Part 14

“Ye saw the lilies on the coffin,” wound up Jamie, doing his best to maintain a chastened tone. “Did ye catch the writin'--

' _In remembrance of Lily Grant,

Who did her duty._'

Sir Andra's ain hand; an' Lily got nae mair than her due.”

When Jamie parted with Drumsheugh on the way home, and turned down the road to Mary's cottage, to give her the lilies and a full account of her lassie, Drumsheugh watched him till he disappeared.

“Thirty pund wes what he drew frae the Muirtown bank oot o' his savings, for the clerk telt me himsel, and naebody jalouses the trick. It 's the cleverest thing Jamie ever did, an' ane o' the best a've seen in Drumtochty.”

Drumtochty had a legitimate curiosity regarding the history of any new tenant, and Hillocks was invaluable on such occasion, being able to collect a complete biography during a casual conversation on the state of markets. No details of family or business were left out in the end, but there was an unwritten law of precedence, and Hillocks himself would not have condescended on the rent till he had satisfied himself as to the incomer's religion. Church connection was universal and unalterable in the Glen. When Lachlan Campbell had his argument with Carmichael, he still sat in his place in the Free Kirk, and although Peter Macintosh absented himself for a month from the Parish Kirk over the pew question, he was careful to explain to the doctor that he had not forgotten himself so far as to become a renegade.

“Na, na, a'm no coming back,” Peter had said after the doctor had done his best, “till ye 're dune wi' that stove, an' ye needna prig (plead) wi' me ony langer. What is the gude o' being a Presbyterian gin ye canna object? but a 'll give ye this sateesfaction, that though fa' dinna darken the kirk door for the lave o' ma life, a 'll no gang ony ither place.”

An immigrant was the only change in our church circles, and the kirkyard waited for the news of Milton's creed with appreciable interest.

“Weel, Hillocks?” inquired Drumsheugh, considering it unnecessary in the circumstances to define his question.

“Ou aye,” for Hillocks accepted his responsibility, “a' gied Tammas Bisset a cry laist Friday, him 'at hes the grocer's shop in the Sooth Street an' a' the news o' Muirtown, juist tae hear the price o' butter, and a' happened tae licht on Milton an' tae say he wud be an addee-tion tae oor kirk.”

“Did ye though?” cried Whinnie, in admiration of Hillocks's opening move; “that wes rael cannie, but hoo did ye ken?”

“'Gin he be a help tae Drumtochty Kirk,' says Tammas”--Hillocks never turned out of his way for Whinnie--“'it 's mair than he wes tae the Auld Kirk here in twenty year.'”

“The Free Kirk 'ill be pleased then,” broke in Whinnie, who was incorrigible; “they 'ill mak him a deacon: they're terrible for the Sustentation Fund.”

“'It's no lost, Tammas, that a freend gets,' says I,” continued Hillocks, “'an' we 'ill no grudge him tae the Free Kirk; na, na, we're no sae veecious that wy in the Glen as ye are in Muirtown. Ilka man sud hae his ain principle and py his debts.

“' He coonted the Free Kirk waur than the auld here, an' a'm thinkin' he's ower pleased wi' himself tae change up by; he 'ill show ye some new fashions, a'm judgin',' says Tammas.” And Hillocks ceased, that the fathers might face the prospect of a new religion.

“It 's no chancy,” observed Whinnie, collecting their mind.

“There wes a man doon Dunleith wy in ma father's time,” began Drumsheugh, ransacking ancient history for parallels, “'at wud hae naethin' tae dae wi' kirks. He preached himsel in the kitchen, an' bapteezed his faimily in the mill dam. They ca'd him a dookie (Baptist), but a 've heard there's mair than ae kind; what wud he be, Jamie?”

“Parteeklar Baptist,” replied that oracle; “he buried his wife in the stackyaird, an' opened vials for a year; gin Milton be o' that persuasion, it 'ill be a variety in the Glen; it 'ill keep's frae wearyin'.”

“The Dunleith man aye paid twenty shillings in the pund, at ony rate,” Drumsheugh wound up, “an' his word wi' a horse wes a warranty: a' dinna like orra releegions masel, but the 'll aye be some camsteary (unmanageable) craturs in the warld,” and the kirkyard tried to be hopeful.

Milton's first visit to the kirk was disappointing, and stretched Drumtochty's courtesy near unto the breaking. Hillocks, indeed, read Milton's future career in his conduct that day, and indulged in mournful prophecies at the smiddy next evening.

