It was May-day. Oftentimes in the northern country this month is
ushered in by drizzling rain, or even by the falling snow; but this year
brought a May-day worthy of the name--clear, mild, and balmy. There was
not a cloud in all the sky, nor wind enough to stir the catkins hanging
close over the waters of the creek. The last days of April had been
warm and bright, and there was a tender green on the low-lying fields,
and on the poplars that fringed the wood; and the boughs of the
maple-trees in the sugar-bush looked purple and brown over the great
grey trunks.
There is never a May-day when some flowers cannot be found beneath these
trees, and in the warm hollows along the margin of the creek; but this
year there were more than a few. Besides the pale little "spring
flower," which hardly waits for the snow to go away before it shows
itself, there were daffodils and anemones and wake-robins, and from the
lapful which little Flora MacIvor sat holding on the bank close beside
the great willow peeped forth violets, blue and white. There were
lady-slippers too somewhere not far away, Flora was sure, if only Dan or
Hughie could be persuaded to look for them a little farther down the
creek, in the damp ground under the cedars, where she had promised her
mother she would not go.
But the lads had something else to do than to look for flowers for
Flora. Down the creek, which was broad and full because of the melting
snow, a number of great cedar chips were floating. Past the
foot-bridge, and past the eddy by the great rock, and over the pool into
which the creek widened by the old ashery, the mimic fleet sailed
safely; while the lads shouted and ran, and strove by the help of long
sticks to pilot them all into the little cove by the willow where little
Flora was sitting, till even the flower-loving little maiden forgot her
treasures, and grew excited like the rest.
You would never have thought, looking at those bright faces, that heavy
trouble had been in their home for months. Listening to their merry,
voices, you would never have imagined that there were, in some hearts
that loved them, grave doubts whether for the future they were to have a
home together or no. But so it was.
Higher up the bank, where the old ashery used to stand, Shenac and
Hamish were sitting. The triumphant shout with which the last and
largest of the boats was landed, startled them out of the silence in
which they had been musing, and the girl said sadly,--
"Children forget so soon!"
Hamish made no answer. He was not watching the little sailors. His
face was quite turned away from them, and looked gloomy and troubled
enough. The girl watched a moment anxiously; and then turning her eyes
where his had been for some time resting, she cried passionately,--
"I wish a fire would break out and burn it to ashes, every stick!"
"What would be the good of that? Angus Dhu would put it all up again,"
said Hamish bitterly. "He might save himself the trouble, though. He
means to have _all_ the land shortly."
They were watching the progress of a fence of great cedar rails which
three or four men were building; and no wonder they watched it with
vexation, for it went from line to line, dividing in two parts the land
that had belonged to their father. He was dead now, and their brother
Allister was far away, they knew not where, in search of gold; and there
was no one now, besides themselves, except their mother, and the little
ones who were so thoughtless, making merry with the great cedar chips
which Angus Dhu sent, floating down the stream.
"Nobody but you and me to do anything; and what can _we_ do?" continued
the lad with a desponding gesture. "And my mother scarcely seems to
care to try."
"Whisht, Hamish dear; there's no wonder," said Shenac in a low voice.
"But about the land. Angus Dhu can never get it surely!"
"He has gotten the half of it already. Who is to hinder his getting the
rest?" said Hamish. "And he might as well have it. What can _we_ do
with it?"
"Was it wrong for him to take it, do you think, Hamish?" asked Shenac
gravely.
"Not in law. Angus Dhu would never do what is unlawful. But he was
hard on my father, and he says--"
Hamish paused to ask himself whether it was worth while to vex Shenac
with the unkind words of Angus Dhu. But Shenac would not be denied the
knowledge.
"What was it, Hamish? He would never dare to say a light word of our
father. Did you not then and there show him the door?"
Shenac's blue eye flashed. She was quite capable of doing that and more
to vindicate her father's memory.
"Whisht, Shenac," said Hamish. "Angus Dhu loved my father, though he
was hard on him. There were tears in his eyes when he spoke to my
mother about him. But he says that the half of the land is justly his,
for money that my father borrowed at different times, and for the
interest which he could not pay. And he wants to buy the other half;
for he says we can never carry on the farm, and I am afraid he is
right," added the lad despondingly.
