Good News
People accustomed to waiting on themselves never feel so much at a loss
in times of strain as those who have servants to command in a general
way. Galena Gittins, summoned by the Irishman, came to the out-place,
and started making coffee for all that big company with the ease and
dispatch that came from long years of having to do all sorts of things
at the shortest possible notice. She wondered why Pam had not spoken to
her before about doing this particular bit of business, but she supposed
something had turned up suddenly to call her away.
“Miss Gittins, where is Pam?” demanded Jack, dashing out from the big
kitchen like a small tornado. The guests were all filing in and taking
their places at the table, but there was no one to look after them, to
act as hostess, or to do anything at all.
“I have not the ghost of a notion,” replied Galena, who was very hot,
and very much occupied with the coffee. “If the folks are ready you had
better start them at feeding, for this coffee is prime now, and some of
the people must be fair tuckered out by this time.”
“I can’t sit at the head of the table, and—what do you call
it?—dispense hospitality,” said Jack. “I will get Dr. Grierson to do
it, and Mrs. Buckle can help him, but I want to know where Pam has got
to. Is anything the matter, do you expect?”
“There will be in a minute, if this coffee boils over!” exclaimed
Galena, as she hastily lifted two hissing pots from the stove. Jack
darted away to see that Dr. Grierson and Mrs. Buckle were looking after
the company, and then he came back to tell Galena that someone had seen
Pam running across the paddock to the forest.
“What would she be going there for at a time like this?” demanded Galena
in blank amazement.
“Perhaps she would be going for to find the ould man that was waiting to
see her,” put in the Irishman, who had just come in from the wood pile
with another armful of logs, which he proceeded to cram into the stove
one by one.
“What old man?” asked Jack.
“Riley O’Sheen, why didn’t you tell me this before? You never said one
word.” Galena stamped with impatience, and turned upon the unfortunate
Irishman with so much wrath that he fairly cowered before her.
“Was it yourself then that was wanting to know? Sure an’ faith I’m sorry
to have disappointed ye. It was an ould man that was after asking to see
the young lady, and when I tould him that it was a wedding that she was
seeing through in the next room, he said that he would wait until it was
over. He went off to sit in the shade by reason that he was so very hot;
and here he comes, but the young lady isn’t with him.”
Jack and Galena faced round in a great hurry at the Irishman’s last
words, and then Galena cried out in a tone of disappointment:
“Why, it is only old Gilbert Pomroy, from Corner-Bottom. I expect he has
come over to see Pam about the bees; he told her that he would let her
know as soon as he had a swarm to spare.”
“When Pam heard it was an old man, I expect she said to herself that it
was Grandfather come home, and she would set off hot-foot to find him. I
know her!” Jack drew a long breath, and looked decidedly troubled. Their
grandfather was a much less real person to him than to Pam, because he
had not arrived at Ripple close upon the old man’s disappearance, as she
had.
“I will talk to Gilbert; do you go and find Don Grierson, and he will
hunt for Pam.” Galena had taken hold of the situation in her usually
capable fashion, and sending Amanda to carry the coffee into the next
room, she sailed out to talk bees with old Gilbert Pomroy, and finally
induced the old man to come into the house and drink the health of the
bride in a cup of coffee, which was the strongest beverage at Ripple
that day.
Don started on a hasty search for Pam, shouting and calling, but getting
no response. Then Jack set off in another direction. But the time
passed, and as they did not return, Galena went into the room where the
wedding feast was spread, and explained the situation in a few terse
words.
“Has Mr. Peveril really come back?” demanded Sophy, going rather white,
for she had lived with Pam long enough to know that the old man’s return
was longed for and feared by her friend in about equal proportions.
“No,” snapped Galena, who was feeling decidedly cross by this time.
Everything regarding the wedding had gone so smoothly before, and it was
horrid to have a hitch at this crucial point; she had worked so hard
beforehand that she was decidedly aggrieved that she could not be left
in peace to enjoy herself now. “That silly idiot of an Irishman said
that an old man was waiting to see her, and you know what Pam is! She
thought the old man had come home, so she rushed off to find him, and
she will run until she drops, unless someone catches up with her and
tells her that it was a mistake, and that the old man is only Gilbert
Pomroy from Corner-Bottom.”
Everyone rose from the table now. Food had lost its flavour, and
appetite had gone. The men went here and there through the undergrowth
searching and searching for Pam, while the women and the girls wandered
up and down, calling to her and listening in vain for an answer to their
shouts.
