Part 4 (2/2)
”To thraw his bit neck.”
”Doonricht cruelty,” suggested Katie, ”to thraw the neck o' a wee thing like that! Fie on ye, gudeman! Ye're no like yersel' the day.”
”It's the _only_ way left, unless we burn him; so I'll no' argue mair about it. There's nae use o' pittin' 't aff ony langer; the better day, the better deed. Sae here goes! It will be a' ower wi' him in a minute; and syne ye'll get peace----”
The Sergeant rose and placed the cage on a table near the window where the bird was accustomed to be fed. Charlie, in expectation of receiving food, was in a high state of excitement, and seemed anxious to please his master by repeating all his lessons as rapidly and correctly as possible. The Sergeant rolled up his white s.h.i.+rt-sleeves, to keep them from being soiled by the work in which he was about to be engaged.
Being thus prepared, he opened the door of the cage, thrust in his hand, and seized the bird, saying, ”Bid fareweel to yer mistress, my wee Charlie.”
Katie sprang from her chair, and with a loud voice commanded the Sergeant to ”haud his han' and let the bird alane!”
”What's wrang?” asked the Sergeant, as he shut the door of the cage and went towards his wife, who again sank back in her chair, and covered hef eyes with her pocket-handkerchief.
”Oh, Adam!” she said, ”I'm a waik, waik woman. My nerves are a' gane; my head and heart are baith sair. A kind o' glamour, a temptation has come ower me, and I dinna ken what's richt or what's wrang. I wuss I may be forgie'n if I'm wrang, for the heart I ken is deceitfu' aboon a' things and desperately wicked:--but, richt or wrang, neither by you nor by ony ither body can I let that bird be kilt! I canna thole't! for I just thocht e'enoo that I seed plainly afore me our ain wee bairn that's awa'--an' oh, Adam!----”
Katie burst into a fit of weeping, and could say no more. The Sergeant hung up the cage in its old place; then going to his wife, he gently clapped her shoulder, and bending over her whispered in her ear, ”Dinna ye fear, Katie, aboot Charlie's bairn!”
Katie clasped her hands round his neck and drew his grey head to her cheek, patting it fondly.
”Dry yer een, wifie,” said Adam, ”and feed the cratur, and syne we'll gang to the kirk in the afternoon.”
He then retired to the bedroom, shut the door, and left Katie alone with her starling and her conscience--both at peace, and both whistling, each after its own fas.h.i.+on.
CHAPTER VII
THE SERGEANT ON HIS TRIAL
The Sergeant went to church in the afternoon, but he went alone. Katie was unable to accompany him. ”She didna like,” she said. But this excuse being not quite satisfactory to her conscience, she had recourse to that accommodating malady which comes to the rescue of universal Christendom when in perplexity--a headache. In her case it really existed as a fact, for she suffered from a genuine pain which she had not sufficient knowledge or fas.h.i.+on to call ”nervous”, but which, more than likely, really came under that designation. Her symptoms, as described by herself, were that ”her head was bizzin' and b.u.mmin' like a bees' skep”.
As the Sergeant marched to church, with his accustomed regular pace and modest look, he could, without seeming to remark it, observe an interest taken in his short journey never manifested before. An extra number of faces filled the windows near his house, and looked at him with half smile, half sneer.
There was nothing in the sermon of Mr. Porteous which indicated any wish to ”preach to the times”,--a temptation which is often too strong for preachers to resist who have nothing else ready or more interesting to preach about. Many in a congregation who may be deaf and blind to the Gospel, are wide-awake and attentive to gossip, from the pulpit. The good man delivered himself of an excellent sermon, which, as usual, was sound in doctrine and excellent in arrangement, with suitable introduction, ”heads of discourse”, and practical conclusion. His hearers, as a whole, were not of a character likely either to blame or praise the teaching, far less to be materially influenced by it. They were far too respectable and well-informed for that. They had ”done the right thing” in coming to church as usual, and were satisfied. There was one remark often made in the minister's praise, that he was singularly exact in preaching forty-five minutes, and in dismissing the congregation at the hour and a half.
But there were evident signs of life in the announcement which he made at the end of this day's service. He ”_particularly_ requested a meeting of Kirk Session in the vestry after the benediction, and expressed a hope that _all_ the elders would, if possible, attend”.
Adam Mercer snuffed the battle from afar; but as it was his ”duty” to obey the summons, he obeyed accordingly.
The Kirk Session, in spite of defects which attend all human inst.i.tutions, including the House of Lords, with its Bench of Bishops, is one of the most useful courts in Scotland, and has contributed immensely in very many ways to improve the moral and physical condition of the people. Its members, as a rule, are the strength and comfort of the minister, and it is, generally speaking, his own fault if they are not. In the parish of Drumsylie the Session consisted of seven elders, with the Minister as ”Moderator”. These elders represented very fairly, on the whole, the sentiments of the congregation and parish on most questions which could come before them.
As all meetings of Kirk Session are held in private, reporters and lawyers being alike excluded, we shall not pretend to give any account of what pa.s.sed at this one. The parish rumours were to the effect that the ”Moderator”, after having given a narrative of the occurrences of the morning, explained how many most important principles were involved in the case as it now stood--principles affecting the duty and powers of Kirk Sessions; the social economy of the parish; the liberties and influence of the Church, and the cause of Christian truth; and concluded by suggesting the appointment of two members, Mr. Smellie and Mr.
Menzies, to ”deal” with Mr. Mercer, and to report to the next meeting of Session. This led to a sharp discussion, in which Mr. Gordon, a proprietor in the neighbourhood, protested against any matter which ”he presumed to characterise as trifling and unworthy of their grave attention”, being brought before them at all. He also appealed the whole case to the next meeting of Presbytery, which unfortunately was not to take place for two months.
The Sergeant, strange to say, lost his temper when, having declared ”upon his honour as a soldier” that he meant no harm, and could therefore make no apology, he was called to order by the Moderator for using such a word as ”honour” in a Church court. Thinking his honour itself called in question, Adam abruptly left the meeting. Mr. Gordon, it was alleged, had been seen returning home, at one moment laughing, and the next evidently crying because of these proceedings; and more than one of the elders, it was rumoured, were disposed to join him, but were afraid of offending Mr. Porteous--a fear not unfrequently experienced in the case of many of his paris.h.i.+oners. The minister, it may be remarked, was fond of quoting the text, ”_first_ pure, _then_ peaceable”. But he never seemed to have attained the ”first” in theory, if one might judge from his neglect of the second in practice.
It was after this meeting of Session that Mr. Smellie remarked to Mr.
Menzies, as we have already recorded, that ”the man was aince a poacher!” a fact which, by the way, he had communicated to Mr. Porteous also for the sake of ”edification”. Mr. Smellie bore a grudge towards the Sergeant, who had somehow unwittingly ruffled his vanity or excited his jealousy. He was smooth as a cat; and, like a cat, could purr, fawn, see in the dark, glide noiselessly, or make a sudden spring on his prey. The Sergeant, from certain circ.u.mstances which shall be hereafter noticed, understood his character as few in the parish did. Mr. Menzies was a different, and therefore better man, his only fault being that he believed in Smellie.
The Sergeant was later than usual in returning home. It was impossible to conceal from the inquiring and suspicious look of his wife that something was out of joint, to the extent at least of making it allowable and natural on her part to ask, ”What's wrang noo, Adam?”
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