you plainly, for my heart has ever gone forth to you. For long years I
found no favour in the eyes of the Church, and it seemed likely I would
be rejected from the ministry as a man useless and unprofitable. How
could I attempt to win the love of any maiden, since it did not appear
to be the will of God that I should ever have a place of habitation?
It consisted not with honour, for I do hold firmly that no man hath any
right to seek unto himself a wife till he have a home."
"But . . ."
"Afterwards, you would say. Ah, John! then had I become old and
unsightly, not such a one as women could care for. It would have been
cruel to tie a maid for life to one who might only be forty years in
age, but was as seventy in his pilgrimage, and had fallen into unlovely
habits."
Then the Rabbi turned on Carmichael his gentle eyes, that were shining
with tears.
"It will be otherwise with you, and so let it be. May I live to see
you rejoicing with the wife of your youth!"
So it came to pass that it was to this unlikely man Carmichael told his
love for Kate Carnegie and what like Kate was, and he was amazed at the
understanding of the Rabbi, as well as his sympathy and toleration.
"A maid of spirit--and that is an excellent thing; and any excess will
be tamed by life. Only see to it that ye agree in that which lieth
beneath all churches and maketh souls one in God. May He prosper you
in your wooing as He did the patriarch Jacob, and far more abundantly!"
Very early in the morning Carmichael awoke, and being tempted by the
sunrise, arose and went downstairs. As he came near the study door he
heard a voice in prayer, and knew that the Rabbi had been all night in
intercession.
"Thou hast denied me wife and child; deny me not Thyself. . . . A
stranger Thou hast made me among men; refuse me not a place in the
City. . . . Deal graciously with this lad who has been to me as a son
in the Gospel. . . . He has not despised an old man; put not his heart
to confusion. . . ."
Carmichael crept upstairs again, but not to sleep, and at breakfast he
pledged the Rabbi to come up some day and see Kate Carnegie.
THE RABBI AS CONFESSOR
One day Carmichael, who had quarrelled with Kate over Mary Queen of
Scots and had lost hope, came to a good resolution suddenly, and went
down to see Rabbi Saunderson--the very thought of whose gentle,
patient, selfless life was a rebuke and a tonic.
When two tramps held conference on the road, and one indicated to the
other visibly that any gentleman in temporary distress would be treated
after a Christian fashion at a neighbouring house, Carmichael, who had
been walking in a dream since he passed the Lodge, knew instantly that
he must be near the Free Kirk manse of Kilbogie. The means of
communication between the members of the nomadic profession is almost
perfect in its frequency and accuracy, and Saunderson's manse was a
hedge-side word. Not only did all the regular travellers by the north
road call on their going up in spring and their coming down in autumn,
but habitués of the east coast route were attracted and made a circuit
to embrace so hospitable a home, and even country vagrants made their
way from Dunleith and down through Glen Urtach to pay their respects to
the Rabbi. They had particular directions to avoid Barbara--expressed
in cypher on five different posts in the vicinity, and enforced in
picturesque language, of an evening--and they were therefore careful to
waylay the Rabbi on the road, or enter his study boldly from the front.
The humbler members of the profession contented themselves with
explaining that they had once been prosperous tradesmen, and were now
walking to Muirtown in search of work--receiving their alms in silence,
with diffidence and shame; but those in a higher walk came to consult
the Rabbi on Bible difficulties, which were threatening to shake their
faith, and departed much relieved--with a new view of Lot's wife, as
well as a suit of clothes the Rabbi had only worn three times.
"You have done kindly by me in calling"--the vagabond had finished his
story and was standing, a very abject figure, among the books--"and in
giving me the message from your friend. I am truly thankful that he is
now labouring--in iron, did you say?--and I hope he may be a cunning
artificer.
"You will not set it down to carelessness that I cannot quite recall
the face of your friend, for, indeed, it is my privilege to see many
travellers, and there are times when I may have been a minister to them
on their journeys, as I would be to you also if there be anything in
which I can serve you. It grieves me to say that I have no clothing
that I might offer you; it happens that a very worthy man passed here a
few days ago most insufficiently clad and . . . but I should not have
alluded to that; my other garments, save what I wear, are . . . kept in
a place of . . . safety by my excellent housekeeper, and she makes
their custody a point of conscience; you might put the matter before
her. . . . Assuredly it would be difficult, and I crave your pardon
for putting you in an . . . embarrassing position; it is my misfortune
to have to-day neither silver nor gold,"--catching sight of Carmichael
in the passage, "This is a Providence. May I borrow from you, John,
some suitable sum for our brother here who is passing through
adversity?"
