DAFT JAMIE'S.
About two miles from the cottage was a small inn and dramshop familiarly
known as Daft Jamie's. The nominal proprietor was James McAllister, but
the house was kept by his wife; for, many years before, McAllister had
been so badly injured in a drunken brawl that he had never fully
recovered his reason, and had ever since borne the name of Daft Jamie.
This was a place of resort for all the idlers of the neighborhood, who
came here to gossip and drink and empty their pockets into Mrs.
McAllister's money-drawer. Rab well knew the road to this place, but
since he had brought his family to his brother's house he had kept away
from it.
One evening late in autumn Robert Murdoch failed to come home as usual.
As the evening advanced Jeannie's fears fast deepened into certainty;
but she concealed her anxiety as well as she could and endeavored to
appear cheerful.
Wullie had no fears concerning his brother. He sat down near the fire,
preparing to doze until Rab should return; but before he was lost in
slumber Jeannie broke the silence by remarking that the night was dark,
and it was a long way to Daft Jamie's.
"What puts Daft Jamie's into your heid?" said Wullie. "Surely Rab is no
there. He is crackin' wi' Donald McPherson or some o' the neebors. Dinna
worry yoursel'. Gang to your bed, and I'll wait for Rab."
But Jeannie did not go to bed. She resumed her work and relapsed into
silence.
Again Wullie settled himself into an easy posture and succeeded in
falling asleep. The unhappy wife still listened for the footsteps of her
husband, but all the sound she heard was the heavy breathing of the
weary man in the chimney-corner. After another hour had passed she again
roused the sleeper.
"I am right sorry to disturb you," she said, "but I am worried about
Rab. Would you be sa kind as to gang and look for him?"
"Ay, I will gang, to please you," said he, putting on his bonnet and
going out into the darkness. It was now late. As he passed the
neighbors' houses one after another, he found only darkness and silence.
The inmates were wrapped in slumber. Rab was not there. He kept on till
he saw the light of Daft Jamie's. As he approached the house he heard
loud laughing. He opened the door and beheld with astonishment his
brother, who had always been as lithe as a willow, performing sundry
feats for the amusement of the company. Rab was so much engaged that he
did not notice the entrance of the new-comer.
"Gude save us!" exclaimed one of the company, "if here isna honest
Wullie! I would liefer see the de'il himsel' in this place."
Wullie walked straight to his brother. "It is time all honest folk were
at hame," said he.
Robert looked at him a moment, hardly knowing whether to be angry or to
yield and feel foolish.
"Can a man no hae a bit o' merriment but ye maun come spierin' aboot
after him?" he asked.
"Come hame. Dinna stop here makin' a gowk o' yoursel'," said Wullie in
an undertone. "I could hide my face wi' very shame to see your foolish
pranks to mak sport for these idle haverals."
Rab went home, but he was much displeased. He did not like the idea of
his free moral agency being interfered with. He remained silent and
sullen. When the Sabbath came he refused to accompany Wullie to church.
Wullie remonstrated, but to no purpose. "Then ye can mind the bairns,
and let your wife gang," he added.
"She can gang if she likes," Rab replied.
The day passed wearily to Robert Murdoch. He felt as one always feels
when he is wilfully drifting from the right. To Wullie the day and means
of grace had not been without profit. Ever since his brother came to
live with him he had been debating with his conscience whether he ought
to have family worship. That day he made up his mind to act on the side
of duty. When the time for rest drew near, the time when so many of
those honest, devout sons of Scotland bowed before the King of kings,
Wullie took down the Bible he had so often read in private, and read
aloud. Then he knelt in prayer, and one more altar was set up for the
worship of God. Short and simple, yet touching, was the prayer of honest
Wullie. Especially did he pray that they all might be delivered from the
power of the tempter. After he arose from his knees he remarked to
Robert,
"Ye dinna mind when our faither kept the fire o' devotion burning on sic
an altar as I hae this night set up, but I mind it weel; and I mind,
mairover, that God's fury is to be poured out on the families that call
not on his name; so I hae made up my mind that, come what will, I will
daily raise my voice in praise to God, to whom I owe every good thing I
possess."
