by Unknown
“I always forget about it when I’m out,” he said humbly, and next evening he found on his table a new tie, made by Grizel herself out of her mamma’s rokelay.
It was related by one who had dropped in at the doctor’s house unexpectedly, that he found Grizel making a new shirt, and forcing the doctor to try on the sleeves while they were still in the pin stage.
She soon knew his every want, and just as he was beginning to want it, there it was at his elbow. He realized what a study she had made of him when he heard her talking of his favorite dishes and his favorite seat, and his way of biting his underlip when in thought, and how hard he was on his left cuff. It had been one of his boasts that he had no favorite dishes, etc., but he saw now that he had been a slave to them for years without knowing it.
She discussed him with other mothers as if he were her little boy, and he denounced her for it. But all the time she was spoiling him. Formerly he had got on very well when nothing was in its place. Now he roared helplessly if he mislaid his razor.
He was determined to make a lady of her, which necessitated her being sent to school; she preferred hemming, baking and rubbing things till they shone, and not both could have had their way (which sounds fatal for the man), had they not arranged a compromise, Grizel, for instance, to study geography for an hour in the evening with Miss Langlands (go to school in the daytime she would not) so long as the doctor shaved every morning, but if no shave no geography; the doctor to wipe his pen on the blot-sheet instead of on the lining of his coat if she took three lessons a week from Miss Oram on the spinet. How happy and proud she was! Her glee was a constant source of wonder to McQueen. Perhaps she put on airs a little, her walk, said the critical, had become a strut; but how could she help that when the new joyousness of living was dancing and singing within her?
Had all her fears for the future rolled away like clouds that leave no mark behind? The doctor thought so at times, she so seldom spoke of them to him; he did not see that when they came she hid them from him because she had discovered that they saddened him. And she had so little time to brood, being convinced of the sinfulness of sitting still, that if the clouds came suddenly, they never stayed long save once, and then it was, mayhap, as well. The thunderclap was caused by Tommy, who brought it on unintentionally and was almost as much scared by his handiwork as Grizel herself. She and he had been very friendly of late, partly because they shared with McQueen the secret of the frustrated elopement, partly because they both thought that in that curious incident Tommy had behaved in a most disinterested and splendid way. Grizel had not been sure of it at first, but it had grown on Tommy, he had so thoroughly convinced himself of his intention to get into the train with her at Tilliedrum that her doubts were dispelled — easily dispelled, you say, but the truth must be told, Grizel was very anxious to be rid of them. And Tommy’s were honest convictions, born full grown of a desire for happiness to all. Had Elspeth discovered how nearly he had deserted her, the same sentiment would have made him swear to her with tears that never should he have gone farther than Tilliedrum, and while he was persuading her he would have persuaded himself. Then again, when he met Grizel — well, to get him in doubt it would have been necessary to catch him on the way between these two girls.
So Tommy and Grizel were friends, and finding that it hurt the doctor to speak on a certain subject to him, Grizel gave her confidences to Tommy. She had a fear, which he shared on its being explained to him, that she might meet a man of the stamp of her father, and grow fond of him before she knew the kind he was, and as even Tommy could not suggest an infallible test which would lay them bare at the first glance, he consented to consult Blinder once more. He found the blind man by his fireside, very difficult to coax into words on the important topic, but Tommy’s “You’ve said ower much no to tell a bit more,” seemed to impress him, and he answered the question, —
“You said a woman should fly frae the like o’ Grizel’s father though it should be to the other end of the world, but how is she to ken that he’s that kind?”
“She’ll ken,” Blinder answered after thinking it over, “if she likes him and fears him at one breath, and has a sort of secret dread that he’s getting a power ower her that she canna resist.”
These words were a flash of light on a neglected corner to Tommy. “Now I see, now I ken,” he exclaimed, amazed; “now I ken what my mother meant! Blinder, is that no the kind of man that’s called masterful?”
“It’s what poor women find them and call them to their cost,” said
Blinder.
Tommy’s excitement was prodigious. “Now I ken, now I see!” he cried, slapping his leg and stamping up and down the room.
