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diff --git a/old/8bboy10h.htm b/old/8bboy10h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..bef35ee --- /dev/null +++ b/old/8bboy10h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8518 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<title>RANALD BANNERMAN'S BOYHOOD</title> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> +<style type="text/css"> +<!-- +body {margin:10%; text-align:justify} +img {border: 0;} +blockquote {font-size:14pt} +P {font-size:14pt} +--> +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<h2>Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood, by George MacDonald</h2> + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood, by George MacDonald + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood + +Author: George MacDonald + +Release Date: November, 2005 [EBook #9301] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on September 19, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RANALD BANNERMAN'S BOYHOOD *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger, Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + +</pre> + +<center> +<h1>RANALD BANNERMAN'S BOYHOOD</h1> + +<h3>By</h3> + +<h2>George MacDonald</h2> + +<br><br> + +<h3>1871</h3> +</center> + + +<a name="bilberry"></a> +<br><br> +<center> +<a href="il01.jpg"><img alt="il01h.jpg (67K)" src="il01h.jpg" height="593" width="365"></a> +</center> +<br><br> +<h2> +CONTENTS</h2> + +<p>Chap.</p> + +<p>I. INTRODUCTORY</p> + +<p>II. THE GLIMMER OF TWILIGHT</p> + +<p>III. MY FATHER</p> + +<p>IV. KIRSTY</p> + +<p>V. I BEGIN LIFE</p> + +<p>VI. NO FATHER</p> + +<p>VII. MRS. MITCHELL IS DEFEATED</p> + +<p>VIII. A NEW SCHOOLMISTRESS</p> + +<p>IX. WE LEARN OTHER THINGS</p> + +<p>X. SIR WORM WYMBLE</p> + +<p>XI. THE KELPIE</p> + +<p>XII. ANOTHER KELPIE</p> + +<p>XIII. WANDERING WILLIE</p> + +<p>XIV. ELSIE DUFF</p> + +<p>XV. A NEW COMPANION</p> + +<p>XVI. I GO DOWN HILL</p> + +<p>XVII. THE TROUBLE GROWS</p> + +<p>XVIII. LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS</p> + +<p>XIX. FORGIVENESS</p> + +<p>XX. I HAVE A FALL AND A DREAM</p> + +<p>XXI. THE BEES' NEST</p> + +<p>XXII. VAIN INTERCESSION</p> + +<p>XXIII. KNIGHT-ERRANTRY</p> + +<p>XXIV. FAILURE</p> + +<p>XXV. TURKEY PLOTS</p> + +<p>XXVI. OLD JOHN JAMIESON</p> + +<p>XXVII. TURKEY'S TRICK</p> + +<p>XXVIII. I SCHEME TOO</p> + +<p>XXIX. A DOUBLE EXPOSURE</p> + +<p>XXX. TRIBULATION</p> + +<p>XXXI. A WINTER'S RIDE</p> + +<p>XXXII. THE PEAT-STACK</p> + +<p>XXXIII. A SOLITARY CHAPTER</p> + +<p>XXXIV. AN EVENING VISIT</p> + +<p>XXXV. A BREAK IN MY STORY</p> + +<p>XXXVI. I LEARN THAT I AM NOT A MAN</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<h2>COLOURED PLATES</h2> +A click on any coloured plate will enlarge it to full-size.<br> + +<p><a href="#bilberry">THE BILBERRY PICKERS</a></p> + +<p><a href="#baby">THE BABY BROTHER</a></p> + +<p><a href="#davie">THE DRESSING OF LITTLE DAVIE</a></p> + +<p><a href="#escape">MY ESCAPE</a></p> + +<p><a href="#turkey">TURKEY LIGHTS A FIRE</a></p> + +<p><a href="#night">I GO INTO THE FIELDS</a></p> + +<p><a href="#snow">MAKING THE SNOWBALL</a></p> + +<p><a href="#elsie">READING TO ELSIE AND TURKEY</a></p> + +<p><a href="#still">A SUDDEN STOP</a></p> + +<p><a href="#helping">HELPING ELSIE</a></p> + +<p><a href="#reading">A READING LESSON</a></p> + +<p><a href="#home">I RETURN HOME</a></p> + +<p> +<i>Coloured Illustrations by A.V. Wheelhouse: and Other 36 +Black-and-White Illustrations by Arthur Hughes</i>.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p> +CHAPTER I</p> + +<p>Introductory</p> +<center> +<img alt="006.jpg (91K)" src="006.jpg" height="712" width="524"> +</center> +<p> +I do not intend to carry my story one month beyond the hour when I saw +that my boyhood was gone and my youth arrived; a period determined to +some by the first tail-coat, to me by a different sign. My reason for +wishing to tell this first portion of my history is, that when I look +back upon it, it seems to me not only so pleasant, but so full of +meaning, that, if I can only tell it right, it must prove rather +pleasant and not quite unmeaning to those who will read it. It will +prove a very poor story to such as care only for stirring adventures, +and like them all the better for a pretty strong infusion of the +impossible; but those to whom their own history is interesting—to +whom, young as they may be, it is a pleasant thing to be in the +world—will not, I think, find the experience of a boy born in a very +different position from that of most of them, yet as much a boy as any +of them, wearisome because ordinary.</p> + +<p>If I did not mention that I, Ranald Bannerman, am a Scotchman, I +should be found out before long by the kind of thing I have to tell; +for although England and Scotland are in all essentials one, there are +such differences between them that one could tell at once, on opening +his eyes, if he had been carried out of the one into the other during +the night. I do not mean he might not be puzzled, but except there was +an intention to puzzle him by a skilful selection of place, the very +air, the very colours would tell him; or if he kept his eyes shut, his +ears would tell him without his eyes. But I will not offend fastidious +ears with any syllable of my rougher tongue. I will tell my story in +English, and neither part of the country will like it the worse for +that.</p> + +<p>I will clear the way for it by mentioning that my father was the +clergyman of a country parish in the north of Scotland—a humble +position, involving plain living and plain ways altogether. There was +a glebe or church-farm attached to the manse or clergyman's house, and +my father rented a small farm besides, for he needed all he could make +by farming to supplement the smallness of the living. My mother was an +invalid as far back as I can remember. We were four boys, and had no +sister. But I must begin at the beginning, that is, as far back as it +is possible for me to begin.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER II</p> + +<p>The Glimmer of Twilight</p> + +<p> +I cannot tell any better than most of my readers how and when I began +to come awake, or what it was that wakened me. I mean, I cannot +remember when I began to remember, or what first got set down in my +memory as worth remembering. Sometimes I fancy it must have been a +tremendous flood that first made me wonder, and so made me begin to +remember. At all events, I do remember one flood that seems about as +far off as anything—the rain pouring so thick that I put out my hand +in front of me to try whether I could see it through the veil of the +falling water. The river, which in general was to be seen only in +glimpses from the house—for it ran at the bottom of a hollow—was +outspread like a sea in front, and stretched away far on either +hand. It was a little stream, but it fills so much of my memory with +its regular recurrence of autumnal floods, that I can have no +confidence that one of these is in reality the oldest thing I +remember. Indeed, I have a suspicion that my oldest memories are of +dreams,—where or when dreamed, the good One who made me only knows. +They are very vague to me now, but were almost all made up of bright +things. One only I can recall, and it I will relate, or more properly +describe, for there was hardly anything done in it. I dreamed it +often. It was of the room I slept in, only it was narrower in the +dream, and loftier, and the window was gone. But the ceiling was a +ceiling indeed; for the sun, moon, and stars lived there. The sun was +not a scientific sun at all, but one such as you see in penny +picture-books—a round, jolly, jocund man's face, with flashes of +yellow frilling it all about, just what a grand sunflower would look +if you set a countenance where the black seeds are. And the moon was +just such a one as you may see the cow jumping over in the pictured +nursery rhyme. She was a crescent, of course, that she might have a +face drawn in the hollow, and turned towards the sun, who seemed to be +her husband. He looked merrily at her, and she looked trustfully at +him, and I knew that they got on very well together. The stars were +their children, of course, and they seemed to run about the ceiling +just as they pleased; but the sun and the moon had regular +motions—rose and set at the proper times, for they were steady old +folks. I do not, however, remember ever seeing them rise or set; they +were always up and near the centre before the dream dawned on me. It +would always come in one way: I thought I awoke in the middle of the +night, and lo! there was the room with the sun and the moon and the +stars at their pranks and revels in the ceiling—Mr. Sun nodding and +smiling across the intervening space to Mrs. Moon, and she nodding +back to him with a knowing look, and the corners of her mouth drawn +down. +</p> + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="011.jpg (98K)" src="011.jpg" height="658" width="428"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p> +I have vague memories of having heard them talk. At times I feel +as if I could yet recall something of what they said, but it vanishes +the moment I try to catch it. It was very queer talk, indeed—about +me, I fancied—but a thread of strong sense ran through it all. When +the dream had been very vivid, I would sometimes think of it in the +middle of the next day, and look up to the sun, saying to myself: He's +up there now, busy enough. I wonder what he is seeing to talk to his +wife about when he comes down at night? I think it sometimes made me a +little more careful of my conduct. When the sun set, I thought he was +going in the back way; and when the moon rose, I thought she was going +out for a little stroll until I should go to sleep, when they might +come and talk about me again. It was odd that, although I never +fancied it of the sun, I thought I could make the moon follow me as I +pleased. I remember once my eldest brother giving me great offence by +bursting into laughter, when I offered, in all seriousness, to bring +her to the other side of the house where they wanted light to go on +with something they were about. But I must return to my dream; for the +most remarkable thing in it I have not yet told you. In one corner of +the ceiling there was a hole, and through that hole came down a ladder +of sun-rays—very bright and lovely. Where it came from I never +thought, but of course it could not come from the sun, because there +he was, with his bright coat off, playing the father of his family in +the most homely Old-English-gentleman fashion possible. That it was a +ladder of rays there could, however, be no doubt: if only I could +climb upon it! I often tried, but fast as I lifted my feet to climb, +down they came again upon the boards of the floor. At length I did +succeed, but this time the dream had a setting.</p> + + +<a name="baby"></a> +<br><br> +<center> +<a href="il02.jpg"><img alt="il02h.jpg (68K)" src="il02h.jpg" height="590" width="363"></a> +</center> +<br><br> + +<p>I have said that we were four boys; but at this time we were +five—there was a little baby. He was very ill, however, and I knew he +was not expected to live. I remember looking out of my bed one night +and seeing my mother bending over him in her lap;—it is one of the +few things in which I do remember my mother. I fell asleep, but by and +by woke and looked out again. No one was there. Not only were mother +and baby gone, but the cradle was gone too. I knew that my little +brother was dead. I did not cry: I was too young and ignorant to cry +about it. I went to sleep again, and seemed to wake once more; but it +was into my dream this time. There were the sun and the moon and the +stars. But the sun and the moon had got close together and were +talking very earnestly, and all the stars had gathered round them. I +could not hear a word they said, but I concluded that they were +talking about my little brother. "I suppose I ought to be sorry," I +said to myself; and I tried hard, but I could not feel sorry. Meantime +I observed a curious motion in the heavenly host. They kept looking at +me, and then at the corner where the ladder stood, and talking on, for +I saw their lips moving very fast; and I thought by the motion of them +that they were saying something about the ladder. I got out of bed and +went to it. If I could only get up it! I would try once more. To my +delight I found it would bear me. I climbed and climbed, and the sun +and the moon and the stars looked more and more pleased as I got up +nearer to them, till at last the sun's face was in a broad smile. But +they did not move from their places, and my head rose above them, and +got out at the hole where the ladder came in. What I saw there, I +cannot tell. I only know that a wind such as had never blown upon me +in my waking hours, blew upon me now. I did not care much for kisses +then, for I had not learned how good they are; but somehow I fancied +afterwards that the wind was made of my baby brother's kisses, and I +began to love the little man who had lived only long enough to be our +brother and get up above the sun and the moon and the stars by the +ladder of sun-rays. But this, I say, I thought afterwards. Now all +that I can remember of my dream is that I began to weep for very +delight of something I have forgotten, and that I fell down the ladder +into the room again and awoke, as one always does with a fall in a +dream. Sun, moon, and stars were gone; the ladder of light had +vanished; and I lay sobbing on my pillow.</p> + +<p>I have taken up a great deal of room with this story of a dream, but +it clung to me, and would often return. And then the time of life to +which this chapter refers is all so like one, that a dream comes in +well enough in it. There is a twilight of the mind, when all things +are strange, and when the memory is only beginning to know that it has +got a notebook, and must put things down in it.</p> + +<p>It was not long after this before my mother died, and I was sorrier +for my father than for myself—he looked so sad. I have said that as +far back as I can remember, she was an invalid. Hence she was unable +to be much with us. She is very beautiful in my memory, but during the +last months of her life we seldom saw her, and the desire to keep the +house quiet for her sake must have been the beginning of that freedom +which we enjoyed during the whole of our boyhood. So we were out every +day and all day long, finding our meals when we pleased, and that, as +I shall explain, without going home for them. I remember her death +clearly, but I will not dwell upon that. It is too sad to write much +about, though she was happy, and the least troubled of us all. Her +sole concern was at leaving her husband and children. But the will of +God was a better thing to her than to live with them. My sorrow at +least was soon over, for God makes children so that grief cannot +cleave to them. They must not begin life with a burden of loss. He +knows it is only for a time. When I see my mother again, she will not +reproach me that my tears were so soon dried. "Little one," I think I +hear her saying, "how could you go on crying for your poor mother when +God was mothering you all the time, and breathing life into you, and +making the world a blessed place for you? You will tell me all about +it some day." Yes, and we shall tell our mothers—shall we not?—how +sorry we are that we ever gave them any trouble. Sometimes we were +very naughty, and sometimes we did not know better. My mother was very +good, but I cannot remember a single one of the many kisses she must +have given me. I remember her holding my head to her bosom when she +was dying—that is all.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER III</p> + +<p>My Father</p> + +<p> +My father was a tall, staid, solemn man, who walked slowly with long +strides. He spoke very little, and generally looked as if he were +pondering next Sunday's sermon. His head was grey, and a little bent, +as if he were gathering truth from the ground. Once I came upon him in +the garden, standing with his face up to heaven, and I thought he was +seeing something in the clouds; but when I came nearer, I saw that his +eyes were closed, and it made me feel very solemn. I crept away as if +I had been peeping where I ought not. He did not talk much to us. What +he said was very gentle, and it seemed to me it was his solemnity that +made him gentle. I have seen him look very angry. He used to walk much +about his fields, especially of a summer morning before the sun was +up. This was after my mother's death. I presume he felt nearer to her +in the fields than in the house. There was a kind of grandeur about +him, I am sure; for I never saw one of his parishioners salute him in +the road, without a look of my father himself passing like a solemn +cloud over the face of the man or woman. For us, we feared and loved +him both at once. I do not remember ever being punished by him, but +Kirsty (of whom I shall have to speak by and by) has told me that he +did punish us when we were very small children. Neither did he teach +us much himself, except on the occasions I am about to mention; and I +cannot say that I learned much from his sermons. These gave entire +satisfaction to those of his parishioners whom I happened to hear +speak of them; but, although I loved the sound of his voice, and liked +to look at his face as he stood up there in the ancient pulpit clad in +his gown and bands, I never cared much about what he said. Of course +it was all right, and a better sermon than any other clergyman +whatever could have preached, but what it was all about was of no +consequence to me. I may as well confess at once that I never had the +least doubt that my father was the best man in the world. Nay, to this +very hour I am of the same opinion, notwithstanding that the son of +the village tailor once gave me a tremendous thrashing for saying so, +on the ground that I was altogether wrong, seeing <i>his</i> father was the +best man in the world—at least I have learned to modify the assertion +only to this extent—that my father was the best man I have ever +known.</p> + +<p>The church was a very old one—had seen candles burning, heard the +little bell ringing, and smelt the incense of the old Catholic +service. It was so old, that it seemed settling down again into the +earth, especially on one side, where great buttresses had been built +to keep it up. It leaned against them like a weary old thing that +wanted to go to sleep. It had a short square tower, like so many of +the churches in England; and although there was but one old cracked +bell in it, although there was no organ to give out its glorious +sounds, although there was neither chanting nor responses, I assure my +English readers that the awe and reverence which fell upon me as I +crossed its worn threshold were nowise inferior, as far as I can +judge, to the awe and respect they feel when they enter the more +beautiful churches of their country. There was a hush in it which +demanded a refraining of the foot, a treading softly as upon holy +ground; and the church was inseparably associated with my father.</p> + +<p>The pew we sat in was a square one, with a table in the middle of it +for our books. My brother David generally used it for laying his head +upon, that he might go to sleep comfortably. My brother Tom put his +feet on the cross-bar of it, leaned back in his corner—for you see we +had a corner apiece—put his hands in his trousers pockets, and stared +hard at my father—for Tom's corner was well in front of the pulpit. +My brother Allister, whose back was to the pulpit, used to learn the +<i>paraphrases</i> all the time of the sermon. I, happiest of all in my +position, could look up at my father, if I pleased, a little sideways; +or, if I preferred, which I confess I often did, study—a rare sight +in Scotch churches—the figure of an armed knight, carved in stone, +which lay on the top of the tomb of Sir Worm Wymble—at least that is +the nearest I can come to the spelling of the name they gave him. The +tomb was close by the side of the pew, with only a flagged passage +between. It stood in a hollow in the wall, and the knight lay under +the arch of the recess, so silent, so patient, with folded palms, as +if praying for some help which he could not name. From the presence of +this labour of the sculptor came a certain element into the feeling of +the place, which it could not otherwise have possessed: organ and +chant were not altogether needful while that carved knight lay there +with face upturned, as if looking to heaven.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="020.jpg (111K)" src="020.jpg" height="661" width="440"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>But from gazing at the knight I began to regard the wall about him, +and the arch over him; and from the arch my eye would seek the roof, +and descending, rest on the pillars, or wander about the windows, +searching the building of the place, discovering the points of its +strength, and how it was upheld. So that while my father was talking +of the church as a company of believers, and describing how it was +held together by faith, I was trying to understand how the stone and +lime of the old place was kept from falling asunder, and thus +beginning to follow what has become my profession since; for I am an +architect.</p> + +<p>But the church has led me away from my father. He always spoke in +rather a low voice, but so earnestly that every eye, as it seemed to +me, but mine and those of two of my brothers, was fixed upon him. I +think, however, that it was in part the fault of certain teaching of +his own, better fitted for our understanding, that we paid so little +heed. Even Tom, with all his staring, knew as little about the sermon +as any of us. But my father did not question us much concerning it; he +did what was far better. On Sunday afternoons, in the warm, peaceful +sunlight of summer, with the honeysuckle filling the air of the little +arbour in which we sat, and his one glass of wine set on the table in +the middle, he would sit for an hour talking away to us in his gentle, +slow, deep voice, telling us story after story out of the New +Testament, and explaining them in a way I have seldom heard equalled. +Or, in the cold winter nights, he would come into the room where I and +my two younger brothers slept—the nursery it was—and, sitting down +with Tom by his side before the fire that burned bright in the frosty +air, would open the great family Bible on the table, turn his face +towards the two beds where we three lay wide awake, and tell us story +after story out of the Old Testament, sometimes reading a few verses, +sometimes turning the bare facts into an expanded and illustrated +narrative of his own, which, in Shakspere fashion, he presented after +the modes and ways of our own country and time. I shall never forget +Joseph in Egypt hearing the pattering of the asses' hoofs in the +street, and throwing up the window, and looking out, and seeing all +his own brothers coming riding towards him; or the grand rush of the +sea waves over the bewildered hosts of the Egyptians. We lay and +listened with all the more enjoyment, that while the fire was burning +so brightly, and the presence of my father filling the room with +safety and peace, the wind was howling outside, and the snow drifting +up against the window. Sometimes I passed into the land of sleep with +his voice in my ears and his love in my heart; perhaps into the land +of visions—once certainly into a dream of the sun and moon and stars +making obeisance to the too-favoured son of Jacob.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER IV</p> + +<p>Kirsty</p> + +<p> +My father had a housekeeper, a trusty woman, he considered her. We +thought her <i>very</i> old. I suppose she was about forty. She was not +pleasant, for she was grim-faced and censorious, with a very straight +back, and a very long upper lip. Indeed the distance from her nose to +her mouth was greater than the length of her nose. When I think of her +first, it is always as making some complaint to my father against +us. Perhaps she meant to speak the truth, or rather, perhaps took it +for granted that she always did speak the truth; but certainly she +would exaggerate things, and give them quite another look. The bones +of her story might be true, but she would put a skin over it after her +own fashion, which was not one of mildness and charity. The +consequence was that the older we grew, the more our minds were +alienated from her, and the more we came to regard her as our enemy. +If she really meant to be our friend after the best fashion she knew, +it was at least an uncomely kind of friendship, that showed itself in +constant opposition, fault-finding, and complaint. The real mistake +was that we were boys. There was something in her altogether +antagonistic to the boy-nature. You would have thought that to be a +boy was in her eyes to be something wrong to begin with; that boys +ought never to have been made; that they must always, by their very +nature, be about something amiss. I have occasionally wondered how she +would have behaved to a girl. On reflection, I think a little better; +but the girl would have been worse off, because she could not have +escaped from her as we did. My father would hear her complaints to the +end without putting in a word, except it were to ask her a question, +and when she had finished, would turn again to his book or his sermon, +saying—</p> + +<p>"Very well, Mrs. Mitchell; I will speak to them about it."</p> + +<p>My impression is that he did not believe the half she told him. At all +events, when he had sent for us, he would ask our version of the +affair, and listen to that as he had listened to hers. Then he would +set forth to us where we had been wrong, if we were wrong, and send us +away with an injunction not to provoke Mrs. Mitchell, who couldn't +help being short in her temper, poor thing! Somehow or other we got it +into our heads that the shortness of her temper was mysteriously +associated with the shortness of her nose.</p> + +<p>She was saving even to stinginess. She would do her best to provide +what my father liked, but for us she thought almost anything good +enough. She would, for instance, give us the thinnest of milk—we said +she skimmed it three times before she thought it blue enough for us. +My two younger brothers did not mind it so much as I did, for I was +always rather delicate, and if I took a dislike to anything, would +rather go without than eat or drink of it. But I have told you enough +about her to make it plain that she could be no favourite with us; and +enough likewise to serve as a background to my description of Kirsty.</p> + +<p>Kirsty was a Highland woman who had the charge of the house in which +the farm servants lived. She was a cheerful, gracious, kind woman—a +woman of God's making, one would say, were it not that, however +mysterious it may look, we cannot deny that he made Mrs. Mitchell too. +It is very puzzling, I confess. I remember once that my youngest +brother Davie, a very little fellow then, for he could not speak +plainly, came running in great distress to Kirsty, crying, "Fee, fee!" +by which he meant to indicate that a flea was rendering his life +miserable. Kirsty at once undressed him and entered on the pursuit. +After a successful search, while she was putting on his garments +again, little Davie, who had been looking very solemn and thoughtful +for some time, said, not in a questioning, but in a concluding tone—</p> + +<p>"God didn't make the fees, Kirsty!"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, Davie! God made everything. God did make the fleas," said +Kirsty.</p> + +<p>Davie was silent for a while. Then he opened his mouth and spake like +a discontented prophet of old:</p> + +<p>"Why doesn't he give them something else to eat, then?"</p> + +<p>"You must ask himself that," said Kirsty, with a wisdom I have since +learned to comprehend, though I remember it shocked me a little at the +time.</p> + +<a name="davie"></a> +<br><br> +<center> +<a href="il03.jpg"><img alt="il03h.jpg (64K)" src="il03h.jpg" height="596" width="356"></a> +</center> +<br><br> + +<p>All this set me thinking. Before the dressing of little Davie was +over, I had <i>my</i> question to put to Kirsty. It was, in fact, the same +question, only with a more important object in the eye of it.</p> + +<p>"<i>Then</i> I suppose God made Mrs. Mitchell, as well as you and the rest +of us, Kirsty?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, Ranald," returned Kirsty.</p> + +<p>"Well, I wish he hadn't," was my remark, in which I only imitated my +baby brother, who was always much cleverer than I.</p> + +<p>"Oh! she's not a bad sort," said Kirsty; "though I must say, if I was +her, I would try to be a little more agreeable."</p> + +<p>To return to Kirsty: she was our constant resort. The farmhouse was a +furlong or so from the manse, but with the blood pouring from a cut +finger, the feet would of themselves devour that furlong rather than +apply to Mrs. Mitchell. Oh! she was dear, and good, and kind, our +Kirsty!</p> + +<p>In person she was short and slender, with keen blue eyes and dark +hair; an uncommonly small foot, which she claimed for all Highland +folk; a light step, a sweet voice, and a most bounteous hand—but +there I come into the moral nature of her, for it is the mind that +makes the hand bountiful. For her face, I think that was rather queer, +but in truth I can hardly tell, so entirely was it the sign of good to +me and my brothers; in short, I loved her so much that I do not know +now, even as I did not care then, whether she was nice-looking or not. +She was quite as old as Mrs. Mitchell, but we never thought of <i>her</i> +being old. She was our refuge in all time of trouble and necessity. It +was she who gave us something to eat as often and as much as we +wanted. She used to say it was no cheating of the minister to feed +the minister's boys.</p> + +<p>And then her stories! There was nothing like them in all that +countryside. It was rather a dreary country in outward aspect, having +many bleak moorland hills, that lay about like slow-stiffened waves, +of no great height but of much desolation; and as far as the +imagination was concerned, it would seem that the minds of former +generations had been as bleak as the country, they had left such small +store of legends of any sort. But Kirsty had come from a region where +the hills were hills indeed—hills with mighty skeletons of stone +inside them; hills that looked as if they had been heaped over huge +monsters which were ever trying to get up—a country where every +cliff, and rock, and well had its story—and Kirsty's head was full of +such. It was delight indeed to sit by her fire and listen to them. +That would be after the men had had their supper, early of a winter +night, and had gone, two of them to the village, and the other to +attend to the horses. Then we and the herd, as we called the boy who +attended to the cattle, whose work was over for the night, would sit +by the fire, and Kirsty would tell us stories, and we were in our +heaven.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER V</p> + +<p>I Begin Life</p> + +<p> +I began life, and that after no pleasant fashion, as near as I can +guess, about the age of six years. One glorious morning in early +summer I found myself led by the ungentle hand of Mrs. Mitchell +towards a little school on the outside of the village, kept by an old +woman called Mrs. Shand. In an English village I think she would have +been called Dame Shand: we called her Luckie Shand. Half dragged along +the road by Mrs. Mitchell, from whose rough grasp I attempted in vain +to extricate my hand, I looked around at the shining fields and up at +the blue sky, where a lark was singing as if he had just found out +that he could sing, with something like the despair of a man going to +the gallows and bidding farewell to the world. We had to cross a +little stream, and when we reached the middle of the foot-bridge, I +tugged yet again at my imprisoned hand, with a half-formed intention +of throwing myself into the brook. But my efforts were still +unavailing. Over a half-mile or so, rendered weary by unwillingness, +I was led to the cottage door—no such cottage as some of my readers +will picture, with roses and honeysuckle hiding its walls, but a +dreary little house with nothing green to cover the brown stones of +which it was built, and having an open ditch in front of it with a +stone slab over it for a bridge. Did I say there was nothing on the +walls? This morning there was the loveliest sunshine, and that I was +going to leave behind. It was very bitter, especially as I had +expected to go with my elder brother to spend the day at a +neighbouring farm.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mitchell opened the door, and led me in. It was an awful +experience. Dame Shand stood at her table ironing. She was as tall as +Mrs. Mitchell, and that was enough to prejudice me against her at +once. She wore a close-fitting widow's cap, with a black ribbon round +it. Her hair was grey, and her face was as grey as her hair, and her +skin was gathered in wrinkles about her mouth, where they twitched and +twitched, as if she were constantly meditating something unpleasant. +She looked up inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"I've brought you a new scholar," said Mrs. Mitchell.</p> + +<p>"Well. Very well," said the dame, in a dubious tone. "I hope he's a +good boy, for he must be good if he comes here."</p> + +<p>"Well, he's just middling. His father spares the rod, Mrs. Shand, and +we know what comes of that."</p> + +<p>They went on with their talk, which, as far as I can recall it, was +complimentary to none but the two women themselves. Meantime I was +making what observations my terror would allow. About a dozen children +were seated on forms along the walls, looking over the tops of their +spelling-books at the newcomer. In the farther corner two were kicking +at each other as opportunity offered, looking very angry, but not +daring to cry. My next discovery was terribly disconcerting. Some +movement drew my eyes to the floor; there I saw a boy of my own age on +all-fours, fastened by a string to a leg of the table at which the +dame was ironing, while—horrible to relate!—a dog, not very big but +very ugly, and big enough to be frightened at, lay under the table +watching him. I gazed in utter dismay.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you may look!" said the dame. "If you're not a good boy, that is +how you shall be served. The dog shall have you to look after."</p> + +<p>I trembled, and was speechless. After some further confabulation, +Mrs. Mitchell took her leave, saying—</p> + +<p>"I'll come back for him at one o'clock, and if I don't come, just keep +him till I do come."</p> + +<p>The dame accompanied her to the door, and then I discovered that she +was lame, and hobbled very much. A resolution arose full-formed in my +brain.</p> + +<p>I sat down on the form near the door, and kept very quiet. Had it not +been for the intention I cherished, I am sure I should have cried. +When the dame returned, she resumed her box-iron, in which the heater +went rattling about, as, standing on one leg—the other was so much +shorter—she moved it to and fro over the garment on the table. Then +she called me to her by name in a would-be pompous manner. I obeyed, +trembling.</p> + +<p>"Can you say your letters?" she asked.</p> + +<p>Now, although I could not read, I could repeat the alphabet; how I had +learned it I do not know. I did repeat it.</p> + +<p>"How many questions of your catechism can you say?" she asked next.</p> + +<p>Not knowing with certainty what she meant, I was silent.</p> + +<p>"No sulking!" said the dame; and opening a drawer in the table, she +took out a catechism. Turning back the cover she put it in my hand, +and told me to learn the first question. She had not even inquired +whether I could read. I took the catechism, and stood as before.</p> + +<p>"Go to your seat," she said.</p> + +<p>I obeyed, and with the book before me pondered my plan.</p> + +<p>Everything depended on whether I could open the door before she could +reach me. Once out of the house, I was sure of running faster than she +could follow. And soon I had my first experience of how those are +helped who will help themselves.</p> + +<p>The ironing of course required a fire to make the irons hot, and as +the morning went on, the sunshine on the walls, conspiring with the +fire on the hearth, made the place too hot for the comfort of the old +dame. She went and set the door wide open. I was instantly on the +alert, watching for an opportunity. One soon occurred.</p> + +<p>A class of some five or six was reading, if reading it could be +called, out of the Bible. At length it came to the turn of one who +blundered dreadfully. It was the same boy who had been tied under the +table, but he had been released for his lesson. The dame hobbled to +him, and found he had his book upside down; whereupon she turned in +wrath to the table, and took from the drawer a long leather strap, +with which she proceeded to chastise him. As his first cry reached my +ears I was halfway to the door. On the threshold I stumbled and fell.</p> + +<p>"The new boy's running away!" shrieked some little sycophant inside.</p> + + + +<a name="escape"></a> +<br><br> +<center> +<a href="il04.jpg"><img alt="il04h.jpg (64K)" src="il04h.jpg" height="593" width="360"></a> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>I heard with horror, but I was up and off in a moment. I had not, +however, got many yards from the cottage before I heard the voice of +the dame screaming after me to return. I took no heed—only sped the +faster. But what was my horror to find her command enforced by the +pursuing bark of her prime minister. This paralysed me. I turned, and +there was the fiendish-looking dog close on my heels. I could run no +longer. For one moment I felt as if I should sink to the earth for +sheer terror. The next moment a wholesome rage sent the blood to my +brain. From abject cowardice to wild attack—I cannot call it +courage—was the change of an instant. I rushed towards the little +wretch. I did not know how to fight him, but in desperation I threw +myself upon him, and dug my nails into him. They had fortunately found +their way to his eyes. He was the veriest coward of his species. He +yelped and howled, and struggling from my grasp ran with his tail +merged in his person back to his mistress, who was hobbling after me. +But with the renewed strength of triumph I turned again for home, and +ran as I had never run before. When or where the dame gave in, I do +not know; I never turned my head until I laid it on Kirsty's bosom, +and there I burst out sobbing and crying. It was all the utterance I +had left.</p> + +<p>As soon as Kirsty had succeeded in calming me, I told her the whole +story. She said very little, but I could see she was very angry. No +doubt she was pondering what could be done. She got me some milk—half +cream I do believe, it was so nice—and some oatcake, and went on with +her work.</p> + +<p>While I ate I reflected that any moment Mrs. Mitchell might appear to +drag me back in disgrace to that horrible den. I knew that Kirsty's +authority was not equal to hers, and that she would be compelled to +give me up. So I watched an opportunity to escape once more and hide +myself, so that Kirsty might be able to say she did not know where I +was.</p> + +<p>When I had finished, and Kirsty had left the kitchen for a moment, I +sped noiselessly to the door, and looked out into the farmyard. There +was no one to be seen. Dark and brown and cool the door of the barn +stood open, as if inviting me to shelter and safety; for I knew that +in the darkest end of it lay a great heap of oat-straw. I sped across +the intervening sunshine into the darkness, and began burrowing in the +straw like a wild animal, drawing out handfuls and laying them +carefully aside, so that no disorder should betray my retreat. When I +had made a hole large enough to hold me, I got in, but kept drawing +out the straw behind me, and filling the hole in front. This I +continued until I had not only stopped up the entrance, but placed a +good thickness of straw between me and the outside. By the time I had +burrowed as far as I thought necessary, I was tired, and lay down at +full length in my hole, delighting in such a sense of safety as I had +never before experienced. I was soon fast asleep.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER VI</p> + +<p>No Father</p> + + +<p>I woke, and creeping out of my lair, and peeping from the door of the +barn, which looked into the cornyard, found that the sun was going +down. I had already discovered that I was getting hungry. I went out +at the other door into the close or farmyard, and ran across to the +house. No one was there. Something moved me to climb on the form and +look out of a little window, from which I could see the manse and the +road from it. To my dismay, there was Mrs. Mitchell coming towards the +farm. I possessed my wits sufficiently to run first to Kirsty's press +and secure a good supply of oatcake, with which I then sped like a +hunted hare to her form. I had soon drawn the stopper of straw into +the mouth of the hole, where, hearing no one approach, I began to eat +my oatcake, and fell asleep again before I had finished.</p> + +<p>And as I slept I dreamed my dream. The sun was looking very grave, and +the moon reflected his concern. They were not satisfied with me. At +length the sun shook his head; that is, his whole self oscillated on +an axis, and the moon thereupon shook herself in response. Then they +nodded to each other as much as to say, "That is entirely my own +opinion." At last they began to talk; not as men converse, but both at +once, yet each listening while each spoke. I heard no word, but their +lips moved most busily; their eyebrows went up and down; their eyelids +winked and winked, and their cheeks puckered and relaxed incessantly. +There was an absolute storm of expression upon their faces; their very +noses twisted and curled. It seemed as if, in the agony of their talk, +their countenances would go to pieces. For the stars, they darted +about hither and thither, gathered into groups, dispersed, and formed +new groups, and having no faces yet, but being a sort of celestial +tadpoles, indicated by their motions alone that they took an active +interest in the questions agitating their parents. Some of them kept +darting up and down the ladder of rays, like phosphorescent sparks in +the sea foam.</p> + +<p>I could bear it no longer, and awoke. I was in darkness, but not in my +own bed. When I proceeded to turn, I found myself hemmed in on all +sides. I could not stretch my arms, and there was hardly room for my +body between my feet and my head. I was dreadfully frightened at +first, and felt as if I were being slowly stifled. As my brain awoke, +I recalled the horrible school, the horrible schoolmistress, and the +most horrible dog, over whose defeat, however, I rejoiced with the +pride of a dragon-slayer. Next I thought it would be well to look +abroad and reconnoitre once more. I drew away the straw from the +entrance to my lair; but what was my dismay to find that even when my +hand went out into space no light came through the opening. What could +it mean? Surely I had not grown blind while I lay asleep. Hurriedly I +shot out the remainder of the stopper of straw, and crept from the +hole. In the great barn there was but the dullest glimmer of light; I +had almost said the clumsiest reduction of darkness. I tumbled at one +of the doors rather than ran to it. I found it fast, but this one I +knew was fastened on the inside by a wooden bolt or bar, which I could +draw back. The open door revealed the dark night. Before me was the +cornyard, as we called it, full of ricks. Huge and very positive +although dim, they rose betwixt me and the sky. Between their tops I +saw only stars and darkness. I turned and looked back into the barn. +It appeared a horrible cave filled with darkness. I remembered there +were rats in it. I dared not enter it again, even to go out at the +opposite door: I forgot how soundly and peacefully I had slept in it. +I stepped out into the night with the grass of the corn-yard under my +feet, the awful vault of heaven over my head, and those shadowy ricks +around me. It was a relief to lay my hand on one of them, and feel +that it was solid. I half groped my way through them, and got out into +the open field, by creeping through between the stems of what had once +been a hawthorn hedge, but had in the course of a hundred years grown +into the grimmest, largest, most grotesque trees I have ever seen of +the kind. I had always been a little afraid of them, even in the +daytime, but they did me no hurt, and I stood in the vast hall of the +silent night—alone: there lay the awfulness of it. I had never before +known what the night was. The real sting of its fear lay in this—that +there was nobody else in it. Everybody besides me was asleep all over +the world, and had abandoned me to my fate, whatever might come out of +the darkness to seize me. When I got round the edge of the stone wall, +which on another side bounded the corn-yard, there was the +moon—crescent, as I saw her in my dream, but low down towards the +horizon, and lying almost upon her rounded back. She looked very +disconsolate and dim. Even she would take no heed of me, abandoned +child! The stars were high up, away in the heavens. They did not look +like the children of the sun and moon at all, and <i>they</i> took no heed +of me. Yet there was a grandeur in my desolation that would have +elevated my heart but for the fear. If I had had one living creature +nigh me—if only the stupid calf, whose dull sleepy low startled me so +dreadfully as I stood staring about me! It was not dark out here in +the open field, for at this season of the year it is not dark there +all night long, when the sky is unclouded. Away in the north was the +Great Bear. I knew that constellation, for by it one of the men had +taught me to find the pole-star. Nearly under it was the light of the +sun, creeping round by the north towards the spot in the east where he +would rise again. But I learned only afterwards to understand this. I +gazed at that pale faded light, and all at once I remembered that God +was near me. But I did not know what God is then as I know now, and +when I thought about him then, which was neither much nor often, my +idea of him was not like him; it was merely a confused mixture of +other people's fancies about him and my own. I had not learned how +beautiful God is; I had only learned that he is strong. I had been +told that he was angry with those that did wrong; I had not understood +that he loved them all the time, although he was displeased with them, +and must punish them to make them good. When I thought of him now in +the silent starry night, a yet greater terror seized me, and I ran +stumbling over the uneven field.</p> + +<a name="night"></a> +<br><br> +<center> +<a href=il06.jpg><img alt="il06h.jpg (58K)" src="il06h.jpg" height="594" width="352"></a> +</center> +<br><br> + +<p>Does my reader wonder whither I fled? Whither should I fly but home? +True, Mrs. Mitchell was there, but there was another there as well. +Even Kirsty would not do in this terror. Home was the only refuge, for +my father was there. I sped for the manse.</p> + +<p>But as I approached it a new apprehension laid hold of my trembling +heart. I was not sure, but I thought the door was always locked at +night. I drew nearer. The place of possible refuge rose before me. I +stood on the grass-plot in front of it. There was no light in its +eyes. Its mouth was closed. It was silent as one of the ricks. Above +it shone the speechless stars. Nothing was alive. Nothing would +speak. I went up the few rough-hewn granite steps that led to the +door. I laid my hand on the handle, and gently turned it. Joy of joys! +the door opened. I entered the hall. Ah! it was more silent than the +night. No footsteps echoed; no voices were there. I closed the door +behind me, and, almost sick with the misery of a being where no other +being was to comfort it, I groped my way to my father's room. When I +once had my hand on his door, the warm tide of courage began again to +flow from my heart. I opened this door too very quietly, for was not +the dragon asleep down below?</p> + +<p>"Papa! papa!" I cried, in an eager whisper. "Are you awake, papa?"</p> + +<p>No voice came in reply, and the place was yet more silent than the +night or the hall. He must be asleep. I was afraid to call louder. I +crept nearer to the bed. I stretched out my hands to feel for him. He +must be at the farther side. I climbed up on the bed. I felt all +across it. Utter desertion seized my soul—my father was not there! +Was it a horrible dream? Should I ever awake? My heart sank totally +within me. I could bear no more. I fell down on the bed weeping +bitterly, and wept myself asleep.</p> + +<p>Years after, when I was a young man, I read Jean Paul's terrible dream +that there was no God, and the desolation of this night was my key to +that dream.</p> + +<p>Once more I awoke to a sense of misery, and stretched out my arms, +crying, "Papa! papa!" The same moment I found my father's arms around +me; he folded me close to him, and said—</p> + +<p>"Hush, Ranald, my boy! Here I am! You are quite safe."</p> + +<p>I nestled as close to him as I could go, and wept for blessedness.</p> + +<p>"Oh, papa!" I sobbed, "I thought I had lost you."</p> + +<p>"And I thought I had lost you, my boy. Tell me all about it."</p> + +<p>Between my narrative and my replies to his questionings he had soon +gathered the whole story, and I in my turn learned the dismay of the +household when I did not appear. Kirsty told what she knew. They +searched everywhere, but could not find me; and great as my misery had +been, my father's had been greater than mine. While I stood forsaken +and desolate in the field, they had been searching along the banks of +the river. But the herd had had an idea, and although they had already +searched the barn and every place they could think of, he left them +and ran back for a further search about the farm. Guided by the +scattered straw, he soon came upon my deserted lair, and sped back to +the riverside with the news, when my father returned, and after +failing to find me in my own bed, to his infinite relief found me fast +asleep on his; so fast, that he undressed me and laid me in the bed +without my once opening my eyes—the more strange, as I had already +slept so long. But sorrow is very sleepy.