Turkey Plots
The next day, at breakfast, I told my father all the previous day’s
adventures. Never since he had so kindly rescued me from the misery of
wickedness had I concealed anything from him. He, on his part, while
he gave us every freedom, expected us to speak frankly concerning our
doings. To have been unwilling to let him know any of our proceedings
would have simply argued that they were already disapproved of by
ourselves, and no second instance of this had yet occurred with me.
Hence it came that still as I grew older I seemed to come nearer to my
father. He was to us like a wiser and more beautiful self over us,--a
more enlightened conscience, as it were, ever lifting us up towards
its own higher level.
This was Sunday; but he was not so strict in his ideas concerning the
day as most of his parishioners. So long as we were sedate and
orderly, and neither talked nor laughed too loud, he seldom interfered
with our behaviour, or sought to alter the current of our
conversation. I believe he did not, like some people, require or
expect us to care about religious things as much as he did: we could
not yet know as he did what they really were. But when any of the
doings of the week were referred to on the Sunday, he was more strict,
I think, than on other days, in bringing them, if they involved the
smallest question, to the standard of right, to be judged, and
approved or condemned thereby. I believe he thought that to order our
ways was our best preparation for receiving higher instruction
afterwards. For one thing, we should then, upon failure, feel the
burden of it the more, and be the more ready to repent and seek the
forgiveness of God, and that best help of his which at length makes a
man good within himself.
He listened attentively to my story, seemed puzzled at the cry I had
heard from the cottage, said nothing could have gone very wrong, or we
should have heard of it, especially as Andrew had been to inquire,
laughed over the apparition of Miss Adam, and my failure in rescuing
Jamie Duff. He said, however, that I had no right to interefere with
constituted authority--that Adam was put there to protect the trees,
and if he had got hold of a harmless person, yet Jamie was certainly
trespassing, and I ought to have been satisfied with Turkey’s way of
looking at the matter.
I saw that my father was right, and a little further reflection
convinced me that, although my conduct had a root in my regard for
Jamie Duff, it had a deeper root in my regard for his sister, and one
yet deeper in my regard for myself--for had I not longed to show off
in her eyes? I suspect almost all silly actions have their root in
selfishness, whether it take the form of vanity, of conceit, of greed,
or of ambition.
While I was telling my tale, Mrs. Mitchell kept coming into the room
oftener, and lingering longer, than usual. I did not think of this
till afterwards. I said nothing about her, for I saw no occasion; but
I do not doubt she was afraid I would, and wished to be at hand to
defend herself. She was a little more friendly to me in church that
day: she always sat beside little Davie.
When we came out, I saw Andrew, and hurried after him to hear how he
had sped the night before. He told me he had found all perfectly quiet
at the cottage, except the old woman’s cough, which was troublesome,
and gave proof that she was alive, and probably as well as usual. He
suggested now that the noise was all a fancy of mine--at which I was
duly indignant, and desired to know if it was also Missy’s fancy that
made her go off like a mad creature. He then returned to his former
idea of the cock, and as this did not insult my dignity, I let it
pass, leaning however myself to the notion of Wandering Willie’s
pipes.
[Illustration]
On the following Wednesday we had a half holiday, and before dinner I
went to find Turkey at the farm. He met me in the yard, and took me
into the barn.
“I want to speak to you, Ranald,” he said.
I remember so well how the barn looked that day. The upper half of one
of the doors had a hole in it, and a long pencil of sunlight streamed
in, and fell like a pool of glory upon a heap of yellow straw. So
golden grew the straw beneath it, that the spot looked as if it were
the source of the shine, and sent the slanting ray up and out of the
hole in the door. We sat down beside it, I wondering why Turkey looked
so serious and important, for it was not his wont.
“Ranald,” said Turkey, “I can’t bear that the master should have bad
people about him.”
“What do you mean, Turkey?” I rejoined.
“I mean the Kelpie.”
“She’s a nasty thing, I know,” I answered. “But my father considers
her a faithful servant.”
“That’s just where it is. She is not faithful. I’ve suspected her for
a long time. She’s so rough and ill-tempered that she looks honest;
but I shall be able to show her up yet. You wouldn’t call it honest to
cheat the poor, would you?”
“I should think not. But what do you mean?”
“There must have been something to put old Eppie in such an ill-temper
on Saturday, don’t you think?”
“I suppose she had had a sting from the Kelpie’s tongue.”
“No, Ranald, that’s not it. I had heard whispers going about; and last
Saturday, after we came home from John Adam’s, and after I had told
Elsie about Jamie, I ran up the street to old Eppie. You would have
got nothing out of her, for she would not have liked to tell you; but
she told me all about it.”
“What a creature you are, Turkey! Everybody tells you everything.”
“No, Ranald; I don’t think I am such a gossip as that. But when you
have a chance, you ought to set right whatever you can. Right’s the
only thing, Ranald.”
“But aren’t you afraid they’ll call you a meddler, Turkey? Not that
_I_ think so, for I’m sure if you do anything _against_ anybody, it’s
_for_ some other body.”
“That would be no justification if I wasn’t in the right,” said
Turkey. “But if I am, I’m willing to bear any blame that comes of
it. And I wouldn’t meddle for anybody that could take care of
himself. But neither old Eppie nor your father can do that: the one’s
too poor, and the other too good.”
“I _was_ wondering what you meant by saying my father couldn’t take
care of himself.”
“He’s too good; he’s too good, Ranald. He believes in everybody. _I_
wouldn’t have kept that Kelpie in _my_ house half the time.”
“Did you ever say anything to Kirsty about her?”
“I did once; but she told me to mind my own business. Kirsty snubs me
because I laugh at her stories. But Kirsty is as good as gold, and I
wouldn’t mind if she boxed my ears--as indeed she’s done--many’s the
time.”
“But what’s the Kelpie been doing to old Eppie?”
“First of all, Eppie has been playing her a trick.”
“Then she mustn’t complain.”
“Eppie’s was a lawful trick, though. The old women have been laying
their old heads together--but to begin at the beginning: there has
been for some time a growing conviction amongst the poor folk that the
Kelpie never gives them an honest handful of meal when they go their
rounds. But this was very hard to prove, and although they all
suspected it, few of them were absolutely certain about it. So they
resolved that some of them should go with empty bags. Every one of
those found a full handful at the bottom. Still they were not
satisfied. They said she was the one to take care what she was about.
Thereupon old Eppie resolved to go with something at the bottom of her
bag to look like a good quantity of meal already gathered. The moment
the door was closed behind her--that was last Saturday--she peeped
into the bag. Not one grain of meal was to be discovered. That was why
she passed you muttering to herself and looking so angry. Now it will
never do that the manse, of all places, should be the one where the
poor people are cheated of their dues. But we roust have yet better
proof than this before we can say anything.”
“Well, what do you mean to do, Turkey?” I asked. “Why does she do it,
do you suppose? It’s not for the sake of saving my father’s meal, I
should think.”
“No, she does something with it, and, I suppose, flatters herself she
is not stealing--only saving it off the poor, and so making a right to
it for herself. I can’t help thinking that her being out that same
night had something to do with it. Did you ever know her go to see old
Betty?”
“No, she doesn’t like her. I know that.”
“I’m not so sure. She pretends perhaps. But we’ll have a try. I think
I can outwit her. She’s fair game, you know.”
“How? What? Do tell me, Turkey,” I cried, right eagerly.
“Not to-day. I will tell you by and by.”
He got up and went about his work.