on gave up
attempting to learn anything from him as to his place or people or
history, for to all questions in that direction Gibbie only looked
grave and shook his head. As often, on the other hand, as he tried
to learn where he spent the night, he received for answer only one
of his merriest laughs.

Nor was larger time for reading the sole benefit Gibbie conferred
upon Donal. Such was the avidity and growing intelligence with
which the little naked town-savage listened to what Donal read to
him, that his presence was just so much added to Donal's own live
soul of thought and feeling. From listening to his own lips through
Gibbie's ears, he not only understood many things better, but,
perceiving what things must puzzle Gibbie, came sometimes, rather to
his astonishment, to see that in fact he did not understand them
himself. Thus the bond between the boy and the child grew
closer--far closer, indeed than Donal imagined; for, although still,
now and then, he had a return of the fancy that Gibbie might be a
creature of some speechless race other than human, of whom he was
never to know whence he came or whither he went--a messenger,
perhaps, come to unveil to him the depths of his own spirit, and
make up for the human teaching denied him, this was only in his more
poetic moods, and his ordinary mental position towards him was one
of kind condescension.

It was not all fine weather up there among the mountains in the
beginning of summer. In the first week of June even, there was
sleet and snow in the wind--the tears of the vanquished Winter,
blown, as he fled, across the sea, from Norway or Iceland. Then
would Donal's heart be sore for Gibbie, when he saw his poor rags
blown about like streamers in the wind, and the white spots melting
on his bare skin. His own condition would then to many have
appeared pitiful enough, but such an idea Donal would have laughed
to scorn, and justly. Then most, perhaps then only, does the truly
generous nature feel poverty, when he sees another in need and can
do little or nothing to help him. Donal had neither greatcoat,
plaid, nor umbrella, wherewith to shield Gibbie's looped and
windowed raggedness. Once, in great pity, he pulled off his jacket,
and threw it on Gibbie's shoulders. But the shout of laughter that
burst from the boy, as he flung the jacket from him, and rushed away
into the middle of the feeding herd, a shout that came from no cave
of rudeness, but from the