Chapter Fourteen.

Chapter Fourteen.After long waiting, Allister came home. Shenac and Hamish had no intention of watching the going out of the old year and the coming in of the new; but they lingered over the fire, talking of many things, till it grew late. And while they sat, the door opened, and Allister came in. They did not know that he was Allister. The dark-bearded man lingering on the threshold was very little like the fair-faced youth who had left them four years ago. He made a step forward into the room, and said,—“This is Hamish, I know; but can this be our little Shenac?” And then they knew him.It would be vain to try to describe the meeting. The very happiest meeting after years of separation must be sorrowful too. Death had been among them since Allister went, and the bereavement seemed new to the returned wanderer, and his tears fell as he listened to the few words Hamish said about his father’s last days.When the first surprise and joy and sorrow were a little abated, Shenac whispered,—“And Evan—Hamish, should we go to-night to tell Angus Dhu that Allister has come home?”“What about Evan, Allister?” said Hamish.“Do you not know? Did you not get my letter? I waited for Evan. He had been robbed and hurt, and thought himself dying. But it was not so bad as that. He is better now—quite well, I think. I left him at his father’s door.”“At home! Evan at home! What did his father say? Did you see Angus Dhu?”Shenac was quite breathless by the time her questions were asked.“No; I could not wait. The field between there and here seemed wider to me than the ocean. When I saw the light, I left him there.” And the manly voice had much ado to keep from breaking into sobs again as he spoke.“His father has been so anxious. No letter has come to us since Evan’s came to his father to say that he was dying. I wish the old man had been prepared,” said Shenac.“Oh, I am grieved! If I had but thought,” said Allister regretfully.“It is quite as well that he was not prepared,” said Hamish. And he was right.Shenac Dhu told them about it afterwards.“My mother went to the door, and when she saw Evan she gave a cry and let the light fall. And then we all came down; and my father came out of his bed just as he was, and when he saw my mother crying and clinging about the lad, he dropped down in the big chair and held out his hands without saying a word. You may be sure Evan was not long in taking them; and then he sank down on his knees, and my father put his arms round him, and would not move—not even to put his clothes on,” continued Shenac Dhu, laughing and sobbing at the same time. “So I got a plaid and put about him; and there they would have sat, I dare say, till the dawn, but after just the first, Evan looked pale and weary, and my father said he must go to bed at once. ‘But first tell us about your cousin Allister,’ my father said. Evan said it would take him all night, and many a night, to tell all that Allister had done for him; and then my father said, ‘God bless him!’ over and over. And I cannot tell you any more,” said Shenac Dhu, laughing and crying and hiding her face in her hands.“But as to my father being prepared,” she added gravely, after a moment’s pause, “I am afraid if he had had time to think about it, it would have seemed his duty to be stern at first with Evan. But it is far better as it is; and he can hardly bear him out of his sight. Oh, I’m glad it is over! I know now, by the joy of the home-coming, how terrible the waiting must have been to him.”Very sad to Allister was his mother’s only half-conscious recognition of him. She knew him, and called him by name; but she spoke, too, of his father and Lewis, not as dead and gone, but as they used to be in the old days when they were all at home together, when Hamish and Shenac were little children. She was content, however, and did not suffer. There were times, too, when she seemed to understand that he had been away, and had come home to care for them all; and she seemed to trust him entirely that “he would be good to Hamish and the rest when she was no more.”“Folk get used to the most sorrowful things at last,” said Shenac to herself, as, after a time, Allister could turn quietly from the mother, so broken and changed, to renew his playful sallies with his brothers and little Flora. Indeed, it was a new acquaintance that he had to make with them. They had grown quite out of his remembrance, and he was not at all like the brother Allister of their imaginations; but this making friends with one another was a very pleasant business to them all.He had to renew his acquaintance with others too—with his cousins and the neighbours. He had much to hear and much to tell, and after a while he had much to do too; and through all the sayings and doings, the comings and goings,—of the first few weeks, both Hamish and Shenac watched their brother closely and curiously. Apart from their interest in him as their brother whom they loved, and in whose hands the future of all the rest seemed to lie, they could not but watch him curiously. He was so exactly like the merry, gentle, truthful Allister of old times, and yet so different! He had grown so strong and firm and manly. He knew so many things. He had made up his mind about the world and the people in it, and could tell his mind too.“Our Allister is a man!” said Shenac, as she sat in the kitchen one night with Shenac Dhu and the rest. The words were made to mean a great deal by the way in which they were spoken, and they all laughed. But her cousin answered the words merely, and not the manner:—“That is not saying much. Men are poor creatures enough, sometimes.”“But our Allister is not one of that kind,” said Dan, before his sister had time to answer. “Heisa man. He is made to rule. His will must be law wherever he is.”Dan had probably some private reason for knowing this better than the rest, and Shenac Dhu hinted as much. But Dan took no notice, and went on,—“You should hear Evan tell about him. Why, he saved the lives of the whole band more than once, by his firmness and wisdom.”“I have heard our Evan speaking of him,” said Shenac Dhu, her dark eyes softening, as she sat looking into the fire; “but if one is to believe all that Evan says, your Allister is not a man at all, but—don’t be vexed, Dan—an angel out of heaven.”“Oh, I don’t know about that part of it,” said Dan; “but I know one thing: he’ll be chief of the clan, boss of the shanty, or he’ll know the reason why.—O Shenac, dear, I’m sorry for you; your reign is over, I doubt. You’ll be farmer-in-chief no longer.”The last words were spoken with a mingled triumph and pathos that were irresistible. They all laughed.“Don’t be too sorry for me, Dan,” said his sister. “I’ll try to bear it.”“Oh yes, I know: you think you won’t care, but I know better. You like to rule as well as Allister. You’ll see, when spring comes, that you won’t put him aside as you used to put me.”“There won’t be the same need,” said Shenac, laughing.“Won’t there? It is all very fine, now that Allister is new. But wait and see. You won’t like to be second-best, after having been first so long.”Both Hamish and Shenac Dhu were observing her. She caught their look, and reddened a little.“Do you think so, Shenac Dhu?—You surely cannot think so meanly of me, Hamish?”“I think there may be a little truth in what Dan says, but I cannot think meanly of you because of that,” said Hamish.“Nonsense, Hamish!” said Shenac Dhu; “you don’t know anything about it. It is one thing to give up to a lad without sense, like Dan, but quite another thing to yield to a man like Allister, strong and wise and gentle. You are not to make Shenac afraid of her brother.”“I shall never be afraid of Allister,” said Shenac Bhan gravely; “and indeed, Hamish, I don’t think it is quite kind in you to think I like my own way best of all—”“I did not mean that, Shenac,” said her brother.“But you are afraid I will not like to give up to Allister. You need not—at least, I think you need not,” she added meditatively. “I shall be glad and thankful to have our affairs managed by stronger hands and a wiser head than mine.”“If stronger and wiser could be found, Shenac, dear,” said a new voice, and Shenac’s face was bent back, while her brother kissed her on the cheek and lip. “Uncle Angus thinks it would not be easy to do that.”They were all taken aback a little at this interruption, and each wondered how much he had heard of what had been said.“Have you been long here, Allister?” asked Dan.“No; I came this minute from the other house. Your mother told me you were here, Shenac Dhu.”“Did you hear what we were saying?” asked Dan, not content to let well alone.“No; what was it?” said Allister surprised, and a little curious.“Oh, you should have heard these girls,” said Dan mischievously. “Such stuff as they have been talking!”“The chief of the clan, and the boss of the shanty,” said Hamish gravely; “and that was you, Dan, was it not?”“Oh! what I said is nothing. It was the two Shenacs,” said Dan.Shenac Dhu, as a general thing, was able enough to take her own part; but she looked a little shamefaced at the moment, and said nothing.“What did they say, Dan?” asked Allister, laughing.Shenac Dhu need not have feared. Dan went on to say,—“I have been telling our Shenac that she will have to ‘knock under,’ now that you are come home; but she says she is not afraid.”“Why should she be?” asked Allister, who still stood behind his sister, passing his hand caressingly over her hair.“Oh, you don’t know our Shenac,” said Dan, nodding wisely, as though he could give some important information on the subject. The rest laughed.“I’m not sure that I know anybody’s Shenac very well,” said Allister gravely; “but in time I hope to do so.”“Oh, but our Shenac’s not like the rest of the girls. She’s hard and proud, and looks at folk as though she didn’t see them. You may laugh, but I have heard folk say it; and so have you, Shenac Dhu.”“No, I never did,” said Shenac Dhu; “but maybe it’s true for all that: there’s Sandy McMillan—”“And more besides him,” said Dan. “There’s your father—”“My father! Oh, he’s no mark. He believes Shenac Bhan to be at least fifteen years older than I am, and wiser in proportion. But as for her not seeing people, that’s nonsense, Dan.”But Shenac Bhan would have no more of it.“Shenac Dhu, you are as foolish as Dan to talk so. Don’t encourage him. What will Allister think?”Shenac laughed, but said no more.They were right. Allister was a man of the right sort. Whether, if circumstances had been different, he would have been content to come back and settle down as a farmer on his father’s land, it is not easy to say. But as it was, he did not hesitate for a moment. Hamish would never be able to do hard work. Dan might be steady enough by-and-by to take the land; but in the meantime Shenac must not be left with a burden of care too heavy for her. So he set himself to his work with a good will.He had not come back a rich man according to the idea of riches held by the people he had left behind him; but he was rich in the opinion of his neighbours, and well enough off in his own opinion. That is, he had the means of rebuilding his father’s house, and of putting the farm in good order, and something besides. He lost no time in commencing his labours, and he worked, and made others work, with a will. There were among the neighbours those who shook their cautious old heads when they spoke of his energetic measures, as though they would not last long; but this was because they did not know Allister Macivor.He had not been at home two days before he made up his mind that his mother should not pass another winter in the little log-house that had sheltered them since his father’s death; and he had not been at home ten days when preparations for the building of a new house were commenced. Before the snow went away, stone and lime for the walls and bricks for the chimneys were collected, and the carpenters were at work on windows and doors. As soon as the frost was out of the ground, the cellar was dug and stoned, and everything was prepared for the masons and carpenters, so that when the time for the farm-work came, nothing had to be neglected in the fields because of the work going on at the new house. So even the slow, cautious ones among the neighbours confessed that, as far as could be judged yet, Allister was a lad of sense; for the true farmer will attend to his fields at the right time and in the right way, whatever else may be neglected.But the house went on bravely—faster than ever house went on in those parts before, for all things were ready to the workmen’s hands.May-day came, and found Allister and Dan busy in taking down Angus Dhu’s fence—at least, that part of it that lay between the house-field and the creek.“I didn’t think the old man meant to let us have these rails,” said Dan. “Not that they are his by rights. I should not wonder if he were down upon us, after all, for taking them away.” And Dan put up his hands to shade his eyes, as he turned in the direction of Angus Dhu’s house.“Nonsense, Dan; I bought the rails,” said Allister.Dan whistled.“If I had been you, I would have taken them without his leave,” said he.“Pooh! and quarrelled with a neighbour for the sake of a few rails.”“But right is right,” insisted Dan. “Not that I think he would have made much ado about it, though. The old man has changed lately. I always think the hearing that our Shenac gave him on this very place did him a deal of good.”Dan looked mysterious, and Allister was a little curious.“I have always told you that you don’t know our Shenac. Whether it is your coming home, or my mother’s not being well, that has changed her, I can’t say. Or maybe it is something else,” added Dan thoughtfully. He had an idea that others in the parish were changed as well as Shenac. “She’s changed, anyway. She’s as mild as summer now. But if you had seen her when Angus Dhu was making this fence—Elder McMillan was here;” and Dan went off into a long account of the matter, and of other matters of which Allister had as yet heard nothing.“Angus Dhu don’t seem to bear malice,” said he, when Dan paused. “He has a great respect for Shenac.”“Oh yes, of course; so have they all.” And Dan launched into a succession of stories to prove that Shenac had done wonders in the way of winning respect. For though he had sometimes been contrary enough, and even now thought it necessary to remind his sister that, being a girl, she must be content to occupy but a humble place in the world, Shenac had no more stanch friend and supporter than he. Indeed, Dan was one who, though restless and jealous of his rights when he thought they were to be interfered with, yielded willingly to a strong hand and rightful authority; and he had greatly improved already under the management of his elder brother, of whom he was not a little proud.“Yes,” continued he, “I think they would have scattered us to the four winds if it had not been for Shenac. She always said that you would come home, and that we must manage to keep together till then. Man, you should have seen her when Angus Dhu said to my mother that he doubted that you had gone for your own pleasure, and would stay for the same. She could not show him the door, because my mother was there, and he is an old man; but she turned her back upon him and walked out like a queen, and would not come in again while he stayed, though Shenac Dhu cried, and begged her not to mind.”“I suppose Shenac Dhu was of the same mind—that I was not to be trusted,” said Allister.Dan shrugged his shoulders.“Oh, as to that, I don’t know. She’s only a girl, and it does not matter what she thinks. But how it vexed her to be told what our Shenac said about her father.”“But the two Shenacs were never unfriendly?” said Allister incredulously.“No,” said Dan; “I don’t think they ever were. Partly because Shenac yonder did not believe all I said, I suppose, and partly because she was vexed herself with her father. Oh yes, they are fast friends, the two Shenacs. You should have seen them the night Angus Dhu came to speak to my mother about the letter that came from Evan. Our Shenac was as proud of you as a hen is of one chicken, though she did not let the old man see it; and Shenac Dhu was as bad, and said over and over again to her father, ‘I told you, father, that Allister was good and true. He’ll never leave Evan; don’t be afraid.’ I doubt Evan was a wild lad out yonder, Allister.”“Not wilder than many another,” said Allister gravely. “But it is a bad place for young men, Dan. Evan was like a brother to me always.”“You were a brother to him, at any rate,” said Dan.“We were like brothers,” said Allister.“Oh, well, it’s all right, I daresay,” said Dan. “It has come out like a story in a book, you both coming home together. And, Allister, I was wrong about our Shenac in one thing. She does not mind in the least letting you do as you like. She seems all the better pleased when you are pleased; but she was hard on me, I can tell you.”“That’s queer, too,” said Allister, with a look in his eyes that made Dan laugh in spite of himself.“Oh yes, I know what you are thinking: that there is a difference between you and me. But there is a difference in Shenac too.”

