the night, and see me off at Muirtown, and this iss what he will say
as the train wass leaving, in his cheery English way, 'Keep up your
heart, lass, there's a good time coming,' and Peter Bruce will be
waiting for me at the Junction, and a gentle man iss Peter Bruce,
and Maister Moncur will be singing a psalm to keep up my heart, and
I will see the light, and then I will know that the Lord hass had
mercy upon me. That iss all I have to tell you, Marget, for the rest
I will be saying to God."
"But there iss something I must be telling," said Lachlan, coming
in, "and it iss not easy."
He brought over the Bible and opened it at the family register where
his daughter's name had been erased; then he laid it down before
Flora, and bowed his head on the bed.
"Will you ever be able to forgive your father?"
"Give me the pen, Marget;" and Flora wrote for a minute, but Lachlan
never moved.
When he lifted his head, this was what he read in a vacant space:--
FLORA CAMPBELL.
Missed April 1873.
Found September 1873.
"Her father fell on her neck and kissed her."
IV
AS A LITTLE CHILD
Drumtochty made up its mind slowly upon any new-comer, and for some
time looked into the far distance when his name was mentioned. He
himself was struck with the studied indifference of the parish, and
lived under the delusion that he had escaped notice. Perhaps he
might have felt uncomfortable if he had suspected that he was under
a microscope, and the keenest eyes in the country were watching
every movement at kirk and market. His knowledge of theology, his
preference in artificial manures, his wife's Sabbath dress, his
skill in cattle, and his manner in the Kildrummie train, went as
evidence in the case, and were duly weighed. Some morning the
floating opinion suddenly crystallized in the kirkyard, and there is
only one historical instance in which judgment was reversed. It was
a strong proof of Lachlan Campbell's individuality that he impressed
himself twice on the parish, and each time with a marked adjective.
Lachlan had been superintending the theology of the glen and
correcting our ignorance from an unapproachable height for two years
before the word went forth, but the glen had been thinking.
"Lachlan is a carefu' shepherd and fine wi' the ewes at the lambing
time, there's nae doot o' that, but a' canna thole (bear) himsel'.
Ye wud think there was nae releegion in the parish till he came frae
Auchindarroch. What say ye, Domsie?"
"Campbell's a censorious body, Drumsheugh," and Domsie shut his
snuff-box lid with a snap.
Drumsheugh nodded to the fathers of our commonwealth, and they went
into kirk with silent satisfaction. Lachlan had been classified, and
Peter Bruce, who prided himself on keeping in touch with Drumtochty,
passed the word round the Kildrummie train next market night.
"Ye haena that censorious body, Lachlan Campbell, wi' ye the nicht,"
thrusting his head in on the thirds.
"There's naething Peter disna ken," Hillocks remarked with
admiration afterwards; "he's as gude as the _Advertiser_."
When Flora had come home, and Drumtochty resumed freedom of
criticism, I noticed for the first time a certain vacillation in its
treatment of Lachlan.
"He's pluckit up his speerit maist extraordinar," Hillocks
explained, "and he whuppit by me like a three year auld laist
Sabbath.
"'I'm glad tae hear the Miss is comin' roond fine,' says I.
"'It's the fouk o' Drumtochty hes made her weel. God bless you, for
you hev done good for evil,' and wi' that he was aff afore I cud
fin' a word.
"He's changed, the body, some wy or ither, and there's a kind o'
warmth aboot him ye canna get ower."
Next day I turned into Mrs. Macfadyen's cottage for a cup of tea and
the smack of that wise woman's conversation, but was not able to
pass the inner door for the sight which met my eyes.
Lachlan was sitting on a chair in the middle of the kitchen with
Elsie, Mrs. Macfadyen's pet child, on his knee, and their heads so
close together that his white hair was mingling with her burnished
gold. An odour of peppermint floated out at the door, and Elsie was
explaining to Lachlan, for his guidance at the shop, that the round
drops were a better bargain than the black and white rock.
When Lachlan had departed, with gracious words on his lips and a
very sticky imprint on his right cheek, I settled down in the big
chair, beyond the power of speech, and Mrs. Macfadyen opened the
mystery.
"Ye may weel look, for twa month syne I wudna hae believed this day,
though a' hed seen him wi' ma ain een.
"It was juist this time laist year that he cam here on his elder's
veesitation, and he catches the bairn in this verra kitchen.
"'Elspeth,' says he--it was Elsie the day, ye mind--'div ye ken that
ye're an oreeginal sinner?'
