Alec Forbes of Howglen | Page 2

respected than
liked, because his forte was rebuke. It was from deference to him that
the carpenter had assumed a mental position generating a poetic mood
and utterance quite unusual with him, for he was a jolly, careless kind
of fellow, well-meaning and good-hearted.
So together they lifted the last covering of the dead, laid it over him,
and fastened it down. And there was darkness about the dead; but he
knew it not, because he was full of light. For this man was one who, all
his life, had striven to be better.
Meantime, the clergyman having arrived, the usual religious
ceremonial of a Scotch funeral--the reading of the Word and
prayer--was going on below. This was all that gave the burial any
sacred solemnity; for at the grave the Scotch terror of Popery forbids
any observance of a religious character. The voice of the reader was
heard in the chamber of death.
"The minister's come, Thamas."
"Come or gang," said Thomas, "it's muckle the same. The word itsel'
oot o' his mou' fa's as deid as chaff upo' clay. Honest Jeames there'll
rise ance mair; but never a word that man says, wi' the croon o' 's heid i'
the how o' 's neck, 'll rise to beir witness o' his ministrations."
"Hoot, Thamas! It's no for the likes o' me to flee i' your face--but jist
say a fair word for the livin' ower the deid, ye ken."
"Na, na. It's fair words maks foul wark; and the wrath o' the Almichty
maun purge this toon or a' be dune. There's a heap o' graceless gaeins
on in't; and that puir feckless body, the minister, never gies a pu' at the
bridle o' salvation, to haud them aff o' the scaur (cliff) o' hell."
The stone-mason generally spoke of the Almighty as if he were in a
state of restrained indignation at the wrongs he endured from his
children. If Thomas was right in this, then certainly he himself was one
of his offspring. If he was wrong, then there was much well worth his
unlearning.

The prayer was soon over, and the company again seated themselves,
waiting till the coffin should be placed in the hearse, which now stood
at the door.
"We'll jist draw the cork o' anither boatle," whispered a sharp-faced
man to his neighbour.
And rising, he opened two bottles, and filled the glasses the second
time with wine, red and white, which he handed to the minister first.
"Tak' a drappy mair, sir," he whispered in a coaxing, old-wivish tone;
"it's a lang road to the kirkyard."
But the minister declining, most of the others followed his example.
One after another they withdrew to the door, where the hearse was now
laden with the harvest of the grave.
Falling in behind the body, they moved in an irregular procession from
the yard. Outside, they were joined by several more in gigs and on
horseback; and thus they crept, a curious train, away towards the
resting-place of the dead.
It were a dreary rest, indeed, if that were their resting-place--on the side
of a low hill, without tree or shrub to beautify it, or even the presence
of an old church to seem to sanctify the spot. There was some long
grass in it, though, clambering up as if it sought to bury the gravestones
in their turn. And that long grass was a blessing. Better still, there was a
sky overhead, in which men cannot set up any gravestones. But if any
graveyard be the type of the rest expected by those left behind, it is no
wonder they shrink from joining those that are away.
CHAPTER II.
When the last man had disappeared, the women, like those of an
eastern harem, began to come out. The first that entered the deserted
room was a hard-featured, reproachful-looking woman, the sister of the
departed. She instantly began to put the place in order, as if she
expected her turn to come on the morrow. In a few moments more a

servant appeared, and began to assist her. The girl had been crying, and
the tears would still come, in spite of her efforts to repress them. In the
vain attempt to dry her eyes with the corner of her apron, she nearly
dropped one of the chairs, which she was simultaneously dusting and
restoring to its usual place. Her mistress turned upon her with a kind of
cold fierceness.
"Is that hoo ye shaw yer regaird to the deid, by brackin' the cheirs he
left ahin' him? Lat sit, an' gang an' luik for that puir, doited thing, Annie.
Gin it had only been the Almichty's will to hae ta'en her, an' left him,
honest man!"
"Dinna daur to say a word again' the bairn,