by One greater and more glorious. Let us employ His aid; then we shall
go forth in the strength of our faith, and Satan shall flee from before
us."
He then prayed, and the reapers kneeled. When his address was finished,
he arose with a firm assurance in the divine protection.
"I will go forth," said he, "in the strength of His name, and see what
new delusion of Satan this is. William Kerr, send to the house for the
ha' Bible, that I may carry it as a shield between us and the wiles of
him who will vanish before the holy Book, like mist before the wind."
One of the young men ran to the house, and soon returned, with his
mistress, she herself carrying the important volume, which she delivered
into the hands of John Bell; and the latter, opening it, read aloud to
them that beautiful chapter, the fourteenth of St John's Gospel. They
then proceeded to the spot pointed out by the farmer, chanting a psalm,
which the elder gave out, as they walked behind him. All, excepting the
elder, were unnerved by fear--casting many a timid glance around, and
ready, at the least alarm, to run back. Curiosity to see the conclusion,
and shame, more than firmness, compelled them to advance. Before they
reached the stone where the farmer had seen his dog and his charge,
Colin came bounding to them, barking for joy, and fawning upon his
master and mistress; while the former, in a burst of joy at the recovery
of his favourite, exclaimed--
"Great is the power of the Word! The charm is broken! Colin, Colin, I am
rejoiced to have rescued you from the evil powers. Come, lad, let us to
the hill, and weer in the ewes." And, with his usual whistle, he pointed
to the hill.
Colin would not yet obey the wonted order, but ran back towards the
large grey stone, barking in an unusual manner, returning, again running
towards it, and looking back as if he wished his master to follow. The
whole group were in amazement, and knew not what to think of these
strange actions of the dog; but they had yet more to be surprised at;
for, taking the end of his master's plaid in his mouth, the creature
endeavoured gently to drag him towards the stone. As the party thus
stood irresolute, the faint wailing of a child was distinctly heard, and
a babe, supporting its feeble arms upon the stone, was seen to emerge
from the other side of it. It was the same the farmer had previously
seen: his fears returned--several of the most timid fled; but Colin ran
to the little stranger, and licked the tears that streamed down its
cheeks, while the child put its arms around his neck, and leaned its
head upon its new friend. That they witnessed something out of the usual
order of nature, no one present had the smallest doubt; for how, by
earthly means, could a child of man have reached a spot so lonely and
secluded? The farmer and his wife both endeavoured, by the most
endearing terms, to induce Colin to leave it; but in vain.
"What can this mean?" exclaimed Grizzel. "Colin, Colin, you never before
refused to obey my voice; surely nothing good could induce you to
disregard it. Come, come, and leave that unearthly creature."
John Bell, who had been occupied in mental devotion, at length broke
silence--
"Let us not judge harshly," said he; "perhaps it is a Christian child,
dropped here by the fairies as they were bearing it away from its
parents, who now mourn for its loss, and nurse a changeling in its
place. It may have been rescued by the prayer of faith, or some other
means, from their power. In the strength of His name, I will be
convinced of its real nature, either by putting it to flight if it is
unearthly, or rescuing it from death if it is human; for we must not
leave it here to perish through cold and want, and prove ourselves more
cruel than the dumb animal."
As he spoke, the eye of the child turned towards them; it gave a feeble
cry, and stretched out its arms, still supported by the dog. The elder
advanced to it, and placing the Bible upon its head, it smiled in his
face, and grasped his leg. The tears came into the good man's eyes,
while Colin bounded for joy, and licked his hand as it rested upon the
head of the child.
"Come forward, my friends," he said; "it is a lovely child, a Christian
babe, for it smiles at the touch of the blessed Word. It is weak and
sore spent, and calls for attention and kindness."
