destination. Mrs. Dobie replied to all inquiries that Mr. Gowan had
paid "like a gentleman," and she was "sorry that some people did'na ken
when they were well off!"--alluding, of course, to Christian. But Mrs.
Dobie, not being "of the household of the Faith," could not be expected
to show sympathy toward a course of action which robbed her of so
profitable a guest.
Thus were our golden dreams dispelled! Ardmuirland, indeed, took some
little time to recover from the dazzling visions which the coming of
"the millionaire"--as Val and I delighted to style him in private--had
called up, but in a year or so Gowan's name had become a mere memory to
most of us. Christian alone--true to her baptismal name--held that
memory in benediction; every night she and her little ones gave a
prominent place in their family prayers to the "Cousin Aleck" whom they
all regarded as a generous benefactor. It was not difficult to
interpret the mother's intention in thus making the man a constant
object of prayer; to her the possession of God's grace appeared a good
beyond all earthly riches and delights, and I can well believe that she
even rejoiced that she had been called upon to give testimony of the
faith that was in her. Her sentiments were doubtless those of Tobias
of old: "For we are the children of saints, and look for the life which
God will give to those that never change their faith from him."
V
"DOMINIE DICK"
"A light to guide, a rod
To check the erring and reprove."
(_Wordsworth--"Ode to Duty"_)
Few of the many conversations I have had from time to time with old
Willy have been more interesting than those upon the subject of schools
and schoolmasters in the days when he was young.
In the early part of the nineteenth century education was conducted in
a primitive fashion at Ardmuirland. In a small community, consisting
almost entirely of Catholics, and those mostly in poor circumstances, a
trained teacher was rarely to be found. In many country districts like
ours the task of instructing the young devolved upon one or other of
the better educated of the crofter class. For in those days even
reading and writing--not to mention "counting," or arithmetic, as we
style it--constituted a liberal education in Ardmuirland, and many of
the people were unable to boast of possessing either. Hence when one
of the community was sufficiently versed in such accomplishments he was
looked up to as a qualified instructor.
Willy had passed through the hands of more than one of such
schoolmasters, and his recollections on the subject are interesting.
The one who seems to have made the most impression upon his memory was
a better informed man than is usually found in the class to which he
belonged.
"Finlay Farquharson wes the best o' them a'! There wes saxty or
siventy bairns went to his school at Carnavruick when I wes a loon.
He'd been to Ameriky, ye ken, sir, and I doot he'd brought back wi' him
a bit o' the Yankee tongue. Faix! He had a lively tongue! He niver
wanted his answer when he had to come oot wi' it."
Farquharson's "Academy" was his little living-room--not over-spacious
for such an assembly; but in those days no parental government
legislated for so many cubic feet of space for each child, and they
seemed to keep in health and strength in spite of that fact. The
school assembled in what we may term the winter months only, which in
Scotland may be reckoned as nearly two-thirds of the year. The
remaining months were occupied in farming work both by master and
scholars.
During the term (as we may call it) the procedure was as follows:
Farquharson was accustomed to rise about four o'clock and to work for
two or three hours at threshing corn. After an early breakfast he made
preparations for his scholastic duties by clearing out of the way all
unnecessary furniture--though there was little that was
superfluous--and placing the long planks supported by big stones which
served for forms. As some children were sure to be occupied with class
work during the whole time, fewer seats were needed than would have
been necessary otherwise. The schoolmaster's old mother, Margot, kept
her own chair by the fire, where she kept an eye on the pot of soup and
occupied herself with knitting. The one small table served as master's
desk and as writing-table for those pupils who had advanced
sufficiently in the art to be allowed to use a copy-book instead of a
slate--but they were few.
The scholars arrived about eight o'clock. It was required of each, as
part of the school fees, to bring a block of dried peat to serve as
fuel for the fire. It was always the ambition of a boy of lively
temperament, such as Willy represented himself to be, to choose as hard
a "peat" as he could possibly find, to serve as a weapon in the mimic
battles fought on the road to school. As the fire was composed wholly
of peat, and the chimney was wide, the place would be often a difficult
one to study in when the wind was in the wrong quarter. At such times,
to use Willy's description:
"It wes juist a reeky hole! We wes all well learned to pit up wi' the
reek! I niver thocht muckle o' reek aifter that schule!"
