Chapter Four.And so, with a good heart, they began their work. I daresay it would be amusing to some of my young readers if I were to go into particulars, and tell them all that was done by each from day to day; but I have no time nor space for this.The bee was a very successful one. As everybody knows, a bee is a collection of the neighbours to help to do in one day work which it would take one or two persons a long time to do. It is not usually to do such work as ploughing or sowing that bees are had; but all the neighbours were glad to help the Widow MacIvor with her spring work, and so two large fields, one of oats and another of barley, were in those two days ploughed and harrowed, and sowed and harrowed again.Shenac was not quite at her ease about the bee, partly because she thought it had been the doing of Angus Dhu and the elder, and partly because she felt if they were to be kept together they must depend, not on their neighbours, but upon themselves. But it was well they had this help, for the young people were quite inexperienced in such work as ploughing and sowing, and the summers are so short in Canada that a week or two sooner or later makes a great difference in the sowing of the seed.There was enough left for Shenac and her brothers to keep them busy from sunrise to sunset, during the months of May and June. There was the planting of potatoes and corn, and the sowing of carrots and turnips; and then there was the hoeing and keeping them all free from weeds. There was also the making of the garden, and the keeping of it in order when it was made. This had always been more the work of Hamish than of any of the rest, and he made it his work still; and though he was not so strong as he used to be, there never had been so much pains taken with the garden before. Everybody knows what comfort for a family comes out of a well-kept garden, even though there may be only the common vegetables and very little fruit in it; and Hamish made the most of theirs that summer, and so did they all.It must not be supposed that because Shenac was a girl she had no part in the field-work. Even now, in that part of the country, the wives and daughters of farmers help their fathers and brothers during the busy seasons of spring and harvest; and for many years after the opening up of the country the females helped to clear the land, putting their hands to all kinds of out-door work as cheerfully as need be. As for Shenac, she would have scorned the idea that there was any work that her brothers could do for which they had not the strength and skill.Indeed, Shenac had her full share of the field-work, and much to do in the house besides. The mother was not strong yet, either in mind or body: she would never be strong again, Shenac sometimes feared, and she must be saved as far as possible from all care and anxiety. So the heaviest of the household work fell to Shenac. They had not a large dairy, and never could have again; for the greater part of their pasture and mowing land lay on the wrong side of the high cedar fence so hotly resented by the children. But the three cows which they had were her peculiar care. She milked them morning and evening, and, when the days were longest, at noon too; and though her mother prepared the dishes for the milk and skimmed the cream, Shenac always made the butter, because churning needed strength as well as skill; and oftener than otherwise it was done before she called her brothers in the morning.Much may be accomplished in a short time by a quick eye and a ready hand, and Shenac had both. The minutes after meal-time which her brothers took for rest, or for lingering about to talk together, she filled with the numberless items of household work which seem little in the doing, but which being left undone bring all things into disorder.When any number of persons are brought together in circumstances where decision and action become necessary, the leadership will naturally fall on the one among them who is best fitted by natural gifts or acquired knowledge to assume responsibility. It is the same in families where the head has been suddenly removed. Quite unconsciously to herself, Shenac assumed the leadership in the household; and it was well for her brothers that she had duties within-doors as well as in the fields. There were days in these months of May and June which were not half long enough for the accomplishment of her plans and wishes. I am afraid that at such times the strength of Hamish and the patience of Dan must have given out before she found it too dark to go on with their labours. But the thought of the mother, weary with the work at home, made her shorten the day to her brothers and lengthen it to herself.One of Shenac’s faults was a tendency to go to extremes in all things that interested her. She had made up her mind that the summer’s work must be successful; and to insure success all other things must be made to yield. It was easy for her to forget the weakness of Hamish, for he was only too willing to forget it himself; and as for Dan, though there was some truth in Angus Dhu’s assertion to his mother that “he was a wild lad, and needed a firm hand to guide him,” he gave no tokens of breaking away as yet. Shenac had so impressed him with the idea that they must keep the farm as their own, and show the neighbours that they could keep it in order, that to him every successful day’s work seemed a triumph over Angus Dhu as well as over circumstances. His industry was quite of his own free will, as he believed, and he gave Shenac none of the credit of keeping him busy, and indeed she took none of the credit to herself. In her determination to do the most that could be done, she might have forgotten her mother’s comfort too; but this was not permitted. For if the mother tired herself with work, or if she saw anything forgotten or neglected in the house, she became fretful and desponding, and against this Shenac always strove to guard.If Shenac were ever so tired at night, it rested her to turn back to look over the fields beginning to grow green and beautiful under their hands. They worked in those days to some purpose, everybody acknowledged. In no neighbourhood, far or near, were the fields better worth looking at than those that had been so faithfully gone over by Shenac and her brothers. Many a farmer paused, in passing, to admire them, saying to himself that the Widow MacIvor’s children were a credit to her and to themselves; and few were so churlish as to refrain from speaking a word of encouragement to them when an opportunity came.Even Angus Dhu gave many a glance of wonder and pleasure over his cedar rails, and gave them credit for having done more than well. He was very glad. He said so to himself, and he said so to his neighbours. And I believe he was glad, in a way. He was too good a farmer not to take pleasure in seeing land made the most of; and I think he was glad, too, to see the children of his dead friend and cousin capable of doing so well for themselves.It is just possible that deep down in his heart, unknown or unacknowledged to himself, there lurked a hope that when Shenac should marry, as he thought she was sure to do, and when wild Dan should have gone away, as his brothers had done before him, those well-tilled fields might still become his. Perhaps I am wrong, and hard upon him, as Shenac was.She gave him no credit for his kind thoughts, but used to say to her brothers, when she caught a glimpse of his face over the fence,—“There stands Angus Dhu, glowering and glooming at us. He’s not praying for summer rain on our behalf, I’ll warrant.—Oh well, Angus man, we’ll do without your prayers, as we do without your help, and as you’ll have to do without our land. Make the most of what you have got, and be content.”“Shenac,” said Hamish on one of these occasions, “you’re hard on Angus Dhu.”“Am I, Hamish?” said Shenac, laughing. “Well, maybe I am; but it will not harm him, I daresay.”“But it may harm yourself, Shenac,” said Hamish gravely. “I think I would rather lose all the work we have done this spring than have it said that our Shenac was bearing false witness against our neighbour, and he of our own kin, too.”“Nobody would dare to say that of me,” said Shenac, reddening.“But if it is true, what is the difference whether it is said or not?” said Hamish. “You seem more glad of our success because you think it vexes Angus Dhu, than because it pleases our mother and keeps us all at home together. It does not vex him, I’m sure of that; and, whether it does or not, it is wrong for you always to be thinking and saying it. You are not to be grieved or angry at my saying it, Shenac.”But both grieved and angry Shenac was at her brother’s reproof. She did not know which was greater, her anger or her grief. She did not trust herself to answer him, and in a little time Hamish spoke again:—“It cannot harm him—at least, I think it cannot really harm him, though it may vex him; and I’m sure it must grieve the girls to hear that you say such things about their father. But that is not what I was thinking about. It must harm yourself most. You are growing hard and bitter. You are not like yourself, Shenac, when you speak of Angus Dhu.”The sting of her brother’s words was in the last sentence, but it was the first part that Shenac answered.“You know very well, Hamish, that I never speak of Angus Dhu except to you—not even to my mother.”“You have spoken to Dan—at least, you have spoken in his hearing. What do you think I heard him saying the other day to Shenac yonder?”“Shenac yonder” was the youngest daughter of Angus Dhu, so called by the brothers to distinguish her from their sister, who was “our Shenac” to them. Other people distinguished between the cousins as they had between the fathers. One was Shenac Bhan; the other, Shenac Dhu.“I don’t know,” said Shenac, startled. “What was it?”“Something like what you were saying to me just now. You may think how Shenac’s black eyes looked when she heard him.”Shenac was shocked.“She would not mind what Dan said.”“No. It was only when Dan told her thatyousaid it that she seemed to mind,” said Hamish gravely.“Dan had no business to tell her,” said Shenac hotly; then she paused.“No,” said Hamish; “I told him that.”“I’ll give him a hearing,” began Shenac.“I think, Shenac, you should say nothing to Dan about it,” said Hamish. “Only take care never to say more than you think before the little ones, or indeed before any one again. You may vex Angus Dhu, and Shenac yonder, and the rest, but the real harm is done to us at home, and especially to yourself, Shenac; for you no more believe that Angus Dhu is a robber—the oppressor of the widow and the fatherless—than I do.”Shenac uttered an exclamation of impatience.“I shall give it to Dan.”“No, Shenac, you will not. Dan must be carefully dealt with. He has a strong will of his own, and if it comes into his mind that you or any one, except our mother, is trying to govern him, he’ll slip through our fingers some fine day.”“You’ve been taking a leaf out of Angus Dhu’s book. There’s no fear of Dan,” said Shenac.“There’s no fear of him as long as he thinks he’s pleasing himself, and that his sister is the best and the wisest girl to be found,” said Hamish. “But if it were to come to a trial of strength between you, Dan would be sure to win.”Shenac was silent. She knew it would not be well to risk her influence over Dan by a struggle of any sort. But she was very angry with him.“He might have had more sense,” she said, after a moment.“And indeed, Shenac, so might you,” said Hamish gravely. “There should be no more said about Angus Dhu, for his sake and ours. He has been very friendly to us this summer, considering all things.”“Considering what I said to him, you mean,” said Shenac sharply. “I was sorry for that as soon as I said it. But, Hamish, if you think I’m going down on my knees to Angus Dhu to tell him so, you’re mistaken. He may not be a thief and a robber, but he’s a dour carle, though he is of our own kin, and as different from our father as the dark is different from the day. And I can say nothing else of him, even for your sake, Hamish.”“It is not for my sake that I am speaking, Shenac, but for your own. You are doing yourself a great wrong, cherishing this bitterness in your heart.”Shenac was too much grieved and too angry to speak. She knew very well that she was neither very good nor very wise; but it had hitherto been her great pleasure in life to know that Hamish thought her so, and his words were very painful to her. She was vexed with him, and with Dan, and with all the world. Above all, she was vexed with herself.She would not confess it, but in her heart she knew that a little of the zest would be taken from their labours if she were sure that their success would not be a source of vexation to Angus Dhu. And then Hamish had said she was injuring Dan—encouraging him in what was wrong—perhaps risking her influence for good over him.The longer she thought about all this, the more unhappy she became. “Bearing false witness!” she repeated. It was a great sin she had been committing. It had been done thoughtlessly, but it was none the less a sin for that, Shenac knew. Hamish was right. She was growing very hard and wicked; and no wonder that he had come to think so meanly of her. Shenac said all this to herself, with many sorrowful and some angry tears. But the anger passed away before the sorrow. There were no confessions made openly; but, whatever may have been her secret thoughts of Angus Dhu, neither Dan nor Hamish nor anybody else ever heard Shenac speak a disrespectful word of him again.Dan never got the “hearing” with which she had threatened him. She checked him more than once, when in the old way he began to remark on the evident interest that their father’s cousin took in their work; but she did it gently, remembering her own fault.The intercourse which had almost ceased between the families was gradually renewed—at least, between the younger ones. Shenac could not bring herself to go often to her cousins’ house. She always felt, as she said to Hamish, as though Angus Dhu “eyed her” at such times. And, besides, she was too busy to go there or anywhere else. But her cousins came often to see her when the day’s work was over; and Shenac, the youngest, who was her father’s favourite, and who could take liberties that none of the others could have done at her age, came at other times. She was older than our Shenac by a year or so; but she was little and merry, and her jet-black hair was cut close to her head like a child’s, so she seemed much younger. She could not come too often. She was equally welcome to the grave, quiet Hamish and the boyish Dan, and more welcome to Shenac than to either. For she never hindered work, but helped it rather. She brought the news, too, and fought hot, merry battles with the lads, and for the time shook even Hamish out of the grave ways that were becoming habitual to him, and did Shenac herself good by reminding her that she was not an old woman burdened with care, but a young girl not sixteen, to whom fun and frolic ought to be natural.There were not many newspapers taken in those parts about that time; but Angus Dhu took one, and Shenac used to come over the fence with it, and, giving it to Hamish, would take his hoe or rake and go on with his work while he read the news to the rest. The newspaper was English, of course. Gaelic was the language spoken at home—the language in which the Bible was read, and the Catechism said; but the young people all spoke and read English. And very good English too, as far as it went; for it was book-English, learned at school from books that are now considered out of date. But they were very good books for all that. They used to have long discussions about the state of the world as they gathered it from the newspapers—not always grave or wise, but useful, especially to Shenac, by keeping her in mind of what in her untiring industry she was in danger of forgetting, that there was a wide world beyond these quiet lines within which they were living, where nobler work than the mere earning of bread was being done by worthy and willing hands.