“Ye're richt eneuch, smith; that's juist what he did, an' a' took his measure that meenut. When he telt Drumsheugh that it wes nae time tae be speakin' o' hairst at the kirk door, an' offered us a bookie each, a' saw there wes somethin' far wrang wi' him. As sure as a'm stannin' here, he 'ill be a tribble in the pairish.

“The Milton seat is afore oors, an' a' saw a' he did, frae the beginnin' o' the sermon tae the end, an' a' tell ye his conduct wes scandalous. Ae meenut he wud shak his head at the doctor, as if he kent better than the verra minister; the next he wud be fleein' through his Bible aifter a text. He wes never at peace, naither sittin' nor standin'; he's juist an etter-cap. There's nae peace whar yon man is, a 'll warrant; a' never closed an ee laist Sabbath.”

It was into Jamie's hands Milton fell when he reviewed the sermon on the way home, and expressed his suspicion of ministers who selected texts on subjects like Mercy and Justice.

“We aye get that sermon aboot the latter end o' hairst, Milton, an' it's pop'lar; the fouk hae a great notion o' a gude life up here, an' they 're ill tae change. A'm no sayin' but ye 're richt, though, an' it 'ill be a help tae hae yir creeticism.

“Drumtochty is clean infatuat aboot the doctor, an' canna see onything wrang in him. He's been a' his days in the Glen, an' though he's no sae stirrin' as he micht be, the mischief o't is that he aye lives a' he preaches, an' the stupid bodies canna see the want.

“As for texts, the doctor 's nae doot aggravatin'; there's times a've wanted tae hae the Sermon on the Mount torn oot o' the Bible an' gude bits o' the Prophets; he's aye flingin' them in oor faces. Milton, a' tell ye,” and Jamie stood still on the road to give solemnity to his description of Doctor Davidson's defects, “if there's a moral text atween the boords o' the Bible, he 'ill hae a haud o 't.”

“A'm rael pleased tae hear sic soond views, Mister--”

“Soutar is ma name--Jamie maist commonly.”

“Soutar,” and Milton might be excused falling into the snare, “ye ken the difference atween a show o' warks an' the root o' the maitter. A' wes astonished at yir elder; when a' pointed oot the defects in the sermon, he said, 'Gin we dae a' the doctor telt us, we 'ill no be far wrang;' ye micht as weel be a heathen.'

“Drumsheugh is nae standard,” Jamie explained; “he's sae begottit (taken up) wi' the commandments that a'm feared o' him. He's clever at a bargain, but gin he thocht he hed cheatit onybody, Drumsheugh wudna sleep; it 's clean legalism.

“Ye micht try the Free Kirk, Milton; they 've a new man, an' he 's warmer than the doctor; he 's fund oot anither Isaiah, an' he's sae learned that he 'ill maybe hae twa Robbie Burns' yet; but that 's naither here nor there; he's young an' fu' o' speerit; gie him a trial,” Jamie discovered with much interest that Milton had been examining the Free Church, and had expressed his strong dissatisfaction, some said because of grossly erroneous doctrine, others because Carmichael had refused to allow him to preach. Doctrine was the ground he alleged to Jamie, who looked in to see how he had got settled and what he thought of things.

“A' peety this Glen,” he said, with solemnity; “ae place it 's cauld morality, an' the ither it's fause teaching. Div ye ken what a' heard wi' ma ain ears laist Sabbath frae Maister Carmichael?”

Jamie was understood to declare his conviction that a man who was not satisfied with one Isaiah might be capable of anything.

“Ye ken verra weel,” for Milton believed Jamie a kindred spirit at this stage, “that we 're a' here on probation, and that few are chosen, juist a handfu' here and there; no on accoont o' ony excellence in oorsels, so we maunna boast.”

“Verra comfortin' for the handfu',” murmured Jamie, his eyes fixed on the roof.

“Weel, gin yon young man didna declare in sae mony words that we were a' God's bairns, an' that He wes gaein' tae dae the best He cud wi' every ane o's. What think ye o' that?--nae difference atween the elect an' the ithers, nae preeveleges nor advantages; it's against baith scriptur an' reason.”

“He wes maybe mixin' up the Almichty wi' his ain father,” suggested Jamie; “a 've heard ignorant fouk say that a' the differ is that the Almichty is no waur than oor ain father, but oot o' a' sicht kinder. But whar wud ye be gin ye allooed the like o' that? half o' the doctrines wud hae tae be reformed,” and Jamie departed, full of condolence with Milton.

It was not wonderful after these trying experiences that Milton became a separatist, and edified himself and his household in his kitchen.