</p> + +<p>Having thus felt the awfulness and majesty of the heavens at night, it +was a very long time before I again dreamed my childish dream.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER VII</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mitchell is Defeated</p> + +<p> +After this talk with my father I fell into a sleep of perfect +contentment, and never thought of what might be on the morrow till the +morrow came. Then I grew aware of the danger I was in of being carried +off once more to school. Indeed, except my father interfered, the +thing was almost inevitable. I thought he would protect me, but I had +no assurance. He was gone again, for, as I have mentioned already, he +was given to going out early in the mornings. It was not early now, +however; I had slept much longer than usual. I got up at once, +intending to find him; but, to my horror, before I was half dressed, +my enemy, Mrs. Mitchell, came into the room, looking triumphant and +revengeful.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad to see you're getting up," she said; "it's nearly +school-time."</p> + +<p>The tone, and the emphasis she laid on the word <i>school</i>, would have +sufficed to reveal the state of her mind, even if her eyes had not +been fierce with suppressed indignation.</p> + +<p>"I haven't had my porridge," I said.</p> + +<p>"Your porridge is waiting you—as cold as a stone," she answered. "If +boys will lie in bed so late, what can they expect?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing from you," I muttered, with more hardihood than I had yet +shown her.</p> + +<p>"What's that you're saying?" she asked angrily.</p> + +<p>I was silent.</p> + +<p>"Make haste," she went on, "and don't keep me waiting all day."</p> + +<p>"You needn't wait, Mrs. Mitchell. I am dressing as fast as I can. Is +papa in his study yet?"</p> + +<p>"No. And you needn't think to see him. He's angry enough with you, +I'll warrant"</p> + +<p>She little knew what had passed between my father and me already. She +could not imagine what a talk we had had.</p> + +<p>"You needn't think to run away as you did yesterday. I know all about +it Mrs. Shand told me all about it I shouldn't wonder if your papa's +gone to see her now, and tell her how sorry he is you were so +naughty."</p> + +<p>"I'm not going, to school."</p> + +<p>"We'll see about that"</p> + +<p>"I tell you I won't go."</p> + +<p>"And I tell you we'll see about it"</p> + +<p>"I won't go till I've seen papa. If he says I'm to go, I will of +course; but I won't go for you."</p> + +<p>"You <i>will</i>, and you <i>won't</i>!" she repeated, standing staring at me, +as I leisurely, but with hands trembling partly with fear, partly with +rage, was fastening my nether garments to my waistcoat. "That's all +very fine, but I know something a good deal finer. Now wash your +face."</p> + +<p>"I won't, so long as you stand there," I said, and sat down on the +floor. She advanced towards me.</p> + +<p>"If you touch me, I'll scream," I cried.</p> + +<p>She stopped, thought for a moment, and bounced out of the room. But I +heard her turn the key of the door.</p> + +<p>I proceeded with my dressing as fast as I could then; and the moment I +was ready, opened the window, which was only a few feet from the +ground, scrambled out, and dropped. I hurt myself a little, but not +much, and fled for the harbour of Kirsty's arms. But as I turned the +corner of the house I ran right into Mrs. Mitchell's, who received me +with no soft embrace. In fact I was rather severely scratched with +a. pin in the bosom of her dress.</p> + +<p>"There! that serves you right," she cried. "That's a judgment on you +for trying to run away again. After all the trouble you gave us +yesterday too! You are a bad boy."</p> + +<p>"Why am I a bad boy?" I retorted.</p> + +<p>"It's bad not to do what you are told."</p> + +<p>"I will do what my papa tells me."</p> + +<p>"Your papa! There are more people than your papa in the world."</p> + +<p>"I'm to be a bad boy if I don't do what anybody like you chooses to +tell me, am I?"</p> + +<p>"None of your impudence!"</p> + +<p>This was accompanied by a box on the ear. She was now dragging me into +the kitchen. There she set my porridge before me, which I declined to +eat.</p> + +<p>"Well, if you won't eat good food, you shall go to school without it."</p> + +<p>"I tell you I won't go to school."</p> + +<p>She caught me up in her arms. She was very strong, and I could not +prevent her carrying me out of the house. If I had been the bad boy +she said I was, I could by biting and scratching have soon compelled +her to set me down; but I felt that I must not do that, for then I +should be ashamed before my father. I therefore yielded for the time, +and fell to planning. Nor was I long in coming to a resolution. I drew +the pin that had scratched me from her dress. I believed she would not +carry me very far; but if she did not set me down soon, I resolved to +make her glad to do so. Further I resolved, that when we came to the +foot-bridge, which had but one rail to it, I would run the pin into +her and make her let me go, when I would instantly throw myself into +the river, for I would run the risk of being drowned rather than go to +that school. Were all my griefs of yesterday, overcome and on the +point of being forgotten, to be frustrated in this fashion? My whole +blood was boiling. I was convinced my father did not want me to go. He +could not have been so kind to me during the night, and then send me +to such a place in the morning. But happily for the general peace, +things did not arrive at such a desperate pass. Before we were out of +the gate, my heart leaped with joy, for I heard my father calling, +"Mrs. Mitchell! Mrs. Mitchell!" I looked round, and seeing him coming +after us with his long slow strides, I fell to struggling so violently +in the strength of hope that she was glad to set me down. I broke from +her, ran to my father, and burst out crying.</p> + +<p>"Papa! papa!" I sobbed, "don't send me to that horrid school. I can +learn to read without that old woman to teach me."</p> + +<p>"Really, Mrs. Mitchell," said my father, taking me by the hand and +leading me towards her, where she stood visibly flaming with rage and +annoyance, "really, Mrs. Mitchell, you are taking too much upon you! I +never said the child was to go to that woman's school. In fact I don't +approve of what I hear of her, and I have thought of consulting some +of my brethren in the presbytery on the matter before taking steps +myself. I won't have the young people in my parish oppressed in such a +fashion. Terrified with dogs too! It is shameful."</p> + +<p>"She's a very decent woman, Mistress Shand," said the housekeeper.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="050.jpg (92K)" src="050.jpg" height="642" width="429"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>"I don't dispute her decency, Mrs. Mitchell; but I doubt very much +whether she is fit to have the charge of children; and as she is a +friend of yours, you will be doing her a kindness to give her a hint +to that effect. It <i>may</i> save the necessity for my taking further and +more unpleasant steps."</p> + +<p>"Indeed, sir, by your leave, it would be hard lines to take the bread +out of the mouth of a lone widow woman, and bring her upon the parish +with a bad name to boot. She's supported herself for years with her +school, and been a trouble to nobody."</p> + +<p>"Except the lambs of the flock, Mrs. Mitchell.—I like you for +standing up for your friend; but is a woman, because she is lone and a +widow, to make a Moloch of herself, and have the children sacrificed +to her in that way? It's enough to make idiots of some of them. She +had better see to it. You tell her that—from me, if you like. And +don't you meddle with school affairs. I'll take my young men," he +added with a smile, "to school when I see fit."</p> + +<p>"I'm sure, sir," said Mrs. Mitchell, putting her blue striped apron to +her eyes, "I asked your opinion before I took him."</p> + +<p>"I believe I did say something about its being time he were able to +read, but I recollect nothing more.—You must have misunderstood me," +he added, willing to ease her descent to the valley of her +humiliation.</p> + +<p>She walked away without another word, sniffing the air as she went, +and carrying her hands folded under her apron. From that hour I +believe she hated me.</p> + +<p>My father looked after her with a smile, and then looked down on me, +saying—</p> + +<p>"She's short in the temper, poor woman! and we mustn't provoke her."</p> + +<p>I was too well satisfied to urge my victory by further complaint. I +could afford to let well alone, for I had been delivered as from the +fiery furnace, and the earth and the sky were laughing around me. Oh! +what a sunshine filled the world! How glad the larks, which are the +praisers amongst the birds, were that blessed morning! The demon of +oppression had hidden her head ashamed, and fled to her den!</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER VIII</p> + +<p>A New Schoolmistress</p> + +<p> +"But, Ranald," my father continued, "what are we to do about the +reading? I fear I have let you go too long. I didn't want to make +learning a burden to you, and I don't approve of children learning to +read too soon; but really, at your age, you know, it is time you were +beginning. I have time to teach you some things, but I can't teach you +everything. I have got to read a great deal and think a great deal, +and go about my parish a good deal. And your brother Tom has heavy +lessons to learn at school, and I have to help him. So what's to be +done, Ranald, my boy? You can't go to the parish school before you've +learned your letters."</p> + +<p>"There's Kirsty, papa," I suggested.</p> + +<p>"Yes; there's Kirsty," he returned with a sly smile. "Kirsty can do +everything, can't she?"</p> + +<p>"She can speak Gaelic," I said with a tone of triumph, bringing her +rarest accomplishment to the forefront.</p> + +<p>"I wish you could speak Gaelic," said my father, thinking of his wife, +I believe, whose mother tongue it was. "But that is not what you want +most to learn. Do you think Kirsty could teach you to read English?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do."</p> + +<p>My father again meditated.</p> + +<p>"Let us go and ask her," he said at length, taking my hand.</p> + +<p>I capered with delight, nor ceased my capering till we stood on +Kirsty's earthen floor. I think I see her now, dusting one of her deal +chairs, as white as soap and sand could make it, for the minister to +sit on. She never called him <i>the master</i>, but always <i>the minister</i>. +She was a great favourite with my father, and he always behaved as a +visitor in her house.</p> + +<p>"Well, Kirsty," he said, after the first salutations were over, "have +you any objection to turn schoolmistress?"</p> + +<p>"I should make a poor hand at that," she answered, with a smile to me +which showed she guessed what my father wanted. "But if it were to +teach Master Ranald there, I should like dearly to try what I could +do."</p> + +<p>She never omitted the <i>Master</i> to our names; Mrs. Mitchell by no +chance prefixed it. The natural manners of the Celt and Saxon are +almost diametrically opposed in Scotland. And had Kirsty's speech been +in the coarse dialect of Mrs. Mitchell, I am confident my father would +not have allowed her to teach me. But Kirsty did not speak a word of +Scotch, and although her English was a little broken and odd, being +formed somewhat after Gaelic idioms, her tone was pure and her phrases +were refined. The matter was very speedily settled between them.</p> + +<p>"And if you want to beat him, Kirsty, you can beat him in Gaelic, and +then he won't feel it," said my father, trying after a joke, which was +no common occurrence with him, whereupon Kirsty and I laughed in great +contentment.</p> + +<p>The fact was, Kirsty had come to the manse with my mother, and my +father was attached to her for the sake of his wife as well as for her +own, and Kirsty would have died for the minister or any one of his +boys. All the devotion a Highland woman has for the chief of her clan, +Kirsty had for my father, not to mention the reverence due to the +minister.</p> + +<p>After a little chat about the cows and the calves, my father rose, +saying—</p> + +<p>"Then I'll just make him over to you, Kirsty. Do you think you can +manage without letting it interfere with your work, though?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, sir—well that! I shall soon have him reading to me while I'm +busy about. If he doesn't know the word, he can spell it, and then I +shall know it—at least if it's not longer than Hawkie's tail."</p> + +<p>Hawkie was a fine milker, with a bad temper, and a comically short +tail. It had got chopped off by some accident when she was a calf.</p> + +<p>"There's something else short about Hawkie—isn't there, Kirsty?" said +my father.</p> + +<p>"And Mrs. Mitchell," I suggested, thinking to help Kirsty to my +father's meaning.</p> + +<p>"Come, come, young gentleman! We don't want your remarks," said my +father pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Why, papa, you told me so yourself, just before we came up."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I did; but I did not mean you to repeat it. What if Kirsty were +to go and tell Mrs. Mitchell?"</p> + +<p>Kirsty made no attempt at protestation. She knew well enough that my +father knew there was no danger. She only laughed, and I, seeing +Kirsty satisfied, was satisfied also, and joined in the laugh.</p> + +<p>The result was that before many weeks were over, Allister and wee +Davie were Kirsty's pupils also, Allister learning to read, and wee +Davie to sit still, which was the hardest task within his capacity. +They were free to come or keep away, but not to go: if they did come, +Kirsty insisted on their staying out the lesson. It soon became a +regular thing. Every morning in summer we might be seen perched on a +form, under one of the tiny windows, in that delicious brown light +which you seldom find but in an old clay-floored cottage. In a +fir-wood I think you have it; and I have seen it in an old castle; but +best of all in the house of mourning in an Arab cemetery. In the +winter, we seated ourselves round the fire—as near it as Kirsty's +cooking operations, which were simple enough, admitted. It was +delightful to us boys, and would have been amusing to anyone, to see +how Kirsty behaved when Mrs. Mitchell found occasion to pay her a +visit during lesson hours. She knew her step and darted to the door. +Not once did she permit her to enter. She was like a hen with her +chickens.</p> + +<a name="reading"></a> +<br><br> +<center> +<a href="il11.jpg"><img alt="il11h.jpg (66K)" src="il11h.jpg" height="591" width="355"></a> +</center> +<br><br> + +<p>"No, you'll not come in just now, Mrs. Mitchell," she would say, as +the housekeeper attempted to pass. "You know we're busy."</p> + +<p>"I want to hear how they're getting on."</p> + +<p>"You can try them at home," Kirsty would answer.</p> + +<p>We always laughed at the idea of our reading to her. Once I believe +she heard the laugh, for she instantly walked away, and I do not +remember that she ever came again.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER IX</p> + +<p>We Learn Other Things</p> + +<p> +We were more than ever at the farm now. During the summer, from the +time we got up till the time we went to bed, we seldom approached the +manse. I have heard it hinted that my father neglected us. But that +can hardly be, seeing that then his word was law to us, and now I +regard his memory as the symbol of the love unspeakable. My elder +brother Tom always had his meals with him, and sat at his lessons in +the study. But my father did not mind the younger ones running wild, +so long as there was a Kirsty for them to run to; and indeed the men +also were not only friendly to us, but careful over us. No doubt we +were rather savage, very different in our appearance from town-bred +children, who are washed and dressed every time they go out for a +walk: that we should have considered not merely a hardship, but an +indignity. To be free was all our notion of a perfect existence. But +my father's rebuke was awful indeed, if he found even the youngest +guilty of untruth, or cruelty, or injustice. At all kinds of +escapades, not involving disobedience, he smiled, except indeed there +were too much danger, when he would warn and limit.</p> + +<p>A town boy may wonder what we could find to amuse us all day long; but +the fact is almost everything was an amusement, seeing that when we +could not take a natural share in what was going on, we generally +managed to invent some collateral employment fictitiously related to +it. But he must not think of our farm as at all like some great farm +he may happen to know in England; for there was nothing done by +machinery on the place. There may be great pleasure in watching +machine-operations, but surely none to equal the pleasure we had. If +there had been a steam engine to plough my father's fields, how could +we have ridden home on its back in the evening? To ride the horses +home from the plough was a triumph. Had there been a thrashing- +machine, could its pleasures have been comparable to that of lying in +the straw and watching the grain dance from the sheaves under the +skilful flails of the two strong men who belaboured them? There was a +winnowing-machine, but quite a tame one, for its wheel I could drive +myself—the handle now high as my head, now low as my knee—and watch +at the same time the storm of chaff driven like drifting snowflakes +from its wide mouth. Meantime the oat-grain was flowing in a silent +slow stream from the shelving hole in the other side, and the wind, +rushing through the opposite doors, aided the winnower by catching at +the expelled chaff, and carrying it yet farther apart. I think I see +old Eppie now, filling her sack with what the wind blew her; not with +the grain: Eppie did not covet that; she only wanted her bed filled +with fresh springy chaff, on which she would sleep as sound as her +rheumatism would let her, and as warm and dry and comfortable as any +duchess in the land that happened to have the rheumatism too. For +comfort is inside more than outside; and eider down, delicious as it +is, has less to do with it than some people fancy. How I wish all the +poor people in the great cities could have good chaff beds to lie +upon! Let me see: what more machines are there now? More than I can +tell. I saw one going in the fields the other day, at the use of which +I could only guess. Strange, wild-looking, mad-like machines, as the +Scotch would call them, are growling and snapping, and clinking and +clattering over our fields, so that it seems to an old boy as if all +the sweet poetic twilight of things were vanishing from the country; +but he reminds himself that God is not going to sleep, for, as one of +the greatest poets that ever lived says, <i>he slumbereth not nor +sleepeth</i>; and the children of the earth are his, and he will see that +their imaginations and feelings have food enough and to spare. It is +his business this—not ours. So the work must be done as well as it +can. Then, indeed, there will be no fear of the poetry.</p> + +<p>I have just alluded to the pleasure of riding the horses, that is, the +work-horses: upon them Allister and I began to ride, as far as I can +remember, this same summer—not from the plough, for the ploughing was +in the end of the year and the spring. First of all we were allowed to +take them at watering-time, watched by one of the men, from the stable +to the long trough that stood under the pump. There, going hurriedly +and stopping suddenly, they would drop head and neck and shoulders +like a certain toy-bird, causing the young riders a vague fear of +falling over the height no longer defended by the uplifted crest; and +then drink and drink till the riders' legs felt the horses' bodies +swelling under them; then up and away with quick refreshed stride or +trot towards the paradise of their stalls. But for us came first the +somewhat fearful pass of the stable door, for they never stopped, like +better educated horses, to let their riders dismount, but walked right +in, and there was just room, by stooping low, to clear the top of the +door. As we improved in equitation, we would go afield, to ride them +home from the pasture, where they were fastened by chains to short +stakes of iron driven into the earth. There was more of adventure +here, for not only was the ride longer, but the horses were more +frisky, and would sometimes set off at the gallop. Then the chief +danger was again the door, lest they should dash in, and knock knees +against posts and heads against lintels, for we had only halters to +hold them with. But after I had once been thrown from back to neck, +and from neck to ground in a clumsy but wild gallop extemporized by +Dobbin, I was raised to the dignity of a bridle, which I always +carried with me when we went to fetch them. It was my father's express +desire that until we could sit well on the bare back we should not be +allowed a saddle. It was a whole year before I was permitted to mount +his little black riding mare, called Missy. She was old, it is +true—nobody quite knew how old she was—but if she felt a light +weight on her back, either the spirit of youth was contagious, or she +fancied herself as young as when she thought nothing of twelve stone, +and would dart off like the wind. In after years I got so found of +her, that I would stand by her side flacking the flies from her as she +grazed; and when I tired of that, would clamber upon her back, and lie +there reading my book, while she plucked on and ground and mashed away +at the grass as if nobody were near her.</p> + +<p>Then there was the choice, if nothing else were found more attractive, +of going to the field where the cattle were grazing. Oh! the rich hot +summer afternoons among the grass and the clover, the little +lamb-daisies, and the big horse-daisies, with the cattle feeding +solemnly, but one and another straying now to the corn, now to the +turnips, and recalled by stern shouts, or, if that were unavailing, by +vigorous pursuit and even blows! If I had been able to think of a +mother at home, I should have been perfectly happy. Not that I missed +her then; I had lost her too young for that. I mean that the memory of +the time wants but that to render it perfect in bliss. Even in the +cold days of spring, when, after being shut up all the winter, the +cattle were allowed to revel again in the springing grass and the +venturesome daisies, there was pleasure enough in the company and +devices of the cowherd, a freckle-faced, white-haired, weak-eyed boy +of ten, named—I forget his real name: we always called him Turkey, +because his nose was the colour of a turkey's egg. Who but Turkey knew +mushrooms from toadstools? Who but Turkey could detect earth-nuts—and +that with the certainty of a truffle-hunting dog? Who but Turkey knew +the note and the form and the nest and the eggs of every bird in the +country? Who but Turkey, with his little whip and its lash of brass +wire, would encounter the angriest bull in Christendom, provided he +carried, like the bulls of Scotland, his most sensitive part, the +nose, foremost? In our eyes Turkey was a hero. Who but Turkey could +discover the nests of hens whose maternal anxiety had eluded the +<i>finesse</i> of Kirsty? and who so well as he could roast the egg with +which she always rewarded such a discovery? Words are feeble before +the delight we experienced on such an occasion, when Turkey, +proceeding to light a fire against one of the earthen walls which +divided the fields, would send us abroad to gather sticks and straws +and whatever outcast combustibles we could find, of which there was a +great scarcity, there being no woods or hedges within reach. Who like +Turkey could rob a wild bee's nest? And who could be more just than he +in distributing the luscious prize? In fine, his accomplishments were +innumerable. Short of flying, we believed him capable of everything +imaginable.</p> + + + +<a name="turkey"></a> +<br><br> +<center> +<a href="il05.jpg"><img alt="il05h.jpg (55K)" src="il05h.jpg" height="593" width="359"></a> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>What rendered him yet dearer to us, was that there was enmity between +him and Mrs. Mitchell. It came about in this way. Although a good +milker, and therefore of necessity a good feeder, Hawkie was yet upon +temptation subject to the inroads of an unnatural appetite. When she +found a piece of an old shoe in the field, she would, if not compelled +to drop the delicious mouthful, go on, the whole morning or afternoon, +in the impossibility of a final deglutition, chewing and chewing at +the savoury morsel. Should this have happened, it was in vain for +Turkey to hope escape from the discovery of his inattention, for the +milk-pail would that same evening or next morning reveal the fact to +Kirsty's watchful eyes. But fortunately for us, in so far as it was +well to have an ally against our only enemy, Hawkie's morbid craving +was not confined to old shoes. One day when the cattle were feeding +close by the manse, she found on the holly-hedge which surrounded it, +Mrs. Mitchell's best cap, laid out to bleach in the sun. It was a +tempting morsel—more susceptible of mastication than shoe-leather. +Mrs. Mitchell, who had gone for another freight of the linen with +which she was sprinkling the hedge, arrived only in time to see the +end of one of its long strings gradually disappearing into Hawkie's +mouth on its way after the rest of the cap, which had gone the length +of the string farther. With a wild cry of despair she flew at Hawkie, +so intent on the stolen delicacy as to be more open to a surprise than +usual, and laying hold of the string, drew from her throat the +deplorable mass of pulp to which she had reduced the valued gaud. The +same moment Turkey, who had come running at her cry, received full in +his face the slimy and sloppy extract. Nor was this all, for Mrs. +Mitchell flew at him in her fury, and with an outburst of abuse boxed +his ears soundly, before he could recover his senses sufficiently to +run for it. The degradation of this treatment had converted Turkey +into an enemy before ever he knew that we also had good grounds for +disliking her. His opinion concerning her was freely expressed to us +if to no one else, generally in the same terms. He said she was as bad +as she was ugly, and always spoke of her as <i>the old witch</i>.</p> + +<p>But what brought Turkey and us together more than anything else, was +that he was as fond of Kirsty's stories as we were; and in the winter +especially we would sit together in the evening, as I have already +said, round her fire and the great pot upon it full of the most +delicious potatoes, while Kirsty knitted away vigorously at her blue +broad-ribbed stockings, and kept a sort of time to her story with the +sound of her needles. When the story flagged, the needles went slower; +in the more animated passages they would become invisible for +swiftness, save for a certain shimmering flash that hovered about her +fingers like a dim electric play; but as the story approached some +crisis, their motion would at one time become perfectly frantic, at +another cease altogether, as finding the subject beyond their power of +accompanying expression. When they ceased, we knew that something +awful indeed was at hand.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="066.jpg (104K)" src="066.jpg" height="646" width="434"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>In my next chapter I will give a specimen of her stories, choosing one +which bears a little upon an after adventure.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER X</p> + +<p>Sir Worm Wymble</p> + +<center> +<img alt="068.jpg (98K)" src="068.jpg" height="699" width="538"> +</center> + + + +<p> +It was a snowy evening in the depth of winter. Kirsty had promised to +tell us the tale of the armed knight who lay in stone upon the tomb in +the church; but the snow was so deep, that Mrs. Mitchell, always glad +when nature put it in her power to exercise her authority in a way +disagreeable to us, had refused to let the little ones go out all day. +Therefore Turkey and I, when the darkness began to grow thick enough, +went prowling and watching about the manse until we found an +opportunity when she was out of the way. The moment this occurred we +darted into the nursery, which was on the ground floor, and catching +up my two brothers, I wee Davie, he Allister, we hoisted them on our +backs and rushed from the house. It was snowing. It came down in huge +flakes, but although it was only half-past four o'clock, they did not +show any whiteness, for there was no light to shine upon them. You +might have thought there had been mud in the cloud they came from, +which had turned them all a dark grey. How the little ones did enjoy +it, spurring their horses with suppressed laughter, and urging us on +lest the old witch should hear and overtake us! But it was hard work +for one of the horses, and that was myself. Turkey scudded away with +his load, and made nothing of it; but wee Davie pulled so hard with +his little arms round my neck, especially when he was bobbing up and +down to urge me on, half in delight, half in terror, that he nearly +choked me; while if I went one foot off the scarcely beaten path, I +sunk deep in the fresh snow.</p> + +<p>"Doe on, doe on, Yanal!" cried Davie; and Yanal did his very best, but +was only halfway to the farm, when Turkey came bounding back to take +Davie from him. In a few moments we had shaken the snow off our shoes +and off Davie's back, and stood around Kirsty's "booful baze", as +Davie called the fire. Kirsty seated herself on one side with Davie on +her lap, and we three got our chairs as near her as we could, with +Turkey, as the valiant man of the party, farthest from the centre of +safety, namely Kirsty, who was at the same time to be the source of +all the delightful horror. I may as well say that I do not believe +Kirsty's tale had the remotest historical connection with Sir Worm +Wymble, if that was anything like the name of the dead knight. It was +an old Highland legend, which she adorned with the flowers of her own +Celtic fancy, and swathed around the form so familiar to us all.</p> + +<p>"There is a pot in the Highlands," began Kirsty, "not far from our +house, at the bottom of a little glen. It is not very big, but +fearfully deep; so deep that they do say there is no bottom to it."</p> + +<p>"An iron pot, Kirsty?" asked Allister.</p> + +<p>"No, goosey," answered Kirsty. "A pot means a great hole full of +water—black, black, and deep, deep."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" remarked Allister, and was silent.</p> + +<p>"Well, in this pot there lived a kelpie."</p> + +<p>"What's a kelpie, Kirsty?" again interposed Allister, who in general +asked all the necessary questions and at least as many unnecessary.</p> + +<p>"A kelpie is an awful creature that eats people."</p> + +<p>"But what is it like, Kirsty?"</p> + +<p>"It's something like a horse, with a head like a cow."</p> + +<p>"How big is it? As big as Hawkie?"</p> + +<p>"Bigger than Hawkie; bigger than the biggest ox you ever saw."</p> + +<p>"Has it a great mouth?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a terrible mouth."</p> + +<p>"With teeth?"</p> + +<p>"Not many, but dreadfully big ones."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>"Well, there was a shepherd many years ago, who lived not far from the +pot. He was a knowing man, and understood all about kelpies and +brownies and fairies. And he put a branch of the rowan-tree +(<i>mountain-ash</i>), with the red berries in it, over the door of his +cottage, so that the kelpie could never come in.</p> + +<p>"Now, the shepherd had a very beautiful daughter—so beautiful that +the kelpie wanted very much to eat her. I suppose he had lifted up his +head out of the pot some day and seen her go past, but he could not +come out of the pot except after the sun was down."</p> + +<p>"Why?" asked Allister.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. It was the nature of the beast. His eyes couldn't bear +the light, I suppose; but he could see in the dark quite well.—One +night the girl woke suddenly, and saw his great head looking in at her +window."</p> + +<p>"But how could she see him when it was dark?" said Allister.</p> + +<p>"His eyes were flashing so that they lighted up all his head," +answered Kirsty.</p> + +<p>"But he couldn't get in!"</p> + +<p>"No; he couldn't get in. He was only looking in, and thinking how he +<i>should</i> like to eat her. So in the morning she told her father. And +her father was very frightened, and told her she must never be out one +moment after the sun was down. And for a long time the girl was very +careful. And she had need to be; for the creature never made any +noise, but came up as quiet as a shadow. One afternoon, however, she +had gone to meet her lover a little way down the glen; and they +stopped talking so long, about one thing and another, that the sun was +almost set before she bethought herself. She said good-night at once, +and ran for home. Now she could not reach home without passing the +pot, and just as she passed the pot, she saw the last sparkle of the +sun as he went down."</p> + +<p>"I should think she ran!" remarked our mouthpiece, Allister.</p> + +<p>"She did run," said Kirsty, "and had just got past the awful black +pot, which was terrible enough day or night without such a beast in +it, when—"</p> + +<p>"But there <i>was</i> the beast in it," said Allister.</p> + +<p>"When," Kirsty went on without heeding him, "she heard a great <i>whish</i> +of water behind her. That was the water tumbling off the beast's back +as he came up from the bottom. If she ran before, she flew now. And +the worst of it was that she couldn't hear him behind her, so as to +tell whereabouts he was. He might be just opening his mouth to take +her every moment. At last she reached the door, which her father, who +had gone out to look for her, had set wide open that she might run in +at once; but all the breath was out of her body, and she fell down +flat just as she got inside."</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="073.jpg (107K)" src="073.jpg" height="665" width="446"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>Here Allister jumped from his seat, clapping his hands and crying—</p> + +<p>"Then the kelpie didn't eat her!—Kirsty! Kirsty!"</p> + +<p>"No. But as she fell, one foot was left outside the threshold, so that +the rowan branch could not take care of it. And the beast laid hold of +the foot with his great mouth, to drag her out of the cottage and eat +her at his leisure."</p> + +<p>Here Allister's face was a picture to behold! His hair was almost +standing on end, his mouth was open, and his face as white as my +paper.</p> + +<p>"Make haste, Kirsty," said Turkey, "or Allister will go in a fit."</p> + +<p>"But her shoe came off in his mouth, and she drew in her foot and was +safe."</p> + +<p>Allister's hair subsided. He drew a deep breath, and sat down +again. But Turkey must have been a very wise or a very unimaginative +Turkey, for here he broke in with—</p> + +<p>"I don't believe a word of it, Kirsty."</p> + +<p>"What!" said Kirsty—"don't believe it!"</p> + +<p>"No. She lost her shoe in the mud. It was some wild duck she heard in +the pot, and there was no beast after her. She never saw it, you +know."</p> + +<p>"She saw it look in at her window."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes. That was in the middle of the night. I've seen as much +myself when I waked up in the middle of the night. I took a rat for a +tiger once."</p> + +<p>Kirsty was looking angry, and her needles were going even faster than +when she approached the climax of the shoe.</p> + +<p>"Hold your tongue, Turkey," I said, "and let us hear the rest of the +story."</p> + +<p>But Kirsty kept her eyes on her knitting, and did not resume.</p> + +<p>"Is that all, Kirsty?" said Allister.</p> + +<p>Still Kirsty returned no answer. She needed all her force to overcome +the anger she was busy stifling. For it would never do for one in her +position to lose her temper because of the unbelieving criticism of a +herd-boy. It was a curious instance of the electricity flashed out in +the confluence of unlike things—the Celtic faith and the Saxon +works. For anger is just the electric flash of the mind, and requires +to have its conductor of common sense ready at hand. After a few +moments she began again as if she had never stopped and no remarks had +been made, only her voice trembled a little at first.</p> + +<p>"Her father came home soon after, in great distress, and there he +found her lying just within the door. He saw at once how it was, and +his anger was kindled against her lover more than the beast. Not that +he had any objection to her going to meet him; for although he was a +gentleman and his daughter only a shepherd's daughter, they were both +of the blood of the MacLeods."</p> + +<p>This was Kirsty's own clan. And indeed I have since discovered that +the original legend on which her story was founded belongs to the +island of Rasay, from which she came.</p> + +<p>"But why was he angry with the gentleman?" asked Allister.</p> + +<p>"Because he liked her company better than he loved herself," said +Kirsty. "At least that was what the shepherd said, and that he ought +to have seen her safe home. But he didn't know that MacLeod's father +had threatened to kill him if ever he spoke to the girl again."</p> + +<p>"But," said Allister, "I thought it was about Sir Worm Wymble—not +Mr. MacLeod."</p> + +<p>"Sure, boy, and am I not going to tell you how he got the new name of +him?" returned Kirsty, with an eagerness that showed her fear lest the +spirit of inquiry should spread. "He wasn't Sir Worm Wymble then. His +name was—"</p> + +<p>Here she paused a moment, and looked full at Allister.</p> + +<p>"His name was Allister—Allister MacLeod."</p> + +<p>"Allister!" exclaimed my brother, repeating the name as an incredible +coincidence.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Allister," said Kirsty. "There's been many an Allister, and not +all of them MacLeods, that did what they ought to do, and didn't know +what fear was. And you'll be another, my bonnie Allister, I hope," she +added, stroking the boy's hair.</p> + +<p>Allister's face flushed with pleasure. It was long before he asked +another question.</p> + +<p>"Well, as I say," resumed Kirsty, "the father of her was very angry, +and said she should never go and meet Allister again. But the girl +said she ought to go once and let him know why she could not come any +more; for she had no complaint to make of Allister; and she had agreed +to meet him on a certain day the week after; and there was no +post-office in those parts. And so she did meet him, and told him all +about it. And Allister said nothing much then. But next day he came +striding up to the cottage, at dinner-time, with his claymore +(<i>gladius major</i>) at one side, his dirk at the other, and his little +skene dubh (<i>black knife</i>) in his stocking. And he was grand to +see—such a big strong gentleman I And he came striding up to the +cottage where the shepherd was sitting at his dinner.</p> + +<p>"'Angus MacQueen,' says he, 'I understand the kelpie in the pot has +been rude to your Nellie. I am going to kill him.' 'How will you do +that, sir?' said Angus, quite short, for he was the girl's father. +'Here's a claymore I could put in a peck,' said Allister, meaning it +was such good steel that he could bend it round till the hilt met the +point without breaking; 'and here's a shield made out of the hide of +old Rasay's black bull; and here's a dirk made of a foot and a half of +an old Andrew Ferrara; and here's a skene dubh that I'll drive through +your door, Mr. Angus. And so we're fitted, I hope.' 'Not at all,' said +Angus, who as I told you was a wise man and a knowing; 'not one bit,' +said Angus. 'The kelpie's hide is thicker than three bull-hides, and +none of your weapons would do more than mark it.' 'What am I to do +then, Angus, for kill him I will somehow?' 'I'll tell you what to do; +but it needs a brave man to do that.' 'And do you think I'm not brave +enough for that, Angus?' 'I know one thing you are not brave enough +for.' 'And what's that?' said Allister, and his face grew red, only he +did not want to anger Nelly's father. 'You're not brave enough to +marry my girl in the face of the clan,' said Angus. 'But you shan't go +on this way. If my Nelly's good enough to talk to in the glen, she's +good enough to lead into the hall before the ladies and gentlemen.'</p> + +<p>"Then Allister's face grew redder still, but not with anger, and he +held down his head before the old man, but only for a few moments. +When he lifted it again, it was pale, not with fear but with +resolution, for he had made up his mind like a gentleman. 'Mr. Angus +MacQueen,' he said, 'will you give me your daughter to be my wife?' +'If you kill the kelpie, I will,' answered Angus; for he knew that the +man who could do that would be worthy of his Nelly."</p> + +<p>"But what if the kelpie ate him?" suggested Allister.</p> + +<p>"Then he'd have to go without the girl," said Kirsty, coolly. "But," +she resumed, "there's always some way of doing a difficult thing; and +Allister, the gentleman, had Angus, the shepherd, to teach him.</p> + +<p>"So Angus took Allister down to the pot, and there they began. They +tumbled great stones together, and set them up in two rows at a little +distance from each other, making a lane between the rows big enough +for the kelpie to walk in. If the kelpie heard them, he could not see +them, and they took care to get into the cottage before it was dark, +for they could not finish their preparations in one day. And they sat +up all night, and saw the huge head of the beast looking in now at one +window, now at another, all night long. As soon as the sun was up, +they set to work again, and finished the two rows of stones all the +way from the pot to the top of the little hill on which the cottage +stood. Then they tied a cross of rowan-tree twigs on every stone, so +that once the beast was in the avenue of stones he could only get out +at the end. And this was Nelly's part of the job. Next they gathered a +quantity of furze and brushwood and peat, and piled it in the end of +the avenue next the cottage. Then Angus went and killed a little pig, +and dressed it ready for cooking.</p> + +<p>"'Now you go down to my brother Hamish,' he said to Mr. MacLeod; 'he's +a carpenter, you know,—and ask him to lend you his longest wimble.'"</p> + +<p>"What's a wimble?" asked little Allister.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="080.jpg (115K)" src="080.jpg" height="670" width="432"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>"A wimble is a long tool, like a great gimlet, with a cross handle, +with which you turn it like a screw. And Allister ran and fetched it, +and got back only half an hour before the sun went down. Then they put +Nelly into the cottage, and shut the door. But I ought to have told +you that they had built up a great heap of stones behind the +brushwood, and now they lighted the brushwood, and put down the pig to +roast by the fire, and laid the wimble in the fire halfway up to the +handle. Then they laid themselves down behind the heap of stones and +waited.</p> + +<p>"By the time the sun was out of sight, the smell of the roasting pig +had got down the avenue to the side of the pot, just where the kelpie +always got out. He smelt it the moment he put up his head, and he +thought it smelt so nice that he would go and see where it was. The +moment he got out he was between the stones, but he never thought of +that, for it was the straight way to the pig. So up the avenue he +came, and as it was dark, and his big soft web feet made no noise, the +men could not see him until he came into the light of the fire. 'There +he is!' said Allister. 'Hush!' said Angus, 'he can hear well enough.' +So the beast came on. Now Angus had meant that he should be busy with +the pig before Allister should attack him; but Allister thought it was +a pity he should have the pig, and he put out his hand and got hold of +the wimble, and drew it gently out of the fire. And the wimble was so +hot that it was as white as the whitest moon you ever saw. The pig was +so hot also that the brute was afraid to touch it, and before ever he +put his nose to it Allister had thrust the wimble into his hide, +behind the left shoulder, and was boring away with all his might. The +kelpie gave a hideous roar, and turned away to run from the wimble. +But he could not get over the row of crossed stones, and he had to +turn right round in the narrow space before he could run. Allister, +however, could run as well as the kelpie, and he hung on to the handle +of the wimble, giving it another turn at every chance as the beast +went floundering on; so that before he reached his pot the wimble had +reached his heart, and the kelpie fell dead on the edge of the +pot. Then they went home, and when the pig was properly done they had +it for supper. And Angus gave Nelly to Allister, and they were +married, and lived happily ever after."</p> + +<p>"But didn't Allister's father kill him?"</p> + +<p>"No. He thought better of it, and didn't. He was very angry for a +while, but he got over it in time. And Allister became a great man, +and because of what he had done, he was called Allister MacLeod no +more, but Sir Worm Wymble. And when he died," concluded Kirsty, "he +was buried under the tomb in your father's church. And if you look +close enough, you'll find a wimble carved on the stone, but I'm afraid +it's worn out by this time."</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XI</p> + +<p>The Kelpie</p> + +<p> +Silence followed the close of Kirsty's tale. Wee Davie had taken no +harm, for he was fast asleep with his head on her bosom. Allister was +staring into the fire, fancying he saw the whorls of the wimble +heating in it. Turkey was cutting at his stick with a blunt +pocket-knife, and a silent whistle on his puckered lips. I was sorry +the story was over, and was growing stupid under the reaction from its +excitement. I was, however, meditating a strict search for the wimble +carved on the knight's tomb. All at once came the sound of a latch +lifted in vain, followed by a thundering at the outer door, which +Kirsty had prudently locked. Allister, Turkey, and I started to our +feet, Allister with a cry of dismay, Turkey grasping his stick.</p> + +<p>"It's the kelpie!" cried Allister.</p> + +<p>But the harsh voice of the old witch followed, something deadened by +the intervening door.</p> + +<p>"Kirsty! Kirsty!" it cried; "open the door directly."</p> + +<p>"No, no, Kirsty!" I objected. "She'll shake wee Davie to bits, and +haul Allister through the snow. She's afraid to touch me."</p> + +<p>Turkey thrust the poker in the fire; but Kirsty snatched it out, threw +it down, and boxed his ears, which rough proceeding he took with the +pleasantest laugh in the world. Kirsty could do what she pleased, for +she was no tyrant. She turned to us.</p> + +<p>"Hush!" she said, hurriedly, with a twinkle in her eyes that showed +the spirit of fun was predominant—"Hush!—Don't speak, wee Davie," +she continued, as she rose and carried him from the kitchen into the +passage between it and the outer door. He was scarcely awake.</p> + +<p>Now, in that passage, which was wide, and indeed more like a hall in +proportion to the cottage, had stood on its end from time immemorial a +huge barrel, which Kirsty, with some housewifely intent or other, had +lately cleaned out. Setting Davie down, she and Turkey lifted first me +and popped me into it, and then Allister, for we caught the design at +once. Finally she took up wee Davie, and telling him to lie as still +as a mouse, dropped him into our arms. I happened to find the open +bung-hole near my eye, and peeped out. The knocking continued.</p> + +<p>"Wait a bit, Mrs. Mitchell," screamed Kirsty; "wait till I get my +potatoes off the fire."</p> + +<p>As she spoke, she took the great bow-pot in one hand and carried it to +the door, to pour away the water. When she unlocked and opened the +door, I saw through the bung-hole a lovely sight; for the moon was +shining, and the snow was falling thick. In the midst of it stood +Mrs. Mitchell, one mass of whiteness. She would have rushed in, but +Kirsty's advance with the pot made her give way, and from behind +Kirsty Turkey slipped out and round the corner without being seen. +There he stood watching, but busy at the same time kneading snowballs.</p> + +<p>"And what may you please to want to-night, Mrs. Mitchell?" said +Kirsty, with great civility.</p> + +<p>"What should I want but my poor children? They ought to have been in +bed an hour ago. Really, Kirsty, you ought to have more sense at your +years than to encourage any such goings on."</p> + +<p>"At my years!" returned Kirsty, and was about to give a sharp retort, +but checked herself, saying, "Aren't they in bed then, Mrs. Mitchell?"</p> + +<p>"You know well enough they are not."</p> + +<p>"Poor things! I would recommend you to put them to bed at once."</p> + +<p>"So I will. Where are they?"</p> + +<p>"Find them yourself, Mrs. Mitchell. You had better ask a civil tongue +to help you. I'm not going to do it."</p> + +<p>They were standing just inside the door. Mrs. Mitchell advanced. I +trembled. It seemed impossible she should not see me as well as I saw +her. I had a vague impression that by looking at her I should draw her +eyes upon me; but I could not withdraw mine from the bung-hole. I was +fascinated; and the nearer she came, the less could I keep from +watching her. When she turned into the kitchen, it was a great relief; +but it did not last long, for she came out again in a moment, +searching like a hound. She was taller than Kirsty, and by standing on +her tiptoes could have looked right down into the barrel. She was +approaching it with that intent—those eyes were about to overshadow +us with their baleful light. Already her apron hid all other vision +from my one eye, when a whizz, a dull blow, and a shriek from Mrs. +Mitchell came to my ears together. The next moment, the field of my +vision was open, and I saw Mrs. Mitchell holding her head with both +hands, and the face of Turkey grinning round the corner of the open +door. Evidently he wanted to entice her to follow him; but she had +been too much astonished by the snowball in the back of her neck even +to look in the direction whence the blow had come. So Turkey stepped +out, and was just poising himself in the delivery of a second missile, +when she turned sharp round.