The Dew of Their Youth by Samuel Rutherford Crockett (ebook offline .txt) 📕

wife, I wad brain him. Here he has been the livelong day. Twa meals has he eaten. Six hours has he hung about malingering. He came to roof the pigstye. He tore off the old thatch, and there it lies, and there will lie for him. If there is frost, Girzie's brood will be stiff by the morning. Then he 'had a look' at my roasting-jack and ... there it is!"
She indicated with an indignant sweep of the hand what she designated "a rickle o' rubbish" as the net proceeds of Boyd's industry.
The artist explained himself between the mouthfuls at his third repast.
"Ye see, Miss Lyon, there's nocht that spoils good work like worry on the mind. The pigs will do fine. I'll put a branch or two over them and a corn-sack over that. If a drap o' rain comes through it will only harden the wee grunties for the trials o' life. Aye" (here Boyd relapsed into philosophy), "life is fu' o' trials, for pigs as weel as men. But men the worst--for as for pigs, their bread is given them and their water is sure. Now as for myself----"
"Yourself," cried Aunt Jen, entering into one of her sudden rages, "if ye were half as much worth to the world as our old sow Girzie, ye wad be salted and hanging up by the heels now! As it is, ye run the country like Crazy, our collie, a burden to yourself and a nuisance to the world at lairge!
"Eh, Miss Jen, but it's the word ye have, as I was sayin' to Rob McTurk up at the pirn-mill last Tuesday week. 'If only our Miss Jen there had been a man,' says I, 'it's never Lalor Maitland that would have been sent to sit in King George's High House o' Parliament.'"
Again Boyd Connoway took up his burden of testimony.
"Aye, Miss Jen, there's some that's born to trouble as the sparks fly upward. That's me, Miss Jen. Now there's my brother that's a farmer in County Donegal. Niver a market night sober--and _yet_ he's not to say altogether content. An' many is the time I say to our Bridget, 'What would you do if I was Brother Jerry of Ballycross, coming home to ye in the box of the gig, and the reins on the horse's neck?'
"'Ye never _had_ a horse,' says she, and thinks that an answer! Women's heads are born void of logic, and what they fill them with--axing your pardon, Mistress Lyon, ah, if they were all like you--'tis a happier place this world would be!"
"Finish, and let us get the dishes cleared away!" said my grandmother, who did not stand upon fashions of speech, least of all with Boyd Connoway.
Boyd hastened to obey, ladling everything within reach into his mouth as fast as knife and spoon could follow each other.
He concluded, crooning over his eternal ditty, by way of thanksgiving after meat--
"If I was in bed and fast asleep
I wouldn't get up for a score of sheep."
This distich had the gift of always infuriating Aunt Janet.
"You may well say so," she cried, clattering away with an armful of dishes in a way that was a protest in itself; "considering all you are good for when you _do_ get up, you might just as well be in bed fast asleep, and----"
"Now there you're wrong, Miss Janet," said Boyd. "It was only last Sunday that I gave up all my evil courses and became one of Israel Kinmont's folk. My heart is changed," he added solemnly; "I gave it to the Lord, and He seen fit to convart me!"
The whole household looked up. Anything bearing on personal religion instantly touched Scots folk of the humble sort. But Aunt Jen was obdurate. Long experience had rendered her sceptical with regard to Boyd Connoway.
"We'll soon see if you are converted to the Lord," she said. "_He_ is a hard worker. There are no idlers on His estates. If it's true, we may get these pigs covered in to-night yet."
"Never trouble your head about the pigs, Miss Janet," said Boyd, "they will surely sleep safe under a roof this night. Strive to fix your mind on higher things, Miss Jen. There's such a thing as makin' a god of this here transient evil world, as I said to Bridget when the potatoes went bad just because I got no time to 'pit' them, having had to play the fiddle at four kirns'[2] in different parishes during potato-lifting week!"
"Never mind about that," said my grandfather from his seat in the chimney corner, "tell us about your 'conversion'!"
For the word was then a new one in Galloway, and of no good savour either among orthodox Cameronians or pillars of the Kirk as by law established. But Israel Kinmont had been a sailor to far ports. In his youth he had heard Whitefield preach. He had followed Wesley's folk afar off. The career of a humble evangelist attracted him, and when in his latter days he had saved enough to buy the oldest and worst of all luggers that ever sailed the sea, he devoted himself, not to the gainful traffic of smuggling, but to the unremunerative transport of sea-coal and lime from Cockermouth and Workington to the small ports and inlets of the Galloway coast.
No excisemen watching on the cliffs gave more than a single glance at "Israel's Tabernacle," as, without the least irreverence, he had named his boat. But, using the same ports as the smugglers, he was often brought into close relations with them. They asked him for information which was freely given, as from one friend to another. They trusted him, for though often interrogated by the supervisor and riding officers, Israel could develop upon occasion an extraordinary deafness, so that the questions to which he could give a clear answer were never such as to commit any one. In exchange for this the smugglers would go aboard the Tabernacle and allow Israel to preach to them. And woe betide the irreverent on these occasions! Black Rob o' Garlies or Roaring Imrie from Douglas-ha' thought nothing of taking such a one by convenient parts of his clothing and dropping him overboard.
