Part 23 (1/2)
Katie shook her foot, twirled her thumbs, but said nothing.
”It's a pity indeed,” the elder continued, ”that a _bird_ should come atween an office-bearer like Adam and his minister and the Session!
It's no richt--it's no richt; and yet neither you nor Adam could pit it awa, e'en at the request o' the Session, wi' yer ain haun's. Na, na--that _was_ askin' ower muckle.”
”Ye ken best, nae doot,” said Katie, with a touch of sarcasm in her voice. ”You and the Session hae made a bonnie job o' the guidman noo!”
”I'm real vexed he's no' weel,” said Menzies; ”but to be candid, Mrs.
Mercer, it wasna a' the faut o' the Session at the warst, but pairtly his ain. He was ower stiff, and was neither to haud nor bin'.”
”A bairn could haud him noo, and bin' him tae,” said Katie.
”There's a chastees.e.m.e.nt in 't,” remarked Menzies, becoming slightly annoyed at Katie's cool reception of him. ”He should hear the voice in the rod. Afflictions dinna come wi'oot a reason. They spring not from the grun'. They're sent for a purpose; and ye should examine and search yer heart, Mrs. Mercer, in a' sincerity and humility, to ken _why_ this affliction has come, and _at this time_,” emphatically added Mr.
Menzies.
”Nae doot,” said Katie, returning to the hem of her ap.r.o.n.
The way seemed marvellously opened to Mr. Menzies, as he thought he saw Katie humbled and alive to the Sergeant's greater share of wrong in causing the schism. He began to feel the starling in his hand,--a fact of which the bird seemed ignorant, as he whistled, ”Wha'll be king but Charlie?”
Mr. Menzies continued--”If I could be ony help to ye, Mrs. Mercer, I wad be prood and thankfu' to bring aboot freen's.h.i.+p atween Adam and Mr.
Porteous; and thus gie peace to puir Adam.”
”Peace tae Adam?” exclaimed Katie, looking up to the elder's face.
”Ay, peace tae Adam,” said Mr. Menzies, encouraged to open up his plan; ”but, I fear, as lang as that bird is in the cage, peace wull never be.”
Katie dropped her ap.r.o.n, and stared at Mr. Menzies as if she was petrified, and asked what he meant.
”Dinna think, dinna think,” said Mr. Menzies, ”that I propose killin'
the bit thing”--Katie dropped her eyes again on her ap.r.o.n--”but,” he continued, ”I canna see what hairm it wad do, and I think it wad do a hantle o' guid, if ye wad let me tak' oot the cage, and let the bird flee awa' tae sing wi' the lave o' birds. In this way, ye see----”
Katie rose up, her face pale with--dare we say it?--suppressed pa.s.sion.
This call of Menzies was to give strength and comfort, forsooth, to her in her affliction! She seized the elder by his arm, drew him gently to the door of the bedroom, which was so far open as to enable him to see Adam asleep. One arm of the Sergeant was extended over the bed, his face was towards them, his grey locks escaped from under his night-cap, and his expression was calm and composed. Katie said nothing, but pointed to her husband and looked sternly at Menzies. She then led him to the street door, and whispered in his ear--
”Ae word afore we pairt:--I wadna gie that man, in health or sickness, life or death, for a' the Session! If _he's_ no' a Christian, an' if _he_ hasna G.o.d's blessing, wae's me for the warl'! I daur ony o' ye to come here again, and speak ill o' him, as if he was in a faut! I daur ony o' ye to touch his bird! Tell that to Smellie--tell't to the parish, and lee me alane wi' my ain heart, wi' my ain guidman, and wi'
my ain Saviour, to live or dee as the Almighty wills!”
Katie turned back into her kitchen, while poor Menzies walked out into the street, feeling no anger but much pain, and more than ever convinced that he had been made a tool of by Smellie, contrary to his own common-sense and better feeling.
Menzies made a very short report of the scene to the draper, saying that he would wash his hands clean of the whole business; to which Smellie only said to himself thoughtfully, as Menzies left his shop, ”I wish I could do the same--but I'll try!”
CHAPTER XXVII
THE SERGEANT'S SICKNESS AND HIS SICK-NURSE
Dr. Scott, as the reader knows, had visited Adam, and felt a great interest in his patient. The Doctor was a man of few words, very shy, and, as has been indicated, even abrupt and gruff, his only affectation being his desire to appear devoid of any feeling which might seem to interfere with severe medical treatment or a surgical operation. He liked to be thought stern and decided. The fact was that his intense sympathy pained him, and he tried to steel himself against it. When he scolded his patients, it was because they made him suffer so much, and because, moreover, he was angry with himself for being angry with them.