Christie Redfern's Troubles Part 12

"Effie," she said, after a little pause, "it winna be very pleasant to think that we are depending on Aunt Elsie. I dinna wonder that you sigh."

"Whisht, Christie! It's not that, child. I don't think you are quite just to Aunt Elsie. She has done much, and given up much, for us since mother died. Her way is not ay pleasant; but I think she would be easier to deal with as the giver than as the receiver. I mean, I shall be very glad if it can be arranged that she shall have her income again.

But we won't speak more of these things to-night, dear. We only vex ourselves; and that can do no good."

But Effie did not cease to vex herself when she ceased to speak, if Christie might judge from the sighs that frequently escaped her. Just as she was dropping to sleep, her sister's voice aroused her.

"Christie," she said, "you are not to say anything to any one about-- about John Nesbitt's wanting me to come here. Of course it's impossible; and it mustna be spoken about."

"I couldna help hearing, Effie."

"No; I know, dear. But it's not to be spoken about. You must forget it."

"Did Mrs Nesbitt want it too?" asked Christie.

"I don't know. Mrs Nesbitt is very kind; but you mustna say anything to her about this matter--or to any one. Promise me, Christie."

Christie promised, wondering very much at her sister's eagerness, and thinking all the time that it would be very nice to live with Mrs Nesbitt and her sons, far pleasanter than to live on the farm, if it was to be Aunt Elsie's. Christie felt very unsubmissive to this part of their trouble. She thought it would be far easier to depend for a home and food and clothes on their kind neighbours, who were friends indeed, than on the unwilling bounty of her aunt. But, as Effie said, Christie by no means did justice to the many good qualities of her aunt, and was far from properly appreciating her self-denying efforts in behalf of them all.

After that night, Effie did not often allude to their future plans when with Christie. It was best not to vex themselves with troubles that might never come, she said. They must wait patiently till the harvest was over, and then all would be settled.

The summer pa.s.sed on, with little to mark its course. Christie had more to do about the house and in the garden than in the spring, and was better and more contented for it. But she and her sisters sent many an anxious glance forward to the harvest-time.

They did not have to wait so long, however. Before the harvest-time their affairs were settled. An opportunity, which those capable of judging thought very favourable, occurred for selling it; and it was sold. They might have occupied the house for the winter; but this would only have been to delay that which delay would make no easier. It was wiser and better in every way to look out for a home at once.

About six miles from the farm, in the neighbourhood where Effie's school was, there stood on the edge of a partially-cleared field a small log-house, which had been for several months uninhabited. Towards this the eyes of the elder sister had often turned during the last few weeks.

Once, on her way home from school, she went into it. She was alone; and though she would have been very unwilling to confess it, the half-hour she pa.s.sed there was as sorrowful a half-hour as she had ever pa.s.sed in her life. For Effie was by no means so wise and courageous as Christie, in her sisterly admiration, was inclined to consider her.

Looking on the bare walls and defective floors and broken windows, her heart failed her at the thought of ever making that a home for her brother and sisters.

Behind the house lay a low, rocky field, enc.u.mbered with logs and charred stumps, between which bushes and a second growth of young trees were springing. A low, irregular fence of logs and branches, with a stone foundation, had once separated the field from the road; but it was mostly broken-down now, and only a few traces of what had been a garden remained. It was not the main road that pa.s.sed the house, but a cross-road running between the main roads; and the place had a lonely and deserted look, which might well add to the depression which anxiety and uncertainty as to their future had brought on Effie. No wonder that very troubled and sad was the half-hour which she pa.s.sed in the dreary place.

"I wish I hadna spoken to Aunt Elsie about this place," she said to herself. "She seemed quite pleased with the thought of coming here; but we could never live in this miserable hovel. What could I be thinking about? How dreary and broken-down it is!"

There were but two rooms and a closet or two on the ground-floor.

Above, there might be another made--perhaps two; but that part of the house was quite unfinished, showing the daylight through the c.h.i.n.ks between the logs. Floor there was none.

"It could never be made comfortable, I am afraid," she said, as she made her way down the creaking ladder. "I could never think of bringing the bairns here." And it was with a heavy heart that she took her way home.

