The manse stood on the top of a piece of slightly rising ground, about a quarter of a mile to the south-west of the village. The situation was a pleasant one. It commanded on three sides extensive views of a well-cultivated country, backed by high and picturesque hills; the village bounded the view on the north-east. Near the manse stood the neat church, surrounded by the churchyard. There were also a park of about four acres, a garden covering nearly an acre, and some outhouses, the whole enclosed by a compact wall.
THE INTERRUPTED CALL.
I had been on intimate terms with all the inmates of the manse, from Bell, the only and worthy servant, upwards; but my errand made me feel rather confused, and instead of the usual off-hand remark to Bell, varying from, “Weel, Bell, hoo’s a’ wi’ ye?†to comments on the weather or crops, as suited the season, I bluntly asked if Mr. Barrie was engaged. There was a flavour of tartness in Bell’s manner as she replied, “Mr. Barrie’s aye thrang, but he’s aye ready to see onybody that wants him partic’larly. I’ll speir athimif he’s engaged,†and she disappeared. Mr. Barrie himself came to the door, shook hands with me with more than usual heartiness, put a special emphasis on thehappyin wishing me “a happy New Year,†gave my hand a sort of squeeze, took a long look at me, and with a smirk on his face said, “Come in, Mr. Martin, come in.†He had not called me “Mr.†before, but only plain Robert; and from the blithe way in which he showed me into the “study,†I saw that he knew my position, if not my errand.
Our conversation was at first general, and on my side jerky. I did not follow up intelligently the subjects he introduced, but was either silent or rambling on quite irrelevant topics. He made a long pause, doubtless to induce me to lead, as he evidently saw I was not able to follow. The not uncommon weakness of Scotchmen, of trying to conceal strong emotions even on subjects on which they feel very keenly, was working in me. I was heart-glad at the prospect of my marriage, and well I might; but I wished to appear very cool, so, as if merely beginning another subject, I said in a conversational way, “I was once thinking of getting married.†Scarcely had I finished the sentence, when Bell announced that Sir John McLelland would like to speak to Mr. Barrie when he was disengaged. Knowing that Sir John was the largest landowner in the parish, and the patron of the church, and that he was taking an active part in a church extension scheme in which Mr. Barrie wasdeeply interested, I at once left the “study,†stating that I would call to-morrow night, and made for Greenknowe, where I was bantered by both ladies, but especially by Mrs. Stewart, when I told about “once thinking of getting married.â€
Laying the emphasis first on theonce, then on thethinking, then on both, she said, “Is that all the length you are? You should thinktwice—second thoughts are often best. Agnes, if you had either called or written as I wished, we could have had the invitations out to-day; but perhaps Robert will take the second thought to-night, and untilhequite makes up his mind we must wait with patience.â€
THE NEXT VISIT TO THE MANSE.
