CHAPTER IXCHARLIE'S COT ONCE MORE OCCUPIEDAs the Sergeant returned home the sun set, and the whole western sky became full of glory, with golden islands sleeping on a sea in which it might seem a thousand rainbows had been dissolved; while the holy calm of the Sabbath eve was disturbed only by the "streams unheard by day", and by the last notes of the strong blackbird and thrush,--for all the other birds, wearied with singing since daybreak, had gone to sleep. The beauty of the landscape, a very gospel of "glory to God in the highest, on earth peace and goodwill to men", did not, however, lift the dull weight off Adam's heart. He felt as if he had no right to share the universal calm."Be sure your sin will find you out!" So his minister had said. Perhaps it was true. He had sinned in his early poaching days; but he thought he had repented, and become a different man. Was it indeed so? or was he now suffering for past misconduct, and yet too blind to see the dealings of a righteous God with him? It is twilight with Adam as well as with the world!He expected to meet his small evening class of about a dozen poor neglected children who assembled every Sunday evening in his house, and which, all alone, and without saying anything about it, he had taught for some years, after his own simple and earnest fashion. He was longing to meet them. It would give him something to do--something to occupy his disturbed mind--a positive good about which there was no possible doubt; and it would also prevent Katie from seeking information that would be painful for him to give and for her to receive.To his astonishment he found one girl only in attendance. This was Mary Semple, or "Wee Mary", as she was generally called; a fatherless and motherless orphan, without a known relation on earth, and who was boarded by the Session, as being the only poor-law guardians in the parish, with a widow in the immediate neighbourhood, to whom two shillings weekly were paid for her. Adam and his wife had taken a great fancy to Mary. She was nervous and timid from constitutional temperament, which was aggravated by her poor upbringing as an infant, and by the unkind usage, to say the least of it, she often received from Mrs. Craigie, with whom she lived. Adam had more than once expostulated with the Kirk Session for boarding Mary with this woman; but as Mrs. Craigie was patronised by Mr. Smellie, and as no direct charge against her could be "substantiated on sufficient evidence", such as Mr. Smellie demanded, Mary was not removed. But she often crept into the Sergeant's house to warm herself and get a "piece" with Charlie; for she was so meek, so kind, so playful, as to have been always welcomed as a fit companion for the boy. This was, perhaps, the secret of the attachment of Adam and his wife to her after their boy's death.But where were the other children of the class? Mrs. Mercer could not conjecture. Could Mary? She hung her head, looked at her fingers, and "couldna say", but yet seemed to have something to say, until at last she confessed, saying: "Mrs. Craigie flyted on me for wantin' to come to the Sabbath-nicht skule, and said she wad gie me a thrashing if I left the house when she gaed to the evenin' sermon; but I ran awa' to the class, and I'm feared to gang hame.""What for are ye feared, Mary?" asked the Sergeant."Jist because----" replied Mary, with her head down."Because o' what, bairn?" persistently asked the Sergeant."Because o' the bird," said Mary, driven to a corner. And being further urged, she went on to tell in her own way how "a' the weans had been ordered by their folk no' to come to the class, as----"But Mary hung down her head again, and was silent."As what, Mary?""As----" And she wept as if her heart would break."As what, Mary?""As the Sergeant was an awfu' bad man," she added, in her sobs."Don't cry, Mary--be calm," said Adam."But I've com'd, as I kent it was a lee," the child said, looking up to Adam's face.Mary had faith! But if the Sergeant had any doubt as to Mary's story, it was soon dispelled by the sudden appearance of Mrs. Craigie, demanding the child in a very decided tone of voice, and without making any apology for the sudden intrusion, or offering any explanation. "Did I no' tell ye to bide at hame, ye guid-for-nothing lassie? Come awa' wi' me this minute!" she said, advancing to take hold of Mary.Mary sprang to the Sergeant and hid herself behind his back."Not so hasty, Mrs. Craigie," said the Sergeant, protecting her; "not so hasty, if you please. What's wrong?""Dinna let her tak' me! Oh, dinna let her tak' me!" cried Mary, from behind the Sergeant, and holding fast by his coat-tails. "She struck me black and blue; look at my arm," she continued, and she showed him her little thin arm, coloured by Mrs. Craigie."Ye leein' cuttie!" exclaimed Mrs. Craigie; "I'll mak' ye that ye'll no clipe fibs on me!" shaking her clenched fist at the unseen Mary. Then, looking the Sergeant in the face, with arms akimbo, she said, "I'll mak' you answer for this, ye hypocrite! that hae tried, as I ken, mony a time to beguile Mary frae me. But I hae freens, ay, hae I, freens that wull see justice dune to me, and toyoutoo--that wull they, faix! Black and blue! She fell running frae your ain wicked bird, whan ye were corrupting the young on this verra Sabbath morning. And I said to Mr. Smellie at the kirk-door in the afternoon, when the Session was by, 'Mr. Smellie,' says I, 'ye gied me a bairn to keep,' says I, 'and to be brocht up in the fear o' religion,' says I; 'but it's ill to do that,' says I, 'beside yon Sergeant,' says I. I did that, that did I; and Mr. Smellie telt me he wad see justice dune me, and dune you, and that ye war afore the Session, and I'm thankfu' to a kind Providence that's whatI never was. Gie me my bairn, I say!" and she made another pounce at Mary, followed by another cry from the child for protection.Katie had retired to the bedroom and shut the door.The Sergeant said, "I'll keep Mary. Gang hame, Mrs. Craigie. I'll answer to the Session for you. Nae mair scauldin' here." And he pressed forward with outstretched arms, gently compelling Mrs. Craigie to retreat towards the door, until she finally vanished with exclamations, and protestations, and vows of vengeance, which need not be here repeated.[image]'I'LL KEEP MARY' Page 66"Sirs, me!" ejaculated Katie, as she came out of her retreat; "that's awfu'!""Dinna be frichtened, my wee woman," said the Sergeant, as he led Mary to the fireside. "Warm yer bit feet, and get yer supper, and I'll gie ye a lesson afore ye gang to yer bed."Mary blew her nose, dried her eyes, and did as she was bid.The Sergeant motioned to his wife to come to the bedroom. He shut the door, and said, "I'll never pairt wi' Mary, come what may. My heart tells me this. Get Charlie's bed ready for her; she'll lie there, and be our bairn. God has sent her.""I was thinking that mysel'," said Katie; "I aye liked the wee thing, and sae did Charlie."The Sergeant's lesson was a very simple one, as, indeed, most of his were. He took the child on his knee, and putting on his spectacles, made her read one or two simple verses of Scripture. This night he selected, from some inner connexion, the verse from the Sermon on the Mount:--"Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?"And he said, "Mary, dear, did you come and hear my bird whistle?""Oo, ay," replied Mary. "It was real bonnie; and I thocht a' the time o' wee Charlie.""But why did ye run awa' and mak' a noise on the Sabbath morning? Ye shouldna hae been sporting on the Lord's day.""I was frichtened for the minister," replied Mary."Why were ye frichtened for the good man?""I dinna ken," said Mary; "but the boys ran, and I ran, and Archy Walker fell ower me and hurled me. I wasna meaning ony ill;" and Mary threatened to give way again."Whisht, Mary," said the Sergeant. "I wasna blaming you; but ye ken I didna hang Charlie's bird oot to harm you, or mak' sport, but only because he wasna weel.""What was wrang wi' him?" asked Mary. "There's an awfu' heap o' measles gaun aboot.""Not that," said the Sergeant, smiling; "but it was to mak' him weel, no' to mak' you play, that I pit him oot. But ye see God kens aboot the bird, and it was Him that made him, and that feeds him; and see hoo he sleeps ower your new bed,--for that's whaur Charlie used to sleep; and ye'll sleep there, dear, and bide wi' me; and God, that takes care o' the wee birds, will tak' care o' you."Mary said nothing, but turned her face and hid it in the Sergeant's bosom, next his heart; and he was more than ever persuaded that his heart was not wrong in wishing the orphan to lie there."Mary," the Sergeant whispered to her after a while, "ye maun aye ca' me faither."Mary lay closer to his heart.Katie, who had been sitting in the same arm-chair which she had occupied in the morning, heard her husband's words, and rising, bent over the child, and added, "And, Mary, ye maun aye ca' me mither."The starling, who was asleep, suddenly awoke, as if startled, shook himself, elevated his yellow bill above the round ball of feathers, turned his head and looked at the group with his full bright eye, and although too drowsy to say "I'm Charlie's bairn," he evidently remembered the relationship, and would have expressed it too--partly from jealousy, partly from love--had he not been again overpowered by sleep."We'll hae worship," said the Sergeant, as he put Mary down, and placed her in a little chair which had never been occupied since his boy died. After reading the Scriptures--the portion chosen was the 23rd Psalm--the Sergeant prayed, Mary concluding at his request by repeating the Lord's Prayer aloud. They then retired to rest--Charlie's cot once more occupied; and the quiet stars never shone on a more peaceful home.CHAPTER XTHE SERGEANT ALONE WITH THE STARLINGMr. Smellie called upon the Sergeant next forenoon. His manner was cold and formal, as that of one who had power, if not right, on his side, and whose pride was flattered by the conviction that his real or supposed opponent was in the wrong. His reception was equally cold, for although Adam had respect for his minister, and also for Mr. Menzies, he had, as we have already said, none whatever for Mr. Smellie."Mr. Mercer," said Smellie, "I have called on you, in order first of all to correct a grave error you have committed in regard to Mary Semple, the child boarded by the Kirk Session with Mrs. Craigie.""I'm not aware, Mr. Smellie," replied the Sergeant, "thatyouare the Kirk Session, or have any richt whatsomever to correct my error, as ye ca't, in this matter."Smellie smiled sarcastically, and added, "In a friendly way, at least, Mr. Mercer. You, of course, ken that the whole expense of the bairn must be borne by yersel', for I don't believe that the Session will pay one farthing to you--not a farthing!