Salted with Fire by George MacDonald (best contemporary novels .TXT) 📕

noo in ae day!-I think I'll gang wi' ye to Isy, mysel!-But I'm a wee bit sorry ye cam in jist that minute! I wuss ye had harkit a wee langer! For I wasna giein-in to my mother; I was but thinkin hoo to say oot what was in me, ohn vext her waur nor couldna be helpit. Believe me, father, gien ye can; though I doobt sair ye winna be able!"

"I believe ye, my bairn; and I thank God I hae that muckle pooer o' belief left in me! I confess I was in ower great a hurry, and I'm sure ye war takin the richt gait wi' yer puir mither.-Ye see she loed ye sae weel that she could think o' nae thing or body but yersel! That's the w'y o' mithers, Jamie, gien ye only kenned it! She was nigh sinnin an awfu sin for your sake, man!"

Here he turned again to his wife. "That's what comes o' lovin the praise o' men, Mirran! Easy it passes intil the fear o' men, and disregaird o' the Holy!-I s' awa doon to the soutar, and tell him the cheenge that's come ower us a': he'll no be a hair surprised!"

"I'm ready, father-or will be in ae minute!" said James, making as if to spring out of bed.

"Na, na; ye're no fit!" interposed his father. "I would hae to be takin ye upo my back afore we wis at the fut o' the brae!-Bide ye at hame, and keep yer mither company."

"Ay, bide, Jamie; and I winna come near ye," sobbed his mother.

"Onything to please ye, mother!-but I'm fitter nor my father thinks," said James as he settled down again in bed.

So Peter went, leaving mother and son silent together.

At last the mother spoke.

"It's the shame o' 't, Jamie!" she said.

"The shame was i' the thing itsel, mother, and in hidin frae that shame!" he answered. "Noo, I hae but the dregs to drink, and them I maun glog ower wi' patience, for I hae weel deserved to drink them!-But, eh, my bonnie Isy, she maun hae suffert sair!-I daur hardly think what she maun hae come throuw!"

"Her mither couldna hae broucht her up richt! The first o' the faut lay i' the upbringin!"

"There's anither whause upbringin wasna to blame: my upbringin was a' it oucht to hae been-and see hoo ill I turnt oot!"

"It wasna what it oucht! I see 't a' plain the noo! I was aye ower feart o' garrin ye hate me!-Oh, Isy, Isy, I hae dene ye wrang! I ken ye cud never hae laid yersel oot to snare him-it wasna in ye to dee 't!"

"Thank ye, mother! It was, railly and truly, a' my wyte! And noo my life sail gang to mak up til her!"

"And I maun see to the manse!" rejoined his mother. "-And first in order o' a', that Jinse o' yours 'ill hae to gang!"

"As ye like, mother. But for the manse, I maun clear oot o' that! I'll speak nae mair frae that poopit! I hae hypocreesit in 't ower lang! The vera thoucht o' 't scunners me!"

"Speyk na like that o' the poopit, Jamie, whaur sae mony holy men hae stede up and spoken the word o' God! It frichts me to hear ye! Ye'll be a burnin and a shinin licht i' that poopit for mony a lang day efter we're deid and hame!"

"The mair holy men that hae there witnessed, the less daur ony livin lee stan' there braggin and blazin i' the face o' God and man! It's shame o' mysel that gars me hate the place, mother! Ance and no more wull I stan' there, making o' 't my stele o' repentance; and syne doon the steps and awa, like Adam frae the gairden!"

"And what's to come o' Eve? Are ye gaein, like him, to say, 'The wuman thoo giedest til me-it was a' her wyte'?"

"Ye ken weel I'm takin a' the wyte upo mysel!"

"But hoo can ye tak it a', or even ony fair share o' 't, gien up there ye stan' and confess? Ye maun hae some care o' the lass-that is, gien efter and a' ye're gaein to mak o' her yer wife, as ye profess.-And what are ye gaein to turn yer han' til neist, seem ye hae a'ready laid it til the pleuch and turnt back?"

"To the pleuch again, mother-the rael pleuch this time! Frae the kirk door I'll come hame like the prodigal to my father's hoose, and say til him, 'Set me to the pleuch, father. See gien I canna be something like a son to ye, efter a''!"

So wrought in him that mighty power, mysterious in its origin as marvellous in its result, which had been at work in him all the time he lay whelmed under feverish phantasms.

His repentance was true; he had been dead, and was alive again! God and the man had met at last! As to how God turned the man's heart, Thou God, knowest. To understand that, we should have to go down below the foundations themselves, underneath creation, and there see God send out from himself man, the spirit, distinguished yet never divided from God, the spirit, for ever dependent upon and growing in Him, never completed and never ended, his origin, his very life being infinite; never outside of God, because in him only he lives and moves and grows, and has his being. Brothers, let us not linger to ask! let us obey, and, obeying, ask what we will! thus only shall we become all we are capable of being; thus only shall we learn all we are capable of knowing! The pure in heart shall see God; and to see him is to know all things.

