CHAPTER XI
AT THE END OF THE VISIT
“Well, you are a stranger,” was Jeanie’s greeting. “You’ve not been here for two weeks, and I hardly had a glimpse of you on Sabbath day. We have heard from Archie since then and I have been meaning to come over to see you, but we are so busy nowadays since Archie went away; we often wish you and your father were with us again.”
“I’ve been busy, too,” said Agnes, seating herself on the broad stone which formed the doorstep of the M’Cleans’ cabin. “Ah, but I have much to tell you, Jeanie; it seems as if I hadn’t seen you for a year. But first, what of Archie?”
“He reached grandfather’s safely and they were overjoyed to see him. He was ready to begin his studies, and will it not be fine that we shall have a meenister in the family?”
“How did the letter come, and was there none for me?”
“There was but a line. He said he would write again by the first opportunity. He had yet to see your mother, but would go at once and deliver your messages.He had a chance to send this letter at a few moments’ notice, and so he could only give us the account of his health and his prospects, and that is about all. Are you disappointed that he did not write to you, Nancy?”
“I wanted to hear of my mother. I hoped she would be coming soon,” returned Agnes, evading a direct answer.
“Perhaps she will be here before long; this letter was long on the way and might well have been outrun by one travelling more swiftly than the bearer who stopped often along the way. Now your news, Nancy. Were you harmed by the freshet? and isn’t it marvellous that Jimmy O’Neill should have come back?”
“It is marvellous, and he is marvellous, the same old roystering Jimmy, for all his adventures. And it is so strange to see him with no hair on his head after being used to that bushy poll of his. Polly is so happy that she is noisier than ever; indeed, Jeanie, betwixt Polly and Jimmy and the bairns there is little quiet to be had anywhere unless one goes off into the woods.”
“But do you like quiet?”
“Sometimes.”
“Then what’s come over you, Nancy Kennedy? You were a regular hoyden when last I saw you, and you to be talking of liking quiet.” And Jeanie laughed.
“Did you hear about Honey?” Agnes asked, not noticing the laugh.
“What Honey? Whose Honey?”
“Muirhead’s Honey, the little child who was saved from the flood.”
“Law, no; at least I did hear some such tale, but it passed out of my mind at the news of Jimmy’s return.”
“It was Jimmy O’Neill who saved the baby and Parker Willett who rescued them both. He is so brave.” Agnes spoke softly and with a far-away look upon her face.
“That was brave; tell me about it.”
“He took a little skiff and ventured out upon that swift, raging water, when it was as much as one’s life was worth to go a rod from shore, and all in among those tree-tops along by the run, he steered the boat till he reached a place where Jimmy could be taken in the boat, and the child, too; the baby, you know, was tucked away in an old hollow stump and was sailing downstream that way. It was Jimmy who first saw him and got him aboard his raft; but they could not have reached shore but for Parker, and he lets Jimmy take all the credit, and will not listen to a word about his own part in it.” Agnes’s cheeks glowed, and she talked excitedly.
Jeanie looked at her in surprise. “I thought you did not like Mr. Willett, the man who tried to rob you of your home.”
“We do like him.” Agnes wisely adopted the plural. “He didn’t know that the house belonged to us, you know that. It was Muirhead who misled him.”
“Muirhead again; he is a disagreeable uncle to have. Was the baby really his? What a strange thing! Is it a nice baby, Agnes, or disagreeable like his father?”
“He is the bonniest bairnie,” Agnes replied. “I love him, and I am glad he is my little cousin, though I shall probably never see him again. Parker Willett took him home this morning, or at least he took him to Dod Hunter’s, and he will see that he gets home safely. I believe the reason Mr. Willett didn’t take him all the way was because he didn’t want Hump Muirhead to think he had any part in saving Honey. I venture to say he has told Dod that it was all Jimmy’s doings. Mr. Willett is going to leave us, Jeanie.”