--as you have ta'en her from Mrs. Craigie on your ain responsibility.""I ken a' that; and I ken also that I mean to keep her frae Mrs. Craigie, unless the Session and the law hinder me, and compel me to gie her up; which is no' likely; but if they do, on them be the curse of injuring the orphan. Understan' then that I mean to keep her at my ain expense, even should the Session offer to pay for her. Anything else, Mr. Smellie?""Weel then, Mr. Mercer," said Smellie, "see til't, see til't; for there will be determined opposition to you.""I have had worse in my day, Mr. Smellie," drily replied the Sergeant, "and I'm no' feared. In the meantime Mary remains here, and I'm determined she'll never return to Mrs. Craigie--that's settled. An' if the Session kent the woman as I do, and maybe as ye do, they wad be thankfu', as I am, that Mary is wi' me and no' wi' her. Onything mair to complain o' in what ye ca' a freendly way?""Oh, naething, naething!" said Mr. Smellie, with pent-up annoyance, "except that the committee which the Session appointed--that's me and Mr. Menzies--to deal with you about this scandal--a most unpleasant business--mean to ca' upo' you this evening at six, if that hour will suit.""As weel, or as ill, as ony other hour, Mr. Smellie," replied Adam, "for I dinna mean to be dealt wi', either by you or by Mr. Menzies.""No' to be dealt with, Mr. Mercer! Do ye mean to say that ye won't even receive the committee?" he asked with amazement."That's jist exactly what I mean, Mr. Smellie!" replied Adam; "I don't mean to receive your committee, that's plain, and you may tak' a minute o't. If ye wish to ken why, ye had better speer at Mr. Porteous. But ye needna trouble yoursel' wi' me. What I have said I'll stan' to like a man; what I have promised I'll perform like a Christian; and what I canna do, I winna do! If ye need mair explanation, this maybe will suffice:--that I'll no' kill my bird for you, nor for the Session, nor yet for the minister, nor for the hail parish; and that ye may as well try tae kill me wi' blank cartridge, as try yer han' in persuading me to kill the starling. Sae, Mr. Smellie, as far as that business is concerned, ye may gang hame, and no wat yer shoon to come my gait ony mair.""Sae be't, sae be't!" replied Smellie, with a cackle of a laugh, as much as to say, "I have him!" He then bowed and departed, walking silently like a cat along the street, but not purring. Yet he seemed to be feeling for something with the long hairs which projected from his whiskers like bristles.Poor Adam! Now began such a week in his history as he never had experienced before. Oh! it was cold, dark, and dreary! He had to drink the cup of loneliness in the midst of his fellowmen--the bitterest cup which can be tasted by anyone who loves his brother. But all his suffering was kept within his own heart, and found "no relief in word, or sigh, or tear".What a sinner he had become in the opinion of many of the respectable inhabitants of Drumsylie! What a double distilled spirit of evil!--far over proof, for noproofsare ever applied to such evil spirits. Drumsylie was all agog about him. He was as interesting as a shipwreck to a seaport town; as a great swindle to a stock exchange; or as a murder to a quiet neighbourhood! What had he done! What had he been guilty of! Some said, or at least heard that some one else had said, that he had insulted the minister and the Kirk Session; others, that he had secretly supported himself as a poacher; others that he had been heard to declare, that rather than kill the bird, he would, out of mere spite and obstinacy, give up the eldership, the Church, ay, even Christianity itself; others, that he had stolen a child from Mrs. Craigie, whom, though a woman, he, a soldier, had threatened to strike in his own house. He was a terror even to evil doers!Most marvellous is this birth and upbringing of lies! Who lays the first egg? How does it multiply so rapidly? And how singular is the development of each of the many eggs--through all the stages of evil thoughts, suspicious hints, wonderingif'sandmaybe's, perversions, exaggerations, fibs, white lies--until it is fully hatched into out-and-out lies repeated with diligence, malice, and hate! We can give no account of this social phenomenon except the old one, of the devil being first the parent of the whole family, and his then distributing and boarding out each to trustworthy friends to be hatched and trained up in the way it should go in order to please him, its parent.In Drumsylie, as in other towns, there were some who so indulged the self-pleasing habit of confessing and mourning over the sins and shortcomings of their neighbours, that they had little time or inclination to confess their own. Some of these confessors might be heard during this week in Adam's history lamenting:--"Oh! it's a dreadfu' place this! Eh! it's eneuch to keep ane sleepless to think o't! Whan a man like Adam Mercer, wi' a' his knowledge and profession, becomes a scoffer, and despises ordinances, and," &c. &c.But it would be unjust to Drumsylie and the Sergeant to affirm that this state of public feeling had not very many marked exceptions. Some, chiefly among the poor, truly loved him and sympathized with him, and openly confessed this. Many protested, in private at least, against his treatment. But such is, alas! the moral cowardice, or maybe the thoughtlessness only, of even good men, that few expressed to Adam himself their goodwill towards him, or their confidence in his righteousness. It is indeed remarkable, in a free country of brave men, how very many there are who, before taking any decided part in questions which distract communities, small or great, attentively consider on which side the hangman is, or seems likely to be. The executioner's cord seen in the possession of this or that party has a wonderful influence on the number of its adherents. As far as appearances went, this sign of authority and power was supposed for the time being to be in the possession of the Rev. Daniel Porteous. And so the cautious and prudent consoled themselves by saying: "It is not our business", or "Least said soonest mended", or "Why quarrel with the minister?" or "Why displease my aunt, or my uncle, who are so bigoted and narrow?" or "Mr. Porteous and the majority of Session may be wrong, but that is their affair, not ours". Such were some of the characteristic sayings of the men who were doubtful as to the side which possessed Calcraft and his cord of office.Mr. Smellie had communicated Adam Mercer's resolution to Mr. Menzies, and this had deterred him from attempting to follow in the track of expostulation with Adam, which it was evident would lead to nothing. Smellie had failed--who could succeed? Mr. Menzies ought to havetried. Some success by one good man in dealing with another good man, is certain.The Session met on the next Sunday after Adam's quarrel with his minister, or rather of his minister with him. The court was, as usual, "constituted by prayer". But whether the spirit of prayer constitutes the spirit of every meeting opened by it, may, without offence, be questioned. It is unnecessary to condense the debates--for debates there were at this meeting. Adam, with a soldier's gentlemanly feeling, did not attend, lest it might be supposed that he wished to influence the court. Smellie, in spite of some opposing murmurs of dissent, ascribed his absence to "contumacious pride", and the minister did not contradict him.Mr. Porteous addressed the court. He asked whether it was possible for them to stop proceedings in the case of Mr. Mercer without stultifying themselves? Had they not taken the very mildest and most judicious course, and considered both what was due to themselves and also to their erring brother? Yet they had not only failed to obtain the slightest concession from him, but he had gone so far as even to refuse to receive or confer with their own committee! The case was no doubt most distressing to them all, but, as far as he could see, it would bring well-merited ridicule on all Church discipline if they dropped it at this stage. To appoint another deputation would be disrespectful to the dignity of the court; and as for himself, he had done all he could since their last meeting to bring about an amicable settlement: for, on the previous Sabbath evening, he had had a private interview in the manse with Mr. Mercer, which had terminated, he grieved to say, in a most unsatisfactory manner.Such was the general tenor of the minister's harangue. It was in vain that Mr. Gordon, backed by William Simpson, farmer, of Greenfield, and Andrew Grainger, watchmaker, argued against the minister--the latter declaring that the Session were putting back the hands of the clock, and falling behind time.But all in vain! Adam, by the casting vote of the Moderator, was "suspended" from the eldership; that is, deprived for a time of his official position. Mr. Gordon and the two elders who supported him, vehemently protested against what they called the "tyrannical proceeding of the majority". Most fortunately for the cause of justice, the Rev. Daniel was not a bishop who could rule his parish presbyters as his own "principles", whims, or--pardon the irreverent insinuation--his indigestion, might dictate. There was a higher court, and there was the law of the land, higher than the court, to curb the minister's will, or as he always called it when in a passion--his conscience. The sentence of the Session might be, as was confidently anticipated, reversed by the Presbytery, though the district was notoriously narrow and prejudiced, and some of the clergy fancied that moving straws showed how the winds of heaven blew, when they were only stirred by their own breath.When Adam returned on that Sunday afternoon from church, he fortunately did not know, though he more than suspected, what the decision of the Kirk Session had been. He knew certainly that his case must not only have come before the court, but must also, from its nature, have caused such a division of opinion as would make his position as an elder one of remark, of suspicion, and, to him, of personal pain. It was a temporary comfort, however, that he had no certain bad news to communicate to Katie, and that he could say, as he did with truth, "It wasna for me to be present, or to interfere. They have done their duty nae doot, an' I have done mine as far as I could."When his humble Sunday meal was over, and before sunset, Adam went