you the Gaelic, though. Man, the Oa folk would a' been pleased if ye
could speak it."
The young man raised his eyebrows with a comical affectation of despair.
"Don't I wish I could!" he exclaimed. "But I'm not so ignorant as they
think. I know more than ten words of Gaelic. You fellows from the Oa
remember to tell that!"
There was a hearty laugh round the table. "By Jove, I will tell it,"
said Donald Neil, when the conversation had become general again, "I'll
tell Catchach!"
"Tell him what?" inquired Wee Andra.
"That the minister speaks Gaelic."
A shriek of laughter from those who heard greeted this announcement,
and Wee Andra thumped his chum upon the back in the exuberance of his
delight.
"Great head, Don!" he roared. "Catchach'll swallow him with joy before
he has time to deny it."
"Don Neil," cried Jessie, "you surely wouldn't play a trick on a
minister!"
"It would be fearful wicked," put in Sandy piously.
"He'll never know," laughed Donald. "We'll let Catchach foam a while
and then bring him down to earth before he does any damage."
"Well, a minister should be considered above such things," said Sarah
loftily.
"Not this minister," said Don with conviction, "he's able to take care
of himself. Eh, Andra?"
"You bet. There's nothin' o' the old hearse about him. He's jist like
the rest of us. It'll be a howlin' circus--" and he chuckled
prodigiously.
"If you boys are up to any mischief about the minister," warned Bella,
"I'll tell your father. Andra--Hish!"
For the minister had arisen and was returning thanks for the food of
which they had partaken. The noise was hushed and every head instantly
lowered.
The company broke up with the unanimous verdict that they had had a
grand time and that the new minister was beyond praise. The young man
walked up the hill with Flora McNabb in an equal state of satisfaction.
He had the pleasant assurance that his young flock liked him and he
felt sure he was going to be very happy in Glenoro. He wondered
laughingly what his fastidious Helen would say could she have seen him
playing "Blind Man's Buff" with Miss Duffy. He wrote her a very
laughable account of the affair before he retired, and went to bed to
dream that he and she lived in the little manse by the bend in the
river.
So the evening which Duncan Polite had prayed over so fervently came to
an end and, as the young shepherd of the flock slept peacefully in his
comfortable home in the valley, well pleased with himself and the
world, the old Watchman lay awake in his little shanty on the hilltop,
hoping and praying that the young servant of the Master had dropped
some words that would lead Donald and the young people of the Glen into
a higher and nobler life.
V
A PASTORAL VISITATION
No sooner was he settled in Glenoro than the young pastor commenced a
thorough and systematic course of visiting. He found it very slow
work, however, in spite of his activity. Each family of his flock vied
with the other in lavishing upon him its hospitality. He was detained
for nearly a day at each place, and dinners, teas and lunches, so many
and so elaborate, were forced upon him that he was divided between the
fear of giving offence by refusing to partake and the dread of becoming
a chronic dyspeptic.
His earliest visits, he felt, should be paid to the homes of his
elders, so, a few days after the lively evening spent at the
Hamiltons', he took his slim cane and went up over the northern wall of
Glenoro to pay his respects to old Andrew Johnstone. A somewhat
difficult task he knew it would be, for he had already been warned by
Mrs. McNabb that Splinterin' Andra was a dour old man. But he felt no
apprehensions; his sunny smile and his charming manner had often swept
away greater obstacles than this old fellow's crustiness. So he strode
along in high spirits, flicking the tops off the wayside weeds,
whistling a gay operatic air and incidentally wondering whether her
eyes were blue or grey.
When he climbed the northern hill of Glenoro and came out upon the
broad, sun-flooded highlands, he found that the country sloped gently
upwards, rising in great sweeping terraces of green pastureland and
fields of early grain, until it reached its highest altitude on the
shores of Lake Oro. Andrew Johnstone lived on the borderland between
the highlands and the lowlands; his house, a substantial red brick,
surrounded by orchards, stood on the edge of one of the wide terraces
and commanded a view of the country for miles around. Every step of
the way was a pleasure to the newcomer; the sky was dazzling and
unclouded, the air was intoxicating with the scent of clover, and the
tinkling music of the bobolinks sounded as though all the fairies on
the Oro hills were setting out their tiny cups and saucers for a
banquet.
