The wind blows east, the wind blows west,
And then comes both sun and rain.
CARLYLE.
THE autumn passed with many ordinary vicissitudes, with times of
peacefulness, and times of trouble; and in the house of Allenders
another baby son was born. It was just when Harry was beginning the
business of his farm, and after a time of great abstraction and
excitement, during which he had visited Edinburgh once or twice, and
was evidently occupied with some business which he could not confide to
any one at home. But Harry’s mind had been lightened before his baby
came; the farm-manager had arrived; Geordie, the nephew of the feeble
Dragon, had spoken his mind to Allenders about the new harrow and the
plough-graith, and had been graciously heard--so graciously, that
Geordie immediately decided on an affirmative answer to the question
which agitated the whole population of Maidlin Cross, and ever after
maintained that “the laird _had_ siller o’ his ain, bye the lands, and
that he was just living free and open-handed, as a gentleman should
live.” It was one of Harry’s sunshine times; and many a heart wished
kindly wishes for him, as he stood in Maidlin Church, his young wife in
her graceful weakness, and his sisters seated by his side, and held up
his child to receive the baptismal sprinkling, and to be named with
the name of the Lord. “He has the kindliest face I ever saw--ane’s
heart warms to the lad--blessings on him,” said an old woman on the
pulpit stairs; and Martha’s heart swelled with the echoed blessing.
And there were blessings on him--blessings which many a desolate heart
sighed and pined for in vain--blessings of rare love and tenderness, of
children fair and hopeful, and in his own person of a competent mind,
and of the bright health and youth to which everything was possible. So
far as his starting point was concerned, a wonderful realization had
come to Martha’s ambitious hopes for him; and now it almost seemed to
lie with Harry himself to decide what the end of them should be.
In the farm-house of Allender Mains, Harry’s farm-manager has already
established himself, and from the midst of its bare trees you see
appearing the half-built chimney of the new threshing-mill, the
machinery of which has just arrived under charge of two young engineers
from Glasgow; and the slope of the farm-garden, and all the barnyard
behind, is lined with great draining-pipes, glancing red through the
hoar-frost at a mile or two’s distance, upon their slight elevation.
And just behind the little byre and stable of Allenders’ house, a great
range of new stables and byres are rising, to receive the cattle,
which Harry has resolved shall be unequalled in the country-side. When
the weather is “fresh,” you cannot pass a field without seeing the
heavy breath of the plough-horses, rising like a mist over the hedge,
and hearing the meditative whistle, or uncouth call of the ploughman
behind. An air of sudden activity spreads over the little district--so
decided and apparent, indeed, that a retired weaver in Stirling has
already two new houses in progress, one of which is a little shop, in
the very front of Maidlin Cross. The event excited the hamlet to a
positive uproar, for never before had any man dreamed of dignifying
Maidlin with such a two-storied slated house as slowly grew upon its
astonished vision now.
And in the dusk of the winter mornings you see the lanes full of hardy
brown children, girded with rough sackcloth aprons--bound for school,
you would fancy. No, they are bound for Harry’s fields, to “gather
stanes,” and have each a little “wage” to carry home on Saturday night
to the immense delight of mother and child. The fathers are laying
drains and ploughing, the elder sisters tend the fine cows in the
byre at Allender Mains, and prosperity to which they are altogether
unaccustomed falls suddenly upon the startled inhabitants of Maidlin
Cross.
And landlords and farmers, startled too, are looking more scrupulously
to themselves, lest they be outdone by the newcomer; the blood stirs
in the awakened veins of the country side, and something of emulation,
keener than the keenest air of December, strikes into the warm fireside
corner, where honest men can no longer take in peace their afternoon’s
glass of toddy, and its accompanying newspaper, for constant reports of
what is doing at Allenders, and what Allenders himself is doing--for
Harry’s active footstep rings along the frost-bound paths, and Harry’s
frank salutations scatter good-will among his husbandmen every day; and
steady-going agricultural people waken up, and look after their own
omissions and neglects, with a half-grudge at Allenders.
It seems that Harry has found at last the life suitable for him. Though
the snow lies heavy on the sullen brow of Demeyet, and every blade of
grass on the lawn is crisped into distinct identity, and the burn is
frost-bound under the trees, and an icy hand restrains the tinkling
springlet of the Lady’s Well, Harry never fails to visit his fields.
“The best compost for the lands
Is the master’s feet and hands,”
he says with a laugh, as he wraps his plaid about him, and sets out
in the face of the keenest wind that sweeps out of the highlands;
and Agnes, with the new baby on her arm, sits by the fireside with
radiant smiles, and Martha looks after him from the window, where now
the jasmine clings in long brown fibres to the wall, without a single
adorning leaf, and in her heart tries to forget all the dread and all
the bitter thoughts which mingled in the summer-time with the sickly
odour of those jasmine flowers.
Yet sometimes Harry is abstracted and full of care. They believe that
he is thinking then of errors which they believe are now happily past
for ever; for no one in the house but Martha, ever remembers, that all
these improvements must cost more than Miss Jean’s thousand pounds--and
Martha finds all her attempts at inquiry evaded. She never can succeed
in learning where Harry gets the means of accomplishing so much, and
it is only now and then, when an incautious murmur about interest or
legal charges, reaches her, that she has ground for her conjecture that
he has borrowed from others besides Miss Jean. But Martha believes
with trembling that Harry’s mind is changed--that his purposes are no
longer fluctuating and unsteady--that he has reached at last the great
strength and motive power of the Christian life; and she can trust all
lesser things to the regulation of that which is above all.
