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“I hae been to the circus!” he cried. “Christine! Gran’mither! I hae been to the circus! It was wonderful! I did not want to leave it. I wanted to stay always there. I want to go tomorrow. Gran’feyther! Will you take me tomorrow? Say yes! Do say yes!”
“Why, James!” cried Margot, “I never heard tell o’ the like! Hae ye lost your senses, gudeman?”
“No, I think I hae just found them. I am sair-hearted, because I didna send all the lads there. Let us hae a cup o’ tea, and we will tell you how we spent the day.”
Then there was a ten minutes hurry, and at the end a well spread table, and four happy faces round it; and as Margot handed Ruleson his big tea cup, she said, “Now, James Ruleson, tell us what you and the lad hae been after today, that took you into such a sinfu’ place as a circus. You’ll hae to face the Domine on the matter. You, a ruling elder, in a circus! I’m mair than astonished! I’m fairly shocked at ye! And I’m feared it was a premeditated sin. And ye ken what the Domine thinks o’ premeditated sins.”
“It was far from a sin o’ any kind, gudewife. Jamie and I were on our way to the boat, for a few hours’ fishing, when we met a lad wi’ a note from Finlay, saying he wanted a few words o’ advice from me, and I took a sudden thought o’ a day’s rest, and a bit o’ pleasure wi’ little Jamie. Sae, to the town we went, and first o’ all to Finlay’s,163and I had a long talk wi’ him, about some railway shares he owns, on my advice; and they hae turned out sae weel, he wanted me to tak’ part o’ the profit. I wouldna do that, but I let him gie twenty pounds towards the school fund.”
“You might hae put that twenty in your ain pouch, gudeman, and nae fault in the same. You are too liberal anent the school. Our ain lads get naething from it.”
“Jamie will hae the gude o’ it, and lots o’ Culraine lads and lasses until they get a better one. Weel, so be it! After Finlay and I had finished our crack, I took Jamie to Molly Stark’s, and we had a holiday dinner.”
“Chicken pie! Custard pudding! Strawberry tarts! Nuts and raisins! And a big orange! Grandmither! Oh, it was beautiful! Beautiful!”
“Then we walked about the town a bit, and I saw a big tent, and men playing music before it, and when we got close pictures of animals and of horses, and men riding. And Jamie saw many little lads going in, especially one big school, and he said, ‘Grandfeyther, tak’ me in too!’ And I took counsel wi’ my ain heart for a minute, and it said to me, ‘Tak’ the lad in,’ and so I did.”
“And now you’re blaming yoursel’?”
“I am not. I think I did right. There was neither sound nor sight o’ wrang, and the little laddie went wild wi’ pleasure; and to tell the vera truth,164I was pleased mysel’ beyond a’ my thoughts and expectations. I would like to tak’ you, Margot, and Christine too. I would like it weel. Let us a’ go the morn’s night.”
“I hae not lost my senses yet, James. Me go to a circus! Culraine wad ne’er get o’er the fact. It wad be a standing libel against Margot Ruleson. As for Christine!”
“I wad like weel to go wi’ Feyther.”
“I’m fairly astonished at you, Christine! Lassie, the women here would ne’er see you again, they wad feel sae far above ye. I’m not the keeper o’ your feyther’s gude name, but I hae a charge o’er yours, and it is clear and clean impossible, for you to go to a circus.”
“If Feyther goes——”
“Your feyther hasna heard the last o’ his spree yet. To think o’ him leaving the narrow road. Him, near saxty years old! The kirk session on the matter will be a notable one. Elders through the length and breadth o’ Scotland will be takin’ sides. Dear me, James Ruleson, that you, in your auld age, should come to this!” and then Margot laughed merrily and her husband and Christine understood she was only joking.
“And you’ll maybe go wi’ us all some afternoon, Margot?”
“Na, na, James! I’ll not gie Jess Morrison, and the like o’ her, any occasion for their ill tongues. They’d just glory in Margot Ruleson, Elder Ruleson’s165wife, going to the circus. I wouldn’t be against going mysel’ I’d like to go, but I wouldn’t gie them the pleasure o’ tossing my gude name on their ill-natured tongues.”
“I saw Peter Brodie there, and his three lads, and his daughter Bella.”
“Weel, James, tak’ the little laddie again, if so you wish. Peter will stand wi’ you, and he’s the real ruling elder. But Christine is different. It lets a woman down to be talked about, whether she is right, or wrang.”
Then Jamie was allowed to give his version of the wonder and the joy of a circus, and the last cups of tea were turned into some glorious kind of a drink, by the laughter and delight his descriptions evoked. Then and there it was resolved that his grandfather must take him again on the following day, and with this joyous expectation in his heart, the child at last fell asleep.
When Ruleson and his wife were alone, Margot noticed that her man’s face became very somber and thoughtful. He was taking his bed-time smoke by the fireside, and she waited beside him, with her knitting in her hands, though she frequently dropped it. She was sure he had something on his mind, and she waited patiently for its revealing. At length he shook the ashes from his pipe, and stood it in its proper corner of the hob, then going to the window, he looked out and said,
“It’s fair and calm, thank God! Margot, I saw166Neil today.” As he spoke, he sat down, and looked at her, almost sorrowfully.
“What did he say for himsel’?”
“I didna speak to him. I was in Finlay’s store, at the back o’ it, whar Finlay hes his office. A young man came into the store, and Finlay got up and went to speak to him. It was Rath, and when he went awa’, Finlay called me, and showed me a little group on the sidewalk. They were Rath and his sister, our Neil and Provost Blackie’s son.”
“Our Provost Blackie’s son?”
“Just sae. And Neil and him were as well met and friendly as if they had been brought up in the same cottage. The four o’ them stood talking a few minutes, and then Neil offered his arm to Miss Rath, and led the young lady to a carriage waiting for them. She smiled and said something, and Neil turned and bowed to Rath and young Blackie, and then stepped into the carriage and took his seat beside the lady, and they drove off together.”
“Gudeman, you arena leeing to me?”
“I am telling you the plain evendown truth, Margot.”
“Did he see you?”
“No. I keepit oot o’ his way.”
“Whatna for?”
“I needna say the words.”
