Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: THEY WENT ON STEP BY STEP, WITH EYES FOR EVERY ROCK AND
BUSH (missing from book)]
WHITE FIRE
BY JOHN OXENHAM
WITH SIXTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS
BY G. GRENVILLE MANTON
_Adversity doth make men strong,
Yet stronger still I count the man
Who can sustain prosperity unspoiled
And turn it to high uses._
_The white fire of a great enthusiasm
is the mightiest force in the world._
TORONTO
THE COPP CLARK COMPANY, LIMITED
1905
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR
GOD'S PRISONER
RISING FORTUNES
A PRINCESS OF VASCOVY
OUR LADY OF DELIVERANCE
JOHN OF GERISAU
UNDER THE IRON FLAIL
BONDMAN FREE
THE VERY SHORT MEMORY OF MR. JOSEPH SCORER
BARBE OF GRAND BAYOU
A WEAVER OF WEBS
HEARTS IN EXILE
THE GATE OF THE DESERT
TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF
James Chalmers
GREAT HEART OF NEW GUINEA--
"GREAT HEART THE TEACHER,
GREAT HEART THE JOYOUS,
GREAT HEART THE FEARLESS,
GREAT HEART OF SWEET WHITE FIRE,
GREAT HEART THE MARTYR....
_Nor dead, nor sleeping! He lives on, his name
Shall kindle many a heart to equal flame.
A soul so fiery sweet can never die,
But lives, and loves, and works through
all eternity._"
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
MISS INQUISITIVE
CHAPTER II
THE MAN
CHAPTER III
THE MAN'S MAN
CHAPTER IV
A SHAMELESS THING!
CHAPTER V
LEAP YEAR
CHAPTER VI
A SUDDEN WIDE HORIZON
CHAPTER VII
SOME ODD FURNISHINGS AND A HONEYMOON
CHAPTER VIII
GOING STRONG
CHAPTER IX
ARMS AND THE MAN
CHAPTER X
A BLACK OBJECT-LESSON
CHAPTER XI
TOO LATE
CHAPTER XII
THE FLAMING SWORD
CHAPTER XIII
THE MAN'S MAN'S MAN
CHAPTER XIV
CLIPPING A BLACKBIRD
CHAPTER XV
WHERE THOU GOEST
CHAPTER XVI
SAWDUST AND SHAVINGS
CHAPTER XVII
FIRST FRUITS
CHAPTER XVIII
SETBACKS
CHAPTER XIX
FORWARD
CHAPTER XX
MANY FORMS OF GRACE
CHAPTER XXI
MIGHT OF RIGHT
CHAPTER XXII
PAX
CHAPTER XXIII
THE SCOURGE OF GOD
CHAPTER XXIV
GAIN OF LOSS
CHAPTER XXV
THE LIFTING VEIL
CHAPTER XXVI
THE GENTLE MARTYR
CHAPTER XXVII
PEACE WITH A SPEAR
CHAPTER XXVIII
NO THOROUGHFARE
CHAPTER XXIX
THE ACT OF GOD
CHAPTER XXX
WIPED OUT
CHAPTER XXXI
REVERSIONS
CHAPTER XXXII
FROM THE BEGINNING
CHAPTER XXXIII
SALT OF THE EARTH
ILLUSTRATIONS
THEY WENT ON STEP BY STEP, WITH EYES FOR EVERY
ROCK AND BUSH (missing from book) . . . . . . . . . _Frontispiece_
WAVED HIS HAND TO HER, AND RECEIVED AN ANSWERING WAVE
ONE SIGN OF FLINCHING AND IT IS FINISHED
"MY LIFE IS FORFEIT TO THE PAST"
"AND HE HAS REALLY HAD THE AUDACITY TO ASK YOU TO MARRY HIM"
SHE HAD LONG AND PEREMPTORY INTERVIEWS WITH HER LAWYER
BLAIR CALLED FOR THE MATE AND TOLD HIM CURTLY
WHAT HE HAD ALREADY TOLD THE CAPTAIN
"WE SHALL SEE THEM AGAIN," SAID CAPTAIN CATHIE (missing from book)
IT MIGHT BE FOR THE LAST TIME
STEPS ON THE ROAD TO SALVATION
"HELLO! WHAT'S THIS?"
