The Man from Glengarry: A Tale of the Ottawa

  CHAPTER IX

  A SABBATH DAY'S WORK

  The Sabbath that followed the sugaring-off was to Maimie the mostremarkable Sabbath of her life up to that day. It was totally unlike theSabbath of her home, which, after the formal "church parade," asHarry called it, in the morning, her father spent in lounging with hismagazine and pipe, her aunt in sleeping or in social gossip with suchfriends as might drop in, and Harry and Maimie as best they could.

  The Sabbath in the minister's house, as in the homes of his people, wasa day so set apart from other days that it had to be approached. TheSaturday afternoon and evening caught something of its atmosphere. Nofrivolity, indeed no light amusement, was proper on the evening that puta period to the worldly occupations and engagements of the week. Thatevening was one of preparation. The house, and especially the kitchen,was thoroughly "redd up." Wood, water, and kindlings were brought in,clothes were brushed, boots greased or polished, dinner prepared, andin every way possible the whole house, its dwellers, and its belongings,made ready for the morrow. So, when the Sabbath morning dawned, peopleawoke with a feeling that old things had passed away and that the wholeworld was new. The sun shone with a radiance not known on other days. Hewas shining upon holy things, and lighting men and women to holy duties.Through all the farms the fields lay bathed in his genial glow, at rest,and the very trees stood in silent worship of the bending heavens. Upfrom stable and from kitchen came no sounds of work. The horses knewthat no wheel would turn that day in labor, and the dogs lay sleeping insunny nooks, knowing as well as any that there was to be no hunting orroaming for them that day, unless they chose to go on a free hunt; whichnone but light-headed puppies or dissipated and reprobate dogs wouldcare to do.

  Over all things rest brooded, and out of the rest grew holy thoughtsand hopes. It was a day of beginnings. For the past, broken and stained,there was a new offer of oblivion and healing, and the heart wassummoned to look forward to new life and to hope for better things, andto drink in all those soothing, healing influences that memory and faithcombine to give; so that when the day was done, weary and discouragedmen and women began to feel that, perhaps after all they might be ableto endure and even to hope for victory.

  The minister rose earlier on Sabbath than on other days, theresponsibility of his office pressing hard upon him. Breakfast was moresilent than usual, ordinary subjects of conversation being discouraged.The minister was preoccupied and impatient of any interruption of histhoughts. But his wife came to the table with a sweeter serenity thanusual, and a calm upon her face that told of hidden strength. EvenMaimie could notice the difference, but she could only wonder. Thesecret of it was hidden from her. Her aunt was like no other woman thatshe knew, and there were many things about her too deep for Maimie'sunderstanding.

  After worship, which was brief but solemn and intense, Lambert hurriedto bring round to the front the big black horse, hitched up in thecarryall, and they all made speed to pack themselves in, Maimie and heraunt in front, and Hughie on the floor behind with his legs under theseat; for when once the minister was himself quite ready, and had gothis great meerschaum pipe going, it was unsafe for any one to delay hima single instant.

  The drive to the church was an experience hardly in keeping with thespirit of the day. It was more exciting than restful. Black was a horsewith a single aim, which was to devour the space that stretched outbefore him, with a fine disregard of consequence. The first part of theroad up to the church hill and down again to the swamp was to Black, asto the others, an unmixed joy, for he was fresh from his oats and eagerto go, and his driver was as eager to let him have his will.

  But when the swamp was reached, and the buggy began to leap from logto log of the corduroy, Black began to chafe in impatience of the reinwhich commanded caution. Indeed, the passage of the swamp was alwaysmore or less of an adventure, the result of which no one could foretell,and it took all Mrs. Murray's steadiness of nerve to repress anexclamation of terror at critical moments. The corduroy was Black'sabomination. He longed to dash through and be done with it; but, howevermuch the minister sympathized with Black's desire, prudence forbade thathis method should be adopted. So from log to log, and from hole to hole,Black plunged and stepped with all the care he could be persuaded toexercise, every lurch of the carryall bringing a scream from Maimie infront and a delighted chuckle from Hughie behind. His delight in theadventure was materially increased by his cousin's terror.

  But once the swamp was crossed, and Black found himself on the firmroad that wound over the sand-hills and through the open pine woods, hetossed his great mane back from his eyes, and getting his head set offat a pace that foreboded disaster to anything trying to keep before him,and in a short time drew up at the church gates, his flanks steaming andhis great chest white with foam.

  "My!" said Maimie, when she had recovered her breath sufficiently tospeak, "is that the church?" She pointed to a huge wooden building aboutwhose door a group of men were standing.

  "Huh-huh, that's it," said Hughie; "but we will soon be done with theugly old thing."

