Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama ClamosaCleland, Robert
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Inchbracken: The Story of a Fama Clamosa
Cleland, Robert
Historical fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
Down by the Effick side was a meadow where the villagers washed and
dried their clothes, and their cattle browsed. The grass was short and
thick, and the stream slid by with a low soft lapping among the
stones. An aged beech tree formed a landmark, and there on summer
evenings the minister was wont to assemble his class. The faint
evening breezes nestled drowsily among the leaves overhead, and the
glassy surface of the stream shone in the yellow radiance of the
evening light. No scene could be more peaceful and still, or lent
itself better to the earnest exhortations of the teacher, and the
unflagging attention of his auditors, who had grown to comprise the
whole inhabitants of the village, old people and children as well as
the youths and maidens for whom the meeting was designed. 'Free Church
Principles,' or the superiority of the church to the interference of
civil authority, were the stated subjects of consideration, but this
pious and indefatigable teacher would not let slip the opportunity of
pressing all other branches of religious truth, as occasion offered,
in a way more familiar and impressive, as his people thought, than
even the regular services of the church.
It was dark ere all was over, and after singing a hymn the meeting
dispersed. Then Roderick remembered the errand of mercy with which he
had proposed to himself to conclude his day, and set out at once for
Widow Tirpie's cottage, which was about a mile from the village.
Reaching it, he found the daughter on the threshold, gazing motionless
towards the western sky, where the last faint gleams of evening still
struggled with the coming night. A girl of about twenty, but looking
older, worn with care or illness, but with a face superior to her
station, she sat like an image of regret, pale-cheeked and thin, with
her great dark eyes looking out into the ebbing twilight. She rose on
Roderick's approach and followed him inside.
There knelt the mother crouching on the hearth, where with distended
cheeks she was endeavouring to blow two peats into a blaze, that she
might boil her pot and prepare their evening meal.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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