</p> + +<p>The snowball missed her, and came with a great bang against the +barrel. Wee Davie gave a cry of alarm, but there was no danger now, +for Mrs. Mitchell was off after Turkey. In a moment, Kirsty lowered +the barrel on its side, and we all crept out. I had wee Davie on my +back instantly, while Kirsty caught up Allister, and we were off for +the manse. As soon as we were out of the yard, however, we met Turkey, +breathless. He had given Mrs. Mitchell the slip, and left her +searching the barn for him. He took Allister from Kirsty, and we sped +away, for it was all downhill now. When Mrs. Mitchell got back to the +farmhouse, Kirsty was busy as if nothing had happened, and when, after +a fruitless search, she returned to the manse, we were all snug in +bed, with the door locked. After what had passed about the school, +Mrs. Mitchell did not dare make any disturbance.</p> + +<p>From that night she always went by the name of <i>the Kelpie</i>.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XII</p> + +<p>Another Kelpie</p> + +<p> +In the summer we all slept in a large room in the wide sloping roof. +It had a dormer window, at no great distance above the eaves. One day +there was something doing about the ivy, which covered all the gable +and half the front of the house, and the ladder they had been using +was left leaning against the back. It reached a little above the +eaves, right under the dormer window. That night I could not sleep, as +was not unfrequently the case with me. On such occasions I used to go +wandering about the upper part of the house. I believe the servants +thought I walked in my sleep, but it was not so, for I always knew +what I was about well enough. I do not remember whether this began +after that dreadful night when I woke in the barn, but I do think the +enjoyment it gave me was rooted in the starry loneliness in which I +had then found myself. I wonder if I can explain my feelings. The +pleasure arose from a sort of sense of protected danger. On that +memorable night, I had been as it were naked to all the silence, alone +in the vast universe, which kept looking at me full of something it +knew but would not speak. Now, when wandering about sleepless, I could +gaze as from a nest of safety out upon the beautiful fear. From window +to window I would go in the middle of the night, now staring into a +blank darkness out of which came, the only signs of its being, the +raindrops that bespattered or the hailstones that berattled the panes; +now gazing into the deeps of the blue vault, gold-bespangled with its +worlds; or, again, into the mysteries of soft clouds, all gathered +into an opal tent by the centre-clasp of the moon, thinking out her +light over its shining and shadowy folds.</p> + +<p>This, I have said, was one of those nights on which I could not sleep. +It was the summer after the winter-story of the kelpie, I believe; but +the past is confused, and its chronology worthless, to the continuous +<i>now</i> of childhood. The night was hot; my little brothers were +sleeping loud, as wee Davie called <i>snoring</i>; and a great moth had got +within my curtains somewhere, and kept on fluttering and whirring. I +got up, and went to the window. It was such a night! The moon was +full, but rather low, and looked just as if she were thinking—"Nobody +is heeding me: I may as well go to bed." All the top of the sky was +covered with mackerel-backed clouds, lying like milky ripples on a +blue sea, and through them the stars shot, here and there, sharp +little rays like sparkling diamonds. There was no awfulness about it, +as on the night when the gulfy sky stood over me, flashing with the +heavenly host, and nothing was between me and the farthest world. The +clouds were like the veil that hid the terrible light in the Holy of +Holies—a curtain of God's love, to dim with loveliness the grandeur +of their own being, and make his children able to bear it. My eye fell +upon the top rounds of the ladder, which rose above the edge of the +roof like an invitation. I opened the window, crept through, and, +holding on by the ledge, let myself down over the slates, feeling with +my feet for the top of the ladder. In a moment I was upon it. Down I +went, and oh, how tender to my bare feet was the cool grass on which I +alighted! I looked up. The dark housewall rose above me. I could +ascend again when I pleased. There was no hurry. I would walk about a +little. I would put my place of refuge yet a little farther off, +nibble at the danger, as it were—a danger which existed only in my +imagination. I went outside the high holly hedge, and the house was +hidden. A grassy field was before me, and just beyond the field rose +the farm buildings. Why should not I run across and wake Turkey? I was +off like a shot, the expectation of a companion in my delight +overcoming all the remnants of lingering apprehension. I knew there +was only one bolt, and that a manageable one, between me and Turkey, +for he slept in a little wooden chamber partitioned off from a loft in +the barn, to which he had to climb a ladder. The only fearful part was +the crossing of the barn-floor. But I was man enough for that. I +reached and crossed the yard in safety, searched for and found the key +of the barn, which was always left in a hole in the wall by the +door,—turned it in the lock, and crossed the floor as fast as the +darkness would allow me. With outstretched groping hands I found the +ladder, ascended, and stood by Turkey's bed.</p> + +<p>"Turkey! Turkey! wake up," I cried. "It's such a beautiful night! It's +a shame to lie sleeping that way."</p> + +<p>Turkey's answer was immediate. He was wide awake and out of bed with +all his wits by him in a moment.</p> + +<p>"Sh! sh!" he said, "or you'll wake Oscar."</p> + +<p>Oscar was a colley (<i>sheep dog</i>) which slept in a kennel in the +cornyard. He was not much of a watch-dog, for there was no great +occasion for watching, and he knew it, and slept like a human child; +but he was the most knowing of dogs. Turkey was proceeding to dress.</p> + +<p>"Never mind your clothes, Turkey," I said. "There's nobody up."</p> + +<p>Willing enough to spare himself trouble, Turkey followed me in his +shirt. But once we were out in the cornyard, instead of finding +contentment in the sky and the moon, as I did, he wanted to know what +we were going to do.</p> + +<p>"It's not a bad sort of night," he said; "what shall we do with it?"</p> + +<p>He was always wanting to do something.</p> + +<p>"Oh, nothing," I answered; "only look about us a bit."</p> + +<p>"You didn't hear robbers, did you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Oh dear, no! I couldn't sleep, and got down the ladder, and came to +wake you—that's all."</p> + +<p>"Let's have a walk, then," he said.</p> + +<p>Now that I had Turkey, there was scarcely more terror in the night +than in the day. I consented at once. That we had no shoes on was not +of the least consequence to Scotch boys. I often, and Turkey always, +went barefooted in summer.</p> + +<p>As we left the barn, Turkey had caught up his little whip. He was +never to be seen without either that or his club, as we called the +stick he carried when he was herding the cattle. Finding him thus +armed, I begged him to give me his club. He ran and fetched it, and, +thus equipped, we set out for nowhere in the middle of the night. My +fancy was full of fragmentary notions of adventure, in which shadows +from The Pilgrim's Progress predominated. I shouldered my club, trying +to persuade my imagination that the unchristian weapon had been won +from some pagan giant, and therefore was not unfittingly carried. But +Turkey was far better armed with his lash of wire than I was with the +club. His little whip was like that fearful weapon called the morning +star in the hand of some stalwart knight.</p> + +<p>We took our way towards the nearest hills, thinking little of where we +went so that we were in motion. I guess that the story I have just +related must, notwithstanding his unbelief, have been working in +Turkey's brain that night, for after we had walked for a mile or more +along the road, and had arrived at the foot of a wooded hill, well +known to all the children of the neighbourhood for its bilberries, he +turned into the hollow of a broken track, which lost itself in a field +as yet only half-redeemed from the moorland. It was plain to me now +that Turkey had some goal or other in his view; but I followed his +leading, and asked no questions. All at once he stopped, and said, +pointing a few yards in front of him:</p> + +<p>"Look, Ranald!"</p> + +<p>I did look, but the moon was behind the hill, and the night was so dim +that I had to keep looking for several moments ere I discovered that +he was pointing to the dull gleam of dark water. Very horrible it +seemed. I felt my flesh creep the instant I saw it. It lay in a hollow +left by the digging out of peats, drained thither from the surrounding +bog. My heart sank with fear. The almost black glimmer of its surface +was bad enough, but who could tell what lay in its unknown depth? But, +as I gazed, almost paralysed, a huge dark figure rose up on the +opposite side of the pool. For one moment the scepticism of Turkey +seemed to fail him, for he cried out, "The kelpie! The kelpie!" and +turned and ran.</p> + +<p>I followed as fast as feet utterly unconscious of the ground they trod +upon could bear me. We had not gone many yards before a great roar +filled the silent air. That moment Turkey slackened his pace, and +burst into a fit of laughter.</p> + +<p>"It's nothing but Bogbonny's bull, Ranald!" he cried.</p> + +<p>Kelpies were unknown creatures to Turkey, but a bull was no more than +a dog or a sheep, or any other domestic animal. I, however, did not +share his equanimity, and never slackened my pace till I got up with +him.</p> + +<p>"But he's rather ill-natured," he went on, the instant I joined him, +"and we had better make for the hill."</p> + +<p>Another roar was a fresh spur to our speed. We could not have been in +better trim for running. But it was all uphill, and had it not been +that the ground for some distance between us and the animal was boggy, +so that he had to go round a good way, one of us at least would have +been in evil case.</p> + +<p>"He's caught sight of our shirts," said Turkey, panting as he ran, +"and he wants to see what they are. But we'll be over the fence before +he comes up with us. I wouldn't mind for myself; I could dodge him +well enough; but he might go after you, Ranald."</p> + +<p>What with fear and exertion I was unable to reply. Another bellow +sounded nearer, and by and by we could hear the dull stroke of his +hoofs on the soft ground as he galloped after us. But the fence of dry +stones, and the larch wood within it, were close at hand.</p> + +<p>"Over with you, Ranald!" cried Turkey, as if with his last breath; and +turned at bay, for the brute was close behind him.</p> + +<p>But I was so spent, I could not climb the wall; and when I saw Turkey +turn and face the bull, I turned too. We were now in the shadow of the +hill, but I could just see Turkey lift his arm. A short sharp hiss, +and a roar followed. The bull tossed his head as in pain, left Turkey, +and came towards me. He could not charge at any great speed, for the +ground was steep and uneven. I, too, had kept hold of my weapon; and +although I was dreadfully frightened, I felt my courage rise at +Turkey's success, and lifted my club in the hope that it might prove +as good at need as Turkey's whip. It was well for me, however, that +Turkey was too quick for the bull. He got between him and me, and a +second stinging cut from the brass wire drew a second roar from his +throat, and no doubt a second red streamlet from his nose, while my +club descended on one of his horns with a bang which jarred my arm to +the elbow, and sent the weapon flying over the fence. The animal +turned tail for a moment—long enough to place us, enlivened by our +success, on the other side of the wall, where we crouched so that he +could not see us. Turkey, however, kept looking up at the line of the +wall against the sky; and as he looked, over came the nose of the +bull, within a yard of his head. Hiss went the little whip, and bellow +went the bull.</p> + +<p>"Get up among the trees, Ranald, for fear he come over," said Turkey, +in a whisper.</p> + +<p>I obeyed. But as he could see nothing of his foes, the animal had had +enough of it, and we heard no more of him.</p> + +<p>After a while, Turkey left his lair and joined me. We rested for a +little, and would then have clambered to the top of the hill, but we +gave up the attempt as awkward after getting into a furze bush. In our +condition, it was too dark. I began to grow sleepy, also, and thought +I should like to exchange the hillside for my bed. Turkey made no +objection, so we trudged home again; not without sundry starts and +quick glances to make sure that the bull was neither after us on the +road, nor watching us from behind this bush or that hillock. Turkey +never left me till he saw me safe up the ladder; nay, after I was in +bed, I spied his face peeping in at the window from the topmost round +of it. By this time the east had begun to begin to glow, as Allister, +who was painfully exact, would have said; but I was fairly tired now, +and, falling asleep at once, never woke until Mrs. Mitchell pulled the +clothes off me, an indignity which I keenly felt, but did not yet know +how to render impossible for the future.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XIII</p> + +<p>Wandering Willie</p> + + +<center> +<img alt="097.jpg (90K)" src="097.jpg" height="688" width="515"> +</center> + + +<p>At that time there were a good many beggars going about the country, +who lived upon the alms of the charitable. Among these were some +half-witted persons, who, although not to be relied upon, were seldom +to any extent mischievous. We were not much afraid of them, for the +home-neighbourhood is a charmed spot round which has been drawn a +magic circle of safety, and we seldom roamed far beyond it. There was, +however, one occasional visitor of this class, of whom we stood in +some degree of awe. He was commonly styled Foolish Willie. His +approach to the manse was always announced by a wailful strain upon +the bagpipes, a set of which he had inherited from his father, who had +been piper to some Highland nobleman: at least so it was said. Willie +never went without his pipes, and was more attached to them than to +any living creature. He played them well, too, though in what corner +he kept the amount of intellect necessary to the mastery of them was a +puzzle. The probability seemed that his wits had not decayed until +after he had become in a measure proficient in the use of the chanter, +as they call that pipe by means of whose perforations the notes are +regulated. However this may be, Willie could certainly play the pipes, +and was a great favourite because of it—with children especially, +notwithstanding the mixture of fear which his presence always +occasioned them. Whether it was from our Highland blood or from +Kirsty's stories, I do not know, but we were always delighted when the +far-off sound of his pipes reached us: little Davie would dance and +shout with glee. Even the Kelpie, Mrs. Mitchell that is, was +benignantly inclined towards Wandering Willie, as some people called +him after the old song; so much so that Turkey, who always tried to +account for things, declared his conviction that Willie must be Mrs. +Mitchell's brother, only she was ashamed and wouldn't own him. I do +not believe he had the smallest atom of corroboration for the +conjecture, which therefore was bold and worthy of the inventor. One +thing we all knew, that she would ostentatiously fill the canvas bag +which he carried by his side, with any broken scraps she could gather, +would give him as much milk to drink as he pleased, and would speak +kind, almost coaxing, words to the poor <i>natural</i>—words which sounded +the stranger in our ears, that they were quite unused to like sounds +from the lips of the Kelpie.</p> + +<p>It is impossible to describe Willie's dress: the agglomeration of +ill-supplied necessity and superfluous whim was never exceeded. His +pleasure was to pin on his person whatever gay-coloured cotton +handkerchiefs he could get hold of; so that, with one of these behind +and one before, spread out across back and chest, he always looked +like an ancient herald come with a message from knight or nobleman. So +incongruous was his costume that I could never tell whether kilt or +trousers was the original foundation upon which it had been +constructed. To his tatters add the bits of old ribbon, list, and +coloured rag which he attached to his pipes wherever there was room, +and you will see that he looked all flags and pennons—a moving grove +of raggery, out of which came the screaming chant and drone of his +instrument. When he danced, he was like a whirlwind that had caught up +the contents of an old-clothes-shop. It is no wonder that he should +have produced in our minds an indescribable mixture of awe and +delight—awe, because no one could tell what he might do next, and +delight because of his oddity, agility, and music. The first sensation +was always a slight fear, which gradually wore off as we became anew +accustomed to the strangeness of the apparition. Before the visit was +over, wee Davie would be playing with the dangles of his pipes, and +laying his ear to the bag out of which he thought the music came +ready-made. And Willie was particularly fond of Davie, and tried to +make himself agreeable to him after a hundred grotesque fashions. The +awe, however, was constantly renewed in his absence, partly by the +threats of the Kelpie, that, if so and so, she would give this one or +that to Foolish Willie to take away with him—a threat which now fell +almost powerless upon me, but still told upon Allister and Davie.</p> + +<p>One day, in early summer—it was after I had begun to go to school—I +came home as usual at five o'clock, to find the manse in great +commotion. Wee Davie had disappeared. They were looking for him +everywhere without avail. Already all the farmhouses had been +thoroughly searched. An awful horror fell upon me, and the most +frightful ideas of Davie's fate arose in my mind. I remember giving a +howl of dismay the moment I heard of the catastrophe, for which I +received a sound box on the ear from Mrs. Mitchell. I was too +miserable, however, to show any active resentment, and only sat down +upon the grass and cried. In a few minutes, my father, who had been +away visiting some of his parishioners, rode up on his little black +mare. Mrs. Mitchell hurried to meet him, wringing her hands, and +crying—</p> + +<p>"Oh, sir! oh, sir! Davie's away with Foolish Willie!"</p> + +<p>This was the first I had heard of Willie in connection with the +affair. My father turned pale, but kept perfectly quiet.</p> + +<p>"Which way did he go?" he asked.</p> + +<p>Nobody knew.</p> + +<p>"How long is it ago?"</p> + +<p>"About an hour and a half, I think," said Mrs. Mitchell.</p> + +<p>To me the news was some relief. Now I could at least do something. I +left the group, and hurried away to find Turkey. Except my father, I +trusted more in Turkey than in anyone. I got on a rising ground near +the manse, and looked all about until I found where the cattle were +feeding that afternoon, and then darted off at full speed. They were +at some distance from home, and I found that Turkey had heard nothing +of the mishap. When I had succeeded in conveying the dreadful news, he +shouldered his club, and said—</p> + +<p>"The cows must look after themselves, Ranald!"</p> + +<p>With the words he set off at a good swinging trot in the direction of +a little rocky knoll in a hollow about half a mile away, which he knew +to be a favourite haunt of Wandering Willie, as often as he came into +the neighbourhood. On this knoll grew some stunted trees, gnarled and +old, with very mossy stems. There was moss on the stones too, and +between them grew lovely harebells, and at the foot of the knoll there +were always in the season tall foxgloves, which had imparted a certain +fear to the spot in my fancy. For there they call them <i>Dead Man's +Bells</i>, and I thought there was a murdered man buried somewhere +thereabout. I should not have liked to be there alone even in the +broad daylight. But with Turkey I would have gone at any hour, even +without the impulse which now urged me to follow him at my best +speed. There was some marshy ground between us and the knoll, but we +floundered through it; and then Turkey, who was some distance ahead of +me, dropped into a walk, and began to reconnoitre the knoll with some +caution. I soon got up with him.</p> + +<p>"He's there, Ranald!" he said.</p> + +<p>"Who? Davie?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know about Davie; but Willie's there."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?"</p> + +<p>"I heard his bagpipes grunt. Perhaps Davie sat down upon them."</p> + +<p>"Oh, run, Turkey!" I said, eagerly.</p> + +<p>"No hurry," he returned. "If Willie has him, he won't hurt him, but it +mayn't be easy to get him away. We must creep up and see what can be +done."</p> + +<p>Half dead as some of the trees were, there was foliage enough upon +them to hide Willie, and Turkey hoped it would help to hide our +approach. He went down on his hands and knees, and thus crept towards +the knoll, skirting it partly, because a little way round it was +steeper. I followed his example, and found I was his match at crawling +in four-footed fashion. When we reached the steep side, we lay still +and listened.</p> + +<p>"He's there!" I cried in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Sh!" said Turkey; "I hear him. It's all right. We'll soon have a +hold of him."</p> + +<p>A weary whimper as of a child worn out with hopeless crying had +reached our ears. Turkey immediately began to climb the side of the +knoll.</p> + +<p>"Stay where you are, Ranald," he said. "I can go up quieter than you."</p> + +<p>I obeyed. Cautious as a deer-stalker, he ascended, still on his hands +and knees. I strained my eyes after his every motion. But when he was +near the top he lay perfectly quiet, and continued so till I could +bear it no longer, and crept up after him. When I came behind him, he +looked round angrily, and made a most emphatic contortion of his face; +after which I dared not climb to a level with him, but lay trembling +with expectation. The next moment I heard him call in a low whisper:</p> + +<p>"Davie! Davie! wee Davie!"</p> + +<p>But there was no reply. He called a little louder, evidently trying to +reach by degrees just the pitch that would pierce to Davie's ears and +not arrive at Wandering Willie's, who I rightly presumed was farther +off. His tones grew louder and louder—but had not yet risen above a +sharp whisper, when at length a small trembling voice cried "Turkey! +Turkey!" in prolonged accents of mingled hope and pain. There was a +sound in the bushes above me—a louder sound and a rush. Turkey sprang +to his feet and vanished. I followed. Before I reached the top, there +came a despairing cry from Davie, and a shout and a gabble from +Willie. Then followed a louder shout and a louder gabble, mixed with +a scream from the bagpipes, and an exulting laugh from Turkey. All +this passed in the moment I spent in getting to the top, the last step +of which was difficult. There was Davie alone in the thicket, Turkey +scudding down the opposite slope with the bagpipes under his arm, and +Wandering Willie pursuing him in a foaming fury. I caught Davie in my +arms from where he lay sobbing and crying "Yanal! Yanal!" and stood +for a moment not knowing what to do, but resolved to fight with teeth +and nails before Willie should take him again. Meantime Turkey led +Willie towards the deepest of the boggy ground, in which both were +very soon floundering, only Turkey, being the lighter, had the +advantage. When I saw that, I resolved to make for home. I got Davie +on my back, and slid down the farther side to skirt the bog, for I +knew I should stick in it with Davie's weight added to my own. I had +not gone far, however, before a howl from Willie made me aware that he +had caught sight of us; and looking round, I saw him turn from Turkey +and come after us. Presently, however, he hesitated, then stopped, and +began looking this way and that from the one to the other of his +treasures, both in evil hands. Doubtless his indecision would have +been very ludicrous to anyone who had not such a stake in the turn of +the scale. As it was, he made up his mind far too soon, for he chose +to follow Davie. I ran my best in the very strength of despair for +some distance, but, seeing very soon that I had no chance, I set Davie +down, telling him to keep behind me, and prepared, like the Knight of +the Red Cross, "sad battle to darrayne". Willie came on in fury, his +rags fluttering like ten scarecrows, and he waving his arms in the +air, with wild gestures and grimaces and cries and curses. He was more +terrible than the bull, and Turkey was behind him. I was just, like a +negro, preparing to run my head into the pit of his stomach, and so +upset him if I could, when I saw Turkey running towards us at full +speed, blowing into the bagpipes as he ran. How he found breath for +both I cannot understand. At length, he put the bag under his arm, and +forth issued such a combination of screeching and grunting and +howling, that Wandering Willie, in the full career of his rage, turned +at the cries of his companion. Then came Turkey's masterpiece. He +dashed the bagpipes on the ground, and commenced kicking them before +him like a football, and the pipes cried out at every kick. If +Turkey's first object had been their utter demolition, he could not +have treated them more unmercifully. It was no time for gentle +measures: my life hung in the balance. But this was more than Willie +could bear. He turned from us, and once again pursued his pipes. When +he had nearly overtaken him, Turkey gave them a last masterly kick, +which sent them flying through the air, caught them as they fell, and +again sought the bog, while I, hoisting Davie on my back, hurried, +with more haste than speed, towards the manse.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="106.jpg (108K)" src="106.jpg" height="661" width="437"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>What took place after I left them, I have only from Turkey's report, +for I never looked behind me till I reached the little green before +the house, where, setting Davie down, I threw myself on the grass. I +remember nothing more till I came to myself in bed.</p> + +<p>When Turkey reached the bog, and had got Wandering Willie well into +the middle of it, he threw the bagpipes as far beyond him as he could, +and then made his way out. Willie followed the pipes, took them, held +them up between him and the sky as if appealing to heaven against the +cruelty, then sat down in the middle of the bog upon a solitary hump, +and cried like a child. Turkey stood and watched him, at first with +feelings of triumph, which by slow degrees cooled down until at length +they passed over into compassion, and he grew heartily sorry for the +poor fellow, although there was no room for repentance. After Willie +had cried for a while, he took the instrument as if it had been the +mangled corpse of his son, and proceeded to examine it. Turkey +declared his certainty that none of the pipes were broken; but when at +length Willie put the mouthpiece to his lips, and began to blow into +the bag, alas! it would hold no wind. He flung it from him in anger +and cried again. Turkey left him crying in the middle of the bog. He +said it was a pitiful sight.</p> + +<p>It was long before Willie appeared in that part of the country again; +but, about six months after, some neighbours who had been to a fair +twenty miles off, told my father that they had seen him looking much +as usual, and playing his pipes with more energy than ever. This was a +great relief to my father, who could not bear the idea of the poor +fellow's loneliness without his pipes, and had wanted very much to get +them repaired for him. But ever after my father showed a great regard +for Turkey. I heard him say once that, if he had had the chance, +Turkey would have made a great general. That he should be judged +capable of so much, was not surprising to me; yet he became in +consequence a still greater being in my eyes.</p> + +<p>When I set Davie down, and fell myself on the grass, there was nobody +near. Everyone was engaged in a new search for Davie. My father had +rode off at once without dismounting, to inquire at the neighbouring +toll-gate whether Willie had passed through. It was not very likely, +for such wanderers seldom take to the hard high road; but he could +think of nothing else, and it was better to do something. Having +failed there, he had returned and ridden along the country road which +passed the farm towards the hills, leaving Willie and Davie far behind +him. It was twilight before he returned. How long, therefore, I lay +upon the grass, I do not know. When I came to myself, I found a sharp +pain in my side. Turn how I would, there it was, and I could draw but +a very short breath for it. I was in my father's bed, and there was no +one in the room. I lay for some time in increasing pain; but in a +little while my father came in, and then I felt that all was as it +should be. Seeing me awake, he approached with an anxious face.</p> + +<p>"Is Davie all right, father?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"He is quite well, Ranald, my boy. How do you feel yourself now?"</p> + +<p>"I've been asleep, father?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; we found you on the grass, with Davie pulling at you and trying +to wake you, crying, 'Yanal won't peak to me. Yanal! Yanal!' I am +afraid you had a terrible run with him. Turkey, as you call him, told +me all about it. He's a fine lad Turkey!"</p> + +<p>"Indeed he is, father!" I cried with a gasp which betrayed my +suffering.</p> + +<p>"What is the matter, my boy?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"Lift me up a little, please," I said, "I have <i>such</i> a pain in my +side!"</p> + +<p>"Ah!" he said, "it catches your breath. We must send for the old +doctor."</p> + +<p>The old doctor was a sort of demigod in the place. Everybody believed +and trusted in him; and nobody could die in peace without him any more +than without my father. I was delighted at the thought of being his +patient. I think I see him now standing with his back to the fire, and +taking his lancet from his pocket, while preparations were being made +for bleeding me at the arm, which was a far commoner operation then +than it is now.</p> + +<p>That night I was delirious, and haunted with bagpipes. Wandering +Willie was nowhere, but the atmosphere was full of bagpipes. It was an +unremitting storm of bagpipes—silent, but assailing me bodily from +all quarters—now small as motes in the sun, and hailing upon me; now +large as feather-beds, and ready to bang us about, only they never +touched us; now huge as Mount Ætna, and threatening to smother us +beneath their ponderous bulk; for all the time I was toiling on with +little Davie on my back. Next day I was a little better, but very +weak, and it was many days before I was able to get out of bed. My +father soon found that it would not do to let Mrs. Mitchell attend +upon me, for I was always worse after she had been in the room for any +time; so he got another woman to take Kirsty's duties, and set her to +nurse me, after which illness became almost a luxury. With Kirsty +near, nothing could go wrong. And the growing better was pure +enjoyment.</p> + +<p>Once, when Kirsty was absent for a little while, Mrs. Mitchell brought +me some gruel.</p> + +<p>"The gruel's not nice," I said.</p> + +<p>"It's perfectly good, Ranald, and there's no merit in complaining when +everybody's trying to make you as comfortable as they can," said the +Kelpie.</p> + +<p>"Let me taste it," said Kirsty, who that moment entered the +room.—"It's not fit for anybody to eat," she said, and carried it +away, Mrs. Mitchell following her with her nose horizontal.</p> + +<p>Kirsty brought the basin back full of delicious gruel, well boiled, +and supplemented with cream. I am sure the way in which she +transformed that basin of gruel has been a lesson to me ever since as +to the quality of the work I did. No boy or girl can have a much +better lesson than—to do what must be done as well as it can be +done. Everything, the commonest, well done, is something for the +progress of the world; that is, lessens, if by the smallest +hair's-breadth, the distance between it and God.</p> + +<p>Oh, what a delight was that first glowing summer afternoon upon which +I was carried out to the field where Turkey was herding the cattle! I +could not yet walk. That very morning, as I was being dressed by +Kirsty, I had insisted that I could walk quite well, and Kirsty had +been over-persuaded into letting me try. Not feeling steady on my +legs, I set off running, but tumbled on my knees by the first chair I +came near. I was so light from the wasting of my illness, that Kirsty +herself, little woman as she was, was able to carry me. I remember +well how I saw everything double that day, and found it at first very +amusing. Kirsty set me down on a plaid in the grass, and the next +moment, Turkey, looking awfully big, and portentously healthy, stood +by my side. I wish I might give the conversation in the dialect of my +native country, for it loses much in translation; but I have promised, +and I will keep my promise.</p> + +<p>"Eh, Ranald!" said Turkey, "it's not yourself?"</p> + +<p>"It's me, Turkey," I said, nearly crying with pleasure.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, Ranald," he returned, as if consoling me in some +disappointment; "we'll have rare fun yet."</p> + +<p>"I'm frightened at the cows, Turkey. Don't let them come near me."</p> + +<p>"No, that I won't," answered Turkey, brandishing his club to give me +confidence, "<i>I</i>'ll give it them, if they look at you from between +their ugly horns."</p> + +<p>"Turkey," I said, for I had often pondered the matter during my +illness, "how did Hawkie behave while you were away with me—that day, +you know?"</p> + +<p>"She ate about half a rick of green corn," answered Turkey, coolly. +"But she had the worst of it. They had to make a hole in her side, or +she would have died. There she is off to the turnips!"</p> + +<p>He was after her with shout and flourish. Hawkie heard and obeyed, +turning round on her hind-legs with a sudden start, for she knew from +his voice that he was in a dangerously energetic mood.</p> + +<p>"You'll be all right again soon," he said, coming quietly back to +me. Kirsty had gone to the farmhouse, leaving me with injunctions to +Turkey concerning me.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, I'm nearly well now; only I can't walk yet."</p> + +<p>"Will you come on my back?" he said.</p> + +<p>When Kirsty returned to take me home, there was I following the cows +on Turkey's back, riding him about wherever I chose; for my horse was +obedient as only a dog, or a horse, or a servant from love can +be. From that day I recovered very rapidly.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XIV</p> + +<p>Elsie Duff</p> + +<p> +How all the boys and girls stared at me, as timidly, yet with a sense +of importance derived from the distinction of having been so ill, I +entered the parish school one morning, about ten o'clock! For as I +said before, I had gone to school for some months before I was taken +ill. It was a very different affair from Dame Shand's tyrannical +little kingdom. Here were boys of all ages, and girls likewise, ruled +over by an energetic young man, with a touch of genius, manifested +chiefly in an enthusiasm for teaching. He had spoken to me kindly the +first day I went, and had so secured my attachment that it never +wavered, not even when, once, supposing me guilty of a certain breach +of orders committed by my next neighbour, he called me up, and, with +more severity than usual, ordered me to hold up my hand. The lash +stung me dreadfully, but I was able to smile in his face +notwithstanding. I could not have done that had I been guilty. He +dropped his hand, already lifted for the second blow, and sent me back +to my seat. I suppose either his heart interfered, or he saw that I +was not in need of more punishment. The greatest good he did me, one +for which I shall be ever grateful, was the rousing in me of a love +for English literature, especially poetry. But I cannot linger upon +this at present, tempting although it be. I have led a busy life in +the world since, but it has been one of my greatest comforts when the +work of the day was over—dry work if it had not been that I had it to +do—to return to my books, and live in the company of those who were +greater than myself, and had had a higher work in life than mine. The +master used to say that a man was fit company for any man whom he +could understand, and therefore I hope often that some day, in some +future condition of existence, I may look upon the faces of Milton and +Bacon and Shakspere, whose writings have given me so much strength and +hope throughout my life here.</p> + +<p>The moment he saw me, the master came up to me and took me by the +hand, saying he was glad to see me able to come to school again.</p> + +<p>"You must not try to do too much at first," he added.</p> + +<p>This set me on my mettle, and I worked hard and with some success. But +before the morning was over I grew very tired, and fell fast asleep +with my head on the desk. I was informed afterwards that the master +had interfered when one of my class-fellows was trying to wake me, and +told him to let me sleep.</p> + +<p>When one o'clock came, I was roused by the noise of dismissal for the +two hours for dinner. I staggered out, still stupid with sleep, and +whom should I find watching for me by the door-post but Turkey!</p> + +<p>"Turkey!" I exclaimed; "you here!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Ranald," he said; "I've put the cows up for an hour or two, for +it was very hot; and Kirsty said I might come and carry you home."</p> + +<p>So saying he stooped before me, and took me on his strong back. As +soon as I was well settled, he turned his head, and said:</p> + +<p>"Ranald, I should like to go and have a look at my mother. Will you +come? There's plenty of time."</p> + +<p>"Yes, please, Turkey," I answered. "I've never seen your mother."</p> + +<p>He set off at a slow easy trot, and bore me through street and lane +until we arrived at a two-storey house, in the roof of which his +mother lived. She was a widow, and had only Turkey. What a curious +place her little garret was! The roof sloped down on one side to the +very floor, and there was a little window in it, from which I could +see away to the manse, a mile off, and far beyond it. Her bed stood in +one corner, with a check curtain hung from a rafter in front of it. In +another was a chest, which contained all their spare clothes, +including Turkey's best garments, which he went home to put on every +Sunday morning. In the little grate smouldered a fire of oak-bark, +from which all the astringent virtue had been extracted in the pits at +the lanyard, and which was given to the poor for nothing.</p> + +<p>Turkey's mother was sitting near the little window, spinning. She was +a spare, thin, sad-looking woman, with loving eyes and slow speech.</p> + +<p>"Johnnie!" she exclaimed, "what brings you here? and who's this +you've brought with you?"</p> + +<p>Instead of stopping her work as she spoke, she made her wheel go +faster than before; and I gazed with admiration at her deft fingering +of the wool, from which the thread flowed in a continuous line, as if +it had been something plastic, towards the revolving spool.</p> + +<p>"It's Ranald Bannerman," said Turkey quietly. "I'm his horse. I'm +taking him home from the school. This is the first time he's been +there since he was ill."</p> + +<p>Hearing this, she relaxed her labour, and the hooks which had been +revolving so fast that they were invisible in a mist of motion, began +to dawn into form, until at length they revealed their shape, and at +last stood quite still. She rose, and said:</p> + +<p>"Come, Master Ranald, and sit down. You'll be tired of riding such a +rough horse as that."</p> + +<p>"No, indeed," I said; "Turkey is not a rough horse; he's the best +horse in the world."</p> + +<p>"He always calls me Turkey, mother, because of my nose," said Turkey, +laughing.</p> + +<p>"And what brings you here?" asked his mother. "This is not on the road +to the manse."</p> + +<p>"I wanted to see if you were better, mother."</p> + +<p>"But what becomes of the cows?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! they're all safe enough. They know I'm here."</p> + +<p>"Well, sit down and rest you both," she said, resuming her own place +at the wheel. "I'm glad to see you, Johnnie, so be your work is not +neglected. I must go on with mine."</p> + +<p>Thereupon Turkey, who had stood waiting his mother's will, deposited +me upon her bed, and sat down beside me.</p> + +<p>"And how's your papa, the good man?" she said to me.</p> + +<p>I told her he was quite well.</p> + +<p>"All the better that you're restored from the grave, I don't doubt," +she said.</p> + +<p>I had never known before that I had been in any danger.</p> + +<p>"It's been a sore time for him and you too," she added. "You must be a +good son to him, Ranald, for he was in a great way about you, they +tell me."</p> + +<p>Turkey said nothing, and I was too much surprised to know what to say; +for as often as my father had come into my room, he had always looked +cheerful, and I had had no idea that he was uneasy about me.</p> + +<p>After a little more talk, Turkey rose, and said we must be going.</p> + +<p>"Well, Ranald," said his mother, "you must come and see me any time +when you're tired at the school, and you can lie down and rest +yourself a bit. Be a good lad, Johnnie, and mind your work."</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother, I'll try," answered Turkey cheerfully, as he hoisted me +once more upon his back. "Good day, mother," he added, and left the +room.</p> + +<p>I mention this little incident because it led to other things +afterwards. I rode home upon Turkey's back; and with my father's +leave, instead of returning to school that day, spent the afternoon in +the fields with Turkey.</p> + +<p>In the middle of the field where the cattle were that day, there was a +large circular mound. I have often thought since that it must have +been a barrow, with dead men's bones in the heart of it, but no such +suspicion had then crossed my mind. Its sides were rather steep, and +covered with lovely grass. On the side farthest from the manse, and +without one human dwelling in sight, Turkey and I lay that afternoon, +in a bliss enhanced to me, I am afraid, by the contrasted thought of +the close, hot, dusty schoolroom, where my class-fellows were talking, +laughing, and wrangling, or perhaps trying to work in spite of the +difficulties of after-dinner disinclination. A fitful little breeze, +as if itself subject to the influence of the heat, would wake up for a +few moments, wave a few heads of horse-daisies, waft a few strains of +odour from the blossoms of the white clover, and then die away +fatigued with the effort. Turkey took out his Jews' harp, and +discoursed soothing if not eloquent strains.</p> + +<p>At our feet, a few yards from the mound, ran a babbling brook, which +divided our farm from the next. Those of my readers whose ears are +open to the music of Nature, must have observed how different are the +songs sung by different brooks. Some are a mere tinkling, others are +sweet as silver bells, with a tone besides which no bell ever had. +Some sing in a careless, defiant tone. This one sung in a veiled +voice, a contralto muffled in the hollows of overhanging banks, with a +low, deep, musical gurgle in some of the stony eddies, in which a +straw would float for days and nights till a flood came, borne round +and round in a funnel-hearted whirlpool. The brook was deep for its +size, and had a good deal to say in a solemn tone for such a small +stream. We lay on the side of the hillock, I say, and Turkey's Jews' +harp mingled its sounds with those of the brook. After a while he laid +it aside, and we were both silent for a time.</p> + +<p>At length Turkey spoke.</p> + +<p>"You've seen my mother, Ranald."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Turkey."</p> + +<p>"She's all I've got to look after."</p> + +<p>"I haven't got any mother to look after, Turkey."</p> + +<p>"No. You've a father to look after you. I must do it, you know. My +father wasn't over good to my mother. He used to get drunk sometimes, +and then he was very rough with her. I must make it up to her as well +as I can. She's not well off, Ranald."</p> + +<p>"Isn't she, Turkey?"</p> + +<p>"No. She works very hard at her spinning, and no one spins better than +my mother. How could they? But it's very poor pay, you know, and +she'll be getting old by and by."</p> + +<p>"Not to-morrow, Turkey."</p> + +<p>"No, not to-morrow, nor the day after," said Turkey, looking up with +some surprise to see what I meant by the remark.</p> + +<p>He then discovered that my eyes had led my thoughts astray, and that +what he had been saying about his mother had got no farther than into +my ears. For on the opposite side of the stream, on the grass, like a +shepherdess in an old picture, sat a young girl, about my own age, in +the midst of a crowded colony of daisies and white clover, knitting so +that her needles went as fast as Kirsty's, and were nearly as +invisible as the thing with the hooked teeth in it that looked so +dangerous and ran itself out of sight upon Turkey's mother's +spinning-wheel. A little way from her was a fine cow feeding, with a +long iron chain dragging after her. The girl was too far off for me to +see her face very distinctly; but something in her shape, her posture, +and the hang of her head, I do not know what, had attracted me.</p> + +<p>"Oh! there's Elsie Duff," said Turkey, himself forgetting his mother +in the sight—"with her granny's cow! I didn't know she was coming +here to-day."</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="122.jpg (115K)" src="122.jpg" height="657" width="443"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>"How is it," I asked, "that she is feeding her on old James Joss's +land?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! they're very good to Elsie, you see. Nobody cares much about her +grandmother; but Elsie's not her grandmother, and although the cow +belongs to the old woman, yet for Elsie's sake, this one here and that +one there gives her a bite for it—that's a day's feed generally. If +you look at the cow, you'll see she's not like one that feeds by the +roadsides. She's as plump as needful, and has a good udderful of milk +besides."</p> + +<p>"I'll run down and tell her she may bring the cow into this field +to-morrow," I said, rising.</p> + +<p>"I would if it were <i>mine</i>" said Turkey, in a marked tone, which I +understood.</p> + +<p>"Oh! I see, Turkey," I said. "You mean I ought to ask my father."</p> + +<p>"Yes, to be sure, I do mean that," answered Turkey.</p> + +<p>"Then it's as good as done," I returned. "I will ask him to-night."</p> + +<p>"She's a good girl, Elsie," was all Turkey's reply.</p> + +<p>How it happened I cannot now remember, but I know that, after all, I +did not ask my father, and Granny Gregson's cow had no bite either off +the glebe or the farm. And Turkey's reflections concerning the mother +he had to take care of having been interrupted, the end to which they +were moving remained for the present unuttered.</p> + +<p>I soon grew quite strong again, and had neither plea nor desire for +exemption from school labours. My father also had begun to take me in +hand as well as my brother Tom; and what with arithmetic and Latin +together, not to mention geography and history, I had quite enough to +do, and quite as much also as was good for me.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XV</p> + +<p>A New Companion</p> + + +<center> +<img alt="125.jpg (96K)" src="125.jpg" height="696" width="513"> +</center> + + +<p>During this summer, I made the acquaintance at school of a boy called +Peter Mason. Peter was a clever boy, from whose merry eye a sparkle +was always ready to break. He seldom knew his lesson well, but, when +<i>kept in</i> for not knowing it, had always learned it before any of the +rest had got more than half through. Amongst those of his own standing +he was the acknowledged leader in the playground, and was besides +often invited to take a share in the amusements of the older boys, by +whom he was petted because of his cleverness and obliging +disposition. Beyond school hours, he spent his time in all manner of +pranks. In the hot summer weather he would bathe twenty times a day, +and was as much at home in the water as any dabchick. And that was how +I came to be more with him than was good for me.