Janet's Love and Service Part 62

"As to money not being worth the having, I never said that. What I say is, that G.o.d never meant that mere wealth should make a man happy. That has been found out times without number; but as to setting the world right about it, I expect that is one of the things that each man must learn by experience. Most folks do learn it after a while, in one way or other."

"Well," said Mr Green, gravely, "you look as if you believed what you say, and you look as if you enjoyed life pretty well too. If it ain't your property that makes you happy, what is it?"

"It ain't my property, _sartain_," said Mr Snow, with emphasis. "I know I shouldn't be any happier if I had twice as much. And I am sure I shouldn't be less happy if I hadn't half as much; my happiness rests on a surer foundation than anything I have got."

He paused, casting about in his thoughts for just the right word to say--something that might be as "a fire and a hammer" to the softening and breaking of that world-hardened heart.

"He _does_ look as if he believed what he was saying," Mr Green was thinking to himself. "It is just possible he might give me a hint. He don't look like a man who don't practise as he preaches." Aloud, he said,--

"Come, now, go ahead. What has cured one, may help another, you know.

Give us your idea as to what is a sure foundation for a man's happiness."

Mr Snow looked gravely into his face and said,

"Blessed is the man who feareth the Lord."

"Blessed is the man whose trust the Lord is."

"Blessed is the man whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered."

"Blessed is the man to whom the Lord imputeth not iniquity, in whose spirit there is no guile."

Mr Green's eye fell before his earnest gaze. It came into his mind that if there was happiness to be found in the world, this man had found it. But it seemed a happiness very far-away from him--quite beyond his reach--something that it would be impossible for him ever to find now.

The sound of his mother's voice, softly breaking the stillness of a Sabbath afternoon, with some such words as these, came back to him, and just for a moment he realised their unchangeable truth, and for that moment he knew that his life had been a failure. A pang of regret, a longing for another chance, and a sense of the vanity of such a wish, smote on his heart for an instant and then pa.s.sed away. He rose from his seat, and moved a few paces down the walk, and when he came back he did not sit down again. His cedar twig was smoothed down at both ends to the finest possible point, and after balancing it for a minute on his forefingers, he tossed it over his shoulder, and shutting his knife with a click, put it in his pocket before he spoke.

"Well, I don't know as I am much better off for that," said he, discontentedly. "I suppose you mean that I ought to get religion. That is no new idea. I have heard _that_ every time I have gone to meeting for the last thirty years, which hasn't been as often as it might have been, but it has been often enough for all the good it has done me." He looked at Mr Snow as if he expected him to make some sort of a reply, but he was silent. He was thinking how vain any words of his would be to convince him, or to show him a more excellent way. He was thinking of the old time, and of the talk wasted on him by the good people who would fain have helped him. At last he said, gravely:

"It wouldn't amount to much, all I could say to you, even if I was good at talking, which I ain't. I can only tell you that I never knew what it was to be satisfied till I got religion, and I have never been discontented since, and I don't believe I ever shall again, let what will happen to me."

He paused a moment, and added,--

"I don't suppose anything I could say would help you to see things as I wish you did, if I were to talk all night. Talk always falls short of the mark, unless the heart is prepared for it, and then the simplest word is enough. There are none better than the words I gave you a minute ago; and when everything in the world seems to be failing you, just you try what trust in the Lord will do."

Nothing more was said. The sound of approaching footsteps warned them that they were no longer alone, and in a little Mrs Elliott and Rose were seen coming up the walk, followed by Arthur and Captain Starr.

They were discussing something that interested them greatly, and their merry voices fell pleasantly on the ear. Very pretty both young ladies looked, crowned with the roses they had been weaving into wreaths. The grave look which had settled on Mr Green's face, pa.s.sed away as he watched their approach.

"Pretty creatures, both of them," remarked he. "Mrs Elliott appears well, don't she? I never saw any one improve so much as she has done in the last two years. I used to think her--well not very superior."

"She is a pretty little thing, and good tempered, I think," said Mr Snow, smiling. "I shouldn't wonder if our folks made something of her, after all. She is in better keeping than she used to be, I guess."

