THE “Forms of Procedure” in the translation of a Scottish Presbyterian minister are somewhat elaborate, and require a good deal of time for their various requirements of intimating, citing and hearing parties, sustaining and transmitting the call, and summoning the congregation to appear to answer the reasons for translation. When the call is presented, time is allowed for the minister’s decision; even after this, there are other steps to be taken, so that should the autumn season intervene, when presbytery meetings are rarely held unless for cases of extreme urgency, several months may elapse between the “call” and the “settlement.”
It was so in Mr. Barrie’s case; but in a small place like Blinkbonny, little things, that would in large towns be “lost in the crowd,” are found and founded on to an extent much beyond their intrinsic importance. This must be my apology for stating that the regret at the prospect of Mr. Barrie’s leaving was counterbalanced to a certain extent by the announcement of Bell’s approaching marriage.
Under all ordinary circumstances Bell would have been and was a “fixture,”—so much so that for years past she had been universally called Bell Barrie, and the idea that she ever would be married was unborn. Hitherto the Edinburgh call had been looked at entirely in its public aspect as affecting the Free church of Blinkbonny, and little thought had been expended on the private view of the matter. It was taken for granted that the family would remove to Edinburgh; and Bell had so long been a part of it, as much so, in fact, as either Mr. or Mrs. Barrie, that although she was indirectly included in the feeling of general regret, she did not form a distinct element in the case.
“GIN A BODY GREET A BODY.”
When, therefore, it became known that she was to be married to David Tait of Blackbrae, I may say without exaggeration that the news was received with heartfelt delight. All who had come much into contact with Bell esteemed her highly, and those who knew her best liked her most. Her unwearied industry, her sterling worth, her kindly charity, her humility and strong common sense, had been quietly appreciated. Indeed, she was so unostentatious and natural, and her good qualities were so universally known, that they were seldom commented on.
Bell was surprised, and not a little annoyed, at the number of folks who came to congratulate her on her approaching marriage; it would have pleased her much better had nothing been said about it.
“The place is like a gaun fair,” said she to David, “mornin’, noon, an’ nicht. I canna get on wi’ my wark for folk comin’ wishin’ me this an’ that. Nae doubt a body likes to be likit, but no aye to be tell’d it. Mr. Taylor said the best thing, an’ he bade nae time; a’ he said was, ‘Gi’e me a shake o’ your hand, Bell; I’m a wee feared ye’ll no’ escape the woe.’
“‘The woe!’ said I; ‘Mr. Taylor, what woe? that’s a queer kind o’ backin’ to gi’e tae a gude wish.’
“‘Bell,’ said he, ‘the Bible says, “Woe unto you when all men shall speak well of you,” an’ that’s what a’body’s sayin’ o’ you the noo.’
“‘I’m maybe no’ as grateful as I should be,’ says I ‘but I wish they wadna speak about me at a’, for if they kent me as weel as I ken mysel’, they wadna speak as they dae; as gude auld George Brown used to say, “The best o’ men were but men at the best,” an’ women’s just sic-like. I’ve been but an unprofitable servant baith to God an’ man, although I think I may say that I’ve tried to do my best.’