  The most enthusiastic member of the congregation could scarcely call theold church beautiful, and to Maimie's eyes it was positively hideous.No steeple or tower gave any hint of its sacred character. Itsweather-beaten clapboard exterior, spotted with black knots, as ifstricken with some disfiguring disease, had nothing but its row ofuncurtained windows to distinguish it from an ordinary barn.

  They entered by the door at the end of the church, and proceeded downthe long aisle that ran the full length of the building, till they cameto a cross aisle that led them to the minister's pew at the left sideof the pulpit, and commanding a view of the whole congregation. The mainbody of the church was seated with long box pews with hinged doors. Butthe gallery that ran round three sides was fitted with simple benches.Immediately in front of the pulpit was a square pew which was set apartfor the use of the elders, and close up to the pulpit, and indeed aspart of this structure, was a precentor's desk. The pulpit was, toMaimie's eyes, a wonder. It was an octagonal box placed high on oneside of the church on a level with the gallery, and reached by a spiralstaircase. Above it hung the highly ornate and altogether extraordinarysounding-board and canopy. There was no sign of paint anywhere, butthe yellow pine, of which seats, gallery, and pulpit were all made, haddeepened with age into a rich brown, not unpleasant to the eye.

  The church was full, for the Indian Lands people believed in goingto church, and there was not a house for many miles around but wasrepresented in the church that day. There they sat, row upon row of men,brawny and brown with wind and sun, a notable company, worthy of theirancestry and worthy of their heritage. Beside them sat their wives,brown, too, and weather-beaten, but strong, deep-bosomed, and with facesof calm content, worthy to be mothers of their husbands' sons. The girlsand younger children sat with their parents, modest, shy, and reverent,but the young men, for the most part, filled the back seats underthe gallery. And a hardy lot they were, as brown and brawny as theirfathers, but tingling with life to their finger-tips, ready foranything, and impossible of control except by one whom they feared aswell as reverenced. And such a man was Alexander Murray, for they knewwell that, lithe and brawny as they were, there was not a man of thembut he could fling out of the door and over the fence if he so wished;and they knew, too, that he would be prompt to do it if occasion arose.Hence they waited for the word of God with all due reverence and fear.

  In the square pew in front of the pulpit sat the elders, hoary, massive,and venerable. The Indian Lands Session were worth seeing. Great menthey were, every one of them, excepting, perhaps, Kenneth Campbell,"Kenny Crubach," as he was called, from his halting step. Kenny wasneither hoary nor massive nor venerable. He was a short, grizzled manwith snapping black eyes and a tongue for clever, biting speech;and while he bore a stainless character, no one thought of him asan eminently godly man. In public prayer he never attained any greatlength, nor did he employ that tone of unction deemed suitable in thissacred exercise.
He seldom "spoke to the question," but when he didpeople leaned forward to listen, and more especially the rows of thecareless and ungodly under the gallery. Kenny had not the look of anelder, and indeed, many wondered how he had ever come to be chosen forthe office. But the others all had the look of elders, and carried withthem the full respect and affection of the congregation. Even the youngmen under the gallery regarded them with reverence for their godlycharacter, but for other things as well; for these old men had beenfamous in their day, and tales were still told about the firesides ofthe people of their prowess in the woods and on the river.

  There was, for instance, Finlay McEwen, or McKeowen, as they allpronounced it in that country, who, for a wager, had carried afour-hundred-pound barrel upon each hip across the long bridge over theScotch River. And next him sat Donald Ross, whose very face, with itshalo of white hair, bore benediction with it wherever he went. What aman he must have been in his day! Six feet four inches he stood in hisstocking soles, and with "a back like a barn door," as his son Danny,or "Curly," now in the shanty with Macdonald Bhain, used to say, inaffectionate pride. Then there was Farquhar McNaughton, big, kindly, andgood-natured, a mighty man with the ax in his time. "Kirsty's Farquhar"they called him, for obvious reasons. And a good thing for Farquhar itwas that he had had Kirsty at his side during these years to make hisbargains for him and to keep him and all others to them, else he wouldnever have become the substantial man he was.

  Next to Farquhar was Peter McRae, the chief of a large clan ofrespectable, and none too respectable, families, whom all alike heldin fear, for Peter ruled with a rod of iron, and his word ran as lawthroughout the clan. Then there was Ian More Macgregor, or "Big JohnMacgregor," as the younger generation called him, almost as big asDonald Ross and quite as kindly, but with a darker, sadder face.Something from his wilder youth had cast its shadow over his life. Noone but his minister and two others knew that story, but the old manknew it himself, and that was enough. One of those who shared his secretwas his neighbor and crony, Donald Ross, and it was worth a journey ofsome length to see these two great old men, one with the sad and theother with the sunny face, stride off together, staff in hand, at theclose of the Gaelic service, to Donald's home, where the afternoon wouldbe spent in discourse fitting the Lord's day and in prayer.