After long waiting, Allister came home. Shenac and Hamish had no intention of watching the going out of the old year and the coming in of the new; but they lingered over the fire, talking of many things, till it grew late. And while they sat, the door opened, and Allister came in. They did not know that he was Allister. The dark-bearded man lingering on the threshold was very little like the fair-faced youth who had left them four years ago. He made a step forward into the room, and said,—

“This is Hamish, I know; but can this be our little Shenac?” And then they knew him.

It would be vain to try to describe the meeting. The very happiest meeting after years of separation must be sorrowful too. Death had been among them since Allister went, and the bereavement seemed new to the returned wanderer, and his tears fell as he listened to the few words Hamish said about his father’s last days.

When the first surprise and joy and sorrow were a little abated, Shenac whispered,—

“And Evan—Hamish, should we go to-night to tell Angus Dhu that Allister has come home?”

“What about Evan, Allister?” said Hamish.

“Do you not know? Did you not get my letter? I waited for Evan. He had been robbed and hurt, and thought himself dying. But it was not so bad as that. He is better now—quite well, I think. I left him at his father’s door.”

“At home! Evan at home! What did his father say? Did you see Angus Dhu?”

Shenac was quite breathless by the time her questions were asked.

“No; I could not wait. The field between there and here seemed wider to me than the ocean. When I saw the light, I left him there.” And the manly voice had much ado to keep from breaking into sobs again as he spoke.

“His father has been so anxious. No letter has come to us since Evan’s came to his father to say that he was dying. I wish the old man had been prepared,” said Shenac.

“Oh, I am grieved! If I had but thought,” said Allister regretfully.

“It is quite as well that he was not prepared,” said Hamish. And he was right.

Shenac Dhu told them about it afterwards.

“My mother went to the door, and when she saw Evan she gave a cry and let the light fall. And then we all came down; and my father came out of his bed just as he was, and when he saw my mother crying and clinging about the lad, he dropped down in the big chair and held out his hands without saying a word. You may be sure Evan was not long in taking them; and then he sank down on his knees, and my father put his arms round him, and would not move—not even to put his clothes on,” continued Shenac Dhu, laughing and sobbing at the same time. “So I got a plaid and put about him; and there they would have sat, I dare say, till the dawn, but after just the first, Evan looked pale and weary, and my father said he must go to bed at once. ‘But first tell us about your cousin Allister,’ my father said. Evan said it would take him all night, and many a night, to tell all that Allister had done for him; and then my father said, ‘God bless him!’ over and over. And I cannot tell you any more,” said Shenac Dhu, laughing and crying and hiding her face in her hands.

“But as to my father being prepared,” she added gravely, after a moment’s pause, “I am afraid if he had had time to think about it, it would have seemed his duty to be stern at first with Evan. But it is far better as it is; and he can hardly bear him out of his sight. Oh, I’m glad it is over! I know now, by the joy of the home-coming, how terrible the waiting must have been to him.”

Very sad to Allister was his mother’s only half-conscious recognition of him. She knew him, and called him by name; but she spoke, too, of his father and Lewis, not as dead and gone, but as they used to be in the old days when they were all at home together, when Hamish and Shenac were little children. She was content, however, and did not suffer. There were times, too, when she seemed to understand that he had been away, and had come home to care for them all; and she seemed to trust him entirely that “he would be good to Hamish and the rest when she was no more.”

“Folk get used to the most sorrowful things at last,” said Shenac to herself, as, after a time, Allister could turn quietly from the mother, so broken and changed, to renew his playful sallies with his brothers and little Flora. Indeed, it was a new acquaintance that he had to make with them. They had grown quite out of his remembrance, and he was not at all like the brother Allister of their imaginations; but this making friends with one another was a very pleasant business to them all.

He had to renew his acquaintance with others too—with his cousins and the neighbours. He had much to hear and much to tell, and after a while he had much to do too; and through all the sayings and doings, the comings and goings,—of the first few weeks, both Hamish and Shenac watched their brother closely and curiously. Apart from their interest in him as their brother whom they loved, and in whose hands the future of all the rest seemed to lie, they could not but watch him curiously. He was so exactly like the merry, gentle, truthful Allister of old times, and yet so different! He had grown so strong and firm and manly. He knew so many things. He had made up his mind about the world and the people in it, and could tell his mind too.

“Our Allister is a man!” said Shenac, as she sat in the kitchen one night with Shenac Dhu and the rest. The words were made to mean a great deal by the way in which they were spoken, and they all laughed. But her cousin answered the words merely, and not the manner:—

“That is not saying much. Men are poor creatures enough, sometimes.”

“But our Allister is not one of that kind,” said Dan, before his sister had time to answer. “Heisa man. He is made to rule. His will must be law wherever he is.”

Dan had probably some private reason for knowing this better than the rest, and Shenac Dhu hinted as much. But Dan took no notice, and went on,—

“You should hear Evan tell about him. Why, he saved the lives of the whole band more than once, by his firmness and wisdom.”

“I have heard our Evan speaking of him,” said Shenac Dhu, her dark eyes softening, as she sat looking into the fire; “but if one is to believe all that Evan says, your Allister is not a man at all, but—don’t be vexed, Dan—an angel out of heaven.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that part of it,” said Dan; “but I know one thing: he’ll be chief of the clan, boss of the shanty, or he’ll know the reason why.—O Shenac, dear, I’m sorry for you; your reign is over, I doubt. You’ll be farmer-in-chief no longer.”

The last words were spoken with a mingled triumph and pathos that were irresistible. They all laughed.

“Don’t be too sorry for me, Dan,” said his sister. “I’ll try to bear it.”

“Oh yes, I know: you think you won’t care, but I know better. You like to rule as well as Allister. You’ll see, when spring comes, that you won’t put him aside as you used to put me.”

“There won’t be the same need,” said Shenac, laughing.

“Won’t there? It is all very fine, now that Allister is new. But wait and see. You won’t like to be second-best, after having been first so long.”

Both Hamish and Shenac Dhu were observing her. She caught their look, and reddened a little.

“Do you think so, Shenac Dhu?—You surely cannot think so meanly of me, Hamish?”

“I think there may be a little truth in what Dan says, but I cannot think meanly of you because of that,” said Hamish.

“Nonsense, Hamish!” said Shenac Dhu; “you don’t know anything about it. It is one thing to give up to a lad without sense, like Dan, but quite another thing to yield to a man like Allister, strong and wise and gentle. You are not to make Shenac afraid of her brother.”

“I shall never be afraid of Allister,” said Shenac Bhan gravely; “and indeed, Hamish, I don’t think it is quite kind in you to think I like my own way best of all—”

“I did not mean that, Shenac,” said her brother.

“But you are afraid I will not like to give up to Allister. You need not—at least, I think you need not,” she added meditatively. “I shall be glad and thankful to have our affairs managed by stronger hands and a wiser head than mine.”

“If stronger and wiser could be found, Shenac, dear,” said a new voice, and Shenac’s face was bent back, while her brother kissed her on the cheek and lip. “Uncle Angus thinks it would not be easy to do that.”

They were all taken aback a little at this interruption, and each wondered how much he had heard of what had been said.

“Have you been long here, Allister?” asked Dan.

“No; I came this minute from the other house. Your mother told me you were here, Shenac Dhu.”

“Did you hear what we were saying?” asked Dan, not content to let well alone.

“No; what was it?” said Allister surprised, and a little curious.

“Oh, you should have heard these girls,” said Dan mischievously. “Such stuff as they have been talking!”

“The chief of the clan, and the boss of the shanty,” said Hamish gravely; “and that was you, Dan, was it not?”

“Oh! what I said is nothing. It was the two Shenacs,” said Dan.

Shenac Dhu, as a general thing, was able enough to take her own part; but she looked a little shamefaced at the moment, and said nothing.

“What did they say, Dan?” asked Allister, laughing.

Shenac Dhu need not have feared. Dan went on to say,—

“I have been telling our Shenac that she will have to ‘knock under,’ now that you are come home; but she says she is not afraid.”

“Why should she be?” asked Allister, who still stood behind his sister, passing his hand caressingly over her hair.

