FRIENDLY TALKS
"Faith alone is the master-key
To the strait gate and narrow road,
The others but skeleton pick-locks be,
And you never shall pick the locks of God."
Walter Smith.
ROWENA did not see her friends for ten days, for a week of storm and
rain set in, and she managed to catch a cold which settled on her
chest, and forced her to remain indoors and be nursed by Granny. She
was solaced by a budget of Indian letters, and she straightway replied
to her brother:
"DEAR OLD TED,—"
"It was good to see your fist again. I am as hoarse as a raven, and
Granny has got full possession of me. You know what a dragon she is.
I suppose the knowledge of her superior power keeps her from feeling
the pellets of abusive epithets with which I pelt her! Shags, my
devoted one, lies at the bottom of my bed, ready for the least spark
of fun that can be got out of his mistress. He and I, of course,
hold long conversations together. I don't know which speaks most
intelligently—his stumpy tail, his two wicked little ears, or his
sparkling brown eyes. I sometimes wish humans had that eighth sense, a
tail! It would give one away too much, I expect! I often wonder whether
it is entirely under Shags' control or whether it gives an independent
wag of its own on occasions. If so, it must be rather unpleasant to
poor Shags."
"Well, I must try to write sober sense if I can. I congratulate you
on your polo match. I sometimes get a strong yearning to leave my
prison, and get some movement into my slow torpid existence. No—I am
not torpid. I feel my brain is keener than ever. You will laugh at a
literary effort of mine. I was reading a minister's account of his
village, historically, botanically, geologically, and legendarily. So
I've started a book on our loch and neighbourhood, and I can't tell
you what an interest it is. I have routed out some of your old books
here, and I've sent to Mudie's for a few more, and I hope to borrow
some from Hugh Macdonald, who has become quite friendly. I can see he
thinks me harmless, so has accepted my friendship accordingly. I am
also getting hold of a lot of old folk-lore from Donald, who, though
grimly sceptical of certain traditions, holds others fast and firm.
The Frasers are here, and have paid me one visit. I don't think they
will trouble me much. Granny told me this morning that the pretty
cottage at the top of our glen has just been taken by a single lady, a
Miss Falconer. She is a connection of the Grants, Granny says. I don't
know where she gets her information from! Our garden here is a dream.
Colin is a good hard-working boy. Picture our herbaceous border a riot
of pink and white and blue colour. The phloxes are luxuriant, so are
the delphiniums. And our roses go on and on, blooming for ever! I lie
here and enjoy nature, and I'm learning an awful lot about the birds
and insects. Hugh Macdonald has quite adopted his child, and amuses me
by his high ideas of training and education. She is too independent
for him. He said to me the other day: 'But she's a girl—why is she so
assertive, and so strong-willed and fearless?' I reminded him that our
sex is that way inclined nowadays, and he must make the best of it.
But he didn't see it. I think she wakes him up and keeps him lively.
Anne has given up the charge of her rather unwillingly, but still
keeps a motherly eye on her, and there is jealousy between her and his
housekeeper."
"This won't interest you. Oh, Ted, do you, from the depths of your
heart, believe that I am going to be a sound member of humanity again?
I am beginning to doubt it. My spinal cord has gone to smithereens! I
can't sit up for five minutes without feeling it, and it makes me rant
and roar against fate in general."
"This is the lament of Brer Tarrypin 'Loungin' round an' sufferin'.'
If you were to walk in at this moment, you would grin broadly, and tell
me that I know how to do myself! For I'm in my green room with a
cheerful wood fire. Bowls of flowers are everywhere, and an appetizing
lunch of beef-tea and crisp toast has just appeared and I've written
myself into a smiling humour again. My fits of depression don't last
long. I'm as happy as I can be away from you all. Good-bye—a thousand
kisses to the bunch of you."
"ROWENA."
As Rowena was finishing this letter, Granny came into the room.
"'Tis the minister and his mither called to speir for ye. I telled them
ye were just lyin' by, and wud na' be seein' folk for a wee bit."