"It was nichtfa' afore she got over the fricht, and when she saw him
on the road next Sabbath, she cooried in ahint ma goon, and cried
till I thocht her hert wud break.
"'It's meeserable wark for Christ's Elder,' says Jeems, 'tae put the
fear o' death on a bairn, and a'm thinkin' he wudna get muckle
thanks frae his Maister if He wes here,' and Jeems wasna far wrong,
though, of course, a' told him tae keep a quiet sough, and no conter
the elder.
"Weel, I sees Lachlan comin' up the road the day, and a' ran oot to
catch Elsie and hide her in the byre. But a' micht hae saved mysel'
the trouble: afore I got tae the gairden gate they were comin' up as
chief (friendly) as ye like, and Lachlan wes callin' Elsie his
bonnie dawtie.
"If he hadna a pock o' peppermints--but it wesna that wiled Elsie's
hert. Na, na, dogs and bairns can read fouks' faces, and mak nae
mistakes. As sune as a' saw Lachlan's een a' kent he wes a new man.
"Hoo has it come about? That's easy tae guess. Sax months syne
Lachlan didna ken what father meant, and the heart wes wizened in
the breist o' him wi' pride an' diveenity.
"He kens noo, and a'm jalousing that nae man can be a richt father
tae his ain without being sib (akin) tae every bairn he sees. It wes
Flora he was dawting (petting) ye see the day, and he's learned his
trade weel, though it cost him a sair lesson."
Wonderful stories circulated through the glen, and were told in the
kirkyard of a Sabbath morning, concerning the transformation of
Lachlan Campbell.
"Ane o' ma wee lassies," expatiated Domsie, "fell comin' doon the
near road frae Whinnie Knowe, and cuttit her cheek on the stones,
and if Lachlan didna wash her face and comfort her; an' mair, he
carried her a' the road tae the schule, and says he in his Hieland
way, 'Here iss a brave little woman that hass hurt herself, but she
will not be crying,' and he gave her a kiss and a penny tae buy some
sweeties at the shop. It minded me o' the Gude Samaritan, fouks,"
and everybody understood that Lachlan had captured Domsie for life.
"It beats a' things," said Whinnie; "a' canna mak' oot what's come
ower the cratur. There's a puckle o' the upland bairns pass oor wy
frae schule, and whiles Lachlan 'ill meet them when he's aifter his
sheep, and as sure as a'm stannin' here, he 'ill lay aff stories
aboot battles and fairies, till the laddies 'ill hardly gae hame. I
wes tellin' Marget this verra mornin', and she says, 'Lachlan's
become as a little child.' I dinna haud wi' her there, but a
quieter, mair cautious body ye never saw."
Drumtochty was doing its best to focus Lachlan afresh, and felt the
responsibility lay on Domsie, who accepted it cheerfully.
"Marget's aye richt, neebours, and she's put the word on it noo. His
tribble hes melted Lachlan's heart, an'--it's in the Evangel, ye
ken--he's become as a little child."
This language was too figurative and imposing for the parish, but it
ran henceforward in our modest speech, "He's a cautious body."
Cautious, with us, meant unassuming, kindly obliging, as well as
much more; and I still hear Drumsheugh pronouncing this final
judgment of the glen on Lachlan as we parted at his grave ten years
later, and adding, "He 'ill be sair missed by the bairns."
While the glen was readjusting itself to Lachlan, I came down from a
long tramp on the moor, and intended to inquire for Flora. But I was
arrested on the step by the sound of Lachlan's voice in family
worship.
"This my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is
found. And they began to be merry."
Lachlan's voice trembled as he read, but he went on with much
firmness:
"Now his elder son was in the field."
"You will not be reading more of that chapter, father," interrupted
Flora, with a new note of authority.
"And why not?" said Lachlan, quite humbly.
"Because you will be calling yourself the elder son and many more
bad names, and I will be angry with you."
"But they are true names, and it iss good for me to know myself."
"You hef just one true name, and that iss father.... And now you
will be singing a psalm."
"There iss a book of himes (hymns) here, and maybe you will be
liking one of them."
And Lachlan produced the little book Flora got in that London church
when the preacher told her she was missed.
"We will not sing hymns, father, for I am remembering that you hef a
conscience against hymns, and I did not know that you had that
book."
"My conscience wass sometimes better than the Bible, Flora, and if
God will be sending a hime to bind up your heart when it wass
broken, it iss your father that will be wanting to sing that hime.
"It iss here," continued Lachlan in triumph, "for I hef often been
reading that hime, and I am not seeing much wrong in it."
