Part 13
“Noo, gin ye be writin' Chairlie, will ye slip in a pund juist as a bit reminder o' his sister, an' the ither fower 'ill help tae py the Muirtown debt.
“Dinna think a'm scrimpin' masel or daein' onything mean. Aifter a've spent sax pund a year on claithes and little trokes, and three on ma kirk, a 'll hae aucht ower for the debt.
“When the laist penny's paid o' Chairlie's debt a 'll buy the best black silk in London for ye; an' gin a'm spared tae come hame tae the summer Sacrament, we 'ill gang thegither tae the table.”
“Twa silly weemen,” said Mary to herself, “for he's juist a ne'er-dae-weel... an' yet, gin he cam in noo, a' wud gie him the claithes aff ma back, an' sae wud Lily. For the look in his een an' the soon' o' his voice.”
II.--HOW SHE CAME HOME
When Jamie Soutar dropped into the smithy-one spring evening with an impracticable padlock, and mentioned casually that he was going to London next day, the assembled neighbours lost power of speech.
“Did ye say London, Jamie?” Hillocks was understood to have shown great presence of mind in unparalleled circumstances; “an' are ye in yir senses?”
“As sune as ye recover yir strength, smith,” said Jamie, taking no notice of fatuous questions, “a 'll be obleeged gin ye wud turn the key in this lock. It's a wee dour tae manage; a' hevna used ma bag sin a' gaed tae the saut water saxteen year past.”
“Did ye ever hear the like?” and the smith looked round the circle for support, refusing to treat Jamie's demand as an ordinary matter of business.
“What are ye glowerin' at me for as if a' wes a fairlie?” and Jamie affected anger; “hes a Drumtochty man no as muckle richt tae see the metropolis o' the country as ither fouk, gin he can pay his fare up an' doon?
“A've been wantin' tae see the Tooer o' London, whar mony a lord hes pairted wi' his heid, an' Westminster Abbey, whar the michty dead are lyin', an' the Hooses o' Parliament, whar they haver a hale nicht through, an' the streets, whar the soond o' feet never ceases.
“The fact is,” and Jamie tasted the situation to the full, “a 'm anxious tae improve ma mind, an' gin ye speak me fair a 'll maybe gie the Glen a lecture in the schulehoose in the winter time wi' a magic-lantern, ye ken.”
The neighbours regarded him with horror, and, after he had departed, united their wisdom to solve the mystery.
“Jamie's by himsel in the Glen,” summed up Hillocks, “an' hes a wy o' his ain. Ma thocht is that he juist took a notion o' seein' London, an' noo that we 've contered (opposed) him, Jamie 'ill go, gin it cost him ten notes.”
On his way home Jamie gave Mary Robertson a cry, who was sitting very lonesome and sad-like before her door.
“Hoo are ye, Mary? the smell o' spring's in the air, an' the buds are burstin' bonnie. Ye 'ill no hae heard that a 'm aff tae London the morrow, juist for a ploy, ye ken, tae see the wonders.”
As Mary only stared at him, Jamie offered explanations in atonement for his foolishness.
“Ye see a 've aye hed an ambeetion tae see the big warld that lies ootside oor bit Glen, for its far awa' soon' hes been often in ma ear. A 've savit a note or twa, an' a 'll get a glimpse afore a' dee.”
“It's a Providence, an' naethin' less than an answer tae prayer,” broke in Mary, in great agitation; “here hev I been murnin' that a' cudna get tae London masel, an' that a' kent naebody there, till ma heart wes weary in ma breist.
“Naethin' is sairer, Jamie, than tae ken that ane ye luve is lyin' ill amang strangers, wi' naebody o' her bluid tae speak a couthy word tae her, puir lassie, or gie her a drink. A' wes juist seein' her lyin' alane at the top of the big hoose, an' wushin' she wes wi 's a' in the Glen.”
“Posty said something aboot Lily bein' a wee sober,” Jamie remarked, with much composure, as if the matter had just come into his memory; “an' noo a' mind ye expeckit her hame for a holiday laist August. She wudna be wantin' tae traivel sae far north, a'm jalousin'.”
