Home > Authors Index > George MacDonald > Alec Forbes of Howglen > This page
Alec Forbes of Howglen, a novel by George MacDonald |
||
Chapter 84 |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER LXXXIV 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 dyke." A dyke 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 grass, 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 dyke into the field and sat down. "Ye see it's no lickit eneuch yet," said Mr Cupples, and began. Gin a body cud be a thocht o' grace, O lassie, ayont the hill! For gin ance I saw yer bonnie heid, But gin ye lo'ed me, ever so sma' But gin ye lo'ed me as I lo'e you, O lassie, ayont the hill!
"Ay is't. But fowk's metapheesical. True, they dinna aye ken't. I wad to God I cud get that sel' o' mine safe aneath the yird, for it jist torments the life oot o' me wi' its ugly face. Hit and me jist stan's an' girns at ane anither." "It'll tak a heap o' Christianity to lay _that_ ghaist, Mr Cupples. That I ken weel. The lassie wadna be able to do't for ye. It's ower muckle to expec' o' her or ony mortal woman. For the sowl's a temple biggit for the Holy Ghost, and no woman can fill't, war she the Virgin Mary ower again. And till the Holy Ghost comes intil's ain hoose, the ghaist that ye speak o' winna gang oot." A huge form towered above the dyke behind them. "Ye had no richt to hearken, Thomas Crann," said Mr Cupples. "I beg your pardon," returned Thomas; "I never thoucht o' that. The soun' was sae bonnie, I jist stud and hearkened. I beg your pardon.�-But that's no the richt thing for the Sawbath day." "But ye're haein' a walk yersel', it seems, Thomas." "Ay; but I'm gaun ower the hills to my school. An' I maunna bide to claver wi' ye, for I hae a guid twa hoors' traivel afore me." "Come hame wi' us, and hae a mou'fu' o' denner afore ye gang, Thomas," said Alec. "Na, I thank ye. It does the sowl gude to fast a wee ae day in saiven. I had a piece, though, afore I cam' awa'. What am I braggin' o'! Gude day to ye." "That's an honest man, Alec," said Cupples. "He is," returned Alec. "But he never will do as other people do." "Perhaps that's the source of his honesty�-that he walks by an inward light," said Cupples thoughtfully. The year wore on. Alec grew confident. They returned together to their old quarters. Alec passed his examinations triumphantly, and continued his studies with greater vigour than before. Especially he walked the hospitals with much attention and interest, ever warned by Cupples to beware lest he should come to regard a man as a physical machine, and so grow a mere doctoring machine himself. Mr Fraser declined seeing him. The old man was in a pitiable condition, and indeed never lectured again. Alec no more frequented his old dismal haunt by the seashore. The cry of the drowning girl would not have come to him as it would to the more finely nervous constitution of Mr Cupples; but the cry of a sea-gull, or the wash of the waves, or even the wind across the tops of the sand-hills, would have been enough to make him see in every crest which the wind tore white in the gloamin, the forlorn figure of the girl he loved vanishing from his eyes. The more heartily he worked the more did the evil as well as the painful portions of his history recede into the background of his memory, growing more and more like the traces left by a bad, turbid, and sorrowful dream. Is it true that _all_ our experiences will one day revive in entire clearness of outline and full brilliancy of colour, passing before the horror-struck soul to the denial of time, and the assertion of ever-present eternity? If so, then God be with us, for we shall need him. Annie Anderson's great-aunt took to her bed directly after her husband's funeral. Finding there was much to do about the place, Annie felt no delicacy as to remaining. She worked harder than ever she had worked before, blistered her hands, and browned her fair face and neck altogether autumnally. Her aunt and she together shore (reaped) the little field of oats; got the sheaves home and made a rick of them; dug up the potatoes, and covered them in a pit with a blanket of earth; looked after the one cow and calf which gathered the grass along the road and river sides; fed the pigs and the poultry, and even went with a neighbour and his cart to the moss, to howk (dig) their winter-store of peats. But this they found too hard for them, and were forced to give up. Their neighbours, however, provided their fuel, as they had often done in part for old John Peterson. Before the winter came there was little left to be done; and Annie saw by her aunt's looks that she wanted to get rid of her. Margaret Anderson had a chronic, consuming sense of poverty, and therefore worshipped with her whole soul the monkey Lars of saving and vigilance. Hence Annie, as soon as Alec was gone, went, with the simplicity belonging to her childlike nature, to see Mrs Forbes, and returned to Clippenstrae only to bid them good-bye. The bodily repose and mental activity of the winter formed a strong contrast with her last experiences. But the rainy, foggy, frosty, snowy months passed away much as they had done before, fostering, amongst other hidden growths, that of Mrs Forbes' love for her semi-proteg�e, whom, like Castor and Pollux, she took half the year to heaven, and sent the other half to Tartarus. One notable event, however, of considerable importance in its results to the people of Howglen, took place this winter amongst the missionars of Glamerton. _ |
||