_SUBORNATION OF PERJURY_.
It was late in the afternoon when Joseph started homewards. He had
spent a cheerful day, and was in the best of spirits. The servants at
Auchlippie had been most hospitable, and his friend Jean assiduous in
replenishing his cog from the kitchen beer-barrel; she had been gay
and saucy in the extreme, and her dexterity with tongue and fist,
whenever he went beyond the permitted limit, had excited his sincere
respect and admiration.
'A clever cummer 'at can haud her ain wi' the next ane! An' hech, but
she's gleg!' was Joseph's admiring soliloquy, as he tramped down the
road.
'She's gotten a pose e'y bank, an' her granny's a bien auld body, wi'
naebody else to leave her gear til,' he continued, 'wha kens?' but
here the soliloquy died into deeper reflection, and he tramped along
in meditative silence. How comfortable and respected he might be,
established in the granny's croft, as master, with Jean to minister to
him and keep things brisk, with an occasional passage of wordy
warfare. But the shadow of Tibbie rose in his mind and blocked the
path. She would forbid the banns and involve his schemes in utter
confusion, unless she could be quieted.
He thought over his conversation with Mrs. Sangster. Oh! If Tibbie had
only been there to hear it too! Some idea might have struck her, that
would have induced her to loosen her hold on him, and try for higher
game. We can but judge others by ourselves, and he knew that with
himself an arithmetical consideration was the weightiest that could be
presented, and that a pretext by which pounds might be extorted
unjustly, would seem more attractive than an honest claim which could
only be realized in shillings and pence. If she would only slacken her
hold on him for a very little while, he thought he could manage that
she should never renew it again.
So reflecting, he reached home. It was Saturday evening, and there
were the usual preparations to make on the braeside for the services
of the morrow, and thither he now repaired.
The evening's shadows were gathering round the tent, and creeping up
the brae--sad and transparent like ghosts of the good resolutions
begotten there last Sunday, and since then smothered and trampled to
death in the hurry and busy turmoil of the world's life; or so they
might have appeared had any pious and pensive soul been there to
witness them, but there were none such. Only Tibbie Tirpie rose from
the tent or pulpit steps, to confront Joseph as he approached key in
hand.
'Tibbie? Hoo's a' wi' ye, woman? A sicht o' ye's gude for sair e'eri.'
It's lang sin' we hae forgathered.'
'Juist sin' last Sawbith! An' ye hae na dune as ye said ye wad,
yet--sae the langer time the mair shame to ye.'
'Ye canna weel say that noo, Tibbie! come! I said I wad speak t'ey
minister for ye, an' there's naebody e'y clachan but kens he gied ye
siller. Was na that keepin' tryst?'
'What kind o' a gowk do ye tak me for, Joseph Smiley? Think ye ye'r to
slip through my fingers that gate? Ye ken brawly it's no the
minister's siller I'm seekin', it's yours, an yersel' alang wi't. An'
that I'se hae, an gin ye winna richt my lassie by fair means, I'se
gang to Mester Sangster an' the minister an' shame ye, an that'll be
the last o' yer bederalship, an' the end o' ye a' thegither round Glen
Effick. Think ye I'll let ye aff o' the scathe, when my puir Tib has
to thole the scorn?'
'Whisht woman! yer tongue's rinnin' awa wi' ye. Gin yell juist ca'
canny, an' do biddin', ye'se do far mair for Tibbie nor I cud. Ye see,
Luckie, I'm juist as ane micht say, naething but a puir earthen
vessel, no gude for muckle, wi' nae gear, an' sma' wut to gather't
wi'. What wad ye say noo til a gentleman for Tib? It's what the lassie
ocht to hae gotten wi' her bonnie face, an' gin what a' the folk says
was true, belike she'd get ane.'
