Janet's Love and Service Part 86

"My dear, you have said nothing. It was the wistful look in your e'en that made me speak to you about her. And besides, I have noticed Rosie myself. She is not so light of heart as she used to be. It may be the anxious time you have had with me, or it may be the added years, or it may be something that it may be wiser for you and me not to seem to see.

But whatever it is, I am not afraid for Rose. I am only afraid that you may vex yourself about her, when there is no need. There can be no good in that, you know well."

"But I am not vexing myself, Janet, indeed. I will tell you what I know about it. Do you mind that restless fit that was on me long ago, when you came to see us, and how it seemed to me that I must go away? Well, Rose has come to the same place in her life, and she would like to have work, real work, to do in the world, and she has got impatient of her useless life, as she calls it. It has come on her sooner than it came on me, but that is because the circ.u.mstances are different, I suppose, and I hope it may pa.s.s away. For, oh! Janet, I shrink from the struggle, and the going away from them all; and I have got to that time when one grows content with just the little things that come to one's hand to do, seeing they are sent by G.o.d, as well as n.o.bler work. But it is not so with Rose, and even if this wears over, as it did with me, there are weary days before her; and no wonder, Janet, that I follow her with anxious eyes."

There was no more said for a moment. They were both watching Rose, who still stood at the gate, shading her eyes, and looking down the hill.

"She doesna look like one that has much the matter with her," said Mrs Snow. "Miss Graeme, my dear, do you ken what ails your sister? Why has this feverish wish to be away and at work come upon her so suddenly, if it is a question that I ought to ask?"

"Janet, I cannot tell you. I do not know. I can but guess at it myself, and I may be all wrong. And I think, perhaps, the best help we can give her, is not to seem to see, as you said a little ago.

Sometimes I have thought it might all be set right, if Rose would only speak; but one can never be sure, and I think, Janet, we can only wait and see. I don't believe there is much cause for fear, if only Rose will have patience."

"Then, wherefore should you look so troubled? Nothing but wrong-doing on your sister's part should make you look like that." For there were tears in Graeme's eyes as she watched her sister, and she looked both anxious and afraid.

"Wrong-doing," repeated she, with a start. Then she rose impatiently, but sat down again in a moment. Was it "wrong-doing" in a woman to let her heart slip unawares and unasked from her own keeping? If this was indeed the thing that had happened to Rose? Or was it "wrong-doing" to come to the knowledge of one's heart too late, as Harry had once hinted might be the end of Rosie's foolish love of admiration?

"Wrong-doing," she repeated again, with a sudden stir of indignation at her heart. "No, that must never be said of Rose. It must be one of the small tribulations that sooner or later fall to the lot of most women, as you said yourself Janet, a little ago. And it won't do to discuss it, anyway. See, Rose has opened the gate for some one. Who is coming in?"

"My dear," said Mrs Snow, gravely, "it was far from my thought to wish to know about anything that I should not. It is Sandy she is opening the gate for, and wee Rosie. He has been down for the papers, it seems, and he may have gotten letters as well."

"But, Janet," said Graeme, eagerly, "you know I could not mean that I could not tell you if I were ever so willing. I do not know. I can only guess; but as for 'wrong-doing'--"

"My dear, you needna tell me that. Sandy, man, it must seem a strange-like thing to the folk in the village to see you carrying the child that way on your horse before you--you that have wagons of one kind or another, and plenty of them, at your disposal. Is it safe for the bairn, think you? Do you like that way of riding, my wee Rosie?"

"Yes, gamma, I 'ike it," lisped the two years old Rosie, smiling brightly.

"It is safe enough, mother, you may be sure of that. And as for what the village folk may think, that's a new thing for you to ask. It is the best and pleasantest way in the world for both Rosie and me." And looking at the proud, young father and the happy child sitting before him, it was not to be for a moment doubted.

"It must be delightful," said Rose, laughing. "I should like a ride myself, wee Rosie."

"And why not?" said Mrs Snow. "Sandy, man, it is a wonder to me that you havena thought about it before. Have you your habit here, my dear?

Why should you no' bring young Major or Dandy over, saddled for Miss Rose? It would do her all the good in the world to get a gallop in a day like this."

"There is no reason in the world why I should not, if Miss Rose, would like it."

"I would like it very much. Not that I need the good of it especially, but I shall enjoy the pleasure of it. And will you let wee Rosie come with me."

"If grandma has no objections," said Sandy, laughing. "But it must be _old_ Major, if you take her."

"Did ever anybody hear such nonsense?" said Mrs Snow, impatiently.

"But you'll need to haste, Sandy, man, or we shall be having visitors, and then she winna get away."

"Yes, I should not wonder. I saw Mr Perry coming up the way with a book in his hand. But I could bring young Major and Dandy too, and Miss Rose needn't be kept at home then."

Rose laughed merrily.

"Who? The minister? Oh! fie, Sandy man, you shouldna speak such nonsense. Wee Rosie, are you no' going to stay the day with Miss Graeme and me?" said Mrs Snow.

