This added to Bell’s confusion and quickened her step. She made straight for the village. I happened to be at the door at the time, and, struck with the smartness with which she was walking, I apprehended that there might be something wrong at the manse, and had taken a step or two towards her. While yet about two yards distant she asked quickly, “Hoo’s the garden doing, Mr. Martin?”
“Just middlin’, Bell; but come round and see it.”
As we went she further asked, “Have ye gotten your early taties in yet?”
“No,” said I; “my garden is far behind this year. I have been trying to get that house ready for the Whitsunday term. Ye’ll see that we’re putting a better house on the Knowe Park? It’s a nice stance. The old cottage was done, so we’re putting up a good plain house; but the plasterers have dilly-dallied; they’re a provoking set.”
We were now in the garden. Bell’s first remark was, “This is no’ like you, Mr. Martin; but, however, I want to ask ye a secret” (so Bell put it). “Can you tell me if Mr. Barrie’s gotten a call, or if he’s likely to get a call, to ony other kirk?”
“Not that I know or have heard of.”
Then she told me very circumstantially what Mr. Barrie had said, and what Mrs. Barrie had said, and ended by asking, “What can you mak’ o’ what he said about the taties?”
BELL’S VIEW OF THE CASE.
I tried to explain that it was possible that many inisters would leave the Church of Scotland on account of something the Government had done.
“What!” said Bell firmly; “that cannot be—that’s no’ possible. The Government wadna daur to meddle wi’ Mr. Barrie. There may be as gude ministers, but there’s nane better. Let them try to put out Mr. Barrie, and they would see a bonnie stramash,—that they would. Leave the manse! Na; thae covenantin’ times are a’ past. Just let Government try’t.”