trifling help being needed for a minute, she took off her bonnet, and
"concluded to stay a spell," and that night Ben brought her bag over
which she had packed in the morning, and she stayed as long as she was
needed, to the help and comfort of them all.
As for the grandfather, it went hard with him these days. He was
outwardly silent and grave as usual, giving no voice to the anxiety that
devoured him. But at night when his wife slumbered, worn out with the
day's watching, or when she seemed to slumber, and in Pine-tree Hollow,
which in the time of his former troubles had become to him a refuge and
a sanctuary, his cry ascended to God in an agony of confession and
entreaty. He, too, wondered that it should be God's will that the child
of his enemy should be saved, and his child's life made the sacrifice;
but he did not consciously rebel against that will. It was God's doing;
Davie had not even known whose child it was whom he tried to save. This
was God's doing from beginning to end.
Far be it from him to rebel against God, he said to his wife when,
fearing for him and all that he might be thinking, she spoke to him
about it. It was a terrible trouble, but it did not embitter him as
former trouble had done, and his enemy had fewer of his thoughts at this
time than might have been supposed.
But he had not forgiven him. He knew in his heart that he had not
forgiven him. When Jacob came with his wife, grateful and sorry, and
eager to do something to express it, he kept quiet in a corner of
Davie's room, into which they were not permitted to enter. Mrs Fleming
said all that was needful on the occasion, and when Jacob broke down and
could not speak of his boy who had been given back to them almost from
the dead, she laid her hand gently upon his arm and said, "Let God's
goodness make a better man of you," and even Mrs Jacob did not feel
like resenting the words. But there was no one who could help them in
their present trouble, she repeated, as they went sorrowfully away.
No one except Miss Betsey, grannie felt gratefully, as she turned into
the house again--Miss Betsey, who seemed made of iron, and never owned
to being tired. She slept one night in three, when Katie and her mother
kept the watching, and at other times she took "catnaps" in the
rocking-chair, or on Mrs Fleming's bed, when grannie was at her
brightest and could care for Davie in the early part of the day.
And poor Davie tossed and muttered through many days and nights, never
so delirious as to have forgotten the summer's work, but never quite
clear in his mind, and always struggling with some unknown power that,
against his will, kept him back from doing his part in it. Till one day
he looked into his grandfather's face with comprehending eyes, and said
weakly, but clearly:
"It must be time for the cutting of the wheat, grandfather; I have been
sick a good while, surely?"
"Ay, have you; a good while. But you are better now, the doctor says.
But never heed about the cutting of the wheat. Mark Varney has done all
that, and more. We have had a good harvest, Davie."
"Have we, grandfather?" said Davie, looking with surprise and dismay at
the tears on his grandfather's face.
"God has been good to us, laddie," said Mr Fleming, trying to speak
calmly, and then he rose and went out.
"So we've had a good harvest, have we? And Mark Varney! I wonder where
he turned up. Oh, well! it's all right I daresay--and--I'm tired
already." And he turned his head on the pillow and fell asleep.
Yes, Mark Varney had taken Davie's work into his own hand. He came over
with Mr Maxwell as soon as he heard the lad was ill. He made no formal
offer of help, but just set himself to do what was to be done. He had
all his own way about it, for Mr Fleming was too anxious to take much
heed of the work, since some one else had taken it in hand; and no one
knew better how work should be done than Mark. He had all the help he
needed, for the neighbours were glad to offer help, and give it, too, in
this time of need. The harvest was got through and the grain housed as
successfully as the hay had been before Davie, lank and stooping, crept
out over the fields of Ythan.
It was Sunday afternoon again when Katie and he went slowly down the
brae toward the cherry-trees. Their grandfather and grandmother looked
after them with loving eyes.
"The Lord is ay kind," said Mrs Fleming, and then she read the 103rd
Psalm in the old Scottish version, which she "whiles" liked to do. She
paused now and then because her voice trembled, and on some of the
verses she lingered, reading them twice over, seeking from her husband
audible assent to the comfort they gave:
"`The Lord our God is merciful,
And He is gracious,
Long-suffering, and slow to wrath,
In mercy plenteous.'
