In the morning, it appeared that it had been right to remove to the
Red-hill the night before. Only some fragments of the roof of the house
remained. Some beams and a quantity of rubbish had fallen into the room
where the party had lived since the flood came; and a heap of this
rubbish lay on the very spot where Mildred would have been sleeping if
they had stayed. All saw and considered this with awe. Roger himself
looked first at the little girl, and then at that part of the ruin, as
if imagining what it would have been for her to be lying there, and
wondering to see her standing here, alive and unhurt.
"Look how that wall stands out;" said Oliver. "The faster the house
falls, the more haste we must make to save what we can."
"Oh! Cannot you stay quietly to-day?" asked Mildred. "I think we have
got all we really want; and this bustle and hurry and hard work every
day are so tiresome! Cannot we keep still and rest to-day?"
"To-morrow, dear," replied her brother. "To-morrow is Sunday! And we
will try to rest. But there is no knowing how long we may have to live
in this place, in the middle of the waters; and it is my duty to save
everything I can that can make George and you and the rest of us
comfortable when the colder weather comes on."
"I wonder what all the world is about, that nobody comes to see after
us," said Mildred, sighing.
"Out of sight, out of mind, Mildred," said Ailwin. "That is the way,
all the world over."
"I am sure it is not," said Oliver. "Mildred and I say as little as we
can about father and mother, but don't you imagine such a thing as that
they are out of our minds. I know Mildred never shuts her eyes, but she
sees the mill floating away, as it did that evening, and father
standing..."
He could not go on about that. Presently he said, "When the flood came,
I suppose, there were no boats to be had. It would take the first day
to bring them from a distance, and get them afloat. Then the people
would look round (as they ought to do) to see where they could do most
good. Nobody who looked through a glass this way, since the day before
yesterday, and saw those rafters sticking up in the air,--the house in
ruins as it is,--would suppose that any one could be left alive here.
From a distance, they can hardly fancy that even any little mouse could
help being either drowned or starved. This will be about the last spot
in the Levels that any boat will come to.--You see, Mildred, our
Red-hill, though it is everything to us, is but a speck compared with
the grounds that have stood above water since the waters began to sink.
We had better not think of anything but living on as we can, unless it
should please God that we should die."
Roger did not want to hear anything more of this kind; so he went to
where George was lying, and began to whistle softly to him. The child
was so altered that his own mother would hardly have known him: but he
smiled when he heard the whistle; and the smile was his own. He put up
his hand and patted Roger's face, and even pulled his hair with a good
stout pull. Roger had been used to nurse his dog, though not little
children. He now took George into his arms, and laid him comfortably
across his knees, while he whistled till the little fellow looked full
in his face, and puckered up his poor white lips, as if he would whistle
too. This made Roger laugh aloud; and then George laughed. Ailwin
heard them, and peeped into the corner of the tent where they were. She
flew to Oliver, to tell him that Roger was at his tricks worse than
ever,--he was bewitching the baby. She was angry at Oliver for telling
his sister, when he had looked in too, that they might have been very
glad any of them, to bewitch poor baby in this manner, when he was
crying so sadly all yesterday. Mildred, for her part, ran to thank
Roger, and say how glad she should be to be able to whistle as he could.
"How should you?" said Roger,--"you who never had a dog, or caught any
sort of a bird in your life, I dare say."
"No, I never could. One day, long ago, when mother was very busy, and I
was tired of playing, she gave me some salt into my hand, and told me I
might put it upon the birds' tails in the garden, and so catch them: but
I did not get one. At last, half the salt was spilt, and the other half
was melted in my hand; and then dinner was ready. I suppose that was a
joke of mother's."
"She wanted you out of the way; and what a fool you must have been not
to find that out! Why, the birds could not have been sillier, if they
had let you put the salt upon their tails."
"It was a long while ago," pleaded Mildred. "Here, take him," said
Roger, popping George into her arms. "Show him how to catch birds if
you like. I can't spend my time any longer here."
"How he cries after you!" exclaimed Mildred. It was the first time
Roger had ever known anybody to be sorry for his going away. The child
was certainly crying after him. He half turned back, but turned again,
saying--
"Can't you tell him I will come again by-and-by? I must be off now."
