who is the light of the world, and even when he strove to lift them up,
there were clouds and shadows between, that grew darker for a while.
All this had come upon him gradually. After the utter darkness of the
winter that followed his son's death, he might have ceased to think so
constantly of his loss and his son's ruin if it had not been for the
sight of Jacob Holt. If Jacob had never returned, or if he had gone on
in his old ways till the end came to him also, he might have forgiven
him, at least he might have outlived the bitterness of his anger, and in
time might have been comforted for his son, and as other fathers are
comforted.
But Jacob came home, and had another chance, and became a changed man,
or so it was said of him. As years passed he did well for himself, and
had power and influence in the town, as his father had had before him.
And when James Fleming died, and the old man fell into his enemy's hand,
as he thought, his whole life was made bitter to him.
It was not that he grudged to Jacob anything either of wealth or
consideration that he had won for himself. But with every thought of
him was joined the thought of the son who, in his father's eyes, had
been as much above him as one human being could well be above another,
in goodness, in cleverness, in beauty, in all that makes a man worthy of
love and honour from his fellows, and he grew sick sometimes with the
thought of it all.
But he never spoke much of all this even to his wife. It was years
before the old squire knew that it was not all right between Mr Fleming
and Jacob, and he never knew all the bitterness of the old man's
feelings. Gershom people generally knew that there was no love lost
between them, but even Mrs Fleming hardly knew how utterly her husband
had become possessed of the feelings which embittered his life.
All this hurt Jacob far less than it hurt himself. Indeed, it cannot be
said that it affected Jacob at all, in the way of making him ashamed or
remorseful. It affected in some measure the opinion of a few of his
fellow-townsmen, and gave to those who had a grudge against him for
other reasons, an opportunity of saying hard things against him. But
Jacob cared little for all this, and until he had been thwarted by him
in the matter of the land on the bank of the river, had given few of his
thoughts to Mr Fleming.
But who can say what the stern old man had endured all these years while
his silent anger, which was almost hatred, was living and rankling in
his heart? Even while he believed that it was the sin that he hated,
and not the sinner, it had been like a canker within him. His
conscience permitted the stern avoidance of this man, but it was not
always silent as to the neglect or the positive avoidance of duties,
which the presence of this man made distasteful, and at times even
impossible to him.
When Jacob, according to the hopeful verdict of his friends, became a
changed man, and cast in his lot with the people of God, it had needed
the utmost exercise of the strong restraint which he imposed on himself,
as far as outward acts were concerned, to keep him from crying out
against what seemed to him to be a profanation of God's ordinances.
After old Mr Hollister's death, when others fell in with the new order
of things, and one after another of his old friends found his place in
the church, he kept back and remained a spectator, even when he would
gladly have gone with them.
It was only his strong sense of the duty he owed to his family, that
took him to the new church at all, and it was to be feared that had it
not been for his personal interest in Mr Maxwell, and his real love for
the word of truth as presented by him to the people, he would, during
the winter which saw the work at Varney's farm commenced and carried on
at Jacob Holt's bidding, have absented himself from the house of God
altogether.
He went, but he did not derive the good from it he might have done in
other circumstances, as he longed to do. He was like one bound or
blinded; like one striving vainly to reach a hand held out to him, to
see clearly a face of love turned toward him, indeed, but with a veil
between.
"Thou art a God that hidest Thyself," was his cry. And when this word
followed to his conscience, "Your sins have hid His face from you that
He will not hear," he laid his hand on his mouth, acknowledging that it
might well be so; but it was not the sin of his anger against Jacob Holt
that came home to him. He told himself that it was the man's daily
hypocrisy that he hated. And if he could not always separate the sinner
from the sin in his thoughts, he yet could quiet himself, taking refuge
in the knowledge that never by word or deed had he pleaded his own cause
against him. He left it to God to deal with him.
But having waited long, and seeing many troubles drawing near, he asked
in moments of darkness whether God had indeed forgotten him.
And so the days went on through the spring, and Mrs Fleming watched and
waited, saying little, but growing sad at heart to see how rapidly the
signs of old age were growing visible upon him.
