Nathan noted my movements. 'Can I help ye, Maister Weelum, or is there
ocht I can do to mak' ye comfortable? Betty'll no' be lang till she's
wi' ye. She's busy the noo, an' she sent me up to keep ye cheery till
her wark was dune.'
I looked at him and saw he was quite serious, so I concluded that,
decent, well-meaning man though he was, he was no humorist.
'Ay, Nathan,' I said, after I had thought over the situation, 'I have no
doubt your intentions are all right. Invalids ought to be kept cheery,
as you call it; but'----
'Ye admit, then, that ye _are_ an invalid, Maister Weelum?'
'Well, Nathan, I'm afraid I must admit that.'
'Ay, man--imphm! so far, so guid. Ye ken, sir, there _are_ some fouk
that'll no' gi'e in when ocht ails them. There was Cairneyheid, for
instance. Did ye ken him? No--imphm! it doesna maitter. Weel, Cairnie,
as we ca'd him for short, had farmed on the Alton rig a' his days. The
rig lies high, an there's aye plenty o' guid fresh air up yonder, and
Cairnie never in his life had had even a sair heid. But, dod, sir, ae
day, after his denner, he quately slippit to the flaer, an' couldna get
up again. Weel, he sat there till aboot hauf six withoot sayin' a single
damn, an' if ye kenned Cairnie an' his weys ye could understaun that
that gied his women-fouk a glauff. Weel, suddenly he lookit up an' asked
for a gless o' whisky, an' they thocht frae that that he was better. He
did kind o' revive after his dram, an' wi' nae sma' trauchle they got
him to his bed. Next mornin' he was dreich o' risin', an' when he got to
his breakfast he couldna eat, an' still he didna sweer, so they sent
awa' doon for the doctor. Weel, whenever the doctor cam' an' saw him he
ordered him at aince to be put in his bed. "Bed!" said Cairnie. "Bed in
the guid daylicht! I think I see mysel'! I never in a' my life gaed to
my bed except at nicht an' to sleep, an' I'm no' gaun the noo;" an' he
got up oot o' his chair in spite o' them. "I'm awa' up to the high field
to see hoo they're gettin' on wi' the turnip-shawin'," he said; an'
withoot dug or stick he oot o' the hoose. Hooever he got the length o'
the field guidness only kens, but there he got. "Hurry on, men," he
said; "dinna be feart to bend your backs in guid shawin' weather like
this. The pits'll a' be ready afore ye're ready for them;" an' he
lifted a knife to gi'e them a haun. He pu'd a turnip, an' was juist gaun
to whang off the shaw, when doon he drappit in the middle o' the drill
as deid as Abel.'
Nathan relit his pipe, which had gone out during the narrative. 'Ay,' he
continued, as he puffed audibly, 'it was a very big funeral, was
Cairnie's. He was buried in Dalgarnock--a damp, douth place to lie in,
in my estimation. No' that it maitters muckle, I daur say; but
still'----
'Whae's this ye're on, Nathan?' said Betty, who had entered the room
unobserved.
'Oh, naebody parteeklar, Betty. I'm juist ca'in' the crack as ye telt
me, an' keepin' Maister Weelum here cheery till ye come up;' and he
rose, with a sigh of relief, from his chair, sidled toward the door, and
went cautiously downstairs.
When I heard him safely round the 'sherp' turn on the staircase I looked
at the sonsie, kindly face of my old nurse. 'Oh my dear Betty, I am glad
to see you!' I said with fervour.
'Hoo's that, noo, Maister Weelum?' and she gave a wee bit pleased laugh.
'Ha'e ye been missin' me? Has Nathan no' been ca'in' the crack?'
'Yes, Betty, I have been missing you, and Nathan _has_ been ca'in' the
crack; but, Betty'--and I lowered my voice--'he's been in kirk-yards all
the time.'
'Ah, is that so?' she sympathetically asked. 'I'm sorry, noo, to ken
that. He must ha'e been workin' among leaf-mould the day.'
'He was, Betty; he told me so.'
'That accoonts for it, Maister Weelum. Nathan's awfu' queer that wey;
but, puir falla, he canna help it; an' then ye ken he means sae terribly
weel. I'm awfu' sorry, though, if his crack has depressed ye. Ye're
juist a wee bittie doon i' the mooth the noo, an' ye'll be easily putten
aboot; but keep your pecker up, like a guid laddie, an' ye'll soon be
better in health an' better in spirits. Efter a', an' when a''s
considered, ye've a lot to be thankfu' for. Mony a yin wad gladly change
places wi' ye. It's a gey hard, step-motherly kind o' world this for
some folk; but you--weel, I wad say ye've your fu' share o' blessin's.'
I looked keenly toward her while she was speaking. 'You are perfectly
right, my dear Betty,' I said. 'I have my full share of blessings, and
every reason to be thankful and grateful. Why, Betty, when I think of
it, it is a downright sin in me to allow myself to become depressed. It
would be much more to the purpose were I to bestir myself and do all I
can to help others, whose share of the good things is less, and whose
burdens are greater. By the way, Betty, were you crying downstairs about
half-an-hour ago?'
'No, Maister Weelum, I was not cryin'.'
'Strange,' I said; 'I was sure I heard some one sobbing.'
Betty stooped down and poked the smoking coals into glowing flame. Then
she pulled down my window-blind and drew the curtains together. 'Oh,
you're quite richt; you dootless did hear greetin', but it wasna me;'
and she sat down again and unrolled her knitting, but she didn't ply her
needles.
'D'ye mind,' she continued after a long pause,' you an' me speakin'
aboot Tom Jardine the grocer, oor next-door neebor, ye ken?'
