CHAPTER XXIV

DR. SCOTT AND HIS SERVANT

The Corporal was obliged, on family or on Haldanite business, we know not which, to return by the "Highflyer" next morning. As that slow but sure conveyance jolted along the road but twice a week, he could not, in the circ.u.mstances in which he was placed, remain until its next journey.

On leaving the Manse, he proceeded at once to the house of Dr. Scott, the well-known doctor of the parish, and of a district around it limited only by the physical endurance of himself and of his brown horse, "Bolus". When the Corporal called, the Doctor was absent on one of his constantly recurring professional rides. Being a bachelor, his only representative was his old servant Effie, who received the visitor. She kept the surgery as well as the house, and was as well known in the parish as her master. Indeed she was suspected by many to have skill equal to her master's, very likely owing to the powerful effects produced by her suggestive prescriptions. On learning the absence of the doctor, the Corporal inquired when he was likely to return.

"Wha i' the warl' can tell that? Whatna quastion tae speer at me!"

exclaimed Effie.

"I meant nae offence," replied the Corporal; "but my freend, Sergeant Mercer----"

"I beg yer pardon," interrupted Effie; "I wasna awar that ye were a freen' o' the Sergeant's, honest man! Sae I may tell _you_ that the doctor may be here in a minute, or may be no' till breakfast-time the morn; or he may come at twal', at twa, or Gude kens whan! But if it's an _ordinar'_ thing ye want for yersel' or Adam, I can gie't to ye:--sic as a scoorin' dose o' sauts or castur-ile, or rubhard pills, or seena leaf, or even a flee blister; or a few draps o' lodamy for the grips."

The Corporal listened with all respect, and said, "I want naething for mysel' or Adam; but Dr. Scott is requested to veesit him on his return hame, or as soon after as convenient."

"Convenient!" exclaimed Effie, "that's no' a word kent in Drumsylie for the doctor! He micht as well ax every gudewife in the parish if it was convenient for them to hae a son or a dochter at twal' hours i' the day or at twal' at nicht on a simmer's day or on a snawy ane; or tae ax whan it was convenient for folk tae burn their fit, break their leg, or play the mishanter wi' themsels efter a fair. Convenient! Keep us a'! But depen' on't he'll mak' it convenient tae atten' Mr. Mercer, nicht or mornin', sune or early."

"I'm sorry to trouble him, for I am sure he is unco' bothered and fashed," said the Corporal, politely.

"Fashed!" exclaimed Effie, thankful for the opportunity of expressing sympathy with her master, and her indignation at his inconsiderate patients; "naebody kens that but him and me! Fashed! the man haesna the life o' a streyed dog or cat! There's no' a lameter teylor wi' his waik fit, nor a bairn wi' a sair wame frae eatin' ower mony cruds or grosats, nor an auld wife hostin' wi' a grew o' cauld, nor a farmer efter makin'

ower free wi' black puddins and haggis when a mairt is kill't--but a'

maun flee tae the doctor, ilka ane yam, yam, yammerin', as if _he_ had the poower o' life and death! Puir cratur! I could maist greet if I wasna sae angry, to wauk him in his first sleep in a winter's nicht to ride aff on auld Bolus--that's his auld decent horse, ye ken--and for what? Maybe for naething! I a.s.sure you he has a taughy fleece tae scoor in this parish!" Effie stopped, not from want of ill.u.s.tration, but from want of breath.

"A hard life, a hard life, nae doot," remarked the Corporal; "but it's his duty, and he's paid for't."

"Him paid for't!" said Effie, "I wad like tae see the siller; as the watchmaker said--The Doctor, quo' he, should let them pay the debt o'

natur' if they wadna pay his ain debts first. He wasna far wrang! But I was forgettin' the Sergeant--what's wrang wi' him? That's a man never fashes the doctor or onybody; and wha pays what he gets. But ither folk fash the Sergeant--I wuss I had the doctorin' o' some o' them I ken o'l Feggs, I wad doctor them! I wad gie them a blister or twa o' Sp.e.n.i.sh flees that they wadna forget in a hurry I--but what's wrang?" she asked, once more halting in her eloquence.

"That's just what we want tae ken," replied the Corporal, quietly.

"I'll tell the Doctor," said Effie. "I think ye said yer name was d.i.c.k--Cornal d.i.c.k?"

"No, no! not Cornal yet," replied d.i.c.k, smiling, "I'm sorry tae say, my braw woman, but Corporal only."

