Part 13 (1/2)

This anecdote recalled another. ”I mind weel hoo I got my first bonnet through Mr. McGillivray. In they times, ye ken, sir, it wes aye the fas.h.i.+on to wear large bonnets o' Tuscan straw, an' a la.s.sie o' foorteen wes surely auld enough for siclike--I said to mysel'. So when the priest cam' to oor hoose aince, I made sae bold as to get him to ask my faither to buy me a bonnet for Sundays, next time he went to the toon o' Aberdeen. My faither wouldna' ha' done it for me, but he did when the priest askit him, and I got my bonnet! But I doot I wes a bit o' a favorite with the priest, sin' I herdit his coos sae lang.”

However free the children may have been in their intercourse with the old priest, I gathered from Bell's narrative that the grown-ups rather feared him. His methods were certainly such as would be considered unnecessarily severe in these days; still, there is no doubt he managed by them to keep his people well in hand.

”I canna' mind muckle aboot Mr. McGillivray's discoorses,” she answered, when I questioned her on that subject. ”I wes but a bit la.s.sie, an' I couldna' onderstand weel. He seemed to me to stan' an'

drone awa' mostly. Whiles, he wud gi' great scoldin's, an' then I usit to think it wes splendid! He could be eloquent then, I a.s.sure ye, sir!

I mind weel when there wes a marriage in Advent in a Protestant family, an' Mr. McGillivray warned the fowk that they mightna' attend it; some o' them, in spite o' that, went to the marriage, an' I could niver forget the awfu' way he chided them in the chapel on the Sunday aifter!

It wes tarrible!

”If ony o' the fowk cam' to the chapel in their working clothes he would be greatly pit aboot. He would ca' them up to the rail at catechism time an' reprove them before a' the congregation.”

”So you said your catechism in public!” I asked.

”There wes aye catechism, atween the Ma.s.s an' the preachin'. Aebody had to be prepared to be callit up till they wes marrit, at least!

Even aifter that, a body couldna' be sure o' bein' left alane! I mind him callin' a mon o' saxty years o' age ane Sunday! He wes a mon greatly thought of by the congregation, an' maybe the priest wes afeared he wes gettin' prood. Onyways, Mr. McGillivray had him at the rails wi' the bairns. 'Are you ashamed,' he says, 'to learn your Christian Doctrine?' 'Na, na, sir,' says he. 'Then gae back an' sit ye doon,' says the priest.”

Such treatment would scarcely be appreciated in these days, but perhaps the reason is that we are less endowed with humility than our fathers in the Faith.

Bell had other anecdotes of a like kind.

”If ony o' the bairns wes restless or trifling-kind, during the preachin', Mr. McGillivray would stop his discoorse an' ca' them up to the rail an' reprove them severely. I mind him summoning a grown man from the choir aince, and mak' him own his fault. Hey! He wer a graund priest, an' nae mistak'--wer Mr. McGillivray!”

On stormy days, when it was difficult for the aged pastor to wade through the deep snow down to the chapel, Ma.s.s was said in his own house. The people crowded in at the door of his little living-room, and would fill the kitchen. When he grew old and infirm it was impossible for the greater number to hear anything of the sermon; yet he never omitted to preach.

”An' I mind,” navely added Bell, ”that there wes aye a collection made.”

People went to Confession in the house at such times; otherwise the priest heard them in the chapel on Sat.u.r.days or Sundays, and on the eves of feasts.

It can not be denied that Mr. McGillivray was a militant churchman, whenever the interests of his flock or of the Catholic Church were at stake. Bell had more than one anecdote to prove it.

A poor woman who was at the point of death had been induced by two good old Catholic spinsters who lived near her to send for the priest to reconcile her to the Church. She was the offspring of a mixed marriage; her mother--the Catholic party--had died when the child was quite young, and the father had at once taken the girl to kirk with him. She had once been to Confession, but had received no other Sacrament except Baptism. When she had grown to womanhood, she married a Presbyterian, and all her family had been brought up in that religion. Yet the grace of her Baptism seemed to cling to her. After her husband's death she would now and again attend at Ma.s.s, driven the six miles by her Protestant son; but she was not known to the priest, and so she remained outside the pale. Her intimacy with Jeannie and Katie Ann McGruer was the means of keeping her in touch with Catholic matters, and eventually resulted in her reconciliation.

This was not accomplished, however, without a stiff skirmish between the old priest and the members of her family--not to mention the minister of their particular kirk.

In compliance with the summons conveyed by one of the McGruers (Bell spoke of them as ”guid Catholic la.s.sies,” but in answer to my query explained that Katie Ann, the younger sister, would be ”risin'

sixty”!), Mr. McGillivray betook himself to the house of the invalid.

The door was opened by her eldest son, Adam Fordyce--a burly, black-browed, bearded man of forty. He had charge of the roads in the district, so that he and the priest were on speaking terms, at least.

Adam held the door in one hand and the door-post in the other, and his portly figure filled up the opening fairly well.

”I am sorry to hear that your mother is unwell,” said the priest sympathetically.

”Aye, aye, sir, she's nae weel at all,” was the answer.

”I would like to see her, if she's well enough,” said Mr. McGillivray.

”Weel, sir, I wouldna' like to say she's nae fit to see a veesitor--but--ye ken, sir----”

”You mean she's not well enough to see me.”