“Is he? I should suppose he would, now that Jimmy has come. I don’t imagine you are very sorry.”
Agnes was silent, but the color rushed to her face. “We shall miss him,” she said after a moment. “I shall particularly,” she went on bravely. “No one was ever so polite and kind to me as he, for he never will let me do a thing which he can do for me. He will bring water from the spring and will get up early to work in the garden, and he waits on me as if I were a princess. Could I help missing him? Jimmy never does those things; he isn’t lazy, Jimmy isn’t, but he expects us to do all the little things while he does only the big ones.”
“That is more manly.”
Agnes’s face flamed. “No, it isn’t; it may be theway of men like Jimmy, but it isn’t the way gentlemen like Parker Willett do.”
“Why, Nancy!” Jeanie looked at her in astonishment. “You certainly do stand up for Mr. Willett. I think he is handsome and polite and all that, but I always felt that he was hard to get acquainted with; I mean he hasn’t our everyday ways.”
“I’m glad he hasn’t,” Agnes flashed out again.
“Oh, you are very complimentary. Perhaps you don’t like our ways, either. For my part I am too independent, and I hope not so lazy that I like people to wait on me; I would rather do for myself anything that I am strong enough to do, and let the men attend to their own work.”
“I would, too, in a measure; but I like to see a man ready to spare a woman when he can, and I didn’t mean your ways, for your ways are our own, too, but I was thinking of Polly.”
“But you like Polly and try to be like her; you are getting to be quite like her; we have all been thinking so.”
Agnes looked aghast. “I didn’t know it,” she said faintly. “I don’t want to be. Oh, I’m not. I’m not. Polly is a dear, good woman, but—but—Mr. Willett’s sister wouldn’t be like her, nor his mother. I can fancy them, the mother a stately dame, and the sister so dainty and sweet; I wonder he can stand us.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Jeanie, loftily.“We are good enough for any one. If he doesn’t like us, he can leave us. I’m sure nobody cares about having him here, for we are all of a different race, anyhow,—I don’t mean that exactly; but we are Scotch-Irish and like to go with our own kind, and he is a Church of England man and is cold and proud.”
“He’s not; he’s not a bit. I’d like to know who are prouder and more clannish than these same Scotch-Irish, and Mr. Willett says we are self-contained and stand off by ourselves, and that is what all strangers say of us. You shall not say such things of Mr. Willett, Jeanie M’Clean.”
“Well, I declare! I believe you are in love with him,” exclaimed Jeanie. And then Agnes burst into tears, and at the same moment came into her mind a remembrance of how she had teased Jeanie into revealing her heart’s secret, and she told herself that this was her retribution. Jeanie sat still for a moment in a state of surprise. Agnes and Archie had always been associated in her mind as lovers, and her remark was meant not to strike home, but was simply a chance shot directed because of her annoyance.
She waited till Agnes’s sudden flurry of tears was over, and then she put an arm around her. “I oughtn’t to have said that, Agnes,” she confessed, “for there is Archie, and of course you would not think of Mr. Willett; he is too old for a girl like you, and I knew you never thought of him in that way.” In the eyes of theseventeen-year-old maid to be twenty-five was to be middle-aged. “I knew something had gone wrong,” she went on, “when I told you we had heard from Archie; I knew you expected a letter, and it is a hard thing to have a disappointment like that.”
Agnes hung her head. “I wasn’t thinking of the letter, Jeanie,” she said truthfully. “I think Archie has gone out of my life altogether, and I am not like to marry at all, for there will be mother and the children, and I am the eldest.”
“Yes; but by the time Archie has finished his studies Sandy will be old enough to manage, and the others will be out of leading-strings. I am the eldest at home, too, but—oh, you will not be an old maid, Agnes, nor will I.”
“Nor will you? No, I think not,” Agnes smiled, “for there is David.”
“Yes, there is David. That is one of the other things I had to tell. It is David.”
