Books: The Lilac Sunbonnet

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"Where have you been so long," asked her mistress, as she came in.

"Juist drivin' a gilravagin' muckle swine oot o' the or chard!"
replied Jess with some force and truth.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE CUIF BEFORE THE SESSION.

"Called, nominate, summoned to appear, upon this third citation,
Alexander Mowdiewort, or Moldieward, to answer for the sin of
misca'in' the minister and session o' this parish, and to show
cause why he, as a sectary notour, should not demit, depone, and
resign his office of grave digger in the kirk-yard of this parish
with all the emoluments, benefits, and profits thereto
appertaining.--Officer, call Alexander Mowdiewort!"

Thus Jacob Kittle, schoolmaster and session clerk of the parish of
Dullarg, when in the kirk itself that reverent though not revered
body was met in full convocation. There was presiding the Rev.
Erasmus Teends himself, the minister of the parish, looking like a
turkey-cock with a crumpled white neckcloth for wattles. He was
known in the parish as Mess John, and was full of dignified
discourse and excellent taste in the good cheer of the farmers. He
was a judge of nowt [cattle], and a connoisseur of black puddings,
which he considered to require some Isle of Man brandy to bring
out their own proper flavour.

"Alexander Moldieward, Alexander Moldieward!" cried old Snuffy
Callum, the parish beadle, going to the door. Then in a lower
tone, "Come an' answer for't, Saunders."

Mowdiewort and a large-boned, grim-faced old woman of fifty-five
were close beside the door, but Christie cried past them as if the
summoned persons were at the top of the Dullarg Hill at the
nearest, and also as if he had not just risen from a long and
confidential talk with them.

It was within the black interior of the old kirk that the session
met, in the yard of which Saunders Mowdiewort had dug so many
graves, and now was to dig no more, unless he appeased the ire of
the minister and his elders for an offence against the majesty of
their court and moderator.

"Alexander Moldieward!" again cried the old "betheral," very loud,
to some one on the top of the Dullarg Hill--then in an ordinary
voice, "come awa', Saunders man, you and your mither, an' dinna
keep them waitin'--they're no chancy when they're keepit."

Saunders and his mother entered.

"Here I am, guid sirs, an' you Mess John," said the grave-digger
very respectfully, "an' my mither to answer for me, an' guid een
to ye a'."

"Come awa', Mistress Mowdiewort," said the minister. "Ye hae aye
been a guid member in full communion. Ye never gaed to a prayer-
meetin' or Whig conventicle in yer life. It's a sad peety that ye
couldna keep your flesh an' bluid frae companyin' an' covenantin'
wi' them that lichtly speak o' the kirk."

"'Deed, minister, we canna help oor bairns--an' 'deed ye can speak
till himsel'. He is of age--ask him! But gin ye begin to be ower
sair on the callant, I'se e'en hae to tak' up the cudgels mysel'."

With this, Mistress Mowdiewort put her hands to the strings of her
mutch, to feel that she had not unsettled them; then she stood
with arms akimbo and her chest well forward like a grenadier, as
if daring the session to do its worst.

"I have a word with you," said Mess John, lowering at her; "it is
told to me that yon keepit your son back from answering the
session when it was his bounden duty to appear on the first
summons. Indeed, it is only on a warrant for blasphemy and the
threat of deprivation of his liveli hood that he has come to-day.
What have you to say that he should not be deprived and also
declarit excommunicate?"

"Weel, savin' yer presence, Mess John," said Mistress Mowdiewort,
"ye see the way o't is this: Saunders, my son, is a blate [shy]
man, an' he canna weel speak for him sel'. I thought that by this
time the craiter micht hae gotten a wife again that could hae
spoken for him, an' had he been worth the weight o' a bumbee's
hind leg he wad hae had her or this--an' a better yin nor the last
he got. Aye, but a sair trouble she was to me; she had juist yae
faut, Saunders's first wife, an' that was she was nae use ava! But
it was a guid thing he was grave-digger, for he got her buriet for
naething, an' even the coffin was what ye micht ca' a second-hand
yin--though it had never been worn, which was a wunnerfu' thing.
Ye see the way o't was this: There was Creeshy Callum, the brither
o' yer doitit [stupid] auld betheral here, that canna tak' up the
buiks as they should (ye should see my Saunders tak' them up at
the Marrow kirk)--"