"Oh, I should like to see Mrs. Macintosh. I promise not to talk more
than I do to you, Granny. Don't be a dragon. Bring her in."
Granny shook her head doubtfully; but presently ushered in the visitor,
raising a warning finger at her as she did so.
"Ye'll no mak' me young leddy force her speech. She micht bring
on inflammation o' the lungs an' throat, for she's sair vexed wi'
hoarseness just noo."
"My dear, I am sorry for you," said Mrs. Macintosh, taking the seat
Granny had placed for her. "I have been long in coming, but I have been
laid up for six weeks with a severe bout of my enemy, rheumatic-gout,
and am only just able to get about again."
"Bodies are troublesome items," said Rowena; "but I'm quite
convalescent again. Granny makes the worst of me, for she dreads my
going out-of-doors before I'm perfectly well. Tell me all the news of
the neighbourhood, and I'll lie and listen. I quite understand how
bedridden folk are entranced to hear that there has been a quarrel
between Mr. and Mrs. Black, and that Mr. White's cat has stolen Mrs.
Green's cream, and that Billy Smith saw John Wood and Mary Tibbs
walking out together! Tell me all and everything that has happened to
the outside world since I left it."
Mrs. Macintosh laughed.
"It is so easy to gossip," she said; "and I'll do it with a right good
will. Of course the first bit of news is that the Macdonald child is
living with her father. They have been to the kirk every Sabbath, and
very well behaved the little lassie is. But she stopped Robert last
Sabbath when she saw him come out of the kirk."
"'Do be a wee bit shorter next Sunday, will you,' she said with her
mischievous eyes gleaming with fun. 'I get pins and needles in my legs,
and Dad requires that I should keep still. He says a fidgety neighbour
is worse than a fidgety horse.'"
"We are wondering what her father will do with her in the way of
learning. Robert called on him the other day, and was very pleased with
his visit. It seems the laird is keenly interested in prophecy, and
Robert's soul is full of it. They talked for three or four hours."
"They would," said Rowena, laughing.
"And I suppose you have heard of the new arrival?" Mrs. Macintosh went
on. "It is a Miss Falconer at Glen Cottage. I went over to see her and
she has been once or twice to us. She is very friendly. A sweet-looking
young woman. It seems that she is very clever. Has been to Girton and
is a B.A., and for some time taught in one of the big English High
Schools. Then she had a bad illness and has never been very strong
since. She came in to a little money, and determined to get a cottage
somewhere up here. Her mother was a Grant, she is well connected. She
loves the quiet and seclusion here, but longs to be busy. I was talking
about the Macdonald child and she begged me to ask the laird if she
could teach his little daughter. She said she would prefer to walk
over to the house every day and give her as many hours' tuition as he
thought necessary, for in that way she would get air and exercise. So I
broached the subject to the laird, and he is going to think it over. It
does seem the very thing for the child, does it not? Robert is hoping
the laird means to settle down here. It will be so good for the place
and the people."
"I always feel I'm back in the feudal times when I'm over here," said
Rowena. "You are all so devoted to your chief. I think I should like to
know Miss Falconer. I wonder if she would waive ceremony and come and
see me?"
"I am sure she would be delighted to do so. May I tell her?" Mrs.
Macintosh continued to give her all the local news, then when she
declared she had got to the end of it, she said:
"And now I am going to ask you a favour. We have a little sale of work
every year for parish needs. Will you do one of your beautiful rugs for
it?"
Rowena pursed up her mouth.
"I never, on principle, do any work for bazaars."
"May I ask what the principle is?"
Rowena laughed.
"You've driven me into a corner—on the principle of selfishness I
always refuse—because in town there's a never-ending stream of charity
bazaars, and if you work for one, you must work for all."
"And you think if you work for us, you will be worried by other people?"
"I suppose I must say 'yes' to you; but I really was going to stop my
rug-making. I'm doing something so much more interesting. I'm writing a
book."
