"But I'm no thinkin' heaven isna a kin' o' land we dinna ken, when Jesus
is there Himsel', waitin' for us. He made ilka body so happy-like when
he was i' the warl'; and though we canna see Him, I'm thinkin' He's jist
the same yet. When we get til the golden gates o' the City we read aboot
i' the hinner en' o' the Bible, he wad jist be puttin' His han's on us,
and sayin' something kin' like, and we wad be feelin' at hame. He speaks
that plain like til folk here, tho' we canna see Him. I dinna think I
would be feared to gang til get a sicht o' Him."
There was a light in Morag's eye that made Blanche feel she was speaking
of what she knew.
"He never speaks to me like that, Morag. I don't think He can love me at
all. I'm sure He doesn't. I'm so dreadfully wicked. Besides, I'm afraid
I never cared to know about Him at all; indeed, I never felt as if He
were a real person."
"I thocht that ance, till Kirsty telt me different," said Morag,
interrupting her. "I'm weel sure He looes you richt weel, leddy. I'm
thinking He's no far frae us, jist this minute. Will ye no speak til Him
yersel' in yer ain bonnie words, leddy? I'm thinkin' He would like weel
to be listening til the like o' you," whispered Morag, eagerly, as she
knelt by Blanche's side.
"O Morag! do you mean that I should pray in my very own words? I
couldn't, indeed. Of course I say my prayers every night--one of the
Collects generally."
"I dinna ken what a Collec' is," replied Morag, looking perplexed.
"Oh, well, it's a written prayer we use in church. If you'll bring that
case of books to me, I'll show it to you."
Blanche turned the leaves of her daintily-bound Church Service, and read
some of its strong, thrilling words of prayer, which rang like the music
of a psalm in Morag's ear.
"That's jist terrible bonnie--a hantle bonnier than onything a body
would make up themsels. I like richt weel to hear't. Would ye jist read
a bit more, gin ye please?" and the little girl's face glowed with
pleasure as she sat listening.
After looking meditatively into the fire for some minutes when Blanche
had finished reading, she said, slowly--
"Ay, that is richt bonnie; and I'm thinkin' sic sweet words maun please
Him weel. But there's jist something mak's me think He wad like a body's
verra ain words best o' a'. Now, d'ye no think, gin ye was wantin'
onything frae yer father, it wouldna be sic nateral like to read it oot
o' a bonnie buik as jist to pit your arms roun' his neck, and plead wi'
him a bittie, as I've seen you do, whiles,--and ye ken fine ye aye get
the thing ye're wantin'," she added, smiling archly; and then she
continued--"Weel, I'm thinkin' that maun be what He would hae us to do,
frae what He says Himsel'. D'ye no think that yersel', leddy?" asked
Morag, looking earnestly into Blanche's troubled face.
"I think I understand what you mean, Morag; but I never thought of
speaking to Jesus Christ like that. Why did you not ever tell me that
you did till to-night, Morag?" asked Blanche, reproachfully. "You
remember you wanted so very much to know all about Him when I knew you
first. Dear me, Morag, you must have found out a great deal about these
things since then," added Blanche, regretfully.
"Ay have I," replied Morag, smiling brightly. "But it was frae yersel' I
first heard His name. D'ye mind on't, leddy? I'm thinkin' I'll min'
upon't as lang as I live--and maybe efter-hin. Kirsty was jist sayin'
yestreen, she's richt sure folk dosna forget the travellin' days when
they win safe hame til the Golden City."
"Oh! I remember. You mean that morning when I was gathering cones in the
fir-wood, and began singing a hymn. I had been singing for a long time
before I looked up and saw you. I was so astonished to see you leaning
against the tree, and so glad that I had found you again," and Blanche
laughed merrily at the recollection of the scene. Presently she became
grave again, and taking Morag's hand in hers, she added, in a low
tone--"But, Morag, you must not think I was singing about Jesus Christ
because I loved Him, or cared for the words of the hymn. I think I chose
them because they seemed to suit the air I wanted to sing. I think I do
care now, though. O Morag! you might speak to Jesus Christ yourself just
now, and I'll try, too. Perhaps he will listen to us both. Do ask Him to
teach me to be good when I go back to London. I used to be so naughty
often--you've no idea. Do, please," added Blanche beseechingly, for she
knew Morag's extreme shyness, and feared that her request might not be
complied with.
The little mountain maiden seemed quite lifted out of her reserve. At
once the dark tangled locks went down among the bright chintz cushions,
and Morag spoke in low, reverent tones to the listening friend she had
come to know and love during these autumn days.
Morag was still kneeling when Ellis came bustling into the room to say
that the keeper had come to fetch his little daughter. Blanche looked
much disappointed. The time had passed so quickly, and there was still
much she wanted to talk about, but she had to content herself with
arranging a meeting at Kirsty's cottage on the following afternoon.
