"Hast any philosophy in thee?"
_As You Like It_.
Miss Bella Bathgate was a staunch supporter of the Parish Kirk. She had
no use for any other denomination, and no sympathy with any but the
Presbyterian form of worship. Episcopalians she regarded as beneath
contempt, and classed them in her own mind with "Papists"--people who
were more mischievous and almost as ignorant as "the heathen" for whom
she collected small sums quarterly, and for whom the minister prayed as
"sitting in darkness." Miss Bathgate had developed a real, if somewhat
contemptuous, affection for Mawson, her lodger's maid, but she never
ceased to pour scorn on her "English ways" and her English worship. If
Mawson had not been one of the gentlest of creatures she would not have
tolerated it for a day.
One wet and windy evening Bella sat waiting for Mawson to come in to
supper. She had gone to a week-night service at the church, greatly
excited because the Bishop was to be present. The supper was ready and
keeping hot in the oven, the fire sparkled in the bright range, and
Bella sat crocheting and singing to herself, "From Greenland's icy
mountains." For Bella was passionately interested in missions. The needs
of the heathen lay on her heart. Every penny she could scrape together
went into "the box." The War had reduced her small income, and she could
no longer live without letting her rooms, but whatever she had to do
without her contributions to missions never faltered; indeed, they had
increased. Missions were the romance of her life. They put a scarlet
thread into the grey. The one woman she had ever envied was Mary Slessor
of Calabar.
Mawson came in much out of breath, having run up the hill to get out of
the darkness.
"Weel, and hoo's the Bishop?" Bella said in jocular tones.
"Ow, 'e was lovely. 'E said the Judgment was 'anging over all of us."
"Oh, wumman," said Bella, as she dumped a loaf viciously on the platter,
"d'ye need a Bishop to tell ye that? I'm sure I've kent it a' ma days."
"It gives me the creeps to think of it. Imagine standin' h'up before
h'all the earth and 'aving all your little bits o' sins fetched out
against you! But"--hopefully--"I don't see myself 'ow there'll be time."
"Ay, there'll be time! There'll be a' Eternity afore us, and as far as I
can see there'll be naething else to do."
"Ow," Mawson wailed. "You do make it sound so 'orrid, Bella. The Bishop
was much more comfortable, and 'e 'as such a nice rosy face you can't
picture anything very bad 'appening to 'im. But I suppose Bishops'll be
judged like everyone else."
"They will that." Bella's tone was emphatic, almost vindictive.
"Oh, well," said Mawson, who looked consistently on the bright sides, "I
dare say they won't pay much h'attention to the likes of us when they've
Kings and Bishops and M.P.'s and London ladies to judge. Their sins will
be a bit more interestin' than my little lot.... Well, I'll be glad of a
cup of tea, for it's thirsty work listening to sermons. I'll just lay me
'at and coat down 'ere, if you don't mind, Bella. Now, this is cosy. I
was thinkin' of this as I came paddin' over the bridge listening to the
sound of the wind and the water. A river's a frightenin' sort of thing
at night and after 'earin' about the Judgment too."
Miss Bathgate took a savoury-smelling dish from the oven and put it,
along with two hot plates, before Mawson, then put the teapot before
herself and they began.
"Whaur's Miss Reston the nicht?" Bella asked, as she helped herself to
hot buttered toast.
"Dinin' with Sir John and Lady Tweedie. She's wearin' a lovely new gown,
sort of yellow. It suited her a treat. I must say she did look noble.
She is 'andsome, don't you think?"
"Terrible lang and lean," said Miss Bathgate. "But I'm no denyin' that
there's a kind o' look aboot her that's no common. She would mak' a guid
queen if we had ony need o' anither." "She makes a good mistress
anyway," said loyal Mawson.
"Oh, she's no bad," Bella admitted. "An' I must say she disna gie much
trouble--but it's an idle life for ony wumman. I canna see why Miss
Reston, wi' a' her faculties aboot her, needs you hingin' round her.
Mercy me, what's to hinder her pu'in ribbons through her ain
underclothes, if ribbons are necessary, which they're not. There's Mrs.
Muir next door, wi' six bairns, an' a' the wark o' the hoose to dae an'
washin's forbye, an' here's Miss Reston never liftin' a finger except to
pu' silk threads through a bit stuff. That's what makes folk
Socialists."
Mawson, who belonged to that fast disappearing body, the real servant
class, and who, without a thought of envy, delighted in the possession
of her mistress, looked sadly puzzled.
