Janet's Love and Service Part 11

"I am glad you are growing prudent. Mrs Nasmyth, you wouldn't believe how angry she was with me one night."

"Angry!" repeated Graeme. "Ask Celestia."

"Well, I guess I shouldn't have much chance between Celestia and you.

But I said then, and I say now, you'll make a first-rate Yankee girl yourself before seven years."

"A Yankee!" repeated her brothers.

"A Yankee," echoed Menie.

"Hush, Menie. Mr Snow is laughing at us," said Graeme.

"I would rather be just a little Scotch la.s.sie, than a Yankee Queen,"

said Menie, firmly.

There was a laugh, and Menie was indignant at her brothers for joining.

"You mean a president's wife. We don't allow queens here--in this free country," said Mr Snow.

"But it is dreadful that you should hate us so," said the Squire.

"I like you, and the Judge. And I like Mrs Merle."

"And is that all?" asked Mr Snow, solemnly.

"I like Emily. And I like you when you don't vex Graeme."

"And who else?" asked Mr Greenleaf.

"I like Celestia. She's nice, and doesna ask questions. And so does Graeme. And Janet says that Celestia is a lady. Don't you like her?"

asked Menie, thinking her friend unresponsive.

"You seem to be good at asking questions yourself, Menie, my woman,"

interposed Mrs Nasmyth. "I doubt you should be in your bed by this time." But Mr Snow caused a diversion from anything so melancholy.

"And don't Cousin Celestia like me?" asked he.

"Yes; she said you were a good friend of hers; but is she your cousin?"

"Well, not exactly--we're not very near cousins. But I see to her some, and mean to. I like her."

The study-door opened, and there was no time for an answer from any one; but as Mr Snow went up the hill he said to himself: "Yes, I shall see to her. She is smart enough and good enough for him if he does expect to go to Congress."

CHAPTER TEN.

"I like the wood fires," said Graeme. "They are far clearer than the peat fires at home."

They were sitting, Graeme and Janet, according to their usual custom, a little after the others had all gone to bed. The study-door was closed, though the light still gleamed beneath it; but it was getting late, and the minister would not be out again.

Graeme might well admire such a wood fire as that before which they were sitting: The fore-stick had nearly burned through, and the brands had fallen over the andirons, but the great back-log glowed with light and heat, though only now and then a bright blaze leapt up. It was not very warm in the room, however, except for their faces, and Graeme shivered a little as she drew nearer to the fire, and hardly heeding that Janet did not answer her, fell to dreaming in the firelight.

Without, the rude March winds were roaring, and within, too, for that matter. For though carpets, and curtains, and listings nailed over seams might keep out the bitter frost when the air was still, the east winds of March swept in through every crack and crevice, chilling them to the bone. It roared wildly among the boughs of the great elms in the yard, and the tall well-sweep creaked, and the bucket swung to and fro with a noise that came through Graeme's dream and disturbed it at last.

Looking up suddenly she became aware that the gloom that had been gathering over Janet for many a day hung darkly round her now. She drew near to her, and laying her arms down on her lap in the old fashion, said softly:

"The winter's near over now, Janet."

"Ay, thank the Lord for that, any way," said Janet. She knew that Graeme's words and movement were an invitation to tell her thoughts, so she bent forward to collect the scattered brands and settle the fore-stick, for she felt that her thoughts were not of the kind to bear telling to Graeme or to any one. As she gathered them together between the andirons, she sighed a sigh of mingled sorrow and impatience. And the light that leapt suddenly up made the cloud on her brow more visible. For the winter that had been so full of enjoyment to all the rest had been a time of trial to Janet.

To the young people, the winter had brought numberless pleasures. The lads had gone to the school, where they were busy and happy, and the little ones had been busy and happy at home. None had enjoyed the winter more than Graeme. The change had been altogether beneficial to Rose; and never since their mother's death had the elder sister been so much at ease about her. There was little to be done in the way of making or mending, and, with leisure at her disposal, she was falling into her old habits of reading and dreaming. She had been busy teaching the little ones, too, and at night worked with her brothers at their lessons, so that the winter had been profitable as well as pleasant to her. At all times in his study, amid the silent friends that had become so dear to him, Mr Elliott could be content; and in his efforts to become acquainted with his people, their wants and tastes, he had been roused to something like the cheerfulness of former years.

