while, and did not come to anything after all, but still it was a
triumph, and acknowledged to be such by all Gershom. She was chosen out
of all the girls who had been Mr Burnet's pupils during the winter, to
teach the village school. The village school stood next to the
High-School, and for Katie Fleming, not yet sixteen, to be chosen a
teacher, was a feather in her cap indeed. Her grandfather was greatly
pleased and so was Miss Elizabeth. Mrs Fleming, coveting for her good
and clever Katie advantages which in their circumstances she could only
hope to enjoy through her own exertions, would have been willing to
spare her from home, and Miss Elizabeth, who had come to love the girl
dearly, knew that she could often have her with her, should she be in
the village during the summer. But Katie never kept the village school,
nor any school. Her grandfather did not like the idea of it, nor did
Davie. Miss Betsey Holt set her face against it from the very first,
though why she should interest herself especially in the matter did not
clearly appear. The chances were that it would be but a poor school
that a child like Katie Fleming would keep, clever scholar though she
was, Miss Betsey said, which was very possibly quite true. But it was
on Katie's own account that she did not approve of the place.
"Not that it would hurt her as it might some girls to `board round' in
the village houses, a week at a time, as she would have to do, and leave
her evenings free to spend with the idle young folks of the place. It,
maybe, wouldn't spoil that pretty pot of violets to have the street dust
blow on them for an hour or two, but you wouldn't care about having them
set out to catch it. And Katie Fleming is better at home making butter
for her grandmother than she would be anywhere else, and happier too, if
she only knew it."
Miss Betsey said this to Miss Elizabeth one day when she called, having
some business with the squire, and she said something like it to the
grandmother, which helped to a decision that Katie was to stay at home.
Katie was a little disappointed for the moment, but she acknowledged
that she might have failed with the school, and that she was much needed
at home; and Davie's satisfaction at the decision did much to reconcile
her to it. And all the rest were satisfied as well as Davie, for
Katie's being at home made a great deal of difference in the house.
Even Mrs Fleming, with her hopeful nature and her firm trust in God,
had times of great anxiety with regard to Davie. He was so like the son
who had gone so early astray, who had darkened all his father's life,
and nearly broken his heart, that she could not but anxiously watch his
words and his ways, attaching to them sometimes an importance that was
neither wise nor reasonable. His grandfather's discipline was strict,
not to say severe, and Davie's resistance, or rather his unwilling
submission and obedience, for he seldom resisted his grandfather's will,
made her afraid. Though she would not have acknowledged it to Davie,
she knew that his grandfather was hard on him sometimes, far harder
than, for such faults as Davie's, she herself would have been, and she
feared that unwilling or resentful obedience might in time change to
rebellion, and beyond such a possibility as that the anxious grandmother
did not dare to look.
But it was only once in a great while that she suffered herself to
contemplate the possibility of "anything happening" to Davie. The sore
troubles she had passed through had shaken her somewhat, and she was
growing old, but her bright and sunny nature generally asserted itself,
in spite of the weakness which troubles and old age bring. So when she
had occasion to speak to the old man about Davie, trying to make him
more hopeful concerning him, and more patient with his faults, she could
do so with a faith in the boy's future which could not fail sometimes to
inspire him with the same hopefulness.
And indeed Davie was not more wilful and wayward than is often the case
with lads of his age, nor was he idle, or inclined to do less than his
just share of what was to be done. On the contrary, he had great good
sense and perseverance in carrying out any plans of work which suited
his ideas of how work ought to be done. But unfortunately his plans
were not always exactly those of his grandfather. Of course he did not
hesitate to acknowledge his grandfather's right to do as he pleased in
his own place, when his grandmother put it to him in that way, and he
was quite as ready to acknowledge that his wisdom as to matters in
general, and as to farm-work in particular, was "not to be mentioned in
the same day" with that of his grandfather. But when the work was to be
done, he did not yield readily to suggestions, or even to commands, and
had a way of coming back to the disputed point, and even of carrying it,
to a certain extent, which looked to his grandfather like sheer
perversity.
And even when Davie's plans proved themselves to have been worthy of
consideration, because of the success that attended them now and then,
even success seemed a small matter to the stern old man, because of the
disobedience to his commands, or the ignoring of his known wishes which
the success implied.
