CHAPTER VII.

OUT OF THE OLD HOME AND INTO THE NEW.

“Confide ye aye in Providence, for Providence is kind,An’ bear ye a’ life’s changes wi’ a calm an’ tranquil mind;Though press’d an’ hemm’d on every side, ha’e faith an’ ye’ll win through,For ilka blade o’ grass keps its ain drap o’ dew.”James Ballantine.

“Confide ye aye in Providence, for Providence is kind,

An’ bear ye a’ life’s changes wi’ a calm an’ tranquil mind;

Though press’d an’ hemm’d on every side, ha’e faith an’ ye’ll win through,

For ilka blade o’ grass keps its ain drap o’ dew.”

James Ballantine.

MR. BARRIE had written to Sir John McLelland, thanking him for his uniform kindness, and saying that he had disjoined himself from the Established Church. He also wrote to the clerk of his presbytery to the same effect, adding that he would leave the manse as soon as he could.

A short time sufficed to put Knowe Park into habitable order. Whenever this was known, Mr. Barrie was cumbered by proffers of help from the farmers in the parish. He could have had fifty carts to remove his furniture for one that he required; and acts or offers of considerate attention were so showered on him that he was embarrassed by them.

At length the day came for “flitting.” It was a fine morning in the middle of summer,—everything was looking its best. The manse in itself was a charming place. To Mr. and Mrs. Barrie and their children it had been a happy home, and in their inmost hearts it was hallowed by many tender associations; and the church was endeared to Mr. Barrie as he recalled the pleasant meetings therein with his beloved flock. The parting was a bitter ordeal, trying to flesh and blood, and as such they felt it very keenly.

THE MELODY OF JOY AND PEACE.

At the hour for family worship, the men who were taking down the furniture and making it ready for being carted were asked to come to the “books;” and they told afterwards that in singing the 23d Psalm their voices quivered, and that there was a lump in their throat as the 138th Psalm was read as the “ordinary” for the morning, for the circumstances seemed to give additional meaning to such parts of it as—“strengthenedst me with strength in my soul,” “though I walk in the midst of trouble, Thou wilt revive me,” “the Lord will perfect that which concerneth me,” “forsake not the works of Thine own hands.”

As soon as the first cart was laden and off, Bell went to Knowe Park to get things put rightly in and up. The three elder children had resolved to flit their own belongings. James took his small barrow,filled with a confused load of skates, books, etc. Mary carried her little chair, Black Tam the negro doll, and some books and toys; Lewie his little chair, a toy horse, and a whip. They had reached the post office (which stood a little back from the main street), and were resting on the broad open pavement in front of it, James sitting on his barrow, the others in their chairs.

DR. GUTHRIE AND THE BAIRNS.

Dr. Guthrie, who had been spending a day or two in the neighbourhood, was calling at the post office. Soon, as his quick eye rested on the singular group, his face became radiant with such a smile ashecould give, and which the children returned very frankly. He went close to them, stooped down and patted Mary’s cheek, got his hand under her chin and stroked it playfully, all the while looking kindly in her face; then glancing at her lap, he said:

“What’s the name of that fine doll, my wee pet? is it Sambo, or Pompey, or what?”

“That’s black Tam,” said Mary. “It was Nellie’s doll, and I’m taking it to our new house.”

“Nellie’s, was it? And is Nellie too old for dolls now, and has she given it to you? He looks as if he had seen better days.”

“Oh! please; sir, Nellie’s dead,” said Mary, looking towards the churchyard; “she’s buried over there.”

“But Bell and mamma say that Nellie’s in heaven,” said Lewie very decidedly.

The suddenness and beauty of Lewie’s answer strongly affected Dr. Guthrie. He took out his snuff-box and took a moderate pinch, then clapped Lewie’s head, and said:

“Yes, my wee man, you’re right; Nellie’s in heaven. But what’s your name?”

