"I pey my w'y," she said, with modest firmness."I put my penny, and whiles my saxpence, intil the plate at the door when I gang to the kirk--an' I was jist thinkin' I wad win there the morn's nicht at farest, whan I turnt an' saw ye stan'in there, sir; an' little Ithoucht--but that's neither here nor there, I'm thinkin'.I tell as feow lees as I can; I never sweir, nor tak the name o' the Lord in vain, anger me 'at likes; I sell naething but the best whusky; Inever hae but broth to my denner upo' the Lord's day, an' broth canna brak the Sawbath, simmerin' awa' upo' the bar o' the grate, an' haudin' no lass frae the kirk; I confess, gien ye wull be speirin', 'at I dinna read my buik sae aften as maybe I sud; but, 'deed, sir, tho' I says't 'at sud haud my tongue, ye hae waur folk i' yer perris nor Benjie Croale's widow; an' gien ye wunna hae a drap to weet yer ain whustle for the holy wark ye hae afore ye the morn's mornin', I maun gang an' mak my bed, for the lass is laid up wi' a bealt thoom, an' I maunna lat a' thing gang to dirt an' green bree; though I'm sure it's rale kin' o' ye to come to luik efter me, an' that's mair nor Maister Rennie, honest gentleman, ever did me the fawvour o', a' the time he ministered the perris.I haena an ill name wi' them 'at kens me, sir; that I can say wi' a clean conscience; an' ye may ken me weel gien ye wull.An' there's jist ae thing mair, sir: I gie ye my Bible-word, 'at never, gien I saw sign o' repentance or turnin' upo' ane o' them 'at pits their legs 'aneth my table--Wad ye luik intil the parlour, sir? No!--as I was sayin', never did I, sin' I keepit hoose, an' never wad I set mysel'
to quench the smokin' flax; I wad hae no man's deith, sowl or body, lie at my door.""Well, well, Mistress Croale," said the minister, somewhat dazed by the cataract he had brought upon his brain, and rather perplexed what to say in reply with any hope of reaching her, "I don't doubt a word of what you tell me; but you know works cannot save us; our best righteousness is but as filthy rags.""It's weel I ken that, Mr.Sclater.An' I'm sure I'll be glaid to see ye, sir, ony time ye wad dee me the fawvour to luik in as ye're passin' by.It'll be none to yer shame, sir, for mine's an honest hoose.""I'll do that, Mistress Croale," answered the minister, glad to escape."But mind," he added, "I don't give up my point for all that; and I hope you will think over what I have been saying to you--and that seriously."With these words he left the shop rather hurriedly, in evident dread of a reply.
Mistress Croale turned to the shelves behind her, took again the bottle she had replaced, poured out a large half-glass of whisky, and tossed it off.She had been compelled to think and talk of things unpleasant, and it had put her, as she said, a' in a trim'le.
She was but one of the many who get the fuel of their life in at the wrong door, their comfort from the world-side of the universe.
I cannot tell whether Mr.Sclater or she was the farther from the central heat.The woman had the advantage in this, that she had to expend all her force on mere self-justification, and had no energy left for vain-glory.It was with a sad sigh she set about the work of the house.Nor would it have comforted her much to assure her that hers was a better defence than any distiller in the country could make.Even the whisky itself gave her little relief; it seemed to scald both stomach and conscience, and she vowed never to take it again.But alas! this time is never the time for self-denial; it is always the next time.Abstinence is so much more pleasant to contemplate upon the other side of indulgence! Yet the struggles after betterment that many a drunkard has made in vain, would, had his aim been high enough, have saved his soul from death, and turned the charnel of his life into a temple.Abject as he is, foiled and despised, such a one may not yet be half so contemptible as many a so-counted respectable member of society, who looks down on him from a height too lofty even for scorn.It is not the first and the last only, of whom many will have to change places; but those as well that come everywhere between.