All the woman was kindled in the heart of the farmer's wife; she ran to
the babe, and pressed it to her bosom, kissing it as it smiled in her
face, and lisped a few words in a language none present could
understand. The fears of all were now nearly dissipated; those who had
fled returned; all the females in turn embraced the babe; but the
fondness of William Kerr for the foundling was now equal to his former
fears. He at once resolved to adopt it as his own, until its sorrowing
parents should reclaim it. Grizzel concurred in the sentiment and
resolution; and he and Colin, who now had resumed all his wonted
obedience, set off for the hill, while the other returned to the house.
As Grizzel carried the child home, she felt her love for it increase;
and the void that had existed in her bosom ever since her marriage was
fast filling up. The child's eyes were of a deep hazel, and gave
indications of beauty; and its clothes were of a far finer texture than
those worn by children of humble rank, and bespoke a good origin. Of all
the females present, she alone felt assured that it was a proper child,
because she wished it to be so; the others looked upon it still with
some misgivings; revolving, doubtless, in their minds, the strangeness
of all the circumstances attending the affair--and not the least of
these was the locality of the child's position. It was a lonely spot,
bearing no good name, close by a beautiful green knoll, standing by a
spring of pure water, and covered with daisies; while all around was
heather or stunted grass, resembling an oasis in the desert. Strange
sights were reported to have been seen near it; and the shepherd lads,
in the still evenings of summer, were wont to hear there strange humming
noises, mixed with faint tinklings--sure signs, of course, of the
presence of the fairies. It was called the Fairy Knowe, while the stone
was called the Eldrich Stone--names of bad omen, and sufficient to scare
all visiters after nightfall. The newly-awakened feelings of Grizzel
deprived all these ideas and recollections of that weight which operated
with the other females, and warped their opinions; and, while they
concluded that nothing good could be found in such a spot, they
cautioned Grizzel, in their kindness, to be wary that the creature did
her no harm. Grizzel herself was not without some misgivings; but she
clung to the babe that lay in her bosom, and resolved to put to the
test, as soon as she reached home, whether it was really a fairy, or a
child stolen by these kidnappers. She believed her test to be sufficient
to make it, if a fairy, leave her presence; if a human babe, to place it
beyond their power to recover it, cleanse it from any spell they might
have put upon it, secure it from the evil eye, and prevent its being
forespoken. For these most important purposes she borrowed a piece of
money (without assigning a reason for wanting it) from one of her
neighbours, and, as soon as she reached home, secured herself in the
spence with the babe (for no one must see her in the act), put the piece
of money into some clean water with salt, stripped the child to the
skin, washed it carefully, then took its shift and passed it thrice
through the smoke of the fire, and put it on again, with the wrong side
out. All this was done not without fear and trembling on the part of
Grizzel; but her new-found treasure was unchanged, and smiled sweetly in
her face as she proceeded in her superstitious operation. Having
supplied its little wants, now fully assured, she put it to bed with
joy and satisfaction, and looked on it till it fell into a sweet sleep.
Scarce had she accomplished this, when William Kerr entered with John
Bell, upon whom he had called as he returned from the hill, to aid him
with his counsel and advice.
"Well, Grizzel," said he, "is it a lad or a lass bairn we hae found; for
I am convinced (for a' the fear it gae me), by what our elder has said,
that it is nae fairy, but an unchristened wean the elves had been
carryin awa frae its parents, wha, I hae nae doot, are noo mournin its
loss."
"Indeed, guidman," replied Grizzel, "it is as sonsie a lass bairn as
ever I saw in my life, and a's richt. It is nae fairy, I'm satisfied,
and I'm richt glad on't; for she'll be a great comfort to us, now that
we are getting up in years, if her ain mother doesna come to take her to
her ain bosom; but o' that I think there is little chance; for, by the
few words it spoke, it is nae child o' oor land."
"William Kerr," said the elder, "if, as your wife proposes, you mean to
keep this child, there is one duty to perform, both for its sake and
your own--and that is, it must be baptised; for there is no doubt this
sacred right has either been withheld or neglected, or the enemy would
not have had the power to do as he has done. To-morrow I will go myself
to the minister and talk with him; and next Lord's-day you or I must
present it to be admitted into the visible church, of which I pray it
may be a worthy member. Are you content?"
