Chapter 5

"The Oa'll rear up on its hind legs when it hears," whispered Wee Andra with a broad grin. "There's no flies on him, though, I can tell you. I do like to see a minister actin' like a human being!"

Donald made no reply. He had been brought up under Duncan Polite's influence and was not quite prepared to agree with his friend.

Supper was announced at this moment. Jessie and Bella had slipped away some time before to assist in its preparation, for as soon as the minister had left the dining room Mrs. Hamilton had proceeded to bring up all her culinary triumphs of the morning and spread them out in magnificent array. Eliza Cotton, who assisted the girls to lay the table, gave up exclaiming at last, and resolved she would make Mrs. Fraser just green with envy telling her about it. For, of course, if one didn't do one's best at a visit from the minister, what possible combination of circumstances could call it forth?

The young man for whom the feast had been prepared was properly amazed as he took his seat at the long table, crowded with glass and gaily decorated with china and huge bouquets of tulips, and loaded with cakes and pies and tarts and jellies and cold meats and great heaps of snowy bread and great cups of creamy tea.

The schoolmaster sat next him and gave him his ideas upon the practicability of the Canadian Pacific Railway, and Mrs. Hamilton on the other side heaped his plate at short intervals, without stopping to ask permission. There was a great deal of noise and laughter at the other end of the table, for Maggie and Wee Andra and Sandy Neil were there. The guest did not fail to notice that Jessie was quieter than her sisters; her big eyes had a thoughtful expression. He caught himself wondering, more than once, what sort of girl she was; surely a person with a face like that could not be anything but perfect.

Mr. Hamilton sat at the head of the table, beaming good-nature all round, though he said very little except "Aye, oh aye," in a reflective tone. But, during a lull in the lively conversation at the other end of the table, he leaned over towards the minister with a question, "An' what are ye, Mr. Egerton? Of course, we all ken ye're part Highland Scotch, but not all, Ah hope."

The whole tableful was silent now and every eye was turned towards the young man addressed. The question was one of great importance. John Egerton laughed. "Oh, don't be alarmed," he said gaily, "I have plenty of Lowland blood, too, Mr. Hamilton; the Highland Scotch is only the McAlpine side. The Egertons are English, though."

Mr. Hamilton looked doubtful. "Oh aye," he said. "They never taught you the Gaelic, though. Man, the Oa folk would a' been pleased if ye could speak it."

The young man raised his eyebrows with a comical affectation of despair.

"Don't I wish I could!" he exclaimed. "But I'm not so ignorant as they think. I know more than ten words of Gaelic. You fellows from the Oa remember to tell that!"

There was a hearty laugh round the table. "By Jove, I will tell it," said Donald Neil, when the conversation had become general again, "I'll tell Catchach!"

"Tell him what?" inquired Wee Andra.

"That the minister speaks Gaelic."

A shriek of laughter from those who heard greeted this announcement, and Wee Andra thumped his chum upon the back in the exuberance of his delight.

"Great head, Don!" he roared. "Catchach'll swallow him with joy before he has time to deny it."

"Don Neil," cried Jessie, "you surely wouldn't play a trick on a minister!"

"It would be fearful wicked," put in Sandy piously.

"He'll never know," laughed Donald. "We'll let Catchach foam a while and then bring him down to earth before he does any damage."

"Well, a minister should be considered above such things," said Sarah loftily.

"Not this minister," said Don with conviction, "he's able to take care of himself. Eh, Andra?"

"You bet. There's nothin' o' the old hearse about him. He's jist like the rest of us. It'll be a howlin' circus--" and he chuckled prodigiously.

"If you boys are up to any mischief about the minister," warned Bella, "I'll tell your father. Andra--Hish!"

For the minister had arisen and was returning thanks for the food of which they had partaken. The noise was hushed and every head instantly lowered.