The epithet "braw" drew down a curtsy from Effie in reply to his "Gude day; ye'll be sure to send the Doctor."

Dr. Scott, whom Effie represented, was a man of few words, who never attempted to explain the philosophy, if he knew it, of his treatment, but prescribed his doses as firmly and unfeelingly as the gunner loads his cannon. He left his patients to choose life or death, apparently as if their choice was a matter of indifference to him: yet nevertheless he possessed a most kind and feeling heart, revealed not in looks or words, but in deeds of patience and self-sacrifice, for which, from too many, he got little thanks, and less pay, as Effie had more than insinuated.

Every one in the parish seemed to have a firm conviction as to the duty of the Doctor to visit them, when unwell, at all hours, and at all distances, by day or night; while _their_ duty of consideration for his health was dim, and for his pocket singularly procrastinating. "I do not grudge," he once said, "to give my professional aid gratis to the poor and needy, and even to others who could pay me if they would; nay, I do not grudge in many cases to send a bag of meal to the family, but I think I am ent.i.tled, without being considered greedy, and without my sending for it, to get my empty bag returned!"

The Doctor was ever riding to and fro, his face red with winter's cold and summer's heat, nodding oftener on his saddle than at his own fire-side, watching all sorts of cases in farmhouses and lowly cottages, cantering for miles to the anxiety and discomforts of the sick-room.

All liked the Doctor, and trusted him; though, alas! such men as Dr.

Mair--herbalists, vendors of wonderful pills and "saws", bone-setters, and that whole race of ignorant and presuming quacks, resident or itinerant, could always impose on the credulous, and dispose of their marvellous cures for such prices as seldom entered honest Scott's pocket.

The Doctor in due time visited Adam.

"What's wrong, Sergeant?" was his abrupt question; and he immediately proceeded to examine tongue and pulse, and other signs and symptoms. He then prescribed some simple medicine, rather gentler than Effie's; and said little, except that he would call back soon. The case was at last declared to be of a bad type of typhoid fever.

CHAPTER XXV

MR. SMELLIE'S DIPLOMACY

Mr. Smellie was not only a draper, but was the greatest in that line in the parish of Drumsylie. His shop had the largest display of goods in the village. Handkerchiefs, cravats, Paisley shawls, printed calicoes, &c., streamed in every variety of colour from strings stretched across the large window, dotted with hats and bonnets for male and female customers. He was looked upon as a well-to-do, religious man, who carefully made the most of both worlds. He was a bachelor, and lived in a very small house, above his shop, which was reached by a screw stair.

A small charity boy, with a singularly sedate countenance--he may for aught I know be now a rich merchant on the London Exchange--kept the shop. I mention his name, Eben or Ebenezer Peat, to preserve for some possible biographer the important part which the as yet great unknown played in his early life. The only domestic was old Peggy; of whom, beyond her name, I know nothing. She may have been great, and no doubt was, if she did her duty with zeal and love to Peter Smellie. Peggy inhabited the kitchen, and her master the parlour, attached to which was a small bed-closet. The parlour was cold and stiff, like a cell for a condemned Pharisee. There was little furniture in it save an old sofa whose hard bony skeleton was covered by a cracked skin of black haircloth, with a small round cushion of the same character, roughened by rather bristly hairs, which lay in a recess at the end of it. A few stuffed mahogany chairs were ranged along the wall; while a very uncomfortable arm-chair beside the small fire, and a round table with a dark wax-cloth cover, completed the furniture of the apartment. There were besides, a few old books of theology--which guaranteed Mr.

Smellie's orthodoxy, if not his reading; a copy of _Buchan's Domestic Medicine_; and a sampler which hung on the wall, sewed by his only sister, long dead, on which was worked a rude symbol of Castle Bennock with three swans floating under it, nearly as large as the castle, and beneath what was intended to represent flowers were the symbols, "For P.

S. by M. S."

Mr. Smellie, near a small fire, that twinkled like a yellow cairngorm amidst basalt, sat reading his newspaper, when a letter was laid upon the table by Peggy without any remark except "A letter."

"From whom, Peggy?" asked Smellie.

"Dinna ken; was left on the c.o.o.nter."

Mr. Smellie opened it. No sooner did he recognise the signature, than he laid aside the paper--the _Edinburgh Courant_, even then best known and long established.

