Chapter XIII: Conclusion (8)

"'It is braw talking, Kirsty,' said I, 'but I see nae necessity for persons that hae been visited wi' a misfortune such as we met wi', and wha hae suffered sae much on account o' it, to let their pride do them an injury or exceed their discretion. Consider that we hae a rising family to provide for.'

"'Consider what ye like,' quoth she, 'but, if ye accept the siller, consider what will be the upshot. Ye would hae to be hat in hand to him at all times and on all occasions. Yer very bairns would be, as it were, his bought slaves. No, William, tak back the money--I order ye!'

"'Ye _order_ me!' cried I, 'there's a guid ane!--and where got ye authority to order me. If ye will hae the siller taen back, tak it back yersel.'

"Without saying another word, she absolutely whipped it off the table, every plack and bawbee, into her apron; and, throwing on her rockelay and hood, set aff to the laird's wi' it, where, as I was afterwards given to understand, she threw it down upon his table wi' as little ceremony as she had sweept it aft' mine.

"Ye may weel imagine that baith my astonishment and vexation were very considerable. I had seen a good deal o' Kirsty, but the act o' taking back the siller crowned a'!

"'Losh!' said I, in the pure bitterness o' my spirit, 'that caps a'!--that is even worse than destroying the machine, wi' the stacks and stabling into the bargain!'

"'What do ye mean about destroying the machine, faither?' inquired Janet and David, almost at the same instant--'who do ye say destroyed it?'

"'Naebody,' said I, angrily, 'naebody!'--for I found I had said what I ought not to hae said.

"'Really, faither,' said Janet, 'whatever it may be that ye think and hint at, I am certain that ye do my mother a great injustice if ye harbour a single thought to her prejudice. It may appear rather proud-spirited her takin back the siller, though I hae na doubt, in the lang run, but we'll a' approve o' it.'

"'That is exactly what I think, too,' said David.

"'Oh, nae dout!' said I, 'nae dout o' that!--for she has ye sae learned, that everything she does, or that ony o' ye does, is always right; and whatever I do must be wrang!' and I went oot o' the house in a pet, driving the door behind me, and thinking about the machine and the loss o' the siller.

"Hooever, I am happy to say, that although Kirsty did tak back the money to the laird and leave it wi' him, yet, as I have already hinted to ye, through her frugal management, within a few years we got the better o' the burning. But there is a saying, that some folk are no sooner weel than they're ill again--and I'm sure I may say that at that time. I no sooner got the better o' the effects o' ae calamity, until another overtook me. Ye hae heard what a terrible dirdum the erecting o' toll-bars caused throughout the country, and upon the Borders in particular. Kirsty was one o' those who cried oot most bitterly against them. She threatened, that if it were attempted to place ane within ten miles o' oor farm, she would tear it to pieces with her ain hands.

"'Here's a bonny time o' day, indeed!' said she, 'that a body canna gang for a cart-load o' coals or peats, or tak their corn, or whatever it may be, to the market, but they must pay whatever a set o' Justices o' the Peace please to charge them for the liberty o' driving along the road. Na, na! the roads did for our faithers before us, and they will do for us. They went alang them free and without payment, and so will we; for I defy any man to claim, what has been a public road for ages, as his property. Only submit to such an imposition, and see what will be the upshot. But, rather than they shall mak sic things in this neighbourhood, I will raise the whole countryside.'

"Unfortunately in this, as in everything else, she verified her words. A toll-bar was erected within half-a-mile o' oor door Kirsty was clean mad about it. She threatened not only to break the yett to pieces, but to hang the toll-keeper owre the yett-post if he offered resistance. I thought o' my machine, and said little; and the more especially because every ane, baith auld and young, and through the whole country, so far as I could hear, were o' the same sentiments as Kirsty. There never was onything proposed in this kingdom that was mair unpopular. And, I am free to confess, that, with regard to the injustice o' toll-bars, I was precisely o' the same way o' thinkin' as my wife--only I by no means wished to carry things to the extremes that she wished to bring them to.

"I ought to tell ye, that our laird was more than suspected o' being the principal cause o' us having a toll-bar placed so near us, so that we could neither go to lime, coals, nor market, without gaun through it. I was, therefore, almost glad that my wife had taken back the siller to him, lest--as I was against raising a disturbance about the matter--folk should say that my hands and tongue were tied wi' the siller which he had given me back; for, if I didna wish to be considered the slave o' my wife, as little did I desire to be thought the tool o' my landlord. But, ae day, I had been in at Dumfries in the month o' July, selling my wool; I had met wi' an excellent market, and a wool-buyer from Leeds and I got very hearty thegether. He had bought from me before; and, on that day, he bought all that I had. I knew him to be an excellent man, though a keen Yorkshireman--and, ye ken, that the Yorkshire folk and we Scotchmen are a gay tight match for ane anither--though I believe, after a', they rather beat us at keeping the grip o' the siller; but as I intended to say, I treated him, and he treated me, and a very agreeable day we had. I recollect when he was pressing me to hae the other gill, I sang him a bit hamely sang o' my ain composing. Ye shall hear it.

Nay, dinna press, I winna stay,
For drink shall ne'er abuse me;
It's time to rise and gang away--
Sae neibors ye'll excuse me.

It's true I like a social gill,
A friendly crack wi' cronies;
But I like my wifie better still,
Our Jennies an' our Johnnies.