'Perfectly, Betty,' I replied; and at mention of his name I saw in my
mind's eye a rain-swept courtyard, a haggard, worried face, and a
golden-haired bairn. Intuitively I saw more--troubles, big mental
troubles which crush the heart and soul out of a man. Oh! I hadn't
forgotten.
'Weel,' she continued, a tremor in her voice, 'it was Tom Jardine's wife
that was greetin' in the kitchen, an' I'm juist dyin' to speak to you,
for what she has telt me is lyin' at my he'rt like a stane. Are ye weel
enough, think ye, to be bothered listenin'?'
'My dear Betty, where two old friends like you and Tom Jardine are
concerned, nothing is, or can be, a bother; so proceed, if you please.'
She began to knit, then stopped and counted her stitches, while I filled
and lit my pipe.
'Little mair than a week bygane,' she began, 'I was in Tom's shop for
some odds and ends, and when he was servin' me, says he, "Mrs Hebron, I
fully expected to be able to clear off ten pounds of that auld balance
this back-end term; but I'm beginning to be feart that'll no' be
possible." The balance he referred to, Maister Weelum, was thirty
pounds--half o' the sixty Nathan an' me loaned his faither. Ye mind I
telt ye aboot that?'
I nodded.
'"Weel, Tom," says I,' she continued, '"that's a' richt. Don't fash your
mind aboot that." "But, Mrs Hebron," says he, "I canna help worryin'
aboot it. I'm very sorry indeed, an' I trust my no' payin' ye the noo
will no' put ye aboot?" "Not in the slichtest, Tom," says I; "mak' your
time my time. I ken what ye've set your face to do, an' I couldna wish
ye better luck in your endeavour if ye were my ain bairn." His he'rt
filled, puir laddie, an' he thanked me, an' he began to tell me what a
bother he had in gettin' in his money. He showed me twae accoonts, yin
for fifty pounds an' anither for sixty-five, that have been lyin' oot
for mair than a year. It seems that when he was in that big warehoose in
Glesca he had some experience in the seed line, an', havin' a guid
connection wi' groceries among the farmers roond aboot here, it struck
him he could, wi' little mair expense, work the twae very profitably
thegither. Weel, he started to do this, an' in the last twal'months he
has selled an awfu' lot. But it appears that seed rins to money quickly,
an' the twae accoonts ootlyin', an' aboot which he was so anxious, are,
as it were, in this department. The want o' this money has keepit him
very ticht, an' he's been aff baith his meat an' his sleep ower the heid
o't. Weel, to mak' a lang story short, the farmers ha'e baith failed.
Tom got word yesterday, an', as it's thocht they're gey bad failures,
an' very little ootcome expected, he's nearly demented. He has gane ower
his books, an' he sees he can pey twenty shillin's in the pound; but, to
do that, it means handin' ower his stock, furniture, an' hoose, an'
he'll come oot o't wi' nocht but the claes on his back. His wife, puir
lassie, was in the nicht tellin' me a' aboot it. It was her ye heard
greetin'. She has keepit a stoot he'rt an' a smilin' face to Tom; but
whenever I put my haun kindly an' mitherly-like on her shooder she broke
doon an' grat as if her he'rt was breakin', so I juist took the wee
bundle o' spunk an' dejection in my airms, an' she had it a' oot there.
Tom's gaun up to the lawyer the morn to hand everything ower to him, an'
Mrs Jardine and the bairns are leavin' Thornhill on Friday to stay wi'
her mither till Tom gets wark somewhere. Noo, Maister Weelum, I want
your advice, an' if ye chairge me sax an' eightpence for it I'll--I'll
juist no' pey't;' and a tear-drop broke from her eye as she smiled. She
rose from her chair, laid aside her knitting, and coming over to my
bedside, she put her hand on my arm. 'I've still got the hunder pounds
in the bank which your mother left to me, Maister Weelum,' she said.
'Nathan an' me ha'e saved fifty mair. I never had a bairn o' my ain, an'
thae three wee curly-heided angels o' Tom's ha'e worked their wey into
my he'rt, an' I juist canna let them away. D'ye think the mistress--your
mother, I mean--wad ha'e me gi'in' the money in this way?'
I thought for a moment, and Betty watched me keenly. 'Am I to
understand, Betty, that you are willing to step into the breach and
give Tom Jardine one hundred and fifty pounds--your all?'
'Yes--if ye think it wad be your mother's will.'
'Betty, if Nathan won't object, will you please put your arms round my
neck and give me a kiss?' I said, and I raised my head from my pillow.
* * * * *
The wind has died down, and through the lown midnight air I heard the
Auld Kirk clock strike the hour of twelve. Tom Jardine has just left my
room. He has been with me for almost three hours, and we have had a long
smoke together and a grand talk over the times and folks of auld
langsyne. Betty, as an interested party, favoured us with her company
part of the time, for Nathan was sleeping the sleep of the just and the
tired, and the kitchen fire had long gone out. She was surprised to know
that Tom's difficulties could be overcome and his affairs straightened
out without her little legacy and her hard-earned savings being
requisitioned. Only Tom and I know how this was arranged, and as it is a
little matter of personal interest to us, and us alone, the details of
the transaction will remain untold.
I am having a run of strange coincidences just now. When Betty was
locking the door after Tom's departure I lifted my book to mark the page
where I had left off on Nathan's coming into my room, and the paragraph
opposite my thumb is as follows: 'I will pass through this world but
once. If, therefore, there be any good thing I can do, or any kindness I
can show, let me do it now. Let me not neglect it or defer it, for I
shall never pass this way again.'
I shall read this to Betty to-morrow morning, and tell her that, though
she may not have the faculty of thus beautifully and poetically
expressing a sentiment, she lives it to the letter every day of her
life.