The Settlers at Home Part 16

"So I always thought before; and so I shall think now, if you will help Mildred to dry whatever is damp, and then pack all away safely--all but such things as may do poor Geordie good."

Roger was not long in finding a hole in a tree where he could hide his bag of money. He cut a small cross in the bark by which he might know the tree again, and hastened back, to see what else he could secure. He found plenty of pretty things hanging on the bushes, and did not wait for their being quite dry to dress himself as he had never been dressed before. With the embroidered cap above mentioned on his head, a scarlet waistcoat, worked with silver thread, hanging loose about his body, and a light blue coat, whose skirts reached his heels, he looked so little like the dirty ragged Roger, that Geordie shrank back from him, at first sight, and did not smile till he heard the soft whistle again. After that, he seemed more pleased with the finery than all the rest of the party together. Ailwin glanced scornfully upon it, as if she had disapproved from the beginning its being touched; and Oliver and Mildred looked grave.

So very much pleased was Geordie with the gay waistcoat, that Roger took him into his arms, that he might be able to stroke it, and play with the silver flowers. It was little fatigue, now, except to the spirits, to nurse poor George. He was shrunk to skin and bone, and so light as to startle those who had been accustomed to lift him. It was grievous, however, to look at the ghastly stretched features, the flabby tremulous little arms, and the suffering expression of countenance. To hear his feeble cry was worse still. Oliver was really glad to take Mildred away from seeing and hearing him, as long as the child would be quiet with Roger: so he asked her to filter more water through the gravel. He begged her to get ready a great deal--enough for them all to drink, and to bathe George in; for the water about them was becoming of a worse quality every day. It was unsafe even to live near; and much more to drink. So he sc.r.a.ped up a quant.i.ty of clean dry gravel from the ledges of the precipice where the first flood had thrown it, and helped Mildred to press this gravel down in the worn old basket. This basket they set across the tub, which they first thoroughly cleaned. Mildred poured water upon the gravel by degrees; and it was astonis.h.i.+ng how much purer and better it came out of the tub than it went into the basket. When the tub was full, Ailwin heated some of the water presently over her large fire, and made a warm bath for the child.

Roger was unwilling to give him up when the bath was ready, so new and so pleasant did he find it to be liked and loved by anybody--to have power over any one, so much more easy and delightful to exercise than that of force. But, not only was the bath ready, and must not be left to cool, but Oliver beckoned him away on some very particular business.

This business was indeed pressing. All the party had complained that the bad smells about the Red-hill became really oppressive. They did not know how great was the danger of their all falling ill of fever, in consequence; but every one of them felt languid and uncomfortable.

Oliver made the circuit of the hill, to discover whether there was any cause for this evil that could be removed. He was surprised to find the number of dead animals that were lying about in holes and corners, as well as the heap of Roger's game, now actually putrefying in the sun.

There was also a dead horse thrown up, on the side where the quarry was; and about this horse were such swarms of flies as Oliver had never seen.

It was to consult about pus.h.i.+ng back this horse into the stream, and clearing away all other dead things that they could find, that Oliver now called Roger.

Roger was struck with what he observed. He saw no difficulty in clearing away the game he ought never to have left lying in a heap in the sun. He believed, too, that with stout poles he and Oliver could shove the horse into the water; and, with a line tied to its head, tow it out of the still water into the current which yet ran from the quarry. But what troubled him more was, that there was evidently a mortality among the animals on the hill. They were dying in all directions; some for want of proper food, and from being put out of their usual habits: others from being preyed upon by their stronger neighbours. Nothing seemed to thrive but the ravenous birds which came in cl.u.s.ters, winging their way over the waters, and making a great rustling of their pinions as they descended to perch upon some dead animal, pulling it to pieces before the very eyes of the boys, as they stood consulting what to do. It was a horrid sight: and it brought the horrid thought that soon probably there would be no game left for food for the party; and that what there was meantime might be unwholesome.

Oliver had never imagined that the old boy, Roger Redfurn, could look so alarmed as he did at this moment.

"Never mind, now, Roger," said he, "what is likely to become of you and me. Wait, and find that out by-and-by. What I am afraid of is seeing Mildred look at all as George does now. Come, let us set to work!

Don't stand looking up in the sky, in that way. Help me--do. Cannot Spy help? Call him; will you?"

"We can't get away!" exclaimed Roger, as if now, for the first time, awakened to his situation. "Those vile birds--they can go where they like--nasty creatures--and we cannot stir from where we are!"

"I wish we had our singing birds back again, instead of these creatures," said Oliver. "Our shy, pretty, innocent little birds, that used to be so pleased to pick up twigs and straws to build their nests with, and be satisfied with the worms and slugs and flies that they cleared away from the garden. I wish we had them, instead of these ugly, saucy, dirty birds. But our birds are happier somewhere else, I dare say; in some dry, pleasant place among those hills, all sweet with flowers, and cool with clear running water."

"They can get there, and we can't. We can't get out of this hot steaming place: and those hills look further off every day. I wish my uncle had been dead before he brought us down off the moors last time.

I wish he had, I know. If I was on the moor now, after the plovers..."

"Come, come; forget all that now, and set to work," interrupted Oliver.

"If you wont call Spy to help, I will see whether he will mind me."

Spy came, with some hesitation, in answer to a whistle which was like his master's, but not exactly the same. His master soon set him to work, and began to work himself, in a sort of desperation. It was astonis.h.i.+ng what a clearance was made in a short time. But it did not do all the good that was expected. There was so much vegetable decay in the region round, that the floating dead animals off to a distance caused only a partial relief.