“I’ll say them for you—you thought he would be ashamed o’ you.”
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“Ay, he might hae been. Dinna cry, woman. Dear, dear woman, dinna cry! It’s our ain fault—our ain fault. If we had stood firm for the pulpit, if we had said, ‘you must be either a preacher or a schoolmaster,’ this wouldna hae been. We were bent on makin’ a gentleman o’ him, and now he prefers gentlemen to fishermen—we ought to hae expectit it.”
“It is cruel, shamefu’, ungratefu’ as it can be!”
“Ay, but the lad is only seeking his ain good. If he still foregathered wi’ our rough fisher-lads, we wouldn’t like it. And we would tell him sae.”
“He might hae found time to rin down, and see us for an hour or twa, and gie us the reasons for this, and that.”
“He looked like he was courting the young lady—and we know of auld times, wife, that when our lads began courting, we hed to come after. I was wrang to gie in to his studying the law. Studying the gospels, he wad hae learned that there are neither rich nor poor, in God’s sight. We gave the lad to God, and then we took him awa’ frae God, and would mak’ a lawyer and a gentleman o’ him. Weel, as far as I can see, he is going to be a’ we intended. We are getting what we hae worked for. There’s nane to blame but oursel’s.”
This reasoning quite silenced Margot. She considered it constantly, and finally came to her husband’s opinion. Then she would not talk about Neil, either one way, or the other, and it soon fell168out that the lad’s name was never mentioned in the home where he had once ruled almost despotically. Only Christine kept her faith in Neil. She wrote him long letters constantly. She told him all that was going on in the village, all about his father and mother, the Domine and the school house. She recalled pleasant little incidents of the past, and prefigured a future when she would see him every day. And she seldom named little Jamie. She divined that Neil was jealous of the position the child had gained in the household. And Christine was no trouble-maker. Her letters were all messages of peace and good will, and without any advice from her father she had personally come to very much the same conclusion that he had arrived at. “There has been a great mistake,” she said softly to herself, “and we be to mak’ the best o’ it. It isna beyond God’s power to sort it right yet.”
So Neil was seldom named unless a letter came from him, which was not a frequent occurrence. The boxes filled with home delicacies were no longer sent, nor was their absence noted, nor their presence requested. Neil was making money as a coach to younger and wealthier students. He now dined at the best hotel, and had a very good breakfast in his comfortable rooms. But Christine felt that the breaking of this tie of “something good to eat” was a serious thing. Home was a long way further off to Neil, when the motherly baskets of homemade dainties ceased coming to him, and all Christine’s169apologies—whether they touched his mother’s ill health, or his own prosperity’s making them unnecessary, did not mend the matter. They were just common bread and meat, mere physical things, but their want was heart-hunger, and doubt and suspicion, in place of the love and pleasure they had always caused.
Generally, however, as one interest in life dies out, another springs up, and the school building, and the little laddie kept the Ruleson family happily busy. Ruleson had been asked to superintend the building and he did the work with a completeness which was natural to him. He looked over every load of stone, and saw that the blocks of granite were well fitting, and perfect in color. He examined all the mortar made, lest the builders follow modern habits and put too much sand among the lime. He returned as unworthy many pounds of nails, which were either too short, or too slight, for the purposes for which they were intended; and the slating for the roof was a thing he did not trust to anyone but James Ruleson. So the school house and his fishing kept him busy and happy, and Margot and Christine looked at him with wonder and pleasure. He was always smiling, and always listening to Jamie, who was chattering at his side, whenever he was on land.
So life at Culraine pursued the even tenor of its way, until the middle of March, when the school was opened for a short quarter until the herring170should come on in July. The building was by no means finished, but the walls were up, the windows in, the slate roof on, and the desks and forms in place. The master’s room, the painting, plastering, and decoration were untouched. Ruleson thought they could be attended to during the herring fishing, and the school formally opened in September.
To a man quite unaccustomed to business, these were tremendous, yet delightful responsibilities; and Ruleson lived between his boat and the school. When he was on land, Jamie was always at his side. Hitherto Ruleson had been noted for his reticence. Even among such a silent race as the Fife fishers his silence was remarkable. He had held his peace even from good, but the child always chattering at his side had taught him to talk. Jamie’s thirst for knowledge was insatiable, he was always wanting to know something or other, and the inquisitive “why” was constantly on his lips. Few people could remember James Ruleson’s laughing, now his big guffaw constantly carried on its echo the little lad’s shrill treble laugh. Ruleson had many amiable qualities unused and undeveloped that the boy brought out in many different ways. In his little grandson’s company he was born again, and became as a little child. This was an actual and visible conversion. The whole village testified to this wonderful new birth.
On the fourteenth of March the dream of his heart came true. He saw the little children come171running through the sand hills, and over the heather, to the school. From far and near, they came, wearing their best clothes, and happy as if it was a holiday. He listened to them reciting, after their teachers, a morning prayer. He heard them learning in class together the alphabet, and the first lessons in numbers and addition, a lesson which all acquired rapidly by some secret natural process. For if the teacher asked how many two and two made, he had not to wait a moment for a correct answer from every baby mouth. It amazed Ruleson, until he remembered that no one had ever taught him to count. Through generations of clever bargaining mothers, had this ability become a natural instinct. The Domine thought it might have done so.
In some way or other, the school made Christine’s life very busy. She was helping weary mothers make little dresses, and little breeches, or doing a bit of cleaning for them, or perhaps cooking a meal, or nursing the baby for an hour. She was mending or weaving nets, she was redding up her own home. She was busy with the washing or ironing, or hearing Jamie’s lessons, or helping her mother with the cooking. Her hands were never idle, and there was generally a smile on her face, a song on her lips, or a pleasant word for everyone within the sound of her cheerful voice.
She had also her own peculiar duties. There were long and frequent letters from Cluny to answer, and occasionally one from Angus Ballister, the latter172always enclosing a pretty piece of lace, or a trifle of some kind, special to the city he was in. Ballister’s letters troubled her, for they were written still in that tone of “it might have been,” with a certain faint sense of reproach, as if it was her fault, that it had not been. This was so cleverly insinuated, that there was nothing for her to deny, or to complain of. She wished he would not write, she wished he would cease sending her any reminders of “days forever gone.” His sentimental letters were so evidently the outcome of a cultivated heart-breaking disappointment, that they deeply offended her sense of truth and sincerity.
