"A MAN'S A MAN FOR A' THAT"
It would only weary the reader to give a narrative of the events which happened during the period of the Sergeant's tedious recovery. Dr. Scott watched by him many a night, feeling his pulse, and muttering to himself about the twitching of the muscles of the fingers, as indicating the state of the brain. Often did he warn Katie, when too hopeful, that "he was not yet out of the wood", and often encouraged her, when desponding, by assuring her that he "had seen brokener ships come to land". And just as the captain steers his ship in a hurricane, adjusting every rag of sail, and directing her carefully by the wind and compass, according to the laws of storms, so did the Doctor guide his patient. What a quantity of snuff he consumed during those long and dreary days! What whisky toddy---- No! he had not once taken a single tumbler until the night when bending over the Sergeant he heard the joyful question put by him, "Is that you, Dr. Scott? What are you doing here?" and when, almost kissing Katie, he said, "He is oot o' the wood at last, thank God!"
"The Almighty bless you!" replied Katie, as she, too, bent over her husband and heard him once more in calmness and with love utter her name, remarking, "This has surely been a lang and sair fecht!" He then asked, "Hoo's wee Mary? Is the bird leevin'?" Seeing Jock Hall at his bedside, he looked at his wife as if questioning whether he was not still under the influence of a delirious dream. Katie interpreting his look said, "It was Jock that nursed ye a' through." "I'm yer nurse yet, Sergeant," said Jock, "an' ye maun haud yer tongue and sleep." The Sergeant gazed around him, turned his face away, and shutting his eyes passed from silent prayer into refreshing sleep.
One evening soon after this, Adam, pale and weak, was seated, propped up with pillows, in his old armchair near the window in his kitchen. The birds and the streams were singing their old songs, and the trees were in full glory, bending under the rich foliage of July; white fleecy clouds were sailing across the blue expanse of the sky; the sun in the west was displaying its glory, ever varying since creation; and all was calm and peaceful in the heavens above, and, as far as man could see, on the earth beneath.
Jock Hall was seated beside Adam, looking up with a smile into his face, and saying little except such expressions of happiness as, "I'm real prood to see you this length, Sergeant! Ye're lookin' unco' braw! It's the wifie did it, and maybe the Doctor, wi' that by ordinar' lassock, wee Mary;--but keep in your haun's, or ye'll get cauld and be as bad as ever." Jock never alluded to the noble part he himself had taken in the battle between life and death.
Katie was knitting on the other side of her husband. Why interpret her quiet thoughts of deepest peace? Little Mary sat on her chair by the fire.
This was the first day in which Adam, weak and tottering, had been brought, by the Doctor's advice, out of the sick room.
Mr. Porteous unexpectedly rapped at the door, and, on being admitted, gazed with a kindly expression on the group before him. Approaching them he shook hands with each, not omitting even Jock Hall, and then sat down. After saying a few suitable words of comfort and of thanksgiving, he remarked, pointing to Jock, that "he was snatched as a brand from the burning". Jock, as he bent down, and counted his fingers, replied that the minister "wasna maybe far wrang. It was him that did it"; but added, as he pointed his thumb over his shoulder, "an' though he wasna frichted for the lowe, I'm thinkin' he maybe got his fingers burned takin' me oot o't."
"Eh, Mr. Porteous," said Katie, "ye dinna ken what the puir fallow has been tae us a' in our affliction! As lang as I leeve I'll never forget----"
"Assure's I'm leevin'," interrupted Jock, "I'll rin oot the hoose if ye gang on that way. It's really makin' a fule o' a bodie." And Jock seemed thoroughly annoyed.