It was a bright day in the end of September. Shenac had been busy at
the wheel all the morning, but the very last thread of their flannel was
spun now. The wheel was put away, and Shenac stood before her mother,
dressed in her black gown made for mourning when her father died. Her
mother looked surprised, for this gown was never worn except at church,
or when a visit was to be made.
"Mother," said Shenac, "I have made ready the children's supper, and
filled the sacks in case Dan should want to go to the mill, and I want
to go over to see if Shenac and Maggie can come some day to help me with
the flax."
The mother assented, well pleased, for it was a long time since Shenac
had gone to the house of Angus Dhu of her own will.
"And, mother, maybe I'll go with Shenac as far as The Eleventh. It's a
long time since I have seen Mary Matheson, and I'll be home before
dark."
"Well, well, go surely, if you like," said her mother; "and you might
speak to McLean about the flannel, and bespeak McCallum the tailor to
come as soon as he can to make the lads' clothes; and you might ask
about the shoes."
"Yes, mother, I'll mind them all. I'll just speak to Hamish first, and
then I'll away."
Hamish was in the garden digging and smoothing the ground where their
summer's potatoes had grown, because he had nothing else to do, he said,
and it would be so much done before the spring. Shenac seated herself
on the fence, and began pulling, one by one, the brown oak leaves that
hung low over it. There was no gate to the garden. It was doubtful
whether a gate could have been made with sufficient strength, or
fastened with sufficient ingenuity, to prevent the incursions of the
pigs and calves, which, now that the fields were clear from grain, were
permitted to wander over them at their will. So the garden was entered
by a sort of stile--a board was placed with one end on the ground, and
the other on the middle rail of the fence--and it was on this that
Shenac sat down.
"Hamish," she said after a little, "what do you think of my asking John
Firinn to plough the land for the wheat--and to sow it too, for that
matter?"
"I don't think you had better call him by _that_ name, if you want him
to do you a favour," said Hamish, laughing. "But why ask John Firinn of
all the folk in the world?"
("Firinn" is the Gaelic name for "truth," and it was added to the name
of one of the many John McDonalds of the neighbourhood; not, I am sorry
to say, because he always spoke the truth, but because he did not.)
Shenac laughed.
"No; it's not likely. But I'm doing it for him because his wife has
been sick all the summer, and has not a thread of her wool spun yet, and
I am going to change work with them."
"But, Shenac," said Hamish gravely, "does our mother know? I am sure
she will think you have enough to do at home, without going to spin at
John Firinn's."
"I should not go there, of course; they must let me bring the wool home.
And there's no use in telling my mother till I see whether they'll
agree. It would only vex her. And, Hamish, it's all nonsense about my
having too much to do. There's only the potatoes; and Hugh can bide at
home from the school to gather them and the turnips, and Dan will be as
well pleased if I leave them to him. I am only afraid that he has been
fancying he is to plough, and he's not fit for it."
"No, he's not fit for it," said Hamish. "But I don't like John Firinn.
Is there no one else?"
"No; for if we speak to the Camerons or Angus Dhu, it will just be the
same as saying we want them to make a bee. I hate bees,--for us, I
mean. It was well enough when they all thought it was just for the
summer, and that then Allister would be home. But now we must do as
other folk do, and be independent. So I must speak to John. He's not
very trustworthy, I'm afraid; but that's maybe because few trust him. I
don't think he'll wrong my mother, if he promises to do the land."
"Perhaps you are right, Shenac," said Hamish with a sigh.
"But, Hamish," said Shenac eagerly, "_you_ could not do this work, even
if you were well and strong." She was not answering his words, but the
thoughts which she knew were in his heart. "Come with me, Hamish. It
will do you good, and it would be far better for you to make a bargain
with John Firinn than for me. Shenac yonder is going. Come with us,
Hamish."
