_THE FIR-WOOD._
"WHAT a glorious day it is, Ellis! How I wish I could spend the whole of
it out of doors!" exclaimed Blanche, as she lazily stretched herself,
before making the supreme effort of getting out of bed. "You've no idea
how dreadful it is to be shut up for a whole morning in that horrid
schoolroom, with the 'History of England,' and that wearisome geography
book. I have got the boundaries of China, and ever so much, for my
lesson to-day. I'm sure I don't care to know how China is bounded. I
shall certainly never go there, on any account. Do you know, Ellis, the
Chinese are so cruel? They shut up women, and pinch their toes, and all
kinds of things."
"La! missie; you don't say so?" exclaimed Ellis, getting interested, for
she delighted in the sensational.
"Oh, yes; indeed they do. They are such horrid creatures! So ugly, too.
I've seen pictures of them. Do you know, Ellis, they actually wear
tails?" continued Blanche, gratified to see that her maid was interested
in her information.
"Come now, missie, you'll be makin' them out to be regular animals, and
that I won't believe, noways," retorted Ellis, as she vigorously brushed
Blanche's long curls.
"But, indeed, the Chinese do have tails. It's just the way they do their
back hair, you know, Ellis," replied Blanche in an explanatory tone, as
she turned to look out at the window. "Oh! what a glorious hill that is,
with its blue peak right away in the clouds! I wonder what is the name
of it? How nice it would be to know all the boundaries of Glen Eagle,
now--to be able to tell the names of every mountain, and to know which
was really the highest; for yesterday that dark hill looked much higher
than it does to-day. Don't you remember those soldiers we saw in
Devonshire, last year, Ellis? They were making a military survey, Miss
Prosser told me. How I should like to make a military survey! It would
be real work, you know, and I should go out in the morning and come in
at night;" and inspired by the grandeur of the idea, Blanche pirouetted
round the room, greatly to the disarranging of Ellis's careful
toilette, and finally she ran away down-stairs to join Miss Prosser.
After breakfast, Blanche was moving away, in a disconsolate frame of
mind, towards the schoolroom. She looked longingly through the open
door, as she crossed the hall, but at length sat down to her books with
a resigned sigh. Miss Prosser had followed her, and stood at the table
smiling rather mysteriously, as she listened to her pupil's sigh.
"You need not sit down to your lessons this morning, Blanche, dear,
unless indeed you are especially anxious to study. Your papa has
expressed a wish that you should have no lessons for a short time. I
must say I rather regret it, my dear Blanche; you are so behind; there
is so much ground to be gone over."
With the last remark Blanche heartily agreed; but it was moorland, not
mental ground, which she was thinking of. She began to put away her
schoolbooks in an ecstasy of delight, while Miss Prosser continued--
"I have a slight headache this morning, and shall not be able to go out
to walk with you; but I have given Ellis orders to accompany you, as I
really cannot expose myself to the sun."
"Oh, please, do let me go out all by myself, only this once? Indeed, I
shall not do anything foolish," pleaded Blanche.
Miss Prosser seemed disposed to be yielding, and at length Blanche
started, accompanied by her dog Chance. She got strict injunctions not
to get into danger of any kind, and on no account to go beyond the
castle grounds; but this boundary line being quite undefined in
Blanche's mind, it gave ample scope for extensive rambling.
Blanche felt quite in a perplexity of happiness when she found herself
under the blue sky, left entirely to the freedom of her will. It was the
first time in her life that she had been so trusted, and she thought it
felt like what people call "beginning life." She had crossed the bridge
that spanned the river below the castle, and now she stood between two
divergent roads, each threading their white winding way through
different parts of the Glen. So much did Blanche feel the extreme
importance of the occasion, that she had difficulty in making up her
mind which path to choose, and stood hesitating, till Chance, with a wag
of his tail, set out to walk along one of them, looking back at his
little mistress, as if he meant to say, "Come along; anything is better
than indecision: we're sure to find something pleasant in this
direction."
The remembrance of the little window visitor was still uppermost in
Blanche's mind; but she had heard her father say that nobody except
their own servants lived within miles of the castle; so she concluded
the little girl's home must be very far away, and that there was little
chance of meeting with her in her rambles of to-day. Then she had seemed
so frightened, and ran away so quickly, that it was not likely she would
repeat her visit to the schoolroom window; indeed it was to be hoped
not, Blanche thought, since Miss Prosser would be the sole occupant that
morning. The little damsel, with her elf-locks, had already begun to
take her place in Blanche's imagination among the fairies and heroines
of her story-books--a pleasant mystery round which to weave a day dream,
when there was nothing more attractive within reach. But on this morning
were not Chance and she beginning life together, with all kinds of
delicious possibilities before them along this white winding road? At
every turn she came upon new wonders and treasures, and her frock was
being rapidly filled with a miscellaneous collection of wild-flowers,
curious mosses, and stray feathers of mountain birds.
