He came to himself with a
violent start, for the bag seemed to be moving, and its last faint
sound of wail was issuing. Heavens! there was a baby lying upon it.
--For a time he sat perfectly bewildered, but at length concluded
that some wandering gipsy had made him a too ready gift of the
child she did not prize. Some one must be near. He called aloud, but
there was no answer. The child began to cry. He sought to soothe
it, and its lamentation ceased. The moment that its welcome silence
responded to his blandishments, the still small "Here I am" of the
Eternal Love whispered its presence in the heart of the lonely man:
something lay in his arms so helpless that to it, poor and blind
and forsaken of man and woman as he was, he was yet a tower of
strength. He clasped the child to his bosom, and rising forthwith
set out, but with warier steps than heretofore, over the rocks for
the Seaton.
Already he would have much preferred concealing him lest he should
be claimed--a thing, in view of all the circumstances, not very
likely--but for the child's sake, he must carry him to The Salmon,
where he had free entrance at any hour--not even the public house
locking its doors at night.
Thither then he bore his prize, shielding him from the night air
as well as he could, with the bag of his pipes. But he waked none
of the inmates; lately fed, the infant slept for several hours,
and then did his best both to rouse and astonish the neighbourhood.
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