CHAPTER XXXIV.
"_WOOED AN' MARRIED AN' A'_."
Joseph Smiley lived in a small cottage all by himself. It was not onthe main street, but built in what should have been the back yard of ahouse on that thoroughfare, and was approached by a narrow passageround the end of the house in front. It was just the place for any onewho desired retirement, being extremely private, which, strangelyenough, seems the great desideratum of all inquisitive people. Josephwas extremely expert in spelling out the affairs of his neighboursfrom external signs, and it may have been owing to that, that he kepthis own life so studiously in the shade, knowing so well how much maybe divined from passing glimpses. He spoke of his home as 'juist thebit placey whaur he bed,' 'weel eneugh for a quiet lanesome chieldlike himsel', but no' fit to tak folk til,' which was scarcely doingit justice, seeing that it was perhaps the snuggest little cabin inthe village; for Joseph was a Sybarite according to his lights. It wasthe best feather bed in the village on which he took his nightly rest,and there was a comfortably cushioned chair or two in which he mightrepose during the day. The cupboard contained pickles, spices, and agood many bottles; for his fare was dainty, and far different from thevigorous parritch on which he professed to subsist. Parritch may besaid to have been the food of his imagination, for he continuallyspoke of it, but it was with something considerably more succulentthat he nourished his material frame.
Yet Joseph enjoyed a high reputation for saving thrift.
This was owing to the fierceness of his principles, his tenacity inholding them, and the vigour with which he carried them out. There isnothing in the world so helpful as a clear understanding between a manand himself as to what it really is which he wants, and a consistentpertinacity in meaning to have it; and yet it seems even rarer thanthe self-knowledge so highly recommended. Think of the force wasted indesultory effort for the attainment of what is really not desired!
Joseph's principles might all have been resolved into one, and thatwas to take care of Joseph Smiley. Nothing was too good for thatcherished person, so he got the lead; and as nobody else ever gotanything at all, it was not more costly than an unprincipled life ofimpulse, and much more comfortable to the beloved object. Had hisbrother man been allowed to dip with him in the dish, both must havecontented themselves with plain fare, but by letting the brotherforage elsewhere, a smaller and choicer mess would be enough for therest of the party.
When Joseph went out in the morning he locked his door and handed thekey to Peggy Mathieson, his neighbour, whom he employed to make hisbed, cook his meals, and 'do' for him generally. Peggy was a lonewidow, who supplied the youth of the village with bullseyes andmarbles. She was discreet and silent, asked no questions and told notales, and knew how to make him comfortable.
On the evening of the day which had witnessed Joseph's discomfiture atAuchlippie, Peggy was engaged as usual in preparing his evening meal.The fire was lit, and the kettle set to boil, the floor swept, the teathings arranged on the table, and a neat rasher stood ready for thefrying pan when he should come in. She was giving a last look aroundto see that all was in order before retiring to her own premises, whenthe door opened and Tibbie Tirpie walked in, followed by her daughtercarrying a baby. Each had a basket on her arm, and both took seats,which they drew up to the hearth, and seated themselves, before eitherappeared to observe that any one else was present. As for Peggy, shewas a woman of few words, and her employer she knew to be what inhigher circles is called a peculiar person, that is one with whoseaffairs it is safest not to meddle, except by his particular request;therefore she stood silent waiting to be addressed.
'I wuss ye gude e'en, Peggy!' said Tibbie. 'We're juist waitin' forJoseph to come in, and we'll bide till then, e'en gin he be late; saeye needna mind stoppin' here for hiz. We'se mak out brawly our lane!'
'Aweel, Tibbie, I'se leave ye, for my yett's steikit, an' aiblinsthere's bairns wantin' some o' my sma' trokes, an' wearyin' to getin.'
