LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 RIVERSIDE

 
 THE STICKIT MINISTER 
 
 AND SOME COMMON MEN
 
 FURTH IN FIELD. By Hugh Haliburton, Author of " Horace 
 
 in Homespun." Buckram, gilt, 5s. 
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 THE DEVIL'S PLAYGROUND. By John Mackie. Cloth, 6s. 
 
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 " Welcome to evcr\ otsmctH. 
 
 LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN.
 
 
 o 
 
 O 
 
 s
 
 THE 
 
 STICKIT MINISTER 
 
 AND SOME COMMON MEN 
 
 S. R. CROCKETT 
 
 WITH A PREFATORY POEM 
 BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 
 
 TENTH A. YD ILLUSTRATED EDITION 
 
 HonDon 
 
 T . FISHER U N W I X 
 
 PATERNOSTER SQUARE 
 
 MDCCCfcCV
 
 TO 
 
 Eolicrt ILouijj »>trtJcngon 
 
 OF SCOTLAND AND SAMOA 
 
 I DEDICATE THESE STORIES OF THAT 
 
 GREY GALLOWAY LAND 
 
 WHERE 
 
 ABOUT THE GRAVES OF THE MARTYRS 
 
 THE WHAUPS ARE CRYING — HIS HEART REMEMBERS HOW
 
 
 Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying- — 
 
 Blows the wind on the moors to-day and now, 
 I There about the graves of the martyrs the whaups are erring, 
 
 My heart remembers how .' 
 
 Cray, recumbent tombs of the dead in desert //ares. 
 Standing Stones on the vacant, wine-red moor, 
 
 Hills of sheep, and the homes of the silent vanished races, 
 And winds, austere and pure '. 
 
 Be it granted me to behold you again in dying, 
 
 Hills of home ! and to hear again the call — 
 //,-,;;• about the graves of the martyrs the pee -wees eryii 
 And hear no more at all. 
 
 Robert I .oris Sn
 
 
 .3v 
 
 ■ 
 
 'I 

 
 A LETTER DECLARATORY TO THE 
 SECOND EDITION 
 
 Dear Louis Stevenson — It is, I think, a remark of 
 your own that the imprudences of men, even oftener 
 than their ill deeds, come home to roost. At least, if 
 you have not so remarked it, you have not lived so long 
 without observing it. Now, in some wise, you have 
 at least a god -papa's responsibility for the Stickit 
 Minister, and if you have no spoon of silver for the 
 poor fellow, you will be expected at the least duly to 
 hear his catechism. 
 
 A month ago when, entirely without permission, I 
 dedicated the first edition of my prose first-born to you, 
 shame kept me from further connecting you with what 
 no one but yourself might ever read. As for you, I 
 had you in a cleft stick, as you shall presently hear. 
 But now a second edition and a preface imperatively 
 required have together thawed my blateness. But it 
 occurs to me that you may deny any parental responsi- 
 bility, even vicarious. Well, as much is mostly done 
 on these occasions. In that case we will proceed to 
 lead the proof. You have, no doubt, forgotten a power 
 of good law in your time, and might have forgotten
 
 xii DECLARATORY LETTER 
 
 even more had you ever known it. But not the wit of 
 the Great Lord President himself in his best days could 
 have shaken this case of mine. 
 
 Let me then suggest to you Saranac Lake, a bleak 
 sheet of ice ' somewhere in America ' — east winds, 
 hotels with a smell of cooking in the corridors, melting 
 snows, and mountains. It is near flitting and settling 
 day with you there, and as your custom is, you are 
 owing a many letters — to me among others, epistles one, 
 two, and three. For days you have passed your desk 
 with a kind of pride and wicked pleasure in stubbornly 
 defying your conscience. 
 
 But one morning in the gloaming, Conscience has 
 you down before you were fairly awake, and right grimly 
 takes certain long arrears out of you. Then, according 
 to your own account, your cries of penitence might have 
 been heard a mile. In this abased condition, the Black 
 Dog riding hard on your back, you made yourself 
 responsible for words to the ensuing effect : ' Write,' you 
 said, ' my Timothy, no longer verse, but use Good 
 Galloway Scots for your stomach's sake — and mine. 
 There be overly many at the old tooth comb ! ' 
 
 Well, 'tis scarce fair to hold you to it, I know ; but, 
 your Will thus fleeing in a mere sauve qui pent — Con- 
 science hot-foot after you, hectoring with victory — ' If 
 you do, I'll read it every word V says you. And so I 
 had you. 
 
 Often when in my turn the Black Dog hath been 
 upon me, and I seemed to sec plainly that no Adam's 
 
 i would ever read a single line, least of all a reviewer
 
 DECLARATORY LETTER xm 
 
 — have I rubbed hands and laughed to think of you in 
 that spotless linen suit, sitting, as you imagined, safe 
 and cool under whatever may be the Samoan substitute 
 for a rose. 
 
 But I hold to my pound of flesh. Will you, nil! 
 you, you must read — and every word. 
 
 Nevertheless, if you find anything here, even a 
 thousand sea miles from good, it is so because ever 
 since Saranac, I have been, like Macready in Edinburgh 
 when the Great Unknown came in, ' playing to Sir 
 Walter.' 
 
 S. R. CROCKETT. 
 
 Penicuik, Midlothian, 27th April 1893.
 
 NOTE 
 
 The stories may appear to be somewhat unequally 
 illustrated. Some are equipped with a number of 
 drawings, while others lack even one. The illustrators, 
 in fact, were left entirely to the freedom of their own 
 wills and the incidence of their several likings. Their 
 work has been almost wholly a labour of love, and I 
 have to thank every one of them for their sympathetic 
 interpretation of that mysteriously beautiful Galloway 
 country which is so dear to me, and the love of which 
 I so greatly desire to share with others. 
 
 S. R. C.
 
 THE FARM OF DUCHRAE 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 The Stick.it Minister i 
 
 Accepted of the Beasts 10 
 
 Trials for License by the Presbytery ok Pitscottie 21 
 
 'The Heather Lintie' 
 
 The Split in the Marrow Kirk .... 
 
 The Probationer 
 
 The Lammas Preaching 
 
 The Tragedy of Duncan Duncanson, Schoolmaster 
 
 Why Dayid Oliphant remained a Presbyterian 
 
 The Three Maister Peter Slees, Ministers in the 
 Parish of Couthy 
 
 The Courtship of Allan Fairley, of Earlswood 
 
 John Smith of Arkland prepares his Sermon . 
 
 b 
 
 31 
 43 
 
 54 
 
 65 
 7S 
 90 
 
 96 
 106 
 11S
 
 xvm CONTENTS 
 
 A Day in the Life of Reverend James Pitbye, 
 Minister of Nether Dullarg 
 
 The Glen Kells Short Leet 
 
 Boanerges Simpson's Encumbrance 
 
 A Knight-Errant of the Streets 
 
 The Progress of Cleg Kelly, Mission Worker 
 
 Ensamples to the Flock 
 
 The Siege of M'Lurg's Mill .... 
 
 The Minister of Scaur casts out with his Maker 229 
 
 John Black, Critic in Ordinary 238 
 
 The Candid Friend 245 
 
 A Midsummer Idyll 252 
 
 The Tutor of Curlywee 267 
 
 125 
 
 131 
 
 M3 
 
 '53 
 165 
 
 199 
 
 214
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 WITH SOME NOTES 
 
 The Stickit Minister Ploughing (by Ernest A. Water- 
 low, A.R.A.) . Frontispiece 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Grey Galloway Land (by William S. MacGeorge) . x 
 
 A characteristic Galloway moor, near Lochinbreck, Balmaghie. 
 
 The Farm of Duchrae (by H. Moxon Cook) . . xvii 
 
 Birthplace of Author. 
 
 Initial Letter (by W. G. Burn Murdoch) . . . i 
 
 The Home of the Stickit Minister (by H. Moxon 
 
 Cook) 7 
 
 Drawn at Drumbreck, Balmaghie. A typical Galloway farm- 
 steading. 
 
 Initial Letter 10 
 
 The Kirkyard OF KlRKCLAUGH (by William Mouncey) . 20 
 Drawn from Kirkyard of Kirkchrist on the Borgue coast. 
 
 Initial Letter (by W. G. Burn Murdoch) .... 21 
 A Line-side Loch (by H. Moxon Cook) .... 30 
 
 Drawn at Loch Skerrow on the Port Patrick Railway. A 
 moorland watering station. 
 
 Initial Letter (by W. G. Burn Murdoch) .... 31 
 The Manse ofthe Marrow Kirk (by William Mouncey) 43
 
 xx LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 l'AGE 
 
 Initial Letter (by W. G. Burn Murdoch) ... 54 
 
 Initial Letter (by W. G. Burn Murdoch) ... 65 
 
 The Flooded Meadows (by H. Moxon Cook) . . 71 
 
 Drawn from the heights above the flooded Black Water of Dee, 
 looking towards New Galloway Station. 
 
 The Lammas Flood (by James Paterson, R.W.S.) . . 74 
 'Trusty Tait' ('Boys' Dog '), by William Foster . . 85 
 The Parish of Couthy (by William Mouncey) . . 97 
 
 Drawn in the Galloway Lowlands, on the river Dee. 
 
 Initial Letter (by W. G. Burn Murdoch) . . .106 
 
 ' I'LL SHOW YOU to the DOOR ' (by D. M. M'Kellar) . 1 1 1 
 
 'By the Black Armour of the Earlswood who died 
 
 at Flodden' (by W. G. Burn Murdoch) . . 1 t 5 
 
 Earlswood House (by Joseph Pennell) . . . -117 
 
 Nether Dullarg (by William Mouncey) . . .125 
 
 A Galloway Manse. 
 
 In the Glen Kells (by Ernest A. Waterlow, A.R.A.) . 131 
 The Valley of the Ken (by W. S. MacGeorge) . 135 
 
 Drawn from near New Galloway, looking south to the Ben- 
 nan and Cairn Edward. 
 
 The Slippers of Augustus Towers (by W. G. Burn 
 
 Murdoch) 137 
 
 'In the dark of the Doorway' (by D. M. M'Kellar) . 140 
 Initial Letter (by W. G. Burn Murdoch) . . .143 
 Initial Letter (by W. G. Burn Murdoch) . . 153 
 The CANONGATE (by Joseph Pennell) . . . . 157 
 In the Canongate 161
 
 PAGE 
 l6 5 
 
 l67 
 
 I70 
 
 171 
 
 172 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Initial Letter (byW. G. Burn Murdoch) 
 
 An Edinburgh Street (by Joseph Pennell) 
 
 Edinburgh Roofs (by Joseph Pennell) . 
 
 Hunker Court (by Joseph Pennell) 
 
 Courts and Closes (by Joseph Pennell) . 
 
 'A Place of Steep Stairs and Bitter Bread' (by 
 
 Joseph Pennell) 175 
 
 Metropolitan Weather (by Joseph Pennell) . -177 
 
 Hare's Public (by Joseph Pennell) 179 
 
 Edinburgh Old Houses (by Joseph Pennell) . . .182 
 
 Looking into the Depths of the Underworld (by 
 
 Joseph Pennell) . . . . . . . .185 
 
 A Queer Corner of the Old Town (by Joseph Pennell) 189 
 
 An Edinburgh Pend (by Joseph Pennell) . . .192 
 
 A Canongate Close (by Joseph Pennell) . . -193 
 
 An Edinburgh Wet Night (by Joseph Pennell) . . 195 
 
 A Doorway in the Old Town (by Joseph Pennell) . 197 
 
 The Lochside by M'Lurg's Mill (by H. Moxon Cook) . 201 
 
 Drawn at Blates Mill by the side of Woodhall Loch (properly 
 Loch Grenoch), in the Parish of Balmaghie. 
 
 M'Lurg's Mill (by H. Moxon Cook) . . . .209 
 
 Drawn at Blates Mill, Parish of Balmaghie, the original of 
 M'Lurg's Mill. 
 
 Leeb goes Marketing to the Village (by II. Moxon 
 
 Cook) ........ 216 
 
 Drawn at Laurieston Village, in Balmaghie ; a typical Gallo- 
 way village — the church and old school to the left.
 
 xxii LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Timothy M'Lurg is not refused his own Water- 
 power (by William Foster) 226 
 
 Initial Letter (by W. G. Burn Murdoch) . . . 229 
 
 The Grassy Gateways of Tantallon (by Joseph Pennell) 234 
 
 The Parish of Kilconquhar (by William Mouncey) . 253 
 Drawn from a ' Knowe-tap ' in a lowland Galloway Parish. 
 
 Gloaming over Curlywee (by A. G. Denholm Young) . 266 
 The Barrier of the Hills (by A. G. Denholm Young) . 275 
 
 Drawn from the Dungeon of Buchan, looking towards the 
 road behind which lies Loch Enoch.
 
 THE STICKIT MINISTER 
 
 THE RENUNCIATION OF ROBERT FRASER, FORMERLY 
 STUDENT IN DIVINITY 
 
 HE crows were wheeling 
 behind the plough 
 in scattering 
 clusters, and 
 plumping singly upon 
 the soft, thick grubs which 
 the ploughshare was turning out 
 upon an unkindly world. It was 
 a bask blowy day in the end of March, and there 
 was a hint of storm in the air — a hint emphasised 
 for those skilled in weather lore by the presence 
 of half a dozen sea-gulls, white vagrants among 
 the black coats, blown by the south wind up from 
 the Sol way — a snell, Scotch, but not unfriendly day 
 altogether. Robert Fraser bent to the plough handles, 
 and cast a keen and wary eye towards his guide posts 
 on the ridge. His face was colourless, even when a 
 dash of rain came swirling across from the crest of Ben
 
 2 THE STICKIT MINISTER 
 
 Gairn, whose steep bulk heaved itself a blue haystack 
 above the level horizon of the moorland. He was 
 dressed like any other ploughman of the south uplands — 
 rough homespun much the worse for wear, and leggings 
 the colour of the red soil which he was reversing with the 
 share of his plough. Yet there was that about Robert 
 Fraser which marked him no common man. When he 
 paused at the top of the ascent, and stood with his back 
 against the horns of the plough, the countryman's 
 legacy from Adam of the Mattock, he pushed back his 
 weatherbeaten straw hat with a characteristic gesture, 
 and showed a white forehead with blue veins channelling 
 it — a damp, heavy lock of black hair clinging to it as 
 in Severn's picture of John Keats on his deathbed. 
 Robert Fraser saw a couple of black specks which moved 
 smoothly and evenly along the top of the distant dyke 
 of the highway. He stood still for a moment or two 
 watching them. As they came nearer, they resolved 
 themselves into a smart young man sitting in a well- 
 equipped gig drawn by a showily-actioned horse, and 
 driven by a man in livery. As they passed rapidly 
 along the road the hand of the young man appeared in 
 a careless wave of recognition over the stone dyke, and 
 Robert Fraser lifted his slack reins in staid acknowledg- 
 ment. It was more than a year since the brothers had 
 looked each other so nearly in the eyes. They were 
 Dr. Henry Fraser, the rising physician of Cairn Edward, 
 and his elder brother Robert, once Student of Divinity 
 at Edinburgh College, whom three parishes knew as 
 ' The Stickit Minister.' 
 
 When Robert Fraser stabled his horses that night
 
 THE STICKIT MINISTER 3 
 
 and went in to his supper, he was not surprised to find 
 his friend, Saunders M'Quhirr of Drumquhat, sitting by 
 the peat fire in the ' room.' Almost the only thing 
 which distinguished the Stickit Minister from the other 
 small farmers of the parish of Dullarg was the fact that 
 he always sat in the evening by himself ben the hoose, 
 and did not use the kitchen in common with his house- 
 keeper and herd boy, save only at meal-times. Robert 
 had taken to Saunders ever since — the back of his 
 ambition broken — he had settled down to the farm, and 
 he welcomed him with shy cordiality. 
 
 ' You'll take a cup of tea, Saunders ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Thank ye, Robert, I wadna be waur o't,' returned 
 his friend. 
 
 1 I saw your brither the day,' said Saunders M'Quhirr, 
 after the tea-cups had been cleared away, and the silent 
 housekeeper had replaced the books upon the table. 
 Saunders picked a couple of them up, and, having ad- 
 justed his glasses, he read the titles — Milton s Works, and 
 a volume of a translation of Dorner's Person of CJirist. 
 
 ' I saw yer brither the day ; he maun be gettin' a 
 big practice ! ' 
 
 ' Ay ! ' said Robert Fraser, very thoughtfully. 
 
 Saunders M'Quhirr glanced up quickly. It was, of 
 course, natural that the unsuccessful elder brother should 
 envy the prosperous younger, but he had thought that 
 Robert Fraser was living on a different plane. It was 
 one of the few things that the friends had never spoken 
 of, though every one knew why Dr. Fraser did not visit 
 his brother's little farm. ' He's gettin' in wi' the big 
 fowk noo, an' thinks maybe that his brither wad do him 
 
 B
 
 4 THE STICKIT MINISTER 
 
 nae credit.' That was the way the clash of the country- 
 side explained the matter. 
 
 • I never told you how I came to leave the college, 
 Saunders,' said the younger man, resting his brow on a 
 hand that even the horn of the plough could not make 
 other than diaphanous. 
 
 ' No,' said Saunders quietly, with a tender gleam 
 coming into the humorsome kindly eyes that lurked 
 under their bushy tussocks of grey eyebrow. Saunders's 
 humour lay near the Fountain of Tears. 
 
 ' No,' continued Robert Fraser, ' I have not spoken 
 of it to so many ; but you've been a good frien' to me, 
 Saunders, and I think you should hear it. I have not 
 tried to set myself right with folks in the general, but I 
 would like to let you see clearly before I go my ways to 
 Him who seeth from the beginning.' 
 
 ' Hear till him,' said Saunders ; ' man, yer hoast 
 is no' near as sair as it was i' the back-end. Ye'll 
 be here lang efter me ; but lang or short, weel do 
 ye ken, Robert Fraser, that ye need not to pit yersel' 
 richt wi' me. Hae I no' kenned ye sins ye war the size 
 o' twa scrubbers ? ' 
 
 ' I thank you, Saunders,' said Robert, ' but I am well 
 aware that I'm to die this year. No, no, not a word. 
 It is the Lord's will ! It's mair than seven year now 
 since I first kenned that my days were to be few. It 
 was the year my faither died, and left Harry and me 
 by our lane. 
 
 ' He left no siller to speak of, just plenty to lay him 
 decently in the kirkyard among his forebears. I had 
 been a year at the Divinity Hall then, and was going
 
 THE STICKIT MINISTER 5 
 
 up to put in my discourses for the next session. I had 
 been troubled with my breast for some time, and so 
 called one day at the infirmary to get a word with Sir 
 James. He was very busy when I went in, and never 
 noticed me till the hoast took me. Then on a sudden 
 he looked up from his papers, came quickly over to me, 
 put his own white handkerchief to my mouth, and 
 quietly said, " Come into my room, laddie ! " Ay, he 
 was a good man and a faithful, Sir James, if ever there 
 was one. He told me that with care I might live five 
 or six years, but it would need great care. Then a 
 strange prickly coldness came over me, and I seemed to 
 walk light-headed in an atmosphere suddenly rarefied. 
 I think I know now how the mouse feels under the air- 
 pump.' 
 
 ' What's that ? ' queried Saunders. 
 
 ' A cruel ploy not worth speaking of,' continued the 
 Stickit Minister. ' Well, I found something in my throat 
 when I tried to thank him. But I came my ways home 
 to the Dullarg, and night and day I considered what 
 was to be done, with so much to do and so little time 
 to do it. It was clear that both Harry and me could 
 not gang through the college on the little my faither had 
 left. So late one night I saw my way clear to what I 
 should do. Harry must go, I must stay. I must come 
 home to the farm, and be my own " man " ; then I could 
 send Harry to the college to be a doctor, for he had no 
 call to the ministry as once I thought I had. More 
 than that, it was laid on me to tell Jessie Loudon that 
 Robert Fraser was no better than a machine set to go 
 five year.
 
 6 THE STICKIT MINISTER 
 
 ' Now all these things I did, Saunders, but there's 
 no use telling you what they cost in the doing. They 
 were right to do, and they were done. I do not repent 
 any of them. I would do them all over again were 
 they to do, but it's been bitterer than I thought.' 
 
 The Stickit Minister took his head off his hand and 
 leaned wearily back in his chair. 
 
 ' The story went over the country that I had failed 
 in my examinations, and I never said that I had not. 
 But there were some that knew better who might have 
 contradicted the report if they had liked. I settled 
 down to the farm, and I put Harry through the college, 
 sending all but a bare living to him in Edinburgh. I 
 worked the work of the farm, rain and shine, ever since, 
 and have been for these six years the " stickit minister " 
 that all the world kens the day. Whiles Harry did not 
 think that he got enough. He was always writing for 
 more, and not so very pleased when he did not get it. 
 He was aye different to me, ye ken, Saunders, and he 
 canna be judged by the same standard as you and me.' 
 
 ' I ken,' said Saunders M'Ouhirr, a spark of light 
 lying in the quiet of his eyes. 
 
 ' Well,' continued Robert Fraser, lightened by 
 Saunders's apparent agreement, ' the time came when he 
 was clear from the college, and wanted a practice. He 
 had been ill-advised that he had not got his share of 
 the farm, and he wanted it selled to share and share 
 alike. Now I kenned, and you ken, Saunders, that it's 
 no' worth much in one share let alone two. So I got 
 the place quietly bonded, and bought him old Dr. 
 Aitkin's practice in Cairn Edward with the money. .
 
 THE STICKIT MINISTER 9 
 
 ' 1 have tried to do my best for the lad, for it was 
 laid on me to be my brother's keeper. He doesna come 
 here much,' continued Robert, ' but I think he's not so 
 ill against me as he was. Saunders, he waved his hand 
 to me when he was gaun by the day ! ' 
 
 ' That was kind of him,' said Saunders M'Quhirr. 
 
 ' Ay, was it no',' said the Stickit Minister, eagerly, 
 with a soft look in his eyes as he glanced up at his 
 brother's portrait in cap and gown, which hung over the 
 china dogs on the mantelpiece. 
 
 ' I got my notice this morning that the bond is to 
 be called up in November,' said Robert. ' So I'll be 
 obliged to flit.' 
 
 Saunders M'Quhirr started to his feet in a moment. 
 ' Never,' he said, with the spark of fire alive now in his 
 eyes, ' never as lang as there's a beast on Drumquhat, 
 or a poun' in Cairn Edward Bank ' — bringing down his 
 clenched fist upon the Milton on the table. 
 
 ' No, Saunders, no,' said the Stickit Minister, very 
 gently ; ' I thank you kindly, but I'll be flitted before 
 that I '
 
 ACCEPTED OF THE BEASTS 
 
 T was a bright June day 
 when the Reverend Hugh 
 Hamilton was placed in 
 the little kirk of the Cow- 
 denknowes. He was 
 twenty-two years of age, 
 and he had flushed like a 
 girl of sixteen when he 
 preached as a candidate 
 before the congregation. 
 But he did not blush 
 when he was ordained by 
 the laying on of the hands 
 of the presbytery. There 
 was a look of the other 
 world on his face as he knelt in sight of all the people 
 to receive on his yellow hair the hands of the assembled 
 brethren. Hugh Hamilton had been devoted to temple 
 service, like Samuel, from his birth ; yet there had never 
 been anything of the ' pious boy ' about him even as a 
 lad. He could always climb a tree or run a race to the 
 top of the Bow Fell with any one. He was therefore 
 
 "mtm 
 
 X. 

 
 ACCEPTED OF THE BEASTS n 
 
 never lightly treated by his companions, but as he had 
 not been known to tell a lie even when circumstances 
 made it extremely convenient, nor even so much as steal 
 a turnip — a plant in which there are no rights of 
 property in Scotland — his companions had long ago 
 decided that there must be a lack of sound morality 
 somewhere about him. He was a popular sort of boy, 
 but was not considered to have very good principles. 
 
 At college he spent most of his time in helping the 
 laggards of his companions over the numerous examina- 
 tion fences that barred their way — mere skipping-ropes 
 to him, but very five-barred gates to the Rodericks and 
 Dugalds who had come down from the hills with the 
 grace of God in their hearts, a bag of oatmeal coarse 
 ground for brose in their wooden boxes, and twelve 
 pounds in single notes inside their waistcoats to see 
 them through the session. 
 
 One of these came all the way to Hugh's ordination. 
 He was now the Rev. Roderick M'Leod of the parish 
 of Kilmuir in the Lews, and he made the speech of 
 the evening. It ran or rather hirpled somewhat as 
 follows : 
 
 ' I hef arose to speak, no' that I am that goot at the 
 speakin', but I can not gang away back to the Hielan's 
 an' keep silence on this occasion. For if it had no' been 
 for your minister and the kindness of Providence, it's 
 no' here that I would hef been, nor yet at my awn 
 manse in the Lews ; but it's sittin' I would hef been on 
 a stone dyke in the Ross of Mull keepin' the craws aff 
 three rigs of pitawties. If I could speak to you in the 
 Gaelic, I would tell you the feelin's that's in my heart
 
 12 ACCEPTED OF THE BEASTS 
 
 for your minister, but the English is no' a langwage that 
 is good for expressin' the feelings in. I hef no wife at 
 awl, but if I had ten wifes I wouldna think ass muckle 
 o' them ass I do of your minister for his kindness to a 
 puir lad from Mull.' 
 
 It was thought to be a very happy settlement, and 
 Hugh Hamilton felt it to be a consecration. Had he 
 been called to minister to a congregation of the angels 
 in some rural parish of heaven, he could not have held 
 higher opinions of his parishioners. He might have 
 had a fair chance in the garden of Eden to the general 
 advantage of the race, but he was sorely handicapped in 
 the Cowdenknowes. He was aware that all men did not 
 act aright on every occasion ; but Hugh considered this 
 to be not so much their own fault, as a proof of the 
 constant agency of that power which worketh for evil, 
 of which he was almost morbidly conscious in his own 
 soul. 
 
 His first sermon was a wonder. As the theological 
 postman said, ' He was ayont the cluds afore we could 
 get oor books shut, oot o' sicht gin we gat oorsel's 
 settled in oor seats, an' we saw nae mair o' him till he 
 said, " Amen." But Hugh Hamilton knew nothing of 
 this. He had been in high communion with the unseen, 
 and he doubted not that each one of his hearers 
 had accompanied him all the way and seen the sights 
 of the seventh heavens as he had seen them. 
 
 As he walked down the street on the following day 
 he swung along to an unheard melody — the music of 
 the other world playing in his ear. But he did not 
 know enough of this world to catch the eye of the wife
 
 ACCEPTED OF THE BEASTS 13 
 
 of the richest merchant in the place when she had got 
 all ready to bow to him. 
 
 ' An' him had his tea in my verra hoose on Wednes- 
 day three weeks, nae farther gane, the prood upstart ! ' 
 said she. 
 
 Hugh Hamilton went on to the deathbed of a child, 
 all unconscious that he had made an enemy for life. 
 But Mrs. Penpont went home in a white rage, and told 
 her husband the story with frills and furbelows of adorn- 
 ment — how the new minister had ' slichtit her, the 
 Bailie's wife, that had taen twa seats in his kirk juist for 
 obleegement — her that was a laird's dochter ' 
 
 ' I wadna work the auld man's kail-yard ower sair ! ' 
 said her husband. 
 
 ' An' you're but little better, Andra Penpont, jibin' an' 
 jeerin' at yer ain marriet wife, you that wad hae been 
 nocht ava but for what ye got wi' me ! ' 
 
 ' 'Deed, Jess, I wad let that flee stick to the wa' gin 
 I war you. A' that I ever gat wi' you has been paid 
 for twa or three times ower ! ' 
 
 But Mrs. Andrew did not stand fire, for her husband 
 knew how to keep a tight grip of these two vast forces 
 in affairs domestic — the purse and the temper. Great 
 power is given to him who knoweth how to keep these 
 two. 
 
 Hugh Hamilton was not a great success in the 
 pulpit. ' He's far ower the hcids o' the fowk,' was the 
 complaint laid against him where the wiseacres most 
 did congregate. ' Withoot doot he has graun' hcid- 
 knowledge, but it's no' to be lookit for that a laddie like 
 him should hae the lecvin' experience o' religion.'
 
 14 ACCEPTED OF THE BEASTS 
 
 But he had a mysterious fascination for children of 
 all ages. They recognised that in somewise he was kin 
 to them. The younger they were, the stronger seemed 
 the attraction which drew them to the minister. He 
 seemed to be a citizen of that country forth from which 
 they had lately voyaged. There were a dozen of them 
 ever about his knees, listening rapt while he told them 
 the simple stories which pleased them best, or as he 
 sang to them in a voice like a heavenly flute or a lonely 
 bird singing in the first of Spring. 
 
 ' I like nae siccan wark,' said some ; ' how is he to 
 fricht them when he comes to catechise them if he 
 makes so free wi' them the noo, that's what I wad like 
 to ken ? ' ' Na, an' anither thing, he's aye sing, singin' 
 at his hymns. Noo, there may be twa-three guid hymns, 
 though I hae my doots — but among a' that he sings, it 
 stan's to reason that there maun be a hantle o' balder- 
 dash ! ' 
 
 Meantime Hugh Hamilton went about as he did 
 ever with his head in the air, unconscious that he had 
 an evil-wisher in the world, smiling with boyish frankness 
 on all with his short-sighted blue eyes. There was not 
 a lass in the parish but looked kindly upon him, for 
 Hugh's eyes had the dangerous gift of personal speech, 
 so that the slightest word from him seemed under the 
 radiance of his glance to be weighty with personal 
 meanings. If one heart beat faster as he walked down 
 the long green Kirk Loan with May Carruthers, the 
 belle of the parish, that heart was not Hugh Hamilton's. 
 He was trysted to a fairer bride, and like Him whom 
 he took to be his Master in all things, he longed to lay
 
 ACCEPTED OF THE BEASTS 15 
 
 down his life for the people. But he was too humble 
 to expect that his God would so honour him. 
 
 He awakened memories of that young James 
 Renwick who died in the Edinburgh Grassmarket, 
 last of them who counted not their lives dear for the 
 sake of the Scottish Covenant ; but he had something 
 too of the over -sweetness which marks certain of 
 Rutherford's letters. His was a life foredoomed to 
 bitter experience, and to the outsider his actual 
 experience seemed of the grimmest and bitterest, yet 
 he never thought himself worth even self-pity, that most 
 enervating draught which any man can drink. Like 
 the Israelitish city, he was ringed round with unseen 
 celestial defences and passed unscathed through the 
 most terrible experiences. 
 
 So two years went over the young man's head, and 
 to the few who best understood him he seemed like an 
 angel entertained unawares. But in the secret darks of 
 the stairs, in the whispered colloquy of the parlours, an 
 enemy was at work ; and murderous whispers, indefinite, 
 disquieting, suggesting vague possibilities of all things 
 evil, brought with them the foul reek of the pit where 
 they were forged, paralysing his work and killing his 
 best usefulness. But Hugh Hamilton wotted not at all 
 of it. What threats came to him by the penny post or 
 were slipped into his letter-box on dark nights, were 
 known only to himself and his Maker. Probably he 
 held them to be only what he must expect from the 
 Accuser of the Brethren. At least, he made no sound, 
 and none knew if he suffered. Elders dropped away, 
 members lifted their lines and went to other communions.
 
 16 ACCEPTED OF THE BEASTS 
 
 Only his Sabbath school remained unimpaired. There 
 his marvellous voice shrilled clearer and ever clearer, 
 even after there remained no teacher to assist him, as 
 though he had led his little flock to the very gate of 
 heaven, and were now pleading with the Guardian of 
 the Keys to let the children in straightway to their 
 inheritance. Children of strict and orthodox parents 
 were removed, but the Sabbath school remained full. 
 For this strange young minister, a fairy changeling 
 surely, had but to go out into the highways and the 
 hedges to compel others to come in. 
 
 Then in a little there came the clamant and definite 
 bitterness of the ' Fama Clamosa ' — the movine of the 
 Presbytery which had licensed and ordained him, by his 
 ruling elder and one other of the congregation. In the 
 reverend court itself there was, at first, only bitterness 
 and dissension. Hugh Hamilton met his accusers 
 openly, but there was no fiery indignation in his 
 defence, only a certain sad disappointment. He had 
 received his first backset, and it told on him like a 
 sentence of death. His faith in man died in a day ; 
 therefore he clung more closely to his faith in a God 
 who looketh not on the outward appearance, but on 
 the heart. 
 
 He could not conceive how it was possible that any 
 should for a moment believe those things which certain 
 witnessed against him. He had brought no witnesses. 
 He would employ no lawyer. If the Presbytery 
 thought fit in the interests of the religion of the parish, 
 he would demit his charge ; if they judged it right he 
 would accept deposition without a word.
 
 ACCEPTED OF THE BEASTS 17 
 
 But Hugh Hamilton was not to be deposed. 
 Suspended during inquiry, he still did the few duties 
 which remained to him, and visited wherever there was 
 a door open for him to enter. There were not many. 
 This was for him ' that Mount Sinai in Arabia ' beneath 
 which his Scripture told him the Christ's Man must a 
 while sojourn. 
 
 One morning the farmer of Drumrash went out 
 early among his beasts, and was surprised to find them 
 grouped in a dense swaying mass about an empty 
 quarry, horning and shouldering one another in their 
 eagerness to approach. Mysterious sounds arose from 
 the whin -bound quarry hole, disquieting even in the 
 cool dawn of the morning. The farmer crept to a gap 
 in the whin-bushes, and through it he was astonished to 
 see the suspended minister of the Cowdenknowes with 
 a face all suffused with joy, singing words he could not 
 understand to a tune no man had ever heard before ; 
 while about him, ever nearer and nearer, the ' novvt ' 
 beasts pressed, tossing their sullen fronts, silent and 
 fascinated by the magic of the singing. 
 
 Then the farmer remembered that he had heard tell 
 that the minister had wandered on the hills singing and 
 praying to himself ever since they shut the door of his 
 Sabbath school against him. 
 
 Gradually the words came clearer — 
 
 ' He was despised . . . despised . . . 
 
 And rejected of wen, 
 A Man of Sorrows, 
 
 And acquainted with grief? 
 
 So the melody swayed and thrilled, falling for a
 
 iS ACCEPTED OF THE BEASTS 
 
 moment into delicious heart-breaking silences, anon 
 returning with thrilling power, like the voice of a martyr 
 praising God out of the place of fire. Drumrash felt 
 his eyes wet with unaccustomed tears. He had never 
 heard of Handel, and if he had he need not have been 
 less affected, for surely never was the great music sung 
 in such wise or to such an audience. 
 
 ' He was despised . . . despised . . . 
 And rejected of men . . .' 
 
 The lowering foreheads and tossing horns drooped 
 lower, and hung over the singer like the surge of a 
 breaking wave. 
 
 ' A Man of Sorrows, 
 
 And acquainted witJi grief. ' 
 
 The song rose, beating tremulously against the sky, 
 till the listener felt his heart brimming to the overflow ; 
 so, abruptly rising, he turned and fled, leaving Hugh 
 Hamilton alone with his last congregation. 
 
 Two hours afterwards a shepherd came that way 
 by chance seeking a lost lamb, and in its place he 
 found the minister of Cowdenknowcs, fallen still and 
 silent, his face turned to the sky, and the dew of the 
 morning yet wet upon it. There was a light of eman- 
 cipation on his brow, for he had seen the Vision which 
 every man shall one day sec, and it had not affrighted 
 him. There was even a kind of triumph under the 
 film which had begun to gather over the eyes of translu- 
 cent blue. 
 
 They buried him at his own expense in the deserted
 
 ACCEPTED OF THE BEASTS 19 
 
 kirkyard at Kirkclaugh, a mile or two along the windy 
 brow of the sea cliff, looking to the sale of his books to 
 defray the cost. There were just six people at the 
 funeral, and one of them was the farmer of Drumrash. 
 But the whole countryside stood afar off to sec what the 
 end would be. Only the ' nowt ' beasts came gazing 
 and wondering into the unfenced and deserted burying- 
 ground as though they at least would have mourned 
 for him who had drawn them about him when other 
 congregation he had none. 
 
 • ••••• ■ 
 
 Hardly a week after the minister was laid to rest, 
 the dead body of the Strange Woman, whose accusation 
 had wrought the ill — one of small repute but infinite 
 power of mischief — was found, wave-driven, at the foot 
 of the Kirkclaugh Hcuchs. On the cliff edge above 
 there lay a hat and veil, the latter neatly folded, and on 
 it a note pinned — 
 
 ' I can live no longer. I betrayed innocent blood. 
 As Judas betrayed his Master, so I sold him — yet got 
 neither money nor kiss. Now I also go to my own 
 place.' 
 
 The minister's books fetched enough to put up a 
 little tombstone of red sandstone simply graven with 
 his name and age. But the farmer of Drumrash 
 thought it looked bare and unkindly, so taking counsel 
 of no man, he laid his wait one day for Bourtrec, 
 the drunken stone-cutter. Him he stood over with 
 the horsewhip of coercion till he had done his will. 
 So now, in staggering capitals, you may read the 
 words — 
 
 C
 
 20 
 
 ACCEPTED OE THE BEASTS 
 
 HUGH HAMILTON, 
 
 Aged 24 Years. 
 
 ' He was despised . . . and rejected of men.' 
 
 And still Hugh Hamilton's last congregation toss their 
 sullen frontals, and nose with the moist and stupid 
 affection of ' bestial ' the crumbling stone which, on that 
 wind-vexed and unkindly promontory, tells the in- 
 frequent wayfarer of yet another ' Rejected of Men.' 
 
 . 
 
 THE KIKKYAKI) ( >I K1K KCI.AUGII
 
 TRIALS FOR LICENSE BY THE PRESBYTERY 
 
 OF PITSCOTTIE 
 
 HEX I cam' hamc 
 from my first pres- 
 bytery at Pitscottic, 
 the wife was awfu 1 
 keen to ken a' that 
 had passed, for she said, ' If it's 
 sac graun' to listen to yae 
 minister on Sabbath, what maun 
 it no be to hear a dizzen a' at 
 yince ? ' But there was juist 
 where my wife was mistaen that 
 time whatever, for as a matter o' experience, it's a moral 
 impossibcclity to hear ony yin o' twal ministers when 
 they are a' speakin' at yae time. 
 
 But I said to Airs. MaWhurr, ' Do you no' think that 
 ye had better wait till the forenicht, an' then ye can hear 
 a' aboot it, no in snips an' clippets ? Rob Adair will 
 likely be owcr frac the toon, for he was gaun to come 
 this way to gie a look at some score or twa o' Kirk- 
 connel's yowes.' 
 
 So in the eftcrnoon she pat on a bit fire in the parlour
 
 22 TRIALS FOR LICENSE 
 
 ben the hoose, which she disna do unless we're gaun to 
 hae company, and by the time that Rob Adair cam' she 
 was in graun' fettle to listen. For ye see this was the 
 first time that I had ever been presbytery elder, an' oor 
 minister was fell anxious for me to gang doon to Pit- 
 scottie, for there was a lad that he kenned comin' a' the 
 road frae Enbra' for leecense to preach the gospel, an' 
 the minister thocht that some o' the auld yins o' the 
 presbytery micht be ower sair on the young man. 
 
 Rob Adair cam' in wat an' dry, an' to help baith, 
 got a change o' claes an' his tea oot o' oor best 
 cheena. Then when the pipes were gaun weel, they 
 baith lookit ower at me. Brawly kenned I that they 
 were hotchin' for me to gie them the presbytery ; but I 
 gaed on askin' Rob aboot the price o' beasts, an' hoo 
 mony lambs had been selled on the hill that day, till my 
 wife could stand it no longer. 
 
 ' Saunders MaWhurr,' says she, ' if there's a waur 
 tried woman than me or a mair aggravatin' man than 
 you in sax pairishes, I dinna ken them.' 
 
 So I began. 
 
 ' Weel, as ye ken, I was no' that carin' aboot gaun 
 to the presbytery at the first go-off, but oor minister 
 wadna be said " No " to.' 
 
 ' An' you're no' the man to say it gin he war.' said 
 the mistress. 
 
 ' She means that me an' the minister 'grees fine,' said 
 I to Rob, 'though he uasna my man when he cam', on 
 accoont o' his giein* oot a Paraphrase. This was my 
 opecnion at that time ; he hacs a harmonium noo i' the 
 kirk, an' Alexander M'Quhirr, Drumquhat, was the first
 
 TRIALS FOR LICENSE 23 
 
 name on the list o' subscribers. Change ? — I wadna gic 
 a whustle for a man that canna change when he fin's 
 he's wrang ; so it's no wonder oor minister an' me's 
 verra pack. He has tacn me a lang gate sins him an' 
 me fell acquant. I used to think Jeems Carlyle the only 
 yin o' the Carlyles that had come to ony guid [an' deed 
 there were few better sheep in Dumfries market on 
 Wednesdays than Jeems Carlyle's] ; but oor minister, 
 wi' the help o' the Almichty an' some buiks o' Tammas 
 Carlyle, thrawn stick as he was, hae garred anither 
 thrawn stick o' a farmer body lift his een abune the 
 nowt an' the shairn.' 
 
 ' Skip the minister, an' the haivers the twa o' ye talk 
 aboot auld Tarn — drive on wi' yer presbytery ! ' said 
 my wife. In the generality, ye ken, I'm ower slow for 
 the wife ; she kind o' likes a' things to gang forrit gye 
 an' sherp, an' wad gar a' the hens hae their layin' 
 dune i' the mornin' an' their nests made afore they gaed 
 oot to pick a single corn. 
 
 Yince I offended her sair when the factor was here 
 to his tea. ' Hae a bit o' this skim milk cheese, Factor,' 
 says I, ' it's my wife's ain makkin', an' I'se warrant there's 
 neyther dirt nor butter in't ! ' 
 
 ' Weel, the presbytery be't,' says I, for I saw that 
 my wife's patience, never verra lang at the best, was 
 comin' near an end. I ken the length o't to a hair, as 
 by this time I hae a good richt to do. ' Weel, the 
 coort met an' was constitutit.' 
 
 ' What's that ? ' asked Rob Adair. 
 
 ' Fegs, I do not ken, ye'll hae to ask the clerk, it was 
 him that said it,' says I, ' an' then there was reports,
 
 24 TRIALS FOR LICENSE 
 
 an' strings o' feegures like laddies' coonts ; but 
 naebody payed muckle attention, but talkit to their 
 neebours till the clerk caaed ' Order ! ' Then they were 
 quaite for half a meenit, an' syne at it again. Deed 
 the clerk talkit too when he didna mind.' 
 
 ' Dear sirce, an' that's a presbytery. I thocht it was 
 like a week o' sacraments ! ' said my wife. 
 
 'Verra far frae that,' says I, 'for o' a' the craiturs to 
 fecht, doos an' ministers are the maist quarrelsome.' 
 
 ' Did oor minister fecht ? ' asked the mistress, verra 
 pointed. 
 
 ' Na, he was raither a peacemaker, so to speak,' says 
 I, cautious like ; ' of coorse a man haes whiles to speak 
 his mind.' 
 
 ' Ow ! he's the wee white hen that never lays away — 
 oor minister, I ken,' says she, dried like. 
 
 ' Ye never war the bird to fyle yer ain kirk riggin,' 
 said Rob. (Whiles I'm feared that auld Rob is gettin' a 
 wee doited.) 
 
 ' Yer keepin' me frae the presbytery wi' yer haivers,' 
 says I, an' that made them as quaite as pussy. ' Weel, 
 in a wee it came on to the leecensin', an' the laddie frae 
 Enbra' was bidden to step in alang wi' twa ithcr lads 
 frae the nccbourhood that had compleetit their studies 
 at the college. The Enbra' laddie had been an' unco 
 graun' scholar — had gotten the Knox Fellowship, I think 
 they caaed it, an' was noo gaun oot to be a missionar' 
 t«> the haythen. So afore they could let him gang they 
 bood examine him on the Hebrew an' Latin, an' ither 
 langwiges that naebody speaks noo. I wasna lang in 
 secin' that the lad kenned mair than maybes a' the
 
 TRIALS FOR LICENSE 25 
 
 presbytery pitten thegither. [' Surely no' than yer ain 
 minister ! ' pat in my wife.] An' for the life o' me I 
 couldna see what they could fin' faut wi\ The ither 
 twa were nice lads aneuch, an' they hummered an' ha'ed 
 through some gate, but the Enbra' lad never made a 
 stammer, an' had his answers oot afore they could read 
 their quastions off the paper.' 
 
 ' But I thocht that they war a' sair again the paper,' 
 said my wife. 
 
 ' Weel, sae they maistly are, but some o' them are 
 maybes a wee mair comfortable wi' a bit note when it 
 comes to the Greek an' the Laitin. 
 
 ' At ony rate, it wasna till they cam' to the discoorses 
 that there was ony o' the kin' o' din that oor minister 
 was sae feared o'. The laddie was askit to read yin o' 
 his discoorses — I kenna what it was aboot, something 
 onywye that he had written in the Laitin, but was 
 askit to read in the English as bein' mair convenienter 
 for the presbytery. 
 
 ' He wasna half wey through when up gets Maister 
 Begbie frae Soorkirk, michty door-lookin,' an' he says, 
 " I'll no' sit in this presbytery an' listen to ony siccan 
 doctrine, frae a Knox Fella or ony ither fella ! " says 
 he. 
 
 ' An' wi' that Maister Pitbye o' the Dullarg gat 
 himsel' on his legs ; " I canna help thinkin'," says he, 
 " that we wadna hae been asked to license the young 
 man noo afore us if he had been considered soun' in the 
 faith in his ain presbytery. There maun be something 
 sore wrang," he says. 
 
 ' A' this time the young man had been standin' wi'
 
 26 TRIALS FOR LICENSE 
 
 a face like daith, his lips workin', tryin' to get a word 
 in, an' oor minister haudin' him by the coat-tails, an' 
 tellin' him for ony sake to sit doon, that there war plenty 
 there to speak for him. But he got awa' frae the 
 minister an' juist on Maister Pitbye's heels he spoke 
 oot, " May I say that this discoorse has passed through 
 Professor Robertson's hauns and has received his 
 approval ? " 
 
 ' Oor minister sat back wi' a look in his face as 
 muckle as to say " Ye hae done for't noo, young man ! " 
 Then there was a din to speak about. There was 
 Maister Bangour frae Muldovv, an' he was a wild man 
 this day. " Professor Robison, indeed ! I'll learn you 
 young man, that Professor Robison has nae standin' i 
 the presbytery o' Pitscottie, an' faith, if he had we wad 
 libel him this verra day, for he's a rank heyretic, leadin 
 the young men o' oor kirk astray efter strange gods 
 Ay an' I wull testifee " 
 
 ' " Sit doon," says Forbes, the new-placed minister o 
 the Pits, him that the collier lads like so weel, " testifee 
 in your ain pairish if you want to testifee ! Talk sense 
 here ! " says he. Forbes is a determined North-country- 
 man as dour an' radical as fire, that got scunnered at 
 hame wi' the mair auld-fashioned o' his brethren o' the 
 kirk. He's no a great respecter o' persons neyther. 
 He looks as if he had focht mony battles in his day, 
 and by his set teeth I could see he was bidin' his time 
 for anither. 
 
 ' Richt glcd was I that he didna mean to set them 
 in me. 
 
 ' By this time the fiery young minister frae the Shaws
 
 TRIALS FOR LICENSE 27 
 
 was on his feet, and wi' the strongest words an' a power 
 o' gesture he was layin' intil them on the ither side. 
 An' they were speakin' aye back till ye couldna tell 
 what was what. But I watched Forbes bidin' his time 
 wi' a face like a grew when he sees the hare but 
 canna get slippit. 
 
