Shenac's Work at Home Part 12

She was content to leave Hamish when she did not have to leave him alone, which rarely happened now. The master lived in the house of Angus Dhu, but it seemed that the humbler home of the widow and the company of Hamish suited him best, for scarcely two evenings pa.s.sed without finding him there; and Shenac could go with a good heart, knowing that her brother was busy and happy at home.

Afterwards, when changes came, and new anxieties and cares pressed upon her, Shenac used to look back on this winter as the happiest time of her life. It was not merely that the summer's work had been successful, but that the summer's success seemed to make all their future secure. There was no doubt now about their being able to keep together and carry on the farm. That was settled. She was at rest--they were all at rest-- about that. Their future did not depend now upon Allister's uncertain coming home. It would not be true to say she saw no difficulties in the way; but she saw none to daunt her. Even Dan seemed to have come to himself. He seemed to have forgotten his self-a.s.sertion--his "contrariness," as Shenac called it--and was a boy again, noisy and full of fun, but gentle and helpful too. The little ones were well and happy, and getting on well in school, as all the Macivors were bound to do. The mother was comparatively well and cheerful. Her monotonous flax-spinning filled up the quiet, uneventful days, and, untroubled by out-door anxieties, she was content.

But, in looking back over this happy time, it was to Hamish that Shenac's thoughts most naturally turned, for it was the happiness of her twin-brother, more than all the rest put together, that made the happiness of Shenac. And Hamish was happier, more like himself, than ever he had been since their troubles began. Not so merry, perhaps, as the Hamish of the former days; but he was happy, that was sure. He was far from well, and he sometimes suffered a good deal; but his illness was not of a kind to alarm them for his life, and unless he had been exposed in some way, or a sudden change of the weather brought on his old rheumatic pains, he was, on the whole, comfortable in health. But whether he suffered or not, he was happy, that was easily seen. There was no sitting silent through the long gloamings now, no weary drooping of his head upon his hands, no wearier struggle to look up and join in the household talk of the rest. There were no heart-sick broodings over his own helplessness, no murmurings as to the burden he might yet become. He did not often speak of his happiness in words, just as he had seldom spoken of his troubles; but every tone of his gentle voice and every glance of his loving eye spoke to the heart of his sister, filling it with content for his sake.

What was the cause of the change? what was the secret of her brother's peace? Shenac wondered and wondered. She knew it was through his friend, Mr Stewart, that her brother's life seemed changed; but, knowing this, she wondered none the less. What was his secret power?

What could Hamish see in that plain, dark man, so grave and quiet, so much older than he?

True, they had the common tie of a love of knowledge, and pored together over lines and figures and strange books as though they would never grow weary of it all. It was true that, more than any one had ever done before, the master had opened new paths of knowledge to the eager lad-- that by a few quiet words he put more life and heart into a subject than others could do by hours and hours of talk. But all these things Shenac shared and enjoyed without being able to understand how, through the master, a new and peaceful influence seemed to have fallen on the life of Hamish.

She did not grudge it to him. She was not jealous of the new interest that had come to brighten her brother's life--at least at this time she was not. Afterwards, when new cares and vexations pressed upon her, she vexed herself with the thought that something had come between her brother and herself which made her troubles not so much his as they used to be, and she blamed this new friends.h.i.+p for the difference. But no such thoughts vexed these first pleasant months.

Hamish was indeed changed. Unrealised at first by himself, the most wonderful change that can come between the cradle and the grave had happened to him. He had found a secret spring of peace, hidden as yet from his sister's eyes. He had obtained a staff to lean on, which made his weakness stronger than her strength; and this had come to him through the master. There was a bond between the friends, stronger, sweeter, and more enduring than even that which united the twin brother and sister--the BOND OF BROTHERHOOD IN CHRIST. On Norman Stewart had been conferred the highest of all honours; to him had been given the chief of all happiness. Through _his_ voice the voice of Jesus had spoken peace to a troubled soul. To him it had been given so to hold forth the word of life that to a soul sitting in darkness a great light sprang up.