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
KATIE'S WORD.
Grannie's brave heart did not fail her. She had much to comfort her at
this time of trouble.
Seldom had there been a more favourable spring for the getting in of the
crops, and never even at Ythan Brae had the spring work been done
better, or in better time.
Davie was far enough from being perfect yet in many respects, and his
grandmother did not consider it her duty, or for his good, to let him
forget his faults. But she made amends to herself, if not to him, by
rejoicing over him and his steadiness and goodness to his mother and
Katie. None of her rebukes or cautions were needed where his
grandfather was concerned, and she could not but wonder sometimes at the
lad's forbearance, for the old man's burden of care made him weary and
irritable often.
Katie's dairy, so long talked of and planned for, was in use now, though
it was not quite finished to her mind yet. Davie made use of his spare
minutes on rainy days to add to its conveniences. In the meantime it
was clean and cool. The Ythan burn rippled softly through it, and with
a free use of its limpid waters, and a judicious use of the limited
treasure of ice which they had secured during the last winter months,
Katie made such butter as bade fair to win her a reputation which might
in course of time rival that of her grandmother. They had two more cows
in the pasture than ever they had had before; but ambitious to do much,
and to make much money for their possible time of need, and being
perfectly healthy and strong, Katie laughed at the idea of having too
much to do, and could have disposed, in the village, of twice as much of
her delicious butter as her dairy could produce.
Everything seemed to promise a profitable summer, and a pleasant summer
too, notwithstanding the knowledge that whatever evil was to come on
them through Jacob Holt could not be long averted now.
"Katie," said Davie, "do you ken what they are saying about grandfather
now? They say that--"
"But who are saying it? If you tell me who they are, I'll soon tell you
what they are saying. Though it matters little anyway."
"Well, you needna fly out at me. I'm no' saying it," said Davie,
laughing. "And as for _they_, I might as well say _he_, or maybe _she_.
It was Ben Holt who told me. He heard his Aunt Betsey telling his
grandmother. But it came from Mrs Jacob in the first place. She says
that poor old Mr Fleming is not right in his mind, and that something
will have to be done about it."
"Davie!" gasped Katie, "how dare you?"
Davie looked up startled. Katie's face crimsoned first, and then went
very white.
"Oh, Davie, Davie! How could you say it?" and her tears gushed forth.
"But, Katie--such nonsense! I didna say it. Do be reasonable. I
shouldna have told you. But why should we heed what they say?"
It took Katie a good while to get over the shock she had received, and
Davie sat watching her a little shamefaced and sorry, saying to himself
what queer creatures girls were, and what an especially queer creature
Katie was, and he wished heartily that he had said nothing about it.
But Katie was not shocked in the way that Davie supposed. It was not
that she was indignant at Mrs Jacob for saying such a thing of her
grandfather. That there should be anything in her grandfather's words
or ways to make the saying of such things possible made the pain. For a
terrible fear had come upon Katie. Or rather, by the constant watching
of her grandmother's looks and words, she had come to the knowledge that
she feared for the old man something which she had never put into words.
It was Sunday afternoon, a lovely June day, and they were sitting at the
foot of the little knoll under the birch-tree, where the two Holts had
found them on that Sunday morning long ago. The rest of the bairns had
gone with their mother to the Sunday-school at the Scott school-house as
usual, and their grandfather and grandmother were sitting together in
the house. Davie had been sitting there too, with his book in his hand,
but he had not enjoyed it much; he had nodded over it at last and
dropped asleep, and then grannie had bidden him go out to the air for a
while and stretch himself, adding to his grandfather as he went:
"He's wearied with his week's work, poor laddie, and canna keep his eyes
open, and it will do him good to stroll quietly down the brae to the
burn. And Katie, lassie, you can go with him for a little till the
bairns and your mother come home."
So, her grandfather saying nothing, Katie went well pleased, and the two
soon found themselves at their favourite place of rest, at the point
where the Ythan begins to gurgle and murmur over the stones at the foot
of the birch knoll.