James now took speech in hand: “My name’s James Barrie, and this is Mary, and this is Lewie. We’re flitting from the manse over yonder;” and he pointed in the same direction as Mary had looked. But Dr. Guthrie, thus suddenly brought into contact with this stern reality of the Disruption, had again to apply to his snuff-box, and was in the act of taking it out of his pocket when Sir John McLelland drove up to the post office and alighted. Dr. Guthrie and he knew one another as members of Assembly, and they shook hands cordially, Sir John expressing surprise at seeing the doctor there.

“Sir John,” said the doctor, “excuse me,”—and he dried the tear that was coursing down his cheek,—“do you know these children?”

Sir John had not observed the group, but he looked at them long enough to admit of Dr. Guthrie pulling out his box, taking one good snuff, and getting another ready for despatch in his fingers.

“Oh, yes,” said Sir John, “they are Mr. Barrie’s children;” then looking at James: “How are mamma and papa keeping?”

The children had risen, and the boys had taken off their caps when Sir John appeared. In answer to the question James said: “They’re quite well, thank you, sir; we’re all going to our new house to-day;we’rehelping to flit.”

Dr. Guthrie took his reserve snuff, looked first at Sir John, then at the children, and swinging his hand so that it pointed to the children, then to the manse, and resting it now towards them and again towards it, he recited with much feeling, for he seemed deeply moved:

“From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springs,This makes her loved at home, revered abroad;Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,An honest man’s the noblest work of God.”

“From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springs,

This makes her loved at home, revered abroad;

Princes and lords are but the breath of kings,

An honest man’s the noblest work of God.”

GIFF-GAFF.

By this time several of the villagers were attracted by the scene, and they scarcely could repress the cheer that was struggling for vent in their throats. Respect for Sir John, however, kept it down until he drove away, when a right hearty greeting was given to Dr. Guthrie, in whose eyes the tear still trembled, and many pressed forward to grasp his hand,—none more warmly than Kennedy the tailor, who, producing his snuff-box, said:

“Ye’ll excuse me, sir; I dinna ken ye, but—ye’ll excuse me, sir—but would ye do me the honour of takin’ a snuff out of my box?”

“Certainly, my good friend,” said the doctor; “and we’ll giff-gaff,” handing his box to the tailor, and helping himself out of Kennedy’s dimpled, black-looking, oval-shaped tin box.

The tailor took a pinch, said it was “prime snuff,” and added: “Burns is a great poet, and that was a grand verse you gied us the noo, and the occasion’s worthy o’t. Mr. Barrie ’s an honest man, but he’s far mair, he’s a patriot-martyr.”

The last cartload had left the manse; there was nothing for Mr. and Mrs. Barrie to do but lock the door and follow. They paid a farewell visit to each room. Their footsteps sounded harshly through the house, now empty and dreary, still they were loath to leave. When they were fairly outside of the front door they lingered on its step; then Mr. Barrie, with a quick “This will never do,” locked the door and withdrew the key.

They were bracing themselves for their trying walk past the church, past the churchyard, and through the village, when a noise, a familiar noise, yet with an eerie wail in it, made them both start. It came from old Tibby the cat—Nellie’s Tibby. Bell hadcarried her to Knowe Park in a basket as carefully as if she had been Nellie herself, and had shut her up in a room. When the children came, James and Mary had got strict orders to watch her; but Tibby had beaten them all and got off, and home and into some quiet corner of the manse, whence, when the door was locked, she crept out, uttering her wailing protest.

“Poor Tibby,” said Mrs. Barrie, “we must take you with us.”

When the door was re-opened, Tibby was easily caught. She had evidently felt convinced, after a bewildered ramble through the empty house, that there was some reason for her late transportation and imprisonment.

This little incident re-opened the floodgates of tender memories, and forced tears from Mrs. Barrie’s eyes, although by that time the fountain had been largely drawn upon. She felt thankful to have something else than herself to think of; and Tibby’s presence in her arm, tucked cosily into the corner of her shawl, served to divide her attention, and supplied sufficient amount of occupation to make the walk less trying to her. She leaned heavily on Mr. Barrie’s arm, partly from weariness, partly from excitement.

THE NEW HOME.

When they reached Knowe Park, Bell had tea set forthem in the parlour; and the children, having already made a complete round of the whole premises, gave at the tea-table cheering proofs that they had not lost their appetites, as well as curious details of what they had discovered in their ramblings over their new home.