The road lay between stretches of moorland, which not many years before
had been covered by trees, but now only a gnarled stump, scattered here
and there, told of the departed forest. After Blanche had wandered a
long way, following the abrupt turnings of the hilly path, she noticed
that a shadow fell across the road, and looked up to see great trees all
round, thronging as far as her eye could reach, till in the depths of
the forest it seemed as dark as night; while in some parts the sunlight
struggled through, and shone, like flames of fire, on the old red trunks
of the fir-trees. Blanche, before she knew it, had already penetrated
into the forest, and stood awe-struck gazing down the great aisles made
by the pillars of pine rearing themselves high and stately with their
arching green boughs against the sky. The remembrance of a grand old
minster, where her father had taken her to church one Sunday in spring,
rose to Blanche's recollection; those wonderful trees seemed strangely
like the fretted columns among which she had stood that day. She had
heard her father say that there was no church within miles of Glen
Eagle, and she wondered why they could not come here to service on
Sundays. The choristers' voices would sound so beautiful, and the great
floor, covered with brown fir-needles, and the lichen-spotted stones
studded over it, would be much nicer than a pew.
Blanche, as was her custom when she felt happy, sang snatches of songs
as she wandered on through the forest, stooping every now and then to
gather treasures from among the fir-needles. At last she sat down and
began to pick up some attractive-looking green cones, which had fallen
the last time the storm had swung the great fir-trees. And as she sat
there, absorbed in gathering cones, her voice went up clear and musical
through the arched boughs, as she sang, almost unconsciously, some
verses of a hymn which she once learnt--
"There is a green hill far away,
Without a city wall,
Where the dear Lord was crucified,
Who died to save us all.
"We may not know, we cannot tell,
What pains He had to bear;
But we believe it was for us
He hung and suffered there."
The unwonted sound echoed through the silent forest, startling a roe
that had strayed from its covert, and making some little birds lurking
among the boughs set their tiny heads to one side to listen to the new
song in their sanctuary. There was another listener to Blanche's hymn,
who felt as startled by the sound as the timid roe; but who had,
nevertheless, stood listening eagerly. When Blanche looked up from the
fir-needles, wearied with her search for the cones, it was to see the
little maiden, whom she had just been consigning to dreamland, leaning
against a tree. There she stood, more real than ever, with her little
bare feet planted among the soft moss, and her eyes fixed wonderingly on
the stooping little girl. Blanche sprang forward, dropping, as she went,
her lapful of gatherings.
"Oh, please, little girl, do not run away this time. I was so
disappointed that you would not wait when I saw you at the window
yesterday. Only, perhaps, it was just as well, for Miss Prosser walked
in the minute after," added Blanche, who always took it for granted that
there must be a previous acquaintance with those who made up her small
world.
The little native did not seem disposed for immediate flight on this
occasion, however; she awaited Blanche calmly, as if the fir-wood were
her special sanctuary. Blanche was standing near, when Chance, who had
been doing some hunting on his own account, finding the search after
cones not exciting enough, came running up to see what his young
mistress was about. Blanche sprang forward to meet him; knowing well
that he was the sworn enemy of all bare-legged personages, she dreaded
the result of a hasty interview with her new acquaintance. He bounded
past her, however, and running up to the little girl, he began to wag
his tail in quite a friendly manner, and received caresses in return.
"Why, you and Chance seem quite friends," exclaimed Blanche, with a
feeling of relief, not unmingled with astonishment. "He is generally so
very naughty to strangers; he surely must have seen you before?"
"No, leddy, I didna see him afore; but I'm thinkin' he kens fine, Morag
likes a' dogs," said the little girl, in a low, timid voice, as she
smiled and patted Chance.
"Morag! is that your name? What a nice, funny name! But you must not
call me, lady. I'm only a girl about your own age, you see. My name is
Blanche--that means white in French, you know, and it suits me nicely,
they say, because I'm fair. But that isn't the reason I'm called
Blanche. It was my mamma's name," explained the little lady
communicatively, while Morag listened eagerly, as if she were drinking
in every word.