One day she received from him a letter dated Madrid, and it contained a handsome lace collar, which she was asked to wear for his sake, and thus remember his love “so sorrowfully passionate, and alas, so early doomed to disappointment and despair!”
“The leeing lad!” she angrily exclaimed. “I’ll just tell him the truth, and be done wi’ him. I’ll send him the collar back, and tell him I’m no carin’ to be reminded o’ him, in ony shape or fashion. I’ll tell him he kens naething about love, and is parfectly ignorant o’ any honest way o’ makin’ love. I’ll tell him that he never loved me, and that I never loved him worth talking about, and that I’ll be obligated to him if he’ll drop the makin’ believe, and write to me anent village matters, or not write at a’.”
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Days so full and so happy went quickly away, and though there had been so much to do, never had the village been ready for the herring visit, as early, and so completely, as it was this summer. When Margot’s roses began to bloom, the nets were all leaded, and ready for the boats, and the boats themselves had all been overhauled and their cordage and sails put in perfect condition. There would be a few halcyon days of waiting and watching, but the men were gathering strength for the gigantic labor before them, as they lounged on the pier, and talked sleepily of their hopes and plans.
It was in this restful interval that James and Margot Ruleson received a letter from their son Neil, inviting them to the great Commencement of his college. He said he was chosen to make the valedictory speech for his class, that he had passed his examination with honor, and would receive his commission as one of Her Majesty’s attorneys at law. “If you would honor and please me by your presence, dear father and mother,” he wrote, “I shall be made very happy, and I will secure a room for you in the house where I am living, and we can have our meals together.”
It is needless to say this letter canceled all faults. Margot was delighted at the prospect of a railway journey, and a visit to Aberdeen. She was going to see for hersel’ what a university was like—to see the hundreds o’ lads studying for the law and the gospel there—to hae a change in the weary sameness174of her hard fisher life. For a few days she was going to be happy and play, hersel’, and see her lad made a gentleman, by the gracious permission o’ Her Majesty, Queen Victoria.
The invitation being gladly accepted, Margot had anxious consultations with Christine about her dress. She knew that she was the handsomest woman in Culraine, when she wore her best fishing costume; “but I canna wear the like o’ it,” she said in a lingering, rather longing tone.
“Na, na, Mither, ye be to dress yoursel’ like a’ ither ladies. Your gray silk is fine and fitting, but you must hae a new bonnet, and white gloves, and a pair o’ patent leather shoon—a low shoe, wi’ bows o’ black ribbon on the instep. There’s few women hae a neater foot than you hae, and we’ll gae the morn and get a’ things needfu’ for your appearance. Feyther hes his kirk suit, and he is requiring naething, if it be not a pair o’ gloves.”
“He never puts a glove on his hand, Christine.”
“Ay, weel, he can carry them in his hand. They are as respectable in his hands, as on them. It is just to show folk that he can afford to glove his hands, if he wants to do it. That is maistly what people wear fine claes of all kinds for. They would be happier i’ their ivery day loose and easy suits, I’m thinking,” said Christine.
“I wonder why Neil didna ask you, Christine. You helped him many a weary hour to the place he is now standing on. If he had not asked anyone175else, he ought to hae bidden you to his finishing and honoring. Why didn’t he do that proper thing? Hae ye ony quarrel wi’ him?”
“Not a word oot o’ place between us. I wrote him a four-page letter three days syne.”
“What’s the matter, then?”
“He’s feared for me, Mither. He’s feared his friend Reginald will do as Angus did, fa’ in love wi’ me, and then get oot o’ love wi’ him. Men are silly as bairns anent some things. I’m not carin’, Mither. Someone must bide at hame, and look after wee Jamie, and you yoursel’ will be mair contented if you ken I am here to tak’ tent o’ the house and bairn, and the lave o’ things.”
“Ay, it’s better. You canna leave a house its lane, any mair than a bairn. The ane will get into dole and mischief, as quick as the ither. You’ll be minding Polly Cromarty’s bit cottage, taking fire and burning to the ground, and not a man, woman, or bairn near it. And Bella Simpson the same, and Kate Dalrymple losing a’ her savings, and the house locked and barr’d and naebody in it, or near it. I’ll go to Aberdeen real happy if you are watching the house, while I’m awa’ playing, mysel’.”
So there was a week of happy preparation, and then on a fine Monday morning Mr. and Mrs. Ruleson went to Aberdeen. Margot was satisfied to leave her house in Christine’s care, but at the last hour, she had discovered another likelihood of trouble. It was the herring.
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“They are maistly twa weeks earlier, or later than looked for, Christine,” she said, “and, of course, they’ll be earlier this year. I wouldn’t wonder that when we reach Aberdeen, we’ll find them there, if they arena at Culraine itsel’. And if feyther’s boat isna leading, it will be that meddlesome Peter Brodie’s boat—and that would rile me a’ the year through.”
“Mither, it is too soon for the herrin’. You needna fret yoursel’ anent the herrin’. If there are any signs o’ the feesh, I’ll gie young Donald Grant a smile, and he’ll watch for them night and day to pleasure me. I’ll not let Peter hae a chance to find them.”
“That’s a’ right.”
And when they were fairly gone and out o’ sight, Christine sat down to consider, and to draw her personality together. She felt as if there were half-a-dozen Christines, and she was equally conscious of an unusual house. Its atmosphere was intense and restless, and slightly dissatisfied. Christine considered it for a few moments, and then said, “Nae wonder! Everything in it is tapsalterie, and I’ll just go through it, and make it tidy and clean, and proper for the hame-coming.”
At Aberdeen railway station they found Neil waiting for them. He took them to the house he called “home.” It was a very respectable house, in a very respectable quarter of the city, kept by Mrs. Todd, a sea-captain’s widow, a woman with “relatives weel177kent, and o’ the better class o’ folk.” She took to Margot, and Margot, with some reservations, took to her. Ruleson was anxious to see the city. From the small window in his railway carriage his eyes had rested upon its granite towers and spires, and he went with Neil to walk down Maraschal and Union Streets, the latter being a most splendid roadway, with houses and pavements of gray granite. For a full mile’s length, the street looked as if it had been cut and fashioned out of the solid rock, for the mortar used could not be seen. There were splendid shops on these streets, but there was no sign of a circus, nor of any other place of amusement.
