CHANGES AT KNOWE PARK.
“But mony are the ups an’ the douns o’ life,When the dice-box o’ fate turns tapsalteerie.”Old Song, “Kate Dalrymple.”
“But mony are the ups an’ the douns o’ life,When the dice-box o’ fate turns tapsalteerie.”Old Song, “Kate Dalrymple.”
“But mony are the ups an’ the douns o’ life,When the dice-box o’ fate turns tapsalteerie.”
“But mony are the ups an’ the douns o’ life,
When the dice-box o’ fate turns tapsalteerie.”
Old Song, “Kate Dalrymple.”
Old Song, “Kate Dalrymple.”
SILENCE IS GOLDEN.
THE Blinkbonny Free Church congregation was now a strong one,—so strong that a Dorcas Society was added to its other schemes, and proved of great service to the members as well as to the poor. The choice of Mrs. Clark as convener was a happy one. She became the mainspring of the concern; and faithfully did she inquire into all needful cases, and considerately did she administer the funds,—in some instances so quietly, that several compared the help they received to “Peter’s sheet that was let down from heaven;” and in not a few cases the assistance was all the more welcome because, although it was greatly needed, it would only have been asked as a last resort.
The collectors had some difficulty in getting theDorcas Society started. One of them—a Miss Roxburgh—asked a subscription for this purpose from Mr. Skinner, a well-to-do and successful man.
“A what kind of society do you call it,—a Dorcas Society? What in all the world’s that?” said he.
“It’s to provide clothing and coals for the poor.”
“Then why do you not call it something else than that foreign name Dorcas? Is it Latin, or French, or what is it?”
“Oh,” said Miss Roxburgh, “it’s called after Dorcas, the woman that made garments for the poor. You’ll remember of her,—Tabitha or Dorcas?”
“Not I. I never even heard of her name before,—Tabby or Dorcas, or whatever you call her. Where did you fall in with her? I am certain it was not in the Bible,” said Mr. Skinner firmly.
“Hoots, ye’re forgetting,” said Miss Roxburgh. “It’s in the Acts of the Apostles. We read that she died, and they sent for Peter; and when the poor widows showed him the clothes she had made for them, he prayed, and she was brought to life again.”
“I read the Bible as well as you,” replied Mr. Skinner, “and I never either heard or read of any such woman. It’s not in the Acts, I’m certain. However, as the object is a good one, there’s a pound to you; but for any favour give your society a decentname, for nobody will understand what Dorcas means. Dorcas! there is not such a person in all the Bible.”
After the first year the society ceased to be a Free Church scheme and became a village one; but Mrs. Clark was continued at the head of it. She made it a matter of conscience,—stuck to the principle of helping nobody that had others—especially a “man”—that could work for them. The distribution of coals was to her a matter of first concern in the early winter; and, like Job, she could say, “The cause which I knew not I searched out,” until the receivers came to speak of them as “Mrs. Clark’s coals.” I commend this “bit” to what an old elder used to call “my female brethren,” and am convinced if they go and do likewise they will in no wise lose their reward.
“’Twas to share wi’ the needfu’ our blessin’s were gi’en,And the friend o’ the puir never wanted a frien’.”
“’Twas to share wi’ the needfu’ our blessin’s were gi’en,And the friend o’ the puir never wanted a frien’.”
“’Twas to share wi’ the needfu’ our blessin’s were gi’en,And the friend o’ the puir never wanted a frien’.”
“’Twas to share wi’ the needfu’ our blessin’s were gi’en,
And the friend o’ the puir never wanted a frien’.”
Mr. Barrie had some trouble over what was known as the “Morisonian” controversy. I will not enter on the question itself. It turned on the decrees of election, predestination, and what are known as the Calvinistic doctrines.
“FOOLS RUSH IN.”
George Hunter, a weaver, who had imbibed the Morisonian ideas, had a considerable power of putting the knotty points in a light which made the Calvinistictheory appear very monstrous, and he thought he could easily corner Mr. Barrie. George at length got what he had anxiously longed for, viz. a chance to fire off the cleverly worded sentences he had elaborated on the subject. Mr. Barrie, in reply, quietly stated the doctrine as given in theConfession of Faith, and quoted the Apostle Paul as his authority.