“Traivel!” cried Mary; “naebody cares for a long road gin it brings us hame; an' Lily wes coontin' she would come up wi' the Drumtochty fouk on the first Friday o' laist August. A' wes cleanin' up the place for a month tae hae 't snod, but she didna come, an' a'm fearin' she 'ill no be here again; a' hed a feelin' frae the beginnin' a' wud never see Lily again.
“Her letter cam on a Thursday afternoon when I was beginnin' tae air the sheets for her bed, an' when Posty gave it, I got a turn.
“Lily's no comin,' sit doon,” a' sed.
“Scarlet fever broke oot amang the bairns in the family, an' she thocht it her duty tae stay and help, for the hoose wes fu' o' nurses, an' the cairryin' wes by ordinar.”
“It wes a sacrifice,” said Jamie. “Lily never eneuch cared for hersel; the wark wud tell on her a 'll warrant.”
“Ma opeenion is that she's never got the better o' that month, an, Jamie, a' hevna likit her letters a' winter. It 's little she says aboot hersel, but she 's hed a hoast (cough) for sax months, an' a' gither her breath 's failin'.
“Jamie, a' hevna said it tae a livin' soul, but a 've hed a warnin' no langer back than laist nicht. Lily's deein', an' it wes London 'at hes killed her.
“Ye 'ill gae tae see her, Jamie; ye aye were a gude friend tae Lily, an' she likit ye weel. Write hoo she is, an' bring her back wi' you gin she can traivel, that a' may see her again, if it be the Lord's wull.”
“Dinna be feared o' that, Mary; a'll no come back withoot Lily,” and Jamie's air of resolution was some consolation.
Before he left, Jamie visited a sheltered nook in Tochty woods, and when he inquired for Lily Grant next day at the door of a London West-End house, there was a bunch of fresh primroses in his hand.
“Disna live here noo, did ye say? then what hae ye dune wi' Lily? a' maun get tae the boddom o' this,” and Jamie passed into the hall, the majestic personage at the door having no strength left to resist.
“Tell yir mistress this meenut that a freend hes come frae Drumtochty tae ask news of Lily Grant, an' wull wait till he gets them,” and Jamie's personality was so irresistible that the personage counselled an immediate audience.
“Grant's father, I suppose?” began Lily's mistress, with suspicious fluency. “No? Ah, then, some relative, no doubt? how good of you to call, and so convenient, too, for I wanted to see some of her family. She was an excellent servant, and so nice in the house; the others were quite devoted to her. But I never thought her strong. Don't you think London is trying to country-girls?”
Jamie did not offer any opinion.
“One of the children caught that horrid scarlet fever, and in the beginning of August, of all times, when we were going down to Scotland. Some of the servants had left, and the child had to be nursed here; there was lots of work, and it fell on Grant.
“She was going at that very time to her home--Drum something or other; or was it Ben?--it's always the one or the other when it isn't Mac.”
“Drumtochty is the name o' Lily's hame, an' her auld grandmither wes lookin' for her aifter three years' service.”
“Quite so; and that 's just what I said to her. 'Take your holiday, Grant, and we'll worry on somehow,' but she wouldn't go. We thought it so pretty of her, for servants are generally so selfish; and she really did wonderfully, as much as three women, do you know?”
“If it wudna hurry ye, wud ye tell me her address in London?”
“Of course; I 'm coming to that, but I felt you would like to hear all about her, for we had a great idea of Grant. It was a cold it began with, and one day I heard her coughing, and told her she must positively see a doctor; but Grant was very obstinate at times, and she never went.”
“It's possible that she didna ken ane. An' what cam o' her cough?”
“It was too dreadful, and they ought not to have taken me to the room. I could not sleep all night. Grant had broken a blood-vessel, and they thought she was dying.”
“Is Lily deid?” demanded Jamie.