There's something by my ain fireside--
A saft, a haly sweetness;
I see, wi' mair than kingly pride,
My hearth a heaven o' neatness

Though whisky may gie care the fling,
It's triumph's unco noisy;
A jiffy it may pleasure bring,
But comfort it destroys aye.

But I can view my ain fireside
Wi' a' a faither's rapture;--
Wee Jenny's hand in mine will slide,
While Davy reads his chapter.

I like your company and yer crack,
But there's ane I loo dearer,
Ane wha will sit till I come back,
Wi' ne'er a ane to cheer her.

A waff o' joy comes owre her face
The moment that she hears me;
The supper--a' thing's in its place,
An' wi' her smiles she cheers me.

However, I declare to you, it was very near ten o'clock before I left the house we are sitting in at present, and put my foot in the stirrup. But, as my friend Robin says--

'Weel mounted on my grey mare Meg,'

I feared for naething; and, though I had sixteen lang Scots miles to ride, I thought naething aboot it; for, as he says again--

'Kings may be great, but I was glorious,
Owre a' the ills o' life victorious!'

But, just as I had reached within about half a mile o' the toll-bar that had been erected near my farm, I saw a sort o' light rising frae the ground, and reflected on the sky. My heart sank within me in an instant. I remembered the last time I had seen such a light. I thought o' my burning stackyard, o' my ruined machine, and o' Kirsty! My first impulse was to gallop forward, but a thousand thoughts, a thousand fears cam owre me in an instant; and I thought that evil tidings come quick enough o' their ain accord, without galloping to meet them. As I approached the toll-bar, the flame and the reflection grew brighter and brighter; and I heard the sound o' human voices, in loud and discordant clamour. My forebodings told me, to use Kirsty's words, what would be the upshot. I hadna reached within a hundred yards o' the bar, when, aboon a' the shouting and the uproar, I heard her voice, the voice o' my ain wife, crying--'Mak him promise that it shall ne'er be put up again--mak him swear to it--or let his yett gang the gaet o' the toll-yett!'

"In a moment all that I had dreaded I found to be true. At the sound o' her voice, hounding on the enraged multitude, (though I didna altogether disapprove o' what they were doing,) I plunged my spurs into my horse, and galloped into the middle o' the outrageous crowd, crying--'Kirsty! I say, Kirsty! awa hame wi' ye! What right or what authority had ye to be there?'

"'Hear him! hear him!' cried the crowd, 'Willie has turned a toll-bar man, and a laird man, because the Laird once offered him the half o' his rent back again! Never mind him, Kirsty!--we'll stand yer friends!'

"'I thank ye, neighbours,' said she, 'but I require nae body to stand as friends between my guidman and me. I ken it is my duty to obey him, that is, when he is himsel', and comes hame at a reasonable time o' nicht; but not when he is in a way that he doesna ken what he's saying, as he is the nicht.'

"'Weel done, Mistress Wastle!' cried a dozen o' them; 'we see ye hae the whip-hand o' him yet!'

"'The mischief tak ye!' cried I, 'for a wheen ill-mannered scoundrels; but I'll let every mother's son and dochter among ye ken whase hand the whip is in!'

"And, wi' that, I began to lay about me on every side; but, before I had brought the whip half-a-dozen o' times round my head, I found that the horse was out from under me; and there was I wi' my back upon the ground, while, on the one side, was a heavy foot upon my breast, and, on the other, Kirsty threatening ony ane that would injure a hair o' her husband's head; and my son David and James Patrick rushing forward, seized the man by the throat that had his foot upon my breast, and, in an instant, they had him lying where I had lain; for they were stout, powerfu' lads.

"But when I got upon my feet, and began to recover from the surprise that I had met wi', there did I see the laird himsel, standing trembling like an ash leaf in the middle o' the unruly mob--and, as ringleader o' the whole, my wife Kirsty shaking her hand in his face, and endeavouring to extort from him a promise, that there never should be another toll-bar erected upon his grounds, while he was laird!

"'Kirsty!' I exclaimed, 'what are ye after? Are ye mad?'

"'No, William!' cried she, 'I am not mad, but I am standing out for our rights against injustice; and sorry am I to perceive that, at a time when everybody is crying out and raising their hand against the oppression that is attempted to be practised upon them, my guidman should be the only coward in the countryside.'

"'William Wastle!' said the terrified laird, whom some o' them were handling very roughly, (and principally, I must confess, at the instigation o' Kirsty,) 'I am glad to see that I have one tenant upon my estate who is a true man; and I ask your protection.'

"'Such protection as I can afford, sir,' said I, 'ye shall have; but, after the rough handling winch I have experienced this very moment, I dout it is not much that is in my power to afford ye.'

"'Get yer faither awa to his bed, bairns!' cried my wife, as I was driving my way through the crowd to the assistance o' the laird; and I'll declare, if my son David, and James Patrick, didna actually come behind me, and, lifting me aff my feet, carried me shouther-high a' the way to my bedroom; and, in spite o' my threats, expostulations, and commands, locked me into it.

"Weel, thought I, as I threw myself down upon the bed, without taking aff my claes, (partly because I found my head wanted ballast to tak them aff,) I said unto mysel--'This comes o' having a wise and headstrong wife, and bairns o' her way o' bringing up. But if ever I marry again and hae a family, I shall ken better how to act.'

