One lovely summer evening Dawtie, with a bundle in her hand, looked from the top of a grassy1 knoll2 down on her parents' turf cottage. The sun was setting behind her, and she looked as if she had stepped from it as it touched the ground on which she stood, rosy3 with the rosiness4 of the sun, but with a light in her countenance5 which came from a higher source, from the same nest as the sun himself. She paused but a moment, ran down the hill, and found her mother making the porridge. Mother and daughter neither embraced, nor kissed, nor even shook hands, but their faces glowed with delight, and words of joy and warmest welcome flowed between them.
“But ye haena lost yer place, hae ye, hinny?” said the mother.
“No, mother; there's no fear o' that, as lang's the laird or Miss Lexy's to the fore6. They tret me—I winna say like ane o' themsel's, but as if they would hae likit me for ane o' themsel's, gien it had pleased the Lord to sen' me their way instead o' yours. They're that guid to me ye canna think!”
“Then what's broucht ye the day?”
“I beggit for a play-day. I wantit to see An'rew.”
“Eh, lass! I'm feart for ye! Ye maunna set yer hert sae hie! An'rew's the best o' men, but a lass canna hae a man til hersel' jist 'cause he's the best man i' the warl'!”
“What mean ye by that, mother?” said Dawtie, looking a little scared. “Am I no' to lo'e An'rew, 'cause he's 'maist as guid's the Lord wad hae him? Wad ye hae me hate him for't? Has na he taught me to lo'e God—to lo'e Him better nor father, mither, An'rew, or onybody? I wull lo'e An'rew! What can ye mean, mother?”
“What I mean, Dawtie, is, that ye mamma think because ye lo'e him ye maun hae him; ye maunna think ye canna du wantin' An'rew!”
“It's true, mother, I kenna what I should do wantin' An'rew! Is na he aye shovin' the door o' the kingdom a wee wider to lat me see in the better? It's little ferly (marvel) I lo'e him! But as to wantin'him for my ain man, as ye hae my father!—mother, I wad be ashamet o' mysel' to think o' ony sic a thing!—clean affrontit wi' mysel' I wad be!”
“Weel, weel, bairn! Ye was aye a wise like lass, an' I maun lippen til ye! Only luik to yer hert.”
“As for no' lo'ein' him, mither—me that canna luik at a blin' kittlin' ohn lo'ed it!—lo, mither! God made me sae, an didna mean me no' to lo'e An'rew!”
“Andrew!” she repeated, as if the word meant the perfection of earth's worthiest8 rendering9 the idea of appropriation10 too absurd.
Silence followed, but the mother was brooding.
“Ye maun bethink ye, lass, hoo far he's abune ye!” she said at length.
As the son of the farmer on whose land her husband was a cotter, Andrew seemed to her what the laird seemed to old John Ingram, and what the earl seemed to the laird, though the laird's family was ancient when the earl's had not been heard of. But Dawtie understood Andrew better than did her mother.
“You and me sees him far abune, mother, but Andrew himsel' never thinks o' nae sic things. He's sae used to luikin' up, he's forgotten to luik doon. He bauds his lan' frae a higher than the laird, or the yerl himsel'!”
The mother was silent. She was faithful and true, but, fed on the dried fish of logic11 and system and Roman legalism, she could not follow the simplicities12 of her daughter's religion, who trusted neither in notions about him, nor even in what he had done, but in the live Christ himself whom she loved and obeyed.
“If Andrew wanted to marry me,” Dawtie went on, jealous for the divine liberty of her teacher, “which never cam intil's heid—na, no ance—the same bein' ta'en up wi' far ither things, it wouldna be because I was but a cotter lass that he wouldna tak his ain gait! But the morn's the Sabbath day, and we'll hae a walk thegither.”
“I dinna a'thegither like thae walks upo' the Sabbath day,” said the mother.
“Jesus walkit on the Sabbath the same as ony ither day, mother!”
“And so hae I the day, mother. If I was to du onything no fit i' this His warl', luikin' oot o' the e'en He gae me, wi' the han's an' feet He gae me, I wad jist deserve to be nippit oot at ance, or sent intil the ooter mirk (darkness)!”
“There's a mony maun fare ill then, lass!”
“I'm sayin' only for mysel'. I ken nane sae to blame as I would be mysel'.”
“Is na that makin' yersel' oot better nor ither fowk, lass?”
“Gien I said I thoucht onything worth doin' but the wull o' God, I wad be a leear; gien I say man or woman has naething ither to do i' this warl' or the neist, I say it believin' ilkane o' them maun come til't at the lang last. Feow sees't yet, but the time's comin' when ilkabody will be as sure o' 't as I am. What won'er is't that I say't, wi' Jesus tellin' me the same frae mornin' to nicht!”
“Lass, lass, I fear me, ye'll gang oot o' yer min'!”
“It 'll be intil the mind o' Christ, then, mother! I dinna care for my ain min'. I hae nane o' my ain, an' will stick to His. Gien I dinna mak His mine, and stick til't, I'm lost! Noo, mother, I'll set the things, and run ower to the hoose, and lat An'rew ken I'm here!”
“As ye wull, lass! ye'r ayont me! I s' say naething anent a willfu' woman, for ye've been aye a guid dochter. I trust I hae risen to houp the Lord winna be disappointit in ye.”
Dawtie found Andrew in the stable, suppering his horses, told him she had something to talk to him about, and asked if he would let her go with him in his walk the next day. Andrew was delighted to see her, but he did not say so; and she was back before her mother had taken the milk from the press. In a few minutes her father appeared, and welcomed her with a sober joy. As they eat their supper, he could not keep his eyes off her, she sat looking so well and nice and trim. He was a good-looking, work-worn man, his hands absolutely horny with labor15. But inside many such horny husks are ripening16 beautiful kingdom hands, for the time when “dear welcome Death” will loose and let us go from the grave-clothes of the body that bind17 some of us even hand and foot. Rugged18 father and withered19 mother were beautiful in the eyes of Dawtie, and she and God saw them better than any other. Good, endless good was on the way to them all! It was so pleasant to be waiting for the best of all good things.
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1
grassy
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| adj.盖满草的；长满草的 | |
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2
knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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rosiness
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| n.玫瑰色；淡红色；光明；有希望 | |
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5
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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fore
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| adv.在前面；adj.先前的；在前部的；n.前部 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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8
worthiest
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| 应得某事物( worthy的最高级 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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9
rendering
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| n.表现，描写 | |
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appropriation
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| n.拨款，批准支出 | |
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11
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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12
simplicities
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| n.简单，朴素，率直( simplicity的名词复数 ) | |
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13
kenned
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| v.知道( ken的过去式和过去分词 )；懂得；看到；认出 | |
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dune
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| n.(由风吹积而成的)沙丘 | |
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15
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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16
ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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19
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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