Janet's Love and Service Part 22

"Nothing has happened; but I'm no' sure but I ought to have put a stop to the matter at the very first. I dinna weel ken what to do."

"Janet," said Graeme, speaking with some embarra.s.sment, "my father thinks it right, and it does not seem so--so strange as it did at first--and you should speak to Mr Snow about it, at any rate."

"To put him out o' pain," said Janet, smiling grimly. "There's no fear o' him. But I'll speak to him this very night."

And so she did, and that so kindly, that the deacon, taking heart, pleaded his own cause, with strong hopes of success. But Janet would not suffer herself to be entreated. With tearful eyes, she told him of her fears for Marian, and said, "It would seem like forsaking the bairns in their trouble, to leave them now." Mr Snow's kind heart was much shocked at the thought of Marian's danger. She had been his favourite among the bairns, and Emily's chief friend from the very first, and he could not urge her going away, now that there was so sorrowful a reason for her stay.

"So you'll just tell the minister there is to be no more said about it.

He winna ask any questions, I dare say."

But in this Janet was mistaken. He did ask a great many questions, and failing to obtain satisfactory answers, took the matter into his own hands, and named an early day for the marriage. In vain Janet protested and held back. He said she had been thinking of others all her life, till she had forgotten how to think of herself, and needed some one to think and decide for her. As to Marian's illness being an excuse, it was quite the reverse. If she was afraid Marian would not be well cared for at home, she might take her down the brae; indeed, he feared there was some danger that he would be forsaken of all his children when she went away. And then he tried to thank her for her care of his motherless bairns, and broke down into a silence more eloquent than words.

"And, my dear friend," said he, after a little, "I shall feel, when I am to be taken away, I shall not leave my children desolate, while they have you to care for them."

So for Mrs Nasmyth there was no help. But on one thing she was determined. The day might be fixed, but it must be sufficiently distant to permit the coming home of the lads, if they could come. They might come or not, as it pleased them, but invited they must be. She would fain see them all at home again, and that for a better reason than she gave the minister. To Mr Snow, who doubted whether "them boys" would care to come so far at such expense, she gave it with a sadder face than he had ever seen her wear.

"If they are not all together soon, they may never be together on earth again; and it is far better that they should come home, and have a few blithe days to mind on afterward, than that their first home-coming should be to a home with the shadow of death upon it. They must be asked, any way."

And so they were written to, and in due time there came a letter, saying that both Harry and Arthur would be home for a week at the time appointed. From Norman there came no letter, but one night, while they were wondering why, Norman came himself. His first greeting to Janet was in words of grave expostulation, that she should think of forsaking her "bairns" after all these years; but when he saw how grave her face became, he took it all back, and declared that he had been expecting it all along, and only wondered that matters had not been brought to a crisis much sooner. He rejoiced Mr Snow's heart, first by his hearty congratulations, and then by his awful threats of vengeance if Mrs Snow was not henceforth the happiest woman in Merleville.

Norman was greatly changed by his two years' absence, more than either of his brothers, the sisters thought. Arthur was just the same as ever, though he was an advocate and a man of business; and Harry was a boy with a smooth chin and red cheeks, still. But, with Norman's brown, bearded face the girls had to make new acquaintance.

But, though changed in appearance, it was in appearance only. Norman was the same mirth-loving lad as ever. He was frank and truthful, too, if he was still thoughtless; and Graeme told herself many a time, with pride and thankfulness, that as yet, the world had not changed for the worse, the brother for whom she had dreaded its temptations most of all.

Norman's letters had always been longest and most frequent; and yet, it was he who had the most to tell. If his active and exposed life as an engineer at the West had anything unpleasant in it, this was kept out of sight at home, and his adventures never wearied the children. His "once upon a time" was the signal for silence and attention among the little ones; and even the older ones listened with interest to Norman's rambling stories. Nor did their interest cease when the sparkle in Norman's eye told that his part in the tale was ended; and the adventures of an imaginary hero begun.

There was one story which they were never tired of hearing. It needed none of Norman's imaginary horrors to chase the blood from the cheeks of his sisters, when it was told. It was the story of the burning steamboat, and how little Hilda Bremer had been saved from it; the only one out of a family of eight. Father, mother, brothers, all perished together; and she was left alone in a strange land, with nothing to keep here from despair but the kind words of strangers, uttered in a tongue that she could not understand. It would, perhaps, have been wiser in Norman to have given her up to the kind people who had known her parents in their own land; but he had saved the child's life, and when she clung to him in her sorrow, calling him dear names in her own tongue, he could not bear to send her away.

