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diff --git a/35218.txt b/35218.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ca80738 --- /dev/null +++ b/35218.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9822 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Setons, by O. Douglas + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Setons + +Author: O. Douglas + +Release Date: February 8, 2011 [EBook #35218] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SETONS *** + + + + +Produced by Andrew Sly, Al Haines and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + +_THE SETONS_ + + +_By_ + +_O. DOUGLAS_ + +_Author of "Olivia in India," "Penny Plain," etc._ + + + + +_HODDER AND STOUGHTON LIMITED_ + +_LONDON_ + + + + + + _First Edition Published October 1917_ + _Reprinted December 1917_ + _" March 1918_ + _" August 1918_ + _" February 1919_ + _" November 1919_ + _" August 1920_ + _" October 1920_ + _" January 1921_ + _" April 1921_ + _" January 1922_ + _" February 1922_ + _" June 1922_ + _" September 1922_ + _" January 1923_ + _" June 1923_ + _" November 1923_ + _" January 1924_ + _" September 1924_ + _" May 1925_ + _" February 1926_ + _" July 1926_ + _" March 1927_ + _" July 1927_ + _" June 1928_ + _" September 1928_ + + + + +_Made and Printed in Great Britain for Hodder & Stoughton, Limited, + by C. Tinling & Co., Ltd., Liverpool, London and Prescot._ + + + + +NOVELS BY O. DOUGLAS + + _Penny Plain_ + _The Setons_ + _Olivia in India_ + _Ann and Her Mother_ + _Pink Sugar_ + _The Proper Place_ + _Eliza for Common_ + +HODDER AND STOUGHTON LTD., LONDON. + + + + +TO + +MY MOTHER + +IN MEMORY OF + +HER TWO SONS + +_They sought the glory of their country they see the glory of God_ + + + + +_CHAPTER I_ + + "Look to the bakemeats, good Angelica, + Spare not for cost." + _Romeo and Juliet._ + + +A November night in Glasgow. + +Mr. Thomson got out of the electric tram which every evening brought +him from business, walked briskly down the road until he came to a neat +villa with _Jeanieville_ cut in the pillar, almost trotted up the +gravelled path, let himself in with his latchkey, shut the door behind +him, and cried, "Are ye there, Mamma? Mamma, are ye there?" + +After four-and-twenty years of matrimony John Thomson still cried for +Jeanie his wife the moment he entered the house. + +Mrs. Thomson came out of the dining-room and helped her husband to take +off his coat. + +"You're home, Papa," she said, "and in nice time, too. Now we'll all +get our tea comfortable in the parlour before we change our clothes. +(Jessie tell Annie Papa's in.) Your things are all laid out on the bed, +John, and I've put your gold studs in a dress shirt--but whit's that +you're carrying, John?" + +John Thomson regarded his parcel rather shame-facedly. "It's a +pine-apple for your party, Mamma. I was lookin' in a fruit-shop when I +was waitin' for ma car and I just took a notion to get it. Not," he +added, "but what I prefer tinned ones maself." + +Mrs. Thomson patted her husband's arm approvingly. "Well, that was real +mindful of you, Papa. It'll look well on the table. Jessie," to her +daughter, who at that moment came into the lobby from the kitchen, "get +down another fruit dish. Here's Papa brought home a pine-apple for your +party." + +"Tea's in, Mamma," said Jessie; then she took the parcel from her +father, and holding his arm drew him into the dining-room, talking all +the time. "Come on, Papa, and see the table. It looks fine, and the +pine-apple'll give it a finish. We've got a trifle from Skinner's, and +we're having meringues and an apricot souffle and----" + +"Now, Jessie," Mrs. Thomson broke in, "don't keep Papa, or the +sausages'll get cold. Where's Rubbert and Alick? We'll niver be ready +at eight o'clock at this rate." + +As she spoke, Alick, her younger son, pranced into the room, and +pretended to stand awestruck at the display. + +"We're not half doing it in style, eh?" he said, and made a playful +dive at a silver dish of chocolates. Jessie caught him by his coat, and +in the scuffle the dish was upset and the chocolates emptied on the +cloth. + +"Oh, Mamma!" cried the outraged Jessie, "Look what he's done. He's +nothing but a torment." Picking up the chocolates, she glared over her +shoulder at her brother with great disapproval. "Such a sight as you +are, too. If you can't get your hair to lie straight you're not coming +to the party. Mind that." + +Alick ruffled up his mouse-coloured locks and looked in no way +dejected. "It's your own fault anyway," he said; "I didn't mean to +spill your old sweeties. Come on, Mamma, and give us our tea, and leave +that lord alone in her splendour;" and half carrying, half dragging his +mother, he left the dining-room. + +Jessie put the chocolates back and smoothed the shining cloth. + +"He's an awful boy that Alick, Papa," she said, as she pulled out the +lace edge of a d'oyley. "He's always up to some mischief." + +"Ay, Jessie," said her father, "he's a wild laddie, but he's real +well-meaning. There's your mother calling us. Come away to your tea. I +can smell the sausages." + +In the parlour they found the rest of the family seated at table. Mrs. +Thomson was pouring tea from a fat brown teapot; Alick, with four +half-slices of bread piled on his plate, had already begun, while +Robert sat in his place with a book before him, his elbows on the +table, his fingers in his ears. Jessie slid into her place and helped +herself to a piece of bread. + +"I wish, Mamma," she said, as she speared a ball of butter, "you +hadn't had sausages for tea to-night. It's an awful smell through the +house." + +Mrs. Thomson laid down the cup she was lifting to her mouth. + +"I'm sure, Jessie," she said, "you're ill to please. Who'd ever mind a +smell of cooking in the house? And a nice tasty smell like sausages, +too." + +"It's such a common sort of smell in the evening," went on Jessie. "I +wish we had late dinner. The Simpsons have it, and Muriel says it makes +you feel quite different; more refined." + +"Muriel Simpson's daft," put in Alick; "Ewan says it's her that's put +his mother up to send him to an English school. He doesn't want to be +made English." + +"It's to improve his accent," said Jessie. "Yours is something awful." + +Alick laughed derisively and began to speak in a clipt and mincing +fashion which he believed to be "English." + +"Alick! Stop it," said his mother. "Don't aggravate your sister." + +Jessie tossed her head. + +"He's not aggravating me, he's only making a fool of himself." + +"Papa," said Alick, appealing to his father, "sure the English are +awful silly." + +Mr. Thomson's mouth was full, but he answered peaceably, "They haven't +had our advantages, Alick, but they mean well." + +"They mebbe mean well," said Alick, "but they _sound_ gey daft." + +Robert had been eating and reading at the same time and paying no +attention to the conversation, but he now passed in his cup to his +mother and asked, "Who's all coming to-night?" + +"Well," said his mother, lifting the "cosy" from the teapot, "they're +mostly Jessie's friends. Some of them I've never seen." + +"I wish, Mamma," said Jessie, "that you hadn't made me ask the Hendrys +and the Taylors. The Hendrys are so dowdy-looking, and Mr. Taylor's +awful common." + +"Indeed, Jessie," her mother retorted, "I wonder to hear you. The +Hendrys are my oldest friends, and decenter women don't live; and as +for Mr. Taylor, I'm sure he's real joky and a great help at an +'evening.'" + +"He'll wear his velveteen coat," said Robert. + +"I dare say," said Jessie. "Velveteen coat indeed: D'you know what he +calls it?--his 'splush jaicket.'" + +"Taylor's a toffy wee body," said Mr. Thomson "but a good Christian +man. He's been superintendent of the Sabbath school for twenty years +and he's hardly ever missed a day. Is that all from the Church, Mamma? +You didn't think of asking the M'Roberts or the Andersons?" + +"Oh, Papa!" said Jessie, sitting back helplessly. + +"What's the matter with them, Jessie?" asked Mr. Thomson. "Are they not +good enough for you?" + +"Uch, Papa, it's not that. But I want this to be a nice party like the +Simpsons give. They never have their parties spoiled by dowdy-looking +people. It all comes of going to such a poor church. I don't say Mr. +Seton's not as good as anybody, but the people in the church are no +class; hardly one of them keeps a girl. I don't see why we can't go to +a church in Pollokshields where there's an organ and society." + +"Never heed her," broke in Mrs. Thomson; "she's a silly girl. Another +sausage, Papa?" + +"No, Mamma. No, thanks." + +"Then we'd better all away and dress," said Mrs. Thomson briskly. "Your +things are laid out on your bed, Papa, and I got you a nice made-up +tie." + +"I'm never to put on my swallow-tail?" asked Mr. Thomson, as he and his +wife went upstairs together. + +"'Deed, John, Jessie's determined on it." + +Mr. Thomson wandered into his bedroom and surveyed the glories of his +evening suit lying on the bed, then a thought struck him. + +"Here, Mamma," he called. "Taylor hasn't got a swallow-tail and I +wouldn't like him to feel out of it. I'll just put on my Sabbath +coat--it's wiser-like, anyway." + +Mrs. Thomson bustled in from another room and considered the question. + +"It's a pity, too," she said, "not to let the people see you have +dress-clothes, and I don't think Mr. Taylor's the man to mind--he's gey +sure of himself. Besides, there'll be others to keep him company; a lot +of them'll not understand it's full dress. I'm sure it would never have +occurred to me if it hadn't been for Jessie. She's got ideas, that +girl!" + +At that moment, Jessie, wrapped in a dressing-gown and with her hair +undone, came into the room and asked, "What about my hair, Mamma? Will +I do it in rolls or in a Grecian knot?" + +Mrs. Thomson pondered, with her head on one side and her bodice +unbuttoned. + +"Well, Jessie, I'm sure it's hard to say, but I think myself the +Grecian is more uncommon; though, mind you, I like the rolls real well. +But hurry, there's a good girl, and come and hook me, for that new +bodice fair beats me." + +"All right, Mamma," said Jessie. "I'll come before I put on my dress." + +"I must say, John," said Mrs. Thomson, turning to her husband, "I envy +you keeping thin, though I whiles think it's a pity so much good food +goes into such a poor skin. I'm getting that stout I'm a burden to +myself--and a sight as well." + +"Not at all, Mamma," replied her husband; "you look real comfortable. I +don't like those whippin'-posts of women." + +"Well, Papa, they're elegant, you must say they're elegant, and they're +easy to dress. It's a thought to me to get a new dress. I wonder if +Jessie minded to tell Annie to have the teapot well heated before she +infused the tea. We're to have tea at one end and coffee at the other, +and that minds me I promised Jessie to get out the best tea-cosy--the +white satin one with the ribbon-work poppies. It's in the top drawer of +the best wardrobe! I'd better get it before my bodice is on, and I can +stretch!" + +There were sounds of preparation all over the house, and an atmosphere +of simmering excitement. Alick's voice was heard loudly demanding that +some persons unknown would restore to him the slippers they +had--presumably--stolen; also his tartan tie. Annie rushed upstairs to +say that the meringues had come but the cream wasn't inside them, it +had arrived separately in a tin, and could Miss Jessie put it in, as +she couldn't trust herself; whereupon Jessie, with her hair in a +Grecian knot, but still clad in a dressing-gown, fled to give the +required help. + +Presently Mrs. Thomson was hooked into her tight bodice of black satin +made high to the neck and with a front of pink-flowered brocade. Alick +found his slippers, and his mother helped him with his stiff, very wide +Eton collar, and tied his tie, which was the same tartan as his kilt. +Then she saw that Mr. Thomson's made-up tie was securely fastened down +behind, and that his coat-collar sat properly; then, arm in arm, they +descended to the drawing-room. + +The drawing-room in Jeanieville was on the left side of the front door +as you entered, a large room with a bow-window and two side windows. It +had been recently papered and painted and refurnished. The wall-paper +was yellow with a large design of chrysanthemums, and the woodwork +white without spot or blemish. The thick Axminster carpet of peacock +blue was thickly covered with yellow roses. It stopped about two feet +from the wall all round, and the hiatus thus made was covered with +linoleum which, rather unsuccessfully, tried to look like a parquet +floor. There were many pictures on the wall in bright gilt frames, +varied by hand-painted plaques and enlarged photographs. The "suite" of +furniture was covered with brocade in a shade known as old gold; and a +handsome cabinet with glass doors, and shelves covered with pale blue +plush, held articles which in turn held pleasant memories for the +Thomsons--objects of art from the _Rue de Rivoli_ (they had all been in +Paris for a fortnight last July) and cow-bells and carved bears from +Lucerne. + +"There's nothing enlarges the mind like travel," was a favourite saying +of Mr. Thomson's, and his wife never failed to reply, "That's true, +Papa, I'm sure." + +To-night, in preparation for the party, the chairs and tables were +pushed back to the wall, and various seats from the parlour and even +the best bedroom had been introduced where they would be least noticed; +a few forms with holland covers had also been hired from the baker for +the occasion. The piano stood open, with "The Rosary" on the stand; the +incandescent lights in their pink globes were already lit, and a +fire--a small one, for the room would get hot presently--burned in the +yellow-tiled grate. + +Mr. and Mrs. Thomson paused for a moment in the doorway in order to +surprise themselves. + +"Well, well," said Mr. Thomson, while his wife hurried to the fireside +to sweep away a fallen cinder. "You've been successful with your colour +scheme, Mamma, I must say that. The yellow and white's cheery, and the +blue of the carpet makes a fine contrast. You've taste right enough." + +Mrs. Thomson, with her head on one side, regarded the room which, truth +to say, in every detail seemed to her perfect, then she gave a long +sigh. + +"I don't know about taste, Papa," she said; "but how ever we'll keep +all that white paint beats me. I'm thinking it'll be either me or +Jessie that'll have to do it. I could not trust Annie in here, poor +girl! She has such hashy ways. Now, Alick," to that youth who had +sprung on her from behind, "try and behave well to-night, and not shame +your sister before the Simpsons that she thinks so much of. I'm told +Ewan Simpson was a perfect gentleman in an Eton suit at their party." + +"Haw, haw!" laughed Alick derisively. "Who's wantin' to be a gentleman? +Not me, anyway. Here, Mamma, are you going to ask wee Taylor to sing? +Uch, do, he's a comic----" + +"Alick," said his father reprovingly. "Mr. Taylor's not coming here +to-night for you to laugh at." + +"I know that," said Alick, rolling his head and looking somewhat +abashed. + +The entrance of Jessie and Robert diverted his parents' attention. + +Jessie stood in the middle of the room and slowly turned herself round +that her family might see her from all points of view. + +"D'you like it, Mamma?" she asked. + +"Yes, Jessie," said her mother slowly, "I do. Miss White's done well. +The skirt hangs beautiful, and I must say the Empire style is becoming +to you, though for myself I prefer the waist in its natural place. Walk +to the door--yes--elegant." + +"Very fine, Jessie," said her father. + +"Do you like it, Robert?" asked Jessie. + +Robert put down his book for a moment, glanced at his sister, nodded +his head and said "Ucha," then returned to it. + +"You're awful proud, Jessie," said Alick; "you think you're somebody." + +"Never mind him, Jessie," said Mrs. Thomson. "Are ye sure we've got +enough cups? Nobody'll be likely to take both tea and coffee, I +suppose? Except mebbe Mr. Taylor--I whiles think that wee man's got +both eatin' and drinkin' diabetes. I must say it seems to me a +cold-like thing to let them sit from eight to ten without a bite. My +way was to invite them at six and give them a hearty set-down tea, and +then at ten we had supper, lemonade and jam tartlets and fruit, and I'm +sure nothing could have been nicer. Many a one has said to me, 'Mrs. +Thomson, they're no parties like your parties; they're that hearty.' +How ever'll they begin the evening when they're not cheered with a cup +o' tea?" + +"We'll begin with music, Mamma," said Jessie. + +Mrs. Thomson sniffed. + +"I do hope Annie'll manage the showing in all right," went on Jessie. +"The Simpsons had one letting you in and another waiting in the +bedrooms to help you off with your things." + +Mrs. Thomson drew herself up. + +"My friends are all capable of taking off their own things, Jessie, I'm +thankful to say. They don't need a lady's maid; nor does Mrs. Simpson, +let me tell you, for when I first knew her she did her own washing." + +"Uch, Mamma," said Jessie. + +"It's five minutes to eight," said Alick, "and I hear steps. I bet it's +wee Taylor." + +"Mercy!" said Mrs. Thomson, hunting wildly for her slippers which she +had kicked off. "Am I all right, Jessie? Give me a book--any one--yes, +that." + +Alick heaved a stout volume--_Shakespeare's Country with Coloured +Illustrations_--into his mother's lap, and she at once became absorbed +in it, sitting stiffly in her chair, her skirt spread out. + +Mr. Thomson looked nervous; Robert retreated vaguely towards the window +curtains; even Jessie felt a little uncertain, though preserving an +outward calm. + +"There's the bell," said Alick; "I'm off." + +Jessie clutched him by his coat. "You can't go now," she hissed. "I +hear Annie going to the door." + +They heard the sound of the front door opening, then a murmur of voices +and a subdued titter from Annie, and it closed. Next Annie's skurrying +footsteps were heard careering wildly for the best bedroom, followed--a +long way behind--by other footsteps. Then the drawing-room door opened +prematurely, and Mr. Taylor appeared. + + + + +_CHAPTER II_ + + "Madam, the guests are come!" + _Romeo and Juliet._ + + +Mr. Taylor was a small man, with legs that did not seem to be a pair. +He wore a velveteen coat, a white waistcoat, a lavender tie, and a +flower in his buttonhole. In the doorway he stood rubbing his hands +together and beaming broadly on the Thomsons. + +"The girrl wanted me to wait on Mrs. Taylor coming downstairs, but I +says to her, 'No ceremony for me, I'm a plain man,' and in I came. How +are you, Mrs. Thomson? And is Jessie a good wee miss? How are you, +Thomson--and Rubbert? Alick, you've grown out of recognition." + +"Take this chair, Mr. Taylor," said Mrs. Thomson, while _Shakespeare's +Country with Coloured Illustrations_ slipped unheeded to the floor; and +Jessie glared her disapproval of the little man. + +"Not at all. I'll sit here. Expecting quite a gathering to-night, Mrs. +Thomson?" + +"Well, Mr. Taylor, they're mostly young people, friends of Jessie's," +Mrs. Thomson explained. + +"Quite so. Quite so. I'm at home among the young people, Mrs. Thomson. +Always a pleasure to see them enjoy theirselves. Here comes Mrs. +Taylor. C'me away, m'dear, into the fire." + +"You'd think he owned the house," Jessie muttered resentfully to Robert. + +Mrs. Taylor was a tall, thin woman, with a depressed cast of +countenance and a Roman nose. Her hair, rather thin on the top, was +parted and crimped in careful waves. She was dressed in olive-green +silk. In one hand she carried a black beaded bag, and she moved at a +run with her head forward, coming very close to the people she was +greeting and looking anxiously into their faces, as if expecting to +find them suffering from some dire disease. + +On this occasion the intensity of her grasp and gaze was almost painful +as "How's Mrs. Thomson?" she murmured, and even Mrs. Thomson's hearty +"I'm well, thanks," hardly seemed to reassure her. The arrival of some +other people cut short her greetings, and she and her husband retired +arm in arm to seats on the sofa. + +Now the guests arrived in quick succession. + +Mrs. Thomson toiled industriously to find something to say to each one, +and Jessie wrestled with the question of seats. People seemed to take +up so much more room than she had expected. The sofa which she had +counted on to hold four looked crowded with three, and of course her +father had put the two Miss Hendrys into the two best arm-chairs, and +when the Simpsons came, fashionably late (having only just finished +dinner), they had to content themselves with the end of a +holland-covered form hired from the baker. They were not so imposing in +appearance as one would have expected from Jessie's awe of them. They +had both round fat faces and perpetually open mouths, elaborately +dressed hair and slightly supercilious expressions. Their accent was +refined, and they embarrassed Mrs. Thomson at the outset by shaking her +hand and leaving it up in the air. + +The moment the Misses Simpson were seated Jessie sped towards a tall +young man lounging against a window and brought him in triumph to them. + +"I would like to introduce to you Mr. Stewart Stevenson--the artist, +you know. Miss Gertrude Simpson, Miss Muriel Simpson--Mr. Stevenson." + +"Now," she said to herself, as she walked away, "I wonder if I did that +right? I'm almost sure I should have said his name first." + +"Jessie," said her father in a loud whisper, clutching at her sleeve, +"should we not be doing something? It's awful dull. I could ask Taylor +to sing, if you like." + +"Uch, no Papa," said Jessie, "at least not yet. I'll ask Mr. +Inverarity--he's a lovely singer;" and shaking herself free, she +approached a youth with a drooping moustache and a black tie who was +standing alone and looking--what he no doubt felt--neglected. + +"Oh, Mr. Inverarity," said Jessie, "I know you sing. Now," archly, +"don't say you haven't brought your music." + +"Well," said Mr. Inverarity, looking cheered, "as a matter of fact I +did bring a song or two. They're in the hall, beside my coat; I'll get +them." + +"Not at all," said Jessie. "Alick! run out to the hall and bring in Mr. +Inverarity's music. He's going to give us a song." + +Alick went and returned with a large roll of songs. "Here," he remarked +to Jessie in passing, "if he sings all these we'll do." + +Mr. Inverarity pondered over the songs for a few seconds and then said, +"If you would be so kind, Miss Thomson, as to accompany me, I might try +this." + +"All right," said Jessie, as she removed her jangling bangles and laid +them on the top of the piano. "I'll do my best, but I'm not an awfully +good accompanist." She gave the piano-stool a twirl, seated herself, +and struck some rather uncertain chords, while Mr. Inverarity cleared +his throat, stared gloomily at the carpet, and then lustily announced +that it was his Wedding Morn Ding Dong. + +There was a commendable silence during the performance, and in the +chorus of "Thank yous" and "Lovelys" that followed Jessie led the +singer to a girl with an "artistic" gown and prominent teeth, whom she +introduced as "Miss Waterston, awfully fond of music." + +"Pleased to meet you," said Mr. Inverarity. "No," as Miss Waterston +tried to make room for him, "I wouldn't think of crowding you. I'll +just sit on this wee stool, if nobody has any objections." + +Miss Waterston giggled. "That was a lovely song of yours, Mr. +Inverarity," she said. "I did enjoy it." + +"Thank you, Miss Waterston. D'you sing yourself?" + +"Oh, well," said Miss Waterston, smiling coyly at the toe of her +slipper, "just a little. In fact," with a burst of confidence, "I've +got a part in this year's production of the Sappho Club. Well, of +course, I'm only in the chorus, but it's something to be even in the +chorus of such a high-class Club. Don't you think so?" + +"And what," asked Mr. Inverarity, "is the piece to be produced?" + +"Oh! It's the _Gondoliers_, a kind of old-fashioned thing, of course. I +would rather have done something more up to date, like _The Chocolate +Box Girl_, it's lovely." + +"It is," Mr. Inverarity agreed, "very tuney; but d'you know, of all +these things my wee favourite's _The Convent Girl_." + +"Fency!" said Miss Waterston, "I've never seen it. I think, don't you, +that music's awfully inspiring? When I hear good music I just feel as +if I could--as if I--well, you know what I mean." + +"I've just the same feeling myself, Miss Waterston," Mr. Inverarity +assured her--"something like what's expressed in the words 'Had I the +wings of a dove I would flee,' eh? Is that it?" and Mr. Inverarity +nudged Miss Waterston with his elbow. + +The room was getting very hot, Mr. Thomson in his nervousness having +inadvertently heaped the fire with coals. + +A very small man recited "Lasca" on the hearth-rug, and melted visibly +between heat and emotion. + +"I say," said Mr. Stevenson to Miss Gertrude Simpson, "he looks like +Casabianca. By the way, was Casabianca the name of the boy on the ship?" + +"I couldn't say, I'm sure," she replied, looking profoundly +uninterested. + +"Do you go much to the theatre?" he asked her sister. + +"We go when there's anything good on," she said. + +"Such as----?" + +"Oh! I don't know----" She looked vaguely round the room. "Something +amusing, you know, but quite nice too." + +"I see. D'you care for the Repertory?" + +"Oh, well," said Miss Muriel, "they're not bad, but they do such dull +things. You remember, Gertrude," leaning across to her sister, "yon +awful silly thing we saw? What was it called? Yes, _Prunella_. And that +same night some friends asked us to go to _Baby Mine_--everyone says +it's killing,--but Papa had taken the seats and he made us use them. It +was too bad. We felt awfully 'had.'" + +"_I_ think," said Miss Gertrude, "that the Repertory people are very +amateurish." + +Mr. Stewart Stevenson was stung. + +"My dear young lady," he said severely, "one or two of the Repertory +people are as good as anyone on the London stage and a long sight +better than most." + +"Fency," said Miss Gertrude coldly. + +Stewart Stevenson looked about for a way of escape, but he was hemmed +round by living walls and without doing violence he could not leave his +seat. Mrs. Thomson sat before him in a creaking cane chair listening to +praise of her drawing-room from Jessie's dowdy friend, Miss Hendry. + +"My! Mrs. Thomson, it's lovely! _Whit_ a carpet--pile near up to your +knees!" + +"D'ye like the colouring, Miss Hendry?" asked Mrs. Thomson. + +Miss Hendry looked round at the yellow walls and bright gilt picture +frames shining in the strong incandescent light. + +"Mrs. Thomson," she said solemnly, "it's _chaste_!" + +Mrs. Thomson sighed as if the burden of her magnificence irked her, +then: "How d'ye think the evening's goin'?" she whispered. + +"Very pleasant," Miss Hendry whispered back, "What about a game?" + +"I don't know," said poor Mrs. Thomson. "_I_ would say it would be the +very thing, but mebbe Jessie wouldn't think it genteel." + +A girl stood up beside the piano with her violin, and somebody said +"Hush!" loudly, so Mrs. Thomson at once subsided, in so far as a very +stout person can subside in an inadequate cane chair, and composed +herself to listen to Scots airs very well played. The familiar tunes +cheered the company wonderfully; in fact, they so raised Mr. Taylor's +spirits that, to Jessie's great disgust, and in spite of the raised +eyebrows of the Simpsons, he pranced in the limited space left in the +middle of the room and invited anyone who liked to take a turn with him. + +"Jolly thing a fiddle," said Stewart Stevenson cheerily to Miss Muriel +Simpson. + +"The violin is always nice," primly replied Miss Muriel, "but I don't +care for Scotch airs--they're so common. We like high-class music." + +"Perhaps you play yourself?" Mr. Stevenson suggested. + +"Oh no," said Miss Muriel in a surprised tone. + +"Do you care for reading?" he asked her sister. + +"Oh, I like it well enough, but it's an awful waste of time." + +"Are you so very busy, then?" + +"Well, what with calling, and going into town, and the evenings so +taken up with dances and bridge parties, it's quite a rush." + +"It must be," said Mr. Stevenson. + +"And besides," said Miss Gertrude, "we do quite a lot of fency work." + +"But still, Gertrude," her sister reminded her, "we nearly always read +on Sunday afternoons." + +"That's so," said Gertrude; "but people have got such a way of dropping +in to tea. By the way, Mr. Stevenson, we'll hope to see you, if you +should happen to be in our direction any Sunday." + +"That is very kind of you," said Mr. Stevenson. + +"There!" cried Mrs. Thomson, bounding in her chair, "Miss Elizabeth's +going to sing. That's fine!" + +Stewart Stevenson looked over his shoulder and saw a girl standing at +the piano. She was slight and straight and tall--more than common +tall--grey-eyed and golden-haired, and looked, he thought, as little in +keeping with the company gathered in the drawing-room of Jeanieville as +a Romney would have looked among the bright gilt-framed pictures on the +wall. + +She spoke to her accompanist, then, clasping her hands behind her, she +threw back her head with a funny little gesture and sang. + + "Jock the Piper steps ahead, + Taps his fingers on the reed: + His the tune to wake the dead, + Wile the salmon from the Tweed, + Cut the peats and reap the corn, + Kirn the milk and fold the flock-- + Never bairn that yet was born + Could be feared for Heather Jock. + + Jock the Piper wakes his lay + When the hills are red with dawn! + You can hear him pipe away + After window-blinds are drawn. + In the sleepy summer hours, + When you roam by scaur or rock, + List the tune among the flowers, + 'Tis the song of Heather Jock. + + Jock the Piper, grave and kind, + Lifts the towsy head that drops! + Never eyes could look behind + When his fingers touch the stops. + + Bairns that are too tired to play, + Little hearts that sorrows mock-- + 'There are blue hills far away, + Come with me,' says Heather Jock. + + He will lead them fast and far + Down the hill and o'er the sea, + Through the sunset gates afar + To the Land of Ought-to-be! + Where the treasure ships unload, + Treasures free from bar and lock, + Jock the Piper kens the road, + Up and after Heather Jock." + + +In his enthusiasm Mr. Stevenson turned to the Misses Simpson and cried: + +"What a crystal voice! Who is she?" + +The Misses Simpson regarded him for a moment, then Miss Gertrude +replied coldly: + +"Her name's Elizabeth Seton, and her father's the Thomsons' minister. +It's quite a poor church down in the slums, and they haven't even an +organ. Pretty? D'you think so? I think there's awfully little _in_ her +face. Her voice is nice, of course, but she's got no taste in the +choice of songs." + +Stewart Stevenson was saved from replying, for the door opened +cautiously and Annie the servant put her head in and nodded meaningly +in the direction of her mistress, whereupon Mrs. Thomson heaved herself +from her inadequate seat and gave a hand--an unnecessary hand--to the +spare Miss Hendry. + +"Supper at last!" she said. "I'm sure it's time. It niver was my way to +keep people sitting wanting food, but there! What can a body say with a +grown-up daughter? Eh! I hope Annie's got the tea and coffee real hot, +for everything else is cold." + +"Never mind, Mrs. Thomson," said Miss Hendry; "it's that warm we'll not +quarrel with cold things." + +They were making their way to the door, when Mr. Taylor rushed forward +and, seizing Mrs. Thomson's arm, drew it through his own, remarking +reproachfully, "Oh, Mrs. Thomson, you were niver goin' in without me? +Now, Miss Hendry," turning playfully to that austere lady, "don't you +be jealous! You know you're an old sweetheart of mine, but I must keep +in with Mrs. Thomson to-night--tea and penny-things, eh?" and he nudged +Miss Hendry, who only sniffed and said, "You've great spirits for your +age, Mr. Taylor, I'm sure." + +Mr. Taylor, who was still hugging Mrs. Thomson's arm, to her great +embarrassment, pretended indignation. + +"Ma age, indeed!" he said. "I'm not a day older in spirit than when I +was courtin'. Ask Mrs. Taylor, ask her"; and he jerked his thumb over +his shoulder at his wife, who came mincing on Mr. Thomson's arm, then +pranced into the dining-room with his hostess. + +"Whit is it, Miss Hendry?" asked Mrs. Taylor, coming very close and +looking anxiously into her face. "Are ye feelin' the heat?" + +"Not me, Mrs. Taylor," said Miss Hendry. "It's that man of yours, +jokin' away as usual. He says he's as young as when he was courtin'." + +"Ay," said Mrs. Taylor mournfully, "he's wonderful; but ye niver know +when trouble'll come. Lizzy Leitch is down. A-ay. Quite sudden +yesterday morning, when she was beginning her fortnight's washin', and +I saw her well and bright last Wensday--or was it Thursday? No, it was +Wensday at tea-time, and now she's unconscious and niver likely to +regain it, so the doctor says. Ay, trouble soon comes, and we niver----" + +"Mrs. Taylor," said Mr. Thomson nervously, "I think we'd better move +on. We're keepin' people back. Miss Hendry, who'll we get to take you +in, I wonder? Is there any young man you fancy?" + +"Oh, Mr. Thomson," said Miss Hendry, "it's ower far on in the afternoon +for that with me." + +"Not at all," said Mr. Thomson politely, looking about for a squire. +"Here, Alick," he cried, catching sight of his younger son, "come here +and take Miss Hendry in to supper." + +Alick had been boring his way supper-wards unimpeded by a female, but +he cheerfully laid hands on Miss Hendry (his idea of escorting a lady +was to propel her forcibly) and said, "Come on and get a seat before +the rest get in, and we'll have a rare feed. It's an awful class +supper. Papa brought a real pine-apple, and there's meringues and all." + +Half dragged and half pushed, Miss Hendry reached the dining-room, +where Mrs. Thomson, flushed and anxious, sat ensconced behind her best +teacups, clasping nervously the silver teapot which was covered by her +treasured white satin tea-cosy with the ribbon-work poppies. The rest +of the company followed thick and fast. There were not seats for all, +so some of the men having deposited their partners, stood round the +table ready to hand cups. + +Mrs. Thomson filled some teacups and looked round helplessly. "Where's +Rubbert?" she murmured. + +"Can I assist you, Mrs. Thomson?" said a polite youth behind her, clad +in a dinner jacket, a double collar, and a white tie. + +"Since you're so kind," said Mrs. Thomson. "That's the salver with the +sugar and cream; it'll hold two cups at a time. The girl's taking round +the sangwiches, if you'd just follow her." + +At the other end of the table sat Jessie with the coffee-cups, but as +most of the guests preferred tea, she had more time than her harassed +mother to look about her. + +The sight of food had raised everyone's spirits, and the hum of +conversation was loud and cheerful. + +Mr. Inverarity, sitting on the floor at Miss Waterston's feet, a lock +of sleek black hair falling in an engaging way over one eye, a cup of +tea on the floor beside him and a sandwich in each hand, was being so +amazingly witty that his musical companion was kept in one long giggle. + +Mrs. Taylor was looking into Mr. Thomson's face as she told him an +involved and woeful tale, and the extent of the little man's misery +could be guessed by the faces he was making in his efforts to take an +intelligent interest in the recital. + +Alick had deserted Miss Hendry for the nonce, but his place had been +taken by her sister, Miss Flora, a lady as small and fat as Miss Hendry +was tall and thin. They had spread handkerchiefs on their brown silk +laps, and were comfortably enjoying the good things which Alick, +raven-like, brought to them at intervals. + +The Simpsons, Jessie regretted to see, had not been as well looked +after as their superiority merited. Miss Muriel had been taken in to +supper by Robert. He had supplied her with food, but of conversation, +of light table-talk, he had nothing to offer her. Neither he nor the +lady was making the slightest effort to conceal the boredom each felt +in the other's company. + +Gertrude Simpson had been unfortunate again in the way of a chair, and +was seated on an indifferent wicker one culled from the parlour. Beside +her stood Stewart Stevenson, eating a cream-cake, and looking +disinclined for conversation. + +"Jessie," said Mrs. Thomson, who had left her place behind the teacups +in desperation. "Jessie, just look at Annie. The silly girl's not +trying to feed the folk, she's just listening to what they're saying." + +Jessie looked across the room to where Annie stood dangling an empty +plate and listening with a sympathetic grin to a conversation between +Mr. Taylor and a lady friend, then, seizing a plate of cakes, she set +off to recall her to her duty. + +"It's an awful heat," said poor Mrs. Thomson to no one in particular. +Elizabeth Seton, who had crossed the room to speak to someone, stopped. + +"Everything's going beautifully, Mrs. Thomson," she said. "Just look +how happy everyone looks; it's a lovely party." + +"I'm sure," said Mrs. Thomson, "I'm glad you think so, for it's not my +idea of a party. But there, I'm old-fashioned, as Jessie often says. +Tell me--d'ye think there's enough to eat?" + +Elizabeth Seton laughed. "Enough! Why, there's oceans. Do let me carry +some things round. It's time for the sweets, isn't it? May I take a +meringue on one plate and some of the trifle on another, and ask which +they'll have?" + +"I wish you would," said Mrs. Thomson, "for I never think a body gets +anything at these stand-up meals." She put a generous helping of trifle +on a plate and handed it to Elizabeth. "And mind to say there's +chocolate shape as well, and there's a kind of apricot souffley thing +too. Papa brought in the pine-apple. Wasn't it real mindful of him?" + +"It was indeed," said Elizabeth heartily, as she set off with her +plates. + +The first person she encountered was Mr. Taylor, skipping about with +his fourth cup of tea. + +"Too bad, Miss Seton," he cried. "Where are the gentlemen? No, thanks! +not that length yet, Jessie," as the daughter of the house passed with +a plate of cakes. "Since you're so pressing, I'll take a penny-thing." + +"Nice girrl, Jessie," he observed, as that affronted damsel passed on. +"Papa well, Miss Seton?" + +"Quite well, thank you." + +"That's right. Yon was a fine sermon on Sabbath mornin'. Niver heard +the minister better." + +"I'm glad," said Elizabeth. "I shall tell Father." + +"Ay, do--we must encourage him." Mr. Taylor put what was left of his +cake into his mouth, took a large gulp of tea. "It's a difficult field. +Nobody knows that better than me." + +"I'm sure no one does," said Elizabeth politely but vaguely. Mr. Taylor +blew his nose with a large red silk handkerchief. + +"Miss Seton," he said, coming close to her, and continuing +confidentially, "our Sabbath-school social's comin' off on Tuesday +week, that's the ninth. Would you favour us with a song? Something +semi-sacred, you know." + +"Of course I shall sing for you," said Elizabeth; "but couldn't I sing +something quite secular or quite sacred? I don't like 'semi' things." + +Mr. Taylor stood on tiptoe to put himself more on a level with his tall +companion, cocked his head and looked rather like a robin. + +"What's the matter with 'The Better Land'?" he asked. + +Elizabeth smiled down at him and shook her head. + +"Ah, well! I leave it to you, Miss Seton. Here," he caught her arm as +she was turning away, "you'll remind Papa that he's to take the chair +that night? Tea on the table at seven-thirty." + +"Yes, I'll remind him. Keep your mind easy, Mr. Taylor. Father and I'll +both be there." + +"Thank you, Miss Seton; that'll be all right, then;" and Mr. Taylor +took his empty cup to his hostess, while Elizabeth, seeing the two Miss +Hendrys unoccupied for the moment, deposited with them the meringue and +trifle. + +She complimented Miss Hendry on her elegant appearance and admired Miss +Flora's hand-made collar, and left them both beaming. She brought a +pink meringue to Mrs. Taylor and soothed her fears of the consequences, +while that lady hung her head coyly on one side and said, "Ye're +temptin' me; ye're temptin' me!" + +Supper had reached the fruit and chocolate stage when Jessie Thomson +brought Stewart Stevenson and introduced him to Elizabeth Seton. + +"I wanted to tell you how much I liked your song," he began. + +"How kind of you!" said Elizabeth. "I think myself it's a nice song." + +"I don't know anything about music," continued Mr. Stevenson. + +"Was that why you said you liked my song instead of my singing?" + +"Yes," he said; and they both laughed. + +They were deep in the subject of Scots ballads when Mr. Inverarity came +along with dates on a majolica dish in one hand, his other hand behind +his back. + +"A little historical matter," he said, offering the dates. "No? Then," +he produced a silver dish with the air of a conjurer, "a chocolate?" + +Elizabeth chose deliberately. + +"I'm looking for the biggest," she said. "You see I'm greedy." + +"Not at all," said Mr. Inverarity. "Sweets to the sweet;" and he passed +on his jokesome way. + +"Sweets to the sweet," repeated Elizabeth. "Isn't it funny? Words that +were dropped with violets over the drowned Ophelia now furnish +witticisms for suburban young men." + +"Miss Seton," said Mrs. Thomson, bustling up, "you're here. We're going +back to the drawing-room now to have a little more music." She dropped +her voice to a hoarse whisper. "Papa's asked Mr. Taylor to sing. +Jessie'll be awful ill-pleased, but he's an old friend." + +"Does he want to sing?" asked Elizabeth. + +"Dyin' to," said Mrs. Thomson. + +Back to the drawing-room flocked the company, and Mr. Taylor, to use +his own words, "took the floor." Jessie was standing beside the +Simpsons and saw him do it. + +"What a funny little man that is!" said Miss Simpson languidly. "What's +he going to do now?" + +"The dear knows," said Jessie bitterly. + +They were not left long in doubt. + +Mr. Taylor struck an attitude. + +"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I have been asked to favour you with +a song, but with your kind permission I'll give you first a readin'." +He fumbled in his pocket and brought out a newspaper cutting. "It's a +little bit I read in the papers," he explained, "very comical." + +The "little bit" from the newspapers was in what is known in certain +circles as "guid auld Doric," and it seemed to be about a feather-bed +and a lodger, but so amused was Mr. Taylor at the joke he had last +made, and so convulsed was he at one he saw coming, that very little +was heard except his sounds of mirth. + +Laughter is infectious, especially after supper, and the whole room +rocked with Mr. Taylor. Only Jessie sat glum, and the Simpsons smiled +but wanly. Greatly encouraged by the success of his reading, Mr. Taylor +proceeded with his song, a rollicking ditty entitled "Miss Hooligan's +Christmas Cake." It was his one song, his only song. It told, at +length, the ingredients of the cake and its effect on Tim Mooney, who + + "lay down on the sofa + And said that he wished he was dead." + +The last two lines of the chorus ran: + + "It would kill a man twice to eat half a slice + Of Miss Hooligan's Christmas Cake." + + +Uproarious applause greeted Mr. Taylor's efforts, and he was so elated +that it was with difficulty Mr. Thomson restrained him from singing it +all over again. + +"You've done fine, man," he whispered. "Mind you're the superintendent +of the Sabbath school." + +Mr. Taylor's face sobered. + +"Thomson, ye don't think it's unbecoming of me to sing 'Miss Hooligan'? +I've often sang it and no harm thought, but I wouldn't for the world +bring discredit on ma office. I did think of gettin' up 'Bonnie Mary o' +Argyle.' It would mebbe have been more wise-like." + +"No, no, Taylor; I was only joking. 'Miss Hooligan's' fine. I like it +better every time I hear it. There's no ill in it. I'm sorry I spoke." + +Meantime Jessie was trying to explain away Mr. Taylor to the Simpsons, +who continued to look disgusted. Elizabeth Seton, standing near, came +to her aid. + +"Isn't Mr. Taylor delicious?" she said. "Quite as good as Harry Lauder, +and you know"--she turned to Miss Muriel Simpson--"what colossal sums +people in London pay Harry Lauder to sing at their parties." + +Miss Muriel knew little of London and nothing of London parties, but +she liked Elizabeth's assuming she did, so she replied with unction, +"That is so." + +"Well," said Miss Gertrude, "I never can see why people rave about +Harry Lauder. I see nothing funny in vulgarity myself, but look at the +crowds!" + +"Perhaps," said Elizabeth, "the crowd has a vulgar mind. I wouldn't +wonder;" and she turned away, to find Stewart Stevenson at her elbow. + +"I say, Miss Seton," he said, "I wonder if you would care to see that +old ballad-book I was telling you about?" + +"I would, very much," said Elizabeth heartily. "Bring it, won't you, +some afternoon? I am in most afternoons about half-past four." + +"Thanks very much--I would like to.... Well, good night." + +It seemed to strike everyone at the same moment that it was time to +depart. There was a general exodus, and a filing upstairs by the ladies +to the best bedroom for wraps, and to the parlour on the part of the +men, for overcoats and goloshes, or snow-boots as the case might be. + +Elizabeth stood in the lobby waiting for her cab, and watched the scene. + +As Miss Waterston tripped downstairs in a blue cashmere cloak with a +rabbit fur collar Mr. Inverarity emerged from the parlour, with his +music sticking out of his coat-pocket. + +Together they said good night to Mr. and Mrs. Thomson and told Jessie +how much they had enjoyed the party. "We've just had a lovely evening, +Jessie," said Miss Waterston. + +"Awfully jolly, Miss Thomson," said Mr. Inverarity. + +"Not at all," was Jessie's reply; and the couple departed together, +having discovered that they both lived "West." + +The Simpsons, clad in the smartest of evening cloaks, were addressing a +few parting remarks to Jessie, when Mr. and Mrs. Taylor took, so to +speak, the middle of the stage. Mrs. Taylor had turned up her +olive-green silk skirt and pinned it in a bunch round her waist. Over +this she wore a black circular waterproof from which emerged a pair of +remarkably thin legs ending in snow-boots. An aged black bonnet--"my +prayer-meeting bonnet" she would have described it--crowned her head. + +They advanced arm in arm till they stood right in front of their host +and hostess, then Mr. Taylor made a speech. + +"A remarkably successful evenin', Mrs. Thomson, as I'm sure +everybody'll admit. You've entertained us well; you've fed us +sumptuous; you've----" + +"Now, Mr. Taylor," Mrs. Thomson interrupted, "you'll fair affront us. +It's you we've to thank for coming, and singing, and I'm sure I hope +you'll be none the worse of all--there, there, are you really going? +Well, good night. I'm sure it's real nice to see you and Mrs. Taylor +always so affectionate--isn't it, Papa?" + +"That's so," agreed Mr. Thomson. + +"Mrs. Thomson," said Mr. Taylor solemnly, "me and my spouse are +sweethearts still." + +Mrs. Taylor looked coyly downwards, murmuring what sounded like +"Aay-he"; then, with her left hand (her right hand being held by her +lover-like husband), she seized Mrs. Thomson's hand and squeezed it. +"I'll hear on Sabbath if ye're the worse of it," she said hopefully. +"It's been real nice, but I sneezed twice in the bedroom, so I doubt +I've got a tich of cold. But I'll go home and steam my head, and +that'll mebbe take it in time." + +"Yer cab has came," Annie, the servant, whispered hoarsely to Elizabeth. + +"Thank you," said Elizabeth. Then a thought struck her: "Mrs. Taylor, +won't you let me drive you both home? I pass your door. Do let me." + +"I'm sure, Miss Seton, you're very kind," said Mrs. Taylor. + +"Thoughtful, right enough," said her husband; and, amid a chorus of +good nights, Elizabeth and the Taylors went out into the night. + +Half an hour later the exhausted Thomson family sat in their +dining-room. They had not been idle, for Mrs. Thomson believed in doing +at once things that had to be done. Mr. Thomson and Robert had carried +away the intruding chairs, and taken the "leaf" out of the table. +Jessie had put all the left-over cakes into a tin box, and folded away +the tablecloth and d'oyleys. Mrs. Thomson had herself carefully counted +and arranged her best cups and saucers in their own cupboard, and was +now busy counting the fruit knives and forks and teaspoons. + +"Only twenty-three! Surely Annie's niver let a teaspoon go down the +sink." + +"Have a sangwich, Mamma," said her husband. "The spoon'll turn up." + +Mrs. Thomson took a sandwich and sat down on a chair. "Well," she said +slowly, "we've had them, and we'll not need to have them for a long +time again." + +"It's been a great success," said Mr. Thomson, taking a mouthful of +lemonade. "Eh, Jessie?" + +"It was very nice," said Jessie, "and as you say, Mamma, we'll not need +to have another for a long time. Mr. Taylor's the limit," she added. + +"He enjoyed himself," said her father. + +"He's an awful man to eat," said Mrs. Thomson. "It's not the thing to +make remarks about guests' appetites, I know, but he fair surpassed +himself to-night. However, Mrs. Taylor, poor body, 's quite delighted +with him." + +"He sang well," said Mr. Thomson. "I never heard 'Miss Hooligan' +better. Quite a lot of talent we had to-night, and Miss Seton's a +treat. Nobody can sing like her, to my mind." + +"That's true," said his wife. "Mr. Stevenson seems a nice young man, +Jessie. What does he do?" + +"He's an artist," said Jessie. "I met him at the Shakespeare Readings. +Muriel Simpson thinks he's awfully good-looking." + +"Muriel Simpson's not, anyway," said Alick. "She's a face like a scone, +and it's all floury too, like a scone." + +"Alick," said his father, "it's high time you were in bed, my boy. +We'll be hearing about this in the morning. What about your lessons?" + +"Lessons!" cried Alick shrilly. "How could I learn lessons and a party +goin' on?" + +"Quite true," said Mr. Thomson. "Well, it's only once in a while. +Rubbert"--to his son who was standing up yawning--"you're no great +society man." + +Robert shook his head. + +"I haven't much use for people at any time," he said, "but I fair hate +them at a party." + +And Mr. Thomson laughed in an understanding way as he went to lift in +the mat and lock the front door, and make Jeanieville safe for the +night. + + + + +_CHAPTER III_ + + "When that I was and a little tiny boy, + With a hey ho hey, the wind and the rain." + _Twelfth Night._ + + +The Reverend James Seton sat placidly eating his breakfast while his +daughter Elizabeth wrestled in spirit with her young brother. + +"No, Buff, you are _not_ to tell yourself a story. You must sup your +porridge." + +Buff slapped his porridge vindictively with his spoon and said, "I wish +all the millers were dead." + +"Foolish fellow," said his father, as he took a bit of toast. + +"Come away," said Elizabeth persuasively, scooping a hole in the +despised porridge, "we'll make a quarry in the middle." She filled it +up with milk. "There! We've made a great deep hole, big enough to drown +an army. Now--one sup for the King, and one for the boys in India, and +one for--for the partridge in the pear-tree, and one for the poor +little starved pussy downstairs." + +Buff twisted himself round to look at his sister's face. + +"Yes, there is. Ellen found it last night at the kitchen door. If you +finish your breakfast quickly, you may run down and see it before +prayers." + +"What's it like?" gurgled Buff, as the porridge slid in swift spoonfuls +down his throat. + +"Grey, with a black smudge on its nose and such a _little_ tail." + +"Set me down," said Buff, with the air of one who would behold a +cherished vision. + +Elizabeth untied his napkin, and in a moment they heard him clatter +down the kitchen stairs. + +Elizabeth met her father's eyes and smiled. "Funny Buff! Isn't it odd +his passion for cats? Oh, Father, you haven't asked about the party." + +Mr. Seton passed his cup to be filled. + +"That is only my second, isn't it?" he asked, "Well, I hope you had a +pleasant evening?" + +Elizabeth wrinkled her brows as she filled her cup. "Pleasant? Warm, +noisy, over-eaten, yes--but pleasant? And yet, do you know, it was +pleasant because the Thomsons were so anxious to please. Dear Mrs. +Thomson was so kind, stout and worried, and Mr. Thomson is such an +anxious little pilgrim always; and Jessie was so smart, and +Robert--what a nice boy that is!