Dan was right,--Shenac was changed. Even if Allister had not come home,
if the success of the summer's work had depended, as it had hitherto
mainly done, upon her, it would have been a very different summer from
the last. The labour, though it had been hard enough, from early
morning till night every day of the year, was not what had been worst
for her. The constant care and anxiety had been harder to bear. Not
the fear of want. That had never really troubled her. She knew that it
would never come to that with them. But the welfare of all the family
had depended on her strength and wisdom while they kept together, and
the responsibility had been too heavy for her. How much too heavy it
had been she only knew by the blessed sense of relief which followed its
removal.
But it would have been different now, even had her cares been the same,
for a new element mingled in her life--a firm trust in God. She had
known, in a way, all along that, labour as she might, the increase must
come from God. She had always assented to her brother's gentle
reminders of the heavenly care and keeping promised to the widow and the
fatherless; but she had wearied and vexed herself, taking all the weight
of the burden, just as if there had been no promise given, no help made
sure.
It would have been quite different now. Even failure would have brought
no such burden as had come with a sense of success before, because of
her sure and certain knowledge that all that concerned her was safe in
the best and most loving care.
And, with Allister between her and the summer's work, she had no need to
trouble herself. Every day had strengthened her trust in him, not only
as a loving brother, but as a wise man and a good farmer; and many a
time she laughed merrily to herself as Dan's foolish words about her not
wishing to give place to Allister came to her mind. She could never
tell him or any one else how blessed was the sense of relief and peace
which his being at home gave her. She awoke every morning with the
restful feeling fresh in her heart. There was no half-conscious
planning about ways and means before her eyes were open; no shrinking
from possible encounters with Dan's idleness or wilfulness; no balancing
of possibilities as to his doing well, or doing at all, some piece of
work depending upon him.
She heard more in the song of the birds now than just the old burden,
"It is time to be at work again." It gave her quite a sense of pleasure
now and then to find herself looking over the fields with delight just
because they were fresh and green and beautiful, and not at all because
of the tons of hay or the bushels of grain which they were to yield. Of
course it was pleasant to anticipate a good harvest, and it was pleasant
to know that there were wider fields to harvest this year, and that the
barns would be full to overflowing. It did not in the least lessen the
pleasure to know that this year success would not be due to her.
Indeed, her pride in Allister's work was quite as great as it ever had
been in her own, and the pleasure had fewer drawbacks. She could speak
of it and triumph in it, and did so with Hamish and Shenac Dhu, and
sometimes with Allister himself.
She was happy, too, in a half-conscious coming back to the thoughts and
enjoyments of the time before their troubles had overtaken them. She
was very young still, quite young enough to grow light-hearted and
mirthful; and if her mother had been well, it would truly have seemed
like the old happy days again.
Not that she had very much leisure even now. She did not go to the
fields; but what with the dairy and the house-work, and after a little
while the wool, she had plenty to do. There were two more cows in the
enlarged pasture, and some of the people who were busy about the new
house took their meals with them, so there was little time for lingering
over anything. Besides, the house-work, which in the busy seasons had
seemed a secondary concern, was done differently now. Shenac took pride
and pleasure in doing everything in the very best way, and in having the
house in order, the linen snow-white, and the table neatly laid; and the
little log-house was a far pleasanter home than many a more commodious
dwelling.
If there had lingered in Angus Dhu's heart any indignation towards
Shenac for having interfered with his plans, and for having spoken her
mind to him so plainly, it was gone now. They had no more frequent
visitor than he, and few who were more welcome. His coming was for
Allister's sake, his sister used to think; and, indeed, the old man
seemed to see no fault in the young farmer. He gave him his confidence
as he had never given it to any one before. After the first meeting he
never spoke of what Allister had done for him in bringing Evan home, but
he knew it was through his care and tenderness that he had ever seen his
son's face again, and he was deeply grateful.
There was another reason why he found pleasure in the young man's
society. He had loved Allister's father when they had been young
together, before the love of money had hardened his heart and blinded
his eyes. His long trouble and fear for his son had made him feel that
wealth is not enough to give peace. It had shaken his faith in the "god
of this world;" and as God's blessing on his sorrow softened his heart,
the worldly crust fell away, and he came back to his old thoughts--or
rather, I should say, his young thoughts of life again.
