Next morning, when the family assembled in the study, for the morning
service, Mrs. Martin observed, that Helen still looked pale and unwell;
but Helen said she did not feel ill, only as if she was very tired, and
had caught a cold. Her mother replied, "then my dear, you must not go to
church this morning; for though I disapprove very much of people absenting
themselves from the public worship of their Maker, upon every light and
trivial excuse, I think it wrong, when they are really ill, to go out,
even to church; as by that means they often endanger their lives. Such a
sacrifice is not required of us; and we act much more wisely by remaining
at home, in such cases, nursing ourselves, and taking care to spend our
time, not in idleness, but in our own private devotions."
In Scotland, the observance of Sunday is strict, but nor morosely severe.
It is considered by the peasants as their grand day of innocent
recreation. Nothing that is trifling, or that can any how be done on
Saturday, is left for the Sabbath. The men are all shaved on Saturday
evening; and they would even scruple to gather a cabbage out of their
garden, on the Lord's day.
Mr. Martin's parish church was about half a mile from the Manse. The walk
to it was pleasant, and presented a most lively scene, as Mr. and Mrs.
Martin set out, accompanied by the whole of their household, excepting
only one maid, who was left at home with Helen. John walked at Mr.
Martin's back, carrying the Psalm books and Bible.
As they turned down the holm, the path, as far as the eye could reach, was
sprinkled with men and women, dressed in the usual costume of the country,
which consists of a woollen plaid, of a black and white small checked
pattern, very simply thrown round the women's shoulders, as a scarf. The
men wear it over the right shoulder only, and tied loosely under the left
arm. The women seldom wear bonnets; they have either a beaver hat, like a
man's, or else wear a snow-white cap, tied under their chin, and usually
ornamented with a showy ribbon.
As Mr. Martin's family passed, every group stood still, making their bows
and curtsies in silence, for it would be reckoned rude to speak to the
Minister on his way to church; their greetings of enquiry being always
reserved till the service is over, when the older men and heads of
families look upon it as a sort of privilege, which they possess, to shake
hands with their pastor, enquire after his health, talk of the news of the
day, and not unfrequently give their opinion of the sermon he has just
been preaching. And indeed they are often much better qualified to judge
of such subjects, than the same class of society in other countries; which
arises from their having all been taught to read, as their fathers before
them had been, for several generations; and what has a most material
effect upon both their morals and conduct is, that their reading has been
properly directed to the study of the Holy Scriptures.
After church, Mr. Martin having paid his compliments all around, and Mrs.
Martin having enquired who was sick, and if any one required her
particular attention, the family returned to the Manse, in the same order
in which they left it. They there found Mr. Armstrong, who had called on
his way from Mr. Scott's. He told them that Marion's complaint had turned
out to be the measles; and that, at present, she was extremely ill; but
that he hoped, in a few hours, there might be a favourable change. Mrs.
Scott had desired him to inform Mrs. Martin of these circumstances, as she
was anxious to know whether Miss Helen and John had had the disorder.
Mrs. Martin immediately became alarmed, for Helen had never had it. Having
been rather a delicate child, she was kept out of the house, with a friend
in Langholm, at the time the disease had affected her brother. She
therefore begged Mr. Armstrong to step up to the bedroom, where Helen was
lying down, as her headache had come on again very violently. Mr.
Armstrong, on seeing her, pronounced that she had undoubtedly caught the
infection, and ordered her to be put to bed. On enquiry about John, they
fortunately found, that he had had the disease; which they were glad of,
as an illness, at present, must have prevented his going to Mr. Laurie's.
The surgeon now took his leave, promising to call next morning at the same
hour; and saying to John, who stood at the door holding his horse. "You
must take another walk, my lad, to Langholm to-night, to bring some
medicine for Miss Helen, for I cannot well manage to send up myself; and
it is of consequence that she should take it in the evening." "I will do
that, Sir, with the greatest pleasure; or any thing else that is in my
power for Miss Helen; but I hope you do not think that either she or poor
Marion Scott is likely to die," endeavouring to conceal the tears that
were trickling down his cheeks; "I am sure I should feel as much, if that
were to happen, as I did when my own dear father and mother died; and oh,
Sir! that was a dreadful time." "I hope, my little fellow, there will be
no such bad doings as that;" answered Mr. Armstrong, "at least, we must
try all we can to prevent it; so do you come down to me when the
evening-service is over, and I will have every thing ready, that you may
not be detained. He makes a better messenger," continued he, turning to
Mr. Martin, "than Archie Kerr, who has not yet returned from Langholm,
though Mr. Scott sent him off yesterday morning. I suppose I shall meet
him on the road as I ride down, for he will be sure to be home in time for
his work to-morrow morning. To do him justice, he seldom forgets that;
though, when he can find an excuse to leave it, he is a sad tippling
fellow."