"Ay is He! as we ken well this day. And again:--
"`Such pity as a father hath
Unto his children dear,
Like pity shows the Lord to such
As worship Him in fear.'
"`Such pity as a father hath.' We ken well what that means, Dawvid; a
father's pity; such pity and love as we felt for our Davie, when he lay
tossing in his bed, poor laddie. And--as we felt for--him that's
gone--"
She could say no more at the moment, even if it would have been wise to
do so. But by and by she rose and came toward him, and standing half
behind him, laying her soft, wrinkled old hand on his grey head, she
said softly:
"If I could but hear you say that you forgive--Jacob Holt!"
Then there was a long silence in which she did not move.
"Because--I have been thinking that the Lord let our laddie do that--
good turn for His--to put us in mind--" Again she paused. "And I would
fain hear you say it, for His sake who has loved us, and forgiven so
much to us."
"I wish him no ill. I wouldna hurt a hair of his head. I leave him in
God's hands."
He spoke huskily, with long pauses between the sentences. Whether he
would have said more or not she could not tell. There was no time for
more, for the bairns came in with their mother from the Sunday-school,
and quiet was at an end for the moment.
It was a long time before the subject was touched upon between them
again, and it was he who spoke first.
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.
POOR GRANNIE.
The Langdens had stayed ten days in Gershom. Half the time Miss Langden
had passed with Miss Holt, and they had both enjoyed the visit, though
not quite in the same way. Her father needed much of Elizabeth's care
and attention at this time, and it would not have been possible for her
to devote herself constantly to her visitor. But Miss Essie was not a
difficult person to entertain--quite the contrary.
She took interest in many things. She had her journal to keep up, and
many letters to write. And then Mr Clifton Holt was at home, and at
her service. Mr Maxwell was a frequent visitor also; and when he came,
Miss Holt felt at liberty to attend to her own affairs, knowing that
they did not need her presence. Clifton was not so mindful of their old
friendship, or not so well aware of their present relation, for he did
not seem to think it was the thing to do to leave their visitors to
entertain each other; and certainly he was never made to feel himself to
be an intruder, though his sister often feared that he might be so.
Then Miss Langden had a great desire to see as much as possible of "this
interesting country" as she politely called Canada; and as much of it as
could be seen while driving about with Clifton in his sister's low
carriage, or in the larger carriage with Clifton and Mr Maxwell, or her
father, she saw, and professed herself delighted with it. She admired
the farm-houses and the farmers, and the farmers' wives and daughters,
and laid herself out to captivate them in a way that Clifton declared to
be wonderful. To Elizabeth it seemed natural enough.
They saw a good deal of company in a quiet way. The Holts took pains to
invite, at one time or another, the greater part of Mr Maxwell's
friends, in order that Mr Langden and his daughter might make their
acquaintance, and both in different ways won golden opinions among them.
The good people of Gershom were naturally well-disposed toward the
friends of their minister, and Mr Langden was a quiet, shrewd business
man, without a particle of pretence, whose company they would have
enjoyed under even less favourable circumstances. He took much interest
in listening to the very things they liked best to tell about--the early
settlement of that part of the country, its features and resources,
agricultural, mineral, commercial; the history of railroads,
manufactures, and business ventures generally. If there were anything
worth knowing about any of these matters that Mr Langden did not know
before his visit came to an end, it was not for want of questions asked,
Clifton Holt said, laughing, to his daughter. Which was quite true--and
he had asked some questions and received some answers which neither
Clifton nor Jacob had heard, and knew more about some things in Gershom
than Clifton himself knew at that time. Some hints that there had been
thoughts of business as well as pleasure in his mind in visiting Gershom
had transpired, and it would have been agreeable to hear more about it,
but Mr Langden was better at asking questions than at answering them,
and no one knew any more about his plans when he went than when he came.
But people liked him, and liked to talk about him and his visit
afterward.
And his daughter was very much admired also. That is to say, she was
admired in her character of visitor to Miss Elizabeth--as a pretty and
amiable and beautifully-dressed young lady from "the States." But when
the discussion went farther, and her possible future as a resident of
Gershom was hinted at, all were not so sure about her. A minister's
wife! That was another affair. Would she fit into that spot? She did
not look much like the ministers' wives that the Gershom people knew
most about.
