The time came when the decision could no longer be delayed. The
minister was away from home, and before his return it would be made
known formally to his people that he was to leave them, and after that
the sooner his departure took place it would be the better for all
concerned, and so Janet must brace herself for the task.
So out of the dimness of her spotless kitchen she came one day into the
pleasant light of May, knowing that before she entered it again, she
would have made her mother's heart as sore as her own. All day, and for
many days, she had been planning what she should say to her mother, for
she felt that it must be farewell.
"If you know not of two ways which to choose, take that which is
roughest and least pleasing to yourself, and the chances are it will be
the right one," said she to herself. "I read that in a book once, but
it's ill choosing when both are rough, and I know not what to do."
Out into the brightness of the Spring day she came, with many misgivings
as to how she was to speed in her errand.
"It's a bonny day, bairns," said she, and her eye wandered wistfully
down the village street, and over the green fields, to the hills that
rose dimly in the distance. The mild air softly fanned her cheek,
pleasant sights were round her everywhere, and at the garden gate she
lingered, vaguely striving under their influence to cast her burden from
her.
"I mun hae it ower," she muttered to herself as she went on. In each
hand she held firmly the hand of a child. Marian and little Will were
to go with her for safe keeping; the lads were at the school, and in her
absence Graeme was to keep the house, and take care of little Rose.
"Oh, Janet!" she exclaimed, as she went down the lane a bit with them;
"I wish I were going with you, it's such a bonny day."
But Janet knew that what she had to say, would be better said without
her presence, so she shook her head.
"You know Miss Graeme, my dear, you mun keep the house, and we would
weary carrying wee Rosie, and she could never go half the distance on
her feet; and mind, if ony leddies call, the short bread is in the ben
press, and gin they begin with questions, let your answers be short and
ceevil, like a gude bairn, and take gude care o' my bonny wee lily,"
added she, kissing the pale little girl as she set her down. "But I
needna tell you that, and we'll soon be back again."
The children chattered merrily all the way, and busy with her own
thoughts, Janet answered them without knowing what she said. Down the
lane, and over the burn, through green fields, till the burn crossed
their path again they went, "the near way," and soon the solitary
cottage in the glen was in sight. It was a very humble home, but very
pleasant in its loneliness, Janet thought, as her eye fell on it. The
cat sat sunning herself on the step, and through the open door came the
hum of the mother's busy wheel. Drawing a long breath, Janet entered.
"Weel, mother," said she.
"Weel, Janet, is this you, and the bairns? I doubt you hadna weel
leavin' hame the day," said her mother.
"I had to come, and this day's as good as another. It's a bonny day,
mother."
"Ay, its a bonny day, and a seasonable, thank God. Come in by, bairns,
I sent Sandy over to Fernie a while syne. It's near time he were hame
again. I'll give you a piece, and you'll go down the glen to meet him,"
and, well pleased, away they went.
"I dare say you'll be none the waur of your tea, Janet, woman," said her
mother, and she put aside her wheel, and entered with great zeal into
her preparations. Janet strove to have patience with her burden a
little longer, and sat still listening to her mother's talk, asking and
answering questions on indifferent subjects. There was no pause. Janet
had seldom seen her mother so cheerful, and in a little she found
herself wondering whether she had not been exaggerating to herself her
mother's need of her.
"The thought ought to give me pleasure," she reasoned, but it did not,
and she accused herself of perversity, in not being able to rejoice,
that her mother could easily spare her to the duties she believed
claimed her. In the earnestness of her thoughts, she grew silent at
last, or answered her mother at random. Had she been less occupied, she
might have perceived that her mother was not so cheerful as she seemed
for many a look of wistful earnestness was fastened on her daughter's
face, and now and then a sigh escaped her.
They were very much alike in appearances, the mother and daughter. The
mother had been "bonnier in her youth, than ever Janet had," she used to
say herself, and looking at her still ruddy cheeks, and clear grey eyes,
it was not difficult to believe it. She was fresh-looking yet, at
sixty, and though the hair drawn back under her cap was silvery white,
her teeth for strength and beauty, might have been the envy of many a
woman of half her years. She was smaller than Janet, and her whole
appearance indicated the possession of more activity and less strength
of body and mind than her daughter had, but the resemblance between them
was still striking. She had seen many trials, as who that has lived for
sixty years, has not? but she had borne them better than most, and was
cheerful and hopeful still. When they were fairly seated, with the
little table between them, she startled Janet, by coming to the point at
once.
"And so they say the minister is for awa' to America after all. Is that
true?"
"Oh, ay! it is true, as ill news oftenest is," said Janet, gravely. "He
spoke to me about it before he went away. It's all settled, or will be
before he comes hame the morn."
"Ay, as you say, it's ill news to them that he's leaving. But I hope it
may be for the good o' his young family. There's many a one going that
road now."
"Ay, there's more going than will better themselves by the change, I
doubt. It's no like that all the fine tales, we hear o' yon country can
be true."
"As you say. But, it's like the minister has some other dependence,
than what's ca'ed about the country for news. What's this I hear about
a friend o' his that's done weel there?"
Janet made a movement of impatience.
"Wha' should he be, but some silly, book-learned body that bides in a
college there awa'. I dare say there would be weel pleased in any
country, where he could get plenty o' books, and a house to hold them
in. But what can the like o' him ken o' a young family and what's
needed for them. If he had but held his peace, and let the minister
bide where he is, it would hae been a blessing, I'm sure."
Janet suddenly paused in confusion, to find herself arguing on the wrong
side of the question. Her mother said nothing, and in a minute she
added,--
"There's one thing to be said for it, the mistress aye thought weel o'
the plan. Oh! if she had been but spared to them," and she sighed
heavily.
"You may weel say that," said her mother, echoing her sigh. "But I'm no
sure but they would miss her care as much to bide here, as to go there.
And Janet, woman, there's aye a kind Providence. He that said, `Leave
thy fatherless children to me,' winna forsake the motherless. There's
no fear but they'll be brought through."
"I hae been saying that to myself ilka hour of the day, and I believe it
surely. But oh, mother," Janet's voice failed her. She could say no
more.
"I ken weel, Janet," continued her mother, gravely, "it will be a great
charge and responsibility to you, and I dare say whiles you are ready to
run away from it. But you'll do better for them than any living woman
could do. The love you bear them, will give you wisdom to guide them,
and when strength is needed, there's no fear but you'll get it. The
back is aye fitted for the burden. Let them gang or let them bide, you
canna leave them now."
She turned her face away from her mother, and for her life Janet could
not have told whether the tears that were streaming down her cheeks,
were falling for joy or for sorrow. There was to be no struggle between
her and her mother. That was well; but with the feeling of relief the
knowledge brought, there came a pang--a foretaste of the home-sickness,
which comes once, at least, to every wanderer from his country. By a
strong effort she controlled herself, and found voice to say,--
"I shall never leave them while they need me. I could be content to
toil for them always. But, ah! mother, the going awa' over the sea--"