Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood by George MacDonald (read aloud books TXT) 📕

her with her lessons. I did my best to assist all who wanted my aid, but offered unsolicited attention to her. She was not quick, but would never be satisfied until she understood, and that is more than any superiority of gifts. Hence, if her progress was slow, it was unintermitting. Turkey was far before me in trigonometry, but I was able to help him in grammar and geography, and when he commenced Latin, which he did the same winter, I assisted him a good deal.

Sometimes Mr. Wilson would ask me to go home with him after school, and take supper. This made me late, but my father did not mind it, for he liked me to be with Mr. Wilson. I learned a good deal from him at such times. He had an excellent little library, and would take down his favourite books and read me passages. It is wonderful how things which, in reading for ourselves, we might pass over in a half-blind manner, gain their true power and influence through the voice of one who sees and feels what is in them. If a man in whom you have confidence merely lays his finger on a paragraph and says to you, "Read that," you will probably discover three times as much in it as you would if you had only chanced upon it in the course of your reading. In such case the mind gathers itself up, and is all eyes and ears.

But Mr. Wilson would sometimes read me a few verses of his own; and this was a delight such as I have rarely experienced. My reader may wonder that a full-grown man and a good scholar should condescend to treat a boy like me as so much of an equal; but sympathy is precious even from a child, and Mr. Wilson had no companions of his own standing. I believe he read more to Turkey than to me, however.

As I have once apologized already for the introduction of a few of his verses with Scotch words in them, I will venture to try whether the same apology will not cover a second offence of the same sort.

JEANIE BRAW[1]

I like ye weel upo' Sundays, Jeanie,
In yer goon an' yer ribbons gay; But I like ye better on Mondays, Jeanie,
And I like ye better the day.[2]

[Footnote 1: Brave; well dressed.]. [Footnote 2: To-day.]

For it will come into my heid, Jeanie,
O' yer braws[1] ye are thinkin' a wee; No' a' o' the Bible-seed, Jeanie,
Nor the minister nor me.

[Footnote 1: Bravery; finery.]

And hame across the green, Jeanie,
Ye gang wi' a toss o' yer chin: Us twa there's a shadow atween, Jeanie,
Though yer hand my airm lies in.

But noo, whan I see ye gang, Jeanie,
Busy wi' what's to be dune, Liltin' a haveless[2] sang, Jeanie,
I could kiss yer verra shune.

[Footnote 2: Careless.]

Wi' yer silken net on yer hair, Jeanie,
In yer bonny blue petticoat, Wi' yer kindly airms a' bare, Jeanie,
On yer verra shadow I doat.

For oh! but ye're eident[3] and free, Jeanie,
Airy o' hert and o' fit[4]; There's a licht shines oot o' yer ee, Jeanie;
O' yersel' ye thinkna a bit.

[Footnote 3: Diligent.] [Footnote 4: Foot.]

Turnin' or steppin' alang, Jeanie,
Liftin' an' layin' doon, Settin' richt what's aye gaein' wrang, Jeanie,
Yer motion's baith dance an' tune.

Fillin' the cogue frae the coo, Jeanie,
Skimmin' the yallow cream, Poorin' awa' the het broo, Jeanie,
Lichtin' the lampie's leme[5]-

[Footnote 5: Flame.]

I' the hoose ye're a licht an' a law, Jeanie,
A servant like him that's abune: Oh! a woman's bonniest o' a', Jeanie,
Whan she's doin' what maun be dune.

Sae, dressed in yer Sunday claes, Jeanie,
Fair kythe[1] ye amang the fair; But dressed in yer ilka-day's[2], Jeanie,
Yer beauty's beyond compare.

[Footnote 1: Appear.]

[Footnote 2: Everyday clothes.]


CHAPTER XXXI

A Winter's Ride


In this winter, the stormiest I can recollect, occurred the chief adventure of my boyhood-indeed, the event most worthy to be called an adventure I have ever encountered.

There had been a tremendous fall of snow, which a furious wind, lasting two days and the night between, had drifted into great mounds, so that the shape of the country was much altered with new heights and hollows. Even those who were best acquainted with them could only guess at the direction of some of the roads, and it was the easiest thing in the world to lose the right track, even in broad daylight. As soon as the storm was over, however, and the frost was found likely to continue, they had begun to cut passages through some of the deeper wreaths, as they called the snow-mounds; while over the tops of others, and along the general line of the more frequented roads, footpaths were soon trodden. It was many days, however, before vehicles could pass, and coach-communication be resumed between the towns. All the short day, the sun, though low, was brilliant, and the whole country shone with dazzling whiteness; but after sunset, which took place between three and four o'clock, anything more dreary can hardly be imagined, especially when the keenest of winds rushed in gusts from the north-east, and lifting the snow-powder from untrodden shadows, blew it, like so many stings, in the face of the freezing traveller.