They had both changed a good deal since the day the Holts found them
sitting there. There seemed a greater difference in their ages than
there had seemed then, for Katie, as bonnie and fresh as ever, was
almost a woman now. Davie was a boy still, long and lank, and not
nearly so handsome as he used to be, but there was promise of strength
and good looks too, when a few years should be over. He had worked
constantly and hard for the last year, and he stooped a little sometimes
when he was tired, and Katie was beginning to fear lest he should become
round-shouldered and "slouching," and was in the way of giving him
frequent hints about carrying himself uprightly, as he went about the
farm. But he was as fine a young fellow as one could wish to see, and
his looks promised well for the manhood that did not lie very far before
him.
They were silent for a good while after Katie's outburst. She sat on
the grass, her hands clasped round her knees, and her eyes fixed on the
rippling water of the burn. Davie lay back on the grass with his head
on his clasped hands regarding her. She turned round at last with a
grave face.
"I cannot understand it, Davie. I suppose Jacob Holt is not a good man,
and grandfather thinks he did him a great wrong long ago, and that he is
only waiting for an opportunity to do him still another. But yet it
seems strange to me that grandfather should care so much, and be so hard
on him. It should not matter so much to him, for Jacob Holt is but a
poor creature after all."
Davie looked at her in astonishment.
"Is that the way you look at it? Do you know what happened long ago?"
"I don't know, nor do you; but we can guess. And even grannie thinks
him hard on Jacob. Oh, Davie; it is a terrible thing not to be able to
forget."
Davie said nothing, and Katie went on:
"I hate myself for thinking that grandfather may not be right in
everything, so good as he is, so upright and so true. He never did a
mean or unjust deed in all his life. If he is not one of God's people,
who is? And yet, Davie, the Bible says, `If ye forgive not men their
trespasses, neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespasses.'
And to think that one like Jacob Holt should have the power to harden a
good man's heart like that!"
"What do you suppose grannie would think if she were to hear you?" said
Davie in amazement.
"Of course I wouldna speak to grannie, or to any one else but you. And
whiles I think that grannie herself is feared at his silence, and--and
at his unchangeableness," said Katie, with an awed look. "And
grandfather is growing an old man now, and what will it matter to him in
a little while about Jacob Holt or any other man?"
Davie got up and walked about restlessly for a while, and when he came
and stood before her on the other side of the burn, Katie want on again:
"Grandfather must ken that the Lord knows about it all, and that it is
sure `to work for good' to him, as the Bible says it must. `All
things,' it says. And the Lord knew grandfather's trouble long ago, and
grandfather knows that He knew it, and it is a wonder that he should
never be comforted."
"It is something that we canna understand," said Davie gravely. "But,
Katie, grandfather is not ay dwelling on it as you suppose. Did he ever
do an ill deed to Jacob Holt, or say an ill word of him? He canna be
friendly with him, because he canna trust him or respect him. But as to
not forgiving him--that is not likely."
"But, Davie, he hasna spoken a word to Jacob Holt for years. He has not
heard his name spoken--unless by the old squire, who forgets things
whiles. None of us name him in his hearing, nor the neighbours. And
all this about the land and the site for the mills is not natural, is
it, if he has forgiven and forgotten? And it is not Christian, if he
has not," added Katie with a sob.
"And what you mean by all this is, that--that something is the matter
with him--as Mr Jacob said," and Davie turned angry eyes on his sister.
"Davie, I whiles think grannie is feared. She is ay longing for his
home-coming when he is away. And I hear her speaking softly to him when
they are alone. And I hear him often praying in the night; last night
it was for hours, I think. Oh, Davie! and then grannie went to him, and
he went back to his bed again, and grannie looked, oh, so white and
spent in the morning."
"And he was at Pine-tree Hollow the other night," said Davie.
"Yes! And grannie went to meet him, and my mother was waiting for them
at the gate, and she burst out crying when she saw them coming home
together through the gloaming."
They sat for a long time silent after that. Indeed, there was not
another word spoken till they heard the children's voices, and knew that
it was time to go to the house again. Then Katie stooped and laved the
water on her tear-stained face before she turned to go.
"It will all work for good, Katie, you may be sure of that," said her
brother huskily, as they went up the brae together.