Allister was just what his father had been at his age--as gentle, as
manly, and kind-hearted; having, besides, the strength of character, the
knowledge of men and things, which his father had lacked. He had always
been a bold, frank lad. Even in the old times he had never stood in awe
of "the dour old man," as the rest had done. In the old times his
frankness had been resented as an unwarrantable liberty; but it was very
different now. Even his own children felt a little restraint in the
presence of the stern old man; but Allister always greeted him
cheerfully, talked with him freely, and held his own opinions firmly,
though they often differed widely enough from those of Angus Dhu. But
they never quarrelled. The old man's dogmatic ways vexed and irritated
Shenac many a time; even Hamish had much ado to keep his patience and
the thread of his argument at the same time; but Allister never lost his
temper, and if the old man grew bitter and disagreeable, as he sometimes
did, the best cure for it was Allister's good-humoured determination not
to see it, and so they always got on well together.
Of all their friends, Angus Dhu was the one whom their mother never
failed to recognise. She did not always remember how the last few years
had passed, and spoke to him, as she so often did to others, as though
her husband were still living and her children young; but almost always
she was recalled to the present by the sight of him, and rejoiced over
Allister's return, and the building of the new house, and the prosperity
which seemed to be coming back to them. But, whether she was quite
herself or not, he was always very gentle with her, answering the same
questions and telling the same incidents over and over again for her
pleasure, with a patience very different from anything that might have
been expected from him.
There was one thing about Allister, and Shenac too, which greatly vexed
their uncle. In his eyes it seemed almost like forsaking the God of
their fathers when, Sabbath after Sabbath, they passed by the old kirk
and sat in the new. He would have excused it on the days when old Mr
Farquharson was not there and the old kirk was closed; but that they
should hold with these "new folk" at all times was a scandal in his
eyes.
It was in vain that Hamish proved to him that in doctrine and
discipline--in everything, indeed, except one thing, which could not
affect them in this country--the new folk were just like the old. This
only made the matter less excusable in the eyes of Angus Dhu. The
separation which circumstances might have made necessary at home--as
these people still lovingly called the native land of their fathers--was
surely not needed here, and it grieved and vexed the old man sorely to
see so many leaving the old minister and the kirk their fathers had
built and had worshipped in so long.
But even Angus Dhu himself ventured into the forbidden ground of the new
kirk, when word was brought that Mr Stewart, the schoolmaster of two
years ago, was come to supply the minister's place there for a while.
He had a great respect for Mr Stewart, and some curiosity, now that he
was an ordained minister, to hear him preach; and having heard him, he
acknowledged to himself, though he was slow to speak of it to others,
that the word of God was held forth with power, and he began to think
that, after all, the scores of young people who flocked to hear him were
as well while listening here as when sleeping quietly under the
monotonous voice of the good old minister; and very soon no objection
was made when his own Evan and Shenac Dhu went with the rest.
Mr Stewart had changed much since he came among them first. His health
was broken then, and he was struggling with a fear that he was not to be
permitted to work the work for which he had all his lifetime been
preparing. That fear had passed away. He was well now, and well-fitted
to declare God's gospel to men. It was a labour of love to him, all
could see. The grave, quiet man seemed transformed when he stood in the
pulpit He spoke with authority, as one who knew from deep, blessed
experience the things which he made known, and no wonder that all
listened eagerly.
Hamish was very happy in the renewal of their friendship, and Allister
was almost as happy in coming to know the minister. He came sometimes
to see them, but not very often, for he had many engagements, and his
visits made "white days" for them all. Hamish saw much more of him than
the rest, for he was comparatively idle this summer, and drove the
minister to his different preaching stations, and on his visits to the
people, with much profit to himself and much pleasure to both.
It was a very pleasant summer, for many reasons, to Shenac and them all.
The only drawback was the state of the mother. She was not getting
better--would probably never be better, the doctor said, whom Allister
had brought from far to see her. But she might live a long time in her
present state. She did not suffer, and was almost always quite content.