"Woman," said the minister, "we dinna want to hear--"

"Very likely no--but ye hae gien me permission to speak, an' her
that's stannin afore yer honourable coort, brawly kens the laws.
Elspeth Mowdiewort didna soop yer kirk an wait till yer session
meetings war ower for thirty year in my ain man's time withoot
kennin' a' the laws. A keyhole's a most amazin' convenient thing
by whiles, an' I was suppler in gettin' up aff my hunkers then
than at the present time."

"Silence, senseless woman!" said the session clerk.

"I'll silence nane, Jacob Kittle; silence yersel', for I ken
what's in the third volume o' the kirk records at the thirty
second page; an' gin ye dinna haud yer wheesht, dominie, ilka wife
in the pairish'll ken as weel as me. A bonny yin you to sit
cockin' there, an' to be learnin' a' the bairns their caritches
[catechism]."

The session let her go her way; her son meantime stood passing an
apologetic hand over his sleek hair, and making deprecatory
motions to the minister, when he thought that his mother was not
looking in his direction.

"Aye, I was speakin' aboot Creeshy Callum's coffin that oor
Saunders--the muckle tongueless sumph there got dirt cheap--ye see
Greeshy had been measured for't, but, as he had a short leg and a
shorter, the joiner measured the wrang leg--joiners are a' dottle
stupid bodies--an' whan the time cam' for Creeshy to be streekit,
man, he wadna fit--na, it maun hae been a sair disappointment
till him--that is to say--gin he war in the place whaur he could
think wi' ony content on his coffin, an' that, judgin' by his life
an' conversation, was far frae bein' a certainty."

"Mistress Mowdiewort, I hae aye respectit ye, an' we are a'
willin' to hear ye noo, if you have onything to say for your son,
but you must make no insinuations against any members of the
court, or I shall be compelled to call the officer to put you
out," said the minister, rising impressively with his hand
stretched towards Mistress Elspeth Mowdiewort.

But Elspeth Mowdiewort was far from being impressed.

"Pit me oot, Snuffy Oallum; pit me, Eppie Mowdiewort, oot! Na, na,
Snuffy's maybe no very wise, but he kens better nor that. Man,
Maister Teends, I hae kenned the hale root an' stock o' thae
Callums frae first to last; I hae dung Greeshy till he couldna
stand--him that had to be twice fitted for his coffin; an' Wull
that was hangit at Dumfries for sheep-stealin'; an' Meg that was
servant till yersel--aye, an' a bonny piece she was as ye ken
yersel'; an' this auld donnert carle that, when he carries up the
Bibles, ye can hear the rattlin' o' his banes, till it disturbs
the congregation--I hae dung them a' heeds ower heels in their
best days--an' to tell me at the hinner end that ye wad ca' in the
betheral to pit oot Elspeth Mowdiewort! Ye maun surely hae an
awsome ill wull at the puir auld craitur!"

"Mither," at last said Saunders, who was becoming anxious for his
grave-diggership, and did not wish to incense his judges further,
"I'm willin' to confess that I had a drap ower muckle the ither
night when I met in wi' the minister an' the dominie; but, gin I
confess it, ye'll no gar me sit on the muckle black stool i'
repentance afore a' the fowk, an' me carries up the buiks i' the
Marrow kirk."

"Alexander Mowdiewort, ye spak ill o' the minister an' session, o'
the kirk an' the wholesome order o' this parish. We have a warrant
for your apprehension and appearance which we might, unless moved
by penitence and dutiful submission, put in force. Then are ye
aware whaur that wad land you--i' the jail in Kirkcudbright toon,
my man Saunders."

But still it was the dread disgrace of the stool of repentance
that bulked most largely in the culprit's imagination.

"Na, na," interjected Mistress Mowdiewort, "nae siccan things for
ony bairns o' mine. Nae son o' mine sall ever set his hurdies on
the like o't."

