DONALD PLEASES HIS FATHER
"The songs our souls rejoiced to hear
When harps were in the hall;
And each proud note made lance and spear
Thrill on the banner'd wall.
"God sent his singers upon earth,
With songs of sadness and of mirth.
That they might touch the hearts of men
And bring them back to heaven again."
The Minister had said he would go and read awhile, and Mrs. Caird had
heard him unpacking the box of books that had arrived. But at that hour
he went no further than to arrange them conveniently on a table at his
side. He was too utterly amazed at Mrs. Caird's admitting that she had
read criticisms and reviews of books she considered objectionable for
himself. He remembered then, what he had only casually observed during
all the years she had dwelt with him, that Jessy Caird was never without
a book in her work-basket. But he had noticed on all of them the cover
and the mark of the public library, and had felt certain they were
novels. And, as the children were at schools and she much alone, he had
been considerate in the matter and not asked any questions. How could he
suspect that such objectionable literature was lying openly among her
knitting and mending?
As he made this reflection, his eyes sought the volumes lying on the
table, and he noticed that his Bible was close to them. Its familiar
aspect brought a warm, comfortable sense to his heart. It was surely the
Word of His Father in heaven. He leaned forward and laid his head
affectionately upon it. What a Friend it had been to him! What a
Counselor! In every way he had such a tremendous prepossession in its
truth and blessing that he could smile defiantly at any man, or any
man's book, being able to make him doubt a tittle of its law or its
promises.
"The heavens and the earth may pass away," he said, "but not one word of
God shall perish!" And, though he spoke softly, as to his own heart, the
affirmation was hot with the love and fervor that thrilled the words
through and through. In a few moments he rose, lifted the Book with
tender homage, and laid it on a small table holding nothing but one
white moss rose in a slender crystal vase. He did it without intention,
actuated by a sudden spiritual reverence for holy things.
But as soon as the transfer was accomplished he began to reason about
it. "Why did I remove the Bible?" he asked himself. He was not sure why,
but he _was_ sure that the impulse to do so had been a good and proper
one.
"There is no book that looks like it in all the world," he thought. "It
belongs to the Sanctuary. It is the Sanctuary in itself. How could I
leave it among books that doubt and perhaps revile it?" Then his glance
fell upon the books to which he had attributed a crime so likely and so
heinous, and he continued his reflections.
"How commonplace and similar they look! They might be text-books, or
novels, or even poetry. But God has set his mark upon the Bible. We
cannot mistake it. Printed in any size or shape, bound in any color or
any material, we know the moment our eyes fall upon it that it is the
Word of God."
However, it is easy for the mind to find a ready road from spiritual to
personal things, and it was not long before Lord Cramer had possession
of the Minister's meditations. There appears to be no relevancy between
the Bible and Lord Cramer, but Thought has swift and secret passages,
and perhaps the way had been through the discredited books; for he was
thinking of the young nobleman with much the same feelings as he had
given the doubtful and objectionable volumes. He had felt them to be
unworthy to lie on the same table with the Bible. He was equally certain
that Lord Richard Cramer was unworthy to lift his eyes to Marion Macrae,
and quite as positive that he intended to do so.
"Marion must marry Allan Reid," he decided. "It is for her happiness
every way. What profit is there in a title, if its holder is too poor to
honor it? Young Reid is rich, and will be rich enough to buy a title if
he wants one. Moreover, Lord Richard is not like his father in a
religious sense. Lord Angus Cramer--my friend--was present at divine
service as long as he was able to be so. Lord Richard does not observe
the Sabbath. His stepmother is troubled at his attitude toward the
Church. Such a man is not fit to be _my_ son-in-law--a man who does not
keep the Sabbath! The idea is an impossible one! Allan Reid fills his
place every Sabbath in the Church of the Disciples. To be honorable, and
rich, and to keep the Sabbath! These are the three cardinal points of a
respectable and religious life, and Marion must be made to accept them."
Yet he felt quite sure that, at that very moment, Lord Richard Cramer
was thinking of his daughter, and almost equally sure that Marion was
thinking of Richard Cramer.
