the snowball fight 
 between Thackeray and Dickens Streets, in which 
 Bags and another chorister, much admired for his 
 angelic appearance, led their neighbourhood ; and 
 it was asserted by the Protestant party that the 
 Papist Vicar was seen watching the fray from the 
 corner. When an assistant School Board master 
 bullied his boys beyond endurance and they 
 brought him to his senses with pain of body, it 
 was the Vicar of St. Agatha's who pled the case
 
 390 FATHER JINKS 
 
 of the rebels before the Board, and saved them 
 from public disgrace and the Police Court. The 
 Vicarage and all its premises were at the disposal 
 of the boys, and they availed themselves freely 
 of their privileges. Bags kept his rabbits in the 
 yard — his parents allowed no such tenants at 
 home — and his fellow- warrior of the snowball fight 
 had a promising family of white mice in one of 
 the empty rooms, where another chorister had a 
 squirrel, and his friend housed four dormice. 
 There was a fairly complete collection of pigeons — 
 tumblers, pouters, fantails ; you could usually 
 have your choice in pigeons at the Vicarage of 
 St. Agatha's. The choir did elementary gym- 
 nastics in what was the Canoness's drawing- 
 room, and learned their lessons, if they were 
 moved that way, in the dining-room. Every 
 Friday evening, after practice, there was a tooth- 
 some supper of sausages and mashed potatoes, 
 with stone ginger. Ye gods, could any boy or 
 man feed higher th an that ? On Saturdays in 
 summer the Vicar took the whole gang to the 
 nearest Park, where, with some invited friends, they 
 made two elevens and played matches, with Jinks,
 
 FATHER JINKS 391 
 
 who was too short-sighted to play himself, but 
 was the keenest of sportsmen, as consulting 
 umpire ; and on chief holidays they all made 
 excursions into the country, when Harold de Petre 
 became Henry Peter with a vengeance. And this 
 was how there was no difficulty in getting boys 
 for the choir, and people began to come to hear 
 the music at St. Agatha's.
 
 392 FATHER JINKS 
 
 IV 
 
 It is not to be supposed that Father Jinks 
 achieved his heart's desire without opposition, 
 and he verified in his experience the fact that a 
 man's bitterest foes are those of his own house- 
 hold. He was opposed by the people's church- 
 warden, who would not go elsewhere, declaring 
 that he had been in St. Agatha's before Jinks 
 \/as born — which was not the case — and would be 
 after Jinks had gone, which turned out sadly true. 
 He was harassed by " aggrieved parishioners," who 
 declared by petitions in all quarters that they 
 could no longer worship in St. Agatha's, and that 
 what with daily services, fine music, and decora- 
 tions, the place was little better than a Papist 
 chapel. His breakfast-table had daily one or 
 two anonymous letters reminding Jinks of his 
 ordination vows, and accusing him of perjury,
 
 FATHER JINKS 393 
 
 insinuating charges against his moral character 
 and threatening exposure, quoting texts regard- 
 ing the condition of the unconverted and the 
 doom of hypocrites. He was dragged before all 
 kinds of Courts, this one little man, and received 
 every form of censure and admonition ; he was 
 ordered to prison, and left the Vicarage one 
 evening in a cab, while the choir boys, led by 
 Bags, wanted to fight the officer. And when all 
 these measures produced no effect, more forcible 
 measures were taken to express the mind of the 
 people and to re-establish the Reformation in the 
 parish of St. Agatha's. A leader was raised up 
 in a gentleman who had earned an uncertain living 
 by canvassing for the Ki7igs of England in forty- 
 two parts, in selling a new invention in gas-burners, 
 in replying to infidels in Hyde Park, and in describ- 
 ing the end of the world with the aid of a magic 
 lantern. This man of varied talents saw it to be 
 his duty — and who can judge another man's 
 conscience ? — to attend St. Agatha's one Sunday 
 forenoon, accompanied by a number of fellow- 
 Protestants, who, owing to the restriction of the 
 licensing laws, were out of employment at that
 
 394 FATHER JINKS 
 
 hour, and they expressed their theological views 
 during service in a very frank and animated 
 fashion. Bigger men than Jinks might have been 
 upset by the turmoil and menaces ; but it shows 
 what a spirit may dwell in small bulk, that this 
 shy modest man did not stutter once that morning, 
 and seemed indeed unconscious of the " Modern 
 Luther's " presence ; and after the floor of the 
 church had been washed on Monday no trace 
 remained that a testimony had been lifted up 
 against the disguised Jesuit who was corrupting 
 St. Agatha's. Once only did Jinks publicly reply 
 to the hurricane of charges which beat upon him 
 during his short, hard service, and that was when 
 he was accused of having introduced the confes- 
 sional, with results which it was alleged were 
 already well known in the district, and which 
 would soon reduce its morality to the social level 
 of the south of Ireland. A week afterwards Jinks 
 explained in a sermon which he had rewritten 
 three times: (i) That the practice of confession 
 was, in his poor judgment, most helpful to the 
 spiritual life by reminding us of the sins which 
 do most easily beset us, and their horrible guilt
 
 FATHER JINKS 395 
 
 before God ; (2) That it was really the in- 
 tention of the Church of England that her 
 children should have this benefit ; and (3) That 
 he, John James Jinks, a duly ordained priest of 
 the same Church, had power, under conditions, 
 to hear confessions and declare the forgiveness 
 of sins to all true penitents. Thereafter, he 
 went on to state that he had not introduced 
 confession as a practice in St. Agatha's, because 
 he had never been trained in confessional theo- 
 logy, because a confessor required authority from 
 his bishop, and this the bishop would not give ; 
 and, finally, it seemed to him that any con- 
 fessor must be a priest with a special knowledge 
 of life, and of conspicuous holiness ; and, as they 
 knew well, he was neither, but only an ignorant 
 and frail man, who was more conscious of his 
 deficiencies every day, and who earnestly besought 
 the aid of their prayers. This sermon was re- 
 ported in the Islington Mercury, which circulated 
 largely amongst us, and called forth an ingenious 
 reply from the " Modern Luther," who pointed out 
 that if Mr. Jinks had not set up a confessional box 
 in St. Agatha's Church, it was only because his
 
 396 FATHER JINKS 
 
 (the " Modern Luther's ") eye was upon him ; that 
 the confessional could likely be discovered in the 
 Vicarage ; that in so far as Mr. Jinks was not 
 telling the truth he would receive absolution from 
 the Jesuits, and that he very likely had already 
 received a licence to tell as many lies as he saw 
 would help his cause. Men, however, do count 
 for something even in religious controversy, and 
 the very people who had no belief in Jinks' 
 doctrine could see some difference between his 
 patient, charitable self-sacrificing life and the 
 career of a windbag like the " Modern Luther," 
 and no one in the last year of his life accused 
 Jinks of falsehood. 
 
 During all these troubled days he never lost 
 his temper, or said bitter things : he believed, as 
 he once told me in all modesty, that if he suffered 
 it was for his sins, and that persecution was only 
 a call to harder labour ; and it appeared afterwards 
 that he had gone out of his way to do a good 
 turn to certain of his bitterest enemies. Indeed, 
 I am now certain that they did not injure him at 
 all ; but one is also quite as certain that he was 
 hindered and made ridiculous by certain of his
 
 FATHER JINKS 397 
 
 own supporters. Certain young women of un- 
 certain age who had been district visitors and 
 carried tracts under the revered Canon, or had 
 been brought up in various forms of Dissent, 
 responded with enthusiasm to the Cathoh'c Re- 
 formation. They wore large gold (or gilt) crosses, 
 and were careful to use heavily crossed prayer- 
 books ; they attended early celebration, and were 
 horrified at people taking the sacrament not 
 fasting ; they not only did obeisance to the altar, 
 where there was no sacrament, and bowed at the 
 name of Jesus, and crossed themselves in a 
 very diligent and comprehensive fashion, but in- 
 vented forms of devotion which even Jinks could 
 not comprehend, and so scandalized the old clerk, 
 who stuck by St. Agatha's, that he asked them 
 one day during service if they were ill, and sug- 
 gested that they should leave the church before 
 things came to the worst. Personally, as a close 
 observer of this drama, I had no sympathy 
 with the ill-natured suggestion that these devout 
 females were moved by the fact that the priest 
 of St. Agatha's was unmarried, because no man 
 was ever more careful in his intercourse with
 
 398 FATHER JINKS 
 
 the other sex than my friend, and because this 
 kind of woman — till she marries, and with 
 modifications afterwards — has a mania for ritual 
 and priests. This band, who called themselves 
 the Sisters of St. Agatha, and severely tried our 
 unsentimental district, were a constant embarrass- 
 ment to Jinks. They made the entire attendance 
 at the daily services ; they insisted on cleaning the 
 chancel on their knees ; they fluttered round the 
 confused little man in the street ; they could 
 hardly be kept out of the Vicarage ; they talked 
 of nothing but saints' days and offices and vest- 
 ments, till Jinks, the simplest and honestest of 
 men, was tempted, for his sake and their own 
 salvation, to entreat them to depart and return 
 whence they had come.
 
