Janet's Love and Service Part 21

"Graeme, tea's over. Where have you been all this time?" asked Rose.

"My father was asking where you were. He wants to see you," said Will.

"I'll go ben now," said Graeme, rising.

The study lamp was on the table unlighted. The minister was sitting in the firelight alone. He did not move when the door opened, until Graeme spoke.

"I'm here, papa. Did you want me?"

"Graeme, come in and sit down. I have something to say to you."

She sat down, but the minister did not seem in haste to speak. He was looking troubled and anxious, Graeme thought; and it suddenly came into her mind as she sat watching him, that her father was growing an old man. Indeed, the last seven years had not pa.s.sed so lightly over him as over the others. The hair which had been grey on his temples before he reached his prime, was silvery white now, and he looked bowed and weary as he sat there gazing into the fire. It came into Graeme's mind as she sat there in the quiet room, that there might be other and sadder changes before them, than even the change that Janet's words had implied.

"My dear," said the minister, at last, "has Mrs Nasmyth been speaking to you?"

"About--" Menie, she would have asked, but her tongue refused to utter the word.

"About Mr Snow," said her father, with a smile, and some hesitation.

Graeme started. She had quite forgotten.

"Mrs Greenleaf told me something--and--"

"I believe it is a case of true love with him, if such a thing can come to a man after he is fifty--as indeed why should it not?" said the minister. "He seems bent on taking Janet from us, Graeme."

"Papa! it is too absurd," said Graeme, all her old vexation coming back.

Mr Elliott smiled.

"I must confess it was in that light I saw it first, and I had well nigh been so unreasonable as to be vexed with our good friend. But we must take care, lest we allow our own wishes to interfere with what may be for Mrs Nasmyth's advantage."

"But, papa, she has been content with us all these years. Why should there be a change now?"

"If the change is to be for her good, we must try to persuade her to it, however. But, judging from what she said to me this afternoon, I fear it will be a difficult matter."

"But, papa, why should we seek to persuade her against her own judgment."

"My dear, we don't need to persuade her against her judgment, but against her affection for us. She only fears that we will miss her sadly, and she is not quite sure whether she ought to go and leave us."

"But she has been quite happy with us."

"Yes, love--happy in doing what she believed to be her duty--as happy as she could be so far separated from those whom she must love better than she loves us even. I have been thinking of her to-night, Graeme. What a self-denying life Janet's has been! She must be considered first in this matter."

"Yes, if it would make her happier--but it seems strange that--"

"Graeme, Mr Snow is to send for her mother and her son. I could see how her heart leapt up at the thought of seeing them, and having them with her again. It will be a great happiness for her to provide a home for her mother in her old age. And she ought to have that happiness after such a life as hers."

Graeme sighed, and was silent.

"If we had golden guineas to bestow on her, where we have copper coins only, we could never repay her love and care for us all; and it will be a matter of thankfulness to me to know that she is secure in a home of her own for the rest of her life."

"But, papa, while we have a home, she will never be without one."

"I know, dear, while we have a home. You need not tell me that; but Graeme, there is only my frail life between you and homelessness. Not that I fear for you. You are all young and strong, and the G.o.d whom I have sought to serve, will never leave my children. But Janet is growing old, Graeme, and I do think this way has been providentially opened to her."

"If it were quite right to marry for a home, papa--" Graeme hesitated and coloured. Her father smiled.

"Mrs Nasmyth is not so young as you, my dear. She will see things differently. And besides, she always liked and respected Mr Snow. I have no doubt she will be very happy with him."

"We all liked him," said Graeme, sighing. "But oh! I dread changes. I can't bear to break up our old ways."

"Graeme," said her father, gravely, "changes must come, and few changes can be for the better, as far as we are concerned. We have been very happy of late--so happy that I fear we were in danger of sitting down contented with the things of this life, and we need reminding. We may think ourselves happy if no sadder change than this comes to us."

The thought of Menie came back to Graeme, with a pang, but she did not speak.

"I know, dear," said her father, kindly, "this will come hardest upon you. It will add greatly to your cares to have Mrs Nasmyth leave us, but you are not a child now, and--"

"Oh, papa! it is not that--I mean it is not that altogether, but--"

Graeme paused. She was not sure of her voice, and she could not bear to grieve her father. In a little, she asked.

"When is it to be?"

"I don't know, indeed, but soon, I suppose; and my dear child, I trust to you to make smooth much that might otherwise be not agreeable in this matter to us all. The change you dread so much, will not be very great.

Our kind friend is not going very far-away, and there will be pleasant things connected with the change. I have no doubt, it will be for the best."

"Shall I light your lamp, papa?" said Graeme, in a little while.

"No, love, not yet. I have no mind for my book to-night."

Graeme stirred the fire, and moved about the room a little. When she opened the door, the sound of the children's voices came in merrily, and she shrunk from going out into the light. So she sat down in her accustomed place by the window, and thought, and listened to the sighs, that told her that her father was busy with anxious thoughts, too.

"Only my frail life between my children and homelessness," he had said.

It seemed to Graeme, as she sat there in the darkness, that since the morning, everything in the world had changed. They had been so at rest, and so happy, and now it seemed to her, that they could never settle down to the old quiet life again.

"As an eagle stirreth up her nest," she murmured to herself. "Well, I ought no' to fear the changes He brings--But, oh! I am afraid."

CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

The rest of the bairns received the tidings of the change that was going to take place among them, in a very different way from Graeme. Their astonishment at the idea of Janet's marriage was great, but it did not equal their delight. Graeme was in the minority decidedly, and had to keep quiet. But then Janet was in the minority, too, and Mr Snow's suit was anything but prosperous for some time. Indeed, he scarcely ventured to show his face at the minister's house, Mrs Nasmyth was so evidently out of sorts, anxious and unhappy. Her unhappiness was manifested by silence chiefly, but the silent way she had of ignoring Sampson and his claims, discouraging all approach to the subject, that lay so near the good deacon's heart, was worse to bear than open rebuff would have been; and while Mrs Nasmyth's silence grieved Mr Snow, the elaborate patience of his manner, his evident taking for granted that "she would get over it," that "it would all come right in the end," were more than she could sometimes patiently endure.

"He's like the lave o' them," said she to Graeme one day, after having closed the door, on his departure, with more haste than was at all necessary. "Give a man an inch, and he'll take an ell. Because I didna just set my face against the whole matter, when the minister first spoke about it, he's neither to hold nor bind, but 'when will it be?' and 'when will it be?' till I have no peace of my life with him."

Graeme could not help laughing at her excitement.

"But, when will it be?" asked she.

"My dear, I'm no sure that it will ever be."

"Janet!" exclaimed Graeme. "What has happened?"