In a measure Macrae was correct. Lord Cramer was thinking of Marion, but
he was telling himself it was only in a philosophical way. Sitting
smoking on the lawn in the late twilight, he was curiously asking his
heart the question so many ask, "Why is it that, out of the thousands of
persons we meet, only one can rouse in us the tremendous passion of a
first true love?" Yet, in whatever manner Richard Cramer tried to reason
with himself, he was quite aware that something had happened that
afternoon that could never be satisfied by any reasoning.
He would not believe it was love. Yet he had an extraordinary elation,
his heart beat rapidly, and he was in a fever of longing and wonderment
about the girl he had just met. He thought he knew all about women, but
Marion was quite different, and she had called into life something
deeper down than he had ever felt before. He was dreamy and yet
restless, he was strangely happy, and yet strangely unhappy. Ah, though
he would not admit it, the poignant thirst and exquisite hunger of a
great love were beginning to trouble him.
He knew, however, that he could not run blindly into such a life-long
affair as wooing the Minister's daughter. It might prove to be the
dislocation of all his plans and prospects. Debt weighed heavily on him,
especially his debt to his stepmother. So long as he owed her a shilling
he was not his own master. He had been a gallant cavalry officer, but
not averse to relinquish the limitations of that position for the title
and estate that had fallen to him. Yet he could not keep up the state
necessary unless he married a rich woman. He had promised his father to
do this, and had almost resolved to try his fortune with Miss Victoria
Marvel, the heiress of an immensely wealthy banker, and a young and
lovely woman. This night, however, Miss Marvel was far beyond his
horizon; he could think of no woman in all his world but Marion Macrae.
A week after Lady Cramer's call at the Little House, she came again and
took Marion back with her to Cramer Hall for a visit. It was a pleasure
to see the beautiful girl depart with her, for so much joyful
expectation filled her heart that it transfigured her whole person, and
she smiled so brightly, and stepped so lightly, that she seemed at that
hour just a little above mortality. And the brilliant sunshine, and the
calling of the cuckoo birds, the scent of flowers, and the breath and
murmur of the sea, appeared to be just the natural atmosphere of her
happy soul that wonderful June morning.
Lady Cramer chatted pleasantly as they drove over the brae and by the
seashore, until they reached the large, plain, Georgian mansion called
Cramer Hall. It was only remarkable for its size, and for the great
extent and beauty of its gardens and park. As they neared the dwelling,
Marion saw Lord Cramer descending the flight of steps which led to its
principal entrance. She saw him coming to her! She felt him clasp her
hand! She heard him speaking! But all these things took place to her in
a delightful sense of semiconsciousness. She knew not what she said.
Words were so dumb and inconsequent. Truly we have all confessed at
times, "I had no words to express my feelings." Shall we ever in this
life find words for our divinest moments? Or must we wait for their
expression until Love and Death,
"Open the portals of that other land,
Where the great voices sound, and visions dwell."
Marion was only too glad to reach the room prepared for her, and to sit
still and draw herself together; for happiness really dissipates the
inner personality, and squanders the richest and rarest of our feelings.
It was an antique room, full of the most beautiful, world-forgotten old
furniture, one piece of richly carved oak being a cheval glass that
showed her Marion Macrae from head to feet. And, in some way, these
material household things calmed and steadied her.
Now let those who have truly loved tell themselves how time went by in
this Eden home for Richard and Marion. True, nothing strange or
startling marked its passage, only a delightful monotony of events usual
and looked forward to. They rode, and read, and sang, they wandered
about the house and garden, talking such divinity as only lovers
understand. If there was company they kept much apart, and spoke little
to each other, but every one present knew they were _really one_. For
Love and Beauty create an atmosphere of ethereal union to which even
those ossified by a material life are not quite insensible.
Lady Cramer indeed affected ignorance, but she was well aware of what
was going on. She had anticipated it and, because she knew her stepson's
disposition so well, had planned this very intimacy, feeling certain it
would easily dissipate the light, roving fancy of the young man. She had
so often seen him fall desperately in love, and so often seen him fall
coldly and wearily out of it, and that with women whom she considered
vastly superior to Marion in every respect. When she asked Marion to
Cramer Hall, she believed that one week's unchecked intercourse would
find Richard called to Edinburgh or London on very important business.
