One winter's night when the evening had shut in very early, owing to the
black snow clouds that hung close around the horizon, Martha sat looking
into the fire. Her old sheep dog, Fly, lay at her feet. The cows were
foddered for the night, and the sheep were penned up in the yard. Fly
was a faithful dog, and for some reason, this evening, he was very
restless. Why he pricked up his ears, and went snuffing to the door, and
pacing about the room, was more than Martha could tell.
"Lie down, Fly,--good dog--lie down," she said; but Fly would not mind
her, which was an unusual thing. She was certain something was the
matter, and she felt she must go up to the fell; and with the foresight
common to the Dale's people, who knew what mountain storms are, she took
under her cloak a small vial of gin, which was kept in case of any
accident, and set out with the dog Fly. The snow fell fast, the wind
blew, and the drifts lay thick. She had great confidence in Fly, that if
any thing was the matter he would find it out. He ran straight up the
little steep path which led through the woods. On she followed, her
cloak white with snow, until she came into the more open ground, where
she lost sight of Fly, and for a time stood bewildered, until he should
return and guide her. The birds and beasts had gone to rest, and the
stillness of the moors was awful. It was night, and dark. Suddenly she
heard a child's feeble voice, and in an instant she pressed on towards
the spot from which the sound came; soon she heard Fly's loud howl for
aid. At last she reached the spot, and found a little boy half asleep, a
kind of drowsiness which precedes death. He could not speak; he could
only moan. She moistened his lips with the gin, and poured a little down
his throat. She then raised him up and carried him a short distance down
the hill; then she stopped to rest awhile; and then she got as far as
the woods, where the winds were not so cold. Again she gave him a few
drops from her vial, and now he was able to walk a few steps; then
Martha put up a fervent prayer to God for assistance, as she dragged the
lost boy to her cottage. She now laid him down to the warm fire, while
Fly snuffed around him in great joy. She took off his wet clothes, and
wrapped him in her woollen cloak. He soon recovered and was able to tell
his story.
His father had sent him up to the fells for a sheep that was missing.
The dog left him, and night and snow came on, and he got lost on the
fells. The family had lately come to live near Rydal, and the lad did
not know all the landmarks. Martha took the best of care of the boy till
the morning, when his mother came, with a grateful heart towards God for
the means which had guided Martha to her lost boy.