The truth was, Roger had never forgotten the chest--the oaken chest
which looked so tempting when he saw it floating down, and Oliver would
not stop to catch it,--the stout chest which he knew to be now safe and
sound somewhere about the house, unless harm had happened to it during
the night. Oliver agreed that it was of importance to bring this chest
on shore: and the boys lost no time in doing it. Mildred came out with
George to watch their proceedings, and found that Oliver had already
made one trip, and brought over some articles of use and value. He came
up to his sister, with something which he held carefully covered up in
both hands. He said gravely--
"Here, dear, put this in some safe place,--where no one will know of it
but you and me."
"A watch!--mother's watch!"
"I found it, with several things in her cupboard, thrown down by the
wall breaking."
"It does not seem to be hurt," observed Mildred. "And how often you
have wished for a watch!"
"I think I shall never wish for anything again," said Oliver. Mildred
saw his face as he turned away, and began to consider where she could
put the watch, so that it might be safe, and that Roger might not see
it, nor Oliver be reminded of it.
Ailwin and Roger were meantime disputing about which should have the
raft first,--Roger wanting to secure the chest, and Ailwin insisting
that it was high time the cow was milked. Oliver said he was master
here in his father's absence, and he would have no quarrels. All three
should go on the raft. Roger should be landed at the staircase, where
he could be collecting what he wanted to bring over, while Oliver
proceeded to set Ailwin ashore beside the cow. By working to the number
of three, in harmony, far more would be gained than by using up strength
in fighting and disputing. He did not care how many times he crossed
the water this day, if those whom he rowed would but keep the peace. He
would willingly be their servant in rowing, though he chose to be their
master in deciding.
Ailwin stared at Oliver. It had struck her, and Mildred too, that
Oliver seemed to have grown many years older since the flood came. He
was no taller, and no stronger;--indeed he seemed to-day to be growing
weaker with fatigue; but he was not the timid boy he had always appeared
before. He spoke like a man; and there was the spirit of a man in his
eyes. It was not a singular instance. There have been other cases in
which a timid boy has been made a man of, on a sudden, by having to
protect, from danger or in sorrow, some weaker than himself. Roger felt
something of the truth; and this had as much to do with making him quiet
and tractable to-day as his interest about George, or his liking to live
in a tent with companions, rather than in the open air and alone.
Ailwin was but a short time gone. She came up the bank to Mildred,
swinging her empty milk-pail, and sobbing, as if from the bottom of her
heart. Mildred did not think she had ever seen Ailwin cry so before;
and she could imagine nothing now but that Oliver was lost. She turned
so giddy in a moment that she could not see Ailwin, and so sick that she
could not speak to her.
"So you have heard, Mildred,--you have heard, I see by your being so
white. Oliver says she has been dead ever so many hours. I say, if we
had gone the first thing, instead of staring and poking about yon
tumble-down house, we might have saved her. I shall never milk her
again,--not a drop!--nor any other either, so far as I see; for there is
no saying that we shall ever get away. Here I have not a drop of milk
to give you, my dear, though you are as white as the wall."
"Never mind," gasped Mildred, "if it is only the cow. I thought it had
been Oliver."
"Oliver! Bless your heart! There he is as busy about the house and
things, as if nothing had happened; and just as provoking as you for
caring nothing about the poor cow. There she lies, poor soul! Dead and
cold, half in the water, and half out. She was worth you two put
together, for some things,--I can tell you that."
"Indeed I am very sorry," said Mildred; and as she saw George pulling
about the empty can, she melted into tears, which would come faster and
faster till Oliver again stood by her side. She tried to tell him what
she had been afraid of, and how she thought she should not have cried
but for that;--or, at least, not so much; but she really could not
explain what she felt, her sobs came so thick.
"I do not know exactly what you mean, dear," said Oliver; "but I
understand that you must be crying about the cow. I am very sorry,--
very. I had rather have lost anything we have left than the cow, now
George is so ill."--Here he bit his lip, and looked away from George,
lest he should cry like his sister. He went on, however, talking rather
quickly at first, but becoming more composed as he proceeded. He said,
"I have been thinking that it will never do for us who may be near
losing everything we have, and our lives, after all, to grieve over each
separate loss as it happens. When you said your prayers the first night
of the flood..."
"How long ago that does seem!" exclaimed Mildred.