“Really? Really, Jeanie?” Agnes caught her friend’s hands in hers. “Has he summoned courage? And when was it? and when will it be? Tell me all. How could you keep it all this time, you naughty lassie?”
“I kept it till the last. I wanted to tell you since last Sabbath day when he came to sit up with me, and he and father discoursed so long upon the sermon I thought I’d never get a word from him; but when mother was putting the bairnies to bed, father heard a noiseamong the beasts, and he went out to see what it was, and so—and so—then we were alone, and it was so quiet, oh, so quiet, for neither of us spoke for a long time, and then I laughed and said, ‘Why don’t you say something?’ And he—he did say something.”
“I am so glad,” said Agnes. “And does he come every evening to sit up with you?”
“Yes, every evening, and we are to be married this spring. There will be a house-raising, Nancy, and I am very happy in all except that I wish Archie were here. Father and mother are quite satisfied, for David is sober and industrious and—”
“I am a witch.”
“You truly are. I wish now you would bewitch some one yourself and follow my example if—if it isn’t Archie.”
Agnes’s face grew pensive. “I am not bewitching in that way, Jeanie.”
“Ah, but you are. I know Mr. Willett is rather old, but all do not think so, for that Sabbath when you rode to meeting with him, many said it would be a good thing and convenient all around; and since Jimmy has come back, I have heard more speculation upon the same subject.”
Agnes shook her head. “I know the gossips will talk, but Jimmy’s coming back will not affect that. All is not settled yet nor can be till my mother comes. My father seems brighter, Jeanie. Jimmy’s coming seemsto have done him good in some way. I think Jimmy stirs up his poor brain and makes it work better. Of course Jimmy and Polly will want to have a home of their own, and we shall have ours, but how and when I don’t know yet. Now, let us talk of David.”
“Indeed, then, I’ve something else to do,” Jeanie replied, laughing and jumping up. “We’ve gossiped so long I have forgotten my work, but I regret naught said except your calling Parker Willett our better.”
“Indeed, I did not mean that, Jeanie. He is no better, but different in his ways.”
“Ah, that’s more like it. We’ll leave it so, then.”
The little settlement had thriven apace, and now quite a village had sprung up around and beyond the M’Cleans’. There was talk of a schoolmaster for the children, and a site for the log schoolhouse had already been selected. Better dwellings, too, were to be seen here and there, and the Muirhead’s house was no longer the best in the neighborhood. The clearings showed their garden patches thriftily planted with Indian corn, pumpkins, potatoes, and other vegetables. The rude farming implements had increased in number, and tan vats and forges were to be seen here and there. Most of the little farms displayed homely comfort, and if not luxury, at least plenty. Joseph M’Clean had worked early and late, and although not one of the earliest comers, his clearing compared favorably with the others. The outbuildings, stout and weather-safe, gave shelter for thecattle and storage for the crops. In the woods ran wild the herd of porkers which, feasting on acorns and other nuts, were easily raised, and when one was required for food, it was despatched by a shot from Joseph’s rifle. The loom and spinning-wheel were ever busy, and now would be busier than ever turning out the rolls of linen and wool which would be required for Jeanie’s wedding-chest. Much talk there was over it all, the homely Scotch-Irish phrases cropping out ever and anon as the matter was discussed by the women of the settlement, who, like those of to-day, were all agog when a wedding was in prospect. To be sure the wedding-clothes did not demand very much time or attention. Linsey-woolsey, that combination of linen and wool, furnished the material for one or two petticoats. “Six hundred” linen, made from home-grown flax, was sufficiently good for a few bedgowns or sacques to be worn with the petticoats, and the same linen cut into squares and hemmed made the neckerchiefs. For winter wear there was the fur jacket of squirrel skin, and as styles did not alter, there was not much difficulty in fashioning the garments necessary. Yet with the flax hackling, the spinning, and weaving there was quite enough to be done, and Agnes was glad to lend a hand.
