"Really, mother, the way the best of women speak of each other is
lamentable. You say I should be better married, and then you take for
granted that every marriageable woman in the neighbourhood is trying
to kidnap me. I am sure you did not take my father by force in that
way."
He did not see that Margaret trembled at the mention of his father. He
never knew that she was many times pining to lay her head upon his
breast and tell him of me. Yet I cannot but believe that she always
shook when Adam Dishart was spoken of between them. I cannot think
that the long-cherishing of the secret which was hers and mine kept
her face steady when that horror suddenly confronted her as now. Gavin
would have suspected much had he ever suspected anything.
"I know," Margaret said, courageously, "that you would be better
married; but when it comes to selecting the woman I grow fearful. O
Gavin!" she said, earnestly, "it is an awful thing to marry the wrong
man!"
Here in a moment had she revealed much, though far from all, and there
must have been many such moments between them. But Gavin was thinking
of his own affairs.
"You mean the wrong woman, don't you, mother?" he said, and she
hastened to agree. But it was the wrong man she meant.
"The difficulty, I suppose, is to hit upon the right one?" Gavin said,
blithely.
"To know which is the right one in time," answered Margaret, solemnly.
"But I am saying nothing against the young ladies of Thrums, Gavin.
Though I have scarcely seen them, I know there are good women among
them. Jean says----"
"I believe, mother," Gavin interposed, reproachfully, "that you have
been questioning Jean about them?"
"Just because I was afraid--I mean because I fancied--you might be
taking a liking to one of them."
"And what is Jean's verdict?"
"She says every one of them would jump at you, like a bird at a
berry."
"But the berry cannot be divided. How would Miss Pennycuick please
you, mother?"
"Gavin!" cried Margaret, in consternation, "you don't mean to----But
you are laughing at me again."
"Then there is the banker's daughter?"
"I can't thole her."
"Why, I question if you ever set eyes on her, mother."
"Perhaps not, Gavin; but I have suspected her ever since she offered
to become one of your tract distributors."
"The doctor," said Gavin, not ill-pleased, "was saying that either of
these ladies would suit me."
"What business has he," asked Margaret, vindictively, "to put such
thoughts into your head?"
"But he only did as you are doing. Mother, I see you will never be
satisfied without selecting the woman for me yourself."
"Ay, Gavin," said Margaret, earnestly; "and I question if I should be
satisfied even then. But I am sure I should be a better guide to you
than Dr. McQueen is."
"I am convinced of that. But I wonder what sort of woman would content
you?"
"Whoever pleased you, Gavin, would content me," Margaret ventured to
maintain. "You would only take to a clever woman."
"She must be nearly as clever as you, mother."
"Hoots, Gavin," said Margaret, smiling, "I'm not to be caught with
chaff. I am a stupid, ignorant woman."
"Then I must look out for a stupid, ignorant woman, for that seems to
be the kind I like," answered Gavin, of whom I may confess here
something that has to be told sooner or later. It is this: he never
realised that Babbie was a great deal cleverer than himself. Forgive
him, you who read, if you have any tolerance for the creature, man.
"She will be terribly learned in languages," pursued Margaret, "so
that she may follow you in your studies, as I have never been able to
do."
"Your face has helped me more than Hebrew, mother," replied Gavin. "I
will give her no marks for languages."
"At any rate," Margaret insisted, "she must be a grand housekeeper,
and very thrifty."
"As for that," Gavin said, faltering a little, "one can't expect it of
a mere girl."
"I should expect it," maintained his mother.
"No, no; but she would have you," said Gavin, happily, "to teach her
housekeeping."
"It would be a pleasant occupation to me, that," Margaret admitted.
"And she would soon learn: she would be so proud of her position as
mistress of a manse."
"Perhaps," Gavin said, doubtfully. He had no doubt on the subject in
his college days.
"And we can take for granted," continued his mother, "that she is a
lassie of fine character."
"Of course," said Gavin, holding his head high, as if he thought the
doctor might be watching him.
"I have thought," Margaret went on, "that there was a great deal of
wisdom in what you said at that last marriage in the manse, the one
where, you remember, the best man and the bridesmaid joined hands
instead of the bride and bridegroom."
"What did I say?" asked the little minister, with misgivings.
