Part 2 (1/2)
He did not reappear for so long a time that I began to think it would be prudent to investigate. Traveling gentry of such a cla.s.s are not always desirable visitors when the kitchen happens to be unoccupied for the nonce. As I made my way in that direction through the little hall I heard voices through the half-open door beyond.
”It'll be all right, Archie,” Penny was saying. ”The priest shall have the money as soon as he comes in, and if he can't say the Ma.s.s to-morrow, I'll take care to send you word by w.i.l.l.y. Now, mind you get a bit of fire lighted when you get back home. You must be wet through!”
”Thank ye kindly, Mistress Spence,” came the slow response in the quavering voice of the old man. ”It's yersel' that's aye kind and thochtful!”
I waited till I heard the door close upon the supposed ”tramp” before venturing to make the inquiries that rushed to my lips. And even then I paused a while. When needing information from Penny, one has to be circ.u.mspect; she has a way of shutting off the supply with ruthless decision, yet with a seeming absence of deliberate purpose, whenever she suspects a ”pumping” operation.
”I'm one that won't be drove,” I've often heard her say. So we old fellows are often obliged to have recourse to diplomacy in dealing with our old nurse.
Consequently I lounged casually, as it were, into Penny's domain with the remark, ”That poor old chap looked awfully wet, Penny.”
”Wet enough he was, Mr. Edmund,” replied the unsuspecting Penny, ”and I have just been giving him a good hot cup of tea; for he never touches wine or spirits.”
She was evidently betrayed by my apparent lack of inquisitiveness into a relation of the details I was longing to hear.
”To think,” she continued, ”of the creature walking down in such weather, and he such a frail old mortal, too, just to make sure of Ma.s.s to-morrow for his wife's anniversary. I can't help thinking, Mr.
Edmund, that some of us might take an example in many things from poor old Archie McLean!”
”Does he live far away?” I asked--just to encourage the flow of the narrative.
”A good three miles--and his rheumatism something hawful,” exclaimed Penny, now thoroughly started on her recital. I had but to lend an ear, and my curiosity would be satisfied.
Archie, it appeared, had been a soldier in his young days, but when he came to settle in Ardmuirland his time of service had expired; that was long ago, for he was now quite an elderly man. He took up his residence in a deserted mill, by the Ardmuir Burn. As he proved to be thoroughly quiet and inoffensive, the neighbors--true to their national character, not speedily attracted by strangers--began in course of time to make his acquaintance, and he eventually became a great favorite with all. When younger, Penny had been told, he had been ”a wonderful good gardener,” and for trifling payment, or in return for a meal, would always ”redd-up” the gardens of the district. Thus he acquired the designation of ”Airchie Gairdener,” and by that was usually known.
What his neighbors could not comprehend was how Archie spent these small earnings, but more especially to what use he had put his army pension, which every one knew he once received regularly. He had no occasion to buy food, for kindly neighbors would always exchange for meal or eggs the varied produce of his well-cultivated garden. His clothes cost him nothing; for he had worn the same old garments for years past, and though no self-respecting tramp would have accepted them, he never seemed anxious to replace them. If any others were given him, he would use them for a time, out of compliment to the donor, but the ancient attire would always reappear after a short interval.
”As to where his money goes,” summed up Penny, ”I've a notion that his Reverence knows more than any one else except Archie himself. Poor Archie often asks for the priest, and I've heard his Reverence speaking to him in quite an angry way--for him,” she added quickly; ”but there's never any change in Archie's way of living. Some of the people here think he's a perfect saint, and I'm not so sure that they're far wrong!
However, I think he ought to take ordinary care of his 'ealth; that seems to me a duty even for saints!”
I tried to glean more details from Val, but found him strangely reticent.
”Poor old fellow! A good soul, if ever there was one!” was the only remark I could elicit.
This air of mystery made me more than ever desirous of learning something about Archie's antecedents. It was this curiosity which led me, in the first instance, to visit his tumbledown dwelling. It was a quaint establishment. A moderately large garden surrounded it on three sides, roughly fenced in from the woodland, its fence interwoven with gorse branches to keep out rabbits. The varied supplies of vegetables were evidence of Archie's industry, in spite of his rheumatism. It was by the produce of this garden that the old man obtained in return the oatmeal and milk which formed his staple food; for he could no longer work for others.
The house itself was a picture! Its aged roof seemed to have bent beneath the weight of years; for the ridge had sunk in the middle of its mossy, gra.s.s-grown expanse, and threatened to fall upon its occupant to the peril of his life. A small barrel served for a chimney. One window possessed still two small panes of gla.s.s; the other openings were filled in with bits of boarding, as was the whole of the other window.
There was something quite uncanny about the silence of the place. The monotonous ripple of the burn below seemed to intensify it. I stood in hesitation for a moment or two before venturing to knock at the door.
When at last I had done so, shuffling footsteps sounded within, and Archie opened the door; the same bland smile which I had noticed when I first saw him appeared on his wrinkled face, and the faded blue eyes lighted up.
”Come ben, sir; come ben!” he said hospitably. ”Ye're kindly welcome, tho' 'tis but a puir hoosachie for ane o' the gentry.”
It was indeed a sorry place to live in. The roof was so unsound that, as I learned later from Bell, it was difficult to find a dry spot for his wretched bed in wet weather. Added to this, as the same informant a.s.sured me, the place was a happy hunting-ground for rats.
”The rats is that bould, sir,” she said, ”that he's fairly to tak' a stick to bed wi' him o' nichts, to keep the beasts off. It's a wonder they rats hasna' yokit on him afore this!”
But on this, my first visit, no rat put in an appearance.
I gave no motive for looking in, nor did Archie seem to be surprised at my call. He was evidently much pleased to see me; but I could not help thinking at the time that his cordial welcome was due in great measure to my relations.h.i.+p to Val.