</p> + +<p>There was a small river not far from my father's house, which at a +certain point was dammed back by a weir of large stones to turn part +of it aside into a mill-race. The mill stood a little way down, under +a steep bank. It was almost surrounded with trees, willows by the +water's edge, and birches and larches up the bank. Above the dam was a +fine spot for bathing, for you could get any depth you liked—from two +feet to five or six; and here it was that most of the boys of the +village bathed, and I with them. I cannot recall the memory of those +summer days without a gush of delight gurgling over my heart, just as +the water used to gurgle over the stones of the dam. It was a quiet +place, particularly on the side to which my father's farm went down, +where it was sheltered by the same little wood which farther on +surrounded the mill. The field which bordered the river was kept in +natural grass, thick and short and fine, for here on the bank it grew +well, although such grass was not at all common in that part of the +country: upon other parts of the same farm, the grass was sown every +year along with the corn. Oh the summer days, with the hot sun drawing +the odours from the feathery larches and the white-stemmed birches, +when, getting out of the water, I would lie in the warm soft grass, +where now and then the tenderest little breeze would creep over my +skin, until the sun baking me more than was pleasant, I would rouse +myself with an effort, and running down to the fringe of rushes that +bordered the full-brimmed river, plunge again headlong into the quiet +brown water, and dabble and swim till I was once more weary! For +innocent animal delight, I know of nothing to match those days—so +warm, yet so pure-aired—so clean, so glad. I often think how God must +love his little children to have invented for them such delights! +For, of course, if he did not love the children and delight in their +pleasure, he would not have invented the two and brought them +together. Yes, my child, I know what you would say,—"How many there +are who have no such pleasures!" I grant it sorrowfully; but you must +remember that God has not done with them yet; and, besides, that there +are more pleasures in the world than you or I know anything about. +And if we had it <i>all</i> pleasure, I know I should not care so much +about what is better, and I would rather be made good than have any +other pleasure in the world; and so would you, though perhaps you do +not know it yet.</p> + +<p>One day, a good many of us were at the water together. I was somebody +amongst them in my own estimation because I bathed off my father's +ground, while they were all on a piece of bank on the other side which +was regarded as common to the village. Suddenly upon the latter spot, +when they were all undressed, and some already in the water, appeared +a man who had lately rented the property of which that was part, +accompanied by a dog, with a flesh-coloured nose and a villainous +look—a mongrel in which the bull predominated. He ordered everyone +off his premises. Invaded with terror, all, except a big boy who +trusted that the dog would be more frightened at his naked figure than +he was at the dog, plunged into the river, and swam or waded from the +inhospitable shore. Once in the embrace of the stream, some of them +thoughtlessly turned and mocked the enemy, forgetting how much they +were still in his power. Indignant at the tyrant, I stood up in the +"limpid wave", and assured the aquatic company of a welcome to the +opposite bank. So far all was very well. But their clothes! They, +alas! were upon the bank they had left!</p> + +<p>The spirit of a host was upon me, for now I regarded them all as my +guests.</p> + +<p>"You come ashore when you like," I said; "I will see what can be done +about your clothes."</p> + +<p>I knew that just below the dam lay a little boat built by the miller's +sons. It was clumsy enough, but in my eyes a marvel of engineering +art. On the opposite side stood the big boy braving the low-bred cur +which barked and growled at him with its ugly head stretched out like +a serpent's; while his owner, who was probably not so unkind as we +thought him, stood enjoying the fun of it all. Reckoning upon the big +boy's assistance, I scrambled out of the water, and sped, like +Achilles of the swift foot, for the boat. I jumped in and seized the +oars, intending to row across, and get the big boy to throw the +clothes of the party into the boat. But I had never handled an oar in +my life, and in the middle passage—how it happened I cannot tell—I +found myself floundering in the water.</p> + +<p>Now, although you might expect that the water being dammed back just +here, it would be shallow below the dam, it was just the opposite. Had +the bottom been hard, it would have been shallow; but as the bottom +was soft and muddy, the rush of the water over the dam in the +winter-floods had here made a great hollow. There was besides another +weir a very little way below which again dammed the water back; so +that the depth was greater here than in almost any other part within +the ken of the village boys. Indeed there were horrors afloat +concerning its depth. I was but a poor swimmer, for swimming is a +natural gift, and is not equally distributed to all. I might have done +better, however, but for those stories of the awful gulf beneath me. +I was struggling and floundering, half-blind, and quite deaf, with a +sense of the water constantly getting up and stopping me, whatever I +wanted to do, when I felt myself laid hold of by the leg, dragged +under water, and a moment after landed safe on the bank. Almost the +same moment I heard a plunge, and getting up, staggering and +bewildered, saw, as through the haze of a dream, a boy swimming after +the boat, which had gone down with the slow current. I saw him +overtake it, scramble into it in midstream, and handle the oars as to +the manner born. When he had brought it back to the spot where I +stood, I knew that Peter Mason was my deliverer. Quite recovered by +this time from my slight attack of drowning, I got again into the +boat, and leaving the oars to Peter, was rowed across and landed. +There was no further difficulty. The man, alarmed, I suppose, at the +danger I had run, recalled his dog; we bundled in the clothes; Peter +rowed them across; Rory, the big boy, took the water after the boat, +and I plunged in again above the dam. For the whole of that summer and +part of the following winter, Peter was my hero, to the forgetting +even of my friend Turkey. I took every opportunity of joining him in +his games, partly from gratitude, partly from admiration, but more +than either from the simple human attraction of the boy. It was some +time before he led me into any real mischief, but it came at last.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XVI</p> + +<p>I Go Down Hill</p> + +<p> +It came in the following winter.</p> + +<p>My father had now begun to teach me as well as Tom, but I confess I +did not then value the privilege. I had got much too fond of the +society of Peter Mason, and all the time I could command I spent with +him. Always full of questionable frolic, the spirit of mischief +gathered in him as the dark nights drew on. The sun, and the wind, and +the green fields, and the flowing waters of summer kept him within +bounds; but when the ice and the snow came, when the sky was grey with +one cloud, when the wind was full of needle-points of frost and the +ground was hard as a stone, when the evenings were dark, and the sun +at noon shone low down and far away in the south, then the demon of +mischief awoke in the bosom of Peter Mason, and, this winter, I am +ashamed to say, drew me also into the net.</p> + +<p>Nothing very bad was the result before the incident I am about to +relate. There must have been, however, a gradual declension towards +it, although the pain which followed upon this has almost obliterated +the recollection of preceding follies. Nobody does anything bad all at +once. Wickedness needs an apprenticeship as well as more difficult +trades.</p> + +<p>It was in January, not long after the shortest day, the sun setting +about half-past three o'clock. At three school was over, and just as +we were coming out, Peter whispered to me, with one of his merriest +twinkles in his eyes:</p> + +<p>"Come across after dark, Ranald, and we'll have some fun."</p> + +<p>I promised, and we arranged when and where to meet. It was Friday, and +I had no Latin to prepare for Saturday, therefore my father did not +want me. I remember feeling very jolly as I went home to dinner, and +made the sun set ten times at least, by running up and down the +earthen wall which parted the fields from the road; for as often as I +ran up I saw him again over the shoulder of the hill, behind which he +was going down. When I had had my dinner, I was so impatient to join +Peter Mason that I could not rest, and from very idleness began to +tease wee Davie. A great deal of that nasty teasing, so common among +boys, comes of idleness. Poor Davie began to cry at last, and I, +getting more and more wicked, went on teasing him, until at length he +burst into a howl of wrath and misery, whereupon the Kelpie, who had +some tenderness for him, burst into the room, and boxed my ears +soundly. I was in a fury of rage and revenge, and had I been near +anything I could have caught up, something serious would have been the +result. In spite of my resistance, she pushed me out of the room and +locked the door. I would have complained to my father, but I was +perfectly aware that, although <i>she</i> had no right to strike me, I had +deserved chastisement for my behaviour to my brother. I was still +boiling with anger when I set off for the village to join Mason. I +mention all this to show that I was in a bad state of mind, and thus +prepared for the wickedness which followed. I repeat, a boy never +disgraces himself all at once. He does not tumble from the top to the +bottom of the cellar stair. He goes down the steps himself till he +comes to the broken one, and then he goes to the bottom with a +rush. It will also serve to show that the enmity between Mrs. Mitchell +and me had in nowise abated, and that however excusable she might be +in the case just mentioned, she remained an evil element in the +household.</p> + + + +<a name="snow"></a> +<br><br> +<center> +<a href="il07.jpg"><img alt="il07h.jpg (48K)" src="il07h.jpg" height="592" width="350"></a> +</center> +<br><br> + + + +<p>When I reached the village, I found very few people about. The night +was very cold, for there was a black frost. There had been a thaw the +day before which had carried away the most of the snow, but in the +corners lay remnants of dirty heaps which had been swept up there. I +was waiting near one of these, which happened to be at the spot where +Peter had arranged to meet me, when from a little shop near a girl +came out and walked quickly down the street. I yielded to the +temptation arising in a mind which had grown a darkness with slimy +things crawling in it. I kicked a hole in the frozen crust of the +heap, scraped out a handful of dirty snow, kneaded it into a snowball, +and sent it after the girl. It struck her on the back of the head. She +gave a cry and ran away, with her hand to her forehead. Brute that I +was, I actually laughed. I think I must have been nearer the devil +then than I have been since. At least I hope so. For you see it was +not with me as with worse-trained boys. I knew quite well that I was +doing wrong, and refused to think about it. I felt bad inside. Peter +might have done the same thing without being half as wicked as I +was. He did not feel the wickedness of that kind of thing as I did. He +would have laughed over it merrily. But the vile dregs of my wrath +with the Kelpie were fermenting in my bosom, and the horrid pleasure I +found in annoying an innocent girl because the wicked Kelpie had made +me angry, could never have been expressed in a merry laugh like +Mason's. The fact is, I was more displeased with myself than with +anybody else, though I did not allow it, and would not take the +trouble to repent and do the right thing. If I had even said to wee +Davie that I was sorry, I do not think I should have done the other +wicked things that followed; for this was not all by any means. In a +little while Peter joined me. He laughed, of course, when I told him +how the girl had run like a frighted hare, but that was poor fun in +his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Ranald," he said, holding out something like a piece of +wood.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Peter?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"It's the stalk of a cabbage," he answered. "I've scooped out the +inside and filled it with tow. We'll set fire to one end, and blow the +smoke through the keyhole."</p> + +<p>"Whose keyhole, Peter?"</p> + +<p>"An old witch's that I know of. She'll be in such a rage! It'll be fun +to hear her cursing and swearing. We'd serve the same to every house +in the row, but that would be more than we could get off with. Come +along. Here's a rope to tie her door with first."</p> + +<p>I followed him, not without inward misgivings, which I kept down as +well as I could. I argued with myself, "<i>I</i> am not doing it; I am only +going with Peter: what business is that of anybody's so long as I +don't touch the thing myself?" Only a few minutes more, and I was +helping Peter to tie the rope to the latch-handle of a poor little +cottage, saying now to myself, "This doesn't matter. This won't do her +any harm. This isn't smoke. And after all, smoke won't hurt the nasty +old thing. It'll only make her angry. It may do her cough good: I dare +say she's got a cough." I knew all I was saying was false, and yet I +acted on it. Was not that as wicked as wickedness could be? One moment +more, and Peter was blowing through the hollow cabbage stalk in at the +keyhole with all his might. Catching a breath of the stifling smoke +himself, however, he began to cough violently, and passed the wicked +instrument to me. I put my mouth to it, and blew with all my might. I +believe now that there was some far more objectionable stuff mingled +with the tow. In a few moments we heard the old woman begin to +cough. Peter, who was peeping in at the window, whispered—</p> + +<p>"She's rising. Now we'll catch it, Ranald!"</p> + +<p>Coughing as she came, I heard her with shuffling steps approach the +door, thinking to open it for air. When she failed in opening it, and +found besides where the smoke was coming from, she broke into a +torrent of fierce and vengeful reproaches, mingled with epithets by no +means flattering. She did not curse and swear as Peter had led me to +expect, although her language was certainly far enough from refined; +but therein I, being, in a great measure, the guilty cause, was more +to blame than she. I laughed because I would not be unworthy of my +companion, who was genuinely amused; but I was, in reality, shocked at +the tempest I had raised. I stopped blowing, aghast at what I had +done; but Peter caught the tube from my hand and recommenced the +assault with fresh vigour, whispering through the keyhole, every now +and then between the blasts, provoking, irritating, even insulting +remarks on the old woman's personal appearance and supposed ways of +living. This threw her into paroxysms of rage and of coughing, both +increasing in violence; and the war of words grew, she tugging at the +door as she screamed, he answering merrily, and with pretended +sympathy for her sufferings, until I lost all remaining delicacy in +the humour of the wicked game, and laughed loud and heartily.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="137.jpg (76K)" src="137.jpg" height="642" width="427"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>Of a sudden the scolding and coughing ceased. A strange sound and +again silence followed. Then came a shrill, suppressed scream; and we +heard the voice of a girl, crying:</p> + +<p>"Grannie! grannie! What's the matter with you? Can't you speak to me, +grannie? They've smothered my grannie!"</p> + +<p>Sobs and moans were all we heard now. Peter had taken fright at last, +and was busy undoing the rope. Suddenly he flung the door wide and +fled, leaving me exposed to the full gaze of the girl. To my horror it +was Elsie Duff! She was just approaching the door, her eyes streaming +with tears, and her sweet face white with agony. I stood unable to +move or speak. She turned away without a word, and began again to busy +herself with the old woman, who lay on the ground not two yards from +the door. I heard a heavy step approaching. Guilt awoke fear and +restored my powers of motion. I fled at full speed, not to find Mason, +but to leave everything behind me.</p> + +<p>When I reached the manse, it stood alone in the starry blue night. +Somehow I could not help thinking of the time when I came home after +waking up in the barn. That, too, was a time of misery, but, oh! how +different from this! Then I had only been cruelly treated myself; now +I had actually committed cruelty. Then I sought my father's bosom as +the one refuge; now I dreaded the very sight of my father, for I could +not look him in the face. He was my father, but I was not his son. A +hurried glance at my late life revealed that I had been behaving very +badly, growing worse and worse. I became more and more miserable as I +stood, but what to do I could not tell. The cold at length drove me +into the house. I generally sat with my father in his study of a +winter night now, but I dared not go near it. I crept to the nursery, +where I found a bright fire burning, and Allister reading by the +blaze, while Davie lay in bed at the other side of the room. I sat +down and warmed myself, but the warmth could not reach the lump of ice +at my heart. I sat and stared at the fire. Allister was too much +occupied with his book to take any heed of me. All at once I felt a +pair of little arms about my neck, and Davie was trying to climb upon +my knees. Instead of being comforted, however, I spoke very crossly, +and sent him back to his bed whimpering. You see I was only miserable; +I was not repentant. I was eating the husks with the swine, and did +not relish them; but I had not said, "I will arise and go to my +father".</p> + +<p>How I got through the rest of that evening I hardly know. I tried to +read, but could not. I was rather fond of arithmetic; so I got my +slate and tried to work a sum; but in a few moments I was sick of it. +At family prayers I never lifted my head to look at my father, and +when they were over, and I had said good night to him, I felt that I +was sneaking out of the room. But I had some small sense of protection +and safety when once in bed beside little Davie, who was sound asleep, +and looked as innocent as little Samuel when the voice of God was +going to call him. I put my arm round him, hugged him close to me, and +began to cry, and the crying brought me sleep.</p> + +<p>It was a very long time now since I had dreamt my old childish dream; +but this night it returned. The old sunny-faced sun looked down upon +me very solemnly. There was no smile on his big mouth, no twinkle +about the corners of his little eyes. He looked at Mrs. Moon as much +as to say, "What is to be done? The boy has been going the wrong way: +must we disown him?" The moon neither shook her head nor moved her +lips, but turned as on a pivot, and stood with her back to her +husband, looking very miserable. Not one of the star-children moved +from its place. They shone sickly and small. In a little while they +faded out; then the moon paled and paled until she too vanished +without ever turning her face to her husband; and last the sun himself +began to change, only instead of paling he drew in all his beams, and +shrunk smaller and smaller, until no bigger than a candle-flame. Then +I found that I was staring at a candle on the table; and that Tom was +kneeling by the side of the other bed, saying his prayers.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XVII</p> + +<p>The Trouble Grows</p> + +<p> +When I woke in the morning, I tried to persuade myself that I had made +a great deal too much of the whole business; that if not a dignified +thing to do, it was at worst but a boy's trick; only I would have no +more to say to Peter Mason, who had betrayed me at the last moment +without even the temptation of any benefit to himself. I went to +school as usual. It was the day for the Shorter Catechism. None failed +but Peter and me; and we two were kept in alone, and left in the +schoolroom together. I seated myself as far from him as I could. In +half an hour he had learned his task, while I had not mastered the +half of mine. Thereupon he proceeded, regardless of my entreaties, to +prevent me learning it. I begged, and prayed, and appealed to his +pity, but he would pull the book away from me, gabble bits of ballads +in my ear as I was struggling with <i>Effectual Calling</i>, tip up the +form on which I was seated, and, in short, annoy me in twenty +different ways. At last I began to cry, for Mason was a bigger and +stronger boy than I, and I could not help myself against him. Lifting +my head after the first vexation was over, I thought I saw a shadow +pass from the window. Although I could not positively say I saw it, I +had a conviction it was Turkey, and my heart began to turn again +towards him. Emboldened by the fancied proximity, I attempted my +lesson once more, but that moment Peter was down upon me like a +spider. At last, however, growing suddenly weary of the sport, he +desisted, and said:</p> + +<p>"Ran, you can stay if you like. I've learned my catechism, and I don't +see why I should wait <i>his</i> time."</p> + +<p>As he spoke he drew a picklock from his pocket—his father was an +ironmonger—deliberately opened the schoolroom door, slipped out, and +locked it behind him. Then he came to one of the windows, and began +making faces at me. But vengeance was nigher than he knew. A deeper +shadow darkened my page, and when I looked up, there was Turkey +towering over Mason, with his hand on his collar, and his whip lifted. +The whip did not look formidable. Mason received the threat as a joke, +and laughed in Turkey's face. Perceiving, however, that Turkey looked +dangerous, with a sudden wriggle, at which he was an adept, he broke +free, and, trusting to his tried speed of foot, turned his head and +made a grimace as he took to his heels. Before, however, he could +widen the space between them sufficiently, Turkey's whip came down +upon him. With a howl of pain Peter doubled himself up, and Turkey +fell upon him, and, heedless of his yells and cries, pommelled him +severely. Although they were now at some distance, too great for the +distinguishing of words, I could hear that Turkey mingled admonition +with punishment. A little longer, and Peter crept past the window, a +miserable mass of collapsed and unstrung impudence, his face bleared +with crying, and his knuckles dug into his eyes. And this was the boy +I had chosen for my leader! He had been false to me, I said to myself; +and the noble Turkey, seeing his behaviour through the window, had +watched to give him his deserts. My heart was full of gratitude.</p> + +<p>Once more Turkey drew near the window. What was my dismay and +indignation to hear him utter the following words:</p> + +<p>"If you weren't your father's son, Ranald, and my own old friend, I +would serve you just the same."</p> + +<p>Wrath and pride arose in me at the idea of Turkey, who used to call +himself my horse, behaving to me after this fashion; and, my evil ways +having half made a sneak of me, I cried out:</p> + +<p>"I'll tell my father, Turkey."</p> + +<p>"I only wish you would, and then I should be no tell-tale if he asked +me why, and I told him all about it. You young blackguard! You're no +gentleman! To sneak about the streets and hit girls with snowballs! I +scorn you!"</p> + +<p>"You must have been watching, then, Turkey, and you had no business to +do that," I said, plunging at any defence.</p> + +<p>"I was not watching you. But if I had been, it would have been just as +right as watching Hawkie. You ill-behaved creature! You're a true +minister's son."</p> + +<p>"It's a mean thing to do, Turkey," I persisted, seeking to stir up my +own anger and blow up my self-approval.</p> + +<p>"I tell you I did not do it. I met Elsie Duff crying in the street +because you had hit her with a dirty snowball. And then to go and +smoke her and her poor grannie, till the old woman fell down in a +faint or a fit, I don't know which! You deserve a good pommelling +yourself, I can tell you, Ranald. I'm ashamed of you."</p> + +<p>He turned to go away.</p> + +<p>"Turkey, Turkey," I cried, "isn't the old woman better?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know. I'm going to see," he answered.</p> + +<p>"Come back and tell me, Turkey," I shouted, as he disappeared from the +field of my vision.</p> + +<p>"Indeed I won't. I don't choose to keep company with such as you. But +if ever I hear of you touching them again, you shall have more of me +than you'll like, and you may tell your father so when you please."</p> + +<p>I had indeed sunk low when Turkey, who had been such a friend, would +have nothing to say to me more. In a few minutes the master returned, +and finding me crying, was touched with compassion. He sent me home at +once, which was well for me, as I could not have repeated a single +question. He thought Peter had crept through one of the panes that +opened for ventilation, and did not interrogate me about his +disappearance.</p> + +<p>The whole of the rest of that day was miserable enough. I even +hazarded one attempt at making friends with Mrs. Mitchell, but she +repelled me so rudely that I did not try again. I could not bear the +company of either Allister or Davie. I would have gone and told +Kirsty, but I said to myself that Turkey must have already prejudiced +her against me. I went to bed the moment prayers were over, and slept +a troubled sleep. I dreamed that Turkey had gone and told my father, +and that he had turned me out of the house.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XVIII</p> + +<p>Light out of Darkness</p> + +<p> +I woke early on the Sunday morning, and a most dreary morning it +was. I could not lie in bed, and, although no one was up yet, rose and +dressed myself. The house was as waste as a sepulchre. I opened the +front door and went out. The world itself was no better. The day had +hardly begun to dawn. The dark dead frost held it in chains of iron. +The sky was dull and leaden, and cindery flakes of snow were thinly +falling. Everywhere life looked utterly dreary and hopeless. What was +there worth living for? I went out on the road, and the ice in the +ruts crackled under my feet like the bones of dead things. I wandered +away from the house, and the keen wind cut me to the bone, for I had +not put on plaid or cloak. I turned into a field, and stumbled along +over its uneven surface, swollen into hard frozen lumps, so that it +was like walking upon stones. The summer was gone and the winter was +here, and my heart was colder and more miserable than any winter in +the world. I found myself at length at the hillock where Turkey and I +had lain on that lovely afternoon the year before. The stream below +was dumb with frost. The wind blew wearily but sharply across the bare +field. There was no Elsie Duff, with head drooping over her knitting, +seated in the summer grass on the other side of a singing brook. Her +head was aching on her pillow because I had struck her with that vile +lump; and instead of the odour of white clover she was breathing the +dregs of the hateful smoke with which I had filled the cottage. I sat +down, cold as it was, on the frozen hillock, and buried my face in my +hands. Then my dream returned upon me. This was how I sat in my dream +when my father had turned me out-of-doors. Oh how dreadful it would +be! I should just have to lie down and die.</p> + +<p>I could not sit long for the cold. Mechanically I rose and paced +about. But I grew so wretched in body that it made me forget for a +while the trouble of my mind, and I wandered home again. The house was +just stirring. I crept to the nursery, undressed, and lay down beside +little Davie, who cried out in his sleep when my cold feet touched +him. But I did not sleep again, although I lay till all the rest had +gone to the parlour. I found them seated round a blazing fire waiting +for my father. He came in soon after, and we had our breakfast, and +Davie gave his crumbs as usual to the robins and sparrows which came +hopping on the window-sill. I fancied my father's eyes were often +turned in my direction, but I could not lift mine to make sure. I had +never before known what misery was.</p> + +<p>Only Tom and I went to church that day: it was so cold. My father +preached from the text, "Be sure your sin shall find you out". I +thought with myself that he had found out my sin, and was preparing to +punish me for it, and I was filled with terror as well as dismay. I +could scarcely keep my seat, so wretched was I. But when after many +instances in which punishment had come upon evil-doers when they least +expected it, and in spite of every precaution to fortify themselves +against it, he proceeded to say that a man's sin might find him out +long before the punishment of it overtook him, and drew a picture of +the misery of the wicked man who fled when none pursued him, and +trembled at the rustling of a leaf, then I was certain that he knew +what I had done, or had seen through my face into my conscience. When +at last we went home, I kept waiting the whole of the day for the +storm to break, expecting every moment to be called to his study. I +did not enjoy a mouthful of my food, for I felt his eyes upon me, and +they tortured me. I was like a shy creature of the woods whose hole +had been stopped up: I had no place of refuge—nowhere to hide my +head; and I felt so naked!</p> + +<p>My very soul was naked. After tea I slunk away to the nursery, and sat +staring into the fire. Mrs. Mitchell came in several times and scolded +me for sitting there, instead of with Tom and the rest in the parlour, +but I was too miserable even to answer her. At length she brought +Davie, and put him to bed; and a few minutes after, I heard my father +coming down the stair with Allister, who was chatting away to him. I +wondered how he could. My father came in with the big Bible under his +arm, as was his custom on Sunday nights, drew a chair to the table, +rang for candles, and with Allister by his side and me seated opposite +to him, began to find a place from which to read to us. To my yet +stronger conviction, he began and read through without a word of +remark the parable of the Prodigal Son. When he came to the father's +delight at having him back, the robe, and the shoes, and the ring, I +could not repress my tears. "If I could only go back," I thought, "and +set it all right! but then I've never gone away." It was a foolish +thought, instantly followed by a longing impulse to tell my father all +about it. How could it be that I had not thought of this before? I had +been waiting all this time for my sin to find me out; why should I not +frustrate my sin, and find my father first?</p> + +<p>As soon as he had done reading, and before he had opened his mouth to +make any remark, I crept round the table to his side, and whispered in +his ear,—</p> + +<p>"Papa, I want to speak to you."</p> + +<p>"Very well, Ranald," he said, more solemnly, I thought, than usual; +"come up to the study."</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="151.jpg (76K)" src="151.jpg" height="649" width="431"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>He rose and led the way, and I followed. A whimper of disappointment +came from Davie's bed. My father went and kissed him, and said he +would soon be back, whereupon Davie nestled down satisfied.</p> + +<p>When we reached the study, he closed the door, sat down by the fire, +and drew me towards him.</p> + +<p>I burst out crying, and could not speak for sobs. He encouraged me +most kindly. He said—</p> + +<p>"Have you been doing anything wrong, my boy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, papa, very wrong," I sobbed. "I'm disgusted with myself."</p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear it, my dear," he returned. "There is some hope of +you, then."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I don't know that," I rejoined. "Even Turkey despises me."</p> + +<p>"That's very serious," said my father. "He's a fine fellow, Turkey. I +should not like him to despise me. But tell me all about it."</p> + +<p>It was with great difficulty I could begin, but with the help of +questioning me, my father at length understood the whole matter. He +paused for a while plunged in thought; then rose, saying,—</p> + +<p>"It's a serious affair, my dear boy; but now you have told me, I shall +be able to help you."</p> + +<p>"But you knew about it before, didn't you, papa? Surely you did!"</p> + +<p>"Not a word of it, Ranald. You fancied so because your sin had found +you out. I must go and see how the poor woman is. I don't want to +reproach you at all, now you are sorry, but I should like you just to +think that you have been helping to make that poor old woman wicked. +She is naturally of a sour disposition, and you have made it sourer +still, and no doubt made her hate everybody more than she was already +inclined to do. You have been working against God in this parish."</p> + +<p>I burst into fresh tears. It was too dreadful.</p> + +<p>"What <i>am</i> I to do?" I cried.</p> + +<p>"Of course you must beg Mrs. Gregson's pardon, and tell her that you +are both sorry and ashamed."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, papa. Do let me go with you."</p> + +<p>"It's too late to find her up, I'm afraid; but we can just go and +see. We've done a wrong, a very grievous wrong, my boy, and I cannot +rest till I at least know the consequences of it."</p> + +<p>He put on his long greatcoat and muffler in haste, and having seen +that I too was properly wrapped up, he opened the door and stepped +out. But remembering the promise he had made to Davie, he turned and +went down to the nursery to speak to him again, while I awaited him on +the doorsteps. It would have been quite dark but for the stars, and +there was no snow to give back any of their shine. The earth swallowed +all their rays, and was no brighter for it. But oh, what a change to +me from the frightful morning! When my father returned, I put my hand +in his almost as fearlessly as Allister or wee Davie might have done, +and away we walked together.</p> + +<p>"Papa," I said, "why did you say <i>we</i> have done a wrong? You did not +do it."</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, persons who are so near each other as we are, must not +only bear the consequences together of any wrong done by one of them, +but must, in a sense, bear each other's iniquities even. If I sin, you +must suffer; if you sin, you being my own boy, I must suffer. But this +is not all: it lies upon both of us to do what we can to get rid of +the wrong done; and thus we have to bear each other's sin. I am +accountable to make amends as far as I can; and also to do what I can +to get you to be sorry and make amends as far as you can."</p> + +<p>"But, papa, isn't that hard?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Do you think I should like to leave you to get out of your sin as you +best could, or sink deeper and deeper into it? Should I grudge +anything to take the weight of the sin, or the wrong to others, off +you? Do you think I should want not to be troubled about it? Or if I +were to do anything wrong, would you think it very hard that you had +to help me to be good, and set things right? Even if people looked +down upon you because of me, would you say it was hard? Would you not +rather say, 'I'm glad to bear anything for my father: I'll share with +him'?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, papa. I would rather share with you than not, whatever +it was."</p> + +<p>"Then you see, my boy, how kind God is in tying us up in one bundle +that way. It is a grand and beautiful thing that the fathers should +suffer for the children, and the children for the fathers. Come +along. We must step out, or I fear we shall not be able to make our +apology to-night. When we've got over this, Ranald, we must be a good +deal more careful what company we keep."</p> + +<p>"Oh, papa," I answered, "if Turkey would only forgive me!"</p> + +<p>"There's no fear. Turkey is sure to forgive you when you've done what +you can to make amends. He's a fine fellow, Turkey. I have a high +opinion of Turkey—as you call him."</p> + +<p>"If he would, papa, I should not wish for any other company than his."</p> + +<p>"A boy wants various kinds of companions, Ranald, but I fear you have +been neglecting Turkey. You owe him much."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed I do, papa," I answered; "and I have been neglecting +him. If I had kept with Turkey, I should never have got into such a +dreadful scrape as this."</p> + +<p>"That is too light a word to use for it, my boy. Don't call a +wickedness a scrape; for a wickedness it certainly was, though I am +only too willing to believe you had no adequate idea at the time <i>how</i> +wicked it was."</p> + +<p>"I won't again, papa. But I am so relieved already."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps poor old Mrs. Gregson is not relieved, though. You ought not +to forget her."</p> + +<p>Thus talking, we hurried on until we arrived at the cottage. A dim +light was visible through the window. My father knocked, and Elsie +Duff opened the door.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XIX</p> + +<p>Forgiveness</p> + + +<center> +<img alt="157.jpg (88K)" src="157.jpg" height="723" width="527"> +</center> + + +<p> +When we entered, there sat the old woman on the farther side of the +hearth, rocking herself to and fro. I hardly dared look up. Elsie's +face was composed and sweet. She gave me a shy tremulous smile, which +went to my heart and humbled me dreadfully. My father took the stool +on which Elsie had been sitting. When he had lowered himself upon it, +his face was nearly on a level with that of the old woman, who took no +notice of him, but kept rocking herself to and fro and moaning. He +laid his hand on hers, which, old and withered and not very clean, lay +on her knee.</p> + +<p>"How do you find yourself to-night, Mrs. Gregson?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I'm an ill-used woman," she replied with a groan, behaving as if it +was my father who had maltreated her, and whose duty it was to make an +apology for it.</p> + +<p>"I am aware of what you mean, Mrs. Gregson. That is what brought me to +inquire after you. I hope you are not seriously the worse for it."</p> + +<p>"I'm an ill-used woman," she repeated. "Every man's hand's against +me."</p> + +<p>"Well, I hardly think that," said my father in a cheerful tone. "<i>My</i> +hand's not against you now."</p> + +<p>"If you bring up your sons, Mr. Bannerman, to mock at the poor, and +find their amusement in driving the aged and infirm to death's door, +you can't say your hand's not against a poor lone woman like me."</p> + +<p>"But I don't bring up my sons to do so. If I did I shouldn't be here +now. I am willing to bear my part of the blame, Mrs. Gregson, but to +say I bring my sons up to that kind of wickedness, is to lay on me +more than my share, a good deal.—Come here, Ranald."</p> + +<p>I obeyed with bowed head and shame-stricken heart, for I saw what +wrong I had done my father, and that although few would be so unjust +to him as this old woman, many would yet blame the best man in the +world for the wrongs of his children. When I stood by my father's +side, the old woman just lifted her head once to cast on me a scowling +look, and then went on again rocking herself.</p> + +<p>"Now, my boy," said my father, "tell Mrs. Gregson why you have come +here to-night."</p> + +<p>I had to use a dreadful effort to make myself speak. It was like +resisting a dumb spirit and forcing the words from my lips. But I did +not hesitate a moment. In fact, I dared not hesitate, for I felt that +hesitation would be defeat.</p> + +<p>"I came, papa——" I began.</p> + +<p>"No no, my man," said my father; "you must speak to Mrs. Gregson, not +to me."</p> + +<p>Thereupon I had to make a fresh effort. When at this day I see a child +who will not say the words required of him, I feel again just as I +felt then, and think how difficult it is for him to do what he is +told; but oh, how I wish he would do it, that he might be a conqueror +I for I know that if he will not make the effort, it will grow more +and more difficult for him to make any effort. I cannot be too +thankful that I was able to overcome now.</p> + +<p>"I came, Mrs. Gregson," I faltered, "to tell you that I am very sorry +I behaved so ill to you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed," she returned. "How would you like anyone to come and +serve you so in your grand house? But a poor lone widow woman like me +is nothing to be thought of. Oh no! not at all."</p> + +<p>"I am ashamed of myself," I said, almost forcing my confession upon +her.</p> + +<p>"So you ought to be all the days of your life. You deserve to be +drummed out of the town for a minister's son that you are! Hoo!"</p> + +<p>"I'll never do it again, Mrs. Gregson."</p> + +<p>"You'd better not, or you shall hear of it, if there's a sheriff in +the county. To insult honest people after that fashion!"</p> + +<p>I drew back, more than ever conscious of the wrong I had done in +rousing such unforgiving fierceness in the heart of a woman. My father +spoke now.</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell you, Mrs. Gregson, what made the boy sorry, and made him +willing to come and tell you all about it?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I've got friends after all. The young prodigal!"</p> + +<p>"You are coming pretty near it, Mrs. Gregson," said my father; "but +you haven't touched it quite. It was a friend of yours that spoke to +my boy and made him very unhappy about what he had done, telling him +over and over again what a shame it was, and how wicked of him. Do you +know what friend it was?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I do, and perhaps I don't. I can guess."</p> + +<p>"I fear you don't guess quite correctly. It was the best friend you +ever had or ever will have. It was God himself talking in my poor +boy's heart. He would not heed what he said all day, but in the +evening we were reading how the prodigal son went back to his father, +and how the father forgave him; and he couldn't stand it any longer, +and came and told me all about it."</p> + +<p>"It wasn't you he had to go to. It wasn't you he smoked to death—was +it now? It was easy enough to go to you."</p> + +<p>"Not so easy perhaps. But he has come to you now."</p> + +<p>"Come when you made him!"</p> + +<p>"I didn't make him. He came gladly. He saw it was all he could do to +make up for the wrong he had done."</p> + +<p>"A poor amends!" I heard her grumble; but my father took no notice.</p> + +<p>"And you know, Mrs. Gregson," he went on, "when the prodigal son did +go back to his father, his father forgave him at once."</p> + +<p>"Easy enough! He was his father, and fathers always side with their +sons."</p> + +<p>I saw my father thinking for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Yes; that is true," he said. "And what he does himself, he always +wants his sons and daughters to do. So he tells us that if we don't +forgive one another, he will not forgive us. And as we all want to be +forgiven, we had better mind what we're told. If you don't forgive +this boy, who has done you a great wrong, but is sorry for it, God +will not forgive you—and that's a serious affair."</p> + +<p>"He's never begged my pardon yet," said the old woman, whose dignity +required the utter humiliation of the offender.</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Gregson," I said. "I shall never be rude to +you again."</p> + +<p>"Very well," she answered, a little mollified at last.</p> + +<p>"Keep your promise, and we'll say no more about it. It's for your +father's sake, mind, that I forgive you."</p> + +<p>I saw a smile trembling about my father's lips, but he suppressed it, +saying,</p> + +<p>"Won't you shake hands with him, Mrs. Gregson?"</p> + +<p>She held out a poor shrivelled hand, which I took very gladly; but it +felt so strange in mine that I was frightened at it: it was like +something half dead. But at the same moment, from behind me another +hand, a rough little hand, but warm and firm and all alive, slipped +into my left hand. I knew it was Elsie Duff's, and the thought of how +I had behaved to her rushed in upon me with a cold misery of shame. I +would have knelt at her feet, but I could not speak my sorrow before +witnesses. Therefore I kept hold of her hand and led her by it to the +other end of the cottage, for there was a friendly gloom, the only +light in the place coming from the glow—not flame—of a fire of peat +and bark. She came readily, whispering before I had time to open my +mouth—</p> + +<p>I'm sorry grannie's so hard to make it up."</p> + +<p>"I deserve it," I said. "Elsie, I'm a brute. I could knock my head on +the wall. Please forgive me."</p> + +<p>"It's not me," she answered. "You didn't hurt me. I didn't mind it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Elsie! I struck you with that horrid snowball."</p> + +<p>"It was only on the back of my neck. It didn't hurt me much. It only +frightened me."</p> + +<p>"I didn't know it was you. If I had known, I am sure I shouldn't have +done it. But it was wicked and contemptible anyhow, to any girl."</p> + +<p>I broke down again, half from shame, half from the happiness of having +cast my sin from me by confessing it. Elsie held my hand now.</p> + +<p>"Never mind; never mind," she said; "you won't do it again."</p> + +<p>"I would rather be hanged," I sobbed.</p> + +<p>That moment a pair of strong hands caught hold of mine, and the next I +found myself being hoisted on somebody's back, by a succession of +heaves and pitches, which did not cease until I was firmly seated. +Then a voice said—</p> + +<p>"I'm his horse again, Elsie, and I'll carry him home this very night."</p> + +<p>Elsie gave a pleased little laugh; and Turkey bore me to the fireside, +where my father was talking away in a low tone to the old woman. I +believe he had now turned the tables upon her, and was trying to +convince her of her unkind and grumbling ways. But he did not let us +hear a word of the reproof.</p> + +<p>"Eh! Turkey, my lad! is that you? I didn't know you were there," he +said.</p> + +<p>I had never before heard my father address him as Turkey.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing with that great boy upon your back?" he continued.</p> + +<p>"I'm going to carry him home, sir."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! He can walk well enough."</p> + +<p>Half ashamed, I began to struggle to get down, but Turkey held me +tight.</p> + +<p>"But you see, sir," said Turkey, "we're friends now. <i>He's</i> done what +he could, and <i>I</i> want to do what I can."</p> + +<p>"Very well," returned my father, rising; "come along; it's time we +were going."</p> + +<p>When he bade her good night, the old woman actually rose and held out +her hand to both of us.</p> + +<p>"Good night, Grannie," said Turkey. "Good night, Elsie." And away we +went.</p> + +<p>Never conqueror on his triumphal entry was happier than I, as through +the starry night I rode home on Turkey's back. The very stars seemed +rejoicing over my head. When I think of it now, the words always come +with it, "There is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one +sinner that repenteth," and I cannot but believe they rejoiced then, +for if ever I repented in my life I repented then. When at length I +was down in bed beside Davie, it seemed as if there could be nobody in +the world so blessed as I was: I had been forgiven. When I woke in the +morning, I was as it were new born into a new world. Before getting up +I had a rare game with Davie, whose shrieks of laughter at length +brought Mrs. Mitchell with angry face; but I found myself kindly +disposed even towards her. The weather was much the same; but its +dreariness had vanished. There was a glowing spot in my heart which +drove out the cold, and glorified the black frost that bound the +earth. When I went out before breakfast, and saw the red face of the +sun looking through the mist like a bright copper kettle, he seemed to +know all about it, and to be friends with me as he had never been +before; and I was quite as well satisfied as if the sun of my dream +had given me a friendly nod of forgiveness.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="165.jpg (80K)" src="165.jpg" height="662" width="452"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XX</p> + +<p>I Have a Fall and a Dream</p> + +<p> +Elsie Duff's father was a farm-labourer, with a large family. He was +what is called a cottar in Scotland, which name implies that of the +large farm upon which he worked for yearly wages he had a little bit +of land to cultivate for his own use. His wife's mother was Grannie +Gregson. She was so old that she needed someone to look after her, but +she had a cottage of her own in the village, and would not go and live +with her daughter, and, indeed, they were not anxious to have her, for +she was not by any means a pleasant person. So there was no help for +it: Elsie must go and be her companion. It was a great trial to her at +first, for her home was a happy one, her mother being very unlike her +grandmother; and, besides, she greatly preferred the open fields to +the streets of the village. She did not grumble, however, for where is +the good of grumbling where duty is plain, or even when a thing cannot +be helped? She found it very lonely though, especially when her +grannie was in one of her gloomy moods. Then she would not answer a +question, but leave the poor girl to do what she thought best, and +complain of it afterwards. This was partly the reason why her parents, +towards the close of the spring, sent a little brother, who was too +delicate to be of much use at home, to spend some months with his +grannie, and go to school. The intention had been that Elsie herself +should go to school, but what with the cow and her grandmother +together she had not been able to begin. Of course grannie grumbled at +the proposal, but, as Turkey, my informant on these points, explained, +she was afraid lest, if she objected, they should take Elsie away and +send a younger sister in her place. So little Jamie Duff came to the +school.