Janet's Love and Service Part 56

Mr Snow shook his head.

"I am afraid that would bring us no nearer the end. We should have other conditions to add to that one."

"Yes," said Arthur, laughing. "You would have to take f.a.n.n.y and me, as well, in that case. I don't object to your having one of them at a time, now and then, but both of them--that would never do."

"But it must be both or neither," said Graeme, eagerly, "I couldna'

trust Rosie away from me. I havena these sixteen years--her whole life, have I, Janet? If you want Rosie, you must have me, too."

She spoke lightly, but earnestly; she meant what she said. Indeed, so earnest was she, that she quite flushed up, and the tears were not far away. The others saw it, and were silent, but f.a.n.n.y who was not quick at seeing things, said,--

"But what could we do without you both? That would not be fair--"

"Oh! you would have Arthur, and Arthur would have you. At any rate, Rosie is mine, and I am not going to give her to any one who won't have me, too. She is all I shall have left when Will goes away."

"Graeme would not trust Rosie with Arthur and me," said f.a.n.n.y, a little pettishly. "There are so many things that Graeme don't approve of. She thinks we would spoil Rose."

Janet's hand touched hers, whether by accident or design Graeme did not know, but it had the effect of checking the response that rose to her lips, and she only said, laughingly,--

"Mrs Snow thinks that you and Arthur are spoiling us both, f.a.n.n.y."

Janet smiled fondly and gravely at the sisters, as she said, stroking Graeme's bowed head,--

"I dare say you are no' past spoiling, either of you, but I have seen worse bairns."

After this, Mr Snow and Will began the survey of Canada in earnest.

First they went to Quebec, where they lingered several days. Then they went farther down the river, and up the Saguenay, into the very heart of the wilderness. This part of the trip Will enjoyed more than his friend, but Mr Snow showed no sign of impatience, and prolonged their stay for his sake. Then they went up the country, visiting the chief towns and places of interest. They did not confine themselves, however, to the usual route of travellers, but went here and there in wagons and stages, through a farming country, in which, though Mr Snow saw much to criticise, he saw more to admire. They shared the hospitality of many a quiet farm-house, as freely as it was offered, and enjoyed many a pleasant conversation with the farmers and their families, seated on door-steps, or by the kitchen-fire.

Though the hospitality of the country people was, as a general thing, fully and freely offered, it was sometimes, it must be confessed, not without a certain reserve. That a "live Yankee," cute, and able-bodied, should be going about in these out-of-the-way parts, for the sole purpose of satisfying himself as to the features, resources, and inhabitants of the country, was a circ.u.mstance so rare, so unheard of, indeed, in these parts, that the shrewd country people did not like to commit themselves at the first glance. Will's frank, handsome face, and simple, kindly manners, won him speedily enough the confidence of all, and Mr Snow's kindly advances were seldom long withstood. But there sometimes lingered an uneasy feeling, not to say suspicion, that when he had succeeded in winning their confidence, he would turn round and make some startling demand on their faith or their purses in behalf of some patent medicine or new invention--perhaps one of those wonderful labour-saving machines, of which he had so much to say. As for himself, if he ever observed their reserve or its cause, he never resented it, or commented upon it, but entered at once into the discussion of all possible subjects with the zest of a man determined to make the most of the pleasant circ.u.mstances in which he found himself. If he did not always agree with the opinions expressed, or approve of the modes of farming pursued, he at least found that the st.u.r.dy farmers of Glengarry and the country beyond had more to say for their opinions and practice than "so had their fathers said and done before them," and their discussions ended, quite as frequently as otherwise, in the American frankly confessing himself convinced that all the agricultural wisdom on the continent did not lie on the south side of the line forty-five.

Will was greatly amused and interested by all this. He was, to a certain extent, able to look at the ideas, opinions, and prejudices of each from the other's point of view, and so to enjoy with double zest the discussion of subjects which could not fail to present such dissimilar aspects to minds so differently const.i.tuted, and developed under circ.u.mstances and influences so different. This power helped him to make the opinions of each more clear to the other, presenting to both juster notions of each other's theory and practice than their own explanations could have done. By this means, too, he won for himself a reputation for wisdom, about matters and things in general, which surprised no one so much as himself. They would have liked to linger far longer, over this part of their trip, than they had time to do, for the days were hastening.

