Should I take aught of you? ’Tis true I begged now;
And what is worse than that, I stole a kindness;
And, what is worst of all, I lost my way in’t.
Wit without Money.
The face of the little boy, sole witness of Caleb’s infringement upon
the laws at once of property and hospitality, would have made a good
picture. He sat motionless, as if he had witnessed some of the spectral
appearances which he had heard told of in a winter’s evening; and as he
forgot his own duty, and allowed his spit to stand still, he added to
the misfortunes of the evening by suffering the mutton to burn as black
as a coal. He was first recalled from his trance of astonishment by a
hearty cuff administered by Dame Lightbody, who, in whatever other
respects she might conform to her name, was a woman strong of person,
and expert in the use of her hands, as some say her deceased husband
had known to his cost.
“What garr’d ye let the roast burn, ye ill-clerkit gude-for-nought?”
“I dinna ken,” said the boy.
“And where’s that ill-deedy gett, Giles?”
“I dinna ken,” blubbered the astonished declarant.
“And where’s Mr. Balderstone?—and abune a’, and in the name of council
and kirk-session, that I suld say sae, where’s the broche wi’ the
wild-fowl?” As Mrs. Girder here entered, and joined her mother’s
exclamations, screaming into one ear while the old lady deafened the
other, they succeeded in so utterly confounding the unhappy urchin,
that he could not for some time tell his story at all, and it was only
when the elder boy returned that the truth began to dawn on their
minds.
“Weel, sirs!” said Mrs. Lightbody, “wha wad hae thought o’ Caleb
Balderstone playing an auld acquaintance sic a pliskie!”
“Oh, weary on him!” said the spouse of Mr. Girder; “and what am I to
say to the gudeman? He’ll brain me, if there wasna anither woman in a’
Wolf’s Hope.”
“Hout tout, silly quean,” said the mother; “na, na, it’s come to
muckle, but it’s no come to that neither; for an he brain you he maun
brain me, and I have garr’d his betters stand back. Hands aff is fair
play; we maunna heed a bit flyting.”
The tramp of horses now announced the arrival of the cooper, with the
minister. They had no sooner dismounted than they made for the kitchen
fire, for the evening was cool after the thunderstorm, and the woods
wet and dirty. The young gudewife, strong in the charms of her Sunday
gown and biggonets, threw herself in the way of receiving the first
attack, while her mother, like the veteran division of the Roman
legion, remained in the rear, ready to support her in case of
necessity. Both hoped to protract the discovery of what had
happened—the mother, by interposing her bustling person betwixt Mr.
Girder and the fire, and the daughter, by the extreme cordiality with
which she received the minister and her husband, and the anxious fears
which she expressed lest they should have “gotten cauld.”
“Cauld!” quoted the husband, surlily, for he was not of that class of
lords and masters whose wives are viceroys over them, “we’ll be cauld
eneugh, I think, if ye dinna let us in to the fire.”
And so saying, he burst his way through both lines of defence; and, as
he had a careful eye over his property of every kind, he perceived at
one glance the absence of the spit with its savoury burden. “What the
deil, woman——”
“Fie for shame!” exclaimed both the women; “and before Mr.
Bide-the-Bent!”
“I stand reproved,” said the cooper; “but—”
“The taking in our mouths the name of the great enemy of our souls,”
said Mr. Bide-the-Bent—
“I stand reproved,” said the cooper.
“—Is an exposing ourselves to his temptations,” continued the reverend
monitor, “and in inviting, or, in some sort, a compelling, of him to
lay aside his other trafficking with unhappy persons, and wait upon
those in whose speech his name is frequent.”
“Weel, weel, Mr. Bide-the-Bent, can a man do mair than stand reproved?”
said the cooper; “but jest let me ask the women what for they hae
dished the wild-fowl before we came.”
“They arena dished, Gilbert,” said his wife; “but—but an accident——”
“What accident?” said Girder, with flashing eyes. “Nae ill come ower
them, I trust? Uh?”
His wife, who stood much in awe of him, durst not reply, but her mother
bustled up to her support, with arms disposed as if they were about to
be a-kimbo at the next reply.—“I gied them to an acquaintance of mine,
Gibbie Girder; and what about it now?”
Her excess of assurance struck Girder mute for an instant. “And _ye_
gied the wild-fowl, the best end of our christening dinner, to a friend
of yours, ye auld rudas! And what might _his_ name be, I pray ye?”
“Just worthy Mr. Caleb Balderstone—frae Wolf’s Crag,” answered Marion,
prompt and prepared for battle.