"QUITE HAPPY, JEAN?" ASKED BLAIR
PEACE WITH A SPEAR
"_MISSIONARIES_! WELL I AM ----!"
BLAIR SPRANG UPRIGHT INSTINCTIVELY
WAVED HER FAREWELLS FROM THE SHORE
CHAPTER I
MISS INQUISITIVE
She was so dainty a little figure that the bare-armed women in the
doors of the lands and closes turned and looked after her with
enjoyment untinged even with envy. They scratched their elbows and
commented on her points with complacent understanding.
"None o' your ten-and-six carriage paid in that lot, I'm thinking, Mrs.
O'Neill," said one.
"Thrue for ye, Mrs. Macfarlane. Purty as a daisy, she is. It's me
that wud like to be on tairms with her maw when she's done with 'em."
And a decidedly pretty little figure the small girl made, in her
stylishly pleated blue serge, jaunty tam, natty leather belt, and
twinkling brown shoes, and her absolute unconsciousness of anything
unduly attractive in her appearance.
Her determined little face was set strenuously. She looked neither to
the right hand nor to the left, beyond a glance now and again for
landmarks. And above all, and most inflexibly, she never once looked
behind her; for she was bound upon an adventure, and her reward lay on
ahead.
"Past the cemetery gates," she said to herself. "Up a brae. Past a
pond and up a cinder path. That's all right! That must be the woollen
mill, and that's the paper-mill, and that splashing white must be the
Cut."
As she took the cinder path, the gates of the two mills opened, and a
flood of hurrying girls came down towards the town, mostly in bunches,
laughing and joking, some with linked arms, some few solitary. Then
followed boys and men, with dinner in their faces, and an occasional
word fired at the girls in front.
The girls all fell silent, and resolved themselves into devouring eyes,
as the dainty little figure stepped briskly past them. There were
spasms of longing among them; they buried them under bursts of wilder
laughter. The men and boys glanced at her out of the corners of their
eyes, and did not understand why the sky looked bluer and the sunshine
brighter than it had done a moment before.
She came, presently, to a dividing of the ways, where the roads
branched to the two mills, made a short reconnaissance of the flashing
chute she had seen from below, then turned to the right, past the
paper-mill and the manager's house, past the clump of fir-trees, and
came out on a footpath by the side of which the rushing brown waters of
the Cut hurried down to the mills and reservoirs.
"O-o-o-oh!" said the small girl rapturously, and her face was an
unconscious Te Deum.
And well it might be, for she had a great appreciation of the
beautiful, and she was enjoying her first full glimpse of one of the
finest sights in the whole of Great Britain and Ireland and the
adjacent Cumbraes.
"O-o-oh!" and she sat down to enjoy it.
Below her to the right rose the smoke of the town and the ceaseless
clangour of the ship-building yards. A movement would have hidden them
from her. But she did not move; she neither saw nor heard them. Her
eyes were fixed absorbedly on the mighty panorama beyond: the lovely
firth, blue as an Italian lake, and all alive with traffic; energetic
little river steamers racing with rival toys; slow coasters toiling
along like water-beetles; a great black American liner at the Tail of
the Bank; the great grey guardship with its trim official lines and
hovering launches; and farther out, near the opposite shore, the white
sails of yachts flashing in the sun like seabirds' wings. And
beyond--the hills, the mighty hills of God. She had known the hills in
a general, wholesale way for long enough; but she knew now that she had
never known them before. From this lofty vantage point she saw them
now for the first time in all their grandeur and beauty, and they
overwhelmed her.
