“Dr. Mitchell. Fine old boy. None too sound himself, I guess. Pre-mill, too, you know. Well, he chipped in and got him past that snag. But old Sandy was not done yet by a long shot. He went after Boyle on every doctrine in the catalogue where it was possible for a man to get off the track, Inspiration, Inerrancy, the Mosaic Authorship, and the whole Robertson Smith business. You know that last big heresy hunt in Scotland.”
“No,” said Miss Belle, “I don't know. And you don't, either, so you needn't stop and try to tell us.”
“I don't, eh?” said Bob, who was finding it difficult to keep himself in a perfectly sane condition under the bewildering glances of Miss Belle's black eyes. “Well, perhaps I don't. At any rate, I couldn't make you understand.”
“Hear him!” said Miss Belle, with supreme scorn. “Go on. We are interested in Boyle, aren't we, Margaret?”
“Well, where was I? Oh, yes. Well, sir, in about five minutes it seemed to me that Boyle's theology was a tattered remnant. Some of the brethren interfered, explaining and apologizing for the young man after their kindly custom, but Squeaky wouldn't have it. 'This is most serious, Mr. Moderator!' he sung out. 'This demands the most searching investigation! We all know what is going on in the Old Land, how the great doctrines of our faith are being undermined by so-called scholarship, which is nothing less than blasphemy and impudent scepticism.' And so he went on shrieking more and more wildly a lot of tommy-rot. But the worst was yet to come. All at once Sandy changed his line of attack and proceeded to take Boyle on the flank. 'Mr. Boyle, are you a smoker?' he asked. 'Yes,' stammered poor Boyle, getting red in the face, 'I smoke some.' 'Are you a total abstainer?' And then Boyle got on to him, and I saw his head go back for the first time. Before this he had been sitting like a convicted criminal. 'No, sir,' he answered, turning square around and facing old Squeaky, 'I am not pledged to total abstinence.' Don't suppose he ever took a drink in his life. 'Did you ever attend the theatre?' This was the limit. It seemed to strike the brethren all at once what the old inquisitor was driving at. The words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a weird sound, a cross between a howl and a roar, and Grant was at the Moderator's desk. It will always be a mystery to me how he got there. There were three pews between him and the desk, and I swear he never came out into the aisle. 'Mr. Moderator, I protest', he shouted. And then the dust began to fly. Say! it was a regular sand storm! About the only thing visible was the lightning from Grant's eyes. By Jingo! 'Mr. Moderator, I protest,' he cried, when he could get a hearing, 'against these insinuations. We all know what Mr. Naismith means by this method of inquisition. But let me tell Mr. Naismith—' Don't know what in thunder he was going to tell him, for the next few moments they mixed it up good and hot. Say! it was a circus with all the monkeys loose and the band playing seventeen tunes all at once! But finally Grant had his say and treated the Presbytery to a pretty full disquisition of his own theology, and when he was done my pity was transferred from Boyle to him, for it seemed that on every doctrine where Boyle was a heretic Grant had gone him one better. And I believe the whole Presbytery were vastly relieved to discover how slight, by contrast, were the errors to which Boyle had fallen. Then Henderson, good old soul, took his innings and poured on oil, with the result that Boyle was turned over to a committee—and that's where he is now. But he'll never appear. He's going in for journalism. The Telegraph wants him.”
“Journalism?” cried Margaret faintly. She was thinking of the dark-faced old lady up in the country who was counting the days till her son should be sent forth a minister of the Gospel.
“Yes,” said Kiddie. “And there's where he'll shine. See what he's done with the Monthly. He's got great style. But wasn't there a row at the college!” continued Kiddie. “Old Father Finlayson there,” nodding across the room at the Highlander, who was engaged in what appeared to be an extremely interesting conversation with his hostess, “orthodox old beggar as he is, was ready to lead a raid on Squeaky Sandy's house. You know he has been at war with Boyle all winter on every and all possible themes. But he fights fair, and this hitting below the belt was too much for him. He was raging up and down the hall like a wild man when Boyle came in. 'Mr. Boyle,' he roared, rushing up to him and seizing him by the hand and working it like a pump-handle in a fire, 'it was a most iniquitous proceeding! I wish to assure you I have no sympathy whatever with that sort of thing!' And so he went on till he had Boyle almost in tears. By Jove! he's a rum old party! Look at his socks, will you!”
The young ladies glanced across and beheld in amused but amazed horror the Highlander's great feet encased in a new pair of carpet slippers adorned with pink roses and green ground, which made a startling contrast with his three-ply worsted stockings, magenta in colour, which his fond aunt had knit as part of his outfit for the Arctic regions of Canada.
“You may laugh,” continued Bob. “So would I yesterday. But, by Jingo! he can wear magenta socks on his head if he likes for me! He's all white, and he has the heart of a gentleman!” Little Kidd's voice went shaky and his eyes had the curious shine that appeared in them only in moments of deepest excitement, but if he had only known it, he had never been so near storming the gate of Miss Belle's heart as at that moment. She showed her sympathy with Kiddie's attitude by giving Mr. Finlayson “the time of his life,” as Kiddie himself remarked. So assiduously, indeed, did she devote herself to the promotion of Mr. Finlayson's comfort and good cheer that that gentleman's fine sense of honour prompted him to inform her incidentally of the existence of Miss Jennie McLean, who was to “come out to him as soon as he was placed.” He was surprised, but entirely delighted, to discover that this announcement made no difference whatever in Miss Belle's attentions. At the supper hour, however, Miss Belle, moved by Kiddie's lugubrious countenance, yielded her place to Margaret, who continued the operation of giving Mr. Finlayson “the time of his life.” But not a word could she extract from him regarding the heresy case, for, with a skill that might have made a Queen's Counsel green with envy, he baffled her leading questions with a density of ignorance unparalleled in her experience, until she let it be known that Dick was an old schoolmate and dear friend. Then Mr. Finlayson poured forth the grief and rage swelling in his big heart at the treatment his enemy had received and his anxious concern for his future both here and hereafter. In a portion of this concern, at least, Margaret shared. And as Mr. Finlayson continued to unburden himself, during the walk home, regarding the heresies in Edinburgh from which he had fled and the heresies that had apparently taken possession of Dick's mind, her heart continued to sink within her, for it seemed that the opinions attributed to Dick were subversive of all she had held true from her childhood. With such intelligence and sympathy, however, did she listen to Mr. Finlayson discoursing, that that gentleman carried back with him to college a heart somewhat lightened of its burden, but withal seriously impressed with the charm and the mental grasp of the young ladies of Canada. And so enthusiastically did he dwell upon this theme in his next letter, that Miss Jessie McLean set herself devoutly to pray, either that Finlayson might soon be placed, or that the professors might cease giving parties.
The brand of heresy almost invariably works ill to him who bears it. For if he be young and shallow enough to enjoy the distinction, it will only increase his vanity and render his return to sure and safe paths more difficult. But if his doubts are to him a grief and a horror of darkness, the brand will burn in and drive him far from his fellows, and change the kindly spirit in him to bitterness unless, perchance, he light upon a friend who gives him love and trust unstinted and links him to wholesome living. After all, in matters of faith every man must blaze his own path through the woods and make his own clearing in which to dwell. And he may well thank God if his path lead him some whither where there is space enough to work his day's work and light enough to live by.