“Sit down!” roared his host.
“I canna,” retorted the boy. “Oh, to think o’t, to think I came to speir that question at you, to think her and me has wondered what kind he was, and I kent a’ the time!” Without staying to tell Blinder what he was blethering about, he hurried off to Grizel, who was waiting for him in the Den, and to her he poured out his astonishing news.
“I ken all about them, I’ve kent since afore I came to Thrums, but though I generally say the prayer, I’ve forgot to think o’ what it means.” In a stampede of words he told her all he could remember of his mother’s story as related to him on a grim night in London so long ago, and she listened eagerly. And when that was over, he repeated first his prayer and then Elspeth’s, “O God, whatever is to be my fate, may I never be one of them that bow the knee to masterful man, and if I was born like that and canna help it, O take me up to heaven afore I’m fil’t.” Grizel repeated it after him until she had it by heart, and even as she said it a strange thing happened, for she began to draw back from Tommy, with a look of terror on her face.
“What makes you look at me like that?” he cried.
“I believe — I think — you are masterful,” she gasped.
“Me!” he retorted indignantly.
“Now,” she went on, waving him back, “now I know why I would not give in to you when you wanted me to be Stroke’s wife. I was afraid you were masterful!”
“Was that it?” cried Tommy.
“Now,” she proceeded, too excited to heed his interruptions, “now I know why I would not kiss your hand, now I know why I would not say I liked you. I was afraid of you, I—”
“Were you?” His eyes began to sparkle, and something very like rapture was pushing the indignation from his face. “Oh, Grizel, have I a power ower you?”
“No, you have not,” she cried passionately. “I was just frightened that you might have. Oh, oh, I know you now!”
“To think o’t, to think o’t!” he crowed, wagging his head, and then she clenched her fist, crying, “Oh, you wicked, you should cry with shame!”
But he had his answer ready, “It canna be my wite, for I never kent o’t till you telled me. Grizel, it has just come about without either of us kenning!”
She shuddered at this, and then seized him by the shoulders. “It has not come about at all,” she said, “I was only frightened that it might come, and now it can’t come, for I won’t let it.”
“But can you help yoursel’?”
“Yes, I can. I shall never be friends with you again.”
She had such a capacity for keeping her word that this alarmed him, and he did his best to extinguish his lights. “I’m no masterful, Grizel,” he said, “and I dinna want to be, it was just for a minute that I liked the thought.” She shook her head, but his next words had more effect. “If I had been that kind, would I have teached you Elspeth’s prayer?”
“N-no, I don’t think so,” she said slowly, and perhaps he would have succeeded in soothing her, had not a sudden thought brought back the terror to her face.
“What is ‘t now?” he asked.
“Oh, oh, oh!” she cried, “and I nearly went away with you!” and without another word she fled from the Den. She never told the doctor of this incident, and in time it became a mere shadow in
the background, so that she was again his happy housekeeper, but that was because she had found strength to break with Tommy. She was only an eager little girl, pathetically ignorant about what she wanted most to understand, but she saw how an instinct had been fighting for her, and now it should not have to fight alone. How careful she became! All Tommy’s wiles were vain, she would scarcely answer if he spoke to her; if he had ever possessed a power over her it was gone, Elspeth’s prayer had saved her.
Jean Myles had told Tommy to teach that prayer to Elspeth; but who had told him to repeat it to Grizel?
CHAPTER XXXV
THE BRANDING OF TOMMY
Grizel’s secession had at least one good effect: it gave Tommy more time in which to make a scholar of himself. Would you like a picture of Tommy trying to make a scholar of himself?