</p> + +<p>He was a poor little white-haired, red-eyed boy, who found himself +very much out of his element there. Some of the bigger boys imagined +it good fun to tease him; but on the whole he was rather a favourite, +for he looked so pitiful, and took everything so patiently. For my +part, I was delighted at the chance of showing Elsie Duff some +kindness through her brother. The girl's sweetness clung to me, and +not only rendered it impossible for me to be rude to any girl, but +kept me awake to the occurrence of any opportunity of doing something +for her sake. Perceiving one day, before the master arrived, that +Jamie was shivering with cold, I made way for him where I stood by the +fire; and then found that he had next to nothing upon his little body, +and that the soles of his shoes were hanging half off. This in the +month of March in the north of Scotland was bad enough, even if he had +not had a cough. I told my father when I went home, and he sent me to +tell Mrs. Mitchell to look out some old garments of Allister's for +him; but she declared there were none. When I told Turkey this he +looked very grave, but said nothing. When I told my father, he desired +me to take the boy to the tailor and shoemaker, and get warm and +strong clothes and shoes made for him. I was proud enough of the +commission, and if I did act the grand benefactor a little, I have not +yet finished the penance of it, for it never comes into my mind +without bringing its shame with it. Of how many people shall I not +have to beg the precious forgiveness when I meet them in the other +world! For the sake of this penal shame, I confess I let the little +fellow walk behind me, as I took him through the streets. Perhaps I +may say this for myself, that I never thought of demanding any service +of him in return for mine: I was not so bad as that. And I was true in +heart to him notwithstanding my pride, for I had a real affection for +him. I had not seen his sister—to speak to I mean—since that Sunday +night.</p> + +<p>One Saturday afternoon, as we were having a game something like hare +and hounds, I was running very hard through the village, when I set my +foot on a loose stone, and had a violent fall. When I got up, I saw +Jamie Duff standing by my side, with a face of utter consternation. I +discovered afterwards that he was in the way of following me about. +Finding the blood streaming down my face, and remarking when I came to +myself a little that I was very near the house where Turkey's mother +lived, I crawled thither, and up the stairs to her garret, Jamie +following in silence. I found her busy as usual at her wheel, and +Elsie Duff stood talking to her, as if she had just run in for a +moment and must not sit down. Elsie gave a little cry when she saw the +state I was in, and Turkey's mother got up and made me take her chair +while she hastened to get some water. I grew faint, and lost my +consciousness. When I came to myself I was leaning against Elsie, +whose face was as white as a sheet with dismay. I took a little water +and soon began to revive.</p> + +<p>When Turkey's mother had tied up my head, I rose to go home, but she +persuaded me to lie down a while. I was not unwilling to comply. What +a sense of blissful repose pervaded me, weary with running, and +perhaps faint with loss of blood, when I stretched myself on the bed, +whose patchwork counterpane, let me say for Turkey's mother, was as +clean as any down quilt in chambers of the rich. I remember so well +how a single ray of sunlight fell on the floor from the little window +in the roof, just on the foot that kept turning the spinning-wheel. +Its hum sounded sleepy in my ears. I gazed at the sloping ray of +light, in which the ceaseless rotation of the swift wheel kept the +motes dancing most busily, until at length to my half-closed eyes it +became a huge Jacob's ladder, crowded with an innumerable company of +ascending and descending angels, and I thought it must be the same +ladder I used to see in my dream. The drowsy delight which follows on +the loss of blood possessed me, and the little garret with the +slanting roof, and its sloping sun-ray, and the whirr of the wheel, +and the form of the patient woman that span, had begun to gather about +them the hues of Paradise to my slowly fading senses, when I heard a +voice that sounded miles away, and yet close to my ear:</p> + +<p>"Elsie, sing a little song, will you?"</p> + +<p>I heard no reply. A pause followed, and then a voice, clear and +melodious as a brook, began to sing, and before it ceased, I was +indeed in a kind of paradise.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="172.jpg (110K)" src="172.jpg" height="662" width="444"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>But here I must pause. Shall I be breaking my promise of not a word of +Scotch in my story, if I give the song? True it is not a part of the +story exactly, but it is in it. If my reader would like the song, he +must have it in Scotch or not at all. I am not going to spoil it by +turning it out of its own natural clothes into finer garments to which +it was not born—I mean by translating it from Scotch into English. +The best way will be this: I give the song as something extra—call it +a footnote slipped into the middle of the page. Nobody needs read a +word of it to understand the story; and being in smaller type and a +shape of its own, it can be passed over without the least trouble.</p> + +<center> +<table summary="song"> +<tr><td> + +<p>SONG</p> + +<p>Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the yorlin[1] sings,<br> +Wi' a clip o' the sunshine atween his wings;<br> +Whaur the birks[2] are a' straikit wi' fair munelicht,<br> +And the broom hings its lamps by day and by nicht;<br> +Whaur the burnie comes trottin' ower shingle and stane,<br> +Liltin'[3] bonny havers[4] til 'tsel alane;<br> +And the sliddery[5] troot, wi' ae soop o' its tail,<br> +Is awa' 'neath the green weed's swingin' veil!<br> +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang as I saw<br> +The yorlin, the broom, an' the burnie, an' a'!</p><br> +<br> +<p>Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the primroses wonn,<br> +Luikin' oot o' their leaves like wee sons o' the sun;<br> +Whaur the wild roses hing like flickers o' flame,<br> +And fa' at the touch wi' a dainty shame;<br> +Whaur the bee swings ower the white clovery sod,<br> +And the butterfly flits like a stray thoucht o' God;<br> +Whaur, like arrow shot frae life's unseen bow,<br> +The dragon-fly burns the sunlicht throu'!<br> +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang to see<br> +The rose and the primrose, the draigon and bee!</p><br> +<br> +<p>Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the mune luiks doon,<br> +As gin she war hearin' a soundless tune,<br> +Whan the flowers an' the birds are a' asleep,<br> +And the verra burnie gangs creepy-creep;<br> +Whaur the corn-craik craiks in the lang lang rye,<br> +And the nicht is the safter for his rouch cry;<br> +Whaur the wind wad fain lie doon on the slope,<br> +And the verra darkness owerflows wi' hope!<br> +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur, silent, I felt<br> +The mune an' the darkness baith into me melt.</p><br> +<br> +<p>Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the sun luiks in,<br> +Sayin', Here awa', there awa', baud awa', sin!<br> +Wi' the licht o' God in his flashin' ee,<br> +Sayin', Darkness and sorrow a' work for me!<br> +Whaur the lark springs up on his ain sang borne,<br> +Wi' bird-shout and jubilee hailin' the morn;<br> +For his hert is fu' o' the hert o' the licht,<br> +An', come darkness or winter, a' maun be richt!<br> +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the sun luikit in,<br> +Sayin', Here awa', there awa', hand awa', sin.</p><br> +<br> +<p>Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I used to lie<br> +Wi' Jeanie aside me, sae sweet and sae shy!<br> +Whaur the wee white gowan wi' reid reid tips,<br> +Was as white as her cheek and as reid as her lips.<br> +Oh, her ee had a licht cam frae far 'yont the sun,<br> +And her tears cam frae deeper than salt seas run!<br> +O' the sunlicht and munelicht she was the queen,<br> +For baith war but middlin' withoot my Jean.<br> +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I used to lie<br> +Wi' Jeanie aside me, sae sweet and sae shy!</p><br> +<br> +<p>Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the kirkyard lies,<br> +A' day and a' nicht, luikin' up to the skies;<br> +Whaur the sheep wauk up i' the summer nicht,<br> +Tak a bite, and lie doon, and await the licht;<br> +Whaur the psalms roll ower the grassy heaps,<br> +And the wind comes and moans, and the rain comes and<br> +weeps!</p><br> +<br> +<p>But Jeanie, my Jeanie—she's no lyin' there,<br> +For she's up and awa' up the angels' stair.<br> +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the kirkyard lies,<br> +And the stars luik doon, and the nicht-wind sighs!</p> +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + +<p>[Footnote 1: The Yellow-hammer.]</p> + +<p>[Footnote 2: Birch-trees.]</p> + +<p>[Footnote 3: Singing.]</p> + +<p>[Footnote 4: Nonsense.]</p> + +<p>[Footnote 5: Slippery.]</p> + +<p>Elsie's voice went through every corner of my brain: there was singing +in all its chambers. I could not hear the words of the song well +enough to understand them quite; but Turkey gave me a copy of them +afterwards. They were the schoolmaster's work. All the winter, Turkey +had been going to the evening school, and the master had been greatly +pleased with him, and had done his best to get him on in various ways. +A friendship sprung up between them; and one night he showed Turkey +these verses. Where the air came from, I do not know: Elsie's brain +was full of tunes. I repeated them to my father once, and he was +greatly pleased with them.</p> + +<p>On this first acquaintance, however, they put me to sleep; and little +Jamie Duff was sent over to tell my father what had happened. Jamie +gave the message to Mrs. Mitchell, and she, full of her own +importance, must needs set out to see how much was the matter.</p> + +<p>I was dreaming an unutterably delicious dream. It was a summer +evening. The sun was of a tremendous size, and of a splendid +rose-colour. He was resting with his lower edge on the horizon, and +dared go no farther, because all the flowers would sing instead of +giving out their proper scents, and if he left them, he feared utter +anarchy in his kingdom before he got back in the morning. I woke and +saw the ugly face of Mrs. Mitchell bending over me. She was pushing +me, and calling to me to wake up. The moment I saw her I shut my eyes +tight, turned away, and pretended to be fast asleep again, in the hope +that she would go away and leave me with my friends.</p> + +<p>"Do let him have his sleep out, Mrs. Mitchell," said Turkey's mother.</p> + +<p>"You've let him sleep too long already," she returned, ungraciously. +"He'll do all he can, waking or sleeping, to make himself troublesome. +He's a ne'er-do-well, Ranald. Little good'll ever come of him. It's a +mercy his mother is under the mould, for he would have broken her +heart."</p> + +<p>I had come to myself quite by this time, but I was not in the least +more inclined to acknowledge it to Mrs. Mitchell.</p> + +<p>"You're wrong there, Mrs. Mitchell," said Elsie Duff; and my reader +must remember it required a good deal of courage to stand up against a +woman so much older than herself, and occupying the important position +of housekeeper to the minister. "Ranald is a good boy. I'm sure he +is."</p> + +<p>"How dare you say so, when he served your poor old grandmother such a +wicked trick? It's little the children care for their parents +nowadays. Don't speak to me."</p> + +<p>"No, don't, Elsie," said another voice, accompanied by a creaking of +the door and a heavy step. "Don't speak to her, Elsie, or you'll have +the worst of it. Leave her to me.—If Ranald did what you say, Mrs. +Mitchell, and I don't deny it, he was at least very sorry for it +afterwards, and begged grannie's pardon; and that's a sort of thing +<i>you</i> never did in your life."</p> + +<p>"I never had any occasion, Turkey; so you hold your tongue."</p> + +<p>"Now don't you call me <i>Turkey</i>. I won't stand it. I was christened as +well as you."</p> + +<p>"And what are <i>you</i> to speak to me like that? Go home to your cows. I +dare say they're standing supperless in their stalls while you're +gadding about. I'll call you <i>Turkey</i> as long as I please."</p> + +<p>"Very well, Kelpie—that's the name you're known by, though perhaps no +one has been polite enough to use it to your face, for you're a great +woman, no doubt—I give you warning that I know you. When you're found +out, don't say I didn't give you a chance beforehand."</p> + +<p>"You impudent beggar!" cried Mrs. Mitchell, in a rage. "And you're all +one pack," she added, looking round on the two others. "Get up, +Ranald, and come home with me directly. What are you lying shamming +there for?"</p> + +<p>As she spoke, she approached the bed; but Turkey was too quick for +her, and got in front of it. As he was now a great strong lad, she +dared not lay hands upon him, so she turned in a rage and stalked out +of the room, saying,</p> + +<p>"Mr. Bannerman shall hear of this."</p> + +<p>"Then it'll be both sides of it, Mrs. Mitchell," I cried from the bed; +but she vanished, vouchsafing me no reply.</p> + +<p>Once more Turkey got me on his back and carried me home. I told my +father the whole occurrence. He examined the cut and plastered it up +for me, saying he would go and thank Turkey's mother at once. I +confess I thought more of Elsie Duff and her wonderful singing, which +had put me to sleep, and given me the strange lovely dream from which +the rough hands and harsh voice of the Kelpie had waked me too soon.</p> + +<p>After this, although I never dared go near her grandmother's house +alone, I yet, by loitering and watching, got many a peep of Elsie. +Sometimes I went with Turkey to his mother's of an evening, to which +my father had no objection, and somehow or other Elsie was sure to be +there, and we spent a very happy hour or two together. Sometimes she +would sing, and sometimes I would read to them out of Milton—I read +the whole of Comus to them by degrees in this way; and although there +was much I could not at all understand, I am perfectly certain it had +an ennobling effect upon every one of us. It is not necessary that the +intellect should define and separate before the heart and soul derive +nourishment. As well say that a bee can get nothing out of a flower, +because she does not understand botany. The very music of the stately +words of such a poem is enough to generate a better mood, to make one +feel the air of higher regions, and wish to rise "above the smoke and +stir of this dim spot". The best influences which bear upon us are of +this vague sort—powerful upon the heart and conscience, although +undefined to the intellect.</p> + +<a name="elsie"></a> +<br><br> +<center> +<a href="il08.jpg"><img alt="il08h.jpg (56K)" src="il08h.jpg" height="589" width="353"></a> +</center> +<br><br> + +<p>But I find I have been forgetting that those for whom I write are +young—too young to understand this. Let it remain, however, for those +older persons who at an odd moment, while waiting for dinner, or +before going to bed, may take up a little one's book, and turn over a +few of its leaves. Some such readers, in virtue of their hearts being +young and old both at once, discern more in the children's books than +the children themselves.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXI</p> + +<p>The Bees' Nest</p> + + +<center> +<img alt="180.jpg (87K)" src="180.jpg" height="706" width="535"> +</center> + + + +<p> +It was twelve o'clock on a delicious Saturday in the height of summer. +We poured out of school with the gladness of a holiday in our hearts. +I sauntered home full of the summer sun, and the summer wind, and the +summer scents which filled the air. I do not know how often I sat down +in perfect bliss upon the earthen walls which divided the fields from +the road, and basked in the heat. These walls were covered with grass +and moss. The odour of a certain yellow feathery flower, which grew on +them rather plentifully, used to give me special delight. Great +humble-bees haunted the walls, and were poking about in them +constantly. Butterflies also found them pleasant places, and I +delighted in butterflies, though I seldom succeeded in catching one. I +do not remember that I ever killed one. Heart and conscience both were +against that. I had got the loan of Mrs. Trimmer's story of the family +of Robins, and was every now and then reading a page of it with +unspeakable delight. We had very few books for children in those days +and in that far out-of-the-way place, and those we did get were the +more dearly prized. It was almost dinner-time before I reached home. +Somehow in this grand weather, welcome as dinner always was, it did +not possess the same amount of interest as in the cold bitter winter. +This day I almost hurried over mine to get out again into the broad +sunlight. Oh, how stately the hollyhocks towered on the borders of the +shrubbery! The guelder-roses hung like balls of snow in their +wilderness of green leaves; and here and there the damask roses, dark +almost to blackness, and with a soft velvety surface, enriched the +sunny air with their colour and their scent. I never see these roses +now. And the little bushes of polyanthus gemmed the dark earth between +with their varied hues. We did not know anything about flowers except +the delight they gave us, and I dare say I am putting some together +which would not be out at the same time, but that is how the picture +comes back to my memory.</p> + +<p>I was leaning in utter idleness over the gate that separated the +little lawn and its surroundings from the road, when a troop of +children passed, with little baskets and tin pails in their hands; and +amongst them Jamie Duff. It was not in the least necessary to ask him +where he was going.</p> + +<p>Not very far, about a mile or so from our house, rose a certain hill +famed in the country round for its store of bilberries. It was the +same to which Turkey and I had fled for refuge from the bull. It was +called the Ba' Hill, and a tradition lingered in the neighbourhood +that many years ago there had been a battle there, and that after the +battle the conquerors played at football with the heads of the +vanquished slain, and hence the name of the hill; but who fought or +which conquered, there was not a shadow of a record. It had been a +wild country, and conflicting clans had often wrought wild work in +it. In summer the hill was of course the haunt of children gathering +its bilberries. Jamie shyly suggested whether I would not join them, +but they were all too much younger than myself; and besides I felt +drawn to seek Turkey in the field with the cattle—that is, when I +should get quite tired of doing nothing. So the little troop streamed +on, and I remained leaning over the gate.</p> + +<p>I suppose I had sunk into a dreamy state, for I was suddenly startled +by a sound beside me, and looking about, saw an old woman, bent nearly +double within an old grey cloak, notwithstanding the heat. She leaned +on a stick, and carried a bag like a pillow-case in her hand. It was +one of the poor people of the village, going her rounds for her weekly +dole of a handful of oatmeal. I knew her very well by sight and by +name—she was old Eppie—and a kindly greeting passed between us. I +thank God that the frightful poor-laws had not invaded Scotland when I +was a boy. There was no degradation in honest poverty then, and it was +no burden to those who supplied its wants; while every person was +known, and kindly feelings were nourished on both sides. If I +understand anything of human nature now, it comes partly of having +known and respected the poor of my father's parish. She passed in at +the gate and went as usual to the kitchen door, while I stood drowsily +contemplating the green expanse of growing crops in the valley before +me. The day had grown as sleepy as myself. There were no noises except +the hum of the unseen insects, and the distant rush of the water over +the dams at our bathing-place. In a few minutes the old woman +approached me again. She was an honest and worthy soul, and very civil +in her manners. Therefore I was surprised to hear her muttering to +herself. Turning, I saw she was very angry. She ceased her muttering +when she descried me observing her, and walked on in silence—was even +about to pass through the little wicket at the side of the larger gate +without any further salutation. Something had vexed her, and +instinctively I put my hand in my pocket, and pulled out a halfpenny +my father had given me that morning—very few of which came in my +way—and offered it to her. She took it with a half-ashamed glance, an +attempt at a courtesy, and a murmured blessing. Then for a moment she +looked as if about to say something, but changing her mind, she only +added another grateful word, and hobbled away. I pondered in a feeble +fashion for a moment, came to the conclusion that the Kelpie had been +rude to her, forgot her, and fell a-dreaming again. Growing at length +tired of doing nothing, I roused myself, and set out to seek Turkey.</p> + +<p>I have lingered almost foolishly over this day. But when I recall my +childhood, this day always comes back as a type of the best of it.</p> + +<p>I remember I visited Kirsty, to find out where Turkey was. Kirsty +welcomed me as usual, for she was always loving and kind to us; and +although I did not visit her so often now, she knew it was because I +was more with my father, and had lessons to learn in which she could +not assist me. Having nothing else to talk about, I told her of Eppie, +and her altered looks when she came out of the house. Kirsty +compressed her lips, nodded her head, looked serious, and made me no +reply. Thinking this was strange, I resolved to tell Turkey, which +otherwise I might not have done. I did not pursue the matter with +Kirsty, for I knew her well enough to know that her manner indicated a +mood out of which nothing could be drawn. Having learned where he was, +I set out to find him—close by the scene of our adventure with +Wandering Willie. I soon came in sight of the cattle feeding, but did +not see Turkey.</p> + +<p>When I came near the mound, I caught a glimpse of the head of old +Mrs. Gregson's cow quietly feeding off the top of the wall from the +other side, like an outcast Gentile; while my father's cows, like the +favoured and greedy Jews, were busy in the short clover inside. +Grannie's cow managed to live notwithstanding, and I dare say gave as +good milk, though not perhaps quite so much of it, as ill-tempered +Hawkie. Mrs. Gregson's granddaughter, however, who did not eat grass, +was inside the wall, seated on a stone which Turkey had no doubt +dragged there for her. Trust both her and Turkey, the cow should not +have a mouthful without leave of my father. Elsie was as usual busy +with her knitting. And now I caught sight of Turkey, running from a +neighbouring cottage with a spade over his shoulder. Elsie had been +minding the cows for him.</p> + +<p>"What's ado, Turkey?" I cried, running to meet him.</p> + +<p>"Such a wild bees' nest!" answered Turkey. "I'm so glad you're come! I +was just thinking whether I wouldn't run and fetch you. Elsie and I +have been watching them going out and in for the last half-hour.—Such +lots of bees! There's a store of honey <i>there</i>."</p> + +<p>"But isn't it too soon to take it, Turkey? There'll be a great deal +more in a few weeks.—Not that I know anything about bees," I added +deferentially.</p> + +<p>"You're quite right, Ranald," answered Turkey; "but there are several +things to be considered. In the first place, the nest is by the +roadside, and somebody else might find it. Next, Elsie has never +tasted honey all her life, and it <i>is</i> so nice, and here she is, all +ready to eat some. Thirdly, and lastly, as your father says—though +not very often," added Turkey slyly, meaning that the <i>lastly</i> seldom +came with the <i>thirdly</i>,—"if we take the honey now, the bees will +have plenty of time to gather enough for the winter before the flowers +are gone, whereas if we leave it too long they will starve."</p> + +<p>I was satisfied with this reasoning, and made no further objection.</p> + +<p>"You must keep a sharp look-out though, Ranald," he said; "for they'll +be mad enough, and you must keep them off with your cap."</p> + +<p>He took off his own, and gave it to Elsie, saying: "Here, Elsie: you +must look out, and keep off the bees. I can tell you a sting is no +joke. I've had three myself."</p> + +<p>"But what are <i>you</i> to do, Turkey?" asked Elsie, with an anxious face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Ranald will keep them off me and himself too. I shan't heed them. +I must dig away, and get at the honey."</p> + +<p>All things being thus arranged, Turkey manfully approached the <i>dyke</i>, +as they call any kind of wall-fence there. In the midst of the grass +and moss was one little hole, through which the bees kept going and +coming very busily. Turkey put in his finger and felt in what +direction the hole went, and thence judging the position of the hoard, +struck his spade with firm foot into the dyke. What bees were in came +rushing out in fear and rage, and I had quite enough to do to keep +them off our bare heads with my cap. Those who were returning, laden +as they were, joined in the defence, but I did my best, and with +tolerable success. Elsie being at a little distance, and comparatively +still, was less the object of their resentment. In a few moments +Turkey had reached the store. Then he began to dig about it carefully +to keep from spoiling the honey. First he took out a quantity of cells +with nothing in them but grub-like things—the cradles of the young +bees they were. He threw them away, and went on digging as coolly as +if he had been gardening. All the defence he left to me, and I assure +you I had enough of it, and thought mine the harder work of the two: +hand or eye had no rest, and my mind was on the stretch of anxiety all +the time.</p> + +<p>But now Turkey stooped to the nest, cleared away the earth about it +with his hands, and with much care drew out a great piece of +honeycomb, just as well put together as the comb of any educated bees +in a garden-hive, who know that they are working for critics. Its +surface was even and yellow, showing that the cells were full to the +brim of the rich store. I think I see Turkey weighing it in his hand, +and turning it over to pick away some bits of adhering mould ere he +presented it to Elsie. She sat on her stone like a patient, contented +queen, waiting for what her subjects would bring her.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="188.jpg (110K)" src="188.jpg" height="635" width="433"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>"Oh, Turkey! what a piece!" she said as she took it, and opened her +pretty mouth and white teeth to have a bite of the treasure.</p> + +<p>"Now, Ranald," said Turkey, "we must finish the job before we have any +ourselves."</p> + +<p>He went on carefully removing the honey, and piling it on the bank. +There was not a great deal, because it was so early in the year, and +there was not another comb to equal that he had given Elsie. But when +he had got it all out—</p> + +<p>"They'll soon find another nest," he said. "I don't think it's any use +leaving this open for them. It spoils the dyke too."</p> + +<p>As he spoke he began to fill up the hole, and beat the earth down +hard. Last of all, he put in the sod first dug away, with the grass +and flowers still growing upon it. This done, he proceeded to divide +what remained of the honey.</p> + +<p>"There's a piece for Allister and Davie," he said; "and here's a piece +for you, and this for me, and Elsie can take the rest home for herself +and Jamie."</p> + +<p>Elsie protested, but we both insisted. Turkey got some nice clover, +and laid the bits of honeycomb in it. Then we sat and ate our shares, +and chatted away for a long time, Turkey and I getting up every now +and then to look after the cattle, and Elsie too having sometimes to +follow her cow, when she threatened an inroad upon some neighbouring +field while we were away. But there was plenty of time between, and +Elsie sung us two or three songs at our earnest request, and Turkey +told us one or two stories out of history books he had been reading, +and I pulled out my story of the Robins and read to them. And so the +hot sun went down the glowing west, and threw longer and longer +shadows eastward. A great shapeless blot of darkness, with legs to it, +accompanied every cow, and calf, and bullock wherever it went. There +was a new shadow crop in the grass, and a huge patch with long +tree-shapes at the end of it, stretched away from the foot of the +hillock. The weathercock on the top of the church was glistening such +a bright gold, that the wonder was how it could keep from breaking out +into a crow that would rouse all the cocks of the neighbourhood, even +although they were beginning to get sleepy, and thinking of going to +roost. It was time for the cattle, Elsie's cow included, to go home; +for, although the latter had not had such plenty to eat from as the +rest, she had been at it all day, and had come upon several very nice +little patches of clover, that had overflowed the edges of the fields +into the levels and the now dry ditches on the sides of the road. But +just as we rose to break up the assembly, we spied a little girl come +flying across the field, as if winged with news. As she came nearer we +recognized her. She lived near Mrs. Gregson's cottage, and was one of +the little troop whom I had seen pass the manse on their way to gather +bilberries.</p> + +<p>"Elsie! Elsie!" she cried, "John Adam has taken Jamie. Jamie fell, and +John got him."</p> + +<p>Elsie looked frightened, but Turkey laughed, saying: "Never mind, +Elsie. John is better than he looks. He won't do him the least harm. +He must mind his business, you know."</p> + +<p>The Ba' Hill was covered with a young plantation of firs, which, hardy +as they were, had yet in a measure to be coaxed into growing in that +inclement region. It was amongst their small stems that the coveted +bilberries grew, in company with cranberries and crowberries, and +dwarf junipers. The children of the village thus attracted to the +place were no doubt careless of the young trees, and might sometimes +even amuse themselves with doing them damage. Hence the keeper, John +Adam, whose business it was to look after them, found it his duty to +wage war upon the annual hordes of these invaders; and in their eyes +Adam was a terrible man. He was very long and very lean, with a +flattish yet Roman nose, and rather ill-tempered mouth, while his face +was dead-white and much pitted with the small-pox. He wore corduroy +breeches, a blue coat, and a nightcap striped horizontally with black +and red. The youngsters pretended to determine, by the direction in +which the tassel of it hung, what mood its owner was in; nor is it for +me to deny that their inductions may have led them to conclusions +quite as correct as those of some other scientific observers. At all +events the tassel was a warning, a terror, and a hope. He could not +run very fast, fortunately, for the lean legs within those ribbed grey +stockings were subject to rheumatism, and could take only long not +rapid strides; and if the children had a tolerable start, and had not +the misfortune to choose in their terror an impassable direction, they +were pretty sure to get off. Jamie Duff, the most harmless and +conscientious creature, who would not have injured a young fir upon +any temptation, did take a wrong direction, caught his foot in a hole, +fell into a furze bush, and, nearly paralysed with terror, was seized +by the long fingers of Adam, and ignominiously lifted by a portion of +his garments into the vast aërial space between the ground and the +white, pock-pitted face of the keeper. Too frightened to scream, too +conscious of trespass to make any resistance, he was borne off as a +warning to the rest of the very improbable fate which awaited them.</p> + +<p>But the character of Adam was not by any means so frightful in the +eyes of Turkey; and he soon succeeded in partially composing the +trepidation of Elsie, assuring her that as soon as he had put up the +cattle, he would walk over to Adam's house and try to get Jamie off, +whereupon Elsie set off home with her cow, disconsolate but hopeful. I +think I see her yet—for I recall every picture of that lovely day +clear as the light of that red sunset—walking slowly with her head +bent half in trouble, half in attention to her knitting, after her +solemn cow, which seemed to take twice as long to get over the ground +because she had two pairs of legs instead of one to shuffle across it, +dragging her long iron chain with the short stake at the end after her +with a gentle clatter over the hard dry road. I accompanied Turkey, +helped him to fasten up and bed the cows, went in with him and shared +his hasty supper of potatoes and oatcake and milk, and then set out +refreshed, and nowise apprehensive in his company, to seek the abode +of the redoubtable ogre, John Adam.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXII</p> + +<p>Vain Intercession</p> + +<p> +He had a small farm of his own at the foot of the hill of which he had +the charge. It was a poor little place, with a very low thatched +cottage for the dwelling. A sister kept house for him. When we +approached it there was no one to be seen. We advanced to the door +along a rough pavement of round stones, which parted the house from +the dunghill. I peeped in at the little window as we passed. There, to +my astonishment, I saw Jamie Duff, as I thought, looking very happy, +and in the act of lifting a spoon to his mouth. A moment after, +however, I concluded that I must have been mistaken, for, when Turkey +lifted the latch and we walked in, there were the awful John and his +long sister seated at the table, while poor Jamie was in a corner, +with no basin in his hand, and a face that looked dismal and dreary +enough. I fancied I caught a glimpse of Turkey laughing in his sleeve, +and felt mildly indignant with him—for Elsie's sake more, I confess, +than for Jamie's.</p> + +<p>"Come in," said Adam, rising; but, seeing who it was, he seated +himself again, adding, "Oh, it's you, Turkey!"—Everybody called him +Turkey. "Come in and take a spoon."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," said Turkey; "I have had my supper. I only came to +inquire after that young rascal there."</p> + +<p>"Ah! you see him! There he is!" said Adam, looking towards me with an +awful expression in his dead brown eyes. "Starving. No home and no +supper for him! He'll have to sleep in the hay-loft with the rats and +mice, and a stray cat or two."</p> + +<p>Jamie put his cuffs, the perennial handkerchief of our poor little +brothers, to his eyes. His fate was full of horrors. But again I +thought I saw Turkey laughing in his sleeve.</p> + +<p>"His sister is very anxious about him, Mr. Adam," he said. "Couldn't +you let him off this once?"</p> + +<p>"On no account. I am here in trust, and I must do my duty. The duke +gives the forest in charge to me. I have got to look after it."</p> + +<p>I could not help thinking what a poor thing it was for a forest. All I +knew of forests was from story-books, and there they were full of ever +such grand trees. Adam went on—</p> + +<p>"And if wicked boys will break down the trees—"</p> + +<p>"I only pulled the bilberries," interposed Jamie, in a whine which +went off in a howl.</p> + +<p>"James Duff!" said Adam, with awful authority, "I saw you myself +tumble over a young larch tree, not two feet high."</p> + +<p>"The worse for me!" sobbed Jamie.</p> + +<p>"Tut! tut! Mr. Adam! the larch tree wasn't a baby," said Turkey. "Let +Jamie go. He couldn't help it, you see."</p> + +<p>"It <i>was</i> a baby, and it <i>is</i> a baby," said Adam, with a solitary +twinkle in the determined dead brown of his eyes. "And I'll have no +intercession here. Transgressors must be prosecuted, as the board +says. And prosecuted he shall be. He sha'n't get out of this before +school-time to-morrow morning. He shall be late, too, and I hope the +master will give it him well. We must make some examples, you see, +Turkey. It's no use your saying anything. I don't say Jamie's a worse +boy than the rest, but he's just as bad, else how did he come to be +there tumbling over my babies? Answer me that, Master Bannerman."</p> + +<p>He turned and fixed his eyes upon me. There was question in his mouth, +but neither question nor speculation in his eyes. I could not meet the +awful changeless gaze. My eyes sank before his.</p> + +<p>"Example, Master Bannerman, is everything. If you serve my trees as +this young man has done—"</p> + +<p>The idea of James Duff being a young man!</p> + +<p>"—I'll serve you the same as I serve him—and that's no sweet +service, I'll warrant."</p> + +<p>As the keeper ended, he brought down his fist on the table with such a +bang, that poor Jamie almost fell off the stool on which he sat in the +corner.</p> + +<p>"But let him off just this once," pleaded Turkey, "and I'll be surety +for him that he'll never do it again."</p> + +<p>"Oh, as to him, I'm not afraid of him," returned the keeper; "but will +you be surety for the fifty boys that'll only make game of me if I +don't make an example of him? I'm in luck to have caught him. No, no, +Turkey; it won't do, my man. I'm sorry for his father and his mother, +and his sister Elsie, for they're all very good people; but I must +make an example of him."</p> + +<p>At mention of his relatives Jamie burst into another suppressed howl.</p> + +<p>"Well, you won't be over hard upon him anyhow: will you now?" said +Turkey.</p> + +<p>"I won't pull his skin <i>quite</i> over his ears," said Adam; "and that's +all the promise you'll get out of me."</p> + +<p>The tall thin grim sister had sat all the time as if she had no right +to be aware of anything that was going on, but her nose, which was +more hooked than her brother's, and larger, looked as if, in the +absence of eyes and ears, it was taking cognizance of everything, and +would inform the rest of the senses afterwards.</p> + +<p>I had a suspicion that the keeper's ferocity was assumed for the +occasion, and that he was not such an ogre as I had considered him. +Still, the prospect of poor little Jamie spending the night alone in +the loft amongst the cats and rats was sufficiently dreadful when I +thought of my midnight awaking in the barn. There seemed to be no +help, however, especially when Turkey rose to say good night.</p> + +<p>I felt disconsolate, and was not well pleased with Turkey's +coolness. I thought he had not done his best.</p> + +<p>When we got into the road—</p> + +<p>"Poor Elsie!" I said; "she'll be miserable about Jamie."</p> + +<p>"Oh no," returned Turkey. "I'll go straight over and tell her. No harm +will come to Jamie. John Adam's bark is a good deal worse than his +bite. Only I should have liked to take him home if I could."</p> + +<p>It was now twilight, and through the glimmering dusk we walked back to +the manse. Turkey left me at the gate and strode on towards the +village; while I turned in, revolving a new scheme which had arisen in +my brain, and for the first time a sense of rivalry with Turkey awoke +in my bosom. He did everything for Elsie Duff, and I did nothing. For +her he had robbed the bees' nest that very day, and I had but partaken +of the spoil. Nay, he had been stung in her service; for, with all my +care—and I think that on the whole I had done my best—he had +received what threatened to be a bad sting on the back of his neck. +Now he was going to comfort her about her brother whom he had failed +to rescue; but what if I should succeed where he had failed, and carry +the poor boy home in triumph!</p> + +<p>As we left the keeper's farm, Turkey had pointed out to me, across the +yard, where a small rick or two were standing, the loft in which Jamie +would have to sleep. It was over the cart-shed, and its approach was a +ladder. But for the reported rats, it would have been no hardship to +sleep there in weather like this, especially for one who had been +brought up as Jamie had been. But I knew that he was a very timid boy, +and that I myself would have lain in horror all the night. Therefore I +had all the way been turning over in my mind what I could do to +release him. But whatever I did must be unaided, for I could not +reckon upon Turkey, nor indeed was it in my heart to share with him +the honour of the enterprise that opened before me.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXIII</p> + +<p>Knight-Errantry</p> + +<p> +I must mention that my father never objected now to my riding his +little mare Missy, as we called her. Indeed, I had great liberty with +regard to her, and took her out for a trot and a gallop as often as I +pleased. Sometimes when there was a press of work she would have to go +in a cart or drag a harrow, for she was so handy they could do +anything with her; but this did not happen often, and her condition at +all seasons of the year testified that she knew little of hard work. +My father was very fond of her, and used to tell wonderful stories of +her judgment and skill. I believe he was never quite without a hope +that somehow or other he should find her again in the next world. At +all events I am certain that it was hard for him to believe that so +much wise affection should have been created to be again uncreated. I +cannot say that I ever heard him give utterance to anything of the +sort; but whence else should I have had such a firm conviction, dating +from a period farther back than my memory can reach, that whatever +might become of the other horses, Missy was sure to go to heaven? I +had a kind of notion that, being the bearer of my father upon all his +missions of doctrine and mercy, she belonged to the clergy, and, +sharing in their privileges, must have a chance before other animals +of her kind. I believe this was a right instinct glad of a foolish +reason. I am wiser now, and extend the hope to the rest of the horses, +for I cannot believe that the God who does nothing in vain ever +creates in order to destroy.</p> + +<p>I made haste to learn my lessons for the Monday, although it was but +after a fashion, my mind was so full of the adventure before me. As +soon as prayers and supper were over—that is, about ten o'clock—I +crept out of the house and away to the stable. It was a lovely night. +A kind of grey peace filled earth and air and sky. It was not dark, +although rather cloudy; only a dim dusk, like a vapour of darkness, +floated around everything. I was fond of being out at night, but I had +never before contemplated going so far alone. I should not, however, +feel alone with Missy under me, for she and I were on the best of +terms, although sometimes she would take a fit of obstinacy, and +refuse to go in any other than the direction she pleased. Of late, +however, she had asserted herself less frequently in this manner. I +suppose she was aware that I grew stronger and more determined.</p> + +<p>I soon managed to open the door of the stable, for I knew where the +key lay. It was very dark, but I felt my way through, talking all the +time that the horses might not be startled if I came upon one of them +unexpectedly, for the stable was narrow, and they sometimes lay a good +bit out of their stalls. I took care, however, to speak in a low tone +that the man who slept with only a wooden partition between him and +the stable might not hear. I soon had the bridle upon Missy, but would +not lose time in putting on the saddle. I led her out, got on her back +with the help of a stone at the stable door, and rode away. She had +scarcely been out all day, and was rather in the mood for a ride. The +voice of Andrew, whom the noise of her feet had aroused, came after +me, calling to know who it was. I called out in reply, for I feared he +might rouse the place; and he went back composed, if not contented. It +was no use, at all events, to follow me.</p> + +<p>I had not gone far before the extreme stillness of the night began to +sink into my soul and make me quiet. Everything seemed thinking about +me, but nothing would tell me what it thought. Not feeling, however, +that I was doing wrong, I was only awed not frightened by the +stillness. I made Missy slacken her speed, and rode on more gently, in +better harmony with the night. Not a sound broke the silence except +the rough cry of the land-rail from the fields and the clatter of +Missy's feet. I did not like the noise she made, and got upon the +grass, for here there was no fence. But the moment she felt the soft +grass, off she went at a sudden gallop. Her head was out before I had +the least warning of her intention. She tore away over the field in +quite another direction from that in which I had been taking her, and +the gallop quickened until she was going at her utmost speed. The +rapidity of the motion and the darkness together—for it seemed +darkness now—I confess made me frightened. I pulled hard at the +reins, but without avail. In a minute I had lost my reckoning, and +could not tell where I was in the field, which was a pretty large one; +but soon finding that we were galloping down a hill so steep that I +had trouble in retaining my seat, I began, not at all to my comfort, +to surmise in what direction the mare was carrying me. We were +approaching the place where we had sat that same afternoon, close by +the mound with the trees upon it, the scene of my adventure with +Wandering Willie, and of the fancied murder. I had scarcely thought of +either until the shadows had begun to fall long, and now in the night, +when all was shadow, both reflections made it horrible. Besides, if +Missy should get into the bog! But she knew better than that, wild as +her mood was. She avoided it, and galloped past, but bore me to a far +more frightful goal, suddenly dropping into a canter, and then +standing stock-still.</p> + + + +<a name="still"></a> +<br><br> +<center> +<a href="il09.jpg"><img alt="il09h.jpg (56K)" src="il09h.jpg" height="591" width="358"></a> +</center> +<br><br> + + + +<p>It was a cottage half in ruins, occupied by an old woman whom I dimly +recollected having once gone with my father to see—a good many years +ago, as it appeared to me now. She was still alive, however, very old, +and bedridden. I recollected that from the top of her wooden bed hung +a rope for her to pull herself up by when she wanted to turn, for she +was very rheumatic, and this rope for some cause or other had filled +me with horror. But there was more of the same sort. The cottage had +once been a smithy, and the bellows had been left in its place. Now +there is nothing particularly frightful about a pair of bellows, +however large it may be, and yet the recollection of that huge +structure of leather and wood, with the great iron nose projecting +from the contracting cheeks of it, at the head of the old woman's bed, +so capable yet so useless, did return upon me with terror in the dusk +of that lonely night. It was mingled with a vague suspicion that the +old woman was a bit of a witch, and a very doubtful memory that she +had been seen on one occasion by some night-farer, when a frightful +storm was raging, blowing away at that very bellows as hard as her +skinny arms and lean body could work the lever, so that there was +almost as great a storm of wind in her little room as there was +outside of it. If there was any truth in the story, it is easily +accounted for by the fact that the poor old woman had been a little +out of her mind for many years,—and no wonder, for she was nearly a +hundred, they said. Neither is it any wonder that when Missy stopped +almost suddenly, with her fore-feet and her neck stretched forward, +and her nose pointed straight for the door of the cottage at a few +yards' distance, I should have felt very queer indeed. Whether my hair +stood on end or not I do not know, but I certainly did feel my skin +creep all over me. An ancient elder-tree grew at one end of the +cottage, and I heard the lonely sigh of a little breeze wander through +its branches. The next instant a frightful sound from within the +cottage broke the night air into what seemed a universal shriek. Missy +gave a plunge, turned round on her hind-legs, and tore from the place. +I very nearly lost my seat, but terror made me cling the faster to my +only companion, as <i>ventre-à-terre</i> she flew home. It did not take her +a minute to reach the stable-door. There she had to stop, for I had +shut it when I brought her out. It was mortifying to find myself there +instead of under John Adam's hayloft, the rescuer of Jamie Duff. But I +did not think of that for a while. Shaken with terror, and afraid to +dismount and be next the ground, I called upon Andrew as well as my +fear would permit; but my voice was nearly unmanageable, and I could +do little more than howl with it.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes, to me a time of awful duration—for who could tell +what might be following me up from the hollow?—Andrew appeared +half-dressed, and not in the best of tempers, remarking it was an odd +thing to go out riding when honest people were in their beds, except, +he added, I meant to take to the highway. Thereupon, rendered more +communicative by the trial I had gone through, I told him the whole +story, what I had intended and how I had been frustrated. He listened, +scratched his head, and saying someone ought to see if anything was +the matter with the old woman, turned in to put on the rest of his +clothes.</p> + +<p>"You had better go home to bed, Ranald," he said.</p> + +<p>"Won't you be frightened, Andrew?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Frightened? What should I be frightened at? It's all waste to be +frightened before you know whether the thing is worth it."</p> + +<p>My courage had been reviving fast in the warm presence of a human +being. I was still seated on Missy. To go home having done nothing for +Jamie, and therefore nothing for Elsie, after all my grand ideas of +rescue and restoration, was too mortifying. I should feel so small +when I woke in the morning! And yet suppose the something which gave +that fearful cry in the cottage should be out roaming the fields and +looking for mel I had courage enough, however, to remain where I was +till Andrew came out again, and as I sat still on the mare's back, my +courage gradually rose. Nothing increases terror so much as running +away. When he reappeared, I asked him:</p> + +<p>"What do you think it could be, Andrew?"