'I kenna what ye're drivin' at, my man, but gin ye're gaun to send me
on a fule's errand, an' sae gar me let ye aff, ye're sair mistaen; an'
gin ye come na in whiles as ye gang by an' gie the lass her dues o'
coortin', fair out afore folk, I'se gang down til auld MacSiccar, an'
he'll hae ye up afore the Shirra, or I'm mistaen, an' syne yell ken
whether a law plea or a waddin' taks maist siller, an' aiblins ye'll
hae to wive wi' her a' the same.'
'But hoo wid ye like the minister e'y stead o' the bederal? wadna that
be something worth while? The folk thinks that's the richts o't a' e'y
noo. An' gin ye'll juist haud them on their ain gate, an' keep yer ain
jaws steekit--wha kens? A minister wad wed wi' the Deil's ain--dochter
afore he'd hae himsel' or the Kirk misca'd. The folk says yon's
Tibbie's bairn he taks tent on, doon by, an' what for need ye fash to
deny't? gin the wein cam out o' the sea he'll can bring nae pruif, an'
the folk hae taen't i' their heids to think the ither thing, sae gin
ye wad juist threip the same gate aiblins ye'd get yer way o't.'
'The Lord forgie ye, Joseph Smiley, for a blackhearted, twa-faced
vagabond! Ye ken weel what a gude maister the minister's been to you,
an' ye wad turn round an' gar me lee awa his gude name! But tak ye
tent! There was ance anither, gaed to betray a gude master, for the
sake o' what he'd mak out o't, an' he gaed an' hanged himsel' afore a'
was done--Wha kens? The hemp may be baith sawn an' pued 'at's to mak
yer ain grawvit! An' noo I gie ye fair warnin', gin ye come-na by
afore Wednesday, I'se gang til auld MacSiccar; sae nae mair o' yer
parryin'.' And with a portentous shake of the head she departed.
Joseph was little discomposed; he could hardly expect so startling a
proposal to be received otherwise than with indignation, and yet, as
by an off chance, it might bear fruit after all. The evil seed just
scattered wanted time to germinate, some corner of her mind might yet
prove to be a congenial soil, and it might spring up yet in a crop of
lies to serve his turn.
Returning home he came upon Ebenezer Prittie, merchant and postmaster,
and one of the elders of the church. Ebenezer was a quiet plain man
and zealous,--all his life he had heard of the Covenanters, their
heroism and their sufferings, and had been taught to think of them as
the summit and flower of his country's glory. He felt it to be a
privilege to be admitted to their sacred brotherhood, through being a
member and office-bearer of the Free Church, and his only misgiving
was on account of the exceeding ease of the process, and its
cheapness--an entering as it were on the privileges attached to the
martyr's crown, at half price. Fighting wild beasts at Ephesus,
wielding the sword of the Lord and of Gideon at Drumclog, escaping
through the hill mists of the morning from the pursuing troopers of
Claverhouse,--to be made heir to, and sharer in, all those deeds of
heroism by paying the modern equivalent of so much self-sacrifice,
contributing a penny a week to the Sustentation Fund, and sundry
moderate payments to the schemes of the church, was cheap indeed. The
ministers said so, of course they knew, and why was he to object
because the burden was light? He could but support his church all the
more warmly if its yoke was easy, and he would do his very best for
its advancement.
Rumours about strange conduct on the part of the minister had begun to
sift and whisper through the village. With whom they had originated no
one could say; known circumstances were appealed to in corroboration,
and every one shook his head; but there was no one who stood forward
as accuser, and each seemed afraid of the sound of his own voice, in
uttering the first word against their hitherto blameless pastor.
Ebenezer having shut up the Post Office had walked along the road to
breathe the evening air before retiring for the night. He mused over
the rumour as he went, and when Joseph, returning from the 'tent'
appeared before him, it was but natural that the subject in his
thoughts should come first to his lips.
'What's a' this clashin' about? Joseph Smiley. Ye beut to ken.'
