Allison Bain; Or, By a Way She Knew Not

by Margaret M. Robertson

“Oh, mother! it’s fine to be like the other bairns. I have had such a happy day. And, mother,” she whispered, as her mother bent over her, undoing her wraps, “you’ll need to ask John to stay to tea.”

But John would not stay. He must take tea with his mother this first night, he said, which Marjorie owned was but right. So he went away. He came back again to worship, however, after Marjorie was in bed.

Peter Gilchrist was there too, and Saunners Crombie. It was a way the folk o’ the little kirk had, to time their business at the smithy or the mill, so as to be able to drop in at the usual hour for family worship at the manse. At such times there was rather apt to be “lang worship,” not always so welcome to the tired lads as to the visitors, and to-night Jack and Davie murmured audibly to their mother when the chapter was given out.

For the chapter was about Jacob seeking for his father’s blessing, and the lads felt that Peter and Saunners might keep on to any length about him. And so it proved. Decided opinions were expressed and maintained as eagerly as though each one present had a personal interest in the matter. Peter Gilchrist had his misgivings about Jacob. He was “a pawkie lad” in Peter’s estimation—“nae just fair forth the gait in his dealings with his brother, and even waur (worse) with his old blind father, to whom he should have thought shame to tell lees in that graceless way.”

Saunners, on the other hand, was inclined to take Jacob’s part, and to make excuses for him as being the one who was to inherit the promise, and the blame was by him laid at the door “of the deceiving auld wife, Rebekah, by whom he had evidently been ill brocht up”; and so they “summered and wintered” the matter, as Jack said they would be sure to do, and for a while there seemed little prospect of coming to the end of it. But it mattered less to Jack or to Davie either, as they soon were fast asleep.

The minister put in a word now and then, and kept them to the point when they were inclined to wander, but the two had the weight of the discussion to themselves. As for John Beaton, he never opened his lips till it was time to raise the psalm; and whether he had got the good of the discussion, or whether he had heard a word of it, might well be doubted, judging by the look of his face when Mrs Hume put the psalm-book into his hand.

It was time to draw to an end, for there were several sleepers among them before the chapter was done. Allison had made a place for Davie’s sleepy head upon her lap, and then after a little her Bible slipped from her hand, and she was asleep herself. It had been a long day to her, and her walk and the keen air of the hills had tired her, and she slept on amid the murmur of voices—not the uneasy slumber of one who sleeps against her will; there was no struggle against the power that held her, no bowing or nodding, or sudden waking up to a sense of the situation, so amusing to those who are looking on. Sitting erect, with the back of her mutch just touching the angle made by the wall and the half-open door, she slumbered on peacefully, no one taking heed of her, or rather no one giving token of the same.

After a time her mistress noticed her, and thought, “Allison has over-wearied herself and ought to be in her bed,” and she wished heartily that the interest of the two friends in Jacob and his misdeeds might speedily come to an end, at least for the present. And then, struck by the change which slumber had made on the beautiful face of the girl, she forgot the talk that was going on, and thought only of Allison. The gloom which so often shadowed her face was no longer there, nor the startled look, half fear and half defiance, to which the gloom sometimes gave place when she perceived herself to be observed. Her lips, slightly apart, had lost the set look which seemed to tell of silence that must be kept, whatever befell. The whole expression of the face was changed and softened. It looked very youthful, almost childlike, in its repose.

“That is the way she must have looked before her trouble came upon her, whatever it may have been,” thought Mrs Hume with a sigh. And then she said softly to the minister: “I doubt it is growing late, and the bairns are very weary.”

“Yes, it is time to draw to a close.” So he ended the discussion with a few judicious words, and then read the remaining verses of the chapter and gave out the psalm.