Barrie, J M - Thrums 01 - Auld Licht Idyls Page 10

  It was a race for a wife, and several onlookers in the gallery braved the minister's displeasure to see who won. Those who favored Sam'l's suit exultingly saw him leap the stream, while the friends of Sanders fixed their eyes on the top of the common where it ran into the road. Sanders must come into sight there, and the one who reached this point first would get Bell.

  As Auld Lichts do not walk abroad on the Sabbath, Sanders would probably not be delayed. The chances were in his favor. Had it been any other day in the week Sam'l might have run. So some of the congregation in the gallery were thinking, when suddenly they saw him bend low and then take to his heels. He had caught sight of Sanders' head bobbing over the hedge that separated the road from the common, and feared that Sanders might see him. The congregation who could crane their necks sufficiently saw a black object, which they guessed to be the carter's hat, crawling along the hedge-top. For a moment it was motionless, and then it shot ahead. The rivals had seen each other. It was now a hot race. Sam'l, dissembling no longer, clattered up the common, becoming smaller and smaller to the on-lookers as he neared the top. More than one person in the gallery almost rose to their feet in their excitement. Sam'l had it. No, Sanders was in fr ont. Then the two figures disappeared from view. They seemed to run into each other at the top of the brae, and no one could say who was first. The congregation looked at one another. Some of them perspired. But the minister held on his course.

  Sam'l had just been in time to cut Sanders out. It was the weaver's saving that Sanders saw this when his rival turned the corner; for Sam'l was sadly blown. Sanders took in the situation and gave in at once. The last hundred yards of the distance he covered at his leisure, and when he arrived at his destination he did not go in. It was a fine afternoon for the time of year, and he went round to have a look at the pig, about which T'nowhead was a little sinfully puffed up.

  "Ay," said Sanders, digging his fingers critically into the grunting animal; "quite so."

  "Grumph," said the pig, getting reluctantly to his feet.

  "Ou, ay; yes," said Sanders, thoughtfully.

  Then he sat down on the edge of the sty, and looked long and silently at an empty bucket. But whether his thoughts were of T'nowhead's Bell, whom he had lost forever, or of the food the farmer fed his pig on, is not known.

  "Lord preserve's! Are ye no at the kirk?" cried Bell, nearly dropping the baby as Sam'l broke into the room,

  "Bell!" cried Sam'l.

  Then T'nowhead's Bell knew that her hour had come.

  "Sam'l," she faltered.

  "Will ye hae's, Bell?" demanded Sam'l, glaring at her sheepishly.

  "Ay," answered Bell.

  Sam'l fell into a chair.

  "Bring's a drink o' water, Bell," he said. But Bell thought the occasion required milk, and there was none in the kitchen. She went out to the byre, still with the baby in her arms, and saw Sanders Elshioner sitting gloomily on the pig-sty.

  "Weel, Bell," said Sanders.

  "I thocht ye'd been at the kirk, Sanders," said Bell.

  Then there was a silence between them.

  "Has Sam'l speired ye, Bell?" asked Sanders stolidly.

  "Ay," said Bell again, and this time there was a tear in her eye. Sanders was little better than an "orra man," and Sam'l was a weaver, and yet--But it was too late now. Sanders gave the pig a vicious poke with a stick, and when it had ceased to grunt, Bell was back in the kitchen. She had forgotten about the milk, however, and Sam'l only got water after all.

  In after days, when the story of Bell's wooing was told, there were some who held that the circumstances would have almost justified the lassie in giving Sam'l the go-by. But these perhaps forgot that her other lover was in the same predicament as the accepted one--that of the two, indeed, he was the more to blame, for he set off to T'nowhead on the Sabbath of his own accord, while Sam'l only ran after him. And then there is no one to say for certain whether Bell heard of her suitors' delinquencies until Lisbeth's return from the kirk. Sam'l could never remember whether he told her, and Bell was not sure whether, if he did, she took it in. Sanders was greatly in demand for weeks after to tell what he knew of the affair, but though he was twice asked to tea to the manse among the trees, and subjected thereafter to ministerial cross-examinations, this is all he told. He remained at the pig-sty until Sam'l left the farm, when he joined him at the top of the brae, and they went home together.

  "It's yersel, Sanders," said Sam'l.

  "It is so, Sam'l," said Sanders.

  "Very cauld," said Sam'l.

  "Blawy," assented Sanders.

  After a pause--

  "Sam'l," said Sanders.