"Yes, to those who love Him. So the promise is good for grannie and
him--and, oh, Davie! if we were only sure for us all."
There were smiles on Katie's face when she said this, and tears too, and
it was doubtful which of them would have way, till her grandfather's
voice settled it. She had only smiles for him, as he came out at the
door with his staff in his hand, and looking as if he needed it to lean
upon, but looking, at the same time, brighter and more like himself than
Katie had seen him for a while. She turned and went with him toward the
pasture-bars, his favourite walk. They went slowly on together,
speaking few words, content to be silent in each other's company.
It was a bonny day, the old man said, and the grass was fine and green;
and Katie bade him look at the barley turning yellow already, and at the
purple shadows on the great hay-field as the wind passed over it.
"I like to watch them," said Katie, "and, grandfather, doesna it mind
you of the waves of the sea?"
Her grandfather shook his head.
"It's a bonny sight, but it is no like the waves of the sea."
And thus a word dropped here and there till they came to the
pasture-bars. The sheep and the young lambs crowded together close to
the bars over which they leaned, expecting the usual taste of salt from
their hands, and old Kelso and her colt neighed their welcome. It was a
peaceful, pleasant scene, and would do her grandfather good, Katie said
to herself joyfully. But in a minute her heart gave a sudden throb, as
with a look at her face, from which neither the water of the burn, nor
the mild sweet air had quite effaced the traces of tears, he said
gravely:
"And what was it that Davie was saying to you as you came up the brae?"
Katie gave a quick look into his face, and her eyes fell, and she could
not utter a word.
"Was he vexing you with his nonsense? Was he scolding you, my lassie?"
"Davie! Oh, grandfather! I would never heed Davie. And besides, it is
I who scolded Davie," added she with a laugh, much relieved.
"I dare say he's no' out of the need of it whiles, though he maybe needs
it less than he once did."
"Yes, indeed! grandfather. Is he not steady now? As good as gold?"
"As gold? Well, gold is good in its place, if it could be kept there.
And what were you two discoursing about, down yonder by the burn?"
It never came into Katie's mind that she could answer him otherwise than
indirectly.
"We were speaking--about you, grandfather, and about--Jacob Holt."
"Well?"
"And Davie was saying how impossible it was that anything that that man
can do could hurt you, grandfather."
"He thinks he kens, does he?"
"But he says everybody kens that, though Jacob is a greedy man, he is
but a poor creature, and wouldna dare to harm you, because all Gershom
would cry out against him if he were to do his will."
"I'm no' sure of that. But, indeed, I think he has done his worst on me
already." And the look, the dark look, that always brought the shadow
to grannie's eyes came over his face as he said it. Katie's heart beat
hard, but her courage rose to the occasion, and she said softly and
reverently:
"It was God's will, grandfather, and surely Jacob must be sorry now."
The old man uttered a sound between a groan and a cry.
"Was it God's will? It was a great sin, and God has never punished him
for it. Lassie, you little ken."
"No, grandfather, but God kens. And it was His will," repeated Katie,
not knowing what to say.
"God's will! Ay, since He permitted it; we can say nothing else. But
that it should be God's will that yon man should have a name and a place
here--and it may be, hereafter--passes me."
Except to his wife, Mr Fleming had never spoken such words before, and
the pain and anger on his face it was sorrowful to see.
"Grandfather, don't you mind how, at the very last, our Lord said,
`Father, forgive them'?"
He had been sitting, with his face averted from her, but he turned now
with a strange, dazed look in his eyes:
"Ay. And He said, `Love your enemies,' and `Forgive and ye shall be
forgiven.' And Katie, my bonny woman, I canna do it."
Katie slid down to the ground beside him, and laid her wet face on his
knee without a word. What was there to be said, only "God comfort him,
God comfort him?" and she said it many times in the silence that came
next.
By and by the clouds drifted toward the west and hid the sun, and it
seemed to grow dreary and chill around them.
"We'll go to the house to your grandmother," said he at last in a voice
that to Katie seemed hard and strange.