Next night found me at the manse door, which Bell “answered.†I was very frank, but Bell had barely digested last night’s slight, and before I had finished my salutation to her she said dryly, “It’ll be the minister ye want the nicht again?†and showed me into the study. Mr. Barrie, after expressing regret at the sudden breaking up of our last night’s interview, asked me if the day had been fixed. I told him that we would prefer the last Tuesday of January, if that date suited him. He at once said, “I’ll make it suit me;†and after noting it in a memorandum book, he proceeded, although I had not mentioned the name of my future wife, to speak very nicely of the good folks atGreenknowe; of the late Mr. Stewart, who had been one of his elders, and from whom, in the earlier years of his ministry, he had received much useful counsel; of Mrs. Stewart’s almost motherly kindness ever since he came to the parish; of his great esteem for Miss Stewart (my Agnes), and of her devotion to her father, especially in his long and last illness. He also spoke of my late father and brother as excellent, very excellent men, said some things about myself which I will not repeat, and taking me by the hand, said, “Humanly speaking, your marriage promises to be in every respect a happy event for all concerned. May God bless you both, and make you blessings to one another, to all your circle, to the Church, and to the world.â€
I thanked him warmly, and added that I might trouble him by asking his advice on some matters, and possibly Mrs. Barrie’s; and was proceeding to bid him good-night, when he said, “Robert, this is an occasion, I may say a great occasion, and you must take an egg with us. I told Mrs. Barrie last night that you were ‘once thinking of getting married.’ She will be delighted to learn that your second thought has got the length of fixing the day. And, whilst I am in the habit of giving all young bridegrooms a few quiet hints, I would like you to have a chat withboth of us. You will find Mrs. Barrie’s counsel sound and practical, so we’ll join her in the parlour;†and suiting the action to the word, he lifted the lamp, and asking me to follow him, made for the snug parlour, where he announced me as “a subject ofcompoundinterest now, not simple as before.â€
Mrs. Barrie was carefully darning a stocking, which she laid on the table as I entered, and shaking my hand with great heartiness, she said, “I need hardly wishyoua happy new year, Mr. Martin. You are as sure to be happy as anybody can be sure of happiness in this world. I hope you consider yourself averylucky man?â€
I made as nice a reply as I could. Mrs. Barrie repeated her husband’s “You must take an egg with us;†and laying the half-darned stocking into her work-basket on the back table, she looked into a cradle that stood in the cosiest corner of the room, and seeing that all was right there, she said, “I must see that the other little folks arehappitbefore I sit down,†and left the room. But before I tell of the evening’s quiet enjoyment in the manse parlour, I will say something about the inmates of the manse itself.
THE INMATES OF THE MANSE.
Mr. Barrie was ordained as minister of Blinkbonny in 1830, and early in 1831 he brought his young wife, till then Mary Gordon, home to the manse. He was a son of the manse, a son of the minimumstipend; when half through his preparatory studies he became a son of the Widows’ Fund. Mrs. Barrie’s parents had been in a very comfortable worldly position for the first sixteen years of her life, but through circumstances over which they had no control, and to which she never referred, their means had been greatly reduced. Her father died when she was eighteen years of age; her mother survived her father about four years. She was thus an orphan at twenty-two. She was twenty-five years of age when she was married, Mr. Barrie being her senior by fully one year; and whilst she brought to the manse “a good providing,†she brought little money or “tocher,†as a bride’s marriage portion is called in Scotland. The income of the minister of Blinkbonny, or, to use the church phrase, the “stipend,†was paid partly in money and partly in grain, and averaged about £160 yearly. The furnishing of the manse and the minister’s library had required and received careful consideration. Even the providing of live stock for the park, to commence with, involved an outlay that in the circumstances was considerable; but by Bell’s indefatigable industry and management, the cow, the hens, the garden, and even the pig became such important sources of supply in the household economy, that any description of theinmates of the manse would be utterly incomplete which did not make honourable mention of worthy Bell.
Bell had come with Mrs. Barrie as her first servant, and had grown up as, if not into, a part of the family. She was fully the middle height, muscular, not stout but well-conditioned, had a good complexion, a “weel-faured†face, keen, deep-set, dark eyes; and altogether she was a comely woman. I believe her full name was Isabella Cameron, but she was only known as Bell, occasionally Mr. Barrie’s Bell; so much so that when a letter came to the manse, addressed “Miss Cameron,†both Mr. and Mrs. Barrie had laid it aside, expecting that some stranger would call for it, and were instructing Bell to return it to the post office in the evening, should no Miss Cameron cast up, when Bell said, “My name’s Cameron; it’ll maybe be for me.†It was, much to Mrs. Barrie’s embarrassment, and told of the death of Bell’s aunt. Bell had few relations,—none that seemed to care for her, and consequently none that she kept up intimacy with.
BELL OF THE MANSE.
