CHAPTER X.
[TIBBIE].
On rainy evenings Roderick had to accommodate his Bible-class in his study. The books and pamphlets piled on the floor were removed, and stools and chairs brought in from all the neighbouring cottages. The attendance was large, the room but small, and the window could not be opened without admitting the rain. The sole ventilation therefore was by the chimney, for Roderick's chest was delicate and could not endure open doors or draughts. The breaths of the people and the steam from their plaids and umbrellas made an atmosphere almost too dense to breathe, but no one stayed away on account of that. Discomfort in fact was the chosen salt and relish of popular piety in those days. The old stories of the covenant and the persecutions had been brought out afresh after lying hid for a century under the dust of time and 'moderatism,' so called, which perhaps means only the new ideas begotten of newer circumstances in advancing civilization. These tales told in modern language and addressed to the people from hundreds of pulpits and platforms, and scattered by the thousand in illustrated tracts and broad sheets over the country, roused the best instincts of the people into a sort of fanaticism; common sense appeared sinful latitudinarianism, and there seemed a very hunger for austerity and persecution in a small way, which raised an uncomfortable church-going into a meritorious claim on divine favour. Like other artificial revivals of obsolete feeling with their inevitable unreality and exaggeration--for the one begets the other, seeing that each individual, knowing his own earnestness to be below the standard, compensates by intensity of expression for what is lacking in depth--all that has now passed away. No better cushioned pews now-a-days invite to repose in the green pastures of the word, than those which the Free Church supplies, and the erewhile battle cry of 'Christ's Crown and Covenant' has moderated down into a demand for Disestablishment.
These cottage services were far more exhausting to their conductor than the regular preaching, and after struggling through them under the oppression of heat and bad air, he found when his apartment was left to him, that it had become uninhabitable for the rest of the evening. Whenever, therefore, the weather at all permitted, he conducted his Bible-class in the open air.
Down by the Effick side was a meadow where the villagers washed and dried their clothes, and their cattle browsed. The grass was short and thick, and the stream slid by with a low soft lapping among the stones. An aged beech tree formed a landmark, and there on summer evenings the minister was wont to assemble his class. The faint evening breezes nestled drowsily among the leaves overhead, and the glassy surface of the stream shone in the yellow radiance of the evening light. No scene could be more peaceful and still, or lent itself better to the earnest exhortations of the teacher, and the unflagging attention of his auditors, who had grown to comprise the whole inhabitants of the village, old people and children as well as the youths and maidens for whom the meeting was designed. 'Free Church Principles,' or the superiority of the church to the interference of civil authority, were the stated subjects of consideration, but this pious and indefatigable teacher would not let slip the opportunity of pressing all other branches of religious truth, as occasion offered, in a way more familiar and impressive, as his people thought, than even the regular services of the church.
It was dark ere all was over, and after singing a hymn the meeting dispersed. Then Roderick remembered the errand of mercy with which he had proposed to himself to conclude his day, and set out at once for Widow Tirpie's cottage, which was about a mile from the village. Reaching it, he found the daughter on the threshold, gazing motionless towards the western sky, where the last faint gleams of evening still struggled with the coming night. A girl of about twenty, but looking older, worn with care or illness, but with a face superior to her station, she sat like an image of regret, pale-cheeked and thin, with her great dark eyes looking out into the ebbing twilight. She rose on Roderick's approach and followed him inside.
There knelt the mother crouching on the hearth, where with distended cheeks she was endeavouring to blow two peats into a blaze, that she might boil her pot and prepare their evening meal.
Tibbie's husband had been a gamekeeper on the Inchbracken property, her daughter had been employed there as seamstress, and she herself was in some sort a client of the great house. Therefore it was a point of loyalty or policy with her to keep aloof from the Free Church, and occasionally to attend at Kilrundle, but that was not very often, the church being three miles off, and she herself, as she admitted, 'no kirk greedy.' Roderick had not therefore considered her a member of his flock, and knew little of herself or her daughter or their circumstances. She was poor, but not more so than her neighbours, or much more so now than she had always been, and she had no claim to be described as she had been by Joseph Smiley either in the matter of her poverty or her high principle. She had expected a visit from the minister, and although she had no intention of devolving on him the burden of her support, which she destined for his beadle's shoulders, still she was not averse to profiting by his bounty, and had indeed arranged her little scene so as to justify any touching appeal Joseph might have made on her behalf. She had watched Joseph from the thicket after they parted, and observed his closeting with the minister at the close of the service, and knowing Roderick's eager charity, she had thought it not improbable he might visit her that very evening, and accordingly had arranged the tableau of a scanty supper as more effective than anything she could say; besides that, being honest after her fashion and shrewd, she was unwilling to lie unnecessarily.
Tibbie had risen and followed the minister into the house, looking deprecatingly at her mother over his shoulder. She revolted at the idea of charity-getting, and dreaded the references to her own affairs, which her mother might be led into.
'Here Tibbie!' said the elder woman, 'tak' the stoup an' fesh some water frae the spring on the muir, the minister micht be for a drink; ye hae nae sic water down by in the Glen, sir, sae cauld an' sae caller!'