DRIED ROSE LEAVES.
Townspeople are so clever, and know so much, that it is only just
something should be hidden from their sight, and it is quite certain
that they do not understand the irresistible and endless fascination of
the country. They love to visit us in early autumn, and are vastly
charmed with the honeysuckle in the hedges, and the corn turning
yellow, and the rivers singing in the sunlight, and the purple on the
hill-side. It is then that the dweller in cities resolves to retire,
as soon as may be, from dust and crowds and turmoil and hurry, to some
cottage where the scent of roses comes in at the open window, and one
is wakened of a morning by the birds singing in the ivy. When the corn
is gathered into the stack-yard, and the leaves fall on the road, and
the air has a touch of frost, and the evenings draw in, then the
townsman begins to shiver and bethink him of his home. He leaves the
fading glory with a sense of relief, like one escaping from approaching
calamity, and as often as his thoughts turn thither, he pities us in
our winter solitude. "What a day this will be in Drumtochty," he says,
coming in from the slushy streets, and rubbing his hands before the
fire.
This good man is thankful to Providence for very slight mercies, since
he knows only one out of the four seasons that make our glorious year.
He had been wise to visit us in the summer-time, when the light hardly
dies out of the Glen, and the grass and young corn presents six shades
of green, and the scent of the hay is everywhere, and all young
creatures are finding themselves with joy. Perhaps he had done better
to have come north in our spring-time, when nature, throwing off the
yoke of winter, bursts suddenly into an altogether indescribable
greenery, and the primroses are blooming in Tochty woods, and every
cottage garden is sweet with wallflowers, and the birds sing of love in
every wood, and the sower goes forth to sow. And though this will
appear quite incredible, it had done this comfortable citizen much good
to have made his will, and risked his life with us in the big snowstorm
that used to shut us up for fourteen days every February. One might
well endure many hardships to stand on the side of Ben Urtach, and see
the land one glittering expanse of white on to the great strath on the
left, and the hills above Dunleith on the right, to tramp all day
through the dry, crisp snow, and gathering round the wood fire of an
evening, tell pleasant tales of ancient days, while the wind powdered
the glass with drift, and roared in the chimney. Then a man thanked
God that he was not confined to a place where the pure snow was trodden
into mire, and the thick fog made it dark at mid-day.
This very season of autumn, which frightened the townsfolk, and sent
them home in silence, used to fill our hearts with peace, for it was to
us the crown and triumph of the year. We were not dismayed by the
leaves that fell with rustling sound in Tochty woods, nor by the bare
stubble fields from which the last straw had been raked by thrifty
hands, nor by the touch of cold in the northwest wind blowing over Ben
Urtach, nor by the greyness of the running water. The long toil of the
year had not been in vain, and the harvest had been safely gathered.
The clump of sturdy little stacks, carefully thatched and roped, that
stood beside each homestead, were the visible fruit of the long year's
labour, and the assurance of plenty against winter. Let it snow for a
week on end, and let the blast from the mouth of Glen Urtach pile up
the white drift high against the outer row of stacks, the horses will
be put in the mill-shed, and an inner stack will be forked into the
threshing loft, and all day long the mill will go with dull, rumbling
sound that can be heard from the road, while within the grain pours
into the corn-room, and the clean yellow straw is piled in the barn.
Hillocks was not a man given to sentiment, yet even he would wander
among the stacks on an October evening, and come into the firelight
full of moral reflections. A vague sense of rest and thankfulness
pervaded the Glen, as if one had come home from a long journey in
safety, bringing his possessions with him.
The spirit of October was on the Doctor as he waited for his guests in
the drawing-room of the manse. The Doctor had a special affection for
the room, and would often sit alone in it for hours in the gloaming.
