Playing With Fire Part 17

"Life is full of emotions. Such a variety of them, too!"

"And all good--or, at least, pretty much so. A rook pie! That is a luxury indeed! I suppose there is a rookery at Cramer."

"A very ancient and a very large one," answered Dr. Macrae, and he recognized in his own voice and manner that slight sense of proprietors.h.i.+p which flavors a coming good. He was ashamed of it, and made some foolish remark about the rooks being a present. "The birds are not in the market," he said, "and, if they were, a poor minister could not buy them."

"You are a fortunate man. The country is full of blessings. I wish I lived in the country. You must like it, Macrae."

"I am of _Touchstone's_ opinion--in respect that it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but, in respect that it is not in the city, it is tedious. That reminds me, we shall leave for the city early in the morning."

"Not too early, I hope?"

"About ten o'clock."

"That will do very well."

The men were up early, but Mrs. Caird saw that Ian had spent a sleepless night. Indeed, his conversations with Dr. Scott had raised many serious questions in his mind. Was it possible that this doubt of G.o.d's existence--of the inspiration of the Bible--of the dogma of eternal punishment and other vital points of Christian belief was not an uncommon condition of the ministerial mind, not only in Calvinistic churches but throughout the creeds of Christendom?

"There is no absolute Faith in any Protestant Church, no matter how its creed is written," Dr. Scott had said, with an air of knowledge and certainty; adding, "Belief is an individual thing, Macrae, every man must discover what is true in his own case."

"What is the most general point of unbelief among ministers?" asked Ian, and Dr. Scott, after a moment's reflection, answered, "I think, perhaps, the divinity of Jesus Christ." At these words Mrs. Caird flushed angrily, and looked at Ian. She expected him to deny this accusation, but he only cast down his eyes and remained silent. Then, she said, with great feeling, "Constance Norden has well described the religion of such men as

'Pale Christianity, with Christ expunged; Faint unbelief deploring its own skill, With tomes of metaphysic lore, that sponged The World away, leaving the lonely Will.'"

And Dr. Scott bowed slightly, but made no other answer to Constance Norden's accusation.

"Do you think the divergencies of the Bible are a great difficulty, Jessy?" and Ian looked anxiously at his sister as she answered without a moment's hesitation, "A want of belief is the chief, is the whole difficulty. G.o.d speaks to men and they will not believe Him."

"You must remember, Mrs. Caird, that we have to talk to congregations who know all about the system of Christian theology."

"If I was a preacher, Doctor, I would let the system of theology alone.

I would take for granted the divine in men, bring them past every disability of race, station, or morality, right into the presence of G.o.d, and offer them all G.o.d's good will, though they were slaves or outcasts."

"Such sermons would not do for this era of the Church. They would have to be gradually introduced."

"Then do not introduce them. Better do nothing than do by halves and quarters."

"Our civilization, Mrs. Caird----"

"Can never save the world. It cannot even save the individual. Besides, our civilization, whatever it may be scientifically, is ethically bankrupt."

"I was going to say, Mrs. Caird, that new truths affecting old clerical dogmas are generally offensive to old church members. Many good men live by serving the altar. They must be considered, and your brother and I, and every minister, knows that our people judge for themselves and only accept what they desire to accept. Is not that so, Macrae?" And Macrae, as he looked at his watch, answered indifferently, "You are right, Doctor. It is now time we took the carriage if we intend to catch our train."

So there was movement and a little noise, but, amid it, Ian heard his sister's answer, "To be sure, Dr. Scott, we all know well that Scotsmen do that which is right in their own eyes--and, also, that which is wrong."

With the usual pleasant formalities the men went away together, and Jessy sadly walked through the peris.h.i.+ng garden, whispering to herself, as she did so:

"Through sins of sense, perversities of will, Through doubt and pain, through guilt and shame, and ill, Thy pitying eye is on Thy creatures still."

For she knew in her heart that no man could be more miserable than Ian Macrae. His religion was no longer even a habit, it had become an acute fever, and all conversation on this tremendous subject seemed so ineffectual, so mockingly beneath its meaning and its needs. It wearied his aching heart and brain, and gave him neither hope nor consolation.

For he knew that any reasoned argument would be but the surface exhibition; it was only the unreasoned and immediate a.s.surance that could satisfy his soul.

CHAPTER VI

DONALD TAKES HIS OWN WAY

"Love is a sea for which no compa.s.s has been invented."

There are times which mark epochs in life; they cut it sharply asunder--the continuity of life is broken.

There was a sense of relief when the two divines were comfortably beyond the horizon of the Little House the next morning, and Mrs. Caird could begin her preparations for their own removal. "I was fain to come to this place, Marion," she said, "and mightily set up with it when I got here. But I have had lots of care in its pretty rooms and among its flowers. So I am just as fain to go back to the big, dull rooms in Bath Street. Paradise is fairly lost, dear. We may dream of it, but we never find it."

"O Aunt Jessy, some surely find it."

"They may think they do for awhile, but indeed,

'There's none exempt from worldly cares, And few from some domestic cross; All whiles are in, and whiles are out, For grief and joy come time about.'"

She was tearing up some old cotton for dusters as she repeated the rhyme, and she emphasized "some domestic cross" by a rent of rather angry vigor; then she added, "Go to your father's study, you will be out of the way of the cleaners there, and I have no doubt whatever that you have an important letter to write."

"Aunt, when did you hear from Donald?"

"It is so long since, I have forgotten."

"Where were they then?"

"In the Shetland Islands. Whiles I fear they have been shut in there by early storms, or have gone out pleasuring in some c.o.c.kle sh.e.l.l of a boat and got----"

"No, no, Aunt. I had a letter from Perth. They were on the mainland the seventh of September."

"Then they are all right. Some day soon they'll come traipsing in, wet and draggled, and tired and hungry."

"They will not come here, will they?"

"I hope not. It is little welcome I'll give them if they come after this house is in order. They would have to go to the kitchen itself."

"You would never do that, Aunt?"

"Would I not? If the occasion comes you will see."

The occasion came that afternoon. Mrs. Caird was standing before a large chest of fine napery, counting napkins, when Donald threw open the door of the room and, before she could speak, threw his arms around her neck and kissed her, and kissed her over and over again. "You dear Auntie!

You dear Mammy!" he shouted, and she, between laughing and crying, gasped out: "Be done, you ranting, raving laddie! See you have made me drop the finger cloths, and my count is lost; and I shall have to go over them again."

"I'll count them for you, Mammy."

"You!" she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed with horror. "Your hands are not fit to touch them."