"Aye," said Boyd, encouraged by my grandfather's request, "Israel Kinmont has made a new man of many a hardened sinner!"
"I dare you to say so," cried my grandmother; "only the Lord that is on High can do that."
"But He can make use of instruments," argued Boyd, who had learned his lesson, "and Israel Kinmont is one of them. He has showed me where to get grace."
"Maybe," snapped Jen, that unswerving Calvinist, "seeing is believing. Boyd Connoway _may_ have got grace. I put no limit to the Almighty's power. But it takes more than grace to convert a man from laziness!"
Boyd lifted his hand with a gesture so dignified that even from the good-for-nothing it commanded respect.
"'Tis from the Lord, Miss Jen, and it behoves us poor mortals noways to resist. Israel Kinmont never would smuggle, as ye know, and yet he never had any luck till the highest tide of the year brought the 'Old Tabernacle' up, with a cargo of sea-coal in her, half-way between Killantringan Village and the Nitwood.
"'She's settling, Israel,' said his son Jacob, that's counted soft, but can raise the tune at meeting--none like him for that.
"'Even so,' said Israel, 'the will of the Lord be done!'
"'She's settling fast! Both my feet are wet!' said Jacob, holding on to a rope.
"'Amen!' cried Israel, 'if it only were His will that she should come ten yards higher up, she would be on the very roadside. Then I would open a door into the hold of her after the coal is out, and you and I, Jacob, could rig up seats and windows like a proper Tabernacle--fit for Mr. Whitefield himself to preach in! Truly the service of the Lord is joyful. His law doth rejoice the heart.'
"So said Israel, and, just as I am tellin' you, there came a great inward swirling of the tide, a very merracle, and lo! the _Tabernacle_ was laid down as by compass alongside the Nitwood road, whence she will never stir till the day of Final Judgment, as the scripture is. And Israel, he cuts the door, and Jacob, he gets out the coals and sells them to the great folk, and the supervisor, he stands by, watching in vain till he was as black as a sweep, for the brandy that was not there. But he petitioned Government that Israel should have a concession of that part of the foreshore--being against all smuggling and maybe thinking to have him as a sort of spiritual exciseman.
"Yes, Mr. Lyon," Boyd went on, gratified by the interest in his tale, "'tis wonderful, when you think on't. Empty from stem to stern she is, with skylights in her deck and windows in her side! Why, there are benches for the men and a pulpit for Israel. As for Jacob, he has nothing but his tuning-fork and a seat with the rest.
"And indeed there's more chance that Israel will put a stop to the Free-trading than all the preventives in the land. He preaches against it, declaring that it makes the young men fit for nothing else, like every other way of making money without working for it."
"Ah, Israel's right there!" came from my grandfather.
"But every light has its shadow, and he's made a failure of it with Dick Wilkes, and may do the like with my wife, Bridget.
"For Bridget, she will be for ever crying at me these days, 'Here, you Tabernacle man, have you split the kindling wood?' Or 'No praise-the-Lord for you, lad, till your day's work is done! Go and mend that spring-cart of the General's that his man has been grumbling about for a month!'
"And sometimes I have to fill my mouth with the hundred and twenty-first psalm to keep from answering improper, and after all, Bridget will only ask if I don't know the tune to that owld penny ballad. 'Tis true enough about the tune" (Boyd confessed), "me having no pitch-pipe, but Bridget has no business to miscall scripture, whether said or sung!
"As to Dick Wilkes, that got his lame leg at the attack on--well, we need not go opening up old scores, but we all know where--has been staying with us, and that maybe made Bridget worse. Aye, that he has. There's no one like Bridget for drawing all the riff-raff of the countryside about her--I know some will say that comes of marrying me. But 'tis the ould gennleman's own falsehood. You'll always find Boyd Connoway in the company of his betters whenever so be he can!
"But Dick Wilkes had our 'ben' room, and there were a little, light, active man that came to see him--not that I know much of him, save from the sound of voices and my wife Bridget on the watch to keep me in the kitchen, and all that.
"But Old Israel would never give up Dick Wilkes. He kept coming and coming to our house, and what he called 'wrestling for Dick's soul.' Sometimes he went away pleased, thinking he had gotten the upper hand. Then the little light man would come again, and there was Dick just as bad as ever. 'Backsliding' was what Israel called it, and a good name, I say, for then the job was all to do over again from the beginning. But it was the Adversary that carried off Dick Wilkes at the long and last."
"Ah!" came a subdued groan from all the kitchen. Boyd gloomily nodded his head.
"Yes," he said, "'tis a great and terrible warning to Bridget, and so