HOW GEORDIE'S HERDING DAYS CAME TO AN END.
It was a lovely autumn evening. The valley of Kirklands lay flooded in
the sunset glow. Its yellowing fields were tinged with warm-crimson and
purple, and the golden light shimmered on the trees and fringed the dark
fir tops. Never had her home looked more beautiful, Grace thought, when,
at last, the brother and sister turned to go indoors, after their
earnest talk. She stood leaning on the old carved railing of the steps,
taking one more glance at the peaceful scene before she followed Walter
into the darkening entrance-hall, when her eye caught sight of a stumpy
figure which she thought she recognised.
It was little Jean Baxter, who hurried along the elm avenue as fast as
her short legs could carry her. She looked breathless and excited, and
when she came nearer Grace saw that she was tearful and dishevelled. She
hastened down the steps to meet her, wondering what childish grief
could be agitating the mind of the usually imperturbable little Jean.
When she caught eight of Grace, she threw up her arms with a loud,
bitter wail that rang among the old elms, echoing through their arching
branches, and startling the birds that had just gone to roost. "Oh, Miss
Cam'ell! Geordie, Geordie!--he's hurt; he's dyin'; Blackie's gotten hold
o' him."
It was vain to ask anything more. Jean could only repeat her wailing
refrain, so taking the child's hand, Grace quietly asked her to lead the
way to where Geordie was, trying to quiet her bitter weeping by such
soothing words as she could muster in the midst of her own distress at
the possibility of any serious accident having happened to her favourite
scholar. But poor little Jean's sad monotone still rang mournfully
through the soft evening air as she trotted along by Grace's
side--"Geordie's dyin'; Blackie's got hold o' him."
Grace, however, managed to learn from a few incoherent words that the
boy was lying, in whatever state he might be, at the river side, near
the stepping-stones. He had, that afternoon, taken the cattle, along
with the dangerous bull, to the heathery knolls, where Gowrie's careful
soul grudged that any morsel of pasture should remain unused. Geordie
had always been most careful in warning unwary passers-by of their
danger, for, though fearless enough himself, he still held that Blackie
was the "ill-natertest bull in all the country-side," and never felt
easy in his mind except when he had him within the fences of the upland
fields. He had once or twice tried to tether the animal near one of the
hillocks, but he saw that it made his temper more dangerous than ever;
besides, the little patches of green pasture were so scattered through
the heather, and had carefully to be scented out by discriminating
noses, that to have fettered poor Blackie to one spot seemed to him a
crying injustice, uneasy as he felt at his being able to roam at large
so near a thoroughfare. Geordie had never even allowed himself the
luxury of Jean's company when there were no fences to put between
Blackie and her.
But that day the harvest holidays had been given at the girls' school.
There had been prizes distributed and an examination held which lasted
till evening. Elsie Gray had got several trophies of her diligence, but
the great and unexpected event of the day was that little Jean had
actually got a prize. She was nearly beside herself with ecstasy as she
clutched the gay crimson and gilt volume which was presented to her,
and resented that it should even for a moment be absent from her arms to
be admired by her companions. Then Geordie must hear about this
unexpected honour, must see and touch the treasure at once; and Jean
galloped off with the precious volume to the field where he was
generally to be found perched on the paling, awaiting their coming.
Elsie Gray followed, eager enough, too, to show her honours to the
boy-friend, whose golden opinions she dearly loved to win. There was a
pink flush on her usually pale cheek, as she glanced about in search of
Geordie when they reached the field, panting and breathless after their
race. But no Geordie was visible anywhere, and the field was quite empty
and tenantless. Then Jean remembered, what she had forgotten in her
excitement, that Geordie was to be herding at the hillocks to-day, and
so she started off to find him, forgetful that his present post was
forbidden ground.
The girls were not long in reaching the stepping-stones, and presently
Jean was at Geordie's side, dancing round him with wild cries of
delight, as she flourished her gay prize in his rather bewildered eyes.
He had been lying with his face resting on his hands, on one of the soft
knolls of turf, looking at the sunset, and thinking of the new lands of
which he had lately been hearing from Walter Campbell. He seemed so
possessed by his own thoughts and reveries that he heard no sound of
coming footsteps till he looked up suddenly, and saw little Jean by his
side. He jumped up from the turf, and began to look wistfully towards
the river side to see if there was nobody else besides Jean coming to
enliven a lonely hour.
