THE STROKE.
The following night, he left his books on the table, and the house itself behind him, and sped like a grayhound to Dooble Sanny's shop, lifted the latch, and entered.
By the light of a single dip set on a chair, he saw the shoemaker seated on his stool, one hand lying on the lap of his leathern apron, his other hand hanging down by his side, and the fiddle on the ground at his feet.His wife stood behind him, wiping her eyes with her blue apron.Through all its accumulated dirt, the face of the soutar looked ghastly, and they were eyes of despair that he lifted to the face of the youth as he stood holding the latch in his hand.Mrs.Alexander moved towards Robert, drew him in, and gently closed the door behind him, resuming her station like a sculptured mourner behind her motionless husband.
'What on airth's the maitter wi' ye, Sandy?' said Robert.
'Eh, Robert!' returned the shoemaker, and a tone of affection tinged the mournfulness with which he uttered the strange words--'eh, Robert! the Almichty will gang his ain gait, and I'm in his grup noo.'
'He's had a stroke,' said his wife, without removing her apron from her eyes.
'I hae gotten my pecks (blows),' resumed the soutar, in a despairing voice, which gave yet more effect to the fantastic eccentricity of conscience which from the midst of so many grave faults chose such a one as especially bringing the divine displeasure upon him: 'I hae gotten my pecks for cryin' doon my ain auld wife to set up your bonny leddy.The tane's gane a' to aise an' stew (ashes and dust), an' frae the tither,' he went on, looking down on the violin at his feet as if it had been something dead in its youth--'an' frae the tither I canna draw a cheep, for my richt han' has forgotten her cunnin' Man, Robert, I canna lift it frae my side.'
'Ye maun gang to yer bed,' said Robert, greatly concerned.
'Ow, ay, I maun gang to my bed, and syne to the kirkyaird, and syne to hell, I ken that weel eneuch.Robert, I lea my fiddle to you.
Be guid to the auld wife, man--better nor I hae been.An auld wife's better nor nae fiddle.'
He stooped, lifted the violin with his left hand, gave it to Robert, rose, and made for the door.They helped him up the creaking stair, got him half-undressed, and laid him in his bed.Robert put the violin on the top of a press within sight of the sufferer, left him groaning, and ran for the doctor.Having seen him set out for the patient's dwelling, he ran home to his grandmother.
Now while Robert was absent, occasion had arisen to look for him:
unusual occurrence, a visitor had appeared, no less a person than Mr.Innes, the school-master.Shargar had been banished in consequence from the parlour, and had seated himself outside Robert's room, never doubting that Robert was inside.Presently he heard the bell ring, and then Betty came up the stair, and said Robert was wanted.Thereupon Shargar knocked at the door, and as there was neither voice nor hearing, opened it, and found, with a well-known horror, that he had been watching an empty room.He made no haste to communicate the fact.Robert might return in a moment, and his absence from the house not be discovered.He sat down on the bedstead and waited.But Betty came up again, and before Shargar could prevent her, walked into the room with her candle in her hand.In vain did Shargar intreat her to go and say that Robert was coming.Betty would not risk the danger of discovery in connivance, and descended to open afresh the fountain of the old lady's anxiety.She did not, however, betray her disquietude to Mr.
Innes.
She had asked the school-master to visit her, in order that she might consult him about Robert's future.Mr.Innes expressed a high opinion of the boy's faculties and attainments, and strongly urged that he should be sent to college.Mrs.Falconer inwardly shuddered at the temptations to which this course would expose him; but he must leave home or be apprentice to some trade.She would have chosen the latter, I believe, but for religion towards the boy's parents, who would never have thought of other than a profession for him.While the school-master was dwelling on the argument that he was pretty sure to gain a good bursary, and she would thus be relieved for four years, probably for ever, from further expense on his account, Robert entered.
'Whaur hae ye been, Robert?' asked Mrs.Falconer.
'At Dooble Sanny's,' answered the boy.
'What hae ye been at there?'
'Helpin' him till 's bed.'
'What's come ower him?'
'A stroke.'
'That's what comes o' playin' the fiddle.'
'I never heard o' a stroke comin' frae a fiddle, grannie.It comes oot o' a clood whiles.Gin he had hauden till 's fiddle, he wad hae been playin' her the nicht, in place o' 's airm lyin' at 's side like a lang lingel (ligneul--shoemaker's thread).'
'Hm!' said his grandmother, concealing her indignation at this freedom of speech, 'ye dinna believe in God's judgments!'
'Nae upo' fiddles,' returned Robert.
Mr.Innes sat and said nothing, with difficulty concealing his amusement at this passage of arms.
It was but within the last few days that Robert had become capable of speaking thus.His nature had at length arrived at the point of so far casting off the incubus of his grandmother's authority as to assert some measure of freedom and act openly.His very hopelessness of a hearing in heaven had made him indifferent to things on earth, and therefore bolder.Thus, strange as it may seem, the blessing of God descended on him in the despair which enabled him to speak out and free his soul from the weight of concealment.But it was not despair alone that gave him strength.
On his way home from the shoemaker's he had been thinking what he could do for him; and had resolved, come of it what might, that he would visit him every evening, and try whether he could not comfort him a little by playing upon his violin.So that it was loving-kindness towards man, as well as despair towards God, that gave him strength to resolve that between him and his grandmother all should be above-board from henceforth.