</p> + +<p>"How should I tell?" returned Andrew. "The old woman has a very queer +cock, I know, that always roosts on the top of her bed, and crows like +no cock I ever heard crow. Or it might be Wandering Willie—he goes to +see her sometimes, and the demented creature might strike up his pipes +at any unearthly hour."</p> + +<p>I was not satisfied with either suggestion; but the sound I had heard +had already grown so indistinct in my memory, that for anything I +could tell it might have been either. The terror which it woke in my +mind had rendered me incapable of making any observations or setting +down any facts with regard to it. I could only remember that I had +heard a frightful noise, but as to what it was like I could scarcely +bear the smallest testimony.</p> + +<p>I begged Andrew to put the saddle on for me, as I should then have +more command of Missy. He went and got it, appearing, I thought, not +at all over-anxious about old Betty; and I meantime buckled on an old +rusty spur which lay in the stable window, the leathers of it +crumbling off in flakes. Thus armed, and mounted with my feet in the +stirrups, and therefore a good pull on Missy's mouth, I found my +courage once more equal to the task before me. Andrew and I parted at +right angles; he across the field to old Betty's cottage, and I along +the road once more in the direction of John Adam's farm.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXIV</p> + +<p>Failure</p> + +<p> +It must have been now about eleven o'clock. The clouds had cleared +off, and the night had changed from brown and grey to blue sparkling +with gold. I could see much better, and fancied I could hear better +too. But neither advantage did much for me. I had not ridden far from +the stable, before I again found myself very much alone and +unprotected, with only the wide, silent fields about me, and the wider +and more silent sky over my head. The fear began to return. I fancied +something strange creeping along every ditch—something shapeless, but +with a terrible cry in it. Next I thought I saw a scarcely visible +form—now like a creature on all-fours, now like a man, far off, but +coming rapidly towards me across the nearest field. It always +vanished, however, before it came close. The worst of it was, that the +faster I rode, the more frightened I became; for my speed seemed to +draw the terrors the faster after me. Having discovered this, I +changed my plan, and when I felt more frightened, drew rein and went +slower. This was to throw a sort of defiance to the fear; and +certainly as often as I did so it abated. Fear is a worse thing than +danger.</p> + +<p>I had to pass very nigh the pool to which Turkey and I had gone the +night of our adventure with Bogbonny's bull. That story was now far +off in the past, but I did not relish the dull shine of the water in +the hollow, notwithstanding. In fact I owed the greater part of the +courage I possessed—and it was little enough for my needs—to Missy. +I dared not have gone on my own two legs. It was not that I could so +easily run away with four instead, but that somehow I was lifted above +the ordinary level of fear by being upon her back. I think many men +draw their courage out of their horses.</p> + +<p>At length I came in sight of the keeper's farm; and just at that +moment the moon peeped from behind a hill, throwing as long shadows as +the setting sun, but in the other direction. The shadows were very +different too. Somehow they were liker to the light that made them +than the sun-shadows are to the sunlight. Both the light and the +shadows of the moon were strange and fearful to me. The sunlight and +its shadows are all so strong and so real and so friendly, you seem to +know all about them; they belong to your house, and they sweep all +fear and dismay out of honest people's hearts. But with the moon and +its shadows it is very different indeed. The fact is, the moon is +trying to do what she cannot do. She is trying to dispel a great +sun-shadow—for the night is just the gathering into one mass of all +the shadows of the sun. She is not able for this, for her light is not +her own; it is second-hand from the sun himself; and her shadows +therefore also are second-hand shadows, pieces cut out of the great +sun-shadow, and coloured a little with the moon's yellowness. If I +were writing for grown people I should tell them that those who +understand things because they think about them, and ask God to teach +them, walk in the sunlight; and others, who take things because other +people tell them so, are always walking in the strange moonlight, and +are subject to no end of stumbles and terrors, for they hardly know +light from darkness. Well, at first, the moon frightened me a +little—she looked so knowing, and yet all she said round about me was +so strange. But I rode quietly up to the back of the yard where the +ricks stood, got off Missy and fastened the bridle to the gate, and +walked across to the cart-shed, where the moon was shining upon the +ladder leading up to the loft. I climbed the ladder, and after several +failures succeeded in finding how the door was fastened. When I opened +it, the moonlight got in before me, and poured all at once upon a heap +of straw in the farthest corner, where Jamie was lying asleep with a +rug over him. I crossed the floor, knelt down by him, and tried to +wake him. This was not so easy. He was far too sound asleep to be +troubled by the rats; for sleep is an armour—yes, a castle—against +many enemies. I got hold of one of his hands, and in lifting it to +pull him up found a cord tied to his wrist. I was indignant: they had +actually manacled him like a thief! I gave the cord a great tug of +anger, pulled out my knife, and cut it; then, hauling Jamie up, got +him half-awake at last. He stared with fright first, and then began to +cry. As soon as he was awake enough to know me, he stopped crying but +not staring, and his eyes seemed to have nothing better than moonlight +in them.</p> + +<p>"Come along, Jamie," I said. "I'm come to take you home."</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go home," said Jamie. "I want to go to sleep again."</p> + +<p>"That's very ungrateful of you, Jamie," I said, full of my own +importance, "when I've come so far, and all at night too, to set you +free."</p> + +<p>"I'm free enough," said Jamie. "I had a better supper a great deal +than I should have had at home. I don't want to go before the +morning."</p> + +<p>And he began to whimper again.</p> + +<p>"Do you call this free?" I said, holding up his wrist where the +remnant of the cord was hanging.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Jamie, "that's only—"</p> + +<p>But ere he got farther the moonlight in the loft was darkened. I +looked hurriedly towards the door. There stood the strangest figure, +with the moon behind it. I thought at first it was the Kelpie come +after me, for it was a tall woman. My heart gave a great jump up, but +I swallowed it down. I would not disgrace myself before Jamie. It was +not the Kelpie, however, but the keeper's sister, the great, grim, +gaunt woman I had seen at the table at supper. I will not attempt to +describe her appearance. It was peculiar enough, for she had just got +out of bed and thrown an old shawl about her. She was not pleasant to +look at. I had myself raised the apparition, for, as Jamie explained +to me afterwards, the cord which was tied to his wrist, instead of +being meant to keep him a prisoner, was a device of her kindness to +keep him from being too frightened. The other end had been tied to her +wrist, that if anything happened he might pull her, and then she would +come to him.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="212.jpg (115K)" src="212.jpg" height="648" width="444"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>"What's the matter, Jamie Duff?" she said in a gruff voice as she +advanced along the stream of moonlight.</p> + +<p>I stood up as bravely as I could.</p> + +<p>"It's only me, Miss Adam," I said.</p> + +<p>"And who are you?" she returned.</p> + +<p>"Ranald Bannerman," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she said in a puzzled tone. "What are you doing here at this +time of the night?"</p> + +<p>"I came to take Jamie home, but he won't go."</p> + +<p>"You're a silly boy to think my brother John would do him any harm," +she returned. "You're comfortable enough, aren't you, Jamie Duff?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, thank you, ma'am, quite comfortable," said Jamie, who was now +wide-awake. "But, please ma'am, Ranald didn't mean any harm."</p> + +<p>"He's a housebreaker, though," she rejoined with a grim chuckle; "and +he'd better go home again as fast as he can. If John Adam should come +out, I don't exactly know what might happen. Or perhaps he'd like to +stop and keep you company."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you, Miss Adam," I said. "I will go home."</p> + +<p>"Come along, then, and let me shut the door after you."</p> + +<p>Somewhat nettled with Jamie Duff's indifference to my well-meant +exertions on his behalf, I followed her without even bidding him good +night.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you've got Missy, have you?" she said, spying her where she +stood. "Would you like a drink of milk or a piece of oatcake before +you go?"</p> + +<p>"No, thank you," I said. "I shall be glad to go to bed."</p> + +<p>"I should think so," she answered. "Jamie is quite comfortable, I +assure you; and I'll take care he's in time for school in the +morning. There's no harm in <i>him</i>, poor thing!"</p> + +<p>She undid the bridle for me, helped me to mount in the kindest way, +bade me good night, and stood looking after me till I was some +distance off. I went home at a good gallop, took off the saddle and +bridle and laid them in a cart in the shed, turned Missy loose into +the stable, shut the door, and ran across the field to the manse, +desiring nothing but bed.</p> + +<p>When I came near the house from the back, I saw a figure entering the +gate from the front. It was in the full light of the moon, which was +now up a good way. Before it had reached the door I had got behind the +next corner, and peeping round saw that my first impression was +correct: it was the Kelpie. She entered, and closed the door behind +her very softly. Afraid of being locked out, a danger which had +scarcely occurred to me before, I hastened after her; but finding the +door already fast, I called through the keyhole. She gave a cry of +alarm, but presently opened the door, looking pale and frightened.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing out of doors this time of the night?" she asked, +but without quite her usual arrogance, for, although she tried to put +it on, her voice trembled too much.</p> + +<p>I retorted the question.</p> + +<p>"What were you doing out yourself?" I said.</p> + +<p>"Looking after you, of course."</p> + +<p>"That's why you locked the door, I suppose—to keep me out."</p> + +<p>She had no answer ready, but looked as if she would have struck me.</p> + +<p>"I shall let your father know of your goings on," she said, recovering +herself a little.</p> + +<p>"You need not take the trouble. I shall tell him myself at breakfast +to-morrow morning. I have nothing to hide. You had better tell him +too."</p> + +<p>I said this not that I did not believe she had been out to look for +me, but because I thought she had locked the door to annoy me, and I +wanted to take my revenge in rudeness. For doors were seldom locked in +the summer nights in that part of the country. She made me no reply, +but turned and left me, not even shutting the door. I closed it, and +went to bed weary enough.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXV</p> + +<p>Turkey Plots</p> + +<p> +The next day, at breakfast, I told my father all the previous day's +adventures. Never since he had so kindly rescued me from the misery of +wickedness had I concealed anything from him. He, on his part, while +he gave us every freedom, expected us to speak frankly concerning our +doings. To have been unwilling to let him know any of our proceedings +would have simply argued that they were already disapproved of by +ourselves, and no second instance of this had yet occurred with me. +Hence it came that still as I grew older I seemed to come nearer to my +father. He was to us like a wiser and more beautiful self over us,—a +more enlightened conscience, as it were, ever lifting us up towards +its own higher level.</p> + +<p>This was Sunday; but he was not so strict in his ideas concerning the +day as most of his parishioners. So long as we were sedate and +orderly, and neither talked nor laughed too loud, he seldom interfered +with our behaviour, or sought to alter the current of our +conversation. I believe he did not, like some people, require or +expect us to care about religious things as much as he did: we could +not yet know as he did what they really were. But when any of the +doings of the week were referred to on the Sunday, he was more strict, +I think, than on other days, in bringing them, if they involved the +smallest question, to the standard of right, to be judged, and +approved or condemned thereby. I believe he thought that to order our +ways was our best preparation for receiving higher instruction +afterwards. For one thing, we should then, upon failure, feel the +burden of it the more, and be the more ready to repent and seek the +forgiveness of God, and that best help of his which at length makes a +man good within himself.</p> + +<p>He listened attentively to my story, seemed puzzled at the cry I had +heard from the cottage, said nothing could have gone very wrong, or we +should have heard of it, especially as Andrew had been to inquire, +laughed over the apparition of Miss Adam, and my failure in rescuing +Jamie Duff. He said, however, that I had no right to interefere with +constituted authority—that Adam was put there to protect the trees, +and if he had got hold of a harmless person, yet Jamie was certainly +trespassing, and I ought to have been satisfied with Turkey's way of +looking at the matter.</p> + +<p>I saw that my father was right, and a little further reflection +convinced me that, although my conduct had a root in my regard for +Jamie Duff, it had a deeper root in my regard for his sister, and one +yet deeper in my regard for myself—for had I not longed to show off +in her eyes? I suspect almost all silly actions have their root in +selfishness, whether it take the form of vanity, of conceit, of greed, +or of ambition.</p> + +<p>While I was telling my tale, Mrs. Mitchell kept coming into the room +oftener, and lingering longer, than usual. I did not think of this +till afterwards. I said nothing about her, for I saw no occasion; but +I do not doubt she was afraid I would, and wished to be at hand to +defend herself. She was a little more friendly to me in church that +day: she always sat beside little Davie.</p> + +<p>When we came out, I saw Andrew, and hurried after him to hear how he +had sped the night before. He told me he had found all perfectly quiet +at the cottage, except the old woman's cough, which was troublesome, +and gave proof that she was alive, and probably as well as usual. He +suggested now that the noise was all a fancy of mine—at which I was +duly indignant, and desired to know if it was also Missy's fancy that +made her go off like a mad creature. He then returned to his former +idea of the cock, and as this did not insult my dignity, I let it +pass, leaning however myself to the notion of Wandering Willie's +pipes.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="220.jpg (120K)" src="220.jpg" height="632" width="427"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>On the following Wednesday we had a half holiday, and before dinner I +went to find Turkey at the farm. He met me in the yard, and took me +into the barn.</p> + +<p>"I want to speak to you, Ranald," he said.</p> + +<p>I remember so well how the barn looked that day. The upper half of one +of the doors had a hole in it, and a long pencil of sunlight streamed +in, and fell like a pool of glory upon a heap of yellow straw. So +golden grew the straw beneath it, that the spot looked as if it were +the source of the shine, and sent the slanting ray up and out of the +hole in the door. We sat down beside it, I wondering why Turkey looked +so serious and important, for it was not his wont.</p> + +<p>"Ranald," said Turkey, "I can't bear that the master should have bad +people about him."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, Turkey?" I rejoined.</p> + +<p>"I mean the Kelpie."</p> + +<p>"She's a nasty thing, I know," I answered. "But my father considers +her a faithful servant."</p> + +<p>"That's just where it is. She is not faithful. I've suspected her for +a long time. She's so rough and ill-tempered that she looks honest; +but I shall be able to show her up yet. You wouldn't call it honest to +cheat the poor, would you?"</p> + +<p>"I should think not. But what do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"There must have been something to put old Eppie in such an ill-temper +on Saturday, don't you think?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose she had had a sting from the Kelpie's tongue."</p> + +<p>"No, Ranald, that's not it. I had heard whispers going about; and last +Saturday, after we came home from John Adam's, and after I had told +Elsie about Jamie, I ran up the street to old Eppie. You would have +got nothing out of her, for she would not have liked to tell you; but +she told me all about it."</p> + +<p>"What a creature you are, Turkey! Everybody tells you everything."</p> + +<p>"No, Ranald; I don't think I am such a gossip as that. But when you +have a chance, you ought to set right whatever you can. Right's the +only thing, Ranald."</p> + +<p>"But aren't you afraid they'll call you a meddler, Turkey? Not that +<i>I</i> think so, for I'm sure if you do anything <i>against</i> anybody, it's +<i>for</i> some other body."</p> + +<p>"That would be no justification if I wasn't in the right," said +Turkey. "But if I am, I'm willing to bear any blame that comes of +it. And I wouldn't meddle for anybody that could take care of +himself. But neither old Eppie nor your father can do that: the one's +too poor, and the other too good."</p> + +<p>"I <i>was</i> wondering what you meant by saying my father couldn't take +care of himself."</p> + +<p>"He's too good; he's too good, Ranald. He believes in everybody. <i>I</i> +wouldn't have kept that Kelpie in <i>my</i> house half the time."</p> + +<p>"Did you ever say anything to Kirsty about her?"</p> + +<p>"I did once; but she told me to mind my own business. Kirsty snubs me +because I laugh at her stories. But Kirsty is as good as gold, and I +wouldn't mind if she boxed my ears—as indeed she's done—many's the +time."</p> + +<p>"But what's the Kelpie been doing to old Eppie?"</p> + +<p>"First of all, Eppie has been playing her a trick."</p> + +<p>"Then she mustn't complain."</p> + +<p>"Eppie's was a lawful trick, though. The old women have been laying +their old heads together—but to begin at the beginning: there has +been for some time a growing conviction amongst the poor folk that the +Kelpie never gives them an honest handful of meal when they go their +rounds. But this was very hard to prove, and although they all +suspected it, few of them were absolutely certain about it. So they +resolved that some of them should go with empty bags. Every one of +those found a full handful at the bottom. Still they were not +satisfied. They said she was the one to take care what she was about. +Thereupon old Eppie resolved to go with something at the bottom of her +bag to look like a good quantity of meal already gathered. The moment +the door was closed behind her—that was last Saturday—she peeped +into the bag. Not one grain of meal was to be discovered. That was why +she passed you muttering to herself and looking so angry. Now it will +never do that the manse, of all places, should be the one where the +poor people are cheated of their dues. But we roust have yet better +proof than this before we can say anything."</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you mean to do, Turkey?" I asked. "Why does she do it, +do you suppose? It's not for the sake of saving my father's meal, I +should think."</p> + +<p>"No, she does something with it, and, I suppose, flatters herself she +is not stealing—only saving it off the poor, and so making a right to +it for herself. I can't help thinking that her being out that same +night had something to do with it. Did you ever know her go to see old +Betty?"</p> + +<p>"No, she doesn't like her. I know that."</p> + +<p>"I'm not so sure. She pretends perhaps. But we'll have a try. I think +I can outwit her. She's fair game, you know."</p> + +<p>"How? What? Do tell me, Turkey," I cried, right eagerly.</p> + +<p>"Not to-day. I will tell you by and by."</p> + +<p>He got up and went about his work.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXVI</p> + +<p>Old John Jamieson</p> + +<p> +As I returned to the house I met my father.</p> + +<p>"Well, Ranald, what are you about?" he said, in his usual gentle tone.</p> + +<p>"Nothing in particular, father," I answered.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm going to see an old man—John Jamieson—I don't think you +know him: he has not been able to come to church for a long time. They +tell me he is dying. Would you like to go with me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father. But won't you take Missy?"</p> + +<p>"Not if you will walk with me. It's only about three miles."</p> + +<p>"Very well, father. I should like to go with you."</p> + +<p>My father talked about various things on the way. I remember in +particular some remarks he made about reading Virgil, for I had just +begun the Æneid. For one thing, he told me I must scan every line +until I could make it sound like poetry, else I should neither enjoy +it properly, nor be fair to the author. Then he repeated some lines +from Milton, saying them first just as if they were prose, and after +that the same lines as they ought to be sounded, making me mark the +difference. Next he did the same with a few of the opening lines of +Virgil's great poem, and made me feel the difference there.</p> + +<p>"The sound is the shape of it, you know, Ranald," he said, "for a poem +is all for the ear and not for the eye. The eye sees only the sense of +it; the ear sees the shape of it. To judge poetry without heeding the +sound of it, is nearly as bad as to judge a rose by smelling it with +your eyes shut. The sound, besides being a beautiful thing in itself, +has a sense in it which helps the other out. A psalm tune, if it's the +right one, helps you to see how beautiful the psalm is. Every poem +carries its own tune in its own heart, and to read it aloud is the +only way to bring out its tune."</p> + +<p>I liked Virgil ever so much better after this, and always tried to get +at the tune of it, and of every other poem I read.</p> + +<p>"The right way of anything," said my father, "may be called the tune of +it. We have to find out the tune of our own lives. Some people don't +seem ever to find it out, and so their lives are a broken and +uncomfortable thing to them—full of ups and downs and disappointments, +and never going as it was meant to go."</p> + +<p>"But what is the right tune of a body's life, father?"</p> + +<p>"The will of God, my boy."</p> + +<p>"But how is a person to know that, father?"</p> + +<p>"By trying to do what he knows of it already. Everybody has a +different kind of tune in his life, and no one can find out another's +tune for him, though he <i>may</i> help him to find it for himself."</p> + +<p>"But aren't we to read the Bible, father?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, if it's in order to obey it. To read the Bible thinking to +please God by the mere reading of it, is to think like a heathen."</p> + +<p>"And aren't we to say our prayers, father?"</p> + +<p>"We are to ask God for what we want. If we don't want a thing, we are +only acting like pagans to speak as if we did, and call it prayer, and +think we are pleasing him."</p> + +<p>I was silent. My father resumed.</p> + +<p>"I fancy the old man we are going to see found out the tune of <i>his</i> +life long ago."</p> + +<p>"Is he a very wise man then, father?"</p> + +<p>"That depends on what you mean by <i>wise</i>. <i>I</i> should call him a wise +man, for to find out that tune is the truest wisdom. But he's not a +learned man at all. I doubt if he ever read a book but the Bible, +except perhaps the Pilgrim's Progress. I believe he has always been +very fond of that. <i>You</i> like that—don't you, Ranald?"</p> + +<p>"I've read it a good many times, father. But I was a little tired of +it before I got through it last time."</p> + +<p>"But you did read it through—did you—the last time, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, father. I never like to leave the loose end of a thing +hanging about."</p> + +<p>"That's right, my boy; that's right. Well, I think you'd better not +open the book again for a long time—say twenty years at least. It's a +great deal too good a book to let yourself get tired of. By that time +I trust you will be able to understand it a great deal better than you +can at present."</p> + +<p>I felt a little sorry that I was not to look at the Pilgrim's Progress +for twenty years; but I am very glad of it now.</p> + +<p>"We must not spoil good books by reading them too much," my father +added. "It is often better to think about them than to read them; and +it is best never to do either when we are tired of them. We should get +tired of the sunlight itself, beautiful as it is, if God did not send +it away every night. We're not even fit to have moonlight always. The +moon is buried in the darkness every month. And because we can bear +nothing for any length of time together, we are sent to sleep every +night, that we may begin fresh again in the morning."</p> + +<p>"I see, father, I see," I answered.</p> + +<p>We talked on until we came in sight of John Jamieson's cottage.</p> + +<p>What a poor little place it was to look at—built of clay, which had +hardened in the sun till it was just one brick! But it was a better +place to live in than it looked, for no wind could come through the +walls, although there was plenty of wind about. Three little windows +looked eastward to the rising sun, and one to the south: it had no +more. It stood on the side of a heathy hill, which rose up steep +behind it, and bending round sheltered it from the north. A low wall +of loose stones enclosed a small garden, reclaimed from the hill, +where grew some greens and cabbages and potatoes, with a flower here +and there between. In summer it was pleasant enough, for the warm sun +makes any place pleasant. But in winter it must have been a cold +dreary place indeed. There was no other house within sight of it. A +little brook went cantering down the hill close to the end of the +cottage, singing merrily.</p> + +<p>"It is a long way to the sea, but by its very nature the water will +find it at last," said my father, pointing to the stream as we crossed +it by the single stone that was its bridge.</p> + +<p>He had to bend his head low to enter the cottage. An old woman, the +sick man's wife, rose from the side of the chimney to greet us. My +father asked how John was.</p> + +<p>"Wearing away," was her answer. "But he'll be glad to see you."</p> + +<p>We turned in the direction in which her eyes guided us. The first +thing I saw was a small withered-looking head, and the next a +withered-looking hand, large and bony. The old man lay in a bed closed +in with boards, so that very little light fell upon him; but his hair +glistened silvery through the gloom. My father drew a chair beside +him. John looked up, and seeing who it was, feebly held out his +hand. My father took it and stroked it, and said:</p> + +<p>"Well, John, my man, you've had a hard life of it."</p> + +<p>"No harder than I could bear," said John.</p> + +<p>"It's a grand thing to be able to say that," said my father.</p> + +<p>"Oh sir! for that matter, I would go through it all again, if it was +<i>his</i> will, and willingly. I have no will but his, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, John, I wish we could all say the same. When a man comes to +that, the Lord lets him have what he wants. What do you want now, +John?"</p> + +<p>"To depart and be with the Lord. It wouldn't be true, sir, to say that +I wasn't weary. It seems to me, if it's the Lord's will, I've had +enough of this life. Even if death be a long sleep, as some people +say, till the judgment, I think I would rather sleep, for I'm very +weary. Only there's the old woman there! I don't like leaving her."</p> + +<p>"But you can trust God for her too, can't you?"</p> + +<p>"It would be a poor thing if I couldn't, sir."</p> + +<p>"Were you ever hungry, John—dreadfully hungry, I mean?"</p> + +<p>"Never longer than I could bear," he answered. "When you think it's +the will of God, hunger doesn't get much hold of you, sir."</p> + +<p>"You must excuse me, John, for asking so many questions. You know God +better than I do, and I want my young man here to know how strong the +will of God makes a man, old or young. He needn't care about anything +else, need he?"</p> + +<p>"There's nothing else to care about, sir. If only the will of God be +done, everything's all right, you know. I do believe, sir, God cares +more for me than my old woman herself does, and she's been as good a +wife to me as ever was. Young gentleman, you know who says that God +numbers the very hairs of our heads? There's not many of mine left to +number," he added with a faint smile, "but there's plenty of +yours. You mind the will of God, and he'll look after you. That's the +way he divides the business of life."</p> + +<p>I saw now that my father's talk as we came, had been with a view to +prepare me for what John Jamieson would say. I cannot pretend, +however, to have understood the old man at the time, but his words +have often come back to me since, and helped me through trials pretty +severe, although, like the old man, I have never found any of them too +hard to bear.</p> + +<p>"Have you no child to come and help your wife to wait upon you?" my +father asked.</p> + +<p>"I have had ten, sir, but only three are left alive. There'll be +plenty to welcome me home when I go. One of the three's in Canada, and +can't come. Another's in Australia, and he can't come. But Maggie's +not far off, and she's got leave from her mistress to come for a +week—only we don't want her to come till I'm nearer my end. I should +like her to see the last of her old father, for I shall be young again +by the next time she sees me, please God, sir. He's all in all—isn't +he, sir?"</p> + +<p>"True, John. If we have God, we have all things; for all things are +his and we are his. But we mustn't weary you too much. Thank you for +your good advice."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon, sir; I had no intention of speaking like that. I +never could give advice in all my life. I always found it was as much +as I could do to take the good advice that was given to me. I should +like to be prayed for in the church next Sunday, sir, if you please."</p> + +<p>"But can't you pray for yourself, John?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir; but I would like to have some spiritual gift because my +friends asked it for me. Let them pray for more faith for me. I want +more and more of that. The more you have, the more you want. Don't +you, sir? And I mightn't ask enough for myself, now I'm so old and so +tired. I sleep a great deal, sir."</p> + +<p>"Then don't you think God will take care to give you enough, even if +you shouldn't ask for enough?" said my father.</p> + +<p>"No doubt of that. But you see I am able to think of it now, and so I +must put things in a train for the time when I shan't be able to think +of it."</p> + +<p>Something like this was what John said; and although I could not +understand it then, my father spoke to me several times about it +afterwards, and I came to see how the old man wanted to provide +against the evil time by starting prayers heavenward beforehand, as it +were.</p> + +<p>My father prayed by his bedside, pulled a parcel or two from his +pocket for his wife, and then we walked home together in silence. My +father was not the man to heap words upon words and so smother the +thought that lay in them. He had taken me for the sake of the lesson I +might receive, and he left it to strike root in my mind, which he +judged more likely if it remained undisturbed.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXVII</p> + +<p>Turkey's Trick</p> + +<p> +When we came to the farm on our way home, we looked in to see Kirsty, +but found the key in the door, indicating that she had gone out. As we +left the yard, we saw a strange-looking woman, to all appearance a +beggar, approaching. She had a wallet over her shoulder, and walked +stooping with her eyes on the ground, nor lifted them to greet +us—behaviour which rarely showed itself in our parish. My father took +no notice, but I could not help turning to look after the woman. To my +surprise she stood looking after us, but the moment I turned, she +turned also and walked on. When I looked again she had vanished. Of +course she must have gone into the farm-yard. Not liking the look of +her, and remembering that Kirsty was out, I asked my father whether I +had not better see if any of the men were about the stable. He +approved, and I ran back to the house. The door was still locked. I +called Turkey, and heard his voice in reply from one of the farthest +of the cow-houses. When I had reached it and told him my story, he +asked if my father knew I had come back. When he heard that he did +know, he threw down his pitchfork, and hastened with me. We searched +every house about the place, but could find no sign whatever of the +woman.</p> + +<p>"Are you sure it wasn't all a fancy of your own, Ranald?" said Turkey.</p> + +<p>"Quite sure. Ask my father. She passed as near us as you are to me +now."</p> + +<p>Turkey hurried away to search the hayloft once more, but without +success; and at last I heard my father calling me.</p> + +<p>I ran to him, and told him there was no woman to be seen.</p> + +<p>"That's odd," he said. "She must have passed straight through the yard +and got out at the other side before you went in. While you were +looking for her, she was plodding away out of sight. Come along, and +let us have our tea."</p> + +<p>I could not feel quite satisfied about it, but, as there was no other +explanation, I persuaded myself that my father was right.</p> + +<p>The next Saturday evening I was in the nursery with my brothers. It +was growing dusk, when I heard a knocking. Mrs. Mitchell did not seem +to hear it, so I went and opened the door. There was the same beggar +woman. Rather frightened, I called aloud, and Mrs. Mitchell came. When +she saw it was a beggar, she went back and reappeared with a wooden +basin filled with meal, from which she took a handful as she came in +apparent preparation for dropping it, in the customary way, into the +woman's bag. The woman never spoke, but closed the mouth of her +wallet, and turned away. Curiosity gave me courage to follow her. She +walked with long strides in the direction of the farm, and I kept at a +little distance behind her. She made for the yard. She should not +escape me this time. As soon as she entered it, I ran as fast as I +could, and just caught sight of her back as she went into one of the +cow-houses. I darted after her. She turned round upon me—fiercely, I +thought, but judge my surprise when she held out the open mouth of the +bag towards me, and said—</p> + +<p>"Not one grain, Ranald! Put in your hand and feel."</p> + +<p>It was Turkey.</p> + +<p>I stared in amazement, unable for a time to get rid of the apparition +and see the reality. Turkey burst out laughing at my perplexed +countenance.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you tell me before, Turkey?" I asked, able at length to +join in the laugh.</p> + +<p>"Because then you would have had to tell your father, and I did not +want him to be troubled about it, at least before we had got things +clear. I always <i>did</i> wonder how he could keep such a creature about +him."</p> + +<p>"He doesn't know her as we do, Turkey."</p> + +<p>"No. She never gives him the chance. But now, Ranald, couldn't you +manage to find out whether she makes any store of the meal she +pretends to give away?"</p> + +<p>A thought struck me.</p> + +<p>"I heard Davie the other day asking her why she had two meal-tubs: +perhaps that has something to do with it."</p> + +<p>"You must find out. Don't ask Davie."</p> + +<p>For the first time it occurred to me that the Kelpie had upon that +night of terror been out on business of her own, and had not been +looking for me at all.</p> + +<p>"Then she was down at old Betty's cottage," said Turkey, when I +communicated the suspicion, "and Wandering Willie was there too, and +Andrew was right about the pipes. Willie hasn't been once to the house +ever since he took Davie, but she has gone to meet him at Betty's. +Depend on it, Ranald, he's her brother, or nephew, or something, as I +used to say. I do believe she gives him the meal to take home to her +family somewhere. Did you ever hear anything about her friends?"</p> + +<p>"I never heard her speak of any."</p> + +<p>"Then I don't believe they're respectable. I don't, Ranald. But it +will be a great trouble to the minister to have to turn her away. I +wonder if we couldn't contrive to make her go of herself. I wish we +could scare her out of the country. It's not nice either for a woman +like that to have to do with such innocents as Allister and Davie."</p> + +<p>"She's very fond of Davie."</p> + +<p>"So she is. That's the only good thing I know of her. But hold your +tongue, Ranald, till we find out more."</p> + +<p>Acting on the hint Davie had given me, I soon discovered the second +meal-tub. It was small, and carefully stowed away. It was now nearly +full, and every day I watched in the hope that when she emptied it, I +should be able to find out what she did with the meal. But Turkey's +suggestion about frightening her away kept working in my brain.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXVIII</p> + +<p>I Scheme Too</p> + +<p> +I began a series of persecutions of the Kelpie on my own account. I +was doubtful whether Turkey would approve of them, so I did not tell +him for some time; but I was ambitious of showing him that I could do +something without him. I doubt whether it is worth while to relate the +silly tricks I played her—my father made me sorry enough for them +afterwards. My only excuse for them is, that I hoped by them to drive +the Kelpie away.</p> + +<p>There was a closet in the hall, the floor of which was directly over +the Kelpie's bed, with no ceiling between. With a gimlet I bored a +hole in the floor, through which I passed a piece of string. I had +already got a bit of black cloth, and sewed and stuffed it into +something of the shape of a rat. Watching an opportunity, I tied this +to the end of the string by the head, and hid it under her bolster. +When she was going to bed, I went into the closet, and, laying my +mouth to the floor, began squeaking like a rat, and scratching with my +nails. Knowing by the exclamation she made that I had attracted her +attention, I tugged at the string; this lifted the bolster a little, +and of course out came my rat. I heard her scream, and open her door. +I pulled the rat up tight to the ceiling. Then the door of the +nursery, where we slept only in the winter, opened and shut, and I +concluded she had gone to bed there to avoid the rat. I could hardly +sleep for pleasure at my success.</p> + +<p>As she waited on us at breakfast next morning, she told my father that +she had seen in her bed the biggest rat she ever saw in her life, and +had not had a wink of sleep in consequence.</p> + +<p>"Well," said my father, "that comes of not liking cats. You should get +a pussy to take care of you."</p> + +<p>She grumbled something and retired.</p> + +<p>She removed her quarters to the nursery. But there it was yet easier +for me to plague her. Having observed in which bed she lay, I passed +the string with the rat at the end of it over the middle of a bar that +ran across just above her head, then took the string along the top of +the other bed, and through a little hole in the door. As soon as I +judged her safe in bed, I dropped the rat with a plump. It must have +fallen on or very near her face. I heard her give a loud cry, but +before she could reach the door, I had fastened the string to a nail +and got out of the way.</p> + +<p>It was not so easy in those days to get a light, for the earliest form +of lucifer match was only just making its appearance in that part of +the country, and was very dear: she had to go to the kitchen, where +the fire never went out summer or winter. Afraid lest on her return +she should search the bed, find my harmless animal suspended by the +neck, and descend upon me with all the wrath generated of needless +terror, I crept into the room, got down my rat, pulled away the +string, and escaped. The next morning she said nothing about the rat, +but went to a neighbour's and brought home a fine cat. I laughed in my +sleeve, thinking how little her cat could protect her from my rat.</p> + +<p>Once more, however, she changed her quarters, and went into a sort of +inferior spare room in the upper part of the house, which suited my +operations still better, for from my own bed I could now manage to +drop and pull up the rat, drawing it away beyond the danger of +discovery. The next night she took the cat into the room with her, and +for that one I judged it prudent to leave her alone, but the next, +having secured Kirsty's cat, I turned him into the room after she was +in bed: the result was a frightful explosion of feline wrath.</p> + +<p>I now thought I might boast of my successes to Turkey, but he was not +pleased.</p> + +<p>"She is sure to find you out, Ranald," he said, "and then whatever +else we do will be a failure. Leave her alone till we have her quite."</p> + +<p>I do not care to linger over this part of my story. I am a little +ashamed of it.</p> + +<p>We found at length that her private reservoir was quite full of meal. +I kept close watch still, and finding one night that she was not in +the house, discovered also that the meal-tub was now empty. I ran to +Turkey, and together we hurried to Betty's cottage.</p> + +<p>It was a cloudy night with glimpses of moonlight. When we reached the +place, we heard voices talking, and were satisfied that both the +Kelpie and Wandering Willie were there.</p> + +<p>"We must wait till she comes out," said Turkey. "We must be able to +say we saw her."</p> + +<p>There was a great stone standing out of the ground not far from the +door, just opposite the elder-tree, and the path lay between them.</p> + +<p>"You get behind that tree—no, you are the smaller object—you get +behind that stone, and I'll get behind the tree," said Turkey; "and +when the Kelpie comes out, you make a noise like a beast, and rush at +her on all-fours."</p> + +<p>"I'm good at a pig, Turkey," I said. "Will a pig do?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, well enough."</p> + +<p>"But what if she should know me, and catch me, Turkey?"</p> + +<p>"She will start away from you to my side; I shall rush out like a mad +dog, and then she'll run for it."</p> + +<p>We waited a long time—a very long time, it seemed to me. It was well +it was summer. We talked a little across, and that helped to beguile +the weary time; but at last I said in a whisper:</p> + +<p>"Let's go home, Turkey, and lock the doors, and keep her out."</p> + +<p>"You go home then, Ranald, and I'll wait. I don't mind if it be till +to-morrow morning. It is not enough to be sure ourselves; we must be +able to make other people sure."</p> + +<p>"I'll wait as long as you do, Turkey; only I'm very sleepy, and she +might come out when I was asleep."</p> + +<p>"Oh, I shall keep you awake!" replied Turkey; and we settled down +again for a while.</p> + +<p>At the long last the latch of the door was lifted. I was just falling +asleep, but the sound brought me wide awake at once. I peeped from +behind my shelter. It was the Kelpie, with an empty bag—a +pillow-case, I believe—in her hand. Behind her came Wandering Willie, +but did not follow her from the door. The moment was favourable, for +the moon was under a thick cloud. Just as she reached the stone, I +rushed out on hands and knees, grunting and squeaking like a very wild +pig indeed. As Turkey had foretold, she darted aside, and I retreated +behind my stone. The same instant Turkey rushed at her with such +canine fury, that the imitation startled even me, who had expected +it. You would have thought the animal was ready to tear a whole army +to pieces, with such a complication of fierce growls and barks and +squeals did he dart on the unfortunate culprit. She took to her heels +at once, not daring to make for the cottage, because the enemy was +behind her. But I had hardly ensconced myself behind the stone, +repressing my laughter with all my might, when I was seized from +behind by Wandering Willie, who had no fear either of pig or dog. He +began pommelling me.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="244.jpg (106K)" src="244.jpg" height="603" width="425"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>"Turkey! Turkey!" I cried.</p> + +<p>The cry stopped his barking pursuit of the Kelpie. He rose to his +feet and rushed to my aid. But when he saw the state of affairs, he +turned at once for the cottage, crying:</p> + +<p>"Now for a kick at the bagpipes!"</p> + +<p>Wandering Willie was not too much a fool to remember and understand. +He left me instantly, and made for the cottage. Turkey drew back and +let him enter, then closed the door, and held it.</p> + +<p>"Get away a bit, Ranald. I can run faster than Willie. You'll be out +of sight in a few yards."</p> + +<p>But instead of coming after us, Wandering Willie began playing a most +triumphant tune upon his darling bagpipes. How the poor old woman +enjoyed it, I do not know. Perhaps she liked it. For us, we set off to +outstrip the Kelpie. It did not matter to Turkey, but she might lock +me out again. I was almost in bed before I heard her come in. She went +straight to her own room.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXIX</p> + +<p>A Double Exposure</p> + +<p> +Whether the Kelpie had recognized us I could not tell, but not much of +the next morning passed before my doubt was over. When she had set our +porridge on the table, she stood up, and, with her fists in her sides, +addressed my father:</p> + +<p>"I'm very sorry, sir, to have to make complaints. It's a thing I don't +like, and I'm not given to. I'm sure I try to do my duty by Master +Ranald as well as everyone else in this house."</p> + +<p>I felt a little confused, for I now saw clearly enough that my father +could not approve of our proceedings. I whispered to Allister—</p> + +<p>"Run and fetch Turkey. Tell him to come directly."</p> + +<p>Allister always did whatever I asked him. He set off at once. The +Kelpie looked suspicious as he left the room, but she had no pretext +for interference. I allowed her to tell her tale without interruption. +After relating exactly how we had served her the night before, when +she had gone on a visit of mercy, as she represented it, she accused +me of all my former tricks—that of the cat having, I presume, +enlightened her as to the others; and ended by saying that if she were +not protected against me and Turkey, she must leave the place.</p> + +<p>"Let her go, father," I said. "None of us like her."</p> + +<p>"I like her," whimpered little Davie.</p> + +<p>"Silence, sir!" said my father, very sternly. "Are these things true?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father," I answered. "But please hear what <i>I</i>'ve got to say. +She's only told you <i>her</i> side of it."</p> + +<p>"You have confessed to the truth of what she alleges," said my +father. "I did think," he went on, more in sorrow than in anger, +though a good deal in both, "that you had turned from your bad +ways. To think of my taking you with me to the death-bed of a holy +man, and then finding you so soon after playing such tricks!—more +like the mischievousness of a monkey than of a human being!"</p> + +<p>"I don't say it was right, father; and I'm very sorry if I have +offended you."</p> + +<p>"You <i>have</i> offended me, and very deeply. You have been unkind and +indeed cruel to a good woman who has done her best for you for many +years!"</p> + +<p>I was not too much abashed to take notice that the Kelpie bridled at +this.</p> + +<p>"I can't say I'm sorry for what I've done to her," I said.</p> + +<p>"Really, Ranald, you are impertinent. I would send you out of the room +at once, but you must beg Mrs. Mitchell's pardon first, and after that +there will be something more to say, I fear."</p> + +<p>"But, father, you have not heard my story yet."</p> + +<p>"Well—go on. It is fair, I suppose, to hear both sides. But nothing +can justify such conduct."</p> + +<p>I began with trembling voice. I had gone over in my mind the night +before all I would say, knowing it better to tell the tale from the +beginning circumstantially. Before I had ended, Turkey made his +appearance, ushered in by Allister. Both were out of breath with +running.</p> + +<p>My father stopped me, and ordered Turkey away until I should have +finished. I ventured to look up at the Kelpie once or twice. She had +grown white, and grew whiter. When Turkey left the room, she would +have gone too. But my father told her she must stay and hear me to the +end. Several times she broke out, accusing me of telling a pack of +wicked lies, but my father told her she should have an opportunity of +defending herself, and she must not interrupt me. When I had done, he +called Turkey, and made him tell the story. I need hardly say that, +although he questioned us closely, he found no discrepancy between our +accounts. He turned at last to Mrs. Mitchell, who, but for her rage, +would have been in an abject condition.