[Illustration: "SOME SUITABLE SUM FOR OUR BROTHER HERE WHO IS PASSING
THROUGH ADVERSITY"]
"Do not be angry with me, John"--after the tramp had departed, with
five shillings in hand and much triumph over Carmichael on his
face--"nor speak bitterly of our fellow-men. Verily theirs is a hard
lot who have no place to lay their head, and who journey in weariness
from city to city. John, I was once a stranger and a wayfarer,
wandering over the length and breadth of the land. Nor had I a friend
on earth till my feet were led to the Mains, where my heart was greatly
refreshed, and now God has surrounded me with young men of whose
kindness I am not worthy; wherefore it becometh me to show mercy unto
others"; and the Rabbi looked at Carmichael with such sweetness that
the lad's sullenness began to yield, although he made no sign.
"Moreover," and the Rabbi's voice took a lower tone, "as often as I
look on one of those men of the highways, there cometh to me a vision
of Him who was an outcast of the people, and albeit some may be as
Judas, peradventure one might beg alms of me, a poor sinful man, some
day, and lo it might be . . . the Lord himself in a saint"; and the
Rabbi bowed his head and stood awhile much moved.
"Rabbi," after a pause, during which Carmichael's face had changed,
"you are incorrigible. For years we have been trying to make you a
really good and wise man, both by example and precept, and you are
distinctly worse than when we began--more lazy, miserly, and
uncharitable. It is very disheartening.
"Can you receive another tramp and give him a bed? for I am in low
spirits, and so, like every other person in trouble, I come to you, you
dear old saint, and already I feel a better man."
"Receive you, John? It is doubtless selfish, but it is not given to
you to know how I weary to see your faces, and we shall have much
converse together--there are some points I would like your opinion
on--but first of all, after a slight refreshment, we must go to Mains:
behold the aid to memory I have designed"--and the Rabbi pointed to a
large square of paper hung above Chrysostom, with "Farewell, George
Pitillo, 3 o'clock." "He is the son's son of my benefactor, and he
leaves his father's house this day to go into a strange land across the
sea: I had a service last night at Mains, and expounded the departure
of Abraham, but only slightly, being somewhat affected through the
weakness of the flesh. There was a covenant made between the young man
and myself, that I should meet him at the crossing of the roads to-day,
and it is in my mind to leave a parable with him against the power of
this present world."
Then the Rabbi fell into a meditation till the dog-cart came up, Mains
and his wife in the front and George alone in the back, making a brave
show of indifference.
"George," said the Rabbi, looking across the field and speaking as to
himself, "we shall not meet again in this world, and in a short space
they will bury me in Kilbogie kirkyard, but it will not be in me to lie
still for thinking of the people I have loved. So it will come to pass
that I may rise--you have ears to understand, George--and I will
inquire of him that taketh charge of the dead about many and how it
fares with them."
[Illustration: "WE SHALL NOT MEET AGAIN IN THIS WORLD."]
"And George Pitillo, what of him, Andrew?
"'Oh, it's a peety you didna live langer, Mr. Saunderson, for George
hes risen in the warld and made a great fortune.'
"How does it go with his soul, Andrew?
"'Well, you see, Mister Saunderson, George hes hed many things to think
about, and he maybe hasna hed time for releegion yet, but nae doot
he'll be turnin' his mind that wy soon.'
"Poor George, that I baptized and admitted to the Sacrament and . . .
loved: exchanged his soul for the world."
The sun was setting fast, and the landscape--bare stubble-fields,
leafless trees, still water, long, empty road--was of a blood-red
colour fearsome to behold, so that no one spake, and the horse chafing
his bit made the only sound.
Then the Rabbi began again.
"And George Pitillo--tell me, Andrew?
"'Weel, ye see, Mister Saunderson, ye wud be sorry for him, for you and
he were aye chief; he's keepit a gude name an' workit hard, but hesna
made muckle o' this warld.'
"And his soul, Andrew?
"'Oo, that's a' richt; gin we a' hed as gude a chance for the next
warld as George Pitillo we micht be satisfied.'