"And what would become of us all?" asked Shenac, her cheeks growing pale
in the pain and surprise of the moment.
"He would put out the money in such a way that it would bring an income
to my mother, who could live here still, with Colin and little Flora.
He says he will take Dan to keep till he is of age, and Elder McMillan
will take Hugh. You are old enough to do for yourself, he says; and as
for me--" He turned away, so that his sister might not see the working
of his face. But Shenac was thinking of something else, and did not
notice him.
"But, Hamish, we have written to Allister, and he will be sure to come
home when he hears what has happened to us."
Hamish shook his head.
"Black Angus says Allister will never come back. He says he was an
unsettled lad before he went away. And, Shenac, he says our Allister
beguiled Evan, or he never would have left home. He looked black when
he said it. He was angry."
Shenac's eyes blazed again.
"Our Allister unsettled--he that went away for our father's sake, and
for us all! Our Allister to beguile Evan, that wild lad! And you sat
and heard him say it, Hamish!"
"What else could I do?" said Hamish bitterly.
"And my mother?" said Shenac.
"She could only cry, and say that Allister had always been a good son to
her and to my father, and a dear brother to us all."
There was a long pause. Shenac never removed her eyes from the men, who
were gradually drawing nearer and nearer, as one after another of the
great cedar rails was laid on the foundation of logs and stones already
prepared for them along the field; and anger gathered in her heart and
showed itself in her face as she gazed. Hamish had turned quite away
from the fence and from his sister, towards the creek where his brothers
were still shouting at their play. But he was not thinking of his
brothers; he did not see them, indeed. He made an effort to keep back
the tears, which, in spite of all he could do, would flow. If Shenac
had spoken to him, they must have gushed out; but he had time to force
them back before Shenac turned away with an angry gesture.
"It's of no use, Shenac," he said then. "There's reason in what Angus
Dhu says. We will have to give up the farm."
"Hamish, that shall never be done!" said Shenac. "It would break my
mother's heart."
"It seems broken already," said Hamish hoarsely. "And it is easy to say
the land must be kept. But what can we do with it? Who is to work it?"
"You and I and the little lads," cried Shenac. "There is no fear. God
will help us," she added reverently--"the widow and orphan's God.
Hamish, don't you mind?"
Hamish had no voice with which to answer for a moment; but in a little
while he said with some difficulty,--
"It is easy for _you_ to say what you will do, Shenac--you who are
strong and well; but look at me! I am not getting stronger, as we
always hoped. What could I do at the plough? I had better go to some
town, as Angus Dhu advised my mother, and learn to make shoes."
"Oh, but he's fine at making plans, that Angus Dhu," said Shenac
scornfully. "But we'll need to tell him that we're for none of his
help. Hamish," she added, suddenly stooping down over him, "do you
think any plan made to separate you and me will prosper? I think I see
black Angus coming between you and me with his plans."
Her words and her caress were quite too much for Hamish, and he
surprised himself and her too by a sudden burst of tears. The sight of
this banished Shenac's softness in a moment. She raised herself from
her stooping posture with an angry cry. Separated from the rest of the
fence-makers, and approaching the knoll where the brother and sister
had, been sitting, were two men. One was Angus Dhu, and the other was
his friend, and a relation of his wife, Elder McMillan. He was a good
man, people said, but one who liked to move on with the current,--one
who went for peace at all risks, and so forgot sometimes that purity was
to be set before even peace. There was nothing in Shenac's knowledge of
the man to make her afraid of him, and she took three steps towards
them, and said,--
"Angus Dhu, do you mind what the Bible says of them that oppress the
widow and the fatherless? Have you forgotten the verse that says,
`Remove not the ancient land-mark'?"
She stopped, as if waiting for an answer. The two men stood still from
sheer surprise, and looked at her. Shenac continued:--
"And do you mind what's said of them that add field to field? and--"
"Shenac, my woman," said the elder at last, "it's no becoming in you to
speak in that kind of a way to one older than your father was. I doubt
you're forgetting--"
But Shenac put his words aside with a gesture of indifference.
"And to speak false words of our Allister to his mother in her trouble
as though he had led your wild lad Evan astray. You little know what
our Allister saved him from more than once. But that is not for to-day.
