The Man from Glengarry: A Tale of the Ottawa

  CHAPTER XIV

  SHE WILL NOT FORGET

  If Mrs. Murray was not surprised to see Macdonald Dubh and Yankee walkin on Sabbath evening and sit down in the back seat, her class were.Indeed the appearance of these two men at the class was considered anevent so extraordinary as to give a decided shock to those who regularlyattended, and their presence lent to the meeting an unusual interest,and an undertone of excitement. To see Macdonald Dubh, whose attendanceat the regular Sabbath services was something unusual, present at areligious meeting which no one would consider it a duty to attend, wasenough in itself to excite surprise, but when Yankee came in and satbeside him, the surprise was considerably intensified. For Yankee wasconsidered to be quite outside the pale, and indeed, in a way, incapableof religious impression. No one expected Yankee to be religious. He wasnot a Presbyterian, knew nothing of the Shorter Catechism, not to speakof the Confession of Faith, and consequently was woefully ignorant ofthe elements of Christian knowledge that were deemed necessary to anytrue religious experience.

  It was rumored that upon Yankee's first appearance in the country, somefew years before, he had, in an unguarded moment, acknowledged thathis people had belonged to the Methodists, and that he himself "leanedtoward" that peculiar sect. Such a confession was in itself enough tostamp him, in the eyes of the community, as one whose religious historymust always be attended with more or less uncertainty. Few of them hadever seen a Methodist in the flesh. There were said to be some at MooseCreek (Mooscrick, as it was called), but they were known only by report.The younger and more untraveled portion of the community thought of themwith a certain amount of awe and fear.

  It was no wonder, then, that Yankee's appearance in Bible classproduced a sensation. It was an evening of sensations, for not only wereMacdonald Dubh and Yankee present, but Aleck McRae had driven up a loadof people from below the Sixteenth. Ranald regarded his presence withconsiderable contempt.

  "It is not much he cares for the Bible class, whatever," he confided toDon, who was sitting beside him.

  But more remarkable and disturbing to Ranald than the presence of AleckMcRae, was that of a young man sitting between Hughie and Maimie in theminister's pew. He was evidently from the city. One could see that fromhis fine clothes and his white shirt and collar. Ranald looked at himwith deepening contempt. "Pride" was written all over him. Not only didhe wear fine clothes, and a white shirt and collar, but he wore themwithout any sign of awkwardness or apology in his manner, and indeedas if he enjoyed them. But the crowning proof of his "pride," Don notedwith unutterable scorn.

  "Look at him," he said, "splits his head in the middle."

  Ranald found himself wondering how the young fop would look sitting ina pool of muddy water. How insufferable the young fellow's manners were!He sat quite close to Maimie, now and then whispering to her, evidentlyquite ignorant of how to behave in church. And Maimie, who ought toknow better, was acting most disgracefully as well, whispering back andsmiling right into his face. Ranald was thoroughly ashamed of her. Hecould not deny that the young fellow was handsome, hatefully so, but hewas evidently stuck full of conceit, and as he let his eyes wanderover the congregation assembled, with a bold and critical stare, makingremarks to Maimie in an undertone which could be heard over the church,Ranald felt his fingers twitching. The young man was older than Ranald,but Ranald would have given a good deal for an opportunity to "take himwith one hand."

  At this point Ranald's reflections were interrupted by Mrs. Murrayrising to open the class.

  "Will some one suggest a Psalm?" she asked, her cheek, usually pale,showing a slight color. It was always an ordeal for her to face herclass, ever since the men had been allowed to come, and the firstmoments were full of trial to her. Only her conscience and her finecourage kept her from turning back from this, her path of duty.

  At once, from two or three came responses to her invitation, and a Psalmwas chosen.