The proceedings began with reading; after that came spelling.
"Coontin'" followed for those who were sufficiently accomplished.
"Them as wes best at the readin' spent nearly all day at the coontin'
and writin'. The maister wes short enuch in the temper," remarked
Willy on this point. "Aye, aye, he wes gey hot in the temper, I insure
ye! I mind a loon comin' up to him ane day wi' a coont on his slate,
ye ken, an' Farquharson wes that enraged at a mistak' i' the coont that
he broke the slate on the laddie's heid an' left the frame hangin' like
a horse's collar roond his neck!"
Farquharson evidently held to the great principle that corporal
punishment was part of a sound education. Behind the door was a stool,
which served as a block upon which to stretch a victim whose offense
deserved the extreme punishment, but that was not often required. A
favorite instrument was the strap, or, as Willy termed it, "the belt."
Should the master catch sight of an idler, or practical joker, he would
throw the strap to the delinquent as a sign that a thrashing was due,
and the boy or girl had to come up to his table and receive the
punishment.
"Some wad be stiff to come up wi't, ye ken," explained Willy; "but he'd
niver let a loon off, though he wes mair merciful-like to the wee
lassies. He'd larnt by experience, ye ken; for in the auld days, afore
I went there, ane o' the lassies wes a month awa' frae the schule--he
throosh her that severe."
About midday there was a recess, and the children ate their "pieces,"
which they had brought from home, and spent a little time outside at
play, while the schoolmaster took his simple meal. The favorite game
was a kind of shinty. It was played by the boys with a ball, driven
with sticks, each with "a big lump o' wood at the end o't."
The more advanced pupils learned grammar.
"I niver learned nae graymer masel'," said Willy. "I couldna'
onderstan' a word o't. I thocht it a gey-like leetany to hear the
graymer. 'I mak', thou mak's, he mak's'--seemed to me nae sense, ye
ken!"
There were no holidays as a regular thing. School went on in the
season every week-day. But there was one great day in the year, which
was looked forward to by both parents and children; it was that set
apart for what we more delicately reared folk in these days would
regard as cruel sport--that of cock-fighting! Sometimes as many as
thirty of the lads would each bring his bird under his arm, and these
in turn would be placed in the ring. Neighbors from far and near would
come to the school for that day.
"The best fichter," said Willy, "wes callit the King; the second best,
the Queen; the third, the Knave. Them as wouldna' ficht we callit
'fougie.' Eh, what a day that wes!"
But it must not be thought that the duties of the schoolmaster were
confined to his school. He was a personage in the community when he
had assumed his position as pedagogue. Since he was instructor of
youth, he was regarded as capable of assisting the literary pursuits of
their parents and elders.
"We callit the schoolmaster 'Dominie Dick,'" explained Willy. "He wes
a big mon i' the distric', ye ken, sir! He'd oft write letters for the
fowk roond aboot!"
I gathered from the same authority that the "Dominie," for the time
being, was also the reliable reader of the public newspaper. When the
weekly paper had arrived, all the men who were interested in what the
world was doing would gather at some specified house to listen to the
schoolmaster as he read aloud choice extracts. In his absence the best
reader of the party was requested to undertake the duty.
"My faither," said Willy, "wes aye conseedered the best aifter the
schulemaister. If he miscallit a word the dictionar' wes allas
consultit; it wes on the table ready."
This recollection called up another in commendation of his father's
reading powers.
"The maister o' the Strathdalgie Schule wes a Protestant, ye ken, but
he wouldna' hae ony person read till him but my faither. He had to gae
till the schulemaister's bedside when he wes dyin'; for the puir mon
wouldna' hae the menister, as he likit a' the words clear."