Was he angry with her? Ought she not to have spoken? She dared not ask
him, but she touched his hand with her lips, and wet it with her tears
before she rose. He took no notice, but said again: "We'll go home to
your grandmother;" and no word was spoken till they reached the house,
and then Katie slipped away out of sight, lest her grandmother should
see her tears.
But as the days went on she knew that he was not angry. He was very
grave and silent, and grannie was never quite at rest when he was long
out of sight. But summer wore on, and nothing happened to make one day
different from another till haying-time came.
CHAPTER TWENTY.
A DEMONSTRATION.
Mr Fleming's failing strength, and the high rate of wages paid for farm
labour, had for several years made it necessary for him to depart from
what seemed to him the best mode of farming, in order to save both
strength and wages. So there was a larger part of the place in hay and
pasture-land than there had been at first, a larger proportion than
there ought to be for really good farming on such land as his, he was
willing to acknowledge. Haymaking was, therefore, the most important
part of summer work at Ythan.
There was much to be done, both in the house and in the fields. Several
men were required to help for a month or more, and if they were not of
the right stamp, both as to character and capabilities, the oversight of
them became a trouble to the grandfather, and that, of course, troubled
them all. No choice could be exercised in the matter. They were
usually men who came along from the French country, either before or
after their own narrow fields were cut, in order to make a little money
by helping their English-speaking neighbours, and those who hired them
must take their chance.
As a general thing the men were good workers, and did well when their
employers worked with them. But they were for the most part
eye-servants, who took things easy when it might be done, and with
eye-service Mr Fleming had less patience than with most things.
But the "good luck" that had followed Davie and his doings on the farm
all the summer, followed him still. One night there came to Ythan a
stranger, who introduced himself as Ira Hemmenway, an American, sole
agent in Canada for the celebrated Eureka mowing-machine, and he
"claimed the privilege" of introducing this wonderful invention to the
notice of the discriminating and intelligent farmers of Gershom. He
asked nothing better for his own share of profit than a chance to show
what he could do with it on some of the smooth fields of Ythan.
If he had been aware of Mr Fleming's distaste for all things untried,
or "new-fangled," it is likely he would have carried his request
elsewhere. But, greatly to Davie's surprise, his grandfather listened
to the proposition of Mr Hemmenway with no special signs of disfavour,
and he could only hope that the wonderful eloquence of their Yankee
friend might not hinder rather than help his cause.
"With a fair start in the morning we calculate, with a middlin' span of
horses, to get over by noon as much ground as six men would get over, if
they worked from sunrise to sundown, if they didn't have to stop to eat
or drink or take a resting-spell. We cut clean and even. There'll be a
little clipping, maybe, round the stumps and stone piles, but you don't
seem to have many of them. You just see me go once round your big field
there with my team, and you'll never want to touch a scythe again. Only
give me the chance. The first day sha'n't cost you nothing but my
victuals and good feed of oats for my team. Now come, what do you say?"
Mr Fleming listened with patience and with some amusement, Davie
thought.
"That is cheap enough surely," said he.
"And nothing risked," continued Mr Hemmenway. "It'll be good for you
and good for me, and it doesn't often happen that both sides get the
best of the bargain. Say yes, and I'll be along by sunrise, and if I
don't make this young man here open his eyes first time round, I shall
be some surprised."
The only difficulty seemed lest there might be too much grass cut to be
properly cared for, since they had not as yet engaged help.
"Don't you fret about that. You'll have the whole neighbourhood here
looking on, and I don't suppose they'll stand still and do it. I'll
risk the making of the hay that'll be cut to-morrow."
The idea of the whole neighbourhood looking on, or even helping to make
hay, was not so agreeable to Mr Fleming as Mr Hemmenway might have
supposed, and Davie hastened to suggest that Ben Holt and two or three
others who had not yet commenced in their own fields might give help for
one day, and so the matter was arranged. Mr Hemmenway lost no time.
The machine was brought to Ythan that night, and when Mr Fleming came
out in the morning operations had long been commenced in Mr Hemmenway's
best style, and Davie was occupying his place on the high seat of the
machine, and driving "the team" steadily round the great square, which
was growing beautifully less at every turn.