And so, with a good heart, they began their work. I daresay it would be amusing to some of my young readers if I were to go into particulars, and tell them all that was done by each from day to day; but I have no time nor space for this.
The bee was a very successful one. As everybody knows, a bee is a collection of the neighbours to help to do in one day work which it would take one or two persons a long time to do. It is not usually to do such work as ploughing or sowing that bees are had; but all the neighbours were glad to help the Widow MacIvor with her spring work, and so two large fields, one of oats and another of barley, were in those two days ploughed and harrowed, and sowed and harrowed again.
Shenac was not quite at her ease about the bee, partly because she thought it had been the doing of Angus Dhu and the elder, and partly because she felt if they were to be kept together they must depend, not on their neighbours, but upon themselves. But it was well they had this help, for the young people were quite inexperienced in such work as ploughing and sowing, and the summers are so short in Canada that a week or two sooner or later makes a great difference in the sowing of the seed.
There was enough left for Shenac and her brothers to keep them busy from sunrise to sunset, during the months of May and June. There was the planting of potatoes and corn, and the sowing of carrots and turnips; and then there was the hoeing and keeping them all free from weeds. There was also the making of the garden, and the keeping of it in order when it was made. This had always been more the work of Hamish than of any of the rest, and he made it his work still; and though he was not so strong as he used to be, there never had been so much pains taken with the garden before. Everybody knows what comfort for a family comes out of a well-kept garden, even though there may be only the common vegetables and very little fruit in it; and Hamish made the most of theirs that summer, and so did they all.
It must not be supposed that because Shenac was a girl she had no part in the field-work. Even now, in that part of the country, the wives and daughters of farmers help their fathers and brothers during the busy seasons of spring and harvest; and for many years after the opening up of the country the females helped to clear the land, putting their hands to all kinds of out-door work as cheerfully as need be. As for Shenac, she would have scorned the idea that there was any work that her brothers could do for which they had not the strength and skill.
Indeed, Shenac had her full share of the field-work, and much to do in the house besides. The mother was not strong yet, either in mind or body: she would never be strong again, Shenac sometimes feared, and she must be saved as far as possible from all care and anxiety. So the heaviest of the household work fell to Shenac. They had not a large dairy, and never could have again; for the greater part of their pasture and mowing land lay on the wrong side of the high cedar fence so hotly resented by the children. But the three cows which they had were her peculiar care. She milked them morning and evening, and, when the days were longest, at noon too; and though her mother prepared the dishes for the milk and skimmed the cream, Shenac always made the butter, because churning needed strength as well as skill; and oftener than otherwise it was done before she called her brothers in the morning.
Much may be accomplished in a short time by a quick eye and a ready hand, and Shenac had both. The minutes after meal-time which her brothers took for rest, or for lingering about to talk together, she filled with the numberless items of household work which seem little in the doing, but which being left undone bring all things into disorder.
When any number of persons are brought together in circumstances where decision and action become necessary, the leadership will naturally fall on the one among them who is best fitted by natural gifts or acquired knowledge to assume responsibility. It is the same in families where the head has been suddenly removed. Quite unconsciously to herself, Shenac assumed the leadership in the household; and it was well for her brothers that she had duties within-doors as well as in the fields. There were days in these months of May and June which were not half long enough for the accomplishment of her plans and wishes. I am afraid that at such times the strength of Hamish and the patience of Dan must have given out before she found it too dark to go on with their labours. But the thought of the mother, weary with the work at home, made her shorten the day to her brothers and lengthen it to herself.
One of Shenac’s faults was a tendency to go to extremes in all things that interested her. She had made up her mind that the summer’s work must be successful; and to insure success all other things must be made to yield. It was easy for her to forget the weakness of Hamish, for he was only too willing to forget it himself; and as for Dan, though there was some truth in Angus Dhu’s assertion to his mother that “he was a wild lad, and needed a firm hand to guide him,” he gave no tokens of breaking away as yet. Shenac had so impressed him with the idea that they must keep the farm as their own, and show the neighbours that they could keep it in order, that to him every successful day’s work seemed a triumph over Angus Dhu as well as over circumstances. His industry was quite of his own free will, as he believed, and he gave Shenac none of the credit of keeping him busy, and indeed she took none of the credit to herself. In her determination to do the most that could be done, she might have forgotten her mother’s comfort too; but this was not permitted. For if the mother tired herself with work, or if she saw anything forgotten or neglected in the house, she became fretful and desponding, and against this Shenac always strove to guard.
If Shenac were ever so tired at night, it rested her to turn back to look over the fields beginning to grow green and beautiful under their hands. They worked in those days to some purpose, everybody acknowledged. In no neighbourhood, far or near, were the fields better worth looking at than those that had been so faithfully gone over by Shenac and her brothers. Many a farmer paused, in passing, to admire them, saying to himself that the Widow MacIvor’s children were a credit to her and to themselves; and few were so churlish as to refrain from speaking a word of encouragement to them when an opportunity came.
Even Angus Dhu gave many a glance of wonder and pleasure over his cedar rails, and gave them credit for having done more than well. He was very glad. He said so to himself, and he said so to his neighbours. And I believe he was glad, in a way. He was too good a farmer not to take pleasure in seeing land made the most of; and I think he was glad, too, to see the children of his dead friend and cousin capable of doing so well for themselves.
It is just possible that deep down in his heart, unknown or unacknowledged to himself, there lurked a hope that when Shenac should marry, as he thought she was sure to do, and when wild Dan should have gone away, as his brothers had done before him, those well-tilled fields might still become his. Perhaps I am wrong, and hard upon him, as Shenac was.
She gave him no credit for his kind thoughts, but used to say to her brothers, when she caught a glimpse of his face over the fence,—
“There stands Angus Dhu, glowering and glooming at us. He’s not praying for summer rain on our behalf, I’ll warrant.—Oh well, Angus man, we’ll do without your prayers, as we do without your help, and as you’ll have to do without our land. Make the most of what you have got, and be content.”
“Shenac,” said Hamish on one of these occasions, “you’re hard on Angus Dhu.”
“Am I, Hamish?” said Shenac, laughing. “Well, maybe I am; but it will not harm him, I daresay.”
“But it may harm yourself, Shenac,” said Hamish gravely. “I think I would rather lose all the work we have done this spring than have it said that our Shenac was bearing false witness against our neighbour, and he of our own kin, too.”
“Nobody would dare to say that of me,” said Shenac, reddening.
“But if it is true, what is the difference whether it is said or not?” said Hamish. “You seem more glad of our success because you think it vexes Angus Dhu, than because it pleases our mother and keeps us all at home together. It does not vex him, I’m sure of that; and, whether it does or not, it is wrong for you always to be thinking and saying it. You are not to be grieved or angry at my saying it, Shenac.”
But both grieved and angry Shenac was at her brother’s reproof. She did not know which was greater, her anger or her grief. She did not trust herself to answer him, and in a little time Hamish spoke again:—
“It cannot harm him—at least, I think it cannot really harm him, though it may vex him; and I’m sure it must grieve the girls to hear that you say such things about their father. But that is not what I was thinking about. It must harm yourself most. You are growing hard and bitter. You are not like yourself, Shenac, when you speak of Angus Dhu.”
The sting of her brother’s words was in the last sentence, but it was the first part that Shenac answered.
“You know very well, Hamish, that I never speak of Angus Dhu except to you—not even to my mother.”
“You have spoken to Dan—at least, you have spoken in his hearing. What do you think I heard him saying the other day to Shenac yonder?”
“Shenac yonder” was the youngest daughter of Angus Dhu, so called by the brothers to distinguish her from their sister, who was “our Shenac” to them. Other people distinguished between the cousins as they had between the fathers. One was Shenac Bhan; the other, Shenac Dhu.
“I don’t know,” said Shenac, startled. “What was it?”
“Something like what you were saying to me just now. You may think how Shenac’s black eyes looked when she heard him.”
Shenac was shocked.
“She would not mind what Dan said.”
“No. It was only when Dan told her thatyousaid it that she seemed to mind,” said Hamish gravely.
“Dan had no business to tell her,” said Shenac hotly; then she paused.
“No,” said Hamish; “I told him that.”
“I’ll give him a hearing,” began Shenac.
“I think, Shenac, you should say nothing to Dan about it,” said Hamish. “Only take care never to say more than you think before the little ones, or indeed before any one again. You may vex Angus Dhu, and Shenac yonder, and the rest, but the real harm is done to us at home, and especially to yourself, Shenac; for you no more believe that Angus Dhu is a robber—the oppressor of the widow and the fatherless—than I do.”
Shenac uttered an exclamation of impatience.
“I shall give it to Dan.”
“No, Shenac, you will not. Dan must be carefully dealt with. He has a strong will of his own, and if it comes into his mind that you or any one, except our mother, is trying to govern him, he’ll slip through our fingers some fine day.”
“You’ve been taking a leaf out of Angus Dhu’s book. There’s no fear of Dan,” said Shenac.
“There’s no fear of him as long as he thinks he’s pleasing himself, and that his sister is the best and the wisest girl to be found,” said Hamish. “But if it were to come to a trial of strength between you, Dan would be sure to win.”
Shenac was silent. She knew it would not be well to risk her influence over Dan by a struggle of any sort. But she was very angry with him.
“He might have had more sense,” she said, after a moment.
“And indeed, Shenac, so might you,” said Hamish gravely. “There should be no more said about Angus Dhu, for his sake and ours. He has been very friendly to us this summer, considering all things.”
“Considering what I said to him, you mean,” said Shenac sharply. “I was sorry for that as soon as I said it. But, Hamish, if you think I’m going down on my knees to Angus Dhu to tell him so, you’re mistaken. He may not be a thief and a robber, but he’s a dour carle, though he is of our own kin, and as different from our father as the dark is different from the day. And I can say nothing else of him, even for your sake, Hamish.”
“It is not for my sake that I am speaking, Shenac, but for your own. You are doing yourself a great wrong, cherishing this bitterness in your heart.”
Shenac was too much grieved and too angry to speak. She knew very well that she was neither very good nor very wise; but it had hitherto been her great pleasure in life to know that Hamish thought her so, and his words were very painful to her. She was vexed with him, and with Dan, and with all the world. Above all, she was vexed with herself.
She would not confess it, but in her heart she knew that a little of the zest would be taken from their labours if she were sure that their success would not be a source of vexation to Angus Dhu. And then Hamish had said she was injuring Dan—encouraging him in what was wrong—perhaps risking her influence for good over him.
The longer she thought about all this, the more unhappy she became. “Bearing false witness!” she repeated. It was a great sin she had been committing. It had been done thoughtlessly, but it was none the less a sin for that, Shenac knew. Hamish was right. She was growing very hard and wicked; and no wonder that he had come to think so meanly of her. Shenac said all this to herself, with many sorrowful and some angry tears. But the anger passed away before the sorrow. There were no confessions made openly; but, whatever may have been her secret thoughts of Angus Dhu, neither Dan nor Hamish nor anybody else ever heard Shenac speak a disrespectful word of him again.
Dan never got the “hearing” with which she had threatened him. She checked him more than once, when in the old way he began to remark on the evident interest that their father’s cousin took in their work; but she did it gently, remembering her own fault.
