Janet's Love and Service Part 91

"There are worse preachers than Mr Perry," said Mrs Snow, gravely.

"Oh! come now, mother. That ain't saying much. There ain't a great many better preachers in our part of the world, whatever they may be where you live. To be sure, if you leave to-night after tea, you can catch the night cars for Boston, and stay there over Sunday, and have your pick of some pretty smart men. But you'd better stay.--Not but what I could have you over to Rixford in time, as well as not, if it is an object to you. But you better stay, hadn't he, girls? What do you say, Rose?"

"And hear Mr Perry preach? Oh! certainly," said Rose, gravely.

"Oh! he will stay," said Graeme, laughing, with a little vexation. "It is my belief he never meant to go, only he likes to be entreated. Now confess, Charlie."

CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

"Eh, bairns! is it no' a bonny day!" said Mrs Snow, breaking into Scotch, as she was rather apt to do when she was speaking to the sisters, or when a little moved. "I ay mind the first look I got o' the hills ower yonder, and the kirk, and the gleam of the grave-stones, through the trees. We all came round the water on a Sat.u.r.day afternoon like this; and Norman and Harry took turns in carrying wee Rosie, and we sat down here and rested ourselves, and looked ower yon bonny water.

Eh, bairns! if I could have but had a glimpse of all the years that have been since then, of all the 'goodness and mercy' that has pa.s.sed before us, now my thankless murmurs, and my unbelieving fears would have been rebuked!"

They were on their way up the hill to spend the afternoon at Mr Nasmyth's, and Mr Millar was with them. Nothing more had been said about his going away, and if he was not quite content to stay, "his looks belied him," as Miss Lovejoy remarked to herself, as she watched them, all going up the hill together. They were going very slowly, because of Mrs Snow's lingering weakness. One of the few of the "Scotch prejudices!" that remained with her after all these years, was the prejudice in favour of her own two feet, as a means of locomotion, when the distance was not too great; and rather to the discontent of Mr Snow, she had insisted on walking up to the other house, this afternoon.

"It is but a step, and it will do me no harm, but good, to go with the bairns," said she, and she got her own way.

It was a "bonny day," mild, bright, and still. The autumnal beauty of the forests had pa.s.sed, but the trees were not bare, yet, though October was nearly over; and, now and then, a brown leaf fell noiselessly through the air, and the faint rustle it made as it touched the many which had gone before it, seemed to deepen the quiet of the time. They had stopped to rest a little at the turn of the road, and were gazing over the pond to the hills beyond, as Mrs Snow spoke.

"Yes, I mind," said Graeme.

"And I mind, too," said Rose, softly.

"It's a bonny place," said Mrs Snow, in a little, "and it has changed but little in all those years. The woods have gone back a little on some of the hills; and the trees about the village and the kirkyard have grown larger and closer, and that is mostly all the changes."

"The old meeting-house has a dreary look, now that it is never used,"

said Rose, regretfully.

"Ay, it has that. I mind thinking it a grand and stately object, when I first saw it from the side of the water. That was before I had been in it, or very near it. But I learnt to love it for better things than stateliness, before very long. I was ill-pleased when they first spoke of pulling it down, but, as you say, it is a dreary object, now that it is no longer used, and the sooner it goes the better."

"Yes, a ruin to be an object of interest, should be of grey stone, with wallflowers and ivy growing over it," said Graeme.

"Yes, but this is not a country for ruins, and such like sorrowful things. The old kirk was good enough to wors.h.i.+p in, to my thinking, for many a year to come; and the new one will ay lack something that the old one had, to you and me, and many a one besides; but the sooner the forsaken old place is taken quite away, the better, now."

"Yes, there is nothing venerable in broken sashes, and fluttering s.h.i.+ngles. But I wish they had repaired it for a while, or at any rate, built the new one on the same site. We shall never have any pleasant a.s.sociations with the new red brick affair that the Merleville people are so proud of."

And so they lingered and talked about many a thing besides the unsightly old meeting-house--things that had happened in the old time, when the bairns were young, and the world was to them a world in which each had a kingdom to conquer, a crown to win. Those happy, happy days!

"Oh! well," said Mrs Snow, as they rose to go up the hill again, "it's a bonny place, and I have learnt to love it well. But if any one had told me in those days, that the time would come, when this and no other place in the world would seem like home to me, it would have been a foolishness in my ears."