 FATHER JINKS 399 
 
 The strongest and most honourable opponent 
 the Vicar had was my other friend, Pastor Jump, 
 who would not condescend to the methods or 
 company of the " Modern Luther," but who was 
 against both Jinks and Jinks' Church, whether it 
 was Low, High, Broad, or anything else, on 
 grounds of reason and conscience. He did not 
 believe in creeds, whether they were made in 
 Rome or Geneva, and considered a Presbyter just 
 a shade better than a priest. His one book of 
 theology was the Bible, which he knew from 
 Genesis to Revelation in the English Version (he 
 also knew far more about the Hebrew and Greek 
 than the Canon did), and he found his ecclesi- 
 astical model in the Acts of the Apostles. It 
 was indeed the Pastor's firm conviction that the 
 Christian Church had only had two periods of 
 purity in her history — one under the charge of the
 
 400 FATHER JINKS 
 
 Apostle Paul, and the other under the Puritans ; 
 and that if, during her whole history, bishops and 
 such-like people had been replaced by Puritan 
 ministers, it would have been much better for 
 Christianity and for the world. His idea of a 
 Christian was a person who knew the day that 
 he had been converted, and who afterwards had 
 been baptized ; and of the Church, that it was 
 so many of these people with a pastor to teach 
 them. He detested Established Churches, priests, 
 and liturgies, as well as the House of Lords, 
 capitalists, and all privileged persons. His 
 radicalism was however tempered by a profound 
 belief in himself and his own opinions. He was 
 fond of insisting on the rights of the masses ; 
 but when the working people wished to have 
 the Park open on Sunday that they might walk 
 there with their children, the Pastor fought them 
 tooth and nail, and he regarded their desire to 
 see pictures on Sunday as the inspiration of 
 Satan. No man was ever more eloquent upon the 
 principles of religious liberty, but he would have 
 put an infidel into prison without compunction 
 and he drave forth a deacon from his own con-
 
 FATHER JINKS 401 
 
 gregation with contumely, who held unsound views 
 on the Atonement The tyranny of the Papacy 
 was a favourite theme at Ebenezer, as well as the 
 insolence of priests ; but every one knew that 
 Pastor Jump as Pope was infallible without the aid 
 of any Council, and that his little finger was 
 heavier in personal rule than both Jinks' arms. 
 When the Pastor, who had the voice of a coster- 
 monger and the fist of a prize-fighter, was carried 
 away at a Liberation Society meeting by his own 
 undoubted eloquence, and described himself as a 
 conscientious Dissenter, despised by the proud 
 priests of the Anglican Church, and next day 
 one saw Jinks, thinner than ever, hurrying along 
 the street, and concealing beneath his shabby 
 cloak some dainty for a sick child, then one had 
 a quite convincing illustration of the power and 
 utility of rhetoric. 
 
 Upon occasion the Pastor felt it his duty to 
 depart from his usual course of evangelical doc- 
 trine, and to enlighten his people on some 
 historical subject, and the district was once shaken 
 by a discourse on Oliver Cromwell, whom he 
 compared to Elijah, and whose hatred of the Baal 
 
 A. 26
 
 402 FATHER JINKS 
 
 worship was held up for imitation in our own 
 day. Jinks committed the one big mistake of 
 his ministry by replying with a sermon on St. 
 Chat-les the Blessed Martyr — I think he said St. 
 — which was a very weak performance, and left 
 the laurels altogether with Ebenezer. It must 
 indeed be admitted that Jump exactly expressed 
 the mind of an Englishman of the lower middle 
 class, who understands the Evangelical system 
 and no other, and likes extempore prayer, with 
 its freedom, variety, warmth, and surprises, who 
 suspects priests of wishing to meddle with his 
 family affairs, and dislikes all official pretensions, 
 although willing to be absolutely ruled by a strong 
 man's personality. Both were extreme men, and 
 both were needed to express the religious sense of 
 an English parish. Jump considered the Canon 
 an indefensible humbug, neither one thing nor 
 another, and the Canon used to pass Jump on 
 the street ; but the Sunday after Jinks' death the 
 Pastor, who had a warm heart in his big body, 
 and testified of things he had seen, passed a 
 eulogium on the late Vicar of St. Agatha's, so 
 generous and affecting, that beside it the peeping
 
 FATHER JINKS 403 
 
 little sermon preached in St. Agatha's by a 
 " Father " of the " Anglican Friars " was as water 
 to wine. The Pastor declared that although he 
 did not agree with his doctrine, he knew no man 
 who had lived nearer his Lord, or had done more 
 good works than the Vicar of St. Agatha's ; and 
 that if every priest had been like him, he would 
 never say a word against the class. The people 
 heard his voice break as he spoke, and two 
 deacons wiped their eyes, and the angels set 
 down the sermon in that Book where the record 
 of our controversies is blotted out by their 
 tears, and our deeds of charity are written in 
 gold. 
 
 Perhaps, however, our poor priest suffered most 
 in some ways at the hands of a handful of Scots 
 who had settled in the parish. They did not oppose 
 any of his proceedings, for they never con- 
 descended to cross the door of St. Agatha's, and 
 they accepted any extravagances of ritual as things 
 to be expected of an Episcopalian. Nor had they, 
 like the Pastor, a hereditary feud with the Anglican 
 Church, for neither they nor their fathers ever 
 had anything to do with it. They were indeed
 
 404 FATHER JINKS 
 
 inclined to believe that the Prayer-Book, where the 
 officiating clergyman is called a Minister and a 
 Priest alternately, is admirably suited to the 
 English mind, to which the Almighty has been 
 pleased to deny the gift of logic. What touched, 
 and (almost) nettled, the little Father was the 
 tacit and immovable superiority of the Scots, 
 which made conversion impossible, and even 
 pastoral conversation difficult. It was Jinks' con- 
 scientious conviction that he was responsible for 
 the spiritual charge of all the people in the parish, 
 and so he visited laboriously among the Scots 
 schismatics, if haply he might bring them to the 
 true faith, with mortifying results. Old Andrew 
 MacKittrick seemed to Jinks' innocent mind a 
 promising case, because Andrew had retired on 
 a pension after keeping the books of a drysalter's 
 firm for forty years, and now had nothing to do 
 but argue. In fact, on the Vicar's first visit, the 
 bookkeeper fairly smacked his lips, seeing whole 
 afternoons of intellectual diversion before him ; 
 and Jinks, who was ever optimistic, already im- 
 agined the responsible-looking figure of the Scot 
 sustaining a procession. It turned out a lament-
 
 FATHER JINKS 405 
 
 able instance of cross-purposes, for Jinks was burn- 
 ing to prove, with all tenderness, that the Kirk 
 had no Orders ; while the idea that Dr. Chalmers 
 was not a real minister and Archbishop Sharpe 
 was, seemed to Andrew unworthy of discussion by 
 any sane person ; and Andrew, on his part, was 
 simply longing for some one to attack Jonathan 
 Edward's Freedom of the Will, while Jinks had 
 never heard of the book, and was quite blameless 
 of philosophy. After two conferences, Andrew 
 was sadly convinced of their futility, and would 
 not waste time on a third. 
 
 "Jess wumman," he said to his housekeeper, 
 rolling himself hurriedly up in a plaid and lying 
 down on the sofa, "there's that curate body at 
 the door again ; a've nae satisfaction arguin' wi' 
 him, for he's no fit to tak' up ony serious subject. 
 Just say that a'm no feelin' verra weel the day, 
 and, see here, slip ten shillings into his hand to 
 gie awa', for he's a fine bit craturie amang the 
 poor, but he's no head for argument." 
 
 With Mrs. Gillespie, who kept lodgings, and 
 was as a mother to two Scots bank clerks push- 
 ing their way up to be managers, Father Jinks
 
 4o6 FATHER JINKS 
 
 was not more successful, but his discomfiture was 
 of another kind. 
 
 " Come in, come in ; it's an awfu' day to be oot, 
 an' ye dinna look strong ; na, na, a dinna gang 
 to Saint Agatha's, for ye ken we've a Kirk o' oor 
 ain, an' a properly ordained minister, but a'm gled 
 to see ye ; a'm thankfu' for my ain preevileges, 
 but a'm no bigoted. 
 
 " Sit doon there by the fire an' dry yersel ; a 
 cudna manage wi' a prayer-book masel, but we've 
 had mony advantages in Scotland, and it suits the 
 English fouk. A hed a cousin 'at married an 
 Episcopalian, and she gied wi' him as long as he 
 lived, though of course it was a deprivation. 
 
 " 'A schismatic ? ' — a've heard the word : they 
 used to misca' the English bishops that way in 
 the North — an' ye called to warn me. Noo that 
 was kind, and, of coorse, ye did na know that a 
 sit under Mr. McCaw ; but Losh keep us ! ye're 
 juist dreeping ; a'll get ye a pair o' the lad's 
 slippers an' mak ye a warm cup o' tea. 
 
 " A hed a laddie juist your age, an' ma heart 
 warms to young men that are na verra strong. 
 Say awa' ; a'll hear ye though a'm in the next
 
 FATHER JINKS 407 
 
 room. There noo, drink up your tea, an' that's 
 short-bread frae Edinburgh, Let's hear noo aboot 
 yer Kirk ; somebody was sayin' that ye carried 
 on the same antics as the Papists ; but a'm no 
 believin' that. Are ye feelin' warmer noo, ma 
 puir wee mannie ? " and the good woman encom- 
 passed Jinks with motherly attentions, but refused 
 to take seriously his efforts to convert her from 
 the Kirk to the Church. Nor did he think it 
 an encouraging sign that Mrs. Gillespie pressed 
 him to give her " a cry " every time he was in 
 the street, and sent him three pots of black 
 currant jam for his chest. 
 
 The most disappointing encounter was with our 
 Scots doctor, who had looked into St. Agatha's one 
 evening in passing and found Jinks warning Dis- 
 senters of all kinds, among whom the Doctor found 
 to his amusement that he was included of their 
 doom if they died in schism. The Doctor's delight 
 reached its height when Jinks, standing at his full 
 height of five feet four, and looking more than ever 
 like a dear little boy, opened his arms and invited 
 every wandering prodigal to return to the bosom 
 of Mother Church.
 