"I suppose it comes as natural to her to have gloves, and boots, and
bonnets to match every gown she puts on, as it does for the most of folk
to wear one pair as long as they'll last," said Miss Smith from
Fosbrooke--a much more primitive place than Gershom--"and she looks as
if she set a value on such things, as even good folks will do till
they've learned better."
"And the minister's salary isn't equal to all that, and wouldn't be, not
if it was raised to eight hundred dollars, which isn't likely yet a
spell," said Mrs Coleman, the new deacon's wife.
"Not unless she has money of her own. And if she has--well, ministers'
folks are pretty much so, wherever they be, or whatever they've got; and
such articles of luxury are not the thing for ministers' wives--not in
_this_ wooden country."
"I know one thing," said Miss Hall, the dressmaker. "Her trunk was
never packed to come here short of five hundred dollars, to say nothing
of jewellery. I've handled considerable dry-goods in my time, and I
know that much."
"Ah, well. I guess any one that's lived in `the States,' and that talks
as cool as a cucumber about going to travel in Europe, isn't very likely
to settle down in Gershom--not and be contented," said Myrilla Green,
who had lived in "the States" herself, and was supposed to know the
difference.
"Ah! I guess there's as good folks as her in Gershom;" and so the talk
went on.
But it was the opinion of several of the ladies interested in the
discussion, that clothes, and even money, did not amount to much in some
cases. The young lady had the missionary spirit, as any one who had
heard her talk must see, and she was not likely to be influenced by
secondary motives.
Of course the discussion of the possibility implied by all this was
inevitable in the circumstances, though no one in Gershom _knew_
anything about the matter; and the parties most concerned could have
given them little satisfactory information with regard to it. The first
of the two years of probation, which Mr Langden had insisted upon, had
not yet passed, and Mr Maxwell could not have renewed the question of
an engagement, if he had wished to do so, or if Miss Essie had given him
an opportunity, which she did not. Not a word was spoken between them
that all Gershom might not have heard, though nothing could be more
friendly and pleasant than their intercourse during these ten days.
But then Miss Essie was on friendly terms with every one. Nothing could
be more charming than her manners, it was said. She was "not a bit
stuck up," the Gershom girls acknowledged. If she had any "citified
airs" they were not of the kind that are especially displeasing to
country people. She was friendly with every one, and before her visit
came to an end, it came into Elizabeth's mind that she was particularly
pleasant in words and ways with her brother Clifton.
It had come into Clifton's mind also, and Elizabeth longed to tell him
just how matters stood between Miss Langden and Mr Maxwell. But she
did not feel at liberty to do so, and she could only hope that Clifton's
devotion would be in this case, as it had been in others, only
transitory, and that he would not suffer more than was reasonable for
his folly. Of what passed between Mr Langden and Jacob Holt very
little was known. They went together over the ground which Jacob had so
long coveted, and Mr Langden saw the advantages which the locality
offered for the purpose proposed. He would have considered the purchase
of the land to be a good investment, but Jacob could not bring himself
to urge the unpleasant subject of sale on Mr Fleming, now that Davie
was so ill, and he knew that urging would avail nothing, but it was a
great disappointment to him.
He said little about it to Mr Langden; but that gentleman knew more of
the relations existing between him and Mr Fleming, and of other things
besides, than Jacob fancied. They saw a good many people who were
interested in the proposed enterprise, and got information which would
help him to decide about future investments, he said, but he took no
definite step with regard to the matter before he went away.
It had been understood that Mr Maxwell was to take his "vacation" at
this time, and that he was to go with his friends through a part of
their travels. But Davie Fleming was at the worst, and his mother and
his grandparents were in great trouble, and the minister could not bring
himself to leave them. Of course his friends were disappointed, but not
unreasonably so, for they could understand his feeling, and it was
agreed that if it were possible he should join them at some point in
their route, and so they said good-bye lightly.
