The Starling.

Clutha Leader, Volume VI, Issue 335, 12 March 1880, Page 7

The Starling.

i_ :.? [BT NORMAN MACLEOD, D.D.] t CHAPTER XXVII. - Dr Scott, as the readsr knows, had fr yisited Adam, and felt a great interest iin His patient. The Doctor was a man of few words, very, shy, and, as has !been^ indicated, even abrupt »nd gruff. ?luß only affectation being his desire to appear devoid of any feeling- which might seem to interfere with severe medical treatment or a surgical operation., He liked to be thought stem and decided.. The fact was that his intense sympathy pained him, and he tried to steel himself against it. When he scolded his patients it was because they made, him suffer so much, and because, moreover, he was angry with . himself for being angry with them. He therefore affected unconcern at the very time when his anxiety for a patient made him sleep- 1 less, and compelled him often, when in bed, to read medical journals with the aid of a long yellow candle, instead of spending in sieep such portions of bis night-life as the sick permitted him to enjoy. He bad watched Adam's whole conduct as an elder— had heard much about bis labours from his village patients—and, as the result of his obserYations, bad come to the conclusion that he was a man of a rare and right •tamp. When the * disturbance,' as it was called, about the starling agitated ,• the, community, few ever heard the. Doctor express his opinion on the great question ; but many listened to his loud laugh— wondering as to its meaning — when the case was mentioned, and how oddly he stroked his chin, as if to calm his merriment. Soine friends who were more in his confidence beard him titter such phrases, in alluding to the matter, as ' only ministerial indigestion, 1 * ecclesiastical hysteria,' — -form 3 of evil, by the way, which are rarely dealt with in Church courts. H:'a attendance on the Sergeant was, therefore, a duty which was personally agreeable to him. He was oot very hopeful of success, however, from the time when the fever developed into tpyhoid of a malignant and extremely infectious type. The first thing which the Doctor i ;, advised, as being necessary for the Ser- j geant's recovery, was the procuring of a sick-nurße. Poor Katie protested against the proposal. What could any one do, she argued, that she herself was not fit for ? What cared she for aleep ? She never indeed at any time slept soundly — ;so she alleged — and could do with very little sleep nc all times ; she was easily wakened vp — the scratch of a mouse would do it ; and Adam woull do her bidding, for he was always so good and kind : a stranger, moreover, would but irritate him, and ' put herseP aboot.' And who could be got to assist? Who would risk their life 1 Had not others their own family to attend to ? Would they bring the fever into their own house ? &c. * Na, na,' she concluded, ' lee Adam tae me, and God will provide V So she reasoned, as one taught by observation and experience ; for most people in country villages — now a? then — are apt to be seized with panic in the presence of any disease pronounced to be dagerous and contjgiou*. Its mystery affects their imagination It looks like a doom that cannot be averted ; — & very purpose of G<»d, to oppose which is vaiu. To procure, therefore, a nurse for the sick, except among near relations, is extremely difficult j unless it be some worthless creature who will drink the wine intended for the patient, or consume the delicacies left for his nourishment. We have known, when cholera broke out in a county town in Scotland, a strangpr nurse refused even lodiiintrs in any house within it, lest she should spread the disease ! It was a chill and gu«tv evening, and Katie sat beside the fire in the Sergeant's room, her mind full of * hows' and ' whens.' and tossed to and fro, by anxiety about her Adam, and questionings as to what she should or could do for his couiforf. The rising- wind shook the bushes and tree-tops in the I little garden. The dust in clouds hurried along the street of the village. The sky was dark with gathering signs of rain. Yhere was a depressing sadness in the world without, and little cheer in the room within. . The Sergeant lay in a sort of uneasy restless doze, sometimes tossing his hands, starting up and asking where he was, and then falling back again on his pillow with a heavy sigh. Although his wife was not seriously alarmed, she was nevertheless very miserable at heart, and felt unutterably lonely. But for her quiet faith in God, and the demand made upon her for active exertion, she would have yielded to passionate grief, or fallen into sullen despair. Her thoughts . were, suddenly disturbed by little Mary telling her that some one was at the street door. Bidding Mary take her place, she hastened to the : kitchen and opened the door Jock Hall entered in his usual unceremonious way. * Ye needna speak, Mistress Mercer,' he said as he sat down on n chair near the door ; 'I ken a' aboot it !' Katie was as much startled as she was the first time he enterfd he,r honse. His appearance as to dress and resppct- ,.-:, ability was however unquestionably, irn- '* proved. _. r . . ' ' Jock Hall, as J declare !' exclaimed Katie in a whisper.