  The only other elder was Roderick McCuiag, who sat, not in the elders'pew, but in the precentor's box, for he was the Leader of Psalmody."Straight Rory," as he was called by the irreverent, was tall, spare,and straight as a ramrod. He was devoted to his office, jealous ofits dignity, and strenuous in his opposition to all innovations inconnection with the Service of Praise. He was especially opposed tothe introduction of those "new-fangled ranting" tunes which werebeing taught the young people by John "Alec" Fraser in the weeklysinging-school in the Nineteenth, and which were sung at Mrs. Murray'sSabbath evening Bible class in the Little Church. Straight Rory had beeneducated for a teacher in Scotland, and was something of a scholar.He loved school examinations, where he was the terror of pupils andteachers alike. His acute mind reveled in the metaphysics of theology,which made him the dread of all candidates who appeared before thesession desiring "to come forward." It was to many an impressive sightto see Straight Rory rise in the precentor's box, feel round, with muchfacial contortion, for the pitch--he despised a tuning-fork--and then,straightening himself up till he bent over backwards, raise the chantthat introduced the tune to the congregation. But to the young men underthe gallery he was more humorous than impressive, and it is to be fearedthat they waited for the precentor's weekly performance with a delightedexpectation that never flagged and that was never disappointed. It wasonly the flash of the minister's blue eye that held their faces rigidin preternatural solemnity, and forced them to content themselves withwinks and nudges for the expression of their delight.

  As Maimie's eye went wandering shyly over the rows of brown faces thatturned in solemn and steadfast regard to the minister's pew, Hughienudged her and whispered: "There's Don. See, in the back seat by thewindow, next to Peter Ruagh yonder; the red-headed fellow."

  He pointed to Peter McRae, grandson of "Peter the Elder." There was nomistaking that landmark.

  "Look," cried Hughie, eagerly, pointing with terrible directnessstraight at Don, to Maimie's confusion.

  "Whisht, Hughie," said his mother softly.

  "There's Ranald, mother," said the diplomatic Hughie, knowing well thathis mother would rejoice to hear that bit of news. "See, mother, just infront of Don, there."

  Again Hughie's terrible finger pointed straight into the face of thegazing congregation.

  "Hush, Hughie," said his mother, severely.

  Maimie knew a hundred eyes were looking straight at the minister's pew,but for the life of her she could not prevent her eye following thepointing finger, till it found the steady gaze of Ranald fastened uponher. It was only for a moment, but in that moment she felt her heartjump and her face grow hot, and it did not help her that she knew thatthe people were all wondering at her furious blushes. Of course thestory of the sugaring-off had gone the length of the land and had formedthe subject of conversation at the church door that morning, whereRanald had to bear a good deal of chaff about the young lady, and herdislike of forfeits, till he was ready to fight if a chance should butoffer. With unspeakable rage and confusion, he noticed Hughie's pointingfinger. He caught, too, Maimie's quick look, with the vivid blush thatfollowed. Unfortunately, others besides himself had noticed this, andDon and Peter Ruagh, in the seat behind him, made it the subject ofcongratulatory remarks to Ranald.

  At this point the minister rose in the pulpit, and all waited withearnest and reverent mien for the announcing of the psalm.

  The Rev. Alexander Murray was a man to be regarded in any company andunder any circumstances, but when he stood up in his pulpit and facedhis congregation he was truly superb. He was above the average height,of faultless form and bearing, athletic, active, and with a "spring inevery muscle." He had coal-black hair and beard, and a flashing blue eyethat held his people in utter subjection and put the fear of death uponevil-doers under the gallery. In every movement, tone, and glance therebreathed imperial command.

  "Let us worship God by singing to His praise in the one hundred andtwenty-first psalm:

  'I to the hills will lift mine eyes, From whence doth come mine aid.'"

  His voice rang out over the congregation like a silver bell, and Maimiethought she had never seen a man of such noble presence.

  After the reading of the psalm the minister sat down, and Straight Roryrose in his box, and after his manner, began feeling about for the firstnote of the chant that would introduce the noble old tune "St. Paul's."A few moments he spent twisting his face and shoulders in a manner thatthreatened to ruin the solemnity of the worshipers under the gallery,till finally he seemed to hit upon the pitch desired, and throwing backhis head and closing one eye, he proceeded on his way. Each line hechanted alone, after the ancient Scottish custom, after which thecongregation joined with him in the tune. The custom survived from thetime when psalm-books were in the hands of but few and the "lining" ofthe psalm was therefore necessary.

  There was no haste to be done with the psalm. Why should there be? Theyhad only one Sabbath in the week, and the whole day was before them.The people surrendered themselves to the lead of Straight Rory withunmistakable delight in that part of "the exercises" of the day in whichthey were permitted to audibly join. But of all the congregation, noneenjoyed the singing more than the dear old women who sat in the frontseats near the pulpit, their quiet old faces looking so sweet and pureunder their snow-white "mutches." There they sat and sang and quavered,swaying their bodies with the tune in an ecstasy of restful joy.