Sitting at tea with the captain’s widow, he named this fact. “I saw naething o’ a circus,” he said, “and a man with whom I talked a few minutes said there were no theaters or concert halls, or the like o’ such places, in Aberdeen.”
“Just sae,” answered the widow, “we hae nae amusements here, but preaching, preaching!”
“Gudeman, why were you seeking information anent amusements? They arena in your way.”
“I was just makin’ a few interrogatories, Margot. I wanted to ken how the people passed their days. I didna see any sign o’ manufactories. What do they mak’ then in Aberdeen?”
Ruleson looked pointedly at the widow as he spoke, and she answered with an air of quiet superiority. “Aberdeen mak’s men—men out o’ the raw material, for a’ the marts and markets o’ the178warld. We hae lads to be made men o’ frae every part o’ Scotland; for poor lads can get here the best o’ learning for sma’ cost. They can hae board for five shilling a week, and the professors’ fees are only seven or eight pounds a session. A twenty-five-pound bursary will pay all expenses. Many of the poor students board themselves, and a great deal can be done on porridge and milk, and fish, and meal. And we hae the gentry, too, Sir! plenty of rich lads, as well as poor ones, and the one kind helps the ither.”
Ruleson saw both kinds the next day—hundreds of braw young lads, running over with the joyous spirit of youth. Hard to control, yet thoroughly under control, they filled the large university hall with an almost intoxicating influence of life. You could not feel old while breathing it. Yet it all seemed very much like a church meeting to Margot, until Neil stepped to the front of the crowded platform. That sight brought her heart and soul home, and she laid her hand on her husband’s hand, and sat still to listen.
He looked handsome and gentlemanly, and held a folded paper in his hand. Bowing to the professors, the provost, and the other dignitaries surrounding him, he then turned a smiling face to the audience, and commenced his speech. It was a very learned discussion on a point of law then causing international argument, and as his various points reached their climax, he was warmly applauded.179At its close many stood up in their enthusiasm to honor him, and in the midst of this excitement, the president of the Maraschal handed him, with the set formula, the credentials which made Neil Ruleson one of Her Majesty’s gentlemen and councilors-at-law.
Neil’s father sat motionless, but his grave face changed like the pages of a book which are being turned. Margot was almost hysterical. She covered her face and wept, and all eyes were turned on her, and every heart said to itself, “She will be the lad’s mother.” And coming out of the hall, many nodded to her and smiled. They wanted her to feel that they rejoiced with her. Outside the university, Neil joined his father and mother, and as he passed through the crowd, with his mother on his arm, he was hailed with the congratulations both of those who knew him, and those who did not know him.
It was a wonderful hour to the Ruleson party, and perhaps only James Ruleson had any shadow of regret in it. He did not once voice this regret, but it was present to his thoughts and imagination. Neil as a gentleman of Scotland and a member of the Scottish bar was a great honor, but Oh, if he had seen him in the minister’s gown and bands, and heard his first sermon, how much greater his joy! How much prouder of his son’s success he would have been!
But he said nothing to Margot which could dim180her satisfaction. Mrs. Todd did that quite sufficiently. She spoke with contempt o’ the fool-like way Aberdeen folk went on, every time a lad happened to get a degree, or a bit o’ school honor; and the thing happening a’ the time, as it were. She made Margot feel by her short, cool remarks, that Neil’s triumph might, after all, be an ordinary affair, and for a little season took all the glory out of Neil’s achievement, though in doing so, she was careful of the reputation of her native city, and candidly admitted that in spite of a’ their well-kent scholarship, Aberdeeners were kindly folk, aye ready to gie a shout o’ encouragement to a new beginner.
Margot, however, quickly readjusted the dampened and discouraged feeling Mrs. Todd’s opinions induced. “She’s just jealous, because Neil is a Fife lad. That’s a’ there is to her say-so! I hae heard often that Aberdeeners were a jealous folk. I’m saying naething against their kindliness. They hae treated Neil weel, and nae doubt they understood weel enou’ what they were doing.”
Neil spent most of the day with his parents, but about six in the evening he came to them in full evening dress, and said he was going to the Rath’s hotel. “They have a dinner in my honor,” he continued, “and the Provost’s son, and several important people will be there; and I am to be introduced to the Hepburn of Hepburn Braes, a great nobleman in these parts. There will be ladies, too, of course, and I, am expecting a profitable and pleasant181evening.” And though Margot was quite elated over her son’s great friends, Ruleson would have been far prouder had he known Neil was going to take the chair at a session of elders connected with some kirk of which Neil was the Domine.
The next morning they returned to Culraine with hearts full of memories for which they could thank God, and they found their son Allan sitting at their fireside. As soon as Allan saw them enter, he rose and went to them, and took their hands in his hands, and said in a voice trembling with emotion, “Father! Mother! Your kindness to my little lad has made you father and mother twice over to me.” Then what a happy hour followed! For as they were sitting down to their evening meal, the Domine entered. He had heard of Allan’s visit and had become anxious about the child, lest he might be taken from them. And it was during these troubled hours he bethought him of the necessity for a legal adoption of little Jamie by his grandfather and himself, a plan taken into consideration that very night, and within the next three months made binding as book and bond could fix it.
The Domine was a welcome addition to the family party. He slipped with a smile into Christine’s place, and she rose and served them with grace and sweetness. And as she went softly around the table, replenishing emptied plates, and refilling teacups, saying nothing, but seeing to everyone’s comfort, her beauty took on an extraordinary charm. Woman, or182rather ministering angel, she seemed, and it was strange that all present took her beautiful service, as things of spiritual beauty are usually taken, without much notice. Yet she was that night the golden band around the table, that kept the sweet influences of the meal peaceful and unbroken from the beginning to the end of it. A few happy hours followed, and then the Domine took Allan back to the manse with him. “They are a’ tired here,” he said, “but you and I, Allan, can talk the night awa’.”
