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ROBERTSON, AUXnOK OF 'OUniSTIE-, OR, THE WAT HOME," "THE ORPHAN'S OP GLEN ELDER." ETC. ETC., V"'' W ly NEW YORK: ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & CO., 770 Broadv/at, Cob. Qth Street. 1809. T? 6 5 I ^,,tAW.BENN„r,,,^ 1SI>01 "'"^^ity 0, He, ivM^ ^ II 5t As the Author of this book resides in a British Province, she cannot obtain an American Copyright. Her arrangement zuith the Publishers, however, secJire to her the usual terms paid to American Authors, and it is her hope that this announcement ivill be sufficient to secure to THEM the exclusive right of publication in the United States. Margaret Murray Robertson. Sept. 1st, 1869. I ^ ^ / e"^ ^■' M t — y t ^ y. ^ ■a^i \^ !■'„ , J^/^^ y- ^f /• /- y^. ^ Jaiet's Loye and Service. CHAPTER I. THE longest clay in all the year was slowly closino- over the little village of Clayton. There were no loiterers now at the corners of the streets or on the village square-it was too late for that, though da^hght still luigorccl. Now and then the silence was broken by the footsteps of some late home-comer, and over more than one naiTow close the sound of boyish voices went and came, from gaiTct to -arret telhng that the spiiit of slumber had not yet taken possession of the place.. But these soon ceased. The wind moved the tall laburnums in the lane without a sound, and the mui-mur of runnmg water alone broke the stHlness, as the g-ur-lo of the burn, and the nish of the distant mill her book again. "I might see by tl'o tire," she ••id, and in .i minute she vrnH seated on the floor, her head leaning on her hands, and her eye fastened on the open page. " Miss Graeme," said Janet, softly coming in with a child in her arms, " your mamma 's no' weel, and here 's wee Kosio wakened, and wautin' her. You '11 need to take her, i'or I maun awa'." The book fell from the girl's hand, as she started up with a frightened face. " What ails mamma, Janet ? Is she very ill ? " " What should ail her but the one thing ? " said Janet, im- patiently. " She '11 be better the mom I hae nae doubt." Graeme made no attempt to take the child, who held out her hands toward her. " I must go to her, Janet." "Indeed, Miss Graeme, you'll do nothing o' the kind. IVIrs. Burns is with her, and the doctor, and it 's little good you could do her just now. Bide still where you are, and take care o' wee Rosie, and hearken if you hear ony o' the ither baii'ns, for none o' you can see your mamma the night." Graeme took her Httle sister in her arms, and seated her- 10 JAJSETri LOVE AND SKKVICE. self on the floor a^ain. Janet went out, and Graeme heard her father's voice in the passage. She held her breath to listen, but h- did not come in as she hoiked he would. Slio heard tliem both go iip stairs again, and heedless of the prattle of her baby sister, she still listened eagerly. Now and then the soimd of footsteps overhead reached her, and in a little Janet came into the kitchen again, but she did not stay to be (questioned. Then the street door opened, and some one went out, and it seemed to Graeme a long time be- fore she heard another sound. Then Janet came in again, and this time she seemed to have forgotten that there was any one to see her, for she was wiiuging her hands, and the tears were streaming down her cheeks. Graeme's heart stood still, and her white hps could scarcely utter a sound. " Janet ! — tell me ! — my mother." *' Save us lassie ! I had no mhid of joii. Bide still. Miss Graeme. You muuna go there," for Graeme with her little sis- ter in her arms was hastening away. " Your mamma 's no waur than she 's been afore. It 's only me that does na ken about the like o' you. The minister keeps up a gude heart. Gude forgie him and a' manldnd." Graeme took a step toward the door, and the baby fright- ened at Janet's unwonted vehemence sent up a shrill cry. But Janet put them both aside, and stood with her back against the door. " No' ae step, Miss Graeme. The auld fiile that I am ; 'gin the lassie had been but in her bed. No, I' 11 no' take the bairn, sit down there, j'ou '11 be sent for if j'ou 're needed. I '11 be back agam soon ; and j'ou '11 promise me that you '11 no leave this till I bid you. Miss Graeme, I would 'na deceive you, if I was afi*aid for your manmia. Promise me that you '11 bide still." Graeme promised, awed by the earnestness of Janet, and by her own vague terror as to her mother's mysterious sor- row, that could claim from one usually so calm, sympathy so intense and painful. Then she sat down again to listen and to wait. How long the time seemed ! The Hds fell do^vn Janet's love and service. 11 over the baby's wakeful eyes at last, and Graeme, gathering hor owTi frock over the little hrabs, and murmuring loving words to her darling, hstened still. The flames ceased to lea^^) and glow on the hearth, the shad- ows no longer danced upon the wall, and gazing at the strange faces and forms that smiled and beckoned to her from the d^dng embers, still she hstened. The red embers faded into white, the dark forest with its sunny glades and long retreating vistas, the hills, and rocks, and clouds, and waterfalls, that had risen among them at the watcher's will, changed to dull grey ashes, and the dim dawn of the 3ummer morning, gleamed in at last upon the weary sleeper. The baby still nestled in her aims, the golden hair of the child gleaming among the dark ciu'ls of the elder sister as their cheeks lay close together. Graeme moaned and murmiued in her sleep, and clasped the baby closer, but she did not wako till Janet's voice aroused her. There were no tears on her face now, but it was very wliito, and her voice was low and changed. " JNIiss Graeme, you are to go to your mamma ; she 's wantin' you- But mind you are to be quiet, and think o' your father." Taking the child m her arms, she turned her back upon the startled girl. Chilled and stiff fi*om her uneasy postui-e, Graeme strove to rise, and stmnbling, caught at Janet's arm. " INIamma is better Janet," she asked eagerly. Janet kept her working face out of sight, and, in a little, answered hoarsely, *• Ay, she '11 soon be better, whatever becomes of the rest of us. But, mind, you are to be quiet, Miss Graeme." Chilled and trembhng, Graeme crept up stairs and through the dim passages to her mother's room. The curtains had been drawn back, and the daylight streamed into the room, but the forgotten candles still ghmmered on the table. Tliero were several people in the room, standing sad and silent around the bed. They moved away as she drew near. Then Graeme saw her mother's white face on the pillow, aud her 12 a>' JANETS LOVE AND 8EKVICE. father bending over her. Even in the awe and dread that smote on her heart Hke death, she remembered that she must be quiet, and, coming close to the piUow, she said softlv " Mother." *^' The dying eyes came back from their wandei-ing, and fas- tened on her darhng's face, and the white hps opened with a smile. " Graeme-my own love-I am gomg away— and they wiU have no one but you. And I have so much to say to you." So much to say ! With only strength to ask, « God guide my darhng ever ! " and the dying eyes closed, and the smile Hn- gered upon the pale lips, and in the silence that came next one thought fixed itself on the heart of the awe-stricken gii-l' never to be e£faced. Her father and his motherless children had none but her to care for them now. at at a iU y 1- t, 1, a CHAPTER II. TT 'S a' ye ken ! Gotten ower it, indeed I " and Janet 1 turned her back on her visitor, and went mutter- ing about her gloomy kitchen : " The minister no' bemg ono to Bpeak his sorrow to the newsmongmg folk that frequent your house, they say he has gotten ower it, do they ? It 's a* they ken ! " " Janet, woman," said her visitor, " I canna but think you ai-e unreasonable in your auger. I said nothing derogatory to the mmister ; far be it fi'ora me ! But wo can a' see that the house needs a head, and the bau-ns need a mother. The minister 's growing gey cheerful like, and the year is mair than out ; and " "Whisht, woman Dinna say it. Speak sense if ye maun speak," said Janet, with a gesture of disgust and anger. " Wherefore should I no' say it ? " demanded her visitor. "And as to speaking sense . But I '11 ii'g her care as there 's ;horIess 're 's no le day, e failed py, "it I dare I 'U do lovo f you bear them, will give you -SN-isdom to guide them, and when strength is needed, there 's no fear but you '11 get it The back is aye fitted for the burden. Let them gang or let them bide, you canna leave them now." She tm*ncd her face away from her mother, and for her life Janet could not have told whether the tears that were stream- ing down her cheeks, were falling for joy or for sorrow. There was to be no struggle between her and her mother. That was well ; but with the feeling of rehef the knowledge brought, there came a pang — a foretaste of the homesick- ness, which comes once, at least, to eveiy wanderer from his country. By a strong effort she controlled herself, and found voice to say, " I shall never leave them while they need me. I could be content to toil for them always. Bat, ah ! mother, the going awa' over the sea " Her voice failed her for a minute, then she added, " I hae wakened every momin' with this verse of Jeremiah on my mind : ' "Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him, but weep sore for him that goeth away, for he shall rc- tmni no more nor see his native country'.' " Janet made no secret of her tears now. "Hoot fie, Janet, woman," said her mother, affecting angor to hide far other feehngs. " You are misapplyin' Scripture altogether. That was spoken o' them that were to bo carried away captive for their sins, and no' o' honest folk, follo^^ In' the leadings o' Providence. If there 's ony application it 'n to me, I 'lii thinkui'. It 's them that bide at hame that are bidden weep sore ;" and she seemed much inclmcd to follow the injunction. She recovered in a minute, however, and added, " ] >ut I 'm no' going to add to your trouble. You chnna need me to tell you I'll have httle left when you're awa.' But, if it 's your duty to go with them, it canna be your duty to bide with me. You winna lose your reward striving in behalf o' these motherless bairns, and the Lord will hae mo and Sandy in his keeping, I diima doubt." 2 2G JANET S LOVK AND SERVICE. There was a long silence after tliis. Each luiew whiit tho other suffered. Xhere was uo need to speak of it, and so they sat without a word ; Janet, with the n to send Sandy over the sea. It was all done very quietly and calmly. I wiU not say that Janet's voice (hd not falter sometuiies, or that no mist came between the mother's eyes and the grave face on the other side of the table. But there was no sign given. A strong sense of duty sustained them. A fmn belief that however jiainful the futiu'e might be, they were doing right in this matter, gave them power to look calmly at the sacrifice that must cost them so much. At length the childi-en's voices were heard, and at the somid, Janet's heart leaped up with a throb of pain, but in words she gave no utterance to the pang. "AVeel, Sandy, lad, is this you," said she, as with mingled shyness and pleasure the boy came forward at his grand- mother's bidduig. He was a well-grown and healthy lad, with a frank face, and a thick shock of hght curls. There was a happy look in his large blue eyes, and the smile came very natm-ally to his ratlu>r large mouth. To his mother, at the moment, he seemed altogether beautiful, and her heart cried out agauist the ^Teat trial that was before her. Sandy stood with his hand in her's, while his grandmother ques- tioned him about the crnyid on which he had been sent, and 28 JANET'S LOVE AND SEUVICE. she had time to quiet herself. But there was a look on her face as she sat there, gently stroking his fair hair with her hand, that was sad to see. Marian saw it with momentary wonder, and then coming up to her, she laid her arm gently over her neck and whispered, " Sandy is going with us too, Janet Th ore will be plenty of room for us aU." " I 've been telUng Menie that I canua leave grannie," said Sandy, turning gravely to his mother. " You '11 hae Norman and Harry, and them a', but grannie has none but me." " And wouldna you like to go with us too, Sandy, man ? " asked his mother, with a pang. " To yon fine countiy John Ferguson tells us about ? " said Sandy, with sparkling eyes. " That I would, but it wouldna be right to leave gi'annie, and she says she 's ower old to go so far away — and over the great sea too." " Nae, my lad, it wouldna be right to leave grani..ie by herself, and you 'U need to bide here. Think aye first of what is right, and there will be no fear of you." " And are you goin' mother ? " asked Sandy, gravely. " I doubt I 'U need to go, Sandy lad, with the bairns. But I think less of it, that I can leave you to be a comfori to grannie. I 'm sure I needna bid you be a good and obedient laddie to her, when " It needed a strong effort on her part to restrain the bitter cry of her heari " And will you never come back again, mother ? " " I duma ken, Sand3% Maybe no. But that 's no' for us to consider. It is present duty we maun think o'. The rest is in the Lord's hands." What else could be said ? Tliat was the sum. It was duty, and the Lord would take care of the rest. And so they parted with outward calm ; and her mother never knew that that night, Janet, sending the cliildren home before her, sat down in the lane, and " gi*at as if she would nevei greet mair." And Janet never knew, till long years afterwards, how that night, and many a night, Sandy woke from the )ok on her r with her Qomentary irm gently be plenty inie," said e Norman me." y, man ? " JANEl'8 LOVE AND SERVICE. 29 sound sleep of childhood to find his grandmother praying and weeping, to think of the parting that was di-awing near. Each could be strong to help the other, but alone, in sflence and darkness, the poor shrinking heai-t had no power to cheat itself into the behef that bitter suflfering did not he before it. ut?"said b wouldna old to go •ani.ie by e first of ely. ms. But )mfort to obedient ;he bitter lo' for us The rest ras duty, so they new that her, sat ei' greet crwards, rom the r. CHAPTER IV. was worsliip time, and the bairns had gathered round the table with theii* books, to wait for their father's com- ing. It was a fair sight to see, but it was a sad one too, for they were motherless. It was aU the more sad, that the bright faces and gay voices told how httlo they realized* the great- ness of the loss they had sustained. They were more gay than usual, for the elder brother had come home for the sum- mer, perhaps for always ; for the question was being eagerly discussed whether ho would go back to the college again, or whether he was to go with the rest to America. Arthm', a quiet, handsome lad of sixteen, said httle. He was sitting mth the sleejiy Will upon his knee, and only put in a word now iind then, when the others grew too loud and eager. He could have set them at rest about it, for ho knew that liis father had decided to leave him in Scotland till his studies were finished at the college. •' But there 's no use to vex the lads and Graeme to-night," he said to himself ; and he was right, as ho had not quite made up his mind whether he was vexed himself or not. The thought of the great countries on the other side of the globe, and of the possible adventiu'es that might await them there, had charms for him, as for every one of his age and spirit. But he was a sensible lad, and realized in some measure the advantage of such an education as could only be secui'cd by remaining behind, and he knew in his heart that there was reason in what his father had said to him of the danger there was that the voyage and the new scenes in a strange land might unsettle his mind from his books. It cost him some- thing to seem content, even while his father was speaking to (30) JAXET S LOVE AND SERVICE. 31 icred round itlicr's corn- one too, for t the bright lT the grcat- •e more gay or the suiu- ing eagerly ;'c again, or Httle. He id only put >o loud and or he knew and till his to-night," not quite not. The the globe, lom there, ind spirit. casure the eciu'ed by there was nger there •ange land hiiB some- )eaking to huu, and he knew well it would grieve the rest to know ho was to bo left liehiud, so he would say nothiiig about it, on tliis fii'st night of his houiecommg. Tlicrc was one sad face among them ; for even ^Vi'thur's honu'coming could not quite chase the shadow tliat had fallen on Graeme since the night a j'ear ago while she sat dreaming her dreams in the firehght. It was only a year or little more, but it might have been three, judging fi*om the change in her. She was taUer and paler, and older-looldng since then. And yet it was not so much that as something else that so changed her, Ai'thnr thought, as he sat watching her. The cliangc had come to her tlu'ough their gi-eat loss, he knew ; but he could not have understood, even if it had been told him, how much tliis had changed hfe to Graeme. He had suffered too more than v.'ords could evei* tell. Many a time his heart had been ready to ljm\st with unspeakable longing for his dead mother's loving presence, her voice, her smile, her gentle chiding, till he could only cast himself do^vn and weep vain tears upon the ground. Graeme had borne all this, and what was worse to her, the homly missing of her mother's counsel and care. Not one day of all the yeiu' but she had been made to feel the bitter- ness of their loss ; not one day but she had striven to fill her mother's place to her father and them all, and her nightly heartbreak had been to know that she had striven m vain. ' As how could it be otherwise than vain," she said often to herself, " so weak, so foolish, so hnpatient." And yet through aU her weakness and hnpatience, she knew that she nuist never cease to try to fill her mother's place stiU. Some thought of all this came into Arthur's mind, as she sat there leaning her head on one hand, while the other touched from time to time the cradle at her side. Never before had he reahzed how sad it was for them all that they had lost their mother, and how dreary hfe at home nmst have been all the year. . "Poor Graeme! and poor wee Rosie!" ho says to himself, stoopmg over the cradle. I'l 32 Janet's love and service. " How olfl is Rosio ?" asked be, suddenly. "Near tlirce years old," said Janet. " She winna be tliree till August," said Graeme in the same breath, and she turned beseecliing ejes on Janet. For this was becoming a vexed question between them — the guiding of poor wee Rosie. Janet was a disciplinarian, and ever declared that Rosie '* should go to her bed Hke ither folk ;" but Graeme could never find it in her heart to vex her dar- ling, and so the cradle still stood in the down-stau's parlor for Rosie's benefit, and it was the elder sister's nightly task to soothe the fretful Uttle lady to her unwilling slum- bers. But Graeme had no need to fear discussion to-night. Ja- net's mind was full of other thoughts. One caimot shed oceans of tears and leave no sign ; and Janet, by no means sure of herself, sat with her face turned from the light, in- tently gazmg on the very small piint of the Bible in her hand. On common occasions the bairns would not have let Janet's silence pass unheeded, but to-night they were busy discuss- ing matters of importance, and except to say now and then, " Whist, bairns ! your father wiU be here !" she sat without a word. There was a hush at last, as a step was heard descending the stairs, and in a minute theu* father entered. It was not fear that quieted them. Tliere was no fear in the fi'ank, eager eyes turned toward him, as he sat down among them. His was a face to win confidence and respect, even at the first glance, so grave and earnest was it, yet witlial so gentle and mild. In his childi'en's hearts the sight of it sturcd deep love, which grew to reverence as they grew in years. The calm that sat on that high, broad brow, told of conflicts passed, and victory secure, of weary wandermg through desert places, over now and scarce remembered in the quiet of the resting- place he had found. His words and deeds, and his chas- tened views of earthly things told of a deep experience in " that life wliich is the heritage of the few — ^that tnie hfe of I JANET B LOVE AND SERVICE. 33 1 the same For this le guiding and ever ;her folk ;" X her dar- lu's parlor 's nightly ling slum- light. Ja- tuiot shed no means e light, in- her hand, let Janet's ij discuss- and then, ,t without escending t was not ne fi-ank, yng thom. ; the first entle and rrcd deep irs. The s passed, rt places, e resting- his chas- jrience in ne hfe of I lit ft God in the soul with its strange, rich secrets, both of joy and sadness," whose peace the world knowoth not of, wliich naught beneath the smi can ever more disturb. " The minister is changed — greatly changed." Janet had said many times to herself and others during the last few months, and she said it now, as her eye with the others turned on him as he entered. But with the thought there came to-night the consciousness that the change was not such a one as was to be deplored. He had gi'own older and gi'aver, and more silent than he used to be, but he had grown to something higher, pui'er, hoher than of old, and hke a sud- den gleam of Ught breaking through tlie darkness, there flashed into Janet's mind the promise, "All things shall work together for good to them that love God." Her hps had often spoken the words before, but now her eyes saw the fulfilhnent, and her faihng faith was strengthened. If that bitter trial, beyond which she had vainly striven to see aught but evil, had indeed WTOught good for her beloved friend and master ; need she fear any change or any trial which the future might have in store for her ? " It will work for good, this pain and separation," mur- mured she. " I 'm no* like the muiister, but fi*ail and foolish, and wilful too whiles, but I humbly hope that I am one of those who love the Lord." "Well, bairns!" said the father. There was a gentle stir and movement among them, though there was no need, for Graeme had already set her father's chair and opened the Bible at the place. She pushed aside the cradle a httle that he might pass, and he sat down among them. " We 'U take a Psalm, to-night," said he, after a minute's turning of the leaves from a " namey chajster" in Chronicles, the usual place. He chose the forty-sixth. " God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. ' " Therefore will not wo fear, though the earth bo removed, though the mountains be cast into the midst of the sea." ^if \ 34 JANET'S LOVE AND SERVICE. h: Aiid thus on tlu'oui^h tlio next, " Ho shall choose our mhcritauce for us, the excellency of Jacob, ■whom ho lovod." And still on through the next tiU the last verso, " This God is our God forever and ever. He ^^ill bo oiur guide, even imto death," seemed like the triumphant ending of a song of praise. Then there was a momentary hush and pause. Never since the mother's voice had gi'o^xTi silent in death had the voice of song risen at worship time. The}' had tried it more than once, and ftiiled in bitter weeping. But Janet, fearful that their silence was a sin, had to-night brought the hynui- books which they always used, and laid them at Ai'tliai''s side. In the silence that followed the reading Graeme looked from him to them, but Arthur shook his head. Ho was not sure that his voice would make its way through the lump that had been gathering in his throat while his father read, and he felt that to fail would be dreadful, so there was silence still. There was a Httle lingering round the fire after worship was over, but when Arthur went quietly away the boys soon followed. Graeme would fain have staid to speak a few words to her father, on tliis first night of his retiu*n. He was sitting gazing into the fire, with a face so grave that his daughter's heart ached for his loneliness. But a j)eevish voice 'from the cradle admonished her that she must to her task again, and so with a c^uiet "good night, papa," she took her little sister in her arms. Up stairs she went, murmuiing tender words to her "wee bu'die," her "bonny lammie," her " little gentle dove," more than repaid for all her weari- ness and care, by the fond nestling of the little head upon her bosom ; for her love, which was more a mother's than a sister's, made the burden light. The house was quiet at last. The boys had talked them- selves to sleep, and the minister had gone to his study again. This had been one of Rosie's " weary nights." The voices of her brothers had wakened her in the parlor, and Graeme JANETS LOVi: AND SERVICE. •1, lillcncy of ill bo oiir it ending 2. Never 1 had tiio id it more ct, fearful lie liyiiin- Artliur's me looked 3 was not the lump bher read, 'as silence r worship )oys soon ik a few He was that his vish voice her task ! took her urmuiing lammie," ler weari- ead upon 's than a ied them- dy again, he voices 1 Graeme had a long walk with the fivtfid child, before she was soothed to sleep again. But she did sleep at last, and just as Janet hcd ihiished lier nightly round, shutting th(! wukIowh and ban-ing the doors, Graeme crept do\\ii stairs, and entered the kitchen. The red embers still glowed on the hearth, but Janet was; in the very act of " resting the lu'c " for the night. "Oh! Janet," said Graeme, "imt on another peat. I'm cold, and I want to speak to you." " Miss Graeme ! You up at this time o' the night ! "What ails yon cankered fauy now ? " " Oh, Janet ! She 's asleep long ago, and I want to speak to you." And before Janet could remonstrate, one of the diy peats set ready for the morning th-e v;as thrown on the em- bers, and soon blazed brightly up. Graeme crouched down before it, with her ann over Janet's knee. " Janet, what did yoiu* mother say ? And oh ! Janet, Ai-tlnu' says my father " Tiu'ning with a sudden move- ment, Graeme let her head fall on Janet's lap, and biu'st into tears. Janet tried to lift her face. "Whist! Miss (U-aomc ! AMiat ails the lassie? It's no' the thought of going awa', sm*ely? You hae kenned this was to be a whUe syne. You hae Httle to gi-eet about, if you but kenned it — you, who are going altogether." " Janet, Aiihiu' is to bide in Scotland." . " "Well, it wiima be for long. Just till he 's clone at the college. I dtiro say it 's the best thing that can hajipen him to bide. But who told you ? " " Arthur told me after we went up stairs to-night. And, oh ! Janet ! what will I ever do without hun ? " " Miss Graeme, my deai* ! You hae done without him these two years ah'cady mostly, and even if we all were to bide in Scotland, you would hae to do without him still. He could na' be hero and at the college too. And when he 's done with that he Vy'oiild hae to go clsev/here. FamiUes canna aye bide together. Bairns maun part." " But, Janet, to go so far and leave him ! It will seem al- most hke death." i BQ JANETS L(»VK AND SKRVICK. " But, lassio it 'h no' death. Tlicro 's a great differeiice. And as for scein;;^ him again, that is as the Lord wills. Anyway, it doesna become you to cast a slight on your father's judgment, as though ho had decided unwisely in this matter. Do you no' tliink it will cost him something to part from his first-bom son ? " " But, Janet, why need he part from him ? Think how much better it would be for liim, and for us all, if iVi'thur should go with us. Ai-thui* is ahnost a man." " Xa, lass. He '11 no' hae a man's sense this while yet. And as for his goin' or bidin', it 's no' for you or me to seek for the why and the wherefore o' the matter. It might be better — more cheery — for you and us all if your elder brother were with us, but it wouldna be best for liim to go, or your father would never leave him, you may be sure o' that." Tliore was a long silence. Grjieme sat gazing into the dying embers. Janet tiu'ew on another peat, and a bright blaze sprang up again. "Miss Grreme, my dear, if it 's a vnse and right thing for your father to take you all over the sea, the going or the biding o' your elder brother can make no real difference. You must seek to see the rights o' this. If yom* father hasna him to help liim with the baims and — ither things, the more he '11 need you, and you maun hae patience, and strive no' to disappoint him. You hae muckle to be thankful for — ^you that can write to ane anither like a printed book, to keep ane anither in mind. There 's nae fear o' your growin' out o' acquaintance, and he 'U soon follow, you may be sure. Oh, lassie, lassie ! if you could only ken ! " (iraeme raised herself up, and leaned both her arms on Janet's lap. " Janet, what did your mother say ? " Janet gulped something 'iown, and said, huskily, " Oh ! she said many a thing, but she made nae wark about it. I told yoiir father I would go, and I will. My mother doesna object." " And Sandy ? " said Graeme, softly, for there was some- ^ff jaxet's love and service. 37 (liffercTice. iorcl wills, t on yoiir cly in this ng to part hink how if iVi'thur while yet. le to seek might bo er brother ), or your hat." f into the . a bright thing for ug or the hffcrence. ler hasna ;he more ivo no* to for — ^you keep ane in' out o' u'C. Oh, arms on irk about f mother as some* thin'* working in Janet's face, wliich she clitl not like to see. " Sandy will aye hao my mother, and she '11 hae Sandy. But, la.s.si(', it winna bear spealiing about to-night. Gang awa' to your bed." Giaeme rose, but did not go. " But couldna Sandy go with us ? It would only be one more. Surely, Juiiet " Janet made a movement of impatience, or entreaty, Graeme did not know which, but it stopped her. " Na, na ! Sandy couldna leave my mother, even if it would be wise for me to take him. There 's no more to bo said about that." And in spite of herself, Janet's tears gushed forth, as niortal eyes had never seen them gush before, since she was a herd lassie on the hills. Graeme looked on, hushed and frightened, and in a little, Janet quieted herself and wiped her face with her apron. " You see, dear, what with on^ thing and what witli an- other, I 'm weary and vexed to-night, and no' just myself. Matters will look more hopefnl, both to you and to me, the morn. There 's one thing certain. Both you and me hao much to do that maun be done, before we see saut water, without losing tune in gnimbhn* at what canna be helj)ed. What with the bairns' clothes and ither things, we winna need to be idle ; so let us awa' to our beds that we may bo up bethnes the morn." Graeme still Imgered. " O, Janet ! if my mother were only here ! How easy it all would be." " Ay, lass ! I hae said that to myself many a time this while. But He that took her canna do wrong. There was some need for it, or she would hae been here to-night. You mami aye .strive to fill her place to them all." Graeme's tears flowed forth afresh. " O Janet ! I think you 're mocking me when you say that. How could / ever fill her place ? " "No' by your ain strength and \s-isdom sui'ely my lam- iit! il'/i< 38 JAXET S LOVE A^!D SEEVICE. i niic. But it would ]w limiting liis giuico to say Ho canua make you all you sliould ]n: — all that slic ■svas, and that is sa^'iiig niuclclo ; for .she wan wise far by the common. But now gang awa' to your Ijcd, and dinna forgot your good words. There 's no fear but you will bo in God's kcej)ing wherever you go." Janet v»^as right ; they had need of all their strength and 15atiencc during the next two months. AVhen Janet had con- fidence in herself, she did what was to bo done with a will. But she had little skill hi making prnx-hases, and loss experi- ence, and Graeme svas little bettei-. Many things must bo got, and money could not be spent lavishly, and there was no time to lose. But, with the aid of Mrs. Smith and other kind friends, their preparations were got through at last. Pui'chasos were made, mending and makuig of gannents were accomplished, and the labor of packing was got through, to theii* cntii'c satisfaction. The muiister said good-bye to each of his people separately, either in the kirk, or in his own home or theirs ; but ho shrunk from last words, and fi'om the sight of all the sorrow- ful faces that were sure to gather to see them go ; so he went away at night, and stayed with a fi'iend, a few miles on their way. But it was the faii'ost of summer mornings — the mist just lifting from the hills — and the sweet air filled with tho laverocks song, when Janet and tho bairns looked theu' last upon thcii' homo. ll'ii: ' Ho caniia md that is mon. But your good I's kcojaiig •cngth and 3t liad con- itli a ^vill. less Lxjicri- s must bo tliere was id friends, lases were Mnplishcd, icir cntii-e cparately, y ; but ho 10 sorrow- ;o he went s on tlieir -the mist with -tho thcii- last CHAPTER V. THEY found themselves on board tho "Steadfast" at hist. Tho day of saihng was bright and bcautifu], a perfect (lay for the sea, or the hind cither ; but the wind roso in the night and the rain game on, and a veiy di'cary morn- ing broke on them as tho last ghmpsc of land was fading in Iho distance. " 0]i ! how dismal ! " mimnur.ed Graeme, as in utter dis- comfort she seated herself on the damp deck, with her Httlo sister in her arms. All the rest, excepting her father, and not excepting Janet, were down with, sca-siclaicss, and even Nor- man and Harry had lost hoart under its dc} >ressing inlluenco. Another horn- in the close cabin, and Graeme felt she must yield too— and then what would become of Rose '? So into a mist that was almost rain she came, as the day was brcaldu"-, and sat down with her Httlo sist(;r upon tlie deck. For a mimitc she closed her eyes on tho drcarmess around, and leaned her head on a hencoop at her side. Rose had been fi-ctful and uneasy all night, but now well pleased with tho new sights around her, she sat stiU on her sister s lap. Soon the cheerful voice of the Captain startled Graeme. "Touch and go with you I see, Miss ElHott. I am afi-aid you will have to ,i.;ive in like the rest." Graeme looked up v/ith a smile that was sickly cnoufdi. " Not if I can help it," said she. "Well, you are a bravo lass to t^.mk of h ■', Mig it with a face like that. Come and tako a quick walk up and down the deck with me. It will do you good. Sci down tho bairn," for Graeme was risuig witli Hose hi her anns. "No liarm wHl come to her, and you don't look lit to cany your- (39) 40 JANETS LOVE AND SLRVICE. B it'iii 1 f ! 