</p> + +<p>"Now, Mrs. Mitchell!" he said.</p> + +<p>She had nothing to reply beyond asserting that Turkey and I had always +hated and persecuted her, and had now told a pack of lies which we had +agreed upon, to ruin her, a poor lone woman, with no friends to take +her part.</p> + +<p>"I do not think it likely they could be so wicked," said my father.</p> + +<p>"So I'm to be the only wicked person in the world! Very well, sir! I +will leave the house this very day."</p> + +<p>"No, no, Mrs. Mitchell; that won't do. One party or the other <i>is</i> +very wicked—that is clear; and it is of the greatest consequence to +me to find out which. If you go, I shall know it is you, and have you +taken up and tried for stealing. Meantime I shall go the round of the +parish. I do not think all the poor people will have combined to lie +against you."</p> + +<p>"They all hate me," said the Kelpie.</p> + +<p>"And why?" asked my father.</p> + +<p>She made no answer.</p> + +<p>"I must get at the truth of it," said my father. "You can go now."</p> + +<p>She left the room without another word, and my father turned to +Turkey.</p> + +<p>"I am surprised at you, Turkey, lending yourself to such silly +pranks. Why did you not come and tell me."</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry, sir. I was afraid you would be troubled at finding +how wicked she was, and I thought we might frighten her away somehow. +But Ranald began his tricks without letting me know, and then I saw +that mine could be of no use, for she would suspect them after his. +Mine would have been better, sir."</p> + +<p>"I have no doubt of it, but equally unjustifiable. And you as well as +he acted the part of a four-footed animal last night."</p> + +<p>"I confess I yielded to temptation then, for I knew it could do no +good. It was all for the pleasure of frightening her. It was very +foolish of me, and I beg your pardon, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, Turkey, I confess you have vexed me, not by trying to find out +the wrong she was doing me and the whole parish, but by taking the +whole thing into your own hands. It is worse of you, inasmuch as you +are older and far wiser than Ranald. It is worse of Ranald because I +was his father. I will try to show you the wrong you have done.—Had +you told me without doing anything yourselves, then I might have +succeeded in bringing Mrs. Mitchell to repentance. I could have +reasoned with her on the matter, and shown her that she was not merely +a thief, but a thief of the worst kind, a Judas who robbed the poor, +and so robbed God. I could have shown her how cruel she was—"</p> + +<p>"Please, sir," interrupted Turkey, "I don't think after all she did it +for herself. I do believe," he went on, and my father listened, "that +Wandering Willie is some relation of hers. He is the only poor person, +almost the only person except Davie, I ever saw her behave kindly to. +He was there last night, and also, I fancy, that other time, when +Ranald got such a fright. She has poor relations somewhere, and sends +the meal to them by Willie. You remember, sir, there were no old +clothes of Allister's to be found when you wanted them for Jamie +Duff."</p> + +<p>"You may be right, Turkey—I dare say you are right. I hope you are, +for though bad enough, that would not be quite so bad as doing it for +herself."</p> + +<p>"I am very sorry, father," I said; "I beg your pardon."</p> + +<p>"I hope it will be a lesson to you, my boy. After what you have done, +rousing every bad and angry passion in her, I fear it will be of no +use to try to make her be sorry and repent. It is to her, not to me, +you have done the wrong. I have nothing to complain of for +myself—quite the contrary. But it is a very dreadful thing to throw +difficulties in the way of repentance and turning from evil works."</p> + +<p>"What can I do to make up for it?" I sobbed.</p> + +<p>"I don't see at this moment what you can do. I will turn it over in my +mind. You may go now."</p> + +<p>Thereupon Turkey and I walked away, I to school, he to his cattle. The +lecture my father had given us was not to be forgotten. Turkey looked +sad, and I felt subdued and concerned.</p> + +<p>Everything my father heard confirmed the tale we had told him. But the +Kelpie frustrated whatever he may have resolved upon with regard to +her: before he returned she had disappeared. How she managed to get +her chest away, I cannot tell. I think she must have hid it in some +outhouse, and fetched it the next night. Many little things were +missed from the house afterwards, but nothing of great value, and +neither she nor Wandering Willie ever appeared again. We were all +satisfied that poor old Betty knew nothing of her conduct. It was easy +enough to deceive her, for she was alone in her cottage, only waited +upon by a neighbour who visited her at certain times of the day.</p> + +<p>My father, I heard afterwards, gave five shillings out of his own +pocket to every one of the poor people whom the Kelpie had defrauded. +Her place in the house was, to our endless happiness, taken by Kirsty, +and faithfully she carried out my father's instructions that, along +with the sacred handful of meal, a penny should be given to every one +of the parish poor from that time forward, so long as he lived at the +manse.</p> + +<p>Not even little Davie cried when he found that Mrs. Mitchell was +really gone. It was more his own affection than her kindness that had +attached him to her.</p> + +<p>Thus were we at last delivered from our Kelpie.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXX</p> + +<p>Tribulation</p> + +<center> +<img alt="253.jpg (105K)" src="253.jpg" height="713" width="537"> +</center> + + +<p>After the expulsion of the Kelpie, and the accession of Kirsty, things +went on so peaceably, that the whole time rests in my memory like a +summer evening after sundown. I have therefore little more to say +concerning our home-life.</p> + +<p>There were two schools in the little town—the first, the parish +school, the master of which was appointed by the presbytery; the +second, one chiefly upheld by the dissenters of the place, the master +of which was appointed by the parents of the scholars. This +difference, however, indicated very little of the distinction and +separation which it would have involved in England. The masters of +both were licentiates of the established church, an order having a +vague resemblance to that of deacons in the English church; there were +at both of them scholars whose fees were paid by the parish, while +others at both were preparing for the University; there were many +pupils at the second school whose parents took them to the established +church on Sundays, and both were yearly examined by the +presbytery—that is, the clergymen of a certain district; while my +father was on friendly terms with all the parents, some of whom did +not come to his church because they thought the expenses of religion +should be met by the offerings of those who prized its ministrations, +while others regarded the unity of the nation, and thought that +religion, like any other of its necessities, ought to be the care of +its chosen government. I do not think the second school would ever +have come into existence at all except for the requirements of the +population, one school being insufficient. There was little real +schism in the matter, except between the boys themselves. They made +far more of it than their parents, and an occasional outbreak was the +consequence.</p> + +<p>At this time there was at the second school a certain very rough lad, +the least developed beyond the brute, perhaps, of all the scholars of +the village. It is more amazing to see how close to the brute a man +may remain than it is to see how far he may leave the brute behind. +How it began I cannot recall; but this youth, a lad of seventeen, +whether moved by dislike or the mere fascination of injury, was in the +habit of teasing me beyond the verge of endurance as often as he had +the chance. I did not like to complain to my father, though that would +have been better than to hate him as I did. I was ashamed of my own +impotence for self-defence; but therein I was little to blame, for I +was not more than half his size, and certainly had not half his +strength. My pride forbidding flight, the probability was, when we met +in an out-of-the-way quarter, that he would block my path for half an +hour at least, pull my hair, pinch my cheeks, and do everything to +annoy me, short of leaving marks of violence upon me. If we met in a +street, or other people were in sight, he would pass me with a wink +and a grin, as much as to say—<i>Wait</i>.</p> + +<p>One of the short but fierce wars between the rival schools broke +out. What originated the individual quarrel I cannot tell. I doubt if +anyone knew. It had not endured a day, however, before it came to a +pitched battle after school hours. The second school was considerably +the smaller, but it had the advantage of being perched on the top of +the low, steep hill at the bottom of which lay ours. Our battles +always began with missiles; and I wonder, as often as I recall the +fact, that so few serious accidents were the consequence. From the +disadvantages of the ground, we had little chance against the +stone-showers which descended upon us like hail, except we charged +right up the hill, in the face of the inferior but well-posted enemy. +When this was not in favour at the moment, I employed myself in +collecting stones and supplying them to my companions, for it seemed +to me that every boy, down to the smallest in either school, was +skilful in throwing them, except myself: I could not throw halfway up +the hill. On this occasion, however, I began to fancy it an unworthy +exercise of my fighting powers, and made my first attempt at +organizing a troop for an up-hill charge. I was now a tall boy, and of +some influence amongst those about my own age. Whether the enemy saw +our intent and proceeded to forestall it, I cannot say, but certainly +that charge never took place.</p> + +<p>A house of some importance was then building, just on the top of the +hill, and a sort of hand-wagon, or lorry on low wheels, was in use for +moving the large stones employed, the chips from the dressing of which +were then for us most formidable missiles. Our adversaries laid hold +of this chariot, and turned it into an engine of war. They dragged it +to the top of the hill, jumped upon it, as many as it would hold, and, +drawn by their own weight, came thundering down upon our troops. Vain +was the storm of stones which assailed their advance: they could not +have stopped if they would. My company had to open and make way for +the advancing prodigy, conspicuous upon which towered my personal +enemy Scroggie.</p> + +<p>"Now," I called to my men, "as soon as the thing stops, rush in and +seize them: they're not half our number. It will be an endless +disgrace to let them go."</p> + +<p>Whether we should have had the courage to carry out the design had not +fortune favoured us, I cannot tell. But as soon as the chariot reached +a part of the hill where the slope was less, it turned a little to one +side, and Scroggie fell off, drawing half of the load after him. My +men rushed in with shouts of defiant onset, but were arrested by the +non-resistance of the foe. I sprung to seize Scroggie. He tried to get +up, but fell back with a groan. The moment I saw his face, my mood +changed. My hatred, without will or wish or effort of mine, turned all +at once into pity or something better. In a moment I was down on my +knees beside him. His face was white, and drops stood upon his +forehead. He lay half upon his side, and with one hand he scooped +handfuls of dirt from the road and threw them down again. His leg was +broken. I got him to lean his head against me, and tried to make him +lie more comfortably; but the moment I sought to move the leg he +shrieked out. I sent one of our swiftest runners for the doctor, and +in the meantime did the best I could for him. He took it as a matter +of course, and did not even thank me. When the doctor came, we got a +mattress from a neighbouring house, laid it on the wagon, lifted +Scroggie on the top, and dragged him up the hill and home to his +mother.</p> + +<p>I have said a little, but only a little, concerning our master, Mr. +Wilson. At the last examination I had, in compliance with the request +of one of the clergymen, read aloud a metrical composition of my own, +sent in by way of essay on the given subject, <i>Patriotism</i>, and after +this he had shown me a great increase of favour. Perhaps he recognized +in me some germ of a literary faculty—I cannot tell: it has never +come to much if he did, and he must be greatly disappointed in me, +seeing I labour not in living words, but in dead stones. I am certain, +though, that whether I build good or bad houses, I should have built +worse had I not had the insight he gave me into literature and the +nature of literary utterance. I read Virgil and Horace with him, and +scanned every doubtful line we came across. I sometimes think now, +that what certain successful men want to make them real artists, is +simply a knowledge of the literature—which is the essence of the +possible art—of the country.</p> + +<p>My brother Tom had left the school, and gone to the county town, to +receive some final preparation for the University; consequently, so +far as the school was concerned, I was no longer in the position of a +younger brother. Also Mr. Wilson had discovered that I had some +faculty for imparting what knowledge I possessed, and had begun to +make use of me in teaching the others. A good deal was done in this +way in the Scotch schools. Not that there was the least attempt at +system in it: the master, at any moment, would choose the one he +thought fit, and set him to teach a class, while he attended to +individuals, or taught another class himself. Nothing can be better +for the verification of knowledge, or for the discovery of ignorance, +than the attempt to teach. In my case it led to other and unforeseen +results as well.</p> + +<p>The increasing trust the master reposed in me, and the increasing +favour which openly accompanied it, so stimulated the growth of my +natural vanity, that at length it appeared in the form of presumption, +and, I have little doubt, although I was unaware of it at the time, +influenced my whole behaviour to my school-fellows. Hence arose the +complaint that I was a favourite with the master, and the accusation +that I used underhand means to recommend myself to him, of which I am +not yet aware that I was ever guilty. My presumption I confess, and +wonder that the master did not take earlier measures to check it. When +teaching a class, I would not unfrequently, if Mr. Wilson had vacated +his chair, climb into it, and sit there as if I were the master of the +school. I even went so far as to deposit some of my books in the +master's desk, instead of in my own recess. But I had not the least +suspicion of the indignation I was thus rousing against me.</p> + +<p>One afternoon I had a class of history. They read very badly, with +what seemed wilful blundering; but when it came to the questioning on +the subject of the lesson, I soon saw there had been a conspiracy. The +answers they gave were invariably wrong, generally absurd, sometimes +utterly grotesque. I ought to except those of a few girls, who did +their best, and apparently knew nothing of the design of the others. +One or two girls, however, infected with the spirit of the game, soon +outdid the whole class in the wildness of their replies. This at last +got the better of me; I lost my temper, threw down my book, and +retired to my seat, leaving the class where it stood. The master +called me and asked the reason. I told him the truth of the matter. He +got very angry, and called out several of the bigger boys and punished +them severely. Whether these supposed that I had mentioned them in +particular, as I had not, I do not know; but I could read in their +faces that they vowed vengeance in their hearts. When the school broke +up, I lingered to the last, in the hope they would all go home as +usual; but when I came out with the master, and saw the silent waiting +groups, it was evident there was more thunder in the moral atmosphere +than would admit of easy discharge. The master had come to the same +conclusion, for instead of turning towards his own house, he walked +with me part of the way home, without alluding however to the reason. +Allister was with us, and I led Davie by the hand: it was his first +week of school life. When we had got about half the distance, +believing me now quite safe, he turned into a footpath and went +through the fields back towards the town; while we, delivered from all +immediate apprehension, jogged homewards.</p> + +<p>When we had gone some distance farther, I happened to look about—why, +I could not tell. A crowd was following us at full speed. As soon as +they saw that we had discovered them, they broke the silence with a +shout, which was followed by the patter of their many footsteps.</p> + +<p>"Run, Allister!" I cried; and kneeling, I caught up Davie on my back, +and ran with the feet of fear. Burdened thus, Allister was soon far +ahead of me.</p> + +<p>"Bring Turkey!" I cried after him. "Run to the farm as hard as you can +pelt, and bring Turkey to meet us."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, Ranald," shouted Allister, and ran yet faster.</p> + +<p>They were not getting up with us quite so fast as they wished; they +began therefore to pick up stones as they ran, and we soon heard them +hailing on the road behind us. A little farther, and the stones began +to go bounding past us, so that I dared no longer carry Davie on my +back. I had to stop, which lost us time, and to shift him into my +arms, which made running much harder. Davie kept calling, "Run, +Ranald!—here they come!" and jumping so, half in fear, half in +pleasure, that I found it very hard work indeed.</p> + +<p>Their taunting voices reached me at length, loaded with all sorts of +taunting and opprobrious words—some of them, I dare say, deserved, +but not all. Next a stone struck me, but not in a dangerous place, +though it crippled my running still more. The bridge was now in sight, +however, and there I could get rid of Davie and turn at bay, for it +was a small wooden bridge, with rails and a narrow gate at the end to +keep horsemen from riding over it. The foremost of our pursuers were +within a few yards of my heels, when, with a last effort, I bounded on +it; and I had just time to set Davie down and turn and bar their way +by shutting the gate, before they reached it. I had no breath left but +just enough to cry, "Run, Davie!" Davie, however, had no notion of the +state of affairs, and did not run, but stood behind me staring. So I +was not much better off yet. If he had only run, and I had seen him +far enough on the way home, I would have taken to the water, which was +here pretty deep, before I would have run any further risk of their +getting hold of me. If I could have reached the mill on the opposite +bank, a shout would have brought the miller to my aid. But so long as +I could prevent them from opening the gate, I thought I could hold the +position. There was only a latch to secure it, but I pulled a thin +knife from my pocket, and just as I received a blow in the face from +the first arrival which knocked me backwards, I had jammed it over the +latch through the iron staple in which it worked. Before the first +attempt to open it had been followed by the discovery of the obstacle, +I was up, and the next moment, with a well-directed kick, disabled a +few of the fingers which were fumbling to remove it. To protect the +latch was now my main object, but my efforts would have been quite +useless, for twenty of them would have been over the top in an +instant. Help, however, although unrecognized as such, was making its +way through the ranks of the enemy.</p> + +<p>They parted asunder, and Scroggie, still lame, strode heavily up to +the gate. Recalling nothing but his old enmity, I turned once more and +implored Davie. "Do run, Davie, dear! it's all up," I said; but my +entreaties were lost upon Davie. Turning again in despair, I saw the +lame leg being hoisted over the gate. A shudder ran through me: I +could <i>not</i> kick that leg; but I sprang up and hit Scroggie hard in +the face. I might as well have hit a block of granite. He swore at me, +caught hold of my hand, and turning to the assailants said:</p> + +<p>"Now, you be off! This is my little business. I'll do for him!"</p> + +<p>Although they were far enough from obeying his orders, they were not +willing to turn him into an enemy, and so hung back expectant. +Meantime the lame leg was on one side of the gate, the splints of +which were sharpened at the points, and the sound leg was upon the +other. I, on the one side—for he had let go my hand in order to +support himself—retreated a little, and stood upon the defensive, +trembling, I must confess; while my enemies on the other side could +not reach me so long as Scroggie was upon the top of the gate.</p> + +<p>The lame leg went searching gently about, but could find no rest for +the sole of its foot, for there was no projecting cross bar upon this +side; the repose upon the top was anything but perfect, and the leg +suspended behind was useless. The long and the short, both in legs and +results, was, that there Scroggie stuck; and so long as he stuck, I +was safe. As soon as I saw this, I turned and caught up Davie, +thinking to make for home once more. But that very instant there was a +rush at the gate; Scroggie was hoisted over, the knife was taken out, +and on poured the assailants, before I had quite reached the other end +of the bridge.</p> + +<p>"At them, Oscar!" cried a voice.</p> + +<p>The dog rushed past me on to the bridge, followed by Turkey. I set +Davie down, and, holding his hand, breathed again. There was a scurry +and a rush, a splash or two in the water, and then back came Oscar +with his innocent tongue hanging out like a blood-red banner of +victory. He was followed by Scroggie, who was exploding with laughter.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="265.jpg (95K)" src="265.jpg" height="642" width="435"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>Oscar came up wagging his tail, and looking as pleased as if he had +restored obedience to a flock of unruly sheep. I shrank back from +Scroggie, wishing Turkey, who was still at the other end of the +bridge, would make haste.</p> + +<p>"Wasn't it fun, Ranald?" said Scroggie. "You don't think I was so lame +that I couldn't get over that gate? I stuck on purpose."</p> + +<p>Turkey joined us with an inquiring look, for he knew how Scroggie had +been in the habit of treating me.</p> + +<p>"It's all right, Turkey," I said. "Scroggie stuck on the gate on +purpose."</p> + +<p>"A good thing for you, Ranald!" said Turkey. "Didn't you see Peter +Mason amongst them?"</p> + +<p>"No. He left the school last year."</p> + +<p>"He was there, though, and I don't suppose <i>he</i> meant to be +agreeable."</p> + +<p>"I tell you what," said Scroggie: "if you like, I'll leave my school +and come to yours. My mother lets me do as I like."</p> + +<p>I thanked him, but said I did not think there would be more of it. It +would blow over.</p> + +<p>Allister told my father as much as he knew of the affair; and when he +questioned me, I told him as much as I knew.</p> + +<p>The next morning, just as we were all settling to work, my father +entered the school. The hush that followed was intense. The place +might have been absolutely empty for any sound I could hear for some +seconds. The ringleaders of my enemies held down their heads, as +anticipating an outbreak of vengeance. But after a few moments' +conversation with Mr. Wilson, my father departed. There was a mystery +about the proceeding, an unknown possibility of result, which had a +very sedative effect the whole of the morning. When we broke up for +dinner, Mr. Wilson detained me, and told me that my father thought it +better that, for some time at least, I should not occupy such a +prominent position as before. He was very sorry, he said, for I had +been a great help to him; and if I did not object, he would ask my +father to allow me to assist him in the evening-school during the +winter. I was delighted at the prospect, sank back into my natural +position, and met with no more annoyance. After a while I was able to +assure my former foes that I had had no voice in bringing punishment +upon them in particular, and the enmity was, I believe, quite +extinguished.</p> + +<p>When winter came, and the evening-school was opened, Mr. Wilson called +at the manse, and my father very willingly assented to the proposed +arrangement. The scholars were mostly young men from neighbouring +farms, or from workshops in the village, with whom, although I was so +much younger than they, there was no danger of jealousy. The +additional assistance they would thus receive, and their respect for +superior knowledge, in which, with my advantages, I had no credit over +them, would prevent any false shame because of my inferiority in +years.</p> + +<p>There were a few girls at the school as well—among the rest, Elsie +Duff. Although her grandmother was very feeble, Elsie was now able to +have a little more of her own way, and there was no real reason why +the old woman should not be left for an hour or two in the evening. I +need hardly say that Turkey was a regular attendant. He always, and I +often, saw Elsie home.</p> + + + +<a name="helping"></a> +<br><br> +<center> +<a href="il10.jpg"><img alt="il10h.jpg (64K)" src="il10h.jpg" height="590" width="354"></a> +</center> +<br><br> + + + +<p>My chief pleasure lay in helping her with her lessons. I did my best +to assist all who wanted my aid, but offered unsolicited attention to +her. She was not quick, but would never be satisfied until she +understood, and that is more than any superiority of gifts. Hence, if +her progress was slow, it was unintermitting. Turkey was far before me +in trigonometry, but I was able to help him in grammar and geography, +and when he commenced Latin, which he did the same winter, I assisted +him a good deal.</p> + +<p>Sometimes Mr. Wilson would ask me to go home with him after school, +and take supper. This made me late, but my father did not mind it, for +he liked me to be with Mr. Wilson. I learned a good deal from him at +such times. He had an excellent little library, and would take down +his favourite books and read me passages. It is wonderful how things +which, in reading for ourselves, we might pass over in a half-blind +manner, gain their true power and influence through the voice of one +who sees and feels what is in them. If a man in whom you have +confidence merely lays his finger on a paragraph and says to you, +"Read that," you will probably discover three times as much in it as +you would if you had only chanced upon it in the course of your +reading. In such case the mind gathers itself up, and is all eyes and +ears.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Wilson would sometimes read me a few verses of his own; and +this was a delight such as I have rarely experienced. My reader may +wonder that a full-grown man and a good scholar should condescend to +treat a boy like me as so much of an equal; but sympathy is precious +even from a child, and Mr. Wilson had no companions of his own +standing. I believe he read more to Turkey than to me, however.</p> + +<p>As I have once apologized already for the introduction of a few of his +verses with Scotch words in them, I will venture to try whether the +same apology will not cover a second offence of the same sort.</p> + +<center> +<table summary="Jeanie"> +<tr><td> + +<p> JEANIE BRAW[1]</p> + +<p>I like ye weel upo' Sundays, Jeanie,<br> + In yer goon an' yer ribbons gay;<br> +But I like ye better on Mondays, Jeanie,<br> + And I like ye better the day.[2]</p><br> +<br> +<p>[Footnote 1: Brave; well dressed.].<br> +[Footnote 2: To-day.]</p><br> +<br> +<p>For it <i>will</i> come into my heid, Jeanie,<br> + O' yer braws[1] ye are thinkin' a wee;<br> +No' a' o' the Bible-seed, Jeanie,<br> + Nor the minister nor me.</p><br> +<br> +<p>[Footnote 1: Bravery; finery.]</p><br> +<br> +<p>And hame across the green, Jeanie,<br> + Ye gang wi' a toss o' yer chin:<br> +Us twa there's a shadow atween, Jeanie,<br> + Though yer hand my airm lies in.</p><br> +<br> +<p>But noo, whan I see ye gang, Jeanie,<br> + Busy wi' what's to be dune,<br> +Liltin' a haveless[2] sang, Jeanie,<br> + I could kiss yer verra shune.</p><br> +<br> +<p>[Footnote 2: Careless.]</p><br> +<br> +<p>Wi' yer silken net on yer hair, Jeanie,<br> + In yer bonny blue petticoat,<br> +Wi' yer kindly airms a' bare, Jeanie,<br> + On yer verra shadow I doat.</p><br> +<br> +<p>For oh! but ye're eident[3] and free, Jeanie,<br> + Airy o' hert and o' fit[4];<br> +There's a licht shines oot o' yer ee, Jeanie;<br> + O' yersel' ye thinkna a bit.</p><br> +<br> +<p>[Footnote 3: Diligent.]<br> +[Footnote 4: Foot.]</p><br> +<br> +<p>Turnin' or steppin' alang, Jeanie,<br> + Liftin' an' layin' doon,<br> +Settin' richt what's aye gaein' wrang, Jeanie,<br> + Yer motion's baith dance an' tune.</p><br> +<br> +<p>Fillin' the cogue frae the coo, Jeanie,<br> + Skimmin' the yallow cream,<br> +Poorin' awa' the het broo, Jeanie,<br> + Lichtin' the lampie's leme[5]—</p><br> +<br> +<p>[Footnote 5: Flame.]</p><br> +<br> +<p>I' the hoose ye're a licht an' a law, Jeanie,<br> + A servant like him that's abune:<br> +Oh! a woman's bonniest o' a', Jeanie,<br> + Whan she's doin' what <i>maun</i> be dune.</p><br> +<br> +<p>Sae, dressed in yer Sunday claes, Jeanie,<br> + Fair kythe[1] ye amang the fair;<br> +But dressed in yer ilka-day's[2], Jeanie,<br> + Yer beauty's beyond compare.</p> + + </td></tr> +</table> + </center> + +<p>[Footnote 1: Appear.]</p> + +<p>[Footnote 2: Everyday clothes.]</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXXI</p> + +<p>A Winter's Ride</p> + +<p> +In this winter, the stormiest I can recollect, occurred the chief +adventure of my boyhood—indeed, the event most worthy to be called an +adventure I have ever encountered.</p> + +<p>There had been a tremendous fall of snow, which a furious wind, +lasting two days and the night between, had drifted into great mounds, +so that the shape of the country was much altered with new heights and +hollows. Even those who were best acquainted with them could only +guess at the direction of some of the roads, and it was the easiest +thing in the world to lose the right track, even in broad daylight. As +soon as the storm was over, however, and the frost was found likely to +continue, they had begun to cut passages through some of the deeper +wreaths, as they called the snow-mounds; while over the tops of +others, and along the general line of the more frequented roads, +footpaths were soon trodden. It was many days, however, before +vehicles could pass, and coach-communication be resumed between the +towns. All the short day, the sun, though low, was brilliant, and the +whole country shone with dazzling whiteness; but after sunset, which +took place between three and four o'clock, anything more dreary can +hardly be imagined, especially when the keenest of winds rushed in +gusts from the north-east, and lifting the snow-powder from untrodden +shadows, blew it, like so many stings, in the face of the freezing +traveller.</p> + +<p>Early one afternoon, just as I came home from school, which in winter +was always over at three o'clock, my father received a message that a +certain laird, or <i>squire</i> as he would be called in England—whose +house lay three or four miles off amongst the hills, was at the point +of death, and very anxious to see him: a groom on horseback had +brought the message. The old man had led a life of indifferent repute, +and that probably made him the more anxious to see my father, who +proceeded at once to get ready for the uninviting journey.</p> + +<p>Since my brother Tom's departure, I had become yet more of a companion +to my father; and now when I saw him preparing to set out, I begged to +be allowed to go with him. His little black mare had a daughter, not +unused to the saddle. She was almost twice her mother's size, and none +the less clumsy that she was chiefly employed upon the farm. Still she +had a touch of the roadster in her, and if not capable of elegant +motion, could get over the ground well enough, with a sort of speedy +slouch, while, as was of far more consequence on an expedition like +the present, she was of great strength, and could go through the +wreaths, Andrew said, like a red-hot iron. My father hesitated, looked +out at the sky, and hesitated still.</p> + +<p>"I hardly know what to say, Ranald. If I were sure of the weather—but +I am very doubtful. However, if it should break up, we can stay there +all night. Yes.—Here, Allister; run and tell Andrew to saddle both +the mares, and bring them down directly.—Make haste with your dinner, +Ranald."</p> + +<p>Delighted at the prospect, I did make haste; the meal was soon over, +and Kirsty expended her utmost care in clothing me for the journey, +which would certainly be a much longer one in regard of time than of +space. In half an hour we were all mounted and on our way—the groom, +who had so lately traversed the road, a few yards in front.</p> + +<p>I have already said, perhaps more than once, that my father took +comparatively little notice of us as children, beyond teaching us of a +Sunday, and sometimes of a week-evening in winter, generally after we +were in bed. He rarely fondled us, or did anything to supply in that +manner the loss of our mother. I believe his thoughts were tenderness +itself towards us, but they did not show themselves in ordinary shape: +some connecting link was absent. It seems to me now sometimes, that +perhaps he was wisely retentive of his feelings, and waited a better +time to let them flow. For, ever as we grew older, we drew nearer to +my father, or, more properly, my father drew us nearer to him, +dropping, by degrees, that reticence which, perhaps, too many parents +of character keep up until their children are full grown; and by this +time he would converse with me most freely. I presume he had found, or +believed he had found me trustworthy, and incapable of repeating +unwisely any remarks he made. But much as he hated certain kinds of +gossip, he believed that indifference to your neighbour and his +affairs was worse. He said everything depended on the spirit in which +men spoke of each other; that much of what was called gossip was only +a natural love of biography, and, if kindly, was better than +blameless; that the greater part of it was objectionable, simply +because it was not loving, only curious; while a portion was amongst +the wickedest things on earth, because it had for its object to +believe and make others believe the worst. I mention these opinions of +my father, lest anyone should misjudge the fact of his talking to me +as he did.</p> + +<p>Our horses made very slow progress. It was almost nowhere possible to +trot, and we had to plod on, step by step. This made it more easy to +converse.</p> + +<p>"The country looks dreary, doesn't it, Ranald?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Just like as if everything was dead, father," I replied.</p> + +<p>"If the sun were to cease shining altogether, what do you think would +happen?"</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="276.jpg (99K)" src="276.jpg" height="644" width="451"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>I thought a bit, but was not prepared to answer, when my father spoke +again.</p> + +<p>"What makes the seeds grow, Ranald—the oats, and the wheat, and the +barley?"</p> + +<p>"The rain, father," I said, with half-knowledge.</p> + +<p>"Well, if there were no sun, the vapours would not rise to make +clouds. What rain there was already in the sky would come down in +snow or lumps of ice. The earth would grow colder and colder, and +harder and harder, until at last it went sweeping through the air, one +frozen mass, as hard as stone, without a green leaf or a living +creature upon it."</p> + +<p>"How dreadful to think of, father!" I said. "That would be frightful."</p> + +<p>"Yes, my boy. It is the sun that is the life of the world. Not only +does he make the rain rise to fall on the seeds in the earth, but even +that would be useless, if he did not make them warm as well—and do +something else to them besides which we cannot understand. Farther +down into the earth than any of the rays of light can reach, he sends +other rays we cannot see, which go searching about in it, like long +fingers; and wherever they find and touch a seed, the life that is in +that seed begins to talk to itself, as it were, and straightway begins +to grow. Out of the dark earth he thus brings all the lovely green +things of the spring, and clothes the world with beauty, and sets the +waters running, and the birds singing, and the lambs bleating, and the +children gathering daisies and butter-cups, and the gladness +overflowing in all hearts—very different from what we see now—isn't +it, Ranald?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, father; a body can hardly believe, to look at it now, that the +world will ever be like that again."</p> + +<p>"But, for as cold and wretched as it looks, the sun has not forsaken +it. He has only drawn away from it a little, for good reasons, one of +which is that we may learn that we cannot do without him. If he were +to go, not one breath more could one of us draw. Horses and men, we +should drop down frozen lumps, as hard as stones. Who is the sun's +father, Ranald?"</p> + +<p>"He hasn't got a father," I replied, hoping for some answer as to a +riddle.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he has, Ranald: I can prove that. You remember whom the apostle +James calls the Father of Lights?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, of course, father. But doesn't that mean another kind of +lights?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. But they couldn't be called lights if they were not like the +sun. All kinds of lights must come from the Father of Lights. Now the +Father of the sun must be like the sun, and, indeed of all material +things, the sun is likest to God. We pray to God to shine upon us and +give us light. If God did not shine into our hearts, they would be +dead lumps of cold. We shouldn't care for anything whatever."</p> + +<p>"Then, father, God never stops shining upon us. He wouldn't be like +the sun if he did. For even in winter the sun shines enough to keep us +alive."</p> + +<p>"True, my boy. I am very glad you understand me. In all my experience +I have never yet known a man in whose heart I could not find proofs of +the shining of the great Sun. It might be a very feeble wintry shine, +but still he was there. For a human heart though, it is very dreadful +to have a cold, white winter like this inside it, instead of a summer +of colour and warmth and light. There's the poor old man we are going +to see. They talk of the winter of age: that's all very well, but the +heart is not made for winter. A man may have the snow on his roof, and +merry children about his hearth; he may have grey hairs on his head, +and the very gladness of summer in his bosom. But this old man, I am +afraid, feels wintry cold within."</p> + +<p>"Then why doesn't the Father of Lights shine more on him and make him +warmer?"</p> + +<p>"The sun is shining as much on the earth in the winter as in the +summer: why is the earth no warmer?"</p> + +<p>"Because," I answered, calling up what little astronomy I knew, "that +part of it is turned away from the sun."</p> + +<p>"Just so. Then if a man turns himself away from the Father of +Lights—the great Sun—how can he be warmed?"</p> + +<p>"But the earth can't help it, father."</p> + +<p>"But the man can, Ranald. He feels the cold, and he knows he can turn +to the light. Even this poor old man knows it now. God is shining on +him—a wintry way—or he would not feel the cold at all; he would be +only a lump of ice, a part of the very winter itself. The good of what +warmth God gives him is, that he feels cold. If he were all cold, he +couldn't feel cold."</p> + +<p>"Does he want to turn to the Sun, then, father?"</p> + +<p>"I do not know. I only know that he is miserable because he has not +turned to the Sun."</p> + +<p>"What will you say to him, father?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot tell, my boy. It depends on what I find him thinking. Of all +things, my boy, keep your face to the Sun. You can't shine of +yourself, you can't be good of yourself, but God has made you able to +turn to the Sun whence all goodness and all shining comes. God's +children may be very naughty, but they must be able to turn towards +him. The Father of Lights is the Father of every weakest little baby +of a good thought in us, as well as of the highest devotion of +martyrdom. If you turn your face to the Sun, my boy, your soul will, +when you come to die, feel like an autumn, with the golden fruits of +the earth hanging in rich clusters ready to be gathered—not like a +winter. You may feel ever so worn, but you will not feel withered. You +will die in peace, hoping for the spring—and such a spring!"</p> + +<p>Thus talking, in the course of two hours or so we arrived at the +dwelling of the old laird.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXXII</p> + +<p>The Peat-Stack</p> + + +<center> +<img alt="281.jpg (95K)" src="281.jpg" height="717" width="540"> +</center> + + +<p> +How dreary the old house looked as we approached it through the +gathering darkness! All the light appeared to come from the snow which +rested wherever it could lie—on roofs and window ledges and turrets. +Even on the windward walls, every little roughness sustained its own +frozen patch, so that their grey was spotted all over with whiteness. +Not a glimmer shone from the windows.</p> + +<p>"Nobody lives <i>there</i>, father," I said,—"surely?"</p> + +<p>"It does not look very lively," he answered.</p> + +<p>The house stood upon a bare knoll. There was not a tree within sight. +Rugged hills arose on all sides of it. Not a sound was heard but the +moan of an occasional gust of wind. There was a brook, but it lay +frozen beneath yards of snow. For miles in any direction those gusts +might wander without shaking door or window, or carrying with them a +puff of smoke from any hearth. We were crossing the yard at the back +of the house, towards the kitchen-door, for the front door had not +been opened for months, when we recognized the first sign of life. +That was only the low of a bullock. As we dismounted on a few feet of +rough pavement which had been swept clear, an old woman came to the +door, and led us into a dreary parlour without even a fire to welcome +us.</p> + +<p>I learned afterwards that the laird, from being a spendthrift in his +youth, had become a miser in his age, and that every household +arrangement was on the narrowest scale. From wasting righteous pounds, +he had come to scraping unrighteous farthings.</p> + +<p>After we had remained standing for some time, the housekeeper +returned, and invited my father to go to the laird's room. As they +went, he requested her to take me to the kitchen, which, after +conducting him, she did. The sight of the fire, although it was of the +smallest, was most welcome. She laid a few more peats upon it, and +encouraged them to a blaze, remarking, with a sidelong look: "We +daren't do this, you see, sir, if the laird was about. The honest man +would call it waste."</p> + +<p>"Is he dying?" I asked, for the sake of saying something; but she only +shook her head for reply, and, going to a press at the other end of +the large, vault-like kitchen, brought me some milk in a basin, and +some oatcake upon a platter, saying,</p> + +<p>"It's not my house, you see, or I would have something better to set +before the minister's son."</p> + +<p>I was glad of any food however, and it was well for me that I ate +heartily. I had got quite warm also before my father stepped into the +kitchen, very solemn, and stood up with his back to the fire. The old +woman set him a chair, but he neither sat down nor accepted the +refreshment which she humbly offered him.</p> + +<p>"We must be going," he objected, "for it looks stormy, and the sooner +we set out the better."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry I can't ask you to stop the night," she said, "for I +couldn't make you comfortable. There's nothing fit to offer you in the +house, and there's not a bed that's been slept in for I don't know how +long."</p> + +<p>"Never mind," said my father cheerfully. "The moon is up already, and +we shall get home I trust before the snow begins to fall. Will you +tell the man to get the horses out?"</p> + +<p>When she returned from taking the message, she came up to my father +and said, in a loud whisper,</p> + +<p>"Is he in a bad way, sir?"</p> + +<p>"He is dying," answered my father.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="284.jpg (118K)" src="284.jpg" height="722" width="467"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>"I know that," she returned. "He'll be gone before the morning. But +that's not what I meant. Is he in a bad way for the other world? +That's what I meant, sir."</p> + +<p>"Well, my good woman, after a life like his, we are only too glad to +remember what our Lord told us—not to judge. I do think he is ashamed +and sorry for his past life. But it's not the wrong he has done in +former time that stands half so much in his way as his present +fondness for what he counts his own. It seems like to break his heart +to leave all his little bits of property—particularly the money he +has saved; and yet he has some hope that Jesus Christ will be kind +enough to pardon him. I am afraid he will find himself very miserable +though, when he has not one scrap left to call his own—not a +pocket-knife even."</p> + +<p>"It's dreadful to think of him flying through the air on a night like +this," said she.</p> + +<p>"My good woman," returned my father, "we know nothing about where or +how the departed spirit exists after it has left the body. But it +seems to me just as dreadful to be without God in the world, as to be +without him anywhere else. Let us pray for him that God may be with +him wherever he is."</p> + +<p>So saying, my father knelt down, and we beside him, and he prayed +earnestly to God for the old man. Then we rose, mounted our horses, +and rode away.</p> + +<p>We were only about halfway home, when the clouds began to cover the +moon, and the snow began to fall. Hitherto we had got on pretty well, +for there was light enough to see the track, feeble as it was. Now, +however, we had to keep a careful lookout. We pressed our horses, and +they went bravely, but it was slow work at the best. It got darker and +darker, for the clouds went on gathering, and the snow was coming down +in huge dull flakes. Faster and thicker they came, until at length we +could see nothing of the road before us, and were compelled to leave +all to the wisdom of our horses. My father, having great confidence in +his own little mare, which had carried him through many a doubtful and +difficult place, rode first. I followed close behind. He kept on +talking to me very cheerfully—I have thought since—to prevent me +from getting frightened. But I had not a thought of fear. To be with +my father was to me perfect safety. He was in the act of telling me +how, on more occasions than one, Missy had got him through places +where the road was impassable, by walking on the tops of the walls, +when all at once both our horses plunged into a gulf of snow. The more +my mare struggled, the deeper we sank in it. For a moment I thought it +was closing over my head.</p> + +<p>"Father! father!" I shouted.</p> + +<p>"Don't be frightened, my boy," cried my father, his voice seeming to +come from far away. "We are in God's hands. I can't help you now, but +as soon as Missy has got quieter, I shall come to you. I think I know +whereabouts we are. We've dropped right off the road. You're not hurt, +are you?"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least," I answered. "I was only frightened."</p> + +<p>A few moments more, and my mare lay or rather stuck quiet, with her +neck and head thrown back, and her body deep in the snow. I put up my +hands to feel. It rose above my head farther than I could reach. I got +clear of the stirrups and scrambled up, first on my knees, and then on +my feet. Standing thus upon the saddle, again I stretched my hands +above my head, but still the broken wall of snow ascended above my +reach. I could see nothing of my father, but I heard him talking to +Missy. My mare soon began floundering again, so that I tumbled about +against the sides of the hole, and grew terrified lest I should bring +the snow down. I therefore cowered upon the mare's back until she was +quiet again. "Woa! Quiet, my lass!" I heard my father saying, and it +seemed his Missy was more frightened than mine.</p> + +<p>My fear was now quite gone, and I felt much inclined to laugh at the +fun of the misadventure. I had as yet no idea of how serious a thing +it might be. Still I had sense enough to see that something must be +done—but what? I saw no way of getting out of the hole except by +trampling down the snow upon the back of my poor mare, and that I +could not think of; while I doubted much whether my father even could +tell in what direction to turn for help or shelter.</p> + + +<p>Finding our way home, even if we got free, seemed out of the question. +Again my mare began plunging violently, and this time I found myself +thrown against some hard substance. I thrust my hand through the snow, +and felt what I thought the stones of one of the dry walls common to +the country. I might clear away enough of the snow to climb upon that; +but then what next—it was so dark?</p> + +<p>"Ranald!" cried my father; "how do you get on?"</p> + +<p>"Much the same, father," I answered.</p> + +<p>"I'm out of the wreath," he returned. "We've come through on the other +side. You are better where you are I suspect, however. The snow is +warmer than the air. It is beginning to blow. Pull your feet out and +get right upon the mare's back."</p> + +<p>"That's just where I am, father—lying on her back, and pretty +comfortable," I rejoined.