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TITLE: HEATHER AND SNOW
AUTHOR: GEORGE MACDONALD
EBOOK: E06724 (O'Briens Book Cellar)
LANGUAGE: ENGLISH

HEATHER AND SNOW

BY GEORGE MACDONALD

CONTENTS

 I.        A RUNAWAY RACE
 II.       MOTHER AND SON
 III.      AT THE FOOT OF THE HORN
 IV.       DOG-STEENIE
 V.        COLONEL AND SERGEANT
 VI.       MAN-STEENIE
 VII.      CORBYKNOWE
 VIII.     DAVID AND HIS DAUGHTER
 IX.       AT CASTLE WEELSET
 X.        DAVID AND FRANCIS
 XI.       KIRSTY AND PHEMY
 XII.      THE EARTH-HOUSE
 XIII.     A VISIT FROM FRANCIS GORDON
 XIV.      STEENIE'S HOUSE
 XV.       PHEMY CRAIG
 XVI.      SHAM LOVE
 XVII.     A NOVEL ABDUCTION
 XVIII.    PHEMY'S CHAMPION
 XIX.      FRANCIS GORDON'S CHAMPION
 XX.       MUTUAL MINISTRATION
 XXI.      PHEMY YIELDS PLACE
 XXII.     THE HORN
 XXIII.    THE STORM AGAIN
 XXIV.     HOW KIRSTY FARED
 XXV.      KIRSTY'S DREAM
 XXVI.     HOW DAVID FARED
 XXVII.    HOW MARION FARED
 XXVIII.   HUSBAND AND WIFE
 XXIX.     DAVID, MARION, KIRSTY, SNOOTIE, AND WHAT WAS LEFT OF STEENIE
 XXX.      FROM SNOW TO FIRE
 XXXI.     KIRSTY SHOWS RESENTMENT
 XXXII.    IN THE WORKSHOP
 XXXIII.   A RACE WITH DEATH
 XXXIV.    BACK FROM THE GRAVE
 XXXV.     FRANCIS COMES TO HIMSELF
 XXXVI.    KIRSTY BESTIRS HERSELF
 XXXVII.   A GREAT GULF
 XXXVIII.  THE NEIGHBOURS
 XXXIX.    KIRSTY GIVES ADVICE
 XL.       MRS. GORDON
 XLI.      TWO HORSEWOMEN
 XLII.     THE LAIRD AND HIS MOTHER
 XLIII.    THE CORONATION
 XLIV.     KIRSTY'S TOCHER
 XLV.      KIRSTY'S SONG

CHAPTER I

A RUNAWAY RACE

Upon neighbouring stones, earth-fast, like two islands of an
archipelago, in an ocean of heather, sat a boy and a girl, the girl
knitting, or, as she would have called it, _weaving_ a stocking, and
the boy, his eyes fixed on her face, talking with an animation that
amounted almost to excitement. He had great fluency, and could have
talked just as fast in good English as in the dialect in which he was
now pouring out his ambitions--the broad Saxon of Aberdeen.

He was giving the girl to understand that he meant to be a soldier like
his father, and quite as good a one as he. But so little did he know of
himself or the world, that, with small genuine impulse to action, and
moved chiefly by the anticipated results of it, he saw success already
his, and a grateful country at his feet. His inspiration was so purely
ambition, that, even if, his mood unchanged, he were to achieve much
for his country, she could hardly owe him gratitude.

'I'll no hae the warl' lichtly (_make light of_) me!' he said.

'Mebbe the warl' winna tribble itsel aboot ye sae muckle as e'en to
lichtly ye!' returned his companion quietly.

'_Ye_ do naething ither!' retorted the boy, rising, and looking down on
her in displeasure. 'What for are ye aye girdin at me? A body canna lat
his thouchts gang, but ye're doon upo them, like doos upo corn!'

'I wadna be girdin at ye, Francie, but that I care ower muckle aboot ye
to lat ye think I haud the same opingon o' ye 'at ye hae o' yersel,'
answered the girl, who went on with her knitting as she spoke.

'Ye'll never believe a body!' he rejoined, and turned half away. 'I
canna think what gars me keep comin to see ye! Ye haena a guid word to
gie a body!'

'It's nane ye s' get frae me, the gait ye're gaein, Francie! Ye think a
heap ower muckle o' yersel. What ye expec, may some day a' come true,
but ye hae gien nobody a richt to expec it alang wi' ye, and I canna
think, gien ye war fair to yersel, ye wad coont yersel ane it was to be
expeckit o'!'

