Christian fiction; Neighborhoods -- Scotland -- Fiction
"I should like to fly like a bird, to swim like a fish, to gallop like
a horse, to creep like a serpent, but I suspect the good of all these
is to be got without doing any of them."
"I know what you mean now, but I can't put it in words."
"I mean by a perfect sympathy with the creatures that do these things:
what it may please God to give to ourselves, we can quite comfortably
leave to him. A higher stratum of the same kind is the need we feel of
knowing our fellow-creatures through and through, of walking into and
out of their worlds as if we were, because we are, perfectly at home in
them.--But I am talking what the people who do not understand such
things lump all together as mysticism, which is their name for a kind
of spiritual ash-pit, whither they consign dust and stones, never
asking whether they may not be gold-dust and rubies, all in a
heap.--You had better begin to think about getting out, Connie."
"Think about it, papa! I have been thinking about it ever since
daylight."
"I will go and see what your mother is doing then, and if she is ready
to go out with us."
In a few moments all was arranged. Without killing more than a snail or
two, which we could not take time to beware of, Walter and I--finding
that the window did not open down to the ground in French fashion, for
which there were two good reasons, one the fierceness of the winds in
winter, the other, the fact that the means of egress were elsewise
provided--lifted the sofa, Connie and all, out over the window-sill,
and then there was only a little door in the garden-wall to get her
through before we found ourselves upon the down. I think the ascent of
this hill was the first experience I had--a little to my humiliation,
nothing to my sorrow--that I was descending another hill. I had to set
down the precious burden rather oftener before we reached the brow of
the cliffs than would have been necessary ten years before. But this
was all right, and the newly-discovered weakness then was strength to
the power which carries me about on my two legs now. It is all right
still. I shall be stronger by and by.
We carried her high enough for her to see the brilliant waters lying
many feet below her, with the sea-birds of which we had talked winging
their undulating way between heaven and ocean. It is when first you
have a chance of looking a bird in the face on the wing that you know
what the marvel of flight is. There it hangs or rests, which you
please, borne up, as far as eye or any of the senses can witness, by
its own will alone. This Connie, quicker than I in her observation of
nature, had already observed. Seated on the warm grass by her side,
while neither talked, but both regarded the blue spaces, I saw one of
those same barb-winged birds rest over my head, regarding me from
above, as if doubtful whether I did not afford some claim to his theory
of treasure-trove. I knew at once that what Connie had been saying to
me just before was true.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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