“If this is what calls you in,” she said, as Jeanie led the way to the loom, “I’m glad to bear my part. How comfortable you have everything here, Jeanie.” She looked around admiringly at the neat room, whichshowed traces of the care of both the master and mistress of the establishment.
“Yes, we have everything most convenient,” said Jeanie, “and it’s main due to Archie. We do miss Archie and his handy ways.”
“Will he no be coming to the wedding?”
“Not he. It is too far and it takes too long. My mother would have me wait till Archie could tie the knot, but David is persistent. David doesn’t talk much, but when he wants to make a point, somehow one must give in to him.”
“It’s to be hoped, then, for your sake, that his points will be such as you can approve,” laughed Agnes.
“Ah, but they will be,” returned Jeanie, with the blissful assurance of one in love.
“Shall I take the loom or the wheel?” asked Agnes.
“Oh, the wheel,” returned Jeanie, adjusting the heavy clacking machine before which she stood. And soon the buzz of the wheel and the clatter of the loom drowned their attempts at conversation except when Jeanie stopped to tie a thread or Agnes replenished her wool. They could, however, entertain themselves in another way, and presently Agnes started up one of the old psalms and Jeanie joined in.
VERY SWEETLY DID THE GIRLISH VOICES SOUND
VERY SWEETLY DID THE GIRLISH VOICES SOUND
Very sweet did the girlish voices sound to the accompaniment of the whirring wheel and the shuffling loom, and David thought so as he paused outside to listen. Jeanie, tall and straight, her dark eyes aglow, flung outher song with spirit as she sent her shuttle back and forth. Agnes, fair and graceful, stepped forward and back, and sang less vehemently but with more sweetness. “It’s a pretty picture,” said David to himself, “and I hate to disturb it, but a man can’t keep back good news.”
As his figure darkened the doorway the two girls turned, and a rosy flush mounted to Jeanie’s dark cheek. She stopped her work and stood still, but Agnes went on faster. “It’s not the time to stop,” she said, nodding merrily to David, “or Jeanie’s chest will not be full against the wedding.”
“But ye’ll be thinking that what I have to tell is more important than Jeanie’s chest,” he replied, “though maybe as it’s to Jeanie’s advantage to keep you at it, I had better keep silence.”
“You’ll not then,” Agnes returned, pausing so suddenly that her thread broke off with a snap, “for not another turn do I make till I hear what you have to tell.”
David gave Jeanie a reassuring nod. “You’ll not have me keep it from her, Jean, when ye know what it is,” he said, “though it maybe will defraud your chest. It’s just this, Nancy: your mother and her bairns are on the road and must soon be here. I galloped on when I learned it.”
“My mother! My mother!” Agnes clasped her hands, and her cry went up like a shout of praise.Then without another word she ran from the house toward the road, tears of sudden joy filling her eyes.
“She made quick work with her heels,” said David, looking after her with amazement. Such swiftness of movement was beyond him.
“How does she know which way to go?” said Jeanie.
“There’s but the one, she thinks, and that toward the village. She’ll not miss them.”
“And did you see them, David?”
“I did.”
“Where were they?”
“They had just come into the village on Adam Kinsey’s broad.”
“And then? Go on, David.”
“Dod Hunter agreed to bring ’em along in his ox-cart. It’s slow going, and Nancy needn’t hurry.”
“We might go and meet them, too. There’s no use trying to overtake Nancy, but we might go on toward the road and meet them before they get here.”
“There’s no use going so soon,” said David, “for they’ll not be getting this far for half an hour yet. I’ll bide here with you awhile Jean.” He settled himself imperturbably. “I’ll not interfere with your work,” he went on, “and ye can give me a word once in a while, lass. I’d as soon treat me eyes to a look of ye as me ears to the sound of your voice,” which rather doubtful compliment Jeanie was not disposed to takeamiss, knowing that David wanted nothing better than to sit and look at her.