“But that’s where me an’ Paul differs,” said George.
“What!” said Mr. Barrie, “that’s where Paul and you differ? Do you not consider the Apostle Paul as an absolute and indisputable authority?”
“Weel,” said George, “hardly; for I believe that Paul was wrang when he said that.”
“Paul wrong!” said Mr. Barrie. “Your faith in yourself is certainly great, but you will excuse me for preferring Paul’s authority not only before yours, but to the exclusion of all others,” and thus closed the interview.
In the early summer of 1851, Colonel Gordon again came to reside with Mr. Kirkwood, near Blinkbonny; and although still an invalid, he was stronger and more cheerful. He had brought with him an invalid’s chair, on which he could be wheeled about, and Dan was employed to push it. When Colonel Gordon first saw Dan he took a long, inquiring look at him, as if the face was not altogether an unknown one; but hesaid nothing, as he thought it likely that he must have seen him when in Blinkbonny last year. Knowe Park became the Colonel’s favourite destination in his airings. This may have been at first brought about by a little management on Dan’s part; but the old soldier soon grew so fond of the children, that every day when the weather admitted of his getting out, he landed there.
Bell liked the Colonel for his own sake. He was a fine type of the old Indian military man,—courteous, interesting, and still handsome despite his advanced years. Generally she had some tasty soup or other slight refreshment ready for him, which he thoroughly enjoyed; and he told Mrs. Barrie that her cook did more to make him well than the doctor.
Mr. Kirkwood often referred to Bell’s potato-soup in terms which the Colonel thought absurdly high. On one of his visits, little Gordie asked him if he would like to see the new chickens. The boy’s beaming face interested him, and he said,
“Certainly; will you take me to see them?”
Gordie, trained as he had been by Bell not to disturb her feathered friends, said timidly, “I think Bell would let you see them, but she’ll not let me touch them.”
KIND ECHOES.
Bell was only too glad. Dan wheeled the Colonel to the spot near the outhouses where the “birdies”were. It was some time before he could so far relax his old Indian notions about servants as to speaktoBell; but she was so attentive and so respectful that he gradually got into familiar conversation with her, and even referred to Mr. Kirkwood’s constant praise of her potato-soup.
Bell, whilst keeping her proper distance, so thoroughly won his respect that he thanked her for the kind way in which she had studied to have something tasty for him, and complimented her on her cookery.
“I’m glad to do all in my power for Mrs. Barrie’s friend,” said Bell, “for she’s been a kind mistress to me; an’ although no’ rich in one respec’, she has the best o’ a’ kind o’ riches, for she has a’ Martha’s briskness an’ a’ Mary’s meekness. As to the pitattie-soup, it was just what was gaun that day; but if Maister Kirkwood wad—as he’s sae fond o’ Scotch dishes—come here till his dinner some day, Mr. and Mrs. Barrie wad be glad to see him wi’ you, sir,—but dinna say I said it,—and I wad try to let him taste some o’ the things he spoke o’ the first day he was here.”
“Mr. Kirkwood would be delighted, I know: he often speaks about these things,—offener than I care about, for when he begins there’s no stopping of him,” said the Colonel.
“Well, sir, beggin’ your pardon for bein’ sae presumin’,” said Bell, “if ye’ll tell me what he likes best, if it’s a plain auld Scotch dish, I’ll try to mak’ it sae that it’ll at least bring Mr. Kirkwood in mind, as he says, o’ auld langsyne; for a’ our denners here are auld-fashioned hamely fare.”
“Really I could not choose for him. What do you think would be suitable yourself? For I begin to relish the idea of seeing him sit down to a really Scotch dinner,—he so often speaks of it. It would be quite a treat to me.”