'An' noo, Tibbie,' said the mother when they were left alone, 'gie methe bairn, an' gang ye til yer bed. Aiblins ye'll can sleep. Ony gatesteik yer eyen ticht, an' dinna cheep, what e'er may come o't; an'let's see gin I canna gar this balksome naig o' yours tak baith bridlean' saidle, ay, an' a lick or twa o' the whup as weel afore I'mthrough wi' him. Heest ye, lass! an' dinna staand there fummlin' wi'prins. Aff wi' yer bannet an' in wi' ye! Juist hap up weel. It's akittle job at the best, but gin I'm to hae ye at the greetin' on myhaands, forby him, I may lay by afore I begin. In wi'ye!'
Thus exhorted, the daughter lay down in the bed, and covered herselfwith the blankets.
'Turn round t'ey wa', Tibbie! Ye'd be for keekin' at ween yer eyen,an' greetin', (wha kens?) an' gin he catches sicht o' a sign o'saftness in ye, it's a' ower wi' you an' the bairn!'
The daughter complied, and Tibbie, seated before the fire, brought outcertain little habiliments from her basket, and proceeded to array hergrandchild for the night, hanging his daylight apparel on chairs, onall the chairs she could find, and marshalling them before the fire,till that staid apartment assumed the appearance not only of anursery, but of one for a dozen infants. Having got so far, she hadleisure to survey the refreshments provided for her son-in-law.
'Od, Tibbie! ye'll be rael crouse here, woman! The best o' a' thing,an' plenty! An' here's as bonny a fry o' bacon as e'er was seen! I'seon wi' 't til the fire. It gars a body's mouth water juist to see til't! He little thocht, honest man, it wad be his gudemother wad fry hissupper for him the nicht! Ay faigs! 'An' eat her share o' 't as weel.But there's little enough for twa here,' she added, going to thecupboard where the remainder of the flitch was discovered, as well asthe other little comforts and supplies with which Joseph had providedhimself.
'My certie, laad! But ye live weel! An' ye'll do credit to yergudemither or a's dune! He was aye ane o' the unco gude, an' here'sthe gude livin'! Whether it be holy livin' or no'.'
Another plentiful rasher was cut, the frying-pan laid on the coals,and Tibbie returned to her seat. But now, disturbed by so manygettings-up and sittings-down, the babe began to whimper.
'Whist, my bonny man! Ye'se hae yer share o' yer daddie's supper asweel as the lave!' And thereupon she emptied the contents of Joseph'smilk jug into a basin. Then she cut the nice new loaf and broke someof the bread into the milk; after that a contribution was levied onthe sugar basin, and lastly the singing kettle completed the graciousmess, of which the wandering heir thus unexpectedly returned to hisfather's halls partook with appetite. Then stretching himself out inhis grandmother's arms, he fell asleep.
Joseph Smiley being a beadle, and liable to be called away at alltimes and seasons, worked by the piece. He was a good workman, and socould dictate in some measure his terms. He was working on the newchurch, and having lost so much time fruitlessly in the morning, heremained at work after the other men had left. It was nearly dark,therefore, when at last he laid aside his tools and moved homewardsvery much beyond his usual hour.
He had been depressed and disgusted with himself all day. How couldhe, a man of sense as he had always supposed, and one accustomed toplay upon the weaknesses of his fellows--how had it ever come to passthat he, so clear-sighted as he thought, should have come to grief inthis utterly discreditable fashion? To himself it was incomprehensible,though to the perspicuous reader plain enough. Joseph had been tryingto do two things at once--to capture both Jean and her Mistress,meaning to use whichever might happen to answer best in the end; andhe had missed both, as any man of his intelligence should have knownwould come of it. But then small successes make a man conceited, andconceit makes a man blind (Pray to be defended from small successes,my reader!) It is the single eye which hits the mark.
As Joseph walked along the main street, a subtle fragrance seemed tohover in the air, thin, bright, appetizing, but indefined.
'Hech!' he said to himself, 'somebody has a gude supper the nicht! Iwuss I was there.'
As he neared the approach to his own dwel
ling the odour began to growspecific.
'That's bacon, an' gye an' like my ain!'
