Christie Redfern's Troubles Part 2

"No; we churned yesterday, and we'll churn again to-morrow. It's harder, and takes longer, now that the nights have got cooler. But the b.u.t.ter is beautiful. We have the two tubs full, and we put the last we made in a jar. I'll show it to you when we go in."

"I suppose Annie and Sarah have but little time to help you now? No wonder you are tired," said Effie.

"No; they cannot help us except on a rainy day. But I never churn alone. Aunt Elsie helps me. It took us three hours last time."

"I shouldna wonder if that is the reason that Aunt Elsie's shoulder is worse," said Effie, with a sigh.

"Is it worse?" asked Christie. "She has said nothing about it."

"No; she says there is no use in complaining. But I do hope she is not going to be ill, as she was before. It would be terrible for us all."

"I hope not, indeed," said Christie; and in a moment she added, "You would need to bide at home then, Effie."

Effie shook her head.

"No; I should need all the more to be away if that were to happen. What should we all do for shoes, if it werena for my school-money?"

Christie's countenance fell; but in a little time she said--

"But the harvest is a great deal better this year, Effie."

"Yes; but there winna be much to sell. If we don't have to buy, it will be a great thing for us. And the shoes we must have, and new harness, and other things. I mustna think of staying this winter, I'm sure, Christie."

Christie gave a long sigh, as she rose with her full pail.

"I wish I was old enough and able to keep a school, or do something!"

"Do something!" echoed Effie. "I'm sure you do a great deal. Think of the b.u.t.ter! And you've made bread all the summer, and swept, and ironed, and washed the dishes."

"But all that comes to very little," said Christie, disconsolately.

"Indeed it does--to more than my school-keeping, I dare say. And I'm sure it's far pleasanter work."

"Pleasanter!" repeated Christie; and there was such a protesting echo in her voice that Effie could not help laughing; but she said, again--

"Yes, pleasanter. Don't you think it must be far nicer to be at home with all the rest, than to stay among folk that don't care about you, and have to bear your trouble alone?"

Christie opened her eyes wide.

"But, Effie, folk do care about you. And what troubles can you have to bear?"

Effie laughed softly; but she looked grave immediately.

"Well, I havena so many as I might have, I suppose."

"I'm sure if I were you I should be perfectly happy," said Christie.

"That's only one of the mistakes you have fallen into," said Effie, gravely. "Do you remember the story of the burdens, and how every one was willing to take up his own at last?"

Nothing in the world would have convinced Christie that her sister's lot was not much pleasanter than her own; and she said to herself, how gladly she would change burdens with her! but aloud she only asked--

"Has anything new happened? What's troubling you, Effie?"

"Oh, nothing has happened," said Effie, cheerfully. "I'm getting on well. The worst of my troubles are those I find at home--Aunt Elsie's rheumatism, and your pale, tired face, and the wearing out of the children's clothes. And you have all these too: so I dare say my burden is the lightest, after all. Now let me see your b.u.t.ter."

It was well worth seeing. There was one tub made when the weather had been warm, and, for that reason, was p.r.o.nounced by Christie not quite so good. Then there was a large one, with over a hundred and twenty pounds in it--so hard, and yellow, and fragrant! Christie was not a little proud of it; and Effie praised it to her heart's content. There was no better b.u.t.ter in all Glengarry, she was sure.

"And a hundred and twenty pounds of it! It's worth twenty-five cents a pound, at least. Think of that, Christie!--thirty dollars in all! That is something of your doing, I should think."

"Partly," said Christie. "I only helped." But she was very much pleased. "If we could only sell it, it would get us shoes, and lots of things."

"But I'm afraid we mustna sell it," said Effie. "We shall have so little meat all the winter--and it is so dear, too; and we shall need the b.u.t.ter. And how many cheeses are there? Five?"

"Five uncut. One is nearly done since the harvest. See, these two are better than the others. But it is getting so dark you canna see them.

I think the cheese will be a great help. We had none last winter, you know."

"Yes, indeed!" said Effie, heartily. "We shall have a better winter than the last was."

"Except that you winna be at home," said Christie, desponding a little again.

