GEORDIE'S TRYST. 

A TALE OF SCOTTISH LIFE. 

[Attributed to Mrs. Milne Rae]

[Illustration: GEORDIE'S HERDING ENDED. ]

GEORDIE'S TRYST. 

CHAPTER I. 

GRACE CAMPBELL. 

[Illustration]

It was a chilly Scotch spring day. The afternoon sun glistened withfitful, feeble rays on the windows of the old house of Kirklands, andunpleasant little gusts of east wind came eddying round its ancientgables, and sweeping along its broad walks and shrubberies, sending achill to the hearts of all the young green things that were strugglinginto life. 

On the time-worn steps of the grey mansion there stood a girl, cloakedand bonneted for a walk, notwithstanding the uninviting weather. 

"It's a fule's errand, I assure ye, Miss Grace, and on such anafternoon, too. I've been askin' at old Adam the gardener, and he saysthere isna one o' the kind left worth mindin' in all the valley o'Kirklands. So do not go wanderin' on such an errand in this bitter wind, missy. "

The speaker was an old woman, standing in the doorway, glancing with anexpression of kindly anxiety towards the girl, who leant on one of thecarved griffins of the old stone railing. 

Grace had been looking at the speaker with troubled eyes as she listenedto her remonstrance, and now she said, meditatively, "Does old Adamreally say so, Margery?" Then with a quick gesture she turned to go downthe steps, adding cheerily, "Well, there's no harm in trying, and as forthe wind, that doesn't matter a bit. It's what Walter would call a nicebreezy day. I'm really going, nursie. Shut the door, and keep your oldself warm. I shall be home again by the time aunt has finished herafternoon's sleep. " And Grace turned quickly away, not in the directionof the sheltered elm avenue, but across the park, by the path which ledmost quickly beyond the grounds. Presently she slackened her pace, andturning for a moment she glanced rather ruefully towards the high wallsof the old garden, as if prudence dictated that she should seek fullerinformation there, before she set out on this search, which she hadplanned that afternoon. The old nurse's words on the subject seemed tohave sent a chilling gust to her heart, harder to bear than the bitterspring wind. Old Adam certainly knew the countryside better than anybodyelse, she pondered, and he seemed to have given it as his decision thatshe would not find her search successful. 

Was it a rare plant growing in the valley that Grace was in search of?Then, surely, the gardener was right; she should wait till the warmsunshine came, and the south winds wafted sweet scents about, leading towhere the pleasant flowers grow among the cozy moss. Or did she mean togo to the green velvety haughs of the winding river to get herfishing-rod and tackle into working order at the little boat-house, andtry to tempt some unwary trout to eat his last supper, as she and herbrother Walter used to do in sunny summer evenings long ago?

These had been very pleasant days, and their lingering memories camehovering round Grace as she stood once again among the familiar haunts, after an absence of years. Echoes of merry ringing tones, in which herown mingled, seemed to resound through the wooded paths, where only theparching wind whistled shrilly to-day, and a boyish voice seemed stillto call impatiently under the lozenge-paned window of the oldschool-room, "Gracie, Gracie, are you not done with lessons yet? Do comeout and play. " And how dreary "Noel and Chapsal" used to grow all of asudden when that invitation came, and with what relentless slowness thehands of the old clock dragged through the lesson-hour still to run. 

But the quaint old window has the shutters on it now, and the eager facethat used to seek his caged playmate through its bars is looking out onnew lands from his wandering home at sea. The little girl, too, who usedto sit in the dim school-room seems to hear other voices calling to herthis afternoon. 

And while Grace stands hesitating whether, after all, it might be wiseto go into the garden to hear what old Adam has to say before sheproceeded to the high road, we shall try to find what earnest quest senther out this afternoon, in spite of her old nurse's remonstrances andthe east wind. 

Grace Campbell's father and mother died when she was very young, andsince then her home had been with her aunt. For the last few years MissHume had been so infirm that she did not feel able to undertake thejourney to Kirklands, a small property in the north of Scotland, whichshe inherited from her father. Her winter home was Edinburgh, and MissHume for some years had only ventured on a short journey to the nearestwatering-place, while her country home stood silent and deserted, withonly the ancient gardener and his wife wandering about through thedarkened rooms and the old garden, with its laden fruit-trees and itsflowers run to seed. But, to Grace's great delight, her aunt hadannounced some months before that if she felt strong enough for thejourney, she meant to go to Kirklands early in the spring. It seemed asif in her fading autumnal time she longed to see the familiar woods anddells of her childhood's home grow green again with returning life. Sothe darkened rooms had been opened to the sun again, and on the daybefore our story begins, some of the former inmates had taken possessionof them. 

The three years during which Grace had been absent from Kirklands hadproved very eventful to her in many ways. There had been some changes inher outer life. Walter, her only brother and playmate, had left home togo to sea. They had only had one passing visit from him since, sochanged in his midshipman's dress, with his broadened shoulders andbronzed face, and so full of sailor life and talk, that his playmate hadhardly composure of mind to discover till he was gone that the sameloving heart still beat under the blue dress and bright buttons. Andwhile she thought of him with a new pride, she felt an undercurrent ofsadness in the consciousness that the pleasant threads of dailyintercourse had been broken, and the old childish playfellow had passedaway. 

But as the golden gate of childhood thus closed on Grace Campbell, another gate opened for her which led to pleasant places. It had, indeed, been waiting open for her ever since she came into the world, though she had often passed it by unheeded. But at last there came toGrace a glimpse of the shining light which still guides the way ofseeking souls to "yonder wicket gate. " She began to feel an intenselonging to enter there and begin that new life to which it leads. Sheknocked, and found that it was open for her, and entering there she metthe gracious Guide who had beckoned her to come, whispering in thesilence of her heart, "I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life. " Not longafter Grace had begun to walk in this path, an event happened whichproved to her like the visit to the "Interpreter's House" in thePilgrim's story; but in order to explain its full eventfulness, we mustgo back to tell of earlier days in her aunt's home. 

On Sunday mornings Grace usually drove with her aunt to church indecorous state. When Walter was at home he made one of the carriageparty, though generally under protest, declaring that it would be "everso much jollier to walk than to be bowled along in that horrid oldrumble, " as he used irreverently to designate his aunt's rather antiquechariot. When they arrived at church, the children followed their aunt'sslow steps to one of the pews in the gallery, where Miss Hume used totake the precautionary measure of separating them by sending Grace tothe top of the seat, and placing herself between the vivacious Walterand his playmate. Notwithstanding this precaution, they generallycontrived to find comfortable recreative resources during the service, bringing all their inventive energy to bear on creating new diversionsas each Sunday came round. There was always their Aunt Hume's fur cloakto stroke the wrong way, if there was nothing more diverting withinreach; had it only been the cat, whose sentiments regarding a liketreatment of her fur were too well known to Walter, he felt that thepleasure would have been greater. Sometimes, indeed, the amusements wereof a strictly mental nature, conducted in the "chambers of imagery. "Miss Hume would feel gratified by the stillness of posture and theearnest gaze in her nephew's eyes. They were certainly not fixeddirectly on the preacher, but surely the boy must be listening, or hewould never be so quiet. Grace, however, was in the secret, and knewbetter. Walter had confided to her that he had got such "a jollymake-believe" to think about in church. The great chandelier which hungfrom the centre of the church ceiling, with its poles, and chains, andbrackets, was transformed in his imagination to a ship's mast andrigging, where he climbed and swung, and performed marvellous feats, also in imagination, be it understood. And so it happened that Gracecould guess where her brother's thoughts were when he sat gazingdreamily at the huge gilded chandelier of the city church. 

Other imaginings had sometimes grown round it for Grace when it was alllit up in the short winter days at afternoon service, and queer lightsand shadows fell on the gilded cherubs that decorated it, till theirwings seemed to move and hover over the heads of the congregation. ToGrace's childish mind they had been the embodiment of angels ever sinceshe could remember; and even long after childish things were put awaythere remained a strange link between her conception of angelic beingsand those burnished cherubs whose serene, shining faces looked downbenignantly over the drowsy congregation on dark winter afternoons. 

But all these imaginings certainly came under the catalogue of"wandering thoughts, " from which the old minister always prayed at theopening of the service that they might be delivered. So it is to befeared that the sermon had not even the chance of the wayside seed inthe parable of sinking into the children's hearts. The words of heraunt's old minister had as yet proved little more than an outside soundto Grace, though she was in the habit of listening more observantly thanher brother. But there came a day when, amidst those familiarsurroundings, with the molten cherubs looking serenely down on her, sheheard words which made her heart burn within her, and kindled a flamewhich lasted as long as life. 

It was on a Sunday afternoon in November, not long after Walter left. Miss Hume was ailing, and unable to go to church, so it was arrangedthat Margery should accompany Grace. The old nurse attended the samechurch, and Grace had been in the habit of going under her wing when heraunt was obliged to remain at home. The walk to church through thecrowded streets was a pleasant change, and Grace was in high spiritswhen she ensconced herself at the top of Margery's seat--which was amuch better observatory than her aunt's pew--where every thing could beseen that was interesting and amusing within the four walls. Besides, there were small amenities connected with a seat in nurse's pew whichhad great attractions for Grace when she was a little girl, and hadstill a lingering charm for her. In the pew behind there sat a worthycouple, friends of Margery, who exchanged friendly salutations with heron Sunday, always including a kindly nod of recognition to her chargesif they happened to be with her. Then, at a certain juncture in theservice, the worthy tinsmith, for that was his calling, would handacross the book-board his ancient silver snuff-box, of the contents ofwhich he himself partook freely and noisily. Of course, Margery onlyused it politely, after the manner of a scent-bottle; and then Gracecame in for her turn of it, with a warning glance from nurse to bewareof staining her hat-strings, or any other serious effects from theodorous powder. If Walter happened to be invited to enjoy theprivilege, he always contrived to secrete a deposit of the snuff betweenhis finger and thumb, being most anxious to imitate the tinsmith'saccomplishment. He was, however, afraid to make his first essay inchurch, in case of sneezing symptoms, and before he had a chance of aquiet moment to make the experiment when they left the pew, he usedgenerally to be caught by Margery, and summoned to put on his glove likea gentleman, and any resistance was sure to end in the discovery andloss of the precious pinch of snuff. Then the tinsmith's wife had alsoher own congenial resources for comfort during service, which shedelighted to share with her neighbours. Grace used to receive a littletap on the shoulder, and, on looking round, a box of peppermint lozengeslay waiting her in the old woman's fat palm. These were very homelylittle interchanges of friendship, but they made part of the happychildish world to Grace, and years after, when the old pew knew her nomore, and she asked admittance to it as a stranger, she glanced round inthe vain hope of catching a glimpse of the broad, shining, kindly facesof the old couple, feeling that to see them in their place would bringback many pleasanter bygone associations than snuff and peppermintlozenges. 

On this Sunday afternoon Grace perceived that there was something out ofthe ordinary routine in prospect. The pews were filling more quicklythan they usually did. Strangers were gathering in the passage, and ageneral flutter of excitement and expectation seemed everywhere toprevail. 

"What is going to happen, I wonder, Margery?" whispered Grace, impatiently; and presently the tinsmith leant across the book-board andkindly volunteered the information that they were going to have a"strange minister the night, and a special collection for somenew-fangled thing. "

And then Grace turned towards the pulpit in time to see the "strangeminister, " who had just entered it. He was a tall man, of a statelythough easy presence, with grace and life in every gesture. As shelooked at him Grace Campbell was reminded of an historical scene, apicture of which hung in the old hall at Kirklands, of a mixed group ofCavaliers and Puritans. This preacher seemed in his appearance curiouslyto combine the varied characteristics of both the types of men in theseportraits. That graceful flexibility of tone and movement, the highforehead and waving locks, surely belong to the gallant old Cavalier, but there is something of the stern Puritan too. The resoluteness ofthe firm though mobile mouth betokens a strength of moral purpose, whichdoes not belong to the caste of the mere court gentleman; about thosedelicately-cut nostrils there dwells a possibility of quiveringindignation, and in the eyes that are looking broodingly down on thecongregation true pathos and keen humour are strangely blended. 

Presently the deep, flexible voice, which had the soul of music in itstones, re-echoed through the church as he called the people to worshipGod, and read some verses of an old psalm. Familiar as the words were toGrace, they seemed as he read them to have a new meaning, to be nolonger seven verses with queer, out-of-the-way expressions, that hadcost her trouble to learn as a Sunday evening's task, but a beautiful, real prayer to a God that was listening, and would hear, as the "strangeminister's" voice pealed out, --

 "Lord, bless and pity us, Shine on us with Thy face; That the earth Thy way, and nations all May know Thy saving grace. "

And when the sermon came, and the preacher began to talk in thrillingwords of that saving health which the Great Healer of souls had died tobring to all nations, Grace felt the reality of those unseen, eternalthings of which he spoke as she had never done before. Then there wereinterspersed with those faithful, burning words for God beautifulillustrations from nature, which fascinated the little girl'simagination, as she sat gazing, not at the gilded cherubs to-night, buton the benignant, earnest face of the speaker. He surely must have beena sailor, or he could never have known so well what a storm at sea waslike, she thought, as she listened, spell-bound, feeling as if she waslooking out on the angry sea, with the helpless wrecking ships tossingupon the waves; but then in another moment he took them into the thickof some ancient battle, where the brave-hearted "nobly conquering livedor conquering died;" or it was to some fair, pastoral scene, and thenthe preacher seemed to know so well all the delights of heathery hillsand pleasant mossy glades, that Grace thought he certainly must havebeen at Kirklands and wandered among its woods and braes. And into eachof his wonderful photographs he wove many holy, stirring thoughts ofGod, and of those "ways" of his that may be known upon the earth, ofwhich they had been singing. 