This they did, but there were only two or three sentences in their long conversation which concern this story. They referred to the happy family life of the Rulesons. “I never go to your father’s house, Allan,” said the Domine, “without regretting that I did not marry. I have come to the conclusion that marriage is Nature’s way of coaxing the best out of us. A man puts his back into the uplift for wife and children, for to make them happy is better than riches or fame.”
“Still you might have made a mistake, Sir.”
“Earth would be heaven, Allan, if we never made mistakes. But in spite of mistakes, men live contented with the world, and happy with each other.”
183CHAPTER VIIIAN UNEXPECTED MARRIAGE
The tale that I relateThis lesson seems to carryChoose not alone a proper mate,But proper time to marry.
The tale that I relateThis lesson seems to carryChoose not alone a proper mate,But proper time to marry.
The tale that I relate
This lesson seems to carry
Choose not alone a proper mate,
But proper time to marry.
Thelittle enthusiasm incident to Neil’s success did not last long, for
Joy’s the shyest bird,Mortal ever heard,Listen rapt and silent when he sings;Do not seek to see,Less the vision beBut a flutter of departing wings.
Joy’s the shyest bird,Mortal ever heard,Listen rapt and silent when he sings;Do not seek to see,Less the vision beBut a flutter of departing wings.
Joy’s the shyest bird,
Mortal ever heard,
Listen rapt and silent when he sings;
Do not seek to see,
Less the vision be
But a flutter of departing wings.
And if it is not tightly clasped, and well guarded, it soon fades away, especially if doubt or question come near it. The heart, which is never weary of recalling its sorrows, seems to have no echo for its finer joys. This, however, may be our own fault. Let us remember for a moment or two how ruthlessly we transfer yesterday into today, and last week into this week. We have either no time or no inclination to entertain joys that have passed. They184are all too quickly retired from our working consciousness, to some dim, little-visited nook in our memory. And taken broadly, this is well. Life is generally precious, according to the strength and rapidity of its flow, and change is the splendid surge of a life of this kind. A perfect life is then one full of changes. It is also a safe life, for it is because men have no changes, that they fear not God.
Now the people of this little fishing village had lives lined with change. Sudden deaths were inevitable, when life was lived on an element so full of change and peril as the great North Sea. Accidents were of daily occurrence. Loss of boats and nets reduced families to unlooked-for poverty. Sons were constantly going away to strange seas and strange countries, and others, who had been to the Arctic Ocean, or the ports of Australia, coming back home. The miracle of the son’s being dead and being alive again, was not infrequently repeated. Indeed all the tragedies and joys of life found their way to this small hamlet, hidden among the rocks and sand dunes that guard the seas of Fife.
Margot’s triumph was very temporary. It was not of the ordinary kind. It had in it no flavor of the sea, and the lad who had won his honors had never identified himself with the fishers of Culraine. He did not intend to live among them, and they had a salutary fear of the law, and no love for it. As a general thing neither the men nor women of Culraine cared whether Neil Ruleson won his degree or185not. Such pleasure as they felt in his success was entirely for his father’s sake.
And Margot was content that it should be so. She was not heart-pleased with Neil, and not inclined to discuss his plans with her neighbors. She noticed also that Neil’s father had nothing to say about his son’s success, and that if the subject was introduced, it was coldly met and quickly banished.
It hurt Christine. Her life had been so intermingled with Neil’s hopes and plans, she could not let them drop unnoticed from her consciousness. “Why do you say naething anent Neil, Mither?” she asked one wet morning, when the boats were in harbor, and Ruleson had gone down to the new schoolhouse.
“Weel, Christine, I hae said a’ there is to say.”
“Were you really disappointed, Mither?”
“In a way.”
“But Neil succeeded.”
“In a way.”
“What way, Mither?”
“His ain way. He has been vera successful i’ that way, sin’ the day he was born. A wee, shrunken, puny infant he was, but he hes been a bit too much for us all—and there’s seven big men in our family, forbye mysel’ and Christine. Whiles I had a glimmering o’ the real lad, but maistly I did the lad’s way—like the rest o’ us.”
“You said he was kind to you and Feyther.”
“He hed to be. It’s a law, like the laws o’ the186Medes and Persians, in Aberdeen, that lads takin’ honors should pay great attention to their feythers and mithers. Some were auld and poor—far poorer than fisher-folk ever are—they had worked, and starved, and prayed for their lads, and they were going about Aberdeen streets, linked on their lads’ arms, and all o’ them like to cry wi’ joy. Neil had to do like the lave, but I let his feyther gae his lane wi’ him. I wasna carin’ to mak’ a show o’ mysel’.”
“Then you shouldna blame Neil, Mither.”
“Should I not? I do, though.”
“What did he do wrang?”
“He did little right, and that little he had nae pleasure in. I know! He should hae spent the evening wi’ his feyther and mysel’, and told us what plans he had made for the future, but he went to the Raths’ and left us alane. He had promised all along to come hame wi’ us, and spend a few weeks wi’ the boats—your feyther is short-handed since Cluny Macpherson went awa’—and there’s little doing in the law business during July and August, but he said he had an invite to the Raths’ house on the Isle of Arran, and with them he has gane.”
“I’m sorry, sorry, Mither.”
“Sae am I, Christine, but when things hae come to ‘I’m sorry,’ there’s nae gude left i’ them.”
“Do you think he is engaged to Roberta Rath?”
“I canna say. I don’t think he kens himsel’.”
“Did you see her?”
187
“He pointed her out to me. She was getting into a carriage, and——”
“Weel?”
“O, she was a little body; I saw naething o’ her but a blue silk dress, and a white lace bonnet. It would be ordinary, nae doubt. She waved a white-gloved hand to Neil, and the lad’s face was like an illumination. She seemed vera sma’ and thin—just a handfu’ o’ her. Naething like yoursel’ and our ain full-statured, weel-finished women.”
“I feel as if I had lost Neil.”
“You may do sae, for a man can be lost by a woman, quite as completely as by the North Sea.”
