Gathered In by Catherine Helen Spence — Read

Although Kenneth Oswald's position at school was somewhat improved by the added interest of the master in him, and by his beginning Latin, and liking it better for its own sake than he had expected, nothing out of doors or at school could make up in any measure for the loss of his mother at home. His grandmother's long-cherished hopes had been finally disappointed, and the boy was less interesting to her than he had been, and he missed his mother's quick sympathy with his words, and her loving insights into his thoughts and visions. His grandfather was somewhat deaf, and sat somewhat isolated in the chimney corner, and though the old woman kept her faculties wonderfully bright, her interest in his learning was for the end of Kenneth becoming a minister; it was only a step in the ladder to reach this result-- nothing of any value in itself. Isabel Oswald, though she would not have been called clever, had a wonderful knack of smoothing a difficulty, or carrying Kenneth over it, and however busy she might be, everything was laid aside if he needed her. Whatever was her press of work, and at times she was very busy, she always left her Saturday afternoons at leisure to spend them with him. In the summer they had long walks together, up the neighbouring hill, where there was a view over three countries, where she could point out the special beauties, not like an art critic, but like a nature-lover; or they would track the burn up to its source in a little fairy-like glen, where the hazel-nuts grew, and he would get up the trees and gather them when they were ripe; or go to the "scaurs" where the brambles (Anglice, blackberries) grew, or they would more rarely go to the nearest town, where she would do her little marketings, and get Kenneth's help in carrying them home. As they walked or while they rested, and latterly there had been a good deal of resting, they talked openly, freely, a affectionately, of all kinds of subjects. At home, Isabel was often checked for spoiling and over-indulging her boy; here, there was no one to remark upon, or chide her single-minded absorption in the life of another. Sometimes Nelly Lindores, the daughter of a neighbour, accompanied them, if the walk was not too far or fatiguing, and even with this restriction Isabel often carried the little girl for a bit, and Kenneth, who was nearly two years older, would take her in his arms when the little feet were tired.

Nelly was no check in the familiar intercourse. She listened wonderingly to what she could not understand; and to her Kenneth and his mother were like superior beings, who deigned to take notice of her. Her stepmother objected to these Saturday rambles, "wearing out the lassie's shoon, and making her so tired she was only fit for her bed when she came back," and contrived so often to disappoint the child, but if her father could circumvent her plans, Nelly had her walk. In winter there were some days in which they could not go out, but Isabel managed something else nearly as pleasant. She would get some little useful work that they could do for her, while she read or told them stories. Her voice was sweet, and she knew what would interest her hearers. On those walks, and especially on the days when they could not walk, she would encourage the little ones to repeat to her all the nursery rhymes, ballads, hymns, and paraphrases they knew; and sometimes she would read simple poetry to them. The very last such Saturday afternoon she had begun the "Lady of the Lake," which Kenneth had finished reading to her when she was confined to her bed. He could follow it very well, although it was too advanced for Nelly.