"Be silent, woman!" said the minister severely; "them that will to
black stool maun to black stool. Rebukit an' chastised is the law
an' order, and rebukit and chastised shall your son be as weel as
ithers."

"'Deed, yer nae sae fond o' rebukin' the great an' the rich.
There's that young speldron frae the castle; its weel kenned what
he is, an' hoo muckle he's gotten the weight o'."

"He is not of our communion, and not subject to our discipline,"
began the minister.

"Weel," said Elspeth, "weel, let him alane. He's a Pape, an' gaun
to purgatory at ony gate. But then there's bletherin' Johnnie o'
the Dinnance Mains--he's as fu' as Solway tide ilka Wednesday, an'
no only speaks agin minister an' session, as maybe my Saunders did
(an' maybe no), but abuses Providence, an the bellman, an' even
blasphemes agin the fast day--yet I never heard that ye had him
cockit up on the black henbauks i' the kirk. But then he's a braw
man an' keeps a gig!"

"The law o' the kirk is no respecter of persons," said Mess John.

"No, unless they are heritors," said Cochrane of the Holm, who had
a pew with the name of his holding painted on it.

"Or members o' session," said sleeky Carment of the Kirkland, who
had twice escaped the stool of repentance on the ground that, as
he urged upon the body, "gleds [hawks] shouldna pike gleds een
oot."

"Or parish dominies," said the session clerk, to give solidarity
to his own position.

"Weel, I ken juist this if nae mair: my son disna sit on ony o'
yer stools o' repentance," said Eppie Mowdiewort, demonstrating
the truth of her position with her hand clenched at the dominie,
who, like all clerks of ecclesiastical assemblies, was exceedingly
industrious in taking notes to very small purpose. "Mair nor that,
I'm maybe an unlearned woman, but I've been through the Testaments
mair nor yince--the New Testament mair nor twice--an' I never saw
naethin' aboot stools o' repentance in the hoose o' God. But my
son Saunders was readin' to me the ither nicht in a fule history
buik, an' there it said that amang the Papists they used to hae
fowk that didna do as they did an' believe as they believed. Sae
wi' a lang white serk on, an' a can'le i' their hands, they set
them up for the rabble fowk to clod at them, an' whiles they tied
them to a bit stick an' set lunt [fire] to them--an that's the
origin o' yer stool o' repentance. What say ye to that?"

Mrs. Mowdiewort's lecture on church history was not at all
appreciated by the session. The minister rose.

"We will close this sederunt," he said; "we can mak' nocht o'
these two. Alexander Mowdiewort, thou art removed from thy office
of grave-digger in the parish kirkyard, and both thysel' and thy
mother are put under suspension for contumacy!"

"Haith!" said Elspeth Mowdiewort, pushing back her hair; "did ye
ever hear the mak' o' the craitur. I haena been within his kirk
door for twenty year. It's a guid job that a body can aye gang
doon to godly Maister Welsh, though he's an awfu' body to deave
[deafen] ye wi' the Shorter Quastions."

"An it's a guid thing," added Saunders, "that there's a new
cemetery a-makkin'. There's no room for anither dizzen in yer auld
kailyaird onyway--an' that I'm tellin' ye. An' I'm promised the
new job too. Ye can howk yer ain graves yersel's."

"Fash na yer heid, Saunders, aboot them," said the old betheral at
the door; "it's me that's to be grave-digger, but ye shall howk
them a' the same in the mornin', an' get the siller, for I'm far
ower frail--ye can hae them a' by afore nine o'clock, an' the
minister disna pu' up his bedroom blind till ten!"

Thus it was that Saunders Mowdiewort ended his connection with an
Erastian establishment, and became a true and complete member of
the Marrow kirk. His mother also attended with exemplary
diligence, but she was much troubled with a toothache on the days
of catechising, and never quite conquered her unruly member to the
last. But this did not trouble herself much--only her neighbours.

CHAPTER XVII.

WHEN THE KYE COMES HAME.

