"
"But, my good brother," said the Abbot--
"I am not good neither," said the peevish gardener; "I am neither good
nor wise--Had I been wise, you would not have been admitted here; and
were I good, methinks I should send you elsewhere to hatch plots for
destroying the quiet of the country. What signifies disputing about
queen or king,--when men may sit at peace--_sub umbra vitis sui?_
and so would I do, after the precept of Holy Writ, were I, as you term
me, wise or good. But such as I am, my neck is in the yoke, and you
make me draw what weight you list.--Follow me, youngster. This
reverend father, who makes in his jackman's dress nearly as reverend a
figure as I myself, will agree with me in one thing at least, and that
is, that you have been long enough here."
"Follow the good father, Roland," said the Abbot, "and remember my
words--a day is approaching that will try the temper of all true
Scotsmen--may thy heart prove faithful as the steel of thy blade!"
The page bowed in silence, and they parted; the gardener,
notwithstanding his advanced age, walking on before him very briskly,
and muttering as he went, partly to himself, partly to his companion,
after the manner of old men of weakened intellects--"When I was
great," thus ran his maundering, "and had my mule and my ambling
palfrey at command, I warrant you I could have as well flown through
the air as have walked at this pace. I had my gout and my rheumatics,
and an hundred things besides, that hung fetters on my heels; and,
now, thanks to Our Lady, and honest labour, I can walk with any good
man of my age in the kingdom of Fife--Fy upon it, that experience
should be so long in coming!"
As he was thus muttering, his eye fell upon the branch of a pear-tree
which drooped down for want of support, and at once forgetting his
haste, the old man stopped and set seriously about binding it up.
Pages:
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474