'What clashes, Mester Prittie? Folk wull be aye claverin' ye ken. An'
them 'at kens least has aye maist to say about it. For mysel' it taks
a' my sma' wuts to mind my ain business.'
'Nae doubt, Joseph, we a' ken ye for a dacent man, an' a quiet; but a
body canna keep a calm sough a' thegither in sic like on-gaein's as
we're hearing tell o' noo. An' a body has aye their lugs, whether or
no.'
'I hae heard tell o' naething, Mester Prittie; but than, ye see, I'm
but an orra body rinnin' efter my ain bit trokes, a' round the
countryside; an' ye're sittin' yonder e'y middle o' a' thing--the
Queen's mails brocht in twice ilka day, an' a' body 'at's onybody
rinnin' to ye for their letters. Ye're sure to ken a thing 'at gangs
on.'
We a' ken ye for a dacent, carefu' spoken chield, weel eneugh, Joseph,
sae ye needna be aye mindin' folk o't. An' losh! What gars ye be sae
terrible mim? There's a time to keep yer jaws steekit, we a' ken that,
but there's a time to let on as weel! Sae out wi't a' man!'
'Ye maun out wi't yersel, Mester Prittie! For De'il tak me, (but the
Lord forgie me for swearin'! tho' efter a' it's but the De'il's name
I'm makin' a bauchil o',) gin I ken what ye're efter, wi' yer winkin's
an' yer hirselin's o' the shouther. Juist say what's yer wull, Mester
Prittie, an' gin a puir chield can pleesure ye I'se do't. Aye
premeesin' ye ken, 'at it's the thing a gude christian an' an honest
man may lawfully perform.'
'Ou ay! A' lawfu' eneugh, Joseph! What tak ye me for, laddie? gin the
Queen can lippen to me about her mails, it's surely a' safe for Joseph
Smiley wi' his bits o' trokes and clashes. But come in by!' Ebenezer
had turned round on accosting Joseph, and had been retracing his steps
ever since. They were now in front of the Post Office, and Ebenezer
unlocking the door invited Joseph to enter, that they might finish
their conversation without fear of interruption.'
'An' noo, Joseph, what's a' about the minister? an' what hae ye to say
ower't?'
'What about the minister?--forby 'at he has the cauld? Mistress
Sangster fell in a burn, an' he beut to pu' her out; an' she bein' a
muckle denty wife, an' rael hefty, he coupet in himsel an' got sair
droukit, an' noo he's lyin' wi' the cauld. I see sma' grundlfor
clashes there.'
Hoot! ye're no sae simple as ye wad let on! An' it diz na look weel o'
ye, Joseph, bein' sae terrible keen to gar folk think ye ken naething.
Ye'll hae them jalousin' ye had a finger intil't yersel, my man. Wha's
acht yon bairn o' the minister's?'
'I ken naething mair about it nor ither folk! Ye ken as weel as me
what he said about it himsel'.'
'An' do ye ken 'at folk says it's Tibbie Tirpie's bairn, an' that he's
its faither?'
I hae heard tell 'at folk was sayin' that; but we a' ken there's folk
e'y warld wad say onything, an' the dafter it was, the mair they'd
haud til't. Do ye believe it yersel', Mester Prittie?'
Weel! that's juist what I dinna ken! Whiles, whan I think o' a' the
minister has dune an' come through, I canna believe it ava'; but than,
what a' body says maun hae something intil 't, an' they hae sae mony
sma' things to lay thegither, a body canna weel help misdoubtin' but
there may be something intil 't. An' ye ken, efter a', the flesh is
but wake!'
'Hech sirse, ay! rael wake,' sighed Joseph, with a most melancholy
swing of the head. 'Rael wake! we hae Scriptur for that. The apostle
himself fand the evil praisent with him, whan he maist wanted to do
gude, an' _he_ was gude by ordnar. It's little winder gin the lave
gangs wrang whiles. It's juist a dispensation, as ane micht say, or a
kind o' warnin' to folk no to be ower sure an' sotten up i' their ain
gudeness. Weel I wat we're wake craiters!'