Elsie had crossed the stepping-stones, and was moving towards the
hillock on which he stood, with her sun-bonnet in one hand, and her
heavy armful of shining prize books in the other with the golden sun's
rays falling on her. Her dusky hair was hanging rather more loosely than
usual, shaken out of its general smoothness by her hot face. The pale
face was all aglow with pleasure, and her large eyes looked radiant with
delight at the thoughts of the pleasure that little Jean's success, as
well as her own, would give to Geordie. The boy stood with his flaxen
hair all gilded by the sun, looking at her with a glad light in his blue
eyes. For a moment only, and then, with a look of terror, he glanced in
the opposite direction, remembering that this was dangerous ground.
Blackie had been roused from his sleepy grazing by little Jean's cry of
delight, and, looking up, his evil eye caught sight of Elsie, with her
bright colours, made more dazzling by the sunset tints. With a toss of
his head, and a few wild plunges, the brute, with his head near to the
ground, and his eyes fixed on his prey, made his way towards her.
Geordie shouted, "Back, Elsie; back on the stepping-stones!" but it was
too late.
Elsie lost her presence of mind, and wavered backward and forward for a
moment, till it was impossible to save herself by taking refuge on the
other side of the stream, where Blackie, not knowing the advantage of
stepping-stones, would probably not have troubled himself to follow her.
In an instant Geordie had flung himself between the roused animal and
Elsie. His stick still lay on the hillock, where he had been resting, so
he had no weapon of defence, and Blackie, in his rage, would not spare
the faithful lad, who had spent so many lonely hours by his side. In
another moment, Geordie was lying gored and senseless on the heather.
Elsie had reached the stepping-stones, and stood there transfixed like a
marble statue. Blackie might follow her now if he had a mind to, but he
had not. After a glance at Geordie, he plunged away with his heels in
the air through the heather, having an uneasy consciousness that he had
lost his temper, and treated a good friend rather roughly.
As for little Jean, she had fortunately happened to be beyond Blackie's
range of observation; for it was on Elsie that his sole gaze had been
fixed, and he only vented his baulked fury on Geordie when the vision of
bright colours slipped away. Gowrie's ploughman happened to be passing
near, and had been a witness of the scene, though it was impossible for
him to give timely help. Elsie Gray, he noticed, was now safe on the
stepping-stones, and Geordie lying on the heather, with all the mischief
done to him that Blackie was likely to do. But the enraged animal might
attack somebody else presently, and the man thought the best service he
could render was to secure Blackie against doing further injury. Never
did repentant criminal receive handcuffs with more submission than the
guilt-stricken Blackie the badge of punishment. There was a subdued
pathetic look of almost human remorse and woe in the eye of the brute,
as he was led past the place where Geordie lay low among the heather.
The hands that had so often fed him and made a clean soft bed for him at
night, often stroking his great knotted neck, and never raised in unjust
punishment, lying helpless and shattered now, and the fair locks hung
across his face, all dabbled with blood. Elsie was now kneeling by his
side, but he was quite unconscious of her presence, and heedless of her
low wailing, as she looked wildly round to see if nobody was coming to
help Geordie, who had helped her so bravely. Little Jean had hurried
shrieking to the farm, with the news of the accident, and Mistress
Gowrie presently appeared, to Elsie's intense relief. She was a kindly
woman, and felt conscience-stricken as she kneeled beside the little
herd-boy; for she knew that it was not with his will that Blackie roamed
at large among those knolls. She had happened to hear his last
expostulation with her husband on the point; and this was how it had
ended. But she did not think he was dead. Elsie could hardly restrain a
cry of delight when she heard the whispered word that he lived still.
How joyfully she carried water in her sun-bonnet from the flowing river,
how tenderly she sprinkled it on his face and hands, and wiped the
bloodstained locks.
And then old Farmer Gowrie came and stood with his hands behind his
back, and a shadow on his furrowed face, as he gazed on his young
servant with an uneasy stare. He kept restlessly moving backwards and
forwards to see whether the still motionless figure showed any sign of
life, till his wife reminded him that Granny Baxter was probably
ignorant of the terrible accident which had happened to her grandson,
and asked him to go and break the news to her. Little Jean had been
there before him, however; and Gowrie found the old woman crawling
helplessly along in the direction of the knolls, quite stupefied by the
terrible tidings that Jean had managed to convey to her deaf ears. The
little girl seemed possessed with the idea that Miss Campbell would be
sure to be able to help Geordie in this extremity; and so she left her
old granny to find her way alone, and had hurried away in the direction
of Kirklands to tell her sorrowful tale, meeting Grace, as we know, in
the elm avenue, after her eventful talk with her brother.