to visit one or two of the sick, infirm, or bedridden, who were on his list to attend to as an elder. Not until he was on his way to their homes did he realise the fact that, for the present at least, he was probably no longer an elder. But as he never had formed the habit of visiting the sick as a mere official, but had made his office only a better means, given him in God's providence, for gratifying his benevolent and Christian feelings, he went, as he was wont to do, with a peaceful spirit and loving heart. The poor and suffering whom he visited received him with their usual kindness and gratitude. Theyfeltthat Adam could not be a bad or false man; that in him was love--love in its meekness, calmness, self-possession, sympathy, and forgiveness of others. They could not, perhaps, explain the grounds of their perfect and unreserved confidence in him, yet they could not--it was impossible--entertain any doubts of his Christian character which could hinder their hearts from feeling what they in many cases expressed with their lips, that "Arealguid man is Adam Mercer! It's me that should say't, for he has been aye kind and guid to me. I'm no saying wha's richt or wrang; I ken this only, that I'll stan' by Adam! I wish we had mair like him!"CHAPTER XITHE OLD SOLDIER AND HIS YOUNG PUPIL ON SUNDAY EVENINGOn his return home after these visits, he placed Mary on Charlie's chair, beside himself, resolving, although the other members of the class were still absent, that he would nevertheless teach Mary as their representative, as well as for her own sake. There had come into his possession one of those small books of guidance and instruction which many intellectual people--so called by men, but probably not so recognized by the angels, who minister even to children--affect to despise, just as they would despise any "still small voice" when compared with the loud storm, the brilliant fire, and the powerful, rock-moving earthquake. This book was but a number of texts wisely arranged by a bedridden Christian, for each day of the year, with one of special and deeper import for its Sabbaths. The text for this Lord's Day was--"They who know thy name will put their trust in thee"; and Adam said to Mary, when she had repeated it as the lesson for the day, "Do ye understan' what is meant, my dearie, by trusting God?""I'm no sure," she replied."But ye surely ken what it wad be to trustme, Mary?" continued the Sergeant.Mary looked up and smiled. She made no reply, but was evidently puzzled by an attempt she was unconsciously making to understand the possibility of want of trust in the Sergeant. So, finding no response, he again asked, "Wad ye trust me, my wee woman?"Mary seemed vexed, and said, "What wrang hae I dune? Ye telt me aye to ca' you faither; I canna help; sae ye maunna be angry, for I hae nae faither but you.""Richt! verra richt!" said the Sergeant; "but, Mary dear, wad ye trust God as weel as me?""No!" said Mary, very decidedly."What for no'?" asked the Sergeant, kindly."I'm awfu' frichtened for him," said Mary."Why are ye frichtened forHim?" asked Adam.Mary seemed to be counting the buttons on his coat."Tell me, bairn!" he continued."Because," said Mary, sorrowfully, yet encouraged by his tone, "Mrs. Craigie aye telt me He wad sen' me to the bad place; and when I got my fit burned she said that I wad be a' burnt thegither some day, as I was a bad lassie; and I'm sure I wasna' doing her ony ill to mak' her say that.""God will never," remarked the Sergeant, reverently, "send ye to the bad place, unless ye gang yersel'.""I'll never do that!" exclaimed Mary."I hope no', my lassie," said Adam, "for I wish you no' to be bad, but to be good; and to trust God is the way to be good. Noo tell me, Mary, why wad ye trust me?""Because--jist because," said Mary, looking up to his face, "ye're faither.""Weel dune, Mary!" continued the Sergeant. "Noo tell me what's the beginning o' the Lord's Prayer?""Our Faither which art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy name. Thy----""That'll do, Mary," interrupted Adam. "But can ye tell me noo wha's yer Faither as weel as me?"After a pause, Mary said, as if she had made a discovery, "Our Faither in heaven!""That's a clever woman!Faither!that's God'sName. And noo that ye ken his Name, ye maun trust Him faur mair than me: for He lo'es ye mair than I can do, and is aye wi' ye; and never will forsake ye, and can aye help ye; and He has said that when faither and mither forsake you, he will tak' ye up. That will He, my lassie!""But," said Mary, "my mither and faither, they tell me, dee'd wi' fever, but didna forsake me.""That's true; but I mean, my bairn," said Adam, "that ye can never be an orphan lassie wi' God as yer Faither.""But," said Mary, "for a' that, ye maun aye be my faither as weel. Oh! dinna sen' me back to Mrs. Craigie.""Dinna fear, Mary," replied Adam; "but maybe I maun hae to leave you. God may tak' me awa', and tak' yer mither there awa' too; and then when ye're alane in the world, ye maun trust God.""I'll no' trust Him," replied Mary; "if you and mither dees, I'll dee tae, and gang wi' ye." And she fairly broke down, and clung to him as if he was about to leave her.The Sergeant took Mary on his knee. "Be cheerie, Mary--be cheerie!" he said. "If ye kent God, ye wad aye be cheerie, my lassie. Mrs. Craigie has frichted ye.""Ay, awfu'!" said Mary.The Sergeant felt as if Mary had not quite learned her lesson, and he continued:--"D'ye mind what I telt ye ae nicht aboot mithers bringing their bairns to Christ?--and hoo some folk that didna ken Him were for keeping them awa'?--and hoo Jesus was angry at them?--and hoo the bairns gaed till Him----""And did they no' squeel wi' fricht?" asked Mary."Did ye squeel, Mary," asked the Sergeant, with a smile, "when I took ye intomyarms?""No. What for should I?" replied Mary."Aweel, my lassie," argued Adam, "why do ye think that bairns like yersel' should be frichted to trust that same Jesus wha was Himsel' a bairn and kens a bairn's heart? He wad be unco sorry, Mary, if ye didna trust Him, when He dee'd, as ye ken, on the cross to save you and me and ilka body, and aye thinks aboot us and prays for us."Mary sighed, and crept closer to the Sergeant.Adam, taking her little hand in his, said, "Mind what I tell ye, my bairn. Learn ye to speak aye to God and tell Him yer heart in yer ain prayer, and never gang ony road He wadna like; and stick till Him as ye wad to me if we were gaun ower the muir thegither at nicht, or through a burn in a spate; and never, Mary, in the hour o' distress think that He doesna care for you or has forgotten you. For nae doot whan ye grow up to be big ye'll hae mony a distress, like ither folk, ye dinna ken aboot yet."Mary turned her face to his bosom as if to sleep, but never was she less inclined to sleep.The Sergeant added, with a sigh, "Think, my wee dearie, on what I tell ye noo, after I'm dead and gane."Katie, seated on the opposite side of the fire, had been reading Boston'sCrook in the Lot. She seemed not to have heard a word of her husband's lesson; but her ears drank in the whole of it. The Sergeant had evidently forgotten her presence, so quiet was she, and so absorbed was he with Mary, who was to him a new life--his own child restored. But as Katie caught his last words, she put down her book, and looking almost in anger at her husband--could she have felt jealous of Mary?--said, "Tuts, Adam! what's the use o' pitting me and Mary aboot wi' discoorsin' in that way! It's really no' fair. I declare ane wad think that Andra Wilkie, the bederal, was diggin' yer grave! What pits deein' in yer head e'enoo? An' you an auld sodger! Be cheerie yersel', man!""I daursay ye're richt, gudewife," said Adam, with a smile, and rather a sheepish look, as if he had been caught playing the woman with an unmanly expression of his feelings and dim forebodings. "Gie Mary her piece," he added, "and sen' her to her bed. She has dune unco weel." He passed into the bedroom, closing the door while Katie was putting Mary to rest.It was a peaceful night. He sat down near the small window of the bedroom, from which was a pleasant peep of trees, their underwood now hid in darkness, but their higher branches, with every leafy twig, mingling with the blue of the starry sky, partially illumined by a new moon. He had felt during these last days an increasing dulness of spirits. But this evening he had been comforting himself while comforting Mary; and remembering the lesson he had given her, he said to himself, "Blessed are all they who put their trust in Thee". And somehow there came into his mind pictures of the old war--times in which, amidst the trampling of armed men and words of command, the sudden rush to the charge or up the scaling-ladder, the roar and cries of combat, the volcano of shot and shell bursting and filling the heavens with flame and smoke and deadly missile, he had trusted God, and felt calm at his heart, like a child in the arms of a loving parent. These pictures flashed on him but for a second, yet they were sufficient to remind him of what God had ever been to him, and to strengthen his faith in what He would ever be.CHAPTER XIIADAM MERCER, SERGEANT, BUT NOT ELDERNext morning the announcement of the Sergeant's suspension from the eldership was conveyed to him by an official document from Mr. Mackintosh, the Session clerk and parish schoolmaster;--a good, discreet man, who did his duty faithfully, loyally voted always with the minister from an earnest belief that it was right to do so, and who made it his endeavour as a member of society to meddle with nobody, in the good hope that nobody would meddle with him. Every man can find his own place in this wide world.Katie heard the news, but, strange to say, was not so disconcerted as Adam anticipated. In proportion as difficulties gathered round her husband, she became more resolute, and more disposed to fight for him. She was like many women on their first voyage, who in calm weather are afraid of a slight breeze and the uneasy motion of the ship, yet who, when actual danger threatens, rise up in the power and dignity of their nature, and become the bravest of the brave--their very feeling and fancy, which shrank from danger while it was unseen, coming to their aid as angels of hope when danger alone is visible."Aweel, aweel," remarked Katie; "it's their ain loss, Adam, no' yours; ye hae naething to charge yersel' wi'."But she would sometimes relapse into a meditative mood, as the more painful side of the case revealed itself. "Ay noo--ay--and they hae suspended ye?--that's hanged ye, as I suppose, like a dog or cat! Bonnie-like Session!--my word!