So dear, bright, patient grannie had "her own adoes" between these two
whom she loved so well, and her best hope and comfort in all matters
which concerned them was Katie.
For Katie's first thought always was, her grandfather. That he should
have nothing to vex him, that his days should be brightened and his
cares lightened, seemed to Katie the chief thing there was to think
about. She had learned this from her grandmother, whose first thought
he had been for many a year and day, and Katie's many pretty ways of
"doing good to grandfather" did quite as much good to grannie.
As to Davie's "fancies," as she called his many plans and projects, she
had great interest in some of them, and gave him good help in carrying
them out, but she had no sympathy or patience with any sign of
willfulness, or carelessness where their grandfather was concerned. But
she loved her brother dearly, and helped him through some difficulties
with others besides her grandfather, and Davie, having confidence in her
affections, submitted to her guidance, and was more influenced by her
opinions and wishes than he knew. And though she scolded him heartily
sometimes, and set her face against any disobedience or seeming
disrespect to their grandfather, she gave him good help often, and so
eagerly entered into all his plans, when she saw her way clearly to the
end of them, that he heeded her all the more readily when she differed
from him and refused her help.
So Mrs Fleming's dependence on Katie was not misplaced, and she
wondered at herself, when she had time to think about it, that she
should ever have supposed it possible that she could be spared from
home.
"But, oh, my dear!" said she one day to Katie's mother, "it's a woeful
thing to set up idols, and you must put me in mind, as I must put you,
that we're both in danger here. For who among them all is like our
Katie? Not but that she has her faults," added she, coming back to the
business of the moment, as she watched Katie letting her full pail run
over, while she enticed the kitten into a race after its tail: "Katie,
my woman, you should leave the like of that to wee Nannie; I think
you'll need all your time till supper-time.--But faults, did I say? It
is scarcely a fault to be lighthearted, and easily pleased. But oh,
Anne, my dear, we have need to take care."
CHAPTER TEN.
KATIE'S FRIENDSHIPS.
The life which healthy, good-tempered, unsophisticated children may live
on a farm has in it more of the elements of true enjoyment than can be
found in almost any other kind of life. If poverty or the necessity of
constant work press too severely upon them, of course the enjoyment is
interfered with, but not even poverty or hard work can spoil it
altogether. There are always the sunshine and the sweet air; there are
the freshness and the beauty of the early morning, which not one in ten
of the dwellers in town know anything of by experience; the dawn, the
sunrise, the glitter of dewdrops, the numberless sweet sounds and scents
that belong to no other time. Young people with open eyes and quick
sympathies find countless sources of interest and enjoyment in the
beautiful growing things of the woods and fields, and in the ceaseless
changes going on among them. Almost unconsciously they gain through all
these a wisdom which is better than book lore, a discipline of heart and
mind and temper which tends to soften and elevate the whole nature,
leaving them less open to the temptations incident to youth and evil
companionships.
They were very happy together, these two fast and true friends, as they
never might have become had they had at this time more frequent
intercourse with other young people; and true friendship between brother
and sister is the perfect ideal of friendship. It does not always exist
even between brothers and sisters who love each other dearly. It is
something more than the natural affection which strengthens (as children
grow older) into brotherly and sisterly love. It implies something that
is not always found where the ties of blood and kindred are most warmly
cherished, not a blindness to each other's faults or defects of
character, but a full and loving appreciation of all admirable qualities
both of mind and heart, a harmony of feeling, sentiments, and tastes
which does not exist between brothers and sisters generally.
Day by day Mrs Fleming grew more and more at ease about Davie, seeing
the love between the brother and sister.
"A year or two and the laddie's restless time will be over, and all that
makes us anxious about him now, his plans and fancies, his craze for
books, and his longing to put his hand to the guiding of his ain life
will be modified by the knowledge that comes with experience. But, eh
me! What is the use of speaking o' experience? If only the good Father
above would take him in hand! And who shall say that He is not doing it
even now, and making our bonny Katie the instrument of His will for her
brother's good? And, Dawvid, we mustna be hard on the laddie, but just
let him have his fancies about things, and let him carry them out when
they are harmless, and when they dinna cost ower muckle money," added
grannie, with prudent afterthought, for some of Davie's fancies would
have cost money if he had been allowed "to go the full length of his
tether."