"You are writing? How delightful!"
"I'm making a history of Abertarlie and its glen and loch."
Mrs. Macintosh forgot her sale of work and became quite enthusiastic.
"Robert could help you; he has legends and folk-lore at his finger
ends. Oh, my dear, may I tell him? He will be so interested and
pleased."
"Tell him to give me information about the kirk and all the ministers
there. Wasn't there a certain Hamish McGregor who drew his sword in
the pulpit, hearing a fray going on outside, shouting, 'My text is,
"In the name of the Lord I will destroy them." Brethren, we will carry
this precept into practice immediately,' and down the kirk he flew,
the whole congregation after him, and the next moment he and they were
fighting for all they were worth with the rival clan?"
"Oh, yes, I have heard that story. May I bring Robert in to see you? He
may have reference books he could lend you."
"Bring him in, but don't tell Granny. After all it is a minister's
business to visit his sick parishioners."
So Robert came in, and he and Rowena talked about Abertarlie with great
zest and interest.
Mrs. Macintosh left them together and went out to see Granny in the
kitchen. Just before Robert left, his eyes fell on Rowena's little red
Bible which was lying on her table. He looked quite pleased and put his
hand gently upon it.
"I'm so glad you read this," he said.
"But I don't. I never have. That absurd child Mysie gave it to me for
a birthday present. I always consider it so out of date. Isn't it
audacity on my part to speak so to a minister?"
The young man shook his head at her with a smile.
"It's the fashion of the world to talk so," he said; "but these are
days in which this out of date Book surprises all who study it, by its
accurate prophecy. Its truth and inspiration are being proved up to the
hilt. Do you know, I put down all the unrest and godlessness of our
country to the neglect of the Word of Life, and the Lamp to our feet!"
"Ah, yes; I knew you would speak so; but then it is your profession to
place it highly. You see I have studied other religious textbooks. The
Koran—the writings of Confucius and of Socrates, and Mrs. Eddy's book
of Christian Science. The Bible is only one of many."
"I deny that."
The young minister spoke hotly.
"Those other works may appeal to the intellect, to the head, but the
Bible is the only book that reaches the heart, and wins the love of
its readers for the Author of it. The books you mention lay down moral
laws, but they don't give you the secret for keeping them; they don't
bring peace and happiness to an aching restless soul."
"I think Christian Science does," said Rowena slowly.
"Self-hypnotism," said Robert curtly. "Ignoring facts does not efface
them. And I have seen the breakdown of their faith stagger and distress
poor souls to the extent of making them unbelievers of everybody and
everything!"
"You are severe. We won't have an argument. I like you much better when
you are talking about fairies' mounds and folk-lore!"
Robert smiled and said no more.
When he and his mother had gone, Rowena put out her hand for her red
Book.
"Well, I must make a beginning. I'll read the New Testament through.
I don't expect I shall find anything fresh in it. I'll take a chapter
a day. Shags, I don't like young ministers. They are so dogmatic. I
wonder if the laird will talk in the same strain. I shall test him when
he comes next time."
General Macdonald came over to see her the first day she was out again
on her couch beneath the shady trees on the lawn. He expressed his
regret at her bad cold, and settled down to smoke and talk like an old
friend.
"I really think I've fixed up Mysie's education," he said. "A most
charming young woman has arrived in these parts, a full-fledged and
certificated teacher. She's not obliged to teach, but she loves it, and
she's started coming over to give the child lessons every day from nine
to one. Have you made her acquaintance yet?"
"No. I've heard about her. She makes a favourable impression upon
everybody. I am quite anxious to see her. You do seem lucky. Is she
fond of children?"
"I should think so. She's fond of teaching—the two go together. She has
great ideas about education. I could hardly follow her, after a certain
time. But her heart and soul are in it."
"And how does Mysie like her?"
"I have not asked. She's too critical—that child. She began at once to
say she didn't like people who smiled when they said nasty things. I
shut her up. Told her that governesses were not to be criticized. That
they were to be respected and obeyed. And then what do you think she
said?"
