"Weel I wat!" she answered peevishly, for she had had whisky enough only to make her cross, and turned away, muttering however in an undertone, but not too low for Janet to hear, "but there's nae mony wee Sir Gibbies, or the warl' wadna be sae dooms like hell."Janet was arrested in her turn: could the fierce, repellent, whisky-craving woman be the mother of her gracious Gibbie? Could she be, and look so lost? But the loss of him had lost her perhaps.
Anyhow God was his Father, whoever was the mother of him.
"Hoo cam ye to tyne yer bairn, wuman?" she asked.
But Mistress Croale was careful also, and had her reasons.
"He ran frae the bluidy han'," she said enigmatically.
Janet recalled how Gibbie came to her, scored by the hand of cruelty. Were there always innocents in the world, who in their own persons, by the will of God, unknown to themselves, carried on the work of Christ, filling up that which was left behind of the sufferings of their Master--women, children, infants, idiots--creatures of sufferance, with souls open to the world to receive wrong, that it might pass and cease? little furnaces they, of the consuming fire, to swallow up and destroy by uncomplaining endurance--the divine destruction!
"Hoo cam he by the bonnie nickname?" she asked at length.
"Nickname!" retorted Mistress Croale fiercely; "I think I hear ye!
His ain name an' teetle by law an' richt, as sure's ever there was a King Jeames 'at first pat his han' to the makin' o' baronets!--as it's aften I hae h'ard Sir George, the father o' 'im, tell the same."She ceased abruptly, annoyed with herself, as it seemed, for having said so much.
"Ye wadna be my lady yersel', wad ye, mem?" suggested Janet in her gentlest voice.
Mistress Croale made her no answer. Perhaps she thought of the days when she alone of women did the simplest of woman's offices for Sir George. Anyhow, it was one thing to rush of herself to the verge of her secret, and quite another to be fooled over it.
"Is't lang sin' ye lost him?" asked Janet, after a bootless pause.
"Ay," she answered, gruffly and discourteously, in a tone intended to quench interrogation.
But Janet persisted.
"Wad ye ken 'im again gien ye saw 'im?"
"Ken 'im? I wad ken 'im gien he had grown a gran'father. Ken 'im, quo' she! Wha ever kenned 'im as I did, bairn 'at he was, an' wadna ken 'im gien he war deid an' an angel made o' 'im!--But weel I wat, it's little differ that wad mak!"She rose in her excitement, and going to the other window, stood gazing vacantly out upon the rushing sea. To Janet it was plain she knew more about Gibbie than she was inclined to tell, and it gave her a momentary sting of apprehension.
"What was aboot him ye wad ken sae weel?" she asked in a tone of indifference, as if speaking only through the meshes of her work.
"I'll ken them 'at speirs afore I tell," she replied sullenly.--But the next instant she screamed aloud, "Lord God Almichty! yon's him!
yon's himsel'!" and, stretching out her arms, dashed a hand through a pane, letting in an eddying swirl of wind and water, while the blood streamed unheeded from her wrist.
The same moment Jean entered the room. She heard both the cry and the sound of the breaking glass.
"Care what set the beggar-wife!" she exclaimed. "Gang frae the window, ye randy."Mistress Croale took no heed. She stood now staring from the window still as a statue except for the panting motion of her sides. At the other window stood Janet, gazing also, with blessed face. For there, like a triton on a sea-horse, came Gibbie through the water on Snowball, swimming wearily.
He caught sight of Janet at the window, and straightway his countenance was radiant with smiles. Mistress Croale gave a shuddering sigh, drew back from her window, and betook herself again to her dark corner. Jean went to Janet's window, and there beheld the triumphal approach of her brownie, saving from the waters the lost and lamented Snowball. She shouted to her brother.
"John! John! here's yer Snawba'; here's yer Snawba'."John ran to her call, and, beside himself with joy when he saw his favourite come swimming along, threw the window wide, and began to bawl the most unnecessary directions and encouragements, as if the exploit had been brought thus far towards a happy issue solely through him, while from all the windows Gibbie was welcomed with shouts and cheers and congratulations.
"Lord preserve 's!" cried Mr. Duff, recognizing the rider at last, "it's Rob Grant's innocent! Wha wad hae thoucht it?""The Lord's babes an' sucklin's are gey cawpable whiles," remarked Janet to herself.--She believed Gibbie had more faculty than any of her own, Donal included, nor did she share the prevalent prejudice of the city that heart and brains are mutually antagonistic; for in her own case she had found that her brains were never worth much to her until her heart took up the education of them. But the intellect is, so much oftener than by love, seen and felt to be sharpened by necessity and greed, that it is not surprising such a prejudice should exist.
"Tak 'im roon' to the door."--"Whaur got ye 'im?"--"Ye wad best get 'im in at the window upo' the stair."--"He'll be maist hungert."--"Ye'll be some weet, I'm thinkin'!"--"Come awa' up the stair, an' tell's a' aboot it."--A score of such conflicting shouts assailed Gibbie as he approached, and he replied to them all with the light of his countenance.
When they arrived at the door, they found a difficulty waiting them: