Part 9 (1/2)
Sandy McQuarry regarded the blacksmith sternly. For sufficient reasons of his own, he never entered the Elmbrook church, but for all that he was as strict in religious matters as he was at gaining a penny in a bargain.
”Ye've no right to creeticize the Almighty yon way, Weeliam,” he admonished. ”If He wishes to make one vessel to honor, and another, such as this MacIntyre, to dishonor, it is the Lord's wull, an' we maun jist abide by it.”
The blacksmith, one eye inside the telescope, paid no attention.
”That's so,” agreed Spectacle John, with suspicious cordiality, ”especially as He's made an occasional vessel jist to hold money.”
”That's better than bein' a bag to hold wund, like some folks you admire, John,” said Sandy McQuarry with deep meaning.
”Lookee 'ere, Sandy,” said Silas Long solemnly, ”criticizin' the minister is next thing to criticizin' the Almighty. You'd better take a warnin'.” His voice dropped to a whisper. ”It ain't safe, Sandy, now, that's wot it ain't.”
Sandy McQuarry grunted scornfully. ”Ony man,” he announced darkly, ”that's so licht in his heid that he doesna ken ony better than to liken the land o' Burns to a few miles o' barren stones, is no a fit person to expound the Word o' G.o.d.”
The milkstand began to look uncomfortable. There had been a day when Sandy McQuarry was an elder in the church, and as stanch a friend as the minister possessed. But just the summer before he had been grievously offended. Mr. Scott had gone on the annual excursion of the Sons of Scotland to Muskoka. Here the endless chain of jeweled lakes, the fairy islands floating on the dark waters, the rugged, barren rocks set in ma.s.ses of soft greenery, and above all the wild spirit of freedom that pervaded this new beauty land, had enchanted the minister's tired soul. So, upon his return, he had declared in a tea-meeting speech at the church that Muskoka reminded him of Scotland.
The next Sabbath Sandy McQuarry drove past the Elmbrook church and wors.h.i.+ped, fifteen miles away, with the Glenoro congregation, and there he had wors.h.i.+ped ever since.
”Och, well, indeed,” remarked Uncle Hughie, wisely reverting to an earlier subject, ”it will be a question that puzzles the greatest men in the world, why some people must suffer. But, indeed, it is our own selves that will be responsible. And as long as there will be one man sinning in this world the race must suffer. Oh, yes, we will not be beginning to learn that lesson yet, but will be fighting against each other! Och, hoch! it will be a peety, indeed. But it will all come out right in the end, never you fear. He came to show us how it's done, oh, yes. The Almighty will be knowing what He is about, indeed.”
”It's my opinion that the Almighty lets things go pretty much as they please,” grumbled the blacksmith. ”When I was at Neeag'ra Falls----”
”Hoots!” cried the philosopher impatiently, ”that would be jist child's talk, William. There will be an unerring law governing everything man does, jist as there's a law governing----” He hesitated for a comparison.
”The movements o' this 'ere ball that we're standin' on,” finished Silas Long, with marked emphasis, and a meaning glance at his unbelieving enemy.
”Standin' on a ball!” repeated Spectacle John wearily. ”We'd better all go an' join a circus, an' be done with it!”
”Well,” said Jake Sawyer reasonably, ”most o' the eddicated folks'll tell you that's what the world is. Miss Weir, now, was tellin' that to our twins jist to-day.”
Spectacle John sniffed. ”Huh! That young Graham, that teached here before her, was loony on the same notion. He's sit up half the night argifyin' with me that the earth was spinnin' 'round like a dog after its tail. I uster ask him how it was we didn't tumble off when we was danglin', head downward, in the dark, an' that uster to give him the blind staggers every time. He was a terror for argifyin', though, that chap; an' one night he got me to give in that it was mebby round like a cheese and us livin' on the flat top. It was in Sawed-Off Wilmott's cheese factory he was shootin' off that time. Well, I went that far, but further than that there's no livin' man'll get me to go.”
A tall figure had crossed the bridge and was nearing the group. There was a perceptible stir, and all conversation ceased. ”'Ere's the minister,” said Silas Long. ”We'd better get started.”
”Mr. Scott's been tryin' all day to get a light job for that McIntyre,”
said Jake Sawyer innocently, ”but he don't seem to've got anything easy enough yet.”
Uncle Hughie darted a warning glance at the indiscreet miller, but it was too late.
”He'll be well looked after, then, I'm thinkin',” said Sandy, promptly rising. ”There'll be no need o' me goin' with ye the night, Hughie.
Maister Scott'll likely give him a job in”--he paused to let the heavy weight of his sarcasm fall resoundingly--”in Muskoky!”
He tramped away, and, climbing the fence, strode across the fields in the direction of his mill.
”Ain't 'e a caution, now?” asked Silas Long in a tone of fear. ”You mark my words, now--jist mark my words--that man's goin' to meet a judgment some day. It ain't safe to act like that to the minister, that's wot it ain't.”
”Fine night,” the a.s.sembly remarked unanimously. Mr. Scott was a good-looking man of middle age, tall and straight, with a ma.s.sive head, covered with thick iron-gray hair. He had deep blue eyes, with little lines at their corners showing they were p.r.o.ne to kindly laughter.
”What's the question to-night?” he asked, the lines around his eyes deepening. ”Have you found a new star, Silas?”
”Eh, eh, mebby, mebby,” answered Uncle Hughie. ”If it is, it seems to be a fallen one, whatever. We would jist be talkin' about yon poor body we're goin' to see. Come away, now.”