“Oh, you don’t know our Shenac,” said Dan, nodding wisely, as though he could give some important information on the subject. The rest laughed.

“I’m not sure that I know anybody’s Shenac very well,” said Allister gravely; “but in time I hope to do so.”

“Oh, but our Shenac’s not like the rest of the girls. She’s hard and proud, and looks at folk as though she didn’t see them. You may laugh, but I have heard folk say it; and so have you, Shenac Dhu.”

“No, I never did,” said Shenac Dhu; “but maybe it’s true for all that: there’s Sandy McMillan—”

“And more besides him,” said Dan. “There’s your father—”

“My father! Oh, he’s no mark. He believes Shenac Bhan to be at least fifteen years older than I am, and wiser in proportion. But as for her not seeing people, that’s nonsense, Dan.”

But Shenac Bhan would have no more of it.

“Shenac Dhu, you are as foolish as Dan to talk so. Don’t encourage him. What will Allister think?”

Shenac laughed, but said no more.

They were right. Allister was a man of the right sort. Whether, if circumstances had been different, he would have been content to come back and settle down as a farmer on his father’s land, it is not easy to say. But as it was, he did not hesitate for a moment. Hamish would never be able to do hard work. Dan might be steady enough by-and-by to take the land; but in the meantime Shenac must not be left with a burden of care too heavy for her. So he set himself to his work with a good will.

He had not come back a rich man according to the idea of riches held by the people he had left behind him; but he was rich in the opinion of his neighbours, and well enough off in his own opinion. That is, he had the means of rebuilding his father’s house, and of putting the farm in good order, and something besides. He lost no time in commencing his labours, and he worked, and made others work, with a will. There were among the neighbours those who shook their cautious old heads when they spoke of his energetic measures, as though they would not last long; but this was because they did not know Allister Macivor.

He had not been at home two days before he made up his mind that his mother should not pass another winter in the little log-house that had sheltered them since his father’s death; and he had not been at home ten days when preparations for the building of a new house were commenced. Before the snow went away, stone and lime for the walls and bricks for the chimneys were collected, and the carpenters were at work on windows and doors. As soon as the frost was out of the ground, the cellar was dug and stoned, and everything was prepared for the masons and carpenters, so that when the time for the farm-work came, nothing had to be neglected in the fields because of the work going on at the new house. So even the slow, cautious ones among the neighbours confessed that, as far as could be judged yet, Allister was a lad of sense; for the true farmer will attend to his fields at the right time and in the right way, whatever else may be neglected.

But the house went on bravely—faster than ever house went on in those parts before, for all things were ready to the workmen’s hands.

May-day came, and found Allister and Dan busy in taking down Angus Dhu’s fence—at least, that part of it that lay between the house-field and the creek.

“I didn’t think the old man meant to let us have these rails,” said Dan. “Not that they are his by rights. I should not wonder if he were down upon us, after all, for taking them away.” And Dan put up his hands to shade his eyes, as he turned in the direction of Angus Dhu’s house.

“Nonsense, Dan; I bought the rails,” said Allister.

Dan whistled.

“If I had been you, I would have taken them without his leave,” said he.

“Pooh! and quarrelled with a neighbour for the sake of a few rails.”

“But right is right,” insisted Dan. “Not that I think he would have made much ado about it, though. The old man has changed lately. I always think the hearing that our Shenac gave him on this very place did him a deal of good.”

Dan looked mysterious, and Allister was a little curious.

“I have always told you that you don’t know our Shenac. Whether it is your coming home, or my mother’s not being well, that has changed her, I can’t say. Or maybe it is something else,” added Dan thoughtfully. He had an idea that others in the parish were changed as well as Shenac. “She’s changed, anyway. She’s as mild as summer now. But if you had seen her when Angus Dhu was making this fence—Elder McMillan was here;” and Dan went off into a long account of the matter, and of other matters of which Allister had as yet heard nothing.

“Angus Dhu don’t seem to bear malice,” said he, when Dan paused. “He has a great respect for Shenac.”

“Oh yes, of course; so have they all.” And Dan launched into a succession of stories to prove that Shenac had done wonders in the way of winning respect. For though he had sometimes been contrary enough, and even now thought it necessary to remind his sister that, being a girl, she must be content to occupy but a humble place in the world, Shenac had no more stanch friend and supporter than he. Indeed, Dan was one who, though restless and jealous of his rights when he thought they were to be interfered with, yielded willingly to a strong hand and rightful authority; and he had greatly improved already under the management of his elder brother, of whom he was not a little proud.

“Yes,” continued he, “I think they would have scattered us to the four winds if it had not been for Shenac. She always said that you would come home, and that we must manage to keep together till then. Man, you should have seen her when Angus Dhu said to my mother that he doubted that you had gone for your own pleasure, and would stay for the same. She could not show him the door, because my mother was there, and he is an old man; but she turned her back upon him and walked out like a queen, and would not come in again while he stayed, though Shenac Dhu cried, and begged her not to mind.”

“I suppose Shenac Dhu was of the same mind—that I was not to be trusted,” said Allister.

Dan shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, as to that, I don’t know. She’s only a girl, and it does not matter what she thinks. But how it vexed her to be told what our Shenac said about her father.”

“But the two Shenacs were never unfriendly?” said Allister incredulously.

“No,” said Dan; “I don’t think they ever were. Partly because Shenac yonder did not believe all I said, I suppose, and partly because she was vexed herself with her father. Oh yes, they are fast friends, the two Shenacs. You should have seen them the night Angus Dhu came to speak to my mother about the letter that came from Evan. Our Shenac was as proud of you as a hen is of one chicken, though she did not let the old man see it; and Shenac Dhu was as bad, and said over and over again to her father, ‘I told you, father, that Allister was good and true. He’ll never leave Evan; don’t be afraid.’ I doubt Evan was a wild lad out yonder, Allister.”

“Not wilder than many another,” said Allister gravely. “But it is a bad place for young men, Dan. Evan was like a brother to me always.”

“You were a brother to him, at any rate,” said Dan.

“We were like brothers,” said Allister.

“Oh, well, it’s all right, I daresay,” said Dan. “It has come out like a story in a book, you both coming home together. And, Allister, I was wrong about our Shenac in one thing. She does not mind in the least letting you do as you like. She seems all the better pleased when you are pleased; but she was hard on me, I can tell you.”

“That’s queer, too,” said Allister, with a look in his eyes that made Dan laugh in spite of himself.

“Oh yes, I know what you are thinking: that there is a difference between you and me. But there is a difference in Shenac too.”

