The pleasant autumn days had come round again, and Mr and Mrs Snow
were sitting, as they often sat now, alone in the south room together.
Mr Snow was hale and strong still, but he was growing old, and needed
to rest, and partly because the affairs of the farm were safe in the
hands of his "son," as he never failed to designate Sandy, and partly
because those affairs were less to him than they used to be, he was able
to enjoy the rest he took.
For that was happening to him which does not always happen, even to good
people, as they grow old; his hold was loosening from the things which
for more than half a lifetime he had sought so eagerly and held so
firmly. With his eyes fixed on "the things which are before," other
things were falling behind and out of sight, and from the leisure thus
falling to him in these days, came the quiet hours in the south room so
pleasant to them both.
But the deacon's face did not wear its usual placid look on this
particular morning; and the doubt and anxiety showed all the more
plainly, contrasting as they did with the brightness on the face of his
wife. She was moved, too, but with no painful feeling, her husband
could see, as he watched her, though there were tears in the eyes that
rested on the scene without. But she was seeing other things, he knew,
and not sorrowful things either, he said to himself, with a little
surprise, as he fingered uneasily an open letter that lay on the table
beside him.
"It ain't hard to see how all _that_ will end," said he, in a little.
"But," said his wife, turning toward him with a smile, "you say it as if
it were an ending not to be desired."
"Ah, well!--in a general way, I suppose it _is_, or most folks, would
say so. What do you think?"
"If _they_ are pleased, we needna be otherwise."
"Well!--no--but ain't it a little sudden? It don't seem but the other
day since Mr Ruthven crossed the ocean."
"But that wasna the first time he crossed the ocean. The first time
they crossed it together. Allan Ruthven is an old friend, and Miss
Graeme is no' the one to give her faith lightly to any man."
"Well! no, she ain't. But, somehow, I had come to think that she never
would change her state; and--"
"It's no' very long, then," said his wife, laughing. "You'll mind that
it's no' long since you thought the minister likely to persuade her to
it."
"And does it please you that Mr Ruthven has had better luck?"
"The minister never could have persuaded her. He never tried very much,
I think. And if Allan Ruthven has persuaded her, it is because she
cares for him as she never cared for any other man. And from all that
Will says, we may believe that he is a good man, and true, and I am glad
for her sake, glad and thankful. God bless her."
"Why, yes, if she must marry," said Mr Snow, discontentedly; "but
somehow it don't seem as though she could fit in anywhere better than
just the spot she is in now. I know it don't sound well to talk about
old maids, because of the foolish notions folks have got to have; but
Graeme did seem one that would `adorn the doctrine' as an old maid, and
redeem the name."
"That has been done by many a one already, in your sight and mine; and
Miss Graeme will `adorn the doctrine' anywhere. She has ay had a useful
life, and this while she has had a happy one. But oh, man!" added Mrs
Snow, growing earnest and Scotch, as old memories came over her with a
sudden rush, "when I mind the life her father and her mother lived
together--a life of very nearly perfect blessedness--I canna but be glad
that Miss Graeme is to have a chance of the higher happiness that comes
with a home of one's own, where true love bides and rules. I ay mind
her father and her mother. They had their troubles. They were whiles
poor enough, and whiles had thraward folk to deal with; but trouble
never seemed to trouble them when they bore it together. And God's
blessing was upon them through all. But I have told you all this many a
time before, only it seems to come fresh and new to me to-day, thinking,
as I am, of Miss Graeme."
Yes, Mr Snow had heard it all many a time, and doubtless would hear it
many a time again, but he only smiled, and said,--
"And Graeme is like her mother?"
"Yes, she's like her, and she's not like her. She is quieter and no' so
cheery, and she is no' near so bonny as her mother was. Rose is more
like her mother in looks, but she doesna 'mind me of her mother in her
ways as her sister does, because, I suppose, of the difference that the
age and the country make on all that are brought up in them. There is
something wanting in all the young people of the present day, that well
brought up bairns used to have in mine. Miss Graeme has it, and her
sister hasna. You'll ken what I mean by the difference between them."