When he received no such call she invited Marion to extend her visit for
another week. In her opinion, it would be an incredible thing for
Richard Cramer to live his life from morning to night for two weeks with
the same girl and not utterly exhaust his fancy for her. At the end of
two weeks, finding him still enraptured with "the same girl," she
invited Marion for the third week, telling herself, as she did so: "If
he stands three weeks of this absurd entanglement, there will have to be
some strong measures taken. In the first place I shall speak to the
Minister."
Now the Minister was much displeased at this second extension of his
daughter's visit, and he wrote to her concerning it, saying, "A third
week's visit is most unusual. I am troubled and angry at your acceptance
of it. You are imposing on Lady Cramer's kindness, and I do not think it
was at her wish this third invitation was given. I hope it was not your
doing. Come home, without fail, immediately on its termination."
Acting on Mrs. Caird's advice, he had kept away from the Hall during
Marion's visit. "There are a lot of young people coming and going
between Cramer Hall and the neighboring gentry," she said, "and they do
not want the Minister's company unless it be to marry them. I know the
Blair girls, with their brother, Sir Thomas, were there two or three
days; and I heard the young people were walking quadrilles on the lawn,
and playing billiards in the house. Moreover, Starkie was in the kitchen
the other day, and he told Aileen that Lady Geraldine Gower--who is a
perfect horsewoman--was putting Marion and her pony through their paces;
and I am feared for such ways--he said also, that the Macauleys were
with them, and Captain Jermayne from the Edinburgh garrison."
"Marion ought not to be in such company."
"Marion is good enough for any company."
"That is allowed. I was thinking of her being led into temptation."
"Think of yourself, Ian, you are in far greater temptation than Marion
will ever have to face. Did you notice a book lying open on the small
table in your study?"
"No."
"I want you to notice it. I left it lying face downward purposely. If
you lift it carefully, you will see that I have marked a few lines. Read
them."
"_Lines!_ Poetry, I suppose! Jessy, I have not time to read outside my
present work."
"They are directly inside of your work."
"I wish you would drive over to Cramer, and say a few words of counsel
to Marion."
"I will not, Ian. Marion must learn how to counsel herself. She is now
in a fine school to learn that lesson, and she will come home _dux_ of
her class when it is closed."
He was turning toward his study as Mrs. Caird spoke, and he was closing
the door as her last words reached him, "Read what I have marked, Ian."
He said to himself that he would not read it. Jessy required to be put a
little more in her proper place. She had advised him too much lately,
and he felt that she ought to wait until asked for her opinion on
subjects belonging particularly to his profession. Her attitude was
subversive of all recognized authority.
So he looked at the book lying on the table, but did not lift it. He was
the more determined not to read the marked "lines" because Jessy had
left the book face downward. She knew that this habit of hers seriously
annoyed him, and that she had calculated on this annoyance making him
lift the book and so in straightening the pages see the marked passage.
He told himself that this was taking an unfair advantage of one of his
most innocent peculiarities. He was resolved not to sanction it.
But the book lying on its face vexed and even troubled him. It might be
a good book, the mental abode of some wise man, who had pressed his
finest hopes and thoughts on its white leaves. He could neither read nor
write with that fallen volume before him. For he was so used to listen
with his eyes to the absent or dead who spoke to him in a low
counterpoint that he could not avoid a feeling that he was treating a
visitor, whether friend or foe, with great unkindness.
He rose and he sat down, then rose again, and, with a resolved attitude,
lifted his prostrate friend or enemy. One leaf was crumpled and, when
he had smoothed it carefully out, he saw a passage enclosed in strong
pencil lines. So he walked to his desk and, taking a piece of rubber,
erased with pains and caution the indexing marks, nor did he read one
word of the message the book brought him until he had set it free to
advise, or reprove, or comfort him, according to its tenor. Then the
words that met his eyes, and never again left his memory, were the
following:
"Let lore of all Theology
Be to thy soul what it _can_ be;
But know--the Power that fashions man
Measured not out thy little span
For thee to take the meeting rod
In turn, and so approve to God
Thy science of Theometry."