Chapter Fifteen.Dan was right,—Shenac was changed. Even if Allister had not come home, if the success of the summer’s work had depended, as it had hitherto mainly done, upon her, it would have been a very different summer from the last. The labour, though it had been hard enough, from early morning till night every day of the year, was not what had been worst for her. The constant care and anxiety had been harder to bear. Not the fear of want. That had never really troubled her. She knew that it would never come to that with them. But the welfare of all the family had depended on her strength and wisdom while they kept together, and the responsibility had been too heavy for her. How much too heavy it had been she only knew by the blessed sense of relief which followed its removal.But it would have been different now, even had her cares been the same, for a new element mingled in her life—a firm trust in God. She had known, in a way, all along that, labour as she might, the increase must come from God. She had always assented to her brother’s gentle reminders of the heavenly care and keeping promised to the widow and the fatherless; but she had wearied and vexed herself, taking all the weight of the burden, just as if there had been no promise given, no help made sure.It would have been quite different now. Even failure would have brought no such burden as had come with a sense of success before, because of her sure and certain knowledge that all that concerned her was safe in the best and most loving care.And, with Allister between her and the summer’s work, she had no need to trouble herself. Every day had strengthened her trust in him, not only as a loving brother, but as a wise man and a good farmer; and many a time she laughed merrily to herself as Dan’s foolish words about her not wishing to give place to Allister came to her mind. She could never tell him or any one else how blessed was the sense of relief and peace which his being at home gave her. She awoke every morning with the restful feeling fresh in her heart. There was no half-conscious planning about ways and means before her eyes were open; no shrinking from possible encounters with Dan’s idleness or wilfulness; no balancing of possibilities as to his doing well, or doing at all, some piece of work depending upon him.She heard more in the song of the birds now than just the old burden, “It is time to be at work again.” It gave her quite a sense of pleasure now and then to find herself looking over the fields with delight just because they were fresh and green and beautiful, and not at all because of the tons of hay or the bushels of grain which they were to yield. Of course it was pleasant to anticipate a good harvest, and it was pleasant to know that there were wider fields to harvest this year, and that the barns would be full to overflowing. It did not in the least lessen the pleasure to know that this year success would not be due to her. Indeed, her pride in Allister’s work was quite as great as it ever had been in her own, and the pleasure had fewer drawbacks. She could speak of it and triumph in it, and did so with Hamish and Shenac Dhu, and sometimes with Allister himself.She was happy, too, in a half-conscious coming back to the thoughts and enjoyments of the time before their troubles had overtaken them. She was very young still, quite young enough to grow light-hearted and mirthful; and if her mother had been well, it would truly have seemed like the old happy days again.Not that she had very much leisure even now. She did not go to the fields; but what with the dairy and the house-work, and after a little while the wool, she had plenty to do. There were two more cows in the enlarged pasture, and some of the people who were busy about the new house took their meals with them, so there was little time for lingering over anything. Besides, the house-work, which in the busy seasons had seemed a secondary concern, was done differently now. Shenac took pride and pleasure in doing everything in the very best way, and in having the house in order, the linen snow-white, and the table neatly laid; and the little log-house was a far pleasanter home than many a more commodious dwelling.If there had lingered in Angus Dhu’s heart any indignation towards Shenac for having interfered with his plans, and for having spoken her mind to him so plainly, it was gone now. They had no more frequent visitor than he, and few who were more welcome. His coming was for Allister’s sake, his sister used to think; and, indeed, the old man seemed to see no fault in the young farmer. He gave him his confidence as he had never given it to any one before. After the first meeting he never spoke of what Allister had done for him in bringing Evan home, but he knew it was through his care and tenderness that he had ever seen his son’s face again, and he was deeply grateful.There was another reason why he found pleasure in the young man’s society. He had loved Allister’s father when they had been young together, before the love of money had hardened his heart and blinded his eyes. His long trouble and fear for his son had made him feel that wealth is not enough to give peace. It had shaken his faith in the “god of this world;” and as God’s blessing on his sorrow softened his heart, the worldly crust fell away, and he came back to his old thoughts—or rather, I should say, his young thoughts of life again.Allister was just what his father had been at his age—as gentle, as manly, and kind-hearted; having, besides, the strength of character, the knowledge of men and things, which his father had lacked. He had always been a bold, frank lad. Even in the old times he had never stood in awe of “the dour old man,” as the rest had done. In the old times his frankness had been resented as an unwarrantable liberty; but it was very different now. Even his own children felt a little restraint in the presence of the stern old man; but Allister always greeted him cheerfully, talked with him freely, and held his own opinions firmly, though they often differed widely enough from those of Angus Dhu. But they never quarrelled. The old man’s dogmatic ways vexed and irritated Shenac many a time; even Hamish had much ado to keep his patience and the thread of his argument at the same time; but Allister never lost his temper, and if the old man grew bitter and disagreeable, as he sometimes did, the best cure for it was Allister’s good-humoured determination not to see it, and so they always got on well together.Of all their friends, Angus Dhu was the one whom their mother never failed to recognise. She did not always remember how the last few years had passed, and spoke to him, as she so often did to others, as though her husband were still living and her children young; but almost always she was recalled to the present by the sight of him, and rejoiced over Allister’s return, and the building of the new house, and the prosperity which seemed to be coming back to them. But, whether she was quite herself or not, he was always very gentle with her, answering the same questions and telling the same incidents over and over again for her pleasure, with a patience very different from anything that might have been expected from him.There was one thing about Allister, and Shenac too, which greatly vexed their uncle. In his eyes it seemed almost like forsaking the God of their fathers when, Sabbath after Sabbath, they passed by the old kirk and sat in the new. He would have excused it on the days when old Mr Farquharson was not there and the old kirk was closed; but that they should hold with these “new folk” at all times was a scandal in his eyes.It was in vain that Hamish proved to him that in doctrine and discipline—in everything, indeed, except one thing, which could not affect them in this country—the new folk were just like the old. This only made the matter less excusable in the eyes of Angus Dhu. The separation which circumstances might have made necessary at home—as these people still lovingly called the native land of their fathers—was surely not needed here, and it grieved and vexed the old man sorely to see so many leaving the old minister and the kirk their fathers had built and had worshipped in so long.But even Angus Dhu himself ventured into the forbidden ground of the new kirk, when word was brought that Mr Stewart, the schoolmaster of two years ago, was come to supply the minister’s place there for a while. He had a great respect for Mr Stewart, and some curiosity, now that he was an ordained minister, to hear him preach; and having heard him, he acknowledged to himself, though he was slow to speak of it to others, that the word of God was held forth with power, and he began to think that, after all, the scores of young people who flocked to hear him were as well while listening here as when sleeping quietly under the monotonous voice of the good old minister; and very soon no objection was made when his own Evan and Shenac Dhu went with the rest.Mr Stewart had changed much since he came among them first. His health was broken then, and he was struggling with a fear that he was not to be permitted to work the work for which he had all his lifetime been preparing. That fear had passed away. He was well now, and well-fitted to declare God’s gospel to men. It was a labour of love to him, all could see. The grave, quiet man seemed transformed when he stood in the pulpit He spoke with authority, as one who knew from deep, blessed experience the things which he made known, and no wonder that all listened eagerly.Hamish was very happy in the renewal of their friendship, and Allister was almost as happy in coming to know the minister. He came sometimes to see them, but not very often, for he had many engagements, and his visits made “white days” for them all. Hamish saw much more of him than the rest, for he was comparatively idle this summer, and drove the minister to his different preaching stations, and on his visits to the people, with much profit to himself and much pleasure to both.It was a very pleasant summer, for many reasons, to Shenac and them all. The only drawback was the state of the mother. She was not getting better—would probably never be better, the doctor said, whom Allister had brought from far to see her. But she might live a long time in her present state. She did not suffer, and was almost always quite content. All that the tenderest care could do for her was done, and her uneventful days were made happy by her children’s watchful love.The entire renewal of confidence and intercourse between the two families was a source of pleasure to all, but especially to Shenac, who had never been quite able to believe herself forgiven by her uncle before. Two of Angus Dhu’s daughters were married in the spring, and left their father’s house; and partly because she was more needed at home, and partly for other reasons, Shenac Dhu did not run into their house so often as she used to do. But Evan was often there. He and Hamish were much together, for neither of them was strong, and much help was not expected from them on the land or elsewhere. Evan was hardly what he had been before his departure from home. He was improved, they thought, on the whole; but his health was not firm, and his spirits and temper were variable, and, as Shenac said, he was as different from Allister as weakness is from strength, or as darkness is from the day. But they were always glad to see him, and his intercourse with these healthy, cheerful young people did him much good.The new house progressed rapidly. There was a fair prospect that they might get into it before winter, and already Shenac was planning ways and means towards the furnishing of it. The wool was sorted and dyed with reference to the making of such a carpet as had never been seen in those parts before; and every pound of butter that was put down was looked upon as so much security for a certain number of things for use or for adornment in the new house. For Shenac had a natural love for pretty things, and it was pleasant to feel that she might gratify her taste to a reasonable degree without hazarding the comfort of any one.She made no secret of her pleasure in the prospect of living in a nice house with pretty things about her, and discussed her plans and intentions with great enjoyment with her cousin Shenac, who did not laugh at her little ambitions as much as might have been expected. Indeed, she was rather grave and quiet about this time, and seemed to shun, rather than to seek, these confidences. She was too busy now that Mary and Annie were both gone, to leave home often, and when our Shenac wished to see her she had to go in search of her. It was not quite so formidable an affair as it used to be to go to Angus Dhu’s house now, and Shenac and her brother often found themselves there on summer evenings. But at home, as elsewhere, Shenac Dhu was quiet and staid, and not at all like the merry Shenac of former times.This change was not noticed by Shenac Bhan so quickly as it would have been if she had been less occupied with her own affairs; but she did notice it at last, and one night, drawing her away from the door-step where the rest were sitting, she told her what she was thinking, and entreated to know what ailed her.“What ails me?” repeated Shenac Dhu, reddening a little. “What in the world should all me? I am busier than I used to be, that is all.”“You were always busy; it is not that. I think you might tellme, Shenac.”“Well,” began her cousin mysteriously, “I will tell you if you will promise not to mention it. I am growing wise.”Shenac Bhan laughed.“Well, I don’t see what there is to laugh at. It’s time for me to grow wise, when you are growing foolish.”Shenac Bhan looked at her cousin a little wistfully.“Am I growing foolish, Shenac? Is it about the house and all the things? Perhaps I am thinking too much about them. But it is not for myself, Shenac; at least, it’s not all for myself.”But Shenac Dhu stopped her.“You reallyarefoolish now. No; of course the house has nothing to do with it. I called you foolish for saying that something ails me, which is nonsense, you know. What could ail me? I put it to yourself.”“But that is what I am asking you. How can I tell? Many a thing might go wrong with you,” said Shenac Bhan.“Yes; I might take the small-pox, or the bank might break and I might lose my money, or many a thing might happen, as you say; and when anything does happen, I’ll tell you, you may be sure. Now tell me, is the wide stripe in the new carpet to be red or green?”“You are laughing at me, Cousin Shenac,” said our Shenac, gravely. “I daresay it is foolish in me, and may be wrong, to be thinking so much about these things and teasing you about them; but, Shenac, our Allister is a man now, and folk think much of him, and I want his house to be nice, and I do take pleasure in thinking about it. And you know we have been so poor and so hard pressed for the last few years, with no time to think of anything but just what must be done to live; and it will be so nice when we are fairly settled. And, Shenac, our Allister is so good. There never was such a brother as Allister—never. I would not speak so to every one, Shenac; butyouknow.”Shenac Dhu nodded. “Yes, I know.”“If my mother were only well!” continued Shenac Bhan, and the tears that had risen to her eyes fell on her cheeks now. “We would be too happy then, I suppose. But it seems sad enough that she should not be able to enjoy it all, and take her own place in the new house, after all she has gone through.”“Yes,” said Shenac Dhu, “it is very sad.”“And yet I cannot but take pleasure in it; and perhaps it is foolish and unkind to my mother too. Is it, Shenac?”There were two or three pairs of eyes watching—no, not watching, but seeing—the two girls from the doorstep, and Shenac Dhu drew her cousin down the garden-path towards the plum-tree before she answered her. Then she put her arms round her neck, and kissed her two or three times before she answered,—“You are not wrong or foolish. You are right to take pride and pleasure in your brother and his house, and in all that belongs to him. And he is just as proud of you, Shenac, my darling.”“That is nonsense, you know, Cousin Shenac,” said Allister’s sister; but she smiled and blushed too, as she said it, with pure pleasure.There was no chance after this to say anything more about the change, real or supposed, that had taken place in Shenac Dhu, for she talked on, allowing no pause till they had come quite round the garden and back to the door-step; but Shenac Bhan knew all about it before she saw her cousin again.That night, as she was going home through the field with Allister, he asked her rather suddenly,—“What were you and Cousin Shenac speaking about to-night when you went round the garden?”“Allister,” said his sister, “do you think Cousin Shenac is changed lately?”“Changed!” repeated Allister. “How?”“Oh, of course you cannot tell; but she used to be so merry, and now she is quite quiet and grave, and we hardly ever see her over with us now. I was asking her what ailed her.”“And what did she say?”“Oh, she laughed at me, and denied that anything ailed her, and then she said she was growing wise. But I know something is wrong with her, though she would not tell me.”“What do you think it is, Shenac?”“I cannot tell. It is not only that she is quieter—I could understand that; but she hardly ever comes over now, and something is vexing her, I’m sure. Could it be anything Dan has said? He used to vex her sometimes. What do you think it can be, Allister?”There was a little pause, and then Allister said,—“I think I know what it is, Shenac.”“You!” exclaimed Shenac. “What is it? Have I anything to do with it? Am I to blame?”“You have something to do with it, but you are not to blame,” said Allister.“Tell me, Allister,” said his sister.There was a silence of several minutes, and then Allister said,—“Shenac, I have asked Cousin Shenac to be my wife.” Shenac stood perfectly still in her surprise and dismay. Yes, shewasdismayed. I have heard it said that the tidings of a brother’s engagement rarely bring unmixed pleasure to a sister. I daresay there is some truth in this. Many sisters make their brothers their first object in life—pride themselves on their talents, their worth, their success, live in their lives, glory in their triumphs; till a day comes when it is softly said of some stranger, or some friend—it may be none the pleasanter to hear because it is a friend—“She is more to him than you could ever be.” Is it only to jealous hearts, ignoble minds, that such tidings come with a shock of pain? Nay, the truer the heart the keener the pain. It may be short, but it is sharp. The second thought may be, “It is well for him; I am glad for him.” But the pang is first, and inevitable.Allister had been always first, after Hamish, in Shenac’s heart—perhaps not even after Hamish. She had never thought of him in connection with any change of this kind. In all her plans for the future, no thought of possible separation had come. She stood perfectly still, till her brother touched her.“Well, Shenac?”Then she moved on without speaking. She was searching about among her astonished and dismayed thoughts for something to say, for she felt that Allister was waiting for her to speak. At last she made a grasp at the question they had been discussing, and said hurriedly,—“But there is nothing to vex Shenac in that, surely?”“No; unless she is right in thinking that you will not be glad too.”“I am glad it is Shenac. I would rather it would be Shenac than any one else in the whole world—”“I was sure of it,” said her brother, kissing her fondly.Even without the kiss she would hardly have had the courage to add,—“If it must be anyone.”“And, Shenac,” continued her brother, “you must tell her so. She fancies that for some things you will not like it, and she wants to put it off for ever so long—till—till something happens—till you are married yourself, I suppose.”Now Shenac was vexed. She was in the way—at least, Allister and Shenac Dhu thought so. It was quite as well that the sound of footsteps gave her no time to speak the words that rose to her lips. They were overtaken by Mr Stewart and Hamish. It had been to see the minister that they had all gone to Angus Dhu’s, for he was going away in the morning, and they did not know when they might see him again. It was late, and the farewells were brief and earnest.“God bless you, Shenac!” was all that Mr Stewart said; and Shenac answered never a word.“I’ll walk a little way with you,” said Allister. Hamish and Shenac stood watching them till they passed through the gate, and then Shenac sat down on the doorstep with a sigh, and laid her face upon her hands. Hamish looked a little astonished, but he smiled too.“He will come back again, Shenac,” he said at last.“Yes, I know,” said she, rising slowly. “I must tell you before he comes. We must not stay here. Come in; you will take cold. I don’t know what to think. He expected me to be pleased, and I shall be in a little while, I think, after I have told you. Do you know it, Hamish?”“I know—he told me; but I thought he had not spoken to you,” said the puzzled Hamish.“Did Allister tell you? Are you glad, Hamish?”“Allister?” repeated Hamish.“Allister has asked Shenac Dhu to be his wife,” said Shenac in a whisper.“Is that it? No, I had not heard that, though I thought it might be—some time. You must have seen it, Shenac?”“Seen it! the thought never came into my mind—never once—till he told me to-night.”“Well, that’s odd, too,” said Hamish, smiling. “They say girls are quick enough to see such things. Are you not pleased, Shenac?”“I don’t know. Should I be pleased, Hamish? I think perhaps in a little while I shall be.” Then she added, “It will make a great difference.”“Will it?” asked Hamish. “Cousin Shenac has almost been like one of ourselves so long.”“I suppose it is foolish, and maybe it is wrong, but it does seem to put Allister farther from us—from me, at least. He seems less our own.”“Don’t say that, Shenac dear,” said her brother gently. “Allister can never be less than a dear and loving brother to us all. It is very natural and right that this should happen. It might have been a stranger. We all love Shenac Dhu dearly.”“Yes,” said Shenac; “I said that to Allister.”“And, Shenac, I am very glad this should happen. Allister will settle down content, and be a good and useful man.”“He would have done that anyway,” said Shenac, a little dolefully.“He might, but he might not,” said Hamish. “They say marriage is the natural and proper state. I am glad for Allister, Shenac; and you will be glad by-and-by. I wish I had known this a little sooner. I am very glad, Shenac.”Shenac sighed. “I suppose it is altogether mean and miserable in me not to be glad all at once; and I’ll try to be. I suppose we must stay here now, Hamish,” she added, glancing round the low room.“Do you think so?” said Hamish in surprise. “No, you must not say so. I am sure it would grieve Cousin Shenac.”“There are so many of us, Hamish, and our mother is a great care; it would not be fair to Shenac. I must stay here and take care of my mother and you.”There was a long silence.“Shenac,” said her brother at last, “don’t think about this just now; don’t make up your mind. It is not going to happen soon.”“Allister says soon, but Shenac says not till—” She stopped.“Well, soon or late, never mind; it will all come right. Let us be more anxious to do right than for anything else. God will guide us, Shenac. Don’t let us say anything to vex Allister. It would vex him greatly, I know, to think that you and all of us would not go with him and Shenac.”“But it would not be fair to Shenac herself. Think what a large family there is of us.”“Whisht, Shenac, there may be fewer of us soon. You may marry yourself.”“And leave my mother and you?” Shenac smiled incredulously.“Stranger things have happened,” said her brother. “But, Shenac, our mother will not be here long, and Allister’s house is her place, and you can care for her all the same there—better indeed. I am glad of this marriage, for all our sakes. Shenac Dhu is like one of ourselves; she will always care for the little ones as no stranger could, and for our mother. Itisa little hard thatyoushould not have the first place in the new house for a while, till you get a home of your own, after all the care and trouble you have had for us here—”“Do you think that has anything to do with it, Hamish?” said Shenac reproachfully. “It never came into my mind; only when Allister told me it seemed as though I would be so little to him now. Maybe you are right, though. Everybody seems to think that I like to be first. I know I have thought a great deal about the new house; but it has been for the rest, and for Allister most of all.”“Shenac, you must not vex yourself thinking about it,” said her brother. “I am more glad of this for your sake than for all the rest. I cannot tell you how glad I am.”“Well, I am glad too—I think I am glad; I think it will be all right, Hamish. I am not really afraid of anything that can happen now.”“You need not be, dear; why should you be afraid even of trouble?” said her brother. “And this is not trouble, but a great blessing for us all.”But Shenac thought about it a great deal, and, I am afraid, vexed herself somewhat, too. She did not see Shenac Dhu for a day or two, for her cousin was away; and it was as well to have a little time to think about it before she saw her. There came no order out of the confusion, however, with all her thinking. That they were all to be one family she knew was Allister’s plan, and Hamish approved it, though the brothers had not exchanged a word about the matter. But this did not seem the best plan to her, nor did she think it would seem so to her cousin; it was not best for any of them. She could do far better for her mother, and Hamish too, living quietly in their present home; and the young people would be better without them. Of course they must get their living from the farm, at least partly; but she could do many things to earn something. She could spin and knit, and she would get a loom and learn to weave, and little Flora should help her.“If Allister would only be convinced; but they will think I am vexed about the house, and I don’t think I really cared much about it for myself—it was for Allister and the rest. Oh, if my mother were only able to decide it, I do think she would agree with me about it.”She thought and thought till she was weary, and it all came to this:—“I will wait and see what will happen, and I will trust. Surely nothing can go wrong when God guides us. At any rate, I shall say nothing to vex Allister or Shenac; but I wish it was well over.”It was the first visit to Shenac Dhu which, partly from shyness and partly from some other feeling, she did dread a little; but she need not have feared it so much. She did not have to put a constraint on herself toseemglad; for the very first glimpse she caught of Shenac’s sweet, kind face put all her vexed thoughts to flight, and she was really and truly glad for Allister and for herself too.She went to her uncle’s one night, not at all expecting to see her cousin; but she had returned sooner than was expected, and when she went in she found her sitting with her father and Allister. Shenac did not see her brother, however. She hastily greeted her uncle, and going straight to her cousin put her arms round her neck and kissed her many times. Shenac Dhu looked up in surprise.“I know it now, Cousin Shenac,” said Allister’s sister; and in a moment Allister’s arms were round them both. It was Angus Dhu’s turn to be surprised now. He had not been so startled since the day that Shenac Bhan told him her mind down by the creek. The girls escaped, and Allister explained how matters stood. The old man was pleased, but he grumbled a little, too, at the thought of losing his last daughter.“You must make an exchange, Allister, my man. If you could give us your Shenac—”Allister laughed. In his heart he thought his sister too good to be sent there, and he was very glad he had not the matter to decide.“Shenac, my woman,” said the old man as they were going away, “I wonder at you being so willing to give up the fine new house. I think it is very good in you.”“I would not—to anybody else,” said she, laughing.“But she’s not going to give it up, father,” said Shenac Dhu eagerly.“Well, well, maybe not, if you can keep her.”Shenac still pondered over the question of what would be best for them all, and wearied herself with it many a time; but she gave none the less interest to the progress of the house and its belongings. She spun the wool for the carpet, and bleached the new linen to snowy whiteness, and made all other preparations just the same as if she were to have the guiding and governing of the household. She was glad with Allister and glad with Shenac, and, for herself and the rest, quite content to wait and see what time would bring to pass.