Presently the preacher began to talk of what the worthy tinsmith hadcalled the "new-fangled scheme, " for which, he said, he stood there toplead that evening. He had come to ask help for the little outcast citychildren. It was before the days when School Boards were born or thoughtof that this gallant-hearted man sought to move the feelings and rousethe consciences of men on behalf of those who seemed to have no helper. It was for aid to establish schools for those destitute children, wherethey might be clothed and fed as well as educated, that he went on toplead. Grace sat entranced, listening to the preacher, as with the"flaming swords of living words, he fought for the poor and weak. " Neverbefore in the course of her narrow, sheltered child-life had she, evenin imagination, been brought face to face with the manifold wants andwoes of her poorer brothers and sisters, or understood the service towhich the Son of Man summons all his faithful followers: "Is it not todeal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are castout to thy house? when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; andthat thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh?"

It seemed to Grace, when the preacher had ceased, as if a new world ofloving work and of duty stretched before her; for could she not becomeone of that band whom the preacher called in such thrilling words toenroll themselves in this service of love?

When the eloquent voice paused, and the congregation began to singagain, Grace still felt the words sounding like trumpet-notes in herheart. How she longed to ask the minister to take her to those courtsand alleys, and to tell her in what way she might best help thoseneglected ones. How many plans coursed through her eager little brainfor their succour. But the preacher had said he wanted money for theirhelp; a collection was to be made before they left the church. 

Grace's store of pocket-money was slender, and, moreover, was not in herpocket now. How gladly would she have emptied her little silken purse, if she had only had it with her; but, alas! it lay uselessly in herdrawer at home. Her conventional penny had been put into the plate atthe door, as she came into church, and Grace thought ruefully that shehad nothing--nothing to give to help these poor forsaken ones, whosehard lot had so touched her heart. Just then, however, she happened toraise her hand to her neck, and was reminded of an ornament which shealways wore, the only precious thing she possessed. It was anold-fashioned locket, with rows of pearls round it, and in the centre ababy lock of her own hair, which her mother used to wear. Her Aunt Humehad some time ago taken it out of the old jewel-case which awaited herwhen Grace was old enough to be trusted with its contents, and given itto her to wear, so it was her very own. But was not this a worthyoccasion for bringing of one's best and most precious things? Might notthis pearl locket help to bring some little outcast waif into paths ofpleasantness and peace? Yes, the locket should be given to the specialcollection, Grace resolved; but it might not be wise, to divulge theintention to Margery, who had already replied, when she was asked byGrace if she could lend her any money, that nobody would expect acollection from such a young lady. 

When the crowd moved away from the passage, and began to scatter, Margery and her charge left the old pew in the highest gallery andprepared to go down the great staircase which led to the entrance door. Near the door there stood two elders of the church, with metal plates intheir hands, waiting for the offerings of the congregation. Grace hadbeen holding hers tightly in her hand, having untied it from her neckand slipped the ribbon in her pocket, and now she laid it gently amongthe silver, and the pennies, and the Scotch bank-notes, hoping that itmight slip unobserved between one of the crumpled notes, and so escapethe detective glance of Margery's quick eyes. But her hope was vain. Nurse caught sight of the pearls gleaming pure and white among the otherofferings: "Missy, what have you done? Your locket! your mamma'sbeautiful pearl locket! Did I ever see the like? It's a mistake, sir. Miss Campbell could not have meant it, " she said, turning to the elder, with her hand raised to recapture it. 

"Stop, Margery, it is not a mistake; I meant to put it there, " repliedGrace in an eager whisper, as she pulled her nurse's shawl, glancingtimidly at the elder, as if she feared he was going to conspire withMargery, and that, after all, her offering would be rejected. 

"Missy! are you mad? What will your aunt say? Really, sir, will you beso kind?"--and Margery did not finish her sentence, but looked piteouslyat the elder, who was glancing at the little girl with a kindly, thoughquestioning expression in his eyes, saying presently:

"You may have your locket back, if you wish it, my child. Perhaps youhave given it hastily, and may regret it afterwards, and we would notlike to have your jewel in these circumstances. "

"Oh, thank you, sir, " Margery was beginning to say, in a grateful tone, when Grace interrupted her. 

"No, please don't, sir, I will not take it back. It was my very own, andI have given it to God, to use for these poor, sad boys and girls, "Grace added, in a tremulous tone. 

Then the old elder looked at Margery, and said, "My friend, I cannothelp you further. Neither you nor I have anything to do with this gift;it is between the giver and the Receiver. "

There was something solemn in his tone which kept the still indignantMargery from saying more, and she prepared to move away with her charge. But, as she turned to go, she caught a glimpse of her acquaintance thetinsmith, who was in the act of dropping into the plate a crumpledScotch bank-note, which he held in his broad palm. 

"Bless me, they're all going daft together, " muttered Margery, withuplifted hands, as she hurried away. "It was a very good discourse, nodoubt, but to think of folk strippin' themselves like that--a pun'-note, forsooth, near the half of the week's work; the man's gone cleandemented. "

But the tinsmith's serene, smiling face showed no sign of any aberrationof intellect, and Margery took Grace's hand, and hurried her through thecrowd, resolved that she should not, for another instant, stand by andcountenance such reckless expenditure. 

Grace was conscious that her old nurse was still possessed by a strongfeeling of disapproval regarding her donation, so she rather avoidedconversation; besides, she had a great deal to think about as she walkedalong the crowded lamp-lit streets by Margery's side. 

At last they reached the quiet square where Miss Hume lived, and as theycrossed the grass-grown pavement and went up the steps to the house, Grace glanced up to the curtained window of her aunt's sitting-room, andsuddenly remembered, with a feeling of discomfort, that Miss Hume mustpresently be told of the destination of her locket; if not by herself, certainly by Margery, who had just heaved a heavy sigh, and wasevidently girding herself up for the painful duty of narrating thestrange behaviour of her charge. 

"Now, Margery, I'm going to auntie, to tell her about the locket, thisvery minute, so you need not trouble about it, " said Grace, as she ranquickly upstairs to her aunt's room and closed the door. 

Margery never knew exactly what passed, nor how Miss Hume'swell-regulated mind was ever reconciled to such an impulsive act on thepart of her niece. But, as she sat at her usual post by the old ladynext day, while she took her afternoon's rest, Miss Hume said ratherunexpectedly, when Margery concluded she was asleep, "Margery, youremember my sister? Does it not strike you that Miss Campbell is gettingvery like her mother? These children are a great responsibility to me; Iwish their mother had been spared, " she added, rather irrelevantly, itseemed to Margery, and then presently she fell asleep without anyreference to the locket question. 

But that night, when Grace was going to bed, she told her old nurse thather aunt had promised that when they went back to Kirklands again shemight try to find some little boys and girls to teach, and that shewould allow her to have one of the old rooms for her class. She did nottell how eagerly she had asked that, in the meantime, she might beallowed to try and help the neglected city children, to whosenecessities she had been awakened by such thrilling words that day, though Miss Hume had thought it wise to restrain her impatience. Butout of that evening's events had grown the cherished plan which sentGrace on such a chilly afternoon among the woods and braes of Kirklandsto seek any boy or girl who might need her help and friendship. 

CHAPTER II. 

THE SEARCH

Miss Hume, Grace's aunt, left the management of Kirklands entirely inthe hands of her business agent. Mr. Graham met the tenants, gatheredthe rents, arranged the leases, and directed the improvements withouteven a nominal interference on her part. And certainly heconscientiously performed these duties with a view to his client'sinterests. It may be wondered that Miss Hume did not take a morepersonal interest in her tenants, but various things had contributed tothis state of matters. Indeed, she was now so infirm that it would havebeen difficult for her to take any active interest in things around her, especially as it had not been the habit of her earlier years to do so. 

It was her younger sister, Grace's mother, who used to know all thedwellers in the valley so well that her white pony could calculate thedistance to the pleasant farmyard at which he would get his nextmouthful of crisp corn; or the muirland cottage, with its delicious bitof turf, where he would presently graze, as he waited for his youngmistress, while she talked to the inmates. But if the little girl withher white pony could have come back again to Kirklands, they would havemissed many a familiar face, and searched in vain for many a cottage. The pleasant little thatched dwellings, with velvety tufts of mossstudding the roof, and pretty creepers climbing till they mingled withthe brown thatch, telling of the inmates' loving fingers, were all sweptaway now, and in the place that once knew them, stretched trim drills ofturnips, fenced by grim stone walls, to which time had not yet given amoss-covered beauty. 

Mr. Graham had thought it wise for his client's interests to removethose little "crofts, " and merge their kailyards into productive fields;so the dwellers in the greensward cottages had to wander townwards toseek shelter and work in city courts and alleys. The land was nowdivided into a few farms, on which stood imposing-looking houses, withknockers and latch-keys to the doors, where the little girl and thewhite pony would never have ventured to ask admittance, or cared to gainit--where "nobody wanted nothin' from nobody, " old Adam, the gardener, had assured Margery, when she made anxious inquiries concerning theprospect of Grace's search, and who hoped that this circumstantialinformation might persuade her young mistress to abandon it. 

The prophecy that it was "a fule's errand" rang unpleasantly in Grace'sear, as she crossed the park and climbed the rustic stiles which led tothe high road. It was true she knew that during the last three yearsthere had been many a "clearance" at Kirklands, for she rememberedhaving overheard Mr. Graham congratulating her aunt on the largerreturns owing to these improvements. But surely, she thought, theremight still be found some little cottages like those to which she heardher mamma was so fond of going when she was a girl. Walter and she usedcertainly, she remembered, often to see children with bare, dust-stainedfeet on the road, when they happened to go beyond the grounds on afishing expedition, or down with their aunt through her lands; but herbrother had been an all-sufficient playmate, and Grace's interest in thepeasant children did not extend beyond a glance of curiosity. But nowhow gladly would she gather a little company of them to tell them thatold sweet story, which had come to her own heart with such new strangesweetness, during these winter days, though she had heard it ever sinceshe could remember. Grace hurried eagerly along the high road, lookingat every turn for traces of any lowly wayside dwellings. There used tobe a little clump of cottages here, she thought, as she stopped at abend of the road where there were traces of recent demolitions, and agreat field of green corn was evidently going to reclaim the wasteplace, and presently swallow it up. Behind where the vanished cottageshad stood there stretched a glade of birch-trees, with their low twistedstems rising from little knolls of turf so mossy and steep, that thedrills of turnips and potatoes could not possibly be ranged therewithout destroying their symmetry, even though the crooked birch-treeswere to be swept away. 

Grace wandered among the budding trees, and through the soft springyturf that was growing green again in spite of the bitter spring winds, but she found no little native lurking among the birches, and wasdisappointed to come to the other side of the wood much more quicklythan she expected, without the _détour_ being of any practical use. 

The turf sloped away to a little stream that went singing cheerily oversparkling pebbles, bubbling and foaming round the base of grey lichenedrocks, that reared their heads above the water, as if in angryremonstrance at their daring to interfere with its progress. On theopposite bank there stretched a bit of muirland pasture, studded withlittle knolls of heather, growing green, in preparation for its richerautumn tints. The pale spring sunlight began to grow more mellow in itslight at this afternoon hour; it glinted on the little gurgling stream, lighted up the feathery birch glade, and lay in golden patches on theopposite bank, where Grace noticed some cattle begin to gather on theheathery knolls, as if they had come to enjoy the last hour of brightsunshine. Perhaps some little cottages may be sheltered behind thosehillocks, Grace thought; and she began to examine how the grey rocks layamong the water, and whether she could possibly find dry footing acrossthe stream. Presently she came upon a smooth row of stones, that wereevidently used as a thoroughfare. She had already begun to cross them, keeping her eye cautiously fixed on the stepping-stones as she wentalong, when she was startled by a voice which sounded close beside her. On glancing round she saw on the opposite bank a boy standing with ahuge twisted cudgel in his hand, brandishing it in a warlike attitude. He seemed to have suddenly appeared round one of the hillocks, and wasnow shouting excitedly, in his rough northern dialect, as he waved hisstick:

"Hold back, mem; hold back, I tell ye. Blackie is in one o' his illmoods the day, and he's no safe. Dinna come a foot farther. "

Grace stood bewildered, balancing herself on the stepping-stones; theapparition was so sudden that it almost took away her breath, and thecommands were so peremptory that she did not dare to disregard them bygoing forward; but it seemed very hard to beat an ignominious retreat, for here seemed to be just what she was in search of--a boy asneglected-looking as any that were to be seen in the courts and alleysof Edinburgh; of the very type which old Adam declared there was not oneto be found in all the lands of Kirklands. His head was bare, and hisflaxen hair so bleached by the sun that it looked quite white againsthis bronzed face. He looked at Grace with a grave interest in his largeblue eyes, as if he would like to know a little more; but he stillbrandished his cudgel before her, and shouted resolutely:

"Hold back, or Blackie will be at ye. "

"But who is Blackie?" asked Grace, with a gasp, looking furtively roundin the direction of the birch wood, in case the said Blackie might beapproaching from behind. 

"Who's Blackie!" said the boy, repeating the question, as if to hold upto ridicule the absurd ignorance which it implied. "Do ye no ken thatBlackie is Gowrie's bull--the ill-natertest bull in a' thecountry-side?"

"And what have you to do with Blackie?" asked Grace, glancing across tothe hillocks, where some cattle grazed inoffensively, in search of theformidable animal. 

"I herd him--I'm Gowrie's herd-laddie. They're all terrible easy-managedbeasts but him, and he's full o' ill tricks. He can't bear woman-folks, "added the boy, with a slight mischievous twinkle in his eye; for he feltmore at his ease now, having assured himself that Blackie was much toointent on some sweet blades of grass to give any trouble at that moment. 

"Gowrie! that's the old farm down in the hollow there, isn't it? And howlong have you been herding?" asked Grace, who still stood on thestepping-stones, and pursued the conversation with the noisy littlestream babbling round her. 

