THE RIGHTING OF A WRONG
So Andrew sailed for New York, and life resumed its long forgotten
happy tenor in the Binnie cottage. Janet sang about her spotless
houseplace, feeling almost as if it was a new gift of God to her; and
Christina regarded their small and simple belongings with that tender
and excessive affection which we are apt to give to whatever has been
all but lost and then unexpectedly recovered. Both women involuntarily
showed this feeling in the extra care they took of everything. Never
had the floors and chairs and tables been scrubbed and rubbed to such
spotless beauty; and every cup and platter and small ornament was
washed and dusted with such care as could only spring from heart-felt
gratitude in its possession. Naturally they had much spare time, for as
Janet said, 'having no man to cook and wash for lifted half the work
from their hands,' but they were busy women for all that. Janet began a
patch-work quilt of a wonderful design as a wedding present for
Christina; and as the whole village contributed "pieces" for its
construction, the whole village felt an interest in its progress. It
was a delightful excuse for Janet's resumption of her old friendly,
gossipy ways; and every afternoon saw her in some crony's house,
spreading out her work, and explaining her design, and receiving the
praises and sometimes the advice of her acquaintances.
Christina also, quietly but yet hopefully, began again her preparations
for her marriage; for Janet laughed at her fears and doubts. "Andrew
was sure to find Jamie, and Jamie was sure to be glad to come home
again. It stands to reason," she said confidently. "The very sight of
Andrew will be a cordial of gladness to him; for he will know, as soon
as he sees the face of him, that the brother will mean the sister and
the wedding ring. If you get the spindle and distaff ready, my lass,
God is sure to send the flax; and by the same token, if you get your
plenishing made and marked, and your bride-clothes finished, God will
certainly send the husband."
"Jamie said in his last letter--the one in which he bid me farewell--'I
will never come back to Scotland.'"
"_Toots! Havers!_ 'I _will_' is for the Lord God Almighty to say. A
sailor-man's 'I will' is just breath, that any wind may blow away. When
Andrew gives him the letter you sent, Jamie will not be able to wait
for the next boat for Scotland."
"He may have taken a fancy to America and want to stop there."
"What are you talking about, Christina Binnie? There is nothing but
scant and want in them foreign countries. Oh! my lass, he will come
home, and be glad to come home; and you will have the hank in your own
hand. See that you spin it cannily and happily."
"I hope Andrew will not make himself sick again looking for the lost."
"I shall have little pity for him, if he does. I told him to make good
days for himself; why not? He is about his duty; the law of kindness is
in his heart, and the purpose of putting right what he put wrong is the
wind that drives him. Well then, his journey--be it short or
long--ought to be a holiday to him, and a body does not deserve a
holiday if he cannot take advantage of one. Them were my last words to
Andrew."
"Jamie may have seen another lass. I have heard say the lassies in
America are gey bonnie."
"I'll just be stepping if you have nothing but frets and fears to say.
When things go wrong, it is mostly because folks will have them wrong
and no other way."
"In this world, Mother, the giffs and the gaffs--"
"In this world, Christina, the giffs and the gaffs generally balance
one another. And if they don't,--mind what I say,--it is because there
is a moral defect on the failing side. Oh! but women are flightersome
and easy frighted."
"Whyles you have fears yourself, Mother."
"Ay, I am that foolish whyles; but I shall be a sick, weak body, when I
can't outmarch the worst of them."
"You are just an oracle, Mother."
"Not I; but if I was a very saint, I would say every morning of my
life: 'Now then, Soul, hope for good and have good.' Many a sad heart
folks get they have no need to have. Take out your needle and thimble
and go to your wedding clothes, lassie; you will need them before the
summer is over. You may take my word for that."
"If Jamie should still love me."