 4o8 FATHER JINKS 
 
 " Jinksy" — and the Doctor laid hold of the Father 
 next day on the street — "what sort of nonsense 
 was yon ye were talking in your kirk last night ? 
 
 *^Hurt my feelings" — as Jinks was explaining 
 that he had only been declaring the truth, and that 
 he did not wish to offend any one — " it would take 
 three men of your size to offend me. But I say, 
 Jinksy, do you ever take a holiday in Scotland ? 
 You hope to do some day. Then I'll give ye 
 a bit of advice : if you ever feel a turr-murring in 
 your inside, take the first train for Carlisle. Why? 
 Because if you die in Scotland, you'll die a Dis- 
 senter ; and then, my little man, you know where 
 you'll go to " ; for the Doctor's hand in humour 
 was heavy, and his style was that of an elephant 
 crashing through a wood.
 
 FATHER JINKS 409 
 
 VI 
 
 Next time the Anglican and the Scot met it 
 was in circumstances where differences of creed 
 are forgotten and good men stand shoulder to 
 shoulder. In one room of the house a clerk's 
 wife was seriously ill with influenza, and in 
 another the Doctor was examining her husband 
 — a patient, hard working, poorly paid drudge, 
 who had come home from the City very ill. " My 
 wife thinks that it's nothing but a bad 'eadache. 
 Don't tell 'er. Doctor, else it might go bad with 
 'er, an' she 'asn't much strength ; but I say, tell 
 me, 'aven't I got diphtheria ? " 
 
 " What makes everybody that gets a sore throat 
 think he has diphtheria ? Well, I believe you have 
 some grit in you, and don't want to be treated 
 like a child. You have, I'm sorry to say, and
 
 4IO FATHER JINKS 
 
 pretty bad ; but you have the spirit to make a 
 fight, and I'll do my best. 
 
 "Yes, I'll see that no one in this house comes 
 near you, and I'll try to get a nurse for to-night, 
 but they're hard to get just now. I'll come back 
 with medicine in half an hour; and, look here, 
 Holmes, mind your wife and bairns, and keep up 
 your heart. 
 
 " No, Jinks, you must not come into this house : 
 it's more than influenza. Holmes has got diphtheria 
 very bad ; ought to have been in bed two days 
 ago, but the stupid ass stuck to his work. The 
 mischief is that I can't get a nurse, and he should 
 not be left alone at night. 
 
 " You, man alive, you're no fit for such work, and 
 you would maybe catch it. . . I know you're 
 not afraid, but . . . well, it's real gude o' ye, 
 an* I'll see ye settled for the night about eight. 
 
 " That's the medicine, every three hours " — the 
 doctor was giving his directions to Nurse Jinks in 
 the sick-room — "and let him have some brandy and 
 water when he's thirsty. Toots, Holmes, I know 
 you could get a bottle for yourself, but this is a 
 special brand for sick folk. Oh, yes, it'll go in the
 
 FATHER JINKS 411 
 
 bill, risk me for that : every Scot looks after 
 himself. The minister is to stay all night with 
 you, and what between the two of us we'll see 
 ye through. 
 
 " Here's a cordial for yourself, Jinks " — this 
 outside the door — " and for ony sake keep clear 
 of his breath. If he takes a turn for the worse, 
 send the servant lass for me. I may be out, but 
 they will know where to get me. And, Jinks, 
 old man, I withdraw that about Carlisle. . . . 
 Ye'U go to Heaven from either side o' the Tweed, 
 God bless you, old man ; you're doin' a good turn 
 the night . . . 
 
 " Yes, he's much worse than he was last morning; 
 but it's not the blame of your nursing : there's just 
 one chance, and I'll try it. How do you know 
 about it ? Well, yes, if you must know, I am 
 going to use suction. Get diphtheria myself? 
 Maybe I may, and why should I not run the risk 
 as well as you, Mr. Jinks? . . . It's all right, 
 man. I'm not angry. Neither you nor me are 
 cowards," said the Doctor ; " neither is Holmes, 
 and he must have his chance, poor chap. Yes, I 
 would be glad of your help
 
 412 FATHER JINKS 
 
 " No, you will not be needed at Holmes's 
 to-night, and you've had enough of it, Jinks. 
 I've got a nurse, and Holmes is coming round first 
 rate. It's all right about paying the nurse ; I'll see 
 to that. Man, ye would pay for all the nurses in 
 the district, if ye were allowed. 
 
 " Me, I'm as fit as a fiddle. Doctors can't 
 afford to be ill ; but you're no the thing. Jinks. 
 Come back to the manse with me this minute, I 
 want to have a look at ye. Yon were three hard 
 nichts ye had " — the Doctor dropped into Scots 
 when he was excited. . . . 
 
 " Sir Andrew's gone, and I wish we had better 
 news for you and ourselves. Don't thank me for 
 telling the truth ; no man would tell you a lie. 
 . . . You're all right, whatever happens. Jinks," 
 and he dropped his hand within reach of the 
 Father's, on whose face the shadow was fast 
 falling. 
 
 " It will not be for some hours, may be not till 
 morning, and I hope you'll not suffer much. 
 . . . I'll come back after the minister has left 
 and stay with you till, till . . .** 
 
 " Daybreak," said Jinks.
 
 FATHER JINKS 413 
 
 "Doctor," Jinks whispered, during the night 
 as they watched by his bed, the Scot on one side 
 and Peter, who would allow no nurse, on the other, 
 "the Scots kirk has seemed to me ... as 
 Samaria, but the Lord chose ... a Samaritan 
 in His parable, and you are . . . that 
 Samaritan," and the Father looked at the Doctor 
 with eyes full of love. Just before sunrise he 
 glanced at the Doctor enquiringly. 
 
 "Yes, it's no far off now, an' the worst's past. 
 Ye'll have an easy passage." They passed each 
 an arm round his neck, and each took one of his 
 hands. 
 
 " Till Jesus comes Himself," whispered Jinks, 
 thanking them with his eyes. 
 
 " O Saviour of the world, who by Thy cross 
 and precious blood hast redeemed us, save us. 
 and help us, we humbly beseech Thee, O Lord." 
 This which he had often offered for others, he 
 now prayed for himself very slowly. The light 
 stole into the room and woke him from a briel 
 unconsciousness. 
 
 " I believe "... he said, " in the Life Ever- 
 lasting," and the soul of the faithful servant was
 
 414 FATHER JINKS 
 
 with the Lord, Whom, not having seen, he had 
 loved. 
 
 When the Doctor left the Vicarage, although 
 still very early, Bags, the choir-boy, was on the 
 doorstep and was weeping bitterly.
 
 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE
 
 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 
 
 It was an ancient custom that Domsie and 
 Drumsheugh should dine with Doctor Davidson 
 in the Manse after the distribution of prizes at 
 the school, and his companions both agreed after- 
 wards that the Dominie was never more cheerful 
 than on those days. There was always a review 
 of stories when the Doctor and Domsie brought 
 out their favourites, with Drumsheugh for an im- 
 partial and appreciative audience, and every little 
 addition or improvement was noted in a spirit 
 of appreciative criticism. 
 
 During the active operations of dinner, talk 
 was disjointed and educational, hinging on the 
 prospects of the calf crop in the school, and the 
 golden glories of the past, ever better than the 
 present, when the end of each University ses- 
 
 A. t'^ 27
 
 4i8 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 
 
 sion showered medals on Drumtochty. When 
 the Doctor had smacked his first glass of port, 
 having examined it against the light, and the 
 others had prepared their toddy in a careful 
 silence, broken only by wise suggestions from 
 the host, it was understood that genuine conver- 
 sation might begin. 
 
 "Aye, aye," Domsie would remark, by way of 
 intimating that they, being now in an open and 
 genial mind, were ready to welcome one of- the 
 Doctor's best stories, and Drumsheugh became 
 insistent. 
 
 "A'm no wantin' tae tribble ye, Docter, but 
 ave never got ower that sermon on the turtle. 
 Docter. Ye micht let's hear it again. A'm no 
 sure gin the Dominie ever herd it." May Drums- 
 heugh be forgiven ! 
 
 Whereupon Domsie went on the back trail, 
 and affected to search his memory for the traces 
 of the turtle, with no satisfaction. May he also 
 be forgiven ! 
 
 " Toots, Drumsheugh, you are trying to draw 
 my leg. I know you well, eh ? As for you. 
 Dominie, you've heard the story twenty times.
 
 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 419 
 
 Well, well, just to please you ; but mind you, 
 this is the last time. 
 
 " It was the beginning of a sermon that old 
 MacFee, of Glenogil, used to preach on the 
 Monday after the Sacrament from the text, ' The 
 voice of the turtle is heard in the land,' and this 
 was the introduction. 
 
 " There will be many wonders in the latter 
 day ; but this is the greatest of them all — the 
 voice of the turtle shall be heard in the land. 
 This marvel falls into two parts, which we shall 
 consider briefly and in order. 
 
 " I. A new posture evidently implied, when an 
 animal that has gone upon its belly for ages 
 shall arise on its hind legs and walk majestically 
 through the land, and 
 
 "II. A new voice distinctly promised, when a 
 creature that has kept silence from generation to 
 generation will at last open its mouth and sing 
 melodiously among the people." 
 
 " It's michty," summed up Drumsheugh, after 
 the exposition had been fully relished. " Ye'll 
 no hear the like o' that noo-a-days in a coonty. 
 It's weel telt also, and that's important, for the
 
 420 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 
 
 best story is no worth hearin' frae a puir hand. 
 The corn needs to be cleaned afore yc tak it 
 tae market. 
 