Such a mighty array of giants: green, rounded hills; rugged brown
hills, flushed with the purple of the heather; grey mountain peaks
piled fantastically against the unflecked blue sky; bosky glens; dark
patches of forest land; and all about them, down below, the silent
strength of the sea, lapping the feet of the recumbent giants, creeping
up among their sprawling limbs, and cradling the mighty bulks with
tender caresses!
The girl sat for a long time drinking it all in, to the tune of the
swirl and bubble and tinkle of the swift brown water behind her. Then
she got up and went on along the path, which disclosed fresh beauties
of the larger view at every step. She went on and on, heedless of
everything but the wide, vast prospect and her own mighty enjoyment of
it. She had some lunch in her pocket; she forgot it. The air was so
sweet and strong that she felt no fatigue. She had walked for over an
hour in this new heaven of delight, when she came tumbling to earth in
truly feminine fashion.
The path followed the Cut round the folds and wrinkles of the hillside.
At times, on in front, it disappeared into the sky. She was nearing
one such sharp turn, when a pair of mighty horns came wavering round
it, and behind the horns an evil monster all in black and with baleful
eyes. At sight of her it gave an angry bellow and pawed the ground.
Alongside her was a small stone erection like an unfinished hut, on a
little platform, below which white water trickled down a glen full of
ferns and trees. She clasped her hands, gave herself up for lost, and
dropped out of the monster's sight behind the one end wall of the hut.
Then a boy's voice rang out full and clear--
"Ah, beast! Bos ferocissime! Get out o' that, or I'll do for you.
What's taken you to-day, you old villain?"
Then followed more forcible argument in the shape of stones, and, with
grateful twitches of her clasped hands, the small girl saw her
discomfited enemy go crashing down the hillside among the whins and
ferns and rolling rocks.
The beast was evidently possessed of an unusually perverse disposition
that day. It looked up once at the girl behind the wall, and made some
spiteful remark, which elicited a dissuasive "Would you?" and another
shower of stones from its keeper. Then it went galloping away on the
sides of its feet along the steep hillside. The boy, with an
exclamation, sprang down after it, and the girl caught sight of him for
the first time--a sturdy little figure, with light hair and unlimited
energy. He chased the beast with boyish objurgations, which broke out
with new vigour when the chase led through a piece of black swamp, with
the natural results to the pursuer.
He came back presently, hot and muddy, whistling like a blackbird.
She was just about to get up and go on, when she heard him jumping down
into the little glen below, and she craned over to see what he was
about.
He scrambled down to a small round natural basin in the rock, threw off
his jacket and waistcoat, unbuttoned his flannel shirt, and proceeded
to a mighty wash.
He seemed to revel in it so exceedingly that the girl sat and watched
him with enjoyment. He had no towel, so did not waste any time in
drying himself, but allowed the sun and wind to do their duties. Then
he came clambering up the slope again. There was a large flat stone in
front of the embryo cabin. He came and sat down on it, and remained
there so long and so quiet that at last she moved slightly and peeped
round to see what he was doing.
And what he was doing was so very astonishing that she gave an
involuntary gasp of amazement.
He was lying flat on his stomach, with a tattered book open in front of
him. On the flat slab was a diagram drawn with the chunk of chalk he
held in his hand, and he was studying it so intently that he did not
hear her till her shadow fell across his work.
"Hello! Where did _you_ come from?" and he jumped up and stood staring
at her. He was not aware of it, but he was dimly perceptive of the
fact that she was very nice-looking. He remembered later--when her
face evaded him--that she was very prettily dressed.
"From behind there," she said. "That nasty bull frightened me."
"He's a stupid beast." And then, suddenly bethinking himself, "Have
you been there ever since?"
The girl nodded. She liked the look of him. His jacket and trousers
were rough and well worn, but his face was wonderfully bright and
clean. She did not know when she had seen a boy's face she liked so
much. There was such a glow in it, and his blue eyes were so fearless
and looked at her so very straight. She did not know very many boys,
and did not care much for any of those she did know. They were always
either teasing or silly, and always abominably selfish. Somehow this
boy did not seem any of those things.