Bell had got the bedrooms into wonderful order for their accommodation at night, and this deprived kind neighbours of the pleasure they would have had in “putting up” for a few nights all or any of the family. Within a few days they all felt quite at home, and the additional work entailed by making the manse things go as far as they could, kept them so busy that they were surprised at their having got over the flitting, and especially the “leaving” of the manse, so soon and so quietly.

I did not think it possible that Bell could have wrought harder than I had always known her to do; but she did, and soon Knowe Park was as much to her, in as far as the garden and live stock were concerned, as the old homestead had been. And although Guy the beadle offered to bring out of the manse garden whatever she wished, Bell had enough and to spare, and told Guy to use for himself what he liked, and after that only to sell what was ripe or “near spoiling.”

True to his trust, Guy brought her a fair sum ofmoney obtained in this way, which she handed to Mr. Barrie, not Mrs. Barrie as usual, telling him how it had come. Mr. Barrie was greatly pleased with Guy and Bell, and thanked them warmly; but to Bell’s astonishment he handed her back the money, and said: “Give it to the poor, Bell, and oh! let us be thankful we have something to give away.”

This was several steps in advance of Bell’s notions of what was called for, and she spoke to Mrs. Barrie about it. Mrs. Barrie was well aware that she would need to be very economical, but Mr. Barrie’s “thankful to have something to give away” was so like himself, and the money had come so unexpectedly, that she said:

“Certainly, Bell, we’ll carry out Mr. Barrie’s wishes; and when something has thus come that wecangive, let us be thankful to get the more blessedness, for itismore blessed to give than to receive.”

Bell could not quite go in with this doctrine. She thought for a little, and then said hesitatingly:

“Just so, mem; but you’ll surely no’ object to me selling whatever’s to spare at Knowe Park, mem, will ye? I think less o’ what comes frae the auld manse; an’ I’m aye gaun to ca’t that, an’ this house is to be the manse. No’ the new manse, butthe manse—the manse.”

BOTH RIGHT.

“Do as you have always done, Bell; no directions I could give would serve you so well as your own good sense. And I have been so unsettled by the events of the past two months that I hardly know my own mind; but one thing I do know, and feel—” here Mrs. Barrie’s eyes filled, and she finished the sentence with a trembling voice, “and that is, that you have been a sister and a mother to us all,—a Deborah and a Ruth, a Martha and a Dorcas put together. May God reward you.”

This was nearly too much for Bell, but the necessity of getting on and getting through was pressing her strongly. She accordingly braced herself up, and said in a cheerful tone:

“Mrs. Barrie, I’ve gotten ower a’ my fears an’ cares o’ a worldly kind about this kirk business, an’ I’m humbled to think that I spoke to you an’ the minister an’ ithers as I did, an’ that I didna join the noble army till after the battle was won; but noo,” said she with great solemnity, “I pray that I may mak’ up for my faintin’ in the day o’ adversity by settin’ my face like a flint to my wark,” and here she lowered her tone. “But I’m forgettin’ mysel’, an’ we maun a’ set the stout heart to the stey [steep] brae, an’ gather up the loins o’ our minds and heads and hands, and no’ turn back like Lot’s wife. We’re gaun to dae finehere: the range is very licht on the coals; an’ the hens are takin’ to the place, an’ layin’ weel; an’ Daisy’s up to her knees in clover,” and here Bell put on her blithest look, “an’ I never saw either Mr. Barrie or you lookin’ better. And we maunna let it be said that we’re ‘unsettled,’ when in every sense o’ the word we’re settled, and weel settled,—we couldna be better,—we’re just real weel set.”

Bell’s hearty speech put Mrs. Barrie into good spirits. She left the kitchen with a smile on her lip and a warm thought in her heart, which found expression as she walked through the lobby in “Thank God for Bell!”

SCIENCE AND POULTRY.