Farquharson's quasi-official position was on one occasion the cause of
rather an unpleasant experience. One of his predecessors in office, an
old man named McConnachie, had been forced to retire from the teaching
profession on account of failing intellect. After an illness, when he
was already far advanced in years, his mind gradually gave way, until
he was nothing better than a harmless lunatic. No one grudged the old
man a little oatmeal or a bag of potatoes now and again, and he could
get milk for the asking from any of those who owned a cow. He lived
all by himself in a small house, and a kindly neighbor would go in
occasionally to "redd up"--in other words, put the place in order.
But the poor old fellow's lunacy became less harmless as he grew older.
It developed into a kind of kleptomania. Should a housewife have a
family wash hanging on her clothes-lines, it was not infrequently the
case that many of the articles would mysteriously disappear. The most
extraordinary objects would vanish from the houses--chimney ornaments,
cups, spoons, flatirons, buttons, photographs, and such like gear. For
a time no one suspected old McConnachie; though, upon reflection, after
the matter had been cleared up it appeared that many of the losers had
missed articles after one of his calls. When a venturous spirit
undertook to search the old man's habitation during his absence, a
store of miscellaneous objects came to light, which revealed the
hitherto unknown pilferer.
In another way, too, McConnachie became a nuisance to the community.
Perhaps some faint recollection of one of his duties as "Dominie" may
have led to it; but he began to show so violent a dislike toward any of
the children who might cross his path that he would do his best to give
them a good drubbing with his stick. In the case of the more simple he
sometimes succeeded in seizing hold before the child had attempted to
escape his clutches, and in giving the unfortunate culprit a good
reason for flying home in tears to exhibit to an angry mother the marks
of "t' auld schulemaister's wand!"
Under such circumstances it became necessary to take counsel with the
Inspector of the Poor with a view to getting McConnachie placed under
restraint. Matters were easily settled and a time fixed for his
deportation to the County Asylum.
But though the old fellow was mad enough in some respects, he was sharp
enough in others! It required diplomacy to get him to leave his home
and undertake a journey even in the conveyance which the Inspector had
promised to provide to take him to the railway station some miles away.
Farquharson, on account of his office, was the only person in the
community who was on terms of cordiality with McConnachie; for the old
man had a great idea of his position in Ardmuirland, and held himself
somewhat above the common run of people. With Farquharson he could
converse as with one who was _almost_ an equal--not absolutely, for he
himself had been through some little training which the other had not.
To Farquharson, therefore, the Inspector looked for assistance. He
arranged for him to travel with the old fellow, under the pretence of
visiting a large school on the invitation of a master there whom he
knew; this supposititious friend had included McConnachie in the letter
(really written by the Inspector) which Farquharson had received on the
subject.
The old schoolmaster was easily duped by this trick, and on an
appointed day the two set off. The first obstacle arose at the
station, when Farquharson had taken the tickets, for which the "friend"
had provided the necessary money.
"I should like to have my own ticket," the older man remarked with an
air of dignity. "I'm not a bairn to be likely to lose it."
Here was a slight difficulty! Farquharson had taken a single ticket
for the other and a return for himself. It would never do to allow
this to be known. On the other hand, McConnachie must be kept in good
humor or he would give trouble to his guardian, who began now to see
the weak points in the plot. So trusting to the certainty of being
able to get back the remaining half-ticket when the old man was safely
lodged in the Asylum, he retained the single ticket and gave
McConnachie the other.
They reached the end of their railway journey successfully, and
Farquharson managed to explain their destination to a porter privately,
and asked him to get a cab for them. The man was either stupid or was
disappointed at receiving an insignificant tip, since Farquharson was
not one to waste money unnecessarily; for he gave the direction
"Asylum" to the driver in a voice that McConnachie must have been deaf
not to have heard distinctly. Farquharson glanced at once at his
companion, but the old man's face was expressionless, and he persuaded
himself, almost against his will, that McConnachie was too much taken
up with the novelty of the situation to catch the words spoken. The
eagerness with which the old man took notice of every feature of their
progress tended to confirm the idea, and by the time the Asylum was
reached Farquharson felt more at ease.
"The grounds are well kept," remarked McConnachie as they proceeded up
the short avenue.
"Aye, aye, they are that!" was the other's ready answer.
"It seems a big building!" said the old man, as they drove up to the
entrance.
