Thomas Crann's conversation with Mr Cupples deepened both his annoyance
and his grief at the membership of Robert Bruce. What was the use of a
church if such men as he got into it, and, having got in, could not be
got out? Had he been guilty of any open _fault_, such as getting drunk,
for one solitary and accidental instance of which they had excluded one
of their best and purest-minded men, they could have got rid of him
with comparative ease; but who so free of fault as Bruce? True, he was
guilty of the crime of over-reaching whenever he had a chance, and of
cheating when there was no risk of being found out--at least so
everybody believed--but he had no faults. The duty, therefore, that lay
upon every member, next to the cleanness of his own garments--that of
keeping the church pure and unspotted--was hard to fulfil, and no one
was ready to undertake it but Thomas Crann. For what a spot was here!
And Thomas knew his Lord's will.
Neither was the duty so unpleasant to Thomas's oppositive nature, as it
would have been to a man of easier temperament.
"Jeames Johnstone," he said, "the kirk maks nae progress. It's no as i'
the time o' the apostles whan the saved war added till't daily."
"Weel, ye see," returned James, "that wasna _oor_ kirk exacly; and it
wasna Mr Turnbull that was the heid o' 't."
"It's a' the same. The prenciple's the same. An' Mr Turnbull preaches
the same gospel Peter and Paul praiched, and wi' unction too. And yet
here's the congregation dwin'lin' awa', and the church itsel' like
naething but bees efter the brunstane. _I_ say there's an Ahchan i' the
camp--a Jonah i' the vessel--a son o' Saul i' the kingdom o' Dawvid--a
Judas amo' the twal'--a--"
"Hoots! Thomas Crann; ye're no pittin' a' thae gran' names upo' that
puir feckless body, Rob Bruce, are ye?"
"He's nane feckless for the deevil's wark or for his ain, which is ae
thing and the same. Oot he maun gang, gin we tak' him by the scruff o'
the neck and the doup o' the breeks."
"Dinna jeist, Thomas, aboot sic a dangerous thing," said James, mildly
glad of one solitary opportunity of rebuking the granite-minded mason.
"Jeist! I'm far eneuch frae jeistin'. Ye dinna ken fervour frae jokin',
Jeames Johnstone."
"He micht tak' the law upo's for defamin' o' 's character; and that wad
be an awfu' thing for puir fowk like us, Thamas."
"Aye the same thing ower again, Jeames! Shy at a stane, and fa' into
the stank (ditch). That's the pairt o' a colt and no o' a Christian."
"But arena we tellt to be wise as serpents?"
"Ye wad tak' a heap o' tellin' upo' that heid, Jeames."
"Ow, 'deed ay! And I'm no my lane, Thamas. But we _are_ tellt that."
"The serpent turned oot an ill cooncellor upon ae occasion ower well to
be remembert by Adam's race."
"The words stan' as I say," persisted James.
"Ye're no to mak' the serpent yer cooncellor, man. But ance ye ken yer
duty, ye may weel tak example by him hoo to carry 't oot. Did ye ever
see an edder lyin' ower a stane as gin he was naething but a stick
himsel', bidin' 's time? That's me, i' the Scriptur' sense. I'm only
bidin' till I see hoo. A body maunna do ill that gude may come, though
wow! it's a sair temptation whiles; neither maun a body neglec to do
richt for fear that ill may follow."
"Ay, true that. But ye needna burn the hoose to rid the rottans. I doot
ye'll get's a' into ower het water; and a body needna tak' the skin aff
for the sake o' cleanliness. Jist tak ye tent (care, attention),
Thamas, what ye're aboot."
Having thus persisted in opposing Thomas to a degree he had never dared
before, James took his departure, pursued by the words:
"Tak ye care, Jeames, that in savin' the richt han' ye dinna send the
haill body to hell. It was aye yer danger. I never got bauld coonsel
frae ye yet."
"There's mair vertues i' the Bible nor courage, Thamas," retorted
James, holding the outer door open to throw the sentence in, and
shutting it instantly to escape with the last word.
Thomas, abandoned to his own resources, meditated long and painfully.
But all he could arrive at was the resolution to have another talk with
Mr Cupples. He might not be a Christian man, but he was an honest and
trustworthy man, and might be able from his scholarship to give him
some counsel. So he walked to Howglen the next day, and found him with
Alec in the harvest-field. And Alec's reception of Thomas showed what a
fine thing illness is for bringing people to their right minds.
