St. Cuthberts | Page 4

to mind. I tell him whiles that we'd meet an'
we'd greet whaur the elders cease frae troublin'--them's the poet's
words."
We were now some two miles or so from the town and the church
wherein he exercised his gifts and magnified his office; and my rugged
friend, dismissing the elders for the time, reverted to the inquiry he had
seen fit previously to ignore.
"Ye were askin' me aboot the kirk."
"Yes," said I in a chastened voice, "I asked you if it was not very
large."
"Thae was no' yir exact words, but I ken yir meanin'. It's a gran' kirk, St.
Cuthbert's, an' ye'll need to speak oot--no' to yell, ye ken, for I'm nigh
deefened wi' the roarin' o' the candidates sin' oor kirk was preached
vacant by the Presbytery. Dinna be ower lang; and be sure to read a' the
psalm afore ye sit doon, and hae the sough o' Sinai in yir discoorse,
specially at the mornin' diet; an' aye back up the Scriptures wi' the
catechism, an' hae a word or twa aboot the Covenanters, them as sealed
their testimony wi' their bluid, ye ken. Ye'll tak' ma advice as kindly;
it's mair than likely we'll never meet again gin the morrow's gone."
I thanked him for his counsel and reached for my bag, at the signal of

escaping steam.
The car door had just closed behind me when I felt a hand upon my arm
and heard a now familiar voice--
"An' dinna pray ower muckle for yir ain devoted folk at hame; an' dinna
ask the King an' Head o' the Kirk to fetch till us a wise under-shepherd
o' the flock."
With a word of additional acknowledgment I stepped on to the station
platform, but my parley with a burly cabman was interrupted by the
same voice whispering in my ear--
"Ye micht mind the elders in yir prayer; gin they were led mair into the
licht it wad dae nae harm to onybody."

II
A MAN With a SECRET
There was no one about the station to welcome me and none to direct,
but there were many to stare and wonder.
The moderator of the vacant kirk had provided me with the address of
the house to which he said I should repair. I was in no wise mortified
by this apparent lack of hospitality, for the aforesaid moderator had
reminded me in his postscript that the folk of St. Cuthbert's were
notoriously Scotch, untrained to any degree of devotion at the
beginning, but famous for the fervour of their loyalty at the close of
their ministers' careers.
Whether or not I should have any career at all amongst them was the
subject of my thoughts as I wended my way to "Inglewood," for such
was the melodious title of the house which was to be my home during
my sojourn in New Jedboro.
Beautiful for situation it proved to be, nestling among its sentinels of

oak, upon the highest hill of seven which garrisoned the town. The
signs of wealth and good taste were everywhere about, and my
probationer's heart was beating fast when I pulled the polished silver
knob whose patrician splendour had survived the invasion of all
electrical upstarts.
I heard the answering bell far within, breaking again and again into its
startled cry, and my soul answered it with peals of such humiliation as
is known only to the man whose heart affords a home to that
ill-matched pair, the discomfiture of the candidate and the pride of the
Presbyterian.
The door was opened by the master of the house, Michael Blake, a man
of forty-five or so, the wealthy senior of New Jedboro's greatest
manufacturing firm.
I suppose he looked first at me, but my first sensation was of his keen
eye swiftly falling on the shabby travelling-bag in my left hand, my
right kept disengaged for any friendly overture which might await me.
Oh, the shame and the anguish of those swift glances towards one's
travelling-bag! Can no kind genius devise a scheme for their temporary
concealment such as the modern book agent has brought to its
perfection, full armed beneath the treacherous shelter of his cloak?
I broke the silence: "Have I the pleasure of addressing Mr. Blake?"
"Yes, that is my name," responded a rich, soulful voice, resonant with
the finest Scottish flavour, "and what can I do for you, sir?"
Presuming that it would be hardly delicate for me to state the particular
duty I was expecting him to discharge, I betook myself to the
association of ideas, and replied--
"I am to preach in St. Cuthbert's to-morrow," hoping that this might
suggest to him the information he had sought.
Swift and beautiful was the transformation. The soul of hospitality

leaped from