* The same at yer service ; and yet no' jist the same,' replied Jock in as low a voice. 'Ye may say sac,' said Katie. What's conae ower yel Whaur hae ye been ? Whaur got, ye thae claes 1 Ye' re like a gentleman, Jock !' 1 1 houp sac,' replied Hall ; , * I oucht to- be f»ae ; F gat a' this frae Adam.' 'The guidmanT inquired Katie; *■ that's impossible!- He never hs»d claes like thae !' ' Olaes or no claes,' said Jock, 'it's him I got them frae ' ' F dinna understan' hoo that can be,' said Katie, * Nor me. 1 said Jock ; * but sac it is, and never speer the noo hoo it is. I'm com' 1 , as usual, on business.' ' Say awa',' said Katie, « but speak laigb. Ft's no' shoon yer needin', j houp V But we must here explain that Jock had previously called upon Dr Scott, and thrusting his head into the surgnry — his body and its new dress being concealed by the half-opened door — asked — * Is't true that Sergeant Mercer has got a smittal fiwer ?' The Doctor, who was writing some prescription, on discovering who the, person was who put this question, said no more in reply than — ' Deadly ! deadly ! so ye need not trouble them, Jock, by begging at their door — be off! 1 ' Mrs Mercer,' replied Jock, ' wull need a nurse — wuli she V * You had better go and get your friend Mrs Craigie for her, if tha'.'s what von are after. She'll help Mary,' replied the Doctor, in derision * Thank ye !' said Jock, and disappeared. But to return to his interview with Mrs Mercer—' I'm telt, Mrs Mercer,' he said, * that the Sergeant is awfu 1 ill wi' a smittal fivver, and that he needs soma nurse — that is, as I understan', some ane that wad watch him dav and nicht,* and keep their een open like a wbitrat ; somebody that wadna heed hae.in' muckle tae do, and that could haud a quid but freen'ly grip o' VI r Mercer gif his nerves vise An' I hae been thinkin' yell fin't a bother tae get sic a bodie in Drum^ylie — unless, maybe, ane that wed wark for a hantle o' siller; some decent woman like Luckie Craigie, wha tnicht ' * Dinna bother me the non, Jock, wi' ony nonsense, said Knti«, I'm no fir fort. If ye need onything 1 versel', tell me what it is, and, if possible, I'll gie yet. But I maun gang back tae tnr. room,' ' Ay,' said Jock, * F want something frae ye. nae doot, and I houp I'll get i r . I want an pxtrnordinar' favour o' ye ; f >r, as I was saun", yell fin't ill tne sr«*t ony ane to watch Mr Mercer. Bur if I 2-et ane that doesna care for their life — that respecs and loes Adam — that wadna tske a bawbee o' sMer ' * As for that o't, I'll pay them decently,' interrupted Katie. * And ane that,' continued Jock as if not interrupted, 'has strength tap watch wi' leevin 1 man or woman, — what wad ye. say tae, sic a canny nurse as that V * If there's sic a bodie in the toon,' replied Katie. ' I wad be blvthe tae try them ; no' tae fix them, maybe, but to try, as the Doctor insists on't.' < Weel.' said Jock, ' the favour I hae to ax, altho' it's ower muckle for you tae gie, is to let me try my ban' — let me speak, and dinna lanch at me ! I'm no' f-ered for death, as I hae been inony a time feered for life : I hae. had by ordinal' experience watchin', ye ken, as a poacher, fisher, and a 1 that kin' o' thing", sin' I was a bairn ; sac I can sleep wi 1 my een open : and I'm strong, for F hae thrashed keepers, and tevlors. and a' sorts n folk ; fac 1 , I was tempted tae gie a blue cc tne Smellie '.—but let sleepin' dogs lie — I'll mak' a braw nurse for the gudeman.' Katie was taken so much aback by this speech as to ]ci Jock go on without interruption ; but she at last exclaimpd — c Ye're a kind cratur, Jock, and I'm' muckle obleeged to you ; but T really canna think o't. Ft 'ill no 1 work ; it wad pit ye abocf, an' mak' a cleish-me-claver in the toon : an' — an' ' * I care as little for the toon,' said Jock, 'us the toon cares for me ! Yell no' be bothered wi' me, mind, f?if ye let roe help ye. I bae got clean pease straw for a bed frae Geordie Miller the carrier, and a sackfu' for a bowster ; and I ken ye hae a sort o' lafr, and I'll pit np there ; and ir's no often I hae sic a bed ; and cauld parritch or cauld praties wull dae for my meat, an' F need nae mair ; an* I hae braw thick stockin's — I can pit on twa pair if necesear', tae walk as quiet as a cat stealin' cream ; sac gif yell let me, I'll do ray best endeavours rae help ye.' ' Oh, Jock, man! 1 said Mrs Meropr, • ye're unco quid. * I'll think o't — I'll think o't, and speer ab the Dactor— l wull, indeed ; and if sac be he needs — Whisht! What's that?' ejaculated Katie, starting from her ybair, as little Mary entered the kitchen hurriedly. I saying— * Come ben fast mither !' Katie was in a moment beside her husband, who for the first time manifested symptoms of violent excitement, declaring that he must rise and dres« for church, as he heard the eight o'clock bells ringing. In vain'she expostulated with him in the tenderest manner. He ought to rise, he said, and would rise. Was he not an elder ? and haci he c not to Btand k at the plate 1 and would he for