"It does, indeed!" replied Oliver, glad to hear her say something
distinctly. "When we said our prayers that night, and whenever we have
said them since, we begged that we might be able to bear dying in this
flood,--to bear whatever it pleased God to do. Now, our right way is to
make up our minds at once to everything, and just in the way it pleases
God. Let us try to bear it cheerfully, whether we lose the cow or
anything else first; or whether we all die together. That is the way,
Mildred!--And if you and I should not die together, that must be the way
too."
"I hope we shall though."
"I think it is very likely; and that before long. And then how useless
it will have been to be unhappy about anything we can lose here! People
who may be so near to death need not be anxious about this and that,
like those who seem to have long to live. So come, dear, and see this
chest; and help us to settle what should be done with it."
There was nothing about the outside of the chest to show whose it might
be. Everybody agreed that it ought to be opened immediately, lest all
that it contained should be spoiled by the wet. But how to open it was
the question; for it had a very stout lock, and strong hinges. After
many attempts, it was found that nothing short of proper tools would
answer the purpose: and Oliver went to see if his could be reached.
Through piles of rubbish, and a puddle of slimy water, he got to the
spot where he had left them,--hidden behind straw, that the Redfurns
might not discover and spoil them. The straw was washed away, and his
beautiful lump of alabaster reduced to slime; but his tools were
there,--in no very bright condition, but safe. He hastened away from
the spot; for thoughts crowded upon his mind of the day when he had last
used these tools, and the way of life in which he and Mildred had been
so happy, and which seemed now to be over for ever. He thought of the
beautiful stone carvings over the doorway, and of what Pastor Dendel had
said to him about them. They had fallen; and who knew what had become
of kind Pastor Dendel? The garden, with all its fresh green and gay
blossoms, was now a muddy stream; rank smells and thick mists now came
up from what had been meadows and corn-fields; and his father, whose
manly voice had been daily heard singing from the mill, where was he?
It would not do to stay thinking of these things; so Oliver hastened
back with his tools, and with the heavy kitchen hammer, which he also
found.
None of these would open the chest. The party managed it at last by
heating a large nail, which they drew out from a shattered door-post,
and burning holes in the wood of the chest, close by the nails which
fastened the hinges, so as to loosen them, and make them drop out. The
lid being raised, a great variety of articles was found within, so
nicely packed that the wet had penetrated but a very little way.
Mildred had looked on thoughtfully; and she saw that Oliver paused when
the contents lay open to view. She looked in her brother's face, and
said--
"I wonder who this chest belonged to?"
"I was just thinking so," observed Oliver.
"Never mind that," said Ailwin. "We may know, some day or other, or we
may not. Meantime, it is ours. Come, make haste, and see what there is
to wrap up poor baby in, on cold nights."
"We will look for something of that sort,--I am sure we might use such a
thing as that," said Oliver: "but..."
"But," said Mildred, "I don't think these other things are ours, any
more than they ever were. Nobody ever gave them to us. They have
belonged to somebody else;--to somebody that may be wondering at this
moment where they are."
"Nonsense, Mildred!" exclaimed Ailwin. "Who gave you the harness that
braces the raft, or the meal you have been living on these two days, I
wonder: and how do you know but somebody is hungry, and longing for it,
at this minute?"
"I wish they had it, then," replied Mildred. "But, Oliver, were we
wrong to use the meal? I never thought of that."
"Nor I: but I think we were right enough there. The meal would all have
been spoiled presently; and meal (and the harness too) is a sort of
thing that we can pay for, or make up for in some way, if ever we can
meet with the people who lost that chest."
"And George, and all of us, might have starved without it."
"Yes: we must take what we want to eat, when it comes in our way, and
there is nobody to ask leave of: and, if ever we get out of this place,
we can inquire who lost a meal-chest or set of harness, and offer to pay
for what we took. But I do think it is different with these things."
"So do I," said Mildred. "Those table-cloths, and that embroidered
cap,--somebody has taken pains to make them, and might not like to sell
them. And look! Look at Roger! He has pulled out a great heavy bag of
money."
"Now, Roger, put that bag where you found it," said Oliver. "It is none
of yours."
"How do I know that I shall find it again, the next time I look?"
replied Roger, walking off with the bag.
Mildred was afraid of Oliver's following him, and of another quarrel
happening. She put her arm within her brother's, and he could easily
guess why.
"Don't be afraid, dear," he said. "If Roger chooses to do a dishonest
thing, it is his own affair. We have warned him; and that is all we
have to do with it. We must be honest ourselves,--that is all."
