by J. M. Barrie
Chapter Forty-Two.
MARGARET, THE PRECENTOR, AND GOD BETWEEN.
Unless Andrew Luke, who went to Canada, be still above ground, I amnow the only survivor of the few to whom Lang Tammas told what passedin the manse parlor after the door closed on him and Margaret. Withthe years the others lost the details, but before I forget them theman who has been struck by lightning will look at his arm withoutremembering what shrivelled it. There even came a time when the sceneseemed more vivid to me than to the precentor, though that was onlyafter he began to break up.
"She was never the kind o' woman," Whamond said, "that a body need benane feared at. You can see she is o' the timid sort. I couldna haeselected a woman easier to speak bold out to, though I had ha'en mypick o' them."
He was a gaunt man, sour and hard, and he often paused in his storywith a puzzled look on his forbidding face.
"But, man, she was so michty windy o' him. If he had wanted to put aknife into her, I believe that woman would just hae telled him to takecare no to cut his hands. Ay, and what innocent-like she was! If shehad heard enough, afore I saw her, to make her uneasy, I could haebegun at once; but here she was, shaking my hand and smiling to me, sothat aye when I tried to speak I gaed through ither. Nobody candespise me for it, I tell you, mair than I despise mysel'.
"I thocht to mysel', 'Let her hae her smile out, Tammas Whamond; it'sher hinmost.' Syne wi' shame at my cowardliness, I tried to yoke to myduty as chief elder o' the kirk, and I said to her, as thrawn as Icould speak, 'Dinna thank me; I've done nothing for you.'
"'I ken it wasna for me you did it,' she said, 'but for him; but, oh,Mr. Whamond, will that make me think the less o' you? He's my all,'she says, wi' that smile back in her face, and a look mixed up wi'tthat said as plain, 'and I need no more.' I thocht o' saying that somebuilds their house upon the sand, but--dagont, dominie, it's a solemnthing the pride mithers has in their laddies. I mind aince my ainmither--what the devil are you glowering at, Andrew Luke? Do you thinkI'm greeting?
"'You'll sit down, Mr. Whamond,' she says next.
"'No, I winna,' I said, angry-like. 'I didna come here to sit.'
"I could see she thocht I was shy at being in the manse parlor; ay,and I thocht she was pleased at me looking shy. Weel, she took my hatout o' my hand, and she put it on the chair at the door, whaur there'saye an auld chair in grand houses for the servant to sit on at familyexercise.
"'You're a man, Mr. Whamond,' says she, 'that the minister delights tohonor, and so you'll oblige me by sitting in his own armchair.'"
Gavin never quite delighted to honor the precentor, of whom he wasalways a little afraid, and perhaps Margaret knew it. But you must notthink less of her for wanting to gratify her son's chief elder. Shethought, too, that he had just done her a service. I never yet knew agood woman who did not enjoy flattering men she liked.
"I saw my chance at that," Whamond went on, "and I says to hersternly, 'In worldly position,' I says, 'I'm a common man, and it's nofor the like o' sic to sit in a minister's chair; but it has beenGod's will,' I says, 'to wrap around me the mantle o' chief elder o'the kirk, and if the minister falls awa frae grace, it becomes my dutyto take his place.'
"If she had been looking at me, she maun hae grown feared at that, andsyne I could hae gone on though my ilka word was a knockdown blow. Butshe was picking some things aff the chair to let me down on't.
"'It's a pair o' mittens I'm working for the minister,' she says, andshe handed them to me. Ay, I tried no to take them, but--Oh, lads,it's queer to think how saft I was.
"'He's no to ken about them till they're finished,' she says, terriblefond-like.
"The words came to my mouth, 'They'll never be finished,' and I couldhae cursed mysel' for no saying them. I dinna ken how it was, butthere was something pitiful in seeing her take up the mittens andbegin working cheerily at one, and me kenning all the time that theywould never be finished. I watched her fingers, and I said to mysel','Another stitch, and that maun be your last.' I said that to mysel'till I thocht it was the needle that said it, and I wondered at her nohearing.