"That is enough for his old friend; hap me over again, Andrew, and I'll
rest in peace till the trumpet sound."
Carmichael turned aside, but he heard something desperately like a sob
from the back of the dog-cart, and the Rabbi saying, "God be with you,
George, and as your father's father received me in the day of my sore
discouragement, so may the Lord God of Israel open a door for you in
every land whithersoever you go, and bring you in at last through the
gates into the city." The Rabbi watched George till the dog-cart faded
away into the dusk of the winter's day, and they had settled for the
night in their places among the books before the Rabbi spoke.
It was with a wistful tenderness that he turned to Carmichael and
touched him slightly with his hand, as was a fashion with the Rabbi.
"You will not think me indifferent to your welfare because I have not
inquired about your affairs, for indeed this could not be, but the
going forth of this lad has tried my heart. Is there aught, John, that
it becometh you to tell me, and wherein my years can be of any avail?"
"It is not about doctrine I wished to speak to you, Rabbi, although I
am troubled thus also, but about . . . you remember our talk."
"About the maid--surely; I cannot forget her, and indeed often think of
her since the day you brought me to her house and made me known unto
her, which was much courtesy to one who is fitter for a book-room than
a woman's company.
"She is fair of face and hath a pleasant manner, and surely beauty and
a winsome way are from God; there seemed also a certain contempt of
baseness and a strength of will which are excellent. Perhaps my
judgment is not even because Miss Carnegie was gracious to me, and you
know, John, it is not in me to resist kindness, but this is how she
seems to me. Has there been trouble between you?"
"Do not misunderstand me, Rabbi; I have not spoken one word of love to
. . . Miss Carnegie, nor she to me; but I love her, and I thought that
perhaps she saw that I loved her. But now it looks as if . . . what I
hoped is never to be"; and Carmichael told how Kate had risen and left
the Church in hot wrath because he had compared Queen Mary to Jezebel.
"Is it not marvellous," mused the Rabbi, looking into the fire, "how
one woman, who was indeed at the time little more than a girl, did
carry men, many of them wise and clever, away as with a flood, and
still divideth scholars and even . . . friends?
"It was not fitting that Miss Carnegie should have left God's house in
heat of temper, and it seemeth to us that she hath a wrong reading of
history, but it is surely good that she hath her convictions, and
holdeth them fast like a brave maid.
"Is it not so, John, that friends, and doubtless also . . . lovers,
have been divided by conscience, and have been on opposite sides in the
great conflict, and doth not this show how much of conscience there is
among men?
"It may be this dispute will not divide you--being now, as it were,
more an argument of the schools than a matter of principle--but if it
should appear that you are far apart on the greater matters of faith,
then . . . you will have a heavy cross to carry. But it is my mind
that the heart of the maiden is right, and that I may some day see her
. . . in your home, whereat my eyes would be glad."
The Rabbi was so taken up with the matter that he barely showed
Carmichael a fine copy of John of Damascus he had secured from London,
and went out of his course at worship to read, as well as to expound
with much feeling, the story of Ruth the Moabitess, showing
conclusively that she had in her a high spirit, and that she was
designed of God to be a strength to the house of David. He was also
very cheerful in the morning, and bade Carmichael good-bye at Tochty
woods with encouraging words. He also agreed to assist his boy at the
Drumtochty sacrament.
It was evident that the Rabbi's mind was much set on this visit, but
Carmichael did not for one moment depend upon his remembering the day,
and so Burnbrae started early on the Saturday with his dog-cart to
bring Saunderson up and deposit him without fail in the Free Kirk manse
of Drumtochty. Six times that day did the minister leave his "action"
sermon and take his way to the guest-room, carrying such works as might
not be quite unsuitable for the old scholar's perusal, and arranging a
lamp of easy management, that the night hours might not be lost. It
was late in the afternoon before the Rabbi was delivered at the manse,
and Burnbrae gave explanations next day at the sacramental dinner.
"It wes just ten when a' got tae the manse o' Kilbogie, an' his
hoosekeeper didna ken whar her maister wes; he micht be in Kildrummie
by that time, she said, or half-wy tae Muirtown. So a' set oot an'
ransackit the parish till a' got him, an' gin he wesna sittin' in a
bothie takin' brose wi' the plowmen, an' expoundin' Scripture a' the
time.
