It is May-day again--not so bright and pleasant as the May-day two years
ago, when Hamish and Shenac sat so drearily watching Angus Dhu's
fence-building. They are sitting on the same spot now, and the children
are under the big willow, sailing boats as they did that day--all but
Dan. You could not make him believe that he had done such a foolish
thing as that two years ago. Two years! It might be ten for the
difference they have made in Dan. He only came back from the Grand
River two days ago, and Shenac has not ceased wondering and laughing at
the change in him. It is not merely his new-fashioned coat and
astonishing waistcoat that have changed him. He has grown amazingly,
and his voice is almost always as deep and rough as Angus Dhu's; and the
man and the boy are so blended in all he says and does, that Shenac has
much ado to answer him as gravely as he expects.
"Hamish," he called out from the top of the fence on which he was
sitting, "you are a man of sense, and I want to ask you a question.
Whose fence is this that I am sitting on? Is it ours, or Angus Dhu's?"
Hamish had not considered the question. Indeed, Dan did not wait for an
answer.
"Because, it is of no use here. If it is ours, we'll draw the rails up
to the high field, and get them out of the way before Allister comes
home. If it belongs to Angus Dhu, we'll--we'll throw the rails into the
creek."
"There's no hurry about it, is there?" said a voice behind him; and Dan,
jumping down, turned about, and with more shamefacedness than Shenac
would have believed possible, met the offered hand of Angus Dhu.
"I heard you had come back again, Dan, lad; and I thought you would not
let the grass grow under your feet.--Are you for putting my good rails
in the creek, Hamish, man?"
Hamish was laughing too much at Dan's encounter to be able to answer at
once. Shenac was laughing too; but she was nearly as shamefaced as Dan,
remembering her own encounter on the same ground.
"If it is Allister you're thinking about, he's not here yet, and you
need not be in a hurry. And as to whether the rails are yours or mine,
when the goods are bought and paid for there need be no words about the
string that ties them. But for all that, Dan, lad, I have something to
say to your mother yet, and you may as well let them be where they are a
while.--Are you for sending my good rails down the creek, too?" he added
suddenly, turning to Shenac.
"It was Dan's plan, not mine," said Shenac. "Though once I would have
liked to do it," she added candidly.
"No, Shenac," said Hamish; "you wanted to burn it. Don't you mind?"
"O Hamish!" exclaimed Shenac.
Angus Dhu smiled.
"That would be a pity. They are good rails--the very best. And if they
were put up too soon, they can be taken down again. You have heard from
your brother again?"
"No; not since about the time of your letter," said Hamish. "We are
thinking he may be on the way."
For an instant an eager look crossed the face of the old man, but he
shook his head.
"No. With gold comes the love of it. He will stay where he is a while
yet."
"You don't know our Allister," exclaimed Shenac hotly.
But Hamish laid his hand on hers.
"Whisht. He's thinking of Evan," he said softly.
"He'll not be here this while yet," continued Angus Dhu, not heeding the
interruption. "You'll have the summer before you, I'm thinking; and the
question is, whether you'll take down the fence just now, while the
creek is full," he added, smiling significantly at Dan, "or whether
you'll let things be as they are till you have more help. I have done
well by the land, and will yet, and give you what is just and right for
the use of it till your brother comes. But for what am I saying all
this to children like you? It is your mother that must decide it."
Accordingly, before the mother the matter was laid; but it was not the
mother who decided it. Shenac could hardly sit still while he spoke of
the time that might pass before Allister should come home. But when he
went on to say that, unless they had more help, the boys and Shenac
could not manage more land than they had already, she felt that it was
true. Hamish thought so too, and said heartily to Angus Dhu that the
land would be better under his care till Allister should come.
Dan was indignant. He felt himself equal to anything, and declared
that, with two men at his disposal, he could make the farm look like a
different place. But the rest had less faith in Dan than he had in
himself. He did not conceal his disgust at the idea of creeping on
through another summer in the old, quiet way, and talked of leaving it
to Hamish and Shenac and seeking work somewhere else. But they knew
very well he would never do that, now that Allister might be home among
them any day; and he did not. There was no pulling down of the fence,
however. It stood as firm as ever; but it was not an eyesore to Shenac
now.