"Notwithstanding all that I had undergone and witnessed, in the space o' ten minutes, I fell fast asleep; and the first thing that I awoke to recollect--that is, to be conscious o'--was my daughter Janet rushing to my bedside, and crying--'Faither! faither! my mother is a prisoner!--my poor dear mother, and James Patrick also!--and I heard the laird saying that they would baith be transported, as the very least that could happen them for last night's work, which I understand will be punished more severely than even highway robbery!'

"I awoke like a man born to a consciousness o' horror, and o' naething but horror. All that I had seen and heard and encountered on the night before, was just as a dream to me, but a dismal dream I trow.

"'Where is yer mother?' I gasped, 'or what is it that ye are saying, hinny? and--where is James Patrick?'

"'Oh!' cried my darling daughter, 'before this time they are baith in Dumfries jail, for pu'ing down and burning the toll-yetts, and threatening the life o' the laird. But everybody says it will gang particularly hard against my mother and poor James; for, though every one was to blame, they were what they ca' ringleaders.'

"I soon recollected enough o' the previous night's proceedings to comprehend what my daughter said. I hurried on my claes, and awa I flew to Dumfries. But I ought to tell ye, that the laird's servants had ridden in every direction for assistance; and having got three or four constables, and about a dozen o' the regular military, all armed wi' swords and pistols, they made poor Kirsty and James Patrick, wi' about a dozen others, prisoners, and conveyed them to Dumfries jail.

"When I was shewn into the prison, Kirsty and James, and the whole o' them, were together. 'O Kirsty, woman!' said I, in great distress, 'could ye no hae keepit at hame while my back was turned! Why hae ye brought the like o' this upon us? I'm sure ye kenned better! _Was the destruction o' the machine and the stackyard no a warning to ye!_'

"'William,' answered she, 'what is it that ye mean?--is this a time to cast upon me yer low-minded suspicions? Had ye last nicht acted as a man, we micht hae got the laird to comply wi' our request; but it is through you, and such as you, that everything in this unlucky country is gaun to destruction; and sorry am I to say that ill o' ye--for a kind, a good, and a faithfu' husband hae ye been to me, William.'

"'O sir!' said James Patrick, coming forward and taking me by the hand, 'may I just beg that ye will tak my respects to yer dochter Janet; and, I hope, that whatever may be the issue o' this awkward affair, that she will in no way look down upon me, because I happen to be as a sort o' prisoner in a jail.' My heart rose to my mouth, and I hadna a word to say to either my wife or him.

"'Weel," said I, as I left them, 'I must do the best I can to bring baith o' ye aff; and, to accomplish it, the best lawyers in a' Scotland shall be employed.'

"But to go on--at a very great expense, I, and the faither o' James Patrick, had employed the very principal advocates that went upon the Dumfries circuit; and they tauld us that we had naething to fear, and that we might keep ourselves quite at ease.

"I was glad that my son David hadna been seized and imprisoned, as weel as his mother and James Patrick, for he also had been ane o' the ringleaders in the breaking doun and burning o' the toll-bars, and in the assault upon the laird. But he escaped apprehension at the time, and I suppose they thought that they had enough in custody to answer the ends o' justice and the law, and, therefore, he was permitted to remain unmolested.

"Now, sir, comes the most melancholy part o' my story. I had a quantity o' wool to deliver to the Yorkshire buyer, I hae already mentioned, upon a certain day. My son David was to drive the carts wi' it to Annan. It was sair wark, and he had but little sleep for a fortnight thegether. It caused him to travel night and day, load after load. Now, I needna tell ye, that at that period the roads were literally bottomless. The horse just went plunge, plunging, and the cart jerking, now to ae side, and now to another, or giein a shake sufficient to drive the life out o' ony body that was in it. Now, the one wheel was on a hill, and the other in a hollow; or, again, baith were up to the axle-tree in mud, or the horse half-swimming in water! And yet people cried out against toll-bars! But, as I hae been telling ye, my son David had driven wool to Annan for a fortnight, and he was sair worn out. The roads were in a dreadful state--worse than if, now-a-days, ye were to attempt to drive through a bog.

"Ae night, when he was expected hame, his sister Janet, and mysel' sat lang up waiting upon him, and wondering what could be keeping him, when a stranger rode up to the door, and asked if 'one Mr William Wastle lived there?' I replied 'Yes!' And, oh! what think ye were his tidings, but that my name had been seen upon the carts, that the horses had stuck fast in the roads, and that my son David, who had fallen from the shafts, had either been killed, or drowned among the horses' feet!

"I thought his brothers and sisters, and especially Janet, would have gane oot o' their judgment. As for me, a' the trials I had had were but as a drap in a bucket when compared wi' this!

"But, after I had mourned for a night, the worst was to come. Hoo was I to tell his poor imprisoned mother!--imprisoned as she wis for opposing the very thing that would hae saved her son's life!

"Next day I went to Dumfries; but I declare that I never saw the light o' the sun hae sic a dismal appearance. The fields appeared to me as if I saw them through a mist. Even distance wasna as it used to be. I was admitted into the prison, but I winna--oh no! I canna repeat to ye the manner in which I communicated the tidings to his mother! It was too much for her then--it would be the same for me now! for naething in the whole coorse o' my life ever shook me so much as the death o' my poor David. But I remember o' saying to her, and I declare to you upon the word o' a man, unthinkingly--'O Kirsty, woman! had we had toll-bars, David might still hae been living!'