That night Saunders went up over the hill again, dressed in his
best. He was not a proud lover, and he did not take a rebuff
amiss; besides, he had something to tell Meg Kissock. When he got
to Craig Ronald, the girls were in the byre at the milking, and at
every cow's tail there stood a young man, rompish Ebie Farrish at
that at which Jess was milking, and quiet Jock Forrest at Meg's.
Ebie was joking and keeping up a fire of running comment with
Jess, whose dark-browed gipsy face and blue-black wisps of hair
were set sideways towards him, with her cheek pressed upon Lucky's
side, as she sent the warm white milk from her nimble fingers,
with a pleasant musical hissing sound against the sides of the
milking-pail.

Farther up the byre, Meg leaned her head against Crummy and milked
steadily. Apparently she and Jock Forrest were not talking at all.
Jock looked down and only a quiver of the corner of his beard
betrayed that he was speaking. Meg, usually so outspoken and full
of conversation, appeared to be silent; but really a series of
short, low-toned sentences was being rapidly exchanged, so swiftly
that no one, standing a couple of yards away, could have remarked
the deft interchange.

But as soon as Saunders Mowdiewort came to the door, Jock Forrest
had dropped Crummy's tail, and slipped silently out of the byre,
even before Meg got time to utter her usual salutation of--

"Guid een to ye, Cuif! Hoo's a' the session?"

It might have been the advent of Meg's would-be sweetheart that
frightened Jock Forrest away, or again he might have been in the
act of going in any case. Jock was a quiet man who walked sedately
and took counsel of no one. He was seldom seen talking to any man,
never to a woman--least of all to Meg Kissock. But when Meg had
many "lads" to see her in the evening, he could he observed to
smile an inward smile in the depths of his yellow beard, and a
queer subterranean chuckle pervaded his great body, so that on one
occasion Jess looked up, thinking that there were hens roosting in
the baulks overhead.

Jess and Ebie pursued their flirtation steadily and harmlessly, as
she shifted down the byre as cow after cow was relieved of her
richly perfumed load, rumbling and clinking neck chains, and
munching in their head-stalls all the while. Saunders and Meg were
as much alone as if they had been afloat on the bosom of Loch
Grannoch.

"Ye are a bonny like man," said Meg, "to tak' yer minny to speak
for ye before the session. Man, I wonder at ye. I wonder ye didna
bring her to coort for ye?"

"War ye ever afore the Session, Meg?"

"Me afore the session--ye're a fule man, but ye dinna ken what yer
sayin'--gin I thocht ye did--"

Here Meg became so violently agitated that Flecky, suffering from
the manner in which Meg was doing her duty, kicked out, and nearly
succeeded in overturning the milk-pail. Meg's quickness with hand
and knee foiled this intention, but Flecky succeeded quite in
planting the edge of her hoof directly on the Cuif's shin-bone.
Saunders thereupon let go Flecky's tail, who instantly switched it
into Meg's face with a crack like a whip.

"Ye great muckle senseless hullion!" exclaimed Meg, "gin ye are
nae use in the byre, gang oot till ye can learn to keep haud o' a
coo's tail! Ye hae nae mair sense than an Eerishman!"

There was a pause. The subject did not admit of discussion, though
Saunders was a cuif, he knew when to hold his tongue--at least on
most occasions.

"An' what brocht ye here the nicht, Cuif?" asked Meg, who, when
she wanted information, knew how to ask it directly, a very rare
feminine accomplishment.

"To see you, Meg, my dawtie," replied Saunders, tenderly edging
nearer.

"Yer what?" queried Meg with asperity; "I thocht that ye had
aneuch o' the session already for caa'in' honest fowk names; gin
ye begin wi' me, ye'll get on the stool o' repentance o' yer ain
accord, afore I hae dune wi' ye!"

"But, Meg, I hae telled ye afore that I am sair in need o' a wife.
It's byordinar' [extraordinary] lonesome up in the hoose on the
hill. An' I'm warned oot, Meg, so that I'll look nae langer on the
white stanes o' the kirkyaird."

"Gin ye want a wife, Saunders, ye'll hae to look oot for a deef
yin, for it's no ony or'nar' woman that could stand yer mither's
tongue. Na, Saunders, it wad be like leevin' i' a corn-mill
rinnin' withoot sheaves."

"Meg," said Saunders, edging up cautiously, "I hae something to
gie ye!"

"Aff wi' ye, Cuif! I'll hae nae trokin' wi' lads i' the byre--na,
there's a time for everything--especial wi' widowers, they're the
warst o' a'--they ken ower muckle. My granny used to say, gin
Solomon couldna redd oot the way o' a man wi' a maid, what wad he
hae made o' the way o' a weedower that's lookin' for his third?"

CHAPTER XVIII.

A DAUGHTER OF THE PICTS.

The Cuif put his hands in his pockets as if to keep them away from
the dangerous temptation of touching Meg. He stood with his
shoulder against the wall and chewed a straw.

"What's come o' Maister Peden thae days?" asked Meg.

"He's maist michty unsettled like," replied Saunders, "he's for a'
the world like a stirk wi' a horse cleg on him that he canna get
at. He comes in an' sits doon at his desk, an' spreads oot his
buiks, an' ye wad think that he's gaun to be at it the leevelang
day. But afore ye hae time to turn roon' an' get at yer ain wark,
the craitur'll be oot again an' awa' up to the hill wi' a buik
aneath his oxter. Then he rises early in the mornin', whilk is no
a guid sign o' a learned man, as I judge. What for should a
learned man rise afore his parritch is made? There maun be
something sair wrang," said Saunders Mowdiewort.

"Muckle ye ken aboot learned men. I suppose, ye think because ye
carry up the Bible, that ye ken a' that's in't," returned Meg,
with a sneer of her voice that might have turned milk sour. The
expression of the emotions is fine and positive in the kitchens of
the farm towns of Galloway.

"SWISH, SWISH!" steadily the white streams of milk shot into the
pails. "JANGLE, JANGLE!" went the steel head chains of the cows.
Occasionally, as Jess and Meg lifted their stools, they gave
Flecky or Speckly a sound clap on the back with their hand or
milking-pail, with the sharp command of "Stan' aboot there!" "Haud
up!" "Mind whaur yer comin'!" Such expressions as these Jess and
Meg could interject into the even tenor of their conversation, in
a way that might have been disconcerting in dialogues conducted on
other principles. But really the interruptions did not affect Ebie
Farrish or any other of the byre-visiting young men, any more than
the rattling of the chains, as Flecky and Speckly arranged their
own business at the end devoted to imports. These sharp words of
command were part of the nightly and morningly ceremony of the
"milking" at every farm. The cans could no more froth with the
white reaming milk without this accompaniment of slaps and
adjurations than Speckly, Flecky, and the rest could take their
slow, thoughtfully considerate, and sober way from the hill
pastures into the yard without Meg at the gate of the field to
cry: "Hurley, Hurley, hie awa' hame!" to the cows themselves; and
"Come awa' bye wi' them, fetch them, Roger!" to the short-haired
collie, who knew so much better than to go near their flashing
heels.

The conversation in the byre proceeded somewhat in this way:

Jess was milking her last cow, with her head looking sideways at
Ebie, who stood plaiting Marly's tail in a newfangled fashion he
had brought from the low end of the parish, and which was just
making its way among young men of taste.

"Aye, ye'll say so, nae doot," said Jess, in reply to some pointed
compliment of her admirer; "but I ken you fowk frae the laich end
ower weel. Ye hae practeesed a' that kind o' talk on the lasses
doon there, or ye wadna be sae gleg [ready] wi't to me, Ebie."

This is an observation which shows that Jess could not have eaten
more effectively of the tree of knowledge, had she been born in
Mayfair.

Ebie laughed a laugh half of depreciation, half of pleasure, like
a cat that has its back stroked and its tail pinched at the same
time.

"Na, na, Jess, it a' comes by natur'. I never likit a lassie afore
I set my een on you," said Ebie, which, to say the least of it,
was curious, considering that he had an assortment of locks of
hair--black, brown, and lint-white--up in the bottom of his
"kist" in the stable loft where he slept. He kept them along with
his whipcord and best Sunday pocket knife, and sometimes he took a
look at them when he had to move them in order to get his green
necktie. "I never really likit a lass afore, Jess, ye may believe
me, for I wasna a lad to rin after them. But whenever I cam' to
Craig Ronald I saw that I was dune for."

