BELL AT HOME IN KNOWE PARK.
“An’ wow but the lassie was pawky an’ slee,For she smiled an’ she smirkit till a’ man,Growin’ a’bodie’s bodie, baith muckle an’ wee,An’ our folk wadna let her awa’, man;For when there was trouble or death in the house,She tended the sick-bed as quiet as a mouse,An’ wrought three folks’ wark aye sae canny an’ douce,Ye wad thocht she did naething ava, man.”James Ballantine.
“An’ wow but the lassie was pawky an’ slee,For she smiled an’ she smirkit till a’ man,Growin’ a’bodie’s bodie, baith muckle an’ wee,An’ our folk wadna let her awa’, man;For when there was trouble or death in the house,She tended the sick-bed as quiet as a mouse,An’ wrought three folks’ wark aye sae canny an’ douce,Ye wad thocht she did naething ava, man.”James Ballantine.
“An’ wow but the lassie was pawky an’ slee,For she smiled an’ she smirkit till a’ man,Growin’ a’bodie’s bodie, baith muckle an’ wee,An’ our folk wadna let her awa’, man;For when there was trouble or death in the house,She tended the sick-bed as quiet as a mouse,An’ wrought three folks’ wark aye sae canny an’ douce,Ye wad thocht she did naething ava, man.”
“An’ wow but the lassie was pawky an’ slee,
For she smiled an’ she smirkit till a’ man,
Growin’ a’bodie’s bodie, baith muckle an’ wee,
An’ our folk wadna let her awa’, man;
For when there was trouble or death in the house,
She tended the sick-bed as quiet as a mouse,
An’ wrought three folks’ wark aye sae canny an’ douce,
Ye wad thocht she did naething ava, man.”
James Ballantine.
James Ballantine.
ALTHOUGH Mr. Walker found, when he came to the parish of Blinkbonny, that the congregation was very much smaller than it had been under Mr. Barrie, he did not manifest a spirit of rivalry towards the Free Church; and, as his pulpit work did not require much preparation, owing to his having a good stock of sermons to fall back on, he set himself first to visit every house in the parish. He was a kind, sensible, neighbourly man, and had a quiet way of giving useful hints, and, where needed, remonstrances or reproofs that often produced good effects.
While Mr. Morrison, the Secession minister, was the best theologian, and Mr. Barrie the best preacher, Mr. Walker was the best pastor. When one metMr. Morrison, he was “complaisant” and heavy. Mr. Barrie was polite, but he seemed at one time abstracted, and at another as if he was too late for some engagement; but Mr. Walker was courteous, affectionate, interesting, and interested. In their preaching, Mr. Barrie was the most rousing and popular, Mr. Morrison the most profound and exegetical, Mr. Walker the most sympathetic and practical. Next to the Bible, Mr. Walker’s favourite book for pulpit preparation was Matthew Henry’s grand old Commentary. Mr. Morrison, on the other hand, consulted a great variety of authorities, ranging from Augustine and the Fathers to Robert Hall. Mr. Barrie drew largely from Calvin, Boston, Flavel, and the Puritan divines, as well as from the church historians, Knox, Neander, d’Aubigné, McCrie, etc.; and between the three, Blinkbonny was well off for ministers.
TO ALL THE COUNTRY DEAR.
Mr. Walker took great interest in the administration of the poor laws, and as a member of the Parochial Board he pled the cause of the deserving, and firmly opposed the demands of the indolent or lazy, got up local flower-shows, and gave cottagers and others useful hints as to their gardens, so much so that these became the pride of the place. He was unsparing in his extermination of all preventable nuisances and everything injurious to the health of the community,tried to get a better play-green for the boys, joined in the game of curling, and, stout as he was, he was a tough opponent, but at the same time a very pleasant man to play with. Although he never intruded his profession, he never forgot, far less disgraced it, and Blinkbonny soon came to look on him as the most useful man in the place—just a very fine man; and although leisurely in some of his ways, he was well qualified to take an active part in public affairs.
