cold seemed to grow more andmore intense.
Harry's face and hands were blue and benumbed before he had gone a mileand a half, Eily's coat was white and frozen hard; but on went the pairof them, battling with the storm, Harry holding his head well down, andkeeping his plaid up over his nostrils.
Often he had to turn round and walk backwards by way of resting himself.
The snow-wreaths were most difficult to get through, the smoking driftcutting his breath and nearly suffocating him.
So ere long his strength began to fail. Hardy though he was, Highlanderthough he was, bred and born among the wild, bleak mountains, and rearedin the forests, his powers of endurance gave out.
He crouched down and took the half-frozen dog in his arms. He talked toher as if she had been a human being, and the probability is that she_did_ know what he said.
"Oh, Eily," he said, "I do feel tired."
The kindly collie licked his face.
"But come on," he cried, starting up again; "we must not give in. Wehave only about a mile and a half to go if we cross through the wood.We'll soon get home. Come on, Eily, come on."
In a short time he had reached the wood. It was mostly spruce and fir,and the branches were borne half to the ground with the weight of snowat one side, while the other was bare, and the wind tearing throughthem.
He leaped the "dyke," [a stone fence] and was glad he had done so.There was far more shelter here, and the blasts were less fierce andcutting. He walked faster now. The wood was about half a mile wide.Arrived at the other side, a path by a stone fence led all the way downto his own home in the glen beneath.
He hurried on. How strange the wood looked under its mantle of snow!But he could not see any distance ahead owing to the drift. Sometimesthe wind would catch a tree and roar through it, and for the moment hewould be almost suffocated with the smother of falling snow.
He had gone on quite a long way, when he suddenly came to a clearing.He had never seen it before; never been here before. Then the awfultruth flashed at once across the boy's mind--_he was lost_!
How long he wandered in the wood before he sank exhausted beside a treehe never could tell.
Night and darkness came on, the storm roared through the wood withever-increasing force, but Harry knew nothing of it. He slept--sleptthat sleep that seldom knows a waking in this world.
And the drift banked up--the cruel drift--up around him. It hid hislegs, his arms, his shoulders, and at last his head itself.
Still the snow fell and the wind blew. It blew with a moaning,whistling sound through the tall pine-trees, as it does through riggingand cordage of a ship in a gale. It blew with a rushing noise throughthe closer-branched spruce trees, and ever in a momentary lull you mighthave heard the frozen tips of the branches knocking together as if glassrattled.
It was a terrible night.
As usual on stormy evenings, stalwart John had gone to meet young Harry;but he kept the road. It never struck him that the boy would haveventured through the wood in such a night.
Harry's parents were sitting in the parlour anxious beyond allexpression, when suddenly the quick, sharp, impatient bark of the collierang out high above the howling wind.
In she rushed whining when the door was opened. But out she flew again.
"Oh, come quickly," she seemed to say, "and save poor young master!"
Mr Milvaine well knew what it meant. Five minutes after, with lanternsand poles, he and two trusty servants were following close at the honestdog's heels.
Up the hill by the fence side, up and up and into the wood, and neverdid the faithful animal halt until she led them to the tree where shehad left the boy.
For a moment or two now she seemed lost. She went galloping round andround the tree; while with their lanterns Mr Milvaine and his servantslooked in vain for poor Harry.
But back Eily came, and at once began to scrape in the snow. Thensomething dark appeared, and Eily barked for joy.
Her master was found.
Was he dead? They thought so at first. But the covering of snow hadsaved him.
They poured a little brandy over his throat, wrapped him tenderly in aHighland plaid, and bore him home. Yet it was days before he spoke.
Dear reader, did ever you consider what a blessing our loving Father hasgiven us in a faithful dog? How kind we ought to be, and howconsiderate for the comfort of such a noble animal! And ever as theyget older our thoughtfulness for their welfare and care of them ought toincrease. Mind, too, that most good thinking men believe that dogs havea hereafter.