Bell was contentedly happy because she was constantly busy, and her schemes prospered. From the day Mr. Barrie had hinted at the possibility of their leaving the manse, she set herself to contrive if by any means she could be more than ever one of the bread-winners, and her first attempt was on the hens. Some one had told her about the increased yield of eggs which Sir John’s henwife had got by some changes she had made in the food and treatment of her poultry. Bell adopted the new system, and improved on it. She succeeded far beyond her expectations, and with a happy face told me of her luck one afternoon when she was ordering some peppercornsand other spices, with which to experiment still further on a notion of her own.

“I’ve been trying different plans wi’ my hens. I first gied them dry grain, and they did but middlin’; then I gied them rough meal, an’ they did better; syne I boiled their meat, an’ put a ‘curn’[12]o’ spice in’t, an’ they did splendid—far mair than paid for the extra meat; then I got a cracknel frae the candlemaker (ane o’ yon dark, cheese-lookin’ things that they make out o’ the rinds o’ fat, an’ skins, an’ sic like that comes out o’ their tallow), and boiled a bit o’ it among their meat, and the result was extraordinary; they just laid on an’ on till they actually reduced themselves to fair skeletons. I was fair affronted to see them about the place, an’ I had to gi’e them a rest an’ change their victuals.NowI try to mix their meat so as to get them baith to lay weel an’ to be size for the table. But ye’ll hae seen what grand eggs I’ve been sending to yoursel’, an’ how mony mair than before?”

[12]A small quantity.

I knew that to be the case, and said so. Bell continued:

“But besides that, early in the spring I got some settings o’ eggs that they say are a grand kind, and the birds are a gude size a’ready. I got them fromDan Corbet, an’ so I wadna like to say very muckle about them, for Dan’s no’ aye to lippen[13]to. ’Deed, since we’ve come to live nearer him, I’m no sae high about them, for he has a vermin o’ game-cocks about him, and they whiles cross the north park and fecht wi’ mine—they’re a fair torment.”

[13]Trust.

Dan Corbet was a “queer mixture.” He was a native of Blinkbonny, but had been out of the parish for several years; report said he had been a smuggler on the west coast of Scotland. He returned to his native parish about the year 1820, with scars on his face, and without one of his eyes, which gave him a sinister look. For some years he had been night-watchman in the churchyard, as the outrageous custom of violating the sanctity of the grave in order to procure subjects for surgical demonstration and actual use in teaching anatomy had sent a thrill of horror over Scotland, and had led to the systematic watching of churchyards by at least two individuals every night. Dan was the paid regular watchman, and at least one or more respectable householders by turns watched with him. Dan’s reckless character fitted him for the dreary post; and although none of those who watched with him respected him, they found that he was always wakeful, and, in the matter in hand, trustworthy.

THE DUMMIE DOCTOR.

When the night watching was given up, Dan maintained himself by doing on a larger scale the odd sorts of jobs which he had sometimes taken in hand in order to add to his salary as watchman, or “dummie doctor,” as he was called. My older readers will remember with what feelings of indignation the resurrectionists or dummie doctors (for these were the names given to the violators of the graves) were spoken of, and that after their disappearance the odious name, “dummie doctor,” sometimes stuck to the watchman.

Dan acted amongst the surrounding farmers as butcher, mole-catcher, rat-catcher, and, in a rough way, as a veterinary surgeon; was employed as extra hand at sheep-shearings, corn-threshings, etc. He was a regular attender of local cattle markets, fairs, races, and games; a good and keen fisher, and strongly suspected of being a poacher, but never convicted. He was a wiry, spare, athletic man of about 5 feet 11 inches high, with a weatherbeaten countenance, thin grizzled hair, and a long stride. He lived in a cottage, divided by a single park-breadth from Knowe Park, and kept a perfect menagerie of dogs, ferrets, goats, and fowls—the latter being principally game sorts. His favourite pastime was cock-fighting; but it was, to Dan’s great regret, being discountenanced and put down. He had a variety of surnames; “the Corbie,”as a contraction of his own name, was the most common, but he was known as the “Mowdie” (mole), the “Rat,” the “Doctor,” the “Vet.,” and “Ggemmie,” as well as the “Dummie Doctor” or “Dummie.”