Mr Cupples walked aside with Thomas, and they seated themselves on two
golden sheaves at the foot of a stook.
"What ye said to me the ither day, sir," began Thomas, "has stucken
fest i' my crap, ever sin' syne. We maun hae him oot."
"Na, na; ye better lat him sit. He'll haud doon yer pride. That man's a
judgment on ye for wantin' to be better nor yer neebors. Dinna try to
win free o' judgment. But I'll tell ye what I wad hae ye do: Mak muckle
o' 'm. Gie him tether eneuch. He'll gang frae ill to waur, ye may
depen'. He'll steal or a' be dune."
"To the best o' my belief, sir, that's no to come, He's stolen already,
or I'm sair mista'en."
"Ay! Can ye pruv that? That's anither maitter," returned Cupples,
beginning to be interested.
"I dinna ken whether I oucht to hae mentioned it to ane that wasna a
member, though; but it jist cam oot o' 'tsel' like."
"Sae the fac' that a man's a member wha's warst crime may be that he is
a member, maks him sic precious gear that he maunna be meddlet wi' i'
the presence o' an honest man, wha, thank God, has neither pairt nor
lot in ony sic maitter?"
"Dinna be angry, Mr Cupples. I'll tell ye a' aboot it," pleaded Thomas,
than who no man could better recognize good sense.
But the Cosmo Cupples who thus attracted the confidence of Thomas Crann
was a very different man from the Cosmo Cupples whom first Alec Forbes
went to the garret to see at his landlady's suggestion. All the
flabbiness had passed from his face, and his eyes shone clearer than
ever from a clear complexion. His mouth still gave a first impression
of unsteadiness; no longer, however, from the formlessness of the loose
lips, but from the continual flickering of a nascent smile that rippled
their outline with long wavy motions of evanescent humour. His dress
was still careless, but no longer neglected, and his hand was as steady
as a rifleman's.
Nor had he found it so hard to conquer his fearful habit as even he had
expected; for with every week passed in bitter abstinence, some new
well would break from the rich soil of his intellect, and irrigate with
its sweet waters the parched border land between his physical and
psychical being. And when he had once again betaken himself to the
forsaken pen, there was little reason to fear a relapse or doubt a
final victory. A playful humanity radiated from him, the result of that
powerfullest of all restoratives--_giving_ of what one has to him who
has not. Indeed his reformation had begun with this. St Paul taught a
thief to labour, that he might have to give: Love taught Mr Cupples to
deny himself that he might rescue his friend; and presently he had
found his feet touching the rock. If he had not yet learned to look
"straight up to heaven," his eyes wandered not unfrequently towards
that spiritual horizon upon which things earthly and things heavenly
meet and embrace.
To such a Cosmo Cupples, then, Thomas told the story of Annie
Anderson's five-pound note. As he spoke, Cupples was tormented as with
the flitting phantom of a half-forgotten dream. All at once, light
flashed upon him.
"And sae what am I to do?" asked Thomas as he finished his tale.--"I
can pruv naething; but I'm certain i' my ain min', kennin' the man's
nater, that it was that note he tuik oot o' the Bible."
"I'll put the proof o' that same into yer han's, or I'm sair mista'en,"
said Mr Cupples.
"You, Mr Cupples?"
"Ay, me, Mr Crann. But maybe ye wadna tak proof frae sic a sinner
against sic a sanct. Sae ye may keep yer sanct i' yer holy boasom."
"Dinna gang on that gait, Mr Cupples. Gin ye can direc' me to the
purification o' our wee bit temple, I'll hearken heumbly. I only wiss
ye war ane o' us."
"I'll bide till ye hae gotten rid o' Bruce, ony gait.--I care naething
for yer sma' separatist kirkies.--I wonner ye dinna pray for a clippin'
o' an auld sun that ye micht do withoot the common daylicht. But I do
think it's a great shame--that sic a sneak sud be i' the company o'
honest fowk, as I tak the maist o' ye to be. Sae I'll do my best. Ye'll
hear frae me in a day or twa."
Cupples had remembered the inscription on the fly-leaf of the big
Bible, which, according to Thomas Crann, Mr Cowie had given to Annie.
He now went to James Dow.
"Did Annie ever tell ye aboot a Bible that Mr Cowie ga'e her, Jeames?"
"Ay did she. I min' 't fine."
"Cud ye get a haud o' 't."
"Eh! I dinna ken. The crater has laid his ain cleuks upo' 't. It's a
sod pity that Annie's oot o' the hoose, or she micht hae stown't
(stolen it)."
