Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama Clamosa

  CHAPTER XXX.

  _TIBBIE'S TROUBLES_.

  Elspeth Macaulay sat in her doorway and basked in the autumn sunrepining, and browning herself like the hazel nuts in the adjoiningthicket, which, like herself, were hard of shell, though sweet andsound of heart when you could reach it,--and wrapped in thin wrinkledleathery husks, not far different from the withered parchment whichserved her aged bones for a fleshly covering. She was very old, buther eye had not grown dim, and her bodily force had not abated. Shelived all alone in her shieling perched high on a steep brae lookingdown the glen, but she felt quite able to do for herself, and carriedher eggs and butter to market as blythely as the youngest. The hearthwithin was clean swept, and the turf on it burned brightly; while theoaten cakes toasting before it diffused a nutty fragrance through thehouse. As Elspeth sat knitting her stocking and looking down the glenextended beneath her, she spied a white mutch on the highroad wendingtowards her. Presently it reached the 'slap' in the stone and divotdyke, where the footpath leading to her own residence debouched on theroad. The wearer of the mutch passed through the slap and proceeded tothread the upward path.

  'Preserve us a'!' she muttered to herself, 'wha's this? It's no monycomes in as they gae by to see Elspeth noo a days! I'se fesh out thekebbock, it looks hearty. An' there's few comes to pree't noo. Na! na!They're a' yardet maist, my cronies, by noo. An' them 'at's t'ey foreyet's ower dottle to travel that far! I'm no wantin' the younggomerals either, 'at stuffs their head i' bannets, an' thinks to bemista'en for their betters! But here's a decent auld wife 'at's noabune wearin' a mutch like her mither 'at gaed afore her.'

  The huge cheese was produced from the awmry, the toasting cakes turnedbefore the fire, and Elspeth was back in her place before the guesthad mounted the brae.

  'An' is that yersel', Tibbie Tirpie?' she presently exclaimed as thewearer of the mutch, slowly mounting, began to raise her head over theedge where the hill slid down out of sight. 'Hoo's wi' ye, woman? I'mblythe to get a sicht o' ye.'

  'An hoo's yoursel', Elspeth! Hech sirs! But that's a stey brae forauld folk! It's braw when ye're up, but it's a sair job to clim't.'

  The two old women partook of the cheer provided; after that they tooksnuff together, and then they settled themselves in the sunshine fortheir 'crack.' Elspeth's walking powers were not what they had been,and she had not been present at the ceremonies of the day before, sothere was much for Tibbie to tell. Both of them would have beenclassed, I fear, as 'of the world,' by the more devout. Kirks andpreachings were not by any means to them the most important matters inlife, still they were the news of the day, and, as such, interesting.

  'An' what said our ain young minister himsel', Tibbie?' inquiredElspeth at last, after all the fine things said by the others had beenduly discussed.

  'Hoot, woman! He wasna there ava. Did ye no ken he was lyin'? an' raelill. I winder Jean didna tell ye that! For it was Mistress Sangster,the folk's tellin', 'at cam near giein' him his death. Ye see theygaed stravaigin' ower the hills, an' what suld come ower my leddy butshe maun coup in a burn! Up comes the minister to pu' her out, and asair job he'd hae fand it at the best, for she's a muckle hefty wife;but the daft auld rinketer, whan ance she'd gotten a grip o' him, shegied a screech an' a fling, an' pu'ed him in ower aside her, an' baithgat a sair drookin', an' a wamefu' o' cauld water. Aweel! StephenBoague's wife, she dried the claes o' my leddy, an' she's nae waur;but the puir minister beut to gang hame as he was--a' drouket--an'he's gotten a sair host 'at's like to be the death o' him.'

  'Puir chield! The cauld water he drank was ower strong for him. Ine'er thocht muckle o' that for a drink mysel'. It wants whusky peutentil't, to gar't lie licht on the staumick. But if a' folk says betrue, it's het water he's gotten amang noo! honest man. Think ye he'llthole that better nor the cauld?' with a sidelong glance which was notobserved.

  'I ken there's daft-like clashes rinnin' round, but I ne'er mind them.There's folk 'at maun aye be blatherin' some gate. But he's a gudeman, I'll say! an' a worthy son o' the gude auld minister 'at gaedafore him.'

  'An' ye think it's lees the folk's tellin' about him?' with aquizzical smile. Elspeth had heard all the rumours, and after alengthened experience of her fellow-creatures, she was disposed tocredit all she heard against any of them, without thinking much theworse of them for merely being found out, which she supposed to be theonly difference between them and their accusers; but it was a temptingamusement to prod Tibbie on the subject of these reports, and to hoverabout the edge of what must not be said to a friend or a guest.

  'I'll believe naething on Mester Brown till there's pruif for't! He'sa gude lad, an' a free-handet as I hae cause to ken.'

  'Ay! What is't ye ken, Tibbie?'

  'Aweel! he has gien me siller like the fine gentleman he is! An' me noseekin't frae him either.'

  'An' hoo was that, Tibbie?'