Before returning home, they visited Niagara, that wonderful work of G.o.d, too great and grand, as Mr Snow told Rosie, to be the pride of one nation exclusively, and so it had been placed on the borders of the two greatest nations in the world. This part of the trip was for Will's sake. Mr Snow had visited them on his way West many years ago.

Indeed, there were other parts of the trip made for Will's benefit, but those were not the parts which Mr Snow enjoyed least, as he said to his wife afterwards.

"It paid well. I had my own share of the pleasure, and Will's, too. If ever a lad enjoyed a holiday he enjoyed his. It was worth going, just to see his pleasure."

When the time allotted to their visit was drawing to a close, it was proposed that a few days should be pa.s.sed in that most beautiful part of Canada, known as the Eastern Townships. Arthur went with them there.

It was but a glimpse they could give it. Pa.s.sing in through Missisquoi County to the head of the lovely lake Memphremagog, they spent a few days on it, and along its sh.o.r.es. Their return was by a circuitous course across the country through the County of Stanstead, in the midst of beautiful scenery, and what Mr Snow declared to be "as fine a farming country as anybody need wish to see."

This "seeing Canada" was a more serious matter than he had at first supposed, Mr Snow acknowledged to the delighted Rose. It could not be done justice to in a few days, he said; but he would try and reconcile himself to the hastiness of his trip, by taking it for granted that the parts he had not seen were pretty much like those he had gone through, and a very fine country it was.

"Canada will be heard from yet, I expect," said he, one night when they had returned home. "By the time that you get some things done that you mean to now, you'll be ready to go ahead. I don't see but you have as good a chance as ever we had--better, even. You have got the same elements of prosperity and success. You have got the Bible and a free press, and a fair proportion of good soil, and any amount of water-power. Then for inhabitants, you've got the Scotchman, cautious and far-seeing; the Irishman, a little hot and heady, perhaps, but earnest; you've got the Englishman, who'll never fail of his aim for want of self-confidence, anyhow; you've got Frenchmen, Germans, and a sprinkling of the dark element out west; and you've got what we didn't have to begin with, you've got the Yankee element, and that is considerable more than you seem to think it is, Rosie."

Rose laughed and shook her head. She was not going to allow herself to be drawn into a discussion of nationalities that night.

"Yes," continued he, "the real live Yankee is about as complete a man as you'll generally meet anywhere. He has the caution of the Scot, to temper the fire of the Irishman, and he has about as good an opinion of himself as the Englishman has. He'll keep things going among you.

He'll bring you up to the times, and then he won't be likely to let you fall back again. Yes; if ever Canada is heard from, the Yankee will have something to do with it, and no mistake."

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

In the mean time very quiet and pleasant days were pa.s.sing over those who were at home. f.a.n.n.y jingled her keys, and triumphed a little at the continued success of affairs in Mrs Tilman's department. Graeme took no notice of her triumph, but worked away at odds and ends, remembering things forgotten, smoothing difficulties, removing obstacles, and making, more than she or any one knew, the happiness of them all. Rose sung and danced about the house as usual, and devoted some of her superfluous energy to the embellishment of a cobweb fabric, which was, under her skillful fingers, destined to a.s.sume, by and by, the form of a wedding pocket handkerchief for Emily. And through all, Mrs Snow was calmly and silently pursuing the object of her visit to Canada. Through the pleasant hours of work and leisure, in all their talk of old times, and of the present time, in all moods, grave and gay, she had but one thought, one desire, to a.s.sure herself by some unfailing token that her bairns were as good and happy as they ought to be.

The years that had pa.s.sed since the bairns had been parted from her had made Janet older than they ought to have done, Graeme thought. It was because she was not so strong as she used to be, she said herself; but it was more than sickness, and more than the pa.s.sing years that had changed her. The dreadful shock and disappointment of her mother's death, followed so soon by the loss of Marian and the minister, had been too much for Janet. It might not have been, her strong patient nature might have withstood it, if the breaking up of the beloved family circle, the utter vanishing of her bairns from her sight, had not followed so close upon it. For weeks she had been utterly prostrate.