The '_close_' reached, the whole air seemed greasily aromatic. 'CanPeggy be eatin' my bacon hersel'? I ne'er catched her yet at ony sictricks; but still water's rael deep. I'se drap on her an' her nothinkin', an' hae my share o' 't, an' gin I dinna eat an' drink teaan' sugar and bread to the vailey o' a' she's stealt, I'm no JosephSmiley!'
Joseph hurried homeward so quickly, and so full of thief-catchingthoughts, that he failed to observe the gleam of the candle from hiscasement. Joseph always lighted his candle himself. It was thereforeas if some one had struck him when he threw the door open, and thecheerful light of the fire and two candles fell on his sight. Tibbieseeing a spare candlestick and a number of candles, thought that ifthe candle on the table was necessary along with the fire-light for asolitary man, it would need at least one more candle to lighten hisfamily fittingly. Wherefore she stuck a candle in the sparecandlestick, and when the daylight outside had altogether faded away,she lit the two candles and heaped fresh fuel on the hearth.
Joseph stood in the doorway contemplating the scene. Had he beendrinking? The candle was double. But no! He had washed down his dinnerwith a draft of buttermilk, and that was never known to go toanybody's head.
The air was heavy with the richness of frizzling bacon. The chairswere gathered like a palisade around the hearth, and hung all overwith baby linen. Joseph's next idea was that he had mistaken thehouse, turned up the wrong close or entry. No! There was Peggy at herback door, ostensibly sweeping something out, but, as Joseph knew fullwell, in reality watching to see what he would do or say. Was shepartner in some plot against him? Then he would leave her no excuse oropportunity to intervene and join forces with the enemy. He enteredwith as resolute a stride as he could assume, and banged the doorbehind him.
'Hm!' he coughed with a mighty effort, endeavouring to rally hissinking heart, where black foreboding sat heavily and blocked thelagging current of his blood, while cobwebs of misgiving seemedgathering in his throat, till the nearly stifled voice could hardlycome.
'Whisht man! whisht!' hissed Tibbie in her loudest whisper, from thehearth where she sat, and throwing up a warning hand. 'Ye'll waakenyer wife! Hsh! She's beddet! an' she's sleepin'.
'Tibbie Tirpie!' The exclamation hovered feebly about Joseph's lips,like the thin grey smoke that hangs over a hill of burnt whins, whenfood for fire has been exhausted, and nothing remains but black andhopeless desolation. The bag of tools slipped from his nervelessfingers with a clatter.
'Ca' canny! Joseph! or ye'll waaken yer bairn! Yer supper's juistready, sae set ye down.'
"An' wha bade ye come here, an' mak my supper,gudewife?" Page 271.]
'An' wha bade _ye_ come here? an' mak my supper, gudewife?'
'Hoot, toot, Joseph! Say naething! It's nae fash ava! Think ye yergude-mither wadna do faar mair nor that for ye? Juist bide or ye see!'
Here the baby, aroused by the talking, opened its eyes, and thegrand-mother began to shake and addle him after the usual manner ofnurses.
'Bonny man! An' did his daddie waaken him?'
'He's gotten yer ain glint o' the e'e, Joseph! Ye pawkie rascal! I'setell ye he's the gleg ane like his faither afore him.'
'Lay by, gudewife! an' get ye hame! you an' a' belangin' to ye! Ye haecarried on eneugh for ae nicht, an' I'se hae nae din here!'
Tibbie made no reply. She merely regarded the speaker with a shrug ofamusement, mingled with a dash of humorous pity, while she lifted thefrying-pan from the coals and deposited the bacon done to a nicety onthe dish. She then began to place the second rasher which she had cutin the pan; but this was more than Joseph could endure.
'Let alane o' my baacon, ye auld jad!' he cried, 'an' get ye gane! youan' a' yer tribe.'
Then followed a silence of some duration, for Tibbie did not seem tothink the last observation worthy of notice. At length, however, shespoke again.
