“Fond dreaming hearts!--an old man and a child!”
“MISS LETTIE, the auld man’s ta’en an ill turn. He cries for you to
gang and tell him how the maister is--will ye gang to the loft and
speak to the auld man, Miss Lettie?”
Violet left her place at Harry’s door, and went.
Old Adam lay upon his bed in his ordinary dress, with his long, brown
lean fingers lying crossed upon the homely cover, as if they were
clutching it--but in reality they grasped nothing. A feeble tremble
was in his frame as he lay vacantly looking up to the rafters above
him; and his ashy face, though it was indeed scarcely paler than usual,
struck Violet with terror, as if it had been the very face of death.
“Oh Dragon, my Harry!” cried poor little Lettie.
“They tell me the horse had thrown him, and dragged him alang the road
wi’ ae fit aye the stirrup--was that true, Missie? and I aye kent mysel
it was a thrawart beast, and no to be depended on,” said Dragon. “I’ve
been lying here thinking on the puir lad, this haill morning; and I was
just putting it ower in my mind if it wadna be best to crave the Lord
to take _me_, and spare the young life; but I never can win that length
though I try--for I aye mind I’m a harmless auld body, doing ill to nae
man, and what for should I ask to die?”
“Would God do that, Dragon? Would God take somebody else, and leave
Harry? Oh! will ye ask Him to take me?” cried Harry’s little sister,
“for he’s very ill, and Martha thinks he will die. Dragon, if God would
take you and me, and save Harry, would you no come? and God would
aye let us see the sun shining on the water, and a’ body blythe in
Allenders--Dragon, if we were in heaven!”
And Violet’s passionate cry, and voice choked with sobbing, again
awoke the old man’s torpid heart. He raised himself from his bed
feebly, and leaning on his elbow, looked at the little figure kneeling
by his bed-side, with its clasped hands, and gleaming eyes,--and Adam
Comrie slowly shook his head.
“Missie, I’m auld--I whiles forget things I ken weel, and speak as if
I was a bairn mysel; but ae life canna redeem anither, little bairn.
Na, na, I wad gang wi’ ye blythe, puir wee innocent heart, to take care
of ye--if God didna send an angel to take care of us baith--” said the
old man, with a momentary wandering, “but there never was but Ane, that
could redeem lives out of God’s hand with His ain. We’re a’ forfeit
ourselves, bairnie; if my life was mine, and your’s your ain, we might
offer them for Mr. Hairy; but God has your bit heartie in His hand,
as well as mine, and will lay them quiet when it is His pleasure, and
no a day before. There _was_ Ane that had His life free to lay down,
and free to take up--and there was but Ane. I’ve had glimmerings o’
Him mysel,” continued Dragon, fixing his unsteady eyes on the roof,
and wandering from the first subject into the more immediate personal
interest which his own words recalled to him, “glimmerings like blinks
of the sun out of clouds; but if I whiles lose mind of the Lord--for
I’m auld and feeble, and sae lang in this world, that it’s ill to
believe I have to gang away--if _I_ whiles lose mind, that am but a
puir useless creature, is that to say that He loses mind o’ me?--as
if _He_ didna ken what was the guid reason, wherefore, I wasna taken
hence in my strength, but left to wear out my days like a sleep, and
to forget! Ane might think the like o’ me, sae aged and frail, had
been forgotten out of the course of nature, and left because He didna
mind--but never you trow that, bairnie--I ken He minds, and when it’s
my time, He’ll send for me, as thoughtful as if I was the grandest man
on this earth. What’s about _my_ memory, though it whiles can carry
naething but bairnly things? Is that to rule His, think ye, that grows
not auld for ever? And I ken He never forgets.”
Absorbed and full of awe, Violet followed unconsciously the
half-palsied wave of the old man’s head and figure as he spoke, and
watched the unusual gleam which shot from the eyes, which he in vain
tried to fix on the rafter. Poor, dim unsteady eyes! they glanced about
in every direction, as if they possessed some distinct energy and will
of their own.
But when Adam sank back on his pillow, Lettie shivered and thought she
had forgotten Harry--poor Harry! She could still hear his moan in her
ears.
“Oh, my Harry, my Harry! Dragon, do ye think God will take him
up--up--yonder beside Him?” and Lettie turned her eyes full of dark
wistful reverence and fear upon the old man’s face.
“Wad God take you, and me, think ye, to save him?” said Dragon, now
wandering back into a mild half-delirious waking sleep, “but then we’re
forfeit--forfeit--and there was but Ane. I’m content to gang, bairnie,
content to gang--where’s your hand? and I dinna ken how we maun travel,
but the angel will tell us when he comes; and I’ll take care o’ ye a’
the way, for we’re no to expect the angel, that’s a stranger, to take
heed to a’ a little bairn’s wants like the like of me. Ye can say we’re
ready. Ye can say I’ve got the better o’ mysel, and I’m willing to
gang.”
But Lettie, excited and terrified, dared not say aloud the strange
prayer, “Take Dragon and me, and save Harry,” which was in her heart.
And Dragon’s feeble hand tightened on hers, till Lettie looking up in
fright and sudden fear, saw that his head had fallen back, and that
an ashy paleness like that of his face was creeping over the rigid
fingers which grasped her own. But Dragon’s loud and heavy breathing
showed her that this was not death. Lettie withdrew her hand with pain
and difficulty from his grasp, and ran to call assistance. She pressed
her finger on her own pulse, as she followed Mysie and the doctor back
again to the old man’s bedside, and a strange cold thrill of fear and
expectation shot through her frame. Poor little visionary Lettie! She
thought her prayer was heard--she thought the angel had called Dragon,
and it became her to be ready now.
But Lettie’s shivering hope was vain. A slight, almost momentary,
“shock” had come upon the old man, but it passed away. It passed
away--nature began to warm again in the withered worn-out frame, and
Lettie’s pulse beat true and steady, with a young life whose delicate
strength should yet bear many things--while hour by hour the tide of
strong manhood ebbed, and Harry, poor Harry! drew nearer to his grave.