“Oh no; how could you fancy such a thing? But our doctor said it was a very bad case, and that she could not live above a week. We were desolated to part with her, but of course she could not remain,--I mean, we knew she would receive more attention in a hospital. So you understand----”
“A' dae,” broke in Jamie, “fine; Lily workit for you an' yir bairns in a time o' need till a' the strength she brocht wi' her wes gane, an' then, when she wes like tae dee, ye turned her oot as ye wudna hae dune wi' ane o' yir horses. Ye 've a graund hoose an' cairry a high heid, but ye 've a puir, meeserable cratur, no worthy to be compared wi' the lass ye hev dune tae deith.”
“You have no right----” but Jamie's eyes went through her and she fell away; “she can--have her wages for--two months.”
“No one penny o' yir siller wull she touch beyond her lawful due; gie me the name o' the hospital, an' a 'll tak care o' oor puir lass ma-sel.”
When Jamie was told at the hospital that Lily had been taken away again in the ambulance next day to the house of the visiting physician, his wrath had no restraint.
“Is there nae place in this ceety whar a freendless lassie can rest till she gaes tae her laist hame?” and Jamie set off for the physician, refusing to hear any explanation.
“Hev a' an appointment wi' Sir Andra? Yes, a' hev, an' for this verra meenut.” So again he got access, for the virile strength that was in him.
“We have done all we could for her, but she has only a day to live,” said Sir Andrew, a little man, with the manner of a great heart; “she will be glad to see you, for the lassie has been wearying for a sight of some kent face.”
“Ye 're Scotch,” said Jamie, as they went upstairs, softening and beginning to suspect that he might be mistaken about things for once in his life; “hoo did ye bring Lily tae yir ain hoose?”
“Never mind that just now,” said Sir Andrew. “Wait till I prepare Lily for your coming,” and Jamie owned the sudden tone of authority.'
“One of your old friends has come to see you, Lily”--Jamie noted how gentle and caressing was the voice--“but you must not speak above a whisper nor excite yourself. Just step into the next room, nurse.”
“Jamie,” and a flush of joy came over the pale, thin face, that he would hardly have recognised, “this is gude... o' ye... tae come sae far,... a' wes wantin'... tae see a Drumtochty face afore a'-” Then the tears choked her words.
“Ou ay,” began Jamie with deliberation. “You see a' wes up lookin' aifter some o' Drumsheugh's fat cattle that he sent aff tae the London market, so of course a' cudna be here withoot giein' ye a cry.
“It wes a ploy tae find ye, just like hide-an'-seek, but, ma certes, ye hev got a fine hame at laist,” and Jamie appraised the dainty bed, the soft carpet, the little table with ice and fruit and flowers, at their untold value of kindness.
“Div ye no ken, Jamie, that a'm----” But Lily still found the words hard to say at three-and-twenty.
“Ye mean that ye hevna been takin' care o' yirsel, an' a' can see that masel,” but he was looking everywhere except at Lily, who was waiting to catch his eye. “Ye 'ill need to gither yir strength again an' come back wi' me tae Drumtochty.
“Ye ken whar thae floors grew, Lily,” and
Jamie hastily produced his primroses; “a' thocht ye micht like a sicht o' them.”
“Doon ablow the Lodge in the Tochty woods.... whar the river taks a turn... an' the sun is shinin' bonnie noo... an' a birk stands abune the bank an' dips intae the water.”
“The verra place, a couthy corner whar the first primroses coom oot. Ye hevna forgot the auld Glen, Lily. Dinna greet, lassie, or Sir An-dra 'ill be angry. Ye may be sure he 'ill dae a' he can for ye.”
“He hes, Jamie, an' mair than a' can tell; a' wud like Grannie an'... the fouk tae ken hoo a 'ave been treated... as if a' wes a leddy, an' his ain blude.
“When they laid me in the bed at the hospital, an' a' githered that... it wudna be lang, an' awfu' longin' cam intae ma hert... for a quiet place tae... dee in.
“It was a graund airy room, an' everybody wes kind, an' a' hed a'thing ye cud wish for, but... it gied against ma nature tae... wi' a' thae strangers in the room; oor hooses are wee, but they 're oor ain.”