They were already half-way to the stepping-stones, when Grace
remembered--feeling it unaccountable that, even in her anxiety, she
should have forgotten for an instant--that Walter must know what had
happened to Geordie--Geordie, to whom he owed so much. She felt that she
could not leave the little weeping girl to go on her way alone; but just
as she was standing hesitating what it might be best to do, she met one
of the dwellers in the valley, who promised to go at once and convey a
message to her brother, and then she and Jean hurried on towards the
fatal pasture lands. Before they crossed the stepping-stones which led
to the knolls, Grace could see a little group bending over a spot in the
heather; but no sound reached them through the calm evening air, except
the rippling of the sunset-tinted river, which rolled between. And so
Geordie was lying there gored, maimed, perhaps dying, as Jean persisted
in saying. Grace felt her heart sink with fear, lest the sorrowful
refrain should be true, as she crept silently near to the place where
the little company was gathered. But Geordie was not dead.
"Here comes Miss Campbell," somebody said, and then the circle opened
up, and Grace caught a glimpse of her scholar lying very quietly among
the heather with his blue eye turned gladly to welcome his friend.
"It was only a faint, after all,--and some bruises that will soon heal,"
Mistress Gowrie said, in a tone of relieved anxiety, as she rose from
the turf where she had been kneeling to make way for Grace, who felt an
intense relief as she bent smilingly over him, and talked gently of the
danger past, with her heart full of thankfulness.
When little Jean saw the happy aspect of matters, her grief gave place
to the wildest ecstasy of delight. Throwing herself down beside her
brother, she shouted gleefully, "Oh, Geordie, Geordie, ye're no dyin'
after all, ye're all right. I'll never greet again all the days o' my
life," was the rash promise which she made in her joy, remembering
Geordie's dislike to tears. Presently her thoughts reverted to her
treasure, which, in her grief, had been forgotten. It had been dropped
on the knoll when the accident happened, and Jean now bounded off
gleefully in search of it.
A doctor had been sent for soon after the accident, but Geordie seemed
so well that old Gowrie already began to regret that they had been in
such haste in sending to fetch him. Presently Mistress Gowrie left the
knolls and returned to her usual evening duties, which she felt were put
sadly in arrear owing to this outbreak of Blackie's, and feeling truly
thankful that it had ended so fortunately. She invited old Granny Baxter
to have a cup of tea with her at the farm, which was a very great mark
of graciousness on the part of "the mistress," and extremely gratifying
to the old woman, to whom attentions of the kind came rarely.
It had been arranged, also, by the farmer's wife that Geordie should be
moved into the "best bedroom" before the doctor came, and Granny
Baxter was filled with pride when she was shown the woodruff-scented
chamber, with its dark shining floor, and among other impressive
decorations from the farmyard, a waving canopy of peacock feathers above
the ancient chimney-piece, where Geordie was to sleep among snowy sheets
that night. But each time that they proposed he should be carried there
from his rough bed among the heather, Geordie pled rather wistfully,
"Just wait a wee while. I'm right comfortable here among the heather,"
and once he added with a sad smile as he glanced at the farmer's wife,
"But I'll no be able to supper the beasts the night, Mistress Gowrie.
Maybe Sandy will look to them. Puir Blackie! give him a good supper; he
didn't mean any ill."
Only Elsie Gray, of all the original group, still sat near Geordie,
where she could watch every movement, though she could not be seen by
him. She kept gazing at him with unutterable anguish in her eyes, and
only she detected the sharp spasms that occasionally crossed his face,
and felt his frame quiver with pain which he tried to conceal.
"Miss Campbell," she whispered to Grace who was seated near her, "he's
very sore hurt, I'm sure of it. Oh, will the doctor no come soon!" and
when Grace looked into Geordie's face she began to share Elsie's fears.
Presently Jean came bounding back in delight with her recovered treasure
to lay it in Geordie's hands. He looked at the gaily-bound book with his
most pleased smile, and then glancing at Jean proudly, he said, "Eh,
Jean, but ye'll be learnin' to be a grand scholar. I'm right glad ye
have got to the school."
