BE “JUDEECIOUS.”
During her absence, Mr. Barrie spoke to me in quite a fatherly way. He knew that I had a good business and fair prospects, but that, since my father’s death, I had bought a small property called Knowe Park adjoining the village, and that this had absorbed my available means to such an extent as to render it a little difficult for me to carry on business comfortably to the extent that my father had done. After stating that he thought I was taking a wise step in getting married, he said he found it generally the case, although it sounded like a contradiction, that a married house was more cheaply and much better kept than a bachelor’s; and that he was in the custom of drawing the attention of folks who were about to get married to the subject of Life Assurance, or, if working men, to Benefit Societies, and to the necessity of economy and prudence in money matters. “But,” added he, “you know these things better than I do, and I know you will act judeeciously,” with a considerable emphasis on the ee. And as he referred to the various relationships of social life, he closed each section (for his advices unconsciously ran into “heads and particulars,” like his sermons), with, in short, “Be judeecious;” and so clearly did he illustrate the inseparable connection between wisdom and success or happiness in everything he spoke of, that his advice seemed then, and seems yet, summed up in, “Be judeecious.” He will excuse me for telling here, that in the parish he was not unfrequently spoken of as “Judeecious;” and after the lapse of fully forty years, he is still occasionally styled, “Worthy old Judeecious,” by some elderly warm friends, when recalling the sunny memories of former days, although in general conversation he is now spoken of as Dr. Barrie.
He related with considerable glee a saying of an old minister, who, in speaking of money matters, used to maintain that there were only three ways in which a minister could make money—patrimony, matrimony, or parsimony. He also told the story, which is long ago threadbare, of the old merchant, who, when asked why his son had not done so well in business as he had, replied, “That’s easily explained: we old folks began with a little house and a plain table, with porridge and a herring, and got up to tea and a ‘chuckie’ (chicken); but the young folks began with a braw house, and tea and chuckies and silks, and never buckled up their sleeves to work.” When Mrs. Barrie joined us, supper was already on the table. After glancing into the cradle, to see if all was right with “Gordie,” or Gordon Lennox, as his full name was, she said, “Come away, gentlemen,” and seating herself at the head of the table, did the honours in a graceful and homely way.
“BAIRNS WILL BE BAIRNS.”
Bell had brought in the little black kettle, and it kept singing by the fireside. When the simple meal was over, Mr. Barrie and I made a “tumbler” of toddy each, a rare thing for him, but he said it was “New Year time,” and an “occasion;” and my health was drunk, and that of Agnes, in which Mrs. Barrie joined, a very rare thing for her; and Mr. Barrie had just said, “Now, my dear, you must give Mr. Martin the benefit of a little of your experience,” when the door-handle was slowly turned, evidently by a less firm hand than Bell’s, and a little head and part of a little white nightgown, appeared at the half-opened door, and a voice was heard timidly saying, “Mamma,” followed by Bell’s voice, which, with a mixture of astonishment and anxiety in its tone, was heard saying, “James—here—at this time o’ nicht! whatever’s the matter wi’ ye, laddie?” All in the room said, “James!” but before Mrs. Barrie had time to apologize, which she was proceeding to do to James for forgetting the skates, although the strict bargain was that she would speak to me if he slept like a good boy, he threw light on the interruption, greatly to Bell’s relief, by saying, “Mamma, have you spoken to Mr. Martin about the skates?”
James’ single sentence told the whole story better than any other words could have done it, and I told him to come to see me to-morrow, and I would find him a pair. Mr. Barrie’s “Oh, Mr. Martin, you—” and Mrs. Barrie’s “My dear boy, you must—” and Bell’s “Skates! you’ll break your legs, or drown—” were all interrupted, and all three silenced by James’s very pronounced “Oh, thank you, Mr. Martin, thank you very much;” and “Good night, James,” had come from all round the supper table, and Bell had got him in hand to lead him away, and the door was all but closed, when it opened again. There seemed a struggle going on between James and Bell before he reappeared, this time at full length, with his one arm distended towards the lobby, his feet planted and his body inclined forwards, as if in resistance to an outward pull, and his other arm clenching firmly the upper bead of the dado of the parlour.
“Oh, Mr. Martin, please, sir, when will I come to-morrow?” said the boy eagerly.
“Nine o’clock, James,” said I, “or any time after that.”
“Oh, thank you, sir,” said he; and looking at Mrs. Barrie, said, “May I go, mamma?”
“We’ll see to-morrow,” replied Mrs. Barrie; “do go to bed like a good boy.”