Many times over he read this message, and then he sat with the book in
his hand, lost in thought.
But of the tenor of these thoughts he said nothing; yet Mrs. Caird was
satisfied. If he had not read the lines, she knew he would have told her
so, and, having read them, they could be left without discussion. He was
in a less moody spirit all the rest of the week, and spoke to her
several times of the hopeless discouragement involved in Comte's scheme
of "supreme religion," a mere possibility of posthumous though
unconscious "incorporation with the _Grand Etre_ himself," said he.
"Well, we are not on holy ground with Comte, Ian, and we need not take
off our shoes," answered Mrs. Caird. "This _Grand Etre_, this Great
Being, is made up of little beings--yourself and I for instance."
"And yet, Jessy, Comte does not think all men worthy even of this honor.
Vast numbers will remain in a parasitic state on this Grand
Being--really burdens on him, Comte says."
"O Ian! What a poor unhappy God! Put your thoughts on the first ten
words in Genesis. Consider their infinite sublimity and simplicity. In
the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. This God is our
God, and He has been, and will be our dwelling place in, and for, all
generations, _Our Father_! The weakest souls are not parasites or
burdens to Him. Like a father He pities them."
"You are relying on the Bible, Jessy. It does not enter into Comte's
scheme, and indeed what is called scientific religion discredits the
Book generally."
"The Bible was not printed yesterday, Ian. Its assailants come and go,
come and go, but it stands unmoved forever. With what new weapons can it
be attacked? You told me yesterday that Strauss thought he had abolished
Paul, and that Ewald answered there was nothing new in Strauss. As far
as I can see, the giants of unbelief slay each other, while the Bible
goes on to blend itself with the thought and speech of every land under
the sun."
Such conversations became frequent between the Minister and his sister.
He appeared to provoke and enjoy them. And he looked with a kind
curiosity at this woman who had sat nearly twenty years on his hearth,
nursing his children, ordering his household, sewing, knitting, telling
fairy tales, and yet pondering in her heart the highest questions of
time and eternity. The facts violated all his conceptions of women, and
one day, after a very vivid illustration of this kind, he said softly to
himself, yet with intense conviction:
"Women are inscrutable creatures! I doubt if I know anything about
them." And perhaps these very words were "the call" for the wider and
sadder knowledge that awaited him.
On Saturday he prepared to go to Glasgow to fulfil his usual duty in the
Church of the Disciples; but his study of unbelief had got a stronger
hold on his mind than he recognized. For the first time in all his
ministry he felt a slight reluctance for spiritual work. But Mrs. Caird
did not encourage this feeling, she was too anxious about Donald to miss
his father's report of him, though she always discounted the same. But
she reminded him for his comfort that when he returned from Glasgow on
Monday he would find Marion at home to welcome him.
"I expect that," he answered promptly. "If I am disappointed I shall go
to Cramer Hall for her."
However, very early on Monday morning Mrs. Caird saw Marion and Lord
Cramer from afar, riding very slowly over the brae and, apparently,
engaged in a conversation that admitted of none of the little
irregularities of light or fugitive intercourse. Their attitude as they
came nearer was distinctly, though unconsciously, that of lovers; and
when Mrs. Caird met them she saw with delight the sunshine on their
faces, mingling with a glory and radiance far sunnier from within; and
heard the pride and tenderness in Lord Cramer's voice as he said, "Good
morning, Mrs. Caird, I have brought Marion safely back to you."
"You have done well," she answered. "The Minister was wearying for her."
"How soon will he return from Glasgow? I wish to speak with him."
"His times are not set times; he comes this hour, and that hour. He
deviates a good deal and, as for speech with him, you had better choose
any day but Monday."
"Why not Monday, Mrs. Caird?"
"Because a Minister's stock of loving kindness is apt to be low on
Monday, and he is tired and not disposed to frivol, or talk of unsacred
things."