 "The story is not without merit," and the 
 Doctor's modesty was all the more striking as 
 he was supposed to have brought the turtle into 
 its present form out of the slenderest materials, 
 "but the Dominie has some far neater things." 
 Anything Domsie had was from Aberdeen, and 
 not to be compared, he explained, with Perthshire 
 work, being very dry and wanting the fruity 
 flavour of the Midland County ; but he could still 
 recall the divisions of the action sermon given 
 every year before the winter Sacrament in Bour- 
 trie-Lister : 
 
 I. " Let us remember that there is a moral law 
 in the universe." 
 
 II. " Let us be thankful there is a way of escape 
 from it." 
 
 And then Domsie would chuckle with a keen 
 sense of irony at the theology underneath. " For 
 the summer Sacrament," he would add after a 
 pause, " we had a discourse on sin wi' twa heads, 
 * Original Sin ' and * Actual Transgressions ' ; and
 
 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 421 
 
 after Maister Deuchar finished wi' the first, he aye 
 snuffed, and said with great cheerfulness : ' Now 
 let us proceed to actual transgressions.' " 
 
 Although Domsie's tales had never in them the 
 body of the Doctor's, yet he told them with such 
 a pawkie humour, that Drumsheugh was fain 
 between the two to cry for mercy, being often 
 reduced to the humiliation of open laughter, of 
 which he was afterwards much ashamed. 
 
 On that day, however, when Domsie made his 
 lamentable announcement, it was evident to his 
 friends that he was cast down, and ill at ease. 
 He only glanced at a Horace which the Doctor 
 had been fool enough to buy in Edinburgh, and 
 had treasured up for Domsie's delectation at the 
 close of the school year — the kind of book he 
 loved to handle, linger over, return to gaze at, for 
 all the world like a Catholic with a relic. 
 
 " Printed, do you see, by Henry Stephen, of 
 Paris ; there's his trademark, a philosopher gather- 
 ing twigs from the tree of knowledge — and bound 
 by Boyet — old French morocco. There is a coat 
 of arms — I take it of a peer of France ; " and 
 the Doctor, a born book-collector, showed all its
 
 422 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 
 
 points, as Drumsheugh would have expatiated on 
 a three-year-old bullock. 
 
 Domsie could not quite resist the contagious 
 enthusiasm ; putting on his spectacles to test the 
 printing ; running his hand over the gold tooling 
 as one strokes a horse's glossy skin, and tasting 
 afresh one or two favourite verses from a Horace 
 printed and bound by the master craftsmen of 
 their day. But it was only a brief rally, and 
 Domsie sank again into silence, from which neither 
 kindly jest nor shrewd country talk could draw 
 him, till at last the Doctor asked him a straight 
 question, which was going far for us, who thought 
 it the worst of manners to pry into one's secrets : 
 
 " What ails you, Dominie ? Are any of your 
 laddies going back on you ? " and the Doctor 
 covered the inquiry by reminding Drumsheugh 
 that his glass was low. 
 
 " Na, na ; they are fechting hard wi' body and 
 mind, an' daein' their verra best, accordin' tae 
 their pairts. Some o' the Drumtochty scholars 
 lived and some dee'd in the war at the University, 
 but there wasna ane disgraced his pairish." 
 
 " They have made it known in every University
 
 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 423 
 
 of Scotland," broke in the Doctor, " and also their 
 master's name." 
 
 "Ye've aye made ower mickle o' my wark, 
 but a'm grateful this nicht an' content to tak' a' 
 ye say in yir goodness, for a've sent oot ma last 
 scholar," and Domsie's voice broke. 
 
 " Not a bit of it. Man alive, you're fit for ten 
 years yet, and as for laddies, I know four in the 
 school that'll do you credit, or I'm not minister 
 of Drumtochty." 
 
 "If it's the siller for their fees," began Drums- 
 heugh, inwardly overcome by Domsie's unex- 
 pected breakdown. 
 
 Domsie waved his hand. " The laddies are 
 there, and the twa or three notes 'ill be gotten as 
 afore, but it 'ill no be me that 'ill feenish them." 
 
 "What is the meaning of this, Mister Jamie- 
 son? " demanded the Doctor sternly, for the 
 woeful dejection of Domsie was telling on him 
 -also. 
 
 " It's been on ma mind for years to retire, an 
 maybe I should hae dune it lang syne ; but it 
 was hard on flesh an' blude. I hev taught ma 
 last class, and ye will need to get another
 
 424 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 
 
 Dominie," and Domsie, who was determined to 
 play the man, made a show of filling his glass, 
 with a shaking hand. 
 
 "Ye're an Aiberdeenshire man, a ken, though 
 maist fouk hae forgotten that ye're no ain' o' 
 oorsels, but div ye tell me that ye're gain' tae 
 leave us after a' thae years an' a' the bairns ye've 
 educat?" and Drumsheugh grew indignant. 
 
 "Dinna be feared, Drumsheugh, or think me 
 ungrateful. I may gang north tae see ma birth- 
 place aince mair, an' the graves o' ma fouk, an' 
 there's another hoose in Aberdeen I would like 
 tae see, and then I'm comin' back to Drumtochty 
 to live an' dee here among the friends that hev 
 been kind to me." 
 
 " This has come suddenly, Domsie, and is a 
 little upsetting," and Drumsheugh noticed that 
 the Doctor was shaken. " We have worked side 
 by side for a long time, church and school, and 
 I was hoping that there would be no change till 
 — till we both retired altogether ; we're about 
 the same age. Can't you think over it — eh. 
 Dominie ?" 
 
 *' God kens, Doctor, a dinna lik' the thocht o't,
 
 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 425 
 
 but it's for the gude o' the schule. A'm no hear- 
 ing sae weel as aince a did, an' ma hands are 
 shakin' in the writin'. The scholars are gettin' 
 their due, for a'm no failin' in humanity (Latin), 
 but the ither bairns are losing their share, and 
 ma day's dune. 
 
 "Ye 'ill just say that a'm retirin' an' thank a' 
 body for their consideration, and. Doctor, a've juist 
 a favour tae ask. Gin a new schule an' maister's 
 hoose be built, will ye lat me get the auld ane ; 
 it 'ill no be worth much, an' ... I wud like 
 tae end ma days there." 
 
 "Whate'er you want, Domsie, and ye 'ill come 
 to the Manse till it be free, and we 'ill have 
 many a night among the classics, but . . . this 
 is bad news for the Glen, come who may in your 
 place," and then, though each man did his part 
 bravely, it was a cheerless evening. 
 
 Next day Domsie left to make his pious pil- 
 grimage, and on the Sabbath there was only one 
 subject in the kirkyard. 
 
 "Div ye no think, neebours," said Hillocks, 
 after a tribute had been paid to Domsie's services, 
 "that he oucht tae get some bit testimonial? It
 
 426 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 
 
 wudna be wiselike tac let him slip oot o' the 
 schule withoot a word frae the Glen." 
 
 Hillocks paused, but the fathers were so much 
 astonished at Hillocks taking the initiative in 
 expenditure that they waited for further speech. 
 
 " Noo, Pitscothrie is no a pairish tae pit beside 
 Drumtochty for ae meenut, but when their 
 Dominie gied up his post, if the bodies didna 
 gather fifty pund for him ; they ca'd it a purse 
 o' sovereigns in the Advertiser, but that was juist 
 a genteel name for't. 
 
 " A'm no sayin','' continued Hillocks, " that it 
 wud be safe tae trust Domsie wi' as mickle siller 
 at a time ; he wud be off tae Edinburgh an' 
 spend it on auld bukes, or may be divide it up 
 amang his students. He's careless, is Domsie, 
 an' inclined to be wastefu' ; but we micht gie him 
 somethin' tae keep." 
 
 " What wud ye say," suggested Whinnie, when 
 the kirkyard was revolving the matter, " if we 
 got him a coo 'at wud gie him milk and be a 
 bit troke tae occupy his time? What he didna 
 need cud be made into butter and sent tae 
 Muirtown ; it wud be a help."
 
 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 427 
 
 *' Ye have an oreeginal mind," said Jamie, who 
 ahvays on those occasions pitied the woman that 
 was married to Whinnie, "an' a'm sure yir pcr- 
 posal '11 be remembered. Domsie feedin' his coo 
 on the road-side, wi' a Latin buke in his hand, 
 wud be interestin'." 
 
 " It's most aggravatin'," broke in Hillocks, who 
 was much annoyed at the turn things had taken, 
 " that ye winna gie me time tae feenish, an' 'ill 
 set Domsie stravaging the roads at the tail o' a 
 coo for his last days." 
 
 " It was Jamie," remonstrated Whinnie. 
 
 " Haud yir tongue." Hillocks felt the time was 
 short, and he had an idea that must be ventilated. 
 " A was considerin' that Domsie's snuff-box is 
 gey far thro' wi't. A'm judjin' it has seen thirty 
 years, at ony rate, and it was naethin tae boast 
 o' at the beginnin'. A've seen fresh hinges pit 
 on it twice masel. 
 
 " Now, gin we bocht a snod bit silver boxic 
 ain pit an inscription on't wi' 
 
 PRESENTED TO 
 
 MR. PATRICK JAMIESON, 
 
 LATE SCHOOLMASTER OF DRUMTOCHTY, 
 
 BY A FEW FRIENDS,
 
 428 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 
 
 it wud be usefu' for ae thing, it wud be bonnie 
 for anither, aye, an' something mair," and Hillocks 
 grew mysterious. 
 