"And after all is said, there is sense in his fancies. It would be a
grand thing to have a hundredweight or two of honey, as he says we
might, and never kill the bees. Think of that now! And nothing spent
on them, but all the blossom on the trees, and all the flowers of the
field theirs for the taking. And as for the new milk-house, with ice in
it, and running water, it would be a grand thing. And, as Katie says,
it's almost as easy to take care of the milk of ten cows as six, and
there is pasture enough. As to the churning, if it could be done by the
running water, wouldna that be a fine help? And we must just have
patience with him, as the Lord has had with us this many a year and
day."
Mrs Fleming got no answer to all this. She did not expect one. This
was the way she took to familiarise the grandfather's mind with plans
that might come to something. The old man's habitual caution was
changing with the passing years into timidity and dread of change; and
his long dwelling on his state of indebtedness, and the subjection to
his "enemy" that it implied, made him afraid of anything that would
render it necessary to dispense the smallest sum for any other purpose
than the payment of this debt. His son James had let his money go from
him with a free hand, and though he might have got it back again had he
lived, his father could not but remember that it was through his plans,
through his desire to improve the fortunes of his family, which had
carried him beyond his means, that this debt, or a part of it, had been
left upon them.
As for Davie, what could a lad like him know about such things? Fancies
that would lead to nothing but waste and want! And yet his wife's words
told upon him as all her words did sooner or later.
"Would you like it then, Katie, my woman?" said he, as one night, when
all the work was over, he came on Katie sitting with Nannie and Sandy on
the bank of the burn. Davie was on the other side pacing up and down,
measuring out, as they had done together many times before, the site of
the new milk-house. Many thoughts and words had Davie expended upon it,
and so had Katie for that matter. So she rose and walked with her
grandfather along the burnside, out of Davie's hearing, and then she
answered brightly:
"Ay, that I would, grandfather; not just now, ye ken, but after a while,
when it can be done without going into debt. It would be grand. And I
could sell twice as much butter as we make now, if we had it. I like
butter-making." And so on, touching on more of Davie's fancies than her
grandfather had heard of yet, till they came back to the lad, still
intent on his measurements, with his eyes fixed on a paper on which he
was industriously figuring.
"The foundation must be of stone, Katie, because of the swelling of the
burn in spring and fall, but the stones are at hand, and cost no money.
And we might gather them on rainy days, grandfather, not to take time
from other work; I can make the frame myself, but the foundation must be
of stone."
Katie stood still, surprised and a little frightened. She was not sure
how all this might be taken, for though they had made much enjoyment for
themselves out of the new dairy that was to be, and had spoken to
"grannie" and their mother about it, this was the first direct
intimation they had given to their grandfather. He smiled grimly,
however; indeed he laughed, which did not often happen with him.
"A foundation! and stone, too! I didna think you needed foundations to
your fancies, Davie, lad."
"Well, maybe no' just as long as they are fancies, grandfather," said
Davie, looking outwardly a little sheepish, but with inward triumph, as
Katie knew quite well. For to get his grandfather to listen to him was
a great step. "And now, Katie, I'll just ask grandfather which is
right, you or me. Come over here, grandfather, and tell us which you
think the best place for it. Katie thinks this is ower far from the
house, but I think not."
The grandfather actually crossed the burn, and went with him, Katie
following with a smiling face and joyful heart. They did not decide
much that night, but ever after the new milk-house was considered a
settled thing, and much good they got out of it before either stone or
stick was laid down beside the burn. For Davie got on better with his
grandfather after that, and fifteen-year lad as he was, did a grown
man's work from day to day, growing thin upon it for a while, but
growing tall also, and losing his pretty boyish looks, of which Katie
and his mother had been so proud.
So the summer work was done, and the summer pleasure, which was greater
than they knew, as the pleasure which comes with busy uneventful days
generally is. But it was a happy summer, and must have been so even if
the drawbacks had been more numerous and harder to bear.
