Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama Clamosa

  CHAPTER X.

  _TIBBIE_.

  On rainy evenings Roderick had to accommodate his Bible-class in hisstudy. The books and pamphlets piled on the floor were removed, andstools and chairs brought in from all the neighbouring cottages. Theattendance was large, the room but small, and the window could not beopened without admitting the rain. The sole ventilation therefore wasby the chimney, for Roderick's chest was delicate and could not endureopen doors or draughts. The breaths of the people and the steam fromtheir plaids and umbrellas made an atmosphere almost too dense tobreathe, but no one stayed away on account of that. Discomfort in factwas the chosen salt and relish of popular piety in those days. The oldstories of the covenant and the persecutions had been brought outafresh after lying hid for a century under the dust of time and'moderatism,' so called, which perhaps means only the new ideasbegotten of newer circumstances in advancing civilization. These talestold in modern language and addressed to the people from hundreds ofpulpits and platforms, and scattered by the thousand in illustratedtracts and broad sheets over the country, roused the best instincts ofthe people into a sort of fanaticism; common sense appeared sinfullatitudinarianism, and there seemed a very hunger for austerity andpersecution in a small way, which raised an uncomfortable church-goinginto a meritorious claim on divine favour. Like other artificialrevivals of obsolete feeling with their inevitable unreality andexaggeration--for the one begets the other, seeing that eachindividual, knowing his own earnestness to be below the standard,compensates by intensity of expression for what is lacking indepth--all that has now passed away. No better cushioned pewsnow-a-days invite to repose in the green pastures of the word, thanthose which the Free Church supplies, and the erewhile battle cry of'Christ's Crown and Covenant' has moderated down into a demand forDisestablishment.

  These cottage services were far more exhausting to their conductorthan the regular preaching, and after struggling through them underthe oppression of heat and bad air, he found when his apartment wasleft to him, that it had become uninhabitable for the rest of theevening. Whenever, therefore, the weather at all permitted, heconducted his Bible-class in the open air.

  Down by the Effick side was a meadow where the villagers washed anddried their clothes, and their cattle browsed. The grass was short andthick, and the stream slid by with a low soft lapping among thestones. An aged beech tree formed a landmark, and there on summerevenings the minister was wont to assemble his class. The faintevening breezes nestled drowsily among the leaves overhead, and theglassy surface of the stream shone in the yellow radiance of theevening light. No scene could be more peaceful and still, or lentitself better to the earnest exhortations of the teacher, and theunflagging attention of his auditors, who had grown to comprise thewhole inhabitants of the village, old people and children as well asthe youths and maidens for whom the meeting was designed. 'Free ChurchPrinciples,' or the superiority of the church to the interference ofcivil authority, were the stated subjects of consideration, but thispious and indefatigable teacher would not let slip the opportunity ofpressing all other branches of religious truth, as occasion offered,in a way more familiar and impressive, as his people thought, thaneven the regular services of the church.

  It was dark ere all was over, and after singing a hymn the meetingdispersed. Then Roderick remembered the errand of mercy with which hehad proposed to himself to conclude his day, and set out at once forWidow Tirpie's cottage, which was about a mile from the village.Reaching it, he found the daughter on the threshold, gazing motionlesstowards the western sky, where the last faint gleams of evening stillstruggled with the coming night. A girl of about twenty, but lookingolder, worn with care or illness, but with a face superior to herstation, she sat like an image of regret, pale-cheeked and thin, withher great dark eyes looking out into the ebbing twilight. She rose onRoderick's approach and followed him inside.

  There knelt the mother crouching on the hearth, where with distendedcheeks she was endeavouring to blow two peats into a blaze, that shemight boil her pot and prepare their evening meal.

