Gibbie was a stranger, and therefore as a stranger Oscar gave him welcome--now and then stooping to lick the little brown feet that had wandered so far.
Like all wild creatures, Gibbie ate fast, and had finished everything set before him ere the woman had done feeding the lamb.
Without a notion of the rudeness of it, his heart full of gentle gratitude, he rose and left the cottage.When Janet turned from her shepherding, there sat Oscar looking up at the empty chair.
"What's come o' the laddie?" she said to the dog, who answered with a low whine, half-regretful, half-interrogative.It may be he was only asking, like Esau, if there was no residuum of blessing for him also; but perhaps he too was puzzled what to conclude about the boy.
Janet hastened to the door, but already Gibbie's nimble feet refreshed to the point of every toe with the food he had just swallowed, had borne him far up the hill, behind the cottage, so that she could not get a glimpse of him.Thoughtfully she returned, and thoughtfully removed the remnants of the meal.She would then have resumed her Bible, but her hospitality had rendered it necessary that she should put on her girdle--not a cincture of leather upon her body, but a disc of iron on the fire, to bake thereon cakes ere her husband's return.It was a simple enough process, for the oat-meal wanted nothing but water and fire; but her joints had not yet got rid of the winter's rheumatism, and the labour of the baking was the hardest part of the sacrifice of her hospitality.To many it is easy to give what they have, but the offering of weariness and pain is never easy.They are indeed a true salt to salt sacrifices withal.That it was the last of her meal till her youngest boy should bring her a bag on his back from the mill the next Saturday, made no point in her trouble.
When at last she had done, and put the things away, and swept up the hearth, she milked the ewe, sent her out to nibble, took her Bible, and sat down once more to read.The lamb lay at her feet, with his little head projecting from the folds of her new flannel petticoat;and every time her eye fell from the book upon the lamb, she felt as if somehow the lamb was the boy that had eaten of her bread and drunk of her milk.After she had read a while, there came a change, and the lamb seemed the Lord himself, both lamb and shepherd, who had come to claim her hospitality.Then, divinely invaded with the dread lest in the fancy she should forget the reality, she kneeled down and prayed to the friend of Martha and Mary and Lazarus, to come as he had said, and sup with her indeed.
Not for years and years had Janet been to church; she had long been unable to walk so far; and having no book but the best, and no help to understand it but the highest, her faith was simple, strong, real, all-pervading.Day by day she pored over the great gospel--Imean just the good news according to Matthew and Mark and Luke and John--until she had grown to be one of the noble ladies of the kingdom of heaven--one of those who inherit the earth, and are ripening to see God.For the Master, and his mind in hers, was her teacher.She had little or no theology save what he taught her, or rather, what he is.And of any other than that, the less the better; for no theology, except the Theou logos, {compilers note: spelled in Greek: Theta, Epsilon, Omicron, Upsilon;Lambda, Omicron with stress, Gamma, Omicron, Sigma} is worth the learning, no other being true.To know him is to know God.And he only who obeys him, does or can know him; he who obeys him cannot fail to know him.To Janet, Jesus Christ was no object of so-called theological speculation, but a living man, who somehow or other heard her when she called to him, and sent her the help she needed.