any consideration be late ? What did she mean ? Had she lost her senses? And so on. This was the climax of a weary and terribly anxious time for Katie. For some nights she had, as elie said, hardly ' booed an cc,' and every day her lonely sorrow wa« becoming truly .' too deep for Tears.' The. unexpected visit of even Jock Hall had helped tor a moment to cause a reaction and to take, her out of herself; and now that she. perceived beyond doubt, what she was slow hitherto to believe, that her husband ' wasna bimsel ' — nay, that even she was strdnye to him, and was addressed by him in accents and with expressions betokening irritation- towards her, and with words which were, for the first time, wanting 1 in lovp, — she became bewildered, and felt as if God indeed sent. her a terrible chastisement. It was fortunate that Hall had called — for neither her arguments nor her strength conld avail on the present occasion. She immediately summoned Jock to her assistance. He was already behind her, for he ~had quickly cast off his boots, and approached the bed softly and gently, on perceiving the Sergeant's state.. With a strong' hand he laid the Sergeant back on his- rullow, saying 1 , ' Ye will gang- to the kirk, Sergeant, bpt I maun tell ye something 1 afore ye gang. Yel l mind Jock Hall T him that ye gie.d the boots to ? An' yel l mind Mr Spence. the keeper ?' I hae got an erran' fraa him tae you. He Slid ye wad be glad' tae hear frae him.' The Seryernt stared at Jock with a half excited half-stupid gaze. But the chain of his associations had for a moment been broken, and he was quiet as a child, the bells ringing no more as he paused to hear about his old friend Spence. JockV first experiment at nursing had proved successful. He was permitted, therefore, for that night only, as Katie said, to occupy the loft, to which he brought his straw bed and straw bolster; and his presence proved, more than once during 1 the night, an invaluable aid. 'I be Doctor called' nexfc morning. Among 1 his other causes for anxiety, one, and not the least, had been the impossibility of finding a respectable nurse. He was therefore not a little astonished to discover Jock Hall, the * ne'er-do-weel,' well dressed, and attending the Sergeant. He did not at first ask any explanations of ?o unexpected a phenomenon, but af once admitted that he was better than none. Rut before leaving, and after questioning Jock, and striving- bis whole demeanour, an 1 ! moreover, after hearing something about him from Mrs Mercer, he smiled ami said, * Keep him by all means — F .think I can answer for him ; and muttering to himself, * Peculiar temperament — hvsterieal, but curable with diet — a character — will take fancies — seems fond of the Sergeant. — contagious fev'-r — we shall try him by all means.' ' Don't drink ?' he abruptly asked Jock. ' Like a bpast,' Jock repliei ; 'for a bpHst drinks jhr when ho needs it Doctor, and sue div I ; hut I dinna need it noo, and wirma need it, I think, a' my day*.' * You'll d'>,' snid the Doctor ; and so Jock was officially appointed to be. Adam's nurse.' Adam Mercer lav many we.nry days wi'h the fever heavy upon him — like a ship Iving to in a hurricane, when ihe only question is. which will last longest, the storm or the ship ? Those who hvive watched bes'de a lingering case of fever ran alone comprehend the. effect which intense anxiety, during a few weeks only. caused by the hourly conflict of' hopps and fears th»t kindle hope, an ut.distinguishablp throns 1 / produces on the whole nervous system. Katie was brought into deep waters. She had never taken it home to herself that Adam might die. Their life had hitherto been quite- and even. — so like, so very like, was day to' dav, that no storm was anticipated to disturb the blessed calm. And now at the prospect, of losinir him, and being 1 left alone in the wide, wide wilderness, without, hnr companion and guide ; her earthly all — in spite of the unearthly links of faith and love that bound them — lo*t to her; no one who has thu? suffered will wonder that hfir whole flesh shrunk as from the approach of a terrible enemy. Then it was that old truths lvinjr in her heart were, summoned to her aid, to become practical powers in this her hour of need. She recalled all she had lesrned as to God's ends in sending affliction, with the, corresponding duties of a Christain in receiving it. She w-i< made to realize in her experience the S*ulf which separates knowing from being and doing — the right theory from the rijrht practice. -And thus i r was that during a night of watching pup- fought a great, battle in her soul between her own will and God's will, in her endeavour to .