--so obviously hated us all, and +Alick's accent was as refreshing as ever. We got the most tremendously +fine supper--piles and piles of things, and everybody ate such a lot, +especially Mr. Taylor--'keeping up the tabernacle' he called it. I was +sorry for Jessie with that little man. It is hard to rise to gentility +when you are weighted with parents who will stick to their old friends, +and our church-people, though they are of such stuff as angels are +made, don't look well on the outside. I know Jessie felt they spoiled +the look of the party." + +"Poor Jessie!" said Mr. Seton. + +"Yes, poor Jessie! I never saw Mr. Taylor so jokesome. He called her a +'good wee miss,' and shamed her in the eyes of the Simpsons (you don't +know them--stupid, vulgar people). And then he sang! Father, do you +think 'Miss Hooligan' is a fit song for the superintendent of the +Sabbath school to sing?" + +Mr. Seton smiled indulgently. + +"I don't think there's much wrong with 'Miss Hooligan,'" he said; +"she's a very old friend." + +"You mean she's respectable through very age? Perhaps to us, but I +assure you the Simpsons were simply stunned last night at the first +time of hearing." + +Elizabeth poured some cream into her cup, then looked across at her +father with her eyes dancing with laughter. "I laugh whenever I think +of Mrs. Taylor," she explained--"_ma spouse_, as Mr. Taylor calls her. +I don't think she has any mind really; her whole conversation is just a +long tangle of symptoms, her own and other people's. What infinite +interests she gets out of her neighbours' insides! And then the +preciseness of her dates--'would it be Wensday? No, it was Tuesday--no, +Wensday it must ha' been.'" + +Her father chuckled appreciatively at Elizabeth's reproduction of Mrs. +Taylor's voice and manner, but he felt constrained to remark: "Mrs. +Taylor's an excellent woman, Elizabeth. You're a little too given to +laughing at people." + +"Oh, Father, if a minister's daughter can't laugh, what is the poor +thing to do? But, seriously, I find myself becoming horribly minister's +daughterish. I'm developing a 'hearty' manner, I smile and smile, and I +have that craving for knowledge of the welfare of absent members of +families that is so distinguishing a feature of the female clergy. And +I don't in the least want to be a typical 'minister's daughter.'" + +"I think," said Mr. Seton dryly, "you might be many a worse thing." He +rose as he spoke and brought a Bible from the table in the corner. +"Ring the bell, will you? The child will be late if he doesn't come +now." + +Even as he spoke the door was opened violently, and Buff came stumbling +in, with a small frightened kitten in his arms. + +"Father, look!" he cried breathlessly, casting himself and his burden +on his father's waistcoat. "It's a lost kitten, quite lost and very +little--see the size of its tail. It's got no home, but Marget says +it's got fleas and she won't let it live in her kitchen; but you'll let +it stay in your study, won't you, Father? It'll sit beside you when +you're writing your sermons, and then when I'm doing my lessons it'll +cheer me up." + +Mr. Seton gently stroked the little shivering ball of fur. "Not so +tight, Buff. The poor beastie can scarcely breathe. Put it on the rug +now, my son. Here are the servants for prayers." But the little lost +kitten clung with sharp frightened claws to Mr. Seton's trousers, and +Buff, liking the situation, made no serious effort to dislodge it. + +The servants, Marget and Ellen, took their seats and instantly Marget's +wrath was aroused and her manners forgotten. + +"Tak' that cat aff yer faither's breeks, David," she said severely. + +"Shan't," said Buff, glowering at her over his shoulder. + +"Don't be rude, my boy," said Mr. Seton. + +"_She_ was rude to the little cat, Father; she said it had fleas." + +"Well, well," said his father peaceably; "be quiet now while I read." + +Elizabeth rose and detached the kitten, taking it and Buff on her knee, +while her father opened the Bible and read some verses from +Jeremiah--words that Jeremiah the prophet spake unto Baruch the son of +Neriah in the fourth year of Jehoiakim, the son of Josiah, king of +Judah. Elizabeth stroked Buff's mouse-coloured hair and thought how +remote it all sounded. This day would be full of the usual little +busynesses--getting Buff away to school, ordering the dinner, shopping, +writing letters, seeing people--what had all that to do with Baruch, +the son of Neriah, who lived in the fourth year of Jehoiakim? + +The moment prayers were over Buff leapt to his feet, seized the kitten, +and dashed out of the room. + +"He's an ill laddie that," Marget observed, "but there's wan thing +aboot him, he's no' ill-kinded to beasts." + +"Marget," said Elizabeth, "you know quite well that in your heart you +think him perfection." + +"No' me," said Marget; "I think no man perfection. Are ye comin' to see +aboot the denner the noo, or wull I begin to ma front-door?" + +"Give me three minutes, Marget, to see the boys off." + +Two small boys with school-bags on their backs came up the gravelled +path. "Here comes Thomas--and Billy following after. Buff! Buff!--where +is the boy?" + +"Here," said Buff, emerging suddenly from his father's study. "Where's +my bag?" + +He paid no attention to his small companion and Thomas and Billy made +no sign of recognition to him. + +"Are you boys not going to say good morning?" asked Elizabeth, as she +put on Buff's school-bag. "Don't you know that when gentlefolk meet +courtesies are exchanged?" + +The three boys looked at each other and murmured a greeting in a +shame-faced way. + +"Can you say your lessons to-day, Thomas?" Elizabeth asked, buttoning +the while Buff's overcoat. + +"No," said Thomas, "but Billy can say his." + +"This is singing-day," said Billy brightly. + +Billy was round and fat and beaming. Thomas was fat too, but inclined +to be pensive. Buff was thin and seemed all one colour--eyes, hair, and +complexion. Thomas and Billy were pretty children: Buff was plain. + +"Uch!" said Thomas. + +"I thought you liked singing-day," said Elizabeth. + +"We did," said Buff, "but last day they asked me and Thomas to stop +singing cos we were putting the others off the tune." + +"Oh!" said Elizabeth, trying not to smile. "Well, it's time you were +off. Here's your Edinburgh rock." She gave each of them half a stick of +rock, which they stuck in their mouths cigar-wise. + +"Be sure and come straight home," said Elizabeth to Buff. + +"You'd better not come to tea with us to-day, Buff," said Thomas. +"Mamma said yesterday it was about time we had a rest." + +"I wasn't coming," said the outraged Buff. + +Elizabeth put an arm round him as she spoke to Thomas. + +"Mamma has quite enough with her own, Thomas. I expect when Buff joins +you you worry her dreadfully. I think you and Billy had better come to +tea here to-day, and after you have finished your lessons we'll play at +'Yellow Dog Dingo.'" + +"Hurray!" said Billy. + +"And when we've finished 'Yellow Dog Dingo,'" said Buff, "will you play +at 'Giantess'?" + +"Well--for half an hour, perhaps," said Elizabeth. "Now run off, or +I'll be Giantess this minute and eat you all up." + +They moved towards the door; then Thomas stopped and observed dreamily: + +"I dreamt last night that Satan and his wife and baby were chasing me." + +"Oh, Thomas!" said Elizabeth. She watched the three little figures in +their bunchy little overcoats, with their arms round each other's +necks, stumble out of the gate, then she shut the front-door and went +into her father's study. + +Mr. Seton was standing in what, to him, was a very characteristic +attitude. One foot was on a chair, his left hand was in his pocket, +while in his right he held a smallish green volume. A delighted smile +was on his face as Elizabeth entered. + +"Aha, Father! Caught you that time." + +Mr. Seton put the book back on the shelf. + +"My dear girl, I was only glancing at something that----" + +"Only a refreshing glance at Scott before you begin your sermon, Father +dear, and 'what for no'? Oh! while I remember--the Sabbath-school +social comes off on the ninth: you are to take the chair, and I'm to +sing. I shall print it in big letters on this card and stick it on the +mantelpiece, then we're bound to remember it." + +Mr. Seton was already at his writing-table. + +"Yes, yes," he said in an absent-minded way. "Run away now, like a good +girl. I'm busy." + +"Yes, I'm going. Just look at the snug way Buff has arranged the +kitten. Father, Thomas has been having nightmares about Satan in his +domestic relations. Did you know Satan had a wife and baby----?" + +"Elizabeth!" + +"I didn't say it; it was Thomas. That boy has an original mind." + +"Well, well, girl; but you are keeping me back." + +"Yes, I'm going. There's just one thing--about the chapter at prayers. +I was wondering--only wondering, you know--if Baruch the son of Neriah +had any real bearing on our everyday life?" + +Mr. Seton looked at his daughter, then remarked as he turned back to +his work: "I sometimes think you are a very ignorant creature, +Elizabeth." + +But Elizabeth only laughed as she shut the door and made her way +kitchenwards. + +On the kitchen stairs she met Ellen the housemaid, who stopped her with +a "Please, Miss Elizabeth," while she fumbled in the pocket of her +print and produced a post card with a photograph on it. + +"It's ma brither," she explained. "I got it this mornin'." + +Elizabeth carried the card to the window at the top of the staircase +and studied it carefully. + +"I think he's like you, Ellen," she said. "How beautifully his hair is +brushed." + +Ellen beamed. "He's got awful pretty prominent eyes," she said. + +"Yes," said Elizabeth. "I expect you're very proud of him, Ellen. Is he +your eldest brother?" + +"Yes, mum. He's a butcher in the Co-operative and _awful_ steady." + +Elizabeth handed back the card. + +"Thank you very much for letting me see it. How is your little sister's +foot?" + +"It's keepin' a lot better, and ma mother said I was to thank you for +the toys and books you sent her." + +"Oh, that's all right. I'm so glad she's better. When you're doing my +room to-day remember the mirrors, will you? This weather makes them so +dim." + +"Yes, mum," said Ellen cheerfully, as she went to her day's work. + +Elizabeth found Marget waiting for her. She had laid out on the +kitchen-table all the broken meats from the pantry and was regarding +the display gloomily. Marget had been twenty-five years with the Setons +and was not so much a servant as a sort of Grand Vizier. She expected +to be consulted on every point, and had the gravest fears about Buff's +future because Elizabeth refused to punish him. + +"It's no' kindness," she would say; "it's juist saftness. He _should_ +be wheepit." + +She adored the memory of Elizabeth's mother, who had died five years +before, when Buff was a little tiny boy. She adored too "the Maister," +as she called Mr. Seton, though deprecating his other-worldly, +absent-minded ways. "It wadna dae if we were a' like the Maister," she +often reminded Elizabeth. "Somebody maun think aboot washin's and +things." + +As to the Seton family--Elizabeth she thought well-meaning but "gey +impident whiles"; the boys in India, Alan the soldier and Walter the +promising young civilian, she still described as "notorious ill +laddies"; while Buff (David Stuart was his christened name) she +regarded as a little soul who, owing to an over-indulgent father and +sister, was in danger of straying on the Broad Road were she not there +to herd him by threats and admonitions into the Narrow Way. + +Truth to say, she admired them enormously, they were her "bairns," but +often her eyes would fill with tears as she said, "They're a' fine, but +the best o' them's awa'." + +Sandy, the eldest, had died at Oxford in his last summer-term, to the +endless sorrow of all who loved him. His mother--that gentle lady--a +few months later followed him, crushed out of life by the load of her +grief, and Elizabeth had to take her place and mother the boys, be a +companion to her father, shepherd the congregation, and bring up the +delicate little Buff, who was so much younger than the others as to +seem like an only child. + +Elizabeth had stood up bravely to her burden, and laughed her way +through the many difficulties that beset her--laughed more than was +quite becoming, some people said; but Elizabeth always preferred +disapproval to pity. + +This morning she noted down all that Marget said was needed, and +arranged for the simple meals. Marget was very voluble, and the +difficulty was to keep her to the subject under discussion. She mixed +up orders for the dinner with facts about the age of her relations in +the most distracting way. + +"Petaty-soup! Aweel, the Maister likes them thick. As I was sayin', ma +Aunty Marget has worked hard a' her days, she's haen a dizzen bairns, +and noo she's ninety-fower an' needs no specs." + +"Dear me," said Elizabeth, edging towards the door. "Well, I'll order +the fish and the other things; and remember oatcakes with the +potato-soup, please." + +She was half-way up the kitchen stairs when Marget put her head round +the door and said, "That's to say if she's aye leevin', an' I've heard +no word to the contrary." + +Elizabeth telephoned the orders, then proceeded to dust the +drawing-room--one of her daily duties. It was a fairly large room, +papered in soft green; low white bookcases on which stood pieces of old +china lined three sides; on the walls were etchings and prints, and +over the fireplace hung a really beautiful picture by a famous artist +of Elizabeth's mother as a girl. A piano, a table or two, a few large +arm-chairs, and a sofa covered in bright chintz made up the furniture +of what was a singularly lovable and home-like room. + +Elizabeth's dusting of the drawing-room was something of a ceremonial: +it needed three dusters. With a silk duster she dusted the white +bookcases and the cherished china; the chair legs and the tables and +the polished floor needed an ordinary duster; then she got a +selvyt-cloth and polished the Sheffield-plate, the brass candlesticks +and tinder-boxes. After that she shook out the chintz curtains, plumped +up the cushions, and put her dusters in their home in a bag that hung +on the shutter. "That's one job done," she said to herself, as she +stopped to look out of the window. + +The Setons' house stood in a wide, quiet road, with villas and gardens +on both sides. It was an ordinary square villa, but it was of grey +stone and fairly old, and it had some fine trees round it. Mr. Seton +often remarked that he never saw a house or garden he liked so well, +but then it was James Seton's way to admire sincerely everything that +was his. + +Just opposite rose the imposing structure of three storeys in red stone +which sheltered Thomas and Billy Kirke. Mr. Kirke was in business. +Elizabeth suspected him--though with no grounds to speak of--of "soft +goods." Anyway, from some mysterious haunt in the city "Papa" managed +to get enough money to keep "Mamma" and the children in the greatest +comfort, to help the widows and fatherless, and to entertain a large +circle of acquaintances in most hospitable fashion. He was a cheery +little man with a beard, absolutely satisfied with his lot in life. + +Elizabeth looked out at the prospect somewhat drearily. It was a dull +November day. Rain was beginning to fall heavily; the grass looked +sodden and dark. A message-boy went past, with his empty basket over +his head, whistling a doleful tune. A cart of coal stopped at the +Kirkes', and she watched the men carry it round to the kitchen +premises. They had sacks over their shoulders to protect them from the +rain, and they lifted the wet, shining lumps of coal into hamper-like +baskets and staggered with them over the well-gravelled path. What a +grimy job for them, Elizabeth thought, but everything seemed rather +grimy this morning. Try as she would, she couldn't remember any really +pleasant thing that was going to happen; day after day of dreary doings +loomed before her. She sighed, and then, so to speak, shook herself +mentally. + +Elizabeth had a notion that when one felt depressed the remedy was not +to give oneself a pleasure, but to do some hated duty, so she now +thought rapidly over distasteful tasks awaiting her. Buff's suit to be +sponged with ammonia and mended, old clothes to be looked out for a +jumble sale, a pile of letters to reply to. "Oh dear!" said Elizabeth; +but she went resolutely upstairs, and by the time she had tidied out +various drawers and laid out unneeded garments, and had brought brown +paper and string and tied them into neat bundles, she felt distinctly +more cheerful. + +The mending of Buff's suit completed the cheering process; for, in one +of his trouser pockets, she found a picture drawn and coloured by that +artist. It was a picture of Noah and the Ark, bold in conception if not +very masterly in workmanship. Noah was represented with his head poked +out of a skylight, his patriarchal beard waving in the wind, watching +for the return of the dove; but the artist must have got confused in +his ornithology, for the fowl coming towards Noah was a fearsome +creature with a beak like an eagle. Aloft, astride on a somewhat solid +cloud, clad in a crown and a sort of pyjama-suit, sat what was +evidently intended to be an angel of sorts--watching with interest the +manoeuvres of Noah and the eagle-like dove. And as Elizabeth smoothed +out the crumpled masterpiece she wondered how she could have imagined +herself dull when the house contained the Buffy-boy. + +The writing-table in the drawing-room showed a pile of letters waiting +to be answered. Elizabeth stirred the fire into a blaze, sniffed at a +bowl of violets, and sat down to answer them. "Two bazaar circulars! +and both from people who have helped me.... Well, I must just buy +things to send." She turned to the next. "How bills do come home to +roost! I wish I had paid this at the time. Now I must write a +cheque--and my account so lean and shrunken. What an offence bills are!" + +Very reluctantly she wrote a cheque and looked at it wistfully before +she put it into the envelope, and took up a letter from a person +unknown, resident in Rothesay, asking her to sing in that town at a +charity concert. "_I heard you sing while staying with my sister, Mrs. +M'Cubbins, whom you know, and I will be pleased if you can stay the +night----_" so ran the letter. "Pleased if I stay the night!" thought +Elizabeth wrathfully. "I should just think I would if I went--which I +won't, of course. Mrs. M'Cubbins' sister! That explains the +impertinence." And she wrote a chill note regretting that she could not +give herself the pleasure. An invitation to dinner was declined because +it was for "Prayer-meeting night." Then she took up a long letter, much +underlined, which she read through carefully before she began to write. + + +"Most kind of Aunts.--How can I possibly go to Switzerland with you +this Christmas? Have I not a father? also a younger brother? It's not +because I don't want to go--you know how I would love it; but picture +to yourself Father and Buff spending their Christmas alone! Would you +not come to us? I propose it with diffidence, for I know you think in +Glasgow dwelleth no good thing; but won't you try it? You know you have +never given it a chance. A few hours on your way to the North is all +you ever give us, and Glasgow can't be judged in an hour or two--nor +its people either. I don't say that it would be in the least amusing +for you, but it would be great fun for us, and you ought to try to be +altruistic, dearest of aunts. You know quite well that Mr. Arthur +Townshend will be quite all right without you for a little. He has +probably lots of invitations for Christmas, being such a popular young +man and----" + + +The opening of the gate and the sound of footsteps on the gravel made +Elizabeth run to the window. + +"Buff--_carrying_ his coat and the rain pouring! Of all the abandoned +youths!" + +Buff dashed into the house, threw his overcoat into one corner, his cap +into another, and violently assaulted the study door, kicking it when +it failed to open at the first attempt. + +"Boy, what are you about?" asked his father, as Buff fell on his knees +before the chair on which lay, comfortably asleep, the little rescued +kitten. + + + + +_CHAPTER IV_ + +"Sir Toby Belch. Does not our life consist of four elements? + +Sir Andrew Aguecheek. Faith, so they say, but I think it rather +consists of eating and drinking." + _Twelfth Night._ + + +"Poo-or pussy!" murmured Buff, laying his head beside his treasure on +the cushion. + +"Get up, boy," said Mr. Seton. "You carry kindness to animals too far." + +"And he doesn't carry tidiness any way at all," said Elizabeth, who had +followed Buff into the study. "He has strewed his garments all over the +place in the most shocking way. Come along, Buff, and pick them up.... +Father, tell him to come." + +"Do as your sister says, Buff." + +But Buff clung limpet-like to the chair and expostulated. "What's the +good of putting things tidy when I'm putting them on again in a minute?" + +"There's something in that," Mr. Seton said, as he put back in the +shelves the books he had been using. + +"All I have to say," said Elizabeth, "is that if I had been brought up +in this lax way I wouldn't be the example of sweetness and light I am +now. Do as you are told, Buff. I hear Ellen bringing up luncheon." + +Buff stowed the kitten under his arm and stood up. "I'll pick them up," +he said in a dignified way, "if Launcelot can have his dinner with me." + +"_Who?_" asked Elizabeth. + +"This is him," Buff explained, looking down at the distraught face of +the kitten peeping from under his arm. + +"What made you call it Launcelot?" asked Elizabeth, as her father went +out of the room laughing. + +"Thomas said to call him Topsy, and Billy said Bull's Eye was a nice +name, but I thought he looked more like a Launcelot." + +"Well--I'll take it while you pick up your coat and run and wash your +hands. You'll be late if you don't hurry." + +"Aw! no sausages!" said Buff, five minutes later, as he wriggled into +his place at the luncheon-table. + +"Can't have sausages every day, sonny," said his sister; "the butcher +man would get tired making them for us." + +"Aren't there any sausage-mines?" asked Buff; but his father and sister +had begun to talk to each other, so his question remained unanswered. + +Unless spoken to, Buff seldom offered a remark, but talked rapidly to +himself in muffled tones, to the great bewilderment of strangers, who +were apt to think him slightly deranged. + +Ellen had brought in the pudding when Elizabeth noticed that her young +brother was sitting with a tense face, his hands clenched in front of +him and his legs moving rapidly. + +She touched his arm to recall him to his surroundings. "_Don't touch +me_," he said through his teeth. "I'm a motor and I've lost control of +myself." + +He emitted a shrill "_Honk Honk_," to the delight of his father, who +inquired if he were the car or the chauffeur. + +"I'm both," said Buff, his legs moving even more rapidly. Ellen, +unmoved by such peculiar table-manners, put his plate of pudding before +him, and Buff, hearing Elizabeth remark that Thomas and Billy were in +all probability even now on their way to school, fell to, said his +grace, was helped into his coat, and left the house in almost less time +than it takes to tell. + +Mr. Seton and Elizabeth were drinking their coffee when Elizabeth said: + +"I heard from Aunt Alice this morning." + +"Yes? How is she?" + +"Very well, I think. She wants me to go with her to Switzerland in +December. Of course I've said I can't go." + +"Of course," said Mr. Seton placidly. + +Elizabeth pushed away her cup. + +"Father, I don't mind being noble, but I must say I do hate to have my +nobility taken for granted." + +"My dear girl! Nobility----" + +"Well," said Elizabeth, "isn't it pretty noble to give up Switzerland +and go on plodding here? Just look at the rain, and I must go away down +to the district and collect for Women's Foreign Missions. There are +more amusing pastimes than toiling up flights of stairs and wresting +shillings for the heathen from people who can't afford to give. I can +hardly bear to take it." + +"My dear, would you deny them the privilege?" + +It might almost be said that Elizabeth snorted. + +"Privilege! Oh, well... If anyone else had said that, but you're a +saint, Father, and I believe you honestly think it is a privilege to +give. You must, for if it weren't for me I doubt if you would leave +yourself anything to live on, but--oh! it's no use arguing. Where are +you visiting this afternoon?" + +"I really ought to go to Dennistoun to see that poor body, Mrs. +Morrison." + +"It's such a long way in the rain. Couldn't you wait for a better day?" + +James Seton rose from the table and looked at the dismal dripping day, +then he smiled down at his daughter. "After twenty years in Glasgow I'm +about weather-proof, Lizbeth. If I don't go to-day I can't go till +Saturday, and I'm just afraid she may be needing help. I'll see one or +two other sick people on my way home." + +Elizabeth protested no more, but followed her father into the hall and +helped him with his coat, brushed his hat, and ran upstairs for a clean +handkerchief for his overcoat pocket. + +As they stood together there was a striking resemblance between father +and daughter. They had the same tall slim figure and beautifully set +head, the same broad brow and humorous mouth. But whereas Elizabeth's +eyes were grey, and faced the world mocking and inscrutable, her +father's were the blue hopeful eyes of a boy. Sorrow and loss had +brought to James Seton's table their "full cup of tears," and the +drinking of that cup had bent his shoulders and whitened his hair, but +it had not touched his expression of shining serenity. + +"Are you sure those boots are strong, Father? And have you lots of +car-pennies?" + +"Yes. Yes." + +Elizabeth went with him to the doorstep and patted his back as a +parting salutation. + +"Now don't try to save money by walking in the rain; that's poor +economy. And oh! have you the money for Mrs. Morrison?" + +"No, I have not. That's well-minded. Get me half a sovereign, like a +good girl." + +Elizabeth brought the money. + +"We would need to be made of half-sovereigns. Remember Mrs. Morrison is +only one of many. It isn't that I grudge it to the poor dears, but we +aren't millionaires exactly. Well, good-bye, and now I'm off on the +quest of Women's Foreign Mission funds." + +Her father from half-way down the gravel-path turned and smiled, and +Elizabeth's heart smote her. + +"I'll try and go with jubilant feet, Father," she called. + +A few minutes later she too was ready for the road, with a short skirt, +a waterproof, and a bundle of missionary papers. + +Looking at herself in the hall mirror, she made a disgusted face. "I +hate to go ugly to the church-people, but it can't be helped to-day. My +feet look anything but jubilant; with these over-shoes I feel like a +feather-footed hen." + +Ellen came out of the dining-room, and Elizabeth gave her some +instructions. + +"If Master David is in before I'm back see that he takes off his wet +boots at once, will you? And if Miss Christie comes, tell her I'll be +in for tea, and ask her to wait. And, Ellen, if Marget hasn't time--I +know she has some ironing to do--you might make some buttered toast and +see that there's a cheery fire." + +"Yes, mum, I will," said Ellen earnestly. + +Once out in the rain, Elizabeth began to tell herself that there was +really something rather nice about a thoroughly wet November day. It +made the thought of tea-time at home so very attractive. + +She jumped on a tram-car and squeezed herself in between two stout +ladies. The car was very full, and the atmosphere heavy with the smell +of damp waterproofs. Dripping umbrellas, held well away from the +owners, made rivulets on the floor and caught the feet of the unwary, +and an air of profound dejection brooded over everyone. Generally, +Elizabeth got the liveliest pleasure from listening to conversation in +the car, but to-day everyone was as silent as a canary in a darkened +cage. + +At Cumberland Street she got off, and went down that broad street of +tall grey houses with their air of decayed gentility. Once, what is +known as "better-class people" had had their dwellings there, but now +the tall houses were divided into tenements, and several families found +their home in one house. Soon Elizabeth was in meaner streets--drab, +dreary streets which, in spite of witnesses to the contrary in the +shape of frequent public-houses and pawnshops, harboured many decent, +hard-working people. From these streets, largely, was James Seton's +congregation drawn. + +She stopped at the mouth of a close and looked up her collecting book. + +"146. Mrs. Veitch--1s. Four stairs up, of course." + +It was a very bright bell she rang when she reached the top landing, +and it was a very tidy woman, with a clean white apron, who answered it. + +"Good afternoon, Mrs. Veitch," said Elizabeth. + +"It's Miss Seton," said Mrs. Veitch. "Come in. I'll tak' yer umbrelly. +Wull ye gang into the room? I'm juist washin' the denner-dishes." + +"Mayn't I come into the kitchen? It's always so cosy." + +"It's faur frae that," said Mrs. Veitch; "but come in, if ye like." + +She dusted a chair by the fireside, and Elizabeth sat down. Behind her, +fitted into the wall, was the bed with its curtain and valance of warm +crimson, and spotless counterpane. On her right was the grate brilliant +from a vigorous polishing, and opposite it the dresser. A table with a +red cover stood in the middle of the floor, and the sink, where the +dinner-dishes were being washed, was placed in the window. Mrs. Veitch +could wash her dishes and look down on a main line railway and watch +the trains rush past. The trains to Euston with their dining-cars +fascinated her, and she had been heard to express a great desire to +have her dinner on the train. "Juist for the wance, to see what it's +like." + +If perfect naturalness be good manners, Mrs. Veitch's manners were +excellent. She turned her back on her visitor and went on with her +washing-up. + +"That's the London train awa' by the noo'," she said, as an express +went roaring past. "When Kate's in when it passes she aye says, +'There's yer denner awa then, Mither.' It's a kinda joke wi' us noo. +It's queer I've aye hed a notion to traivel, but traivellin's never +come ma gait--except traivellin' up and doon thae stairs to the +washin'-hoose." + +Elizabeth began eagerly to comfort. + +"Yes--travelling always seems so delightful, doesn't it? I can't bear +to pass through a station and see a London train go away without me. +But somehow when one is going a journey it's never so nice. Things go +wrong, and one gets cross and tired, and it isn't much fun after all." + +"Mebbe no'," said Mrs. Veitch drily, "but a body whiles likes the +chance o' finding oot things for theirsel's." + +"Of course," said Elizabeth, feeling snubbed. + +Mrs. Veitch washed the last dish and set it beside the others to drip, +then she turned to her visitor. + +"It's money ye're efter, I suppose?" + +Elizabeth held out one of the missionary papers and said in an +apologetic voice: + +"It's the Zenana Mission. I called to see if you cared to give this +year?" + +Mrs. Veitch dried her hands on a towel that hung behind the door, then +reached for her purse (Elizabeth's heart nipped at the leanness of it) +from its home in a cracked jug on the dresser-shelf. + +"What for wud I no' give?" she asked, and her tone was almost defiant. + +"Oh," said Elizabeth, looking rather frightened, "you're like Father, +Mrs. Veitch. Father thinks it's a privilege to be allowed to give." + +"Ay, an' he's right. There's juist Kate and me, and it's no' verra easy +for twae weemen to keep a roof ower their heads, but we'll never be the +puirer for the mite we gie to the Lord's treasury. Is't a shillin'?" + +"Yes, please. Thank you so much. And how is Kate? Is she very busy just +now?" + +"Ay. This is juist the busy time, ye ken, pairties and such like. She's +workin' late near every nicht, and she's awful bad wi' indisgeestion, +puir thing. But Kate's no' yin to complain." + +"I'm sure she's not," said Elizabeth heartily. "I wonder--some time +when things are slacker--if she would make me a blouse or two? The last +were so nice." + +"Were they?" asked Mrs. Veitch suspiciously. "Ye aye say they fit +perfect, and Kate says to me, 'Mither,' she says, 'I wonder if Miss +Seton doesna juist say it to please us?'" + +"What!" said Elizabeth, springing to her feet, "Well, as it happens, I +am wearing a blouse of Kate's making now----" She quickly undid her +waterproof and pulled off the woolly coat she wore underneath. "Now, +Mrs. Veitch, will you dare to tell that doubting Kate anything but that +her blouse fits perfectly?" + +Mrs. Veitch's face softened into a smile. + +"Eh, lassie, ye're awfu' like yer faither." she said. + +"In height," said Elizabeth, "and perhaps in a feature or two, but not, +I greatly fear"--she was buttoning her waterproof as she spoke--"not, +Mrs. Veitch, in anything that matters. Well, will you give Kate the +message, and tell her not to doubt my word again? I'm frightfully +hurt----" + +"Ay," said Mrs. Veitch. "Weel, ye see, she's no' used wi' customers +that are easy to please. Are ye for aff?" + +"Yes, I must go. Oh! may I see the room? It was being papered the last +time I was here. Was the paper a success?" + +Instead of replying, Mrs. Veitch marched across the passage and threw +open the door with an air. + +Elizabeth had a way of throwing her whole heart into the subject that +interested her for the moment, and it surprised and pleased people to +find this large and beautiful person taking such a passionate (if +passing) interest in them and their concerns. + +Now it was obvious she was thinking of nothing in the world but this +little best parlour with its newly papered walls. + +After approving the new wall-paper, she proceeded to examine intently +the old steel engravings in their deep rose-wood frames. The subjects +were varied: "The Murder of Archbishop Sharp" hung above a chest of +drawers; "John Knox dispensing the Communion" was skyed above the +sideboard; "Burns at the Plough being crowned by the Spirit of Poesy" +was partially concealed behind the door; while over the fireplace +brooded the face of that great divine, Robert Murray M'Cheyne. These +and a fine old bureau filled with china proclaimed their owner as being +"better," of having come from people who could bequeath goods and gear +to their descendants. Elizabeth admired the bureau and feasted her eyes +on the china. + +"Just look at these cups--isn't it a _brave_ blue?" + +"Ay," said Mrs. Veitch rather uncertainly; "they were ma granny's. I +wud raither hev hed rose-buds masel'--an' that wide shape cools the tea +awfu' quick." She nodded mysteriously toward the door at the side of +the fire which hid the concealed bed. "We've got a lodger," she said. + +"What!" cried Elizabeth, startled. "Is she in there now?" + +"Now!" said Mrs. Veitch in fine scorn. "What for wud she be in the now? +She's at her wark. She's in a shop in Argyle Street." + +"Oh!" said Elizabeth. "Is she a nice lodger?" + +"Verra quiet; gives no trouble," said Mrs. Veitch. + +"And you'll make her so comfortable. Do you bake treacle scones for +her? If you do, she'll never leave you." + +"I was bakin' this verra day. Could ye--wud it bother ye to carry a +scone hame? Mr. Seton's terrible fond o' treacle scone. I made him a +cup o' tea wan day he cam' in and he ett yin tae't, he said he hedna +tastit onything as guid sin' he was a callant." + +"I know," said Elizabeth. "He told me. Of course I can carry the +scones, if you can spare them." + +In a moment Mrs. Veitch had got several scones pushed into a baker's +bag and was thrusting it into Elizabeth's hands. + +"I'll keep it dry under my waterproof," Elizabeth promised her. "My +umbrella? Did I leave it at the door?" + +"It's drippin' in the sink. Here it's. Good-bye, then." + +"Good-bye, and very many thanks for everything--the subscription and +the scones--and letting me see your room." + +At the next house she made no long visitation. It was washing-day, and +the mistress of the house was struggling with piles of wet clothes, +sorting them out with red, soda-wrinkled hands, and hanging them on +pulleys round the kitchen. Having got the subscription, Elizabeth +tarried not an unnecessary moment. + +"What a nuisance I am!" she said to herself as the door closed behind +her. "Me and my old Zenana Mission. It's a wonder she didn't give me a +push downstairs, poor worried body!" + +The next contributor had evidently gone out for the afternoon, and +Elizabeth reflected ruefully that it meant another pilgrimage another +day. The number of the next was given in the book as 171, but she +paused uncertainly, remembering that there had been some mistake last +year, and doubting if she had put it right. At 171 a boy was lounging, +whittling a stick. + +"Is there anyone called Campbell in this close?" she asked him. + +"Wait yo here," said the boy, "an' I'll rin up and see." He returned +in a minute. + +"Naw--nae Cam'l. There's a Robison an' a M'Intosh an' twa Irish-lukin' +names. That's a'. Twa hooses emp'y." + +"Thank you very much. It was kind of you to go and look. D'you live +near here?" + +"Ay." The boy jerked his head backwards to indicate the direction. +"Thistle Street." + +"I see." Elizabeth was going to move on when a thought came to her. +"D'you go to any Sunday school?" + +"Me? Naw!" He looked up with an impudent grin. "A'm what ye ca' a Jew." + +Elizabeth smiled down at the little snub-nosed face. "No, my son. +Whatever you are, you're not that. Listen--d'you know the church just +round the corner?" + +"Seton's kirk?" + +"Yes. Seton's kirk. I have a class there every Sunday afternoon at five +o'clock--six boys just about your age. Will you come?" + +"A hevna claes nor naething." + +"Never mind; neither have the others. What's your name?" + +"Bob Scott." + +"Well, Bob, I do wish you'd promise. We have such good times." + +Bob looked sceptical. + +"A whiles gang to Sabbath schules," he said, "juist till the swuree +comes aff, and then A leave." His tone suggested that in his opinion +Sabbath schools and good times were things far apart. + +"I see. Well, we're having a Christmas-tree quite soon. You might try +the class till then. You'll come some Sunday? That's good. Now, if I +were you I would go home out of the rain." + +Bob had resumed his whittling, and he looked carefully at his work as +he said: + +"I canna gang hame for ma faither: he's drunk, and he'll no' let's in." + +"Have you had any dinner?" + +"Uch, no. A'm no heedin' for't," with a fine carelessness. + +Elizabeth tilted her umbrella over her shoulder the better to survey +the situation. There was certainly little prospect of refreshment in +this grey street which seemed to contain nothing but rain, but the +sharp ting-ting of an electric tram passing in the street above brought +her an idea, and she caught the boy's arm. + +"Come on, Bob, and we'll see what we can get." + +Two minutes brought them to a baker's shop, with very good-looking +things in the window and a fat, comfortable woman behind the counter. + +"Isn't this a horrible day, Mrs. Russel?" said Elizabeth. "And here's a +friend of mine who wants warming up. What could you give him to eat, I +wonder?" + +Mrs. Russel beamed as if feeding little dirty ragged boys was just the +thing she liked best to do. + +"It's an awful day, as you say, Miss Seton, an' the boy's wet through. +Whit would ye say to a hot tupp'ny pie an' a cup-o'-tea? The kettle's +juist on the boil; I've been havin' a cup masel'--a body wants +something to cheer them this weather." She laughed cheerily. "He could +take it in at the back--there's a rare wee fire." + +"That'll be splendid," said Elizabeth; "won't it Bob?" + +"Ay," said Bob stolidly, but his little impudent starved face had an +eager look. + +Elizabeth saw him seated before the "rare wee fire" wolfing "tupp'ny +pies," then she gathered up her collecting papers and prepared to go. + +"Well! Good-bye, Bob; I shall see you some Sabbath soon. Where's that +umbrella? It's a bad day for Zenana Missions, Mrs. Russel." + +"Is that whit ye're at the day? I thought ye were doin' a bit o' _home_ +mission work." + +She followed Elizabeth to the shop-door. + +"Poor little chap!" said Elizabeth. "Give him as much as he can eat, +will you?"--she slipped some money into her hand--"and put anything +that's over into his pocket. I'm most awfully grateful to you, Mrs. +Russel. It was too bad to plant him on you, but if people will go about +looking so kind they're just asking to be put upon." + +The rain was falling as if it would never tire. The street lamps had +been lit, and made yellow blobs in the thick foggy atmosphere. The +streets were slippery with that particular brand of greasy mud which +Glasgow produces. "I believe I'll go straight home," thought Elizabeth. + +She wavered for a moment, then: "I'll do Mrs. Martin and get the car at +the corner of the street," she decided. "It's four o'clock, but I don't +believe the woman will be tidied." + +The surmise was only too correct. The door when Elizabeth reached it +was opened by Mr. Martin--a gentleman of infinite leisure--who seemed +uncertain what to do with her. Elizabeth tried to solve the difficulty +by moving towards the kitchen but he gently headed her off until a +voice from within cried, "Come in, if ye like, Miss Seton, but A'm +strippit." + +The situation was not as acute as it sounded. Mrs. Martin had removed +her bodice, the better to comb her hair, and Elizabeth shuddered to see +her lay the comb down beside a pat of butter, as she cried to her +husband, "John, bring ma ither body here." + +She was quite unabashed to be found thus in deshabille, and talked +volubly the while she twisted up her hair and buttoned her "body." She +was a round robin-like woman with, as Elizabeth put it, "the sweetest +smile and the dirtiest house in Glasgow." + +"An' how's Papa this wet weather?" + +"Quite all right, thank you. And how are you?" + +"Off and on, juist off and on. Troubled a lot with the boil, of +course." (Elizabeth had to think for a minute before she realised this +was English for "the bile.") "Many a day, Miss Seton, nothing'll lie." +Mrs. Martin made a gesture indicating what happened, and continued: +"Mr. Martin often says to me, 'Maggie,' he says 'ye're no' fit to work; +let the hoose alane,' he says. Divn't ye, John?" she asked, turning to +her husband, who had settled himself by the fire with an evening paper, +and receiving a grunt in reply. "But, Miss Seton, there's no' a lazy +bone in ma body and I canna see things go. I must be up an' doin': a +hoose juist keeps a body at it." + +"It does," agreed Elizabeth, trying not to see the unmade bed and the +sink full of dirty dishes. + +"An' whit are ye collectin' for the day? Women's Foreign Missions? 'Go +ye into all the world.' We canna go oorsel's, but we can send oor +money. Where's ma purse?" + +She went over to the littered dresser and began to turn things over, +until she discovered the purse lurking under a bag of buns and a paper +containing half a pound of ham. Elizabeth stood up as a hint that the +shilling might be forthcoming, but Mrs. Martin liked an audience, so +she sat down on a chair and put a hand on each knee. "Mr. Seton said on +Sunday we were to give as the Lord had prospered us. Weel, I canna say +much aboot that, we're juist aye in the same bit, but as A often tell +ma man, Miss Seton, we must a' help each other, for we're a' gaun the +same road--mebbe the heathen tae, puir things!" + +Mr. Martin grunted over his newspaper, and his wife continued: "There's +John there--Mr. Martin, A'm meanin'--gits fair riled whiles aboot +poalitics. He canna stand Tories by naething, they fair scunner him, +but I juist say to him, 'John, ma man,' I says, 'let the Tories alane, +for we're a' Homeward Bound.'" + +Elizabeth stifled a desire to laugh, while Mr. Martin said with great +conviction and some irrelevance, "Lyd George is the man." + +"So he is," said his wife soothingly, "though A whiles think if he wud +tak' a bit rest to hissel' it wud be a guid job for us a'." + +"Well," said Elizabeth, opening her purse in an expectant way, "I must +go, or I shall be late for tea." + +"Here's yer shillun," said Mrs. Martin, rather with the air of +presenting a not quite deserved tip. + +"An' how's wee David? Yon's a rale wee favourite o' mine. Are ye gaun +to mak' a minister o' him?" + +"Buff? Oh, I don't think we quite know what to make of him." + +Mrs. Martin leaned forward. "Hev ye tried a phrenologist?" she asked +earnestly. + +"No," said Elizabeth, rather startled. + +"A sister o' mine hed a boy an' she couldna think what to mak' o' him. +He had no--no--whit d'ye ca' it?" + +Elizabeth nodded her comprehension. + +"Bent?" she suggested. + +"Aweel, she tuk him to yin o' thae phrenologists, an' he said he wud be +either an auctioneer or a chimist, and," she finished triumphantly, "a +chimist he wus!" + + + + +_CHAPTER V_ + + "Truly I would the gods had made thee poetical." + _As You Like It._ + + +In the Seton's drawing-room a company was gathered for tea. + +Ellen had remembered Elizabeth's instructions, and a large fire of logs +and coal burned in the white-tiled grate. A low round table was drawn +up before the fire, and on it tea was laid--a real tea, with jam and +scones and cookies, cake and shortbread. On the brass muffin-stool a +pile of buttered toast was keeping warm. + +James Seton, who dearly loved his tea, was already seated at the table +and was playing with the little green-handled knife which lay on his +plate as he talked to Elizabeth's friend, Christina Christie. Thomas +and Billy sat on the rug listening large-eyed to Buff, who was telling +them an entirely apocryphal tale of how he had found an elephant's nest +in the garden. + +Launcelot lay on a cushion fast asleep. + +"Elizabeth is late," said Mr. Seton. + +"I think I hear her now," said Miss Christie; and a moment later the +drawing-room door opened and Elizabeth put her head in. + +"Have I kept you all waiting for tea? Ah! Kirsty bless you, my dear. +No, I can't come in as I am. Just give me one minute to remove these +odious garments--positively one minute, Father. Yes, Ellen, bring tea, +please." + +The door closed again. + +"And the egg was as big as a roc's egg," went on Buff. + +"You never saw a roc's egg," Thomas reminded him, "so how can you know +how big they are?" + +"I just know," said Buff, with dignity. "Father, how big is a roc's +egg?" + +"A roc's egg," said Mr. Seton thoughtfully. "A great white thing, +Sindbad called it, 'fifty good paces round.' As large as this room, +Buff, anyway. Ah! here's your sister." + +"Now for tea," said Elizabeth, seating herself behind the teacups. "Sit +on this side, Kirsty; you'll be too hot there. What a splendid fire +Ellen has given us. Well, Thomas, my son, what do you want first? +Bread-and-butter? That's right! Pass Billy some butter, Buff. I +wouldn't begin with a cookie if I were you. No, not jam with the first +bit, extravagant youth. Now, Kirsty, do put out your hand, as Marget +would say, because, as you know, we have no manners in this house." + +"I am having an excellent tea," said Miss Christie. "Ellen said you +were collecting this afternoon, Elizabeth." + +"Oh, Kirsty, my dear, I was. In the Gorbals, in the rain, begging for +shillings for Women's Foreign Missions. And I didn't get them all in +either, and I shall have to go back. Father, I'm frightfully intrigued +to know what Mr. Martin does. What is his walk in life? Go any time you +like, he's always in the house. Can he be a night-watchman?" + +Mr. Seton helped himself to a scone. + +"I had an idea," he said, "that Martin was a cabinet-maker, but he may +have retired." + +"Perhaps," said Buff, "he's a Robber. Robbers don't go out through the +day, only at night with dark lanterns, and come in with sacks of booty." + +Elizabeth laughed. + +"No, Buff. I don't think that Mr. Martin has the look of a robber +exactly. Perhaps he's only lazy. But I'm quite sure Mrs. Martin's +efforts don't keep the house. Of all the dirty little creatures! And so +full of religion! I've no use for people's religion if it doesn't make +them keep a clean house. 'We're all Homeward Bound,' she said to me. +'So we are, Mrs. Martin,' said I, 'but you might give your fireside a +brush-up in passing!'" + +"Now, now, Elizabeth," said her father, "you didn't say that!" + +"Well, perhaps I didn't say it exactly, but I certainly thought it," +said Elizabeth. + +At this moment Buff, who had been gobbling his bread-and-butter with +unseemly haste and keeping an anxious eye on a plate of cakes, saw +Thomas take the very cake he had set his heart on, and he broke into a +howl of rage. "He's taken my cake!" he shouted. + +"Buff, I'm ashamed of you," said his sister. "Remember, Thomas is your +guest." + +"He's not a _guest_," said Buff, watching Thomas stuff the cake into +his mouth as if he feared that it might even now be wrested from him, +"he's a pig." + +"One may be both," said Elizabeth. "Never mind him, Thomas. Have +another cake." + +"Thanks," said Thomas, carefully choosing the largest remaining one. + +"If Thomas eats so much," said Billy pleasantly, "he'll have to be put +in a show. Mamma says so." + +"Billy," said Miss Christie, "how is it that you have such a fine +accent?" + +"I don't know," said Billy modestly. + +"It's because," Thomas hastened to explain--"it's because we had an +English nurse when Billy was little. I've a Glasgow accent myself," he +added. + +"My accent's Peebleshire," said Buff, forgetting his wrongs in the +interest of the conversation. + +"Mamma says that's worse," said Thomas gloomily. + +Mr. Seton chuckled. "You're a funny laddie, Thomas," he said. + +"Kirsty," said Elizabeth, "this is no place for serious conversation; I +haven't had a word with you. Oh! Father, how is Mrs. Morrison?" + +"Very far through." + +"Ah! Poor body. Is there nothing we can do for her?" + +"No, my dear, I think not. She never liked taking help and now she is +past the need of it. I'm thankful for her sake her race is nearly run." + +Thomas stopped eating. "Will she get a prize, Mr. Seton?" he asked. + +James Seton looked down into the solemn china-blue eyes raised to his +own and said, seriously and as if to an equal: + +"I think she will, Thomas--the prize of her high calling in Jesus +Christ." + +Thomas went on with his bread-and-butter, and a silence fell on the +company. It was broken by a startled cry from Elizabeth. + +"Have you hurt yourself, girl?" asked her father. + +"No, no. It's Mrs. Veitch's scones. To think I've forgotten them! She +sent them to you, Father, for your tea. Buff, run--no, I'll go myself;" +and Elizabeth left the room, to return in a moment with the +paper-bagful of scones. + +"I had finished," said Mr. Seton meekly. + +"We'll all have to begin again," said his daughter. "Thomas, you could +eat a bit of treacle scone, I know." + +"The scones will keep till to-morrow," Miss Christie reminded her. + +"Yes," said Elizabeth, "but Mrs. Veitch will perhaps be thinking we are +having them to-night, and I would feel mean to neglect her present. You +needn't smile in that superior way, Kirsty Christie." + +"They are excellent scones," said Mr. Seton, "and I'm greatly obliged +to Mrs. Veitch. She is a fine woman--comes of good Border stock." + +"She's a dear," said Elizabeth; "though she scares me sometimes, she is +so utterly sincere. That's grievous, isn't it, Father?