--and for what? Because ye wadna kill the bird! Teuch! It micht pit a body daft tae think o't!" And so on.But this did little good to Adam, who felt his character, his honour, at stake. Things were daily getting worse to bear. The news had spread over the town, "Adam Mercer has been rebuked and suspended by the Kirk Session!" From that moment he became a marked man. Old customers fell away from him; not that any openly declared that they would not employ him as a shoemaker merely because the minister and Kirk Session were opposed to him:--Oh no! Not a hint was given of that, or anything approaching to it; but, somehow, new shoes seemed to have gone out of fashion in Drumsylie.The cold unfeeling snowball increased as it rolled along the street in which Adam lived, until it blocked up his door, so that he could hardly get out. If he did go, it was to be subjected to constant annoyance. The boys and girls of the lowest class in his neighbourhood, influenced by all they heard discussed and asserted in their respective homes, where reserve was not the characteristic of the inmates, were wont to gather round his window, and to peer into the interior with an eager gaze, as if anxious to discover some fitting fuel to enlighten their domestic hearths at night. It was as impossible to seize them as to catch a flock of sparrows settled down upon a seed plot in a garden. When the Sergeant therefore ventured to go abroad, the nickname of "The Starling" was shouted after him by the boys, who adopted all the various modes of concealing their ringleaders which evidence such singular dexterity and cunning. The result was that Adam was compelled, as we have said, to keep within doors. He thus began to feel as if he was alone in the world. Everyone seemed changed. Those on whom he had hitherto relied failed him. He or the world was worse than he had ever imagined either to be, and it was little comfort to him to know which of the two was wrong.The Sergeant, however, enjoyed much inward peace though little happiness. For how different is peace from happiness! Happiness is the result of harmony between our wants as creatures and the world without: peace is the harmony between us as spiritual beings and the Father of our spirits. The one is as changeable as the objects or circumstances on which it for the moment relies; the other is as unchangeable as the God on whom it eternally rests. We may thus possess at once real happiness and real peace; yet either may exist without the other. Nay more, happiness may be destroyed by God in order that the higher blessing of peace may be possessed; but never will He take away peace to give happiness! Happiness without peace is temporal, but peace along with happiness is eternal.Adam, as we have said, enjoyed little happiness in the conflict in which he was engaged, but he was kept in "perfect peace".When another Sunday came round, the old sense of duty induced him to go, as usual, to church. His absence might be supposed to indicate that he feared the face of man, because fearing the face of God. Katie accompanied him. Her courage rose to the occasion. Let not the reader who, moving in a larger sphere of life, has learned to measure his annoyances by a larger standard, smile at these simple souls, or think it an exaggeration thus to picture their burden as having been so heavy.Adam and Katie walked along the street, knowing all the time that they did so under the gaze of the cold and criticising eyes of some who were disposed to say to them, "Stand back, I am holier than thou!" Yet more persons than they themselves were aware of felt towards them kindness, pity, and respect, mingled with very opposite feelings to those of the minister and the members of Kirk Session who had made so much ado about so small an affair. Others forgot the sympathy due to a suffering, good man, apart from its immediate cause. Many of his worthy friends said afterwards that they "did not think of it!" Alas! thisnotthinking is often the worst form of thought.Adam and Katie passed Smellie, as he stood at "the plate", without the slightest recognition on either side. They occupied their accustomed seat, but sat alone. Those who ordinarily filled the pew suffered from cold or conscience, and so were either absent or seated elsewhere. One may guess what sort of sermon Mr. Porteous preached from the text, "Beware of evil doers". The personal reference to the Sergeant was like a theme pervading his overture; or as an idea not so much directly expressed as indirectly insinuated from first to last. The argument was a huge soap-bubble of what he called "principle" blown from his pipe until he could blow no longer, and which when fully developed he contemplated with admiration, as if it were a glorious globe of thought that must necessarily be heavenly because reflecting to his eyes the colours of the rainbow. His picture of the danger of the times in which he lived was very vivid, and his hopes of any improvement very small. The history of society seemed but a record of degeneracy since the first century of the Christian era. But whoever proved a traitor, he himself, he said, would still earnestly contend for the faith once delivered to the saints; andhistrumpet, at least, should never give an uncertain sound; andhewould hold fast the form of sound words:--and so on he went until his forty-five minutes were ended.That the preacher was perfectly sincere, no one could doubt. He was no coward, or make-believe, but was thoroughly convinced. He would at any time have given up his "all" for his "principles", and given his body even to be burned for them without fear--yet possibly "without charity".We do not condemn Mr. Porteous's "principles". They were, most of them, what might be called Christian truisms, which no one believing in the supreme authority of the Bible, far less any parish minister, could dispute. But the practical application of his principles by the minister on certain occasions, as on this one, might be questioned. He might also have considered whether there were not many other Bible and Christian principles of wider import and deeper spiritual meaning, than those he contended for, and gave such prominence to, not excluding but including his special favourites, which he required to know before he could really understand or truly apply those even which he so tenaciously held and so frequently expounded. Half truths are untruths. A man who always tried to stand on his head might be as well without one.Adam accepted the heavy fire from the pulpit with calm submission. He knew that very many in the congregation while listening to the minister were looking at himself; but, knowing also how much depends in every battle on the steadiness and self-possession of the non-commissioned officers, he looked the enemy in the face and never winced. Katie seemed inspired by his example--so far, at least, that she neither fled nor fainted; and though not daring to gaze on the foe, she braved his charge as if kneeling in the rear rank, with a calm countenance, but with eyes cast down to the ground.Poor Katie! What would Waterloo have been to her in comparison with that day's mental battle in the kirk! The one was an honourable conflict; but this was reckoned by those whom she respected as one of dishonour. In the one was danger of wounds and of death; but in this were deeper wounds, and danger possibly beyond the grave! How often did the form of her old "faither" come before her--though she thought it strange that he did not seem to frown. But she never communicated her fears or feelings to her husband. "He has eneuch to carry wi'oot me," she said.As they left the church, more than one person took an opportunity of addressing the Sergeant, and, to the credit of all, not one uttered an unkindly word. Some shook him warmly by the hand, but said nothing. Others added, "God bless ye! Dinna heed, Mr. Mercer. It'll come a' richt yet." Mr. Gordon and one or two of the elders were marked in their kindness. It would not have conduced to the comfort of the minister, though it might have made him doubt how far his people really sympathised with him or his "principles", had he heard some of the remarks made after the sermon by the more intelligent and independent of his congregation. But his ignorance was to him a kind of bliss; and whatever tended or threatened to disturb his self-satisfaction would have been recognised by him as folly, not wisdom.Adam could not shut his ears, but he could hold his tongue; and he did so.The worthy couple walked home in silence, and arm-in-arm too! for the first time probably in their lives. Mary, whom we forgot to mention, followed them in new shoes, a new bonnet, a new shawl, with her Bible wrapped up in a clean pocket-handkerchief. As they entered their home, the starling received them with quite a flutter of excitement. Shaking his feathers, hopping violently about his cage, or thrusting his bill, as if for a kiss, between the bars, he welcomed Mary, as she approached him with some food, and made the room ring with various declarations as to his being Charlie's bairn, his hopes of being yet a king, and his belief in genuine manhood."I think," quoth the Sergeant, "he is ane o' the happiest and maist contented bit craturs in the parish."Mary, as if feeling that it was right to say something good on Sunday, archly put in, "I mind what ye telt me aboot the bird.""What was't, my bairn?" asked Adam."It was aboot the fowls--I dinna mind a' the verse, but a bit o't was, 'Are not ye better than the fowls?'""Thank ye for the comfort, Mary dear," said Adam, gravely.From some common instinct of their hearts, Mr. Porteous's sermon was not spoken of. Was it because Mary was present? or only because Katie was so anxious to see the cheese well toasted for their tea? or because----yet why go on conjecturing! But at evening worship, which closed the day, Adam, as usual, prayed for his minister, and for God's blessing on the preached word; and he prayed to be delivered from evil-doing, and from fretting at evil-doers, and to be enabled to put his trust in God and do good. Katie on rising from her knees did what she never did before--kissed her husband, saying, "God bless you, my best o' men!""Gae awa', gae awa'!" said the Sergeant; "ye want to gaur me greet like yersel', do ye? But na, lass, I'm ower auld a sodger for that!" With all his boasting, however, he was very nearly betrayed into the weakness which he professed to despise. But he seemed greatly pleased with his good wife's kindness, and he added, "Bless you, my braw leddy, a' the same. And," in a whisper, "ye needna let on to Mary that I'm fashed. It micht vex the lassie."
