Kate Carnegie and Those Ministers

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Drumtochty was amazed at her self-will, and declared by the mouth of
Kirsty Stewart that Carmichael's aunt had flown in the face of
Providence. Below her gentle simplicity she was however a shrewd
woman, and was quite determined that her nephew should not be handed
over to the tender mercies of a clerical housekeeper, who is said to be
a heavier yoke than the Confession of Faith, for there be clever ways
of escape from confessions, but none from Margaret Meiklewham; and
while all the churches are busy every year in explaining that their
Articles do not mean what they say, Miss Meiklewham had a snort which
was beyond all she said, and that was not by any means restricted.

"John," said Carmichael's aunt, one day after they had been buying
carpets, "I 've got a housekeeper for you that will keep you
comfortable and can hold her tongue," but neither then nor afterwards,
neither to her nephew nor to Drumtochty, did Carmichael's aunt tell
where she secured Sarah.

"That's my secret, John," she used to say, with much roguishness, "an'
ye maun confess that there 's ae thing ye dinna ken. Ye 'll hae the
best-kept manse in the Presbytery, an' ye 'll hae nae concern, sae be
content."

Which he was, and asked no questions, so that he knew no more of Sarah
the day she left than the night she arrived; and now he sometimes
speculates about her history, but he has no clue.

She was an event in the life of the parish, and there are those who
speak of her unto this day with exasperation. The new housekeeper was
a subject of legitimate though ostentatiously veiled curiosity, and it
was expected that a full biography by Elspeth Macfadyen would be at the
disposal of the kirkyard, as well as the Free Kirk gate, within ten
days of her arrival; it might even be on the following Sabbath,
although it was felt that this was asking too much of Elspeth.

It was on the Friday evening Mrs. Macfadyen called, with gifts of
butter and cream for the minister, and was received with grave, silent
courtesy. While they played with the weather, the visitor made a swift
examination, and she gave the results on Sabbath for what they were
worth.

"A tall, black wumman, spare an' erect, no ill-faured nor ill-made; na,
na, a 'll alloo that; a trig, handy cummer, wi' an eye like a hawk an'
a voice like pussy; nane o' yir gossipin', haverin', stravaigin' kind.
He 'll be clever 'at gets onything out o' her or maks much o' a bargain
wi' her.

"Sall, she 's a madam an' nae mistak'. If that waefu', cunnin',
tramping wratch Clockie didna come tae the door, where I was sittin',
an' askit for the new minister. Ye ken he used tae come an' hear
Maister Cunningham on the principles o' the Disruption for an 'oor,
givin' oot that he wes comin' roond tae the Free Kirk view; then he got
his denner an' a suit o' claithes."

"A' mind o' Clockie gettin' five shillin's ae day," remarked Jamie
Soutar, who was at the Free Kirk that morning; "he hed started Dr.
Chalmers wi' the minister; Dr. Guthrie he coontit to be worth aboot
half-a-croon; but he aince hed three shillin's oot o' the Cardross
case. He wes graund on the doctrine o' speeritual independence, and
terrible drouthy; but a 'm interruptin' ye, Elspeth."

"'The minister is at dinner,' says she, 'and can't be disturbed; he
sees no one at the door.'

"'It's reeligion a 'm come aboot,' says Clockie, stickin' in his foot
tae keep the door open, 'an' a'll juist wait at the fire.'

"'It's more likely to be whisky from your breath, and you will find a
public-house in the village; we give nothing to vagrants here.' Then
she closed the door on his foot, and the language he used in the yard
wesna connectit wi' reeligion."

Drumtochty admitted that this showed a woman of vigour--although our
conventions did not allow us to treat Clockie or any known wastrel so
masterfully--and there was an evident anxiety to hear more.

"Her dress wes black an' fittit like a glove, an' wes set aff wi' a
collar an' cuffs, an' a' saw she hedna come frae the country, so that
wes ae thing settled; yon 's either a toon dress or maybe her ain
makin' frae patterns.