All that the tenderest care could do for her was done, and her
uneventful days were made happy by her children's watchful love.
The entire renewal of confidence and intercourse between the two
families was a source of pleasure to all, but especially to Shenac, who
had never been quite able to believe herself forgiven by her uncle
before. Two of Angus Dhu's daughters were married in the spring, and
left their father's house; and partly because she was more needed at
home, and partly for other reasons, Shenac Dhu did not run into their
house so often as she used to do. But Evan was often there. He and
Hamish were much together, for neither of them was strong, and much help
was not expected from them on the land or elsewhere. Evan was hardly
what he had been before his departure from home. He was improved, they
thought, on the whole; but his health was not firm, and his spirits and
temper were variable, and, as Shenac said, he was as different from
Allister as weakness is from strength, or as darkness is from the day.
But they were always glad to see him, and his intercourse with these
healthy, cheerful young people did him much good.
The new house progressed rapidly. There was a fair prospect that they
might get into it before winter, and already Shenac was planning ways
and means towards the furnishing of it. The wool was sorted and dyed
with reference to the making of such a carpet as had never been seen in
those parts before; and every pound of butter that was put down was
looked upon as so much security for a certain number of things for use
or for adornment in the new house. For Shenac had a natural love for
pretty things, and it was pleasant to feel that she might gratify her
taste to a reasonable degree without hazarding the comfort of any one.
She made no secret of her pleasure in the prospect of living in a nice
house with pretty things about her, and discussed her plans and
intentions with great enjoyment with her cousin Shenac, who did not
laugh at her little ambitions as much as might have been expected.
Indeed, she was rather grave and quiet about this time, and seemed to
shun, rather than to seek, these confidences. She was too busy now that
Mary and Annie were both gone, to leave home often, and when our Shenac
wished to see her she had to go in search of her. It was not quite so
formidable an affair as it used to be to go to Angus Dhu's house now,
and Shenac and her brother often found themselves there on summer
evenings. But at home, as elsewhere, Shenac Dhu was quiet and staid,
and not at all like the merry Shenac of former times.
This change was not noticed by Shenac Bhan so quickly as it would have
been if she had been less occupied with her own affairs; but she did
notice it at last, and one night, drawing her away from the door-step
where the rest were sitting, she told her what she was thinking, and
entreated to know what ailed her.
"What ails me?" repeated Shenac Dhu, reddening a little. "What in the
world should all me? I am busier than I used to be, that is all."
"You were always busy; it is not that. I think you might tell _me_,
Shenac."
"Well," began her cousin mysteriously, "I will tell you if you will
promise not to mention it. I am growing wise."
Shenac Bhan laughed.
"Well, I don't see what there is to laugh at. It's time for me to grow
wise, when you are growing foolish."
Shenac Bhan looked at her cousin a little wistfully.
"Am I growing foolish, Shenac? Is it about the house and all the
things? Perhaps I am thinking too much about them. But it is not for
myself, Shenac; at least, it's not all for myself."
But Shenac Dhu stopped her.
"You really _are_ foolish now. No; of course the house has nothing to
do with it. I called you foolish for saying that something ails me,
which is nonsense, you know. What could ail me? I put it to yourself."
"But that is what I am asking you. How can I tell? Many a thing might
go wrong with you," said Shenac Bhan.
"Yes; I might take the small-pox, or the bank might break and I might
lose my money, or many a thing might happen, as you say; and when
anything does happen, I'll tell you, you may be sure. Now tell me, is
the wide stripe in the new carpet to be red or green?"
"You are laughing at me, Cousin Shenac," said our Shenac, gravely. "I
daresay it is foolish in me, and may be wrong, to be thinking so much
about these things and teasing you about them; but, Shenac, our Allister
is a man now, and folk think much of him, and I want his house to be
nice, and I do take pleasure in thinking about it. And you know we have
been so poor and so hard pressed for the last few years, with no time to
think of anything but just what must be done to live; and it will be so
nice when we are fairly settled. And, Shenac, our Allister is so good.
There never was such a brother as Allister--never. I would not speak so
to every one, Shenac; but _you_ know."