"Then I think we had better not look any further into the chest," said
Mildred; "only just to find something warm to wrap Geordie in. The
clothes look so nice--we might fancy we wanted things that we can very
well do without."
"I am not much afraid of that," replied her brother: "and it would be a
pity the things should spoil with the damp. They would be dry in an
hour in this warm sun; and we could pack them away again before night."
"Roger will never let you do that," declared Ailwin. "Not a rag will he
leave to anybody that you don't stow away while he is out of sight.
Never did I see such perverse children as you, and so thankless for
God's gifts. I should be ashamed to be no more grateful than you for
what He puts into your very hands."
Mildred looked at her brother now with a different face. She was
perplexed and alarmed; but she saw that Oliver was not.
"Roger cannot carry off anything," he replied. "He may bury and hide
what he pleases; but they will all be somewhere about the Red-hill; and
we can tell anybody who comes to fetch us off whatever we know about the
goods."
"Nobody will ever come and fetch us off," said Ailwin, beginning to cry.
"The people at a distance don't care a straw what becomes of us; and
you children here at hand are so perverse and troublesome, I don't know
how to bear my life between you."
"If nobody comes to save us," said Oliver, calmly, "I do not see what
good this money and these fine clothes will do to Roger and you."
"Roger and me! Pray what do you mean by that?"
"I mean that you and he are for taking these things that do not belong
to us; and Mildred and I are against it. Only tell me this one thing,
Ailwin. Do you believe that your cloak and stockings were sent in Nan
Redfurn's way, that she might take them? And do you think it would have
been perverse in her not to run away with them?"
"Now, Oliver, what nonsense you talk! As if I wanted a rag of these
things for my own wear! As if I would touch a penny that was not
honestly got!"
"So I always thought before; and so I shall think now, if you will help
Mildred to dry whatever is damp, and then pack all away safely--all but
such things as may do poor Geordie good."
Roger was not long in finding a hole in a tree where he could hide his
bag of money. He cut a small cross in the bark by which he might know
the tree again, and hastened back, to see what else he could secure. He
found plenty of pretty things hanging on the bushes, and did not wait
for their being quite dry to dress himself as he had never been dressed
before. With the embroidered cap above mentioned on his head, a scarlet
waistcoat, worked with silver thread, hanging loose about his body, and
a light blue coat, whose skirts reached his heels, he looked so little
like the dirty ragged Roger, that Geordie shrank back from him, at first
sight, and did not smile till he heard the soft whistle again. After
that, he seemed more pleased with the finery than all the rest of the
party together. Ailwin glanced scornfully upon it, as if she had
disapproved from the beginning its being touched; and Oliver and Mildred
looked grave.
So very much pleased was Geordie with the gay waistcoat, that Roger took
him into his arms, that he might be able to stroke it, and play with the
silver flowers. It was little fatigue, now, except to the spirits, to
nurse poor George. He was shrunk to skin and bone, and so light as to
startle those who had been accustomed to lift him. It was grievous,
however, to look at the ghastly stretched features, the flabby tremulous
little arms, and the suffering expression of countenance. To hear his
feeble cry was worse still. Oliver was really glad to take Mildred away
from seeing and hearing him, as long as the child would be quiet with
Roger: so he asked her to filter more water through the gravel. He
begged her to get ready a great deal--enough for them all to drink, and
to bathe George in; for the water about them was becoming of a worse
quality every day. It was unsafe even to live near; and much more to
drink. So he scraped up a quantity of clean dry gravel from the ledges
of the precipice where the first flood had thrown it, and helped Mildred
to press this gravel down in the worn old basket. This basket they set
across the tub, which they first thoroughly cleaned. Mildred poured
water upon the gravel by degrees; and it was astonishing how much purer
and better it came out of the tub than it went into the basket. When
the tub was full, Ailwin heated some of the water presently over her
large fire, and made a warm bath for the child.
Roger was unwilling to give him up when the bath was ready, so new and
so pleasant did he find it to be liked and loved by anybody--to have
power over any one, so much more easy and delightful to exercise than
that of force. But, not only was the bath ready, and must not be left
to cool, but Oliver beckoned him away on some very particular business.
This business was indeed pressing. All the party had complained that
the bad smells about the Red-hill became really oppressive. They did
not know how great was the danger of their all falling ill of fever, in
consequence; but every one of them felt languid and uncomfortable.