-say, not with h^r lips, for that was easy, but from her heart, • Tbv will be done !' CKten did she exclaim to herself, ' Na, God forgifl me, but. I canna s*.y't !' and as often resolved, that *sav't she wad, or dee..' A t early morn, wh*n she opened the shutters, after this long 1 mental, struggle, and fiavy the g-o]den dawn spreading its eflfulgpnce of glory along- ♦•he eastern sky, steeping 1 the clouds with splendours of every hue from' the rising 1 sun of heaven, himself as yet unseen ; and heard the birds salute his coming — the

piping thrush and blackbird beginning their morning hymn of praisp, with the lark * singing like an angel in the clouds '— a gush of holy love and confidence filled her heart, as if through earth and sky she heard the echo of her Fathers name. Meekly losing herself in the universal peace, she sank down on her knees, beside the old arm-chair, and' with a flood of quiet tear?, that eased' her burning heart, she said, * Father £ Thy will be done !' In a 1 shore time she rose with such a feeling of peace and freedom as she had' never hitherto experienced in*. h»r best and happiest hours. A great weight o-f care seemed liftpd off as if by some mighty baud'; and though she dared not affirm that she was now prepared for whatever might happen, she had yet an assured confidence in the goodness of One who would prepare her when the time, came, ..anrl. whose grace would be sufficient for her in any hour of need*; The interest felt by the- parish generally, on the Sergeant's dangerons state becoming known, was great and siocere. In tbepresence of his sufferings, with" which* all could more oi less smypathise — whether from their personal experience of sorrow, from family bereavements, or from tfrs consciousness of their own liability;- to be at any moment visited with dangerous sickness — his real or supposed'fai liners were for the time covered with a mantlo of charity. It was not for them to stiike a sorely wounded man. Alas ! for one that will rejoice with those who rejoice, man}' will weep with those who wepp. Sympathy with another's joy is always an unselfish feeling;- but pity only for another's snffer-ing-may hut express the condescension of pride towards dependent weakness. But it is neither gracious nor comforting to scrutinise too narrowly the motives which influence human nature in its mixture of good and evil, its weakness and strength. Wa know that we cannot stand such microscopic examination ourselves, and ought not, therefore, to apply it, to others. Enough that much real sympathy was felt for Adam. Some of its manifestations at an earlier stage of his illness were allude.d to by Miss Thomasina in her conversation with Mr Smeliie. It was true that Mrs Gordon called in her carriage, and that repeatedly, to inquire for him — a fact, which greatly impressed those in the neighbourhood who had treated him as a man far beneath them. Mr Qordon, too, hnd been unremitting -in quiet attention^ ; and Mrs Mercer was greatly softener!, and her heart delivered from it* hard thoughts of many of her old ncq«i:m>*ances, by the kind and constant inquiries which day by day were made for her husband. Little. Mary had to act as a sort of daily bulletin as she opened the door to reply to those .who ' sppered for the Serjeant ; ' but r,o one entered the dwelling, from the natural fears enrerbiined by all of the fever. Many, trio, spoke well of the Sergeant when lie was ' de^psiired of,' who would, havp. be.f-n silent respecting his merits hail he bppn in "health. Others also, no doubt, would have waxed, eloquent about him after his burial. But would it not be w^ll if those who act on the principle of saving all that is good about the dend, were to spend some portion of their charity upon the living? Their post-mortem. store would not he diminished by such previous expenditure. No doubt it is • bptter lnte than never ;' but would it not he still better if never so late ? . Perhaps not ! So fVir as the good man himself is concerned, it muv be as well that th*». World should not learn, nor praise him for, the many premiums he has paid day by day for th« {rood of posterity until th^se are returned, like an insurance palicy, in gratitude after he is screwed down in his coffin.