"Well, I would like to be at home, if it were best; but we canna have all we would like, you know. If you have milk to skim, you will need a candle, Christie."

"No: I skimmed it before I went away. See, father and the girls have come home at last. How glad they will be to see you, Effie!"

Yes, everybody was glad to see Effie--though no one said much about it that night. Indeed, it was rather a silent party that partook of the frugal supper. Except that the book-man (as the colporteur was called) exchanged now and then a remark with Mr Redfern, little was said till supper was over and the Bible laid on the table for worship. The Redfern family had the custom of reading verse-about, as it is called, partly because lights were sometimes scarce, and partly because, after the work of a long summer day, both great and small were too tired to enjoy protracted reading; and it must be confessed that, at times, morning and evening devotions were both brief and formal. They were not so to-night, however; for they were led by Mr Craig, the book-man, a cheerful and earnest Christian, to whom, it was easily seen, G.o.d's worship was no mere form, but a most blessed reality. Indeed, so lengthened was the exercise to-night that the little ones were asleep before it was done; and so earnest was he, so elevated were his ascriptions of praise, so appropriate his confessions and pet.i.tions, that the elder members of the family, notwithstanding their weariness, could not but listen and join with wonder and delight.

"_He_ believes that it is worth one's while to pray, at any rate," said Christie to herself; and all at once it flashed upon her that a part of _her_ prayer had been answered. Aunt Elsie had not spoken one word of reproof for her long delay by the side of the brook. Not a little startled, Christie paused to consider the matter further.

"She could hardly have scolded me while a stranger was here. And, besides, Effie's here, too, and I wouldna have much cared if she had.

And it's no' too late yet. She'll be sending me to my bed the moment the dishes are put by."

But she did not. Long after the little ones, and even Annie and Sarah, were asleep, Christie was allowed to sit without rebuke, listening to the pleasant talk of her father and Mr Craig, and now and then saying a word to Effie, on whose lap her head was laid. The only words that Aunt Elsie spoke to her that night were kind enough; and some of them were spoken while Effie was not there.

"So that it couldna be to please her," thought Christie. "What if G.o.d should hear my prayer, after all?"

The thought was quite as startling as it was pleasant. Then she wondered if Effie had brought the book. She did not like to ask her.

She did so want to believe that she might fall back on G.o.d's help in all her troubles; but if Effie had not brought the book she could not be sure that her prayer had been heard. "Could it be possible?" she said to herself. It seemed altogether too good, too wonderful, to be true.

And yet there were verses in the Bible very plain, very easy to be understood--"Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find;" and many more besides that.

She repeated the words slowly and earnestly. That must be true, she thought. Every one believed the Bible. And yet how few live and pray and trust as though they really do believe it! She had heard discussions, many and long, between her father and some of their neighbours, on difficult pa.s.sages of Scripture and difficult points of doctrine. She had heard the Scriptures quoted to support doctrines very different in their nature. She had heard pa.s.sages commented upon and explained away to suit the views of the speaker, until she had come to think, sometimes, that the most obvious meaning of a text could not possibly be the true one; and she said to herself, what if she had been taking comfort from these promises too soon? What if they meant something else, or meant what they seemed to mean only to those to whom they were spoken? What if, for some unknown, mysterious reason, she were among those who had no part nor lot in the matter?--among those who hearing hear not, or who fail to understand? And before she was aware, the hopefulness of the last half-hour was vanishing away before the troubled and doubtful thoughts that rushed upon her.

"I wish there was any one that I could ask about it! I wonder if Effie would know? I'll see if she has brought me the book; and that will be something. Maybe the book-man could tell me all about it. Only I don't like to ask him."

She turned her eyes towards him, as the thought pa.s.sed through her mind.

His face was plain and wrinkled and brown; but, for all that, it was a very pleasant face to look at. It was a grave face, even when he smiled; but it was never other than a pleasant one. There was something in it that brought to Christie's mind her favourite verse about "the peace that pa.s.seth all understanding."

"He has it, I do believe," she said, while she quietly watched him as he listened or talked.

"It must be a weary life you live," Aunt Elsie was saying, "going about from morning till night, in all weathers, with those books of yours; a weary life and a thankless."