Katie had one pleasure which her brother could not share, but which
pleased her grandmother well: this was the friendship of Miss Elizabeth.
Ever since the night of her first visit with her brother and the
minister, Elizabeth had taken pains to renew her intimacy with Mrs
Fleming and Katie, to their mutual satisfaction. On stormy nights
during the winter, Elizabeth had sometimes sent for Katie to the school,
that she might be saved the long cold walk home, and Katie liked to go.
During the summer she could not be spared often, but she went now and
then, and their friendship grew apace.
On Katie's part it was more than friendship. It was like "falling in
love." She did not say much about it, it was not her way. But she
thought of her friend's words and ways, and opinions, and seeing her
superiority to people in general, Miss Elizabeth became to her the ideal
of all womanly sweetness and excellence. Miss Elizabeth could not but
be touched and charmed by the affection which was thus rather betrayed
than expressed, and though she was sometimes amused by her devotion, it
greatly pleased her as well.
"Yours must be such a happy life, Miss Elizabeth," said Katie one night
when she was visiting her friend, and they were sitting together after
Mrs Holt had gone to bed.
Elizabeth smiled and shook her head. "Tell me what my life is like?"
There was a pause, during which Katie considered.
"You have a quiet life, and you are a comfort to your father, and
everybody loves you."
"I am afraid there are some people who do not love me much. As to my
father, yes. I shall never be quite a useless person while he needs me.
But as to my life being a happy life--"
"You have leisure," said Katie after a little, "and you take pleasure in
so many things--things going on far away, and that happened long ago.
And you care for books, and you understand people. And you believe in
great principles of action, and you are not afraid. I cannot say just
what I mean."
"But, Katie, all that is as true of you as it is of me, except perhaps
the leisure."
"I am only a child almost," said Katie, with a little rising colour.
"But when I am a woman I should like my life to be just like yours."
There was silence for a minute or two, then Katie went on:
"I once heard Mr Burnet tell my grandfather that you did more by the
real interest you take in everything that is good and right, and by your
bright, unselfish ways, to keep up a healthy, happy state of things
among the young people of the place, than even the minister's preaching.
That was in old Mr Hollister's time, however," added the truth-loving
Katie reflectively.
Miss Elizabeth smiled. "Mr Burnet is partial in his judgment."
"But you are happy, Miss Elizabeth," said Katie wistfully.
"Am I? I ought to be, I suppose; yes, I think so. I am content, and
that is better than happiness, they say."
This was something that required consideration.
"`Godliness with contentment is great gain;' that is what Paul said.
Perhaps he thought it better than happiness too."
"And Solomon says, `A contented mind is a continual feast,'" said Miss
Elizabeth, smiling at her face of grave consideration.
"I wonder what is the difference?" said Katie. "Folk are contented
without knowing it, I suppose. I have been contented all my life, and
if I had my wish about some things I would be happy."
"What things?"
"If we had no debt," said Katie, decidedly. "And if we had a little
more money, so that we would not need to consider about things so much,
and so that Davie could go to school all the year, and perhaps to the
college, and the rest too, Nannie and Sandy and all. And we should have
the dairy built over the burn, with a store of ice in it, and marble
shelves, like one grandmother saw at Braemar. Well, not marble perhaps.
That might be foolish, but we should have everything to make the work
light, and there would be time for other things. My grandfather should
plant trees, and graft them and prime them and work away at his leisure,
not troubling himself as to how it was all to come out at the end of the
year. And my mother should have a low carriage, just like yours, Miss
Elizabeth, and old Kelso should have nothing to do but draw it for her
pleasure. And grannie--oh, grannie should wear a soft grey gown every
day of the year, and neck-kerchiefs of the finest lawn, as she used to
do--and such sheets and table-cloths as she should have, and she should
never need to wet her fingers--only I am not sure that she would be any
happier for that," said Katie, pulling herself up suddenly.
"And what would you have for yourself?" said Miss Elizabeth, wishing to
hear more.
"I should have leisure," said Katie decidedly, as though she had thought
it over and made up her mind. "I should have time for fine sewing, and
to learn things--not just making lessons of them, and hurrying over them
as they do at the school. I should have time to think about them, and I
should have books and music, and a room like yours. Oh, dear me! What
is the use of thinking about it," said Katie, with a sigh.