The letters, which told the bairns, in their Canadian home, that their dear friend was ill, and "wearying" for them, told them little of the terrible suffering of that time. The misery that had darkened her first winter in Merleville came upon her again with two-fold power. Worse than the home-sickness of that sad time, was the never-ceasing pain, made up of sorrow for the dead, and inappeasable longing for the presence of the living. That she should have forsaken her darlings, to cast in her lot with others--that between her and them should lie miles and miles of mountain and forest, and barriers, harder to be pa.s.sed than these, it sickened her heart to know. She knew it never could be otherwise now; from the sentence she had pa.s.sed upon herself she knew there could be no appeal. She knew that unless some great sorrow should fall upon them, they could never have one home again; and that peace and happiness could ever come to her, being separated from them, she neither believed nor desired. Oh! the misery of that time! The fields and hills, and pleasant places she had learnt to love, shrouded themselves in gloom. The very light grew hateful to her. Her prayer, as she lay still, while the bitter waters rolled over her, was less the prayer of faith, than of despair.

And, through all the misery of that time, her husband waited and watched her with a tender patience, beautiful to see; never, by word or deed, giving token of aught but sympathy, and loving pity for the poor, sick, struggling heart. Often and often, during that dreary time, did she wake to hear, in the stillness of the night, or of the early morning, his whispered prayer of strong entreaty rising to Heaven, that the void might be filled, that in G.o.d's good time and way, peace, and healing, and content, might come back to the sick and sorrowful heart.

And this came after long waiting. Slowly the bitter waters rolled away, never to return. Faith, that had seemed dead, looked up once more. The sick heart thrilled beneath the touch of the Healer. Again the light grew pleasant to her eyes, and Janet came back to her old household ways, seeing in the life before her G.o.d-given work, that might not be left undone. But she was never quite the same. There was never quite the old sharp ring in her kindly voice. She was not less cheerful, perhaps, in time, but her cheerfulness was of a far quieter kind, and her chidings were rare, and of the mildest, now. Indeed, she had none to chide but the motherless Emily, who needed little chiding, and much love. And much love did Janet give her, who had been dear to all the bairns, and the especial friend of Marian, now in Heaven. And so G.o.d's peace fell on the deacon's quiet household, and the gloom pa.s.sed away from the fields and hills of Merleville, and its pleasant nooks and corners smiled once more with a look of home to Janet, as she grew content in the knowledge that her darlings were well and happy, though she might never make them her daily care again. But she never forgot them. Her remembrance of them never grew less loving, and tender, and true. And so, as the years pa.s.sed, the old longing came back, and, day by day, grew stronger in her heart the wish to know a.s.suredly that the children of her love were as good and happy as they ought to be.

Had her love been less deep and yearning she might have been more easily content with the tokens of an innocent and happy life visible in their home. If happiness had been, in her estimation, but the enjoyment of genial days and restful nights, with no cares to hara.s.s, and only pleasant duties to perform; if the interchange of kindly offices, the little acts of self-denial, the giving up of trifles, the taking cheerfully of the little disappointments, which even their pleasant life was subject to--if these had been to her sufficient tests of goodness, she might have been satisfied with all she saw.

But she was not satisfied, for she knew that there are few hearts so shallow as to be filled full with all that such a life of ease could give. She knew that the goodness, that might seem to suffice through these tranquil and pleasant days, could be no defence against the strong temptations that might beset them amid the cares of life. "For," said she to herself, "the burn runs smoothly on over the pebbles in its bed without a break or eddy, till the pebbles change to rocks and stones, and then it brawls, and murmurs, and dashes itself to foam among them-- and no help." She was content with no such evidence of happiness or goodness as lay on the surface of their pleasant life, so she waited, and watched, seeing without seeming to see, many things that less loving eyes might have overlooked. She saw the unquiet light that gleamed at times in Graeme's eyes, and the shadow of the cloud that now and then rested on her brow, even in their most mirthful moments. She smiled, as they all did, at the lively sallies, and pretty wilfulness of Rose, but she knew full well, that that which made mirth in the loving home circle, might make sorrow for the household darling, when the charm of love was no longer round her. And so she watched them all, seeing in trifles, in chance words and unconscious deeds, signs and tokens for good or for evil, that would never have revealed themselves to one who loved them less.