But her courage rose again. Before many days had pa.s.sed she had decided to try what could be done with the place. The house, such as it was, with a little square of garden-ground, could be got for a rent merely nominal. It was near her school. She could live at home, and the little ones could go to school with her. Thus they could be kept together, and their education not be neglected. With what she and her sisters could earn they could live comfortably for some years in this quiet place. She could not fulfil her promise to her father to keep the little ones together, elsewhere; for she must not give up her school.

Her salary was not large, but it was sure; and here they would be under her own eye. The price of the farm had been well invested in her aunt's name, though Aunt Elsie herself was not yet aware of the fact. Effie was not sure whether she would remain with them or return home. But whatever she did, her income must be quite at her own disposal. The sisters must work for themselves and the little ones. If their aunt stayed with them, well; but they must henceforth depend on their own exertions.

When Effie had once decided that the little log-house on the cross-road was thenceforward to be their home, her naturally happy temper, and her earnest desire to make the best of all things for the sake of the others, made it easy for her to look for hopeful signs for the future, and to make light of difficulties which she could not fail to see.

Under her direction, and by her a.s.sistance, the little log-house underwent an entire transformation before six weeks were over. Nothing was done by other hands which her own or Sarah's and Annie's could do.

The carpenters laid new floors and mended broken windows; the plasterers filled the c.h.i.n.ks and covered the walls of what was to be their chamber; but the girls themselves scrubbed and whitewashed, papered and painted, cleaned away rubbish from without and from within, and settled their various affairs with an energy and good-will which left them neither time nor inclination for repining. In a little while it would have been impossible to recognise in the bright and cheerful little cottage the dismal place in which, at her first visit, Effie had shed some very bitter tears.

Aunt Elsie did not leave them. She quite resented the idea of such a thing being possible. She had little faith in the likelihood of the children being kept together and clothed and fed by the una.s.sisted efforts of the sisters, and a.s.sumed the direction of affairs in the new home, as she had always done in the old. Effie's words with regard to her proved true. She was far easier to do with when she found herself in a position to give rather than to receive a.s.sistance. Her income was not large. Indeed, it was so small that those who have never been driven to bitter straits might smile at her idea of a competence. It would have barely kept her from want, in any circ.u.mstances; but joined to Effie's earnings it gave promise of many comforts in their humble home. So ample did their means seem to them at first, that they would fain have persuaded each other that there need be no separation--that all might linger under the shelter of the lowly roof. But it could not be. Annie and Sarah both refused to eat bread of their sister's winning, when there was not work enough to occupy them at home; and before they had been settled many weeks, they began to think of looking for situations elsewhere.

At first they both proposed to leave; but this Effie could not be prevailed upon to consider right. Helpless as Aunt Elsie was and seemed likely to continue, there was far more to do in their little household, limited as their means were, than it was possible for Christie to do well. The winter was coming, already the mornings were growing short.

She herself could do little at home without neglecting her school; and her school must not be neglected. And besides, though Effie did not say much about it, she felt that almost any other discipline would be better for her nervous, excitable sister, than that she would be likely to experience with none to stand between her and the peculiar rigour of Aunt Elsie's system of training. So she would not hear of both Annie and Sarah leaving them. Indeed, she constantly entreated, whenever the matter was discussed, that neither of them should go till winter was over. There was no fear but that the way would be opened before them.

In the meantime, they might wait patiently at home.

And the way was opened far sooner than they had hoped or than Effie desired. A lady who had been pa.s.sing the summer in the neighbourhood had been requested by a friend in town to secure for her the services of a young woman as nurse. Good health and a cheerful temper, with respectability of character, were all that was required. Then Annie and Sarah began seriously to discuss which of them should go and which should stay at home. Strange to say, Aunt Elsie was the only one of them all who shrank from the idea of the girls "going to service" or "taking a place." It was a very hard thing for her brother's daughters, she said, who had been brought up with expectations and prospects so different. She would far rather that Sarah who was skilful with the needle, and had a decided taste for millinery and dressmaking, should have offered herself to the dressmaker of the neighbouring village, or even have gone to the city to look for such a situation there. But this plan was too indefinite to suit the girls. Besides, there was no prospect of present remuneration should it succeed. So the situation of nurse was applied for and obtained by Annie. Sarah's needle could be kept busy at home, and perhaps she could earn a little besides by making caps and bonnets for their neighbours. While they awaited the lady's final answer, the preparations for Annie's departure went busily on.