And they never say poor Harry--never except when they are commenting
with full hearts and eyes upon some new proof of Harry’s kindness--and
then it is said in applauding, grateful love, and not in pity. No
longer poor Harry--for is he not a great landed proprietor, making
such a stir in his district as no Allenders has done before him for
a hundred years? and has not Sir John Dunlop invited Allenders of
Allenders to dine with him on Christmas-day?
They are very glad it is Christmas-day and not the new year--the
Scottish family holy-tide--and Harry comes home greatly elated from
Sir John Dunlop’s where they have treated him with the greatest
distinction, like a guest of special honour. Lady Dunlop, too, promises
to call on Mrs. Allenders, and Agnes blushes deep for pleasure, and is
fluttered and excited, and sings to the baby such a song of triumph,
that instead of being lulled to sleep as she intends, he opens his blue
eyes wide, and seizing on the lace about her pretty neck, tears it
with exultation and delight. Happy baby! young enough to do mischief
with impunity! Little Harry, now two full years old, who does not
at all admire this supplanting baby, and is still sore about his
own dethronement, clenches his fist at him in anger and envy, and is
the only person in the fireside circle who has sympathy with Agnes’s
tribulation about her perished lace.
Next week Cuthbert Charteris is coming for a single day to pay them
a visit, for Cuthbert is very busy now, laying the foundation of a
great business; and in honour of Cuthbert there is to be a party--the
first which they have attempted--when the covers are to be taken
off the drawing-room chairs, and Agnes and Rose are to appear in
full costume. Youthful and inexperienced as they all are, this is a
great event to them, and Agnes innocently reports to Harry various
elegancies which she would like to have for her table and her pretty
drawing-room, before the notable day; and Harry lays before them a plan
of Miss Dunlop’s for a conservatory, which she herself has strongly
recommended to him. Harry thinks he will set about it immediately, and
it will not cost much, and Agnes and Rose are delighted and cannot
sufficiently admire the artistic talent of Miss Dunlop.
But to-morrow Harry has to pay fifty labourers--to-morrow a quarter’s
salary falls due to the farm manager--to-morrow he has promised to
pay for some fine Ayrshire cows, now luxuriating in the byre at
Allender Mains--and to-morrow, alas! there are two separate dividends
of interest, which cannot be postponed--Miss Jean’s, and a heavier
creditor than Miss Jean.
So Harry retires to his library when they have left him, and chafes
himself a little over the trouble of so many complicated concerns,
and feels a momentary shiver pass over him, as he wonders how he
will do when the great sum he lately lodged in his bank at Stirling
shall be exhausted--what then, Harry? with more than three hundred of
interest to pay, and only four hundred and fifty pounds? And Harry’s
brow contracts for a moment, and a shadow steals over his face; but
immediately it brightens. “Why by that time, to be sure, the farm
will have doubled its value, and I shall be a rich man,” he repeats
half aloud, with a short laugh of satisfaction, and going to his
writing-table, he puts down in permanent “black and white,” a list of
the pretty things in silver-work and upholstery, which he has promised
to order before Agnes’s party, and throwing himself into an easy-chair,
reads a novel for an hour with the lightest heart in the world.
While Agnes visits little Harry in his crib to kiss him as he sleeps,
and folds the new-come brother into her own bosom, and lies down to
her happy rest; and Rose, between sleeping and waking, dreams, with a
heart full of sweet anticipations; and Martha in the darkness looks
out upon the falling snow, and on the pallid moon lightening Demeyet,
and bids the stern voice of her experience be still, and let her
hope--Hope! she holds it to her heart with a desperate clutch, as a
drowning mother holds her child, and is still, waiting for the will of
God.
Not a sound breaks the profound slumber of Maidlin Cross, where Harry’s
labourers, free of all care for the morrow, lie silent in the deep
sleep which compensates their toil. Not a sound disturbs the quietness
of Allenders, except that small voice of Violet asking in the darkness
if Katie is asleep. Yes, Katie is asleep: shut your dark eyes, Lettie,
and say your prayers, that Lady Violet may not come in her glistening
garments to sit yonder in the darkest corner, and hold you with her
glittering eye; but except for this visionary dread, and the one ache
of ancient fear in Martha’s graver breast--fear which only dwells far
down in the depths, like an echo in a well--this hour of rest sheds
nothing but peace upon the home of Harry Muir.
END OF VOL. II.
LONDON: Printed by Schulze and Co., 13, Poland Street.
Corrections
The first line indicates the original, the second the correction.
p. 193
And there’s Harry ready at the the door.
And there’s Harry ready at the door.
p. 233
Vio et spoke
Violet spoke
p. 246
through which the delicate white convolvolus
through which the delicate white convolvulus
p. 247
over the clear spring its feet.
over the clear spring at its feet.
p. 269
which Violet thinks, with a thrill, sounds very like peotry.
which Violet thinks, with a thrill, sounds very like poetry.