Oliver made the circuit of the hill, to discover whether there was any
cause for this evil that could be removed. He was surprised to find the
number of dead animals that were lying about in holes and corners, as
well as the heap of Roger's game, now actually putrefying in the sun.
There was also a dead horse thrown up, on the side where the quarry was;
and about this horse were such swarms of flies as Oliver had never seen.
It was to consult about pushing back this horse into the stream, and
clearing away all other dead things that they could find, that Oliver
now called Roger.
Roger was struck with what he observed. He saw no difficulty in
clearing away the game he ought never to have left lying in a heap in
the sun. He believed, too, that with stout poles he and Oliver could
shove the horse into the water; and, with a line tied to its head, tow
it out of the still water into the current which yet ran from the
quarry. But what troubled him more was, that there was evidently a
mortality among the animals on the hill. They were dying in all
directions; some for want of proper food, and from being put out of
their usual habits: others from being preyed upon by their stronger
neighbours. Nothing seemed to thrive but the ravenous birds which came
in clusters, winging their way over the waters, and making a great
rustling of their pinions as they descended to perch upon some dead
animal, pulling it to pieces before the very eyes of the boys, as they
stood consulting what to do. It was a horrid sight: and it brought the
horrid thought that soon probably there would be no game left for food
for the party; and that what there was meantime might be unwholesome.
Oliver had never imagined that the bold boy, Roger Redfurn, could look so
alarmed as he did at this moment.
"Never mind, now, Roger," said he, "what is likely to become of you and
me. Wait, and find that out by-and-by. What I am afraid of is seeing
Mildred look at all as George does now. Come, let us set to work!
Don't stand looking up in the sky, in that way. Help me--do. Cannot
Spy help? Call him; will you?"
"We can't get away!" exclaimed Roger, as if now, for the first time,
awakened to his situation. "Those vile birds--they can go where they
like--nasty creatures--and we cannot stir from where we are!"
"I wish we had our singing birds back again, instead of these
creatures," said Oliver. "Our shy, pretty, innocent little birds, that
used to be so pleased to pick up twigs and straws to build their nests
with, and be satisfied with the worms and slugs and flies that they
cleared away from the garden. I wish we had them, instead of these
ugly, saucy, dirty birds. But our birds are happier somewhere else, I
dare say; in some dry, pleasant place among those hills, all sweet with
flowers, and cool with clear running water."
"They can get there, and we can't. We can't get out of this hot
steaming place: and those hills look further off every day. I wish my
uncle had been dead before he brought us down off the moors last time.
I wish he had, I know. If I was on the moor now, after the plovers..."
"Come, come; forget all that now, and set to work," interrupted Oliver.
"If you won't call Spy to help, I will see whether he will mind me."
Spy came, with some hesitation, in answer to a whistle which was like
his master's, but not exactly the same. His master soon set him to
work, and began to work himself, in a sort of desperation. It was
astonishing what a clearance was made in a short time. But it did not
do all the good that was expected. There was so much vegetable decay in
the region round, that the floating dead animals off to a distance
caused only a partial relief.
While the boys were hard at work at their disagreeable task, Mildred was
enjoying seeing George in his warm bath. Ailwin held him there, while
Mildred continued her useful business of filtering water, talking to the
child all the while. The poor little fellow soon left off crying, and
moved his weak limbs about in the tepid water, trying to splash Ailwin,
as he had been wont to splash his mother in play, every morning when she
washed and dressed him.
"I am sure it does him a great deal of good," exclaimed Mildred. "I
will filter quantities of water; and he shall have a bath as often as
ever it is good for him. Suppose it should make him well!"
Ailwin shook her head. She saw how impossible it would be even to keep
a healthy child well in the absence of proper food, in an unwholesome
atmosphere, and without sufficient shelter from the changes of weather
which might come at any hour, and must come soon. How unlikely it was
that a sick baby should recover under such circumstances, she was well
aware. Yet she little thought how near the end was.
After his bath, Geordie lay, nicely covered up, on a mattress under the
tent. One or other of his nurses visited, him every few minutes; and
both were satisfied that he was comfortably asleep. The boys came for
some dinner, at last; and while Oliver went to wash his hands in clean
water, Roger stooped over the child to kiss him. Before doing so,
however, he started back, and asked Ailwin why the baby's eyes looked so
strangely. They were half closed, and seemed like neither sleep nor
waking. Ailwin sat down on the mattress, and took him into her arms,
while Mildred ran to call Oliver. The poor child stretched himself
stiff across Ailwin's knees, and then breathed no more.