"No," said Hamish. "The children are at the school, and maybe Dan will
go to the mill; and my mother must not be left alone. And you are the
one to make the bargain about the spinning. I don't believe John will
be hard upon you; and if you are shamefaced, Shenac yonder will speak
for you."
But Shenac did not intend her cousin to know anything about the matter
till it should be settled, though she did not tell her brother so. She
went away a little anxious and uncertain. For though she had been the
main dependence all summer for the work both in the house and in the
field, she had had very little to do with other people; and her heart
failed her at the thought of speaking to any one about their affairs,
especially to John Firinn. So it was with a slow step and a troubled
face that she took her way over the field to find her cousin.
She had been a little doubtful all day whether she should find Shenac at
home and at liberty to go with her, but she never thought of finding
Shenac's father there. They were rolling--that is, clearing off--the
felled trees in Angus Dhu's farther field, she knew, and Shenac might be
there, and she thought that her father must be. She had not met Angus
Dhu face to face fairly since that May-day by the creek; that is, she
had never seen him unless some one else was present, and the thought of
doing so was not at all pleasant to her. So when, on turning the
corner, she saw his tall and slightly-bent figure moving towards her, in
her first surprise and dismay she had some thoughts of turning and
running away. She did not, however, but came straight on up the path.
"I was not sure it was you, Shenac," was her uncle's greeting; "you are
seen here so rarely. It must be something more than common that brings
you from home to-day, you have grown such a busy woman."
"I came for Cousin Shenac to go with me to Mary Matheson's, if she can
be spared. Is she at home to-day?" said Shenac, with some hesitation,
for she would far rather have made her request to Shenac's mother.
"Oh yes, she's at home. Go into the house. I daresay her mother will
spare her." And he repeated a Gaelic proverb, which being translated
into English would mean something like, "All work and no play makes Jack
a dull boy." Shenac smiled to herself as she thought of her mother's
many messages and her dreaded mission to John Firinn. It did not seem
much like play to her.
But burdens have a way of slipping easily from young shoulders, and the
two Shenacs went on their way cheerily enough, and I daresay a stranger
meeting them might have fancied that our Shenac was the lighter-hearted
of the two. The cloud fell again, however, when they came to the turn
of the road that took them to Mary Matheson's.
"I have to go down to the McDonalds', Shenac. Just go on, and I will
follow you in two or three minutes."
"To the McDonalds'!" repeated Shenac Dhu. "Not to John Firinn's surely?
What in all the world can you have to do with him? You had better take
me with you, Shenac. They say John has a trick of forgetting things
sometimes. You might need me for a witness."
Shenac Bhan laughed and shook her head.
"There's no need. Go on to Mary's, and tell her I am coming. I shall
not be long."
She wished heartily that Hamish had been with her, or that she could
have honestly said her mother had sent her; for it seemed to her that
she was taking too much upon her to be trying to make a bargain with a
man like John Firinn. There was no help for it now, however, and she
knocked at the door, and then lifted the latch and went in with all the
courage she could summon.
She did not need her courage for a little time, however; but her tact
and skill in various matters--her "faculty," as Mr Rugg called it--
stood her in good stead for the next half-hour.
Seated on a low chair, looking ill and harassed, was poor Mrs McDonald,
with a little wailing baby on her knee, and her other little ones
clustering round her, while her husband, the formidable John himself,
was doing his best to prepare dinner for all of them. It was long past
dinner-time, and it promised to be longer still before these little
hungry mouths would be stopped by the food their father was attempting
to prepare. For he was unaccustomed and inexpert, and it must have
added greatly to the sufferings of his wife to see his blundering
movements, undoing with one hand what he did with the other, and using
his great strength where only a little skill was needed. Shenac
hesitated a moment, and then advanced to Mrs McDonald.
"Are you no better? Can I do anything for you?--Let me do that," she
added hastily, as she saw the success of the dinner put in jeopardy by
an awkward movement of the incompetent cook. In another moment Shenac's
black dress was pinned up, and soon the dinner was on the table, and the
father and children were seated at it. To her husband's entreaty that
she would try and eat something, the poor woman did not yield. She was
flushed and feverish, and evidently in great pain.