  'He heard tell I was a lanesome widdie an' no weel aff, an' he cam tospeer after me. An' he out wi' his siller an' gied it til me, an' meno seekin't, mind! An' no the gate ye wad fling a bawbee til a beggar,or a bane til a dug; but just like's he was a man, an' me a woman madeo' flesh an' bluid like himsel'.'

  'Ay? But wha's yon wi' Jean, coming danderin' alang at this time o'day. I maun gie that lassie a bit o' my mind about a' thisgalavantin'. We'll be haein' the folk's tongues waggin' after _her_next,' with a mischievous glance at Tibbie; but the latter's eyes werefixed on Jean's companion.

  'She's a gude bairn, Jean,' Elspeth went on, 'an' rael mindfu' o' hergranny. There's ane o' my kye like to gang frae her milk, an' I can donaething wi' her, but Jean's a grand milker, an' she comes ower ilkaday an' milks the puir beast hersel'. I'm thinkin', yon chield'scomin' up here wi' her, an' if it's no that auld sneckdrawer JosephSmiley! I'm thinkin' we'll be for haein' a waddin' here afore lang;but gin I was Jean, it's no a shilpet auld tike like yon wad be thelad, an' mair to wale amang. But it's Jean's waddin' ye see an' nomine, sae she beut to wale her ain ground; an' gin she brews gudeyale, she'll drink the better. But sit ye still!'

  Tibbie was rising to go. 'It's time I was hame,' she said. 'But I'llgie a look till yer coo afore I gang. Ye ken I'm skilly on kye! or saethe Inchbracken folk thinks. Bide still an' hae yer crack wi' Jean.I'se find my road t'ey byre mysel'!'

  Tibbie's wrath was aflame against Joseph. She dared not trust herselfin his presence, with Elspeth and Jean for audience or chorus in thescene that might follow, so she stole off to the byre before the youngpeople could reach the brow of the hill. Their eyes having beenengrossed with each other, they had not observed her while they werestill at a distance, and Joseph was not aware how near she was, or hisheart would have failed him.

  Tibbie placed herself conveniently to overhear the conversation, andas usual with eavesdroppers, heard little that could gratify herfeelings.

  'Behave yersel', Joseph Smiley,' were the first words that reached herear, spoken with energy, 'or I'se gar yer lugs dirl! Ye muckle calf!I'se hae nane o' yer slaverin' an' kissin', sae stand aff! Wha gae yethe last ane til, I winder?'

  'I gae the last til yer ain bonny sel' last nicht, Jean. Think ye I'dlet ony body--'

  'Ye leein' rascal! Tak ye that!' followed by a resounding crack, asthough a palm and a cheek had come in violent contact.

  'Od, woman! That's sair!'

  'I'se gie ye a harder skelp nor that next time, sae mind yer tongue!'

  There were sounds of scuffling after this, but eventually they werecalmed by Elspeth's.

  'Whisht, bairns! Behave yersels! Ye kenna wha micht be hearkenin'. An'what's yer news, Joseph? Hae ye nae cracks to divert a lane auld body,forby daffin' wi' Jean? Is there naething steerin' e'y glen ava?'

  'There's plenty steerin', granny! Muckle din, but aiblins little 'oo,as the dei'l said whan he scrapit the soo.'

  'Mind what ye're sayin', Joseph Smiley! She's no' _your_ granny, she'smines; an' what's mair, gin ye dinna talc yersel' up, she'll ne'er beyours ava! Sae dinna let yer ton
gue wag ower soople!'

  'Be quiet, Jean, ye fechtin' hempie, an' let the man speak! I'm juistwearyin' to hear the news. An' what's a' the din for, Joseph?'

  'It's just about the minister an' his bairn, an' his carryin's onamang the lasses.'

  'Ay? An' is't a' true, think ye?'

  'Wha kens? The lad's but young yet, an' the lass is no that illfaured. The Kirk Session's taen't up, an' the Presbytery, an' there'llbe sair wark afore a''s dune.'

  'An' what'll be dune wi' them, think ye, Joseph?'

  'Oo! The minister '11 be peuten oot, nae doubt o' that, gin a' 'at'ssaid be true. An' the puir quine, she beut to be sotten e'y cuttiestule, an' be rebuket afore the hale congregation. Hech! but it's weelfor Angus Tirpie he's no t'ey fore this day to see his dochter come tosic shame. An' I'm wae for the lass hersel'. There's naebody wud haethocht it o' her; but she's a randie auld tinkler yon mither o' her's,an' it's sma' winder 'at them she had the guidin' o' suld come toharm.'

  Tibbie clenched her teeth, and seized a heather besom leaning nearher. She could scarcely contain herself, and would gladly have brokenthe slanderer's head; but the women, his companions, would be sure toside with him either by words or blows, seeing it was but anotherwoman's character that was in question! And then the after-talk in theglen! Naturally she heard less than other people, but still she had acandid friend or two, as who has not? and the averted looks of theneighbours when she appeared gave full confirmation of all the candidfriends had to say. She dared not furnish new food for talk. Turninground, she hurried away, choosing a path which sheltered her from theview of Elspeth and the rest, and vowing bitter vengeance on JosephSmiley's treacherous head.

