Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood by George MacDonald (freenovel24 TXT) 📖

off the road. You're not hurt, are you?"

"Not in the least," I answered. "I was only frightened."

A few moments more, and my mare lay or rather stuck quiet, with her neck and head thrown back, and her body deep in the snow. I put up my hands to feel. It rose above my head farther than I could reach. I got clear of the stirrups and scrambled up, first on my knees, and then on my feet. Standing thus upon the saddle, again I stretched my hands above my head, but still the broken wall of snow ascended above my reach. I could see nothing of my father, but I heard him talking to Missy. My mare soon began floundering again, so that I tumbled about against the sides of the hole, and grew terrified lest I should bring the snow down. I therefore cowered upon the mare's back until she was quiet again. "Woa! Quiet, my lass!" I heard my father saying, and it seemed his Missy was more frightened than mine.

My fear was now quite gone, and I felt much inclined to laugh at the fun of the misadventure. I had as yet no idea of how serious a thing it might be. Still I had sense enough to see that something must be done-but what? I saw no way of getting out of the hole except by trampling down the snow upon the back of my poor mare, and that I could not think of; while I doubted much whether my father even could tell in what direction to turn for help or shelter.

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Finding our way home, even if we got free, seemed out of the question. Again my mare began plunging violently, and this time I found myself thrown against some hard substance. I thrust my hand through the snow, and felt what I thought the stones of one of the dry walls common to the country. I might clear away enough of the snow to climb upon that; but then what next-it was so dark?

"Ranald!" cried my father; "how do you get on?"

"Much the same, father," I answered.

"I'm out of the wreath," he returned. "We've come through on the other side. You are better where you are I suspect, however. The snow is warmer than the air. It is beginning to blow. Pull your feet out and get right upon the mare's back."

"That's just where I am, father-lying on her back, and pretty comfortable," I rejoined.

All this time the snow was falling thick. If it went on like this, I should be buried before morning, and the fact that the wind was rising added to the danger of it. We were at the wrong end of the night too.

"I'm in a kind of ditch, I think, father," I cried-the place we fell off on one side and a stone wall on the other."

"That can hardly be, or I shouldn't have got out," he returned. "But now I've got Missy quiet, I'll come to you. I must get you out, I see, or you will be snowed up. Woa, Missy! Good mare! Stand still."

The next moment he gave a joyous exclamation.

"What is it, father?" I cried.

"It's not a stone wall; it's a peat-stack. That is good."

"I don't see what good it is. We can't light a fire."

"No, my boy; but where there's a peat-stack, there's probably a house."

He began uttering a series of shouts at the top of his voice, listening between for a response. This lasted a good while. I began to get very cold.

"I'm nearly frozen, father," I said, "and what's to become of the poor mare-she's got no clothes on?"

"I'll get you out, my boy; and then at least you will be able to move about a little."

I heard him shovelling at the snow with his hands and feet.

"I have got to the corner of the stack, and as well as I can judge you must be just round it," he said.

"Your voice is close to me," I answered.

"I've got a hold of one of the mare's ears," he said next. "I won't try to get her out until I get you off her."

I put out my hand, and felt along the mare's neck. What a joy it was to catch my father's hand through the darkness and the snow! He grasped mine and drew me towards him, then got me by the arm and began dragging me through the snow. The mare began plunging again, and by her struggles rather assisted my father. In a few moments he had me in his arms.

"Thank God!" he said, as he set me down against the peat-stack. "Stand there. A little farther. Keep well off for fear she hurt you. She must fight her way out now."

He went back to the mare, and went on clearing away the snow. Then I could hear him patting and encouraging her. Next I heard a great blowing and scrambling, and at last a snort and the thunder of hoofs.

"Woa! woa! Gently! gently!-She's off!" cried my father.

Her mother gave one snort, and away she went, thundering after her. But their sounds were soon quenched in the snow.

"There's a business!" said my father. "I'm afraid the poor things will only go farther to fare the worse. We are as well without them, however; and if they should find their way home, so much the better for us. They might have kept us a little warmer though. We must fight the cold as we best can for the rest of the night, for it would only be folly to leave the spot before it is light enough to see where we are going."