"But I want to talk to him of the most sacred of all mortal things. I am
sure Dr. Macrae will be reasonable on any day of the week."
"There is a likelihood, but I have lived long enough in this astonishing
world to observe that the head and the heart do not run over at the same
time; and men keep their reasonable judgment the while. There's luck in
leisure, Lord Cramer. Take my advice and leisure awhile."
Then Lord Cramer led Marion to the little summer house, and Mrs. Caird
left them to give some orders concerning lunch, but when it was ready
she saw Cramer riding away from the gate, and Marion, still in her
habit, standing there watching him. Hearing her aunt's footsteps she
turned, went to her side and, kissing her, said, "Dear Aunt, I am glad
to be with you again."
"Then we are both glad, and your father will be glad also. Run upstairs
and take off your hat and that width of trailing broadcloth. Then come
and get a good lunch."
In a few minutes Marion appeared at the table in the simplest of her
home dresses and, with a sigh of pleasure, said again, "Oh, but I am
glad to be with you, Aunt!"
"Yet you had a happy time at Cramer Hall?"
"Richard was there. That was enough."
"And many other pleasant people?"
"Yes."
"And Lady Cramer?"
"I do not think she had a nice time. She was weary of company, and it
was an effort for her to be quite polite during the last week."
"You ought, then, to have come home."
"I had no excuse for doing so."
"And you had an excuse for staying, eh?"
"Yes."
"Lord Cramer?"
"He begged me to stay. And, as I am going to marry him, I did what he
desired, of course."
"Of course. And, of course, you will do what your father desires?"
"If Father is reasonable."
"The Fifth Command says you are to obey your father, and it does not
make any exceptions as to whether he is reasonable or unreasonable."
"I intend to marry Richard, and no other man in all the wide world."
"You do not require to be so pointed about it. There is no one here
wishes to prevent you."
"No one can prevent me, Aunt. I love Richard and he loves me. We fell in
love with each other the moment we met."
"That is the right way. I like men that go over head and ears at first
sight. Most take little careful steps, hesitating, fearing, one at a
time. Cowardly lovers! No woman wants such. She just looks scornfully at
them, and then turns her eyes toward something pleasanter."
All afternoon they talked on this and kindred subjects, and the time
went so rapidly that the clock struck five before Mrs. Caird reflected
that the Minister was two or three hours behind his usual time. What was
keeping him? What was wrong? Then she began to worry about Donald; for,
if anything usual becomes unusual, our first thought is not--what is
right? or what is happy or profitable? but, always, what is wrong? And
Mrs. Caird's anxieties drifted to the youth she loved so dearly.
"I wonder! I wonder whatever is wrong, Marion? Your father is always
home by three, or at most four o'clock. I am feared something is wrong
with Donald." And, in spite of Marion's optimistic persuasions, she was
constantly asking her heart this woeful question. From the door to the
gate she went with tiresome frequency, but it was after eight o'clock
ere she saw two men walking leisurely toward the house. The twilight was
over the earth, and nothing was very clear, but she knew them. Hurrying
into the house she called to Marion in a voice of great pleasure and
excitement:
"Your father is coming! And Donald is with him! And what can that mean?"
"Something good, Aunt."
But Mrs. Caird did not hear her. She was ordering this and that luxury,
which she knew would be welcome to the belated travelers, and she had
the natural wisdom and good-nature which never once asked, "What kept
you so late?" She was satisfied with their presence, and with the fact
that both were happy, and in the most affectionate mood with each other.
She placed Donald's chair beside her own and, when he touched her hand,
or smiled in her face, or whispered, "Dear, dear Aunt!" she had a full
payment for all her anxious hours about him.
It was not until Marion and Donald had gone to their rooms that the
Minister felt inclined to explain his tardy return from the city. "I was
afraid you would be anxious, Jessy," he said; and she answered, "Not
about you, Ian. I knew you were all right, but I was feared about
Donald. I thought something was wrong with him, and I could not fix on
any particular danger. I thought of the trains and the sea, but someway
they both assured my mind they were innocent of doing him any harm. The
trouble was an unknown one. What was it, Ian?"