He was strolling along, revelling in the beauty of the perfect day and
in the sight of the rich slopes of farm lands coming down towards him
like a magnificent staircase, when his attention was attracted by a
figure on the road ahead approaching with remarkable haste. It proved
to be a man, somewhat past middle age; he was of medium height and had
a fiery red beard which flew back from his face and accentuated the
general air of desperate hurry in his whole appearance.
His face was even redder than his beard, and his wild blue eyes blazed
out in fierce contrast. An old Scotch bonnet sat upon the side of his
head and a faded tartan plaid flying from his shoulders gave the
finishing touches to his fantastic appearance. This rather alarming
person was bearing down upon the young minister and he drew off to the
side of the road and grasped his stick more firmly. John Egerton did
not lack courage any more than his grandfather had done, but he felt it
would be scarcely ministerial to have a fight on the public highway the
first week of his pastorate. He had not been long enough in Glenoro to
recognise the fiery Highlander who kept the Oa in a ferment and who
went by the weird name of Catchach. Allister McBeth he really was,
but, with their usual avoidance of baptismal names, the neighbours had
given him a more descriptive title. He had earned it himself, for he
was named after the strange guttural sound which he was in the habit of
making deep in his throat, whenever his anger was roused. This was a
contingency which arose on an average once an hour and which, when in
the company of any mischief-loving youth of the village, became
Catchach's chronic state.
His pride was so fierce, and his temper so inflammable, that he was an
unfailing source of merriment, especially to the Neil boys and their
friends. There was not a kinder or tenderer heart in all the Ontario
Highlands than poor Catchach's, but he was always in the throes of a
feud with someone, for he loved a fight and might be said never to be
at peace except when he was at war.
It was this militant gentleman who was descending upon the unsuspecting
young clergyman, setting the stones and dust flying in his haste. But
there was no sign of war about him now, only a beaming peace and
goodwill. His eyes were shining, his mouth was expanded in a terrible
smile, displaying two rows of long, irregular, yellow teeth and his big
red hands were outstretched in greeting. He shouted when he was some
half-dozen yards distant, "They tell me you will pe hafing the Gaelic!"
"I--I am not quite sure that I understand you," said the grandson of
John McAlpine, coming to a standstill and wishing with all his heart
that his cane was not so slim.
"My name will pe McBess, Allister McBess!" cried the rubicund
personage, grasping a rather unwilling hand and shaking it wildly,
"Allister McBess, oh yes, inteet, an' they will pe telling me you will
pe a real Hielanman, though how coult a Hielanman pe hafing such a name
as Egerton, it is a missery to me, whatefer!"
There was no mistaking the good feeling in Catchach's beaming
countenance. John Egerton smiled and shook his hand in return. "I am
afraid there is a slight mistake," he answered cordially, "I can't
boast of being altogether Highland Scotch, and who has been telling you
I could speak Gaelic?" He pronounced it Galic and a change came over
Catchach's face.
"Tonal Neil, Tonal Neil, whatefer; he will pe saying the new minister
will pe Hielan' an' will pe hafing the beautiful Gaelic!"
The look of good-natured indulgence died from John Egerton's face at
the mention of Donald's name. The young man with the easy air of
equality had been taking liberties! "I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr.
McBess," he said stiffly, making the fatal error of failing to detect
McBeth in Catchach's lisp, "I am neither Highland Scotch nor can I
speak the Gaelic."
Catchach let go his coat; a quiver of mortal disappointment passed over
his face.
"And whoever has told you such falsehoods," continued the young man
with some heat, "is an untruthful mischiefmaker!"
Catchach's fiery countenance became rigid. He stepped back and stared
so wildly at the minister that the young man hastened to add for his
own personal safety, "But I have much Highland blood, you know, and
plenty of Lowland Scotch, too."
Alas! how little he knew of the spirit of the McBeth! "A Lowlander!"
It was all Catchach could utter, but the tone in which he said it
showed plainly that if Mr. Egerton had confessed to being a full-blood
native of the South Sea Islands it would have been infinitely better.