Meanwhile Agnes had run tumultuously along the path leading to the river road, and at last, out of breath, was obliged to settle down to a walk. Her heart was all aflame with the thought of seeing her mother, and once or twice she fairly sobbed out her delight. Reared though she had been among the self-contained Scots, her later association with the demonstrative Polly had encouraged the free outlet of her youthful feelings. When at last the slow ox-team hove in sight, she again quickened her pace and went flying to meet it, crying, “Mother! mother! mother!”
The deliberate oxen came to a halt, and Dod Hunter rested his goad upon the ground as the flying figure approached.
“It’s my lass! I’ll be getting down. It’s my lass,” said Mrs. Kennedy, her voice all of a tremble. And by the time Agnes had reached the team her mother stood by the side of the road. Then in another minute the dear arms were around her, and she heard, in a broken whisper: “My lass, my bairnie! Praise God I hold you at last! It has been a weary time, a weary time.”
Then came shrill little voices from the cart and the scrambling of feet over its side, and Agnes was clasped on one side by Sandy and on the other by Jock and Jessie. “Ah, Sandy, I’d know your blessed freckled face anywhere,” the girl cried, giving him a frantic hug.“And Jock, my lad, how you’ve grown, and Jessie, too. Bless her dear blue eyes; she’s shy of me, poor child, and no wonder when she hasn’t seen me for so long. But where is Margret?”
“There, don’t you see? She’s holding the baby,” Jock informed her.
“My little brother Fergus, and I’ve never seen him. Ah, I must get to him and to Margret. She’s the same faithful bairnie she ever was,” and Agnes climbed into the cart to look for the first time upon the solemn little face of her two-year-old baby brother.
And then what a chatter there was! Between answering and asking questions Agnes hardly paused, and after a while Dod Hunter, plodding along by the side of his oxen, looked back with a sly twinkle in his eye. Agnes laughed. “I know you think me a great chatterbox, Uncle Dod; but I’ve not seen them for two long years, and my heart fairly seems ready to fly out of my body, and as that doesn’t happen, it is the talk that will fly out of my mouth.”
“I wonder ye’ve the breath left,” said the old man, “if ye kept up the pace from M’Clean’s that ye brought up here with.”
“I didn’t run all the way, but when I got out of breath I had to walk. Ah, but I wanted wings.”
“Do you think we’ve changed her, marm?” asked Dod of Mrs. Kennedy.
“She is taller and not so serious.”
“Who could be serious at such a time?” laughed Agnes.
“And she has a way with her that is new to me.”
“It’s maybe offen Polly O’Neill she has that,” said Dod, wagging his head.
Agnes flushed up. She did not like to be compared to Polly, much as she loved the dear creature, and it was the second time that day that the comparison had been made. “I’ll be my old self now with my mother near me,” she said gravely. “I have run wild, I know, and Polly has not checked me. Polly has not your ways, mother, and sometimes I have been forgetting; but Polly is a good woman and has been like a sister to me.”
“Your girl is a good, brave lass, and you’ve no cause to be ashamed of her,” Dod declared.
“I could never be that, I well know,” Mrs. Kennedy returned quietly.
Sometimes walking with Jock and Sandy, sometimes riding with Margret cuddled one side and Jessie the other, the baby on her lap, Agnes made the journey back to the M’Cleans’ gate, where Mrs. M’Clean, Jeanie, and David stood waiting for the party.
“You’ll better be dropping some of your load here,” Mrs. M’Clean suggested.
“Oh, no, no.” Agnes positively refused to consider this.
“But where will you stow them all in your bit of a cabin?”
“We’ll hang them up on pegs rather than leave one behind,” Agnes declared. “We’ll manage somehow.”
But Mrs. M’Clean shook her head as they started off. “We’ve a deal of room, now Archie’s gone,” she said, “and where they’ll stow those five children, not to mention Margaret Kennedy hersel’, I don’t know.” But she did not know Polly and her resources.