There was a long pause. Bell was thinking the matter over, and had more than once been asked by Dan to promise never to “breathe the thing.” At length she said solemnly, “I’ll never mention your name unless I’m sure it’s to benefit Mrs. Barrie; but she said something about a brother that this Cornel Gordon had, that had been a wild man in his young days, and that he had written to the Cornel that if ever he had it in his power he was to mind Mr. Gordon o’ the Grainaries, for this brither hadna dune fair someway wi’ him. I think I understand it a’ noo. This brither’s been are o’ them that hid the smuggled goods in Mr. Gordon’s cellar,—ane o’ them that the excisemen just missed by their boat ‘whummlin’ [i.e.capsizing] at the milkin’ stane, an’ the smugglers got a’ safe away; an’although the judges kent fine that worthy Mr. Gordon wasna to blame, and didna pit him in the jail, the excise office wadna forgi’e a farden o’ the fine, and puir Mr. Gordon was a harried, ruined man wi’ it an’ the law expenses, an’ the trial, an’ the scandal o’ the thing. The folk said that it was a cousin o’ his, that they used to ca’ ‘the Duke o’ Gordon’ for a nickname, that put the brandy an’ stuff in the grainaries, for he kent the place fine, but he never could be laid hands on after. I see’t a’ noo.”
Dan remained silent for some time, then said, “Ye may say that, Bell; ye ken’d a’ noo,—a’ but one thing, an’ that is (but for your life dinna come ower’t), I helpit to row the boat that the ‘Duke’ escapit in.”
WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS.
Bell’s mind was still considering the matter. “I wonder,” said she, speaking to herself, “if this Cornel Gordon is a brother o’ the ‘duke’s,’ as they ca’d him? an’ if he’s no marriet an’ rich? an’ if he means to mak’ up for his brither’s ill usage o’ the auld folk by giein’ a’ his siller to Mrs. Barrie? If I thocht that, I would gi’e Mr. Kirkwood something that wad astonish him mair than the tattie-soup. D’ye ken, Dan, that I’m upliftit, fair upliftit—it looks that like the thing?”
Bell’s glee communicated itself to Dan. “If that was to be the way o’t,” said Dan, “noo that the thing is lang past an’ gane, an’ they surely canna meddleme for only rowin’ a boat” (Dan, Dan, only? well, let it pass), “I micht tell the ‘duke’s’ brither whatIkent; but he’s a cornel, an’ thae sodgers are terrible ill at the smugglers.”
Bell and Dan agreed to say “nothing to nobody” on the subject, until they were quite sure that they could forward Mrs. Barrie’s interest by doing so; and although some time elapsed before an opportunity occurred of clearing this affair up, the maintenance of strict secrecy was enforced by Dan on every occasion on which he saw Bell, by a significant motion of his arm, accompanied by, “Mind yon, Bell—Eh, Bell, mind yon!”
While Bell went about her work as heretofore, there was a strong undercurrent of thought constantly winding itself round Dan’s connection with Mrs. Barrie’s father’s misfortunes, or round Mr. Kirkwood and Colonel Gordon, and they got all mixed up, until she was quite in a maze. Many a time did she lay down the stocking she was knitting, and sit idle, thinking the matter over and over; but somehow she could never think it out, it only got more twisted and ravelled. Many a time after such a “brown study” did she rouse herself with an impatient gesture, and resume her knitting, saying almost angrily, “This is ridic’lus. I’m fair donnert [stupid]; I’ll gi’e ower thinkin’ aboot it.”
Many a sleepless hour it caused her, and as her first call in the morning was paid to Daisy, she unburthened her mind to the unconcerned cow.
THE HOME BUDGET.
“Daisy,” she would say, “my pretty lady, I’m fair bamboozled [utterly confused]. I’ve hardly sleepit a wink the nicht; that mixty-maxty business o’ Dan an’ the Grainaries an’ the Cornel has been bizz-bizzing [hum-humming] in my head. If I could but see Cornel Gordon his lane [alone] I could pit it a’ richt; for ye see, Daisy, James is a big laddie noo, an’ he wants to be a minister, an’ that tak’s a heap o’ siller; an’ Mary’s gettin’ a big lassie, an’ needin’ music lessons; for ye ken, Daisy, a’ young folk, espesh’ly a’ young women folk, should get some music putten into them. Then there’s Lewie, he’s in Latin a’ready; and Flora, she’s in the tenpenny book; an’ wee Gordie.—’Deed he’s no’ that wee, but I like to ca’ him wee when he disna hear me.—He’s gotten on the kilt, an’ he’ll no’ be lang before he’s upsides wi’ Flora at the schule [school], for he’s gaun to be a grand scholar. He’s a feckfu’ [very spirited] laddie, Gordie; he’ll show them a’ a dance yet. An’ what bothers [troubles] me, Daisy, is whare’s the siller to come frae? If I could just hae a quiet crack wi’ the Cornel, I think I could let him ken hoo he could do a great deal o’ gude wi’ his siller; for ye ken, Daisy, a’ the auld men that comeshame frae India for guid an’ a’ bring wi’ them bow-sackfu’s [large sacks full] o’ siller.”