"A Lowlander!" repeated the Highlander with withering scorn, "Tonal
Neil, Tonal Neil will pe saying she would haf the Gaelic----" The rest
was lost to the ears of the despised Lowlander in a wild outpouring of
Gaelic as Catchach turned and went raging down the road to wreak
vengeance on the author of his disappointment.
The young minister continued on his way in great annoyance. Under any
other circumstances the humour of the situation would have appealed to
him, but the name of Donald Neil had driven away all the fun. In spite
of his free and easy manner, John Egerton was intensely sensitive about
his dignity as a minister, and to find himself the victim of a
practical joke at the hands of the most influential young man of his
congregation was anything but pleasant.
Had he seen the huge figure of young Andrew Johnstone disentangle
itself from the raspberry bushes by the roadside and steal quietly
along the edge of the field to where his idle team was standing, he
would have been still more incensed; and had he chanced to look back
when he reached the hilltop and noticed the same young man leaning
weakly against his horses and wiping the tears from his eyes, he would
have felt like administering a sound thrashing to at least two of the
young people of his congregation.
He arrived at the Johnstone household at a time when he was
particularly welcome to his host. Old Andrew had spent the early part
of the afternoon arguing with his son upon certain hard points of
doctrine. That a youth of Wee Andra's professions should presume to
give any sort of an opinion whatever upon the Shorter Catechism was, in
his father's eyes, nothing short of impious. But, as the young man was
of that class that rush in where angels fear to tread, he had given his
views on predestination without any hesitancy and had gone off to the
field leaving his father in a very bad humour. Wee Andra himself was
particularly happy, for he took an unfilial delight in troubling his
paternal relative. At heart he was respectful and dutiful and if any
one had dared to breathe a word against his father in his presence,
Splinterin' Andra's son would soon have shown himself worthy of his
sire's appellation; nevertheless, partly from love of fun and partly
through a good-natured stupidity, he proved a veritable thorn in the
flesh to his unhappy father. So old Andrew was looking forward to the
visit of his pastor with the hope that his example and admonition would
have a steadying effect upon his frivolous son. Like Duncan Polite,
the elder looked upon the young minister as the deliverer of the people
of Glenoro church from the spirit of worldliness which he felt
characterised them. So, when his daughter came to summon him to the
house to put on a coat and collar, as the minister had been sighted on
the road not half a mile away, he hurried in with great alacrity to
greet his visitor.
Tea at Elder Johnstone's was no light ceremony under any circumstances.
His was not a place where people went for relaxation and jollity,
except on the rare occasions when the old folks were away and Wee Andra
held sway. The young minister, anxious to please and be friendly, felt
from the moment he opened the gate and went up the path, where neat
beds of onions and cabbages encroached upon the very doorstep, that it
was going to be something of an ordeal.
His opinion did not alter when he found himself seated at the
well-laden table in the big spotless dining room. He could not help
contrasting the stiff formality with the ease and gaiety of the
Hamilton household. Old Andrew sat, stern and dignified, at the head
of the table. Ordinarily he was talkative, but on this evening he
restrained himself, for a gentleman of the old school did not consider
it good manners to talk too much in the presence of so superior a
person as the minister. At the other end of the table Mrs. Johnstone,
red-faced and anxious, bustled nervously with the new china cups and
saucers. Beside the minister sat Janet, the only daughter, a fair, shy
girl of sixteen, afraid to look up, and the son of the house sat
opposite in his shirtsleeves responding to Mr. Egerton's friendly
advances with monosyllabic answers, a puzzling contrast to his
uproarious geniality at their former meetings. Of course, John Egerton
could not guess that the young man was holding down his laughter by
superhuman efforts and could not afford to waste any strength upon
conversation.
There was a very depressing atmosphere over the whole table, but the
visitor had plenty of tact to overcome it. He put Mrs. Johnstone at
her ease by a cautiously worded compliment upon the repast, for he had
learned that a true Scotch woman must ever be approached warily with
flattery. He set Janet into a flutter of happiness by relating to her
a humourous account of some of his sister's attempts at housekeeping,
an art in which Janet was well versed, and he soon had her laughing at
the city girl's mistakes with quite a feeling of superiority. Wee
Andra was more difficult,--horses, foot-ball, farm work, music, he rose
to none of these baits. But he came to life in a most surprising
manner when, in dilating upon the beauties of Glenoro scenery, the
minister happened to mention the enjoyment he had experienced in his
afternoon walk up the green slopes.