Perhaps the Glen might also be excused on their part for taking a somewhat severe view of this schismatic proceeding and being greatly stirred by a sermon of the doctor's--prepared especially for the occasion--in which the sin of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram was powerfully expounded, and Milton's corn room described as a “Plymouthistic hut.”

“Ma certes,” said Hillocks to Jamie on the way home, “the doctor's roosed. Yon wes an awfu' name he cam oot wi'; it's no verra cannie tae hae onything tae dae wi' thae preachin', paitterin' craturs.”

“There wes a sough through the pairish, Hillocks, that ye were ower by sittin' in the cauf-hoose (chaff-house) yersel laist week, an' that ye were extraordinar' ta'en up wi' Milton. Elspeth Macfadyen wes threipin' (insisting) that you an' Milton were thinkin' o' starting a new kirk. Miltonites wud be a graund name; a' dinna think it 's been used yet.”

“Elspeth's tongue's nae scannel.” Hillocks's curiosity had led him astray, and he was now much ashamed. “A' juist lookit in ae forenicht tae see what kin o' collie-shangie Milton wes cairryin' on, an' a' wes fair disgustit. He ran the hale time frae Daniel tae the Revelations, an' it wes a' aboot beasts frae beginnin' tae end. A rammelin' idiot, nae-thin' else,” and Hillocks offered up Milton as a sacrifice to the indignation of the Glen.

Shortly afterwards Hillocks began to make dark allusions that excited a distinct interest, and invested his conversation with a piquant flavour.

“It wes an ill day when his lordship lat yon man intae the pairish,” and he shook his head with an air of gloomy mystery. “A' wush a' saw him oot o 't withoot mischief. Oor fouk hev been weel brocht up, an' they 're no what ye wud ca' simple, but there s nae sayin'; weemen are easily carried.”

“Ay, ay,” said Jamie encouragingly.

“A'm telt,” continued Hillocks, “that the wratches are that cunnin' an' plausible they wud wile a bird aff a tree; they got intae a pairish in the Carse, and afore the year wes oot gin they didna whup aff three servant lassies tae Ameriky.”

“Div ye mean tae say that Milton...” and the fathers noticed how Jamie was guiding Hillocks to his point.

“Ye've said the word, Jamie, an' it's a gey like business for Drumtochty,” and it was known in twenty-four hours up as far as Glen Urtach that Hillocks had hunted Milton's religion to earth, and found him out to be a Morman.

This was considered one of Jamie's most successful efforts, and the Glen derived so much pure delight from the very sight of Milton for some weeks that he might have become popular had it not been for an amazing combination of qualities.

“His tracts are irritatin', an' no what we've been accustomed tae in Drumtochty”--Drums-heugh was giving judgment in the kirkyard--“but a' cud thole them. What a' canna pit up wi' is his whinin' an' leein'. A' never heard as muckle aboot conscience an' never saw sae little o't in this pairish.”

It was a tribute in its way to Milton that he alone of all men aroused the dislike of the kindest of parishes, so that men fled from before his face. Hillocks, who was never happy unless he had two extra on his dogcart, and unto that end only drew the line at tramps, would pass with a bare compliment on board, and drop the scantiest salutation.

“Hoo are ye the day, Milton? a' doot it's threatenin' a shoor.”

Drumsheugh had been known to disappear into a potato field at Milton's approach, under pretence of examining the tubers, while Bumbrae, who was incarnate charity, and prejudiced in favour of anything calling itself religion, abandoned this “professor” in regretful silence. Drumtochty was careful not to seat themselves in the third until Milton had taken his place, when they chose another compartment, until at last Peter used to put in this superior man with Kildrummie to avoid delay. It was long before Milton realised that Drumtochty did not consider his company a privilege, and then he was much lifted, seeing clearly the working of conscience in a benighted district.

“Milton hes been giein' oot in Muirtown that he's thankfu' he wes sent tae Drumtochty,” Jamie announced one Sabbath, with chastened delight, “an' that his example wes affectin' us already. 'They daurna face me in the verra train,' says he tae Tammas Bisset; 'it's the first time yon fouk ever came across a speeritual man. They're beginnin' tae revile, an' we ken what that means; a' never thocht a' wud hae the honour of persecution for righteousness' sake.' That 's his ain mind on't, an' it's a comfort tae think that Milton's contented.”

“A've kent anc or twa fair leears in ma time,” reflected Hillocks, “but for a bare-face--”

“Persecuted is a lairge word,” broke in Drumsheugh, “ay, an' a graund tae, an' no fit for Milton's mooth. Gin he named it tae me, a'd teach him anither story. A foumart (pole cat) micht as weel speak o' persecution when he's hunted aff the hillside.