She was a year older than Mrs. Barrie. Her first “place†had been in a small farmhouse, where the manners were very primitive, and the work was very constant. One of her questions shortly after coming to the manse was, “Does Mr. Barrie aye take his dinner with his coat on?†a thing she had notseen before. Mrs. Barrie had a little difficulty in getting her to understand theproprieties, but none in getting her to do exactly as she was told. Bell felt nothing a bother, took pleasantly any explanation given as to her mistakes, laughed at them when pointed out, and with a cheerful “I’ll mind that,†thanked Mrs. Barrie. It took her some time to learn the distinctive tones of the bells, the parlour, dining-room, front door, etc.; and for the first week or two, when a bell was rung, she ran to the nearest room and tried it, then to another, sometimes to the disturbance of the folks inside; but she soon came to know them.
It was a sight to see Bell unbuckle her gown,—which when at work she gathered round her, and fastened in some wonderfullyfast-looseway,—shake herself, and stalk off in response, especially to the front door, to any ring that seemed peremptory.
Sir John McLelland was making his first call after the marriage. He handed Bell his card, politely asking at the same time if Mr. and Mrs. Barrie were at home. Bell looked at the card, but it was in German text, and therefore unintelligible. She looked at Sir John, but that did not help her; she then turned on her heel,—the swiftest, cleverest motion of the kind that could be imagined,—walked briskly to Mrs. Barrie, and said, “There’s a man atthe door, a weel-put-on man, and he asked for you; an’ he gied me a ticket, an’ he’s there yet.â€
Mrs. Barrie soon put such mistakes right. She found Bell an apt scholar, scrupulously clean, sterlingly honest, and always busy, though not fussy. At first Bell was most at home among the hens, cows, pigs, and in the garden, but she soon became well up in all household work. Even the addition of the children one by one never seemed to tax Bell’s powers heavily. The first two, James and Mary, were healthy, and in Bell’s homely phrase, “never looked behind them;†but the third, “Wee Nellie,†had been from her birth “a feeble, delicate little thing.†When she was about three years old, scarlet fever attacked the children, beginning with Lewis, the baby. His was a mild case; so were those of James and Mary, but Nellie’s was a severe one. Her pulse ran very high, her little body was covered with the bright scarlet “rash,†her throat sorely affected, her breathing laboured and requiring more effort than the weak constitution could spare. Mrs. Barrie and Bell were unwearied in their efforts to relieve the poor sufferer, and gently was she passed from knee to knee in her restless moods, gently was she laid down again, and coaxed and humoured and waited on with unspeakably tender care.
BELL AND WEE NELLIE.
Between Bell and Nellie there had been a special intimacy. She had called herself “Bell’s bairn;†and as her age and health did not admit of her joining the other children at play, she was seldom out of the kitchen, except when Bell wrapped her cosily in a plaid, and carried her about the parks or garden, where Bell diverted herself quite as much as the “wee whitefaced girlie,†by humouring her childish whims, and joining in, if not provoking, her wondering interest. And ever and anon, as Nellie expressed delight at what Bell said, or did, or pulled, or showed, Bell would press her warmly to her breast, and croon over words of endearment about her “wee croodlin’ doo,†“her ain darling Nellie,†“she was Bell’s bairn,†and tell her that when she was big she would help Bell to milk “Daisy,†and feed the hens. The cosiest corner in the kitchen was Nellie’s “housie.†There she would play for hours, sometimes sitting on her little stool, and chatting with Bell “like an auld body;†sometimes fondling her black-and-white kitten Tibby; sometimes putting to sleep her favourite doll “Black Tam,†who, although he had neither arms nor legs, and his trunk had by long wear lost the black paint, and appeared as bare timber well time-soiled, still retained on his head, which had been gouged out to imitate the woolly hair of the negro,crescent-shaped indents of his original blackness, and his lips were flecked with streaks of their primitive crimson; sometimes playing with broken bits of china, drawing Bell’s attention to those with gold on them as “Nellie’s pennies.†And not infrequently did Bell take the wee lassie into her kindly lap, and press her to her kindly bosom, and sing, and sigh as she sung, her favourite if not only song of the “Bonnie, bonnie banks of Benlomond.â€