1 • self. Sit you there, my -wee fairy, till we come back again. Here, Rutlivcn," he called to a yoimg man who was walkmg up and do\\ni on the other side of the deck, " come and try your hand at baby tending. That may be among the %vork I'equired of you in the backwoods of Canada, who knows ? " Tlie young man came forward laughing, and Graeme sub- mitted to be led away. The httle lady left on the deck seemed very much inclined to resent the unceremrnious dis- posal of so important a persv:.ri, as she was always made, to feel herself to be. But she took a look "nto the face of her new friend and thought better of it. His face was a good one, frank and kindly, and Rose suftered herself to be lifted up and placed uj)on his knee, and when Graeme came back again, after a biisk walk of fifteen minutes, she found the ht- tle one, usually so fretful and "ill to do with," laughing merrily in the stranger's arms. She would have taken her, but Rose was pleased to stay. " You are the very first stranger that ever she was w illiiig to go to," said she, gratefully. Looking uj), she did not won- der at Rosie's fancy for the face that smiled down upon her. " I ought to feel myself highly honored,' said he. " I think we 11 give him the benefit of Uttlc Missy's prefer- ence," said Captain Armstrong, who had been watching Graeme with a httle amused anxiety since her v/alk was ended. The color that the exercise had given her was fast fading from her face, till her very hj^s grew white with the deadly sickness that was commg over her. " You had best go to the cabin a wee while. You must give up, I think," said he. Graeme rose languidl3\ "Yes, I'm afi-aid so. Come Rosie." " Leave the little one with me," said iMr. Ruthven. And that was the last Graeme saw of Rosie for the next twelve hours, for she was not to escape the misery that had fallen so heavily upon the rest, and very wearily the day passed. It jDassed, however, at last, and the next, which was calm and bright as heart could wish, saw them all on deck again. JANET S LOVE AKl) SERVICE. 41 back again, was walking omo and tiy ng the %vork o knows ? " Graeme sub- 3n the deck tnrnious dis- ajs made, to face of her was a good to be lifted ) came back ound the ht- i," laughing e taken her, was willing, lid not won Q upon her. e. ssy's prefer- watching was ended. 'ast fading the deadly You must vcn. And lext twelve d fallen so )assed. It calm and 3ck again. Tliey came with dizzy heads and uncertain stcjis it is time, but the sea an- soon brought color to their checks, and strength to their limbs, and theu* sea life fairly began. But alas ! for Janet. The thii'd day, and the tenth fomid her stiU in her berth, altogether unable to stand up against the power that held her. In vain she struggled against it. The Steadfasi's shghtest motion was sufficient to over- power her quite, till at last she made no effort to rise, but lay there, disgustc'l with herself and all the world. On the calm- est and fairest days, they would prevail on her to be helped up to the deck, and there amid sIid "Is and pillows she would sit, -endm'iug one degree less of misery than she did in the close cabin below. " It was just a judgment upon her," she said, " to let her sec whtvt a poor conceited body she was. She, that had been making inucldo o' herself, as though the Lord coiUdna take care o' tlie baii'ns without her help." It was not sufficient to be told hourly that the children were well and happy, or to see it with her own eyes. This aggi'avated her trouble. " Useless body that I am." And Janot did not wait for a sight of a strange land, to begin to pine for the land she had left, and what with seasickness and homesickness together, she had very httle hope that she would ever see land of any kind again. The lads and Marian enjoyed six weeks of perfect happi- ness. Graeme and their father at first were in constant fear of their getting into danger. It would onl}' have provoked disobedience ha, and tlic knots they make an hour. Thcro arc notices of whales, seen in tho dis- tance, and of shoals of porpoises seen near at hand. TIk ro arc stories <^iven which they have lieard in the forecastle, and hints of practical jokes and tricks played on one another. The history of each sailor in the ship is {^nvcn, from " hand- some Franlc, tlio first Yankee, and the Ijcst sinjjer " the boys ever saw, to Father Abraham, the Dutchman, "with short legs and sliorter temper." Graeme writes often, and daily bewails Janet's continued illness, and rejoices over " wco Rosie's " improved hcaltii'and temper. AVitli her account of tlie boys and tlicir doings, she mingles emphatic wishes " that they had more sense," but on the "/hole they arc satisfactory'. She has much to say of the bo i 10 has been rcadii:ig — "a good many of Sir Walter fc... -" that papa does not ol)ject to," lent by Allan Ruthven. There are Iniits of discussions Avith him about the books, too ,: and Graeme declares she "has no patience " with Allan. For his favorites in Sir Walter's books are sel- dom those who arc persecuted for righteousness' sake ; and there arc allusions to battles fought with him in behalf of the good name of the Old Pm*itans — men whom Graeme dc- hglits to honor. But on the whole it is to bo seen, that Allan is a favorite with her and with them all. The beautiful Bay of Boston was reached at last, and with an interest that cannot bo told, the little party — including the restored Jiuict — regarded the city to which they were drawing near. Tlicir ideas of what they were to see first in the new world had been rather indefinite and vaj^ie. Far more familiar with the early history of New England — with such scenes as tho landing of tho pilgrims, a,nd the departm'o of Roger Williams to a still more distant wilderness, than with 4ie history of modern advance, it was certainly not such a city they had expected to see. But they gazed with ever in- creasing delight, as they drew nearer and nearer to it through tho beautiful bav. Janet's love and seevict:. 43 •cly nautical, c Iciiots they ■n ill the dis- aiul. Tlicro a-ccastlc, and Hic aiioOior. L'om "haiid- 'V " tlic bovs ■'with sliort s continued I Iicalth'and cloing-s, slio sense/' l)ut ^Ii to say of any of Sir it by Allan liiin about paticnee " oks arc sel- sakc ; and 1 behalf of iracmc de- scon, that ^, and with -inchidin'v they were !eo first in ',P-io. Far md— with doixartui-G ness, than ' not snch fch ever in- t through " And this is the wonderful new world, that promises so much to us all," said Man. " They Imvo loft unstained -what there thoy found, Froodom to worriliip (iod," murmured Graeme, softly. "I'm sui'c I shall hkc the Aineiican people." But Allan was taking to heart the thought of parting fi-oni them all, more than was at all reasonable, he said to hunsclf, and he could not answer her with a jest as ho might at another time. " You must wiite and tell mo about your new home," said he. " Yes — the boys will ANiite ; we nil all write. I can hardly believe that six weeks ago we had never seen you. Oh ! I wish you were going with us," said Graeme. "Allan will see Arthur when he comes. Ai'thui- will want to see all the ct)untrv," said Norman. " And maybe he wiU hkc the Queen's dommions best, and wish to settle there," said AUan. " Oh ! but we shall see you long before Ai'thur comes," said Graeme. " Is it very far to Canada ? " " I don't know — not very far I suppose. I don't feel half so hopeful now that I am aljout to know what m}' fate is to be. I have a gTcat dread on me. I have a mind not to go to my imclo at all, but seek my fortune here." "But your mother wouldna be pleased," said Graeme, gi'avely. " No, She has great hopes of what my uncle may do for me. But it would be more agreeable to me not to be con- fined to one com-se. I should lilco to look about me a little, Ijcfore I get fairly into the treadmill of business." In her heart Graeme thought it an excellent thing for Allan that he had his uncle to go to. She had her own ideas about young people's looking about them, with nothing par- ticular to do, and quite agreed with Janet and Dr. Watts as to the work likely to be found for them to do. But sho I "•Sit 44 JANTr'a LOVE AXI) SKRVICE, 1) thought it would be very' nice for them all, if instead of setting off at onco for Canada, Allan might have gone with them for a little while. Before she could say this, however, Janet spoke. . " Ay, that 's bairn-like, though you hae a man's stature. I dare say you would think it a braw thing to bo at naebody's bid(hng ; but, my lad, it 's ae' tiling to hae a friend's house, and a welcome waiting you in a strange land hke this, and it 's anither thing to sit solitary in a bare lodging, even though you may hae hberty to come and go at your ain will. If you 're hke the lads that I ken' maist about, you '11 be none the worse of a little wholesome restramt. Be thankful for your mercies. Allan laughed good-humoredly. But really, Mrs. Nasmyth, you are too hard on me. Just think what a country this is. Think of the mountains, and rivers and lakes, and of all these wonderful forests and prairiop that Norman reads about, and is it strange that I should grudge myself to a dull counting-room, ■svith all these thing!;-' ( en^'oy ? It is not the thought of the restraint that troubles me. I only fear I shall become too soon content with the routine, till I forget how to enjoy anything but the making and counthig of money. I am siu'e anything would be better than to come to that." " You '11 hae many things between you and the like o' that, if you do your duty. You have them you are going to, and them you hae left — youi* mother and brother. And though you had none o' them, you could aye find some poor body to be kmd to, to keep your heart soft. Are you to bide in jour uncle's house ? " " I don't know. IMi'S. Peter Stone, that was home last year, told us that my uncle Hves in the country, and liis clerks live in the town anywhere they Hke. I shall do as the rest do I suppose. All the better — I shall be the more able to do what I Hke with my leisure." " Ay, it 's aye Hberty that the like o' you deHght in. Weel, see that you make a good use of it, that *s the chief thing. jani:t's ix)VE and service. 45 instead of 3 goDc with s, however, I's statuvo. -J naebody's tid's house, lis, and it 's ;^en though n will. If 11 be none lankful for me. Just itains, and (rests and ige that I 1 all these a*aint that n content ig but the ing would le o' that, ig to, and id though »r body to e in ^our lome last and liis do as tho nore able a. "Weel, ef tiling. Eead yoiu* Bible and gang to the khk, and there 's no fear o' you. And dinna forget to write to yoiu* mother. She 's had many a weary thought about you 'cro this time, I '11 warrant." " I dai'csay I shall be content enough. But it seems like parting from home again, to think of leaving you all. My bonnic wee Rosie, what shall I ever do without you ?" said Allan, caressing the httle one who had clambered on his knee. "And what shall we do without you? " ex'-laimcd a chorus of voices ; and Norman added, " WHiat is the use of your going all the way to Canada, when there 's enough for you to do here. Come with us, Allan, man, and never mind your uncle." " And what will you do for him, in case he should give his uncle up for you ?" demanded Janet, sharply. " Oh ! he '11 get just what v/e '11 get om'sclvcs, a chance to make his own way, and I doubt whether he 'U get more where he 's going. I 've no faith in rich uncles." Allan laughed. " Thank you, Norman, lad. I must go to Canada first, however, whether I stay there or not. Maj-bo you will see me agam, sooner than I think now. Surely, i:i the great town before us, there might be found work, and a place for me." Far away before them, stretched the twinkling hghts of the town, and silence fcU upon them as they watched them. In another day they would be among the thousands who lived, and labored, and suffered m it. "What awaited them there ? Not that they feared the future, or doubted a wel- come. Indeed, they were too young to think much of pos- sible evils. A new life was opening before them, no fear but it would be a happy one. Graeme had seen more trouble than the rest, being older, and she was naturally less hope- ful, but then she had no fear for them all, only the thought that they were about to enter on a new, untried life, made her excited and anxious, and the thought of partiiig with their friend made her sad. As for Janet, she was herself again. Her coui'age return- 46 JANETS LOVK AND bJTvVlCK. .1 il i i I cd w'lion tlio sGa-siclincr-is departed, aud now sLo was ready "to put a Htout heart to a still" brae" as of old. "Disjasldt loolduf^" slio was, and not so strong as she used to be, but slio was as active as ever, and more than thankful to be able to k(>ep her feet again. She had been busy all the morning, overhauling the belongings of the family, preparatory to landing, much to the discomfort of all concemcLL All the mornmg Graeme had submitted with a passably good gi*ace toiler cross- questionings as to the "guiding" of this and that, while she had l)een unable to give personal supervision to family matters. Thankful to sec her at her post again, Graeme tried to make apparent her own good management of matters in general, during the voyage, but she was only partially successful. Tlicre were far more rents and stains, and soiled garments, than Janet considered at all necessary, and besides many familiar articles of wearing apparel were missing, after due search made. Li vain Graeme begged her never to mind just now. They were in the big blue chest, or the little brovai one, she couldna just mind where she had put them, but of course they would be found, when all the boxes were oi)ened. " Maybe no," said Janet. " There are some long fingers, I doubt, in the steerage yonder. Miss Graeme, my dear, we" would need to bo carefa'. If I 'm no' mistaken, I saw one o' Norman's spotted handkerchiefs about the neck o' j'on lang Johnny Heeraan, and yon little Iiish lassie ga 'ed past mo the day, with a pinafore very like one o' Menie's. I maun ha' a look at it again." " Oh, Janet ! never mind. I gave wee Norah the pinafore, and the old bro^A^l frock besides. She had mucih need of them. And poor Johnny came on board on the pik^t boat you ken, and he hadna a change, and Norman gave him the hand- kerchief and an old waistcoat of papa's, — and — " Janet's hands were uplifted in consternation. " Keep 's and guide 's lassie — that I should say such a word. Yoiu" papa hadna an old waistcoat in his possession. What for did vou do the like o' that ? The like o' Norman or . iiil. JANKTS U)\i: AND PKUVICK. 47 iis ready Disj.'isldt bo, but o bo ablo morning', ■atory to AU' the >ocl grace this and pcrvision it again, ag'cmcnt was only d stains, 3ccssary, rcl were ! begged big blue d where d, when fingers, lear, we* \v one o' on lang past nie aun ha' inafore, f them. on Ifcn, hand- i ^vord. Wliat [nan or Menic might bo excused, \mi you that I thought had sorao sense and from her lo of the 3" the so- ttle WiU, :ldies for- le idea of ^hcr mov- ^ncr that ie, where forj^uch mit stall, anet, as unmind- is money own the 1 be all m exag- ling the nischief. ind, I 'U le worse. "Take care o' yourself, and leave WUl with mo. But, thch" hac escort poarcd, and she stood alone, with the baskets and th(! boys in the rainy street. Before her consternation had reached a cUniax, however, Ruthvcn reappeared, having safely bestowed the others in their lodgings. Like a (hscrect lad, as Janet was incUned to consider him, he possessed himself of Will, and some of the bundles, and led the way. At the door stood the girls, anxiously looking out for them. If their hostess had, at first, some doubt as to the sanity of her new lodgers, there was little wonder. Such a confusion of ton;:^cs her American ears had not heard before. Graeme condoled with Will, who was both wet and weary. Janet searched for missing bundles, and bewailed things in general. Marian was engaged in a friendly scuffle for an apple, and AUan was tossing Rosio up to the ceihng, while Norman, perched on the bamiistors high above them all, waved his left hand, bidchnfi^ farewell, with many words, to an imaginary Scotland, wliilc with his right he beckoned to the "brave new world" which was to be the scene of his wonderful achievements and triumphs. The next day rose bright and beautiful. Mr. EUiott had gone to stay with his friend Mr. Caldwell, and Janet was over head and ears in a general " sorting " of tilings, and made no objections when it was proposed that the boys and Graeme should go out with Allan Ruthven to see the town. It is doubtful whether there was ever so much of Boston seen in one day before, without the aid of a carnage and pair*. It was a day never to be forgotten by the childi'en. The enjoy- ment was not quite unmixed to Graeme, for she was in con- stant fear of losing some of them. Harry was lost sight of for awhile, but turned up agaui with a chapter of adventures at his finger ends for their amusement. The crowning enjoyment of the day was the treat p ^t-^} , by AUan Ruthven on their way hoi>.e. They were very warm and tired, and hungry too, and the low, cool room down some steps into which they were taken, was delightful. There was 3 1^ 60 Janet's love and service. i 1*!. I- .1 V • ■ i 1 . novor such fniit — there were never such cukes as these that were set before them. As for the ice cream, it was — inexpres- sible. In describing the feast afterwards, Marian could never get beyond the ice cream. She was always at a loss for ad- jectives to describe it. It was like the manna that the Chil- dren of Israel had in the wilderness, she thought, and surely they ought to have been content with it. Graeme was the only one who did not enjoy it thoroughly. She had an idea that there were not very many guineo • left in Allan's purse, and she felt bound to remonstrate wit a because of his extravagance. " Never mind, Graeme, dear," said Jsorman ; " Allan winna ha^e a chance to treat us to manna this while again ; and when I am Mayor of Boston, I '11 give him manna and nuails too." They came home tired, but they had a mcn*y evening. Even Graeme " unbent," as Hany said, and joined in the mirth ; and Janet had enough to do to reason them into quietness when bed-time cai ae. " One would think when ]Mi\ AUan is going away in the morning, you might have the grace to seem sorry, and le^ us have a while's peace," said she. If the night was meny, the morning farewells wei ^ . ^ indeed, and long, long did they w^ait in vain for tidings of Allan Ruthven. these that — inexprcs- 'oiUd never loss for Jid- it the Chil- and surely lioroughly. juiueo" ^('it c wit -1 Jlan wimia igain ; and and nuails •y evening. Qcd in the them into i,way in the and le^ us s wei w . X tidings of CHAPTER VI. ' ' -p UT where 's the town ?" Ij The bairns were standing on the highest step of the meeting-house, gazing with eyes full of wonder and de- liglit on the scene before them. The meeting-house stood on a high hill, and beyond a wide sloping field at the foot of tlio hill, lay Merlcville pond, like a mirror in a frame of silver and gold. Beyond, and on either side, were hills rising behind hills, the most distant covered with great forest trees, " the trees under which the red Indians used to wander," Graeme whispered. There were- trees on the nearer hills too, sugaries, and thick jiine groves, and a circle of them round the margin of the pond. Over all the great Magicia i of the season had waved his wand, and decked them in colors dazzling to the eyes accustomed to the gi*ey rocks and purple heather, and to the russet garb of autumn in their native land. There were farmhouses too, and the scattered houses aloii^' the village street looking white and fair beneath crimson maples and yellow beech trees. Above hung a sky undini- med by a single cloud, and the air was keen, yet mild with the October sunshine. They could not have had a loveher time for the first glimpse of their new home, yet there was an echo of disappointment in Harry's voice as he asked, "AVliere's the town?" They had been gi'catly impressed by the description given them of Merlcville by I\Ir. Sampson Snow, in whose great wagon they had been conveyed over the twenty miles of coun- try' roads that lay between the railway and there new home. "I Avas the first white child bom in the town," said Samp- son. " I know every foot of it as well as I do my own bam, f51^ ■""«*— ^ '"""•iiinwnriiiiiminnii 52 J A27 1: r .s L< ) \- JO A M ) s !•; li \- ic !•:. 'Il' lit ■!' and I don't want no better place to live in than jlcrloville. It don't lack but a fraction of bcin^^ ten miles scjuare, lliglit in the centre, perhaps a kd'c south, there 's abo.it the pret- tiest i>>nd you ever saw. There are some first-rate farms there, mine is one of them, but in general the town is better calculated for pasturage than tillage. I shouldn't wonder but it would be quite a manufactiu'ing place too aflfr a spell,- when they 've used up all the other water privileges in the State. There 's quite a fall in the ]Mcrlo river, just before it runs into the pond. AVe 've got a fuUin'-mill and a giist-mill on it now. Tbcy 'd think everything of it in your country. " There 's just one meetin '-house in it. That 's where your pa '11 preach if our folks conclude to hire him a spell. The land's about all taken up, though it haint reached the high- est pomt of cultivation yet. The town is set oil' into nine school-districts, and I consider that our privileges are first- rate. And if it 's nutting and squirrel-hunting you 're after, boys, all you have to do is to apply 'to Uncle Sampson, and he '11 arrange your bu.smess for you." " Ten miles square and nine schocjl-districts ! " Boston could be nothing to it, sm*ely, the boys thorght. The incon- sistency cf talking about pasturage and tillage, nutting and squirrel-hnn;;ing in the populous place which thoy imagined IVIcrlevillc to be, did not strijre them. This was literally their first glimpse of Merlevillo, for the rain had kept them within doors, and tho mist had hidden all tlnngs the day before, and now they looked a little anxiously iov the city they had pic- tured to themselves. " But Norman ! Harry ! I tlmilc this is far better than a town," said Marian, eagerly. "Eh, Graeme, isna yon a bonny water V •'Ay, it's grand," said Graeme. "Norman, this is far bet- ter than a to'ATi." The people were beginning to gather to service by this thuc ; but the cliilm-cn ■\\ere too eager and too \m'\y to he(>d them for a^^hilo. With an interest tliat was Jialf wondcj-, half delight. Graeme gazed to the hills and tho water and Iho JA-MET 8 I-OVK AND SERVICr. 63 lovely H]yy. It mij^lit lie Ibo "bouny day" — the luilcl air and tlic snnsliine, and tlio new fixir Hccno before bei", or it might be the knowlcdj^^o that after mueli care, and many perils, they were all saf(! toj>-(;lh('r in thi.s qni(!t place where they were to find a home ; she Kcarco knew what it was, but her heart felt strangely li^ht, and lips and eyes smiled as she fitood there lioldin,!^ one of Marian's hands in hers, while the other wan- dered throagh the cm-Is of Will's golden hau*. She did r ot speak for a long time ; but the otherc were not so quiet., but whispered to each other, and pointed out tlic objects that pleased them most. " Yon 's Merle ri\ er, I suppose, where we sec the water glai. ing through the trees." " And yonder is the kii'kyard," said Marian, gi'avely. " It 's no' a bomiy place." " It 's bare and lonely-looking," said Harry. " They should have yew trees and ivy and a high wall, like where mamma is," said INIarian. " But this is a new coimtiy ; things arc different here," said Norman. " But siu'cly they inight have trees." " And look, there are cows in it. The gate is broken. It 's a pity." "Look at yon road that goes round the water, and then up between the hills through the wood. That 's bonny, I 'm sm-c." " And there 's a white house, just where the road goes out of sight. I would like to live there." " Yes, there arc many trees about it, and another house on this side." And so they talked on, till a famiUar voice accosted them. Their fiiend Mr. Snow was standing beside them, holding a pretty, but delicate httle girl, ])y the hand. He had been watching them for some time. " Well how do you like the looks of tilings ? " " It 's bonny here," said Marian. " "SMiero 's the town ? " aslced Harry, promptly. 64 JANKT 8 LOVE AND SERVICE. 'ISi, Mr, Snow made a motion with bis head, intended to indi- cate the scene before them. " Lacks a fraction of being ten miles square." " It 's all trees," said little WiU " Wooden country, eh, my httle man ? " *' Country ! yes, it 's more like the country than like a town," said Hany. " Well, yes. On this side of the water, we can aflford to have our towns, as big as some folks* countries," said IMi*. Snow, gravely. " But it 's hke no tuwn I ever saw," said Norman. " Tliere are no streets, no shops, no market, no anything that makes a town." " There 's freedom on them hills," said IMr. Sno^ -^aving his hand with an air. During the journey the other day, l\Ir. Snow and the lads had discussed many things together ; among the rest, the institutions of then' respective countries, and Mr. Snow had, as he expressed it, " Set tlieu' British blood to bilin," by hints about " aristocracy," " despotism," and so on. " He never had had such a good time," he said, afterwards. They were a little firey, but first-rate smart boys, and as good natui-ed as kittens, and ho meant to see to them. He meant to amuse himself with them too, it seemed. The boys fired up at once, and a hot answer was only arrested on their hps, by the timely interference of Graeme. " Whist, Norman. HaiTy, mind it is the Sabbath-day, and look yonder is papa coming up with Judge Merle," and turn- ing smilingly tc. IVIr. Snow, she added, *' We hke the place very much. It 's beautifid everywhere. It 's far bonnier thon a town. I 'm glad there 's no town, and so are the boys, though they were disappointed at first." " No town ? " repeated Mr. Snow. But there was no time for explanations. Their father had reached the steps, and the childi'en were replying to the gi*eeting of the Judge. Judge Merle, was in the opinion of the majority, the gi'eatesb man in MerleviUe, if not in the JANET 8 LOVE AND SERVICE. 65 d to indi- an lite a aflforcl to said lili-. " Tliere lat makes aving his I the lads rest, the Qow had, ' by hints le never liey were natui'ed iieant to fired up • hps, by clay, and ad tnm- le place bonnier lie boys, her had to the tiion of i in the 5- ;5 coimtrj'. The children had made his acquamtance on Satur- day. He had brought them with his own hands, thiough the rain, a pail of sweet milk, and another of hominy, a cir- cumstance which gave them a high idea of liis kindness of heart, but which sadly overturned aU their preconceived no- tions with regard to the dignity of his office. Janet, who looked on the wh^Ij thmg as a proper tribute of respect to the min- ister, augiired well from it, what he might expect in his new parish, and congratulated herself accordingly. The children were glad to see him, among the many strangers around them, and when Mr, Snow gave him a famihar nod, and a, " Morning Judge," Graeme felt a little inclined to resent the famiharity. The Judge did not resent it, however. On the contrary, when jNlr. Snow, nodding sideways toward the min- ister, said, " He guessed tlje folks would get about fitted this time," he nodded as familiarly back, and said, " He should n't wonder if they did." There are no such churches built in New England now, as that into which the minister and his children were led by the Judge. It was very large and high, and full of windows. It was the brilliant light that stnick the children first, accus- tomed as they had been to associate with the Sabbath wor- ship, the dimness of their father's Httle chapel in Clayton. Norman the mathematician was immediately seized with a perverse desire to count the panes, and scandalized Graeme by communicating to her the result of his calculation, just as her father rose up to begin. How many people there were in the high square pews, and in the galleries, and even in the narrow aisles. So many, that Graeme not drcamuig of the quiet nooks hidden among the hills she had thought so beautiful, wondered where they all could come from. Keen, intelligent faces, many of them were, that turned toward the minister as he rose ; a httle hard and fixed, perhai)s, those of the men, and far too delicate, and care-worn, those of the women, but earnest, thoughtful faces, many of them were, and kindly withal. Afterwards — years and yeai's afterwards, when the bairns ill ; 6G JANET H LOVE A\D SEKVICK. had to shut their eyes to recall their father's face, as it gleamed down upon them from that strange high pulpit, the (jld people, used to talk to them of this first sermon in Mcrlcville. There was a charm m the Scottish accent, and in the earnest manner of the minister, which won upon these people wonderfully. It was heart speaking to heart, an earnest, loving, human heart, that had sinned and had been forgiven, that had suf- fered and had been comforted ; one who, through all, had by God's gi'acc struggled upwards, speaking to men of like pas- sions and necessities. He spoke as one whom God had given a right to warn, to counsel, to console. He spoke as one who must give account, and his hearers hstcned earnestly. So earnestly that Deacon Fish forgot to hear for Deacon Slowcome, and Deacon Slowcome forgot to hear for peoi)lo generally. Deacon Sterne who seklom forgot anythmg which he believed to be his duty, failed for once to prove the ortho- doxy of the doctrine by comparuig it with his own, and received it as it fell from the minister s lips, as the very word of God. " He means just as he says," said Mr. Snow to young Mr. Greenleaf, as he overtook him in going home that after- noon. " He was n't talldng just because it was his business to. When he was a telling us what mighty things the grace of God can do, he believed it Imnself, I guess." " They all do, don't they ?" said ^Ir. Greenleaf. " Well, I do n't know. They all say they do. But there 's Deacon Fish now," said IMi*. Snow, nodding to that worthy, as his wagon whuled past, "he don't begin to think that grace or anything else, could make me such a good man as he is." ]Mr. Greenleaf laughed. " If the vote of the town was taken, I guess it would be decided that grace would n't have a great deal co do." " Well, the town would make a mistake. Deacon Fish ain't to brag of for goodness, I don't think ; but he 's a sight better than I be. But see here. Squire, don't you think the new minister '11 about fit? " i ji Janet's love and service. 