"Something to the point, I expect."
"'When I grow up, I shall trample obedience to the ground, and do all
the things I'm told not to do now.' What do you think of that for a
child of nine?"
"Oh, she means nothing. It's a fit of petulance. I used to talk like
that when I was young."
"You are very comforting," he said with a grave smile. "I would like
Mysie to grow up like you."
"Oh, never!" cried Rowena. "You don't mean it. I hope she'll do
something more with her life than I have with mine. I have never done
so much introspecting in all my days as I have since I've been on my
back. I've been too busy and one just lives without questioning the
whys and wherefores of life. But I'm beginning to see I haven't much to
show for my years of life, so far."
"How do you regard life?" asked General Macdonald.
"Not as seriously as you do," said Rowena promptly; then laying her
hand on her red Bible, she added, "nor half as seriously as this Book
would have us do. I am a frivolous, careless person by nature."
"How are you getting on with the study of it?"
"What? My Bible? Oh, I haven't begun to study it. I am reading it.
Well, I haven't answered your question. I think I regard life as a
journey in which we are bound to help our fellow-travellers by the way,
and keep a cheery heart. That's my creed. At least it was, but now I'm
beginning to think I might have contributed towards bettering the bad
conditions that exist."
"And the end of the journey?"
Rowena shrugged her shoulders.
"An unknowledgeable finish, I am afraid. You know I don't regard the
Bible as you do. It is one of many religious textbooks."
"Yes, that was my belief; but Cuff Mackenzie knocked that on the head.
His life was a living vital force—inspired by what he got out of the
Bible. And he was one of the best chaps going. I have now proved what
he did: that it solves all life's puzzles, and brings one into touch
with a glorious new world, and a certain hope, and a mighty Power."
"Anything more?"
General Macdonald turned steady, glowing eyes upon her.
"It makes one acquainted with the Saviour of the World." Rowena was
absolutely silent for some moments, then she said:
"I wonder if I shall get out of it what you do?"
"I dare say you will get more."
"You see," she said somewhat wistfully, "it is only since I have had so
much time alone that I have begun to think. But I don't feel, even now,
that I am dissatisfied or want more than I can get. I mean I don't need
the Bible as a prop or guide."
"Perhaps you have never had a flash of light showing you our cause of
existence."
"I haven't. I think the only thing I was born for was to be kind to
Ted."
General Macdonald was silent. Then Rowena suddenly turned the subject,
and told him of her attempt at literature. He was interested at once.
"I'll lend you our clan book. As this is our part of the world, there's
a lot of local information in it. I congratulate you on the idea. When
one is on one's back, writing is an immense resource. It is even better
than reading for taking away from oneself."
"Have you done anything in that way yourself?"
"Yes, I have done a few articles for magazines—chiefly military
subjects. I believe I have a book on the lochs of this part. Would you
care for it as a reference?"
"I should be charmed. I envy you your library! Being shut up for the
greater part of the year, this house does not own many books."
General Macdonald looked at her thoughtfully.
Rowena was always good to look at. Her face was extraordinarily alive
with interest and emotion. One of her friends said that her soul seemed
to be leaping forth from her body. Now, as she lay back among her
cushions, there was a magnificent energy and force in every feature of
her face.
She drew a long breath.
"Oh, it's good to be learning new things," she said. "This small
attempt of mine has taught me so much of this dear place! By the by,
do you know our new young minister? He is very interested in all local
history, and has the superstitious soul of the Highlander in spite of
his religion."
"I have met him and like him. I lent him an old book of mine the other
day, written by one of those early divines, and its quaint phraseology
pleased me. I copied a bit out for you. Tell me how you like it?"
General Macdonald produced a notebook out of his pocket and read the
following:
"I walk the world now with the World's Creator."
"He opens many doors for me. One door I fain would have open,
but He opens it not. I know He will do it on the Great Surprise day,
and till then I wait patiently and serenely, being assured verily
that were I to have all doors unlocked now, I should lose that
goodly champion Hope."