The intercourse which had almost ceased between the families was gradually renewed—at least, between the younger ones. Shenac could not bring herself to go often to her cousins’ house. She always felt, as she said to Hamish, as though Angus Dhu “eyed her” at such times. And, besides, she was too busy to go there or anywhere else. But her cousins came often to see her when the day’s work was over; and Shenac, the youngest, who was her father’s favourite, and who could take liberties that none of the others could have done at her age, came at other times. She was older than our Shenac by a year or so; but she was little and merry, and her jet-black hair was cut close to her head like a child’s, so she seemed much younger. She could not come too often. She was equally welcome to the grave, quiet Hamish and the boyish Dan, and more welcome to Shenac than to either. For she never hindered work, but helped it rather. She brought the news, too, and fought hot, merry battles with the lads, and for the time shook even Hamish out of the grave ways that were becoming habitual to him, and did Shenac herself good by reminding her that she was not an old woman burdened with care, but a young girl not sixteen, to whom fun and frolic ought to be natural.
There were not many newspapers taken in those parts about that time; but Angus Dhu took one, and Shenac used to come over the fence with it, and, giving it to Hamish, would take his hoe or rake and go on with his work while he read the news to the rest. The newspaper was English, of course. Gaelic was the language spoken at home—the language in which the Bible was read, and the Catechism said; but the young people all spoke and read English. And very good English too, as far as it went; for it was book-English, learned at school from books that are now considered out of date. But they were very good books for all that. They used to have long discussions about the state of the world as they gathered it from the newspapers—not always grave or wise, but useful, especially to Shenac, by keeping her in mind of what in her untiring industry she was in danger of forgetting, that there was a wide world beyond these quiet lines within which they were living, where nobler work than the mere earning of bread was being done by worthy and willing hands.
Chapter Five.July had come. There was a little pause in the field-work, for all the seed had been sown and all the weeds pulled up, and they were waiting for a week or two to pass, and then the haying was to begin. Even haying did not promise to be a very busy season with them, for the cutting and caring for the hay in their largest field would this year fall to the lot of Angus Dhu. It was as well so, Shenac said to herself with a sigh, for they could not manage much hay by themselves, and paying wages would never do for them. Indeed, they would need some help even with the little they had; for Dan had never handled a scythe except in play, and Hamish, even if he had the skill, had not the strength.And then the wool. They must have their cloth early this year, for last year they had been obliged to sell the wool, and the boys’ clothes were threadbare. If they could get the wool spun early, McLean the weaver would weave their cloth first. She must try to see what could be done. But, oh, that weary little wheel!Shenac’s mother thought it was a wonderful little wheel; and so indeed it was. It had been part of the marriage outfit of Shenac’s grandmother before she left her Highland home. It had been in almost constant use all these years, and bade fair to be as good as ever for as many years to come. There was no wearing it out or putting it out of order, for, like most things made in those old times, it had strength if not elegance, and Shenac’s mother was as careful of it as a modern musical lady is of her grand piano.I cannot describe it to you, for I am not very well acquainted with such instruments of labour. It was not at all like the wheels which are used now-a-days in districts where the great manufactories have not yet put wheels out of use. It was a small, low, complicated affair, at which the spinner sat, using both foot and hand. It needed skill and patience to use it well, and strength too. A long day’s work well done on the little wheel left one far wearier than a day’s work in the field.As for Shenac, the very thought of it made her weary. If she had lived in the present day, she would have said it made her nervous. But, happily for Shenac, she did not know that she had any nerves, and her mother’s wheel got the blame of her discomfort. Not that she ever ventured to speak a disrespectful word of it. The insane idea that perhaps her mother might be induced to sell it and buy one of the new-fashioned kind, like that Archie Matheson’s young wife had brought with her,didcome into her head once, but she never spoke of it. It would have been wrong as well as foolish to do so, for her mother would never try to learn to use the new one, and half the comfort of her life would be gone without her faithful friend, the little wheel.“Oh, if I could get one for myself!” said Shenac. She had seen and used Mary Matheson’s last summer, and now, hurried as she was at home, she took an afternoon to go with Hamish to see it again.“Could you not make one, Hamish?” she said entreatingly; “you can do so many things.”But Hamish shook his head.“I might make the stock if I had tools; but the rest of it—no.”The sheep were shorn. There were sixteen fleeces piled up in the barn; but a great deal must be done to it before it could be ready for the boys to wear. One thing Shenac had determined on. It should be sent and carded at the mill. The mill was twenty miles away, to be sure—perhaps more; but the time taken for the journey would be saved ten times over. Shenac thought she might possibly get through the spinning, but to card it by hand, with all there was to do in the fields, would be quite impossible.This matter troubled Shenac all the more that she could not share her vexation with Hamish. The idea of selling the grandmother’s wheel seemed to him little short of sacrilege; and neither he nor their cousin Shenac could see why the mother could not dye and card and spin the wool, as she had been accustomed to do. But Shenac knew this to be impossible. Her mother was able for no such work now, though she might think so herself; and Shenac knew that to try and fail would make the mother miserable. What was to be done? Over this question she pondered with an earnestness, and, alas! with a uselessness, that gave impatience to her hand and sharpness to her voice at last.“What aileth thee, Shenac Bhan, bonny Shenac, Shenac the farmer, Shenac the fair? Wherefore rests the shadow on thy brow, and the look of sadness in thine azure eyes?” Hamish had been reading to them Gaelic Ossian, and Shenac Dhu had caught up the manner of the poem, and spoke in a way that made them all laugh. Shenac Bhan laughed too; but not because she was merry, for her cousin’s nonsense always vexed her when she was “out of sorts.” But her cousin Christie was there, Mrs More, the eldest sister of Shenac Dhu; and so Shenac Bhan laughed with the rest. She was here on a visit from the city of M— where she lived, and had come over to see her aunt, as Angus Dhu’s children always called the widow. A heavy summer shower was falling, and all the boys had taken refuge from it in the house, and there were noise and confusion for a time.“I want Christie to come into the barn and see our wool,” said Shenac Bhan at last, when the shower was over. “And, Shenac—dark Shenac, doleful Shenac—you are to stay and keep the lads in order till we come back.”Shenac Dhu made a face, but let them go.Mrs More was a pale, quiet woman, with a grave but kind manner, which put Shenac at her ease at once, though she had not seen her since her marriage, which was more than five years before. She had always been very kind to the children when she lived at home, and the memory of this gave Shenac courage to ask her help out of at least one of her difficulties.“How much you have grown, Shenac!” said her cousin. “I hardly think I would have known you if I had seen you anywhere else. Yes, I think I would have known your face anywhere. But you are a woman now, and doing a woman’s work, they tell me.”“We have all been busy this summer,” said Shenac; “but our hurry is over now for a while.”Heedless of the little pools that were shining here and there, they went first into the garden, and then round the other buildings, and over to the spot, still black and charred, where the house had stood. But little was said by either of them.“Do you like living in the city?” said Shenac at last.“For some things I like it—for most things, indeed; but sometimes I long for a sight of the fields and woods, more for my wee Mary’s sake than for my own.”“This is our wool,” said Shenac, as they entered the barn; “I wish it was spun.”“Shenac,” said her cousin kindly, “have you not undertaken too much? It’s all very well for you to speak of Hamish and Dan, but the weight must fall on you. I see that plainly.”But Shenac would not let her think so.“I only do my share,” said she eagerly.“I think you could have helped them more by coming to M— and taking a situation. You could learn to do anything, Shenac, if you were to try.”But Shenac would not listen.“We must keep together,” said she; “and the land must be kept for Allister. There is no fear. We shall not grow rich, but we can live, if we bide all together and do our best.”“Shenac,” persisted her cousin, “I do not want to discourage you; but there are so many things which a girl like you ought not to do—cannot do, indeed, without breaking your health. I know. I was the eldest at home. I know what there is to do in a place like yours. The doctor tells me I shall never be quite well again, because of the long strain of hard work and exposure when I was young like you. Think, if your health was to fail.”Shenac turned her compassionate eyes upon her.“But your father was hard on you, folks say, and I have the work at my own taking.”Mrs More shook her head sadly.“Ah, Shenac dear, circumstances may be far harder on you than ever my father was on me. You do not know what may lie before you. No girl like you should have such responsibility. If you will come with me or follow me, you and Hamish, I can do much for you. You could learn to do anything, Shenac, and Hamish is very clever. There are places where his littleness and his lameness would not be against him, as they must be on the land. Let my father take Dan, as he wished, and let Hughie go to the elder’s for a while. The land can lie here safe enough till Allister comes home, if that is what you wish. Indeed, Shenac, you do not know what you are undertaking.”“Cousin Christie,” said Shenac gently, “you are very kind, but I cannot leave my mother; and I am strong—stronger than you think. Christie, you speak as though you thought Allister would never come home. Was our Allister a wild lad, as your father says? Surely, he’ll come home to his mother, now that his father is dead.”She sat down on the pile of wool, and turned a very pale, frightened face to her cousin. Mrs More stooped down and kissed her.“My dear,” she said gently, “Allister was not a wild lad in my time, but good and truthful—one who honoured his parents. But, Shenac, the world is wide, and there are so many things that those who have lived in this quiet place all their lives cannot judge of. And even if Allister were to come back, he might not be content to settle down here in the old quiet way. The land would seem less to him than it seems to you.”“But if Allister should not come home, or if he should not stay, my mother will need me all the more. No, Cousin Christie, you must not discourage me. I must try it. And, indeed, it is not I alone. Hamish has so much sense and judgment, and Dan is growing so strong. And we will try it anyway.”“Well, Shenac, you deserve to succeed, and you will succeed if anybody could,” said her cousin. “I will not discourage you. I wish I could help you instead.”“You can help me,” said Shenac eagerly; “that’s what I brought you out to say. Our wool—you are going back soon, and if the waggon goes, will you ask your father to let our wool go to the mill? The carding takes so long, and my mother is not so strong as she used to be. And that is one of the things I cannot abide. The weary little wheel is bad enough. Will you ask your father, Christie?”Mrs More laughed.“That is but a small favour, Shenac. Of course my father will take it, and he’ll bring it back too; for, though it is not his usual plan at this time of the year, he’s going on all the way to M— with butter. There came word yesterday that there was great demand for it. The wool will be done by the time he comes back; and he is to take his own too, I believe.”Shenac gave a sigh of relief.“Well, that’s settled.”“Why did you not ask my father himself?” said Mrs More. “Are not you and he good friends, Shenac?” Shenac muttered something about not liking to give trouble and not liking to ask Angus Dhu. Mrs More laughed again.“I think you are hard on my father, Shenac. I think he would be a good friend to you if you would let him. You must not mind a sharp word from the like of him. His bark is worse than his bite.”Shenac was inexpressibly uncomfortable, remembering that all the hard words had come from her and not from Angus Dhu.“Well, never mind,” said Mrs More; “the carrying of the wool is my father’s favour. What can I do for you, Shenac?”“You can do one thing for me,” said Shenac briskly, glad to escape from a painful subject, and laying her hand on a shining instrument of steel that peeped from beneath the wool on which she was sitting. “You can cut my hair off. My mother does not like to do it, and Hamish won’t. I was going to ask Shenac yonder; but you will do it better.” And she began to loosen the heavy braids.“What’s that about Shenac yonder?” said that young person, coming in upon them. “I should like to know what you are plotting, you two, together—and bringing in my innocent name too!”“Nothing very bad,” said Shenac, laughing. “I want Christie to cut my hair, it is such a trouble; it takes a whole half-hour at one time or other of the day to keep it neat, and half-hours are precious.”