"I was hired to Gowrie two year come Marti'mas, and afore that I herdedsome sheep on the hill yonder. We had a hut all to oursels. I slept wi'them a' night, and liked them terrible weel, a hantle better than thecattle, " and his eye wandered regretfully to a bleak mountain slope, which had evidently pleasant associations for the little herd-boy. 

"Did you ever go to school?" asked Grace, anxious to introduce hersubject, for she thought she would like this boy for a scholar. 

"Ay, did I once, when I was a wee laddie. I was in the 'Third Primer, 'and could read pretty big words, " and he fumbled in his jacket-pocketfor the collection of dog-eared leaves which represented his store oflearning. 

"Of course you can't go to school now on week days, when you have towatch the cows; but perhaps you go to Sunday-school?" Grace asked; andwill it make her desire to do good appear very narrow and small, if itmust be confessed that she hoped to hear that he did not go to any? Hermind was soon set at rest, however, for he presently replied:

"The school at the kirk, ye mean? No; granny's dreadful deaf, and wedon't go to the kirk. I belong to Gowrie a' the week, but I'm granny'son Sabbath; there's aye a deal to do, brakin' sticks and mendin' upthings, ye see. "

"And you really don't go to a Sunday-school?" exclaimed Grace, hardlyable to restrain her satisfaction at this piece of information. "But, by-the-by, I have never asked your name. I should like to hear it, because I hope we are going to be friends. "

"They call me Geordie Baxter, " he replied, as he ran to check thewanderings of one of the cows, while Grace stood watching him, as shepondered how she might best frame an invitation asking him to be herscholar. He seemed so manly and independent, though he was so young;and, somehow, it was all so different from how she had planned herfinding of scholars. She had been looking for a cottage where thetattered children might be crawling about the doorstep, making mudpiesand quarrelling with each other; and then she thought she would knock atthe door, after she had spoken to them for a little, and ask theirmother if she might have them to teach on Sunday. But this boy, ignorantand neglected as he seemed to be, had certainly a manly dignity whichmade Grace's invitations more difficult than she expected; though, afterall, he could only spell words of one syllable, and he went neither toschool nor to church. Surely he was the sort of scholar she had been insearch of. So when he returned to his former position opposite thestepping-stones, after having admonished the straying cow--

"Well, Geordie, I am going to ask you if you will come to Kirklands, where I live, on Sunday afternoons; and since you do not go to anyschool, I can read a little to you, and perhaps help you to learnsomething?" said Grace, not venturing to be more explicit on what shewished to teach. "Do you think you would like to come?"

"Ay, would I, " he replied, eagerly. "I'm terrible anxious to learn toread the long words without spellin' them. " And then he stopped andlooked hesitatingly at Grace. "Would ye take Jean, I wonder?" he said, coming a few steps on the stones in his eagerness. "She's my sister, anda good bit littler than me, and she can't read any, but I'm thinkin' shecould learn, " he added, in a sanguine tone. 

"Oh yes, certainly; I shall be so happy if you will bring your sister, "replied Grace, looking radiant, for she had; ust been thinking thatthough Geordie was certainly a very valuable unit, he could hardly, inhis own person, make the "Sunday class" on which she had set her heart. 

"But I thought ye couldn't bear poor folk at Kirklands, " said Geordie, reflectively, glancing at Grace, after he had pondered over theinvitation. "Granny's aye frightened they will be takin' our housie fromus, as they have done from so many puir folk;" and then the boy stoppedsuddenly, and a deep red flush rose under his bronzed cheek as heremembered that he must be speaking to one of those same "Kirklandsfolk. "

"Oh, your grandmother needn't be afraid of that. I am sure my aunt wouldnot wish to take away her home, " replied Grace, hurriedly, also flushingwith vexation, and resolving that she would certainly listen with moreinterest, if she happened to be present at the next interview, to Mr. Graham's narratives concerning the improvements, seeing that they seemedto involve the improving away of the natives off the face of thecountry. 

Just then the sound of a horn came across the heather, and Geordiestarted off, saying, "There's Gowrie's horn sounding; I must away andgather home the kye. " And he darted off across the hillocks in search ofhis scattered charges, giving a succession of whoops and shrieks as hebrandished his cudgel and whirled about in the discharge of his duty, quite ignoring Grace, who still stood on the stepping-stones, feelingrather sorry that the interview had terminated so abruptly, for sheremembered a great many questions she would like to have asked. 

Presently Geordie, by dint of his exertions, managed to arrange thecattle, with the formidable Blackie in front, in quite an orderlyprocession, and he now prepared to move towards the farm, whose whitegables were visible from the pasture. He never looked back at Grace, orgave any parting sign of recognition of her presence, and she began tofear that perhaps after all he might forget about her invitation andfail to appear on Sunday. 

"You won't forget to come to Kirklands on Sunday afternoon, Geordie?"she called after him, trying to raise her voice above the noisy littlestream. 

"Didna I say that I would come and bring Jean? and I aye keep mytrysts, " he shouted back again, with a look of indignant astonishmentthat she should have imagined him capable of forgetting or failing tokeep his promise; and then he trudged away cheerily, swinging his stick, more full of the idea of this "tryst" than Grace could guess, though hismind dwelt chiefly on the thought of what a grand thing it would be forlittle Jean to get a chance of learning to read. He was painfullyconscious that he had signally failed in his attempts to teach her, andhe was the only teacher she had ever had. 

In this little, unkempt, sun-bleached herd-boy there dwelt a verytender, chivalrous heart, and on his little sister Jean all his wealth, of affection had as yet been bestowed. Never did faithful knight servehis lady-love more devotedly than Geordie had this little brown maiden, since her earliest babyhood. 

They were orphans, and ever since they could remember their home hadbeen with their grandmother, a frail, dreamy old woman, so deaf that themost active and varied gesticulation was the only means of conveying toher the remotest idea of what one wished to say. Geordie, indeed, wasthe only person sufficiently careless of his lungs to attempt the mediumof speech, and then his conversation was pitched in the same key as whenhe performed his herding functions. 

To the little Jean, Geordie had been playmate and protector in one, herabsolute slave from the time she sat on her old grandmother's knee, and, tiring of that position, lisped out, "Deordie, Deordie, " holding out herlittle brown hands so that he might take her, and then they would sittogether on the earthen floor of the cottage, and the gipsy locks wouldintermingle with Geordie's flaxen hair, which yielded meekly to as roughtreatment from the little brown fingers as ever hapless terrier of thenursery was called on to undergo. But Geordie's sun-bleached locks hadalways been at her service, and his head and hands too; though it wasnot much that the little herd-boy had been able to do for his sister. Often as he lay on the heather, watching his cows, he smiled withdelight as he thought of the time when he should be promoted into a farmservant, with wages enough to send Jean to school, and to buy her apretty print dress, all dotted with blue stars, like the one MistressGowrie wore. As yet all his earnings had gone to pay board to hisgrandmother, and for present necessities in the shape of shoes andcorduroys. He had in one of his pockets a little chamois bag, containinga few shillings, which he always carried about with him; and it was oneof his recreations to spread them on one of the flat, grey stones andcount the silver pieces as they glittered in the sun. He knew well whathe meant to do with them when the pile grew large enough; but its growthwas a very slow one, and required much self-denial on Geordie's part, seeing that the component parts of each shilling were generally gatheredin a stray penny now and then, which he earned by holding a market-goingfarmer's cob; and if, by a rare chance, a sixpence happened to be theunexpected result of one such service, then Geordie felt that he wasreally getting rich, and would soon be able to buy what he had wishedfor so long. It was not anything for himself, or even for Jean, asmight have been expected. Somebody had once told him that if hisgrandmother only had an ear-trumpet she would be able to hear peoplewhen they spoke to her. Geordie had the vaguest idea of what such aninstrument might be like, but decided that probably it bore someresemblance in size or sound to the horn that summoned his cows home;and having ascertained how much money it would cost, he resolved that hewould buy one for his granny whenever he could save the sum. 

The boy's heart was full of tender pity for the old deaf woman, with herweird helpless ways, at whose side he had grown since his infancy;though she could hardly have been said to "bring him up, " for GrannyBaxter had been shiftless and unlovable when she was in possession ofher faculties, and her character had not improved under her tryinginfirmities. Her grandson, however, always treated her with a tenderpatience which no querulousness of the old woman could weary. Not solittle Jean. Only once she could remember her brother looking very graveand grieved, and it was one day when she had refused to do somethingthat the old woman wanted, and put her in a white heat of passion by herrebellion. Having escaped beyond the reach of her poor granny'stottering feet, and, finding her way to the field where Geordie washerding, she began to narrate her story in triumph, when her brother'sgrave silence made her feel how naughty she had been. After that daylittle Jean always tried to "mind" granny more, though she neverattained to the same unwearied service as Geordie. 

That Jean's education was being sadly neglected her brother feltpainfully, and he had made various efforts to teach her the little heknew himself; but the knowledge contained in the "Third Primer" barelysufficed for teaching purposes, and Geordie found, moreover, that thelittle Jean was by no means an apt scholar. Indeed, the most hopelessconfusion continued to prevail in her small mind concerning the lettersof the alphabet, notwithstanding all his efforts. The natural historylessons, however, had been a greater success; she had learnt fromGeordie the names of most trees and flowers that grew wild in thevalley, and knew the difference between a wagtail and a wren, which somepeople who know their alphabet do not. Geordie sometimes thought that itmight be nice for Jean to go to the kirk, for it was from Jean's pointof view that he looked at most things in life. But then there was theinsuperable difficulty about Sunday clothes, so the idea had alwaysbeen given up after due consideration each time it presented itself tohis mind, and the church-going was reserved for that golden period whenJean would be clothed in the blue-starred print frock, and he shouldhave a suit of Sunday clothes. Perhaps, with the encouragement of theear-trumpet, even frail granny might be conducted to church, Geordiethought, hopefully, for he knew that she had the essentials ofchurch-going, as they presented themselves to his mind, stowed away inan ancient chest-of-drawers where she kept her valuables. 

But in the interval, and while these happy days of good wages andschooling for Jean and Sunday clothes still lay in the distance, thisinvitation to go to the house of Kirklands to be taught on Sundayafternoon was very delightful indeed, Geordie thought, as he trudgedhome with dust-stained feet, carrying his shoes slung across hisshoulders, to pay an evening visit to his granny, eager to tell Jeanabout the interview with the young lady and of the invitation. He knewthe news would be welcome to his grandmother also, for it had been oneof her standing grievances ever since he could remember that next rentday Mr. Graham would be sure to give her notice to quit. And, indeed, ifthe truth must be told, it was owing to Geordie's own useful andreliable qualities that the little household had not long ago been toldto move on, and to make way for more money-making tenants. Farmer Gowriewas one of the oldest residents on the estate, and he had frequently, ashe used daily to inform Granny Baxter, put in a good word for her withthe agent, and begged him to let the little cottage stand during the oldwoman's lifetime; for where could he get a boy like Geordie at the samemoney, as he remarked to his wife, so handy, so careful, so fearless ofBlackie, "the ill-natertest bull in all the country-side, " who, underhis guidance, was meek as a lamb. 

But notwithstanding Gowrie's assurances that their home was safe, Geordie knew that his grandmother would be very much pleased to know, ifhe could make her understand the fact, that he had, that afternoon, talked with a lady from the "big hoose" itself. She seemed kind and"pleasant-spoken, " and not at all the terrible ogre that Geordie alwaysimagined the lady of Kirklands to be. As the rent day came round, and hewent to the inn-parlour where the agent sat to receive the rents, heused to lay the money on the table and then turn away quickly with abeating heart, in case granny's oft-repeated prophecy should provetrue, and the dreaded notice to quit should really be coming at last. But instead of any such terrible communication, after he had stood thepenetrating glance of the bald-headed factor, a kindly nod usedgenerally to follow, and presently Geordie was galloping home at the topof his speed to assure his grandmother that there was no word of "aflittin'" this Martinmas. And now he felt that their home was moresecure than ever, for had not the lady said that she was sure nobodywanted to turn them out of it?

Geordie's chief source of delight during his walk home was the thoughtof what a pleasant outing the walk to Kirklands would be for Jean, forthere were many things within the lodge gates that she had heard of andwould like to see. Perhaps they might get a glimpse of the walled-ingarden as they passed, which Geordie had heard of from his master, whowas a friend of old Adam the gardener, and had been sometimes invited byhim to take a turn through his domain. But the happiest thought of allwas, that, perhaps, Jean might get more interested in her alphabet whenthe young lady taught her. He resolved that he must not forget to takethe "Third Primer" with him, for it was possible that the young ladymight not exactly understand what they needed to be taught; for, afterall, she did not look so very old, he pondered, as he compared herappearance with Mistress Gowrie's, the one grown specimen of the femalesex, except his grandmother, who made up his small world. 

CHAPTER III. 

THE FIRST SCHOLARS

Grace Campbell hurried home with not less eagerness than her futurescholar, to tell the news of her expedition at Kirklands. Her Aunt Humewas only half awakened from her afternoon nap, and glanced with dropsyeyes at the glowing face, as she listened to her niece's description ofhow and where she had found Geordie. 

"Baxter! I do not remember that name; I must ask Mr. Graham who theyare, and all about them, nest time he comes, " said Miss Hume, afterGrace had finished her eager narration, and stood twirling her hat inher hand, hesitating whether she should tell her aunt Geordie'simpression of what sort of people the "Kirklands folk" were; but just atthat moment tea was brought, and on reflection, Grace resolved that, forthe present, it would be wise to keep silent on that point. Two dayspassed quickly, and Sunday afternoon found Grace hovering about thedoor 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 forher, at what the old nurse considered a suitable angle of distance fromthe form arranged for the scholars; but Grace began to think it feltrather formidable to be waiting seated there, so she gathered up thebooks again, and wandered between the avenue and the little room, waiting with impatience the arrival of her first scholars, and having avague fear lest they might not be forthcoming after all. 

