Kate Carnegie and Those Ministers

Kate Carnegie and Those
Ministers, by Ian

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Ian Maclaren
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Title: Kate Carnegie and Those Ministers
Author: Ian Maclaren

Release Date: January 19, 2007 [eBook #20399]
Language: English
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CARNEGIE AND THOSE MINISTERS***
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KATE CARNEGIE AND THOSE MINISTERS.
by
IAN MACLAREN.

Toronto: Fleming H. Revell Company, 140-142 Yonge Street. 1896.
Entered according to Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year 1896,
by Hodder & Stoughton, at the Department of Agriculture.

TO
A CERTAIN BROTHERHOOD
Faithful in Criticism
Loyal in Affection
Tender in Trouble

CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I.
PANDEMONIUM II. PEACE III. A HOME OF MANY
GENERATIONS IV. A SECRET CHAMBER V. CONCERNING
BESOMS VI. A PLEASAUNCE VII. A WOMAN OF THE NEW

DISPENSATION VIII. A WOMAN OF THE OLD DISPENSATION
IX. A DAUGHTER OF DEBATE X. A SUPRA-LAPSARIAN XI. IN
THE GLOAMING XII. KILBOGIE MANSE XIII. PREPARING FOR
THE SACRAMENT XIV. A MODERATE XV. JOINT
POTENTATES XVI. DRIED ROSE LEAVES XVII.
SMOULDERING FIRES XVIII. LOVE SICKNESS XIX. THE FEAR
OF GOD XX. THE WOUNDS OF A FRIEND XXI. LIGHT AT
EVENTIDE XXII. WITHOUT FEAR AND WITHOUT REPROACH
XXIII. MARGET HOWE'S CONFESSIONAL XXIV. LOVE IS
LORD

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
Carmichael had taken his Turn
"Many a Ploy we had together"
Peter was standing in his Favourite Attitude
"I am the General's Daughter"
Janet Macpherson was waiting in the Deep Doorway
"It's a Difficult Key to turn"
Kate in her Favourite Position
One Gardener who . . . works for Love's Sake
Among the Great Trees
"Mr. Carmichael, you have much Cause for Thankfulness"
Carmichael sang a Solo
"Here iss your Silver Piece"
"I should call it a Deliberate--"

"She had an Unfortunate Tendency to meddle with my Books"
Mother Church cast her Spell over his Imagination
"Ye'll be hanging Dr. Chalmers there"
A Tall, Bony, Forbidding Woman
Gathering her Berry Harvest
He was a Mere Wisp of a Man
"Will you let me walk with you for a Little?"
"Private Capaucity"
Standing with a Half-Dried Dish in her Hand
The Old Man escorted her Ladyship
Would gossip with him by the Hour
The Driver stops to exchange Views
Two Tramps held Conference
Wrestling in Darkness of Soul
His Attitude for Exposition
"Ay, he's in, but ye canna see him"
"To put Flowers on his Grave"
"You have been awfully Good to me"
"He sat down by the River-side to meditate"

KATE CARNEGIE.
CHAPTER I.
PANDEMONIUM.
It was the morning before the Twelfth, years ago, and nothing like unto
Muirtown Station could have been found in all the travelling world. For
Muirtown, as everybody knows, is the centre which receives the
southern immigrants in autumn, and distributes them, with all their
belongings of servants, horses, dogs, and luggage, over the north
country from Athole to Sutherland. All night, express trains, whose
ordinary formation had been reinforced by horse boxes, carriage trucks,
saloons and luggage vans, drawn by two engines, and pushed up
inclines by a third, had been careering along the three iron trunk roads
that run from London to the North. Four hours ago they had forced the
border, that used to be more jealously guarded, and had begun to
converge on their terminus. Passengers, awakened by the caller air and
looking out still half asleep, miss the undisciplined hedgerows and
many-shaped patches of pasture, the warm brick homesteads and
shaded ponds of the south. Square fields cultivated up to a foot of the
stone dykes or wire-fencing, the strong grey-stone farm-houses, the
swift-running burns, and the never-distant hills, brace the mind. Local
passengers come in with deliberation, whose austere faces condemn the
luxurious disorder of night travel, and challenge the defence of
Arminian doctrine. A voice shouts "Carstairs Junction," with a
command of the letter r, which is the bequest of an unconquerable past,
and inspires one with the hope of some day hearing a freeborn Scot say
"Auchterarder." The train runs over bleak moorlands with black peat
holes, through alluvial straths yielding their last pickle of corn, between
iron furnaces blazing strangely in the morning light, at the foot of
historical castles built on rocks that rise out of the fertile plains, and
then, after a space of sudden darkness, any man with a soul counts the
ten hours' dust and heat