Dan was right,—Shenac was changed. Even if Allister had not come home, if the success of the summer’s work had depended, as it had hitherto mainly done, upon her, it would have been a very different summer from the last. The labour, though it had been hard enough, from early morning till night every day of the year, was not what had been worst for her. The constant care and anxiety had been harder to bear. Not the fear of want. That had never really troubled her. She knew that it would never come to that with them. But the welfare of all the family had depended on her strength and wisdom while they kept together, and the responsibility had been too heavy for her. How much too heavy it had been she only knew by the blessed sense of relief which followed its removal.

But it would have been different now, even had her cares been the same, for a new element mingled in her life—a firm trust in God. She had known, in a way, all along that, labour as she might, the increase must come from God. She had always assented to her brother’s gentle reminders of the heavenly care and keeping promised to the widow and the fatherless; but she had wearied and vexed herself, taking all the weight of the burden, just as if there had been no promise given, no help made sure.

It would have been quite different now. Even failure would have brought no such burden as had come with a sense of success before, because of her sure and certain knowledge that all that concerned her was safe in the best and most loving care.

And, with Allister between her and the summer’s work, she had no need to trouble herself. Every day had strengthened her trust in him, not only as a loving brother, but as a wise man and a good farmer; and many a time she laughed merrily to herself as Dan’s foolish words about her not wishing to give place to Allister came to her mind. She could never tell him or any one else how blessed was the sense of relief and peace which his being at home gave her. She awoke every morning with the restful feeling fresh in her heart. There was no half-conscious planning about ways and means before her eyes were open; no shrinking from possible encounters with Dan’s idleness or wilfulness; no balancing of possibilities as to his doing well, or doing at all, some piece of work depending upon him.

She heard more in the song of the birds now than just the old burden, “It is time to be at work again.” It gave her quite a sense of pleasure now and then to find herself looking over the fields with delight just because they were fresh and green and beautiful, and not at all because of the tons of hay or the bushels of grain which they were to yield. Of course it was pleasant to anticipate a good harvest, and it was pleasant to know that there were wider fields to harvest this year, and that the barns would be full to overflowing. It did not in the least lessen the pleasure to know that this year success would not be due to her. Indeed, her pride in Allister’s work was quite as great as it ever had been in her own, and the pleasure had fewer drawbacks. She could speak of it and triumph in it, and did so with Hamish and Shenac Dhu, and sometimes with Allister himself.

She was happy, too, in a half-conscious coming back to the thoughts and enjoyments of the time before their troubles had overtaken them. She was very young still, quite young enough to grow light-hearted and mirthful; and if her mother had been well, it would truly have seemed like the old happy days again.

Not that she had very much leisure even now. She did not go to the fields; but what with the dairy and the house-work, and after a little while the wool, she had plenty to do. There were two more cows in the enlarged pasture, and some of the people who were busy about the new house took their meals with them, so there was little time for lingering over anything. Besides, the house-work, which in the busy seasons had seemed a secondary concern, was done differently now. Shenac took pride and pleasure in doing everything in the very best way, and in having the house in order, the linen snow-white, and the table neatly laid; and the little log-house was a far pleasanter home than many a more commodious dwelling.

If there had lingered in Angus Dhu’s heart any indignation towards Shenac for having interfered with his plans, and for having spoken her mind to him so plainly, it was gone now. They had no more frequent visitor than he, and few who were more welcome. His coming was for Allister’s sake, his sister used to think; and, indeed, the old man seemed to see no fault in the young farmer. He gave him his confidence as he had never given it to any one before. After the first meeting he never spoke of what Allister had done for him in bringing Evan home, but he knew it was through his care and tenderness that he had ever seen his son’s face again, and he was deeply grateful.

There was another reason why he found pleasure in the young man’s society. He had loved Allister’s father when they had been young together, before the love of money had hardened his heart and blinded his eyes. His long trouble and fear for his son had made him feel that wealth is not enough to give peace. It had shaken his faith in the “god of this world;” and as God’s blessing on his sorrow softened his heart, the worldly crust fell away, and he came back to his old thoughts—or rather, I should say, his young thoughts of life again.

