Kate Carnegie and Those Ministers

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With all the women in the Glen, old and young, she liked the lad, for a
way that he had and the kindness of his heart, and was determined that
he should be well dressed for once in his life. It was Sarah, indeed,
that kept Carmichael late, for she not only laid out his things for him
with much care and judgment, but on sight of the wisp of white round
his neck she persuaded him to accept her services, and at last she was
satisfied. He also lost a little time as he came near the manse, for
he grew concerned lest his tie was not straight, and it takes time to
examine yourself in the back of your watch, when the light is dimming
and it is necessary to retire behind a hedge lest some keen Drumtochty
eye should detect the roadside toilet.

John had brought in the lamp before Carmichael entered, and his
confusion was pardonable, for he had come in from the twilight, and
none could have expected such a sight.

"Glad to see you, Carmichael"--the Doctor hastened to cover his
embarrassment. "It is very good of you to honour my little party by
your presence. You know the General, I think, and Miss Carnegie, whose
first birthday in Drumtochty we celebrate to-night.

"No wonder you are astonished," for Carmichael was blushing furiously;
"and I must make our defence, eh, Carnegie? else it will be understood
in Free Kirk circles that the manse is mad. We seem, in fact, a pair
of old fools, and you can have your jest at us; but there is an excuse
even for our madness.

"It is long since we have had a young lady in our Glen, and now that
she has come to live among us--why, sir, we must just do her bidding.

"Our Queen has but a little court, but her courtiers are leal and true;
and when she ordered full dress, it was our joy to obey. And if you
choose to laugh, young sir--why, you may; we are not ashamed with such
a Queen, and I do her homage."

The Doctor stooped and kissed Kate's hand in the grand manner which is
now lost, after which he drew out his snuff-box and tapped it
pleasantly, as one who had taken part in a state function; but there
was the suspicion of a tear in his eye, for these things woke old
memories.

"Kate 's a wilfu' lassie," said the General, fondly, "and she has long
ruled me, so I suppose her father must do likewise." And the General
also kissed Kate's hand.

"You are both perfectly absurd to-night," said Kate, confused and red,
"but no Queen ever had truer hearts to love her, and if I cannot make
you knights, I must reward you as I can." And Kate, ignoring
Carmichael, kissed first her father and then the Doctor. Then she
turned on him with a proud air, "What think you of my court, Mr.
Carmichael?"

"It is the best in Christendom, Miss Carnegie"--and his voice trembled
with earnestness--"for it has the fairest Queen and two gentlemen of
Christ for its servants."

"Very prettily said"--the Doctor thought the little scene had gone far
enough--"and as a reward for that courteous speech you shall take Her
Majesty in to dinner, and we old battered fellows shall follow in
attendance." There was a moment's silence, and then Carmichael spoke.

"If I had only known, Miss Carnegie, that I might have . . . put on
something to do you honour too, but I have nothing except a white silk
hood. I wish I had been a Militiaman or . . . a Freemason."

"This is your second remarkable wish in my hearing," and Kate laughed
merrily; "last time you wished you were a dog on Muirtown platform.
Your third will be your last, I suppose, and one wonders what it will
be."

"It is already in my heart"--Carmichael spoke low--"and some day I will
dare to tell it to you."

"Hush," replied Kate quickly, lifting her hand; "the padre is going to
say grace." As this was an official function in John's eyes, that
worthy man allowed himself to take a general view, and he was pleased
to express his high approval of the company, enlarging especially on
Carmichael, whom, as a Free Kirkman, he had been accustomed rather to
belittle.

"Of coorse," he explained loyally, "he's no tae be compared wi' the
Doctor, for there's nae minister ootside the Auld Kirk can hae sic an
air, and he 's no set up like the General, but he lookit weel an'
winsome.

"His hair wes flung back frae his forehead, his een were fair dancin',
an' there wes a bit o' colour in his cheek. He hes a wy wi' him, a 'll
no deny, 'at taks wi' fouk.

"A 'm no sure that he 's been at mony denners though, Becca, for he
hardly kent what he wes daein'. A' juist pit the potatoes on his
plate, for he never lat on he saw me; an' as for wine, a' cudna get a
word oot o' him."

"Ye 're lilted above ordinary concerns, John, an' it's no tae be
expeckit that a beadle sud notice the way o' a lad wi' a lass," and
Becca nodded her head with much shrewdness.

"Div ye mean that, Rebecca? That cowes a'; but it's no possible. The
General's dochter an' a Free Kirk minister, an' her an Esculopian--"

"Love kens naither rank nor creeds; see what ye did yersel', and you
beadle o' Drumtochty;" and John--every man has some weak
point--swallowed the compliment with evident satisfaction.