  "Ay."

  "I'm hearin' ye're to be mairit."

  "Ay."

  "Weel, Sam'l, she's a snod bit lassie."

  "Thank ye," said Sam'l.

  "I had ance a kin' o' notion o' Bell mysel," continued Sanders.

  "Ye had?"

  "Yes, Sam'l; but I thocht better o't."

  "Hoo d'ye mean?" asked Sam'l, a little anxiously.

  "Weel, Sam'l, mairitch is a terrible responsibeelity."

  "It is so," said Sam'l, wincing.

  "An' no the thing to tak up withoot conseederation."

  "But it's a blessed and honorable state, Sanders; ye've heard the minister on't."

  "They say," continued the relentless Sanders, "'at the minister doesna get on sair wi' the wife himsel."

  "So they do," cried Sam'l, with a sinking at the heart.

  "I've been telt," Sanders went on, "'at gin ye can get the upper han' o' the wife for a while at first, there's the mair chance o' a harmonious exeestence."

  "Bell's no the lassie," said Sam'l appealingly, "to thwart her man."

  Sanders smiled.

  "D'ye think she is, Sanders?"

  "Weel, Sam'l, I d'na want to fluster ye, but she's been ower lang wi' Lisbeth Fargus no to hae learnt her ways. An a'body kins what a life T'nowhead has wi' her."

  "Guid sake, Sanders, hoo did ye no speak o' this afore?"

  "I thocht ye kent o't, Sam'l."

  They had now reached the square, and the U.P. kirk was coming out. The Auld Licht kirk would be half an hour yet.

  "But, Sanders," said Sam'l, brightening up, "ye was on yer wy to spier her yer-sel."

  "I was, Sam'l," said Sanders, "and I canna but be thankfu' ye was ower quick for's."

  "Gin't hadna been you," said Sam'l, "I wid never hae thocht o't."

  "I'm sayin' naething agin Bell," pursued the other, "but, man Sam'l, a body should be mair deleeberate in a thing o' the kind."

  "It was michty hurried," said Sam'l, wo-fully.

  "It's a serious thing to spier a lassie," said Sanders.

  "It's an awfu' thing," said Sam'l.

  "But we'll hope for the best," added Sanders in a hopeless voice.

  They were close to the Tenements now, and Sam'l looked as if he were on his way to be hanged.

  "Sam'l!"

  "Ay, Sanders."

  "Did ye--did ye kiss her, Sam'l?"

  "Na."

  "Hoo?"

  "There's was varra little time, Sanders."

  "Half an 'oor," said Sanders.

  "Was there? Man Sanders, to tell ye the truth, I never thocht o't."

  Then the soul of Sanders Elshioner was filled with contempt for Sam'l Dickie.

  The scandal blew over. At first it was expected that the minister would interfere to prevent the union, but beyond intimating from the pulpit that the souls of Sabbath-breakers were beyond praying for, and then praying for Sam'l and Sanders at great length, with a word thrown in for Bell, he let things take their course. Some said it was because he was always frightened lest his young men should intermarry with other denominations, but Sanders explained it differently to Sam'l.

  "I hav'na a word to say agin the minister," he said; "they're gran' prayers, but, Sam'l, he's a mairit man himsel."

  "He's a' the better for that, Sanders, isna he?"

  "Do ye no see," asked San
ders compassionately, "'at he's tryin' to mat the best o't?"

  "Oh, Sanders, man!" said Sam'l.

  "Cheer up, Sam'l," said Sanders, "it'll sune be ower."

  Their having been rival suitors had not interfered with their friendship. On the contrary, while they had hitherto been mere acquaintances, they became inseparables as the wedding-day drew near. It was noticed that they had much to say to each other, and that when they could not get a room to themselves they wandered about together in the churchyard. When Sam'l had anything to tell Bell he sent Sanders to tell it, and Sanders did as he was bid. There was nothing that he would not have done for Sam'l.

  The more obliging Sanders was, however, the sadder Sam'l grew. He never laughed now on Saturdays, and sometimes his loom was silent half the day. Sam'l felt that Sanders' was the kindness of a friend for a dying man.

  It was to be a penny wedding, and Lisbeth Fargus said it was delicacy that made Sam'l superintend the fitting-up of the barn by deputy. Once he came to see it in person, but he looked so ill that Sanders had to see him home. This was on the Thursday afternoon, and the wedding was fixed for Friday.