“I don’t like to do it, Shenac,” said Mrs More.Shenac Dhu held up her hands in astonishment.“Cut your hair off! Was the like ever heard of?—Nonsense, Christie! she never means it; and Hamish would never let her, besides. She’ll look no better than the rest of us without her hair,” continued she, taking the heavy braids out of Shenac’s hands and pushing her back on the pile of wool from which she had risen. “Christie, tell Shenac about John Cameron, as you told us last night.”While Shenac listened to the account of a sad accident that had happened to a young man from another part of the country, Shenac Dhu let down the long, fair hair of her cousin, and, by the help of an old card that lay near, smoothed it till it lay in waves and ripples of gold far below her waist. Then, as Shenac Bhan still sat, growing pale and red by turns as she listened, she with great care rolled the shining mass into thick curls over neck and shoulders.“Now stand up and show yourself,” said she, as she finished. “Is she not a picture? Christie, you should take her to the town with you and put her up in your husband’s shop-window. You would make her fortune and your own too.”Shenac Bhan had this advantage over her cousin, and indeed over most people—that the sun that made them as brown as a berry, after the first few days’ exposure left her as fair and unfreckled as ever; and she really was a very pretty picture as she stood laughing and blushing before her cousins. The door opened, and Hamish came in.“My mother sent me to bid you all come in to tea;” but he stopped as his eye fell on his sister.“Tea!” cried Shenac Bhan. “I meant to do all that myself. Who would have thought that we had been here so long?” And she made a movement, as if to bind back her hair, that she might hasten away.“Be quiet; stay till I bid you go,” said Shenac Dhu, hastily letting the curls fall again. “I wonder if all the puddles are dried up?—She ought to see herself. Cut them off! The vain creature! Never fear, Hamish.”“Christie is to cut it,” said Shenac Bhan, laughing, and holding the wool-shears towards Mrs More. “I must do it, Hamish; it takes such a time to keep it decently neat. My mother does not care, and why should you?”“Whisht, Hamish,” said Shenac Dhu, “you’re going to quote Saint Paul and Saint Peter about a woman’s hair being a covering and a glory. Don’t fash yourself. Why, she would deserve to be a Scots worthy more than George Wishart, or than the woman who was drowned even, if she were to do it!”“You had your own cut,” said Shenac Bhan, looking at her cousin with some surprise. “Why should I not do the same?”“You are not me. Everybody has not my strength of mind,” said Shenac Dhu, nodding gravely.“Toch! you cut yours that it might grow long and thick like our Shenac’s,” said Dan, who had been with them for some time. “Think of your hair, and look at this.” And he lifted the fair curls admiringly.Shenac Bhan laughed.“It’s an awful bother, Dan.”“But it would be a pity to lose it. What a lot of it there is!” And the boy walked round his sister, touching it as he went.“She never meant to do it; but after that she could not,” said Shenac Dhu, pretending to whisper.“Our Shenac never says what she doesn’t mean,” said Dan hotly.“Whatever other people’s Shenacs do,” said Hamish laughing.Shenac Dhu made as if she would charge him with the great shears.“Give them to Christie,” said Shenac Bhan. “What a work to make about nothing!”“She does not mean to do it yet,” said Shenac Dhu; but she handed the shears to her sister.“I don’t like to do it, Shenac,” said Mrs More. “Think how long it will take to grow again; and it is beautiful hair,” she added, as she came near and passed her fingers through it.“Nonsense, Christie, she’s not in earnest,” persisted Shenac Dhu.With a quick, impatient motion, Shenac Bhan took the shears from her cousin’s hand and severed one—two—three of the bright curls from the mass. Shenac Dhu uttered a cry.“There! did I not tell you?” cried Dan, forgetting everything else in his triumph over Shenac Dhu. Hamish turned and went out without a word.“There,” said Shenac Bhan; “you must do it now, Christie.”Mrs More took the great shears and began to cut without a word; and no one spoke again till the curls lay in a shining heap at their feet. Then Shenac Dhu drew a long breath, and said,—“Don’t say afterwards it was my fault.”“It was just your fault, Shenac Dhu, you envious, spiteful thing,” exclaimed the indignant Dan.“Nonsense, Cousin Shenac.—Be quiet, Dan. She had nothing to do with it. It has been a trouble all summer, and I’m glad to be rid of it. I only wish I could spin it, like the wool.”“What a lot of it there is!” And Shenac Dhu stooped down and lifted a long tress or two tenderly, as if they had life.“What will you do with it, Shenac?”“Burn it, since I cannot make stockings of it. Put them in here.” And she held up her apron.“Will you give your hair to me, Shenac?” asked Mrs More.“What can you do with it?” asked Shenac in some surprise. “Surely I’ll give it to you, so that I hear no more about it.” The curls were carefully gathered, and tied in Mrs More’s handkerchief.“Shenac Bhan,” said the other Shenac solemnly, “you look like a shorn sheep. I shall never see you again without thinking of the young woman tied to the stake on the sands, and the sea coming up and up—”“Shenac, be quiet. It is sinful to speak lightly of so solemn a thing,” said her sister gravely.“Solemn!” said Shenac. “Lightly! By no means. I was putting two solemn things together. I don’t know which is more solemn. For my part, I would as soon feel the cold water creeping up my back, like—”“Shenac,” said our Shenac entreatingly, “don’t say foolish things and vex my mother and Hamish.”Her cousin put her hand on her mouth.“You have heard my last word.”But the last word about the shining curls was not spoken yet.
July had come. There was a little pause in the field-work, for all the seed had been sown and all the weeds pulled up, and they were waiting for a week or two to pass, and then the haying was to begin. Even haying did not promise to be a very busy season with them, for the cutting and caring for the hay in their largest field would this year fall to the lot of Angus Dhu. It was as well so, Shenac said to herself with a sigh, for they could not manage much hay by themselves, and paying wages would never do for them. Indeed, they would need some help even with the little they had; for Dan had never handled a scythe except in play, and Hamish, even if he had the skill, had not the strength.
And then the wool. They must have their cloth early this year, for last year they had been obliged to sell the wool, and the boys’ clothes were threadbare. If they could get the wool spun early, McLean the weaver would weave their cloth first. She must try to see what could be done. But, oh, that weary little wheel!
Shenac’s mother thought it was a wonderful little wheel; and so indeed it was. It had been part of the marriage outfit of Shenac’s grandmother before she left her Highland home. It had been in almost constant use all these years, and bade fair to be as good as ever for as many years to come. There was no wearing it out or putting it out of order, for, like most things made in those old times, it had strength if not elegance, and Shenac’s mother was as careful of it as a modern musical lady is of her grand piano.
I cannot describe it to you, for I am not very well acquainted with such instruments of labour. It was not at all like the wheels which are used now-a-days in districts where the great manufactories have not yet put wheels out of use. It was a small, low, complicated affair, at which the spinner sat, using both foot and hand. It needed skill and patience to use it well, and strength too. A long day’s work well done on the little wheel left one far wearier than a day’s work in the field.
As for Shenac, the very thought of it made her weary. If she had lived in the present day, she would have said it made her nervous. But, happily for Shenac, she did not know that she had any nerves, and her mother’s wheel got the blame of her discomfort. Not that she ever ventured to speak a disrespectful word of it. The insane idea that perhaps her mother might be induced to sell it and buy one of the new-fashioned kind, like that Archie Matheson’s young wife had brought with her,didcome into her head once, but she never spoke of it. It would have been wrong as well as foolish to do so, for her mother would never try to learn to use the new one, and half the comfort of her life would be gone without her faithful friend, the little wheel.
“Oh, if I could get one for myself!” said Shenac. She had seen and used Mary Matheson’s last summer, and now, hurried as she was at home, she took an afternoon to go with Hamish to see it again.
“Could you not make one, Hamish?” she said entreatingly; “you can do so many things.”
But Hamish shook his head.
“I might make the stock if I had tools; but the rest of it—no.”
The sheep were shorn. There were sixteen fleeces piled up in the barn; but a great deal must be done to it before it could be ready for the boys to wear. One thing Shenac had determined on. It should be sent and carded at the mill. The mill was twenty miles away, to be sure—perhaps more; but the time taken for the journey would be saved ten times over. Shenac thought she might possibly get through the spinning, but to card it by hand, with all there was to do in the fields, would be quite impossible.
This matter troubled Shenac all the more that she could not share her vexation with Hamish. The idea of selling the grandmother’s wheel seemed to him little short of sacrilege; and neither he nor their cousin Shenac could see why the mother could not dye and card and spin the wool, as she had been accustomed to do. But Shenac knew this to be impossible. Her mother was able for no such work now, though she might think so herself; and Shenac knew that to try and fail would make the mother miserable. What was to be done? Over this question she pondered with an earnestness, and, alas! with a uselessness, that gave impatience to her hand and sharpness to her voice at last.
“What aileth thee, Shenac Bhan, bonny Shenac, Shenac the farmer, Shenac the fair? Wherefore rests the shadow on thy brow, and the look of sadness in thine azure eyes?” Hamish had been reading to them Gaelic Ossian, and Shenac Dhu had caught up the manner of the poem, and spoke in a way that made them all laugh. Shenac Bhan laughed too; but not because she was merry, for her cousin’s nonsense always vexed her when she was “out of sorts.” But her cousin Christie was there, Mrs More, the eldest sister of Shenac Dhu; and so Shenac Bhan laughed with the rest. She was here on a visit from the city of M— where she lived, and had come over to see her aunt, as Angus Dhu’s children always called the widow. A heavy summer shower was falling, and all the boys had taken refuge from it in the house, and there were noise and confusion for a time.
“I want Christie to come into the barn and see our wool,” said Shenac Bhan at last, when the shower was over. “And, Shenac—dark Shenac, doleful Shenac—you are to stay and keep the lads in order till we come back.”
Shenac Dhu made a face, but let them go.
Mrs More was a pale, quiet woman, with a grave but kind manner, which put Shenac at her ease at once, though she had not seen her since her marriage, which was more than five years before. She had always been very kind to the children when she lived at home, and the memory of this gave Shenac courage to ask her help out of at least one of her difficulties.
“How much you have grown, Shenac!” said her cousin. “I hardly think I would have known you if I had seen you anywhere else. Yes, I think I would have known your face anywhere. But you are a woman now, and doing a woman’s work, they tell me.”
“We have all been busy this summer,” said Shenac; “but our hurry is over now for a while.”
Heedless of the little pools that were shining here and there, they went first into the garden, and then round the other buildings, and over to the spot, still black and charred, where the house had stood. But little was said by either of them.
“Do you like living in the city?” said Shenac at last.
“For some things I like it—for most things, indeed; but sometimes I long for a sight of the fields and woods, more for my wee Mary’s sake than for my own.”
“This is our wool,” said Shenac, as they entered the barn; “I wish it was spun.”
“Shenac,” said her cousin kindly, “have you not undertaken too much? It’s all very well for you to speak of Hamish and Dan, but the weight must fall on you. I see that plainly.”
But Shenac would not let her think so.
“I only do my share,” said she eagerly.
“I think you could have helped them more by coming to M— and taking a situation. You could learn to do anything, Shenac, if you were to try.”
But Shenac would not listen.
“We must keep together,” said she; “and the land must be kept for Allister. There is no fear. We shall not grow rich, but we can live, if we bide all together and do our best.”
“Shenac,” persisted her cousin, “I do not want to discourage you; but there are so many things which a girl like you ought not to do—cannot do, indeed, without breaking your health. I know. I was the eldest at home. I know what there is to do in a place like yours. The doctor tells me I shall never be quite well again, because of the long strain of hard work and exposure when I was young like you. Think, if your health was to fail.”
Shenac turned her compassionate eyes upon her.
“But your father was hard on you, folks say, and I have the work at my own taking.”
Mrs More shook her head sadly.
“Ah, Shenac dear, circumstances may be far harder on you than ever my father was on me. You do not know what may lie before you. No girl like you should have such responsibility. If you will come with me or follow me, you and Hamish, I can do much for you. You could learn to do anything, Shenac, and Hamish is very clever. There are places where his littleness and his lameness would not be against him, as they must be on the land. Let my father take Dan, as he wished, and let Hughie go to the elder’s for a while. The land can lie here safe enough till Allister comes home, if that is what you wish. Indeed, Shenac, you do not know what you are undertaking.”