I cannot tell you how it came about, except that the heart of the master being full of love to Christ, it could not but overflow in loving words from his lips. Attracted first to Hamish by the patience and gentleness with which he suffered, he could not do otherwise than seek to lead him to the Great Healer; and his touch was life. Then all the shadows that had darkened the past and the future to the lame boy fled away.

Gradually all the untoward circ.u.mstances of his life seemed to adjust themselves anew. His lameness, his suffering, his helplessness were no longer parts of a mystery, darkening all the future to him, but parts of a plan through which something better than a name and a place in the world might be obtained. Little by little he came to know himself to be one of G.o.d's favoured ones; and then he would not have turned his hand to win the lot that all his life had seemed the most desirable to him.

Before his friend he saw such a life--a life of labour for the highest of all ends. Before himself he saw a life of suffering, a narrow sphere of action, helplessness, dependence; but he no longer murmured. He was coming to know, through the new life given him, how that "to do G.o.d's will is sweet, and to bear G.o.d's will is sweet--the one as sweet as the other, to those to whom he reveals himself;" and to have learned this is to rejoice for evermore.

The master's term of office came to an end, and the friends were to part. It was June by this time; and when he had bidden all the rest goodbye, Mr Stewart lingered still with Hamish at the gate. Hamish had said something about meeting again, and the master answered,--

"Yes, surely we shall meet again--if not here, yonder;" and he pointed upward. "We shall be true friends there, Hamish, bhodach; be sure of that."

Tears that were not all sorrowful stood on the cheeks of Hamish, and he laid his face down on the master's shoulder without speaking.

"Much may lie between us and that time," continued the master--"much to do, and, it may be, much to suffer; but it is sure to come."

"For me, too," murmured Hamish. "They also serve who only wait."

"Yes," said the master; "they who wait are blessed."

"And I shall thank G.o.d all my life that he sent you here to me," said Hamish.

"And I too," said the master. "It seemed to me an untoward chance indeed that turned me aside from the path I had chosen and sent me here, and the good Father has put my doubts and fears to shame, in that he has given me you, and, through you, others, to be stars in my crown of rejoicing against that day. G.o.d bless you! Farewell."

"G.o.d bless you, and farewell," echoed Hamish.

So Mr Stewart went away, and Hamish watched till he was out of sight, and still stood long after that, till Shenac came to chide him for lingering out in the damp, and drew him in. She did not speak to him.

There were tears on his cheek, she thought, and her own voice failed her. But when they came to the light the tears were gone, but the look of peace that had rested on his face all these months rested on it still.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

The happy winter drew to an end, and spring came with some pleasures and many cares. I am not going to tell all about what was done this spring and summer; it would take too long. Shenac and her brother had not the same eagerness and excitement in looking forward to the summer's work that they had had the spring before; but they had some experience, and were not afraid of failure. The spring work was well done, and with comparatively little help. The garden was made, and the first crop of weeds disposed of from some of the beds; and Shenac was beginning to look forward to the little pause in outdoor work that was to give her time for the wool again, when something happened. It was something which Shenac declared delighted her more than anything that had happened for a long time; and yet it filled her with dismay. An uncle, a brother of their mother, who resided in the neighbourhood of the C--- Springs, celebrated for their beneficial effects on persons troubled with rheumatic complaints, sent for Hamish to pa.s.s the rest of the summer at his house. The invitation was urgent. Hamish would be sure to get much benefit from the use of the baths, and would return home before winter, a new man.

Hamish alone hesitated; all the rest declared that he must go, and none more decidedly than Shenac. In the first delighted moment, she thought only of the good that Hamish was to get, and not at all of how they were to get on without him. She did not draw back when she thought of it, but worked night and day to get his things ready before the appointed time.

I do not know whether the union between twins is more tender and intimate than that between other brothers and sisters, but when Hamish went away it seemed to Shenac that half her heart had gone with him.

The house seemed desolate, the garden and fields forsaken. Her longing for a sight of his face was unspeakable.

All missed him. A strange silence seemed to fall upon the household.

They had hardly missed the master, in the bustle that had preceded the going away of Hamish; but now they missed them both. The quiet grew irksome to Dan, and he used in the evenings to go elsewhere--to Angus Dhu's or the Camerons'--thus leaving it all the quieter for the rest.