The company broke up with the unanimous verdict that they had had a grand time and that the new minister was beyond praise. The young man walked up the hill with Flora McNabb in an equal state of satisfaction. He had the pleasant assurance that his young flock liked him and he felt sure he was going to be very happy in Glenoro. He wondered laughingly what his fastidious Helen would say could she have seen him playing "Blind Man's Buff" with Miss Duffy. He wrote her a very laughable account of the affair before he retired, and went to bed to dream that he and she lived in the little manse by the bend in the river.

So the evening which Duncan Polite had prayed over so fervently came to an end and, as the young shepherd of the flock slept peacefully in his comfortable home in the valley, well pleased with himself and the world, the old Watchman lay awake in his little shanty on the hilltop, hoping and praying that the young servant of the Master had dropped some words that would lead Donald and the young people of the Glen into a higher and nobler life.

V

A PASTORAL VISITATION

No sooner was he settled in Glenoro than the young pastor commenced a thorough and systematic course of visiting. He found it very slow work, however, in spite of his activity. Each family of his flock vied with the other in lavishing upon him its hospitality. He was detained for nearly a day at each place, and dinners, teas and lunches, so many and so elaborate, were forced upon him that he was divided between the fear of giving offence by refusing to partake and the dread of becoming a chronic dyspeptic.

His earliest visits, he felt, should be paid to the homes of his elders, so, a few days after the lively evening spent at the Hamiltons', he took his slim cane and went up over the northern wall of Glenoro to pay his respects to old Andrew Johnstone. A somewhat difficult task he knew it would be, for he had already been warned by Mrs. McNabb that Splinterin' Andra was a dour old man. But he felt no apprehensions; his sunny smile and his charming manner had often swept away greater obstacles than this old fellow's crustiness. So he strode along in high spirits, flicking the tops off the wayside weeds, whistling a gay operatic air and incidentally wondering whether her eyes were blue or grey.

When he climbed the northern hill of Glenoro and came out upon the broad, sun-flooded highlands, he found that the country sloped gently upwards, rising in great sweeping terraces of green pastureland and fields of early grain, until it reached its highest altitude on the shores of Lake Oro. Andrew Johnstone lived on the borderland between the highlands and the lowlands; his house, a substantial red brick, surrounded by orchards, stood on the edge of one of the wide terraces and commanded a view of the country for miles around. Every step of the way was a pleasure to the newcomer; the sky was dazzling and unclouded, the air was intoxicating with the scent of clover, and the tinkling music of the bobolinks sounded as though all the fairies on the Oro hills were setting out their tiny cups and saucers for a banquet.

He was strolling along, revelling in the beauty of the perfect day and in the sight of the rich slopes of farm lands coming down towards him like a magnificent staircase, when his attention was attracted by a figure on the road ahead approaching with remarkable haste. It proved to be a man, somewhat past middle age; he was of medium height and had a fiery red beard which flew back from his face and accentuated the general air of desperate hurry in his whole appearance.

His face was even redder than his beard, and his wild blue eyes blazed out in fierce contrast. An old Scotch bonnet sat upon the side of his head and a faded tartan plaid flying from his shoulders gave the finishing touches to his fantastic appearance. This rather alarming person was bearing down upon the young minister and he drew off to the side of the road and grasped his stick more firmly. John Egerton did not lack courage any more than his grandfather had done, but he felt it would be scarcely ministerial to have a fight on the public highway the first week of his pastorate. He had not been long enough in Glenoro to recognise the fiery Highlander who kept the Oa in a ferment and who went by the weird name of Catchach. Allister McBeth he really was, but, with their usual avoidance of baptismal names, the neighbours had given him a more descriptive title. He had earned it himself, for he was named after the strange guttural sound which he was in the habit of making deep in his throat, whenever his anger was roused. This was a contingency which arose on an average once an hour and which, when in the company of any mischief-loving youth of the village, became Catchach's chronic state.

