Part 17 (2/2)
their sins. _Ye_ needna curse them! They're beyond ony hairm that ye can do them. They're cursed eneuch, I'se warrant, wi'oot your meddlin'
wi' them.”
”Guid forbid!” exclaimed Jock. ”I houp no'! I houp no'! That wad be maist awfu'!”
”Maybe,” said the keeper; ”but it's what they deserve frae the han' o'
justice. And surely when their ain bairn curses them, _he_ can say naethin' against it.”
”_I_ never cursed them, did I?” asked Jock, as if stupefied.
”Ye did that, and nae mistak'!” replied the keeper.
”Losh, it was a bad job if I did!” said Jock. ”I'm sure I didna want to hairm them, puir bodies, though they hairmed me. In fac',” he added, after a short pause, during which he kicked the heather vehemently, ”I'm willin' tae let byganes be byganes wi' them, and sae maybe their Maker will no' be ower sair on them. Ye dinna think, Mr. Spence, that it's possible my faither and mither are baith in the bad place?”
”Whaur else wad they be, if no' there?” asked the keeper.
”It's mair than I can say!” replied Jock, as if in a dream. ”I only thocht they were dead in the kirkyard. But--but--ken ye ony road o'
gettin' them oot if they're yonner--burnin' ye ken?”
”Ye had better,” said Hugh, ”gie ower botherin' yersel' to take _them_ oot; rather try, man, to keep yersel' oot.”
”But I canna help botherin' mysel' aboot my ain folk,” replied Jock; ”an' maybe they warna sae bad as I mak' them. I've seen them baith greetin' and cryin' tae G.o.d for mercy even whan they war fou; an' they aince telt me, after an awfu' thras.h.i.+n they gied me, that I wasna for my life to drink or swear like them. Surely that was guid, Mr. Spence?
G.o.d forgie them! G.o.d forgie them!” murmured Jock, covering his face with his hands; ”lost sheep!--lost money!--lost ne'er-do-weels! an' I'm here and them there! Hoo comes that aboot?” he asked, in a dreamy mood.
”G.o.d's mercy!” answered Hugh; ”and we should be merciful tae ither folk, as G.o.d is mercifu' to oorsel's.”
”That's what I wish thae puir sowls to get oot o' that awfu' jail for!
But I'll never curse faither or mither mair,” said Jock. ”I'll sweer,”
he added, rising up, muttering the rhyme as solemnly as if before a magistrate:
”If I lee, let death Cut my breath!”
”Dinna fash yersel' ower muckle,” said the keeper, ”for them that's awa'. The Bible says, 'Shall not the Judge o' a' the yirth dae richt?'
I wad think sae! Let us tak' care o' oorsel's and o' them that's leevin', an' G.o.d will do what's richt tae them that's ayont the grave.
He has mair wisdom and love than us!”
Jock was engaged outwardly in tearing bits of heather, and twisting them mechanically together; but what his inward work was we know not. At last he said, ”I haena heard an aith sin' I left Drumsylie, and that's extraordinar' to me, I can a.s.sure you, Mr. Spence!”
The keeper, who, unconsciously, was calmly enjoying the contemplation of his own righteousness, observed that ”the kintra was a hantle decenter than the toon”. But in a better and more kindly spirit he said to Jock, ”I'll stan' yer friend, Hall, especially sin' his lords.h.i.+p wishes me to help you. Ye hae got guid claes in that bundle, I'se warrant--the verra claes, mark ye, that were on himsel'! Pit them on, and jist think _what's_ on ye, and be dacent! Drop a' drinkin', swearin', and sic trash; bend yer back tae yer burden, ca' yer han' tae yer wark, pay yer way, and keep a ceevil tongue in yer head, and then 'whistle ower the lave o't!' There's my han' to ye. Fareweel, and ye'll hear frae me some day soon, whan I get a place ready for ye aboot mysel' and the dougs.”
”G.o.d's blessin' be wi' ye!” replied poor Jock.
They then rose and parted. Each after a while looked over his shoulder and waved his hand.
Jock ran back to the keeper when at some distance from him, as if he had lost something.
”What's wrang?” asked Spence.
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