  "Sanders, Sanders," said Sam'l, in a voice strangely unlike his own, "it'll a' be ower by this time the morn."

  "It will," said Sanders.

  "If I had only kent her langer," continued Sam'l.

  "It wid hae been safer," said Sanders.

  "Did ye see the yallow floor in Bell's bonnet?" asked the accepted swain.

  "Ay," said Sanders reluctantly.

  "I'm dootin'--I'm sair dootin' she's but a flichty, light-hearted crittur after a'."

  "I had ay my suspeecions o't," said Sanders.

  "Ye hae kent her langer than me," said Sam'l.

  "Yes," said Sanders, "but there's nae gettin' at the heart o' women. Man, Sam'l, they're desperate cunnin'."

  "I'm dootin't; I'm sair dootin't."

  "It'll be a warnin' to ye, Sam'l, no to be in sic a hurry i' the futur," said Sanders.

  Sam'l groaned.

  "Ye'll be gaein up to the manse to arrange wi' the minister the morn's mornin'," continued Sanders, in a subdued voice.

  Sam'l looked wistfully at his friend.

  "I canna do't, Sanders," he said, "I canna do't."

  "Ye maun," said Sanders.

  "It's aisy to speak," retorted Sam'l bitterly.

  "We have a' oor troubles, Sam'l," said Sanders soothingly, "an' every man maun bear his ain burdens. Johnny Davie's wife's dead, an' he's no repinin'."

  "Ay," said Sam'l, "but a death's no a mairitch. We hae haen deaths in our family too."

  "It may a' be for the best," added Sanders, "an' there wid be a michty talk i' the hale country-side gin ye didna ging to the minister like a man."

  "I maum hae langer to think o't," said Sam'l.

  "Bell's mairitch is the morn," said Sanders decisively.

  Sam'l glanced up with a wild look in his eyes.

  "Sanders!" he cried.

  "Sam'l!"

  "Ye hae been a guid friend to me, Sanders, in this sair affliction."

  "Nothing ava," said Sanders; "dount mention'd."

  "But, Sanders, ye canna deny but what your rinnin oot o' the kirk that awfu' day was at the bottom o'd a'."

  "It was so," said Sanders bravely.

  "An' ye used to be fond o' Bell, Sanders."

  "I dinna deny't."

  "Sanders, laddie," said Sam'l, bending forward and speaking in a wheedling voice, "I aye thocht it was you she likit."

  "I had some sic idea mysel," said Sanders.

  "Sanders, I canna thi nk to pairt twa fowk sae weel suited to ane anither as you an' Bell,"

  "Canna ye, Sam'l?"

  "She wid mak ye a guid wife, Sanders, I hae studied her weel, and she's a thrifty, douce, clever lassie. Sanders, there's no the like o' her. Mony a time, Sanders, I hae said to mysel, 'There's a lass ony man micht be prood to tak.' A'body says the same, Sanders, There's nae risk ava, man: nane to speak o'. Tak her, laddie, tak her, Sanders; it's a grand chance, Sanders. She's yours for the spierin'. I'll gie her up, Sanders."

  "Will ye, though?" said Sanders.

  "What d'ye think?" asked Sam'l.

  "If ye wid rayther," said Sanders politely.

  "There's my han' on't," said Sam'l. "Bless ye, Sanders; ye've been a true frien' to me."

  Then they shook hands for the first time in their lives; and soon afterward Sanders struck up the brae to T'nowhead,

  Next morning Sanders Elshioner, who had been very busy the night before, put on his Sabbath clothes and strolled up to the manse.

  "But--but where is Sam'l?" asked the minister; "I must see himself."

  "It's a new arrangement," said Sanders.

  "What do you mean, Sanders?"

  "Bell's to marry me," explained Sanders.

  "But--but what does Sam'l say?"

  "He's willin'," said Sanders.

  "And Bell?"

  "She's willin', too. She prefers't."

  "It is unusual," said the minister.

  "It's a' richt," said Sanders.

  "Well, you know best," said the minister.

  "You see the hoose was taen, at ony rate," continued Sanders. "An' I'll juist ging in til't instead o' Sam'l."

  "Quite so."

  "An' I cudna think to disappoint the lassie."

  "Your sentiments do you credit, Sanders," said the minister; "but I hope you do not enter upon the blessed state of matrimony without full consideration of its responsibilities. It is a serious business, marriage."

  "It's a' that," said Sanders, "but I'm willin' to stan' the risk."