The spring passed, and the summer wore away slowly, for there was no
more word of Allister. Shenac did not weary herself with field-work, as
she had done the last two years; for she felt that they might get help
now, and, besides, she was needed more in the house. Her mother had
allowed herself to think that only a few weeks would pass before she
should see her first-born, and the waiting and suspense told upon her
sadly. It told upon Shenac, too. In spite of her declaration to
Hamish, she did feel anxious and discouraged many a time. Hamish was
ill again, not always able to see to things; and Dan was not proving
himself equal to the emergency, now that he was having his own way
out-of-doors. That would not matter much, if Allister were come. He
would set all things right again, and Dan would not be likely to resist
his oldest brother's lawful authority.
But if Allister did not come soon? Shenac shrank from this question.
If he did not come soon, she would have something else to think about
besides Dan's delinquencies. Her mother could not endure this suspense
much longer. It was wearing out her health and spirits; and it needed
all Shenac's strength and courage to get through some of these summer
days. It was worse when Hamish went again for a few weeks to his
uncle's. He must go, Shenac said, to be strong and well to welcome
Allister; and much as it grieved him to leave his sister, he knew that a
few weeks of the baths would give him the best chance to be able to help
her should this sad suspense change to sadder certainty and Allister
never come home again. So he went away.
Often and often, during the long days that followed his going away,
Shenac used to wonder at herself for ever having been weary of the
labour that had fallen to her during the last two years. Now, when her
mother had a better day than usual, when little Flora could do all that
was needed for her, so that Shenac could go out to the field, she was
comparatively at peace. The necessity for bodily exertion helped her
for the time to set aside the fear that was growing more terrible every
day. But, when the days came that she could not leave her mother, when
she must sit by her side, or wander with her into the garden or fields,
saying the same hopeful words or answering the same questions over and
over again, it seemed to her that she could not very long endure it. A
fear worse than the fear of death grew upon her--the fear that her
mother's mind would give way at last, and that she would not know her
son when he came. Even the fear that he might never come seemed easier
to bear than this.
Shenac Dhu helped her greatly at this time. Not that she was very
cheerful herself, poor girl; but the quick, merry ways she would assume
with her aunt did her good. She would speak of the coming home of
Allister as certain and near at hand, and she would tell of all that was
to be done and said, of the house that he was to build, and of the gowns
that Shenac Bhan was to wear, while her aunt would listen contentedly
for a while. And when the old shadow came back, and the old moan rose,
she would just begin and go over it all again.
She was needed at home during the day; but all the time that Hamish was
away she shared with Shenac Bhan the task of soothing the weary, wakeful
nights of the mother. She sat one night in the usual way, speaking
softly, and singing now and then, till the poor weary mother had dropped
asleep. Rising quietly and going to the door, she found Shenac Bhan
sitting on the step, with her head on her hands.
"Shenac," she said, "why did you not go to bed, as I bade you? I'll
need to begin on you, now that aunt is settled for the night. You are
tired, Shenac. Why don't you go to bed?"
Her cousin moved and made room for her on the step beside her. The
children were in bed, and Dan had gone away with one of Angus Dhu's men
to a preaching that was going on in a new kirk several miles away. It
was moonlight--so bright that they could see the shadows of the trees
far over the fields, and only a star was visible here and there in the
blue to which, for a time, the faces of both were upturned.
"You're tired, Shenac Bhan," said her cousin again; "more tired than
usual, I mean."
"No, not more tired than you are. Do you know, Shenac, your eyes look
twice as big as they used to do, and twice as black?"
"Do they? Well, so do yours. But no wonder that you are growing thin
and pale; for I do believe, you foolish Shenac Bhan, that it sometimes
comes into your mind that Allister may never come home. Now confess."
"I often think it," said Shenac, in an awed voice.
"Toch! I knew it by your face. You are as bad as my aunt."
"Do you never think so?" asked our Shenac.
"Think it!" said Shenac Dhu scornfully. "I trow not. Why should I
think it? I will not think it! He'll come and bring Evan. Oh, I'm
sure he'll come."
"Well, I'm not always hopeless; there is no reason," said Shenac. "He
did not say he would come at once; but he should write."
"Oh, you may be sure he has written and the letter has been lost. I
hardly ever take up a paper but I read of some ship that has gone down,
and think of the letters that must go down with it, and other things."
Each saw the emotions that the face of the other betrayed in the
moonlight.
"And think of the sailors," continued Shenac Dhu. "O Shenac, darling,
we are only wearying for a lost letter; but think of the lost sailors,
and the mothers and sisters that are waiting for them!" A strong
shudder passed over Shenac Bhan.
"I don't think you know what you are saying, Shenac," said she.