"Love you! He will be that far gone in love with you that there will be
no help for him but standing up before the minister. That will be seen
and heard tell of. Lift your white seam, and be busy at it; there is
nothing else to do till tea time, and I am away for an hour or two to
Maggie Buchans. Her man went to Edinburgh this morning. What for, I
don't know yet, but I'll maybe find out."
It was on this very afternoon that Janet first heard that there was
trouble and a sound of more trouble at Braelands. Sophy had driven down
in her carriage the previous day to see her cousin Isobel Murray, and
some old friends who had gone into Isobel's had found the little
Mistress of Braelands weeping bitterly in her cousin's arms. After this
news Janet did not stay long at Maggie Buchans; she carried her
patch-work to Isobel Murray's, and as Isobel did not voluntarily name
the subject, Janet boldly introduced it herself.
"I heard tell that Sophy Braelands was here yesterday."
"Aye, she was."
"A grand thing for you, Isobel, to have the Braelands's yellow coach
and pair standing before the Murray cottage all of two or three hours."
"It did not stand before my cottage, Janet. The man went to the public
house and gave the horses a drink, and himself one too, or I am much
mistaken, for I had to send little Pete Galloway after him."
"I think Sophy might have called on me."
"No doubt she would have done so, had she known that Andrew was away,
but I never thought to tell her until the last moment."
"Is she well? I was hearing that she looked but poorly."
"You were hearing the truth. She looks bad enough."
"Is she happy, Isobel?"
"I never asked her that question."
"You have eyes and observation. Didn't you ask yourself that question?"
"Maybe I did."
"What then?"
"I have nothing to say anent it."
"What was she talking about? You know, Isobel, that Sophy is kin of
mine, and I loved her mother like my own sister. So I be to feel
anxious about the little body. I'm feared things are not going as well
as they might do. Madame Braelands is but a hard-grained woman."
"She is as cruel a woman and as bad a woman as there is between this
and wherever she may be."
"Isn't she at Braelands?"
"Not for a week or two. She's away to Acker Castle, and her son with
her."
"And why not Sophy also?"
"The poor lassie would not go--she says she could not. Well, Janet, I
may as good confess that there is something wrong that she does not
like to speak of yet. She is just at the crying point now, the reason
why and wherefore will come anon."
"But she be to say something to you."
"I'll tell you. She said she was worn out with learning this and that,
and she was humbled to death to find out how ignorant and full of
faults she was. Madame Braelands is both schoolmistress and
mother-in-law, and there does not seem to be a minute of the day in
which the poor child isn't checked and corrected. She has lost all her
pretty ways, and she says she cannot learn Madame's ways; and she is
feared for herself, and shamed for herself. And when the invitation
came for Acker Castle, Madame told her she must not accept it for her
husband's sake, because all his great friends were to be there, and
they were to discuss his going to Parliament, and she would only shame
and disgrace him. And you may well conceive that Sophy turned obstinate
and said she would bide in her own home. And, someway, her husband did
not urge her to go and this hurt her worst of all; and she felt lonely
and broken-hearted, and so came to see me. That is everything about it,
but keep it to yourself, Janet, it isn't for common clash."
"I know that. But did Madame Braelands and her son really go away and
leave Sophy her lone?"
"They left her with two or three teachers to worry the life out of her.
They went away two days ago; and Madame was in full feather and glory,
with her son at her beck and call, and all her grand airs and manners
about her. Sophy says she watched them away from her bedroom window,
and then she cried her heart out. And she couldn't learn her lessons,
and so sent the man teacher and the woman teacher about their business.
She says she will not try the weary books again to please anybody; they
make her head ache so that she is like to swoon away."
"Sophy was never fond of books; but I thought she would like the
music."
"Aye, if they would let her have her own way about it. She has her
father's little fiddle, and when she was but a bare-footed lassie, she
played on it wonderful."
"I remember. You would have thought there was a linnet living inside of
it."