 ' There was the verra sma'est calm, an' then like a 
 shot there was Maister Forbes at the table. Some o' 
 them cried, " Hear Mr. Girmory," but Forbes said — 
 
 ' " No, Maister Begbie, ye'll be hearin' me the noo. 
 Ye are makkin' bonny fules o' yersels." ' 
 
 ' My conscience ! ' said my wife, who was listening 
 with her whole being, ' was he no' blate to say that to 
 ministers ? ' 
 
 ' Hoots, woman, that's nocht to what he said efter : 
 
 ' " Ye are pittin' a premium on mediocrity,' he says. 
 " Thae ither twa chaps ye let through without a word, 
 though they stammered like a boy new into the ten- 
 penny. But ye settled on this lad because he was 
 clever, an' wrote what he thocht himsel', an' didna juist 
 tak' twa-three pages frae a sermon o' Spurgeon's, or 
 water doon the Shorter's Quastions," says he. " As for 
 you," he says, turnin' sharp to Maister Pitbye, " ye are 
 speakin' on a quastion ye ken nocht aboot ava. An' 
 ye are weel aware ye ken nocht aboot it. Gae hame, 
 man," he says, " an' read yer Calvin, or buy a 
 Turretin an' read him, an' then come back an' gie us 
 an opeenion worth listenin' to on a theological subject." 
 
 1 " Order, order ! " said the clerk, but the moderator 
 said naething, for he didna want Forbes doun on 
 him.
 
 28 TRIALS FOR LICENSE 
 
 '" I'll no' be spoken to in that mainner. I've never 
 listened to sic words in my life," said Maister Pitbye. 
 
 ' " The mair's the peety," says Maister Forbes, " it's 
 time ye did — but better late than never ! " 
 
 ' " I move we proceed to license," says oor minister, 
 verra quaite ; so efter a show o' hands, an' a bit 
 grummle, they juist did that ; but there was some warm 
 wark efter the young men had gaen oot, an' yince it 
 lookit as if the neeves micht sune be goin' ; but it 
 cleared up verra sudden, and when a' was dune, and 
 they cam' oot, they war a' as thick as thieves — an 
 Maister Bourtree, nae less, gaed roon shakin' hands wi' 
 everybody, an' sayin', " Whatna graun' day we've had 
 the day ; there's been some life in Pitscottie presbytery 
 this day, something worth comin' doun frae Muldow 
 for ! " 
 
 1 But I'm no' so sure that it was as great fun for the 
 puir lad frae Enbra'. He said to mysel' he was glad 
 he was gaun awa' to the Cannibal Islands, an' no 
 settling in oor pairt o' the country.'
 
 
 
 o 
 
 w 
 
 Q 
 
 Z
 
 THE HEATHER LINTIE' 
 
 BEING A REVIEW OF THE POEMS 
 OF JANET BALCHRYSTIE, 
 OF BARBRAX 
 
 NET BALCHRYSTIE lived 
 in a little cottage at the back 
 of the Long Wood of Bar- 
 brax. She had been a hard- 
 working woman all her days, 
 /(for her mother died when she 
 
 /' was but young, and she had 
 lived on, keeping her father's 
 house by the side of the single- 
 track railway line. Gavin 
 Balchrystie was a foreman platelayer on the P.P.R., and, 
 with two men under him, had charge of a section of 
 three miles. He lived just where that distinguished but 
 impecunious line plunges into a moss-covered granite 
 wilderness of moor and bog — where there is not more 
 than a shepherd's hut to the half-dozen miles, and where 
 the passage of a train is the occasion of commotion 
 among scattered groups of black-faced sheep. Gavin
 
 32 'THE HEATHER LINTIE ' 
 
 Balchrystie's three miles of P.P.R. metals gave him little 
 work, but a good deal of healthy exercise. The black- 
 faced sheep breaking down the fences and straying on 
 the line side, and the torrents coming down the granite 
 gullies, foaming white after a waterspout, and tearing 
 into his embankments, undermining his chairs and plates, 
 were the only troubles of his life. There was, however, 
 a little public-house at ' The Huts,' which in the old days 
 of construction had had the license, and which had 
 lingered alone, license and all, when its immediate pur- 
 pose in life had been fulfilled, because there was nobody 
 but the whaups and the railway officials on the passing 
 trains to object to its continuance. Now it is cold and 
 blowy on the westland moors, and neither whaups nor 
 dark green uniforms object to a little refreshment up there. 
 The mischief was that Gavin Balchrystie did not, like 
 the guards and engine-drivers, go on with the passing 
 train. He was always on the spot, and the path 
 through Barbrax Wood to the Railway Inn was as well 
 trodden as that which led over the big moss, where the 
 whaups built, to the great white viaduct of Loch Merrick, 
 where his three miles of parallel gleaming responsibility 
 began. 
 
 When his wife was but newly dead, and his Janet 
 just a smart elf-locked lassie running to and from the 
 school, Gavin got too much in the way of ' slippin' doon 
 by.' When Janet grew to be woman-muckle, Gavin 
 kept the habit, and Janet hardly knew that it was not 
 the usc-and-wont of all fathers to sidle down to a con- 
 tiguous Railway Arms, and return some hours later with 
 uncertain step, and face picked out with bright pin-points
 
 ' THE HEATHER LINTIE ' 33 
 
 of red — the sure mark of the confirmed drinker of 
 whisky neat. 
 
 They were long days in the cottage at the back of 
 Barbrax Long Wood. The little ' but and ben ' was 
 whitewashed till it dazzled the eyes as you came over 
 the brae to it and found it set against the solemn depths 
 of dark-green firwood. From early morn when she saw 
 her father off, till the dusk of the day when he would 
 return for his supper, Janet Balchrystie saw no human 
 being. She heard the muffled roar of the trains through 
 the deep cutting at the back of the wood, but she her- 
 self was entirely out of sight of the carriagefuls of travel- 
 lers whisking past within half a mile of her solitude and 
 meditation. 
 
 Janet was what is called a ' through-gaun lass,' and 
 her work for the day was often over by eight o'clock in 
 the morning. Janet grew to womanhood without a 
 sweetheart. She was plain, and she looked plainer than 
 she was in the dresses which she made for herself by the 
 light of nature and what she could remember of the 
 current fashions at Merrick Kirk, to which she went 
 every alternate Sunday. Her father and she took day 
 about. Wet or shine, she tramped to Merrick Kirk, 
 even when the rain blattered and the wind raved and 
 bleated alternately among the pines of the Long Wood 
 of Barbrax. Her father had a simpler way of spending 
 his day out. He went down to the Railway Inn and 
 drank ' ginger-beer ' all day with the landlord. Ginger- 
 beer is an unsteadying beverage when taken the day by 
 the length. Also the man who drinks it steadily and 
 quietly never enters on any inheritance of length of days.
 
 34 
 
 ' THE HEATHER LIXTIE ' 
 
 So it came to pass that one night Gavin Balchrystie 
 did not come home at all, at least not till he was brought 
 lying comfortably on the door of a disused third-class 
 carriage, which was now seeing out its career, anchored 
 under the bank at Loch Merrick, where Gavin had used 
 it as a shelter. The driver of the ' six-fifty up ' train 
 had seen him walking soberly along towards the Huts 
 [and the Railway Inn], letting his long surfaceman's 
 hammer fall against the rail keys occasionally as he 
 walked. He saw him bend once, as though his keen 
 ear detected a false ring in a loose length between two 
 plates. This was the last that was seen of him till the 
 driver of the 'nine-thirty-seven down' express — the 
 ' boat-train,' as the employes of the P.P.R. call it, with a 
 touch of respect in their voices — passed Gavin fallen 
 forward on his face, just when he was flying down grade 
 under a full head of steam. It was duskily clear, with 
 a great lake of crimson light dying into purple over the 
 hills of midsummer heather. The driver was John Piatt, 
 the Englishman from Crewe, who had been brought from 
 the great London and North- Western Railway, locally 
 know as ' The Ellnen-doubleyou.' In these remote rail- 
 way circles the talk is as exclusively of matters of the 
 four-foot way as in Crewe or Derby. There is an in- 
 spector of traffic whose portly presence now graces Car- 
 lisle station, who left the P.P.R. in these sad days of 
 amalgamation, because he could not endure to see so 
 many ' Sou'- West ' waggons passing over the sacred 
 metals of the P.P.R. permanent way. From his youth 
 he had been trained in a creed of two articles — ' To 
 swear by the P.P.R. through thick and thin, and hate
 
 'THE HEATHER LINTIE ' 35 
 
 the apple-green of the " Sou'- West." ' It was as much 
 as he could do to put up with the sight of the abomina- 
 tions. To have to hunt for their trucks when they got 
 astray, was more than mortal could stand — so he fled the 
 land. 
 
 When they stopped the express for Gavin Bal- 
 chrystie every man on the line felt that it was an honour 
 to the dead. John Piatt sent a ' gurrring ' thrill through 
 the train as he put his brakes hard down, and whistled 
 for the guard. He, thinking that the Merrick Viaduct 
 was down at least, twirled his brake to such purpose 
 that the rear car progressed along the metals by a series 
 of convulsive bounds. Then they ran softly back, and 
 there lay Gavin fallen forward on his knees, as though 
 he had been trying to rise, or had knelt down to pray. 
 Let him have ' the benefit of the doubt ' in this world. 
 In the next, if all tales be true, there is no such thing. 
 
 So Janet Balchrystie dwelt alone in the white ' but- 
 an'-ben ' at the back of the Long Wood of Barbrax. 
 The factor gave her notice ; but the laird, who was not 
 accounted by his neighbours to be very wise, because he 
 did needlessly kind things, told the factor to let the lassie 
 bide, and delivered to herself, with his own hand, writing 
 to the effect that Janet Balchrystie, in consideration of 
 her lonely condition, was to be allowed the house for 
 her lifetime, a cow's grass, and thirty pound sterling in 
 the year as a charge on the estate. He drove down the 
 cow himself, and having stalled it in the byre, he in- 
 formed her of the fact over the yard dyke by word of 
 mouth, for he never could be induced to enter her door. 
 He was accounted to be ' gey an' queer ' save by those 
 
 D
 
 3 6 'THE HEATHER LINTIE ' 
 
 who had tried making a bargain with him. But his 
 farmers liked him, knowing him to be an easy man with 
 those who had been really unfortunate, for he knew to 
 what the year's crops of each had amounted, to a single 
 chalder and head of nowt. 
 
 Deep in her heart Janet Balchrystie cherished a great 
 ambition. When the earliest blackbird awoke and 
 began to sing, while it was yet grey twilight, Janet 
 would be up and at her work. She had an ambition to 
 be a great poet. No less than this would serve her. 
 But not even her father had known, and no other had 
 any chance of knowing. In the black leather chest 
 which had been her mother's, upstairs, there was a slowly 
 growing pile of manuscript, and the editor of the local 
 paper received every other week a poem, longer or 
 shorter, for his Poet's Corner, in an envelope with the 
 New Dairy post-mark. He was an obliging editor, and 
 generally gave the closely written manuscript to the 
 senior office-boy, who had passed the sixth standard, to 
 cut down, tinker the rhymes, and lop any superfluity of 
 feet. The senior office-boy ' just spread himself,' as he 
 said, and delighted to do the job in style. But there 
 was a woman fading into a grey old-maidishness which 
 had hardly ever been girlhood, who did not at all 
 approve of these corrections. She endured them because 
 over the signature of ' Heather Bell ' it was a joy to see 
 in the rich, close luxury of type her own poetry, even 
 though it might be a trifle tattered and tossed about by 
 hands ruthless and alien — those, in fact, of the senior 
 office-boy. 
 
 Janet walked every other week to the post-office at
 
 'THE HEATHER UNTIE' 37 
 
 New Dairy to post her letters to the editor, but neither 
 that great man nor yet the senior office-boy had any 
 conception that the verses of their ' esteemed corre- 
 spondent ' were written by a woman too early old who 
 dwelt alone at the back of Barbrax Long Wood. 
 
 One day Janet took a sudden but long -meditated 
 journey. She went down by rail from the little station 
 of the ' Huts ' to the large town of Drum, thirty miles to 
 the east. Here, with the most perfect courage and 
 dignity of bearing, she interviewed a printer and arranged 
 for the publication of her poems in their own original 
 form, no longer staled and clapperclawed by the pencil 
 of the senior office-boy. When the proof-sheets came 
 to Janet, she had no way of indicating the corrections 
 than by again writing the whole poem out in a neat print 
 hand on the edge of the proof, and underscoring the 
 words which were to be altered. This, when you think 
 of it, is a very good way, when the happiest part of 
 your life is to be spent in such concrete pleasures of 
 hope, as were Janet's over the crackly sheets of the 
 printer of Drum. Finally the book was produced, a 
 small, rather thickish octavo, on sufficiently wretched 
 grey paper which had suffered from want of thorough 
 washing in the original paper-mill. It was bound in a 
 peculiarly deadly blue, of a rectified Reckitt tint, which 
 gave you dazzles in the eye at any distance under ten 
 paces. Janet had selected this as the most appropriate 
 of colours. She had also many years ago decided upon 
 the title, so that Reckitt had printed upon it, back and 
 side, 'The Heather Untie,' while inside there was the plain 
 acknowledgment of authorship, which Janet felt to be a
 
 3 8 ' THE HEATHER LINT IE ' 
 
 solemn duty to the world, ' Poems by Janet Balchrystie, 
 Barbrax Cottage, by New Dairy.' First she had thought 
 of withholding her name and style ; but on the whole, 
 after the most prolonged consideration she felt that she 
 was not justified in bringing about such a controversy 
 as had once divided Scotland concerning that ' Great 
 Unknown ' who wrote the Waverley Novels. 
 
 Almost every second or third day Janet trod that 
 long loch-side road to New Dairy for her proof-sheets, 
 and returned them on the morrow corrected in her own 
 way. Sometimes she got a lift from some farmer or 
 carter, for she had worn herself with anxiety to the 
 shadow of what she had once been, and her dry bleached 
 hair became grey and greyer with the fervour of her 
 devotion to letters. 
 
 By April the book was published, and at the end of 
 this month, laid aside by sickness of the vague kind 
 called locally ' a decline,' she took to her bed — rising only 
 to lay a few sticks upon the fire from her store gathered 
 in the autumn, or to brew herself a cup of tea — she 
 waited for the tokens of her book's conquests in the great 
 world of thought and men. She had waited so long for 
 her recognition, and now it was coming. She felt that 
 it would not be long before she was recognised as one 
 of the singers of the world. Indeed, had she but known 
 it, her recognition was already on its way. 
 
 In a great city of the north a clever young reporter 
 was cutting open the leaves of The Heather Untie 
 with a hand almost feverishly eager. 
 
 ' This is a perfect treasure. This is a find indeed. 
 Here is my chance ready to my hand.'
 
 ' THE HEATHER UNTIE ' 39 
 
 His paper was making a specialty of ' exposures.' 
 If there was anything weak and erring, anything 
 particularly helpless and foolish which could make no 
 stand for itself, The Night Hawk was on the pounce. 
 Hitherto the Junior Reporter had never had a ' two 
 column chance.' He had read — it was not much that 
 he had read — Macaulay's too famous article on ' Satan ' 
 Montgomery, and not knowing that Macaulay lived to 
 regret the spirit of that assault, he felt that if he could 
 bring down The Night Haivk on The Heather Lintie, 
 his fortune was made. So he sat down and he wrote, 
 not knowing and not regarding a lonely woman's heart, 
 to whom his word would be as the word of a God, in 
 the lonely cottage lying in the lee of the Long Wood 
 of Barbrax. 
 
 The Junior Reporter turned out a triumph of the 
 New Journalism. ' This is a book which may be a 
 genuine source of pride to every native of the ancient 
 province of Galloway,' he wrote. ' Galloway has been 
 celebrated for black cattle and for wool — as also for a 
 certain bucolic belatedness of temperament, but Galloway 
 has never hitherto produced a poetess. One has arisen 
 in the person of Miss Janet Bal — something or other. 
 We have not an interpreter at hand, and so cannot 
 wrestle with the intricacies of the authoress's name, 
 which appears to be some Galwegian form of Erse or 
 Choctaw. Miss Bal — and so forth — has a true fount of 
 pathos and humour. In what touching language she 
 chronicles the death of two young lambs which fell into 
 one of the puddles they call rivers down there, and were 
 either drowned or choked with the dirt —
 
 4 o ' THE HEATHER LINTIE ' 
 
 ' " They were two bonny, bonny lambs, 
 That played upon the daisied lea, 
 And loudly mourned their woolly dams 
 Above the drumly flowing Dee." ' 
 
 ' How touchingly simple,' continued the Junior Reporter, 
 buckling up his sleeves to enjoy himself, and feeling 
 himself born to be a Saturday Revieiver, ' mark the 
 local colour, the wool and the dirty water of the Dee — 
 without doubt a name applied to one of their bigger 
 ditches down there. Mark also the over-fervency of 
 the touching line, 
 
 " And loudly mourned their woolly dams," 
 
 which, but for the sex of the writer and her evident 
 genius, might be taken for an expression of a strength 
 hardly permissible even in the metropolis.' 
 
 The Junior Reporter filled his two columns and en- 
 joyed himself in the doing of it. He concluded with 
 the words, ' The authoress will make a great success. 
 If she will come to the capital, where genius is always 
 appreciated, she will, without doubt, make her fortune. 
 Nay, if Miss Bal — , but again we cannot proceed for 
 the want of an interpreter — if Miss B., we say, will only 
 accept a position at Cleary's Waxworks and give read- 
 ings from her poetry, or exhibit herself in the act of 
 pronouncing her own name, she will be a greater draw 
 in this city than Punch and Judy, or even the latest 
 American advertising evangelist who preaches standing 
 on his head.' 
 
 The Junior Reporter ceased here from very admira- 
 tion at his own cleverness in so exactly hitting the tone
 
 'THE HEATHER LINTIE ' 41 
 
 of the masters of his craft, and handed his manuscript 
 in to the editor. 
 
 It was the gloaming of a long June day when Rob 
 Affleck, the woodman over at Barbrax, having been at 
 New Dairy with a cart of wood, left his horse on the 
 roadside and ran over through Gavin's old short cut, 
 now seldom used, to Janet's cottage with a paper in a 
 yellow wrapper. 
 
 ' Leave it on the step, and thank you kindly, Rob,' 
 said a weak voice within, and Rob, anxious about his 
 horse and his bed, did so without another word. In a 
 moment or two Janet crawled to the door, listened to 
 make sure that Rob was really gone, opened the door, 
 and protruded a hand wasted to the hard flat bone — an 
 arm that ought for her years to have been of full flesh 
 and noble curves. 
 
 When Janet got back to bed it was too dark to see 
 anything except the big printing at the top of the paper. 
 
 ' Two columns of it ! ' said Janet, with great thank- 
 fulness in her heart, lifting up her soul to God who had 
 given her the power to sing. She strained her pre- 
 maturely old and weary eyes to make out the sense. 
 ' A genuine source of pride to every native of the ancient 
 province,' she read. 
 
 ' The Lord be praised ! ' said Janet, in a rapture of 
 devout thankfulness, ' though I never really doubted it,' 
 she added, as though asking pardon for a moment's 
 distrust. ' But I tried to write these poems to the 
 glory of God and not to my own praise, and He will 
 accept them and keep me humble under the praise of 
 men as well as under their neglect.'
 
 42 ' THE HEATHER LINTIE ' 
 
 So clutching the precious paper close to her breast, and 
 letting tears of thankfulness fall on the article — which, 
 had they fallen on the head of the Junior Reporter, 
 would have burnt like fire, she patiently awaited the 
 coming dawn. 
 
 ' I can wait till the morning now to read the rest,' 
 she said. 
 
 So hour after hour, with her eyes wide, staring hard 
 at the grey window squares, she waited the light from 
 the east. About half-past two there was a stirring and 
 a moaning among the pines, and the roar of the sudden 
 gust came with the breaking day through the dark 
 arches. In the whirlwind there came a strange expect- 
 ancy and tremor into the heart of the poetess, and she 
 pressed the wet sheet of crumpled paper closer to her 
 bosom, and turned to face the light. Through the 
 spaces of the Long Wood of Barbrax there came a 
 shining visitor, the Angel of the Presence, he who comes 
 but once and stands a moment with a beckoning finger. 
 Him she followed up through the wood. 
 
 They found Janet on the morning of the second day 
 after, with a look so glad on her face and so natural an 
 expectation in the unclosed eye, that Rob Affleck spoke 
 to her and expected an answer. The Night Hazuk was 
 clasped to her breast with a hand that they could not 
 loosen. It went to the grave with her bod)-. The ink 
 had run a little here and there, where the tears had 
 fallen thickest. 
 
 God is more merciful than man.
 
 THE MANSE OF THE MARROW KIRK 
 
 THE SPLIT IN THE MARROW KIRK 
 
 JlMINY and Jaikic were two little boys. They played 
 together at the bottom of a large and beautiful garden. 
 Jaikie did not believe that there was another garden so 
 large and fine in all the world. Jiminy said so, and he 
 was the minister's son and had been at Dalmarnock 
 where the five steeples are, with the stars sitting on the 
 tops of them. The stars are the tops of steeples which 
 one cannot see for the darkness of the night. In the 
 daytime, just the other way about, one sees the steeples, 
 but cannot see the stars. Jiminy was also the authority 
 for these statements. He was, as we said before, a 
 minister's son, and, of course, knew everything. Jaikie's 
 father was an elder, and did not admire the father of 
 Jiminy at all ; but his son made it up by holding Jiminy 
 infallible.
 
 44 THE SrLIT IN THE MARROW KIRK 
 
 There was a great dispute in the little Kirk of the 
 Marrow. Long ago, long before these boys were born, 
 or their grandfathers either, a book had been carried up 
 from England in an old soldier's satchel which had set 
 all Scotland by the ears. Kirks had been split, ministers 
 had been deposed, new denominations had been formed 
 over the old soldier's wallet book. Now, a hundred 
 years later, the little Kirk of the Marrow in the village 
 of Muirgate was in the ' deed thraws ' of a disruption. 
 The Reverend Simon Adam, locally known as ' Maister 
 Aydam,' with the larger portion of the congregation, 
 was for following the majority of the congregations of 
 the Kirk of the Marrow, scattered over the Southern 
 Uplands, into the larger fold of one of the better-known 
 evangelical communions of Scotland. Ebenezer Lang- 
 bakkit, Jaikie's father, led the opposition to this union, 
 and threatened to carry their dislike even to the 
 extremity of extruding the minister from his manse and 
 kailyard, and barring the door of the kirk in his face, 
 because he had forsworn his ordination vows, and gone 
 back from the pure doctrine and practice of the ' Marrow- 
 men,' as laid down in the famous controversy by Thomas 
 Boston and other precious and savoury divines. 
 
 Thus far the war of the Marrow Kirk of Muirsrate. 
 But the two little boys wotted little of it as they played 
 together in that large garden during the long-continued 
 heats of the Dry Summer. The garden was cut up 
 into squares by walks which ran at right angles to one 
 another. There were square plots of gooseberry bushes, 
 square wildernesses of pea-sticks, and square strawberry 
 beds in that corner where it was forbidden for small,
 
 THE SPLIT IN THE MARROW KIRK 45 
 
 sweet-toothed boys to go. At the upper end an orchard 
 ran right across, every tree in which was climbable, and 
 a wall, with a flight of steps over into a field, bounded 
 all. Great trees, generations old, surrounded the garden 
 and orchard, and cast here and there throughout it cir- 
 cular plots of pleasant shade amid the garden squares. 
 It was, said the wiseacres, too much buried in foliage to 
 make the best of gardens. But it suited two small boys 
 that summer very well. 
 
 The boys did not go to school. Jiminy Adam had 
 a brief and terrible struggle with the Latin verb every 
 morning in his father's study, whence he emerged to 
 forget all about the matter for other twenty-three hours ; 
 but Jaikie had no call to go to the school at all, for 
 there was no school-board officer in those days, the 
 dominie was infirm and old, and Jaikie's father divided 
 between plotting against Maister Aydam and a course 
 of black, gloomy drinking in his own house. 
 
 Week after week the climax of discontent approached. 
 The true Marrowmen, as Eby Langbakkit's party called 
 themselves, were all grim men determined not to com- 
 pany with those who had but recently separated from 
 an ' Erastian and Malignant ' Establishment, and who 
 had never purged themselves from their guilty com- 
 pliance. Nor would they permit the kirk of bygone 
 valiant pretestings to be longer desecrated by the 
 services of a man like Mr. Adam, who had conformed 
 to the too easy temper of the times. 
 
 Thus far had the matter gone when one day Jiminy 
 and Jaikie played together by the orchard wall. They 
 were very small boys, and as there were no girls about,
 
 46 THE SPLIT IN THE MARROW KIRK 
 
 or other boys to reproach them for the childishness, they 
 played at building houses and living in them. Jiminy 
 was architect, and directed the operations, ordering Jaikie 
 about like a hod-carrier to fetch and carry for him all 
 day long. When he threw a load of stones at him dis- 
 dainfully, Jaikie was in the seventh heaven of ecstasy. 
 Jaikie adored all who abused him, if only they allowed 
 him to worship them. Jiminy had no objection. Often 
 Jaikie would have liked to inhabit for a little one of the 
 splendid mansions which he toiled in the sweat of his 
 brow to erect. But it was not to be. As soon as a 
 plan was completed, after one discontented survey, Jiminy 
 would kick down all their hard work and start over 
 again on a new and improved plan. Once Jaikie begged 
 Jiminy not to kick down a specially noble tower built 
 with mud, which Jaikie had laboured like a Hebrew 
 slave bondaging in Egypt, to bring up from the river. 
 Then Jiminy kicked Jaikie for interfering where he had 
 no business, which sent that hero-worshipper into the 
 seventh heaven of happiness. 
 
 Couched in his bunk at nights, beneath the little 
 gable window in the attic, Jaikie could hear the con- 
 fabulations of the Marrowmen who came to receive 
 their instructions from that grim sectary, Eby Lang- 
 bakkit. It was some time before Jaikie paid any heed 
 to these gatherings. He had been accustomed to such 
 silent and dour assemblies downstairs as long as he 
 could remember, with a black bottle of whisky sitting in 
 the middle of the table, and his father casting a wary- 
 eye at each man as he took his dram to see that no 
 advantage was taken. If there were, Ebenezer Lang-
 
 THE Sr-LIT IN THE MARROW KIRK 47 
 
 bakkit checked the offender sharply, as, indeed, he had 
 every right to do, being an elder. 
 
 Lately, however, stirred to some attention by Jimmy's 
 dark hints of plots and conspiracies, he had taken to 
 crawling out of his bed every night and lying at the 
 top of the ladder, a shivering little phantom, listening 
 to the talk that went on beneath. 
 
 ' Shall we be degradit and abolished,' said Jaikie's 
 father, ' swallowed quick by the whore that sitteth on 
 the Seven Hills ? ' 
 
 Murmurs of applause. ' 'Deed, they're little better ! ' 
 
 ' Shall the truth-forsaking hireling of the flock lead 
 away his silly sheep, and also keep possession of the 
 sheep-fold ? Nay, verily ! The faithful must take and 
 the contending remnant must possess ! ' 
 
 All this was not much to the purpose, and Jaikie 
 dovered over to sleep. When he awoke his father was 
 giving more understandable directions. 
 
 ' You, John Howieson, are to tak' three wi' you, an' 
 lie in the trees at the foot o' the orchard ; then when 
 ye see Bell Girmory gaun doon to the village with a 
 message — I'll see that she gangs — ye'll gang yer ways 
 up and tak' possession o' the manse. The minister 
 will no' be hame for the maitter o' an 'oor. He'll be 
 preachin' at Cairn Edward, as I telled ye. Then yincc 
 in the manse, ye maun haud it against a' comers by 
 virtue o' the deeds and charters that I gie ye. When 
 he brings ye to the question, ye are to say to him that 
 all his household goods will be cared for and delivered 
 to him upon demand, and that a decent lodging has 
 been bespoken for him in the house of Elspeth Mac-
 
 4 8 THE SPLIT IN THE MARROW KIRK 
 
 Clevver, that's a decent woman, an' clean, though no 
 better than a Burgher. 
 
 ' Meanwhile, the lave o' ye are to come wi' me an' 
 we are in like manner to haud the kirk. Come weel 
 providit, for we're to haud it a' day on Saturday, and a' 
 the nicht likewise, till Zechariah Mosshaggs, that true 
 servant of the Lord, shall come to preach the kirk vacant 
 in the name of the Faithful Remnant of the Synod of 
 the Marrowmen.' 
 
 Jaikie had not been asleep all this time. He listened 
 as he never listened before, except when Jiminy was 
 giving his orders and looking as if he were going to 
 kick. 
 
 All night Jaikie lay awake till the early light bright- 
 ened to another dewless morning, for the earth was dun 
 and dusty with the parching of the sun. As soon as it 
 was light, Jaikie slid down the trunk of the rowan tree 
 which threw a convenient ^branch to his window, to 
 make a staircase for a little boy in a hurry, who might 
 not wish to disturb his father with his late bedding or 
 his early rising. The bare legs of Jaikie paddled 
 through the dust and over the burnt-up russet grass, 
 across the dry bed of the burn to Jiminy's window. 
 Here he whistled that peculiar call which Jiminy had 
 revealed to him under the dreadful shadow of night, in 
 the dusky cavern of the Bloody Hand (known in the 
 daytime as the manse potato house), a call which Jaikie 
 believed to be connected with the black art, and in case 
 of revealing the secret of which he was under solemn 
 obligation, sealed with his blood, to cut his throat and 
 afterwards to be kicked black and blue by Jiminy, who
 
 THE SPLIT IN THE MARROW KIRK 49 
 
 was a master of the darkest wizardry, according to his 
 own account. 
 
 As he continued to whistle, a large sea-shell, pink 
 inside, swung down from an upper window and impinged 
 abruptly on his bare leg. 
 
 ' Ow ! ' said Jaikie. 
 
 1 Stop that horrid noise. That'll learn ye. You'll 
 wakken my father ! ' said Jiminy, in his nightdress. 
 ' What d'ye want at ony rate at this time in the 
 mornin' ? ' 
 
 ' Come doon an' I'll tell ye ; I canna cry it up there.' 
 
 ' Get away. I'm no' comin' doon in the middle o' 
 the nicht,' said Jiminy, who had lapsed into the Doric 
 of his play hours. 
 
 ' O Jiminy, ye micht come doon. It's an awfu'-like 
 thing I hae to tell ye. It's aboot ycr faither. Ye 
 maun come doon the noo. I'll let ye kick me for hale 
 five meenites gin ye like.' * 
 
 Filial affection or the prospect of healthy leg-exercise 
 brought Jiminy down with a run, and the two boys 
 wandered off into the wood in close confabulation. 
 
 It was the Saturday morning of the plot. The 
 minister who stood so near the brink of his extrusion 
 was on his way home from Cairn Edward, where he 
 had been ' daubing with untcmpered mortar,' as Eby 
 Langbakkit said, by preaching in an Uncovenanted 
 Kirk. 
 
 Round the corner of the orchard, dividing into two 
 bands as they came, stole the Faithful Remnant to take 
 possession of the kirk and manse into which Simon 
 Adam was no more to come. Bell Girmory duly
 
 50 THE SPLIT IN THE MARROW KIRK 
 
 departed through the trees with her sun-bonnet on, in 
 the direction of the village. She had a large basket 
 over her arm. 
 
 John Howieson and his henchmen took the manse 
 in front and rear ; but the front door, which had only 
 been shut at night and never locked even then, was now 
 bolted and barred. The back door was also firmly 
 locked, and when John Howieson went to lift the 
 kitchen window, the secret of which he knew from 
 having courted (unsuccessfully) numerous manse lasses, 
 Bell's predecessors, he recoiled in sudden amazement. 
 He had looked down the bell mouth of an ancient 
 blunderbuss, into which the sun shone so plain that, as 
 he said afterwards, ' Man, I could hae coontit the lead 
 draps at the buddom o' her ! ' 
 
 This weapon of war was in the hands of a militant 
 small boy. The council of war had forgotten to reckon 
 with Jiminy ; still more, they had not taken Jaikie into 
 account. They soon had to do so, for Jaikie was under 
 orders from ' General ' Jiminy, and had every intention 
 of obeying them. 
 
 Ebenezer Langbakkit had gone openly with half a 
 dozen others to take possession of the kirk at twelve of 
 the clock. He had made a key for the lock, and 
 anticipated no difficulty. His surprise was great when 
 he found that there was a key already in the lock on 
 the inside. He tried the southern door with a similar 
 effect. He put his fingers through the hole by which, 
 as in a stable door, the inside latch was lifted, but 
 within that aperture his finger encountered something 
 hard and cold. He applied his eye, and, just as John
 
 THE SPLIT IN THE MARROW KIRK 51 
 
 Howieson was doing at that moment over at the manse, 
 he found himself looking down the barrel of a gun. 
 The sensation is not an agreeable one even to an elder 
 of the Kirk of the Marrow. Looking through the 
 window precariously, from the branches of a neighbour- 
 ing tree, his surprise was not lessened and his anger 
 greatly increased by seeing his own son, Jaikie, marching 
 up and down the aisle, with a gun on his shoulder, as 
 proud and erect as a veteran of Ramillies. 
 
 ' Open the door this instant, Jaikie ! ' he thundered, 
 black anger sitting on him like the night. But Jaikie 
 answered not a word. He had his orders from Jiminy. 
 
 From window to window thundered Eby Langbakkit, 
 but there was no way of entrance. 
 
 At each window and door stood the inevitable small 
 boy with the large gun, and the reflection lay heavily 
 on all the party that a small boy with a man's gun is 
 more to be feared than a large man with a boy's gun. 
 A commonplace thought, but one with practical bearing 
 at that moment to the sect of Eby Langbakkit. 
 
 Then Eby Langbakkit swore a great oath that in 
 that kirk he would be, though he swung for it. 
 
 ' Bring me the poother flask ! ' he ordered ; but no 
 man gave to him, for they feared what they saw in his 
 face. 
 
 ' Ye'll no' hurt the laddie. He's your ain son,' said 
 one to him. 
 
 ' Then he's no' yours,' he answered, blackly ; ' so 
 mind your ain business.' 
 
 He got his own powder flask, inserted a slow match 
 into it, and placed it beneath the door. Then he stood 
 
 E
 
 52 THE SPLIT IN THE MARROW KIRR 
 
 apart waiting for the event. There was a loud report, 
 an instant rush of white smoke, and the side of the flask 
 buried itself in the tree close to the elder's head. 
 When the smoke cleared away the kirk door lay on its 
 side, having Jallen heavily inward. There was no 
 small boy to be seen from end to end of the empty 
 kirk. Langbakkit sprang forward in fierce anger that 
 his son had escaped without his deserts. The silence 
 and chill of the empty kirk alone met him. 
 
 He was about to step over the fallen door, when out 
 from beneath the heavy iron - studded oak he saw 
 stealing a tiny thread of red. Something struck him 
 to the heart. He pressed his hand on his breast and 
 stood, not daring to go farther. 
 
 ' Mr. Langbakkit, what is the meaning of this ? ' 
 said the calm voice of the minister, Mr. Adam. No one 
 replied. The protest died out at the sight of that faint 
 streak of liquid scarlet and the fear of what lay unseen 
 beneath the fallen door. 
 
 ' Saunders Grierson and David Robb, I command 
 you, help me to lift the door of the house of God ! ' 
 said the minister. 
 
 The two men named approached awkwardly, and 
 between them the three lifted the heavy door. Beneath 
 it la}- the crushed and torn body of a boy, still clasping 
 firmly an iron tube thrust into a rough lump of wood. 
 He must have stood quite close to the door when the 
 flask exploded, for the explosion had torn the clothes 
 almost off his poor body. 
 
 The minister raised him tenderly in his arms, 
 and wiped his face very gently with his napkin.
 
 THE SPLIT IX THE MARROW KIRK 53 
 
 The sight of this seemed to awaken Ebenezer Lang- 
 
 bakkit. 
 
 ' Give me m\- dead,' he said, suddenly and roughly. 
 ' The Lord has stricken me. I am a man of violence ! ' 
 
 So saying he strode away, bowed with his burden. 
 
 Now, this is properly the end of the story of the 
 split in the Marrow Kirk, but for the sake of some who 
 may love Jaikie, it is enough to say that, though sore 
 wounded, he did not die. When Jiminy went to see 
 him, he lay a long time silently holding his friend's 
 hand. 
 
 ' I couldna keep them oot, Jiminy, but I did my 
 best. Ye'll no' hae to kick me for't when I get better.' 
 
 And Jiminy never kicked him any more. When 
 it was time for Jiminy to go to college he had for com- 
 panion, at Maister Adam's expense, a lame lad with a 
 beautiful countenance. His name was Taikie.
 
 THE PROBATIONER 
 
 IHOMAS TODD has just received a 
 call to the Kirk of Dowiedens, some- 
 where over on Tweedside, so he can 
 hardly be called a minister of our 
 countryside ; but there need be no 
 objection if the lad is allowed to 
 say his say among the rest, for he 
 belongs to this part of the country, 
 and his father before him. He has 
 been a long time a probationer 
 — six year and more — so that there 
 were some that said that he would 
 never wag his head but in another 
 man's pulpit. But Tarn cheated 
 them all, for he is to be ordained to the pastoral charge 
 of Dowiedens, a fortnight come Friday. It's not to say 
 a large parish, being wide scattered, with as much 
 exercise for the legs as for the brains in looking after 
 the fowk. There arc but few parishioners, only, as 
 Tammas says, ' they arc as ill to please as Saint 
 George's itsel' ! ' Tammas has been biding with us at 
 Drumquhat ; he's a great favourite with the mistress.
 
 THE PROBATIONER 55 
 
 Many is the girdleful of crumpy cakes that she will 
 bake for him, when I dare not suggest the like to her 
 — no, not for my life. 
 
 ' Hae ye nae sense ava', Saunders MaWhurr, to come 
 fleechin' \vi' me to bake ye short-breed an' sic like, \vi' 
 the pigs to feed an' the hervesters comin' in gilravagin' 
 \vi' hunger at six o'clock ? Think shame o' yer bairnly 
 weys, man ! ' 
 
 But if Tammas Todd comes ben an' sits doon, the 
 wife'll gie her ban's a dicht, slip aff her apron, an' come 
 in to hear aboot Enbro' an' the laddie's landladies, and 
 their awfu' wickednesses \vi' the coals an' the butter, till 
 she'll say, ' Come awa' to the kitchen, an' I can be 
 bakin' a bit sweet cake for the tea — the guidman's fell 
 fond o't ! ' 
 
 The Almichty in His wonderful providence made 
 mony curious things, but nane o' them so queer an' 
 contrary as the weemen-fowk. This is what I says to 
 myself, but I have more sense than to say it aloud. I'll 
 warrant that King Solomon among his other wisdom 
 learned to haud his tongue before he got as many as 
 three hunder wives. 
 
 This is what the laddie said sitting on the table at 
 the end of the bake-board. Tammas is gettin' on for 
 thirty, but in some things it's strange to see him so keen 
 of sweet things. He'll take up a bit o' the dough that 
 the wife is rolling out wi' her wooden pin, and he eats 
 it like a laddie hame from the school ; but my certic, I 
 would like to see ony one of her ain try that ; he would 
 get a ring on the side of the head that would learn 
 him to leave his mithcr alone when she was baking.
 
 56 THE PROBATIONER 
 
 But Tarn mas could aye get the soft side of the 
 mistress. 
 
 ' We'll no' hae to ca' ye " Tammas " when ye get to 
 be a placed minister,' says she, knowing brawly that 
 the lad'll be ' Tammas ' to all at Drumquhat till his 
 dying day. 
 
 ' If ye dinna,' says he, ' I'll never look near the bit.' 
 Tammas can speak the English as weel as onybody, but 
 when he gets among his own folk he prides himself on 
 lapsing, so to speak, into the broadest Gallowa'. He 
 laughs at me for being fond of writing in proper English. 
 He says that I need not try it, for when I do my best, 
 every sentence has got the ' Gallowa' lug-mark ' plain 
 on it. But this is his nonsense. 
 
 ' Ye maun hae had some queer bars, Tammas, in 
 your time,' said the mistress. 
 
 Tammas gied a bit smile, and said -with the pleased 
 look that a man has when he's accused of something 
 that he likes to hear about, like a pussy strokit the richt 
 way — I mind weel mysel' walking three miles to be 
 tormented about Jessie Scott before we were married — 
 ' Nocht to speak aboot,' says he, ' but of coorse, a man 
 canna gang aboot six year wi' a pokcmantie withoot 
 seein' somethin' o' baith sides o' life.' 
 
 ' Ye'll hae been in a feck o' manses in yer time, 
 Tammas ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, Mrs. MaWhurr,' says he, ' and let me tell you, 
 that there's no sic hooses as manses in Scotland, or ony- 
 where else — that is,' he says, ' nine oot o' every ten o' 
 them. I wad be an ingrate to say ony thing else, for in 
 nearly every instance I have been treated, no like a puir
 
 THE PROBATIONER 57 
 
 probationer prcachin' for his guinea fee and gaun off 
 like a beggar wi' his awmus on Monday mornin', but 
 like a verra prince. I hae memories o' the mistresses o' 
 the manses o' Scotlan' that will never be forgotten ! ' 
 
 ' An' o' the dochters o' the manses ? ' says I, just 
 above my breath. Then there was a warm colour rose 
 to the check of the minister-elect of the Dowiedcns, and 
 mantled on his brow, but he said bravely : 
 
 ' Ay, an' the lasses were kind to me, they were 
 that.' 
 
 ' When is't to be ? ' says I. 
 
 ' Let the lad alane, can ye no, Saunders MaWhurr ; 
 ye're never dune wi' yer fule talk,' says my wife. She 
 had been talking even on the whole night, and I had 
 said maybe a dozen words. But I let that pass. 
 
 ' Of coorse, among so mony there were bun' to be 
 some queer yins ? ' suggested my wife, fishing in the 
 young man's shallow water. The wife can draw most 
 folks, but Saunders MaWhurr has leeved ower lang wi' 
 her not to see through her wiles. 
 
 ' Weel, I mind,' says Tammas Todd, ' o' yince being 
 askit to preach at a certain place ; I'll no say where, 
 nor I'll no tell ye gin ye speer. It was maybes half- 
 past seeven when I got to the manse, an' I had had a 
 long journey. 
 
 ' " Ye'll be tired an' hungry," said the mistress. 
 " Ye'll be wantin' to gang sune to your bed." Hungry 
 I was, but to gang sune to your bed is no so common 
 amang us lads wi' the black bag ; but I said nocht, and 
 took my cup o' tea, an' some bread and butter. " Tak' 
 plenty o' the bread an' butter," she says ; " we hae nae
 
 58 THE PROBATIONER 
 
 cauld meat." I wad hae been gled to see some o' that 
 same, but it wasna for me to say onything. 
 
 ' Aboot nine I saw some o' them gettin' partic'lar 
 fidgety like, gaun oot an' in, yin sayin', " Is Mr. Todd's 
 room ready ? " an' another yin rinnin' doon stairs cryin' 
 to somebody in the kitchen, " Can ye no wait awee ? " 
 
 ' Then I was askit to tak' the buik, an' as sune as 
 ever I gat up the mistress brocht in my bedroom can'le. 
 ' Yer room's ready whenever ye like,' she says. This 
 was what I wad ca' a solid kind o' hint, aboot as braid 
 as it's lang, an' it was mair than eneuch for me, so I 
 took baith hint an' can'le, an' gaed my ways. 
 
 ' But I hadna been ten meenutes in my room when 
 I took a thocht to gie my sermons for the morn a bit 
 look, but I fand that I had left my Bible in the room 
 where I had my tea. So withoot a thocht doon I gaed 
 to get the buik, an' when I opened the door what do ye 
 think I saw ? ' 
 
 We were silent every one. 
 
 ' Weel, I saw the hale family sittin' doon to a hot 
 supper ! ' 
 
 ' Davert ! that cowes a',' said my wife, her hospit- 
 able soul up in arms. ' An' tell me, whatever did ye 
 do?' 
 
 ' Well,' said Tammas Todd, ' I hae lookit in every 
 buik o' Guid Mainners, an' in a' the Guides to Polite 
 Society, but I canna find a word in ony yin o' them 
 that tells me what I should hae dune.' 
 
 ' I daresay no, ye were in no polite society that 
 nicht ! ' said Mrs. MaWhurr ; ' but tell me, what did ye 
 do?'
 
 THE PROBATIONER 59 
 
 ' Weel,' said Tammas, ' I juist cam' my ways up the 
 stair again, an' took the lave o' the sandwiches that the 
 minister's wife, whas hoose I had left that mornin', had 
 kindly pitten up for me.' 
 
 ' The Lord be than kit, they're no a' alike,' said my 
 wife, devoutly. 
 
 ' Na, far frae that,' said Tammas Todd ; ' deed I'm 
 ashamed to tell ye o' this yin, but there's no sic anither 
 in a' Scotlan', I'se warrant. An' when I gaed back to 
 the leddy's hoose that gied me the sandwiches, as I 
 did on the followin' Setterday, she was like to greet to 
 think on the wey that I had been used. She aye said 
 that I minded her o' her ain boy that she had lost — 
 ' My puir lad ! ' she says, an' she cam' near takin' me 
 roun' the neck, she was that sair pitten aboot.' 
 
 ' Maybes the dochter did it a'thegither,' says I, for a 
 wee bird had brocht the news that the manse at Dowie- 
 dens wasna lang to be withoot a mistress. 
 
 ' Saunders MaWhurr ' began my wife in the 
 
 voice that she uses when the byre lass is ower lang in 
 brLngin' in the kye. 
 
 ' Never mind him, Mrs. MaWhurr, he maun hae been 
 a gey boy himsel' to hae the lasses so constant in his 
 mind ! ' said Tammas, which was a most uncalled-for 
 observe. 
 
 ' Ye'll be a' by wi' probationeriri noo, Tammas ? ' says 
 I, to gie him a new lead. 
 
 ' Wccl, I had a sma' experience Sabbath eight days, 
 nae farther gane,' said he. ' I had occasion to look in 
 at the kirk offices to see old " Jeremiah " —him that sen's 
 us to oor preachin' places, ye ken, an' says he, " Man, ye
 
 60 THE PROBATIONER 
 
 micht gang doon to Elvanby, it'll no' be oot o' yer 
 wey gin ye're gaun doon to the Border Country ony- 
 wey 
 
 ' On yer wey to the manse whaur the fowk tak' ye 
 roon the neck, nae doot ! ' says I. 
 
 My wife gied me a look that wad hae speaned a foal, 
 but Tammas Todd never let on. 
 
 ' So I gaed doon wi' the efternoon train to Elvanby, 
 which is a biggish place on the railway line. I got 
 there ower in the forenicht. It was as dark as the guid- 
 man's snuff-box, an' rainin' in sheets. I had a heavy 
 bag, for I had my buiks to prepare for my ordina- 
 tion ' 
 
 ' An' yer co-ordination too, no doot,' says I, ' for wi' 
 you ministers I hae noticed that the ordination comes 
 first, an' syne the co-ordination, but ye're maistly sunest 
 ready for the co-ordination. The last first, that's your 
 motto,' says I. 
 
 ' I dinna understand a word ye're sayin',' says he ; 
 ' ye're haiverin', guidman.' 
 
 ' Dinna be ashamed o't, my young man,' says I. ' It's 
 a hantle easier gettin' a lass than a kirk ony day ! ' 
 says I. 
 
 ' And that's a true word,' said the probationer of six 
 years' standing. 
 
 ' So,' continued Tammas, ' I speered at the porter at 
 the station the wey to the manse. " It's at the fit o' the 
 Back Street," says he, " but somebody tcllcd me that he 
 was no' leevin' in't noo ; but gang ye ower there to the 
 shop o' yin o' the elders, an' he'll be sure to ken." 
 
