Bog-Myrtle and Peat Part 50

"At any rate, let us hear what the laddie has to say for himsel'. Where is he?" I said.

"He's in the barn," said his mother shortly.

To the barn I went. It is an old building with two doors, one very large, of which the upper half opens inwards; and the other gives a cheery look into the orchard when the sugar-plums are ripening. One end was empty, waiting for the harvest, now just changing into yellow, and the other had been filled with meadow hay only the week before.

"Alec!" I cried, as I came to the door.

There was an answer like the squeaking of a rat among the hay, and I thought, "Bless me, the boy's smothered!" But then again I minded that in his times of distress, after a fight or when he had been in some ploy for which he dared not face his father, Alec had made himself a cave among the hay or corn in the end of the barn. Like all Lowland barns, ours has got a row of three-cornered unglazed windows, called "wickets."

Through one of these I have more than once seen Alec vanish when hard pressed by his mother, and have been amused even under the sober face of parental discipline. For, once through, no one could follow the boy.

There was no one about the farm slender enough to scramble after. I had not the smallest doubt that the scapegrace was now lying snugly in his hole, impregnable behind the great hay-mow, provisioned with a few farls of cake from his mother, and with his well-beloved _Robinson Crusoe_ for sole companion of the solitary hours.

I went round to the opening and peered in, but could see nothing.

"Alec," says I, "come oot this moment!"

"Nae lickin', then, faither?" says a voice out of the wicket.

"No, if ye come oot an' tell the truth like a man."

So I took him ben to the "room" to be more solemn-like, and bade him tell the whole story from the start. This he did fairly on the whole, I am bound to confess, with sundry questions and reminders here and there from his mother and me.

"Weel, mither, the way o' it was this. We had only a half-day yesterday at the schule," he began, "for the maister was gaun to a funeral; an'

when I cam' oot at denner-time I saw Airchie Marchbanks, an' he said that his faither was gaun up the lochside veesitin', that he was gaun, too, an' if I likit I could hing on ahint. So I hid my buiks aneath a stane--"

"Ye destructionfu' vagabond, I'll get yer faither to gie ye a guid--"

"But, mither, it was a big braid stane. They're better there than cadgin' them hame an' maybe lossin' them. An' my faither promised that there was to be nae lickin' if I telt the truth."

"Weel, never mind the buiks," said I, for this had nothing to do with the minister's letter. "Gae on wi' your story."

"The minister start.i.t aboot twa o'clock wi' the auld meer in the shafts, Airchie on the front seat aside his faither, an' me sittin' on the step ahint."

"Did the minister ken ye war there?" asked his mother.

"Nae fears!" said Alexander M'Quhirr the younger, unabashed. It is a constant wonder to his mother whom he takes after. But it is no great wonder to me. It had been indeed a greater wonderment to me that Alec should so readily promise to accompany the minister; for whenever either a policeman or a minister is seen within miles of Drumquhat, my lad takes the shortest cut for the fastnesses of Drumquhat Bank, there to lie like one of his hunted forebears of the persecution, till the clear b.u.t.tons or the black coat have been carefully watched off the premises.

"The first place where the minister gaed," continued my son, "was the clauchan o' Milnthird. He was gaun to see Leezie Scott, her that has been ill sae lang. He gaed in there an' bade a gey while, wi' Airchie haudin' ae side o' the horse's heid an' me the ither--no' that auld Jess wad hae run away if ye had tied a kettle to her tail--"

"Be mair circ.u.mspect in yer talk," said his mother; "mind it's a minister's horse!"

"Weel, onyway, I could see through the wundy, an' the la.s.sie was haudin'

the minister's haun', an' him speakin' an' lookin' up at somebody that I didna see, but maybe the la.s.sie did, for she lay back in her bed awfu'

thankfu'-like. But her mither never thankit the minister ava', juist turned her back an' grat into her peenie. Mr. Marchbanks cam' oot; but I saw nae mair, for I had to turn an' rin, or he wad hae seen me, an'

maybe askit me to hae a ride!"

"An' what for wad ye no' be prood to ride wi' the G.o.dly man?" asked my wife.

"He micht ask me my quaistions, an' though I've been lickit thirteen times for Effectual Callin', I canna get mair nor half through wi't.

['Yer faither's wi' ye there, laddie,' said I, under my breath.] Gin Mr.

Marchbanks wad aye look like what he did when he cam oot o' Leezie Scott's, I wadna rin for the heather when he comes. Then he had a bit crack in twa-three o' the hooses wi' the auld wives that wasna at the wark, though he has nae mair members in the clauchan, them bein' a' Auld Kirkers. But Mr. Marchbanks didna mind that, but ca'ed on them a', an'

pat up a prayer standin' wi' his staff in his hand and wi' his hair owre his shoother."