"It micht be Edinburgh or Glesgie, but a' began tae jalouse England
aifter hearin' her hannel Clockie, sae a' watchit fur a word tae try
her tongue."

"Wurk is a gude handy test," suggested Jamie; "the English hae barely
ae r, and the Scotch hae aboot sax in 't."

"She wudna say 't, Jamie, though a' gied her a chance, speakin' aboot
ae wumman daein' a'thing in the manse, sae a' fell back on church, an'
that brocht oot the truth. She didna say 'chich,' so she 's no English
born, and she didna say 'churrrch,' so she 's been oot o' Scotland. It
wes half and between, and so a' said it wud be pleasant for her tae be
in her ain country again, aifter livin' in the sooth."

Her hearers indicated that Elspeth had not fallen beneath herself, and
began to wonder how a woman who had lived in London would fit into
Drumtochty.

"What div ye think she said tae me?" Then Drumtochty understood that
there had been an incident, and that Elspeth as a conversationalist, if
not as a raconteur, had found her equal.

"'You are very kind to think of my movements, but'"--and here Mrs.
Macfadyen spoke very slowly--"'I'm afraid they don't teach home
geography at your school. Paisley is not out of Scotland.'"

"Ye've met yir match, Elspeth," said Jamie, with a hoarse chuckle, and
the situation was apparent to all. It was evident that the new
housekeeper was minded to hide her past, and the choice of her last
residence was a stroke of diabolical genius. Paisley is an ancient
town inhabited by a virtuous and industrious people, who used to make
shawls and now spin thread, and the atmosphere is so literary that it
is believed every tenth man is a poet. Yet people do not boast of
having been born there, and natives will pretend they came from
Greenock. No one can mention Paisley without a smile, and yet no one
can say what amused him. Certain names are the source of perennial
laughter, in which their inhabitants join doubtfully, as persons not
sure whether to be proud or angry. They generally end in an apology,
while the public, grasping vaguely at the purpose of such a place,
settle on it every good tale that is going about the world unprovided
for and fatherless. So a name comes to be bathed in the ridiculous,
and a mere reference to it passes for a stroke of supreme felicity.

"Paisley"--Jamie again tasted the idea--"she 'll be an acqueesition tae
the Glen."

It was Sarah's first stroke of character to arrive without
notice--having utterly baffled Peter at the Junction--and to be in
complete possession of the manse on the return of Carmichael and his
aunt from pastoral visits.

"Sarah," cried the old lady in amazement at the sight of the
housekeeper in full uniform, calm and self-possessed, as one having
been years in this place, "when did ye come?"

"Two hours ago, m'am, and I think I understand the house. Shall I
bring tea into the dining-room, or would you rather have it in the
study?" But she did not once glance past his aunt to Carmichael, who
was gazing in silence at this composed young woman in the doorway.

"This is Sarah, John, who hes come to keep yir house," and his aunt
stepped back. "Sarah, this is my dear laddie, the minister."

Perhaps because her eyes were of a flashing black that pierced one like
a steel blade, Sarah usually looked down in speaking to you, but now
she gave Carmichael one swift, comprehensive look that judged him soul
and body, then her eyes fell, and her face, always too hard and keen,
softened.

"I will try, sir, to make you comfortable, and you will tell me
anything that is wrong."

"You took us by surprise, Sarah," and Carmichael, after his hearty
fashion, seized his housekeeper's hand; "let me bid you welcome to the
manse. I hope you will be happy here, and not feel lonely."

But the housekeeper only bowed, and turned to his aunt.

"Dinner at six? As you were not in, and it did not seem any use
consulting the woman that was here, I am preparing for that hour."

"Well, ye see, Sarah, we have just been taking tea, with something to
it, but if--"

"Gentlemen prefer evening dinner, ma'am."

"Quite right, Sarah," burst in Carmichael in great glee; "tea-dinner is
the most loathsome meal ever invented, and we 'll never have it in the
Free Manse.

