A short distance from his couch, stood a little army of ricks, between twenty and thirty of them, constructed perfectly--smooth and upright and round and large, each with its conical top netted in with straw-rope, and finished off with what the herd-boy called a toupican--a neatly tied and trim tuft of the straw with which it was thatched, answering to the stone-ball on the top of a gable.Like triangles their summits stood out against the pale blue, moon-diluted air.They were treasure-caves, hollowed out of space, and stored with the best of ammunition against the armies of hunger and want; but Gibbie, though he had seen many of them, did not know what they were.He had seen straw used for the bedding of cattle and horses, and supposed that the chief end of such ricks.Nor had he any clear idea that the cattle themselves were kept for any other object than to make them comfortable and happy.He had stood behind their houses in the dark, and heard them munching and grinding away even in the night.Probably the country was for the cattle, as the towns for the men; and that would explain why the country-people were so inferior.While he stood gazing, a wind arose behind the hills, and came blowing down some glen that opened northwards;Gibbie felt it cold, and sought the shelter of the ricks.
Great and solemn they looked as he drew nigh--near each other, yet enough apart for plenty of air to flow and eddy between.Over a low wall of unmortared stones, he entered their ranks: above him, as he looked up from their broad base, they ascended huge as pyramids, and peopled the waste air with giant forms.How warm it was in the round-winding paths amongst the fruitful piles--tombs these, no cenotaphs! He wandered about them, now in a dusky yellow gloom, and now in the cold blue moonlight, which they seemed to warm.At length he discovered that the huge things were flanked on one side by a long low house, in which there was a door, horizontally divided into two parts.Gibbie would fain have got in, to try whether the place was good for sleep; but he found both halves fast.In the lower half, however, he spied a hole, which, though not so large, reminded him of the entrance to the kennel of his dog host; but alas! it had a door too, shut from the inside.There might be some way of opening it.He felt about, and soon discovered that it was a sliding valve, which he could push to either side.It was, in fact, the cat's door, specially constructed for her convenience of entrance and exit.For the cat is the guardian of the barn; the grain which tempts the rats and mice is no temptation to her; the rats and mice themselves are; upon them she executes justice, and remains herself an incorruptible, because untempted, therefore a respectable member of the farm-community--only the dairy door must be kept shut; that has no cat-wicket in it.
The hole was a small one, but tempting to the wee baronet; he might perhaps be able to squeeze himself through.He tried and succeeded, though with some little difficulty.The moon was there before him, shining through a pane or two of glass over the door, and by her light on the hard brown clay floor, Gibbie saw where he was, though if he had been told he was in the barn, he would neither have felt nor been at all the wiser.It was a very old-fashioned barn.About a third of it was floored with wood--dark with age--almost as brown as the clay--for threshing upon with flails.At that labour two men had been busy during the most of the preceding day, and that was how, in the same end of the barn, rose a great heap of oat-straw, showing in the light of the moon like a mound of pale gold.Had Gibbie had any education in the marvellous, he might now, in the midnight and moonlight, have well imagined himself in some treasure-house of the gnomes.What he saw in the other corner was still liker gold, and was indeed greater than gold, for it was life--the heap, namely, of corn threshed from the straw: Gibbie recognized this as what he had seen given to horses.But now the temptation to sleep, with such facilities presented, was overpowering, and took from him all desire to examine further: he shot into the middle of the loose heap of straw, and vanished from the glimpses of the moon, burrowing like a mole.In the heart of the golden warmth, he lay so dry and comfortable that, notwithstanding his hunger had waked with him, he was presently in a faster sleep than before.And indeed what more luxurious bed, or what bed conducive to softer slumber was there in the world to find!
"The moving moon went down the sky," the cold wind softened and grew still; the stars swelled out larger; the rats came, and then came puss, and the rats went with a scuffle and squatter; the pagan grey came in like a sleep-walker, and made the barn dreary as a dull dream; then the horses began to fidget with their big feet, the cattle to low with their great trombone throats, and the cocks to crow as if to give warning for the last time against the devil, the world, and the flesh; the men in the adjoining chamber woke, yawned, stretched themselves mightily, and rose; the god-like sun rose after them, and, entering the barn with them, drove out the grey; and through it all the orphan lay warm in God's keeping and his nest of straw, like the butterfly of a huge chrysalis.
When at length Gibbie became once more aware of existence, it was through a stormy invasion of the still realm of sleep; the blows of two flails fell persistent and quick-following, first on the thick head of the sheaf of oats untied and cast down before them, then grew louder and more deafening as the oats flew and the chaff fluttered, and the straw flattened and broke and thinned and spread--until at last they thundered in great hard blows on the wooden floor.It was the first of these last blows that shook Gibbie awake.What they were or indicated he could not tell.He wormed himself softly round in the straw to look out and see.