"And after all, contentment with things as they are, would answer every
purpose," said Miss Elizabeth.
"Yes, but there are some things with which it is impossible to be
contented--without wishing to change them, I mean--debt, and sickness,
and having too much to do. And there are some things in people's lives
that cannot be changed."
"And with such things we must just try and content ourselves," said
Elizabeth.
"Yes. And contentment depends more on ourselves, and less on other
folk, than happiness does. And so we are safer with just contentment,"
said Katie, and in a little she added, "Submission to God's will, that
would be contentment."
"That would be happiness," said Elizabeth, and there was nothing more
said for a long time.
They were sitting in Miss Elizabeth's sitting-room, a perfect room to
Katie Fleming's mind, and the only light came from the red embers of the
wood-fire, now falling low. Miss Elizabeth was leaning back among the
cushions of her father's great arm-chair, and Katie sat on a low chair
opposite, with a book on her lap. Miss Elizabeth was "seeing things in
the fire," Katie knew, by the look on her face, wondering what she saw.
She looked "like a picture," sitting there in her pretty dress, with her
cheek upon her hand. What a soft white hand it was, with its one bright
ring sparkling in the firelight! Katie looked at it, and then at her
own. Hers was not very large, but it was red and roughened, bearing
traces of her daily work. She held it up and looked at it in the
firelight, not at all knowing why she did it, but with the strangest
feeling of discomfort. It was not the difference of the hands that
troubled her. Somehow she seemed to be looking, not at the two hands,
but at the two lives, hers and Miss Elizabeth's.
For Miss Elizabeth's was a pleasant life, though she had looked grave
when she said so. She had so many things to enjoy--her music, her
reading, her flowers, with only pleasant household duties, and above all
she had leisure. Katie thought of her as she had seen her often,
sitting in the church, or in the garden among her flowers, or under the
trees in the village street, looking so fair and sweet, so different
from any one else, so very different from Katie herself, and a momentary
overpowering discontent seized her--discontent with herself, her home,
her manner of life, with the constant daily work which seemed to come to
nothing but just a bare living. It was the same thing over and over
again, housework and dairy-work, and waking and sleeping, with nothing
to show for it all at the year's end. What was the good of it all?
Katie let her book fall on the floor as she put her hands together with
a sudden impatient movement, and the sound startled her out of her
vexing thoughts.
"What would grannie say, I wonder, if she knew?" muttered she, as she
stooped to pick up the book. She felt her face grow hot, and then she
laughed at her foolishness, and looked up to meet Miss Elizabeth's eye.
"What is it, Katie? What are you thinking about?"
"I was thinking about--grannie," said Katie in confusion.
"Well, what about her?"
"Oh! I don't know. I cannot tell you. Only I shall never be so good a
woman as grannie, I'm afraid."
"But then you have a long time before you. I don't think you need to be
discouraged yet," said Miss Elizabeth, laughing.
But Katie was very much ashamed of herself, and did not forgive herself
till she had talked the matter over, first with her grandmother, and
then with Davie. Davie only laughed at her with a little good-natured
contempt. He did not share his sister's enthusiasm about Miss
Elizabeth, and did not quite approve of the great friendship between
them. But as to making a sin of a moment's envy of her friend, and a
moment's discontent with her own life--Davie laughed at the idea.
But her grandmother did not laugh.
"My dear lassie, it is the way with us all. We are ready to turn our
best helps into snares to catch our feet. Miss Elizabeth's kindness may
do you much good in many ways, but if it should make you envious, and
should fill you with discontent, that would be sad indeed. And I doubt
you'll need to watch yourself, and maybe punish yourself, by hiding away
from her for a while."
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
GERSHOM MANUFACTURING COMPANY.
The possibility and desirableness of advancing the interests of the town
of Gershom by the still further "utilising" of the waters of the Beaver
River for manufacturing purposes, had long been a matter earnestly
discussed among the people. At various towns within the last five years
measures had been proposed, tending toward the accomplishment of this
object, but hitherto it had been with little result.