"I am afraid you are in pain," said Shenac, as she turned to her,
offering to take the baby.
"Yes; I let my sister go home too soon, and what with one thing and
another, I am nearly as bad as ever again." And she pressed her hand on
her breast as she spoke.
A few more words told the state of the case, and in a little time the
pain was relieved by a warm application, and the weary woman lay down to
rest. Then there was some porridge made for the baby. Unsuitable food
it seemed, but the little creature ate it hungrily, and was soon asleep.
Then the kettle was boiled, and the poor woman surprised herself and
delighted Shenac by drinking a cup of tea and eating a bit of toasted
bread with relish. Then her hands and face were bathed, and her cap
straightened, and she declared herself to be much better, as indeed it
was easy to see she was. Then Shenac cleared the dinner-things away and
swept the hearth, the husband and wife looking on.
When all this was done, Shenac did not think it needed so much courage
to make her proposal about the change of work. Mrs McDonald looked
anxiously at her husband, who had listened without speaking.
"I think I could spin it to please you," said Shenac. "My mother is
pleased with ours, though she did not like the big wheel at first; and
you can speak to weaver McLean. I don't think he has had much trouble
with the weaving. I would do my best."
"Could you come here and do it?" asked John. "Because, if you could, it
would be worth while doing the ploughing just to see you round, let
alone the wool."
Shenac shook her head. She was quite too much in earnest to notice the
implied compliment.
"No; that would be impossible. I could not be away from home. My
mother could not spare me. She is not so strong as she used to be. But
I would soon do it at home. Our work is mostly over now. Our land does
much the best with the fall wheat, and the wheat is our main
dependence."
"I'm rather behind with my own work," began John; "and I heard something
said about the Camerons doing your field, with some help."
"Oh, a bee," said Shenac. "But that is just what I will not have. I
don't want to seem ungrateful. All the neighbours have been very kind,"
she added humbly. "But now that Allister is not coming home, we must
carry on the place by ourselves, or give it up. We must not be
expecting too much from our neighbours, or they will tire of us. And I
don't want a bee; though everybody has been very kind to us in our
trouble."
She was getting anxious and excited.
"Bees are well enough in their way," said Mrs McDonald. "And some of
the neighbours were saying they would gather one to help me with the
wool. But, John, man, if you could do this for the widow Macivor, I
would far rather let Shenac do the wool."
"I would do it well," said Shenac. "I would begin to-morrow."
"But if you were to do the wool, and then something was to happen that I
could not plough or sow the field, what then?" asked John gravely.
Shenac looked at him, but said nothing.
"What could happen, John, man?" said his wife.
"We could have it written down, however," said John, "and that would
keep us to our bargain. Should we have it written down, Shenac?"
"If you like," said Shenac gravely; "but there is no need. I would
begin the wool to-morrow, and do it as soon as I could."
"Oh ay, oh ay! but you might need the bit of writing to bind _me_,
Shenac, my wise woman. I might slip out of it when the wool was done."
"John, man!" remonstrated his wife.
"You would never do that," said Shenac quietly. "If you wished to do
it, a paper would not hold you to it. I don't see the use of a writing;
but if you want one I don't care, of course."
But neither did John care, and so they made the bargain. John was to
charge the widow a certain sum for the work to be done, and Shenac was
to be allowed the usual price for a day's work of spinning; and it was
thought that when the wool was spun and the field ploughed and sowed,
they would be about even. There might be a little due on one side or
the other, but it would not be much.
"Well then, it's all settled," said Shenac, and she did not attempt to
conceal her satisfaction.
It came into John's mind that being settled was one thing and being done
was quite another; but he did not say so. He said to himself, as he saw
Shenac busy about his wife and child,--
"If there is a way to put that wheat in better than wheat was ever put
in before, I shall find it out and do it."