“WEARIN’ AWA’.â€
It need hardly be recorded that Bell’s agony at Nellie’s illness was only equalled by that of Mrs. Barrie,—possibly by that of Mr. Barrie, but only possibly. She had been struck with the hectic flush which glowed on Nellie’s face, and saw that the fever was sore on her; but she hoped against hope, until on the seventh day of the illness a spasmodic movement of the weak body, and a hazy gleam of the weary eye, revealed to Bell that Nellie’s recovery was hopeless. The thought of losing her came so suddenly on Bell, that she nearly broke down in the room; but restraining herself as her eye rested on Mrs. Barrie’s calm motherly face, intent on anticipating and ministering to the wants of the sufferer, Bell whispered that she would “see if the bairns were all right, and be back immediately,†and left the room. She walked noiselessly through the lobby,at the darkest corner of it gave two or three great “gulps,†and uttered a bitter “Oh! dear, dear.†This was what nature demanded; this at least, more if she could have got it; but this little snatch relieved her pent-up heart, and braced her for further service. After seeing that the other children were right, she glided into the sick-room, from which Mr. Barrie, with a remark or rather a sigh about “too many breaths,†emerged as she entered. She took the fever-tossed child gently out of Mrs. Barrie’s wearied arms, and did her best to relieve the difficulty of breathing, so harassing to the watchers, and so sore on the patient. Gradually the fitful struggles became less violent; Nellie got quieter, softer, powerless. She half opened her eyes, then closed them slowly, and said in a faint voice, with a longeerietone, “Bell.†Bell, half choking with grief, bent over her and kept saying, “Yes, ye’re Bell’s bairn, ye’re Bell’s ain bairn;†but observing her weary, weary face and increasing softness, she looked wistfully at the invalid, then sympathizingly at Mrs. Barrie, and, rising softly, laid the wee lamb on Mrs. Barrie’s lap, slipped noiselessly to Mr. Barrie’s study, and opening the door very slightly, said, “Please, sir, come ben, or the angels will be before you!†She got another gulp as she waited to follow him into the sick-room, and that helped hergreatly. The little darling recognised “papa,â€â€”smiled as she lisped his name,—smiled if possible more sweetly as she heard her mother’s voice, in quivering accents, saying, “My ain wee wee Nellie!†and sighed audibly, “Mamma’s wee-wee,â€â€”she then closed her eyes, and in the act of raising her tiny hand to her throat, it fell powerless, and Wee Nellie was Wee Nellie no more, or rather, as Bell said, Wee Nellie for ever.
“THE LAND O’ THE LEAL.â€
Her delicate health and consequent helplessness, as also her gentleness, had endeared her to Mr. Barrie. When all was over, he muttered, “She was a pleasant child, lovely and beautiful in her life;†and added in a firmer voice, “It is well with the child, it is well.†Bell lifted the little body from its mother’s lap, and laid it gently on the bed. Her tears were streaming, but she had got the first bitter pang over, and putting her arm on, or rather round, Mrs. Barrie’s shoulder, she said, “Come away, mem, for a little; I’ll put all right.†Mrs. Barrie obeyed mechanically, and was persuaded by Bell to lie down in bed. There wearied nature asserted her prerogative, and she slept soundly for a considerable time. When she returned to the sick-room, all traces of illness, in the shape of couches, baths, phials, and confusion, were away; the old crumb-cloth which had been put down to preserve the carpet was exchanged for a clean linen drugget; the fire wasout, the fire-place filled with fir-tops; the window was open, and the blind drawn down; here and there about the room were little muslin bags filled with lavender-seed; and on the mantelpiece, which, when she left, was covered with tumblers and cans and glasses of medical stuff, overlapped with paper, or having spoons in them to the hazard of their balance, stood three tumblers filled with bunches of lavender; and on the bed lay all that remained of Nellie, “dressed and laid out,†her little body making all the more appearance that the snow-white bedcover was tightly laid over it. On her face lay a muslin handkerchief, kept down by a bag of lavender on either side.