--to think I live +with such double-dealers that sincerity scares me." + +Mr. Seton shook his head at her. + +"You talk a great deal of nonsense, Elizabeth," he said, a fact which +Elizabeth felt to be so palpably true that she made no attempt to deny +it. + +Later, when the tea-things had been cleared away and the three boys lay +stretched on the carpet looking for a picture of the roc's egg in a +copy of _The Arabian Nights_, James Seton sat down rather weariedly in +one of the big chintz-covered chairs by the fire. + +"You're tired, Father," said Elizabeth. + +James Seton smiled at his daughter. "Lazy, Lizbeth, that's all--lazy +and growing old!" + +"Old?" said Elizabeth. "Why, Father, you're the youngest person I have +ever known. You're only about half the age of this weary worldling your +daughter. You can never say you're old, wicked one, when you enjoy +fairy tales just as much as Buff. I do believe that you would rather +read a fairy tale than a theological book. He can't deny it, Kirsty. +Oh, Father, Father, it's a sad thing to have to say about a U.F. +minister, and it's sad for poor Kirsty, who has been so well brought +up, to have all her clerical illusions shattered." + +"Oh, girl," said her father, "do you never tire talking?" + +"Never," said Elizabeth cheerfully, "but I'm going to read to you now +for a change. Don't look so scared, Kirsty; it's only a very little +poem." + +"I'm sure I've no objection to hearing it," said Miss Christie, sitting +up in her chair. + +Elizabeth lifted a blue-covered book from a table, sat down on the rug +at her father's feet, and began to read. It was only a very little +poem, as she had said--a few exquisite strange lines. When she finished +she looked eagerly up at her father and--"Isn't it magical?" she asked. + +"Let me see the book," said Mr. Seton, and at once became engrossed. + +"It's very nice," said Miss Christie; "but your voice, Elizabeth, makes +anything sound beautiful." + +"Kirsty, my dear, how pretty of you!" + +Elizabeth's hands were clasped round her knees, and she sat staring +into the red heart of the fire as she repeated: + + "Who said 'All Time's delight + Hath she for narrow bed: + Life's troubled bubble broken'? + That's what I said." + +Kirsty, I love that--'Life's troubled bubble broken'." + +"Say it to me Lizbeth," said Buff, who had left his book when his +sister began to read aloud. + +"You wouldn't understand it, sonny." + +"But I like the sound of the words," Buff protested. So Elizabeth said +it again. + + "Who said Peacock Pie? + The old King to the Sparrow...." + + +"I like it," said Buff, when she had finished. "Say me another." + +"Not now, son. I want to talk to Kirsty now. When you go to bed I shall +read you a lovely one about a Zebra called Abracadeebra. Have you done +your lessons for to-morrow? No? Well, do them now. Thomas and Billy +will do them with you--and in half an hour I'll play 'Yellow Dog +Dingo.'" + +Having mapped out the evening for her young brother, Elizabeth rose +from her lowly position on the hearth-rug, drew forward a chair, and +said, "Now, Kirsty, we'll have a talk." + +That Elizabeth Seton and Christina Christie should be friends seemed a +most improbable thing. They were both ministers' daughters, but there +any likeness ended. It seemed as if there could be nothing in common +between this tall golden Elizabeth with her impulsive ways, her rapid +heedless speech, her passion for poetry, her faculty for making new +friends at every turn, and Christina, short, dark, and neat, with a +mind as well-ordered as her raiment, suspicious of strangers and +chilling with her nearest--and yet a very true friendship did exist. + +"How is your mother?" asked Elizabeth. + +"Mother's wonderful. Father has been in the house three days with +lumbago. Jeanie has a cold too. I think it's the damp weather. This is +my month of housekeeping. I wish, Elizabeth, you would tell me some new +puddings. Archie says ours are so dull." + +Elizabeth immediately threw herself into the subject of puddings. + +"I know one new pudding, but it takes two days to make and it's very +expensive. We only have it for special people. You know 'Aunt Mag,' of +course? and 'Uncle Tom'? That's only 'Aunt Mag' with treacle. Semolina, +sago, big rice--we call those milk things, we don't dignify them by the +name of pudding. What else is there? Tarts, oh! and bread puddings, and +there's that greasy kind you eat with syrup, suet dumplings. A man in +the church was very ill, and the doctor said he hadn't any coating or +lining or something inside him, because his wife hadn't given him any +suet dumplings." + +"Oh, Elizabeth!" + +"A fact, I assure you," said Elizabeth. "We always have a suet dumpling +once a week because of that. I'm afraid I'm not being very helpful, +Kirsty. Do let's think of something quite new, only it's almost sure +not to be good. That is so discouraging about the dishes one +invents.... Apart from puddings, how is Archie?" + +"Oh, he's quite well, and doing very well in business. He has Father's +good business head." + +"Yes," said Elizabeth. She did not admire anything about the Rev. +Johnston Christie, least of all his business head. He was a large +pompous man, with a booming voice and a hearty manner, and he had what +is known in clerical circles as a "suburban charge." Every Sunday the +well-dressed, well-fed congregation culled from villadom to which he +ministered filled the handsome new church, and Mr. Christie's heart +grew large within him as he looked at it. He was a poor preacher but an +excellent organiser: he ran a church as he would have run a grocery +establishment. His son Archie was exactly like him, but Christina had +something of her mother, a deprecating little woman with feeble health +and a sense of humour whom Elizabeth called Chuchundra after the +musk-rat in the _Jungle Book_ that could never summon up courage to run +into the middle of the room. + +"Yes," said Elizabeth, "I foresee a brilliant future for Archie, full +of money and motor-cars and knighthoods." + +"Oh! I don't know," said Christina, "but I think he has the knack of +making money. How are your brothers?" + +"Both well, I'm glad to say. Walter has got a new job--in the +Secretariat--and finds it vastly entertaining. Alan seems keener about +polo than anything else, but he's only a boy after all." + +"You talk as if you were fifty at least." + +"I'm getting on," said Elizabeth. "Twenty-eight is a fairly ripe age, +don't you think?" + +"No, I don't," said Christina somewhat shortly. Christina was +thirty-five. + +"Buff asked me yesterday if I remembered Mary Queen of Scots," went on +Elizabeth, "and he alluded to me in conversation with Thomas as 'my +elderly nasty sister.'" + +"Cheeky little thing!" said Christina. "You spoil that child." + +Elizabeth laughed, and by way of turning the conversation asked +Christina's advice as to what would sell best at coming bazaars. At all +bazaar work Christina was an expert, and she had so many valuable hints +to give that long before she had come to an end of them Elizabeth was +hauled away to play "Yellow Dog Dingo." + +Christina had little liking for children, and it was with unconcealed +horror that she watched her friend bounding from _Little God Nqu_ +(Billy) to _Middle God Nquing_ (Buff), then to _Big God Nquong_ +(Thomas), begging to be made different from all other animals, and +wonderfully popular by five o'clock in the afternoon. + +It was rather an exhausting game and necessitated much shouting and +rushing up and down stairs, and after everyone had had a chance of +playing in the title role, Elizabeth sank breathless, flushed and +dishevelled, into a chair. + +"Well, I _must_ say----" said Christina. + +"Come on again," shouted Billy, while Thomas and Buff loped up and down +the room. + +"No--no," panted Elizabeth, "you're far too hot as it is. What will +'Mamma' say if you go home looking like Red Indians?" + +Mr. Seton, quite undisturbed by the noise, had been engrossed in the +poetry book, but now he laid it down and looked at his watch. + +"I must be going," he said. + +But the three boys threw themselves on him--"A bit of Willy Wud; just a +little bit of Willy Wud," they pleaded. + +James Seton was an inspired teller of tales, and Willy Wud was one of +his creations. His adventures--and surely no one ever had stranger and +more varied adventures--made a sort of serial story for "after tea" on +winter evenings. + +"Where did we leave him?" he asked, sitting down obediently. + +"Don't you remember, Father?" said Buff. "In the Robbers' Cave." + +"He was just untying that girl," said Thomas. + +"She wasn't a girl," corrected Billy, "she was a princess." + +"It's the same thing," said Thomas. "He was untying her when he found +the Robber Chief looking at him with a knife in his mouth." + +So the story began and ended all too soon for the eager listeners, and +Mr. Seton hurried away to his work. + +"Say good-night, Thomas and Billy," said Elizabeth, "and run home. It's +very nearly bed-time." + +"To-morrow's Saturday," said Thomas suggestively. + +"So it is. Ask 'Mamma' if you may come to tea, and come over directly +you have had dinner." + +Thomas looked dissatisfied. + +"Couldn't I say to Mamma you would like us to come to dinner? Then we +could come just after breakfast. You see, there's that house we're +building----" + +"I'm going to buy nails with my Saturday penny," said Billy. + +"By all means come to dinner," said Elizabeth, "if Mamma doesn't mind. +Good-night, sonnies--now run." + +She opened the front-door for them, and watched them scud across the +road to their own gate--then she went back to the drawing-room. + +"I must be going too," said Miss Christie, sitting back more +comfortably in her chair. + +"It's Band of Hope night," said Elizabeth. + +Buff had been marching up and down the room, with Launcelot in his +arms, telling himself a story, but he now came and leant against his +sister. She stroked his hair as she asked, "What's the matter, Buffy +boy?" + +"I wish," said Buff, "that I lived in a house where people didn't go to +meetings." + +"But I'm not going out till you're in bed. We shall have time for +reading and everything. Say good-night to Christina, and see if Ellen +has got your bath ready. And, Buff," she said, as he went out of the +door, "pay particular attention to your knees--scrub them with a brush; +and don't forget your fair large ears, my gentle joy." + +"Those boys are curiosities," said Miss Christie. "What house is this +they're building?" + +"It's a Shelter for Homeless Cats," said Elizabeth, "made of orange +boxes begged from the grocer. I think it was Buff's idea to start with, +but Thomas has the clever hands. Must you go?" + +"These chairs are too comfortable," said Miss Christie, as she rose; +"they make one lazy. If I were you, Elizabeth, I wouldn't let Buff talk +to himself and tell himself stories. He'll grow up queer.... You +needn't laugh." + +"I'm very sorry, Christina. I'm afraid we're a frightfully eccentric +family, but you'll come and see us all the same, won't you?" + +Miss Christie looked at her tall friend, and a quizzical smile lurked +at the corner of her rather dour mouth. "Ay, Elizabeth," she said, "you +sound very humble, but I wouldn't like to buy you at your own +valuation, my dear." + +Elizabeth put her hands on Christina's shoulders as she kissed her +good-night. "You're a rude old Kirsty," she said, "but I dare say +you're right." + + + + +_CHAPTER VI_ + + "How now, sir? What are you reasoning with yourself? + Nay, I was rhyming; 'tis you that have the reason." + _Two Gentlemen of Verona_. + + +About a fortnight later--it was Saturday afternoon--an April day +strayed into November, and James Seton walked in his garden and was +grateful. + +He had his next day's sermon in his hand and as he walked he studied +it, but now and again he would lift his head to look at the blue sky, +or he would stoop and touch gently the petals of a Christmas-rose, +flowering bravely if sootily in the border. Behind the hedge, on the +drying green, Thomas and Billy and Buff disported themselves. They had +been unusually quiet, but now the sound of raised voices drew Mr. Seton +to the scene of action. Looking over the hedge, he saw an odd sight. +Thomas lay grovelling on the ground; Billy, with a fierce black +moustache sketched on his cherubic face, sat on the roof of the +ash-pit; while Buff, a bulky sack strapped on his back, struggled in +the arms of Marget the cook. + +"Gie me that bag, ye ill laddie," she was saying. + +"What's the matter, Marget?" Mr. Seton asked mildly. + +Buff was butting Marget wildly with his head, but hearing his father's +voice, he stopped to explain. + +"It's my sins, Father," he gasped. + +"It's naething o' the kind, sir; it's ma bag o' claes-pins. Stan' up, +David, this meenit. D'ye no' see ye're fair scrapin' it i' the mud?" + +Thomas raised his head. + +"We're pilgrims, Mr. Seton," he explained. "I'm Hopeful, and Buff's +Christian. This is me in Giant Despair's dungeon;" and he rolled on his +face and realistically chewed the grass to show the extent of his +despair. + +"But you've got your facts wrong," said Mr. Seton. "Christian has lost +his load long before he got to Doubting Castle." + +"Then," said Buff, picking himself up and wriggling out of the straps +which tied the bag to his person--"then, Marget, you can have your old +clothes-pins." + +"Gently, my boy," said his father. "Hand the bag to Marget and say +you're sorry." + +"Sorry, Marget," said Buff in a very casual tone, as he heaved the bag +at her. + +Marget received it gloomily, prophesied the probable end of Buff, and +went indoors. + +Buff joined Thomas in the dungeon of Doubting Castle. + +"Why is Billy sitting up there?" asked Mr. Seton. + +"He's Apollyon," said Thomas, "and he's coming down in a minute to +straddle across the way. By rights, I should have been Apollyon----" + +Mr. Seton's delighted survey of the guileless fiend on the ash-pit roof +was interrupted by Ellen, who came with a message that Mr. Stevenson +had called and would Mr. Seton please go in. + +In the drawing-room he found Elizabeth conversing with a tall young +man, and from the fervour with which she welcomed his appearance he +inferred that it was not altogether easy work. + +"Father," said Elizabeth, "you remember I told you about meeting Mr. +Stevenson at the Thomsons' party? He has brought us such a treasure of +a ballad book to look over. Do let my father see it, Mr. Stevenson." + +James Seton greeted the visitor in his kind, absent-minded way, and sat +down to discuss ballads with him, while Elizabeth, having, so to speak, +laboured in rowing, lay back and studied Mr. Stevenson. That he was an +artist she knew. She also knew his work quite well and that it was +highly thought of by people who mattered. He had a nice face, she +thought; probably not much sense of humour, but tremendously decent. +She wondered what his people were like. Poor, she imagined--perhaps a +widowed mother, and he had educated himself and made every inch of his +own way. She felt a vicarious stir of pride in the thought. + +As a matter of fact she was quite wrong, and Stewart Stevenson's +parents would have been much hurt if they had known her thoughts. + +His father was a short, fat little man with a bald head, who had dealt +so successfully in butter and ham that he now occupied one of the +largest and reddest villas in Maxwell Park (Lochnagar was its name) and +every morning was whirled in to business in a Rolls-Royce car. + +For all his worldly success Mr. Stevenson senior remained a simple +soul. His only real passion in life (apart from his sons) was for what +he called "time-pieces." Every room in Lochnagar contained at least two +clocks. In the drawing-room they had alabaster faces and were supported +by gilt cupids; in the dining-room they were of dignified black marble; +the library had one on the mantelpiece and one on the +writing-table--both of mahogany with New Art ornamentations. Two +grandfather-clocks stood in the hall--one on the staircase and one on +the first landing. Mr. Stevenson liked to have one minute's difference +in the time of each clock, and when it came to striking the result was +nerve-shattering. Mrs. Stevenson had a little nut-cracker face and a +cross look which, as her temper was of the mildest, was most +misleading. Her toque--she wore a toque now instead of a bonnet--was +always a little on one side, which gave her a slightly distracted look. +Her clothes were made of the best materials and most expensively +trimmed, but somehow nothing gave the little woman a moneyed look. Even +the Russian sables her husband had given her on her last birthday +looked, on her, more accidental than opulent. Her husband was her +oracle and she hung on his words, invariably capping all his comments +on life and happenings with "Ay. That's it, Pa." + +Their pride in their son was touching. His height, his good looks, his +accent, his "gentlemanly" manners, his love of books, his talent as an +artist, kept them wondering and amazed. They could not imagine how they +had come to have such a son. It was certainly disquieting for Mr. +Stevenson who read nothing but the newspapers on week-days and _The +British Weekly_ on the Sabbath, and for his wife who invariably fell +asleep when she attempted to dally with even the lightest form of +literature, to have a son whose room was literally lined with books and +who would pore with every mark of enjoyment over the dullest of tomes. + +His artistic abilities were not such a phenomenon, and could be traced +back to a sister of Mr. Stevenson's called Lizzie who had sketched in +crayons and died young. + +Had Stewart Stevenson been a poor man's son he would probably have +worked long without recognition, eaten the bread of poverty and found +his studio-rent a burden, but, so contrariwise do things work, with an +adoring father and a solid Ham and Butter business at his back his +pictures found ready purchasers. + +To be honest, Mr. Stevenson senior was somewhat astonished at the taste +shown by his son's patrons. To him the Twopence Coloured was always +preferable to the Penny Plain. He could not help wishing that his son +would try to paint things with a little more colour in them. He liked +Highland cattle standing besides a well, with a lot of purple heather +about; or a snowy landscape with sheep in the foreground and the sun +setting redly behind a hill. He was only bewildered when told to remark +this "sumptuous black," that "seductive white." He saw "no 'colour' in +the smoke from a chimney, or 'bloom' in dingy masonry viewed through +smoke haze." To him "nothing looked fine" save on a fine day, and he +infinitely preferred the robust oil-paintings on the walls of Lochnagar +to his son's delicate black-and-white work. + +But he would not for worlds have admitted it.... + +To return. As Elizabeth sat listening to the conversation of her father +and Stewart Stevenson, Ellen announced "Mr. Jamieson," and a thin, tall +old man came into the room. He was lame and walked with the help of two +sticks. When he saw a stranger he hung back, but James Seton sprang up +to welcome him, and Elizabeth said as she shook hands: + +"You've come at the most lucky moment. We are talking about your own +subject, old Scots songs and ballads. Mr. Stevenson is quite an +authority." + +As the old man shook hands with the young one, "I do like," he said, +"to hear of a young man caring for old things." + +"And I," said Elizabeth, "do like an old man who cares for young +things. I must tell you. Last Sunday I found a small, very grubby boy +waiting at the hall door long before it was time for the Sabbath +school. I asked him what he was doing, and he said, 'Waitin' for the +class to gang in.' Then he said proudly, 'A'm yin o' John Jamieson's +bairns.'" She turned to Mr. Stevenson and explained: "Mr. Jamieson has +an enormous class of small children and is adored by each of them." + +"It must take some looking after," said Mr. Stevenson. "How d'you make +them behave?" + +Mr. Jamieson laughed and confessed that sometimes they were beyond him. + +"The only thing I do insist on is a clean face, but sometimes I'm beat +even there. I sent a boy home twice last Sabbath to wash his face, and +each time he came back worse. I was just going to send him again, when +his neighbour interfered with, 'Uch here! he _wash't_ his face, but he +wipit it wi' his bunnet, and he bides in a coal ree.'" + +Elizabeth turned to see if her father appreciated the tale, but Mr. +Seton had got the little old ballad book and was standing in his +favourite attitude with one foot on a chair, lost to everything but the +words he was reading. + +"Now," he said, "this is an example of what I mean by Scots +practicalness. It's 'Annan Water'--you know it, Jamieson? The last +verse is this: + + 'O wae betide thee, Annan Water, + I vow thou art a drumly river; + But over thee I'll build a brig, + That thou true love no more may sever.' + +You see? The last thought is not the tragedy of love and death, but of +the necessity of preventing it happen again. He will build a brig." + +He sat down, with the book still in his hand, smiling to himself at the +vagaries of the Scots character. + +"We're a strange mixture," he said, "a mixture of hard-headedness and +romance, common sense and sentiment, practicality and poetry, business +and idealism. Sir Walter knew that, so he made the Gifted Gilfillan +turn from discoursing of the New Jerusalem of the Saints to the price +of beasts at Mauchline Fair." + +Mr. Jamieson leaned forward, his face alight with interest. + +"And I doubt, Mr. Seton, the romantic side is strongest. Look at our +history! Look at the wars we fought under Bruce and Wallace! If we had +had any common sense, we would have made peace at the beginning, +accepted the English terms, and grown prosperous at the expense of our +rich neighbours." + +"And look," said Stewart Stevenson, "at our wars of religion. I wonder +what other people would have taken to the hills for a refinement of +dogma. And the Jacobite risings? What earthly sense was in them? Merely +because Prince Charlie was a Stuart, and because he was a gallant young +fairy tale prince, we find sober, middle-aged men risking their lives +and their fortunes to help a cause that was doomed from the start." + +"I'm glad to think," said Mr. Seton, "that with all our prudence our +history is a record of lost causes and impossible loyalties." + +"I know why it is," said Elizabeth. "We have all of us, we Scots, a +queer daftness in our blood. We pretend to be dour and cautious, but +the fact is that at heart we are the most emotional and sentimental +people on earth." + +"I believe you're right," said Stewart Stevenson. "The ordinary +emotional races like the Italians and the French are emotional chiefly +on the surface; underneath they are a mercantile, hard-headed breed. +Now we----" + +"We're the other way round," said Elizabeth. + +"You can see that when you think what type of man we chiefly admire," +said Mr. Jamieson; "you might think it would be John Knox----" + +"No, no," cried Elizabeth; "I know Father has hankerings after him, but +I would quake to meet him in the flesh." + +"Sir Walter Scott," suggested Mr. Stevenson. + +"Personally I would vote for Sir Walter," said Mr. Seton. + +"Ah, but, Mr. Seton," said John Jamieson, "I think you'll admit that if +we polled the country we couldn't get a verdict for Sir Walter. I think +it would be for Robert Burns. Burns is the man whose words are most +often in our memories. It is Burns we think of with sympathy and +affection, and why? I suppose because of his humanity; because of his +rich humour and riotous imagination; because of his _daftness_, in a +word----" + +"It is odd," said Elizabeth; "for by rights, as Thomas would say, we +should admire someone quite different. The _Wealth of Nations_ man, +perhaps." + +"Adam Smith," said Stewart Stevenson. + +"You see," said Mr. Seton, "the moral is that he who would lead +Scotland must do it not only by convincing the intellect, but above all +by firing the imagination and touching the heart. Yes, I can think of a +good illustration. In the year 1388, or thereabouts, Douglas went +raiding into Northumberland and met the Percy at Otterbourne. We +possess both an English and a Scottish account of the battle. The +English ballad is called 'Chevy Chase.' It tells very vigorously and +graphically how the great fight was fought, but it is only a piece of +rhymed history. Our ballad of 'Otterbourne' is quite different. It is +full of wonderful touches of poetry, such as the Douglas's last speech: + + 'My wound is deep I fain would sleep: + Take thou the vanguard of the three; + And hide me by the bracken bush + That grows on yonder lilye lee. + O bury me by the bracken bush, + Beneath the blooming briar; + Let never living mortal ken + That ere a kindly Scot lies here!'" + + +James Seton got up and walked up and down the room, as his custom was +when moved; then he anchored before the fire, and continued: + +"The two ballads represent two different temperaments. You can't get +over it by saying that the Scots minstrel was a poet and the English +minstrel a commonplace fellow. The minstrels knew their audience and +wrote what their audience wanted. The English wanted straightforward +facts; the Scottish audience wanted the glamour of poetry." + +"Father," said Elizabeth suddenly, "I believe that's a bit of the +lecture on Ballads you're writing for the Literary Society." + +Mr. Seton confessed that it was. + +"I thought you sounded like a book," said his daughter. + +Stewart Stevenson asked the date of the lecture and if outsiders were +admitted, whereupon Elizabeth felt constrained to ask him to dine and +go with them, an invitation that was readily accepted. + +Teas was brought in, and John Jamieson was persuaded by Elizabeth to +tell stories of his "bairns"; and then Mr. Stevenson described a +walking-tour he had taken in Skye in the autumn, which enchanted the +old man. At last he rose to go, remembering that it was Saturday +evening and that the Minister must want to go to his sermon. When he +shook hands with the young man he smiled at him somewhat wistfully. + +"It's fine to be young," he said. "I was young once myself. It was +never my lot to go far afield, but I mind one Fair Holiday I went with +a friend to Inverary. To save the fare we out-ran the coach from +Lochgoilhead to St. Catherine's--I was soople then--and on the morning +we were leaving--the boat left at ten--my friend woke me at two in the +morning, and we walked seventeen miles to see the sun rise on Ben +Cruachan. We startled the beasts of the forest in Inveraray wood, and I +mind as if it were yesterday how the rising sun smote with living fire +a white cloud floating on the top of the mountain. My friend caught me +by the arm as we watched the moving mist lift. 'Look,' he cried, 'the +mountains do smoke!'" + +He stopped and reached for his sticks. "Well! it's fine to be young, +but it's not so bad to be old as you young folks think." + +Elizabeth went with him to the door, and Stewart Stevenson remarked to +his host on the wonderful vitality and cheerfulness of the old man. + +"Yes," said Mr. Seton, "you would hardly think that he rarely knows +what it is to be free of pain. Forty years ago he met with a terrible +accident in the works where he was employed. It meant the end of +everything to him, but he gathered up the broken bits of his life and +made of it--ah, well! A great cloud of witnesses will testify one day +to that. He lives beside the church, not a very savoury district as you +know--but that little two-roomed house of his shines in the squalor +like a good deed in a naughty world. Elizabeth calls him 'the +Corregidor.' You remember? + + 'If any beat a horse, you felt he saw: + If any cursed a woman, he took note + ... Not so much a spy + As a recording Chief-inquisitor.' + +And with children he's a regular Pied Piper." + +Elizabeth came into the room and heard the last words. + +"Is Father telling you about Mr. Jamieson? He's one of the people +who'll be very 'far ben' in the next world; but when you know my father +better, Mr. Stevenson, you will find that when a goose happens to +belong to him it is invariably a swan. His church, his congregation, +his house, his servants, his sons----" + +"Even his slack-tongued and irreverent daughter," put in Mr. Seton. + +"Are pretty nearly perfect," finished Elizabeth. "It is one of the +nicest things about Father." + +"There is something utterly wrong about the young people of this age," +remarked Mr. Seton, as he looked at his watch; "they have no respect +for their elders. Dear me! it's late. I must get to my sermon." + +"You must come again, Mr. Stevenson," said Elizabeth. "It has been so +nice seeing you." + +And Mr. Stevenson had, perforce, to take his leave. + +"A very nice fellow," said Mr. Seton, when the visitor had departed. + +"A very personable young man," said Elizabeth, "but some day he'll get +himself cursed, I'm afraid, for he doesn't know when to withdraw his +foot from his neighbour's house. Half-past six! Nearly Buff's +bed-time!" and as Mr. Seton went to his study Elizabeth flew to see +what wickedness Buff had perpetrated since tea. + + + + +_CHAPTER VII_ + + "How full of briars is this working-day world!" + _As You Like It_. + + +It was Monday morning. + +Buff was never quite his urbane self on Monday morning. Perhaps the +lack of any other occupation on Sabbath made him overwork his +imagination, for certainly in the clear cold light of Monday morning it +was difficult to find the way (usually such an easy task) to his own +dream-world with its cheery denizens--knights and pirates, aviators and +dragons. It was desolating to have to sup porridge, that was only +porridge and not some tasty stew of wild fowl fallen to his own gun, in +a dining-room that was only a dining-room, not a Pirate's Barque or a +Robber's Cave. + +On Monday, too, he was apt to be more than usually oppressed by his +conviction of the utter futility of going to school when he knew of at +least fifty better ways of spending the precious hours. So he kicked +the table-leg and mumbled when his father asked him questions about his +lessons. + +Ellen coming in with the letters seemed another messenger of Satan sent +to buffet him. Time was when he had been Mercury to his family, but +having fallen into the pernicious practice of concealing about his +person any letters that took his fancy and forgetting about them till +bed-time brought them to light, he was deposed. The memory rankled, and +he gloomily watched the demure progress of Ellen as she took the +letters to Elizabeth. + +"Three for you, Father," said Elizabeth, sorting them out, "and three +for me. The Indian letters are both here." + +"Read them, will you?" said Mr. Seton, who disliked deciphering letters +for himself. + +"I'll just see if they're both well and read the letters afterwards if +you don't mind. We'll make Buff late. Cheer up, old son" (to that +unwilling scholar). "Life isn't all Saturdays. Monday mornings are +bound to come. You should be glad to begin again. Why, the +boys"--Walter and Alan were known as "the boys"--"wouldn't have thought +of sitting like sick owls on Mondays: they were pleased to have a fine +new day to do things in." + +Buff was heard to ejaculate something that sounded like "Huch," and his +sister ceased her bracing treatment and, sitting down beside him, cut +his bread-and-butter into "fingers" to make it more interesting. She +could sympathise with her sulky young brother, remembering vividly, as +she did, her own childish troubles. Only, as she told Buff, coaxing him +the while to drink his milk, it was Saturday afternoon she abhorred. It +smelt, she said, of soft soap and of the end of things. Monday was +cheery: things began again. Why, something delightful might happen +almost any minute: there was no saying what dazzling adventures might +lurk round any corner. The Saga of Monday as sung by Elizabeth helped +down the milk, cheered the heart of Buff, and sent him off on his daily +quest for knowledge in a more resigned spirit than five minutes before +had seemed possible. Then Elizabeth gathered up the letters and went +into the study, where she found her father brooding absorbed over the +pots of bulbs that stood in the study windows. "The Roman hyacinths +will be out before Christmas," he said, as he turned from his beloved +growing things and settled down with a pleased smile to hear news of +his sons. + +Alan's letter was like himself, very light-hearted. Everything was +delightful, the weather he was having, the people he was meeting, the +games he was playing. He was full of a new polo-pony he had just bought +and called Barbara, and he had also acquired a young leopard, "a jolly +little beast but rank." + +"Buff will like to hear about it," said Elizabeth, as she turned to +Walter's letter, which was more a tale of work and laborious days. +"Tell Father," he finished, "that after bowing in the house of Rimmon +for months, I had a chance yesterday of attending a Scots kirk. It was +fine to hear the Psalms of David sung again to the old tunes. I have +always held that it was not David but the man who wrote the metrical +version who was inspired." + +"Foolish fellow," said Mr. Seton. + +Elizabeth laughed, and began to read another letter. Mr. Seton turned +to his desk and was getting out paper when a sharp exclamation from his +daughter made him look round. + +Elizabeth held out the letter to him, her face tragic. + +"Aunt Alice is mad," she said. + +"Dear me," said Mr. Seton. + +"She must be, for she asks if we can take her nephew Arthur Townshend +to stay with us for a week?" + +"A very natural request, surely," said her father. "It isn't like you +to be inhospitable, Elizabeth." + +"Oh! it isn't that. Any ordinary young man is welcome to stay for +months and months, but this isn't an ordinary young man. He's the sort +of person who belongs to all the Clubs--the best ones I mean--and has a +man to keep him neat, and fares sumptuously every day, and needs to be +amused. And oh! the thought of him in Glasgow paralyses me." + +Mr. Seton peered in a puzzled way at the letter he was holding. + +"Your aunt appears to say--I wish people would write plainly--that he +has business in Glasgow." + +Elizabeth scoffed at the idea. + +"Is it likely?" she asked. "Why, the creature's a diplomatist. There's +small scope for diplomatic talents in the South Side of Glasgow, or +'out West' either." + +"But why should he want to come here?" + +"He _doesn't_, but my demented aunt--bless her kind heart!--adores him, +and she adores us, and it has always been her dream that we should meet +and be friends; but he was always away in Persia or somewhere, and we +never met. But now he is home, and he couldn't refuse Aunt Alice--she +is all the mother he ever knew and has been an angel to him--and I dare +say he is quite good-hearted, though I can't stand the type." + +"Well, well," said Mr. Seton, by way of closing the subject, and he +went over to the window to take a look at the world before settling +down to his sermon. "Run away now, like a good girl. Dear me! what a +beautiful blue sky for November!" + +"Tut, tut," said Elizabeth, "who can think of blue skies in this +crisis! Father, have you thought of the question of _drinks_?" + +"Eh?" + +"Mr. Townshend will want wine--much wine--and how is the desire to be +met in this Apollinaris household?" + +"He'll do without it," said Mr. Seton placidly. "I foresee the young +man will be a reformed character before he leaves us;" and he lifted +Launcelot from its seat on the blotter, and sat down happily to his +sermon. + +Elizabeth shook her head at her provokingly calm parent, and picking up +the kitten, she walked to the door. + +"Write a specially good sermon this week," she advised. "Remember Mr. +Arthur Townshend will be a listener," and closed the door behind her +before her father could think of a dignified retort. + +Mrs. Henry Beauchamp, the "Aunt Alice" who had dropped the bombshell in +to the Seton household, was the only sister of Elizabeth's dead mother. +A widow and childless, she would have liked to adopt the whole Seton +family, Mr. Seton included, had it been possible. She lived most of the +year in London in her house in Portland Place, and in summer she joined +the Setons in the South of Scotland. + +Arthur Townshend was her husband's nephew. As he had lived much abroad, +none of the Setons had met him; but now he was home, and Mrs. Beauchamp +having failed in her attempt to persuade Elizabeth to join them in +Switzerland, suggested he should pay a visit to Glasgow. + +Elizabeth was seriously perturbed. Arthur Townshend had always been a +sort of veiled prophet to her, an awe-inspiring person for whom people +put their best foot foremost, so to speak. Unconsciously her aunt had +given her the impression of a young man particular about trifles--"ill +to saddle," as Marget would put it. And she had heard so much about his +looks, his abilities, his brilliant prospects, that she had always felt +a vague antipathy to the youth. + +To meet this paragon at Portland Place would have been ordeal enough, +but to have him thrust upon her as a guest, to have to feed him and +entertain him for a week, her imagination boggled at it. + +"It's like the mountain coming to Mahomet," she reflected. "Mahomet +must have felt it rather a crushing honour too." + +The question was, Should she try to entertain him? Should she tell +people he was coming, and so have him invited out to dinner, invite +interesting people to meet him, attempt elaborate meals, and thoroughly +upset the household? + +She decided she would not. For, she argued with herself, if he's the +sort of creature I have a feeling he is, my most lofty efforts will +only bore him, and I shall have bored myself to no purpose; if, on the +other hand, he is a good fellow, he will like us best _au naturel_. She +broke the news to Marget, who remained unmoved. + +"What was guid eneuch for oor ain laddies'll surely be guid eneuch for +him," she said. + +Elizabeth explained that this was no ordinary visitor, but a young man +of fashion. + +"Set him up!" said Marget; and there the matter rested. + +Everything went wrong that day, Elizabeth thought, and for all the +untoward events she blamed the prospective visitor. Her father lost his +address-book--that was no new thing, for it happened at least twice a +week, but what was new was Elizabeth's cross answer when he asked her +to find it for him. She wrangled with sharp-tongued Marget (where she +got distinctly the worse of the encounter), and even snapped at the +devoted Ellen. She broke a Spode dish that her mother had prized, and +she forgot to remind her father of a funeral till half an hour after +the hour fixed. + +Nor did the day ring to evensong without a passage-at-arms with Buff. + +In the drawing-room she found, precariously perched on the top of one +of the white book-cases, a large unwashed earthy pot. + +"What on earth----" she began, when Buff came running to explain. The +flower-pot was his, his and Thomas's; and it contained an orange-pip +which, if cherished, would eventually become a lovely orange-tree. + +"Nonsense," said Elizabeth sharply. "Look how it's marking the enamel;" +and she lifted the clumsy pot. Buff caught her arm, and between them +the flower-pot smashed on the floor, spattering damp earth around. Then +Elizabeth, sorely exasperated, boxed her young brother's ears. + +Buff, grieved to the heart at the loss of his orange-tree, and almost +speechless with wrath at the affront offered him, glared at his sister +with eyes of hate, but "You--you _puddock_!" was all he managed to say. + +Elizabeth, her brief anger gone, sat down and laughed helplessly. + +Thomas grubbed in the earth for the pip. "By rights," he said gloomily, +"we would have had oranges growing mebbe in a month!" + + + + +_CHAPTER VIII_ + +"I do desire it with all my heart: I hope it is no dishonest desire to +desire to be a woman of the world." + _As You Like It_. + + +There are many well-kept houses in Glasgow, but I think Jeanieville was +one of the cleanest. Every room had its "thorough" day once a fortnight +and was turned pitilessly "out." Every "press" in the house was a model +of neatness; the very coal-cellar did not escape. The coals were piled +in a neat heap; the dross was swept tidily into a corner; the +briquettes were built in an accurate pile. + +"I must say," Mrs. Thomson often remarked, "I like a tidy coal-cellar;" +and Jessie, who felt this was rather a low taste, would reply, "You're +awful eccentric, Mamma." + +On the first and fourth Thursdays of the month Mrs. Thomson was "at +home"; then, indeed, she trod the measure high and disposedly. + +On these auspicious days Annie the servant, willing but "hashy," made +the front-door shine, and even "sanded" the pillars of the gate to +create a good impression. The white steps of the stairs were washed, +and the linoleum in the lobby was polished until it became a danger to +the unwary walker. Dinner set agoing, Mrs. Thomson tied a large white +apron round her ample person and spent a couple of hours in the kitchen +baking scones and pancakes and jam-sandwiches, while Jessie, her share +of the polishing done, took the car into town and bought various small +cakes, also shortbread and a slab of rich sultana cake. + +By half past two all was ready. + +Mrs. Thomson in her second best dress, and Jessie in a smart silk +blouse and skirt, sat waiting. Mrs. Thomson had her knitting, and +Jessie some "fancy work." The tea-table with its lace-trimmed cloth and +silver tray with the rosy cups ("ma wedding china and only one saucer +broken") stood at one side of the fireplace, with a laden cake-rack +beside it, while a small table in the offing was also covered with +plates of eatables. + +There never was any lack of callers at Jeanieville. It was such a +vastly comfortable house to call at. The fire burned so brightly, the +tea was so hot and fresh, the scones so delicious, and the shortbread +so new and crimpy; and when Mrs. Thomson with genuine welcome in her +voice said, "Well, this is real nice," no matter how inclement the +weather outside each visitor felt the world a warm and kindly place. + +Mrs. Thomson enjoyed her house and her handsome furniture, and +desired--and hoped it was no dishonest desire--to be a social success; +but her kindest smile and heartiest handshake were not for the +sealskin-coated ladies of Pollokshields but for such of her old friends +as ventured to visit her on her Thursdays, and often poor Jessie's +cheeks burned as she heard her mother explain to some elegant suburban +lady, as she introduced a friend: + +"Mrs. Nicol and me are old friends. We lived for years on the same +stair-head." + +Except in rare cases, there was no stiffness about the sealskin-ladies, +and conversation flowed like a river. + +On this particular Thursday four females sat drinking tea with Mrs. +Thomson and her daughter out of the rosy cups with the gilt +garlands--Mrs. Forsyth and Mrs. Macbean from neighbouring villas, and +the Misses Hendry whom we have already met. Mrs. Forsyth was a typical +Glasgow woman, large, healthy, prosperous, her face beaming with +contentment. She was a thoroughly satisfactory person to look at, for +everything about her bore inspection, from her abundant hair and her +fresh pink face, which looked as if it were rubbed at least once a day +with a nice soapy flannel, to her well-made boots and handsome clothes. +Her accent, like Mrs. Thomson's, was Glasgow unabashed. + +"Yes, thank you, Mrs. Thomson, two lumps. Did you notice in the papers +that my daughter--Mrs. Mason, you know--had had her fourth? Ucha, a +fine wee boy, and her only eight-and-twenty! I said to her to-day, +'Mercy, Maggie,' I said, 'who asked you to populate the earth?' I just +said it like that, and she _laughed_. Oh ay, but it's far nicer--just +like Papa and me. I don't believe in these wee families." + +Mrs. Macbean, a little blurred-looking woman with beautiful sables, +gave it as her opinion that a woman was never happier than when +surrounded by half a dozen "wee ones." + +Mrs. Forsyth helped herself to a scone. + +"Home-made, Mrs. Thomson? I thought so. They're lovely. Speaking about +families, I was just saying to Mr. Forsyth the other night that I +thought this was mebbe the happiest time of all our married life. It's +awful nice to marry young and to be able to enjoy your children. I was +twenty and Mr. Forsyth was four years older when we started." + +"Well, well," said Mrs. Thomson. "You began young, but you've a great +reason for thankfulness. How's Dr. Hugh?" + +"Hugh!" said his mother, with a great sigh of pride; "Hugh's well, +thanks." + +"He's a cliver young man," said Mrs. Thomson. "It's wonderful how he's +got on." + +"Mrs. Thomson, his father just said to me this morning, '_Whit_ a +career the boy's had!' At school he got every prize he could have got, +and at college he lifted the Buchanan Prize and the Bailie Medal; then +he got the Dixon Scholarship, and--it sounds like boasting, but ye know +what I mean--the Professors fair fought to have him for an assistant, +and now at his age--at his age, mind you--he's a specialist on--excuse +me mentioning it--the stomach and bowels." + +Everyone in the room murmured their wonder at Dr. Hugh's meteoric +career, and Mrs. Macbean said generously, "You should be a proud woman, +Mrs. Forsyth." + +"Oh! I don't know about that. How are your girls? Is Phemie better?" + +"I didn't know she was ill," said Mrs. Thomson. + +Mrs. Macbean's face wore an important look, as she said with a sort of +melancholy satisfaction, "Yes, she's ill, Mrs. Thomson, and likely to +be ill for a long time. And you wouldn't believe how simply it began. +She was in at Pettigrew & Stephens', or it might have been Copland & +Lye's; anyway, it was one of the Sauchiehall Street shops, and she was +coming down the stairs quite quietly--Maggie was with her--when one of +the young gentlemen shop-walkers came up the stairs in a kinda hurry, +and whether he pushed against Phemie, I don't know, and Maggie can't be +sure; anyway, she slipped. She didn't fall, you know, or anything like +that, but in saving herself she must have given herself a twist--for +I'll tell you what happened." + +There was something strangely appetising in Mrs. Macbean as a talker: +she somehow managed to make her listeners hungry for more. + +"Well, she didn't say much about it at the time. Just when she came in +she said, joky-like, 'I nearly fell down the stairs in a shop to-day, +Mother, and I gave myself quite a twist.' That was all she said, and +Maggie passed some remark about the gentleman in the shop being in a +hurry, and I thought no more about it. But about a week later Phemie +says to me, 'D'ye know,' she says, 'I've got a sort of pain, nothing +much, but it keeps there.' You may be sure I got the doctor quick, for +I'm niver one that would lichtly a pain, as ye might say, but he +couldn't find anything wrong. But the girl was niver well, and he said +perhaps it would be as well to see a specialist. And I said, +'Certainly, doctor, you find out the best man and Mr. Macbean won't +grudge the money, for he thinks the world of his girls.' So Dr. Rankine +made arrangements, and we went to see Sir Angus Johnston, a real swell, +but such a nice homely man. I could have said _anything_ to him--ye +know what I mean. And he said to me undoubtedly the trouble arose from +the twist she had given herself that day." + +"And whit was like the matter?" asked Miss Hendry, who had listened +breathless to the recital. + +"Well," said Mrs. Macbean, "it was like this. When she slipped she had +put something out of its place and it had put something else out of its +place. I really can't tell you right what, but anyway Sir Angus +Johnston said to me, 'Mrs. Macbean,' he said, 'your daughter's +liver'--well, I wouldn't just be sure that it was her liver--but anyway +he said it was as big as a tea-kettle." + +"Mercy!" ejaculated the awed Miss Hendry, who had no idea what was the +proper size of any internal organ. + +"Keep us!" said Mrs. Thomson, who was in a similar state of ignorance. +"A tea-kettle, Mrs. Macbean!" + +"A tea-kettle," said Mrs. Macbean firmly. + +"Oh, I say!" said Jessie. "That's awful!" + +Mrs. Macbean nodded her head several times, well pleased at the +sensation she had made. + +"You can imagine what a turn it gave me. Maggie was with me in the +room, and she said afterwards she really thought I was going to faint. +I just kinda looked at the man--I'm meaning Sir Angus--but I could not +say a word. I was speechless. But Maggie--Maggie's real bright--she +spoke up and she says, 'Will she recover?' she says, just like that. +And he was nice, I must say he was awful nice, very reassuring. 'Time,' +he says, 'time and treatment and patience'--I think that was the three +things, and my! the patience is the worst thing." + +"But she's improving, Mrs. Macbean?" asked Mrs. Forsyth. + +"Slowly, Mrs. Forsyth, slowly. But a thing like that takes a long time." + +"Our Hugh says that the less a body knows about their inside the +better," said healthy Mrs. Forsyth. + +"That's true, I'm sure," agreed Mrs. Thomson. "Mrs. Forsyth, is your +cup out? Try a bit of this cake." + +"Thanks. I always eat an extra big tea here, Mrs. Thomson, everything's +that good. Have you a nurse for Phemie, Mrs. Macbean?" + +Mrs. Macbean laid down her cup, motioning Jessie away as she tried to +take it to refill it, and said solemnly: + +"A nurse, Mrs. Forsyth? Nurses have walked in a procession through our +house this last month. And, mind you, I haven't a thing to say against +one of them. They were all nice women, but somehow they just didn't +suit. The first one had an awful memory. No, she didn't forget things, +it was the other way. She was a good careful nurse, but she could say +pages of poetry off by heart, and she did it through the night to +soothe Phemie like. She would get Phemie all comfortable, and then +she'd turn out the light, and sit down by the fire with her knitting, +and begin something about 'The stag at eve had drunk its fill,' and so +on and on and on. She meant well, but who would put up with that? D'you +know, that stag was fair getting on Phemie's nerves, so we had to make +an excuse and get her away. Then the next was a strong-minded kind of a +woman, and the day after she came I found Phemie near in hysterics, and +it turned out the nurse had told her she had patented a shroud, and it +had given the girl quite a turn. I don't wonder! It's not a nice +subject even for a well body. Mr. Macbean was angry, I can tell you, so +_she_ went. The next one--a nice wee fair-haired girl--she took +appendicitis. Wasn't it awful? Oh! we've been unfortunate right enough. +However, the one we've got now is all right, and she considers the +servants, and that's the main thing--not, mind you, that I ever have +much trouble with servants. I niver had what you would call a real bad +one. Mine have all been nice enough girls, only we didn't always happen +to agree. Ye know what I mean?" + +"Ucha," said Mrs. Thomson. "Are you well suited just now, Mrs. Macbean?" + +"Fair, Mrs. Thomson, but that's all I'll say. My cook's is a Cockney! A +real English wee body. I take many a laugh to myself at her accent. I'm +quite good at speakin' like her. Mr. Macbean often says to me, 'Come +on, Mamma, and give us a turn at the Cockney.' Oh! she's a great +divert, but--_wasteful!_ It's not, ye know what I mean, that we grudge +the things, but I always say that having had a good mother is a great +disadvantage these days. My mother brought me up to hate waste and to +hate dirt, and it keeps me fair miserable with the kind of servants +that are now." + +Mrs. Thomson nodded her head in profound agreement; but Mrs. Forsyth +said: + +"But my! Mrs. Macbean, I wouldna let myself be made miserable by any +servant. I just keep the one--not that Mr. Forsyth couldn't give me two +if I wanted them, but you can keep more control over one. She gets +everything we get ourselves, but she knows better than waste so much as +a potato peel. I've had Maggie five years now, and it took me near a +year to get her to hang the dishcloths on their nails; but now I have +her real well into my ways, and the way she keeps her range is a treat." + +Presently Mrs. Forsyth and Mrs. Macbean went away to make other calls, +and Mrs. Thomson and her two old friends drew near the fire for a cosy +talk. + +"Sit well in front and warm your feet, Miss Hendry. Miss Flora, try +this chair, and turn back your skirt in case it gets scorched. Now, +you'll just stay and have a proper tea and see Papa. Yes, yes," as the +Miss Hendrys expostulated, "you just will. Ye got no tea to speak of, +and there's a nice bit of Finnan haddie----My! these 'at home' days are +tiring." + +"They're awful enjoyable," said Miss Flora rather wistfully. "Ye've +come on, Mrs. Thomson, since we were neighbours, but I must say you +don't forget old friends." + +"Eh, and I hope I never will. The new friends are all very well, +they're kind and all that, but a body clings to the old friends. It was +you I ran to when Rubbert took the croup and I thought we were to lose +him; and d'ye mind how you took night about with me when Papa near +slipped away wi' pneumonia? Eh, my, my! ... Jessie's awful keen to be +grand; she's young, and young folk havena much sense. She tells me I'm +eccentric because I like to see that every corner of the house is +clean. She thinks Mrs. Simpson's a real lady because she keeps three +servants and a dirty house. Well, Papa's always at me to get another +girl, for of course this is a big house--we have the nine rooms--but +I'll not agree. Jessie's far better helping me to keep the house clean +than trailing in and out of picture houses like the Simpsons. The +Simpsons! Mercy me, did I not know the Simpsons when they kept a wee +shop in the Paisley Road? And now they're afraid to mention the word +shop in case it puts anybody in mind. As I tell Jessie, there's nothing +wrong in keepin' a shop, but there's something far wrong in being +ashamed of it." + +"Bless me," said Miss Hendry, who could not conceive of anyone being +ashamed of a shop. "A shop's a fine thing--real interesting, I would +think. You werena at the prayer-meeting last night?" + +"No. I was real sorry, but there was a touch of fog, if you remember, +and Papa's throat was troublesome, so I got him persuaded to stay in. +Was Mr. Seton good?" + +"_Fine,_" said Miss Hendry,--"fair excelled himself." + +"Papa often says that Mr. Seton's at his best at the prayer-meeting." + +"You're a long way from the church now, Mrs. Thomson," said Miss +Hendry. "You'll be speakin' about leaving one o' these days." + +"Miss Hendry," said Mrs. Thomson solemnly, "that is one thing we niver +will do, leave that church as long as Mr. Seton's the minister. Even if +I had notions about a Pollokshields church and Society, as Jessie talks +about, d'ye think Mr. Thomson would listen to me? I can do a lot with +my man, but I could niver move him on that point--and I would niver +seek to." + +"Well," said Miss Hendry in a satisfied tone, "I'm glad to hear you say +it. Of course we think there's not the like of our minister anywhere. +He has his faults. He niver sees ye on the street, and it hurts people; +it used to hurt me too, but now I just think he's seeing other things +than our streets.... And he has a kinda cold manner until ye get used +to it. He came in one day when a neighbour was in--a Mrs. Steel, she +goes to Robertsons' kirk--and she said to me afterwards, 'My! I wudna +like a dry character like that for a minister.' I said to her, 'I dare +say no' after the kind ye're used to, but I like ma minister to be a +gentleman.' Robertson's one o' these joky kind o' ministers." + +"Well," said Miss Flora, who seldom got a word in when her sister was +present, "I'm proud of ma minister, and I'm proud of ma minister's +family." + +"Yes," agreed her sister, "Elizabeth's a fine-lookin' girl, and awful +bright and entertainin'; it's a pity she canna get a man." + +"I'm sure," said Mrs. Thomson, "she could get a man any day if she +wanted one. I wouldn't wonder if she made a fine marriage--mebbe an +M.P. But what would her father do wanting her? and wee David? She +really keeps that house _well_. I've thought an awful lot of her since +one day I was there at my tea, and she said to me so innerly-like, +'Would you like to see over the house, Mrs. Thomson?' and she took me +into every room and opened every press--and there wasn't a thing I +would have changed." + +"Well," said Miss Hendry, "they talk about folk being too sweet to be +wholesome, like a frosted tattie, and mebbe Elizabeth Seton just puts +it on, but there's no doubt she's got a taking way with her. I niver +get a new thing either for myself or the house but I wonder what she'll +think about it. And she aye notices it, ye niver have to point it out." + +"Yes," said Mrs. Thomson. "She's a grand praiser. Some folk fair make +you lose conceit of your things, but she's the other way. Did I tell +you Papa and me are going away next week for a wee holiday? Just the +two of us. Jessie'll manage the house and look after the boys. Papa +says I look tired. I'm sure that it's no' that I work as hard as I used +to work; but there, years tell, and I'm no' the Mrs. Thomson I once +was. We're going to the Kyles Hydro--it's real homely and nice." + +"I niver stopped in a Hydro in my life," Miss Hendry said. "It must be +a grand rest. Nothing to do but take your meat." + +"That's so," Mrs. Thomson admitted. "It gives you a kind of rested +feeling to see white paint everywhere and know that it's no business of +yours if it gets marked, and to sit and look at a fine fire blazing +itself away without thinkin' you should be getting on a shovel of +dross; and it's a real holiday-feeling to put on your rings and your +afternoon dress for breakfast." + +Voices were heard in the lobby. Mrs. Thomson started up to welcome home +her husband, while Jessie announced to the visitors that tea was ready +in the parlour. + + + + +_CHAPTER IX_ + + "I have great comfort from this fellow." + _The Tempest._ + + +On the afternoon of the Saturday that brought Arthur Townshend to +Glasgow Elizabeth sat counselling her young brother about his behaviour +to the expected guest. She drew a lurid picture of his everyday +manners, and pointed out where they might be improved, so that Mr. +Arthur Townshend might not get too great a shock. Buff remained quite +calm, merely remarking that he had never seen anyone called Townshend +quite close before. Elizabeth went on to remind him that any remarks +reflecting on the English as a race, or on the actions in history, +would be in extreme bad taste. This warning she felt to be necessary, +remembering how, when Buff was younger, some English cousins had come +to stay, and he had refused to enter the room to greet them, contenting +himself with shouting through the keyhole, "_Who killed William +Wallace?