It was Don who found her. When he sprang over the log, and saw her lying
among the fern and the willow scrub white and unconscious, with a streak
of blood on her cheek, he thought she was dead, and cried out in dismay.
Pam opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, staring at him for a few
minutes in a bewildered sort of way, as if she could not remember where
she was, or what had happened; then she gasped out in a frightened sort
of tone: “Oh, Don, Grandfather has come back, and I cannot find him.
Whatever shall I do?”
“He has not come back!” burst out Don in an explosive fashion. “It was
only old Gilbert Pomroy from Corner-Bottom, who had come up to know if
you would have that swarm of bees that you talked about. The Irishman,
being a stranger, and not too sharp, did not know him, and you jumped to
the conclusion that it was your grandfather; you rushed off without
letting anyone know, and now everybody is out searching for you, and we
have been in a regular panic.”
“I am so sorry!” murmured Pam, and there were tears in her eyes because
of the reproach in his tone.
“This constant expecting to see the old man is wearing you out, and
spoiling your life,” said Don, as he helped Pam to her feet, and
supported her until she was able to stand alone. “Look here, we have got
the clergyman, and we have the company; let us be married when we get
back to the house, and then I can stay here and take care of you!”
To poor Pam, sore of head, and still more sore of heart, the suggestion
was about the fiercest temptation she had ever had to face. If only she
might take the easy way out, and have Don between herself and the
ever-present dread of the old man’s return. She was owning to herself
now that she did fear his coming back more than anything else, and it
was the constant apprehension of it that was spoiling her life. Oh, to
have the mystery cleared, and to be done with the uncertainty!
“Say yes, Pam, and it shall be managed; I am quite sure that it can be
done, because of the number of witnesses we have here. Or if a longer
notice is really necessary, then I will get Mrs. Buckle to stay with you
until we can be married,” he urged, and with his arm holding her up, his
strength between her and the trouble which shadowed her days, Pam felt
as if she must give way, and take the short cut out of the muddle. Then
she remembered that she had come as the pioneer, to make the way easy
for the others, and it was not herself that she should be thinking of at
this time. Her head was aching so badly from the blow which had stunned
her that it was difficult to think and act coherently. She felt bruised
and battered, a perfect wreck; all the flavour had gone from the day’s
festivity, and she was conscious only of a great weariness, and a
longing to creep away out of sight, and to be done with it all.
“I can’t do it, Don, really, I can’t!” she faltered, and her eyes were
wistful in their pleading when she raised them to his face. “I must go
on as I am doing now, until I know where Grandfather is, or until he
comes back again.”
“He may be dead; just think how easy it is for anyone to drop out
without other people knowing it,” urged Don. But there was something in
the resolute set of Pam’s white face that warned him he would not find
it easy to turn her from the course on which she had set her mind.
“That is what I tell myself,” she said, and her tone was deeply
troubled. “All the same, we have no proof, and so we are bound to go on
as usual. Oh, I am sorry to have been so silly, and to have spoiled
everyone’s pleasure in such a fashion. I can walk now, thank you, and I
am not hurt at all, except that my head is so sore where I banged it
into the tree-trunk when I caught my foot and fell.”
Don urged her no further, seeing the uselessness of it. He helped her
back to the house, explained the situation to the others, and made it
easy for her to slip away to her room to lie down for a rest. Then he
got the fun started in good earnest, and with the help of Jack succeeded
in keeping the whole company in a state of bubbling satisfaction. The
bride and bridegroom were driven to Hunt’s Crossing for the down-river
boat and the first stage of the long journey to the far west, and then
by twos and threes, in wagons, in carts, and on foot, the company
dispersed. Most of them would have “chores” to do when they reached
home, and all would need to go to bed with the sun, since the next day’s
work would call them from their rest at dawn.
Don drove his father home, for the Doctor was glad to rest his horse
when he could, and his son mostly drove good cattle, which got over the
ground in fine style. They took the corners rather more smartly than the
older man approved, but young things have a tendency to be reckless, and
so far Don had always contrived to keep clear of accidents.
To-night Don had only secondary attention for his horses, for he was
telling his father of Pam’s state of mind regarding the possible return
of the old grandfather, and he was insisting that the Doctor should
write to Mrs. Walsh, and tell her it was her plain duty to come back to
her old home.
“It will be some time yet before the law will permit the old man’s death
to be assumed, especially as he was seen at the lumber camp,” said Don.
“It is not clear to my mind that he was seen at that camp,” replied the
Doctor. “When I wrote to the foreman of the camp, he said they had had
no one of the name of Wrack Peveril there, nor did he remember anyone
who answered to the description I gave him of the old man.”
