Of no account

by Ruth Lamb

"Do not say 'beast,'" remarked Mr. Drummond, with a good-humoured smile.

"I won't. I was stuck for a word, and didn't like to say that, seeing it isn't fair on the beasts, that only drink when they're thirsty, and know nothing about reeling zig-zag to their kennels. Maybe I might ha' said drinking till they have to stay from work on Monday, to sleep themselves sober. I reckon I've a right to spend my Sunday as I like, so long as I'm always up to time at Rutherford's."

It would have been strange if there had not been a spice of doggedness somewhere in Adam Livesey's composition. The man who had all his life manifested such firmness in resisting the temptations to self-indulgence, such steadiness and industry in his humble calling, such patient consideration for mother and wife in turns, was almost certain to carry some of these excellencies to the extreme. His very firmness was sure to have a stubborn side, and Mr. Drummond detected its whereabouts.

Adam held strong views with regard to outside interference from his employers, and, to use a homely phrase, "his back was up" the moment the manager made an allusion to the mode in which he and his family spent their Sabbaths. His tone was alike resentful and expressive of injury received, and the conversation had reached this point when Adam uttered almost the identical words with which this account of his life begins.

"I am never a minute behind my time, and I work as long as any man does in all the place. I never stopped a job by being off a single day when there was anything to do, and for what need this new man be poking and prying into what I do on Sundays? I've a right to do as I like, and I shall too, for all his meddling."

These were Adam's thoughts, and Mr. Drummond had little difficulty in reading them, though he answered only the words.

"It does not matter to me, in one sense," he said, "but it does in another. We have had a very pleasant talk together, and you have been kind enough to tell me a good deal about yourself and those at home. I know you are not reckoned a great talker, and so I felt your frankness the more. I cannot help seeing what a life of constant toil it has been, and, as a man who feels for and sympathises with his brother man, I thank God you have not made worse of things, either for yourself or those who depend on you for bread. I honour you for your patience, steadiness and industry, but you must not be offended if I wish for you something better still. Do not think me a meddler for speaking of what is outside Rutherford's."

Adam felt a little ashamed. Mr. Drummond's politeness rebuked his ungracious manner and dogged utterance. He seemed to have read his thoughts too, and answered them, for had he not felt very angry with him for interfering with his freedom of action outside the works? He was, however, too confused to reply, and the manager added, "Once I was like you. I thought it was enough to give six days' work to my employers, and to be just in all my dealings, doing harm to no one. But I was led to see that I had to answer for more than my six days' work, that there were duties to God, my neighbour, and my own soul, that called for my urgent attention. I was very proud of the work done, but I forgot to be humble on account of what I left undone, or did amiss. There were calls which I had not answered, opportunities neglected, privileges despised, gifts received without thankfulness, and Sabbaths misused. Perhaps I turned them to more account than you do, for I was restless and eager to get on in the world. I often spent them in calculations and plans for bettering myself. I did not even rest, but I brought all the anxieties of the other six days into the Sunday. Then I was led to think and act differently."

Adam's dogged manner was all gone, charmed away he hardly knew how, and he was eager to hear more. But the children were coming, and the boom of a great clock was borne to their ears by a favourable breeze. This told the striker that Maggie would be expecting their return, and there was a good mile between the park and home.

Mr. Drummond rose from the bench also. "No time now to tell you what brought new life and light and joy to my life, Adam. But it was through a message which God was pleased to send me. And it is because my whole being has been changed and made glad by it, that I want everybody else to have the same joy. The man who brought me the message is in Millborough now, holding some mission services. I wish you would go and hear him, Livesey. His name is Kennedy, and the room is in Aqueduct Street. Good-bye."