Warlock o' Glenwarlock by George MacDonald (summer beach reads .TXT) 📖

see ye in tribbleeh, mony's the time I haud my tongue till my hert's that grit it's jist swallin' in blobs an' blawin' like the parritch whan its dune makin', afore tak it frae the fire! for I hae naething to say, an' naither coonsel nor help intil me. But last nicht, whan I leukit na for't, there cam a thoucht intil my heid, an' seein' it was a stranger, I bad it walcome. It micht hae come til a far wysser heid nor mine, but seein' it did come to mine, it wad luik as gien the Lord micht hae pitten' t' thereto the comfort an' consolation o' ane,'at, gien she be a gowk, is muckle the same as the Lord made her wi' 's ain bliss-it han'. Sae, quo' I, Is' jist submit the thing to the laird. He'll sune discern whether it be frae the Lord or mysel'!"

"Say on, Grizzie," returned the laird, when again she paused. "It sud surprise nane to get a message frae the Lord by the mou' o' ane o' his handmaidens."

"Weel, it's this, laird.I hae often been i' the gran' drawin' room, when ye wad be lattin' the yoong laird, or somebody or anither ye wantit to be special til, see the bonny things ye hae sic a fouth o' i' the caibnets again the wa's; an' I hae aye h'ard ye say o' ane o' themyon bonny little horsie, ye ken,'at they say the auld captain,'at 's no laid yet, gied to yer gran'fatherI hae aye h'ard ye say o' that,'at hoo it was solid silver'SAID TO BE,' ye wad aye tack to the tail o' 't."

"True! true!" said the laird, a hopeful gleam beginning to break upon his darkness.

"We'll, ye see, laird," Grizzie went on, "I'm no sic a born idiot as think ye wad set the possession o' sic a playock again the yoong laird's edication; sae ye maun hae some rizzon for no meltin' 't doonseem' siller maun aye be worth siller,an' gowd, gien there be eneuch o' 't. Sae, like the minister, I come to the conclusionBut I hae yer leave, laird, to speyk?"

"Gang on, gang on, Grizzie," said the laird, almost eagerly.

"Weel, lairdI winna say FEART, for I never saw yer lairdship" she had got into the way of saying LORDSHIP, and now not unfrequently said LAIRDSHIP!"feart afore bull or bully, but I cud weel believe ye wadna willin'ly anger ane 'at the Lord lats gang up and doon upo' the earth, whan he wad be far better intil't, ristin' in 's grave till the resurrectiononly he was never ane o' the sancts! But anent that, michtna ye jist ca' to min', laird,'at a gi'en gift's yer ain, to du wi' what ye like; an' I wad na heed man, no to say a cratur 'at belangs richtly to nae warl' ava','at wad play the bairn, an' want back what he had gi'en. For him, he's a mere deid man 'at winna lie still. Mony a bairn canna sleep, 'cause he's behavet himsel' ill the day afore! But gi'en, by coortesy like, he hed a word i' the case, he cudna objec'that is, gien he hae onything o' the gentleman left intil him, which nae doobt may weel be doobtfu'for wasna he a byous expense wi' his drink an' the gran' ootlandish dishes he bude to hae! Aften hae I h'ard auld Grannie say as muckle, an' she kens mair aboot that portion o' oor history nor ony ither, for, ye see, I cam raither late intil the faimily mysel'. Sae, as I say, it wad be but fair the auld captain sud contreebit something to the needcessities o' the hoose, war it his to withhaud, which I mainteen it is not."

"Weel rizzont, Grizzie!" cried the laird. "An' I thank ye mair for yer thoucht nor yer rizzons; the tane I was in want o', the tither I was na. The thing sall be luikit intil, an' that the first thing the morn's mornin'! The bit playock cam never i' my heid! I maun be growin' auld, Grizzie, no to hae thoucht o' a thing sae plain! But it's the w'y wi' a' the best things! They're sae guid whan ye get a grip o' them,'at ye canna un'erstan' hoo ye never thoucht o' them afore."

"I'm aul'er nor you, sir; sae it maun hae been the Lord himsel' 'at pat it intil me."

"We'll see the morn, Grizzie. I'm no that sure there's onything mair intil't nor a mere fule word. For onything I ken, the thing may be nae better nor a bit o' braiss. I hae thoucht mony a time it luikit, in places, unco like braiss. But Is' tak it the morn's mornin' to Jeemie Merson. We'll see what he says til 't. Gien ony body i' these pairts hae ony authority in sic maitters, it's Jeemie. An' I thank ye hertily, Grizzie."

But Grizzie was not well pleased that her master should so lightly pass the reasoned portion of her utterance; like many another prophet, she prized more the part of her prophecy that came from herself, than the part that came from the Lord.

"Sae plain as he cam an' gaed, laird, I thoucht ye micht hae been considerin' him."

