Martha Spreull/Unexpected Luck

by Henry Johnston

CHAPTER II.

UNEXPECTED LUCK.

AM real muckle fashed wi' my head, especially when I get a waff o' cauld; and since I wrote last I have had a wonnerfu' sair brash, which accounts, in pairt, for my backwardness in beginning this chapter. I have already tell'd ye hoo my interest in the higher forms o' edication began by the opening o' my flett o' rooms, efter the Disruption time, to such collegeners as wanted a cheap diet and a respectable hame. Weel ye may be alloot to suppose when the Professor bodies rowed their goons aboot them, and shifted westward to their fine new College on Gilmorehill, that it would be a sair stoun to me, inasmuch as I couldna tak' up my apartments in George Street and march efter them; but, aboot the self-same time Providence, and a second cousin on my faither's side, wha had some property in the Trongate, ordered it otherwise.

The thing wis an unco surprise to me. My faither and the Trongate Spreulls never 'greet on releegious maitters; their last and sairest quarrel wis on the doctrine o' the "Ceevil Magistrate" and the "Pooer o' the Keys." Frae that hour the door o' friendliness atween the twa families remained lockit until death opened it. Jen Spreull, the last o' them, deet without a will, and just as I wis enjoying a quate greet ower the removal o’ my last lodger’s kist—he wis awn me six months’ board—Maister Fleming, the writer, broke the news to me. He wis a terrible pious man^[1]—Maister Fleming—and spoke in a real feelin’ wye aboot the great loss I had sustained. It wis sudden, but I must bear up wi’ Christian fortitude and resignation—I said I wud try; and speired efter her affairs.

“There is not a great deal,” he said, “ but as you are next of kin, and live in a simple way, between the siller and the heritable property ye may feel easy in your mind as to this world’s concerns for the remainder of your lifetime.”

Naething could have happened better—no’ that I wished for the puir woman’s death, far from it, for I didna expect onything, but the hand o’ Providence seem’d clear, coming to me as it did just when I wis in my last extremity, greeting ower the removal o’ Maister Pringle’s kist. It clean beat romances, and I thought to mysel’, noo, if ever I hae a chance I’ll put this in a book, whether folk believe it or no’.

But the day wisna dune yet. When I got back to the wee bedroom where Maister Pringle wis ropin’his bit boxie, I thought he looked pale and yaupish-like; and it bein’ about tea time, I made up my mind that as he had been leevin’ at my expense for the last six months I could maybe as weel afford to gie him anither meal for naething as the landlady he wis gaun to in the West-End. So I gaed awa oot and bocht twa fine fresh finnon baddies, and telt the lassie to put up the toaster before the kitchen fire, and set the tea things for twa in the parlour, and by and by we had a gey cosy tea. I should have telt ye that Maister Pringle wisna ane o' my laddie ludgers. It wis late in life when he gied up his schule in Bell's Wynd and determined on being a minister. I fear he hadna muckle amang his hands when he entered the College first; but what wi' teachin' in nicht-schules and giving private lessons during the day, he had managed, wi' six months' board frae me without fee or reward, to pass himsel' through the second session o' the Divinity Hall.

Weel, Maister Fleming had brocht me wonnerfu' news, and, as I fancied my guest maybe had some trouble on him, I gaed awa' to the press, filled up a gless o' whisky, and put it in his last cup, just to gie him a wee thocht o' life.

"Thank ye," says he; "that's what they used to do aboot Balfron when I was a boy. There never was a tea-drinking there without a guid gless o' whisky i' the last cup."

If ye'll believe me, the whole thing wis dune oot o' doonricht peety for the man, he lookit sae miserable-like; but I never jaloused what it wud lead to. When he had taen aff his dram, which he did wi' mair relish than I cared for, he hoasted twice, as if he had something in his throat.

“Miss Spreull.” he says, “ since the moment o’ partin’ has come, I find it harder to face than I expected.”

“Wheesht, wheesht,” I interrupted, “ ye ’re only six months ahin, and ye can gie m’t again.”

“O, it’s no’ that,” says he, as if that wis naething; “ it’s no’ that. It’s the thocht o’ you bein’ left all by yourself without a protecting hand. I didn’t mean to declare my sentiments until I wis placed ”—sune enough, thinks I; has the man been listening at the door ?—“ and till I had a comfortable manse to offer you as a home. I need not say what a help ye would be to me in my ministerial work.”

“In truth ye needna,” says I. But I could stand it nae langer. The man had still twa years to serve i’ the Divinity Hall, and maybe hauf-a-dizzen mair or ever he wan near a kirk. What could he want hut his meat, and maybe claes, a’ that time for naething; and wha wud say he did wrang if he picked the bonniest young thing wi’ siller he could get to fill the place in the manse he noo offered, but never ettled for me ? I wis ower auld no’ to ken the wyes o’ men, so I started to my feet, and I says—

“ Noo, Maister Pringle, dinna talk ony mair nonsense; it’s but a trifling obligation ye are under to me, only I dinna wish to mak’ it ony bigger. Ye need hae nae fear for me, for I can tak’ braw an’ guid care o’ mysel’; and since ye have got warm’t wi’ the dram, just step awa’ west like a man, and I ’ll send the lassie doon and tell the carrier to come for yer kist.”

Noo, I never cared for love- stories mysel’, and ye’ll maybe think this is gey an’ ootspoken o’ me; but the incident may serve as a warnin’. Hooever, I wadna hae breathed the thing ava had it no’ been brocht to my mind by what I saw the ither day. I wis gaun doon Renfield Street wi’ Maister Fleming, when I saw twa gey riff-raff looking beings wi’ some papers i' their hauns like gas accounts. I lookit closely at them, for they were doon i' the heels, and their coats seemed as if they had got a scuff here an' there wi' a black-lead brush.

"These are puir waifs," said Maister Fleming, seeing I was takin' a gude look at them, "engaged by some sheriff-officer to deliver arrestment papers. They need twa to vouch for their delivery."

Ane o' them wis Maister Pringle!

1. The authoress is exceedingly kind, but I feel I would be blameworthy if I the creature of a day, a man born in sin and shapen in iniquity, were to allow myself to be set up as a model of piety. Errare est humanum. Nevertheless, she has this justification, to wit, that I am, and have been, an elder of the kirk for the past twenty-five years, and have, in a profession surrounded with temptations during a long career, done my best to do everybody justice, and to preserve in my own person a conscience void of offence.—Ed.