"Not much, Jessy. Donald has not been behaving himself after the ways
and manners approved of by the Reids."
"I never yet heard any word of the Reids being set for our example. What
way was Donald breaking their laws?"
"It seems, Jessy, that last Wednesday night there was some kind of civic
anniversary--the Provost's birthday, or the birthday of some great man
or other. I have totally forgotten the name or event. And serenading
came into the thoughts of Donald and four others, and they lifted their
violins and went together to the Provost's house. As it happened, he was
eating a late supper after his speech in the City Hall, and the lads
played and sang the songs in every Scotsman's heart. And there were
three or four of his cronies with the Provost and, when the lads had
sang twice over,
'Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,'
they brought in the singers and made them sit and drink a glass of toddy
at their table, and the Provost thanked them heartily and gave them a
five-pound note to share between them."
"That was fine! The Provost is a gentleman. And he knew how to win the
hearts of the Scotch laddies growing up to be good Scotchmen. Who were
the five lads, Ian?"
"Donald was the leader, and there were with him Matthew Ballantyne,
David Kerr, John Montrose, and Allan Reid, all of them members of my
Wednesday night Bible class."
"Then I cannot believe they did anything much out of the way, unless the
Reids' way is narrower than the Bible way."
"After they left the Provost's, Donald suddenly bethought himself that
it was also his Uncle Hector's birthday, and they all went to his big
house in Blytheswood Square. There was a light in his parlor; for, you
know, he always reads until the new day is born, and this night he was
reading 'Nicholas Nickleby,' and laughing with himself over that insane
_Mark Tapley's_ pretenses to be jolly. Suddenly the violins asked
sweetly and passionately, 'Wha Wadna Fecht for Charlie'? The old man
took no notice. Then they all together began to merrily tell him,
''Twas up the craggy mountain,
And down the wooded glen,
They durst na go a-milking,
For Charlie and his men.'
And by the time they had finished this delightful complaint, and Donald
had lifted his voice to assert that,
'Geordie sits in Charlie's chair,'
and exhorted all true Hieland men,
'Keep up your hearts, for Charlie's fight,
Come what will, you've done what's right,'
a crowd had gathered. For, you know, Jessy, how Donald can sing men out
of themselves, and the crowd began to sing with him, so that this
passionate little rant filled the square. Windows were lifted, and doors
flung open, and men and women at them joined heartily in the song."
"And wherever were the constables?"
"They were singing with the crowd, and no necessity for them to
interfere. It was a perfectly orderly crowd, singing their national
songs, and when they had finished
'Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,'
and fervently assured each other they,
'For Scotland's King and law,
Freedom's sword would strongly draw,
Free men stand, and free men fa','
my Uncle Hector threw wide his door, and bid the lads into his parlor.
"He is a grand old pagan--I mean saint."
"Say what you mean, Jessy. Donald says he looked proudly at him, and he
thought for a moment he was going to kiss him, but instead of that
ceremony, which might have been a little abashing and confusing to the
lad, his uncle led him to the hearth and, pointing to two swords crossed
over the chimneypiece, he said:
"'Look well at them, Hieland laddies! They were in the hands of
Alexander and Fergus Macrae when they fought to the death for King James
and Prince Charlie. God rest their souls!'"
At these words the Minister became silent, words appeared to choke him,
and his eyes held a glimpse of the old dead world of his fathers. Jessy,
also, was speechless, but their silence was fitter than any words could
be.
In a short time the Minister steadied himself and proceeded: "The four
young men with Donald doffed their bonnets, and looked silently at the
weapons that had come home red from Culloden's bloody field, and were
still holding the red rust of carnage; but Donald stretched up his hand
and touched them reverently, and then kissed his hand, and he told me
his tears wet the kiss, and that he was proud of them--and really,
Jessy, my own eyes were not dry--and a wave of--love came over me--and
I--before I knew it--had clasped Donald's hand and I think--yes, I am
sure, I kissed him! I wonder at myself! Whatever made me do it?"
