THE WHELP.
Gibbie sped down the hill through a worse rain than ever.The morning was close, and the vapours that filled it were like smoke burned to the hue of the flames whence it issued.Many a man that morning believed another great deluge begun, and all measures relating to things of this world lost labour.Going down his own side of the Glashburn, the nearest path to the valley, the gamekeeper's cottage was the first dwelling on his way.It stood a little distance from the bank of the burn, opposite the bridge and gate, while such things were.
It had been with great difficulty, for even Angus did not know the mountain so well as Gibbie, that the gamekeeper reached it with the housekeeper the night before.It was within two gunshots of the house of Glashruach, yet to get to it they had to walk miles up and down Glashgar.A mountain in storm is as hard to cross as a sea.
Arrived, they did not therefore feel safe.The tendency of the Glashburn was indeed away from the cottage, as the grounds of Glashruach sadly witnessed; but a torrent is double-edged, and who could tell? The yielding of one stone in its channel might send it to them.All night Angus watched, peering out ever again into the darkness, but seeing nothing save three lights that burned above the water--one of them, he thought, at the Mains.The other two went out in the darkness, but that only in the dawn.When the morning came, there was the Glashburn meeting the Lorrie in his garden.But the cottage was well built, and fit to stand a good siege, while any moment the waters might have reached their height.By breakfast time, however, they were round it from behind.There is nothing like a flood for revealing the variations of surface, the dips and swells of a country.In a few minutes they were isolated, with the current of the Glashburn on one side, and that of the Lorrie in front.When he saw the water come in at front and back doors at once, Angus ordered his family up the stair: the cottage had a large attic, with dormer windows, where they slept.He himself remained below for some time longer, in that end of the house where he kept his guns and fishing-tackle; there he sat on a table, preparing nets for the fish that would be left in the pools; and not until he found himself afloat did he take his work to the attic.
There the room was hot, and they had the window open.Mistress Mac Pholp stood at it, looking out on the awful prospect, with her youngest child, a sickly boy, in her arms.He had in his a little terrier-pup, greatly valued of the gamekeeper.In a sudden outbreak of peevish wilfulness, he threw the creature out of the window.It fell on the slooping roof, and before it could recover itself, being too young to have the full command of four legs, rolled off.
"Eh! the doggie's i' the watter!" cried Mistress Mac Pholp in dismay.
Angus threw down everything with an ugly oath, for he had given strict orders not one of the children should handle the whelp, jumped up, and got out on the roof.From there he might have managed to reach it, so high now was the water, had the little thing remained where it fell, but already it had swam a yard or two from the house.Angus, who was a fair swimmer and an angry man, threw off his coat, and plunged after it, greatly to the delight of the little one, caught the pup with his teeth by the back of the neck, and turned to make for the house.Just then a shrub, swept from the hill, caught him in the face, and so bewildered him, that, before he got rid of it, he had blundered into the edge of the current, which seized and bore him rapidly away.He dropped the pup, and struck out for home with all his strength.But he soon found the most he could do was to keep his head above water, and gave himself up for lost.His wife screamed in agony.Gibbie heard her as he came down the hill, and ran at full speed towards the cottage.
About a hundred yards from the house, the current bore Angus straight into a large elder tree.He got into the middle of it, and there remained trembling, the weak branches breaking with every motion he made, while the stream worked at the roots, and the wind laid hold of him with fierce leverage.In terror, seeming still to sink as he sat, he watched the trees dart by like battering-rams in the swiftest of the current: the least of them diverging would tear the elder tree with it.Brave enough in dealing with poachers, Angus was not the man to gaze with composure in the face of a sure slow death, against which no assault could be made.Many a man is courageous because he has not conscience enough to make a coward of him, but Angus had not quite reached that condition, and from the branches of the elder tree showed a pale, terror-stricken visage.
Amidst the many objects on the face of the water, Gibbie, however, did not distinguish it, and plunging in swam round to the front of the cottage to learn what was the matter.There the wife's gesticulations directed his eyes to her drowning husband.
