CHAPTER VIII.

CLIMBING SCHIEHALLION.

"My God, I thank thee, who hast made The earth so bright; So full of splendour and of joy, Beauty and light: So many glorious things are here, Noble and right."

A HIGHLAND picnic on a bright August day, when the mountain-side where it is to be held is purple with heather, and the only clouds visible in the bright blue sky are soft, small, white fleecy ones, and young faces are glowing with pleasure at the prospect before them—who that has ever enjoyed such a recreation can ever forget it?

Holiday-time has once more come round, and Benvourd House rings with the voices of the assembled youngsters. Ronald is there, bringing with him from school not only a goodly number of prizes, but a letter from Dr. Bowles of high commendation for the good influence he has exercised over the other boys.

And Eric has also returned from his Edinburgh visit, which had lasted some months. At times there is a more thoughtful expression on his face than of yore, which Mrs. Macleod notes with satisfaction, though the cause of it has not been disclosed: only the All-seeing One, who directed the boy's course to the house where, to human eye, He was shut out, knows the real cause of the grave though as yet unsatisfied look that at times flits over the face of the heedless boy.

As in the court of Ahab, there dwelt a God-fearing Obadiah, and in the corrupt palace of a Cesar, there were souls who loved and served the Lord Jesus. So in the household of the Rosses, whose God seemed to be the prince of this world, there lived a child whose heart the Lord had opened—a little dark-eyed boy of Spanish origin, the orphan boy of a dead sister of Mrs. Ross, who had married a young Spaniard, and in her life-time had been cast off and disowned by her friends for the misalliance, as they termed it.

But when both father and mother died, leaving their only child homeless and penniless, Mr. Ross had insisted on taking the orphan and bringing him up with their own children. And so, at the age of six years, little Pedro became an inmate of their home. A child too thoughtful for his years, shy, and sensitive, he never really amalgamated with the family: kindly treated in one way, neglected in others, he lived in a world of his own, and wove fanciful dreams, and created heroes and heroines for himself; and even in the midst of his lessons, visions of the sunny land of his birth and his childhood were ever before him.

No one understood him; and life was beginning to cloud around him, when sickness came, not serious, but lingering. Into the house from which He had been tried to be excluded, the Lord entered, and taking the little orphan boy by the hand, led him apart, so to speak, and spoke comfortably to him there; and from that bed of sickness, the child rose no longer sad. A new love had come into his lonely heart—a new, never-failing, never-changing Friend had become his; memories of almost forgotten teaching had come back to him, and the Saviour his parents had loved and served had whispered the "Peace, be still," to the weary young heart.

Few noticed the change, unless it were Alick and Clara. "Pedro looks happier now," they said, "and is far more obliging than he used to be."

And his tutor remarked, "Pedro begins to learn fast now, and no longer dreams over his lessons. Take care, or he will outstrip you all."

But Pedro dreamed still, only not in lesson-time and made heroes of those who took his fancy; and so it came to pass that when the little Highland boy came amongst them, and spoke kind words to the child who was an orphan like himself, Pedro exalted him into a hero, and almost worshipped him. And when, after a short acquaintance, he saw that Eric shrank with amazement from many of the ways of the house, and refused to spend the Sundays in idleness or play—keeping the promise he had given his uncle and aunt, that he would set aside some portion of the Lord's day for Bible study—little Pedro's heart beat with joy as he thought he had found one who had learned to love Jesus, and would help him on in the heavenward path.

Eric saw this, and shrank from accepting a character to which he had no claim: for earthly goods, not heavenly ones, were Eric's ambition; the crown of the world's wealth, not the unfading, one of glory, was the crown he longed to wear, though the influence of his Christian upbringing still lingered in his heart, and made him grieved at living in a house where God's blessing was not daily sought in family prayer as at Benvourd, and God's day not reverenced and kept holy as it was there.

All this he told Pedro; but the boy remained unshaken in his belief that his new friend was a Christian, and often appealed to him on matters of difficulty.

In vain Eric expostulated, till at last the question arose—Why should he not seek to be what Pedro thought he was? And at times a real desire, born of the Holy Spirit, arose in his heart that he too, like Ronald and Pedro, might be a child of God; and through the haziness of his desires there glimmered in the far distance a longing for something better than gold.