"STAN' BACK, YE MUCKLE SLABBER!" said Jess, suddenly and
emphatically, in a voice that could have been heard a hundred
yards away. Speckly was pushing sideways against her as if to
crowd her off her stool.

"Say ye sae, Ebie?" she added, as if she had not previously
spoken, in the low even voice in which she had spoken from the
first, and which could be heard by Ebie alone. In the country they
conduct their love-making in water-tight compartments. And though
Ebie knew very well that the Cuif was there, and may have
suspected Jock Forrest, even after his apparent withdrawal, so
long as they did not trouble him in his conversation with Jess, he
paid no heed to them, nor indeed they to him. No man is his
brother's keeper when he goes to the byre to plait cows' tails.

"But hoo div ye ken, or, raither, what gars ye think that ye're no
the first that I hae likit, Jess?"

"Oh, I ken fine," said Jess, who was a woman of knowledge, and had
her share of original sin.

"But hoo div ye ken?" persisted Ebie.

"Fine that," said Jess, diplomatically.

A DAUGHTER OF THE PICTS

"But tell us, Jess," said Ebie, who was in high good humour at
these fascinating accusations.

"Oh," said Jess, with a quick gipsy look out of her fine dark
eyes, "brawly I kenned on Saturday nicht that yon wasna the first
time ye had kissed a lass!"

"Jess," said Ebie, "ye're a wunnerfu' woman!" which was his
version of Ralph's "You are a witch." In Ebie's circle "witch" was
too real a word to be lightly used, so he said "wunnerfu' woman."

He went on looking critically at Jess, as became so great a
connoisseur of the sex.

"I hae seen, maybes, bonnier faces, as ye micht say--"

"HAUD AFF, WI' YE THERE; MIND WHAUR YER COMIN', YE MUCKLE
SENSELESS NOWT!" said Jess to her Ayrshire Hornie, who had been
treading on her toes.

"As I was sayin', Jess, I hae seen--"

"CAN YE NO UNNERSTAN', YE SENSELESS LUMP?" cried Jess, warningly;
"I'll knock the heid aff ye, gin ye dinna drap it!" still to
Hornie, of course.

But the purblind theorist went on his way: "I hae seen bonnier
faces, but no mair takin', Jess, than yours. It's no aye beauty
that tak's a man, Jess, ye see, an' the lassies that hae dune best
hae been plain-favoured lassies that had pleasant expressions--"

"Tell the rest to Hornie gin ye like!" said Jess, rising viciously
and leaving Ebie standing there dumfounded. He continued to hold
Hornie's tail for some time, as if he wished to give her some
further information on the theory of beauty, as understood in the
"laich" end of the parish.

Saunders saw him from afar, and cried out to him down the length
of the byre,

"Are ye gaun to mak' a watch-guard o' that coo's tail, Ebie?--ye
look fell fond o't."

"Ye see what it is to be in love," said John Scott, the herd, who
had stolen to the door unperceived and so had marked Ebie's
discomfiture.

"He disna ken the difference between Jess hersel' an' Hornie!"
said the Cuif, who was repaying old scores.

CHAPTER XIX.

AT THE BARN END

In a little while the cows were all milked. Saunders was standing
at the end of the barn, looking down the long valley of the
Grannoch water. There was a sweet coolness in the air, which he
vaguely recognized by taking off his hat.

"Open the yett!" cried Jess, from the byre door. Saunders heard
the clank and jangle of the neck chains of Hornie and Specky and
the rest, as they fell from their necks, loosened by Jess's hand.
The sound grew fainter and fainter as Jess proceeded to the top of
the byre where Marly stood soberly sedate and chewed her evening
cud. Now Marly did not like Jess, therefore Meg always milked her;
she would not, for some special reason of her own, "let doon her
milk" when Jess laid a finger on her. This night she only shook
her head and pushed heavily against Jess as she came.

"Hand up there, ye thrawn randy!" said Jess in byre tones.

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