 ' The master was oot, but a laddie telled me that the
 
 THE PROBATIONER 61 
 
 minister was leevin' aboot twa mile oot the Carlisle Road, 
 but he didna think that he was at hame, for there had 
 been naething sent up to the hoose for a month. This 
 was real cheerfu' hearin' for me wi' my heavy bag and 
 an umbrella, but there was naething for it but to gang 
 on. So I trudged away doon the Carlisle Road, glaur 
 to the oxters, an' changin' my bag frae the yae side to 
 the ither as if I war swingin' it for a wager. I speered 
 at every hoose, but the answer was aye, " It's aboot a 
 mile farther doon ! " They maun be poor road surveyors 
 in that direction, for their miles are like sea miles for 
 length. 
 
 ' At the hinner en' I fand the hoose, by scartin' a 
 match an' readin' the plate on the gate. I rang the 
 bell, but a' was in darkness. I stood a gey while in the 
 rain, an' I declare that my thochts were no ministerial. 
 
 ' Presently a wunda' gaes up somewhere in the 
 garret stories, an' a heid pops oot. 
 
 ' " Fa' be you ? " it says. 
 
 ' " I'm the minister that's to preach for Mr. Fergusson 
 the morn," says I, " an' I'll thank you to let me in oot 
 o' the rain." 
 
 1 " I ken nocht aboot you ! " it says, and doon gaed 
 the wunda'. 
 
 ' Noo I tell you that if that woman hadna letten me 
 in at that time o' nicht I wad hae driven a stane through 
 the gless, if they had had me afore the Presbytery 
 for't. But in a wee the door opened an' the lassie lets 
 me in. 
 
 ' She had just come from the Aberdeenshire Decside 
 that day, and was as great a stranger as myself. But
 
 62 THE PROBATIONER 
 
 yincc in, she did verra weel for my comfort. But as 
 she kenned naething about the hours of worship I had 
 to gang awa' doon to the toon early on the neest mornin' 
 to find oot when the service was. Then back up I cam' 
 again for the sermons an' my breakfast. The service 
 was at twal, an' aboot half-past eleeven I was at the 
 kirk, an' sittin' waitin' in the vestry for somebody to 
 come to speak to me, for I had spoken to nobody bena 
 the servant lass frae Aberdeen an' the shop laddie 
 that I had met on the street. 
 
 ' As I sat in the vestry I could hear them firslin 
 aboot the door, an' the fowk comin' in, but naebody 
 lookit near me till maybe five meenites to twal'. Then 
 a man cam' in that I took to be the precentor, so I gied 
 him what I usually gied to toun kirks, a psalm, a para- 
 phrase, an' twa hymns. He took them, put on his 
 glesses, an' lookit at my writin' gye scornfu' like. 
 
 ' " Hymns ! " he says. ' Na, we sing nae hymns 
 here — na — an' we're nane sae carin' aboot paraphrases, 
 neyther ! " 
 
 ' This was a thocht discouragin', but I said that I 
 would gladly gie him all the four psalms, that I could 
 easily find psalms to suit my subject. 
 
 ' " Ay, an' I think they micht hae served ye too," says 
 he. 
 
 ' I went up to the pulpit and preached, but what I 
 said I do not ken ; I had gotten my sermon frae the 
 precentor, and felt juist like a schulc-boy that has come 
 to the dominie withoot his lesson. When I had fecn- 
 ished I thocht that some o' the elders wad speak to me, 
 but not a one showed face. I gaed into the vestry an'
 
 THE PROBATIONER 63 
 
 got my hat, an' so back to the manse on the Carlisle 
 Road. 
 
 ' A laddie met me at the gate. " You're the minister 
 that preached the day — hae ! " says he. It was a note 
 frae somebody I didna ken tcllin' me that I was 
 expected to address the Sabbath Schule that efternune 
 at three o'clock. So I slippit doon, an' fand that the 
 schule only gaed in at that hour. So I had to wait 
 sittin' by mysel' till aboot the half-hour. Then a man 
 cam' an' chappit me on the shoother, " Ye'll hae twunty 
 meenites," he says. 
 
 '"Twunty meenites?" says I, no seein' his drift. 
 
 ' " Ay," he says, " to address the bairns ! " 
 
 ' So I talked to the bairns for a wee, a job I aye 
 likit, an' at the end I pat up a prayer and sat for maybes 
 half a meenit efter withoot lookin' up. Wull you 
 believe me,' said the probationer, ' that when I liftit my 
 heid there wasna a body, bairn, teacher, or superintendent, 
 in the place ? 
 
 ' So yincc mair gaed I back alang that weary Carlisle 
 Road withoot a word frae leevin' craitur. 
 
 ' " Heaven do so to me an' more also," said I to 
 mysel', " if I ever mislippen a probationer when yincc 
 I'm settled in the Dowiedens ! " Next mornin' I raise 
 gye an' early, an' shook off the dust of El van by frae 
 my feet for a testimony again an unkindly parish, an' 
 a minister and people that muzzled into silence the ox 
 that treadeth out the corn, though I fear that I gicd 
 them mair cauff than corn that day.' 
 
 1 And nae wunncr,' said Mrs. MaWhurr. 
 
 ' They wad just be blate to pit themsel's forrit,
 
 64 THE PROBATIONER 
 
 Tammas ! ' said I. ' They wadna like to speak to a 
 strainge minister.' 
 
 ' Strainge minister here, strainge minister there. I'll 
 gang nae mair to yon toon ! ' says he. ' They made 
 me fine an' blate. When I'm settled in the 
 Dowiedens — — ' 
 
 ' An' mairrit to that wifie's dochter that pat her 
 airms ' 
 
 ' Haud yer tongue, man ! ' cried my mistress to me 
 in a mainner that couldna be ca'ed mair nor ceevil.
 
 THE LAMMAS PREACHING 
 
 XD I further intimate,' said the 
 minister, ' that I will preach this 
 evening at Cauldshaws, and my 
 text will be from the ninth chapter 
 of the book of Ecclcsiastes and the tenth verse, " What- 
 soever thy hand findcth to do, do it with thy might." 
 
 ' Save us,' said Janet MacTaggart, ' he's clean for- 
 gotten " if it be the Lord's wull." Maybe he'll be for 
 gaun whether it's His wull or no' — he's a sair masterfu' 
 man, the minister ; but he comes frae the Machars, 1 an' 
 kens little aboot the jealous God we hae amang the hills 
 o' Gallowa' ! ' 
 
 The minister continued, in the same high, level tone 
 in which he did his preaching, ' There arc a number of 
 sluggards who lay the weight of their own laziness on 
 the Almighty, saying, " I am a worm and no man — 
 how should I strive with my Maker ? " whenever they 
 arc at strife with their own sluggishness. There will 
 be a word for all such this evening at the farmtown of 
 
 1 The Eastern Lowlands of Wigtonshire.
 
 66 THE LAMMAS PREACHING 
 
 Cauldshaws, presently occupied by Gilbert M'Kissock — 
 public worship to begin at seven o'clock.' 
 
 The congregation of Barnessock kirk tumbled 
 amicably over its own heels with eagerness to get into 
 the kirkyaird in order to settle the momentous question, 
 ' Wha's back was he on the day ? ' 
 
 Robert Kirk, Carsethorn, had a packet of pepper- 
 mint lozenges in the crown of his ' lum ' hat — deponed 
 to by Elizabeth Douglas or Barr, in Barnbogrie, whose 
 husband, Weelum Barr, put on the hat of the aforesaid 
 Robert Kirk by mistake for his own, whereupon the 
 peppermints fell to the floor and rolled under the pews 
 in most unseemly fashion. Elizabeth Kirk is of opinion 
 that this should be brought to the notice of Session, she 
 herself always taking her peppermint while genteelly 
 wiping her mouth with the corner of her handkerchief. 
 Robert Kirk, on being put to the question, admits the 
 fact, but says that it was his wife put them there to 
 be near her hand. 
 
 The minister, however, ready with his word, brought 
 him to shame by saying, ' O Robert, Robert, that 
 was just what Adam said, " The woman Thou 
 gavest me, she gave me to eat ! " The aforesaid 
 Robert Kirk thinks that it is meddling with the original 
 Hebrew to apply this to peppermints, and also says 
 that Elizabeth Kirk is an impident besom, and further- 
 more that, as all the country well knows (Here the 
 
 chronicler omits much matter actionable in the civil 
 courts of the realm). 
 
 ' Janet,' said the minister to his housekeeper, ' I 
 am to preach to-night at Cauldshaws on the text,
 
 THE LAMMAS ^REACHING 67 
 
 " Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy 
 might." ' 
 
 ' I ken,' said Janet, ' I saw it on ycr desk. I pat it 
 ablow the clock for fear the wun's o' heeven micht blaw 
 it awa' like chaff, an' you couldna do wantin' it ! ' 
 
 'Janet MacTaggart,' said the minister, tartly, 'bring 
 in the denner, and do not meddle with what does not 
 concern you.' 
 
 Janet could not abide read sermons ; her natural 
 woman rose against them. She knew, as she had said, 
 that God was a jealous God, and, with regard to the 
 minister, she looked upon herself as His vicegerent. 
 
 ' He's young an' terrable ram-stam an' opeenionated 
 — fu' o' buik-lcar, but wi' little gracious experience. 
 For a' that, the root o' the maitter 's in 'im,' said Janet, 
 not unhopefully. 
 
 ' I'm gaun to preach at Cauldshaws, and my text's 
 " Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do it with thy 
 might," ' said the minister to the precentor that after- 
 noon, on the manse doorstep. 
 
 ' The Lord's no' in a' his thochts. I'll gang wi' the 
 lad mysel',' said the precentor. 
 
 Now, Galloway is so much out of the world that the 
 Almighty has not there lifted His hand from reward 
 and punishment, from guiding and restraining, as He 
 has done in big towns where everything goes by 
 machinery. Man may say that there is no God when 
 he only sees a handbrcadth of smoky heaven between 
 the chimney-pots ; but out on the fields of oats and 
 bear, and up on the screes of the hillsides, where the 
 mother granite sticks her bleaching ribs through the
 
 68 THE LAMMAS PREACHING 
 
 heather, men have reached great assurance on this and 
 other matters. 
 
 The burns were running red with the mighty July 
 rain when Douglas Maclellan started over the meadows 
 and moors to preach his sermon at the farmtown of 
 Cauldshaws. He had thanked the Lord that morning 
 in his opening prayer for ' the bounteous rain wherewith 
 He had seen meet to refresh His weary heritage.' 
 
 His congregation silently acquiesced, ' for what,' said 
 they, ' could a man from the Machars be expected to 
 ken about meadow hay ? ' 
 
 When the minister and the precentor got to the foot 
 of the manse loaning, they came upon the parish ne'er- 
 do-weel, Ebie Kirgan, who kept himself in employment 
 by constantly scratching his head, trying to think of 
 something to do, and whose clothes were constructed 
 on the latest sanitary principles of ventilation. The 
 ruins of Ebic's hat were usually tipped over one eye 
 for enlarged facilities of scratching in the rear. 
 
 ' If it's ycr wull, minister, I'll come to hear ye the 
 nicht. It's drawing to mair rain, I'm thinkin' ! ' said 
 the Scarecrow. 
 
 1 I hope the discourse may be profitable to you, 
 Ebenczer, for, as I intimated this morning, I am to 
 preach from the text, " Whatsoever thy hand findeth to 
 do, do it with thy might." ' 
 
 ' Ay, minister,' said Ebie, relieving his right hand, 
 and tipping his hat over the other eye to give his left 
 free play. So the three struck over the fields, making 
 for the thorn tree at the corner, where Robert Kirk's 
 dyke dipped into the standing water of the meadow.
 
 Till: LAMMAS PREACHING 69 
 
 ' Do you think ye can manage it, Maister Maclellan ? ' 
 said the precentor. ' Ye're wat half-way up the leg 
 already.' 
 
 ' An' there's sax feet o' black moss water in the 
 Laneburn as sure as I'm a lecvin' sowl,' added Ebie 
 Kirgan. 
 
 1 I'm to preach at Cauldshaws, and my text is, 
 " Whatsoever thy hand findcth to do, do it with thy 
 might !"' said the minister, stubbornly glooming from 
 under the eaves of his eyebrows as the swarthy men 
 from the Machars are wont to do. His companions 
 said no more. They came to Camclon Lane, where 
 usually Robert Kirk had a leaping pole on either bank 
 to assist the traveller across, but both poles had gone 
 down the water in the morning to look for Robert's 
 meadow ha}-. 
 
 1 Tak' care, Maister Maclellan, ye'll be in deep water 
 afore ye ken. O man, ye had far better turn ! ' 
 
 The precentor stood up to his knees in water on 
 what had once been the bank, and wrung his hands. 
 But the minister pushed steadily ahead into the turbid 
 and sluggish water. 
 
 ' I canna come, oh, I canna come, for I'm a man 
 that has a family.' 
 
 ' It's no' your work ; stay where ye arc,' cried the 
 minister, without looking over his shoulder ; ' but as for 
 me, I'm intimated to preach this night at Cauldshaws, 
 and my text ' 
 
 Here he stepped into a deep hole, and his text was 
 suddenly shut within him by the gurgle of moss water 
 in his throat. His arms rose above the surface like the
 
 70 THE LAMMAS PREACHING 
 
 black spars of a windmill. But Ebie Kirgan sculled 
 himself swiftly out, swimming with his shoeless feet, 
 and pushed the minister before him to the further 
 bank — the water gushing out of rents in his clothes as 
 easily as out of the gills of a fish. 
 
 The minister stood with unshaken confidence on 
 the bank. He ran peat water like a spout in a 
 thunder plump, and black rivulets of dye were trickling 
 from under his hat down his brow and dripping from 
 the end of his nose. 
 
 ' Then you'll not come any farther ? ' he called across 
 to the precentor. 
 
 ' I canna, oh, I carina ; though I'm most awfu' 
 wullin'. Kirsty wad never forgie me gin I was to 
 droon.' 
 
 ' Then I'll e'en have to raise the tune myself — 
 though three times " Kilmarnock " is a pity,' said the 
 minister, turning on his heel and striding away through 
 the shallow sea, splashing the water as high as his head 
 with a kind of headstrong glee which seemed to the 
 precentor a direct defiance of Providence. Ebie Kirgan 
 followed half a dozen steps behind. The support of 
 the precentor's lay semi-equality taken from him, he 
 began to regret that he had come, and silently and 
 ruefully plunged along after the minister through the 
 waterlogged meadows. They came in time to the 
 foot of Robert Kirk's march dyke, and skirted it a 
 hundred yards upward to avoid the deep pool in which 
 the Lancburn waters were swirling. The minister 
 climbed silently up the seven-foot dyke, pausing a 
 second on the top to balance himself for his leap to
 
 THE LAMMAS PREACHING 
 
 7i 
 
 the other side. As he did so Ebie Kirgan saw that 
 the dyke was swaying to the fall, having been weakened 
 by the rush of water on the farther side. He ran 
 instantly at the minister, and gave him a push with 
 both hands which caused Mr. Maclellan to alight on his 
 feet clear of the falling stones. The dyke did not so 
 much fall outward as settle down on its own ruins. 
 Ebie fell on his face among the stones with the impetus 
 
 THE FLOODED MEADOWS 
 
 of his own eagerness. He arose, however, quickly — 
 only limping slightly from what he called a ' bit chack ' 
 on the leg between two stones. 
 
 ' That was a merciful Providence, Ebenezer,' said the 
 minister, solemnly ; ' I hope you are duly thankful ! ' 
 
 'Dod, I am that!' replied Ebie, scratching his head 
 vigorously with his right hand and rubbing his leg with 
 his left. ' Gin I hadna gi'en ye that dunch, ye micht 
 hae preachen nanc at Cauldshaws this nicht.' 
 
 They now crossed a fairly level clover field, dank
 
 72 THE LAMMAS PREACHING 
 
 and laid with wet. The scent of the clover rose to 
 their nostrils with almost overpowering force. There 
 was not a breath of air. The sky was blue and the 
 sun shining. Only a sullen roar came over the hill, 
 soundine in the silence like the rush of a train over a 
 far-away viaduct. 
 
 ' What is that ? ' queried the minister, stopping to 
 
 listen. 
 
 Ebie took a brisk sidelong look at him. 
 
 1 I'm some dootsome that'll be the Skyreburn coming 
 doon aft o' Cairnsmuir ! ' 
 
 The minister tramped unconcernedly on. Ebie 
 Kirgan stared at him. 
 
 'He canna ken what a "Skyreburn warnin'" is — 
 he'll be thinkin' it's some bit Machars burn that the 
 laddies set their whurlie mills in. But he'll turn richt 
 cneuch when he sees Skyreburn roarin' reed in a 
 Lammas flood, I'm thinkin' ! ' 
 
 They took their way over the shoulder of the hill 
 in the beautiful evening, leaning eagerly forward to get 
 the first glimpse of the cause of that deep and resonant 
 roar. In a moment they saw below them a narrow 
 rock-walled gully, ten or fifteen yards across, filled to 
 the brim with rushing water. It was not black peat 
 water like the Camelon Lane, but it ran red as keel, 
 flecked now and then with a revolving white blur as 
 one of the Cauldshaws sheep spun downward to the 
 sea, with four black feet turned pitifully up to the blue 
 sky. 
 
 Ebie looked at the minister. ' He'll turn noo if he's
 
 THE LAMMAS FLOOD
 
 THE LAMMAS PREACHING 75 
 
 at the water up and down the roaring stream. On a 
 hill above, the farmer of Cauldshaws, having driven all 
 his remaining sheep together, sat down to watch. Seeing 
 the minister, he stood up and excitedly waved him back. 
 But Douglas Maclellan from the Machars never gave 
 him a look, and his shouting was of less effect than if 
 he had been crying to an untrained collie. 
 
 The minister looked long up the stream, and at a 
 point where the rocks came very close together, and 
 many stunted pines were growing, he saw one which, 
 having stood on the immediate brink, had been so 
 much undercut that it leaned over the gully like a 
 fishing-rod. With a keen glance along its length, the 
 minister, jamming his dripping soft felt hat on the back 
 of his head, was setting foot on the perilous slope of 
 the uneven red-brown trunk, when Ebie Kirgan caught 
 him sharply by the arm. 
 
 ' It's no' for me to speak to a minister at ordinar' 
 times,' he stammered, gathering courage in his despera- 
 tion ; ' but, oh, man, it's fair murder to try to gang ower 
 that water ! ' 
 
 The minister wrenched himself free, and sprang along 
 the trunk with wonderful agility. 
 
 1 I'm intimated to preach at Cauldshaws this night, 
 and my text is, " Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, do 
 it with thy might ! " ' he shouted. 
 
 He made his way up and up the slope of the fir tree, 
 which, having little grip of the rock, dipped and swayed 
 under his tread. Ebie Kirgan fell on his knees and 
 prayed aloud. He had not prayed since his stepmother 
 boxed his ears for getting into bed without saying his
 
 76 THE LAMMAS PREACHING 
 
 prayers twenty years ago. This had set him against it. 
 But he prayed now, and to infinitely more purpose than 
 his minister had recently done. But when the climber 
 had reached the branchy top, and was striving to get a 
 few feet farther, in order to clear the surging linn before 
 he made his spring, Ebie rose to his feet, leaving his 
 prayer unfinished. He sent forth an almost animal 
 shriek of terror. The tree roots cracked like breaking 
 cables and slowly gave way, an avalanche of stones 
 plumped into the whirl, and the top of the fir crashed 
 downwards on the rocks of the opposite bank. 
 
 ' Oh, man, call on the name of the Lord ! ' cried Ebie 
 Kirgan, the ragged preacher, at the top of his voice. 
 
 Then he saw something detach itself from the tree as 
 it rebounded, and for a moment rise and fall black 
 against the sunset. Then Ebie the Outcast fell on his 
 face like a dead man. 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 In the white coverleted 'room' of the farm town of 
 Cauldshaws, a white-faced lad lay with his eyes closed, 
 and a wet cloth on his brow. A large-boned, red- 
 cheeked, motherly woman stole to and fro with a foot 
 as light as a fairy. The sleeper stirred and tried to 
 lift an unavailing hand to his head. The mistress 
 of Cauldshaws stole to his bedside as he opened his 
 eyes. She laid a restraining hand on him as he strove 
 to rise. 
 
 ' Let me up,' said the minister, ' I must away, for I'm 
 intimated to preach at Cauldshaws, and my text is, 
 " Whatsoever thy hand findcth to do, do it with thy 
 might." '
 
 THE LAMMAS PREACHING 77 
 
 ' My bonny man,' said the goodwife, tenderly, ' you'll 
 preach best on the broad o' ycr back this mony a day, 
 an' when ye rise your best text will be, " He sent 
 from above, He took me, and drew me out of many 
 waters ! " '
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF DUNCAN DUNCAN- 
 SON, SCHOOLMASTER 
 
 SOMETIME MINISTER OE THE PARISH OF 
 SHAWS : DErOSED FOR DRUNKENNESS 
 
 DUNCAN DUNCANSON, parochial schoolmaster in the 
 parish of Nether Dullarg, stood at the door of his school- 
 house, shading his eyes with his hand. He looked down 
 the road and up the road, but no one was in sight. 
 Not a leaf moved that breathless July morning. It was 
 yet too early for the scholars to come, and indeed being 
 high haytime the dominie did not expect a large attend- 
 ance. He was not watching the stray collie puppy 
 which made noisy demonstrations against the blue- 
 bottles near the water -spout at the foot of the play- 
 ground. He was looking out for a tall girl carrying a 
 black bag. To his mind she had delayed too long, and 
 he was muttering what seemed by the gruff tones to be 
 threats, but which was in reality something much milder. 
 ' Never was there sic a lassie ; she canna even come 
 straight back from the heid o' the street ! ' he said, 
 complainingly. ' There's no' a dowg in the Dullarg but 
 she maun clap, an' no' a pussy sleepin' in the sun but
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF DUNCAN DUNCANSON 79 
 
 she maun cross the road to stroke. She gets hersel' fair 
 covered \vi' dirt playin' \vi' the laddies ; she'll even set 
 doon the black bag to play for keeps \vi' the boys at the 
 bools — an' her comin' on for fifteen.' 
 
 He sighed as though this were a deep grief to him, 
 and a tear stood, with a kind of melancholy entirely 
 unsuited to the slightness of the occasion, in his unsteady 
 eye of watery blue. But it was not at all the short- 
 comings of the ' lassie ' that filled his heart. He kept 
 muttering under his breath : 
 
 ' If my Flora had but had her ain — shame to you, 
 Duncan Duncanson, shame to you, shame to you, she 
 micht hae been a dochter o' the manse.' 
 
 Suddenly there was a glint as of sunshine in a shady 
 place among the trees at the foot of the inclined slope 
 of beaten earth which was called the playground. So 
 steep was it, that when a scholar fell anywhere upon it 
 he rolled over and over till brought up by the dyke. 
 A tall girl came up the steps with a hop, skip, and jump, 
 took the dominie round the neck in a discomposing 
 manner, swung him on his heels as on a pivot, and 
 pushed him into the school. 
 
 ' There,' she said, ' that's the last time that I gang for 
 your bag. I wonder that you are not ashamed to sen' 
 your daughter to the public-hoose for a black bag that 
 every bairn kens what's in, every Tuesday and Friday, 
 an' you the maistcr ! ' 
 
 Duncan Duncanson stood knitting his broad smooth 
 brow, and clasping and unclasping his hands nervously. 
 But he said nothing. His attention was irresolutely 
 divided between his daughter, who stood before him with
 
 So THE TRAGEDY OF DUNCAN DUNCANSON 
 
 arms akimbo, the image of a petty tyrant, and the black 
 bag which more and more strongly drew his gaze. ' I'll 
 slip ower,' he said, ' an' see gin there's a big eneuch coal 
 on the fire to keep it in ! ' So, taking the black bag in 
 his hand, he went out like a chidden child glad to escape 
 from observation. The girl maintained her dignified 
 position till he was out of sight, then threw herself down 
 on the hacked and ink-stained desk and cried as if her 
 heart would break. 
 
 ' Oh, my faither, my faither,' she sobbed, ' an' him 
 yince a minister.' 
 
 When the dominie returned, with a flush on his 
 cheek which slowly ebbed away, he found his girl in the 
 midst of a riotous game of ' steal the bonnets,' which 
 was only played at by the aristocrats of the school. 
 Flora Duncanson was easily empress both in the school- 
 house and in the school of the Nether Dullarg ; and 
 except when her father took one of his occasional turns 
 of wild and ungovernable temper after too close devotion 
 to the black bag which he had returned from locking in 
 its skeleton cupboard, she was also the mistress of the 
 master. 
 
 Every one in Nether Dullarg knew the history of 
 Duncan Duncanson. He had taught nearly all the 
 younger portion of them, for it was many years since he 
 was appointed parish teacher in Nether Dullarg, long 
 before Mr. Pitbye came to be minister. Duncan Duncan- 
 son was college bred. More than that, he had been a 
 minister, and no 'stickit' minister either, but duly 
 licensed, ordained, and inducted — also, alas ! deposed. 
 There had been a black bag even in those early days,
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF DUNCAN DUNCANSON Si 
 
 as Duncan Duncanson knew to his cost. His had been 
 the good seed sown among the abundance of thorns. 
 These two, thorns and wheat, grew up together into a 
 deadly crop, and together were cut down in that terrible 
 day of reckoning when the presbytery of Pitscottie 
 solemnly deposed Duncan Duncanson, sometime minister 
 of the parish of Shaws, from the office of the ministry 
 of the Kirk of Scotland. 
 
 Then the presbytery of that day adjourned to the 
 Gordon Arms to wash down their presbyterial dinner 
 with plentiful jorums of toddy, and Duncan Duncanson 
 sat for the last time in his study in the manse of the 
 Shaws, sipping and filling the demon bottle which he 
 carried like a familiar spirit in his black bag. This was 
 his Day of Judgment ; and the hopes of his youth, the 
 aspirations of his middle life, the forecasts of a quiet age 
 were all consumed in the flaming wrath of it. This was 
 all because the Reverend Duncan Duncanson had fallen 
 down one Sabbath clay at the front door of the Shaws 
 manse. There were those in the presbytery who had 
 often fallen down at their back doors, but then this 
 made a great difference, and they all prayed fervently 
 for the great sinner and backslider who had slidden at 
 his front door in the sight of men. The moderator, 
 who in the presbytery had called Duncan everything 
 that he could lay his tongue to, reflected as he drove 
 home that he had let him off far too easily. Then he 
 stooped down and felt in the box of his gig if the two- 
 gallon ' greybeard ' from the Gordon Arms were sitting 
 safely on its own bottom. So much responsibility made 
 him nervous on a rough road.
 
 82 THE TRAGEDY OF DUNCAN DUNCANSON 
 
 Duncan Duncanson, no longer Reverend, at once re- 
 turned to his native village and to the house of his father 
 and mother, the daily cause and witness of their grey- 
 hairs whitening to the winter of the grave. They had 
 a little house of their own, and it had not taken all their 
 slender store to put their lad through college : for, save 
 in the matter of the black bag and its inmate, Duncan 
 Duncanson was neither spendthrift nor prodigal. Before 
 he left the Shaws he was to have been married to the 
 daughter of the neighbouring minister, but in the wild 
 upheaval of that earthquake shock she obediently gave 
 Duncan up as soon as the parish had given him up ; 
 and in time married a wealthy farmer who did not come 
 sober home from market for twenty years. 
 
 In his own village Duncan was looked upon with an 
 odd kind of respect. He was thought to have been led 
 astray, though this was not the case — the devil, together 
 with the weak chin and unstable eye, having been 
 leading enough. He was looked on as ' byordnar' 
 clever,' ' a dungeon o' learnin'.' So, after some years, 
 when the parochial school fell vacant, the minister who 
 had baptized him, and who had helped him lamely with 
 his rusty scraps of Latin and Greek (Latin as far as 
 ' Omnis Gallia '- —Greek, the alphabet merely), put 
 Duncan into the school, sure that he would teach the 
 children well and conscientiously, and hopeful that he 
 might ultimately be led to reform ; for ministers are 
 sanguine men, at least all who do any good among 
 other men. 
 
 And the new schoolmaster had indeed done his 
 (hit)-, though with abundance of the rod and some
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF DUNCAN DUNCANSON 83 
 
 detriment to his own temper and the cuticle of his 
 pupils. But no such scholars went up from three 
 counties as those who matriculated straight from the 
 hedge school of the parish of Dullarg during the reign 
 of the deposed minister of the Shaws. By and by 
 Duncan picked up other little bits of patronage — the 
 precentorship, as a matter of course, the inspectorship 
 of poor, and ultimately the registrarship of births, deaths, 
 and marriages. In the Dullarg it is a saying that we 
 ' keep oor ain fish guts for oor ain sea maws.' This is 
 not an expression common in the higher circles, but the 
 thing itself is common enough there. Duncan married 
 a village girl, who had made him a good wife during 
 her short life, but had not been able to master the bottle 
 imp. She had left him one daughter, our imperious 
 beauty of the yellow locks. 
 
 But we have gone afield from our school. The 
 whole building, a long narrow barn, built of rough 
 ashlar work with many small windows, never all whole 
 at once, was sleepily droning with the morning lessons. 
 Flora Duncanson, within a yard of her father, was 
 making paper arrows to throw at Andrew Tait, the 
 son of the wealthy farmer who had married Duncan 
 Duncanson's old sweetheart. Andrew was a long- 
 limbed lad, known as ' the fathom o' pump water.' He 
 was shy and thoughtful, prone to moon in corners, a lad 
 in whom could be perceived no tincture of the bucolic 
 clumsiness of the one parent or the faded and selfish 
 gentility of the other. He liked to be teased by Flora 
 Duncanson, for it gave him an opportunity of looking 
 at her hair. He had never heard of Rossetti, but he 
 
 G
 
 S 4 THE TRAGEDY OF DUNCAN DUNCANSON 
 
 said in his heart, ' Her hair that lay along her back was 
 yellow like ripe corn ! ' 
 
 The ex-minister sat at his high desk, and the hum 
 of the school acted soothingly upon his unsteady nerves. 
 A vision began to assert itself of something that he 
 knew to be on one shelf of his private cupboard in the 
 little dominie's house adjoining the school. Without a 
 word he rose and stepped out. Before he could get 
 round the school, Flora was out and after him. There- 
 upon the school resolved itself into a pandemonium, and 
 Andrew the smith, shoeing his horses in the old ' smiddy ' 
 at the foot of the lane, said to his apprentice, ' The 
 dominie'll be oot to wat his thrapple. Oor Wull will 
 be keepin' the schule the noo ! ' ' Wull ' was a good- 
 natured clever elder boy who was supposed to take 
 charge of the school in the absence of the dominie. 
 This he did usually by stopping the promiscuous 
 fighting and scuffling which went on all round the school 
 and organising a stated and official combat in the middle 
 of the floor between a pair of well-matched urchins. 
 ' Let all things be done decently and in order ' was 
 Willi's motto. 
 
 In the height of the turmoil a great brown head 
 presented itself at the door. It was the head of big 
 red ' Trust}',' the half-collie half-St. -Bernard which some- 
 times accompanied Andrew Tait to the school, and 
 played about outside till that youth got free of his 
 bondage, when the pair went joyously homewards. 
 
 No sooner was he spied than fifty voices invited him 
 to enter. He came in, nothing loath, and crouched 
 beneath the desk which stood against the wall by the
 
 THE TRACKDY OF DUNCAN DUNCANSON 
 
 85 
 
 window where sat his master with some bosom cronies. 
 There he was lying concealed by a rampart of legs and 
 slates when the master entered with an angry frown on 
 his brow and his hat jammed over his forehead in a 
 way that boded no good to the school. ' It's gaun to 
 be a lickin' day,' said Andrew Tait, with an air of grim 
 foreboding. All was quiet in a moment, for the fear of 
 Duncan Duncanson with the black dog on his back was 
 heavy on every young heart. Duncan was a good and 
 a kindly man, and would go anywhere to help a neigh- 
 bour in trouble, but he was undoubtedly savage in his 
 cups. The imp of the black bag was in possession. 
 
 The boys trembled, but the great red dog lay quiet 
 as pussy with his im- 
 mense faithful head 
 pillowed on his master's 
 knees. The dominie 
 went to his desk, and 
 as nothing seemed to 
 come of his ill-humour 
 the school gradually re- 
 turned to its condition 
 of lazy inattention. Fred 
 Graham, the boy next to 
 Andrew Tait, whispered, 
 ' Let me stroke the doggie's hcid.' 
 
 ' YVhat'll ye gic's ? ' promptly replied Andrew, with 
 the truly boyish commercial spirit. 
 
 1 A pecrie,' said his friend. 
 
 ' An' the string ? ' added Andrew, who had a corner 
 in does and could force the market. So for five
 
 86 THE TRAGEDY OF DUNCAN DUNCANSON 
 
 minutes the big head was transferred to Fred Graham's 
 knee, and the stroking performed to the satisfaction of 
 all parties. Then the next chance had been for some 
 time disposed of to young Sanny M'Ouhirr of Drum- 
 quhat, who being a farmer's son never would have 
 thought of stroking a dog save in school, for the laudable 
 purpose of killing time and doing what was forbidden. 
 
 School currency was changing hands and finding its 
 way into Andrew Tait's pockets at a great rate. The 
 various claimants for next turn were so clamorous that 
 they created some little disturbance, so that the master, 
 seeing a cluster of heads together, noiselessly opened 
 the lid of his desk and sent the ' taws ' whirling down 
 into their midst with hearty goodwill. They took Fred 
 Graham round the neck, and he at once rose to receive 
 his ' pawmies,' the price of his general amusements. He 
 had not been the guilty person, but he hardly denied it 
 even pro forma, so accustomed were they in that school 
 to the Spartan code that the sin lay not in the action, 
 but in the stupidity of being found out. 
 
 Through the gap formed by the absence of Fred on 
 his melancholy errand, a gap like that made by the 
 drawing of a tooth, the master saw the orange skin and 
 solemn eyes of ' Trusty Tait,' boys' dog to the parish 
 school of Nether Dullarg. 
 
 His wrath turned instantly on Trusty and his owner, 
 and his resentment burned with a sullen exaggerated 
 fur) 7 . He imagined that the animal had been brought 
 into the school in order directly to insult him. 
 
 ' Who brought that dog in here ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Please, sir, he juist cam',' said Andrew Tait.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF DUNCAN DUNCANSON 87 
 
 ' Put him out instantly ! ' he commanded. 
 
 ' Please, sir, he'll no' gang.' 
 
 The dominie then went for the poker and approached 
 the big dog, whose eyes began to shine with a yellow- 
 light curiously different from that which had been in 
 them when the boys were stroking his shaggy coat. 
 But he lay motionless as though cut in stone, nothing 
 living about him except those slumberous eyes with the 
 red spark flaming at the bottom of them. His great tail 
 lay along the floor of the thickness of a boy's arm, with 
 which it was his wont to beat the boards as a thresher 
 beats his sheaves at the approach of his master. ' Trusty ' 
 Tait's dignity lay in his tail. His tenderest feelings had 
 their abode there. By means of it he communicated 
 his sentiments, belligerent or amicable. When his 
 master appeared in the distance he wagged it ponder- 
 ously, when a canine friend hove in sight it waved 
 triumphantly, at the sight of a gipsy or a tramp it grew 
 oratory with the expressiveness of its resentment. As 
 the dominie approached with his weapon of warfare, 
 Andrew Tait drew the iron shod of his clog, which he 
 would have called his ' cakkar,' across Trusty's tail. 
 The dog instantly half rose on his forepaws, showing 
 a scam of teeth like a row of danger-signals, and gave 
 vent to a thunderous subterranean growl, which so 
 intimidated the master that he turned his anger on 
 the victim who promised less resistance. He dragged 
 Andrew Tait by the collar of his jacket into the middle 
 of the floor, and, forgetting in his beclouded condition 
 what he held in his hand, he struck him once across the 
 head with the heavy iron poker, stretching him senseless
 
 88 THE TRAGEDY OF DUNCAN DUNCANSON 
 
 on the cround. The whole school rose to its feet with 
 a dull, confused moan of horror, but before any one could 
 move Trusty had the dominie by the throat, threw 
 him backwards over a form, and stood guard, growling 
 with short blood-curdling snorts over the prostrate body 
 of his young master. Through the open door Flora 
 Duncanson came flying, for the noise had told her even 
 in the cottage that something unusual was happening. 
 
 * Go home at once ! ' she called to the children, and 
 though there were many there older than she, without a 
 murmur they filed outside — remaining, however, in whis- 
 pering awestruck groups at the foot of the playground. 
 
 ' Go home, father, this moment ! ' she said to her 
 father, who had gathered himself together, and now 
 stood shaking and uncertain like one awakened from a 
 dream, groping stupidly with his hands. The old man 
 turned and went heavily away at his daughter's word. 
 He even thought of asking her for the key of the cup- 
 board, the strife for the possession of which had been 
 the beginning of his black humour ; but a moment's 
 thought convinced him of the hopelessness of the request. 
 ' But I would be muckle the better o't ! ' he said, and 
 sighed — perhaps for a moment conscious how much the 
 worse he had been of it. 
 
 Flora Duncanson stood, over the senseless body of 
 Andrew Tait. Trusty was licking the face. A thin 
 streak of blood stole from under the hair and down the 
 brow. The dog growled as the girl approached, but 
 ultimately allowed her to come to the lad's side. 
 
 ' Oh, Andra, Andra ! ' she said, the salt water running 
 silently down her cheeks.
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF DUNCAN DUNCANSON 89 
 
 The boy slowly opened his eyes, looked at the dog 
 once more and then fixedly at Flora Duncanson. He 
 always liked to look at her hair, but he had never noticed 
 till now how beautiful her eyes were. He could not 
 think what it was they reminded him of — something he 
 had seen in a dream, he thought. 
 
 ' Dinna greet, Flora,' he said, ' I'll tell my faithcr that 
 I fell, an' I'll lick ony boy in the schule that says I didna ! 
 Oh, Flora, but ycr e'en arc terrible bonny ! ' 
 
 . . • • » 
 
 This is all a very old story in the Dullarg now, and 
 Trusty is a Nestor among dogs. He spends all his fine 
 afternoons on a broomy knowe by himself, for what with 
 puppies and bairns the farm is not the quiet place that 
 it used to be when he was young. Trusty overlooks a 
 wide prospect were his faithful dim eyes able to see, 
 but as it is he devotes himself chiefly to the flies which 
 settle upon his nose. Over there on the slope glimmer 
 in the haze the white stones in the churchyard. Trusty 
 never was much of a scholar, in spite of so long fre- 
 quenting the village academy, but had he been able to 
 read he might have found this inscription on a granite 
 tombstone down in the old kirkyard by the Dec water : — 
 
 %> ( urcti to tfjc tftrmorp 
 
 OF 
 
 DUNCAN DUNCANSON, 
 
 AGED 71 VKARS, SOMETIME 
 
 MINISTER <>K THE PARISH OF SHAWS, 
 
 FOR THIRTY YEARS SCHOOLMASTER IN Tins PARISH, 
 
 ERECTED BY His AFFECTIONATE CHILDREN, 
 
 ANDREW Wli FLORA TAIT. 
 
 'TO whom LITTLE is FORGIVEN, THE SAME 
 
 LOVETH 1 1 rn.i:.'
 
 WHY DAVID OLIPHANT REMAINED A 
 PRESBYTERIAN 
 
 ' Now, Mr. OHphant, can you conceive any reason, 
 except national prejudice, to which I am sure you are 
 superior, why you should not be with us in the Church ? 
 It is, as you know, quite time that you made up your 
 mind. It is, indeed, solely with the hope of assisting 
 you to a decision that I have desired to see you now.' 
 
 An urbanely dignified clergyman is speaking to a 
 young man in an Oxford Common Room. 
 
 ' I am very sensible of your lordship's condescension,' 
 replied David OHphant, late scholar of St. Magnus, to 
 the Right Reverend the Bishop of Alchester. 
 
 That learned and liberal prelate was to preach before 
 the University on the following day, and in the mean- 
 time he was endeavouring to serve his Church by 
 attracting to her bosom, that refuge at once so inclusive 
 and so exclusive, another of those brilliant young 
 Northmen who have given to St. Magnus its primacy 
 among Oxford colleges, and from whose number the 
 Anglican Church has obtained many of her finest 
 scholars and her wisest prelates. 
 
 The Bishop's main question David OHphant did not 
 answer immediately, for many strange things were
 
 DAVID OLIPHANT 91 
 
 working within him. His certain desire was to do the 
 work of the Christ. So much was clear to him — but 
 how and where ? The answer was not so definite. His 
 college friends were entering the Church by troops. 
 They were as earnest and hopeful as he — they looked 
 forward to beginning their work at once. They seemed 
 beckoning him to come along with them into their 
 mother-church, at whose door stood the amiable and 
 comfortable Bishop of Alchester, with hands outstretched 
 in welcome. And then before David Oliphant there 
 rose up the vision of his own rugged Cameronian kirk 
 — like Nature, a stern but not unkindly foster-mother. 
 He thought of the four slow years of strictest theological 
 training which awaited him if he returned to the North 
 — four years for the scholar of St. Magnus equally with 
 the rudest country lad who had stumbled through the 
 requisite sessions in arts. Small wonder that he wavered, 
 dividing the swift mind, or that the Bishop waited his 
 decision with the smile of successful persuasion in his 
 shrewd and kindly eyes. 
 
 ' We need such men as you, Mr. Oliphant,' he said ; 
 ' with your parts and — ah — your other advantages you 
 may go very far.' 
 
 They say that before the mind of the drowning, the 
 past defiles in a panorama of inconceivable rapidity. 
 David Oliphant had almost made up his mind to follow 
 what seemed his manifest destiny, when certain visions 
 of a time long past rose up before him, stood a moment 
 clear, and then vanished, even before the grey eyes of 
 his Grace of Alchester had lost their expectant smile. 
 How swiftly they came and went it is hard to give an
 
 92 DAVID OLIPHANT 
 
 idea of. They take so long to tell, so unwillingly do 
 words carry pictures. 
 
 These are the things which came to David Oliphant, 
 in clear and solemn vision, during the five minutes ere 
 he answered the Bishop of Alchester. 
 
 He saw an old grey-headed man, who worshipped, 
 leaning upon the top of his staff, in a sheltered nook 
 behind a low whitewashed Galloway farmhouse. He 
 held his broad bonnet in his hands and the wind blew 
 a stray lock over a brow like a weather-beaten cliff. 
 His lips moved, but there was no sound. A little lad 
 of five came pattering up the foot-worn path which led 
 to the private oratory of the family high priest. He 
 had asked hurriedly of the general public of the kitchen, 
 ' What gate did G'appa gae ? ' but without waiting for 
 the superfluous answer he trotted along that well-known 
 path that ' G'appa ' always ' gaed.' The silent prayer 
 ended, the pair took their way hand in hand to the 
 heights of the crags, where, under its shallow covering 
 of turf and heather, the grey teeth of the granite shone. 
 As they sit they speak, each to the other, like men 
 accustomed to high and serious discourse. 
 
 1 But why did the martyrs not go to the kirk the 
 king wanted them to?' the child asked. 
 
 The old man rose, strong now on his feet, the fire in 
 his eye, his natural force not abated. He pointed north 
 to where on Auchcnrcoch Muir the slender shaft of the 
 martyrs' monument gleamed white among the darker 
 heather — south to where on Kirkconncl hillside Gricr 
 of Lag found six living men and left six corpses — west
 
 DAVID OLIPHANT 93 
 
 toward Wigtown Bay, where the tide drowned two of the 
 bravest of women, tied like dogs to a stake — cast to the 
 kirkyards of Balweary and Nether Dullarg, where under 
 the trees the martyrs of Scotland lie thick as gowans 
 on the lea. The fire of the Lord was in his eye. 
 
 ' Dinna forget, David Oliphant,' he said, his voice 
 high and solemn, as in a chant, ' that these all died for 
 Christ's cause and covenant. They were murdered 
 because they worshipped God according to their 
 conscience. Remember, boy, till the day of your death, 
 that among these men were your forebears, and forget 
 not also who they were that slew them ! ' 
 
 And after twenty years the late scholar of St. Magnus 
 remembered. 
 
 • ••••• 
 
 Again the young man saw a wide black night filled 
 with the echoes of thundering and the rushing of rain. 
 The same child stood in the open doorway, and, weeping, 
 called pitifully for' Grandfather.' There was no answer, 
 but the whole firmament lightened with white flame from 
 east to west ; and in that silent moment of infinite 
 clearness he saw his grandfather's figure upright on the 
 knoll before the house, the head thrown upwards towards 
 that intense whiteness where the heavens seemed to open 
 and the very face of God to look through. 
 
 • • • • a * 
 
 Once more he saw a Sabbath morning, still with 
 the primeval stillness of ' a land where no man comes 
 or hath come since the making of the world.' Peace 
 all about the farm-steading, silence on all the fields, 
 hardly a bleat from the lambs on the hill ; within, a
 
 94 DAVID OLIPIIAXT 
 
 cool and calm crispness as of home-spun linen kept in 
 lavender. It was the silence which in an old Camcr- 
 onian household succeeded the ' taking of the Buik ' on 
 the morning of the day of the Lord. 
 
 Suddenly at the outer door the old man appears, 
 and he calls upstairs to his couple of manly sons — to 
 him ever but lads to do his will — ' Boys, bring the 
 " Queen's Airms " J up to the march dyke this minute ! ' 
 The men come downstairs, and, without any show of 
 surprise, take down the old muskets off the wall, provide 
 themselves with powder and shot, and follow their 
 father along the wide stony sweep of the hill road. The 
 little lad also follows, with a sense that the bottom has 
 dropped out of his universe, when guns could be taken 
 down on Sabbath morning. 
 
 In the brisk morning sun a scattered group of men 
 and dogs was drawing slowly through the great gaps in 
 the pine woods towards the gate which was the entrance 
 of the small rock-bound farm. At this gate the old 
 man stands, his stalwart sons behind him, his broad 
 blue bonnet in his hand. The hunters come coursing 
 over the green. But ere any one can open the gate the 
 old man steps forward, his white head bare to the sun. 
 David Oliphant can sec the white hairs glisten even now. 
 
 ' My lord,' he says, ' forty year I have been on your 
 land and your father's land. It docs not become me to 
 tell you that you arc breaking the law of God by 
 hunting the beasts of the field on His day; but, my 
 lord, one thing you cannot do — you cannot break it on 
 this land as long as I am upon it.' 
 
 1 'Queen's Airms, ' i.e. muskets of the reign of Queen Ann.'
 
 DAVID OLIPHANT 95 
 
 The great laird came forward, young and passionate, 
 a Rehoboam of many foolish counsellors. 
 
 ' What's that he says, Daly ? That we can't hunt 
 on his farm ! I'll teach the canting old hypocrite that 
 every yard belongs to me. Open the gate, Daly ! ' 
 
 ' My lord,' said the old man, ' I am not careful to 
 answer you concerning this matter, but I beseech you 
 for your father's memory not to do this thing.' 
 
 The young man wavered ; but a murmur arose from 
 his companions. 
 
 1 Don't let them spoil the sport with their canting 
 and their blunderbusses. Stand out of the way, 
 Oliphant ! Down with the gates, Daly ! ' 
 
 But Daly was not destined to take the gates down, 
 for once again the voice of the Cameronian elder rang 
 out, steady and respectful as ever. 
 
 1 My lord, it is not my will to shed human blood, or 
 to resist you by force, though I might well do it, but I 
 solemnly warn you I will shoot every dog of yours that 
 sets foot on my land this day. Boys, are you ready ? 
 Stan' forrit ! ' 
 
 The visions melted from before David Oliphant, and 
 he saw only the patient Bishop waiting his answer, 
 yawning a little because his dinner was deferred. But 
 there was no uncertainty in the young man's answer. 
 