 " A legacy, div ye mean," inquired Jamie, " or 
 what are ye aifter ? " 
 
 " Weel, ye see," exclaimed Hillocks with much 
 cunning, " there's a man in Kildrummie got a 
 box frae his customers, an' it's never oot o' his 
 hand. When he taps the lid ye can see him 
 reading the inscription, and he's a way o' passin' 
 it tae ye on the slant that's downricht clever. 
 Ye canna help seein' the words." 
 
 " Gin we were thinkin' aboot a present tae a 
 coal agent or a potato dealer," said Jamie, " I 
 wud hae the box wi' the words, but Domsie's 
 a queer body, an' a'm jalousin' that he wud 
 never use yir grand silver box frae the day he 
 got it, an' a'm dootin' it micht be sold fer 
 some laddie to get him better keep at the col- 
 lege. 
 
 " Besides," continued Jamie thoughtfully, " a'm 
 no sure that ony man can tak up wi' a new box 
 after fifty. He's got accustomed tae the grip o' 
 the auld box, and he kens whar tae pit in his
 
 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 429 
 
 thumb and finger, A coont that it taks aboot 
 fifteen year tae grow into a snuff-box. 
 
 " There's juist ae thing Domsie cares aboot, 
 an' it's naither meat nor drink, nor siller snuff- 
 boxes ; it's his college laddies, gettin' them forrit 
 and payin' their fees, an' haudin' them in life 
 till they're dune." 
 
 By this time the kirkyard was listening as one 
 man and with both ears, for it was plain Jamie 
 had an idea. 
 
 " Ca' on, Jamie," encouraged Drumsheugh, who 
 had as yet given no sign. 
 
 " He's hed his ain time, hes Domsie, gaein' 
 roond Muirtown market collectin' the bank notes 
 for his scholars an' seein' they hed their bukes. 
 A'm no denyin' that Domsie was greedy in his 
 ain way, and gin the Glen cud gither eneuch 
 money tae foond a bit bursary for puir scholars 
 o' Drumtochty, a wudna say but that he micht 
 be pleased." 
 
 The matter was left in Drumsheugh's hands, 
 with Doctor Davidson as consulting counsel, and 
 he would tell nothing for a fortnight. Then they 
 saw in the Dunleith train that he was charged
 
 430 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 
 
 with tidings, and a meeting was held at the 
 junction, Peter being forbidden to mention time, 
 and commanded to take the outcasts of Kil- 
 drummie up by themselves if they couldn't wait. 
 
 "The first man a mentioned it tae was oor 
 Saunders, an' he said naethin' at the time, but 
 he cam up in the forenicht, and slippit a note 
 in ma hand. ' He didna pit mickle intae me, 
 says he, ' but he's daein' fine wi' the bairns. 
 Neebur, a kent that meenut that the Glen wud 
 dae something handsome. 
 
 " Next morning a gied a cry at the Free 
 Manse, and telt Maister Carmichael. If he was 
 na oot o' the room like a man ■ possessed, and he 
 gied me every penny he hed in the hoose, ten 
 pund five shilling. And at the gate he waved 
 his hat in the air, and cries, ' The Jamieson Bur- 
 sary.' 
 
 " It was ae note from one man an' three frae 
 his neebur, an' twa shilling frae the cottars. 
 Abody has dune his pairt, one hundred an' 
 ninety-two pounds frae the Glen. 
 
 " We sent a bit letter tae the Drumtochty 
 fouk in the Sooth, and they've sent fifty-eight
 
 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 431 
 
 pounds, wi' mony good wishes, an' what na think 
 ye hev the auld scholars sent? A hundred and 
 forty pounds. An' last nicht we hed three hun- 
 dred and ninety pounds." 
 
 " Ma word ! " was all Hillocks found himself 
 able to comment ; " that wad get a richt snuff- 
 box." 
 
 "Ye hev mair tae tell, Drumsheugh," said 
 Jamie ; " feenish the list." 
 
 " Ye're a wratch, Jamie," responded the 
 treasurer of the Jamieson Bursary Fund. " Hoo 
 did ye ken aboot the Doctor? says he tae me 
 laist nicht, * Here's a letter to Lord Kilspindie. 
 Give it to him at Muirtown, and I would not 
 say but he might make the sum up to 
 four hundred.' So a saw his lordship in his 
 room, and he wrote a cheque and pit in a 
 letter, an' says he, * Open that in the Bank, 
 Drumsheugh,' an' a did. It was for ten pounds, 
 wi' a hundred on tae't, making up ;!^500. Twenty 
 pund a year tae a Drumtochty scholar for ever. 
 Jamie," said Drumsheugh, " ye've gotten yir 
 bursary." 
 
 It was arranged that the meeting of cclebra-
 
 432 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 
 
 tion should be held in the parish kirk, which in 
 those days was used for nothing except Divine 
 worship ; but the Doctor declared this to be no 
 exception to his rule. 
 
 " Kirk and school have been one in Scotland 
 since John Knox's day, and one they shall be 
 while I live in Drumtochty ; we 'ill honour him 
 in the kirk, for the good the Dominie has done 
 to the bairns, and to pure learning." 
 
 The meeting was delayed till Professor Ross 
 had come home from Australia, with his F.R.S. 
 and all his other honours, for he was marked 
 out to make the presentation ; and every Drum- 
 tochty scholar within reach was enjoined to 
 attend. 
 
 They came from Kildrummie at various hours 
 and in many conveyances, and Hillocks checked 
 the number at the bridge with evident satisfaction. 
 
 " Atween yesterday and the day," he reported 
 to Jamie, in the afternoon, " aucht and twenty 
 scholars hae passed, no including the Professor, 
 and there's fower expected by the next train ; 
 they'll just be in time," which they were, to 
 everybody's delight.
 
 THE t>ASSING OF DOMSIE 433 
 
 " It's a gude thing, Hillocks," said Jamie, " that 
 bridge was mended ; there's been fifty degrees 
 gane over it the day, Hillocks ! to say naithin' 
 o' a wecht o' knowledge." 
 
 The Doctor had them all, thirty-three Uni- 
 versity men, with Domsie and Carmichael and 
 Weelum MacLure, as good a graduate as any 
 man, to dinner, and for that end had his barn 
 wonderfully prepared. Some of the guests have 
 written famous books since then, some are great 
 preachers now, some are chief authorities to 
 science, some have never been heard of beyond 
 a little sphere, some are living, and some are 
 dead; but all have done their part, and each 
 man that night showed, by the grip of his hand, 
 and the look on his face, that he knew where 
 his debt was due. 
 
 Domsie sat on the Doctor's right hand, and 
 the Professor on his left, and a great effort was 
 'made at easy conversation, Domsie asking the 
 Professor three times whether he had completely 
 recovered from the fever which had frightened 
 them all so much in the Glen, and the Professor 
 congratulating the Doctor at intervals on the 
 
 A. 28
 
 434 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 
 
 decorations of the dinner hall. Domsie pre- 
 tended to eat, and declared he had never made 
 so hearty a dinner in his life, but his hands could 
 hardly hold the knife and fork, and he was 
 plainly going over the story of each man at the 
 table, while the ' place rang with reminiscences of 
 the old school among the pines. 
 
 Before they left the barn, Doctor Davidson 
 proposed Domsie's health, and the laddies — all 
 laddies that day — drank it, some in wine, some 
 in water, every man from the heart, and then 
 one of them — they say it was a quiet divine 
 — started, in face of Doctor Davidson, " For he's 
 a jolly good fellow," and there are those who 
 now dare to say that the Doctor joined in with 
 much gusto, but in these days no man's reputa- 
 tion is safe. 
 
 Domsie was not able to say much, but he said 
 more than could have been expected. He called 
 them his laddies for the last time, and thanked 
 them for the kindness they were doing their old 
 master. There was not an honour any one of 
 them had won, from a prize in the junior Hu- 
 manity to the last degree, he could ' mention.
 
 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 435 
 
 Before sitting down he said that they all 
 missed George Howe that day, and that Margct, 
 his mother, had sent her greetings to the scholars. 
 
 Then they went to the kirk, where Drumtochty 
 was waiting, and as Domsie came in with his 
 laddies round him the people rose, and would have 
 cheered had they been elsewhere and some one 
 had led. The Doctor went into the precentor's 
 desk and gave out the hundredth psalm, which 
 is ever sung on great days and can never be sung 
 dry. After which one of the thirty-three thanked 
 the Almighty for all pure knowledge, all good 
 books, all faithful teachers, and besought peace 
 and joy for " our dear master in the evening of 
 his days." 
 
 It was the Professor who read the address 
 from the scholars, and this was the last para- 
 graph : — 
 
 " Finally, we assure you that none of us can ever forget 
 the parish school of Drumtochty, or fail to hold in tender 
 remembrance the master who first opened to us the way 
 of knowledge, and taught us the love thereof. 
 "We are, so long as we live, 
 -) It "Your grateful and affectionate 
 
 " Scholars."
 
 436 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 
 
 Then came the names with all the degrees, 
 and the congregation held their breath to the 
 last M.A. 
 
 " Now, Drumsheugh," said the Doctor, and 
 that worthy man made the great speech of his 
 life, expressing the respect of the Glen for 
 Domsie, assigning the glory of a brilliant idea 
 to Jamie Soutar, relating its triumphant accom- 
 plishment, describing the Jamieson Bursary, and 
 declaring that while the parish lasted there 
 would be a Jamieson scholar to the honour of 
 Domsie's work. For a while Domsie's voice was 
 very shaky when he was speaking about him- 
 self, but afterwards it grew strong and began 
 to vibrate, as he implored the new generation to 
 claim their birthright of learning and to remember 
 that " the poorest parish, though it have but bare 
 fields and humble homes, can yet turn out 
 scholars to be a strength and credit to the 
 commonwealth." 
 