"Do tell me where you live, Morag? Is it in one of the pretty little
houses on the moorland, that you can see from the castle? I'm so glad
I've found you again;" and the little fluttering hand was kindly laid on
the sunburnt arm. A light came into Morag's still face; she suddenly
lifted the white hand and kissed it reverentially. Blanche felt rather
embarrassed at so unexpected a movement, though it stirred her little
heart; and after a moment's pause, she said impulsively--
"I love you, Morag. I wish you would come and play with me. I'm so dull
all alone. What were you playing at, all by yourself here? Aren't you a
little afraid to stay in this dark forest all alone?"
"I wasna playin' mysel'. I was only jist buskin' at the hooks, for the
loch," replied Morag, glancing towards a flat, lichen-spotted rock,
where the materials for her work were lying scattered about. And then,
as if reminded that she must be busy, she went and sat down to work.
Blanche followed, unwilling to leave her new-found friend, and curious
to see what kind of work a little girl, no bigger than herself, could
do. There, on the grey stone which served as Morag's work-table, lay, in
all stages of manufacture, wonderful imitations of variegated flies, to
entrap unwary fishes. Blanche thought them marvels of art, and glanced
with respect and admiration at the skilful little fingers which had even
now another in process of creation.
"You must be very clever to make such pretty things, Morag. May I sit
and watch you at work, for a little? I have got a holiday to-day, you
see. Aren't holidays nice?" said Blanche, glowingly; then she remembered
that perhaps this little girl might never have any, and she felt sorry
she had said that, when no response came from her companion, so she
changed the subject immediately.
"Who taught you to make those wonderful hooks, Morag? It must be so
difficult," continued Blanche, as she watched the little fingers busy at
work.
"Father teached me when I was a wee bit girlie. It's no that difficult
to busk the hooks; maybe you would be liken' to try. It hurts the
fingers some whiles, though," she added, glancing at Blanche's slender
fingers.
"Oh! thank you very much, Morag. I should like so much to try, if you
will teach me. My papa is going to fish in the loch one day soon, and it
would be so nice if I could really make a hook for him."
Chance, who had been comfortably ensconced at Morag's feet, started as
if he heard footsteps, and Blanche looked up to see Ellis hurrying
towards them.
"O missie! how could you ever wander so far into this wilderness, and
have me searchin' for you like this?" panted the breathless maid, with a
look of relief on her face at having found her strayed charge.
"Oh, my! what have we got here, Miss Blanche? You don't mean to say
you've ben a sittin' all the morning with that creature?" burst forth
the flurried Ellis, as she caught a glimpse of Morag seated on the grey
rock.
"A regular tramp, I declare! Miss Prosser would take a fit if she saw
you, missie. Come along, this instant," shrieked the excited maid.
Blanche was by her side in a moment, whispering, with a face of
distress--
"Hush, Ellis! don't speak so loud. She will hear, and you'll hurt her
feelings. Besides, I'm sure she isn't a tramp--if that's anything bad.
She's such a dear nice little girl, and so clever. I'll tell you all
about her presently," added Blanche, nodding confidentially.
"Well, you've got to come home this instant, missie. There's somebody
awaitin' for you," said Ellis, mysteriously.
"Oh! then, it isn't Miss Prosser who thinks I've stayed too long," said
Blanche in a relieved tone. "Go on, Ellis, and I'll come after you in a
minute. I must first say good-bye to Morag."
Ellis, thus commanded, good-naturedly obeyed, while Blanche went to
rejoin her new acquaintance, whom she found still seated silently at
work.
"I'm so sorry I must go now, Morag, but I'll come back again to-morrow.
I shall find you here, shan't I? Good-bye, Morag; I must really run now,
or Ellis will be cross."
She waited for some reply, but none came, only the soft eyes looked up
wistfully into her face for a moment, and the little girl went quietly
on with her work again.
Blanche was soon at Ellis's side prattling about her morning
experiences, and trying to convince her maid of the irreproachable
respectability of her new acquaintance. But the smart Ellis shook her
head skeptically; she shared Miss Kilmansegg's opinion (of golden-leg
fame), that "them as has naught is naughty," and she would continue to
insist, in spite of Blanche's eloquent expostulations, that the little
bare-legged tattered native must necessarily be a dangerous tramp, the
off-shoot from a whole gang lurking near; and Ellis looked fearfully
around, as if out of every bracken might spring a gypsy, and felt sure
that had it not been for her opportune appearance on the scene, her
little mistress would certainly have been kidnapped.
