THE STARLING ON HIS TRIAL
Adam was left alone with his wife. His only remark as he sat down
opposite to her was: "Mr. Porteous has forgot himself, and was too
quick;" adding, "nevertheless it is our duty to gang to the kirk."
"Kirk!" exclaimed Katie, walking about in an excited manner, "that's a'
ower! Kirk! pity me! hoo can you or me gang to the kirk? Hoo can we be
glowered at and made a speculation o', and be the sang o' the parish?
The kirk! waes me; that's a' by! I never, never thocht it wad come to
this wi' me or you, Adam! I think it wad hae kilt my faither. It's an
awfu' chasteesement."
"For what?" quietly asked the Sergeant.
"Ye needna speer--ye ken weel eneuch it's for that bird. I aye telt ye
that ye were ower fond o't, and noo!--I'm real sorry for ye, Adam. It's
for _you_, for _you_, and no' for mysel', I'm sorry. Sirs me, what a
misfortun'!"
"What are ye sae sorry for?" meekly inquired Adam.
"For everything!" replied Katie, groaning; "for the stramash amang the
weans; for the clish-clash o' the neebors; for you and me helping to
break the Sabbath; for the minister being sae angry, and that nae doubt,
for he kens best, for gude reasons; and, aboon a', for you, Adam, my
bonnie man, an elder o' the kirk, brocht into a' this habble for
naething better than a bit bird!" And Katie threw herself into the
chair, covering her face with her hands.
The Sergeant said nothing, but rose and went outside to bring in the
cage. There were signs of considerable excitement in the immediate
neighbourhood. The long visit of the minister in such circumstances
could mean only a conflict with Adam, which would be full of interest to
those miserable gossips, who never thought of attending church except on
rare occasions, and who were glad of something to occupy their idle time
on Sunday morning. Sundry heads were thrust from upper windows,
directing their gaze to the Sergeant's house. Some of the boys reclined
on the grass at a little distance, thus occupying a safe position, and
commanding an excellent retreat should they be pursued by parson or
parents. The cage was the centre of attraction to all.
The Sergeant at a glance saw how the enemy lay, but without appearing to
pay any attention to the besiegers, he retired with the cage into the
house and fixed it in its accustomed place over his boy's empty cot.
When the cage was adjusted, the starling scratched the back of his head,
as if something annoyed him; he then cleaned his bill on each side of
the perch, as if present duties must be attended to; after this he
hopped down and began to describe figures with his open bill on the
sanded floor of the cage, as if for innocent recreation. Being
refreshed by these varied exercises, he concluded by repeating his
confession and testimony with a precision and vigour never surpassed.
Katie still occupied the arm-chair, blowing her nose with her Sunday
pocket-handkerchief. The Sergeant sat down beside her.
"It's time to gang to the kirk, gudewife," he remarked, although, from
the bells having stopped ringing, and from the agitated state of his
wife's feelings, he more than suspected that, for the first time during
many years, he would be obliged to absent himself from morning
worship--a fact which would form another subject of conversation for his
watchful and thoughtful neighbours.
"Hoo can we gang to the kirk, Adam, wi' this on our conscience?"
muttered Katie.
"I hae naething on _my_ conscience, Katie, to disturb it," said her
husband; "and I'm sorry if onything I hae done should disturb yours.
What can I do to lighten 't?"
Katie was silent.
"If ye mean," said the Sergeant, "that the bird should be killed, by a'
means let it be done. I'll do onything to please _you_, though Mr.
Porteous has, in my opinion, nae richt whatever to insist on my doin't
to please _him_; for _he_ kens naething aboot the cratur. But if you,
that kens as weel as me a' the bird has been to us baith, but speak the
word, the deed will be allooed by me. I'll never say no."
"Do yer duty, Adam!" said his wife.
"That is, my duty to _you_, mind, for I owe it to nane else I ken o'.
But that duty shall be done--so ye've my full leave and leeberty tae
kill the bird. Here he is! Tak' him oot o' the cage, and finish him.
I'll no interfere, nor even look on, cost what it may." And the
Sergeant took down the cage, and held it near his wife. But she said
nothing, and did nothing.
"I'm Charlie's bairn!" exclaimed the starling.
"Dinna tell me, Adam, tae kill the bird! It's no' me, but you, should
do sic wark. Ye're a man and a sodger, and it was you teached him, and
got us into this trouble."