  Maimie had often heard St. Paul's before, but never as it was chantedby Straight Rory and sung by the Indian Lands congregation that day.The extraordinary slides and slurs almost obliterated the notes of theoriginal tune, and the "little kick," as Maimie called it, at the end ofthe second l
ine, gave her a little start.

  "Auntie," she whispered, "isn't it awfully queer?"

  "Isn't it beautiful?" her aunt answered, with an uncertain smile. Shewas remembering how these winding, sliding, slurring old tunes hadaffected her when first she heard them in her husband's church yearsago. The stately movement, the weird quavers, and the pathetic cadenceshad in some mysterious way reached the deep places in her heart, andbefore she knew, she had found the tears coursing down her cheeks andher breath catching in sobs. Indeed, as she listened to-day, rememberingthese old impressions, the tears began to flow, till Hughie, notunderstanding, crept over to his mother, and to comfort her, slippedhis hand into hers, looking fiercely at Maimie as if she were toblame. Maimie, too, noticed the tears and sat wondering, and as thecongregation swung on through the verses of the grand old psalm therecrept into her heart a new and deeper emotion than she had ever known.

  "Listen to the words, Maimie dear," whispered her aunt. And as Maimielistened, the noble words, borne on the mighty swing of St. Paul's,lifted up by six hundred voices--for men, women, and children weresinging with all their hearts--awakened echoes from great deeps withinher as yet unsounded. The days for such singing are, alas! long gone.The noble rhythm, the stately movement, the continuous curving stream ofmelody, that once marked the praise service of the old Scottish church,have given place to the light, staccato tinkle of the revival chorus, orthe shorn and mutilated skeleton of the ancient psalm tune.

  But while the psalm had been moving on in its solemn and stately way,Ranald had been enduring agony at the hands of Peter Ruagh sitting justbehind him. Peter, whose huge, clumsy body was a fitting tabernacle forthe soul within, labored under the impression that he was a humorist,and indulged a habit of ponderous joking, trying enough to most people,but to one of Ranald's temperament exasperating to a high degree. Histheme was Ranald's rescue of Maimie, and the pauses of the singing hefilled in with humorous comments that, outside, would have produced onlyweariness, but in the church, owing to the strange perversity of humannature, sent a snicker along the seat. Unfortunately for him, Ranald'sface was so turned that he could not see it, and so he had no hint ofthe wrath that was steadily boiling up to the point of overflow.

  They were nearing the close of the last verse of the psalm, when Hughie,whose eyes never wandered long from Ranald's direction, uttered a sharp"Oh, my!" There was a shuffling confusion under the gallery, and whenMaimie and her aunt looked, Peter Ruagh's place was vacant.

  By this time the minister was standing up for prayer. His eye, too,caught the movement in the back seat.

  "Young men," he said, sternly, "remember you are in God's house. Let menot have to mention your names before the congregation. Let us pray."

  As the congregation rose for prayer, Mrs. Murray noticed Peter Ruaghappear from beneath the book-board and quietly slip out by the back doorwith his hand to his face and the blood streaming between his fingers;and though Ranald was standing up straight and stiff in his place, Mrs.Murray could read from his rigid look the explanation of Peter's bloodyface. She gave her mind to the prayer with a sore heart, for she hadlearned enough of those wild, hot-headed youths to know that beforePeter Ruagh's face would be healed more blood would have to flow.

  The prayer proceeded in its leisurely way, indulging here and therein quiet reverie, or in exultant jubilation over the "attributes,"embracing in its worldwide sweep "the interests of the kingdom" far andnear, and of that part of humanity included therein present and to come,and buttressing its petitions with theological argument, systematic andunassailable. Before the close, however, the minister came to deal withthe needs of his own people. Old and young, absent and present, thesick, the weary, the sin-burdened--all were remembered with a warmthof sympathy, with a directness of petition, and with an earnestness ofappeal that thrilled and subdued the hearts of all, and made even theboys, who had borne with difficulty the last half-hour of the longprayer, forget their weariness.

  The reading of Scripture followed the prayer. In this the ministerexcelled. His fine voice and his dramatic instinct combined to make thisan impressive and beautiful portion of the service. But to-day much ofthe beauty and impressiveness of the reading was lost by the frequentinterruptions caused by the entrance of late comers, of whom, owing tothe bad roads, there were a larger number than usual. The minister wasevidently annoyed, not so much by the opening and shutting of the dooras by the inattention of his hearers, who kept turning round their headsto see who the new arrivals were. At length the minister could bear itno longer.

