Sir John seemed to feel that he had gone too far, and excused himself for being so bitter. He was a confirmed Tory, and began about “vote-voting, everything was vote-voting now-a-days since that Reform Bill had passed. Give some men a vote in Kirk or State, and they became self-conceited, consequential creatures. The more they are canvassed, the more unbearable they get. But that is by the bye. I presume you are a Whig, Mr. Martin, so we’ll not meddle politics to-night. Then you really think Mr. Barrie will ‘come out’?”
“I’m sure of it, Sir John. Mr. Walker of Middlemoor and he start for Edinburgh early to-morrow morning.”
SIR JOHN’S VERDICT.
“Mr. Walker!” said Sir John; “he’s a quiet, peaceable man; he’ll not be led away by any Will-o’-the-wisp. He’ll smoke over it, and think over it, and come back parish minister of Middlemoor as heretofore. I’m glad that Mr. Walker is going with Mr. Barrie; he’ll give him the common-sense, considerate view of the question—especially the home view, the family and fireside interest, which seems entirely ignored. Should a secession take place, there will be a sad awakening when too late to the meaning of these words: ‘If any provide not for his own, and specially for those of his own house, he hath denied the faith and is worse than an infidel,’—worse than an infidel—worse!” Then, after a pause of a few seconds, he said, “I’m sorry, very sorry for Mr. Barrie; if it were possible to be angry with such a man, I feel angry—certainly at his conduct, or rather his intentions. But I’m glad Mr. Walker goes with him. I am member of Assembly for a royal burgh, and intend going in the day after to-morrow; I’ll set Mr. Walker on Mr. Barrie.” Then looking at his watch, he said, “It’s getting late; do you think it would be of any use for me to see Mr. Barrie to-night? The fact is, I cannot rest over this matter—it’s too—too—too dreadful altogether.”
I hinted as politely as I could that I thought nothing would shake Mr. Barrie’s resolve. Sir John said “he feared as much, but he would see Mr. Walker and other friends, and try to save Mr. Barrie from”—here he hesitated, repeating, “from—from—well, I cannot get a better word—ruin to himself and his family—certain ruin.” He shook hands frankly with me, hoped he had not kept me too long, and promised to let me know how matters went; and as he said good night, he looked towards the manse and said, “I cannot get Mr. Barrie and his family out of my head,” then started homewards.
Late as it was, I went to see the new house and garden at Knowe Park. I had urged on the tradesmen, and it was all but finished and drying nicely. The garden had received special attention. Except immediately around the new house, it had not been interfered with; and as it was stocked with good fruit-trees and bushes in the days of the old house, these only required trimming and pruning. Bell’s cut potatoes and spare plants were further forward than those in the manse garden. When I got home it took a long time to tell Agnes the events of the night. Both of us were puzzled as to whether Mr. Barrie or Sir John was right—we rather inclined to Sir John’s notion of patience and prudence; and whilst we admired Mr. Barrie’s noble resolution, we, especially Agnes, spoke of “whatever was to become of Mrs. Barrie and the dear bairns?” and did not see through it at all.
CHAPTER V.
BLINKBONNY AND THE DISRUPTION.
“But there are true hearts, which the sight
Of trouble summons forth;