"That there was great danger when people married out of their own rank
of life."
"Oh--ah--well, of course, that would depend on circumstances."
"They were wise words, Gavin. There was the sermon, too, that you
preached a month or two ago against marrying into other denominations.
Jean told me that it greatly impressed the congregation. It is a sad
sight, as you said, to see an Auld Licht lassie changing her faith
because her man belongs to the U. P.'s."
"Did I say that?"
"You did, and it so struck Jean that she told me she would rather be
an old maid for life, 'the which,' she said, 'is a dismal prospect,'
than marry out of the Auld Licht kirk."
"Perhaps that was a rather narrow view I took, mother. After all, the
fitting thing is that the wife should go with her husband; especially
if it is he that is the Auld Licht."
"I don't hold with narrowness myself, Gavin," Margaret said, with an
effort, "and admit that there are many respectable persons in the
other denominations. But though a weaver might take a wife from
another kirk without much scandal, an Auld Licht minister's madam must
be Auld Licht born and bred. The congregation would expect no less. I
doubt if they would be sure of her if she came from some other Auld
Licht kirk. 'Deed, though she came from our own kirk, I'm thinking the
session would want to catechise her. Ay, and if all you tell me of
Lang Tammas be true (for, as you know, I never spoke to him), I
warrant he would catechise the session."
"I would brook no interference from my session," said Gavin, knitting
his brows, "and I do not consider it necessary that a minister's wife
should have been brought up in his denomination. Of course she would
join it. We must make allowance, mother, for the thousands of young
women who live in places where there is no Auld Licht kirk."
"You can pity them, Gavin," said Margaret, "without marrying them. A
minister has his congregation to think of."
"So the doctor says," interposed her son.
"Then it was just like his presumption!" cried Margaret. "A minister
should marry to please himself."
"Decidedly he should," Gavin agreed, eagerly, "and the bounden duty of
the congregation is to respect and honour his choice. If they forget
that duty, his is to remind them of it."
"Ah, well, Gavin," said Margaret, confidently, "your congregation are
so fond of you that your choice would doubtless be theirs. Jean tells
me that even Lang Tammas, though he is so obstinate, has a love for
you passing the love of woman. These were her words. Jean is more
sentimental than you might think."
"I wish he would show his love," said Gavin, "by contradicting me less
frequently."
"You have Rob Dow to weigh against him."
"No; I cannot make out what has come over Rob lately. He is drinking
heavily again, and avoiding me. The lightning is becoming very
vivid."
"Yes, and I hear no thunder. There is another thing, Gavin. I am one
of those that like to sit at home, but if you had a wife she would
visit the congregation. A truly religious wife would be a great help
to you."
"Religious," Gavin repeated slowly. "Yes, but some people are
religious without speaking of it. If a woman is good she is religious.
A good woman who has been, let us say, foolishly brought up, only
needs to be shown the right way to tread it. Mother, I question if any
man, minister or layman, ever yet fell in love because the woman was
thrifty, or clever, or went to church twice on Sabbath."
"I believe that is true," Margaret said, "and I would not have it
otherwise. But it is an awful thing, Gavin, as you said from the
pulpit two weeks ago, to worship only at a beautiful face."
"You think too much about what I say in the pulpit, mother," Gavin
said, with a sigh, "though of course a man who fell in love merely
with a face would be a contemptible creature. Yet I see that women do
not understand how beauty affects a man."
"Yes, yes, my boy--oh, indeed, they do," said Margaret, who on some
matters knew far more than her son.
Twelve o'clock struck, and she rose to go to bed, alarmed lest she
should not waken early in the morning. "But I am afraid I shan't
sleep," she said, "if that lightning continues."
"It is harmless," Gavin answered, going to the window. He started back
next moment, and crying, "Don't look out, mother," hastily pulled down
the blind.
"Why, Gavin," Margaret said in fear, "you look as if it had struck
you."
"Oh, no," Gavin answered, with a forced laugh, and he lit her lamp for
her.
But it had struck him, though it was not lightning. It was the
flashing of a lantern against the window to attract his attention, and
the holder of the lantern was Babbie.
"Good-night, mother."
"Good-night, Gavin. Don't sit up any later."
Chapter Twenty-Two.