_" + +Since then, some of his fierce animosity to the "English" had died +down, though he still felt that Queen Mary's death needed a lot of +explaining. + +As his sister continued the lecture, and went into details about clean +nails and ears, Buff grew frankly bored, and remarking that he wished +visitors would remain at home, went off to find Thomas and Billy. + +Mr. Seton, sitting with his sermon, unabatedly cheerful in spite of the +fact that a strange young man--a youth "tried and tutored in the +world"--was about to descend on his home, looked up and laughed at his +daughter. + +"Let the boy alone, Lizbeth," he advised. "I see nothing wrong with his +manners." + +"Love is blind," said Elizabeth. "But it's not only his manners; the +boy has a perfect genius for saying the wrong thing. Dear old Mrs. +Morton was calling yesterday, and you know what a horror she has of +theatres and all things theatrical. Well, when she asked Buff what he +was going to be, expecting no doubt to hear that he had yearnings after +the ministry, he replied quite frankly, 'An actor-man.' I had to run +him out of the room. Then he told Mrs. Orr there was nothing he liked +so much as fighting, so he meant to be a soldier. She said in her sweet +old voice, 'You will fight with the Bible, darling--the sword of the +Spirit.' 'Huh!' said Buff, 'queer dumpy little sword that would be.'" + +Mr. Seton seemed more amused than depressed by the tale of his son's +misdeeds, and Elizabeth continued: "After all, what does it matter what +Mr. Arthur Townshend thinks of any of us? I've done my best for him, +and I hope the meals will be decent; but of course the thought of him +has upset Marget's temper. It is odd that when she is cross she _will_ +quote hymns. I must say it is discouraging to make some harmless remark +about vegetables and receive nothing in reply but a muttered + + 'Teach me to live that I may dread + The grave as little as my bed.'" + + +"Elizabeth, you're an absurd creature," said her father. "Why you and +Marget should allow yourselves to be upset by a visit from an ordinary +young man I don't know. Dear me, _I'll_ look after him." + +"And how do you propose to entertain him, Father?" + +"Well, I might take him one day to see the glass-houses in the Park; +there is a beautiful show of chrysanthemums just now. I greatly enjoyed +it as I passed through yesterday. Then one morning we could go to the +Cathedral--and the Art Gallery and Municipal Buildings are very +interesting in their way." + +"_Dear_ Father," said Elizabeth. + + * * * * * + +Mr. Arthur Townshend was expected about seven o'clock, and Elizabeth +had planned everything for his reception. Buff would be in bed, and +Thomas and Billy under the shelter of their own roof-tree. The house +would be tidy and quiet, the fires at their best. She herself would be +dressed early and ready to receive him. + +But it happened otherwise. + +Elizabeth, a book in hand, was sunk in a large arm-chair, a boy on each +of the chair-arms and one on the rug. It was getting dark, but the tale +was too breathless to stop for lights; besides, the fire was bright and +she held the book so that the fire-light fell on the page. + +"Over the rock with them!" cried the Brigand Chief; and the men stepped +forward to obey his orders. + +"Oow!" squealed Billy in his excitement. + +"_Mr. Townshend_," announced Ellen. + +No one had heard the sounds of his arrival. Elizabeth rose hastily, +sending Buff and Billy to the floor, her eyes dazed with fire-light, +her mind still in the Robbers' Cave. + +"But the train isn't in yet," was her none too hospitable greeting. + +"I must apologise," said the new-comer. "I came North last night to +catch a man in Edinburgh--his ship was just leaving the Forth. I ought +to have let you know, but I forgot to wire until it was too late. I'm +afraid I'm frightfully casual. I hope you don't mind me walking in like +this?" + +"Oh no," said Elizabeth, vainly trying to smooth her rumpled hair. "Get +up, boys, and let Mr. Townshend near the fire; and we'll get some fresh +tea." + +"Please don't. I lunched very late. I suppose one of these young men is +Buff?" + +Ellen, meanwhile, had drawn the curtains and lighted the gas, and the +company regarded one another. + +"A monocle!" said Elizabeth to herself, feeling her worst fears were +being realised, "and _beautifully_ creased trousers." (_Had_ Ellen +remembered to light his bedroom fire?) But, certainly, she had to admit +to herself a few minutes later, he knew how to make friends with +children. He had got out his notebook and was drawing them a +battleship, as absorbed in his work as the boys, who leaned on him, +breathing heavily down his neck and watching intently. + +"A modern battleship's an ugly thing," he said as he worked. + +"Yes," Billy agreed, "that's an ugly thing you're making. I thought a +battleship had lovely masts, and lots of little windows, and was all +curly." + +"He's thinking," said Thomas, "of pictures of ships in poetry-books." + +"I know," said Arthur Townshend. "Ballad ships that sailed to Norroway +ower the faem. This is our poor modern substitute." + +"Now a submarine," Buff begged. + +Arthur Townshend drew a periscope, and remarked that of course the rest +of the submarine was under water. + +"Aw!" cried Buff; and the three sprang upon their new friend, demanding +further amusements. + +But Elizabeth intervened, saying Thomas and Billy must go home, as it +was Saturday night. Thomas pointed out that Saturday night made no real +difference to him or Billy, and gave several excellent reasons for +remaining where he was; but, Elizabeth proving adamant, they went, +promising Mr. Townshend that he would see them early the next morning. +Buff was told to show the guest to his room (where, finding himself +well entertained, he remained till nearly dinner-time, when he was +fetched by Ellen and sent, bitterly protesting, to seek his couch), and +Elizabeth was left to tidy away the story-books and try to realize her +impressions. + +Dinner went off quite well. The food, if simple, was well cooked; for +Marget, in spite of her temper, had done her best, and Ellen made an +efficient if almost morbidly painstaking waitress. + +Elizabeth smiled to herself, but made no remark, as she watched her +pour water firmly into the guest's glass; and her father, leaning +forward, said kindly, "I think you will find Glasgow water particularly +good, Mr. Townshend; it comes from Loch Katrine." + +Mr. Townshend replied very suitably that water was a great treat to one +who had been for so long a dweller in the East. Elizabeth found that +with this guest there was going to be no need of small talk--no +aimless, irrelevant remarks uttered at random to fill up awkward +silences. He was a good talker and a good listener. + +Mr. Seton was greatly interested in his travellers' tales, and as +Elizabeth watched them honesty compelled her to confess to herself that +this was not the guest she had pictured. She liked his manner to her +father, and she liked his frank laugh. After all, it would not be +difficult to amuse him when he was so willing to laugh. + +"I wonder," said Mr. Seton, as he pared an apple, "if you have ever +visited my dream-place?" He gave his shy boy's smile. "I don't know +why, but the very name spells romance to me--Bokhara." + +"Yes--'that outpost of the infinitive.' I know it well; or rather I +don't, of course, for no stray Englishman can know a place like that +well, but I have been there several times.... I'm just wondering if it +would disappoint you." + +"I dare say it might," said Mr. Seton. "But I'm afraid there is no +likelihood of my ever journeying across the desert to find my +'dream-moon-city' either a delight or a disappointment. But I keep my +vision--and I have a Bokhara rug that is a great comfort to me." + +"When you retire, Father," broke in Elizabeth, "when we're done with +kirks and deacons'-courts for ever and a day, we shall go to Bokhara, +you and I. It will be such a nice change." + +"Well, well," said her father, "perhaps we shall; but in the meantime I +must go to my sermon." + +In the drawing-room Elizabeth settled herself in an arm-chair with some +needlework, and pointed out the cigarettes and matches to her guest. + +"Don't you smoke?" he asked. + +"No. Father would hate it: he doesn't ever smoke himself." + +"I see. I say, you have got a lot of jolly prints. May I look at them?" + +He proved very knowledgeable about the prints, and from prints they +passed to books, and Elizabeth found him so full of honest enthusiasm, +and with so nice a taste in book-people, that the last shreds of +distrust and reserve vanished, and she cried in her Elizabethan way: +"And actually I wondered what in the world I would talk to you about!" + +Arthur Townshend laughed. + +"Tell me," he said, "what subjects you had thought of?" + +"Well," said she, sitting up very straight and counting on her fingers, +"first I thought I would start you on Persia and keep you there as long +as possible; then intelligent questions about politics, something +really long-drawn-out, like Home Rule or Women's Suffrage; +then--then--I _had_ thought of Ellen Wheeler Wilcox!" + +Arthur Townshend groaned. + +"_What_ sort of an idea had Aunt Alice given you of me?" + +"Quite unintentionally," Elizabeth said, "she made you sound rather a +worm. Not a crawling worm, you understand, but a worm that reared an +insolent head, that would think it a horrid bore to visit a manse in +Glasgow--a side-y worm." + +"Good Lord," said Mr. Townshend, stooping to pick up Elizabeth's +needlework which in her excitement had fallen on the rug, "this is not +Aunt Alice----" + +"No," said Elizabeth, "it's my own wickedness. The fact is, I was +jealous--Aunt Alice seemed so devoted to you, and quoted you, and +admired everything about you so much, and I thought that in praising +you she was 'lychtlying' my brothers, so of course I didn't like you. +Yes, that's the kind of jealous creature I am." + +The door opened, and Ellen came in with a tray on which stood glasses, +a jug of milk, a syphon, and a biscuit-box. She laid it on a table +beside her mistress and asked if anything else was needed and on being +told "No," said good-night and made her demure exit. + +"Pretend you've known me seven years, and put a log on the fire," +Elizabeth asked her guest. + +He did as he was bid, and remained standing at the mantelpiece looking +at the picture which hung above it. + +"Your mother, isn't it?" he asked. "She was beautiful; Aunt Alice has +often told me of her." + +He looked in silence for a minute, and then went back to his chair and +lit another cigarette. + +"I never knew my mother, and I only remember my father dimly. I was +only her husband's nephew, but Aunt Alice has had to stand for all my +home-people, and no one knows except myself how successful she has +been." + +"She is the most golden-hearted person," said Elizabeth. "I don't +believe she ever has a thought that isn't kind and gentle and sincere. +I am so glad you had her--and that she had you. One can't help seeing +what you have meant to her...." Then a spark of laughter lit in +Elizabeth's grey eyes. + +"Don't you love the way her sentences never end? just trail deliciously +away ... and her descriptions of people?--'such charming people, _such_ +staunch Conservatives and he plays the violin so beautifully.'" + +Arthur Townshend laughed in the way that one laughs at something that, +though funny, is almost too dear to be laughed at. + +"That is exactly like her," he said. "Was your mother at all like her +sister?" + +"Only in heart," said Elizabeth. "Mother was much more definite. People +always said she was a 'sweet woman,' but that doesn't describe her in +the least. She was gentle, but she could be caustic at times: she hated +shams. That picture was painted before her marriage, but she never +altered much, and she never got a bit less lovely. I remember once we +were all round her as she stood dressed to go to some wedding, and Alan +said, 'Are _you_ married, Mums?' and when she said she was, he cried +consolingly, 'But you would do again.'... I sometimes wonder now how +Mother liked the work of a minister's wife in Glasgow. I remember she +used to laugh and say that with her journeys ended in Mothers' +Meetings. I know she did very well, and the people loved her. I can see +her now coming in from visiting in the district, crying out on the +drabness of the lives there, and she would catch up Buff and dance and +sing with him and say little French nursery-songs to him, like a happy +school-girl. Poor little Buff! He doesn't know what a dreadful lot he +is missing. Sometimes I think I spoil him, and then I remember 'his +mother who was patient being dead.'" + +The fire had fallen into a hot red glow, and they sat in silence +looking into it. + +Presently the door opened, and Mr. Seton came in. He came to the fire +and warmed his hands, remarking, "There's a distinct touch of frost in +the air to-night, and the glass is going up. I hope it means that you +are going to have good weather, Mr. Townshend." + +He helped himself to a glass of milk and a biscuit. + +"Elizabeth, do you know what that brother of yours has done? I happened +to take down _The Pilgrim's Progress_ just now, and found that the +wretched little fellow had utterly ruined those fine prints by drawing +whiskers on the faces of the most unlikely people." + +Mr. Seton's mouth twitched. + +"The effect," he added, "is ludicrous in the extreme." + +His listeners laughed in the most unfeeling way, and Elizabeth +explained to Mr. Townshend that when Buff was in fault he was alluded +to as "your brother," as if hers was the sole responsibility. + +"Well, you know," said Mr. Seton, as he made the window secure, "you +spoil the boy terribly." + +Elizabeth looked at Arthur Townshend, and they smiled to each other. + + + + +_CHAPTER X_ + + "If ever you have looked on better days, + If ever been where bells have knolled to church." + _As You Like It._ + + +Mr. Seton's church was half an hour's walk from his house, and the +first service began at nine-forty-five, so Sabbath morning brought no +"long lie" for the Seton household. They left the house at a +quarter-past nine, and remained at church till after the afternoon +service, luncheon being eaten in the "interval." + +Thomas and Billy generally accompanied them to church, not so much from +love of the sanctuary as from love of the luncheon, which was a +picnic-like affair. Leaving immediately after it, they were home in +time for their two-o'clock Sunday dinner with "Papa." + +Elizabeth had looked forward with horror to the prospect of a Sunday +shut in with the Arthur Townshend of her imagination, but the actual +being so much less black than her fancy had painted she could view the +prospect with equanimity, hoping only that such a spate of services +might not prove too chastening an experience for a worldly guest. + +Sabbath morning was always rather a worried time for Elizabeth. For one +thing, the Sabbath seemed to make Buff's brain more than usually +fertile in devising schemes of wickedness, and then, her father _would_ +not hurry. There he sat, calmly contemplative, in the study while his +daughter implored him to remember the "intimations," and to be sure to +put in that there was a Retiring Collection for the Aged and Infirm +Ministers' Fund. + +Mr. Seton disliked a plethora of intimations, and protested that he had +already six items. + +"Oh, Father," cried his exasperated daughter, "what _is_ the use of +saying that when they've all to be made?" + +"Quite true, Lizbeth," said her father meekly. + +Mr. Seton always went off to church walking alone, Elizabeth following, +and the boys straggling behind. + +"I'm afraid," said Elizabeth to Mr. Townshend, as they walked down the +quiet suburban road with its decorous villa-residences--"I'm afraid you +will find this rather a strenuous day. I don't suppose in Persia--and +elsewhere--you were accustomed to give the Sabbath up wholly to 'the +public and private exercises of God's worship'?" + +Mr. Townshend confessed that he certainly had not. + +"Oh, well," said Elizabeth cheeringly, "it will be a new experience. We +generally do five services on Sunday. My brother Walter used to say +that though he never entered a church again, his average would still be +higher than most people's. What king was it who said he was a 'sair +saunt for the Kirk'? I can sympathise with him." + +They drifted into talk, and became so engrossed that they had left the +suburbs and had nearly reached the church before Elizabeth remembered +the boys and stopped and looked round for them. + +"I don't see the boys. They must have come another way. D'you mind +going back with me to see if they're coming down Cumberland Street?" + +It was a wide street, deserted save for a small child carrying +milk-pitchers, and a young man with a bowler hat hurrying churchwards; +but, as they watched, three figures appeared at the upper end. Thomas +came first, wearing with pride a new overcoat and carrying a Bible with +an elastic band. (He had begged it from the housemaid, who, thankful +for some sign of grace in such an abandoned character, had lent it +gladly.) Several yards behind Billy marched along, beaming on the world +as was his wont; and last of all came Buff, deep in a story, walking in +a dream. When the story became very exciting he jumped rapidly several +times backwards and forwards from the pavement to the gutter. He was +quite oblivious of his surroundings till a starved-looking cat crept +through the area railings and mewed at him. He stopped and stroked it +gently. Then he got something out of his trouser-pocket which he laid +before the creature, and stood watching it anxiously. + +Elizabeth's eyes grew soft as she watched him. + +"Buff has the tenderest heart for all ill-used things," she said, +"especially cats and dogs." She went forward to meet her young brother. +"What were you giving the poor cat, sonny?" she asked. + +"A bit of milk-chocolate. It's the nearest I had to milk, but it didn't +like it. Couldn't I carry it to the vestry and give it to John for a +pet?" + +"I'm afraid John wouldn't receive it with any enthusiasm," said his +sister. ("John's the beadle," she explained to Mr. Townshend.) "But I +expect, Buff, it really has a home of its home--quite a nice one--and +has only come out for a stroll; anyway, we must hurry. We're late as it +is." + +The cavalcade moved again, and as they walked Elizabeth gave Mr. +Townshend a description of the meeting he was about to attend. + +"It's called the Fellowship Meeting," she told him, "and it is a joint +meeting of the Young Men's and the Young Women's Christian Association. +Someone reads a paper, and the rest of us discuss it--or don't discuss +it, as the case may be. Some of the papers are distinctly good, for we +have young men with ideas. Today I'm afraid it's a wee young laddie +reading his first paper. The president this winter is a most estimable +person, but he has a perfect genius for choosing inappropriate hymns. +At ten a.m. he gives out 'Abide with me, fast falls the eventide,' or +again, we find ourselves singing + + 'The sun that bids us rest is waking + Our brethren 'neath the Western sky,' + +--such an obvious untruth! And he chooses the prizes for the Band of +Hope children, and last year, when I was distributing them, a mite of +four toddled up in response to her name, and I handed her a +cheerful-looking volume. I just happened to glance at the title, and it +was _The Scarlet Letter_, by Nathaniel Hawthorne. I suppose he must +have bought it because it had a nice bright cover! Don't look at me if +he does anything funny to-day! I am so given to giggle." + +The Fellowship Meeting was held in the hall, so Elizabeth led the way +past the front of the church and down a side-street to the hall door. + +First, they all marched into the vestry, where coats could be left, and +various treasures, such as books to read in "the interval," deposited +in the cupboard. The vestry contained a table, a sofa, several chairs, +two cupboards, and a good fire; Mr. Seton's own room opened out of it. + +Billy sat down on the sofa and said languidly that if the others would +go to the meeting he would wait to help Ellen lay the cloth for +luncheon, but his suggestion not meeting with approval he was herded +upstairs. As it was, they were late. The first hymn and the prayer were +over, and the president was announcing that he had much pleasure in +asking Mr. Daniel Ross to read them his paper on Joshua when they +trooped in and sat down on a vacant form near the door. + +Mr. Daniel Ross, a red-headed boy, rose unwillingly from his seat on +the front bench and, taking a doubled-up exercise book from his pocket, +gave a despairing glance at the ceiling, and began. It was at once +evident that he had gone to some old divine for inspiration, for the +language was distinctly archaic. Now and again a statement, boyish, +abrupt, and evidently original, obtruded itself oddly among the flowery +sentences, but most of it had been copied painfully from some ancient +tome. He read very rapidly, swallowing audibly at intervals, and his +audience was settling down to listen to him when, quite suddenly, the +essay came to an end. The essayist turned a page of the exercise-book +in an expectant way, but there was nothing more, so he sat down with a +surprised smile. + +Elizabeth suppressed an inclination to laugh, and the president, +conscious of a full thirty minutes on his hands, gazed appealingly at +the minister. Mr. Seton rose and said how pleasant it was to hear one +of the younger members, and that the paper had pleased him greatly. +(This was strictly true, for James Seton loved all things old--even the +works of ancient divines.) He then went on to talk of Joshua that +mighty man of valour, and became so enthralled with his subject he had +to stop abruptly, look at his watch, and leave the meeting in order to +commune with the precentor about the tunes. + +The president asked for more remarks, but none were forthcoming till +John Jamieson rose, and leaning on his stick, spoke. An old man, he +said, was shy of speaking in a young people's meeting, but this morning +he felt he had a right, for the essayist was one of his own boys. Very +kindly he spoke of the boy who had come Sabbath after Sabbath to his +class: "And now I've been sitting at my scholar's feet and heard him +read a paper. It's Daniel Ross's first attempt at a paper, and I think +you'll agree with me that he did very well. He couldn't have had a +finer subject, and the paper showed that he had read it up." (At this +praise the ears of Daniel Ross sitting on the front bench glowed +rosily.) "Now, I'm not going to take up any more time, but there's just +one thing about Joshua that I wonder if you've noticed. _He rose up +early in the morning._ Sometimes a young man tells me he hasn't time to +read. Well, Joshua when he had anything to do rose up early in the +morning. Another man hasn't time to pray. There are quiet hours before +the work of the day begins. The minister and the essayist have spoken +of Joshua's great deeds, deeds that inspire; let me ask you to learn +this homely lesson from the great man, to rise up early in the morning." + +The president, on rising, said he had nothing to add to the remarks +already made but to thank the essayist in the name of the meeting for +his "v'ry able paper," and they would close by singing Hymn 493: + + "Summer suns are glowing + Over land and sea; + Happy light is flowing + Bountiful and free." + + +As they filed out Elizabeth spoke to one and another, asking about +ailing relations, hearing of any happenings in families. One boy, with +an eager, clever face, came forward to tell her that he had finished +Blake's _Songs of Innocence and Experience_, and they were fine; might +he lend the book to another chap in the warehouse? Elizabeth willingly +gave permission, and they went downstairs together talking poetry. + +In the vestry Elizabeth paraded the boys for inspection. "Billy, you're +to _sit_ on the seat to-day, remember, not get underneath it." + +"Buff, take that sweetie out of your mouth. It's most unseemly to go +into church sucking a toffee-ball." + +"_Thomas!_ What is that in the strap of your Bible?" + +"It's a story I'm reading," said Thomas. + +"But surely you don't mean to read it in church?" + +"It passes the time," said Thomas, who was always perfectly frank. + +Mr. Seton caught Arthur Townshend's eye, and they laughed aloud; while +Elizabeth hastily asked the boys if they had their collection ready. + +"The 'plate' is at the church door," she explained to Mr. Townshend. +"As Buff used to say, 'We pay as we go in.' Thomas, put that book in +the cupboard till we come out of church. Good boy: now we'd better go +in. You've got your intimations, Father?" + +"Seton's kirk," as it was called in the district, was a dignified +building, finely proportioned, and plain to austerity. Once it had been +the fashionable church in a good district. Old members still liked to +tell of its glorious days, when "braw folk" came in their carriages and +rustled into their cushioned pews, and the congregation was so large +that people sat on the pulpit steps. + +These days were long past. No one sat on the pulpit steps to hear James +Seton preach, there was room and to spare in the pews. Indeed, "Seton's +kirk" was now something of a forlorn hope in a neighbourhood almost +entirely given over to Jews and Roman Catholics. A dreary and +disheartening sphere to work in, one would have thought, but neither +Mr. Seton nor his flock were dreary or disheartened. For some reason, +it was a church that seemed difficult to leave. Members "flitted" to +the suburbs and went for a Sabbath or two to a suburban church, then +they appeared again in "Seton's kirk," remarking that the other seemed +"awful unhomely somehow." + +Mr. Seton would not have exchanged his congregation for any in the +land. It was so full of character, he said; his old men dreamed dreams, +his young men saw visions. That they had very little money troubled him +not at all. Money was not one of the things that mattered to James +Seton. + +Arthur Townshend sat beside Elizabeth in the Manse seat. Elizabeth had +pushed a Bible and Hymnary in his direction and, never having taken +part in a Presbyterian service, he awaited further developments with +interest, keeping an eye the while on Billy, who had tied a bent pin to +a string and was only waiting for the first prayer to angle in the next +pew. As the clock struck eleven the beadle carried the big Bible up to +the pulpit, and descending, stood at the foot of the stairs until the +minister had passed up. Behind came the precentor, distributing before +he sat down slips with the psalms and hymns of the morning service, +round the choir. + +Mr. Seton entered the pulpit. A hush fell over the church. "Let us +pray," he said. + +A stranger hearing James Seton pray was always struck by two +things--the beauty of his voice, or rather the curious arresting +quality of it which gave an extraordinary value to every word he said, +and the stateliness of his language. There was no complacent +camaraderie in his attitude towards his Maker. It is true he spoke +confidently as to a Father, but he never forgot that he was in the +presence of the King of kings. + +"Almighty and merciful God, who hast begotten us again unto a living +hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, we approach Thy +presence that we may offer to Thee our homage in the name of our risen +and exalted Saviour. Holy, holy, holy art Thou, Lord God Almighty. The +whole earth is full of Thy glory. Thou art more than all created +things, and Thou givest us Thyself to be our portion. Like as the hart +pants after the water-brooks, so make our souls to thirst for Thee, O +God. Though Abraham acknowledge us not and Israel be ignorant of us, we +are Thy offspring...." + +Mr. Seton had a litany of his own, and used phrases Sabbath after +Sabbath which the people looked for and loved. The Jews were prayed for +with great earnestness--"Israel beloved for the Father's sake"; the +sick and the sorrowing were "the widespread family of the afflicted." +Again, for those kept at home by necessity he asked, "May they who +tarry by the brook Bezor divide the spoil"; and always he finished, +"And now, O Lord, what wait we for? Our hope is in Thy word." + +There was no "instrument" in "Seton's kirk," not even a harmonium. They +were an old-fashioned people and liked to worship as their fathers had +done. True, some of the young men, yearning like the Athenians after +new things, had started a movement towards a more modern service, but +nothing had come of it. At one time psalms alone had been sung, not +even a paraphrase being allowed, and when "human" hymns were introduced +it well-nigh broke the hearts of some of the old people. One old man, +in the seat before the Setons, delighted Elizabeth's heart by chanting +the words of a psalm when a hymn was given out, his efforts to make the +words fit the tune being truly heroic. + +Mr. Seton gave out his text: + +"The kingdom of heaven is like unto a certain king who made a marriage +for his son, and he sent forth his servants, saying, Tell them which +are bidden, and they would not come. Again he sent forth other +servants, saying, Behold, I have prepared my dinner; my oxen and +fatlings are killed, and all things are ready. _But they made light of +it._" + +To Arthur Townshend Mr. Seton's preaching came as a revelation. He had +been charmed with him as a gentle saint, a saint kept human by a sense +of humour, a tall daughter, and a small, wicked son. But this man in +the pulpit, his face stern and sad as he spoke of the unwilling guest, +was no gentle saint, but a "sword-blade man." + +He preached without a note, leaning over the pulpit, pouring out his +soul in argument, beseeching his hearers not to make light of so great +a salvation. He seemed utterly filled by the urgency of his message. He +told no foolish anecdotes, he had few quotations, it was simple what he +said: one felt that nothing mattered to the preacher but his message. + +The sermon only lasted a matter of twenty minutes (even the restless +Buff sat quietly through it), then a hymn was sung. "Before singing +this hymn, I will make the following intimations," Mr. Seton announced. +After the hymn, the benediction, and the service was over. + +To reach the vestry, instead of going round by the big door, the Manse +party went through the choir-seat and out of the side-door. The boys, +glad to be once again in motion, rushed down the passage and collided +with Mr. Seton before they reached the vestry. + +"Gently, boys," he said. "Try to be a little quieter in your ways"; and +he retired into his own room to take off his gown and bands. + +Luncheon had been laid by Ellen, and Marget was pouring the master's +beef-tea into a bowl. + +"I've brocht as much as'll dae him tae," she whispered to Elizabeth, as +she departed from the small hall, where tea and sandwiches were +provided for people from a distance. The "him" referred to by Marget +was standing with his monocle in his eye watching Buff and Billy who, +clasped in each other's arms, were rolling on the sofa like two young +bears, while Thomas hung absorbed over the cocoa-tin. + +"Mr. Townshend, will you have some beef-tea, or cocoa? And do find a +chair. The boys can all sit on the sofa, if we push the table nearer +them." + +"I don't want any hot water in my cup," said Thomas, who was stirring +cocoa, milk, and sugar into a rich brown paste. "Try a lick," he said +to Buff; "it's like chocolate." + +Mr. Townshend found a chair, and said he would like some beef-tea, but +refused a sausage roll, to the astonishment of the boys. + +"The sausage-rolls are because of you," said Elizabeth reproachfully. +"They are Marget's speciality, and she made them as a great favour. +However, have a sandwich. Thomas"--to that youth, who was taking a sip +of chocolate and a bite of sausage-roll turn about--"Thomas, you'll be +a very sick man before long." + +"Aw, well," said Thomas, "if I'm sick I'll no can go to school, and I'm +happy just now, anyway." + +"Thomas is a philosopher," said Arthur Townshend. + +Mr. Seton had put his bowl of beef-tea on the mantelpiece to cool (it +was rather like the Mad Tea-party, the Setons' lunch), and he turned +round to ask which (if any) of the boys remembered the text. + +"Not me," said Thomas, always honest. + +"Something about oxes," said Buff vaguely, "and a party," he added. + +Billy looked completely blank. + +"Mrs. Nicol wasn't in church," said Thomas, who took a great interest +in the congregation, and especially in this lady, who frequently gave +him peppermints, "and none of the Clarks were there. Alick Thomson +winked at me in the prayer." + +"If your eyes had been closed, you wouldn't have seen him," said +Elizabeth, making the retort obvious. "Come in," she added in response +to a knock at the door. "Oh! Mr. M'Auslin, how are you? Let me +introduce--Mr. Townshend, Mr. M'Auslin." + +Arthur Townshend found himself shaking hands with the president of the +Fellowship Meeting, who said "Pleased to meet you," in the most +friendly way, and proceeded to go round the room shaking hands warmly +with everyone. + +"Sit down and have some lunch," said Mr. Seton. + +"Thank you, Mr. Seton, no. I just brought in Miss Seton's tracts." He +did not go away, however, nor did he sit down, and Arthur Townshend +found it very difficult to go on with his luncheon with this gentleman +standing close beside him; no one else seemed to mind, but went on +eating calmly. + +"A good meeting this morning," said Mr. Seton. + +"Very nice, Mr. Seton. Pleasant to see the younger members coming +forward as, I think, you observed in your remarks." + +"Quite so," said Mr. Seton. + +"How is your aunt?" Elizabeth asked him. + +"Poorly, Miss Seton; indeed I may say very poorly. She has been greatly +tried by neuralgia these last few days." + +"I'm so sorry. I hope to look in to see her one day this week." + +"Do so, Miss Seton; a visit from you will cheer Aunt Isa, I know. By +the way, Miss Seton, I would like to discuss our coming Social Evening +with you, if I may." + +"Yes. Would Thursday evening suit you?" + +"No, Miss Seton. I'm invited to a cup of tea on the Temperance Question +on Thursday." + +"I see. Well, Saturday?" + +"That would do nicely. What hour is most convenient, Miss Seton?" + +"Eight--eight-thirty; just whenever you can come." + +"Thank you, Miss Seton. Good morning. Good morning, Mr. Seton." He +again went round the room, shaking hands with everyone, and withdrew. + +"Did you recognize the chairman of the Fellowship Meeting?" Elizabeth +asked Arthur Townshend. "Isn't he a genteel young man?" + +"He has very courtly manners," said Arthur. + +"Yes; and his accent is wonderful, too. He hardly ever falls through +it. I only once remember him forgetting himself. He was addressing the +Young Women's Bible Class on Jezebel, and he got so worked up he cried, +'Oh, girrls, girrls, Jezebel was a bad yin, girrls.' I wonder why he +didn't talk about the Social here and now? He will come trailing up to +the house on Saturday and put off quite two hours." + +"My dear," said her father, "don't grudge the time, if it gives him any +pleasure. Remember what a narrow life he has, and be thankful little +things count for so much to him. To my mind, Hugh M'Auslin is doing a +very big thing, and the fine thing about him is that he doesn't see it." + +"But, Father, what is he doing?" + +"Is it a small thing, Lizbeth, for a young man to give up the best +years of his life to a helpless invalid? Mr. M'Auslin," Mr. Seton +explained to Arthur Townshend, "supports an old aunt who cared for him +in his boyhood. She is quite an invalid and very cantankerous, though, +I believe, a good woman. And--remember this, you mocking people, when +you talk of courtly manners--his manners are just as 'courtly' when his +old aunt upbraids him for not spending every minute of his sparse spare +time at her bedside." + +"I never said that Mr. M'Auslin wasn't the best of men," said +Elizabeth, "only I wish he wouldn't be so coy. Well, my district awaits +me, I must go. I wonder what you would like to do, Mr. Townshend? I can +lend you something to read--_The Newcomes_ is in the cupboard--and show +you a quiet cubby-hole to read it in, if you would like that." + +"That will be delightful, but--is it permitted to ask what you are +going to do?" + +"I? Going with my tracts. That's what we do between services. I have +two 'closes,' with about ten doors to each close. Come with me, if you +like, but it's a most unsavoury locality." + +Thomas and Billy were getting into their overcoats preparatory to going +away. Buff asked if he might go part of the way with them and, +permission being given, they set off together. + +Elizabeth looked into the little square looking-glass on the +mantelpiece to see if her hat was straight, then she threw on her fur, +and went out with Arthur Townshend into the street. + +The frost of the morning had brought a slight fog, but the pavements +were dry and it was pleasant walking. "It's only a few steps," said +Elizabeth--"not much of a task after all. One Sunday I sent Ellen, and +Buff went with her. She had a formula which he thought very neat. At +every door she said, 'This is a tract. Chilly, isn't it?'" + +Arthur Townshend laughed. "What do you say?" he asked. + +"At first I said nothing, simply poked the tract at them. When Father +prayed for the 'silent messengers'--meaning, of course, the tracts--I +took it to mean the tract distributors! I have plucked up courage now +to venture a few remarks, but they generally fall on stony ground." + +At a close-mouth blocked by two women and several children Elizabeth +stopped and announced that this was her district. It was very dirty and +almost quite dark, but as they ascended the light got better. + +Elizabeth knocked in a very deprecating way at each door. Sometimes a +woman opened the door and seemed pleased to have the tract, and in one +house there was a sick child for whom Elizabeth had brought a trifle. +On the top landing she paused. "Here," she said, "we stop and ponder +for a moment. These two houses are occupied respectively by Mrs. +Conolly and Mrs. O'Rafferty. I keep on forgetting who lives in which." + +"Does it matter?" + +"Yes, a lot. You see, Mrs. Conolly is a nice woman and Mrs. O'Rafferty +is the reverse. Mrs. Conolly takes the tract and thanks me kindly; Mrs. +O'Rafferty, always gruff, told me on my last visit that if I knocked +again at her door she would come at me with a fender. So you see it is +rather a problem. Would you like to try and see what sort of 'dusty +answer' you get? Perhaps, who knows, the sight of you may soothe the +savage breast of the O'Rafferty. I'll stand out of sight." + +Arthur Townshend took the proffered tract from Elizabeth's hand, +smiling at the mischief that danced in her eyes, and was about to +knock, when one of the doors suddenly opened. Both of the tract +distributors started visibly; then Elizabeth sprang forward, with a +relieved smile. + +"Good morning, Mrs. Conolly. I was just going to knock. I hope you are +all well." + +Mrs. Conolly was understood to say that things were moderately bright +with her, and that close being finished, Elizabeth led the way +downstairs. + +"What quite is the object of giving out these things?" asked Arthur +Townshend, as they emerged into the street. "D'you think it does good?" + +"Ah! 'that I cannot tell, said he,'" returned Elizabeth. "I expect the +men light their pipes with them, but that isn't any business of mine. +My job is to give out the tracts and leave the results in Higher Hands, +as Father would say." + + * * * * * + +The afternoon service began at two and lasted an hour. Mr. Seton never +made the mistake of wearying his people with long services. One member +was heard to say of him: "He needs neither specs nor paper, an' he's +oot on the chap o' the hour." + +The attendance was larger in the afternoons, and the sun struggled +through the fog and made things more cheerful. Mr. Seton preached on +Paul. It was a subject after his own heart, and his face shone as he +spoke of that bond-slave of Jesus Christ--of all he gave up, of all he +gained. At the church door, the service ended, people stood in groups +and talked. Elizabeth was constantly stopped by somebody. One stolid +youth thrust himself upon her notice, and when she said pleasantly, +"How are you all, Mr...?" (she had forgotten his name), he replied, +"Fine, thanks. Of coorse ma faither's deid and buried since last I saw +ye." + +"Why 'of course'?" Elizabeth asked Arthur. "And there is another odd +thing--the use of the word 'annoyed.' When I went to condole with a +poor body whose son had been killed in an explosion, she said, 'Ay, I'm +beginnin' to get over it now, but I was real annoyed at first.' It +sounds so _inadequate_." + +"It reminds me of a Hindu jailer," said Arthur, "in charge of a +criminal about to be hung. Commenting on his downcast look, the jailer +said, 'He says he is innocent, and he will be hung to-morrow, therefore +he is somewhat peevish.'" + +Arthur Townshend found himself introduced to many people who wrung his +hand and said "V'ry pleased to meet you." Little Mr. Taylor, hopping by +the side of his tall wife, asked him if he had ever heard Mr. Seton +preach before, and being told "No," said, "Then ye've had a treat the +day. Isn't he great on Paul?" + +The Taylors accompanied them part of the way home. Mr. Taylor's humour +was at its brightest, and with many sly glances at Mr. Townshend he +adjured Elizabeth to be a "good wee miss" and not think of leaving +"Papa." Finding the response to his witticisms somewhat disappointing, +he changed the subject, and laying a hand on Buff's shoulder said, +"Ye'll be glad to hear, Mr. Townshend, that this boy is going to follow +his Papa and be a minister." + +Buff had been "stotting" along the road, very far away from Glasgow and +Mr. Taylor and the Sabbath Day. He had been Cyrano de Bergerac, and was +wiping his trusty blade after having accounted for his eighty-second +man, when he was brought rudely back to the common earth. + +He turned a dazed eye on the speaker. What was he saying? "This boy is +going to be a minister." + +And he had been Cyrano! The descent was too rapid. + +"Me?" cried Buff. "Not likely! I'm going to fight, and kill _hundreds +of people_." + +"Oh, my, my," said Mrs. Taylor. "That's not a nice way for a Christian +little boy to speak. That's like a wee savage!" + +Buff pulled his sister's sleeve. + +"Was Cyrano a savage?" he whispered. + +Elizabeth shook her head. + +"Well," said Buff, looking defiantly at Mrs. Taylor, "Cyrano fought a +hundred men one after another and _he_ wasn't a savage." + +Mrs. Taylor shook her head sadly. "Yer Papa would be sorry to think ye +read about sich people." + +"Haw!" cried Buff, "it was Father read it to me himself--didn't he +Lizbeth?--and he laughed--he _laughed_ about him fighting the hundred +men." + +They had come to the end of the street where the Taylors lived, and +they all stopped for a minute, Buff flushed and triumphant, Mrs. Taylor +making the bugles of her Sabbath bonnet shake with disapproval, and Mr. +Taylor still brimful of humour. + +"It's as well we're leavin' this bloodthirsty young man, Mrs. Taylor," +he said. "It's as well we're near home. He might feel he wanted to kill +us." (Buff's expression was certainly anything but benign.) + +Elizabeth shook hands with her friends, and said: + +"It would be so nice if you would spend an evening with us. Not this +week--perhaps Tuesday of next week?" + +The Taylors accepted with effusion. There was nothing they enjoyed so +much as spending an evening, and this Elizabeth knew. + +"That'll be something to look forward to," Mr. Taylor said; and his +wife added, "Ay, if we're here and able, but ye niver can tell." + +As they walked on Elizabeth looked at her companion's face and laughed. + +"Mr. Taylor is a queer little man," she said. "He used to worry me +dreadfully. I simply couldn't stand his jokes--and then I found out +that he wasn't the little fool I had been thinking him, and I was +ashamed. He is rather a splendid person." + +Mr. Townshend and Buff both looked at her. + +"Yes; Father told me. It seems that years ago he had a brother who was +a grief to him, and who did something pretty bad, and went off to +America, leaving a wife and three children. Mr. Taylor wasn't a bit +well-off, but he set himself to the task of paying off the debts his +brother had left, and helping to keep the family. For years he denied +himself everything but the barest necessities--no pipe, no morning +paper, no car-pennies--and he told no one what he was doing. And his +wife helped him in every way, and never said it was hard on her. The +worst is over now, and he told Father. But I think it must have been in +those hard days that he learned the joking habit, to keep himself +going, you know, and so I don't find them so silly as I did, but brave, +and rather pathetic somehow." + +Arthur Townshend nodded. "'To know all,'" he quoted. "It seems a pity +that there aren't always interpreters at hand." + +"And what do you think of the Scots Kirk?" Elizabeth asked him +presently. + +"In the Church of England a man who could preach like your father would +be a bishop." + +"I dare say. We have no bishops in our Church, but we have a fairly +high standard of preaching. Do you mean that you think Father is rather +thrown away in that church, preaching to the few?" + +"It sounds impertinent--but I think I did mean that." + +"Yes. Oh! I don't wonder. I looked round this morning and wondered how +it would strike you. A small congregation of dull-looking, shabby +people! But as Father looks at them they aren't dull or shabby. They +are the souls given him to shepherd into the Fold. He has a charge to +keep. He simply wouldn't understand you if you talked to him of a +larger sphere, more repaying work, and so on. People often say to me, +'Your father is thrown away in that district.' They don't see...." + +"You must think me a blundering sort of idiot----" Arthur began. + +"Oh no! I confess I have a leaning towards your point of view. I know +how splendid Father is, and I rather want everyone else to know it too. +I want recognition for him. But he doesn't for himself. 'Fame i' the +sun' never vexes his thoughts. I expect, if you have set your face +steadfastly to go to Jerusalem, these things seem very small. And I am +quite sure Father could never be a really popular minister. At times he +fails lamentably. Yes; he simply can't be vulgar, poor dear, not even +at a social meeting. He sees in marriage no subject for jesting. Even +twins leave him cold. Where another man would scintillate with +brilliant jokes on the subject Father merely says, 'Dear me!' Sometimes +I feel rather sorry for the people--the happy bridegroom and the proud +father, I mean. They are standing expecting to be, so to speak, dug in +the ribs--and they aren't. I could do it quite well--it is no trouble +to me to be all things to all men--but Father can't." + +Arthur Townshend laughed. "No, I can't see your father being jocose. I +was thinking when I listened to him what a tremendous thing for people +to have a padre like that. His very face is an inspiration. His eyes +seem to see things beyond. He makes me think of--who was it in _The +Pilgrim's Progress_ who had 'a wonderful innocent smile'?" + +Elizabeth nodded. + +"I know. Isn't it wonderful, after sixty odd years in this world? There +is something so oddly joyous about him. And it isn't that sort of +provoking fixed brightness that some Christian people have--people who +have read Robert Louis and don't mean to falter in their task of +happiness. When you ask them how they are, they say _'Splendid'_; and +when you remark, conversationally, that the weather is ghastly beyond +words, they pretend to find pleasure in it, until, like Pet Marjorie, +you feel your birse rise at them. Father knows just how bad the world +is, the cruelty, the toil, the treason; he knows how bitter sorrow is, +and what it means to lay hopes in the grave, but he looks beyond and +sees something so ineffably lovely--such an exceeding and eternal +weight of glory--that he can go on with his day's work joyfully." + +"Yes," said Arthur, "the other world seems extraordinarily real to him." + +"Oh! Real! Heaven is much the realest place there is to Father. I do +believe that when he is toiling away in the Gorbals he never sees the +squalor for thinking of the streets of gold." + +Elizabeth's grey eyes grew soft for a moment with unshed tears, but she +blinked them away and laughed. + +"The nicest thing about my father is that he is full of contradictions. +So gentle and with such an uncompromising creed! The Way is the Way to +Father, narrow and hard and comfortless. And he is so good, so purely +good, and yet never righteous over much. There is a sort of ingrained +humility and lovableness in him that attracts the sinners as well as +the saints. He never thinks that because he is virtuous there should be +no more cakes and ale. And then, though with him he carries gentle +peace, he is by no means a pacific sort of person. He loves to fight; +and he hates to be in the majority. Minorities have been right, he +says, since the days of Noah. When he speaks in the Presbytery it is +always on the unpopular side. D'you remember what a fuss they made +about Chinese labour in South Africa? Father made a speech defending +it! Someone said to me that he must have an interest in the Mines! Dear +heart! He doesn't even know what his income is. The lilies of the field +are wily financiers compared to him." + +Half an hour later, at four o'clock to be precise, the Setons and their +guest sat down to dinner. + +"I often wonder," said Mr. Seton, as he meditatively carved slices of +cold meat, "why on Sabbath we have dinner at four o'clock and tea at +seven. Wouldn't it be just as easy to have tea at four and dinner at +seven?" + +"'Sir,'" said Elizabeth, "in the words of Dr. Johnson, 'you may +wonder!' All my life this has been the order of meals on the Sabbath +Day, and who am I that I should change them? Besides, it's a change and +makes the Sabbath a little different. Mr. Townshend, I hope you don't +mind us galumphing through the meal? Father and I have to be back at +the church at five o'clock." + +"You don't mean," protested Arthur Townshend, "that you are going back +to church again?" + +"Alas! yes--Have some toast, won't you?