He was a frequent visitor at Mr. Barrie’s, an occasional “assistant” at the October communion services, and a regular member of the “thanksgiving” dinner-party at the manse on the Monday thereafter. He was a man of peace, and took little interest in the Voluntary, Disruption, or other controversies; and when these formed the subject of after-dinner discussion, he left the dining-room, and slowly betook himself to the kitchen for a smoke, for he was an inveterate smoker.
He looked relieved as he entered the kitchen; said, “Well, Bell;” dropt heavily into the arm-chair which stood at the fireside (the arms of which were barely wide enough to admit him, but they yielded with a creak, and he got in, but had to press them firmly down before he got out); took out his pipe—generally a short black one; knocked out the dottle[10] on the hob-plate; tried if it would draw, and if not, cleared the bowl with the point of his knife, and if that failed, asked Bell for a stalk of lavender. When the pipe was cleared to his mind, he slowly cut some thin slices from a roll of twist tobacco, rubbed the fragments between his hands, filled his pipe, put on the “dottle,” and applied the “spunk,” from which Bell had broken off the sulphur tip. All these operations and details were done with very great deliberation and in grave silence, with the exception of asking the lavender stalk, which was only resorted to after the knife and the repeated blowings from the bowl and shank ends of the pipe had failed; and after it was fairly lighted and going well, he began an intermittent, congenial crack.
[10] The dry, crisp remains of a former smoke.
“THUS THINK AND SMOKE TOBACCO.”
Tobacco smoke Bell could not endure. No other person would have been permitted to pollute her kitchen with it, and as a general rule she got Mr. Walker to combine his inspection of the garden and glebe with “enjoyin’ his smoke;” but as this dinner-day came round she had to submit, so she provided against it by removing the hams and things of that sort, that they might not be “scomfished;” and she set herself to enjoy the leisurely preparations, and to respect the silence with which they were conducted, as the after-crack was sure to be quite to her mind.
At the last October dinner, after a few soothing whiffs, Mr. Walker began the colloquy with, “Bell, I’m glad to get away from these discussions about the Kirk; I cannot bear them. I like better to talk about live stock. How are yours?”
Bell entered heartily into an account of her year’s doings, and Mr. Walker listened approvingly, and in return told about his crops and herds, and what the “mairt” (the animal which had been killed and salted for winter use) had weighed, and how the hens, bees, etc. had done—alternately speaking and smoking. I cannot give the interview in detail, but both agreed they had had a grand crack—better than ony kirk quarrels.
It was from the following story, which Mr. Walker then told, that Bell had first heard of the Church “question;” but his way of putting it was so conclusive to Bell, that she thought no more about it until the matter of the potatoes brought it home to herself.
A lady from Leith had come to reside in Middlemoor, and had said to the farmer of Hillend, who had accosted her with, “Weel, mem, hoo d’ye like to bide in this moorland country?”
“Very much indeed, it’s delightful! If I had only my own doctor and my own minister, I would stay here all the year through; but you know your country doctors are not quite—quite—well—well enough in their way, but not quite like the town doctors; and the ministers are very nice—” This she said in a hesitating undertone, not expressive of hearty concurrence, and ended in a firmer voice, “but not like my own.”