Once Rebecca came in suddenly, and though the light was dim and the
Doctor was seated in the shadow by the piano, she was certain that he
had been weeping. He would not allow any change to be made in the
room, even the shifting of a table, and he was very particular about
its good keeping. Twice a year Rebecca polished the old-fashioned
rosewood furniture, and so often a man came from Muirtown to tune the
piano, which none in the district could play, and which the Doctor kept
locked. Two little pencil sketches, signed with a childish hand, Daisy
Davidson, the minister always dusted himself, as also a covered picture
on the wall, and the half-yearly cleaning of the drawing-room was
concluded when he arranged on the backs of two chairs one piece of
needlework showing red and white roses, and another whereon was wrought
a posy of primroses. The room had a large bay window opening on the
lawn, and the Doctor had a trick of going out and in that way, so that
he often had ten minutes in its quietness; but no visitor was taken
there, except once a year, when the wife of the Doctor's old friend,
Lord Kilspindie, drove up to lunch, and the old man escorted her
ladyship round the garden and brought her in by the window. On that
occasion, but only then, the curtain was lifted from the picture, and
for a brief space they stood in silence. Then he let the silken veil
fall and gently arranged its folds, and offering her his arm with a
very courtly bow, led the Countess into the dining-room, where Rebecca
had done her best, and John waited in fullest Sabbath array.
[Illustration: The old man escorted her ladyship.]
The Doctor wandered about the room--looking out on the garden,
mysterious in the fading light, changing the position of a chair,
smoothing the old-fashioned needlework with caressing touch, breaking
up a log in the grate. He fell at last into a revery before the
fire--which picked out each bit of silver on his dress and shone back
from the black velvet--and heard nothing, till John flung open the door
and announced with immense majesty, "General Carnegie and Miss
Carnegie."
"Welcome, Kate, to the house of your father's friend, and welcome for
your own sake, and many returns of this day. May I say how that white
silk and those rubies become you? It is very kind to put on such
beautiful things for my poor little dinner. As for you, Jack, you are
glorious," and the Doctor must go over Carnegie's medals till that
worthy and very modest man lost all patience.
"No more of this nonsense; but, Sandie, that is a desperately becoming
get-up of yours; does n't he suit it well, Kit? I never saw a better
calf on any man."
"You are both 'rael bonnie,' and ought to be very grateful to me for
insisting on full dress. I 'm sorry that there is only one girl to
admire two such handsome men; it's a poor audience, but at any rate it
is very appreciative and grateful," and Kate courtsied to each in turn,
for all that evening she was in great good-humour.
"By the way, there will be one more to laugh at us, for I 've asked the
Free Kirk minister to make a fourth for our table. He is a nice young
fellow, with more humanity than most of his kind; but did not I hear
that he called at the Lodge to pay his respects?"
"Certainly he did," said the General, "and I rather took a fancy to
him. He has an honest eye and is not at all bad-looking, and tells a
capital story. But Kit fell upon him about something, and I had to
cover him. It's a wonder that he ever came near the place again."
"He has been at the Lodge eight times since then," explained Kate, with
much composure; "but he will on no account be left alone with the head
of the household. The General insulted him on politics, and I had to
interfere; so he looks on me as a kind of protector, and I walk him out
to the Beeches lest he be massacred."
"Take care, my dear Catherine," for the Doctor was a shrewd old
gentleman; "protecting comes perilously near loving, and Carmichael's
brown eyes are dangerous."
"They are dark blue." Kate was off her guard, and had no sooner spoken
than she blushed, whereat the Doctor laughed wickedly.
"You need not be afraid for Kate," said the General, cheerfully; "no
man can conquer her; and as for the poor young padres, she made their
lives miserable."
"They were so absurd," said Kate, "so innocent, so ignorant, so
authoritative, that it was for their good to be reduced to a proper
level. But I rather think your guest has forgotten his engagement. He
will be so busy with his book that even a manse dinner will have no
attraction." The Doctor looked again at Kate, but now she wore an air
of great simplicity.
It was surely not Carmichael's blame that he was late for Dr.
Davidson's dinner, since he had thought of nothing else since he rose,
which was at the unearthly hour of six. He went out for a walk, which
consisted of one mile east and another west from the village, and, with
pauses, during which he rested on gates and looked from him, lasted two
hours. On his return he explained to Sarah that his health had
received much benefit, and that she was not to be surprised if he went
out every morning at or before daybreak. He also mentioned casually
that he was to dine at the manse that day, and Sarah, who had been
alarmed lest this unexpected virtue might mean illness, was at rest.