"We shall have so much to tell her, shan't we? And only fancy, Morag,
papa is coming, too! He says he will drive me there--that he wants to
see Kenneth to thank him. Is it not funny to think that papa has never
seen Kirsty? He says he is quite anxious to be introduced to her. Won't
it be fun to see them together? I have been telling him all the things I
want him to look at, and what chair it will be best to sit on--it would
be a pity if he took Kirsty's chair, you know. I'm only afraid he may be
too tall to get in at the door. I've been telling him he'll have to
stoop ever so much." And Blanche laughed merrily at the idea, as Ellis
hurried Morag away, saying that her father would be impatient.
The next day was cold, and wet, and scowling. Blanche seemed very tired
and feverish, and was not allowed to leave her bed, to which, indeed,
she made no resistance--the loch adventure seemed so completely to have
exhausted her. She dozed comfortably till evening, when her papa came to
sit beside her, and she became quite lively as she listened to his
account of his visit to Kirsty's cottage, which he had paid that
afternoon.
"Now, Blanchie, is there anything more you can possibly think of asking
concerning this visit?" said Mr. Clifford, laughingly, as he replied to
Blanche's eager questioning. "I couldn't have endured a greater fire of
cross-questioning if I had come from one of Her Majesty's drawing-rooms,
and you wanted a description of each toilette. Did I see a stool called
'Thrummy?' Well, I was almost precipitated into the fire-place, just as
I was going to make my bow to Kirsty, by stumbling over a bundle of rags
which answers to your description, so I suppose I did see the historical
'Thrummy.'" Smiling, he continued: "Then I sat down--I hope on the right
chair--but you may be sure I was dreadfully afraid of making a _faux
pas_ after all your instructions, Blanchie. I ended by having quite a
long talk with your friend Kirsty, though I had considerable difficulty
in understanding her dialect. She is really a very fine specimen of a
peasant woman. I quite admire your taste, pussy. There is a wonderful
amount of sense and pathos in her way of viewing things in general,
notwithstanding that atrocious northern dialect."
"Oh, papa! don't say it's atrocious! I like to listen to it so much
now. I'm sure I could never like an old woman half so well if she did
not speak like Kirsty. She is the first I have ever known,--and I love
her so much," added Blanche with a sigh, when she thought how soon she
would be far away from the _ben-end_ of Kirsty's cottage, where she had
spent some of the pleasantest hours of her life.
"Yes; she is a first-rate old woman, I allow; but she has put me in the
embarrassing position of absolutely refusing to accept any reward for
her grandson's brave conduct yesterday. Unfortunately, one is not much
accustomed to such delicacy of feeling, so perhaps I did not manage the
matter rightly. I began to see what kind of stuff she was made of, and I
did try to approach the subject as carefully as possible. But she shook
her fine old head resolutely, and would not hear of anything more
substantial than thanks."
"Ah! that was so like Kirsty! I don't really think she would care a bit
for anything you might give her; only I do think she will be well
pleased that you went to see her, and said nice things about Kenneth.
She does always look so glad to see Morag and me," added Blanche,
smiling at the recollection of the warm reception which they never
failed to receive at the little cottage.
"But did you not see Kenneth himself, papa?"
"Yes, I did. The bright idea occurred to me that the grandson might be
more amenable, and before the old woman went to fetch him, I took the
precaution of asking her not to lay any commands on the boy, at all
events. She replied, in that wonderful voice of hers, 'Na, na; I'se houp
the laddie winna need nae comman's o' mine anent sic a maitter.' So
Kenneth was produced, and I thanked the brave fellow, in your name and
mine. His face quite glowed with pleasure, I saw; but when I added,
'Now, Kenneth, my little daughter wants to give you something more than
thanks for saving her life and her little friend's, though we know money
can't pay for a brave deed like that,'--or something to that effect, his
countenance fell directly, and he was quite as inexorable on that point
as his old grandmother. So we must set our wits to work to manage the
matter. I'll speak to Dingwall about it."
"I'm so glad Kenneth didn't want to take anything," exclaimed Blanche.
"I'm sure Kirsty will be glad. She is so very anxious he should grow up
a really good man. Don't her gray eyes look so pretty when she smiles,
papa?"
"Now, pussy, I'm not going to join in any more raptures concerning
Kirsty's eyes, or her other perfections. Good-night, darling. You are
looking quite feverish again. We shall have plenty of time to talk about
Kirsty when we get back to London, you know," added Mr. Clifford, as he
saw that Blanche looked disappointed to close the conversation.
At last Blanche went to sleep, thinking how very nice it was to have her
papa all to herself, for a whole evening; and that, after all, though it
was very sad to leave Glen Eagle, it could not be dull in London when
her papa was to be there, as he evidently meant to be, when he spoke of
having talks about Kirsty.