“Na, na,” and Drumsheugh set himself to state the case once for all, “we 've oor faults maybe in Drumtochty,” going as far by way of concession as could be expected, “but we 're no juist born fules; we 've as muckle sense as the chuckies, 'at ken the differ atween corn an' chaff wi' a luke.”

Jamie indicated by a nod that Drumsheugh was on the track.

“Noo there's ane o' oor neeburs,” proceeding to illustration, “'at lectures against drink frae ae new year tae anither. He's a true man, an' he luves the Glen, an' naebody 'ill say an ill word o' Airchie Moncur--no in this kirk-yaird at ony rate.”

“A fine bit craiturie,” interjected Hillocks, whom Archie had often besought in vain to take the pledge for example's sake, being an elder.

“Weel,” resumed Drumsheugh, “there's anither neebur, an' a 'm telt that his prayer is little ahint the minister's at the Free Kirk meetin's, and a' believe it, for a gude life is bund tae yield a good prayer. Is there a man here that wudna be gled tae stand wi' Burnbrae in the Jidgment?”

“A'm intendin' tae keep as close as a' can masel,” said Jamie, and there was a general feeling that it would be a wise line.

“It's no Milton's preachin' Drumtochty disna like, but his leein', an' that Drumtochty canna abide. Nae man,” summed up Drumsheugh, “hes ony richt tae speak aboot re-leegion ye canna trust in the market.”

So it came to pass that Milton counted Drumtochty as an outcast place, because they did not speak about the affairs of the life to come, and Drumtochty would have nothing to do with Milton, because he was not straight in the affairs of the life which now is. Milton might have gone down to the grave condemning and condemned had it not been for his sore sickness, which brought him to the dust of death, and afforded Drumsheugh the opportunity for his most beneficent achievement.

“They think he may come roond wi' care,” reported Drumsheugh, “but he 'ill be wakely for twa month, an' he'ill never be the same man again; it's been a terrible whup.” But the kirkyard, for the first time in such circumstances, was not sympathetic.

“It's a mercy he's no been taken awa,” responded Hillocks, after a distinct pause, “an' it 'ill maybe be a warnin' tae him; he's no been unco freendly sin he cam intae the Glen, either wi' his tongue or his hands.”

“A'm no sayin' he hes, Hillocks, but it's no a time tae cuist up a man's fauts when he's in tribble, an' it's no the wy we've hed in Drumtochty. Milton's no fit tae meddle wi' ony-body noo, nor, for that maitter, tae manage his ain business. There's no mair than twa, acre seen the ploo; a'm dootin' the 'll be a puir sowin' time next spring at Milton.”

“Gin he hedna been sic a creetical an' ill-tongued body the Glen wud sune hae cleared up his stubble; div ye mind when Netherton lost his horses wi' the glanders, an' we jined an' did his plooin'? it wes a wise-like day's wark.”

“Yir hert's in the richt place,” said Drums-heugh, ignoring qualifications; “we'll haud a plooin' match at Milton, an' gie the cratur a helpin' hand. A'm willin' tae stand ae prize, an' Burnbrae 'ill no be behind; a' wudna say but Hillocks himsel micht come oot wi' a five shillin' bit.”

They helped Milton out of bed next Thursday, and he sat in silence at a gable window that commanded the bare fields. Twenty ploughs were cutting the stubble into brown ridges, and the crows followed the men as they guided the shares with stiff resisting body, while Drumsheugh could be seen going from field to field with authority.

“What's this for?” inquired Milton at length; “naebody askit them, an'... them an' me hevna been pack (friendly) thae laist twa years.”

“It's a love-darg,” said his wife, “because ye've been sober (ill), they juist want to show kindness, bein' oor neeburs. Drumsheugh, a' hear, set it agaein', but there's no a fairmer in the Glen hesna a hand in't wi' horses or sic-like.”

Milton made no remark, but he was thinking, and an hour before midday he called for his wife.

“It's rael gude o' them, an', wumman, it's mair than... a' wud hae dune for them. An', Eesie,... gither a'thing thegither ye can get, and gie the men a richt dinner, and bid Jeemes see that every horse hes a feed o' corn... a full ane; dinna spare onything the day.”

It was a point of honour on such occasions that food for man and beast should be brought with them, so that there be no charge on their neighbour, but Drumsheugh was none the less impressed by Milton's generous intentions. When he told Hillocks, who was acting as his aide-de-camp, that worthy exclaimed, “Michty,” and both Drumsheugh and Hillocks realised that a work of grace had begun in Milton.