Meanwhile, Geordie and his little sister were toiling along the dustyhighway in an excited, expectant state of mind. The shady elm avenue wasa refreshing change after the hot white turnpike road. Geordie lookedkeenly about him, noting all the well-kept walks and shrubberies, amongwhich he saw many plants that were not natives of the valley, andthought he should like, sometime, to examine them more closely. 

At last they came in sight of the grey gables of the old mansion, andlittle Jean grasped her brother's hand more closely, and looked up witha frightened glance at the many windows, which seemed to her like somany great eyes all staring at her. She began to wish that she wassafe back in her granny's cottage again, but consoled herself bythinking that as long as she had hold of Geordie's hand nothing verydreadful could possibly happen. Geordie, too, was somewhat overawed bythe nearer view of the "big hoose, " which certainly seemed much moreformidable in its dimensions than it did from the moorland, where heused to get a glimpse of it while he watched the sheep, and then itlooked no larger than the grey cairn which he made his watch-tower, butnow it seemed to frown above him, and the windows, too, began to createuncomfortable sensations in his mind as well as Jean's. 

With the sight of his friend of the stepping-stones, his flaggingcourage 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 franksmile, as he gave his sister a little push forward. 

"I have kept my tryst, ye see. You thought, maybe, I wouldna mind, " headded, smiling again at the absurdity of the idea that he should forgetsuch 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 forgetto come, " added Grace, quite in a flutter of delight over the arrival ofher scholars, which they little dreamt of. Then she happened to glanceat Jean, who stood clutching her brother's corduroys in a veryfrightened attitude, and Grace remembered that this was also a newexperience for the scholars, and perhaps they, too, might be sufferingfrom the nervousness which had been following her from the lawn to theclass-room for the last hour as she waited for them. 

Putting out her hand to Jean, she said, in an encouraging tone, "Come, Idare say you must be tired after your walk in this hot afternoon. Weshall go to a little room that my aunt has given us to sit in, and seeif we cannot find something nice to read and learn, " and Grace led theway up the old steps and across the hall, then through what appeared tothe children quite a bewildering maze of dark passages, so dim andsombre after the bright sunshine, that Grace overheard Jean say in an, abrupt whisper, which was instantly smothered by her brother, "I'mafraid, Geordie; I'm no gain' farther upon this dark road. "

At last the little company reached the room that had been assigned tothem. It was the old still-room, but it had been long in disuse, andwas scarcely less dim than the passages which led to it. The high narrowwindow only admitted a few slanting rays of sunlight, that danced on thewhite vaulted roof, which was queerly curved and arched by the windingsof a narrow staircase above. It looked, however, none the less animposing chamber to Geordie, who instinctively drew off his cap as hecame in from the sunny glare of the fresh spring day to itssemi-darkness. 

Then Jean, who had decided that the best code of manners was to watchwhat Geordie did, and follow implicitly, began to pull the strings ofher little bonnet, to remove it from her head. It had been a presentfrom Mistress Gowrie on New Year's Day, and this was the first occasionon which Jean had worn it, though it had often been taken from itsresting-place in a red cotton pocket-handkerchief, and viewed withcomplacency. To-day, when it came to be-tied, she had to apply toGeordie, her unfailing help in all extremities; and he in his efforts tomake an imposing bow like the one which decorated Mistress Gowrie'sample chin, had knotted the strings after the manner of whipcord, sothat they required all Grace's ingenuity to disentangle them. 

Presently, after all these preliminaries were satisfactorilyaccomplished, the young teacher seated herself at the table, and began, to fumble nervously among the books which she had brought to use. Therewas a little story-book that Walter and she used to like long ago, inwhich 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 bestto choose as the first lesson, having selected and rejected a great manyparables and incidents both in the New and Old Testaments, and was evennow doubtful what they should begin to read. 

The sight of the books reminded Geordie of his pocket compendium ofknowledge, 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'vemaybe forgot it some. I doubt Jean doesna know one letter from another, though I've whiles tried to make her understand, " added Geordie, ratherruefully, as he glanced towards the smiling little maiden, who sat quiteunabashed at this account of her ignorance. 

Grace was rather taken aback by the sight of the spelling-book, and alsoby Geordie's statement as to the amount of his knowledge, though it wasthe same as he had made at their first interview. Grace, however, in hereagerness, had not understood its full import, so she gasped out insome 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. "Theywere just goin' to put me into the Bible when I left the school. I haveheard them reading out some of the stories, and I thought they wouldn'tbe that difficult to spell out. Maybe if I read in the primer for awhile, ye'll put me into the Bible, " he added, evidently having a strongidea of the necessity for a good foundation of spelling-book lore beforeproceeding to use it. 

But Grace thought ruefully of all her high-flown plans for this Sundayclass, and felt that it was a terrible descent to be restricted to the"Third Primer. " But Geordie seemed convinced that through this dog-earedvolume lay the only royal road to learning. He had already opened thebook at one of the little lessons near the end which he seemed to thinkhe had not sufficiently mastered in the "schoolin' days" already faraway in the distance to the little herd-boy. He still stood by Grace'sside at the table, and his finger travelled slowly along the page as heread, in the nasal sing-song tone in which the reading functions wereperformed at the parish school, one of those meaningless littleparagraphs that are supposed to be best adapted by the compilers ofprimers for teaching the young idea how to shoot. 

Grace sat listening, rather perplexed as to what course it would be bestto pursue. This certainly was not the kind of ideal Sunday-class whichshe had in her mind all these months; indeed, this "Third Primer" washardly orthodox food for Sunday at all, according to her ideas; and yetGeordie was laboriously travelling over the page with a doggedearnestness which she did not know how to divert into any other channelwithout doing harm in some shape or other. But presently help came toher 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 stoodat the table leaning over his lesson-book, got tired of her neglectedsituation, and descending from her high seat, she planted her sturdylittle legs on the floor, saying, in a decided tone, as she stumped awaytowards the door, "Geordie, I'm tired sittin' here. I'm away home. "Jean's words fell like a thunderbolt both on Geordie and Grace. Theblood mounted to the boy's face, and his earnest blue eyes turnedanxiously towards the young teacher, to see what she was thinking ofsuch an utter breach of good manners on Jean's part. 

[Illustration: THE FIRST LESSON. ]

Poor Grace felt bitterly conscious of sudden and terrible failure inthis work which she had so longed to undertake. She had not been able tointerest one scholar for a quarter of an hour, and the other seemed onlyto have his heart set on learning to spell. "But it is not quite time togo home yet, Jean, " she faltered, as she watched the little girl'sefforts to open the door, since Geordie did not seem inclined to cometo her assistance. "Indeed, we haven't really begun yet, " continuedGrace. "Come, Jean, would you not like to stay a little longer and heara story from the Bible before you go? Geordie used to like them atschool, he says;" and then, turning to the boy, who stood looking ingrave reproving silence at Jean, she said, "Besides, Geordie, I think, perhaps, I did not quite explain to you the other day what I thought weshould try to learn on Sunday afternoons when you come here. I shall bevery glad to help you with spelling, too, you know, but I thought Ishould like to tell you something about the Lord Jesus Christ ourSaviour, and to read some of his wonderful words which we find in theNew 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 werereadin' when I was at the school. I mind there was a right fine storyabout a herd-laddie killin' a big giant, that one o' the laddies telt meonce. You've heard it many a time from me, Jean. "

"Ah, yes, I know that story too, " Grace replied, brightening, as if aglimmer of light had come to her in her perplexity. "And if you willlisten, I can tell you another story--about a Shepherd, too. I'm sureyou 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 shouldthink the book would imply another course of spelling, and be rousedinto immediate flight. Abandoning all her carefully arranged plans forteaching which she had been thinking of for so long, she looked intoGeordie's eyes, which were still wandering hungrily towards theunconquered pages of the primer, and began to tell of the Shepherd whowatched the hundred sheep in a wilderness far away in a very hotcountry, where the burning sun dried up the streams and withered thepasture, and where it was very difficult to find food for either man orbeast. And then she told of how very wise and tender this Shepherd waswith his flock, looking after their wants day and night, and taking veryspecial care of the silly, play-loving lambs, who did not guess whatterrible dangers they might fall into; for there were wild beastsprowling about, ready to pounce upon them, and rushing torrents thatcame suddenly from the hillsides in rainy seasons, which would havedrowned them in a minute, if the Shepherd's watchful eye had not beenthere. He knew all their names, too, though sheep are so wonderfullylike each other. "

"Did he though?" exclaimed Geordie. "He must have more wit than Gowrie'sshepherd, then. He has been wi' them for more than a year now, and Idinna think he knows the one from the other so well as I do. "

Little Jean seemed to have abandoned her design of immediately returninghome, and was gradually edging nearer the table, with her twinklingblack eyes fixed on Grace. 

"But I was going to tell you what happened to one of the little lambs inspite of the Shepherd's watchful care, " Grace continued, feelinginspirited 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 GoodShepherd. For the little lamb got lost--lost among bleak, sandy hills, where it could find no green blade to eat, and got very hungry andfootsore. It could hear no kind shepherd's voice that it used to love tolisten to in happier days, but only terrible sounds like the bark ofwolves, coming nearer, and lions prowling about when it began to getdark. "

"Puir lambie!" murmured Jean, whose face now rested on her little fathands, while, leaning on the table, she looked up in Grace's face; "itmust surely ha'e been very frightened, " she added, in a compassionatetone; for she knew that she did not like to cross the turf in front ofthe cottage, after dark, without Geordie's protecting hand. 

"Yes, it surely must have been frightened enough, for it was certainlyin great danger, and the Shepherd knew what a terrible plight it must bein, wandering about tired and hungry, far away from the fold. For whatdo you think he did?" Grace continued, looking at Geordie; "he actuallyleft 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 notlang syne, and when Gowrie asked him, when he came home, why he didnalook 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 anice wee thing for a' that, and it must have died all alone there, withnobody to give it a drop of water, " said Geordie, regretfully, for hehad a tender heart for all dumb creatures. "I must tell Gowrie's ladabout this Shepaerd the very next time he comes round the hill. But didhe 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, andsorrowful sights of the terrible ruin the wild beasts had wrought, hecame upon the little strange lamb, just when its heart was beginning tofaint and fail. The story does not say that he punished it for runningaway and giving him so much trouble, or even that he spoke some chidingwords and pushed it along in front of him with his crook, as I havesometimes seen shepherds on the road do when the sheep get footsore andweary and unwilling to go on with the journey. "

"Ay do they. They get their licks many a time when they don't deservethem, " chimed in Geordie, in a pathetic tone. 

"Well, but instead of any hard words or beatings, what do you think theShepherd did? He took the little lamb into his own weary arms, and itlay safe and warm there, while he carried it all the way home to thefold. "

"Did he though?" exclaimed Geordie, in warmest admiration. "Eh, but thelambie must surely have been right fond of the Shepherd after that. I'mthinkin' he would know his voice better than before, and follow himright close and canny. That's the kind o' shepherd all beasts wouldlike, for they know fine when a body cares for them, " Geordie said, witha glowing face, as he looked up at Grace, and the "Third Primer" slippedunheeded on the floor. 

Was it a mere chance coincidence that this remark of Geordie's came at amoment when it made more easy of introduction to Grace that part of theparable story which she was full of eagerness to tell to her firstscholars? She desired that it might prove to them not merely a pleasanttale, which had beguiled an hour that had threatened to be a very wearyone, to little Jean, at least; but that, through its homely dress, theymight catch a glimpse of its higher meaning, and be able to trace thefootsteps of the Great Shepherd of souls. 

"Yes, Geordie, " she continued, "one would certainly imagine that thesheep would follow such a shepherd very closely, and be very sure thathis way was always best, and that he was leading them by wise safepaths, even when they seemed thorny and toilsome; but it is not so. Ican tell you of a Shepherd who not only went through many painful darkdesolate places, so that his flock might not stumble and fall when theycame to follow, but ended by laying down his life for his sheep. And yetthese very sheep do not always listen to his voice, nor follow the safenarrow 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 lambiewith the black face, that used to lick Geordie's hand, " replied littleJean, with a doleful expression in her usually merry black eyes. 

"Ah, but this Good Shepherd always searches for the lost sheep till hefinds it, and then he carries it in his arms all the journey through tohis beautiful home among the angels, and there is joy among them overthe little found lamb. For it is the Lord Jesus Christ who calls himselfthe Good Shepherd, Jean, and who has told us this story about findingthe lost sheep, that we might understand the better how he came to thisworld 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 arestraying yet, " continued Grace; and then, glancing at Geordie's earnestface, she said, "You have heard of the Lord Jesus Christ, who came tosave us from our sins, have you not, Geordie?"

"I have heard tell o' him. But I didna just think he was so real-like asa 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 notsay more. 

Just then Margery knocked at the door, and intimated that the hour wasexpired, 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 hadpreviously marked out. There was the hymn-book, with a tune all readyto sing to one of the hymns, which Grace had practised painstakingly onthe piano the day before. But now she found that neither Jean norGeordie could sing, so she thought it might be wise to select somethingsimpler than she had chosen before, and ended by singing her oldestchildish favourite, "The Happy Land. " It was evidently new to thechildren; for their poor old deaf granny's was not a musical home. Geordie's eyes dilated with delight as he listened, and he kept givingJean a series of nods across the table, in case she should by any chancemiss the full enjoyment of such beautiful sounds. 

A second knock from Margery, this time carrying a plateful ofcurrant-cake which Miss Hume had sent to the children, fairly broke upthe little gathering. Grace felt with disappointment that this firstclass had come sadly short of her ideal, was a complete failure, infact, when she remembered all that she had meant to say and do, and allthe hoped-for responses on the part of the scholars. 