Then Ruleson entered the cottage. He was wet through, but his face was red with health, and radiant with excitement. He had been in the new schoolhouse, and seen three large boxes unpacked. “Margot! Christine!” he cried joyfully, “you’ll be to come down the hill—the baith o’ you—and see the wonderfu’ things that hae come for ordering and plenishing o’ our school. There’s a round ball as big as that table, set in a frame—and it turns round, and round, and shows a’ the countries and seas i’ the wide warld. The Maister said it was called a globe. There’s maps o’ Scotland, and England and a’ other nations to hang on the walls, and they are painted bonnily; and there’s nae end o’ copy books and slates, and bundles o’ pencils, and big bottles o’ ink, and, Margot, I ne’er saw sae many school books i’ a’ my188born days. Naething has been forgotten. The maister said sae, and the Domine said sae.”
“Was the Domine there?”
“Ay, was he. He and the maister unpacked the boxes. Forbye, there is three prizes for the three best scholars—the bairns will go wild o’er them.”
“What are they?”
“I canna tell you. The Domine forbade me.”
“You’ll hae to tell me, gudeman. I’ll hae nae secrets between us twa, and I’m mair than astonished at the Domine, throwing a married man into such a temptation.”
“I’ll go wi’ you how, Feyther. I want to see the wonderfuls.”
“They are locked by for today. We are going to fix the school room Monday, and hae a kind o’ examination Tuesday. I hope to goodness the herrin’ will keep to the nor’ard for a few days.”
“Listen to your feyther, Christine! Wishing the herrin’ awa’ for a lot o’ school bairns.”
“Weel, Margot, woman, it’s maist unlikely the feesh will be here for a week or mair, but they hae a will and a way o’ their ain, and aince or twice, or mebbe mair than that, I hae seen them in these pairts in June.”
“I think the Domine might hae notified Christine. She ought, by rights, to hae been at that unpacking.”
“Weel, Margot, it cam’ my way. I dinna think my lassie grudges me the pleasure.”
And Christine looked at him with a smile that189deified her lovely face, and made Ruleson’s heart thrill with pleasure.
“I wad rayther you had the pleasure than mysel’, Feyther. You ken that,” she said, and Ruleson laid his hand on her head, and answered: “I ken it weel! God bless thee!”
That evening, while Christine and little Jamie were busy over Jamie’s lessons, Margot said to her husband, “Gudeman, I’d like to ken what prizes hae been bought. The Domine didna include me in his prohibition, or else he has less sense than I gie him credit for.”
“He said I had better tell naebody.”
“Ay, but you had best tell me. What classes are you givin’ prizes to? It’s a vera unusual thing to gie prizes. I think little o’ paying bairns to learn their lessons. But they’re no likely to be worth the looking at——”
“‘Deed are they—vera gude indeed, for the wee bairns for whom they were bought. There are three o’ them. The first is for the infant lass, nane o’ them over six years auld.”
“Weel, what is it?”
“The Domine——”
“Says many a thing you ta’ nae heed to. Just sae. You needna heed him on this point. Are not we twa one and the same? Speak out, man.”
“The Domine——”
“Wha’s minding the Domine here? Are you mair feared for him, than for your wife?”
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Then Ruleson, with his great hearty laugh, pulled a chair to his side, and said, “Sit down, Margot. I’m mair afraid of you, than I am of any man living. I’m trem’ling wi’ fear o’ you, right now, and I’m just going to disobey the Domine, for your sake. What will ye gie me, if I break a promise for your sake?”
“I’ll keep my promise to you, and say naething anent your transgression. What kind o’ a prize could they gie to them babies i’ the infant class—nane o’ them five years auld? Did you see it?”
“Ay, I unpacked it.”
“Was it a rattle, set wi’ wee bells?”
“Naething o’ the kind. It was a big doll, bonnily dressed, and a little trunk fu’ o’ mair claes, and a full set o’ doll cheena, and a doll bed and night claes; wonderfu’, complete. My goodness! Whoever gets it will be the proud wee lassie.”
“Little Polly Craig will be getting it, o’ course. Who chose the presents?”
“I’m thinking it was the Domine and the schoolmaster’s wife.”
“Then they would be knowing wha’ they were buying for?”
“That goes without the saying. I didna hear onyone say the doll was for Polly Craig.”
“Nor I, but Polly’s mother hasna been to hold, nor to bind, anent the infant’s progress. The hale village is weary o’ the story o’ Polly’s remarkable intimacy wi’ her alphabet and spelling. The bairn may be a’ her mither says, but I’m thinking she’s191getting her abilities too aerly to be reliable. Weel, then, who gets the next prize?”
“Willie Tamsen.”
“I dinna ken the Tamsens.”
“They’re nice folk, from the south o’ Fife. Willie is seven years auld, or thereby. He’s clever, the schoolmaster says, in figures and geography, and weel-behaved, and quiet-like. The Domine says he’s first in his catechism class, and vera attentive to a’ that concerns his lessons—a good little lad, wi’ an astonishing power o’ ken in him.”
“Weel, what will you gie sae remarkable a bairn?”
“A gold guinea.”
“A gold guinea! I ne’er heard o’ such wild extravagance. It’s fair sinfu’. Whate’er will a lad o’ seven years auld do wi’ a guinea? Buy sweeties wi’ it. I dinna think the Domine can sanction a bit o’ nonsense like that.”
“I’m maist sure the Domine gave the guinea out o’ his ain pocket. The Tamsens are vera poor, and the laddie is the warst-dressed lad i’ the village, and he is to go and get a nice suit o’ claes for himsel’ wi’ it. The Domine knew what he was doing. The laddie will be twice as bright, when he gets claes for his little arms and legs.”
“Weel, I hae naething against Willie Tamsen. He never meddled wi’ my flowers, or stole my berries. I hope he’ll get the claes. And there was to be three prizes?”
“Ay, one for the lads and lasses from eight to192eleven years old, that takes in a large pairt o’ the school. The bigger lads and lasses will come in the autumn, when the herrin’ hae been, and gane.”
“I’m not asking anything anent that class. I dinna envy the schoolmaster and mistress that will hae them to manage. They’ll hae their hands fu’, or my name isna Margot Ruleson. Wha will get the third prize?”
“Our Jamie. And he has weel won it. Jamie isna a lad o’ the common order. The Domine says he’ll mak’ the warld sit up and listen to him, when he comes to full stature.”