"She used to be--well, a little of a flirt, and I don't believe she has forgot all about it yet," said Mr Green, nodding in the direction of Captain Starr, with a knowing look. The possibility of a married woman's amusing herself in that way was not among the subjects to which Mr Snow had given his attention, so he had nothing to say in reply.

"And the other one--she understands a little of it, too, I guess."

"What, Rosie? She is a child. Graeme will teach her better than that.

She despises such things," said Mr Snow, warmly.

"She don't flirt any herself, does she?" asked Mr Green, coolly. "Miss Elliott, I mean."

Mr Snow turned on him astonished eyes. "I don't know as I understand what you mean by flirting. I always supposed it was something wrong, or, at least, something unbecoming in any woman, married or single.

Graeme ain't one of that sort."

Mr Green shrugged his shoulders incredulously. "Oh! as to its being wrong, and so forth, I don't know. They all do it, I guess, in one way or other. I don't suppose Miss Graeme would go it so strong as that little woman, but I guess she knows how."

The voice of Rose prevented Mr Snow's indignant reply.

"But, Arthur, you are not a disinterested judge. Of course you would admire f.a.n.n.y's most, and as for Captain Starr, he is--"

"He is like the a.s.s between two bundles of hay."

"Nonsense, Arthur. f.a.n.n.y, let us ask Mr Snow," said Rose, springing forward, and slightly bending her head. "Now, Uncle Sampson, which is prettiest? I'll leave the decision to you."

"Uncle Sampson" was a very pleasant sound in Mr Snow's ears, and never more so, than when it came from the lips of Rose, and it was with a loving as well as an admiring look that he answered--

"Well I can't say which is the prettiest. You are both as pretty as you need to be. If you were as good as you are pretty!"

Rose pouted, impatient of the laughter which this speech excited.

"I mean our wreaths. Look, mine is made of these dear little Scotch roses, with here and there a moss-rose bud. f.a.n.n.y's, you see, are all open roses, white and damask. Now, which is the prettiest?"

She took her wreath from her head in her eagerness, and held it up, admiringly.

"Yours ain't half so pretty as it was a minute ago. I think, now, I should admire Mrs Elliott's most," said Mr Green, gravely.

They both curtseyed to him.

"You see, Rosie, Mr Green has decided in my favour," said f.a.n.n.y, triumphantly.

"Yes, but not in favour of your wreath. The others thought the same, but I don't mind about that. It is our wreaths I want to know about.

Let us ask Graeme."

But Graeme did not come alone. The little Groves came with her, and Will and Charlie followed, a rather noisy party. The little girls were delighted, and danced about, exclaiming at the beauty of the flowery crowns; and in a little, Miss Victoria was wearing that of Rose, and imitating the airs and graces of her elder sister in a way that must have encouraged her mother's hopes as to her ultimate success in life.

The other begged piteously for f.a.n.n.y's, but she was too well aware of its charming effect on her own head to yield at once to her entreaties, and, in the midst of the laughing confusion that accompanied the carrying of the child's point, Graeme and Mrs Snow, who confessed herself a little tired after her walk, entered the summer-house again.

Mrs Grove and Mr Proudfute entered with them, and the others disposed, themselves in groups about the door. Mr Green stood leaning on the door-post looking in upon them.

"Miss Elliott," said Mr Proudfute, presently, "what has become of you for a long time? I have hardly seen you for years--for a year at least--and we used to meet so often." Graeme laughed.

"I have seen you a great many times within a year. I am afraid my society doesn't make the impression on you it ought. Have you forgotten your New Year's visit, and a visit or two besides, to say nothing of chance meetings in the street and in the market?"

"Oh, but excuse me. I mean we have not met in society. You have been making a hermit of yourself, which is not very kind or very complimentary to your friends, I a.s.sure you."

"I am very glad to hear you say so," exclaimed Mrs Grove. "That is a subject on which Miss Elliott and I never agree--I mean the claims society has upon her. If she makes a hermit of herself, I a.s.sure you she is not permitted to do so without remonstrance."

"Your ideas of a hermit's life differ from those generally held," said Graeme, vexed at the personal turn of the conversation, and more vexed still with Mrs Grove's interference. "What does the ballad say?

"'A scrip with fruits and herbs well stored, And water from the spring.'

"I am afraid a hermit's life would not suit me."