THE FIRST SCHOLARS
Grace Campbell hurried home with not less eagerness than her future
scholar, to tell the news of her expedition at Kirklands. Her Aunt Hume
was only half awakened from her afternoon nap, and glanced with dropsy
eyes at the glowing face, as she listened to her niece's description of
how and where she had found Geordie.
"Baxter! I do not remember that name; I must ask Mr. Graham who they
are, and all about them, nest time he comes," said Miss Hume, after
Grace had finished her eager narration, and stood twirling her hat in
her hand, hesitating whether she should tell her aunt Geordie's
impression of what sort of people the "Kirklands folk" were; but just at
that moment tea was brought, and on reflection, Grace resolved that, for
the present, it would be wise to keep silent on that point. Two days
passed quickly, and Sunday afternoon found Grace hovering about the
door of the little room which her aunt had given to her for her class.
She had been seated in state at a table which Margery had placed for
her, at what the old nurse considered a suitable angle of distance from
the form arranged for the scholars; but Grace began to think it felt
rather formidable to be waiting seated there, so she gathered up the
books again, and wandered between the avenue and the little room,
waiting with impatience the arrival of her first scholars, and having a
vague fear lest they might not be forthcoming after all.
Meanwhile, Geordie and his little sister were toiling along the dusty
highway in an excited, expectant state of mind. The shady elm avenue was
a refreshing change after the hot white turnpike road. Geordie looked
keenly about him, noting all the well-kept walks and shrubberies, among
which he saw many plants that were not natives of the valley, and
thought he should like, sometime, to examine them more closely.
At last they came in sight of the grey gables of the old mansion, and
little Jean grasped her brother's hand more closely, and looked up with
a frightened glance at the many windows, which seemed to her like so
many great eyes all staring at her. She began to wish that she was
safe back in her granny's cottage again, but consoled herself by
thinking that as long as she had hold of Geordie's hand nothing very
dreadful could possibly happen. Geordie, too, was somewhat overawed by
the nearer view of the "big hoose," which certainly seemed much more
formidable in its dimensions than it did from the moorland, where he
used to get a glimpse of it while he watched the sheep, and then it
looked no larger than the grey cairn which he made his watch-tower, but
now it seemed to frown above him, and the windows, too, began to create
uncomfortable sensations in his mind as well as Jean's.
With the sight of his friend of the stepping-stones, his flagging
courage returned, for had he not conversed with her on his own domain,
and been invited by her to pay this visit?
"This is Jean," he said, immediately looking up at Grace with his frank
smile, as he gave his sister a little push forward.
"I have kept my tryst, ye see. You thought, maybe, I wouldna mind," he
added, smiling again at the absurdity of the idea that he should forget
such an eventful engagement. "I am so very glad to see you, Geordie,
and Jean, too. I must say I was a little afraid that you might forget
to come," added Grace, quite in a flutter of delight over the arrival of
her scholars, which they little dreamt of. Then she happened to glance
at Jean, who stood clutching her brother's corduroys in a very
frightened attitude, and Grace remembered that this was also a new
experience for the scholars, and perhaps they, too, might be suffering
from the nervousness which had been following her from the lawn to the
class-room for the last hour as she waited for them.
Putting out her hand to Jean, she said, in an encouraging tone, "Come, I
dare say you must be tired after your walk in this hot afternoon. We
shall go to a little room that my aunt has given us to sit in, and see
if we cannot find something nice to read and learn," and Grace led the
way up the old steps and across the hall, then through what appeared to
the children quite a bewildering maze of dark passages, so dim and
sombre after the bright sunshine, that Grace overheard Jean say in an,
abrupt whisper, which was instantly smothered by her brother, "I'm
afraid, Geordie; I'm no gain' farther upon this dark road."
At last the little company reached the room that had been assigned to
them. It was the old still-room, but it had been long in disuse, and
was scarcely less dim than the passages which led to it. The high narrow
window only admitted a few slanting rays of sunlight, that danced on the
white vaulted roof, which was queerly curved and arched by the windings
of a narrow staircase above. It looked, however, none the less an
imposing chamber to Geordie, who instinctively drew off his cap as he
came in from the sunny glare of the fresh spring day to its
semi-darkness.