--Father has his Bible class, +and I teach a class in the Sabbath school. Buff, pass Mr. Townshend the +butter." + +"Thank you. But, tell me, do you walk all the way again?" + +"Every step," said Elizabeth firmly. "We could get an electric car, but +we prefer to trudge it." + +"But why?" + +"Oh! just to make it more difficult." + +Elizabeth smiled benignly on the puzzled guest. "You see," she +explained, "Father is on the Sabbath Observance Committee, and it +wouldn't look well if his daughter ruffled it on Sabbath-breaking cars. +Isn't that so, Father?" + +Mr. Seton shook his head at his daughter, but did not trouble to reply; +and Elizabeth went on: + +"It's more difficult than you would think to be a minister's family. +The main point is that you must never do anything that will hurt your +father's 'usefulness,' and it is astonishing how many things tend to do +that--dressing too well, going to the play, laughing when a sober face +would be more suitable, making flippant remarks--their name is legion. +Besides, try as one may, it is impossible always to avoid being a +stumbling-block. There are little ones so prone to stumble that they +would take a toss over anything." + +"That will do, Elizabeth," said Mr. Seton. + +"Sorry, Father." She turned in explanation to Mr. Townshend. "When +Father thinks I am flippant and silly he says 'Elizabeth!' and his eyes +twinkle; but when I become irreverent--I am apt to be often--he says +'That will do,' and I stop. So now you will understand. To change the +subject--perhaps the most terrible experience I have had, as yet, in my +ministerial career was being invited to a christening party and having +to sit down in a small kitchen to a supper of tripe and kola. Alan says +the outside edge was reached with him when a man who picked his ears +with a pencil asked him if he were saved." + +"Elizabeth," said her father, "you talk a great deal of nonsense." + +"I do," agreed Elizabeth; "I'm what's known as vivacious--in other +words, 'a nice bright girl.' And the funny thing is it's a thing I +simply hate being. I admire enormously strong, still people. Won't it +be awful if I go on being vivacious when I'm fifty? Or do you think +I'll be arch then? There is something so resuscitated about vivacious +spinsters." She looked gaily round the table, as if the dread future +did not daunt her greatly. + +Ellen had removed the plates and was handing round the pudding. +Elizabeth begged Mr. Townshend not to hurry, and to heed in no way the +scrambling table manners of his host and hostess. She turned a deaf ear +to his suggestion that he would like to hear her instruct her class, +assuring him that he would be much better employed reading a book by +the fire. Buff, she added, would be pleased to keep him company after +he had learned his Sabbath evening task, eight lines of a psalm. + +"Aw," said Buff. "Must I, Father?" + +"Eight lines are easily learned, my son." + +"Well, can I choose my own psalm?" + +His father said "Certainly"; but Elizabeth warned him: "Then make him +promise to learn a new one, or he'll just come with 'That man hath +perfect blessedness.'" + +"I won't," said Buff. "I know a nice one to learn: quite new, about a +worm." + +"Dear me," said his father, "I wonder what psalm that is? Well, +Lizbeth, we must go. You'll find books in the drawing-room, Mr. +Townshend; and see that the fire is good." + +Elizabeth's class consisted of seven little bullet-headed boys. +To-night there was an extra one, whom she welcomed warmly--Bob Scott, +the small boy whom she had befriended while collecting in the rain. She +found, however, that his presence was not conducive to good conduct in +the class. Instead of lapping up the information served out to him +without comment as the other boys did, he made remarks and asked +searching questions. Incidents in the Bible lesson recalled to him +events, generally quite irrelevant, which he insisted on relating. For +instance, the calling forth of evil spirits from the possessed reminded +him of the case of a friend of his, one Simpson, a baker, who one +morning had gone mad and danced on the bakehouse roof, singing, "Ma +sweetheart hes blue eyes," until he fell through a skylight, with +disastrous results. + +Bob's manners, too, lacked polish. He attracted Elizabeth's attention +by saying "Hey, wumman!" he contradicted her flatly several times; but +in spite of it all, she liked his impudent, pinched little face, and at +the end of the hour kept him behind the other boys to ask how things +were going with him. He had no mother, it seemed, and no brothers or +sisters: he went to school (except when he "plunk't"), ran messages for +shops, and kept house--such keeping as it got. His father, he said, was +an extra fine man, except when he was drunk. + +Before they parted it was arranged that Bob should visit the Seton's on +Saturday and get his dinner; he said it would not be much out of his +way, as he generally spent his Saturday mornings having a shot at +"fitba'" in the park near. He betrayed no gratitude for the invitation, +merely saying "S'long, then," as he walked away. + +On Sabbath evenings the Setons had prayers at eight o'clock, and Buff +stayed up for the event. Marget and Ellen were also present, and +Elizabeth played the hymns and led the singing. + +"First," said Mr. Seton, "we'll have Buff's psalm." + +Buff was standing on one leg, with his ill-used Bible bent back in his +hand, learning furiously. + +"Are you ready?" asked his father. + +Buff took a last look, then handed the Bible to his father. + +"It's not a psalm," he said; "it's a paraphrase." + +He took a long breath, and in a curious chant, accentuating such words +as he thought fit, he recited: + + "Next, from the _deep_, th' Almighty King + Did _vital_ beings frame; + Fowls of the _air_ of ev'ry wing, + And fish of every name. + To all the various _brutal_ tribes + He _gave_ their wondrous birth; + At once the lion _and_ the worm + _Sprung_ from the teeming earth." + +He only required to be prompted once, and when he had finished he drew +from his pocket a paper which he handed to his father. + +"What's this?" said Mr. Seton. "Ah, I see." He put his hand up to his +mouth and appeared to study the paper intently. + +"It's not my best," said Buff modestly. + +"May I see it?" asked Elizabeth. + +Buff was fond of illustrating the Bible, and this was his idea of the +Creation so far as a sheet of note-paper and rather a blunt pencil +could take him. In the background rose a range of mountains on the +slopes of which a bird, some beetles, and an elephant (all more or less +of one size) had a precarious foot-hold. In the foreground a +dishevelled lion glared at a worm which reared itself on end in a +surprised way. Underneath was printed "At once the lion and the +worm"--the quotation stopped for lack of space. + +"Very fine, Buff," said Elizabeth, smiling widely. "Show it to Mr. +Townshend." + +"He's seen it," said Buff. "He helped me with the lion's legs, but I +did all the rest myself--didn't I?" he appealed to the guest. + +"You did, old man. We'll colour it to-morrow, when I get you that +paint-box." + +"Yes," said Buff, crossing the room to show his picture to Marget and +Ellen, while Mr. Seton handed Arthur Townshend a hymn-book and asked +what hymn he would like sung, adding that everyone chose a favourite +hymn at Sabbath evening prayers. Seeing Arthur much at a loss, +Elizabeth came to his help with the remark that English hymn-books were +different from Scots ones, and suggesting "Lead, kindly Light," as +being common to both. + +Marget demanded "Not all the blood of beasts," while Ellen murmured +that her favourite was "Sometimes a light surprises." + +"Now, Buff," said his father. + +"Prophet Daniel," said Buff firmly. + +Both Mr. Seton and Elizabeth protested, but Buff was adamant. The +"Prophet Daniel" he would have and none other. + +"Only three verses, then," pleaded Elizabeth. + +"It all," said Buff. + +The hymn in question was a sort of chant. The first line ran "Where is +now the Prophet Daniel?" This was repeated three times, and the fourth +line was the answer: "Safe in the Promised Land." + +The second verse told the details: "He went through the den of lions" +(repeated three times), "Safe to the Promised Land." + +After the prophet Daniel came the Hebrew children, then the Twelve +Apostles. The great point about the hymn was that any number of +favourite heroes might be added at will. William Wallace Buff always +insisted on, and to-night as he sang "He went up from an English +scaffold" he gazed searchingly at the English guest to see if no shade +of shame flushed his face; but Mr. Townshend sat looking placidly +innocent, and seemed to hold himself entirely guiltless of the death of +the patriot. The Covenanters came after William Wallace, and Buff with +a truly catholic spirit wanted to follow with Graham of Claverhouse; +but this was felt to be going too far. By no stretch of imagination +could one picture the persecutor and the persecuted, the wolf and the +lamb, happily sharing one paradise. + +"That will do now, my son," said Mr. Seton; but Buff was determined on +one more, and his shrill treble rose alone in "Where is now Prince +Charles Edward?" until Elizabeth joined in, and lustily, almost +defiantly, they assured themselves that the Prince who had come among +his people seeking an earthly crown had attained to a heavenly one and +was "Safe in the Promised Land." + +Mr. Seton shook his head as he opened the Bible to read the evening +portion. "I hope so," he said, and his tone was dubious--"I hope so." + +"Well!" said Elizabeth, as she said good-night to her guest, "has this +been the dullest day of your life?" + +Arthur Townshend looked into the mocking grey eyes that were exactly on +a level with his own, and "I don't think I need answer that question," +he said. + +"The only correct answer is, 'Not at all.' But I'm quite sure you never +sang so many hymns or met so many strange new specimens of humanity all +in one day before." + +Mr. Seton, who disliked to see books treated lightly, was putting away +all the volumes that Buff had taken out in the course of the evening +and left lying about on chairs and on the floor. As he locked the glass +door he said: + +"Lizbeth turns everything into ridicule, even the Sabbath Day." + +His daughter sat down on the arm of a chair and protested. + +"Oh no, I don't. I don't indeed. I laugh a lot, for 'werena ma hert +licht I wad dee.' I have, how shall I say? a heart too soon made glad. +But I'm only stating a fact, Father, when I say that Mr. Townshend has +sung a lot of hymns to-day and seen a lot of funnies.... Oh! Father, +_don't turn out the lights_. Isn't he a turbulent priest! My father, +Mr. Townshend, has a passion for turning out lights. You will find out +all our peculiarities in time--and the longer you know us the odder +we'll get." + +"I have six more days to get to know you," said Mr. Townshend. And he +said it as if he congratulated himself on the fact. + + + + +_CHAPTER XI_ + + "As we came in by Glasgow town + We were a comely sight to see." + _Old Ballad._ + + +Arthur Townshend was what Elizabeth called a repaying guest. He noticed +and appreciated things done for his comfort, he was easily amused; also +he had the air of enjoying himself. Mr. Seton liked him from the first, +and when he heard that he re-read several of the _Waverley Novels_ +every year he hailed him as a kindred spirit. + +He won Buff's respect and admiration by his knowledge of aeroplanes. +Even Marget so far unbent towards him as to admit that he was "a +wise-like man"; Ellen thought he looked "noble." As for +Elizabeth--"You're a nice guest," she told him; "you don't blight." + +"No? What kind of guest blights?" + +"Several, but _the_ Blight devastates. Suppose I've had the +drawing-room done up and am filled with pride of it, open the door and +surprise myself with it a dozen times in the day--you know, or rather I +suppose you don't know, the way of a house-proud woman with a new room. +The Blight enters, looks round and says, 'You've done something to this +room, haven't you? Very nice. I've just come from the +Puffington-Whalleys, and their drawing-rooms are too delicious. I must +describe them to you, for I know you are interested in houses,' and so +on and so on, and I have lost conceit of my cherished room. Sometimes +the Blight doesn't say anything, but her glance seems to make one's +belongings shrivel. And she is the same all the time. You stay her with +apples and she prattles of nectarines; you drive her in a hired chaise +and she talks of the speed of So-and-so's Rolls-Royce." + +"A very trying person," said Arthur Townshend. "But it isn't exactly +fulsome flattery to compliment me on not being an ill-bred snob. Do you +often entertain a Blight?" + +"Now that I think of it," Elizabeth confessed, "it only happened once. +Real blights are rare. But we quite often have ungracious guests, and +they are almost as bad. They couldn't praise anything to save their +lives. Everything is taken, as the Scotsman is supposed to have taken +his bath, for granted. When you say 'I'm afraid it is rather a poor +dinner,' they reply, 'Oh, it doesn't matter,'--the correct answer, of +course, being, 'What _could_ be nicer?'" + +"I shall remember that," said Arthur Townshend, "and I'm glad that so +far you find me a fairly satisfactory guest, only I wish the standard +had been higher. I only seem white because of the blackness of those +who went before." + +Mr. Seton carried out his plan of showing Mr. Townshend the sights of +Glasgow, and on Monday morning they viewed the chrysanthemums in the +Park, in the afternoon the Cathedral and the Municipal Buildings; and +whatever may have been the feelings of the guest, Mr. Seton drew great +enjoyment from the outing. + +On Tuesday Elizabeth became cicerone, and announced at the +breakfast-table her intention of personally conducting Mr. Townshend +through Glasgow on top of an electric car. + +Buff was struggling into his overcoat, watched (but not helped) by +Thomas and Billy, but when he heard of his sister's plan he at once +took it off again and said he would make one of the party. + +Thomas looked at his friend coldly. + +"Mamma says," he began, "that's it's a very daft-like thing the way you +get taken to places and miss school. By rights I should have got +staying at home to-day with my gum-boil." + +"Poor old Thomas!" said Elizabeth. "Never mind. You and Buff must both +go to school and grow up wise men, and you will each choose a chocolate +out of Mr. Townshend's box for a treat." + +The sumptuous box was produced, and diverted Buff's mind from the +expedition; and presently the three went off to school, quite +reconciled to attempting another step on the steep path to knowledge. + +"Isn't Thomas a duck?" said Elizabeth, as she returned to the table +after watching them go out of the gate. "So uncompromising." + +"'Mamma' must be a frank and fearless commentator," said Mr. Townshend. + +"Thomas makes her sound so," Elizabeth admitted. "But when I meet +her--I only know her slightly--she seems the gentlest of placid women. +Well, can you be ready by eleven-thirty? _Of course_ I want to go. I'm +looking forward hugely to seeing Glasgow through your eyes. Come and +write your letters in the drawing-room while I talk to Marget about +dinner." + +Punctually they started. It was a bright, frosty morning, and the trim +villas with their newly cleaned doorsteps and tidily brushed-up gardens +looked pleasant, homely places as they regarded them from the top of a +car. + +"This is much nicer than motoring," said Elizabeth. "You haven't got to +think of tyres, and it only costs twopence-ha'penny all the way." + +She settled back in her seat, and "You've to do all the talking +to-day," she said, nodding her head at her companion. "On Sunday I +_deaved_ you, and you suffered me gladly, or at least you had the +appearance of so doing, but it may only have been your horribly good +manners; anyway, to-day it is your turn. And you needn't be afraid of +boring me, because I am practically unborable. Begin at the beginning, +when you were a little boy, and tell me all about yourself." She broke +off to look down at a boy riding on a lorry beside the driver. "Just +look at that boy! He's being allowed to hold the whip and he's got an +apple to eat! What a thoroughly good time he's having--and playing +truant too, I expect." + +Arthur Townshend glanced at the happy truant, and then at Elizabeth +smiling unconsciously in whole-hearted sympathy. She wore a soft blue +homespun coat and skirt, and a hat of the same shade crushed down on +her hair which burned golden where the sun caught it. Some nonsensical +half-forgotten lines came into his mind: + + "Paul said and Peter said, + And all the saints alive and dead + Vowed that she had the sweetest head + Of yellow, yellow hair." + +Aloud he said, "You're fond of boys?" + +"Love them," she said. "Even when they're at their roughest and +naughtiest and seem all tackety boots. What were you like when you were +little?" + +"Oh! A thoroughly uninteresting child. Ate a lot, and never said or did +an original thing. Aunt Alice cherishes only one _mot_. Once, when the +nursery clock stopped, I remarked, 'No little clock now to tell us how +quickly we're dying,' which seems to prove that besides being +commonplace I was inclined to be morbid. I went to school very early, +and Aunt Alice gave me good times in my holidays; then came three years +at Oxford--three halcyon years--and since then I have been very little +in England. You see, I'm a homeless, wandering sort of creature, and +the worst of that sort of thing is, that when the solitary, for once in +a way, get set in families, they don't understand the language. Explain +to me, please, the meaning of some of your catch-words. For +instance--_Fish would laugh_." + +"You mean our ower-words," said Elizabeth. "We have a ridiculous lot; +and they must seem most incomprehensible to strangers. _Fish would +lawff._ It is really too silly to tell. When Buff was tiny, three or +four or thereabouts, he had a familiar spirit called Fish. Fish was a +loofah with a boot-button for an eye, and, wrapped in a duster or +anything that happened to be lying about, he slept in Buff's bed, sat +in his chair, ate from his plate, and was unto him a brother. His was +an unholy influence. When Buff did anything wicked, Fish said 'Good,' +or so Buff reported. When anyone did anything rather fine or noble, +Fish 'lawffed'--you know the funny way Buff says words with 'au'? Fish +was a Socialist and couldn't stand Royalties, so when we came to a +Prince in a fairy tale we had to call him Brother. He whispered nasty +things about us to Buff: his mocking laughter pursued us; his +boot-button eye got loose and waggled in the most sinister way. He +really was a horrid creature--but how Buff loved him! Through the day +he alluded to him by high-sounding titles--Sir John Fish, Admiral Fish, +V.C., Brigadier-General Fish--but at night, when he clutched him to his +heart in bed, he murmured over him, _'Fishie beastie!'_ He lost his +place in time, as all favourites do; but the memory of him still lives +with us, and whenever anyone bucks unduly, or too obviously stands +forth in the light, we say, _Fish would lawff!_" + +The thought of Fish so intrigued Arthur that he wanted to hear more of +him, but Elizabeth begged him to turn his eyes to the objects of +interest around him. + +"Now," she said, "we are on the Broomielaw Bridge, and that is Clyde's +'wan water.' I'm told Broomielaw means 'beloved green place,' so it +can't always have been the coaly hole it is now. I don't know what is +up the river--Glasgow Green, I think, and other places, but"--pointing +down the river--"there lies the pathway to the Hebrides. It always +refreshes me to think that we in Glasgow have a 'back-door to +Paradise.'" + +"Yes," said Mr. Townshend, leaning forward to look at the river. +"Edinburgh, of course, has the Forth. I've been reading _Edinburgh +Revisited_--you know it, I suppose?--and last week when I was there I +spent some hours wandering about the 'lands' in the Old Town. I like +Bone's description of the old rooms filled with men and women of degree +dancing minuets under guttering sconces. You remember he talks of a +pause in the dance, when the musicians tuned their fiddles, and ladies +turned white shoulders and towering powdered heads to bleak barred +windows to meet the night wind blowing saltly from the Forth? I think +that gives one such a feeling of Edinburgh." + +"I know. I remember that," said Elizabeth. "Doesn't James Bone make +pictures with words?" + +"Oh! It's extraordinary. The description of George Square as an elegant +old sedan-chair gently decaying, with bright glass still in its +lozenge-panels! I like the idea of the old inhabitants of the Square +one after another through the generations coming back each to his own +old grey-brown house--such a company of wit and learning and bravery." + +"And Murray of Broughton," she cried, her grey eyes shining with +interest, "Murray, booted and cloaked and muffled to the eyes, coming +down the steps of No. 25 and the teacup flying after him, and the lame +little boy creeping out and picking up the saucer, because Traitor +Murray meant to him history and romance! Yes.... But it isn't quite +tactful of you to dilate on Edinburgh when I am trying to rouse in you +some enthusiasm for Glasgow. You think of Edinburgh as some lovely lady +of old years draped as with a garment by memories of unhappy far-off +things. But you haven't seen her suburbs! No romance there. Rows and +rows of smug, well-built houses, each with a front garden, each with a +front gate, and each front gate remains shut against the casual caller +until you have rung a bell--and the occupants have had time to make up +their minds about you from behind the window curtains--when some +mechanism in the vestibule is set in motion, the gate opens, and you +walk in. That almost seems to me the most typical thing about +Edinburgh. Glasgow doesn't keep visitors at the gate. Glasgow is on the +doorstep to welcome them in. It is just itself--cheerful, hard-working, +shrewd, kindly, a place that, like Weir of Hermiston, has no call to be +bonny: it gets through its day's work. Edinburgh calls Glasgow vulgar, +and on the surface we are vulgar. We say 'Ucha,' and when we meet each +other in July we think it is funny to say 'A good New Year'; and always +our accent grates on the ears of the genteel. I have heard it said that +nothing could make Glasgow people gentlefolks because we are 'that +weel-pleased'; and the less apparent reason there seems for complacency +the more 'weel-pleased' we are. As an Edinburgh man once said to me in +that connection, 'If a Glasgow man has black teeth and bandy legs he +has cheek enough to stand before the King.' But we have none of the +subtle vulgarity that pretends: we are plain folk and we know it.... I +am boring you. Let's talk about something really interesting. What do +you think of the Ulster Question?" + +The car went on its way, up Renfield Street and Sauchiehall Street, +till it left shop-windows behind, and got into tracts of terraces and +crescents, rows of dignified grey houses stretching for miles. + +Elizabeth and her companion got out at a stopping-place, and proceeded +to walk back to see the University. Arthur, looking round, remarked +that the West End of one city was very like the West End of any other +city. + +"It's the atmosphere of wealth I suppose," he said. + +Elizabeth agreed that it was so. "What do you think wealth smells +like?" she asked him. "To me it is a mixture of very opulent +stair-carpets and a slight suspicion of celery. I don't know why, but +the houses of the most absolutely rolling-in-riches-people that I know +smell like that--in Glasgow, I mean." + +"It is an awesome thought," Arthur said, as he looked round him, "to +think that probably every one of those houses is smelling at this +moment of carpets and celery." + +"This," said Elizabeth, "is where the city gentleman live--at least the +more refined of the species. We in the South Side have a cruder wealth." + +"There is refinement, then, in the West End?" Elizabeth made a face. + +"The refinement which says 'preserves' instead of 'jam.'" + +Then she had one of her sudden repentances. + +"I didn't mean that nastily--but of course, you know, where one is in +the process of rising one is apt to be slightly ridiculous. There is +always a striving, an uneasiness, a lack of repose. To be so far down +as to fear no fall, and to be so securely up as to fear no fall, tends +to composure of manner. You who have, I suppose, lived always with the +'ups,' and I who consort almost entirely with the 'downs,' know that +for a fact. It is an instructive thing to watch the rise of a family. +They rise rapidly in Glasgow. In a few years you may see a family +ascend from a small villa in Pollokshields and one servant--known as +'the girrl'--to a 'place' in the country and a pew in the nearest +Episcopal church; and if this successful man still alludes to a person +as a 'party' and to his wife in her presence as 'Mistress So-and-so +here,' his feet are well up the ladder. A few years more and he will +cut the strings that bind him to his old life: his boys, educated at +English schools, will have forgotten the pit from whence they were dug, +his daughters will probably have married well, and he is 'county' +indeed. But you mustn't think Glasgow is full of funnies, or that I am +laughing at the dear place--not that it would care if I did, it can +stand a bit of laughing at. I have the most enormous respect for +Glasgow people for all they have done, for their tremendous capacity +for doing, for their quite perfect taste in things that matter, and I +love them for their good nature and 'well-pleasedness.' A very +under-sized little man--one whose height might well have been a sore +point--said to me once, 'They tell me my grandfather was +six-foot-four--he would laugh if he saw me. And he thoroughly enjoyed +the joke." + +"But tell me," said Arthur, "have you many friends in Glasgow?" + +"Heaps, but I haven't much time for seeing them. The winter is so +crowded with church-work; then in spring, when things slacken off, I go +to London to Aunt Alice; and in summer we are at Etterick. But I do +dine out now and again, and sometimes we have little parties. Would you +care to meet some people?" + +He hastily disclaimed any such desire, and assured her he was more than +content with the company he had. "But," he added, "I should like to see +more of the church people." + +"You shall," Elizabeth promised him. + +One o'clock found them again in Sauchiehall Street, and Arthur asked +Elizabeth's advice as to the best place for luncheon. + +"This is my day," she reminded him. "You will have lunch with me, +please. If you'll promise not to be nasty about it, I'll take you to my +favourite haunt. It's a draper's shop, but don't let that prejudice +you." + +He found himself presently in a large sunny room carpeted in soft grey +and filled with little tables. The tablecloths were spotless, and the +silver and glass shone. Elizabeth led the way to a table in the window +and picked up a menu card. + +"This," she said, "is where Glasgow beats every other town. For +one-and-sixpence you get four courses. Everything as good as can be, +and daintily served." She nodded and smiled to a knot of waitresses. "I +come here quite often, so I know all the girls; they are such nice +friendly creatures, and never forget one's little likes and dislikes. +Let's choose what we'll have. What do you say to asparagus soup, fish +cakes, braised sweetbreads, fruit salad, and coffee?" + +"What! All for for one-and-sixpence?" + +"All except the coffee, and seeing that this is no ordinary day we +shall commit the extravagance. It's a poor heart that never rejoices." + +One of the smiling waitresses took the order, and conveyed it down a +speaking-tube to the kitchen far below. + +"I always sit here when I can get the table," Elizabeth confided to +Arthur. "I like to hear them repeating the orders. Listen." + +A girl was speaking. "Here, I say! Hurry up with another kidney: that +one had an accident. Whit's that? The kidneys are finished! Help!" + +The luncheon-room, evidently a very popular one, was rapidly filling +up. Arthur Townshend fixed his monocle in his eye and surveyed the +scene. The majority of the lunchers were women--women in for the day +from the country, eagerly discussing purchases, purchases made and +purchases contemplated; women from the suburbs lunching in town because +their men-folk were out all day; young girls in town for classes--the +large room buzzed like a beehive on a summer's day. A fat, +prosperous-looking woman in a fur coat sat down at a table near and +ordered--"No soup, but a nice bit of fish." + +"Isn't her voice nice and fat?" murmured Elizabeth--"like turtle-soup." + +A friend espied the lady and, sailing up to the table, greeted her with +"Fancy seeing you here!" and they fell into conversation. + +"And what kind of winter are you having?" asked one. + +"Fine," said the other. "Mr. Jackson's real well, his indigestion is +not troubling him at all, and the children are all at school, and I've +had the drawing-room done up--Wylie and Lochhead--handsome. And how are +you all?" + +"Very well. I was just thinking about you the other day and minding +that you have never seen our new house. I've changed my day to first +Fridays, but just drop a p.c. and come any day." + +"Aren't the shops nice just now? And it's lovely to see the sun +shining.... Are you going? Well, be sure you come soon. Awful pleased +to have met you. Good-bye." + +"An example of 'wee-pleasedness,'" said Elizabeth. + +"I find," said Arthur, "that I like the Glasgow accent. There is +something so soft and--and----" + +"Slushy?" she suggested. "But I know what you mean: there is a cosy +feeling about it, and it is kindly. But don't you think this is a +wonderfully good luncheon for one-and-sixpence?" + +"Quite extraordinarily good. I can't think how they do it." + +"An Oxford friend of Alan's once stayed with us, and the only good +thing he could find to say of Glasgow was that in the tea-shops you +could make a beast of yourself for ninepence." + +Elizabeth laid down her coffee-cup with a sigh. + +"I'm always sorry when meals are over," she said. "I like eating, +though Mrs. Thomson would say, in her frank way, that I put good food +into a poor skin--meaning that I'm a thin creature. I don't mind a bit +a home--I'm quite content with what Marget gives me--but when I am, +say, in Paris, where cooking is a fine art, I revel." + +"And so ethereal-looking!" commented Arthur. + +"That's why I can confess to being greedy, of course," said she. "Well, +Ulysses, having seen yet another city, would you like to go home?" + +Arthur stooped to pick up Elizabeth's gloves and scarf which had fallen +under the table, and when he gave them to her he said he would like to +do some shopping, if she were agreeable. + +"I promised Buff a paint-box, for one thing," he said. + +"Rash man! He will paint more than pictures. However, shopping of any +kind is a delight to me, so let's go." + +The paint-box was bought (much too good a one, Elizabeth pointed out, +for the base uses it would almost certainly be put to), also sweets for +Thomas and Billy. Then a book-shop lured them inside, and browsing +among new books, they lost count of time. Emerging at last, Arthur was +tempted by a flower-shop, but Elizabeth frowned on the extravagance, +refusing roses for herself. In the end she was prevailed upon to accept +some flowering bulbs in a quaint dish to take to a sick girl she was +going to visit. + +"What is the use," she asked, "of us having a one-and-sixpenny luncheon +if you are going to spend pounds on books and sweets and flowers? But +Peggy will love these hyacinths." + +"Are you going to see her now?" + +"Yes. Will you take the purchases home? Or wait--would it bore you very +much to come with me? If Peggy is able to see people, it would please +her, and we'd only stay a short time." + +Arthur professed himself delighted to go anywhere, and meekly +acquiesced when Elizabeth vetoed the suggestion of a taxi as a thing +unknown in church visitation. "It isn't far," she said, "if we cross +the Clyde by the suspension bridge." + +The sun was setting graciously that November afternoon, gilding to +beauty all that, in dying, it touched. They stopped on the bridge to +look at the light on the water, and Arthur said, "Who is Peggy?" + +"Peggy?" Elizabeth was silent for a minute, then she said, "Peggy +Donald is a bright thing who, alas! is coming quick to confusion. She +is seventeen and she is dying. Sad? Yes--and yet I don't know. She has +had the singing season, and she is going to be relieved of her +pilgrimage before sorrow can touch her. She is such an eager, vivid +creature, holding out both hands to life--horribly easy to hurt: and +now her dreams will all come true. My grief is for her parents. They +married late, and are old to have so young a daughter. They are such +bleak, grey people, and she makes all the colour in their lives. They +adore her, though I doubt if either of them has ever called her 'dear.' +She doesn't know she is dying, and they are not at all sure that they +are doing right in keeping it from her. They have a dreadful theory +that she should be 'prepared.' Imagine a child being 'prepared' to go +to her Father!... This is the place. Shall I take the hyacinths?" + +As they went up the stair (the house was on the second floor) she told +him not to be surprised at Mrs. Donald's manner. "She has the air of +not being in the least glad to see one," she explained; "but she can't +help her sort of cold, grudging manner. She is really a very fine +character. Father thinks the world of her." + +Mrs. Donald herself opened the door--a sad-faced woman, very tidy in a +black dress and silk apron. In reply to Elizabeth's greeting, she said +that this happened to be one of Peggy's well days, that she was up and +had hoped that Miss Seton might come. + +Arthur Townshend was introduced and his presence explained, and Mrs. +Donald took them into the sitting-room. It was a fairly large room with +two windows, solidly furnished with a large mahogany sideboard, +dining-table, chairs, and an American organ. + +A sofa heaped with cushions was drawn up by the fire, and on it lay +Peggy; a rose-silk eiderdown covered her, and the cushions that +supported her were rose-coloured with dainty white muslin covers. She +wore a pretty dressing-gown, and her two shining plaits of hair were +tied with big bows. + +She was a "bright thing," as Elizabeth had said, sitting in that drab +room in her gay kimono, and she looked so oddly well with her +geranium-flushed cheeks and her brilliant eyes. + +Elizabeth put down the pot of hyacinths on a table beside her sofa, a +table covered with such pretty trifles as one carries to sick folk, and +kneeling beside her, she took Peggy's hot fragile little hands into her +own cool firm ones, and told her all she had been doing. "You must talk +to Mr. Townshend, Peggy," she said. "He has been to all the places you +want most to go to, and he can tell stories just like _The Arabian +Nights_. He brought you these hyacinths.... Come and be thanked, Mr. +Townshend." + +Arthur came forward and took Peggy's hand very gently, and sitting +beside her tried his hardest to be amusing and to think of interesting +things to tell her, and was delighted when he made her laugh. + +While they were talking, Mrs. Donald came quietly into the room and sat +down at the table with her knitting. + +Arthur noticed that in the sick-room she was a different woman. The +haggard misery was banished from her face, and her expression was +serene, almost happy. She smiled to her child and said, "Fine company +now! This is better than an old dull mother." Peggy smiled back, but +shook her head; and Elizabeth cried: + +"Peggy thinks visitors are all very well for an hour, but Mothers are +for always." + +Elizabeth sat on the rug and showed Peggy patterns for a new evening +dress she was going to get. They were spread out on the sofa, and Peggy +chose a vivid geranium red. + +Elizabeth laughed at her passion for colour and owned that it was a +gorgeous red. But what about slippers? she asked. The geranium could +never be matched. + +"Silver ones," said Peggy's little weak voice. + +"What a splendid idea! Of course, that's what I'll get." + +"I should like to see you wear it," whispered Peggy. + +"So you shall, my dear, when you come to Etterick. We shall all dress +in our best for Peggy. And the day you arrive I shall be waiting at the +station with the fat white pony, and Buff will have all his pets--lame +birds, ill-used cats, mongrel puppies--looking their best. And Father +will show you his dear garden. And Marget will bake scones and +shortbread, and there will be honey for tea.... Meanwhile, you will +rest and get strong, and I shall go and chatter elsewhere. Why, it's +getting quite dark!" + +Mrs. Donald suggested tea, but Elizabeth said they were expected at +home. + +"Sing to me before you go," pleaded Peggy. + +"What shall I sing? Anything?" She thought for a moment. "This is a +song my mother used to sing to us. An old song about the New Jerusalem, +Peggy;" and, sitting on the rug, with her hand in Peggy's, with no +accompaniment, she sang: + + "There lust and lucre cannot dwell, + There envy bears no sway; + There is no hunger, heat nor cold, + But pleasure every way. + + Thy walls are made of precious stones, + Thy bulwarks diamonds square; + Thy gates are of right Orient pearls, + Exceeding rich and rare. + + Thy gardens and thy gallant walks + Continually are green! + There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers + As nowhere else are seen. + + Our Lady sings Magnificat, + In tones surpassing sweet; + And all the virgins bear their part, + Sitting about her feet." + + +Mrs. Donald came with them to the door and thanked them for coming. +They had cheered Peggy, she said. + +Elizabeth looked at her wistfully. + +"Do you think it unseemly of me to talk about new clothes and foolish +things to little Peggy? But if it gives her a tiny scrap of pleasure? +It can't do her any harm." + +"Mebbe no'," said Peggy's mother. "But why do you speak about her going +to visit you in summer? She is aye speaking about it, and fine you know +she'll never see Etterick." Her tone was almost accusing. + +Elizabeth caught both her hands, and the tears stood in her eyes as she +said, "Oh! dear Mrs. Donald, it is only to help Peggy over the hard +bits of the road. Little things, light bright ribbons and dresses, and +things to look forward to, help when one is a child. If Peggy is not +here when summer comes, we may be quite sure it doesn't vex her that +she is not seeing Etterick. She"--her voice broke--"she will have far, +far beyond anything we can show her--the King in His beauty and the +land that is very far off." + + + + +_CHAPTER XII_ + + "They confessed that they were strangers and pilgrims." + + +"Let's walk home," suggested Arthur, as they came out into the street. +"It's such a ripping evening." + +Elizabeth agreed, and they started off through the busy streets. + +After weeks of dripping weather the frost had come, and had put a zest +and a sparkle into life. In the brightly lit shops, as they passed, the +shop-men were serving customers briskly, with quips and jokes for such +as could appreciate badinage. Wives, bare-headed, or with tartan +shawls, ran down from their stair-heads to get something tasty for +their men's teas--a kipper, maybe, or a quarter of a pound of sausage, +or a morsel of steak. Children were coming home from school; lights +were lit and blinds were down--life in a big city is a cheery thing on +a frosty November evening. + +Elizabeth, generally so alive to everything that went on around her, +walked wrapped in thought. Suddenly she said: + +"I'm _horribly_ sorry for Mrs. Donald. Inarticulate people suffer so +much more than their noisy sisters. Other mothers say, 'Well, it must +just have been to be: everything was done that could be done,' and +comfort themselves with that. She says nothing, but looks at one with +those suffering eyes. _My dear little Peggy!_ No wonder her mother's +heart is nearly broken." + +Arthur murmured something sympathetic, and they walked on in silence, +till he said: + +"I want to ask you something. Don't answer unless you like, because +it's frightful cheek on my part.... Do you really believe all that?" + +"All what?" + +"Well, about the next world. Are you as sure as you seem to be?" + +Elizabeth did not speak for a moment, then she nodded her head gravely. + +"Yes," she said, "I'm sure. You can't live with Father and not be sure." + +"It seems to me so extraordinary. I mean to say, I never heard people +talk about such things before. And you all know such chunks of the +Bible--even Buff. Why do you laugh?" + +"At your exasperated tone! You seem to find our knowledge of the Bible +almost indecent. Remember, please, that you have never lived before in +Scots clerical circles, and that ministers' children are funny people. +We are brought up on the Bible and the Shorter Catechism--at least the +old-fashioned kind are. In our case, the diet was varied by an +abundance of poetry and fairy tales, which have given us our peculiar +daftness. But don't you take any interest in the next world?" + +Arthur Townshend screwed his short-sighted eyes in a puzzled way, as he +said: + +"I don't know anything about it." + +"As much as anybody else, I daresay," said Elizabeth. "Don't you like +that old song I sang to Peggy?-- + + 'Thy gardens and thy _gallant walks_ + Continually are green....' + +One has a vision of smooth green turf, and ladies 'with lace about +their delicate hands' walking serenely; and gentlemen ruffling it with +curled wigs and carnation silk stockings. Such a deliciously modish +Heaven! Ah well! Heaven will be what we love most on earth. At +Etterick----" + +"Tell me about Etterick," begged Arthur. "It's a place I want very much +to see. Aunt Alice adores it." + +"Who wouldn't! It's only a farmhouse with a bit built on, and a few +acres of ground round it but there is a walled garden where old flowers +grow carelessly, and the heather comes down almost to the door. And +there is a burn--what you would call a stream--that slips all clear and +shining from one brown pool to another; and the nearest neighbours are +three good miles away, and the peeweets cry, and the bees hum among the +wild thyme. You can imagine what it means to go there from a Glasgow +suburb. The day we arrive, Father swallows his tea and goes out to the +garden, snuffing the wind, and murmuring like Master Shallow, 'Marry, +good air.' Then off he goes across the moor, and we are pretty sure +that the psalm we sing at prayers that night will be 'I to the hills +will lift mine eyes.'" + +"Etterick belongs to your father?" + +"Yes, it is our small inheritance. Father's people have had it for a +long time. We can only be there for about two months in the summer, but +we often send our run-down or getting-better people for a week or two. +The air is wonderful, but it is dull for them, lacking the attractions +of Millport or Rothesay--the contempt of your town-bred for the +country-dwellers is intense, and laughable. I was going to tell you +about the old man who along with his wife keeps it for us. He has the +softest, most delicious Border voice, and he remarked to me once, 'A' I +ask in the way o' Heaven is juist Etterick--at a raisonable rent.' I +thought the 'raisonable rent' rather nice. Nothing wanted for nothing, +even in the Better Country." + +Arthur laughed, and said the idea carried too far might turn Heaven +into a collection of Small Holdings. + +"But tell me one thing more. What do you do it for? I mean visiting the +sick, teaching Sunday schools, handing people tracts. Is it because you +think it is your duty as a parson's daughter?" + +Elizabeth turned to look at her companion's face to see if he were +laughing; but he was looking quite serious, and anxious for an answer. + +"Do you know," she asked him, "what the Scots girl said to the Cockney +tourist when he asked her if all Scots girls went barefoot? No? Then +I'll tell you. She said, 'Pairtly, and pairtly they mind their ain +business.'" + +"I deserve it," said Arthur. "I brought it on myself." + +"I'm not proud, like the barefoot girl," said Elizabeth. "I'll answer +your questions as well as I can. I think I do it 'pairtly' from duty +and 'pairtly' from love of it. But oh! isn't it best to leave motives +alone? When I go to see Peggy it is a pure labour of love, but when I +go to see fretful people who whine and don't wash I am very +self-conscious about myself. I mean to say, I can't help saying to +myself, 'How nice of you, my dear, to come into this stuffy room and +spend your money on fresh eggs and calf's-foot jelly for this +unpleasant old thing.' Then I walk home on my heels. You've read +_Valerie Upton_? Do you remember the loathly Imogen and her 'radiant +goodness,' and how she stood 'forth in the light'? I sometimes have a +horrid thought that I am rather like that." + +"Oh no," said Arthur consolingly. "You will never become a prig. If +your own sense of humour didn't save you I know what would--the +knowledge that _Fish would lawff_." + +Their walk was nearly over: they had come to the end of the road where +the Setons' house stood. + +"It is nice," said Elizabeth, with a happy sigh, "to think that we are +going in to Father and Buff and tea. Have you got the paint-box all +right? Let me be there when you give it to him." + +They walked along in contented silence, until Elizabeth suddenly +laughed, and explained that she had remembered a dream Buff once had +about Heaven. + +"He was sleeping in a little bed in my room, and he suddenly sprang up +and said, 'It's a good thing that's not true, anyway.' I asked what was +the matter, and he told me. He was, it seems, in a beautiful golden +ship with silver sails, sailing away to Heaven, when suddenly he met +another ship--a black, wicked-looking ship--bound for what Marget calls +'the Ill Place,' and to his horror he recognized all his family on +board. 'What did you do, Buff?' I asked, and poor old Buff gave a great +gulp and said, _'I came on beside you.'_" + +"Sound fellow!" said Arthur. + + + + +_CHAPTER XIII_ + + "'O tell me what was on yer road, ye roarin' norland wind, + As ye cam' blowin' frae the land that's never frae my mind? + My feet they traivel England, but I'm deein' for the North--' + 'My man, I heard the siller tides rin up the Firth o' Forth.'" + _Songs of Angus._ + + +Since the afternoon when Mr. Stewart Stevenson had called and talked +ballads with Mr. Seton he had been a frequent visitor at the Setons' +house. Something about it, an atmosphere homely and welcoming and +pleasant, made it to him a very attractive place. + +One afternoon (the Thursday of the week of Arthur Townshend's visit) he +stood in a discouraged mood looking at his work. As a rule moods +troubled Stewart Stevenson but little; he was an artist without the +artistic temperament. He had his light to follow and he followed it, +feeling no need for eccentricity in the way of hair or collars or +conduct. He was as placid and regular as one of his father's +"time-pieces" which ticked off the flying minutes in the decorous, +well-dusted rooms of "Lochnagar." His mother summed him up very well +when she confessed to strangers her son's profession. "Stewart's a +Nartist," she would say half proud, half deprecating, "but you'd niver +know it." Poor lady, she had a horror of artist-life as it was revealed +to her in the pages of the Heart's Ease Library. Sometimes dreadful +qualms would seize her in the night watches, and she would waken her +husband to ask if he thought there was any fear of Stewart being Led +Away, and was only partially reassured by his sleepy grunts in the +negative. "What's Art?" she often asked herself, with a nightmare +vision in her mind of ladies lightly clad capering with masked +gentlemen at some studio orgy--"What's Art compared with +Respectability?" though anyone more morbidly respectable and less +likely to caper with females than her son Stewart could hardly be +imagined, and her mind might have been in a state of perfect peace +concerning him. He went to his studio as regularly as his father went +to the Ham and Butter place, and both worked solidly through the hours. + +But, as I have said, this particular afternoon found Stewart Stevenson +out of conceit with himself and his work. It had been a day of small +vexations, and the little work he had been able to do he knew to be +bad. Finally, about four o'clock, he impatiently (but very neatly) put +everything away and made up his mind to take Elizabeth Seton the +book-plate he had designed for her. This decision made, he became very +cheerful, and whistled as he brushed his hair and put his tie straight. + +The thought of the Setons' drawing-room at tea-time was very alluring. +He hoped there would be no other callers and that he would get the big +chair, where he could best look at the picture of Elizabeth's mother +above the fireplace. It was so wonderfully painted, and the eyes were +the eyes of Elizabeth. + +He was not quite sure that he approved of Elizabeth. His little mother, +with her admiring "Ay, that's it, Pa," to all her husband's truisms, +had given him an ideal of meek womanhood which Elizabeth was far from +attaining to. She showed no deference to people, unless they were poor +or very old. She laughed at most things, and he was afraid she was +shallow. He distrusted, too, her power of charming. That she should be +greatly interested in his work and ambitions was not surprising, but +that her grey eyes should be just as shining and eager over the small +success of a youth in the church was merely absurd. It was her way, he +told himself, to make each person she spoke to feel he was the one +person who mattered. It was her job to be charming. For himself, he +preferred more sincerity, and yet--what a lass to go gipsying through +the world with! + +When he was shown into the drawing-room a cosy scene met his eyes. The +fire was at its best, the tea-table drawn up before it; Mr. Seton was +laughing and shaking his head over some remark made by Elizabeth, who +was pouring out tea; his particular big chair stood as if waiting for +him. Everything was just as he had wished it to be, except that, +leaning against the mantelpiece, stood a tall man in a grey tweed suit, +a man so obviously at home that Mr. Stevenson disliked him on the spot. + +"Mr. Townshend," said Elizabeth, introducing him. "Sit here, Mr. +Stevenson. This is very nice. You will help me to teach Mr. Townshend +something of Scots manners and customs. His ignorance is _intense_." + +"Is that so?" said Mr. Stevenson, accepting a cup of tea and eyeing the +serpent in his Eden (he had not known it was his Eden until he realized +the presence of the serpent) with disfavour. + +The serpent's smile, however, as he handed him some scones was very +disarming, and he seemed to see no reason why he should not be popular +with the new-comer. "My great desire," he confided to him over the +table, "is to know what a 'U.P.' is?" + +"Dear sir," said Elizabeth, "'tis a foolish ambition. Unless you are +born knowing what a U.P. is you can never hope to learn. Besides, there +aren't any U.P.'s now." + +"Extinct?" asked Arthur. + +"Well--merged," said Elizabeth. + +"It's very obscure," complained Arthur. "But it is absurd to pretend +that I know nothing of Scotland. I once stayed nearly three weeks in +Skye." + +"And," put in Mr. Seton, "the man who knows his Scott knows much of +Scotland. I only wish Elizabeth knew him as you do. I believe that girl +has never read one novel of Sir Walter's to the end." + +"Dear Father," said Elizabeth, "I adore Sir Walter, but he shouldn't +have written in such small print. Besides, thanks to you, I know heaps +of quotations, so I can always make quite a fair show of knowledge." + +Mr. Seton groaned. + +"You're a frivolous creature," he said, "and extraordinarily ignorant." + +"Yes," said his daughter, "I'm just, as someone said, 'a little +brightly-lit stall in Vanity Fair'--all my goods in the shop-window. I +suppose," turning to Mr. Stevenson, "you have read all Scott?" + +"Not quite all, perhaps, but a lot," said that gentleman. + +"Yes, I had no real hope that you hadn't. But I maintain that the +knowledge you gain about people from books is a very queer knowledge. +In books and in plays about Scotland you get the idea that we 'pech' +and we 'hoast,' and talk constantly about ministers, and hoard our +pennies. Now we are not hard as a nation----" + +"Pardon me," broke in Arthur, "the one Scots story known to all +Englishmen seems to point to a certain carefulness----" + +"You mean," cried Elizabeth, interrupting in her turn, "that stupid +tale, 'Bang gaed sixpence'? But you know the end of the tale? I thought +not. _'Bang gaed sixpence, maistly on wines and cigars.'