"That is an admirable woman, auntie," as Sarah disappeared, "with sound
views on important subjects. I 'll never ask again where she came
from; she is her own testimonial."

"You mauna be extravagant, John; Sarah hes never seen a manse before,
and I must tell her not to--"

"Ruin me, do you mean, by ten courses every evening, like the dinners
West-end philanthropists used to give our men to show them how to
behave at table? We 'll be very economical, only having meat twice a
week--salt fish the other days--but it will always be dinner."

"What ails you at tea-dinner, John? it's very tasty and homely."

"It's wicked, auntie, and has done more injury to religion than
drinking. No, I'm not joking--that is a childish habit--but giving
utterance to profound truth, which ought to be proclaimed on the
house-tops, or perhaps in the kitchens.

"Let me explain, and I 'll make it as plain as day--all heresy is just
bad thinking, and that comes from bad health, and the foundation of
health is food. A certain number of tea-dinners would make a man into
a Plymouth brother. It's a mere question of time.

"You see if a man's digestion is good he takes a cheerful view of
things; but if he is full of bile, then he is sure that everybody is
going to be lost except himself and his little set, and that's heresy.
Apologetics is just dietetics; now there 's an epigram made for you on
the spot, and you don't know what it means, so we 'll have a walk
instead."

His aunt knew what was coming, but was too late to resist, so she was
twice taken round the room for exercise, till she cried out for mercy,
and was left to rest while Carmichael went out to get an appetite for
that dinner.

Nothing was said during its progress, but when Sarah had finally
departed after her first triumph, won under every adverse circumstance
of strangeness and limited resources, Carmichael took his aunt's hand
and kissed it.

"It is an illuminated address you deserve, auntie, for such a paragon;
as it is, I shall be the benefactor of a Presbytery, asking the men up
by turns on fast-days, and sending them home speechless with
satisfaction."

"Sarah was always a clever woman; if she had only--" But Carmichael
heard not, in his boyish excitement of householding.

"Clever is a cold word for such genius. Mark my words, there is not a
manse in Perthshire that shall not sound with the praise of Sarah. I
vow perpetual celibacy on the spot. No man would dream of marrying
that had the privilege of such a housekeeper."

"Ye 're a silly laddie, John; but some day a fair face will change a'
yer life, an' if she be a good wumman like your mother, I 'll thank
God."

"No woman can be compared with her," and the minister sobered. "You
and she have spoiled me for other women, and now you have placed me
beyond temptation with such a cook."

So it came to pass that Carmichael, who knew nothing about fine cooking
till Sarah formed his palate with her cunning sauces, and, after all,
cared as little what he ate as any other healthy young man, boasted of
his housekeeper continually by skilful allusions, till the honest wives
of his fathers and brethren were outraged and grew feline, as any
natural woman will if a servant is flung in her face in this
aggravating fashion.

"I 'm glad to hear you 're so well pleased, Mr. Carmichael," Mrs.
MacGuffie would say, who was full of advice, and fed visitors on the
produce of her garden, "but no man knows comfort till he marries. It's
a chop one day and a steak the next all the year round--nothing tasty
or appetising; and as for his shirts, most bachelors have to sew on
their own buttons. Ah, you all pretend to be comfortable, but I know
better, for Mr. MacGuffie has often told me what he suffered."

Whereat Carmichael would rage furiously, and then, catching sight of
MacGuffie, would bethink him of a Christian revenge. MacGuffie was
invited up to a day of humiliation--Sarah receiving for once _carte
blanche_--and after he had powerfully exhorted the people from the
words, "I am become like a bottle in the smoke," he was conducted to
the manse in an appropriately mournful condition, and set down at the
table. He was inclined to dwell on the decadence of Disruption
principles during soup, but as the dinner advanced grew wonderfully
cheerful, and being installed in an arm-chair with a cup of decent
coffee beside him, sighed peacefully, and said, "Mr. Carmichael, you
have much cause for thankfulness." Mr. MacGuffie had not come to the
age of sixty, however, without learning something, and he only gave his
curious spouse to understand that Carmichael had done all in his power
to make his guest comfortable, and was not responsible for his
servant's defects.