"The love of God, Ian, which is the love of all good and gracious
things. The love of God, which is the love of your son, and the love of
your country, and the love of all the noble feelings for which men dare
to die, and go and tell _Him_ so. And what next, Ian? What next?"
"Uncle Hector called his valet, and bid him 'Bring in the punch bowl,'
but Donald said they had drank from the Provost's bowl all that was good
for them. The old man then asked them to play him a reel, and off went
'The Reel of Tullochgorum.' One of the boys from the orchestra played,
and the other four danced it with wonderful spirit and, though my uncle
did not try the springing step, he snapped the time with his fingers and
beat it with his feet and was in a kind of transfiguration. After the
dance they sang 'Auld Lang Syne' together, and then the old man was
weary with his emotion and he said:
"'Good boys! Good night! You have given my old age one splendid hour of
its youth back again! My soul and my heart thank you, and here is a
ten-pound note to ware on yourselves and good Scotch music'; and so with
a 'God bless you all!' he bid them good-bye!"
"It was a splendid hour and he did well to ware ten pounds on it."
"Elder Reid did not think so and, after the Sabbath service, he asked me
to give him half-an-hour's conversation at his office in the morning. I
thought it was concerning Allan and Marion, but Donald, on Sabbath
night, told me about the serenade, and so I went to Reid's office in the
morning quite prepared for the subject of offense."
"Did Elder Reid say anything about your uncle?"
"He said only think of that old pagan, Hector Macrae, giving the ranting
boys ten pounds of good money!"
"'_Major Macrae_,' I corrected. 'He won his title on memorable
battlefields, Elder, and he has every right to it.' And, I added, 'He is
far from being a pagan. I wish we all loved God as sincerely as he
does.' Then Reid cooled a little, and answered, 'You know, Minister, it
would have been almost a miracle if he had given ten pounds to our
Foreign Mission Fund. I asked him myself one day, and he pretended to be
deaf, and would say nothing but 'Eh? What? I don't hear you! I'm vera
busy!' and so to his bills and papers without even a 'Seat yourself,
Elder,' and not a penny for the Foreign Mission Fund.'"
Jessy laughed, a queer, indeterminate little laugh, and the Minister
looked at her doubtfully, and then continued, "I reminded him that the
Major gave with both hands to our Home Missions, and that men gave as
their hearts moved them; also, that Christ considered Home Missions had
the prior claim, 'First at Jerusalem,' and so also first in Glasgow, and
then in India. 'We are getting off our subject,' I said to him and he
answered crossly, 'An altogether silly subject, kissing old swords,
dancing old reels, snapping fingers and the like of such old world
nonsense. I think Major Macrae forgot his duty, he should have
admonished the young men, and not encouraged them in their
foolishness.'"
"What did you say to that, Ian?" asked Mrs. Caird.
"I reminded him that, in Leviticus, nineteenth chapter and fourteenth
verse, it is written, 'Thou shalt not curse the deaf'; and I added, 'The
absent are also the deaf, they cannot speak for themselves. I need say
no more to you, Elder.' And he begged pardon, and admitted he might be
judging Major Macrae wrong, for it was true a great many people thought
him a perfect saint; and I said, 'You know, Elder, that a country is in
a poor way when its religious life does not blossom in saints.'"
"Was Donald in the office when you went there?"
"Yes, I saw him counting up a line of figures as I passed his desk, and
I felt sorry for the boy."
"I am glad of that, Ian. It was the best sign of grace you have had for
a long time."
"Do not say such a thing as that, Jessy. I love my son with my whole
heart. My life for his, if it were necessary."
"Forgive me, Ian! I believe you. What was the Elder wanting to talk to
you about?"
"He asked, first, if I had spoken plainly to Marion concerning his
son's offer. I told him I had no opportunity to do so, as she had been
visiting Lady Cramer for the past three weeks. Then he continued to urge
Allan's claims until I grew weary of the talk, and I finally said----"
"That Marion must not be forced to marry anyone, surely you said that
much, Ian?"