"Far mair than content," replied the farmer; "I will rejoice, and bless
God, for the occasion as fervently as if she were my ain. While I hae a
bit or a bield she shall neither feel hunger nor cold."
The parties separated for the night, and the new-found stranger slept in
the bosom of the farmer's wife. On the following Sabbath it was taken to
the church of Minniegaff to be baptised. The church was crowded to
excess. Every one that could, by any effort, get there, attended to
witness the christening of a fairy, all expecting something uncommon to
occur. The farmer and his wife, they thought, were too rash to harbour
it in their house, for it was not chancy to be at feud with "the good
people," who, out of revenge, might shoot his cattle; and, verily,
during that summer, a good many had already died of elve shots. As the
christening party approached the church, every one was anxious to get a
peep at the young creature. It was so beautiful that it could not, they
said, be a common child; neither was it a changeling, for changelings
are weazened, yammering, ill-looking things, that greet night and day,
and never grow bigger. Contrary to the expectations of almost all the
congregation, when the farmer and his party entered the church, the
child neither screamed nor flew off in a flash of fire, but smiled as
beautiful as a cherub. The service went on as usual. The farmer stood up
and took the holy vows upon himself, and gave the lovely babe the name
of Helen. The girl throve, and became the pride of her foster-parents,
who loved her as intensely as if she had been their own child; and Colin
became, if possible, more beloved by them, as Helen's playfellow.
A few months after the finding of Helen, as Grizzel was one day
examining the silken dress which she wore when discovered on the muir,
and which had never been put on since--being soiled and damp when taken
off--she discovered a piece of paper in one of the folds, much creased,
as if it had been placed there by some one in a state of great
agitation. It was written in French. Neither the farmer nor herself
could read it, but William, on the first opportunity, took and showed it
to the minister, who translated it as follows:--"Merciful God! protect
me and my child from the fury of my husband, who has returned, after his
long absence, more gloomy than ever. Alas! in what have I offended him?
If I have, without any intention, done so, my dear baby, you cannot
have given offence. Good God! there are preparations for a journey
making in the court-yard--horse, saddle, and pillion. Where am I to be
carried to? My babe! I will not be parted from you but by death. His
feet are on the stairs: I hear his voice. Alas! I tremble at that sound
which was once music to my soul. Holy Virgin! he approaches!" Here the
writing ceased. It threw no light upon the event, further than it showed
that the mother of the child was unhappy, and above the lower ranks of
life. The paper William left with the minister, at his request.
The little Helen grew, and became even more lovely and engaging--the
delight and joy of the farmer and his wife. Yet their happiness had in
it a mixture of pain; for they never thought of her but with a fear
lest, as not being their own child, she should be claimed and taken from
them. Years rolled on, and Helen grew apace. She was of quick parts, and
learned with facility everything she was taught--a circumstance which
induced many to believe that the fairies were her private tutors. The
opinion was justified by other circumstances. She was thoughtful and
solitary for a child. The Eldrich Stone was her favourite haunt. She
seldom joined in the sports of the other children of her age--having,
indeed, little inducement; for they were always fearful of her, and felt
constraint in her presence. Some of the most forward taunted her with
the cognomen of Fairy Helen; and if she was successful (as she often
was) in their childish sports, they left her, saying, "Who could win
with a fairy?" This chilled the joyous heart of the fair Helen, and was
the cause of many tears, which the kind Grizzel would kiss off with more
than maternal love. As she grew up, she withdrew herself from the
society of those who thus grieved her; but there was one individual who
ever took her part, and boldly stood forth in her defence. This was
Willie, "the widow's son," as he was familiarly called, for no one knew
his surname. He lived with an aged woman, who passed as his mother; but
the more knowing females of the village said she could not, from her
apparent age, bear that character. She had come there no one knew from
whence, and inhabited a lone cottage with the boy. She appeared to be
extremely poor, yet sought no aid from any one. William was better clad
than any child in the parish, and much care had been taken in his
education. She had (by the proper legitimate right) the name of being a
witch. She sought not the acquaintance of her neighbours; and, when
addressed by any of them, was very reserved, but civil; while the only
thing that saved her from persecution was her regular and devout
attendance at church, along with the child William, and the good opinion
of the worthy minister. Yet this scarcely saved her; for, when anything
untoward occurred in the neighbourhood, it was always laid to her
charge. William was six or seven years older than Helen, and, still
smarting under the taunts he had himself endured, was her champion, and
none dared offer her insult in his presence. Her timid heart clung to
him and loved him as a brother, and they were ever together--as he
accompanied her to and from school, as if she had been his sister. He
was now about eighteen, tall and athletic for his age, and of a firm and
resolute mind.