 ' My lord,' said he, with the steady voice and eye 
 that had come to him from his grandfather, ' I thank 
 you heartily for your good and kindly thought for me. 
 Indeed, I am in no way deserving of your interest ; but, 
 such as I am, I must cleave to my own church and my 
 own people ! '
 
 THE THREE MAISTER PETER SLEES, 
 MINISTERS IN THE PARISH OF COUTHY 
 
 REPORTED VERBATIM FROM THE CONVERSATION OF 
 WILLIAM M'KIE, GRAVEDIGGER AND MINISTER'S 
 MAN 
 
 It was a still summer evening in the slack between hay 
 and harvest on the farm of Drumquhat. The Galloway 
 moors rose in long purple ridges to the west. The sun 
 had set, and in the hollows pools of mist were gathering, 
 islanded with clumps of willow. The ' maister ' had 
 made his nightly rounds, and was now meditatively 
 taking his smoke, leaning on the gate at the head of 
 the loaning, and looking over a green cornfield, through 
 the raw colour of which the first yellow was beginning 
 to glimmer. From the village half a mile away he 
 could hear the clink of the smith's anvil. There came 
 into his mind a slow thought of the good crack going 
 on there, and he erected himself as far as a habitual 
 stoop would allow him, as if he proposed 'daunerin" 
 over to the village to make one of the company in the 
 heartsomc 'smiddy.' 
 
 For a moment he stood undecided, and thru deliber- 
 ately resumed his former position with his elbows on
 
 C 
 
 fc. 
 c 
 
 _
 
 THE THREE MAISTER PETER SLEES 99 
 
 the ' yett.' Saunders MaWhurr had remembered his 
 wife. To do him justice, it was seldom that he forgot 
 her. But in his single perpendicular moment Saunders 
 had been able to see over the stone dyke which hid from 
 him the broken and deceptive path which led from the 
 farm along the burnsidc and over the meadows to the 
 village of Whunnyliggat. What he saw would have 
 astonished a stranger, but it did not even induce Saunders 
 to take a second look. A man was approaching up 
 the loaning, apparently on all-fours. The farmer knew 
 instinctively that the stranger was no stranger to him. 
 He only saw William Kie, gravedigger and minister's 
 man, walking as he had walked any time these forty 
 years. [William's name was strictly, no doubt, J/'A7<\ 
 but the Mac was as hopelessly lost as the Books of 
 Manetho.] He even remembered William when he 
 was a dashing young hedgcr and ditcher with a red 
 plush waistcoat for the lasses to look at on Sabbaths as 
 they walked modestly from the churchyard gate to the 
 door of Couth\- Kirk. 
 
 That was before William got his hurt by being thrown 
 off a hearse in the famous south country snowstorm of 
 the 1st of May. William Kie had never married. 
 Why, you shall hear some da)- if you care, for once in 
 a mellow mood William told me the story in his white- 
 washed bachelor's house, that stood with its gable end 
 to the street, opposite the Free Kirk School. The 
 bairns vexed his soul by playing ' .Antony Over' against 
 the end of his house, and running into his garden for 
 the ball when, at every third throw, it went among the 
 beadle's kale. Had the)- been the pupils of the author- 
 
 II
 
 .ioo THE THREE MAISTER PETER SLEES 
 
 ised parochial dominie at the other end of the village, 
 William might have borne it with some degree of equal 
 mind ; but, as he said, a beadle for forty years in the 
 Parish Kirk is bound to have his feelings about the Free 
 Kirk. 
 
 The farmer of Drumquhat did not turn round in 
 reply to the greeting of the minister's man. He, too, 
 had his feelings, for he was a ' Free ' and an elder. 
 
 He said, ' Thank ye, Weelum, I canna compleen. 
 Hoo's yersel' ? ' 
 
 ' No' that weel, Drumquhat ; things are awfu' drug. 
 I haena buried but yin since Martinmas — no' a sowl 
 for fower months, and the last but a tramp body 
 that drooned himsel' in the Dee — a three-fit grave that 
 I made ower narrow an' had to widen in the sweat o' 
 my broo — never a bawbee extra for't frae the parish, but 
 a grummle from that thrawn stick o' a registrar ! ' 
 
 < 
 
 Man alive ! ' said Saunders MaWhurr, indifferently, 
 his thoughts being arithmetically with his calves as he 
 watched Jo, his farm boy, turn them out into the field. 
 The gravedigger knew that the farmer's attention was 
 perfunctory, but he was not offended, for Saunders kept 
 three pair of horse and a gig. Instinctively, however, 
 he took up a subject that was bound to interest a Free 
 Kirk elder. 
 
 He said, ' Did ye hear what we got at the Hie Kirk 
 yesterday ? I daresay no'. Yer plooman was there, I 
 ken, to sec Jess Couplarid ; but him — he disna ken a 
 sermon frae an cxposeetion, let alane bringing awa' the 
 fine points o' sic a discoorse as we gat yesterday.' 
 
 ' He was out a' nicht, an' I havna seen him since he
 
 THE THREE MAISTER PETER SLEES 101 
 
 lowsed,' said Saunders, in his non-committal manner. 
 ' But what did ye get to mak' ye craw sac croose ? 
 No' a new sermon, I'se warrant ! ' 
 
 ' Weel, na, he didna exactly gang that length ; but, 
 dod, it was better than that — it was a new yin o his 
 granfaitJicrs ! Whaur he had fa'en on wi't is mair than 
 I can say, but the manse lass tells me that he was 
 howkin' up in the garret twa efternoons last week, an' a 
 bonny sicht he made o' himsel' ! ' 
 
 In a moment the farmer of Drumquhat was quite a 
 different man ; he even offered William Kie a share 
 of the gate to lean upon by silently stepping aside, 
 which was a great deal for a man in his position. 
 William acknowledged his kindness by silently seating 
 himself on a broken gate-post lying at the dykeback. 
 This was what is known in learned circles as a com- 
 promise. 
 
 The beadle took up his parable : ' As sune as he 
 steppit oot o' the manse, I could see that there was 
 something onusual in the wund. First, I thocht that 
 it micht be clean bands that the mistress had gotten for 
 him ; for Mistress Slee was in gey guid fettle last week, 
 an' I didna ken what she michtna hac dune ; but when 
 I saw him tak' oot o' his case the .same auld pair that 
 he has worn since the Sacrament afore last — ye can 
 juist tell them frac the colour o' the goon — I kenned 
 that it bood be something else that was makkin' him 
 sac brisk. Man, Saunders,' said William, forgetting to 
 say ' Drumquhat,' as he had intended, which was counted 
 more polite from a man like him, ' Man, Saunders, I 
 dinna ken whaur my ecu could hae been, for I even gat
 
 102 THE THREE MAISTER PETER SLEES 
 
 a glisk o' the sermon as it gaed intil the Buik, yet never 
 for a minute did I jaloose what was cominV 
 
 ' Ay, man, Weelum, an' what was't ava ? ' said 
 Saunders, now thoroughly awake to a congenial topic. 
 He was glad that he had not gone down to the ' smiddy ' 
 now, for Saunders was not in the habit of opening out 
 there before so many. 
 
 ' Weel, Saunders, as I am tellin' you, it was a new 
 sermon o' his granfaither's, daecent man, him that lies 
 aneath the big thruch stane in the wast corner o' the 
 kirkyaird. It's maistly covered wi' dockens an' soorocks 
 noo, for the Maister Slee that we hae the noo is mair 
 fameeliar wi' his forebears' han' o' write than wi' the bit 
 stanies that haud them daccently doon till Gawbriel's 
 trump bids them rise ! ' 
 
 ' Haun' o' write ! ' quoth Saunders ; ' what can the 
 craitur mean ? ' 
 
 ' Saunders MaWhurr,' said the minister's man, 
 solemnly, ' therty year an' mair hae I carried the Buik, 
 an' howkit the yaird, an' dibbled the cabbage for the 
 Maister Slees, faither an' son. Ay, an' I mind brawly 
 o' the granfaither — a graun' figure o' a man him, sax 
 fit twa in his buckled shoon. Saunders, I'm no' an 
 upsettin' man, an' quate-spoken even on Setterday nicht, 
 but ye wull aloo that I'm bun' to ken something aboot 
 the three Peter Slees, ministers o' the parish o' Couthy.' 
 
 ' Gae on,' said Saunders. 
 
 ' Weel, it's no' onkenncd to you that the twa first 
 Maister Slees wraite their sermons, for they were self- 
 respecktin' men, an' nae ranters haivcrin' oot o' their 
 heids ! Na '
 
 THE THREE MAISTER PETER SLEES 103 
 
 ' What aboot the granfaither, Wcclum ? ' put in 
 Saunders, quickly, avoiding, in the interests of the 
 history, contentious matter upon which at another time 
 he would gladly have accepted gage of battle. 
 
 ' Weel, the granfaither was, as I hae said, a graun', 
 solit man, wi' a reed face on him like the munc in hairst, 
 an' sic a bonny heid o' hair it was hardly considered 
 daecent in the parish o' Couthy. Fowk used to think 
 he wore a wig till they saw him on horseback, for he 
 wad ride wi' his hat in his haun' an' his hair blawin' oot 
 in the wund like Absalom's. He was a rale fine moral 
 preacher, reared in the hinder end o' the last century, 
 but neyther to haud nor to bind if onybody ca'ed 
 him a Moderate. In deed an' truth, onybody that 
 saw him wi' the laird when the twasome had been 
 hacin' denner thegither could see that was a lee an' 
 a big yin ! ' 
 
 ' Juist that,' said the farmer of Drumquhat. 
 
 ' But when he preached on the Sabbath he gied the 
 fowk no gospel to ca' gospel, but he did mak' them 
 scunner with the Law ; an' when he preached on Justice, 
 Temperance, an' Judgment to come there wasna a shut 
 e'e in a' Couthy Kirk ! Fine I mind o' it, though I 
 was but a callant, an' hoo I wussed that he wad hae 
 dune an' let me hame to mak' pyoives o' poother for the 
 fair on Monday. 
 
 ' The faithcr o' oor present Maister Slec ye'll mind 
 yersel'. He was a strong Non-Intrusion man afore the 
 " forty-three," as strong as it was in the craitur to be. 
 A' fowk thocht that he wad hae corned oot wi' the lave, 
 an' sac I believe he wad but for the wife, wha lockit
 
 104 THE THREE MAISTER PETER SLEES 
 
 him in the garret for three days, an' gied him his meals 
 through the sky-licht ! 
 
 ' His sermons were like himsel', like pease brose, 
 made o' half a pun o' peas to the boilerfu' o' water — 
 rale evangelical, ye ken, but meat for babes, hardly for 
 grown fowk. 
 
 ' I needna tell ye, eyther, aboot young Maister Slee ; 
 weel, he's no' young noo ony mair than oorsel's.' 
 
 ' Humph ! ' said Saunders. 
 
 ' He preaches aboot the lilies o' the field, hoo bonny 
 they are, an' aboot the birds o' the air, an' the mowdies 
 in the yird — the very craws he canna let alane. He 
 said the ither Sabbath day that fowk that wraite guid 
 resolutions in their note-buiks to keep out the de'il war 
 like the farmer that shut the yetts o' his cornfields to 
 keep oot the craws ! ' 
 
 ' That's nane sae stupit ! ' said Saunders. 
 
 ' Na ; he's a graun' naiteralist, the body,' said the 
 minister's man, ' an' whan the big Enbra' societies come 
 doon here to glower an' wunner at the bit whurls an' 
 holes in the rocks, he's the verra man to tak' them to 
 the bit ; an' whan the Crechton Asylum fowk cam' doon 
 to a picnic, as they ca'ed it, it was Maister Slee that 
 gied them a lectur' on the bonny heuchs o' Couthy. 
 An' faith, I couldna tell ye what yin o' the twa 
 companies was the mair sensible. 
 
 ' Weel, to mak' a lang story short, if I get a fair 
 guid look at the paper when he pits it intil the Buik, I 
 can tell by the yellancss o't whether it's his ain, or his 
 faithcr's, or his granfaithcr's ; but I maistly forget to 
 look, for he generally gics us them day aboot, beginnin'
 
 THE THREE MAISTER PETER SLEES 105 
 
 on the sacrament wi' his faither'.s famous discoorse, " As 
 a nail in a sure place," that we had every sax months, 
 till the Glencairn joiner, a terrible outspoken body, telt 
 him that that nail wadna haud in that hole ony langer ! 
 
 1 But when he begins to preach, we sune ken wha's 
 barrel he has been in, for if we hear o' oor duty to the 
 laird, an' the State, an' them in authority ower us, we 
 say, " If the wast winda was open, an' the auld man 
 wad cock his lug, he wad hear something that he wad 
 ken." On the ither haun', if we hear aboot these present 
 sad troubles, an' speeritual independence, an' Effectual 
 Calling, we ken he's been howkin' in the big beef-barrel 
 whaur the Pre-Disruption sermons o' his daddy lie in 
 pickle. 
 
 ' Sac yesterday he gied us a terrible startle wi' a 
 new yin' o' his granfaither's that nae man leevin' had 
 ever heard.' 
 
 1 An' what was his text ? ' said practical Saunders. 
 
 ' 'Deed, an' I'm no' sae guid at mindin' texts as I 
 yince was ; but the drift o' it was that we war to be 
 thankfu' for the recent maist remarkable preservation o' 
 oor land in the great victory that the Duke o' Wellington 
 an' oor noble airmy had won ower the usurper Bonyparty 
 on the plains o' Waterloo ! ' 
 
 ' That maun hae been a treat ! * said Saunders.
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF ALLAN FAIRLEY 
 OF EARLSWOOD 
 
 HIS is no carried 
 tale, but just as 
 the minister 
 himself told it 
 to me. He was 
 pleased like 
 when he telled 
 me, an' I am 
 giving you what 
 is not to be told 
 to everybody. 
 Not that Allan 
 Fairley need be 
 ashamed, but proud the rather if every soul from here 
 to Maidenkirk had the outs and the ins of the story at 
 their fingers' end. But I'm telling you that you may 
 know the right way of the story, for there's as many 
 ways of it as bees in a bykc. 
 
 The way 1 came to hear it was this. Allan and the 
 wife were at Drumquhat overnight on their marriage
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF ALLAN FAIRLEY 107 
 
 jaunt, him being sib to my mistress, and prood of the 
 connection as he lias a right to be. My wife was a wee 
 feared about having her in the house, being aware that 
 she was a Gordon of Earlswood — the auldest stock in 
 Galloway, and brought up to be a lady-body. But she 
 need have had no fears, for ye never saw gentle or semple 
 mair free or heartsome. She ran to the barn to help to 
 gather the eggs, and got five, three being nest-eggs and 
 a cheena one that was put there to deceive the chuckies. 
 She kilted her coats and helped to feed the calves. 
 Then she was for learning to milk, but Black Bet 
 laid back her lugs, and in the hinderend kicked ower 
 the luggie ; and there was never such laughing in 
 Drumquhat since it was a farm-town. She made 
 hersel' as merry and heartsome as though there had 
 never been a Gordon in Earlswood or a Douglas in 
 the Isle. And Allan watched her as if he could not 
 let her out of his sight — -smiling like a man that dreams 
 a pleasant dream but fears he will awaken. Then 
 when her dancing cen came across his steady, quiet 
 look, she would come behind him and put her hands 
 over his eyes, asking what she had done that he should 
 look at her like that. 
 
 ' You haven't found out my last murder yet, Allan ! ' 
 she would say, and Allan would shift in his chair well 
 pleased to watch her. It was gurly weather when they 
 were at Drumquhat — 
 
 ' The wind made wave the red weed on the dyke, 
 An' gurl' weather gruit beastes' hair,' 
 
 quoted Allan, who has store of ballads, beyond what
 
 io8 THE COURTSHIP OF ALLAN FAIRLEY 
 
 most ministers think it their duty to carry. When the 
 wife was off with the candles and her hostess mysteries 
 (mostly kindly fuss and a chance to gossip) to see 
 Allan's young guidwife to her chamber, Allan and me 
 sat a gye while glowering at the red of the peat, till I 
 broke the silence that had fallen between us — the silence 
 of companionship, with the question that rose quite 
 natural, for it was not yesterday or the day before that 
 I first kenned the lad. ' Ay, Allan, lad, an' where did ye 
 fa' on wi' her ? ' I could see the pride, good honest pride, 
 rising in Allan's face, flushing his cheek, and setting his 
 eye fairly in a lowe, as he answered, ' Ay, Saunders, 
 didna I do the best day's work ever I did when I got 
 her ? ' This was my own thought for the lad, but I 
 only said, ' An' hoo did ye fa' on wi' her?' 
 
 ' It's a long story, Saunders, but I'll tell you ' — here 
 he glanced at the clock, him that used to sit till the 
 cocks were crawin' a merry midnight — ' I'll tell ye 
 briefly,' says he. The wives are not long in making 
 us ' like the horse or mule, 
 
 Whose mouth, lest they come near to him, 
 A bridle must command.' 
 
 I quoted this once to my wife, who replied : ' Humph, 
 an' I never heard yc war the waur o't — " horse or 
 mulc " quo she, ' fegs, it's anither quadcraped I was 
 rcferrin' to ! ' But at this point I had business in the 
 stable. 
 
 1 To begin at the beginning,' said Allan. ' When 
 I was elected to the parish of Earlswood I was the 
 people's candidate, yc maun ken. I had four hundred
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF ALLAN FAIRLKV 109 
 
 votes to thirty-three ; but Walter Douglas Gordon of 
 Earlswood, sole heritor of the parish, was against me. 
 He proposed a far-out friend of his own, never dreaming 
 but he would be elected without a word, and ye may 
 guess what a back-set he got when only his foresters and 
 them that was most behadden to him voted for his man.' 
 
 ' He wad neythcr be to haud nor bin',' said I. 
 
 1 Na,' said Allan, ' and in open kirk meeting he cuist 
 up to them that was proposin' me that my faither was 
 but a plooman, and my mither knitted his hose. But he 
 forgot that the days of patronage were by, for the Cross 
 Roads joiner rises, and says he : " I ken Allan Fairley, 
 and I ken his faither an' mither, an' they hae colleged 
 their son as honestly on plooin' an' stockin'-knittin' as 
 your son on a' the rents o' Earlswood ! " 
 
 ' " He'll never be minister o' the parish of Earlswood 
 wi' my guidwull ! " says he. 
 
 ' " He'll e'en be minister o' Earlswood withoot it, 
 then," said the joiner — an honest man, not troubled 
 with respect of persons. " There's nae richt o' pit an' 
 gallows noo, laird ! " says he. 
 
 ' " An' it's as well for you and your like ! " said the 
 Laird of Earlswood, as he strode out of the kirk, grim 
 as Archie Bcll-the-Cat. 
 
 ' Weel, Saunders, I considered that four hundred 
 was a good enough off-set against thirty-five of Earls- 
 wood's foresters and cot-men, so I was settled in the 
 parish, and took my mither from her knitting to keep 
 the manse.' 
 
 4 Honour thy father and thy mother!' said I : 'you 
 did well, Allan.'
 
 no THE COURTSHIP OF ALLAN FAIRLEV 
 
 ' The folk at the big house left the kirk and drove 
 over to the Episcopalians at Ford, but I went to call, as 
 it was my duty to do. And I met a young lady in the 
 grounds and asked her the way.' 
 
 ' I ken they are extensive,' says I ; 'it was as weel 
 to mak' sure of your road ! 
 
 ' Yes,' said Allan, ignoring a slight significance of 
 tone, ' I asked the way, and the young lady kindly 
 walked with me to the door. This was the message 
 that the footman brought back, the young lady standing 
 by : " Mr. Gordon declines to see you, and if you come 
 on the policies again he will have you prosecuted for 
 trespass." ' 
 
 ' Of course he couldna uphaud that,' I put in. 
 
 ' Very likely no',' said Allan, ' but it was sore to 
 bide from a poo'dered fitman on Earlswood doorstep 
 under the blue een o' Grace Gordon ! ' 
 
 ' An' what did she say ? ' I asked, curious for once. 
 
 'Say!' said Allan, proudly; 'this is what she did: 
 " Permit me to offer you an apology, Mr. Fairley," she 
 said, " and to show you the private path through the 
 fir plantation which you may not know." Oh, I know 
 it was maybe no' ladylike, Saunders ' 
 
 ' But it was awfu' woman-like ! ' said I. 
 
 ' I'll no' say anything about the walk through the 
 plantation,' said Allan Fairley, who no doubt had his 
 own sacred spots like other folk, ' but I have no need 
 to deny that a new thing came into my life that day 
 when the rain-drops sparkled on the fir needles. I 
 mind the damp smell o' them to this day.' (And there 
 is no doubt that the boy would to his dying day. I
 
 THE COURTSHIP OF ALLAN FAIRLEY 113 
 
 mind mysel' but there is no need going into 
 
 that). 
 
 ' The time gaed on as it has the gait of doing,' 
 Allan continued, ' and things settled a wee, and I 
 thocht that they would maybe all come round — except 
 Earlswood, of course. Ye maun ken that there's a big 
 colony o' dreadfu' respectable gentry in oor pairish — 
 retired tradesfolk frae Glasgow and Edinburgh, with a 
 pickle siller and a back-load o' pride.' 
 
 ' I ken the clan ! ' says I. 
 
 ' Weel, Saunders, ye'll hardly believe what I'm 
 gaun to tell you, but it's no made story I'm telling 
 you. There was twa o' them cam' to the manse yae 
 nicht,' said Allan, lapsing into his Doric, ' and the 
 lass showed them intil the study. It was gye an' dark, 
 but they wadna hear o' lichtin' the lamp, an' I didna 
 wunner or a' was dune. They didna seem to have 
 come aboot onything in partiklar, but they couldna get 
 awa', so they sat and sat an' just mishandled the rims o' 
 their hats. They lookit at yin anither an' oot at the 
 wunda an' up at the ceilin', but they never lookit at 
 me. At last yin o' them, a writer body, said in a kin' 
 o' desperation, " Mr. Fairley, we have been deputed to 
 tell you what the better classes of the parish think 
 would be the best for you to do " 
 
 ' " I am muckle obliged for the interest of the better 
 classes of the parish in my affairs," says I ; but he gaed 
 on like a bairn that has his lesson perfect. 
 
 ' " They think that it is a very noble thing of you to 
 provide for your mother — filial piety and so on " — here 
 he was at a loss, so he waved his hands — " but you
 
 ii 4 THE COURTSHIP OF ALLAN FAIRLEY 
 
 must be aware that — that I have a difficulty in 
 expressing my meaning — that the ladies of the con- 
 gregation, however willing, are as unable to call upon 
 Mistress Fairley, as it would no doubt be embarrassing 
 for her to receive them. Would it not be better that 
 some other arrangement — some smaller cottage could 
 surely be taken " 
 
 ' He got no further ; he wadna hae gotten as far if 
 for a moment I had jaloosed his drift. I got on my 
 feet. I could hardly keep my hands off them, minister 
 as I was ; but I said : " Gentlemen, you are aware of 
 what you ask me to do. You ask me to turn out of 
 my house the mither that bore me, the mither that 
 learned me ' The Lord's my Shepherd,' the mither that 
 wore her fingers near the bane that I might gang to 
 the college, that selled her bit plenishin' that my manse 
 micht be furnished ! Ye ask me to show her to the 
 door— I'LL SHOW YOU TO THE DOOR ! " an' to the door 
 they gaed ! ' 
 
 ' Weel dune ! That was my ain Allan ! ' cried I. 
 
 ' The story was ower a' the parish the next day, as ye 
 may guess, an' wha but Miss Gordon o' Earlswood ca'ed 
 on my mither the day efter that — an' kissed her on the 
 doorstep as she gaed away. The lawyer's wife saw her. 
 
 ' There was a great gathering o' the clans at 
 Earlswood when it a' cam' oot, but Grace had the 
 blood of Archibald the Grim as weel as her faither ; an' 
 she stood by the black armour of the Earlswood who 
 died at Flodden by the king, and said she afore them 
 a' : "I have heard what you say of Mr. Fairley, now 
 you shall all hear what I say. I say that I love Allan
 
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 TIIK COURTSHIP OF ALLAN FAIRLEY 
 
 117 
 
 Fairlcy with all my heart, and if one of you says 
 another word against him, I shall walk down to 
 Earlswood manse and ask Allan Fairley if he will 
 marry Grace Gordon as she stands ! " ' 
 
 • • S • • • 
 
 ' Saunders,' said my wife, entering as if she had not 
 been having an hour long woman's gossip with Grace 
 Fairley, ' Saunders, there'll be nae word o' this when 
 the clock strikes five the morrow's morn. I wunncr at 
 you, Allan Fairley, a mairriet man, keepin' him oot o' 
 his bed till this time o' nicht wi' yer clavers ! ' 
 
 The meeting here broke up in confusion. 
 
 &$?>?mr;. -t-jt . sap**; 
 
 EARLSWOOD HOUSE
 
 THE REV. JOHN SMITH OF ARKLAND 
 PREPARES HIS SERMON 
 
 IT is Friday, and the minister of Arkland was writing 
 his sermon. Things had not gone well in Arkland 
 that week. The meeting of the church court charged 
 with the temporalities had not passed off well on 
 Tuesday. One man especially had hurt the minister 
 in a sensitive place. This was Peter M'Robert, the 
 shoemaker. The minister had represented that a bath 
 in a manse was not a luxury but a necessity, when 
 Peter M'Robert said that as for him he had never ' had 
 sic a thing in his life, an' as for the minister that auld 
 Maister Drouthy had dune withoot yin in the manse 
 for thirty-three year to the satisfaction o' the pairish.' 
 
 Then there had been certain differences of opinion 
 within the manse itself, and altogether the sermon had 
 been begun with the intention of dressing down the 
 offending parishioners. Nearly all sermons are personal 
 to the preacher. They have been awakened within 
 him by some circumstance which has come to his 
 knowledge during the week. Preachers use this fact 
 for good or evil according to their kind. 
 
 A plain man was John Smith of Arkland — as plain
 
 JOHN SMITH OF ARKLANI) 119 
 
 and hodden grey as his name. He had succeeded to 
 the church with the largest majority that had been 
 known in the presbytery, for in that neighbourhood to 
 have given a man a unanimous call would have been 
 considered a disgrace and a reflection on the critical 
 discrimination of the congregation. He had tried to 
 do his duty without fear or favour, only asking that his 
 hands should not be tied. He visited the sick with a 
 plain quiet helpfulness which brought sympathy with 
 it as surely as the minister entered the house. His 
 sermons were not brilliant, but they were staves and 
 crutches to many. 
 
 Now as he sat at his manse window that bitter 
 November morning he watched the rain volleying on 
 the round causeway stones and the wide spaces of the 
 village street dimly white with the dancing spray. The 
 minister felt grimly in unison with the elements as he 
 sat framing his opening sentences. He had chosen his 
 text from a wonderful chapter. " Wisdom is justified 
 of her children.' And in this wise he began to write : 
 ' To be ignorant is to be dangerous. The ignorant 
 man, though he be but one, can make of no account 
 the wisdom of many men. After the wise of many 
 generations have been striving to teach a people 
 wisdom, a knave or a fool may come and cry aloud, 
 " There is no god but ourselves, there is no law but our 
 own desires, there is no hereafter but the grave which 
 we share with our sister the worm and our brother the 
 dead dog ! " Yet so great is the folly of man that 
 such an one may draw away much people after him 
 into the wilderness of sin and self-indulgence. It is in
 
 120 JOHN SMITH OF ARKLAND 
 
 accordance with the nature of man that ignorance and 
 narrowness should often succeed where wisdom is 
 wholly rejected.' 
 
 ' That will do,' said the minister, looking over his 
 work. He had Peter M'Robert in his mind, and he 
 rose and walked his study, ' mandating ' his opening 
 sentences with appropriate gestures, much to the 
 astonishment of Marget Lowrie in the kitchen, who 
 said, ' Save us ! what's wrang wi' the minister ? This 
 is no' Setturday ! ' 
 
 As he came in his sentry walks to the window which 
 looked up the rain-swept street, he saw a dark-coloured 
 oblong patch with a strange protuberance on the right 
 side, hirpling like a decrepit beetle athwart the road, 
 till, being caught at the manse corner by a bitter swirl, 
 this irregular shape — 
 
 ' If shape it could be called, that shape had none,' 
 
 stumbled and fell within thirty yards of the study 
 window, discharging on the muddy road an avalanche 
 of shavings, small branches, knobs, angles, and squares 
 of wood. In a moment the minister was out at the 
 door and was helping old Nance Kissock to her feet, 
 and then under the eyes of all the wives in the village 
 assisting her to collect again her bagful of chips and 
 kindlings which the good-natured joiner allowed her to 
 take once a week from his floor. 
 
 ' I hope you are none the worse, Nance ? ' said the 
 minister. 
 
 ' I thank ye, Maister Smith ; I'm sair forfoughten 
 wi' the wun', but gin the Almichty be willing I'll be at
 
 JOHN SMITH OF ARKLAND 121 
 
 the kirk on Sabbath to hear ye. It's guid to think on 
 a' the week what ye tell us. Whiles it gars me forget 
 the verra rheumatics ! ' 
 
 When the minister got back into the friendly shelter 
 of his study he took up the sheet which he had laid 
 down in order to rush out to Nance Kissock's assist- 
 ance. He read it over, but when he took his pen again, 
 he did not seem to like it so well. If Nance were 
 speaking the truth, and she fed during the week on the 
 spiritual food which she received in his kirk on the 
 Sabbath, he could not conceal from himself that next 
 week she had a good chance of going hungry. Yet he 
 could not allow Peter M'Robert to get off without a 
 word, so he put the thought away from him and went 
 on with his task. ' How often does a man of limited 
 view mistake his own limitations for the possibilities of 
 others. He never judges himself — he could not if he 
 would — and naturally when he judges others it is only 
 to condemn them.' A gust more than ordinarily 
 powerful took the minister again to the window, and 
 he saw John Scott, the herd from the Dornel, wringing 
 the wet from his plaid. He knew that he had come 
 down to the village from the hills three miles out of 
 his road to get his wife's medicine. Presently he would 
 trudge away manfully back again to the cot-house on 
 the edge of the heather. Now the minister knew that 
 come storm or calm John Scott would be at the kirk on 
 the next day but one, and that he would carry away in 
 the cool quiet brain that lay behind the broad brow the 
 heads and particulars of the sermon he heard. As he 
 went steadily knitting his stocking, conquering the
 
 122 JOHN SMITH OF ARKLAND 
 
 heather with strides long and high, visiting his black- 
 faced flock, he would go revolving the message that his 
 minister had given him in the house of God. 
 
 ' Wisdom is justified of her children,' repeated the 
 minister, doggedly ; but his text now awakened no 
 fervour. There was no enthusiasm in it. He thought 
 that he would go out and let the November winds drive 
 the rain into his face for a tonic. So he slipped on his 
 Inverness and let himself out. His feet carried him 
 towards the garret of one of his best friends, where an 
 aged woman, blind and infirm, was spending the latter 
 end of her days. She could not now come to church, 
 therefore the minister went often to her — for it was 
 sunshine to him also to bring light into that very dark 
 place where the aged servant of God waited her end. 
 
 Mary Carment knew his step far down the stair, and 
 she said to herself: ' It is himsel' ! ' and deep within her 
 she gave thanks. ' It is a great thing to hae the bread 
 o' life broken to us so simply that we a' understan' it, 
 Maister Smith,' she said. 
 
 ' But, Mary, how long is it since you heard a sermon 
 of mine ? ' 
 
 ' It's true it's a lang time since I heard ye preach, 
 minister, but I hear o' yer sermons every Sabbath. Yin 
 and anither tells me pairt o't till I get as muckle as I 
 can think on.' 
 
 As the minister said good-bye to Mary Carment, she 
 said : ' Ye'll hae ower muckle to think on to mind me 
 on the Lord's day when ye're speakin' for yer Maister ; 
 but I hae nanc but you to mind, sir, so I'll be prayin' 
 for you a' the time that ye're uphaudin' His name.'
 
 JOHN SMITH OF ARKLAND 123 
 
 ' Thank you, Mary, I'll not forget ! ' said her minister. 
 
 And he went out much strengthened. 
 
 As he went mansewards he passed the little cobbler's 
 den where Peter M'Robert was tap-tapping all the day, 
 and the sound of Peter's terrible cough called to him 
 with a voice that claimed him. He stepped in, and 
 after the word of salutation, he asked his office-bearer : 
 
 ' Are you not thinking of getting that cough attended 
 to, Peter ? ' he said. 
 
 ' Wha — me ? Na, no' me ; hoots, it's but a bit 
 host, nocht to speak aboot, thank ye for speerin', Maister 
 Smith.' 
 
 Just then the minister saw the doctor walking 
 rapidly up the far side of the street, calm-faced and 
 dignified, as if this howling November north-easter were 
 a beautiful June morning. Him he summoned. 
 
 ' Here's Peter'll no' speak to you about his cough. 
 He must have some of your drugs, doctor.' 
 
 The doctor called the unwilling cobbler from his last, 
 and after a brief examination he said : 
 
 ' No, I don't think there will be any need for drugs, 
 Mr. Smith ; if you, Peter, will use a gargle to get rid of 
 a trifling local inflammation. Less lapstone dust and less 
 snuff, Peter, and warm water three times a day,' said the 
 doctor, succinctly, and proceeded on his rounds. 
 
 As the minister went out, Peter looked up with a 
 queer twinkle in his eye. 
 
 1 Maister Smith,' he said, ' gin water be sae needful 
 for the inside o' a cobbler's thrapple, maybe I was 
 wrang in thinkin' that it wasna as necessary for the 
 ootside o' a minister ! '
 
 i2 4 JOHN SMITH OF ARKLAND 
 
 ' Then we'll say no more about it, Peter,' said the 
 minister, smiling, as he closed the door. ' Mind your 
 gargle ! ' 
 
 When the minister got to his study, he never stopped 
 even to wipe his feet, and when the mistress followed 
 to remonstrate, she found him putting his sermon in 
 the fire. 
 
 The minister's text on the following Sabbath morning 
 was an old one, but it was no old sermon that the 
 Arkland folk got that day. The text was, ' Come unto 
 me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden ; and I will 
 give you rest.' 
 
 Nance Kissock was there, and did not go home 
 hungry ; John Scott had come down from the muirs, 
 and had something better than physic to take back to 
 his ailing wife ; Peter M'Robert sat in his corner looking 
 cleaner than he had done within the memory of man — 
 also he never coughed once ; no less than eight different 
 folk came in to tell blind Mary Carment about the 
 sermon. 
 
 But none but the minister knew who it was that had 
 been praying for him.
 
 NETHER DULLAKG 
 
 A DAY IN THE LIFE OF REV. JAMES PITBYE, 
 MINISTER OF NETHER DULLARG 
 
 THERE is no doubt that we in this part ot the world 
 have the wale of ministers. And this is what nobody 
 but John Tamson of the Risk thinks of denying ; but 
 then John was never a weel-spoken body, and indeed 
 had some bit thought of trouble with the session in his 
 young days long before he was an elder himsel'. So 
 nobody heeds much what he says. 
 
 John was over at Drumquhat the other night, and 
 after him and me had settled our matters, he was telling 
 me about the minister that they had got now in the 
 parish of Nether Dullarg.
 
 126 THE MINISTER OF NETHER DULLARG 
 
 ' Ay,' says he, ' he's a rale quaite chiel, oor minister 
 — faut ? Na, I hae no faut to find wi' him. Na, he's 
 rale ceevil.' 
 
 ' I'm glad ye like your minister, for there's no' that 
 mony pleases you, John ! ' said I, to give him an opening, 
 for I had heard that he was waur ta'en with this minister 
 than with all the rest. 
 
 ' You'll see a heap of him, having him, so to speak, 
 just over the dyke ? ' said my mistress. 
 
 ' Ow ay, he's no' that ill to see,' he said, very slow- 
 like, for I could see that he was fair girnin' with what 
 the clerk of our School Board calls ' an ironical mainner 
 o' speech.' This is a thing no' much affected in our 
 countryside, except by John Tamson himsel' and a 
 road-man they call ' Snash ' Magill. Snash, when the 
 School Board had him up before them for not sending 
 his bairns to the new school at Dyke End, had the 
 assurance to ask the chairman if his father would ever 
 have been out of gaol if there had been a School Board 
 in his young days. But the Board was very sore on 
 him for this, because they mostly all were much 
 obligated to the chairman or were nearly related to 
 them that were. 
 
 John Tamson is no' a man that I would be fond of 
 having for next neighbour myself, but he's very enter- 
 taining when he comes over for a forenicht. He likes 
 to sit in the kitchen, so when he is at Drumquhat the 
 men are very exact about ' lowsin'-time,' and I take a 
 bit turn round the yard myself, just to see that they 
 dinna skimp the stabling of the horses in their hurry to 
 get in to their supper, being well aware that John will
 
 THE MINISTER OF NETHER DULLARG 127 
 
 be in full blast, and anxious to miss as little as 
 possible. 
 
 ' We fand faut wi' oor last twa ministers for no' 
 stoppin' lang wi' us,' said John, when we were all quiet, 
 for John cannot do with folk ' hotchin' an' fidginV If 
 he had been a minister, as at one time he thought of 
 being before his trouble, he would have taken a drink 
 and unfolded his white napkin when the late folk are 
 coming up the aisle, as our Mr. Fairley does whiles to 
 encourage them to be in time next Sabbath. ' Ay, 
 fowk were no' pleased wi' them for shiftin' so quick, but 
 that's no' a faut that they'll hae to fin' wi' Maister 
 Pitbye, or I'm sair mista'en, for I'm thinkin' that the 
 Dullarg folk'll get him to bury ! ' 
 
 Here my wife put in her word as she stood at the 
 bake-board — the wife whiles allows that she is scan- 
 dalised with John's wild talk, but she finds a great deal 
 of work in the kitchen when he is here for all that. 
 She ' likes to hear the body's din,' as she once said 
 when I tried her with a chapter or two of Tarn mas 
 Carlyle when I was reading in the winter forenichts 
 about the Heroes. ' It's better than sittin' clockin' an' 
 rcadin' — a body micht as weel no' hae a man ava. 
 Though I cannot mak' oot what the craitur wad be at, 
 I like to hear the body's din ! ' My wife's a good wife, 
 but her tongue wad clip cloots, or, as the clerk o' the 
 School Board would say, she has ' a facility in express- 
 ing her meaning.' 
 
 ' I hear that he's a very quaite man,' said Mistress 
 M'Ouhirr, ' but somebody was tellin' me that he was no' 
 considered a e*reat veesitor.'
 
 128 THE MINISTER OF NETHER DULLARG 
 
 ' Veesitor, quo' she ! ' says John, with his birses up 
 in a moment, ' hoo div ye think that the man has time 
 to veesit, considerin' the wark that he pits through han' 
 in a day ! I wonder to hear ye, Mistress MaWhurr ! ' 
 
 The herd-boy got up off the settle, for it was 
 interesting to hear John Tamson uphaudin' the 
 ministers — him bein' weel kenned for an Auld Kirk 
 elder and nae great professor. 
 
 ' If I dinna ken what that man does in the day, 
 there's naebody kens,' said John, raxing for a peat to 
 light his pipe. ' Noo, I'll juist gie ye an idea — last 
 Friday I was aboot the hoose a' day, aff an' on, wi' a 
 meer that was near the foalin'. 
 
 ' At nine by the clock his bedroom blind gaed up, 
 an' he cam' doon the stair maybe a quarter o' an 'oor 
 after or thereby. The mistress had been up an' aboot 
 frae seven, an' had the bairns a' washt an' dresst, an' 
 oot at the back so as no' to wakken their faither, or 
 disturb him in his thinkin'. Weel, doon he comes an' 
 gets his breakfast, for I saw Betty takkin' in the cream 
 frae the larder at the end o' the hoose. She skimmed 
 it aff the bairns' milk for their parritch, an' set it there 
 for the minister himsel', it being weel kenned through 
 a' Gallawa' that cream is needed for the brain wark. 
 Then there's a bell rings for prayers, an' Betty synes 
 hersel' an' gangs ben, an' their mither shoos the bairns 
 out o' the sand-hole, an' gies them a dicht to mak' them 
 faceable to gang in. Then in ten minutes they're a' 
 oot again, an' here comes himsel' for a rest an' a smoke, 
 and to look oot for the post. Maybes in half an 'oor 
 the post comes in sicht, wi' his troosers buckled up, for
 
 THE MINISTER OF NETHER DULLARG 129 
 
 he's an onmarricd man an' thinks a dale o' his reed 
 braid. The minister has never moved, smokin' an' 
 thinkin', nae doot, o' the Sabbath's sermon. The post 
 gies him twa-three papers an' letters, an' then yesterday's 
 Scotsman that he tak's alang \vi' Maister MacPhun doon 
 at the Cross Roads. The post's auntie cleans Maister 
 MacPhun's kirk, so the post tak's the paper up to the 
 Dullarg for naething. " They're juist from the Church 
 Offices, take them on to the Manse, an' gie me the 
 paper," he says. Syne he sits doon, decent man, as he 
 had a good richt to do, on the green seat at the end o' 
 the hoose, an' wi' great an' surprisin' diligence he reads 
 the Scotsman till maybe half-past twal. But he has had 
 cracks forbye in the byegaun, wi' a farmer that had been 
 at the smiddy, wi' John Grier the tea-man, wha is an 
 elder o' his an' never contres him in the session, an' 
 forbye has sent twa tramps doon the road wi' a flea i' 
 their lug, I'm thinkin'. Then he lays the paper doon 
 on's knee an' ye wad think that his studies war' makkin' 
 him sleepy ; but little do ye ken him if ye think sae — 
 for roon the hoose efter a yella butterfiee comes his boy 
 Jeems, wha disna promise to be the quaite ceevil man 
 his father is. He stops the callant aboot the quickest, 
 an' sen's him in to his mither to bring oot word when 
 the denner will be ready. Maister Pitbye says nocht 
 when the answer comes, but he tak's up Thursday's 
 paper again, an' has a look at the adverteesements an' 
 the births, daiths, an' mairriages. Then he cleans his 
 pipe, for he's a carefu' man, an' in some things baith 
 eidcnt and forehanded. 
 
 ' Then efter denner is by he has another smoke, as
 
 130 THE MINISTER OF NETHER DULLARG 
 
 every man should that has a respec' for his inside. 
 Then he fills again an' gangs inbye to his study, where 
 the blind is drawn doon, for ower muckle licht is no 
 guid for the sermon-makkin'. For twa 'oors he works 
 hard there, an' disna like to be disturbit nayther, for 
 yince afore we fell oot, when I gaed to see him about 
 some sma' maitter, the lass pit me in raither sharp, an' 
 the sofa gied an awfu' girg, an' there sat the minister 
 on's ain study chair, blinkin' an' no weel pleased, juist 
 like a hoolet, at bein' disturbit at the studyin'. 
 
 ' There's nae mainner o' doot that it's then that the 
 sermons are made, for a' the rest o's time I can accoont 
 for. Then when tea is bye, oot comes the minister wi' 
 his pipe, an' sets his elbaws on the dyke, an' does some 
 mair o' the thinkin'. Then he pits on his third best 
 hat an' awa' he sets doon the brae to the shop, an' 
 there, as oor lass Peg telled me, him an' John Aitkcn 
 ca'ed the crack for the best pairt o' an 'oor. Then he 
 gangs his wa's in, as he does every nicht, to see the 
 Clerk o' oor Schule Board, wha ance at an election time 
 made a temperance speech in the next coonty, but wha's 
 ower weel kenned a man to do the like at hame. It 
 was chappin' nine by the clock when the minister cam 5 
 hame to his supper, to tak' the Book, an' decently to 
 gang to his bed, nae doot wi' the approval o' his con- 
 science that he had dune a good day's wark.' 
 
 ' An' it's time that we were a' in oor beds ! ' said 
 my wife.
 
 
 
 
 IN THE GLEN KELLS 
 
 THE GLEN KELLS SHORT LEET 
 
 There was a silence in all the chambers of the manse 
 of Glen Kells. A wet and dreary wind wailed about it 
 and shook the rain-drops off the Scotch firs that 
 sheltered it. Hushed footsteps moved to and fro in the 
 kitchen, with occasional pauses, as if conscious of their 
 own inappropriateness. There was the dank trail of 
 many wheels on the narrow gravelled walk before the 
 porch. The rain stood in them as in the dismalest of 
 canals. It was the day after the minister's funeral. 
 
 In an upper room two women sat looking out at 
 the rain. The younger held the hand of the elder ; but 
 in this room also there was silence. They were silent, 
 for they had seen their old life crumble like a swallow's 
 nest in the rain, and they had not yet seen the possibility 
 of any new life rise before them. So they sat and 
 
 K
 
 I3 2 THE GLEN KELLS SHORT LEET 
 
 looked at the rain, and it seemed that there was nothing 
 for them to do but to go forward for ever and ever — 
 the rain beating about them, their feet 
 
 ' Deep down in a drift of dead leaves.' 
 
 There was a ' short leet ' — mystic words, not under- 
 standed of the Southron — in the Glen of the Kells. 
 The ' short leet ' did not come all at once — this had 
 been too much happiness, tending to make kirk 
 ' members and adherents ' lose distinction in their joys. 
 But they came — there were just three of them, the leet 
 beincr the shortest of leets — each for a Sabbath into the 
 glen, preaching at noon in the kirk, and in the evening 
 in the school-house of the clachan. Yet all but one 
 went away feeling that, whoever was the man, it could 
 not possibly be he, for the congregation of the hill-folk 
 at each diet of worship sat silent and expressionless, 
 while fiery denunciation and thunderous exhortation 
 passed them over sitting there equal -minded and 
 unscathed. The first who preached was the Rev. James 
 Augustus Towers, assistant in St. Mungo's in Edinburgh, 
 no less. He had been pitched upon as the likely man 
 as soon as the list had been made up by the ' co-mi-tee ' 
 — the assembly of office-bearers and honourable men 
 not a few of the parish of Glen Kells. The Rev. 
 James Augustus Towers was a distinguished assistant. 
 He had been brought out, a very callow fledgling, under 
 the aristocratic wing of the great Dr. Paton, the 
 Distinguished Critic and Superior Person of the whole 
 church. There he learned that Presbyterianism had no
 
 THE GLEN KELLS SHORT LEET 133 
 
 claims on any man's admiration — that Presbytery was 
 singularly unbeautiful — that the Beautiful alone was the 
 Good — that a Creed was a most inconvenient incum- 
 brance — that enthusiasm made a man hot and ridicu- 
 lous, whilst the cultured calms and ordered forms of the 
 Anglican church, as understood by her higher clergy, 
 were the only things really worthy of admiration, 
 though even these must be carefully denuded of all 
 meaning. Such was the equipment wherewith the Rev. 
 James Augustus Towers undertook to become a 
 candidate for the suffrages of the herds and farmers of 
 Glen Kells. He brought his own gown and cassock 
 from Edinburgh, and had a coloured cloth hanging over 
 his back when he preached in the kirk in the morning. 
 The sermon was lost to the Glen of the Kells, for 
 nobody ever heard a word of it, so intent were their 
 eyes on this new thing, unknown and unimagined, 
 that had come into their midst. The ' Frees ' said it was 
 ' a rag of Rome,' while the U.P.s up at St. John's Town 
 said that it was ' nocht less than the mark of the beast.' 
 But ' Clicky ' Steward, the grieve at Craigencaillie, who 
 had never attended church with any regularity before, 
 and who meant to vote as an adherent, said, with a 
 strong expression which those who know him will 
 recognise, ' Say as ye like, the lad wi' the tippet's the boy 
 for me ! ' And there were not a few of ' Clicky's ' mind. 
 All the candidates stayed at the manse, past which 
 the Kells water was slipping gently as of old. The late 
 minister's widow was still in possession, and it was ex- 
 pected by the not unkindly folk that she would not have 
 to flit till May — ' she wad get time to look aboot her.'
 