Pedro's strong belief in him did good to the volatile boy, and enabled him often to say "No" to his cousins when they desired to lead him into temptation.

"They are all very kind," he wrote to his aunt some weeks after his arrival, "but somehow life has a different aim, apparently, here from what it has at Benvourd. The cousins think a great deal about dress, and go to evening parties very often, or else have them in their own house; but Alick and I get on famously. And I like school, tell uncle, and we play no end of games; but for all that I often think of you all. You, aunt, would like Pedro; he is a splendid little fellow, and as good as can be; he sometimes reminds me of Ronald. He has taken such a fancy to me, I can't think why; but for all that I am glad he has."

And now Eric was once again back at Benvourd full of glee, on the day we write of, as the party, accompanied by Mr. Macleod, and Clara and Alick Ross—who were again in the neighbourhood—set off at early morn for a picnic on the side, if not on the summit of Schiehallion.

The long drive at last came to an end. Nora, who had never been there before, was in raptures at the beauty of the scene; though, as they drew near the mountain, they saw with anxiety that a mist had arisen and was covering the mountain-top, wreathing it round as with many folds.

"Here we are at last," said Ronald, as he sprang off the hardy Highland pony on which he had ridden for miles alongside of the waggonette. "See, Nora, yonder is the inn where we are to put up the ponies whilst we climb the hill. Doesn't it look grand—Schiehallion I mean—towering so high, though you can't see its head just now, as it has got its night-cap on; but the wind will soon blow that off—don't be afraid."

But Mr. Macleod eyed with a suspicious look the rising mist and a bank of dark clouds that was now distinctly visible on the horizon. "One thing is certain, boys," he said, "we must have a guide, especially if there is any idea of your trying to reach the top."

"Oh yes, uncle," said a number of voices in one breath; "we are bent on going to the very top. Why, that is to be the great fun."

"Girls and all!" said Mr. Macleod. "What say you, Miss Stewart?"

That lady had kindly accompanied the party, chiefly to look after the girls. She shook her head, saying, "I am afraid the girls will hardly reach the top, but we'll try."

And so, amid much fun and laughter, the ascent began, Mr. Macleod having succeeded in finding a shepherd well accustomed to act as a guide. One thing only he insisted on—the picnic on the hill-side must be abandoned, if they had any intentions of reaching the top. Some slight refreshments they might carry with them; but the dinner must take place after they had come down.

The view, even half-way up the hill; was charming—mountains, peak on peak, rising around, giving them a foretaste of the more expansive view to be seen from the summit.

Bravely they pressed on, especially the mountain-bred children, whose limbs were well accustomed to the act of climbing, and whose feet loved to press the springy heather. More and more solitary did the scene become as they ascended, and left even the lonely Farm Inn far below.

God's impress seemed set on all around. Surely the majesty and power of the Almighty Creator are wonderfully felt amid mountain scenery. All the children felt it, though in greater or less degree: it was as if they had come nearer God than ever before.

But it was Ronald who, as he walked between his uncle and the shepherd, uttered almost involuntarily the words:

"Great is the Lord, and of great power: his understanding is infinite."

"Praise the Lord from the heavens: praise him in the heights."

As he spoke, the shepherd reverently lifted his cap. "Ay," he said, "it's on the heights we can best feel as if we can best praise the Lord, young sir; yet down in the vales, he can hear our voices also, and like sweet melody, our songs o' praise sound in the ear o' the Almighty. But it's grand to walk the heights and to watch the clouds as they gather on the mountain-tops. But 'deed, sirs, I likena' the look o' the clouds noo. I much doubt our reaching the top. An' we must take heed, for the mists gather quickly; an' well though I know the way, still it's hard to find your whereabouts in the mist. I think the leddies, at least, should go no further, but rest here while we go on a bit further an' see what like it looks."

There was a loud demur at this from Nora and even Clara.

"O uncle!" and "O Mr. Macleod! Let us go on too; we will not be beat—we must get to the top."

But just then rain began to fall. They had already got into the midst of a cloud; and somewhat abashed, they stood still to consider.

The guide looked despondingly. "I fear, sirs, even if we could reach the top, there would be no view, and my advice is that we should all turn and go down, for the rain is going to be heavy."

