The Orphans of Glen Elder Part 6

But all the days in Kirklands were not sunny days. The pleasant harvest time went over, and the days grew short and rainy. Not with the pleasant summer rain, coming in sudden gusts to leave the earth more fresh and beautiful when the sunshine came again, but with a dull, continuous drizzle, dimming the window-panes, and hiding in close, impenetrable mist the outline of the nearest summits. The pleasant rambles among hills and glens, and the pleasanter restings by the burn-side, were all at an end now. The swollen waters of the burn hid the stone seat where the children had loved to sit, and the sere leaves of the rowan-tree lay scattered in the glen. Even when a blink of sunshine came, they could not venture out among the dripping heather, but were fain to content themselves with sitting on the turf seat at the house-end.

For all Aunt Janet's prophecy had not come true, thus far. There were no roses blooming on Archie's cheeks yet; and sometimes, when Lilias watched his pale face, as he sat gazing out into the mist, she was painfully reminded of the time when he used to watch the shadow of the spire coming slowly round to the yew-tree by the kirk-yard gate.

But there were no days now so long and sad as those days had been. The memory of their last great grief was often present with them; but the sense of orphanhood grew less bitter, day by day, as time went on.

Archie was not quite strong and well yet, but he was far better than he had been for many a long month; and Lilias' feeling of anxiety on his account began to wear away. Gradually they found for themselves new employments and amus.e.m.e.nts, and their life fell into a quiet and pleasant routine again.

A new source of interest and enjoyment was opened to them in the return of Mrs Blair's scholars after the harvest-holidays were over. There were between fifteen and twenty girls, and a few boys, whose ages varied from six to twelve or fourteen. They were taught reading, writing, and the catechism; and some of the elder girls were taught to knit and sew.

Archie used sometimes to be weary of the hum of voices and the unvaried routine of the lessons; but Lilias never was. To her it was a constant pleasure to a.s.sist her aunt. Indeed, after a time some of the cla.s.ses were entirely given up to her care. She had never been much with other children, but her gentle tones and quiet womanly ways gave her a control over them; and even the roughest and most unruly of the village children learnt to yield her a ready obedience.

Mrs Blair had striven to do faithfully the work she had undertaken of instructing these ignorant children; but at her age the formation of new habits was by no means easy. The constant attention to trifles which the occupation required was at times inexpressibly irksome to her; and the relief which the a.s.sistance of Lilias gave her was proportionally great.

"I'm sure I know not how I ever got on without my la.s.sie," she said, one day, after watching with wonder and delight the patience with which she arranged the little girls' work,--a task for which patience was greatly needed. "I shall grow to be a useless body if I let you do all that is to be done in this way. Are you not weary with your day's work, Lilias, my dear?"

"Weary!" said Lilias, laughing. "I don't need to be weary, for all I have done. It's only play to hear the bairns read and spell. I like it very much."

"But it's not play to take out and put into shape, and to sew as you have been doing for the last hour. I fear I put too much upon you, Lilias."

"Oh, now you are surely laughing at me. I wish I could do ten times as much. Do I really help you, Aunt Janet?"

"Ay, more than you know, my darling. But put by your work for a night, and run down the brae, and freshen the roses that are just beginning to bloom on your cheeks. We mustn't let them grow white again, if we can help it."

But the best time of all was when the children had gone home,--when, with the door close shut against the wintry blast, they sat together around the pleasant firelight, talking, or reading, or musing, as each felt most inclined. From her father's well-chosen library Mrs Blair had preserved a few books, that were books indeed,--books of which every page contained more real material for thought than many a much-praised modern volume. Read by themselves, the quaint diction of some of these old writers must have been unintelligible to the children; but with the grave and simple comments of their aunt to a.s.sist their understanding, a new world of thought and feeling was opened to them. Many a grave discussion did they have on subjects whose names would convey no idea to the minds of most children of their age. There was often a mingling of folly and wisdom in their opinions and theories, that amused and surprised their aunt. Archie's lively imagination sometimes ventured on flights from which the grave expostulations of Lilias could not always draw him.

"To the law and to the testimony, Archie, lad," was his aunt's never-failing suggestion; and then his eager, puzzled face would be bent over the Bible, till his wild imaginings vanished of themselves, without waiting to be reasoned away.

But the history of their country was the chief delight of those long winter evenings. One read aloud; but the eyes of both rested on the page with an eagerness that did not pa.s.s away after the first perusal.

The times and events that most interested them were gone over and over, till they were ready to forget that they of whom they read had long since pa.s.sed away: Murray and Douglas, John Knox and Rutherford, and Mary, lived and laboured, and sinned and suffered, still in their excited feelings. It is true, their interest and sympathy vacillated between the contending parties. They did not always abide by their principles in the praise or blame awarded. Their feelings were generally on the side of the sufferers, whoever they might be; and if their eyes sparkled with delight at the triumphant energy of Knox, their tears for poor Queen Mary were none the less sincere.