Girder’s wrath foamed over all restraint. If there was a circumstance
which could have added to the resentment he felt, it was that this
extravagant donation had been made in favour of our friend Caleb,
towards whom, for reasons to which the reader is no stranger, he
nourished a decided resentment. He raised his riding-wand against the
elder matron, but she stood firm, collected in herself, and undauntedly
brandished the iron ladle with which she had just been _flambing_
(_Anglicè_, basting) the roast of mutton. Her weapon was certainly the
better, and her arm not the weakest of the two; so that Gilbert thought
it safest to turn short off upon his wife, who had by this time hatched
a sort of hysterical whine, which greatly moved the minister, who was
in fact as simple and kind-hearted a creature as ever breathed. “And
you, ye thowless jade, to sit still and see my substance disponed upon
to an idle, drunken, reprobate, worm-eaten serving-man, just because he
kittles the lugs o’ a silly auld wife wi’ useless clavers, and every
twa words a lee? I’ll gar you as gude——”
Here the minister interposed, both by voice and action, while Dame
Lightbody threw herself in front of her daughter, and flourished her
ladle.
[Illustration]
“Am I no to chastise my ain wife?” exclaimed the cooper very
indignantly.
“Ye may chastise your ain wife if ye like,” answered Dame Lightbody;
“but ye shall never lay finger on my daughter, and that ye may found
upon.”
“For shame, Mr. Girder!” said the clergyman; “this is what I little
expected to have seen of you, that you suld give rein to your sinful
passions against your nearest and your dearest, and this night too,
when ye are called to the most solemn duty of a Christian parent; and
a’ for what? For a redundancy of creature-comforts, as worthless as
they are unneedful.”
“Worthless!” exclaimed the cooper. “A better guse never walkit on
stubble; two finer, dentier wild ducks never wat a feather.”
“Be it sae, neighbour,” rejoined the minister; “but see what
superfluities are yet revolving before your fire. I have seen the day
when ten of the bannocks which stand upon that board would have been an
acceptable dainty to as many men, that were starving on hills and bogs,
and in caves of the earth, for the Gospel’s sake.”
“And that’s what vexes me maist of a’,” said the cooper, anxious to get
some one to sympathise with his not altogether causeless anger; “an the
quean had gien it to ony suffering sant, or to ony body ava but that
reaving, lying, oppressing Tory villain, that rade in the wicked troop
of militia when it was commanded out against the sants at Bothwell Brig
by the auld tyrant Allan Ravenswood, that is gane to his place, I wad
the less hae minded it. But to gie the principal parts o’ the feast to
the like o’ him——!”
“Aweel, Gilbert,” said the minister, “and dinna ye see a high judgment
in this? The seed of the righteous are not seen begging their bread:
think of the son of a powerful oppressor being brought to the pass of
supporting his household from your fulness.”
“And, besides,” said the wife, “it wasna for Lord Ravenswood neither,
an he wad hear but a body speak: it was to help to entertain the Lord
Keeper, as they ca’ him, that’s up yonder at Wolf’s Crag.”
“Sir William Ashton at Wolf’s Crag!” ejaculated the astonished man of
hoops and staves.
“And hand and glove wi’ Lord Ravenswood,” added Dame Lightbody.
“Doited idiot! that auld, clavering sneckdrawer wad gar ye trow the
moon is made of green cheese. The Lord Keeper and Ravenswood! they are
cat and dog, hare and hound.”
“I tell ye they are man and wife, and gree better than some others that
are sae,” retorted the mother-in-law; “forbye, Peter Puncheon, that’s
cooper the Queen’s stores, is dead, and the place is to fill, and——”
“Od guide us, wull ye haud your skirling tongues!” said Girder,—for we
are to remark, that this explanation was given like a catch for two
voices, the younger dame, much encouraged by the turn of the debate,
taking up and repeating in a higher tone the words as fast as they were
uttered by her mother.
“The gudewife says naething but what’s true, maister,” said Girder’s
foreman, who had come in during the fray. “I saw the Lord Keeper’s
servants drinking and driving ower at Luckie Sma’trash’s, ower-bye
yonder.”
“And is their maister up at Wolf’s Crag?” said Girder.
“Ay, troth is he,” replied his man of confidence.
“And friends wi’ Ravenswood?”
“It’s like sae,” answered the foreman, “since he is putting up wi’
him.”
“And Peter Puncheon’s dead?”
“Ay, ay, Puncheon has leaked out at last, the auld carle,” said the
foreman; “mony a dribble o’ brandy has gaen through him in his day. But
as for the broche and the wild-fowl, the saddle’s no aff your mare yet,
maister, and I could follow and bring it back, for Mr. Balderstone’s no
far aff the town yet.”
