Neither a borrower nor a lender be,
For borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
HAMLET.
“HARRY, my man, you must be canny with the siller,” said Uncle Sandy.
“It’s a snare to the feet of many--and mind, this fortune brings such a
change in your case, that there is a danger of you thinking it greater
than it is.”
“No fear, uncle,” said Harry, pausing in his new land-proprietor mood
to cut down a thistle with a swinging blow of his cane. “No fear, I
say. I’ll live up to my income, but then that is perfectly legitimate,
for the estate does not die with me. Just now, of course, there are a
number of expenses which never will be renewed in my time--all this
improvement and furnishing--and that may straighten me for a year,
perhaps--but then I expected that; and I don’t want to hoard and lay up
money, uncle.”
“Nor would I want that, Harry,” said the old man; “far from it--but
mind--
‘No for to hide it in a hedge,
Nor for a train attendant,
But for the glorious privilege
Of being independent.’
I am not a man to blaw about independence, Harry; and even Robert
Burns himself, poor man, speaks of his ain in a way that pleases me
little--but it’s a grand thing to feel that you’re standing on your ain
feet, and no leaning on a prop that may be drawn away itself, and ruin
you. I am not the right person to give you counsel either, Harry, for
I ken little about the affairs of the world, how they work, or what’s
the wisest way--only I’m an auld man, and have had my ain thoughts; be
canny, Harry, with the siller.”
“Yes, yes, no fear,” repeated Harry, a little impatiently; “there is
one thing I thought of speaking to you about, uncle. They tell me that
if I took William Hunter’s farm into my own hands, and cultivated it in
the scientific way--I could employ a man to manage that, you know--I
might double its value. Now in the estate of Allenders, there’s this
Mr. Hunter’s farm, which he pays two hundred pounds for, and a Mr.
Sinclair has a much less one for a hundred and fifty, and there’s
a house I’ll show you between this and Stirling, with twenty acres
attached to it, that pays me fifty pounds--and the rest of the property
is made up of some houses in Stirling, and the half of the village down
here. So you see there is part of my income dependent on the chance
of these houses letting well. They are all right just now, but one
can never depend on that, and Mr. Hunter’s lease is out. He does not
wish to renew it himself, and though I have several offers for the
farm, I have a great mind to keep it in my own hands. I think such an
occupation as that is the very thing for me; but then, I’ve no capital.”
“Ay Harry, ay Harry,” said his uncle with eager interest, “are you
thinking already about occupation for the leisure that God has given
you? I like that--it gives me good heart; and, Harry, my man, just
look at that grand country. I ken no pleasure greater than working on
it, and bringing out the wealth that is home-born and in the soil;
better than your merchandizing, Harry,” and the old man heartily shook
his nephew’s hand.
“Yes, uncle; but the capital,” said Harry.
“I thought there was something to the fore--something in the bank to
begin you with? ay, yes--I did not mind, you have spent that in the
house; but, Harry, I have nothing myself, but two hundred pounds, and I
wanted, if it were God’s will, to leave some bit present to the bairns
when I was gone; besides two hundred pounds could do little for you,
Harry.”
“Nothing at all,” said Harry quickly; “but I have a plan you might help
me in. How much money will Miss Jean have, uncle?”
“Jean Calder?--na, na, Harry,” said the old man, shaking his head. “I
would not with my will, speak ill or judge unkindly of any mortal, but
charity--I am meaning the free heart and the kind thought--is not in
her. Did you no hear the fight we had to get your papers from her? No,
Harry; I’m sorry to damp you. She may have a thousand pounds, maybe. As
much as that I warrant; but you’ll make nothing of Miss Jean.”
“A thousand pounds! My plan, uncle is to offer her better interest
than she could get elsewhere,” said Harry. “As for her kindness, I
should never think of that; and I would not ask it, because I was her
brother’s grandson, but because I could offer her so much per cent.;
that’s the way. Now a thousand pounds from Miss Jean would make these
lands bear other crops than this--look, uncle.”