The eggs he had given to Bell were not from his stock, but had been got in exchange for some of these; and as he had sometimes been employed by Bell as a butcher, there was a trade connection between them, but the intimacy had been purely “professional,” as Dan, in the matter of social position or religion, was looked on as quite an outcast; and the description of him, in this respect, ranged from “a poor creature” to “an awfu’ man.”

Dan had got a setting of eggs from a very rare strain of game fowls, and had been loud in laying off their properties to his cronies, some of whom, on the night that Dan “set” them, took them carefully from under the hen and put ducks’ eggs in their place; they then crossed the field, got over Knowe Park wall, and put Dan’s eggs under one of Bell’s “clockers,”[14]using every precaution not to injure the eggs, as well as to avoid detection.

[14]Clucking hens.

Dan waited long and wearily for his expected brood; he looked for them on the reckoned day, but it passed, and the next, and the next, until a full week hadelapsed, and still no birds. Early on the eighth morning he determined to “pitch” the eggs away, and was angrily stooping down to lift off the hen, which, although it was a great favourite and a “splendid sitter,” would have had a rough toss and a long one, when he heard a cheep.

HIDDEN TREASURES.

The welcome sound was marrow to his bones. “Eh!” was his first exclamation; “what’s that? is’t possible after a’?” He heard more cheeping. “Isn’t it a gude thing I’ve been sae patient?” Then looking at the hen, which, but a minute before, he was preparing to use very roughly, he said, “Eh, grannie, grannie, ye’re the best clocker in the county; eh, my auld darlin’, my queen o’ beauty, ye’ll no’ want your handfu’ o’ groats for this—I’ll gi’e ye a peck; jist anither day, grannie, an’ ye’ll get oot wi’ yer darlin’s, ye ace o’ diements!”

The cheeping had now become very decided, and Dan, again addressing grannie, said: “Sit on, my flower o’ the flock, my fail-me-never, hap[15]the giant-killers wi’ yer bonnie, golden, cosy feathers just till the nicht, till their wee jackets an’ glancin’ spurs are dry; an’ I’ll bring a’ the neebors about seven o’clock when they come hame, and I’ll open the door, an’ ye’ll march out like Wallington at the head o’ the Scotch Greys atWaterloo; and will they no’ stare when they see your sturdy family following ye like the Royal Artillery?”

[15]Cover carefully.

He then locked the door, and “warned” his cronies and neighbours to come “sharp seven,” and they would see something really worth their while.

Dan was in the fidgets all afternoon. Shortly before seven o’clock a small crowd had gathered in his garden, to which Dan told the pedigree of the birds, and spoke of their qualities in the most glowing terms.

“Let’s see them, Dan,” said several voices; “let’s see them.”

“I’m waiting for Watty,” said Dan; and turning to a boy, said, “Gang to the house-end, ma man, an’ see if he’s no’ comin’;” then addressing his visitors, he said, “Watty’s the only man that I’m feared for in this district; his birds hae beaten mine owre often; I’ll tether him noo, or I’m cheated.”

As Dan finished this speech, Watty, a queer-looking customer wearing a hairy skull-cap, smoking a short black pipe, and with both hands in his pockets, joined the gathering. He gave a side nod to Dan, and said “Hoo’s a’?” to the company.

’TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP.

“Noo for the show!” said Dan, as he unlocked the hen-house (it was coal-house, goat-house, and served various other purposes), and flung the door wide open,saying, “Come awa’, grannie, wi’ your ‘royal family.’ There’s a pictur’, men, for ye.”

Grannie’s family had been restless, because hungry and particularly thirsty, and she and they obeyed Dan’s summons with great readiness and even haste.

Watty, who had till then smoked on in silence, quickly took the pipe out of his mouth, stooped a little, shaded his eyes with one hand, and seemed sadly puzzled. His first remark was:

“Man, Dan, they’ve awfu’ braid nebs” (broad bills).

“Braid nebs, or no’ braid nebs,” said Dan, “the game’s there onyway.”