In thinking of this afternoon long afterwards, when it lay in the clearrounded distance of the past, Grace used to smile as she remembered herrestless impatience, and compare herself to the little girl who wasalways pulling up by the roots the flowers she had planted in hergarden, to see how they were getting on. 

When they prepared to leave the little still room, Grace handed Geordiehis precious "Third Primer, " which she found lying on the floor, and ashe put it into his jacket pocket, he said with a smile, "I won't bringit back with me, I'm thinkin'. Ye'll maybe tell us some more about theGood Shepherd next time, and I can hold at the spellin' when I'mherdin', and maybe I'll soon be able to get into the Bible itself, " headded, still firm in his belief that the only entrance lay through thespelling-book. 

Grace, remembering little Jean's dislike to the exit through the darkpassages, led the way to a door which opened into a path to the garden. Jean manifested undisguised satisfaction when the dim still-roomprecincts were fairly left behind, and they got into the pleasant oldwalled-in garden, where the yellow afternoon's sun was lying on theopening fruit-blossom, and bringing delicious scents out of thenewly-blown lilac and hawthorn. She kept pulling Geordie's corduroys, todraw his attention to all that captivated her as they walked along thebroad gravel walk. This was certainly a much pleasanter way home thanalong the dim passage, and Jean decided that the best part of theafternoon had come last. Presently Grace opened the door of one of thegreenhouses, and they stood among richer colours and sweeter scents thanbefore. The children had been surveying with admiring wonder thedazzling house glittering in the sun, which was making each pane sparklelike a diamond, but they never dreamt that it would be given to them toenter it, or indeed that it had an interior which could be reached, soentirely did it seem to belong to the region of the sun, not to theworld of thatched cottages and grey walls. 

"Eh, but surely this will be something like the happy land you weresingin' aboot, " Geordie said at last, with a long-drawn breath, after hehad wandered about in silence for some time, revelling in the exoticdelights of the first greenhouse he had ever seen. 

"Oh yes, Geordie; there will be all this, and a great deal more; thingsso beautiful and, glorious that our poor minds can't even imagine whatthey will be like, " said Grace, glowingly, feeling a thrill of pleasureto hear that the hymn had any meaning for the boy, so desponding was sheconcerning her efforts. "Look here, I'll just read to you about thepleasant place where the Good Shepherd leads his flock, after theirjourney on earth is over. " And leaning against an old orange-tree, Grace read to her little scholars about that wonderful multitude "whichcame out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and madethem white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore are they before thethrone of God, and serve him day and night in his temple: and he thatsitteth on the throne shall dwell among them. They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the sun light on them, nor anyheat. 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 wipeaway all tears from their eyes. " They stood quite still for a fewmoments after Grace had finished reading, each thinking some newthoughts. 

In the mind of little Jean, to be sure, there certainly prevailed someconfusion 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 herlife, the yellow glitter of the sun on the Kirklands greenhouses broughtto her mind the description of that "city of pure gold, as it weretransparent glass;" and the tall tropical plants which were ranged roundthe shining floor were to her the embodiments of the trees whose leaveswere for the "healing of the nations. "

But Geordie's thoughts were most about that Shepherd Saviour who seemedto be able to lead his flock away from bleak, scorching places to such ablessed land as these words told of. 

In spite of old Adam's approaching shadow on the gravel walk, Graceplucked 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 brokenyellow jug on the window-sill of Granny Baxter's cottage, and were a joyto Jean for many days. And when it was the fate of their companionsstill left in their stately glass home to be gathered into Adam's barrowwhen their charms had past, and ignominiously flung away, Jean's roseshad a more honourable future. After they had done their duty faithfullyon the window-sill, the dead leaves were tenderly gathered and scatteredin the drawers allotted to Jean in the ancient chest, where they made asweet scent in their embalmment for many a day. 

The little party arrived at last at the farther end of the garden, wherethere was a door in the high, red wall opening on a path which led tothe turnpike-road. Grace turned the rusty key, and the children saw thefamiliar face of their native valley again. Giving a lingering backwardglance into the pleasant garden which they had just left, they trottedaway towards the dusty high-road, while Grace stood watching them tillthey were out of sight. 

CHAPTER IV. 

ELSIE GRAY

"I'll tell you what it is, Grace; that scholar of yours is far too finea fellow to be left to tie companionship of old Gowrie's cattle anylonger. "

The speaker was a bright, breezy-looking lad in midshipman's dress, whowas sauntering up and down the old terrace at Kirklands, in company withour friend Grace. She is a year older than when we saw her last at thegarden-gate, parting with her two scholars after their first Sundaytogether. They have had a great many afternoons in company since then. Grace had remained in her summer home all through the long Scotchwinter, and now autumn had come, bringing with it her brother Walter ona delightful holiday of six weeks, after an absence of years. 

Miss Hume had got so frail the previous year, that she was unfit for thereturn journey to her house in Edinburgh, and the following months hadonly brought an increase of weakness. She now lay in her darkened room, with, her flickering lamp of life burning slowly to its socket, whilesome young lives beside her were being kindled by glowing fires whichwould cause their hearts to burn long after the "glow of early thoughtdeclines in feeling's dull decay. "

The little company in the still-room had somewhat increased, four othershaying been added to the two first scholars. One of them was Elsie Gray, the forester's daughter, a pretty little girl with a sweet voice, andable to sing a great many hymns, so that Grace had no longer to performsolos to the still-room audience, but was accompanied by more than onevoice timidly following Elsie's example, and joining in the singing. There were three other scholars from the borders of the next parish, anda very happy party they all made together. But it must be confessed thatthe warmest place in Grace's heart was reserved for the first scholarwhom she had found that chilly spring day among the pasture lands whichsloped down to the little stream. Judged by an educational standard, Geordie was certainly, with the exception of the little Jean, the mostdeficient of the company, in spite of his having manfully conquered thelast pages of the "Third Primer, " and got at last "intil the Bible. "The other boys and girls still attended the parish school on week days, and seemed more or less very fairly in possession of the rudiments ofeducation. Some things, however, which they read and heard in the littlequiet room at Kirklands sank into their hearts as they had never donewhen they read them as the stereotyped portion of the Bible-readinglesson amid the mingled jangle of slates and pencils and pattering feet, with the hum of rough northern tongues, which prevailed in the parishschool-room. 

To Geordie even this discordant medium of education had been denied. Grace had set her heart on having him sent to school during the pastwinter. She saw what a precious boon such an opportunity appeared inGeordie's eyes when she suggested it to him. But Farmer Gowrie had to beconsulted, and finding the herd-boy useful in winter as well as duringthe summer months, he decided that he could not possibly spare Geordie. And as for Granny Baxter, she could not understand what anybody couldwant with more learning who was, able to earn money. So Geordie had oneday lingered behind the other scholars to tell Grace that the idea ofgoing to school even during the winter quarter must be given up. Therewas always a manly reticence about the boy which made one feel thatwords of sympathy would be patronising; but Grace could see what abitter disappointment it was, though he appeared quite unalterable inhis decision that he "belonged to Gowrie, " when Grace tried to arrangethe matter by an interview with the farmer. He could only claim the boyweek by week, and the young teacher did not see the necessity for suchself-denial on Geordie's part. 

Then Grace's store of pocket-money had been devoted to sending littleJean to school. This arrangement had been a source of great delight toGeordie--much more of an event to him, indeed, than to the phlegmaticlittle Jean, to whom the primer did not contain such preciouspossibilities as it did to her brother's eyes. Grace had arranged thatshe should go to a girls' school lately opened in the parish. It was theone to which Elsie Gray, the forester's daughter, went. On her way toschool she had to pass Granny Baxter's cottage, and after Jean wasinstalled as her fellow-scholar, Elsie used generally to call and see ifthe little girl was ready to start, so that they might walk along theroad together. 

Elsie was a pale, fragile-looking girl, who looked as if she had grownamong crowded streets, rather than blossomed in the open valley, withits flowing river and breezy hillsides. She was a very silent child, too, with a meek grace about all her movements; her large grey eyesshone out of her face with a luminous, dreamy light in them, whichdistressed her practical, rosy-faced mother, who used to say that shedid not know where Elsie had come by "those ghaist-like eyes o' hers, "and as for those washed-out cheeks, "there was no accountin' for themneither;" and the worthy matron would go on to narrate with whatabundance and amplitude Elsie had been ministered to all her life; andyet Elsie glided about still and pale, with her large eyes shining likeprecious stones, generally hungrily possessed by some book which sheheld in her hand. She had an insatiable appetite for reading, and hadlong ago exhausted the juvenile library attached to the church, whilethe few books which comprised the forester's collection had been readand re-read by her many times. The farmer librarian, who remained halfan hour after the congregation was dismissed on Sundays to dispensebooks for any that might wish them, in the room behind the church, hadbeen obliged to give Elsie entrance to the shelves reserved for olderpeople, after she had exhausted the youthful library. It is not to besupposed, however, that by this admission Elsie was allowed to plungechartless into light literature. The shelves contained only books of themost sober kind, the lightest admixture being narratives of thepersecutions of the Waldenses and stories of the Covenanting struggles. These Elsie read and pondered with intense interest, interweaving thescenes in her imagination with the familiar places and people round her, and living a far-away dreamy life of her own in the forester's cozylittle nest, while her active-minded, busy-fingered mother made hercheese and butter, and reared her poultry, and was withal so verycapable of performing her own duties, that the forester sometimesventured to think, when Mrs. Gray complained of Elsie's "handlessness, "that seeing the mistress was so well able for "her own turn, " it wasfortunate his little daughter chanced to be of a more contemplativedisposition. 

Mrs. Gray had heard from Margery of the Sunday class which her youngmistress had opened at Kirklands, and though, as the forester's wiferemarked, "Elsie had enough and to spare of schoolin' already, " yet itwould only be a suitable mark of respect to the lady of Kirklands tosend her there on Sunday afternoons; and so it happened that Elsiebecame one of Grace's scholars, sitting in the little still-room onSunday afternoons, her large tender eyes answering in sympatheticflashes as the young teacher talked with the little company of thosewonderful days when the Son o Man lived upon the earth, or told themsome story of the earlier times of the world, when God's voice was heardin the beautiful garden in the cool of the day, or when he guided hischosen people by signs and wonders. 

In those days, however, the gospel tidings were not more to Elsie thanmany another pathetic story which she knew, and served simply as foodfor her imagination, though Grace's earnest words did throw a halo roundthe familiar incidents which the daily reading of a chapter in the NewTestament had failed to do. Yet it was not till some of the sharpsorrows of life had fallen upon Elsie that those words which she heardin the still-room came with living power to her heart, and became to hera light in dark days, a joy in sorrowful times, which nothing was ableto take away from her. 

And this was the little girl who used to knock gently at the door ofGranny Baxter's cottage every morning as she passed along the road toschool, arrayed in her pretty grey stuff frock, and with her snowy linentippet and sun-bonnet. Sometimes she found little Jean's round smilingface peering against the peat-stack at the end of the cottage awaitingher coming, for a great friendship had sprung up between these two, though they were certainly very different in character. Elsie seemed tohave a brooding protective care over the little unkempt Jean, exercisinga sort of guardianship of her in the new life at school. She would oftencome to her rescue when Jean sat pouting over a blurred slate, en whichshe was helplessly trying to reproduce the figures on the blackboard, orgive her timely aid amid the involvements of some question in theShorter Catechism. It was Elsie who tied the bonnet-strings now, withmore dexterous fingers than Geordie's, and performed many similar kindlyoffices besides; and little Jean was already learning from theforester's daughter many habits of tidiness which her poor, failinggrandmother had not been capable of teaching her. 

Sometimes, on their way from school, the girls would find Geordieperched on the paling of one of Gowrie's fields, while the cattle grazedwithin the fences, watching for their coming to enliven a lonely hourwith their talk and news of school doings. His eye used to glisten withpride and pleasure as he watched the little Jean appear, carrying herbooks and slate, and already bearing many traces of civilisinginfluences. And it is not to be wondered at if his eye rested withadmiration sometimes on the sweet maiden, who was generally hercompanion, and that he learnt to watch eagerly for the first glimpse ofthe snowy sun-bonnet along the winding green lane which led from thegirls' school to the high road. Sometimes Elsie used to bring one of herfavourite books in her plaited-cord school-bag, and then the trio wouldsit in a shady corner, where Geordie's vigilant eye could still keepwatch over his charge, while the little girl introduced her friends tosome of the favourite scenes of her ideal world. Elsie seemed tounderstand, though she had never been told it in so many words, allabout Geordie's intense desire for knowledge, and to appreciate hisself-denial in remaining in his present post. And so it happened theregrew up in her mind a tender sympathy for all that he had missed, sideby side with an admiring belief in his character. 

How many thoughts and ideas he surely must have, she used to think, after one of those meetings, when she took her solitary way home, afterparting with Jean, and remembered Geordie's remarks, which seemed tothrow new light on her favourite histories, and to touch with insightall that was most beautiful and true in them. Often Elsie used todelight the unvocal brother and sister by singing one of her hymns, which for days afterwards would echo in some "odd corner" of the lonelylittle herd-boy's brain. Sometimes, too, they discussed what they hadbeen hearing on the previous Sunday at Kirklands; and Elsie always feltmore interested in the lesson after hearing Geordie's gentle, reverenttalk. And to Elsie, who had neither brother nor sister, there was aninfinite charm in Geordie's devotion to his sister Jean, and hisunwearied anxiety for her happiness. She noticed, too, the tender, chivalrous care with which he ministered to his old grandmother, neverwearying of her selfish, querulous ways, and sacrificing himself to hersmallest wishes. 