Then the eager little girl must needs have the book in her own hands
again, to search among the leaves for the illustrations which were
interspersed, so that Geordie might be introduced to all the beauties of
this wonderful volume. Geordie kept looking at her as she turned the
leaves with a somewhat pitiful gaze, and presently he said in a low
tone, "Jean, come a little nearer. I want to speak to ye, Jeanie. Do ye
ken I'm maybe goin' til the grand school the good Maister keeps waitin'
for us in the heavenly land? And I'll be learnin' a deal o' things there
that we canna learn down here," he added, with a smile; and then he
paused.
Jean looked up from her boot with bewildered eyes as she listened to
Geordie's words; a grave expression came into her face, but the shadow
was only caused by her not understanding what he meant, for she knew
that Geordie occasionally went beyond her depth.
"I'll no ever herd Gowrie's cows again, Jean, or wait at the fences for
Elsie and you. I'm dyin' Jeanie," he added in a hoarse whisper, as he
gazed sorrowfully at the little girl.
There was no mistaking the meaning of these words, and little Jean,
dropping her precious book, burst into loud sobbing, as she flung
herself on Geordie.
Grace had been watching the boy with a sinking heart, and a great fear
began to take possession of her that what he said might be true, as a
terrible spasm of agony crossed his face, and a groan of pain escaped
him. She looked anxiously to see if there was any sign of the doctor
coming, and taking little Jean aside, she told her that if she loved
Geordie she must be brave and quiet, even though he was so very ill, as
he seemed to think. Then she tried to speak some soothing words of
comfort, but little Jean wailed out with a fresh burst of sorrow:
"Oh, Miss Cam'ell, why didn't God keep him from Blackie, if he loves him
as ye say? Ye mind how ye read to us in the Bible about him saving the
herd-laddie out o' the jaws o' the bear; oh, but, I think, he might
have taken care of our Geordie;" and poor little Jean would not be
comforted.
"Where's granny?" Geordie had whispered, and Elsie rose from her post at
Geordie's head and flitted away like a little noiseless ghost to find
the old woman. She met her at the farm, where, having finished her cup
of tea, she was being shown some of Mistress Gowrie's feathered
favourites in the farmyard.
"Mistress Gowrie, he's not better, as ye think; he says he's dyin', and
wants to see granny," Elsie said, with quivering lips, as she reached
them.
"Dying, child, nonsense! what do you mean?" said the farmer's wife,
looking at Elsie to see if she was not dreaming. But Elsie looked
terribly wide-awake and sorrow-stricken, and Mistress Gowrie went off in
search of her husband.
Then Granny Baxter began to perceive that there was something wrong, and
presently Elsie succeeded in making her understand, and began to guide
her slow steps to where her grandson still lay. Oh, how slow they were,
Elsie thought, as she glanced along the straight field path still to be
crossed before they reached the knolls, and thought of what might be
going on there. But had not Geordie wanted to see his grandmother, and
surely she might endure for him who had done so much for her? So the
little girl kept close by the old woman's side, who leant her wrinkled
hand on Elsie's shoulder, while, with the help of her staff in the
other, she hobbled along, with her eyes fixed upon the ground, groaning
and muttering about this terrible blow that seemed likely to fall upon
her.
"Granny, granny, I've been wearyin' for you," said Geordie, holding out
both his hands, when at last Elsie's patience had guided the old woman
to the spot. "Oh, but I'm no able to make her hear. Nae words o' mine
can travel to her ear, and I had much to say to her," Geordie cried,
with a suppressed sob, as some terrible internal pain seemed to seize
him.
The old woman had seated herself by his side, and her withered fingers
wandered trembling among his hair, as she moaned helplessly, "Oh,
laddie, laddie, what's this that's come upon us?"
Suddenly, Geordie seemed to remember something, and, smiling brightly,
he feebly raised his hand to his jacket-pocket, and drew out the little
chamois bag, containing the slowly-gathered store of money with which he
intended to buy the ear-trumpet for his poor deaf granny.
"I gathered the last sixpence yestreen, for holding the minister's
horse," he said, as he laid the bag in her hand, "It's to buy a thing
that makes deaf folk hear, granny. But she can't understand me, Miss
Cam'ell," he murmured, sadly, as he looked at Grace, who was leaning
over him; "and, oh, I would have liked well to tell her before I go away
about the Good Shepherd that you first told me about, Miss Cam'ell. I
dinna think she understands right what a Friend he can be to a body; and
I've always been waitin' till I got that horn for makin her hear to tell
her all about him, for it's no a thing that a body wad just like to roar
at the tap o' their voice. But you'll maybe speak to her some of the
things ye spak' to us, Miss Cam'ell. Ye'll have one less at the school
now, ye see," he added, smiling sadly; and then turning with a look of
tender pity on his grandmother, who watched him with wistful eyes, as if
she knew that his lips were moving for her, he said, "Oh, tell her to
listen to his voice, and let the sound into her heart. He was aye able
to mak' deaf folk hear, wasn't he, Miss Cam'ell?" said Geordie, with a
bright smile as he turned to his young teacher.