CHAPTER IX
CHARLIE'S COT ONCE MORE OCCUPIED
As the Sergeant returned home the sun set, and the whole western sky became full of glory, with golden islands sleeping on a sea in which it might seem a thousand rainbows had been dissolved; while the holy calm of the Sabbath eve was disturbed only by the "streams unheard by day", and by the last notes of the strong blackbird and thrush,--for all the other birds, wearied with singing since daybreak, had gone to sleep. The beauty of the landscape, a very gospel of "glory to God in the highest, on earth peace and goodwill to men", did not, however, lift the dull weight off Adam's heart. He felt as if he had no right to share the universal calm.
"Be sure your sin will find you out!" So his minister had said. Perhaps it was true. He had sinned in his early poaching days; but he thought he had repented, and become a different man. Was it indeed so? or was he now suffering for past misconduct, and yet too blind to see the dealings of a righteous God with him? It is twilight with Adam as well as with the world!
He expected to meet his small evening class of about a dozen poor neglected children who assembled every Sunday evening in his house, and which, all alone, and without saying anything about it, he had taught for some years, after his own simple and earnest fashion. He was longing to meet them. It would give him something to do--something to occupy his disturbed mind--a positive good about which there was no possible doubt; and it would also prevent Katie from seeking information that would be painful for him to give and for her to receive.
To his astonishment he found one girl only in attendance. This was Mary Semple, or "Wee Mary", as she was generally called; a fatherless and motherless orphan, without a known relation on earth, and who was boarded by the Session, as being the only poor-law guardians in the parish, with a widow in the immediate neighbourhood, to whom two shillings weekly were paid for her. Adam and his wife had taken a great fancy to Mary. She was nervous and timid from constitutional temperament, which was aggravated by her poor upbringing as an infant, and by the unkind usage, to say the least of it, she often received from Mrs. Craigie, with whom she lived. Adam had more than once expostulated with the Kirk Session for boarding Mary with this woman; but as Mrs. Craigie was patronised by Mr. Smellie, and as no direct charge against her could be "substantiated on sufficient evidence", such as Mr. Smellie demanded, Mary was not removed. But she often crept into the Sergeant's house to warm herself and get a "piece" with Charlie; for she was so meek, so kind, so playful, as to have been always welcomed as a fit companion for the boy. This was, perhaps, the secret of the attachment of Adam and his wife to her after their boy's death.
But where were the other children of the class? Mrs. Mercer could not conjecture. Could Mary? She hung her head, looked at her fingers, and "couldna say", but yet seemed to have something to say, until at last she confessed, saying: "Mrs. Craigie flyted on me for wantin' to come to the Sabbath-nicht skule, and said she wad gie me a thrashing if I left the house when she gaed to the evenin' sermon; but I ran awa' to the class, and I'm feared to gang hame."
"What for are ye feared, Mary?" asked the Sergeant.
"Jist because----" replied Mary, with her head down.
"Because o' what, bairn?" persistently asked the Sergeant.
"Because o' the bird," said Mary, driven to a corner. And being further urged, she went on to tell in her own way how "a' the weans had been ordered by their folk no' to come to the class, as----"
But Mary hung down her head again, and was silent.
"As what, Mary?"
"As----" And she wept as if her heart would break.
"As what, Mary?"
"As the Sergeant was an awfu' bad man," she added, in her sobs.
"Don't cry, Mary--be calm," said Adam.
"But I've com'd, as I kent it was a lee," the child said, looking up to Adam's face.
Mary had faith! But if the Sergeant had any doubt as to Mary's story, it was soon dispelled by the sudden appearance of Mrs. Craigie, demanding the child in a very decided tone of voice, and without making any apology for the sudden intrusion, or offering any explanation. "Did I no' tell ye to bide at hame, ye guid-for-nothing lassie? Come awa' wi' me this minute!" she said, advancing to take hold of Mary.
Mary sprang to the Sergeant and hid herself behind his back.
"Not so hasty, Mrs. Craigie," said the Sergeant, protecting her; "not so hasty, if you please. What's wrong?"
"Dinna let her tak' me! Oh, dinna let her tak' me!" cried Mary, from behind the Sergeant, and holding fast by his coat-tails. "She struck me black and blue; look at my arm," she continued, and she showed him her little thin arm, coloured by Mrs. Craigie.
"Ye leein' cuttie!" exclaimed Mrs. Craigie; "I'll mak' ye that ye'll no clipe fibs on me!" shaking her clenched fist at the unseen Mary. Then, looking the Sergeant in the face, with arms akimbo, she said, "I'll mak' you answer for this, ye hypocrite! that hae tried, as I ken, mony a time to beguile Mary frae me. But I hae freens, ay, hae I, freens that wull see justice dune to me, and toyoutoo--that wull they, faix! Black and blue! She fell running frae your ain wicked bird, whan ye were corrupting the young on this verra Sabbath morning. And I said to Mr. Smellie at the kirk-door in the afternoon, when the Session was by, 'Mr. Smellie,' says I, 'ye gied me a bairn to keep,' says I, 'and to be brocht up in the fear o' religion,' says I; 'but it's ill to do that,' says I, 'beside yon Sergeant,' says I. I did that, that did I; and Mr. Smellie telt me he wad see justice dune me, and dune you, and that ye war afore the Session, and I'm thankfu' to a kind Providence that's whatI never was. Gie me my bairn, I say!" and she made another pounce at Mary, followed by another cry from the child for protection.
Katie had retired to the bedroom and shut the door.
The Sergeant said, "I'll keep Mary. Gang hame, Mrs. Craigie. I'll answer to the Session for you. Nae mair scauldin' here." And he pressed forward with outstretched arms, gently compelling Mrs. Craigie to retreat towards the door, until she finally vanished with exclamations, and protestations, and vows of vengeance, which need not be here repeated.
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'I'LL KEEP MARY' Page 66
"Sirs, me!" ejaculated Katie, as she came out of her retreat; "that's awfu'!"
"Dinna be frichtened, my wee woman," said the Sergeant, as he led Mary to the fireside. "Warm yer bit feet, and get yer supper, and I'll gie ye a lesson afore ye gang to yer bed."
Mary blew her nose, dried her eyes, and did as she was bid.
The Sergeant motioned to his wife to come to the bedroom. He shut the door, and said, "I'll never pairt wi' Mary, come what may. My heart tells me this. Get Charlie's bed ready for her; she'll lie there, and be our bairn. God has sent her."
"I was thinking that mysel'," said Katie; "I aye liked the wee thing, and sae did Charlie."
The Sergeant's lesson was a very simple one, as, indeed, most of his were. He took the child on his knee, and putting on his spectacles, made her read one or two simple verses of Scripture. This night he selected, from some inner connexion, the verse from the Sermon on the Mount:--"Behold the fowls of the air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?"
And he said, "Mary, dear, did you come and hear my bird whistle?"
"Oo, ay," replied Mary. "It was real bonnie; and I thocht a' the time o' wee Charlie."
"But why did ye run awa' and mak' a noise on the Sabbath morning? Ye shouldna hae been sporting on the Lord's day."
"I was frichtened for the minister," replied Mary.
"Why were ye frichtened for the good man?"
"I dinna ken," said Mary; "but the boys ran, and I ran, and Archy Walker fell ower me and hurled me. I wasna meaning ony ill;" and Mary threatened to give way again.
"Whisht, Mary," said the Sergeant. "I wasna blaming you; but ye ken I didna hang Charlie's bird oot to harm you, or mak' sport, but only because he wasna weel."
"What was wrang wi' him?" asked Mary. "There's an awfu' heap o' measles gaun aboot."
"Not that," said the Sergeant, smiling; "but it was to mak' him weel, no' to mak' you play, that I pit him oot. But ye see God kens aboot the bird, and it was Him that made him, and that feeds him; and see hoo he sleeps ower your new bed,--for that's whaur Charlie used to sleep; and ye'll sleep there, dear, and bide wi' me; and God, that takes care o' the wee birds, will tak' care o' you."
Mary said nothing, but turned her face and hid it in the Sergeant's bosom, next his heart; and he was more than ever persuaded that his heart was not wrong in wishing the orphan to lie there.
"Mary," the Sergeant whispered to her after a while, "ye maun aye ca' me faither."
Mary lay closer to his heart.
Katie, who had been sitting in the same arm-chair which she had occupied in the morning, heard her husband's words, and rising, bent over the child, and added, "And, Mary, ye maun aye ca' me mither."
The starling, who was asleep, suddenly awoke, as if startled, shook himself, elevated his yellow bill above the round ball of feathers, turned his head and looked at the group with his full bright eye, and although too drowsy to say "I'm Charlie's bairn," he evidently remembered the relationship, and would have expressed it too--partly from jealousy, partly from love--had he not been again overpowered by sleep.
"We'll hae worship," said the Sergeant, as he put Mary down, and placed her in a little chair which had never been occupied since his boy died. After reading the Scriptures--the portion chosen was the 23rd Psalm--the Sergeant prayed, Mary concluding at his request by repeating the Lord's Prayer aloud. They then retired to rest--Charlie's cot once more occupied; and the quiet stars never shone on a more peaceful home.
CHAPTER X
THE SERGEANT ALONE WITH THE STARLING
Mr. Smellie called upon the Sergeant next forenoon. His manner was cold and formal, as that of one who had power, if not right, on his side, and whose pride was flattered by the conviction that his real or supposed opponent was in the wrong. His reception was equally cold, for although Adam had respect for his minister, and also for Mr. Menzies, he had, as we have already said, none whatever for Mr. Smellie.