"Well, she wanted to have some lessons on it, and her husband was
willing enough, but Madame went into hysterics about the idea of
anything so vulgar. There is a constant bitter little quarrel between
the two women, and Sophy says she cannot go to her husband with every
slight and cruelty. Madame laughs at her, or pretends to pet her, or
else gets into passions at what she calls Sophy's unreasonableness; and
Archie Braelands is weary to death of complaining, and just turns sulky
or goes out of the house. Oh, Janet, I can see and feel the bitter,
cruel task-woman over the poor, foolish child! She is killing her, and
Archie Braelands does not see the right and the wrong of it all."
"I'll make him see it."
"You will hold your tongue, Janet. They who stir in muddy water only
make it worse."
"But Archie Braelands loved her, or he would not have married her; and
if he knew the right and the wrong of poor Sophy's position--"
"I tell you, that is nothing to it, Janet."
"It is everything to it. Right is right, in the devil's teeth."
"I'm sorry I said a word to you; it is a dangerous thing to get between
a man and his wife. I would not do it, not even for Sophy; for reason
here or reason there, folks be to take care of themselves; and my man
gets siller from Braelands, more than we can afford to lose."
"You are taken with a fit of the prudentials, Isobel; and it is just
extraordinary how selfish they make folk."
And yet Janet herself, when going over the conversation with Christina,
was quite inclined on second thoughts not to interfere in Sophy's
affairs, though both were anxious and sorrowful about the motherless
little woman.
"She ought to be with her husband wherever he is, court or castle,"
said Christina. "She is a foolish woman to let him go away with her
enemy, and such a clever enemy as Madame Braelands is. I think, Mother,
you ought to call on Sophy, and give her a word of love and a bit of
good advice. Her mother was very close to you."
"I know, Christina; but Isobel was right about the folly of coming
between a man and his wife. I would just get the wyte of it. Many a
sore heart I have had for meddling with what I could not mend."
Yet Janet carried the lonely, sorrowful little wife on her heart
continually; though, after a week or two had passed and nothing new was
heard from Braelands, every one began to give their sympathy to
Christina and her affairs. Janet was ready to talk of them. There were
some things she wished to explain, though she was too proud to do so
until her friends felt interest enough to ask for explanations. And as
soon as it was discovered that Andrew had gone to America, the interest
and curiosity was sufficiently keen and eager to satisfy even Janet.
"It fairly took the breath from me," said Sabrina Roy, "when I was told
the like of that. I cannot think there is a word of truth in such a
report."
Mistress Roy was sitting at Janet's fireside, and so had the privilege
of a guest; but, apart from this, it gave Janet a profound satisfaction
to answer: "Ay, well, Sabrina, the clash is true for once in a
lifetime. Andrew has gone to America, and the Lord knows where else
beside."
"Preserve us all! I wouldn't believe it, only from your own lips,
Janet. Whatever would be the matter that sent him stravaging round the
world, with no ship of his own beneath his feet or above his head?"
"A matter of right and wrong, Sabrina. My Andrew has a strict
conscience and a sense of right that would be ornamental in a very
saint. Not to make a long story of it, he and Jamie Logan had a
quarrel. It was the night Andrew took his inflammation, and it is very
sure his brain was on fire and off its judgment at the time. But we
were none of us thinking of the like of that; and so the bad words
came, and stirred up the bad blood, and if I hadn't been there myself,
there might have been spilled blood to end all with, for they were both
black angry."
"Guide us, woman! What was it all about?"
"Well, Sabrina, it was about siller; that is all I am free to say.
Andrew was sure he was right, and Jamie was sure he was wrong; and they
were going fairly to one another's throats, when I stepped in and flung
them apart."
"And poor Christina had the buff and the buffet to take and to bear for
their tempers?"
"Not just that. Jamie begged her to go away with him, and the lassie
would have gone if I hadn't got between her and the door. I had a hard
few minutes, I can tell you, Sabrina; for when men are beside
themselves with passion, they are in the devil's employ, and it's no
easy work to take a job out of _his_ hands. But I sent Jamie flying
down the cliff, and I locked the door and put the key in my pocket, and
ordered Andrew and Christina off to their beds, and thought I would
leave the rest of the business till the next day; but before midnight
Andrew was raving, and the affair was out of my hands altogether."