 The Professor saw Domsie home, and noticed 
 that he was shaking and did not wish to speak. 
 He said good-bye at the old schoolhouse, and 
 Ross caught him repeating to himself :
 
 THE PASSING OF DOMSIE 437 
 
 " Eheu fugaces, Postume, Postume, 
 Labuntur anni ; " 
 
 but he seemed very content. 
 
 Ross rose at daybreak next morning and 
 wandered down to the schoolhouse, recalling at 
 every step his boyhood and early struggles, the 
 goodness of Domsie, and his life of sacrifice. 
 The clearing looked very peaceful, and the sun 
 touched with beauty the old weather-beaten 
 building which had been the nursery of so many 
 scholars, but which would soon be deserted for 
 ever. He pushed the door open and started to 
 see Domsie seated at the well-known desk, and 
 in his right hand firmly clasped the address 
 which the scholars had presented to him. His 
 spectacles were on his forehead, his left elbow 
 was resting on the arm of the chair, and Ross 
 recognised the old look upon his face. It used 
 to come like a flash when a difficult passage had 
 suddenly yielded up its hidden treasure, and 
 Ross knew that Domsie had seen the Great 
 Secret, and was at last and completely satisfied.
 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST 
 CHRISTMAS
 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 
 
 Christmas fell on a Sunday the year Dr. David- 
 son died, and on the preceding Monday a groom 
 drove up to the manse from Muirtown Castle. 
 
 " A letter, Doctor, from his lordship " — John 
 found his master sitting before the study fire in 
 a reverie, looking old and sad — " and there's a 
 bit boxie in the kitchen." 
 
 " Will you see, John, that the messenger has 
 such food as we can offer him ? " and the Doctor 
 roused himself at the sight of the familiar hand- 
 writing ; " there is that, eh, half-fowl that Rebecca 
 was keeping for my dinner to-day ; perhaps she 
 could do it up for him. I ... do not feel 
 hungry to-day. And, John, will you just say that 
 I'm sorry that . . . owing to circumstances, 
 we can't offer him refreshment ? " On these oc- 
 casions the Doctor felt his straitness greatly.
 
 442 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 
 
 having kept a house in his day where man and 
 beast had of the best. 
 
 " What dis for the minister of Drumtochty an' 
 his . . . hoose 'ill dae for a groom, even 
 though he serve the Earl o' Kilspindie, an' a 
 ken better than say onything tae Becca aboot 
 the chuckie ; " this he said to himself on his way 
 to the kitchen, where that able woman had put 
 the messenger from the castle in his own place, 
 and was treating him with conspicuous and cal- 
 culated condescension. He was a man somewhat 
 given to appetite, and critical about his drink, as 
 became a servant of the Earl ; but such was the 
 atmosphere of the manse and the awfulness of 
 the Doctor's household that he made a hearty 
 dinner off ham and eggs, with good spring water, 
 and departed declaring his gratitude aloud. 
 
 "My dear Davidson,— 
 
 " Will you distribute the enclosed trifle among 
 your old pensioners in the Glen as you may see 
 fit, and let it come from you, who would have 
 given them twice as much had it not been for 
 that confounded bank. The port is for yourself,
 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 443 
 
 Sandeman's '48 — the tipple you and I have tasted 
 together for many a year. If you hand it over 
 to the Hquidators, as you wanted to do with the 
 few bottles you had in your cellar, I'll have you 
 up before the Sheriff of Muirtown for breach of 
 trust and embezzlement as sure as my name is 
 " Your old friend, 
 
 " KiLSPINDIE." 
 
 " P.S. — The Countess joins me in Christmas 
 greetings and charges you to fail us on New 
 Year's Day at your peril. We are anxious about 
 Hay, who has been ordered to the front." 
 
 The Doctor opened the cheque and stroked it 
 gently ; then he read the letter again and snuffed, 
 using his handkerchief vigorously. After which 
 he wrote : — 
 
 "Dear Kilspindie, — 
 
 " It is, without exception, the prettiest cheque 
 I have ever had in my hands, and it comes from 
 as good a fellow as ever lived. You knew that 
 it would hurt me not to be able to give my little
 
 444 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 
 
 Christmas gifts, and you have done this kindness. 
 Best thanks from the people and myself, and as 
 for the port, the liquidators will not see a drop 
 of it. Don't believe any of those stories about 
 the economies at the manse which I suspect you 
 have been hearing from Drumtochty. Deliberate 
 falsehoods ; we are living like fighting cocks. I'm 
 a little shaky — hint of gout, I fancy — but hope 
 to be with you on New Year's Day. God bless 
 you both, and preserve Hay in the day of 
 battle. 
 
 "Yours affectionately, 
 
 " Alexander Davidson." 
 
 "Don't like that signature, Augusta," said the 
 Earl to his wife ; " ' yours affectionately ' it's true 
 enough, for no man has a warmer heart, but he 
 never wrote that way before. Davidson's break- 
 ing up, and ... he 'ill be missed. I must get 
 Manley to run out here and overhaul him when 
 Davidson comes down on New Year's Day. My 
 belief is that he's been starving himself. Peter 
 Robertson, the land steward, says that he has 
 never touched a drop of wine since that bank
 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 445 
 
 smashed ; now that won't do at our age, but he's 
 an obstinate fellow, Davidson, when he takes a 
 thing into his head." 
 
 The Doctor's determination — after the calamity 
 of the bank failure — to reduce himself to the 
 depths of poverty was wonderful, but Drumtochty 
 was cunning and full of tact. He might surrender 
 his invested means and reserve only one hundred 
 pounds a year out of his living, but when he sent 
 for the Kildrummie auctioneer and instructed 
 him to sell every stick of furniture, except a bare 
 minimum for one sitting-room and a bedroom, 
 Jock accepted the commission at once, and pro- 
 ceeded at eleven miles an hour — having just 
 bought a new horse — to take counsel with Drums- 
 heugh. Next Friday, as a result thereof, he 
 dropped into the factor's office — successor to him 
 over whom the Doctor had triumphed gloriously 
 — and amid an immense variety of rural infor- 
 mation, mentioned that he was arranging a sale 
 of household effects at Drumtochty Manse. Jock 
 was never known to be so dilatory with an ad- 
 vertisement before, and ere he got it out Lord 
 Kilspindie had come to terms with the liquidator
 
 446 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 
 
 and settled the Doctor's belongings on him for 
 life. 
 
 The Doctor's next effort was with his house- 
 hold, and for weeks the minister looked wistfully 
 at John and Rebecca, till at last he called them 
 in and stated the situation. 
 
 " You have both been . . . good and faith- 
 ful servants to me, indeed I may say . . . friends 
 for many years, and I had hoped you would have 
 remained in the Manse till ... so long as I 
 was spared. And I may mention now that I 
 had made some slight provision that would have 
 . . . made you comfortable after I was gone." 
 
 " It wes kind o' ye, sir, an' mindfu'." Rebecca 
 spoke, not John, and her tone was of one who 
 might have to be firm and must not give her- 
 self away by sentiment. 
 
 "It is no longer possible for me, through ^ . . 
 certain events, to live as I have been accustomed 
 to do, and I am afraid that I must ... do 
 without your help. A woman coming in to cook 
 and . . . such like will be all I can afford." 
 
 The expression on the housekeeper's face at 
 this point was such that even the Doctor did not
 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 447 
 
 dare to look at her again, but turned to John, 
 whose countenance was inscrutable. 
 
 "Your future, John, has been giving me much 
 anxious thought, and I hope to be able to do 
 something with Lord Kilspindie next week. 
 There are many quiet places on the estate which 
 might suit . . ." then the Doctor weakened, 
 "although I know well no place will ever be like 
 Drumtochty, and the old Manse will never be the 
 same . . . without you. But you see how it 
 is . . . friends." 
 
 " Doctor Davidson," and he knew it was vain 
 to escape her, " wi' yir permission a wud like tac 
 ask ye ane or twa questions, an' ye 'ill forgie the 
 leeberty. Dis ony man in the Pairish o' Drum- 
 tochty ken yir wys like John? Wha 'ill tak yir 
 messages, an' prepare the fouk for the veesitation, 
 an' keep the gairden snod, an' see tae a' yir trokes 
 when John's awa ? Wull ony man ever cairry 
 the bukes afore ye like John ? " 
 
 " Never," admitted the Doctor, " never." 
 
 " Div ye expect the new wumman 'ill ken hoo 
 mickle stairch tae pit in yir stock, an' hoo mickle 
 butter ye like on yir chicken, an' when ye change
 
 44S DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 
 
 yir flannels tae a day, an' when ye like anither 
 blanket on yir bed, an' the wy tae mak the cur- 
 rant drink for yir cold?" 
 
 " No, no, Rebecca, nobody will ever be so good 
 to me as you've been " — the Doctor was getting 
 very shaky. 
 
 " Then what for wud ye send us awa, and 
 bring in some handless, useless tawpie that cud 
 neither cook ye a decent meal nor keep the 
 Manse wise like ? Is't for room ? The Manse 
 is as big as ever. Is't for meat ? We 'ill eat 
 less than she 'ill waste." 
 
 " You know better, Rebecca," said the Doctor, 
 attempting to clear his throat ; " it's because 
 . . . because I cannot afford to . . ." 
 
 " A ken very weel, an' John an' me hev settled 
 that. For thirty year ye've paid us better than 
 ony minister's man an' manse hoosekeeper in 
 Perthshire, an' ye wantit tae raise oor wages 
 aifter we mairrit. Div ye ken what John an' 
 me hev in the bank for oor laist days ? " 
 
 The Doctor only shook his head, being cowed 
 for once in his life. 
 