"Mr. Mercer," said Smellie, "I have called on you, in order first of all to correct a grave error you have committed in regard to Mary Semple, the child boarded by the Kirk Session with Mrs. Craigie."
"I'm not aware, Mr. Smellie," replied the Sergeant, "thatyouare the Kirk Session, or have any richt whatsomever to correct my error, as ye ca't, in this matter."
Smellie smiled sarcastically, and added, "In a friendly way, at least, Mr. Mercer. You, of course, ken that the whole expense of the bairn must be borne by yersel', for I don't believe that the Session will pay one farthing to you--not a farthing!--as you have ta'en her from Mrs. Craigie on your ain responsibility."
"I ken a' that; and I ken also that I mean to keep her frae Mrs. Craigie, unless the Session and the law hinder me, and compel me to gie her up; which is no' likely; but if they do, on them be the curse of injuring the orphan. Understan' then that I mean to keep her at my ain expense, even should the Session offer to pay for her. Anything else, Mr. Smellie?"
"Weel then, Mr. Mercer," said Smellie, "see til't, see til't; for there will be determined opposition to you."
"I have had worse in my day, Mr. Smellie," drily replied the Sergeant, "and I'm no' feared. In the meantime Mary remains here, and I'm determined she'll never return to Mrs. Craigie--that's settled. An' if the Session kent the woman as I do, and maybe as ye do, they wad be thankfu', as I am, that Mary is wi' me and no' wi' her. Onything mair to complain o' in what ye ca' a freendly way?"
"Oh, naething, naething!" said Mr. Smellie, with pent-up annoyance, "except that the committee which the Session appointed--that's me and Mr. Menzies--to deal with you about this scandal--a most unpleasant business--mean to ca' upo' you this evening at six, if that hour will suit."
"As weel, or as ill, as ony other hour, Mr. Smellie," replied Adam, "for I dinna mean to be dealt wi', either by you or by Mr. Menzies."
"No' to be dealt with, Mr. Mercer! Do ye mean to say that ye won't even receive the committee?" he asked with amazement.
"That's jist exactly what I mean, Mr. Smellie!" replied Adam; "I don't mean to receive your committee, that's plain, and you may tak' a minute o't. If ye wish to ken why, ye had better speer at Mr. Porteous. But ye needna trouble yoursel' wi' me. What I have said I'll stan' to like a man; what I have promised I'll perform like a Christian; and what I canna do, I winna do! If ye need mair explanation, this maybe will suffice:--that I'll no' kill my bird for you, nor for the Session, nor yet for the minister, nor for the hail parish; and that ye may as well try tae kill me wi' blank cartridge, as try yer han' in persuading me to kill the starling. Sae, Mr. Smellie, as far as that business is concerned, ye may gang hame, and no wat yer shoon to come my gait ony mair."
"Sae be't, sae be't!" replied Smellie, with a cackle of a laugh, as much as to say, "I have him!" He then bowed and departed, walking silently like a cat along the street, but not purring. Yet he seemed to be feeling for something with the long hairs which projected from his whiskers like bristles.
Poor Adam! Now began such a week in his history as he never had experienced before. Oh! it was cold, dark, and dreary! He had to drink the cup of loneliness in the midst of his fellowmen--the bitterest cup which can be tasted by anyone who loves his brother. But all his suffering was kept within his own heart, and found "no relief in word, or sigh, or tear".
What a sinner he had become in the opinion of many of the respectable inhabitants of Drumsylie! What a double distilled spirit of evil!--far over proof, for noproofsare ever applied to such evil spirits. Drumsylie was all agog about him. He was as interesting as a shipwreck to a seaport town; as a great swindle to a stock exchange; or as a murder to a quiet neighbourhood! What had he done! What had he been guilty of! Some said, or at least heard that some one else had said, that he had insulted the minister and the Kirk Session; others, that he had secretly supported himself as a poacher; others that he had been heard to declare, that rather than kill the bird, he would, out of mere spite and obstinacy, give up the eldership, the Church, ay, even Christianity itself; others, that he had stolen a child from Mrs. Craigie, whom, though a woman, he, a soldier, had threatened to strike in his own house. He was a terror even to evil doers!
Most marvellous is this birth and upbringing of lies! Who lays the first egg? How does it multiply so rapidly? And how singular is the development of each of the many eggs--through all the stages of evil thoughts, suspicious hints, wonderingif'sandmaybe's, perversions, exaggerations, fibs, white lies--until it is fully hatched into out-and-out lies repeated with diligence, malice, and hate! We can give no account of this social phenomenon except the old one, of the devil being first the parent of the whole family, and his then distributing and boarding out each to trustworthy friends to be hatched and trained up in the way it should go in order to please him, its parent.
In Drumsylie, as in other towns, there were some who so indulged the self-pleasing habit of confessing and mourning over the sins and shortcomings of their neighbours, that they had little time or inclination to confess their own. Some of these confessors might be heard during this week in Adam's history lamenting:--"Oh! it's a dreadfu' place this! Eh! it's eneuch to keep ane sleepless to think o't! Whan a man like Adam Mercer, wi' a' his knowledge and profession, becomes a scoffer, and despises ordinances, and," &c. &c.
But it would be unjust to Drumsylie and the Sergeant to affirm that this state of public feeling had not very many marked exceptions. Some, chiefly among the poor, truly loved him and sympathized with him, and openly confessed this. Many protested, in private at least, against his treatment. But such is, alas! the moral cowardice, or maybe the thoughtlessness only, of even good men, that few expressed to Adam himself their goodwill towards him, or their confidence in his righteousness. It is indeed remarkable, in a free country of brave men, how very many there are who, before taking any decided part in questions which distract communities, small or great, attentively consider on which side the hangman is, or seems likely to be. The executioner's cord seen in the possession of this or that party has a wonderful influence on the number of its adherents. As far as appearances went, this sign of authority and power was supposed for the time being to be in the possession of the Rev. Daniel Porteous. And so the cautious and prudent consoled themselves by saying: "It is not our business", or "Least said soonest mended", or "Why quarrel with the minister?" or "Why displease my aunt, or my uncle, who are so bigoted and narrow?" or "Mr. Porteous and the majority of Session may be wrong, but that is their affair, not ours". Such were some of the characteristic sayings of the men who were doubtful as to the side which possessed Calcraft and his cord of office.
Mr. Smellie had communicated Adam Mercer's resolution to Mr. Menzies, and this had deterred him from attempting to follow in the track of expostulation with Adam, which it was evident would lead to nothing. Smellie had failed--who could succeed? Mr. Menzies ought to havetried. Some success by one good man in dealing with another good man, is certain.
The Session met on the next Sunday after Adam's quarrel with his minister, or rather of his minister with him. The court was, as usual, "constituted by prayer". But whether the spirit of prayer constitutes the spirit of every meeting opened by it, may, without offence, be questioned. It is unnecessary to condense the debates--for debates there were at this meeting. Adam, with a soldier's gentlemanly feeling, did not attend, lest it might be supposed that he wished to influence the court. Smellie, in spite of some opposing murmurs of dissent, ascribed his absence to "contumacious pride", and the minister did not contradict him.
Mr. Porteous addressed the court. He asked whether it was possible for them to stop proceedings in the case of Mr. Mercer without stultifying themselves? Had they not taken the very mildest and most judicious course, and considered both what was due to themselves and also to their erring brother? Yet they had not only failed to obtain the slightest concession from him, but he had gone so far as even to refuse to receive or confer with their own committee! The case was no doubt most distressing to them all, but, as far as he could see, it would bring well-merited ridicule on all Church discipline if they dropped it at this stage. To appoint another deputation would be disrespectful to the dignity of the court; and as for himself, he had done all he could since their last meeting to bring about an amicable settlement: for, on the previous Sabbath evening, he had had a private interview in the manse with Mr. Mercer, which had terminated, he grieved to say, in a most unsatisfactory manner.
Such was the general tenor of the minister's harangue. It was in vain that Mr. Gordon, backed by William Simpson, farmer, of Greenfield, and Andrew Grainger, watchmaker, argued against the minister--the latter declaring that the Session were putting back the hands of the clock, and falling behind time.
But all in vain! Adam, by the casting vote of the Moderator, was "suspended" from the eldership; that is, deprived for a time of his official position. Mr. Gordon and the two elders who supported him, vehemently protested against what they called the "tyrannical proceeding of the majority". Most fortunately for the cause of justice, the Rev. Daniel was not a bishop who could rule his parish presbyters as his own "principles", whims, or--pardon the irreverent insinuation--his indigestion, might dictate. There was a higher court, and there was the law of the land, higher than the court, to curb the minister's will, or as he always called it when in a passion--his conscience. The sentence of the Session might be, as was confidently anticipated, reversed by the Presbytery, though the district was notoriously narrow and prejudiced, and some of the clergy fancied that moving straws showed how the winds of heaven blew, when they were only stirred by their own breath.
When Adam returned on that Sunday afternoon from church, he fortunately did not know, though he more than suspected, what the decision of the Kirk Session had been. He knew certainly that his case must not only have come before the court, but must also, from its nature, have caused such a division of opinion as would make his position as an elder one of remark, of suspicion, and, to him, of personal pain. It was a temporary comfort, however, that he had no certain bad news to communicate to Katie, and that he could say, as he did with truth, "It wasna for me to be present, or to interfere. They have done their duty nae doot, an' I have done mine as far as I could."