"Far bigger than I expected," said Farquharson.
The cabby rang the bell, and the door was opened by a man-servant, who
came down the steps and opened the carriage door. Farquharson got out
first and incautiously walked up the steps toward the door of the
building. With a madman's cunning, McConnachie whispered to the
servant:
"That's the gentleman I was to bring. He's gone in, so I need not
wait. Tell the man to drive back."
And the agonized Farquharson beheld his charge rapidly driving away and
leaving him behind alone.
"Stop! Stop!" he cried in an angry voice. "That's the man I was
bringing here! He's not fit to be left alone. I tell you he's the
daft man! I'm only a friend!"
"Quite so, sir," said the servant quietly. "It will be all right if
you will step in for a few minutes. We can easily explain to the
Governor."
Two other attendants had appeared on the scene by this time, and the
gentle pressure of the servant's hand on his arm induced the hapless
Farquharson to ascend the steps once more and enter the hall.
He repeated his explanation to the other men, who treated it in the
same quiet way as the first had done. Then it began to dawn upon him
that they really took him for the madman and McConnachie for his sane
companion.
It was a natural mistake as far as they were concerned; for it was
quite a common thing for patients to suppose every one else to be
mentally afflicted except themselves. Moreover, McConnachie had a more
cultured manner than Farquharson at any time, and when the latter
showed so much excitement on account of the trick which had been played
upon him, he did not appear to advantage. He was so intensely angry
and so apprehensive of the consequences of the disaster that he was
scarcely coherent, and this justified the attendants in their view of
the situation.
The Governor had already been prejudiced against him, when Farquharson
at last obtained an interview with him, and took the same view as the
others. The fact of his having given the return ticket to McConnachie
made it difficult to explain that the other had no right to it; the
faint glimmer of a smile on the face of the attendant while he was
attempting to clear up that point filled poor Farquharson with dismay
and rendered him still more nervous and excited.
So the poor schoolmaster was detained in the Asylum and old McConnachie
returned home in state. All was put right in a day or two, for the
Inspector was informed of the turn affairs had taken, and lost no time
in releasing Farquharson. The unfortunate man did not dare to return
to the district for some time. When he at last ventured to appear,
McConnachie had long left the place and was dead and almost forgotten,
and neighbors were too glad to welcome Farquharson back among them to
remind him of his humiliation.
"Things is gey different now, sir," was Willy's summing-up on the
subject of education. "The bairns get mair teechin' noo, and less o'
the beltin', an' I'm no sure but they learn a' the better for it!"
VI
BILDY
"'Tis not the whole of life to live;
Nor all of death to die."
(_Montgomery--"Issues of Life and Death"_)
Old Widow Lamont and her spinster daughter, Robina, lived in a bit of a
house on the edge of the pine wood that sheltered our presbytery from
the east winds; they were consequently our nearest neighbors with the
exception of Willy and Bell. They possessed a cow and a few hens, and
Robina, who was a sturdy woman of forty, did the work of their small
croft with occasional help from one of the males of the community. For
in Ardmuirland, be it known, one neighbor helps another in return for
the like service when required; thus Robina would lend a hand at
hay-time, harvest, potato planting, and the rest, and would be entitled
to a few days' plowing and harrowing on her own land in compensation.
The Lamonts, though not exceedingly poor, could not be called
well-to-do. The absence of a resident man in a small croft must be of
necessity a difficulty; but they were upright, hard-working women, and
managed to maintain themselves in a simple, frugal way. Oatmeal and
potatoes were grown on the croft; bread could be obtained from the
passing baker's cart in exchange for eggs; butter, and sometimes milk,
could be sold to neighbors; the widow's knitted stockings fetched a
fair price with the hosier in the county town; in these various ways
they made ends meet.
Old-age pensions were then unheard of, and the Lamonts would have
thought themselves insulted had any one suggested parish relief for the
old woman; although her helpless condition would have justified it, for
she never moved from her corner by the fire, to which she was carried
from her bed in the morning to be borne back to bed at night. An
accident which had befallen her when in the prime of life had rendered
her a cripple without power to move her lower limbs.