'Are ye for nae baacon the nicht, than, Joseph? I'm thinkin' I cud eatmaist a' 'at's fried mysel'. An' I wadna say but Tibbie micht be fortryin' juist a bittie, whan she waakens out o' her first sleep.'
'Tibbie! say ye?' gasped Joseph, looking around. His eyes fell on thedisordered bed, and there they fastened, widening and rolling asthough they beheld a ghost.
'Gudesakes! Pity me! gin there's no' a wummin' i' my very bed! To thede'il wi' the weemin', say I! gin ye gang na to _them_, they'se comeefter _ye!_ Sae there's nae haudin' awa frae them!'
'Deed no! Joseph! an' that's sae. Whan it's a likely bit chappie, likeyersel'. They're no that plenty, ye see. But keep up yer heart, laad!Atween yer wife an' yer gude-mither, ye'll be clear o' the lave. Yeneedna misdoubt o' that.'
'But set ye doon an' eat yer supper, or it grows cauld,' shecontinued, at the same time selecting a piece of the bacon from thedish and putting it in her mouth with manifest relish.
'Lay by! ye auld wutch. An' awa wi' ye!' cried Joseph, roused intovigour by the raid on his provisions. 'I'se pet ye out gin ye winnagang!'
'No ye winna! Joseph. Ye hae mair sense nor raise a din whan it'syersel' wad get the dirdom o't.'
'Gang quiet then, an' gang smart!''
'An' wad ye? Honest noo! wad ye raelly pet 's a' out e'y the dark thisnicht? There's yer ain wee bairn no sax month auld. An' him juist inhis wee sark, an' a' his coats hingin' afore the fire! Wad ye noo?
'Deed then, Luckie, an' I wad!' cried Joseph, gathering courage at thetone of remonstrance he thought he detected in the old woman's voice.'An' it's no afore my fire but intil't, the duds o' yer dochter's bratsall gang, ay! an' her ain as weel! gin ye tak na them out o' here.The shameless limmer! to lay hersel' down in a decent man's bed, an'never "wi' yer leave?"' He even got so far as to begin tossing thechild's clothing together in a heap, when the old woman, snatching abrand from the hearth, struck him across the hand with the red hotend, making him desist with a scream of pain. He glared at her for aninstant as if about to rush on her, then wavered and turned round asif about to call for help.
'Noo! set ye doon, Joseph Smiley! an hear sense. Gin ye gang yaupin'an' skirlin' out there, ye'se raise a din wull do far mair scaith toyersel', nor it can til hiz. An' gin ye aince raise 't, ye'll ne'ercan lay't again! sae keep ye a calm sough, an' let me hae my say.'
It wasna muckle,' she continued, ''at I kenned o' you an' Tibbie'son-gaein's, whan I spak to ye first, an' I spak ye fair, an' ye kenwhat cam o' 't--juist naething ava, sae noo I hae fand out a'thing,an' I hae ta'en advice, an' ye beut to yield, or I can gar ye. I'llpruive yer contrac' an' promise o' mairriage by auld Forsyth 'at Iance named to ye afore, an' hoo ye garred puir Tibbie swear no' to leton, sae lang as Jess Clapperton be'd a single woman, for fear she suldhae ye up afore the shirra for breach o' promise, an' get a' yersiller frae ye for daamage. Weel she's waddet noo, sae the steek's affTibbie's mouth, an' sae she's gane an' brocht hame yer bairn, an' yebeut to tak them hame til ye, or I'se gar ye! ye dirty tinkler's tyke!Ye wad hae gotten them to set the puir lass on the cuttie stule, alango' the minister's bairn, an' _ye_ kennin' the very contrar yer ainsel'! But, my certie! gin scaith or scorn e'er fa's on _her_, it's_ye_ sall stand aside her, an' tak yer share! An' Jean Macaulay wad bethe first to fling the rotten eggs at ye--ye leein' brock! Didna Ihear ye evenin' my dochter t'ey cuttie stule afore Jean, wi' my ainlugs, an' garrin' auld Elspeth lauch? Od! but I'd hae liket to pu' theill scrapit tongue out o' yer leein' head! An' what's mair, I'se do'tyet, gin ye tak na tent. But there's nae gude, ye an' me to gangfechtin'. We ken ane anither by noo--yer character's gane, and yername o' godliness in Glen Effick, an' ye'se be peuten out o' thebeadleship, gin ye mak a fash--an' the shirra wad gar ye tak her aftera'. Sae juist ye tak thocht in time, an' say naething ava! Ye hae nasped sae waur as mony anither birkie laad, 'at wad before tryin' onhis gemms. For Tibbie's a decent lass an' a bonny, tho' it's me 'atsays't, (an' ne'er a word wad there hae been o' her, gin it hadna beenfor that auld rinketer Briggs, my leddy's wumman up by), an' she liketye rael weel ance
, an' she may again, gin ye're juist ordnar gude tilher.'