It came into my mind suddenly how I had burrowed in the straw to hide myself after running from Dame Shand's. But whether that or the thought of burrowing in the peat-stack came first, I cannot tell. I turned and felt whether I could draw out a peat. With a little loosening I succeeded.

"Father," I said, "couldn't we make a hole in the peat-stalk, and build ourselves in?"

"A capital idea, my boy!" he answered, with a gladness in his voice which I venture to attribute in part to his satisfaction at finding that I had some practical sense in me. "We'll try it at once."

"I've got two or three out already," I said, for I had gone on pulling, and it was easy enough after one had been started.

"We must take care we don't bring down the whole stack though," said my father.

"Even then," I returned, "we could build ourselves up in them, and that would be something."

"Right, Ranald! It would be only making houses to our own shape, instead of big enough to move about in-turning crustaceous animals, you know."

"It would be a peat-greatcoat at least," I remarked, pulling away.

"Here," he said, "I will put my stick in under the top row. That will be a sort of lintel to support those above."

He always carried his walking-stick whether he rode or walked.

We worked with a will, piling up the peats a little in front that we might with them build up the door of our cave after we were inside. We got quite merry over it.

"We shall be brought before the magistrates for destruction of property," said my father.

"You'll have to send Andrew to build up the stack again-that's all."

"But I wonder how it is that nobody hears us. How can they have a peat-stack so far from the house?"

"I can't imagine," I said; "except it be to prevent them from burning too many peats. It is more like a trick of the poor laird than anybody else."

Every now and then a few would come down with a rush, and before long we had made a large hole. We left a good thick floor to sit upon.

Creeping in, we commenced building up the entrance. We had not proceeded far, however, before we found that our cave was too small, and that as we should have to remain in it for hours, we must find it very cramped. Therefore, instead of using any more of the peats already pulled out, we finished building up the wall with others fresh drawn from the inside. When at length we had, to the best of our ability, completed our immuring, we sat down to wait for the morning-my father as calm as if he had been seated in his study-chair, and I in a state of condensed delight; for was not this a grand adventure-with my father to share it, and keep it from going too far? He sat with his back leaning against the side of the hole, and I sat between his knees, and leaned against him. His arms were folded round me; and could ever boy be more blessed than I was then? The sense of outside danger; the knowledge that if the wind rose, we might be walled up in snow before the morning; the assurance of present safety and good hope-all made such an impression upon my mind that ever since when any trouble has threatened me, I have invariably turned first in thought to the memory of that harbour of refuge from the storm. There I sat for long hours secure in my father's arms, and knew that the soundless snow was falling thick around us, and marked occasionally the threatening wail of the wind like the cry of a wild beast scenting us from afar.

"This is grand, father," I said.

"You would like better to be at home in bed, wouldn't you?" he asked, trying me.

"No, indeed, I should not," I answered, with more than honesty; for I felt exuberantly happy.

"If only we can keep warm," said my father. "If you should get very cold indeed, you must not lose heart, my man, but think how pleasant it will be when we get home to a good fire and a hot breakfast."

"I think I can bear it all right. I have often been cold enough at school."

"This may be worse. But we need not anticipate evil: that is to send out for the suffering. It is well to be prepared for it, but it is ill to brood over a fancied future of evil. In all my life, my boy-and I should like you to remember what I say-I have never found any trial go beyond what I could bear. In the worst cases of suffering, I think there is help given which those who look on cannot understand, but which enables the sufferer to endure. The last help of that kind is death, which I think is always a blessing, though few people can regard it as such."

I listened with some wonder. Without being able to see that what he said was true, I could yet accept it after a vague fashion.

"This nest which we have made to shelter us," he resumed, "brings to my mind what the Psalmist says about dwelling in the secret place of the Most High. Everyone who will, may there, like the swallow, make himself a nest."

"This can't be very like that, though, surely, father," I ventured to object.

"Why not, my boy?"

"It's not safe enough, for one thing."

"You are right there. Still it is like. It is our place of refuge."

"The cold does get through it, father."