“The trouble is that we can’t prove he was not there.” Don shook his
head with a bothered air, then went on: “In any case, it should be Mrs.
Walsh who is in command at Ripple. She is the old man’s daughter, and
her duty is here. You will write, Father, and you will put it strongly,
please. Pam is at the point where every nerve is strained almost to
breaking point. She has got Jack, I know; but he is younger than she is,
and she needs someone older.”
“Yourself, for instance?” suggested the Doctor slyly, and he laughed in
his hearty, genial fashion. Having got rid of his eldest daughter
to-day, he was thinking it would be uncommonly pleasant to feel that he
had another daughter to take her place.
Don shook his head with a rueful air.
“Pam won’t have me until the mystery is cleared up. If it is never
cleared, then I suppose we shall remain single until the end of our
lives. It is not a cheerful prospect, and that is another reason why I
shall be glad to see Mrs. Walsh and the rest of the family.”
The Doctor nodded in complete comprehension, and promised that the
letter should be ready for the next mail. Then he began to talk of other
things, and so the journey ended.
The next three weeks slipped by in such a whirl of work that Pam could
keep no count of their going. She and Jack were out of doors from
morning until night. When Sunday came they managed to get to meeting
once in the day, when they saw their neighbours, who were all as busy as
they were themselves. The weather was glorious, and all that could be
desired from the farmer’s point of view. The crops were looking well,
and life was jogging on with only a normal amount of friction. Then one
evening Amanda Higgins arrived with a letter for Pam, which she said
Nathan Gittins had left at Mrs. Buckle’s on his way home from the post
office.
Not finding anyone but the dog at home at Ripple, Amanda walked into the
house, and laying the letter on the table, where the uncleared breakfast
crockery was still standing, she went out again, closing the door behind
her, to keep the poultry from wandering into the house. She met Pam and
Jack toiling home from the woods with a great heap of timothy grass
piled on the hand truck. There were parts of the forest near Ripple
where timothy grass grew in profusion, and they were harvesting some of
the patches as provision for the winter, when they hoped to have more
cattle.
“There is a letter for you in the house, I left it on the table,” called
Amanda, when she came within shouting distance; and then she volunteered
the additional information: “It has come from England.”
“A letter from Mother!” cried Pam, with positive ecstasy in her tone.
“Oh, how truly delightful! Thank you for bringing it over, Amanda. I had
just been dreading going indoors this evening, for the breakfast things
are still unwashed, the beds are not made, and we must cook supper, or
go without. It was not a rosy prospect, but this has made all the
difference.”
“I saw you were a bit behind with things when I went into your house,
and I would have stopped and slicked things up a bit for you if I
could,” said Amanda, who had a kindly disposition, albeit she was more
than a trifle feckless. “But Mrs. Buckle told me to make haste back
because we are going to make butter to-night. It is so much firmer this
hot weather when it is done in the evening.”
Pam thanked her for the friendly thought, then hurried on her way,
putting quite double energy into her task. She had been so tired only
the minute before, and almost inclined to tell Jack that if he wanted
any supper he would have to cook it himself. Now things looked quite
different, and, with the thought of the letter to cheer her, she began
to plan a really nice supper that would cook itself while she washed the
breakfast dishes and made the beds. It was not often that she left these
necessary household tasks undone when she went to work in the fields,
but she had slept later than usual, and could not get through her work
before Jack was ready and waiting for her help.
When they reached the house Jack went off to do the evening “chores”,
while Pam prepared to rush round indoors. She fairly yearned for time to
wash her face and do her hair, but a glance at the clock and the
keenness of her appetite warned her that she had better get forward with
preparations for the evening meal. They had had no dinner that day,
there had been no time; and a hunch of harvest-cake had been the only
food for which they had stayed during the long hot hours. No wonder Pam
felt tired! A year ago she would have thought of such a life with
horror; but ideals change as one grows older, and Pam felt that her
highest joy now lay in keeping the old home ready for her mother and the
children.
The breakfast things were washed and spread for supper, the beds were
made, and supper was smelling really good by the time Jack came into the
house. Pam had washed her hands and face, she had even put her hair
tidy, and she was feeling that she had earned a rest.
“What is the letter about?” asked Jack as he came to the supper-table.
He was very damp about face and head, for he had been stuffing his head
into a bucket of water, as that was the quickest way of getting clean,
and being very anxious for his supper he had not stayed for much towel
work.
“As if I should dream of opening the letter until you were here to share
it with me!” cried Pam in fine scorn. “Oh, I do wonder how they are
getting on with both of us away! Of course it may be good for the boys
and Muriel to learn to help themselves, but it seems to me that they
need us as much as ever they did.”