"These people were poor, and had many children of their own," said Norman. "I would have thought it a hard lot for Menie or Rosie to go with them; and when she begged to stay with me, I could not send her with them. If it had not been so far, I would have sent her to you, Graeme. But as I could not do that, I kept her with me while I stayed in C, and there I sent her to school. They say she bids fair to be a learned lady some day."

This was an item of news that Norman's letters had not conveyed. They only knew that he had saved Hilda from the burning boat, and that he had been kind to her afterwards.

"But Norman, man, the expense!" said the prudent Mrs Nasmyth, "you havena surely run yourself in debt?" Norman laughed.

"No; but it has been close shaving sometimes. However, it would have been that anyway. I am afraid I have not the faculty for keeping money, and I might have spent it to worse purpose."

"And is the little thing grateful?" asked Graeme.

"Oh! yes; I suppose so. She is a good little thing, and is always glad to see me in her quiet way."

"It's a pity she's no' bonny," said Marian.

"Oh! she is bonny in German fashion; fair and fat."

"How old is she?" asked Mrs Nasmyth.

Norman considered.

"Well, I really can't say. Judging by her inches, I should say about Rosie's age. But she is wise enough and old-fashioned enough to be Rosie's grandmother. She's a queer little thing."

"Tell us more," said Rose; "do you go to see her often?"

"As often as I can. She is very quiet; she was the only girl among the eight, and a womanly little thing even then. You should hear her talk about her little business matters. My dear Mrs Nasmyth, you need not be afraid of my being extravagant, with such a careful little woman to call me to account.

"I have a great mind to send her home to you in the spring, Graeme. It seems very sad for a child like her to be growing up with no other home but a school. She seems happy enough, however."

"And would she like to come?"

"She says she wouldn't; but, of course, she would like it, if she were once here. I must see about it in the spring."

The wedding-day came, and in spite of many efforts to prevent it, it was rather a sad day to them all. It found Janet still "in a swither." She could not divest herself of the idea that she was forsaking "the bairns."

"And, Oh! Miss Graeme, my dear, if it werena for the thought of seeing my mother and Sandy, my heart would fail me quite. And are you quite sure that you are pleased now, dear?"

"Janet, it was because I was selfish that I wasna pleased from the very first; and you are not really going away from us, only just down the brae."

Graeme did not look very glad, however. But if the wedding-day was rather sad, Thanksgiving-day, that soon followed, was far otherwise. It was spent at the Deacon's. Miss Lovejoy distinguished herself forever by her chicken-pies and fixings. Mr and Mrs Snow surpa.s.sed themselves as host and hostess; and even the minister was merry with the rest.

Emily was at home for the occasion; and though at first she had been at a loss how to take the change, Menie's delight decided her, and she was delighted, too.

They grew quiet in the evening but not sad. Seated around the fire in the parlour, the young people spoke much of the time of their coming to Merleville. And then, they went further back, and spoke about their old home, and their mother, and their long voyage on the "Steadfast."

"I wonder what has become of Allan Ruthven," said Marian. "It's strange that you have never seen him, Arthur."

"I may have seen him twenty times without knowing him. You mind, I was not on the 'Steadfast' with you."

"But Harry saw him; and, surely, he could not have changed so much but that he would know him now if he saw him."

"And do you know no one of the name?" asked Graeme.

"I have heard of several Ruthvens in Canada West. And the house of Elphinstone and Gilchrist have a Western agent of that name. Do you know anything about him, Harry? Who knows but he may be Allan Ruthven of the 'Steadfast.'"

"No, I thought he might be, and made inquiries," said Harry. "But that Ruthven seems quite an old fogey. He has been in the employment of that firm ever since the flood,--at least, a long time. Do you mind Allan Ruthven, Menie?"

"Mind him!" That she did. Menie was very quiet to-night, saying little, but listening happily as she lay on the sofa, with her head on Graeme's knee.

"Allan was the first one I heard say our Menie was a beauty," said Norman. "Menie, do you mind?"

Menie laughed. "Yes, I mind."

"But I think Rosie was his pet. Graeme, don't you mind how he used to walk up and down the deck, with Rosie in his arms?"

"But that was to rest Graeme," said Harry. "Miss Rosie was a small tyrant in those days."

Rosie shook her head at him.

"Eh! wasna she a cankered fairy?" said Norman, taking Rosie's fair face between his hands. "Graeme had enough ado with you, I can tell you."

"And with you, too. Never heed him, Rosie," said Graeme, smiling at her darling.