  The singing was a distinct feature of the Bible class. There was nothinglike it, not only in the other services of the congregation, but inany congregation in the whole county. The young people that formed thatBible class have long since grown into old men and women, but the echoesof that singing still reverberate through the chambers of their heartswhen they stand up to sing certain tunes or certain Psalms. Once a week,through the long winter, they used to meet and sing to John "Aleck's"sounding beat for two or three hours. They learned to sing, not only theold psalm tunes but psalm tunes never heard in the congregation before,as also hymns and anthems. The anthems and hymns were, of course, neverused in public worship. They were reserved for the sacred concert whichJohn "Aleck" gave once a year. It was in the Bible class that he and hisfellow enthusiasts found opportunity to sing their new Psalm tunes, withnow and then a hymn. When John "Aleck," a handsome, broad-shouldered,six-footer, stood up and bit his tuning-fork to catch the pitch, thepeople straightened up in their seats and prepared to follow his lead.And after his great resonant voice had rolled out the first few notesof the tune, they caught him up with a vigor and enthusiasm that carriedhim along, and inspired him to his mightiest efforts. Wonderful singingit was, full toned, rhythmical and well balanced.

  With characteristic courage, the minister's wife had chosen Paul'sEpistle to the Romans for the subject of study, and to-night thelesson was the redoubtable ninth chapter, that arsenal for Calvinisticchampions. First the verses were repeated by the class in concert, andthe members vied with each other in making this a perfect exercise, thenthe teaching of the chapter was set forth in simple, lucid speech. Thelast half hour was devoted to the discussion of questions, raised eitherby the teacher or by any member of the class. To-night the class wasslow in asking questions. They were face to face with the tremendousPauline Doctrine of Sovereignty. It was significant that by MacdonaldDubh, his brother, and the other older and more experienced members ofthe class, the doctrine was regarded as absolutely inevitable andwas accepted without question, while by Yankee and Ranald and all theyounger members of the class, it was rejected with fierce resentment.The older men had been taught by the experience of long and bitteryears, that above all their strength, however mighty, a power,resistless and often inscrutable, determined their lives. The youngermen, their hearts beating with conscious power and freedom, resentedthis control, or accepting it, refused to assume the responsibility forthe outcome of their lives. It was the old, old strife, the insolublemystery; and the minister's wife, far from making light of it, allowedits full weight to press in upon the members of her class, and wiselyleft the question as the apostle leaves it, with a statement of thetwo great truths of Sovereignty and Free Will without attempting theimpossible task of harmonizing these into a perfect system. After ahalf-hour of discussion, she brought the lesson to a close with a veryshort and very simple presentation of the practical bearing of the greatdoctrine. And while the mystery remained unsolved, the limpid clearnessof her thought, the humble attitude of mind, the sympathy with doubt,and above all, the sweet and tender pathos that filled her voice, sentthe class away humbled, subdued, comforted, and willing to wait the dayof clearer light. Not that they were done with Pharaoh and his untowardfate; that occupied them for many a day.

  The class was closed with prayer and singing. As a kind of treat, thelast singing was a hymn and they stood up to sing it. It was Perronet'sgreat hymn sung to old Coronation, and when they came to the refrain,"Crown him Lord of all," the very rafters of the little church rang withthe mighty volume of sound. The Bible class always closed with agreat outburst of singing, and as a rule, Ranald went out tingling andthrilling through and through. But tonight, so deeply was he exercisedwith the unhappy doom of the unfortunate king of Egypt, from which,apparently, there was no escape, fixed as it was by the Divine decree,and oppressed with the feeling that the same decree would determine thecourse of his life, he missed his usual thrill. He was walking off byhimself in a perplexed and downcast mood, avoiding every one, evenDon, and was nearly past the minister's gate when Hughie, excited and
breathless, caught up to him and exclaimed: "Oh, Ranald, was not thatsplendid? Man, I like to hear John 'Aleck' sing 'Crown him' that way.And I say," he continued, "mother wants you to come in."

  Then all at once Ranald remembered the young man who had behaved sodisgracefully in church.

  "No," he said, firmly, "I must be hurrying home. The cows will be tomilk yet."

  "Oh, pshaw! you must come," pleaded Hughie. "We will have some singing.I want you to sing bass. Perhaps John 'Aleck' will come in." This wassheer guessing, but it was good bait. But the young man with "his headsplit in the middle" would be there, and perhaps Maimie would be "goingon," with him as she did in the Bible class.

  "You will tell your mother I could not come," he said. "Yankee andfather are both out, and there will be no one at home."

  "Well, I think you are pretty mean," said Hughie, grievouslydisappointed. "I wanted you to come in, and mother wanted Cousin Harryto see you."

  "Cousin Harry?"

  "Yes; Maimie's brother came last night, you know, and Maimie is goingback with him in two weeks."

