Allison Bain Part 7

CHAPTER FIVE.

"He wales a portion with judicious care, And 'Let us wors.h.i.+p G.o.d,' he says with solemn air."

In the minister's home on Sabbath morning, the custom was for the two eldest lads to take turns with the "la.s.s" in keeping the house, while all the rest, except Marjorie and the two youngest, went to the kirk.

It cannot be said that this was felt to be a hards.h.i.+p by the lads-- rather the contrary, I am afraid--when the weather and the season of the year permitted them to spend the time in the garden, or when a new book, not in the "Index expurgatorious" of Sabbath reading was at hand, or even a beloved old one.

Of course there were Sabbath-day tasks to learn. But the big boys were by this time as familiar with the catechism as with the multiplication table, and a psalm, or a paraphrase, or a chapter in the New Testament, hardly was accounted by them as a task. Frequent reading, and constant hearing at family wors.h.i.+p, and at the school, had made the words of many parts of the book so familiar to them that only a glance was needed to make them sure of their ground. It needed, perhaps, a second glance if another repet.i.tion was suddenly required. It was "licht come, licht go"

with them--easily learned, easily forgotten--in the way of tasks. But in another way it was not so. The Word thus learned "in the house and by the way," and so a.s.sociated with all else which their young, glad lives held, could never be quite forgotten; nay more, could never--in theory and opinion at least--cease to be authoritative as the law by which, wherever they might wander, their steps were to be guided. But the chief thing to them at present was, that even with "tasks" to learn, there was still time to enjoy their books.

The lads had the firmest belief in their father's power as a preacher.

But it must be remembered that those were the days when a full two hours were not considered, either by preacher or hearers, too long to give to a discourse. And the minister's sons were expected so to listen that they should be able to give to their mother, at evening wors.h.i.+p, all the "heads and particulars"--and they were usually many--and a good deal besides of the sermon. In those circ.u.mstances it is not surprising that their turn in the summer garden, or even at the kitchen fireside, should sometimes be preferred to going to the kirk.

So when it began to be noticed that Allison quietly made her arrangements to be in the house every second Sabbath, instead of every third, as would have been fair, Robin remonstrated.

"It's my turn at home to-day, Allie. No, Maysie, you mustna grumble.

It's but fair that Allie should have her turn at the kirk as weel as the rest of us. You must just content yourself with me. I'm to bide to-day."

"I'm no' carin' to go to the kirk to-day," said Allison.

"But that's no' the question. I'm carin' to bide at home," and as his mother had already gone, and no appeal could be made to her, bide he did, and so did Allison.

When this had happened two or three times, it was considered necessary to take notice of it, and Mrs Hume did so, telling her, quietly but firmly, how necessary it was that the minister's household should set a good example in the place. And, beyond that, she sought to make it clear that it was the duty of all to avail themselves of the privilege of wors.h.i.+pping with G.o.d's people on His day, in His house. If Allison-- being the daughter of one who had been in his lifetime an elder in the established kirk, as Dr Fleming had informed them--had any doubts of the propriety of wors.h.i.+pping with dissenters, that was another matter.

But she should go to her own kirk, if she could not take pleasure in coming to theirs.

"It's a' ane to me," said Allison.

But on the next fine Sabbath morning she availed herself of the permission, and took her way to the parish kirk. She would like the walk, at any rate, she told herself, and she did enjoy the walk down the lanes, in her own sad fas.h.i.+on; but the lanes took her out of the way a little, and made her late.

That night, at wors.h.i.+p-time, when Allison's turn came to be questioned as to what she had heard at the kirk, she could tell the text. But she did not tell that she had learned it by overhearing it repeated by an old man to his neighbour, as they came after her up the road. Nor did she tell that, being late at the kirk door, and shrinking from the thought of going in alone among so many strange folk, she had pa.s.sed the time occupied by the preaching sitting on a broken headstone in the kirkyard.

She never went there again. It was truly "a' ane" to one whose mind, the moment her hands and her head were no longer occupied with the round of daily work, went back to brood over the days and joys that could never return, or over the sorrow which could never be outlived.

"I see no difference. It's a' ane to me," repeated she when Mrs Hume, not wis.h.i.+ng to seem to influence her against her will, again suggested that, if she preferred it, she should go to the kirk.

"Difference!" There was all the difference between truth only dimly perceived and truth clearly uttered, in what she would be likely to hear in the two kirks, in the opinion of the minister's wife. And if that might be not altogether a charitable judgment, it might at least be said that it would be but a cold exposition of the Gospel that old Mr Geddes would be likely to give, either in the pulpit or out of it. But she did not enter into the discussion of the matter with Allison. She was well pleased that she should decide the matter for herself.

"For though she sits in the kirk like a person in a dream, surely some true, good word will reach her heart after a time," said her kindly mistress. She had a good while to wait before it came to that with Allison. But it came at last.

