Weir of Hermiston | Page 8

and bread-winner, in whom (with what she had of
worldliness) she took a certain subdued pride. She expatiated in reply
on my lord's honour and greatness; his useful services in this world of
sorrow and wrong, and the place in which he stood, far above where
babes and innocents could hope to see or criticise. But she had builded
too well - Archie had his answers pat: Were not babes and innocents
the type of the kingdom of heaven? Were not honour and greatness the
badges of the world? And at any rate, how about the mob that had once
seethed about the carriage?
"It's all very fine," he concluded, "but in my opinion papa has no right
to be it. And it seems that's not the worst yet of it. It seems he's called
"The Hanging judge" - it seems he's crooool. I'll tell you what it is,
mamma, there's a tex' borne in upon me: It were better for that man if a
milestone were bound upon his back and him flung into the
deepestmost pairts of the sea."
"O, my lamb, ye must never say the like of that!" she cried. "Ye're to
honour faither and mother, dear, that your days may be long in the land.
It's Atheists that cry out against him - French Atheists, Erchie! Ye
would never surely even yourself down to be saying the same thing as
French Atheists? It would break my heart to think that of you. And O,
Erchie, here are'na YOU setting up to JUDGE? And have ye no forgot
God's plain command - the First with Promise, dear? Mind you upon
the beam and the mote!"
Having thus carried the war into the enemy's camp, the terrified lady
breathed again. And no doubt it is easy thus to circumvent a child with
catchwords, but it may be questioned how far it is effectual. An instinct
in his breast detects the quibble, and a voice condemns it. He will

instantly submit, privately hold the same opinion. For even in this
simple and antique relation of the mother and the child, hypocrisies are
multiplied.
When the Court rose that year and the family returned to Hermiston, it
was a common remark in all the country that the lady was sore failed.
She seemed to loose and seize again her touch with life, now sitting
inert in a sort of durable bewilderment, anon waking to feverish and
weak activity. She dawdled about the lasses at their work, looking
stupidly on; she fell to rummaging in old cabinets and presses, and
desisted when half through; she would begin remarks with an air of
animation and drop them without a struggle. Her common appearance
was of one who has forgotten something and is trying to remember; and
when she overhauled, one after another, the worthless and touching
mementoes of her youth, she might have been seeking the clue to that
lost thought. During this period, she gave many gifts to the neighbours
and house lasses, giving them with a manner of regret that embarrassed
the recipients.
The last night of all she was busy on some female work, and toiled
upon it with so manifest and painful a devotion that my lord (who was
not often curious) inquired as to its nature.
She blushed to the eyes. "O, Edom, it's for you!" she said. "It's slippers.
I - I hae never made ye any."
"Ye daft auld wife!" returned his lordship. "A bonny figure I would be,
palmering about in bauchles!"
The next day, at the hour of her walk, Kirstie interfered. Kirstie took
this decay of her mistress very hard; bore her a grudge, quarrelled with
and railed upon her, the anxiety of a genuine love wearing the disguise
of temper. This day of all days she insisted disrespectfully, with rustic
fury, that Mrs. Weir should stay at home. But, "No, no," she said, "it's
my lord's orders," and set forth as usual. Archie was visible in the acre
bog, engaged upon some childish enterprise, the instrument of which
was mire; and she stood and looked at him a while like one about to
call; then thought otherwise, sighed, and shook her head, and proceeded
on her rounds alone. The house lasses were at the burnside washing,
and saw her pass with her loose, weary, dowdy gait.
"She's a terrible feckless wife, the mistress!" said the one.
"Tut," said the other, "the wumman's seeck."

"Weel, I canna see nae differ in her," returned the first. "A fushionless
quean, a feckless carline."
The poor creature thus discussed rambled a while in the grounds
without a purpose. Tides in her mind ebbed and flowed, and carried her
to and fro like seaweed. She tried a path, paused, returned, and tried
another; questing, forgetting her quest;