“The Domine is as silly anent the bairn, as you are. After my ain lad, Neil, I’m expecting naething oot o’ the Nazareth o’ Culraine. We were a’ going to shout o’er Neil Ruleson—weel, we hae had our cry, and dried our eyes, and hae gane on our way again.”
“Neil has done weel—considering.”
“Gudeman, we hae better drop that ‘consideration.’ I was talking o’ our Jamie. What are they going to gie our second wonder o’ a bairn?”
“The maist beautiful book you ever saw—a big copy of Robinson Crusoe fu’ o’ pictures, and bound in blue wi’ gold lettering. The bairn will hae wonder after wonder wi’ it.”
“Did you buy the book?”
“Not I. What mak’s you ask that information?”
“Naething. Jamie should hae had something he193could hae halfed wi’ Christine. She has spent the best o’ her hours teaching the bairn. Few or nane o’ the lads and lasses would hae the help o’ any hame lessons. It was really Christine put Neil Ruleson among her Majesty’s lawyers.”
“Weel, then, she’ll do her pairt in putting James Ruleson among the ministers o’ the everlasting God. That will be a great honor, and pay her handsome for a’ her love and labor.”
“Gudeman, ministers arena honored as they were when we were young. If preaching were to go oot o’ fashion, we——”
“What are you saying, Margot Ruleson? The preacher’s license is to the ‘end o’ the warld.’ The Word o’ the Lord must be gien to men, as long as men people the earth.”
“Vera weel! The Word o’ the Lord is in everybody’s hands the now; and everyone is being taught to read it. Maist folk can read it as weel as the minister.”
“The Word must be made flesh! Nae book can tak’ the place o’ the face-to-face argument. Preaching will last as long as men live.”
“Weel, weel, I’m not going to get you to arguing. You arena in the clubroom, and I’m too tired to go into speculations wi’ you. I’m obliged to you, gudeman, for the information you hae imparted. I wad, however, advise the Domine to gie his next secret into the keeping o’ some woman, say mysel’. Women arena sae amiable as men, and whiles they194can keep a secret, which is a thing impossible to men-folk.”
“If they are married, I’ll admit there are difficulties.”
“Gude night, and gude dreams to you, James Ruleson.”
“Ye ken weel, Margot, that I never dream.”
“Sae you lose the half o’ your life, James. I’m sorry for you. I shall dream o’ the three happy bairns, and their prizes. Say, you might hae picked out another lassie; twa lads to one lass is o’erganging what’s fair. I’m awa’ to sleep—you needna answer.”
It was trying to the village that Sabbath had to come and go, before the school examination. But everything waited for arrives in its time. And this was a Monday worth waiting for. It was a perfect June day, and the sea, and the sun, and the wind held rejoicing with the green earth and the mortals on it. If there was envy, or jealousy, or bad temper among the villagers, they forgot it, or put it aside for future consideration. Everyone was in his best clothes, the boys and girls being mostly in white, and the little place looked as if there were a great wedding on hand. Christine had made an attempt to decorate the room a little. The boys cut larch boughs and trailing branches, the men loaned the flags of the boats, the women gave the few flowers from their window pots, and strips of garden, and Margot, a little sadly, cut her roses, and gave permission to195Christine to add to them a few laburnum branches, now drooping with their golden blossoms.
The room looked well. The flowers and the flags did not hide the globe and the maps. And the blackboard kept its look of authority, though a branch of laburnum bent over it. The schoolmaster was playing a merry Fantasia as the company gathered, but at a given signal from Christine he suddenly changed it to the children’s marching song, and the rapid, orderly manner in which it led each class to its place was a wonderful sight to the men and women who had never seen children trained to obedience by music.
The Domine opened the examination by reading, in the intense silence that followed the cessation of the music, three verses from the eighteenth chapter of St. Luke:
“And they brought unto him infants that he would touch them, but when his disciples saw it, they rebuked them.“But Jesus called them unto him, and said, ‘Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom of God.“‘Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the Kingdom of God as a little child, shall in no wise enter therein.’”
“And they brought unto him infants that he would touch them, but when his disciples saw it, they rebuked them.
“But Jesus called them unto him, and said, ‘Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not, for of such is the Kingdom of God.
“‘Verily I say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the Kingdom of God as a little child, shall in no wise enter therein.’”
Then the schoolmistress touched a hand bell and a crowd of little children, none over five years old, gathered round her. Contrary to the usual practice of children, their behavior and recitals were better196than usual, and laughter and hand-clapping followed all their simple efforts. Polly Craig was their evident leader, and when she had told a charming story about a little girl who would do what she ought not to do, the records of the class were read by the Domine, and the prize awarded to Polly.
Willie Tamsen and Jamie Ruleson’s classes were treated in a similar way, and were equally successful in their recitations and equally delighted with their gifts. Now, the real joy in giving gifts is found in giving them to children, for the child heart beats long after we think it has outgrown itself. The perfect charm of this gathering lay in the fact that men and women became for a few hours little children again. It was really a wonderful thing to see the half-grown girls, the married women, and even old Judith Macpherson, crowding round Polly to admire the waxen beauty and the long fair curls of her prize doll.
After the school exercises the adults slowly scattered, sauntering home with their wives, and carrying their babies as proudly as Polly carried her new treasure. Truly both men and women receive the kingdom of God and Love, when they become as little children. The children remained for two hours longer in the school room. For the entertainment of their parents the youngest ones had danced some of those new dances just at that period introduced into Scotland, called polkas and mazurkas, and now, to please themselves, they began a series of those197mythic games which children played in the world’s infancy, and which, thank God, have not yet perished from off the face of the earth. “How many miles to Babylon?” “Hide and seek,” “In and out,” “Blind man’s buff,” and so forth, and in this part of the entertainment, everything and everyone depended upon Christine. Mothers, going home, called to her, “Christine, look after my bairn,” and then went contentedly away.
They might contentedly do so, for whoever saw Christine Ruleson that afternoon, in the midst of those forty or fifty children, saw something as near to a vision of angels, as they were likely to see on this earth. She stood among them like some divine mother. A little one three years old was on her right arm. It pulled her earrings, and rumpled her hair, and crushed her lace collar, and she only kissed and held it closer. A little lad with a crooked spine, and the seraphic face which generally distinguishes such sufferers, held her tightly by her right hand. Others clung to her dress, and called her name in every key of love and trust. She directed their games, and settled their disputes, and if anything went wrong, put it right with a kiss.