"Truly, bein' her ain, she micht. But ye're a kin' o' a guairdian till
her--arena ye?"
"Ow! ay. I hae made mysel' that in a way; but Bruce wad aye be luikit
upon as the proper guairdian."
"Hae ye ony haud upo' the siller?"
"I gart him sign a lawyer's paper aboot it."
"Weel, ye jist gang and demand the Bible, alang wi' the lave o' Annie's
property. Ye ken she's had trouble aboot her kist (chest), and canna
get it frae the swallowin' cratur'. And gin he maks ony demur, jist
drap a hint o' gaein to the lawyer aboot it. The like o' him's as fleyt
at a lawyer as cats at cauld water. Get the Bible we maun. And ye maun
fess't to me direckly."
Dow was a peaceable man, and did not much relish the commission.
Cupples, thinking he too was a missionar, told him the story.
"Weel," said Dow, "lat him sit there. Maybe they'll haud him frae doin'
mair mischeef. Whan ye jabble a stank, the stink rises."
"I thocht ye was ane o' them. Ye maunna lat it oot."
"Na, na. I a' haud my tongue."
"_I_ care naething aboot it. But there's Thamas Crann jist eatin' his
ain hert. It's a sin to lat sic a man live in sic distress."
"'Deed is't. He's a gude man that. And he's been verra kin' to oor
Annie, Mr Cupples,--I'll do as ye say. Whan do ye want it?"
"This verra nicht."
So after his day's work, which was hard enough at this season of the
year, was over, James Dow put on his blue Sunday coat, and set off to
the town. He found Robert Bruce chaffering with a country girl over
some butter, for which he wanted to give her less than the
market-value. This roused his indignation, and put him in a much fitter
mood for an altercation.
"I winna gie ye mair nor fivepence. Hoo are ye the day, Mr Doo? I tell
ye it has a goo (Fren. gout) o' neeps or something waur."
"Hoo can that be, Mr Bruce, at this sizzon o' the year, whan there's
plenty o' gerss for man an' beast an' a' cratur?" said the girl.
"It's no for me to say hoo it can be. That's no my business. Noo, Mr
Doo?"
Bruce, whose very life lay in driving bargains, had a great dislike to
any interruption of the process. Yet he forsook the girl as if he had
said all he had to say, and turned to James Dow. For he wanted to get
rid of him before concluding his bargain with the girl, whose butter he
was determined to have even if he must pay her own price for it. Like
the Reeve in the Canterbury Tales, who "ever rode the hinderest of the
rout," being such a rogue and such a rogue-catcher that he could not
bear anybody behind his back, Bruce, when about the business that his
soul loved, eschewed the presence of any third person.
"Noo, Mr Doo?" he said.
"My business'll keep," replied Dow.
"But ye see we're busy the nicht, Mr Doo."
"Weel, I dinna want to hurry ye. But I wonner that ye wad buy ill
butter, to please onybody, even a bonnie lass like that."
"Some fowk likes the taste o' neeps, though I dinna like it mysel',"
answered Bruce. "But the fac' that neeps is no a favourite wi' the
maist o' fowk, brings doon the price i' the market."
"Neeps is neither here nor there," said the girl; and taking up her
basket, she was going to leave the shop.
"Bide a bit, my lass," cried Bruce. "The mistress wad like to see ye.
Jist gang benn the hoose to her wi' yer basket, and see what she thinks
o' the butter. I may be wrang, ye ken."
So saying he opened the inner door, and ushered the young woman into
the kitchen.
"Noo, Mr Doo?" he said once more. "Is't tobawco, or sneeshin (snuff),
or what is't?"
"It's Annie Anderson's kist and a' her gear."
"I'm surprised at ye, Jeames Doo. There's the lassie's room up the
stair, fit for ony princess, whanever she likes to come back till't.
But she was aye a royt (riotous) lassie, an' a reglar rintheroot."
"Ye lee, Rob Bruce," exclaimed Dow, surprised out of his proprieties.
"Whaever ye say that till, dinna say't to me."
Bruce was anything but a quarrelsome man with other than his inferiors.
He pocketed the lie very calmly.
"Dinna lowse yer temper, Mr Doo. It's a sair fau't that."
"Jist ye deliver up the bairn's effecks, or I'll gang to them that'll
gar ye."
"Wha micht that be, Mr Doo?" asked Bruce, wishing first to find out how
far Dow was prepared to go.