 "Atween us, five hundred and twenty-sax pund»"
 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 449 
 
 " Eleven an' sevenpence," added John, steady- 
 ing his voice with arithmetic. 
 
 " It's five year sin we askit ye tae py naethin' 
 mair, but juist gie's cor keep, an' noo the time's 
 come, an' welcome. Hev John or me ever dis- 
 obeyed ye or spoken back a' thae years ? " 
 
 The Doctor only made a sign with his hand. 
 
 "We' ill dae't aince, at ony rate, for ye may 
 gie us notice tae leave an' order us oot o' the 
 manse ; but here we stop till we're no fit tae 
 serve ye or ye hae nae mair need o' oor service." 
 
 " A homologate that " — it was a brave word, 
 and one of which John was justly proud, but he 
 did not quite make the most of it that day. 
 
 " I thank you from my heart, and . . . I'll 
 never speak of parting again," and for the first 
 time they saw tears on the Doctor's cheek. 
 
 " John," Rebecca turned on her husband — no 
 man would have believed it of the beadle of 
 Drumtochty, but he was also ..." what are 
 ye stoiterin' roond the table for ? it's time tae set 
 
 the Doctor's denner ; as for that chicken " 
 
 and Rebecca retired to the kitchen, having touched 
 her highest point that day. 
 
 A. 29
 
 4SO DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 
 
 The insurrection in the manse oozed out, and 
 encouraged a conspiracy of rebellion in which 
 even the meekest people were concerned, Jean 
 Baxter, of Burnbrae, who had grasped greedily 
 at the dairy contract of the manse, when the 
 glebe was let to Netherton, declined to render 
 any account to Rebecca, and the Doctor had to 
 take the matter in hand. 
 
 " There's a little business, Mrs. Baxter, I would 
 like to settle with you, as I happen to be here." 
 The Doctor had dropped in on his way back 
 from Whinny Knowe, where Marget and he had 
 been talking of George for two hours. " You 
 know that I have to be, eh . . . careful now, 
 and I . . . you will let me pay what we owe 
 for that delicious butter you are good enough to 
 supply." 
 
 " Ye 'ill surely tak a look roond the fields 
 first, Doctor, an' tell's what ye think o' the 
 crops ; " and after that it was necessary for him 
 to take tea. Again and again he was foiled, 
 but he took a firm stand by the hydrangea in 
 the garden, where he had given them Lord 
 Kilspindie's message, and John Baxter stood
 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 451 
 
 aside that the affair might be decided in single 
 combat. 
 
 " Now, Mrs, Baxter, before leaving I must 
 insist," began the Doctor with authority, and his 
 stick was in his hand ; but Jean saw a geo- 
 graphical advantage, and seized it instantly. 
 
 " Div ye mind, sir, comin' tae this gairden five 
 year syne this month, and stannin' on that verra 
 spot aside the hydrangy ? " 
 
 The Doctor scented danger, but he could not 
 retreat. 
 
 " Weel, at ony rate, John an' me dinna forget 
 that day, an' never wull, for we were makin' ready 
 tae leave the home 0' the Baxters for mony gener- 
 ations wi' a heavy heart, an' it wes you that 
 stoppit us. Ye 'ill maybe no mind what ye said 
 tae me." 
 
 " We 'ill not talk of that to-day, Mrs. Baxter 
 . . . that's past and over." 
 
 " Aye, it's past, but it's no over. Doctor David- 
 son ; na, na, John an' me wesna made that wy 
 Ye may lauch at a fulish auld wife, but ilka kirnin' 
 (churning) day ye veesit us again. When a'm 
 turnin' the kirn a see ye comin' up the road as
 
 452 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 
 
 ye did that day, an' a gar the handle keep time 
 wi' yir step ; when a tak oot the bonnie yellow 
 butter ye're stannin' in the gairden, an' then a 
 stamp ae pund wi' buttercups, an' a say, ' You're 
 not away yet, Burnbrae, you're not away yet ' — 
 that wes yir word tae the gude man ; and when 
 the ither stamp comes doon on the second pund 
 and leaves the bonnie daisies on't, ' Better late 
 than never, Burnbrae ; better late than never, 
 Burnbrae.' Ye said that afore ye left. Doctor." 
 
 Baxter was amazed at his wife, and the Doctor 
 saw himself defeated. 
 
 " Mony a time hes John an' me sat in the 
 summer-hoose an' brocht back that day, an' mony 
 a time hev we wantit tae dae somethin' for him 
 that keepit the auld roof-tree abune oor heads. 
 God forgie me, Doctor, but when a heard ye hed 
 gien up yir glebe ma hert loupit, an' a said tae 
 John, ' The'ill no want for butter at the manse 
 sae lang as there's a Baxter in Burnbrae.' 
 
 " Dinna be angry, sir," but the flush that brought 
 the Doctor's face unto a state of perfection was 
 not anger, " A ken it's a leeberty we're takin', 
 an* mavbe a'm presumin' ower far, but gin ye kent
 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 453 
 
 hoo sair oor herts were \vi' gratitude ye wudna 
 deny us this kindness." 
 
 " Ye 'ill lat the Doctor come awa noo, gude 
 wife, tae see the young horse," and Doctor David- 
 son was grateful to Burnbrae for covering his 
 retreat. 
 
 This spirit spread till Hillocks lifted up his 
 horn, outwitting the Doctor with his attentions, 
 and reducing him to submission. When the 
 beadle dropped in upon Hillocks one day, and, 
 after a hasty review of harvest affairs, mentioned 
 that Doctor Davidson was determined to walk in 
 future to and from Kildrummie Station, the worth)- 
 man rose without a word, and led the visitor to 
 the shed where his marvellous dog-cart was kept. 
 
 " Div ye think that a' cud daur ? " studj-ing its 
 general appearance with diffidence. 
 
 " There's nae sayin' hoo it micht look wi' a 
 wash," suggested John. 
 
 " Sail, it's fell snod noo," after two hours' honest 
 labour, in which John condescended to share, " an' 
 the gude wife 'ill cover the cushions. Dinna lat 
 on, but a'll be at the gate the morn afore the 
 Doctor starts," and Peter Bruce gave it to be
 
 454 l^R- DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 
 
 understood that when Hillocks convoyed the 
 Doctor to the compartment of the third rigidly 
 and unanimously reserved for him, his manner, 
 both of walk and conversation, was changed, and 
 it is certain that a visit he made to Piggie Walker 
 on the return journey was unnecessary save for 
 the purpose of vain boasting. It was not, how- 
 ever, to be heard of by the Doctor that Hillocks 
 should leave his work at intervals to drive him 
 to Kildrummie, and so there was a war of tactics, 
 in which the one endeavoured to escape past the 
 bridge without detection, while the other swooped 
 down upon him with the dog-cart. On the Wed- 
 nesday when the Doctor went to Muirtown to buy 
 his last gifts to Drumtochty, he was very cunning, 
 and ran the blockade while Hillocks was in the 
 corn room, but the dog-cart was waiting for him 
 in the evening — Hillocks having been called to 
 Kildrummie by unexpected business, at least so 
 he said — and it was a great satisfaction afterwards 
 to Peter Bruce that he placed fourteen parcels 
 below the seat and fastened eight behind — besides 
 three which the Doctor held in his hands, being 
 fragile, and two, soft goods, on which Hillocks
 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 455 
 
 sat for security. For there were twenty-seven 
 humble friends whom the Doctor wished to bless 
 on Christmas Day. 
 
 When he bade the minister good-bye at his 
 gate, Hillocks prophesied a storm, and it was of 
 such a kind that on Sunday morning the snow 
 was knee-deep on the path from the manse to 
 the kirk, and had drifted up four feet against the 
 door through which the Doctor was accustomed 
 to enter in procession. 
 
 "This is unfortunate, very unfortunate," when 
 John reported the state of affairs to the Doctor, 
 " and we must just do the best we can in the 
 circumstances, eh?" 
 
 " What wud be yir wull, sir ? " but John's tone 
 did not encourage any concessions. 
 
 "Well, it would never do for you to be going 
 down bare-headed on such a day, and it's plain 
 we can't get in at the front door. What do you 
 say to taking in the books by the side door, and 
 I'll just come down in my top-coat, when the 
 people are gathered " ; but the Doctor did not 
 show a firm mind, and it was evident that he was 
 thinking less of himself than of John.
 
 456 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 
 
 " A'll come for ye at the usual 'oor," was all 
 that functionary deigned to reply, and at a quarter 
 to twelve he brought the gown and bands to the 
 study — he himself being in full black. 
 
 " The drift 'ill no tribble ye, an' ye 'ill no need 
 tae gang roond ; na, na," and John could not quite 
 conceal his satisfaction, " we 'ill no start on the 
 side door aifter five and thirty years o' the front.'' 
 
 So the two old men — John bare-headed, the 
 Doctor in full canonicals and wearing his college 
 cap — came down on a fair pathway between two 
 banks of snow three feet high, which Saunders 
 from Drumsheugh and a dozen plowmen had 
 piled on either side. The kirk had a severe look 
 that day, with hardly any women or children to 
 relieve the blackness of the men, and the drifts 
 reaching to the sills of the windows, while a fringe 
 of snow draped their sides. 
 