"Ah! what a sad dreary winter that first one was to you, Janet, though it was so merry to the boys and me," said Graeme. "It would have comforted you then, if you could have known how it would be with you now, and with Sandy."

"I am not so sure of that, my dear. We are untoward creatures, at the best, and the brightness of to-day, would not have looked like brightness then. No, love, the changes that seem so good and right to look back upon, would have dismayed me, could I have seen them before me. It is well that we must just live on from one day to another, content with what each one brings."

"Ah! if we could always do that!" said Graeme, sighing.

"My bairn, we can. Though I mind, even in those old happy days, you had a sorrowful fas.h.i.+on of adding the morrow's burden to the burden of to-day. But that is past with you now, surely, after all that you have seen of the Lord's goodness, to you and yours. What would you wish changed of all that has come and gone, since that first time when we looked on the bonny hills and valleys of Merleville?"

"Janet," said Graeme, speaking low, "death has come to us since that day."

"Ay, my bairns! the death of the righteous, and, surely, that is to be grieved for least of all. Think of them all these years, among the hills of Heaven, with your mother and the baby she got home with her.

And think of the wonderful things your father has seen, and of his having speech with David, and Paul, and with our Lord himself--"

Janet's voice faltered, and Graeme clasped softly the withered hand that lay upon her arm, and neither of them spoke again, till they answered Sandy and Emily's joyful greeting at the door.

Rose lingered behind, and walked up and down over the fallen leaves beneath the elms. Graeme came down again, there, and Mr Nasmyth came to speak to them, and so did Emily, but they did not stay long; and by and by Rose was left alone with Mr Millar, for the very first time during his visit. Not that she was really alone with him, for all the rest were still in the porch enjoying the mild air, and the bright October suns.h.i.+ne. She could join them in a moment, she thought, not that there was the least reason in the world for her wis.h.i.+ng to do so, however. All this pa.s.sed through her mind, as she came over the fallen leaves toward the gate on which Mr Millar was leaning; and then she saw that she could not so easily join the rest, at least, without asking him to let her pa.s.s. But, of course, there could be no occasion for that.

"How clearly we can see the shadows in the water," said she, for the sake of saying something. "Look over yonder, at the point where the cedar trees grow low. Do you see?"

"Yes, I see," said he, but he was not looking the way of the cedars.

"Rose, do you know why I came here?"

Rose gave a startled glance towards the porch where they were all sitting so quietly.

"It was to bring us news of Will, wasn't it? And to see Merleville?"

said she.

Did she say it? Or had she only thought of it? She was not sure, a minute after, for Mr Millar went on as if he had heard nothing.

"I came to ask you to be my wife."

Did this take her by surprise? or had she been expecting it all the time? She did not know. She was not sure; but she stood before him with downcast eyes, without a word.

"You know I have loved you always--since the night that Harry took me home with him. My fancy has never wandered from you, all these years.

Rose, you must know I love you, dearly. I have only that to plead. I know I am not worthy of you, except for the love I bear you."

He had begun quietly, as one begins a work which needs preparation, and strength, and courage, but his last words came between pauses, broken and hurriedly, and he repeated,--

"I know I am not worthy."

"Oh! Charlie, don't say such foolish words to me." And Rose gave him a single glimpse of her face. It was only a glimpse, but his heart gave a great leap in his breast, and the hand that lay on the gate which separated them trembled, though Rose did not look up to see it.

"Rosie," he whispered, "come down to the brook and show me Harry's waterfall."

Rose laughed, a little, uncertain laugh, that had the sound of tears in it; and when Charlie took her hand and put it within his arm, she did not withdraw it, and they went over the field together.

Graeme had been watching them from the porch, and as they pa.s.sed out of sight, she turned her eyes toward Mrs Snow, with a long breath.

"It has come at last, Janet," said she.

"I shouldna wonder, dear. But it is no' a thing to grieve over, if it has come."

"No. And I am not going to grieve. I am glad, even though I have to seek my fortune, all alone. But I have Will, yet," added she, in a little. "There is no word of a stranger guest in his heart as yet. I am sure of Will, at least."

Mrs Snow smiled and shook her head.

"Will's time will come, doubtless. You are not to build a castle for yourself and Will, unless you make room for more than just you two in it, dear."