But to Janet the winter had been a time of conflict, a long struggle with unseen enemies; and as she sat there in the dim firelight, she was telling herself sorrowfully that she would be worsted by them at last.

Home-sickness, blind and unreasoning, had taken possession of her.

Night by night she had lain down with the dull pain gnawing at her heart. Morning by morning she had risen sick with the inappeasable yearning for her home, a longing that would not be stilled, to walk again through familiar scenes, to look again on familiar faces.

The first letters from home, so longed for by all, so welcomed and rejoiced over by the rest, brought little comfort to her. Arthur's letters to his father and Graeme, so clear and full of all they wished to hear about, "so like a printed book," made it all the harder for her to bear her disappointment over Sandy's obscure, ill-spelt and indifferently-written letter. She had of old justly prided herself on Sandy's "hand o' write;" but she had yet to learn the difference between a school-boy's writing, with a copper-plate setting at the head of the page, and that which must be the result of a first encounter with the combined difficulties of writing, spelling and composition.

Poor Sandy! He had laboured hard, doubtless, and had done his best, but it was not satisfactory. In wishing to be minute, he had become mysterious, and, to the same end, the impartial distribution through all parts of the letter of capitals, commas and full stops, had also tended.

There was a large sheet closely written, and out of the whole but two clear ideas could be gathered! Mr More of the parish school was dead, and they were to have a new master, and that Mrs Smith had changed her mind, and he was not to be at Saughless for the winter after all.

There were other troubles too, that Janet had to bear alone. The cold, that served to brace the others, chilled her to the bone. Unaccustomed to any greater variation of temperature than might be very well met by the putting on or taking off of her plaid, the bitter cold of the New England winter, as she went out and in about her work, was felt keenly by her. She could not resist it, nor guard herself against it.

Stove-heat was unbearable to her. An hour spent in Mrs Snow's hot room often made her unfit for anything for hours after; and sleigh-riding, which never failed to excite the children to the highest spirits, was as fatal to her comfort as the pitching of the "Steadfast" had been. To say that she was disappointed with herself in view of all this, is, by no means, saying enough. She was angry at her folly, and called herself "silly body" and "useless body," striving with all her might to throw the burden from her.

Then, again, with only a few exceptions, she did not like the people.

They were, in her opinion, at the same time, extravagant and penurious, proud and mean, ignorant, yet wise "above what is written,"

self-satisfied and curious. The fact was, her ideas of things in general were disarranged by the state of affairs in Merleville. She never could make out "who was somebody and who was naebody;" and what made the matter more mysterious, they did not seem to know themselves.

Mrs Judge Merle had made her first visit to the minister's in company with the wife of the village blacksmith, and if there was a lady between them Mrs Page evidently believed it to be herself. Mrs Merle was a nice motherly body, that sat on her seat and behaved herself, while Mrs Page went hither and thither, opening doors and spying fairlies, speiring about things she had no concern with, like an ill-bred woman as she is; and pa.s.sing her remarks on the minister and the preaching, as if she were a judge. Both of them had invited her to visit them very kindly, no doubt; but Janet had no satisfaction in this or in anything that concerned them. She was out of her element. Things were quite different from anything she had been used with. She grew depressed and doubtful of herself, and no wonder that a gloom was gathering over her.

Some thought of all this came into Graeme's mind, as she sat watching her while she gathered together the brands with unsteady hands, and with the thought came a little remorse. She had been thinking little of Janet and her trials all these days she had been pa.s.sing so pleasantly with her books, in the corner of her father's study. She blamed herself for her thoughtlessness, and resolved that it should not be so in future. In the mean time, it seemed as though she must say something to chase the shadow from the kind face. But she did not know what to say.

Janet set down the tongs, and raised herself with a sigh. Graeme drew nearer.

"What is it, Janet?" asked she, laying her hand caressingly on hers.

"Winna you tell me?"

Janet gave a startled look into her face.

"What is what, my dear?"

"Something is vexing you, and you winna tell me," said Graeme, reproachfully.

"Hoot, la.s.sie! what should ail me. I'm weel enough."

"You are wearying for a letter, maybe. But it's hardly time yet, Janet."

"I'm no wearyin' the night more than usual. And if I got a letter, it mightna give me muckle comfort."