LITMIR.BIZ

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      “10, sir,’ I cried, ‘what for are ye fishing there? The water’s awfu’ dangerous, and the rocks are far ower slid.’

      “‘Never mind, Scott,’ he roars back cheery-like. ‘I ‘ll take care o’ mysel’.’

      “I lookit at him for twa-three meenutes, and then I saw by his rod he had yin on, and a big yin tae. He ran it up and doon the pool, and he had uncommon wark wi’ ‘t, for it was strong and there was little licht. But bye and bye he got it almost tae his feet, and was just about to lift it oot when a maist awfu’ thing happened. The tackets o’ his boots maun hae slithered on the stane, for the next thing I saw was Mr. Airthur in the muckle hungry water.

      “I dinna exactly ken what happened after that, till I found myself on the very stone he had slipped off. I maun hae come doon the face o’ the rocks, a thing I can scarcely believe when I look at them, and a thing no man ever did afore. At ony rate I ken I fell the last fifteen feet or sae, and lichted on my left airm, for I felt it crack like a rotten branch, and an awfu’ sairness ran up it.

      “Now, the pool is a whirlpool as ye ken, and if anything fa’s in, the water first smashes it against the muckle rock at the foot, then it brings it round below the fall again, and syne at the second time it carries it doon the burn. Weel, that was what happened to Mr. Airthur. I heard his heid gang dunt on the stane wi’ a sound that made me sick. This must hae dung him clean senseless, and indeed it was a wonder it didna knock his brains oot. At ony rate there was nae mair word o’ swimming, and he was swirled round below the fa’ just like a corp.

      “I kenned fine that nae time was to be lost, for if he once gaed doun the burn he wad be in Gled or ever I could say a word, and nae man wad ever see him mair in life. So doon I got on my hunkers on the stane, and waited for the turnin’. Round he came, whirling in the foam, wi’ a lang line o’ blood across his brow where the stane had cut him. It was a terrible meenute. My heart fair stood still. I put out my airm, and as he passed I grippit him and wi’ an awfu’ pu’ got him out o’ the current into the side.

      “But now I found that a waur thing still was on me. My left airm was broken, and my richt sae numbed and weak wi’ my fall that, try as I micht, I couldna raise him ony further. I thocht I wad burst a blood-vessel i’ my face and my muscles fair cracked wi’ the strain, but I could make nothing o’ ‘t. There he stuck wi’ his heid and shouthers abune the water, pu’d close until the edge of a rock.

      “What was I to dae? If I once let him slip he wad be into the stream and lost forever. But I couldna hang on here a’ nicht, and as far as I could see there wad be naebody near till the mornin’, when Ebie Blackstock passed frae the Head o’ the Hope. I roared wi’ a’ my power; but I got nae answer, naething but the rummle o’ the water and the whistling o’ some whaups on the hill.

      “Then I turned very sick wi’ terror and pain and weakness and I kenna what. My broken airm seemed a great lump o’ burnin’ coal. I maun hae given it some extra wrench when I hauled him out, for it was sae sair now that I thocht I could scarcely thole it. Forbye, pain and a’, I could hae gone off to sleep wi’ fair weariness. I had heard tell o’ men sleepin’ on their feet, but I never felt it till then. Man, if I hadna warstled wi’ mysel, I wad hae dropped off as deid’s a peery.

      “Then there was the awfu’ strain o’ keepin’ Mr. Airthur up. He was a great big man, twelve stone I ‘ll warrant, and weighing a terrible lot mair wi’ his fishing togs and things. If I had had the use o’ my ither airm I micht hae taen off his jacket and creel and lichtened the burden, but I could do naething. I scarcely like to tell ye how I was tempted in that hour. Again and again I says to mysel,’ Gidden Scott,’ says I, ‘what do ye care for this man? He’s no a drap’s bluid to you, and forbye ye ‘ll never be able to save him. Ye micht as weel let him gang. Ye’ve dune a’ ye could. Ye ‘re a brave man, Gidden Scott, and ye’ve nae cause to be ashamed o’ givin’ up the fecht.’ But I says to mysel again: ‘Gidden Scott, ye ‘re a coward. Wad ye let a man die, when there’s a breath in your body? Think shame o’ yoursel, man.’ So I aye kept haudin’ on, although I was very near bye wi’ ‘t. Whenever I lookit at Mr. Airthur’s face, as white’s death and a’ blood, and his een sae stelled-like, I got a kind o’ groo and felt awfu’ pitiful for the bit laddie. Then I thocht on his faither, the auld Lord, wha was sae built up in him, and I couldna bear to think o’ his son droonin’ in that awfu’ hole. So I set mysel to the wark o’ keepin’ him up a’ nicht, though I had nae hope in the matter. It wasna what ye ca’ bravery that made me dae’t, for I had nae ither choice. It was just a kind o’ dourness that runs in my folk, and a kind o’ vexedness for sae young a callant in sic an ill place.