67 t gleamed Id people, le. There ;t manner ffiiUy. It <;, human had suf- U, had by like pas- lad given e as one iamostl}'. • Deacon 3r peojile ng which be ortho- )wn, and evy word o young lat after- Dusinesa tie grace there 's worthy, nk that man as Duld be •n Fish a sight ink the I t "He'll fit me," said the Squire. "It is easy to see that he is not a common man. But he won't tit the folks here, or they won't tit him. It would be too good luck if he were to stay here." " Well, I don't know about that. There are folks enough in the town that know what 's good when they hear it, and I guess they '11 keep him if they can. And I guess he '11 stay. He seems to like the look of thmgs. He is a dreadfuJ mild-spoken man, and I guess he won't want much in the way of paj-. I guess you had better shell out some yourself, Squire, /mean to." "You are a rich man, IMr. Snow. You can afford it." " Come now. Squire, that 's good. I 've worked harder for every dollar I 've got, than you 've done for any ten you ever earned." The Squire shook his head. " You don't understand my kind of work, or you would n't say so. But about the minister ? If I were to pledge my- self to any amount for his support, I should feel just as though I were in a measure responsible for the right arrange- ment of all things with regard to his salary, and the paying of it. Anything I have to do with, I want to have go right along without any trouble, and unless Merleville folks do differently than they have so far, it won't be so in this matter." " Yes, I should n't wonder if there would be a hitch before long. But I guess you 'd better think before you say no. I guess it '11 pay in the long rim." " Thank you, Mr. Snow. I '11 take your advice and think of it," said ]Mr. Greenleaf, as Sampson stopped at his own gate. He watched him going up the hill. " He 's goin' along up to the ^vidow Jones' now, I '11 bet. I should n't wonder if he was a goin' to lose me my chance of getting her place. It kind o' seems as though I ought to have it ; it fits on so nice to mine. And they say old Skin- flint is going to foreclose right off. I '11 have to make things fit pretty tight this winter ; if I have to raise the cash. But yaaK,i-Mu'musfU. 58 JANET 8 LOVE AND BEIIVICE. it (loos seem as if I ou^lit to bavo it. Maybo it 's Celestia tl.3 Squiro wants, and not the farm." Ho camo back to close tbo gate wbich, in bis oarncstness, bo bad forgotten, and loaned for a moment over it. " Well, now, it does beat all. Hero bavo I boon forgetting all abont wbat I bavo board over yonder to tbo meeting- bouso. Deacon Sterno need n't waste no more words to prove total depravity to me. I 've got to know it pretty well by tbis time ; " and, with a sigb, bo turned toward tbo bouso. '* M '4 -5 's Celcstia irucstness, forgetting 3 meeting- words to )retty well the liouso. ■■'■a CHAPTER VII. THE next week was a busy one to all. IVIr. Elliott, dur- ing- that time took up his residence at Judge Merle's, only milking daily visits to the little brown house behind the elms where Janet and the bairns were putting things to rights. There was a gi'cat deal to be done, but it was lovely weather, and all were in excellent sjjirits, and each did some- thmg to help. The lads broke sticks and carried water, and Janet's mannnoth washing was accomplished in an incredibly short time ; and before the week was over the little brown house began to look like a home. A gi-eat deal besides was accomplished this week. It was not all devoted to helping, by the boys. Norman caught three s(iuirrels in a traji of his own invention, and Harry shot as many with Mr. Snow's wonderful rifle. Tliey and Marian had made the circuit of the pond, over rocks, through bushes and brambles, over brooks, or through them, as the case might be. They came homo tii'ed enough, and in a state which naturally suggested thoughts of another mammoth washing, but in high spirits with their trip, only regi-etting that (iraeme and Janet had not been with them. It was Saturday night, after a very busy week, and Janet had her o^vn ideas about the enjoyment of such a ramble, and was not a little put out with them for " their thoughtless ruining of theu' clothes and shoon." But the minister had come home, and there was but a thin partition between the room that must servo him for study and parlor, and the general room for the family, and they got oif with a slight repri- mand, much to their siu'prise and delight. For to tell the truth, Janet's patience with the bairns, exhaustless in most S9 J -^ CO .tankt's love and service. ''I# circumstances, was wont to give way in the presence of "torn clothes and mined shoon." The next week was hardly so successful. It was cold and rainy. The gold and crimson glories of the forest chsappearcd in a night, and the earth looked gloomy and sad under a leaden sky. The inconveniences of the httle bro^vn house became more apparent now. It had been declared, at first sight, the veiy worst house in Merleville, and so it was, even luider a clear sky and brilliant sunshine. A wi'ctched place it looked. The windows clattered, the chimney smoked, latches and hinges were defective, and there were a score of other evils, which Janet and the lads strove to remedy with- out vexing their father and Graeme. A very poor place it was, and small and inconvenient besides. But this could not be cured, and therefore must be endiu'cd. The house occupied by 'Mr. ElUott's predecessor had been bm*ned down, and the Uttle brown house was the only unoccupied house iu the village. When winter should be over something might be done about getting another, and in the meantime they must make the best of it. Tlie people were wonderfully land. One man came to mend windows and doors, another to mend the chimney. On'in Grean spent two days in banking up the house. Deacons Fish and Slowcome sent their men to biing up wood ; and apples and chickens, and pieces of beef were sent in by some of the village people. There were sone drawbacks. The wood was green, and made more smoke than heat ; and Janet mortally offended Mr. Green by giving him his dinner alone in the kitchen. Every latch and hinge, and pane of glass, and the diiving of every nail, was charged and deducted from the half year's salary, at prices which made Janet's indignation overflow. This latter circumstance was not known, however, till the half year was done ; and in the meantime it helped them all through this di'eaiy time to find tlibu' new friends so kind. In the course of time, things were put to rights, and the little bare place began to look wonderfully comfortable. Janet's love and service. 61 rcscncG of s cold and isappoarcd d under a n\n house ed, at first was, even ilicd place 7 smoked, I score of aedy ^^'itl^ r place it this could riie house led down, 1 house in :ng might time they came to chimney, le house, aiing up ivere sent •een, and offended kitchen. riving of if year's overflow. the half ;liem all kind. and the fortablo. 1 ■:^ With waiTn oarioets on the floors, and warm curtains on the windows, with stools and sofas, and tables made out of pack- ing boxes, disguised m various ways, it began to have a look .of homo to them all. The ruin and the clouds passed away, too, and the last part of Novcniljor was a long and lovely Lidian smumer. Then the explorations of the boys were renewed with dchght. Graeme and Rosio and "Will went with the rest, and (jven Janet was beguiled into a nutting excursion one afternoon. She enjoyed it, too, and voluntarily confessed it. It was a fair view to look over the pond and the village Ijing so quietly in the valley, with the ku'k looking down upon it fi'om above. It was a ^'»^e country, nobody could deny ; but Janet's 03-03 were sad Cijugh as she gazed, and her voice shook as she said it, for the thought of home was strong at her heart. In this month they made themselves thoroughly acquainted with the gcogi-aphy of the place, and with the kindly in- mates of many a farm-house besides. And a happy month it was for them all. One night they watched the sim set between red and wavering clouds, and the next day woke to beliold " the beauty and mystery of the snow." Far away to the highest hill-top ; down to the very verge of pond and brook ; on every bush, and tree, and knoll, and over every silent valley, lay the white gannent of whiter. How strange ! how wonderful ! it seemed to their unaccustomed eyes. " It 'minds me of white gi-ave-clothes," said Marian, with a shudder. "Whist, Menie," said her sister. "It makes me tlmik of how full the air will be of bonnie white angels at the rosm-rection-day. Just watch the flakes floating so (luietly in the ah." " But, Graeme, the angels will be going up, and " " Well, one can hardly tell by looking at them, whether the snow-flakes are coming down or going up, they float about so silently. They mind me of beautiful and peaceful things." ■■i 62 JANKT fci LOVI-: AND 8EKVICE. m " Bat, Graeme, it looks cold and dreary, and all the bonnie flowers are covered in the dark." " Meiiie ! There are no llowers to be covered now, and the earth is weary ■vsith her summer work, and will rest and sleep midor the bonnie Avhitc snow. And, dear, you mustna think of (h'eary things when you look out upon the snow, for it will bo a long time before we see the green gi'ass and the bonnie flowers again," and Graeme sighed. Bat it was with a shout of delight that the boyp plunged headlong into it, rolling and tumbling and tossmg it at one aftiother in a way that was " perfect niuiation to their clothes ; " and yet Janet had not the heart to forbid it. It was a holiday of a new kind to them ; and their enjoyment was crowned and completed when, in the afternoon, Mr. Snow came down with his box-sleigh and his two handsome gr(.'ys to givc them a sleigh-ride. There was room for them all, and for Mr. Snow's little Emily, and for half a dozen besides had they been there ; so, well wrai)ped up with blankets and buffalo-robes, away they went. Was there ever anything so dclightfid, so exhilarating? Even Graeme laughed and clapped her hands, and the greys flew over the ground, and passed every sleigh and sledge on the road. " The bonnie creatui'es ! " she exclaimed ; and Mr. Snow, who loved his gi'eys, and was proud of them, took the oft- rei:)eated exclamation as a comphment to himself, and di-ovo in a way to show his favorites to the best advantage. Away they went, up liiU and nown, thi'ough the village and over the bridge, past the mill to the woods, wliere the tall hem- locks and cedars stood dressed in wliite "like brides." Marian had no thought of sorrowful things in her heart vny:. They came home again the other way, past Judge Merle's and the school-house, singing and laughing in a Vv-ay that made the sober-minded boys and girls of Merlevillo, to whom sleigli-rid- ing was no novelty, turn roimd in astonishment as they passed. The people in the store, and the people in the blacksmith's shop, and even the old ladies in their warm kitchens, opened the door and looked out to see the cause of the pleasant up- janet'i3 love and service. C3 the bonnie [ now, and I rest and )ii mustna the snow, grass and 'F plnnjiTed ing it at II to their bid it. It injoymcnt loou, Mr. lumdsomo for them f a dozen up with here ever Graeme over the oad. h\ Snow, the oft- nd drove Away md over tall hcni- Mrtrian . Tliey and the ulo the eig-li-rid- • passed. ismith's opened sant np- ■i I roar. All wore meiTy, and all gave voice to their mirth except Mr. Snow's little Emily, and she was too full of astonishment at the others to think of saying anything herself. But none of them enjoyed the ride more than she, though it was not her fii'st bv manv. None of them all remem])ered it so well, or spoke of it so often. It was the beginning of sleigh-rid- ing to them, but it v as the beginning of a new life to httle Emily. " Isna she a queer little creature ? " whispered Harry to Graeme, as her great black eyes tmnied fi'om one to another full of grave wonder. " She 's a bonnie httle creature," said Graeme, caressing the httle hand that had found its way to hers, " and good, too, I 'm sure." " Grandma don't think so," said the child, gi'avcly. " No ! " exclaimed Hany. " What bad things do you do ? " " I drop stitches and look out of the window, and I hate to pick over beans." HaiTv whistled. •* What an awful wee sinner ! And does your gi'andma punish you ever ? Does she whij) you ? " Tlie child's black eyes flashed. " She dare n't. Father would n't let her. She gives me stints, and sends me to bed." " The Tm-k ! " exclaimed Hany. " Run away from her, and come and bide with us." "Hush, HariT," said Graeme, softly, "gi-andma is Mr. Snow's mother." There was a pause. Li a httle Emily spoke for the fii'st time of her own accord. " There are no chilth-en at oiu' house," said she. " Poor wee lammie, and you are lonely sometimes," said Graeme. " Yes ; when father 's gone and mother 's sick. Then there's nobody but gi-andma." " Have you a doll ? " asked Menie. " No : I have a kitten, though." 64 JANKTS LOVE AND SERVICE. #' II t I i I. " All ! you must eonio and jilay with iny doll. She is a perfect l)eauty, and her naino is Flora ^Macdoimld." jMcnio's doll had become much more valuable iu her esti- mation since she had created such a sensation among tho little Merlcville girls. '* Will you come ? Mr. Snow'," she said, cUmbing upon tho front seat which Norman shared with the driver, " won't you let your little girl como and sec my doll ? " "Well, yes; I guess so. If she's half as pretty as you are, she is well worth seeing." Menie was down again in a minute. " Yes, you may come, he says. And bring your kitten, and we '11 play all day. Graeme lets us, and doesna send us to bed. AVill you like to come ? " " Yes," said the child, quickly, but as gravely as ever. They stopped at the little brown house at last, with a shout that brought theii' father and Janet out to see. All sprang hghtly down. Little Emily staid alone in the sleigh. " Is this your little girl, Mr. Snow ? " said IVIr. EUiott, tak- ing the child's hand in his. Emily looked in his face as gi'avely and quietly as she had been looking at tho children all the afternoon. " Yes ; she 's your Marian's ago, and looks a little like her, too. Don't you think so Mrs. Nasmyth ? " Janet, thus appealed to, looked .kindly at the child. " She might, if she hn.d any flesh on her bones," said she. " "Well, she don't look ragged, that 's a fact," said her father. The cold, which had brought the roses to the cheeks of tlio little Elliotts, had given Emily a blue, pinched look, which it made her father's heart ache to see. " Tho bairn 's cold. Let her como in and wai-m herself," said Janet, promptly. There was a chorus of entreaties from tho children. " Well, I don't know as I ought to wait. My horst q dtfi't like to stand much," said Mr. Snow. " Never mind waiting. If it 's too far for us . :ike hor home, you can como down for her in the evening." JANETS LoVi: AND SKRVICI! 05 She is a in Lor csti- inioiig tho ; upf)n tho r, " won't by as yon •ur kitten, a send us ever. st, with a see. All the sleigh. llUott, tak- is face as 5 children i like her, d. said she. r father. :;heeks of led look, herself," mtreaties ^ r, .n't take hrr 4 ■4 Emily looked at her father wistfully. '• Wcnild you like to stay, dear ? " asked he. " Yes, sir." And she wus lifted out of the sleigh by Janet, and curried uito the house, and Idssed before she was set down. " 1 11 be along down after dark, sonietimo," said ]Mr. Snow, as he drove away. Little Eiuilv had never heard so much noise, at least so much pleasant noise, before. Mr. Elliott sat down beside the bright wood lire in the kitchen, with Marian on one knee and the little stranger on tho other, and listened to the exclamations of one and all about the sleigh ride. " And hae you nothing to say, niy bonnie wee lassie ? " said he pusliing back tho soft, brown haii' from the little grave face. " A\'hat is yoiu* name, little one ? " "Emily Snow Arnold," answered she, promptly. " Emily Ai'uold Snow," said wienie, laughing. " No ; Emily Snow Arnold. Grandma says I am not father's own little girl.- INIy father is dead." She looked grave, and so did the rest. " But it is just the same. He loves you." " O, yes ! " There was a bright look in the eyes for once. "And you love him all the same ? " " 0, yes." So it was. Sampson Snow, with love enough in his heart for half a dozen children, had none of his own, and it was all lavished on tliis child of his wife, and she loved him dearly. But they chd not have "good tunes" up at their house the little girl confided to Graeme. " Mother is sick most of the time, and grandma is cross always ; and, if it was n't for father, I don't know what wo should do." Lidced, they did not have good times. Old IMi-s. Snow had always been strong and healthy, altogether unconscious of " nei-ves," and she could have no sympathy and veiy httlo pity for his son's sickly wife. She had never liked her, even when she was a gu-1, and her gu-lhood was past, and she had 66 JANRT 8 /.OVE AXI> SEiiVICE. been a sorrowful »vidow before her sou brought her home as his wife. 80 old Mrs. Sn(;\v kept her place at the head of the household, and was hard on everybody, but more especially on her son's wi[e aud her little girl. If there had been chil- :i;Tri LovK and skkvick. GO : But it was not to lie contradicted, and that Mrs. Fish woll knew, thouf^h what business it was of anybody's, and wliy tlio minister, who seemed to bo woll oil', should n"t pay for the uso of a horse and cutter, she couldn't luiderstand. The subject Avas changed by Mrs. Slowcome. " He nnist have piles and piles of old sermons. It don't seem as thouj^li he iieods to spend as much time in his study, us Mrs. Nasmyth tells about." Hero there was a nuiruuu* of dissent. "Would sermons made for the British, be such as to suit free-born American citizens? the children of the Puritans'? The prevailing feel- ing was against such a supposition. " Old or new, I lilce them," said C(>lestia Jones, the pretty black-eyed gii-l, who had spoken before. " And so do others, who are better judges than I." " Squire GrceiJeaf, I suppose," said Ruby Fox, in a loud whisper. " He was up tliere last Sunday night ; she has Ijccu acliing to tell it all the afternoon." Celestia's black eyes Hashed fire at the speaker, and the sly Buby said no more. Indeed, there was no more said about the sermons, for tliat the}' were something for the I\Ierlevillo people to bo proud of, all agreed. Mr. Elliott's preaching had +lUed the old meeting-hou.se. Peoi)le who had never been regular churchgoers came now ; some from out of tho town, even. Young Scpiire Ch'ecnleaf, wIkj seemed to have tho prospect of succeethng Judge IMerle, as the great man of Merleville, had brought over the judges from llixtbrd, and th(\v had (Uned at tho minister's, and had come to church on Sunday. Young Squire Greenleaf was a triumph of himself. He had never been at meeting "much, if any," shice h(> had completed his legal studies. If he ever did go, it was to the Episcopal church at Bixford, which, (o the lil)eral ]\[rs. Page, looked considerably like co(|uetting with the scarlet Avoman. Jsow, he hardly ever lost a Sunday, besides going sometimes to conference meetuigs, and making frequent visits to the minister's house. Having put all these things togetiu'r, and considered the matter, Mrs. Page came to tho cvMiclusion, I fi ( ' i' I i V I 70 Janet's love and service. that the squire was not in so hopeless a condition as she had been wont to sui)pose, a fact, which on this occasion, she took the opportunity of rejoicing over. The rest rejoiced too. There was a murmur of dissent from Miss Pettimore, but it passed unnoticed, as usual. There was a gleam whicli look- ed a little like scorn, in the black eyes of Miss Cclestia, which said more plauily than IMiss Pettimore's words could have done, that the squire was better now, than the most in Mcrlevillo, but like a wise young person as she was, she ex- pended all her scornf liI glances on the shirt sleeve she was making, and said nothing. The minister was then allowed to rest a little while, and the other members of the family were discussed, with equal in- terest. Upon the whole, the conclusion arrived at was pretty favorable. But Mrs. Page and hor friends were not quite satisfied with Graeme. As the muiister's eldest daughter, and " serious," they were disposed to overlook her youthful- ness, and give her a prominent place in their cii'cle. But Graeme hung back, and would not be prevailed upon to take such honor to herself, and so some said she was proud, and some said she was only shy. But she was kindly dealt with, even by IMi's. Page, for her loving care of the rest of the chil- di'en, had won for her the love of many a motherly heart among these kind people. And she was after all but a child, little more than fifteen. There were numberless stories afloat about the boys, — their mu'th, their mischief, their good scholarshij), their respect and obedience to then* father, A^'hich it was not beneath the dignity of the ladies assembled to repeat and distaLss. The boys had visited faithfully through the parish, if their father had not, and almost everywhere they had won for them- selves a welcome. It is tnie, there had been one or two rather serious scrapes, in which they had involved themselves, and other lads of tlie village ; but kind-hearted people forgot the mischief sooner than the mu'th, and Norman and Harry were very popular among old and young. But the wonder of wonders, the riddle that none could ^: JA>*ET 8 LOVE AND SERVICE. n read, i,lio anomaly in Merlevillc society was Janet, or IVIrs. Nasmyth, as she was generally called. In refusing one of the many invitations wliich she had shared with the minister and Graeme, she had thought fit to give society in general a piece of her mind. She was, she said, the minister's servant, and kenned her place better than to offer to take her tea with him in any strango house ; she was obUged for tha invitation all the same. " Servant ! " echoed Mrs. Sterne's help, who was staymg to pass the evening, while her mistress went home " to see about sujoper." And, " sen'ant ! " echoed the young lady who assisted Mrs. Merle in her household affaii's. " I '11 let them see that I think myself just as good as Queen Victoria, if I do hve out," said another dignified aux- iliary. " She must be a di'eadful mean-spirited creatra-e." " Why, they do say she '11 brush them great boys' shoes. I saw her myself, through the study door, pull off jMr. Elliott's boots a^j humble as could be." " To see that httle girl pouring tea when there 's company, and Mrs. Nasmyth not sitting down. It '^ridiculous." " I would n't do so for the President ! " '• Well, they seem to think everything of her," sai(i Miss Pettimore, speaking for the first time in this connection. " Why, yes, she does just what she has a mind to about house. And the way them children hang about her, and fuss over her, I never see. They teU her everything, and lIicsg boys mind her, as they do their father." " And if any one comes to pay his minister's tax, it 's always, 'ask Mrs. Nasmyth,' or, *jMrs. Nasra>'th will tell you.' " " They could n't get along witliout her. If I was her I 'd show them that I was as good as them, and no servant." " She 's used, to it. She 's been brought up so. But now that she 'h go:, here, I should thmk she 'd be sick of it." •' I sjippcsc 'servant ' there, means pretty much what ' help' ) i ; (i *n 1 72 janj:t's Lovi; and sekvice. n does hero. There don't seem to be difference enough to talk about," said llcbeeca. *' I see considcrabio difierence," said IMrs. Merle's young lady. "It beats all," said another. YcH, it did l)cat all. It was incomprehensible to these di^niiied people, how Janet could openly acknowledge herself a servant, and yet retam her self-respect. And that " Mrs. Nasmyth thought considerable of herself," many of the cui'ious ladies of Merlcville had occasion to know. The relations ex- isting between her and "the bairns," could not easily be understood. She acknowledged herself theii' servant, yet she reproved them when they deserved it, and that shai-ply. She enforced obedience to all rules, and governed in all household matters, none seeking to dispute lier right. They went to her at all times with their troubles and their pleasures, and she symjoathized with them, advised them, or consoled them, as the case might need. That they were as the very apple of her eye, was evident to all, and that they loved her dearly, and respected her entirely, none could fail to see. There were stories going about in the village to prove that she had a sliai-p tongue in her head, anu this her warmest friends did not seek to deny. Of course, it was the duty of all the female part of the congi'egation to visit at the minis- ter's house, and to give such advice and assistance, with re- gard to the arrangements, as might seem to be required of them. It is possible they took more interest in the matter than if there had been a mistress in the house. " More liber- ties," Janet indignantly declared, and after the first visitation or two she resolutely set her face agamst what she called the answering of impertinent questions. According to her own confession, she gave to several of tliem, whose mterest in thcu* affairs was expressed without due discretion, a " downseiting," and Graeme and the boys, and even ]Mr. Elliott, had an idea that a downsctting from Janet nmst be something s(>rious. It is true her victims' ignorance of the Scottish tongue nmst have taken the edge a httlc off her sharp words, but there was JANET S LOVE AND SERVICE. 73 no mistaking her indignant teslimony, as regarding "upbet- tiu' bodies," and " meddlesome boiliea," that bestowed too much tune on theii* neighbors' affairs, and there was some in- dignation folt and expressed on the subject. But she had her friends, and that not a few, for sweet words and soft came very naturally to Janet's lips when her heart was touched, and this always happened to her in the presence of suffering and koitow, and many were the sad and sick that her kind words comforted, and her willing hands reheved. For every shaii^ word brought up against her, there could be told a kindly dcod, and Janet's friends were the most numer- ous at the sewiiig-'jircle that night. Mcrleville was by no means on the outskirts of civilization, though viewed fro!n the liigh hill on which the old meeting- house stood, it seemed to the childi'cn to be suiToimded with woods. But between the hills lay many a fertile valley. Ex- cept toward the west, where the hills became mountains, it was laid out into farms, nearly aU of which were occupied, and veiy pleasant homes some of these farmhouses were. The village was not large enough to have a society within it- self indcijendent of the dwellers on these farms, and all the people, even to the borders of the " ten miles square," c< i>'yn»t'nt of the " minister's tax," as tho least delieato amonj^ tho people called it. "And, my dear, I just wish your fatlier would j^et a settlo mcnt with them, and wo would bef,'in a^'ain, and put aethin^ down in a book. For I hac my doubts as to how we are to make the two ends meet. Tilings mount up you ken, and wo maun try and guide things." Crraeme looked gi'ave. "I wonder what my father thinks," said she. Janet shook her head. " Wo manna trouble youi* father if wo cau help it. Tho last minister they had had enough ado to live, they say, and he had fewer bairns. I 'm no' feared but wo '11 bo provided for. And, Miss Graeme, my dear, you 'U need to begin and keep an account again." Janet's voice had the old cheerful echo in it by this time, and Graeme promised, with good heart, to do all she could to keep her father's mind easy, and tho household accounts sti'aight. Weeks passed on, and even before the bonny spring days had come, the giant had let Janet go, and sho was her own cheerful self again. Tho letter that Hariy brought in with a shout before March was over, was a very different letter from the oho that had caused Janet to shed such tears of disappointment on that sad November, though Sandy was tho wiiter still. Tho two only intelhgible items of news which tho last one had conveyed, were repeated here, and enlarged upon, with reason. A new master had come to the school, who was taking great pains with all the lads, and es- pecially with Sandy, " as you will see by this letter, mother," ho wrote, " I hope it will bo better worth reading than the last." If JNIrs. Smith had changed her mind, it was all for good. Janet was no more to thuik of her mother as hving by her- self, in the lonely cot in .the glen, but farther up in another cottage, within sight of the door of Saughloas. And Sandy was to go to tho school a while yet, and there was no fear . r j^vnet'b love and service. 91 but somctliing woiUd be fountl for liim to do, either on the farm, or in the garden. And so his mother was to set her heart at rest about them. And her heart was set at rest ; and Janet sang at her work again, and cheered or chid the banns accorchng as they need- ed, but never more, though slio Iiad many cares, andti-oubles not a few, did the giant liold her in his grasp again. IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) /. 1.0 I.I |J0 l"^" Jim ■" It A 2.5 2.2 1.8 1.25 M Nii^ ^ 6" — ► V] % V "^ \> '1^ '/ /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 14SB0 (716) 872-4503 4<% u :i?i CHAPTER XI. Mil i I " ~\ /T ISS GRAEME," said Janet, softly opening the study IV I dooi^ and looking in. Graeme was at her side in a moment. " Never mind putting by your book, I only want to tell yon, that I 'm going up the brae to see j\Irs. Snow awhile. It 's no' cold, and I '11 take the bairns with me. So just give a look at the fire now and then, and have the kettle boiling gin tea time. I winna bide late." Graeme put down her book, and hastened the preparations of the little cnes. " I ^dsh I could go with you, Janet. How mild and bright it is to-day." " But your papa mustna be left to the keeping of fires, and the enteriivUiment of chance visitors. You winna think long with your book, you ken, and we '11 be home again before it 's dark." " Think long !' echoed Graeme. " Not if I 'm left at peace wiih. my book — I only hope no one will come." " My dear !" remonstrated Janet, " that 's no' hospitable. I daresay if anybody comes, you '11 enjoy their company foi a change. You maun try and make fi-iends with folk, Hke Menie here." Graeme laughed. " It 's easy for Menie, she 's a child. But I have to behave myself like a grown woman, at least, with most folk. I would far rather have the afternoon to myself." She watched them down the street, and then betook her^ self to her book, and her accustomed seat at the study win- dow. Life was very pleasant to Graeme, these days. She (02) JANET S LOVE AND SEKVICE. 