Old Jones, the sexton, toiled slowly up to the Rectory one winter
morning. He had a sad tale to tell, and the ground was heavy with snow,
and poor old Jones's heart was full of a great sorrow.
The Rectory lay cosily among the sheltering trees, and gleamed warm and
cheerful beneath the gloomy skies. Mr. Chillingworth, the Rector, was a
good man, and greatly beloved by the people in the parish of Redhall.
Old Jones, as I have said, was the sexton; and he tried his best, with
very small success, to keep all the village boys in awe of him. He
always went, with them, by the name of "old red Johnnie," for he wore a
red woollen comforter through winter's cold and summer's heat.
He had a champion in one boy, however, called Toddie Banks; for you see
poor Toddie was an orphan, and old Jones had been very kind to him when
he was just a wee toddling laddie, had taken him to his own home, and
treated him like a son, for the old man had neither kith nor kin, wife
nor child, so Toddie was all of them put together to him.
And now Toddie had been missing for a whole day and night, and Jones had
no doubt he had fallen over a precipice, or been lost in some deep
snowdrift, for, you must know, Toddie was a bit of a naturalist, and
used to take long walks in search of any curiosities he might find.
The poor old man had never been in his bed the whole of the previous
night, but had been searching everywhere, helped by some kindly
neighbors.
When Mr. Chillingworth understood the whole story, he at once
volunteered to go in search of Toddie, accompanied by his splendid
Newfoundland dog, Neptune.
"Cheer up, Jones," he said in his kindly way. "Neptune and I will do our
best, with the blessing of God, to find your darling. Go home now, and
have everything prepared, in case we find him overcome in the snow."
Neptune was perfectly aware that he and his master were to find Toddie,
so he bounded on gayly before Mr. Chillingworth. They had not proceeded
many yards before Neptune suddenly stopped, and, listening intently,
galloped furiously in the direction of a stream that in summer time was
a favorite haunt of Toddie's. On reaching the water he stood still, and,
uttering a long, sorrowful howl, remained, evidently waiting for his
master.
Mr. Chillingworth hastened up; and there was Toddie, lying to all
appearance quite dead. In scrambling up the river bank he had been
apparently overcome by the deadly cold and sleep from which few ever
waken to life again. He had a bunch of scarlet berries in his hand, and
it was pathetic to see the cold stiff fingers still clutching their
treasure. Being so near the Rectory, Mr. Chillingworth just lifted the
lad and bore him rapidly to his house. What was his joy, after half an
hour's untiring effort to revive him, to see Toddie slowly open his
eyes, and, by the time old Jones and his neighbors reached the Rectory,
Toddie was able to sit up and relate his experiences. It was as the
Rector thought; in reaching after the berries he fell, and remembered
nothing afterwards. Poor old Jones and Toddie were heroes ever after
that, and I am glad to say the village boys ceased to call him "old red
Johnnie."
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