The answer came, and with it a request that another nurse might be engaged. A smaller girl would do. She would be expected to amuse, and perhaps teach reading to two little girls. If such a one could be found, permission was given to Annie to delay her departure from home for a week, till they should come together.

There was a dead silence when the letter was read. Annie and Sarah looked at each other, and then at Effie. Christie, through all the reading, had never taken her eyes from her elder sister's face. But Effie looked at no one. The same thought had come into the minds of all; and Effie feared to have the thought put into words. But Aunt Elsie had no such fear, it seemed; for after examining the letter, she said, in a voice that did not betray very much interest in the subject:

"How would you like to go, Christie?" Christie said nothing, but still looked at Effie.

"What do you think, Effie?" continued her aunt.

"Oh, it's of no use to think about it at all! There's no need of Christie's going. She is not strong enough. She is but a child."

Effie spoke hastily, as though she wished the subject dropped. But Aunt Elsie did not seem inclined to drop it.

"Well, it's but a little girl that is wanted," she said. "And as for her not being strong enough, I am sure there canna be any great strength required to amuse two or three bairns. I dare say it might be the very place for her."

"Yes; I dare say, if it was needful for Christie to go. There will be many glad to get the place. You must speak to the Cairns' girls, Annie."

"Would you like to go, Christie?" asked her aunt, with a pertinacity which seemed, to Effie at least, uncalled for.

But Christie made no answer, and looked still at Effie.

"There is no use in discussing the question," said Effie, more hastily than she meant to speak. "Christie is far better off at home. There is no need of her going. Don't speak of it, Aunt Elsie."

Now Aunt Elsie did not like to have any one differ from her--"to be dictated to," as she called it. Effie very rarely expressed a different opinion from Aunt Elsie. But her usual forbearance made her doing so on the present occasion the more disagreeable to her aunt; and she did not fail to take her to task severely for what she called her disrespect.

"I didna mean to say anything disrespectful, Aunt Elsie," said she, soothingly, and earnestly hoping that the cause of her reproof might be discussed no further. But she was disappointed.

"Wherefore should I no' speak about this thing for Christie? If it's no disgrace for Annie to go to service, I see no season why it should not be spoken of for Christie."

"Disgrace, aunt!" repeated Effie. "What an idea! Of course it is nothing of the sort. But why should we speak of Christie's going when there is no need?"

"For that matter, you may say there is no need for Annie's going. They both need food and clothes as well as the rest."

Effie took refuge in silence. In a little while her aunt went on:

"And as for her being a child, how much younger, pray, is she than Annie? Not above two years, at most. And as for health, she's well enough, for all that I can see. She's not very strong, and she wouldna have hard work; and the change might do her good. You spoil her by making a baby of her. I see no reason why the bread of dependence should be sweeter to her than to the rest."

"It would be bitter enough, eaten at your expense," were the words that rose to Christie's lips in reply, Effie must have seen them there, for she gave her no time to utter them, but hastily--almost sharply--bade her run and see what had become of the girls and little Willie.

Christie rose without speaking, and went out.

"Aunt," said Effie, quietly, when she was gone, "I don't think it is quite kind in you to speak in that way to Christie about dependence.

She is no more dependent than the rest of the children. Of course, when she's older and stronger she'll do her part. But she is very sensitive; and she must not be made unhappy by any foolish talk about her being a burden."

Effie meant to soothe her aunt; but she failed, for she was really angry now, and she said a great many words in her anger that I shall not write--words that Effie always tried to forget. But the result of it all was that Annie's departure was delayed for a week, till Christie should be ready to go with her.

But I should be wrong in saying that this decision was the result of this discussion alone. There were other things that helped Effie to prevail upon herself to let her go. It would be better and pleasanter for Annie to have her sister near her; and Christie was very desirous to go. And, after all, the change might be good for her, as Aunt Elsie said. It might improve her health, and it might make her more firm and self-reliant. Going away among strangers could hardly be worse for her than a winter under the discipline of her aunt. Partly on account of these considerations, and partly because of Christie's importunities, Effie was induced to consent to her going away; but it was with the express understanding that her absence was to be brief.

As the time of their departure drew near, she did not grow more reconciled to the thought of her sister's going. She felt that she had been over-persuaded; and in her heart there was a doubt as to whether she had done quite right in consenting.