93 did not manifest her liglit-hcartcdncss by outvrard signs ; slic •was almost always as quiet as sorrow and many cares had made her, since her mother's death. But it was a quiet al- ways cheerful, always ready, to change to grave talk with Janet, or merry play with the little ones. Janet's returning cheei'fulness banished the last shade of anxiety fi*om her mind, and she Avas too young to go searching into the future for a bui'den to bear. She was fast growing into companionship with her father. She knew that he loved and tiTisted her entirely, and she strove to deserve his confidcnc;^. In all matters concerning her brothers and sisters, ho coBs;ilted her, as he might have consulted her mother, and as well as an elder sister could, she fulfilled a mother's duty to them. In other matters, her father depended upon her Judgment and discretion also. Often he was beguiled into forgetting what a child she still was, while he discussed -with her, subjects more suited for one of maturer years. And it was pleasant to be looked upon with respect and consideration, by the new friends they had found here. She was a little more than a child in years, and shy and doubtful of herself withal, but it was very agi-eeable to be treated hke a woman, by the kind people about her. Not that she would have confessed this. Not that she was even conscious of the pleasure it gave her. Indeed, she was wont to declare to Janet, in piivate, that it was all nonsense, and she wished that people would not speak to her always, as though she were a woman of wisdom and experience. But it was agreeable to her all the same. She had her wish that afternoon. Nobody came to dis- turb them, till the faihng light admonished her that it was time to think of Janet, and the tcakL'ttle. Tlien there came a knock at the door, and Graeme opened it to Mr. Grcenleaf. If she was not glad to see him, her looks behed her. He did not seem to doubt a welcome fi'om her, or her father either, as he came in. What the charm was, that beguiled IMr. Grcenleaf into •I 1 H if mi im % ■ i n 'iitHi * 94 JANET S LOVE AND SEKVICP:. spending so many hours in the minister's study, the good people of Merlcvillo found it difficult to say. The squire's ill-concealed mdifference to the opinions of people gener- ally, had told against him always. For once, Mrs. Page had been too charitable. He was not in a hopeful state, at least, in her sense of the term, and it might be doubted, whether fi'equent intercourse with the minister, would be hkely to en- courage the young man to the attainment of IMrs. Page's standard of excellence. But to the study he often came, and he Avas never an unwelcome guest. "If I am come at a wrong time, teU me so," said he, as he shook hands with Mr. Elhott, over a table covered with books and papers. " You can hardly do that," said the minister, preparing to put the books and papers away. " I am nearly done for the night. Excuse me, for a minute only." Graeme lingered talking to their visitor, till her father should be quite at liberty. " I have something for you," said Mr. Greenleaf, in a min- ute. Graeme smiled her thanks, and held out her hand for the expected book, or magazine. It was a note this time. "From Celestial" she exclaimed, coloring a Uttle. Graeme did not aspire to the honor of Celestia's confi- dence in all things, but she knew, or could guess enough, about the state of affairs between her fiiend and Sir. Green- leaf, to be wonderfully interested in them, and she could not help feeling a little embarrassed, as she took the note from his hands. " Ecad it," said he. Graeme stooped down to catch the firehght. The note was veiy brief. Celestia was going away, and wished Graeme to come and see her, to-morrow. IVIr. Greenleaf would fetch her. " Celestia, going away 1" she exclaimed, raising herself up. " Yes," said he, " have j^ou not heard it ?" " I heard the farm was to bo sold, but I hoped they would still btay iu Merle ville." JANET S LOVE AND SEKVICE. 95 " So did I," said Mr. Grcenleaf, gravely. « AYhcn ^N ill tlioy go ?" " Miss Jones, is to be a teaclicr, in the new seminary at Eixford. Tlicy are going to live there, and it cannot be very long before they go." "To her uncle?" "No, Celestia thinks her mother would not bo happy there. They will live by themselves, with the childi-en." "How sorry Celestia will be to go away," said Graeme, sadly. "She will not be persuaded to stay," said IMr. Groenlcaf. Graeme darted a quick, embanasscd look at him, as much as to say, " Have you asked her ? " He answered her in words. "Yes, I have tried, and failed. She does not care to stay." There was only sadness in his voice ; at least, she detected nothing else. There was none of the bitterness which, while it made Cclestia's heart ache that afternoon, had made her all the more determined to do what she bcHeved to bo right. " Oh ! it 's not that," said Graeme, earnestly, " I 'm sure she cares. I mean if she goes, it will be because she thinks it right, not because she wishes it." " Is it right to make herself and me unhappy ? " "But her mother and the rest. They are in trouble; it would seem Hke forsaking them." " It need not. They might stay with her." " I think, perhaps — I don't think — " Graeme hesitated, and then said hurriedly, " Are you rich, Mr. Greenleaf ? " He laughed. " I behove you are cne of those who do not compute riches by the number of dollars one possesses. So I thmk, to you I may safely answer, yes. I have contentment with little, and on such wealth one pays no taxes." "Yes; but — I thmk, — oh, I can't say what I think; but, I'm sure Celestia is right. I am quite sure of that." Mr. Greenleaf did not look displeased, though Greamc feared he might, at her bold speech. ii i M m t! 06 JANETS LOVE AND SERVICE. Hi: ;ii ll:', .li 1 i!. : fill: Itl " I don't believe I had better take you to see her to-morrow. You will encourage her to hold out against me." " Not against you. She would never do that. And, besides, it would make no difference. Celestia is wise and strong, and will do what she believes to be right." " Wise and strong," repeated Mr. Greenleaf, smiling, but his face grew grave in a minute again. Mr. Elliott made a movement to join them, and Graeme thought of her neglected teakettle, and hastened away. " Never mind," she whispoio J, " it will all end well. Things always do ^hen people do right." Mr. Greenleaf might have some doubt as to the truth of this comforting declaration in all cases, but he could have none as to the interest and good wishes of his little friend, so ho only smiled in reply. Not that he had really man;y serious doubts as to its ending well. He had more than once that veiy afternoon giieved Celestia by saying that she did not care for him; but, if he had ever had any serious trouble on the subject, they vanished -when the first touch of anger and dis- appointment had w^orn away, giving him time to acknow- ledge and rejoice over the " strength and wisdom " so un- hesitatingly asci-jbed by Graeme to her friend. So that it was not at all in a desponding spirit that he turned to reply, when the minister addi'essed him. They had scarcely settled down to one of theii* long, quiet talks, when they were summoned to tea by Graeme, and be- fore tea was over, Janet and the bairns came home. The boys had found their way up the hill when school was over, and they all came home together in Mr. Snow's sleigh. To escape from the noise and confusion which they brought with them, Mr. (ircenlcaf and the minister went into the study again. During the silence that succeeded their enti*ancc, there came into Mr. Greenleaf's mind a thought that had been often there before. It was a source of ^^onder to him that a man of Mr. Elliott's intellectual power and cultui'e should content himself in so quiet a place as Mcrleville, and to-right JANET S LOVE AND SEKVICE. 97 ho ventiu'cd to give expression to his thouglits, Mr. Elliott smiled. " I don't see that my being content to settle down here for life, is any more wonderful than that you should have done so. Indeed, I should any, far less wonderful. You are young and have the world before you." " But my case is quite different. I settle here to get a livmg, and I mean to get a good one too, and besides," added he, laughing, " Merleville is as good a place as any other to go to Congress from; there is no American but may have that before him you know." " As for the living, I can get here such as will content me. For the rest, the souls in this quiet place are as precious as elsewhere. I am thankful for my field of labor. ]VIr. Greenleaf had heard such words before, and he had taken them "for what they were worth," as a correct thing for a minister to saCy. But the quiet earnestness and simph- city of ]Mr. Elliott's manner struck him as being not just a matter of course. " He is in earnest about it, and does not need to use many words to prove it There must be something in it." He did not answer him, however. "There is one thing which is worth consideration," con- tinued IVIr. Elliott, " you may be disai)pointed, but I cannot be so, in the nature of things." " About getting a living ? " said IVIr. Greenleaf, and a vaj^ne remembrance of Deacons Fish and Slowcome made him move uneasily m his chair. " That is not what I was thinking of, but I suppose I may be sure of that, too. * Yoiu* bread shall be given you, and your water sure.' And there is no such thing as disappoint- ment m that for which I really am labormg, the glory of God, and the good of souls." " "Well," said Mr. Greenle.-if, gTavely, " there must be some- thing in it that I don't see, or you AviU most assui'edly be dis- appointed. It is by no means impossible that I may have my wish, men of humbler powers than mine — I may say it 5 I' it i'r S( m I n If'- It i 98 JAXET « LOVE AND SERVICE. without vanity — have risen higher than to the Congress of our country. I don't look upon mine as by any means a hopeless ambition. But the idea of your ever seeing all the crooked natm-es in Merleville made straight ! Well, to say the least, I don't see how you can be very sanguine about it." " Well, I don't say that even that is beyond my ambition, or beyond the power of Him whom I serve to accomphsh. But though I may never see this, or the half of this accom- plished, it does not follow that I am to be disappointed, more than it follows that your happiness will be secured when you sit in the Congress of this gieat nation, or mle in the AVhite House even, which is not beyond your ambition either, I suppose. You know how a promise may be ' kept to the ear and broken to the heart,' as somebody says." " I know it is the fashion to speak in that way. We learn in our school books, all about the foUy of ambition, and the unsatisfying nature of pohtical greatness. But even if the attainment must disappoint, there is interest and excitement in the pursuit. And, if you will allow me to say so, it is not so in your case, and to me the disappointment seems even more certain." Mr. Elliott smiled. " I suppose the converse of the poet's sad declaration may be true. The promise may be broken to the eye and ear, and yet fulfilled divinely to the heart. I am not afraid." " And, certainly," thought the young man, " he looks calm and hopeful enough." "And," added Mr. Elliott, "as to the interest of the pursuit, if that is to be judged by the importance of the end to be attained, I think imne may well bear comparison to yours." " Yes, in one sense, I suppose — though I don't understand it. I can imagine an interest most intense, an engagement — a happiness altogether absorbing in such a labor of love, but — I was not looking at the matter fi'om your point of view." Janet's love and service. 90 "But from no other j^oint of view can the subject bo fairly seen," said Mr. Elliott, quietly. " Well, I ha^ 3 known few, even among clergjmcn, who have not had their eyes turned pretty fi-equently to another side of the matter. One ought to be altogether above the neces- sity of thinking of earthly things, to bo able to enjoy thi'owing himself wholly into such a work, and I fancy that can be said of few." "I don't understand you," said IVIr. Elliott. "Do you mean that you doubt the sincerity of those to whom you refer." " By no means. My thoughts were altogether in another direction. Li fact, I Avas thinking of the great ' bread and butter ' struggle in which ninety-nine out of eveiy hundi'ed are for dear life engaged ; and none more earnestly, and few with less success, than men of youi' profession." Mr. Elliott looked as though he did not yet quite understand. IMr. Greenleaf hesitated, slightly at a loss, but soon went on. " Constituted as wo are, I don't see how a man ca.n wholly devote liimself to a work he thinks so great, and yet have patience to struggle with the thousand petty cares of life. The shifts and turnings to which insufficient means must reduce one, cannot but vex and hurt such a nature, if it does not change it at last. But I see I fail to make my- self understood by you ; let me try again. I don't know how it may be in your country, but here, at least as far as my personal obsei^vation has extended, the remuneration received by ministers is insufficient, not to say paltry. I don't mean that in many cases they and their families actually suifer, but there are few of them so situated as regards income, that economy need not be the very first consideration in all their arrangements. Comparing them with other professional men they may be called poor. Such a thing as the gratifica- tion of taste is not to be thought of in their case. There is nothing left after the bare necessaries are secured. It is a struggle to bring up their childi'en, a struggle to educate I i - Ill i ^ 'If 100 JANET 8 LtAE AND .sEKVlCE. 0l^ iill " ,:i ^ : !: I '1 i - ■ 1 ' • ■ i i V i i thcni, a struggle to live. And what is worse than all, the pittance, which is rijifhtly their 's, comes to them often in a way which, to say the least, is suggestive of charity given and received. No, really, I cannot look on the life of a ininister as a very attractive one." " I should think not, certainly, if such are your views of it," said Mr. EUiott. " I wish I could have the comfort of doubting their just- ness, but I cannot, unless the majority of cases that have fallen under my observation are extreme ones. Why, there are college friends of mine who, in any other profession, might have distinguished themselves — might have become wealthy at least, who are now in some out of the way parish, with wives and Uttle children, biu'dened with the cares of life. How they are to struggle on in the future it is sad to tliink of. They will either give up the profession or die, or degenerate into very commonplace men before many years." "Unless they have some charm against it — which may very well be," said Mr. Elliott, quietly. " I see you do not agree with me. Take yourself for in- stance, or rather, let us take your predecessor. He was a good man, all say who knew him well, and with time and study he might have proved himself a great man. But if ever a man's life was a struggle for the bare necessaries of life, his was, and the culpable neglect of the people in the regular payment of his very small salary was the cause of his leaving them at last. He has since gone West, I hear, to a happier lot let us hope. The cu'cumstances of his j)rede- cessor were no better. He died here, and his wife broke down in a vain effort to maintain and educate his children. She was brought back to Merleville and laid beside her hus- band less than a year ago. There is something wrong in the matter somewhere." There was a pause, and then Mr. Greenleaf continued. " It may seem an unkindly effort in me to try to change your views of your future in Merleville. Still, it is bettor that you should be in some measure prepared, for what I JANKT S LOVE AND SEKVICl!. 101 fear awaits you. Otherwise, you might be disgiistccl with us aU." " I shall take refuge in the thought that you are showing me the dark side of the picture," said i\Ir. Elhott. " Pray do. Aud, indeed,* I am. I may have said more than enough in my earnestness. I am sure when you really come to know oiu' people, you will hke them notwithstand- ing things that we might wish otherwise." "I hke you akeady," said Mr. Elliott, smiUng. "I assure you I had a great respect for you as the children of tlie Puritans, before ever I saw you." "Yes, but I am afi'aid you will hke us less, before you like us better. We are the childi'en of the Pmitans, but very httle, I daresay, like the grave gentlemen up on your shelves yonder. Your countrymen are, at first, generally disappointed in us as a people. Mind, I don't allow that we are in reahty less worthy of respect than you kindly suppose us to be for our fathers' sakcs. But we are different. It ia not so much that we do not reach so high a standard, as that we have a different standard of excellence — one that your education, habits, and prepossessions as a people, do not prepare you to appreciate us." " Well," said Mr. Elliott, as his friend paused. "Oh! I have little more to say, except, that what is generally the experience of yom* countrymen will probably be your's in Merle ville. You have some disappointing dis- coveries to make among us, you who are an earnest man and a thinker." " I think a want of earnestness can hardly be called a sin of your countrymen," said the minister. " Earnestness ! " said Mr. Greenleaf . " No, we are earnest enough here in Merleville. But the most of even the good men among us seem earnest, only in the pursuit of that, in com- parison to which my political aspu'ations seem lofty and praiseworthy. It is wealth they seek. Not that wealth which will result in magnificent expenditure, and whi(;h, in a certain sense, may have a charm for even high-minded i:i li if. 11 .ii i 102 JANKT8 LOVE AND SKUVICi:. men, but nioncy-makinfj in its meanest form — the scraping toiifcthcr of copixT coins for tlicir own sakcs. At least ono mi^lit think so, for any good they ever seem to get of it." " You arc severe," said the minister, quietly. *' Not too severe. This seems to be the aim of all of us, ■whether wo are willing to acknowledge it or not. Ana such a grovelling end will naturally make a man unscrupulous as to the means to attain it. There are not many men among us here — I don't know more than two or three — who would not be sm'prised if you told them, being out of the pulpit, that they had not a pcricct right to make the very most out of their fiiends — even by shaving closely in matters of busi- ness." " And yet you say their standard is a high one ? " " High or not, the religious people among us don't seem to doubt their own Christianity on account of these things. And what is more, they don't seem to lose faith in ca(!h. other. But how it will all seem to you is another matter." " How does it seem to you ? " " Oh, I am but a spectator. Being not one of the initiated, I am not supposed to understand the change they i)rofess to have undergone ; and so, instead of being m doubt about particular cases, I am disposed to think Uttle of the whole matter. With you it is different." "Yes, with me it is indeed diflferent," said the minister, gravely — so gravely, that Mr. Greenleaf almost regi'etted having spoken so fieely, and when he spoke again it was to change the subject. " It must have required a great wrench +o break away from yom' people and country and old associations," said he, in a little. Mr. ElHott stai-ted. " No, the wrench came before. It would have cost me more to stay and grow old in my own land than it did to leave it, than it ever can do to Hve and die among strangers." Fearful that he had awakened painful thoughts, Mr. Green- leaf said no more. In a little Mr. Elliott went on, " It was an old thought, this wishing to find a home for H.i JAKET8 LOVE AND SEUVICK. 103 our cliildi'en in tliis grand now world. Wo had always looked forward to it soiuctimc. And when I was left alone, the tliou<^lit of my children's future, and the longing to get away — anywhere — brought me here." He paused, and when ho spoke again it was more calml}'. " Perhaps it was cowardly in me to flee. There was help for mo there, if my faith had not failed. I thought it would be Ijetter for my cliikh'on when I left them to leave them here. But God knows it was no desire to enrich myself that brought me to America. " We can hve on little. I trust you will be mistaken in your fears. But if these troubles do come, we must try, with God's grace, and Mrs. Nasmyth's help, to get through them as best we can. We might not better ourselves by a change, as you seem to think the evil a national one." "The love and pursuit of the 'almighty dollar,' is most certainly a national characteristic. As to tl ; bearing it r-^ay have in church matters m other places, of course I have not the nicaii.. of judgmg. Here I know it has beeii bad enough ir the past." " Well, I can only say I have found the people most kind and liberal hitherto," said Mr. EUiott, " Have you had a settlement with them since you came ?" asked the squire ; the remembrance of various remarks he had heard of late comuig unpleasantly to his mind. " No, I have not yet. But as the half-year is nearly over, I suppose it will come soon. Still I have no fears — I think I need have none. It is not theirs but them I seek. " Do you remember the Sabbath I first camo among yon ? I saw you there among the rest. If my heart rose up hi thankfulness to God that day, it was with no thought of gold or gear. God is my witness that I saw not these people as possessors of houses and lands, but of precious souls — living souls to bo encouraged — slumbeiing souls to be aroused — dead souls to be made alive in Cln-ist, through His own Word, spoken by me and blessed by Him. "No, I do not think I can possibly be disajopointed in this « » ■.^li'] 104 Janet's love and service. matter. I may have to bear trial, and it may come to me as it oftcnest comes to God's peoplc,lQ the very way that seems hardest to bear, but God ivill bless his Word. And even if I do not Hve to sou it, I can rest in the assurance that after- ward, ' both he that soweth an4 he that reapeth shall rejoice together^^" He paused. A momentary gleam of triumph passed over his face and left it peaceful. " The peace that passcth understanding,*' thought the young man, with a sigh. For he could not quite satisfy him- self by saying, that IVIr. Elliott was no man of business, an unworldly man. It came mto his mind that even if the min- ister were chasing a shadow, it was a shadow more satisfying than his possible reahty of political gi-catncss. So he could not but sigh as he sat watching that peaceful face. The min- ister looked up and met his eye. " And so, my friend, I think we must end where we begun. You may be disappointed even in the fullilhnent of your hopes. But for me, aU must end well, let tlie end be what it may." ii:« j;s: CHAPTER XII. THE time of settlement came at last. The members of the church and congi-egation were requested to bring to Deacon Sterne and his coadjutors an account of money and produce already paid by each, and also a statement of the sum they intended to subscribe for the minister's suppoi-t during the ensuing half year. After a delay which, consid- ering all things, was not more than reasonable, this was done, and the diliterent accounts being put into regular form by the proper persons, they were laid before the minister for his inspection and approval. This was done by Deacons Fish and Slowcome alone. Deacon Sterne, as his brethren in office intimated to Mrs. Nasmyth, when she received them, having just then his hands full of his own affairs. Deacon Fish " expected" that brother Sterne had got into trouble. It had been coming on for some time. Hi? son, the only boy he had left, had been over to Eixford, and had done somethmg dreadful, folks said, he did not exactly know what, and the deacon had gone over to see about it. Deacon Sterne was Janet's favorite among the men in office, and apart from her regret that he should not bo present on an occasion so important, she was gi'eatly concerned for him on his own account. " Dear me !" said she, " I saw him at the kirk on the Sab- bath-day, looking just as usual." " Well, yes, I expect so," said Mr. Fish. " Brother Steme looks always pretty much so. He aiut apt to show his fcel- in's, if he 's got any. He '11 have something to suffer with his son Wilham, I guess, whether he shows it or not." Janet liked both father and son, though it was well known 6* (105) t yMi^ — anil lOG JANET S LOVE AND SEEVICE. !■ in the town that there was trouble between them ; so instead of making any answer, she hastened to usher them into tho study. The minister awaited them, and business began. First was (hsj)layed the list of subsci-iptions for the commg half- year. This was quite encouraging. Three hundred and fifty and odd dollars. This looked well. There had never been so much subscribed in MerleviUe before. The deacons were elated, and evidently expected that the minister should be so,* too. He would be well off now, said they. But the minister was always a quiet man, and said little, and the last half- yeai''s settlement was turned to. There were several sheets of it. The minister in danger of getting be^vildered among the items, turned to the sum total. " Two hundi-ed and seventy-two dollars, sixty-two and a-half cents." He was a httle mystified still, and looked so. " If there is anything wrong, anything that you object to, it must be put right," said Deacon Slowcome. Deacon Fish presumed, " that when Mr. EUiott should have compared it with the accoimt which he had no doubt kept, it would be found to be all right." Mr. Elliott had to confess that no such account had been kept. He supposed it was all it should be. He really could say notlung with regard to it. He left the management of household afiau's entirely to his daughter and Mrs. Nasmyth. It was suggested that Mrs. Nasmyth should be called in, and the deacon cleared his voice to read it to her. " If there 's anything you don't seem to understand or re- member," prefaced the accommodating Deacon Slowcome, " don't feel troubled about saymg so. I expect we '11 make things i^retty straight after a while." Mi's. Nasmyth looked at the minister, but the minister did not look at her, and the reading began. After the name of each person, came the days' work, horse hire, loads of fire- wood, bushels of corn, pounds of butter and cheese, sugar and dried apples, which he or she had contributed. Doacou Fish's subscription was chiefly i>aid by his horse and his cow. The former had carried the minister on two or three of his JANET S LOVE AND SEKVICE. 107 most distant visits, and the latter had supplied a quart or two of milk daily diu'ing a great part of the winter. It was overpaid indeed by just seventeen and a-haK cents, which, however, the deacon seemed inclined to make light of. " There ain't no matter about it. It can go right on to the next half year. It ain't no matter about it anyhow," said he, in liberal mood. He had an attentive hstener. Mrs. Nasmyth listened with vain effoi-ts not to let her face betray her utter bewilderment at the whole proceeding, only assenting briefly when Mr. Slowcome interrupted the reading, now and then, to say interrogatively, " You remember ? " It uawned upon her at last that these were the items that made up the subscription for the half year that was over ; but except that her face changed a little, she gave no sign. It is possible the deacon had had some slight misgiving as to how ]Mrs. Nasmyth might receive the statement ; certainly his voice took a relieved tone as he drew near the end, and at last read the sum total : " Two hundred and seventy-two dollars sixty-two and a-half cents." Again Janet's eye sought the minister's, and this time he did not avoid her look. The rather pained surprise had all gone out of his face. Intense amusement at Janet's chang- ing face, on which bewilderment, incredulity and indigna- tion were successively v»?ritten, banished, for a moment, ever other feeling. But that passed, and by the look that followed Janet knew that she must keep back the words that were rising to her lips. It required an effort, however, and a rather awkward silence followed. Deacon Slowcome fipdko first: "Well, I suppose, we may consider that it stands all right. And I, for one, feel cncom'aged to expect great things." " I doubt, sirs," said Janet in a voice ominously mild and civil, " there are some things that hacna been put down on yon paper. There was a curn apples, and a bit o' unco spare rib, and " i iv! lii 108 JANETS LOVK A^'D SERVICE. " Well, it 's possible there are some folks ain't sent in tlieii* accounts yet. That can be seen to another time." Janet paid no attention to the interruption. " There were some eggs from Mrs. Stenie — a dozen and three, I think — and a goose at the New Year fi'om somebody else ; and your wife sent a pumpkLn-i)ie ; and there was the porridge and milk that Judge Merle brought over when fii'st we came here " " Ah ! the pie was a present from my wife," said Deacon Fish, on whom Mrs. Nasmyth's awful irony was quite lost. " And i presume Judge Merle did n't mean to charge for the pcnidge, or hominy, or whatever it was," said Deacon Slowcome. " And what for no' ? " demanded Janet, turning on him sharply. " I 'm sure we got far more good and pleasure from it than ever we got o' youi* bloody fore-quarter of beef, that near scunnered the bairns ere we were done witli it. Things should stand on your papers at their true value." Deacon Slowcome was not, in reality, more surprised at this outbreak than he had been when his " fore-quarter of bloody beef" had been accepted unchallenged, but he professed to be so ; and in his elaborate astonishment allowed Janet's remarks about a slight mistake she had made, and about the impropriety of " looking a gift horse in the mouth " to pass unanswered. " You were at liberty to return the beef if you did n't want it," said he, with an injui'ed air. " Weel, I '11 mind that next time," said she, in a milder tone, by no means sui'e how the minister might approve of her plain speaking. Deacon Fish made a diversion in favor of peace, by holding up the new subsci-iption-hst, and asking her triumphantly if that " did n't look well. " "Ay, on paper," said Janet, dryly. *' Figui-es are no' dol- lars. And if your folk have been thinking that the minister and his family hae been li\'ing only on the bits o' things writ- ten down on your paper you are mistaken. The gude money that has helped it has been worth far more than the like o' JANET ri LOVE AND SERVICE. 