Part 7 (1/2)
”He wes aye spare,” said Hillocks, ”an' he's been sair twisted for the laist twenty year, but a' never mind him booed till the year. An' he's gaein' intae sma' buke (bulk), an' a' dinna like that, neeburs.
”The Glen wudna dae weel withoot Weelum MacLure, an' he's no as young as he wes. Man, Drumsheugh, ye micht wile him aff tae the saut water atween the neeps and the hairst. He's been workin' forty year for a holiday, an' it's aboot due.”
Drumsheugh was full of tact, and met MacLure quite by accident on the road.
”Saunders'll no need me till the shearing begins,” he explained to the doctor, ”an' a'm gaein' tae Brochty for a turn o' the hot baths; they're fine for the rheumatics.
[Ill.u.s.tration]
”Wull ye no come wi' me for auld lang syne? it's lonesome for a solitary man, an' it wud dae ye gude.”
”Na, na, Drumsheugh,” said MacLure, who understood perfectly, ”a've dune a' thae years withoot a break, an' a'm laith (unwilling) tae be takin'
holidays at the tail end.
”A'll no be mony months wi' ye a' thegither noo, an' a'm wanting tae spend a' the time a' hev in the Glen. Ye see yersel that a'll sune be getting ma lang rest, an' a'll no deny that a'm wearyin' for it.”
As autumn pa.s.sed into winter, the Glen noticed that the doctor's hair had turned grey, and that his manner had lost all its roughness. A feeling of secret grat.i.tude filled their hearts, and they united in a conspiracy of attention. Annie Mitch.e.l.l knitted a huge comforter in red and white, which the doctor wore in misery for one whole day, out of respect for Annie, and then hung it in his sitting-room as a wall ornament. Hillocks used to intercept him with hot drinks, and one drifting day compelled him to shelter till the storm abated. Flora Campbell brought a wonderful compound of honey and whiskey, much tasted in Auchindarroch, for his cough, and the mother of young Burnbrae filled his cupboard with black jam, as a healing measure. Jamie Soutar seemed to have an endless series of jobs in the doctor's direction, and looked in ”juist tae rest himsel” in the kitchen.
MacLure had been slowly taking in the situation, and at last he unburdened himself one night to Jamie.
”What ails the fouk, think ye? for they're aye lecturin' me noo tae tak care o' the weet and tae wrap masel up, an' there's no a week but they're sendin' bit presents tae the house, till a'm fair ashamed.”
”Oo, a'll explain that in a meenut,” answered Jamie, ”for a' ken the Glen weel. Ye see they're juist try in' the Scripture plan o' heapin'
coals o' fire on yer head.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”TOLD DRUMSHEUGH THAT THE DOCTOR WAS NOT ABLE TO RISE”]
”Here ye've been negleckin' the fouk in seeckness an' lettin' them dee afore their freends' eyes withoot a fecht, an' refusin' tae gang tae a puir wumman in her tribble, an' frichtenin' the bairns--no, a'm no dune--and scourgin' us wi' fees, and livin' yersel' on the fat o' the land.
”Ye've been carryin' on this trade ever sin yir father dee'd, and the Glen didna notis. But ma word, they've fund ye oot at laist, an' they're gaein' tae mak ye suffer for a' yir ill usage. Div ye understand noo?”
said Jamie, savagely.
For a while MacLure was silent, and then he only said:
”It's little a' did for the puir bodies; but ye hev a gude hert, Jamie, a rael good hert.”
It was a bitter December Sabbath, and the fathers were settling the affairs of the parish ankle deep in snow, when MacLure's old housekeeper told Drumsheugh that the doctor was not able to rise, and wished to see him in the afternoon. ”Ay, ay,” said Hillocks, shaking his head, and that day Drumsheugh omitted four pews with the ladle, while Jamie was so vicious on the way home that none could endure him.
Janet had lit a fire in the unused grate, and hung a plaid by the window to break the power of the cruel north wind, but the bare room with its half-a-dozen bits of furniture and a worn strip of carpet, and the outlook upon the snow drifted up to the second pane of the window and the black firs laden with their icy burden, sent a chill to Drumsheugh's heart.
The doctor had weakened sadly, and could hardly lift his head, but his face lit up at the sight of his visitor, and the big hand, which was now quite refined in its whiteness, came out from the bed-clothes with the old warm grip.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”WITH THE OLD WARM GRIP”]
”Come in by, man, and sit doon; it's an awfu' day tae bring ye sae far, but a' kent ye wudna grudge the traivel.
”A' wesna sure till last nicht, an' then a' felt it wudna be lang, an'
a' took a wearyin' this mornin' tae see ye.
”We've been friends sin' we were laddies at the auld school in the firs, an' a' wud like ye tae be wi' me at the end. Ye 'ill stay the nicht, Paitrick, for auld lang syne.”