“I need my supper!” sighed Jack, and he reached for the saucepan of
“stirabout” which was simmering on the stove.
“We will have a proper midday meal to-morrow,” said Pam. “I do not think
it pays to go so long without meals, one feels so tired out; but oh, I
do begrudge the time spent in coming indoors to cook it, especially now
that there is so much to do.”
“Mother is coming!” yelled Jack, who had opened the letter because his
portion of stirabout was too hot to eat. “She and the children are
already on their way. Read the letter, Pam; they will be here next week!
My word, she has hustled this business, and no mistake!”
“Mother coming!” cried Pam, who had snatched the letter and was eagerly
devouring it. “It sounds too good to be true! You won’t get any dinner
to-morrow, Jack; we dare not spend time in fussing about ourselves when
there is so much to be done to get ready for her. You see what she
says—that she has had such a good offer for the house and the furniture
that it seemed better to take it, and come off straight away, especially
as Dr. Grierson had written to her that for my sake she ought to come at
any sacrifice. Oh, how could he write to her in such a fashion?”
“I am very glad that he did, because, don’t you see, his letter got
there at the very moment it was needed to help Mother to make up her
mind. Now she will come and she will settle down; and if Grandfather
comes back she will be able to manage him—at least, we will hope so—or
if he does not turn up, then she will be on the spot to claim the
property as heir-at-law as soon as we are allowed to assume that he is
dead. To my way of thinking there is a great deal in being on hand at a
time like this.”
“So I think. But I can’t grasp it yet that Mother is really coming!”
cried Pam, who had jumped up from the supper-table, and was rushing
round frantically trying to do two or three things all at once. “Jack, I
must clean the house down again from top to bottom, for I could not have
Mother come and find the place dirty. What would she think of me?”
“She would think you had other things to do, and she would be about
right,” replied Jack, leaning back in his chair and stretching out his
limbs with an air of luxurious enjoyment. “Leave off fussing round, Pam,
and sit down for two minutes while we let this bit of news soak in. I
don’t seem able to believe it yet, but I expect it is true. As for the
house, if it is not clean enough to suit Mother, she will start at
turning it inside out herself, and by the time she has done it she will
feel quite at home, and she will wonder why she didn’t come back sooner.
There is nothing like work for making people contented with their
surroundings. That is why folks butter a cat’s toes when they take pussy
to a fresh home; she has to be so busy at licking her feet clean, and it
is such a pleasant occupation, that she forgets she ever lived anywhere
else.”
Pam laughed. She was shrewd enough to see that Jack’s arguments were
unanswerable. The house had been thoroughly cleaned for the wedding, but
it had hardly been touched since, for every available minute had been
spent out-of-doors. It was necessary to be always at work on the growing
crops, pulling out the fern and grubbing up the willow shoots. Ripple
had been a cleared farm for more than forty years, but if it had been
left to lie without attention for six months of summer it would have
lapsed back to forest again. The roots were there, and the seeds, and it
was only the most careful and vigilant care and attention that kept the
wilderness growth in check.
“It will be lovely to have Mother here.” Pam heaved a big sigh of pure
happiness as she came to sit down in the rocking-chair near the open
door. “We shall have a home again, Jack.”
“And a dinner every day, which is still more to the point!” he
exclaimed, smacking his lips loudly, and screwing his face into such an
aspect of absolute enjoyment that Pam had to laugh at him.
“Think of the berries the children will be able to gather! Why, there is
enough fruit getting ripe on the bushes down by the creek to keep half a
dozen families in pies and puddings. We can have jam made, and heaps of
things. I have felt very bad because it was so impossible to get time to
do things. When I am in the fields all day I have no energy left to
gather fruit in the evening. But, Jack, if we leave the house dirty, we
must have that field of potatoes weeded before Mother comes. The fern in
some places is smothering the potatoes, and it looks so untidy, too.”
“I am going to bed,” said Jack, stumbling to his feet. “Perhaps when
morning comes I may want to hoe potatoes; just now I don’t seem to care
whether they are full of weeds or not.”
Jack had slept upstairs since the wedding, because it was less lonely
for Pam to have him within call at night. She was ten minutes later than
he was in coming upstairs, but as she passed his open door on her way to
her room she heard his deep breathing. He was already asleep!
It was long before slumber came to her; she was too happy even to
remember that she was tired. Her mother was coming, and her heavy
responsibility would be at end. But how good it was to think she had
been able to achieve so much!