“Cousin Christie,” said Shenac gently, “you are very kind, but I cannot leave my mother; and I am strong—stronger than you think. Christie, you speak as though you thought Allister would never come home. Was our Allister a wild lad, as your father says? Surely, he’ll come home to his mother, now that his father is dead.”
She sat down on the pile of wool, and turned a very pale, frightened face to her cousin. Mrs More stooped down and kissed her.
“My dear,” she said gently, “Allister was not a wild lad in my time, but good and truthful—one who honoured his parents. But, Shenac, the world is wide, and there are so many things that those who have lived in this quiet place all their lives cannot judge of. And even if Allister were to come back, he might not be content to settle down here in the old quiet way. The land would seem less to him than it seems to you.”
“But if Allister should not come home, or if he should not stay, my mother will need me all the more. No, Cousin Christie, you must not discourage me. I must try it. And, indeed, it is not I alone. Hamish has so much sense and judgment, and Dan is growing so strong. And we will try it anyway.”
“Well, Shenac, you deserve to succeed, and you will succeed if anybody could,” said her cousin. “I will not discourage you. I wish I could help you instead.”
“You can help me,” said Shenac eagerly; “that’s what I brought you out to say. Our wool—you are going back soon, and if the waggon goes, will you ask your father to let our wool go to the mill? The carding takes so long, and my mother is not so strong as she used to be. And that is one of the things I cannot abide. The weary little wheel is bad enough. Will you ask your father, Christie?”
Mrs More laughed.
“That is but a small favour, Shenac. Of course my father will take it, and he’ll bring it back too; for, though it is not his usual plan at this time of the year, he’s going on all the way to M— with butter. There came word yesterday that there was great demand for it. The wool will be done by the time he comes back; and he is to take his own too, I believe.”
Shenac gave a sigh of relief.
“Well, that’s settled.”
“Why did you not ask my father himself?” said Mrs More. “Are not you and he good friends, Shenac?” Shenac muttered something about not liking to give trouble and not liking to ask Angus Dhu. Mrs More laughed again.
“I think you are hard on my father, Shenac. I think he would be a good friend to you if you would let him. You must not mind a sharp word from the like of him. His bark is worse than his bite.”
Shenac was inexpressibly uncomfortable, remembering that all the hard words had come from her and not from Angus Dhu.
“Well, never mind,” said Mrs More; “the carrying of the wool is my father’s favour. What can I do for you, Shenac?”
“You can do one thing for me,” said Shenac briskly, glad to escape from a painful subject, and laying her hand on a shining instrument of steel that peeped from beneath the wool on which she was sitting. “You can cut my hair off. My mother does not like to do it, and Hamish won’t. I was going to ask Shenac yonder; but you will do it better.” And she began to loosen the heavy braids.
“What’s that about Shenac yonder?” said that young person, coming in upon them. “I should like to know what you are plotting, you two, together—and bringing in my innocent name too!”
“Nothing very bad,” said Shenac, laughing. “I want Christie to cut my hair, it is such a trouble; it takes a whole half-hour at one time or other of the day to keep it neat, and half-hours are precious.”
“I don’t like to do it, Shenac,” said Mrs More.
Shenac Dhu held up her hands in astonishment.
“Cut your hair off! Was the like ever heard of?—Nonsense, Christie! she never means it; and Hamish would never let her, besides. She’ll look no better than the rest of us without her hair,” continued she, taking the heavy braids out of Shenac’s hands and pushing her back on the pile of wool from which she had risen. “Christie, tell Shenac about John Cameron, as you told us last night.”
While Shenac listened to the account of a sad accident that had happened to a young man from another part of the country, Shenac Dhu let down the long, fair hair of her cousin, and, by the help of an old card that lay near, smoothed it till it lay in waves and ripples of gold far below her waist. Then, as Shenac Bhan still sat, growing pale and red by turns as she listened, she with great care rolled the shining mass into thick curls over neck and shoulders.
“Now stand up and show yourself,” said she, as she finished. “Is she not a picture? Christie, you should take her to the town with you and put her up in your husband’s shop-window. You would make her fortune and your own too.”
Shenac Bhan had this advantage over her cousin, and indeed over most people—that the sun that made them as brown as a berry, after the first few days’ exposure left her as fair and unfreckled as ever; and she really was a very pretty picture as she stood laughing and blushing before her cousins. The door opened, and Hamish came in.
“My mother sent me to bid you all come in to tea;” but he stopped as his eye fell on his sister.
“Tea!” cried Shenac Bhan. “I meant to do all that myself. Who would have thought that we had been here so long?” And she made a movement, as if to bind back her hair, that she might hasten away.
“Be quiet; stay till I bid you go,” said Shenac Dhu, hastily letting the curls fall again. “I wonder if all the puddles are dried up?—She ought to see herself. Cut them off! The vain creature! Never fear, Hamish.”
“Christie is to cut it,” said Shenac Bhan, laughing, and holding the wool-shears towards Mrs More. “I must do it, Hamish; it takes such a time to keep it decently neat. My mother does not care, and why should you?”
“Whisht, Hamish,” said Shenac Dhu, “you’re going to quote Saint Paul and Saint Peter about a woman’s hair being a covering and a glory. Don’t fash yourself. Why, she would deserve to be a Scots worthy more than George Wishart, or than the woman who was drowned even, if she were to do it!”
“You had your own cut,” said Shenac Bhan, looking at her cousin with some surprise. “Why should I not do the same?”
“You are not me. Everybody has not my strength of mind,” said Shenac Dhu, nodding gravely.
“Toch! you cut yours that it might grow long and thick like our Shenac’s,” said Dan, who had been with them for some time. “Think of your hair, and look at this.” And he lifted the fair curls admiringly.
Shenac Bhan laughed.
“It’s an awful bother, Dan.”
“But it would be a pity to lose it. What a lot of it there is!” And the boy walked round his sister, touching it as he went.
“She never meant to do it; but after that she could not,” said Shenac Dhu, pretending to whisper.
“Our Shenac never says what she doesn’t mean,” said Dan hotly.
“Whatever other people’s Shenacs do,” said Hamish laughing.
Shenac Dhu made as if she would charge him with the great shears.
“Give them to Christie,” said Shenac Bhan. “What a work to make about nothing!”
“She does not mean to do it yet,” said Shenac Dhu; but she handed the shears to her sister.
“I don’t like to do it, Shenac,” said Mrs More. “Think how long it will take to grow again; and it is beautiful hair,” she added, as she came near and passed her fingers through it.
“Nonsense, Christie, she’s not in earnest,” persisted Shenac Dhu.
With a quick, impatient motion, Shenac Bhan took the shears from her cousin’s hand and severed one—two—three of the bright curls from the mass. Shenac Dhu uttered a cry.
“There! did I not tell you?” cried Dan, forgetting everything else in his triumph over Shenac Dhu. Hamish turned and went out without a word.
“There,” said Shenac Bhan; “you must do it now, Christie.”
Mrs More took the great shears and began to cut without a word; and no one spoke again till the curls lay in a shining heap at their feet. Then Shenac Dhu drew a long breath, and said,—
“Don’t say afterwards it was my fault.”
“It was just your fault, Shenac Dhu, you envious, spiteful thing,” exclaimed the indignant Dan.
“Nonsense, Cousin Shenac.—Be quiet, Dan. She had nothing to do with it. It has been a trouble all summer, and I’m glad to be rid of it. I only wish I could spin it, like the wool.”
“What a lot of it there is!” And Shenac Dhu stooped down and lifted a long tress or two tenderly, as if they had life.
“What will you do with it, Shenac?”
“Burn it, since I cannot make stockings of it. Put them in here.” And she held up her apron.
“Will you give your hair to me, Shenac?” asked Mrs More.
“What can you do with it?” asked Shenac in some surprise. “Surely I’ll give it to you, so that I hear no more about it.” The curls were carefully gathered, and tied in Mrs More’s handkerchief.
“Shenac Bhan,” said the other Shenac solemnly, “you look like a shorn sheep. I shall never see you again without thinking of the young woman tied to the stake on the sands, and the sea coming up and up—”
“Shenac, be quiet. It is sinful to speak lightly of so solemn a thing,” said her sister gravely.
“Solemn!” said Shenac. “Lightly! By no means. I was putting two solemn things together. I don’t know which is more solemn. For my part, I would as soon feel the cold water creeping up my back, like—”
“Shenac,” said our Shenac entreatingly, “don’t say foolish things and vex my mother and Hamish.”
Her cousin put her hand on her mouth.
“You have heard my last word.”
But the last word about the shining curls was not spoken yet.