It was in the autumn of the year 1688, that a strange horseman, with a
servant behind him, was seen to approach the lone cottage of the
widow--to dismount and enter it. He remained for several hours, during
which his servant was busy purchasing a horse, and the necessary
furniture for an immediate departure. Willie was afterwards seen
bounding across the fields towards the house of William Kerr, which he
entered, with a face beaming with joy.
"Helen," said he, "I am come to bid you farewell; for I am going to
leave Minniegaff for a long time, and I could not think of going
without seeing you, and letting you know my good fortune."
Helen burst into tears, and sobbed. "O Willie!" she cried, "who will
take my part when you are gone? I will have no friend left but my dear
father and mother, and I will miss you so much. But it is wrong for me
to be grieved for your departure, if your fortune is good." And she
tried to subdue her tears.
"Yes, Helen," said he, "my fortune is good. I have found, what I hope
you will soon find, a long-lost father--a parent I knew not existed. I
now know that Elizabeth is not my mother, but has only had the charge of
me during my father's exile in a foreign land. He is now returned with
William, Prince of Orange, and is restored to his estate. I am going to
London to join him, where I will often think of you, Helen. Farewell!"
And clasping the weeping Helen to his bosom, he ran back to his cottage,
took farewell of Elizabeth, and, full of hope and joyous expectation,
soon was out of sight.
After the departure of Willie, Helen felt for long a loneliness she had
never felt before. The Eldrich Stone used to be her favourite resort;
but she was now much dedicated to Elizabeth, who, being left alone,
became fond of her company, passing the greater part of the day in the
farmer's house, but continuing as reserved and taciturn as she had
always been. In vain Grizzel endeavoured to know from her who Willie's
father was, or his name. All she ever would communicate was, that his
was a gallant name; and the time, she hoped, was now come when he might
pronounce it with the best of the land. Thus time passed on, and Willie
was almost forgotten by every one save Elizabeth and Helen--the one
dwelling on the loved theme with all the fondness of a parent; the other
with that of a beloved brother. But no news of him had as yet reached
the cottage of Elizabeth, who was now become very frail, while Helen
paid her every attention in her power.
The seasons had, for the last three years, been most unpropitious; the
poor were suffering from famine, and the more wealthy were much
straitened in their circumstances, and impoverished by the death of
their cattle from want of fodder. In summer--if it could be called
summer--when the sun was not seen for weeks together, when the whole
atmosphere was surcharged by fogs, when the ground was deluged by rain,
and the wind blew piercing cold, the grain that was sown did not ripen
sufficiently either for food to man or seed to sow; while the cattle,
seized by unknown diseases, languished and died. Money, in those distant
parts, was of small avail; for none had grain to dispose of, or help to
bestow upon the numerous applicants who thronged the doors of the larger
farmers. Nettles, marsh mallows, and every weed that was not immediately
hurtful, were eagerly sought after and devoured by the famished people.