 The Doctor's subject was the love of God, and 
 it was noticed that he did not read, but spoke 
 as if he had been in his study. He also dwelt 
 so affectingly on the gift of Christ, and made so 
 tender an appeal unto his people, that Drums- 
 heugh blew his nose with vigour, and Hillocks
 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 457 
 
 himself was shaken. After they had sung the 
 paraphrase — 
 
 "To Him that lov'd the souls of men, 
 And washed us in His blood," 
 
 the Doctor charged those present to carry his 
 greetings to the folk at home, and tell them they 
 were all in his heart. After which he looked at 
 his people as they stood for at least a minute, 
 and then lifting his hands, according to the ancient 
 fashion of the Scottish Kirk, he blessed them. 
 His gifts, with a special message to each person, 
 he sent by faithful messengers, and afterwards he 
 went out through the snow to make two visits. 
 The first was to blind Marjorie, who was Free 
 Kirk, but to whom he had shown much kindness 
 all her life. His talk with her was usually of past 
 days and country affairs, seasoned with wholesome 
 humour to cheer her heart, but to-day he fell into 
 another vein, to her great delight, and they spoke 
 of the dispensations of Providence. 
 
 " ' Whom the Lord loveth, he chasteneth,' Mar- 
 jorie, is a very instructive Scripture, and I was 
 thinking of it last night. You have had a long
 
 458 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 
 
 and hard trial, but you have doubtless been 
 blessed, for if you have not seen outward things, 
 you have seen the things ... of the soul." 
 The Doctor hesitated once or twice, as one who 
 had not long travelled this road. 
 
 " You and I are about the same age, Marjorie, 
 and we must soon . . . depart. My life was 
 very . . . prosperous, but lately it has pleased 
 the Almighty to . . . chasten me. I have 
 now, therefore, some hope also that I may be 
 one of His children." 
 
 " He wes aye gude grain, the Doctor," Marjorie 
 said to her friend after he had left, " but he's hed 
 a touch o' the harvest sun, and he's been ripen- 
 ing." 
 
 Meanwhile the Doctor had gone on to Tochty 
 Lodge, and was standing in the stone hall, which 
 was stripped and empty of the Carnegies for ever. 
 Since he was a laddie in a much-worn kilt and 
 a glengarry bonnet without tails, he had gone in 
 and out the Lodge, and himself had seen four 
 generations — faintly remembering the General's 
 grandfather. Every inch of the house was familiar 
 to him, and associated with kindly incidents. He
 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 459 
 
 identified the spaces on the walls where the por- 
 traits of the cavaliers and their ladies had hung ; 
 he went up to the room where the lairds had 
 died and his friend had hoped to fall on sleep ; 
 he visited the desolate gallery where Kate had 
 held court and seemed to begin a better day for 
 the old race ; then he returned and stood before 
 the fireplace in which he had sat long ago and 
 looked up to see the stars in the sky. Round 
 that hearth many a company of brave men and 
 fair women had gathered, and now there remained 
 of this ancient stock but two exiles — one eating 
 out his heart in poverty and city life, and a girl 
 who had for weal or woe, God only knew, passed 
 out of the line of her traditions. A heap of snow 
 had gathered on the stone, where the honest wood 
 fire had once burned cheerily, and a gust of wind 
 coming down the vast open chimney powdered his 
 coat with drift. It was to him a sign that the 
 past was closed, and that he would never again 
 stand beneath that roof. 
 
 He opened the gate of the manse, and then, 
 under a sudden impulse, went on through deep 
 snow to the village and made a third visit — to
 
 46o DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 
 
 Archie Moncur, whom he found sitting before the 
 fire reading the Temperance Trumpet. Was there 
 ever a man like Archie ? — so gentle and fierce, 
 so timid and fearless, so modest and persevering. 
 He would stoop to lift a vagrant caterpillar from 
 the cart track, and yet had not adjectives to de- 
 scribe the infamy of a publican ; he would hardly 
 give an opinion on the weather, but he fought 
 the drinking customs of the Glen like a lion ; he 
 would only sit in the lowest seat in any place, 
 but every winter he organised — at great trouble 
 and cost of his slender means — temperance meet- 
 ings which were the fond jest of the Glen. From 
 year to year he toiled on, without encouragement, 
 without success, hopeful, uncomplaining, resolute, 
 unselfish, with the soul of a saint and the spirit 
 of a hero in his poor, deformed, suffering little 
 body. He humbled himself before the very bairns, 
 and allowed an abject like Milton to browbeat him 
 with Pharisaism, but every man in the Glen knew 
 that Archie would have gone to the stake for the 
 smallest jot or tittle of his faith. 
 
 " Archie," said the Doctor, who would not sit 
 down, and whose coming had thrown the good
 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 461 
 
 man into speechless confusion, " it's the day of 
 our Lord's birth, and I wish to give you and all 
 my friends of the Free Kirk — as you have no 
 minister just now — hearty Christmas greeting. 
 May peace be in your kirk and homes . . . 
 and hearts. 
 
 " My thoughts have been travelling back of late 
 over those years since I was ordained minister 
 of this parish and the things which have happened, 
 and it seemed to me that no man has done his 
 duty by his neighbour or before God vv^ith a more 
 single heart than you, Archie." 
 
 " God bless you." Then on the doorstep the 
 Doctor shook hands again and paused for a 
 minute. "You have fought a good fight, Archie 
 — I wish we could all say the same ... a 
 good fight." 
 
 For an hour Archie was so dazed that he was 
 not able to say a word, and could do nothing 
 but look into the fire, and then he turned to his 
 sisters, with that curious little movement of the 
 hand which seemed to assist his speech. 
 
 " The language wes clean redeeklus, but it wes 
 kindly meant ... an' it maks up for mony
 
 462 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 
 
 things. . . . The Doctor wes aye a gentleman, 
 an' noo ... ye can see that he's 
 something main" 
 
 Drumsheugh dined with the Doctor that night, 
 and after dinner John opened for them a bottle 
 of Lord Kilspindie's wine. 
 
 " It is the only drink we have in the house, for 
 I have not been using anything of that kind lately, 
 and I think we may have a glass together for 
 the sake of x'\uld Lang Syne," 
 
 They had three toasts, " The Queen," and " The 
 Kirk of Scotland," and " The friends that are far 
 awa," after which — for the last included both the 
 living and the dead — they sat in silence. Then 
 the Doctor began to speak of his ministry, lament- 
 ing that he had not done better for his people, 
 and declaring that if he were spared he intended 
 to preach more frequently about the Lord Jesus 
 Christ. 
 
 " You and I, Drumsheugh, will have to go a 
 long journey soon, and give an account of our 
 lives in Drumtochty, Perhaps we have done our 
 best as men can, and I think we have tried ; but 
 there are many things we might have done other-
 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 463 
 
 wise, and some we ought not to have done at 
 all. 
 
 "It seems to me now, the less we say in that 
 day of the past the better. . . . We shall wish 
 for mercy rather than justice, and" — here the 
 Doctor looked earnestly over his glasses at his 
 elder — " we would be none the worse, Drums- 
 heugh, of a friend to . . . say a good word 
 for us both in the great court." 
 
 " A've thocht that masel " — it was an agony 
 for Drumsheugh to speak — " mair than aince. 
 Weelum MacLure wes . . . ettlin' (feeling) 
 aifter the same thing the nicht he slippit awa, 
 an' gin ony man cud hae stude on his ain feet 
 . . . yonder, it was . . . Weelum." 
 
 The Doctor read the last chapter of the Re- 
 velation of St. John at prayers that evening 
 with much solemnity, and thereafter prayed 
 concerning those who had lived together in 
 the Glen that they might meet at last in the 
 City. 
 
 " Finally, most merciful Father, we thank Thee 
 for Thy patience with us and the goodness Thou 
 hast bestowed upon us, and for as much as Thy
 
 464 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 
 
 servants have sinned against Thee beyond our 
 knowledge, we beseech Thee to judge us not 
 according to our deserts, but according to the 
 merits and intercession of Jesus Christ our Lord." 
 He also pronounced the benediction — which was 
 not his wont at family worship — and he shook 
 hands with his two retainers ; but he went with 
 his guest to the outer door. 
 
 " Good-bye, Drumsheugh . . . you have 
 been ... a faithful friend and elder." 
 
 When John paid his usual visit to the study 
 before he went to bed, the Doctor did not hear 
 him enter the room. He was holding converse 
 with Skye, who was seated on a chair, looking 
 very wise and much interested. 
 
 " Ye're a bonnie beastie, Skye " — like all Scots, 
 the Doctor in his tender moments dropped into 
 dialect — " for a'thing He made is verra gude. 
 Ye've been true and kind to your master, Skye, 
 and ye 'ill miss him if he leaves ye. Some day 
 ye 'ill die also, and they 'ill bury ye, and I doubt 
 that 'ill be the end o' ye, Skye. 
 
 " Ye never heard o' God, Skye, or the Saviour, 
 for ye're juist a puir doggie ; but your master is
 
 DR. DAVIDSON'S LAST CHRISTMAS 465 
 
 minister of Drumtochty, and ... a sinner 
 saved ... by grace." 
 
 The Doctor was so much affected as he said 
 the last words slowly to himself that John went 
 out on tiptoe, and twice during the night listened 
 — fancying he heard Skye whine. In the morning 
 the Doctor was still sitting in his big chair, and 
 Skye was fondly licking a hand that would never 
 again caress him, while a miniature of Daisy — 
 the little maid who had died in her teens, and 
 whom her brother had loved to his old age — lay 
 on the table, and the Bible was again open at 
 the description of the New Jerusalem. 
 
 ButUr&' Tanntr, The StlwQod PruUing Works, Front, and London 
 A. 30
 
 WORKS BY JOHN WATSON, D.D. 
 
 REVISED, WITH NEW PREFACE 
 FOURTH EDITION, COMPLETING 17.000 
 
 "phe Mind of the Master 
 
 Crown 8vo, gilt top, 6s. 
 
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