The family now went to dinner, which on Sunday seldom consists of any
thing but eggs, bread and cheese, and such cold meat as may be in the
house. When they had finished their simple meal, Mr. Martin and the
servants returned to evening-service; but Helen's illness prevented her
mother from leaving her. When the service was over, John set out to
Langholm, promising to make all the haste in his power back to the Manse.
He soon arrived at Mr. Armstrong's, and receiving the medicine, set off on
his return home. He walked very quick till he got upon the green holm, not
having met a single creature the whole way; for walking is considered a
very improper way of spending the Sabbath evening, unless when going upon
necessary business, as that is the greatest portion of time the peasantry
can bestow on catechising their children, and reading portions of
Scripture to their families. John was, therefore, rather surprised to see
a man walking before him, at a distance. As he himself went quick, he soon
came near enough to perceive that the person, whoever he was, instead of
going straight forward, kept moving from side to side of the road, in a
very extraordinary manner. "I do believe," thought John, "that this must
be Archie Kerr. Well! what will become of him, if, by any chance, the
minister should come out to look for me? Though he is a tipsy fellow, and
has behaved so ill about Marion, I should not wish any thing so bad as
_that_ to happen to him. I think I had best run as fast as I can and get
up the lane, and then Mr. Martin, when he sees me, will never think of
coming to the holm to-night." So saying, he began to hasten as fast as he
could; but just as came within a stone's throw of Archie, to John's great
alarm, Archie lost his balance, and fell, with his whole force, across the
road. John ran to endeavour to help him up again, but, when he got close
to him, he perceived that his head had struck against a stone, and that it
was bleeding profusely. "What shall I do now?" said John. "Pray, Archie,
try to raise yourself up, if you can; for I have not strength to move you,
and I cannot leave you lying here; for if a horse or cart were to come by,
you would be crushed to pieces." Archie spoke not, but John continued
pulling him as hard as he could, without the least success; and now,
becoming seriously alarmed, as he found his temple still bleeding in spite
of the neckcloth which John had taken from Archie's neck and tied round
his head, he thought the only thing he could do was to run home and
prevail on old Sandy, the shepherd, to come and help to remove Archie to a
place of safety. "But I will get as quietly as I can in at the back door
of the manse," thought John, "that the minister may know nothing about it;
for I don't know what would be the consequence, if he were to learn that
there was such a disgraceful sight, just before his own door, on a Sunday
evening."
With this intention, John ran up the lane, and had just got his hand upon
the latch of the back door, which he was lifting gently up, when he heard
the study bell ring for prayers, which on Sunday were always before
supper, in order that the children and servants of the family might be
examined on what they had heard at church; an excellent practice, as it
induces them to be more attentive while there, and gives them an
opportunity of being instructed on points which they may not have
perfectly understood. John had no time to deliberate. He went in, and saw
the tail of the shepherd's coat, just going into the parlour. He sprung
forward, in hopes of drawing him back, without being observed; but Sandy
was too intent on what he had to say to the Minister to understand any of
the signs that John was making. He therefore only thought the boy was
playing some monkey tricks; and being greatly scandalized at such conduct,
so near the presence of his master, he, with one jerk, pushed poor John
into the middle of the room. A shriek, from Mrs. Martin, made her husband,
who was sitting at the table, with the large family Bible open before him,
raise his head. A most terrific sight was presented to him--John standing
directly opposite, as pale as death, his face and hands stained in various
places with blood, his clothes in disorder, and trembling from head to
foot. "What has happened, child?" asked they all with one breath. "What
have you been doing?" John stood undetermined what to say. He stammered;
and, at last, bursting into tears and turning to the shepherd, cried, "Oh,
Sandy! why did you not stop, when I pulled your coat? then I should not
have been obliged to tell upon poor Archie; but now I cannot save him from
disgrace." "Speak distinctly, my dear," said Mr. Martin, taking hold of
his hand, and bidding him compose himself. "Something serious must have
happened. Don't think of Archie's disgrace: but tell me at once what it
is." John now saw that he could not avoid unfolding his tale, and
therefore began, in a very confused way, to relate what had happened. Mr.
Martin, however, soon gathered that Archie had fallen down and was hurt.