The mother fretted a little for the lame boy, till a letter came telling that he had arrived safe and well, and not very tired; and then she was content.

As for Shenac, she betook herself with more energy than ever to her work. She did not leave herself time to be lonely. It was just the first moment of coming into the house and the sitting down at meals that she found unbearable. For the first few days her appet.i.te quite failed her--a thing that had never happened within her memory before. But try as she might, the food seemed to choke her. There was nothing for it but to work, within doors or without, till she was too weary to stand, and then go to bed.

And, indeed, there was plenty to do. Not too much, however, Shenac thought--though having the share of Hamish added to her own made a great difference. But she would not have minded the work if only Dan had been reasonable. She had said to herself often, before Hamish went away, that she would be ten times more patient and watchful over herself than ever she had been before, and that Dan should have no excuse from her for being wilful and idle. It had come into her mind of late that Angus Dhu had not been far wrong when he said Dan was a wild lad, and she had said as much to Hamish. But Hamish had warned her from meddling with Dan.

"You must trust him, and show that you trust him, Shenac, if you would get any good out of him. He is just at the age to be uneasy, and to have plans and ways of his own, having no one to guide him. We must have patience with Dan a while."

"If patience would do it," said Shenac sadly.

But she made up her mind that, come what might, she would watch her words and her actions too with double care till Hamish came home again.

She was very patient with Dan, or she meant to be so; but she had a great many things pressing on her at this time, and it vexed her beyond measure when he, through carelessness or indifference to her wishes, let things intrusted to him go wrong. She had self-command enough almost always to refrain from speaking while she was angry, but she could not help her vexed looks; and the manner in which she strove to mend matters, by doing with her own hands what he had done imperfectly or neglected altogether, angered Dan far more than words could have done.

They missed the peace-maker. Oh, how Shenac missed him in all things where Dan was concerned! She had not realised before how great had been the influence of Hamish over his brother, or, indeed, over them all. A laughing remark from Hamish would do more to put Dan right than any amount of angry expostulation or silent forbearance from her. Oh, how she missed him! How were they to get through harvest-time without him?

"Mother," said Dan, as he came in to his dinner one day, "have you any message to The Sixteenth? I am going over to McLay's raising to-morrow."

"But, Dan, my lad, the barley is losing; and, for all that you could do at the putting up of the barn, it hardly seems worth your while to go so far," said his mother.

Shenac had not come in yet, but Shenac Dhu, who had come over on a message, was there.

"Oh, I have settled that, mother. The Camerons and Sandy McMillan are coming here in the morning. The barley will be all down by dinner-time, and they'll take their dinner here, and we'll go up together."

"But, Dan, lad, they have barley of their own. What will Shenac say?

Have you spoken to your sister about it?" asked his mother anxiously.

"Oh, what about Shenac?" said Dan impatiently. "They will be glad to come. What's a short forenoon to them? And I believe Shenac hates the sight of one and all. What's the use of speaking to her?"

"Did you tell them that when you asked them?" said Shenac Dhu dryly.

"I haven't asked them yet," said Dan. "But what would they care for a girl like Shenac, if I were to tell?"

"Try and see," said Shenac Dhu. "You're a wise lad, Dan, about some things. Do you think it's to oblige you that Sandy McMillan is hanging about here and bothering folk with his bees and his bees? Why, he would go fifty miles and back again, any day of his life, for one glance from your sister's eye. Don't fancy that folk are caring for _you_, lad."

"Shenac Dhu, my dear," said her aunt in a tone of vexation, "don't say such foolish things, and put nonsense into the head of a child like our Shenac."

"Well, I won't, aunt; indeed I dare not," said Shenac Dhu, laughing, as at that moment Shenac Bhan came in.

"Shenac, what kept you?" said her mother fretfully. "Your dinner is cold. See, Dan has finished his."

"I could not help it, mother," said Shenac, sitting down. "It was that Sandy McMillan that hindered me. He offered to come and help us with the barley."

"And what did you say to him?" asked Shenac Dhu demurely.

"Oh, I thanked him kindly," said Shenac, with a shrug of her shoulders.

"I must see him. Where is he, Shenac?" said Dan. "He must come to-morrow, and the Camerons, and then we'll go to the raising together.