109 that, as I ken wecl, who hae had the spending o' it ; but I daresay you 're no' needing me longer, sir," she added, ad- di'essiug the minister, and she ^ef •• the room. This matter was not alluded to again for several days, but it did Janet a deal of good to think about it. She had no time to mdulge in homesick musings, with so defhiite a sul> ject of indignant speculation as the meamiess of the deacons. She " was nettled at herself beyond aU patience " that she should have allowed herself to fancy that so many of the things on the paper had been tokens of the people's good- \vill. " Two himdred and seventy dollars and more," she re- peated. '* Things mount up, I ken weel ; but I maun take another look at it And 1 11 hae more sense anither time, I 'm thinking." She did not speak to Graeme. There would be no use to vex her ; but she would fain have had a few words ^^'ith the minister, but his manner did not encourage her to introduce the subject. A circumstance soon occurred which gave her an opening, and the subject, fi'om fii'st to last, was thorouglily discussed. Mai'ch was nearly over. The nights were cold still, but the sun was powerful durmg the day, and there were many tokens that the earth was about to wake fi'om her long sleep and prepare for the refreshment of her childi'en. "And time for her," sighed Janet, taking a retrospective view of all that had hapjoened since she saw her face. The boys had been thrown into a state of gTeat excite- ment by a proposal made to them by their fiiend Mr. Snow. Ho had offered to give them sixty of the best trees in his sugar place, with all the articles necessary to the making of sugar, on terms that, to them, seemed easy enough. They were to make thou* own preparations, gather the sap, cut their owai wood, in short, carry on the business entu'oly themselves ; and, nothing daunted, they went the veiy first fine day to see the gi-ound and Make a bcgmning. Graeme and the other gu'ls went with them as far as Mr. Snow'a I :i 110 JANET B LOVE AND SERVICE. i,' 1-i'i house, and Janet was left alone. The minister was in his study as usual, and when thoy were all gone, uncomfortable with the unaccustomed quietness of the house, she arose and went to the door and looked rather sadly down the street. She had not long to indulge her feelings of loneliness, how- ever. A sleigh came slowly gi'ating along the half-bare street, and its occupant, IVIi'. Silas Spears, not one of her favorites, stopped before the door, and lost no time in "hitching" liis horse to the post. Janet set him a chair, and waited for the accustomed question whether the minister was at homo, and whether he could see him. " The body has some sense and discretion," said Janet to herself, as he annoimced instead that he " wa'ant a going to stay but a minute, and it would n't be worth while troubhng the minister." He did stay, however, telling news and ;giving liis opinion on matters and things in general in a way which was tolerable to Janet m her solitude. Ho rose to go at last. *•■ I *ve got a bucket of sugar out here," said ho. " Our folks did n't seem to want it, and I thought I 'd fetch it along down. I took it to Cook's store, but they did n't want it, and they did n't care enough about it at Sheldon's to want to pay for it, so I thought I might as well turn it in to -pay my minis- ter's tax." So in he came within a minute. " There 's just exactly twenty-nine pounds with the bucket. Sugar 's been sellin' for twelve and a-half this winter, and I guess I ought to have that for it, then we '11 bo about even, according to my calculation." "Sugar!" ejaculated Janet, touching the solid black mass with her finger. " Call you that sugar ? " " "VMiy, yes, I call it sugar. IVot the best, maybe, but it 's better than it looks. It '11 be considerable whiter by the time you di'ain it off, I expect." " And weigh considerable lighter, I expect," said Mrs. Nas- myth, unconsciously imitating Mr. Spears' tone and manner in her rising wrath. " I 'm very much obliged to you, but Janet's love and service. Ill we 'ro in no especial need o' sugar at this time, and we 11 do without a while before we spend good siller on stuff lilco that." " Well, I '11 say eleven cents, or maybe ten, as sugarin' time is most here. It ain't first rate," ho added, candidly. "It mightn't just do for tea, but it's as good as any to sweeten pies and cakes." " Many thanks to you. But we 're no' given to the makin' o' j)ies and cakes in this house. Plain bread, or a sup por- ridge and milk dOv s for as, and it 's mair than we 're like to get, if things dinna mend with us. So you '11 just take it with you again." " AVell," said Mr. Spears, slightly at a loss, " I guess I '11 leave it. I ain't particular about the price Mr. Elhott can allow me what he thinks it worth, come to use it. I'll leave it anyhow." " But you '11 no' leave it, with my consent. Deacon Slow- come said the minister wasna needing co take anything he didna want, and the like o' that wo could make no use of." " The deacon might have said that in a general kind of way, but I rather g-uess he did n't mean you to take him up so. I 've been calculating to pay my minister's tax with that sugar, and I don't know as I 've got anything else handy. I 'U leave if, and if you don't conclude to keep it, you better speak to the deacon about it and maybe he '11 give you the money for it. I 'U leave it anyhow." " But you '11 no leave it here," exclo.imed Mrs. Nasmyth, v/hoso patience was not proof against his persistence, and seizing the bucket, she rushed out at the door, and deposit- ing it in the sleigh, was in again before the astonished Mr. Spears quite realized her intention. " You '11 no' find me failing in my duty to the minister, as I hae done before," exclaimed she, a httle breatliless with the exei-tion. "If the minister canna hae his stipend paid in good siller as he has been used wi', he shall at least hae nae trash like yon. So dinna bring here again what ither folk wi^na hae from you, for x '11 hae none o' it." I !? 112 .TANKT S LOVE AND SEUVICK. i % >* i *'I should like to sec tho minister a rninuto," said Mr. Spears, seatiji*,' himself with dignity. "I don't consider that you are tho one to settle this business." " There 's many a thmg that .you dinna consider that there 's sense in, notwithstandhig. It 's just me that is to decide this l)nsin(\ss, and a' business where tho minister's welfare, as regards meat and th-ink, is concerned. So dinna fash yourscK and me mair about it." " I 'd like to sec him, anyhow," said he, taking a step to- wards the study door. " But you '11 no' see him about any such matter," and Janet placed herself before him. " I 'm no' to hac tho minis- ter vexed with the Uke o' that nonsense to-night, or any night. I wonder you dinna think shame, to hold up your face to me, forby the minister. What kens the minister about the Uke o' that? He has other things to think about. It 's 'wecl that there 's aye me to stand between him and the like o' you ' glcgs and corbies ' . " And Janet, as her manner was, when excited, degenerated into Scotch to such a degree, that her oiiponent forgot his indignation in astonish- ment, and hstened in silence. Janet was successful. IMr. Spears was utterly Jionplusscd, and took his way homeward, by no means sure that he had n't been abused. *' Consider- able beat, anyhow." Scarcely had he taken his departure, when Mr. Elliott made his ai:)pearaiice, having had some idea that something unusual had been going on. Though loth to do so, Janet thought best to give a faithful account of what had taken place. He laughed heartily at her success and Mr. Spears' discomfitm-e, but it was easy to sec he was not quite at his ease about the matter. "I am at a loss to knov/ how all this will end," he said, gi'avely, after a minute. " Indeed, sir, you need be at no loss about that. It will end in a ' toom pantry ' for us, and that before very long." This was the begimiing of a conversation with regard to theu' affaiis, that lasted till the children came home. Much JAN FT S LOVE AND SKRVICK 113 earnest tlionght did the minister bestow on tlio snhjoct for the next throe days, and on the evening of the fourth, at the close of a full conference meeting, when most of the moinl)ers of the church were present, the result of his meditations was given to the public. He did not use many words, but they were to the point. Ho told them of the settlement for the past, and the pros- pect for the future. He told them that the value to his family of the articles brought in, was not equal to their value, as named in the subscription hsts, then* real value he sup- posed. They could not live in comfort on these tcnns, and they should never try it. He had a proposal to make to them. The deacon had estimated that an annual amoimt equal to seven lumdred dollars could be raised. Let each subsciiber deduct a seventh part of what he had promised to pay, and let the remainder be paid in money to the treasurer, so that he might receive his salary in quarterly payments. This would be the means of avoiding much that was annoy- ing to all parties, and was the only terms on which he would think it wise to remain in Morleville. He alluded to a report that had lately reached him, as to his having money invested in Scotland. In the hand of a friend he had deposited sufficient to defray the expenses of his eldest son, until his education should be completed. He had no more. The comfort of his family must depend upon his salary ; and what that was to be, and how it was to be paid, must be decided without loss of time. He said just two or three words about his wish to stay, about the love he felt for many of them, and of his earnest desire to benefit them all. He had no other desire than to cast in his lot with theu's, and to live and die among them. But no real imion or confidence could bo maintained between them, while the matter of support was liable at any moment to become a som-ce of discomfort and misunderstanduig to all concerned. He added, that as so many were present, perhaps no better time than to-night could be found for arranguig the matter, and so he left them. ' i 114 JANET a LOVE AND BF.RVICE. r There was quite a gathering that night. Judge Merle was there, and the deacons, and the Pages, and Mr. Spears, and a great many besides. Behind the door, in a comer seat, sat Mr. Snow, and near him, Mr. Greenleaf. He evidently felt he was not expected to remain, and made a movement to go, but Sampson laid his hand on his arm. " Hold on, S(iuii'e," he whispered ; " as like as not tliey 'd spare us, but I 'm bound to see this through." There was a long pause. Then Deacon Fish got up and cleared his throat, and " felt as though ho felt," and went over much gi'ound, without accomphshing much. Deacon Slowcome did pretty much the same. Judge Merle came a little nearer the mark, and when he sat down, there was a movement behind the door, and Sampson Snow rose and stepped out. He laid his hand on the door latch, and then turned round and opened his lips. " I expect you '11 all think it ain't my place to speak in meetin', and I ain't goin' to say a great deal. It 's no more than two houf s or so since I got home from Eixford, and Squire Stone, he told me that their minister had given notice that he was goin' to quit. Gom' to Boston, I guess. And the Squire, says he to me, ' We 've a notion of talking a little to your "Mr. Elliott,' and says he, 'We wouldn't begrudge him a thousand dollars cash down, and no mistake.' So now don't worry any about the minister. He 's all right, and worth his pay any day. That 's all I 've got to say," and Mr. Snow opened the door and walked out. Sampson's speech was short, but it was the speech of the evening, and told. That night, or within a few days, arrange- ments were made for the carrying out of the plan suggested by IMr. Elliott, with this difference, that the seventh part was not to be deducted because of money payment. And the good people of MerleviUe did not regret their promptitude, when the very' next week there came a dej)utation from Rix- ford, to ascertain whether JVIr. Elliott was to remain in Merle- viUe, and if not, whether he would accept an invitation to settle in the larger town. Janet's love and service. 115 Mr. Elliott's answer was brief and decided. Ho had no wish to leave Merlcville while the people wished him tore- main. He hoped never to leave them while he lived. And he never did. i « CHAPTER XIII. ^ PRING came and went. The lads distinguished them- ^^^ solves both ft)!* the quantity and quality of their sugar, and highly enjoyed the work besides. The free out-of-door life, the camping in the woods beside a blazmg fire, and the company of the village lads who daily and nightly crowded around them, charincd them from all other pursuits. Mr. Foster and his mathematics were sadly neglected in these days. In future they were to devote themselves to agricul- tm-e. In vam Janet hinted that " new tilings aye pleased light heads," and warned them that they were deciding too soon. In vain Mr. Snow said that it was not sugaring time all the year; and that they should smnmer and winter among the hills before they committed themselves to a farmer's life. Hany quoted Cincinnatus, and Norman proved to his own satisfaction, if not to Mr. Snow's, that on scientific principles every fann in MerlevHle could be cultivated with half the ex- pense, and double the jorofits. Even their father was carried away by theu' enthusiasm; and it is to be feared, that if he had had a fortune to invest, it would have been bmied for ever among these beautiful hills of Merleville. An opportunity to test the strength of the lads' determina- tion, came m a manner wliich involved less risk than a purchase would have done. Early in May a letter was received from Mr. Ross, in which he offered to take the charge of Arthur's education on himself, and as he was well able to do §o, Mr. Elliott saw no reason for refusing the oflfer. The money, therefore, that he had set apart for his son's use, returned to (116) Janet's lovk and service. • 117 his hands, and he did a wiser thing than to invest it either in mountain or valley. It came, about this time, to the worst, with Mrs. Jones and her daughter Celcstia. Tlie mortgage on the farm could not be paid, even the interest had fallen far belund, and Sciuiro Skmflint had foreclosed. Nothing remained for the widow, but to save what she could from the wreck of a properly tliat hai ^^ 118. JANKT S LOVE AND SKRVICE. citcmont of settling down iu their now home, filled the minds of Jiinet and the bairns. And a very pleasant home it promised to bo. Even in that beautiful land of mountain and valley they would have sought in vain for a lovelier spot. Sheltered by liigh hills from the bleak winds of the north and east, it was Gtill siifiiciently elevated to permit a wide view of the farms and forests around it. Close below, ^\dtl^ only a short, steep bank, and a wide stri]) of meadow land between, lay Merle pond, the very love- liest of the many lovely lakelets, hidden away among these momitains. Over on the rising ground beyond the pond stood the meetinghouse, and scattered to the right and left of it were the white houses of the village, half hidden by the tall elms and maples that fringed the village street. Close by the farmhouse, between it and the thic-k pine grove on the hill, ran Carson's brook, a stream which chd not disappear in suunner- timc, as a good many of those hill streams are aj^t to do, and which, for several months in the jear, was ahnost as worthy of the name of river as the Merle itself. Before the house was a large grassy yard, having many rose bushes and lilac ti'eos scattered along the fences and the path that led to the door. There were shade trees, too. Once they had stood in regular lines along the road, and round the largo garden. Some of these had been injured because of the hi- sufficient fences of late years; buu those that remained were trees worthy of the name of trees. There wore elms whose branches nearly touched each other, fi'om ojiposite sides of the wide yard; and great maples that grew as symmetrically in the open space, as though each spring they had been clip- ped and cared for by experienced hands. There had been locusts, once; but the old trees had mostly died, and there were only a few yomig ones springing up here and there, but they were trees before the cliilch'on went away from the place which they were now beginning to look upon as home. Formerly, there had been a large and handsome garden laid out at the end of the house, but since trouble had come on the family, its cultivation had been cousidered too much JANETS LOVK AND SKIiVICE. 119 expense, and the f^-ass was f^rowin^ frrcon on its squares ard borders now. There were a few perennials easy to cultivate; and amiuals such as sow themselves, marigolds and ]>ansies. There was balm in abundance, and two or three j^nj^autic peonies, in their season the admiration of all passers by; and beds of useful herbs, wormwood and sage, and sununer savory. But, though it looked like a wilderness of weeds the the first day they came to sec it, Janet's quick eye foresaw a great deal of j^leasure and profit wliich might be got for the bairns out of the garden, and, as usual, Janet saw clearly. There was a cliancte to find fault with the house, if anyone had at this time been inclined to find fault with anytliing. It was largo and pleasant, l^ut it was sadly out of repair. Much of it had been little used of late, and looked di-eary enough in its dismantled state. But all this was chaaged after a while, and they settled down v(xrv happily in it, with- out thinking about any defect it might have, and these dis- appeared in time. For, by and by, all necessary- repairs were made by their provident landlord's own hands. He had no mind to pay out money for what he could do himself ; and many a wet afternoon did lie and his hu*cd man devote to the replacing of sliingles, the nailing on of clapboards, to puttying, paint- ing, and other matters of the same kind. A good landlord he was, and a kind neighbor, too ; and when the many ad- vantages of theu' new home were being told over l^y the chikircn, tho living so near to 'Mr. Snow and little Emily was never left till the last. A V(!ry pleasant summer thus began to them all. It would be dilii(;ult to say which of tiiem all enjoyed their new life thj most. But Janet's prophecy came true. The )irinv'i^fi of farmnig proved to be its chief charm to the lads ; and if it hail been left entirely to them to plant and sow, and care for, and gather in tlio harvest, it is to bo feared there would not have been much to show for the summer's work. But their father, who was by no means inexperienced in agricultural matters, had the success of thcii' farming experiment much s 120 Janet's love and service, ■1 at heart, and with his advice and the frequent expostulations and assistance of Mr. Snow, affaii's were conducted on their httle farm on the whole prosperously. Not that the lads grew tu*ed of exerting themselves. There was not a lazy bone in then* bodies, Mr. Snow de- clared, and no one had a better opportunity of knowing than he. But their strength and energy were not exerted always in a dh'eclion that would pay, according to Mr. Snow's idea of remuneration. Much time and labor were expended on the building of a biiJge over Carson's brook, between the house and Pine Grove Hill, and much more to the making of a waterfall above it. Even Mr. Snow, who was a long time in coming to comprehend why thoy should take so much trouble with what was no good but to look at, was canied awa}' by the spirit of the affaii* at last, and lent liis oxen, and used his crowbar in their cause, conveying gi'cat stones to the spot. When the bridge and the waterfall were com- pleted, a path was to be made round the hill, to the pine grove at the top. Then, among the pines, there was a wonderful structure of rocks and stones, covered with mossPT and oreepmg plants. The Grotto, the children called it, Mr. ,Snow called it the Cave. A wonderful place it was, and much did they enjoy it To be sure, it would not hold them all at once, but the gi'ove would, and the grotto looked best on the outside, and much pleasure did they get out of their labors. The lads did not deserve all the credit of these great works. The gMs helped, not only with approving eyes and lips, but with expert hands as well. Even Graeme grew rosy and sunburnt by being out of doors so much on bright mornings and evenmgs, and if it had been always summer time, there might have been some danger that even Graeme would not very soon have cor>ie back to the quiet indoor enjoyment of work and study again. As for Janet, her homesiclmess must have been left m the little brown house behind the elms, for it never troubled her after she came up the brae. With the undisputed possession JANKTS LOVE AXD SERVICE. 121 IS ir i. ti s a, 1 B of poultry, pigs and cows, came back her energy and peace of mind. The lirst basket of eggs collected by the children, the first chmniing of golden butter which she was able to disi)lay to their admiring gaze, were worth their weight in gold as helps to her returning cheerfalness. Not that she valued her dumb friends for their usefulness alone, or even for the comforts they brought to the household. She had a natural love for all dependent creatures, and petted and pro vided for her favorites, till they learned to know and love her m retui*n. All helpless creatiu'es seemed to come to her natm-ally. A dog, which had been cruelly beaten by his master, took refage with her ; and being fed and caressed by her hand, could never be induced to leave her guardianship again. The very' bees, at swanning time, did not sting Janet, though they lighted in clouds on her snowy cap and neckerchief ; and the little brown spaiTows came to share with the chickens the crumbs she scattered at the door. And so, hens and chickens, and httle brown span'ows did much to win her from a rcgi-etful remembrance of the pr.st, and to reconcile her to what was strange — "unco like' in her new home. Her cows were, perhaps, her prime favorites. Not tint she would aclaiowledge them at all equal to "Flcckie" or " Blackie," now, probably, the favorites of another mistr. .sn on the other side of the sea. But "Brindle and Spottie w/ro wise-like beasts, with mair sense and discretion than sorao folk that she could name," and many a child in Merlevillo got less care, than she bestowed on them. Morjiing and night, and, to the surprise of all the farmers' wives in jMerle- villo, at noon too, when the days were long she milked them witli her own hands, and made more and better butter from the two, than oven old INIrs. Snow, who prided herself on her abilities in these matters, made from any three on her pasture. And when in the fall Mr. Snow went to Boston with the produce of his mother's dairy, and his own farm, a large tub of Janet's butter went too, for which was to be brought back " tea worth the drinking, and at a reasouablo 6 « 122 JANETS L<»VK AM) HKUVICK. ':! I price," anil otlior iliiiij^a besides, wliioli iifc IVTcrlcvillo and at Meiievillo prices, could not bo easily obtained. Tlio Indian summer had como aj^-ain. Its mysterious hazo and hush were tni all tlihi^^'S under the ojkmi hIvv, and '.viMun the house all Avas quiet, too. The minister was in thv.( study, and the bnmis were in the pine f^^rove, or by the Nvater side, or even farther away ; for no sound of souf^ or lanm ^Bf JANET 3 LOVK AND 8EUVTCE. 123 But INIr. Snow was not in his usntil spirits evidently, and watcliin;^ liijii st:':iltliily, Janet saw a careworn anxious cxprcf-i- sion fasteninf' on his iisnallv cheerful face. " Are you no' wcel the nij^'ht '?" she asked. " Sartain. I never was sick hi my life." "And l]ow arc they all down-by V" meaning at ]Mr. Snow's hous(>, by " down-V)y." " Well, pretty nnieli so. Only just middling. Nothing to brag of, in the way of smai*tnoss." Th(!re was a long sHencc after that. Mr. Snow sat with ft)ld(Hl arms, looking out on the scene bcsforo Ihem. " It 's kind o' i)leasant hero, ain't it ?" said he, at last. " Ay," said Jjinet, softly, not caring to disturb his mus- ings. Ho sat still, looking over his own broad fields, not thhiking of them as his, however, not calculating the exjienso of the new saw-mill, with whi(;li he had been tlireatcning to disfigure Carson's broolc, just at tlic point where its waters fell into the pond. He was looking far away to the distant hills, where the dim haze was deepening into pur],)le, hiding the moui/am tops beyond. But it could not be hills, nor haze, nor hitlden mountam tops, that had brought that wist- ful longuig look into his eyes, Janet thought, and between doubt as to what she ought to say, and doubt as to wLetlicr she should say anything at all, she was for a long time silent. At last, a tho Light struck her. " What f(jr wasna you at the Lord's table, on the Sabbath- day V" asked she. Sampson gave her a queer look, and a short, amused laugh. " Well, I guess oiu* folks- would ha' opened their eyes, if I had undertook to go there." Janet looked at him, in some sui-priso. " And what for no ? I ken there are others o' the folk, that let strifes and divisions hinder them from doing their duty, and sitting down together. Though wherefore, the hko of these things should liinder them from remembering their Lord, is more than I can imderstand. What hac you been doing, or what has somcl)ody been d(^ing to you ?" 124 JANET 8 LOVE AND SERVICE. ; Tliorc was a pause, and then Sampson looked up and said, gi'avcly. " jMis' Nasmyth, I ain't a professor. I 'ni one of the world's peoi)lo Deacon Fish tells about." Janet looked grave. " Come now. Mis' Nasmyth, you don't mean to say you thought I was one of the good ones ?" "You ought to be," said she, gravely. " Well, — yes, I suppose I ought to. But after all, I guess there am't a great sight of difference between folks, — least- w^ays, between Merle ville folks. I know all about them. I was the first white child bom in the town, I was raised here, and in some way or other, I 'm related to most folks in town, and I ought to know them all pretty well by this time. Ex- cept on Sundays, I expect they re all pretty much so. It would n't do to tell round, but there are some of the world's people, that I 'd full as lief do business with, as with most of the professors. Now that 's a fact." *• You 're no' far wrong fhcrt^ I daresay," said Janet, with emphasis. " But that 's neither here nor there, as far as your duty is concerned, as you weel ken." " No, — I don't know as it is. But it kind o' makes me feel, as though there wasn't much in religion, anyway." Janet looked mystified. Mr. Snow continued. " Well now, see here, I '11 tell you just how it is. There ain't one of them that don't tliink I 'm a sinner of the worst kind — gospel hardened. They 've about given me up, I know they have. WeU now, let alone the talk, I don't be- hove there 's a mite of difference,»between me, and the most of them, and the Lord knows I 'm bad enough. And so you see, I 'vc about come to the conclusion, that if there is such a thing as religion, I have n't never come across the real ar- ticle." "Tliat's hke enough," said Janet, with a groan. "I can- na say that I have seen muckle o' it myself in this town, out of our own house. But I canna see that that need be any excuse to you. You have aye the word." \ to .TANETVS LOVE AND BKRVICK. 125 i " Well, yes. I 've always had the Bible, and I *ve read it considerable, but I never seem to get the hang of it, some- how. And it ain't because I ain't tried, either. There w^as one spell that I was drcadfid down, and says I to myself, if there 's comfort to be got out of that old book, I 'm bound to have it. So I began at the beginni^ig about the creation, and Adam and Eve, but I didn't seem to get much comfort there. There was some good readuig, but along over a piece, there was a deal that I could see notliing to. Some of the Psalms seemed to kind o' touch the si)ot, and the Proverbs are first-rate. I tell you he knew something of human nature, that wrote them." " There 's one thing you might have learned, before you got far over in Genesis," said Mrs. Nasmyth, gravely, " that you are a condemned sinner. You should have settled that matter with yourself, before you began to look for com- fort." '* Yes, I knew that before, but I could n't seem to make it go. Tlien I thought, maybe I did n't understand it iTght, so I talked with folks and went to meeting, and did the best I could, tlmiking surely what other folks had got, and I had n't, would come sometime. But it did n't. The talking and the gomg to meeting, did n't help me. " Now there 's Deacon Sterne, he 'd put it right to me. He 'd say, says he, ' Sampson, you 're a sinner, you know you be. You 've got to give up, and bow that stiff neck o' your 'n to the yoke.' Well, I 'd say, * I 'd be glad to, if I only laiew how to.' Then he 'd say, ' But you can't do it yourself, no how. You 're clay in the hands of the potter, and you '11 have to perish, if the Lord don't take right hold to save you.' Then says I, 'I wish to mercy He would.' Then he 'd talk and talk, but it all came to about that. * I must, and I could n't,' and it did n't help me a mite. " That was a spell ago, after Captain Jennings, folks, went West. I wanted to go awfully, but father he was getting old, and mother she wouldn't hear a word of it. I was awful discontented, and then, after a spell, worse came, and t. 120 JANKt's love and SEItVICE. >i I tell you, I'd ha given most anything,. to have got religion, just to have had something to hold on to." Mi\ Snow paused. There was no doubting his earnest- ness now. Janet did not speak, and in a little while he ■went on again. "I 'd give considerable, just to be sure there 's anything in getting rehgion. Sometimes I seem to see that there is, and then again I think, why don't it help folks more. Now, there 's Deacon Sterne, he 's one of the best of them. He ■would n't swerve a hair, from what he believed to be right, not to save a limb. He is one of the real old Puiitau sort, not a mite hkc Fish and Slowcome. But he ain't one of the meek and lowly, I can tell you. And he 's made some awful mistakes in his life-time. He 's been awful hard and strict in his family. His fii-st chikben got along pretty well. Most of them were guis, and their mother was a smart woman, and stood between them and their father's hardness. And besides, in those days when the country was new, folks had to work hard, old and 3'oung, and that did considerable towards keeping things straight. But his boys never thought of then- father, but to fear him. They both went, as soon as ever they were of age. Silas came home afterwards, and died. Joshua went West, and I don't beheve his father has heard a word fi'om him, these fifteen years. The ghls scat- tered after their mother died, and then the deacon married again, Abby Sheldon, a pretty girl, and a good one ; but she never ought to have married him. She was not made of tough enough stuft^ to wear along side of him. She has changed into a grave and silent woman, in his house. Her children all died when they were babies, except William, the eldest, — willful Will., they call him, and I don't know but he 'd have better died too, for as sui'e as the deacon don't change his course with him, he '11 drive him ^ight straight to ruin, and break his mother's heart to boot. Now, what I want to know is — if rehgion is the powerful thing it is called, why don't it keep folks that have it, from making such mistakes in life?" 1 .TAXl'/r's LOVE AND SEUVICK 127 4 1 Janet did not have her answer at her tongue's end, and SiluipHoii did not i^ivo Lcr time to consider. "Now there's Becky Pettimore, she's got religion, but it don't keep her from being as sour as vinegar, and as bitter as gaU— " '' Whisf, man !" interrupted Janet. " It ill becomes the like o' you to speak that way of a poor lone woman like yon — one who never knew what it was to have a home, but who has been kept down wdth hard work and little sympathy, and many another trial. She 's a worthy woman, and her deeds prove it, for all her sourness. There 's few women in the to\m that I respect as I do her." " Well, that 's so. I know it. I Imow she gets a dollar a week the year round at Captain Liseome's, and earns it, too ; and I know she gives half of it to her aunt, who never did much for her but spoil her temper. But it 's an awful pity her reh<^ion don't make her pleasant." " One nuistiia judge another," said Mrs. Nasmyth, gently. " No, and I don't want to. Only I wish — but there 's no good talking. Still I must say it 's a pity that folks who have got religion don't take more comfort out of it. Now there 's mother ; she 's a pillar in the church, and a good woman, I believe, but she's dreadful crank sometimes, and worries about things as she had n't ought to. Now it seems to me, if I had all they say a Ciiristian has, and expects to have, I 'd let the rest go. They don't half of them live as if they took more comfort than I do, and there arc spells when I don't take much."' Janet's eyes glistened with sj-mpathy. There was some siu-prisc in them, too. Mr. Snow continued — " Yes, I do get pretty sick of it all by spells. After father died — and other things — I got over caring about going out West, and I thought it as good to settle down on the old place as any where. So I fixed up, and built, and got the land into prime order, and made an orchard, a first-rate one, and made believe happy. And I don't know but I should have staid so, only I heard that Joe Arnold had died out waissmm 128 JANETS LOVE AND SERVICE. *?' I r West — ho had married Rachel Jennings,' you know ; so I got kind of unsettled again, and went ofl' at last. Rachel had changed considerable. She had seen trouble, and had poor health, and was kind o' run down, but I brought her right home — ^her and httle Emily. Well — it didn't suit mother. I had n't said anything to her when I went off. I had n't anything to say, not knowing how things might bo with Ra- chel. Come to get home, things did n't go smooth. Mother worried, and Rachel worried, and life was n't what I expected it was going to be, and I worried for a spell. And IVIis' Nas- myth, if there had been any such thing as getting rehgion, I should have got it then, for I tried hard, and I wanted some- thing to help me bad enough. There did n't seem to be any- thing else worth caring about any way. " Well, that was a spell ago. Emily was n't but three years old when I brought them home. We 've lived along, taking some comfort, as much as folks in general, I reckon. I had got kind of ased to it, and had given up expecting much, and took right hold to make property, and have a good time, and here is your minister has come and stirred me up and made me as discontented with myself and everything else as well." " You should thank the Lord for that," intermpted Janet, devoutly. " Well, I don't know about that. Sometimes when he has been speaking, I seem to see that there is something better than just to live along and make property. But then again, I don't see but it 's just what folks do who have got reUgion, Most of the professors that I know — " "Man!" exclaimed Janet, hotly, "I hae no patience with you and your professors. What need you aye to cast them up ? Canna you read your Bible ? It 's that, and the bless- ing that was never yet ^vithheld from any one that asked it with humihty, that wiU put you in the way to find abiding peace, and an abiding portion at the last." "Just so, IVIis' Nasmyth," said Mr. Snow, deprecatingly, and there was a little of the old twinkle in his eye. " But it does seem as though one miglit naturally expect a httle -help 1 JANETS LOVE AND SEIiVICE. 