  "My dear people," he said, pausing in the reading, "never mind thosecoming in. Give you heed to the reading of God's Word, and if you mustknow who are entering, I will tell you. Yes," he added, deliberately,"give you heed to me, and I will let you know who these late comersare."

  With that startling declaration, he proceeded with the reading, but hadnot gone more than a few verses when "click" went the door-latch. Nota head turned. It was Malcolm Monroe, slow-going and good-natured, withhis quiet little wife following him.

  The minister paused, looking toward the door, and announced: "My dearpeople, here comes our friend Malcolm Monroe, and his good wife withhim, and a long walk they have had. Come away, Malcolm; come away; wewill just wait for you."

  Malcolm's face was a picture. Surprise, astonishment, and confusionfollowed each other across his stolid countenance; and with quicker pacethan he was ever known to use in his life before, he made his way tohis seat. No sooner had the reading began again when once more thedoor clicked. True to his promise, the minister paused and cheerfullyannounced to his people: "This, my friends, is John Campbell, whomyou all know as 'Johnnie Sarah,' and we are very glad to see him, for,indeed, he has not been here for some time. Come away, John; come away,man," he added, impatiently, "for we are all waiting for you."

  Johnnie Sarah stood paralyzed with amazement and seemed uncertainwhether to advance or to turn and flee. The minister's impatientcommand, however, decided him, and he dropped into the nearest seat withall speed, and gazed about him as if to discover where he was. He hadno sooner taken his seat than the door opened again, and some half-dozenpeople entered. The minister stood looking at them for some moments andthen said, in a voice of resignation: "Friends, these are some of ourpeople from the Island, and there are some strangers with them. Butif you want to know who they are, you will just have to look at themyourselves, for I must get on with the reading."

  Needless to say, not a soul of the congregation, however consumed withcuriosity, dared to look around, and the reading of the chapter wentgravely on to the close. To say that Maimie sat in utter astonishmentduring this extraordinary proceeding would give but a faint idea of herstate of mind. Even Mrs. Murray herself, who had become accustomed toher husband's eccentricities, sat in a state of utter bewilderment, notknowing what might happen next; nor did she feel quite safe until thetext was announced and the sermon fairly begun.

  Important as were the exercises of reading, praise, and prayer, theywere only the "opening services," and merely led up to the event of theday, which was the sermon. And it was the event, not only of the day,but of the week. It would form the theme of conversation and afford foodfor discussion in every gathering of the people until another came totake its place. To-day it lasted a full hour and a half, and was anextraordinary production. Calm, deliberate reasoning, flights of vividimagination, passionate denunciation, and fervid appeal, marked itscourse. Its subject was the great doctrine of Justification by Faith,and it contained a complete system of theology arranged with referenceto that doctrine. Ancient heresies were attacked and exposed withcompleteness amounting to annihilation. Modern errors, into which our"friends" of the different denominations had fallen, were deplored andcorrected, and all possible misapplications of the doctrine to practicallife guarded against. On the positive side the need, the ground, themeans, the method, the agent, the results, of Justification, were fullyset forth and illustrated. There were no anecdotes and no poetry.The subject wa
s much too massive and tremendous to permit of any suchtrifling.

  As the sermon rolled on its majestic course, the congregation listenedwith an attentive and discriminating appreciation that testified totheir earnestness and intelligence. True, one here and there droppedinto a momentary doze, but his slumber was never easy, for he washarassed by the terrible fear of a sudden summons by name from thepulpit to "awake and give heed to the message," which for the next fewminutes would have an application so personal and pungent that it wouldeffectually prevent sleep for that and some successive Sabbaths. Theonly apparent lapse of attention occurred when Donald Ross opened hishorn snuff-box, and after tapping solemnly upon its lid, drew forth ahuge pinch of snuff and passed it to his neighbor, who, after helpinghimself in like manner, passed the box on. That the lapse was onlyapparent was made evident by the air of abstraction with which thisoperation was carried on, the snuff being held between the thumb andforefinger for some moments, until a suitable resting-place in thesermon was reached.

  When the minister had arrived at the middle of the second head, he madethe discovery, as was not frequently the case, that the remotest limitsof the alloted time had been passed, and announcing that the subjectwould be concluded on the following Sabbath, he summarily brought theEnglish service to a close, and dismissed the congregation with a briefprayer, two verses of a psalm, and the benediction.