Allister was just what his father had been at his age—as gentle, as manly, and kind-hearted; having, besides, the strength of character, the knowledge of men and things, which his father had lacked. He had always been a bold, frank lad. Even in the old times he had never stood in awe of “the dour old man,” as the rest had done. In the old times his frankness had been resented as an unwarrantable liberty; but it was very different now. Even his own children felt a little restraint in the presence of the stern old man; but Allister always greeted him cheerfully, talked with him freely, and held his own opinions firmly, though they often differed widely enough from those of Angus Dhu. But they never quarrelled. The old man’s dogmatic ways vexed and irritated Shenac many a time; even Hamish had much ado to keep his patience and the thread of his argument at the same time; but Allister never lost his temper, and if the old man grew bitter and disagreeable, as he sometimes did, the best cure for it was Allister’s good-humoured determination not to see it, and so they always got on well together.

Of all their friends, Angus Dhu was the one whom their mother never failed to recognise. She did not always remember how the last few years had passed, and spoke to him, as she so often did to others, as though her husband were still living and her children young; but almost always she was recalled to the present by the sight of him, and rejoiced over Allister’s return, and the building of the new house, and the prosperity which seemed to be coming back to them. But, whether she was quite herself or not, he was always very gentle with her, answering the same questions and telling the same incidents over and over again for her pleasure, with a patience very different from anything that might have been expected from him.

There was one thing about Allister, and Shenac too, which greatly vexed their uncle. In his eyes it seemed almost like forsaking the God of their fathers when, Sabbath after Sabbath, they passed by the old kirk and sat in the new. He would have excused it on the days when old Mr Farquharson was not there and the old kirk was closed; but that they should hold with these “new folk” at all times was a scandal in his eyes.

It was in vain that Hamish proved to him that in doctrine and discipline—in everything, indeed, except one thing, which could not affect them in this country—the new folk were just like the old. This only made the matter less excusable in the eyes of Angus Dhu. The separation which circumstances might have made necessary at home—as these people still lovingly called the native land of their fathers—was surely not needed here, and it grieved and vexed the old man sorely to see so many leaving the old minister and the kirk their fathers had built and had worshipped in so long.

But even Angus Dhu himself ventured into the forbidden ground of the new kirk, when word was brought that Mr Stewart, the schoolmaster of two years ago, was come to supply the minister’s place there for a while. He had a great respect for Mr Stewart, and some curiosity, now that he was an ordained minister, to hear him preach; and having heard him, he acknowledged to himself, though he was slow to speak of it to others, that the word of God was held forth with power, and he began to think that, after all, the scores of young people who flocked to hear him were as well while listening here as when sleeping quietly under the monotonous voice of the good old minister; and very soon no objection was made when his own Evan and Shenac Dhu went with the rest.

Mr Stewart had changed much since he came among them first. His health was broken then, and he was struggling with a fear that he was not to be permitted to work the work for which he had all his lifetime been preparing. That fear had passed away. He was well now, and well-fitted to declare God’s gospel to men. It was a labour of love to him, all could see. The grave, quiet man seemed transformed when he stood in the pulpit He spoke with authority, as one who knew from deep, blessed experience the things which he made known, and no wonder that all listened eagerly.

Hamish was very happy in the renewal of their friendship, and Allister was almost as happy in coming to know the minister. He came sometimes to see them, but not very often, for he had many engagements, and his visits made “white days” for them all. Hamish saw much more of him than the rest, for he was comparatively idle this summer, and drove the minister to his different preaching stations, and on his visits to the people, with much profit to himself and much pleasure to both.

It was a very pleasant summer, for many reasons, to Shenac and them all. The only drawback was the state of the mother. She was not getting better—would probably never be better, the doctor said, whom Allister had brought from far to see her. But she might live a long time in her present state. She did not suffer, and was almost always quite content. All that the tenderest care could do for her was done, and her uneventful days were made happy by her children’s watchful love.

The entire renewal of confidence and intercourse between the two families was a source of pleasure to all, but especially to Shenac, who had never been quite able to believe herself forgiven by her uncle before. Two of Angus Dhu’s daughters were married in the spring, and left their father’s house; and partly because she was more needed at home, and partly for other reasons, Shenac Dhu did not run into their house so often as she used to do. But Evan was often there. He and Hamish were much together, for neither of them was strong, and much help was not expected from them on the land or elsewhere. Evan was hardly what he had been before his departure from home. He was improved, they thought, on the whole; but his health was not firm, and his spirits and temper were variable, and, as Shenac said, he was as different from Allister as weakness is from strength, or as darkness is from the day. But they were always glad to see him, and his intercourse with these healthy, cheerful young people did him much good.

The new house progressed rapidly. There was a fair prospect that they might get into it before winter, and already Shenac was planning ways and means towards the furnishing of it. The wool was sorted and dyed with reference to the making of such a carpet as had never been seen in those parts before; and every pound of butter that was put down was looked upon as so much security for a certain number of things for use or for adornment in the new house. For Shenac had a natural love for pretty things, and it was pleasant to feel that she might gratify her taste to a reasonable degree without hazarding the comfort of any one.

She made no secret of her pleasure in the prospect of living in a nice house with pretty things about her, and discussed her plans and intentions with great enjoyment with her cousin Shenac, who did not laugh at her little ambitions as much as might have been expected. Indeed, she was rather grave and quiet about this time, and seemed to shun, rather than to seek, these confidences. She was too busy now that Mary and Annie were both gone, to leave home often, and when our Shenac wished to see her she had to go in search of her. It was not quite so formidable an affair as it used to be to go to Angus Dhu’s house now, and Shenac and her brother often found themselves there on summer evenings. But at home, as elsewhere, Shenac Dhu was quiet and staid, and not at all like the merry Shenac of former times.

This change was not noticed by Shenac Bhan so quickly as it would have been if she had been less occupied with her own affairs; but she did notice it at last, and one night, drawing her away from the door-step where the rest were sitting, she told her what she was thinking, and entreated to know what ailed her.

“What ails me?” repeated Shenac Dhu, reddening a little. “What in the world should all me? I am busier than I used to be, that is all.”

“You were always busy; it is not that. I think you might tellme, Shenac.”

“Well,” began her cousin mysteriously, “I will tell you if you will promise not to mention it. I am growing wise.”

Shenac Bhan laughed.

“Well, I don’t see what there is to laugh at. It’s time for me to grow wise, when you are growing foolish.”

Shenac Bhan looked at her cousin a little wistfully.

“Am I growing foolish, Shenac? Is it about the house and all the things? Perhaps I am thinking too much about them. But it is not for myself, Shenac; at least, it’s not all for myself.”

But Shenac Dhu stopped her.

“You reallyarefoolish now. No; of course the house has nothing to do with it. I called you foolish for saying that something ails me, which is nonsense, you know. What could ail me? I put it to yourself.”

“But that is what I am asking you. How can I tell? Many a thing might go wrong with you,” said Shenac Bhan.

“Yes; I might take the small-pox, or the bank might break and I might lose my money, or many a thing might happen, as you say; and when anything does happen, I’ll tell you, you may be sure. Now tell me, is the wide stripe in the new carpet to be red or green?”

“You are laughing at me, Cousin Shenac,” said our Shenac, gravely. “I daresay it is foolish in me, and may be wrong, to be thinking so much about these things and teasing you about them; but, Shenac, our Allister is a man now, and folk think much of him, and I want his house to be nice, and I do take pleasure in thinking about it. And you know we have been so poor and so hard pressed for the last few years, with no time to think of anything but just what must be done to live; and it will be so nice when we are fairly settled. And, Shenac, our Allister is so good. There never was such a brother as Allister—never. I would not speak so to every one, Shenac; butyouknow.”

Shenac Dhu nodded. “Yes, I know.”

“If my mother were only well!” continued Shenac Bhan, and the tears that had risen to her eyes fell on her cheeks now. “We would be too happy then, I suppose. But it seems sad enough that she should not be able to enjoy it all, and take her own place in the new house, after all she has gone through.”

“Yes,” said Shenac Dhu, “it is very sad.”

“And yet I cannot but take pleasure in it; and perhaps it is foolish and unkind to my mother too. Is it, Shenac?”

There were two or three pairs of eyes watching—no, not watching, but seeing—the two girls from the doorstep, and Shenac Dhu drew her cousin down the garden-path towards the plum-tree before she answered her. Then she put her arms round her neck, and kissed her two or three times before she answered,—

“You are not wrong or foolish. You are right to take pride and pleasure in your brother and his house, and in all that belongs to him. And he is just as proud of you, Shenac, my darling.”

“That is nonsense, you know, Cousin Shenac,” said Allister’s sister; but she smiled and blushed too, as she said it, with pure pleasure.

There was no chance after this to say anything more about the change, real or supposed, that had taken place in Shenac Dhu, for she talked on, allowing no pause till they had come quite round the garden and back to the door-step; but Shenac Bhan knew all about it before she saw her cousin again.

That night, as she was going home through the field with Allister, he asked her rather suddenly,—

“What were you and Cousin Shenac speaking about to-night when you went round the garden?”

“Allister,” said his sister, “do you think Cousin Shenac is changed lately?”

“Changed!” repeated Allister. “How?”

“Oh, of course you cannot tell; but she used to be so merry, and now she is quite quiet and grave, and we hardly ever see her over with us now. I was asking her what ailed her.”

“And what did she say?”

“Oh, she laughed at me, and denied that anything ailed her, and then she said she was growing wise. But I know something is wrong with her, though she would not tell me.”

“What do you think it is, Shenac?”

“I cannot tell. It is not only that she is quieter—I could understand that; but she hardly ever comes over now, and something is vexing her, I’m sure. Could it be anything Dan has said? He used to vex her sometimes. What do you think it can be, Allister?”

There was a little pause, and then Allister said,—

“I think I know what it is, Shenac.”

“You!” exclaimed Shenac. “What is it? Have I anything to do with it? Am I to blame?”

“You have something to do with it, but you are not to blame,” said Allister.

“Tell me, Allister,” said his sister.

There was a silence of several minutes, and then Allister said,—

“Shenac, I have asked Cousin Shenac to be my wife.” Shenac stood perfectly still in her surprise and dismay. Yes, shewasdismayed. I have heard it said that the tidings of a brother’s engagement rarely bring unmixed pleasure to a sister. I daresay there is some truth in this. Many sisters make their brothers their first object in life—pride themselves on their talents, their worth, their success, live in their lives, glory in their triumphs; till a day comes when it is softly said of some stranger, or some friend—it may be none the pleasanter to hear because it is a friend—“She is more to him than you could ever be.” Is it only to jealous hearts, ignoble minds, that such tidings come with a shock of pain? Nay, the truer the heart the keener the pain. It may be short, but it is sharp. The second thought may be, “It is well for him; I am glad for him.” But the pang is first, and inevitable.

Allister had been always first, after Hamish, in Shenac’s heart—perhaps not even after Hamish. She had never thought of him in connection with any change of this kind. In all her plans for the future, no thought of possible separation had come. She stood perfectly still, till her brother touched her.

“Well, Shenac?”

Then she moved on without speaking. She was searching about among her astonished and dismayed thoughts for something to say, for she felt that Allister was waiting for her to speak. At last she made a grasp at the question they had been discussing, and said hurriedly,—

“But there is nothing to vex Shenac in that, surely?”