He refused to lie down till the men and horses went out again to work, and indeed one could not see in its own way a more heartening sight. Pair by pair our best horses passed, each with their own ploughman, and in a certain order, beginning with Saunders, Drumsheugh's foreman, full of majesty at the head of the parish, and concluding with the pair of hardy little beasts that worked the uplands of Bogleigh. A fortnight had been spent on preparation, till every scrap of brass on the high-peaked collars and bridles glittered in the sunlight, and the coats of the horses were soft and shiny. The tramp of the horses' feet and the rattle of the plough chains rang out in the cold November air, which had just that touch of frost which makes the ground crisp for the ploughshare. The men upon the horses were the pick of the Glen for strength, and carried themselves with the air of those who had come to do a work. Drumsheugh was judge, and Saunders being therefore disqualified, the first prize went to young Burnbrae, the second to Netherton's man, and the third to Tammas Mitchell--who got seven and sixpence from Hillocks, and bought a shawl for Annie next Friday. Drumsheugh declared it was rig for rig the cleanest, quickest, straightest work he had seen in Drumtochty, and when the ploughs ceased there was not a yard of oat stubble left on Milton.

After the last horse had left and the farm was quiet again--no sign of the day save the squares of fresh brown earth--Drumsheugh went in alone--he had never before crossed the door--to inquire for Milton and carry the goodwill of the Glen. Milton had prided himself on his fluency, and had often amazed religious meetings, but now there was nothing audible but “gratefu'” and “humbled,” and Drumsheugh set himself to relieve the situation.

“Dinna mak sae muckle o 't man, as if we hed worked yir fairm for a year an' savit ye frae beggary. We kent ye didna need oor help, but we juist wantit tae be neeburly an' gie ye a lift tae health.

“A'body is pleased ye 're on the mend, and there's no ane o 's that wudna be prood tae dae ony troke for ye till ye 're able tae manage for yersel; a 'll come roond masel aince a week an gie a look ower the place.” Milton said not one word as Drumsheugh rose to go, but the grip of the white hand that shot out from below the bed-clothes was not unworthy of Drumtochty.

“Ye said, Hillocks, that Milton wes a graund speaker,” said Drumsheugh next Sabbath, “an' a' wes expectin' somethin' by ordinar on Thursday nicht, but he hedna sax words, an' ilka ane wes separate frae the ither. A 'm judgin' that it's easy tae speak frae the lips, but the words come slow and sair frae the hert, an' Milton hes a hert; there's nae doot o' that noo.”

On the first Sabbath of the year the people were in the second verse of the Hundredth Psalm, when Milton, with his family, came into the kirk and took possession of their pew. Hillocks maintained an unobtrusive but vigilant watch, and had no fault to find this time with Milton. The doctor preached on the Law of Love, as he had a way of doing at the beginning of each year, and was quite unguarded in his eulogium of brotherly kindness, but Milton did not seem to find anything wrong in the sermon. Four times--Hillocks kept close to facts--he nodded in grave approval, and once, when the doctor insisted with great force that love did more than every power to make men good, Milton was evidently carried, and blew his nose needlessly. Hillocks affirmed stoutly that the crumpled pound note found in the recesses of the ladle that day came from Milton, and corroborative evidence accumulated in a handsome gown sent to Saunders' wife for the lead he gave the ploughs that famous day, and a box of tea, enough to last her time, received by blind old Barbara Stewart. Milton was another man, and when he appeared once more at the station and went into a compartment left to Kildrummie, Drumsheugh rescued him with a show of violence and brought him into the midst of Drumtochty, who offered him exactly six different boxes on the way to the Junction, and reviewed the crops on Milton for the last two years in a distinctly conciliatory spirit.

Milton fought his battle well, and only once alluded to the past.

“It wes ma misfortune,” he said to Drumsheugh, as they went home from kirk together, “tae mix wi' fouk that coonted words mair than deeds, an' were prooder tae open a prophecy than tae dae the wull o' God.

“We thocht that oor knowledge wes deeper an' oor life better than oor neeburs', an' a've been sairly punished. Gin a' hed been bred in Drumtochty, a' micht never hae been a byword, but a' thank God that ma laist years 'ill be spent amang true men, an', Drumsheugh, a'm prayin' that afore a' dee a' also may be... a richt man.”

This was how Drumsheugh found Milton walking in crooked paths and brought him into the way of righteousness, and Milton carried himself so well afterwards that Drumsheugh had only one regret, and that was that Jamie Soutar had not lived to see that even in Milton there was the making of a man.

OOR LANG HAME