Inchbracken Part 6

'Pruive all things! Eppie. Try the speerits, an' I'm thinkin' ye'll find them not that bad.'

Eppie tasted and sipped, and tasted again, very well pleased, nodded, and returned the bottle, which was forthwith emptied where the bulk of its contents had already been poured.

'Hech! but my eyes are enlichtened like Jonathan's, an' noo let's crack about the preachin'.'

'Joseph! I hae bed a wee, as ye said. What is't a' comin' til?'

'Bed sin yest're'en! No muckle bidin' there I ween! But let's lay worldly business by, this holy Sawbith day, an' think o' wir sauls!--our puir peris.h.i.+n' sauls!'

`An' what'll come o' your saul? Joseph Smiley, an' you sinnin' wi' the high haund an' wrangin' my puir la.s.s Tibbie. Saw na ye hoo she was e'en ower blate to forgather wi' the neighbours, an' gaed creepin'

hame afore the kirk wad skell?'

'The mair fule she! There's naething kenned again her. What maks her blate?'

'It's no for you to speer! Them 'at pet the cat e'y kirn, can best fesh't out. Ye ken what's wrang, an' ye beut to mak it richt!'

'Hech! Tibbie, ye're troubled an' carefu' about mony things. But _wan_ thing is needfu', as the Scriptur says, an' this is the Sawbith day, an' I'se speak o' naething else but that same. Think o' yer saul!

Tibbie, yer sinfu' saul!'

'Speak o' yer ain sins, ye rascal! an' let mine be. Yer saul's black wi' them, an' it's time ye was mendin'.'

'Na, na, Tibbie! that wad be _works!_ an' they're filthy rags. I'm a'

for grace!'

'For grace? ye villain! Grace Grimmond belike, gin' a' folk says be true. An' what's to come o' Tibbie? But ye'se never wad wi' Grace onybody, sae lang as Tibbie's to the fore! Tak my word for't.'

'Ye tak me up wrang, neighbour, it's the kingdom o' heaven I'm after, whaur they neither marry nor are given in marriage. An' I houp ye'll win there yet! It's no o' women, puir silly earthen vessels I'm speakin' or wull speak this holy day.'

'But ye'll hae to speak o' them! Ay, an' speak plenn--or I'se doon t'ey minister an' hae ye up afore the Kirk-Session the maament the kirk skells. I'm for nae mair o' yer parryin' I'se tell ye--ye thocht ye had puir Tibbie a' by her lane, yon fore nicht, doon i' the loanin', whan ye ca'd G.o.d to witness ye took her for yer lawfu' wife, an' juist wanted it keepit quiet till the bawbees was gathered for the plennissin'. But ye didna keek ahint the dike, an' ye kenna wha was hearkenin'!'

Joseph's countenance fell, his eyes opened wider, and strove to read in the other's face whether the witness suggested was a reality or a mere _ruse_ to overawe him. He took the red handkerchief from his hat, and mopped his brow as a partial screen for his features, and finding evasion no longer possible, concluded to mitigate his opponent's excitement, and man[oe]uvre for time.

'Ye needna thrape that gate, Mistress Tirpie, gin Tibbie wad hae me; I kenna the la.s.s in a' Glen Effick I'd sooner wad wi', but what ye said ey noo about the bawbees an' the plennissin' hauds true yet. I canna tak the la.s.sie hame an' no a bed for her to lie down on, an' what for wad ye be raisin' a din an' a clash? It's a filthy fowl 'at files its ain nest. An' it's yer ain dochter the folk wad lichtly, gin ye didna haud yer tongue.

'But ye can bide wi' me, Joseph, till yer gear's gathered; I'se be blythe to hae ye.'

Na, na, Luckie! Ilka pat till its ain cleek! we maun hae our ain fire-side.'

'An' it's little fireside me an' Tibbie's like tae hae gin ye haud back muckle langer! I hae na claes eneugh to keep her warm, an' she hasna strength to tak' wark, an' hoo can she get her strength on sowans an' kirn-milk? An' that's a' I hae to gie her. Ye maun keep yer wife, Joseph, e'en gin ye dinna bide wi' her.'

'An' hoo's a man to gather the bawbees, gin he's payin' them awa faster nor they come?'

'_Ye_ ken that, Joseph; an' I'm thinkin' it's a denty pose ye hae hidden awa in some auld hugger, an' hae na the heart to spend. We a'

ken ye for a hard thrifty body 'at winna spend yer ain, gin ye can finger ither folk's.'

Ye're hard on me, Luckie, but I'se do what I can. I hae nae siller in my pouch the day but a bawbee for the plate, seein' it's Sawbith, but I'll tell ye what I wull do, speak to the minister. An' he's the gude man wi' the free haund and the saft heid. Gin ye getna a' ye need out o' _him_, yer tongue winna wag sae souple, as I hae fand it can this hour back.'

And here, to avoid rejoinder he ran down the slope and took his place demurely on a stool by the tent to await the conclusion of the exercises.

CHAPTER IX.

_THE BABY_.

The moorland overhanging the scene of the 'exercises' was always dotted over at their conclusion, with straggling companies of the wors.h.i.+ppers returning home. At each branching of paths they would separate and change again to break up and separate further at fresh junctions, till at length the whole a.s.semblage had dissipated itself over the extensive tract and disappeared.