He seldom passed any remark about the doings of the Free Church, and those he did pass were of an inoffensive kind. He did not grumble at their successes, nor did he show any ill-feeling towards its adherents. Certainly he wondered at the interest their services seemed to excite, and the money they could command. He thought there were too many meetings and evening services, which might interfere with family and domestic duties; that they were in danger of spiritual pride (there he was right); but he thought upon the whole that good was being done,—at least he hoped so, and as the minister of the parish, he rejoiced in everything that promoted its real welfare.
He had a few good sermons, and was especially proud of a series of lectures on the parables. These he had commenced to re-deliver, although he did not do so in strict chronological order. One of his best,he thought, was on the Ten Virgins; but he felt crestfallen when, after asking an old friend’s opinion of it, he was answered:
“Mr. Walker, I’ve heard that lecture twenty years ago, and middling often since then. The virgins are auld maids by this time; ye should either marry them off or let them alane.”
The lecture Mr. Walker thought his very best was about the sower going out to sow. It was a congenial subject, as he had given agriculture very great attention, and he actually made it into two lectures, thus spreading it over two Sabbaths. He had preached the first half, and intimated that on next Sabbath he would resume the subject, and hoped to conclude it. Unluckily for him, an eminent clergyman from Edinburgh was to preach in the Free church on that day, and for the first time he felt chagrined at seeing a very small audience in his church.
He said to his candid friend John Tait, on the following Monday, “that he was sorry to see so few folk in church yesterday. If I know myself at all, I feed my people with the finest of the wheat, and my memory of what Mr. Mc—— was at college and in the hall is, that he was an indifferent scholar, although a showy speaker.”
Johnnie’s reply was at least honest: “Oh ay,Mr. Walker, nae doubt, nae doubt ye gi’e us as ye ca’t the finest o’ the wheat; but our wife bakes the best wheat scones in the kintra-side, and even they are the better o’ a little butter or jelly or honey to them; and maybe ye’re a wee scrimpit o’ that sort o’ kitchen to mak’ your substantial fare mair toothsomer.”
“ON HOUSEHOLD CARES INTENT.”
Between Mr. Barrie and Mr. Walker the intercourse was cordial, although not familiar. And Bell got reconciled to Mr. Walker, and even jealous of him when she saw that the manse garden and park were fully as productive as they had been under her management, although not quite so tidy.
The miracle already referred to, of how Mrs. Barrie could do what she did, and as she did it, on the income they had, still continued to exercise the wondering attention of the neighbourhood.
The flitting had been attended with considerable expense. Some new things had to be got for Knowe Park. The children were growing up, and the boys were, like all healthy boys, “heavy” on their clothes; and besides, Mr. Barrie was a liberal contributor for the maintenance of ordinances and the erection of the new church.
Mrs. Barrie, seconded by her faithful Bell, stuck to her thrifty practices and household duties, whilst at the same time she took great interest in all thatconcerned the church, and by her good sense and motherly counsel quietly did much useful work. She made Mr. Barrie her first worldly care, and this enabled him to overtake his arduous duties timeously and efficiently.
Bell was as constantly diligent as ever, working away in the house, amongst her live stock, and in getting the garden up to her standard. When the winter evenings set in, she kept stitching away, trying to keep the boys all right; for that was her special department, as Mrs. Barrie attended to the girls’ attire. The wires for knitting stockings were nimbly plied at all spare hours; and as she could read and knit at the same time, she became well up in Free Church matters, as she got a “look of the newspapers” in the evening. She paid little attention to the general news, but perused with great interest “a’thing about kirks.” She also read with much care all the Free Church magazines.
When November term came, Mrs. Barrie, as she had generally done, put into an envelope Bell’s half-yearly wages, or “fee” as Bell called it, and handed the parcel to Bell.
RATHER TOO MUCH.
There was an understanding between them that there was to be no “speakin’ at the ‘speakin’ time,’” that is, no asking Bell if she was “stayin’.” Mrs. Barrie had done this for the first three years, but Bellbeseeched her not to do it again,—“she couldna bide it; if she wasna gaun to stop, she wad gi’e plenty warnin’.” And although Bell’s fee had been increased more than once, she had never asked an advance, nor had Mrs. Barrie ever told her of it beforehand; indeed, the payment of the fee seemed to be the most trying part of the intercourse between Mrs. Barrie and Bell, from the strange feeling that some fine natures have when money matters are referred to. Not only was there little said on such occasions, but Bell felt at a loss for words to thank Mrs. Barrie for raising her fee. She seldom got past “it’s far ower kind—far ower kind, ’deed is’t.” And Mrs. Barrie felt the same difficulty, for her reply rarely exceeded, “It’s not that, Bell; I wish”—Then she passed on to some other subject, and both seemed to be relieved, and to enter afresh on another six months’ unclouded intercourse.