Jamie nodded; he appreciated the horror of dying in a public place.
“Sir Andra cam roond and heard the accoont, an' he saw me greetin'--a' cudna help it, Jamie,--an' he read ma name at the tap o' the bed.
“'You 're from my country,' he said, but he didna need tae tell me, for a' caught the soond in his voice, an' ma hert warmed; 'don't be cast down, Lily;' a' coontit it kind tae use ma name; 'we 'ill do all we can for you.'
“'A' ken a'm deein',' a' said, 'an' a'm no feared, but a' canna thole the thocht o' slippin' awa in a hospital; it wud hae been different at hame.'
“'Ye 'ill no want a hame here, Lily;' it wes braid Scotch noo, an' it never soonded sae sweet; “an', Jamie”--here the whisper was so low, Jamie had to bend his head--“a' saw the tears in his een.”
“Rest a wee, Lily; a 'm followin'; sae he took ye tae his ain hoose an' pit ye in the best room, an' they've waitit on ye as if ye were his ain dochter;... ye dinna need tae speak; a' wudna say but Sir Andra micht be a Christian o' the auld kind, a' mean, 'I was a stranger, and ye took Me in.'”
“Jamie,” whispered Lily, before he left, “there's juist ae thing hurtin' me a wee; it's the wy ma mistress... hes treated me. A' tried tae be faithfu', though maybe a' didna answer the bells sae quick the laist sax months,... an' a' thocht she micht... hae peetied a lone cratur mair.
“It's no that a' hev ony cause o' complaint aboot wages or keep--a' wes twice raised, Jamie, an' hed a'thing a' needed, an' a'm no hurt aboot bein' cairried tae the hospital, for there were five stairs tae ma room, an'... it wudna hae been handy tae wait on me.
“Na, na, Jamie, a'm no onreasonable, but... a' houpit she wud hae come tae see me or... sent a bit word; gin a body's sober (weak) like me, ye like tae be remembered; it... minds you o' the luve o' God, Jamie,” and Lily turned her face away. “A' wes prayin' tae see a Drumtochty face aince mair, an' a've gotten that, an' gin ma mistress hed juist said,... “Ye've dune as weel as ye cud,... a' wudna ask mair.”
“Ye hae't then, Lily,” said Jamie, takingan instant resolution, “for a've been tae see yir mistress, an' a' wes fair... ashamed the wy she spoke aboot ye, being Drumtochty masel, an' no' wantin' tae show pride.
“As sure 's a'm here, she cudna find words for her thochts o' ye; it wes naethin' but yir faithfulness an' yir gude wark, hoo a'body liket ye an' hoo gratefu' she wes to you. A' wes that affeckit that a' hed tae leave.
“What wud ye say, wumman, gin yon graund lady hes been twice a-day at the hospital speirin' for you, kerridge an' a', mind ye; but ye ken they 're terrible busy in thae places, an' canna aye get time tae cairry the messages.
“But that's no a',” for the glow on Lily's face was kindling Jamie's inspiration, and he saw no use for economy in a good work. “What think ye o' this for a luck-penny? twenty pund exact, an' a' in goud; it looks bonnie glintin' in the licht,” and Jamie emptied on the table the store of sovereigns he had brought from Muirtown bank, without shame.
“The mistress surely never sent that... tae me?” Lily whispered.
“Maybe a' pickit it up on the street; they think awa in the country the verra streets are goud here. 'Give her this from us all,' were her verra words,” said Jamie, whose conscience had abandoned the unequal struggle with his heart. “'Tell her that she's to get whatever she likes with it, and to go down to her home for a long holiday.'”
“Did ye thank her, Jamie? Nae man hes a better tongue.”
“Ma tongue never servit me better; sall, ye wud hae been astonished gin ye hed herd me,” with the emphasis of one who stood at last on the rock of truth.
“A'm rael content noo,” Lily said, “but a' canna speak mair, an' a've something tae say that 'ill no keep till the morn.” and Jamie promised to return that evening.