"This one closed door has many crowds about it. Some tamper with the
lock and endeavour to spy through the keyhole. They do not endeavour
long, but depart with high head and pouting lips; saying that
because of their inability to see through to the other side, there
remaineth no other side at all."
"And others sit down and weave imaginary conceits about it which
they pass on proudly to the unimaginative ones."
"And I, with my hand in the Almighty one, have learned and am
still learning daily how to love the Unseen Presence which leads
and surrounds me."
"I know His keys will be used as He sees fit."
"And one day that last door shall be opened to me."
"Till then I am content to smile and trust and wait."
"I like it," said Rowena emphatically. "It is sound philosophy. I
have no patience with those who have cravings for the moon. Nor do I
wish just yet to attain all my desires. Hope is a goodly companion. I
suppose this experience is yours. You told me a new world had opened
out to you and taken possession of you."
"It's my aim to make it mine," General Macdonald said slowly. Then
he gave a short laugh. "Meanwhile I think great thoughts, and lose
my temper at the least provocation! I nearly swore at the child this
morning! Her continual motion gets on my nerves. Thank goodness Miss
Falconer will keep her quiet for half every day now. She's an ideal
companion when one wants to lounge or laze, but not when one wants to
read and attend to business matters. And in the early morning I'm testy
and crusty—always have been."
"I do like you when you're human," said Rowena, laughing. "Why is it
that absolutely perfect people never appeal to one? I suppose one likes
to be surprised. The dead monotony of the virtuous good ..."
He put out his hand as if to stop her.
"Don't!" he said. "There's no chance of monotony with the best people
in the world! They ought always to be rising higher."
Rowena gave a little groan.
"I hope you won't try to rise to a higher plane than your present one.
You are quite far-away from me as it is."
He shook his head.
"Have you heard of the Hermit of Abertarlie? You ought to bring him
into your book."
"No, do tell me."
"He made himself a hut at the bottom of the glen. If you look opposite
you'll see a very old oak down by the edge of the loch."
"I know it well. There are not many trees that I do not know. I lie
here and look-out at them all day long. Was his hut over there?"
"It is said so. Of course he was a very devout man, and every morning
and evening he knelt down at the water's edge and said his prayers.
But, the tale goes, the water fairies used to rise up and mock at him,
and having been a keen fisherman before he turned hermit, he found the
rising trout and salmon too much for his peace of mind. They mixed up
too much with his prayers."
"'I have made a mistake,' he said. 'I am too close to the earth, too
low down—too far from heaven.' So he moved his hut to the top of the
glen, just in the thicket where Miss Falconer's cottage now stands. But
the high road over the moor passed too close to him. He was annoyed
by the drovers driving their cattle to market. He heard their bad
language. 'Too close to wickedness,' he sighed. He finally climbed a
very thick beech tree, and up there made another home for himself."
"'The birds will not disturb me,' he assured himself; 'they live too
near heaven.'"
"But a storm came one night and, the legend goes, not only swept him
out of his tree, but swept him from the top of the glen to the bottom,
and when he woke to consciousness, it was to find himself with a broken
back lying by the edge of the loch once again."
"'Ah!' he breathed, just as he was dying, 'I am afraid I have been
mistaken. Close to the earth I was born; close to the earth I die.
Close to the earth I was meant to live. I tried to change my atmosphere
too soon. It was before my Maker's time!'"
"What a good moral!" said Rowena delightedly. "I shall certainly put
that legend in my book."
Macdonald got up to go. She looked up at him with her laughing eyes.
"'Close to the earth you are meant to live,'" she quoted. "The Frasers
consider you a hermit already. And I am glad that you have such an
unsaintly little daughter! She will keep you in your right atmosphere."
He smiled gravely as he walked away. And Rowena's eyes softened as she
looked after him.
"I hope he won't become too saintly to enjoy a talk with a sinner like
myself," she murmured.