  When Maimie realized that the service was really over, she felt asif she had been in church for a week. After the benediction thecongregation passed out into the churchyard and disposed themselves ingroups about the gate and along the fences discussing the sermon andmaking brief inquiries as to the "weal and ill" of the members of theirfamilies. Mrs. Murray, leaving Hughie and Maimie to wander at will,passed from group to group, welcomed by all with equal respect andaffection. Young men and old men, women and girls alike, were glad toget her word. To-day, however, the young men were not at first to beseen, but Mrs. Murray knew them well enough to suspect that they wouldbe found at the back of the church, so she passed slowly around thechurch, greeting the people as she went, and upon turning the corner shesaw a crowd under the big maple, the rendezvous for the younger portionof the congregation before "church went in." In the center of thegroup stood Ranald and Don, with Murdie, Don's eldest brother, a huge,good-natured man, beside them, and Peter Ruagh, with his cousin Aleck,and others of the clan. Ranald was standing, pale and silent, with hishead thrown back, as his manner was when in passion. The talk was mainlybetween Aleck and Murdie, the others crowding eagerly about and puttingin a word as they could. Murdie was reasoning good-humoredly, Aleckreplying fiercely.

  "It was good enough for him," Mrs. Murray heard Don interject, in atriumphant tone, to Murdie. But Murdie shut him off sternly.

  "Whisht, Don, you are not talking just now."

  Don was about to reply when he caught sight of Mrs. Murray. "Here's theminister's wife," he said, in a low tone, and at once the group partedin shamefaced confusion. But Murdie kept his face unmoved, and as Mrs.Murray drew slowly near, said, in a quiet voice of easy good-humor, toAleck, who was standing with a face like that of a detected criminal:"Well, we will see about it to-morrow night, Aleck, at the post-office,"and he faced about to meet Mrs. Murray with an easy smile, while Aleckturned away. But Mrs. Murray was not deceived, and she went straight tothe point.

  "Murdie," she said, quietly, when she had answered his greeting, "willyou just come with me a little; I want to ask you about something."And Murdie walked away with her, followed by the winks and nods of theothers.

  What she said Murdie never told, but he came back to them moredetermined upon peace than ever. The difficulty lay, not with thegood-natured Peter, who was ready enough to settle with Ranald, but withthe fiery Aleck, who represented the non-respectable section of theclan McRae, who lived south of the Sixteenth, and had a reputation forwildness. Fighting was their glory, and no one cared to enter upon afeud with any one of them. Murdie had interfered on Ranald's behalf,chiefly because he was Don's friend, but also because he was unwillingthat Ranald should be involved in a quarrel with the McRaes, which heknew would be a serious affair for him. But now his strongest reason fordesiring peace was that he had pledged himself to the minister's wifeto bring it about in some way or other. So he took Peter off by himself,and without much difficulty, persuaded him to act the magnanimous partand drop the quarrel.

  With Ranald he had a harder task. That young man was prepared to see hisquarrel through at whatever consequences to himself. He knew the McRaes,and knew well their reputation, but that only made it more impossiblefor him to retreat. But Murdie knew better than to argue with him, sohe turned away from him with an indifferent air, saying: "Oh, very well.Peter is willing to let it drop. You can do as you please, only I knowthe minister's wife expects you to make it up."

  "What did she say to you, then?" asked Ranald, fiercely.

  "She said a number of things that you don't need to know, but she saidthis, whatever, 'He will make it up for my sake, I know.'"

  Ranald stood a moment silent, then said, suddenly: "I will, too," andwalking straight over to Peter, he offered his hand, saying, "I was tooquick, Peter, and I am willing to take as much as I gave. You can goon."

  But Peter was far too soft-hearted to accept that invitation, andseizing Ranald's hand, said, heartily: "Never mind, Ranald, it was myown fault. We will just say nothing more about it."

  "There is the singing, boys," said Murdie. "Come away. Let us go in."

  He was all the more anxious to get the boys into the church when he sawAleck making toward them. He hurried Peter in before him, well pleasedwith himself and his success as peacemaker, but especially delightedthat he could now turn his face toward the minister's pew, withoutshame. And as he took his place in the back seat, with Peter Ruaghbeside him, the glance of pride and gratitude that flashed across thecongregation to him from the gray-brown eyes made Murdie feel morethan ever pleased at what he had been able to do. But he was somewhatdisturbed to notice that neither Ranald nor Don nor Aleck had followedhim into the church, and he waited uneasily for their coming.

  In the meantime Straight Rory was winding his sinuous way throughColeshill, the Gaelic rhythm of the psalm allowing of quavers and turnsimpossible in the English.

  In the pause following the second verse, Murdie was startled at thesound of angry voices from without. More than Murdie heard that sound.As Murdie glanced toward the pulpit he saw that the minister had risenand was listening intently.

  "Behold--the--sparrow--findeth--out--" chanted the precentor.

  "You are a liar!" The words, in Aleck's fiery voice outside, felldistinctly upon Murdie's ear, though few in the congregation seemed tohave heard. But while Murdie was making up his mind to slip out, theminister was before him. Quickly he stepped down the pulpit stairs,psalm-book in hand, and singing as he went, walked quietly to the backdoor, and leaving his book on the window-sill, passed out. The singingwent calmly on, for the congregation were never surprised at anythingtheir minister did.