“No; unless she is right in thinking that you will not be glad too.”

“I am glad it is Shenac. I would rather it would be Shenac than any one else in the whole world—”

“I was sure of it,” said her brother, kissing her fondly.

Even without the kiss she would hardly have had the courage to add,—

“If it must be anyone.”

“And, Shenac,” continued her brother, “you must tell her so. She fancies that for some things you will not like it, and she wants to put it off for ever so long—till—till something happens—till you are married yourself, I suppose.”

Now Shenac was vexed. She was in the way—at least, Allister and Shenac Dhu thought so. It was quite as well that the sound of footsteps gave her no time to speak the words that rose to her lips. They were overtaken by Mr Stewart and Hamish. It had been to see the minister that they had all gone to Angus Dhu’s, for he was going away in the morning, and they did not know when they might see him again. It was late, and the farewells were brief and earnest.

“God bless you, Shenac!” was all that Mr Stewart said; and Shenac answered never a word.

“I’ll walk a little way with you,” said Allister. Hamish and Shenac stood watching them till they passed through the gate, and then Shenac sat down on the doorstep with a sigh, and laid her face upon her hands. Hamish looked a little astonished, but he smiled too.

“He will come back again, Shenac,” he said at last.

“Yes, I know,” said she, rising slowly. “I must tell you before he comes. We must not stay here. Come in; you will take cold. I don’t know what to think. He expected me to be pleased, and I shall be in a little while, I think, after I have told you. Do you know it, Hamish?”

“I know—he told me; but I thought he had not spoken to you,” said the puzzled Hamish.

“Did Allister tell you? Are you glad, Hamish?”

“Allister?” repeated Hamish.

“Allister has asked Shenac Dhu to be his wife,” said Shenac in a whisper.

“Is that it? No, I had not heard that, though I thought it might be—some time. You must have seen it, Shenac?”

“Seen it! the thought never came into my mind—never once—till he told me to-night.”

“Well, that’s odd, too,” said Hamish, smiling. “They say girls are quick enough to see such things. Are you not pleased, Shenac?”

“I don’t know. Should I be pleased, Hamish? I think perhaps in a little while I shall be.” Then she added, “It will make a great difference.”

“Will it?” asked Hamish. “Cousin Shenac has almost been like one of ourselves so long.”

“I suppose it is foolish, and maybe it is wrong, but it does seem to put Allister farther from us—from me, at least. He seems less our own.”

“Don’t say that, Shenac dear,” said her brother gently. “Allister can never be less than a dear and loving brother to us all. It is very natural and right that this should happen. It might have been a stranger. We all love Shenac Dhu dearly.”

“Yes,” said Shenac; “I said that to Allister.”

“And, Shenac, I am very glad this should happen. Allister will settle down content, and be a good and useful man.”

“He would have done that anyway,” said Shenac, a little dolefully.

“He might, but he might not,” said Hamish. “They say marriage is the natural and proper state. I am glad for Allister, Shenac; and you will be glad by-and-by. I wish I had known this a little sooner. I am very glad, Shenac.”

Shenac sighed. “I suppose it is altogether mean and miserable in me not to be glad all at once; and I’ll try to be. I suppose we must stay here now, Hamish,” she added, glancing round the low room.

“Do you think so?” said Hamish in surprise. “No, you must not say so. I am sure it would grieve Cousin Shenac.”

“There are so many of us, Hamish, and our mother is a great care; it would not be fair to Shenac. I must stay here and take care of my mother and you.”

There was a long silence.

“Shenac,” said her brother at last, “don’t think about this just now; don’t make up your mind. It is not going to happen soon.”

“Allister says soon, but Shenac says not till—” She stopped.

“Well, soon or late, never mind; it will all come right. Let us be more anxious to do right than for anything else. God will guide us, Shenac. Don’t let us say anything to vex Allister. It would vex him greatly, I know, to think that you and all of us would not go with him and Shenac.”

“But it would not be fair to Shenac herself. Think what a large family there is of us.”

“Whisht, Shenac, there may be fewer of us soon. You may marry yourself.”

“And leave my mother and you?” Shenac smiled incredulously.

“Stranger things have happened,” said her brother. “But, Shenac, our mother will not be here long, and Allister’s house is her place, and you can care for her all the same there—better indeed. I am glad of this marriage, for all our sakes. Shenac Dhu is like one of ourselves; she will always care for the little ones as no stranger could, and for our mother. Itisa little hard thatyoushould not have the first place in the new house for a while, till you get a home of your own, after all the care and trouble you have had for us here—”

“Do you think that has anything to do with it, Hamish?” said Shenac reproachfully. “It never came into my mind; only when Allister told me it seemed as though I would be so little to him now. Maybe you are right, though. Everybody seems to think that I like to be first. I know I have thought a great deal about the new house; but it has been for the rest, and for Allister most of all.”

“Shenac, you must not vex yourself thinking about it,” said her brother. “I am more glad of this for your sake than for all the rest. I cannot tell you how glad I am.”

“Well, I am glad too—I think I am glad; I think it will be all right, Hamish. I am not really afraid of anything that can happen now.”

“You need not be, dear; why should you be afraid even of trouble?” said her brother. “And this is not trouble, but a great blessing for us all.”

But Shenac thought about it a great deal, and, I am afraid, vexed herself somewhat, too. She did not see Shenac Dhu for a day or two, for her cousin was away; and it was as well to have a little time to think about it before she saw her. There came no order out of the confusion, however, with all her thinking. That they were all to be one family she knew was Allister’s plan, and Hamish approved it, though the brothers had not exchanged a word about the matter. But this did not seem the best plan to her, nor did she think it would seem so to her cousin; it was not best for any of them. She could do far better for her mother, and Hamish too, living quietly in their present home; and the young people would be better without them. Of course they must get their living from the farm, at least partly; but she could do many things to earn something. She could spin and knit, and she would get a loom and learn to weave, and little Flora should help her.

“If Allister would only be convinced; but they will think I am vexed about the house, and I don’t think I really cared much about it for myself—it was for Allister and the rest. Oh, if my mother were only able to decide it, I do think she would agree with me about it.”

She thought and thought till she was weary, and it all came to this:—

“I will wait and see what will happen, and I will trust. Surely nothing can go wrong when God guides us. At any rate, I shall say nothing to vex Allister or Shenac; but I wish it was well over.”

It was the first visit to Shenac Dhu which, partly from shyness and partly from some other feeling, she did dread a little; but she need not have feared it so much. She did not have to put a constraint on herself toseemglad; for the very first glimpse she caught of Shenac’s sweet, kind face put all her vexed thoughts to flight, and she was really and truly glad for Allister and for herself too.

She went to her uncle’s one night, not at all expecting to see her cousin; but she had returned sooner than was expected, and when she went in she found her sitting with her father and Allister. Shenac did not see her brother, however. She hastily greeted her uncle, and going straight to her cousin put her arms round her neck and kissed her many times. Shenac Dhu looked up in surprise.

“I know it now, Cousin Shenac,” said Allister’s sister; and in a moment Allister’s arms were round them both. It was Angus Dhu’s turn to be surprised now. He had not been so startled since the day that Shenac Bhan told him her mind down by the creek. The girls escaped, and Allister explained how matters stood. The old man was pleased, but he grumbled a little, too, at the thought of losing his last daughter.

“You must make an exchange, Allister, my man. If you could give us your Shenac—”

Allister laughed. In his heart he thought his sister too good to be sent there, and he was very glad he had not the matter to decide.

“Shenac, my woman,” said the old man as they were going away, “I wonder at you being so willing to give up the fine new house. I think it is very good in you.”

“I would not—to anybody else,” said she, laughing.

“But she’s not going to give it up, father,” said Shenac Dhu eagerly.

“Well, well, maybe not, if you can keep her.”

Shenac still pondered over the question of what would be best for them all, and wearied herself with it many a time; but she gave none the less interest to the progress of the house and its belongings. She spun the wool for the carpet, and bleached the new linen to snowy whiteness, and made all other preparations just the same as if she were to have the guiding and governing of the household. She was glad with Allister and glad with Shenac, and, for herself and the rest, quite content to wait and see what time would bring to pass.

