It would seem to be a well-understood and undeniable fact that woman
invariably gains the victory over man in the long-run; and even when she
does not prove to be the winner, she is certain to come off the
conqueror. It is well that it should be so. The reins of the world
could not be in better hands!
But, strangely enough, woman triumphs, not only in matters over which
she and man have, more or less, united control, but even in matters with
which the human race cannot interfere. For instance, in regard to
weather--despite the three weeks of unfailing sunshine, Mrs Sudberry
maintained her original opinion, that, notwithstanding appearances being
against her, the weather in the Highlands of Scotland was, as a rule,
execrable. As if to justify this opinion, the weather suddenly changed,
and the three weeks of sunshine were followed by _six_ weeks of rain.
Whether there was something unusual in the season or not, we cannot
positively say; but certain it is that, for the period we have named, it
rained incessantly, with the exception of four days. During a great
part of the time it rained from morning till night. Sometimes it was
intermittent, and came down in devastating floods. At other times it
came in the form of Scotch mist, which is simply small rain, so
plentiful that it usually obliterates the whole landscape, and so
penetrating that it percolates through everything except water-proof.
It was a question which was the more wetting species of rain--the
thorough down-pour or the heavy mist. But whether it poured or
permeated, there was never any change in the leaden sky during these six
weeks, and the mountains were never clearly seen except during the four
accidental days already referred to.
At first Mrs Sudberry triumphed; but long before that season was over
she had reached such a condition of humility that she would have
actually rejoiced in a fine day.
As for the rest of the family, they bore up against it bravely for a
time. On the first day of this wet season, they were rather pleased
than otherwise to be obliged to stay in the house. Jacky, in
particular, was delighted, as it afforded him a glorious opportunity of
doing mischief, and making himself so disagreeable, that all, except his
mother, felt as if they hated him. On the second day, indoor games of
various kinds were proposed and entered into with much spirit. On the
third day the games were tried again, with less spirit. On the fourth
day they were played without any spirit at all, and on the fifth they
were given up in disgust. The sixth day was devoted to reading and
sulking, and thus they ended that week.
The seventh day, which chanced to be Sunday, was one of the four fine
days before mentioned. The sky was blue, the sun intensely bright, and
the inundated earth was steaming. The elastic spirits of the family
recovered.
"Come, we'll walk to church!" cried Mr Sudberry, as they rose from
breakfast.
"What, my dear!" exclaimed his wife, "and the roads knee-deep in mud and
water!"
"I care not if they were waist-deep!" cried the reckless man: "I've been
glued to my seat for a week; so I'll walk to church, if I should have to
swim for it."
"So will I! so will I!" from George and Fred; "So will we all!" from
Lucy; "And me, too!" timidly, from Tilly; with "Hurrah!" furiously from
the imp,--this decided the business.
"Very well!" said the resigned mother of the flock; "then I will go
too!"
So away they went to church, through mud and mire and water, with the
nine collie dogs at their heels, and Mr McAllister bearing them
company.
Fred and McAllister walked together in rear of the rest, conversing
earnestly, for the latter was learned in theology, and the former dearly
loved a philosophical discussion. Mr Sudberry and Lucy walked in
advance. As he approached the well-known bush, the force of habit
induced him almost unconsciously to pick up a stone and walk on tip-toe.
Lucy, who did not know the cause of this strange action, looked at her
father in surprise.
Whirr! went a black-cock; bang! went the stone, and a yell instantly
followed, accompanied by a hat--it was his best beaver!
"Why, dear papa, it is Sunday!"
"Dear me, so it is!" The good man was evidently much discomfited. "Ah!
Lucy dear, that shows the effect and force of bad habit; that is to
say, of habit, (for the simple act cannot be called bad), on the wrong
day."
"You cannot call throwing your best hat in the mud a good habit on _any_
day," said Mrs Sudberry, with the air of a woman who regarded her
husband's chance of mending as being quite hopeless.
"It was only forgetfulness, my dear!" said the worthy man, putting his
hat quite meekly on the back of his head, and pushing forward in order
to avoid further remarks. Coming to a hollow of the road, they found
that it was submerged a foot deep by the river, which had been swollen
into a small lake at that spot. There was much trouble here.
McAllister, with native gallantry, offered to carry the ladies over in
his arms; but the ladies would not listen to the proposal, with the
exception of Tilly, who at once accepted it gladly. The rest succeeded
in scrambling along by the projecting stones at the base of the wall
that ran alongside of the road, and gained the other side, after many
slips, much alarm, and sundry screams.