  So, as soon as it could be done, Sanders Elshioner took to wife T'nowhead's Bell, and I remember seeing Sam'l Dickie trying to dance at the penny wedding.

  Years afterward it was said in Thrums that Sam'l had treated Bell badly, but he was never sure about it himself.

  "It was a near thing--a michty near thing," he admitted in the square.

  "They say," some other weaver would remark, "'at it was you Bell liked best."

  "I d'na kin," Sam'l would reply, "but there's nae doot the lassie was fell fond o' me. Ou, a mere passin' fancy's ye micht say."

  CHAPTER IX.

  DAVIT LUNAN'S POLITICAL REMINISCENCES.

  When an election-day comes round now, it takes me back to the time of 1832. I would be eight or ten year old at that time. James Strachan was at the door by five o'clock in the morning in his Sabbath clothes, by arrangement. We was to go up to the hill to see them building the bonfire. Moreover, there was word that Mr. Scrimgour was to be there tossing pennies, just like at a marriage. I was awakened before that by my mother at the pans and bowls. I have always associated elections since that time with jelly-making; for just as my mother would fill the cups and tankers and bowls with jelly to save cans, she was emptying the pots and pans to make way for the ale and porter. James and me was to help to carry it home from the square--him in the pitcher and me in a flagon, because I was silly for my age and not strong in the arms.

  It was a very blowy morning, though the rain kept off, and what part of the bonfire had been built already was found scattered to the winds. Before we rose a great mass of folk was getting the barrels and things together again; but some of them was never recovered, and suspicion pointed to William Geddes, it being well known that William would not hesitate to carry off anything if unobserved. More by token Chirsty Lamby had seen him rolling home a barrowful of firewood early in the morning, her having risen to hold cold water in her mouth, being down with the toothache. When we got up to the hill everybody was making for the quarry, which being more sheltered was now thought to be a better place for the bonfire. The masons had struck work, it being a general holiday in the whole countryside. There was a great commotion of people, all fine dressed and mostly with glengarry bonnets; and me and James was well acquaint with them, though mostly weavers and the like and not my father's equal. Mr. Scrimgour was not there himself; but there was a small active body in his room as
tossed the money for him fair enough; though not so liberally as was expected, being mostly ha'pence where pennies was looked for. Such was not my father's opinion, and him and a few others only had a vote. He considered it was a waste of money giving to them that had no vote and so taking out of other folks' mouths; but the little man said it kept everybody in good-humor and made Mr. Scrimgour popular. He was an extraordinary affable man and very spirity, running about to waste no time in walking, and gave me a shilling, saying to me to be a truthful boy and tell my father. He did not give James anything, him being an orphan, but clapped his head and said he was a fine boy.

  The captain was to vote for the bill if he got in, the which he did. It was the captain was to give the ale and the porter in the square like a true gentleman. My father gave a kind of laugh when I let him see my shilling, and said he would keep care of it for me; and sorry I was I let him get it, me never seeing the face of it again to this day. Me and James was much annoyed with the women, especially Kitty Davie, always pushing in when there was tossing, and tearing the very ha'pence out of our hands: us not caring so much about the money, but humiliated to see women mixing up in politics. By the time the topmost barrel was on the bonfire there was a great smell of whiskey in the quarry, it being a confined place. My father had been against the bonfire being in the quarry, arguing that the wind on the hill would have carried off the smell of the whiskey; but Peter Tosh said they did not want the smell carried off; it would be agreeable to the masons for weeks to come. Except among the women, there was no fighting nor wrangling at the quarry, but all in fine spirits.

  I misremember now whether it was Mr. Scrimgour or the captain that took the fancy to my father's pigs; but it was this day, at any rate, that the captain sent him the game-cock. Whichever one it was that fancied the litter of pigs, nothing would content him but to buy them, which he did at thirty shillings each, being the best bargain ever my father made. Nevertheless I'm thinking he was windier of the cock. The captain, who was a local man when not with his regiment, had the grandest collection of fighting-cocks in the county, and sometimes came into the town to try them against the town cocks. I mind well the large wicker cage in which they were conveyed from place to place, and never without the captain near at hand. My father had a cock that beat all the other town cocks at the cock-fight at our school, which was superintended by the elder of the kirk to see fair play; but the which died of its wounds the next day but one. This was a great grief to my father, it having been challenged to fight the captain's cock. Therefore it was very considerate of the captain to make my father a present of his bird; father, in compliment to him, changing its name from the "Deil" to the "Captain."