An Orkney Maid. Amelia E. Barr
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of business methods and opportunities; and listened to him with grave attention, though laughing heartily at some of his plans and propositions.
“Mr. Macrae,” he said, “thou art too far north for me. I do know a few Shetlanders that could pare the skin off thy teeth, but we Orcadeans are simple honest folk that just live, and let live.” At which remark Ian laughed, and reminded Conall Ragnor of certain transactions in railway stock which had nonplussed the Perth directors at the time. Then Ragnor asked how he happened to know what was generally considered “private information,” and Ian answered, “Private information 62 is the most valuable, sir. It is what I look for.” Then Ragnor rose from the table and said, “Let us have a smoke and a little music.”
“Take thy smoke, Coll,” said Mrs. Ragnor, “and Mr. Macrae will give us the music. Barbara says he sings better than Harrison. Come, Mr. Macrae, we are waiting to hear thee.”
Ian made no excuses. He sat down and sang with delightful charm and spirit “A Life on the Ocean Wave” and “The Bay of Biscay.” Then these were followed by the fresh and then popular songs, “We May Be Happy Yet,” “Then You’ll Remember Me” and “The Land of Our Birth.” No one spoke or interrupted him, even to praise; but he was well repaid by the look on every face and the kindness that flowed out to him. He could see it in the eyes, and hear it in the voices, and feel it in the manner of all present.
The silence was broken by the sound of quick, firm footsteps. Ragnor listened a moment and then went with alacrity to open the door. “I knew it was thee!” he cried. “O sir, I am glad to see thee! Come in, come in! None can be more welcome!” And it was good to hear the strong, sweet modulations of the voice that answered him.
“It is Bishop Hedley!” said Rahal.
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“Then I am going,” said Aunt Barbara.
“No, no, Aunt!” cried Thora, and the next moment she was at her aunt’s side coaxing her to resume her chair. Then the Bishop and Ragnor entered the room, and the moment the Bishop’s face shone upon them, all talk about leaving the room ceased. For Bishop Hedley carried his Great Commission in his face and his life was a living sermon. His soul loved all mankind; and he had with it an heroic mind and a strong-sinewed body, which refused to recognise the fact that it died daily. For the Bishop’s business was with the souls of men, and he lived and moved and did his daily work in a spiritual and eternal element.
And if constant commerce with the physical world weakens and ages the man who lives and works in it, surely the life passed amid spiritual thoughts and desires is thereby fortified and strengthened to resist the cares and worries which fret the physical body to decay. Then vainly the flesh fades, the soul makes all things new. This is a great truth––“it is only by the supernatural we are strong.”
The Bishop came in bringing with him, not only the moral tonic of his presence, but also the very 64 breath of the sea; its refreshing “tang,” and good salt flavour. His smile and blessing was a spiritual sunshine that warmed and cheered and brightened the room. He was affectionate to all, but to Mistress Brodie and Ian Macrae, he was even more kindly than to the Ragnors. They were not of his flock but he longed to take care of them.
“I heard singing as I came through the garden,” he said, “and it was not your voice, Conall.”
“It was Ian Macrae singing,” Conall answered, “and he will gladly sing for thee, sir.” This promise Macrae ratified at once, and that with such power and sweetness that every one was amazed and the Bishop requested him to sing, during the next day’s service, a fine “Gloria” he had just given them in the cathedral choir. And Ian said he would see the organist, and if it could be done, he would be delighted to obey his request.
“See the organist!” exclaimed Mistress Brodie. “What are you talking about? The organist is Sandy Odd, the barber’s son! How can the like of him hinder the Bishop’s wish?” Then the Bishop wrote a few words in his pocket book, tore out the leaf, and gave it to Macrae, saying: “Mr. Odd will manage all I wish, no doubt. Now, sir, for my great pleasure, play us ‘Home, Sweet 65 Home.’ I have not been here for four months, and it is good to be with friends again.” And they all sang it together, and were perfectly at home with each other after it. So much so, that the Bishop asked Rahal to give him a cup of tea and a little bread; “I have come from Fair Island today,” he said, “and have not eaten since noon.”
Then all the women went out together to prepare and serve the requested meal, so that it came with wonderful swiftness, and beaming smiles, and charming words of laughing pleasure. And when he saw a little table drawn to the hearth for him and quickly spread with the food he needed and smelled the refreshing odour of the young Hyson, and heard the pleasant tinkle of china and glass and silver as Thora placed them before the large chair he was to occupy, he sat down happily to eat and drink, while Thora served him, and Conall smoked and watched them with a now-and-then smile or word or two, while Rahal and Barbara talked, and Ian played charmingly––with soft pedal down––quotations from Beethoven’s “Pastoral Symphony” and “Hark, ’Tis the Linnet!” from the oratorio, “Joshua.”
It was a delightful interlude in which every one was happy in their own way, and so healed by it 66 of all the day’s disappointments and weariness. But the wise never prolong such perfect moments. Even while yielding their first satisfactions, they permit them to depart. It is a great deal to have been happy. Every such memory sweetens after life.
The Bishop did not linger over his meal, and while servants were clearing away cups and plates, he said, “Come, all of you, outside, for a few minutes. Come and look at the Moon of Moons! The Easter Moon! She has begun to fill her horns; and she is throwing over the mystery and majesty of earth and sea a soft silvery veil as she watches for the dawn. The Easter dawn! that in a few hours will come streaming up, full of light and warmth for all.”
But there was not much warmth in an Orcadean April evening and the party soon returned to the cheerful, comfortable hearth blaze. “It is not so beautiful as the moonlight,” said Rahal, “but it is very good.”
“True,” said the Bishop, “and we must not belittle the good we have, because we look for something better. Let us be thankful for our feet, though they are not wings.”
Then one of those sudden, inexplicable “arrests” 67 which seem to seal up speech fell over every one, and for a minute or more no one could speak. Rahal broke the spell. “Some angel has passed through the room. Please God he left a blessing! Or perhaps the moonlight has thrown a spell over us. What were you thinking of, Bishop?”
“I will tell you. I was thinking of the first Good Friday in Old Jerusalem. I was thinking of the sun hiding his face at noonday. Thora, have you an almanac?”
Thora took one from a nail on which it was hanging and gave it to him.
“I was thinking that the sun, which hid his face at noonday, must at that time have been in Aries, the Ram. Find me the signs of the Zodiac.” Thora did so. “Now look well at Aries the Ram. What month of our year is signed thus?”
“The month of March, sir.”
“Why?”
“I do not know. Tell me, sir.”
“I believe that in a long forgotten age, some priest or good man received a promise or prophecy revealing the Great Sacrifice that would be offered up for man’s salvation once and for all time. And I think they knew that this plenary 68 sacrament would occur in the vernal season, in the month of March, whose sign or symbol was Aries, the Ram.”
“But why under that sign, sir?”
“The ram, to the ancient world, was the sacrificial animal. We have only to open our Bibles and be amazed at the prominence given to the ram and his congeners. From the time of Abraham until the time of Christ the ram is constantly present in sacrificial and religious ceremonies. Do you remember, Thora, any incident depending upon a ram?”
“When Isaac was to be sacrificed,