When his humble Sunday meal was over, and before sunset, Adam went to visit one or two of the sick, infirm, or bedridden, who were on his list to attend to as an elder. Not until he was on his way to their homes did he realise the fact that, for the present at least, he was probably no longer an elder. But as he never had formed the habit of visiting the sick as a mere official, but had made his office only a better means, given him in God's providence, for gratifying his benevolent and Christian feelings, he went, as he was wont to do, with a peaceful spirit and loving heart. The poor and suffering whom he visited received him with their usual kindness and gratitude. Theyfeltthat Adam could not be a bad or false man; that in him was love--love in its meekness, calmness, self-possession, sympathy, and forgiveness of others. They could not, perhaps, explain the grounds of their perfect and unreserved confidence in him, yet they could not--it was impossible--entertain any doubts of his Christian character which could hinder their hearts from feeling what they in many cases expressed with their lips, that "Arealguid man is Adam Mercer! It's me that should say't, for he has been aye kind and guid to me. I'm no saying wha's richt or wrang; I ken this only, that I'll stan' by Adam! I wish we had mair like him!"
CHAPTER XI
THE OLD SOLDIER AND HIS YOUNG PUPIL ON SUNDAY EVENING
On his return home after these visits, he placed Mary on Charlie's chair, beside himself, resolving, although the other members of the class were still absent, that he would nevertheless teach Mary as their representative, as well as for her own sake. There had come into his possession one of those small books of guidance and instruction which many intellectual people--so called by men, but probably not so recognized by the angels, who minister even to children--affect to despise, just as they would despise any "still small voice" when compared with the loud storm, the brilliant fire, and the powerful, rock-moving earthquake. This book was but a number of texts wisely arranged by a bedridden Christian, for each day of the year, with one of special and deeper import for its Sabbaths. The text for this Lord's Day was--"They who know thy name will put their trust in thee"; and Adam said to Mary, when she had repeated it as the lesson for the day, "Do ye understan' what is meant, my dearie, by trusting God?"
"I'm no sure," she replied.
"But ye surely ken what it wad be to trustme, Mary?" continued the Sergeant.
Mary looked up and smiled. She made no reply, but was evidently puzzled by an attempt she was unconsciously making to understand the possibility of want of trust in the Sergeant. So, finding no response, he again asked, "Wad ye trust me, my wee woman?"
Mary seemed vexed, and said, "What wrang hae I dune? Ye telt me aye to ca' you faither; I canna help; sae ye maunna be angry, for I hae nae faither but you."
"Richt! verra richt!" said the Sergeant; "but, Mary dear, wad ye trust God as weel as me?"
"No!" said Mary, very decidedly.
"What for no'?" asked the Sergeant, kindly.
"I'm awfu' frichtened for him," said Mary.
"Why are ye frichtened forHim?" asked Adam.
Mary seemed to be counting the buttons on his coat.
"Tell me, bairn!" he continued.
"Because," said Mary, sorrowfully, yet encouraged by his tone, "Mrs. Craigie aye telt me He wad sen' me to the bad place; and when I got my fit burned she said that I wad be a' burnt thegither some day, as I was a bad lassie; and I'm sure I wasna' doing her ony ill to mak' her say that."
"God will never," remarked the Sergeant, reverently, "send ye to the bad place, unless ye gang yersel'."
"I'll never do that!" exclaimed Mary.
"I hope no', my lassie," said Adam, "for I wish you no' to be bad, but to be good; and to trust God is the way to be good. Noo tell me, Mary, why wad ye trust me?"
"Because--jist because," said Mary, looking up to his face, "ye're faither."
"Weel dune, Mary!" continued the Sergeant. "Noo tell me what's the beginning o' the Lord's Prayer?"
"Our Faither which art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy name. Thy----"
"That'll do, Mary," interrupted Adam. "But can ye tell me noo wha's yer Faither as weel as me?"
After a pause, Mary said, as if she had made a discovery, "Our Faither in heaven!"
"That's a clever woman!Faither!that's God'sName. And noo that ye ken his Name, ye maun trust Him faur mair than me: for He lo'es ye mair than I can do, and is aye wi' ye; and never will forsake ye, and can aye help ye; and He has said that when faither and mither forsake you, he will tak' ye up. That will He, my lassie!"
"But," said Mary, "my mither and faither, they tell me, dee'd wi' fever, but didna forsake me."
"That's true; but I mean, my bairn," said Adam, "that ye can never be an orphan lassie wi' God as yer Faither."
"But," said Mary, "for a' that, ye maun aye be my faither as weel. Oh! dinna sen' me back to Mrs. Craigie."
"Dinna fear, Mary," replied Adam; "but maybe I maun hae to leave you. God may tak' me awa', and tak' yer mither there awa' too; and then when ye're alane in the world, ye maun trust God."
"I'll no' trust Him," replied Mary; "if you and mither dees, I'll dee tae, and gang wi' ye." And she fairly broke down, and clung to him as if he was about to leave her.
The Sergeant took Mary on his knee. "Be cheerie, Mary--be cheerie!" he said. "If ye kent God, ye wad aye be cheerie, my lassie. Mrs. Craigie has frichted ye."
"Ay, awfu'!" said Mary.
The Sergeant felt as if Mary had not quite learned her lesson, and he continued:--"D'ye mind what I telt ye ae nicht aboot mithers bringing their bairns to Christ?--and hoo some folk that didna ken Him were for keeping them awa'?--and hoo Jesus was angry at them?--and hoo the bairns gaed till Him----"
"And did they no' squeel wi' fricht?" asked Mary.
"Did ye squeel, Mary," asked the Sergeant, with a smile, "when I took ye intomyarms?"
"No. What for should I?" replied Mary.
"Aweel, my lassie," argued Adam, "why do ye think that bairns like yersel' should be frichted to trust that same Jesus wha was Himsel' a bairn and kens a bairn's heart? He wad be unco sorry, Mary, if ye didna trust Him, when He dee'd, as ye ken, on the cross to save you and me and ilka body, and aye thinks aboot us and prays for us."
Mary sighed, and crept closer to the Sergeant.
Adam, taking her little hand in his, said, "Mind what I tell ye, my bairn. Learn ye to speak aye to God and tell Him yer heart in yer ain prayer, and never gang ony road He wadna like; and stick till Him as ye wad to me if we were gaun ower the muir thegither at nicht, or through a burn in a spate; and never, Mary, in the hour o' distress think that He doesna care for you or has forgotten you. For nae doot whan ye grow up to be big ye'll hae mony a distress, like ither folk, ye dinna ken aboot yet."
Mary turned her face to his bosom as if to sleep, but never was she less inclined to sleep.
The Sergeant added, with a sigh, "Think, my wee dearie, on what I tell ye noo, after I'm dead and gane."
Katie, seated on the opposite side of the fire, had been reading Boston'sCrook in the Lot. She seemed not to have heard a word of her husband's lesson; but her ears drank in the whole of it. The Sergeant had evidently forgotten her presence, so quiet was she, and so absorbed was he with Mary, who was to him a new life--his own child restored. But as Katie caught his last words, she put down her book, and looking almost in anger at her husband--could she have felt jealous of Mary?--said, "Tuts, Adam! what's the use o' pitting me and Mary aboot wi' discoorsin' in that way! It's really no' fair. I declare ane wad think that Andra Wilkie, the bederal, was diggin' yer grave! What pits deein' in yer head e'enoo? An' you an auld sodger! Be cheerie yersel', man!"
"I daursay ye're richt, gudewife," said Adam, with a smile, and rather a sheepish look, as if he had been caught playing the woman with an unmanly expression of his feelings and dim forebodings. "Gie Mary her piece," he added, "and sen' her to her bed. She has dune unco weel." He passed into the bedroom, closing the door while Katie was putting Mary to rest.
It was a peaceful night. He sat down near the small window of the bedroom, from which was a pleasant peep of trees, their underwood now hid in darkness, but their higher branches, with every leafy twig, mingling with the blue of the starry sky, partially illumined by a new moon. He had felt during these last days an increasing dulness of spirits. But this evening he had been comforting himself while comforting Mary; and remembering the lesson he had given her, he said to himself, "Blessed are all they who put their trust in Thee". And somehow there came into his mind pictures of the old war--times in which, amidst the trampling of armed men and words of command, the sudden rush to the charge or up the scaling-ladder, the roar and cries of combat, the volcano of shot and shell bursting and filling the heavens with flame and smoke and deadly missile, he had trusted God, and felt calm at his heart, like a child in the arms of a loving parent. These pictures flashed on him but for a second, yet they were sufficient to remind him of what God had ever been to him, and to strengthen his faith in what He would ever be.
CHAPTER XII
ADAM MERCER, SERGEANT, BUT NOT ELDER
Next morning the announcement of the Sergeant's suspension from the eldership was conveyed to him by an official document from Mr. Mackintosh, the Session clerk and parish schoolmaster;--a good, discreet man, who did his duty faithfully, loyally voted always with the minister from an earnest belief that it was right to do so, and who made it his endeavour as a member of society to meddle with nobody, in the good hope that nobody would meddle with him. Every man can find his own place in this wide world.