"In the tail o' the day I says, 'You needna bother; he'll never wearthem,' and they sounded sic words o' doom that I rose up off thechair. Ay, but she took me up wrang, and she said, 'I see you havenoticed how careless o' his ain comforts he is, and that in his zealhe forgets to put on his mittens, though they may be in his pocket a'the time. Ay,' says she, confident-like, 'but he winna forget thesemittens, Mr. Whamond, and I'll tell you the reason: it's becausethey're his mother's work.'
"I stamped my foot, and she gae me an apologetic look, and she says,'I canna help boasting about his being so fond o' me.'
"Ay, but here was me saying to mysel', 'Do your duty, Tammas Whamond;you sluggard, do your duty,' and without lifting my een frae herfingers I said sternly, 'The chances are,' I said, 'that these mittenswill never be worn by the hands they are worked for.'
"'You mean,' says she, 'that he'll gie them awa to some ill-off body,as he gies near a' thing he has? Ay, but there's one thing he neverparts wi', and that's my work. There's a young lady in the manse thenow,' says she, 'that offered to finish the mittens for me, but hewould value them less if I let ony other body put a stitch intothem.'
"I thocht to mysel', 'Tammas Whamond, the Lord has opened a door toyou, and you'll be disgraced forever if you dinna walk straucht in.'So I rose again, and I says, boldly this time, 'Whaur's that youngleddy? I hae something to say to her that canna be kept waiting.'
"'She's up the stair,' she says, surprised, 'but you canna ken her,Mr. Whamond, for she just came last nicht.'
"'I ken mair o' her than you think,' says I; 'I ken what brocht herhere, and ken wha she thinks she is to be married to, and I've come totell her that she'll never get him.'
"'How no?' she said, amazed like.
"'Because,' said I, wi' my teeth thegither, 'he is already married.'
"Lads, I stood waiting to see her fall, and when she didna fall I justwaited langer, thinking she was slow in taking it a' in.
"'I see you ken wha she is,' she said, looking at me, 'and yet I cannacredit your news.'
"'They're true,' I cries.
"'Even if they are,' says she, considering, 'it may be the best thingthat could happen to baith o' them.'
"I sank back in the chair in fair bewilderment, for I didna ken atthat time, as we a' ken now, that she was thinking o' the earl when Iwas thinking o' her son. Dominie, it looked to me as if the Lord hadopened a door to me, and syne shut it in my face.
"Syne wi' me sitting there in a kind o' awe o' the woman's simpleness,she began to tell me what the minister was like when he was a bairn,and I was saying a' the time to mysel', 'You're chief elder o' thekirk, Tammas Whamond, and you maun speak out the next time she stopsto draw breath.' They were terrible sma', common things she telled me,sic as near a' mithers minds about their bairns, but the kind o' holyway she said them drove my words down my throat, like as if I was someinfidel man trying to break out wi' blasphemy in a kirk.
"'I'll let you see something,' says she, 'that I ken will interestyou.' She brocht it out o' a drawer, and what do you think it was? Assure as death it was no more than some o' his hair when he was alitlin, and it was tied up sic carefully in paper that you would haethocht it was some valuable thing.
"'Mr. Whamond,' she says solemnly, 'you've come thrice to the manse tokeep me frae being uneasy about my son's absence, and you was thechief instrument under God in bringing him to Thrums, and I'll gie youa little o' that hair.'
"Dagont, what did I care about his hair? and yet to see her fondlingit! I says to mysel', 'Mrs. Dishart,' I says to mysel', 'I was thechief instrument under God in bringing him to Thrums, and I've comehere to tell you that I'm to be the chief instrument under God indriving him out o't.' Ay, but when I focht to bring out these words,my mouth snecked like a box.
"'Dinna gie me his hair,' was a' I could say, and I wouldna take itfrae her; but she laid it in my hand, and--and syne what could I do?A
y, it's easy to speak about thae things now, and to wonder how Icould hae so disgraced the position o' chief elder o' the kirk, but Itell you I was near greeting for the woman. Call me names, dominie; Ideserve them all."