      “The nicht was hot and there was scarcely a sound o’ wind. I felt the sweat standin’ on my face like frost on tatties, and abune me the sky was a’ misty and nae mune visible. I thocht very likely that it micht come a thunder-shower and I kind o’ lookit forrit tae ‘t. For I was aye feared at lichtning, and if it came that nicht I was bound to get clean dazed and likely tummle in. I was a lonely man wi’ nae kin to speak o’, so it wouldna maitter muckle.

      “But now I come to tell ye about the queer side o’ that nicht’s wark, whilk I never telled to nane but yoursel, though a’ the folk about here ken the rest. I maun hae been geyan weak, for I got into a kind o’ doze, no sleepin’, ye understand, but awfu’ like it. And then a’ sort o’ daft things began to dance afore my een. Witches and bogles and brownies and things oot o’ the Bible, and leviathans and brazen bulls—a’ cam fleerin’ and flauntin’ on the tap o’ the water straucht afore me. I didna pay muckle heed to them, for I half kenned it was a’ nonsense, and syne they gaed awa’. Then an auld wife wi’ a mutch and a hale procession o’ auld wives passed, and just about the last I saw yin I thocht I kenned.

      “‘Is that you, grannie?’ says I.

      “‘Ay, it’s me, Gidden,’ says she; and as shure as I’m a leevin’ man, it was my auld grannie, whae had been deid thae sax year. She had on the same mutch as she aye wore, and the same auld black stickie in her hand, and, Dod, she had the same snuff-box I made for her out o’ a sheep’s horn when I first took to the herdin’. I thocht she was lookin’ rale weel.

      “‘Losh, Grannie,’ says I, ‘where in the warld hae ye come frae? It’s no canny to see ye danderin’ about there.’

      ‘“Ye’ve been badly brocht up,’ she says,’ and ye ken nocht about it. Is’t no a decent and comely thing that I should get a breath o’ air yince in the while?’

      “‘Deed,’ said I, ‘I had forgotten. Ye were sae like yoursel I never had a mind ye were deid. And how d’ ye like the Guid Place?’

      “I— Wheesht, Gidden,’ says she, very solemn-like, ‘I’m no there.’

      “Now at this I was fair flabbergasted. Grannie had aye been a guid contentit auld wumman, and to think that they hadna let her intil Heeven made me think ill o’ my ain chances.

      “‘Help us, ye dinna mean to tell me ye ‘re in Hell?’ I cries.

      “‘No exactly,’ says she, ‘but I ‘ll trouble ye, Gidden, to speak mair respectful about holy things. That’s a name ye uttered the noo whilk we dinna daur to mention.’

      “‘I’m sorry, Grannie,’ says I, ‘but ye maun allow it’s an astonishin’ thing for me to hear. We aye counted ye shure, and ye died wi’ the Buik in your hands.’

      “‘Weel,’ she says,‘it was like this. When I gaed up till the gate o’ Heeven a man wi’ a lang white robe comes and says, “Wha may ye be?” Says I, “I’m Elspeth Scott.” He gangs awa’ and consults a wee and then he says, “I think, Elspeth my wumman, ye ‘ll hae to gang doon the brae a bit. Ye ‘re no quite guid eneuch for this place, but ye ‘ll get a very comfortable doonsittin’ whaur I tell ye.” So off I gaed and cam’ to a place whaur the air was like the inside of the glass- houses at the Lodge. They took me in wi’oot a word and I’ve been rale comfortable. Ye see they keep the bad part

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