But it was the history of the later times that stirred their hearts to their inmost depths,--the times...

"When in muirland and valley the standard of Zion, All b.l.o.o.d.y and torn, 'mong the heather was lying."

...When Charles strove to put in shackles the Scottish mind, and quench in the Scottish heart that love for the pure and simple truth for which the best and n.o.blest have died. About these times and these men they were never weary of reading and speaking.

"There will never more be such times in Scotland," said Archie, as Lilias shut the history, and took down the Bible and psalm-books for their evening worship.

"Thank G.o.d, no!" said his aunt, hastily; "though one might think, from your face, that it is no matter of thankfulness to you."

"I don't wish those times to come back," said the boy musingly; "but I wish I had lived then. It must have been worth a man's while to live in those days."

"And why is it not as much worth a man's while to live in the days that are to come as in the days that are past?" asked his aunt, with a smile.

Archie looked up quickly.

"I know what you are thinking, aunt:--that a poor cripple lad could have done as little then as he can do now." And Archie sighed.

"No: I was thinking that it needs as much courage and patience, and as much of G.o.d's grace, for a poor cripple lad to bear (as He would have him bear) the trouble He sends, as would have stood a man in good stead before the face of Claverhouse himself. The heroes of history are not always the greatest heroes, after all, Archie, my laddie."

"Maybe not, aunt; but, then, it's only a sore leg I have to bear; and who is the better whether I bear it well or ill?"

"Archie, man, you are speaking foolishly," returned, his aunt, gravely.

"It matters much to yourself whether you bear your trouble well or ill.

It was sent to you for discipline, and that you might be better fitted for the honouring of His name; and He who sent it can make it answer these ends in you as well as though He had cast your lot in those troublous times, and made you a buckler of strength against His foes and the foes of His people."

"But, aunt," said Lilias, "it's surely not wrong to wish to be placed where we can do much for Him? I don't wonder Archie should wish to have lived in those days."

"No, love: such a wish is not wrong, provided it doesn't act as a temptation to neglect present opportunities. We are all by nature self-seekers, and in no small danger of giving ourselves credit for wishing to serve the Lord, when, maybe, He sees it is ourselves we wish to serve. The best evidence we can give that we would honour Him in a larger sphere is, that we strive to honour Him in the sphere in which He has placed us."

"But after all, aunt, it would be grand to be able to do as much for G.o.d's cause as some of those men did. I can't think that any one, to say nothing of a poor cripple lad, has an opportunity to do as much now as those men had."

"To do is a great thing in the sight of men. But I am thinking that, in His sight who sees further than men can see, _to suffer_ may be greater than _to do_. But have patience, Archie, lad. He who has given you to suffer now, may give you to do before you die. You may have to fight the battles of the Lord in high places. Who knows?"

"That would be near as well as to fight with the dragoons: would it not, Archie?" said Lilias, laughing. "I'm sure it would be far easier."

"Maybe not, my la.s.sie," said her aunt, gravely. "There may be battles fierce and sore that are bloodless battles; and Scotland may not be through all her warfare yet. But take the books, bairns, and let us be thankful that, whatever may befall us or our land, we have always the same word to guide us."

There was one drawback to the happiness of the children, this winter; and it was felt for a time to be no slight one. They could not go to the kirk at Dunmoor, their father's kirk. The winter rains had made the way over the hills impa.s.sable; and the distance by the high-road was too great for them. They learnt in a little while to love the kindly voice of the minister of Kirklands parish, and they soon got many a kindly greeting from the neighbours at the kirk door. But it was not the same to Lilias as sitting in her father's seat, and listening to the voice of her father's friend; and the getting back to the dear old kirk at Dunmoor was always told over as one of the pleasant things which the spring would bring back again.

At Christmas-time there came a new scholar to the school, and no small stir did her coming make there. For the first nine years of her life, Elsie Ray had been the neglected child of a careless and indolent mother. At her death, Elsie had come to the neighbourhood of Kirklands, to live with her grandfather and her aunt. She thus pa.s.sed from one extreme of misfortune to the other. From roaming at large in whatever place and in whatever company she chose, she became at once the in-door drudge of her aunt and the out-door drudge of her grandfather. The father and daughter agreed perfectly in one respect. Their ruling pa.s.sion was the same,--the love of money. It was believed in the neighbourhood that they had laid by a considerable sum; but nothing could be more wretched than their usual mode of life. Their business was the keeping of cows and poultry; and they found an efficient a.s.sistant in the strong and energetic Elsie. The life of constant occupation which she was obliged to live with them was less dangerous to an active-minded child than the idle, sauntering existence she had pa.s.sed with her mother. But it left her no time for improvement; and she seemed likely to grow up in ignorance. The chance visit of an uncle saved her from this sad fate. Her grandfather so far attended to his remonstrances as to send her, during three or four of the least busy months, to Mrs Blair's school.