'But what think ye o't, Joseph? Ye're a man o' sense, an' I'd like til
hear yer opeenion.'
'A weel, Mr. Prittie, I'm juist like yersel', I dinna weel ken what to
think. I've fand him a gude maister, an' he's a fine preacher, an' a'
the Hieland folk says he has the Gaelic juist graund, an' he's rael
gude to a' body 'at's needin'; but as ye say yersel', the flesh is
wake.'
'An' ye see,' said Ebenezer, 'it's sing'lar whan ye pet that an' that
thegither, the way it a' fits in. Peter Malloch telled me 'at auld
Tibbie Tirpie brocht in a pound note o' the Peterhead Bank the verra
day efter he seed the minister slinkin' oot o' her door efter dark,
an' we a' ken naebody passes thae notes here ava, but him. I'm fear'd,
Joseph, there's something intil 't. An' hoo cud it come intil a'
body's head at ae time, gin there wasna some foundation?'
'Lordsake, ay, Mester Prittie! There's aye water whaur the stirk's
drooned, we a' ken that, an' there's nae reek athout burnin'. But is
na't a' terrible? Sic a fine young minister! an' sic doon-come t'ey
Kirk! Ickeybod! Ickeybod! wae's me!'
'Na, na. There maun be nae Ickeybod! An' nae wite te'y Kirk. Ilka
sinner maun bear his ain laid, an' Auchan maun be peuten furth frae
the congregation o' the Lord. We maun hae't a' up afore the session!
an' Joseph, ye'll hae til appear, an' testifee til a' ye ken. We beut
to hae this Babylonish gaarment cousten out e'y camp!'
'Preserve us a'! Mester Prittie, it's you 'at beut to testifee; ye ken
a' about it, I ken naething.'
'Wha said Ickeybod ey noo? Was that me? An' what meaned ye by't, gin
ye winna staund to yer word?'
'An' wad ye hae me say Ickeybod to the Kirk Session? An' what wad I
say syne? I cud say what ye telled me, Mester Prittie, 'at ye thocht
the lassie Tirpie was the mither o' the minister's bairn, but I ken
naething mysel'.'
'An' what for wad ye pu' me intil't a'?'
'It was ye telled me, Mester Prittie; noo wha telled you?'
'Faigs an' that's mair nor I ken mysel'. We maun hae a quiet meetin'
o' the session, an' gang ower't a' first, an' aiblins we'll ken what
to do syne; for there's nae man of Belil sall sit e'y tabernacle gin I
can pu' him doon.'
'An ye, hae raison, Mester Prittie! Pu' doon their high places, an'
burn their groves wi' fire. It's a' Scriptur an' sound doctrine. But
I'm sayin', sir, hae ye been round to speer for the minister the day?
An' hoo are ye gaun to manage for the morn's Kirk?'
'Weel I wat, an' ye hae me there, Joseph. Ye see I juist cudna bring
mysel' to gang an' be speerin' for a man whan the folk says he's
livin' in open sin. There's nae tellin' what micht come til the skirts
o' my ain garment! as ye were sayin' e'y noo, the folk's that set on
their reports an' their rumours, there's nae kennin' whaur the next
flee may licht; an'--Lord! they micht hae a body's sel' kirned up wi't
a'! An' then! think o' me to be taen by the folk for an ill liver.
Spoken o' for keepin' company wi' the evil men an' seducers 'at wax
worse an' worse, as the word says. An' gin I gaed hame syne, the wife
wad be for pu'in the wig aff my cantle, an' layin' the spurtle about
my bare lugs; for she's no for prankin' wi' that gate, _my_ mistress!