They all helped him in their different ways: Grizel, by declining his company; Corp, by being far away at Lookabout-you, adding to the inches of a farmhouse; Aaron Latta, by saying nothing but looking “college or the herding;” Mr. McLean, who had settled down with Ailie at the Dovecot, by inquiries about his progress; Elspeth by — but did Elspeth’s talks with him about how they should live in Aberdeen and afterwards (when they were in the big house) do more than send his mind a-galloping (she holding on behind) along roads that lead not to Aberdeen? What drove Tommy oftenest to the weary drudgery was, perhaps, the alarm that came over him when he seemed of a sudden to hear the names of the bursars proclaimed and no Thomas Sandys among them. Then did he shudder, for well he knew that Aaron would keep his threat, and he hastily covered the round table with books and sat for hours sorrowfully pecking at them, every little while to discover that his mind had soared to other things, when he hauled it back, as one draws in a reluctant kite. On these occasions Aaron seldom troubled him, except by glances that, nevertheless, brought the kite back more quickly than if they had been words of warning. If Elspeth was present, the warper might sit moodily by the fire, but when the man and the boy were left together, one or other of them soon retired, as if this was the only way of preserving the peace. Though determined to keep his word to Jean Myles liberally, Aaron had never liked Tommy, and Tommy’s avoidance of him is easily accounted for; he knew that Aaron did not admire him, and unless you admired Tommy he was always a boor in your presence, shy and self-distrustful. Especially was this so if you were a lady (how amazingly he got on in after years with some of you, what agony others endured till he went away!), and it is the chief reason why there are such contradictory accounts of him to-day.
Sometimes Mr. Cathro had hopes of him other than those that could only be revealed in a shameful whisper with the door shut. “Not so bad,” he might say to Mr. McLean; “if he keeps it up we may squeeze him through yet, without trusting to — to what I was fool enough to mention to you. The mathematics are his weak point, there’s nothing practical about him (except when it’s needed to carry out his devil’s designs) and he cares not a doit about the line A B, nor what it’s doing in the circle K, but there’s whiles he surprises me when we’re at Homer. He has the spirit o’t, man, even when he bogles at the sense.”
But the next time Ivie called for a report — !
In his great days, so glittering, so brief (the days of the penny Life) Tommy, looking back to this year, was sure that he had never really tried to work. But he had. He did his very best, doggedly, wearily sitting at the round table till Elspeth feared that he was killing himself and gave him a melancholy comfort by saying so. An hour afterwards he might discover that he had been far away from his books, looking on at his affecting death and counting the mourners at the funeral.
Had he thought that Grizel’s discovery was making her unhappy he would have melted at once, but never did she look so proud as when she scornfully passed him by, and he wagged his head complacently over her coming chagrin when she heard that he had carried the highest bursary. Then she would know what she had flung away. This should have helped him to another struggle with his lexicon, but it only provided a breeze for the kite, which flew so strong that he had to let go the string.
Aaron and the Dominie met one day in the square, and to Aaron’s surprise Mr. Cathro’s despondency about Tommy was more pronounced than before. “I wonder at that,” the warper said, “for I assure you he has been harder ‘at it than ever thae last nights. What’s more, he used to look doleful as he sat at his table, but I notice now that he’s as sweer to leave off as he’s keen to begin, and the face of him is a’ eagerness too, and he reads ower to himself what he has wrote and wags his head at it as if he thought it grand.”
“Say you so?” asked Cathro, suspiciously; “does he leave what he writes lying about, Aaron?”
“No, but he takes it to you, does he no’?”
“Not him,” said the Dominie, emphatically. “I may be mistaken, Aaron, but I’m doubting the young whelp is at his tricks again.”
The Dominie was right, and before many days passed he discovered what was Tommy’s new and delicious occupation.
For years Mr. Cathro had been in the habit of writing letters for such of the populace as could not guide a pen, and though he often told them not to come deaving him he liked the job, unexpected presents of a hen or a ham occasionally arriving as his reward, while the personal matters thus confided to him, as if he were a safe for the banking of private histories, gave him and his wife gossip for winter nights. Of late the number of his clients had decreased without his noticing it, so confident was he that they could not get on without him, but he received a shock at last from Andrew Dickie, who came one Saturday night with paper, envelope, a Queen’s head, and a request for a letter for Bell Birse, now of Tilliedrum.
“You want me to speir in your name whether she’ll have you, do you?” asked Cathro, with a flourish of his pen.