It would be difficult to imagine a more unpromising pupil than Elsie appeared to be when Lilias first took her in hand; for to Lilias'

special care was she committed. Wonder unspeakable to the children in the school was the sight of a girl of Elsie's age who could not say the catechism, which every Scotch child begins to learn almost in infancy.

But this was by no means the greatest defect in the education of the new-comer; for it soon appeared that "great A" and "crooked S" were as utter mysteries to her as any sentence in the catechism. And their wonder was by no means silent wonder. More than once during the first week was Elsie's ready hand raised to resent the mockery of her tormentors. It needed constant watchfulness on the part of Lilias to keep the peace; and nothing but her earnest and gentle encouragement would have prevented the girl from giving up, in disgust, the attempt to learn to read.

This was only for a short time, however. Her rapid improvement in reading, as well as sewing, was a constant source of wonder and delight to her young teacher; and soon the mocking of the children was silenced.

Nor was it in these things alone that improvement appeared. Incited partly by the precept and partly by the example of Lilias, a great change soon became visible in her appearance and manners. There was a decided attempt at neatness in her rather shabby garments; and a look from Lilias, or even the remembrance of her, had power to stay the utterance of the rude or angry word ere it pa.s.sed her lips. Her naturally affectionate disposition had been chilled by the life she had been leading for the last few years, and her heart opened gratefully to the kindness of Lilias. Under her influence, her good qualities were rapidly developed; and she soon became a great favourite with them all.

"It has made a great difference, Elsie's being here," Lilias often said; and when one morning Elsie came with swollen eyes to say that she could come no more, Lilias felt inclined to weep with her. She comforted her, however, telling her she would often come with Archie to see her while she was feeding her cows on the hills, and that when the winter came again her grandfather would let her come back to the school. So Elsie dried her eyes, and promised to let no day pa.s.s without trying to read at least one whole chapter in the little Testament that Lilias gave her at parting.

There was no lack of incidents to break the monotony of their life during the winter. Among the most frequent and by no means the least interesting of these were the visits of Mrs Stirling. She never pa.s.sed to or from Kirklands--where all her little purchases were made--without calling; and a wonderful interest she seemed to take in all that concerned the children, especially Lilias; and she always met with a welcome. Not that her visits were usually very cheerful affairs. The conversation generally turned upon the troubles of life--great and small, and especially her own--those she had experienced and those she dreaded.

Mrs Blair was often greatly amused by the earnest and grave attempts of Lilias to make the world look brighter to poor Nancy. Sometimes these attempts took the form of sympathy, sometimes of expostulation; and more than once there was something like gentle rebuke in the child's words and tones. She could not boast of success, however. If Mrs Stirling could not reply in words, she never failed to enter a protest against the cheerful philosophy of Lilias, by a groan, or a shake of the head, expressive of utter incredulousness. She was never angry, however, as Mrs Blair was sometimes afraid she might be. Indeed, she seemed greatly to enjoy the little girl's conversation; and sometimes her visits were rather unreasonably lengthened. Archie she never addressed but in terms of the deepest commiseration. At every visit she saw, or seemed to see, that he was changing for the worse; and "poor, helpless bairn!" or "poor pining laddie!" were the most cheerful names she gave him. Her melancholy anecdotes of similar cases, and her oft-repeated fears that "he would never see the month of June," vexed and troubled Lilias greatly. At first they troubled Archie too; but he soon came not to heed them; and one day, when she was in a more than usually doleful mood, wondering what Lilias would do without him, and whether it would save his life if his leg were cut off, he quite offended her by laughing in her face.

"To think of me wasting good breath sympathising with you!" she exclaimed. "No, no! You're not so near heaven as I thought you.

You're none too good to bide in this world a while yet. To think of the laddie laughing at me!"

CHAPTER FIVE.

SUMMER DAYS AT KIRKLANDS.

And so the winter pa.s.sed away, and the spring came again,--the sunshine and showers of April, more than renewing the delight of the children's first weeks in Kirklands. They had never been in the country in the early spring before; and even "bonny Glen Elder," in the prime of summer, had no wonders such as revealed themselves day by day to their unaccustomed eyes. The catkins on the willows, the gradual swelling of the hawthorn-buds, the graceful ta.s.sels of the silver birch, were to them a beauty and a mystery. The gradual change of brown fields to a living green, as the tender blades of the new-sown grain sprang up, was wondrous too. The tiny mosses on the rocks, the ferns hidden away from other eyes, were searched for and rejoiced over. No wild flower by the wayside, no bird or b.u.t.terfly, no new development of life in any form, but won from them a joyful greeting.

And so there were again the pleasant wanderings among hills and glens, and the pleasanter restings by the burn-side. But they were not so frequent now, for Lilias' life was a very busy one, and she could not, even if she had wished, have laid aside the duties she had taken upon herself. But her freedom was all the sweeter when her duties were done; and seldom a day pa.s.sed without an hour or two of bright sunshine and fresh air, and never before had the world seemed half so beautiful.