"You'd no right to watch a gentleman washing himself."
"You're not a gentleman, and I couldn't help myself. At least----"
"You're not a lady, and you could have gone away quite well. It's a
good thing for you I didn't have a bath in the big pool there. You'd
have watched just the same, I suppose, Miss Inquisitive!"
"Oh!" she said sharply. "You rude thing! How did you know?"
"Know what?"
"That! Miss---- what you called me just now."
At which he laughed out loud, a great merry laugh that did one good to
listen to, and showed a set of sound white teeth and a quick
apprehension.
"Is that what they call you at home?" he asked, with a mischievous
twinkle.
"My aunties call me that. Father says 'Want-to-know gets on.'"
"He's right," said the boy, with a blaze in the blue eyes. "I like
your father better than your aunties. Where were you going when the
beast stopped you?"
"Right along there," she nodded.
"All the way to the Sheils? It's a gey long way for a bit lassie like
you."
"I'm not a bit lassie. I'm thirteen."
"Really! You're young for your age!"
She was somewhat doubtful about this remark, but it felt like a
compliment, so she let it pass.
"What's your name?" she asked.
"Kenneth Blair. What's yours?"
"Jean Arnot. How old are you?"
"I'll be fifteen next July." This was August.
"What's that you were drawing? Is it a windmill?" staring intently
down at it.
"A windmill!"--with unutterable scorn. "And you say you're thirteen!
That's Euclid--Prop. 47. It's a thumper too."
"I haven't begun Euclid yet," she said meekly, and regarded him with a
face full enough of questioning to amply justify her nickname. "Will
you please tell me something?"
He began to laugh, and she knew that "Miss Inquisitive" was on the tip
of his tongue. He only nodded, however.
"Do all the herd-boys about here do Euclid?"
"I d'n' know. There's nothing to stop them if they want to."
"Why do you speak so differently from most other boys? You speak
almost as well as I do."
A smile flickered in his face for a second, but died out, and he said
quietly--
"That's easily told, anyway. My father was schoolmaster at
Inverclaver. He taught me."
"And does he teach you still? Where is he schoolmaster now?"
He looked at her a moment in silence, and then said--
"I don't know. He's dead."
"Oh! But he can't be a schoolmaster anywhere if he's dead. I'm so
sorry. And of course he can't teach you either."
"I don't know," said the boy slowly. "I think sometimes----"
But she was off on another scent.
"What are you going to be when you grow up?"
"Ah!"--with animation. "I'm going to be a big man."
"You can't make yourself that. You're not very big now."
"I've not done growing yet, and I'm very strong, and I've never been
ill in my life. Besides----"
"I've just had measles and whooping-cough. That's why I'm here."
He nodded, as much as to say, "Yes, that's just the kind of thing girls
would have"; and went on, "And then I'm going to be an explorer."
"O-o-o-h!" with snapping eyes. "Where?"
"I don't know where. Anywhere where nobody's ever been before."
She devoured him with hungry appreciation. His face was so very clean,
so radiantly bright, and the sparks in his blue eyes kindled answering
sparks in her own. For she too possessed a lively imagination, and a
spirit many times the size of her body.
"But will you be able to? Are you very rich?"
"Rich? No, I'm not rich, but I'm not that poor either--not just now.
I bought this last week," with a touch of superior pride, as he hauled
out a Latin grammar, sixth-hand, but still boasting covers. "When I've
finished it I'll feel poor till I get the next. But that's not yet."
"Wouldn't you like to be very rich?"
"I d'n' know. I never tried it."
"My father is very rich."
"Is he? And what are you going to do when you grow up?"
"Oh, I'm going to be a lady."
"Yes, that's about all you can be, I suppose," he nodded, and looked
really sorry for her.