This seemed to be the one topic in which the son of the house was
interested. He looked up suddenly and remarked, "Awful quiet road;
s'pose you didn't meet anybody?"
"Yes, I did meet a man," responded the other readily, glad at having
made an impression at last, "a man named McBess or some such name."
"McBeth it would be," said old Andrew, "Allister McBeth,--Catchach they
call him. He's a danderin' bit o' a firebrand."
"Were you speakin' to him?" Wee Andra shot out the question and took
refuge in a huge gulp of tea. John Egerton glanced across the table
quickly. He was beginning to suspect that Donald Neil's chum had had a
hand in this childish affair, but he was too wise to show any annoyance.
"I didn't get a chance to say much to him," he said, laughing good
naturedly; "he did the talking. He seemed to have become possessed of
the idea that I was past-master of the art of Gaelic, and when I
confessed my culpable ignorance of the language, he flew into a rage.
He seemed to lay the blame upon your friend, young McDonald." He
looked steadily at Wee Andra as he spoke.
Old Andrew shot a suspicious glance at his son; that young man's face
was an innocent blank which did not deceive his parent.
"Aye," he grunted, "it's quite likely he was to blame. Yon Neil lads
are aye up to some ill. Ye hae a hard set o' young people to deal wi'
in this place, Maister Egerton, an' Ah houp the Lord'll gie ye grace to
wrastle wi' them!"
Mr. Egerton looked uncomfortable. He saw quite plainly that, though
the Elder was addressing him, he was talking at his son, and tried to
turn the conversation. But old Andrew felt that here was an
opportunity to warn the new minister of the difficulties and dangers
which beset him, an opportunity no honourable man could let pass, so he
launched forth. He was perfectly innocent of any double meaning in his
words, but as he railed away against the lightness and giddiness of the
rising generation, the young minister felt his indignation rising. Did
this old man mean to point out to him the proper line of conduct? If
so, he would soon let him see that John McAlpine Egerton would be
dictated to by no man of his congregation, no more than would his
grandfather before him! But Splinterin' Andra sailed on and when he
had finished he had given the young pastor a dark and most discouraging
picture of the youth of his flock.
"Aye, sir," he concluded, "they're jist given over to lichtness an'
foolish talkin'. It's the blue beech gad they want; they didna get
enough o't when they were bairns. Ah'm pleased that ye're come among
them to show them a proper way o' conductin' themsels!"
Wee Andra cast a humorous glance at the uncomfortable visitor. He had
his own opinion as to whether his pastor was a model of staid and sober
conduct and was, in consequence, enjoying his father's tirade hugely.
John Egerton was very much relieved when the meal was ended, but the
feeling was of short duration, for when they repaired to the parlour
matters grew steadily worse. The appearance of the room with its black
haircloth furniture, its bristling white lace curtains, its
coffin-plate of a former Mrs. Johnstone in a black frame on the centre
table, its smooth white walls adorned with strange and wonderfully
constructed hair and feather wreaths in huge frames, and over all the
close, damp odour, made a combination which was anything but cheerful.
The family followed him into the parlour and seated themselves stiffly
around the walls. Kirsty McDuff, the servant girl, and Jimmie Bailey,
the chore boy, entered also a few minutes later. The young minister
noticed, with something of the sensations of a felon going to his
execution, that each person held a Bible and Psalm Book, distributed
solemnly by Mrs. Johnstone as they entered, and that Janet and the
Bailey boy were further provided with catechisms. He glanced at the
daughter of the house and pictured himself sitting before the whole
household inquiring after her spiritual welfare. The comical side of
it struck him and almost upset his gravity.
But there was very little food for mirth in the task before him. He
had no idea of what a pastoral visitation meant to the Johnstones. Of
course, he had heard very often of the strange old ways of his
grandfather's time, but considered them as belonging to the dim past.