His habit was to linger over breakfast, propping a book against the
sugar basin, and taking it and his rasher slice about, which was, he
insisted, the peculiar joy of a bachelor's breakfast; but this morning
Sarah found him at ten o'clock still at table, gazing intently at an
untouched cutlet, and without any book. He swallowed two mouthfuls
hurriedly and hastened to the study, leaving her to understand that he
had been immersed in a theological problem. It seemed only reasonable
that a man should have one pipe before settling down to a forenoon of
hard study, but there is no doubt that the wreaths of smoke, as they
float upwards, take fantastic shapes, and lend themselves to visions.
Twelve o'clock--it was outrageous--six hours gone without a stroke of
work. Sarah is informed that, as he has a piece of very stiff work to
do, luncheon must be an hour later, and that the terrier had better go
out for a walk. Then Carmichael cleared his table and set himself down
to a new German critic, who was doing marvellous things with the
Prophet Isaiah. In three thick volumes--paper bound and hideous to
behold--and in a style of elaborate repulsiveness, Schlochenboshen
showed that the book had been written by a syndicate, on the principle
that each member contributed one verse in turn, without reference to
his neighbours. It was, in fact, the simple plan of a children's game,
in which you write a noun and I an adjective, and the result greatly
pleases the company; and the theory of the eminent German was
understood to throw a flood of light on Scripture. Schlochenboshen had
already discovered eleven alternating authors, and as No. 4 would
occasionally, through pure perversity and just contrary to rules, pool
his contribution with No. 6, several other interesting variations were
introduced. In such circumstances one must fix the list of authors in
his head, and this can be conveniently done by letters of the alphabet.
Carmichael made a beginning with four, KATE, and then he laid down his
pen and went out for a turn in the garden. When he came in with a
resolute mind, he made a précis of the Professor's introduction, and it
began, "Dear Miss Carnegie," after which he went to lunch and ate three
biscuits. As for some reason his mind could not face even the most
fascinating German, Carmichael fell back on the twelve hundredth book
on Mary Queen of Scots, which had just come from the library, and which
was to finally vindicate that very beautiful, very clever, and very
perplexing young woman. An hour later Carmichael was on the moor, full
of an unquenchable pity for Chatelard, who had loved the sun and
perished in his rays. The cold wind on the hill braced his soul, and
he returned in a heroic mood. He only was the soldier of the Cross,
who denied himself to earthly love and hid a broken heart. And now he
read À Kempis and the _Christian Year_. Several passages in the latter
he marked in pencil with a cross, and when his wife asked him the
reason only last week, he smiled, but would give no answer. Having
registered anew his vow of celibacy, he spent an hour in dressing, an
operation, he boasted, which could be performed in six minutes, and
which, on this occasion, his housekeeper determined to review.
With all the women in the Glen, old and young, she liked the lad, for a
way that he had and the kindness of his heart, and was determined that
he should be well dressed for once in his life. It was Sarah, indeed,
that kept Carmichael late, for she not only laid out his things for him
with much care and judgment, but on sight of the wisp of white round
his neck she persuaded him to accept her services, and at last she was
satisfied. He also lost a little time as he came near the manse, for
he grew concerned lest his tie was not straight, and it takes time to
examine yourself in the back of your watch, when the light is dimming
and it is necessary to retire behind a hedge lest some keen Drumtochty
eye should detect the roadside toilet.
John had brought in the lamp before Carmichael entered, and his
confusion was pardonable, for he had come in from the twilight, and
none could have expected such a sight.
"Glad to see you, Carmichael"--the Doctor hastened to cover his
embarrassment. "It is very good of you to honour my little party by
your presence. You know the General, I think, and Miss Carnegie, whose
first birthday in Drumtochty we celebrate to-night.