"Not quite that, Jessy. I promised to stand by Allan and to urge Marion
to favor him, but I added, 'There is a certain right, Elder, which draws
a girl to the _one man_ in the world for her. It is not much believed
in, but perhaps it is the only Divine Right in this world.' He seemed
puzzled at my remark, and I did not explain it. Then he was huffy, and
said he would make free to call my 'Divine Right' Richard Cramer, a poor
lord, with all his income mortgaged, and no morality to balance his
poverty."
"You could have cleared yourself on that score. Why did you not tell him
you were as much against Lord Cramer as he could be?"
"I was angry at the purse-proud creature, and I would say neither good
nor ill of Lord Cramer. I let him see, and feel, I thought his words and
temper very unbecoming in the Senior Elder of the Church of the
Disciples, and so left him feeling very uncomfortable."
Then Jessy looked admiringly at her brother-in-law. She knew well how
"uncomfortable" he could make people under his Scriptural reproofs.
"How was it Donald got home with you?" she asked. "Was the little favor
a propitiation for the Elder's unguarded temper? Did the Elder know he
was coming?"
"As I left him, I said, 'I will tell Donald to meet me at Stewart's for
lunch, and I will give him suitable counsel, Elder'; and the man was on
his highest horse at once, and answered, 'I hope you will, sir. For your
sake, I should hate to send Donald off, but I must do so if he leads my
son into any more ridiculous tom-fooleries. Allan has a tender
conscience, and he felt he had done wrong, so he came straight to me and
made his confession. I hope Donald will be equally frank with you.'"
"So Donald lunched with you at Stewart's? I am proud of that occurrence,
Ian."
"I was proud likewise. There were over a dozen ministers present, and
they all looked up and looked pleased when we entered the room together.
Every one had a word of praise and hope for Donald, and nearly all said,
'You will be for St. Andrews, Donald, no doubt.' I am afraid I had more
personal pride in the lad's beauty, fine carriage, and fine manner than
I ought to have had, but----"
"Not any too much. What advice did you give him?"
"None of any kind. I do not think Donald did anything wrong. If Elder
Reid has fears for his son, let him look after him. I certainly told
Donald that the Elder would send him off if he tempted his son Allan
again; and perhaps I let Donald see and feel that I should not be
grieved at all if he relieved Mr. Reid's anxiety about his son's
morals."
"Did Donald understand you?"
"He said, 'Thank you, Father!' And then I remarked you were wearying to
see him, and that I would wait in Bath Street until three o'clock if he
wished to go to Cramer with me."
"But did you not come by that train?"
"No. I saw that Donald could not forego the pleasure of 'sending himself
off' and this he could not do until Reid returned to his office after
the lunch hour."
"I hope he kept in mind the fact that Mr. Reid is your chief Elder, and
used few and civil words as became his youth and his position."
"He behaved like a gentleman. He apologized for asking his son to join
the serenading party, and begged leave to resign his stool in the office
lest he might offend again. And the Elder was much annoyed, and replied
that he hoped he would remain; for, Jessy, I am sure he was in his heart
very proud of Allan being invited into the Provost's parlor to eat and
drink with the notables there."
"Certainly he was, and he will talk of the lad's capers as long as he
lives, and in a little while both Allan and his father will have come to
believe that the whole affair was of Allan's planning and management."
"I have no doubt of it. Donald, however, refused even his offer of a
higher salary to begin in September and, bowing respectfully, left him
alone with his disappointment and chagrin. As he was going through the
office, Allan called him, and then Donald's temper got a little beyond
his control, and he walked near to where Allan sat among the clerks, and
said, 'I have no words for a tale-bearer, Allan Reid. He is always a
contemptible fellow, and I warn you, gentlemen, that you are with a spy
and a mischief-maker.' That is the end of the circumstance, Jessy."
"You little know whether it is the end or the beginning, Ian."
"As far as Donald is concerned, I mean. He came to me radiantly happy
and satisfied with himself and, after we had drank a cup of tea, we came
leisurely home."
"Very leisurely. I'll admit that. Well, we have to take ourselves as we
are and other people as we can get them, and it is not always an easy
job."
"Indeed, Jessy, there is scarcely anything that is at the same time more
wise and more difficult."