"Allison," said Mrs Hume, coming into the kitchen one afternoon, "we'll do without the scones at tea to-night, in case the baking them should make you late with other things. You mind you did not get to the meeting at all last time, and the minister wishes all his own family to be present when it is possible."

Allison raised herself up from the work which was occupying her at the moment, and for once gave her mistress a long look out of her sad brown eyes.

"It was not that I hadna time. I wasna carin'."

"I am sorry to hear you say that. The meetings are a means of grace which have been blessed to many; and though there may be some things said now and then which--are not just for edification, yet--"

Allison shook her head.

"I didna hear them. I mean I wasna heedin'."

"Well, I will not say that my own attention does not wander sometimes.

Some things are more important than others," said the minister's wife, a name or two pa.s.sing through her mind, which it would not have been wise to utter even to the silent Allison; "but," added she, "we can all join in the Psalms and in the prayers."

Allison's answer was a slow movement of her head from side to side, and a look sadder than words. A pang of sympathy smote through the soft heart of her mistress.

"Allie," said she, laying her hand on her arm, "you pray also?"

"Lang syne--I used to pray--maybe. I'm no' sure."

She had left her work and was standing erect, with her hands, loosely clasped, hanging down before her. Her eyes, with the same hopeless look in them, were turned toward the window, through which the relenting sun was sending one bright gleam before he went away, after a day of mist and rain.

"I do not understand you, Allison," said Mrs Hume.

"It could not have been right prayer, ye ken, since it wasna answered."

"But the answer may be to come yet. It may come in G.o.d's way, not in yours."

"Can the dead live again?" said Allison with dilating eyes.

"Surely, they will live again. Is it your father, Allie? or your mother? They served the Lord, you said yourself, and they are now in His presence. Death is not a dreadful thing to come to such as they, that you should grudge it."

Allison had sunk down on a low stool, and laid her face on her arm, but she raised it now as she answered:

"But they didna just die. They were killed. Their hearts were broken by the one they loved best in the world. _That_ cannot be changed.

Even the Lord himself cannot blot out that and make it as if it had never been."

"The Lord himself! Was there sin in it, Allie? But do you not mind?

'The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin.' It _can_ be blotted out. It is never too late for that."

But Allison made no answer. Rising with a cry she turned and went out without a word.

Mrs Hume was greatly moved, wis.h.i.+ng earnestly that she had not spoken.

If the minister had been in his study, she would have gone to him with her trouble. But he was out. So she went into the parlour, where she had only little Marjorie for company. She had not even Marjorie for the moment, for the child had fallen asleep in her absence. As she thought about it, she was not so sure that she had made a mistake, or that there was anything to regret. Better to be moved to anguish by sorrowful memories, or even by remorse, than to live on in the dull heaviness of heart, which had been Allison's state since she came to them, she thought at last, and she was sure of it when, after a little, the door opened, and Allison said, without showing her face:

"I think, mem, if ye please, I will hae time for the scones I promised wee Marjorie."

"Very well, Allison," said her mistress quietly and with a sudden lightening of the heart, she bent down and kissed the lips of her little sleeping daughter. She was greatly relieved. She could not bear the thought that she had hurt that sore heart without having helped it by ever so little. When the time came for the meeting, Allison was in her place with the rest.

The kirk, which could not be heated, and only with difficulty lighted, was altogether too dismal a place for evening meetings in the winter-time. So the usual sitting-room of the family was on one evening of the week given up to the use of those who came to the prayer-meeting.

This brought some trouble both to the mistress and the maid, for the furniture of the room had to be disarranged, and a good deal of it carried into the bedroom beyond; and the carpet, which covered only the middle of the room, had to be lifted and put aside till morning.

The boys, or it might be some early meeting-goer, helped to move the tables and the chairs, and to bring in the forms on which the folk were to sit, and sometimes they carried them away again when the meeting was over. All the rest fell on Allison. And truly, when morning came, the floor and the whole place needed special care before it was made fit for the occupation of the mother and Marjorie.

But to do all that and more was not so hard for Allison as just to sit still through the two hours during which the meeting lasted. It was at such times, when she could not fill her hands and her thoughts with other things, that her trouble, whatever it might be, came back upon her, and her mistress saw the gloom and heaviness of heart fall on her like a cloud. It was quite true, as she had said, at such times she heard nothing of what was going on about her, because "she wasna heedin'." But to-night she heeded.

She had Marjorie on her lap for one thing, for the child's sleep had rested her, and her mother had yielded to her entreaty to be allowed to sit up to the meeting. Allison could not fall into her usual dull brooding, with the soft little hand touching her cheek now and then, and the hushed voice whispering a word in her ear. So for the first time her attention was arrested by what was going on in the room, and some of the folk got their first good look at her sad eyes that night.