While the boys were hard at work at their disagreeable task, Mildred was enjoying seeing George in his warm bath. Ailwin held him there, while Mildred continued her useful business of filtering water, talking to the child all the while. The poor little fellow soon left off crying, and moved his weak limbs about in the tepid water, trying to splash Ailwin, as he had been wont to splash his mother in play, every morning when she washed and dressed him.

"I am sure it does him a great deal of good," exclaimed Mildred. "I will filter quant.i.ties of water; and he shall have a bath as often as ever it is good for him. Suppose it should make him well!"

Ailwin shook her head. She saw how impossible it would be even to keep a healthy child well in the absence of proper food, in an unwholesome atmosphere, and without sufficient shelter from the changes of weather which might come at any hour, and must come soon. How unlikely it was that a sick baby should recover under such circ.u.mstances, she was well aware. Yet she little thought how near the end was.

After his bath, Geordie lay, nicely covered up, on a mattress under the tent. One or other of his nurses visited, him every few minutes; and both were satisfied that he was comfortably asleep. The boys came for some dinner, at last; and while Oliver went to wash his hands in clean water, Roger stooped over the child to kiss him. Before doing so, however, he started back, and asked Ailwin why the baby's eyes looked so strangely. They were half closed, and seemed like neither sleep nor waking. Ailwin sat down on the mattress, and took him into her arms, while Mildred ran to call Oliver. The poor child stretched himself stiff across Ailwin's knees, and then breathed no more.

When Oliver and Mildred came running back, Ailwin was putting her cheek near the child's mouth, to feel if there was indeed no breath. She shook her head, and her eyes ran over with tears. Oliver kneeled down, and put his hand to the heart--it did not beat. He lifted the wasted arm--it fell, as if it had never had life in it. There lay the little body, still unmoved, with the face composed,--the eyes dim and half closed, the ear hearing nothing, the tongue silent, while all were calling on little George to say something he had been fond of saying, to hearken to something he had loved to hear, and--all in vain.

"Whistle to him, Roger!" exclaimed Mildred, through her trembling. "Try if he cannot hear that. Whistle to him softly."

Roger tried; but no notice was taken of the forced, irregular whistle which was the best he could give at the moment.

"Listen, dear! Hark, George! Only hear!" exclaimed Mildred and Ailwin.

"O hus.h.!.+ All of you!" exclaimed Oliver. "Be quiet, Mildred dear! Our little brother is dead."

Roger threw himself on the gra.s.s, and hid his face on his arms. He moaned and rocked himself about, so that, even in the first moments of their grief, the brother and sister looked at each other with awe.

"Come away with me, dear," whispered Oliver to his sister. "Ailwin, give George to me. Let me have him in my arms."

"Bless you, my dears; it is not George any longer. It is a poor little dead body. You must not call it George."

"Give him to me," said Oliver. He took the body from Ailwin's arms, carrying it as gently as if anything could have hurt it now; and he and Mildred walked away towards the spot where the bee-shed had stood.

Ailwin gazed after them, das.h.i.+ng away the tears with the back of her hand, when they gathered so that she could not see.

Oliver and Mildred walked on till they could descend the bank a little, and sit, just above the waters, where they knew they were out of sight of everybody. This bank presented a strange appearance, such as the children had been wondering at for some days, till Ailwin remembered that she had often heard say that there was once a thick forest growing where the Levels were now spread, and that the old trees were, every one, somehow underground. It now appeared that this was true. As the earth was washed away in the channel, and cut down along the bank, large trunks of trees were seen lying along, black as coal. Some others started out of the bank; and the roots of a few spread like network, holding the soil together, and keeping the bank firm in that part. Upon one of the trunks, that jutted out, Oliver took his seat; and Mildred placed herself beside him.

"Let him lie on my knee now," said she.

"Presently," said Oliver. "How easy and quiet he looks!"

"And how quietly he died!" observed Mildred. "I did not think it had been such an easy thing to die,--or half so easy for us to bear to see."

"The hard part is to come, dear. We are glad now to see him out of his pain--so comfortable as he looks at this moment. The hard part will be not to hear his little voice any more--never ... But we must not think of that now. I hope, Mildred, that you are not sorry that George is dead. I am not, when I think that he may be with father and mother already."

"Already?"

"Yes--if they are dead. Perhaps they have been pitying poor baby all the time he has been ill, crying and moaning so sadly; and now he may be with them, quite happy, and full of joy to meet them again."

"Then they may be seeing us now."

"Yes; they will not forget us, even the first moment that George's little spirit is with them. Do not let them see us sad, Mildred. Let them see that we are glad that they should have George, when we could do nothing for him."

"But we shall miss him so when ... Oliver! He must be buried!"

"Yes. When that is done, we shall miss him sadly. We must expect that.

But we must bear it."

"If we die here," said Mildred, "it will be easy to do without, him for such a little while. But if we ever get away, if we grow up to be as old as father and mother, what shall we do, all those years, without once hearing Geordie laugh, or having him to wake us in the morning?

What long things people's lives are! It will seem as if ours would never be done, if we have to wait all that time to see Geordie again."

"I wish we were dead!" sighed Oliver. "I am sure, so do I. And dying is so very easy!"

"The pastor always said there was nothing to be afraid of," said Oliver--"I mean, for innocent people. And Geordie was so innocent, he was fit to go directly to G.o.d."

"If we die here," said Mildred, "Roger must too. What was the matter with him just now, do you think? Was he thinking about that?"

"He was very miserable about something. Oh, Mildred, do look! Did you ever see Geordie look sweeter? Yes, you may have him now."

And Oliver quietly laid the child in Mildred's arms. "Yet," said he, sighing, "we must bury him."

"Oh, when?" asked Mildred.

"Better do it while his face looks as it does now. To-morrow is Sunday.

We will do no work to-morrow, and bury Geordie."