He therefore waited no longer than to get a lantern lighted, and with old
Sandy, set out after John, who ran before them to show them where Archie
was.
When they got near the place, they heard him groaning most piteously. They
raised him up, and tried to get him to walk between them; but though he
was sensible of the pain of his head, as they supposed by his groans, he
was so completely overcome by liquor, that he could not assist himself in
the least; and after various trials, Mr. Martin desired John, as the only
method of getting their burden to the Manse that he could think of, to go
and bring Bob down some difficulty they at last succeeded in conveying
Archie safe to the house; and the maids, in the mean time, having made up
a bed for him in the kitchen, Mrs. Martin proceeded to examine his wound.
She found it was a pretty deep cut; but not likely to be of any serious
consequence. She therefore, after dressing it, ordered Sandy to put her
patient to bed, and leave him to sleep off the effects of his
intoxication. The family then returned to the parlour, Nelly having first
washed John's face and hands, and made him a little more fit to be seen;
and Mrs. Martin observing that he was still pale from the fright, gave him
a glass of currant wine before he began his catechism.
After the duties of the evening were over, the supper was brought in,
which on Sunday evenings is usually the most abundant meal of any during
the week, and in general the most cheerful; but this night poor Helen's
illness through a damp over the spirits of her parents; and the
nicely-roasted fowl, with fried eggs, Mr. Martin's favourite dish left the
table almost untouched; to the great displeasure of Nelly the cook, who
supposing it arose from a different cause, declared in the kitchen, that
it was scandalous shame for that wicked varlet, Archie Kerr, to disturb
her good master, and keep him from eating his wholesome supper after the
fatigues of the day, by thinking on his great wickedness. "Was there no
other place for him to break his head but just before the Minister's
door?" She was sure if she had seen him fall she would have let him lie.
"Hush, Nelly," said Sandy, "you would have done no such thing. You are
only angry because your supper has not been eaten to-night; but I dare say
Archie has nothing to do with that; it is more likely to be Miss Helen's
illness."
"I did not think of that, indeed," said Nelly. "May be Archie is not to
blame about the supper, and he has enough to answer for without laying
that to his charge; but, good night," continued she, "it is time we were
all gone to bed. Remember, Sandy, that Archie must not leave the house
till our master has seen and talked with him. I was desired to tell you to
be very particular about this. I am thinking the Minister will read him a
lecture. I am sure I would not be in his place for the best new gown in
Langholm." So saying, they all separated for the evening.
Through the night poor Helen suffered considerably; and her anxious mother
never left her till towards morning, when Mr. Martin took his wife's
place, and insisted that she should lie down for a few hours. "We shall
have you ill too, my dear, if you do not take care; and then what will
become of us?" "Pray, mamma," said Helen, (who had heard what her father
said,) "do go to bed. I promise you I will lie quite still, and give papa
no trouble that I can help." Mrs. Martin was at last persuaded to leave
them; and after a sleep of three hours, found, on her return to the room,
that the measles had made their appearance, and that Helen felt rather
better than when she had left her.
On going down stairs, Mr. Martin enquired for Archie Kerr, of Nelly, who
was laying the cloth for breakfast. "He is pretty well, Sir, this morning,
but wants sadly to get away to his work. At least, that is what he says;
but I think he is afraid to see you, after what happened last night. When
he discovered where he was, Sandy tells me, he grew quite pale, and said,
'This is the worst scrape I have ever got into. I think I would almost as
soon have fallen into the river as have been brought to the Manse, for how
shall I ever face the Minister?'" "Send him in to me, Nelly; and don't
disturb us, till I ring the bell." Nelly did as she was ordered; and
Archie made his appearance with his head bound up, and one of Sandy's
woollen night-caps half drawn over his eyes, as if he wanted to hide them
from the good man, who was now going to address him. As, however, the door
was shut immediately, and there were none present but himself and the
Minister, what Mr. Martin said to him never transpired; only when he left
the study and passed through the kitchen, in his way to go home, Nelly
observed that his eyes were red with weeping; and as he shook hands with
John, he said, "I shall have reason, my little fellow, to bless the night
you found me, and got me brought to the Manse, all my life long, if I can
but remember what the minister has been saying to me; and, after his
kindness, I shall be an ungrateful villain indeed, if ever I forget it;
and that I would not be for all the whiskey in Eskdale. Farewell! And, my
man, if ever you should be tempted to drink more than is good for you,
think on Archie Kerr, last night, and I am sure that will restrain you."