Joseph sat and listened with a lengthening visage, and his finger inhis mouth. He felt very foolish. A scandal would ruin him in GlenEffick, and after the scene of the morning he had nothing to hope fromthe good opinion of his whilom patroness Mrs. Sangster, or his latesweetheart Jean Macaulay. He would become the common talk, and no girlworth anything would have a word to say to him. He felt like some gaybutterfly caught by the heel in a cobweb of gossamer. Why flutter hispretty wings any more? They would only get broken for nothing. Hewould never fly again! The admiring flowers would spread their rosybosoms all in vain, and breathe their fragrant sighs. Poor, poorLothario! His day was done. He was caught at last. And there like adreadful spider sat Tibbie, his (to be) mother-in-law, regarding himwith red-rimmed eyes, and opening her mouth to devour--well, if nothim, at least his bacon. As he looked, she selected another temptingslice (it was cooling now), and her jaws closed on it with a snap,followed by a snort of relish.
'Aweel, Tibbie! Ye can gang hame for the nicht, you an' yer dochter. Iwad like to think ower't, an' sleep on't.'
'Fient a stap her or me sall gang out ower yer door, Joseph Smiley,afore Sawbith! We micht na get in sae chancey next time. O' Sawbithshe'll gang linket wi' ye t'ey Kirk, an' I'se walk ahint ye, carryin'yer bairn. Sae ye maun speak t'ey minister the morn, an' speir him tobaptise't. An' sae ye'll can explain a' thing t'ey minister yersel',afore they hae time to raise clashes. Ye can juist tell the tale aboutJess Clapperton, 'at ye made a fule o' puir Tib wi'. I wad na say butit micht do for the minister very weel, an' _ye_ ken hoo to put legsan' arms til't as weel as the next ane. Ye was ne'er at a loss for alee in yer life, Josey, my man, I'm thinkin'! Losh keep me! I'mthinkin' I've begood to like ye a'ready! It'll be yer ain fau't gin Ibe na the _gude_ mither to ye, forby the gude-_mither_. Set ye doonnoo, an' tak yer supper. I'm fear'd it's cauld for ye, an' ye'll haeto drink yer tea wantin' the milk. Wee Josey drank that a while syne.It's a' e'y family! An' syne, I'm fear'd ye'll hae to sleep e'y fluirfor the nicht; for me an' the bairn's gaun in aside Tibbie.'
Joseph groaned in spirit, and ate his supper in silent despair. Notone kick of resistance was left in his miserable soul, and hesubmitted to his fate as meekly as Sindbad, after some experience ofthe old man of the sea, found it best to do.
Tibbie devoted her attention to the entertainment of the young heir,who seemed to enjoy his return to the paternal hall, and rode on herknee crowing in the highest spirits, to the enlivening strains of--
'Wooed sn' married an' a','
which his grandam lilted to him, with just a suspicion of malice inher humorous triumph.
Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama Clamosa Page 34