 I34 THE GLEN KELLS SHORT LEET 
 
 Gavin Ross had died a poor man, but he had not for- 
 gotten to make what provision he could for his wife and 
 daughter. Indeed, there had no day dawned and no 
 night fallen since ever he married when he did not bear 
 this within him next the very skin of his naked soul. 
 The mother and daughter had looked over the possibi- 
 lities — to go to Edinburgh, and there to take the better 
 kind of house and try the old sad plan of keeping 
 lodgers, which none who undertake have their trials to 
 seek ; to settle in Cairn Edward and open a little school, 
 where no doubt Margaret could get a few pupils in 
 music and French. But in the heart of Margaret Ross 
 there often came a thought which never visited that of 
 her mother, that the best of these prospects was miser- 
 ably inadequate to the supply of her mother's needs on 
 anything like the scale to which she was accustomed. 
 She felt that it lay on her to keep her mother, whose 
 heart had never recovered from the shock of her hus- 
 band's death — all whose sorrow was now bound up in 
 the thought that before long she must leave the manse 
 to which she had come as a bride on Gavin Ross's arm 
 so many years ago. 
 
 Into this home of silence came the Rev. James 
 Augustus Towers, and his attitude was as condescend- 
 ing and superior as though he were already master of 
 the manse, and the pale women-folk but lodgers on 
 sufferance. He made himself at home — in carpet 
 slippers, for it was only in the pulpit that he covered 
 himself with the vain gauds of adornment. As soon 
 as he came to a dining-table, or into a drawing-room — 
 then, ah ! then, in spite of the veneer of culture, it was
 
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 THE GLEN KELLS SHORT LEET 
 
 137 
 
 in the power of the most casual observer ' to trace, 
 with half an eye, 
 
 ' The still triumphant carrot through ! ' 
 
 The Rev. James Augustus Towers, assistant in the 
 kirk of St. Mungo, sat at the fire in the manse dining- 
 
 THE SLIPPERS OF AUGUSTUS TOWEKS 
 
 room while Margaret Ross helped Janet to take the 
 things to the kitchen after dinner. He kept his back 
 steadily to them, being content with himself and secure 
 of his chances. Then he lay at length in an easy-chair 
 and picked his teeth, while the carpet slippers sunned 
 themselves on Gavin Ross's fender. 
 
 It was the night when the Third Candidate was
 
 138 THE GLEN KELLS SHORT LEET 
 
 expected at the manse of Kells. He had never been 
 there before, but a friend of the banker who was 
 convener of committee had heard the lad preach in a 
 neighbouring parish, and that very powerful man had 
 exerted his influence — no light thing in a community 
 of small farmers — to have Christopher Murray put on 
 the list, and afterwards drafted into the mystic trio of 
 the short leet. The Second Candidate had come and 
 gone, without leaving any impression ; ' his name was 
 indeed writ in water.' Had he known it, he owed this 
 to the banker. He was the son of the prominent 
 ecclesiast who was prime minister of the local Presby- 
 tery — ' could twist them roon' his wee finger,' it was 
 said. Now the banker had no idea of committing the 
 affairs of the parish to this prominent father in the 
 church 
 
 ' Of laree discourse and excellent taste in wines.' 
 
 5^ 
 
 He had received a letter from the wife of this 
 gentleman, who was a distant kin of his own, an 
 epistle evidently inspired by a hand heavily clerkly 
 and presbyterial, recounting the marvels of her son's 
 academic career, and all his later fitness for the position 
 of minister of the parish of Glen Kells. This was 
 hardly fair to the youth, who, in spite of his training, 
 was a really modest lad. But the banker, a man wise 
 in counsel as kindly in heart, smiled as he wrote him 
 down on his official list, under the column devoted 
 to testimonials — By whom recommended. ' The Rev. 
 Roderick Rorison, recommended by his mother.' And 
 the smile was as wide and as long as the Glen Kells
 
 THE GLEN KELLS SHORT LEET 139 
 
 in twenty-four hours after the next committee meeting, 
 while the young man's chances had utterly vanished 
 away. 
 
 At the Bank as well as in the Manse there was 
 expectancy going out towards the gig of the farmer of 
 Drumrash, in which the last man on the short leet was 
 to make his way up the Glen of the Kells Water. On 
 its jigging and swaying eminence the other two had 
 likewise made their exits and their entrances. For Glen 
 Kells believed in giving every man an equal chance- — 
 except the banker, who smiled to himself as he thought 
 of the Rev. Peter Rorison, folding his comfortable hands 
 and looking across to his wife as if between them they 
 had already annexed the Glen of the Kells to their 
 diocese. But the banker was far from comfortable ; 
 for, though he wished the Rev. Christopher Murray 
 well, he knew that if he failed to please, the only 
 alternative was the Rev. James Augustus Towers — and 
 the banker did not admire the ' tippet.' 
 
 When Christopher Murray topped the brae at the 
 head of which the manse stood, he was thinking of 
 nothing higher than the prospect of a cup of tea and a 
 quiet fire by which to spend the evening and read the 
 book which he had brought with him in his black bag. 
 He pulled at the manse bell, and somewhere far down 
 the stone passages he heard it ring. It had a fixed 
 and settled sound, quite different from the deafening 
 clangour of the town house bells, where, when you pull 
 an innocent-looking knob in a lintel, you seem to set 
 in motion a complete church peal immediately on the 
 other side cf the door. Christopher Murray was ready
 
 140 
 
 THE GLEN KELLS SHORT LEET 
 
 to tell the maid whom he expected to open the door 
 that he was the minister come to supply on the next 
 
 i^mk 
 
 
 ;j 
 
 
 
 A 
 
 r 
 
 ' IN THE DARK OF THE DOORWAY ' 
 
 day. He was prepared for that look of compassion for 
 his youth which he knew so well, which said as plain as 
 words could say, ' Puir lad, little do ye ken what's
 
 THE GLEN KELLS SHORT LEET 141 
 
 afore ye in this pairish ! ' But he was not prepared for 
 what he did see. A slender girl in black, fair as a lily, 
 stood in the dark of- the doorway, waiting for him to 
 speak. Speak he did, but what he said he could never 
 remember ; for he found himself, with his hat in his 
 hand, endeavouring to apologise for some offence which, 
 though quite clear to himself, he was strangely unable 
 to express in words. He felt himself uncouth, ungainly, 
 coltish, generally ' in the road,' but he never got any 
 great length with putting it into words ; for in an 
 incredibly short time he found himself mysteriously at 
 home in the manse parlour, an apartment unpenetrated 
 by the assurance of the Rev. James Augustus Towers, or 
 the illustrious ancestry of the Rev. Roderick Rorison ; 
 where, at the head of her mother's invalid sofa, his eyes 
 could watch the busy fingers and flower-like face of 
 Margaret Ross, pathetic in her black dress. Christopher 
 Murray was an orphan, and had little knowledge of the 
 life of the home, but he says now that his aspirations for 
 a home of his own dated from this time. It is safest 
 to believe a man when he tells vou little coincidences of 
 this kind. Very likely he believes them himself. 
 
 The fateful morrow came, and the last man on the 
 leet proved himself no bungler. He preached straight 
 from the shoulder. There were more there at night 
 than had been in the forenoon, a thing that had not 
 been known in the Glen Kclls in the memory of man. 
 This is what old Betty Grierson said ; she was a great 
 critic of sermons, and they say that even Mr. Rorison 
 was feared for her : ' 'Deed, sirs, I howp the fear o' God 
 has been gicn to that young man, for of a truth the
 
 142 THE GLEN KELLS SHORT LEET 
 
 fear o' man has been withhauden from him,' which was 
 better than twenty testimonials in the parish. The 
 banker smiled, for he knew that the ' tippet ' had now 
 small chance of being aired a second time in the kirk 
 of the Glen Kclls. 
 
 • • • • o ■ 
 
 So Christopher Murray is now placed minister in 
 the Glen of the Kells, and has a good prospect of a 
 home of his own. But Mrs. Ross and her daughter 
 Margaret are still in the manse, and the young 
 minister is lodging for a time over the shop in the 
 village. The Rosses have given up the little house 
 they had taken in Cairn Edward, and Christopher 
 Murray smiles like a man well pleased when the people 
 ask him when he is going into the manse. He does 
 not think that Mrs. Ross will be troubled to move out 
 of the old manse overhanging the Kells Water in which 
 she has lived so long, and he has the best of reasons 
 for his belief,
 
 BOANERGES SIMPSON'S ENCUMBRANCE 
 
 VERY one said that 
 it was a pity of 
 Boanerges Simp- 
 son, the minister 
 of St. Tudno's. 
 This was univer- 
 sally recognised in 
 Maitland. Not 
 only the congrega- 
 tion of St. Tudno's, 
 but the people 
 of other denomi- 
 nations knew that 
 Mr. Simpson was saddled with a wife who was little but 
 a drag upon him. They even said that he had been 
 on the point of obtaining a call to a great city charge, 
 when, his domestic circumstances being inquired into, 
 it was universally recognised by the session of that 
 company of humble followers of Christ that, however 
 suitable the Rev. Boanerges Simpson might be to 
 receive ^1200 a year for preaching the Carpenter's
 
 144 BOANERGES SIMPSON'S ENCUMBRANCE 
 
 gospel to it, Mrs. Boanerges Simpson was not at all the 
 woman to dispense afternoon tea to the session's spouses 
 between the hours of three and six. 
 
 It was, however, also well known that the minister 
 of St. Tudno's bore up under this household trial like 
 an angel. His quiet patience with his help unmeet 
 became a proverb. He had a bland, vague, upward- 
 looking eye, and walked as one wrapped in the 
 mysteries of such deep thought as few could fathom. 
 When any one glanced at his particular sufferings, he 
 sighed and passed lightly to another subject. He had 
 a softly episcopal handshake which made some women 
 call him blessed, and many men itch to kick him. 
 This handshake was one of his chief assets. 
 
 But his great power came out in his sermons. Even 
 his enemies admitted that he was noble in the pulpit. 
 Yet he was not a natural orator. He had not the 
 readiness of resource, the instantaneousness of attack 
 and defence requisite for the speaker. His sermons 
 were given in an exquisitely varied recitative, and when 
 he redelivered them, it was often remarked with 
 admiration that he placed the emphasis on the same 
 words, made the same pauses, and became affected as 
 close to tears as decorum would permit, in precisely the 
 same places. 
 
 His care in preparation was often held up to his 
 brother ministers in the town of Maitland, among whom 
 he was not popular, owing, no doubt, to the jealousy 
 which prevails in all professions. Still, they had him 
 often to preach for them, for no minister in the country 
 could draw such a crowd — or such a collection. There
 
 BOANERGES SIMPSON'S ENCUMBRANCE 1 45 
 
 were half a dozen rich old ladies who were known to 
 have Mr. Simpson in their wills, and these accompanied 
 him about wherever he preached, like Tabbies following 
 a milk jug. There were also a good many ladies of 
 various ages who visited at the manse of St. Tudno's at 
 hours when the Reverend Boanerges was known to be 
 resting from the labours of sermon-production in the 
 drawing-room. They did not often see his wife. She, 
 no doubt, felt herself quite unpresentable, poor thing ! 
 So one of the visitors was asked to dispense tea. This 
 was generally recognised to be as it should be. 
 
 The town of Maitland came as near to being a city 
 as some fools come to being geniuses. Maitland has 
 an ancient, and, in its early stages, an honourable history. 
 It had been a great city when the capital of Scotland 
 was a barren rock, and when the fisher steered his 
 coracle below the lonely braes of the Clydeside Broomie- 
 law. In its latter days it had taken to the manufacture 
 of thread and the digging of coal. But its burghers 
 have still much pride about them, severely tempered 
 with economy. 
 
 Some years ago Maitland resolved on having new 
 municipal buildings. The ancient town hall was also 
 in its under story the gaol, and it was not seemly that 
 the bailies and the very provost should be compelled 
 to listen to the sighing of the prisoner whom they had 
 just committed for being drunk and disorderly, and who 
 in the cells beneath still audibly continued to be the 
 latter. The town hall was, therefore, abandoned to the 
 victims of police interference, and the new municipal 
 buildings rose nobly in the middle of the town.
 
 146 BOANERGES SIMPSON'S ENCUMBRANCE 
 
 But when the first assessment of one and tenpence 
 in the pound was made on the ratepayers, they rose in 
 instant rebellion. Letters in the local papers could not 
 ease the smart. They must have the blood of the 
 whole town council, and specially of the bailies. The 
 provost was held to be a decent man who had been led 
 into this bad business against his will. This provost 
 was the paragon of provosts. He spoke broad Scots, 
 and spoke it, too, with a rollicking local accent which 
 went straight to the heart of every Maitland man and 
 woman. He had wrinkles round his eyes, and the 
 meditative way with him which all meal millers achieve 
 from leaning their elbows on the lower halves of their 
 mill doors. He sometimes came to the council with 
 the white dust of his profession emphasising his homeli- 
 ness. The Rev. Boanerges Simpson had a pique at the 
 provost. The trenchant Doric sense of the layman cut 
 through the pretentious unction of the cleric like a knife 
 through soap. But hitherto the opposition had been 
 private, for the provost had the strange taste to prefer 
 the invisible and incompatible wife to the active and 
 brilliant husband. 
 
 The matter of the municipal buildings came to a 
 head over the town bell. There was an indignation 
 meeting summoned by aggrieved ratepayers, and all the 
 correspondents of the local newspapers attended in force. 
 The Rev. Boanerges Simpson proposed the first resolu- 
 tion, ' That it is the opinion of this meeting that the 
 proposal to waste the ratepayers' money in a bell to be 
 used for profane purposes is subversive of all morality 
 and good government, and the provost and magistrates
 
 BOANERGES SIMPSON'S ENCUMBRANCE 147 
 
 (except Councillor MacBean of the Third Ward, who 
 voted against it) are requested to resign forthwith.' 
 The Rev. Boanerges was not so fluent as usual. His 
 forte was the pulpit. He liked to keep himself before 
 the public, but he lacked in a gathering of men his 
 personal following of old ladies, and had not quite his 
 usual nerve in consequence. The motion was, however, 
 unanimously carried, and that with great acclamation. 
 Resolution after resolution was carried, each more 
 sweeping than the last. Enthusiastic indignation rose 
 feverishly till the burgesses were almost committed to 
 burning the magistrates in front of their own doors. 
 Now the provost had been all day from home, and did 
 not hear of the meeting till some time after his return. 
 
 ' I'll gie mysel' a bit wash an' gang doon,' he said, 
 quietly. 
 
 When he stepped on the platform he was received 
 with a storm of howls. The meeting would not hear 
 him. Councillor MacBean, who had the credit of being 
 able to swing the Third Ward like a dead cat, and who 
 thought of standing for provost, led the groans. 
 
 The provost waited smiling. He dusted the meal 
 from the creases of his coat, and brushed up his grey 
 soft hat with his elbow. He even got out his knife to 
 pare his nails. At last he got in a word, and as soon 
 as ever his sonorous steady Scots was heard the storm 
 fell to a dead calm, for the only man who could sway a 
 Maitland audience was on his feet, and the provost knew 
 that the hearts of these men were like wax in his hands. 
 This was the matter of his speech : 
 
 ' My frcens, Aw was up at Allokirk the day, an' div 
 
 L
 
 i 4 S BOANERGES SIMPSON'S ENCUMBRANCE 
 
 ye ken what the craiturs war sayin' ? Na, ye'll no' 
 believe me gin Aw tell ye. The assurance o' the up- 
 setting creests is juist by ordinar'. Ye ken that Allokirk 
 can never forgie Maitland for bein' a bigger, bonnier, 
 aulder toon, and for haein' the kings an' queens o' braid 
 Scotland lying in oor aibbey yaird ower by. Wha but 
 a wheen Allokirk jute fowk an' ither upstart tinkler 
 bodies wad lie ablow the jow o' the Allokirk bell ' 
 
 Cries of ' Come to the point ! ' ' We dinna want to 
 hear aboot Allokirk. It's aboot oor ain bell we want 
 to hear.' ' Ye'll no' throw stoor in oor een, provost ! ' 
 
 ' Bide a wee, I'm juist comin' to that. This is what 
 the Allokirk fowk were sayin'. Ye ken the thocht o' 
 oor braw new toon buildin' is juist gall and wormwud 
 to them. They ken that their toon hall wadna be a 
 back kitchen to the Maitland fowk's, an' sae, to even 
 themsel's to' us, what hae the blasties dune but gotten 
 a bell to hing in their bit toorock — a twenty-ton bell, 
 nae less. An,' says they, the like o' that bell wull never 
 ring in Maitland toon ! Na, the puir feckless, bankrupt 
 bodies o' Maitland, wi' their thread an' their coals, canna 
 afford sic a bell as Allokirk has ! Whatna answer wull 
 ye gie back, ma frien's ? Wull ye let Allokirk craw 
 ower you ? Wull ye sit doon like Henny-penny in the 
 hornbuik l wi' your finger in your mooth ? Na, ye're 
 Maitland men, and as sure as yer provost is a Maitland 
 man we'll hing a thirty-ton bell in oor braw too'er, and 
 ilka jow o't, soondin' across the water, wull tell the 
 Allokirk bodies that they're but cauld kail an' soor dook 
 beside the burghers o' the Auld Grey Toon ! ' 
 
 1 A picture in the old-fashioned child's primer.
 
 BOANERGES SIMPSON'S ENCUMBRANCE 149 
 
 The meeting here rose in a frenzy. The thirty-ton 
 bell was voted. MacBean was put out feet foremost 
 for moving the previous question, and the Rev. Boanerges 
 Simpson went home to bring his wife to a sense of her 
 position. 
 
 After this the provost was more inclined than before 
 to like his worsted antagonist, and even got into the 
 habit of attending the church of St. Tudno. 
 
 What bothered him most was the quality of the 
 sermons of the Rev. Boanerges Simpson. They were 
 certainly full of a subtle sympathy with the suffering and 
 down-trodden. An exquisite pathos welled through them. 
 It was a remarkable fact that some of the most im- 
 partial and intelligent of the congregation listened to 
 these productions with their eyes shut, in order that 
 they might not have the contrast of the preacher's 
 oleaginous presence and his thrilling words. It was 
 also observed and commented upon that on the occasions 
 when every eye in the church was riveted upon the 
 preacher, his own wife never so much as raised her eyes 
 from the bookboard. This was set down to a nature 
 averse to the message of grace which so strongly affected 
 others. The provost's sister called his attention to this, 
 and even the good man was somewhat shaken in his 
 belief in the minister's wife. Whatever her private 
 opinion of her husband, she should certainly have shown 
 her reverence for a man so highly gifted with a 
 
 message. 
 
 Day by day, therefore, Mrs. Simpson shrank more 
 and more into her own silence. Isolation grew upon 
 her till she had walled herself off from her fellow-
 
 150 BOANERGES SIMPSON'S ENCUMBRANCE 
 
 creatures. Then she stopped going to church at all, 
 and the Rev. Boanerges walked along with the seraphic 
 smile of a martyr whose burden was almost more than 
 he could bear. His sermons became too high strung 
 and ethereal for the edification of the workaday sons 
 and daughters of men. What was the most extra- 
 ordinary thing of all, the pathos and sentiment, the 
 spiritual communion, were so clearly a personal experi- 
 ence of the preacher, that even those who had been 
 repelled by his personality gave him credit for having 
 such communion with the unseen as few are privileged 
 to attain to in this world. There was a deep belief in 
 Maitland that there can be no effect without a sufficient 
 cause, for Maitland is above all things a logical place. 
 St. Tudno's became a shrine of pilgrimage from far and 
 near, and its gifted and saintly minister seemed to be 
 mellowing from a Boanerges into a John. It was 
 thought that what he was suffering at home was refining 
 his soul. It is thus that the finest spirits are moulded. 
 The provost was so touched that he went to ask his 
 pardon for any hasty expressions which he might have 
 used in the affair of the bell. Mrs. Simpson received 
 him and listened with a dull silence to his frank and 
 kindly words. 
 
 ' Your guidman an' me haes oor differences,' said the 
 provost ; ' but I wull alloo that there's naebody atween 
 Tweed an' Tay can come within a lang sea mile o' him 
 for preachin'.' 
 
 The minister's wife made a strange reply. 
 
 ' Would you say as much a year from now, if many 
 other people were to turn against him ? ' she asked,
 
 BOANERGES SIMPSON'S ENCUMBRANCE 151 
 
 lifting her abased eyes and letting them rest for a 
 moment on the kindly face of the good provost. 
 
 ' Aw'm gye an' wcel used to stickin' to my opeenion,' 
 said the meal miller. ' Aw hae seen the Maitland 
 fowk's verdick come roon' to mine a deal oftener than 
 mine whurl aboot to theirs ! ' 
 
 ' Then you'll be a friend to my husband in the days 
 to come,' she said, earnestly. . 
 
 ' That Aw wull ! ' said the provost, heartily. 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Mrs. Simpson ; ' thank you more 
 than I can tell you. That is what I've been praying 
 for. I shall sleep sound to-night ! ' 
 
 And she did. Only she forgot to awaken the next 
 morning. The funeral was a great one, for the sake of 
 the bereaved man ; but every one felt that a barrier to 
 the success of the preacher had been providentially 
 removed. On the Sabbath following there was such a 
 congregation as has never been seen since within the 
 walls of St. Tudno's. The minister surpassed himself. 
 There was not a dry eye between the topmost gallery 
 and the back seat below the loft where the provost sat. 
 Now, in that church it was the custom of the elders to 
 take in the Bible and bring it out to the vestry after- 
 wards. This they did in rotation. It was the provost's 
 day. As he lifted the Bible, the sermon slid to the 
 floor. He picked it up, glanced at it, and turned pale. 
 Then he sat down to recover himself. The funeral 
 sermon was neatly written out in Mrs. Simpson's own 
 hand. 
 
 The Rev. Boanerges never preached another great 
 sermon — never one even mediocre. It was said that
 
 152 BOANERGES SIMPSON'S ENCUMBRANCE 
 
 grief had permanently weakened his faculties. It is 
 strange that men cannot benefit by the opportunities 
 which Providence makes for them. There were many 
 who wondered that the provost stood by him ; but the 
 meal miller was not the man to forget a word passed to 
 a dead woman, and he kept her secret well. He was 
 (and is) the pearl of provosts. 
 
 As for the Rev. Boanerges, he married again within 
 a year, a maiden lady with ,£50,000 in consols and a 
 temper — both her own. Her husband is a man of 
 great reputation. He has retired to a comfortable estate 
 in the Highlands, which shows that true merit is always 
 rewarded. He has since put out two volumes of 
 sermons, which are allowed by the religious press to be 
 among the most subtle and suggestive which have been 
 published this century. They ought to be in every 
 preacher's library. His first wife had carefully copied 
 them all out for the printer, which seems to be about the 
 only useful thing she did during her life. But the funeral 
 sermon was written in the minister's large sprawling 
 characters. There is no monument over the grave of 
 the first Mrs. Simpson, but the provost often walks out 
 there of an evening and lays a white rose upon it.
 
 A KNIGHT-ERRANT OF 
 THE STREETS 
 
 £ LEG 1 KELLY was out of his 
 
 latitude, and knew it. He was a 
 
 Pleasance laddie, and he lived in 
 
 one of the garret rooms of a big 
 
 ' land,' as full of passages and bye- 
 ways as a rabbit warren. He was 
 not a Christian, was Cleg Kelly. 
 Neither was his father. He said he 
 was a ' snow-shoveller,' and as his pro- 
 fession could be carried on during a 
 very limited number of days in the 
 year, he made his fellow-citizens chargeable for his keep 
 during the rest of the year, and personally collected the 
 needful. So his fellow-citizens thoughtfully provided 
 for his accommodation a splendid edifice on the side of 
 the Calton — the same which American tourists wax 
 enthusiastic about as they come into the Scots metropolis 
 by the North British Railway, mistaking its battlemcnted 
 towers for those of Edinburgh Castle. 
 
 1 'Cleg' means, in the dialect of the Lowlands, the small common 
 gadfly or horse-fly.
 
 154 A KNIGHT-ERRANT OF THE STREETS 
 
 Here Mr. Timothy Kelly occupied a beautifully 
 clean and healthy apartment for at least six months in 
 the year. During this time he worked at a Government 
 contract, and so, of course, could not devote much time 
 to the education of his son and heir. But Tim Kelly, 
 though a fascinating study, must not tempt us away 
 from his equally accomplished son. As was said at the 
 beginning, Cleg Kelly was out of his latitude, and he 
 .did not like it. It was Sunday afternoon, and he had 
 been across the narrow isthmus of houses which separates 
 the Alps of the Salisbury Crags from the Lombard plain 
 of the Meadows. He had been putting in his attend- 
 ances at five Sunday Schools that day, for it was the 
 leafy month of June when 'trips' abound, and Cleg 
 Kelly was not quite so green as the summer foliage ; 
 besides all which, about five o'clock there are lots of 
 nice clean children in that part of the town on their way 
 home from ' Congregational ' Sabbath schools. These 
 did not speak to Cleg, for he only went to the Mission 
 schools which were specially adapted for such as he. 
 Also, he wore no stockings. But Cleg Kelly was not 
 bashful, so he readily spoke to them. He noted, especi- 
 ally, a spruce party of three leaving a chemist's shop on 
 the shortest track between the park and the meadows, 
 and he followed them down through the narrow defile 
 of Gifford Park — thoughts of petty larceny crystallising 
 in his heart. Ere they could escape through the needle's 
 eye at the further end, Cleg Kelly had accosted them 
 after his kind. 
 
 ' Hey, you, gie's that gundy, or I'll knock your 
 turnip heids thegither ! ' The three lambs stood at
 
 A KNIGHT-ERRANT OF THE STREETS 155 
 
 bay, huddled close together, and helplessly bleated 
 feeble derisives at the wolf who has headed them off 
 from safety ; but their polite and Rnglishy tone was a 
 source of Homeric laughter to this Thersites of the 
 Pleasance. He mocked their decent burgher attire ; 
 he sparred up to them— his ' neives ' describing stately 
 circles like a paddle wheel — and, shaking a murky fist 
 an inch below their several noses' he invited them 
 individually to ' smell that,' and then inform him where 
 they would like it applied — together with other resource- 
 ful amenities, as the auctioneer's advertisements say, too 
 numerous to mention. While the marauding wolf was 
 thus at play with his innocent victims, scorning their 
 feeble efforts at rejoinder, and circumventing without 
 difficulty their yet feebler efforts at flight, it so happened 
 that a member of the city force, to whom Master Cleg 
 Kelly was well known, stopped for a moment to look 
 down the aristocratic avenues of the park, bordered with 
 frugal lines of ' ash backets ' for all ornament. The 
 coincidence of necessity and presence is remarkable, but 
 not unprecedented. He was a young officer of but 
 eighteen months' standing, and his district had been 
 previously in the ' Sooth Back,' a district to which the 
 talent of Master Kelly was indigenous. Had the officer 
 been six months more in the service, he would probably 
 have contented himself with a warning trumpet note 
 which would have sent the enemy flying ; but being 
 young and desirous of small distinctions, he determined 
 to ' nab the young scamp and take him along.' He had 
 full justification for this, for at this moment a howl told 
 that the assault had reached the stage of battery, and
 
 156 A KNIGHT-ERRANT OF THE STREETS 
 
 that the young ' gundy ' garrotter was qualifying for the 
 cat at an early age, by committing robbery with 
 violence. 
 
 It was at this moment that Cleg felt that there's no 
 place like home. He was a stranger in a strange land, 
 where he knew not even the walls that had nicks in 
 them, climbable by the sooty toe of an eleven-year-old 
 city boy. He could not tell whether any particular 
 ' land ' had a ladder and trap-door — valuable right-of- 
 way upon the roof. He knew not the alleys which 
 gave double exit by unexpected elbows, and he could 
 not shun those which invited with fair promises, but 
 which were really traps with no way of escape. He 
 did not wish, in that awful moment, that he had been a 
 better boy, as his young Sunday-school teacher in 
 Hunker Court had often urged him to become ; what 
 he wanted was the ' Sooth Back,' ten yards start, and 
 the rigour of the game. But there was no time for 
 meditation, for the heavy - footed but alert young 
 'bobby' was almost upon him. Cleg Kelly sprang 
 sideways and dived into the first convenient entry. 
 Then he skimmed up some steps that wound skyward, 
 down again, and along a passage with not a single side 
 turning. He heard his pursuer lumbering after him, 
 and his own heart kettle-drumming in his ears. An 
 unexpected doorway gave outward as his weight came 
 on it, and he found himself in a curious court some- 
 where at the back of Simon Square, as near as he 
 could make out. There was a strange square block 
 towards one side of the open space, round which he 
 ran ; and, climbing up a convenient rone or water pipe,
 
 THE CANONGATE
 
 A KNIGHT-ERRANT OF TIIK STREETS 159 
 
 he squirmed himself through a stair window, crossed the 
 landing of an uninhabited house, and looked down on 
 the interior of a court which was well known to him, 
 from the safe elevation of a first-floor window. As he 
 rested, panting, he said to himself that he ' kenned 
 where he was noo.' It was the court which contained 
 one of his too numerous Sunday schools. Hunker 
 Court Mission School was ' scaling.' As it was the 
 school where there was most ' fun,' it was also the 
 school which was best beloved by that scholar who was 
 duly enrolled in Miss Cclie Tennant's class [No. 6] 
 as — 
 
 C. Kelly, age 14, Residence, 200 Pleasancc. 
 —the age being a gratuitous impromptu on the part of 
 Cleg in order to impress his teacher with a sense of his 
 importance — in his own language, ' a big lee. ' ' Fun ' 
 in this Mission school meant chiefly bombarding the 
 teachers as they ran the gauntlet after the school was 
 dismissed, specially one, who for private reasons was 
 known as ' Pun' o' Cannles.' All this happened years 
 ago, and of course there arc no such schools in Edin- 
 burgh now. But Celic Tennant, a cheery little lady 
 with the brightest eyes that Cleg had ever seen, had 
 never been molested. This day Cleg watched, with the 
 delight of the bird that has just escaped the fowler's 
 snare, the ' clodding ' of the teachers, and their dis- 
 composed look as the missiles interfered with their 
 dignity. lie was a connoisseur in these matters, and 
 applauded critically as a cunningly directed cabbage 
 heart dropped rcposcfully into 'Pun' o' Cannles" tail 
 pockets. lie remembered how his cars had rung under
 
 160 A KNIGHT-ERRANT OF THE STREETS 
 
 the very hand which now extracted the cabbage under 
 a galling cross fire. He observed how Humpy Joe, the 
 pride of Simon Square, deftly removed the ' lum hat ' of 
 the newest teacher, who had yet to learn what clothes 
 to come in when he set out to instruct the youth of 
 Gifford Park. He saw with complaisance Archie 
 Drabble, the ' deil ' of the school, prepare a hand 
 grenade of moist mud for the superintendent, as he 
 thought. The young idea of the city needs not to be 
 taught how to shoot. He rubbed his hands with glee 
 to think how juicily and satisfactorily the ' pyeowe ' 
 would spread, and he became distinctly particeps 
 criminibus as the most gleeful of accessories before the 
 fact. But at this moment out walked his own teacher, 
 Miss Tennant, on her way home through Archer's Hall 
 by way of the Meadows. Now Cleg Kelly was secretly 
 and desperately in love with his teacher, and he would 
 willingly have gone to school every Sunday, simply to 
 be scolded by her for misbehaviour. He found that 
 this was the best way to keep her attention fixed upon 
 him ; and the boy who sat next him in class had a 
 poor time of it. It pleased Cleg to notice that his 
 teacher had a new summer hat and dress on, one that 
 he had not seen before. Cleg became sorry, for the 
 first time, that he had waited to take it out of these 
 ' softies.' This was the nearest that he ever came to 
 repentance. It struck him that he might have looked 
 at the hat and dress, and the face between, for an hour. 
 It is a mistake to think that boys do not notice dress. 
 The boy, as has been said before more than once, is the 
 father of the man. Cleg was complacently feeling a
 
 IN THE CANONGATE
 
 A KNIGHT-ERRANT OF THE STREETS 163 
 
 proprietary interest in both the summer hat and bright 
 print dress, when suddenly his eye caught the slouching 
 figure of Archie Drabble, standing exactly beneath. 
 Cleg's face whitened as he took in his intention. Could 
 it be to desecrate the spotless hat and dress of his, 
 Cleg's, teacher, hitherto held inviolate by the strange 
 chivalry of Hunker Court School ? Small time there 
 was for the true knight to don his armour and ride 
 cap-a-pie into the lists. There was no time to blow a 
 trumpet, even had one been handy. There were no 
 heralds to announce the victory of the champion of 
 distressed demoiselles ; but all these could not have 
 rendered the feat of arms (if so it might be called which 
 was mostly legs) more rounded and complete. As the 
 cowardly arm of the ' Drabble ' — fit name for knight 
 unknightly — paused a moment to gather force for the 
 dastard's blow ; and even as the unconscious lady of 
 the Road Perilous half turned to settle her skirts into a 
 daintier swing, a bolt fell from the blue, a deus from 
 the machina — a small boy arrayed completely in two 
 well-ventilated garments, sprang with horrid yell from 
 a first-floor window, and, sudden as Jove's thunderbolt, 
 struck the audacious Drabble to the earth. Then 
 springing up, this impish Mercury of Hunker Court 
 dowsed the prostrate one with his own hand grenade, 
 hoisted him with a grimy foot in lieu of a petard, once 
 more returned him to earth with that clenched organ to 
 which the ' softies ' had been invited to apply their 
 noses. Having performed a war dance on the prostrate 
 foe which had small store of knightly courtesy in it, 
 Cleg, with the derring-do of battle upon him, dared the 
 
 M
 
 i6 4 A KNIGHT-ERRANT < >F THE STREETS 
 
 assembled Mission to the unequal fray ; and, no 
 champion accepting', presently took himself off, as 
 unconventionally as he came, turning three double cart 
 wheels through the archway that led in the direction of 
 the Meadows. So uplifted was he by the pride of 
 success, that he looked about valiantly for the ' bobby.' 
 He was not in sight. 
 
 ' It's as weel for him ! ' said the hero of battles. 
 As Miss Celie Tennant waited at her own eate a 
 moment that afternoon, she was aware, as heroines often 
 are, of the presence of a hero. He was small and very 
 dirty, and he stood by a lamp-post abstracted, scratching 
 one bare leg with the toe of the other foot. It is a 
 primeval attitude, and Sir John Lubbock will be able 
 to explain it. Something familiar caught the lady's 
 attention. 
 
 ' Is that you, Charles ? ' she asked ; ' why didn't you 
 come to Sunday school to-day ? ' She was under the 
 impression that ' C in her roll-book stood for Charles. 
 This was a mistake. 
 
 Charles gasped inarticulately, and was understood to 
 say that he would be on view next Sabbath without fail. 
 Celie Tennant patted him kindly on the head, tripped 
 gracefully up the steps, and paused to nod ere she 
 reached the door. Not till then did Cleg Kelly find 
 his tongue. 
 
 ' Pit on the new frock,' he said, ' dinna be feared, 
 Airchie Drabble 'ill throw nae mair elaur ! ' 
 
 Thank you, Charles ! ' said the summer hat, in 
 sweet unconsciousness of his meaning, as the door closed. 
 This is how Cleg Kelly began to be a Christian.
 
 THE FROGRESS OE CLEG KELLY, 
 MISSION WORKER 
 
 NOUIRIXG friends request 
 the latest news of Mr. C. 
 Kelly, of the ' Sooth Back.' 
 We are most happy to 
 supply them, for Cleg is a 
 favourite of our own. Since 
 we revealed how he began to 
 become a Christian, Cleg has felt 
 himself more or less of a public 
 character ; but he is modest, and 
 or several weeks has kept out of our 
 apparently lest he should be put into 
 another book. A too appreciative superintendent un- 
 fortunately read the plain little story of Cleg's gallant 
 knight-errantry to the senior division of his sometime 
 school, and Cleg blushed to find himself famous. 
 Consequently he left Hunker Court for good. But for 
 all that he is secretly pleased to be in a book, and 
 having received our most fervent assurance that he will 
 not be made into a 'tract,' he has signified that he is 
 appeased, and that no legal proceedings will be taken.
 
 i6C THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 
 
 Cleg does not so much mind a book, a book is respect- 
 able ; but he draws the line at tracts. He says that he 
 is ' doon on them tracks.' Even as a reformed character 
 they raise the old Adam in him. A good lady, sweeping 
 by in her carriage the other day, threw one graciously 
 to the ragged lad, who was standing in a moment of 
 meditation pirouetting his cap on the point of his boot, 
 half for the pleasure of seeing that he had actually a 
 boot upon his foot, and half to intimate to all concerned 
 that he has not become proud and haughty because oi 
 the fact. The good lady was much surprised by that 
 small boy's action, and has a poorer opinion than ever 
 of the ' lower orders.' 
 
 She is now sure that there must be some very care- 
 ful grading in heaven before it can be a comfortable 
 place of permanent residence. Her idea of doing good 
 has always been to go through the houses of the poor 
 with the gracious hauteur of a visitant from another and 
 a better world, and to scatter broadcast largess of tracts 
 and good advice. The most pleasant way of doing 
 this, she finds, is from a carriage, for some of the 
 indigent have a way of saying most unpleasant things ; 
 but a pair of spanking bays can sweep away from all 
 expressions of opinion. Besides, tracts delivered in this 
 way bring with them a sense of proper inferiority as 
 coming from one who would say, ' There, take that, you 
 poor wicked people, and may it do you good ! ' Cleg 
 Kelly was ' again' tracks.' But after a single moment 
 of stupefied surprise that this woman should insult him, 
 he rushed for the tract. The lady smiled at his eager- 
 ness, and pointed out to her companion, a poor lady
 
 V- 
 
 ~^Sk- 
 
 
 AN EDINBURGH STRRRT
 
 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 169 
 
 whose duty it was to agree with her mistress, the eager 
 twinkling eyes and flushed face of Cleg as he pursued 
 the bays. Cleg at short distances could beat any pair 
 of horses in Edinburgh He had not raced with 
 bobbies and fire-engines for nothing. He was in fine 
 training, and just as the carriage slackened to turn past 
 the immense conglomerate castle which guards the St. 
 Leonard's Park entrance, Cleg shot up to the side at 
 which his benefactor sat. He swiftly handed her a 
 parcel, and so vanished from the face of the earth. 
 There is no safer hiding-place than the coal-waggons 
 full and empty that stand in thousands just over the 
 wall. The good lady opened the little parcel with her 
 usual complaisance. It was her own tract, and it 
 contained a small selection of articles — the staple 
 product, indeed, of the Pleasance ash-backets — im- 
 primis, one egg-shell filled with herring bones, item — 
 a cabbage top in fine gamey condition, the head of a 
 rat some time deceased, and the tail of some other 
 animal so worn by age as to make identification 
 uncertain. On the top lay the dirtiest of all scrawls. 
 It said, ' With thanks for yer traks.' The lady fell back 
 on her cushions so heavily that the C springs creaked, 
 and the poor companion groped frantically for the 
 smelling-bottle. She knew that she would have a 
 dreadful time of it that night ; but her mistress has 
 resolved that she will distribute no more tracts from her 
 carriage. The lower orders may just be left to perish. 
 Their blood be on their own heads ; she has once and 
 for all washed her hands of them. 
 
 Many people may be of opinion that Cleg Kelly,
 
 170 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 
 
 judging by his first exploit this Friday morning of which 
 we speak, had not advanced very far along the narrow- 
 way of righteousness ; but this was not Cleg's own 
 opinion. He felt that he had done a good deed, and 
 
 EDINBURGH ROOFS 
 
 he said within himself, ' Them ould women dae mair ill 
 wi' their tracks than twa penny gaffs an' a side-show ! ' 
 Then Cleg Kelly went on to his next business. It 
 had to do with keeping the fifth commandment. He 
 had heard about it the Sunday before, not at the for-
 
 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 
 
 171 
 
 saken Hunker Court, but at a little class for 
 foot of the Pleas- 
 ance, in a court 
 there, which his 
 teacher, Miss Celie 
 Tennant, was or- 
 ganising for lads 
 of Cleg's age or a 
 little older. It was 
 a daring undertak- 
 ing for one so 
 young, and all her ^ 
 friends tried to stop 
 her, and called it 
 foolhardy ; but 
 Celie Tennant be- 
 ing, as Cleg admir- 
 ingly said, ' no' big, 
 but most michty 
 plucky,' had found 
 out her power in 
 managing the most 
 rebellious larrikins 
 that walked on hob- 
 nails. Moreover, 
 the work had 
 sought her, not she 
 it. Her praises 
 had been so con- 
 stantly chanted by 
 Cleg that she had been asked to take pity 
 
 on a num-
 
 172 
 
 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 
 
 bcr of the ' Sooth Back gang,' and have a class 
 for them in the evenings. It was manifestly impossible 
 to receive such a number of wild loons at Hunker 
 Court. They were every one upon terms of open 
 war with the Gifford Park train-bands ; and had a 
 couple of them shown their faces in the neighbourhood 
 
 COURTS AND CLOSES 
 
 at any hour of the day or night, the ' Cooee-EE ' of the 
 Park would have sounded, and fists and brick-bats 
 would have been going in a couple of shakes. Clearly, 
 then, as they could not come to her without breaking 
 her Majesty's peace, it was her duty to go to them. 
 To do them justice, they were quite willing to risk it ; 
 but Celic felt that it would hardly be doing herself
 
 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 173 
 
 justice to sow her seed so very near to the fowls of the 
 air. So Cleg proudly took his friend down to the 
 ' Sooth Back,' where there was a kind-hearted watch- 
 man who had occasionally let Cleg sleep in some warm 
 place about the ' works ' at which he was on night duty. 
 To him Miss Tennant was introduced, and by him was 
 taken into the presence of the junior partner, who was 
 sitting in a very easy attitude indeed, with his back 
 against his desk, and balancing himself precariously on 
 one leg of a stool. He effected a descent successfully, 
 and blushed becomingly, for he was a very junior 
 partner indeed, and he had more than once met Miss 
 Tennant at a West-end evening party. But when Miss 
 Celie, infinitely self-possessed, stated her business in 
 clear-cut accents of maidenly reserve, the Very Junior 
 Partner instantly manifested almost too great an interest 
 in the concern, and offered the use of a disused store- 
 room where there was a good fireplace. 
 
 ' I shall see to it, Miss Tennant,' he said, 'that there is 
 a fire for you there whenever you wish to use the room.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Mr. Iverach,' returned Celie, with just 
 the proper amount of gratitude, ' but I would not dream 
 of troubling you. One of my boys will do that.' 
 
 The Very Junior would have liked to say that he 
 did not consider it quite the thing for a young lady to 
 be in the purlieus of the ' Sooth Back ' after nightfall. 
 Indeed, he would have been glad to offer his escort ; 
 but he did not say so, for he was a very nice Junior 
 Partner indeed, and his ingenuous blush was worth a 
 fortune to him as a certificate of character. lie therefore 
 contented himself with saying :
 
 174 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 
 
 ' If there is anything that I can do for you, you will 
 always be good enough to let me know.' 
 
 Celie Tennant thanked him, and gave him her hand. 
 He came as far as the street with her, but did not offer 
 to see her home. He was no fool, though so Very 
 Junior a Partner. 
 
 Celie Tennant established her night-school in the 
 Sooth Back with Cleg Kelly as her man Friday. Cleg 
 showed at once a great faculty for organisation, and he 
 added the function of police to his other duties. On 
 the principle of ' Set a thief,' etc., he ought to have 
 made the best of policemen, and so he did. He was 
 not by any means the biggest or the heaviest, but he 
 had far more wild-cat in him than any of his mates. 
 Once he had taken the gully on the Salisbury Crags on 
 his way to safety, when he was too much pressed by 
 force of circumstances to go round the ordinary way ; 
 and it was quite an everyday habit of his to call upon 
 his friends by way of the roof and the skylights 
 therein. 
 
 Celie Tennant was opening her night-school this 
 Friday evening, and Cleg Kelly was on his way thither 
 to get the key from the porter, his good friend at most 
 times. He knew where there was an old soap-box 
 which would make rare kindling, and he had a paraffin 
 cask also in his mind, though as yet he had not made 
 any inquiries as to the ownership of this latter. On his 
 way he rushed up to the seldom-visited garret that was 
 the domicile of his parent, Mr. Timothy Kelly, when he 
 came out of gaol. During these intervals Cleg withdrew 
 himself from night quarters, only occasionally recon--
 
 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 
 
 175 
 
 noitring the vicinity, if he wanted any of his hid treasures 
 very keenly. He had as many as twenty ' hidie-holes ' 
 in the floor, walls, eaves, 
 and roof of the wretched 
 dwelling that was his only 
 home. Some of these his 
 father frequently broke into, 
 and scattered his poor 
 horde, confiscating the 
 coppers, and sending the 
 other valuables through the 
 glassless windows, but on 
 the whole Cleg could beat 
 his parent at the game of 
 hide-and-seek. When the 
 evening came, however, Cleg 
 hovered in the neighbour- 
 hood till he saw whether 
 his father went straight 
 from his lair, growling and 
 grumbling,to Hare's Public, 
 or remained in bed on the 
 floor with certain curious 
 implements around him. 
 If the latter were the case, 
 Cleg vanished, and was 
 seen no more in the neigh- 
 bourhood for some days, 
 because he knew well that 
 
 his father was again qualifying for her Majesty's 
 hospitality, and that was a business he always declined 
 
 7T> 
 
 A IM.A1T. OK STEEP STAIRS
 
 176 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 
 
 to be mixed up in. He knew that his father would in 
 all probability be ' lagged ' by the morrow's morn. Cleg 
 hoped that he would be, and the longer sentence his 
 father got, the better pleased his son was. Once when 
 Timothy Kelly got six months for house-breaking, a 
 small boy was ignominiously expelled from the back- 
 benches of the court for saying, ' Hip, Hooray.' It was 
 Cleg. His father, however, heard, and belted him for 
 it unmercifully when he came out, saying between every 
 stroke and bound, ' Take that, ye sorra ! Was it for 
 this I brought yez up, ye spalpeen o' the worrld ? An' 
 me at all the trubble an' expinse av yer rearin' — you 
 to cry ' hooroosh ' when yer own father got a sixer 
 in quod. Be me conscience an' sleeve-buttons, but 
 I'd be dooin' my duty but poorly by Father Brady 
 an' the Tin Commandments if I didn't correct 
 yez ! ' 
 
 So nobody could say that Cleg was not well brought 
 up. 
 
 If, however, Cleg saw his father take the straight 
 road for the Public, he knew that there was still a shot 
 in the old man's locker, and that there were enough of 
 the ' shiners for another booze,' as it was expressed 
 classically in these parts. He betook himself to his own 
 devices, therefore, till closing time ; but about eleven 
 o'clock he began to haunt the vicinity of Hare's, and to 
 peep within whenever the door opened. On one 
 occasion he opened the door himself, and nearly got his 
 head broken with the pound weight that came towards 
 it. They did not stand on ceremony with small boys 
 in that beershop. The)- knocked them down, and then
 
 METROPOLITAN u EATHER
 
 THE PROGRESS OE CLEG KELLY 
 
 179 
 
 inquired their errand afterwards. The landlord came 
 from Jedburgh. 
 
 When his father came out of the Public, Cleg saw 
 him home in original fashion. He had a curiously- 
 shaped stick which he employed on these occasions. It 
 
 HARE S PUBLIC 
 
 was the fork of a tree that he had got from a very kind 
 builder of the neighbourhood whose name was Younger. 
 This stick was only produced at such times, and the 
 police of the district, men with children of their own, 
 and a kindly blind eye towards Cleg's ploys (when not 
 too outrageous), did not interfere with his manifestations 
 
 N
 
 180 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 
 
 of filial piety. Indeed, it was none such a pleasant job 
 to take Tim Kelly to the lock-up, even with 'The Twist' 
 on him, and Cleg harassing the official rear with his 
 crooked stick. So they generally let the father and son 
 alone, though every now and then some energetic young 
 man, new to the district, interfered. He did it just 
 once. 
 