Katie heard the news, but, strange to say, was not so disconcerted as Adam anticipated. In proportion as difficulties gathered round her husband, she became more resolute, and more disposed to fight for him. She was like many women on their first voyage, who in calm weather are afraid of a slight breeze and the uneasy motion of the ship, yet who, when actual danger threatens, rise up in the power and dignity of their nature, and become the bravest of the brave--their very feeling and fancy, which shrank from danger while it was unseen, coming to their aid as angels of hope when danger alone is visible.
"Aweel, aweel," remarked Katie; "it's their ain loss, Adam, no' yours; ye hae naething to charge yersel' wi'."
But she would sometimes relapse into a meditative mood, as the more painful side of the case revealed itself. "Ay noo--ay--and they hae suspended ye?--that's hanged ye, as I suppose, like a dog or cat! Bonnie-like Session!--my word!--and for what? Because ye wadna kill the bird! Teuch! It micht pit a body daft tae think o't!" And so on.
But this did little good to Adam, who felt his character, his honour, at stake. Things were daily getting worse to bear. The news had spread over the town, "Adam Mercer has been rebuked and suspended by the Kirk Session!" From that moment he became a marked man. Old customers fell away from him; not that any openly declared that they would not employ him as a shoemaker merely because the minister and Kirk Session were opposed to him:--Oh no! Not a hint was given of that, or anything approaching to it; but, somehow, new shoes seemed to have gone out of fashion in Drumsylie.
The cold unfeeling snowball increased as it rolled along the street in which Adam lived, until it blocked up his door, so that he could hardly get out. If he did go, it was to be subjected to constant annoyance. The boys and girls of the lowest class in his neighbourhood, influenced by all they heard discussed and asserted in their respective homes, where reserve was not the characteristic of the inmates, were wont to gather round his window, and to peer into the interior with an eager gaze, as if anxious to discover some fitting fuel to enlighten their domestic hearths at night. It was as impossible to seize them as to catch a flock of sparrows settled down upon a seed plot in a garden. When the Sergeant therefore ventured to go abroad, the nickname of "The Starling" was shouted after him by the boys, who adopted all the various modes of concealing their ringleaders which evidence such singular dexterity and cunning. The result was that Adam was compelled, as we have said, to keep within doors. He thus began to feel as if he was alone in the world. Everyone seemed changed. Those on whom he had hitherto relied failed him. He or the world was worse than he had ever imagined either to be, and it was little comfort to him to know which of the two was wrong.
The Sergeant, however, enjoyed much inward peace though little happiness. For how different is peace from happiness! Happiness is the result of harmony between our wants as creatures and the world without: peace is the harmony between us as spiritual beings and the Father of our spirits. The one is as changeable as the objects or circumstances on which it for the moment relies; the other is as unchangeable as the God on whom it eternally rests. We may thus possess at once real happiness and real peace; yet either may exist without the other. Nay more, happiness may be destroyed by God in order that the higher blessing of peace may be possessed; but never will He take away peace to give happiness! Happiness without peace is temporal, but peace along with happiness is eternal.
Adam, as we have said, enjoyed little happiness in the conflict in which he was engaged, but he was kept in "perfect peace".
When another Sunday came round, the old sense of duty induced him to go, as usual, to church. His absence might be supposed to indicate that he feared the face of man, because fearing the face of God. Katie accompanied him. Her courage rose to the occasion. Let not the reader who, moving in a larger sphere of life, has learned to measure his annoyances by a larger standard, smile at these simple souls, or think it an exaggeration thus to picture their burden as having been so heavy.
Adam and Katie walked along the street, knowing all the time that they did so under the gaze of the cold and criticising eyes of some who were disposed to say to them, "Stand back, I am holier than thou!" Yet more persons than they themselves were aware of felt towards them kindness, pity, and respect, mingled with very opposite feelings to those of the minister and the members of Kirk Session who had made so much ado about so small an affair. Others forgot the sympathy due to a suffering, good man, apart from its immediate cause. Many of his worthy friends said afterwards that they "did not think of it!" Alas! thisnotthinking is often the worst form of thought.
Adam and Katie passed Smellie, as he stood at "the plate", without the slightest recognition on either side. They occupied their accustomed seat, but sat alone. Those who ordinarily filled the pew suffered from cold or conscience, and so were either absent or seated elsewhere. One may guess what sort of sermon Mr. Porteous preached from the text, "Beware of evil doers". The personal reference to the Sergeant was like a theme pervading his overture; or as an idea not so much directly expressed as indirectly insinuated from first to last. The argument was a huge soap-bubble of what he called "principle" blown from his pipe until he could blow no longer, and which when fully developed he contemplated with admiration, as if it were a glorious globe of thought that must necessarily be heavenly because reflecting to his eyes the colours of the rainbow. His picture of the danger of the times in which he lived was very vivid, and his hopes of any improvement very small. The history of society seemed but a record of degeneracy since the first century of the Christian era. But whoever proved a traitor, he himself, he said, would still earnestly contend for the faith once delivered to the saints; andhistrumpet, at least, should never give an uncertain sound; andhewould hold fast the form of sound words:--and so on he went until his forty-five minutes were ended.
That the preacher was perfectly sincere, no one could doubt. He was no coward, or make-believe, but was thoroughly convinced. He would at any time have given up his "all" for his "principles", and given his body even to be burned for them without fear--yet possibly "without charity".
We do not condemn Mr. Porteous's "principles". They were, most of them, what might be called Christian truisms, which no one believing in the supreme authority of the Bible, far less any parish minister, could dispute. But the practical application of his principles by the minister on certain occasions, as on this one, might be questioned. He might also have considered whether there were not many other Bible and Christian principles of wider import and deeper spiritual meaning, than those he contended for, and gave such prominence to, not excluding but including his special favourites, which he required to know before he could really understand or truly apply those even which he so tenaciously held and so frequently expounded. Half truths are untruths. A man who always tried to stand on his head might be as well without one.
Adam accepted the heavy fire from the pulpit with calm submission. He knew that very many in the congregation while listening to the minister were looking at himself; but, knowing also how much depends in every battle on the steadiness and self-possession of the non-commissioned officers, he looked the enemy in the face and never winced. Katie seemed inspired by his example--so far, at least, that she neither fled nor fainted; and though not daring to gaze on the foe, she braved his charge as if kneeling in the rear rank, with a calm countenance, but with eyes cast down to the ground.
Poor Katie! What would Waterloo have been to her in comparison with that day's mental battle in the kirk! The one was an honourable conflict; but this was reckoned by those whom she respected as one of dishonour. In the one was danger of wounds and of death; but in this were deeper wounds, and danger possibly beyond the grave! How often did the form of her old "faither" come before her--though she thought it strange that he did not seem to frown. But she never communicated her fears or feelings to her husband. "He has eneuch to carry wi'oot me," she said.
As they left the church, more than one person took an opportunity of addressing the Sergeant, and, to the credit of all, not one uttered an unkindly word. Some shook him warmly by the hand, but said nothing. Others added, "God bless ye! Dinna heed, Mr. Mercer. It'll come a' richt yet." Mr. Gordon and one or two of the elders were marked in their kindness. It would not have conduced to the comfort of the minister, though it might have made him doubt how far his people really sympathised with him or his "principles", had he heard some of the remarks made after the sermon by the more intelligent and independent of his congregation. But his ignorance was to him a kind of bliss; and whatever tended or threatened to disturb his self-satisfaction would have been recognised by him as folly, not wisdom.
Adam could not shut his ears, but he could hold his tongue; and he did so.
The worthy couple walked home in silence, and arm-in-arm too! for the first time probably in their lives. Mary, whom we forgot to mention, followed them in new shoes, a new bonnet, a new shawl, with her Bible wrapped up in a clean pocket-handkerchief. As they entered their home, the starling received them with quite a flutter of excitement. Shaking his feathers, hopping violently about his cage, or thrusting his bill, as if for a kiss, between the bars, he welcomed Mary, as she approached him with some food, and made the room ring with various declarations as to his being Charlie's bairn, his hopes of being yet a king, and his belief in genuine manhood.
"I think," quoth the Sergeant, "he is ane o' the happiest and maist contented bit craturs in the parish."
Mary, as if feeling that it was right to say something good on Sunday, archly put in, "I mind what ye telt me aboot the bird."
"What was't, my bairn?" asked Adam.
"It was aboot the fowls--I dinna mind a' the verse, but a bit o't was, 'Are not ye better than the fowls?'"
"Thank ye for the comfort, Mary dear," said Adam, gravely.
From some common instinct of their hearts, Mr. Porteous's sermon was not spoken of. Was it because Mary was present? or only because Katie was so anxious to see the cheese well toasted for their tea? or because----yet why go on conjecturing! But at evening worship, which closed the day, Adam, as usual, prayed for his minister, and for God's blessing on the preached word; and he prayed to be delivered from evil-doing, and from fretting at evil-doers, and to be enabled to put his trust in God and do good. Katie on rising from her knees did what she never did before--kissed her husband, saying, "God bless you, my best o' men!"
"Gae awa', gae awa'!" said the Sergeant; "ye want to gaur me greet like yersel', do ye? But na, lass, I'm ower auld a sodger for that!" With all his boasting, however, he was very nearly betrayed into the weakness which he professed to despise. But he seemed greatly pleased with his good wife's kindness, and he added, "Bless you, my braw leddy, a' the same. And," in a whisper, "ye needna let on to Mary that I'm fashed. It micht vex the lassie."