Meanwhile they had fallen on this very subject of creeds in the
dining-room, and Kate was full of curiosity.

"Will you two padres do me a favour? I knew you would. Well, I want
to know for certain what is the difference between the two Kirks in
Drumtochty. Now which of you will begin?" and Kate beamed on them both.

"Whatever you wish we will do, Kate," said the Doctor; "but you will
have me excused in this matter, if you please, and hear my friend. I
am tired of controversy, and he has a fair mind, and, as I know well, a
pleasant wit. Tell Miss Carnegie how your people left the Kirk of
Scotland."

"Well, the dispute began"--and Carmichael faced his task
manfully--"about the appointment of clergymen, whether it should lie
with a patron or the people. Lord Kilspindie had the nomination of
Drumtochty, and if every patron had been as wise as our house, then
there had been no Disruption."

The Doctor bowed, and motioned to Carnegie to fortify himself with port.

"Other patrons had no sense, and put in unsuitable men, and the people
rebelled, since it is a sad thing for a country parish to have a
minister who is not . . ."

"A gentleman? or straight? Quite so," chimed in Kate; "it must be
beastly."

"So a party fought for the rights of the people," resumed Carmichael,
"and desired that the parish should have a voice in choosing the man
who was to take charge of . . . their souls."

"Isn't that like soldiers electing their officers?" inquired the
General, doubtfully.

"Go on, Carmichael; you are putting your case capitally; don't plunge
into theology, Jack, whatever you do . . . it is Sandeman's--a sound
wine."

"Then what happened?" and Kate encouraged Carmichael with her eyes.

"Four hundred clergymen threw up their livings one day and went out to
begin a Free Kirk, where there are no patrons.

"You have no idea--for I suppose you never heard of this before--how
ministers suffered, living and dying in miserable cottages--and the
people met for service on the sea-shore or in winter storms--all for
conscience sake."

Carmichael was glowing, and the Doctor sipped his port approvingly.

"Perhaps they ought not to have seceded, and perhaps their ideas were
wrong; but it was heroism, and a good thing for the land."

"It was splendid!" Kate's cheek flushed. "And Drumtochty?"

"Ah, something happened here that was by itself in Scotland. Will you
ask Dr. Davidson not to interrupt or browbeat me? Thank you; now I am
safe.

"Some one of influence went to old Lord Kilspindie, who had no love to
the Free Kirk, and told him that a few of his Drumtochty men wanted to
get a site for a Free Kirk, and that he must give it. And he did."

"Now, Carmichael," began the Doctor, who had scented danger; but Kate
held up her hand with an imperious gesture, and Carmichael went on:--

"The same person used to send to the station for the Free Kirk
probationer, and entertain him after a lordly fashion--with port, if he
were worthy--and send him on his way rejoicing--men have told me.
But," concluded Carmichael, averting his face from the foot of the
table, "wild horses will not compel me to give that good Samaritan's
name."

"Was it you, Davidson, that sanctioned such a proceeding? Why, it was
mutiny."

"Of course he did, dad," cried Kate; "just the very thing he would do;
and so, I suppose, the Free Kirk love him as much as they do yourself,
sir?"

"As much? far more . . ."

"Had I known what downright falsehood the Free Kirk minister of
Drumtochty was capable of, I would never have allowed him to open his
mouth."

"Well, I am satisfied, at any rate," said Kate, "and I propose to
retire to the drawing-room, and I know who would love a rubber of whist
by-and-by. We are just the number."

A minute later Carmichael asked leave to join Kate, as he believed she
was to have him for partner, and he must understand her game.

"How adroit he is to-night, Jack;" but the General rather pitied the
lad, with whom he imagined Kate was playing as a cat with a mouse.

"Have you ever seen the face below the veil?" for they did not talk
long about whist in the drawing-room. "I do not think it would be
wrong to look, for the padre told me the story.

"Yes, a very winning face. His only sister, and he simply lived for
her. She was only twelve when she died, and he loves her still,
although he hardly ever speaks of her."

They stood together before the happy girl-face enshrined in an old
man's love. They read the inscription: "My dear sister Daisy."

"I never had a sister," and Carmichael sighed.

"And I have now no brother." Their hands met as they gently lowered
the veil.

"Well, have you arranged your plans?" and the Doctor came in intent on
whist.

"Only one thing. I am going to follow Miss Carnegie's lead, and she is
always to win," said the Free Kirk minister of Drumtochty.