Mr Snow could not. The difference that he saw between the sisters was
sufficiently accounted for to him by the ten year's difference in their
ages. He never could be persuaded, that, in any undesirable sense, Rose
was more like the modern young lady than her sister. Graeme was
perfect, in his wife's eyes, and Rose was not quite perfect. That was
all. However, he did not wish to discuss the question just now.
"Well! Graeme is about as good as we can hope to see in _this_ world,
and if he's good enough for her that is a great deal to say, even if he
is not what her father was."
"There are few like him. But Allan is a good man, Will says, and he is
not one to be content with a false standard of goodness, or a low one.
He was a manly, pleasant lad, in the days when I kenned him. I daresay
his long warstle with the world didna leave him altogether scatheless;
but he's out of the world's grip now, I believe. God bless my bairn,
and the man of her choice."
There was a moment's silence. Mrs Snow turned to the window, and her
husband sat watching her, his brow a little clearer, but not quite clear
yet.
"She _is_ pleased. She ain't making believe a mite. She's like most
women folks in _that_," said Mr Snow, emphasising to himself the word,
as though, in a good many things, she differed from "women folk" in
general. "They really do think in their hearts, though they don't
always say so, that it is the right thing for girls to get married, and
she's glad Graeme's going to do so well. But, when she comes to think
of it, and how few chances there are of her ever seeing much of her
again, I am afraid she'll worry about it--though she sartain don't look
like it now."
Certainly she did not. The grave face looked more than peaceful, it
looked bright. The news which both Rose and Will had intimated, rather
than announced, had stirred only pleasant thoughts as yet, that was
clear. Mr Snow put on his spectacles and looked at the letters again,
then putting them down, said, gravely,--
"She'll have her home a great way off from here. And maybe it's
foolish, but it does seem to me as though it was a kind of a come down,
to go back to the old country to live after all these years."
Mrs Snow laughed heartily.
"But then, it is no' to be supposed that she will think so, or he
either, you ken."
"No, it ain't. If they did, they'd stay here, I suppose."
"Well, it's no' beyond the bounds of possibility, but they may bide here
or come back again. But, whether they bide here or bide there, God
bless them both," said Mrs Snow, with moistening eyes.
"God bless them both!" echoed her husband. "And, which ever way it is,
you ain't going to worry the least mite about it. Be you?"
The question was asked after a pause of several seconds, and Mr Snow
looked so wistfully and entreatingly into his wife's face, that she
could not help laughing, though there were tears in her eyes.
"No, I am no thinking of worrying, as you call it. It is borne in upon
me that this change is to be for the real happiness of my bairn, and it
would be pitiful in me to grudge her a day of it. And, to tell you the
truth, I have seen it coming, and have been preparing myself for it this
while back, and so I have taken it more reasonably than you have done
yourself, which is a thing that wasna to be expected, I must confess."
"Seen it coming! Preparing for it!" repeated Mr Snow; but he inquired
no farther, only looked meditatively out of the window, and nodded his
head a great many times. By and by he said, heartily,--
"Well, if you are pleased, I am. God bless them."
"God bless all the bairns," said his wife, softly. "Oh, man! when I
think of all that has come and gone, I am ready to say that `the Lord
has given me the desire of my heart.' I sought His guidance about
coming with them. I had a sore swither ere I could think of leaving my
mother and Sandy for their sakes, but He guided me and strengthened me,
though whiles I used to doubt afterwards, with my sore heart wearying
for my own land, and my own kin."
Mr Snow nodded gravely, but did not speak, and in a little she went on
again:
"I sought guidance, too, when I left them, and now, looking back, I
think I see that I got it; but, for a while, when death came, and they
went from me, it seemed as though the Lord had removed the desire of my
eyes with a stroke, because of my self-seeking and unfaithfulness. Oh,
man! yon was a rough bit of road for my stumbling, weary feet. But He
didna let me fall altogether--praise be to His name!"