"Hoo div ye ken?" I asked, curious to know how the boy had sketched the minister so exactly.

"I juist keekit ben, for I likit to see't."

"The a.s.surance o' the loon!" cried his mither, but not ill-pleased. (O these mothers!)

"Then we cam' to the auld mill, an' the minister gaed in to see blin'

Maggie Affleck, an' when he cam' oot I'm sure as daith that he left something that jingled on the kitchen table. On the doorstep he says, wi' a bricht face on him, 'Marget, it's me that needs to thank you, for I get a lesson frae ye every time that I come here.' Though hoo blind Mag Affleck can learn a minister wi' lang white hair, is mair nor me or Airchie Marchbanks could mak' oot. Sae we gaed on, an' the minister gied every ragged bairn that was on the road that day a ride, till the auld machine was as thrang as it could stick, like a merry-go-roon' at the fair. Only, he made them a' get oot at the hills an' walk up, as he did himsel'. 'Deed, he walkit near a' the road, an' pu'ed the auld meer efter him insteed o' her drawin' him. 'I wish my faither wad lend me the whup!' Airchie said, an' he tried to thig it awa' frae his faither. But the minister was mair gleg than ye wad think, and Airchie got the whup, but it was roon the legs, an' it garred him loup and squeal!"

My wife nodded grim approval.

"When we got to Drumquhat," continued Alec, "it was gey far on in the efternune, an' the minister an' my mither lowsed the powny an' stabled it afore gaun ben. Then me an' Airchie were sent oot to play, as my mither kens. We got on fine a while, till Airchie broke my peerie an'

pooched the string. Then he staned the cats that cam' rinnin' to beg for milk an' cheese--cats that never war clodded afore. He wadna be said 'no' to, though I threepit I wad tell his faither. Then at the hinner-en' he got into my big blue coach, and wadna get oot. I didna mind that muckle, for I hadna been in 't mysel' for six months. But he made faces at me through the hole in the back, an' that I couldna pit up wi'--nae boy could. For it was my ain coach, minister's son or no'

minister's son. Weel, I had the cross-bow and arrow that Geordie Grier made me--the yin that shoots the lumps o' hard wud. So I let fire at Airchie, just when he was makin' an awfu' face, and the billet took him fair atween the een. Into the hoose he ran to his faither, _ba-haain_'

wi' a' his micht; an' oot cam' the minister, as angry as ye like, wi' my mither ahint him like to greet."

'"Deed, I was that!" said Mrs. M'Quhirr.

"'What for did ye hit my son's nose wi' a billet of wood through the hole in your blue coach?' the minister asked me.

"'Because your son's nose was _at_ the hole in my blue coach!' says I, as plain as if he hadna been a minister, I was that mad. For it was my coach, an' a bonny-like thing gin a boy couldna shoot at a hole in his ain blue coach! Noo, faither, mind there was to be nae lickin' gin I telt ye the truth!"

There was no licking--which, if you know my wife, you will find no difficulty in believing.

IV

THE BIOGRAPHY OF AN "INEFFICIENT"

_White as early roses, girt by daffodillies, Gleam the feet of maidens moving rhythmically, Roses of the mountains, flowers of the valley, Hill rose and plain rose and white vale lilies_.

_Dewy in the meadow lands, clover blossoms mellow Lift their heads of red and white to the bride's adorning; Sweetly in the sky-realms all the summer morning, Joyeth the skylark and calleth his fellow_.

_In the well-known precincts, lo the wilding treasure Glows for marriage merriment in my sweetheart's gardens, Welcoming her joy-day, tenderest of wardens-- Heart's pride and love's life and all eyes' pleasure_.

_Bride among the bridesmaids, lily clad in whiteness, She cometh to the twining none may twain in sunder; While to marriage merriment wakes the organ's thunder, And the Lord doth give us all His heavenly brightness_.

_Then like early roses, girt by daffodillies, Goes the troop of maidens, moving rhythmically, Roses of the mountains, flowers of the valley, Hill rose and plain rose and white vale lilies_.

PART I

There is no doubt that any committee on ministerial inefficiency would have made short work of the Reverend Ebenezer Skinner, minister of the Townend Kirk in Cairn Edward--that is, if it had been able to distinguish the work he did from the work that he got the credit for.

Some people have the gift, fortunate or otherwise, of obtaining credit for the work of others, and transferring to the shoulders of their neighbours the responsibility of their blunders.

Yet, on the whole, the Townend minister had not been fairly dealt with, for, if ever man was the product of environment, that man was the minister of the "Laigh" or Townend Kirk. Now, Ebenezer Skinner was a model subject for a latter-day biography, for he was born of poor but honest parents, who resolved that their little Ebenezer should one day "wag his head in a pulpit," if it cost them all that they possessed.