"'William, William!' she cried, and fell upon my neck, 'will ye kill me outright!' And, for the first time in my life, I saw the tears gushing down her cheeks. Those tears washed away the very remembrance o' the machine, and the burning o' the stacks. I pressed her to my heart, and my tears mingled wi' hers.

"I believe it was partly through our laird that baith Kirsty and James Patrick were liberated without being brought to a trial. Her imprisonment, and the death o' our son, had wrought a great change upon my wife; and I think it was hardly three months after her being set at liberty, that we were baith sent for to auld John Neilson the barnman's, whose wife Peggy lay upon her death-bed. When we approached her bedside, she raised herself upon her elbow, and said--'The burning o' yer barn and stackyard has always been a mystery--hear the real truth from the words o' a dying and guilty woman. Yer machine had thrown my husband out o' employment, and when yer wife there gied me back the pipe, a whuff o' which I said would do her good, _I let the burning dottle drap among the straw_--nane o' ye observed it--ye were a' leaving the barn. Now, ye ken the cause--on my death-bed I make the confession.'

"I declare I thought my heart would hae louped out o' my body. I pressed my wife, against whom I had harboured such vile suspicions, to my breast. She saw my meaning--she read my feelings.

"'William,' said she, kindly, 'if ye hae onything on yer mind that ye wish to forget, so hae I; let us baith forget and forgie!'

"I felt Kirsty's bosom heaving upon mine, and I was happy.

"Within six months after this, James Patrick and our dochter Janet were married; and an enviable couple they then were, and such they are unto this day. And, as for my Kirsty, auld though she is, and though the sang says--

'I wadna gie a button for her,'

auld, I say, as she is, and wi' a' her faults, I would gie a' the buttons upon my coat for her still, and a' the siller that ever was in my pouch into the bargain."

[Footnote 4: Mr Allan Cunningham, in his Life of Burns, states the following particulars respecting Willie's wife:--viz., that "He was a farmer, who lived near Burns, at Ellisland. She was a very singular woman--tea, she said, would be the ruin of the nation; sugar was a sore evil; wheaten bread was only fit for babes; earthenware was a pickpocket; wooden floors were but fit for thrashing upon; slated roofs, cold; feathers good enough for fowls. In short, she abhorred change: and whenever anything new appeared--such as harrows with iron teeth--'Ay! ay!' she would exclaim, 'ye'll see the upshot!' Of all modern things she disliked china most--she called it 'burnt clay,' and said 'it was only fit for haudin' the broo o' stinkin' weeds,' as she called tea. On one occasion, an English dealer in cups and saucers asked so much for his wares, that he exasperated a peasant, who said, 'I canna purchase, but I ken ane that will. Gang there,' said he, pointing to the house of Willie's wife, 'dinna be blate or burd-moothed; ask a guid penny--she has the siller!' Away went the poor dealer, spread out his wares before her, and summed up all by asking a double price. A blow from her crummock was his instant reward, which not only fell on his person, but damaged his china. 'I'll learn ye,' quoth she, as she heard the saucers jingle, 'to come wi' yer brazent English face, and yer bits o' burnt clay to me!' She was an unlovely dame--her daughters, however, were beautiful."--ED.]

THE STONE-BREAKER.

If any of our readers had had occasion to go out, for a couple of miles or so, on the road leading from Edinburgh to the village of Carlops, any time during the summer of the year 1836, they would have seen a little old man--very old--employed in breaking metal for the roads. The exact spot where _we_ saw him, was at the turn of the eastern shoulder of the Pentland Hills; but the nature of his employment rendering him somewhat migratory, he may have been seen by others in a different locality. In the appearance of the old stone-breaker, there was nothing particularly interesting--nothing to attract the attention of the passer-by--unless it might be his great age. This, however, certainly was calculated to do so; and when it did, it must have been accompanied by a painful feeling at seeing one so old and feeble still toiling for the day that was passing over him; and toiling, too, at one of the most dreary, laborious, and miserable occupations which can well be conceived. Had the old man no children who could provide for the little wants of their aged parent, without the necessity of his still labouring for them--who could secure him in that ease which exhausted nature demanded? It appeared not. Perhaps it was a spirit of independence that nerved his weak arm, and kept him toiling so far beyond the usual term of human capability. Probably the proud-spirited old man would break no bread but that which he had earned by the sweat of his brow and the labour of his hands. Perhaps it was so. At any rate, this we know, that, at the early hour of five in the morning, as regularly as the morning came, the old stone-breaker had already commenced his monotonous labour. But this was not all. He had also, by this early hour, walked upwards of four miles--for so far distant was the scene of his occupation from the place of his residence, Edinburgh. He must, therefore, have left home between three and four o'clock, and this was his daily round, without intermission, without variation, and without relaxation. A bottle of butter-milk and a penny loaf formed each day's sustenance. His daily earnings, labouring from five in the morning till six at night, averaged about ninepence! Hear ye this, ye who ride in emblazoned carriages! Hear ye this, ye loungers on the well-stuffed couch!--and hear it, ye revellers at the festive board, who have never toiled for the luxuries ye enjoy! Hear it, and think of it! But of this person we have other things to tell; and to these we proceed.