"No wonder you are astonished," for Carmichael was blushing furiously;
"and I must make our defence, eh, Carnegie? else it will be understood
in Free Kirk circles that the manse is mad. We seem, in fact, a pair
of old fools, and you can have your jest at us; but there is an excuse
even for our madness.
"It is long since we have had a young lady in our Glen, and now that
she has come to live among us--why, sir, we must just do her bidding.
"Our Queen has but a little court, but her courtiers are leal and true;
and when she ordered full dress, it was our joy to obey. And if you
choose to laugh, young sir--why, you may; we are not ashamed with such
a Queen, and I do her homage."
The Doctor stooped and kissed Kate's hand in the grand manner which is
now lost, after which he drew out his snuff-box and tapped it
pleasantly, as one who had taken part in a state function; but there
was the suspicion of a tear in his eye, for these things woke old
memories.
"Kate 's a wilfu' lassie," said the General, fondly, "and she has long
ruled me, so I suppose her father must do likewise." And the General
also kissed Kate's hand.
"You are both perfectly absurd to-night," said Kate, confused and red,
"but no Queen ever had truer hearts to love her, and if I cannot make
you knights, I must reward you as I can." And Kate, ignoring
Carmichael, kissed first her father and then the Doctor. Then she
turned on him with a proud air, "What think you of my court, Mr.
Carmichael?"
"It is the best in Christendom, Miss Carnegie"--and his voice trembled
with earnestness--"for it has the fairest Queen and two gentlemen of
Christ for its servants."
"Very prettily said"--the Doctor thought the little scene had gone far
enough--"and as a reward for that courteous speech you shall take Her
Majesty in to dinner, and we old battered fellows shall follow in
attendance." There was a moment's silence, and then Carmichael spoke.
"If I had only known, Miss Carnegie, that I might have . . . put on
something to do you honour too, but I have nothing except a white silk
hood. I wish I had been a Militiaman or . . . a Freemason."
"This is your second remarkable wish in my hearing," and Kate laughed
merrily; "last time you wished you were a dog on Muirtown platform.
Your third will be your last, I suppose, and one wonders what it will
be."
"It is already in my heart"--Carmichael spoke low--"and some day I will
dare to tell it to you."
"Hush," replied Kate quickly, lifting her hand; "the padre is going to
say grace." As this was an official function in John's eyes, that
worthy man allowed himself to take a general view, and he was pleased
to express his high approval of the company, enlarging especially on
Carmichael, whom, as a Free Kirkman, he had been accustomed rather to
belittle.
"Of coorse," he explained loyally, "he's no tae be compared wi' the
Doctor, for there's nae minister ootside the Auld Kirk can hae sic an
air, and he 's no set up like the General, but he lookit weel an'
winsome.
"His hair wes flung back frae his forehead, his een were fair dancin',
an' there wes a bit o' colour in his cheek. He hes a wy wi' him, a 'll
no deny, 'at taks wi' fouk.
"A 'm no sure that he 's been at mony denners though, Becca, for he
hardly kent what he wes daein'. A' juist pit the potatoes on his
plate, for he never lat on he saw me; an' as for wine, a' cudna get a
word oot o' him."
"Ye 're lilted above ordinary concerns, John, an' it's no tae be
expeckit that a beadle sud notice the way o' a lad wi' a lass," and
Becca nodded her head with much shrewdness.
"Div ye mean that, Rebecca? That cowes a'; but it's no possible. The
General's dochter an' a Free Kirk minister, an' her an Esculopian--"
"Love kens naither rank nor creeds; see what ye did yersel', and you
beadle o' Drumtochty;" and John--every man has some weak
point--swallowed the compliment with evident satisfaction.
Meanwhile they had fallen on this very subject of creeds in the
dining-room, and Kate was full of curiosity.
"Will you two padres do me a favour? I knew you would. Well, I want
to know for certain what is the difference between the two Kirks in
Drumtochty. Now which of you will begin?" and Kate beamed on them both.