  Tibbie's husband had been a gamekeeper on the Inchbracken property,her daughter had been employed there as seamstress, and she herselfwas in some sort a client of the great house. Therefore it was a pointof loyalty or policy with her to keep aloof from the Free Church, andoccasionally to attend at Kilrundle, but that was not very often, thechurch being three miles off, and she herself, as she admitted, 'nokirk greedy.' Roderick had not therefore considered her a member ofhis flock, and knew little of herself or her daughter or theircircumstances. She was poor, but not more so than her neighbours, ormuch more so now than she had always been, and she had no claim to bedescribed as she had been by Joseph Smiley either in the matter of herpoverty or her high principle. She had expected a visit from theminister, and although she had no intention of devolving on him theburden of her support, which she destined for his beadle's shoulders,still she was not averse to profiting by his bounty, and had indeedarranged her little scene so as to justify any touching appeal Josephmight have made on her behalf. She had watched Joseph from the thicketafter they parted, and observed his closeting with the minister at theclose of the service, and knowing Roderick's eager charity, she hadthought it not improbable he might visit her that very evening, andaccordingly had arranged the tableau of a scanty supper as moreeffective than anything she could say; besides that, being honestafter her fashion and shrewd, she was unwilling to lie unnecessarily.

  Tibbie had risen and followed the minister into the house, lookingdeprecatingly at her mother over his shoulder. She revolted at theidea of charity-getting, and dreaded the references to her ownaffairs, which her mother might be led into.

  'Here Tibbie!' said the elder woman, 'tak' the stoup an' fesh somewater frae the spring on the muir, the minister micht be for a drink;ye hae nae sic water down by in the Glen, sir, sae cauld an' saecaller!'

  Tibbie took the stoup, well pleased to get away from whateverconversation might follow.

  'I hear you are not very well off, Mrs. Tirpie,' said Roderick, 'and Ihave come to see if I can give you any help.'

  'A' weel, sir! It's thankin' ye kindly a' the same, but I winnacomplain. Ye can see for yersel'--Some folk can mak oot to live whaurithers wad starve. But I'm no beggin'.'

  'I never heard that you had got relief from the parish, and I knowthat you have got nothing from us. You know we have a fund, though nota large one, for our poor brethren, and I think it is often quite asusefully employed when we look about for those who are bearing theirlot in silence, as when we give to those who claim our help.'

  'I dinna belang to yer kirk, sir, an' I hae nae claim on ye ava'; tho'I canna but say it's whiles gye an' hard for a puir body to gar thetwa ends meet. What wi' sickness, an' a' things sae dear, it's a sairfecht for puir folk, whiles, to keep saul an' body thegither. But wemaun thole. Them 'at sends a' things kens what's for our gude.' And soon. A spirit of fine sturdy independence, uncomplaining poverty, andpatient trust in Providence, moderately expressed, furnished out aharangue which refreshed the soul of the worthy preacher. If taresmust inevitably be found among the standing corn, it is all the morerefreshing to the disappointed husbandman to see the good seedspringing up outside his enclosure, and Tibbie Tirpie bore thereputation of being a cold and worldly person with the fervidprofessors among whom he laboured. He felt himself privileged in beingallowed to minister assistance to so much modest worth, and returnedhome refreshed in spirit.

  When he left the cottage the night had closed in, with only theglimmering stars to light him on his way. He walked slowly homewards,musing as he went on the trials and hardships of the poor, and thepious fortitude and noble courage with which they so often bear them.He fell into a reverie, and did not perceive that two men coming downbehind him had overtaken and passed him. It was quite otherwise withthem. Like the owls and other creatures which fly by night, theirfaculties were all awake.

  'Preserve us a! Saw ye e'er t
he like? Slinkin' hame e'y dark, wi' hishead atween 's feet, like a dug scaddet wi' puddin' brue. He ne'erturned round e'en whan we gaed by, like's he thocht shame to meet theglint o' honest folk's e'en.'

  'What mean ye? Peter Malloch. Yon's the minister! or I'm sair mistaen,stappin' cannily hame. He's been readin', belike, an' prayin wi' someauld puir body 'at's ower frail to gang t'ey kirk. My certie! but he'sthe faithfu' servant, 'at sees the folk hae their meat i' due season.I wuss there were mair like him. It gars a body think shame o' theirain puir fushionless godliness, to see the gude he's aye after. Ne'ersparin' himsel', but juist spendin,' an' spent for the gude o' itherfolk. He'll hae his reward!'