His pride was so fierce, and his temper so inflammable, that he was an unfailing source of merriment, especially to the Neil boys and their friends. There was not a kinder or tenderer heart in all the Ontario Highlands than poor Catchach's, but he was always in the throes of a feud with someone, for he loved a fight and might be said never to be at peace except when he was at war.

It was this militant gentleman who was descending upon the unsuspecting young clergyman, setting the stones and dust flying in his haste. But there was no sign of war about him now, only a beaming peace and goodwill. His eyes were shining, his mouth was expanded in a terrible smile, displaying two rows of long, irregular, yellow teeth and his big red hands were outstretched in greeting. He shouted when he was some half-dozen yards distant, "They tell me you will pe hafing the Gaelic!"

"I--I am not quite sure that I understand you," said the grandson of John McAlpine, coming to a standstill and wishing with all his heart that his cane was not so slim.

"My name will pe McBess, Allister McBess!" cried the rubicund personage, grasping a rather unwilling hand and shaking it wildly, "Allister McBess, oh yes, inteet, an' they will pe telling me you will pe a real Hielanman, though how coult a Hielanman pe hafing such a name as Egerton, it is a missery to me, whatefer!"

There was no mistaking the good feeling in Catchach's beaming countenance. John Egerton smiled and shook his hand in return. "I am afraid there is a slight mistake," he answered cordially, "I can't boast of being altogether Highland Scotch, and who has been telling you I could speak Gaelic?" He pronounced it Galic and a change came over Catchach's face.

"Tonal Neil, Tonal Neil, whatefer; he will pe saying the new minister will pe Hielan' an' will pe hafing the beautiful Gaelic!"

The look of good-natured indulgence died from John Egerton's face at the mention of Donald's name. The young man with the easy air of equality had been taking liberties! "I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr. McBess," he said stiffly, making the fatal error of failing to detect McBeth in Catchach's lisp, "I am neither Highland Scotch nor can I speak the Gaelic."

Catchach let go his coat; a quiver of mortal disappointment passed over his face.

"And whoever has told you such falsehoods," continued the young man with some heat, "is an untruthful mischiefmaker!"

Catchach's fiery countenance became rigid. He stepped back and stared so wildly at the minister that the young man hastened to add for his own personal safety, "But I have much Highland blood, you know, and plenty of Lowland Scotch, too."

Alas! how little he knew of the spirit of the McBeth! "A Lowlander!" It was all Catchach could utter, but the tone in which he said it showed plainly that if Mr. Egerton had confessed to being a full-blood native of the South Sea Islands it would have been infinitely better. "A Lowlander!" repeated the Highlander with withering scorn, "Tonal Neil, Tonal Neil will pe saying she would haf the Gaelic----" The rest was lost to the ears of the despised Lowlander in a wild outpouring of Gaelic as Catchach turned and went raging down the road to wreak vengeance on the author of his disappointment.

The young minister continued on his way in great annoyance. Under any other circumstances the humour of the situation would have appealed to him, but the name of Donald Neil had driven away all the fun. In spite of his free and easy manner, John Egerton was intensely sensitive about his dignity as a minister, and to find himself the victim of a practical joke at the hands of the most influential young man of his congregation was anything but pleasant.

Had he seen the huge figure of young Andrew Johnstone disentangle itself from the raspberry bushes by the roadside and steal quietly along the edge of the field to where his idle team was standing, he would have been still more incensed; and had he chanced to look back when he reached the hilltop and noticed the same young man leaning weakly against his horses and wiping the tears from his eyes, he would have felt like administering a sound thrashing to at least two of the young people of his congregation.

