CHAPTER III.
THE MOOR.
The night began to descend and he to be weary, and look about him for a
place of repose. But there was a long twilight before him, and it was
warm.
For some time the road had been ascending, and by and by he found
himself on a bare moor, among heather not yet in bloom, and a forest of
bracken. Here was a great, beautiful chamber for him! and what better
bed than God’s heather! what better canopy than God’s high,
star-studded night, with its airy curtains of dusky darkness! Was it
not in this very chamber that Jacob had his vision of the mighty stair
leading up to the gate of heaven! Was it not under such a roof Jesus
spent his last nights on the earth! For comfort and protection he
sought no human shelter, but went out into his Father’s house--out
under his Father’s heaven! The small and narrow were not to him the
safe, but the wide and open. Thick walls cover men from the enemies
they fear; the Lord sought space. There the angels come and go more
freely than where roofs gather distrust. If ever we hear a far-off
rumour of angel-visit, is it not from some solitary plain with lonely
children?
Donal walked along the high table-land till he was weary, and rest
looked blissful. Then he turned aside from the rough track into the
heather and bracken. When he came to a little dry hollow, with a yet
thicker growth of heather, its tops almost as close as those of his bed
at his father’s cottage, he sought no further. Taking his knife, he cut
a quantity of heather and ferns, and heaped it on the top of the
thickest bush; then creeping in between the cut and the growing, he
cleared the former from his face that he might see the worlds over him,
and putting his knapsack under his head, fell fast asleep.
When he woke not even the shadow of a dream lingered to let him know
what he had been dreaming. He woke with such a clear mind, such an
immediate uplifting of the soul, that it seemed to him no less than to
Jacob that he must have slept at the foot of the heavenly stair. The
wind came round him like the stuff of thought unshaped, and every breath
he drew seemed like God breathing afresh into his nostrils the breath of
life. Who knows what the thing we call air is? We know about it, but
_it_ we do not know. The sun shone as if smiling at the self-importance
of the sulky darkness he had driven away, and the world seemed content
with a heavenly content. So fresh was Donal’s sense that he felt as if
his sleep within and the wind without had been washing him all the
night. So peaceful, so blissful was his heart that it longed to share
its bliss; but there was no one within sight, and he set out again on
his journey.
He had not gone far when he came to a dip in the moorland--a round
hollow, with a cottage of turf in the middle of it, from whose chimney
came a little smoke: there too the day was begun! He was glad he had
not seen it before, for then he might have missed the repose of the
open night. At the door stood a little girl in a blue frock. She saw
him, and ran in. He went down and drew near to the door. It stood
wide open, and he could not help seeing in.
A man sat at the table in the middle of the floor, his forehead on his
hand. Donal did not see his face. He seemed waiting, like his father
for the Book, while his mother got it from the top of the wall. He
stepped over the threshold, and in the simplicity of his heart, said:--
“Ye’ll be gaein’ to hae worship!”
“Na, na!” returned the man, raising his head, and taking a brief, hard
stare at his visitor; “we dinna set up for prayin’ fowk i’ this hoose.
We ley that to them ’at kens what they hae to be thankfu’ for.”
“I made a mistak,” said Donal. “I thoucht ye micht hae been gaein’ to
say guid mornin’ to yer makker, an’ wad hae likit to j’in wi’ ye; for
_I_ kenna what I haena to be thankfu’ for. Guid day to ye.”
“Ye can bide an’ tak yer parritch gien ye like.”
“Ow, na, I thank ye. Ye micht think I cam for the parritch, an’ no for
the prayers. I like as ill to be coontit a hypocrite as gien I war ane.”
“Ye can bide an’ hae worship wi’ ’s, gien ye tak the buik yersel’.”
“I canna lead whaur ’s nane to follow. Na; I’ll du better on the muir my
lane.”
But the guidwife was a religious woman after her fashion--who can be
after any one else’s? She came with a Bible in her hand, and silently
laid it on the table. Donal had never yet prayed aloud except in a
murmur by himself on the hill, but, thus invited, could not refuse. He
read a psalm of trouble, breaking into hope at the close, then spoke as
follows:--
“Freens, I’m but yoong, as ye see, an’ never afore daured open my moo’
i’ sic fashion, but it comes to me to speyk, an’ wi’ yer leave, speyk I
wull. I canna help thinkin’ the guidman’s i’ some trible--siclike,
maybe, as King Dawvid whan he made the psalm I hae been readin’ i’ yer
hearin’. Ye observt hoo it began like a stormy mornin’, but ye h’ard hoo
it changed or a’ was dune. The sun comes oot bonnie i’ the en’, an’ ye
hear the birds beginnin’ to sing, tellin’ Natur to gie ower her
greitin’. An’ what brings the guid man til ’s senses, div ye think? What
but jist the thoucht o’ him ’at made him, him ’at cares aboot him, him
’at maun come to ill himsel’ afore he lat onything he made come to ill.
Sir, lat ’s gang doon upo’ oor knees, an’ commit the keepin’ o’ oor
sowls to him as til a faithfu’ creator, wha winna miss his pairt ’atween
him an’ hiz.”
They went down on their knees, and Donal said,
“O Lord, oor ain father an’ saviour, the day ye hae sent ’s has arrived
bonnie an’ gran’, an’ we bless ye for sen’in’ ’t; but eh, oor father, we
need mair the licht that shines i’ the darker place. We need the dawn
o’ a spiritual day inside ’s, or the bonnie day ootside winna gang for
muckle. Lord, oor micht, speyk a word o’ peacefu’ recall to ony dog o’
thine ’at may be worryin’ at the hert o’ ony sheep o’ thine ’at’s run
awa; but dinna ca’ him back sae as to lea’ the puir sheep ’ahint him;
fess back dog an’ lamb thegither, O Lord. Haud ’s a’ frae ill, an’
guide ’s a’ to guid, an’ oor mornin’ prayer ’s ower. Amen.”
They rose from their knees, and sat silent for a moment. Then the
guidwife put the pot on the fire with the water for the porridge. But
Donal rose, and walked out of the cottage, half wondering at himself
that he had dared as he had, yet feeling he had done but the most
natural thing in the world.
“Hoo a body ’s to win throuw the day wantin’ the lord o’ the day an’
the hoor an’ the meenute, ’s ’ayont me!” he said to himself, and
hastened away.
Ere noon the blue line of the far ocean rose on the horizon.