“Oh,” said Bell thoughtfully, “let me see,—he’s tried our potato-soup, but there’s ‘cockie-leekie,’ an’ green pea soup, an’ ‘hotch-potch;’ and for after that a haggis an’ collops, or a singed sheep’s head; an’ after that pancakes, an’ rhubarb wi’ some o’ Daisy’s cream.”
Here Bell was interrupted and almost startled by Mr. Kirkwood’s appearance and voice. He had come to call, but seeing the gathering at the outhouses, he walked very quietly forward and had overheard Bell’s last sentence.
THE COMMISSARIAT.
“Cockie-leekie!” said he; “splendid! Sheep’s head broth!—glorious! I had forgotten it. Haggis and pancakes!—magnificent! Collops, and what more did you say?” Then turning to Colonel Gordon,“You laughed at me for praising the potato-soup, and here you are getting a whole catalogue of dishes. I can only say that you’re vastly better lately if you are the length of dining on such fare.”
“It was for you, Mr. Kirkwood, that I was catering, not for myself,” replied the Colonel; “and we must see Mrs. Barrie about the matter first.”
Mr. Kirkwood found occasion, on their way to the house, twice or thrice to turn round and speak to Bell (who followed at a respectful distance) about some old-fashioned dishes, until Colonel Gordon said:
“Really, Kirkwood, don’t bother my good friend with such questions. You speak as if your fortune depended on them. Don’t make so much of your lower nature.”
“It’s not that so much as old associations,” said Mr. Kirkwood; “but if you had come into a house on a cold day and got the potato-soup that I”—
“Stop, Kirkwood, please! Do stop,—I’ve heard it fifty times,” replied the Colonel.
When the gentlemen got into the dining-room, they felt at a loss how to invitethemselves; but Gordie, on whose shoulder Colonel Gordon steadied himself when entering the house, did it for them by saying:
“Mamma, Mr. Kirkwood’s coming here to dinnersome day, and Bell is going to make pancakes and nice, nice things forus all.”
“We’ll be delighted to see you, gentlemen,” said Mrs. Barrie, with a very slight bow to each, “any day that will be most convenient.” Tuesday week was fixed.
Mr. Kirkwood brought with him some champagne of a special vintage, it being the only stimulant Colonel Gordon was allowed to take, and sent it quietly by Dan to Bell. She, busy with her own special work, looked at the bottles, and as she had not had champagne in hand before, she said to Dan:
“Take that gold off the cork an’ that string, an’ I’ll draw’t, an’ pit it into a crystal bottle to be ready.”
Alas! the cork flew into Bell’s face, half the wine was spilt, and she said sharply:
“Let them draw the next that likes, I’ll no’ fash wi’t.” Thereafter Mr. Kirkwood became his own butler for the day.
He wascarried awayby the cockie-leekie to which, at his own request, he was helped three times. Everything else, especially the pancakes, increased his delight. The others around the table enjoyed his immense satisfaction as much as they did the dinner,which, at least in Gordie’s case, is saying a very great deal.
THE CORRIDORS OF TIME.
Mr. Kirkwood walked alongside of Colonel Gordon’s chair as they went homewards,—Dan, of course, acting as propeller. When they had reached a high part of the road, they halted to enjoy the scene and the cool evening air. Colonel Gordon looked at Dan, who was wiping his brow, and observing a scar on his temples, he said:
“I’ve surely seen you long ago; it’s like a dream to me, but was it not you that brought me a letter from my brother, many, many years since, when I was sailing for India? You had a patch over your brow, and you told me you had had your eye hurt.”
Dan started and said: “Please, sir, are you a brother of the Duke o’ Gordon’s,—toots, I beg your pardon,—Kenneth Gordon’s?”
“I am,” said the Colonel. “I see now it was you that brought the letter. I was sure I knew you. Poor Kenneth, he was a daring fellow. Did you know him well?”
“I was one o’ his oarsmen,” said Dan, “but I haena seen him since the day he gied me the letter to gi’e to you—that was the day after he hid the brandy an’ the tobacco in Mr. Gordon o’ the Granaries’ cellar, thinkin’ he could get it out next nicht; butthe gaugers got scent o’t, and it took us a’ oor time to get off frae Dumbarton. It was then that I lost my e’e.”