He arrived at the Johnstone household at a time when he was particularly welcome to his host. Old Andrew had spent the early part of the afternoon arguing with his son upon certain hard points of doctrine. That a youth of Wee Andra's professions should presume to give any sort of an opinion whatever upon the Shorter Catechism was, in his father's eyes, nothing short of impious. But, as the young man was of that class that rush in where angels fear to tread, he had given his views on predestination without any hesitancy and had gone off to the field leaving his father in a very bad humour. Wee Andra himself was particularly happy, for he took an unfilial delight in troubling his paternal relative. At heart he was respectful and dutiful and if any one had dared to breathe a word against his father in his presence, Splinterin' Andra's son would soon have shown himself worthy of his sire's appellation; nevertheless, partly from love of fun and partly through a good-natured stupidity, he proved a veritable thorn in the flesh to his unhappy father. So old Andrew was looking forward to the visit of his pastor with the hope that his example and admonition would have a steadying effect upon his frivolous son. Like Duncan Polite, the elder looked upon the young minister as the deliverer of the people of Glenoro church from the spirit of worldliness which he felt characterised them. So, when his daughter came to summon him to the house to put on a coat and collar, as the minister had been sighted on the road not half a mile away, he hurried in with great alacrity to greet his visitor.

Tea at Elder Johnstone's was no light ceremony under any circumstances. His was not a place where people went for relaxation and jollity, except on the rare occasions when the old folks were away and Wee Andra held sway. The young minister, anxious to please and be friendly, felt from the moment he opened the gate and went up the path, where neat beds of onions and cabbages encroached upon the very doorstep, that it was going to be something of an ordeal.

His opinion did not alter when he found himself seated at the well-laden table in the big spotless dining room. He could not help contrasting the stiff formality with the ease and gaiety of the Hamilton household. Old Andrew sat, stern and dignified, at the head of the table. Ordinarily he was talkative, but on this evening he restrained himself, for a gentleman of the old school did not consider it good manners to talk too much in the presence of so superior a person as the minister. At the other end of the table Mrs. Johnstone, red-faced and anxious, bustled nervously with the new china cups and saucers. Beside the minister sat Janet, the only daughter, a fair, shy girl of sixteen, afraid to look up, and the son of the house sat opposite in his shirtsleeves responding to Mr. Egerton's friendly advances with monosyllabic answers, a puzzling contrast to his uproarious geniality at their former meetings. Of course, John Egerton could not guess that the young man was holding down his laughter by superhuman efforts and could not afford to waste any strength upon conversation.

There was a very depressing atmosphere over the whole table, but the visitor had plenty of tact to overcome it. He put Mrs. Johnstone at her ease by a cautiously worded compliment upon the repast, for he had learned that a true Scotch woman must ever be approached warily with flattery. He set Janet into a flutter of happiness by relating to her a humourous account of some of his sister's attempts at housekeeping, an art in which Janet was well versed, and he soon had her laughing at the city girl's mistakes with quite a feeling of superiority. Wee Andra was more difficult,--horses, foot-ball, farm work, music, he rose to none of these baits. But he came to life in a most surprising manner when, in dilating upon the beauties of Glenoro scenery, the minister happened to mention the enjoyment he had experienced in his afternoon walk up the green slopes.

This seemed to be the one topic in which the son of the house was interested. He looked up suddenly and remarked, "Awful quiet road; s'pose you didn't meet anybody?"

"Yes, I did meet a man," responded the other readily, glad at having made an impression at last, "a man named McBess or some such name."

"McBeth it would be," said old Andrew, "Allister McBeth,--Catchach they call him. He's a danderin' bit o' a firebrand."

"Were you speakin' to him?" Wee Andra shot out the question and took refuge in a huge gulp of tea. John Egerton glanced across the table quickly. He was beginning to suspect that Donald Neil's chum had had a hand in this childish affair, but he was too wise to show any annoyance.

"I didn't get a chance to say much to him," he said, laughing good naturedly; "he did the talking. He seemed to have become possessed of the idea that I was past-master of the art of Gaelic, and when I confessed my culpable ignorance of the language, he flew into a rage. He seemed to lay the blame upon your friend, young McDonald." He looked steadily at Wee Andra as he spoke.

Old Andrew shot a suspicious glance at his son; that young man's face was an innocent blank which did not deceive his parent.

