CHAPTER XV.
MOTHER AND DAUGHTER.
One lovely summer evening Dawtie, with a bundle in her hand, looked from
the top of a grassy knoll down on her parents' turf cottage. The sun was
setting behind her, and she looked as if she had stepped from it as it
touched the ground on which she stood, rosy with the rosiness of the
sun, but with a light in her countenance which came from a higher
source, from the same nest as the sun himself. She paused but a moment,
ran down the hill, and found her mother making the porridge. Mother and
daughter neither embraced, nor kissed, nor even shook hands, but their
faces glowed with delight, and words of joy and warmest welcome flowed
between them.
"But ye haena lost yer place, hae ye, hinny?" said the mother.
"No, mother; there's no fear o' that, as lang's the laird or Miss Lexy's
to the fore. They tret me--I winna say like ane o' themsel's, but as if
they would hae likit me for ane o' themsel's, gien it had pleased the
Lord to sen' me their way instead o' yours. They're that guid to me ye
canna think!"
"Then what's broucht ye the day?"
"I beggit for a play-day. I wantit to see An'rew."
"Eh, lass! I'm feart for ye! Ye maunna set yer hert sae hie! An'rew's
the best o' men, but a lass canna hae a man til hersel' jist 'cause he's
the best man i' the warl'!"
"What mean ye by that, mother?" said Dawtie, looking a little scared.
"Am I no' to lo'e An'rew, 'cause he's 'maist as guid's the Lord wad hae
him? Wad ye hae me hate him for't? Has na he taught me to lo'e God--to
lo'e Him better nor father, mither, An'rew, or onybody? I _wull_ lo'e
An'rew! What can ye mean, mother?"
"What I mean, Dawtie, is, that ye mamma think because ye lo'e him ye
maun hae him; ye maunna think ye canna du wantin' An'rew!"
"It's true, mother, I kenna what I should do wantin' An'rew! Is na he
aye shovin' the door o' the kingdom a wee wider to lat me see in the
better? It's little ferly (_marvel_) I lo'e him! But as to wantin'him
for my ain man, as ye hae my father!--mother, I wad be ashamet o' mysel'
to think o' ony sic a thing!--clean affrontit wi' mysel' I wad be!"
"Weel, weel, bairn! Ye was aye a wise like lass, an' I maun lippen til
ye! Only luik to yer hert."
"As for no' lo'ein' him, mither--me that canna luik at a blin' kittlin'
ohn lo'ed it!--lo, mither! God made me sae, an didna mean me no' to lo'e
An'rew!"
"Andrew!" she repeated, as if the word meant the perfection of earth's
worthiest rendering the idea of appropriation too absurd.
Silence followed, but the mother was brooding.
"Ye maun bethink ye, lass, hoo far he's abune ye!" she said at length.
As the son of the farmer on whose land her husband was a cotter, Andrew
seemed to her what the laird seemed to old John Ingram, and what the
earl seemed to the laird, though the laird's family was ancient when the
earl's had not been heard of. But Dawtie understood Andrew better than
did her mother.
"You and me sees him far abune, mother, but Andrew himsel' never thinks
o' nae sic things. He's sae used to luikin' up, he's forgotten to luik
doon. He bauds his lan' frae a higher than the laird, or the yerl
himsel'!"
The mother was silent. She was faithful and true, but, fed on the dried
fish of logic and system and Roman legalism, she could not follow the
simplicities of her daughter's religion, who trusted neither in notions
about him, nor even in what he had done, but in the live Christ himself
whom she loved and obeyed.
"If Andrew wanted to marry me," Dawtie went on, jealous for the divine
liberty of her teacher, "which never cam intil's heid--na, no ance--the
same bein' ta'en up wi' far ither things, it wouldna be because I was
but a cotter lass that he wouldna tak his ain gait! But the morn's the
Sabbath day, and we'll hae a walk thegither."
"I dinna a'thegither like thae walks upo' the Sabbath day," said the
mother.
"Jesus walkit on the Sabbath the same as ony ither day, mother!"
"Weel, but He kenned what He was aboot!"
"And sae do I, mother! I ken His wull!"
"He had aye something on han' fit to be dune o' the Sabbath!"
"And so hae I the day, mother. If I was to du onything no fit i' this
His warl', luikin' oot o' the e'en He gae me, wi' the han's an' feet He
gae me, I wad jist deserve to be nippit oot at ance, or sent intil the
ooter mirk (_darkness_)!"
"There's a mony maun fare ill then, lass!"
"I'm sayin' only for mysel'. I ken nane sae to blame as I would be
mysel'."
"Is na that makin' yersel' oot better nor ither fowk, lass?"
"Gien I said I thoucht onything worth doin' but the wull o' God, I wad
be a leear; gien I say man or woman has naething ither to do i' this
warl' or the neist, I say it believin' ilkane o' them maun come til't at
the lang last. Feow sees't yet, but the time's comin' when ilkabody will
be as sure o' 't as I am. What won'er is't that I say't, wi' Jesus
tellin' me the same frae mornin' to nicht!"
"Lass, lass, I fear me, ye'll gang oot o' yer min'!"
"It 'll be intil the mind o' Christ, then, mother! I dinna care for my
ain min'. I hae nane o' my ain, an' will stick to His. Gien I dinna mak
His mine, and stick til't, I'm lost! Noo, mother, I'll set the things,
and run ower to the hoose, and lat An'rew ken I'm here!"
"As ye wull, lass! ye'r ayont me! I s' say naething anent a willfu'
woman, for ye've been aye a guid dochter. I trust I hae risen to houp
the Lord winna be disappointit in ye."
Dawtie found Andrew in the stable, suppering his horses, told him she
had something to talk to him about, and asked if he would let her go
with him in his walk the next day. Andrew was delighted to see her, but
he did not say so; and she was back before her mother had taken the milk
from the press. In a few minutes her father appeared, and welcomed her
with a sober joy. As they eat their supper, he could not keep his eyes
off her, she sat looking so well and nice and trim. He was a
good-looking, work-worn man, his hands absolutely horny with labor. But
inside many such horny husks are ripening beautiful kingdom hands, for
the time when "dear welcome Death" will loose and let us go from the
grave-clothes of the body that bind some of us even hand and foot.
Rugged father and withered mother were beautiful in the eyes of Dawtie,
and she and God saw them better than any other. Good, endless good was
on the way to them all! It was so pleasant to be waiting for the best of
all good things.