It is difficult to transcribe intelligently Bell’s conversations with Daisy—they were conveyed in the very broadest Scotch. I can only account for this on the ground that Daisy was not only a patient listener, and never asked the meaning of any unusual word or phrase, but that she was also of the very best and purest Ayrshire breed, and was therefore sure to prefer the native Doric of the land of Burns.
Bell was sorely tempted to open her mind to Mrs. Barrie on this subject, but it was the one topic Mrs. Barrie had strictly enjoined herneverto allude to. During her first year’s service in Mrs. Barrie’s, Bell had once or twice unwittingly made some references to it, and these had been the only occasions on which Mrs. Barrie showed temper towards her. The manifestation of unutterable abhorrence which these provoked made Bell so studiously avoid everything that had the slightest chance of recalling it, that neither in Mrs. Barrie’s hearing, nor in her conversation with others, did she ever speak of Dumbarton or her early association with it; and this may account for Dan’s astonishment at hearing her refer to the “milking stone.”
“FULL MANY A GEM.”
A strong interest in the Barrie family took hold ofDan, and although he had few opportunities of showing it, he hit on one, the most unlikely, considering the kind of man he was, that could almost be conceived, but one which went as directly to their hearts as it did credit to Dan’s.
When Bell paid her early spring visit to Nellie’s grave, to “sort” it after the winter’s storms, carrying with her the first bunch of snowdrops, for which she had watched anxiously, she was surprised to find that some fresh plants were blooming there already.
She asked Guy if he had done this. He had not. When she got home she asked all the inmates of Knowe Park if they had planted them;—they had not. She ran over in her mind every likely person, and asked as many as she came into contact with. All answered, No. It was only after getting Guy to watch very strictly, for other flowers had been added besides those she saw first, that she found out that it had been done by Dan.
Bell was amazed. “O’ a’ the folk in the world, Dan was the last onybody wad a’ thocht on. Mr. and Mrs. Barrie could never guess him. There’s mair gude in the craitur than ever I thocht. I like Dan. Noo when I think on’t, I’m awfu’ glad that it was Dan.”
As soon as Mr. Barrie heard of it, he called at Dan’s house. This was the first time a minister hadever been in it. Dan was a reckless, brave man, utterly indifferent about religion, and when he saw Mr. Barrie enter his house he got very uncomfortable—he felt the power of at least the presence of goodness, and what conscience he had waxed warm within him.
Mr. Barrie saw this, and knowing the way to Dan’s heart, began first to talk of his dog, then of his ferrets, until Dan felt more at ease, and even offered to give Mr. Barrie a young bull-dog, which Dan thus described:
“He’s pure bred, an’ the vera picture o’ Burke there; an’ his mither, auld Nancie that’s noo deid an’ gane, was the finest o’ her kind in Britain.”
“Then you miss old Nancie, Dan?”
“Miss her!miss her, Mr. Barrie!” said Dan, now quite at his ease; “I can hardly get ower her death.”
“Dan,” said Mr. Barrie, grasping his horny and by no means clean hand, “I loved my wee Nellie; and Mrs. Barrie and all of us thank you.” Here Dan started and said, “Oh!” but Mr. Barrie still pressed his hand and spoke on. “Yes, Dan, and we love you for loving her; and, Dan, wee Nellie would like to meet you in heaven to thank you herself.”
Here Dan started and said, “Me in heaven, Mr. Barrie! me in heaven—that’s what she’ll never see.”
“THE OLD, OLD STORY.”
“Why, Dan, why? Nellie’s Saviour wishes you—yes,you—to get there, and the angels would sing a loud welcome over you; for as truly as you miss your Nancie, or we loved Nellie, as certainly as Burke likes you to make of him, so true is it that our Heavenly Father wants you to come to Him; just as you are—wild, careless, sinful, bad as you think your life has been. There’s a kind friend up there,” said Mr. Barrie, pointing upwards, “has commanded me to tell you this good news to-day. Believe it, Dan—believe it.”
Dan was unable to say more than, “Is that a fact? Sent you to tell me that? I can hardly think that can possibly be—an’ yet you’re a man o’ your word; but it’s no’ easy believin’t.”
On the floor of the dirty cottage the two knelt down, and so simple were Mr. Barrie’s words, and so single was his heart, that it may safely be said they prayed together.
Mr. Barrie handed Dan half a pound of tobacco, although he had very great difficulty in persuading him to accept it; Dan was almost stubborn in his refusal. Mr. Barrie, however, got him to take it, and just before leaving kindly advised him to pray for himself;—“just plain words—only say what you think, and ask whatever you feel you need, but be sure and do it at once.”
Dan said nothing,—it was all strange to him,—but when Mr. Barrie went away, he thought over it, and smoked over it, and ultimately resolved to have a crack with Bell about it, for she could understand him better. And many a chat they had, but Dan could not be persuaded to go to the Free Church.
“I micht try the ‘auld kirk,’ it was mair the puir folk’s kirk, for they tell me that they’re awfu’ folk for seekin’ siller in the Free Kirk; an’ I’ve kent Mr. Walker langest, an’ he’s a hamely kind o’ man—but we’ll see.”
So will we in an early chapter.