Graeme held up her arms for the little girl, but she did not offer to move.

"Will you bide with grannie, wee Rosie?" asked her father, pulling back her sun-bonnet, and letting a ma.s.s of tangled, yellow curls fall over her rosy face.

"Tum adain Grannie," said the little girl, gravely. She was too well pleased with her place to wish to leave it. Her father laughed.

"She shall come when I bring over Dandy for Miss Rose. In the meantime, I have something for some one here."

"Letters," said Graeme and Rose, in a breath.

"One a piece. Good news, I hope. I shall soon be back again, Miss Rose, with Dandy."

Graeme's letter was from Will, written after having heard of his sisters being in Merleville, before he had heard of Mrs Snow's recovery. He had thought once of coming home with Mr Millar, he said, but had changed his plans, partly because he wished to accept an invitation he had received from his uncle in the north, and partly for other reasons.

He was staying at present with Mrs Millar, who was "one of a thousand,"

wrote Will, with enthusiasm, "and, indeed, so is, her son, Mr Ruthven, but you know Allan, of old." And then he went on to other things.

Graeme read the letter first herself, and then to Mrs Snow and Rose.

In the midst of it Mr Snow came in. Rose had read hers, but held it in her hand still, even after they had ceased to discuss Will's.

"It is from f.a.n.n.y," said she, at last. "You can read it to Mrs Snow, if you like, Graeme. It is all about baby and his perfections; or nearly all. I will go and put on my habit for my ride. Uncle Sampson come with me, won't you? Have you anything particular to do to-day?"

"To ride?" said Mr Snow. "I'd as lieve go as not, and a little rather--if you'll promise to take it moderate. I should like the chaise full better than the saddle, I guess, though."

Rose laughed.

"I will promise to let _you_ take it moderate. I am not afraid to go alone, if you don't want to ride. But I shouldn't fancy the chaise to-day. A good gallop is just what I want, I think."

She went to prepare for her ride, and Graeme read f.a.n.n.y's letter. It was, as Rose had said, a record of her darling's pretty sayings and doings, and gentle regrets that his aunts could not have the happiness of being at home to watch his daily growth in wisdom and beauty. Then there were a few words at the end.

"Harry is properly indignant, as we all are, at your hint that you may see Norman and Hilda, before you see home again. Harry says it is quite absurd to speak of such a thing, but we have seen very little of him of late. I hope we may see more of him now that his friend and partner has returned. He has been quite too much taken up with his little Amy, to think of us. However, I promised Mr Millar I would say nothing of that bit of news. He must tell you about it himself. He has a great deal of Scottish news, but I should only spoil it by trying to tell it; and I think it is quite possible that Harry may fulfil his threat, and come for you himself. But I suppose he will give you fair warning," and so on.

Graeme closed the letter, saying nothing.

"It is not just very clear, I think," said Mrs Snow.

"Is it not?" said Graeme. "I did not notice. Of course, it is all nonsense about Harry coming to take us home."

"And who is little Miss Amy, that she speaks of? Is she a friend of your brother Harry? Or is she Mr Millar's friend? Mrs Arthur doesna seem to make it clear?"

"Miss Amy Roxbury," said Graeme, opening her letter again. "Does she not make it plain? Oh, well! we shall hear more about it, she says. I suppose Harry has got back to his old fancy, that we are to go and live with him if Mr Millar goes elsewhere. Indeed, I don't understand it myself; but we shall hear more soon, I daresay. Ah! here is Rosie."

"And here is Dandy," said Rose, coming in with her habit on. "And here is wee Rosie come to keep you company while I am away. And here is Mr Snow, on old Major. Don't expect us home till night. We shall have a day of it, shall we not?"

They had a very quiet day at home. Wee Rosie came and went, and told her little tales to the content of her grandmother and Graeme, who made much of the little girl, as may well be supposed. She was a bonny little creature, with her father's blue eyes and fair curls, and showing already some of the quaint, grave ways that Graeme remembered in her mother as a child.

In the afternoon, Emily came with her baby, and they were all happy and busy, and had no time for anxious or troubled thoughts. At least, they never spoke a word that had reference to anything sad. But, when Graeme read the letters again to Emily, Mrs Snow noticed that she did not read the part about their going West, or about little Amy, or about Harry's coming to take them home. But her eye lingered on the words, and her thoughts went back to some old trouble, she saw by her grave look, and by the silence that fell upon her, even in the midst of her pretty child's play with the little ones. But never a word was spoken about anything sad. And, by and by, visitors came, and Mrs Snow, being tired, went to lie down to rest for a while. But when Rose and Mr Snow came home, they found her standing at the gate, ready to receive them.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

"I want to know! Now do tell; if there ain't mother standing at the gate, and opening it for us, too," exclaimed Mr Snow, in astonishment and delight. "That is the farthest she's been yet, and it begins to look a little like getting well, now, don't it?"