"Yes; about the lost letters, and the sailors," said Shenac Dhu
hurriedly. "The very worst that can happen to us is that we may lose
the letters. God would never give us the hope of seeing them, and then
let them be drowned in the sea."
The thought was too much for them, and they burst into bitter weeping.
"We are two fools," said Shenac Dhu, "frightening ourselves for nothing.
We need Hamish to scold us and set us right. Why should we be afraid?
If there was any cause for fear there would be plenty to tell us of it.
Nobody seems afraid for them except my father; and it is not fear with
him. He has never settled down in the old way since the letter came
saying that Allister would bring Evan home."
Yes, they needed Hamish more than they knew. It was the anxiety for the
mother, the sleepless nights and unoccupied days, that, all together,
unnerved Shenac Bhan. It was the dwelling on the same theme, the going
over and over the same thing--"nothing would happen to him?"--"he would
be sure to come?"--till the words seemed to mock her, they made her so
weary of hoping and waiting.
For, indeed, nobody seemed to think there was anything strange in the
longer stay of Allister. He had stayed so long and done so well, he
might be trusted surely to come home when the right time came. No,
there was no real cause for fear, Shenac repeated to herself often. If
her mother had been well and quite herself, and if Hamish had been at
home, she thought she would never have fallen into this miserable dread.
She was partly right. It was better for them all when Hamish came home.
He was well, for him, and cheerful. He had never imagined how sadly
the time was passing at home, or he would not have stayed away so long.
He was shocked at the wan looks of the two girls, and quite unable to
understand how they should have grown so troubled at a few weeks' or
even a few months' delay. His wonder at their trouble did them good.
It could not be so strange--the silence and the delay--or Hamish would
surely see it. The mother was better too after the return of Hamish.
The sight of him, and his pleasant, gentle talk, gave a new turn to her
thoughts, and she was able again to take an interest in what was going
forward about her; and when there came a return of the old restlessness
and pain, it was Hamish who stayed in the house to soothe her and to
care for her, while Shenac betook herself with her old energy to the
harvest-field.
The harvest passed. Dan kept very steady at it, though every night he
went to the new kirk, where the meetings were still held. He did not
say much about these meetings even when questioned, but they seemed to
have a wonderful charm for him; for night after night, wet or dry, he
and Angus Dhu's man, Peter, walked the four miles that lay between them
and the new kirk to hear--"What?" Shenac asked one night.
"Oh, just preaching, and praying, and singing."
"But that is nonsense," insisted Shenac. "You are not so fond of
preaching as all that. What is it, Dan?"
"It's just that," said Dan; "that is all they do. The minister speaks
to folk, and sometimes the elders; and that's all. But, Shenac, it's
wonderful to see so many folk listening and solemn, as if it was the
judgment day; and whiles one reads and prays--folk that never used; and
I'm always wondering who it will be next. Last night it was Sandy
McMillan. You should have heard him, Shenac."
"Sandy McMillan!" repeated Shenac contemptuously. "What next, I wonder?
I think the folk are crazed. It must be the singing. I mind when I
was at Uncle Allister's last year I went to the Methodist watch-meeting,
and the singing--oh, you should have heard the singing, Hamish! I could
not keep back the tears, do what I would. It must be the singing, Dan."
Dan shook his head.
"They just sing the psalms, Shenac. I never heard anything else--and
the old tunes. They do sound different, though."
"Well, it goes past me," said Shenac. "But it is all nonsense going
every night, Dan--so far too."
"There are plenty of folk who go further," said Dan. "You should go
yourself, Shenac."
"I have something else to do," said Shenac.
"Everybody goes," continued Dan; and he repeated the names of many
people, far and near, who were in the new kirk night after night. "Come
with me and Peter to-night, Shenac."
But Shenac had other things to think about, she said. Still she thought
much of this too.
"I wonder what it is, Hamish," said she when they were alone. "I can
understand why Dan and Peter McLay should go--just because other folk
go; and I daresay there's some excitement in seeing all the folk, and
that is what they like. But so many others, sensible folk, and worldly
folk, and all kinds of folk, in this busy harvest-time! You should go,
Hamish, and see what it is all about."
But the way was long and the meetings were late, and Hamish needed to
save his strength; and he did not go, though many spoke of the meetings,
and the wonderful change which was wrought in the heart and life of many
through their means. He wondered as well as Shenac, but not in the same
way; for he had felt in his own heart the wondrous power that lies in
the simple truth of God to comfort and strengthen and enlighten; and it
came into his mind, sometimes, that the good days of which he had read
were coming back again, when the Lord used to work openly in the eyes of
all the people, making his Church the instrument of spreading the glory
of his name by the conversion of many in a day. It did not trouble or
stumble him, as it did his sister, that it was not in their church--the
church of their fathers--that this was done. They were God's people,
and it made no difference; and so, while she only wondered, he wondered
and rejoiced.