[Illustration: "Mr. Carmichael, you have much cause for thankfulness."]

Ladies coming with their husbands to visit the manse, conceived a
prejudice against Sarah on the general ground of dislike to all
housekeepers as a class of servants outside of any mistress's control,
and therefore apt to give themselves airs, and especially because this
one had a subtle suggestion of independent personality that was all the
more irritating because it could not be made plain to the dull male
intelligence, which was sadly deceived.

"What a lucky man Carmichael is on his first venture!" Even Dr.
Dowbiggin, of St. Columba's, Muirtown, grew enthusiastic to his wife in
the privacy of their bedchamber on a sacramental visit, and every one
knows that the Doctor was a responsible man, ministering to four
bailies and making "overtures" to the Assembly, beginning with
"Whereas" and ending with "Venerable House." "I am extremely pleased
to see . . . everything so nice."

"You mean, James, that you have had a good dinner, far too ambitious
for a young minister's table. Did you ever see an entree on a
Disruption table, or dessert with finger glasses? I call it
sinful--for the minister of Drumtochty, at least; and I don't believe
he was ever accustomed to such ways. If she attended to his clothes,
it would set her better than cooking French dishes. Did you notice the
coat he was wearing at the station?--just like a gamekeeper. But it is
easy for a woman to satisfy a man; give him something nice to eat, and
he 'll ask no more."

"So far as my recollection serves me, Maria"--the Doctor was ruffled,
and fell into his public style--"I made no reference to food, cooked or
uncooked, and perhaps I may be allowed to say that it is not a subject
one thinks of . . . at such seasons. What gave me much satisfaction
was to see one of our manses so presentable; as regards the
housekeeper, so far as I had an opportunity of observing, she seemed a
very capable woman indeed," and the Doctor gave one of his coughs,
which were found most conclusive in debate.

"It's easy to be a man's servant," retorted Mrs. Dowbiggin, removing a
vase of flowers from the dressing-table with contempt, "for they never
look below the surface. Did you notice her hands, as white and smooth
as a lady's? You may be sure there 's little scrubbing and brushing
goes on in this manse."

"How do you know, Maria?"--the Doctor was weakening. "You have never
been in the house before."

"We 'll soon see that, James, though I dare say it would never occur to
a man to do such a thing. Did you ever look below the bed?"

"Never," replied the Doctor, promptly, who was not constructed to
stoop, "and I am not going to begin after that . . . ah . . . this
evening, with work before me to-morrow. But I would be glad to see
you."

"I have done so every night of my life for fear of robbers, and the
dust I 've seen in strange houses--it's there you can tell a good
servant," and Mrs. Dowbiggin nodded with an air of great sagacity.

"Well," demanded the Doctor, anxiously watching the operation, "guilty
or not guilty?"

"She knew what I would do. I hate those sharp women," and then the
Doctor grew so eloquent over uncharitable judgments and unreasonable
prejudices that his wife denounced Sarah bitterly as a "cunning woman
who got on the blind side of gentlemen."

Her popularity with Carmichael's friends was beyond question, for
though she was a reserved woman, with no voluntary conversation, they
all sent messages to her, inquired for her well-being at Fast-days, and
brought her gifts of handkerchiefs, gloves, and such like. When they
met at Theologicals and Synods they used to talk of Sarah with
unction--till married men were green with envy--being simple fellows
and helpless in the hands of elderly females of the Meiklewham genus.
For there are various arts by which a woman, in Sarah's place, wins a
man's gratitude, and it may be admitted that one is skilful cooking.
Sensible and book-reading men do not hunger for six courses, but they
are critical about their toast and . . . nothing more, for that is the
pulse. Then a man also hates to have any fixed hour for
breakfast--never thinking of houses where they have prayers at 7.50
without a shudder--but a man refuses to be kept waiting five minutes
for dinner. If a woman will find his belongings, which he has
scattered over three rooms and the hall, he invests her with many
virtues, and if she packs his portmanteau, he will associate her with
St. Theresa. But if his hostess be inclined to discuss problems with
him, he will receive her name with marked coldness; and if she follow
up this trial with evil food, he will conceive a rooted dislike for
her, and will flee her house. So simple is a man.