Like many of their class, the Lamonts were full of an honest pride, and
although they may have possibly felt the pinch of poverty now and
again, they would have scorned to acknowledge it. By the exercise of
diplomacy Penny has often managed to help them in little ways from time
to time; she will visit the old woman to inquire after her health, and
take with her in a neighborly way some little delicacy in the shape of
soup or pudding. At one time she tried to furnish her with some orders
for stockings, but it turned out that the Lamonts considered it next
door to heresy to take payment from the priest's house, and Penny's
charitable attempts were frustrated. She found it better to "borrow" a
few eggs occasionally (even though she was not in great need of them),
and to more than pay their value in little presents--an acknowledgment
of the kindness of the lenders.
"The very thing for the Lamonts!" exclaimed Val at breakfast one
morning. He had been reading his letters, just delivered, and I was
glancing through that day's paper. I looked up in token of interest.
"I have an application from the Inspector of the Poor," he continued,
"for a quiet, reliable family, who would be willing to take charge, for
payment, of a poor daft fellow. He is about thirty, and has been in
this state since he was eighteen, when he had a bad fever. He is
perfectly tractable, quite inoffensive, and thoroughly good-tempered.
The only reason for moving him from his present home is that it is in a
village, and the children tease and annoy him. I fancy the Lamonts
would jump at the opportunity."
I quite agreed with him. To my mind, Robina Lamont was a match for a
far more dangerous character. She would be equal in strength to many
an able-bodied man. But I felt doubtful whether the arrangement would
be satisfactory as regarded the old widow. She was so helpless that
unless the man was actually as harmless as was supposed it might he
risky to place him in such a house. I voiced my objection, but Val was
not impressed by it. He had great confidence in the judgment of the
Inspector--a thoroughly able man, and shrewd withal.
When the question was proposed to the Lamonts they at once warmed to
the idea. It appeared that one of the lads of their own family--now
long dead--had been in much the same state, though _he_ was inclined to
be unruly at times; consequently neither the widow nor her daughter
felt the least apprehension of difficulties in managing their patient.
Thus it came about that Bildy Gow became a member of our community.
In Scotland we have many more diminutive forms of ordinary Christian
names than is the case in England. William, for example, figures as
Willy, Wildy, Will, Bill, Billy, and Bildy. The variety is useful in
cases, which are of frequent occurrence, where the same name belongs to
grandfather, father, and son; William, Wildy, and Bill are perfectly
distinct. It was as Bildy that William Gow became known among us;
before long every one dropped the unnecessary surname and he was spoken
of habitually as Bildy simply.
Robina brought her lodger to Mass with her in state on the very first
Sunday. He was rather a good-looking fellow, tall and straight, with
fresh complexion, regular features and light-brown hair and moustache.
He was neatly dressed, too, for he had evidently been fitted out for
his new home by the liberality of the Inspector. Beyond a shy, vacant
expression, Bildy gave no evidence of mental incapacity in his
appearance. He kept close to Robina when they emerged from church, and
seemed to rely upon her protection with the air of a shy lad, which was
rather pathetic to witness. He was not a Catholic, but he had shown
such distress when Robina had told him to sit at home with her mother
that they were forced to let him go to church to keep him quiet.
On further acquaintance, Bildy did not belie the good character given
him by the Inspector. He was merely a grown-up child. In his youth he
must have been of a thoroughly quiet, innocent nature, for he showed it
in his aspect still; his character had never developed beyond that
innocent adolescence, while his mind had retrograded to a state
resembling early childhood. If one spoke to him on the road he at once
assumed the air of an exceedingly shy bairn--frightened and
embarrassed. It would have been amusing were it not so sad. I could
never extract a word from him on such occasions, so overawed was he!
From the first, while looking upon Robina as the supreme authority to
which he owed implicit obedience, Bildy seemed to give all his
affection to the old widow. He liked nothing better than to sit
opposite her by the fireside, watching the tireless swiftness of her
knitting needles as they flashed in the firelight. When summoned by
Robina for any duty, he would promptly comply, returning as soon as
free to his favorite attraction.