“Mrs. Barrie, I’ve gotten ower a’ my fears an’ cares o’ a worldly kind about this kirk business, an’ I’m humbled to think that I spoke to you an’ the minister an’ ithers as I did, an’ that I didna join the noble army till after the battle was won; but noo,” said she with great solemnity, “I pray that I may mak’ up for my faintin’ in the day o’ adversity by settin’ my face like a flint to my wark,” and here she lowered her tone. “But I’m forgettin’ mysel’, an’ we maun a’ set the stout heart to the stey [steep] brae, an’ gather up the loins o’ our minds and heads and hands, and no’ turn back like Lot’s wife. We’re gaun to dae fine here: the range is very licht on the coals; an’ the hens are takin’ to the place, an’ layin’ weel; an’ Daisy’s up to her knees in clover,” and here Bell put on her blithest look, “an’ I never saw either Mr. Barrie or you lookin’ better. And we maunna let it be said that we’re ‘unsettled,’ when in every sense o’ the word we’re settled, and weel settled,—we couldna be better,—we’re just real weel set.”
Bell’s hearty speech put Mrs. Barrie into good spirits. She left the kitchen with a smile on her lip and a warm thought in her heart, which found expression as she walked through the lobby in “Thank God for Bell!”
SCIENCE AND POULTRY.
Bell was contentedly happy because she was constantly busy, and her schemes prospered. From the day Mr. Barrie had hinted at the possibility of their leaving the manse, she set herself to contrive if by any means she could be more than ever one of the bread-winners, and her first attempt was on the hens. Some one had told her about the increased yield of eggs which Sir John’s henwife had got by some changes she had made in the food and treatment of her poultry. Bell adopted the new system, and improved on it. She succeeded far beyond her expectations, and with a happy face told me of her luck one afternoon when she was ordering some peppercorns and other spices, with which to experiment still further on a notion of her own.
“I’ve been trying different plans wi’ my hens. I first gied them dry grain, and they did but middlin’; then I gied them rough meal, an’ they did better; syne I boiled their meat, an’ put a ‘curn’[12] o’ spice in’t, an’ they did splendid—far mair than paid for the extra meat; then I got a cracknel frae the candlemaker (ane o’ yon dark, cheese-lookin’ things that they make out o’ the rinds o’ fat, an’ skins, an’ sic like that comes out o’ their tallow), and boiled a bit o’ it among their meat, and the result was extraordinary; they just laid on an’ on till they actually reduced themselves to fair skeletons. I was fair affronted to see them about the place, an’ I had to gi’e them a rest an’ change their victuals. Now I try to mix their meat so as to get them baith to lay weel an’ to be size for the table. But ye’ll hae seen what grand eggs I’ve been sending to yoursel’, an’ how mony mair than before?”
[12] A small quantity.
I knew that to be the case, and said so. Bell continued:
“But besides that, early in the spring I got some settings o’ eggs that they say are a grand kind, and the birds are a gude size a’ready. I got them from Dan Corbet, an’ so I wadna like to say very muckle about them, for Dan’s no’ aye to lippen[13] to. ’Deed, since we’ve come to live nearer him, I’m no sae high about them, for he has a vermin o’ game-cocks about him, and they whiles cross the north park and fecht wi’ mine—they’re a fair torment.”
[13] Trust.
Dan Corbet was a “queer mixture.” He was a native of Blinkbonny, but had been out of the parish for several years; report said he had been a smuggler on the west coast of Scotland. He returned to his native parish about the year 1820, with scars on his face, and without one of his eyes, which gave him a sinister look. For some years he had been night-watchman in the churchyard, as the outrageous custom of violating the sanctity of the grave in order to procure subjects for surgical demonstration and actual use in teaching anatomy had sent a thrill of horror over Scotland, and had led to the systematic watching of churchyards by at least two individuals every night. Dan was the paid regular watchman, and at least one or more respectable householders by turns watched with him. Dan’s reckless character fitted him for the dreary post; and although none of those who watched with him respected him, they found that he was always wakeful, and, in the matter in hand, trustworthy.