One morning, just after he had commenced the labours of the day, a young man, of about four or five and twenty years of age, accosted him, wished him a good morning, and seated himself on the heap of broken metal on which the old man was at work, and did so seemingly with the intention of entering into conversation with him. This was a proceeding to which the latter was much accustomed, it being a frequent practice with the humbler class of wayfarers. The advances of the stranger, therefore, in the present instance, did not for a moment interrupt his labours, or slacken his assiduity. He hammered on without raising his head, even while returning the greetings that were made him.

"A delightful view from this spot," said the young man, breaking in upon a silence which had continued for some time after the first salutations had passed between them.

"Yes," said the old man, drily; and, continuing his operations, he again relapsed into his usual taciturnity; for, in truth, he was naturally of a morose and uncommunicative disposition. Undeterred by his cold, repulsive manner, the stranger again broke silence, and said, with a deep-drawn sigh--

"How I envy these little birds that hop so joyously from spray to spray! Their life is a happy one. Would to God I were one of them!"

The oddness of the expressions, and the earnestness with which they were pronounced, had an effect on the labourer which few things had. They induced him to pause in his work, to raise his head, and to look in the face of the speaker, which he did with a smile of undefinable meaning. It was the first full look he had taken of him, and it discovered to him a countenance open and pleasing in its expression, but marked with deep melancholy, and telling, in language not to be misunderstood, a tale of heart-sickness of the most racking and depressing kind.

"Has your lot been ill cast, young man, that ye envy the bits o' burds o' the air the freedom and the liberty that God has gien them?" said the old man, eyeing the stranger scrutinizingly, with a keen, penetrating grey eye, that had not even yet lost all its fire.

"It has," replied the latter. "I have been unfortunate in the world. I have struggled hard with my fate, but it has at length overwhelmed me."

The old man muttered something unintelligibly, and, without vouchsafing any other reply, resumed his labours. After another pause of some duration, which, however, he had evidently employed in _thinking_ on the declaration of unhappiness which had just been made him--

"Some folly o' your ain, young man, very likely," said he, carelessly, and still knapping the stones, whose bulk it was his employment to reduce.

"No," replied the young man, blushing; but it was a blush which he who caused it did not see. "I cannot blame myself."

"Nae man does," interposed the stone-breaker; "he aye blames his neighbours."

"Perhaps so," rejoined the stranger; "but you will allow that it is perfectly possible for a man to be unfortunate without any fault on his own part."

"I hae seldom seen't," replied the ungracious and unaccommodating old man; and he hammered on.

"Well, perhaps so," said the youth; "but I hope you will not deny that such things _may_ be."

"Canna say," was the brief, but sufficiently discouraging rejoinder.

"Then let us drop the subject," said the stranger, smilingly. "Each will still judge of the world by his own experience. But, methinks, your own case, my friend, is a hard enough one. To see a man of your years labouring at this miserable employment, is a painful sight. Your debt to fortune is also light, I should believe."

"I hae aye trusted mair to my ain industry than to fortune, young man. I never pat it in her power to jilt me. I never trusted her, and therefore, she has never deceived me; so her and me are quits." And the old man plied away with his long, light hammer.

"Yet your earnings must be scanty?"

"I dinna compleen o' them."

"I daresay not; but will you not take it amiss my offering this small addition to them?" And he tendered him a half-crown piece. "I have but little to spare, and that must be my apology for offering you so trifling a gift."

The man here again paused in his operations, and again looked full in the face of the stranger, but without making any motion towards accepting the proffered donation.

"I thocht ye said ye war in straits, young man," he said, and now resting his elbow on the end of his hammer.

"And I said truly," replied the former, again colouring.

"Then hoo come ye to be sportin yer siller sae freely? I wad hae thocht ye wad hae as muckle need o' a half-croon as I hae?"

"Perhaps I may," replied the stranger; "but that's not to hinder me from feeling for others, nor from relieving their distresses so far as I can."

"Foolish doctrine, young man, an' no' for this warl. It's nae wunner that ye're in difficulties. I guessed the faut was yer ain, and noo I'm sure o't. Put up yer half-croon, sir. I dinna tak charity."

"I hope, however, I have not offended you by the offer? It was well meant."

"Ou, I daresay--I'm no the least offended; but tak an auld man's advice, an' dinna let yer feelins hae the command o' yer purse-strings, otherwise ye'll never hae muckle in't."

And the churlish old stone-breaker resumed his labours, and again relapsed into taciturnity. Silent as he was, however, it was evident that he was busily thinking, although none but himself could possibly tell what was the subject of his thoughts; but this soon discovered itself. After a short time, he again spoke--

"What may the nature an' cause o' yer defeeculties be, young man, an' I may speer?" he said--"and I fancy I may, since ye hae been sae far free on the subject o yer ain accord."

"That's soon told," replied the stranger. "Three years ago, an aunt, with whom I was an especial favourite, left me two hundred and fifty pounds. With this sum I set up in business in Edinburgh in the ironmongery line, to which I was bred. My little trade prospered, and gradually attained such an extent that I found I could not do without an efficient assistant, who should look after the shop while I was out on the necessary calls of business. In this predicament I bethought me of my brother, who was a year older than myself, and accordingly sent for him to Selkirkshire, where he resided with our father, assisting him in his small farming operations; this being the business of the latter. My brother came; and, for some time, was everything I could have wished--sober, regular, and attentive; and we thus got on swimmingly. This, however, was a state of matters which was not long to continue. When my brother had about completed a year with me, I began to perceive a gradual falling off in his anxiety about the interests of our little business. I remonstrated with him on one or two occasions of palpable neglect; but this, instead of inducing him to greater vigilance, had the effect only of rendering him more and more careless. But I did not then know the worst. I did not then know that, in place of aiding, he was robbing me. This was the truth, however. He had formed an infamous connection with a woman of disreputable character, and the consequence was the adoption of a regular system of plunder on my little property, to answer the calls which she was constantly making on my unfortunate relative.