129 from them that are spoken of as the lights of the world ; now don't it?" " There 's no denying that, but if you must look about you, you needna surely fix your eyes on such crooked sticks as yoiu- Fishes and yoiu* Slowcomes. It 's no breach o' charity to say that tJicij dinna adom the doctrine. But thei*e are other folk that I could name, that are both light and salt on the earth." "Well, yes," admitted Sampson; "since I've seen your folks, I 've about got cured of one thing. I see now there is something in religion with some folks. Your minister be- lieves as he says, and has a good time, too. He 's a good man." " You may say that, and you would say it with more em- phasis if you had seen him as I have seen him for the last two twelve-months wading tlu-ough deep waters." " Yes, I expect he 's just about what he ought to be. But then, if religion only changes folks in one case, and fails in ten—" "Man ! it never fails !" exclaimed Janet, with kindling eye. " It never failed yet, and never wiU fail while the heavens en- dure. And lad ! take heed to yom'self. That *s Satan's net spread out to catch your unwary soul. It may serve your turn now to jeer at professors, as you call them, and at their misdeeds that are unhappily no' few ; but there 's a time coming when it will fail you. It will do to tell the like of me, but it winna do to tell the Lord in * that day.' You have a stumbling block in your own proud heart that hinders you more than all the Fishes and Slowcomes o' them, and you may be angry or no' as you like at me for telling you." Sampson opened his eyes. " But you don't seem to see the thing just as it is exactly. I ain't jeering at professors or their misdeeds, I 'm grievmg for myself. If religion ain't changed them, how can I expect that it will change me ; and I need changing bad enough, as you say." ** If it hasna changed them, they have none of it," said Mrs. 6* -F-^" 130 Janet's love and service. 1 1 =:i' Nasmy til, oamcstly. " A CliriHtian, and no' a cbanj^ccl riian 1 Is ho no' a nloepinp^ man awakened, a dead man made alive — bom a,'^ain to a new life ? Has ho not the Spirit of ( lod abiding? in him ? And no' changed ! No' that I wish to jndgo any man," added fiho, more gently. " We dinna ken other folk's temptations, or how small a spark of grace in the heart will save a man. We have all reason to be thank- ful that it 's the Lord and no* man that is to bo oui* judge. Maybe I have been over hard on those men." Here was a wondc.r! Mrs. Nasmyth confessing herself to have been hard upon the deacons. Sampson did not speak his thcnghts, however. Ho was more moved by his fiicnd'a earnestness than he cared to show. " Well, I expect there 's something in it, whether I ever see it with my own eyes or not," said he, as he rose to go. " Ay, is there," said Mrs. Nasmyth, heartily ; " and there 'a no fear but you '11 see it, when you ivsk in a right spiiit that your eyes may be opened." " Mis* Nasmyth," said ??ampson, quietly and solemnly, "I may be deceiving myself in this matter. I seem to get kind o' bewildered at times over these things. But I do think I am in earnest. Suix'ly I '11 get help some time ?" "Ay — that you will, as God is true. But oh man ! go straight to Him. It 's between you and Him, this matter. But winna you bide still ? I daresay the minister will soon be at leisure now." •' I guess not. I had n't much j)articular to say to him. I can just as well come again." And without turning his face toward her, he went away. Janet looked after him till the turn of the road hid him, saying to herself, *' If the Lord would but take him in Land, just to show what He could make of him. Somctijlng to His praise, I hae no doubt — Yankee though he be. God forgive me for sayuig it. I daresay I hae nae all the charity I might hae for them, the upsettin' bodies." \ ■^ CHAPTER XIV. EVEN in qniot comitiy pLiocH, there are changes many and viiriod wron/^ht by the ('(Miiuig and Roinj^' of seven ycai'H, and IMurluville has had its share of these since the time the minister's children looked upon the pleasant place with the v/onderinf» eyes of stranj^ers. Standinjjf on the church-steps, one looks down on the same still haujlet, and over the same hills and valleys and nestling faini-hoases. But the woods have receded in some places, and up from the right comes the sound of clashing machinery, telling that the ]Merle river is performing its mission at last, sotting in motion saws and haunners and spmdles, but in so unpretend- ing a manner that no miniature city has sprung up on its banks as yet ; and long may that day bo distant. The trees in the grave-yard cast a deeper shadow, and the white grave-stones seem to stand a Httlc closer tlian of old. The tall, rank grass has many times been trodden by the lingering feet oi the funeral-train, and fi'csli sods laid down al)ove many a heart at rest forever. Voices beloved, and voices little heeded, have grown silent duiing th(se seven years. Some have died and have been forgotten ; some liavo left a blank behind them which twice seven years shall have no power to fill. The people have changed somewhat, some for the better, some for the worse. Judge Merle has gi'own older. His hair could not be whiter than it was seven years ago, liut he is bent now, and never forgets his stalf as he takes his daily walk down the village street ; but on liis kintdy face rests a look of peace, deeper and more abiding than there used to be. His kind and gentle wife is kind and gentle still. She, (i:n.) 132 jankt's lovk AND SKKVlCl': too, gi'ows old, with a briglitcninef I'nco, as tliongh each pass- ing day were bringing her nearer to her hope's fulfillment. If Deacon Sterne is growing older ; his outward man gives no token thereof. His hair has been iron-grey, at least since anybody in Merleville can remember, and it is iron-grey still. He looks as if seven times seven years conld have no power to make his tall form less erect, or to soften the lines on his dark, grave face. And yet I am not sure. They say his face is changing, and that sometimes in the old meeting-house on Sabbath afternoons there has come a look over it as though a bright Hght fell on it fi'om above. It comes at other times, too. His patient wife, pretenduig to look another way as he bends over the cradle of his willful William's httle son, yet turns stealthily to watch for the coming of the tender smile she has so seldom seen on her husband's face since the row of little graves was made m the church-yard long ago. By the deacon's fireside sits a pale, gentle woman, Will.'s bride that was, Will's soiTOwing Avidt)w now. But though the grave has closed over him, whom liis stem father loved better than aU the world beside, there was hope in his death, and the mourner is not micomforted ; and for the deacon there are happier days in store than time has brought him yet. Deacon Slowcome has gone West, but, " yearning for the privileges he left behind," or not successful in his gaiiis- gettmg, is about to return. Deacon Fish has gone West and has prospered. Content in his heart to put the wondeiful wheat crops in place of school and meeting, he yet deplores aloud, and m d(jlcful terms enough, the want of these, and never ends a letter to a Merleville crony without an earnest adjuration to " come over and help us." But, on the whole, it is believed t!iat, in his heart, Deacon Fish will not repine while the grain grows aiid the markets pn^sj^er. ]VIi'. Page is growing rich, they say, which is a change m- deed. His nephew, Timothj', havhig invented a wonderful mowing or reaping-machine, Mr. Pago has taken out a patent for the same, and is gi'owing rich. Mrs. Page enjoys it well, and goes often to Rixford, where she has her gowns and i«.v f'r jankt's love and service. 133 bonnets made now ; and patronizes yoimj^ INIrs. Morlc and yomig Mrs. Grecnleaf, and does her duty generally very much to hor o^^n satisfaction, never hearing the wliispcrcd doubts of her old fi'iends — Avhich are audible enough, too — wliother she is as consistent as she ought to be, and whether, on the whole, her new prosperity is promoting her gi'owth in grace. Becky Pcttimore has got a home of her own, and feels as if she knows how to enjoy it. And so she does, if to enjoy it means to pick her own geese, and spin her own wool, and set her face lilce a flint against the admission of a speck of du't withui her o\\ti four walls. But it is wliispered among some people, wine in these matters, that there is something going to happen in Beckj's home, which may, sometime or other, mar its perfect neatness, without, however, man-ing Becky's enjoyment of it. It may be so, for hidden away in the corner of (me of her many presses, is a little pillow of down, upon which no mortal head has ever rested, and which no eyes but Becky's own have ever set>n ; an, not horses and carriages as they used to do in my young days, but a train of cars, and on one of them sits Arthur ]*]lIiott (Ireenleaf, representing at once engine, whistle, conductor and freight. And no bad rc^presentalive either, as far as noise is concerned, and a wonderful baby that must be who sleeps hi the cradle through it all. Beside tiie win- dow, inirufiled amid tlie U[)roar, sits Celestia ith her needle in her hand — a little paler, a little thinner tha\i she used to DC, and a little cave-worn withal. For Celestia is " ambitious," in good housewife plnusc, and there arc many in MerleviUo and beyond it who like to visit at her Avell-ordered homo. 134 JANET ri LOVE AND SERVICE. i hi Tho squire's newspaper nestles as peacefully amid the din as it used to do in the solitude of his little ottice seven years ago. He is thinner, too, and older, and more care-Avorn, and there is a look in his face sup,'<:festivc of " appeals " and knotty points of law ; and by the wrinkles on liis brow and at the corners of his eyes, one might fancy he is looking out f o ' the Capitol and the White House in the dis^'ince still. "j.le is growing old while ho is yoimg," as Ivirs. Nasmyth says, "Yankees have a nack of doing — standing still r.t middle age and never changing more." But despite tlie Amnldes, the squire's face is a pleasant one to see, and he has a way of turning Ijack a paragraph or two to read the choice bits to Celestia, wliich proves chat ho is not altogether absorbed in law or pohtics, but that he enjoys all he has, and all he hopes to be, the more that he has Celestia to enjoy it with him. As for her, seven years have failed to convince her that Mr. Grecnlcaf is not the gentlest, wisest, best in all the world. And as her opinion has survived an attack of dys- pepsia, which for montlis held the squire in a giant's gripe, and tho horrors of a contested election, in which the squire was beaten, it is to bo supposed it will last through life. At this very monicnt h(>r heart tills to the brim Vv'ith love and wonder as he draws his cliair a little nearer and says : " See, here, Celestia. Listen to what Daniel "Webster says," and then goes on to read. " Now, Avliat do you think of that?" he asks, with spark- ling eyes. Her's are sparkling too, and she thinks just as he does, you may be sure, whatever that may be. Nt)t that she has a very clear idea of what has been read, as how could she amid nishing engines and raih'oad whistles, and tho energetic announcement of the conductor that " the cars have got to Boston." " See here, KlHott, my son. Ain't you tired riding ?" asks papa, gently. " Ain't you afi'aid you '11 wake sister ? " says mamma. *' I would n't make quite so much noise, dear." JANET 8 LOVE AND SERVICE. 135 long Carlo ! time. "Why, mother, I 'm the cars," says Elliott. "But hadn't vou better pfo out mto the varcl? Where 's Carlo ? I have u't seen Carlo for a Where 's Carlo ? " It is evident Solomon is not in the confidence of these good people. Moral suasion is the order of the day. They often talk veiy wisely to each other, about the training of thcu' chil- drcU; and gravely disciiss the prescriptions given long ago, for the curing of erils which come into the world with us all. They would fain persuade themselves that there is not so much need for them in the present enlightened ago. They do not quite succeed, however, and fully intend to commence the training process soon. Celestia, especially, has some misgiv- ings, ar: she looks into the face of her bold, beautiful boy, but she shrinks from the thought of severe measm'cs, and hopes that it will all come out right with him, without the wise king's medicine ; and if mother's love and unfailing patience will bring things out right, there need bo no fear for little EUiott. It is a happy home, the Greenlcaf 's. There are case and comfort without lux ny ; there is necessity for exertion, with- out fear of want. There are manj' good and pretty things in the house, for use and ornament. There arc pictures, books and magazuies in plenty, and everything within and without, goes to prove the truth of Mr. Snow's declaration, that " the Greenleafs take their comfort as the}' go along."' But no change has come to aiij'ouo in Merleville, so gi'eat as the change that has come to Mr. Snow himself. Death has been in his dwelUng once — twice. His wife and his mother have both foimd rest, the one from her weary wait- iiig, the other from her cares. The house to which Sampson returns with lagging footsteps, is more sil(>nt than over now. ]3ufc a chani'.c greater than death can make, had come to Sampson lir.st, preparing him for all changes. It came to him as the sighu of rushing water comes to the traveller who has been long mocked with the sound of it. It came, cleans- ing Trom his hcai-t and fi'om his life the dust and dinuiesa 186 JANKTri LOVK AND .SKRVICl-:. I ih^ of the world's petty cares, and vain pursuits. It foimd him weary of gaias-j,'ctting, weary of toiling and moiling amid the dross of earth for that Avhich coiJd not satisfy, and it gave him for his own, the pearl which is above all price. Weaiy of tossing to and fi'o, it gave him a sure resting-place, "a refuge whercmnto he may continually resort," a pea(^e that is abiding. With its commg the darkness passed away, and light to che(!r and guide was his for evermore. Behind the closed blinds of his deserted house, he was not alone. The promise, made good to so many in all ages, was made good to luin. " He that loveth Me shall be loved of My Father, and We will come and make our abode with him." That wonderi "1 change has come to him, which the world would fain denj f^'" ^.hange which so many profess to have experienced, but v ; so ievr manifest in their hves. He has learned of the " uiceK and lowly." He is a Cluistian at last. He has "experienced religion," the neighbors say, looking on with varied feelmgs to see what the end may be. Sampson Snow never did anything like anybody else, it was said. He " stood it " through " a season of interest," when Deacons Fish and Slowcome had thought it best to call in the aid of the neighboiing ministers, to hold " a series of meetings." Good, prudent men these ministers were, and not much harm was done, and some good. Some were gathered into the Church from the world ; some falling back were restored ; some weak ones were strengthened ; some sorrowmg ones comfoi'ted. And through all, the interested attention of Mr. Snow never flagged. He attended all the meetings, listened patiently to the warnings of Deacon Fish, and the entreaties of Deacon Slowcome. He heard him- self told by Mr. Page that he was on dangerous ground, "within a few rods of the line of demarcation." He was formally given up as a hojieless case, and " left to himself " by all the tender-hearted old ladies in Merleville, and never left the stand of a spectator through it all. Then when JANET 8 LOVE AND SEKVICK. 137 Deacons Fish and Slowcome, and all Mcrlevillc with them, settled down into the old gloom attain, his visits to the minis- ter became more frequent, and more satisfactory, it seemed, for in a httle time, to the surprise of all, it was aimonnccd in due form, that Sampson Snow desired to be admitted into fellowship with the Church of Merlcville, After that time his foes watched for his halting in vain. Ditferent from other folks before, he was dificrent from them still. He did not seem to think his duty for the week was done, when he had gone twice to meeting on the day time, and had spoken at conference on the Sunday evening. In- deed, it must be confessed, that he was rather remiss \vith re- gard to the latter duty. He did not soem to have the gift of speech on those occasions. He did not seem to have the power of advising or warning, or even of comforting, his neighbors. His gift la}' in helping them. " Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, My brethren, ye have done it unto Me," were words that Sampson seemed to beheve. " He dors folks a good turn, as though he would a little rather do it than not," said the widow Lovejoy, and no one had a better right to know. As for the poor, weak, nervous Rachel, who could only show her love for her husband, by casting all the burden of her troubles, real and imaginaiy, upon him, she could hardly love and trust him more tho,n she had always done, but he had a gi'eator power of comforting her now, and soon the peace that reigned in his heart influenced her's a little, and as the years went on, she grew content, at last, to bear the burdens (Jod had laid upon her, and being made content to live and suffer on, God took her biu'den fi'om her and laid her to rest, where never biuxlen presses more. If his mother had ever really l^elieved that no part of her son's happiness was made by his peevish, sickly wife, she must have acknowledged her mistake when jioor Rachel was borne away forever. She must have known it by the long hours spent in her silent room, by the lingering step with 138 JAlxETS I.OVE AND SEKVICE. I'liii f 1: v.'liicli lio left it, by the tenderness lavished ou cvciy trifle she had ever cared for. "Sampson soeiiiod kind o' lost," she said; and her motherly heart, with all its worldliness, 4iad a spot in it whit-h ached for her son in his desolation. She tlid not even be^rudj^e his turning- to Emily with a tender love. She found it ui her heart to rejoice that the 'j,\ii had power to comfort him as she could not. And little Emily, ^-rowing every day more like the jiretty llachcl who had taken captive poor Sampson's youthful fancy, did what earnest love could do to comfort him. But no seKishness mmgled with her stepfather's love for Ihuily. It cost him much to decide to send her from him for a while, but he did decide to do so. For he could not but see that Emily's happiness was little cared for by his mother, even yet. She could not now, as in the old time, take refuf^e in her mother's room. She was helpful about the house too, and could not often be spared to her fi-Iends up the hill, or in the village; for old Mrs. Snow, much as she hated to own it, could no Ijngcr lo nil tilings with her own hands, as she used to do. To be snve, she could have had helj) any day, or every day in the year; but it was one of the old lady's " notions" not to be able " to endure folks around her." And, besides, " what was the use of Emily Arnold ? " And so, ■what with one thmg and another, little Emily's cheek began to grow pale; and the willful gaze with which she used to watch her fathers home-coming, came back to her eyes again. " There is no kind o' use for Emily's being kept at work," said her father. " She ain't strong ; and there 's Hannah Lovejoy would bo glad to come and help, and I 'd be glad to pay her for it. Emily maj-- have a good time as v\ell as not." But his mother was not to be moved. " Girls used to have a good time and work too, when I was young. Emily Arnold is strong enough, if folks would let her alone, ...id not put notions in her head. And as for Hannah, I '11 have none of her." .TANI:T S I.OVK AND SEKVICi:. 139 So Mr. Snow saw that if Emily was to have a good time it must bo else where; and ho made up his mind to the very best thing he could have done for her. He littcd her out, and sent her to Mt. Holyokc seminar}'; that school of schools for earnest, ambitious New England gu'ls. And a good time she had there, enjoying all that wrs pleasant, and never heeding the rest. There were the iirst incvitabl ) pangs of homesick- ness, nialdiiir her father doubt whether he had done best for his darling after all. But, in a httle, her letters were merry and healthful enough. One would never have found out from them anything of the hardships of long stairs and the fom-th story, or of extra work on recreation day. Pleasantly and profitably her days passed, and before she returned homo at the close of the year, Mrs. Sn(3W had gone, where the household y\ovk is done without wearmess. Her father would fain have kept her at homo then, but ho made no objections to her return to school as she wished, and ho was left to the silent mmistrations of Hannah Lovcjoy in the deserted homo again. By the unanimous voice of his brethren in the church, lie was, on the departure of Deacons Fish and Slowcome, elected to iJll the placo of one of them, and in his own way ho mag- nified the ofiice. He was " lonesome, awful lonesome," at home; but cheerfulness came back to him agaui, and there is no one more gladly welcomed at; the minister's house, and at many another house, than he. T];.orc have been changes in the minister's household, too. When his course in college was over, Arthur came out to tho rest. He hngered one dcliglitful summer in Merleville, and then betook liimsolf to Ctmada, to study his profession of the law. For iVrthur, wise as the Merleville people came to think him, was guilty of one great folly in their eye. He could never, he said, be content to lose his nationality and become a Yankee; so, for the sake of living in the (Queen's dominions he went to Canada; a ])lace, in their esthuation, only ono dcgi'ce more desirable as a place of residence than Greenland or Kamtschatka. ^B 140 JANKT S LOVE AND SIORVIC'K. That was five years ago. Arthur has had something of a struggle since then. By sometimes teaching dull boys Lai in, sometimes acting as sub-editor for a daily paper, and at all times living with gi'eat ec(momy, he has got ilu'ough his studies without numing much in debt; and has entered his profession with a fair prospect of success. He has visited Merleville once since he went away, and his Avoeldy letter is one of the greatest pleasures that his father and sisters have to enjoy. Norman and Hany have both left home, too. Mr. Snow did his best to make a farmer first of the one and then of the other, but he fjuled. To collogo they went in spite of poverty, and having passed tlu'ongh honorably, they went out into the world to shift for themselves. Norman writes hopefully from the far West, lie is an eughieer, and will be a rich man one day he confidently asserts, and his fiuends believe liim with a ditference. "He will make money enough," Janet says, "but as to his keeping it, that 's another matter." Harry went to Canada w ith the intention of following Ar- thur's examjile and devoting himself to the law, but changed liis mind, and is now in the merchant's counting-room; and sends home presents of wonderful shawls and gowns to Janet and his sisters, intending to impress them with the idea that he is very' rich indeed. Those loft at home, are content now to be without the absent ones; knowing that they are doing well their share in the world's work, and certain that whatever comes to them in their wanderings, whether prosperity to elate, or adversity to depress them, their first an(l fondest thought is, and ever will be, of the loving and beloved ones at home. I CHAPTER XV. THE Indian summer time was come a^am. Tlic gorgeous glory of the autumn was gone, but so, for one day, at least, was its droaiiness. There was no " wailing wind " com- plaining among the bare boughs of the elms. The very phies were silent. The yellow leaves, still lingering on the beech-trees in the hollow, rustled, now and then, as the brown nuts foU, one by one, on the brown leaves beneath. The frosts,, sharp and frequent, had changed the torrent of a month ago into a gentle rivulet, whose murmur could scarce be heard as far as the gate over which Graeme Elliott leaned, gazing dreamily upon the scene before her. She was thinking how very lovely it was, and how very dear it had become to her. Seen through " the smoky light," the purple hills beyond the water seemed not so far away as usual. The glistening spire of the church on the hUl, and the gleammg grave-stones, seemed strangely near. It looked but a step over to the village, whose white houses were quite visible among the leafless trees, and many farm-houses, which one could never see in summer for the green leaves, were peepmg out everywhere from between the hills. " There is no place like Merleville," Graeme thinks in her heai-t. It is home to them all now. There were few but pleasant associations connected with the hills, and gi'oves, and homesteads over which she was gazing. It came very \4vidly to her mind, as she stood there looking down, how she had stood with the bairns that first Sabbath morning on the steps of the old meeting-house ; and she strove to recall her feeling of shyness and wonder at all that she saw, and smiled to think how the faces tiuned to them so (Ul) U2 JANET 8 LOVE AND SERVICE. nm ciirioufjly tliat day wcro boromo fiimiliar now, and somo of ilumi vei'v dear. Yes ; Mcrksvillo v,-as lionio to (iraorno. Not that shu had f()r in it stiD, and calls " ]Mrs. Xasinyth."' For Janet is oftener called Mrs. Xasmyth than the old name, even bj- the bairns now, except at such Liinos as some v.-()iulerfiil iiieco of coaxing- is to bo done, and then she is Janet, the bami's own Janet still. There was no coaxing echo m Graeme's voice, however, but she tried to chase the vexed shadow from her face as her fiicud came slowlv down the stall's. "Are you not going' to sit down?" asked Graeme, as she seated herself on a low stool by the vvmdov,'. "I wonder where the bairns are ? " " The bairns are gone down the brae," said :Mrs. Nasmyth ; " and I 'm just going to sit down to my seam a v.-eo while." • But she seemed in no huny to sit down, and Graeme sat silent for a kittle, as she moved quietly about the room. "Janet," said she, at last, " v.-hat brings D(!acon Snow so often up here of late ? " Janet's back was toward Graeme, and, without tiu-ning round, she answered : " I dinna ken that he 's oftener here than he used to bo. He never staid long- away. Ho was ben the house with the mmister. I didna see hhn." There was another pause. " Janet," said Graeme agam, " vdiat do you tlmik Mrs. Greenleaf told me aU Merleville is saying ?" Janet expressed no cuiiosity. "They say Deacon Snovr wants to take you down tho brae." Still Mrs. Nasmyth made no answer. "He hasna ventm'od to liint such a thing?" exclaimed Graeme inteiTogatively. "No' to me," said Janet, quietly, "but the min.: I\'.l-." " The minister ! He 'a no' blate ! To tliink t)f hun holdmg up his face to my father and proposing the hko of that ! And what did my father say ?" 144 JANKTS I.OVK AND SERVICE. ii'ii i " I fTiniia kon what ho, said to him ; but to me ho said he was well pleased that it should be so, and " " Janet !" Graeme's voice expressed consternation as well as indignation. Mrs. Nasmyth took no notice, bnt seated herself to her stockinfi^-damiu'^. " Janet ! If you tliink of such a thinj? for a moment, I declare I '11 take second thoughts and go away myself." " Weel, I aye thought you might have done as wcel to con- sider a wee 'afore you gave IVIr. Foster his answer," said Janet, not heeding Graeme's impatient answer. " Janet ! A sticket minister !" " My dear, he 's no' a sticket minister. He passed his ex- aminations with great credit to himself. You hae your father's word for that, who w^as there to hear him. And he 's a grand scholar — that 's weel kent ; and though he majaia hae the gift o' tongues like some folk, he may do a gi'eat deal of good in the world notwithstanthng. And they say he has gotten the charge of a fine school now, and is weel off. I aye thought you might do worse than go with liim. He 's a good lad, and you would have had a comfortable home with him." " Thank you. But when I mari-y it won't be to get a com- fortable home. I 'm content with the home I have." " Ay, if you could be sure of keeping it," said Janet, with a sigh ; " but a good man and a good home does not come as an oflfer ilka day." " The deacon needna be feared to leave his case in your bands, it seems," said Graeme, laughing, but not pleasantly. "IVIiss Graeme, my dear," said Mrs. Nasmyth, gravely, " there 's many a thing to be said of that matter ; but it must be said in a diiferent spirit from what you are manifest- ing just now. If I 'm worth the keeping here, I 'm worth the seeking elsewhere, and Deacon Snow has as good a right as another." " Right, indeed ! Nobody has any right to you but our- selves. You are our's, and we '11 never, never let you go." " It 's no' far down the brae," said Janet, gently. t i i \ .TAN1;T rf LOVE AXD SKUVICK. ii: f \ " Jaiift ! You '11 never tbiiik of goinj? ! Surely, sur(>l_v, you '11 never leiive us iKJW, And for ii stranger, too! When you gave up your own niother and Sandy, and the land you loved so well, to conio liero with us! — " (iraomo could not g().()n for the tears that would not bo kept back. " Miss (iraenio, my dear baira, you were ncedinj^ nio then. Nae, liac patience, and let nio speak. You aro not needing mo now in the same way. I sometimes tlnnk it would be far better for you if I wasna here." Graeme dissented earnestly by look and gesture, but she had no words. " It 's true though, m}' dear. You can hardly say that you arc at the head of yom* father's house, wlule I manage all thmgs, as I do." But Graeme had no desire to have it otherwise. " You can manage far best," said she. " That 's no to be denied," said Mrs. Nasmyth, gravely ; "but it ought not to be so. IMiss Graeme, you are no' to think that I am talcing upon myseK to reprove you. But do you think that yom* ju'escnt Ufo is the best to lit you f( »r the duties and responsibilities that, sooner or later, come tj the most of folk in the world? It's a pleasant life, I ken, with your books and yoiu* mu'^ic, and your fine seam, aiul the teaching o' the baims ; but it canna last ; and, ray dear, is it making you ready for what may follow ? It wouldna ! )0 so eas}' for you if I were away, but it might l)o far better for you in the end." There was nothing Graeme could answer to this, so she leaned her head upon her hand, and looked out on the Ijrown leaves lying beneath the elms. " And if I should go," continued Janet, "and there 's many an if between me and going — but if I should go, I '11 be near at hand in time of need " *' I loiow I am very useless," broke in Graeme. " I don't care for these things as I ought — I have left you with too many cares, and I don't wonder that you want to go away." " AMiist, lassie. I never yet !iad too nuich to do for yoiu' 7 140 JAXKTrf I,OVK AND BKRVICE. mother's bairns : aiul if vou liavo done little it 's l)ccaiif;o you liavcna needed. And if I could aye stand between you and the biu'dens of life, vou necdua fear tnnible. But I cauna. Miss (Jraome, my dear, you AY(;re a livinj^ child in your mother's arms before she A\as far past yoiu' w/fi, njid your brother v^sih before you. Think of the cares she had, and how she met them." Graeme's liead fell lovrer, as she repeated lier tearful con- fession of uselessucss, and for a tunc there was silence. " And, dear," said Janet, in a little, " your fatlicr tells me that Air. Snow has offered to send for my motlK>r and Sandy. And oh ! my b.iirn, my heart leaps in my bosom at the thouf^ht of seeinjx their faces again." She had no power to add more. " But, Janet, your mother thought herself too old to cross the sea when wo came, and that is seven years ago." "My dear, she kenned she couhhia coitie, and it was as well to put that face on it. But she would gladly come now, if I had a home to give her." There was silence for a while, and tlicn Graeme said, " It 's seHish in me, I know, but, oh ! Janet, we have been so happy lately, and I canua bear to think of changes com- ing," Mrs. Nasniyth made no answer, for the sound of the bamis' voices came i}i at the open dooi", and in a minute Marian entered. " Where have you been, dear ? I fear j-ou have wearied yourself," said Janet, tenderly. " We have onlj' been down at ]\Ir. Snow s bam watching the Ihreshhig. But, indecLl, I have wearied mysdf." And sitting down on the floor at Janet's feet, she laid her head upon her lap. A kind, hard hand was laid on the bright hair of *' the bonniest of a' the bairns." •' You mustna sit down hero, my dear. Lie down on iho sofa and resu yourself till the tea be re.uly. Have you ialion your bottle to-day V " Marian macio hev face the very picture of disgust. i. •f^' \ Janet's love and service. 