Clifton Holt went with them to the city of Montreal, where they stayed a
few days, as all American tourists do. Then they sailed down the Saint
Lawrence to Quebec and farther, and up the Saguenay, and he sailed with
them, and doubtless added to their pleasure by the information he was
able to give as to events and places in which all travellers are
supposed to interest themselves.
Clifton enjoyed it, and would have enjoyed going farther with them. But
on their return to Montreal, they met with a party of friends whom they
found it expedient to join, and so Clifton returned to Gershom, with the
intention of remaining at home for a time. His father was still feeble,
and Clifton seemed inclined to take the advice which his sister had long
ago given him, to seek to obtain some knowledge of the business which
Jacob had hitherto been carrying on in his own name and his father's.
Elizabeth received a little note or two from Miss Langden before she
left Canada, in which much admiration was expressed for her friend's
"interesting country," and much pleasure in her remembrance of the days
spent in Gershom; and she had another after her return to her aunt's
house, where she was to pass some time. And then she did not hear from
her again for a long time.
Davie got better, but not very rapidly. He remained gaunt and stooping,
and had little strength, and Miss Betsey, who still considered herself
responsible for his health, carried him away to the Hill; and then
giving Ben a holiday after his busy summer, sent them both away to visit
her cousin Abiah, who had a clearing and a saw-mill ten miles away.
There were partridges there, and rumours of a bear having been seen, and
there was fishing at any rate, and Davie was assured that ten days of
such sport as could be got there in the woods ought to make a new man of
him.
But Betsey had another reason for sending him away. On the day of her
visit, Mrs Fleming, who had acknowledged herself to be weak and weary
from anxiety and watching, knew herself to be ill; not very ill,
however. She had often, in her younger days, kept about the house, and
done all her work when she felt far worse than she did now, she said.
But she could not "keep about" now, and that was the difference. Davie
would be well away, for he would fret about his grandmother, and that
would do neither of them any good.
Davie's visit to the woods did not make a new man of him; but it did him
good, and he needed all his strength and courage when he came home
again, for grannie, who had been "not just very well" when he went away,
was no better when he returned.
"And they never told me, grannie," said he, indignantly.
"There was nothing to tell, my laddie, and you are better for going.
And now you must help Katie to cheer your grandfather, and keep your
brothers at their work."
And Davie saw that his grandfather needed to be cheered. He seemed to
have grown a very old man during the last few months, he thought. He
had gone about the farm, and kept the boys at their work, and had helped
sometimes, Katie said, while Davie was away. But now he gave all that
up to him. Mark Varney came now and then when there was anything extra
to be done; and though Davie was not so strong as before his illness,
they were as well on with their fall work as the neighbours generally.
But except with a word of advice, or an answer to questions, which Davie
was pertinacious in asking, as to what was to be done, and what left
undone, the old man took little part in what had filled his life before.
He went about the house and barns, with his head bowed, and his hands
clasped behind him, making Katie wild with the wistful, helpless longing
of his face.
"It is no good for grannie to see you so downcast, grandfather. Courage
is what is needed more than anything in a time of sickness, Betsey says.
And, grandfather, grannie is no' so very ill."
"Is she no', think you, Katie? She says it, but oh, my heart fails me."
"She says it, and I think she is right. And, grandfather, she often
says, you ken that the Lord is ay kind."
"Ay, lass! but His kindest touch cuts sore whiles. And if He were to
deal with me after my sins--"
"But, grandfather; He never does, and He hurts to heal--as I have heard
you say yourself."
"Ay. I have said it with my lips, but I doubt I was carrying a sore and
angry heart whiles, when I was putting the folk in mind. And, oh,
Katie, lassie, He is far awa'. He has hidden His face from me."
"But only for a moment, grandfather; don't you mind, `For a small moment
have I forsaken thee, but with great mercies will I visit thee'? And
grannie is no' so very ill."
She drew him gently from the room where grannie was slumbering, so that
she need not be disturbed. It seemed to her the strangest thing that
her grandfather should speak to her in this way, and that she should
have courage to answer him. He sat down on a seat by the door, and
leaned his chin on the hand that rested on his staff, and looked away
over Ythan fields to the hills beyond. But whether he saw them or not
was doubtful, for his eyes were dazed and heavy with trouble, and Katie
could not bear to see him so.
