Chapter III: Introduction: Golden Grain (3)

"He's my father's already," put in young Ru.

"Nay, Sir, the creature was a gift to my son."

"And I offer a fair price for it, so it is doubly mine, as it were."

"Yes, but I can't say yes or no without speaking to the lad," pleaded the gentle mother.

"Well, speak to him," returned squire Barlow, which she did, and the boy shed such a torrent of tears over his pet, that night, when he shut him up in the outhouse, as fairly to startle him.

Sorrowful days followed, after sending his refusal to the Hall, while they waited, and dared not mention the matter to the shepherd, sick nigh to death. And oh! frost and snow lay on the ground, but Spottie nestled and revelled in his hay.

"If you refuse to sell the lamb, you quit my cottage," this was the threat the angered squire sent them.

"The lad simply defies me--it is not the first ill turn he has played me," so he reasoned in his blindness and loftiness, while poor Jep's heart was well-nigh breaking. Still he never flinched or yielded, but locked the innocent lamb into the outhouse, and carried the key in his pocket.

"He'll be sending one of these days to take him away, and he shan't have him--he can't know how I love him," so said the poor boy.

"The squire's servant and Master Ru have been here, lad, for the lamb; and they're coming again to-morrow, and'll burst the outhouse door if ye lock him in. 'Tis all over, lad; ye mustn't resist--surely a roof over your father's head is better than any lamb." These were his mother's tidings, when he came in tired, after a long journey to the doctor's for medicine, one cold spring evening, and Jep bowed his head.

"Mother, I must be with Spottie a while," said he, when it was time for him and wee Margaret to go to bed; and then he stole out into the outhouse, there in the cold and the darkness to weep and ponder over his great trouble. Could he give the darling up? Could he? A sense of wrong, of cruel injustice, made his heart bitter. He had locked himself in, and well he had, for, as he wept, some one tried the outhouse door.

"I'd let it be till to-morrow, Master Ru: 'tis mean, and very like thieving, to steal upon poor folk so, and try to break their locks." It was James, the footman at the Hall, who spoke, and it was Ru who answered him.

"Yes, and he's bound to let me have him, because of his sick father and the house. You see we're offering him a good price, and 'tis my father's lamb, you know."

"Yes; but maybe Jep doesn't think so; still, a fair price is a fair price, and once the money is his, the lamb is yours," returned the servant, and then there was silence again.

"I must e'en bear it like a man, for father's sake," said he, as he stood at the door, under the quiet stars, locking his pet in for the last time. And, on the morrow, before it was light, he led the lamb away over the crisp, frosty grounds, his woolly coat wet with his and Margaret's tears; but the boy was very calm and brave now, with his great sorrow and resolve upon him.

"No, it shall be a free gift; I can't take money for Spottie," said he to the footman, who came out to receive the unconscious animal, and offered him the price of it.

It was very like a miserable dream, that the deed of separation was done; but, anon, the spring smiled itself into bright, glowing days; John Sharpe took to his shepherd duties again, and Jep worked in the garden and longed for he knew not what. He heard that Master Ru had tired of his pet, and that the lamb was to be washed and sheared with the flocks, and then sold. Still, it came to both children as a terrible reality, when they saw him driven down the lane, past their cottage, to the place of shearing--their Spottie, who would be so startled and terrified at rough handling. Their very hearts seemed to cry out in their yearning, as they watched from afar the poor creature's ordeal, his first shearing; and they shivered in the night, as they heard the chill wind of early summer blow, and thought of Spottie bereft of his coat. And on the morrow--ah! those to-morrows, which sadden us or bring us gladness when we least expect it--to-morrow, as they went along the shady lane, what should they espy but Master Ru's pony riderless. No--yes, riderless, for he, poor lad, was being dragged along by one foot in the stirrup, over the hard road.

"Oh, my!" cried Jep, and then he held his breath and felt ready to die. Should he dash in and try to save him--he who had robbed him of Spottie, only to tire of him and cast him off? Yes, yes--all that was noble in the boy's soul cried--yes; and a low, soft voice stealing as from afar whispered--yes; so he sprang to the rescue, as the horse came up.

"Margaret, could ye dare to get near and loose his foot?" said he to his scared little sister--and she dared, like the small brave woman she was.

Once captured, the pony was gentle as a lamb. Jep tied him to a strong hedge-stake, and then came to his prostrate master. The poor fellow was in a sad maze of pain and half insensibility; it was not till the next day that they were sure he was not seriously hurt. And then? Well, the squire walked up to the shepherd's cottage, and made its inmates glad with the words he spoke.

"I thank your children for what they did for my son, and he thanks them also. I bought their lamb and never paid for it, which I do now, and my son gives it back to them, as--as--" the proud man faltered, "as a peace-offering, if you like to call it so; and Jep may take his old place with the sheep."