I did not call Whamond names for being reluctant to break Margaret'sheart. Here is a confession I may make. Sometimes I say my prayers atnight in a hurry, going on my knees indeed, but with as littlereverence as I take a drink of water before jumping into bed, and forthe same reason, because it is my nightly habit. I am only patteringwords I have by heart to a chair then, and should be as well employedwriting a comic Bible. At such times I pray for the earthly well-beingof the precentor, though he has been dead for many years. He creptinto my prayers the day he told me this story, and was part of themfor so long that when they are only a recitation he is part of themstill.
"She said to me," Whamond continued, "that the women o' thecongregation would be fond to handle the hair. Could I tell her thatthe women was waur agin him than the men? I shivered to hear her.
"'Syne when they're a' sitting breathless listening to his preaching,'she says, 'they'll be able to picture him as a bairn, just as I oftendo in the kirk mysel'.'
"Andrew Luke, you're sneering at me, but I tell you if you had beenthere and had begun to say, 'He'll preach in our kirk no more,' Iwould hae struck you. And I'm chief elder o' the kirk.
"She says, 'Oh, Mr. Whamond, there's times in the kirk when he ispraying, and the glow on his face is hardly mortal, so that I falla-shaking, wi' a mixture o' fear and pride, me being his mother; andsinful though I am to say it, I canna help thinking at sic times thatI ken what the mother o' Jesus had in her heart when she found Him inthe temple.'
"Dominie, it's sax-and-twenty years since I was made an elder o' thekirk. I mind the day as if it was yestreen. Mr. Carfrae made me walkhame wi' him, and he took me into the manse parlor, and he set me inthat very chair. It was the first time I was ever in the manse. Ay, helittle thocht that day in his earnestness, and I little thocht mysel'in the pride o' my lusty youth, that the time was coming when I wouldswear in that reverenced parlor. I say swear, dominie, for when shehad finished I jumped to my feet, and I cried, 'Hell!' and I lifted upmy hat. And I was chief elder.
"She fell back frae my oath," he said, "and syne she took my sleeveand speired, 'What has come ower you, Mr. Whamond? Hae you onything onyour mind?'
"'I've sin on it,' I roared at her. 'I have neglect o' duty on it. Iam one o' them that cries "Lord, Lord," and yet do not the thingswhich He commands. He has pointed out the way to me, and I hinnafollowed it.'
"'What is it you hinna done that you should hae done?' she said. 'Oh,Mr. Whamond, if you want my help, it's yours.'
"'Your son's a' the earth to you,' I cried, 'but my eldership's asmuckle to me. Sax-and-twenty years hae I been an elder, and now I maungie it up.'
"'Wha says that?' she speirs.
"'I say it,' I cried. 'I've shirked my duty. I gie up my eldershipnow. Tammas Whamond is no langer an elder o' the kirk;' ay, and I waschief elder.
"Dominie, I think she began to say that when the minister came hame hewouldna accept my resignation, but I paid no heed to her. You ken whatwas the sound that keeped my ears frae her words; it was the sound o'a machine coming yont the Tenements. You ken what was the sicht thatmade me glare through the window instead o' looking at her; it was thesicht o' Mr. Dishart in the machine. I couldna speak, but I got mybody atween her and the window, for I heard shouting, and I couldnadoubt that it was the folk cursing him.
"But she heard too, she heard too, and she squeezed by me to thewindow. I couldna look out; I just walked saft-like to the parlordoor, but afore I reached it she cried joyously--
"'It's my son come back, and see how fond o' him they are! They arerunning at the side o' the machine, and the laddies are tossing theirbonnets in the air.'
"'God help you, woman!' I said to mysel', 'it canna be bonnets--it'sstanes and divits mair likely that they're flinging at him.' Syne Icreeped out o' the manse. Dominie, you mind I passed you in thekitchen, and didna say a word?"
Yes, I saw the precentor pass through the kitchen, with such a face onhim as no man ever saw him wear again. Since Tammas Whamond died wehave had to enlarge the Thrums cemetery twice; so it can matter not atall to him, and but little to me, what you who read think of him. Allhis life children ran from him. He was the dourest, the most unlovableman in Thrums. But may my right hand wither, and may my tongue becancer-bitten, and may my mind be gone into a dry rot, before I forgetwhat he did for me and mine that day!