On this occasion, however, Mrs. Barrie was surprised at Bell’s troubled look, and more so at her words.
“Mrs. Barrie,” said Bell, handing her back the money, “I canna tak’ it, and I daurna tak’ it. Dinna be angry at me, an’ oh, mem, dinna press me. This has been a heavy half-year on ye, an’ if I daur’d offer ye what little I hae, I wad gladly gi’e a’ my ‘stockin’ fittie;” for an old rig-and-fur stocking was Bell’s purse, and shekept it for safety in the bottom of the case of the kitchen clock, covered up with an old dirty dusty wrapper, the only regularly dusty thing in her kitchen.
Mrs. Barrie thoroughly appreciated Bell’s generous thoughtfulness, and although she was put about by it, she tried to keep this from Bell.
“Bell,” said Mrs. Barrie, “you’re exceedingly kind, it’s very thoughtful indeed of you; it’s just like yourself. But I’m thankful to say that there is not the slightest need for your perplexing yourself about us, for we’ve enough and to spare, so please say no more about the matter; but thank you very much, Bell, all the same.”
Bell was loth to yield, and only did so after repeated pressing. Mrs. Barrie left the kitchen, and had hardly sat down in the parlour, when Bell came in, and laying a one-pound note on the table, said:
“Ye’ve countit wrang, mem, if you please; ye’ve gi’en me a pound ower much.”
“No, Bell, not too much,” said Mrs. Barrie; “too little if you like, but not too much. You told me just now it had been a heavy half-year with us. What has it been to you? You have done two women’s work.”
“TWICE BLESSED.”
“No’ me, Mrs. Barrie, no’ me. I have a gude place, an’s no oppressed nae way. Twae women’s wark?—pitytheir men or their mistresses! It’s nae wark at a’; naebody meddles wi’ me; I dae as I like.”
“Because you always like to do well, Bell.”
“I wish I did,” said Bell, and was leaving the room, when Mrs. Barrie said: “Take the pound with you, Bell.”
“No, Mrs. Barrie; excuse me, mem,” said Bell. “I never disobeyed ye before, but I will not take that pound—I could not take it.”
“Do what you like with it, Bell, but pray take it away; it’s yours.”
Bell lifted it, and said, “For His cause.” Her fee had been a consecrated thing in her mind for some time, and seeing Mrs. Barrie had declined it, Bell, with great comfort to herself, apportioned it between the Building, Sustentation, and Mission Funds of the Free Church; with the exception of one pound, with which she bought “Alloa yarn,” and knitted cosy under-garments for the whole household, herself excepted. She did this at odd times, almost by stealth; and on New-Year’s day, when each inmate was wishing Bell a happy New Year, she put into their hands the cosy clothing, saying, “That’s your hansel;” but in the case of Mrs. Barrie it was varied by, “That’s pairt o’ yon pound.”
Bell’s cookery is a subject I cannot handle as itshould be handled. I have occasionally heard her tell of the regular winter Sabbath-day dinner as follows:
“There’s nothing beats a sheep’s head. We hae ane every Sabbath; it’s cheap, and very handy. There’s this gude thing about it, it needs little watchin’, and disna gang wrang wi’ ower lang boilin’: cleek it on, an’ get it fair through the boil, then cleek it up so as it’ll no’ boil ower an’ pit oot the fire, an’ ye may lock the door an’ gang a’ to the kirk, an’ come oot when you like. It disna matter for an hour or twa, either; ’deed it’s a’ the better o’ plenty o’ the fire—especially if ye hae a handfu’ o’ the ‘blue pat-pea’ in’t, an’ plenty barley. Then what’s like the broth on a cauld day? An’ then there’s the tongue for the bairns, an’ the head for the big folks. I like the feet best mysel’ [that’s like you, Bell]; an’ the broth’s grand next day—they’re a denner themsel’s.”