  The next verse was nearly through, when the door opened, and in cameDon, followed by Aleck, looking somewhat disheveled and shaken up,and two or three more. In a few moments the minister came in, took hispsalm-book from the window-sill, and striking up with the congregation,"Blest is the man whose strength thou art," marched up to the pulpitagain, with only an added flash in his blue eyes and a little moretriumphant swing to his coat-tails to indicate that anything had takenplace. But Murdie looked in vain for Ranald to appear, and waited,uncertain what to do. He had a wholesome fear of the minister, moreespecially in his present mood. Instinctively he turned toward theminister's pew, and reading the look of anxious entreaty from the paleface there, he waited till the congregation rose for prayer and thenslipped out, and was seen no more in church that day.

  On the way home not a word was said about the disturbance. But after theevening worship, when the minister had gone to his study for a smoke,Hughie, who had heard the whole story from Don, tol
d it to his motherand Maimie in his most graphic manner.

  "It was not Ranald's fault, mother," he declared. "You know Peter wouldnot let him alone, and Ranald hit him in the nose, and served him right,too. But they made it all up, and they were just going into the churchagain, when that Aleck McRae pulled Ranald back, and Ranald did not wantto fight at all, but he called Ranald a liar, and he could not help it,but just hit him."

  "Who hit who?" said Maimie. "You're not making it very clear, Hughie."

  "Why, Ranald, of course, hit Aleck, and knocked him over, too," saidHughie, with much satisfaction; "and then Aleck--he is an awful fighter,you know--jumped on Ranald and was pounding him just awful, the greatbig brute, when out came papa. He stepped up and caught Aleck by theneck and shook him just like a baby, saying, all the time, 'Would ye? Iwill teach you to fight on the Sabbath day! Here! in with you, everyone of you!' and he threw him nearly into the door, and then they allskedaddled into the church, I tell you, Don said. They were pretty badlyscart, too, but Don did not know what papa did to Ranald, and he did notknow where Ranald went, but he is pretty badly hurted, I am sure. Thatgreat big Aleck McRae is old enough to be his father. Wasn't it mean ofhim, mother?"

  Poor Hughie was almost in tears, and his mother, who sat listening tooeagerly to correct her little boy's ethics or grammar, was as nearlyovercome as he. She wished she knew where Ranald was. He had notappeared at the evening Bible class, and Murdie had reported that hecould not find him anywhere.

  She put Hughie to bed, and then saw Maimie to her room. But Maimie wasvery unwilling to go to bed.

  "Oh, auntie," she whispered, as her aunt kissed her good night, "Icannot go to sleep!" And then, after a pause, she said, shyly, "Do youthink he is badly hurt?"

  Then the minister's wife, looking keenly into the girl's face, madelight of Ranald's misfortune.

  "Oh, he will be all right," she said, "as far as his hurt is concerned.That is the least part of his trouble. You need not worry about that.Good night, my dear." And Maimie, relieved by her aunt's tone, said"good night" with her heart at rest.

  Then Mrs. Murray went into the study, determined to find out what hadpassed between her husband and Ranald. She found him lying on his couch,luxuriating in the satisfaction of a good day's work behind him, andhis first pipe nearly done. She at once ventured upon the thing that layheavy upon her heart. She began by telling all she knew of the troublefrom its beginning in the church, and then waited for her husband'sstory.

  For some moments he lay silently smoking.

  "Ah, well," he said, at length, knocking out his pipe, "perhaps I was alittle severe with the lad. He may not have been so much to blame."

  "Oh, papa! What did you do?" said his wife, in an anxious voice.

  "Well," said the minister, hesitating, "I found that the youngrascal had struck Aleck McRae first, and a very bad blow it was. So Iadministered a pretty severe rebuke and sent him home."

  "Oh, what a shame!" cried his wife, in indignant tears. "It was far morethe fault of Peter and Aleck and the rest. Poor Ranald!"

  "Now, my dear," said the minister, "you need not fear for Ranald. I donot suppose he cares much. Besides, his face was not fit to be seen, soI sent him home. Well, it--"

  "Yes," burst in his wife, "great, brutal fellow, to strike a boy likethat!"

  "Boy?" said her husband. "Well, he may be, but not many men woulddare to face him." Then he added, "I wish I had known--I fear Ispoke--perhaps the boy may feel unjustly treated. He is as proud asLucifer."

  "Oh, papa!" said his wife, "what did you say?"

  "Nothing but what was true. I just told him that a boy who would breakthe Lord's Day by fighting, and in the very shadow of the Lord's house,when Christian people were worshiping God, was acting like a savage, andwas not fit for the company of decent folk."

