't! He seems to ken what's risin' i' my min', an' in a moment he's up like the dog to be ready, an' luiks at me waitin'."Nor was it long before the town-bred child grew to love the heavens almost as dearly as the earth.He would gaze and gaze at the clouds as they came and went, and watching them and the wind, weighing the heat and the cold, and marking many indications, known some of them perhaps only to himself, understood the signs of the earthly times at length nearly as well as an insect or a swallow, and far better than long-experienced old Robert.The mountain was Gibbie's very home; yet to see him far up on it, in the red glow of the setting sun, with his dog, as obedient as himself, hanging upon his every signal, one could have fancied him a shepherd boy come down from the plains of heaven to look after a lost lamb.Often, when the two old people were in bed and asleep, Gibbie would be out watching the moon rise--seated, still as ruined god of Egypt, on a stone of the mountain-side, islanded in space, nothing alive and visible near him, perhaps not even a solitary night-wind blowing and ceasing like the breath of a man's life, and the awfully silent moon sliding up from the hollow of a valley below.If there be indeed a one spirit, ever awake and aware, should it be hard to believe that that spirit should then hold common thought with a little spirit of its own? If the nightly mountain was the prayer-closet of him who said he would be with his disciples to the end of the world, can it be folly to think he would hold talk with such a child, alone under the heaven, in the presence of the father of both? Gibbie never thought about himself, therefore was there wide room for the entrance of the spirit.Does the questioning thought arise to any reader: How could a man be conscious of bliss without the thought of himself? Ianswer the doubt: When a man turns to look at himself, that moment the glow of the loftiest bliss begins to fade; the pulsing fire-flies throb paler in the passionate night; an unseen vapour steams up from the marsh and dims the star-crowded sky and the azure sea; and the next moment the very bliss itself looks as if it had never been more than a phosphorescent gleam--the summer lightning of the brain.For then the man sees himself but in his own dim mirror, whereas ere he turned to look in that, he knew himself in the absolute clarity of God's present thought out-bodying him.The shoots of glad consciousness that come to the obedient man, surpass in bliss whole days and years of such ravined rapture as he gains whose weariness is ever spurring the sides of his intent towards the ever retreating goal of his desires.I am a traitor even to myself if I would live without my life.
But I withhold my pen; for vain were the fancy, by treatise or sermon or poem or tale, to persuade a man to forget himself.He cannot if he would.Sooner will he forget the presence of a raging tooth.There is no forgetting of ourselves but in the finding of our deeper, our true self--God's idea of us when he devised us--the Christ in us.Nothing but that self can displace the false, greedy, whining self, of which, most of us are so fond and proud.And that self no man can find for himself; seeing of himself he does not even know what to search for."But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God."Then there was the delight, fresh every week, of the Saturday gathering of the brothers and sisters, whom Gibbie could hardly have loved more, had they been of his own immediate kin.Dearest of all was Donal, whose greeting--"Weel, cratur," was heavenly in Gibbie's ears.Donal would have had him go down and spend a day, every now and then, with him and the nowt, as in old times--so soon the times grow old to the young!--but Janet would not hear of it, until the foolish tale of the brownie should have quite blown over.
"Eh, but I wuss," she added, as she said so, "I cud win at something aboot his fowk, or aiven whaur he cam frae, or what they ca'd him!
Never ae word has the cratur spoken!"
"Ye sud learn him to read, mither," said Donal.
"Hoo wad I du that, laddie? I wad hae to learn him to speyk first,"returned Janet.
"Lat him come doon to me, an' I'll try my han'," said Donal.
Janet, notwithstanding, persisted in her refusal--for the present.
By Donal's words set thinking of the matter, however, she now pondered the question day after day, how she might teach him to read; and at last the idea dawned upon her to substitute writing for speech.
She took the Shorter Catechism, which, in those days, had always an alphabet as janitor to the gates of its mysteries--who, with the catechism as a consequence even dimly foreboded, would even have learned it?--and showed Gibbie the letters, naming each several times, and going over them repeatedly.Then she gave him Donal's school-slate, with a sklet-pike, and said, "Noo, mak a muckle A, cratur."Gibbie did so, and well too: she found that already he knew about half the letters.
"He 's no fule!" she said to herself in triumph.
The other half soon followed; and she then began to show him words--not in the Catechism, but in the New Testament.Having told him what any word was, and led him to consider the letters composing it, she would desire him to make it on the slate, and he would do so with tolerable accuracy: she was not very severe about the spelling, if only it was plain he knew the word.Ere long he began to devise short ways of making the letters, and soon wrote with remarkable facility in a character modified from the printed letters.When at length Janet saw him take the book by himself, and sit pondering over it, she had not a doubt he was understanding it, and her heart leapt for joy.He had to ask her a good many words at first, and often the meaning of one and another; but he seldom asked a question twice; and as his understanding was far ahead of his reading, he was able to test a conjectured meaning by the sense or nonsense it made of the passage.