Jamie waited in the hall till the last of the famous physician's patients had gone; then he went in and said:
“When a' entered this hoose ma hert wes sair, for a' thocht a defenceless lassie hed been ill-used in her straits, an' noo a' wud like to apologeese for ma hot words. Ye've dune a gude work the day that's no for the like o' me to speak aboot, but it 'ill hae its reward frae the Father o' the fatherless.”
“Toots, man, what nonsense is this you 're talking?” said Sir Andrew; “you don't understand the situation. The fact is, I wanted to study Lily's case, and it was handier to have her in my house. Just medical selfishness, you know.”
“A' micht hae thocht o' that,” and the intelligence in Jamie's eye was so sympathetic that Sir Andrew quailed before it. “We hev a doctor in oor pairish that's yir verra marra (equal), aye practeesin' on the sick fouk, and for lookin' aifter himsel he passes belief.”
“Juist Weelum Maclure ower again,” Jamie meditated, as he went along the street. “London or Drumtochty, great physeecian or puir country doctor, there's no ane o' them tae mend anither for doonricht gudeness. There's naebody 'ill hae a chance wi' them at the latter end; an' for leein' tae, a' believe Sir Andra wud beat Weelum himsel.”
When Jamie returned, Lily had arranged her store of gold in little heaps, and began at once to give directions.
“Ye maun py ma debts first, ye ken, Jamie; a' cudna... leave, thinkin' thpit a' wes awin' a penny tae onybody. Grannie aye brocht us up tae live sae that we cud look a'body in the face, and exceptin' Chairlie....
“Twal shilling tae the shoemaker, an honest, well-daein' man; mony a time he's telt me aboot John Wesley: and a pund tae the dressmaker; it's no a' for masel; there wes anither Scotch lassie,... but that disna maitter. Cud ye pay thae accounts the nicht, for the dressmaker 'ill be needin' her money?... It wes ma tribble hindered me;... a' started ae day, an' the catch in ma side,... a' hed tae come back.
“Noo there 's ma kirk, an' we maunna forget it, for a 've been rael happy there; ma sittin' wes due the beginnin' o' the month, and a' aye gied ten shillings tae the missions; an', Jamie, they were speakin' o' presentin' the minister wi' some bit token o' respect aifter bein' twenty-five years here. Pit me doon for a pund--no ma name, ye ken; that wud be forward; juist... 'A gratefu' servant lass.'
“Ye 'ill get some bonnie hankerchief or siclike for the nurse; it wudna dae tae offer her siller; an' dinna forget the hoosemaid, for she's hed a sair trachle wi' me. As for Sir Andra,... naething can py him.
“Here's five pund, and ye 'ill gie't tae Grannie; she kens wha it's for; it 'ill juist feenish the debt...
“Ye can haud yir tongue, Jamie. Wull ye write a line tae Chairlie, an' say... that a' wes thinkin' o' him at the end, an' expectin' him tae be a credit tae his fouk... some day; an', Jamie, gin he ever come back in his richt mind tae the Glen, ye 'ill... no be hard on him like ye wes laist time?”
“Chairlie 'ill no want a freend gin a' be leevin', Lily; is that a'? for ye 're tirin' yersel.”
“There's ae thing mair, but a'm dootin' it's no richt o' me tae waste Grannie's siller on't, for a' wantit tae leave her somethin' wiselike;... but, O Jamie, a've taken a longin'... tae lie in Drumtochty kirkyaird wi' ma mither an' Grannie.
“A' ken it's a notion, but a' dinna like thae cemetairies wi' their gravel roadies, an' their big monuments, an' the croods o' careless fouk, an' the hooses pressin' on them frae every side.”
“A' promised Mary,” broke in Jamie, “that a' wud bring ye hame, an a 'll keep ma word, Lily; gin it be God's wull tae tak yir soul tae Himsel, yir body 'ill be laid wi' yir ain fouk,” and Jamie left hurriedly.
Next morning Sir Andrew and the minister were standing by Lily's bedside, and only looked at him when he joined them.
“Jamie,... thank ye a',... ower gude tae... a servant lass,... tell them... at hame.”