Chapter Six.The day when the haying was to have commenced was very rainy, and so was every day for a week or more. People were becoming a little anxious as to the getting in of the hay; for in almost all the fields it was more than ripe, and everybody knows that it should not stand long after that. The fields of the Macivors were earlier than those of most people, and Shenac was especially careful to get the hay in at the right time and in good condition, because they had so much less of it than ever before.And besides, the wheat-harvest was coming on, and where there were so few to help, every day made a difference. Whenever there came a glimpse of sunshine, Dan was out in the field, making good use of his scythe; for mowing was new and exciting work to him, though he had seen it done every summer of his life. It is not every boy of fourteen that could swing a scythe to such good purpose as Dan, and he might be excused for being a little proud and a little unreasonable in the matter. And after all, I daresay he knew quite as much about it as Shenac. When she told him how foolish it was to cut down grass when there was no chance of getting it dried, he only laughed and pointed to the fields of Angus Dhu, where there were three men busy, and acres and acres of grass lying as it had fallen.“You are a good farmer, Shenac, but Angus Dhu, you must confess, has had more experience, and is a better judge of the weather. We’re safe enough to follow him.”There was reason in this, but it vexed Shenac to have Angus Dhu quoted as authority; and it vexed her too that Dan should take the matter into his own hands without regard to her judgment.“Angus Dhu can get all the help he needs to make the hay when it fairs,” said she. “But if we have too much down we shall not be able to manage it right, I’m afraid.”“There’s no fear of having too much down. I must keep at it. Where there’s only one man to cut, he must keep at it,” said Dan gravely. “If you and the rest of the children are busy when the sun shines, you will soon overtake me.”“Only one man!” “You and the rest of the children!” Vexed as Shenac was, she could not help being amused, and fortunately a good deal of her vexation passed away in the laugh, in which Dan heartily joined.This week of rain was a trying time to Shenac. Nothing could be done out of doors, for the rain was constant and heavy. If she could have had the wheel to herself, she would have got on with the spinning, and that would have been something, she thought. Her mother was spinning, however; and though she could not sit at the wheel all day, she did not like to have her work interfered with, and Shenac could not make use of the time when her mother was not employed, and very little was accomplished. There was mending to be done, which her mother could have done so much better than she could, Shenac thought. But her mother sat at the wheel, and Shenac wearied herself over the shirts and trousers of her brothers, and at last startled herself and every one else by speaking sharply to little Flora and shaking Colin well for bringing in mud on their feet when they came home from school.After that she devoted her surplus energies to the matter of house-cleaning, and that did better. Everything in the house, both upstairs and down, and everything in the dairy, passed through her hands. Things that could be scrubbed were scrubbed, and things that could be polished were polished. The roof and the walls were whitewashed, and great maple-branches hung here and there upon them, that the flies might not soil their whiteness; and then Shenac solemnly declared to Hamish that it was time the rain should cease.Hamish laughed. The week had passed far less uncomfortably to him than to his sister. He had made up his mind to the necessity of staying within-doors during such weather; and he could do so all the more easily as, with a good conscience, he could give himself up to the enjoyment of a book that had fallen into his hands. It was not a new book. Two or three of the first pages were gone, but it was as good as new to Hamish. It was a new kind of arithmetic, his friend Rugg, the peddler, told him. He knew Hamish liked that sort of thing, and so he had brought it to him.Hamish was quite occupied with it. He forgot the hay, and the rain, and even his own rheumatic pains, in the interest with which he pored over it. Shenac did not grudge him his pleasure. She even tried to get up an interest in the unknown quantities, whose values, Hamish assured her, were so easily discovered by the rules laid down in the book. But she did not enter heartily into her brother’s pleasure, as she usually did. She wondered at him, and thought it rather foolish in him to be so taken up with trifles when there was so much to think about. She forgot to be glad that her brother had found something to keep him from vexing himself, as he had done so much of late, by thinking how little he could do for his mother and the rest; and she said to herself that Christie More had been right when she said that it was upon her that the burden of care and labour must fall.“You are tired to-night, Shenac,” said Hamish, as she sat gazing silently and listlessly into the fire.“Tired!” repeated Shenac scornfully. “What with, I wonder. Yes, I am tired with staying within-doors, when there is so much to be done outside. If my mother would only let me take the wheel, that would be something.”“But my mother is busy with it herself,” said Hamish. “Surely you do not think you can do more or better than my mother?”“Not better, but more; twice as much in a day as she is doing now. We’ll not get our cloth by the new year, at the rate the spinning is going on, and the lads’ clothes will hardly hold together even now.” Shenac gave an impatient sigh.“But, Shenac,” said her brother, “there is no use in fretting about it; that will do no good.”“No; if only one could help it,” said Shenac.“Shenac, my woman,” said the mother from the other side of the fire, “I doubt you’ll need to go to The Eleventh to-morrow for the dye-stuffs. I am not able to go so far myself, I fear.”The townships, or towns, of that part of the country are all divided off into portions, a mile in width, called concessions; and as the little cluster of houses where the store was had no name as yet, it was called The Eleventh; and indeed, all the different localities were named from the concession in which they were found.“There is no particular hurry about going, I suppose, mother,” Shenac answered indifferently.“The sooner the better,” said her mother. “The things are as well here as there, and we’ll need them soon. What is to hinder you from going to-morrow?”“If the morning is fair, I’ll need Shenac’s help at the hay, mother,” said Dan with an air.“I’ll need Shenac’s help!” It might have been Angus Dhu himself, by the way it was said, Shenac thought. It was ludicrous. Her mother did not seem to see anything ludicrous in it, however; for she only answered,—“Oh yes, Dan; if it should be fair, I suppose I can wait.” Hamish was busy with his book again.“It’s a very heavy crop,” continued Dan. “It is all that a man can do to cut yon grass and keep at it steady.”Of course Dan did not mean to take the credit of the heavy crop to himself, but it sounded exactly as if he did; and there was something exceedingly provoking to Shenac in the way in which he stretched himself up when he said, “all that a man can do.” A laughing glance that came to her over the top of Hamish’s book dispelled her momentary anger, however.“If Hamish does not mind, I’m sureIneed not,” she said to herself.Dan went on:—“I shall put what I have cut to-day in the long barn. It will be just the thing for the spring’s work.”Dan’s new-found far-sightedness was too much for the gravity of Hamish, and Shenac joined heartily in the laugh. Dan looked a little discomfited.“You must settle it with Shenac and your brother,” said the mother.“All right, Dan, my boy,” said Hamish heartily; “it’s always best to look ahead, as Mr Rugg would say.—What do you think, Shenac?”“All right; only you should not say ‘my boy’ to our Dan, but ‘my man,’” said Shenac gravely.Even little Flora could understand the joke of Dan’s assuming the airs of manhood, and all laughed heartily. Dan joined in the laugh good-humouredly enough.“You see, Shenac,” said Hamish, during the few minutes they always lingered together after the others had gone to bed, “Dan may be led, but he will not be driven—at least, not by you or me.”“Led!” exclaimed Shenac; “I think he means to lead us all. That scythe has made a man of him all at once. I declare it goes past my patience to hear the monkey.”“It must not go past your patience if you can help it, Shenac,” said her brother. “All that nonsense will be laughed out of him, but it must not be by you or me.”“Oh, well, I’m not caring,” said Shenac. “I only hope it will be fair to-morrow, so that I can get to help him. I could mow as well as he, if my mother would let me. However, it’s all the same whether I help him or he helps me, so that the work is done some way.”“We’ll all help one another,” said Hamish. “Shenac, you were right the other day when you told me I was wrong to murmur because I could not do more than God had given me strength to do. It does not matter what work falls to each of us, so that it is well done; and we can never do it unless we keep together.”“No fear, Hamish, bhodach, we’ll keep together,” said Shenac heartily. “I do hope to-morrow may be fine.”
The day when the haying was to have commenced was very rainy, and so was every day for a week or more. People were becoming a little anxious as to the getting in of the hay; for in almost all the fields it was more than ripe, and everybody knows that it should not stand long after that. The fields of the Macivors were earlier than those of most people, and Shenac was especially careful to get the hay in at the right time and in good condition, because they had so much less of it than ever before.
And besides, the wheat-harvest was coming on, and where there were so few to help, every day made a difference. Whenever there came a glimpse of sunshine, Dan was out in the field, making good use of his scythe; for mowing was new and exciting work to him, though he had seen it done every summer of his life. It is not every boy of fourteen that could swing a scythe to such good purpose as Dan, and he might be excused for being a little proud and a little unreasonable in the matter. And after all, I daresay he knew quite as much about it as Shenac. When she told him how foolish it was to cut down grass when there was no chance of getting it dried, he only laughed and pointed to the fields of Angus Dhu, where there were three men busy, and acres and acres of grass lying as it had fallen.
“You are a good farmer, Shenac, but Angus Dhu, you must confess, has had more experience, and is a better judge of the weather. We’re safe enough to follow him.”
There was reason in this, but it vexed Shenac to have Angus Dhu quoted as authority; and it vexed her too that Dan should take the matter into his own hands without regard to her judgment.
“Angus Dhu can get all the help he needs to make the hay when it fairs,” said she. “But if we have too much down we shall not be able to manage it right, I’m afraid.”
“There’s no fear of having too much down. I must keep at it. Where there’s only one man to cut, he must keep at it,” said Dan gravely. “If you and the rest of the children are busy when the sun shines, you will soon overtake me.”
“Only one man!” “You and the rest of the children!” Vexed as Shenac was, she could not help being amused, and fortunately a good deal of her vexation passed away in the laugh, in which Dan heartily joined.
This week of rain was a trying time to Shenac. Nothing could be done out of doors, for the rain was constant and heavy. If she could have had the wheel to herself, she would have got on with the spinning, and that would have been something, she thought. Her mother was spinning, however; and though she could not sit at the wheel all day, she did not like to have her work interfered with, and Shenac could not make use of the time when her mother was not employed, and very little was accomplished. There was mending to be done, which her mother could have done so much better than she could, Shenac thought. But her mother sat at the wheel, and Shenac wearied herself over the shirts and trousers of her brothers, and at last startled herself and every one else by speaking sharply to little Flora and shaking Colin well for bringing in mud on their feet when they came home from school.
After that she devoted her surplus energies to the matter of house-cleaning, and that did better. Everything in the house, both upstairs and down, and everything in the dairy, passed through her hands. Things that could be scrubbed were scrubbed, and things that could be polished were polished. The roof and the walls were whitewashed, and great maple-branches hung here and there upon them, that the flies might not soil their whiteness; and then Shenac solemnly declared to Hamish that it was time the rain should cease.
Hamish laughed. The week had passed far less uncomfortably to him than to his sister. He had made up his mind to the necessity of staying within-doors during such weather; and he could do so all the more easily as, with a good conscience, he could give himself up to the enjoyment of a book that had fallen into his hands. It was not a new book. Two or three of the first pages were gone, but it was as good as new to Hamish. It was a new kind of arithmetic, his friend Rugg, the peddler, told him. He knew Hamish liked that sort of thing, and so he had brought it to him.
Hamish was quite occupied with it. He forgot the hay, and the rain, and even his own rheumatic pains, in the interest with which he pored over it. Shenac did not grudge him his pleasure. She even tried to get up an interest in the unknown quantities, whose values, Hamish assured her, were so easily discovered by the rules laid down in the book. But she did not enter heartily into her brother’s pleasure, as she usually did. She wondered at him, and thought it rather foolish in him to be so taken up with trifles when there was so much to think about. She forgot to be glad that her brother had found something to keep him from vexing himself, as he had done so much of late, by thinking how little he could do for his mother and the rest; and she said to herself that Christie More had been right when she said that it was upon her that the burden of care and labour must fall.
“You are tired to-night, Shenac,” said Hamish, as she sat gazing silently and listlessly into the fire.
“Tired!” repeated Shenac scornfully. “What with, I wonder. Yes, I am tired with staying within-doors, when there is so much to be done outside. If my mother would only let me take the wheel, that would be something.”
“But my mother is busy with it herself,” said Hamish. “Surely you do not think you can do more or better than my mother?”
“Not better, but more; twice as much in a day as she is doing now. We’ll not get our cloth by the new year, at the rate the spinning is going on, and the lads’ clothes will hardly hold together even now.” Shenac gave an impatient sigh.
“But, Shenac,” said her brother, “there is no use in fretting about it; that will do no good.”
“No; if only one could help it,” said Shenac.
“Shenac, my woman,” said the mother from the other side of the fire, “I doubt you’ll need to go to The Eleventh to-morrow for the dye-stuffs. I am not able to go so far myself, I fear.”
The townships, or towns, of that part of the country are all divided off into portions, a mile in width, called concessions; and as the little cluster of houses where the store was had no name as yet, it was called The Eleventh; and indeed, all the different localities were named from the concession in which they were found.
“There is no particular hurry about going, I suppose, mother,” Shenac answered indifferently.
“The sooner the better,” said her mother. “The things are as well here as there, and we’ll need them soon. What is to hinder you from going to-morrow?”
“If the morning is fair, I’ll need Shenac’s help at the hay, mother,” said Dan with an air.
“I’ll need Shenac’s help!” It might have been Angus Dhu himself, by the way it was said, Shenac thought. It was ludicrous. Her mother did not seem to see anything ludicrous in it, however; for she only answered,—
“Oh yes, Dan; if it should be fair, I suppose I can wait.” Hamish was busy with his book again.
“It’s a very heavy crop,” continued Dan. “It is all that a man can do to cut yon grass and keep at it steady.”
Of course Dan did not mean to take the credit of the heavy crop to himself, but it sounded exactly as if he did; and there was something exceedingly provoking to Shenac in the way in which he stretched himself up when he said, “all that a man can do.” A laughing glance that came to her over the top of Hamish’s book dispelled her momentary anger, however.
“If Hamish does not mind, I’m sureIneed not,” she said to herself.
Dan went on:—“I shall put what I have cut to-day in the long barn. It will be just the thing for the spring’s work.”
Dan’s new-found far-sightedness was too much for the gravity of Hamish, and Shenac joined heartily in the laugh. Dan looked a little discomfited.
“You must settle it with Shenac and your brother,” said the mother.
“All right, Dan, my boy,” said Hamish heartily; “it’s always best to look ahead, as Mr Rugg would say.—What do you think, Shenac?”
“All right; only you should not say ‘my boy’ to our Dan, but ‘my man,’” said Shenac gravely.
Even little Flora could understand the joke of Dan’s assuming the airs of manhood, and all laughed heartily. Dan joined in the laugh good-humouredly enough.
“You see, Shenac,” said Hamish, during the few minutes they always lingered together after the others had gone to bed, “Dan may be led, but he will not be driven—at least, not by you or me.”
“Led!” exclaimed Shenac; “I think he means to lead us all. That scythe has made a man of him all at once. I declare it goes past my patience to hear the monkey.”
“It must not go past your patience if you can help it, Shenac,” said her brother. “All that nonsense will be laughed out of him, but it must not be by you or me.”
“Oh, well, I’m not caring,” said Shenac. “I only hope it will be fair to-morrow, so that I can get to help him. I could mow as well as he, if my mother would let me. However, it’s all the same whether I help him or he helps me, so that the work is done some way.”
“We’ll all help one another,” said Hamish. “Shenac, you were right the other day when you told me I was wrong to murmur because I could not do more than God had given me strength to do. It does not matter what work falls to each of us, so that it is well done; and we can never do it unless we keep together.”