“May be,” said Watty, “but they have maist awfu’ braid nebs,” for by this time he and all the onlookers had “smelt a rat;” “and in ma opinion they’re jucks.”

“Ye’re a juck!” said Dan, looking at him fiercely.

“Dinna look at me, Dan, look atthem; look at their nebs, look at their wab-feet—is thae no jucks?”

A second glance revealed to Dan that this was too true.

Roars of laughter, which only such an audience can give, ensued, in which “Braid nebs,” “Gemm jucks,” “Grannie’s royal family,” “Tether Watty,” were heard amidst the noisy peals of the uncontrolled and apparently uncontrollable merriment.

Dan looked unutterable things; his face was one of dismal agony. He took side glances at the crowd;each followed by a long look—a perplexed, vindictive look—at the ducklings; whilst all the while the crowd waxed merrier, and laughed louder as they saw his miserable, heartbroken countenance.

Watty stooped down to lift a duckling, saying at the same time, “Man, Dan, have ye lost your sicht? Div ye no’ see that thae’s jucks? Look at their nebs, their feet, their size; hear their weet-weet;” but “Grannie” barred the pass, flew at his hand, and pecked it sharply. This revived the sorely afflicted Dan, and rousing himself, he said, “Weel dune, grannie!” which the crowd received with a cheer and a very loud laugh.

One of the onlookers, wishing to soothe Dan, said: “Jucks are as gude as hens ony day, Dan; an’ they’re healthy-like birds.”

“You ignorant gomeral![16]you senseless blockhead! you born idiot!” said Dan, his excitement increasing as he proceeded; “jucks like game-cocks! jucks like the kind o’ game-cocks that should ha’ been there, that were set by my ain hands! haud yer bletherin’[17]tongue. Somebody’s been puggyin’[18]me. If I kent wha dared to tak’ their nap[19]aff me, I wad gi’e them what they wad mind a’ their days; I wouldfellthem!”

[16]Stupid fellow.

[17]Foolish talking.

[18]Playing monkey tricks.

[19]Fun.

A large crowd had now collected in Dan’s garden,and when the new-comers heard the cause of the merriment, they joined in it and kept it up.

LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE.

“What are ye a’ doin’ laughin’ there at, like heeawnies [hyenas]? Out o’ this, every one o’ ye, or I’ll gar some o’ ye laugh on the ither side o’ yer lug [ear]!” said Dan, looking daggers.

“Lock them up, Dan, for fear the witches change them into turkeys,” said one of the crowd.

This made Dan furious: he seized an old spade which lay on the top of his hen-house, and vowed that he “wouldfellony man that said another word.”

“If ye can catch him,” said a waif, with a knowing wink; and he made off as fast as he could.

“If I can what?” said Dan. “I believe you’re the vagabond that’s puggied me, and I’ll catch ye, supple an’ a’ as ye think ye are!”

Dan started, holding the spade over his head, fury in his eye, vengeance in his heart. The crowd saw that his blood was up, and cried, “Run, run, run for your very life!”

The man got into the field that lay between Dan’s cottage and Knowe Park; Dan followed, as did also many of the crowd. The pursued man, repenting of his rashness, and fearing the worst, as well he might, made straight for Knowe Park wall.

Bell had heard the laughter when milking Daisy;Mr. and Mrs. Barrie had heard it when taking an evening stroll in the garden, and all three were standing at the wall wondering what could cause it, as the laughter was unusually boisterous. They saw the chase begin. The flying man observed Mr. Barrie, and made toward him as to a city of refuge. When Mr. Barrie saw Dan rushing on, so dangerously armed and so furious, he cried loudly, “Stop, Corbett! stop! I command you.”

This made Dan slacken his pace and lower his spade, but he walked sulkily on with the crowd, saying, “I’m no’ dune wi’ him yet. I’ll gi’e him’t for this yet.—Wait a wee, just wait a wee,” until they came to the wall of the garden.

“Whatever is all this about?” said Mr. Barrie. “What’s wrong, Corbett, that you are so furious?”