Each man bade her good-bye, and the minister said certain words which shall not be written.
“Thae... weary stairs,” and she breathed heavily for a time; then, with a sigh of relief, “A'm comin'.”
“Lily has reached the... landing,” said Sir Andrew, and as they went downstairs no man would have looked at his neighbour's face for a ransom.
“A' wrote that verra nicht tae Drumsheugh,” Jamie explained to our guard between the Junction and Kildrummie; “an a 'm no sure but he 'ill be doon himsel wi' a neebur or twa juist tae gie Lily a respectable funeral, for she hes nae man o' her bluide tae come.
“Div ye see onything, Peter?” Jamie was in a fever of anxiety; “the Kildrummie hearse stands heich, an' it sud be there, besides the mourners.”
“Kildrummie platform's black,” cried Peter from the footboard; “the 'ill be twal gin there be a man; ye stick by ane anither weel up the wy; it's no often a servant is brocht hame for beerial; a' dinna mind a case sin the line opened.”
While they went through Kildrummie, Jamie walked alone behind the hearse as chief mourner, with a jealously regulated space of five feet between him and the neighbours; but as soon as the pine woods had swallowed up the procession, he dropped behind, and was once more approachable.
“Ye 've had a time o 't,” said Hillocks, treating Jamie as an ordinary man again; “wha wud hae thocht this wes tae be the end o' yir London jaunt? Sall!” and Hillocks felt himself unable to grapple with the situation.
“This is juist naethin',” with vague allusion to the arrival by railway and the Kildrummie hearse; “no worth mentionin' wi' the beginnin' o' the beerial at the ither end,” and Jamie chose Whinnie's box, out of three offered, to brace him for descriptive narrative.
“Ye maun understand,” began Jamie, knowing that he had at least four miles before it would be necessary for him to resume his position of solitary dignity, “that as sune as Lily turned ill she was taken tae the hoose o' a great London doctor, an' Sir Andra waited on her himsel; there 's maybe no' anither o' his patients withoot a title; a' herd him speak o' a Duchess ae day.
“When it wes a' over, puir lassie, if they didna fecht tae py for the beerial. The minister threipit wi' me that he hed a fund at his kirk for sic objects, a sonsy man wi' a face that pit ye in mind o' hame to look at it, but a' saw through his fund; it 's fearsome hoo Scotch folk 'ill lee tae cover gude deeds.”
“Div ye think he wud hae py'd it oot o' his ain pocket?” interrupted Hillocks.
“'Na, na,' at' said tae the minister,' for Hillocks was beneath notice, 'ye maun lat her mistress bear the beerial '--twenty pund, as a'm on this road, she gied; 'a faithfu' servant, she 's tae want for nothing;' it wes handsome, an' 'ill be maist comfortin' tae Mary.
“Ye saw the coffin for yersels,” and Jamie now gave himself to details; “the London hearse hed gless sides and twa horses, then a mourning-coach wi' the minister an' me; but that's the least o 't. What think ye cam next?”
“Some o' the neeburs walkin' maybe,” suggested Whinnie.
“Walkin',” repeated Jamie, with much bitterness, as of one who despaired of Drumtochty, and saw no use in wasting his breath; “juist so: ye 've hed mair rain here than in England.”
“Never mind Whinnie, Jamie,” intervened Drumsheugh; “we maun hae the rest o' the funeral; wes there another coach?”
“What wud ye say,” and Jamie spoke with much solemnity, “tae a private kerridge, an' mair than ane? Ay, ye may look.” allowing himself some freedom of recollection. “Sir Andra's wes next tae the coach, wi' the blinds drawn doon, and aifter it an elder's frae her kirk. He heard o' Lily through the minister, an' naething wud sateesfy him but tae dae her sic honour as he cud.
“Gaein' roond the corners o' the streets--a' cudna help it, neeburs--a' juist took a glisk oot at the window, an' when a' saw the banker's horses wi' the silver harness, a' wushed ye hed been there; sic respect tae a Drumtochty lass.