“No fear, Hamish, bhodach, we’ll keep together,” said Shenac heartily. “I do hope to-morrow may be fine.”
Chapter Seven.But to-morrow was not fine; it was quite the contrary. Shenac milked in the rain, and gathered vegetables for dinner in the rain, and would gladly have made hay all day in the rain, if that had been possible. Not a pin cared Shenac for the rain. It wet her face, and twined her hair into numberless little rings all over her head, and that was the very worst it could do. It could not spoil her shoes, for in summer she did not wear any, unless she was in the field; and it took the rain a long time to penetrate through the thick woollen dress she always wore in rainy weather. Indeed, she rather liked to be out in the rain, especially when there was a high wind, against which she might measure her strength; and she was just going to propose to her mother that she should set out to The Eleventh for the dye-stuffs, when the door opened, and her cousin Shenac came in.Rain or shine, Shenac Dhu was always welcome, and quite a chorus of exclamations greeted her.“Toch! what about the rain! I’m neither salt nor sugar to melt in it,” she said, as Shenac Bhan took off her wet plaid and drew her towards the fire. “I must not stay,” she continued.—“Hamish, have you done with your book? Mr Rugg stayed at our house last night, and he’s coming here next, and so I ran over the field to see his pretty things.—O Shenac, he has such a pretty print this time—blue and white.”“But could you not see his pretty things last night? And are you to get a dress of the blue and white?” asked Shenac Bhan.“Of course I could see them, but I could not take a good look at them because my father was there. He thinks me a sensible woman, and I can’t bear to undeceive him; and my eyes have a trick of looking at pretty things as though I wanted them, and that looks greedy. But I’m not for a dress of the blue and white. Mysie Cairns in The Sixteenth has one, and that’s enough for one township.”“But Mr Rugg will not open his packs here; we want nothing,” said Shenac Bhan, “unless he may have dye-stuffs for my mother.”“He has no dye-stuffs—you’ll get that at The Eleventh,” said Shenac Dhu; “but it’s nonsense about not wanting anything. I’ll venture to say that Mr Rugg will leave more here than he left at our house, or at any house in the town-ship. I wish he would come.”They all had plenty to say to Shenac Dhu, but that her mind was full of other things it was easy to see. She laughed and chatted, but she watched the window till the long, high waggon of the peddler came in sight, and then she drew Shenac Bhan into a corner and kept her there till the door opened.“Good-morning, good-morning,” said the peddler as he came in. Glancing round the room, he stood still on the door-mat with a comical look of indecision on his face. “I don’t suppose you want to see me enough to pay for the tracks I shall make on the floor,” he said to Shenac Bhan. “I don’t know as I should have come round this way this time, only I’ve got something for you—something you’ll be glad to have.”Everybody was indignant at the idea of his not coming in.“Never mind the floor,” said Shenac Bhan. “We don’t want anything to-day, but we are glad to see you all the same.”“Don’t say you don’t want anything till you see what I’ve got,” said Mr Rugg gravely. “I ha’n’t no doubt there’s a heap of things you would like, if you could get them. Now, a’n’t there?”“She wants a wig, for one thing,” said Shenac Dhu.“Well, no; I calculate she’ll get along without that as well as most folks. I don’t see as you spoiled your looks, for all Mrs More said,” he added, as he touched with his long forefinger one of the little rings that clustered round Shenac’s head. “Come, now, a’n’t there something I’ve got that you want?” he asked as Shenac turned away with an impatient shrug.“No; not if you haven’t a wig. Do we want anything, mother? It is not worth while to open your box in the rain.”Mr Rugg was already out of hearing.“We can look at them, at any rate,” said Shenac Dhu. But Shenac Bhan looked very much as if she did not intend to do even that, till the door opened again, and Mr Rugg walked in, followed by Dan, and between them they carried a spinning-wheel.“A big wheel, just like Mary Matheson’s!” exclaimed Shenac Bhan.“No; a decided improvement upon that,” said Mr Rugg, preparing to put on the rim and the head. The band was ready, too; and he turned the wheel and pulled out an imaginary thread with such gravity that all laughed. “Well, what do you think of it, girls?” he asked after a little time. “Will you have it, Miss Shenac?”“I should like to borrow it for a month,” said Shenac with a sigh.“It a’n’t to be lent nor to be borrowed,” said the peddler; “leastways, it a’n’t for me to lend. The owner may do as she likes.”“How much would it cost?” asked Shenac with a vague, wild idea that possibly at some future time she might get one.“I can tell you that exactly,” said the peddler. “I’ve got the invoice here all right, and another document with it;” and he handed Shenac a letter, directed, as she knew at a glance, in the handwriting of her cousin, Mrs More.“It’s from Christie,” said Shenac Dhu, looking over her shoulder. “Open it, Shenac; what ails you?”Shenac opened the letter, and the other Shenac read it with her. It need not be given here. It told how Mrs More had taken Shenac’s hair to a hair-dresser in the city, and how the money she had received for it had been given into the hands of Mr Rugg, who was to buy a wheel with it, as something Shenac would be sure to value.“And here it is,” said Mr Rugg; “as good a wheel as need be.—It will put yours quite out of fashion, Mrs Macivor.”It was with some difficulty that the mother could be made to understand that the wheel was Shenac’s—bought and paid for. As for Shenac, she could only stand and look at it, saying not a word. Shenac Dhu shook her heartily.“Here I have come all the way in the rain to hear what you would say, and you stand and glower and say nothing at all.”“Try it, Shenac,” said Hamish, bringing a handful of rolls of wool from his mother’s wheel.“She’ll need to learn first,” said Shenac Dhu.But Shenac had tried Mary Matheson’s wheel more than once; and besides, as Mr Rugg had often said, and now triumphantly repeated, she had a “faculty.” There really did seem nothing that she could not learn to do more easily than other people. Now the long thread was drawn out even and fine as any that ever passed through the mother’s hands on the precious little wheel. The mother examined and approved, Shenac Dhu exclaimed, and the little lads laughed and clapped their hands. As for Shenac Bhan, she could hardly believe in her own good fortune. She did not seem to hear the talk or the laugh, but, with a face intent and grave, walked up and down, drawing out the long, even threads, and then letting them roll up smoothly on the spindle.“Take it moderate, Miss Shenac,” said the peddler, “take it moderate. It don’t pay to overdo even a good thing.”But Shenac was busy calculating how many days’ work there might be in the wool, and how long it would take her to finish it.“The rainy days will not be lost now,” she said to herself triumphantly. “Of course I must stick to the hay; but mornings and evenings and rainy days I can spin. No fear for the lads’ clothes now.”“Hamish,” said Shenac Dhu, “I shall never see her without fancying she has a wheel on her head.”Hamish laughed. His pleasure in the pleasure of his sister was intense.“I don’t know what we can ever say to Christie for her kindness,” he said.“We’ll write a letter to her, Hamish, you and I together,” said his sister eagerly. “I can’t think how it all happened. But I am so glad and thankful; and I must tell Christie.”The next day was fair. When Shenac went out with little Hugh to the milking in the pasture, she thought she heard the pleasant sound of the whetting of scythes nearer than the fields of Angus Dhu. She could see nothing, however, because of the mist that lay close over the low lands. But when she went out after breakfast to spread the grass cut by Dan during the rainy days, she found work going on that made Dan’s efforts seem like play.“Is it a bee?” said Shenac to herself.No, it was not a bee, Aleck Munroe said, but he and the other lads thought there was as much hay down in their fields as could be well cared for, and so they thought they would see what could be done in their neighbour’s. It was likely to continue fine now, as the weather had cleared at the change of the moon; and a few hours would help here, without hindering there.“Help! Yes, indeed!” thought Shenac as she watched the swinging of the scythes, and saw the broad swaths of grain that fell as they passed on. Dan followed, but he made small show after the young giants that had taken the work in hand; and in a little while he made a virtue of necessity and exchanged the scythe for the spreading-pole, to help Shenac and the little ones in the merry, healthful work.After this there were no more rainy days while the hay-time lasted. Shenac and Dan were not the first in all the concessions to finish the getting in of the hay, but they were by no means the last. It was all got in in a good state, too; and the grain-harvest began cheerfully and ended successfully. Shenac took the lead in the cutting of the grain.In those days, in that part of the country, there were none of those wonderful machines which now begin to make farm-work light. The horses were used to draw the grain and hay to the barn or the stacks when it was ready; but there were no patent rakes or mowing or reaping machines for them to draw. All the wheat, and a good deal of the other grain, was cut down with the old-fashioned hook or sickle, the reapers stooping low to their work. It was tedious and exhausting labour, and slow, too. Shenac’s “faculty” and perfect health stood her in good stead at this work as at other things. She tired herself thoroughly every day, but she was young and strong; and though the summer nights were short there was no part of them lost to her, for she fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. Even thoughts of the weary and suffering Hamish did not often disturb her rest. She slept the dreamless sleep of perfect health till the dawn awakened her, cheerful and ready for another day’s labour.They had very little help for the harvest. There was one moonlight bee. They say the grain is more easily cut with the dew upon it; and moonlight bees are common in Glengarry even now. But Shenac and her brothers knew nothing of this one till, on going out in the morning, they found more than half of their wheat lying ready to be bound up in sheaves.The rest of the harvest was very successful. Indeed, it was a favourable harvest everywhere that year. There was rejoicing through all the township—through many town-ships; and even the most earthly and churlish of the farmers assented with a good grace when a day of thanksgiving was appointed, and kept it outwardly in appearance, if not inwardly with the heart.As for Shenac, it would be impossible to describe her triumph and thankfulness when the last sheaf was safely gathered in. For she was truly thankful, though I am afraid her triumphant self-congratulation went even beyond her thankfulness. Her thankfulness was not displayed in a way that made it apparent to others; but it filled her heart and gave her courage to look forward. It did more than this: it gave her a self-reliance quite unusual—indeed not very desirable—in one so young; and there was danger, all the greater because she was quite unconscious of it, that it might degenerate into something different from an humble yet earnest self-reliance. But there was nothing of that as yet, and all the little household rejoiced together.The spinning too had prospered. In the mornings and evenings, and on rainy days, the wheel had been busy; and now the yarn, dyed and ready, lay in the house of weaver McLean, waiting to be woven into heavy cloth for the boys; and the flannel for shirts and gowns would not be long behind. So Shenac made a pause, and took time to breathe, as Hamish said.And, really, with a plentiful harvest gathered safely in, there seemed little danger of want; and Shenac’s thoughts were more hopeful than anxious when she looked forward. The mother was more cheerful, too, than she had been since the father’s death. She was always cheerful now, when matters went smoothly and regularly among them. It was only when vexations arose, when Dan was restless or inclined to be rebellious, or when the children stood in need of anything which they could not get, or when she fancied that the affairs of the farm were not going on well, that she grieved over the past or fretted for the home-coming of Allister. The little ones went to school again after the harvest—the little boys and Flora; and altogether matters seemed to promise to move smoothly on, and so the mother was content.There was one thing that troubled the mother and Shenac too. The harvest-work had been hard on Hamish, and in the haste and eagerness of the busy time Shenac had not been so mindful of him as she might have been, and he suffered for it afterwards; and it grieved them all that his voice should be so seldom heard as it was among them, for Hamish never complained. The more he suffered, the more quiet he grew. It was not bodily pain alone with which he struggled on in silence. It was something harder to bear—a sense of helplessness and uselessness, a fear of becoming a burden when there was so much to bear already. And, worse than even this, there was the knowledge that there lay no bright future before him, as there might lie before the rest. He must always be a helpless cripple. He could have no hope beyond the weary round of suffering which fell to his lot day by day. What the others did with a will, with a sense of power and pleasure, was a weariness to him. There were times when he wished that death might come and end it all; but he never spoke of himself, unless Shenac made him speak. His fits of depression did not occur often, and Shenac came at last to think it was better to let them pass without notice; and, though her eye grew more watchful and her voice more tender, she said nothing for a while, but waited patiently for more cheerful days.