“It’s no just so simple as that,” said Andrew, and then he seemed to be rather at a loss to say what it was. “I dinna ken,” he continued presently with a grave face, “whether you’ve noticed that I’m a gey queer deevil? Losh, I think I’m the queerest deevil I ken.”
“We are all that,” the Dominie assured him. “But what do you want me to write?”
“Well, it’s like this,” said Andrew, “I’m willing to marry her if she’s agreeable, but I want to make sure that she’ll take me afore I speir her. I’m a proud man, Dominie.”
“You’re a sly one!”
“Am I no!” said Andrew, well pleased. “Well, could you put the letter in that wy?”
“I wouldna,” replied Mr. Cathro, “though I could, and I couldna though I would. It would defy the face of clay to do it, you canny lover.”
Now, the Dominie had frequently declined to write as he was bidden, and had suggested alterations which were invariably accepted, but to his astonishment Andrew would not give in. “I’ll be stepping, then,” he said coolly, “for if you hinna the knack o’t I ken somebody that has.”
“Who?” demanded the irate Dominie.
“I promised no to tell you,” replied Andrew, and away he went. Mr. Cathro expected him to return presently in humbler mood, but was disappointed, and a week or two afterwards he heard Andrew and Mary Jane Proctor cried in the parish church. “Did Bell Birse refuse him?” he asked the kirk officer, and was informed that Bell had never got a chance. “His letter was so cunning,” said John, “that without speiring her, it drew ane frae her in which she let out that she was centred on Davit Allardyce.”
“But who wrote Andrew’s letter?” asked Mr. Cathro, sharply.
“I thought it had been yoursel’,” said John, and the Dominie chafed, and lost much of the afternoon service by going over in his mind the names of possible rivals. He never thought of Tommy.
Then a week or two later fell a heavier blow. At least twice a year the Dominie had written for Meggy Duff to her daughter in Ireland a long letter founded on this suggestion, “Dear Kaytherine, if you dinna send ten shillings immediately, your puir auld mother will have neither house nor hame. I’
m crying to you for’t, Kaytherine; hearken and you’ll hear my cry across the cauldriff sea.” He met Meggy in the Banker’s Close one day, and asked her pleasantly if the time was not drawing nigh for another appeal.
“I have wrote,” replied the old woman, giving her pocket a boastful smack, which she thus explained, “And it was the whole ten shillings this time, and you never got more for me than five.”
“Who wrote the letter for you?” he asked, lowering.
She, too, it seemed, had promised not to tell.
“Did you promise to tell nobody, Meggy, or just no to tell me,” he pressed her, of a sudden suspecting Tommy.
“Just no to tell you,” she answered, and at that.
“Da-a-a,” began the Dominie, and then saved his reputation by adding “gont.” The derivation of the word dagont has puzzled many, but here we seem to have it.
It is interesting to know what Tommy wrote. The general opinion was that his letter must have been a triumph of eloquent appeal, and indeed he had first sketched out several masterpieces, all of some length and in different styles, but on the whole not unlike the concoctions of Meggy’s former secretary; that is, he had dwelt on the duties of daughters, on the hardness of the times, on the certainty that if Katherine helped this time assistance would never be needed again. This sort of thing had always satisfied the Dominie, but Tommy, despite his several attempts, had a vague consciousness that there was something second-rate about them, and he tapped on his brain till it responded. The letter he despatched to Ireland, but had the wisdom not to read aloud even to Meggy, contained nothing save her own words, “Dear Kaytherine, if you dinna send ten shillings immediately, your puir auld mother will have neither house nor hame. I’m crying to you for’t, Kaytherine; hearken and you’ll hear my cry across the cauldriff sea.” It was a call from the heart which transported Katherine to Thrums in a second of time, she seemed to see her mother again, grown frail since last they met — and so all was well for Meggy. Tommy did not put all this to himself but he felt it, and after that he could not have written the letter differently. Happy Tommy! To be an artist is a great thing, but to be an artist and not know it is the most glorious plight in the world.