“A’s wrang, sir, a’s wrang. I’ve been rubbit [i.e.robbed], an’ insulted, an’ chagareened by that—” It took Dan a little time to select an epithet strong enough for the occasion, and at the same time fit for the minister’s ears. This was a difficult matter; many rushed to his tongue-end, strong, withering, seasoned; undoubtedly, had it not been for Mr. Barrie, he would have fired them off in a volley, and greatly relieved himself thereby. At length he hurled out, “that unhanged vagabond, he’s puggied me, but—”

Mr. Barrie looked at Dan, and said, “Stop, Corbett, say no more till your passion cools;” then turning to the crowd he said, “What is the cause of this unseemly uproar?”

PROBING THE WOUND.

Watty and several others began to explain the affair, but every one that attempted it had to stop after saying a word or two; even the offending man, although now quite safe, was unable to get beyond “Dan set hens’ eggs” for laughing, and every man in the field was writhing in fits and contortions, through excessive laughter, with the exception of Dan, on whom the laughter was telling like oil on a flame.

Mr. Barrie looked at Dan, and seeing that he was becoming even more ferocious, said calmly: “Corbett, from the behaviour of the crowd I suspect they have been playing some trick on you, and they evidently have succeeded to their entire satisfaction, but to your great annoyance. Please tell me really what has excited you.”

Dan told his story. The laughter was quite as general, but became more distant as he proceeded, for whilst telling his tale he scowled on the “grinning baboons,” as he called them, and clutched his spade angrily, which still further widened the circle. Although Mr. Barrie remained grave, Mrs. Barrie could not but laugh quietly, and Bell, sheltered by an evergreenshrub, did so heartily, repeating, “Well, I never!” All at once she stopped, thought a little, then saying to herself, “That explains it,” she came close to the wall at the point where Dan stood, and said: “There’s a brood o’ chickens, lang-leggit, sharp-nebbit things, come to me that I never set; they’re maybe yours, they’re no ours—they’re come-o’-wills.”

“What!” said Dan; “whan did they come out?”

“This day week exactly.”

“Let’s see them. Come in, Watty, an’ gie’s your skill o’ them,” said Dan, with a happier but still nervous face; then addressing himself to Bell, he said: “Hoo mony came oot?”

“Eleven out o’ thirteen; there were twa eggs did naething.”

“That’s very gude; that’s grand!” said Dan, who was already climbing the wall to get in.

“Had ye no’ better wait till the morn’s mornin’?” said the considerate Bell. “They’re a’ shut up for the nicht, an’ cosy under their mother’s wing; ye’ll disturb them, puir things.”

“I maun see them the nicht; I’ll no’ live if I dinna see them the noo, but I’ll be real canny wi’ them. Come on.”

BETTER LO’ED YE CANNA BE.

Dan, Watty, and Bell went to the “cavie” or hencoop, folded back the old bag which had been droptover the front of it to keep the inmates warm, and Dan saw to his intense delight two little heads peeping from under their feathery covering. His educated although single eye at once settled the kind: “Game, game, every inch o’ them, and baith cocks!” Then turning to his crony he said: “Watty, you’ll lift the hen canny, canny, an’ I’ll tak’ stock.”

The result was “six cocks an’ five hens, the real true-blue breed,” declared by Dan, and confirmed by Watty, with the addition of, “Dan, ye’re rich noo.”

Bell would not hear of them being shifted that night, and ultimately persuaded Dan to “leave them wi’ her hen till they were pickin’ for themselves; she would take care o’ them, an’ nae cats could get near them, for she had just gotten new nets.”

Dan got Bell to take the ducks,—“he couldn’t bear them; there was nae water for them; his fowls wad dab them till there was no’ ane left; it wad be a great obleegement to him.”

When Dan got home he could not rest; he smartly took down his fishing-rod and strode to the waterside. The evening air cooled him, and he was further consoled by a good take. Under the “bass” (straw door-mat) at Knowe Park kitchen door next morning, Bell found a ten-pound salmon and three good large trouts—possibly they had not passed the water-bailiffs.Bell looked at all sides of the question of “what to do with them?” Many difficulties presented themselves to her honest, correct mind, and as the greatest of these was, “What else could she do with them?” she took in the foundlings and used them well.