As soon as the strangers were gone a little distance, Morag laid down
her work, and gliding up to the old fir-tree where she had stood to
listen to Blanche's hymn, she leant against it, and shading her eyes
with her hand she gazed wistfully after them as they disappeared among
the pillars of pine. "The bonnie wee leddy, she's awa'. They'll no be
lettin' her speak wi' the like o' me anither time," soliloquised Morag,
who, like most solitary people, had the habit of speaking her thoughts
aloud when alone. "That gran' like woman thocht I was a tramp. I'm
thinkin' I'll look some like ane," she murmured, looking down with a new
feeling of discomfort on her tattered little garment. "I'll men' it up
some the nicht, though, and mak' it look a wee bit better afore the
morn. She said she would be back again. Who will the Lord be she was
singin' aboot, that died upo' the green hill? I never heard tell o'
Him. It surely canna hae been on oor ain hills here aboot," continued
Morag, as she gathered up the scattered materials for her hook-making,
and wandered slowly away towards her home among the crags.
In the meantime Blanche had reached the castle, and discovered the
mysterious "somebody" who awaited her, of whom she could not persuade
Ellis to divulge anything. In the cool shadow of the grey tower there
stood, awaiting her inspection, a lovely little Shetland pony, one of
the blackest, roundest, daintiest of his breed. Blanche sprang forward
with a cry of delight.
"Oh, what a little darling! You don't mean to say he is for me?" The
little fellow turned his bright black eyes on her, and shook his shaggy
mane, as if to say, "So you are my little mistress! Let's have a look at
you. I hope you are inclined to be pleasant!"
Blanche returned his gaze by throwing her arms round his neck and
hugging him heartily, greatly to the amusement of the Highlander who had
brought him, and was standing by.
"What lovely eyes he has got, hasn't he, Ellis? Do you know, they remind
me of"--Morag's she was going to say; but she remembered that was a
forbidden name. Presently she ran to find Miss Prosser, that she might
come and admire the new favorite.
"He looks so perfectly good and quiet, quite like a dog. I'm sure I may
sometimes ride him alone, mayn't I, Miss Prosser?"
"I shall never sanction such a step, and I cannot think that your papa
will consider it either wise or proper for you to ride alone," replied
her governess, shocked by the suggestion.
"What's his name?" asked Blanche, turning to the owner of the pony,
anxious to change a subject which she saw had not met with approval.
"Anything my little leddy pleases; she be not got any name to hersel
yet;" and turning to Miss Prosser, he said, evidently anxious to
establish the character of his late possession, "She's as quiet's a
lamb, leddy, and there isna a foot o' the Glen she doesna know as weel's
mysel'."
But Miss Prosser shook her head incredulously under her sunshade, as she
moved away.
"Nonsense, Blanche, you silly child! Don't you know that horse-dealers
are proverbial cheats? The animal is probably the greatest vixen under
the sun. Those small ponies are most dangerous and tricky always."
But Blanche, nothing daunted by the alleged bad character of her new
favorite, set her little brain to work to find a name for him. As Miss
Prosser disapproved of any lady's name being bestowed on one of the
lower animals, the selection became more limited. After searching
through several volumes of history, ancient and modern, and various
volumes of lighter literature, with an assiduity worthy of a better
cause, her governess remarked, Blanche decided that, after all, no name
seemed to suit the little fellow so well as the one which had at first
suggested itself, but was set aside as being too commonplace, that of
Shag. So off she trotted to inform the little Shetlander that he was no
longer nameless, and to see what he was thinking of his new quarters.
The next day, to Blanche's great delight, her papa announced that he was
not going to the moors, and meant to take his little daughter out for a
ride. The horses had been ordered round at twelve o'clock, and Blanche
spent the morning in aimless wanderings round the castle, wishing that
the hour for starting would arrive; a ride with her papa was such a rare
piece of happiness, that the prospect quite sufficed for her morning's
entertainment, without setting anything else on foot.
At last a practical difficulty presented itself, which she had not
thought of before, and she ran off to find her maid to remind her that
her riding-habit had been left at home, for she remembered hearing Miss
Prosser say that there was no need of including it in the Highland
wardrobe, since the little Neige was to be left behind in his London
stables.
"Well now, missie, did you never think of that till this time of day? A
pretty job it would have been for you if everybody else had been so
forgetful," said the maid, smiling, as she took from a drawer a pretty
new tartan riding-habit, all ready to wear.
"There now, Miss Blanche, that's what has kept me so busy for the last
two days. I've just this minute finished runnin' it up. It's a queer
color for a habit, I must say, but it's the best thing to be found at
the village shop."
"Oh! you dear good Ellis, how kind of you to make it in such a hurry! It
is such a beauty, much prettier than my dark blue at home. Don't you
think I might put it on now, just to see how it looks?"