 Having seen his father safely into Hare's, Cleg went 
 down the Pleasance with a skip and a jump to light his 
 fire. He found another boy haling off his soap-box. 
 Cleg threw a ' paver ' to halt him, much as a privateer 
 throws a shot athwart the bows of a prize as a signal 
 to slacken speed. The boy turned instantly, but seeing 
 Cleg coming with the swiftness of the wind, and his 
 conscience telling him that he could make good no claim 
 to the soap-box ; knowing, moreover, that Cleg Kelly 
 could ' lick him into shivereens,' he abandoned his prize 
 and took to his heels, pausing at a safe distance to 
 bandy epithets and information as to ancestors with 
 Cleg. But Cleg marched off without a word, which 
 annoyed the other boy much more than the loss of the 
 box. That was the fortune of war, but what would 
 happen if Cleg Kelly took to getting proud ? He stood 
 a moment in thought. A light broke on him. Cleg 
 had a pair of boots with a shine on them. He had 
 it. That was the reason of this aristocratic reserve. 
 
 The lads who came to the class first that night were 
 few and evil. The bulk of the better boys were work- 
 ing in shoe factories in the suburbs, and could not get 
 there at seven. That was a full hour too early for 
 them, and the lads who arrived were there simply ' on
 
 KDIN'Bl'KGII OI.ll HOUSES
 
 I III! PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 183 
 
 for a lark.' But they did not know Miss Cecilia 
 Tennant, and they had reckoned without Mr. C. Kelly, 
 who had resolved that he would be hawk to their larks. 
 The half-dozen louts sat lowering and leering in the neat 
 and clean storeroom in which the Very Young Partner, 
 Mr. Donald Ivcrach, had arranged with his own hand 
 a chair, a table, and a good many forms, which he had 
 been at the expense of sending the porter to buy from the 
 founder of a bankrupt sect who lately had had a meeting- 
 house left on his hands. The Very Youngest was pre- 
 pared to say that he had ' found ' these lying about the 
 premises, had he been questioned about the matter. 
 And so he had, but the porter had put them there first. 
 But Celic Tennant took what the gods had sent her, 
 and asked no questions ; though, not being simpler than 
 other young women of her determination of character, 
 she had her own ideas as to where they came from. 
 Celic asked the company to stand up as she entered, 
 which with some nudging and shuffling they did, where- 
 upon she astounded them by shaking hands with them. 
 This set them rather on their beam-ends for a moment, 
 and the>- did not recover any power for mischief till 
 Celie asked them to close their eyes during prayer. 
 Standing up at her desk, she folded her little hands and 
 closed her own eyes to ask the God whom she tried to 
 serve (surely a different God from the one whom the 
 tract-scattering woman worshipped) to aid her and help 
 the lads. Cleg Kelly watched her with adoring eyes. 
 1 le had heard of the angels. She hail often told him 
 about them, but he privately backed his teacher against 
 the best of them. When Celie opened her eyes no one
 
 1 84 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 
 
 was visible save Cleg, who stood with his eyes aflame. 
 The class had vanished. 
 
 ' The dirty bliggards,' said Cleg, the tongue of 
 his father coming back to him in his excitement ; ' I'll 
 bring them up to the scratch by the scruff av their 
 impident necks ! ' 
 
 So he darted underneath the forms, and shortly 
 reappeared with a couple of much bigger boys clinging 
 on to him, and belabouring him with all their might. 
 Wresting himself clear for a moment, Cleg dashed up 
 the green blind which covered the small single-pane 
 window in the gable, and turned to bay. The two 
 whom he had brought up from the depths made a dash 
 at him as he passed, overturned the teacher's table in 
 their eagerness to prevent him from getting to the door ; 
 but it was not the door that Cleg wanted to reach. It 
 was his crook, which he had cunningly hitched to the 
 back of the teacher's chair. With that he turned 
 valiantly to bay, making the table a kind of fortification. 
 
 ' Sit down, Miss,' he said, reassuringly ; ' I'll do for 
 them, shure.' 
 
 At this moment the outer door opened, and his 
 friend, the night-watchman, arrived armed with a 
 formidable stick, the sight of which, and the knowledge 
 that they were trapped, took all the tucker out of these 
 very cowardly young men. 
 
 1 It was only a bit of fun, Cleg !' they whined. 
 
 ' Get out av this ! ' shouted Cleg, dancing in his fury ; 
 and cut of this they got, the watchman's stick doing its 
 (hit)- as the) - passed, and his dog hanging determinedly 
 on to their ankles.
 
 LOOKING INTO THE DEPTHS OF THE UNDERWORLD
 
 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 187 
 
 What surprised them most was a sudden and un- 
 expected hoist they each received, apparently from the 
 door of the yard, which deposited them on the street 
 with their systems considerably jarred. The Very 
 Junior Partner smiled thoughtfully as he rubbed his 
 toe. For the first time in his life he wished that he 
 had worn boots both larger and heavier. ' But 'twill 
 suffice, 'twill serve ! ' he quoted, as he turned away into 
 his office ; for, by a strange coincidence, he was working 
 late that night. The Senior Partner knew that he had 
 given up an engagement to go to a dance that evening 
 in order to work up some business that had been 
 lying over. He rubbed his hands delightedly. 
 
 ' Donald is taking to the business at last,' he told 
 his wife as they prepared for bed. 
 
 Celie had taken no part in this scene, but she was 
 far too energetic and fearless a young woman to remain 
 long quiescent. She went round the benches, and as 
 she came in sight of each grovelling lout she ordered 
 him to get up, and, abashed and cowed, they rose one 
 by one to their feet. The dust of the floor had made 
 no apparent change in their original disarray. They 
 stood grinning helplessly and inanely, like yokels before 
 a show at a country fair ; but there was no heart in 
 their affectation of mirth. The discomfiture of their 
 comrades, and the sound of the watchman's oak 'rung' 
 had been too much for them. Then, for five lively 
 minutes, Miss Cecilia's tongue played like lambent 
 lightning about their ears, and they visibly wilted before 
 her. 
 
 It was now eight o'clock, and the genuine members
 
 1 88 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 
 
 of the class began to put in an appearance, and each of 
 them was welcomed with the most friendly of greetings 
 from the teacher : and as each passed, Cleg's left eyelid 
 drooped suddenly upon his cheek, so decorously that 
 no one could call it a wink. The four malcontents 
 moved for the door, but the clear voice of Miss 
 Tennant brought them to a stand. 
 
 ' Sit down, all of you, and speak to me at the close 
 of the class.' 
 
 So they sat down, being well aware that they had 
 not a sympathiser in the room. It had been their 
 intention to ' raise a dust ' before the arrival of the 
 factory brigade, and then to get clear off ; and, barring 
 Cleg Kelly, they would have done it. Cleg did not yet 
 go to the factory, for the manager would not believe that 
 he was thirteen, though Cleg had told him so times 
 without number ; he had even on one occasion stretched 
 a point and as vainly tried fourteen. Cleg Kelly went 
 to school ever since he became a reformed character ; 
 but not every day, so as to prevent the teacher from 
 becoming too conceited. However, he looked in 
 occasionally when he had nothing better to do. If he 
 happened to be cold when he entered, in about half an 
 hour he .was quite warm. 
 
 What Celie Tennant said to these four louts will 
 never be known — they have never told ; but it is suffi- 
 cient to say that they became pillars of the ' Sooth 
 Back' Mission and Night School, and needed no more 
 attention than any of the others. 
 
 The Very Junior Partner and Cleg Kell) both saw 
 home the teacher that night, walking close together ;
 
 A QUEER CORNER OF THE Ot.D ("OWN
 
 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 191 
 
 though, of course, entirely ignoring each other, each 
 some hundred yards behind Miss Tennant, who walked 
 serene in the consciousness of lonely courage, her roll- 
 book in one hand and her skirt daintily held in the 
 other, walking with that charming side-swing which 
 both her escorts thought adorable. They did not 
 communicate this to each other. On the contrary, 
 Cleg took a ' gob ' of hard mud in his hand, and stood 
 a moment in doubt, dividing the swift mind, whether or 
 no to ' bust the swell's topper in.' But a consciousness 
 of the excellence of that young man's intentions pre- 
 served the shiny crown which it had cost a shilling to 
 have ironed that morning at the Shop-up-three-Steps 
 at the corner of the North Bridge. The Very Junior 
 liked to go spruce to business. 
 
 On his return to the yard, Cleg Kelly found that 
 his day's work was not yet done. One of his special 
 chums came to tell him that ' Hole i' the YVa',' the 
 biggest of the louts first expelled, was thirsting for his 
 blood, and had dared him to fight that very night. 
 Xow, had Cleg been more advanced in reformation, he 
 would of course have refused, and given his voice for 
 peace ; but then, you see, he was only a beginner. He 
 sent his friend to tell ' Hole i' the Wa' ' that he would 
 wait for him in the ' Polissman's Yard.' This was a 
 court at the back of a police station in the vicinity, 
 which could only be entered by a low ' pend ' or 
 vaulted passage, though commanded from above by 
 the high windows of the station-house. It had long- 
 been a great idea of Cleg's to have a battle royal under 
 the very nose of the constituted authority of the city.
 
 192 
 
 Till: PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 
 
 Thither he resorted, and in a little a crowd of his 
 friends and his foes followed him, all protesting that he 
 could not mean to fight fair so near to the ' bobbies' ' 
 abode. But Cleg unfolded his scheme, which instantly 
 
 
 .iN EDINBURGH PEND 
 
 placed him on the giddy apex of popularity. He got 
 them to roll a heavy barrel which stood in one corner 
 of the yard into the ' pend,' which it almost completely 
 blocked up, and he himself fixed it in position with 
 some of the great iron curved shods which the lorrymen
 
 TIIK PROGRESS UV CLEG KELLY 
 
 193 
 
 used to stop their coal waggons on the steep streets of 
 the south-side. It stood so firm that nothing short of 
 dynamite could have shifted it. 
 
 The fight proceeded, but into its details we need not 
 enter. It was truly Homeric. Cleg flitted here and 
 there like the active insect from which he got his name, 
 
 A CANONGATE CLOSE 
 
 and stung wherever he could get an opening. The 
 shouts of the spectators might have been heard in that 
 still place for the better part of a mile, and in a (cxv 
 minutes all the police who were on duty were thunder- 
 ing on the barrel, and all those who had been in bed 
 manned the windows in dishabille, and threatened the 
 combatants and spectators by name.
 
 194 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 
 
 Cleg Kelly, dancing ever more wildly round his 
 adversary, revolving his fists like the spokes of a 
 bicycle, shouted defiance. 
 
 ' Come on, Hole,' he cried, ' ye're no' worth a 
 buckie at fechtin ! ' and as he circled near the ' pend,' 
 and heard the heaves of the labouring officers of justice, 
 he called out : ' You, Langshanks, cast yer coat an' 
 crawl through the bung ; ye micht ken that the 
 sergeant's ower fat. Hae ye nae sense ? ' 
 
 There was laughter aloft in the station windows. 
 But somebody at the outside had brought a sledge 
 hammer, and at the first blow the barrel resolved itself 
 into its component staves, and the police tumbled in, 
 falling headlong over Cleg's waggon clamps. 
 
 Then there was a wild scurry of the lads up the 
 piles of casks and rubbish at the back of the yard, and 
 over the outhouses and roofs. Cleg was not first in 
 getting away, but he had studied the locality, and he 
 had his plans cut and dried. He would have been 
 ashamed to have been caught now that he was on his 
 way to be a reformed character. In half an hour he 
 was waiting with crooked stick to ' boost ' his father 
 home when he was duly cast out of Hare's Public at 
 the stroke of eleven as the completed produce of that 
 establishment. 
 
 So in due time, and with many hard words from 
 Timothy, they neared the den which they called home. 
 At the foot of the long stair Timothy Kelly lay down 
 with the grunt of a hog, and refused to move or speak. 
 lie would arise for no punchings, however artistic, 
 with the knobbiest portions of the stick, and Cleg paused,
 
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 AN EDINBURGH WET NIGHT
 
 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 
 
 '97 
 
 for the first time that day, almost in despair. A police- 
 man came round the corner, flashing the light of his 
 bull's-eye right and left. Cleg's heart stood still. It 
 was the lengthy officer whom he had called ' Langshanks,' 
 
 A DOORWAY IN TIIK OLD TOWN 
 
 and invited to come through the bung. He feared that 
 he was too kcnspecklc to escape. He went over to him, 
 and taking a tug at his hair, which meant manners, 
 said : 
 
 ' Please, officer, will ye gie me a lift up the stair wi' 
 my faithcr ? '
 
 i 9 8 THE PROGRESS OF CLEG KELLY 
 
 The policeman whistled a long", low whistle, and 
 laughed. 
 
 ' Officer ! ' says he, ' Officer ! Be the powers, 'twas 
 "Langshanks " ye called me the last time, ye thief o' 
 the wurrld ! ' said the man, who was of national kin to 
 Cleg. 
 
 So they twain helped their compatriot unsteadily to 
 his den at the head of the stairs. 
 
 ' Ye're the cheekiest young shaver I ivver saw,' said 
 Longshanks, admiringly, as he turned away ; ' but 
 there's some good in yez ! ' 
 
 Cleg Kelly locked the door on the outside, said his 
 prayers like the reformed character that he was, and 
 laid him down on the mat to sleep the sleep of the just. 
 The Junior Partner always saw Miss Tennant home 
 after this. He calls her ' Celie ' now. She has been 
 meaning to tell him for the last month that he must 
 not do so any more.
 
 ENSAMPLES TO THE FLOCK 
 
 The family of the late Tyke M'Lurg consisted of three 
 loons and a lassie. Tyke had never done anything for 
 his children except share with a short-lived and shadowy 
 mother the responsibility of bringing them into the 
 world. The time that he could spare from his profes- 
 sion of poacher, he had systematically devoted to 
 neglecting them. Tyke had solved successfully for 
 many years the problem of how to live by the least 
 possible expenditure of labour. Kind ladies had taken 
 him in hand time and again. They had provided 
 clothes for his children, which Tyke had primarily 
 converted into coin of the realm, and indirectly into 
 liquid refreshment, at Lucky Morgan's rag store in 
 Cairn Edward. Work had been found for Tyke, and 
 he had done many half days of labour in various gardens. 
 Unfortunately, however, before the hour of noon, it was 
 Tyke's hard case to be taken with a ' groom' in his 
 inside ' of such a nature that he became rapidly incapa- 
 citated for further work. 
 
 ' No, mem, I canna tak' it. It's mony a year since 
 I saw the evil o't. Ye'll hae to excuse me, but I really 
 couldna. Oh, thae pains ! O sirce, my inside ! VVeel,
 
 2co ENSAMPLES TO THE FLOCK 
 
 gin ye insist, I'll juist hae to try a toothfu' to obleege 
 ye, like.' 
 
 But Tyke's toothfu's were over for this world, and 
 his shortcomings were lying under four feet of red 
 mould. Half a dozen kindly folk who pitied his ' three 
 loons and a lassie ' gathered a few pounds and gave him 
 a decent burial, not for his own sake, but in order that 
 the four little scarecrows might have a decent start in 
 life. It is the most fatal and indestructible of reproaches 
 in the south of Scotland to have a father buried by the 
 parish. 
 
 The lassie was the eldest of the children. She was 
 thirteen, and she hardly remembered what it was to 
 have a mother or a new frock. But ever since she was 
 eleven she had never had a dirty one. The smith's wife 
 had shown her how to wash, and she had learned from 
 the teacher how to mend. ' Leeb ' had appeared on 
 the books of the school as Elizabeth M'Lurg, and she 
 had attended as often as she could — that is, as often 
 as her father could not prevent her ; for Tyke, being 
 an independent man, was down on the compulsory 
 clause of the Education Act, and had more than once 
 got thirty days for assaulting the School Board officer. 
 
 When he found out that Leeb was attending school 
 at the village, he lay in wait for her on her return, with 
 a stick, and after administering chastisement on general 
 principles, he went on to specify his daughter's iniquities : 
 
 ' Ye upsettin' blastie, wad ye be for gangin' to their 
 schulc, learnin' to look doon on yer ain faither that has 
 been at sic pains to rear ye ' — (a pause for further 
 correction, to which poor Leeb vocalised an accompani-
 
 ENSAMPLES TO THE FLOCK 203 
 
 mcntj. ' Let me see gin ye can read ! Mac, read that ! ' 
 he said, flinging a tattered lesson book, which the teacher 
 had given her, to his daughter. Leeb opened the book, 
 and, punctuating the lesson with her sobs, she read in the 
 high and level shriek of a locomotive engine, ' And so 
 brave Bobby, hav-ing sa-ved the tr-r-r-em-bling child, re- 
 turn-ed with the res-cu-ed one in his mouth to the shore.' 
 
 1 Davert ! but ye can read ! ' said her father, snatching 
 the book and tearing it up before her eyes. ' Noo, 
 listen ; I'll hae nane o' my bairns teached to despise 
 their faither by no Schule Boards. Look you here, 
 Leeb M'Lurg, gin ever I catch you within a mile o' the 
 schule, I'll skin ye ! ' 
 
 But for all this tremendous threat, or maybe all the 
 more because of it, and also because she so much desired 
 to be able to do a white seam, Leeb so arranged it that 
 there were few days when she did not manage to come 
 along the mile and half of lochside road which separated 
 her from the little one- roomed, whitewashed school- 
 house on the face of the brae. She even brought one 
 of the ' loons ' with her pretty often ; but as Jock, Rab, 
 and Benny (otherwise known as Rag, Tag, and Bobtail) 
 got a little older, they more easily accommodated them- 
 selves to the wishes of their parent ; and, in spite of 
 Leeb's blandishments, they went into ' hidie holes ' till 
 the School Board officer had passed by. 
 
 M'Lurg's Mill, where the children lived, was a 
 tumbledown erection, beautiful for situation, set on the 
 side of the long loch of Kenick. The house had once 
 been a little farmhouse, its windows brilliant with 
 geraniums and verbenas ; but in the latter days of the
 
 204 ENSAMPLES TO THE FLOCK 
 
 forlorn M'Lurgs it had become betrampled as to its 
 doorsteps by lean swine, and bespattered as to its 
 broken floor by intrusive hens. It was to M'Lurg's 
 Mill that the children returned after the funeral. Leeb 
 had been arrayed in the hat and dress of a neighbour's 
 daughter for the occasion, but the three loons had 
 played ' tig ' in the intervals of watching their father's 
 funeral from the broomy knoll behind the mill. Jock, 
 the eldest, was nearly eleven, and had been taken in 
 hand by the kind neighbour wife at the same time as 
 Leeb. At one time he looked as though he would 
 even better repay attention, for he feigned a sleek-faced 
 submission and a ready compliance which put Mistress 
 Auld of the Arkland off her guard. Then as soon as 
 his sister, of whom Jock stood most in awe, was gone 
 out, he snatched up his ragged clothes and fled to the 
 hill. Here he was immediately joined by the other 
 two loons. They caught the Arkland donkey grazing 
 in the field beside the mill dam, and having made a 
 parcel of the good black trousers and jacket, they tied 
 them to the donkey and drove him homeward with 
 blows and shoutings. A funeral was only a dull pro- 
 cession to them, and the fact that it was their father's 
 made no difference. 
 
 Next morning Leeb sat down on the ' stoop ' or 
 wooden bench by the door, and proceeded to cast up 
 her position. Her assets were not difficult to reckon. 
 A house of two rooms, one devoted to hens and 
 lumber ; a mill which had once sawn good timber, but 
 whose great circular saw had stood still for many 
 months ; a mill-lade broken down in several places,
 
 ENSAMPLES TO THE FLOCK 205 
 
 three or four chairs and a stool, a tabic, and a wash- 
 tub. When she got so far she paused. It was evident 
 that there could be no more school for her, and the 
 thought struck her that now she must take the 
 responsibility for the boys, and bring them up to be 
 useful and diligent. She did not and could not so 
 express her resolve to herself, but a still and strong 
 determination was in her sore little heart not to let the 
 boys grow up like their father. 
 
 Leeb had gone to Sabbath school every week, when 
 she could escape from the tyranny of home, and was, 
 therefore, well known to the minister, who had often 
 exercised himself in vain on the thick defensive armour 
 of ignorance and stupidity which encompassed the 
 elder M'Lurg. His office-bearers and he had often 
 bemoaned the sad example of this ne'er-do-weel family 
 which had entrenched itself in the midst of so many 
 well-doing people. M'Lurg's Mill was a reproach and 
 an eyesore to the whole parish, and the M'Lurg 
 ' weans ' a gratuitous insult to every self-respecting 
 mother within miles. For three miles round the 
 children were forbidden to play with, or even to speak 
 to, the four outcasts at the mill. Consequently their 
 society was much sought after. 
 
 When Leeb came to set forth her resources, she 
 could not think of any except the four-pound loaf, the 
 dozen hens and a cock, the routing wild Indian of a 
 pig, and the two lean and knobby cows on the hill at 
 the back. It would have been possible to have sold 
 all these things, perhaps, but Leeb looked upon herself 
 as trustee for the rest of the family. She resolved,
 
 206 ENSAMPLES TO THE FLOCK 
 
 therefore, to make what use of them she could, and 
 having most of the property under her eye at the time, 
 there was the less need to indite an inventory of it. 
 
 But, first, she must bring her brothers to a sense of 
 their position. She was a very Napoleon of thirteen, and 
 she knew that now that there was no counter-authority 
 to her own, she could bring Jock, Rob, and Benny to 
 their senses very quickly. She therefore selected with 
 some care and attention a hazel stick, using a broken 
 table-knife to cut it with a great deal of deftness. 
 Having trimmed it, she went out to the hill to look for 
 her brothers. It was not long before she came upon 
 them engaged in the fascinating amusement of rooting 
 for pignuts in a green bankside. The natural Leeb 
 would instantly have thrown down her wand of office 
 and joined them in the search, but the Leeb of to-day 
 was a very different person. Her second thought was 
 to rush among them and deal lusty blows with the 
 stick, but she fortunately remembered that in that case 
 they would scatter, and that by force she could only 
 take home one or at most two. She therefore called 
 to her assistance the natural guile of her sex. 
 
 ' Boys, are ye hungry ? ' she said. ' There's sic a 
 graun' big loaf come frae the Arkland ! ' By this 
 time all her audience were on their feet. ' An' I'll milk 
 the kye, an' we'll hae a feast.' 
 
 ' Come on, Jock,' said Rab, the second loon, and 
 the leader in mischief, ' I'll race ye for the loaf.' 
 
 ' Ye needna do that,' said Leeb, calmly ; ' the 
 door's lock it.' 
 
 So as Leeb went along she talked to her brothers as
 
 ENSAMPLES TO THE FLOCK 207 
 
 soberly as though they were models of good behaviour 
 and all the virtues, telling them what she was going to 
 do, and how she would expect them to help her. By 
 the time she got them into the mill yard, she had 
 succeeded in stirring their enthusiasm, especially that 
 of Jock, to whom with a natural tact she gave the 
 wand of the office of ' sairgint,' a rank which, on the 
 authority of Sergeant M'Millan, the village pensioner, 
 was understood to be very much higher than that of 
 general. ' Sairgint ' Jock foresaw much future interest 
 in the disciplining of his brothers, and entered with 
 eagerness into the new ploy. The out-of-doors live 
 stock was also committed to his care. He was to 
 drive the cows along the roadside and allow them to 
 pasture on the sweetest and most succulent grasses, 
 while Rab scouted in the direction of the village for 
 supposititious ' poalismcn ' who were understood to take 
 up and sell for the Queen's benefit all cows found 
 eating grass on the public highway. Immediately 
 after Jock and Rab had received a hunch of the 
 Arkland loaf and their covenanted drink of milk, they 
 went off to drive the cows to the loch road, so that 
 they might at once begin to fill up their lean sides. 
 Benny, the youngest, who was eight past, she reserved 
 for her own assistant. He was a somewhat tearful but 
 willing little fellow, whose voice haunted the precincts 
 of M'Lurg's mill like a wistful ghost. His brothers 
 were constantly running away from him, and he patter- 
 ing after them as fast as his fat little legs could carry 
 him, roaring with open mouth at their cruelty, the 
 tears making clean watercourses down his grimy
 
 208 ENSAMPLES TO THE FLOCK 
 
 cheeks. But Benny soon became a new boy under his 
 sister's exclusive care. 
 
 ' Noo, Benny,' she said, ' you an' me's gaun to clean 
 the hoose. Jock an' Rab will no' be kennin' it when 
 they come back ! ' So, having filled the tub with 
 water from the mill-lade, and carried every movable 
 article of furniture outside, Lceb began to wash out 
 the house and rid it of the accumulated dirt of years. 
 Benny carried small bucketfuls of water to swill over 
 the floor. Gradually the true colour of the stones 
 began to shine up, and the black incrustation to 
 retreat towards the outlying corners. 
 
 ' I'm gaun doon to the village,' she said abruptly. 
 ' Benny, you keep scrubbin' alang the wa's.' 
 
 Leeb took her way down rapidly to where Joe Turner, 
 the village mason, was standing by a newly begun pig- 
 stye or swine-ree, stirring a heap of lime and sand. 
 
 ' G'ye way oot o' that ! ' he said instantly, with the 
 threatening gesture which every villager except the 
 minister and the mistress of Arkland instinctively made 
 on seeing a M'Lurg. This it is to have a bad name. 
 
 But Leeb stood her ground, strong in the conscious- 
 ness of her good intentions. 
 
 ' Maister Turner,' she said, ' could ye let me hae a 
 buckctfu' or twa o' whitewash for the mill kitchen, an' 
 I'll pey ye in hen's eggs. Oor hens are layin' fine, an' 
 your mistress is fond o' an egg in the morninV 
 
 Joe stopped and scratched his head. This was 
 something new, even in a village where a good deal of 
 business is done according to the rules of truck or 
 barter.
 
 
 
 
 o
 
 ENSAMPLES TO THE FLOCK 211 
 
 ' What arc ye gauri to do \vi' the whitewash ? ' he 
 inquired, to get time to think. ' There was little white- 
 wash in use about M'Lurg's Mill in yer faither's time ! ' 
 
 ' But I'm gaun to bring up the boys as they should,' 
 said Leeb, with some natural importance, sketching 
 triangles on the ground with her bare toe. 
 
 ' An' what's whitewash got to do wi' that ? ' asked 
 Joe, with some asperity. 
 
 Leeb could not just put the matter into words, but 
 she instinctively felt that it had a good deal to do with 
 it. Whitewash was her badge of respectability both 
 inside the house and out, in which Leeb was at one 
 with modern science. 
 
 ' I'll gie three dizzen o' eggs for three bucketfu's,' she 
 said. 
 
 ' An' hoo div I ken that I'll ever see ane o' the eggs?' 
 asked Joe. 
 
 ' I've brocht a dizzen wi' me noo ! ' said Leeb, 
 promptly producing them from under her apron. 
 
 Leeb got the whitewash that very night and the 
 loan of a brush to put it on with. Next morning the 
 farmer of the Crae received a shock. There was some- 
 thing large and white down on the lochside, where ever 
 since he came to the Crae he had seen nothing but 
 the trees which hid M'Lurg's mill. 
 
 ' I misdoot it's gaun to be terrible weather. I never 
 saw that hoose o' Tyke M'Lurg's aff our hill afore ! ' he 
 said. 
 
 The minister came by that day and stood perfectly 
 aghast at the new splendours of the M'Lurg mansion. 
 Hitherto when he had strangers staying with him, he 
 
 P
 
 212 ENSAMPLES TO THE FLOCK 
 
 took them another way, in order that his parish might 
 not be disgraced. Not only were the walls of the 
 house shining with whitewash, but the windows were 
 cleaned, a piece of white muslin curtain was pinned 
 across each, and a jug with a bunch of heather and 
 wild flowers looked out smiling on the passers-by. 
 The minister bent his steps to the open door. He 
 could see the two M'Lurg cows pasturing placidly with 
 much contented head-tossing on the roadside, while a 
 small boy sat above labouring at the first rounds of a 
 stocking. From the house came the shrill voice of 
 singing. Out of the fir-wood over the knoll came a 
 still smaller boy bent double with a load of sticks. 
 
 In the window, written with large sprawling capitals 
 on a leaf of a copy-book under the heading ' Encourage 
 Earnest Endeavour,' appeared the striking legend : 
 
 SOWING & MENDING DUN 
 GOOD COWS MILK 
 
 STICKS FOR FIREWOOD CHEEP 
 MAY LAID EGGS 
 
 BY ELIZABETH MC LURG 
 
 The minister stood regarding, amazement on every line 
 of his face. Lecb came out singing, a neatly tied 
 bundle; of chips made out of the dry debris of the saw- 
 mill in her hand. 
 
 ' Elizabeth,' said he, ' what is the meaning of this ? '
 
 ENSAMPLES TO THE FLOCK 213 
 
 1 Will ye be pleased to step ben ? ' said Leeb. The 
 minister did so, and was astonished to find himself 
 sitting down in a spotless kitchen, the walls positively 
 painfully white, the wooden chairs scoured with sand 
 till the very fibre of the wood was blanched, and on a 
 floor, so clean that one might have dined off it, the 
 mystic whorls and crosses of whiting which connect all 
 good Galloway housekeepers with Runic times. 
 
 Before the minister went out of M'Lurg's Mill he 
 had learned the intentions of Leeb to make men of her 
 brothers. He said : 
 
 ' You are a woman already, before your time, 
 Elizabeth ! ' which was the speech of all others best 
 fitted to please Leeb M'Lurg. He also ordered milk 
 and eggs for the manse to be delivered by Benny, and 
 promised that his wife should call upon the little head 
 of the house. 
 
 As he went down the road by the lochside he 
 meditated, and this was the substance of his thought : 
 ' If that girl brings up her brothers like herself, Tyke 
 M'Lurg's children may yet be ensamples to the flock.' 
 
 But as to this we shall see.
 
 THE SIEGE OF M'LURG'S MILL 
 
 ELIZABETH M'LURG had been over at the village for 
 her groceries. Dressed in her best — clean pinafored, 
 white sun-bonneted — she was a comely picture. Half 
 a dozen years had made a difference in the coltish lassie 
 who had dragooned her three loons of brothers into 
 decency and school attendance after her father's funeral. 
 There was now not a better-doing family in the parish 
 than that over which the rule of Leeb M'Lurg had the 
 unquestioned force of an autocracy. Leeb had saved 
 enough from her cows and poultry to employ Sanny 
 MacQuhatt, the travelling millwright, to put the old 
 sawmill in order against that approaching day when 
 John M'Lurg, her eldest brother, would be out of his 
 time at the shop of Rob Johnstone, joiner and cartwright 
 in Whunnyliggate. Affairs had marched well with the 
 M'Lurgs. Rob, the second, was still at school, but 
 there was word of his getting into a Cairn Edward bank ; 
 and it was the desire of Leeb's life to see her favourite 
 Benny turned into a dominie. She had already spoken 
 to the minister about having him made a pupil-teacher 
 at the next vacancy. 
 
 Elizabeth had a word for every one as she walked
 
 THE SIEGE OF M'LURG'S MILL 217 
 
 sedately up the narrow un paved street — modest for the 
 minister, shy for young Will Morton, the teacher of 
 the village school where her brothers stood alternately 
 at the head of the highest class in sharp fraternal 
 emulation — -no other pupil coming within a mile of 
 them ; straightforward with the women folk, who came 
 to their doors to look down the street every ten 
 minutes or so on the chance of seeing a cadger, or 
 even a red farm cart, whose clanking passage might 
 break the soundless monotony. 
 
 The village lads would also cry, ' Hoo's a' wi' ye 
 the day, Leeb ? ' in an offhand way which did not 
 conceal from that sharp-eyed young woman their desire 
 to stand well with her. 
 
 ' She's the only lass i' the parish that kens hoo to 
 lift her feet aff the grund,' said Saunders Paterson to 
 Rab Affleck, as they watched Leeb's progress up the 
 street. 
 
 ' Ay, man, ye'rc richt ; there's nae glaur'll stick 
 to Leeb's coat-tail.' 
 
 But this morning many came to look after Leeb 
 M'Lurg of M'Lurg's Mill who had hitherto paid small 
 attention to her comings and goings. For it was the 
 village talk that Timothy M'Lurg, Tyke M'Lurg's 
 younger brother, otherwise known as ' Tim the Tairger,' 
 had come back, and had been seen and heard in the 
 skirts of the public-house declaring that he had come 
 as trustee of his brother to take possession of M'Lurg's 
 Mill, its cattle and sheep, house gear and bestial, and 
 to administer the same for the behoof of the children 
 of the departed. It was a noble ambition, and when
 
 2 iS THE SIEGE OF M'LURG'S MILL 
 
 declared among the choice company assembled at the 
 ' public,' it elicited warm commendations there, for 
 Timothy M'Lurg had always spent other people's 
 money like a man. 
 
 But when the better spirits of the village heard of 
 it, there were many who grieved for the children who 
 had made so gallant a fight. So when Elizabeth 
 M'Lurg went up the street that day, there was many 
 a one who watched her with a wae heart. Yet it was 
 not until David Clark, the village shopkeeper, had 
 finished serving her with tea and sugar that he said to 
 Leeb, in a friendly way : 
 
 ' I hear ye've gotten your Uncle Timothy back.' 
 Leeb whitened to the lips at that name of dread. 
 She remembered the wild nights when Timothy 
 brought his companions with him, and turned the little 
 world of M'Lurg's Mill upside down. 
 
 ' No,' she answered, determined not to show any 
 emotion to the watchful eyes of David Clark, ' I didna 
 ken.' 
 
 She spoke as though the news were some ordinary 
 and unimportant gossip. 
 
 ' Where has he come frae ? ' she asked. 
 David Clark knew that he had come from a long 
 sojourn in her Majesty's prisons, owing to the death of 
 a keeper in one of Tim's poaching affrays. But David 
 was not a man to commit himself unnecessarily when a 
 well-paying customer was concerned. 
 
 ' They were sayin' that he was up aboot the public, 
 an' that he cam' frae Cairn Edward in the bottom o' a 
 coal cairt.'
 
 THE SIEGE OF M'LURG'S MILL 219 
 
 Calmly Lecb settled her reckoning with the eggs 
 and butter which she had brought, and received the 
 balance in good Queen's silver. Calmly she took her 
 sedate way down the street, no step discomposed or 
 hurried. But in her heart there was a deadly tumult. 
 
 Her scheme of life, so carefully constructed and so 
 sturdily worked for, came tumbling about her ears. 
 She had no idea what her uncle's powers might be- — 
 whether he could take the mill or claim the cows. 
 She only knew that he would certainly do all the ill 
 he was capable of, and she thought of her fortress lying 
 open and unguarded at her enemy's mercy, with only 
 old Sanny MacQuhatt hammering and grumbling to 
 himself over the reconstruction of the rickety sawmill. 
 As soon as she was clear of the village Leeb took to 
 her heels, and glinted light foot through the poplar 
 avenues along the skirts of the bright June meadows, 
 where the hemlock was not yet overtopped by the 
 meadow-sweet, as in a week or two it would be. 
 
 She struck across the hill above the loch, which 
 lay below her ripplcless and azure as the blue of a jay's 
 wing. The air from off the heather was warm and 
 honey-scented. At the second stile, when she turned 
 into her own hill pasture, some vague fear struck her 
 heart. She dared not take the first look at the home- 
 stead which she had given her young life to make 
 worthy of her vow to bring up her brothers as they 
 should. As she set her foot on the lowest stone of the 
 high, uncouth stile in the dry-stone dyke, something 
 grunted heavily on the other side. 
 
 So bestially human and superfluously degraded
 
 220 
 
 THE SIEGE OF M'LURG'S MILL 
 
 was the noise that Leeb knew that it could not be 
 produced by any of the ' lower ' animals. Gather- 
 ing her skirts about her for a spring, and turning 
 up a supercilious nose, she peeped over the top 
 stone of the dyke. Beneath her lay Tim JYPLurg, 
 sleeping stertorously, with his head recumbent on the 
 lowest step, by which she must descend. A swarm of 
 flies buzzed and crawled over his face, unhealthily 
 flushed through its prison sallowness by drink and the 
 June sun. 
 
 Leeb, whose tastes were dainty as those of any 
 other lady, glanced at him with such extreme disfavour 
 that her fear was for the time being swallowed up in 
 disgust. She paused for half a dozen long moments, 
 finally reached down an experimental toe, and with a 
 sharp side push on the close-cropped head she undid 
 the precarious balance of her relative, who collapsed 
 flaccidly sideways on the heather like an overset 
 bolster. 
 
 His niece sprang over his prostrate hulk, took two 
 or three rapid steps, faced about, and gazed fixedly at 
 him, to show that she was not in the least afraid. Then 
 she walked slowly up the path to the crest of the hill, 
 where she was out of sight of the stile ; when, with 
 heart beating wildly, her terror came upon her, and she 
 ran as hard as she could towards M'Lurg's Mill, which 
 lay peacefully among the trees at the foot of the hill. 
 
 As she came down the woodside she caught up the 
 tougfh branch of a fir tree, and drove the two cows, 
 now no longer lean and ill-favoured, and the young 
 bull, to which Leeb had been looking to pay her rent
 
 THE SIEGE OF M'LURO'S MILL 221 
 
 that year, towards the byre. She sent Jock and his 
 mother on with vicious blows till they were safely 
 stabled in their stalls, with fresh bundles of clover grass 
 before them. Then Lceb locked the byre door with a 
 ponderous seldom-used key, and went down to the 
 Mill to warn Sanny MacOuhatt. 
 
 ' Ay, an' yer uncle's come hame,' muttered Sanny. 
 ' That's no' sae guid ; an ill yin him a' the days o' him. 
 Tim the Tairger they ca' him — no' withoot raison. 
 Ay, ay, an ill yin Tim.' 
 
 ' You'll no' let him within the Mill, wull ye, Sanny?' 
 
 ' Ccrtes, he'll no' come here as long as I'm respon- 
 sible for pittin' the auld ramshackle concern in order — 
 mair fule me for takin' on the job. It's never worth it ; 
 guid for nocht but firewood.' 
 
 And Sanny grumbled away till his words were lost 
 in the snuffling produced by repeated pinches of brown 
 Taddy from his waistcoat pocket. Leeb stood patient 
 by, knowing that at this juncture the word of Sanny 
 MacOuhatt, ill-tempered old curmudgeon of a mill- 
 wright though he might be, was to her a tower of 
 strength. 
 
 The cattle put under lock and key, the Mill 
 garrisoned, Lceb proceeded to the house, where she 
 carefully locked every door and put the hasp on every 
 window. Those which had no defence of this kind she 
 secured with nails. While she was still employed 
 about this last operation there came a loud knock at 
 the front door, which Lceb had secured first of all. 
 
 1 Wha's there ? ' challenged the besieged, sharp and 
 clear.
 
 222 THE SIEGE OF M'LURG'S MILL 
 
 ' Open the door, Leeb,' returned a thick voice, which 
 Leeb knew instinctively to be that of her uncle. l It's 
 me come hame.' 
 
 ' I ken naebody that's to come hame,' returned 
 Leeb. ' Wha micht " me " be ? ' 
 
 ' D'ye no' mind yer Uncle Timothy ? ' said the thick 
 voice outside, subsiding into a whine. ' Let me come 
 ben, Leeb ; I'm corned to look efter ye, an' to work for 
 ye a . 
 
 ' Na,' said Leeb ; ' I've worked for mysel' a' thae 
 years that ye've been lyin' in the gaol, a disgrace to 
 us, and I'm no' gaun to let ye scatter what I hae 
 gathered, sae just e'en tak' yersel' aff to where ye cam' 
 frae. This is nae hame o' yours.' 
 
 The wrath of the still half-tipsy man rose in a flash. 
 His voice became an unsteady scream. 
 
 ' Then tak' heed to yersel', Leeb M'Lurg ! ' he 
 shouted through the keyhole. ' Gin ye dinna let me 
 in I'll burn the riggin' ower yer heid — the Mill first 
 and then the hoose — ye ill-set, ungratefu' besom ! ' 
 
 ' Ay, Uncle Timothy, ye can try either o' the twa,' 
 said Leeb, from the safe vantage of a little staircase 
 window, which, made of a single pane, opened in- 
 wards. ' Gae \va' frae my door this minute,' she 
 said. 
 
 The gaol-bird beneath threw himself furiously 
 against the old wooden door, which opened in the 
 middle ; but the oak bolt was firm, and held. Still, 
 the whole house shook with the shock of his on- 
 slaught. 
 
 Leeb hesitated no longer, but snatched a black
 
 THE SIEGE OF M'LURG'S -MILL 223 
 
 'goblet' from the side of the kitchen fire, and sent the 
 contents out of the window with a deft hand. There 
 was an answering howl of pain. 
 
 ' Ye've scadded me ! I'll hae the law on ye, ye 
 randy ! I'll hae ycr life ! ' 
 
 ' There's a potfu' mair on the fire for ye, gin ye 
 dinna gang awa' quaitly wi' what ye hae gotten ! ' said 
 Tim M'Lurg's hard-hearted niece. 
 
 He now took himself off in the direction of the 
 barn. Hardly had he disappeared on the other side 
 when Lecb's favourite brother, Benny, came whistling 
 round the corner opposite to that at which Tim had 
 disappeared. He stood astonished to see the front 
 door shut. Lecb hurried down, unlocked the door, 
 and called to him to run. He came slowly towards 
 her with a bewildered countenance. She pulled him 
 inside, told him hurriedly what had happened, and sent 
 him off through the back window, which abutted on 
 the moor, with a message to Will Morton, the school- 
 master. Benny flew like the wind. He knew that it 
 was his part to bring up reinforcements while his sister 
 kept the castle. Leeb watched till Benny was safe 
 over the hill, then she herself slipped out of the house, 
 locking the door behind her, and went towards the 
 Mill, from which rose the sound of angry voices. 
 Before she got there, however, the commotion was 
 evidently reaching its climax, and Leeb deemed it best 
 to slip into the byre, through one of the wickets of 
 which she could see the Mill door. Through that 
 wide-open square tumbled Tim the Tairger, bareheaded 
 and in disarray, and behind him appeared the burly
 
 224 THE SIEGE OF M'LURG'S MILL 
 
 figure of old Sanny MacQuhatt, with his millwright- 
 ing mallet in his hand. 
 
 ' I wad be wae to strike the like o' you, Tim,' said 
 the old man. ' Ye michtna need anither, but dinna ye 
 come back here to interfere wi' my wark. Gang awa' 
 an' collogue wi' yer cronies, poachers an' sic-like, an' 
 lea' decent folk abee ! ' 
 
 Timothy gathered himself up. He had had enough 
 of the millwright, who, having done his part, went 
 staidly back to his interrupted work. The ill-treated 
 one came towards the byre, and, seeing the door open, 
 he went in. Leeb sprang into the bauks above the 
 stall of the bull just in time. Her uncle looked the 
 cattle over with a dissatisfied eye. He seemed to Leeb 
 to be reckoning how much Crummie and Specklie would 
 bring in the auction mart. She resolved that he should 
 also have a look at Jock, and so be able to decide on 
 his market value as well. Stooping over, she undid his 
 binding, and lashed him at the same time sharply across 
 the nose with the rope. Jock lowered his head, and 
 backed indignantly out of his stall. As he turned he 
 found himself face to face with an intruder, a man 
 whose red neckcloth proved him evidently his enemy 
 and assailant. Jock's charge was instant and effective. 
 With a snort he cleared the byre, and pursued across 
 the open square of the yard, tail in air and horns to 
 the ground. Timothy M'Lurg could not complain of 
 the warmth of his reception in the home of his 
 ancestors. 
 
 He sought refuge from the bull in the big water hole 
 under the mill-wheel. Here, waiting the bull's retire-
 
 THE SIEGE OF M'LURG'S MILL 225 
 
 ment, Lceb interviewed him from the Mill window, 
 under the protection of Sanny MacOuhatt, and offered 
 him a pound note to go away. This compromise had 
 the weakness of a woman's compunction, and was 
 strongly disapproved of by her ally. 
 
 ' Gie that craitur a poun' to drink — he'll sune come 
 back on ye for anither,' said Sanny, who knew the breed. 
 ' I wad " pound " him,' he muttered. 
 
 But Tim the Tairger, also thinking that this offer 
 gave signs of yielding, rejected it with oaths and con- 
 tumely. On the contrary, he would sell them up, bag 
 and baggage. The whole place belonged to him. He 
 had deeds that could prove it. Stock, plenishing, 
 water-power — all were his. 
 
 ' Gin the water-poo'er be yours, ma man,' said Sanny, 
 ' ye can hae that, an' welcome.' 
 
 Sanny's humour was of the entirely practical kind. 
 
 He went to the mill-lade, and turned on the stream. 
 The whole force of M'Lurg's mill-dam took its way 
 smoothly down the repaired lade, and flashed with a 
 solid leap over the old green wheel upon Timothy, as 
 he stood between the bull to landward and the plunging 
 mill-wheel. Sanny grimly kept up his end of the jest. 
 
 1 Hae, ma man, ye'll no' say that we keepit ye oot 
 o' yer richts. " Water-poo'er," ' quo' he ; ' nae pound 
 notes yc'se get i' this pairish, but it'll no' be Sanny 
 MacOuhatt that'll keep ye oot o' the use o' yer ain 
 water-poo'er.' 
 
 Tim the Tairger was in a woeful case. The old 
 man looked from the Mill window, and comforted him 
 with crusty humour, the points of which were all too
 
 226 
 
 THE SIEGE OF M'LURG S MILL 
 
 obvious. The cold water plunged upon him from the 
 mill-wheel, it deepened about his knees, and Jock, the 
 young bull, pawed the ground and snorted murderously 
 for his blood. He was completely sobered now, and 
 
 -, ^K 
 
 
 
 ''S 
 
 
 TIMOTHY M'LURG IS NOT REFUSED HIS OWN WATER-POWER 
 
 vowed repeatedly that if they would only give him the 
 pound note he would go and never disturb them more. 
 
 But Sanny had taken things into his own hands, 
 and would not allow Leeb to interfere. 
 
 ' Bide ye where ye are, ma man ; ye're braw and 
 caller doon there. Ye were aye a drouthy lad, Tim, 
 since ever I kenned ye. Ye're in the way o' being 
 slockened noo ! An' in a wee there'll be a bonny lad
 
 THE SIEGE OF M'LURG'S MILL 227 
 
 \vi' silver buttons comin' up that road to look for ye. 
 Benny, yer ain bluid relative, he's gane for him, an' he'll 
 hae him here the noo. It was a blessin' he was in the 
 daistrict onyway ; it's no* that often a polisman's where 
 he's wantit.' 
 
 ' Here he comes,' cried Lccb, from her post of 
 observation in the Mill gable. 
 
 Tim the Tairgcr took one look down the road, a single 
 link of which he could see as it wound round the loch. 
 He saw the sun glitter on the white buttons of a police- 
 man's coat, who came stalking majestically along. 
 Whatever evil Tim had on his conscience of prison- 
 breaking or ticket-of-leave unreported we do not know, 
 but the terror of the officer of the law overpowered even 
 his fear of Jock's horns. With a wild skelloch of 
 desperation he dashed out of the pool, and took down 
 the road, doubling from the bull like a hunted hare. 
 
 The schoolmaster— masquerading, according to 
 Leeb's orders, in Sergeant Macmillan's old policeman's 
 coat — saw Timothy M'Lurg leap the low loaning dyke 
 and tear down the road. After him thundered the bull, 
 routing in blood-curdling wrath. From a high knoll 
 he watched the chase, till hunter and hunted were lost 
 in the shades of Knockangry Wood. The bull was 
 found next day wandering near Dairy, with a clouted 
 deer-stalking cap transfixed on one horn ; but as for 
 Tim the Tairgcr, he was never more heard tell of in 
 Stcwartry or in Shire. 
 