"She is not so very ill," she repeated. "She is sometimes better and
sometimes worse, but she has no thought that she is going to die. She
will be better soon."
"She is a good ten years younger than I am. I should go first by
rights. But she has had much to weary her, and she would doubtless be
glad to rest."
"No, grandfather, she would not. She is glad at the thought that she
will be spared a little while for--all our sakes."
"Who is that coming down the road? It is the minister, I think, and
Betsey Holt."
The old man rose hastily.
"I'll awa' up the brae," said he. "No, it is no disrespect to the
minister, but I canna hear his words to-day."
And up the hill he went to the pasture-bars, and through the pasture "to
Pine-tree Hollow," Katie thought, as her eyes followed him anxiously.
"But He may show him His face, up yonder," said Katie, with tears; "and
I am sure, and so is Miss Betsey, that she is no' so very ill."
Grannie had never thought herself very ill. Even when all her days were
spent in bed, she only called herself weary at first. There had been a
very warm week about that time, and she had suffered from the heat, and
had kept herself quiet. But she did not think herself ill, and
certainly Katie did not think it. For though she was not strong, she
did not suffer much, except that she was feverish and restless now and
then, and she was always sweet and bright and easily pleased, and not at
all like the sick people that Katie had seen. It was a pleasure to be
with her, to wait on her, and to listen to her. For there were times
when she had much to say, soothing her own restlessness with happy talk
of many things which Katie liked to hear.
She told her about her father--so grave and kind and trustworthy--and
about Hughie, who was so good and clever, but who had "gone wrong," and
been lost to them, leaving their life so dreary. And once or twice she
spoke of one over whom she had kept the silence of many a year. It was
Katie's own name she heard--but it was of another "bonnie Katie" that
her grandmother murmured so fondly, one who had been beguiled--who had
sinned and suffered, and died long ago. But she always spoke brokenly
of her when she was restless and feverish, and Katie, though she would
have liked to hear more, strove always to turn her thoughts away.
But almost always her talk was happy and bright. In those days Katie
heard more of her grandmother's youthful days than she had ever heard
before. She spoke about her home, and her brothers and sisters, and
about "the gowany braes" and "the silver Ythan," and the songs they used
to sing, before it had ever come into her mind that there was trouble
and care before her. She even tried to sing again, in her faint sweet
voice, some of the dear old songs, laughing softly at her own
foolishness.
But she never once spoke as though she thought she might not recover;
even when she gave Katie words of counsel or caution, it was just in the
way she used to do when they were going about their work together, and
the girl was sure that she would soon be well again, and that that was
Miss Betsey's thought too.
But seeing her as she stood looking down on her grandmother's sleeping
face that morning, Katie was not so sure of what Miss Betsey's thoughts
might be. Still, her grandmother's eyes opened and she smiled her old
cheerful smile, as she said she was glad to see them.
"You must tell grandfather that the minister is come, Katie," said she.
Mr Maxwell had seen Mr Fleming stepping up the brae, and he knew well
that no words of his could comfort him. He could only hope as Katie
did, that his Lord and Master might show him His face in the solitude he
sought.
He had few words to say to Mrs Fleming, for she seemed inclined to
slumber through the afternoon.
"I wish you could stay with us to-night, Miss Betsey," said Katie's
mother. "I am afraid grandmother is not so well."
"There is not much difference either way, I think. I would be glad to
stay, but Uncle Gershom has had another bad turn, and I promised cousin
Lizzie I would stay with her to-night. But I will come over to-morrow
morning before I go home if I can get away."
"Do you think her very ill?" asked Mr Maxwell as they walked down the
hill together.
"I have not thought her very ill. I don't know that she is worse
to-day, but she is certainly no better. I suppose it depends on whether
her strength holds out. She is an old woman now."
These were anxious days to Katie; but her grandfather had more of her
thoughts than her grandmother.
"And it is a wonder to me that he should be so broken down, a good man
like him, even by such sore trouble. Even the loss of grannie would be
but for a few days, and he has the Lord Himself in the midst of it all."