But about this time news came that put all other thoughts out of their
minds for a while. The mother was sleeping, and Shenac and Hamish were
sitting in the firelight one evening in September, when the door opened
and their cousin Shenac came in. She seemed greatly excited, and there
were tears on her cheeks, and she did not speak, but came close up to
Shenac Bhan, without heeding the exclamations of surprise with which
they both greeted her.
"Did I not tell you, Shenac, that God would never drown them in the
sea?"
She had run so fast that she had hardly a voice to say the words, and
she sank down at her cousin's feet, gasping for breath. In her hands
she held a letter. It was from Evan--the first he had written to his
father since he went away. Shenac told them that her father had
received it in the morning, but said nothing about it then, going about
all day with a face like death, and only told them when he broke down at
worship-time, when he prayed as usual for "all distant and dear."
"Then he told my mother and me," continued Shenac Dhu, spreading out a
crushed morsel of paper with hands that trembled. It was only a line or
two, broken and blurred, praying for his father's forgiveness and
blessing on his dying son. He meant to come home with his cousin. They
were to meet at Saint F---, and sail together, But he had been hurt, and
had fallen ill of fever in an inland town, and he was dying. "And now
the same ship that takes this to you will take Allister home. He will
not know that I am dying, but will think I have changed my mind as I
have done before. I would not let him know if I could; for he would be
sure to stay for my sake, and his heart is set on getting home to his
mother and the rest. And, father, I want to tell you that it was not
Allister that beguiled me from home, but my own foolishness. He has
been more than a brother to me. He has saved my life more than once,
and he has saved me from sins worse than death; and you must be kind to
him and to them all for my sake."
"And then," said Shenac Dhu, "there is his name, written as if he had
been blind; and that is all."
The three young people sat looking at one another in silence. Shenac
Bhan's heart beat so strongly that she thought her mother must hear it
in her bed; but she could not put her thought in words--"Allister is
coming home." Shenac Dhu spoke first.
"Hamish--Shenac, I told my father that Allister would never leave our
Evan alone to die among strangers."
She paused, looking eagerly first at one and then at the other.
"No," said Hamish; "he would never do that, if he knew it in time to
stay. We can but wait and see."
"Wait and see!" Shenac Bhan echoed the words in her heart. If they had
heard that he was to stay for months, or even for years, she thought she
could bear it better than this long suspense.
"Shenac," said her cousin, reading her thought, "you would not have
Allister come and leave him? It will only be a little longer whether
Evan lives or dies."
"No," said Shenac; "but my mother."
"We will not tell her for a little while," said Hamish. "If Allister is
coming it will be soon; and if he has stayed, it will give my mother
more hope of his coming home at last to hear that he is well and that he
is waiting for Evan."
"And my father," said Shenac Dhu. "Oh! if you had seen how he grasped
at the hope when I said Allister was sure to stay, you would not grudge
him for a day or two. Think of the poor lad dying so far from home and
from us all!" And poor Shenac clung to her cousin, bursting into sobs
and bitter tears.
"Whisht, Shenac, darling," said her cousin, her own voice broken with
sobs; "we can only have patience."
"Yes," said Hamish; "we can do more than that--we can trust and pray.
And we will not fear for the mother, Shenac. She will be better, now
that there is a reason for Allister's stay.--And, Cousin Shenac, you
must take hope for your brother. No wonder he was downcast thinking of
being left. You must tell your father that there is no call to give up
hope for Evan."
"O Hamish, my father loved Evan dearly, though he was hard on him. He
has grown an old man since he went away; and to-day,--oh, I think to-day
his heart is broken."
"The broken and contrite heart He will not despise," murmured Hamish.
"We have all need of comfort, Shenac, and we'll get it if we seek it."
And the two girls were startled first, and then soothed, as the voice of
Hamish rose in prayer. It was no vague, formal utterance addressed to a
God far away and incomprehensible. He was pleading with a Brother close
at hand--a dear and loving elder Brother--for their brothers far away.
He did not plead as one who feared denial, but trustfully, joyfully,
seeking first that God's will might be done in them and theirs. Hamish
was not afraid; nothing could be plainer than that. So the two Shenacs
took a little comfort, and waited and trusted still.