_ The honest +fellow was treating his friends." + +Arthur shouted with laughter, but presently returned to the charge. +"But you can't deny your fondness for ministers, or at least for +theological discussion, Elizabeth?" + +"Lizbeth!" said her father, "fond of ministers? This is surely a sign +of grace." + +"Father," said Elizabeth earnestly, "I'm not. You know I'm not. +Ministers! I know all kinds of them, and I don't know which I like +least. There are the smug complacent ones with sermons like prize +essays, and the jovial, back-slapping ones who talk slang and hope thus +to win the young men. Then there is a genteel kind with long, thin +fingers and literary leanings who read the Revised Version and talk +about 'a Larger Hope'; and the kind who have damp hands and theological +doubts--the two always seem to go together, and----" + +"That will do, Lizbeth," broke in Mr. Seton. "It's a deplorable thing +to hear a person so far from perfect dealing out criticism so freely." + +"Oh," said his daughter, "I am only talking about _young_ ministers. +Old, wise padres, full of sincerity and simplicity and all the crystal +virtues, I adore." + +"Have you any more tea?" asked Mr. Seton. "I don't think I've had more +than three cups." + +"Four, I'm afraid," said Elizabeth; "but there's lots here." + +"These are very small cups," said Mr. Seton, as he handed his to be +filled again. "You will have to add that to your list of the faults of +the clergy--a feminine fondness for tea." + +The conversation drifted back, led by Mr. Stevenson, to the great and +radical differences between England and Scotland. To emphasize these +differences seemed to give him much satisfaction. He reminded them that +Robert Louis Stevenson had said that never had he felt himself so much +in a foreign country as on his first visit to England. + +"It's quite true," he added. "I know myself I'm far more at home in +France. And I don't mind my French being laughed at, I know it's bad, +but it's galling to be told that my English is full of Scotticisms. +They laughed at me in London when I talked about 'snibbing' the +windows." + +"They would," said Elizabeth, and she laughed too. "They 'fasten' their +windows, or do something feeble like that. We're being very rude, +Arthur; stand up for your country." + +"I only wish to remark that you Scots settle down very comfortably +among us alien English. Perhaps getting all the best jobs consoles you +for your absence from Scotland." + +"Not a bit of it," Elizabeth assured him. "We're home-sick all the +time: 'My feet they traivel England, but I'm _deein'_ for the North.' +But I'm afraid Mr. Stevenson will look on me coldly when I confess to a +great affection for England. Leafy Warwick lanes, lush meadowlands, the +lilied reaches of the Cherwell: I love the mellow beauty of it all. +It's not my land, not my wet moorlands and wind-swept hills, but I'm +bound to admit that it is a good land." + +"Yes," said Mr. Stevenson, "England's a beautiful rich country, but----" + +"But," Elizabeth finished for him, "it's just the 'wearifu' South' to +you?" + +"That's so." + +"You see," said Elizabeth, nodding at Arthur Townshend; "we're +hopeless." + +"Do you know what you remind me of?" he asked. + +"Something disgusting, I can guess by your face." + +"You remind me of a St. Andrew's Day dinner somewhere in the +Colonies.... By the way, where's Buff?" + +"Having tea alone in the nursery, at his own request." + +"Oh! the poor old chap," said Arthur. "May I go and talk to him?" + +Buff, it must be explained, was in disgrace--he said unjustly. The +fault was not his, he contended. It was first of all the fault of +Elizabeth, who had once climbed the Matterhorn and who had fired him +with a desire to be a mountaineer; and secondly, it was the fault of +Aunt Alice, who had given him on his birthday a mountaineering outfit, +complete with felt hat with feather, ruecksack, ice-axe, and +scarlet-threaded Alpine rope. Having climbed walls and trees and +out-houses until they palled, he had looked about for something more +difficult, and one frosty morning, when sitting on the Kirkes' ash-pit +roof, Thomas drew his attention to the snowy glimmer of a conservatory +three gardens away; it had a conical roof and had been freshly painted. +Thomas suggested that it looked like a snow mountain. Buff, never +having seen a snow mountain, agreed, adding that it was very much the +shape of the Matterhorn. They decided to make the ascent that very day. +Buff said that as it was the first ascent of the season the thing to do +was to take a priest with them to bless it. He had seen a picture of a +priest blessing the real Matterhorn. Billy, he said, had better be the +priest. + +Thomas objected, "I don't think Mamma would like Billy to be a priest +and bless things;" but he gave in when Buff pointed out the nobility of +the life. + +They climbed three garden-walls, and wriggled Indian-fashion across +three back-gardens; then, roping themselves securely together, they +began the ascent. All went well. They reached the giddy summit, and, +perilously poised, Buff was explaining to Billy his duties as a priest, +when a shout came from below--an angry shout. Buff tried to look down, +slipped, and clutched at the nearest support, which happened to be +Billy, and the next instant, with an anguished yell, the priest fell +through the mountain, dragging his companions with him. + +By rights, to use the favourite phrase of Thomas, they should have been +killed, but except for scrapes and bruises they were little the worse. +Great, however, was the damage done to glass and plants, and loud and +bitter were the complaints of the owner. + +The three culprits were forbidden to visit each other for a week, their +pocket-money was stopped, and various other privileges were curtailed. + +Buff, seeing in the devastation wrought by his mountaineering ambitions +no shadow of blame to himself, but only the mysterious working of +Providence, was indignant, and had told his sister that he would prefer +to take tea alone, indicating by his manner that the company of his +elders in their present attitude of mind was far from congenial to him. + +"May I go and talk to him?" Arthur Townshend asked, and was on his feet +to go when the drawing-room door was kicked from outside, the handle +turned noisily, and Buff entered. + +In one day Buff played so many parts that it was difficult for his +family to keep in touch with him. Sometimes he was grave and noble as +befitted a knight of the Round Table, sometimes furtive and sly as a +detective; again he was a highwayman, dauntless and debonair. To-night +he was none of these things; to-night, in the rebound from a day's +brooding on wrongs, he was frankly comic. He stood poised on one leg, +in his mouth some sort of a whistle on which he performed piercingly +until his father implored him to desist, when he removed the thing, and +smiling widely on the company said, "But I must whistle. I'm 'the Wee +Bird that cam'.'" + +Elizabeth and her father laughed, and Arthur asked, "_What_ does he say +he is?" + +"It's a Jacobite song," Mr. Seton explained,--"'A wee bird cam' tae oor +ha' door.' He's an absurd child." + +"Lessons done, Buff?" his sister asked him. + +"Surely the fowls of the air are exempt from lessons," Arthur +protested; but Buff, remembering that although he had allowed himself +to unbend for the moment, his wrongs were still there, said in a +dignified way that he had learned his lessons, and having abstracted a +cheese-cake from the tea-table, he withdrew to a table in a corner with +his paint-box. As he mixed colours boldly he listened, in an idle way, +to the conversation that engaged his elders. It sounded to him dull, +and he wondered, as he had wondered many times before, why people chose +the subjects they did when there was a whole world of wonders to talk +about and marvel at. + +"Popularity!" Elizabeth was saying. "It's the easiest thing in the +world to be popular. It only needs what Marget calls 'tack.' Appear +always slightly more stupid than the person you are speaking to; always +ask for information; never try to teach anybody anything; remember that +when people ask for criticism they really only want praise. And of +course you must never, never make personal remarks unless you have +something pleasant to say. 'How tired you look!' simply means 'How +plain you look!' It is so un-understanding of people to say things like +that. If, instead of their silly, rude remarks, they would say, 'What a +successful hat!' or 'That blue is delicious with your eyes!' and watch +how even the most wilted people brighten and freshen, they wouldn't be +such fools again. I don't want them to tell lies, but there is always +_something_ they can praise truthfully." + +Her father nodded approval, and Arthur said, "Yes, but a popular man or +woman needs more than tact. To be agreeable and to flatter is not +enough--you must be tremendously _worth while_, so that people feel +honoured by your interest. I think there is a great deal more in +popularity than you allow. Watch a really popular woman in a roomful of +people, and see how much of herself she gives to each one she talks to, +and what generous manners she has. Counterfeit sympathy won't do, it is +easily detected. It is all a question really of manners, but one must +be born with good manners; they aren't acquired." + +"Generous manners!" said Mr. Seton. "I like the phrase. There are +people who give one the impression of having to be sparing of their +affection and sympathy because their goods are all, so to speak, in the +shop-window, and if they use them up there is nothing to fall back +upon. Others can offer one a largesse because their life is very rich +within. But, again, there are people who have the wealth within but +lack the power of expression. It is the fortunate people who have been +given the generous manners--Friday's bairns, born loving and +giving--others have the warm instincts but they are 'unwinged from +birth.'" + +Stewart Stevenson nodded his head to show his approval of the +sentiment, and said, "That is so." + +Elizabeth laughed. "There was a great deal of feeling in the way you +said that, Mr. Stevenson." + +"Well," he said, with rather a rueful smile, "I've only just realized +it--I'm one of the people with shabby manners." + +"You have not got shabby manners," said Elizabeth indignantly. "Arthur, +when I offer a few light reflections on life and manners there is no +need to delve--you and Father--into the subject and make us +uncomfortable imagining we haven't got things. Personally, I don't +aspire to such heights, and I flatter myself I'm rather a popular +person." + +"An ideal minister's daughter, I'm told," said Arthur. + +"Pouf! I'm certainly not that. I'm sizes too large for the part. I have +positively to uncoil myself like a serpent when I sit at bedsides. I'm +as long as a day without bread, as they say in Spain. But I do try very +hard to be nice to the church folk. My face is positively stiff with +grinning when I come home from socials and such like. An old woman said +to me one day, 'A kirk is rale like a shop. In baith o' them ye've to +humour yer customers!'" + +"A very discerning old woman," said her father. "But you must admit, +Elizabeth, that our 'customers' are worth the humouring." + +"Oh! they are--except for one or two fellows of the baser sort--and I +do think they appreciate our efforts." + +This smug satisfaction on his sister's part was too much for Buff in +his state of revolt against society. He finished laying a carmine cloud +across a deeply azure sky, and said: + +"It's a queer thing that _all_ the Elizabeths in the world have been +nasty--Queen Elizabeth and--and"--failing to find another historical +instance, he concluded rather lamely, pointing with his paint-brush at +his sister--"you!" + +"This," Mr. Townshend remarked, "is a most unprovoked attack!" + +"Little toad," said Elizabeth, looking kindly at her young brother. +"Ah, well, Buff, when you are old and grey and full of years and meet +with ingratitude----" + +"When I'm old," said Buff callously, "you'll very likely be dead!" + +She laughed. "I dare say. Anyway, I hope I don't live to be _very_ old." + +"Why?" Mr. Stevenson asked her. "Do you dread old age? I suppose all +women do." + +"Why women more than men?" Elizabeth's voice was pugnacious. + +"Oh, well--youth's such an asset to a woman. It must be horrible for a +beautiful woman to see her beauty go." + + "'Beauty is but a flower + Which wrinkles will devour,'" + +Arthur quoted, as he rose to look at Buff's drawing. + +Elizabeth sat up very straight. + +"Oh! If you look at life from that sort of +'from-hour-to-hour-we-ripe-and-ripe-and-then--from-hour-to-hour-we-rot-and-rot' +attitude, it is a tragic thing to grow old. But surely life is more +than just a blooming and a decay. Life seems to me like a Road--oh! I +don't pretend to be original--a road that is always going round +corners. And when we are quite young we expect to find something new +and delightful round every turn. But the Road gets harder as we get +farther along it, and there are often lions in the path, and unpleasant +surprises meet us when we turn the corners; and it isn't always easy to +be kind and honest and keep a cheerful face, and lines come, and +wrinkles. But if the lines come from being sorry for others, and the +wrinkles from laughing at ourselves, then they are kind lines and happy +wrinkles, and there is no sense in trying to hide them with paint and +powder." + +"Dear me," Mr. Seton said, regarding his daughter with an amused smile. +"You preach with vigour, Lizbeth. I am glad you value beauty so +lightly." + +"But I don't. I think beauty matters frightfully all through one's +life, and even when one is dead. Think how you delight to remember +beloved lovely people! The look in the eyes, the turn of the head, the +way they moved and laughed--all the grace of them.... But I protest +against the littleness of mourning for the passing of beauty. As my +dentist says, truly if prosaically, we all come to a plate in the end; +but I don't mean to be depressed about myself, no matter how hideous I +get." + +Mr. Townshend pointed out that the depression would be more likely to +lie with the onlookers, and Buff, who always listened when his idol +spoke, laughed loudly at the sally. "Haw," he said, "Elizabeth thinks +she's beautiful!" + +"No," his sister assured him, "I don't think I'm beautiful; but, as +Marget--regrettably complacent--says of herself spiritually, 'Faigs! +I'm no' bad!'" + +They all laughed, then a silence fell on the room. Buff went on with +his painting, and the others looked absently into the fire. Then Mr. +Seton said, half to himself, "'An highway shall be there and a way ... +it shall be called the way of holiness ... the wayfaring man though a +fool shall not err therein.' Your Road, Lizbeth, and the Highway are +one and the same. I think you will find that.... Well, well, I ought +not to be sitting here. I have some visits to make before seven. Which +way are you going, Mr. Stevenson? We might go together." + +Stewart Stevenson murmured agreement and rose to go, very reluctantly. +It had not been a satisfactory visit to him--he had never even had the +heart to produce the book-plate that he had taken such pains with, and +he greatly disliked leaving Elizabeth and this stranger to talk and +laugh and quote poetry together while he went out into the night. This +sensible and slightly stolid young man felt, somehow, hurt and +aggrieved, like a child that is left out of a party. + +He shivered as he stood on the doorstep, and remarked that the air felt +cold after the warm room. "Miss Seton," he added, "makes people so +comfortable." + +"Yes," Mr. Seton agreed, "Elizabeth has the knack of making comfort. +The house always seems warmer and lighter when she is in it. She is +such a sunny soul." + +"Your daughter is very charming," Stewart Stevenson said with +conviction. + +When one member of the Seton family was praised to the others they did +not answer in the accepted way, "Oh! do you think so? How kind of you!" +They agreed heartily. So now Mr. Seton said, "_Isn't_ she?" + +Then he smiled to himself, and quoted: + + "'A deal of Ariel, just a streak of Puck, + And something of the Shorter Catechist.'" + + +Stewart Stevenson, walking home alone, admitted to himself the aptness +of the quotation, and wondered what his mother would make of such a +character. She would hardly value such traits in a daughter-in-law. +Not, of course, that there was any question of such a thing. He knew he +had not the remotest chance, and that certainty sent him in to the +solid comfort of the Lochnagar dining-room feeling that the world was a +singularly dull place, and nothing was left remarkable beneath the +visiting moon. + + * * * * * + +"Are ye going out to-night, Stewart?" his mother asked him, as they +were rising from the dinner-table. There was just a note of anxiety in +her voice: the Heart's Ease Library and the capering ladies were always +at the back of her mind. + +"It's the Shakespeare Reading to-night, and I wasn't at the last. I +think I'll look in for an hour. I see that it's at Mrs. Forsyth's +to-night." + +Mrs. Stevenson nodded, well satisfied. No harm could come to a young +man who went to Shakespeare Readings. She had never been at one +herself, and rather confused them in her mind with Freemasons, but she +knew they were Respectable. She had met Mrs. Forsyth that very day, +calling at another villa, and she had mentioned that it was her evening +for Shakespeare. + +Mrs. Forsyth was inclined to laugh about it. + +"I don't go in all the evening," she told Mrs. Stevenson, "because you +have to sit quiet and listen; but I whiles take my knitting and go in +to see how they're getting on. There they all are, as solemn as ye +like, with Romeo, Romeo here and somebody else there--folk that have +been dead very near from the beginning of the world. I take a good +laugh to myself when I come out. And it's hungry work too, mind you. +They do justice to my sangwiches, I can tell you." + +But though she laughed, Mrs. Forsyth had a great respect for +Shakespeare. Her son Hugh thought well of him and that was enough for +her. + +Stewart Stevenson was a little late, and the parts had been given out +and the Reading begun. + +He stood at the door for a moment looking round the room. Miss Gertrude +Simpson gave him a glance of recognition and moved ever so slightly, as +if to show that there was room beside her on the sofa, but he saw +Jessie Thomson over on the window-seat--it was at the Thomson's that he +had met Elizabeth Seton; the Thomsons went to Mr. Seton's church; it +was not the rose but it was someone who at times was near the rose--and +he went and sat down beside Jessie. + +That young woman got no more good of Shakespeare that evening. (She did +not even see that it was funny that Falstaff should be impersonated by +a most genteel spinster with a cold in her head, who got continual +shocks at what she found herself reading, and murmured, "Oh! I beg your +pardon," when she waded into depths and could not save herself in +time.) The beauty and the wit of it passed her unnoticed. Stewart +Stevenson was sitting beside her. + +There was no chance of conversation while the reading lasted, but later +on, over the "sangwiches" and the many other good things that hearty +Mrs. Forsyth offered to her guests, they talked. + +He recalled the party at the Thomsons' house and said how much he had +enjoyed it; then she found herself talking about the Setons. She told +him about Mrs. Seton, so absurdly pretty for a minister's wife, about +the Seton children who had been so wild when they were little, and +about Mr. Seton not being a bit strict with them. + +"It's an awful unfashionable church," she finished, "but we're all fond +of Mr. Seton and Elizabeth, and Father won't leave for anything." + +"Your father is a wise man. I have a great admiration for Mr. Seton +myself." + +"Elizabeth's lovely, isn't she?" said Jessie. "So tall." Jessie herself +was small and round. + +"Too tall for a woman," said Mr. Stevenson. + +"Oh! do you think so?" said Jessie, with a pleased thrill in her voice. + +Before they parted Jessie had shyly told Mr. Stevenson that they were +at home to their friends, "for a little music, you know," on the +evenings of first and fourth Thursdays; and Mr. Stevenson, while he +noted down the dates, asked himself why he had never noticed before +what a sensible, nice girl Miss Thomson was. + + + + +_CHAPTER XIV_ + + "_Sir, the merriment of parsons is very offensive._" + Dr. Johnson. + + +When Mr. Seton had gone, and taken Stewart Stevenson with him, +Elizabeth and Arthur sat on by the fire lazily talking. Arthur asked +some question about the departed visitor. + +"He is an artist," Elizabeth told him. "Some day soon, I hope, we shall +allude to him as Mr. Stewart Stevenson _the_ artist. He is really +frightfully good at his job, and he never makes a song about himself. +Perhaps he will go to London soon and set the Thames on fire, and +become a fashionable artist with a Botticelli wife." + +"I hope not," Arthur said. "He seems much too good a fellow for such a +fate." + +"Yes, he is. Besides, he will never need to think of the money side of +his art--the Butter and Ham business will see to that--but will be able +to work for the joy of working. Dear me! how satisfactory it all seems, +to be sure. My good sir, you look very comfortable. I hope you remember +that you are going to a party to-night." + +"_What!_ My second last evening, too. What a waste! Can't we send a +telephone message, or wire that something has happened? I say, do let's +do that." + +Elizabeth assured him that that sort of thing was not done in Glasgow. +She added that it was very kind of the Christies to invite them, and +having thus thrown a sop to hospitality she proceeded to prophesy the +certain dulness of the evening and to deplore the necessity of going. + +"Why people give parties is always a puzzle to me," Arthur said. "I +don't suppose they enjoy their own parties, and as a guest I can assure +them that I don't. Who and what and why are the Christies?" + +"Don't speak in that superior tone. The Christies are minister's folk +like ourselves. One of the daughters, Kirsty, is a great friend of +mine, and there is a dear funny little mother who lies a lot on the +sofa. Mr. Johnston Christie--he is very particular about the +Johnston--I find quite insupportable; and Archie, the son, is worse. +But I believe they are really good and well-meaning--and, remember, you +are not to laugh at them." + +"My dear Elizabeth! This Hamlet-like advice----" + +"Oh, I know you don't need lessons in manners from me. It will be a +blessing, though, if you can laugh at Mr. Christie, for he believes +himself to be a humorist of a high order. The sight of him takes away +any sense of humour that I possess, and reduces me to a state of utter +depression." + +"It sounds like being an entertaining evening. When do we go?" + +"About eight o'clock, and we ought to get away about ten with any luck." + +Mr. Townshend sighed. "It will pass," he said, "but it's the horrid +waste that I grudge. Promise that we shan't go anywhere to-morrow +night--not even to a picture house." + +"Have I ever taken you to a picture house? Say another word and I shall +insist on your going with me to the Band of Hope. Now behave nicely +to-night, for Mr. Christie, his own origin being obscure, is very keen +on what he calls 'purfect gentlemen.' Oh! and don't change. The +Christies think it side. That suit you have on will do very nicely." + +Mr. Townshend got up from his chair and stood smiling down at Elizabeth. + +"I promise you I shan't knock the furniture about or do anything +obstreperous. You are an absurd creature, Elizabeth, as your father +often says. Your tone to me just now was exactly your tone to Buff. I +rather liked it." + + * * * * * + +At ten minutes past eight they presented themselves at the Christies' +house. The door was opened by a servant, but Kirsty met them in the +hall and took them upstairs. She looked very nice, Elizabeth thought, +and was more demonstrative than usual, holding her friend's hand till +they entered the drawing-room. + +It seemed to the new-comers that the room was quite full of people, all +standing up and all shouting, but the commotion resolved itself into +Mr. Johnston Christie telling one of his stories to two clerical +friends. He came forward to greet them. He was a tall man and walked +with a rolling gait; he had a stupid but shrewd face and a bald head. +His greeting was facetious, and he said every sentence as if it were an +elocution lesson. + +"Honoured, Miss Seton, that you should visit our humble home. How are +you, sir? Take a chair. Take _two_ chairs!!" + +"Thank you very much," Elizabeth said gravely, "but may I speak to Mrs. +Christie first?" + +She introduced Mr. Townshend to his hostess, and then, casting him +adrift on this clerical sea, she sat down by the little woman and +inquired carefully about her ailments. The bronchitis had been very +bad, she was told. Elizabeth would notice that she was wearing a shawl? +That was because she wasn't a bit sure that she was wise in coming up +to the drawing-room, which was draughty. (The Christies as a general +rule sat in their dining-room, which between meals boasted of a crimson +tablecover with an aspidistra in a pot in the middle of the table.) +Besides, gas fires never did agree with her--nasty, headachy things, +that burned your face and left your feet cold. (Mrs. Christie glared +vindictively as she spoke at the two imitation yule logs that burned +drearily on the hearth.) But on the whole she was fairly well, but +feeling a bit upset to-night. Well, not upset exactly, but flustered, +for she had a great bit of news. Could Elizabeth guess? + +Elizabeth said she could not. + +"Look at Kirsty," Mrs. Christie said. + +Elizabeth looked across to where Kirsty sat beside a thin little +clergyman, and noticed she looked rather unusually nice. She was not +only more carefully dressed, but her face looked different; not so +sallow, almost as though it had been lit up from inside. + +"Kirsty looks very well," she said, "very happy. Has anything specially +nice happened?" + +"_She's just got engaged to the minister beside her,_" Mrs. Christie +whispered hoarsely. + +The whisper penetrated through the room, and Kirsty and her fiance +blushed deeply. + +"Kirsty! _Engaged!_" gasped Elizabeth. + +"Well," said her mother, "I don't wonder you're surprised. I was +myself. Somehow I never thought Kirsty would marry, but you never know; +and he's a nice wee man, and asks very kindly after my bronchitis--he's +inclined to be asthmatic himself, and that makes a difference. He +hasn't got a church yet; that's a pity, for he's been out a long time, +but Mr. Christie'll do his best for him. _He's mebbe not a very good +preacher._" Again she whispered, to her companion's profound discomfort. + +"I am sure he is," Elizabeth said firmly. + +"_He's nothing to look at, and appearances go a long way._" + +"Oh! please don't; he hears you," Elizabeth implored, holding Mrs. +Christie's hand to make her stop. "He looks very nice. What is his +name?" + +"Haven't I told you? Andrew Hamilton, and he's _three years younger +than Kirsty_." + +"That doesn't matter at all. I do hope they will be very happy. Dear +old Kirsty!" + +"Yes," said Mrs. Christie, "but we can't look forward. We know not what +a day may bring forth--nor an hour either, for that matter. Just last +night I got up to ring the bell in the dining-room--I wanted Janet to +bring me a hot-water bottle for my feet--and before I knew I had fallen +over the coal-scuttle, and Janet had to carry me back to the sofa. I +felt quite solemnised to think how quickly trouble would come. No, no, +we can't look forward----Well, well, here's Mr. M'Cann. Don't go away, +Elizabeth; _I can't bear the man!_" Again that fell whisper, which, +however, was drowned in the noise that Mr. Christie and the new-comer +made in greeting each other. Mr. M'Cann was a large man with thick +hands. He was an ardent politician and the idol of a certain class of +people. He boasted that he was a self-made man, though to a casual +observer the result hardly seemed a subject for pride. + +He came up to his hostess and began to address her as if she were a +large (and possibly hostile) audience. Mrs. Christie shrank farther +into her shawl and looked appealingly at Elizabeth, who would fain have +fled to the other side of the room, where Arthur Townshend, with his +monocle screwed tightly into his eye, was sitting looking as lonely as +if he were on a peak in Darien, though the son of the house addressed +to him a condescending remark now and again. + +Mr. M'Cann spoke with a broad West Country accent. He said it helped +him to get nearer the Heart of the People. + +"Yes, Mrs. Christie," he bellowed, "I'm alone. Lizzie's washin' the +weans, for the girrl's gone off in a tantrum. She meant to come +to-night, for she likes a party--Lizzie has never lost her girrlish +ways--but when I got back this evening--I've been down in Ayrshire +addressin' meetin's for the Independent Candidate. What meetin's! They +just hung on my lips; it was grand!--when I got back I found the whole +place turned up, and Lizzie and the weans in the kitchen. It's a homely +house ours, Miss Seton. So I said to her, 'I'll just wash my dial and +go off and make your apologies'--and here I am!" + +Here indeed he was, and Elizabeth wanted so much to know why he had not +stayed at home and helped his little overworked wife that she felt if +she stayed another moment she must ask him, so she fled from +temptation, and found a vacant chair beside Kirsty. + +Archie Christie strolled up to speak to her; he rather admired +Elizabeth--'distangay-looking girl' he called her in his own mind. + +"Frightfully clerical show here to-night," he said. + +Elizabeth agreed; then she pinched Kirsty's arm and asked her to +introduce Mr. Hamilton. + +It did not take Elizabeth many minutes to make up her mind that Kirsty +had found a jewel. Mr. Hamilton might not be much to look at, but +goodness shone out of his eyes. His quiet manner, his kind smile, the +simple directness of his speech were as restful to Elizabeth after the +conversational efforts of Mr. M'Cann as a quiet haven to a storm-tossed +mariner. + +"I haven't got a church yet," he told her, "though I've been out a long +time. Somehow I don't seem to be a very pleasing preacher. I'm told I'm +too old-fashioned, not 'broad' enough nor 'fresh' enough for modern +congregations." + +Elizabeth struck her hands together in wrath. + +"Oh!" she cried, "those hateful expressions! I wonder what people think +they mean by them? When I hear men sacrificing depth to breadth or +making merry-andrews of themselves striving after originality, I long +for an old-fashioned minister--one who is neither broad nor fresh, but +who magnifies his office. That is the proper expression, isn't it? You +see I'm not a minister's daughter for nothing!... But don't let's talk +about worrying things. We have heaps of nice things in common. First of +all, we have Kirsty in common." + +So absorbing did this topic prove that they were both quite aggrieved +when Mr. Christie came to ask Elizabeth to sing, and with many fair +words and set phrases led her to the piano. + +"And what," he asked, "do you think of Christina's choice?" + +Elizabeth replied suitably; and Mr. Christie continued: + +"Quite so. A fine fellow--cultured, ye know, cultured and a purfect +gentleman, but a little lacking in push. Congregations like a man who +knows his way about, Miss Seton. You can't do much in this world +without push." + +"I dare say not. What shall I sing? Will you play for me, Kirsty?" + +At nine o'clock the company went down to supper. + +Mrs. Christie, to whom as to Chuchundra the musk-rat, every step seemed +fraught with danger, said she would not venture downstairs again, but +would slip away to bed. + +At supper Arthur Townshend found himself between the other Miss +Christie, who was much engrossed with the man on her right, and an +anaemic-looking young woman, the wife of one of the ministers present, +who when conversed with said "Ya-as" and turned away her head. + +This proved so discouraging that presently he gave up the attempt, and +tried to listen to the conversation that was going on between Elizabeth +and Mr. M'Cann. + +"Let me see," Mr. M'Cann was saying, "where is your father's church? Oh +ay, down there, is it? A big, half-empty kirk. I know it fine. Ay, gey +stony ground, and if you'll excuse me saying it, your father's not the +man for the job. What they want is a man who will start a P.S.A. and a +band and give them a good rousing sermon. A man with a sense of humour. +A man who can say strikin' things in the pulpit." (He sketched the +ideal man, and his companion had no difficulty in recognising the +portrait of Mr. M'Cann himself.) "With the right man that church might +be full. Not, mind you, that I'm saying anything against your father, +he does his best; but he's not advanced enough, he belongs to the old +evangelicals--congregations like something brighter." + +Presently he drifted into politics, and lived over again his meetings +in Ayrshire, likening himself to Alexander Peden and Richard Cameron, +until Elizabeth, whose heart within her was hot with hate, turned the +flood of his conversation into another channel by asking some question +about his family. + +Four children he said he had, all very young; but he seemed to take +less interest in them than in the fact that Lizzie, his wife, found it +quite impossible to keep a "girrl." It was surprising to hear how +bitterly this apostle of Freedom spoke of the "bit servant lasses" on +whose woes he loved to dilate from the pulpit when he was inveighing +against the idle, selfish rich. + +Two imps of mischief woke in Elizabeth's grey eyes as she listened. + +"Yes," she agreed, as her companion paused for a second in his +indictment. "Servants are a nuisance. What a relief it would be to have +slaves!" + +"Whit's that?" said Mr. M'Cann, evidently not believing he had heard +aright. + +Elizabeth leaned towards him, her face earnest and sympathetic, her +voice, when she spoke, honey-sweet, "like doves taboring upon their +breasts." + +"I said wouldn't it be delightful if we had slaves--nice fat slaves?" + +Mr. M'Cann's eyes goggled in his head. He was quite incapable of making +any reply, so he took out a day-before-yesterday's handkerchief and +blew his nose; while Elizabeth continued: "Of course we wouldn't be +cruel to them--not like Legree in _Uncle Tom's Cabin_. But just imagine +the joy of not having to tremble before them! To be able to make a fuss +when the work wasn't well done, to be able to grumble when the soup was +watery and the pudding burnt--imagine, Mr. M'Cann, imagine having _the +power of life and death over the cook_!" + +Arthur Townshend, listening, laughed to himself; but Mr. M'Cann did not +laugh. This impudent female had dared to make fun of him! With a snort +of wrath he turned to his other neighbour and began to thunder +platitudes at her which she had done nothing to deserve, and which she +received with an indifferent "Is that so?" which further enraged him. + +Elizabeth, having offended one man, turned her attention to the one on +her other side, who happened to be Kirsty's fiance, and enjoyed +snatches of talk with him between Mr. Christie's stories, that +gentleman being incorrigibly humorous all through supper. + +When they got up to go away, Kirsty went with Elizabeth into the +bedroom for her cloak. + +"Kirsty, dear, I'm so glad," Elizabeth said. + +Kirsty sat solidly down on a chair beside the dressing-table. + +"So am I," she said. "I had almost given up hope. Oh! I know it's not a +nice thing to say, but I don't care. You don't know what it means never +to be first with anyone, to know you don't matter, that no one needs +you. At home--well, Father has his church, and Mother has her +bronchitis, and Kate has her Girl's Club, and Archie has his office, +and they don't seem to feel the need of anything else. And you, +Lizbeth, you never cared for me as I cared for you. You have so many +friends; but I have no pretty ways, and I've a sharp tongue, and I +can't help seeing through people, so I don't make friends.... And oh! +how I have wanted a house of my own! That's not the proper thing to say +either, but I have--a place of my own to polish and clean and keep +cosy. I pictured it so often--specially, somehow, the storeroom. I knew +where I would put every can on the shelves." + +She rubbed with her handkerchief along the smooth surface of the +dressing-table. "Every spring when I polished the furniture I thought, +'Next spring, perhaps, I'll polish my own best bedroom furniture'; but +nobody looked the road I was on. Then Andrew came, and--I couldn't +believe it at first--he liked me, he wanted to talk to me, he looked at +me first when he came into the room.... He's three years younger than +me, and he's not at all good-looking, but he's mine, and when he looks +at me I feel like a queen crowned." + +Elizabeth swallowed an awkward lump in her throat, and stood fingering +the crochet edge of the toilet-cover without saying anything. + +Then Kirsty jumped up, her own bustling little self again, rather +ashamed of her long speech. + +"Here I am keeping you, and Mr. Townshend standing waiting in the +lobby. Poor man! He seems nice, Lizbeth, but he's _awfully_ English." + +Elizabeth followed her friend to the door, and stooping down, kissed +her. "Bless you, Kirsty," she said. + +She was rather silent on the way home. She said Mr. Christie's +jocularity had depressed her. + +"I suppose _I_ may not laugh," Mr. Townshend remarked, "but I think +Fish would have 'lawffed.' That's a good idea of yours about slaves." + +"Were you listening?" she smiled ruefully. "It was wretched of me, when +you think of that faithful couple, Marget and Ellen. That's the worst +of this world, you can't score off one person without hurting someone +quite innocent." + +They found Mr. Seton sitting by the drawing-room fire. He had had a +harassed day, waging warfare against sin and want (a war that to us +seems to have no end and no victory, for still sin flaunts in the slums +or walks our streets with mincing feet, and Lazarus still sits at our +gates, "an abiding mystery," receiving his evil things), and he was +taking the taste of it out of his mind with a chapter from _Guy +Mannering_. + +So far away was he under the Wizard's spell that he hardly looked up +when the revellers entered the room, merely remarking, "Just listen to +this." He read: + +"'I remember the tune well,' he said. He took the flageolet from his +pocket and played a simple melody.... She immediately took up the song: + + 'Are these the links of Forth, she said; + Or are they the crooks of Dee, + Or the bonny woods of Warrock Head + That I so plainly see?' + + +"'By Heaven!' said Bertram, 'it is the very ballad.'" + +Mr. Seton closed the book with a sigh of pleasure, and asked them where +they had been. + +Elizabeth told him, and "Oh, yes, I remember now," he said. "Well, I +hope you had a pleasant evening?" + +"I think Mr. Christie had, anyway. That man's life is one long +soiree-speech. And I wouldn't mind if he were really gay and jolly and +carefree; but I know that at heart he is shrewd and calculating and +un-simple as he can be. But, Father, the nicest thing has happened. +Kirsty has got engaged to a man called Andrew Hamilton, a minister, a +real jewel. You would like him, I know. But he hasn't got a church yet, +although he is worth a dozen of the people who do get churches, and I +was wondering what about Langhope? It's the nearest village to +Etterick," she explained to Arthur. "It's high time Mr. Smillie +retired. He is quite old, and he has money of his own, and could go and +live in Edinburgh and attend all the Committees. It is such a good +manse, and I can see Kirsty keeping it so spotless, and Mr. Hamilton +working in the garden--and hens, perhaps--and everything so cosy. +There's a specially good storeroom, too. I know, because we used to +steal raisins and things out of it when we visited Mr. Smillie." + +Mr. Seton laughed and called her an absurd creature, and Arthur asked +if a good store-room was necessary to married happiness; but she heeded +them not. + +"You know, Father, it would be doing Langhope a really good turn to +recommend Mr. Hamilton as their minister. How do I know, Arthur? I just +know. His father was a Free Kirk minister, so he has been well brought +up, and I know exactly the kind of sermons he will preach--solid +well-reasoned discourses, with now and again an anecdote about the +'great Dr. Chalmers,' and with here and there a reference to 'the +sainted Dr. Andrew Bonar' or 'Dr. Wilson of the Barclay.' Fine Free +Kirk discourses. Such as you and I love, Father." + +Her father shook his head at her; and Arthur, as he lit a cigarette, +remarked that it was all Chinese to him. Elizabeth sat down on the arm +of her father's chair. + +"You had quite a success to-night, Arthur," she said kindly. "Mr. +Christie called you a 'gentlemanly fellow,' and Mrs. Christie said, +speaking for herself, she had no objection to the Cockney accent, she +rather liked it! And oh! Father, your friend Mr. M'Cann was there. You +know who I mean? He talked to me quite a lot. He has been politic-ing +down in Ayrshire, and he told me that he rather reminds himself of the +Covenanters at their best--Alexander Peden I think was the one he +named." + +Mr. Seton was carrying Guy Mannering to its place, but he stopped and +said, "_The wretched fellow!_" + +The utter wrath and disgust in his tone made his listeners shout with +laughter, and Elizabeth said: + +"Father, I love you. 'Cos why?" + +Mr. Seton, still sore at this defiling of his idols, only grunted in +reply. + +"Because you are not too much of a saint after all. Oh! _don't turn out +the lights!_" + + + + +_CHAPTER XV_ + + "There was a lady once, 'tis an old story, + That would not be a queen, that would she not + For all the mud in Egypt." + _Henry VIII._ + + +"It is funny to think," Elizabeth said, "that last Friday I was looking +forward to your visit with horror." + +"Hospitable creature!" Arthur replied. + +"And now," she continued, "I can't remember what it was like not to +know you." + +They were sitting in the drawing-room after dinner. Mr. Seton had gone +out, and Buff was asleep after such an hour of crowded life as seldom +fell to his lot. He had been very down at the thought of losing his +friend, and had looked so small and forlorn when he said his reluctant +good-night, that Arthur, to lighten his gloom, asked him if he had ever +taken part in a sea-fight, and being answered in the negative, had +carried him upstairs shoulder-high. Then issued from the bathroom such +a splashing of water, such gurgles of laughter and yells of triumph as +Buff, a submarine, dashed from end to end of the large bath, torpedoing +warships under Arthur's directions, that Elizabeth, Marget, and Ellen +all rushed upstairs to say that if the performance did not stop at once +the house would certainly be flooded. + +As it was, fresh pyjamas had to be fetched, the pair laid out being put +out of action by the wash of the waves. Then Arthur carried Buff to his +room and threw him head-over-heels into bed, sitting by his side for +quite half an hour and relating the most thrilling tales of pirates; +finally presenting him with two fat half-crowns, and promising that he, +Buff, should go up in an aeroplane at the earliest opportunity. + +Buff, as he lay pillowed on that promise, his two half-crowns laid on a +chair beside him along with one or two other grubby treasures, and his +heart warm with gratitude, wondered and wondered what he could do in +return--and still wondering fell asleep. + +Elizabeth was knitting a stocking for her young brother, and counted +audibly at intervals; Arthur lay in a large arm-chair and looked into +the fire. + +"Buff is frightfully sorry to lose you. _One two_--_one two._ This is a +beautiful 'top,' don't you think? Rather like a Persian tile." + +"Yes," said Arthur rather absently. + +There was silence for a few minutes; then Elizabeth said, "There is +something very depressing about last nights--we would really have been +much better at the Band of Hope, and I would have been doing my duty, +and thus have acquired merit. I hate people going away. When nice +people come to a house they should just stay on and on, after the +fashion of princes in fairy-tale stories seeking their fortunes. They +stayed about twenty years before it seemed to strike them that their +people might be getting anxious." + +"For myself," said Arthur, "I ask nothing better. You know that, don't +you?" + +"_One two_--_one two_," Elizabeth counted. She looked up from her +knitting with twinkling eyes. "Did you hate very much coming? or were +you passive in the managing hands of Aunt Alice?" + +He looked at her impish face blandly, then took out his cigarette case, +chose a cigarette carefully, lit it, and smoked with placid enjoyment. + +"Cross?" she asked, in a few minutes. + +"Not in the least. Merely wondering if I might tell you the truth." + +"I wouldn't," said Elizabeth. "Fiction is always stranger and more +interesting. By the way, are you to be permanently at the Foreign +Office now?" + +"I haven't the least notion, but I shall be there for the next few +months. When do you go to London?" + +In the spring, she told him, probably in April, and added that her Aunt +Alice had been a real fairy godmother to her. + +"Very few ministers' daughters have had my chances of seeing men and +cities. And some day, some day when Buff has gone to school and Father +has retired and has time to look about him, we are going to India to +see the boys." + +"You have a very good time in London, I expect," Arthur said. "I can +imagine that Aunt Alice makes a most tactful chaperon, and I hear you +are very popular." + +"'Here's fame!'" quoted Elizabeth flippantly. "What else did Aunt Alice +tell you about me?" + +Arthur Townshend put the end of his cigarette carefully into the +ash-tray and leant forward. + +"You really want to know--then here goes. She told me you were +tall--like a king's own daughter; that your hair was as golden as a +fairy tale, and your eyes as grey as glass. She told me of suitors +waiting on your favours----" + +Elizabeth dropped her knitting with a gasp. + +"If Aunt Alice told you all that--well, I've no right to say a word, +for she did it to glorify me, and perhaps her kind eyes and heart made +her think it true; but surely you don't think I am such a conceited +donkey as to believe it." + +"But isn't it true?--about the suitors, I mean?" + +"Suitors! How very plural you are!" + +"But I would rather keep them in the plural," he pleaded; "they are +more harmless that way. But Aunt Alice did talk about some particular +fellow--I think Gordon was his wretched name." + +"Bother!" said Elizabeth. "I've dropped a stitch." She bent +industriously over her knitting. + +"I'm waiting, Elizabeth." + +"What for?" + +"To hear about Mr. Gordon." + +"Oh! you must ask Aunt Alice," Elizabeth said demurely. "She is your +fount of information." Then she threw down her knitting. "Arthur, don't +let's talk any more about such silly subjects. They don't interest me +in the least." + +"Is Mr. Gordon a silly subject?" + +"The silliest ever. No--of course he isn't. Why do you make me say +nasty things? He is only silly to me because I am an ungrateful +creature. I don't expect I shall ever marry. You see, I would never be +a grateful wife, and it seems a pity to use up a man, so to speak, when +there are so few men and so many women who would be grateful wives and +may have to go without. I think I am a born spinster, and as long as I +have got Father and Buff and the boys in India I shall be more than +content." + +"Buff must go to school soon," he warned her. "Your brothers may marry; +your father can't be with you always." + +"Oh, don't try to discourage me in my spinster path. You are as bad as +Aunt Alice. She thinks of me as living a sort of submerged existence +here in Glasgow, and only coming to the surface to breathe when I go to +London or travel with her. But I'm not in the least stifled with my +life. I wouldn't change with anybody; and as for getting married and +going off with trunks of horrid new unfamiliar clothes, and a horrid +new unfamiliar husband, I wouldn't do it. I haven't much ambition; I +don't ask for adventures; though I look so large and bold, I have but a +peeping and a timorous soul." + +She smiled across at Arthur, as if inviting him to share her point of +view; but he looked into the fire and did not meet her glance. + +"Then you think," he said, "that you will be happy all your +life--alone?" + +"Was it Sydney Smith who gave his friends forty recipes for happiness? +I remember three of them," she counted on her fingers, "a bright fire, +a kettle singing on the hob, a bag of lollipops on the mantelshelf--all +easy to come at. I can't believe that I shall be left entirely alone--I +should be so scared o' nights. Surely someone will like me well enough +to live with me--perhaps Buff, if he continues to have the contempt for +females that he now has; but anyway I shall hold on to the bright fire +and the singing kettle and the bag of lollipops." + +She sat for a moment, absent-eyed, as if she were looking down the +years; then she laughed. + +"But I shall be a frightfully long gaunt spinster," she said. + +Arthur laughed with her, and said: + +"Elizabeth, you aren't really a grown-up woman at all. You're a +schoolboy." + +"I like that 'grown-up,'" she laughed; "it sounds so much less mature +than the reality. I'm twenty-eight, did you know? Already airting +towards spinsterhood." + +Arthur shook his head at her. + +"In your father's words, you are an absurd creature. Sing to me, won't +you? seeing it's my last night." + +"Yes." She went to the piano. "What shall I sing? 'A love-song or a +song of good life'?" + +"A love-song," said Arthur, and finished the quotation. "'I care not +for good life.'" + +Elizabeth giggled. + +"Our language is incorrigibly noble. You know how it is when you go to +the Shakespeare Festival at Stratford? I come away so filled with +majestic words that I can hardly resist greeting our homely chemist +with 'Ho! apothecary!' But I'm not going to sing of love. 'I'm no' +heedin' for't,' as Marget says.... This is a little song out of a fairy +tale--a sort of good-bye song: + + 'If fairy songs and fairy gold + Were tunes to sell and gold to spend, + Then, hearts so gay and hearts so bold, + We'd find the joy that has no end. + But fairy songs and fairy gold + Are but red leaves in Autumn's play. + The pipes are dumb, the tale is told, + Go back to realms of working day. + + The working day is dark and long, + And very full of dismal things; + It has no tunes like fairy song, + No hearts so brave as fairy kings. + Its princes are the dull and old, + Its birds are mute, its skies are grey; + And quicker far than fairy gold + Its dreary treasures fleet away. + + But all the gallant, kind and true + May haply hear the fairy drum, + Which still must beat the wide world through, + Till Arthur wake and Charlie come. + And those who hear and know the call + Will take the road with staff in hand, + And after many a fight and fall, + Come home at last to fairy-land.'" + + * * * * * + +They were half-way through breakfast next morning before Buff appeared. +He stood at the door with a sheet of paper in his hand, looking rather +distraught. His hair had certainly not been brushed, and a smear of +paint disfigured one side of his face. He was not, as Mr. Taylor would +have put it, looking his "brightest and bonniest." + +"I've been in Father's study," he said in answer to his sister's +question, and handed Arthur Townshend the paper he carried. + +"It's for you," he said, "a sea-fight. It's the best I can do. I've +used up nearly all the paints in my box." + +He had certainly been lavish with his colours, and the result was +amazing in the extreme. + +Mr. Townshend expressed himself delighted, and discussed the points of +the picture with much insight. + +"We shall miss you," Mr. Seton said, looking very kindly at him. "It +has been almost like having one of our own boys back. You must come +again, and to Etterick next time." + +"Aw yes," cried Buff, "come to Etterick and see my jackdaw with the +wooden leg." He had drawn his chair so close to Arthur's that to both +of them the business of eating was gravely impeded. + +"Come for the shooting," said Mr. Seton. + +"Yes," said Elizabeth, as she filled out a third cup of tea for her +father, "and the fourth footman will bring out your lunch while the +fifth footman is putting on his livery. Don't be so buck-ish, Mr. +Father. Our shooting, Arthur, consists of a heathery hillside inhabited +by many rabbits, a few grouse--very wild, and an ancient blackcock +called Algernon. No one can shoot Algernon; indeed, he is such an old +family friend that it would be very ill manners to try. When he dies a +natural death we mean to stuff him." + +"But may I really come? Is this a _pukka_ invitation?" + +"It is," Elizabeth assured him. "As the Glasgow girl said to the +Edinburgh girl, 'What's a slice of ham and egg in a house like ours?' +We shall all be frightfully glad to see you, except perhaps old Watty +Laidlaw--I told you about him? He is very anxious when we have guests, +he is so afraid we are living beyond our means. One day last summer I +had some children from the village to tea, and he stood on the hillside +and watched them cross the moor, then went in to Marget and said in +despairing accents, 'Pit oot eighty mair cups. They're comin' ower the +muir like a locust drift.' The description of the half-dozen poor +little stragglers as a 'locust drift' was almost what Robert Browning +calls 'too wildly dear.'" + +"This egg's bad," Buff suddenly announced. + +"Is it, Arthur?" Elizabeth asked. + +Mr. Townshend regarded the egg through his monocle. + +"It looks all right," he said; "but Buff evidently requires his eggs to +be like Caesar's wife." + +"Don't waste good food, boy," his father told him. "There is nothing +wrong with the egg." + +"It's been a nest-egg," said Buff in a final manner, and began to write +in a small book. + +Elizabeth remarked that Buff was a tiresome little boy about his food, +and that there might come a time when he would think regretfully of the +good food he had wasted. "And what are you writing?" she finished. + +"It's my diary," said Buff, putting it behind his back. "Father gave it +me. No, you can't read it, but Arthur can if he likes, 'cos he's going +away"; and he poked the little book into his friend's hand. + +Arthur thanked him gravely, and turned to the first entry: + +_New Year's Day._ + +_Good Rissolution. Not to be crool to gerls._ + +The other entries were not up to the high level of the first, but were +chiefly the rough jottings of nefarious plans which, one could gather, +generally seemed to miscarry. On 12th August was printed and +emphatically underlined the announcement that on that date Arthur +Townshend would arrive at Etterick. + +That the diary was for 1911 and that this was the year of grace 1913 +troubled Buff not at all: years made little difference to him. + +Arthur pointed this out as he handed back the book, and rubbing Buff's +mouse-coloured hair affectionately, quoted: + +"Poor Jim Jay got stuck fast in yesterday." + +"But I haven't," Buff protested; "I'll know it's 1914 though it says +1911." + +He put his diary into his safest pocket and asked if he might go to the +station. + +"Oh, I think not," his father said. "Why go into town this foggy +morning?" + +"He wants the 'hurl,'" said Elizabeth. "Arthur that's a new word for +you. Father, we should make Arthur pass an examination and see what +knowledge he has gathered. Let's draw up a paper: + + I. What is-- + (_a_) A Wee Free? + (_b_) A U.P.? + II. Show in what way the Kelvinside accent + differs from that of Pollokshields. + III. What is a 'hurl'? + +I can't think of anything else. Anyway, I don't believe you could +answer one of my questions, and I am only talking for talking's sake, +because we are all so sad. By the way, when you say Good-bye to Marget +and Ellen shake hands, will you? They expect it." + +"Of course," said Arthur. + +The servants came in for prayers. + +Mr. Seton prayed for "travelling mercies" for the friend who was about +to leave them to return to the great city. + +"Here's the cab!" cried Buff, and rushed for his coat. His father +followed him, and Arthur turned to Elizabeth. + +"Will you write to me sometimes?" + +Elizabeth stooped to pick up Launcelot, the cat. + +"Yes," she said, "if you don't mind _prattle_. I so rarely have any +thoughts." + +He assured her that he would be grateful for anything she cared to send +him. + +"Tell me what you are doing; about the church people you visit, if the +Peggy-child gets better, if Mr. Taylor makes a joke, and of course +about your father and Buff. Everything you say or do interests me. You +know that, don't you--Lizbeth?" + +But Elizabeth kept her eyes on the purring cat, and--"Isn't he a polite +young man, puss-cat?" was all she said. + +Buff's voice was raised in warning from the hall. + +"Coming," cried Arthur; but he still tarried. + +Elizabeth put the cat on her shoulder and led the way. + +"Launcelot and I shall see you off from the doorstep. You mustn't miss +your train. As Marget says, 'Haste ye back.'" + +"You've promised to write.... There's loads of time, Buff." He was on +the lowest step now. "Till April--you are sure to come in April?" + +"Reasonably sure, but it's an uncertain world.... My love to Aunt +Alice." + + + + +_CHAPTER XVI_ + +"Then said he, I wish you a fair day when you set out for Mount Zion, +and shall be glad to see that you go over the river dry-shod. But she +answered, Come wet, come dry, I long to be gone; for however the +weather is on my journey, I shall have time to sit down and rest me and +dry me." + _The Pilgrim's Progress._ + + +"Pure religion and undefiled," we are told, "before God and the Father +is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction and +keep ourselves unspotted from the world." If this be a working +definition of Christianity, then James Seton translated its letter as +but few men do, into a spirit and life of continuous and practical +obedience. No weary, sick, or grieved creature had to wait for his +minister's coming. The congregation was widely scattered, but from +Dennistoun to Pollokshields, from Govanhill to Govan, in all weathers +he trudged--cars were a weariness to him, walking a pleasure--carrying +with him comfort to the comfortless, courage to the faint-hearted, and +a strong hope to the dying. + +On the day that Arthur Townshend left them he said to his daughter: + +"I wonder, Elizabeth, if you would go and see Mrs. Veitch this +afternoon? She is very ill, and I have a meeting that will keep me till +about seven o'clock. If you bring a good report I shan't go to see her +till to-morrow." + +"Mrs. Veitch who makes the treacle-scones? I am sorry. Of course I +shall go to see her. I wonder what I could take her? She will hate to +be ill, indomitable old body that she is! Are you going, Father? I +shall do your bidding, but I'm afraid Mrs. Veitch will think me a poor +substitute. Anyway, I'm glad it isn't Mrs. Paterson you want me to +visit. I so dislike the smug, resigned way she answers when I ask her +how she is: 'Juist hingin' by a tack.' I expect that 'tack' will last +her a good many years yet. Buff, what are you going to do this +afternoon?" + +"Nothing," said Buff. He sat gloomily on a chair, with his hands in his +pockets. "I'm as dull as a bull," he added. + +His sister did not ask the cause of his depression. She sat down on a +low chair and drew him on to her lap, and cuddled him up and stroked +his hair, and Buff, who as a rule sternly repulsed all caresses, laid +his head on her shoulder and, sniffing dolefully, murmured that he +couldn't bear to have Arthur go away, and that he had nothing to look +forward to except Christmas and that was only one day. + +"Nothing to look forward to! Oh, Buff! Think of spring coming and the +daffodils. And Etterick, and the puppies you haven't seen yet. And I'll +tell you what. When Arthur comes, I shouldn't wonder if we had a +sea-fight on the mill-pond--on rafts, you know." + +Buff sat up, his grubby little handkerchief still clutched in his hand, +tears on his lashes but in his eyes a light of hope. + +"Rafts!" he said. He slid to the floor. "_Rafts!