Then Jean, who had decided that the best code of manners was to watch
what Geordie did, and follow implicitly, began to pull the strings of
her little bonnet, to remove it from her head. It had been a present
from Mistress Gowrie on New Year's Day, and this was the first occasion
on which Jean had worn it, though it had often been taken from its
resting-place in a red cotton pocket-handkerchief, and viewed with
complacency. To-day, when it came to be-tied, she had to apply to
Geordie, her unfailing help in all extremities; and he in his efforts to
make an imposing bow like the one which decorated Mistress Gowrie's
ample chin, had knotted the strings after the manner of whipcord, so
that they required all Grace's ingenuity to disentangle them.
Presently, after all these preliminaries were satisfactorily
accomplished, the young teacher seated herself at the table, and began,
to fumble nervously among the books which she had brought to use. There
was a little story-book that Walter and she used to like long ago, in
which she thought would be nice to read to them, and her mother's Bible,
in which she had been searching all the morning for what might be best
to choose as the first lesson, having selected and rejected a great many
parables and incidents both in the New and Old Testaments, and was even
now doubtful what they should begin to read.
The sight of the books reminded Geordie of his pocket compendium of
knowledge, and coming to the table he laid the dog-eared "Third Primer"
in Grace's hand, saying, "I've been once through, but I'm thinkin' I've
maybe forgot it some. I doubt Jean doesna know one letter from another,
though I've whiles tried to make her understand," added Geordie, rather
ruefully, as he glanced towards the smiling little maiden, who sat quite
unabashed at this account of her ignorance.
Grace was rather taken aback by the sight of the spelling-book, and also
by Geordie's statement as to the amount of his knowledge, though it was
the same as he had made at their first interview. Grace, however, in her
eagerness, had not understood its full import, so she gasped out in
some dismay, "But you can read the Bible a little, can you not,
Geordie?"
"Maybe I might, if I tried," replied Geordie, in a hopeful tone. "They
were just goin' to put me into the Bible when I left the school. I have
heard them reading out some of the stories, and I thought they wouldn't
be that difficult to spell out. Maybe if I read in the primer for a
while, ye'll put me into the Bible," he added, evidently having a strong
idea of the necessity for a good foundation of spelling-book lore before
proceeding to use it.
But Grace thought ruefully of all her high-flown plans for this Sunday
class, and felt that it was a terrible descent to be restricted to the
"Third Primer." But Geordie seemed convinced that through this dog-eared
volume lay the only royal road to learning. He had already opened the
book at one of the little lessons near the end which he seemed to think
he had not sufficiently mastered in the "schoolin' days" already far
away in the distance to the little herd-boy. He still stood by Grace's
side at the table, and his finger travelled slowly along the page as he
read, in the nasal sing-song tone in which the reading functions were
performed at the parish school, one of those meaningless little
paragraphs that are supposed to be best adapted by the compilers of
primers for teaching the young idea how to shoot.
Grace sat listening, rather perplexed as to what course it would be best
to pursue. This certainly was not the kind of ideal Sunday-class which
she had in her mind all these months; indeed, this "Third Primer" was
hardly orthodox food for Sunday at all, according to her ideas; and yet
Geordie was laboriously travelling over the page with a dogged
earnestness which she did not know how to divert into any other channel
without doing harm in some shape or other. But presently help came to
her from a quarter where she had least expected it.
Jean, who had been seated on the form unnoticed for several minutes,
listening to Geordie's earnest but uninteresting sing-song, as he stood
at the table leaning over his lesson-book, got tired of her neglected
situation, and descending from her high seat, she planted her sturdy
little legs on the floor, saying, in a decided tone, as she stumped away
towards the door, "Geordie, I'm tired sittin' here. I'm away home."
Jean's words fell like a thunderbolt both on Geordie and Grace. The
blood mounted to the boy's face, and his earnest blue eyes turned
anxiously towards the young teacher, to see what she was thinking of
such an utter breach of good manners on Jean's part.
[Illustration: THE FIRST LESSON.]
Poor Grace felt bitterly conscious of sudden and terrible failure in
this work which she had so longed to undertake. She had not been able to
interest one scholar for a quarter of an hour, and the other seemed only
to have his heart set on learning to spell. "But it is not quite time to
go home yet, Jean," she faltered, as she watched the little girl's
efforts to open the door, since Geordie did not seem inclined to come
to her assistance. "Indeed, we haven't really begun yet," continued
Grace. "Come, Jean, would you not like to stay a little longer and hear
a story from the Bible before you go? Geordie used to like them at
school, he says;" and then, turning to the boy, who stood looking in
grave reproving silence at Jean, she said, "Besides, Geordie, I think,
perhaps, I did not quite explain to you the other day what I thought we
should try to learn on Sunday afternoons when you come here. I shall be
very glad to help you with spelling, too, you know, but I thought I
should like to tell you something about the Lord Jesus Christ our
Saviour, and to read some of his wonderful words which we find in the
New Testament. You have heard of him, have you not, Geordie?"