When Sarah proposed to Carmichael that she should prepare breakfast
after he rung for his hot water, and when he never caught a hint of
reproach on her face though he sat up till three and came down at
eleven, he was lifted, hardly believing that such humanity could be
found among women, who always seem to have a time table they are
carrying out the livelong day.

"The millennium is near at hand," said MacQueen, when the morning
arrangements of the Free Kirk manse of Drumtochty were made known to
him--MacQueen, who used to arrive without so much as a nightshirt,
having left a trail of luggage behind him at various junctions, and has
written books so learned that no one dares to say that he has not read
them. Then he placed an ounce of shag handy, and Carmichael stoked the
fire, and they sat down, with Beaton, who could refer to the Summa of
St. Thomas Aquinas from beginning to end, and they discussed the
Doctrine of Scripture in the Fathers, and the formation of the Canon,
and the authorship of the Pentateuch till two in the study. Afterwards
they went to MacQueen's room to hear him on the Talmud, and next
adjourned to Beaton's room, who offered a series of twelve preliminary
observations on the Theology of Rupert of Deutz, whereupon his host
promptly put out his candle, leaving that man of supernatural memory to
go to bed in the dark; and as Carmichael pulled up the blind in his own
room, the day was breaking and a blackbird had begun to sing. Next
afternoon Beaton had resumed his observations on Rupert, but now they
were lying among the heather on the side of Glen Urtach, and Carmichael
was asleep, while MacQueen was thinking that they would have a good
appetite for dinner that evening.

Sarah had only one fault to find with her master, and that was his
Bohemian dress; but since it pleased him to go one button less through
studied carelessness, she let him have his way; and as for everything
else, she kept her word to his aunt, and saw that he wanted for
nothing, serving him with perpetual thoughtfulness and swift capacity.

Little passed between them except a good-natured word or two from him
and her courteous answer, but she could read him as a book, and when he
came home that day from Muirtown she saw he was changed. He was
slightly flushed, and he could not sit still, wandering in and out his
study till dinner-time. He allowed the soup to cool, and when she came
in with sweets he had barely touched his cutlet.

"It is the sauce you like, sir," with some reproach in her voice.

"So it is, Sarah--and first rate." Then he added suddenly, "Can you
put a button on this coat to-night, and give it a good brush?"

In the evening Sarah went down to post a letter, and heard the talk,
how Miss Carnegie had come home with the General, and was worthy of her
house; how the minister also had driven up with her from Muirtown; and
on her return she did her best by the coat, handling it very kindly,
and singing softly to herself "Robin Adair."

Next morning he came down in his blacks--the worst-made suit ever seen
on a man, ordered to help a village tailor at his home--and announced
his intention of starting after lunch for Saunderson's manse, beyond
Tochty woods, where he would stay all night.

"He will call on the way down, and, if he can, coming back," Sarah said
to herself, as she watched him go, "but it's a pity he should go in
such a coat; it might have been put together with a pitchfork. It only
makes the difference greater, and 't is wider than he knows already.
And yet a woman can marry beneath her without loss; but for a man it is
ruin."

She went up to his room and made it neat, which was ever in disorder on
his leaving, and then she went to a western window and looked into the
far distance.

CHAPTER VIII.

A WOMAN OF THE OLD DISPENSATION.