So it happened that a warm friendship sprang up between those three whosat side by side in Grace Campbell's little school-room; and their dailylives had become pleasantly interwoven during these past months. ToJean, Elsie appeared the embodiment of all that was worthy of imitation, from her snowy sun-bonnet to her gentle voice, both seeming equallyunattainable to the little girl. When Geordie returned to the village onSaturday night, he used generally to hear from Jean some glowingnarrative in Elsie's praise, to which Geordie's ears were quite wideopen, though he sat bending over his books in the "ingle neuk" of thecottage kitchen. 

When her idea of a winter at school had to be abandoned, Grace gave hima few helpful class-books, and tried to direct his efforts to learn asmuch as was possible; but, during the past year, her aunt's increasingweakness and dependence on her companionship made it impossible forGrace to give the boy such practical help as she would fain have done. But Geordie had been fighting his own battle manfully, and had made moreprogress than Grace guessed. 

Walter had first been telling her as they walked on the terracetogether, that the day before he had found Geordie busy with a geographybook as he tended his cattle, and how pleased he had been to hear aboutthe new lands Walter had seen. Like Elsie, Walter felt that, inGeordie's mind, things seemed to gather a richness and an interest withwhich his own impressions had not clothed them. 

"You've no idea how many queer questions the fellow asked me abouteverything, " continued Walter. "Indeed, Grace, I couldn't help thinkinghow much more good Geordie would have got out of all the things andplaces I've seen since I went away, than I have. And yet he's much tooclever for a sailor's life. What can we do with him, Grace? I reallycan't bear to think of his drudging on as a farm servant to old Gowrie, though he seems quite contented with the prospect, " and Walter turned toGrace, who glanced at her brother's kindly face with pleasure, thoughnot unmixed with surprise, that he should take such an interest in herSunday-scholar. 

Walter seemed to look on Grace's class rather in a humorous light whenhe first heard of its existence on his return to Kirklands. Andpresently he had begun to grudge that she should devote herself to it, and thus deprive him of the pleasure of her society during the longSunday afternoons, when they used to be together in the old days. And, in the midst of all her joy in having her brother with her again, Gracehad been feeling with sadness that there was as yet no response inWalter's heart to those unseen, eternal things, which, in her efforts toshare them with the little company on Sunday, had become increasinglyvivid to her own mind. He used occasionally to rally her on her newfancies, which he seemed to think quite harmless and suitable for agirl, provided they did not cross his plans and fancies. 

One day, when he was on his way to fish, he had happened to meetGeordie, who was herding his cattle near the stepping-stones. Geordiewas a clever angler, and could wile more trout out of the river thanmost people, and Walter had been delighted with his information as tothe fishing capabilities of the Kirklands river. Since that day they hadalways been friends when they chanced to meet. Walter could never seethe sun-bleached locks gleaming in the distance without crossingwhatever gate or field happened to lie between, and going to have a talkwith him; so the boys had seen much more of each other than Grace knew. She had often been obliged to leave "Walter to solitary rambles, owingto her aunt's, increasing dependence on her during her long illness, soit happened that she felt some surprise when she saw Walter more movedthan was his wont as he eagerly discussed plans for helping Geordie. 

"I'll tell you what it is, Gracie, " said Walter, in his blunt way, ashis quick eye detected Grace's slight surprise that he should have sowarmly espoused the cause of her Sunday-scholar. "You know I have seenGeordie a good deal lately. We have had a lot of fishing talk, and allthat, and I like the chap--he's a first-rate fellow. I can't bear tosee a fellow so much better than myself trudging away behind thosebeasts of Gowrie's day after day. And, besides, Grace, the fact is I owehim something more than anything I may be able to do for him can everrepay. It isn't every fellow, I can tell you, who would have had thecourage to say to me what he did, " stammered Walter. 

"What did he say, Walter?" asked Grace, more astonished than ever. "Ithought you hardly knew more of Geordie Baxter than his name. You knowhe is my favourite scholar. But it is a long time since I have had aquiet talk with him. I well remember the first conversation we had, standing on the stepping-stones near that bend of the river where thebirches grow. "

"Ah, yes, I know the place. It's curious, it was just about that veryspot I was going to tell you. I met him there, one day, not long ago, and he happened to say that he had been asking Gowrie to stop sendingthe cattle to that bit of pasture, because the stepping-stones made it athoroughfare, and that bull had been getting more savage lately, and hecould not always persuade people that it was dangerous to pass near him;but Gowrie had said it was nonsense, and so forth. Well, you see, I'mnot very fond of old Gowrie, and when I saw how meekly Geordie submittedto him, I felt provoked, and began to speak a little strongly, as wemiddies sometimes do--swore, in fact. And if Geordie didn't make me feelmore ashamed of myself than ever I did in my life. You've tried yourhand on me before now, Gracie, and I'm sure you'll be glad tohear--well, that I'm going to try to lead a very different life now. "Walter's voice faltered, and Grace looked at him with glistening eyes. 

After a few moments' silence, she said, "But Walter, dear, you haven'ttold me yet what Geordie said. "

"Well, Grace, I hardly think I should like to tell you all he said. Buthe came, and laying his hand on my shoulder, looked at me with thoseearnest eyes of his. 'You've been very kind to me, Maister Campbell, ' hebegan, 'and it would be ill-done no to min' ye that ye are giving a soreheart to your best Friend ye have by takin' his dear name in vain, ' andthen he said a little more about it. I was so taken aback, Grace, Icould hardly believe my own ears. It must have required a lot ofdownright courage to speak like that; there isn't a mid in all our crewwho would have ventured to do so. And yet I dare say I'm in forsomething of the same kind when I go back again to the ship. For youknow I must be a 'good soldier, ' Grace, " added Walter, with a gentle, fearless look in his eyes that carried Grace's thoughts back to an earlyscene, when she stood in the crowded street in her nurse's hand, andwatched her father's face as he rode alongside his men to his lastbattle. And as she looked at Walter's face, she remembered some oldwords which say, "He that ruleth his spirit is better than he thattaketh a city;" and she lifted up her heart, and gave God thanks thatthis young spirit, so dear and precious to her, had taken him for hisLeader and Lord. 

CHAPTER V. 

HOW GEORDIE'S HERDING DAYS CAME TO AN END. 

It was a lovely autumn evening. The valley of Kirklands lay flooded inthe sunset glow. Its yellowing fields were tinged with warm-crimson andpurple, and the golden light shimmered on the trees and fringed the darkfir tops. Never had her home looked more beautiful, Grace thought, when, at last, the brother and sister turned to go indoors, after theirearnest talk. She stood leaning on the old carved railing of the steps, taking one more glance at the peaceful scene before she followed Walterinto the darkening entrance-hall, when her eye caught sight of a stumpyfigure which she thought she recognised. 

It was little Jean Baxter, who hurried along the elm avenue as fast asher short legs could carry her. She looked breathless and excited, andwhen she came nearer Grace saw that she was tearful and dishevelled. Shehastened down the steps to meet her, wondering what childish griefcould 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 archingbranches, and startling the birds that had just gone to roost. "Oh, MissCam'ell! Geordie, Geordie!--he's hurt; he's dyin'; Blackie's gotten holdo' him. "

It was vain to ask anything more. Jean could only repeat her wailingrefrain, so taking the child's hand, Grace quietly asked her to lead theway to where Geordie was, trying to quiet her bitter weeping by suchsoothing words as she could muster in the midst of her own distress atthe possibility of any serious accident having happened to her favouritescholar. But poor little Jean's sad monotone still rang mournfullythrough the soft evening air as she trotted along by Grace'sside--"Geordie's dyin'; Blackie's got hold o' him. "

Grace, however, managed to learn from a few incoherent words that theboy was lying, in whatever state he might be, at the river side, nearthe stepping-stones. He had, that afternoon, taken the cattle, alongwith the dangerous bull, to the heathery knolls, where Gowrie's carefulsoul grudged that any morsel of pasture should remain unused. Geordiehad always been most careful in warning unwary passers-by of theirdanger, for, though fearless enough himself, he still held that Blackiewas the "ill-natertest bull in all the country-side, " and never felteasy in his mind except when he had him within the fences of the uplandfields. He had once or twice tried to tether the animal near one of thehillocks, but he saw that it made his temper more dangerous than ever;besides, the little patches of green pasture were so scattered throughthe heather, and had carefully to be scented out by discriminatingnoses, that to have fettered poor Blackie to one spot seemed to him acrying injustice, uneasy as he felt at his being able to roam at largeso near a thoroughfare. Geordie had never even allowed himself theluxury of Jean's company when there were no fences to put betweenBlackie 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 lastedtill evening. Elsie Gray had got several trophies of her diligence, butthe great and unexpected event of the day was that little Jean hadactually got a prize. She was nearly beside herself with ecstasy as sheclutched 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 tobe admired by her companions. Then Geordie must hear about thisunexpected honour, must see and touch the treasure at once; and Jeangalloped off with the precious volume to the field where he wasgenerally to be found perched on the paling, awaiting their coming. Elsie Gray followed, eager enough, too, to show her honours to theboy-friend, whose golden opinions she dearly loved to win. There was apink flush on her usually pale cheek, as she glanced about in search ofGeordie when they reached the field, panting and breathless after theirrace. But no Geordie was visible anywhere, and the field was quite emptyand tenantless. Then Jean remembered, what she had forgotten in herexcitement, that Geordie was to be herding at the hillocks to-day, andso she started off to find him, forgetful that his present post wasforbidden ground. 

The girls were not long in reaching the stepping-stones, and presentlyJean was at Geordie's side, dancing round him with wild cries ofdelight, 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 softknolls of turf, looking at the sunset, and thinking of the new lands ofwhich he had lately been hearing from Walter Campbell. He seemed sopossessed by his own thoughts and reveries that he heard no sound ofcoming footsteps till he looked up suddenly, and saw little Jean by hisside. He jumped up from the turf, and began to look wistfully towardsthe river side to see if there was nobody else besides Jean coming toenliven a lonely hour. 

Elsie had crossed the stepping-stones, and was moving towards thehillock on which he stood, with her sun-bonnet in one hand, and herheavy armful of shining prize books in the other with the golden sun'srays falling on her. Her dusky hair was hanging rather more loosely thanusual, shaken out of its general smoothness by her hot face. The paleface was all aglow with pleasure, and her large eyes looked radiant withdelight at the thoughts of the pleasure that little Jean's success, aswell as her own, would give to Geordie. The boy stood with his flaxenhair all gilded by the sun, looking at her with a glad light in his blueeyes. For a moment only, and then, with a look of terror, he glanced inthe opposite direction, remembering that this was dangerous ground. Blackie had been roused from his sleepy grazing by little Jean's cry ofdelight, and, looking up, his evil eye caught sight of Elsie, with herbright colours, made more dazzling by the sunset tints. With a toss ofhis head, and a few wild plunges, the brute, with his head near to theground, and his eyes fixed on his prey, made his way towards her. Geordie shouted, "Back, Elsie; back on the stepping-stones!" but it wastoo late. 

Elsie lost her presence of mind, and wavered backward and forward for amoment, till it was impossible to save herself by taking refuge on theother side of the stream, where Blackie, not knowing the advantage ofstepping-stones, would probably not have troubled himself to follow her. In an instant Geordie had flung himself between the roused animal andElsie. His stick still lay on the hillock, where he had been resting, sohe had no weapon of defence, and Blackie, in his rage, would not sparethe faithful lad, who had spent so many lonely hours by his side. Inanother moment, Geordie was lying gored and senseless on the heather. 

Elsie had reached the stepping-stones, and stood there transfixed like amarble statue. Blackie might follow her now if he had a mind to, but hehad not. After a glance at Geordie, he plunged away with his heels inthe air through the heather, having an uneasy consciousness that he hadlost his temper, and treated a good friend rather roughly. 

As for little Jean, she had fortunately happened to be beyond Blackie'srange of observation; for it was on Elsie that his sole gaze had beenfixed, and he only vented his baulked fury on Geordie when the vision ofbright colours slipped away. Gowrie's ploughman happened to be passingnear, and had been a witness of the scene, though it was impossible forhim to give timely help. Elsie Gray, he noticed, was now safe on thestepping-stones, and Geordie lying on the heather, with all the mischiefdone to him that Blackie was likely to do. But the enraged animal mightattack somebody else presently, and the man thought the best service hecould render was to secure Blackie against doing further injury. Neverdid repentant criminal receive handcuffs with more submission than theguilt-stricken Blackie the badge of punishment. There was a subduedpathetic 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 atnight, often stroking his great knotted neck, and never raised in unjustpunishment, lying helpless and shattered now, and the fair locks hungacross his face, all dabbled with blood. Elsie was now kneeling by hisside, but he was quite unconscious of her presence, and heedless of herlow wailing, as she looked wildly round to see if nobody was coming tohelp Geordie, who had helped her so bravely. Little Jean had hurriedshrieking to the farm, with the news of the accident, and MistressGowrie presently appeared, to Elsie's intense relief. She was a kindlywoman, and felt conscience-stricken as she kneeled beside the littleherd-boy; for she knew that it was not with his will that Blackie roamedat large among those knolls. She had happened to hear his lastexpostulation with her husband on the point; and this was how it hadended. But she did not think he was dead. Elsie could hardly restrain acry 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 thebloodstained locks. 

And then old Farmer Gowrie came and stood with his hands behind hisback, and a shadow on his furrowed face, as he gazed on his youngservant with an uneasy stare. He kept restlessly moving backwards andforwards to see whether the still motionless figure showed any sign oflife, till his wife reminded him that Granny Baxter was probablyignorant of the terrible accident which had happened to her grandson, and asked him to go and break the news to her. Little Jean had beenthere before him, however; and Gowrie found the old woman crawlinghelplessly along in the direction of the knolls, quite stupefied by theterrible tidings that Jean had managed to convey to her deaf ears. Thelittle girl seemed possessed with the idea that Miss Campbell would besure to be able to help Geordie in this extremity; and so she left herold granny to find her way alone, and had hurried away in the directionof Kirklands to tell her sorrowful tale, meeting Grace, as we know, inthe elm avenue, after her eventful talk with her brother. 