As Mrs. Barrie approached the bed, Bell walked to the other side of it, and slowly folded down the face-cloth. All traces of suffering and weariness had vanished; the face was that of a child smiling in sleep.
“Bell,†said Mrs. Barrie, “she’s beautiful†(she had never said that before of her or of any of her children), “beautiful,—and she’s home. Of such is the kingdom of Heaven.†Bell tried to speak. She got the length of faltering out, “For ever with the Lord,†when Mrs. Barrie stooped down to kiss her “lost lamb.†Bell rather quickly folded the face-cloth over the mouth, saying, “On the cheek or the broo, mem, no’ on the mooth.†Although Mrs. Barrie’s frame shook as herlips touched the cold brow, she pressed them on it lingeringly, and as she raised herself she said, “I will go to her, she cannot return to me.†Then, looking round the room, she said, “Bell, O Bell! I can never repay, and I willneverforget, your kindness at this time.†She would have said more, but Bell broke down, and Mrs. Barrie broke down, and both were considerably better when the pent-up flood of sorrow found relief.
In the churchyard of Blinkbonny stands a little marble slab, only a few inches above the ground bearing the following inscription:—
HELEN BARRIE
DIED 18TH MAY 1838, AGED 3 YEARS.
——
WITH CHRIST ... FAR BETTER.
“THE BUTTERFLY ON A GRAVE.â€
The spot had no more constant visitor than Bell. The flowers that in their seasons grew round it were planted by her hand, and tended by her with constant care; the only difference being that in weeding or trimmingitthere was not the quick, bustling energy which she exercised in the garden, but a reverent slowness unusual for her. She never put her foot on the sod under which Nellie lay; and although for thefirst few visits she sighed mournfully as she read the inscription (and she read it aloud to herself at every visit), it was not long before her face lightened as she uttered the last two words, and she would add in a cheerful confirmatory tone, as if Nellie herself had repeated the epitaph, “Yes, Nellie; yes, Bell’s bairn, far better; far, far better.â€
“A butterfly bask’d on a baby’s grave,Where a lily had chanced to grow;‘Why art thou here with thy gaudy dye,When she of the blue and sparkling eyeMust sleep in the churchyard low?’Then it lightly soared through the sunny air,And spoke from its shining track:‘I was a worm till I won my wings,And she whom thou mourn’st, like a seraph sings;Wouldst thou call the blessed one back?’â€Mrs. Sigourney.
“A butterfly bask’d on a baby’s grave,Where a lily had chanced to grow;‘Why art thou here with thy gaudy dye,When she of the blue and sparkling eyeMust sleep in the churchyard low?’Then it lightly soared through the sunny air,And spoke from its shining track:‘I was a worm till I won my wings,And she whom thou mourn’st, like a seraph sings;Wouldst thou call the blessed one back?’â€Mrs. Sigourney.
“A butterfly bask’d on a baby’s grave,Where a lily had chanced to grow;‘Why art thou here with thy gaudy dye,When she of the blue and sparkling eyeMust sleep in the churchyard low?’
“A butterfly bask’d on a baby’s grave,
Where a lily had chanced to grow;
‘Why art thou here with thy gaudy dye,
When she of the blue and sparkling eye
Must sleep in the churchyard low?’
Then it lightly soared through the sunny air,And spoke from its shining track:‘I was a worm till I won my wings,And she whom thou mourn’st, like a seraph sings;Wouldst thou call the blessed one back?’â€
Then it lightly soared through the sunny air,
And spoke from its shining track:
‘I was a worm till I won my wings,
And she whom thou mourn’st, like a seraph sings;
Wouldst thou call the blessed one back?’â€
Mrs. Sigourney.
Mrs. Sigourney.