But his voice was drowned by the three lads all exclaiming in one breath: "No, no! Let's get on. Who minds a little rain? We're not salt or sugar that will melt. Let the ladies stay here till we go up, and we'll be back in no time. Do let us try."

"Well, sirs, if you're bent on it we can try; but I warn you, you'll get nothing but a wetting for your trouble. However, I'll take you round the shoulder of the hill, and look around; but if the mist be thick there, I'll not go one step farther, for there's danger farther up."

So with this decision they were obliged to be satisfied; and the guide, putting the ladies, as he said, under the shelter of an overhanging rock, and leaving them under the care of Mr. Macleod, set off with the boys.

"Here we are, back again, uncle," said Eric, as he bounded down the hill, about a quarter of an hour after they had set off with the guide. "When we got round the shoulder of the hill we found ourselves enveloped in mist, and Sandy wouldn't let us go a step farther. Isn't it a shame?"

At this moment the guide, accompanied by Ronald and Alick, appeared, and accosting Mr. Macleod, said, "'Deed, sir, we must get downhill as fast as possible for the rain's getting worse, and these hill showers are heavy, and wetting ones as well; so let's be off."

Amid much mirth, despite the disappointment and the rain, the party hastened downwards; but ere they reached the inn they were thoroughly soaked. Once inside, peat fires were blazing; and much laughter was expended as the girls presently appeared in the little parlour where the picnic dinner was to take place, attired in all manner of fantastic dresses, kindly lent by the women of the house whilst their own wet garments were drying.

Miss Stewart, attired in the hostess's Sunday dress, looked strange indeed; while the girls, in woollen petticoats, coarse worsted stockings, and bright-coloured short gowns, evoked shouts of laughter from the boys, who, on their part, were running about without boots or stockings. But, notwithstanding, the day's excursion was fully enjoyed by the youngsters, and with great glee they rehearsed their adventures in the evening to Mrs. Macleod; and in after-days it became an established joke how a whole party had set off to go to the top of Schiehallion, and were nearly lost in the mist.

More than once during those pleasant holidays did Ronald find his way to the cottage in the glen, and many a pleasant talk he had with old nurse, who still cherished the vague hope that somewhere in London Ronald would meet with her lost laddie.

It was strange enough that never, during the six weeks they spent together, did the three children meet at the Wishing-Well. Ronald sat often there alone, as in olden days, and mentally reviewed the scene with the passing stranger, renewing in God's presence the resolution he had made, the vow he had taken, to serve under the royal banner.

But Nora specially avoided the place: truth to tell, she was afraid just then to stop and think, afraid to take a glance into her own heart, for Clara's influence was telling upon her, and she had made up her mind to have a sip at the pleasures of life ere she really drank at the well of living waters; and she thought more just then about the gold and ruby crown of this world than of the one which endureth for ever. Ronald's quick eye marked the change in his loved sister, and he in part guessed the cause, but he deemed silence the best course then to be pursued, though he did occasionally throw in a word of counsel. But he saw that in her happy home she was all unconsciously learning many of the qualities which characterize the woman who is "above rubies." The wood was piled up on the altar of her heart and life, only awaiting the fire from Heaven, which sooner or later, he was sure, would fall.

To his brother, Eric spoke little of the new thoughts which had begun to stir in his breast; but he did talk to him of Pedro, and of the affection the little fellow had taken for him. And Ronald felt, without having been told, that an influence, powerful in God's hand for good, had begun to touch the life of his younger brother.

Once again the parting day came round; and this time the separation would be of longer duration, for in six months Ronald was to leave school and begin business in London with his cousin, and Eric was then to take his place at Dr. Bowles' for a whole year, after which he was to enter a mercantile house in Liverpool, from whence he would proceed to China. And so amidst tears, the orphans parted once more—Eric returning for a while to Edinburgh, whither by-and-by Nora, would follow him; and when the last evening came, and Ronald raised the hymn—

"Here we suffer grief and pain; Here we meet to part again; In heaven we part no more—"

Nora broke down and sobbed like a child. Nor was she much quieted when in prayer her uncle asked: "That all the party then at the throne of grace might one day, through the merits of Jesus, meet before the throne on high, and obtain from his hand a crown of glory, better far than gold and rubies."