 The mystery is not likely to be solved now, for the 
 secrets of that chase arc only known to Jock, and he 
 ran his earthly race to the beef-tub half a dozen years 
 
 Q
 
 228 THE SIEGE OF M'LURG'S MILL 
 
 ago without unburdening his conscience to any. From 
 his uncertain temper it is, however, suspected that he 
 had something on his mind. 
 
 As for Sanny MacQuhatt, he says that he is ' muckle 
 feared that Tim the Tairger is gane whaur he wad be 
 michty gled o' the water-poo'er o' M'Lurg's mill-lade — 
 whilk,' concludes Sanny, ' I defy him to say that I ever 
 denied him.'
 
 THE MINISTER OF SCAUR CASTS OUT 
 WITH HIS MAKER 
 
 ILASCARTWRIGHT had a quarrel 
 
 •^ with the Almighty. He had dwelt 
 five years by the side of the Scaur 
 Water. He was a lonely man and 
 little given to going into company. 
 The men of his presbytery found it 
 hard to draw him away from his 
 manse even for a night. He asked 
 none of them to assist him at his 
 Communion seasons except Mr. Urc 
 of Crawwheats and Mr. Croft of the 
 Riggs, both of whom could go back 
 to their manses the same night. 
 The manse of the Scaur sat on a high bank over- 
 looking the long, narrow, densely-wooded valley. From 
 his stud)- window the minister could look over the 
 clustered slate roofs of the village of Scaur into the 
 pale-blue misty distance, through which a silver thread 
 ran — Silas Cartwright's glimpse of that other world 
 where the Nith glimmered among its rich wheat-fields. 
 Above the manse of Scaur the woods died out into
 
 23 o THE MINISTER OF SCAUR 
 
 fringing hazel and birch, and the brown moorland began 
 where the whaups and the peewits made a blithe crying 
 on the June mornings, and the jacksnipe swooped side- 
 long with melancholy wing-quaverings every autumn 
 
 evening. 
 
 It was to the bare hills of heather that Silas Cart- 
 wright took his way every time that he undid the hasp 
 of the creaking front door of the manse which was so 
 seldom used. He dwelt among his hill folk like a man 
 of another blood and another speech. City bred and 
 delicately nurtured, he had come to the parish of Scaur 
 in the last days of patronage, through the interest of a 
 university friend who happened to be the penniless laird 
 of a barren heritage of bog and morass. 
 
 ' You tak' the lairdship, an' I'll tak' the steepend ! ' 
 his friend had said. 
 
 But Silas Cartwright had stuck to the manse. He 
 had a great desire in his heart to be a leader among 
 men, and the chance which opened to him among the 
 shepherds and small sheep farmers of the Scaur Water 
 was peculiarly fascinating. Likewise there was a girl 
 with a pale check and shining gold hair for whom 
 the minister dreamed of making a home. He had 
 met Cecilia Barton in Edinburgh drawing-rooms, where 
 her pale beaut)' and crown of glistening tresses had 
 lain heavy on his heart for many days after. Then 
 they had met again by the side of the Eastern sea, 
 where the rocky islands stood out in the morning like 
 dusk\' amethysts against the sun. He had paced the 
 sands with her, ovcrtowcring her slim form with his 
 masculine stolidity. Cecilia Barton listened with a far-
 
 THE .MINISTER OF SCAUR 231 
 
 off sympathy while the tall student quoted Tennyson 
 to her, and even thrilled with a faint emotion as the 
 tones of his voice proclaimed more plainly than words 
 that she, she only, was the power 
 
 Whose slightest whisper moved him more 
 Than all the ranged reasons of the world.' 
 
 This girl with the far-off eyes had trod, careless but 
 not unconscious, on many hearts, and the virginal 
 whiteness of her summer dress was more passionate 
 than the heart which beat beneath it. 
 
 Silas Cartwright, as he walked on the moorland 
 with his staff in his hand, thought often of the days 
 when Tantallon's toothless portcullis was a gateway to 
 the palace of delights, and when Fidra and the small 
 isles swam on a sea of bliss. All this because there 
 was a tolerant kindness in a girl's languid eyes, and 
 because the glamour of a first love had fallen upon a 
 young man. Then it was that Cecilia Barton had 
 expressed her fondness for a life of pastoral quietness, 
 simple among a simple people. This was her ideal, 
 she said, her desire above all others. Her voice was 
 soft ; her eyes luminous. Her mother would have 
 smiled had she heard her, but Cecilia Barton did not 
 talk thus to her mother. Really her ideals lay in the 
 region of C-springed carriages and dressing-cases with 
 fittings of monogramed gold. 
 
 When Silas Cartwright went back to his city home 
 that autumn, he treasured some words which in the 
 silent coolness of a rocky recess this girl's voice had 
 said to him. Indeed, they were more to him than the 
 call of the Master whom he had promised to serve.
 
 232 THE MINISTER OF SCAUR 
 
 He took her hand in his, and she let it lie. He 
 saw strange meanings in her eyes as they looked out 
 to sea. Really she was only wondering what he would 
 do next. Men do not act alike in such cases and the 
 uncertainty is pleasing. But Silas Cartwright, with 
 small originality, only leaned towards the reflected light 
 on the pale-gold hair. 
 
 ' Do you love me ? ' he asked. 
 
 After a pause Cecilia Barton answered him, ' There 
 is no man I love so well.' 
 
 Which was true and hopeful so far, and might have 
 been sufficient had there not been a girl whom she 
 loved infinitely more. 
 
 That last winter passed with presbyterial trials and 
 class examinations to be overleaped, meaningless to him 
 as so many hurdles in a handicap. License and ordina- 
 tion he passed like milestones which marked his progress 
 towards the white-walled manse in a sunny glen which 
 should be a home for a new Adam and Eve. Then 
 came Adam Stennis and his offer of the manse of the 
 Scaur. The young minister preached there to a scanty 
 flock who accepted him with unconcern. The Camero- 
 nians were strong in that glen, and they looked on the 
 new parish minister as an emblem of the powers of 
 State which had refused to set up a Covenanted church. 
 They came to the ordination, however, and sat silent 
 with grim disapproval in every line of their faces. 
 Then Silas Cartwright occupied himself in making a 
 round of pastoral visitations, and in getting his furniture 
 up from Thorn i wood. He saw each article taken care- 
 fully off the carts ; he unpacked it with his own hands,
 
 THE MINISTER UK SCAUR 233 
 
 saying to himself, ' In this chair she will sit. At this 
 tabic she will preside ! ' His Sabbaths were chiefly 
 delightful to him because of the vision of shining pale- 
 gold hair which glimmered, unseen by all save the 
 minister, in the gloomy square prison of the manse 
 seat. Here he would open the Sunday school. Here 
 at the little school's lower end, beneath the windows 
 round which the white roses clambered to peep in, the 
 little cottage organ which he had bought for her would 
 sit,- and the thrill of her voice would shake the tendrils 
 of the honeysuckle about the porch. 
 
 One day the carrier brought the minister of the 
 Scaur a parcel, and on the same day the postman 
 brought him a newspaper. The latter was marked 
 with a blue cross, and announced that the marriage of 
 Perkins Dobbs and Cecilia Barton had been celebrated 
 by the Rev. Dean Harkaway in the cathedral church of 
 St. Kentigern. The bride had chosen the monograms 
 and the C-springs. The country manse was a mere 
 holiday opinion vanishing with Fidra and the grassy 
 gateways of Tantallon. She whirled away amid smiles 
 and rice, with the coat of arms of the paternal Dobbs 
 (who in his day had brewed the best of ale) on the 
 panels of her carriage, and there was an end of her. 
 
 Hut what of the manse that was furnished for her, 
 the chairs which, as they were bought, packed, trans- 
 ported, and set up, were each consecrated to her down- 
 sitting ? What of the man whose every breath was a 
 spasm of pain, to whom sleep came with a feeling of 
 deadliest oppression, and who awoke in the morning to 
 a sharp and cruel stound of agony ?
 
 ^34 
 
 THE MINISTER OF SCAUR 
 
 Silas Cartwright walked on the moorland by night 
 and day. He did not think. He did not speak. He 
 did not murmur. He only looked for God's juniper 
 bush, under which he might lie down and die. 
 
 THE GRASSY GATEWAYS OF TANTALLON 
 
 But a man cannot die naturally when he will, and 
 Silas Cartwright had stronger stuff in him than those 
 have who take away their own lives. 
 
 The girl who had wronged him still lived with him 
 a ghostly presence, and sat opposite him in the chairs 
 which he had dreamed she would occupy.
 
 TIIH MINISTER OF SCAUR 235 
 
 He saw her in the graceful quiet of her white gown 
 on the little green lawn under the apple trees. In his 
 dreams he took her hand and climbed the mountains 
 with her, taking her far up into the bosom of the 
 moors, where the high Lead Hills fold themselves in 
 overlapping purple masses about the Pass of Dalveen. 
 
 1 This way madness lies ! ' he would say time and 
 again to himself, when like a dash of cold rain the 
 reality of his loss came upon him ; but as his strange 
 fancy strengthened, he walked with a ghostly bride 
 and buried himself in an unreal present in order to 
 shut out a hopeless future. 
 
 His pulpit work alternated between severely ortho- 
 dox disquisitions quarried from the literature of the 
 past, over which every minister has mining rights, and 
 strange, dreamy rhapsodies which considerably asto- 
 nished his hearers in the little kirk of Scaur. 
 
 Silas Cartwright had never been a deeply spiritual 
 man ; but now, steeped in a kind of mystic make- 
 believe, he reached out towards all sorts of spiritualism 
 and occultism. He had catalogues of books on these 
 subjects sent to him, and from these he made extensive 
 purchases, far beyond what his means allowed. He 
 steeped his mind in these studies, and it was not long 
 before his work as pastor among the hill folk became 
 distasteful to him. His congregation of a Sunday — 
 droning psalms and fluttering leaves, sitting in strag- 
 gling clusters about the pews, each looking more un- 
 comfortable than his neighbour — moved before him like 
 the idle painted shapes in a mummer's show. The only 
 real figure in that gray kirk of rough harlcd masonry
 
 236 THE MINISTER OF SCAUR 
 
 was the Presence with the shining hair sitting quiet on 
 the cushions of the manse seat. 
 
 The parish of Scaur did not let its tongue lie still 
 while all this was going on. It had its own opinion, 
 which was, plainly, that the minister was going out of 
 his mind. But he was all the less to be meddled with 
 on that account. He had even an increase of his 
 Sabbath congregations, for it was a fascinating subject 
 to discuss the strange utterances of a mad minister at 
 farm ingle nooks, and by the smithy fire during the 
 week. The Cameronians took little heed. It was 
 small concern of theirs if an Erastian went wrong in 
 his mind. He was far from right to begin with. So 
 their minister simply kept leathering on at the funda- 
 mentals. One of the things most noted was the care 
 with which the minister of Scaur paraphrased the name 
 of God in his prayers and discourses. The superstitious 
 said that he dared not utter the Name. The bolder 
 made bets that he would not do so in the whole course 
 of a morning's diet of worship ; and they won their 
 wagers. It was, indeed, small wonder that the parish 
 decided that its minister was going out of his mind. 
 
 But the seasons went round, and the most that any 
 one could say when asked about Mr. Cartwright was 
 that he was ' No' muckle waur than usual ! ' He 
 himself got little case or peace of mind, and it was 
 impossible that he should, considering the purpose 
 which his mind confessed. This was no less than to 
 take his revenge on God for denying him the desire 
 of his heart. There was a kind of joy in the thought 
 that he had cast out with his Maker.
 
 THE MINISTER OF SCAUR 237 
 
 What actually cured him it is strange to have to tell. 
 When Cecilia Barton drove away that day behind the 
 bays of Dobbs, she covenanted for a position and for 
 riches. On the other hand, she had a husband whom 
 she loved with such love that, when he died after five 
 years, she put on widow's weeds of the best quality 
 and was exceeding thankful. Then she came down 
 to a shooting-lodge in the Xith valley, and sent for 
 Silas Cartw right to come to see her. He resisted the 
 summons for some days, for his ideal bride had grown 
 to suffice him, and then finally he went. He saw and 
 he returned — a sane man whose cure was complete- 
 He had seen a fat woman with two fatter lap-dogs, 
 who talked concerning horses and sneered at the 
 people of the shepherds' houses about the mansion-house 
 which she occupied. 
 
 So Silas Cartwright returned, clothed and in his 
 right mind. There was no presence in the manse seat 
 any more. He made his peace with God in ways that 
 are not our business. His sermons were new things — 
 instinct with fervour. Some of the hill folk went over 
 to the parish church to hear him one night when he 
 held an evening service. An old elder walked to the 
 manse gate with the young man. They two stood a 
 moment silent, and then the elder spoke. 
 
 ' Maister Cartwright,' he said, ' you and your Maker 
 had an' awfu' cast oot : but noo that ye've made it up, 
 man, ye're maist fit to be a Cameronian ! '
 
 JOHN BLACK, CRITIC IN ORDINARY 
 
 John BLACK was not a minister, but there were few 
 ministers that could hold a candle to him. This is a 
 fact. John Black says so himself. He desires to add 
 ' if any.' But owing to jealousy he has somehow never 
 been appreciated. But if John Black were to speak his 
 mind, he ' kens o' at least twal' ministers that had better 
 resign.' Previous, however, to this holocaust we may 
 endeavour to do some justice to John Black himself. 
 He came to our Sunday school trip this year, and his 
 sayings and doings for a long summer's day were within 
 our observation. The result is appended hereunder, 
 and may form a humble introduction to John's intended 
 series of essays in destructive criticism. 
 
 First of all, John Black said that we were sure to 
 get a bad day because we were going in the month of 
 July. It is sure to rain in July. John had been a 
 teacher in the school as long as he had a class, or, more 
 accurately, as often as he could get his class to attend, 
 for he used to disperse any class that was given to him 
 in about three Sabbath days. The laddies said that 
 ' they werena comin' there to hae their lugs dadded.' 
 John said that ' he never saw sic a set o' young
 
 JOHN BLACK, CRITIC IN ORDINARY 239 
 
 haythens '; and as for the superintendent, he said that ' he 
 had something else to do than to rampage the country 
 seeking for laddies to run away from John Black. If 
 John wanted any more classes he could seek them him- 
 self.' John felt that this was a discouragement, and 
 resigned his position as an acting teacher in our con- 
 gregational Sabbath school. But he retained, entirely 
 by his own appointment, a sort of honorary position 
 as general critic to the management, and thought him- 
 self more indispensable than the entire staff. This was 
 not, however, we believe, the universal opinion. 
 
 Last year we went up the country for our summer 
 trip to a field on the farm of Greenshicls. John Black's 
 auntie, who lived on the farm, had the supplying of the 
 milk on that occasion, and, as everybody allowed, she 
 just charged us two prices. John Black wanted us to 
 go back to Greenshicls this year, but the minister had 
 made arrangements with one of his elders to visit his 
 farm of Port More, on the shores of the Firth. John 
 Black was much distressed at the thought of all the 
 children falling off the rocky ' hcughs ' of Port More, 
 and being brought home on a procession of shutters. 
 Whereupon the minister said that in that case they had 
 better take the shutters with them, for there were none 
 within six miles of Port More. John told the minister 
 that he would not have his responsibility for the best 
 cow in the parish. But the minister thought he could 
 take the responsibility without the cow. He is quite 
 able for John Black at any time, is our minister. 
 
 We were going in carts, for the reason that if we 
 did not go in carts we should have had to walk. Indeed
 
 2 4 o JOHN BLACK, CRITIC IN ORDINARY 
 
 many did walk ; the younger teachers of both sexes in 
 order to take the short cuts through the wood, and so 
 save the horses — while many of the elder boys ranged 
 on both sides of the road, like greyhounds fresh off the 
 slip. The minister walked sedately behind all the carts 
 along with the superintendent, seeing more than any 
 one gave him credit for. 
 
 There was not much cheering when we started, for 
 but few people were about, and it is no use hurrahing 
 if there is no one to hear you. The girls, for the most 
 part, stayed quietly in their carts and sang hymns softly, 
 with such of their teachers as, from age or other cause, 
 had no call to rest the horses. There were some 
 farmers' sons driving the carts, very nice lads, though 
 shy as a rule till they found their tongues — which they 
 did not do in general until they were within a mile of 
 their own homes, and could see the smoke from their 
 ancestral chimneys. Then they became unexpectedly 
 voluble, and displayed astonishing local knowledge for 
 the benefit of the lady teachers. James Greg even 
 asked the Misses Robb, whose father keeps the shop 
 at the Bridge End, if they would not like to come and 
 live at his house. This was felt to be a very great 
 length for James to go, but then James was known in 
 all the parish to be a very daring Romeo. But Nancy 
 Robb soon brought him to confusion by replying: 'We 
 i anna a' three come, Jamie ; tell us what ane ye want, 
 an' then we'll sec aboot it ! ' 
 
 Nancy had been used to holding her own with the 
 town lads, so James's rustic gallantry was child's play 
 to her. Besides, she was going to be married in the
 
 JOHN BLACK, CRITIC IN ORDINARY 241 
 
 back end, and so could speak more freely. No one is 
 so dangerous as an engaged girl, not even a widow, 
 though here the authorities are against us. The engaged 
 girl is a licensed heart-breaker, certified capable, who 
 knows that her time is short. 
 
 When we got to Port More we all went to have a 
 look at the tide, which was just coming in. Some of 
 the boys were only restrained by the most forcible 
 arguments from bathing there and then. The water was 
 about four inches deep half a mile from the shore ; so, 
 to make fun of them, the minister advised them to walk 
 out with their clothes on, and strip when they got into 
 deep water ; but none of them did that. 
 
 We were just all seated in a great irregular semi- 
 circle, having milk and buns, when John Black drove 
 up in his auntie's gig, which he had borrowed for the 
 occasion. He had not been asked, but that did not 
 prevent him from finding fault with all the arrange- 
 ments as soon as he arrived. Milk, it appeared, was 
 bad for the stomach when over-heated, and ought to 
 have had its acidity corrected, according to his auntie's 
 recipe, with a little water. 
 
 ' We want nanc of ycr milk frae the coo wi' the 
 iron tail, John,' said one of the teachers, who did not 
 like John, and had said that he would not come if 
 John was asked. 
 
 The children did not seem to feel any bad effects 
 however, nor did the)- quarrel with the want of the 
 corrective water, judging by the milk they stowed 
 away about their persons. In a few minutes, after 
 sundry cautions from the minister not to go along the
 
 242 JOHN BLACK, CRITIC IN ORDINARY 
 
 shore without a teacher, they scattered into small 
 roving bands. The cricket stumps were soon up, and 
 a good game going. One of the teachers took the 
 biggest boys to bathe in a sheltered cove at some 
 distance, where the tide had come sufficiently far up. 
 The lady teachers wandered about and picked rock 
 rose and other seaside flowers, or explored with their 
 classes the great shell heaps for ' rosebuds ' and ' legs 
 of mutton.' All was peaceful and happy, and the 
 minister was the happiest of all, for his sermons were 
 both done, and lying snug within his Bible in the 
 study of the manse. He talked to the superintendent 
 at intervals, sucking meanwhile the ends of some 
 sprays of honeysuckle. Then he crossed his legs, and 
 told tales of how Rob Blair and he lived on ten 
 shillings a week in their first session at college. The 
 superintendent took mental notes for the benefit of his 
 own boys, two of whom were going up to college this 
 winter with quite other notions. All was peaceful — a 
 bland happiness settled upon the chiefs looking down 
 on the whole of their extensive family — a peace rudely 
 disturbed by a ' cleg ' which had inquiringly settled on 
 the back of the minister's neck. It was a trying 
 moment ; but the minister was calm. He said, quietly : 
 
 ' Will you be kind enough to kill me that " cleg " 
 on the back of my neck, Mr. Poison ? ' 
 
 The superintendent saw the insect apparently stand- 
 ing on its head, gorging itself with clerical blood, and 
 realised that he had got a great man for his minister. 
 John Black (who was not far away, explaining to three 
 teachers and four of the elder scholars that the minister
 
 JOHN BLACK, CRITIC I\ ORDINARY 243 
 
 ami superintendent were a couple of incapables) said 
 
 when he went home that it was no wonder that the 
 school was going to rack and ruin, for he l saw wi' his 
 ain ccn the superintendent and the minister fa'in' oot 
 to that extent that the superintendent gied the minister 
 a daud i' the side 1/ the heid ! ' 
 
 In the afternoon we made tea. The young men 
 helped the ladies, while John Black kept off the 
 children with a stick and also offered advice. The 
 children made faces at him, and once when he went 
 out of earshot of the group at the fire, W'attic Robb 
 squared up at him, and dared him to ' come ahint the 
 plantin' ! ' The minister smiled, looking at the bright 
 print-clad girls and their willing assistants, for he 
 thought that he would be a white silk handkerchief 
 or two the richer before the winter. It is the correct 
 thing for the bride to give the minister on the occasion 
 of a wedding. 
 
 ' It wad be mair wiselike,' said his housekeeper, 
 Mary, ' if folk that gets marriet had eneuch gumption 
 to gie ye guid linen instead o' middlin' silk ! ' 
 
 The children were not a bit tired when the)- came 
 to be mustered for the home-going, and life and limb 
 were intact, in spite of John Black's prophecy. They 
 would certainly have been the better of a wash, for 
 some of them had apparently been trying to tunnel 
 right through ' to the Aunty Pods,' as the farmer of 
 Port More said. The superintendent knew of at least 
 four boys with deceased rabbits up their trouser legs ; 
 but they were all the happier, and the}' made perfect 
 bowers of the carts on the way home with green
 
 244 JOHN BLACK, CRITIC IN ORDINARY 
 
 branches and flowers, cheering the long journey with 
 song. They were a jovial company, and each one of 
 them was as hoarse as a crow with shouting and 
 hurrahing as they came in triumph through the town 
 to dismount at the cross before the assembled towns- 
 folk. The superintendent was a proud man that night 
 seeing the end of his labours, and a kindly dew stood 
 in the minister's eyes as he watched the red carts, 
 crowded with happy young ones, pass him in review 
 order. ' Of such,' he said, ' is the kingdom of heaven.' 
 
 But John Black's voice recalled him to himself as 
 he drove by in his auntie's gig. 
 
 ' There'll be an awfu' lot o' them no' weel the morn 
 \vi' a' that unta'endoon raw milk. Ye wad hae been 
 better up at Greenshiels wi' my auntie ! '
 
 THE CANDID FRIEND 
 
 Tin-: lamp had long been lighted in the manse of Dule 
 — that is, the lamp in the minister's study. The one 
 belonging to the sitting-room was not yet brought in, 
 for the mistress of the manse was teaching the bairns 
 their evening lesson, and the murmur of her voice, 
 broken into by the high treble of children's questions, 
 came fitfully to the minister as he ploughed his way 
 through Thirdly. He smiled as he heard the inter- 
 mittent din, and once he moved as if to leave his 
 work to itself and go into the other room ; but a 
 glance at the expanse of unfilled paper changed his 
 purpose, and he proceeded with his dark spider tracks 
 across the white sheet. Men who write chiefly for 
 their own reading write badly — ministers worst of all. 
 The wind was blowing a hurricane about the manse of 
 Dule. The bare branches of the straggling poplars that 
 bordered the walk whipped the window of the study, 
 and the rain volleyed against the panes in single drops 
 the size of shillings. The minister put a lump of coal 
 on the fire, pausing a long time before he put it on, 
 finally letting it drop with a bang as the uncertain 
 joints of the spindle-legged tongs gave way diagonally. 
 Tis a way that tongs have, and the minister seemed
 
 246 THE CANDID FRIEND 
 
 to feel it, for he said emphatically, ' No ; that will not 
 do ! ' But he was referring to Thirdly. So he lay 
 back for a long time and cogitated an illustration. 
 Then he took a book of reference down from the shelf, 
 which proved so interesting that he continued to read 
 long after he had passed the limit at which all informa- 
 tion germane to his subject ceased. It was another 
 way he had, and he excused the habit to himself by 
 saying that doubtless in this way he gained a good deal 
 of information. 
 
 Then to the window there came a roaring gust 
 which bent the frame and thundered among the fir 
 trees at the gable end as if it would have them all 
 down before the morning. The minister hoped that 
 there would be no poor outcast homeless on such a 
 night, and as a sort of per contra he remembered that 
 no one could possibly come to interrupt him this even- 
 ing at least, and that he might even finish one sermon 
 and get well under weigh with the other. 
 
 At this moment he heard the squeak of the bell 
 wire that told him that a visitor was at the outer door. 
 Some Solomon of an architect or bell-hanger had made 
 the bell wire pass through the study on its way to the 
 kitchen, and so the minister was warned of the chance 
 comer while his feet were yet on the threshold. The 
 student under the lamp sighed, lay back in his chair, 
 and waited. lie almost prayed that it might merely 
 be a message ; but no — the sound of shuffling feet. 
 It was somebody coming in. 
 
 There was a knock at the study door, and then the 
 voice of the faithful Marget, saying :
 
 THE CANDID FRIEND 247 
 
 ' Maister Tammas Partan to see ye, sir.' 
 
 She said this with great distinctness, for the minister 
 had once checked her for saying, ' Here's Tammas 
 Partan ! ' which was what she longed to say to this day. 
 
 ' How are you to-night, Thomas ? ' asked the 
 minister. He tried hard to say, ' I'm glad to see you,' 
 but could not manage it, for even a minister has a 
 conscience. Mr. Partan's feet left two muddy marks 
 side by side across the carpet. He made a conscience 
 of stepping over two mats on his way in. This helped 
 (among other things) to make him a popular visitor at 
 the manse. 
 
 'Thank you, minister; I'm no' that unco wcel.' 
 
 ' Then arc you sure that you should be out such a 
 night ? ' said the minister, anxious for the welfare of 
 his parishioner. 
 
 ' But, as ye say ycrsel', Maister Girmory, " When 
 duty calls or danger, be never wanting there." ' 
 
 The minister's heart sank within him, as a stone 
 sinks in a deep lake, for he knew that the ' candid 
 fnend ' had found him out once more — and that his 
 tenderest mercies were cruel. But he kept a discreet 
 and resigned silence. If the minister had a fault, said 
 his friends, it was that he was too quiet. 
 
 1 Wcel, minister,' said Tammas Partan, ' I just cam' 
 up my ways the nicht to sec ye, and tell ye what the 
 folk were sayin'. 1 wadna be a fricn' till ye gin I 
 didna. Faithfu', ye ken, arc the wounds of a friend ! ' 
 
 The minister looked at the fire. He was not a man 
 inclined to think more highly' of himself than he ought 
 to think, and he knew that before Tammas Partan had
 
 248 THE CANDID FRIEND 
 
 done with his recital he would be too upset to continue 
 with his Sabbath morning's sermon on ' The Fruits of 
 the Spirit,' at least for that night. It was not the first 
 time that Tammas had ' thocht it his duty ' to come 
 in at the critical moment and introduce some sand into 
 the bearings. Had the minister been a stronger or a 
 more emphatic man, he would have told his visitor that 
 he did not want to hear his stories, or at least he 
 would have so received them that they would not have 
 been told a second time. But the minister of Dule 
 was acutely sensitive to blame, and the pain of a cruel 
 word or an intentional slight would keep him sleepless 
 for nights. It is in such parishes as Dule that 
 ' Tammas Partans ' thrive. He had just tried it once 
 with Mr. Girmory's predecessor, one of the grand old 
 school of farmer clerics now almost extinct. Tammas 
 Partan had once at a Fast Day service on the 
 Thursday before the Sacrament Day, risen to his feet 
 and said to old Mr. M'Gowl, who was standing among 
 his elders ready for the distribution of tokens : 
 ' Remember the young communicants ! ' 
 ' Remember your own business ! ' returned Mr. 
 M'Gowl, instantly, at the same time giving the officious 
 interrupter a sounding ' cuff' on the side of the 
 head. 
 
 After which Tammas, feeling that his occupation 
 was gone, joined himself to the sect of the Apostolic 
 Brethren, at that time making a stir in the neighbour- 
 hood, with whom he was just six weeks in communion 
 till they arose in a body and cast him out of the 
 synagogue. So he had been houseless and homeless
 
 THE CANDID FRIEND 249 
 
 spiritually till Mr. Girmory came, when Tammas, 
 seeing him to be a man after his own heart, returned 
 back gladly to his old nest. 
 
 ' They are sayin' that there's no' eneuch life in yer 
 sermons, minister — nae grup, so to speak, kind o' 
 wambly an' cauldrifc. Noo, that's no' a faut that I 
 wad like to fin' myscl,' but that's what they're sayin', 
 and I thocht it my duty to tell ye.' 
 
 ' Also Gashmu saith it ! ' said the minister. 
 
 ' What did ye say ? Na, it wasna him ; it was Rab 
 Flint, the quarryman, and Andrew Banks of Carsewall, 
 that said it — I dinna ken the party that ye name.' 
 
 ' Ay,' said the minister. 
 
 1 An' Lame Sandy, the soutar, thocht that there was 
 an awesome lack o' specrituality in yer discoorse the 
 Sabbath afore last. He asked, " Hoo could ony 
 minister look for a blessin' efter playin' a hale efternune 
 at the Channel-stanes wi' a' the riff-raff o' the neebour- 
 hood ? " ' 
 
 " Were ye not there yersel,' Thomas ? ' queried the 
 minister, quietly, wondering how long this was going 
 to last. 
 
 ' Ou ay ; I'm far frae denyin' it — but it's no' my ain 
 opeenions I'm giein' till ye. I wadna presume to do 
 that ; but it's the talk o' the pairish. An' there's 
 Gilbert Loan's auntie ; she has been troubled wi' a 
 kin' o' dwaminess in her inside for near three weeks, 
 an' ye've gane by the door mair nor yince, an' never 
 looked the road she was on, sac Gilbert an' a' his folk 
 are thinkin' o' lcavin' the kirk.' 
 
 ' But I never heard of it till this minute ! ' protested
 
 250 THE CANDID FRIEND 
 
 the minister, touched at last on a tender spot. ' Why 
 did they not send me word ? ' 
 
 ' Weel, minister, Gilbert said to me that if ye had 
 nae better ken o' yer fowk than no' to miss them three 
 Sabbaths oot o' the back gallery, they werena gaun to 
 bemean themsel's to sen' ye nae word.' 
 
 The minister could just see over the pulpit cushion 
 as far as the bald spot on the precentor's head, but he 
 said nothing. 
 
 At this point there was a diversion, for the minister's 
 wife came in. She was not tall in stature, but to 
 Tammas she loomed up now like a Jael among women. 
 The minister rose to give her a seat, but she had not 
 come to sit down. 
 
 ' Now, I would have you understand once for all, 
 Tammas Partan,' she began — (' Weel dune the mis- 
 tress ! ' said Marget, low to herself, behind the door) — 
 ' that we have had more than enough of this ! I've 
 heard every word ye've said to Mr. Girmory, for the 
 door was left open '- -(' I saw to that mysel',' said 
 Marget) — 'and I want you to carry no more parish 
 clashes into my house.' 
 
 ' Hush, hush ! my dear ; Tammas means well !' said 
 the minister, deprecatingly. 
 
 But the belligerent little woman did not hear, or at 
 any rate did not heed, for she continued addressing 
 herself directly to Tammas, who sat on the low chair 
 as if he had been dropped there unexpectedly from a 
 great height. 
 
 ; Take for granted,' she said, ' that whatever is for 
 the minister's good to hear, that he'll hear without your
 
 THE CANDID FRIEND 251 
 
 assistance. And you can tell your friends, Rob Flint 
 and Andrew Banks, that if they were earlier out of the 
 " Red Lion " on Saturday night, and earlier up on the 
 Sabbath morning, they would maybe be able to 
 appreciate the sermon better ; and ye can tell Lame 
 Sandy, the soutar, that when he stops wearing his wife 
 into the grave with his ill tongue, he may have some 
 right to find fault with the minister for an afternoon on 
 the ice. And as for Gilbert Loan's auntie, just ask her 
 if she let the doctor hear about her trouble, or if she 
 expects him to look in and ask her if there's anything 
 the matter with her little finger every time he passes 
 her door ! ' 
 
 She paused for breath. 
 
 1 I think I'll hae to be gaun ; it's a coorse nicht ! ' 
 said the Object on the chair, staggering to its feet. 
 
 ' Now, Thomas, no offence is meant, and I hope 
 you'll remember that I'm only speaking for your good,' 
 said the minister's wife, taking a parting shot at a 
 venture, and scoring a bull's-eye. 
 
 ' Guid-nicht, Tammas Partan,' said Marget, as she 
 closed the door. ' Haste ye back again.' 
 
 But Tammas has not yet revisited the manse of 
 Dule.
 
 A MIDSUMMER IDYLL 
 
 THE THREE BRIDEGROOMS AND THE OXE ERIDE 
 
 Yes, sir, I am the Registrar of births, deaths, and 
 marriages in the parish of Kilconquhar, and I am asked 
 to tell vou the story of Meg MacGregor and her three 
 lads. Well, it's an old tale now, and Meg's boys are 
 here every summer vacation pestering the life out of 
 me to bait their lines and dress their hooks. But it is a 
 tale that is not by any means forgotten in Kilconquhar, 
 and in the winter forenights the wives tell it to this 
 day in the big kitchen where the lasses are at their 
 knitting and the lads are making baskets of the long 
 saugh wands before the heartsome fire. 
 
 It was mostly the wild Gregor blood that did it ; 
 but Meg's mother was an Elliot from the Border, and 
 we all know that that's not greatly better. So what 
 could ye expect of a lassie that had the daftness in her 
 from both sides of the house, as ye might say ? 
 
 Meg was a beauty. There is no doubt of that. 
 She had been a big-boned ' hempie ' at the Kirkland 
 School for many a day, playing with the laddies when 
 they would let her, earl)- and late ; yet clever at her
 
 A MIDSUMMER IDYLL 253 
 
 books when she would take the trouble to learn. She 
 had the ' birr ' and go of twenty in her from the time 
 that she could run alone. Peter Adair, one of her lads 
 that was to be, came roaring in to his mother one 
 morning when she was a dotting wee thing of four or 
 five. 
 
 
 
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 THE PARISH OF KILCOXQUIIAR 
 
 ' What for are ye greetin' like that, Peter ? ' said his 
 mother. ' Wha has been meddlin' ye ? ' Peter was 
 soft in disposition, but the apple of his mother's eye. 
 
 4 Meg MacGregor dadded my lugs because I wadna 
 let her kiss me,' said the gallant Peter, between his 
 sobs. 
 
 His mother laughed. ' Dinna greet, my bonny 
 wean,' she said; 'the day'll maybe come when ye'll 
 change yer mind aboot that ! '
 
 254 A MIDSUMMER IDYLL 
 
 But when that day did come, his mother did not 
 like it nearly so well as she had expected. 
 
 When Meg was between sixteen and seventeen it 
 suddenly occurred to everybody that she was a beauty. 
 It was at a party at the New Year at the Folds, and 
 Meg went there in a white gown. She had been at 
 the dancing-school that Fiddler Stewart had in the 
 village that winter, and she got very fond of the 
 dancing. There were two or three lads at the Folds 
 from the next parish, and as soon as the dancing 
 began there was nobody that was sought after but only 
 that hempie Meg. 
 
 The very next day it was a different Meg that 
 walked the street, and a different Meg it was that 
 came to the kirk on the Sabbath. She rode no more 
 astride of the wildest pony in the glen, but she twined 
 the lads like rushes of the meadows round the least of 
 her fingers. Her father was then, as he is to this day, 
 farmer in Stanninstane, and as douce and civil a man 
 as there is in the parish, so the wild blood must have 
 skipped a generation somehow. Say you so, sir? 
 Indeed, I did not know that such a thine could be 
 explained scientifically, but it's a thing I have noticed 
 time and again. ' // has been recently discovered] you 
 say. Dear me, I did not know it had ever been 
 forgotten. ' Unto the third and fourth generation ' is 
 an old saying enough, but it's not unlikely that the 
 wise men have forgotten all about Moses. 
 
 [sobel Elliot, David MacGregor's wife, died when 
 Meg was but a lassie, and David himself never laid 
 hand on his daughter in the way of correction all his
 
 A MIDSUMMER IDYLL 255 
 
 life. She did as she liked with her father all the days 
 of her life — as, indeed, for the matter of that, she did 
 with every one in this parish, with the very minister 
 when the fit was on her, as ye shall hear 
 
 ' With yourself for instance, Registrar ? ' 
 
 Me ? Oh no, sir. I'm a man that is well stricken 
 in years and she would not trouble with me, but I do 
 not deny that there was that in the lassie that one 
 could not help but like, though as an elder I felt it my 
 duty to give her a word of caution and advice more 
 than once or twice. 
 
 What said she to that ? Well, sir, she said not 
 much ; but she turned her eyes up at me under the 
 fringes of her eyelashes, and pushing out her red lips 
 discontentedly, she said : 
 
 ' What can I do ? The lads will not let me alone. 
 I'm sure I want none of them ! ' 
 
 'And what arc. you going to do, Meg?' said I, 
 smiling-like at her. 
 
 ' Indeed, Registrar,' says she, ' that I don't know. 
 Unless '- —here the witch looked shyly up at me with 
 her eyes fairly swimming in mischief — ' unless ye 
 maybe micht tak' me yourselV 
 
 Keenest of all her suitors — ' clean daft ' about her, 
 said the countryside — were three lads of the parish. 
 The first I have mentioned already. Peter Adair was 
 his mother's son. She lived in the large house with 
 the gate that stood a little back from the village street 
 by the side of the bridge. She had money, and Peter 
 being a delicate lad in his mother's estimation, and the 
 apple of her eye at all times, had been kept at home
 
 256 A MIDSUMMER IDYLL 
 
 when he should have been learning some profession. 
 There was now and then a talk of his going up to 
 Edinburgh to learn the scientific farming before he 
 took a farm of his own, but it had never come to 
 anything. He had fallen madly in love with Meg, 
 however, and went regularly to town on Wednesdays 
 to have a chance of talking with her for five minutes 
 as she went about her shopping. His mother had so 
 far yielded to his wishes as to get David MacGregor 
 to take him on at Stanninstane to try his hand at the 
 practical part of farming. He was in ecstasy, for, 
 thought he, who knows what opportunities there may 
 be of seeing Meg in the intervals of daily duty ? But 
 when David handed him over to the grieve, that 
 unsympathetic Ayrshireman said, ' Practical fermin' ! 
 Certie, he shall hae that or my name's no' James 
 Greg ! ' Whereupon in five minutes the delicate- 
 handed Peter found himself on the. top of a cart with 
 a fork in his hand, taking his first lesson in practical 
 farming by learning how to apply to the soil the 
 natural fertilisers necessary for next year's crop. He 
 had two days of that, when he resigned and went 
 home, having decided that after all scientific farming 
 was most in his line. 
 
 Peter Adair was known to be rich — at least in 
 expectations — but nobody thought that Meg would 
 favour him on that account. Being an heiress in her 
 own right, she had no need. It was, therefore, with 
 very great surprise that I was called into the office 
 when- I do my registrar's business, and authorised by 
 Peter to put up his name on the board along with
 
 A MIDSUMMER IDYLL 257 
 
 that of Margaret MacGrcgor, spinster, also of this 
 parish. 
 
 ' Meg's at the door,' he said ; ' but she did not like 
 to come in.' 
 
 Accordingly I went to the door, and caught a 
 glimpse of Meg vanishing into Webster the draper's 
 two doors above. 
 
 Peter had not long gone his way when another 
 knock came to the door. 
 
 I opened the door myself. It was just growing 
 dusk, and I could hear Meg MacGregor's voice saying : 
 
 ' I telled ye afore, ye can gie in the names if ye like, 
 but I'll no tell ye whether I'll hae ye or no' till the 
 first of August. That's my twenty-first birthday, and 
 I'll no' hae a mind o' my ain till that day.' 
 
 Again a single man came into the little office, 
 lighted with the oil lamp which always smelled a 
 little when I had the trimming of it to do myself. 
 It was Robert Hislop, the stalwart son of the farmer of 
 Nctherton, known to be the strongest man in the 
 parish. He had waited many a long night to have 
 the duty of taking Meg home from all the soirees and 
 parties in the neighbourhood. He was a steadfast, 
 sturdy, and stupid fellow, who had first of all come 
 about the Stanninstane farmhouse to court Meg's 
 younger sister Bess ; but who, like a piece of loose 
 paper on the platform of a wayside station when the 
 ' Flying Scotsman ' thunders through, had been drawn 
 into the wake of the greater power. 
 
 The story which connected him with Meg was one 
 very characteristic of the man. He had been seeing
 
 25 8 A MIDSUMMER IDYLL 
 
 Meg and her sister home from some party over at 
 the village, and they had got as far on their way as 
 the dark avenue under the trees where the white gate 
 of the manse and the black gate of the kirkyard face 
 one another in a weird whispering silence under the 
 arch of leaves. There had been stories of a ghost 
 which walked there, and Bess MacGregor was in a 
 state of nervous excitement. Meg alternately played 
 with and laughed at the fears of her sister. As they 
 came between the gates something white leapt along 
 the wall with an elricht shriek and stood gibbering 
 upon the black gate of the kirkyard. 
 
 Bess MacGregor dropped instantly in a faint. 
 Stalwart Rob Hislop took one troubled glance at 
 her. Then putting her into the hands of her sister 
 he said, l Fit some snaw on her face ; I'll be back the 
 
 noo ! ' 
 
 The spectre did not wait to be pursued, but made 
 off swiftly among the tombs, its white robes flying in 
 the wind. Rob Hislop went after it with the intent- 
 ness of a greyhound on the trail. He caught his foot 
 in some twisted grass, fell heavily, but rose again in an 
 instant. He saw the spectre leap the wall and take 
 the way through the fir-wood. Swifter than before he 
 followed, and in a few minutes he ran the ghost down 
 in a glade into which the moon was peeping over the 
 edge of a cloud. The ghost holloed for mercy as 
 Rob's heavy weight came down upon him. 
 
 'Let me up,' he said; 'it's only fun. I'm Tam 
 M'Kittrick frae the Gallaberry ! ' 
 
 Stan' up, then, Tarn M'Kittrick frae the Gallaberry,
 
 A MIDSUMMER IDYLL 259 
 
 for I'm gaun to gie ye the best lickin' ye ever got in 
 your life ! ' 
 
 Next morning Rob was down at the village bright 
 and early, before Purdie the grocer, that sells drugs to 
 us when there's not time to go to Dumfries for them, 
 had down his shutters. He rapped at his door, and 
 Purdie opened it. 
 
 ' Onybody no' weel, Rob ? ' he says, astonished like. 
 
 ' Hoo mucklc stickin' plaister hae ye, Maister 
 Purdie ? ' says Rob, anxiously. 
 
 ' I dinna ken,' said the grocer, retreating into his 
 shop to see ; ' maybes a yaird or a yaird an' a quarter.' 
 
 1 Then ye had better gie me a yaird an' a quarter ! ' 
 answered Rob, instantly. 
 
 ' Preserve us a', Rob, what's wrang ? Hae a' your 
 kye fallen intil the quarry hole ? ' 
 
 ' Na,' said Rob, seriously ; ' it's for Tarn M'Kittrick 
 o' the Gallaberry. He was playing bogles up by the 
 minister's liggatc yestreen, an' I misdoot but he fell 
 and hurt himsel' ! ' 
 
 Now, sir, you'll hardly believe me, though I can 
 show you the notices in a minute, but that very nicht 
 on the back of ten o'clock there was another knock 
 came on the door, and in comes Frank Armstrong, the 
 young son of the farmer of Lintficld, whose ground 
 inarches with that of David MacGregor. 
 
 ' Are you going to be married to Meg MacGregor ? ' 
 said I, laughing. 
 
 ' Yes,' said he, surprised. ' Hoo did yc ken that, 
 Registrar ? '
 
 2 6o A MIDSUMMER IDYLL 
 
 You might have knocked me down with a straw. 
 There were three bridegrooms to one bride. 
 
 ' Did Meg tell ye ye were to come an' gie in the 
 names ? ' said I. 
 
 ' Ay,' said the boy, blushing to the roots of his fair 
 hair, for he was only a year older than Meg herself, 
 and did not look his years. 
 
 ' We made it up when I was harvesting there last 
 year ; but Meg, she wad never gie a decided answer till 
 the nicht.' 
 
 ' What did she say ? ' I asked. 
 
 ' She said that she was to be married on her twenty- 
 first birthday, but that she wadna tell me whether she 
 wad hae me till we were afore the minister. " But ye 
 can pit up the names gin ye like," says she.' 
 
 So all the names were put up. 
 
 There never was such a day on the street of this 
 village as what there was that day. I had to lock 
 myself in, front and back, and get my groceries through 
 the window in the gable end ; but I answered no 
 questions, the young men held their counsel, and Meg 
 was away from home. 
 
 Some one went to see the minister and inform him 
 of the scandal. But they came away with a flea in 
 their lug, for the minister told them that Meg her- 
 self had trysted him to marry her at Stanninstane 
 on the ist of August. 
 
 ' And who did she say was the young man ? ' 
 inquired the deputation. 
 
 'Well,' said the minister, running his hand through 
 his white locks, ' I don't think she said, but I have no
 
 A MIDSUMMER IDYLL 261 
 
 doubt that he is worthy of her. I have a very high 
 opinion of Margaret's common sense and practical 
 ability.' 
 
 ' Preserve us, she's made a fule o' the verra minister ! ' 
 said the gossips. 
 
 There was nothing talked about but the marriage as 
 the 1st of August came on. I got an invite from 
 David himself, who kept a very straight upper lip on 
 the subject. There were many that went up to the 
 Stanninstane loaning end to see what was to come of 
 it, but they got no farther, for there was David Mac- 
 Gregor's two brothers from the Highlands with big 
 sticks, dour and determined chiels, and they let nobody 
 pass but them that were invited. 
 
 When we got there we were shown into the parlour, 
 where about twenty of a company were assembled. 
 Bess moved about as shy and sweet as any girl need 
 be. Out of the reach of the more brilliant attractions 
 of her sister, she was a very pretty young woman. 
 Soon the minister came in. Peter Adair sat and 
 simpered on the sofa in his lavender kids. Rob Hislop 
 looked exceedingly uncomfortable in a black suit and 
 a white rose which Bess had pinned in his button-hole. 
 It took a long time to pin. for Rob is very tall, and 
 Bess could hardly reach so far up. During the operation 
 Rob went red and white by turns, and looked pitifully 
 at Bess. I thought that he was trying vainly to read 
 her sister's decision in her eyes, but it turned out that 
 I was wrong. 
 
 Sharp at the stroke of four David brought Meg in 
 on his arm. She looked radiant in fleecy white, and
 
 2 62 A MIDSUMMER IDYLL 
 
 her hair in rippling waves like the edges of the little 
 clouds when the sun begins to think about going to 
 bed. Well, yes, sir, if I am a crusty old bachelor, I 
 thank God I was not born blind. 
 
 ' Let the parties take their place,' said the minister. 
 
 Meg looked wildly about. 
 
 ' Where's Frank ? ' she cried, going suddenly as white 
 as her dress. 
 
 ' He has not come yet,' said Bess, as sweet as a ripe 
 gooseberry, looking innocently at her sister. ' Rob 
 Hislop says he saw him working in the barn ! ' 
 
 Meg dropped into a chair. ' It serves me right ! ' 
 she said, beginning to sob. ' It serves me quite right. 
 I'll not be married to anybody but Frank. I've been 
 a wicked girl, and I deserve it ! ' 
 
 So she sat and cried while all of us looked helplessly 
 on. Sometimes she glanced up at us, with the tears 
 running steadily down her cheeks and dripping on the 
 thin white of her marriage dress. 
 