They were standing at the corner of a field of thin and scanty corn.
The long ears bent upon the breeze, like so many tall attenuated
striplings; and their chill green contrasted unpleasantly with the rich
brown tint which began to ripen over a full, rustling, wholesome field
on the other side of the way.
“It’s a poor crop,” said Uncle Sandy, meditatingly; “it’s like the
well doings of a cauld heart--it wants the good-will to grow. But Jean
Calder, Harry--Jean Calder help any man! Well, Providence may soften
her heart; but it is not in her nature.”
“She will give the money for her own profit,” said Harry; “no fear. I
will consult Mr. Lindsay, and we can offer her good interest. Then you
see, uncle, the advantage of it is, that we are her rightful heirs, and
she is a very old woman now.”
“Whisht, Harry; let me never hear the like of this again,” said his
uncle, gravely; “you are a young man now, but God may keep you to be an
old one. Never you reckon on the ending of a life, that it is in God’s
hand to spare or take away, and never grudge the air of this living
world--such as it is, we aye desire to breathe it lang ourselves--to
one that He keeps in it day by day, nourishing the auld worn-out heart
with breath and motion, for good ends of His ain. And, Harry, this
money is the woman’s life--I could not think of the chance of its
perishing without pain and trouble, for it would be a dreadful loss to
her--like the loss of a bairn.”
“Well, well, uncle, no chance of its being lost,” said Harry, somewhat
fretfully; “but will you speak to her when you go back to Ayr? will you
undertake to negociate this for me? I know she trusts you.”
“She trusts me just as other folk do, who have kent me tell few lies
all my lifetime,” said Uncle Sandy, “but as for more than this, Harry,
Jean Calder trusts no man. Well, I’ll tell her--I would not choose the
office, but since you ask me, I’ll tell her, Harry, and put it before
her in the best way I can. That you should have occupation, is a good
thought; and it’s well too to increase your substance--well, my man,
well; but you’ll need to be eident, and keep an eye yourself on every
thing--and even, Harry, you’ll need to learn.”
“Oh, yes, I’ll learn,” said Harry, “but the money, uncle, is the
important thing--there will be little difficulty with the rest.”
The old man shook his head.
“Have more regard to the difficulties, Harry--if you do so, you’ll
overcome them better; for mind ye, siller is sometimes maister, but
he’s easier to subdue and put your foot upon, than such things as
heart and mind and conscience. Harry, be canny; God sometimes appoints
us a hard school when we are slow of the uptake in an easy one. But you
need not gloom--auld men get license of advising, and ye mind how the
cottar ‘mixes a’ with admonition due.’”
“Yes,” said Harry laughing, “I am fated to have counsellors--for yonder
is our old Dragon who has no objection to give me the benefit of his
experience too.”
Alexander Muir slightly erected his white head with a single throb of
injured feeling; for with all his natural and gracious humility, he
did not choose to come down to the level of the poor old Dragon of
Allenders; but when a considerable silence followed, and Harry walking
by his side with a sullen gloom contracting the lines of his face, made
violent dashes now and then at groups of frightened poppies, or at the
lordly resistant thistle, the old man was the first to speak--for his
anxious friends could not venture to offend this indulged and wayward
Harry.
“The rough bur thistle spreading wide
Amang the bearded bear--”
said the old man quietly, “aye, Harry, my man, there were fine thoughts
in that grand castaway; and a sore thing it is to see how little great
gifts avail, and what shipwrecks folk may make with them--if this were
anything but the avenue and porch of the great lifetime, which we
forget so easy! I’ve been of little use myself, Harry, in my day and
generation--little use but to comfort the hearts of bairns, and give
them now and then an hour’s sunshine and pleasance--but you’re better
gifted both in mind and estate than I ever was. I make ye my depute,
Harry, to do better service to God and man than me.”
Oh, gentle, righteous heart! a sudden impulse of humility and
tenderness came upon Harry Muir’s impressible spirit. Better service!
yet this old man seemed to have lived for no other conscious end, than
the service of God and man.