  'Man, Tummas, ye're a rael Nathanael! It diz a body gude to hear tilye whiles. Ye hae the charity 'at thinketh no evil, an' mony's thetime I'm juist winderin' hoo ye can carry on wi't. Ye do weel to thinknae ill, but hoo ye can look about ye, an' stick til't, passes me. Idinna see either 'at we're ca'd on to let folk mak a fuil o's wi'their sough o' godliness an them nae better than oorsels, but ratherwaur, seein' what they set up for. I'm thinkin' they're juist maistlike whitet sepulchers ower the dead men's banes; an' naebody's ca'don to think weel o' sic like, ye ken.'

  'I see na what ye're drivin' at. But I'se lippen 'til our youngminister afore ony man I hae e'er clappit my eyen on!'

  'Trust not in princes nor men's sons,' as the Psalm says, 'an' theministers are kittle cattle to tackle wi'. Saw na ye whause house yonwas he cam out o', richt afore yer eyen?'

  'I ken Tibbie Tirpie brawly, an' it's her bides up yonder.'

  'An' what kind tak ye Tibbie to be? She's no a kirk member ava, I'mthinkin'; a bonny ane for a minister to be sitten' aside a' Sabbathforenicht!'

  'I ken naething against her; but gin she be worldly or waur, she hasmair need o' the minister's advice.'

  'An' there's that hizzie, her dochter! Ye'll be for makin' out theminister was adveesin _her_ belike?'

  'An' what for no? Gin she be young an' fu' o' daffin' she'll a' themair need to be adveesed.'

  'Young an' fu' o' daffin'! Ye're for letting her down easy. There'smair wrang nor that, I'm feared. Some folk say she's nae better norshe suld be. But there's nae gude threapin' wi' you. Ye'se think naeharm--ye'se tell me he was sympatheezin wi' her in her misfortun.'

  'Whisht man! Let the lassie's gude name be gin ye hae nae proof.'

  'But there maun be pruif some gate seein' it's true. The gentles haeheard tell o't. An' what's mair, it's them 'at's sayin' up by atInchbracken 'at Mister Brown's at the fundation o' the hale mischief.Sae noo ye ken a' about it, an ye'll own yersel it's gye an' like it,to see him slinkin' up here after dark. An' ye'll mind hoo you an' mesaw him bringin' hame the bairn yon mornin' early, whan the roads warthat bad there wasna like to be ony body about, to see what he wasafter. We a' ken hoo he gaed awa for the bairn the verra nicht 'atTibbie cam hame. Think o't! Tummas. Pet that an' that thegither, an'syne ye'll may be hae mair charity, an' no be accuisin' me o' evilspeakin'. Charity thinketh no evil, sae what for suld ye be thinkin' Iwad tak awa a decent lass's gude name? But gin she be na decent, an'hae nae richt til the gude name, I see nae wrang to say sae. Let theskelpet wein skirl! What says Scripture? Is na the maugistrate for theterror o' evil doers an' the praise o' them 'at do weel? An' be na Iwan in authority? The Convener o' the Deacons' Court? Tak tent,Tummas, and dinna be impuitin' yer ain sinfu' thochts til ither folk,an' them folk setten ower ye in the Lord! Speak not evil of dignities!It's against a' Scripter--an' I may sae as weel, in a' luve andfaithfulness, seein I hae a kin' o' charge o' ye, an' may hae to gieaccount, ye're juist a wee pridefu' whiles, an' ower set in yer ainnotions, for a humble private member o' the kirk. Think o't, Tummas,an' lay't to heart!'

  Tummas was silenced, fairly overthrown and carried away by the torrentof words, and every meek stirring of self-assertion completelydevoured out. He had meant to defend his pastor from what he thoughtwere improbable and poorly supported suspicions; but he was meek anddiffident, and accustomed to be over-borne by his arrogant companion,so he held his peace, content to cherish unuttered the assurance thatthere was some mistake, and to leave time to disabuse others of theirmisconceptions.