Alec Forbes of Howglen Part 87

"The tane ye hae dune. The t.i.ther ye shanna do, for I'll tak them. And I'll tell ye what fowk'll say gin ye dinna gie up the things. They'll say that ye baith drave her awa' and keepit her bit duds. I'll see to that-?_and mair forbye_."

Bruce understood that he referred to Annie's money. His object in refusing to give up her box had been to retain as long as possible a chance of persuading her to return to his house; for should she leave it finally, her friends might demand the interest in money, which at present he was bound to pay only in aliment and shelter, little of either of which she required at his hands. But here was a greater danger still.

"Mother," he cried, "pit up Miss Anderson's claes in her box to gang wi' the carrier the morn's mornin'."

"I'll tak them wi' me," said Dow resolutely.

"Ye canna. Ye haena a cairt."

"Ye get them pitten up, and I'll fess a barrow," said James, leaving the shop.

He borrowed a wheelbarrow from Thomas Crann, and found the box ready for him when he returned. The moment he lifted it, he was certain from the weight of the poor little property that the Bible was not there.

"Ye haena pitten in Mr Cooie's Bible."

"Mother! did ye pit in the Bible?" cried Bruce, for the house-door was open.

"'Deed no, father. It's better whaur't is," said Mrs Bruce from the kitchen, with shrill response.

"Ye see, Mr Doo, the Bible's lain sae lang there, that it's jist oor ain. And the la.s.sie canna want it till she has a faimily to hae wors.h.i.+p wi'. And syne she s' be welcome to tak' it."

"Ye gang up the stair for the buik, or I'll gang mysel'."

Bruce went and fetched it, with a bad grace enough, and handed over with it the last tattered remnants of his respectability into the hands of James Dow.

Mr Cupples, having made a translation of the inscription, took it to Thomas Crann.

"Do ye min' what Bruce read that nicht ye saw him tak' something oot o'

the beuk?" he asked as he entered.

"Ay, weel that. He began wi' the twenty-third psalm, and gaed on to the neist."

"Weel, read that. I faun' 't on a blank leaf o' the buik."

Thomas read?-'_Over the twenty-third psalm of David I have laid a five-pound note for my dear Annie Anderson, after my death_,'?-and lifting his eyes, stared at Mr Cupples, his face slowly brightening with satisfaction. Then a cloud came over his brow?-for was he not rejoicing in iniquity? At least he was rejoicing in coming shame.

"Hoo cud it hae been," he asked after a brief pause, "that Bruce didna fa' upo' this, as weel's you, Mr Cupples, or didna scart it oot?"

"'Cause 'twas written in Latin. The body hadna the wit to mis...o...b.. the contents o' 't. It said naething _till_ him, and he never thoucht it cud say onything _aboot_ him."

"It's a fine thing to be a scholar, Mr Cupples."

"Ay, whiles."

"They say the Miss Cowies are great scholars."

"Verra likly.?-But there's ae thing mair I wad put ye up till. Can ye tell the day o' the month that ye gaed hame wi' yer prayin' frien'?"

"It was the nicht o' a special prayer-meetin' for the state o'

Glamerton. I can fin' oot the date frae the kirk-buiks. What am I to do wi' 't whan I hae't, sir?"

"Gang to the bank the body deals wi', and spier whether a note beirin'

the nummer o' thae figures was paid intil 't upo' the Monday followin'

that Sunday, and wha paid it. They'll tell ye that at ance."

But for various reasons, which it is needless to give in this history, Thomas was compelled to postpone the execution of his project. And Robert went on buying and selling and getting gain, all unaware of the pit he had digged for himself.

CHAPTER Lx.x.xIV.

One Sunday morning Mr Cupples was returning from church with Alec.

"Ye likit the sermon the day, Mr Cupples."

"What gars ye think that?"

"I saw ye takin' notes a' the time."

"Gleg-eed mole!" said Mr Cupples. "Luik at the notes as ye ca' them."

"Eh! it's a sang!" exclaimed Alec with delight.

"What cud gar ye think I likit sic havers? The crater was preachin'

till's ain shaidow. And he pat me into sic an unchristian temper o'

dislike to him and a' the concern, that I ran to my city o' refuge. I never gang to the kirk wi'oot it?-I mean my pocket-buik. And I tried to gie birth till a sang, the quhilk, like Jove, I conceived i' my heid last nicht."

"Lat me luik at it," said Alec, eagerly.

"Na, ye wadna mak' either rhyme or rizzon o' 't as it stan's. I'll read it to ye."

"Come and sit doon, than, on the ither side o' the d.y.k.e."

A d.y.k.e in Scotland is an earthen fence?-to my prejudiced mind, the ideal of fences; because, for one thing, it never keeps anybody out.

And not to speak of the wild bees' bykes in them, with their inexpressible honey, like that of Mount Hymettus?-to the recollection of the man, at least?-they are covered with gra.s.s, and wild flowers grow all about them, through which the wind harps and carps over your head, filling your sense with the odours of a little modest yellow tufty flower, for which I never heard a name in Scotland: the English call it Ladies' Bedstraw.

They got over the d.y.k.e into the field and sat down.

"Ye see it's no lickit eneuch yet," said Mr Cupples, and began.

"O la.s.sie, ayont the hill!

Come ower the tap o' the hill; Or roun' the neuk o' the hill; For I want ye sair the night.

I'm needin' ye sair the nicht, For I'm tired and sick o' mysel'.

A body's sel' 's the sairest weicht.