"It is a wonder Christina did not go after her lad."
"What are you talking about, Sabrina? It would have been a world's
wonder and a black, burning shame if my girl had gone after her lad in
such a calamitous time. No, no, Christina Binnie isn't the kind of girl
that shrinks in the wetting. When her time of trial came, she did the
whole of her duty, showing herself day by day a witness and a testimony
to her decent, kirk-going forefathers."
"And so Andrew has found out he was wrong and Jamie Logan right?"
"Aye, he has. And the very minute he did so, he made up his mind to
seek the lad far and near and confess his fault."
"And bring him back to Christina?"
"Just so. What for not? He parted them, and he has the right and duty
to bring them together again, though it take the best years of his life
and the last bawbee of his money."
"Folks were saying his money was all spent."
"Folks are far wrong then. Andrew has all the money he ever had. Andrew
isn't a bragger, and his money has been silent so far, but it will
speak ere long."
"With money to the fore, you shouldn't have been so scrimpit with
yourselves in such a time of work and trouble. Folks noticed it."
"I don't believe in wasting anything, Sabrina, even grief. I did not
spend a penny, nor a tear, nor a bit of strength, that was useless.
What for should I? And if folks noticed we were scrimpit, why didn't
they think about helping us? No, thank God! We have enough and a good
bit to spare, for all that has come and gone, and if it pleases the
Maker of Happiness to bring Jamie Logan back again, we will have a
bridal that will make a monumental year in Pittendurie."
"I am glad to hear tell o' that. I never did approve of two or three at
a wedding. The more the merrier."
"That is a very sound observe. My Christina will have a wedding to be
seen and heard tell of from one sacramental occasion to another."
"Well, then, good luck to Andrew Binnie, and may he come soon home and
well home, and sorrow of all kinds keep a day's sail behind him. And
surely he will go back to the boats when he has saved his conscience,
for there is never a better sailor and fisher on the North Sea. The men
were all saying that when he was so ill."
"It is the very truth. Andrew can read the sea as well as the minister
can read the Book. He never turns his back on it; his boat is always
ready to kiss the wind in its teeth. I have been with him when _rip!
rip! rip_! went her canvas; but I hadn't a single fear, I knew the lad
at the helm. I knew he would bring her to her bearings beautifully. He
always did, and then how the gallant bit of a creature would shake
herself and away like a sea-gull. My Andrew is a son of the sea as all
his forbears were. Its salt is in his blood, and when the tide is going
with a race and a roar, and the break of the waves and the howl of the
wind is like a thousand guns, then Andrew Binnie is in the element he
likes best; aye, though his boat be spinning round like a laddie's
top."
"Well, Janet, I will be going."
"Mind this, Sabrina, I have told you all to my heart's keel; and if
folks are saying to you that Jamie has given Christina the slip, or
that the Binnies are scrimpit for poverty's sake, or the like of any
other ill-natured thing, you will be knowing how to answer them."
"'Deed, I will! And I am real glad things are so well with you all,
Janet."
"Well, and like to be better, thank God, as soon as Andrew gets back
from foreign parts."
In the meantime, Andrew, after a pleasant sail, had reached New York.
He made many friends on the ship, and in the few days of bad weather
usually encountered came to the front, as he always did when winds were
blowing and sailor-men had to wear oil skins. The first sight of the
New World made him silent. He was too prudent to hazard an opinion
about any place so remote and so strange, though he cautiously admitted
"the lift was as blue as in Scotland and the sunshine not to speak ill
of." But as his ideas of large towns had been formed upon Edinburgh and
Glasgow, he could hardly admire New York. "It looks," he said to an
acquaintance who was showing him the city, "it looks as if it had been
built in a hurry;" for he was thinking of the granite streets and piers
of Glasgow. "Besides," he added, "there is no romance or beauty about
it; it is all straight lines and squares. Man alive! you should see
Edinburgh the sel of it, the castle, and the links, and the bonnie
terraces, and the Highland men parading the streets, it is just a bit
of poetry made out of builders stones."