  To this his wife made no reply, but went out of the study, leaving theminister feeling very uncomfortable indeed. But by the end of the secondpipe he began to feel that, after all, Ranald had got no more thanwas good for him, and that he would be none the worse of it; in whichcomforting conviction he went to rest, and soon fell into the sleepwhich is supposed to be the right of the just.

  Not so his wife. Wearied though she was with the long day, itsexcitements and its toils, sleep would not come. Anxious thoughts aboutthe lad she had come to love as if he were her own son or brother keptcrowding in upon her. The vision of his fierce, dark, stormy face heldher eyes awake and at length drew her from her bed. She went into thestudy and fell upon her knees. The burden had grown too heavy for her tobear alone. She would share it with Him who knew what it meant to bearthe sorrows and the sins of others.

  As she rose, she heard Fido bark and whine in the yard below, and goingto the window, she saw a man standing at the back door, and Fido fawningupon him. Startled, she was about to waken her husband, when the manturned his face so that the moonlight fell upon it, and she saw Ranald.Hastily she threw on her dressing-gown, put on her warm bedroom slippersand cloak, ran down to the door, and in another moment was standingbefore him, holding him by the shoulders.

  "Ranald!" she cried, breathlessly, "what is it?"

  "I am going away," he said, simply. "And I was just passing by--and--"he could not go on.

  "Oh, Ranald!" she cried, "I am glad you came this way. Now tell mewhere you are going."

  The boy looked at her as if she had started a new idea in his mind, andthen said, "I do not know."

  "And what are you going to do, Ranald?"

  "Work. There is plenty to do. No fear of that."

  "But your father, Ranald?"

  The boy was silent for a little, and then said, "He will soon be well,and he will not be needing me, and he said I could go." His voice brokewith the remembrance of the parting with his father.

  "And why are you going, Ranald?" she said, looking into his eyes.

  Again the boy stood silent.

  "Why do you go away from your home and your father, and--and--all of uswho love you?"

  "Indeed, there is no one," he replied, bitterly; "and I am not fordecent people. I am not for decent people. I know that well enough.There is no one that will care much."

  "No one, Ranald?" she asked, sadly. "I thought--" she paused, lookingsteadily into his face.

  Suddenly the boy turned to her, and putting out both his hands, burstforth, his voice coming in dry sobs: "Oh, yes, yes! I do believe you.I do believe you. And that is why I came this way. I wanted to see yourdoor again before I went. Oh, I will never forget you! Never, never, andI am glad I am seeing you, for now you will know--how much--" The boywas unable to proceed. His sobs were shaking his whole frame, and to hisshy Highland Scotch nature, words of love and admiration were not easy."You will not be sending me back home again?" he pleaded, anticipatingher. "Indeed, I cannot stay in this place after to-day."

  But the minister's wife kept her eyes steadily upon his face without aword, trying in vain to find her voice, and the right words to say. Shehad no need of words, for in her face, pale, wet with her flowing tears,and illumined with her gray-brown eyes, Ranald read her heart.

  "Oh!" he cried again, "you are wanting me to stay, and I will be ashamedbefore them all, and the minister, too. I cannot stay. I cannot stay."

  "And I cannot let you go, Ranald, my boy," she said, commanding hervoice to speech. "I want you to be a brave man. I don't want you to beafraid of them."

  "Afraid of them!" said the boy, in scornful surprise. "Not if they weretwice as more and twice as beeg."

  Mrs. Murray saw her advantage, and followed it up.

  "And the minister did not know the whole truth, Ranald, and he was sorryhe spoke to you as he did."

  "Did he say that?" said Ranald, in surprise. It was to him, as to anyone in that community, a terrible thing to fall under the displeasure ofthe minister and to be disgraced in his eyes.

  "Yes, indeed, Ranald, and he would be sorry if you should go away. I amsure he would blame himself."

  This was quite a new idea
to the boy. That the minister should thinkhimself to be in the wrong was hardly credible.

  "And how glad we would be," she continued, earnestly, "to see you proveyourself a man before them all."

  Ranald shook his head. "I would rather go away."

  "Perhaps, but it's braver to stay, and to do your work like a man." Andthen, allowing him no time for words, she pictured to him the selfish,cowardly part the man plays who marches bravely enough in the frontranks until the battle begins, but who shrinks back and seeks an easyplace when the fight comes on, till his face fell before her in shame.And then she showed him what she would like him to do, and what shewould like him to be in patience and in courage, till he stood once moreerect and steady.

  "Now, Ranald," she said, noting the effect of her words upon him, "whatis it to be?"

  "I will go back," he said, simply; and turning with a single word offarewell, he sprang over the fence and disappeared in the woods. Theminister's wife stood looking the way he went long after he had passedout of sight, and then, lifting her eyes to the radiant sky with itsshining lights, "He made the stars also," she whispered, and went up toher bed and laid her down and slept in peace. Her Sabbath day's work wasdone.