"He startit on the ancient martyrs afore we were half a mile on the
road, and he gied ae testimony aifter anither, an' he wesna within
sicht o' the Reformation when we cam' tae the hooses; a'll no deny that
a' let the mare walk bits o' the road, for a' cud hae heard him a'
nicht; ma bluid's warmer yet, freends."
The Rabbi arrived in great spirits, and refused to taste meat till he
had stated the burden of his sermon for the morrow.
"If the Lord hath opened our ears the servant must declare what has
been given him, but I prayed that the message sent through me to your
flock, John, might be love. It hath pleased the Great Shepherd that I
should lead the sheep by strange paths, but I desired that it be
otherwise when I came for the first time to Drumtochty.
"Two days did I spend in the woods, for the stillness of winter among
the trees leaveth the mind disengaged for the Divine word, and the
first day my soul was heavy as I returned, for this only was laid upon
me, 'vessels of wrath, fitted to destruction.' And, John, albeit God
would doubtless have given me strength according to His will, yet I was
loath to bear this awful truth to the people of your charge.
"Next day the sun was shining pleasantly in the wood, and it came to me
that clouds had gone from the face of God, and as I wandered among the
trees a squirrel sat on a branch within reach of my hand and did not
flee. Then I heard a voice, 'I have loved thee with an everlasting
love, therefore with loving-kindness have I drawn thee.'
"It was, in an instant, my hope that this might be God's word by me,
but I knew not it was so till the Evangel opened up on all sides, and I
was led into the outgoings of the eternal love after so moving a
fashion that I dared to think that grace might be effectual even with
me . . . with me.
"God opened my mouth on Sabbath on this text unto my own flock, and the
word was not void. It is little that can be said on sovereign love in
two hours and it may be a few minutes; yet even this may be more than
your people are minded to bear. So I shall pretermit certain notes on
doctrine; for you will doubtless have given much instruction on the
purposes of God, and very likely may be touching on that mystery in
your action sermon."
During the evening the Rabbi was very genial--tasting Sarah's viands
with relish, and comparing her to Rebekah, who made savoury meat,
urging Carmichael to smoke without scruple, and allowing himself to
snuff three times, examining the bookshelves with keen appreciation,
and finally departing with three volumes of modern divinity under his
arm, to reinforce the selection in his room, "lest his eyes should be
held waking in the night watches." He was much overcome by the care
that had been taken for his comfort, and at the door of his room blest
his boy: "May the Lord give you the sleep of His beloved, and
strengthen you to declare all His truth on the morrow." Carmichael sat
by his study fire for a while and went to bed much cheered, nor did he
dream that there was to be a second catastrophe in the Free Kirk of
Drumtochty which would be far sadder than the offending of Miss
Carnegie about Mary Queen of Scots, and would leave in one heart
lifelong regret.
THE FEAR OF GOD
It was the way of the Free Kirk that the assisting minister at the
Sacrament should sit behind the Communion Table during the sermon, and
the congregation, without giving the faintest sign of observation,
could estimate its effect on his face. When Dr. Dowbiggin composed
himself to listen as became a Church leader of substantial build--his
hands folded before him and his eyes fixed on the far window--and was
so arrested by the opening passage of Cunningham's sermon on
Justification by Faith that he visibly started, and afterwards sat
sideways with his ears cocked, Drumtochty, while doubtful whether any
Muirtown man could appreciate the subtlety of their minister, had a
higher idea of the Doctor; and when the Free Kirk minister of
Kildrummie--a stout man and given to agricultural pursuits--went fast
asleep under a masterly discussion of the priesthood of Melchizedek,
Drumtochty's opinion of the intellectual condition of Kildrummie was
confirmed beyond argument.
During his ministry of more than twenty years the Rabbi had never
preached at Drumtochty--being fearful that he might injure the minister
who invited him, or that he might be so restricted in time as to lead
astray by ill-balanced statements--and as the keenest curiosity would
never have induced any man to go from the Glen to worship in another
parish, the Free Kirk minister of Kilbogie was still unjudged in
Drumtochty. They were not sorry to have the opportunity at last, for
they had suffered not a little at the hands of Kilbogie in past years,
and the coming event disturbed the flow of business at Muirtown market.