"Ye hae no richt whatever to keep that lassie's claes, as gin she aucht
(owed) you onything for rent."
"Hae _ye_ ony richt to tak them awa'? Hoo ken I what'll come o' them?"
"Weel, I s' awa' doon to Mr Gibb, and we'll see what can be dune there.
It's weel kent ower a' Glamerton, Mr Bruce, in what mainner you and yer
haill hoose hae borne yersels to that orphan lassie; and I'll gang into
ilka chop, as I gang doon the street, that is, whaur I'm acquant, and
I'll jist tell them whaur I'm gaun, and what for."
The thing which beyond all others Bruce dreaded was unremunerative
notoriety.
"Hoots! Jeames Doo, ye dinna ken jokin' frae jeistin'. I never was the
man to set mysel' i' the face o' onything rizzonable. But ye see it wad
be cast up to the haill o' 's that we had driven the puir lassie oot o'
the hoose, and syne flung her things efter her."
"The tane ye hae dune. The tither ye shanna do, for I'll tak them. And
I'll tell ye what fowk'll say gin ye dinna gie up the things. They'll
say that ye baith drave her awa' and keepit her bit duds. I'll see to
that--_and mair forbye_."
Bruce understood that he referred to Annie's money. His object in
refusing to give up her box had been to retain as long as possible a
chance of persuading her to return to his house; for should she leave
it finally, her friends might demand the interest in money, which at
present he was bound to pay only in aliment and shelter, little of
either of which she required at his hands. But here was a greater
danger still.
"Mother," he cried, "pit up Miss Anderson's claes in her box to gang
wi' the carrier the morn's mornin'."
"I'll tak them wi' me," said Dow resolutely.
"Ye canna. Ye haena a cairt."
"Ye get them pitten up, and I'll fess a barrow," said James, leaving
the shop.
He borrowed a wheelbarrow from Thomas Crann, and found the box ready
for him when he returned. The moment he lifted it, he was certain from
the weight of the poor little property that the Bible was not there.
"Ye haena pitten in Mr Cooie's Bible."
"Mother! did ye pit in the Bible?" cried Bruce, for the house-door was
open.
"'Deed no, father. It's better whaur't is," said Mrs Bruce from the
kitchen, with shrill response.
"Ye see, Mr Doo, the Bible's lain sae lang there, that it's jist oor
ain. And the lassie canna want it till she has a faimily to hae worship
wi'. And syne she s' be welcome to tak' it."
"Ye gang up the stair for the buik, or I'll gang mysel'."
Bruce went and fetched it, with a bad grace enough, and handed over
with it the last tattered remnants of his respectability into the hands
of James Dow.
Mr Cupples, having made a translation of the inscription, took it to
Thomas Crann.
"Do ye min' what Bruce read that nicht ye saw him tak' something oot o'
the beuk?" he asked as he entered.
"Ay, weel that. He began wi' the twenty-third psalm, and gaed on to the
neist."
"Weel, read that. I faun' 't on a blank leaf o' the buik."
Thomas read--'_Over the twenty-third psalm of David I have laid a
five-pound note for my dear Annie Anderson, after my death_,'--and
lifting his eyes, stared at Mr Cupples, his face slowly brightening
with satisfaction. Then a cloud came over his brow--for was he not
rejoicing in iniquity? At least he was rejoicing in coming shame.
"Hoo cud it hae been," he asked after a brief pause, "that Bruce didna
fa' upo' this, as weel's you, Mr Cupples, or didna scart it oot?"
"'Cause 'twas written in Latin. The body hadna the wit to misdoobt the
contents o' 't. It said naething _till_ him, and he never thoucht it
cud say onything _aboot_ him."
"It's a fine thing to be a scholar, Mr Cupples."
"Ay, whiles."
"They say the Miss Cowies are great scholars."
"Verra likly.--But there's ae thing mair I wad put ye up till. Can ye
tell the day o' the month that ye gaed hame wi' yer prayin' frien'?"
"It was the nicht o' a special prayer-meetin' for the state o'
Glamerton. I can fin' oot the date frae the kirk-buiks. What am I to do
wi' 't whan I hae't, sir?"
"Gang to the bank the body deals wi', and spier whether a note beirin'
the nummer o' thae figures was paid intil 't upo' the Monday followin'
that Sunday, and wha paid it. They'll tell ye that at ance."
But for various reasons, which it is needless to give in this history,
Thomas was compelled to postpone the execution of his project. And
Robert went on buying and selling and getting gain, all unaware of the
pit he had digged for himself.