"But each hymn hass got its own tune, father, and you will not know
the way that it goes, and the doctor will not be wishing me to
sing."
"You are a good girl, Flora, but you are not so clever as your
father, oh no, for I hef been trying that hime on the hill, and it
will sing beautiful to a Psalm tune. You will lie still and hear."
Then Lachlan lifted up his voice in "French,"
"There is a fountain filled with blood,
Drawn from Immanuel's veins,
And sinners plunged beneath that flood
Lose all their guilty stains."
The singing was fairly good, with a whisper from Flora, till they
came to that verse:
"Then in a nobler, sweeter song
I'll sing Thy power to save,
When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
Lies silent in the grave,"
when Lachlan seemed to lose the tune, and be falling into a
coronach.
"We must not be singing that to-day, father, for God iss fery good
to us, and I will be stronger every week, and maybe you will be
saying that we are thankful in your prayer."
Then I realised my baseness, and went off on tiptoe (had the dogs
been at home it had not been so easy to escape); but first I heard,
"Our Father." It was a new word for Lachlan; he used to say Jehovah.
The doctor paid his last visit one frosty winter day, and was
merciless on Lachlan.
"What for are ye cockering up this lassie, and no getting her doon
tae the kirk? it's clean disgracefu' in an Elder, and if I were yir
minister a' wud hae ye sessioned. Sall, ye're hard enough on ither
fouk that are no kirk greedy."
"You will not be speaking that way next Sabbath, for it iss in her
pew Flora will be sitting with her father," said Lachlan, in great
spirits.
Flora caught him studying her closely for some days, as if he were
taking her measure, and he announced that he had business in
Muirtown on Friday.
When he came up in the market train he was carrying a large paper
parcel, and attempted a joke with Peter at a window of the third.
From a critical point of view it was beneath notice, but as
Lachlan's first effort it was much tasted.
"Ye 'ill believe me noo, Peter, since ye've heard him. Did ye ever
see sic a change? it's maist astonishin'."
"Man, Hillocks, div ye no see he's gotten back his dochter, and it's
made him anither man?"
Lachlan showed Flora a new pair of shears he had bought in Muirtown,
and a bottle of sheep embrocation, but she did not know he had
hidden his parcel in the byre, and that he opened it four separate
times on Saturday.
From daybreak on Sabbath Lachlan went in and out till he returned
with Marget Howe.
"Mrs. Howe iss very kind, and she will be coming to help you with
your dresses, Flora, for we will be wanting you to look well this
day, and here iss some small thing to keep you warm," and Lachlan
produced with unspeakable pride a jacket lined with flannel and
trimmed with fur.
So her father and Marget dressed Flora for the kirk, and they went
together down the path on which the light had shone that night of
her return.
There were only two dog-carts in the Free Kirk Session, and Burnbrae
was waiting with his for Flora at the foot of the hill.
"I bid ye welcome, Flora, in the name o' oor kirk. It's a gled day
for your father, and for us a' tae see you back again and strong.
And noo ye 'ill just get up aside me in the front, and Mistress Hoo
'ill hap ye round, for we maunna let ye come tae ony ill the first
day yir oot, or we 'ill never hear the end o't." And so the honest
man went on, for he was as near the breaking as Drumtochty nature
allowed.
"A' body's pleased," said Marget to Lachlan as they sat on the back
seat and caught the faces of the people. "This is the first time I
have seen the fifteenth of Luke in Drumtochty. It's a bonnie sicht,
and a'm thinkin' it's still bonnier in the presence o' the angels."
"Flora Cammil's in the kirk the day," and the precentor looked at
Carmichael with expectation. "The fouk are terrible taen up wi'
Lachlan and her."
"What do you think of the hundred and third Psalm, Robert? It would
go well this morning."
"The verra word that was on my lips, and Lachlan 'ill be lookin' for
Coleshill."
Lachlan had put Flora in his old place next the wall (he would not
need it again, having retired from the office of inquisitor), and
sat close beside her, with great contentment on his face. The
manners of Drumtochty were perfect, and no one turned his head by
one inch; but Marget Howe, sitting behind in Burnbrae's pew, saw
Flora's hand go out to Lachlan's as the people sang:
"All thine iniquities who doth
Most graciously forgive,
Who thy diseases all and pains
Doth heal and thee relieve."
The Session met that week, and a young girl broke down utterly in
her examination for the Sacrament, so that not even Burnbrae could
get a correct answer.
She rose in great confusion and sorrow.