  "Maimie's brother. Well, well, is that the nice-looking fellow that satby you?"

  "Huh-huh, he is awful nice, and mother wanted--"

  "Indeed he looks it, I am sure," Ranald said, with sudden enthusiasm; "Iwould just like to know him. If I thought Yankee would--"

  "Oh, pshaw! Of course Yankee will milk the cows," exclaimed Hughie."Come on, come on in. And Ranald went to meet one of the great nights ofhis life.

  "Here is Ranald!" called Hughie at the top of his voice, as he enteredthe room where the family were gathered.

  "You don't say so, Hughie?" answered his cousin, coming forward. "Youought to make that fact known. We all want to hear it."

  Ranald liked him from the first. He was not a bit "proud" in spite ofhis fine clothes and his head being "split in the middle."

  "You're the chap," he said, stretching out his hand to Ranald, "thatsnatched Maimie from the fire. Mighty clever thing to do. We have hearda lot about you at our house. Why, every week--"

  "Let some one else talk, Harry," interrupted Maimie, with cheeksflaming. "We are going to have some singing now. Here is auntie. Mayn'twe use the piano?"

  "Why, yes, I suppose so," said Mrs. Murray. "I was glad to see yourfather there to-night," she said to Ranald.

  "And Yankee, mother."

  "Hush, Hughie; you must call people by their right names. Now let ushave some singing. I hear Ranald is singing bass these days."

  "And bully good bass, too," cried Hughie. "John 'Aleck' says that it'sthe finest bass in the whole singing school."

  "Well, Hughie," said his mother, quietly, "I don't think it is necessaryto shout even such pleasant information as that. Now go to your singing,and I shall listen."

  She lay back in the big chair, looking so pale and weary that Harryhardly believed it was the same woman that had just been keeping ahundred and fifty people keenly alert for an hour and a half, andleading them with such intellectual and emotional power.

  "That class is too hard for you, auntie," he said. "If I were yourhusband I would not let you keep it on."

  "But you see my husband is not here. He is twelve miles away."

  "Then I would lock you up, or take you with me."

  "Oh!" cried Hughie, "I would much rather teach the Bible class thanlisten to another sermon."

  "Something in that," said his cousin, "especially if I were thepreacher, eh?" at which they all laughed.

  It was a happy hour for Ranald. He had been too shy to join the singingschool, and had never heard any part singing till he began to attend theBible class. There he made the delightful discovery that, without anyinstruction, he could join in the bass, and had made, also, the furtherdiscovery that his voice, which he had thought rough and coarse, and fora year past, worse than ever, could reach to extraordinary depths. OneSabbath evening, it chanced that John "Aleck," who always had an earopen for a good voice, heard him rolling out his deep bass, and seizinghim on the spot, had made him promise to join the singing school. Therehe discovered a talent and developed a taste for singing that delightedhis leader's heart, and opened out to himself a new world. The piano,too, was a new and rare treat to Ranald. In all the country there was noother, and even in the manse it was seldom heard, for Mrs. Murray foundlittle time, amid the multitude of household and congregational duties,to keep up her piano practice. That part of her life, with others oflike kind, she had been forced to lose.

  But since Maimie's coming, the piano had been in daily use, and even onthe Sabbath days, though not without danger to the sensibilities of theneighbors, she had used it to accompany the hymns with which the dayalways closed.

  "Let us have the parts," cried Hughie. "Maimie and I will take the air,and Ranald will take the bass. Cousin Harry, can you sing?"

  "Oh, I'll hum."

  "Nonsense," said Maimie, "he sings tenor splendidly."

  "Oh, that's fine!" cried Hughie, with delight. He himself was full ofmusic. "Come on, Ranald, you stand up behind Maimie, you will need tosee the notes; and I will sit here," planting himself beside his mother.

  So Hughie arranged it all, and for an hour the singing went on, thefavorite hymns of each being sung in turn. For the most part, Mrs.Murray sat silent, but now and then she would join with the others,singing alto when she did so, by Hughie's special direction. Her voicewas not strong, but it was true, mellow, and full of music. Hughie lovedto hear her sing alto, and more especially because he liked to join inwith her, which he was too shy to do alone, even in his home, and whichhe would never think of doing in the Bible class, or in the presence ofany of the boys who might, for this reason, think him "proud." When theycame to Hughie's turn, he chose the hymn by Bliss, recently published,"Whosoever will," the words seem to strike him tonight.