For Will she had no fear. He was his father's own son, with his father's work awaiting him. All would be well with Will. And for Arthur, too, the kind and thoughtful elder brother--the father and brother of the little household, both in one, her hopes were stronger than her doubts or fears. It would have given her a sore heart, indeed, to believe him far from the way in which his father walked.

"He has a leaven of worldliness in him, I'll no deny," said she to her husband one night, when they were alone in the privacy of their own apartment. "And there is more desire for wealth in his heart, and for the honour that comes from man, than he himself kens. He'll maybe get them, and maybe no'. But if he gets them, they'll no' satisfy him, and if he gets them not, he'll get something better. I have small fear for the lad. He minds his father's ways and walk too well to be long content with his own halting pace. It's a fine life just now, with folk looking up to him, and patting trust in him, but he'll weary of it.

There is nothing in it to fill, for long, the heart of his father's son."

And in her quiet waiting and watching, Janet grew a.s.sured for them all at last. Not that they were very wise or good, but her faith that they were kept of G.o.d grew stronger every day; and to be ever in G.o.d's keeping, meant to this humble, trustful, Christian woman, to have all that even her yearning love could crave for her darlings. It left her nothing to fear for them, nothing to wish in their behalf; so she came to be at peace about them all; and gently checked the wilful words and ways of Rose, and waited patiently till Graeme, of her own accord, should show her the cloud in the shadow of which she sometimes sat.

As to f.a.n.n.y, the new claimant for her love and interest, she was for from being overlooked all this time, and the pretty little creature proved a far greater mystery to the shrewd, right-judging friend of the family than seemed at all reasonable. There were times when, had she seen her elsewhere, she would not have hesitated to p.r.o.nounce her frivolous, vain, overbearing. Even now, seeing her loved and cared for, in the midst of the bairns, there were moments when she found herself saying it in her heart. A duller sense, and weaker penetration could not have failed to say the same. But f.a.n.n.y was Arthur's wife, and Arthur was neither frivolous, nor vain, nor overbearing, but on the contrary, wise, and strong, and gentle, possessing all the virtues that ever had made his father a model in Janet's admiring eyes, and it seemed a bold thing, indeed, to think lightly of his wife. So she mused, and pondered, and watched, and put f.a.n.n.y's beautiful face and winning manners, and pretty, affectionate ways, against her very evident defects, and said to herself, though Arthur's wife was not like Arthur's mother, nor even like his sisters, yet there were varieties of excellence, and surely the young man was better able to be trusted in the choice of a life-long friend than on old woman like her could be; and still she waited and pondered, and, as usual, the results of her musings were given to her attentive husband, and this time with a little impatient sigh.

"I needna wonder at it. Love is blind, they say, and goes where it is sent, and it is sent far more rarely to wisdom and worth, and humble goodness, than to qualities that are far less deserving of the happiness it brings; and Mr Arthur is no' above making a mistake. Though how he should--minding his mother as he does--amazes me. But he's well pleased, there can be no doubt of that, as yet, and Miss Graeme is no'

ill-pleased, and love wouldna blind her. Still I canna but wonder after all is said."

And she still wondered. There were in her vocabulary no gentler names for the pretty f.a.n.n.y's defects, than just frivolity and vanity, and even after a glimpse or two of her stepmother, Janet's candid, straightforward nature could hardly make for those defects all the allowance that was to be made. She could not realise how impossible it was, that a fashionable education, under such a teacher as Mrs Grove should have made her daughter other than she was, and so not realising that her worst faults were those of education, which time, and experience, and the circ.u.mstances of her life must correct, she had, at times, little hope of f.a.n.n.y's future worth or wisdom.