CHAPTER XVII.

SMOULDERING FIRES.

It is the right of every Scot--secured to him by the Treaty of Union
and confirmed by the Disruption--to criticise his minister with much
freedom, but this privilege is exercised with a delicate charity. When
it is not possible for a conscientious hearer to approve a sermon, he
is not compelled to condemnation. "There wes naething wrang wi' the
text," affords an excellent way of escape, and it is open to suggest
efficiency in another department than the pulpit.

"Mister MacWheep michtna be a special preacher, but there 's nae doot
he wes a graund veesitor." Before Carmichael left the West Kirk,
Edinburgh, where he served his apprenticeship as an assistant, a worthy
elder called to bid him good-bye, and spoke faithfully, to the lad's
great delight.

"You have been very acceptable, wonderfully so for a young man, and we
shall follow your career with much interest. It is right, however, to
add, and you will accept this in a right spirit, that it was not by
preaching that you commended yourself to our people, but by your
visiting. Your sermons are what I might call . . . hazy--you will get
a hold of the truth by-and-by, no doubt--but you have a gift for
visitation."

The exact quality and popularity of this gift was excellently stated by
the wife of a working man, who referred with enthusiasm to the edifying
character of the assistant's conversation.

"Tammas misses Maister Carmichael juist terrible, for he wud come in on
a forenicht an' sit, an' smoke, an' haver wi' the gude man by the 'oor.
He wes the maist divertin' minister a' ever saw in the West Kirk."

It will be evident that Carmichael's visitation belonged to a different
department of art from that of Dr. Davidson. He arrived without
intimation by the nearest way that he could invent, clothed in a
shooting jacket and a soft hat, and accompanied by at least two dogs.
His coming created an instant stir, and Carmichael plunged at once into
the life of the household. It is kept on fond record, and still told
by the surviving remnant of his flock, that on various occasions and in
the course of pastoral visitation he had turned the hay in summer, had
forked the sheaves in harvest-time, had sacked the corn for market, and
had driven a gude wife's churn. After which honourable toil he would
eat and drink anything put before him except boiled tea, against which
he once preached with power--and then would sit indefinitely with the
family before the kitchen fire, telling tales of ancient history,
recalling the old struggles of Scottish men, describing foreign sights,
enlarging on new books, till he would remember that he had only dropped
in for an hour, and that two meals must be waiting for him at the
manse. His visits were understood to be quite unfinished, and he left
every house pledged to return and take up things at the point where he
had been obliged to break off, and so he came at last in this matter of
visitation into a condition of hopeless insolvency. His adventures
were innumerable and always enjoyable--falling off the two fir trees
that made a bridge over our deeper burns, and being dried at the next
farm-house--wandering over the moor all night and turning up at a
gamekeeper's at daybreak, covered with peat and ravening with
hunger--fighting his way through a snowstorm to a marriage, and digging
the bridegroom out of a drift--dodging a herd of Highland cattle that
thought he had come too near their calves, or driving off Drumsheugh's
polled Angus bull with contumely when he was threatening Mrs.
Macfadyen. If he met the bairns coming from school, the Glen rang with
the foolery. When Willie Harley broke his leg, Carmichael brought his
dog Jackie--I could tell things of that dog--and devised dramatic
entertainments of such attraction that Jamie Soutar declared them no
better than the theatre, and threatened Carmichael with a skep of honey
as a mark of his indignation. As for the old women of the Glen, he got
round them to that extent that they would gossip with him by the hour
over past days, and Betty Macfarlane was so carried by the minister's
sympathy that she brought out from hidden places some finery of her
youth, and Carmichael was found by Miss Carnegie arranging a faded
Paisley shawl on Betty's shoulders. And was it not this same gay Free
Kirkman who trained an eleven to such perfection on a field of
Drumsheugh's that they beat the second eleven of Muirtown gloriously?
on which occasion Tammas Mitchell, by the keenness of his eye and the
strength of his arm, made forty-four runs; and being congratulated by
Drumtochty as he carried his bat, opened his mouth for the first time
that day, saying, "Awa wi' ye."

[Illustration: Would gossip with him by the hour.]

So it came to pass that notwithstanding his unholy tendency to Biblical
criticism and other theological pedantry, Drumtochty loved Carmichael
because he was a man; and Dr. Davidson, lighting upon him in Hillocks'
garden, with the family round him full of joy, would threaten him with
a prosecution for poaching under the ecclesiastical Game Laws, and end
by insisting upon him coming to dinner at the manse, when he might
explain his conduct. Drumtochty loved him for his very imperfections,
and follows his career unto this day with undying interest, recalling
his various escapades with huge delight, and declaring to strangers
that even in his callow days they had discovered that Carmichael was a
preacher.