'I tauld ye sae, Kirsty! Ye never lay ony weicht upo what a body says!'

That depen's upo the body. Did ye never hear maister Craig p'int oot
the differ atween believin a body and believin _in_ a body, Francie?'

'No--and I dinna care.'

'I wudna like ye to gang awa thinking I misdoobtit yer word, Francie! I
believe onything ye tell me, as far as _I_ think ye ken, but maybe no
sae far as _ye_ think ye ken. I believe ye, but I confess I dinna
believe _in_ ye--yet. What hae ye ever dune to gie a body ony richt to
believe in ye? Ye're a guid rider, and a guid shot for a laddie, and ye
rin middlin fest--I canna say like a deer, for I reckon I cud lick ye
mysel at rinnin! But, efter and a',--'

'Wha's braggin noo, Kirsty?' cried the boy, with a touch of not
ill-humoured triumph.

'Me,' answered Kirsty; '--and I'll do what I brag o'!' she added,
throwing her stocking on the patch of green sward about the stone, and
starting to her feet with a laugh. 'Is't to be uphill or alang?'

They were near the foot of a hill to whose top went the heather, but
along whose base, between the heather and the bogland below, lay an
irregular belt of moss and grass, pretty clear of stones. The boy did
not seem eager to accept the challenge.

'There's nae guid in lickin a lassie!' he said with a shrug.

'There mith be guid in tryin to du't though--especially gien ye war
lickit at it!' returned the girl.

'What guid _can_ there be in a body bein lickit at onything?'

'The guid o' haein a body's pride ta'en doon a wee.'

'I'm no sae sure o' the guid o' that! It wud only hand ye ohn tried
(_from trying_) again.'

'Jist there's what yer pride dis to ye, Francie! Ye maun aye be first,
or ye'll no try! Ye'll never du naething for fear o' no bein able to
gang on believin ye cud du 't better nor ony ither body! Ye dinna want
to fin' oot 'at ye're naebody in particlar. It's a sair pity ye wunna
hae yer pride ta'en doon. Ye wud be a hantle better wantin aboot three
pairts o' 't.--Come, I'm ready for ye! Never min' 'at I'm a lassie:
naebody 'ill ken!'

'Ye hae nae sheen (_shoes_)!' objected the boy.

'Ye can put aff yer ain!'

'My feet's no sae hard as yours!'

'Weel, I'll put on mine. They're here, sic as they are. Ye see I want
them gangin throuw the heather wi' Steenie; that's some sair upo the
feet. Straucht up hill throuw the heather, and I'll put my sheen on!'

'I'm no sae guid uphill.'

'See there noo, Francie! Ye tak yersel for unco courteous, and
honourable, and generous, and k-nichtly, and a' that--oh, I ken a'
aboot it, and it's a' verra weel sae far as it gangs; but what the
better are ye for 't, whan, a' the time ye're despisin a body 'cause
she's but a quean, ye maun hae ilka advantage o' her, or ye winna gie
her a chance o' lickin ye!--Here! I'll put on my sheen, and rin ye
alang the laich grun'! My sheen's twice the weicht o' yours, and they
dinna fit me!'

The boy did not dare go on refusing: he feared what Kirsty would say
next. But he relished nothing at all in the challenge. It was not fit
for a man to run races with a girl: there were no laurels, nothing but
laughter to be won by victory over her! and in his heart he was not at
all sure of beating Kirsty: she had always beaten him when they were
children. Since then they had been at the parish school together, but
there public opinion kept the boys and girls to their own special
sports. Now Kirsty had left school, and Francis was going to the
grammar-school at the county-town. They were both about fifteen. All
the sense was on the side of the girl, and she had been doing her best
to make the boy practical like herself--hitherto without much success,
although he was by no means a bad sort of fellow. He had not yet passed
the stage--some appear never to pass it in this world--in which an
admirer feels himself in the same category with his hero. Many are
content with themselves because they side with those whose ways they do
not endeavour to follow. Such are most who call themselves Christians.
If men admired themselves only for what they did, their conceit would
be greatly moderated.

Kirsty put on her heavy tacketed (_hob-nailed_) shoes--much too large
for her, having been made for her brother--stood up erect, and putting
her elbows back, said,

'I'll gie ye the start o' me up to yon stane wi' the heather growin oot
o' the tap o' 't.'

'Na, na; I'll hae nane o' that!' answered Francis.

'Fairplay to a'!'

'Ye'd better tak it!'

'Aff wi' ye, or I winna rin at a'!' cried the boy,--and away they went.

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