They had now got ready a sort of litter, on which they meant to carry
him to the farm; for Mistress Gowrie felt convinced that only more
comfortable surroundings and a visit from the doctor was necessary for
his complete recovery, and was resolved that no care of nursing on her
part should be wanting to atone for any past indifference to the welfare
of the little herd-boy with which she might reproach herself.
Geordie, seeing her anxiety to perform this deed of kindness, at last
consented that they should take him from his lowly heather couch, and
carry him to all the comforts of the best bedroom at Gowrie. But each
time they tried to lift him the boy got so deathly pale, and seemed to
suffer so intensely, that even Mistress Gowrie was obliged to
acknowledge that it might be best to wait till the doctor came. Indeed,
it soon became evident to all that Blackie's blows had touched some
vital part, and Geordie's herding days were done.
He lay for a little while with closed eyes, seeming thankful to be
undisturbed, and a silence fell on the group round him, not broken when
Walter Campbell joined it; for a glance from Grace, and a look at
Geordie's face, told him all. He stood there, in the freshness and
strength of his youth, looking at the ebbing life of the boy whom he
felt then as if he would have died to save. How he longed to tell him
of all the blessing his words had brought to his soul, of the life-long
gratitude which must surround his memory; but it was too late. Walter
felt that he could not disturb the passing soul with anything so
personal; but in the land where Geordie was going they would meet one
day; and he would keep his thanks till then.
The silence had not been broken for several minutes. Poor little Jean
had been trying to keep very brave and quiet, since Grace explained to
her how much her noisy grief would vex Geordie. But Elsie, who had
returned to her post at Geordie's head, and was seated silently there,
now gave a smothered sob, which seemed to fall on Geordie's ear. He
opened his blue eyes, and looking wistfully about, said in a faint
whisper, "Elsie, I didna know ye was here. I saw you on the
stepping-stones just when I was meetin' Blackie, but I thought you had
been away home before now; it surely must be far on in the gloamin'. Eh,
Elsie, but I'll no be able to keep the tryst for the bramble gatherin'
wi' you," he said, in a mournful tone, turning towards her, and
referring to a long-planned holiday, when they were to go together to
search for brambles for Mistress Gowrie and the forester's wife's joint
jam making. "But, Elsie, speak to me," he continued, feebly, holding
out his hand, for he could not see her face where she sat, "We'll keep
our tryst in the bonnie land beside the green pastures and the still
waters ye often read to me about. Will we no', Elsie?"
"Oh, Geordie, I can't bear it. Why did you no let Blackie get hold o'
me? Oh, Geordie, Geordie!" Elsie sobbed, as she crept round within sight
of the boy, and knelt beside him with clasped hands and lines of agony
on her face, that made the fair child look like a suffering woman.
Geordie turned his dying eyes upon her with a look of mingled love and
sorrow, which none who saw it could ever forget; and stretching out both
his hands, he said, "Oh, Elsie, will ye no give me one kiss afore I
dee?"
And Elsie lifted up her fair face, which had been covered with her
hands, and bending down, kissed the dying lips. Then, with a look of
unutterable gladness and contentment, Geordie closed his eyes as if he
was going to sleep.
Walter Campbell turned away for a moment, for, as he afterwards told one
of his shipmates, "It was more than a fellow could stand, and he didn't
mind confessing that he hadn't stood it." Presently he hurriedly joined
the little group again, determined that Geordie must yet hear before he
went away how his faithful words had, through God's grace burnt
themselves into a wayward heart, and set a dead soul on fire. But he
found that another Voice was falling on Geordie's ear, which was closed
to all earthly sounds now; even that greeting to faithful ones which
bids them enter into the joy of their Lord.
And so the poor bruised body did lie in Mistress Gowrie's
woodruff-scented best bedroom, and among her snowy linen, that night
after all, but Geordie was not there; his home was henceforth in the
many mansions of the Father's house.