The Twa Miss Dawsons

by Margaret M. Robertson

If Mr Dawson had misgivings as to how his son, after his long wanderings round the world, would settle down into the man of business, intent chiefly on the work which the day brought to his hand, they were all put aside after a time. George fell into his place with an ease which indicated a natural aptitude for the kind of work expected from him; and during a slight but tedious illness, which kept his father a few weeks at home, George filled his place in the counting-house with a success which proved that in all but experience, he was fitted, and might be trusted to hold it to as good purpose as ever his father had done. He had the same clear head, and the same directness of purpose in his dealings with other men; and he had, what his father even in his youngest days had never had, the natural kindliness of heart and temper that won good-will without an effort.

Mr Dawson had always been respected as an honest man,—a man of his word; but when their fellow townsmen discussed the father and son in their new relations, as they were not slow to do, it was said of George, that he was “a true gentleman”; and by this it was meant, that the temptations which his father, as a man of business had all his life successfully resisted, the son would never see as temptations at all. While those who came into business relations with him saw that he would probably be as successful in the making of money as his father had been; they also saw that he cared far less for it; and with better opportunities for knowing, they would also have seen that he spent a good deal of it in a manner, which, according to his father’s judgment, would bring but poor returns. The poor folk of Portie, the sailors’ widows and orphans, and the “puir auld wivies” of the town, knew about it, though even they oftener saw Miss Jean’s hand in the help that came from him, than his own.

“Ane o’ Miss Jean’s folk,” they called him, and so he was, in that he served the same Master, and loved the service. But he did not offend nor grieve his father by openly casting in his lot with these people as his aunt had done. There was not the same need. Miss Jean had found in communion with the despised little flock in Stott’s Lane, the help and comfort which she had failed to find in the kirk of her fathers. But times had changed since then. In the kirk of their fathers in Portie as well as elsewhere there was found in George’s day the personal consecration, the fervour of love, the earnestness of service, which in the old days had made the folk of Stott’s Lane “a peculiar people.” George was content to remain with them, and his aunt had no desire that he should do otherwise.

And then he went quietly on his way, unconscious that the eyes of all Portie were upon him; not just watching for his halting, yet with a certain movement of expectation to see him fall into his old light-hearted, careless ways again. He did not begin his new life among them with any definite plan of work. He had no such faith in his own strength or wisdom as to make him hopeful as to what he might do for any one. But this work came to him, as in one way or another work will come to all who wish to serve.

It came to him out of the every-day work of his life, which brought him into contact with ships and sailors, either setting sail, or coming home after a voyage. He sent away those who were going with a friendly “God speed,” and met those who returned with a kindly greeting, and was frank and sympathetic with all, because it was his nature to be so; and the men liked him as every body who came near him had liked him all his life. And his sympathy and their liking opened the way for the help which he could give, and which some of these poor fellows needed badly enough.

By and by he found himself in the midst of work which had come to his hands he scarcely could have told how;—certainly not from any impelling sense of the duty which he owed to this class of his townsmen, and not consciously from any thought of the service that he owed them for his Master’s sake. One needed his help, and another, and he gave it gladly, taking pleasure in it, and before he knew it, his hands and his heart were full. It was in one way humble work enough that he did—speaking a word of caution to one, laying a restraining hand on another, guiding another past an evident danger, helping another firmly to withstand the temptation of strong drink, too often the sailor’s strongest and wiliest foe.

All this led him at times into dark places, and queer companionships, where was needed a strong arm as well as a cool head and a persuasive tongue. For “poor Jack,” just off a long voyage with money in his pockets, was considered fair game in Portie as in other places; and even in Portie, where dark deeds could not be easily hidden, dark deeds were sometimes done. Though the influence of the respectable part of the community could be brought to bear more readily and directly on the doers of such deeds, than could be the case in larger places, yet direct interference, either to prevent or to punish, was not always effectual. “Poor Jack” himself was often as eager as his enemy to resent and resist such interference, and those who ventured upon it, sometimes fared ill between them.

To these poor fellows George gave both time and interest, and not in vain. In all his dealings with them they were made to feel that it was not a sense of duty merely, that brought him near them. He understood them, and liked them and their ways, and was their friend. They believed in him, and did, to please him, what they would hardly have been brought to do from higher motives. After a time they trusted him entirely, as well they might. He loved them. There was nothing that he would not do to help them—few things that he did not do for some of them. In the many ways which genuine personal interest can devise, he befriended them and theirs. In sickness he helped them by helping those to whom they belonged—which was well, and he put his own hands on them, which was better,—putting his strength to gentle uses: soothing, restraining, comforting them, as he never could have done if he had not loved them, and if they had not had confidence in his love.

And because he loved them, they were not unwilling to listen to him when he told them of a “greater love,” the love of One who grudged not to give His life for their sakes. He never told it in many words, and he did not for a good while try to tell it to any but the sick and the suffering, as he got a chance for a word with them one by one. But later, when there were occasions, now and then, for sharp though kindly words of rebuke where numbers had gathered, words of gentleness were sure to follow about the love that could keep them in all straits from yielding unworthily to wrong-doing. And if such occasions grew more frequent as time went on, it was because of no plan or intention of his.

Little of all this was known in Portie, except among the men themselves and their families, and among the ill-doing folk who would fain have made gain of their folly; but the result was visible enough in the better lives of some and added comfort of many a home in the place. But to no one did George’s work do more good than to himself. It gave him an interest in life which business, engaged in conscientiously for the sake of pleasing his father and making up to him for the disappointment which the last few years of his life had caused, could never have supplied. It did more to establish him permanently in Portie, and to make him content there, than did the partnership into which during the second year he entered with his father.