"Oh, ay, I'm thinkin' I have. But it was in the Auld Testament they were
readin' when I was at the school. I mind there was a right fine story
about a herd-laddie killin' a big giant, that one o' the laddies telt me
once. You've heard it many a time from me, Jean."
"Ah, yes, I know that story too," Grace replied, brightening, as if a
glimmer of light had come to her in her perplexity. "And if you will
listen, I can tell you another story--about a Shepherd, too. I'm sure
you would like it, if you would only come back for a little and listen,
Jean," said Grace, eagerly.
She did not venture to open the Bible, in case the little girl should
think the book would imply another course of spelling, and be roused
into immediate flight. Abandoning all her carefully arranged plans for
teaching which she had been thinking of for so long, she looked into
Geordie's eyes, which were still wandering hungrily towards the
unconquered pages of the primer, and began to tell of the Shepherd who
watched the hundred sheep in a wilderness far away in a very hot
country, where the burning sun dried up the streams and withered the
pasture, and where it was very difficult to find food for either man or
beast. And then she told of how very wise and tender this Shepherd was
with his flock, looking after their wants day and night, and taking very
special care of the silly, play-loving lambs, who did not guess what
terrible dangers they might fall into; for there were wild beasts
prowling about, ready to pounce upon them, and rushing torrents that
came suddenly from the hillsides in rainy seasons, which would have
drowned them in a minute, if the Shepherd's watchful eye had not been
there. He knew all their names, too, though sheep are so wonderfully
like each other."
"Did he though?" exclaimed Geordie. "He must have more wit than Gowrie's
shepherd, then. He has been wi' them for more than a year now, and I
dinna think he knows the one from the other so well as I do."
Little Jean seemed to have abandoned her design of immediately returning
home, and was gradually edging nearer the table, with her twinkling
black eyes fixed on Grace.
"But I was going to tell you what happened to one of the little lambs in
spite of the Shepherd's watchful care," Grace continued, feeling
inspirited by the growing interest of her audience.
"Eh, but I hope none o' the wild beasts ye spoke o' got hold of it,"
said Geordie, drawing a long breath.
"Well, there's no saying what might have happened, but for the Good
Shepherd. For the little lamb got lost--lost among bleak, sandy hills,
where it could find no green blade to eat, and got very hungry and
footsore. It could hear no kind shepherd's voice that it used to love to
listen to in happier days, but only terrible sounds like the bark of
wolves, coming nearer, and lions prowling about when it began to get
dark."
"Puir lambie!" murmured Jean, whose face now rested on her little fat
hands, while, leaning on the table, she looked up in Grace's face; "it
must surely ha'e been very frightened," she added, in a compassionate
tone; for she knew that she did not like to cross the turf in front of
the cottage, after dark, without Geordie's protecting hand.
"Yes, it surely must have been frightened enough, for it was certainly
in great danger, and the Shepherd knew what a terrible plight it must be
in, wandering about tired and hungry, far away from the fold. For what
do you think he did?" Grace continued, looking at Geordie; "he actually
left all the other sheep--the ninety-nine, you know--in the wilderness,
and went away to seek for this poor little silly lost lamb."
"Did he though! He must have been a real fine man," responded Geordie,
warmly. "There's Gowrie's shepherd lost a wee lambie among the hills not
lang syne, and when Gowrie asked him, when he came home, why he didna
look about among the heather for it, he said he couldn't leave the rest,
and that it was a puir sick beastie no' worth much trouble. But it was a
nice wee thing for a' that, and it must have died all alone there, with
nobody to give it a drop of water," said Geordie, regretfully, for he
had a tender heart for all dumb creatures. "I must tell Gowrie's lad
about this Shepaerd the very next time he comes round the hill. But did
he find the lambie?" he asked, turning to Grace.
"Yes, he found it. He looked for it 'till he found it,' the story says.
