Duncan Polite, the Watchman of Glenoro

by Mary Esther Miller MacGregor

Wee Andra cast a humorous glance at the uncomfortable visitor. He had his own opinion as to whether his pastor was a model of staid and sober conduct and was, in consequence, enjoying his father's tirade hugely.

John Egerton was very much relieved when the meal was ended, but the feeling was of short duration, for when they repaired to the parlour matters grew steadily worse. The appearance of the room with its black haircloth furniture, its bristling white lace curtains, its coffin-plate of a former Mrs. Johnstone in a black frame on the centre table, its smooth white walls adorned with strange and wonderfully constructed hair and feather wreaths in huge frames, and over all the close, damp odour, made a combination which was anything but cheerful.

The family followed him into the parlour and seated themselves stiffly around the walls. Kirsty McDuff, the servant girl, and Jimmie Bailey, the chore boy, entered also a few minutes later. The young minister noticed, with something of the sensations of a felon going to his execution, that each person held a Bible and Psalm Book, distributed solemnly by Mrs. Johnstone as they entered, and that Janet and the Bailey boy were further provided with catechisms. He glanced at the daughter of the house and pictured himself sitting before the whole household inquiring after her spiritual welfare. The comical side of it struck him and almost upset his gravity.

But there was very little food for mirth in the task before him. He had no idea of what a pastoral visitation meant to the Johnstones. Of course, he had heard very often of the strange old ways of his grandfather's time, but considered them as belonging to the dim past. But Glenoro had not quite emerged from the ancient ways. In the good old days, so lately gone, when Mr. Cameron had visited the members of his congregation, a pastoral visitation was not merely a social function, but a solemn religious ceremony. The minister might discuss with the heads of the family such light matters as the crops or the weather before or during tea; but afterwards, when the family gathered in the best room with their pastor in the midst, temporal affairs were put aside and there was a season of deep heart-searching. There were the Catechism and Scripture verses to be heard from the younger members of the family and personal questions to be asked. The minister must know just what progress each one was making on the upward road. There were virtues to commend and mistakes to rebuke. Then, after the reading of a chapter from the Book and the singing of a psalm, there were a few deep, earnest words from the pastor, words which steadied many a careless youth and instilled into the hearts of the children the knowledge that God and Right are the only factors to be reckoned with in this world. The ceremony was concluded with a long and fervent prayer by the minister, as old and young knelt around the family altar, a prayer which included a distinct comprehensive petition for each member of the family and one from which they all arose strengthened and bettered and ready for the battle against wrong.

Still more solemn had been the visitations of John Egerton's grandfather. That grand old apostle lived in the hard, rough days, and his coming was often looked forward to with dread. His scorching rebuke of sin, his powerful personality and his complete consecration combined to make his visits a sort of foreshadowing of the great judgment day.

But John McAlpine Egerton belonged to a different era. He honestly wanted to do his duty, but his duty on this occasion, he felt, consisted in making himself agreeable to the Johnstone family, not knowing that the head of the household cared not a whit how disagreeable his pastor might be so long as he was solemn. The old man, ashamed of his harsh remarks, was silent and moody. His young pastor's interests were his own and he had spoken from the highest motives. But he sighed when he thought how much better Duncan Polite would have dealt with the situation. Wee Andra was the only one who was quite at his ease; he seemed to realise that this pastoral visitation was something less rigid than former affairs of the sort, and chewed a straw with unconscious impudence. Mrs. Johnstone talked a little, but nervously and in an absent-minded manner, fearing that every word she uttered was keeping the minister from giving voice to the solemn truths he was waiting to pour forth. Janet sat on the extreme edge of the sofa, her hands folded, her golden head drooping and the unhappy young pastor sat at the other end and made desperate efforts to raise the social atmosphere.

He spoke kindly to Kirsty, a tall, fine-looking girl, very much more composed than the daughter of the house; and he asked Jimmie Bailey about the calves and the lambs, wondering all the while at the oppressive silence. Then he turned to Janet and tried to open up a conversation with her. He had noticed that the stern visage of the ruling elder relaxed almost into tenderness whenever his eye fell upon his daughter and the wily young man guessed that he might reach the father's heart through her. He inquired if Janet played the organ, and, learning that she did, he requested her to favour them with some music.

"Go on, Jinny," said her brother with suspicious heartiness, "give us a rousin' old jig."

Janet glanced at her mother in alarm. To play the organ when the minister was making a pastoral call was surely not to be thought of. But her mother nodded, as Mr. Egerton insisted, and the girl went reluctantly forward, feeling as if she were guilty of sacrilege. She stumbled awkwardly through a loud, noisy march, which made the visitor want to grind his teeth, and as she finished Wee Andra came to life again.

"Won't you sing something, Mr. Egerton?" he asked cordially. "He can sing jist boss, father; you ought to hear him."