“Brandy!—tobacco!—excisemen after him!” said Colonel Gordon, evidently under great excitement “Gordon of the Granaries’ cellar!—are you in earnest? I’m perfectly stunned. On your life, tell me everything you know about this matter.”
Dan did so, and pulling from the inside of his vest an old pocket-book, he showed a bit of dingy paper with some hieroglyphics on it that none but the initiated could decipher.
“Ye understand, sir, the smugglers that I rowed the boat for had lots o’ hidin’-places for their stuff, an’ this was one o’ the books they keepit. There, now,—that anchor wi’ the five twists o’ rope round it, means five kegs o’ brandy; that R K inside o’ the rope, means Roseneath kirkyard; that’s your brither’s mark, B Y D and a drawing o’ a ‘boyn’ or tub,—it was something about the Duke o’ Gordon in the north country.”
“Yes,” said the Colonel quickly, “Bydand is part of the Gordon crest, and Aboyne their castle;—but go on.”
“STRANGER THAN FICTION.”
“Weel, here’s for Gordon o’ the Granaries;—a castle, that’s Dumbarton;—a granary wi’ a G, that’s Gordon’splace; an’ there’s the anchor wi’ five twists, an’ twa tobacco-pipes made like a five; and there’s the duke’s mark. An’ that mark’s,—beggin’ your pardon, Mr. Kirkwood,—Ma’colm Kirkwood’s;—it’s a comb, an’ a kirk, an’—an’—” Here Dan was interrupted by Mr. Kirkwood saying warmly:
“A gallows-tree, a wood or ‘wuddie,’ sure enough, for hanging smugglers on. Both the entries and signatures are very suggestive.”
“An’,” continued Dan, “that mark o’ the half-moon on legs wi’ the wings on’t, means that the vera nicht ony o’ the ither companies o’ the gang sees’t, they’re to get the stuff awa’ to some ither place immediately, that’s markit on the paper,ifthere’s twa marks o’ the heid men on’t, like what this has, but no’ unless. An’ I got the book frae your brither, to tak’ to anither party o’ the smugglers when the hue and cry about the thing blew past. For your brither, sir, never thocht the gaugers wad find out the stuff in the granaries; but they fand it, an’ puir Mr. Gordon had to pay the fine, an’ it ruined him; an’ nobody kens till this day whae put it there, except mysel’—at least that I ken o’. I left the smugglers for gude an’ a’ after that.”
Dan’s story, corroborated as it was by the outlandish book of entries, completely unhinged both gentlemen.From Mr. Kirkwood’s manner, one would have guessed that the Malcolm Kirkwood had been a relative of his; but of that I can say nothing. With Colonel Gordon it was otherwise. When they reached home they got all out of Dan they could, and more than they relished, for his brother’s connection with smuggling was new to the Colonel.
A painful scene took place at Knowe Park next day, when Mrs. Barrie told of her father’s trial at the law, the fine, and how it not only drained his purse, but broke his heart.
Colonel Gordon now understood why his brother had written to him so urgently from his dying-bed to be kind to the Gordons of the Granaries, if ever he had the opportunity. He did all that he now could do to atone for the grievous wrong his brother had done to her father, by handing over at once a considerable portion of his means to the family at Knowe Park.
The Colonel died a few years after this, and in his will, all that he was possessed of was bequeathed to Mrs. Barrie and her family, burdened with an annuity of fifty pounds a year to Daniel Corbett, and some trifling legacies.
“WHAT WILL HE DO WITH IT?”
From the day that Dan had told the smuggling adventure, Colonel Gordon had been kind to him, and every now and again the banker sent a request to Danto call at the bank for money. Not even going to church put Dan more about than going to the bank; the stanchels of the windows kept his solitary eye busy, and as soon as he put his cross to the receipt, he slunk out, and took a by-road home.