AFTER MEG DODS.
In cooking potatoes Bell could boil them till they were ragged in the “jackets,” but “mealy” all through; bake them in the oven with their skins on, so that with a little salt butter they were like eggs, and “suppit” as eggs are; fry them till they were “delicious;” beat and brown them with a little milk so as to render them a satisfying meal. Moreover, with the addition of a little dried fish, cod or ling, eggs or odd scraps, she made such dainty dishes as I cannot getreproduced. Possibly the potato disease may account for this.
I can speak from experience of her wonderful success with salt herrings,—“food for a king,” as Mr. Taylor used to say,—and am tempted to speak of her stews and “hashes,” and haggises and white puddings; for these were never too rich, but palatable, digestible, and tempting, and often they were made out of what modern cooks would put aside as unfit for family use. Out of common pot barley she made a delightful pudding, that beat rice pudding hollow. But I must not make this a cookery-book.
I asked Bell for some receipts on one occasion.
“There’s nae receipt about it, Mr. Martin,” said she; “just gang richt aboot it, an’ ye canna miss. It’s just as easy as A-B-buff when ye’re into the way o’t.”
“Just so, Bell; but how do ye get into the way o’t?”
“Tuts, Mr. Martin,” said Bell playfully, “that’s no’ a man-body’s parish; and as the sayin’ is, ‘Hunger’s gude kitchen;’ altho’, in ma way o’ thinkin’, there’s as muckle, if no’ mair, lies wi’ the cook as wi’ the flesher,—it are thae.”
Bell had always on hand what cooks call “stock,” on which she could fall back as occasion required for soups and gravies.
On a bitterly cold day, a Mr. Kirkwood called at Knowe Park by the desire of a Colonel Gordon, to make inquiries as to his relationship to Mrs. Barrie, whose maiden name, as already stated, was Mary Gordon.
Mr. Barrie was from home, and the family dinner was, in Bell’s phrase, an “offpit;” and Mrs. Barrie, knowing this, expressed her regret that she could hardly ask Mr. Kirkwood to join them at their homely meal, as the chief dish was plain potato-soup.
Mr. Kirkwood’s face brightened at the familiar name, which reminded him of his early home; for he had been abroad for over thirty years, and had only recently returned to Scotland to spend the evening of his days.
“Potato-soup!” said he; “ah, that recalls old times. If it is not presuming on your hospitality, I would like immensely to renew my acquaintance with a very old favourite.”
“With great pleasure,” said Mrs. Barrie, as she showed him into the parlour.
POT-LUCK.
It would be unjust to call Mr. Kirkwood a gourmand, but he was an epicure, fastidious in culinary matters, and an authority in gastronomics. He was accordingly helped to the soup. One spoonful brought a smile, partly of surprise, but quite as much of delight, to his face; the second confirmed the favourable verdict, and the contents of the plate soon disappeared.
He looked at Mrs. Barrie, slightly moved his plate, and said hesitatingly, “May I presume?”
“Most certainly,” said Mrs. Barrie. “I’m so pleased that you relish the soup; it is quite the weather for doing so.”
Plate number two was more leisurely emptied, with certain appreciative motions of the lips and face, and he again cast a lingering look towards the tureen, and said: “Excuse me, madam, I assure you that I never tasted any soup equal to this, although my knocking about the world has familiarized me with nearly every sort and every style of cookery. It’s superb; it’s simply magnificent. Would it be outraging the laws of politeness?” He had again slightly lifted his plate. Mrs. Barrie was greatly pleased, and served out plate number three with her happiest smile, for the table was now a merry one.
When the third plate was finished, she jocularly refilled the soup divider, and, looking toward him, said, “Do allow me.”
Mr. Kirkwood, who was in great good humour, said: “You are very kind, and I feel as if I could relish more, but we must draw the line somewhere, so no more, thank you. But pray, Mrs. Barrie, may I ask if your cook would favour me with the receipt?”
“I don’t think there’s any,” said Mrs. Barrie.
“Then may I see your cook?”
“We have only one maid-of-all-work,” was the reply.
“Then she’s a treasure. May I see her?”