So the riding-habit was rather prematurely donned, and Chance with his
mistress were waiting in the hall some time before the little Shag and
his stately bay companion appeared in the court-yard. Blanche was
already mounted when Mr. Clifford emerged from the library with his
budget of letters ready for the post-bag.
"What a regular Highland lassie it is, to be sure!" said he, glancing at
Blanche's gay-colored habit as he mounted his horse.
"It is certainly most unsuitable," apologized Miss Prosser, who had come
out to see them start. "But it was really the only material procurable
in these uncivilized regions."
"It's a first-rate attire--quite in keeping, I assure you, Miss Prosser.
Come along, Blanchie; you will quite charm the deer and the moor-fowl by
having got yourself up in their native tartan."
On the riders went, soon leaving the shady birch-avenue far behind, and
getting among breezy moors. It was a perfect autumn day, the sky was
serene and bright, and a pleasant heathery perfume filled the air.
Blanche's long fair curls floated in the breeze, and her face glowed
with pleasure as she swept on alongside her father, the little
Shetlander cantering as fast as it could lay its short legs to the
ground, trying to keep pace with the swinging trot of the long-limbed
hunter.
"Shag, as you call him, is quite a success, Blanchie," said Mr.
Clifford, as he reined his horse in at last. "I'm afraid he will prove
even a rival to Neige."
"Oh no, papa; there's no fear of that; my heart is big enough to love a
dozen ponies. Shag is a perfect darling, though. He seems so good and
quiet, too; don't you think I might ride him alone, papa?"
"Ride quite alone? I am not so sure about that, pussy. Don't you think
you'd feel like the damsel all forlorn. I think you must be satisfied
with Lucas when I can't come. Poor old fellow! he prefers his
carriage-box to his saddle nowadays, he is getting so asthmatic; but I
don't think I can trust you with anybody else."
"O papa! please don't send Lucas with me; he's so old and stupid, and
wheezes so dreadfully; and he always says so solemnly, 'Take care
missie,' when we begin to go fast. I'd much rather wait till you can
come, if I mayn't go alone."
As Blanche cantered on by her father's side, she suddenly remembered her
promise to meet Morag in the fir-wood, which she had forgotten in the
excitement of the morning. She was hesitating whether she should tell
her papa about her new acquaintance, and wondering if he would call her
a dangerous gypsy as Ellis did, when her thoughts were diverted by
coming within sight of a human habitation of some kind; the first they
had seen since leaving the castle, so Blanche viewed it with some
curiosity. She wondered whether all the cottages that studded the valley
looked as neat and pretty as this one, which stood in its little
fenced-in garden, growing out of the bleak moorland, where flourished
gooseberry and currant bushes, besides drills of cabbage and potatoes.
The late summer flowers were still gay and sweet, and creeping
rose-bushes grew on the white wall under the brown thatch, which looked
thick and trim, all studded over with thick, green moss as soft as
velvet. The little windows were bright and shining, and the tiny muslin
curtains looped up behind them looked spotless and dainty.
"O papa! what a lovely little cottage; it looks quite like a doll's
house!" exclaimed Blanche.
"It is certainly a wonderful abode to find in such a wild spot," said
Mr. Clifford, glancing at the well-kept garden. "The occupants, whoever
they are, have certainly contrived to make the wilderness blossom."
Behind the cottage, and evidently belonging to it, was a little patch
of cornfield, that lay yellow and shining in the sun, quite ripe for
harvest; indeed it was partly cut down, though there appeared to be only
one reaper in the field. Blanche slackened her pony's rein to look at
the old woman who was bending over a sheaf which she had been binding,
with no other help than her frail trembling fingers. Attracted by the
unusual sound of passers-by, she looked up from her work, and caught a
glimpse of the little girl's face, who had lingered behind her papa, and
was looking pityingly across the old grey dyke on the lonely reaper at
her toilsome afternoon's work. "They'll be the new folk that's come til
the castle, I'm thinkin'. She's a richt bonnie bit leddy that, though,"
soliloquised the old woman, as she shaded her quiet gray eyes with her
long thin fingers, and gazed after the riders. "May the Lord himsel'
keep her bonnie in His ain e'en, as she's fair til see;" and stooping
down, she lifted her hook, and went on with her work again.
Blanche and her father soon left the pretty cottage far behind, as they
cantered on in the delicious breeze, which wafted all manner of pleasant
odors and thoughts to the little girl, who rode gaily on in the
sunshine; but it did not waft to her ears the prayer which had gone up
to God for her, that afternoon, from one of His true servants, the lowly
bent woman on whom the blue eyes of the little maiden had been so
pityingly cast.