"Ye're tae hae the Doctor at laist," Mains said to Netherton--letting
the luck-penny on a transaction in seed-corn stand over--"an' a'm
jidgin' the time's no been lost. He's plainer an' easier tae follow
then he wes at the affgo. Ma word"--contemplating the exercise before
the Glen--"but ye'll aye get eneuch here and there tae cairry hame."
Which shows what a man the Rabbi was, that on the strength of his
possession a parish like Kilbogie could speak after this fashion to
Drumtochty.
"He'll hae a fair trial, Mains"--Netherton's tone was distinctly
severe--"an' mony a trial he's hed in his day, they say: wes't
three-an'-twenty kirks he preached in afore ye took him? But mind ye,
length's nae standard in Drumtochty; na, na, it's no hoo muckle wind a
man hes, but what like is the stuff that comes. It's bushels doon bye,
but it's wecht up bye."
Any prejudice against the Rabbi, created by the boasting of a foolish
parish not worthy of him, was reduced by his venerable appearance
before the pulpit, and quite dispelled by his unfeigned delight in
Carmichael's conduct of the "preliminaries." Twice he nodded approval
to the reading of the hundredth Psalm, and although he stood with
covered face during the prayer, he emerged full of sympathy. As his
boy read the fifty-third of Isaiah the old man was moved well-nigh to
tears, and on the giving out of the text, from the parable of the
Prodigal Son, the Rabbi closed his eyes with great expectation, as one
about to be fed with the finest of the wheat.
Carmichael has kept the sermon unto this day, and as often as he finds
himself growing hard or supercilious, reads it from beginning to end.
It is his hair-shirt, to be worn from time to time next his soul for
the wrongness in it and the mischief it did. He cannot understand how
he could have said such things on a Sacrament morning and in the
presence of the Rabbi, but indeed they were inevitable. When two tides
meet there is ever a cruel commotion, and ships are apt to be dashed on
the rocks, and Carmichael's mind was in a "jabble" that day. The new
culture, with its wider views of God and man, was fighting with the
robust Calvinism in which every Scot is saturated, and the result was
neither peace nor charity. Personally the lad was kindly and
good-natured; intellectually he had become arrogant, intolerant, acrid,
flinging out at old-fashioned views, giving quite unnecessary
challenges, arguing with imaginary antagonists. It has ever seemed to
me, although I suppose that history is against me, that if it be laid
on any one to advocate a new view that will startle people, he ought of
all men to be conciliatory and persuasive; but Carmichael was, at least
in this time of fermentation, very exasperating and pugnacious, and so
he drove the Rabbi to the only hard action of his life, wherein the old
man suffered most, and which may be said to have led to his death.
Carmichael, like the Rabbi, had intended to preach that morning on the
love of God, and thought he was doing so with some power. What he did
was to take the Fatherhood of God and use it as a stick to beat
Pharisees with, and under Pharisees it appeared as if he included every
person who still believed in the inflexible action of the moral laws
and the austere majesty of God. Many good things he no doubt said, but
each had an edge, and it cut deeply into people of the old school. Had
he seen the Rabbi, it would not have been possible for him to continue;
but he only was conscious of Lachlan Campbell, with whom he had then a
feud, and who, he imagined, had come to criticise him. So he went on
his rasping way that Sacrament morning, as when one harrows the spring
earth with iron teeth, exciting himself with every sentence to fresh
crudities of thought and extravagances of opposition. But it only
flashed on him that he had spoken foolishly when he came down from the
pulpit, and found the Rabbi a shrunken figure in his chair before the
Holy Table.
Discerning people, like Elspeth Macfadyen, saw the whole tragedy from
beginning to end, and felt the pity of it keenly, For a while the Rabbi
waited with fond confidence--for was not he to hear the best-loved of
his boys?--and he caught eagerly at a gracious expression, as if it had
fallen from one of the fathers. Anything in the line of faith would
have pleased the Rabbi that day, who was as a little child, and full of
charity, in spite of his fierce doctrines. By-and-by the light died
away from his eyes as when a cloud comes over the face of the sun and
the Glen grows cold and dreary. He opened his eyes and was amazed,
looking at the people and questioning them what had happened to their
minister. Suddenly he flushed as a person struck by a friend, and
then, as one blow followed another, he covered his face with both
hands, sinking lower and lower in his chair, till even that decorous
people were almost shaken in their attention.