"But, Beller, don't you think things work out more h'even than they
seem? Mrs. Muir next door works very 'ard. I've seen her put out a
washin' by seven o'clock in the morning, but then she 'as a good 'usband
and an 'ealthy family and much pleasure in 'er work. Miss Reston lies
soft and drinks her mornin' tea in comfort, but she never knows the
satisfied feelin' that Mrs. Muir 'as when she takes in 'er clean
clothes."
"Weel, mebbe you're right. I'm nae Socialist masel'. There maun aye be
rich and poor, Dives in the big hoose and Lazarus at the gate. But so
long as we're sure that Dives'll catch it in the end, and Lazarus lie
soft in Abraham's bosom, we can pit up wi' the unfairness here. An'
speakin' about Miss Reston, I dinna mind her no' working. Ye can see by
the look of her that she never was meant to work, but just to get
everything done for her. Can ye picture her peelin' tatties? The verra
thocht's rideeclus. She's juist for lookin' at, like the floors and a'
the bonnie things ... But it's thae new folk that pit up ma birse. That
Mrs. Duff-Whalley, crouse cat! Rollin' aboot wrap up in furs in a great
caur, patronisin' everybody that's daft enough to let theirselves be
patronised by her. Onybody could see she's no used to it. She's so ta'en
up wi' hersel'. It's kinda play-actin' for her ... An' there's naebody
gives less to charitable objects. I suppose when ye've paid and fed sae
mony servants, and dressed yersel' in silks and satins, and bocht every
denty ye can think of, and kept up a great big hoose an' a great muckle
caur, there's no' that much left for the kirk-plate, or the heathen, or
the hospitals ... Oh, it's peetifu'!"
Mawson nodded wisely. "There's plenty Mrs. Duff-Whalleys about; you be
thankful you've only one in the place. Priorsford is a very charitable
place, I think. The poor people here don't know they're born after
London, and the clergy seem very active too."
"Oh, they are that. I daur say they're as guid as is gaun. Mr. Morrison
is a fine man if marriage disna ruin him."
"Oh, surely not!"
"There's no sayin'," said Bella gloomily. "She's young and flighty, but
there's wan thing, she has no money. I kent a minister--he was a kinda
cousin o' ma father's--an' he mairret a heiress and they had late
denner. I tell ye that late denner was the ruin o' that man. It fair got
between him an' his jidgment. He couldna veesit his folk at a wise-like
hour in the evening because he was gaun to hev his denner, and he
couldna get oot late because his leddy-wife wanted him to be at hame
efter denner. There's mony a thing to cause a minister to stumble, for
they're juist human beings after a', but his rich mairrage was John
Allison's undoing."
"Marriage," sighed Mawson, "is a great risk. It's often as well to be
single, but I sometimes think Providence must ha' meant me to 'ave an
'usband--I'm such a clingin' creature."
Such sentiments were most distasteful to Miss Bathgate, that
self-reliant spinster, and she said bitterly:
"Ma wumman, ye're ill off for something to cling to! I never saw the man
yet that I wud be pitten up wi'."
"Ho! I shouldn't say that, but I must say I couldn't fancy a
h'undertaker. Just imagine 'im 'andlin' the dead and then 'andlin' me!"
"Eh, ye nesty cratur," said Bella, much disgusted "But I suppose ye're
meaning _English_ undertakers--men that does naething but work wi'
funerals--a fearsome ill job. Here it's the jiner that does a' thing, so
it's faur mair homely."
"Speakin' about marriages," said Mawson, who preferred cheerful
subjects, "I do enjoy a nice weddin'. The motors and the bridesmaids and
the flowers. Is there no chance of a weddin' 'ere?"
Miss Bathgate shook her head.
"Why not Miss Jean?" Mawson suggested.
Again Miss Bathgate shook her head.
"Nae siller," she said briefly.
"What! No money, you mean? But h'every gentleman ain't after money."
Mawson's expression grew softly sentimental as she added, "Many a one
marries for love, like the King and the beggar-maid."
"Mebbe," said Bella, "but the auld rhyme's oftener true:
"'Be a lassie ne'er sae black,
Gie her but the name o' siller,
Set her up on Tintock tap
An' the wind'll blaw a man till her.
Be a lassie ne'er sae fair,
Gin she hinna penny-siller,
A flea may fell her in the air
Ere a man be evened till her.'
"I would like fine to see Miss Jean get a guid man, for she's no' a bad
lassie, but I doot she'll never manage't."
"Oh, Beller, you do take an 'opeless view of things. I think it's
because you wear black so much. Now I must say I like a bit o' bright
colour. I think it gives one bright thoughts."
"I aye wear black," said Bella firmly, as she carried the supper dishes
to the scullery, "and then, as the auld wifie said, 'Come daith, come
sacrament, I'm ready!'"