That is, she would have had little hope but for one thing--Graeme had faith in f.a.n.n.y, that was clear. Love might blind Arthur's eyes to her faults, or enlighten them to see virtues invisible to other eyes, but it would not do that for Graeme; and Graeme was tolerant of f.a.n.n.y, even at times when her little airs and exactions made her not quite agreeable to her husband. She was patient and forbearing towards her faults, and smiled at the little housekeeping airs and a.s.sumptions, which Rose openly, and even in Arthur's presence, never failed to resent. Indeed, Graeme refused to see f.a.n.n.y's faults, or she refused to acknowledge that she saw them, and treated her always with the respect due to her brother's wife, and the mistress of the house, as, well as with the love and forbearance due to a younger sister.

And that f.a.n.n.y, with all her faults and follies, loved and trusted Graeme was very evident. There was confidence between them, to a certain extent at any rate, and seeing these things, Janet took courage to hope that there was more in the "bonny vain creature" than it was given her to see, and to hope also that Arthur might not one day find himself disappointed in his wife. Her doubts and hopes on the matter were all silent, or shared only with the worthy deacon, in the solitude of their chamber. She was slow to commit herself to Graeme, and Graeme was in no haste to ask her friend's opinion of her brother's wife.

They had plenty of other subjects to discuss. All their Merleville life was gone over and over during these quiet summer days.

The talk was not always gay; sometimes it was grave enough, even sad, but it was happy, too, in a way; at any rate they never grew weary of it. And Mrs Snow had much to tell them about the present state of their old home; how the old people were pa.s.sing away, and the young people were growing up; how well the minister was remembered there still, and how glad all would be to see the minister's bairns among them again; and then Sandy and Emily, and the approaching wedding made an endless subject of talk. Rose and f.a.n.n.y never wearied of that, and Mrs Snow was as pleased to tell, as they were to hear.

And when Rose and f.a.n.n.y were away, as they often were, and Graeme was left alone with her friend, there were graver things discussed between them. Graeme told her more of their family life, and of their first experiences than she had ever heard before. She told her of her illness, and home-sickness, and of the many misgivings she had had as to whether it had been wise for them all to come to burden Arthur. She told her of Harry, and her old terrors on his account, and how all these had given place to hope, that was almost certainty now, that she need never fear for him for the same cause more. They rejoiced together over Hilda, and Norman, and recalled to one another their old pride in the lad when he had saved the little German girl from the terrible fate that had overtaken her family, and smiled at the misgivings they had had when he refused to let her go with the friends who would have taken her.

This was all to be rejoiced over now. No doubt the care and pains which Norman had needed to bestow on his little adopted sister, had done much to correct the native thoughtlessness of his character, and no doubt her love and care would henceforth make the happiness of his life. So they said to one another with smiles, and not without grateful tears, in view of the overruling love and care visible in all they had to remember of one and all.

And Will, who seemed to be Graeme's own more than either of the other brothers, because she had cared for him, and taught him, and watched over him from the very first, she permitted herself to triumph a little over him, in private with her friend, and Janet was nothing loth to hear and triumph too, for in the lad his father lived again to her, and she was not slow to believe in his sister's loving prophecy as to his future. Graeme could not conceal, indeed she did not try to conceal, from her friend, how much she feared the parting from him, and though Janet chid her for the tears that fell so fast, it was with a gentle tenderness that only quickened their flow.

And now and then, in these long talks and frequent silence, Janet fancied that she caught a glimpse of the cloud that had cast a shadow over Graeme's life, but she was never sure. It was not to be spoken about, however, nothing could be clearer than that.

"For a cloud that can be blown away by a friend's word, will lift of itself without help in a while. And if it is no' a cloud of that kind, the fewer words the better. And time heals many a wound that the touch of the kindest hand would hurt sorely. And G.o.d is good." But all this was said in Janet's secret prayer. Not even her husband shared her thoughts about Graeme.

"What a dismal day it is!" said f.a.n.n.y, as she stood at the window, listening to the wind and watching the fall of the never-ceasing rain.

It was dismal. It must have been a dismal day even in the country, where the rain was falling on beautiful green things to their refreshment; and in the city street, out upon which f.a.n.n.y looked, it was worse. Now and then a milk cart, or a carriage with the curtains closely drawn, went past; and now and then a foot pa.s.senger, doing battle with the wind for the possession of his umbrella; but these did not brighten the scene any.