Early one afternoon, just as I came home from school, which in winter was always over at three o'clock, my father received a message that a certain laird, or squire as he would be called in England-whose house lay three or four miles off amongst the hills, was at the point of death, and very anxious to see him: a groom on horseback had brought the message. The old man had led a life of indifferent repute, and that probably made him the more anxious to see my father, who proceeded at once to get ready for the uninviting journey.

Since my brother Tom's departure, I had become yet more of a companion to my father; and now when I saw him preparing to set out, I begged to be allowed to go with him. His little black mare had a daughter, not unused to the saddle. She was almost twice her mother's size, and none the less clumsy that she was chiefly employed upon the farm. Still she had a touch of the roadster in her, and if not capable of elegant motion, could get over the ground well enough, with a sort of speedy slouch, while, as was of far more consequence on an expedition like the present, she was of great strength, and could go through the wreaths, Andrew said, like a red-hot iron. My father hesitated, looked out at the sky, and hesitated still.

"I hardly know what to say, Ranald. If I were sure of the weather-but I am very doubtful. However, if it should break up, we can stay there all night. Yes.-Here, Allister; run and tell Andrew to saddle both the mares, and bring them down directly.-Make haste with your dinner, Ranald."

Delighted at the prospect, I did make haste; the meal was soon over, and Kirsty expended her utmost care in clothing me for the journey, which would certainly be a much longer one in regard of time than of space. In half an hour we were all mounted and on our way-the groom, who had so lately traversed the road, a few yards in front.

I have already said, perhaps more than once, that my father took comparatively little notice of us as children, beyond teaching us of a Sunday, and sometimes of a week-evening in winter, generally after we were in bed. He rarely fondled us, or did anything to supply in that manner the loss of our mother. I believe his thoughts were tenderness itself towards us, but they did not show themselves in ordinary shape: some connecting link was absent. It seems to me now sometimes, that perhaps he was wisely retentive of his feelings, and waited a better time to let them flow. For, ever as we grew older, we drew nearer to my father, or, more properly, my father drew us nearer to him, dropping, by degrees, that reticence which, perhaps, too many parents of character keep up until their children are full grown; and by this time he would converse with me most freely. I presume he had found, or believed he had found me trustworthy, and incapable of repeating unwisely any remarks he made. But much as he hated certain kinds of gossip, he believed that indifference to your neighbour and his affairs was worse. He said everything depended on the spirit in which men spoke of each other; that much of what was called gossip was only a natural love of biography, and, if kindly, was better than blameless; that the greater part of it was objectionable, simply because it was not loving, only curious; while a portion was amongst the wickedest things on earth, because it had for its object to believe and make others believe the worst. I mention these opinions of my father, lest anyone should misjudge the fact of his talking to me as he did.

Our horses made very slow progress. It was almost nowhere possible to trot, and we had to plod on, step by step. This made it more easy to converse.

"The country looks dreary, doesn't it, Ranald?" he said.

"Just like as if everything was dead, father," I replied.

"If the sun were to cease shining altogether, what do you think would happen?"

[Illustration]

I thought a bit, but was not prepared to answer, when my father spoke again.

"What makes the seeds grow, Ranald-the oats, and the wheat, and the barley?"

"The rain, father," I said, with half-knowledge.

"Well, if there were no sun, the vapours would not rise to make clouds. What rain there was already in the sky would come down in snow or lumps of ice. The earth would grow colder and colder, and harder and harder, until at last it went sweeping through the air, one frozen mass, as hard as stone, without a green leaf or a living creature upon it."

"How dreadful to think of, father!" I said. "That would be frightful."

"Yes, my boy. It is the sun that is the life of the world. Not only does he make the rain rise to fall on the seeds in the earth, but even that would be useless, if he did not make them warm as well-and do something else to them besides which we cannot understand. Farther down into the earth than any of the rays of light can reach, he sends other rays we cannot see, which go searching about in it, like long fingers; and wherever they find and touch a seed, the life that is in that seed begins to talk to itself, as it were, and straightway begins to grow. Out of the dark earth he thus brings all the lovely green things of the spring, and clothes the world with beauty, and sets the waters running, and the birds singing, and the lambs bleating, and the children gathering daisies and butter-cups, and the gladness overflowing in all hearts-very different from what we see now-isn't it, Ranald?"

"Yes, father;