He said the same to his wife, as together they watched her running down
the road to meet Shenac Dhu.
"What in the world kept you so long?" asked her cousin. "Have you been
hearkening to one of John Firinn's stories? Better not tell it again.
What made you bide so long?"
"Do you know how ill the wife has been?" asked Shenac Bhan. Then she
told how she found the poor woman suffering, and about the children and
their dinner, and so was spared the necessity of telling what her
business with John had been.
Greatly to the surprise of Angus Dhu and all the neighbours, in due time
John McDonald brought his team into the widow Macivor's field. Many
were the prophecies brought by Dan to Hamish and Shenac as to the little
likelihood there was of his doing the work to the satisfaction of all
concerned.
"It will serve you right too, Shenac," said the indignant Dan. "To
think of a girl like you fancying you could make a bargain with a man
like John Firinn!"
"Is it Angus Dhu that is concerned, and the Camerons?" asked Shenac.
"It's a pity they shouldn't be satisfied. But if the work is done to
please the mother and Hamish and me, they'll need to content themselves,
I doubt, Dannie, my lad."
"Johnnie Cameron said they were just going to call a bee together and do
it up in a day or two; and then it would have been done right, and you
would have been saved three weeks' spinning besides."
"We're obliged to the Camerons all the same," said Shenac a little
sharply. "But if it had needed six weeks' spinning instead of three, it
would please me better to do it than to trouble the Camerons or anybody.
Why should we need help more than other folk?" she added impatiently.
"I'm ashamed of you, Dan, with your bees."
"Well, I'll tell them what you say, and you'll not be troubled with
their offers again, I can tell you," said Dan sulkily.
"You'll do nothing of the kind," said Hamish. "Nonsense, Dan, my lad;
Shenac is right, and she's wrong too. She's right in thinking the less
help we need the better; but she should not speak as though she did not
thank the neighbours for their wishing to help us."
"Oh, I'm very thankful," said Shenac, dropping a mocking courtesy to
Dan. "But I'm not half so thankful for their help as I am for the
chance to spin John Firinn's wool. And Dan can tell the Camerons what
he likes. I'm not caring; only don't let us hear any more of their bees
and their prophecies."
Lightly as Shenac spoke of the spinning of the wool, it was no light
work to do. For her mother was not pleased that she had undertaken it
without her knowledge and consent, and fretted, and cast difficulties in
the way, till Shenac, more harassed and unhappy than she had ever been
before, offered to break the bargain and send back the wool. Her mother
did not insist on this, however, and Shenac span on in the midst of her
murmurings. Then Hamish took the mother away to visit her sister in the
next township, and during their absence Shenac kept little Flora away
from the school to do such little things as she could do about the
house, and finished the wool by doing six days' work in three, and then
confessed to Dan in confidence, that she was as tired as she ever wished
to be.
She need not have hurried so much, for mother came home quite reconciled
to the spinning--indeed a little proud of all that had been said in
Shenac's praise when the matter was laid before the friends they had
been to see. So she said, as Mrs McDonald was far from well yet, she
would dye her worsted for her; and Shenac was glad to rest herself with
the pleasant three miles' walk to give the message and get directions.
Shenac's part of the bargain was fulfilled in spirit and letter; and
certainly nothing less could be said as to the part of John Firinn.
Even Angus Dhu and John Cameron, who kept sharp eyes on him during his
work, had no fault to find with the way in which it was done. It was
done well and in the right time, and it was with satisfaction quite
inexpressible that Shenac looked over the smooth field and listened to
her mother's congratulations that this was one good job well and timely
done. Ever after that she was John McDonald's fast friend, and the
friend of his sickly wife. No one ever ventured to speak a
disrespectful word of John before her; and the successful sowing of the
wheat-field was by no means the last piece of work he did, and did well,
for the widow and her children.