"I canna but believe," says the Ettrick shepherd, in his broad Doric,"that dowgs hae souls."
My friend, the Rev J.G. Wood, in his book called "Man and Beast," hasproved beyond dispute that there is nothing in Scripture against thetheory that the lower animals will have a hereafter.
And note how the goodly poet Tupper writes about his dear dog Sandy:
"Shall noble fidelity, courage and love, Obedience and conscience--all rot in the ground? No room be found for them beneath or above, Nor anywhere in all the universe round? Can Fatherhood cease? or the Judge be unjust? Or changefulness mark any counsel of God? Shall a butterfly's beauty be lost in the dust? Or the skill of a spider be crushed as a clod?
"I cannot believe it: Creation still lives; The Maker of all things made nothing in vain: The Spirit His gracious ubiquity gives, Though seeming to die, ever lives on again. We `rise with our bodies,' and reason may hope That truth, highest truth, may sink humbly to this, That `Lo, the poor Indian' was wiser than Pope When he longed for his dog to be with him in bliss!"
Book 1--CHAPTER SEVEN.
LEAVING HOME.
From what I have already told the reader about Harry Milvaine, it willreadily be gathered that he was a lad of decided character and of someconsiderable determination. A boy, too, who was apt to take action atthe first touch of the spur of a thought or an idea.
What I have now to relate will, I think, prove this still further.
He left his uncle--a younger brother of his mother--and his father oneevening talking in the dining-room. He had bidden them good-night andglided away upstairs to bed. He was partially undressed before henoticed that he had left a favourite book down in the library.
So he stole silently down to fetch it.
He had to pass the dining-room door, and in doing so the mention of hisown name caused him to pause and listen.
Listeners, they say, seldom hear any good about themselves. Perhapsnot, but the following is what Harry heard:
"Ha!" laughed Uncle Robert, "I tell you, brother, I'd do it. That wouldtake the fun out of him. That would knock all notions of a sailor'slife out of the lad. It has been done before, and most successfullytoo, I can tell you."
"And," replied Harry's father, "you would really advise me to--"
"I would really advise you to do as I say," said uncle, interrupting hisbrother-in-law. "I'd send him to sea for a voyage in a whaler. Theysail in February, and they return in May--barely three months, you see."
"Indeed, then I do think I'll take your advice. But his mother lovesthe dear, brave boy so, that I'm sure she'll feel the parting verymuch."
"Well, well, my sister'll soon get over that."
Harry stayed to hear no more. He went back to his room without thebook, and, instead of going to bed, lay down upon his sofa with theintention of what he called "doing a good think."
For fully an hour he lies there with his round eyes fixed on theceiling.
Then he starts up.
"Yes," he cries, half aloud, "I'll do it, I'll do it. My father willsee whether I have any courage or not."
He goes straight to the little money-box kennel that stood on themantelpiece.
The canary and pigeon business had been profitable with Harry for sometime past.
He was very wealthy indeed. More so even than he imagined, for now whenhe counted his horde it ran up to 4 pounds, 15 s
hillings, 6 pence.
"Splendid!" said Harry to himself; "I couldn't have believed I was sorich."
Then he knelt down and said his prayers, far more fervently than he waswont to do. Especially did he pray for blessings to fall on his dearmother and father.
"I don't think it is quite right," he said to himself, "what I am goingto do, but it will be all right again in a few months."
He lay down in bed and slept soundly for hours. But the stars werestill shining thickly when he awoke and looked out of the window.
There was snow on the ground, hard, crisp snow.
Harry lit his candle, then he got out his small writing-case, and, aftersome time and considerable pains, succeeded in writing a letter, whichhe carefully folded and addressed.
Young though he was--with his tiny fowling-piece--a gift from one of hisuncles--the boy could tumble either rabbit or hare,
Harry Milvaine; Or, The Wanderings of a Wayward Boy Page 10