"Farewell, farewell, my native land,
Thy lonely glens and heath-clad mountains."
Scene: The fairy glen once more, and in the background the fairy knoll.
Kenneth and Archie, both looking very sad, are in the foreground by a
new-made grave. Kenneth has been planting a little tree there, only a
young Scotch pine, dug from the moor, a treelet that had grown from a
cone which the rooks had fetched from Alva's gloomy forest. Kenneth has
planted the tree, and the spade has dropped from his fingers and fallen
among the heather.
Archie's dog Shot is standing near. He has been watching all the
proceedings. Watching, and probably wondering. For dogs _do_ think.
But where is Kooran? Kooran is under the sod. His bonnie brown eyes
have closed for ever; his faithful heart will never feel love or
friendship more--it has ceased to beat. Nor cry of wild bird on the
mountain, nor plaintive bleat of lamb, no, nor his master's voice, will
ever move him again.
"I canna but believe," says Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, "that dogs hae
sowls."
There are many more believe with you, dear Hogg.
But about honest Kooran. When dogs get old, you know--and Kooran had
got old before he died--a slight stiffness may be noticed in their gait.
I am positive that they begin to wonder what ails them. Wonder why
they cannot run so fast as they used to, in the good days of yore.
Wonder why they get tired and out of breath so soon. Wonder, too, why
master speaks so low, or why the sheep do not bleat so loudly or the
birds sing so much as they used to. They do not know that this is only
failure in their own powers of hearing. And they wonder also why the
trees and grass and hedgerows have ceased to be so bright and green,
even in spring-time, as once they were; why master's face seems dimmer.
They cannot now stand the cold so well; they seem to want a thicker
coat, but alas! the coat grows thinner. They would fain seek the
shelter of indoors, even curl up on the hearthrug. How seldom do they
get the chance! How often they receive the brutal kick when they most
need comfort!
Then comes the day when they feel the cold no longer.
It had never occurred to Kenneth that some time or other Kooran and he
must part--that Kooran must die. He was ever kind and attentive to this
faithful friend of his; he never forgot him. He might have been excused
if he had, for the scenes at the eviction and the burning of the glen
were awful enough, in all conscience, to have driven everything else out
of the boy's head.
Of all the houses in the glen, that alone of Kenneth's mother had been
spared. Not that she meant to accept the favour thus offered her and
stay on. Both she and Kenneth were far too proud for that. But at the
cottage they lived for a time. And at the cottage Kooran died.
He came wet and weary one evening and threw himself down at his master's
feet.
When Kenneth spoke to him he looked pleadingly up into his face and
shivered. Kenneth had never seen him shiver before. The dog went and
lay before the fire, and his master covered him up with his plaid.
Kooran licked his hands.
Something, he knew not what, awoke the boy long before dawn next day,
and his first thought was of his old favourite.
He peeped out at the little gable window in the garret where he lay. A
pale scimitar moon was declining behind the trees. These looked black
and spectre-like.
Kenneth went gently down the ladder, and lit the oil lamp. The fire was
very low, and he replenished it. Then he gently lifted a corner of the
plaid. The action aroused the dog, and he crawled forth. He seemed to
feel for Kenneth's knee, and on this he laid his head.
Kenneth knew this was death. He put his hand tenderly on the poor dog's
muzzle, for he could not hear him breathe.
The tongue came out to lick the hand. It was a farewell.
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And the boys had rolled the body of poor Kooran in a piece of old tartan
plaid, and, followed by Shot, carried him up to the fairy glen, and
buried him near the fairy knoll. Remember they were only boys.
Then Kenneth sat down and cried. Archie had never before seen such an
exhibition of weakness on the part of his friend, so what could he do
but sit down and keep him company? They were only boys.
Shot looked very sad. He did not know what to make of it all. He
whined impatiently. Then he licked Archie's wet face and touched
Kenneth under the arm with his nose, as some dogs have a way of doing.
"Poor Shot!" said Kenneth. "You too have lost a faithful friend."
Together, after this, they took their way down the hill.
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A short, crisp, and gentlemanly letter came to Kenneth two days after
this. It was from Jessie's father.
"My daughter has spoken much about you," said this epistle, "and quite
induced me to take an interest in your welfare. The situation of
under-ghillie at my Highland shooting-box is vacant. I have much
pleasure in placing it at your disposal. You will be good enough
therefore to enter on your duties on Monday next, etc, etc."
Kenneth's cheek burned like a glowing peat. He tore the letter in
fragments, and threw them in the fire.
"Mother," he cried, "dear mother, it needed but this! I shall leave the
glen. I go to seek our fortune--your fortune, mother, and my own. I
shall return in a few years as wealthy mayhap as the proud Saxon who now
offers me the position of under-ghillie. Mother, it is best I should
go."