</p> + +<p>All this time the snow was falling thick. If it went on like this, I +should be buried before morning, and the fact that the wind was rising +added to the danger of it. We were at the wrong end of the night too.</p> + +<p>"I'm in a kind of ditch, I think, father," I cried—the place we fell +off on one side and a stone wall on the other."</p> + +<p>"That can hardly be, or I shouldn't have got out," he returned. "But +now I've got Missy quiet, I'll come to you. I must get you out, I see, +or you will be snowed up. Woa, Missy! Good mare! Stand still."</p> + +<p>The next moment he gave a joyous exclamation.</p> + +<p>"What is it, father?" I cried.</p> + +<p>"It's not a stone wall; it's a peat-stack. That <i>is</i> good."</p> + +<p>"I don't see what good it is. We can't light a fire."</p> + +<p>"No, my boy; but where there's a peat-stack, there's probably a +house."</p> + +<p>He began uttering a series of shouts at the top of his voice, +listening between for a response. This lasted a good while. I began to +get very cold.</p> + +<p>"I'm nearly frozen, father," I said, "and what's to become of the poor +mare—she's got no clothes on?"</p> + +<p>"I'll get you out, my boy; and then at least you will be able to move +about a little."</p> + +<p>I heard him shovelling at the snow with his hands and feet.</p> + +<p>"I have got to the corner of the stack, and as well as I can judge you +must be just round it," he said.</p> + +<p>"Your voice is close to me," I answered.</p> + +<p>"I've got a hold of one of the mare's ears," he said next. "I won't +try to get her out until I get you off her."</p> + +<p>I put out my hand, and felt along the mare's neck. What a joy it was +to catch my father's hand through the darkness and the snow! He +grasped mine and drew me towards him, then got me by the arm and began +dragging me through the snow. The mare began plunging again, and by +her struggles rather assisted my father. In a few moments he had me in +his arms.</p> + +<p>"Thank God!" he said, as he set me down against the peat-stack. "Stand +there. A little farther. Keep well off for fear she hurt you. She must +fight her way out now."</p> + +<p>He went back to the mare, and went on clearing away the snow. Then I +could hear him patting and encouraging her. Next I heard a great +blowing and scrambling, and at last a snort and the thunder of hoofs.</p> + +<p>"Woa! woa! Gently! gently!—She's off!" cried my father.</p> + +<p>Her mother gave one snort, and away she went, thundering after +her. But their sounds were soon quenched in the snow.</p> + +<p>"There's a business!" said my father. "I'm afraid the poor things will +only go farther to fare the worse. We are as well without them, +however; and if they should find their way home, so much the better +for us. They might have kept us a little warmer though. We must fight +the cold as we best can for the rest of the night, for it would only +be folly to leave the spot before it is light enough to see where we +are going."</p> + +<p>It came into my mind suddenly how I had burrowed in the straw to hide +myself after running from Dame Shand's. But whether that or the +thought of burrowing in the peat-stack came first, I cannot tell. I +turned and felt whether I could draw out a peat. With a little +loosening I succeeded.</p> + +<p>"Father," I said, "couldn't we make a hole in the peat-stalk, and +build ourselves in?"</p> + +<p>"A capital idea, my boy!" he answered, with a gladness in his voice +which I venture to attribute in part to his satisfaction at finding +that I had some practical sense in me. "We'll try it at once."</p> + +<p>"I've got two or three out already," I said, for I had gone on +pulling, and it was easy enough after one had been started.</p> + +<p>"We must take care we don't bring down the whole stack though," said +my father.</p> + +<p>"Even then," I returned, "we could build ourselves up in them, and +that would be something."</p> + +<p>"Right, Ranald! It would be only making houses to our own shape, +instead of big enough to move about in—turning crustaceous animals, +you know."</p> + +<p>"It would be a peat-greatcoat at least," I remarked, pulling away.</p> + +<p>"Here," he said, "I will put my stick in under the top row. That will +be a sort of lintel to support those above."</p> + +<p>He always carried his walking-stick whether he rode or walked.</p> + +<p>We worked with a will, piling up the peats a little in front that we +might with them build up the door of our cave after we were inside. We +got quite merry over it.</p> + +<p>"We shall be brought before the magistrates for destruction of +property," said my father.</p> + +<p>"You'll have to send Andrew to build up the stack again—that's all."</p> + +<p>"But I wonder how it is that nobody hears us. How can they have a +peat-stack so far from the house?"</p> + +<p>"I can't imagine," I said; "except it be to prevent them from burning +too many peats. It is more like a trick of the poor laird than anybody +else."</p> + +<p>Every now and then a few would come down with a rush, and before long +we had made a large hole. We left a good thick floor to sit upon.</p> + +<p>Creeping in, we commenced building up the entrance. We had not +proceeded far, however, before we found that our cave was too small, +and that as we should have to remain in it for hours, we must find it +very cramped. Therefore, instead of using any more of the peats +already pulled out, we finished building up the wall with others fresh +drawn from the inside. When at length we had, to the best of our +ability, completed our immuring, we sat down to wait for the +morning—my father as calm as if he had been seated in his +study-chair, and I in a state of condensed delight; for was not this a +grand adventure—with my father to share it, and keep it from going +too far? He sat with his back leaning against the side of the hole, +and I sat between his knees, and leaned against him. His arms were +folded round me; and could ever boy be more blessed than I was then? +The sense of outside danger; the knowledge that if the wind rose, we +might be walled up in snow before the morning; the assurance of +present safety and good hope—all made such an impression upon my mind +that ever since when any trouble has threatened me, I have invariably +turned first in thought to the memory of that harbour of refuge from +the storm. There I sat for long hours secure in my father's arms, and +knew that the soundless snow was falling thick around us, and marked +occasionally the threatening wail of the wind like the cry of a wild +beast scenting us from afar.</p> + +<p>"This is grand, father," I said.</p> + +<p>"You would like better to be at home in bed, wouldn't you?" he asked, +trying me.</p> + +<p>"No, indeed, I should not," I answered, with more than honesty; for I +felt exuberantly happy.</p> + +<p>"If only we can keep warm," said my father. "If you should get very +cold indeed, you must not lose heart, my man, but think how pleasant +it will be when we get home to a good fire and a hot breakfast."</p> + +<p>"I think I can bear it all right. I have often been cold enough at +school."</p> + +<p>"This may be worse. But we need not anticipate evil: that is to send +out for the suffering. It is well to be prepared for it, but it is ill +to brood over a fancied future of evil. In all my life, my boy—and I +should like you to remember what I say—I have never found any trial +go beyond what I could bear. In the worst cases of suffering, I think +there is help given which those who look on cannot understand, but +which enables the sufferer to endure. The last help of that kind is +death, which I think is always a blessing, though few people can +regard it as such."</p> + +<p>I listened with some wonder. Without being able to see that what he +said was true, I could yet accept it after a vague fashion.</p> + +<p>"This nest which we have made to shelter us," he resumed, "brings to +my mind what the Psalmist says about dwelling in the secret place of +the Most High. Everyone who will, may there, like the swallow, make +himself a nest."</p> + +<p>"This can't be very like that, though, surely, father," I ventured to +object.</p> + +<p>"Why not, my boy?"</p> + +<p>"It's not safe enough, for one thing."</p> + +<p>"You are right there. Still it is like. It is our place of refuge."</p> + +<p>"The cold does get through it, father."</p> + +<p>"But it keeps our minds at peace. Even the refuge in God does not +always secure us from external suffering. The heart may be quite happy +and strong when the hands are benumbed with cold. Yes, the heart even +may grow cold with coming death, while the man himself retreats the +farther into the secret place of the Most High, growing more calm and +hopeful as the last cold invades the house of his body. I believe that +all troubles come to drive us into that refuge—that secret place +where alone we can be safe. You will, when you go out into the world, +my boy, find that most men not only do not believe this, but do not +believe that you believe it. They regard it at best as a fantastic +weakness, fit only for sickly people. But watch how the strength of +such people, their calmness and common sense, fares when the grasp of +suffering lays hold upon them. It was a sad sight—that abject +hopeless misery I saw this afternoon. If his mind had been an +indication of the reality, one must have said that there was no +God—no God at least that would have anything to do with him. The +universe as reflected in the tarnished mirror of his soul, was a chill +misty void, through which blew the moaning wind of an unknown fate. As +near as ever I saw it, that man was without God and without hope in +the world. All who have done the mightiest things—I do not mean the +showiest things—all that are like William of Orange—the great +William, I mean, not our King William—or John Milton, or William +Penn, or any other of the cloud of witnesses spoken of in the Epistle +to the Hebrews—all the men I say who have done the mightiest things, +have not only believed that there was this refuge in God, but have +themselves more or less entered into the secret place of the Most +High. There only could they have found strength to do their mighty +deeds. They were able to do them because they knew God wanted them to +do them, that he was on their side, or rather they were on his side, +and therefore safe, surrounded by God on every side. My boy, do the +will of God—that is, what you know or believe to be right, and fear +nothing."</p> + +<p>I never forgot the lesson. But my readers must not think that my +father often talked like this. He was not at all favourable to much +talk about religion. He used to say that much talk prevented much +thought, and talk without thought was bad. Therefore it was for the +most part only upon extraordinary occasions, of which this is an +example, that he spoke of the deep simplicities of that faith in God +which was the very root of his conscious life.</p> + +<p>He was silent after this utterance, which lasted longer than I have +represented, although unbroken, I believe, by any remark of mine. Full +of inward repose, I fell asleep in his arms.</p> + +<p>When I awoke I found myself very cold. Then I became aware that my +father was asleep, and for the first time began to be uneasy. It was +not because of the cold: that was not at all unendurable; it was that +while the night lay awful in white silence about me, while the wind +was moaning outside, and blowing long thin currents through the peat +walls around me, while our warm home lay far away, and I could not +tell how many hours of cold darkness had yet to pass before we could +set out to find it,—it was not all these things together, but that, +in the midst of all these, I was awake and my father slept. I could +easily have waked him, but I was not selfish enough for that: I sat +still and shivered and felt very dreary. Then the last words of my +father began to return upon me, and, with a throb of relief, the +thought awoke in my mind that although my father was asleep, the great +Father of us both, he in whose heart lay that secret place of refuge, +neither slumbered nor slept. And now I was able to wait in patience, +with an idea, if not a sense of the present care of God, such as I had +never had before. When, after some years, my father was taken from us, +the thought of this night came again and again, and I would say in my +heart: "My father sleeps that I may know the better that The Father +wakes."</p> + +<p>At length he stirred. The first sign of his awaking was, that he +closed again the arms about me which had dropped by his sides as he +slept.</p> + +<p>"I'm so glad you're awake, father," I said, speaking first.</p> + +<p>"Have <i>you</i> been long awake then?"</p> + +<p>"Not so very long, but I felt lonely without you."</p> + +<p>"Are you very cold? <i>I</i> feel rather chilly."</p> + +<p>So we chatted away for a while.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if it is nearly day yet. I do not in the least know how long +we have slept. I wonder if my watch is going. I forgot to wind it up +last night. If it has stopped I shall know it is near daylight."</p> + +<p>He held his watch to his ear: alas! it was ticking vigorously. He felt +for the keyhole, and wound it up. After that we employed ourselves in +repeating as many of the metrical psalms and paraphrases of Scripture +as we could recollect, and this helped away a good part of the weary +time.</p> + +<p>But it went very slowly, and I was growing so cold that I could hardly +bear it.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid you feel very cold, Ranald," said my father, folding me +closer in his arms. "You must try not to go to sleep again, for that +would be dangerous now. I feel more cramped than cold."</p> + +<p>As he said this, he extended his legs and threw his head back, to get +rid of the uneasiness by stretching himself. The same moment, down +came a shower of peats upon our heads and bodies, and when I tried to +move, I found myself fixed. I could not help laughing.</p> + +<p>"Father," I cried, as soon as I could speak, "you're like Samson: +you've brought down the house upon us."</p> + +<p>"So I have, my boy. It was very thoughtless of me. I don't know what +we <i>are</i> to do now."</p> + +<p>"Can you move, father? <i>I</i> can't," I said.</p> + +<p>"I can move my legs, but I'm afraid to move even a toe in my boot for +fear of bringing down another avalanche of peats. But no—there's not +much danger of that: they are all down already, for I feel the snow on +my face."</p> + +<p>With hands and feet my father struggled, but could not do much, for I +lay against him under a great heap. His struggles made an opening +sideways however.</p> + +<p>"Father! father! shout," I cried. "I see a light somewhere; and I +think it is moving."</p> + +<p>We shouted as loud as we could, and then lay listening. My heart beat +so that I was afraid I should not hear any reply that might come. But +the next moment it rang through the frosty air.</p> + +<p>"It's Turkey! That's Turkey, father!" I cried. "I know his shout. He +makes it go farther than anybody else.—Turkey! Turkey!" I shrieked, +almost weeping with delight.</p> + +<p>Again Turkey's cry rang through the darkness, and the light drew +wavering nearer.</p> + +<p>"Mind how you step, Turkey," cried my father. "There's a hole you may +tumble into."</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't hurt him much in the snow," I said.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps not, but he would probably lose his light, and that we can +hardly afford."</p> + +<p>"Shout again," cried Turkey. "I can't make out where you are."</p> + +<p>My father shouted.</p> + +<p>"Am I coming nearer to you now?"</p> + +<p>"I can hardly say. I cannot see well. Are you going along the road?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Can't you come to me?"</p> + +<p>"Not yet. We can't get out. We're upon your right hand, in a +peat-stack."</p> + +<p>"Oh! I know the peat-stack. I'll be with you in a moment."</p> + +<p>He did not however find it so easily as he had expected, the peats +being covered with snow. My father gave up trying to free himself and +took to laughing instead at the ridiculous situation in which we were +about to be discovered. He kept directing Turkey, however, who at +length after some disappearances which made us very anxious about the +lantern, caught sight of the stack, and walked straight towards it. +Now first we saw that he was not alone, but accompanied by the silent +Andrew.</p> + +<p>"Where are you, sir?" asked Turkey, throwing the light of the lantern +over the ruin.</p> + +<p>"Buried in the peats," answered my father, laughing. "Come and get us +out."</p> + +<p>Turkey strode up to the heap, and turning the light down into it said,</p> + +<p>"I didn't know it had been raining peats, sir."</p> + +<p>"The peats didn't fall quite so far as the snow, Turkey, or they would +have made a worse job of it," answered my father.</p> + +<p>Meantime Andrew and Turkey were both busy; and in a few moments we +stood upon our feet, stiff with cold and cramped with confinement, but +merry enough at heart.</p> + +<p>"What brought you out to look for us?" asked my father.</p> + +<p>"I heard Missy whinnying at the stable-door," said Andrew. "When I saw +she was alone, I knew something had happened, and waked Turkey. We +only stopped to run to the manse for a drop of whisky to bring with +us, and set out at once."</p> + +<p>"What o'clock is it now?" asked my father.</p> + +<p>"About one o'clock," answered Andrew.</p> + +<p>"One o'clock!" thought I. "What a time we should have had to wait!"</p> + +<p>"Have you been long in finding us?"</p> + +<p>"Only about an hour."</p> + +<p>"Then the little mare must have had great trouble in getting home. You +say the other was not with her?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir. She's not made her appearance."</p> + +<p>"Then if we don't find her, she will be dead before morning. But what +shall we do with you, Ranald? Turkey had better go home with you +first."</p> + +<p>"Please let me go too," I said.</p> + +<p>"Are you able to walk?"</p> + +<p>"Quite—or at least I shall be, after my legs come to themselves a +bit."</p> + +<p>Turkey produced a bottle of milk which he had brought for me, and +Andrew produced the little flask of whisky which Kirsty had sent; and +my father having taken a little of the latter, while I emptied my +bottle, we set out to look for young Missy.</p> + +<p>"Where are we?" asked my father.</p> + +<p>Turkey told him.</p> + +<p>"How comes it that nobody heard our shouting, then?"</p> + +<p>"You know, sir," answered Turkey, "the old man is as deaf as a post, +and I dare say his people were all fast asleep."</p> + +<p>The snow was falling only in a few large flakes now, which sank +through the air like the moultings of some lovely bird of heaven. The +moon had come out again, and the white world lay around us in lovely +light. A good deal of snow had fallen while we lay in the peats, but +we could yet trace the track of the two horses. We followed it a long +way through the little valley into which we had dropped from the side +of the road. We came to more places than one where they had been +floundering together in a snow-wreath, but at length reached the spot +where one had parted from the other. When we had traced one of the +tracks to the road, we concluded it was Missy's, and returned to the +other. But we had not followed it very far before we came upon the +poor mare lying upon her back in a deep runnel, in which the snow was +very soft. She had put her forefeet in it as she galloped heedlessly +along, and tumbled right over. The snow had yielded enough to let the +banks get a hold of her, and she lay helpless. Turkey and Andrew, +however, had had the foresight to bring spades with them and a rope, +and they set to work at once, my father taking a turn now and then, +and I holding the lantern, which was all but useless now in the +moonlight. It took more than an hour to get the poor thing on her legs +again, but when she was up, it was all they could do to hold her. She +was so wild with cold, and with delight at feeling her legs under her +once more, that she would have broken loose again, and galloped off as +recklessly as ever. They set me on her back, and with my father on one +side and Turkey on the other, and Andrew at her head, I rode home in +great comfort. It was another good hour before we arrived, and right +glad were we to see through the curtains of the parlour the glow of +the great fire which Kirsty had kept up for us. She burst out crying +when we made our appearance.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXXIII</p> + +<p>A Solitary Chapter</p> + +<p> +During all that winter I attended the evening school and assisted the +master. I confess, however, it was not by any means so much for the +master as to be near Elsie Duff, of whom I now thought many times an +hour. Her sweet face grew more and more dear to me. When I pointed out +an error in her work, or suggested a better mode of working, it would +flush like the heart of a white rose, and eagerly she would set +herself to rectification or improvement, her whole manner a dumb +apology for what could be a fault in no eyes but her own. It was this +sweetness that gained upon me: at length her face was almost a part of +my consciousness. I suppose my condition was what people would call +being in love with her; but I never thought of that; I only thought of +her. Nor did I ever dream of saying a word to her on the subject. I +wished nothing other than as it was. To think about her all day, so +gently that it never disturbed Euclid or Livy; to see her at night, +and get near her now and then, sitting on the same form with her as I +explained something to her on the slate or in her book; to hear her +voice, and look into her tender eyes, was all that I desired. It never +occurred to me that things could not go on so; that a change must +come; that as life cannot linger in the bud, but is compelled by the +sunshine and air into the flower, so life would go on and on, and +things would change, and the time blossom into something else, and my +love find itself set out-of-doors in the midst of strange plants and a +new order of things.</p> + +<p>When school was over, I walked home with her—not alone, for Turkey +was always on the other side. I had not a suspicion that Turkey's +admiration of Elsie could ever come into collision with mine. We +joined in praising her, but my admiration ever found more words than +Turkey's, and I thought my love to her was greater than his.</p> + +<p>We seldom went into her grandmother's cottage, for she did not make us +welcome. After we had taken her home we generally repaired to Turkey's +mother, with whom we were sure of a kind reception. She was a patient +diligent woman, who looked as if she had nearly done with life, and +had only to gather up the crumbs of it. I have often wondered since, +what was her deepest thought—whether she was content to be unhappy, +or whether she lived in hope of some blessedness beyond. It is +marvellous with how little happiness some people can get through the +world. Surely they are inwardly sustained with something even better +than joy.</p> + +<p>"Did you ever hear my mother sing?" asked Turkey, as we sat together +over her little fire, on one of these occasions.</p> + +<p>"No. I should like very much," I answered.</p> + +<p>The room was lighted only by a little oil-lamp, for there was no flame +to the fire of peats and dried oak-bark.</p> + +<p>"She sings such queer ballads as you never heard," said Turkey. "Give +us one, mother; do."</p> + +<p>She yielded, and, in a low chanting voice, sang something like this:—</p> + +<center> +<table summary="chaunt"> +<tr><td> + + +<p>Up cam' the waves o' the tide wi' a whush,<br> + And back gaed the pebbles wi' a whurr,<br> +Whan the king's ae son cam' walking i' the hush,<br> + To hear the sea murmur and murr.</p><br> +<br> +<p>The half mune was risin' the waves abune,<br> + An' a glimmer o' cauld weet licht<br> +Cam' ower the water straucht frae the mune,<br> + Like a path across the nicht.</p><br> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="308.jpg (122K)" src="308.jpg" height="800" width="434"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>What's that, an' that, far oot i' the grey<br> + Atwixt the mune and the land?<br> +It's the bonny sea-maidens at their play—<br> + Haud awa', king's son, frae the strand.</p><br> +<br> +<p>Ae rock stud up wi' a shadow at its foot:<br> + The king's son stepped behind:<br> +The merry sea-maidens cam' gambolling oot,<br> + Combin' their hair i' the wind.</p><br> +<br> +<p>O merry their laugh when they felt the land<br> + Under their light cool feet!<br> +Each laid her comb on the yellow sand,<br> + And the gladsome dance grew fleet.</p><br> +<br> +<p>But the fairest she laid her comb by itsel'<br> + On the rock where the king's son lay.<br> +He stole about, and the carven shell<br> + He hid in his bosom away.</p><br> +<br> +<p>And he watched the dance till the clouds did gloom,<br> + And the wind blew an angry tune:<br> +One after one she caught up her comb,<br> + To the sea went dancin' doon.</p><br> +<br> +<p>But the fairest, wi' hair like the mune in a clud,<br> + She sought till she was the last.<br> +He creepin' went and watchin' stud,<br> + And he thought to hold her fast.</p><br> +<br> +<p>She dropped at his feet without motion or heed;<br> + He took her, and home he sped.—<br> +All day she lay like a withered seaweed,<br> + On a purple and gowden bed.</p><br> +<br> +<p>But at night whan the wind frae the watery bars<br> + Blew into the dusky room,<br> +She opened her een like twa settin' stars,<br> + And back came her twilight bloom.</p><br> +<br> +<p>The king's son knelt beside her bed:<br> + She was his ere a month had passed;<br> +And the cold sea-maiden he had wed<br> + Grew a tender wife at last.</p><br> +<br> +<p>And all went well till her baby was born,<br> + And then she couldna sleep;<br> +She would rise and wander till breakin' morn,<br> + Hark-harkin' the sound o' the deep.</p><br> +<br> +<p>One night when the wind was wailing about,<br> + And the sea was speckled wi' foam,<br> +From room to room she went in and out<br> + And she came on her carven comb.</p><br> +<br> +<p>She twisted her hair with eager hands,<br> + She put in the comb with glee:<br> +She's out and she's over the glittering sands,<br> + And away to the moaning sea.</p><br> +<br> +<p>One cry came back from far away:<br> + He woke, and was all alone.<br> +Her night robe lay on the marble grey,<br> + And the cold sea-maiden was gone.</p><br> +<br> +<p>Ever and aye frae first peep o' the moon,<br> + Whan the wind blew aff o' the sea,<br> +The desert shore still up and doon<br> + Heavy at heart paced he.</p><br> +<br> +<p>But never more came the maidens to play<br> + From the merry cold-hearted sea;<br> +He heard their laughter far out and away,<br> + But heavy at heart paced he.</p> +</td></tr> +</table> +</center> + +<p>I have modernized the ballad—indeed spoiled it altogether, for I have +made up this version from the memory of it—with only, I fear, just a +touch here and there of the original expression.</p> + +<p>"That's what comes of taking what you have no right to," said Turkey, +in whom the practical had ever the upper hand of the imaginative.</p> + +<p>As we walked home together I resumed the subject.</p> + +<p>"I think you're too hard on the king's son," I said. "He couldn't help +falling in love with the mermaid."</p> + +<p>"He had no business to steal her comb, and then run away with +herself," said Turkey.</p> + +<p>"She was none the worse for it," said I.</p> + +<p>"Who told you that?" he retorted. "I don't think the girl herself +would have said so. It's not every girl that would care to marry a +king's son. She might have had a lover of her own down in the sea. At +all events the prince was none the better for it."</p> + +<p>"But the song says she made a tender wife," I objected.</p> + +<p>"She couldn't help herself. She made the best of it. I dare say he +wasn't a bad sort of a fellow, but he was no gentleman."</p> + +<p>"Turkey!" I exclaimed. "He was a prince!"</p> + +<p>"I know that."</p> + +<p>"Then he must have been a gentleman."</p> + +<p>"I don't know that. I've read of a good many princes who did things I +should be ashamed to do."</p> + +<p>"But you're not a prince, Turkey," I returned, in the low endeavour to +bolster up the wrong with my silly logic.</p> + +<p>"No. Therefore if I were to do what was rude and dishonest, people +would say: 'What could you expect of a ploughboy?' A prince ought to +be just so much better bred than a ploughboy. I would scorn to do what +that prince did. What's wrong in a ploughboy can't be right in a +prince, Ranald. Or else right is only right sometimes; so that right +may be wrong and wrong may be right, which is as much as to say there +is no right and wrong; and if there's no right and wrong, the world's +an awful mess, and there can't be any God, for a God would never have +made it like that."</p> + +<p>"Well, Turkey, you know best. I can't help thinking the prince was not +so much to blame, though."</p> + +<p>"You see what came of it—misery."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps he would rather have had the misery and all together than +none of it."</p> + +<p>"That's for him to settle. But he must have seen he was wrong, before +he had done wandering by the sea like that."</p> + +<p>"Well now, Turkey, what would you have done yourself, suppose the +beautifulest of them all had laid her comb down within an inch of +where you were standing—and never saw you, you know?"</p> + +<p>Turkey thought for a moment before answering.</p> + +<p>"I'm supposing you fell in love with her at first sight, you know," I +added.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm sure I should not have kept the comb, even if I had taken +it just to get a chance of speaking to her. And I can't help fancying +if he had behaved like a gentleman, and let her go without touching +her the first time, she might have come again; and if he had married +her at last of her own free will, she would not have run away from +him, let the sea have kept calling her ever so much."</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="313.jpg (87K)" src="313.jpg" height="636" width="430"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>The next evening, I looked for Elsie as usual, but did not see her. +How blank and dull the schoolroom seemed! Still she might arrive any +moment. But she did not come. I went through my duties wearily, hoping +ever for the hour of release. I could see well enough that Turkey was +anxious too. The moment school was over, we hurried away, almost +without a word, to the cottage. There we found her weeping. Her +grandmother had died suddenly. She clung to Turkey, and seemed almost +to forget my presence. But I thought nothing of that. Had the case +been mine, I too should have clung to Turkey from faith in his help +and superior wisdom.</p> + +<p>There were two or three old women in the place. Turkey went and spoke +to them, and then took Elsie home to his mother. Jamie was asleep, and +they would not wake him.</p> + +<p>How it was arranged, I forget, but both Elsie and Jamie lived for the +rest of the winter with Turkey's mother. The cottage was let, and the +cow taken home by their father. Before summer Jamie had got a place in +a shop in the village, and then Elsie went back to her mother.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXXIV</p> + +<p>An Evening Visit</p> + +<p> +I now saw much less of Elsie; but I went with Turkey, as often as I +could, to visit her at her father's cottage. The evenings we spent +there are amongst the happiest hours in my memory. One evening in +particular appears to stand out as a type of the whole. I remember +every point in the visit. I think it must have been almost the last. +We set out as the sun was going down on an evening in the end of +April, when the nightly frosts had not yet vanished. The hail was +dancing about us as we started; the sun was disappearing in a bank of +tawny orange cloud; the night would be cold and dark and stormy; but +we cared nothing for that: a conflict with the elements always added +to the pleasure of any undertaking then. It was in the midst of +another shower of hail, driven on the blasts of a keen wind, that we +arrived at the little cottage. It had been built by Duff himself to +receive his bride, and although since enlarged, was still a very +little house. It had a foundation of stone, but the walls were of +turf. He had lined it with boards, however, and so made it warmer and +more comfortable than most of the labourers' dwellings. When we +entered, a glowing fire of peat was on the hearth, and the pot with +the supper hung over it. Mrs. Duff was spinning, and Elsie, by the +light of a little oil lamp suspended against the wall, was teaching +her youngest brother to read. Whatever she did, she always seemed in +my eyes to do it better than anyone else; and to see her under the +lamp, with one arm round the little fellow who stood leaning against +her, while the other hand pointed with a knitting-needle to the +letters of the spelling-book which lay on her knee, was to see a +lovely picture. The mother did not rise from her spinning, but spoke a +kindly welcome, while Elsie got up, and without approaching us, or +saying more than a word or two, set chairs for us by the fire, and +took the little fellow away to put him to bed.</p> + +<p>"It's a cold night," said Mrs. Duff. "The wind seems to blow through +me as I sit at my wheel. I wish my husband would come home."</p> + +<p>"He'll be suppering his horses," said Turkey. "I'll just run across +and give him a hand, and that'll bring him in the sooner."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, Turkey," said Mrs. Duff as he vanished.</p> + +<p>"He's a fine lad," she remarked, much in the same phrase my father +used when speaking of him.</p> + +<p>"There's nobody like Turkey," I said.</p> + +<p>"Indeed, I think you're right there, Ranald. A better-behaved lad +doesn't step. He'll do something to distinguish himself some day. I +shouldn't wonder if he went to college, and wagged his head in a +pulpit yet."</p> + +<p>The idea of Turkey wagging his head in a pulpit made me laugh.</p> + +<p>"Wait till you see," resumed Mrs. Duff, somewhat offended at my +reception of her prophecy. "Folk will hear of him yet."</p> + +<p>"I didn't mean he couldn't be a minister, Mrs. Duff. But I don't think +he will take to that."</p> + +<p>Here Elsie came back, and lifting the lid of the pot, examined the +state of its contents. I got hold of her hand, but for the first time +she withdrew it. I did not feel hurt, for she did it very gently. Then +she began to set the white deal table in the middle of the floor, and +by the time she had put the plates and spoons upon it, the water in +the pot was boiling, and she began to make the porridge, at which she +was judged to be first-rate—in my mind, equal to our Kirsty. By the +time it was ready, her father and Turkey came in. James Duff said +grace, and we sat down to our supper. The wind was blowing hard +outside, and every now and then the hail came in deafening rattles +against the little windows, and, descending the wide chimney, danced +on the floor about the hearth; but not a thought of the long, stormy +way between us and home interfered with the enjoyment of the hour.</p> + +<p>After supper, which was enlivened by simple chat about the crops and +the doings on the farm, James turned to me, and said:</p> + +<p>"Haven't you got a song or a ballad to give us, Ranald? I know you're +always getting hold of such things."</p> + +<p>I had expected this; for, every time I went, I tried to have something +to repeat to them. As I could not sing, this was the nearest way in +which I might contribute to the evening's entertainment. Elsie was +very fond of ballads, and I could hardly please her better than by +bringing a new one with me. But in default of that, an old one or a +story would be welcomed. My reader must remember that there were very +few books to be had then in that part of the country, and therefore +any mode of literature was precious. The schoolmaster was the chief +source from which I derived my provision of this sort. On the present +occasion, I was prepared with a ballad of his. I remember every word +of it now, and will give it to my readers, reminding them once more +how easy it is to skip it, if they do not care for that kind of thing.</p> + +<center> +<table summary="lassie"> +<tr><td> + +<p>"Bonny lassie, rosy lassie,<br> + Ken ye what is care?<br> +Had ye ever a thought, lassie,<br> + Made yer hertie sair?"</p><br> +<br> +<p>Johnnie said it, Johnnie luikin'<br> + Into Jeannie's face;<br> +Seekin' in the garden hedge<br> + For an open place.</p><br> +<br> +<p>"Na," said Jeannie, saftly smilin',<br> + "Nought o' care ken I;<br> +For they say the carlin'<br> + Is better passit by."</p><br> +<br> +<p>"Licht o' hert ye are, Jeannie,<br> + As o' foot and ban'!<br> +Lang be yours sic answer<br> + To ony spierin' man."</p><br> +<br> +<p>"I ken what ye wad hae, sir,<br> + Though yer words are few;<br> +Ye wad hae me aye as careless,<br> + Till I care for you."</p><br> +<br> +<p>"Dinna mock me, Jeannie, lassie,<br> + Wi' yer lauchin' ee;<br> +For ye hae nae notion<br> + What gaes on in me."</p><br> +<br> +<p>"No more I hae a notion<br> + O' what's in yonder cairn;<br> +I'm no sae pryin', Johnnie,<br> + It's none o' my concern."</p><br> +<br> +<p>"Well, there's ae thing, Jeannie,<br> + Ye canna help, my doo—<br> +Ye canna help me carin'<br> + Wi' a' my hert for you."</p><br> +<br> +<p>Johnnie turned and left her,<br> + Listed for the war;<br> +In a year cam' limpin'<br> + Hame wi' mony a scar.</p><br> +<br> +<p>Wha was that was sittin'<br> + Wan and worn wi' care?<br> +Could it be his Jeannie<br> + Aged and alter'd sair?</p><br> +<br> +<p>Her goon was black, her eelids<br> + Reid wi' sorrow's dew:<br> +Could she in a twalmonth<br> + Be wife and widow too?</p><br> +<br> +<p>Jeannie's hert gaed wallop,<br> + Ken 't him whan he spak':<br> +"I thocht that ye was deid, Johnnie:<br> + Is't yersel' come back?"</p><br> +<br> +<p>"O Jeannie, are ye, tell me,<br> + Wife or widow or baith?<br> +To see ye lost as I am,<br> + I wad be verra laith,"</p><br> +<br> +<p>"I canna be a widow<br> + That wife was never nane;<br> +But gin ye will hae me,<br> + Noo I will be ane."</p><br> +<br> +<p>His crutch he flang it frae him,<br> + Forgetful o' war's harms;<br> +But couldna stan' withoot it,<br> + And fell in Jeannie's arms.</p> + + </td></tr> +</table> +</center> + +<br><br> +<p>"That's not a bad ballad," said James Duff. "Have you a tune it would +go to, Elsie?"</p> + +<p>Elsie thought a little, and asked me to repeat the first verse. Then +she sung it out clear and fair to a tune I had never heard before.</p> + +<p>"That will do splendidly, Elsie," I said. "I will write it out for +you, and then you will be able to sing it all the next time I come."</p> + +<p>She made me no answer. She and Turkey were looking at each other, and +did not hear me. James Duff began to talk to me. Elsie was putting +away the supper-things. In a few minutes I missed her and Turkey, and +they were absent for some time. They did not return together, but +first Turkey, and Elsie some minutes after. As the night was now +getting quite stormy, James Duff counselled our return, and we +obeyed. But little either Turkey or I cared for wind or hail.</p> + +<p>I saw Elsie at church most Sundays; but she was far too attentive and +modest ever to give me even a look. Sometimes I had a word with her +when we came out, but my father expected us to walk home with him; and +I generally saw Turkey walk away with her.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="322.jpg (102K)" src="322.jpg" height="652" width="434"> +</center> + + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXXV</p> + +<p>A Break in my Story</p> + +<p> +I am now rapidly approaching the moment at which I said I should bring +this history to an end—the moment, namely, when I became aware that +my boyhood was behind me.</p> + +<p>I left home this summer for the first time, and followed my brother +Tom to the grammar school in the county-town, in order afterwards to +follow him to the University. There was so much of novelty and +expectation in the change, that I did not feel the separation from my +father and the rest of my family much at first. That came afterwards. +For the time, the pleasure of a long ride on the top of the +mail-coach, with a bright sun and a pleasant breeze, the various +incidents connected with changing horses and starting afresh, and then +the outlook for the first peep of the sea, occupied my attention too +thoroughly.</p> + +<p>I do not care to dwell on my experience at the grammar school. I +worked fairly, and got on; but whether I should gain a scholarship +remained doubtful enough. Before the time for the examination arrived, +I went to spend a week at home. It was a great disappointment to me +that I had to return again without seeing Elsie. But it could not be +helped. The only Sunday I had there was a stormy day, late in October, +and Elsie had a bad cold, as Turkey informed me, and could not be out; +while my father had made so many engagements for me, that, with one +thing and another, I was not able to go and see her.</p> + +<p>Turkey was now doing a man's work on the farm, and stood as high as +ever in the estimation of my father and everyone who knew him. He was +as great a favourite with Allister and Davie as with myself, and took +very much the same place with the former as he had taken with me. I +had lost nothing of my regard for him, and he talked to me with the +same familiarity as before, urging me to diligence and thoroughness in +my studies, pressing upon me that no one had ever done lasting work, +"that is," Turkey would say—"work that goes to the making of the +world," without being in earnest as to the <i>what</i> and conscientious as +to the <i>how</i>.</p> + +<p>"I don't want you to try to be a great man," he said once. "You might +succeed, and then find out you had failed altogether."</p> + +<p>"How could that be, Turkey?" I objected. "A body can't succeed and +fail both at once."</p> + +<p>"A body might succeed," he replied, "in doing what he wanted to do, +and then find out that it was not in the least what he had thought +it."</p> + +<p>"What rule are you to follow, then, Turkey?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Just the rule of duty," he replied. "What you ought to do, that you +must do. Then when a choice comes, not involving duty, you know, +choose what you like best."</p> + +<p>This is the substance of what he said. If anyone thinks it pedantic, I +can only say, he would not have thought so if he had heard it as it +was uttered—in the homely forms and sounds of the Scottish tongue.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you fit for something better than farm-work yourself, Turkey?" +I ventured to suggest, foolishly impelled, I suppose, to try whether I +could not give advice too.</p> + +<p>"It's <i>my</i> work," said Turkey, in a decisive tone, which left me no +room for rejoinder.</p> + +<p>This conversation took place in the barn, where Turkey happened to be +thrashing alone that morning. In turning the sheaf, or in laying a +fresh one, there was always a moment's pause in the din, and then only +we talked, so that our conversation was a good deal broken. I had +buried myself in the straw, as in days of old, to keep myself warm, +and there I lay and looked at Turkey while he thrashed, and thought +with myself that his face had grown much more solemn than it used to +be. But when he smiled, which was seldom, all the old merry sweetness +dawned again. This was the last long talk I ever had with him. The +next day I returned for the examination, was happy enough to gain a +small scholarship, and entered on my first winter at college.</p> + +<p>My father wrote to me once a week or so, and occasionally I had a +letter with more ink than matter in it from one of my younger +brothers. Tom was now in Edinburgh, in a lawyer's office. I had no +correspondence with Turkey. Mr. Wilson wrote to me sometimes, and +along with good advice would occasionally send me some verses, but he +told me little or nothing of what was going on.</p> + +<br><br><br><br> + +<p>CHAPTER XXXVI</p> + +<p>I Learn that I am not a Man</p> + +<a name="home"></a> +<br><br> +<center> +<a href="il12.jpg"><img alt="il12h.jpg (61K)" src="il12h.jpg" height="586" width="349"></a> +</center> +<br><br> + +<p> +It was a Saturday morning, very early in April, when I climbed the +mail-coach to return to my home for the summer; for so the university +year is divided in Scotland. The sky was bright, with great fleecy +clouds sailing over it, from which now and then fell a shower in large +drops. The wind was keen, and I had to wrap myself well in my cloak. +But my heart was light, and full of the pleasure of ended and +successful labour, of home-going, and the signs which sun and sky gave +that the summer was at hand.</p> + +<p>Five months had gone by since I last left home, and it had seemed such +an age to Davie, that he burst out crying when he saw me. My father +received me with a certain still tenderness, which seemed to grow upon +him. Kirsty followed Davie's example, and Allister, without saying +much, haunted me like my shadow. I saw nothing of Turkey that evening.</p> + +<p>In the morning we went to church, of course, and I sat beside the +reclining stone warrior, from whose face age had nearly worn the +features away. I gazed at him all the time of the singing of the first +psalm, and there grew upon me a strange solemnity, a sense of the +passing away of earthly things, and a stronger conviction than I had +ever had of the need of something that could not pass. This feeling +lasted all the time of the service, and increased while I lingered in +the church almost alone until my father should come out of the vestry.</p> + +<p>I stood in the passage, leaning against the tomb. A cloud came over +the sun, and the whole church grew dark as a December day—gloomy and +cheerless. I heard for some time, almost without hearing them, two old +women talking together close by me. The pulpit was between them and +me, but when I became thoroughly aware of their presence, I peeped +round and saw them.</p> + +<p>"And when did it happen, said you?" asked one of them, whose head +moved with an incessant capricious motion from palsy.</p> + +<p>"About two o'clock this morning," answered the other, who leaned on a +stick, almost bent double with rheumatism. "I saw their next-door +neighbour this morning, and he had seen Jamie, who goes home of a +Saturday night, you know; but William being a Seceder, nobody's been +to tell the minister, and I'm just waiting to let him know; for she +was a great favourite of his, and he's been to see her often. They're +much to be pitied—poor people! Nobody thought it would come so sudden +like. When I saw her mother last, there was no such notion in her +head."</p> + +<p>Before I could ask of whom they were talking, my father came up the +aisle from the vestry, and stopped to speak to the old women.</p> + +<p>"Elsie Duff's gone, poor thing!" said the rheumatic one.</p> + +<p>I grew stupid. What followed I have forgotten. A sound was in my ears, +and my body seemed to believe it, though my soul could not comprehend +it. When I came to myself I was alone in the church. They had gone +away without seeing me. I was standing beside the monument, leaning on +the carved Crusader. The sun was again shining, and the old church was +full of light. But the sunshine had changed to me, and I felt very +mournful. I should see the sweet face, hear the lovely voice, no more +in this world. I endeavoured to realize the thought, but could not, +and I left the church hardly conscious of anything but a dull sense of +loss.</p> + +<p>I found my father very grave. He spoke tenderly of Elsie; but he did +not know how I had loved her, and I could not make much response. I +think, too, that he said less than he otherwise would, from the fear +of calling back to my mind too vivid a memory of how ill I had once +behaved to her. It was, indeed, my first thought the moment he uttered +her name, but it soon passed, for much had come between.</p> + +<p>In the evening I went up to the farm to look for Turkey, who had not +been at church morning or afternoon. He was the only one I could talk +to about Elsie. I found him in one of the cow-houses, bedding the +cows. His back was towards me when I entered.</p> + +<p>"Turkey," I said.</p> + +<p>He looked round with a slow mechanical motion, as if with a conscious +effort of the will. His face was so white, and wore such a look of +loss, that it almost terrified me like the presence of something +awful. I stood speechless. He looked at me for a moment, and then +came slowly up to me, and laid his hand on my shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Ranald," he said, "we were to have been married next year."</p> + +<p>Before the grief of the man, mighty in its silence, my whole being was +humbled. I knew my love was not so great as his. It grew in my eyes a +pale and feeble thing; and I felt worthless in the presence of her +dead, whom alive I had loved with peaceful gladness. Elsie belonged to +Turkey, and he had lost her, and his heart was breaking. I threw my +arms round him, and wept for him, not for myself. It was thus I ceased +to be a boy.</p> + +<p>Here, therefore, my story ends. Before I returned to the university, +Turkey had enlisted and left the place.</p> + + +<br><br> +<center> +<img alt="331.jpg (98K)" src="331.jpg" height="651" width="443"> +</center> +<br><br> + + +<p>My father's half-prophecy concerning him is now fulfilled. He is a +general. I will not tell his name. For some reason or other he had +taken his mother's, and by that he is well known. I have never seen +him, or heard from him, since he left my father's service; but I am +confident that if ever we meet, it will be as old and true friends. + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RANALD BANNERMAN'S BOYHOOD *** + +This file should be named 8bboy10h.htm or 8bboy10h.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8bboy11h.htm +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8bboy10ah.htm + +Produced by David Widger, Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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