With the information he had received from the mate of the "Circassia,"
and his advice and directions, Andrew had little difficulty in locating
Jamie Logan. He found his name in the list of seamen sailing a steamer
between New York and New Orleans; and this steamer was then lying at
her pier on the North River. It was not very hard to obtain permission
to interview Jamie, and armed with this authority, he went to the ship
one very hot afternoon about four o'clock.
Jamie was at the hold, attending to the unshipping of cargo; and as he
lifted himself from the stooping attitude which his work demanded, he
saw Andrew Binnie approaching him. He pretended, however, not to see
him, and became suddenly very deeply interested in the removal of a
certain case of goods. Andrew was quite conscious of the affectation,
but he did not blame Jamie; it only made him the more anxious to atone
for the wrong he had done. He stepped rapidly forward, and with
extended hands said:--
"Jamie Logan, I have come all the way from Scotland to ask you to
forgive me. I thought wrong of you, and I said wrong to you, and I am
sorry for it. Can you pass it by for Christ's sake?"
Jamie looked into the speaker's face, frankly and gravely, but with the
air of a man who has found something he thought lost. He took Andrew's
hands in his own hands and answered:--
"Aye, I can forgive you with all my heart. I knew you would come to
yourself some day, Andrew; but it has seemed a long time waiting. I
have not a word against you now. A man that can come three thousand
miles to own up to a wrong is worth forgiving. How is Christina?"
"Christina is well, but tired-like with the care of me through my long
sickness. She has sent you a letter, and here it is. The poor lass has
suffered more than either of us; but never a word of complaining from
her. Jamie, I have promised her to bring you back with me. Can you
come?"
"I will go back to Scotland with you gladly, if it can be managed. I am
fair sick for the soft gray skies, and the keen, salt wind of the North
Sea. Last Sabbath Day I was in New Orleans--fairly baking with the heat
of the place--and I thought I heard the kirk bells across the sands,
and saw Christina stepping down the cliff with the Book in her hands
and her sweet smile making all hearts but mine happy. Andrew man, I
could not keep the tears out of my een, and my heart was away down to
my feet, and I was fairly sick with longing."
They left the ship together and spent the night in each other's
company. Their room was a small one, in a small river-side hotel, hot
and close smelling; but the two men created their own atmosphere. For
as they talked of their old life, the clean, sharp breezes of
Pittendurie swept through the stifling room; they tasted the brine on
the wind's wings, and felt the wet, firm sands under their feet. Or
they talked of the fishing boats, until they could see their sails
bellying out, as they lay down just enough to show they felt the fresh
wind tossing the spray from their bows and lifting themselves over the
great waves as if they stepped over them.
Before they slept, they had talked themselves into a fever of home
sickness, and the first work of the next day was to make arrangements
for Jamie's release from his obligations. There was some delay and
difficulty about this matter, but it was finally completed to the
satisfaction of all parties, and Andrew and Jamie took the next Anchor
Line steamer for Glasgow.
On the voyage home, the two men got very close to each other, not in
any accidental mood of confidence, but out of a thoughtful and assured
conviction of respect. Andrew told Jamie all about his lost money and
the plans for his future which had been dependent on it, and Jamie
said--
"No wonder you went off your health and senses with the thought of your
loss, Andrew I would have been less sensible than you. It was an awful
experience, man, I cannot tell how you tholed it at all."