But to-morrow was not fine; it was quite the contrary. Shenac milked in the rain, and gathered vegetables for dinner in the rain, and would gladly have made hay all day in the rain, if that had been possible. Not a pin cared Shenac for the rain. It wet her face, and twined her hair into numberless little rings all over her head, and that was the very worst it could do. It could not spoil her shoes, for in summer she did not wear any, unless she was in the field; and it took the rain a long time to penetrate through the thick woollen dress she always wore in rainy weather. Indeed, she rather liked to be out in the rain, especially when there was a high wind, against which she might measure her strength; and she was just going to propose to her mother that she should set out to The Eleventh for the dye-stuffs, when the door opened, and her cousin Shenac came in.
Rain or shine, Shenac Dhu was always welcome, and quite a chorus of exclamations greeted her.
“Toch! what about the rain! I’m neither salt nor sugar to melt in it,” she said, as Shenac Bhan took off her wet plaid and drew her towards the fire. “I must not stay,” she continued.—“Hamish, have you done with your book? Mr Rugg stayed at our house last night, and he’s coming here next, and so I ran over the field to see his pretty things.—O Shenac, he has such a pretty print this time—blue and white.”
“But could you not see his pretty things last night? And are you to get a dress of the blue and white?” asked Shenac Bhan.
“Of course I could see them, but I could not take a good look at them because my father was there. He thinks me a sensible woman, and I can’t bear to undeceive him; and my eyes have a trick of looking at pretty things as though I wanted them, and that looks greedy. But I’m not for a dress of the blue and white. Mysie Cairns in The Sixteenth has one, and that’s enough for one township.”
“But Mr Rugg will not open his packs here; we want nothing,” said Shenac Bhan, “unless he may have dye-stuffs for my mother.”
“He has no dye-stuffs—you’ll get that at The Eleventh,” said Shenac Dhu; “but it’s nonsense about not wanting anything. I’ll venture to say that Mr Rugg will leave more here than he left at our house, or at any house in the town-ship. I wish he would come.”
They all had plenty to say to Shenac Dhu, but that her mind was full of other things it was easy to see. She laughed and chatted, but she watched the window till the long, high waggon of the peddler came in sight, and then she drew Shenac Bhan into a corner and kept her there till the door opened.
“Good-morning, good-morning,” said the peddler as he came in. Glancing round the room, he stood still on the door-mat with a comical look of indecision on his face. “I don’t suppose you want to see me enough to pay for the tracks I shall make on the floor,” he said to Shenac Bhan. “I don’t know as I should have come round this way this time, only I’ve got something for you—something you’ll be glad to have.”
Everybody was indignant at the idea of his not coming in.
“Never mind the floor,” said Shenac Bhan. “We don’t want anything to-day, but we are glad to see you all the same.”
“Don’t say you don’t want anything till you see what I’ve got,” said Mr Rugg gravely. “I ha’n’t no doubt there’s a heap of things you would like, if you could get them. Now, a’n’t there?”
“She wants a wig, for one thing,” said Shenac Dhu.
“Well, no; I calculate she’ll get along without that as well as most folks. I don’t see as you spoiled your looks, for all Mrs More said,” he added, as he touched with his long forefinger one of the little rings that clustered round Shenac’s head. “Come, now, a’n’t there something I’ve got that you want?” he asked as Shenac turned away with an impatient shrug.
“No; not if you haven’t a wig. Do we want anything, mother? It is not worth while to open your box in the rain.”
Mr Rugg was already out of hearing.
“We can look at them, at any rate,” said Shenac Dhu. But Shenac Bhan looked very much as if she did not intend to do even that, till the door opened again, and Mr Rugg walked in, followed by Dan, and between them they carried a spinning-wheel.
“A big wheel, just like Mary Matheson’s!” exclaimed Shenac Bhan.
“No; a decided improvement upon that,” said Mr Rugg, preparing to put on the rim and the head. The band was ready, too; and he turned the wheel and pulled out an imaginary thread with such gravity that all laughed. “Well, what do you think of it, girls?” he asked after a little time. “Will you have it, Miss Shenac?”
“I should like to borrow it for a month,” said Shenac with a sigh.
“It a’n’t to be lent nor to be borrowed,” said the peddler; “leastways, it a’n’t for me to lend. The owner may do as she likes.”
“How much would it cost?” asked Shenac with a vague, wild idea that possibly at some future time she might get one.
“I can tell you that exactly,” said the peddler. “I’ve got the invoice here all right, and another document with it;” and he handed Shenac a letter, directed, as she knew at a glance, in the handwriting of her cousin, Mrs More.
“It’s from Christie,” said Shenac Dhu, looking over her shoulder. “Open it, Shenac; what ails you?”
Shenac opened the letter, and the other Shenac read it with her. It need not be given here. It told how Mrs More had taken Shenac’s hair to a hair-dresser in the city, and how the money she had received for it had been given into the hands of Mr Rugg, who was to buy a wheel with it, as something Shenac would be sure to value.
“And here it is,” said Mr Rugg; “as good a wheel as need be.—It will put yours quite out of fashion, Mrs Macivor.”
It was with some difficulty that the mother could be made to understand that the wheel was Shenac’s—bought and paid for. As for Shenac, she could only stand and look at it, saying not a word. Shenac Dhu shook her heartily.
“Here I have come all the way in the rain to hear what you would say, and you stand and glower and say nothing at all.”
“Try it, Shenac,” said Hamish, bringing a handful of rolls of wool from his mother’s wheel.
“She’ll need to learn first,” said Shenac Dhu.
But Shenac had tried Mary Matheson’s wheel more than once; and besides, as Mr Rugg had often said, and now triumphantly repeated, she had a “faculty.” There really did seem nothing that she could not learn to do more easily than other people. Now the long thread was drawn out even and fine as any that ever passed through the mother’s hands on the precious little wheel. The mother examined and approved, Shenac Dhu exclaimed, and the little lads laughed and clapped their hands. As for Shenac Bhan, she could hardly believe in her own good fortune. She did not seem to hear the talk or the laugh, but, with a face intent and grave, walked up and down, drawing out the long, even threads, and then letting them roll up smoothly on the spindle.
“Take it moderate, Miss Shenac,” said the peddler, “take it moderate. It don’t pay to overdo even a good thing.”
But Shenac was busy calculating how many days’ work there might be in the wool, and how long it would take her to finish it.
“The rainy days will not be lost now,” she said to herself triumphantly. “Of course I must stick to the hay; but mornings and evenings and rainy days I can spin. No fear for the lads’ clothes now.”
“Hamish,” said Shenac Dhu, “I shall never see her without fancying she has a wheel on her head.”
Hamish laughed. His pleasure in the pleasure of his sister was intense.
“I don’t know what we can ever say to Christie for her kindness,” he said.
“We’ll write a letter to her, Hamish, you and I together,” said his sister eagerly. “I can’t think how it all happened. But I am so glad and thankful; and I must tell Christie.”
The next day was fair. When Shenac went out with little Hugh to the milking in the pasture, she thought she heard the pleasant sound of the whetting of scythes nearer than the fields of Angus Dhu. She could see nothing, however, because of the mist that lay close over the low lands. But when she went out after breakfast to spread the grass cut by Dan during the rainy days, she found work going on that made Dan’s efforts seem like play.
“Is it a bee?” said Shenac to herself.
No, it was not a bee, Aleck Munroe said, but he and the other lads thought there was as much hay down in their fields as could be well cared for, and so they thought they would see what could be done in their neighbour’s. It was likely to continue fine now, as the weather had cleared at the change of the moon; and a few hours would help here, without hindering there.
“Help! Yes, indeed!” thought Shenac as she watched the swinging of the scythes, and saw the broad swaths of grain that fell as they passed on. Dan followed, but he made small show after the young giants that had taken the work in hand; and in a little while he made a virtue of necessity and exchanged the scythe for the spreading-pole, to help Shenac and the little ones in the merry, healthful work.
After this there were no more rainy days while the hay-time lasted. Shenac and Dan were not the first in all the concessions to finish the getting in of the hay, but they were by no means the last. It was all got in in a good state, too; and the grain-harvest began cheerfully and ended successfully. Shenac took the lead in the cutting of the grain.
In those days, in that part of the country, there were none of those wonderful machines which now begin to make farm-work light. The horses were used to draw the grain and hay to the barn or the stacks when it was ready; but there were no patent rakes or mowing or reaping machines for them to draw. All the wheat, and a good deal of the other grain, was cut down with the old-fashioned hook or sickle, the reapers stooping low to their work. It was tedious and exhausting labour, and slow, too. Shenac’s “faculty” and perfect health stood her in good stead at this work as at other things. She tired herself thoroughly every day, but she was young and strong; and though the summer nights were short there was no part of them lost to her, for she fell asleep the moment her head touched the pillow. Even thoughts of the weary and suffering Hamish did not often disturb her rest. She slept the dreamless sleep of perfect health till the dawn awakened her, cheerful and ready for another day’s labour.
They had very little help for the harvest. There was one moonlight bee. They say the grain is more easily cut with the dew upon it; and moonlight bees are common in Glengarry even now. But Shenac and her brothers knew nothing of this one till, on going out in the morning, they found more than half of their wheat lying ready to be bound up in sheaves.
The rest of the harvest was very successful. Indeed, it was a favourable harvest everywhere that year. There was rejoicing through all the township—through many town-ships; and even the most earthly and churlish of the farmers assented with a good grace when a day of thanksgiving was appointed, and kept it outwardly in appearance, if not inwardly with the heart.
As for Shenac, it would be impossible to describe her triumph and thankfulness when the last sheaf was safely gathered in. For she was truly thankful, though I am afraid her triumphant self-congratulation went even beyond her thankfulness. Her thankfulness was not displayed in a way that made it apparent to others; but it filled her heart and gave her courage to look forward. It did more than this: it gave her a self-reliance quite unusual—indeed not very desirable—in one so young; and there was danger, all the greater because she was quite unconscious of it, that it might degenerate into something different from an humble yet earnest self-reliance. But there was nothing of that as yet, and all the little household rejoiced together.
The spinning too had prospered. In the mornings and evenings, and on rainy days, the wheel had been busy; and now the yarn, dyed and ready, lay in the house of weaver McLean, waiting to be woven into heavy cloth for the boys; and the flannel for shirts and gowns would not be long behind. So Shenac made a pause, and took time to breathe, as Hamish said.
And, really, with a plentiful harvest gathered safely in, there seemed little danger of want; and Shenac’s thoughts were more hopeful than anxious when she looked forward. The mother was more cheerful, too, than she had been since the father’s death. She was always cheerful now, when matters went smoothly and regularly among them. It was only when vexations arose, when Dan was restless or inclined to be rebellious, or when the children stood in need of anything which they could not get, or when she fancied that the affairs of the farm were not going on well, that she grieved over the past or fretted for the home-coming of Allister. The little ones went to school again after the harvest—the little boys and Flora; and altogether matters seemed to promise to move smoothly on, and so the mother was content.
There was one thing that troubled the mother and Shenac too. The harvest-work had been hard on Hamish, and in the haste and eagerness of the busy time Shenac had not been so mindful of him as she might have been, and he suffered for it afterwards; and it grieved them all that his voice should be so seldom heard as it was among them, for Hamish never complained. The more he suffered, the more quiet he grew. It was not bodily pain alone with which he struggled on in silence. It was something harder to bear—a sense of helplessness and uselessness, a fear of becoming a burden when there was so much to bear already. And, worse than even this, there was the knowledge that there lay no bright future before him, as there might lie before the rest. He must always be a helpless cripple. He could have no hope beyond the weary round of suffering which fell to his lot day by day. What the others did with a will, with a sense of power and pleasure, was a weariness to him. There were times when he wished that death might come and end it all; but he never spoke of himself, unless Shenac made him speak. His fits of depression did not occur often, and Shenac came at last to think it was better to let them pass without notice; and, though her eye grew more watchful and her voice more tender, she said nothing for a while, but waited patiently for more cheerful days.