What's Mine's Mine — Complete. George MacDonaldЧитать онлайн книгу.
each other!"
"But that will be such a time!" said Christina.
"In a world that turns quite round every twenty-four hours, it may be a very short time!"
"We shall be coming every summer, though I hope not to stay through another winter!"
"Changes come when they are least expected!"
"We cannot know," said Alister, "that we shall never meet again!"
"There the probability will be enough."
"But how can we come to a better—I mean a FAIRER opinion of each other, when we meet so seldom?" asked Mercy innocently.
"This is only the second time we have met, and already we are not quite strangers!" said Christina.
"On the other hand," said Alister, "we have been within call for more than two months, and this is our second meeting!"
"Well, who has not called?" said Christina.
The young men were silent. They did not care to discuss the question as to which mother was to blame in the matter.
They were now in the bottom of the valley, had left the road, and were going up the side of the burn, often in single file, Alister leading, and Ian bringing up the rear, for the valley was thickly strewn with lumps of gray rock, of all shapes and sizes. They seemed to have rolled down the hill on the other side of the burn, but there was no sign of their origin: the hill was covered with grass below, and with heather above. Such was the winding of the way among the stones—for path there was none—that again and again no one of them could see another. The girls felt the strangeness of it, and began to experience, without knowing it, a little of the power of solitary places.
After walking thus for some distance, they found their leader halted.
"Here we have to cross the burn," he said, "and go a long way up the other side."
"You want to be rid of us!" said Christina.
"By no means," replied Alister. "We are delighted to have you with us. But we must not let you get tired before turning to go back."
"If you really do not mind, we should like to go a good deal farther. I want to see round the turn there, where another hill comes from behind and closes up the view. We haven't anybody to go with us, and have seen nothing of the country. The men won't take us shooting; and mamma is always so afraid we lose ourselves, or fall down a few precipices, or get into a bog, or be eaten by wild beasts!"
"If this frost last, we shall have time to show you something of the country. I see you can walk!"
"We can walk well enough, and should so like to get to the top of a mountain!"
"For the crossing then!" said Alister, and turning to the burn, jumped and re-jumped it, as if to let them see how to do it.
The bed of the stream was at the spot narrowed by two rocks, so that, though there was little of it, the water went through with a roar, and a force to take a man off his legs. It was too wide for the ladies, and they stood eyeing it with dismay, fearing an end to their walk and the pleasant companionship.
"Do not be frightened, ladies," said Alister: "it is not too wide for you."
"You have the advantage of us in your dress!" said Christina.
"I will get you over quite safe," returned the chief.
Christina looked as if she could not trust herself to him.
"I will try," said Mercy.
"Jump high," answered Alister, as he sprang again to the other side, and held out his hand across the chasm.
"I can neither jump high nor far!" said Mercy.
"Don't be in a hurry. I will take you—no, not by the hand; that might slip—but by the wrist. Do not think how far you can jump; all you have to do is to jump. Only jump as high as you can."
Mercy could not help feeling frightened—the water rushed so fast and loud below.
"Are you sure you can get me over?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Then I will jump."
She sprang, and Alister, with a strong pull on her arm, landed her easily.
"It is your turn now," he said, addressing Christina.
She was rather white, but tried to laugh.
"I—I—I don't think I can!" she said.
"It is really nothing," persuaded the chief.
"I am sorry to be a coward, but I fear I was born one."
"Some feelings nobody can help," said Ian, "but nobody need give way to them. One of the bravest men I ever knew would always start aside if the meanest little cur in the street came barking at him; and yet on one occasion, when the people were running in all directions, he took a mad dog by the throat, and held him. Come, Alister! you take her by one arm and I will take her by the other."
The chief sprang to her side, and the moment she felt the grasp of the two men, she had the needful courage. The three jumped together, and all were presently walking merrily along the other bank, over the same kind of ground, in single file—Ian bringing up the rear.
The ladies were startled by a gun going off close behind them.
"I beg your pardon," said Ian, "but I could not let the rascal go."
"What have you killed?" his brother asked.
"Only one of my own family—a red-haired fellow!" answered Ian, who had left the path, and was going up the hill.
The girls looked, but saw nothing, and following him a few yards, came to him behind a stone.
"Goodness gracious!" exclaimed Christina, with horror in her tone, "it's a fox!—Is it possible you have shot a fox?"
The men laughed.
"And why not?" asked Alister, as if he had no idea what she could mean. "Is the fox a sacred animal in the south?"
"It's worse than poaching!" she cried.
"Hardly!" returned Alister. "No doubt you may get a good deal of fun out of Reynard, but you can't make game of him! Why—you look as if you had lost a friend! I admire his intellect, but we can't afford to feed it on chickens and lambs."
"But to SHOOT him!"
"Why not? We do not respect him here. He is a rascal, to be sure, but then he has no money, and consequently no friends!"
"He has many friends! What WOULD Christian or Mr. Sercombe say to shooting, actually shooting a fox!"
"You treat him as if he were red gold!" said the chief. "We build temples neither to Reynard nor Mammon here. We leave the men of the south to worship them!"
"They don't worship them!" said Mercy.
"Do they not respect the rich man because he is rich, and look down on the poor man because he is poor?" said Ian. "Though the rich be a wretch, they think him grand; though the poor man be like Jesus Christ, they pity him!"
"And shouldn't the poor be pitied?" said Christina.
"Not except they need pity."
"Is it not pitiable to be poor?"
"By no means. It is pitiable to be wretched—and that, I venture to suspect, the rich are oftener than the poor.—But as to master Reynard there—instead of shooting him, what would you have had us do with him?"
"Hunt him, to be sure."
"Would he like that better?"
"What he would like is not the question. The sport is the thing."