After wandering along a road full of danger and painfulness, and
sorrowful sights of the terrible ruin the wild beasts had wrought, he
came upon the little strange lamb, just when its heart was beginning to
faint and fail. The story does not say that he punished it for running
away and giving him so much trouble, or even that he spoke some chiding
words and pushed it along in front of him with his crook, as I have
sometimes seen shepherds on the road do when the sheep get footsore and
weary and unwilling to go on with the journey."
"Ay do they. They get their licks many a time when they don't deserve
them," chimed in Geordie, in a pathetic tone.
"Well, but instead of any hard words or beatings, what do you think the
Shepherd did? He took the little lamb into his own weary arms, and it
lay safe and warm there, while he carried it all the way home to the
fold."
"Did he though?" exclaimed Geordie, in warmest admiration. "Eh, but the
lambie must surely have been right fond of the Shepherd after that. I'm
thinkin' he would know his voice better than before, and follow him
right close and canny. That's the kind o' shepherd all beasts would
like, for they know fine when a body cares for them," Geordie said, with
a glowing face, as he looked up at Grace, and the "Third Primer" slipped
unheeded on the floor.
Was it a mere chance coincidence that this remark of Geordie's came at a
moment when it made more easy of introduction to Grace that part of the
parable story which she was full of eagerness to tell to her first
scholars? She desired that it might prove to them not merely a pleasant
tale, which had beguiled an hour that had threatened to be a very weary
one, to little Jean, at least; but that, through its homely dress, they
might catch a glimpse of its higher meaning, and be able to trace the
footsteps of the Great Shepherd of souls.
"Yes, Geordie," she continued, "one would certainly imagine that the
sheep would follow such a shepherd very closely, and be very sure that
his way was always best, and that he was leading them by wise safe
paths, even when they seemed thorny and toilsome; but it is not so. I
can tell you of a Shepherd who not only went through many painful dark
desolate places, so that his flock might not stumble and fall when they
came to follow, but ended by laying down his life for his sheep. And yet
these very sheep do not always listen to his voice, nor follow the safe
narrow paths which he has tracked out for them, through the wilderness,
to the happy fold. I think you must both have heard of this Shepherd,
Geordie, and little Jean too."
"I never knew a shepherd except Gowrie's, and he lost the bonnie lambie
with the black face, that used to lick Geordie's hand," replied little
Jean, with a doleful expression in her usually merry black eyes.
"Ah, but this Good Shepherd always searches for the lost sheep till he
finds it, and then he carries it in his arms all the journey through to
his beautiful home among the angels, and there is joy among them over
the little found lamb. For it is the Lord Jesus Christ who calls himself
the Good Shepherd, Jean, and who has told us this story about finding
the lost sheep, that we might understand the better how he came to this
world to save us from dark dangerous paths of sin that go down to death.
For we have all strayed as this poor silly lamb did, and some of us are
straying yet," continued Grace; and then, glancing at Geordie's earnest
face, she said, "You have heard of the Lord Jesus Christ, who came to
save us from our sins, have you not, Geordie?"
"I have heard tell o' him. But I didna just think he was so real-like as
a shepherd with his sheep, or that he would have ta'en that trouble for
_one_," Geordie replied, with a dreamy look in his eyes; but he did not
say more.
Just then Margery knocked at the door, and intimated that the hour was
expired, and little Jean again began to show some signs of restlessness,
so Grace felt regretfully that the first afternoon had come to an end,
and she had not followed any part of the programme which she had
previously marked out. There was the hymn-book, with a tune all ready
to sing to one of the hymns, which Grace had practised painstakingly on
the piano the day before. But now she found that neither Jean nor
Geordie could sing, so she thought it might be wise to select something
simpler than she had chosen before, and ended by singing her oldest
childish favourite, "The Happy Land." It was evidently new to the
children; for their poor old deaf granny's was not a musical home.
Geordie's eyes dilated with delight as he listened, and he kept giving
Jean a series of nods across the table, in case she should by any chance
miss the full enjoyment of such beautiful sounds.
A second knock from Margery, this time carrying a plateful of
currant-cake which Miss Hume had sent to the children, fairly broke up
the little gathering. Grace felt with disappointment that this first
class had come sadly short of her ideal, was a complete failure, in
fact, when she remembered all that she had meant to say and do, and all
the hoped-for responses on the part of the scholars.