"Sae be't!" said the Sergeant. "I've done mair bluidy jobs in my day,
and needna fear tae spill, for the sake o' peace, the wee drap bluid o'
the puir h airmless thing. What way wid ye like it kilt?"
"Ye should ken best yersel', gudeman; killin' is no woman's wark," said
Katie, in a low voice, as she turned her head away and looked at the
wall.
"Aweel then, since ye leave it to me," replied Adam, "I'll gie him a
sodger's death. It's the maist honourable, and the bit mannie deserves
a' honour frae our hands, for he has done his duty pleasantly, in fair
and foul, in simmer and winter, to us baith, and tae----Never heed--I'll
shoot him at dawn o' day, afore he begins whistlin' for his breakfast;
and he'll be buried decently. You and Mr. Porteous will no' be bothered
wi' him lang. Sae as that's settled and determined, we may gang to the
kirk wi' a guid conscience."
Adam rose, as if to enter his bedroom.
"What's your hurry, Adam?" asked Katie, in a half-peevish tone of voice.
"Sit doon and let a body speak."
The Sergeant resumed his seat.
"I'm jist thinking," said Katie, "that ye'll maybe no' get onybody to
gie ye a gun for sic a cruel job; and if ye did, the noise sae early in
the morning wad frichten folk, and mak' an awfu' clash amang neeboors,
and luik dreadfu' daft in an elder."
"Jock Hall has a gun I could get. But noo that I think o't, Jock
himsel' will do the job, for he's fit for onything, and up tae
everything except what's guid. I'll send him Charlie and the cage in the
morning, afore ye rise; sae keep your mind easy," said the Sergeant,
carelessly.
"I wadna trust Charlie into Jock Hall's power--the cruel ne'er-do-weel
that he is! Na, na; whatever has to be done maun be done decently by
yersel', gudeman," protested Katie.
"Ye said, gudewife, to Mr. Porteous," replied Adam, "that ye kent I wad
do onything to please him and to gie satisfaction for this misfortun',
as ye ca'ed it; and sin' you and him agree that the bird is to be kilt,
I suppose I maun kill him to please ye baith; I see but ae way left o'
finishing him."
"What way is that?" asked Katie.
"To thraw his bit neck."
"Doonricht cruelty," suggested Katie, "to thraw the neck o' a wee thing
like that! Fie on ye, gudeman! Ye're no like yersel' the day."
"It's the _only_ way left, unless we burn him; so I'll no' argue mair
about it. There's nae use o' pittin' 't aff ony langer; the better day,
the better deed. Sae here goes! It will be a' ower wi' him in a
minute; and syne ye'll get peace----"
The Sergeant rose and placed the cage on a table near the window where
the bird was accustomed to be fed. Charlie, in expectation of receiving
food, was in a high state of excitement, and seemed anxious to please
his master by repeating all his lessons as rapidly and correctly as
possible. The Sergeant rolled up his white shirt-sleeves, to keep them
from being soiled by the work in which he was about to be engaged.
Being thus prepared, he opened the door of the cage, thrust in his hand,
and seized the bird, saying, "Bid fareweel to yer mistress, my wee
Charlie."
Katie sprang from her chair, and with a loud voice commanded the
Sergeant to "haud his han' and let the bird alane!"
"What's wrang?" asked the Sergeant, as he shut the door of the cage and
went towards his wife, who again sank back in her chair, and covered hef
eyes with her pocket-handkerchief.
"Oh, Adam!" she said, "I'm a waik, waik woman. My nerves are a' gane; my
head and heart are baith sair. A kind o' glamour, a temptation has come
ower me, and I dinna ken what's richt or what's wrang. I wuss I may be
forgie'n if I'm wrang, for the heart I ken is deceitfu' aboon a' things
and desperately wicked:--but, richt or wrang, neither by you nor by ony
ither body can I let that bird be kilt! I canna thole't! for I just
thocht e'enoo that I seed plainly afore me our ain wee bairn that's
awa'--an' oh, Adam!----"
Katie burst into a fit of weeping, and could say no more. The Sergeant
hung up the cage in its old place; then going to his wife, he gently
clapped her shoulder, and bending over her whispered in her ear, "Dinna
ye fear, Katie, aboot Charlie's bairn!"
Katie clasped her hands round his neck and drew his grey head to her
cheek, patting it fondly.
"Dry yer een, wifie," said Adam, "and feed the cratur, and syne we'll
gang to the kirk in the afternoon."
He then retired to the bedroom, shut the door, and left Katie alone with
her starling and her conscience--both at peace, and both whistling, each
after its own fashion.