_" he repeated. There +was dizzy magic in the word. Already, in thought, he was lashing spars +of wood together. + +Five minutes later Elizabeth, carrying a basket filled with fresh eggs, +grapes, and sponge-cakes, was on her way to call on Mrs. Veitch, while +at home Marget stood gazing, speechless with wrath, at the wreck Buff +had made of her tidy stick-house. + +When Elizabeth reached her destination and knocked, the door was opened +by Mrs. Veitch's daughter Kate, who took her into the room and asked +her to take a seat for a minute and she would come. Left alone, +Elizabeth looked round the cherished room and noticed that dust lay +thick on the sideboard that Mrs. Veitch had dusted so frequently and so +proudly, and that the crochet antimacassars on the sofa hung all awry. + +She put them tidy, pulled the tablecover even, straightened a picture +and was wondering if she might dust the sideboard with a spare +handkerchief she had in her coat (somehow it hurt her to see the dust) +when her attention was caught by a photograph that hung on the wall--a +family group of two girls and two boys. + +She went forward to study it. That funny little girl with the +pulled-back hair must be Kate she decided. She had not changed much, it +was the same good, mild face. The other girl must be the married +daughter in America. But it was the boys she was interested in. She had +heard her father talk of Mrs. Veitch's sons, John and Hugh. John had +been his mother's stand-by, a rock for her to lean on; and Hugh had +been to them both a joy and pride. + +Elizabeth, looking at the eager, clever face in the faded old picture, +understood why, even after twenty years, her father still talked +sometimes of Hugh Veitch, and always with that quick involuntary sigh +that we give to the memory of those ardent souls so well equipped for +the fight but for whom the drums ceased to beat before the battle had +well begun. + +John and his mother had pinched themselves to send Hugh to college, +where he was doing brilliantly well, when he was seized with diphtheria +and died. In a week his brother followed him, and for twenty years Mrs. +Veitch and Kate had toiled on alone. + +Elizabeth turned with a start as Kate came into the room. She looked +round drearily. "This room hasna got a dust for days. I'm not a manager +like ma mother. I can sew well enough, but I get fair baffled in the +house when there's everything to do." + +"Poor Kate! Tell me, how is your mother?" + +"No' well at all. The doctor was in this morning, and he's coming up +again later, but he says there is nothing he can do. She's just worn +out, and can you wonder? Many a time I've been fair vexed to see her +toilin' with lodgers; but you see we had just ma pay, and a woman's pay +is no' much to keep a house on, and she wanted to make a few shillings +extra. And, Miss Seton, d'ye know what she's been doing a' these years? +Scraping and hoarding every penny she could, and laying it away, to pay +ma passage to America. Ma sister Maggie's there, ye know, and when +she's gone she says I'm to go to Maggie. A' these years she's toiled +with this before her. She had such a spirit, she would never give in." +Kate wiped her eyes with her apron. "Come in and see ma mother." + +"Oh, I don't think so. She oughtn't to see anyone when she is so ill." + +"The doctor says it makes no difference, and she'll be vexed no' to see +you. I told her you were in. She had aye a notion of you." + +"If you think I won't do her harm, I should love to see her," said +Elizabeth, getting up; and Kate led the way to the kitchen. The fog had +thickened, and the windows in the little eyrie of a kitchen glimmered +coldly opaque. From far beneath came the sounds of the railway. + +Mrs. Veitch lay high on her pillows, her busy hands folded. She had +given in at last. + +Elizabeth thought she was sleeping, but she opened her eyes, and, +seeing her visitor, smiled slightly. + +"Are ye collectin' the day?" she asked. + +"No," Elizabeth said, leaning forward and speaking very gently. "I +don't want any money to-day. I came to ask for you. I am so sorry you +are ill." + +Mrs. Veitch looked at her with that curious appraising look that very +sick people sometimes give one. + +"Ay. I'm aboot by wi' it noo, and I em no' vexed. I'm terrible wearied." + +"You are very wearied now," Elizabeth said, stroking the work-roughened +hands that lay so calmly on the counterpane--all her life Mrs. Veitch +had been a woman of much self-control, and in illness the habit did not +desert her--"you are very wearied now, but you will get a good rest and +soon be your busy self again." + +"Na, I've been wearied for years.... Ma man died forty years syne, an' +I've had ma face agin the wind ever since. That last nicht he lookit at +the fower bairns--wee Hugh was a baby in ma airms--and he says, _'Ye've +aye been fell, Tibbie. Be fell noo.'_ Lyin' here, I'm wonderin' what ma +life's been--juist a fecht to get the denner ready, and a fecht to get +the tea ready, an' a terrible trauchle on the washin'-days. It vexes me +to think I've done so little to help ither folk. I never had the time." + +"Ah! but you're forgetting," said Elizabeth. "The people you helped +remember. I have heard--oh! often--from one and another how you did a +sick neighbour's washing, and gave a hot meal to children whose mothers +had to work out, and carried comfort to people in want. Every step your +tired feet took on those errands is known to God." + +The sick woman hardly seemed to hear. Her eyes had closed again, and +she had fallen into the fitful sleep of weakness. + +Elizabeth sat and looked at the old face, with its stern, worn lines. +Here was a woman who had lived her hard, upright life, with no soft +sayings and couthy ways, and she was dying as she had lived, "uncheered +and undepressed" by the world's thoughts of her. + +The fog crept close to the window. + +Kate put the dishes she had washed into the press. The London express +rushed past on its daily journey. The familiar sound struck on the dim +ear, and Mrs. Veitch asked, "Is that ma denner awa' by?" + +Kate wiped her eyes. The time-honoured jest hurt her to-day. + +"Poor mother!" she said. "She's aye that comical." + +"When I was a lassie," said Mrs. Veitch, "there was twae things I had a +terrible notion of--a gig, an' a gairden wi' berries. Ma mither said, +'Bode for a silk goon and ye'll get a sleeve o't,' and Alec said, 'Bide +a wee, lassie, an I'll get ye them baith.' Ay, but, Alec ma man, ye've +been in yer grave this forty year, an' I've been faur frae gairdens." + +The tired mind was wandering back to the beginning of things. She +plucked at the trimming on the sleeve of her night-dress. + +"I made this goon when I was a lassie for ma marriage. They ca'ed this +'flowering.' I mind fine sittin' sewin' it on simmer efternunes, wi' my +mither makin' the tea. Scones an' new-kirned butter an' skim-milk +cheese. _I can taste that tea._ Naebody could mak' tea like ma mither. +I wish I had a drink o' it the noo, for I'm terrible dry. There was a +burn ran by oor door an' twae muckle stanes by the side o' it, and Alec +and me used to sit there and crack--and crack." + +Her voice trailed off, and Elizabeth looked anxiously at Kate so see if +so much talking was not bad for her mother; but Kate said she thought +it pleased her to talk. It was getting dark and the kitchen was lit +only by the sparkle of the fire. + +"I'd better light the gas," Kate said, reaching for the matches. "The +doctor'll be in soon." + +Elizabeth watched her put a light to the incandescent burner, and when +she turned again to the bed she found the sick woman's eyes fixed on +her face. + +"You're like your faither, lassie," said the weak voice. "It's +one-and-twenty years sin' I fell acquaint wi' him. I had flitted to +this hoose, and on the Sabbath Day I gaed into the nearest kirk to see +what kinna minister they hed. I've niver stayed awa' willingly a +Sabbath sin' syne.... The first time he visited me kent by ma tongue +that I was frae Tweedside." + +"'Div 'ee ken Kilbucho?' I speired at him. + +"'Fine,' he says. + +"'Div 'ee ken Newby and the gamekeeper's hoose by the burn?" + +"'I guddled in that burn when I was a boy,' he says; and I cud ha' +grat. It was like a drink o' cauld water.... I aye likit rinnin' water. +Mony a time I've sat by that window on a simmer's nicht and made masel' +believe that I could hear Tweed. It ran in ma ears for thirty years, +an' a body disna forget. There's a bit in the Bible about a river ... +read it." + +Elizabeth lifted the Bible and looked at it rather hopelessly. + +"I'm afraid I don't know where to find it," she confessed. + +"Tuts, lassie, yer faither would ha' kent," said Mrs. Veitch. + +"There is a river," Elizabeth quoted from memory,--"there is a river +the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God." + +"Ay! that's it." She lay quiet, as if satisfied. + +"Mother," said Kate. "Oh! Mother!" + +The sick woman turned to her daughter. + +"Ay, Kate. Ye've been a guid lassie to me, and noo ye'll gang to Maggie +in Ameriky. The money is there, an' I can gang content. Ye wudna keep +me Kate, when I've waited so lang? I'll gang as blythe doon to the +River o' Death as I gaed fifty years syne to ma trystin', and Alec will +meet me at the ither side as he met me then ... and John, ma kind son, +will be waitin' for me, an' ma wee Hughie----" + +"And your Saviour, Mother," Kate reminded her anxiously. + +Mrs. Veitch turned on her pillow like a tired child. + +"I'll need a lang, lang rest, an' a lang drink o' the Water of Life." + +"Oh! Mother!" said Kate. "You're no' going to leave me." + +Elizabeth laid her hand on her arm. "Don't vex her, Kate. She's nearly +through with this tough world." + +The doctor was heard at the door. + +"I'll go now, and Father will come down this evening. Oh! poor Kate, +don't cry. It is so well with her." + +That night, between the hours of twelve and one, at the turning of the +tide, the undaunted soul of the old country-woman forded the River, and +who shall say that the trumpets did not sound for her on the other side! + + + + +_CHAPTER XVII_ + + "He was the Interpreter to untrustful souls + The weary feet he led into the cool + Soft plains called Ease; he gave the faint to drink: + Dull hearts he brought to the House Beautiful. + The timorous knew his heartening on the brink + Where the dark River rolls. + He drew men from the town of Vanity, + Past Demas' mine and Castle Doubting's towers, + To the green hills where the wise shepherds be, + And Zion's songs are crooned among the flowers." + J.B. + + +The winter days slipped past. Christmas came, bringing with it to Buff +the usual frantic anticipations, and consequent flatness when it was +borne in on him that he had not done so well in the way of presents and +treats as he felt he deserved. + +It was a hard winter, and there was more than the usual hardships among +the very poor. James Seton, toiling up and down the long stairs of the +Gorbals every day of the week and preaching three times on the Sabbath, +was sometimes very weary. + +Elizabeth, too, worked hard and laughed much, as was her way. + +It took very little to make her laugh, as she told Arthur Townshend. + +"This has been a nasty day," she wrote. "The rain has never +ceased--dripping _yellow_ rain. (By the way, did you ever read in +Andrew Lang's _My Own Fairy Book_ about the Yellow Dwarf who bled +yellow blood? Isn't it a nice horrible idea?) + +"At breakfast it struck me that Father looked frail, and Buff sneezed +twice, and I made up my mind he was going to take influenza or measles, +probably both, so I didn't feel in any spirits to face the elements +when I waded out to do my shopping. But when I went into the fruit shop +and asked if the pears were good and got the reply 'I'm afraid we've +nothing startling in the pear line to-day,' I felt a good deal cheered. +Later, walking in Sauchiehall Street, I met Mrs. Taylor in her +'prayer-meeting bonnet,' her skirt well kilted, goloshes on her feet, +and her circular waterproof draping her spare figure. After I had +assuaged her fears about my own health and Father's and Buff's I +complimented her on her courage in being out on such a day. + +"'I hed to come,' she assured me earnestly; 'I'm on ma way to the +Religious Tract Society to get some _cards for mourners_.' + +"The depressing figure she made, her errand, and the day she had chosen +for it, sent me home grinning broadly. Do you know that in spite of ill +weather, it is spring? There are three daffodils poking up their heads +in the garden, and I have got a new hat to go to London with some day +in April. What day, you ask, is some day? I don't know yet. When Buff +was a very little boy, a missionary staying in the house said to him, +'And some day you too will go to heaven and sing among the angels.' +Buff, with the air of having rather a good excuse for refusing a dull +invitation, said, 'I can't go _some day_; that's the day I'm going to +Etterick.'" + +But Elizabeth did not go to London in April. + +One Sabbath in March, James Seton came in after his day's work +admitting himself strangely tired. + +"My work has been a burden to me to-day, Lizbeth," he said; "I'm +getting to be an old done man." + +Elizabeth scoffed at the idea, protesting that most men were mere +youths at sixty. "Just think of Gladstone," she cried. (That eminent +statesman was a favourite weapon to use against her father when he +talked of his age, though, truth to tell, his longevity was the one +thing about him that she found admirable). "Father, I should be ashamed +to say that I was done at sixty." + +Albeit she was sadly anxious, and got up several times in the night to +listen at her father's door. + +He came down to breakfast next morning looking much as usual, but when +he rose from the table he complained of faintness, and the pinched blue +look on his face made Elizabeth's heart beat fast with terror as she +flew to telephone for the doctor. A nurse was got, and for a week James +Seton was too ill to worry about anything; but the moment he felt +better he wanted to get up and begin work again. + +"It's utter nonsense," he protested, "that I should lie here when I'm +perfectly well. Ask the doctor, when he comes to-day, if I may get up +to-morrow. If he consents, well and good; but if he doesn't, I'll get +up just the same. Dear me, girl," as Elizabeth tried to make him see +reason, "my work will be terribly in arrears as it is." + +Elizabeth and Buff were in the drawing-room when the doctor came that +evening. It was a clear, cold March night, and a bright fire burned on +the white hearth; pots of spring flowers stood about the room, scenting +the air pleasantly. + +Buff had finished learning his lessons and was now practising standing +on his head in the window, his heels perilously near the plate glass. +Both he and Elizabeth were in great spirits, the cloud of their +father's illness having lifted. Elizabeth had been anxious, how anxious +no one knew, but to-night she welcomed the doctor without a qualm. + +"Come to the fire, Dr. Nelson," she said; "these March evenings are +cold. Well, and did you find Father very stiff-necked and rebellious? +He is going to defy you and get up to-morrow, so he tells me. His work +is calling him--but I don't suppose we ought to allow him to work for a +time?" + +Then the doctor told her that her father's work was finished. + +With great care he might live for years, but there was serious heart +trouble, and there must be no excitement, no exertion that could be +avoided: he must never preach again. + + * * * * * + +A week later Elizabeth wrote to Arthur Townshend: + + +"Thank you for your letters and your kind thoughts of us. Aunt Alice +wasn't hurt, was she? that we didn't let her come. There are times when +even the dearest people are a burden. + +"Father is wonderfully well now; in fact, except for occasional +breathless turns, he seems much as usual. You mustn't make me sorry for +myself. I am not to be pitied. The doctor says 'many years'; it is so +much better than I dared to hope. I wonder if I could make you +understand my feeling? If you don't mind a leaf from a family journal, +I should like to try. + +"'Tell me about when you were young,' Buff sometimes says, and it does +seem a long time ago since the world began.... When I remember my +childhood I think the fairy pipes in Hans Andersen's tale that blew +everyone into their right place must have given us our Mother. She was +the proper-est Mother that ever children had. + +"'_Is Mother in?_' was always our first question when we came in from +our walks, and if Mother was in all was right with the world. She had a +notion--a blissful notion as you may suppose for us--that children +ought to have the very best time possible. And we had it. Funny little +happy people we were, not penned up in nurseries with starched nurses, +but allowed to be a great deal with our parents, and encouraged each to +follow our own bent. + +"Our old nurse, Leezie, had been Father's nurse, and to her he was +still 'Maister Jimmie.' You said when you were here that you liked the +nursery with its funny old prints and chintzes, but you should have +seen it with Leezie in it. She kept it a picture of comfort, and was +herself the most comfortable thing in it, with her large clean rosy +face and white hair, her cap with bright ribbons, and her most +capacious lap. Many a time have I tumbled into that lap crying from +some childish ache--a tooth, a cut finger, perhaps hurt feelings, to be +comforted and told in her favourite formula 'It'll be better gin +morning.' She had no modern notions about bringing up children, but in +spite of that (or because of that?) we very rarely ailed anything. +Once, when Alan's nose bled violently without provocation, Mother, +after wrestling with a medical book, said it might be connected with +the kidneys. 'Na, na,' said Leezie, and gave her 'exquisite reason' for +disbelief, 'his nose is a lang gait frae his kidneys.' In the evenings +she always sat, mending, on a low chair beside a table which held the +mending basket and a mahogany workbox, a gift to her from our +grandmother. As a great treat we were sometimes allowed to lift all the +little lids of the fittings, and look at our faces in the mirror, and +try to find the opening of the carved ivory needlecase which had come +from India all the way. Our noise never disturbed Leezie. 'Be wise, +noo, like guid bairns,' she would say when we got beyond reason; and if +we quarrelled violently, she would shake her head and tell herself, +'Puir things! They'll a' gree when they meet at frem't kirk doors'--a +dark saying which seldom failed to quell even the most turbulent. + +"On Sabbath evenings, when the mending basket and the workbox were shut +away in the cupboard, the little table was piled with vivid religious +weeklies, such as _The Christian Herald_, and Leezie pored over them, +absorbed, for hours. Then she would remove her glasses, give a long +satisfied sigh, and say, 'Weel, I hev read mony a stert-ling thing this +day.' + +"Above the mantelshelf hung Leezie's greatest treasure--a text, _Thou +God seest me_, worked in wool, and above the words, also in wool, a +large staring eye. The eye was, so to speak, a cloud on my young life. +I knew--Mother had taken it down and I had examined it--that it was +only canvas and wool, but if I happened to be left alone in the room it +seemed to come alive and stare at me with a terrible questioning look, +until I was reduced to wrapping myself up in the window curtains, +'trembling to think, poor child of sin,' that it was really the eye of +God, which seems to prove that, even at a very tender age, I had by no +means a conscience 'void of offence.' + +"We were brought up sturdily on porridge (I can hear Leezie's voice +now--'Bairns, come to yer porridges') and cold baths, on the Shorter +Catechism, the Psalms of David, and--to use your own inelegant +phrase--great chunks of the Bible. When I read in books, where people +talk of young men and women driven from home and from the paths of +virtue by the strictness of their Calvinistic parents and the +narrowness and unloveliness of their faith, I think of our childhood +and of our father, and I 'lawff,' like Fish. Calvinism is a strong +creed, too apt, as someone says, to dwarf to harsh formality, but those +of us who have been brought up under its shadow know that it can be in +very truth a tree of life, with leaves for the healing of the nations. + +"Why do some families care so much more for each other than others? Has +it anything to do with the upbringing? Is it the kind of mother one +has? I don't know, but I know we grew up adoring each other in the +frankest and most absurd way. Not that we showed it by caresses or by +endearing names. The nearest we came to an expression of affection was +at night, when the clamour of the day was stilled and bedtime had come. +In that evening hour Sandy, who fought 'bitter and reg'lar' all day but +who took the Scriptures very literally, would say to Walter and Alan, +'Have I hit you to-day? Well, I'm sorry.' If a handsome expression of +forgiveness was not at once forthcoming, 'Say you forgive me,' he +warned them, 'or I'll hit you again.' + +"When we were safely tucked away in bed, my door being left open that I +might shout through to the boys, Sandy would say, 'Good-night, +Lizbeth,' and then '_Wee_ Lizbeth' and I would reply, 'Good-night, +Sandy. _Wee_ Sandy.' The same ceremony was gone through with Walter and +Alan, and then but not till then, we could fall asleep, at peace with +all men. + +"We were none of us mild or docile children, but Sandy was much the +wickedest--and infinitely the most lovable. Walter and Alan and I were +his devoted slaves. He led us into the most involved scrapes, for no +one could devise mischief as he could, and was so penitent when we had +to suffer the consequences with him. He was always fighting boys much +bigger than himself, but he was all tenderness to anything weak or ugly +or ill-used. At school he was first in both lessons and games, and as +he grew up everything seemed to come easy to him, from boxing to sonnet +writing. + +"It isn't always easy to like beautiful, all-conquering sort of people, +but I never heard of anyone not liking Sandy. He had such a disarming +smile and such kind, honest eyes. + +"He was easily the most brilliant man of his year at Oxford; great +things were predicted for him; he seemed to walk among us 'both hands +full of gifts, carrying with nonchalance the seeds of a most +influential life.' And he died--he died at Oxford in his last +summer-term, of a chill got on the river. Even now, after five years, I +can't write about it; my eyes dazzle.... Three months later my mother +died. + +"We hardly realized that she was ill, for she kept her happy face and +was brave and gay and lovely to the end. Mother and Sandy were so like +each other that so long as we kept Mother we hadn't entirely lost +Sandy, but now our house was left unto us desolate. + +"Of course we grew happy again. We found, almost reluctantly, that we +could remember sad things yet be gay! The world could not go on if the +first edge of grief remained undulled--but the sword had pierced the +heart and the wound remains. On that June night when the nightingale +sang, and the grey shadow crept over Sandy's face, I realized that +nothing was too terrible to happen. Before that night the earth had +seemed a beautifully solid place. I had pranced on it and sung the +'loud mad song' of youth without the slightest misgiving, but after +that I knew what Thomas Nash meant when he wrote: + + 'Brightness falls from the air; + Queens have died young and fair; + Dust hath closed Helen's eyes,' + +and I said, 'I will walk softly all my days.' + +"Only Father remained to us. I clung to him as the one prop that held +up my world. Since then I have gone in bondage to the fear that he +might be snatched from me as Mother and Sandy were. When otherwise +inoffensive people hinted to me that my father looked tired or ill, I +hated them for the sick feeling their words gave me. So, you see, when +the doctor said that with care he might live many years, I was so +relieved for myself that I could not be properly sorry for Father. It +is hard for him. I used to dream dreams about what we would do when he +retired, but I always knew at the bottom of my heart that he would +never leave his work as long as he had strength to go on. If he had +been given the choice, I am sure he would have wanted to die in +harness. Not that we have ever discussed the question. When I went up +to his room after the doctor had told me (I knew he had also told +Father), he merely looked up from the paper he was reading and said, +'There is an ignorant fellow writing here who says Scott is little read +nowadays,' and so great was his wrath at the 'ignorant fellow' that +such small things as the state of his own health passed unremarked on. + +"There is no point in remaining in Glasgow: we shall go to Etterick. + +"You say you can't imagine what Father will do, forbidden to preach (he +who loved preaching); forbidden to walk except on level places (he who +wore seven-league boots); forbidden to exert himself (he who was so +untiring in his efforts to help others). I know. It will be a life of +limitations. But I promise you he won't grumble, and he won't look +submissive or resigned. He will look as if he were having a perfectly +radiant time--and what is more, he will feel it. How triumphantly true +it is that the meek inherit the earth! Flowers are left to him, flowers +and the air and the sky and the sun; spring mornings, winter nights by +the fire, and books--and I may just mention in passing those two +unconsidered trifles Buff and me! As I write, I have a picture in my +mind of Father in retirement. He will be interested in everything, and +always apt at the smallest provocation to be passionately angry at +Radicals. (They have the same effect on him as Puritans had on gentle +Sir Andrew Aguecheek--you remember?) I can see him wandering in the +garden, touching a flower here and there in the queer tender way he has +with flowers, listening to the birds, enjoying their meals, reading +every adventure book he can lay his hands on (with his Baxter's +_Saints' Rest_ in his pocket for quiet moments), visiting the cottage +folk, deeply interested in all that interests them, and never leaving +without reminding them that there is 'something ayont.' In the words of +the old Covenanter, 'He will walk by the waters of Eulai, plucking an +apple here and there'--and we who live with him will seem to hear the +sound of his Master's feet." + + +Later she wrote: + + +"I don't suppose you ever 'flitted,' did you? That is our Scots +expression for removing ourselves and our belongings to another +house--a misleading bird-like and airy expression for such a ponderous +proceeding. + +"Just at present all our household gods, and more especially the heavy +wardrobes, seem to be lying on my chest. The worry is, we have far too +much furniture, for Etterick is already furnished with old good things +that it would be a shame to touch, so we can only take the things from +here that are too full of associations to leave. We would hate to sell +anything, but I wish we could hear of a nice young couple setting up +house without much money to do it with, and we would beg of them to +take our furniture. + +"You would be surprised how difficult it is to leave Glasgow and the +church people. I never knew how much I liked the friendly old place +until the time came for leaving it; it is like digging oneself up by +the roots. + +"And the church people are so pathetic. It never seems to have occurred +to them that Father might leave them, and they are so surprised and +grieved, and so quite certain that if he only goes away for a rest he +will soon be fit again and able for his work. + +"But I am not really sorry for them. I know quite well that in a few +months' time, flushed with tea and in most jocund mood, they will be +sitting at an Induction Soiree drinking in praise of their new +minister--and thank goodness I shan't be there to hear the speeches! Of +course there are some to whom Father simply made life worth living--it +hurts me to think of them. + +"Life is a queer, confusing thing! There are one or two people in the +church who have enjoyed making things difficult (even in the most +lamb-like and pleasant congregations such are to be found), and I have +always promised myself that some day, in a few well-chosen words, I +should tell them what I thought of them. Well, here is my opportunity, +and I find I don't want to use it! After all, they are not so +complacent, so crassly stupid, so dead to all fine feeling as I thought +they were. They are really quite decent folk. The one I disliked +most--the sort of man who says a minister is well paid with 'three +pounds a week and a free house'--a Socialist, a leveller, this man came +to see Father the other night after he had 'cleaned hissel' after the +day's work. There were actually tears in his suspicious small eyes when +he saw Father so frail-looking, and he talked in what was for him quite +a hushed small voice on uncontroversial subjects. As he was going out +of the room he stopped and blurted out, 'I niver believed a Tory could +be a Christian till I kent you." ... I am glad I won't have to say +good-bye to Peggy. I saw her yesterday afternoon, and she didn't seem +any worse, and we were happy together. This morning they sent up to +tell me she had died suddenly in the night. She went away 'very +peaceably,' her father said. It wasn't the word he meant, but he spoke +more truly than he knew. She went 'peaceably' because there was no +resentment or fear in her child's heart. To souls like Peggy's, +innocent and quiet, God gives the knowledge that Death is but His +angel, a messenger of light in whom is no darkness at all.... + +"I have opened this to tell you a piece of news that has pleased me +very much. Do you remember my friend Kirsty Christie and her fiance Mr. +Hamilton? Perhaps you have forgotten them, though I expect the evening +you spent at the Christies' house is seared on your memory, and I +assure you your 'Cockney accent' has quite spoiled Mrs. Christie for +the plain Glasgow of her family circle; well, anyway, Kirsty can't +marry Mr. Hamilton until he has got a church, and it so happened that +the minister at Langhope, the nearest village to Etterick, was finding +his work too much and felt he must resign. Here was my chance! (Oh for +the old bad days of patronage!) I don't say I didn't pull strings. I +did. I pulled about fifty, and tangled most of them; but the upshot is +that they have elected Mr. Hamilton to be minister of Langhope. They +are a wise and fortunate people, for he is one of the best; and just +think of the fun for me having Kirsty settled near us! + +"It is the nicest thing that has happened for a long time. I have just +thought of another thing--it is a solution of the superfluous furniture +problem. + +"Langhope Manse is large and the stipend small, and I don't think +Kirsty would mind taking our furniture. I shall ask her delicately, +using 'tack.'" + + + + +_CHAPTER XVIII_ + +THE END OF AN OLD SONG + + +The Setons left Glasgow in the end of May. + +On the evening before they left Thomas and Billy made a formal farewell +visit, on the invitation of Elizabeth and Buff, who were holding high +revel in the dismantled house. + +Mr. Seton had gone to stay with friends, who could be trusted to look +after him very carefully, until the bustle and discomfort of the +removal was over. Buff was to have gone with his father, but he begged +so hard to be allowed to stay and help that in spite of Marget's +opposition (she held her own views on his helpfulness), his sister gave +in. + +He and his two friends had enjoyed a full and satisfying week among +wooden crates and furniture vans, and were sincerely sorry that the +halcyon time was nearly over; in fact, Thomas had been heard to remark, +"When I'm a man I'll flit every month." + +Poor Thomas, in spite of the flitting, felt very low in spirits. He had +done his best to dissuade the Setons from leaving Glasgow. Every +morning for a week he had come in primed with a fresh objection. Had +Elizabeth, he asked, thought what it meant to live so far from a +station? Had Elizabeth thought what it meant to be at the mercy of +oil-lamps? "Mamma" said that six weeks of Arran in the summer was more +than enough of the country. Had Elizabeth thought that she would never +get any servants to stay? + +He did not conceal from them that "Mamma" thought the whole project +"very daftlike." To judge from Thomas, "Mamma" must have expressed +herself with some vigour, and Elizabeth could only hope that that +placid lady would never know the use her son had made of her name and +conversation. + +But the efforts of Thomas had been unavailing, and the last evening had +come. + +Thomas and Billy, feeling the solemnity of the occasion needed some +expression, did not open the door and run in as was their custom, but +reached up and rang a peal at the bell, a peal that clanged like a +challenge through the empty house and brought Ellen hurrying up the +kitchen stairs, expecting a telegram at the very least. Finding only +the familiar figures of Thomas and Billy, she murmured to herself, +"What next, I wonder?" and leading the way to the drawing-room, +announced the illustrious couple. + +Buff greeted them with a joyous shout. + +"Come on. I helped to fry the potatoes." + +The supper had been chosen by the boys themselves, and consisted of +sausages and fried potatoes, jam tartlets and tinned pineapple, with +home-made toffee to follow; also two syphons of lemonade. + +It was spread on a small table, the tablecloth was a kitchen towel, and +there was only one tumbler and the barest allowance of knives and +forks; but Buff was charmed with his feast, and hospitably eager that +his guests should enjoy it. + +"Come on," he said again. + +But Thomas, gripping Billy's hand, hung back, and it was seen that he +carried a parcel. + +"I've brought Buff a present," he announced. + +"Oh, Thomas!" said Elizabeth, "not another! After that lovely box of +tools." + +"Yes," said Thomas firmly. "It's a book--a wee religious book." He +handed it to Elizabeth. "It's about angels." + +Elizabeth did not look at her young brother, but undid the paper, +opened the book and read: + + "It came upon the midnight clear, + That glorious song of old, + From angels bending near the earth + To touch their harps of gold: + 'Peace on the earth, good-will to men, + From heaven's all-gracious King!' + The world in solemn stillness lay + To hear the angels sing." + + +"How nice! and the pictures are beautiful, Thomas. It's a lovely +present. Look at it, Buff!" + +Buff looked at it and then he looked at Thomas. "What made you think I +wanted a book about angels?" he demanded. + +"Nothing in your behaviour, old man," his sister hastened to assure +him. "D'you know you've never said Thank you!" + +Buff said it, but there was a marked lack of enthusiasm in his tone. + +"I didn't buy it," Thomas said, feeling the present needed some +explanation. "Aunt Jeanie sent it at Christmas to Papa, and Papa wasn't +caring much about angels, and Mamma said I could give it to Buff; she +said it might improve him." + +"I _knew_ he didn't buy it!" shouted Buff, passing over the aspersion +on his character. "I knew it all the time. Nobody would _buy_ a book +like that: it's the kind that get given you." + +"Aunt Jeanie sent me the _Prodigal Son_," broke in Billy in his gentle +little voice (he often acted as oil to the troubled waters of Buff and +Thomas). "I like the picture of the Prodigal eating the swine's husks. +There's a big swine looking at him as if it would bite him." + +"Should think so," Thomas said. "If you were a swine you wouldn't like +prodigals coming eating your husks." + +"I don't think, Billy," said Elizabeth, looking meditatively at him, +"that you will ever be a prodigal, but I can quite see Thomas as the +elder brother----Ah! here comes Ellen with the sausages!" + +It was a very successful party, noisy and appreciative, and after they +had eaten everything there was to eat, including the toffee, and licked +their sticky fingers, they had a concert. + +Billy sang in a most genteel manner a ribald song about a "cuddy" at +Kilmarnock Fair; Buff recited with great vigour what he and Elizabeth +between them could remember of "The Ballad of the Revenge"; and Thomas, +not to be outdone, thrust Macaulay's Lays into Elizabeth's hands, +crying, "Here, hold that, and I'll do How Horatius kept the bridge." + +At last Elizabeth declared that the entertainment had come to an end, +and the guests reluctantly prepared to depart. + +"You're quite sure you'll invite us to Etterick?" was Thomas's parting +remark. "You won't forget when you're away?" + +"Oh, Thomas!" Elizabeth asked him reproachfully, "have I proved myself +such a broken reed? I promise you faithfully that at the end of June I +shall write to Mamma and suggest the day and the train and everything. +I'll go further. I'll borrow a car and meet you at the junction. Will +that do?" + +Thomas nodded, satisfied, and she patted each small head. "Good-bye, my +funnies. We shall miss you very much." + +When Elizabeth had seen Buff in bed she came downstairs to the +dismantled drawing-room. + +Ellen had tidied away the supper-table and made up the fire, and pulled +forward the only decent chair, and had done her best to make the room +look habitable. + +It was still daylight, but just too dark to read with comfort, and +Elizabeth folded her tired hands and gave herself up to idleness. She +had been getting gradually more depressed each day, as the familiar +things were carried out of the house, and to-night her heart felt like +a physical weight and her eyes smarted with unshed tears. The ending of +an old song hurts. + +Sitting alone in the empty, silent room, a room once so well peopled +and full of happy sound, she had a curious unsubstantial feeling, as if +she were but part of the baseless fabric of a vision and might dissolve +and "leave not a rack behind." ... The usually cheerful room was +haunted to-night, memories thronged round her, plucking at her to +recall themselves. It was in this room that her mother had sung to them +and played with them--and never minded when things were knocked down +and broken. Over there, in the corner of the ceiling near the window, +there was still an ugly mark made by Walter and a cricket-ball, and she +remembered how her father had said, so regretfully, "And it was such a +handsome cornice!" and her mother had laughed--peals of laughter like a +happy schoolgirl, and taken her husband's arm and said, "You dear +innocent!" It was a funny thing to call one's father, she remembered +thinking at the time, and did not seem to have any connection with the +cornice. All sorts of little things, long forgotten, came stealing +back; the boys' funny sayings--Sandy, standing a determined little +figure, assuring his mother, "_I shall always stay with you, Mums, and +if anyone comes to marry me I shall hide in the dirty clothes basket._" + +And now Sandy and his mother were together for always. + +Elizabeth slipped on to the floor, and kneeling by the chair as she had +knelt as a child--"O God," she prayed, "don't take anybody else. Leave +me Father and Buffy and the boys in India. Please leave them to me--if +it be Thy will. Amen." + +She was still kneeling with her head on her folded arms when Marget +came into the room carrying a tray. She made no comment on seeing the +attitude of her mistress, but, putting the tray on the table, she went +over to the window, and, remarking that if they had to flit it was a +blessing Providence had arranged that they should flit when the days +were long, she proceeded to pull down the blinds and light the gas. + +Then she leaned over her mistress and addressed her as if she were a +small child. + +"I've brocht ye a cup o' tea an' a wee bit buttered toast. Ye wud get +nae supper wi' thae wild laddies. Drink it while it's hot, and get awa' +to your bed, like a guid lassie." + +Elizabeth uncoiled herself (to use her own phrase) and rose to her +feet. She blinked in the gas-light with her tear-swollen eyes, then she +made a face at Marget and laughed: + +"I'm an idiot, Marget, but somehow to-night it all seemed to come back. +You and I have seen--changes.... You're a kind old dear, anyway; it's a +good thing we always have you." + +"It is that," Marget agreed. "What aboot the men's breakfasts the +morn's morning? I doot we hevna left dishes to gang roond." She stood +and talked until she had seen Elizabeth drink the tea and eat the +toast, and then herded her upstairs to bed. + + * * * * * + +One day in the end of June, Elizabeth fulfilled her promise to Thomas, +and wrote to Mrs. Kirke asking if her two sons could be dispatched on a +certain date by a certain train, and arrangements would be made for +meeting them at the junction. + +It was a hot shining afternoon, and the Setons were having tea by the +burnside. + +Mr. Jamieson (the lame Sunday-school teacher from the church in +Glasgow) was staying with them for a fortnight, and he sat in a +comfortable deck-chair with a book in his lap; but he read little, the +book of Nature was more fascinating than even Sir Walter. His delight +in his surroundings touched Elizabeth. "To think," she said to her +father, "that we never thought of asking Mr. Jamieson to Etterick +before! Lumps of selfishness, that's what we are." + +Mr. Seton suggested that it was more want of thought. + +"It amounts to the same thing," said his daughter. "I wonder if it +would be possible to have Bob Scott out here? You know, my little waif +with the drunken father? Of course he would corrupt the whole +neighbourhood in about two days and be a horribly bad influence with +Buff--but I don't believe the poor little chap has ever been in the +real country. We must try to plan." + +Mr. Seton sat reading _The Times_. He was greatly worried about Ulster, +and frequently said "_Tut-tut_" as he read. + +Buff had helped Ellen to carry everything out for tea, and was now in +the burn, splashing about, building stones into a dam. Buff was very +happy. Presently, Mr. Hamilton, the new minister at Langhope, was going +to take him in hand and prepare him for school, but in the meantime he +attended the village school--a haunt that his soul loved. He modelled +his appearances and manners on the friends he made there, acquired a +rich Border accent, and was in no way to be distinguished from the +other scholars. At luncheon that day, he had informed his family that +Wullie Veitch (the ploughman's son) had said, after a scuffle in the +playground, "Seton's trampit ma piece fair useless"; and the same youth +had summed up the new-comer in a sentence: "Everything Seton says is +aither rideeclous or confounded," a judgment which, instead of +annoying, amused and delighted both the new-comer and his family. + +Things had worked out amazingly well, Elizabeth thought, as she sat +with her writing-pad on her knee and looking at her family. Her father +seemed better, and was most contented with his life. Buff was growing +every day browner and stronger. The house was all in order after the +improvements they had made, and was even more charming than she had +hoped it would be. The garden was a riot of colour and scent, and a +never-ending delight. To her great relief, Marget and Ellen had settled +down with Watty Laidlaw and his wife in peace and quiet accord, and had +even been heard to say that they _preferred_ the country. + +After getting Etterick into order, Elizabeth had worked hard at +Langhope Manse. + +The wedding had taken place a week before, and tomorrow Andrew Hamilton +would bring home his bride. + +Elizabeth, with her gift of throwing her whole self into her friends' +interests, was as eager and excited as if she were the bride and hers +the new home. True, much of it was not to her liking. She hated a +dining-room "suite" covered in Utrecht velvet, and she thought Kirsty's +friends had been singularly ill-advised in their choice of wedding +presents. + +Kirsty had refused to think of looking for old things for her +drawing-room. She said in her sensible way that things got old soon +enough without starting with them old; and she just hated old faded +rugs, there was nothing to beat a good Axminster. + +She was very pleased, however, to accept the Seton's spare furniture. +It was solid mid-Victorian, polished and cared-for, and as good as the +day it was made. The drawers in the wardrobes and dressing-tables moved +with a fluency foreign to the showy present-day "Sheraton" and +"Chippendale" suites, and Kirsty appreciated this. + +Elizabeth had done her best to make the rooms pretty, and only that +morning she had put the finishing touches, and looked round the rooms +brave in their fresh chintzes and curtains, sniffed the mingled odours +of new paint and sweet-peas, and thought how Kirsty would love it all. +The store-room she had taken especial pains with, and had even wrested +treasures in the way of pots and jars from the store-room at Etterick +(to Marget's wrath and disgust), and carried them in the pony-cart to +help to fill the rather empty shelves at Langhope. + +So this sunny afternoon, as Elizabeth rose from her writing and began +to pour out the tea, she felt at peace with all mankind. + +She arranged Mr. Jamieson's teacup on a little table by his side, and +made it all comfortable for him. "Put away the paper, Father," she +cried, "and come and have your tea, and help me to count our blessings. +Let's forget Ulster for half an hour." + +Mr. Seton obediently laid down the paper and came to the table. + +"Dear me," he said, "this is very pleasant." + +The bees drowsed among the heather, white butterflies fluttered over +the wild thyme and the little yellow and white violas that starred the +turf, and the sound of the burn and the gentle crying of sheep made a +wonderful peace in the afternoon air. Marget's scones and new-made +butter and jam seemed more than usually delicious, and--"Aren't we well +off?" asked Elizabeth. + +Mr. Jamieson looked round him with a sigh of utter content, and Mr. +Seton said, "I wish I thought that the rest of the world was as +peaceful as this little glen." He helped himself to jam. "The situation +in Ireland seems to grow more hopeless every day; and by the way, +Jamieson, did you see that the Emperor of Austria's heir has been +assassinated along with his wife?" + +"I saw that," said Mr. Jamieson. "I hope it won't mean trouble." + +"It seems a pointless crime," said Elizabeth. + +"Buff, come out of the burn, you water-kelpie, and take your tea." + +Buff was trying to drag a large stone from the bed of the stream, and +was addressing it as he had heard the stable-boy address the +pony--"Stan' up, ye brit! Wud ye, though?"