"I shall be very rich, and I shall do just what I like--except darning
and needlework. They're hijjus!"
"Hideous," he said, with a touch of pedantic reproof which consorted
oddly with his jacket and trousers.
"I always say 'hijjus' when it's quite too awful and past words. How
would you like to be a manager of one of my father's mills?"
"I don't know," he said, regarding her doubtfully. "I'm thinking
perhaps I wouldn't make a very good manager. Not yet."
Then her hand happened to touch her pocket, which reminded her of her
lunch.
"Are you hungry?" she asked. "I'll sit down here and you shall have
some of my lunch, and you shall tell me the names of all those hills
and lochs opposite. Aren't they splendid?"
"Ay, they're grand. I've been watching them for a year now."
She wrestled her dainty little packet out of her pocket, and sat down
on a rock looking out over the wonderful panorama in front. The boy
sat down on another rock and hauled out a piece of newspaper in which
were wrapped some broken pieces of thick oatcake and some rough
fragments of cheese.
"Do you like oatcake and cheese?" she asked.
"Rather!"
"Won't you have some of my sandwiches?" she said politely, but not
without anxiety.
He looked at the delicate provision, and said stoutly--
"No, thank you. I like this best."
And, as the little lady possessed the dainty but vigorous appetite of
the fully-restored-to-health-and-got-to-make-up-for-lost-time, and as
she was only thirteen, she was not rude enough to press him unduly.
"Now tell me the names of all those hills and lochs," she said, and he
proceeded to tell her all she wanted to know.
"Yon's Dumbarton,"--between bites; "you can see Glasgow some days," and
she regarded him doubtfully.
"And yon's the Gare Loch. That big fellow with the shoulders is Ben
Lomond. The one humped up like this is The Cobbler. That other big
one is Ben Ihme. That's Loch Long and a bit of Loch Goil, and yon's
Holy Loch and Ben More."
When she had eaten her tiny sandwiches, and her two small cookies with
jam inside, and her two biscuits, and had learned the names and
personal peculiarities of all the hills and lochs, and he had finished
the last crumbs of his oatcake and cheese, he convoyed her past the
black menace down below, as far as the next stone dyke, and told her
how she could shorten her journey by cutting across some fields, and so
get down to the Inverkip road, and eventually to Ashton and the "caurs."
He watched the sprightly little figure, with the gleaming mane of hair
and swinging skirts and twinkling brown shoes, till she reached the
next distant corner, waved his hand to her, received an answering wave
from her, and turned back to his life--his unruly beasts, his treasured
Euclid and Latin grammar, his dreams, his hopes, and ever so much more
than he knew.
[Illustration: Waved his hand to her, and received an answering wave.]
But Prop. 47 was not amenable that afternoon. He smiled at thought of
the windmill, and looked up to see her standing before him with her
sweet childish face and questioning eyes. He thought much of the
winsome little lady, both then and for a long time afterwards. He
scanned the winding path by the Cut each day in hopes that she might
come again. But she was away home to London, and at last only a memory
of her remained, and that growing dimmer and dimmer till it was little
more than a sentiment--simply the warm glow of a pleasant impression.
And she? Ah, she wrought better than she knew that day.
For when she got home from her great adventure, and had been duly
scolded by her aunts for undertaking so much, when they had only
expected her to go up to the Cut and down again in a couple of hours or
so--when she reached home, old Mr. MacTavish, the minister, was there,
and he rejoiced in her prattling tongue, and delighted in drawing her
out.
She enlarged upon the very uncommon herd-laddie she had met up on the
Cut,--on his satisfactory looks, his unique cleanliness, his
fearlessness in the matter of wild beasts, his understanding, and his
aims in life. Her thoughts were full of him, and when Miss Jean Arnot
had something on her mind her little world was by way of hearing of it.
Old Mr. MacTavish had been a herd-laddie himself in his time.
_Suffecit!_