147 " Oh ! Jiinct, I 'm better now, I diiina need ii Give it 1,0 Clracnio. She locjks as if kIic needed somctLing to do licr good. AVliat ails you, Oraemo?" "My dear," rcraonytrated Janet, "rise up uhen I bid yon, and po to the sofa, and I '11 f:^o up the stair for the bottle." IMarian laid herself wearily down. In a moment Mrs. Nasinyth reappeared with a bottle and s])oon *n one hand, and a pillow in the other, and when the bitter drauj^ht was fairly swallowed, IMarian was laid down and covered and caressed with a tenderness that stniek CJraemo as stran{,'e ; for thouf,'l\ Janet loved them all well, she was not in the habit of showiuf? lua- tenderness by caresses. lu a little, Marian slejjt. Janet did not resume her work immediately, but sat j^'azinrj at her with eyes as full of wistful tenderness as ever a mother's coulu have been. At length, wi<,h a sigh, she turned to her basket again. " Miss (Jraeme," said slie, in a littl(>, " I diiuia like to liear you speak that way about changes, as though they did not come fi'om Clod, and as though He hadna a right to send them to His peo[)le wlien He pleases." " I canna help it, Janet. No change that can come to us can be for the belter." " That 's true, but we must even expect changes that aro for the worse ; for just as sure as wo settle down in this world content, changes will come. You mind what the AVord says, ' As an eagle stirreth up her nest.' And you may bo sm-e, if we aro among the Lord's children. He '11 no leave us to make a portion of the rest and peace that the world gives. He is kinder to us than wo would l)e to ourselves." A restless movement of the sleeper by her side, arrested Janet's words, and the old look of wistful tenderness came back uito her eyes as she turned toward her. ( lra(;me rose, and leaning over the arm of the sofa, kissed her softly. "How lovely she is! " whispered she. A crimson flush was rising on Marian's checks as she slept. " Ay, she was aye bonny," said Janet, in the same hjw voice " aud she looks like an angel now." «■■■ I If I 148 JANETS LOVE AXD SI:RVK:E. Gracmo stood gazing at licr sister, nnd in a little Janet Hpoke again. " ]\Iiss Graeme, jon canna mind your aunt Marian ? " No, Graeme could not. "Menio is gi'owing very like her, I think. She was bonnier than your mother even, and she kept her beauty to the very last. You ken the family wercna well pleased when your mother married, and the sisters didna meet often till Miss Marian gi'ew ill. They would fain have had her away to Italy, or some far awu' place, but nothing would content her but just lior sister, her sister, and so she came home to the manse. That was just after I came V.ck again, after Sandy was weaned ; and kind she was to me, the bonny, gentle creature that she was. " Fo); a time she seemed better, and looked so blooming — except whiios, and aye so bonny, that not one of them all coulil believe that she was going to die. But one day she came in from the garden, with a bonny moss-rose in her hand — the first of the season — and she said to your mother she wfis wearied, and lay down ; and in a wee while, wlicn your mother spoke to her again, she had just strength to say that she was going, and that she wasna feared, and that was all. She never spoke again." Janet paused to wipe the tears from her face. *' She was good and bonny, and our Monie, the dear 1am- mie, has been gi'owing very hke her this wliile. She 'minds me on her now, with the long lashes lying over her cheeks. Miss Marian's checks aye reddened that way when she slept. Her hair wasna so dark as our Mcnic's, but it cui'led of itself, like hers." J\Ir.s. Nasmjth turned grave pitying ej'es toward Graeme, as she ceased speaking. Graeme's heart gave a sudden pain- ful throb, and she went vciy pale. " Janet," said she, with dilliculty, " there is not much the matter with my sister, is there ? It wusna that you meant iibout changes ! Mcnie 's not going to die like oiu* bonny JANET 8 LOVE AND SERVICE. 149 Aunt Marian !" Her tones gi-cw slirill and incredulous as sliG went on. " I cannot tell. I dinna ken — sometimes I 'm feared to think how it may end. But oh ! Miss Graeme — my darling — " "But it is quite impossible — it can't be, Janet," broke in Gr'ieme. "God knows, dear." Janet said no more. The look on Graeme's face showed that words would not help her to com- prehend the trouble that seemed to be di'awing near. She must bo loft to herself a while, and Janet watched her as she went out over the fallen leaves, and over the bridge to the pine grove beyond, with a longing pity that fain would have borne her trouble for her. But she could not l)ear it for her — she could not even help her to bear it. She could only pray that whatever the end of tlieii* doubt for Marian might bo, the elder sister might be made the better and the wiser for the fear that had come to her to-day. There are some sorrows which the heart refuses to realize or acknowledge, even in knowing them to be drawing near. Possible danger or death to one beloved is one of these ; and as Graeme sat in the shadow of the pines shuddering with the pam and terror which Janet's words had stirred, she was saying it was impossible — it could not be true — it could never, never be true, that her sister was going to die. She tried to realize the possibility, but she could not. "When she tried to pray that the terrible dread might be averted, and that they might aU be taught to be submissive in God's hands, whatever His wiU might be, the words would not come to her. It was, " No, no ! no, no ! it cannot bo," that went up through the stillness of the pines ; the cry of a heart not so much rebellious as incredulous of the possibility of pain so terrible. The darkness fell before she rose to go home again, and when she came into the firelight to the soimd of hajipy voices, Menie's the most mirthful of them all, her ton'ors seemed utterly unreasonaljle, she felt hke one waking from a painful dream. 150 JANirr S Ime started. She had quite forgotten. "IMrs. Greenleaf told mo something — and — " " I beliovo it is a case of tnie love with lum, if si-'ch a thing can come to a man after he is fifty — as indeed why should it not ?" said the minister. " Ho seems ben '. on taking jMiet from us, Graeme." JANKT S I.oVi; AND SKItVICE. 151 "Papa! it hi too absiml," said Graeme, all her old vexation coiniii.^- bade. Mr. Elliott sinil(;lf, and needed some tnie to think and decide for her. As to ^Marian's illness beh)g an excuse, it was quite the reverse. If she was afraid ]Marian would not be Avell cared for at home, she might take her down the brae ; indeed, he feared there was some danger that he Avould be forsaken of aU his children Avhen she went away. And then he tried to thank her for her care of his motherless bairns, and i-rojco 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 chil- dren desolate, while thev have you to care for them." ii 15G JANET B LOVE AND SERVICE. So for Mi's. Nasmytli there waM no lielj). But on one thing she was doterraiuGcl. The day might be fixctl, 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 bo. She would fain see tliem all at home again, and that for a better rcascm than she gave the minister. To Mr. Snow, who doubted whether " them l)oys " woidd 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, thoy may never be to- gether on earth again ; and it is far better that they should come home, and have a few bhthe days to mind on after- ward, than that their first home-coming should be to a home with the shadow of death upon it. They must bo asked, any way." And so they w jre written to, and in due time there came a letter, saying that both Harrj' 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 whj^ Nor- man came himself. His first greeting to Janet was in words of grave expostulation, that she should think of forsaking her *' bakns " after all these years ; but when be saw how grave her face became, he took it all back, and declared that he had been expectmg it all along, and only wondered that matters had not been brought to a crisis much sooner. He rejoiced Ml'. Snow's heart, first by his hearty congi'atulations, and then by his awfid threats of Vv^ngeance if Mrs. Snow was not henceforth the happiest woman m Merleville. Nomian 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 nn advocate and a man of business; and Harry was a boy with a smooth cliin 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 m J jaxkt's love and service. [57 Graeme told herself many a time, with in-ido and thankful- ness, that as yet, the world had not chan^^cd for the worse, tlie brother for whom she had dreaded its temptations most of all. Nonnan's letters had always been longest and mof^t fi'c- qiient; and yet, it was ho who had the most to tell. If his active and exposed life as an engineer at the "West had any- thing impleasant in it, this was ktjpt ont of sight at home, and his tidventiires never wearied the children. His " once npon a time" was the signal for silence and attention among the little ones; ant! even the older ones listened with interest to Nonnan's rambhng stories. Kor did their iuterest cease when the sparkle in Norman's eye told that his part m the tale was ended; and the adventures of an imaginary hero begun. There was one story which they were never th'ed of hearing. It needed none of Norman's imaginarv horrors to chase the blood fi'om 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 fi'om it; the only one out of a faniily of eight. Father, mother, brothers, dll perished together; and she was left alone in a sti'ango land, with nothing to keep her from despair but the kind words of strang^ers, uttered in a tongue that she could not understand. It would, perhaps, have been wiser in Nonnan to have given her \xp to the land people who had kno\NTi her parents in their own land; but ho had saved the child's life, and when she climg to liim ui 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 n't 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." 158 .lAXKTS LoVK AM) SIlKVrCK. Tliis was fill item of iinws tlmt Nonnan's lot tors had not coiiv('V(>(l. Tlwvoiilvlvucw that ho hail Haviul Hihhi from tho liuniiiij^' boat, and tliat ho had boon kind to her aftor- uai'ds. "JJiit Norman, man, tho oxjunisi^ ! " said tho ])nidont Mrs. Nasmytli, "you havoiia siu'cly run yourself in di-btV" Nor- man, lan,!.;h(HL •' No; but it has boon t^oso shaving somotimoa. Howovor, it would havo boon that anyway. I am afraid I havo not. the faculty for kooi)hig monoy, and I might havo spont it to worse purposo." 'And is tho little^ tiling gi*at(^ful?" aslcod Graomo. ' Oh! yi>s; I supposo so. She is a good litth; thing, and is always glad to soo nw in hor quiet way." "It 's a pity sho 's no' bonny," said ^Marian. "Oh! sho is bonny in (Jorman fasluon; fair and fat." "How old is sho ? " asked INlrs. Nasmyth. Norman, oonsiderod. " Well, I roally can't say. Judging by hor inches, I should say about liosie's ago. But sho is wise enough and old- fashiimod enough to be liosie's gTandmothor. She 's a queer little thing." "Tell us nuny," said Hose; "do you go to see lier often?" "As often as I can. She is ver}' quiet; she was tho oidy girl among tho eight, and a womanly httle thing cvtni tlion. You should hear h(>r talk about hor little business matters. My dear ]\Irs. Nasmyth, you need not bo afraid of my being exti-avagant, with such a careful little woman to call mo to account. "' I havo a gi'oat mhid to send her homo to you in the spring, Oraomo. It seems very sad for a child like her to be growhig up A\ ith no other Innno but a school. Sho seems happy enough, howovoi." "And would she like to come?" "She says she would n't; but, of course, she would lilce if she wore once here. I must see about it in the spring The wedding-day camo, and in spite of many efforts to j "o- vent it, it was rather a sad day to them all. It found Janet .j JANi:i H I.OVrC AND SKRVICK. 159 still " in a Hwithor." Slio could not divest herself of the idea that slio -sviis forsaldiiss; and even the muiist(!r Avas merry with tlic rest. Emily Avas at home for the occasion; and though at fii-st she had been at a loss how to take the cliangc, IMcnic's dehght decided her, and she was delighted, too. They gi'cw quiet in the evenuig but not sad Seated around the fire in the parlor, the young people spoke much of the time of their coming to ]M( rleville. And then, they went fui'ther back, and spoke about their old home, and their mother, and their long voj'agc on the " Steadfast." "I wonder what has become of Allan Iluthven," said Marian. " It 'a strange that you have never seen him, Ai-thur." " I may have seen him twenty times without knowing him. You mind, I was not on the ' Steadfast' with j'ou." "But Hany saw liim; and, surely, he could not have changed so much but that he would knoAv 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 Elpliistone and Gilchrist have a Western agent of that name. Do you know anything about him Hany ? Who knows but he may be i'l^ian Ruthvcn of the * Stead- fast.'" JL...aUIMII 160 JANKT8 LOVi: AND SKIlVICi:. I!! li*. k \ I' I "No, I thouirlit lio laij^ht be, ;nul insulo in(|uincs," said IlaiTv. '"lint thai Ilutlivc'u set'ius qiiito an old f{);^iu. Ho Las boon in tUo c'inj>loy!iu.'iit of that linn over since the Hood, — :'.t least, a long time. Do 3011 mind Allan llutbven, Mcnie ?" " ?dind him !" That she did. Menic wan very quiet to-night, — sayuig little, but listening happily as she lay on the sofa, with her head on C»raeme's knee. " .Vllan ^\as the lirst one I heard say om* IMcnic was a beauty," said N»)rmaii. " ]Menio, do you nund ?" IMenie laughed. " I'cs, I muid." '' But I think Kosie was his pet. Graeme, don't you mind how he used to walk up and down the deck, with Rosio in his arms ?" " But that wa.s to rest Graeme," said Harry. " Miss JRosio was a small tyraat in those days." Rosie shook her head at liim. " Eh ! wasna she a cankered faiiy ?" said Norman, taking Rosie's fair face betwciii his hands. *' Graeme had enough ado with von, I can tell vou." '* And with yon, too. Never heed,him, Rosie," said Graeme, smiling at her darling. *' I used to adniu'e Graeme's patience on the * Steadfast,' " said Harry. " 1 did that before the days of the ' Stcatlfast,' " said Ai'thur. Rosie pouted her pretty lips. " I must have been au awful creature." " Oh ! awful," said Norman. " A spt)ilt bau'n, if over there was one," said HaiTy. " I think I see you hiding yoiu* face, and refusing to look at any of us." " I never thought Graeme could make anvthing of vou," said Norman. " Graeme has though," said the ilder sister, laughing. " I wouldna give my bonny Scottish Rose, for all your western lilies. Noruian." And so they went on, jestingly. JANKT S LOVE AND SERVICK. IGl " Mcnic," sakl Aiiluir, sudtloiily, " what do you roo in the fire?" Moiiic Avtis gazing with darkening eyes, in among the red embers. She started when her l>r()thcr spc^ko. " I see — Oh ! many things. I see our old garden at homo, — in Clayton, I m(>an — and " " It must bo an imngmary garden, iL^n. I am sure you canna mind that." "Mind it! indeed I do. I see it as plainly as possible, just as it used to be. Only somehow, the spring and sum- mer flowers all seem to be in bloom together. I see the lilies and the daisies, and the tall white rosebushes blossoming to the veiy top." " A.nd the ]>rt>;id gi'een walk," said Harry. " And tlie summer house." "And tlio hawthorn hedge," " And the lir trees, dark and high." " iVnd (he two api)le trees." " Yes, — the tree of life, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, I used to think them," said Norman. " And I, too," said Menie. " AV'hcnevcr I thmk of the gar- den of Eden, I fancy it like our garden at home." " Your imagination is not very bnlliant, if you can't got beyond tliat for Paradise," said Arthur, laughing. " Well, maybe not, but I always do thhik of it so. Oh I it was a bonny place. I wish I could see it again." " "Well, you nnist bo ready to go homo with me, in a year or two," said Norman. " You needna laugh, (iraeme, I am going home as soon as I get rich." " In a year or two! yon 'ro nae bl'it(; !" '•Oh! we whma need a great fortune, to go home fen* a visit. We'll come back again. It will Ix; tune enough to make our fortune then. So be ready Menie, when I come for you." " ^lany a thing mny happen, before a year or two," said Marian, gravely. "Many a tiling, indeed," said Gracmo and Norman, in a 102 .TANF.T S I.OVK \:Sl) SERVICE. I!' B > broiitli. But wliilo (Jruonio ^nzcOt wivli siiililcn f^-anty into licr Kistor's (liislicl iacc, Noriuiin addoa. lanj^hiiij^ly, '•I sli()!il(l n't wonder but you would prcfor anothor es- cort, l)(>for(! that time comes. I say, ]\Ienic, did anybody ever tell you how bonny you arc growing?" Menio hinglied, softly. "Oh! yes. Emily told mo when she came home ; and so did Harry. And you have told mo so yourself to-day, al- ready." " You vain ftiiry ! and do you really think you 're bonny ?" " Janet says, I 'm like Aunt jMarian, and she was bonnier oven than mamma." " Like Amit ^Marian!" (Iraeme i-emembered Jjinct's words with a pang. But slio strove to put the thov';ht from her ; and with so many l)rigiit fiices i«nmd her, it was not dilhcult to do to-night. Surely if Uarian were ill, and in danger, the rest would see it too. And even Janet's anxiety, had been at rest for a wliile, i\Ienie was better now. How meiry she liad been with lua* brothers for the last few davs. And though she seer.ied very weary to-night, no wonder. So were they iii\. Even Eosie, the tireless, was half asleep on Ar- thur's knee, and when all the pleasant bustle was over, and they were settled down in their old quiet way, her sister would be herself again. Nc^thing so terrible c(mld be draw- ing near, as the dread which Janet had startled her with that da v. " Emily," said Harry, " why do you persist in going back to that horrid school ? AVhy don't you stay at home, and (^njov vourself ?" " I'm not going to any horrid school," said Emily. "You can't make me beheve thiit you would rather be at school t]:an at home, doing as you please, and having a good time with Kose and Mer.ie here." Emily laughed. "I would lilcc that ; but I like going back to school too." " But you' 11 be getting so awfully wise that there will bo no talking to you, if you stay much longer." JANKTS LOVE AND SERVICi:. 163 "In that case, it might do you good to Esten," said Emily, laiigliiug. " But yon arc altogctlior too wiso ali-eady," Hany persist- ed " I really am quite afraid to open my lips in your pres- ence." " We have all l^ecn wontlering at your strange silence, and lamenting it," said Ai-thur. " But, indeed, I must have a vvord with the deacon about it," said Harry. "I can't understand how he has allowed it so long ah'cady. I must bring my influence to bear on him." "You needn't," said Emily. "I have almost prevailed upon Graeme, to let Menie go back with me. There will be two learned ladies then." Graeme smiled, and shook her head. " Not till summer. We '11 scic what summer brings. 3Iany things may happen l)(-fore summer," she added, gravely. They all assented gi-avely too, but not one of tliein with any anxious tliought of trouble drawing near. Tliey grew quiet aft(>r that, and each sat thinking, but it was of plea^sanfc things mostly ; and if on anyone there fell a shadow for a moment, it was but with the tliought of the morrow's paii- ing, and never with the cbead that they might not aU meet on cai-tli again. CHAPTER XVII. r^r^HEY all went away — the lads and Emily, and quietness \ foil on those that remained. The reaction from the excitement in which they had been hving for the last fow weeks was very evident in all. Even Will, and Rosie needed coaxing to go back to the learning of lessons, and the enjoy- ment of their old pleasures ; and so Graeme did not wonder that Marian v.as dull, and did not care to exert herself. The weather had changed, too, and they quite agreed in thinking it Avas much nicer to stay within doors than to take their usual walks and diives. So Marian occupied the ann-chair or the sofa, with work in her hand, or without it, as the case might be, and her sister's fears with regard to her were, for a tune, at rest. For she did not look ill ; she was as cheerful as ever, entering into all the new arrangements which Janet's departui'e rendered necessary with interest, and sharmg with Graeme the light household tasks that fell to her lot when the " help " was busy with heavier matters. There was not much that was unpleasant, for the kind and watchful eyes of IMrs. Snow were quite capable of keeping in view the interests of two households, and though no longer one of the family, she was still the ruling sphit in their domestic aiTairs. With her usual care for the welfare of the liairns, she had sent the experienced Hannah Lovejoy up the brae, while she contented herscLf with " breaking in " Scphronia, Hannah's less helpful 3'ounger sister. There was a great chtlerenco between the service of love that had all their life long shielded them from trouble and annoyance, and Miss Lovojoy's abinipt and rather familiar ministrations. But Hannah was faithful and capable, indeed, '* a ti-easure," (164) JANET S LOVE AND SERVICE, 165 in these clays of destitution in the way of help ; and if her service was such as money could well pay, she did not f^iidgo it, while her wages were secure ; and housekeeping and its re- sponsibilities were not so chsagi-eeablo to Graeme as she had feared. Indeed, by the time the fivst letter from Norman came, fall of mock sympathy for her under her new trials, she was quite as ready to laugh at herself as any of the rest. ' Her faith in Hannah was becoming fixed, and it needed somo expostulations from Mrs. Snow to prevent her from letting the supreme power, as to household matters, pass into the hands of her energetic auxiliarv. " My dear," said she, " there 's many a thmg that Hannah could do well enough, maybe better than you could, for that matter ; but you should do them yourself, notwithstanchng. It's better for her, and it's better for you, too. Every woman should take pleasure in these household cares. If they are h'ksome at fiist they winna be ^aIicu you are used to them ; and, my dear, it may help you through many on horn* of trouble and weaiiness to bo able to turn yoiu' hand to these things. There i;^ gi'eat comfort m it sometimes." Graeme laughed, and suggested other rcsoun:es that might do as well to fall back upon in a time of trouble, but Mrs. Snow was not to be moved. " ]My dear, that may be all true. I ken books are fine things to keep folk from thinking for a time ; but the trouble that is put away that way comes back on one again ; and it 's only v/hen ioYk are doing their duty that the Lord gives them abiding comf(n*t. I ken by myself. There have been days in my lil'e when my heart must have been broken, or my brain gvown cruzed, if I liadua nred<'d to do this and to do that, to go here and to go tlK>ro. 5Iy dear, woman's work, that's never done, is a great help to many a one, as well as me. And trouble or no trouble, it is what you ought to knov; and do in your father's house." So (iraeme submitted to her friend's judgment, and con- scientiously tried to become wise in all household matters, keeping trac^k of pieces of Ijccf and bags of Hour, of l)reak- 166 Janet's love and service. i! * ; ■I I '5 III- H fasts, (linncr.j and suppers, in a way that excited admiration, and sonictiuics otli(7r feelings, in the mind of the capable Hannah. So a very pleasant winter Avore on, and the days were bc- {^nnmg to glow long .again, before the old dread was aNN akened in G/aenie. For only in one way was Marian different fi'om her old self. She did not come to exert her- self. She was, perhaps, a little quieter, too, but she was quite cheei-fiil, taldng as much interest as ever in home affairs and in the affairs of the village. Almost every day, after the sleighing became good, she enjoyed a diive with Graeme or her father, or with jilr. Snow in his big sleigh after the " bomiy greys." They paid visits, too, stopping a few minutes at Judge Merle's or Islr. Greenleaf 's, or at some other friendly home in the \illiige ; pnd if their friends' eyes grew gi'ave and veiy tender at the sight of them, it chd not for a long time come into Graeme's mind that it was because they saw something that was invisible as yet to her's. So the time wore on, and not one in the minister s happj' house- hold knew that each day that passed so peacefully over them was leaving one less between '.hem and a great sorrow. The first fear was awakened in Graeme by a very little thing. iVfter several stormy Sabbaths had kept her sister at home fi'om cluu'ch, a mild, bright day came, but it did not tempt her out. "I am very sorry not to go, Graeme," said she; "but I was so weary last thue. Let me stay at home to-day." So she stayed : and all the v/ay down the hiU and over Ahe valley the thought of her darkened the simlight to her sister's eyes. Nor was the shadow chased away by the many kindly greetings that awaited her at the cliurch door ; for no one asked why her sister Avas not \\ ith her, but only how she seemed to-daj'. It was well that the sunshhie, coming m on the corner where she sat, gave her an excuse for letting fall her veil over her face, for many a bitter tear fell behind it. When the services were over, and it was time to go home, she shrunk fi'om answering more inquiries about Marian, i ^■1 I '^l JANETS LOVL; A^'D SEIiVICE. 107 for Icr lio llG 1)11 111 It. ^» and liastcnctl away, tlionyli slio knew that Mrs. Mcrlo Avaa waiting for licr at the otlicr oncl of the broiul iimh, and that Mrs. Grccnleaf had much ado to keep fast liold of her ini- patioiit boy till sho should speak a word with her. But she could not trust herself to meet them and to answer them quietly, and hurried away. So she went liome again, over the valley and up the hiU with the darkness still round her, till Meuie's bright smile and cheerful welcome chased both pain and darkness away. But when the rest were gone, and the sisters were left to the Sabixith ({uiet of the deserted home, the fear came Ixick again, foi in a little ^larian laid herself down ^\itli a sigh of weariness, and slept v.itli her cheek laid on the Bible that she held in her hixnd. As (iraeme listened to her quick breathing, and watched the hectic rishig on her cheek, she felt, for the moment, as though all hope were vain. But she put the thought from hor. It was too dreadful to \)Q true ; and she chid herself for always seeing tlie possible dark side of future events, and told iK'rself that she must change in this respect. AVitli all her might sho strove to reason away the sickening fear at her heart, saying how utterly beyond belief it was that Menie could bo going to die — Menie, who had always been so well and so merry. Sho was growing too fast, tliat was all ; and when the spring came again, they would all go to some quiet place hy the sea-slKU-e, and run about among the rocks, and over the sands, till she sln)uld be well and strong as ever again. " If spring were only ccnne !" sho sighed to herself. But lirst there were weeks of frost and snow, and th(>n v»eeks of bleak weather, before the mild sea-bri'ezes could blow on her drooping llower, and (Iracme could not r(\ason her fears away ; nor when the pamful liour of thought was over, and 3lenie opened her eyes with a smile, did lu-r cheerful sweet- ness chase it avvay. After this, for a few days, Graemo grew impatient of h<'r sister's liuietness, and si rove to win her U) her old employ- ments again. She would have her struggle against her wish Ill ww^s Ik I! 9 i 168 .TANin's LOVE AND SERVICE. to bo still, and took hci* to rule and to visif, and even to walk, when tlio diiy was lino. But this was not for long. ]\I(>iuo yielded ahvays, and tried with all her niij^^ht to seem well and not weary ; but it was not always with success ; and (Iraonio saw tliat it was in vain to urge her beyond her strength ; so, in a little, she was allowed to fall back into her old ways again. "I will speak to Dr. Chittenden, and know the worst," said (Jraenie, to herself, but her heart grew sick at tho thought of what tho worst might bo. Uy and by there came a inikl bright day, more like April than Januaiy. INIr. Ellit)tt had gone to a distant part of tho parish for tho day, and had taken AViU. and Rosie with him, a'ul tho sisters wore left alone. (Jraemc would have gladly availed herself of Deacon Snow's oiler to lend them grey Major, or to (hivo them himself for a few miles. Tlie day was so line, she said to Menie ; but she was loth to go. It would be so pleasant to be a whole day quite alone together. Or, if (jlracmo liked, they might send down for Janet in the afternoon. Ctraemc sighed, and urged no more. "Wo can finish our book, you Imow," went on Menio. "And there are the last letters to read to Mrs. Snow. I h(ipe nobody will come in. Wo shall have such a quiet day." But this was not to be. There was the sound of sleigh- bells beneath the window, and Cxraemo looked out. "It is Dr. Chittenden," said she. IMarian rose from the sofa, trying, as she always did, when the Di*. came, to look strong and well. She did not take his visits to herself. Dr. Chittenden had always con\o ]io\v and then to see her father, and if his visits had been moru fre- quent of late they had not boon more formal or professional than before. Graeme watched him as be fastcjned his horse, and tlien went to the door to meet him. " My child," said he, as he took her hand, and turned her face to tho light, " are you (juito well to-day ? " "Quito well," said (»racmc ; but she was very pale, and her cold hand trembled in his. JANET S LOVK iVND SERVTcE. 16!) , when \,ko lii« )\v and ro irc- ssional ed liis ed her Ic, and *' You are quite well, I see," said be, as Marian came for- ward to f,''rcct liini. "I ouLjlit to be," said Marian, laiigliing and pointing to an empty bottle on tlie mantelpiece. " I sec. "NVe must bave it replenisbed." "D.)n't you tbink sometbing less bitter would do as well ? " said Marian, making a pitiful face. " Graeme don't tbmk it does mo mucb good." " Miss Graeme bad best take care bow sbc speaks disre- spectfully of my precious bitters. But, 111 see. I bavo some doubts about tliom myself. You ougbt to be getting rosy and strong upon tliem, and I 'm afraid you arc not," said be, looking gi'avcly into tlie fair pale face tbat be took between bis bands. He looked up, and met Graeme's look fixed anxiously upon bim. Ho did not avert bis quicldy as be bad sometimes done on sucb occasions. Tbe gi'avity of bis look deep(med as bo met ber's. '* Wbere bas your fatbcr gone ? " asked be. " To tbo Bell neigbborbood, for tbo day. Tbe cbildren have gone with bim, and Graeme and I are going to haye a nice quiet day," said Marian. " you are going with me," said the doctor. " With you ! " " Yes. Have you any objections ? " " No. Only I don't care to ride just for the sake of riding, without having anywhere to go." " But, I am going to take you somewhere. I came for that piirposc. Mrs. Greenleaf bcnt me. She wants you to- day." " But, I can go there any time. I was there not long ago. I would rather stay at home to-day with Graeme, thank you." "And what am I to say to Mrs. Greenleaf? No, I 'm not going without you. So, got ready and come with me." Menie pouted. " And Graeme had just consented to my staying at homo quietly for the da}'." "Which does not prove ]\Iiss Graeme's wisdom," snid the 8 JANKT 8 LOVK AND 8KUVICE. I! If! 1!' 