"A' see it wudna be fit for the like o' me tae gae forrit, but a'
had set ma hert on't; it wes the last thing He askit o' His
freends," and she left before any one could bid her stay.
"Moderator," said Lachlan, "it iss a great joy for me to move that
Mary Macfarlane get her token, and I will be wishing that we all had
her warrant, oh yes, for there iss no warrant like love. And there
iss something that I must be asking of the elders, and it iss to
forgive me for my pride in this Session. I wass thinking that I knew
more than any man in Drumtochty, and wass judging God's people. But
He hass had mercy upon Simon the Pharisee, and you hef all been been
very good to me and Flora.... The Scripture hass been fulfilled, 'So
the last shall be first, and the first last.'"
Then the minister asked Burnbrae to pray, and the Spirit descended
on that good man, of simple heart:
"Almichty Father, we are a' Thy puir and sinfu' bairns, wha wearied
o' hame and gaed awa' intae the far country. Forgive us, for we
didna ken what we were leavin' or the sair hert we gied oor Father.
It wes weary wark tae live wi' oor sins, but we wud never hev come
back had it no been for oor Elder Brither. He cam' a long road tae
find us, and a sore travail He had afore He set us free. He's been a
gude Brither tae us, and we've been a heavy chairge tae Him. May He
keep a firm haud o' us, and guide us in the richt road, and bring us
back gin we wander, and tell us a' we need tae know till the
gloamin' come. Gither us in then, we pray Thee, and a' we luve, no a
bairn missin', and may we sit doon for ever in oor ain Father's
House. Amen."
* * * * *
As Burnbrae said Amen, Carmichael opened his eyes, and had a vision
which will remain with him until the day break and the shadows flee
away.
The six elders--three small farmers, a tailor, a stonemason, and a
shepherd--were standing beneath the lamp, and the light fell like a
halo on their bent heads. That poor little vestry had disappeared,
and this present world was forgotten. The sons of God had come into
their heritage, "for the things which are seen are temporal, but the
things which are not seen are eternal."
THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY
THE CUNNING SPEECH OF DRUMTOCHTY
Speech in Drumtochty distilled slowly, drop by drop, and the faces
of our men were carved in stone. Visitors, without discernment, used
to pity our dulness and lay themselves out for missionary work.
Before their month was over they spoke bitterly of us, as if we had
deceived them, and departed with a grudge in their hearts. When
Hillocks scandalised the Glen by letting his house and living in the
bothie--through sheer greed of money--it was taken by a fussy little
man from the South, whose control over the letter "h" was uncertain,
but whose self-confidence bordered on the miraculous. As a deacon of
the Social Religionists,--a new denomination, which had made an 'it
with Sunday Entertainments,--and Chairman of the Amalgamated Sons of
Rest,--a society of persons with conscientious objections to work
between meals--he was horrified at the primeval simplicity of the
Glen, where no meeting of protest had been held in the memory of
living man, and the ministers preached from the Bible. It was
understood that he was to do his best for us, and there was
curiosity in the kirkyard.
"Whatna like man is that English veesitor ye've got, Hillocks? a'
hear he's fleein' ower the Glen, yammerin' and haverin' like a
starlin'."
"He's a gabby (talkative) body, Drumsheugh, there's nae doot o'
that, but terrible ignorant.
"Says he tae me nae later than yesterday, 'That's a fine field o'
barley ye've there, Maister Harris,' an' as sure as deith a' didna
ken whaur tae luik, for it was a puckle aits."
"Keep's a'," said Whinnie; "he's been awfu' negleckit when he wes a
bairn, or maybe there's a want in the puir cratur."
Next Sabbath Mr. Urijah Hopps appeared in person among the fathers--who
looked at each other over his head--and enlightened them on supply and
demand, the Game Laws, the production of cabbages for towns, the
iniquity of an Established Church, and the bad metre of the Psalms of
David.
"You must 'ave henterprise, or it's hall hup with you farmers."
"Ay, ay," responded Drumsheugh, after a long pause, and then every
man concentrated his attention on the belfry of the kirk.
"Is there onything ava' in the body, think ye, Domsie," as Mr. Hopps
bustled into kirk, "or is't a' wind?"
"Three wechtfu's o' naething, Drumsheugh; a' peety the puir man if
Jamie Soutar gets a haud o' him."