--but at his sister's command +he ceased his efforts and crawled up the bank to have his hands dried +in his father's handkerchief. + +It never took Buff long to eat a meal, and in a very few minutes he had +eaten three scones and drunk two cups of milk, and laid himself face +down-wards in the heather to ruminate. + +"Mr. Jamieson," he said suddenly, "if a robber stole your money and +went in a ship to South Africa, how would you get at him?" + +Mr. Jamieson, unversed in the ways of criminals, was at a loss. + +"I doubt I would just need to lose it," he said. + +This was feeble. Buff turned to his father and asked what course he +would follow. + +"I think," said Mr. Seton, "that I would cable to the police to board +the ship at the first port." + +Buff rejected this method as tame and unspectacular. + +"What would you do, Lizbeth?" + +"It depends," said Elizabeth, "on how much money I had. If it was a +lot, I would send a detective to recover it. But sending a detective +would cost a lot." + +Buff thought deeply for a few seconds. + +"I know what I would do," he said. "I would send a +_bloodhound_--_steerage_." + + + + +_CHAPTER XIX_ + + "How wilt thou do in the swelling of Jordan?" + + "As dying, and behold we live." + + +You know, of course, Gentle Reader, that there can be no end to this +little chronicle? + +You know that when a story begins in 1913, 1914 will follow, and that +in that year certainty came to an end, plans ceased to come to +fruition--that, in fact, the lives of all of us cracked across. + +Personally, I detest tales that end in the air. I like all the strings +gathered up tidily in the last chapter and tied neatly into nuptial +knots; so I should have liked to be able to tell you that Elizabeth +became a "grateful" wife, and that she and Arthur Townshend lived +happily and, in fairy-tale parlance, never drank out of an empty cup; +and that Stewart Stevenson ceased to think of Elizabeth (whom he never +really approved of) and fell in love with Jessie Thomson, and married +her one fine day in "Seton's kirk," and that all Jessie's aspirations +after refinement and late dinner were amply fulfilled. + +But, alas! as I write (May 1917) the guns still boom continuously out +there in France, and there is scarce a rift to be seen in the +war-clouds that obscure the day. + +Jessie Thomson is a V.A.D. now and a very efficient worker, as befits +the daughter of Mrs. Thomson. She has not time to worry about her +mother's homely ways, nor is she so hag-ridden by the Simpsons. +Gertrude Simpson, by the way, is, according to her mother, "marrying +into the Navy--a Lieutenant-Commander, no less," and, according to Mrs. +Thomson, is "neither to haud nor bind" in consequence. + +Stewart Stevenson went on with his work for three months after war +began, but he was thinking deeply all the time, and one day in November +he put all his painting things away--very tidily--locked up the studio +and went home to tell his parents he had decided to go. His was no +martial spirit, he hated the very name of war and loathed the thought +of the training, but he went because he felt it would be a pitiful +thing if anyone had to take his place. + +His mother sits among the time-pieces in Lochnagar and knits socks, and +packs parcels, and cries a good deal. Both she and her husband have +grown much greyer, and they somehow appear smaller. Stewart, you see, +is their only son. + +It is useless to tell over the days of August 1914. They are branded on +the memory. The stupefaction, the reading of newspapers until we were +dazed and half-blind, the endless talking, the frenzy of knitting into +which the women threw themselves, thankful to find something that would +at least occupy their hands. We talked so glibly about what we did not +understand. We repeated parrot-like to each other, "It will take all +our men and all our treasure," and had no notion how truly we spoke or +how hard a saying we were to find it. And all the time the sun shone. + +It was particularly hard to believe in the war at Etterick. No +khaki-clad men disturbed the peace of the glen, no trains rushed past +crowded with troops, no aeroplanes circled in the heavens. The hills +and the burn and the peeweets remained the same, the high hollyhocks +flaunted themselves against the grey garden wall; nothing was +changed--and yet everything was different. + +Buff and Thomas and Billy, as pleased and excited as if it were some +gigantic show got up for their benefit, equipped themselves with +weapons and spent laborious days tracking spies in the heather and +charging down the hillside; performing many deeds of valour for which, +in the evening, they solemnly presented each other with suitable +decorations. + +Towards the end of August, when they were at breakfast one morning, +Arthur Townshend suddenly appeared, having come up by the night train +and motored from the junction. + +His arrival created great excitement, Buff throwing himself upon him +and demanding to know why he had come. + +"Well, you know, you did invite me in August," Arthur reminded him. + +"And when are you going away?" (This was Buff's favourite formula with +guests, and he could never be made to see that it would be prettier if +he said, "How long can you stay?") + +Arthur shook hands with Elizabeth and her father, and replied: + +"I'm going away this evening as ever was. It sounds absurd," in answer +to Elizabeth's exclamation, "but I must be back in London to-morrow +morning. I had no notion when I might have a chance of seeing you all +again, so I just came off when I had a free day." + +"Dear me!" said Mr. Seton. "You young people are like Ariel or Puck, +the way you fly about." + +"Oh! _is_ it to be the Flying Corps?" asked Elizabeth. + +"No--worse luck! Pilled for my eyesight. But I'm passed for the +infantry, and to-morrow I enter the Artists' Rifles. I may get a +commission and go to France quite soon." + +Ellen came in with a fresh supply of food, and breakfast was a +prolonged meal; for the Setons had many questions to ask and Arthur had +much to tell them. + +"You're a godsend to us," Elizabeth told him, "for you remain normal. +People here are all unstrung. The neighbours arrive in excited +motorfuls, children and dogs and all, and we sit and knit, and drink +tea and tell each other the most absurd tales. And rumours leap from +end to end of the county, and we imagine we hear guns on the +Forth--which isn't humanly possible--and people who have boys in the +Navy are tortured with silly lies about sea-battles and the sinking of +warships." + +Before luncheon, Arthur was dragged out by the boys to admire their +pets; but though they looked at such peaceful objects as rabbits, a +jackdaw with a wooden leg, and the giant trout that lived in Prince +Charlie's Well, all their talk was of battles. They wore sacking round +their legs to look like putties, their belts were stuck full of +weapons, and they yearned to shed blood. No one would have thought, to +hear their bloodthirsty talk, that only that morning they had, all +three, wept bitter tears because the sandy cat from the stables had +killed a swallow. + +Billy, who had got mixed in his small mind between friend and foe, +announced that he had, a few minutes ago, killed seven Russians whom he +had found lurking among the gooseberry bushes in the kitchen garden, +and was instantly suppressed by Thomas, who hissed at him, "You don't +kill _allies_, silly. You inter them." + +In the afternoon, while Mr. Seton took his reluctant daily rest, and +the boys were busy with some plot of their own in the stockyard, +Elizabeth and Arthur wandered out together. + +They went first to see the walled garden, now ablaze with autumn +flowers; but beautiful though it was it did not keep them long, for +something in the day and something in themselves seemed to demand the +uplands, and they turned their steps to the hills. + +It was an easy climb, and they walked quickly, and soon stood at the +cairn of stones that marked the top of the hill behind the house, stood +breathless and glad of a rest, looking at the countryside spread out +beneath them. + +In most of the fields the corn stood in "stooks"; the last field was +being cut this golden afternoon, and the hum of the reaping-machine was +loud in the still air. + +Far away a wisp of white smoke told that the little branch-line train +was making its leisurely journey from one small flower-scented station +to another. Soon the workers would gather up their things and go home, +the day's work finished. + +All was peace. + +And there was no peace. + +The tears came into Elizabeth's eyes as she looked, and Arthur answered +the thought that brought the tears. "It's worth dying for," he said. + +Elizabeth nodded, not trusting her voice. + +They turned away and talked on trivial matters, and laughed, and +presently fell silent again. + +"Elizabeth," said Arthur suddenly, "I wish you didn't scare me so." + +"_Do_ I? I'm very much gratified to hear it. I had no idea I inspired +awe in any mortal." + +"Well--that isn't at all a suitable reply to my remark. I wanted you to +assure me that there was no need to be scared." + +"There isn't. What can I do for you? Ask and I shall grant it, even to +the half of my kingdom." + +"When we get this job over may I come straight to you?" + +Elizabeth had no coyness in her nature, and she now turned her grey +eyes--not mocking now but soft and shining--on the anxious face of her +companion and said: + +"Indeed, my dear, you may. Just as straight as you can come, and I +shall be waiting for you on the doorstep. It has taken a European war +to make me realize it, but you are the only man in the world so far as +I am concerned." + +Some time later Arthur said, "I'm going away extraordinarily happy. By +Jove, I ought to be some use at fighting now"; and he laughed boyishly. + +"Oh, don't," said Elizabeth. "You've reminded me, and I was trying to +make believe you weren't going away. I'm afraid--oh! Arthur, I'm +horribly afraid, that you won't be allowed to come back, that you will +be snatched from me----" + +"I may not come back," said Arthur soberly, "but I won't be snatched. +You give me, and I give myself, willingly. But, Lizbeth, beloved, it +isn't like you to be afraid." + +"Yes, it is. I've always been scared of something. When I was tiny it +was the Last Day. I hardly dared go the afternoon walk with Leezie in +case it came like a thief in the night and found me far from my home +and parents. I walked with my eyes shut, and bumped into people and +lamp-posts, because I was sure if I opened them I should see the Angel +Gabriel standing on the top of a house with a trumpet in his hand, and +the heavens rolling up like a scroll, and I didn't know about parchment +scrolls and thought it was a _brandy-scroll_, which made it so much +worse." + +"Oh! my funny Elizabeth!" Arthur said tenderly. "I wish I could have +been there to see you; I grudge all the years I didn't know you." + +"Oh," said Elizabeth, "it wouldn't have been much good knowing each +other in those days. I was about five, I suppose, and you would be +nine. You would merely have seen a tiresome little girl, and I would +have seen a superior sort of boy, and I should probably have put out my +tongue at you. I wasn't a nice child; mine is a faulty and tattered +past." + +"When did you begin to reform?" Arthur asked, "for it was a very sedate +lady I found in Glasgow. Tell me, Lizbeth, why were you so discouraging +to me then? You must have known I cared." + +"Well, you see, I'm a queer creature--affectionate but not very +_loving_. I never think that 'love' is a word to use much if people are +all well and things in their ordinary. And you were frightfully +English, you can't deny it, and a monocle, and everything very much +against you. And then Aunt Alice's intention of being a sort of fairy +godmother was so obvious--it seemed feeble to tumble so easily in with +her plans. But I suppose I cared all the time, and I can see now that +it was very petty of me to pretend indifference." + +"Petty?" said Arthur in fine scorn. "_You_ couldn't be petty. But I'm +afraid I'm still 'frightfully' English, and I've still got astigmatism +in one eye--are you sure you can overlook these blemishes? ... But +seriously, Lizbeth--if I never come back to you, if I am one of the +'costs,' if all you and I are to have together, O my beloved, is just +this one perfect afternoon, it will still be all right. Won't it? You +will laugh and be your own gallant self, and know that I am loving you +and waiting for you--farther on. It will be all right, Lizbeth?" + +She nodded, smiling at him bravely. + +"Then kiss me, my very own." + + * * * * * + +The days drew in, and the Setons settled down for the winter. James +Seton occupied himself for several hours in the day writing a history +of the district, and found it a great interest. He said little about +the war, and told his daughter he had prayed for grace to hold his +peace; but he was a comforter to the people round when the war touched +their homes. + +Elizabeth was determined that she would have busy days. She became the +Visitor for the district for the Soldiers' and Sailors' Families +Association; she sang at war-concerts; she amused her father and Buff; +she knitted socks and wrote letters. She went to Glasgow as often as +she could be spared to visit her friends in the Gorbals, and came back +laden with tales for her father--tales that made him laugh with tears +in his eyes, for it was "tragical mirth." + +To mothers who lost their sons she was a welcome visitor. They never +felt her out of place, or an embarrassment, this tall golden-haired +creature, as she sat on a wooden chair by the kitchen fire and listened +and understood and cried with them. They brought out their pitiful +treasures for her--the half-finished letter that had been found in +"Jimmy's" pocket when death overtook him, the few French coins, the +picture-postcard of his wee sister--and she held them tenderly and +reverently while they told the tale of their grief. + +"Oh! ma wee Jimmie," one poor mother lamented to her. "Little did I +think I wud never see him again. The nicht he gaed awa' he had to be at +the station at nine o'clock, and he said nane o' us were to gang wi' +him. I hed an awfu' guid supper for him, for I thinks to masel', 'It's +no' likely the laddie'll ever see a dacent meal in France,' an' he +likit it rare weel. An' syne he lookit at the time, an' he says, 'I'll +awa' then,' an' I juist turned kinda seeck-like when he said it. He +said guid-bye to the lasses an' wee John, but he never said guid-bye to +me. Na. He was a sic a man, ye ken, an' he didna want to +greet--eighteen he was, ma wee bairn. I tell't the ithers to keep back, +an' I gaed oot efter him to the stair-heid. He stood on the top step, +an' he lookit at me, 'S'long, then, Mither,' he says. An' he gaed doon +twa-three steps, an' he stoppit again, an' 'S'long, Mither,' he says. +Syne he got to the turn o' the stair, an' he stood an' lookit as if he +juist cudna gang--I can see him noo, wi' his Glengarry bunnet cockit +that gallant on his heid--and he cried, 'S'long, Mither,' an' he ran +doon the stair--ma wee laddie." + +It was astonishing to Elizabeth how quickly the women became quite at +home with those foreign places with the strange outlandish names that +swallowed up their men. + +"Ay," one woman told her (this was later), "I sent oot a plum-puddin' +in a cloth to ma son Jake--I sent twa o' them, an' I said to him that +wan o' them was for Dan'l Scott--his mither was a neebor o' mine an' a +dacent wumman an' she's deid--an' Jake wasna near Dan'l at the time, +but the first chance he got he tuk the puddin' an' he rum'led a' roond +Gally Polly until he fand him--and then they made a nicht o't." + +Evidently, in her mind "Gally Polly" was a jovial sort of place, rather +like Argyle Street on a Saturday night. As Elizabeth told her father, +Glasgow people gave a homely, cosy feeling to any part of the world +they went to--even to the blasted, shell-strewn fields of Flanders and +Gallipoli. + +The winter wore on, and Arthur Townshend got his commission and went to +France. + +Elizabeth sent him a parcel every week, and the whole household +contributed to it. Marget baked cakes, Mrs. Laidlaw made +treacle-toffee, Mr. Seton sent books, Buff painted pictures, and +Elizabeth put in everything she could think of. But much though he +appreciated the parcels he liked the letters more. + +In November she wrote to him: "We have heard this morning that Alan's +regiment has landed in France. He thinks he may get a few days' leave, +perhaps next month. It would be joyful if he were home for Christmas. + +"Poor old Walter, hung up in the Secretariat, comforts himself that his +leave is due next year, and hopes--hopes, the wicked one!--that the war +will still be going on then. Your letters are a tremendous interest. I +read parts of them to Father and Buff, and last night your tale of the +wild Highlander who was 'King of Ypres' so excited them that Father got +up to shut the door--you know how he does when he is moved over +anything--and Buff spun round the room like a teetotum, telling it all +over again, with himself as hero. That child gives himself the most +rich and varied existence spinning romances in which he is the central +figure. He means to be a Hero when he grows up (an improbable +profession!) but I expect school will teach him to be an ordinary +sensible boy. And what a pity that will be! By the way, you won't get +any more Bible pictures from him. Father had to forbid them. Buff was +allowing his fancy to play too freely among sacred subjects, poor old +pet! + +"The war is turning everything topsy-turvy. You never thought to +acquire the dignity of a second lieutenant, and I hardly expected to +come down the social scale with a rattle, but so it is. I am a +housemaid. Our invaluable Ellen has gone to make munitions and I am +trying to take her place. You see, I can't go and make munitions, +because I must stay with Father and Buff, but it seemed a pity to keep +an able-bodied woman to sweep and dust our rooms for us when I could +quite well do it. Marget waits the table now, and Mrs. Laidlaw helps +her with the kitchen work. + +"Ellen was most unwilling to go--she had been five years with us, and +she clings like ivy to people she is accustomed to--but when her sister +wrote about the opportunity for clever hands and that a place was open +for her if she would take it, I unclung her, and now she writes to me +so contentedly that I am sure that she is clinging round munitions. We +miss her dreadfully, not only for her work but for her nice gentle +self; but I flatter myself that I am acting understudy quite well. And +I enjoy it. The daily round, the common task don't bore me one bit. +True, it is always the same old work and the same old dust, but _I_ am +different every day--some days on the heights, some days in the +_howes_. I try to be very methodical, and I 'turn out' the rooms as +regularly as even Mrs. Thomson, that cleanest of women, could desire. +And there is no tonic like it. No matter how anxious and depressed I +may be when I begin to clean a bedroom, by the time I have got the +furniture back in its place, the floor polished with beeswax and +turpentine, and clean covers on the toilet-table, my spirits simply +won't keep from soaring. You will be startled to hear that I rise at 6 +a.m. I like to get as much done as possible before breakfast, and I +find that when I have done 'the nastiest thing in the day' and get my +feet on to the floor, it doesn't matter whether it is six o'clock or +eight. Only, my cold bath is very cold at that early hour--but I think +of you people in France and pour contempt on my shivering self. To +lighten our labours, we have got a vacuum cleaner, one of the kind you +stand on and work from side to side. Buff delights to help with this +thing, and he and I see-saw together. Sometimes we sing 'A life on the +ocean wave,' which adds greatly to the hilarity of the occasion. By the +time the war is over I expect to be so healthy and wealthy and wise +that I shall want to continue to be a housemaid.... + +"I don't suppose life at the Front is just all you would have our fancy +paint? In fact, it must be ghastly beyond all words, and how you all +stand it I know not. I simply can't bear to be comfortable by the +fireside--but that is silly, for I know the only thing that keeps you +all going is the thought that we are safe and warm at home. The war has +come very near to us these last few days. A boy whom we knew very +well--Tommy Elliot--has fallen. They have a place near here. His father +was killed in the Boer War and Tommy was his mother's only child. He +was nineteen and just got his commission before war broke out. The +pride of him! And how Buff and Billy and Thomas lay at his feet! He was +the nicest boy imaginable--never thought it beneath his dignity to play +with little boys, or be sweet to his mother. I never heard anyone with +such a hearty laugh. It made you laugh to hear it. Thank God he found +so much to laugh at, and so little reason for tears. + +"I went over to see Mrs. Elliot. I hardly dared to go, but I couldn't +stay away. She was sitting in the room they call the 'summer parlour.' +It is a room I love in summer, full of dark oak and coolness and +sweet-smelling flowers, but cold and rather dark in winter. She is a +woman of many friends, and the writing-table was heaped with letters +and telegrams--very few of them opened. She seemed glad to see me, and +was calm and smiling; but the stricken look in her eyes made me behave +like an utter idiot. When I could speak I suggested that I had better +go away, but she began to speak about him, and I thought it might help +her to have a listener who cared too. She told me why she was sitting +in the summer parlour. She had used it a great deal for writing, and he +had always come in that way, so that he would find her just at once. +'Sometimes,' she said, 'I didn't turn my head, for I knew he liked to +"pounce"--a relic from the little-boy days when he was a black puma.' +Her smile when she said it broke one's heart. 'If I didn't happen to be +here, he went from room to room, walking warily with his nailed boots +on the polished floors, saying "Mother! Mother!" until he found me.' + +"_How are the dead raised up? and with what bodies do they come?_ I +suppose that is the most important question in the world to us all, and +we seek for the answer as they who dig for hid treasure. But all the +sermons preached and all the books written about it help not at all, +for the preachers and the writers are as ignorant as everybody else. My +own firm belief is that God, who made us with the power of loving, who +thought of the spring and gave young things their darling funny ways, +will not fail us here. He will know that to Tommy's mother the light of +heaven, which is neither of the sun nor the moon but a light most +precious, even like a jasper stone clear as crystal, will matter +nothing unless it shows her Tommy in his old homespun coat, with his +laughing face, ready to 'pounce'; and that she will bid the harpers +harping on their harps of gold still their noise while she listens for +the sound of boyish footsteps and a voice that says 'Mother! +Mother!' ... + +"We read some of the many letters together. They were all so kind and +full of real sympathy, but I noticed that she pushed carelessly aside +those that talked of her own feelings and kept those that talked of +what a splendid person Tommy was. + +"There was one rather smudged-looking envelope without a stamp, and we +wondered where it had come from. It was from Buff! He had written it +without asking anyone's advice, and had walked the three miles to +deliver it. I think that grimy little letter did Mrs. Elliot good. We +had read so many letters, all saying the same thing, all saying it more +or less beautifully, one had the feeling that one was being sluiced all +over with sympathy. Buff's was different. It ran: + +<BR> + +"'I am sorry that Tommy is killed for he had a cheery face and I liked +him. But it can't be helped. He will be quite comfortable with God and +I hope that someone is being kind to old Pepper for he liked him +too.--Your aff. friend + +David Stuart Seton. + +"'P.S.--I'm not allowed to draw riligus pictures now or I would have +shown you God being very glad to see Tommy.' + + +"'Old Pepper' is a mongrel that Tommy rescued and was kind to, and it +was so like Buff to think of the feelings of the dumb animal. + +"Tommy's mother held the letter in her hand very tenderly, and the only +tears I saw her shed dropped on it. Then 'Let us go out and look for +old Pepper,' she said, 'for "he liked him too."' + +"I came home very heavy-hearted, trying to comfort myself concerning +those splendid boys. + +"To die for one's country is a great privilege--God knows I don't say +that lightly, for any day I may hear that you or Alan have died that +death--and to those boys the honour has been given in the very +springtime of their days. + +"Most of us part from our lives reluctantly: they are taken from us, +and we go with shivering, shrinking feet down to the brink of the +River, but those sons of the morning throw their lives from them and +_spring_ across. I think God will look very kindly at our little boys. + +"And smug, middle-aged people say, 'Poor lads!' They dare to pity the +rich dead. Oh! the dull people dragging out their span of years without +ever finding out what living means! + +"But it breaks one's heart, the thought of the buried hopes. I have +been thinking of the father, the man in business who was keeping things +going until his boy would be through and ready to help him. There are +so many of them in Glasgow, and I used to like to listen to them +talking to each other in the car coming out from business. They boasted +so innocently of their boys, of this one's skill at cricket, that one's +prowess in the football field. + +"And now this cheery business man has no boy, only a room with a little +bed in the corner, a bookshelf full of adventure--stories and battered +school-books, a cricket bat and a bag of golf clubs; a wardrobe full of +clothes, and a most vivid selection of ties and socks, for the boy who +lies in France was very smart in his nice boyish way, and brushed his +hair until it shone. Oh! I wonder had anybody time to stroke just once +that shining head before it was laid away in the earth? remembering +that over the water hearts would break with yearning to see it again. + +"It isn't so bad when doleful people get sorrow, they at least have the +miserable satisfaction of saying they had always known it would come, +but when happy hearts are broken, when blythe people fall silent--the +sadness of it haunts one. + +"To talk of cheerier subjects. Aunt Alice is a heroine. Who would have +thought of her giving up her house for a hospital! Of course we always +knew, didn't we? that she was the most golden-hearted person in +existence, but it has taken a European war to make her practical. Now +she writes me long letters of advice about saving, and food values, and +is determined that she at least won't be a drag on her country in +winning the war. + +"Talk about saving, I asked one of my women the other day if she had +ever tried margarine. 'No,' she said earnestly, 'I niver touch it; an' +if I'm oot at ma tea an' no' verra sure if it's butter, I juist tak' +jeely.' I said no more. + +"And now, my very dear, it is perilously near midnight, and there is +not the slightest sound in this rather frightening old house, and not +the slightest sound on the moor outside, and I am getting rather scared +sitting up all alone. Besides, six o'clock comes very soon after +midnight! I am so sleepy, with all my housework, that, like the herd +laddie, I get no good out of my bed.--Goodnight, E." + + * * * * * + +A more contented woman than Kirsty Hamilton _nee_ Christie it would +have been difficult to find. Andrew Hamilton and Langhope Manse made to +her "Paradise enow." The little hard lines had gone from her face, and +she bustled about, a most efficient mistress, encouraging the small +maid to do her best work, and helping with her own capable hands. She +planned and cooked most savoury, thrifty dinners, and made every +shilling do the work of two; it was all sheer delight to her. +House-proud and husband-proud, she envied no one, and in fact sincerely +pitied every other woman because she could not have her Andrew. + +July, August, and September were three wonderful months to the +Hamiltons. They spent them settling into the new house (daily finding +new delights in it), working in the garden, and getting acquainted with +the congregation. + +After their one o'clock dinner, on good afternoons, they mounted their +bicycles and visited outlying members. Often they were asked to wait +for tea, such a fine farmhouse tea as town-bred Kirsty had never +dreamed of; and then they cycled home in the gloaming, talking, talking +all the time, until they came to their own gate--how good that sounded, +_their own gate_--and having wheeled their bicycles to the shed, they +would walk round the garden hand in hand, like happy children. + +Andrew had generally something to show Kirsty, some small improvement, +for he was a man of his hands; or if there was nothing new to see, they +would always go and again admire his chief treasures--a mossy bank that +in spring would be covered with violets, a stone dyke in which rock +plants had been encouraged to grow, and a little humpbacked bridge hung +with ferns. + +The war did not trouble Kirsty much. She was rather provoked that it +should have happened, for it hurt the church attendance and sadly +thinned the choir, and when Andrew had finished reading the papers he +would sometimes sit quite silent, looking before him, which made her +vaguely uneasy. + +Her own family were untouched by it. Archie had no thought of going to +train, the notion seemed to him ludicrous in the extreme, but he saw +his way to making some money fishing in the troubled waters. The Rev. +Johnston Christie confined his usefulness to violent denunciations of +the Kaiser from the pulpit every Sunday. He had been much impressed by +a phrase used by a prominent Anglican bishop about the Nailed Hand +beating the Mailed Fist--neat and telling he considered it, and used it +on every possible occasion. + +One afternoon in late October the Hamiltons were walking in their +garden. They had been lunching at Etterick, and were going in shortly +to have tea cosily by the study fire. It was a still day, with a touch +of winter in the air--_back end_, the village people called it, but the +stackyards were stocked, the potatoes and turnips were in pits, the +byres were full of feeding cattle, so they were ready for what winter +would bring them. + +To Andrew Hamilton, country-born and bred, every day was a delight. + +To-day, as he stood with his wife by the low fence at the foot of the +gardens and looked across the fields to the hills, he took a long +breath of the clean cold air, and said: + +"This--after ten years of lodging in Garnethill! Our lives have fallen +to us in pleasant places, Kirsty." + +"Yes," she agreed contentedly. "I never thought the country could be so +nice. I like the feel of the big stacks, and to think that the +stick-house is full of logs, and the apples in the garret, and +everything laid in for winter. Andrew, I'm glad winter is coming. It +will be so cosy the long evenings together--and only one meeting in the +week." + +Her husband put out his hand to stop her. "Don't, Kirsty," he said, as +if her words hurt him. + +In answer to her look of surprise, he went on: + +"Did you ever think, when this war was changing so much, that it would +change things for us too? Kirsty, my dear, I have thought it all out +and I feel I must go." + +Kirsty was apt to get cross when she was perturbed about anything, and +she now said, moving a step or two away, "What in the world d'you mean? +Where are you going?" + +"I'm going to enlist, with as many Langhope men as I can persuade to +accompany me. It's no use. I can't stand in the pulpit--a young strong +man--and say Go. I must say Come!" + +Now that it was out, he gave a sigh of relief. + +"Kirsty," he pleaded, "say you think I'm right." + +But Kirsty's face was white and drawn. + +"I thought you were happy," she said at last, with a pitiful little sob +on the last word. + +"So happy," said her husband, "that I have to go. Every time I came in +and found you waiting for me with the kettle singing, when I went out +in the morning and looked at the hills, when I walked in the garden and +knew that every bush in it was dear to me--then I remembered that these +things so dear were being bought with a price, and that the only decent +thing for me to do was to go and help to pay that price." + +"But only as a chaplain, surely?" + +Andrew shook his head. + +"I'm too young and able-bodied for a chaplain. I'm only thirty-two, and +though I'm not big I'm wiry." + +"The Archbishop of Canterbury says the clergy _shouldn't_ fight," +Kirsty reminded him. + +Andrew took her arm and looked very tenderly at her as he answered, +laughing, "Oh! Kirsty, since when did an Anglican bishop direct your +conscience and mine?" They walked slowly towards the house. + +On the doorstep Kirsty turned. + +"Andrew," she said, "have you thought it all out? Have you thought what +it may mean? Leaving the people here--perhaps they won't keep your +place open for you, for no man knows how long the war'll last--leaving +your comfortable home and your wife who--who loves you, and going away +to a life of hardship and exposure, and in the end perhaps--death. Have +you thought of this sacrifice you are making?" + +And her husband answered, "Yes, I have thought of all it may mean. I +don't feel I am wrong leaving the church, because Mr. Smillie is +willing to come back and look after the people in my absence. He will +stay in the Manse and be company for you." Here poor Kirsty sniffed. +"Oh! my dear, don't think I am going with a light heart. 'Stay at home, +then,' you say. 'Better men than you are will stay at home.' I know +they will, and I only wish I could stay with them, for the very thought +of war makes me sick. But because it is such a wrench to go, makes me +sure that I ought to go. Love and sacrifice--it's the way of the Cross, +Kirsty. The 'young Prince of Glory' walked that way, and I, one of His +humblest ministers, will find my way by His footprints." + +Kirsty said no more. Later, when Andrew was gone, her father came to +Langhope and in no uncertain voice expressed his opinion of his +son-in-law. That a man would leave a good down-sitting and go and be +private soldier seemed to him nothing short of madness. + +"Andrew's a fool," he said, with great conviction. + +"Yes," said Kirsty, "Andrew's a fool--a fool for Christ's sake, and you +and I can't even begin to understand what that means in the way of +nobility and courage and sacrifice, because we were born crawling +things. Andrew has wings, and my only hope is that they will be strong +enough to lift me with him--for oh! I couldn't bear to be left behind." +She ran from the room hurriedly, and left a very incensed gentleman +standing on the hearth-rug. + +Mr. Christie was accustomed to the adulation of females. He was a most +welcome guest at the "At Home" days of his flock. He would drop in and +ask in his jovial way for "a cup of your excellent tea, Mrs. +So-and-so," make mild ministerial jokes, and was always, in his own +words, "the purfect gentleman." + +And his daughter had called him "a crawling thing!" He was very cold to +Kirsty for the rest of his visit, and when he went home he told his +wife that marriage had not improved Christina. + +His little invalidish wife looked at him out of her shrewd childish +eyes and said, "That's a pity, now," but asked no questions. + +The old minister, Mr. Smillie (who was not so very old after all), left +his retirement and came back to Langhope, and preached with more vigour +than he had done for ten years. Perhaps he had found Edinburgh and +unlimited committees rather boring, or perhaps he felt that only his +best was good enough for this time. + +"Ay," said the village folk, "we've gotten the auld man back, and dod! +he's clean yauld! Oor young yin's fechtin', ye ken"; and they said it +with pride. It was not every village that had a minister fighting. + +The arrangement at the Manse worked very well. Kirsty, too, tried to do +her best, and Mr. Smillie, who had been all his life at the mercy of +housekeepers, felt he had suddenly acquired both a home and a daughter. +When Andrew got his commission, Mr. Smillie went into every house in +the village to tell them the news, and was almost as pleased and proud +as Kirsty herself. + +The Sabbath before he went to France Andrew Hamilton preached in his +own pulpit. His text was, "Thou hast given a banner to them that fear +Thee." + +Two months later, Kirsty got a letter from him. He said: "I played +football this afternoon in a match 'Officers _v._ Sergeants.' Perhaps +you won't hear from me very regularly for a bit, for things may be +happening; but don't worry about me, I shall be all right.... I am +going to a Company concert to-night to sing some Scots songs, and then, +with their own consent, I am going to speak to my men alone of more +serious things." + +The next day he led his men in an attack, and was reported "Missing." + +His colonel wrote to Kirsty: "I have no heart to write about him at +this time. If he is gone, I know too well what it means to you, and I +know what it means to the regiment. His ideals were an inspiration to +the men he led...." + +The rest was silence. + +Mr. Smillie still preaches, and Kirsty still sits in the Manse waiting +and hoping. Her face has grown very patient, and I think she feels that +if Andrew never comes back to her, she has wings which will some day +carry her to him. + + * * * * * + +Alan Seton got leave at Christmas for four days. + +The excitement at Etterick passed description. Marget cooked and baked +everything she could think of, and never once lost her temper. +Provisions were got out from Edinburgh; some people near lent a car for +the few days; nothing was lacking to do him honour. The house was hung +with holly from garret to basement, and in the most unexpected places; +for Buff, as decorator, was determined to be thorough. + +Everything was Christmas-like except the weather. Buff had been praying +very earnestly for snow and frost that they might toboggan, but +evidently his expectations had not been great nor his faith of the kind +that removes mountains, for when he looked out on Christmas Eve morning +he said, "I _knew_ it--raining!" + +They had not seen Alan for three years, and four days seemed a +deplorably short span of time to ask all they wanted to know. + +Buff was quite shy before this tall soldier-brother and for the first +hour eyed him in complete silence; then he sidled up to him with a book +in his hand, explaining that it was his chiefest treasure, and was +called _The Frontiersman's Pocket-Book_. It told you everything you +wanted to know if you were a frontiersman, which, Buff pointed out, was +very useful. Small-pox, enteric, snake-bite, sleeping-sickness, it gave +the treatment for them all and the cure--if there was one. + +"I like the note on 'Madness,'" said Elizabeth, who was watching the +little scene. "It says simply, 'Remove spurs.' Evidently, if the +patient is not wearing spurs, nothing can be done." + +Alan put his arm round his small brother. "It's a fine book, Buff. You +will be a useful man some day out in the Colonies stored with all that +information." + +"Would--would you like it, Alan?" Buff asked; and then, with a gulp of +resignation, "I'll give it you." + +"Thanks very much, old man," Alan said gravely. "It would be of +tremendous use to me in India, if you'll let me have it when I go back; +but over in France, you see, we are simply hotching with doctors, and +very little time for taking illnesses." + +"Well," said Buff in a relieved tone, "I'll keep it for you;" and he +departed with his treasure, in case Alan changed his mind. + +"I'm glad you didn't take it," said Elizabeth. "He would be very lonely +without that book. It lies down with him at night and rises with him in +the morning." + +"Rum little chap!" Alan said. "I've wanted him badly all the time in +India.... Lizbeth, is Father pretty seedy? You didn't say much in your +letters about why he retired, but I can see a big difference in him." + +"Oh! but he's better, Alan," Elizabeth assured him--"much better than +when he left Glasgow; then he did look frail." + +"Well, it is good to be home and see all you funny folk again," Alan +said contentedly, as he lay back in a most downy and capacious +arm-chair. "We don't get chairs like this in dug-outs." + +It was a wonderful four days, for everything that had been planned came +to pass in the most perfect way, and there was no hitch anywhere. + +Alan was in his highest spirits, full of stories of his men and of the +life out there. "You don't seem to realize, you people," he kept +telling them, "what tremendous luck it is for me coming in for this +jolly old war." + +He looked so well that Elizabeth's anxious heart was easier than it had +been for months. Things couldn't be so bad out there, she told herself, +if Alan could come back a picture of rude health and in such gay +spirits. On the last night Alan went up with Elizabeth to her room to +see, he said, if the fire were cosy, and sitting together on the +fender-stool they talked--talked of their father ("Take care of him, +Lizbeth," Alan said. "Father is a bit extra, you know. I've yet to find +a better man"), of how things had worked out, of Walter in India, of +the small Buff asleep next door--one of those fireside family talks +which are about the most comfortable things in the world. "I'm glad you +came to Etterick, I like to think of you here," Alan said. "Well--I'm +off to-morrow again." + +"Alan," said Elizabeth, "is it very awful?" + +"Well, it isn't a picnic, you know. It's pretty grim sometimes. But I +wouldn't be out of it for anything." + +"I'll tell you what I wish," said his sister. "I wish you could get a +bullet in your arm that would keep you from using it for a long time. +And we would get you home to nurse. Oh! wouldn't that be heavenly?" + +Alan laughed. + +"Nice patriotic creature you are! But seriously, Lizbeth, if I do get +knocked out--it does happen now and again, and there is no reason why I +should escape--I want you to know that I don't mind. I've had a +thoroughly good life. We've had our sad times--and the queer thing is +that out there it isn't sad to think about Mother and Sandy: it's +comforting, you would wonder!--but when we are happy we are much +happier than most people. I haven't got any premonition, you know, or +anything like that; indeed, I hope to come bounding home again in +spring, but just in case--remember, I was glad to go." + +He put his hand gently on his sister's bowed golden head. Sandy had had +just such gentle ways. Elizabeth caught his hand and held it to her +face, and her tears fell on it. + +"Oh! Lizbeth, are you giving way to sentiment? Just think how Fish +would lawff!" and Alan patted her shoulder in an embarrassed way. + +Elizabeth laughed through her tears. + +"Imagine you remembering Fish all these years! We were very +unsentimental children, weren't we? And do you remember how Sandy +stopped kissing by law?" + +They talked themselves back on to the level, and then Alan got up to go. + +"Good-night, Lizbeth," he said, and then "_Wee_ Lizbeth"; and his +sister replied as she had done when they were little children cuddling +down in their beds without a care in the world: + +"Good-night, Alan. _Wee_ Alan!" + + +The next morning he was off early to catch the London express. + +It was a lovely springlike morning such as sometimes comes in +mid-winter, and he stood on the doorstep and looked over the +country-side. All the family, including Marget and Watty Laidlaw and +his wife, stood around him. They were loth to let him go. + +"When will you be back, my boy?" his father asked him. + +"April, if I can work it," Alan replied. "After two hot weathers in +India I simply pine to see the larches out at Etterick, and hear the +blackbirds shouting. Scotland owes it to me. Don't you think so, +Father?" + +The motor was at the door, the luggage was in, and the partings +said--those wordless partings. Alan jumped into the car and grinned +cheerily at them. + +"Till April," he said. "Remember--Toujours Smiley-face, as we Parisians +say----" and he was gone. + +They turned to go in, and Marget said fiercely: + +"Eh, I wull tak' it ill oot if thae Germans kill that bonnie laddie." + +"I almost wish," said Buff, sitting before his porridge with _The +Frontiersman's Pocket-Book_ clutched close to comfort his sad heart--"I +almost wish that he hadn't come home. I had forgotten how nice he was!" + + +It was in April that he fell, and at Etterick the blackbirds were +"shouting" as the telegraph boy--innocent messenger of woe--wheeled his +way among the larches. + + + + +_CHAPTER XX_ + +"The Poet says dear City of Cecrops, wilt thou not say dear City of +God?" Marcus Aurelius. + + +Our story ends where it began, in the Thomsons' parlour in Jeanieville, +Pollokshields. + +It was November then, now it is May, and light long after tea, and in +happier circumstances Mr. Thomson would have been out in his +shirt-sleeves in the garden, putting in plants and sowing seeds, with +Mrs. Thomson (a white shawl round her shoulders) standing beside him +admiring, and Alick running the mower, and Jessie offering advice, and +Robert sitting with his books by an open window exchanging a remark +with them now and again. They had enjoyed many such spring evenings. +But this remorseless war had drawn the little Thomsons into the net, +and they sat huddled in the parlour, with no thought for the gay green +world outside. + +This was Robert's last evening at home. He had been training ever since +the war broke out, and was now about to sail for the East. They feared +that Gallipoli was his destination, that ill-omened place on whose +alien shores thousands and thousands of our best and bravest were to +"drink death like wine," while their country looked on in anguished +pride. + +Mr. Chalmers, their new minister, had been in to tea. He had clapped +Robert on the back and told him he was proud of him, and proud of the +great Cause he was going to fight for. "I envy you, my boy," he said. + +Robert had said nothing, but his face wore the expression "_Huch! +Away!_" and when the well-meaning parson had gone he expressed a desire +to know what the man thought he was talking about. + +"But, man Rubbert," his father said anxiously, "surely you're glad to +fight for the Right?" + +"If Mr. Chalmers thinks it such a fine thing to fight," said Robert, +"why doesn't he go and do it? He's not much more than thirty." + +"He's married, Robert," his mother reminded him, "and three wee ones. +You could hardly expect it. Besides, he was telling me that if many +more ministers go away to be chaplains they'll have to shut some of the +churches." + +"And high time, too," said Robert. + +"Aw, Rubbert," wailed poor Mrs. Thomson, "what harm do the churches do +you?" + +"Never heed him, Mamma," Mr. Thomson said. "He's just sayin' it." + +Mrs. Thomson sat on her low chair by the fireside--the nursing chair +where she had sat and played with her babies in the long past happy +days, her kind face disfigured by much crying, her hands idle in her +lap, looking at her first-born as if she grudged every moment her eyes +were away from him. It seemed as if she were learning every line of his +face by heart to help her in a future that would hold no Robert. + +Jessie, freed for the night from her nursing, sat silently doing a last +bit of sewing for her brother. + +Alick was playing idly with the buckle of Robert's haversack, and +relating at intervals small items of news culled from the evening +papers, by way of cheering his family. Robert, always quiet, was almost +speechless this last evening. + +"I saw Taylor to-day," Mr. Thomson remarked, after a silence. "He asked +to be remembered to you, Rubbert. In fact, he kinda hinted he would +look in to-night--but I discouraged him." + +"Wee Taylor! Oh, help!" ejaculated Alick. + +"You were quite right, Papa," said his wife. "We're not wanting anybody +the night, not even old friends like the Taylors." + +Silence fell again, and Alick hummed a tune. + +"Rubbert," said Mrs. Thomson, leaning forward and touching her son's +arm, "Rubbert, promise me that you'll not do anything brave." + +Robert's infrequent smile broke over his face, making it oddly +attractive. + +"You're not much of a Roman matron, wee body," he said, patting her +hand. + +"I am not," said Mrs. Thomson. "I niver was meant for a soldier's +mother. I niver liked soldiers. I niver thought it was a very +respectable job." + +"It's the _only_ respectable job just now, anyway, Mother," said Jessie. + +"That's so," said her father. + +"There's the bell," cried Alick. "I hear Annie letting somebody in." + +"Dash!" said Robert, rising to fly. But he was too late; the door +opened, and Annie announced "Mr. Seton." + +At the sight of the tall familiar figure everybody rose to their feet +and hastened to greet their old minister. + +"Well, I niver," said Mrs. Thomson, "and me just saying we couldn't put +up with visitors the night." + +"You see we don't count you a visitor," Mr. Thomson explained. +"Rubbert's off to-morrow." + +"I know," said Mr. Seton. "That is why I came. We are in Glasgow for a +few days. I left Elizabeth and Buff at the Central Hotel. Elizabeth +said you wouldn't want her to-night, but she will come before we leave." + +"How is she?" asked Mrs. Thomson. "Poor thing! She'll not laugh so much +now." + +"Lizbeth," said her father, "is a gallant creature. I think she will +always laugh, and like Charles Lamb she will always find this world a +pretty world." + +This state of mind made no appeal to Mrs. Thomson, and she changed the +subject by asking about Mr. Seton's health. His face, she noticed, was +lined and worn, he stooped more than he used to do, but his eyes were +the same--a hopeful boy's eyes. + +"Oh, I'm wonderfully well. You don't grudge me an hour of Robert's last +evening? I baptized the boy." + +"Ye did that, Mr. Seton"--the tears beginning to flow at the +thought--"and little did any of us think that this is what he was to +come to." + +"No," said Mr. Seton, "we little thought what a privilege was to be +his. Robert, when I heard you had enlisted I said, 'Well done,' for I +knew what it meant to you to leave your books. And I hear you wouldn't +take a commission, but preferred to go with the men you had trained +with." + +Robert blushed, but his face did not wear the "affronted" look that it +generally wore when people praised him as a patriot. + +"Ah but, Mr. Seton," Alick broke in eagerly, "Robert's a sergeant! See +his stripes! That's just about as good as an officer." + +Robert made a grab at his young brother to silence him; but Alick was +not to be suppressed. + +"I shouldn't wonder," he said in a loud, boastful voice (he had never +been so miserable in all his fifteen years)--"I shouldn't wonder if he +got the V.C. That would be fine--eh, Robert?" + +"I think I see myself," said Robert. + +"Rubbert's a queer laddie," Mr. Thomson remarked, looking tenderly at +his son. "He was objectin' to Mr. Chalmers sayin' he had a noble Cause." + +Robert blushed again. + +"There's nothing wrong with the Cause," he grumbled, "but I hate +talking about it." + +"'Truth hath a quiet breast,'" quoted Mr. Seton. + +There was a silence in the little parlour that looked out on the +garden. They were all thinking the same thing--would they ever sit here +together again? + +So many had gone away! So many had not come back. Mrs. Thomson gave a +choking sob and burst out: "Oh! Mr. Seton, your boy didn't come back!" + +"No," said Mr. Seton gently, "my boy didn't come back!" + +"And oh! the bonnie laddie he was! I can just see him as well; the way +he used to come swinging into church with his kilt, and his fair hair, +and his face so full of daylight. And I'm sure it wasna for want of +prayers, for I'm sure Papa there niver missed once, morning and night, +and in our own private prayers too--and you would pray just even on?" + +"Just even on," said Mr. Seton. + +"_And He never heeded us_," said Mrs. Thomson. + +Mr. Seton smiled at the dismayed amazement in her tone. + +"Oh, yes, He heeded us. He answered our prayers beyond our asking. We +asked life for Alan, and he has given him length of days for ever and +ever." + +"But that wasna what we meant," complained Mrs. Thomson. "Oh! I whiles +think I'm not a Christian at all now. I _cannot_ see why God allows +this war. There's Mrs. Forsyth, a neighbour of ours--you wouldn't meet +a more contented woman and that proud of her doctor son, Hugh. It was +the biggest treat you could give her just to let her talk about him, +and I must say he was a cliver, cliver young man. He did wonders at +College, and he was gettin' such a fine West End practice when the war +began; but nothing would serve but he would away out to France to give +his services, and he's killed--_killed_!" Her voice rose in a wail of +horror that so untoward a fate should have overtaken any friend of +hers. "And oh! Mr. Seton, how am I to let Rubbert go? All his life I've +taken such care of him, because he's not just that awfully strong; he +was real sickly as a bairn and awful subject to croup. Many's the time +I've left ma bed at nights and listened to his breathing. Papa used to +get fair worried with me, I was that anxious-minded. I niver let the +wind blow on him. And now...." + +"Poor body!" said Mr. Seton. "It's a sore job for the mothers." He +turned to Mr. Thomson. "Perhaps we might have prayers together before I +go?" + +Mr. Thomson brought the Bible, and sat down close beside his wife. + +Jessie and Robert and Alick sat together on the sofa, drawn very near +by the thought of the parting on the morrow. Mr. Seton opened the Bible. + +"We shall sing the Twenty-third Psalm," he said. + +Sing? The Thomsons looked at their minister. Even so must the Hebrews +have looked when asked to sing Zion's songs by the waters of Babylon. +But James Seton, grown wise through a whole campaign of this world's +life and death, knew the healing balm of dear familiar things, and as +he read the words they dropped like oil on a wound: + + "The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want. + He makes me down to lie + In pastures green: He leadeth me + The quiet waters by. + + My soul He doth restore again; + And me to walk doth make + Within the paths of righteousness + Ev'n for His own name's sake. + + Yea, though I walk in death's dark vale, + Yet will I fear none ill: + For Thou art with me; and Thy rod + And staff me comfort still. + + * * * * * + + Goodness and mercy all my life + Shall surely follow me; + And in God's house for evermore + My dwelling-place shall be." + + +It is almost the first thing that a Scots child learns, that the Lord +is his Shepherd, that he will not want, that goodness and mercy will +follow him--even through death's dark vale. + +_Death's dark vale_, how trippingly we say it when we are children, +fearing "none ill." + +Mrs. Thomson's hand sought her husband's. + +She had been unutterably miserable, adrift from all her moorings, +bewildered by the awful march of events, even doubting God's wisdom and +love; but as her old minister read her childhood's psalm she remembered +that all through her life the promise had never failed; she remembered +how stars had shone in the darkest night, and how even the barren plain +of sorrow had been curiously beautified with lilies, and she took heart +of comfort. + +God, Who counteth empires as the small dust of the balance, and Who +taketh up the isles as a very little thing, was shaking the nations, +and the whole earth trembled. But there are some things that cannot be +shaken, and the pilgrim souls of the world need fear none ill. + +Goodness and mercy will follow them through every step of their +pilgrimage. The way may lie by "pastures green," or through the sandy, +thirsty desert, or through the horror and blood and glory of the +battlefield, but in the end there awaits each pilgrim that happy place +whereof it is said "sorrow and sighing shall flee away." + +"We shall sing the whole psalm," said Mr. Seton. "The tune is 'French.'" + + + + +[Transcriber's note: Italicized text is indicated with _underscores_.] + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Setons, by O. 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