"Whatever you wish we will do, Kate," said the Doctor; "but you will
have me excused in this matter, if you please, and hear my friend. I
am tired of controversy, and he has a fair mind, and, as I know well, a
pleasant wit. Tell Miss Carnegie how your people left the Kirk of
Scotland."
"Well, the dispute began"--and Carmichael faced his task
manfully--"about the appointment of clergymen, whether it should lie
with a patron or the people. Lord Kilspindie had the nomination of
Drumtochty, and if every patron had been as wise as our house, then
there had been no Disruption."
The Doctor bowed, and motioned to Carnegie to fortify himself with port.
"Other patrons had no sense, and put in unsuitable men, and the people
rebelled, since it is a sad thing for a country parish to have a
minister who is not . . ."
"A gentleman? or straight? Quite so," chimed in Kate; "it must be
beastly."
"So a party fought for the rights of the people," resumed Carmichael,
"and desired that the parish should have a voice in choosing the man
who was to take charge of . . . their souls."
"Isn't that like soldiers electing their officers?" inquired the
General, doubtfully.
"Go on, Carmichael; you are putting your case capitally; don't plunge
into theology, Jack, whatever you do . . . it is Sandeman's--a sound
wine."
"Then what happened?" and Kate encouraged Carmichael with her eyes.
"Four hundred clergymen threw up their livings one day and went out to
begin a Free Kirk, where there are no patrons.
"You have no idea--for I suppose you never heard of this before--how
ministers suffered, living and dying in miserable cottages--and the
people met for service on the sea-shore or in winter storms--all for
conscience sake."
Carmichael was glowing, and the Doctor sipped his port approvingly.
"Perhaps they ought not to have seceded, and perhaps their ideas were
wrong; but it was heroism, and a good thing for the land."
"It was splendid!" Kate's cheek flushed. "And Drumtochty?"
"Ah, something happened here that was by itself in Scotland. Will you
ask Dr. Davidson not to interrupt or browbeat me? Thank you; now I am
safe.
"Some one of influence went to old Lord Kilspindie, who had no love to
the Free Kirk, and told him that a few of his Drumtochty men wanted to
get a site for a Free Kirk, and that he must give it. And he did."
"Now, Carmichael," began the Doctor, who had scented danger; but Kate
held up her hand with an imperious gesture, and Carmichael went on:--
"The same person used to send to the station for the Free Kirk
probationer, and entertain him after a lordly fashion--with port, if he
were worthy--and send him on his way rejoicing--men have told me.
But," concluded Carmichael, averting his face from the foot of the
table, "wild horses will not compel me to give that good Samaritan's
name."
"Was it you, Davidson, that sanctioned such a proceeding? Why, it was
mutiny."
"Of course he did, dad," cried Kate; "just the very thing he would do;
and so, I suppose, the Free Kirk love him as much as they do yourself,
sir?"
"As much? far more . . ."
"Had I known what downright falsehood the Free Kirk minister of
Drumtochty was capable of, I would never have allowed him to open his
mouth."
"Well, I am satisfied, at any rate," said Kate, "and I propose to
retire to the drawing-room, and I know who would love a rubber of whist
by-and-by. We are just the number."
A minute later Carmichael asked leave to join Kate, as he believed she
was to have him for partner, and he must understand her game.
"How adroit he is to-night, Jack;" but the General rather pitied the
lad, with whom he imagined Kate was playing as a cat with a mouse.
"Have you ever seen the face below the veil?" for they did not talk
long about whist in the drawing-room. "I do not think it would be
wrong to look, for the padre told me the story.
"Yes, a very winning face. His only sister, and he simply lived for
her. She was only twelve when she died, and he loves her still,
although he hardly ever speaks of her."
They stood together before the happy girl-face enshrined in an old
man's love. They read the inscription: "My dear sister Daisy."
"I never had a sister," and Carmichael sighed.
"And I have now no brother." Their hands met as they gently lowered
the veil.
"Well, have you arranged your plans?" and the Doctor came in intent on
whist.
"Only one thing. I am going to follow Miss Carnegie's lead, and she is
always to win," said the Free Kirk minister of Drumtochty.