A gude wummin I'll allow, a' the same, but juist terrible on a' ill
doin, an' licht on-gaein's. But we maun hae a thocht to the services
o' the Sanctuary the morn, an' no hae the folk comin' to the ministry
o' the word, an' nae banquet ready for their hungry sauls. We'd hae
them stravaigin' the braesides the lieve lang Sawbith day, like puir
menseless sheep that hae na gotten a shepherd. Sae, gin ye'll come wi'
me, for fear o' pryin eyen, we'se gang round an' see hoo we'll
arrange.'
'As they sallied forth they encountered Peter Malloch taking his
evening stroll. For once Ebenezer was well pleased at the meeting, and
resolved that Peter too should accompany them, and be another witness
to the conservation undefiled of his skirts--a purely poetical figure
by the way, for he wore a sort of jacket, his wife and tailoress being
economical of cloth. The article of dress was, in fact, that which his
betters of an earlier generation were wont to denominate a spencer.
It required no pressing to secure Peter's company. He scented
promotion in being thus associated with one of the eldership, in
church business, and it seemed a first step upwards from the Deacons'
Court to the sacred college of the Kirk-session. Under other
circumstances this honour would have been carefully withheld, for
Peter's popularity among the church officers was not great. To use
Ebenezer's own words on another occasion, 'He's a gude man, an' a
leeberal, but oh! he's a meddlin' body.' Ebenezer's skirts, however,
were uppermost in his thoughts then, and their invisible folds
sufficed to cover many an objection from his view.
Reaching the minister's door, they found Miss Brown in the act of
dismissing the surgeon. Her brother had at last fallen asleep with the
assistance of an opiate, and he was not on any pretext whatever, so
said the Doctor, to be disturbed. Miss Brown led them into Eppie
Ness's apartment, where that good soul was sitting with the baby in
her arms.
Ebenezer regarded the poor child fixedly, and gasped in his
indignation. How could he think, or arrange for the ministrations of
the sanctuary in the very presence of that child of confusion? His
brow darkened, and no one can guess what eloquent utterance he might
not have given forth, if Mary Brown with her pleasant smile, had not
pointed to a chair for him to sit down, and asked what arrangements he
proposed to make for the church supply on the morrow.
As when, on the aching head of a fevered invalid buzzing with a
thousand delirious fancies, a cool soft hand is laid, banishing uneasy
nightmares, and bringing back the patient to waking common sense, even
so the innocent friendliness of Mary's glance dissipated the whole
swarm of crazy suspicions for the moment, and brought Ebenezer's
thoughts back to their wonted wholesome tenor; and though the little
thing crowed in its nurse's arms more than once, he forgot about its
being perhaps an imp, or at any rate something unholy, and would even
have admitted in words that it was a 'bonny bairn,' but that Peter
Malloch sat at his elbow.
The minister had been looking to see some of his elders all the
afternoon, and in the end had jotted down on paper his desire that Mr.
Sangster, Mr. Prittie, and another of the elders should each give a
prayer, and that Ebenezer should read to the people a chapter of the
Saints' Rest, as a substitute for the usual sermon, and call a meeting
of the Session and Deacons' Court for Monday evening. There was no
business therefore to transact, Joseph was despatched to Auchlippie
with the message for Mr. Sangster, and the others withdrew.
Ebenezer felt relieved when he was once more in the open air and there
was no further possibility of an interview with the minister, for he
had thought it would be but right, and accordingly had screwed up his
courage to say a word in season if the opportunity should occur. At
the same time he was full of dread as to how it would be taken; indeed
he could conceive of no possible way in which it could be taken that
would not be unpleasant, and therefore he felt positively rejoiced
when the danger was past. Nothing disagreeable had happened, and yet
he could stand up boldly before his conscience, as one who had not
shirked a duty however painful; and when, in the privacy of his home,
he went over the events of the day, he was indeed a proud man under
the praises which that incarnate conscience, the wife of his bosom,
bestowed upon her steadfast and faithful Ebenezer.