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favoured with so many pleasantries。 〃Kirstie and me maun have our joke；〃
he would declare in high good…humour； as he buttered Kirstie's scones； and
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she waited at table。 A man who had no need either of love or of popularity；
a keen reader of men and of events； there was perhaps only one truth for
which he was quite unprepared： he would have been quite unprepared to
learn that Kirstie hated him。 He thought maid and master were well
matched； hard； bandy； healthy； broad Scots folk； without a hair of
nonsense to the pair of them。 And the fact was that she made a goddess
and an only child of the effete and tearful lady； and even as she waited at
table her hands would sometimes itch for my lord's ears。
Thus； at least； when the family were at Hermiston； not only my lord；
but Mrs。 Weir too； enjoyed a holiday。 Free from the dreadful looking…for
of the miscarried dinner； she would mind her seam； read her piety books；
and take her walk （which was my lord's orders）； sometimes by herself；
sometimes with Archie； the only child of that scarce natural union。 The
child was her next bond to life。 Her frosted sentiment bloomed again； she
breathed deep of life； she let loose her heart； in that society。 The miracle of
her motherhood was ever new to her。 The sight of the little man at her skirt
intoxicated her with the sense of power； and froze her with the
consciousness of her responsibility。 She looked forward； and； seeing him
in fancy grow up and play his diverse part on the world's theatre； caught in
her breath and lifted up her courage with a lively effort。 It was only with
the child that she forgot herself and was at moments natural； yet it was
only with the child that she had conceived and managed to pursue a
scheme of conduct。 Archie was to be a great man and a good； a minister if
possible； a saint for certain。 She tried to engage his mind upon her
favourite books； Rutherford's LETTERS； Scougalls GRACE
ABOUNDING； and the like。 It was a common practice of hers （and
strange to remember now） that she would carry the child to the Deil's Hags；
sit with him on the Praying Weaver's stone； and talk of the Covenanters till
their tears ran down。 Her view of history was wholly artless； a design in
snow and ink； upon the one side； tender innocents with psalms upon their
lips； upon the other； the persecutors； booted； bloody…minded； flushed with
wine： a suffering Christ； a raging Beelzebub。 PERSECUTOR was a word
that knocked upon the woman's heart； it was her highest thought of
wickedness； and the mark of it was on her house。 Her great…great…
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Weir of Hermiston
grandfather had drawn the sword against the Lord's anointed on the field
of Rullion Green； and breathed his last （tradition said） in the arms of the
detestable Dalyell。 Nor could she blind herself to this； that had they lived
in those old days； Hermiston himself would have been numbered
alongside of Bloody MacKenzie and the politic Lauderdale and Rothes； in
the band of God's immediate enemies。 The sense of this moved her to the
more fervour； she had a voice for that name of PERSECUTOR that
thrilled in the child's marrow； and when one day the mob hooted and
hissed them all in my lord's travelling carriage； and cried； 〃Down with the
persecutor！ down with Hanging Hermiston！〃 and mamma covered her
eyes and wept； and papa let down the glass and looked out upon the rabble
with his droll formidable face； bitter and smiling； as they said he
sometimes looked when he gave sentence； Archie was for the moment too
much amazed to be alarmed； but he had scarce got his mother by herself
before his shrill voice was raised demanding an explanation： why had they
called papa a persecutor？
〃Keep me； my precious！〃 she exclaimed。 〃Keep me； my dear！ this is
poleetical。 Ye must never ask me anything poleetical； Erchie。 Your faither
is a great man； my dear； and it's no for me or you to be judging him。 It
would be telling us all； if we behaved ourselves in our several stations the
way your faither does in his high office； and let me hear no more of any
such disrespectful and undutiful questions！ No that you meant to be
undutiful； my lamb； your mother kens that … she kens it well； dearie！〃 And
so slid off to safer topics； and left on the mind of the child an obscure but
ineradicable sense of something wrong。
Mrs。 Weir's philosophy of life was summed in one expression …
tenderness。 In her view of the universe； which was all lighted up with a
glow out of the doors of hell； good people must walk there in a kind of
ecstasy of tenderness。 The beasts and plants had no souls； they were here
but for a day； and let their day pass gently！ And as for the immortal men；
on what black； downward path were many of them wending； and to what a
horror of an immortality！ 〃Are not two sparrows；〃 〃Whosoever shall smite
thee；〃 〃God sendeth His rain；〃 〃Judge not； that ye be not judged〃 … these
texts made her body of divinity； she put them on in the morning with her
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Weir of Hermiston
clothes and lay down to sleep with them at night； they haunted her like a
favourite air； they clung about her like a favourite perfume。 Their minister
was a marrowy expounder of the law； and my lord sat under him with
relish； but Mrs。 Weir respected him from far off； heard him （like the
cannon of a beleaguered city） usefully booming outside on the dogmatic
ramparts； and meanwhile； within and out of shot； dwelt in her private
garden which she watered with grateful tears。 It seems strange to say of
this colourless and ineffectual woman； but she was a true enthusiast； and
might have made the sunshine and the glory of a cloister。 Perhaps none but
Archie knew she could be eloquent； perhaps none but he had seen her … her
colour raised； her hands clasped or quivering … glow with gentle ardour。
There is a corner of the policy of Hermiston； where you come suddenly in
view of the summit of Black Fell； sometimes like the mere grass top of a
hill； sometimes （and this is her own expression） like a precious jewel in
th