There was a little coming and going between Bell and Dan, until the chickens were able to shift for themselves. When that was the case, he carried them carefully over to his own house, and shared it with them for a few months. The ducklings throve with Bell, and she repaid Dan for them and the fish (for she found out that her guess as to its having come from Dan was correct) in several ways, but principally by occasional dozens of her “buttered” eggs. When eggs were abundant, and therefore cheap, she preserved a large quantity by rubbing them when newly laid with a very little butter all over, and keeping them in salt. It was generally thought that she had some special receipt or “secret,” for her buttered eggs had a fresh, curdy, rich flavour that few preservers could attain to.

A penurious old maid had complained to Bell that “she did notunderstandher hens; she was quite provoked at them, because in the summer-time, when eggs were only sixpence the dozen, they laid lots, but in the winter-time, when they were more than double that price, they would not lay at all.”

CATCHING A TARTAR.

Bell’s reply was: “I daresay no’; but ’deed, mem, ye’ll need to baith feed them better, an’ keep them cleaner and cosier, or they’ll do but little for you.”

The nicknames by which Dan had formerly been distinguished were, after the affair of the ducklings, dropt entirely out of use, and he was thereafter spoken of as “Braidnebs,” although none could use it in his hearing with impunity.

Thomas Scott, the farmer of Babbie’s Mill, a forward ill-bred man, was speaking in the market to Mr. Taylor, the elder already referred to in these “Bits.” Dan chanced to pass near them, and the miller said, loud enough for him and the most of the folks about the cross to hear him, “Braidnebs or no’ braidnebs, the game’s there onyway.”

Dan scowled at the miller, and tried to suppress his rage. In his own words, “I tried to steek[20]my mouth, but there was a rattlin’ in my throat like to choke me. I lookit at Mr. Taylor. He kent,[21]’deed a’body kent, that the miller’s wife was a yammerin’[22]petted cat, an’ I said, ‘Maister Taylor, there’s a big bubblyjock[23]gangs about Babbie’s Mill yonder, but he’s dabbit[24]to death wi’ a hen.’”

[20]Shut.

[21]Knew.

[22]Grumbling.

[23]Turkey-cock.

[24]Pecked.

Poor “Babbie’s Mill” was well known to be “hen-pecked”at home, and the laugh was so cleverly, so deservedly, so daringly turned against him, that he was nonplussed for a little; but he screwed up his courage, and tried to look disdainfully at Dan. Dan’s single eye was glaring at him, and the blank socket of his other eye was twitching nervously. The miller looked bold, and said: “Go about your business, ye ill-tongued scoundrel!”

“Ye what?” shrieked Dan, going close up to the miller, who stept back and tried to move off; but Dan followed him closely, and poured out, in a voice compounded of bawling, howling, and hissing, whilst all the while his arm moved quickly up and down: “What did ye say?—ill-tongued? Wha has as ill a tongue as yoursel’, if it be na your wife? Ye’ll daur to insult a man in the middle o’ the street that wasna meddlin’ wi’ you, an’ then speak o’ him being ill-tongued! Gae hame to Babbie’s Mill an ‘clapper’ there like yer auld mill, an’ tak’ double ‘mouters’[25]out o’ ither folk’s sacks to fill yer ain. Ye’re no’ mealy-mooed [mouthed] though ye’re a miller; dicht the stour aff your ain tongue before ye try to mend ither folks. You should be the last man to ca’ onybody a scoundrel; them that meets ye in the market wad think butter wadna melt in yer mouth, but let themgang to Babbie’s Mill an’ they’ll find ye can chew gey hard beans. What d’ye think o’ that, Babbie? Wha has the sharpest neb noo? Whare’s the game now? I think I’ve broken your spurs an’ toozled[26]yer feathers. Gang hame an’ cower in the corner an’ get dabbit, Babbie. Ye’re weel ca’d Babbie—ye’re just a big babbie—’at are ye; an’ if ye never kent that afore, ye ken noo, onyway.”

[25]A miller’s perquisites taken in meal.

[26]Ruffled.

Back to Index Next