 Bess stood by the side of Rob Hislop very demure 
 and quiet, but with a curious light on her face. 
 
 ' Run,' she said suddenly to Rob, ' and bring Frank 
 Armstrong here this minute.' 
 
 And Rob Hislop, glad to find something to do, 
 started immediately. Peter Adair went after him, but 
 ere they were clear of the house Meg suddenly started 
 from her chair and disappeared into the part of the 
 house from which she had come. In a minute I followed 
 the others to the door, and as I got to the end of the 
 house I caught one glimpse of Meg MacGregor's white 
 frock vanishing down the woodside path which led in
 
 A MIDSUMMER IDYLL 263 
 
 the direction of Lintfield. Rob Hislop and Peter Adair 
 had taken the same direction, but had gone round by 
 the highway. It is said that Meg found Frank Arm- 
 strong in the barn getting the reaper ready for the 
 harvest. But no one knows what she said to him. 
 This only is certain, that in a little Frank and Meg 
 came arm in arm along the plantation path, his father 
 and brother following full of surprise. Frank was 
 dressed in his working suit, but for all that he looked 
 a bright and handsome bridegroom. 
 
 Soon the two messengers came in, much out of 
 breath. 
 
 Meg went up to them and said, ' Rob, you'll be best 
 man and tak' in Bessie. It was her ye aye likit best 
 at ony rate ! ' 
 
 ' I'll no' say but ye're richt ! ' said Rob, obediently 
 giving his arm to the blushing Bessie. 
 
 ' And, Peter, you'll forgive me, I'm sure. It's 
 for the best, an' I wad never have got on wi' yer 
 mithcr !' 
 
 Peter extended his hand with the lavender glove 
 still on it. 
 
 ' Wecl,' he said, ' maybes it'll be a relief to her ! ' 
 
 So Frank Armstrong married Meg MacGrcgor on 
 her twenty-first birthday in his working coat, and it 
 was not long before Rob Hislop married Bessie in new 
 Sunday ' blacks.' 
 
 Peter Adair still lives with his mother in the house 
 with the green gate by the bridge. He has started a 
 poultry show, for he has become a great pigeon fancier. 
 Meg's boys spend most of their time with him when
 
 264 A MIDSUMMER IDYLL 
 
 they're here. But what put the ploy into the madcap 
 lassie's head is more than I can tell. In my way of 
 thinking it was just the wild blood of the MacGregors 
 of the Highlands, and indeed the Border Elliots are 
 little better. As is, indeed, generally admitted.
 
 td 
 
 PS 
 U 
 
 K 
 
 o 
 
 o 
 o
 
 THE TUTOR OF CURLYWEE 
 
 The Minister of Education started to walk across the 
 great moors of the Kells Range so early in the morning 
 that for the first time for twenty years he saw the sun 
 rise. Strong, stalwart, unkempt, John Bradfield, Right 
 Honourable and Minister of the Queen, strode over the 
 Galloway heather in his rough homespun. ' Ursa 
 Major' they called him in the House. His colleagues, 
 festive like schoolboys before the Old Man with the 
 portfolios came in, subscribed to purchase him a brush 
 and comb for his hair, for the jest of the Cabinet 
 Minister is even as the jest of the schoolboy. John 
 Bradfield was sturdy in whatever way you might 
 take him. Only last session he engineered a great 
 measure of popular education through the House of 
 Commons in the face of the antagonism, bitter and 
 unscrupulous, of Her Majesty's Opposition, and the 
 Gallio lukewarmness of his own party. So now there 
 was a ripple of great contentment in the way he shook 
 back locks which at forty-five were as raven black as 
 they had been at twenty-five ; and the wind that blew 
 gently over the great billowy expanse of rock and 
 heather smoothed out some of the crafty crows' feet 
 deepening about his eyes.
 
 268 THE TUTOR OF CURLYWEE 
 
 When he started on a thirty-mile walk over the 
 moors, along the dark purple precipitous slopes above 
 Loch Trool, the glory of summer was melting into the 
 more Scottish splendours of a fast-coming autumn, for 
 the frost had held off long, and then in one night had 
 bitten snell and keen. The birches wept sunshine, and 
 the rowan trees burned red fire. 
 
 The Minister of Education loved the great spaces 
 of the Southern uplands, at once wider and eerier than 
 those of the Highlands. There they lie waiting for 
 their laureate. No one has sung of them nor written in 
 authentic rhyme the strange weird names which the 
 mountain tops bandy about among each other, appel- 
 lations hardly pronounceable to the southron. John 
 Bradfield, however, had enough experience of the dialect 
 of the ' Tykes ' of Yorkshire to master the intricacies of 
 the nomenclature of the Galloway uplands. He even 
 understood and could pronounce the famous quatrain : 
 'The Slock, Milquharker, and Craignine, 
 
 The Breeshie and Craignaw ; 
 Are the five best hills for corklit, 
 That e'er the Star wife saw.' 1 
 
 The Minister of Education hummed this rhyme, 
 
 which he had learned the night before from his host in 
 
 the tall tower which stands by the gate of the Ferrytown 
 
 of Cree. As he made his way with longr swinm'ne eait 
 
 over the heather, travelling by compass and the shrewd 
 
 head which the Creator had given him, he was aware 
 
 old times the rocks and cliffs of the Dungeon of Buchan were 
 
 kind of moss known a, 'corklit,' used for dyeing, the gathering 
 
 ' formed part of the livelihood of the peasantry. At one time 
 
 3 much ll - [ fo' dyeing oldiers' red coats. -Harper's Rambles in
 
 THE TUTOR OF CURLYWEE 269 
 
 about midday of a shepherd's hut which lay in his track. 
 He went briskly up to the door, passing the little pocket- 
 handkerchief of kail-yaird which the shepherd had 
 carved out of the ambient heather. The purple bells 
 grew right up to the wall of grey stone dyke which had 
 been built to keep out the deer, or mayhap occasionally 
 to keep them in, when the land was locked with snow, 
 and venison was toothsome. 
 
 ' Good day to you, mistress,' said the Minister of 
 Education, who prided himself on speaking to every 
 woman in her own tongue. 
 
 ' And good day to you, sir,' heartily returned the 
 sonsy, rosy-cheeked goodwife, who came to the door, 
 1 an' blithe I am to see ye. It's no that aften that I 
 see a body at the Back Hoose o' Curly wee.' 
 
 John Bradficld soon found himself well entertained — 
 farles of cake, crisp and toothsome, milk from the cow, 
 with golden butter in a lordly dish, cheese from a little 
 round kebbuck, which the mistress of the Back House 
 of Curlywee kept covered up with a napkin to keep it 
 moist. 
 
 The goodwife looked her guest all over. 
 
 ' Ye'll not be an Ayrshireman nae, I'm thinkin'. 
 Ye kind o' favour them in the features, but ye hae the 
 tongue o' the English.' 
 
 ' My name is John Bradficld, and I come from 
 Yorkshire,' was the reply. 
 
 ' \n' my name's Mistress Glencairn, an' my man 
 Tammas is herd on Curlywee. But he's awa' ower by 
 the Wolf's Slock the day lookin' for some forwandered 
 yowes.'
 
 270 THE TUTOR OF CURLYWEE 
 
 The Minister of Education, satisfied with the good 
 cheer, bethought himself of the curly heads that he had 
 seen about the door. There was a merry face, brown 
 with the sun, brimful of mischief, looking round the 
 corner of the lintel at that moment. Suddenly the 
 head fell forward and the body tumultuously followed, 
 evidently by some sudden push from behind. The 
 small youth recovered himself and vanished through 
 the door, before his mother had time to do more than 
 
 say, ' My certes, gin I catch you loons ,' as she 
 
 made a dart with the handle of the besom at the 
 culprit. 
 
 For a little John Bradfield was left alone. There 
 were sounds of a brisk castigation outside, as though 
 some one were taking vigorous exercise on tightly 
 stretched corduroy. ' And on the mere the wailing 
 died away ! ' 
 
 ' They're good lads eneuch,' said the mistress, entering 
 a little breathless, and with the flush of honest endea- 
 vour in her eye, ' but when their faither's oot on the 
 hill they get a wee wild. But as ye see, I try to bring 
 them up in the way that they should go,' she added, 
 setting the broomstick in the corner. 
 
 ' What a pity,' said the Minister of Education, ' that 
 such bright little fellows should grow up in this lonely 
 spot without an education.' 
 
 He was thinking aloud more than speaking to his 
 hostess. The herd's wife of Curlywee looked him over 
 with a kind of pity mingled with contempt. 
 
 ' Edicated ! did ye say ? My certes, but my bairns 
 are as weel edicated as onybody's bairns. Juist e'en
 
 THE TUTOR OF CURLYWEE 271 
 
 try them, gin it be your wull, sir, an' aiblins ye'll fin' 
 them no' that far ahint yer ain ! ' 
 
 Going to the door she raised her voice to the tele- 
 phonic pitch of the Swiss jodel and the Australian 
 ' coo — eel 
 
 'Jee-mie, Aa-leck, Aa-nie, come ye a' here this 
 meenit ! ' 
 
 The long Galloway vowels lingered on the still air, 
 even after Mistress Glencairn came her ways back again 
 into the house. There was a minute of a great silence 
 outside. Then a scuffle of naked feet, the sough of 
 subdued whispering, a chuckle of interior laughter, and 
 a prolonged scuffling just outside the window. 
 
 ' Gin ye dinna come ben the hoose an' be douce, you 
 Jeemie, an' Rob, an' Alick, I'll come till ye wi' a stick ! 
 Mind ye, your faither 'ill no be lang frae hame the day.' 
 
 A file of youngsters entered, hanging their heads, 
 and treading on each other's bare toes to escape being 
 seated next to the formidable visitor. 
 
 ' Wull it please ye, sir, to try the bairns' learning 
 for yoursel' ? ' 
 
 A Bible was produced, and the three boys and their 
 sister read round in a clear and definite manner, 
 lengthening the vowels it is true, but giving them their 
 proper sound, and clanging their consonants like 
 hammers ringing on anvils. 
 
 ' Very good ! ' said John Bradfield, who knew good 
 reading when he heard it. 
 
 From reading they went on to spelling, and the 
 great Bible names were tried in vain. The Minister of 
 Education was glad that he was examiner, and not a
 
 272 THE TUTOR OF CURLYWEE 
 
 member of the class. Hebrew polysyllables and Greek- 
 proper names fell thick and fast to the accurate aim of 
 the boys, to whom this was child's play. History 
 followed, geography, even grammar, maps were ex- 
 hibited, and the rising astonishment of the Minister of 
 Education kept pace with the quiet complacent pride of 
 the Herd's Wife of Curlywee. The examination found 
 its appropriate climax in the recitation of the ' Shorter 
 Catechism.' Here John Bradfield was out of his depth, 
 a fact instantly detected by the row of sharp examinees. 
 He stumbled over the reading of the questions. He 
 followed the breathless enunciation of that expert in 
 the ' Caritches,' Jamie, with a gasp of astonishment. 
 Jamie was able to say the whole of Effectual Calling in 
 six ticks of the clock, the result sounding to the 
 uninitiated like the prolonged birr of intricate clockwork 
 rapidly running down. 
 
 ' What is the chief end of man ? ' slowly queried the 
 Minister of Education, with his eye on the book. 
 
 ' Mans-chiefend-glorfyGod-joyim-frever ! ' returned 
 Jamie nonchalantly, all in one word, as though some 
 one had asked him what was his name. 
 
 The Minister of Education threw down his Cate- 
 chism. 
 
 ' That is enough. They have all done well, and 
 better than well. Allow me,' he said, doubtfully turning 
 to his hostess, ' to give them each a trifle ' 
 
 ' Na, na,' said Mistress Glencairn, ' let them e'en do 
 their work withoot needin' carrots hadden afore their 
 nose like a cuddy. What wad they do wi' siller ? ' 
 
 ' Well, you will at least permit me to send them
 
 THE TUTOR OF CURLYWEE 273 
 
 each a book by post — I suppose that you get letters 
 up here occasionally ? ' 
 
 ' 'Deed, there's no that muckle correspondence amang 
 us, but when we're ower at the kirk there, yin o' the 
 herds on Lamachan that gangs doon by to see a lass 
 that leeves juist three miles frae the post-office, an' she 
 whiles fetches ocht that there may be for us, an' he 
 gi'es it us at the kirk.' 
 
 John Bradfield remembered his letters and telegrams 
 even now entering in a steady stream into his London 
 office and overflowing his ministerial tables, waiting his 
 return — a solemnising thought. He resolved to build 
 a house on the Back Hill of Curlywee, and have his 
 letters brought by way of the kirk and the Lamachan 
 herd's lass that lived three miles from the post-office. 
 
 ' Oot wi' ye ! ' said the mistress briefly, addressing 
 her offspring, and the school scaled with a tumultuous 
 rush, which left a sense of vacancy and silence and 
 empty space about the kitchen. 
 
 ' And now will you tell me how your children are 
 so well taught ? ' said John Bradfield. ' How far arc 
 you from a school ? ' 
 
 ' Weel, we're sixteen mile frae Newton Stewart, 
 where there's a schule but no road, an' eleven frae the 
 Clatterin' Shaws, where there's a road but no schule.' 
 
 ' How do you manage then ? ' The Minister was 
 anxious to have the mystery solved. 
 
 ' WE KEEP A TUTOR ! ' said the herd's wife of Curly- 
 wee, as calmly as though she had been a duchess. 
 
 The clock ticked in its shiny mahogany case, like a 
 hammer on an anvil, so still it was. The cat yawned
 
 274 THE TUTOR OF CURLVWEE 
 
 and erected its back. John Bradfield's astonishment 
 kept him silent. 
 
 ' Keep a tutor,' he muttered ; ' this beats all I have 
 ever heard about the anxiety of the Scotch peasantry 
 to have their children educated. We have nothing like 
 this even in Yorkshire.' 
 
 Then to his hostess he turned and put another 
 question. 
 
 ' And, if I am not too bold, how much might your 
 husband get in the year ? ' 
 
 ' Tammas Glencairn is a guid man, though he's my 
 man, an' he gets a good wage. He's weel worthy o't. 
 He gets three an' twenty pound in the year, half 
 score o' yowes, a coo's grass, a bow o' meal, a bow o' 
 pitatas, an' as mony peats as he likes to cast, an' win', 
 an' cairt.' 
 
 ' But how,' said John Bradfield, forgetting his 
 manners in his astonishment, ' in the name of fortune 
 does he manage to get a tutor ? ' 
 
 ' He disna keep him. / keep him ! ' said Mistress 
 Glencairn with great dignity. 
 
 The Minister of Education looked his genuine 
 astonishment this time. Had he come upon an heiress 
 in her own right ? 
 
 His hostess was mollified by his humbled look. 
 
 ' Ye see, sir, it's this way,' she said, seating herself 
 opposite to him on a clean-scoured, white wooden chair : 
 ' there's mair hooses in this neighbourhood than ye wad 
 think. There's the farm hoose o' the Black Craig o' 
 Dee, there's the herd's hoose o' Garrary, the onstead o' 
 Neldricken, the Dungeon o' Buchan — an' a wheen mair
 
 -I 
 
 w 
 
 E- 
 
 W 
 H
 
 THE TUTOR OF CURLYWEE 277 
 
 that, gin I telled ye the names o', ye wadna be a bit 
 the wiser. Weel, in the simmer time, whan the colleges 
 gang doon, we get yin o' the college lads to come to 
 this quarter. There's some o' them fell fond to come. 
 An' they pit up for three or fower weeks here, an' for 
 three or fower weeks at the Garrary ower by, an' the 
 bairns travels ower to whaur the student lad is bidin', 
 an' gets their learnin'. Then when it's time for the 
 laddie to be gaun his ways back to college, we send him 
 awa' weel buskit wi' muirland claith, an' weel providit 
 wi' butter an' eggs, oatmeal an' cheese, for the comfort 
 o' the wame o' him. Forbye we gather up among 
 oorsels an' bid him guid speed wi' a maitter o' maybe 
 ten or twal' poun' in his pooch. Ari that's the way we 
 keep a tutor ! '
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 The derivations of a number of words have been given in this Glossary 
 for the purpose of showing how large a number of old Anglo-Saxon words 
 are still in use in this country ; in fact, in the Scottish dialect of the 
 present day the largest amount we have of the language of the old 
 Northumbrian kingdom (Anglo-Saxon) is to be found, and these remains 
 must not be looked upon, as is too often the case, as mere provincial patois; 
 relics of this language prevail also over a large part of Yorkshire, and in 
 other districts of England north of the Humber ; there are about two 
 thousand of these old words and many idioms given in the admirable 
 Glossary of the Cleveland Dialect, by Canon Atkinson, identically the 
 same with those in our Scottish dialect, and for the most part almost 
 unknown in Southern Britain. 
 
 The Scottish dialect has been considerably influenced by the close 
 connection of this country with France in the fifteenth century ; this 
 influence is more marked in the S. E. part of Scotland, and has affected 
 Galloway only slightly. It is somewhat interesting to note that a good 
 many words which we owe to the French, and which are now obsolete in 
 France, have still a lively existence in Scotland. 
 
 Some of the words given are used metaphorically or obliquely, and 
 are peculiar to Galloway and other adjoining parts in the south of Scot- 
 land : e.g. Streekin', "going in the direction of," the proper meaning 
 of the word is stretching, and is generally applied to laying out a corpse ; 
 J<irl, "quick motion in walking," the proper meaning is to drink plenti- 
 fully, generally in company; Grooing, "desire," properly "to shudder, to 
 shiver," etc. etc. The meaning of the words given in the Glossary is in 
 accordance with the meaning of the text, and perhaps may not be so 
 found in Jamieson's dictionary or other glossaries. The spelling of the 
 Scotch words used by the author is sometimes different from the usual 
 form, e.g. Hauf is usually spelt by Scott, Burns, and others, Honff, 
 Howff, etc. etc. 
 
 The derivations without initial letters before the word are Anglo-Saxon, 
 T. indicates Teutonic dialects, Norse, Old Swedish, Swedish, German, etc.,
 
 2SO 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 O.F. Old French, F.French, C. Celtic (not necessarily Gaelic), - tish, 
 
 < >bl. an oblique meaning of the word. 
 
 The two Anglo-Saxon letters expressing the "th" are ji and «\ The 
 
 first {• is the hard sound as in ptec Sc. (ha k , thatch; the oilier, 5, is 
 soft as in ea<V Sc. eith , easy. "C" is almost invariably sounded hard 
 as "k," e.g. cyrc, pronounced "kirk.'' 
 
 "ge" is often placed before A.S. words, seemingly void of significant . 
 gelic, like, gefylan, to dirty, etc. The accented "a." is long as in "may," 
 "say": sometimes it is prom. :arly as "o," in " bone," " home," etc. 
 
 ;i-.n, November 1S94. P. D. 
 
 Ablow, below 
 
 Ae, Ane, one — dn, T. a; Ac 
 and ane are not equivalents 
 or interchangeable ; e.g. "You 
 have two daughters, I think, 
 Mr. Deans?" " Ae daughter, 
 sir — only ane." — Scott. 
 
 ArT, of— af 
 
 Afore, before 
 
 Ahint, behind — landau 
 
 Ain, own — agen 
 
 Auld, old — aid 
 
 Ava. at all 
 
 Aw, I 
 
 Awa, away — aweg 
 
 Awinus, alms — almcsse 
 
 Ayont, beyond -- Obi. from 
 ayata, to drive out 
 
 Back-end, latter end 
 
 Back set, a check 
 
 Bailie, magistrate of burgh — F. 
 
 bailli 
 Bairn, child — beam 
 
 Bairnly, childish 
 
 Baith, both — bai\ bd 
 
 Bane, bone — ba/i 
 
 Bars, adventures 
 
 Bauks. rafters — T. bielke 
 
 Bawbee. 1 halfpenny 
 
 Behadden, indebted. 
 
 Ben, inner apartment of a 
 
 cottage — Inn nan 
 Bena, except -- from beneah, 
 
 should want 
 Besom, a broom — bescm 
 Besom, a contemptuous term for 
 
 a woman— Obi. from bysmr, 
 
 disgrace. 
 Bestial, cattle of all kinds — F. 
 
 bestiaux 
 Bide, remain — bidan 
 Birr, force, energy — T. byr 
 Birses, bristles — byrst 
 Bit, a place or particular spot 
 Blastie, a term of contempt : 
 
 from blasted. 
 Blate, shy, diffident — T. blode 
 
 1 A curious tradition used to be current in Fife regarding this name. 
 "When one of the infant kings of Scotland, of great expectation, was shown 
 to the public, for the preservation of order the price of admission was in 
 proportion to the rank of the visitant. The eyes of the superior classes being 
 feasted, their retainers and the mobility were admitted at the rate of six 
 pennies (Sc. ) each. Hence this piece of money, being the price of seeing the 
 royal Babie, received the name of Babic." Jam. — /'inker/on derives it from 
 the F. bas-billon, as when it was first coined it was a very rude coin, and not 
 well made till the time of James VI.
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 !8l 
 
 Blithe, men-)-, happy — bltfie 
 Bogles, hobgoblins — C. brag 
 Bonded, apprenticed -- bond, 
 
 bound 
 Bood, must, obliged — bod 
 Bools, marbles — F. bottle 
 Boost, guide 
 Bow, boll, two bushels 
 Brae, hillock, rising ground — 
 
 C. brdigh 
 Braid, broad — brcea 
 Braw, fine — T. brauive, or F. 
 
 brave 
 Brawly, finely, nicely 
 Broo, brow — brcew 
 Brose, a kind of pottage — Obi. 
 
 from briw, small pieces of 
 
 meat in broth. 
 Buckie, any spiral shell — Obi. 
 
 from T. bucken, to bow, to 
 
 bend, expressing the twisted 
 
 form of the shell 
 Buik, book, the Buik, the Bible 
 
 — boc 
 Bun, bound 
 
 Bunk, bed, bedstead — bone 
 Buskit, dressed, adorned — T. 
 
 butz 
 But and ben, outer and inner 
 
 apartments of a cottage — bute, 
 
 bennin 
 Bye, past, beyond 
 Byegaun, going past — Mgeon- 
 
 gende 
 Byordinar, extraordinary 
 Byke, a bees' nest — T. buyck 
 Byre, cow-house — O.F. bouverre 
 
 Caaed, called 
 
 Ca'ed the crack, kept up con- 
 versation 
 
 Cakker, the iron rim on the 
 sole of a clog 
 
 Callant, a lad — callan 
 
 Caller, fresh, cool — from cdld, 
 
 cold 
 Canna, can not — can-nd 
 Caritches, catechisms ; more 
 
 particularly the Westminster 
 
 catechism used by most 
 
 Presbyterian churches 
 Cast-oot, a quarrel 
 Cast peats, To, to dig and dry 
 
 peat or turf for fuel 
 Cauff, chaff — ceaf 
 Cauldrife, — cdld, and Obi. 
 
 hreof, a skin eruption. 
 Certie, faith ; " my certie," by 
 
 my faith — O.F. certe 
 Chack, a slight bruise or cut — 
 
 T. hack 
 Channel stanes, stones used in 
 
 the game of curling 
 Chappin, striking — T. happen 
 Chappit, struck — fromT. happen 
 Chiels, young fellows — cila 
 Chuckies, fowls — T. kuyken 
 Clachen, small village, cluster 
 
 of houses — C. claclian 
 Claes, clothes — claS 
 Clash, gossip — T. klatschen 
 Clavers, idle talk — T. klafer 
 Cleg, horse-fly — T. klegg 
 Clockin, the act of hatching — 
 
 cloccan 
 Clodding, throwing clods, stones, 
 
 etc. — from dud, a stone, 
 
 rock 
 Cloots, bits of cloth, etc. — 
 
 clut 
 Cluds, clouds — T. dote 
 Colledged, sent to a college 
 Collie, shepherd's dog — C. culie 
 Contres, contradict — F. contre 
 Coo, cow — cu 
 Coonts, sums in arithmetic
 
 282 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Corklit, a species of lichen, 
 
 formerly used by country 
 
 people for dyeing 
 Cowes, exceeds, surpasses — T. 
 
 kufwa 
 Crack, talking freely — Obi. from 
 
 cracian, to croak 
 Craw, a crow — crdw 
 Creests, insignificant people 
 Crony, intimate friend -- C. 
 
 caraid 
 Crouse, brisk, lively; "craw sae 
 
 crouse," to speak boastingly— 
 
 from F. courroncer, to provoke 
 Crumpy, short, crisp — from 
 
 crump, crooked 
 Cuddy, 1 donkey 
 
 Cuist, cast 
 
 - from 
 
 Dadded, struck, beaten- 
 deed, an action 
 
 " His mother came out, and wi' a dish- 
 clout, 
 She daddit about his mow." 
 
 Sc. Ball. 
 
 Daftness, madness — dofungj T. 
 
 dauf, insipid 
 Daud, a stroke — from deed 
 Davert, an exclamation = " I'm 
 
 dumfoundered " — from T. 
 
 daver, tremble 
 Dear sirce, an exclamation, corr. 
 
 of sirs 
 Deed-thraw, last agonies of 
 
 death — \rcdivain, suffering 
 Dicht, wipe — diht 
 Div, do — " I div na," I do not 
 Dochter, daughter — ddchter 
 
 Doited, stupid — dofung 
 Dominie, schoolmaster, tutor 
 
 " When book and gowns are all cried 
 down, 
 
 Nae dominies for me, laddie." 
 
 Sc. Song. 
 Doon, down — dune 
 Door, Dour, obstinate, sullen — 
 
 F. dur 
 Doot, doubt — F. doute 
 Dootsome, doubtful 
 Douce, quiet, gentle — F. doucet 
 Dovered, to be in a state between 
 
 sleeping and waking — from T. 
 
 (fur, sleep 
 
 " She laid her doon in the fairy ring, 
 An' clos't her dovran ee. " 
 
 Sc. Ball. 
 
 Drouthy, thirsty — drugdS 
 
 Drug, slow 
 
 Dunch, push, jog — T. duns 
 
 ' ' The unco brute much dunchiri 
 dree'd 
 Frae twa -year-aids and stirks." 
 Sc. Poem. 
 Dune, done 
 
 Dungeon o' learning, profoundly 
 learned 
 
 ' ' Before Dr. Johnson came to break 
 fast, Lady Lothbury said, 'he was 
 a dungeon of ' ?e> it.' " — Bos. 
 
 Dwaminess, faintness T. 
 
 dulam 
 Dyke, wall — d/c 
 
 Eby, Ebenezer 
 Een, eyes — edh 
 
 1 This word, no doubt, was introduced by the Egyptians (gipsies) who 
 appeared in Scotland about the middle of the fifteenth century, and who at 
 an early period were almost the sole possessors of donkeys ; the Hindustani 
 and Persian word is gudda (from whom the gipsies obtained it), and is used 
 in these countries, as here, literally and metaphorically.
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 283 
 
 Eerie, Eerier, depressing situa- 
 tion, suggesting the presence 
 of ghosts— yrWS, fear 
 
 " I there wi' Something did forgather, 
 That pat me in an eerie swither." 
 
 Burns. 
 
 Efter, after — efter 
 Efternune, afternoon— efternon 
 Eident, diligent — Obi. from 
 
 ge\ian, counsel, advice 
 Elricht, unearthly — from alf, 
 
 >u\ abounding in elves 
 En'bra, Edinburgh 
 Even, to equal, compare 
 
 ' ' What ! would ony Christian body 
 even yon bit object to a bonny sonsy 
 weel-faured young woman like Miss 
 Catline?"— T. Hamilton. 
 
 Fa, who — Aber. pron. 
 
 Fa' on wi' her, fall in with her 
 
 Faceable, presentable 
 
 Faither, father—; fcedyr 
 
 Fand, found— -fund 
 
 Farls, properly the quarter of a 
 
 thin oat or meal cake, often 
 
 used for the whole cake — 
 
 feorfta, dcel 
 Faute, fault— F. faute 
 Favour, to resemble, to be like 
 
 any of one's relatives 
 Feck, expresses both quantity 
 
 and space — fece 
 
 ' ' I hae been a de'il now the feck o' my 
 life." — Burns. 
 
 Feckless, feeble — Obi. from 
 
 feccan, to take away, steal 
 FegS, a mincing oath, coir, of 
 
 faith 
 Fell, strong, verj — -fed/a 
 
 "He's a fell clever lad, an' a bonnie 
 wee man. " — Lady Nairne. 
 
 Fettle, energy, power — Obi. 
 from T. faetil, a band, fetter 
 
 "His queets were dozen'd, and the 
 fettle tint."— Ross. 
 
 Firslin, bustling 
 
 Flee, a fy—fteoh 
 
 Fleechin', wheedling, nattering 
 
 — T. fletsen 
 Flit, to remove — Obi. from/////, 
 
 flight 
 Focht, fought— fcoht 
 Forebears, ancestors— from/J;r, 
 
 before, and beam, a child 
 Forhy, besides — T. foerbi 
 Forenicht, evening—; fomiht 
 Forrit, forwards 
 Fowk, people— folc 
 Frae, from — -fra 
 Fricht, fright— geforht 
 Fyle, to dirty— gefylan 
 
 Gae, gang, go— gd, gang 
 Gaed, went — from gdn 
 Gaen, gane, gone— gdn 
 Gar, gars, garred, obliged, com- 
 pel — T. goer 
 Gat, got 
 Gate, gait, way, road— gdta 
 
 " Morn- ane speirs the gate they ken 
 fu' weel."— Sc. PROV. 
 
 Gaun, going— gangen 
 Gear, property of all kinds — T. 
 gier 
 
 " There's gear in the stedin', 
 There's gear in the kye, 
 There's gear in the hoose, 
 An' there's gear lyin' bye." 
 
 Anon. 
 
 Gey, gye, very, rather, consider- 
 able — O.F. gay 
 Gie, give— gifan 
 Gied, gave— from giftan
 
 284 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Giein, giving — ; giftan 
 
 Gif, gin, if— gif 
 
 Gilravagin, going about in a 
 furious way. The latter part 
 of the word may derive from 
 reafian, to rob, to seize 
 
 Girdle, a round iron plate used 
 for baking cakes — gyrdel 
 
 Glaur, mud — gor 
 
 ' ' Just whare their feet the dubs had 
 glaur d." — Sc. Poem. 
 
 Glisk, glimpse, a glance of light 
 — T. glis 
 
 Glower, to stare, to look in- 
 tensely — T. gluyer 
 
 Glowering, staring 
 
 "Glowering is nae gainsaying" (in 
 courtship). — Sc. Prov. 
 
 Goon, gown 
 Greet, to weep — grit 
 Greeten, weeping — grdten 
 Grew, greyhound — T. grey, a 
 
 dog, or gnzg, grey 
 Greybeard, an earthenware 
 
 vessel 
 
 "And there's plenty o' brandy in the 
 
 greybeard. ' ' — SCOTT. 
 
 Grig, a crack 
 
 Grooin', shivering from cold, 
 griping— T. grouwen 
 
 Guid, good — god 
 
 Gumption, common sense, 
 understanding — Obi. from 
 gyman, care, attention 
 
 "Come awa, Watty, ye gumptionless 
 cuif." — Galt. 
 
 Gundy, toffy — perhaps Obi. from 
 Sc. gundie, greedy 
 
 Gurly, bleak, stormy — Obi. from 
 gor, mud, dirt 
 
 "The lift grew dark, and the wind 
 grew loud, 
 And gurly grew the sea." 
 
 Sc. Ball. 
 
 Gurring, growling, as a dog — 
 
 from gyrmain, to roar 
 
 Hae, have — Jicrfd 
 
 Haes, has — from hafd 
 
 Hairst, harvest — hcerfest. "To 
 
 owe one a day in hairst" is 
 
 to reciprocate for some 
 
 previous help 
 Hale, whole — heel 
 Hame, home — ham 
 Hantle, a considerable number, 
 
 or quantity. — Obi. from hand- 
 
 fit 
 
 " Nae doubt there's a hantle mis- 
 cellawneous eating aboot a pig." 
 Dean Ramsay. 
 
 Hasp, a latch — ha'ps 
 Haud, hold — haldan 
 Haun o' write, handwriting 
 Havers, Havering, nonsense, 
 
 talking nonsense — T. hefer 
 Heartsome, cheerful, merry 
 
 ' ' Dear me, how heartsome it looks 
 now to what it us't." 
 
 Mrs. Hamilton. 
 
 Hef, have — Gaelic pron. 
 
 Heid, head — hcefd 
 
 Hempie, a giddy, roguish, romp- 
 ing person ; lit. one deserving 
 the hemp, i.e. hanging ; how- 
 ever, almost always used in 
 a jocular sense 
 
 " I was a daft hempie lassie then." 
 
 Scott. 
 
 Heuch, a crag, a rugged steep 
 — hou
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 285 
 
 Hing, hang, hung — heng 
 Hinneren, later on, afterwards 
 Hirpled, moving haltingly — T. 
 harpa 
 
 "He, tir'd and weary, hirpled down 
 the brae." — Ross. 
 
 Hoast, Host, a cough — hweost 
 Hoolet, an owl — F. lutlottc 
 Hoo's a' wi' ye ? how are 
 
 you ? 
 Hoose, house — hits 
 Hotchin, moving with jerks — F. 
 
 hocher 
 Howkin', digging — from T. 
 
 hoik, a cave 
 
 ' ' Whiles mice and modewurks they 
 howket." — Burns. 
 
 Ilka, each — ylc 
 
 ' ' Ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap 
 o' rlew." — BALLANTINE. 
 
 Ill, angry, bad — Obi. from yfel, 
 wicked, bad 
 
 " He was very ill about it." 
 
 Ingle-nook, fire-side. — C. ain- 
 
 geal, fire 
 Intil, into — ///, to 
 I'se, I will 
 Ither, other 
 
 Jaloose, suspect — Obi. from F. 
 
 jaloux 
 Jorum, drinking vessel — C. cbrn 
 Jow, to move from side to side, 
 
 to ring, toll — Prob. from F. 
 
 joitcr 
 
 "If ye want to hear the bell, I will 
 just show mysell on the knowe- 
 head, and it will begin jawing forth- 
 with." — Scott. 
 
 Kail, Kale, cabbage, broth made 
 
 of cabbage, etc. — cdl 
 Kail-yard, a vegetable garden 
 
 — cdl-geard 
 Keel, ruddle — C. ell 
 Kebbuck, cheese— C. cabag 
 Keeps, stakes ; " playing for 
 
 keeps," playing for stakes, an 
 
 Obi. use of the word keep 
 
 " Them that losses greets, 
 Them that wuns keeps." 
 
 The keeps played for by 
 Galloway boys were often 
 gurzons, i.e. half buttons. 
 Ken, know — can 
 Kenned, known — canned 
 Kenspeckle, conspicuous, easily 
 recognised — can-specca 
 
 "She'll be nae mair kenspeckle than 
 half-hangit Maggie Dickson, that 
 cried saut mony a day after she 
 had been hangit." — Scott. 
 
 Kilted, tucked up — T. itpkilta 
 
 ' ' Hir skirt kilt it till hir bare knee. " 
 Gavan Douglas. 
 
 Kin, kind — cyn 
 Kirk, church — cyrc 
 Kirn, churn — cyrn 
 Knowe, hillock — c?wU 
 Kye, cows — c$ 
 
 Laddie, boy, lad — /code 
 Land, house, or cluster 
 
 of 
 
 houses containing different 
 tenements 
 
 You were born ... in the blue 
 room of Stevenlaw's Land in the 
 Townhead of Middlemas." — Scott. 
 
 Lane, alone 
 Lang, long — lang
 
 286 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Lave, the rest, remainder — laf 
 
 Lear, learning — hire 
 
 Lee, falsehood — O.F. ley 
 
 Leecdnsin', licensing a divinity 
 student, after passing his 
 examinations, to preach 
 
 Leet, a nomination of a few out 
 of a number of candidates 
 with a view to elect one — 
 Meat 
 
 Leevin', living 
 
 Lick, a blow 
 
 " When he committed all these tricks, 
 For which hewell deserved his licks. " 
 
 Forbes. 
 
 Lifted their lines, removed to 
 
 another church 
 Liggate, a gate so swung as to 
 
 shut itself — hlid-geat 
 Lintie, linnet 
 Loan, Loaning, lane, narrow 
 
 roadway between fields — T. 
 
 Ion 
 Loons, idle lads 
 
 " Ye're but a pack o' traitor loons." 
 
 Burns. 
 
 Lowe, flame — lig, lige 
 
 Lowsed, to loosen, gave up 
 working 
 
 Lowsin time, time when work 
 is over ; referring to the time 
 when the horses are loosened 
 from the plough, etc. — losian, 
 to lose 
 
 Lug mark, ear mark — T. higg. 
 
 Lum hat, chimney-pot hat — lum, 
 probably from leoma, a ray of 
 light ; in olden times there 
 was seldom any light in a 
 small house but what was 
 admitted by a hole in the 
 roof, where the smoke escaped 
 
 Mair, more — mare 
 Makkin', making — mac, make 
 Man, a servant — man, a ser- 
 vant, a vassal 
 Manse, parsonage — O.F. monse 
 March-dyke, wall or fence sepa- 
 rating two properties — mcerc- 
 dic 
 Maun, must — T. mun 
 Maws, sea-gulls — F. maage 
 Micht, might — mtegS 
 Misdoot, doubt : mis in Sc. as 
 in A.S. is prefixed to words 
 implying defect, unlikeness, 
 e.g. mislitnpan (Sc, mis- 
 lippen), to disappoint, not to 
 go rightly ; mislor (Sc. mis- 
 leard), untaught 
 
 " I hae a misdoot that a's no right 
 and sound wi' her mair than wi' 
 him." — Galt. 
 
 Mislippen, disappoint, neglect 
 — limftan, to happen 
 
 " I haflins think his een hae him mis- 
 lippen' d. " — Tannahill. 
 
 Mony, many — moni 
 Mowdies, moles — dimin. of T. 
 
 mullivad, a mole 
 Muckle, great, large — mycle 
 Mune, moon — mona 
 
 Na, Nae, no — nti 
 
 Neest, next — nyhst 
 
 Neeves, fists — T. naeve, Jcnaef 
 
 Neyther, neither, nojSor 
 
 No, not — no 
 
 Nocht, nothing — noht 
 
 Noo, now — nit 
 
 Nowt, cattle — nyten
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 287 
 
 Onstead, farm buildings — on, 
 with, among, and stede, a 
 place 
 
 Onusual, unusual : on in Sc. as 
 in A.S. is often used as " un " 
 to denote privation, as on- 
 braiv, ugly ; onkenned, un- 
 known, etc. 
 
 Ony, any — a nig 
 
 Oor, our, lire 
 
 Oor, hour 
 
 Out, out — cS 
 
 Ower, over — otter 
 
 Oxter, armpit ; sometimes used 
 for the arm — ox/an 
 
 " Lads oxter lassies without fear, 
 Or dance like wud." — Mayne. 
 
 Pack, intimate, familiar — T. 
 packe 
 
 " And pack and thick as tods could 
 be." — Nichol. 
 
 Pat, Pit, Pittin, put 
 
 Pawmies, strokes on the hand — 
 F. pawner. See Taws. 
 
 Peerie, a spinning top — Obi. 
 from peril, or F. poire, a 
 pear ; a peerie being pear- 
 shaped 
 
 Pend, an arch, archway to a 
 " close," improperly used for 
 the close itself 
 
 Pit and gallows, an ancient 
 right belonging to barons, of 
 having on their ground a pit 
 for drowning women, and a 
 gallows for hanging men, con- 
 victed of crimes. The T. 
 put ende galghe refers to the 
 same privilege 
 
 Pitawties, potatoes 
 
 Plantin', a plantation 
 
 Plenishing, household furniture 
 Ploy, amusement 
 
 " Aye wark an' nae ploy, niaks Jock 
 a dull boy." — Sc. Pkov. 
 
 Pokemantie, portmanteau 
 
 Probationer, a divinity student, 
 who, after passing his univer- 
 sity examinations, and being 
 tried by a presbytery, is 
 licensed to preach 
 
 Prood, proud — pnit 
 
 Pund, pound — pund 
 
 Pyowes, small pyramids of 
 moistened gunpowder made 
 by boys for fireworks 
 
 Rampage, to rage, prancing 
 about in a furious way — from 
 ram, and Sc. pauge, to prance, 
 to prance like a ram 
 
 Ram-stam, precipitate, thought- 
 less 
 
 ' ' The hairum-scairum ram-stam boys. 
 
 Burns. 
 
 Randy, riotous — from ran, spoil, 
 plunder, and \eaf, a thief, or 
 C. rannataich 
 
 Raxing, stretching, reaching 
 
 " Ne'er rax aboon your reach." 
 Sc. Prov. 
 
 Reed, red — read 
 
 Reek, smoke — rec 
 
 Richt, right — rilii 
 
 Riggin, ridge of a house — hryeg 
 
 RiggS, ridges — rig 
 
 Routin', bellowing — hrutan 
 
 Rowan-tree, mountain -ash — 
 
 from run, magical, mysterious. 
 
 The rowan-tree is believed
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 to be a protection against 
 witches 
 
 ' ' But I have tied red thread about 
 the bairns' throats, and forby given 
 ilk ane of them a riding wand of 
 rowan-tree; and I wish to know 
 of your reverence, if there be ony- 
 thing mair that a lone woman can 
 do in the matter of ghaists and 
 fairies?" — SCOTT. 
 
 Sair, sore — sdr 
 Saugh, willow — sealh 
 
 "On the saugh-trees our harpes wee 
 hang 
 When they required vs ane sang." 
 Met. Ver. of Psa. , 14th century. 
 
 Scadded, scalded 
 Scaling, dispersing- 
 
 -T. skil 
 
 " Ou, I was just stan' in' till the kirk 
 had scaled." — Dean Ramsay. 
 
 Scartin', scratching — O. F. escart 
 
 Schule, school — sceonla 
 
 Scunner, to shrink, shudder — 
 from scumiung, an abomina- 
 tion 
 
 Scunnered, disgusted 
 
 "A taid may sit on her coffin the 
 day, and she can never scunner 
 when he croaks." — Scott. 
 
 Sharin, dung — sceani 
 
 Shoos, scares- — to shoo fowls, 
 
 etc., to scare them away 
 Short leet, see Leet 
 Sib, related to by blood — sib 
 Sic, Siccan, such — swilc 
 Sidle, to move in a shy sheepish 
 
 way — sidefull, bashful 
 Siller, money — scolfer 
 Sins, since — sift 
 Sirce, an exclamation = Sirs ! 
 Skelloch, a scream — T. skella 
 Slichted, slighted — T. slic/ited 
 
 Slockened, to allay thirst — T. 
 slokn 
 
 "What ails ye at the mist, sir? it 
 weets the sod, it slockens the yowes, 
 and it's God's wull." 
 
 Dean Ramsay. 
 
 Sna, snow — snd 
 Snips and clippets, small por- 
 tions 
 Soor-dook, buttermilk 
 Soorocks, sorrel — T. saurach 
 Sough, a low murmuring sound 
 as of wind through trees — 
 swogan, to sound as wind 
 
 ' ' My heart for fear gaesoug/ifor sough. ' ' 
 
 Burns. 
 
 Speaned, weaned — from spana, 
 
 teats of a cow 
 Speer ) to ask, asking - 
 Speerin' J spiran 
 Stoor, Stour, dust — O.K. estour 
 Sune, soon — sdna 
 Swine ree, pig-stye — from 
 
 raeces, a dwelling 
 Syne, again, then, afterwards — 
 
 scene 
 
 " And syne Mess John beyond ex- 
 pression, 
 Fell foul o' me." — Burns. 
 
 Synes, Synds, washes, cleans 
 
 ' ' Tent well a lass o' beauty flush, 
 There sinding out her duds. " 
 
 MORISON. 
 
 Taen, taken — T. taen 
 
 Tairger, tiger 
 
 Taws, a " penitential strap," 
 used by " dominies " by 
 applying it to the palms of 
 erring pupils ; the strokes so 
 given are called palmies
 
 (iLOSSARV 
 
 289 
 
 Tenpenny, an elementary gram- 
 mar, costing tenpence 
 
 Terrible bonny, very pretty — 
 an augmentative very com- 
 monly used in Sc. and York- 
 shire 
 
 Thocht, thought — Koht 
 
 Thrapple, windpipe, throat — 
 \rot-bolla 
 
 Thrawn, distorted, cross-grained 
 - — \raiven 
 
 Through-gaun, active, thorough 
 — \urh-ga>igen 
 
 Thruch-stane, flat grave-stone 
 — \urh-stcen 
 
 Till, to—/// 
 
 Toon, town — Obi. from titun, a 
 yard, enclosed place 
 
 Toorock, a small tower — F. tour 
 and T. ock, a diminutive 
 
 Trysted, betrothed, appointed 
 — Obi. from truwa, to trust 
 
 " It is the wish'd, the trysted hour." 
 
 Burns. 
 Twa, two — twd 
 Twal, twelve — twelf 
 Twasume, two in company— 
 twdrsutn 
 
 Unco, great, strange — u/nh 
 
 Wa', wall — wah 
 Wad, would — ivohie 
 Wae, sorry — wca 
 
 " Waes unite faes. " — Sc. Pkov. 
 
 Wale, a number — T. wal 
 
 " There's nae waile o wigs on Mun- 
 rimmon Moor." — Dean RAMSAY, 
 
 Wame, the belly — tuamb 
 
 " Little ockls between a feast aud a 
 fu' wame" — Sc. Prov. 
 
 War, were 
 
 Wark, work — ivarc 
 
 Wat, wet — 7c'<<7 
 
 Waur, worse — warra 
 
 Wean, child — Obi. from wenan, 
 
 to wean 
 Wee, little — C. i'c<ig/i 
 Whaup, curlew — from w6p t a 
 
 bewailing cry ; similar to the 
 
 cry of the bird 
 Whaur, where — hicar 
 Wbeen, a few, a number— 
 
 hwine. 
 
 ' ' Ou, he just keeps a curn o' quainies 
 and a wheen widd}'fous, and gars 
 them fissle and loup, and mak 
 murgeons, to please the great fowk." 
 (An Aberdeen man's description of 
 an opera company. ) 
 
 Dean Ramsay. 
 
 Whiles, sometimes — while 
 
 Whurlie, whirling 
 
 Whurls, whorls, cup and ring 
 markings on the rocks, 
 numerous in parts of Gal- 
 loway 
 
 Woman-muckle, womanhood. 
 
 ' ' The elf, by anointing the crown of 
 her head and the palms of both 
 hands with a very fragrant oil, 
 gait her grow woman-muckle in 
 twa-three days." — Edin. Mag, 
 
 Wraite, wrote 
 Wrang, wrong — wrang 
 Writer, a solicitor 
 Wunda, window — vindue 
 Wunner, wonder — wander 
 
 Yae, one 
 Yer. your 
 Yersel, yourself
 
 290 
 
 GLOSSARY 
 
 Yett, gate 
 
 Yin, one — T. hinn 
 
 Yince, once — from T. hinn 
 
 Yird, earth — eard 
 
 Yowe, ewe — eowu 
 
 " Ca' the yowes to the knowes, 
 
 Ca' them whare the heather growes, 
 
 Ca' them whare the burnie rowes — 
 
 My bonnie dearie ! " — Burns. 
 
 Stickit Minister, a probationer who has failed 
 
 from some cause or other to be ordained. 
 
 See Probationer. 
 
 "Abel Sampson, probationer . . . upon his first attempt, 
 he became totally incapable of proceeding in his 
 intended discourse, gasped, grinned, hideously rolled 
 his eyes, till the congregation thought them flying 
 out of his head, shut the Bible, stumbled down the 
 pulpit-stairs, trampling upon the old women who 
 generally take their station there, and was ever after 
 designated as a Stickit Minister." — Scott.
 
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