Carmichael had occasional fits of order, when he repented of his
desultory ways, and began afresh with much diligence, writing out the
names of the congregation with full details--he once got as far as
Menzies before he lost the book--mapping the parish into districts, and
planning an elaborate visitation. It may have been an accident that
the district he chose for experiment embraced Tochty Lodge--where the
Carnegies had just settled--but it was natural that his first effort
should be thorough. There were exactly ten Free Kirk families from
Tochty Lodge eastwards, and some of these still speak with feeling of
the attention they received, which exceeded all they had ever known
before or since.

"It wesna that he sat sae lang as a 've heard o' him daein' in the
heich Glen, but it wes the times he cam'," Mrs. Stirton used to
expatiate, "maybe twice a week for a month. He hed a wy o' comin'
through Tochty Wood--the shade helpit him tae study, he said--an'
jumpin' the dyke. Sall, gin he dinna mak a roadie for himsel' through
the field that year. A' wudna say," she used to add in a casual tone,
"but that he micht hae gi'en a cry at the Lodge, but he cudna dae less,
passin' the door."

Carmichael was astonished himself at the number of times he was obliged
to see General Carnegie on business, of one kind or another. Sometimes
it was about the Flower Show, of which the General had become a patron;
sometimes it was the Highland Games, when the General's help would be
of so much use; sometimes it was the idea of repairing the old bridge;
sometimes--and Carmichael blushed when it came to this--to get the
General's opinion on a military question in the Bible. The least he
could do in laying such a tax on a good-natured man was to bring a book
for his daughter's reading, or a curious flower he had picked up on the
hill, or a story he had heard in his visiting. Miss Carnegie was
generally gracious, and would see him on his way if the day were fine,
or show him some improvements in the "Pleasaunce," or accompany him to
Janet's cottage to have a taste of that original woman's conversation
together. It came upon Carmichael at a time that he was,
inadvertently, calling too frequently at the Lodge, and for a week he
would keep to the main, road, or even pass the corner of the Lodge with
an abstracted air--for he loathed the thought of being deflected from
the path of duty by any personal attraction--and used to change the
subject of conversation after Janet had spoken for half an hour on Kate.

People were speculating in a guarded manner regarding the possibility
of news, and Janet had quarrelled furiously with Donald for laughing
such unworthy rumours to scorn, when the parish was almost convulsed by
the historic scene in the Free Kirk, and all hope of a romantic
alliance was blasted. Archie Moncur, elder, and James Macfadyen,
deacon, were counting the collection in the vestibule, and the
congregation within were just singing the last verse of their first
psalm, when General Carnegie and his daughter appeared at the door.

"Has service begun?" whispered Kate, while her father reverently bared
his head. "I 'm so sorry we are late, but you will let us in, won't
you, and we shall be as quiet as mice."

"A 'll open the door," and Archie explained the geography of the
situation, "an' ye 'll juist slip intae the manse pew; it's in the
corner, wi' curtains roond it, an' naebody 'll see ye, naither minister
nor people;" and so Carmichael went through the service, and had almost
reached the end of his sermon before he knew that Kate was in the
church.

She was very conscious of him and keenly observant of every detail--his
white silk hood thrown into relief by the black Geneva gown, his fair,
flushed face touched with tenderness and reverence, a new accent of
affection in his voice as one speaking to his charge, and especially
she noted in this Free Kirkman a certain fervour and high hope, a
flavour also of subtle spirituality, that were wanting in Dr. Davidson.
His hair might have been better brushed, and his whiskers were
distinctly ragged--but those things could be easily put right; then she
tossed her head in contempt of herself. It had come to a fine pass
when a girl that had carried her heart untouched through Simla should
be concerned about the appearance of a Highland minister. The General
was well acquainted with that proud motion, and began to regret that
they had come. It was Davidson's blame, who had sent them to hear a
good sermon for once, as he said, and now Kate would only find material
for raillery. He tugged his moustache and wished that they were again
in the open air.

When the sermon came, the occupants of the manse pew composed
themselves for fifteen minutes' patient endurance, after the well-bred
fashion of their Church, each selecting a corner with a skill born of
long experience. They were not, however, to rest in peace and
detachment of mind till the doxology (or its corresponding formula in
the Scottish Kirk) summoned them back, for this was to be a quite
memorable sermon for them and their fellow-hearers and all Drumtochty.