Jeannie, who had often in her hours of trouble turned her thoughts
towards God, heartily assented to this arrangement. But Rab said to
himself, "What is the need o' sic an ado?" He felt that the breath of
piety in his home was a constant rebuke to his wilful course, and it
vexed him. Truly, "the way of the transgressor is hard."
But Rab's resentment gradually wore away, and the little household had
nearly regained its wonted cheerfulness when, in a few weeks, Rab was
again absent.
"I wonder what is keeping Rab," said Jeannie, as they sat down to supper
without him. Wullie was as anxious as herself; for when the demon of
drink has once entered a household, one never knows at what moment
shame, or a worse thing, may come to the door.
As the candle burned low, and the evening was far advanced, Wullie arose
and took his bonnet and plaid. "The night is cold, and it is o'er late.
I will go and seek Rab. Something has gone wrang, or he would be here."
"He said ye werena to come again," was sobbed out by Jeannie, rather
than spoken.
"I canna bide this suspense, and it is my duty to go. We are each our
brother's keeper."
It was a still, cold night. The stars shone brightly, and the crusted
snow sparkled in the moonlight. Wullie drew his plaid closely about him
and strode forth in the direction of Daft Jamie's. He knew by the remark
that greeted his ear on the former occasion that his presence was not
regarded as desirable, so he slipped in very quietly. There was Mrs.
McAllister, who was anxious to shut up for the night, and Rab with his
boon companion Donald McPherson. When Wullie entered, Donald was vainly
endeavoring to induce Rab to go home.
"Hands off," said Wullie, coming quickly forward; "I'll tak care o' him
mysel'. He has had mair o' your care than is gude for him." Then,
turning to the landlady and addressing her, he said, "Ye s'ould be mair
careful hoo ye deal oot your foul whiskey."
He raised his brother to his feet, put his bonnet on his head, drew him
to the door, and turned his face towards home. He took him by the arm
and led him along as fast as possible. Jeannie had sat there anxiously
waiting their return. They laid the scarcely conscious man in his bed,
and then with aching hearts sought their own pillows, where at length
tardy sleep came to relieve exhausted nature.
Robert awoke next morning too late to go to his work in time. His head
ached; he felt angry with himself and angry with others. His wife bore
his ill-humor with patience, and that annoyed him. Little Jamie noticed
the change in his father. "What ails ye, faither, that ye dinna smile to
wee Jamie?" he asked.
"Faither has a sair heid; rin awa and play by yoursel'," said the
father.
Jeannie prepared a nice dinner, and she tried to wear a smile, but
failed; for in her heart she felt that thick darkness hung over her
future.
When honest Wullie returned from his work that evening his face was very
grave. Thought had been active all day. Had he been too lenient with his
brother when he was young and under his care? Had he failed to impress
his mind with Bible truths? What was the cause of his intemperance? and
why his aversion to vital piety? These and similar questions had
troubled him all day. So while Rob had a "sair heid," Wullie had a sair
heart. He took his Bible and read long to himself. Once, some large
tears fell on the book. Rab saw them, and his heart was softened. He had
never before seen tears in his brother's eyes. He moved uneasily about
the room, and spoke pleasantly to his family. He even felt so nearly
penitent as to listen patiently to the reading of the Scriptures, and to
a lengthy prayer wherein were some allusions to his own shortcomings,
for Wullie carried all his troubles to the throne of grace. So he
besought the Lord, who is a present help in trouble, to draw near to his
household, and to deliver them from the snare of the fowler; he
entreated that, if Satan desired to have any of them, the blessed Master
might pray for them as he did for Peter of old, and plead their poor
prayers before the throne of mercy, and that delivering power might be
felt in all their hearts.
The next day Rab was himself again. He went to his work, and came home
at the usual time. He had thought a good deal during the day. He was
ashamed of his weakness, and he had resolved to let strong drink alone.
He told Wullie that he would never have to go again to Daft Jamie's to
bring him home; and he promised Jeannie that he would drink no more.
Jeannie rejoiced to hear him say so, although she knew a promise is more
easily made than kept.
But Rab kept his resolution. He worked steadily all the next year. He
attended church, and seemed anxious to do right. Hope sprang up in the
hearts of his wife and brother. Wullie felt sure that God had heard his
prayers. And God had heard them. But human strength, at best, is weak;
and there was to be one more trial, the hardest and the last.