"Aye," he grunted, "it's quite likely he was to blame. Yon Neil lads are aye up to some ill. Ye hae a hard set o' young people to deal wi' in this place, Maister Egerton, an' Ah houp the Lord'll gie ye grace to wrastle wi' them!"

Mr. Egerton looked uncomfortable. He saw quite plainly that, though the Elder was addressing him, he was talking at his son, and tried to turn the conversation. But old Andrew felt that here was an opportunity to warn the new minister of the difficulties and dangers which beset him, an opportunity no honourable man could let pass, so he launched forth. He was perfectly innocent of any double meaning in his words, but as he railed away against the lightness and giddiness of the rising generation, the young minister felt his indignation rising. Did this old man mean to point out to him the proper line of conduct? If so, he would soon let him see that John McAlpine Egerton would be dictated to by no man of his congregation, no more than would his grandfather before him! But Splinterin' Andra sailed on and when he had finished he had given the young pastor a dark and most discouraging picture of the youth of his flock.

"Aye, sir," he concluded, "they're jist given over to lichtness an' foolish talkin'. It's the blue beech gad they want; they didna get enough o't when they were bairns. Ah'm pleased that ye're come among them to show them a proper way o' conductin' themsels!"

Wee Andra cast a humorous glance at the uncomfortable visitor. He had his own opinion as to whether his pastor was a model of staid and sober conduct and was, in consequence, enjoying his father's tirade hugely.

John Egerton was very much relieved when the meal was ended, but the feeling was of short duration, for when they repaired to the parlour matters grew steadily worse. The appearance of the room with its black haircloth furniture, its bristling white lace curtains, its coffin-plate of a former Mrs. Johnstone in a black frame on the centre table, its smooth white walls adorned with strange and wonderfully constructed hair and feather wreaths in huge frames, and over all the close, damp odour, made a combination which was anything but cheerful.

The family followed him into the parlour and seated themselves stiffly around the walls. Kirsty McDuff, the servant girl, and Jimmie Bailey, the chore boy, entered also a few minutes later. The young minister noticed, with something of the sensations of a felon going to his execution, that each person held a Bible and Psalm Book, distributed solemnly by Mrs. Johnstone as they entered, and that Janet and the Bailey boy were further provided with catechisms. He glanced at the daughter of the house and pictured himself sitting before the whole household inquiring after her spiritual welfare. The comical side of it struck him and almost upset his gravity.

But there was very little food for mirth in the task before him. He had no idea of what a pastoral visitation meant to the Johnstones. Of course, he had heard very often of the strange old ways of his grandfather's time, but considered them as belonging to the dim past. But Glenoro had not quite emerged from the ancient ways. In the good old days, so lately gone, when Mr. Cameron had visited the members of his congregation, a pastoral visitation was not merely a social function, but a solemn religious ceremony. The minister might discuss with the heads of the family such light matters as the crops or the weather before or during tea; but afterwards, when the family gathered in the best room with their pastor in the midst, temporal affairs were put aside and there was a season of deep heart-searching. There were the Catechism and Scripture verses to be heard from the younger members of the family and personal questions to be asked. The minister must know just what progress each one was making on the upward road. There were virtues to commend and mistakes to rebuke. Then, after the reading of a chapter from the Book and the singing of a psalm, there were a few deep, earnest words from the pastor, words which steadied many a careless youth and instilled into the hearts of the children the knowledge that God and Right are the only factors to be reckoned with in this world. The ceremony was concluded with a long and fervent prayer by the minister, as old and young knelt around the family altar, a prayer which included a distinct comprehensive petition for each member of the family and one from which they all arose strengthened and bettered and ready for the battle against wrong.

Still more solemn had been the visitations of John Egerton's grandfather. That grand old apostle lived in the hard, rough days, and his coming was often looked forward to with dread. His scorching rebuke of sin, his powerful personality and his complete consecration combined to make his visits a sort of foreshadowing of the great judgment day.