"Granny, granny, I've been wearyin' for you," said Geordie, holding out both his hands, when at last Elsie's patience had guided the old woman to the spot. "Oh, but I'm no able to make her hear. Nae words o' mine can travel to her ear, and I had much to say to her," Geordie cried, with a suppressed sob, as some terrible internal pain seemed to seize him.
The old woman had seated herself by his side, and her withered fingers wandered trembling among his hair, as she moaned helplessly, "Oh, laddie, laddie, what's this that's come upon us?"
Suddenly, Geordie seemed to remember something, and, smiling brightly, he feebly raised his hand to his jacket-pocket, and drew out the little chamois bag, containing the slowly-gathered store of money with which he intended to buy the ear-trumpet for his poor deaf granny.
"I gathered the last sixpence yestreen, for holding the minister's horse," he said, as he laid the bag in her hand, "It's to buy a thing that makes deaf folk hear, granny. But she can't understand me, Miss Cam'ell," he murmured, sadly, as he looked at Grace, who was leaning over him; "and, oh, I would have liked well to tell her before I go away about the Good Shepherd that you first told me about, Miss Cam'ell. I dinna think she understands right what a Friend he can be to a body; and I've always been waitin' till I got that horn for makin her hear to tell her all about him, for it's no a thing that a body wad just like to roar at the tap o' their voice. But you'll maybe speak to her some of the things ye spak' to us, Miss Cam'ell. Ye'll have one less at the school now, ye see," he added, smiling sadly; and then turning with a look of tender pity on his grandmother, who watched him with wistful eyes, as if she knew that his lips were moving for her, he said, "Oh, tell her to listen to his voice, and let the sound into her heart. He was aye able to mak' deaf folk hear, wasn't he, Miss Cam'ell?" said Geordie, with a bright smile as he turned to his young teacher.
They had now got ready a sort of litter, on which they meant to carry him to the farm; for Mistress Gowrie felt convinced that only more comfortable surroundings and a visit from the doctor was necessary for his complete recovery, and was resolved that no care of nursing on her part should be wanting to atone for any past indifference to the welfare of the little herd-boy with which she might reproach herself.
Geordie, seeing her anxiety to perform this deed of kindness, at last consented that they should take him from his lowly heather couch, and carry him to all the comforts of the best bedroom at Gowrie. But each time they tried to lift him the boy got so deathly pale, and seemed to suffer so intensely, that even Mistress Gowrie was obliged to acknowledge that it might be best to wait till the doctor came. Indeed, it soon became evident to all that Blackie's blows had touched some vital part, and Geordie's herding days were done.
He lay for a little while with closed eyes, seeming thankful to be undisturbed, and a silence fell on the group round him, not broken when Walter Campbell joined it; for a glance from Grace, and a look at Geordie's face, told him all. He stood there, in the freshness and strength of his youth, looking at the ebbing life of the boy whom he felt then as if he would have died to save. How he longed to tell him of all the blessing his words had brought to his soul, of the life-long gratitude which must surround his memory; but it was too late. Walter felt that he could not disturb the passing soul with anything so personal; but in the land where Geordie was going they would meet one day; and he would keep his thanks till then.
The silence had not been broken for several minutes. Poor little Jean had been trying to keep very brave and quiet, since Grace explained to her how much her noisy grief would vex Geordie. But Elsie, who had returned to her post at Geordie's head, and was seated silently there, now gave a smothered sob, which seemed to fall on Geordie's ear. He opened his blue eyes, and looking wistfully about, said in a faint whisper, "Elsie, I didna know ye was here. I saw you on the stepping-stones just when I was meetin' Blackie, but I thought you had been away home before now; it surely must be far on in the gloamin'. Eh, Elsie, but I'll no be able to keep the tryst for the bramble gatherin' wi' you," he said, in a mournful tone, turning towards her, and referring to a long-planned holiday, when they were to go together to search for brambles for Mistress Gowrie and the forester's wife's joint jam making. "But, Elsie, speak to me," he continued, feebly, holding out his hand, for he could not see her face where she sat, "We'll keep our tryst in the bonnie land beside the green pastures and the still waters ye often read to me about. Will we no', Elsie?"
"Oh, Geordie, I can't bear it. Why did you no let Blackie get hold o' me? Oh, Geordie, Geordie!" Elsie sobbed, as she crept round within sight of the boy, and knelt beside him with clasped hands and lines of agony on her face, that made the fair child look like a suffering woman.
Geordie turned his dying eyes upon her with a look of mingled love and sorrow, which none who saw it could ever forget; and stretching out both his hands, he said, "Oh, Elsie, will ye no give me one kiss afore I dee?"