Where to put the money exercised his mind sadly. He thought everybody knew he had it. At length he put it under one of the rough flags of the floor, where “Burke” lay, wrapping it well with old paper, and stuffing it thereafter into an old game-bag. The money contributed little to his personal comfort, but he occasionally helped his poorer neighbours. Bell tried to get something for the missionary cause. His answer was barely civil: “Send siller to the niggers! no’ very likely!” Dan’s nature was a secretive one; few could make anything of him, none much to boast of, for on all emotional subjects he was “cabined, cribbed, confined.”
The Free Church of Blinkbonny heard with mingled feelings, chiefly, I must confess, composed of deep regret, that the “Wishart” church in Edinburgh had resolved to call Mr. Barrie to be their pastor. Many of us knew that he was highly appreciated in places where he occasionally preached, and that his appearances in the synods and assemblies had brought him into favourable notice; and although we had beengratified to hear strangers express themselves as astonished that he should be allowed to remain in Blinkbonny, the idea of his really leaving us was never seriously entertained.
Colonel Gordon’s unexpected gift had added very materially to Mr. Barrie’s comfort, in as far as it enabled him to do more for the education of his children than the “equal dividend” of the Free Church alone could admit of; and he had tried to prevent a call from coming out in his favour.
He was, however, overborne by the urgent solicitations, not only of the Wishart congregation, but even more so by fathers and brethren in the ministry, who pressed him very closely to accept of the call to Edinburgh. Mrs. Barrie, on whose judgment he relied more implicitly than on all others put together, declined to express any opinion on this subject. She was pleased to see that her husband’s gifts were appreciated, and felt that benefits to the Church, as well as to her family, were likely to result from his going to Edinburgh. But she liked Blinkbonny, and she had heard of the heavy calls and frequent worries of a city charge; and as she could not make up her mind whichshewould prefer, she remained neutral, although not at all taciturn.
PRO AND CON.
Mr. Barrie and she talked the matter fully over,looking at it on all sides, and she entered patiently and minutely into all the pros and cons, sometimes considerably to his confusion. For whilst she gave a comprehensive statement of the arguments for going and staying, she did this so evenly that it merely assisted his judgment, but it did not at all influence his decision.
About this time the “Ecclesiastical Titles Bill” was absorbing public attention, and the Churches in Scotland entered on a feverish crusade against the Church of Rome. The deputation which appeared at the presbytery to prosecute the call to Mr. Barrie dwelt largely on this subject. I have already referred to Mr. Barrie’s deeply-rooted aversion to a matter of this kind. On this occasion he spoke out very strongly, much to the surprise, if not to the dissatisfaction, of the Edinburgh representatives.
He declared it was his conviction that spasmodic agitation of this kind was of no practical use. It oftener resulted in harm than good. There was much in the Romish Church which he disliked and condemned, but there was also much that he respected,—its zeal, its energy, its stand for liberty and learning in the Dark Ages, and its success in reaching the very poorest and keeping hold of them. Rank injustice was often done by ignorant tirade, or exaggeratedmisrepresentation of certain tenets. To enter into either an explanation or a refutation, or, worse still, a denunciation of Mariolatry, Transubstantiation, etc., to a Protestant audience was unedifying, to say the least of it. If the fiery zeal directed against Popery were applied to preaching and living the gospel, it would be better for the minister, the people, and the world; and unless he greatly changed his mind, he would not meet the wishes of the deputation in that matter. He, however, reserved his decision till next meeting of presbytery.
One reverend Edinburgh brother was present, on whom the no-Popery cry had taken an excessively firm hold; it was the only subject which warmed him up at all, but it made him furious, and formed part of every discourse he preached, until many of his hearers said, “they couldna sleep in the kirk noo;” and one of his elders affirmed that “he was aye pop-pop-poperyin’ away; if he pop-poperied mickle mair, I’ll no’ pop back to hear him.”
This deputy tried to reply to Mr. Barrie, but Mr. Taylor said “it was like a Dandie Dinmont laying about him wi’ a flail on thrashed straw—plenty o’ exercise an’ stour, but nae wark dune; muckle cry an’ little woo’ [wool], as the,” etc. At next meeting of presbytery Mr. Barrie accepted the call to Edinburgh.