The Domine watched her for ten or fifteen minutes, then he went slowly up the hill. “Where at a’ is Christine, Domine?” asked Margot. “I’m wanting her sairly.”
“Christine is too busy to meddle with, Margot. She’s doing God’s best work—ministering to little198children. As I saw her half-an-hour ago, she was little lower than the angels. I’m doubting if an angel could be lovelier, or fuller of life and love, and every sweet influence.”
“Christine is a handsome lass, nae doubt o’ that, but our women are all o’ them heritage handsome. I’m doubting if Eve, being a Jewess, could be worth evening wi’ us.”
“Eve was not a Jewess. She was God’s eldest daughter, Margot.”
“Then God’s eldest daughter hasna a very gude character. She has been badly spoken of, ever since the warld began. And I do hope my Christine will behave hersel’ better than Eve did—if all’s true that is said anent her.”
“Christine is a good girl, Margot. If little children love a woman, and she loves them, the love of God is there. Margot! Margot! God comes to us in many ways, but the sweetest and tenderest of all of them, is when he sends Jesus Christ by the way of the cradle.”
All’s well that ends well. If this be true, the first session of Culraine school was a great success. It had brought an entirely new, and very happy estimate of a father’s and a mother’s duty to their children. It had even made them emulous of each other, in their care and attention to the highest wants of childhood.
The whole village was yet talking of the examination when the herring came. Then every woman199went gladly to her appointed post and work, and every man—rested and eager for labor—hailed the news with a shout of welcome. Peter Brodie’s big Sam brought it very early one lovely summer morning, and having anchored his boat, ran through the sleeping village shouting—“Caller Herrin’! In Culraine Bay!”
The call was an enchantment. It rang like a trumpet through the sleeping village, and windows were thrown up, and doors flung open, and half-dressed men were demanding in stentorian voices, “Where are the fish, Sam?”
“Outside Culraine Bay,” he answered, still keeping up his exultant cry of “Caller Herrin’!” and in less than half an hour men were at work preparing for the amazing physical strain before them. Much was to do if they were to cast their nets that evening, and the streets were soon busy with men and lads carrying nets and other necessities to the boats. It was up with the flag on every boat in commission, for the fishing, and this day’s last preparations excited the place as if it were some great national holiday. The women were equally full of joyful business. They had to cook the breakfast, but immediately after it were all in the packing and curing sheds. You would have been sure they were keeping holiday. Pleasant greetings, snatches of song, encouraging cries to the men struggling down to the boats with the leaded nets, shouts of hurry to the bewildered children, little flytings at their delays, O twenty different motives200for clamor and haste were rife, and not unpleasant, because through all there was that tone of equal interest and good fellowship that can never be mistaken.
Margot had insisted on a visit to her special shed, to see whether all was in readiness for her special labor, but Christine had entreated her to wait for her return from the town, where she was going for orders. She had left her mother with the clear understanding that she would not risk the walk and the chatter and the clatter until the following day. But as soon as she was alone, Margot changed her intentions. “I must make the effort,” she said to herself. “I’m feared of the pain, that’s all about it.” So she made the effort, and found out that there was something more than fear to be reckoned with.
Christine brought home astonishing orders, and Margot’s face flushed with pride and energy. “I’ll not let that order slip through my fingers,” she cried, “I’m going to the kippering, and what I canna do, Christine can manage, following my say-so.”
This change in Margot’s work was the only shadow on that year’s herring-tide. It was a change, however, that all felt would not be removed. Margot said, with a little laugh, that she was teaching her lassie how to make a living, or how to help some gudeman to do it. “And I have a fine scholar,” she soon began to add. “Christine can now kipper a herring as weel as her mother, and why not? She201has seen the kippering done, ever since she wore ankle tights.”
“And you will be glad of a bit rest to yourself, Margot, no doubt,” was the general answer.
“Ay, I have turned the corner of womanhood, and I’m wearing away down the hillside of life. I hae been in a dowie and desponding condition for a year or mair.”
“Christine is clever with business, and folks do say she has a full sense of the value of money.”
“To be sure, Nancy. There’s no harm in the like of that. Her feyther came from Aberdeen folk, and it’s weel recognized that Aberdeen folk look at both sides of a penny.”
“Christine is a clever lass, and good likewise, we were all saying that, a while ago.”
“Weel, some folk, out of bad taste, or a natural want of good sense, may think different; but there—that’s enough on the subject of Christine. Her feyther is gey touchy anent Christine, and it will be as weel to let that subject alone.”
So, day after day, Margot sat in a chair at her daughter’s side, and Christine filled the big orders as her mother instructed her. And they were well filled, in good time, and the outcome was beyond all expectation. Yet Christine looked sadly at the money, and Margot turned her head away, to hide the unbidden tears in her eyes, as she said:
“It’s all yours, lassie. I’ll not touch a farthing of it. You have fairly won it. It will happen help202Neil’s deficiencies. Oh, my dear lassie! Mither has done her last kippering! I feel it.”
“Then I’ll kipper for you, Mither, as long as we both live. The hill is now o’er much for you—and the noisy women, and skirling bairns! Christine will go to Mother’s shed, and Mother will bide at hame, and red up the house, and have a cup of tea ready for hungry folk, as they come weary hame.”
And Margot let it go at that, but she was as she said, “dowie and despondent.” Ruleson begged her to go with him to Edinburgh, and get the advice of a good physician, but Margot would not listen to any entreaty.
“I’ll no do any such thing,” she answered. “Not likely! The Domine can gie the pain a setback, and if God wants me here, He’ll keep me here, sick or well, and if He doesna want me here, I’m willing to go where He does want me.” From this position Margot was not movable, and now that the herring fishing was over, there did not appear to be any reason for making her restless and unhappy. So she naturally drifted into that household position, where everyone took care not to tire, and not to vex, grandmother.
One morning in the early days of October, Christine was sitting sewing, and Margot was making shortcake. They had been talking of Neil and wondering where he was.
“I’m thinking it is whole o’ a month, since we heard from the lad,” said Margot.