"About this time I took ill, and, not suspecting the integrity of my brother, although aware of his carelessness, I did not hesitate to trust him with the entire conduct of my affairs. Indeed, I could not help myself in this particular; he best knowing my business, and being, besides, the natural substitute for myself in such a case. For three months was I confined, unable to leave my own room; and, when I did come out, I found myself a ruined man. In this time, my brother had appropriated almost every farthing that had been drawn to his own purposes; and had, moreover, done the same by some of my largest and best outstanding accounts; and, to sum up all, he had fled, I knew not whither, on the day previous to that on which I made my first appearance in my shop after my recovery. That is about ten days since."

"Did the rascal harry ye oot an' oot?" here interposed the old stone-breaker, knapping away with great earnestness.

"No; there was a little on which he could not lay his hands--some considerable accounts which are payable only yearly; there was also some stock in the shop; but these, of course, are now the property of my creditors."

"But could ye no get a settlement wi' them, an' go on?" inquired the other, still knapping away assiduously. "I'm sure if you stated your case, your creditors wadna be owre hard on ye."

"Perhaps they might not; but there is one circumstance that puts it out of my power to make any attempt at arrangement. There is one bill of fifty pounds, due to a Sheffield house, on which diligence has been raised, and on which I am threatened with instant incarceration. In truth, it is this proceeding that has brought me here so early this morning. I expected to have been taken in my bed, as the charge was out yesterday, and I am here to keep out of the way of the messengers. I am thus deprived of the power of helping myself--of taking any steps towards the adjustment of my affairs."

"An' could ye do any guid, think ye, if that debt wur paid, or in some way arranged?" inquired the other.

"I think I could;" said the party questioned. "My good outstanding debts are yet considerable, and so is the stock in the shop; so that, had a little time been allowed me, I could have got round. But all that is knocked on the head, by the impending diligence against me. That settles the matter at once, by depriving me of the necessary liberty to go about my affairs."

"It's a pity," said the man, drily. "Wha's the man o' business in Edinburgh that thae Sheffield folk hae employed to prosecute ye? What ca' ye him?"

"Mr Langridge."

"Ou ay, I hae heard o' him. An will he no gie ye ony indulgence?"

"He cannot. His instructions are imperative, otherwise he would, I am convinced; for he is an excellent sort of man, and knows all about me and my affairs. Indeed, so willing was he to have assisted me, that, when the bill was first put into his hands, he wrote to his clients, strongly recommending lenient measures and bearing testimony, on his own knowledge, to the hardship of my case; but their reply was brief and peremptory. It was to proceed against me instantly, and threatening him with the loss of their business if he did not. For this uncompromising severity they assigned as a reason, their having been lately 'taken in,' as they expressed it, to a large extent, by a number of their Scotch customers. So Mr. Langridge had no alternative but to do his duty, and let matters take their course."

"True," replied the monosyllabic stone-breaker. It was all he said, or, if he had intended to say more, which, however, is not probable, no opportunity was afforded him; for at this moment three labouring men of his acquaintance, who were on their way to their work, came up and began conversing. On this interruption taking place, the young man rose, wished him a good morning, which was merely replied to by a slight nod, and went his way.

At this point in our story, we change the scene to the writing chambers of Mr. Langridge, and the time we advance to the evening of the day on which our tale opens.

It will surprise the reader to find our old stone-breaker, still wearing the patched and threadbare clothes, the battered and torn hat, and the coarse, strong shoes, which had never rejoiced in the contact of blacking brush, in which he prosecuted his daily labours, ringing the door-bell of Mr Langridge's house, about eight o'clock in the evening. It will still more surprise him, perhaps, to find this man received, notwithstanding the homeliness, we might have said wretchedness, of his appearance, by Mr Langridge himself with great courtesy, and even with a slight air of deference.

On his entering the apartment in which that gentleman was, the latter immediately rose from his seat, and advanced, with extended hand, towards him.

"Ah, Mr Lumsden," he exclaimed, "how do you do? I hope I see you well. Come, my dear sir, take a chair." And he ran with eager civility for the convenience he named, and placed it for the accommodation of his visiter.

When the old man was seated--

"Well, my dear sir," said Mr Langridge, "I am sorry to say that _your rents_ have not come so well in this last half-year as usual. We are considerably short." And the man of business hurried to a large green painted tin box, that stood amongst some others on a shelf, and bore on its front the name of Lumsden, and from this drew forth what appeared to be a list or rent roll, which he spread out on the table. "We are considerably short," he said. "There's six or eight of your folks who have paid nothing yet, and as many more who have made only partial payments."

"Ay," said the man, crustily, "what's the meanin' o' that? Ye maun just screw them up, Mr Langridge; for I canna want my siller, and I winna want it. Hae thae folk Thamsons, paid yet?"

"Not a shilling more than you know of," replied Mr Langridge.