When Oliver and Mildred came running back, Ailwin was putting her cheek
near the child's mouth, to feel if there was indeed no breath. She
shook her head, and her eyes ran over with tears. Oliver kneeled down,
and put his hand to the heart--it did not beat. He lifted the wasted
arm--it fell, as if it had never had life in it. There lay the little
body, still unmoved, with the face composed,--the eyes dim and half
closed, the ear hearing nothing, the tongue silent, while all were
calling on little George to say something he had been fond of saying, to
hearken to something he had loved to hear, and--all in vain.
"Whistle to him, Roger!" exclaimed Mildred, through her trembling. "Try
if he cannot hear that. Whistle to him softly."
Roger tried; but no notice was taken of the forced, irregular whistle
which was the best he could give at the moment.
"Listen, dear! Hark, George! Only hear!" exclaimed Mildred and Ailwin.
"O hush! All of you!" exclaimed Oliver. "Be quiet, Mildred dear! Our
little brother is dead."
Roger threw himself on the grass, and hid his face on his arms. He
moaned and rocked himself about, so that, even in the first moments of
their grief, the brother and sister looked at each other with awe.
"Come away with me, dear," whispered Oliver to his sister. "Ailwin,
give George to me. Let me have him in my arms."
"Bless you, my dears; it is not George any longer. It is a poor little
dead body. You must not call it George."
"Give him to me," said Oliver. He took the body from Ailwin's arms,
carrying it as gently as if anything could have hurt it now; and he and
Mildred walked away towards the spot where the bee-shed had stood.
Ailwin gazed after them, dashing away the tears with the back of her
hand, when they gathered so that she could not see.
Oliver and Mildred walked on till they could descend the bank a little,
and sit, just above the waters, where they knew they were out of sight
of everybody. This bank presented a strange appearance, such as the
children had been wondering at for some days, till Ailwin remembered
that she had often heard say that there was once a thick forest growing
where the Levels were now spread, and that the old trees were, every
one, somehow underground. It now appeared that this was true. As the
earth was washed away in the channel, and cut down along the bank, large
trunks of trees were seen lying along, black as coal. Some others
started out of the bank; and the roots of a few spread like network,
holding the soil together, and keeping the bank firm in that part. Upon
one of the trunks, that jutted out, Oliver took his seat; and Mildred
placed herself beside him.
"Let him lie on my knee now," said she.
"Presently," said Oliver. "How easy and quiet he looks!"
"And how quietly he died!" observed Mildred. "I did not think it had
been such an easy thing to die,--or half so easy for us to bear to see."
"The hard part is to come, dear. We are glad now to see him out of his
pain--so comfortable as he looks at this moment. The hard part will be
not to hear his little voice any more--never ... But we must not think
of that now. I hope, Mildred, that you are not sorry that George is
dead. I am not, when I think that he may be with father and mother
already."
"Already?"
"Yes--if they are dead. Perhaps they have been pitying poor baby all
the time he has been ill, crying and moaning so sadly; and now he may be
with them, quite happy, and full of joy to meet them again."
"Then they may be seeing us now."
"Yes; they will not forget us, even the first moment that George's
little spirit is with them. Do not let them see us sad, Mildred. Let
them see that we are glad that they should have George, when we could do
nothing for him."
"But we shall miss him so when ... Oliver! He must be buried!"
"Yes. When that is done, we shall miss him sadly. We must expect that.
But we must bear it."
"If we die here," said Mildred, "it will be easy to do without, him for
such a little while. But if we ever get away, if we grow up to be as
old as father and mother, what shall we do, all those years, without
once hearing Geordie laugh, or having him to wake us in the morning?
What long things people's lives are! It will seem as if ours would
never be done, if we have to wait all that time to see Geordie again."
"I wish we were dead!" sighed Oliver. "I am sure, so do I. And dying
is so very easy!"
"The pastor always said there was nothing to be afraid of," said
Oliver--"I mean, for innocent people. And Geordie was so innocent, he
was fit to go directly to God."