"Well, I didn't thole it, Jamie. I just broke down under it, and God
Almighty and my mother and sister had to carry me through the ill time;
but all is right now. I shall have the boat I was promised, and at the
long last be Captain Binnie of the Red-White Fleet. And what for
shouldn't you take a berth with me? I shall have the choosing of my
officers, and we will strike hands together, if you like it, and you
shall be my second mate to start with."
"I should like nothing better than to sail with you and under you,
Andrew. I couldn't find a captain more to my liking."
"Nor I a better second mate. We both know our business, and we shall
manage it cleverly and brotherly."
So Jamie's future was settled before the men reached Pittendurie, and
the new arrangement well talked over, and Andrew and his proposed
brother-in-law were finger and thumb about it. This was a good thing
for Andrew, for his secretive, self-contained disposition was his weak
point, and had been the cause of all his sorrow and loss of time and
suffering.
They had written a letter in New York and posted it the day they left,
advising Janet and Christina of the happy home-coming; but both men
forgot, or else did not know, that the letter came on the very same
ship with themselves, and might therefore or might not reach home
before them. It depended entirely on the postal authority in
Pittendurie. If she happened to be in a mood to sort the letters as
soon as they arrived, and then if she happened to see any one passing
who could carry a letter to Janet Binnie, the chances were that Janet
would receive the intelligence of her son's arrival in time to make
some preparation for it.
As it happened, these favourable circumstances occurred, and about four
o'clock one afternoon, as Janet was returning up the cliff from Isobel
Murray's, she met little Tim Galloway with the letter in his hand.
"It is from America," said the laddie, "and my mother told me to hurry
myself with it. Maybe there is folk coming after it."
"I'll give you a bawbee for the sense of your words, Tim," answered
Janet; and she hastened herself and flung the letter into Christina's
lap, saying:--
"Open it, lassie, it will be full of good news. I shouldn't wonder if
both lads were on their way home again."
"Mother, Mother, they _are_ home; they will be here anon, they will be
here this very night. Oh, Mother, I must put on my best gown and my
gold ear-rings and brush my hair, and you'll be setting forward the tea
and making a white pudding; for Jamie, you know, was always saying none
but you could mix the meal and salt and pepper, and toast it as it
should be done."
"I shall look after the men's eating, Christina, and you make yourself
as braw as you like to. Jamie has been long away, and he must have a
full welcome home again."
They were both as excited as two happy children; perhaps Janet was most
evidently so, for she had never lost her child-heart, and everything
pleasant that happened was a joy and a wonder to her. She took out her
best damask table-cloth, and opened her bride chest for the real china
kept there so carefully; and she made the white pudding with her own
hands, and ran down the cliff for fresh fish and the lamb chops which
were Andrew's special luxury. And Christina made the curds and cream,
and swept the hearth, and set the door wide open for the home-comers.
And as good fortune comes where it is looked for, Andrew and Jamie
entered the cottage just as everything was ready for them. There was no
waiting, no cooled welcome, no spoiled dainties, no disappointment of
any kind. Life was taken up where it had been most pleasantly dropped;
all the interval of doubt and suffering was put out of remembrance, and
when the joyful meal had been eaten, as Janet washed her cups and
saucers and tidied her house, they talked of the happy future before
them.
"And I'll tell you what, bairnies," said the dear old woman as she
stood folding her real china in the tissue paper devoted to that
purpose, "I'll tell you what, bairnies, good will asks for good deeds,
and I'll show my good will by giving Christina the acre of land next my
own. If Jamie is to go with you, Andrew, and your home is to be with
me, lad--"
"Where else would it be, Mother?"
"Well, then, where else need Jamie's home be but in Pittendurie? I'll
give the land for his house, and what will you do, Andrew? Speak for
your best self, my lad."
"I will give my sister Christina one hundred gold sovereigns and the
silk wedding-gown I promised her."
"Oh, Andrew, my dear brother, how will I ever thank you as I ought to?"
"I owe you more, Christina, than I can count."