Among all this suffering, William Kerr did not escape. The lengthened
and unprecedentedly deep snowstorms were fatal to his flocks, and,
before the fourth winter, he had not one left to take care of. His black
cattle died, until he was equally bereft of all; and that house where
plenty had always been, and from whence the beggar was never sent away
hungry, was now the abode of want bordering on famine. Yet despondency
never clouded his brow, and his heart was strong in Christian faith, and
resigned to the will of God. Evening and morning his simple sacrifice
was offered up to the throne of grace with as fervent love and adoration
as in the days of his greatest prosperity; while the assiduous and
gentle Helen mingled her tears with those of Grizzel, as much for the
misery that was around them as their own. The winter of the fifth year
had set in with unusual severity, long before its usual time, and all
that William had secured of his crop was a few bushels of oats, so black
and bitter, that nothing but the extreme of hunger would have compelled
a human being to have tasted the flour they produced. Their only
cow--the last of six which had in former years abundantly supplied their
dairy--now lean and shrunk, had long since withheld her nourishing
stream. It was a beautiful animal, the pride of Helen and Grizzel, was
reared upon the farm, and obeyed Helen's voice like a dog. With great
exertion and assiduity she had procured for it support; but the grass
did not give its wonted nourishment, being stinted and sour, and in vain
was now all her care. The snow lay deep on the ground, and the animal
was pining with hunger, and must inevitably die from want.
Great was the struggle, and bitter the tears they shed, before they gave
consent to have their favourite put to death. Yet it was reasonable; for
the carcase was requisite to sustain their own existence and that of
Elizabeth, whom the good farmer had removed to his own home, lest she
had died for want, or been plundered in those times of suffering and
distress--when even the bands of natural affection were rent asunder by
famine, and children were devouring in secret any little eatable they
found, without giving a share to their more famished parents, while
parents grudged a morsel to their expiring children. Thus passed another
miserable winter, and death was now busy around them; numbers died from
want and unwholesome food, and among the rest old Elizabeth sickened and
paid the debt of nature; but, to her last moment, she never divulged to
Helen, much as she loved her, any circumstance regarding Willie. Helen,
indeed, in the present distress thought not of him; and when Elizabeth
used to regret his neglect of her, she only remembered him as a former
playfellow and generous school companion.
A few days before she died, as Helen sat by her bedside, administering
to her wants, she put forth her emaciated and withered hands, and taking
Helen's, kissed them, and blessed her for the care and attention she had
paid her. Pointing to a small chest in which her clothes were kept, she
gave Helen the key, and requested her to open it, and bring a small
ebony box to her. Helen did as desired; and, when she received the box,
she opened it by touching a concealed spring. Helen looked on in
amazement; for in the box were many jewels, and several valuable rings.
The old woman took them out, one by one, and laid them upon the bed, in
a careless manner, as if they had been of no value; then took out a
small bundle of letters, which she kissed and wept over for a few
moments; then, looking up, she said--
"O great Author of my being! pardon this, my last thought of earth, when
my whole soul ought to be employed in thanking thee for thy mercies, and
imploring pardon for my many sins. Oh, how I now lament my
infirmities!--but there is still hope for even the chief of sinners,
which I am, in the blood of Jesus." She then sunk overpowered upon her
pillow for a time, and at length recovering, continued--"Dear Helen,
when I am gone, keep these baubles to yourself. Alas! they were
purchased by me by years of misery. These papers you will keep for
William, should he ever return to inquire after me; if not, destroy
them; you are at liberty to look over them if you choose, when I am no
more. In this box you will also find a small sum in gold. When it
pleases God to give his sinful creatures more favourable seasons, it
will restock this present desolate farm, and in part only restore the
debt of gratitude we owe a worthy man."
Helen, with tears, accepted the bequest, and restored it to the oaken
chest; then kneeled by the bedside of the sufferer, and prayed with all
her heart for her recovery; but the hand of death was upon
Elizabeth--she fell into stupor, and never spoke again. Helen and her
foster-parents felt real sorrow at the death of their inmate, for she
was a pleasant companion to a pious auditory. Though taciturn on every
subject but what was of a spiritual nature, her soul became as if on
fire when she conversed on her favourite theme, and a sublimity was in
her language that carried away her hearers, and forced conviction upon
the cold and indifferent.