But Glenoro had not quite emerged from the ancient ways. In the good
old days, so lately gone, when Mr. Cameron had visited the members of
his congregation, a pastoral visitation was not merely a social
function, but a solemn religious ceremony. The minister might discuss
with the heads of the family such light matters as the crops or the
weather before or during tea; but afterwards, when the family gathered
in the best room with their pastor in the midst, temporal affairs were
put aside and there was a season of deep heart-searching. There were
the Catechism and Scripture verses to be heard from the younger members
of the family and personal questions to be asked. The minister must
know just what progress each one was making on the upward road. There
were virtues to commend and mistakes to rebuke. Then, after the
reading of a chapter from the Book and the singing of a psalm, there
were a few deep, earnest words from the pastor, words which steadied
many a careless youth and instilled into the hearts of the children the
knowledge that God and Right are the only factors to be reckoned with
in this world. The ceremony was concluded with a long and fervent
prayer by the minister, as old and young knelt around the family altar,
a prayer which included a distinct comprehensive petition for each
member of the family and one from which they all arose strengthened and
bettered and ready for the battle against wrong.
Still more solemn had been the visitations of John Egerton's
grandfather. That grand old apostle lived in the hard, rough days, and
his coming was often looked forward to with dread. His scorching
rebuke of sin, his powerful personality and his complete consecration
combined to make his visits a sort of foreshadowing of the great
judgment day.
But John McAlpine Egerton belonged to a different era. He honestly
wanted to do his duty, but his duty on this occasion, he felt,
consisted in making himself agreeable to the Johnstone family, not
knowing that the head of the household cared not a whit how
disagreeable his pastor might be so long as he was solemn. The old
man, ashamed of his harsh remarks, was silent and moody. His young
pastor's interests were his own and he had spoken from the highest
motives. But he sighed when he thought how much better Duncan Polite
would have dealt with the situation. Wee Andra was the only one who
was quite at his ease; he seemed to realise that this pastoral
visitation was something less rigid than former affairs of the sort,
and chewed a straw with unconscious impudence. Mrs. Johnstone talked a
little, but nervously and in an absent-minded manner, fearing that
every word she uttered was keeping the minister from giving voice to
the solemn truths he was waiting to pour forth. Janet sat on the
extreme edge of the sofa, her hands folded, her golden head drooping
and the unhappy young pastor sat at the other end and made desperate
efforts to raise the social atmosphere.
He spoke kindly to Kirsty, a tall, fine-looking girl, very much more
composed than the daughter of the house; and he asked Jimmie Bailey
about the calves and the lambs, wondering all the while at the
oppressive silence. Then he turned to Janet and tried to open up a
conversation with her. He had noticed that the stern visage of the
ruling elder relaxed almost into tenderness whenever his eye fell upon
his daughter and the wily young man guessed that he might reach the
father's heart through her. He inquired if Janet played the organ,
and, learning that she did, he requested her to favour them with some
music.
"Go on, Jinny," said her brother with suspicious heartiness, "give us a
rousin' old jig."
Janet glanced at her mother in alarm. To play the organ when the
minister was making a pastoral call was surely not to be thought of.
But her mother nodded, as Mr. Egerton insisted, and the girl went
reluctantly forward, feeling as if she were guilty of sacrilege. She
stumbled awkwardly through a loud, noisy march, which made the visitor
want to grind his teeth, and as she finished Wee Andra came to life
again.
"Won't you sing something, Mr. Egerton?" he asked cordially. "He can
sing jist boss, father; you ought to hear him."
Old Andrew drew in a deep breath, but made no reply. The minister
demurred at first, but finally yielded. If there was anything in the
old adage that "music hath charms," he told himself grimly that now was
the time to put it to the test. He took up a hymn book and selected a
hymn Janet could play. The leader of the Methodist Choir condescended
to flop down noisily from his oblique position and join him. Janet's
sweet, timid voice made a pleasant third and the trio rendered some
gospel hymns very musically.
When they had finished Wee Andra begged so hard for a song that the
visitor could not well refuse and, taking Janet's place at the organ,
he played and sang "Sailing" in splendid style. Jimmie Bailey, who was
always threatening to run away on a Lake Huron boat, was enchanted and
called for more, but something in the elder's face warned the young
minister that he had sung enough. He went back to his uncomfortable
seat on the sofa and strove to carry on a conversation, but without
success.