Something like this was the meditation of the soutar, as he saw the farmer stride away into the dusk of the gathering twilight, going home with glad heart to his wife and son.

Peter had told the soutar that his son was sorely troubled because of a sin of his youth and its long concealment: now he was bent on all the reparation he could make. "Mr. Robertson," said Peter, "broucht the lass to oor hoose, never mentionin Jamie, for he didna ken they war onything til ane anither; and for her, she never said ae word aboot him to Mirran or me."

The soutar went to the door, and called Isy. She came, and stood humbly before her old master.

"Weel, Isy," said the farmer kindly, "ye gied 's a clever slip yon morning and a gey fricht forbye! What possessed ye, lass, to dee sic a thing?"

She stood distressed, and made no answer.

"Hoot, lassie, tell me!" insisted Peter; "I haena been an ill maister til ye, have I?"

"Sir, ye hae been like the maister o' a' til me! But I canna-that is, I maunna-or raither, I'm determined no to explain the thing til onybody."

"Thoucht ye my wife was feart the minister micht fa' in love wi ye?"

"Weel, sir, there micht hae been something like that intil 't! But I wantit sair to win at my bairn again; for i' that trance I lay in sae lang, I saw or h'ard something I took for an intimation that he was alive, and no that far awa.-And-wad ye believe't, sir?-i' this vera hoose I fand him, and here I hae him, and I'm jist as happy the noo as I was meeserable afore! Is 't ill o' me at I canna be sorry ony mair?"

"Na, na," interposed the soutar: "whan the Lord wad lift the burden, it wad be baith senseless and thankless to grup at it! In His name lat it gang, lass!"

"And noo," said Mr. Blatherwick, again taking up his probe, "ye hae but ae thing left to confess-and that's wha's the father o' 'im!"

"Na, I canna dee that, sir; it's enough that I have disgracet myself ! You wouldn't have me disgrace another as well! What good would that be?"

"It wad help ye beir the disgrace."

"Na, no a hair, sir; he cudna stan' the disgrace half sae weel 's me! I reckon the man the waiker vessel, sir; the woman has her bairn to fend for, and that taks her aff o' the shame!"

"Ye dinna tell me he gies ye noucht to mainteen the cratur upo?"

"I tell ye naething, sir. He never even kenned there was a bairn!"

"Hoot, toot! ye canna be sae semple! It's no poassible ye never loot him ken!"

"'Deed no; I was ower sair ashamit! Ye see it was a' my wyte!-and it was naebody's business! My auntie said gien I wouldna tell, I micht put the door atween 's; and I took her at her word; for I kenned weel she couldna keep a secret, and I wasna gaein to hae his name mixed up wi' a lass like mysel! And, sir, ye maunna try to gar me tell, for I hae no richt, and surely ye canna hae the hert to gar me!-But that ye sanna , ony gait!"

"I dinna blame ye, Isy! but there's jist ae thing I'm determined upo-and that is that the rascal sail merry ye!"

Isy's face flushed; she was taken too much at unawares to hide her pleasure at such a word from his mouth. But the flush faded, and presently Mr. Blatherwick saw that she was fighting with herself, and getting the better of that self. The shadow of a pawky smile flitted across her face as she answered-

"Surely ye wouldna merry me upon a rascal, sir! Ill as I hae behaved til ye, I can hardly hae deservit that at yer han'!"

"That's what he'll hae to dee though-jist merry ye aff han'! I s' gar him."

"I winna hae him garred! It's me that has the richt ower him, and no anither, man nor wuman! He sanna be garred! What wad ye hae o' me-thinkin I would tak a man 'at was garred! Na, na; there s' be nae garrin!-And ye canna gar him merry me gien I winna hae him! The day's by for that!-A garred man! My certy!-Na, I thank ye!"

"Weel, my bonny leddy," said Peter, "gien I had a prence to my son,- providit he was worth yer takin-I wad say to ye, 'Hae, my leddy!'"

"And I would say to you, sir, 'No-gien he bena willin,'" answered Isy, and ran from the room.

"Weel, what think ye o' the lass by this time, Mr. Bletherwick?" said the soutar, with a flash in his eye.

"I think jist what I thoucht afore," answered Peter: "she's ane amo' a million!"

"I'm no that sure aboot the proportion!" returned MacLear. "I doobt ye micht come upo twa afore ye wan throw the million!-A million's a heap o' women!"

"All I care to say is, that gien Jeemie binna ready to lea' father and mother and kirk and steeple, and cleave to that wuman and her only, he's no a mere gomeril, but jist a meeserable, wickit fule! and I s' never speyk word til 'im again, wi my wull, gien I live to the age o' auld Methuselah!"

"Tak tent what ye say, or mint at sayin, to persuaud him:-Isy 'ill be upo ye!" said the soutar