They were already half-way to the stepping-stones, when Graceremembered--feeling it unaccountable that, even in her anxiety, sheshould have forgotten for an instant--that Walter must know what hadhappened to Geordie--Geordie, to whom he owed so much. She felt that shecould not leave the little weeping girl to go on her way alone; but justas she was standing hesitating what it might be best to do, she met oneof the dwellers in the valley, who promised to go at once and convey amessage to her brother, and then she and Jean hurried on towards thefatal pasture lands. Before they crossed the stepping-stones which ledto the knolls, Grace could see a little group bending over a spot in theheather; but no sound reached them through the calm evening air, exceptthe rippling of the sunset-tinted river, which rolled between. And soGeordie was lying there gored, maimed, perhaps dying, as Jean persistedin saying. Grace felt her heart sink with fear, lest the sorrowfulrefrain should be true, as she crept silently near to the place wherethe little company was gathered. But Geordie was not dead. 

"Here comes Miss Campbell, " somebody said, and then the circle openedup, and Grace caught a glimpse of her scholar lying very quietly amongthe 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 fromthe turf where she had been kneeling to make way for Grace, who felt anintense relief as she bent smilingly over him, and talked gently of thedanger past, with her heart full of thankfulness. 

When little Jean saw the happy aspect of matters, her grief gave placeto the wildest ecstasy of delight. Throwing herself down beside herbrother, 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' mylife, " was the rash promise which she made in her joy, rememberingGeordie's dislike to tears. Presently her thoughts reverted to hertreasure, which, in her grief, had been forgotten. It had been droppedon the knoll when the accident happened, and Jean now bounded offgleefully in search of it. 

A doctor had been sent for soon after the accident, but Geordie seemedso well that old Gowrie already began to regret that they had been insuch haste in sending to fetch him. Presently Mistress Gowrie left theknolls and returned to her usual evening duties, which she felt were putsadly in arrear owing to this outbreak of Blackie's, and feeling trulythankful that it had ended so fortunately. She invited old Granny Baxterto have a cup of tea with her at the farm, which was a very great markof graciousness on the part of "the mistress, " and extremely gratifyingto the old woman, to whom attentions of the kind came rarely. 

It had been arranged, also, by the farmer's wife that Geordie should bemoved into the "best bedroom" before the doctor came, and GrannyBaxter was filled with pride when she was shown the woodruff-scentedchamber, with its dark shining floor, and among other impressivedecorations from the farmyard, a waving canopy of peacock feathers abovethe ancient chimney-piece, where Geordie was to sleep among snowy sheetsthat night. But each time that they proposed he should be carried therefrom 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; hedidn'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 byhim. She kept gazing at him with unutterable anguish in her eyes, andonly 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'svery sore hurt, I'm sure of it. Oh, will the doctor no come soon!" andwhen Grace looked into Geordie's face she began to share Elsie's fears. 

Presently Jean came bounding back in delight with her recovered treasureto lay it in Geordie's hands. He looked at the gaily-bound book with hismost 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 yehave got to the school. "

Then the eager little girl must needs have the book in her own handsagain, to search among the leaves for the illustrations which wereinterspersed, so that Geordie might be introduced to all the beauties ofthis wonderful volume. Geordie kept looking at her as she turned theleaves with a somewhat pitiful gaze, and presently he said in a lowtone, "Jean, come a little nearer. I want to speak to ye, Jeanie. Do yeken 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 therethat we canna learn down here, " he added, with a smile; and then hepaused. 

Jean looked up from her boot with bewildered eyes as she listened toGeordie's words; a grave expression came into her face, but the shadowwas only caused by her not understanding what he meant, for she knewthat Geordie occasionally went beyond her depth. 

"I'll no ever herd Gowrie's cows again, Jean, or wait at the fences forElsie and you. I'm dyin' Jeanie, " he added in a hoarse whisper, as hegazed 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 flungherself on Geordie. 

Grace had been watching the boy with a sinking heart, and a great fearbegan to take possession of her that what he said might be true, as aterrible spasm of agony crossed his face, and a groan of pain escapedhim. She looked anxiously to see if there was any sign of the doctorcoming, and taking little Jean aside, she told her that if she lovedGeordie she must be brave and quiet, even though he was so very ill, ashe seemed to think. Then she tried to speak some soothing words ofcomfort, 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 himas ye say? Ye mind how ye read to us in the Bible about him saving theherd-laddie out o' the jaws o' the bear; oh, but, I think, he mighthave taken care of our Geordie;" and poor little Jean would not becomforted. 

"Where's granny?" Geordie had whispered, and Elsie rose from her post atGeordie's head and flitted away like a little noiseless ghost to findthe old woman. She met her at the farm, where, having finished her cupof tea, she was being shown some of Mistress Gowrie's featheredfavourites in the farmyard. 

"Mistress Gowrie, he's not better, as ye think; he says he's dyin', andwants to see granny, " Elsie said, with quivering lips, as she reachedthem. 

"Dying, child, nonsense! what do you mean?" said the farmer's wife, looking at Elsie to see if she was not dreaming. But Elsie lookedterribly wide-awake and sorrow-stricken, and Mistress Gowrie went off insearch of her husband. 

Then Granny Baxter began to perceive that there was something wrong, andpresently Elsie succeeded in making her understand, and began to guideher 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 becrossed before they reached the knolls, and thought of what might begoing on there. But had not Geordie wanted to see his grandmother, andsurely she might endure for him who had done so much for her? So thelittle girl kept close by the old woman's side, who leant her wrinkledhand on Elsie's shoulder, while, with the help of her staff in theother, she hobbled along, with her eyes fixed upon the ground, groaningand muttering about this terrible blow that seemed likely to fall uponher. 

"Granny, granny, I've been wearyin' for you, " said Geordie, holding outboth his hands, when at last Elsie's patience had guided the old womanto the spot. "Oh, but I'm no able to make her hear. Nae words o' minecan 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 seizehim. 

The old woman had seated herself by his side, and her withered fingerswandered 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 littlechamois bag, containing the slowly-gathered store of money with which heintended to buy the ear-trumpet for his poor deaf granny. 

"I gathered the last sixpence yestreen, for holding the minister'shorse, " he said, as he laid the bag in her hand, "It's to buy a thingthat makes deaf folk hear, granny. But she can't understand me, MissCam'ell, " he murmured, sadly, as he looked at Grace, who was leaningover him; "and, oh, I would have liked well to tell her before I go awayabout the Good Shepherd that you first told me about, Miss Cam'ell. Idinna think she understands right what a Friend he can be to a body; andI've always been waitin' till I got that horn for makin her hear to tellher all about him, for it's no a thing that a body wad just like to roarat the tap o' their voice. But you'll maybe speak to her some of thethings ye spak' to us, Miss Cam'ell. Ye'll have one less at the schoolnow, ye see, " he added, smiling sadly; and then turning with a look oftender pity on his grandmother, who watched him with wistful eyes, as ifshe knew that his lips were moving for her, he said, "Oh, tell her tolisten to his voice, and let the sound into her heart. He was aye ableto mak' deaf folk hear, wasn't he, Miss Cam'ell?" said Geordie, with abright smile as he turned to his young teacher. 

They had now got ready a sort of litter, on which they meant to carryhim to the farm; for Mistress Gowrie felt convinced that only morecomfortable surroundings and a visit from the doctor was necessary forhis complete recovery, and was resolved that no care of nursing on herpart should be wanting to atone for any past indifference to the welfareof the little herd-boy with which she might reproach herself. 

Geordie, seeing her anxiety to perform this deed of kindness, at lastconsented that they should take him from his lowly heather couch, andcarry him to all the comforts of the best bedroom at Gowrie. But eachtime they tried to lift him the boy got so deathly pale, and seemed tosuffer so intensely, that even Mistress Gowrie was obliged toacknowledge that it might be best to wait till the doctor came. Indeed, it soon became evident to all that Blackie's blows had touched somevital part, and Geordie's herding days were done. 

He lay for a little while with closed eyes, seeming thankful to beundisturbed, and a silence fell on the group round him, not broken whenWalter Campbell joined it; for a glance from Grace, and a look atGeordie's face, told him all. He stood there, in the freshness andstrength of his youth, looking at the ebbing life of the boy whom hefelt then as if he would have died to save. How he longed to tell himof all the blessing his words had brought to his soul, of the life-longgratitude which must surround his memory; but it was too late. Walterfelt that he could not disturb the passing soul with anything sopersonal; but in the land where Geordie was going they would meet oneday; and he would keep his thanks till then. 

The silence had not been broken for several minutes. Poor little Jeanhad been trying to keep very brave and quiet, since Grace explained toher how much her noisy grief would vex Geordie. But Elsie, who hadreturned 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. Heopened his blue eyes, and looking wistfully about, said in a faintwhisper, "Elsie, I didna know ye was here. I saw you on thestepping-stones just when I was meetin' Blackie, but I thought you hadbeen 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, andreferring to a long-planned holiday, when they were to go together tosearch for brambles for Mistress Gowrie and the forester's wife's jointjam making. "But, Elsie, speak to me, " he continued, feebly, holdingout his hand, for he could not see her face where she sat, "We'll keepour tryst in the bonnie land beside the green pastures and the stillwaters 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 sightof the boy, and knelt beside him with clasped hands and lines of agonyon 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 andsorrow, which none who saw it could ever forget; and stretching out bothhis hands, he said, "Oh, Elsie, will ye no give me one kiss afore Idee?"

And Elsie lifted up her fair face, which had been covered with herhands, and bending down, kissed the dying lips. Then, with a look ofunutterable gladness and contentment, Geordie closed his eyes as if hewas going to sleep. 

Walter Campbell turned away for a moment, for, as he afterwards told oneof his shipmates, "It was more than a fellow could stand, and he didn'tmind confessing that he hadn't stood it. " Presently he hurriedly joinedthe little group again, determined that Geordie must yet hear before hewent away how his faithful words had, through God's grace burntthemselves into a wayward heart, and set a dead soul on fire. But hefound that another Voice was falling on Geordie's ear, which was closedto all earthly sounds now; even that greeting to faithful ones whichbids them enter into the joy of their Lord. 

And so the poor bruised body did lie in Mistress Gowrie'swoodruff-scented best bedroom, and among her snowy linen, that nightafter all, but Geordie was not there; his home was henceforth in themany mansions of the Father's house. 

CHAPTER VI. 

AN OLD FRIEND WITH A NEW NAME

"Now, children, here we are at Kirklands, at last, " said a lady with apleasant voice, to an eager-looking group of boys and girls, who wereclustering round her, in a large open travelling carriage, which hadjust drawn up in front of an old gateway, and waited for admittance. 

"Kirklands at last, " was re-echoed among the little party. The two boysseated beside the coachman glanced round at the occupants of the insideseats, feeling sure that, their higher position secured them superiorinformation, and shouted in chorus, "Mamma, mamma, Kirklands at last. "

"As if we didn't know that as well as you do, " shouted back Willie, acurly-headed little fellow, seated beside his mother, who had a secrethankering after the higher place of his elder brothers, along with adesire to prove to them that their position was in no way superior tohis own. 

The old gates closed behind them, and the carriage bowled swiftly alongthe smooth avenue, with its branching elms overhead. The pleasant vistasof green, on all sides, were very grateful to the eyes of the youngtravellers, wearied with miles of a white dusty turnpike-road, on a hotJuly afternoon. They looked with delighted gaze on the new fair scene, and thought what happy evenings they would have among those green gladesduring the long summer days. 

But there was one of the party to whom this scene was not new, but oldand familiar, written over with many memories, some well-nigh overlaidin the turmoil of life, but which flickered up with new vividness as shelooked on the calm sunlighted scene, and thought of other days. Theyears had brought many changes to her, and it was with mingled feelingsthat she gazed on this unchanged spot. Each grey-lichened rock stood outfrom the mossy floor with a face that was familiar; all the littlewinding woodland paths, she knew where they led to, and could take thechildren to many a nook where wild flowers and delicate green fernsstill loved to grow, at they did long ago when she used to gather themin these woods. 

"Seventeen years ago! is it possible?" she murmured, as she leaned backin a corner of the carriage, and thought of the many leaves in the bookof her life which had been folded-down since she took farewell of thesegreen glades in her girlish days. And as she sits, quietly thinking, while the little group round her are making the green aisles resoundwith their merry laughter, we fancy, as we glance at her face, that itis one we have seen before in this valley. The "stealthy day by day" hascertainly done its work; the outline of Grace's cheek is sharper than itused to be, and the eager, speaking eyes have lost somewhat of theirfire, but there is a calm gladness in their gaze as she glances at thejoyous faces round her, that speaks of lessons learnt, and sorrows past, during chequered days which have lain between the autumn evening, whenwe saw her last, and this July afternoon, when she is coming with her"two bands" to the home of her girlhood. 

Miss Hume, Grace's aunt, had passed away from this world during thatautumn seventeen years ago, and Grace had never revisited Kirklandssince. Walter, to whom it belonged, was still a naval officer. His homeon the sea had still more fascination for him than the inland beautiesof Kirklands, which had been left to strangers during the interveningyears. 

For some time past it had stood empty and tenantless, and Walter hadsuggested that his sister, who had just come from a long sojourn abroad, should, with her children, take up her abode there. Her husband, ColonelFoster, was still on foreign service; and Grace, who longed to see theold home after all her wanderings, had readily agreed to go with herlittle flock and introduce them to the spot which was their dreamland ofromance, the historic ground of all the pleasantest stories in theirmother's mental library, often ransacked for their benefit. 

Mrs. Foster's servants were already at Kirklands, making preparationsfor the arrival. The old rooms were being opened up once again, andshafts of golden sunlight streamed through the long-darkened windows, onthe dark-panelled walls, as if to herald joyously the good news that"life and thought" were coming back to the deserted house. 