In thinking of this afternoon long afterwards, when it lay in the clear
rounded distance of the past, Grace used to smile as she remembered her
restless impatience, and compare herself to the little girl who was
always pulling up by the roots the flowers she had planted in her
garden, to see how they were getting on.
When they prepared to leave the little still room, Grace handed Geordie
his precious "Third Primer," which she found lying on the floor, and as
he put it into his jacket pocket, he said with a smile, "I won't bring
it back with me, I'm thinkin'. Ye'll maybe tell us some more about the
Good Shepherd next time, and I can hold at the spellin' when I'm
herdin', and maybe I'll soon be able to get into the Bible itself," he
added, still firm in his belief that the only entrance lay through the
spelling-book.
Grace, remembering little Jean's dislike to the exit through the dark
passages, led the way to a door which opened into a path to the garden.
Jean manifested undisguised satisfaction when the dim still-room
precincts were fairly left behind, and they got into the pleasant old
walled-in garden, where the yellow afternoon's sun was lying on the
opening fruit-blossom, and bringing delicious scents out of the
newly-blown lilac and hawthorn. She kept pulling Geordie's corduroys, to
draw his attention to all that captivated her as they walked along the
broad gravel walk. This was certainly a much pleasanter way home than
along the dim passage, and Jean decided that the best part of the
afternoon had come last. Presently Grace opened the door of one of the
greenhouses, and they stood among richer colours and sweeter scents than
before. The children had been surveying with admiring wonder the
dazzling house glittering in the sun, which was making each pane sparkle
like a diamond, but they never dreamt that it would be given to them to
enter it, or indeed that it had an interior which could be reached, so
entirely did it seem to belong to the region of the sun, not to the
world of thatched cottages and grey walls.
"Eh, but surely this will be something like the happy land you were
singin' aboot," Geordie said at last, with a long-drawn breath, after he
had wandered about in silence for some time, revelling in the exotic
delights of the first greenhouse he had ever seen.
"Oh yes, Geordie; there will be all this, and a great deal more; things
so beautiful and, glorious that our poor minds can't even imagine what
they will be like," said Grace, glowingly, feeling a thrill of pleasure
to hear that the hymn had any meaning for the boy, so desponding was she
concerning her efforts. "Look here, I'll just read to you about the
pleasant place where the Good Shepherd leads his flock, after their
journey on earth is over." And leaning against an old orange-tree,
Grace read to her little scholars about that wonderful multitude "which
came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made
them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before the
throne of God, and serve him day and night in his temple: and he that
sitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more,
neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor any
heat. For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them,
and shall lead them unto living fountains of waters: and God shall wipe
away all tears from their eyes." They stood quite still for a few
moments after Grace had finished reading, each thinking some new
thoughts.
In the mind of little Jean, to be sure, there certainly prevailed some
confusion of ideas between the happy land of which she had been hearing,
and the beautiful garden in which she stood. Indeed, to the end of her
life, the yellow glitter of the sun on the Kirklands greenhouses brought
to her mind the description of that "city of pure gold, as it were
transparent glass;" and the tall tropical plants which were ranged round
the shining floor were to her the embodiments of the trees whose leaves
were for the "healing of the nations."
But Geordie's thoughts were most about that Shepherd Saviour who seemed
to be able to lead his flock away from bleak, scorching places to such a
blessed land as these words told of.
In spite of old Adam's approaching shadow on the gravel walk, Grace
plucked a few of the rare, beautiful roses and gave them to little Jean,
whose small fat hands were eagerly stretched out to receive the prize.
They spent the remainder of their flourishing existence in a broken
yellow jug on the window-sill of Granny Baxter's cottage, and were a joy
to Jean for many days. And when it was the fate of their companions
still left in their stately glass home to be gathered into Adam's barrow
when their charms had past, and ignominiously flung away, Jean's roses
had a more honourable future. After they had done their duty faithfully
on the window-sill, the dead leaves were tenderly gathered and scattered
in the drawers allotted to Jean in the ancient chest, where they made a
sweet scent in their embalmment for many a day.
The little party arrived at last at the farther end of the garden, where
there was a door in the high, red wall opening on a path which led to
the turnpike-road. Grace turned the rusty key, and the children saw the
familiar face of their native valley again. Giving a lingering backward
glance into the pleasant garden which they had just left, they trotted
away towards the dusty high-road, while Grace stood watching them till
they were out of sight.