Jamie was the cynic of the Glen--who had pricked many a wind bag--and
there was a general feeling that his meeting with Mr. Hopps would not
be devoid of interest. When he showed himself anxious to learn next
Sabbath, any man outside Drumtochty might have been deceived, for
Jamie could withdraw every sign of intelligence from his face, as
when shutters close upon a shop window. Our visitor fell at once
into the trap, and made things plain to the meanest capacity, until
Jamie elicited from the guileless Southron that he had never heard
of the Act of Union; that Adam Smith was a new book he hoped to buy;
that he did not know the difference between an Arminian and a Calvinist,
and that he supposed the Confession of Faith was invented in Edinburgh.
This in the briefest space of time, and by way of information to
Drumtochty. James was making for general literature, and had still
agriculture in reserve, when Drumsheugh intervened in the humanity of
his heart.
"A' dinna like tae interrupt yir conversation, Maister Hopps, but
it's no verra safe for ye tae be stannin' here sae lang. Oor air hes
a bit nip in't, and is mair searchin' than doon Sooth. Jamie 'ill be
speirin' a' mornin' gin ye 'ill answer him, but a'm thinkin' ye'ill
be warmer in the kirk."
And Drumsheugh escorted Mr. Hopps to cover, who began to suspect
that he had been turned inside out, and found wanting.
Drumtochty had listened with huge delight, but without a trace of
expression, and, on Mr. Hopps reaching shelter, three boxes were
offered Jamie.
The group was still lost in admiration when Drumsheugh returned from
his errand of mercy.
"Sall, ye've dune the job this time. Jamie. Ye're an awfu' creetic.
Yon man 'ill keep a quiet cheep till he gets Sooth. It passes me hoo
a body wi' sae little in him hes the face tae open his mooth."
"Ye did it weel, Jamie," Domsie added, "a clean furrow frae end tae
end."
"Toots, fouk, yir makin' ower muckle o' it. It wes licht grund, no
worth puttin' in a ploo."
Mr. Hopps explained to me, before leaving, that he had been much
pleased with the scenery of our Glen, but disappointed in the
people.
"They may not be hignorant," said the little man doubtfully, "but no
man could call them haffable."
It flashed on me for the first time that perhaps there may have been
the faintest want of geniality in the Drumtochty manner, but it was
simply the reticence of a subtle and conscientious people. Intellect
with us had been brought to so fine an edge by the Shorter Catechism
that it could detect endless distinctions, and was ever on the watch
against inaccuracy. Farmers who could state the esoteric doctrine of
"spiritual independence" between the stilts of the plough, and talked
familiarly of "co-ordinate jurisdiction with mutual subordination,"
were not likely to fall into the vice of generalisation. When James
Soutar was in good fettle, he could trace the whole history of Scottish
secession from the beginning, winding his way through the maze of
Original Seceders and Cameronians, Burghers and Anti-Burghers--there
were days when he would include the Glassites,--with unfaltering step;
but this was considered a feat even in Drumtochty, and it was admitted
that Jamie had "a gift o' discreemination." We all had the gift in
measure, and dared not therefore allow ourselves the expansive language
of the South. What right had any human being to fling about superlative
adjectives, seeing what a big place the world is, and how little we
know? Purple adjectives would have been as much out of place in our
conversation as a bird of paradise among our muirfowl.
Mr. Hopps was so inspired by one of our sunsets--to his credit let
that be told--that he tried to drive Jamie into extravagance.
"No bad! I call it glorious, and if it hisn't, then I'd like to know
what his."
"Man," replied Soutar austerely, "ye 'ill surely keep ae word for
the twenty-first o' Reevelation."
Had any native used "magnificent," there would have been an uneasy
feeling in the Glen; the man must be suffering from wind in the
head, and might upset the rotation of crops, sowing his young grass
after potatoes, or replacing turnip with beetroot. But nothing of
that sort happened in my time; we kept ourselves well in hand. It
rained in torrents elsewhere, with us it only "threatened tae be
weet"--some provision had to be made for the deluge. Strangers, in
the pride of health, described themselves as "fit for anything," but
Hillocks, who died at ninety-two, and never had an hour's illness,
did not venture, in his prime, beyond "Gaein' aboot, a'm thankfu' to
say, gaein' aboot."
When one was seriously ill, he was said to be "gey an' sober," and
no one died in Drumtochty--"he slippit awa."
Hell and heaven were pulpit words; in private life we spoke of "the
ill place" and "oor lang hame."
When the corn sprouted in the stooks one late wet harvest, and
Burnbrae lost half his capital, he only said, "It's no lichtsome,"
and no congratulations on a good harvest ever extracted more from
Drumsheugh than "A' daurna complain."