As the carriage followed the windings of the avenue, the grey gables ofthe old mansion began to peep through the green boughs, their firstappearance being announced by a jubilant chorus from the elder boys onthe box, which made little Willie feel painfully that his range ofvision was far from satisfactory. Presently, however, the timeworn wallscould be seen by all the party, as the carriage wheeled round the oldterrace, and the travellers reached the end of their journey. Then eagerfeet began to trot up and down the grass-grown steps, and climb on theold carved railing, where the griffins fascinated little Grace by theirstony stare, as they used to do her mother years ago. The long-silentcorridors began to resound with joyous laughter, as the merry partyrambled through the old rooms, wishing to identify each place withhistorical recollections, founded on their mother's and Uncle Walter'sstories. And was that really the tree that Uncle Walter made believe tobe the rigging of a ship, and one day fell from one of its highestboughs? And where used they to keep their rabbits, and in what room didthey learn their lessons? These, and such questions, were generallyasked in chorus, to which their mother had to endeavour to reply, as shewandered among the familiar rooms with her merry boys and girls. 

"Mamma, do you know what I should like to see best of all? Two things, mamma, " whispered little Grace, as she caught hold of her mother'sdress. 

"And what would my little girl like to see--the toys mamma used to playwith when she was a little girl like Gracie? I believe I've carried thekey of the chest where they lie buried about with me all these years;"and Mrs. Foster began to look in the little basket she held in her handfor a shining bunch of keys. 

"It wasn't the toys I meant, though I should like to see them verymuch, " replied the little girl, who was more timid and gentle than herbrothers and sisters, and generally required more encouragement tounburden her small mind, "it is the room where you taught Geordie that Iwant to see--and Geordie's grave among the heather. "

Some quick ears had caught a name that seemed to be a household word, and louder voices said, as the boy's clustered round their mother, "Ohyes, mamma, do show us where you taught Geordie and little Jean. "

So Grace led the way through the dim passages that had once frightenedlittle Jean, and whose gloom now made the small Grace cling close to hermother's side. The still-room was dark and unopened, for the servantshad not thought it necessary to include it in their preparations. Gracewent to the window and undid the fastenings, and the yellow afternoonsun streamed on the dusty wooden bench where Geordie, and Jean, andElsie used to sit. 

The merry voices were hushed for a moment, and the children looked inawed silence into the little room, as if it had been a shrine. 

After they had gazed long and silently, and their mother went to fastenthe window again, she said, "Children, we will come here and read God'sWord on Sunday afternoons, as the little company you know about used todo long ago; and I hope you will all listen to the Good Shepherd'svoice, and follow it as Geordie did;" and presently the children troopedquietly away along the dark vaulted passages. 

There was no faithful Margery now to be trusted with everything, andable to put things straight in the twinkling of an eye, as her youngmistress used to declare she alone was capable of doing, so Mrs. Fosterhad some unpacking and arranging preliminaries to superintend before shecould join her eager little party out of doors. But when tea was over, and the sun had begun to scatter its orange and crimson tints over theKirklands valley, Grace thought she would like to take a stroll amongsome familiar places before the darkness came. 

After lingering on the old terrace for a little, she gathered her boysand girls round her, and said she was going to take them across thepark. She wanted to visit a place she remembered well, a pleasant angleof a rising glade of birches, where she once stood mourning over thetraces of an uprooted cottage. But Grace knew that another home hadgrown on the ruins of the former dwelling, and to it she bent her stepsnow, for there was one of its inmates whom she longed to see. There wassomething of the mingled feeling of interest and romance with which herchildren wore viewing these now yet familiar scenes, in Grace's desireto look on a face she had not seen for many years. Its image would risebefore her, chubby, smiling, and childlike, as of old; and then sheremembered the evening when she had first seen it tear-stained and sad, as she crossed this path with the little fat hand in hers, as her ownGrace's was now. 

But Joan had not shed many tears since then. There was no happier homein all the valley than the white cottage, over which the birch-treeslovingly stretched their delicate fringes, her husband, the villagecarrier, used to think when he came within sight of it, after his day'sjourney was over, his parcels all delivered, and his horses "suppered"for the night. Generally his bright-looking wife was hovering near thedoor, waiting his coming with a little group round her as merry as theone that was now making the woods of Kirklands ring with theirlight-hearted laughter. 

Grace had not told the children that she meant to take them to seelittle Jean that evening. She wanted first to go alone to the cottageand see her quietly there, for she had many things to hear and ask. Still, Grace had not been altogether a stranger to the home life there. Sometimes a letter, written and addressed with laborious carefulness, had followed her to remote foreign stations, and brought pleasantmemories of dewy heather and fragrant birches as she read it amongwaving oleanders and palms. During all those years Grace had watchedover Jean's welfare, and many things in her pretty home told of herthoughtful remembrance of Geordie's sister. 

[Illustration: Old Scenes Revisited. ]

The arrival of the family at Kirklands had taken place a few daysearlier than was intended, so Jean had not happened to hear the news, and was all unconscious of the pleasure in store for her. How often shehad longed to see the "young leddy of Kirklands, " as she still calledher, how many times she said to her husband that she would be sure toknow her anywhere, though it was so many years since she had lookedinto her face. But now, as Jean sat matron-like with her sewing, infront of her cottage, while her children played near, she wondered what"strange lady" could be coming along the path. She called her strayinglittle ones to her, in case they should be in the way, but she noticedthat the stranger did not seem to think so, for she had just stoppedkindly to stroke one little flaxen head, and Jean, with a mother'spride, felt grateful that "her bairn should be respeckit among therest. " But when the lady, still holding the little boy's hand, began toclimb the mossy bank, and came towards her, Jean thought she had surelyseen that face before. Though not till Grace had smiled, and said, holding out her hand, "Jean, is it possible you do not know me?" did sherecognise her old teacher. 

"Oh, Miss Cam'ell, Miss Cam'ell!" she said, with a cry of delight as shedropped her mending and rose to meet her. "Is it really yourself? Icanna believe my verra eyes. "

And when Grace gazed questioningly into the serene, beaming face of thelittle matron, she saw it had kept all that was best of its childishlineaments, and felt with thankful gladness that Geordie's Shepherd hadnot forgotten little Jean. Meanwhile the little loitering party camealong the road, and seeing their mother engaged in conversation besidethe pretty cottage door, they were eager to know who of all the oldfriends she was talking to. Willie was the first to clamber up the mossybank and reach the cottage. The others were following, when he joinedthem with an expression of mingled interest and disappointment on hisface. 

"I say Walter--Grace, --can you guess who mamma is speaking to? Well, it's Geordie's sister, --little Jean. "

Then they all crept shyly near their mother while she talked at thecottage door, glancing with interest at the inmate. But when littleGrace could find an opportunity she whispered in a tone ofdisappointment, "Oh, mamma, is it really true what Willie says?" andthen she added with a sigh, when Willie's news had been confirmed, "Oh, I'm so sorry; I do wish she could have stayed a little girl. "

Her mother smiled at the childish idea; but she presently rememberedthat it was as the little herd-boy Geordie's image still lived in hermemory, though nearly twenty summers had come and gone since he enteredon that life in which earthly days and years are merged into eternity, where the old and feeble renew their strength, and the young grow wiserthan the wisest hero. 

Grace's boys and girls had all to be introduced by name to the smilinglittle matron, whose eye rested on them more or less appreciatively, asshe recognised a likeness to their mother or their Uncle Walter. 

Presently Grace turned to the little group, and said softly, "Children, would you like to come to the knolls of heather on the other side of thehill? I am going there now. "

"Oh yes, mamma, I want to go, " chimed an eager though subdued chorus ofvoices; and then the childish feet followed the two mothers as theywandered slowly through the birch trees and crossed the path which ledto the stepping-stones. The water still splashed and gurgled noisilyround them, and the knolls of heather stretched with unchanged contouron the other side. Beyond rose the white gables and thatched roof of theold farm of Gowrie; but the former master and mistress were gone now;and the young farmer, who had taken the lease, chafed considerably thathe had not been able to include the bit of heathery pasture lands in thefields, seeing it had been previously secured by another tenant. It wasthe only piece of land owned by Grace in the valley, and through allthese years of absence she had jealously guarded any encroachment uponher territory. Old Gowrie had, at her earnest request, relinquished hisright to that portion of his domain in her favour, for he ceased towish to make it one of his economies to have his cattle grazing there. 

So it happened that though the pastoral valley had considerably changedits face, and had much of its ruggedness smoothed away in the course ofyears, this stretch of heather remained unreclaimed. It was still athoroughfare, but a very safe one now, for its only dwelling was agrave. 

On the day after Geordie's death Grace had gone to see the lastresting-place destined for him in the little village churchyard. It wasa dreary patch of ground which looked as if the suns ray's neverpenetrated through its high walls on the graves below. Crumblinggrey-lichened headstones peeped dismally from among the long dank grass, and the little paths were overgrown with weeds. Everywhere there weretraces of unloving carelessness of the dead. And though Grace knew fullwell that the silent sleepers below little heeded this selfishforgetfulness, these surroundings sent a chill to her heart. She thoughtshe should like all that was left here of her boy-friend to lie inpleasanter places. Far better he should rest underneath the heatherysod among the pleasant breezy knolls, consecrated by many a heavenwardthought of the lonely little herd-boy, and by faithful words spoken inan accepted time to a wayward brother's heart. So Grace made her suit tothe old farmer at a time when his heart was softened, and he was notunwilling to part with a spot written over with a stinging memory. MissHume, without even consulting Mr. Graham, had agreed to the transfer ofthe land; and so it happened that Grace, like the patriarch long ago, astranger and sojourner in the land, held as a possession aburying-place. 

The bright summer day had reached its dying hour when the little groupstood on the bank of the river. The yellow sunlight was merging intodeep orange and crimson, tinging with a wonderful variety of tints thelower landscape. The rippling water looked as if a sudden cross currentof red wine had come flowing into it, and the little hillocks beyond, golden with gorse, were steeped in the mellow light. 

The children followed their mother and Jean, with awed faces and hushedvoices, along the little gleaming sheep-walk, fringed by sweet wildthyme and dog violets, with tendrils of deerhorn moss flinging theirarms across the path. At length they came on a little marble slab, bythe side of one of the knolls. The last golden shafts of sunlight werestealing over its memorial words, and the young eyes read in silence:--

 IN MEMORY OF

 GEORDIE BAXTER, Who went to the Fold above on the 7th of August, 185--. 

 "The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want. "

Presently, the silent group heard footsteps behind, and when Graceglanced round she saw a woman, with two little boys by her side, comingalong the little path towards the headstone. She stopped suddenly whenshe saw the strangers, evidently surprised by the unusual presence ofvisitors in that unfrequented spot, and, turning down another path, wentaway in the opposite direction. "Who is that, Jean?" asked Mrs. Foster;"surely I have seen the face before. "

"Dear heart, do ye not know her? It's Elsie Gray. We dinna think, Johnand me, that her bonnie face is much changed; but then we see it everyday, " Jean replied, looking fondly after the retreating figure. 

"Ah, is it really Elsie? I was just going to ask about her, Jean. Butwho are those children with her? I thought you told me in one of yourletters that she lived quite alone?" asked Grace, stooping down to plucka bluebell from Geordie's grave, instead of hurrying after this oldfriend, as the little Grace expected her mother to do. 

Then the little matron went on to narrate how Elsie's home was still theforester's pretty cottage, though her father and mother were both dead. She had never been married, which Jean remarked was a great pity, andhinted that a good many other people were of her opinion. But how theparish of Kirklands could ever have got on without her if she had goneaway, or what life would be if she had not Elsie to go to in every joyand sorrow, Jean could not imagine, as she said she frequently remarkedto "her John. " Nobody's hands seemed to be fuller of helpful work, andnobody did it more cheerily, than Elsie Gray. 

Then Jean explained that the two little boys were orphans whom she hadtaken to her comfortable home; and "it wasn't the first pair o' laddiesshe had made good for something, " Jean added, admiringly. 

"Oh, mamma, don't you want to speak to her? She has such a nice, beautiful face. Do let me run after her, and ask her to stop for aminute, " said little Grace, eagerly. 

Mrs. Foster glanced musingly across the knolls at Elsie's slenderfigure, as she sauntered peacefully home with her charge, and then shesaid, "No, my dear, we shall not trouble Elsie to-night; but I shalltake you with me to see her in her own home to-morrow, if you wish it. Ishall be going there. "

The cold, grey light was beginning to steal over the woods of Kirklands, and the rosy tints that still hovered about the knolls would soon giveplace to the gloom of night, so Grace gathered her little party, andturned her steps towards the river. 

The merry voices, hushed for a time, began again to resound through thestill evening air, and the children went hurrying on with Jean, who hadtold them she must be going home to see after the milking of her cows, and cordially responded to their wish to join her at the process. 

So Grace had been following slowly, and when she crossed thestepping-stones, she looked lingeringly back, for, with the sound of therippling water had come the remembered echoes of Geordie's voice as sheheard it first. Then she called to mind the chilly spring day when shehad started on the search, pronounced so hopeless by old Adam thegardener, and how gleefully she hailed the unexpected appearance of thelittle herd-boy. She smiled as she remembered the childish eagernessthat made her fear that he would not appear at Kirklands, as he hadpromised, and his rather reproachful reply that he "Aye keepit histrysts. " And then there rose mingled memories of those trysts, which behad so faithfully kept in the little still-room, of her own childishincapacity for the work she had so longed to do, and of the sense offailure that hung over it so long. 

And as she turned to follow her merry boys, who were clambering up themossy bank, where the silvery bark of the old birch-trees were stillstreaked with rosy sunset hues, she felt how much she had learnt fromthe tender, earnest heart of Geordie. 

 "And comforted, she praised the grace Which him had led to be, An early seeker of that Face Which he should early see. "