The laird replied to her tone rather than her words.

"Hoots, Grizzie, wuman!" he said, "was na ye jist tellin' me no to heed him a hair? An' no ae hair wad I heed him,'cep' it wad gie ony rist til's puir wan'erin' sowl."

"I but thoucht the thing worth a thoucht, laird," said Grizzie, humbly and apologetically; and with a kind "Guid nicht to ye, laird," turned away, and went up the stairs to her room.

The moment she was gone, the laird fell on his knees, and gave God thanks for the word he had received by his messengerif indeed it pleased him that such Grizzie should prove to be.

"O Lord," he said, "with thee the future is as the present, and the past as the future. In the long past it may be thou didst provide this supply for my present needdidst even then prepare the answer to the prayers with which thou knewest I should assail thine ear. Never in all my need have I so much desired money as now for the good of my boy. But if this be but one of my hopes, not one of thy intents, give me the patience of a son, O Father."

With these words he rose from his knees, and taking his book, read and enjoyed into the dead of the night.

That same night, Cosmo, who, again in his own chamber, was the more troubled with the trouble of his father that he was no longer with him in his room, dreamed a very odd, confused dream, of which he could give himself but little account in the morningsomething about horses shod with shoes of gold, which they cast from their heels in a shoe-storm as they ran, and which anybody might have for the picking up. And throughout the dream was diffused an unaccountable flavour of the old villain, the sea-captain, although nowhere did he come into the story.


CHAPTER XXI

THE WATCMAKER


When he came down to breakfast, his father told him, to his delight, that he was going to Muir of Warlock, and would like him to go with him. He ran like a hare up the waterside to let Mr. Simon know, and was back by the time his father was ready.

It was a lovely day. There would be plenty of cold and rough weather yet, but the winter was over and gone, and even to that late region of the north, the time of the singing of birds was come. The air was soft, with streaks of cold in it. The fields lay about all wet, but there was the sun above them, whose business it was to dry them. There were no leaves yet on the few trees and hedges, but preparations had long been made, and the sap was now rising in their many stems, like the mercury in all the thermometers. Up also rose the larks, joy fluttering their wings, and quivering their throats. They always know when the time to praise God is come, for it is when they begin to feel happy: more cannot be expected of them. And are they not therein already on the level of most of us Christians who in this mood and that praise God? And indeed are not the birds and the rest of the creatures Christians in the same way as the vast mass of those that call themselves such? Do they not belong to the creation groaning after a redemption they do not know? Men and women groan in misery from not being yet the sons and daughters of God, who regard nothing else as redemption, but the getting of their own way, which the devil only would care to give them.

As they went, the laird told Cosmo what was taking him to the village, and the boy walked by his father's side as in a fairy tale; for had they not with them a strange thing that might prove the talismanic opener of many doors to treasure-caves?

They went straight to the shop, if shop it could be called, of Jeames Merson, the watchmaker of the village. There all its little ornamental business was donea silver spoon might be engraved, a new pin put to a brooch, a wedding ring of sterling gold purchased, or a pair of earings of lovely glass, representing amethyst or topaz. There a second-hand watch might be had, with choice amongst a score, taken in exchange from ploughmen or craftsmen. Jeames was poor, for there was not much trade in his line, and so was never able to have much of a stock; but he was an excellent watchmakernone better in the great cityso at least his town-folk believed, and in a village it soon appears whether a watchmaker has got it in him.

He was a thin, pale man, with a mixed look of rabbit and ferret, a high narrow forehead, and keen gray eyes. His work-shop and show-room was the kitchen, partly for the sake of his wife's company, partly because there was the largest window the cottage could boast. In this window was hung almost his whole stock, and a table before it was covered with his work and tools. He was stooping over it, his lens in his eye, busy with a watch, of which several portions lay beside him protected from the dust by footless wine-glasses, when the laird and Cosmo entered. He put down pinion and file, pushed back his chair, and rose to receive them.

"A fine mornin', Jeames!" said the laird. "I houp ye're weel, and duin' weel."

"Muckle the same as usual, laird, an' I thank ye," answered Jeames, with a large smile. "I'm no jist upo' the ro'd to be what they ca' a millionaire, an' I'm no jist upon the perrissomething atween the twa, I'm thinkin'."

"I doobt there's mair o' ane's in like condition, Jeames," responded the laird, "or we wad na be comin' to tax yer skeel at this present."

"Use yer freedom, laird; I'm yer heumble servan'. It wadna be a watch for the yoong laird? I kenna"

He stopped, and cast an anxious eye towards the window.

"Na, na," interrupted the laird, sorry to have raised even so much of a vain hope in the mind of the man, "I'm as farfrae a watch as ye are frae the bank. But I hae here i' my pooch a bit silly playock,'at's been i' the