I have this to, say to you, Angus Dhu: you must be content with the
half you have gotten; for not another acre of my father's land shall
ever be yours, though all the elders in Glengarry stood at your back.--I
will not whisht, Hamish. He is to know that he is not to meddle between
my mother and me. It's not or the like of Angus Dhu to say that my
mother's children shall be taken from her in her trouble. Our affairs
may be bad enough, but they'll be none the better for your meddling in
them."
"Shenac," entreated Hamish, "you'll be sorry for speaking that way to
our father's cousin."
"Our father's oppressor rather," she insisted scornfully. But she had
said her say; and, besides, the lads and little Flora had heard their
voices, and were drawing near.
"Children," said Shenac, "you are to come home. And mind, you are not
to set foot on this bank again without our mother's leave. It's Angus
Dhu's land now, he says, and not ours."
The creek--that part of it near which the willows grew, and where the
old ashery used to stand--had been their daily resort every summer-day
all their lives; and they all looked at her with astonishment and
dismay, but none of them spoke.
"Come home to our mother, boys.--Flora, come home." And Shenac lifted
her little sister over the foundation of great stones, and beckoned to
the boys to follow her.
"Come, Hamish, it's time we were home." And Hamish obeyed her as
silently as the rest had done.
"Hamish," said the elder, "speak here, man. You have some sense, and
tales such as yon wild girl is like to tell may do your father's cousin
much harm."
In his heart Hamish knew Shenac to be foolish and wrong to speak as she
had done, but he was true to her all the same, and would hold no parley
with the enemy. So he gave no heed to the elder's words, but followed
the rest through the field. Shenac's steps grew slower as they
approached the house.
"Hamish," she said a little shamefacedly, "there will be no use vexing
our mother by telling her all this."
"That's true enough," said Hamish.
"But mind, Hamish, I'm not sorry that I said it. I have aye meant to
say something to Angus Dhu about the land; though I daresay it would
have been as well to say it when that clattering body, Elder McMillan,
was out of hearing."
"And John and Rory McLean," murmured Hamish.
"Hamish, man, they never could have heard. Not that I am caring,"
continued Shenac. "It's true that Angus Dhu has gotten half our
father's land, and that he is seeking the other half; but _that_ he'll
never get--_never_!" And she flashed an angry glance towards the spot
where the men were still standing.
Hamish knew it was always best to leave his sister till her anger
cooled, so he said nothing in reply. He grieved for the loss of the
land as much as Shenac did, but he did not resent it like her. Though
he believed that Angus Dhu had been hard on his father, he did not
believe that he had dealt unjustly by him. And he was right. Even in
taking half the land he had taken only what he believed to be his due,
and in wishing to possess himself, of the rest, he believed he was about
to do a kindness to the widow and children of his dead cousin. He
believed they could never get their living from the land. They must
give it up, he thought; and it was far better that it should fall into
his hands than into the hands of a stranger. Had his cousin lived, he
would never have wished for the land; and he said to himself that he
would do much for them all, and that the widow and orphans should never
suffer while he could befriend them.
At the same time, he could not deny that he would be glad to get the
land. When Evan came home, it might keep the lad near him to have this
farm ready for him. He had allowed himself to think a great deal about
this of late. He would not confess to himself that any part of the
uncomfortable feelings that Shenac's outbreak had stirred within him
sprang from disappointment. But he was mistaken. For when the girl
planted her foot on the other side of the new fence, and looked back at
him defiantly, he felt that she would make good her word, and hold the
land, at least, until Allister came home.
He did not care much what the neighbours might say about him; but he
told Elder McMillan that he cared, and that doubtless yon wild girl
would have plenty: to say about things she did not understand, and that
she would get ill-minded folks enough to hearken to her and to urge her
on. And he tried to make himself believe that it was this, and nothing
else, that vexed him in the matter.
"And what's to be done?" asked the elder uneasily, as Shenac and the
rest disappeared.
"Done!" repeated his friend angrily. "_I_ shall do nought. If they can
go on by themselves, all the better. I shall be well pleased. Why
should I seek to have the land?"
"Why, indeed?" said the elder.
"I shall neither make nor meddle in their affairs, till I am asked to do
it," continued Angus Dhu; but the look on his face said, as plainly as
words could have done, "and it will not be very long before that will
happen."
But he made a mistake, as even wise men will sometimes do.