  Home she hurried with panting speed. Her perturbed mind deprived ofother utterance, vented itself in tumultuous motion, and by the timeshe reached her cottage she was comparatively calm. She unlocked herdoor, entered, revived her fire, and sat down to meditate on revenge:but not for long. As Mr. Geddie and his companions were coming outfrom their interview with Roderick, Tibbie was passing homewards.Ebenezer, discontented with the result of their mission, andforeboding diminished honour at his own fireside from her who actedLittle Conscience there, and had kept him to his duty through years ofwedded life, with the whipcracks of her stinging tongue,--Ebenezer sawher, and proposed that they should follow her home, and 'deal' withher as they had meant to do when they visited her earlier in the day.Mr. Geddie consented, 'and I take it as a token for good,' he added,'that we have seen her returning home at the very time we had given uphope of being able to find her.'

  It was not long, therefore, before Tibbie's meditations wereinterrupted by the entrance of the inquisitors. They saluted her butbriefly, and seated themselves on such chairs and stools as appeared,without waiting for much invitation, and disregarding Tibbie's enquiryof 'What's yer wull?' Mr. Geddie opened his book, lifted up his voiceand held forth. It was a discourse on the vanity of concealment in thematter of sin, and an exhortation to confession as some measure ofatonement, and the first step to repentance. Having concluded, hefixed his eyes on her and sat waiting to see what effect his wordswould have on her moral nature. Apparently they had none.

  'Do you know, my woman, what brings us here today?'

  'The very thing I hae been wantin' ye to tell me.'

  'Where is your daughter?'

  'What's yer wyll wi' my dochter?'

  'Behave yersel', Tibbie Tirpie!' said Peter. 'Ye're no blate to speakthat gate til a gentleman far less a minister.'

  'I see little signs o' the _gentleman!_ Stappin' richt in ower o' myhouse, an' never wi' yer leave, gude wife,' an' just settin' himsel'down, an' syne t'ey preaching'! Wad ye daar noo, my birkie, to stapthat gate intil my Leddy Drysdale's parlour? I'm no thinkin' 't! Do yethink a puir body maun aye be like a cadger's tike, 'at ilka gowk cangie the ither kick til? An' then ne'er venture to bite? Gin I had mairsiller, ye wad tak mair tent! An' as for my dochter, just mind whatye're after! gin ye daar say an ill word o' her I'se hae ye up aforethe Shirra, an' I'se hae there twa freends o' yours for witnessesagainst ye. I hae some notion o' the ill tales they hae been tellin'through the glen, an' I'se gar them swear afore the Shirra against yefor the very tales they hae telled ye themsel's, sae tak ye tent! Them'at lie doon wi' dugs, rise up wi' fleas! An' it's little worthcompany ye hae been keepin', for a' their holy sough an' their langfaces. They'll rin round spyin' an' keekin' intil ilka kale-pat buttheir ain. (It's no in Mig Prittie's kale-pat 'at Ebenezer there daarstick his neb, I'm thinkin'). An' syne they rin round wi' a curranclashes, swallin' ilka gowk's head wi' their clavers. But gin theydinna gie ower prankin' wi' my gude name an', my dochter's, I'se giethem something they're no lookin' for, an' they'll wuss they hadsteiket their jaws afore they meddled wi' Tibbie Tirpie!'

  Wull ye no' whisht, an' hear til the man o' God? ye rantin' auldtinkler!' cried Peter. 'Ye hae a tongue 'at wad clip clouts!'

  An' ye hae a conscience like a mill-door, for a' yer whingin','retorted Tibbie, grown louder at the interruption. It wad set yer mano' God better nor bautherin' a puir auld wife, gin he wad dale wi'_you_. Wi' yer saul, I mean, for he'll better leave the shop alane.Echtpence the pund for saand frae the burn-side, is ower dear to pay,an' I hae coosten the last sugar at echtpence I gat frae ye t'ey hens!It's no fit meat for christian folk!'

  'Ye jad! But whaur gat _ye_ the siller to be buyin' sugar? That'sjust what we're comin' til!'

  'I cam by't honest, an' that's mair nor ye can say for yer pose e'ysavin's bank.'

  'It was the waages o' sin, Tibbie, yon siller! an' that ye ken.'

  'I tak you twa men to witness, what Peter Malloch has said! an' I'sehae the law o' him! An' there's plenty witness e'y glen forby, whanthe time comes!'

  'Alas! alas! poor woman!' cried Mr. Geddie, 'you are sinning with thehigh hand and brazening out your iniquity. Confession would betterbecome you, and repentance, and public penitence before the church,for the public scandal you have brought on it.'

  'Ay! an' the cuttie stule for them baith,' ejaculated Peter as he madefor the door, for Tibbie was reaching up for her porridge-stick on theshelf, and an onslaught seemed imminent. The other two followedwithout the ceremony of leave-taking, further 'dealing' with theenraged old woman, being manifestly out of the question. Slowly anddisappointedly they wended back to the village, while Tibbie stood outin the road before her cottage shaking her fist and scolding at thetop of her voice. Doubtless she had reason; but the wind caught up herwords as they flew, and they never reached the ears of her retreatingenemies.