"If we die here," said Mildred, "Roger must too. What was the matter
with him just now, do you think? Was he thinking about that?"
"He was very miserable about something. Oh, Mildred, do look! Did you
ever see Geordie look sweeter? Yes, you may have him now."
And Oliver quietly laid the child in Mildred's arms. "Yet," said he,
sighing, "we must bury him."
"Oh, when?" asked Mildred.
"Better do it while his face looks as it does now. To-morrow is Sunday.
We will do no work to-morrow, and bury Geordie."
"Where? How?"
"We will choose the prettiest place we can find, and the quietest."
"I wish the pastor was here," said Mildred. "I never saw a funeral,
except passing one in the road sometimes."
"We need not be afraid of doing wrong about the funeral, dear. We must
make some kind of little coffin; and Roger will help me to dig a grave,
and if we have no pastor to say prayers, you and I know that in our
hearts we shall be thanking God for taking our little brother to be safe
and happy with him."
"And then I may plant some flowers upon his grave, may not I? And that
will bring the bees humming over it. How fond he was of going near the
hives, to hear the bees hum! Where shall his grave be?"
"Under one of the trees, one of the shadiest."
"Oh, dear--here comes Ailwin! I wish she would let us alone."
Ailwin was crying too much to speak. She took the body from Mildred's
arms with a gentle force, kissing the little girl as she did so. She
covered up the baby's face with her apron as she walked away.
The children went among the trees to fix on a spot for the grave. They
found more than one that they liked; but suddenly remembered that the
ground was hard, and that they had no spade, nor any tool with which
they could make a deep hole.
Oliver was greatly disturbed at this,--more than he chose to show when
he saw how troubled his sister also was. After thinking for some time
to no purpose,--feeling that he could not bear to commit the body to the
foul flood, and remembering with horror how many animals were scratching
up the earth all over the Red-hill, where the ground was not too hard,
and how many odious birds of prey were now hovering in the air, at all
hours,--after thinking over these things with a heavy heart, he begged
Mildred to go home to Ailwin, and to ask Roger to come to him in the
wood, to consult what must be done.
Mildred readily went: but she hardly liked to speak to Roger when she
saw him. He was watching, with a sulky air, what Ailwin was doing, as
she bent over the mattress. His eyes were red with crying; but he did
not seem the more gentle for that. When Mildred had given her message,
he moved as if he thought it a great trouble to go; but Mildred then
suspected what was indeed the truth,--that he was unhappy at the child's
death, and was ashamed of appearing so, and put on a gruff manner to
hide it. Seeing this, the little girl ran after him, as he sauntered
away, put her hand in his, and said,--
"Do help Oliver all you can. I know how he would have tried to help you
if George had been your little brother."
"'Tis all the same as if he had been," muttered Roger. "I'm sure I am
just as sorry."
"Are you, indeed?" said Mildred, her eyes now filling with tears.
Roger could not bear to see that; and he hastened away. Mildred found a
great change when she looked on the baby's face again. The eyes were
quite closed, and Ailwin had tied a bandage round his head,--under the
chin, and among the thick hair which used to curl so prettily, but which
had hung straight and damp since he had been ill. He was now strangely
dressed, and laid out straight and stiff. He did not look like Geordie;
and now Mildred began to know the dreary feelings that death brings into
families. She longed for Oliver to come home; and would have gone to
see what he was about, but that she did not like to leave the tent and
the body while Ailwin was busy elsewhere, which was now the case.
When, at length, the boys returned, they reported that, for many
reasons, there could not be a grave under the trees, as they would have
liked. They had hopes of making one which would save the body from the
flood, and would serve at least till the day (if that day ever came)
when it might be removed to some churchyard. They had no tools to dig a
deep hole with; and if there was a hole, it must be deep: but they found
they could excavate a space in the bank, under the trunk of one of the
large buried forest-trees. They could line this hole with hewn stones
brought from the shattered wall of the house, and could close it in also
with a stone,--thus making the space at once a coffin and a grave, as
secure from beast or bird of prey as any vault under any church-wall.
Oliver had found among the ruins one of the beautiful carved stones
which he had always admired as it surmounted the doorway of their home.
With this he meant to close in the little vault. At some future time,
if no one should wish to disturb the remains, ivy might be led over the
face of the bank, and about this sculptured stone; and then, he thought,
even those who most loved little George could not wish him a better
grave.