“COMING EVENTS CAST.”
In contemplating the Edinburgh call, it is possible to conceive that Bell might have been one of Mrs. Barrie’s difficulties, for life in a town would not suit her at all. What would she do without Daisy? for so all her cows were named, prefixed in order to distinguish them by the colour of each, so that Bell had had during her stay in Blinkbonny a brown Daisy, a black Daisy, etc., and now she had a ginger Daisy. Could she do without the garden, and especially the hens? No.
But Bell had been rather a thought to Mrs. Barrie for some time past. Not that she had failed or flagged—she was as “eident” [industrious], honest, and excellent as ever; but Mrs. Barrie had observed, that after the meetings of the elders at the manse were over, David Tait of Blackbrae took the kitchen lobby, not the front door one, as the others did; and she also noticed, after this had gone on for a while, that if any of the other elders took the same road, Bell did not talk with them so much as she used to do, but found some sudden engagement outside the manse, and that David and she generally re-entered the kitchen together, as soon as the others were fairly on their way.
David had a small farm about a mile and a half from Blinkbonny. His widowed mother had died lately. He was a canny, intelligent man, in good worldlycircumstances, or, to use the Scotch phrase, “a bien man, but very blate [diffident].”
Betwixt Mrs. Barrie and Bell there were no secrets, and she often asked Bell if Mr. Tait and she were making any progress in the way of marriage. “None whatever,” was Bell’s general reply. “He’s a nice man an’ a gude cracker, but he never ‘evened’ [hinted at] marriage to me.”
One day Bell told Mrs. Barrie, with a gleeful face that belied her words, “that David had met wi’ a queer misfortune.”
“I’m sorry for that, Bell; what has happened? You seem to laugh rather than lament over it,” said Mrs. Barrie, with evident concern.
“Oh, mem, it’s a kind o’ laughable tae,” said Bell. “Last Sabbath day he was takin’ a lesson on the Bible before he cam’ to the kirk, an’ as it’s late afore he gets hame, he was eatin’ a bit piece; it was a warm mornin’, an’ he was sittin’ on a seat in front o’ his hoose. Weel, ane o’ the calves got out o’ the pen, an’ he lays down his Bible an’ his piece, an’ gangs to put in the calf. There was a soo gaun about the close [farm-court], an’ it snappit up David’s piece that was lying on the Bible; and it not only took the piece, but it ate a’ the Second Corinthians and a gude deal o’ the First. He’s very ill about it; he’s baith vexed an’ affrontit about it.”
“It was very provoking,” said Mrs. Barrie; “the sooner you become mistress of Blackbrae the better.”
“A FRIENDLY HITCH.”
Mrs. Barrie had hitherto spoken to Bell about David’s attentions more in joke than in earnest, until she knew that Mr. Barrie had decided to go to Edinburgh; but as David’s visits were becoming more frequent as well as longer, without seeming to come to anything definite, she resolved to give her two worthy friends a little help. One night, when David was in the kitchen, Mrs. Barrie went “ben” and said, after the usual courtesies had been exchanged: “Mr. Tait, I see that you are going to take Bell away to Blackbrae, reason or none, and I wish you much joy; a wife like Bell’s a prize not to be got every day, and you may consider yourself lucky to have won her. I’ll see about another servant to-morrow, although I never expect to get one as good as Bell. You must never think about waiting till the term. Marriages break all terms; indeed, if you both will take my advice, you will be marriedverysoon.”
Bell was quite unprepared for such plain speaking; her stocking wires went very fast, and she did not know where to look. Mrs. Barrie then turned to her and said:
“Bell, get everything ready as soon as ever you can, so that we may come once or twice to see you afteryou are fairly settled at Blackbrae, before the long autumn nights set in.” And she added, what had never been said by her before: “You need not come in to worship to-night, Bell, as you two will have a very great deal to speak about. So good night, and good speed to you both.”