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diff --git a/old/9301-h.htm.2021-01-26 b/old/9301-h.htm.2021-01-26 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f0bcefb --- /dev/null +++ b/old/9301-h.htm.2021-01-26 @@ -0,0 +1,9633 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <title> + RANALD BANNERMAN'S BOYHOOD + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <h2> + Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood, by George MacDonald + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood, by George MacDonald + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood + +Author: George MacDonald + +Release Date: August 15, 2004 [EBook #9301] +Last Updated: October 9, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RANALD BANNERMAN'S BOYHOOD *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders. +Illustrated HTML by David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <h1> + RANALD BANNERMAN’S BOYHOOD + </h1> + <h3> + By + </h3> + <h2> + George MacDonald + </h2> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h3> + 1871 + </h3> + <p> + <a name="linkbilberry" id="linkbilberry"></a> <br /><br /> <a + href="images/il01.jpg"></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="il01h.jpg (67K)" src="images/il01h.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link1">I. INTRODUCTORY</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link2">II. THE GLIMMER OF TWILIGHT</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link3">III. MY FATHER</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link4">IV. KIRSTY</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link5">V. I BEGIN LIFE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link6">VI. NO FATHER</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link7">VII. MRS. MITCHELL IS DEFEATED</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link8">VIII. A NEW SCHOOLMISTRESS</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link9">IX. WE LEARN OTHER THINGS</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link10">X. SIR WORM WYMBLE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link11">XI. THE KELPIE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link12">XII. ANOTHER KELPIE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link13">XIII. WANDERING WILLIE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link14">XIV. ELSIE DUFF</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link15">XV. A NEW COMPANION</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link16">XVI. I GO DOWN HILL</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link17">XVII. THE TROUBLE GROWS</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link18">XVIII. LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link19">XIX. FORGIVENESS</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link20">XX. I HAVE A FALL AND A DREAM</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link21">XXI. THE BEES’ NEST</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link22">XXII. VAIN INTERCESSION</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link23">XXIII. KNIGHT-ERRANTRY</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link24">XXIV. FAILURE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link25">XXV. TURKEY PLOTS</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link26">XXVI. OLD JOHN JAMIESON</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link27">XXVII. TURKEY’S TRICK</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link28">XXVIII. I SCHEME TOO</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link29">XXIX. A DOUBLE EXPOSURE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link30">XXX. TRIBULATION</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link31">XXXI. A WINTER’S RIDE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link32">XXXII. THE PEAT-STACK</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link33">XXXIII. A SOLITARY CHAPTER</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link34">XXXIV. AN EVENING VISIT</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link35">XXXV. A BREAK IN MY STORY</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#link36">XXXVI. I LEARN THAT I AM NOT A MAN</a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>COLOURED PLATES</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> A click on any coloured plate will enlarge it to full-size.<br /> + <br /> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#linkbilberry">THE BILBERRY PICKERS</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#linkbaby">THE BABY BROTHER</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#linkdavie">THE DRESSING OF LITTLE DAVIE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#linkescape">MY ESCAPE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#linkturkey">TURKEY LIGHTS A FIRE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#linknight">I GO INTO THE FIELDS</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#linksnow">MAKING THE SNOWBALL</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#linkelsie">READING TO ELSIE AND TURKEY</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#linkstill">A SUDDEN STOP</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#linkhelping">HELPING ELSIE</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#linkreading">A READING LESSON</a> + </p> + <p> + <a href="#linkhome">I RETURN HOME</a> + </p> + <p> + <i>Coloured Illustrations by A.V. Wheelhouse:<br /> Black-and-White + Illustrations by Arthur Hughes</i>. + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /><br /> <a name="link1" id="link1"></a> <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <h3> + Introductory + </h3> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="006.jpg (91K)" src="images/006.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link2" id="link2"></a> <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <h3> + The Glimmer of Twilight + </h3> + <p> + CHAPTER II + </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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="011.jpg (98K)" src="images/011.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <a name="linkbaby" id="linkbaby"></a> <br /><br /> <a href="images/il02.jpg"></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="il02h.jpg (68K)" src="images/il02h.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link3" id="link3"></a> <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <h3> + My Father + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="020.jpg (111K)" src="images/020.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <a name="link4" id="link4"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <h3> + Kirsty + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <a name="linkdavie" id="linkdavie"></a> <br /><br /> <a + href="images/il03.jpg"></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="il03h.jpg (64K)" src="images/il03h.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /> <a name="link5" id="link5"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <h3> + I Begin Life + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <a name="linkescape" id="linkescape"></a> <br /><br /> <a + href="images/il04.jpg"></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="il04h.jpg (64K)" src="images/il04h.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link6" id="link6"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <h3> + No Father + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <a name="linknight" id="linknight"></a> <br /><br /> <a + href="images/il06.jpg"></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="il06h.jpg (58K)" src="images/il06h.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link7" id="link7"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <h3> + Mrs. Mitchell is Defeated + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="050.jpg (92K)" src="images/050.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link8" id="link8"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <h3> + A New Schoolmistress + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <a name="linkreading" id="linkreading"></a> <br /><br /> <a + href="images/il11.jpg"></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="il11h.jpg (66K)" src="images/il11h.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link9" id="link9"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <h3> + We Learn Other Things + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <a name="linkturkey" id="linkturkey"></a> <br /><br /> <a + href="images/il05.jpg"></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="il05h.jpg (55K)" src="images/il05h.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="066.jpg (104K)" src="images/066.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <p> + In my next chapter I will give a specimen of her stories, choosing one + which bears a little upon an after adventure. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link10" id="link10"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <h3> + Sir Worm Wymble + </h3> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="068.jpg (98K)" src="images/068.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="073.jpg (107K)" src="images/073.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="080.jpg (115K)" src="images/080.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link11" id="link11"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <h3> + The Kelpie + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link12" id="link12"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <h3> + Another Kelpie + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link13" id="link13"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <h3> + Wandering Willie + </h3> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="097.jpg (90K)" src="images/097.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="106.jpg (108K)" src="images/106.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link14" id="link14"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <h3> + Elsie Duff + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="122.jpg (115K)" src="images/122.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link15" id="link15"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <h3> + A New Companion + </h3> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="125.jpg (96K)" src="images/125.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link16" id="link16"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <h3> + I Go Down Hill + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <a name="linksnow" id="linksnow"></a> <br /><br /> <a href="images/il07.jpg"></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="il07h.jpg (48K)" src="images/il07h.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="137.jpg (76K)" src="images/137.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link17" id="link17"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <h3> + The Trouble Grows + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link18" id="link18"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <h3> + Light out of Darkness + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="151.jpg (76K)" src="images/151.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link19" id="link19"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <h3> + Forgiveness + </h3> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="157.jpg (88K)" src="images/157.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="165.jpg (80K)" src="images/165.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link20" id="link20"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <h3> + I Have a Fall and a Dream + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="172.jpg (110K)" src="images/172.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <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> + <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> + <p> + <a name="linkelsie" id="linkelsie"></a> <br /><br /> <a + href="images/il08.jpg"></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="il08h.jpg (56K)" src="images/il08h.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link21" id="link21"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI + </h2> + <h3> + The Bees’ Nest + </h3> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="180.jpg (87K)" src="images/180.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="188.jpg (110K)" src="images/188.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link22" id="link22"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII + </h2> + <h3> + Vain Intercession + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link23" id="link23"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII + </h2> + <h3> + Knight-Errantry + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <a name="linkstill" id="linkstill"></a> <br /><br /> <a + href="images/il09.jpg"></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="il09h.jpg (56K)" src="images/il09h.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link24" id="link24"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV + </h2> + <h3> + Failure + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="212.jpg (115K)" src="images/212.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link25" id="link25"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV + </h2> + <h3> + Turkey Plots + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="220.jpg (120K)" src="images/220.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link26" id="link26"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI + </h2> + <h3> + Old John Jamieson + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link27" id="link27"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII + </h2> + <h3> + Turkey’s Trick + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link28" id="link28"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII + </h2> + <h3> + I Scheme Too + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="244.jpg (106K)" src="images/244.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link29" id="link29"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX + </h2> + <h3> + A Double Exposure + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link30" id="link30"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX + </h2> + <h3> + Tribulation + </h3> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="253.jpg (105K)" src="images/253.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="265.jpg (95K)" src="images/265.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <a name="linkhelping" id="linkhelping"></a> <br /><br /> <a + href="images/il10.jpg"></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="il10h.jpg (64K)" src="images/il10h.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <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> + <p> + [Footnote 1: Appear.] + </p> + <p> + [Footnote 2: Everyday clothes.] + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link31" id="link31"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXI + </h2> + <h3> + A Winter’s Ride + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="276.jpg (99K)" src="images/276.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link32" id="link32"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXII + </h2> + <h3> + The Peat-Stack + </h3> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="281.jpg (95K)" src="images/281.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="284.jpg (118K)" src="images/284.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link33" id="link33"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIII + </h2> + <h3> + A Solitary Chapter + </h3> + <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> + <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 /> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="308.jpg (122K)" src="images/308.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <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> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="313.jpg (87K)" src="images/313.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link34" id="link34"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXIV + </h2> + <h3> + An Evening Visit + </h3> + <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> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="322.jpg (102K)" src="images/322.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link35" id="link35"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXV + </h2> + <h3> + A Break in my Story + </h3> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> <a name="link36" id="link36"></a><br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXXVI + </h2> + <h3> + I Learn that I am not a Man + </h3> + <p> + <a name="linkhome" id="linkhome"></a> <br /><br /> <a href="images/il12.jpg"></a> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="il12h.jpg (61K)" src="images/il12h.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> + <img alt="331.jpg (98K)" src="images/331.jpg" width="100%" /><br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <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. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Ranald Bannerman’s Boyhood, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RANALD BANNERMAN’S BOYHOOD *** + +***** This file should be named 9301-h.htm or 9301-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/3/0/9301/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram and PG Distributed Proofreaders. +Illustrated HTML by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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