Carmichael had been lecturing through Old Testament history, and having
come to the drama of Elijah and Jezebel, had laid himself out for its
full and picturesque treatment. He was still at that age when right
seems to be all on one side, and a particular cause can be traced down
the centuries in all lands and under all conditions. For the most part
of two days he had wandered over the moor in the bright, cold November
weather reconstructing the scene in Israel on Scottish lines, and he
entered the pulpit that morning charged with the Epic of Puritanism.
Acute critics, like Elspeth Macfadyen, could tell from Carmichael's
walk down the church that he was in great spirits, and even ordinary
people caught a note of triumph in his voice as he gave out the first
Psalm. For the first few sentences of his sermon he spoke quietly, as
one reserving and restraining himself, and gave a historical
introduction which allowed the General to revive some ancient memories
of India without interruption. But Kate caught the imperial tone of
one who had a message to deliver and was already commanding people to
listen. She was conscious of a certain anxiety, and began to wish that
she were in front and could see his face, instead of only the side of
his head. Then Carmichael threw back his hair with the air of one
taking off his coat, and plunged the congregation into the midst of the
battle, describing Elijah's forgetfulness of self, profound conviction
of righteousness, high purpose for his nation and devotion to the cause
of Jehovah, till Burnbrae and the Free Kirkmen straightened themselves
visibly in their pews, and touching so skilfully on the Tyrian princess
in her beauty, her culture, her bigotry, her wiles, her masterfulness,
that several women--greatly delighting in the exposure of such a
"trimmie"--nodded approval. Kate had never given herself to the study
of Old Testament history, and would have had some difficulty in
identifying Elijah--there was a mare called Jezebel of vicious
temper--but she caught the contagion of enthusiasm. If the supreme
success of a sermon be to stimulate the hearer's mind, then Carmichael
ought to have closed at this point. His people would have been all the
week fighting battles for conscience sake, and resisting smooth,
cunning temptation to the farthest limits of their lives and in
unimaginable ways. Kate herself, although a person quite unaffected by
preaching, had also naturalised the sermon in her life with much
practical and vivid detail. Carmichael was Elijah, the prophet of the
common people, with his simple ways and old-fashioned notions and love
of hardness, only far more gentle and courteous and amusing than that
uncompromising Jew; and she--why, she would be Jezebel just for the
moment, who had come from . . . India into the Glen, and could bring
Elijah to her feet if she chose, and make him do her will, and
then . . . The girls in the choir before the pulpit noticed the look
on Kate's face, and wondered whether the Carnegies would join the Free
Kirk.

Carmichael had an instinct that he ought to fling over the remaining
four pages of his sermon and close the service with a war Psalm, and he
told me when I was staying with him last week that he sacrifices the
last head of his sermon almost every Sunday in his city pulpit. But he
was only a lad in Drumtochty, and besides was full of a historical
parallel, which after a scientific illustration is most irresistible to
a young minister. No one had ever seen it before, but of course Elijah
was John Knox, and Jezebel was Queen Mary of Scots, and then Carmichael
set to work afresh, with something less than conspicuous success.
Scottish people are always ready for a eulogium on John Knox in church,
or on Robert Burns out of church, but the Reformer is rather the object
of patriotic respect and personal devotion. Netherton snuffed in quite
a leisurely way, and the women examined the bonnet of the manse
housekeeper, while Knox stood in the breach for the liberties of
Scotland, and when Carmichael began to meddle with Mary, he distinctly
lost the sympathies of his audience and entered on dangerous ground.
Scots allow themselves, at times, the rare luxury of being illogical,
and one of the occasions is their fondness for Queen Mary. An austere
Puritan may prove that this young woman was French in her ways, an
enemy to the Evangel, a born and practised flirt, and art and part in
the murder of Darnley. A Scot will not deny the evidence, and if he be
thrust into the box he may bring in the prisoner guilty, but his heart
is with the condemned, and he has a grudge against the prosecutor. For
he never forgets that Mary was of the royal blood and a thorough
Stewart, that her face turned men's heads in every country she touched,
that she had the courage of a man in her, that she was shamefully used,
and if she did throw over that ill-conditioned lad, well . . . "Puir
lassie, she hed naebody tae guide her, but sall, she focht her battle
weel," and out of this judgment none can drive an honest Scot. "Yon
wes a graund discoorse the day, gude wife," Jeems hazarded to Elspeth
on the way home, "but a' thocht the minister wes a wee hard on Queen
Mary; there 's nae doot she wes a papist, an' micht hae gien Knox a bit
twist wi' the screws gin she cud hae gruppit him, but a' dinna like her
misca'd."

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