The air freshened by a breeze was so warm and bright that it tempted to linger in friendly gossip, especially those whose week spent in some remote nook among the hills brought never a stranger to their door or a sc.r.a.p of news. Some of the villagers, too, chose the moor as a roundabout way home, where they would meet more acquaintances than on the hot and dusty road, and while obtaining the air and exercise, avoid the sinfulness or disrepute of taking a walk upon the Sabbath day. Those from a distance had brought refreshments, and were now seated in the neighbourhood of some clear spring discussing their simple meal of scones and cheese and hard boiled eggs.

Seated in such a group were old Angus Kilgour, crofter, and Stephen Boague, shepherd, with their respective wives and families. Boague's offspring were three tow headed children who played noisily with a couple of dogs till their father interfered and bade them 'mind it was the Sabbath-day,' and called the dogs away. The young Kilgours were older, a big lad who carried a basket for his mother, a couple of girls competing, it seemed, for the favourable notice of a youth between them, a not unwilling captive to their charms, but still uncertain to which he should surrender, and another daughter whose tardy arrival was delaying the family repast.

'What hae ye in yon creel? Mistress,' cried Kilgour to his wife. 'We can bide nae langer for Meizie, she'll be danderin' alang wi' some laad nae doubt and niver thinkin' o' hiz. Here wi' yer creel, Johnnie!

an' gie's a bannack a' round. I'm rael hungry. An' syne we'll hae a pipe, Stephen Boague, you an' me, an' here comes Peter Malloch, he's a graund chield for a crack. Hech! Peter Malloch, sit down, ye'll eat a bit, an' hae ye settled yet about pettin' up the new kirk?'

'A weel I'm thinkin' we'll hae't settled braw an' sure noo. We'se get a piece off Widdie Forester's kale-yard be like, gin we can raise the siller. We'll hae to mak an effort to do that, as Mester Dowlas says, an' it'll be a kittle job, but pet a stiff shouther till a stey brae, as the folk says. We maun ca' a meetin' I'm thinkin', an' hae him to speak, he's a graund man to crack the bawbees out o' folk's pouches.'

'Ou ay!' e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Stephen, 'He's a gude man, but unco worldly! He's aye cryin' about the pennies an' the sustentation fund. Nae fear o'

_him_ gaun a warfare at his ain charges!'

'An' belike ye'd cry about the pennies yersel', Stephen Boague, gin ye'd naething else to lippin til.'

'Weel, that was aye what I liket best about the auld Kirk! A' thing was proveedet, "without money an' without price," an' that's Scripter.

Juist the sincere milk of the word an' naething to pay for't!'

'I'd think shame o' mysel', Stephen Boague,' broke in his wife, 'to speak like that! An' ca' ye yon the word at's preached up by at Kilrundle? A curran Erastian havers! Settin' up the law o' the land ower the word o' G.o.d, an' the will o' the Coort o' Session abune the General a.s.sembly o' the Kirk! My certie! I'se no ca' yon the milk o'

the word. It's grown sooer wi' ill keepin'! A wersh savourless gospel, for puir starved sauls, hungerin' for the truith an' gettin' naething but a clash o' cauld parritch!'

A weel! gude wife, _ye_ maun hae yer say, but gin ye had to fin' the pennies ye'd maybe no be sae glib! an' but twa e'y pouch to buy the snees.h.i.+n'.'

'Haud yer tongue, Stephen! an' fill yer pipe,' said the hospitable Angus, 'It's no expecket that the puir man's to pay the same as the weel-aff folk, out o' their abundance.'

'An' wha's the man to say that Stephen Boague did na pay his way the best? I'd like to ken. Na, na! It's juist anither patch on the auld breeks, an' weel the gude wife kens whaur to clap it on! an' the siller's saved. But a man beut to hae his grum'le.'

'An' wasna yon a fine preachin' the day?' asked Peter Malloch, who being a deacon, felt bound to lead the conversation into an improving groove, especially for the good of the young, and Meizie had now joined the circle followed by William the footman at Inchbracken, absent on leave to visit his sick mother.

'A grand sermon!' said Mr. Kilgour, 'an' was na he bonny about the Shulamite? Tho' I'm free, to say I kenna verra weel wha she was. But I'm mis...o...b..in' but she was some thochtless young hempie 'at kenned na' weel what she was after--An' hoo' he cried til her to return!'

'That was the wanderin' sauls o' sinfu' folk,' said Peter clearing his voice for an extended exposition, but he got no farther, for William here brought the pious abstract down to the concrete and personal by breaking in.

'An' saw na ye hoo young Tibbie Tirpie, sittin' awa back wi' the hindmost took to the greetin', an' down wi' her head, an' up wi' her neepkin, like's a' the minister was sayin' was for her.'

'Hech laddie!' said Mrs. Kilgour, 'an' what for no? we hae a' wandered frae the truith. The word was powerfu', an' wha kens but it may hae reached her heart. An' micht it no hae reached yer ain as weel, William?'

'An' that's true! Mistress Kilgour, an' nae doubt but it wull belive whan the Lord sees fit. But it was yersel' was speakin' about the Shulamite an' winderin' gin she micht na hae been some thochtless hempie, juist mentioned ye ken for our edification--an' it kind o'

looket like's she had taen 't a' to heart. Wha kens?'