  "Mother," he said, after singing it through, "does that mean everybodythat likes?"

  "Yes, my dear, any one that wishes."

  "Pharaoh, mother?"

  "Yes, Pharaoh, too."

  "But, mother, you said he could not possibly."

  "Only because he did not want to."

  "But he could not, even if he did want to."

  "I hope I did not say that," said his mother, smiling at the eager andearnest young face.

  "No, auntie," said Harry, taking up Hughie's cause, "not exactly, butsomething very like it. You said that Pharaoh could not possibly haveacted in any other way than he did."

  "Yes, I said that."

  "Not even if he wanted to?" asked Hughie.

  "Oh, I did not say that."

  "The Lord hardened Pharaoh's heart," quoted Ranald, who knew his Biblebetter than Harry.

  "Yes, that is it," said Harry, "and so that made it impossible forPharaoh to do anything else. He could not help following after thosepeople."

  "Why not?" said Mrs. Murray. "What made him follow? Now just think, whatmade him follow after those people?"

  "Why, he wanted to get them back," said Hughie.

  "Quite true," said his mother. "So you see, he did exactly as he wantedto."

  "Then you mean the Lord had nothing to do with it?" asked Ranald.

  "No, I could not say that."

  "Then," said Harry, "Pharaoh could not help himself. Now, could he?"

  "He did what he wished to do," said his aunt.

  "Yes," said Ranald, quickly, "but could he help wishing to do what hedid?"

  "If he had been a different man, more humble minded, and more willing tobe taught, he would not have wished to do what he did."

  "Mother," said Hughie, changing his ground a little, and lowering hisvoice, "do you think Pharaoh is lost, and all his soldiers, and--and allthe people who were bad?"

  Mrs. Murray looked at him in silence for a few moments, then said, verysadly, "I can't answer that question, Hughie. I do not know."

  "But, mother," persisted Hughie, "are not wicked people lost?"

  "Yes, Hughie," replied his mother, "all those who do not repent of theirsi
ns and cry to God for mercy."

  "Oh, mother," cried Hughie, "forever?"

  His mother did not reply.

  "Will He never let them out, mother?" continued Hughie, in piteousappeal.

  "Listen to me, Hughie," said his mother, very gently. "We know verylittle about this. Would you be very sorry, even for very bad men?"

  "Oh, mother," cried Hughie, his tender little heart moved with a greatcompassion, "think of a whole year, all summer long, and all winterlong. I think I would let anybody out."

  "Then, Hughie, dear," said his mother, "remember that God is much kinderthan you are, and has a heart far more tender, and while He will be justand must punish sin, He will do nothing unjust or unkind, you may bequite sure of that. Do not forget how He gave up His own dear son forus."

  Poor Hughie could bear it no longer. He put his head in his mother's lapand sobbed out, "Oh, mother, I hope he will let them out."

  As he uttered this pitiful little cry, his cousin Harry got up from hischair, and moved across to the window, while Maimie openly wiped hereyes, but Ranald sat with his face set hard, and his eyes gleaming,waiting eagerly for Mrs. Murray's answer.

  The mother stroked Hughie's head softly, and while her tears fell on thebrown curls, said to him, "You would not be afraid to trust your mother,Hughie, and our Father in heaven loves us all much more than I loveyou."

  And with that Hughie was content.

  "Now let us sing one more hymn," said his mother. "It's my choice."And she chose one of the new hymns which they had just learned in thesinging school, and of which Hughie was very fond, the children's hymn,"Come to the Saviour." While they were singing they heard Mr. Murraydrive into the yard.