Oh! the joyful bringing of meek Spottie to his home again. The poor bewildered animal understood not the half of what was happening, but he gazed gratefully around at them when they covered his shorn back with Jep's jacket, thinking he must be cold.

"What did the squire call him, Jep--a peace-offering?" asked wee Margaret.

"Yes, that's about the word."

"And what's that?"

"Some'at as makes all smooth and above board, you know, when everything was wrong."

"Is it like"--an awe crept into the child's eyes and voice--"like Jesus?"

"Ah, like him," returned Jep, soberly.

"Oh! Jep, and He's called a Lamb in the Bible."

Was this lamb of earth shadowing forth to the minds of the simple children somewhat of the heavenly? If so, then the trouble that had come to Spottie's master was not in vain. Certainly he was a bond between the cottage and the Hall, and Jep was Master Ru's head shepherd years afterwards, when John Sharp and his old master had passed away.

BACKBONE.

When you see a fellow mortal
Without fixed and fearless views,
Hanging on the skirts of others,
Walking in their cast off shoes,
Bowing low to wealth or favor,
With abject, uncovered head,
Ready to retract or waver,
Willing to be drove or led;
Walk yourself with firmer bearing,
Throw your moral shoulders back,
Show _your_ spine has nerve and marrow,
Just the things which his must lack.
A stranger word
Was never heard,
In sense and tone,
Than this _backbone_.

When you see a politician
Crawling through contracted holes,
Begging for some fat position,
In the ring or at the polls,
With no sterling manhood in him,
Nothing stable, broad or ballast,
Double-sided all around;
Walk yourself with firmer bearing,
Throw your moral shoulders back,
Show _your_ spine has nerve and marrow,
Just the things which his must lack.

A modest song and plainly told--
The text is worth a mine of gold;
For many men most sadly lack,
A noble stiffness in the back.

A DOG SHEEP-STEALER.

Sir Walter Scott immortalized the sagacity of a dog named Yarrow, who was the accomplice of his master, Millar, a shepherd, and of Murdison, a farmer, in the sheep-stealing expeditions which they carried on, more than a century ago, in the Tweed country. All that Millar had to do was to show Yarrow during the day the sheep which were to be stolen, and at night the dog made straight for the flock, got together the marked members of it, and drove them by roundabout paths to Murdison's farm.

Two things were particularly remarkable. In the first place, if Yarrow when thus employed met his master, he observed the utmost caution in recognizing him, lest he might make him the object of suspicion; in the second, the dog seemed to have an idea that his practice was dishonest, and that darkness was the fittest season for such deeds. In the event of the sheep proving unwilling to leave their pasture, Yarrow would use every effort to urge them onwards, but whenever day began to break, he abandoned the attempt.

The dog was said to have been hanged with his master, for sheep-stealing, but Sir Walter Scott states that this was not the case, and that he survived Millar a long time, though he did not exhibit any of his wonderful instinct when in his second master's possession. Of course it was a great crime to put his skill to such a bad use, but there can be no doubt that Yarrow's sagacity fully justified Sir Walter in describing him as an "accomplished" dog.

To persevere in one's duty, and to be silent, is the best answer to calumny.

GEORGE WASHINGTON.

IF WE KNEW.

PHOEBE CARY.

If we knew the woe and heartache
Waiting for us down the road,
If our lips could taste the wormwood,
If our backs could feel the load--
Would we waste the day in wishing
For a time that ne'er can be;
Would we wait in such impatience
For our ships to come from sea?

If we knew the baby fingers
Pressed against the window pane,
Would be cold and stiff to-morrow--
Never trouble us again--
Would the bright eyes of our darling
Catch the frown upon our brow?
Would the prints of rosy fingers
Vex us then as they do now?

Ah, those little ice-cold fingers,
How they point our memories back
To the hasty words and actions
Strewn along our backward track!
How those little hands remind us,
As in snowy grace they lie,
Not to scatter thorns, but roses,
For our reaping by and by.

Strange we never prize the music
Till the sweet-voiced bird has flown!
Strange that we should slight the violets
Till the lovely flowers are gone!
Strange that summer skies and sunshine
Never seemed one-half so fair,
As when winter's snowy pinions
Shake their white down in the air!

Lips from which the seal of silence
None but God can roll away,
Never blossomed in such beauty
As adorns that mouth to-day;
And sweet words that freight our memory
With their beautiful perfume,
Come to us in sweeter accents
Through the portals of the tomb.

Let us gather up the sunbeams,
Lying all around our path;
Let us keep the wheat and roses,
Casting out the thorns and chaff;
Let us find our sweetest comfort
In the blessings of to-day,
With a patient hand removing
All the briers from our way.

HOLIDAY SONG.