"No, no, Andrew," said Janet. "What has Christina done that siller can
pay for? You can't buy love with money, and gold isn't in exchange for
it. Your gift is a good-will gift. It isn't a paid debt, God be
thanked!"
The very next day the little family went into Largo, and the acre was
legally transferred, and Jamie made arrangements for the building of
his cottage. But the marriage did not wait on the building; it was
delayed no longer than was necessary for the making of the silk
wedding-gown. This office Griselda Kilgour undertook with much
readiness and an entire oblivion of Janet's unadvised allusions to her
age. And more than this, Griselda dressed the bride with her own hands,
adding to her costume a bonnet of white tulle and orange blossoms that
was the admiration of the whole village, and which certainly had a
bewitching effect above Christina's waving black hair, and shining
eyes, and marvellous colouring.
And, as Janet desired, the wedding was a holiday for the whole of
Pittendurie. Old and young were bid to it, and for two days the dance,
the feast, and the song went gayly on, and for two days not a single
fishing boat left the little port of Pittendurie. Then the men went out
to sea again, and the women paid their bride visits, and the children
finished all the dainties that were else like to be wasted, and life
gradually settled back into its usual grooves.
But though Jamie went to the fishing, pending Andrew's appointment to
his steamboat, Janet and Christina had a never-ceasing interest in the
building and plenishing of Christina's new home. It was not
fashionable, nor indeed hardly permissible, for any one to build a
house on a plan grander than the traditional fisher cottage; but
Christina's, though no larger than her neighbours', had the modern
convenience of many little closets and presses, and these Janet filled
with homespun napery, linseys, and patch-work, so that never a young
lass in Pittendurie began life under such full and happy circumstances.
In the fall of the year the new fire was lit on the new hearth, and
Christina moved into her own home. It was only divided from her
mother's by a strip of garden and a low fence, and the two women could
stand in their open doors and talk to each other. And during the summer
all had gone well. Jamie had been fortunate and made money, and Andrew
had perfected all his arrangements, so that one morning in early
September, the whole village saw "The Falcon" come to anchor in the
bay, and Captain Binnie, in his gold-buttoned coat and gold-banded cap,
take his place on her bridge, with Jamie, less conspicuously attired,
attending him.
It was a proud day for Janet and Christina, though Janet, guided by
some fine instinct, remained in her own home, and made no afternoon
calls. "I don't want to force folk to say either kind or unkind things
to me," she said to her daughter. "You know, Christina, it is a deal
harder to rejoice with them that rejoice than to weep with them that
weep. Sabrina Roy, as soon as she got her eyes on Andrew in his
trimmings, perfectly changed colours with envy; and we have been a
speculation to far and near, more than one body saying we were going
fairly to the mischief with out extravagance. They thought poverty had
us under her black thumb, and they did not think of the hand of God,
which was our surety."
However, that afternoon Janet had a great many callers, and not a few
came up the cliff out of real kindness, for, doubt as we will, there is
a constant inflowing of God into human affairs. And Janet, in her
heart, did not doubt her neighbours readily; she took the homage
rendered in a very pleased and gracious manner, and she made a cup of
tea and a little feast for her company, and the clash and clatter in
the Binnie cottage that afternoon was exceedingly full of good wishes
and compliments. Indeed, as Janet reviewed them afterwards, they
provoked from her a broad smile, and she said with a touch of
good-natured criticism:--
"If we could make compliments into silk gowns, Christina, you and I
would be bonnily clad for the rest of our lives. Nobody said a
nattering word but poor Bella McLean, and she has been soured and sore
kept down in the world by a ne'er-do-weel of a husband."
"She should try and guide him better," said Christina. "If he was my
man, I would put him through his facings."
"_Toots_, Christina. You are over young in the marriage state to offer
opinions about men folk. As far as I can see, every woman can guide a
bad husband but the poor soul that has the ill-luck to have one. Open
the Book now, and let us thank God for the good day He has given us."