Gibbie put up his arms, threw them round her neck, and clung to her as if she had been his mother.And from that moment she was his mother: her heart was big enough to mother all the children of humanity.She was like Charity herself, with her babes innumerable.
"What have they done to ye, my bairn?" she said, in tones pitiful with the pity of the Shepherd of the sheep himself.
No reply came back--only another heavenly smile, a smile of absolute content.For what were stripes and nakedness and hunger to Gibbie, now that he had a woman to love! Gibbie's necessity was to love;but here was more; here was Love offering herself to him! Except in black Sambo he had scarcely caught a good sight of her before.He had never before been kissed by that might of God's grace, a true woman.She was an old woman who kissed him; but none who have drunk of the old wine of love, straightway desire the new, for they know that the old is better.Match such as hers with thy love, maiden of twenty, and where wilt thou find the man I say not worthy, but fit to mate with thee? For hers was love indeed--not the love of love--but the love of Life.Already Gibbie's faintness was gone--and all his ills with it.She raised him with one arm, and held the bowl to his mouth, and he drank; but all the time he drank, his eyes were fixed upon hers.When she laid him down again, he turned on his side, off his scored back, and in a moment was fast asleep.She stood gazing at him.So still was he, that she began to fear he was dead, and laid her hand on his heart.It was beating steadily, and she left him, to make some gruel for him against his waking.Her soul was glad, for she was ministering to her Master, not the less in his own self, that it was in the person of one of his little ones.Gruel, as such a one makes it, is no common fare, but delicate enough for a queen.She set it down by the fire, and proceeded to lay the supper for her expected children.The clean yellow-white table of soft smooth fir, needed no cloth--only horn spoons and wooden caups.
At length a hand came to the latch, and mother and daughter greeted as mother and daughter only can; then came a son, and mother and son greeted as mother and son only can.They kept on arriving singly to the number of six--two daughters and four sons, the youngest some little time after the rest.Each, as he or she came, Janet took to the bed, and showed her seventh child where he slept.Each time she showed him, to secure like pity with her own, she turned down the bedclothes, and revealed the little back, smitten with the eternal memorial of the divine perfection.The women wept.The young men were furious, each after his fashion.
"God damn the rascal 'at did it!" cried one of them, clenching his teeth, and forgetting himself quite in the rage of the moment.
"Laddie, tak back the word," said his mother calmly."Gien ye dinna forgie yer enemies, ye'll no be forgi'en yersel'.""That's some hard, mither," answered the offender, with an attempted smile.
"Hard!" she echoed; "it may weel be hard, for it canna be helpit.
What wad be the use o' forgiein' ye, or hoo cud it win at ye, or what wad ye care for't, or mak o't, cairryin' a hell o' hate i' yer verra hert? For gien God be love, hell maun be hate.My bairn, them 'at winna forgie their enemies, cairries sic a nest o' deevilry i' their ain boasoms, 'at the verra speerit o' God himsel' canna win in till't for bein' scomfished wi' smell an' reik.Muckle guid wad only pardon dee to sic! But ance lat them un'erstan' 'at he canna forgie them, an' maybe they'll be fleyt, an' turn again' the Sawtan 'at's i' them.""Weel, but he's no my enemy," said the youth.
"No your enemy!" returned his mother; "--no your enemy, an' sair (serve) a bairn like that! My certy! but he's the enemy o' the haill race o' mankin'.He trespasses unco sair against me, I'm weel sure o' that! An' I'm glaid o' 't.I'm glaid 'at he has me for ane o' 's enemies, for I forgie him for ane; an' wuss him sae affrontit wi' himsel' er' a' be dune, 'at he wad fain hide his heid in a midden.""Noo, noo, mither!" said the eldest son, who had not yet spoken, but whose countenance had been showing a mighty indignation, "that's surely as sair a bannin' as yon 'at Jock said.""What, laddie! Wad ye hae a fellow-cratur live to a' eternity ohn been ashamed o' sic a thing 's that? Wad that be to wuss him weel?
Kenna ye 'at the mair shame the mair grace? My word was the best beginnin' o' better 'at I cud wuss him.Na, na, laddie! frae my verra hert, I wuss he may be that affrontit wi' himsel' 'at he canna sae muckle as lift up's een to h'aven, but maun smite upo' 's breist an' say, 'God be mercifu' to me a sinner!' That's my curse upo'
him, for I wadna hae 'im a deevil.Whan he comes to think that shame o' himsel', I'll tak him to my hert, as I tak the bairn he misguidit.Only I doobt I'll be lang awa afore that, for it taks time to fess a man like that till's holy senses."The sixth of the family now entered, and his mother led him up to the bed.
"The Lord preserve's!" cried Donal Grant, "it's the cratur!--An' is that the gait they hae guidit him! The quaietest cratur an' the willin'est!"Donal began to choke.
"Ye ken him than, laddie?" said his mother.
"Weel that," answered Donal."He's been wi' me an' the nowt ilka day for weeks till the day."With that he hurried into the story of his acquaintance with Gibbie;and the fable of the brownie would soon have disappeared from Daurside, had it not been that Janet desired them to say nothing about the boy, but let him be forgotten by his enemies, till he grew able to take care of himself.Besides, she said, their father might get into trouble with the master and the laird, if it were known they had him.
Donal vowed to himself, that, if Fergus had had a hand in the abuse, he would never speak civil word to him again.
He turned towards the bed, and there were Gibbie's azure eyes wide open and fixed upon him.