5; doctor. " Wliy, cliild, how many April days do you tliink we are going to have in JamiaiyV Be thankfiU for the chance to go out ; for, if I am not much mistaken, we are to have a storm that will keep us all at homo. Miss Graeme, get your sister's things. It is health for her to be out in such a day." Graeme went without a word, and when she came back the doctor said, " There is no haste. I am going farther, and will call as I come back. Lie down, dear child, and rest just now." Graeme left tlie room, and as the doctor turned to go out, she beckoned him into the study. " You don't mean to tell me that IMcnie is in danger ? " said she, with a gas]). " I am by no means sm'o what I shall say to you. It will depend on how you are likely to hsteu," said the doctor, gravel3\ Graeme strove to command herself and speak calmly. " Anything is better than suspense." Then, lajing her hand on his arm, she addetl, " She is not worse I Surely you would have told us ! " " My dear young lady, calm yoiu'self. She is not worse than she has been. The chances of rccoverj'^ are altogc^ther in her favor. The indications of disease are comparatively sUght — that is, she has youth on her side, and a good consti- tution. If the month of March wore over, we would have little to fear with another summer before us. Your mother did not die of consumption ? " " No, but " Tlie remembrance of what Janet had told her about their "bonny Aunt Marian" took away Graeme's power to speak. "Well, we have everything to hope if we can see her safely through the spring Avithout taking cold, and you must keep her cheerful." " She is always cheerful." " Well — that 's well. You must not let her do anything to weary herself. I don't hke the stove heat for her. Yt)U tliink r the • ire to acme, 3ut in back ;all as >> »o out, igcr { It will doctor, y- ng licr Snrcly worse •o-(^ther •ativcly consti- itl have mother [ct had away [jee her III must liing to You JANET S LOVE AND SERVICE. 171 should let her sleep hi the other room where the lircplacc is. When the days arc tine, she must be well wrapped up and go out, and I well send her something. My de;ir, you havo no oicasion fur despondency. The chances are all in her favor." He went toward the door, but came back again, and after walking up and d(nvn the room for a little, he came close to Graeme. " .Vnd if it were not so, my cliild, you are a Christian. If the possibility you have been contemplating should become a reality, ought it to be deplored ? " A strong shudder passed over Graeme. The doctor paused, not able to withstand the pain in her face. ' ' Nay, my child — if you could kvvp her here and assure to her all that the world can give, what would that be in com- parison with the ' rest that remameth ? ' For her it would be far better to go, and for you — when your time comes to lie down and die — would it sooth you then to know that she nnist be left b(;hind, to travel, perhaps, with gamients not unspotted, all the toilsome way alone ? " Graeme's face drooped till it was quite hidden, and her tears fell fast. Her friend did not seek to c-hedc them. "I know the first thought is terrible. But, child! the grave is a safe place in which to kcej) our treasures. Mine are nearly all there. I would not havo it othei-wise — and they are safe from the chances of a changeful world. You will be glad for yourself by and b}'. You should be glad for yoiu* sister now." "If I were sure — if I were quite sure," murmured Graeme through her weei)ing. "Sure tliat she is going home?" said the doctor, stoojiLng low to whisper the words. " I think j-ou may be sure — as sure as one can be in such a case. It is a great mystery. Your father will know best, (iod is good. Pray for her." "My father! He does not cv(^n thmk of danger." Graeme clasped her hands with a quick despau'ing motion. "Miss Graeme," said the doctor, hastily, "you nnist nut 172 Janet's love anh bi;kvice. spciik to your father yet. ^Marian's case is l)y no means hopeless, and youi* father must bo spared all anxiety at pro- sent. A sudden shock might — " ho paused. " Is not my father well ? Has ho not quite recovered ? " asked (jlraeme." " (^uito well, my dear, don't bo fancifid. But it will do no good to disturb him now. I will speak to him, or give you leave to speak to him, if it should Ijecomc necessary. In the meantime you must bo cheerfiU. You have no cause to be otherwise." It was easy to say "bo cheerful." But Graeme hardly hoped for her sister, after that day. Often and often she repeated to herself the doctor's words, that there was no im- mediate danger, but she could take no comfort fi'om them. The great dread was always upon her. She never sj^oke of her fears agaui, and shi'ank from any allusion to her sister's state, till her friends — and even the faithful Janet, who knew her so well — doubted whether she realized the danger, which was becoming every day more apparent to them all. But she knew it well, and strove with all h^r power to look calmly forward to the time when the worst must come ; and almost always, in her sister's presence, she strove success- fully. But these quiet, cheerful hours in Marian's room, were purchased by hours of prayerful agony, known only to Him who is full of compassion, even when His chastisements are most severe. I means at i)ro- crcd ? " will do or give iry. In ausc to ! hardly ftcn she 3 no im- n them, poke of r sister's ho knew 3r, which ill. But to look oae ; and success- 's room, 1 only to isements i I CHAPTER XVIII. NO. None knew so well as Graeme that her sister was passmg away from among them ; but even she did not dream how near the time was come. Even when the nightly journey up stairs was more than Marian coidd accomplish, and the pretty parlor, despoiled of its ornaments, became her sick-room, Graeme prayed daily for strength to carry her through the long months of watching, that she believed were before her. As far as possible, everything went on as usual in the house. The childi-en's lessons were learned, and re- cited as usual, generally by Marian's side for a tune, but afterwards they went elsewhere, for a very little thing tired her now. Still, she hardly called herself ill. She suflfered no pain, and it was only after some unusual exertion that she, or others, realized how very weak she was becoming day bj' day. Her workbasket stood by her side still, for though she seldom touched it now, Graeme could not bear to put it away. Their daily readings were becoming brief and infi*equent. One by one their favorite books found their accustomed places on the shelves, and remained imdisturbed. Within reach of her hand lay always Menie's httle Bible, and now and then she read a verse or two, but more frequently it was Graeme's trembling lips, that murmured the sweet famihar words. Almost to the very last she came out to family worship with the rest, and when she could not, they went in to her. ^Vnd the voice, that had been the sweetest of them all, joined softly and sweetly still in theii* song of praise. Very quietly passed these last days and nights. Many kind inquiries were made, and many kind offices performed for them, but for the most part the sisters were left to each (173) 174 JANICT S LOVE AND SERVICE. u other. Even the children were beguiled into frequent visits to ^Irs. Snow and others, and many a tranquil horn* did the Biwte^s pass together. Tranquil only in outwai'd seeming many of these hoiu's were to Graeme, for never a moment was the thought of the parting, that every day brought nearer, absent from her, and often when there were smiles and fheoi*- ful words upon her lips, her heart was hke to break for tlio desolation that was before them. *' Graeme," said IMarian, one night, as the elder sister moved restlessly about the room, "you are tii-ed tonight. Come and lie down beside me and rest, before "Will, and Itosio come home." Weary Graeme was, and utterly despondent, with now and then such bitter throbs of pain at her heart, that she felt she must get away to weep out her tears alone. But she must have patience a little longer, and so, lying down on the bed, she suffered the wasted arms to clasp themselves about her neck, and for a time the sisters lay cheek to cheek in silence. " Graeme," said Marian, at last, " do you think papa kous ? " "What, love?" " That I am going soon. You know it, Graeme ? " Graeme's heart stiiTcd with a sudden throb of pain. There was n rushing in her ears, and a dimness before her eyes, as though the di*eaded enemy had ah'cady come, but she foimd voice to say, softly, " You 're no' feared, Menio ? " " No," said she, quickly, then raising herself up, and lean- ing close over, so as to see her sister's face, she added, " Do you think I need to fear, (iraeme '? " K she had had a thousand worlds to give, she W(iuld have giv(ui all to know that her little sister, standing on the brink of the river of death, need not fear to enter it " None need fear who tnist in Jesus," said she, softly. " No And I do trust Him. Who else could I trust, now that I am going lo die? I know Ho is able to save." " AU who come to him," whispered Graeme. "My darling, have you come V " JANKTh l.oVL AND SKKVICK 10 " I think ho has di-awu me to Himself. I think I am His very own. Graeme, I know I am not wise hko j'ou — and I have not all my hfe been good, but thoughtless and willful often — but I know that I love Jesus, and I think He loves mo, too." She lay quietly down again. " (Iraenie, are vou afi'aid for me? " " I eanna be afraid for one who tnists in Jesus." It was all she could do to say it, for the cry that was rising to her lips fiom her hcai't, in which soitow was stmgghng with joy. " Inhere is only one thing thr.f: sometimes makes me doubt," said Marian, again. " My liio has been such a happy hfe. I have had no tribulation that the Bible speaks of — no buffet- tuig — no tossing to and fro. I have been happy all my life, and happy to the end. It seems hai'dly fair, Graeme, when there are so many that have so much siiffering." "Cod has been very good to yon, dear," " And you '11 lot me go willingly, Graeme ? " " Oh ! iMenio, niiLst you go. Could j'ou no' bide with us a little while ? " (said Graeme, her tears coming fast A look of pain came to her sister's face. " Graeme," said she, softly ; " at first ± thought I couldna bear to go and leave you all. But it seems easy now. And you wouldna bring back the pain, dear? " " No, no ! my darling." "At Hist you'll all be sorrj-, but God will comfort you. And niv i!vi'fould bioak my heart to leave you all — but I am willing now. God, I trust, Las made me wilhng. And after a little they will be 1,**"^ ■ f !'■ ITO Janet's love and service. hajipy aj^ain. But thoy will novcr forget me, will they, Graeme?'' '* My darling ! never ! " "►■^o.iictinu^s I wish I had knoANTi — I wish I had been quite sur(>, wlien tlicy were al! at lionie. I v.ould Hko to have said something. But it doesna really matter. They will never ibrgrt me ." " We will send for them," said Graeme, tlirough her tears. " I don't know. I tlmik not. It would giieve them, and 1 can Ijear so little now. And we were so hapi)y the last time. I think they had best not copie, (iraeme." But the words were slow to eonie, and her ej'cs turned, oh ! so wistfully, to her sister's face, who had no words with which to answer. " Sometimes I tL'oam of them, and when I waken, I do so long to see tliem," and the tears gatiiered sh^wly in her eyes. " But it is as well as it is, pcrhaiiH. I would rather they would tlmik of me as I used to be, than to sec me now. No, Graeme, I think I will wait." In the pause that followed, she kissed her sister softly many times. "It won't be long. And, (Jraeme — I shall sec oiu* mother first — and you must have patience, and wait. AVe shall all get safe homo at last — I am quite, quite sure of that." A step was heard at the door, and Mrs. Snow entered. " Weel, bairns I " v as all she said, as she sat down beside them. She saw that tliey were both much moved, and slio laid her kind hand caressingly on tlu^ hair of the eldest sister, as though she knew she was the one who needed comforting. "Have the bamis come?" asked wienie. " No, dear, I bade them bide till I went down the brae again. Do you want them home?" " Oh no ! I (mly wondcu'od whv I didna hear them." The wind howled th'carily about the house, and they listened to it for a time in silence. "It 's no' like spring to-night, Janet," said Menie. "No, dear, it 's as wintry a night as wo have had this while. JANET 8 LOVE AND SERVICE. 177 1 they, n quite vo said 1 never r tears, an, and ,lie lust led, «)b! h which I do so lor eyes. y would ft'. No, softly mother nail all red. beside and she it sister, iforting. le brao id thoy is while. ft But the wind is chan«^i<:( to the south now, and we 'U soon see the bare hills a<^ain." "Yes ; I hojw so," said Menic, softly. " Are you wcaryinj]^ for the spring, dear V " '•Whiles I weary." But the longing in those "bonny e'en " was for no earthly s[)ring, Janet weU knew. " I ayo mind the time when I gathered the snowdrops and daisies, and the one rose, on my mother's birthday. It was long before this time of the year — and it seems long to wait for spring." "Ay, I mind ; but that was in Ihe sheltered garden at tho Ebba. There were no llowers blooming cm Hio bare hills u: Scotland then more than hero. You mnstna begin to weaiy for the spring yet. You '11 get down tho brae soon, maybe, and then you wmna weary." Menio made no answer, but a spasm passed over the face of Graeme. The same thought was on the mind of all tho three. When Menie went down the brae again, it nnist bo with eyelids closed, and with hands folded on a heart at rest forever. " Janet, when will Sandy come ? Have you got a letter yet?" " Yes ; I got a letter to-day. It winna be long now." " Oh ! I hope not. I want to see him nnd your mother. I want them to see me, too. Sandy would hardly mind me, if he didna come till afterwards." " IMi.ss Graeme, my dear," said ]Mrs. Snow, hoai*sely, "go ben and sit with your fatlua* a while. It will rest you, and I '11 bide with Menie here." CJraemo rose, and kissing her sister, softly went away. Not into the study, however, but out into the darkness, where the March wind moaned so drearily among the leatless elms, that she might weep out the tears which sIk; had Ixvn stnig- gling with so long. Up and down the snow-enciimbered path she walked, s<'arco knowing that she shiv(>red in tlu; blast. Conscious only of one thought, that Menio must die, and that tho time was hastening. 8* 178 jaket's love and service. Yes. It was comijig veiy near n(nv. God help them all. Weary with the unavaihng struggle, weaiy to faintness with the burden of care and sorrow, she had borne through all th(;so months of watching, to-night she let it fall. She bowed herself uttoily down. " Ho lot it be ! God's will bo done !" And leaning with bowed head and clasped hands over the little gate, where she had stood in many a changing mood, she prayed as twice or tliiice in a life time. God gives power to his childi'on to pray — face to face — in His very presence. Giving her will and wish up quite, she lay at his feet like a httle child, chastened, yet consoled, saying not with her lips, but with the sor I's deepest breathing, " I am Thme. Save nie." Between Ler and all earthly things, except the knowl- edge that her sisler was v^vii^g, n kindly veil was interjiosed. No foreshadowing of a future more utterly bereaved than Menie's death would bring, darkened the light which this momentaiy ghmpse of her Lord revealed. In that hour she ate angel's food, and from it received strength to walk through desert places. She started as a hand was laid upon her shoulder, but her bead drooped again as she met jMr. Snow's look, so grave in its kindliness. " Miss Graeme, is it best you should be out here in the cold V" " No," said Graeme, humbly. " I am going in." But she did not move even to withdraw herself from the gentle pres- sure of his hand. "IVIiss C»raeme," said he, as they stood thus with the gate between them, " had n't you better give up now, and lot the Lord do as He 's a mind to about it ?" "Yes," said Graeme, "I give up. His will be done." "Amen!" said her fiuend, and the hand that rested on her shoulder was placed upon her head, and Graeme knew that in " the golden vials full of odors" before the throne, Deacon Snow's prayer for her found a place. She opened the gate and held it till he passed through, JANET S LOVE AND SERVICE. 179 I and tlicu followed him up tbo path into Hannah's bright kitchen. " Will you go in and see papa, or in there ?" aslccd she, glancing towards the parlor door, and shading her eves as she spoke. " "NVell, I gucsr, I '11 sit down here. It won't be long before Mis' Snow '11 be going along down. But don't you wait. (Jo ri^ht in to your father." Graeme opened the study door and went in. " I will teU him to-night," said she. " God help us." Her father was sitting in the fireUght, holding an open let- ter in his hantl. "Graeme," said he, as she sat down, "have you seen Janet ?" ^ " YcR, papa. I left her with Marian, a httle ago." " Poor Janet !" said her father, sighing heavily. No one was so particular as the minister in gi^^ng Janet her new title. It was always " Mistress Snow" or " the deacon's wife" with him, and Graeme wondered to-night. " Has anything happened ?" asked she. " Have yon not heard ? She has had a letter from home. Hero it is. Hvr mother is dead" The hitter dropped from Graeme's outstretched hand. " Yes," continued her ftither. " It was rather sudden, it seems — soon after she had decided to come out here. It will 1)0 doubly hard for her daughter to bear on that account. I must speak to her, poor Janet !" Graeme was left alone to muse on the imcertainty of all tlnngs, and to tell herself over and over agam, how vain it was to set the heart on any earthly good. "Poor Janet!" well might her father say ; and amid her own sorrow Graeme grieved sincerely for the sorrow of li(>r friend. It was very hard to bear, now that she had been looking foi'ward to a happy meeting, and a few ((Ui. t vivirs together after their long se])arati()U. It did seem very Imid, and it was with a full heart that in an hour afterwjuxl, when her father returned, she sought her fiiend. 180 JANETS LOVE AND SKRVICK. i Mr. Snow had gone home and his wife was to stay all night, Graeme found when she entered her sister's room. Marian was asleep, and coming close to INIrs. Snow, who sat gazing into the fire, Graeme knelt down beside her and put her arms about her neck vrithout a word. At first Graeme thought she was weeping. She was not ; but in a Uttlo she said, in a voice that showed how much her apparent calmness cost her, " You see, my dear, the upshot of all oui* fine plans." " Oh, Janet ! There 's nothing in all the world that we can trust in." "Ay, you may weel say that But it is a lesson that we ai-e slow to learn ; and the Lord winna let us forget." There was a pause. i^' Wlien was it ?" asked Graeme, softly. " Six weeks ago this very night, I have been thinking, since I sat here. Her trouble was short and sharp, and she was glad to go." " And would she have come ?" *' Ay, lass, but it wasna to be, as I might have kenned from the beginning. I thought I asked God's guiding, and I was persuaded into thinking I had gotten it But you see my heart was set on it from the very first — guiding or no guid- ing — and now the Lord has seen fit to punish mo for my self-seeking." " Oh, Janet !" said Graeme, remonstratingly. " My dear, it 's true, though it sets me ill to vex you with saying it now. I have more need to take the lesson to heart. May the Lord give me gi*ace to do it." ( Jraeme could say nothing, and Janet continued — '• It 's ill done iji me to grieve for her. She is far better off than ever I could have made her with the best of wills, and as for me — I must submit" "You have Sandy still." " Aye, thank God. May He have him in His keeping." " And he will come yet" ♦' Yes, I have Uttle doubt But I 'U no' set mysslf to the JANET 8 LOVE AND SERVICE. 181 ! hewing out of broken cisterns this wliilo again. Tlio Lord kens best." Mtev that night ^Irs. Snow never left the house for many hours at a time till Menie went away. GIraeme never told her father of the soitow that was drawing near. As the days went on, she saw by many a token, that he kiiew of the com- ing parting, but it tlid not seem to look sorrowful to him. Ho was mu(*h with her now, but all could see that the hours by her bed-side were not sorrowful ones to him or to her. But to Graeme he did not speak of her sister's state till near the very last. They were sitting together in the firelight of the study, as they seldom sat now. They had been sitting thus a long time — so long that Graeme, f(jrgettiiig to wear a cheerful look in her father's presence, had let her weary eyes close, and her hands drop listlessly on her lap. She looked ut- terly weary and despondent, as she sat there, quite imcon- Gcious that her father's eyes were upon her. " You are tu'ed to-night, Graeme," said he, at last. Graemo started, but it was not easy to bring her usual look back, so she buiiied herself with something at the table and did not speak. Her father sighed. " It will not bo long now." Graemo sat motionless, but she had no voice ,vith which to speak. " We little thought it was our bonny ISIenio who was to sec her mother first. Think of the joy of that meeting, Graeme !" Graeme's head ch'ooped down on the table. If she had spoken a word, it must have been with a gi'cat burst of weej>- ing. She trembled from head to foot in her eflfort to keep herself quiet. Her father watclKul her for a moment. " Graeme, you are not grudging your sister to such bless- edness ?" " Not now, papa," whispered she, heavily. " I am almost wilUng now." "f 182 JANKl'ri J-OVi: A2JD SERVICE. I " What is tlio happiest life here — and Menie's has been hapi^y — to the blessedness of the re.st ^Yhich I confidently be- lieve awaits her, dear child ?" " It is not that I gnidge to let her go, but that I fear to be left l;eliind." " Ay, love ! But wo must bide God's time. And you will have your brothers and Rose, and you are young, and time heals sore wounds in young hearts." Graeme's head drooped lower. She was weeping unre- strainedly but quietly now. Her father went on — " And afterwards you will have many tilings to comfort you. I used to think in the time of my sorrow, that its sud- denness added to its bitterness. If it had ever come into my mind that your mother might leave me, I might have borne it better, I thought. But God knows. There are some things for which we cannot i^repare." There was a long silence. " Graeme, I have something which I must say to you," said her father, and his voice showed that he was sj)eaking with an effoi"t. *' If the time comes — when the time comes — my child, I gi'ieve to give you pain, but what I have to say had best be said now ; it will bring the time no nearer. My child, I have something to say to you of the time when we shall no longer be togotlier — ." Graeme did not move. " jMv child, the backward look over one's life, is so differ- ent from the doubtful glances one sends into the future. I stand now, and see all the way by which (jrod has led mo, with a p;Tieved wonder, that I should ever have doubted his l(ivc and care, and how it was all to end. The dark places, and the rough places that once made my heart faint with fear, are, to look back U})()i:', radiant with hght and beauty — INtounts of God, with the bright cloud overshado^ving them. And yet, I mind gi'opmg about b(.'fore them, like a blind man, with a fear and di'cad unK]ieakable. " My child, are you hearing me ? Oh ! if my experience could teach you ! I know it cannot be. The blessed lesson that suffering teaches, each must bear for himself ; and I JAXm-'s LOVE AND SERVICE. 183 i£fer- !. I lUO, luB mcQ sson a I need not tell you that there never yet was sorrow sent to a child of God, for which there is no balm. You are youn«]f ; and vffary and spent as you are to-night, no wonder that you think at the sig;ht, of the deep wastes you may have to pass, and the dreary waters you may have to cross. But there is no fear that you will be alone, dear, or that He will give yon anythuig to do, or bear, and yet withhold the needed strength. Are you hearing me, my child ?" Graeme gave a mute sign of assent. " Menie, dear child, has had a life bright and brief. Yours may be long and toilsome, but if the end be the same, what matter ! you may desire to change with her to-night, but we caimot change our lot. God make us patient in it, — patient and heljiful. Shoi*t as your sister's life has been, it has not been in vain. She has been like hght among us, and her memory will always be a blessedness — and to you Graeme, most of all." Graeme's lips opened with a ciy. Turning, she laid her face down on her father's knee, and her tears fell fast. Her father raised her, and clasping her closely, let her weep for a little. "Hush love, calm yourself," said he, at last. "Nay," ho added, as she would have risen, " rest here, my poor tii'ed Graeme, my child, my best comforter always." Graeme's frame shook with sobs. " Don't papa — I cannot bear it " She struggled with herself, and gi'ew calm agam. " Forgive me, papa. I know I ought not. And indeed, it is not because I am altogether uuhapjiy, or because I am not willing to let her go " " Hush, love, I know. You are your mother's own patient child. I trust you quite, Graeme, and that is why I have corn-age to give you pain. For I must say more to-night. If anything should happen to mo — hush, love. My saying it does not hasten it. But when I am gone, you will care for the others. I do not fear for you. You will always have kind friends in Janet and her husband, and will never want I 184 .TANKTfl I.OVK AND 8EUVICE. a homo while thoy can f^ve you ono, I am sure. But Graeme, I would like you all to keep toj^'cthcr. Bo ono family, an long as possible. So if Arthur wishes you to f^o to him, go all together. He may have to work hard for a time, but you will take a blessmg with you. Aud it will be best for all, that you should keep together. " The shock wliich her father's words gave, calmed Graeme in a moment. *'But, pai)a, you are not ill, not more than you have been ?" " No, love, I am better, much better. Still, I wished to say this to you, because, it is always well to be prepared. That is all I had to say, love." But he clasped her to him for a moment still, and before ho let her go, ho whispered, softly, " I trust you quite, love, and you 11 bring them all homo safe to yom* mother aud mo." It was not very long after this, a few tranquil days and nights only, and the end camo. Thoy were altogether in Marian's room, sitting quietly after worship was over. It was the usual time for separating for the night, but they still lingered. Not that any of them thought it woidd bo to-night. Mrs. Snow might have thought so, for never during the long evening, had she stiiTcd from the side of the bed, but watch- ed with earnest eyes, the ever changing face of the dying gu'l. She had been slumbering quietly for a Uttle while, but suddenly, as IMrs. Snow bent over her more closely, she opened her eyes, and seeing something in her face, she said, with an echo of surprise in her voice, " Janet, is it to bo tonight ? Aro thoy all here. Papa, Graeme. Where is Graeme ?" They were with her in a moment, and Graeme's cheek was laid on her sister's wasted hand. " Well, my lammie !" said her father, softly. " Papa ! it is not too good to bo true, is it ?" Her father bent down till his hps touched her choek. " You are not afraid, my child ?" #,. Janet's love and seuvick. isn i Afraid ! no, it was not fcai* ho saw in those sweet trimn- pliant eyes. Her look never wuncler<;(l fiom his I'loe, but it changed soon, and ho knew that the King's messenger was come. Munuuring an inaiiicuhite jn'ayer, he bowed his head in the awful presence, and when he looked again, he saw no more those bonny eyes, but .lanet's toilworn hand laid over them. Graeme's cheek still lay on her sister's stiffening hand, and when they all rose up, and her father, i)assing round tho couch put his arm about her, she did not move. " There is no need Let her rest ! it is all over now, tho long watching and waitmg! let tho tired eyelids close, and thank God for tho momentaiy forgetfulness which Ho has given her." ^S Papa, }okwas ■,'iu IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) A 1.0 I.I If IM IM ■> !■■ IIII22 I 40 12.0 1.8 '•25 1'-^ -^ -^ 6" ► Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, MY. M580 (716) 873-4503 4j %^\ ;y y^ CHAPTER XIX. THAT night, Graeme slept the dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion, and the next day, whenever her father or Mrs. Snow stole in to look at her, she slept or seemed to sleep still. " She is wearj%" they said, in whispers. " Let her resi" Kind neighbors came and went, with offers of help and sym- pathj', but nothing was suffered to disturb the silence of the now darkened chamber. " Let her rest," said all. But when the next night passed, and the second day was drawing to a close, Mrs. Snow became anxious, and her visits were more frequent. Graeme roused herself to drink the tea that she brought her, and to Mrs. Snow's question whe- ther she felt rested, she said, " Oh ! yes," but she closed her eyes, and turned her face away again. Janet went out and seated herself in the kitchen, with a picture of utter despond- fci.cy. Just then, her husband came in. " Is anything the matter V asked he, anxiously. *' No," said his wife, rousing herself. " Only, I dinna ken weel what to do." " Is IVIiss Graeme sick ? or is she asleep ?" " I hope she 's no' sick. I ken she 's no' sleeping. But she ought to be roused, and when I think what she 's to be roused to . But, if she wants to see her sister, it must be'bcforc before she 's laid m " A strong shudder passed over her. " Oh ! man ! it 's awful, the fii'st sight of a dear face in the coflQn " t %^ Need she see her again ?" asked Mr. Snow. (18G) Janet's love and aERVicE. 187 *' Oh ! yes, I doubt she must. And the bairns too, and it will soon be here, now." " Her father," suggested ]Mr. Snow. " He has seen her. He was there for hours, both yester- day and to-day. But he is asleep now, and he has need of rest. I camia disturb him." " Could n't you kind of make her think she was needed — to her father or the little ones ? she would rouse herself if they needed her." " That 's weel said," said Mrs. Snow, gratefully. " Go you down the brae for the bairns, and I '11 go and speak to her again. " Miss Graeme, my dear," said she, softly, " could you speak to me a minute ?" Her manner was quite calm. It was so like the manner in which Graeme had been hundi'eds of times siunmoned to discuss domestic matters, that without seemmg to re- alize that there was anything peculiar in the time or circum- stances, she opened her eyes and said, quietly. " Well, what.is it, Janet? " " My dear, it is the bairns. There is nothing the matter with them," added she hastily, as Graeme started. " They have been down the brae with Emily all the day, but they are coming home now; and, my dear, they havena been ben yonder, and I think they should see her before — before she 's moved, and I diima like to disturb your father. My bairn, are you able to rise and take Will, and wee Rosie ben yonder." Graeme raised herself slowly up. " Janet, I have been forgetting the bairns.' Mrs. Snow ha