"Weel, then, Mr Langridge, ye maun just tak the necessary steps to recover; for I'm determined to hae my rent. I'm no gaun to aloo mysel' to be ruined this way. They wadna leave me a sark to my back, if I wad let them. Ye maun just sequestrate, Mr Langridge--ye maun just sequestrate, an' we'll help oorsels to payment, since they winna help us."

"Oh, surely, surely, my dear sir. All fair and right. But I would just mention to you, that though, latterly, they have been dilatory payers--I would say, shamefully so--they are yet decent, honest, well-meaning people, these Thomsons; and that, moreover, there is some reason for their having been so remiss of late, although it is, certainly, none whatever why you should want your rent."

"No, I fancy no," here interposed the other, with a triumphant chuckle.

"No, certainly not," went on Mr Langridge, who seemed to know well how to manage his eccentric client; "but only, I would just mention to you, that the _reason_ of the dilatoriness of the Thomsons, is the husband's having been unable, from illness, to work for the last three months, and that, in that time, they have also lost no less than two children. It is rather a piteous case."

"An' what hae I to do wi' a' that?" exclaimed the other, impatiently. "What hae I to do wi' a' that, I wad like to ken? Am I to be ca'ed on to relieve a' the distress in the world? That wad be a bonny set o't. Am I to be robbed o' my richts that others may be at ease? That I winna, I warrant you. See that ye recover me thae folk's arrears, Mr Langridge, by hook or by crook, and that immediately, though ye shouldna leave them a stool to sit upon. That's _my_ instructions to _you_."

"And they shall be obeyed, Mr Lumsden," replied the man of business--"obeyed to the letter. I merely mentioned the circumstance to you, in order that you might be fully apprized of everything relating to your tenants, which it is proper you should know."

"Weel, weel, but there's nae use in troublin' me wi' thae stories. I dinna want to be plagued wi' folk makin' puir mouths. There's aye a design on ane's pouch below't. By the bye, Mr Langridge," continued he, after a momentary pause, "hae ye a young chield o' an airnmonger in your hauns enow about some bill or anither that he canna pay."

"The name?" inquired Mr Langridge, musingly.

"Troth that I cannot tell you; for I never heard it, and forgot to speer."

"Let me see--oh, ay--you will mean, I dare say, a young man of the name of John Reid, poor fellow?"

"Very likely," said the client; "Is he a young man, an airnmonger to business, and hae ye diligence against him enow on a fifty pound bill, due to a Sheffield hoose?"

"The same," replied Mr Longridge. "These are exactly the circumstances. How came you, Mr Lumsden," he added, smilingly, "to be so well informed of them?"

"I'll maybe explain that afterwards; but, in the meantime, will ye tell me what sort o' a lad this Mr Reid is? Is he a decent, weel-doin' young man?"

"Remarkably so," replied Mr Langridge, "remarkably so, Mr Lumsden. I can answer for that; for I have known him now for a good while, and have had many opportunities of estimating his character."

"Then hoo cam he into his present difficulties?"

"Through the misconduct of a brother--entirely through the misconduct of a brother." And Mr Langridge proceeded to give precisely the same account of the young man's misfortunes, and of the present state of his affairs, that he himself had given to the old stone-breaker, as already detailed to the reader. When he had concluded--

"It seems to me rather a hard sort o' case," said the client. "But could you no help him a wee on the score o' lenity?"

"I would willingly do it if I could; but it's not in my power. My instructions are peremptory. I dare not do it but with a certainty of losing the business of the pursuers, the best clients I have."

"Naething, then, 'll do but payin' the siller, I suppose?" said the other.

"Nothing, nothing, I fear. My clients seem quite determined. They are enraged at some smart losses which they have lately sustained in Scotland, and will give no quarter."

"Then I suppose if they _war_ paid, they would be satisfied," said the stone-breaker.

"Ha, ha, ha! Mr Lumsden, no doubt of _that_," exclaimed Mr Langridge, laughing. "That would settle the business at once."

"I fancy sae," said the other, musingly. Then, after a pause--"An' think ye the lad wad get on if this stane were taen frae aboot his neck?"

"I have no doubt of it--not the least," replied Mr Langridge, "for I have every confidence in the young man's industry and uprightness of principle. But he has no friend to back him, poor fellow: no one to help him out of the scrape."

"Ye canna be quite sure o' that, Mr Langridge," said the old man. "What if I hae taen a fancy to help him mysel?"

"You, Mr Lumsden!--you!" exclaimed Mr Langridge in great surprise. "What motive on earth can you have for assisting him?"

"I didna say that I meant to assist him--I only asked ye, what if I took a fancy to do't?"

"Why, to that I can only say that, if you have, he is all right, and will get his head above water yet. But you surprise me, Mr Lumsden, by this interest in Reid. May I ask how it comes about?"

"I'll tell you a' that presently, but I'll first tell you that I _do_ mean to assist the young man in his straits. I'll advance the money to pay that bill for him. Will ye see to that, then, Mr Langridge? Put me doon for the amount oot o' the funds in your hauns, and stay further proceedins."

Mr Langridge could not express the surprise he felt on this extraordinary intimation from a man who, although there were some good points in his character, notwithstanding of the outward crust of churlishness in which it was encased, he never believed capable of any very striking act of generosity. Mr Langridge, we say, could not express the surprise which this unlooked-for instance of that quality in Mr Lumsden inspired, nor did he attempt it; for he justly considered that such expression would be offensive to the old man, as implying a belief that he had been deemed incapable of doing a benevolent thing. Mr Langridge, therefore, kept his feelings, on the occasion, to himself, and contented himself with promising compliance, and venturing a muttered compliment or two, which, however, were ungraciously enough received, on the old man's generosity.