"Oh, you _darling_!" cried Tilly, suddenly. She pointed to a hole in
the wall, out of which peeped the most wide-awake weasel that ever
lived. Its brown little head and sharp nose moved quickly about with
little jerks, and its round lustrous black eyes seemed positively to
glitter with surprise, (perhaps it was delight), at the Sudberry Family.
Of course Jacky rushed at it with a yell--there was a good deal of the
terrier in Jacky--and of course the weasel turned tail, and vanished
like a flash of light.
When they came to the narrowest part of the pass which opened out of
their own particular valley--Rasselas Vale, as Lucy had named it--Tilly
was fortunate enough to set eyes on another "darling," which, in the
shape of a roe deer, stood, startled and trembling, in the centre of the
pass. They came on it so suddenly that it seemed to have been paralysed
for a moment. A shout from the imp, however, quickly dissolved the
spell; with one graceful bound it cleared the wall, and was far away
among the brackens on the mountain-side before the party had recovered
from their delight and surprise at having met a real live wild deer,
face to face, and not twenty yards distant, in this unexpected manner.
Nothing further occurred to arrest their progress to church, which was
upwards of four miles from their home among the hills.
The sermon that day was peculiar. The minister of the parish was a
young man; one of those quiet, modest, humble young men, who are, as
their friends think, born to be neglected in this world. He was a
shrewd, sensible young fellow, however, who, if put to it, could have
astonished his "friends" not a little. He was brimful of "Scotch"
theology; but, strange to say, he refrained from bringing that fact
prominently before his flock, insomuch that some of the wiser among them
held the opinion, that, although he was an excellent, worthy young man,
he was, if any thing, a little commonplace--in fact, "he never seemed to
have any diffeeculties in his discoorses: an' if he _had_, he aye got
ower them by sayin' plump oot that they were mysteries he did na pretend
to unravel!"
Any one with half an eye might have seen that the young clergyman was
immeasurably above his flock intellectually. A few of them, among whom
was our friend McAllister, perceived this, and appreciated their
minister. The most of them, good souls, thought him worthy, but _weak_.
Feeling that he had been appointed to _preach the gospel_, this youth
resolved to "make himself all things to all men, in order that he might
gain some." He therefore aimed at preaching Christ crucified, and kept
much of his own light in the background, bringing it out only in
occasional flashes, which were calculated to illuminate, but not dazzle,
the minds of his people. He remembered the remark of that old woman,
who, when asked what she thought of a new minister, said, "Hoot! I
think naethin' o' him ava'; _I understand every word he says_," and he
resolved rather to be thought nothing of at all than pander to the
contemptible craving of those who fancy that they are drinking deep
draughts of wisdom when they read or hear words that are
incomprehensible, but which _sound_ profoundly philosophical.
But we might have spared our readers all this, for the young minister
did not preach that day. He was unwell, and a friend had agreed to
preach for him. The friend was an old man, with bent form and silvery
hair, who, having spent a long life in preaching the gospel, had been
compelled, by increasing age, to retire from active service. Yet, like
a true warrior, he could, when occasion required, buckle on his
Christian armour, and fight stoutly, as of old, for his beloved Master
and for the salvation of human souls.
His eye was dim and his voice was weak, and it brought tears to the eyes
of the sympathetic among the people to see the old man lose his place
and unconsciously repeat his sentences. But not a shadow of disrespect
mingled with their feelings. There was no mistaking the glow of love
and the kindly fire which flushed the pale face when salvation was the
theme. When he mentioned the name of Jesus, and urged sinners to flee
from the wrath to come, the people _felt_ the truth of that word, "God's
strength is perfected in man's weakness."
The Sudberrys felt very happy that day on returning home. They overtook
old Moggy, stumping along through mud and water, with tears bedewing her
cheeks.
"Why, Moggy, you are all wet!" said Fred, hastening towards her.
"Ay, I fell into a dub as I cam out o' the kirk. But, ech! sirs, I've
heard blessed words this day."
The Sudberrys spent that evening in their usual way. They went to a
particular spot, which Lucy had named the Sunny Knoll, and there learned
hymns off by heart, which were repeated at night, and commented on by
Mr Sudberry. After supper they all got into what is called "a talk."
It were presumptuous to attempt to explain what that means. Everyone
knows what it is. Many people know, also, that "a talk" can be got up
when people are in the right spirit, on any subject, and that the
subject of all others most difficult to get up this "talk" upon, is
religion. Mr Sudberry knew this; he felt much inclined at one time
that night to talk about fishing, but he laid strong constraint on
himself; and gave the conversation a turn in the right direction. The
result was "a talk"--a hearty, free, enthusiastic communing on the
Saviour, the soul, and eternal things, which kept them up late and sent
them happy to bed--happier than they had yet been all that season.