Every Sabbath at eleven o'clock, or as soon thereafter as the people
were seated--consideration was always shown to distant figures coming
down from the high glen--Carmichael held what might be called High Mass
in the Free Kirk. Nothing was used in praise but the Psalms of David,
with an occasional Paraphrase sanctioned by usage and sound teaching.
The prayers were expected to be elaborate in expression and careful in
statement, and it was then that they prayed for the Queen and Houses of
Parliament. And the sermon was the event to which the efforts of the
minister and the thoughts of the people had been moving for the whole
week. No person was absent except through sore sickness or urgent farm
duty; nor did rain or snow reduce the congregation by more than ten
people, very old or very young. Carmichael is now minister of a West
End kirk, and, it is freely rumoured in Drumtochty, has preached before
Lords of Session; but he has never been more nervous than facing that
handful of quiet, impenetrable, critical faces in his first kirk. When
the service was over, the people broke into little bands that
disappeared along the west road, and over the moor, and across the
Tochty. Carmichael knew each one was reviewing his sermon head by
head, and, pacing his garden, he remembered the missing points with
dismay.

It was the custom of the Free Kirk minister to go far afield of a
summer evening, and to hold informal services in distant parts of the
parish. This was the joy of the day to him, who was really very young
and hated all conventionalities even unto affectation. He was never
weary of complaining that he had to wear a gown, which was continually
falling back and being hitched over with impatient motions, and the
bands, which he could never tie, and were, he explained to a horrified
beadle in Muirtown, an invention of Satan to disturb the preacher's
soul before his work. Once, indeed, he dared to appear without his
trappings, on the plea of heat, but the visible dismay and sorrow of
the people was so great--some failing to find the Psalm till the first
verse had been sung--that he perspired freely and forgot the middle
head of his discourse.

"It's a mercy," remarked Mrs. Macfadyen to Burnbrae afterward, "that he
didna play that trick when there wes a bairn tae be baptised. It wudna
hae been lichtsome for its fouk; a'body wants a properly ordained
minister. Ye 'll gie him a hint, Burnbrae, for he's young and
fordersome (rash), but gude stuff for a' his pliskies (frolics)."

No one would have liked to see the sacred robes in the places of
evening worship, and Carmichael threw all forms to the winds--only
drawing the line, with great regret and some searchings of heart, at
his tweed jacket. His address for these summer evening gatherings he
studied as he went through the fragrant pine woods or over the moor by
springy paths that twisted through the heather, or along near cuts that
meant leaping little burns and climbing dykes whose top stones were apt
to follow your heels with embarrassing attachment. Here and there the
minister would stop as a trout leapt in a pool, or a flock of wild duck
crossed the sky to Loch Sheuchie, or the cattle thrust inquisitive
noses through some hedge, as a student snatches a mouthful from some
book in passing. For these walks were his best study; when thinking of
his people in their goodness and simplicity, and touched by nature at
her gentlest, he was freed from many vain ideas of the schools and from
artificial learning, and heard the Galilean speak as He used to do
among the fields of corn. He came on people going in the same
direction, but they only saluted, refraining even from the weather,
since the minister's thoughts must not be disturbed, and they were
amazed to notice, that he stooped to pluck a violet in the wood. His
host would come a little way to meet him and explain the arrangements
that had been made for a kirk. Sometimes the meeting-place was the
granary of the farm, with floor swept clean and the wooden shutters
opened for light, where the minister preached against a mixed
background of fanners, corn measures, piles of sacks, and spare
implements of the finer sort; and the congregation, who had come up a
ladder cautiously like hens going to roost--being severally warned
about the second highest step--sat on bags stuffed with straw, boards
resting on upturned pails, while a few older folk were accommodated
with chairs, and some youngsters disdained not the floor. It was
pleasanter in the barn, a cool, lofty, not unimpressive place of
worship, with its mass of golden straw and its open door through which
various kindly sounds of farm life came in and strange visitors
entered. The collies, most sociable of animals, would saunter in and
make friendly advances to Carmichael reading a chapter; then, catching
their master's eye and detecting no encouragement, would suddenly
realise that they were at kirk, and compose themselves to sleep--"juist
like ony Christian," as Hillocks once remarked with envy, his own plank
allowing no liberties--and never taking any part except in a hymn like

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