  "There's papa," said Mrs. Murray. "He will be tired and hungry," and shehurried out to meet her husband, followed by Harry and Hughie, leavingRanald and Maimie in the room together. Ranald had never been alone withher before, nor indeed had he ever spent five minutes of his life alonewith any girl before now. But he did not feel awkward or shy; he wasthinking now, as he had been thinking now and then through the wholeevening, of only one thing, that Maimie was going away. That wouldmake a great difference to him, so great that he was conscious of aheart-sinking at the mere thought of it. During the last weeks, his lifehad come to move about a center, and that center was Maimie; and nowthat she was going away, there would be nothing left. Nothing, that is,that really mattered. But the question he was revolving in his mind was,would she forget all about him. He knew he would never forget her, thatwas, of course, impossible, for so many things would remind him of her.He would never see the moonlight falling through the trees as it fellthat night of the sugaring-off, without thinking of her. He would neversee the shadows in the evening, or hear the wind in the leaves, withoutthinking of her. The church and the minister's pew, the manse and allbelonging to it would remind him of Maimie. He would recall how shelooked at different times and places, the turn of her head, the way herhair fell on her neck, her laugh, the little toss of her chin, and thecurve in her lips. He would remember everything about her. Would sheremember him, or would she forget him? That was the question burningin his heart; and that question he must have settled, and this was thetime.

  But though these thoughts and emotions were rushing through his brainand blood, he felt strangely quiet and self-controlled as he walked overto her where she stood beside the piano, and looking into her eyes withan intensity of gaze she could not meet, said, in a low, quick voice:"You are going away?"

  "Yes," she replied, so startled that the easy smile with which she hadgreeted him faded out of her face. "In two weeks I shall be gone."

  "Gone!" echoed Ranald. "Yes, you will be gone. Will you forget me?" Histone was almost stern.

  "Why, no," she said, in a surprised voice. "Of course not. Did not yousave my life? You will be far more likely to forget me."

  "No," he said, simply, as if that possibility need not be considered. "Iwill never forget you. I will always be thinking of you. Will you thinkof me?" he persisted.

  "Why, certainly. Wouldn't I be a very ungrateful girl if I did not?"

  "Ungrateful!" exclaimed Ranald, impatiently. "What I did was nothing.Forget that. Do you not understand me? I will be thinking of you everyday, in the morning and at night, and I never thought of any one elsebefore for a day. Will you be thinking of me?"

  There was a movement in the kitchen, and they could hear the ministertalking to Harry; and some one was moving toward the door.

  "Tell me, Maimie, quick," said Ranald, and though his voice was intenseand stern, there was appeal in it as well.

  She took a step nearer him, and looking up into his face, said, in awhisper, "Yes, Ranald, I will always remember you, and think of you."

  Swiftly, almost fiercely, he threw his arms about her, and kissed herlips, then he stood back looking at her.

  "I could not help it," he said, boldly. "You made me."

  "Made you?" exclaimed Maimie, her face hot with blushes.

  "Yes, you made me. I could not help it," he repeated. "And I do not careif you are angry. I am glad I did it."

  "Glad?" echoed Maimie again, not knowing what to say.

  "Yes, glad," he said, exultantly. "Are you?"

  She made no reply. The door opened behind them. She sank down upon thepiano-stool and let her hands fall upon the keys.

  "Are you?" he demanded, ignoring the interruption.

  With her head low down, while she struck the chords of the hymn they hadjust sung, she said, hesitatingly, "I am not sorry."

  "Sorry for what?" said Harry.

  "Oh, nothing," said Maimie, lightly.

  "Nobody is, if he has got any sense."

  Then Mrs. Murray came in. "Won't you stay for supper, Ranald? You mustbe hungry."

  "No, thank you," said Ranald. "I must go now."

  He shook hands with an ease and freedom that the minister had never seenin him, and went out.

  "That young man is coming on," said the minister. "I never saw any onechange and develop as he has in the last few months. Let me see. He isonly eighteen, isn't he, and he might be twenty-one." The minister spokeas if he were not too well pleased with this precocity in Ranald.

  But little did Ranald care. That young man was striding homeward throughthe night, his head striking the stars. His path lay through the woods,and when he came to the "sugar camp" road, he stood still, and let thememories of the night when he had snatched Maimie from the fire troopthrough his mind. Suddenly he thought of Aleck McRae, and laughed aloud.

  "Poor Aleck," he said. Aleck seemed so harmless to him now. And then hestood silent, motionless, looking straight toward the stars, but seeingthem not. He was remembering Maimie's face when she said, "Yes, Ranald,I will always remember you and think of you"; and then the thought ofwhat followed, sent the blood jumping through his veins.

  "She will not forget," he said aloud, and went on his way. It was hishappy night, the happiest of his life thus far, and he would always behappy. What difference could anything make?