He read the letter over and over again, very possibly a hundred times if one might judge from the time it remained in his hands. At last he put it down quietly, as if afraid it would make a noise, and stared at the small embryo fire. He then paced across the room; lay down on the sofa; resumed his seat at the fire; took up the letter, again perused it, and again slowly laid it down. He alone could decipher his own thoughts while doing all this. For a time he was confused and bewildered, as if endeavouring to comprehend his altered position. It was to him as if some one whom he had hanged or murdered had come to life again. What was he to do now with reference to the Sergeant? This was what puzzled him--what could be done to save himself? He had felt safe in the hands of an honourable man--at a distance. He had in fact, during many years of comparative ease as to worldly things, almost forgotten his old attempt at cheating. He had long ago repented, as he thought, of his crime; but that which was past had now risen from the dead, and G.o.d seemed to require it at his hands!

Had not his own continued sinfulness thus restored the dead past to life?

It was a great shock for him to learn for the first time that his enemy, as he looked upon Adam, knew it all, and had him in his power. And then to learn also that the Sergeant had never divulged the secret! What could Smellie now do? Would he provoke Adam to blast his character, to triumph over him, to expose him to the Kirk Session and the parish? nay, to--to banish him? Or would he repent truly of all that false, hollow past which was now being dimly revealed to him; confess his evil-doing to the Sergeant, and ask his forgiveness, as well as that of G.o.d; trust his mercy, bless him for his generosity, acknowledge that he was the better man, and seek by a new and true life to imitate him? O Mr.

Smellie! this is indeed one of those moments in thy life in which a single step to the right or left may lead thee to light or to darkness, to heaven or to h.e.l.l. Thy soul, of immeasurable littleness estimated by the world, but of infinite greatness estimated by eternal truth and righteousness, is now engaged in a battle in which its eternal destiny is likely to be determined! Confront then the good and evil masters, G.o.d and Mammon, who are contending for the mastery; serve the one and despise the other, and even thou mayest yet be great because good. But if not!--then in a few minutes mayest thou be irrecoverably on the road to thine own place; and though this will be nothing to Drumsylie, it will be everything to thee!

The battle went hard against Saul, and the Philistines of vanity, pride, and a wicked consistency were pressing hard upon him! One thing only, the easiest for the time, he determined to do, and that was to get out of the sc.r.a.pe--as his bad angel soothingly suggested--as speedily and as easily as possible. He must not keep up the quarrel longer with the Sergeant; this at least seemed clear: for such a course was dangerous.

He must also immediately a.s.sure John Spence of obedience to his commands. So, without delay, he wrote to the keeper, imploring him, as he himself expected mercy from G.o.d, to be silent regarding the old crime; a.s.suring him that he had mistaken the part which he had taken as an elder in this most painful case, as he called it, and promising him to do all he could to deliver the Sergeant out of trouble, which would be at once his duty and his pleasure. This letter, when written and despatched, was a great relief to his mind: it delivered him, as he hoped, from immediate danger at least, and enabled him to concentrate his acute faculties on the carrying out of his plans for securing his own safety.

His thoughts were for the moment broken by Eben announcing, as he was wont to do, a superior customer whom it was expedient for the master himself to serve. The customer on the present occasion was Miss Thomasina Porteous, who had come to purchase some article for herself, and a cheap shawl, out of the Session Charity Fund, for their poor, persecuted, common friend, as she called Mrs. Craigie.

Mr. Smellie was unusually silent: he did not respond to the order for Mrs. Craigie with his accustomed smile. After a little, Miss Thomasina blandly remarked:--"Sergeant Mercer is very ill, and I have no doubt from a bad conscience--there's no peace, you know, Mr. Smellie, to the wicked."

"I am aware!" said Mr. Smellie, drily. "This cheap shawl," he added, selecting and spreading out one before her, "is good enough, I suppose, for a pauper?"

"Considering all she has suffered from that man, I think she should get a better one, or something in addition, Mr. Smellie," said the lady.

"Eben!" said Smellie, "go up-stairs. I wish to speak to Miss Porteous alone."

The boy disappeared.

"As a friend, Miss Porteous," whispered Smellie, "permit me to say, _in strictest confidence_--you understand?--"

"Quite!" replied Miss Thomasina, with a look of intense curiosity.

"That I have learned some things about Mrs. Craigie," continued Mr.

Smellie, "which should make us _extremely_ cautious in helping or trusting her."