“Certainly;” and Bell was called in.
Mr. Kirkwood rather confused Bell by abruptly asking, “How ever did you make this magnificent soup, cook? I never had anything equal to it.”
Bell saw that he was in earnest, and that Mrs. Barrie seemed in great spirits, so she at once said:
“It’s just ordinary pitattie soup, but the day I had a ham bone, an’ the stock was gude; an’ ma way is aye boil the pitatties separate, then pour them, then beat them, or as we ca’d ‘champ’ them, and add them to the stock, and steer and mix them weel, an’ be sure that baith them an’ the plates is hett.”
“Ordinary soup!” said Mr. Kirkwood; “that’s a matter of opinion; my idea is that it is thene plus ultra.”
“The what?” said Bell “What kind o’ apples?”
“Ask this young gentleman,” said Mr. Kirkwood, looking to James; “he’s doubtless a Latin scholar. My translation is ‘the top of the tree,’ ‘the head sheaf,’ the ‘never was beat,’ thecrême-de-la-crême;” and Mr. Kirkwood left in great spirits, warmly thanking Mrs. Barrie and Bell, both of whom were much amused by the little incident.
James gave Bell the literal translation ofne plus ultra, viz. “nothing more beyond,” “nothing better,” not a little proud of having been called in as interpreter.
THE AULD SCOTTISH KAIL BROSE.
Mrs. Barrie, knowing that Bell was well acquainted with her family history, told her that Mr. Kirkwood had been making inquiries about her father, at the request of some Colonel Gordon, and asked Bell if she knew anything about the Colonel or Mr. Kirkwood.
Bell said no, but that Dan Corbett was coming to see about something in the afternoon (it was to kill the pig, but Bell was too well bred to put it so plainly), and she would ask him, as he “kenn’d a’ the folk round aboot; and Dan will be divertit when I tell him that Mr. Kirkwood said oor pitattie soup was like his game fowls, for he spake o’ them as ‘never was beat,’ an’ ‘the top o’ the tree.’ I’ve been thinkin’ that he micht mean that they were half pitattie soup, and half ‘cockie-leekie.’”
After Dan’s immediate work was over at Knowe Park, he was a good deal surprised when Bell asked him to “come in and get a cup o’ tea, for it was a cauld nicht, an’ she wantit to speak to him aboot twa or three ither things;” and he was even more astonished when Bell sat down with him. He had the diffidence sometimes so strongly developed in an outcast, and it was withdifficulty that he was persuaded to draw even his chair near the table. What had taken Bell to be so gracious he could not think, nor could she. There was a something that had led her to look on Dan of late with pity, then with interest, then with a desire to try “an’ mak’ something o’ the puir creatur’;” and to-night she actually went the length of saying, “As it was very stormy ootside, he micht smoke in the kitchen if he wad blaw the smoke up the chimney as much as he could.”
Dan’s first remark after tea was over, and after he had gauged the angle at which to deliver the smoke into the chimney, was, “I think ye’ll find Knowe Park fit ye fine, but I canna comprehend what gar’d Mr. Barrie leave the auld manse.”
Bell tried to explain the matter, but the points were far too fine for Dan’s rough-and-ready way of reasoning, and he said:
“I wad ’a been very sorra if I had been him. The Government as ye speak o’ wasna meddlin’ wi’him, and he was weel likit; an’ they say this new kirk is takin’ a heap o’ siller.Iwad ’a bidden in the auld ane.”
“He couldna dae that for his principles, although we a’ left the auld manse, as ye ca’d, wi’ a heavy heart;” and Bell spoke to Dan at considerable length aboutthe Disruption, and the family, and brought in “wee Nellie” and her death, and her grave in the old kirkyard very touchingly.
“Aweel,” said Dan, “I think ye were the mair fules to leave. Maister Walker’s a nice man, but so is Mr. Barrie; and for a’ I can see, the tane is exactly the same as the tither. Wad Mr. Barrie no gang back yet?”
“Never,” said Bell warmly; “ye may as weel try to lift the milkin’ stane o’ Dumbarton!”[27]
[27]The name given to an enormous mass of rock, which according to local tradition fell from the Castle rock into the cow park of primitive Dumbarton. One or more women who were milking their cows are said to have been smothered by it: if that is the case, the guide may safely assert that their bodies are there yet, as the “milking stone” will weigh thousands of tons.
