page 62

Part Twelfth.

The Bailie and my faither didna appear very able for settlin' the business he came upon; for he stayed on several days an' there was nae hint o' his gaein'. What the business was nane o' the ithers I think had any notion. Young Duncan Macbuist seemed no to hae any hand intilt, for after the first day the twa auld folk—that's my faither an' the Bailie—keepit maistly to theirsel's; an' for want o' haein’ onything better to employ his time, the daft body took to hoverin' round me like a bum-bee in a clover field. He arrayed himsel' in a' his glory, an' he prink't his puir pasty fingers wi' rings eneuch to set up a jeweller's shop. It was ‘Miss Janet' here, and ‘Miss Janet' there, an' him bowing and smirkin, an' shawin his teeth, as though he was settin' aff his faither's ribbons for sale. I couldna bide him an' his ways; and when Madam Cranston was awa I sought shelter in the company o' Mr. McGelpin, who liked him aboot as weel's mysel'; only it didna behove him to say sae, he being Minister. In fact he rebuked me ane time when I was rinnin' Duncan doun as a bald-faced chatterin' monkey. “For,” quo he— “Ye should respeet him a' the mair for that, Janet. He's a maist convincin' illustration o' the origin o' species.”

However, at lang an' at last the plot was revealed. One mornin' I heard Madam an' the laird engaged in high controversy;—his bass voice growlin' like distant thunder in comparison o' her shrill pipings. When he came out o' the chamber she skirled after him—“Dae page 63 your best, James Cranston! Ye're far wrang, but ye can try. I freely permit ye. But if the lassie disna come oot o' the fire as true as steel, I'll ne'er pit faith in ane o' my ain sex again.”

Sae it was aboot something in which I was concerned nae doubt. An' I could only think o' ae thing.

I soon kent what was in the wind. It seems that Maister Dunean—set him up!—the puir, sehauchled, miserable apology for a man that he was—had taken a notion intil his head o' gettin’ me for a wife. An' what was o' mair consequence, his faither an' my faither had agreed atween themsel's on the conditions o' the bargain. ‘Deed it was settled afore I was made acquent wi' the proposal; but when it was mentioned to me, I wouldna bide to think o't. I just burst out laughin' in my faither's face. “Na, na, faither,” quo I; “I obeyed ye in the matter o' wha’ I shouldna hae, but I canna dae the same in regard o' wha’ I should hae. Gin I maunna get Colin, I'll hae nane. But its just preposterous. That silly, shilpit, jabberin' body to think o' me for a wife for the like o' him! What wad I dae wi sic a thing, but just chain him in the yairdie, and shaw him at saxpence a heid? There wad be nae ither way o' making ony profit oot o' him, unless a body gaed till the extra expense o' an organ.”

And now my hame became a place o' contention. My faither urged me sair, but I turned a deaf ear to all his arguments. An' he was muckle vexed hintsel'. Whiles his love for me pulled him ane way, an' syne his interest drave him the ither. He didna conecal frae me that he was indebted till the Bailie for large sums of money, an that unless I wad wed wi Duncan, it wad page 64 be ca'd in, and the mailin' and the stock would be roupit. He besought me, wi' tears in his een, no to bring ruin on the family; an' maybe he might hae prevailed—I canna tell—had I no seen the kind o' husband he designed for me. But I couldna awa' wi’ sic “a similitude o' man” as the Minister ca'd him. An' then—was I no promised to Colin?—“Aye be leal,” he had said; and leal I wad be, if I dee'd for it. I wasna able to seek comfort, where I might hae found it, frae Madam; for my faither bound me not to mention the state o' his affairs; sae I had to bear my burden alane.

The business was brought to an end in a maist unexpected manner.

One mornin' the strath was flooded wi' a thick white mist through which the sun forced his way in fiery splendour. The herd laddies, taking the hint, were awa' till the braes early. The laird cast mony anxious looks owrehead, and hurried out afore the porridge was weel aff the table. As the day drave on, the mist gathered intil the hill-tops, and melted awa' afore the heat which made itself felt by man and beast. At noon there was a dead silence in the air, as if nature was waiting on some by-ordinar’ event. The song-birds faulded their wings and became mute; but the swallows dartit to and fro, skimming close to the bosom o' the burn, where the midges were swarming. The kye in the pastures shifted uneasily aboot, and lowed in a moaning way as if they were feart o' they kent na what. Owre the braes the sheep, wi' the wonderful instinct o' nature, came trooping down frae the hills—the ae ewe ea'ing on the tither, and a till their lammies, an' whiles bleatin' mournfully a'thegither page 65 as they fed doun the lang green slopes. The dogs lay pantin' in the shade, an' the fowls ereepit intil their eavies. The very burns seemed to rin their way wi' a saftened murmur; but we could hear the roarin' o’ the linn, when the winds rushed out o' the glen in sudden sharp blasts, to die away as suddenly, makin' the unnatural silence that followed maist pain-fu’ to endure. Everybody went aboot in a dazed kind o' way; for the influences o' the day an' the hour were upon us a'.

A’ at once, big black clouds came swellin' aboon the braid tops o' the Carricks, and rapidly spread owre the lift. The hoarse bellowing thunder growled in the distance. Onward drave the storm, and soon elap after clap rattled and echoed amang the hills and glens like the roar o' battle. Big braid draps o' rain plashed and pattered on the streamin' earth. The winds broke loose frae their prison houses, and a' the demons o' the tempest rade riot. Deep darkness—a darkness that could be felt, as the Book says—fell upon the earth. Flashes o' forked blue lightning darted doun, quiverin' in their passage like the arrows o' death, the thick walls o' Craigielian trembled wi' the thunder shocks. Doun came the rain in ae big braid sheet as if the fountains o' Heaven had been opened. The terrified maids flocked intil the spence regardless o' coremony, and even Madam Cranston daur'd na rebuke them. Minister McGelpin took the Book in his hands, and motioned us to gae doun on our bended knees. “We are a in the hands o' Him wha made Heaven an' earth, an' a’ that therein is,” he said, liftin' his voice like a trumpet aboon the din o' the elements. “Let page 66 us offer up prayer to Him, that if it be his Holy will, nae harm shall be suffered by his servants here assembled.”

I hae aften thocht owre that scene. The minister controlled the frichtened folk, as a captain controls his crew and passengers in danger at sea. And wasna he a captain, having our lives and souls in charge that day?

Weel, the storm went past and we began to gather our senses an' look aboot us. Whaur was Duncan Macbuist? First we fear'd the silly airf might hae been left out in the dounfa'. But he! he kent fine how to take care o' his precious body. Tibbie found him in ane o' the chambers, smoor'd owre head an' ears wi' blankets. She had much trouble to satisfy the creature that the danger was gane by. “The puir thing was in an awfal swither,” said Tibbie. “He's mair fit for cloutin' than cuddlin.” But afterhend he came ben, an' bowed, an' bowed; an', quo he, “I hope ye were na frichtened, leddies.”

“Deed then we were,” cried Madame Cranston. “We were unco frichtened for ane, Maister Duncan Macbuist. It wad be a sair loss if sic an ornamental member o' society had come till ony harm.”

The fule-body snickered, but said nought. The Bailie, however, spak' for him. “Ye're aye vera keen for my son, Meddam,” quo he.

“Eh!” quo Madam. “What's that ye say? ‘Deed, then, he wants a' the assistance he can get in that way. He's no owre keen for himsel'. Tak' a pinch, Bailie.”

And now we thocht our troubles were a' owre; but we only at the doorstep o' what was to come.