Up in Ardmuirland | Page 9

inoffensive, the neighbors--true to their national
character, not speedily attracted by strangers--began in course of time
to make his acquaintance, and he eventually became a great favorite
with all. When younger, Penny had been told, he had been "a
wonderful good gardener," and for trifling payment, or in return for a
meal, would always "redd-up" the gardens of the district. Thus he
acquired the designation of "Airchie Gairdener," and by that was
usually known.
What his neighbors could not comprehend was how Archie spent these
small earnings, but more especially to what use he had put his army

pension, which every one knew he once received regularly. He had no
occasion to buy food, for kindly neighbors would always exchange for
meal or eggs the varied produce of his well-cultivated garden. His
clothes cost him nothing; for he had worn the same old garments for
years past, and though no self-respecting tramp would have accepted
them, he never seemed anxious to replace them. If any others were
given him, he would use them for a time, out of compliment to the
donor, but the ancient attire would always reappear after a short
interval.
"As to where his money goes," summed up Penny, "I've a notion that
his Reverence knows more than any one else except Archie himself.
Poor Archie often asks for the priest, and I've heard his Reverence
speaking to him in quite an angry way--for him," she added quickly;
"but there's never any change in Archie's way of living. Some of the
people here think he's a perfect saint, and I'm not so sure that they're far
wrong! However, I think he ought to take ordinary care of his 'ealth;
that seems to me a duty even for saints!"
I tried to glean more details from Val, but found him strangely reticent.
"Poor old fellow! A good soul, if ever there was one!" was the only
remark I could elicit.
This air of mystery made me more than ever desirous of learning
something about Archie's antecedents. It was this curiosity which led
me, in the first instance, to visit his tumbledown dwelling. It was a
quaint establishment. A moderately large garden surrounded it on three
sides, roughly fenced in from the woodland, its fence interwoven with
gorse branches to keep out rabbits. The varied supplies of vegetables
were evidence of Archie's industry, in spite of his rheumatism. It was
by the produce of this garden that the old man obtained in return the
oatmeal and milk which formed his staple food; for he could no longer
work for others.
The house itself was a picture! Its aged roof seemed to have bent
beneath the weight of years; for the ridge had sunk in the middle of its
mossy, grass-grown expanse, and threatened to fall upon its occupant to

the peril of his life. A small barrel served for a chimney. One window
possessed still two small panes of glass; the other openings were filled
in with bits of boarding, as was the whole of the other window.
There was something quite uncanny about the silence of the place. The
monotonous ripple of the burn below seemed to intensify it. I stood in
hesitation for a moment or two before venturing to knock at the door.
When at last I had done so, shuffling footsteps sounded within, and
Archie opened the door; the same bland smile which I had noticed
when I first saw him appeared on his wrinkled face, and the faded blue
eyes lighted up.
"Come ben, sir; come ben!" he said hospitably. "Ye're kindly welcome,
tho' 'tis but a puir hoosachie for ane o' the gentry."
It was indeed a sorry place to live in. The roof was so unsound that, as I
learned later from Bell, it was difficult to find a dry spot for his
wretched bed in wet weather. Added to this, as the same informant
assured me, the place was a happy hunting-ground for rats.
"The rats is that bould, sir," she said, "that he's fairly to tak' a stick to
bed wi' him o' nichts, to keep the beasts off. It's a wonder they rats
hasna' yokit on him afore this!"
But on this, my first visit, no rat put in an appearance.
I gave no motive for looking in, nor did Archie seem to be surprised at
my call. He was evidently much pleased to see me; but I could not help
thinking at the time that his cordial welcome was due in great measure
to my relationship to Val.
That first visit was short, but it was succeeded by others. It soon
became quite customary to wind up my daily walk with a chat with the
"hermit"--as I got into the way of calling him. For beyond the mystery
attaching to