“Do sae, Will; and come here, I’ll tell ye what to do when ye owertake
him.”
He relieved the females of his presence, and gave Will his private
instructions.
“A bonny-like thing,” said the mother-in-law, as the cooper re-entered
the apartment, “to send the innocent lad after an armed man, when ye
ken Mr. Balderstone aye wears a rapier, and whiles a dirk into the
bargain.”
“I trust,” said the minister, “ye have reflected weel on what ye have
done, lest you should minister cause of strife, of which it is my duty
to say, he who affordeth matter, albeit he himself striketh not, is in
no manner guiltless.”
“Never fash your beard, Mr. Bide-the-Bent,” replied Girder; “ane canna
get their breath out here between wives and ministers. I ken best how
to turn my ain cake. Jean, serve up the dinner, and nae mair about it.”
Nor did he again allude to the deficiency in the course of the evening.
Meantime, the foreman, mounted on his master’s steed, and charged with
his special orders, pricked swiftly forth in pursuit of the marauder
Caleb. That personage, it may be imagined, did not linger by the way.
He intermitted even his dearly-beloved chatter, for the purpose of
making more haste, only assuring Mr. Lockhard that he had made the
purveyor’s wife give the wild-fowl a few turns before the fire, in case
that Mysie, who had been so much alarmed by the thunder, should not
have her kitchen-grate in full splendour. Meanwhile, alleging the
necessity of being at Wolf’s Crag as soon as possible, he pushed on so
fast that his companions could scarce keep up with him. He began
already to think he was safe from pursuit, having gained the summit of
the swelling eminence which divides Wolf’s Crag from the village, when
he heard the distant tread of a horse, and a voice which shouted at
intervals, “Mr. Caleb—Mr. Balderstone—Mr. Caleb Balderstone—hollo—bide
a wee!”
Caleb, it may be well believed, was in no hurry to acknowledge the
summons. First, he would not heart it, and faced his companions down,
that it was the echo of the wind; then he said it was not worth
stopping for; and, at length, halting reluctantly, as the figure of the
horseman appeared through the shades of the evening, he bent up his
whole soul to the task of defending his prey, threw himself into an
attitude of dignity, advanced the spit, which in his grasp might with
its burden seem both spear and shield, and firmly resolved to die
rather than surrender it.
What was his astonishment, when the cooper’s foreman, riding up and
addressing him with respect, told him: “His master was very sorry he
was absent when he came to his dwelling, and grieved that he could not
tarry the christening dinner; and that he had taen the freedom to send
a sma’ runlet of sack, and ane anker of brandy, as he understood there
were guests at the castle, and that they were short of preparation.”
I have heard somewhere a story of an elderly gentleman who was pursued
by a bear that had gotten loose from its muzzle, until completely
exhausted. In a fit of desperation, he faced round upon Bruin and
lifted his cane; at the sight of which the instinct of discipline
prevailed, and the animal, instead of tearing him to pieces, rose up
upon his hind-legs and instantly began to shuffle a saraband. Not less
than the joyful surprise of the senior, who had supposed himself in the
extremity of peril from which he was thus unexpectedly relieved, was
that of our excellent friend Caleb, when he found the pursuer intended
to add to his prize, instead of bereaving him of it. He recovered his
latitude, however, instantly, so soon as the foreman, stooping from his
nag, where he sate perched betwixt the two barrels, whispered in his
ear: “If ony thing about Peter Puncheon’s place could be airted their
way, John [Gibbie] Girder wad mak it better to the Master of Ravenswood
than a pair of new gloves; and that he wad be blythe to speak wi’
Maister Balderstone on that head, and he wad find him as pliant as a
hoop-willow in a’ that he could wish of him.”
Caleb heard all this without rendering any answer, except that of all
great men from Louis XIV. downwards, namely, “We will see about it”;
and then added aloud, for the edification of Mr. Lockhard: “Your master
has acted with becoming civility and attention in forwarding the
liquors, and I will not fail to represent it properly to my Lord
Ravenswood. And, my lad,” he said, “you may ride on to the castle, and
if none of the servants are returned, whilk is to be dreaded, as they
make day and night of it when they are out of sight, ye may put them
into the porter’s lodge, whilk is on the right hand of the great entry;
the porter has got leave to go to see his friends, sae ye will meet no
ane to steer ye.”
The foreman, having received his orders, rode on; and having deposited
the casks in the deserted and ruinous porter’s lodge, he returned
unquestioned by any one. Having thus executed his master’s commission,
and doffed his bonnet to Caleb and his company as he repassed them in
his way to the village, he returned to have his share of the
christening festivity.