[27]The name given to an enormous mass of rock, which according to local tradition fell from the Castle rock into the cow park of primitive Dumbarton. One or more women who were milking their cows are said to have been smothered by it: if that is the case, the guide may safely assert that their bodies are there yet, as the “milking stone” will weigh thousands of tons.
DUMBARTON.
As Bell said this, Dan’s pipe dropped out of his cheek, and he gave a nervous start; his only eye fixed itself on Bell with more than usual firmness, and he said, “What do ye ken about the milkin’ stane o’ Dumbarton?”
“I come frae Dumbarton; sae does Mrs. Barrie: did ye no’ ken that afore, Dan?”
“No me,” said Dan; “hoo could I ken’d till ye tell’t me? I never thocht on the matter at a’; it was nae business o’ mine.”
“Oh,” said Bell, “the mistress was a daughter, the only daughter, o’ Mr. Gordon o’ the Grainaries.”
Dan rose in intense excitement, and said, “Preserve me, I maun awa’ Bell; dinna speak to me ony mair about that, I canna bear’t the noo. Oh, let me gang! let me gang!”
Bell was astonished at Dan’s sudden excitement, and could see no reason for it; so, recollecting about Mr. Kirkwood, she said, “Sit doon a minute, an’ I’ll tell ye a farce that happen’t the day.”
She then told about the potato-soup, and said, “You that ken’s a’ the folk in the country-side, can ye tell me onything about that Mr. Kirkwood? He’s been lang abroad, about India or some o’ thae places.”
Dan, who was now a little quieter, sat down and said, “That’ll be him that’s bocht ‘Strathgowan.’ I’ve seen him. He has some braw dougs: he has a mastiff that I think could fecht ma Burke, an’he’sno’ easy bate.”
“By the bye,” said Bell, “he was speirin’ about Mrs. Barrie’s father.” Bell said thiswithout thinking, and Dan again started to his feet.
GENERALSHIP.
“I beg your pardon, Dan, but what makes ye sae wild when I speak o’ auld Mr. Gordon? There’s naebody here that ye need care for, an’ there’s something on yer mind, but I canna contrive what it is. Whatever is’t, Dan?” said Bell, and she tried all the kitchen doors, to show him that they were closely shut; then sheadded, “Sit doon, Dan, an’ gather yersel a wee, for I promised to the mistress to speak to you about Mr. Kirkwood.”
Dan swithered and writhed about a little, fixed his single eye on the kitchen door, twirled his bonnet in his hands, but at last he sat down, and looked thoughtfully in the fire.
“That’s wiselike, Dan; that’s like yersel’, Dan,” said Bell encouragingly; “they say that ye were the best watcher o’ a kirkyard in the county, and ye’re no’ gaun to start at naething. Weel, as I was saying, this Mr. Kirkwood was here the day, for to obleege some Cornel Gordon that’s come hame frae India, and that wants to ken about the Gordons o’ the Grainaries, an’ if Mrs. Barrie was ane o’ them.”
Dan, still looking at the fire, said, “Div you ken a’ thing about Mr. Gordon? I never kent till this moment he was Mrs. Barrie’s father.”
I stated in my first chapter that Mrs. Barrie never referred to her father’s changed circumstances, and had asked Bell never to speak of them in Blinkbonny, so that Dan’s question was a poser. She took a very red face, and said, “A’thing, Dan? a’thing?” then going nearer him she whispered, “I ken about the brandy, an’ tobacco, an’ salt, an’ as I see you ken tae, we can speak freely about it; but mind never breathe thething to ony ither mortal whatsomever about Blinkbonny.”
“But,” said Dan, “did ye ever ken wha put the brandy an’ things there?”
“No,” said Bell, “not me; how could I? It never was ken’d, an’ likely never will be ken’d.”
“Bell,” said Dan, looking steadily in her face, “I ken, I ken a’ about it, but there’s no anither livin’ man that I ken o’ kens that bit o’t but mysel’; an’ Bell, for your life dinna tell onybody that I tell’d ye. Never let on to leevin’ about it.”