"But whar's the young man to be fand?" inquired the latter.

"Why, that I cannot well tell you," replied Mr Langridge; "for I was informed, in the course of the day, by the messengers whom I employed to apprehend him, that he had left his lodging early in the morning, no doubt in order to avoid them, and they could not ascertain where he had gone to."

"Humph, that's awkward," replied the client. "I wad like to find him."

"I fear that will be difficult," replied Mr Langridge; "but I will call off the bloodhounds in the meantime, and terminate proceedings."

"Ay, do sae, do sae. But can we no get haud o' the lad ony way?"

At this moment, a rap at the door of the apartment in which was Mr Langridge and his client, interrupted further conversation on the subject.

"Come in," exclaimed the former.

The door opened, and in walked two messengers, with Reid a prisoner between them. We leave it to the reader to conceive the latter's surprise, on beholding his acquaintance of the morning, the old stone-breaker, seated in an arm-chair in Mr Langridge's writing-chamber. But while he looked this surprise, he also seemed to feel acutely the humiliation of his position. After a nod of recognition, he said, with an attempt at a smile, and addressing himself to the old man--

"You see they have got me after all, my friend. But it was my own doing. On reflection, I saw no use in endeavouring to avoid them, and gave myself up, at least, threw myself in their way, in order to encounter the worst at once, and be done with it."

"I daresay ye was richt, after a'," replied the stone-breaker; "it was the best way. Mr Langridge," he added, and now rising from his seat, "wad ye speak wi' me for a minnit, in another room?"

"Certainly, Mr Lumsden," replied Mr Langridge.

"Will we proceed with the prisoner?" inquired one of the messengers.

"No, remain where you are a moment, till I return;" and Mr Langridge led the way out of the apartment, followed by the old stone-breaker. When they had reached another room, and the door had been secured--

"Noo, Mr Langridge, anent what I was speaking to ye about regarding this young man wha has come in sae curiously upon us, juist whan we were wanting him--I dinna care to be seen in the matter, sae ye maun juist manag't for me yersel."

"Had ye no better enjoy the satisfaction of your own good deed in person, Mr Lumsden, by telling Mr Reid of the important service you intend doing him?"

"I'll do naething o' the kind," replied the old stone-breaker, testily. "I dinna want to be bothered wi't. Sae juist pay ye his bill and charges, Mr Langridge, an' keep an e'e on his proceedins afterwards, an' let me ken frae time to time hoo he's gettin on."

With these instructions Mr Langridge promised compliance; and, on his having done so, the stone-breaker proposed to depart; but, just as he was about doing so, he turned suddenly round to his man of business, and said--

"About the Tamsons, Mr Langridge, ye needna, for a wee while, tak thae staps again them that I was speakin aboot. Let them alane a wee till they get roun a bit."

"I'll do so, Mr Lumsden," replied the worthy writer, who, the reader will observe, had accomplished his generous purpose dexterously. He knew his man, and acted accordingly.

"What's their arrears, again?" inquired the other.

"Half-a-year's rent--L3, 17s.," replied Mr Langridge.

"Ay, it's a heap o' siller--no to be fan at every dyke side. An' then, there's this half-year rinning on, an' very near due. That'll mak--hoo much?"

"Just L7, 14s. exactly, Mr Lumsden."

"Ay, exactly," replied the latter, who had been making a mental calculation of the amount, and had arrived, although more slowly than his experienced lawyer, at the same result. "A serious soom," added the client.

"No trifle, indeed, Mr Lumsden," said Mr Langridge; "but it's safe enough. They're honest people."

"Ye'r aye harpin on that string," replied the stone-breaker, surlily; "but what signifies their honesty to me, if they'll no pay me my rent?"

"True, very true," said the law agent. "That's the only practical honesty."

"See you an' get thae arrears, at ony rate, oot o' them, _if_ ye can, Mr Langridge; an', if ye canna, I suppose we maun juist want them. Ye needna push owre hard for them either, since they're in the state ye say. But ye'll surely mak the present half-year oot o' them. That maun be paid. Mind _that_, at ony rate, maun be paid, Mr Langridge." And saying this, he placed his old tattered hat, which he had hitherto held in his hand, on his head, and left the house.

On his departure, Mr Langridge hastily entered the apartment in which, he had left the messengers with their prisoner.

"We're just waiting marching orders, Mr Langridge," said the latter, on his entering, and making an attempt at playfulness, with which his spirit but ill accorded. "My friends here are getting tired of their charge, and anxious to be relieved of him."

"Are they so, Mr Reid?" replied Mr Langridge, smiling.

"Why, then, we had best relieve them at once." Then turning to the principal officer--"Quit your prisoner, Maxwell--the debt is settled. Mr Reid, you are at liberty."

The blood rushed to poor Reid's face, and then withdrew, leaving it as pale as death, and yet he could express no part of the feelings which caused these violent alternations. At length--

"Mr Langridge," he said, "what is the meaning of this? How do I come to be liberated?"

"By the simplest and most effectual of all processes, Mr Reid," replied the worthy writer, smiling; "by the payment of the debt."