The Lilac Sunbonnet | Page 7

slip out again. Besides, he was in
mortal terror lest Mr. Welsh should ask for his Hebrew Bible, or offer
to revise his chapter of the day with him. All the afternoon he was
uneasy, finding no excuse to take himself away to the loch-side in order
to find his Bible and Lexicon.
"I understand you have been studying, with a view to license, the last
chapter of the Proverbs of Solomon?" said Gilbert Welsh,
interrogatively, bending his shaggy brows and pouting his underlip at
the student.
The Marrow minister was a small man, with a body so dried and
twisted ("shauchelt" was the local word) that all the nerve stuff of a
strong nature had run up to his brain, so that when he walked he
seemed always on the point of falling forward, overbalanced by the
weight of his cliff-like brow.
"Ralph, will you ground the argument of the mother of King Lemuel in
this chapter? But perhaps you would like to refer to the original
Hebrew?" said the minister.
"Oh, no," interrupted Ralph, aghast at the latter suggestion, "I do not
need the text--thank you, sir."
But, in spite of his disclaimer, he devoutly desired to be where the
original text and his written comment upon it were at that
moment--which, indeed, was a consummation even more devoutly to

be wished than he had any suspicion of. The Marrow minister leaned
his head on his hand and looked waitingly at the young man.
Ralph recalled himself with an effort. He had to repeat to himself that
he was in the manse study, and almost to pinch his knee to convince
himself of the reality of his experiences. But this was not necessary a
second time, for, as he sat hastily down on one of Allen Welsh's
hard-wood chairs, a prickle from the gorse bush which he had brought
back with him from Loch Grannoch side was argument sharp enough to
convince Bishop Berkeley.
"Compose yourself to answer my question," said the minister, with
some slight severity. Ralph wondered silently if even a minister of the
Marrow kirk in good standing, could compose himself on one whin
prickle for certain, and the probability of several others developing
themselves at various angles hereafter.
Ralph "grounded" himself as best as he could, explaining the views of
the mother of King Lemuel as to the woman of virtue and faithfulness.
He seemed to himself to have a fluency and a fervour in exposition to
which he had been a stranger. He began to have new views about the
necessity for the creation of Eve. Woman might possibly, after all, be
less purely gratuitous than he had supposed.
"The woman who is above rubies," said he, "is one who rises early to
care for the house, who oversees the handmaids as they cleanse the
household stuffs--in a" (he just saved himself from saying "in a black
pot")--"in a fitting vessel by the rivers of water."
"Well put and correctly mandated," said Mr. Welsh, very much pleased.
There was unction about this young man. Though a bachelor by
profession, he loved to hear the praises of good women; for he had
once known one.
"She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and--"
Here Ralph paused, biting his tongue to keep from describing the
picture which rose before him.

"And what," said the minister, tentatively, leaning forward to look into
the open face of the young man, "what is the distinction or badge of
true beauty and favour of countenance, as so well expressed by the
mother of King Lemuel?"
"A LILAC SUNBONNET!" said Ralph Peden, student in divinity.
CHAPTER III.
A TREASURE-TROVE.
Winsome CHARTERIS was a self-possessed maid, but undeniably her
heart beat faster when she found on the brae face, beneath the bush of
broom, two books the like of which she had never seen before, as well
as an open notebook with writing upon it in the neatest and delicatest of
hands. First, as became a prudent woman of experience, she went up to
the top of the hill to assure herself that the owner of this strange
treasure was not about to return. Then she carefully let down her
high-kilted print dress till only her white feet "like little mice" stole in
and out. It did not strike her that this sacrifice to the conventions was
just a trifle belated.
As she returned she said "Shoo!" at every tangled bush, and flapped her
apron as if to scare whatever curious wild fowl might have left behind
it in its nest under the broom such curious nest- eggs as two great books
full of strange, bewitched-looking printing, and a note-book of curious
and interesting writings. Then, with a half sigh of disappointment,
Winsome Charteris sat herself down to look into this matter. Meg
Kissock