Chapter Sixteen.But a day came when Shenac saw how needless all her anxious thoughts about her mother’s future had been, when she acknowledged, with tears of mingled sorrow and joy, that she had tenderer care and safer keeping than son or daughter could give.All through the long harvest-days the mother failed slowly—so slowly that even the watchful eyes of Shenac did not see how surely. Then, as the autumn wore away, and the increasing cold no longer permitted the daily sitting in the sunshine, the change became more rapid. Then there was a time of sharper suffering. The long days and nights lingered out into weeks, and then all suffering was over—the tired heart ceased to struggle with the burden of life, and the widow was laid to rest beside her husband and son.That this was a time of great sorrow in the household need not be told. Neighbours came from far and near with offers of help and sympathy. All that kind hearts and experienced hands could do to aid these young people in the care of their suffering mother was done; but all was only a little. It was the strong arm of Allister which lifted and laid down, and moved unceasingly, the never-resting form of the mother. It was Shenac who smoothed her pillow and moistened her lips, and performed all the numberless offices so necessary to the sick, yet too often so useless to soothe pain. It was the voice of Hamish that sometimes had the power to soothe to quietness, if not to repose, the ever-moaning sufferer. Friends came with counsel and encouragement, but her children never left her through all. It was a terrible time to them. Their mother’s failure had been so gradual that the thought of her death had not been forced upon them; and, quite unaccustomed to the sight of so great suffering, as the days and nights wore on, bringing no change, no respite, but ever the same moaning and agony, they looked into one another’s faces appalled. It was terrible; but it came to an end at last. They could not sorrow for her when the close came. They rejoiced rather that she had found rest. But they were motherless and desolate.It was a very hushed and sorrowful home that night, when all the friends who had returned with them from the grave were gone, and the children were alone together; and for many days after that. If this trouble had come upon them a year ago, there would have been some danger that the silence and sadness that rested upon them might have changed to gloom and despondency on Shenac’s part; for she felt that her mother’s death had “unsettled old foundations,” and when she looked forward to what her life might be now, it was not always that she could do so hopefully. But she was quiet and not impatient—willing to wait and see what time might bring to them all.By-and-by the affairs of the house and of the farm fell back into the old routine, and life flowed quietly on. The new house made progress. It was so nearly completed that they had intended to remove to it about the time their mother became worse. The work went on through all their time of trouble, and one after another the workmen went away; but nothing was said of any change to be made, till the year was drawing to a close. It was Hamish who spoke of it then, first to Shenac and then to Allister; and before Christmas they were quite settled in their new home.Christmas passed, and the new year came in, and a month or two more went by, and then one night Shenac said to her brother,—“Allister, when are you going to bring Shenac home?”Allister had been the gravest and quietest of them all during the time that had passed since their mother’s death. He was silent, though he started a little when his sister spoke. In a moment she came close to him, and standing behind him, laid her hand on his shoulder, and said softly,—“It would be no disrespect to the memory of our mother, coming now. Hamish says so too. Shenac is not like a stranger; and it might be very quiet.” Allister turned and touched with his lips the hand that lay on his shoulder, and then drew her down on the seat beside him. This was one of the things which made Allister so different from other people in Shenac’s eyes. Even Hamish, loving and kind as he was, had not Allister’s gentle, caressing ways. A touch, a smile, a fond word, came so naturally from him; and these were all the more sweet to Shenac because she was shy of giving such tokens herself, even where she loved best.“If Shenac would come,” said Allister.Shenac smiled. “And will she not?”“Should I ask it now, dear?”“Yes, I think so,” said his sister gravely. “The spring will soon be here, and the busy time. I think it should be soon. Have you spoken to Shenac since?”“No; I have not. Though I may wish it, and Shenac might consent, there is more to be thought of. We will not have you troubled, after all you have gone through, till you are quite ready for it—you and Hamish.”“But surely Shenac cannot doubt I will speak to her myself; and I think it should be soon,” said his sister.They were sitting in the new, bright kitchen, and it was growing dark. There was a stove in it, one of the latest kind, for use; but there was a great wide fireplace too, for pleasure; and all the light that was in the room came from the great maple logs and glowing embers. Little Flora had gone to the mill with Dan, Hamish was at his uncle’s, and the other lads were not come in; so they had the house to themselves. There was silence between them for a little while, and then his sister said again,—“I’ll speak to Shenac.”The chance to do so was nearer than she thought; for there was a touch at the door-latch, and a voice said softly,—“Are you here, Cousin Shenac? I want to speak to you. Hamish told me you were quite alone.”“Yes, she’s quite alone, except me.” And Allister made one stride across the floor, and Shenac Dhu was held fast. She could not have struggled from that gentle and firm clasp, and she did not try.“I thought you were at The Sixteenth, Allister,” said she. “I was there, but I am here now. And our Shenac wants to speak to you.”He brought her to the fire-light, where our Shenac was waiting, a little shyly—that is, Shenac waited shyly. Allister brought the other Shenac forward, not at all shyly, quite triumphantly, indeed, and then our Shenac said softly,—“When are you coming home, sister Shenac?”With that the startled little creature gave one look into our Shenac’s face, and breaking from Allister’s gentle hold, she clasped her round the neck, and wept and sobbed in a way that astonished them more than a little. For indeed there was no cause for tears, said Shenac Bhan; and indeed she was very foolish to cry, said Allister—though there were tears in his own eyes; and as for Shenac Bhan, the tears did not stay in her eyes, but ran down over her face and fell on the soft black braids of the other Shenac’s bowed head; for joy will make tears fall as well as sorrow sometimes, and joy and sorrow mingled is the source of these.But indeed, indeed, I never thought of telling all this. When I began my story I never meant to put a word of love or marriage in it. I meant to end it at the happy day when Allister came home. But all Shenac’s work at home was not done when her good and loving brother took the place she had filled so well. So my story has gone on, and will go on a little longer; though that night, when Shenac Dhu went away and Allister went with her, leaving Shenac Bhan to her own thoughts, she said to herself that very soon there would be nothing more for her to do. Allister and Shenac Dhu would care for the little ones better than she ever could have done; for the lads were wilful often, and sometimes her patience failed, and Allister would make men of them—wise, and strong, and gentle, like himself. And Shenac, sweet, kind, merry Shenac Dhu, would never be hard with the lads or little Flora, for she loved them dearly; and it would be better for the children just to have Allister and Shenac Dhu, and no elder sister to appeal to from them. It would be better that she should go away—at least for a little while, till other authority than hers should be established.Yes; her work for the children was done. She said it over and over again, repeating that it was better so, and that she was glad and thankful that all would be so well. But she said it with many a tear and many a sigh and sob; for, having no experience of life beyond her long labour and care for them, it seemed to this foolish Shenac that really and truly her life’s work was done. No, she did not say it in words, even to herself; but the future looked blank and bare to her. Any future that seemed possible to her looked rather dark than bright; and she feared—oh, so much!—to take her destiny in her hands and go away alone.But not a word of all this had been spoken to Allister and Shenac Dhu. Not even Hamish had been told of her plans. No, not her plans—she had none—but the vague blending of wishes and fears that came with all her thoughts of the future. There would be time enough by-and-by to tell him; and, indeed, Shenac was a little afraid to let the light of her brother’s sense and wisdom in on all her thoughts. For Hamish had a way of putting things in a light that made them look quite different. Sometimes this made her laugh, and sometimes it vexed her; but, whether or not, the chances were she would come round in time to see things as he saw them.And, besides, there was something in this matter that she could not tell to Hamish—at least, it seemed to her that she could not, even if it would be right and kind to do so; and without this she feared that her wish to go away from home might not commend itself to him. Indeed, if it had not been for this thing which could not be told, she might not have wished to leave home. She would hardly have found courage to break away from them all and go to a new, untried life, of her own free will, even though her work at home were done.This was the thing which Shenac thought she never could tell even to Hamish. One night, on her way home from his house, she had been waylaid by Angus Dhu, and startled out of measure by a request, nay, an entreaty, that “she would be kind to poor Evan.” Then the old man had gone on to say how welcome she would be if she would come home and be the daughter of the house when his Shenac went to Allister. He told her how fondly she should be cherished by them all, and how everything within and without should be ordered according to her will; for he was sure that union with one of her firm yet gentle nature was just what was needed to make a good man of his wayward lad. She had listened, because she could not break away, wishing all the time that the earth would open and that she might creep away into the fissure and get out of sight. For, indeed, she had never thought of such a thing as that. Nor Evan either, she was sure—she thought—she did not know. Oh, well, perhaps he had thought of it, and had tried to make it known to her in his foolish way. But she never really would have found it out or thought about it if his father had not spoken; and now she would never be able to think about anything else in the presence of either.It was too bad, and wrong, and miserable, and uncomfortable, and I don’t know what else, she said to herself, for it could never be—never. And yet, why not? It would seem natural enough to people generally; her aunt would like it, her uncle’s heart was set on it, and Allister and Shenac Dhu would be pleased. Even Hamish would not object. And Evan himself? Oh, no; it could never be. She would never care for him in that way. He was not like Allister, nor like any one she cared for—so different from—from—Shenac was sitting alone in the dark, but she suddenly dropped her face in her hands. For quite unbidden, with a shock of surprise and pain that made her heart stand still for a moment, and then set it beating wildly, a name had come to her lips—the name of one so wise and good in her esteem that to speak it at such a time, even in her thoughts, seemed desecration.“I am growing foolish, I think, with all this vexation and nonsense; and I won’t think about it any more. I have enough to keep me busy till Shenac Dhu comes home, and then I’ll have it out with Hamish.”The wedding was a very quiet one. It was hardly a wedding at all, said the last-married sisters, who had gone away amid feasting and music. There was no groomsman nor bridesmaid, for Shenac Bhan could hardly stand in her black dress, and Shenac Dhu would have no one else; and there were no guests out of the two families. Old Mr Farquharson came up one morning, and it was “put over quietly,” as Angus Dhu said; and after dinner, which might have served half the township both for quantity and quality, Allister and his bride went away for their wedding trip, which was only to the town of M— to see Christie More and make a few purchases. They were to be away a week—certainly no longer—and then the new life was to begin.Shenac Bhan stood watching till they were out of sight; and then she stood a little longer, wondering whether she might not go straight home without turning into the house. No; she could not. They were all expected to stay the rest of the day and have tea, and visit with her cousins, who lived at some distance, and had been little in their father’s house since they went to their own.“Mind you are not to stay away, Hamish, bhodach,” whispered Shenac, as they turned towards the house; and Hamish, who had been thinking of it, considered himself in honour bound to return after he had gone to see that all was right at home.It was not so very bad, after all. The two young wives were full of their own affairs, and compared notes about the butter and cheese-making which they had carried on during the summer, and talked about flannel and full-cloth and the making of blankets in a way that must have set their mother’s heart at rest about their future as notable house-keepers. And Shenac Bhan listened and joined, seemingly much interested, but wondering all the time why she did not care a pin about it all. Flannel and full-cloth, made with much labour and pains, as the means of keeping Hamish and little Flora and the lads from the cold, had been matters of intense interest; and butter put down, and cheese disposed of, as the means of getting sugar and tea and other things necessary to the comfort of her mother and the rest, had been prized to their utmost value. But flannel and full-cloth, butter and cheese, were in themselves, or as a means of wealth, matters of indifference. Allister’s good heart and strong arm were between them and a struggle for these things now; and that made the difference.But, as she sat listening and wondering, Shenac did not understand all this, and felt vexed and mortified with herself at the change. Annie and Mary, her cousins, were content to look forward to a long routine of spinning and weaving, dairy-work and house-work, and all the rest. Why should she not do the same? She used to do so. No; she used to work without looking forward. She could do so still, if there were any need for it—any good in it—if it were to come to anything. But to work on for yards of flannel and pounds of butter that Flora and the rest, and all the world indeed, would be just as well without—the thought of that was not pleasant.She grew impatient of her thoughts, as well as the talk, at last, and went to help her aunt to set out the table for tea. This was better. She could move about and chat with her concerning the cream-cheese made for the occasion, and of the cake made by Shenac Dhu from a recipe sent by Christie More, of which her mother had stood in doubt till it was cut, but no longer. Then there were the new dishes of the bride, which graced the table—pure white, with just a little spray of blue. They were quite beautiful, Shenac thought. Then her aunt let her into the secret of a second set of knives and forks—very handsome, which even the bride herself had not seen yet; and so on till Hamish came in with Angus Dhu. Then Shenac could have cried with vexation, she felt so awkward and uncomfortable under the old man’s watchful, well-pleased eye; and when Evan and the two Dans came in it was worse. She laid hands on a long grey stocking, her aunt’s work, and betook herself to the corner where Annie and Mary were still talking more earnestly than ever. She startled them by the eagerness with which she questioned first one and then the other as to the comparative merits of madder and—something else—for dyeing red. It was a question of vital importance to her, one might have supposed, and it was taken up accordingly. Mrs McLay thought the other thing was best—gave much the brighter colour; but Mrs McRea declared for the madder, because, instead of fading, it grew prettier the longer it was worn and the oftener it was washed. But each had enough to say about it; and this lasted till the lads and little Flora came in from their play, and Shenac busied herself with them till tea was ready. After tea they had worship, and sung a little while, and then they went home.“Oh, what a long day this has been!” said Shenac, as they came in.“Yes; I fancied you were a little weary of it all,” said Hamish.“It would be terrible to be condemned to do nothing but visit all one’s life. It is the hardest work I ever undertook—this doing nothing,” said Shenac.Hamish laughed.“Well, there is comfort in knowing that you have not had much of that kind of work to do in your lifetime, and are not likely to have.”There were several things to attend to after coming home, and by the time all these were out of the way the children had gone to bed, and Hamish and Shenac were alone.“I may as well speak to Hamish to-night,” said Shenac to herself. “Oh dear! I wish it were well over. If Hamish says it is right to go, I shall be sure I am right, and I shall not be afraid. But I must go—I think it will be right to go—whether Hamish thinks so or not. Hamish can do without me; but how shall I ever do without him?”She sat looking into the fire, trying to think how she should begin, and started a little when Hamish said,—“Well, Shenac, what is it? You have something to tell me.”“I am going to ask you something,” said his sister gravely. “Do you think it is wrong for me to wish to go away from home—for a while, I mean?”“From home? Why? When? Where? It all depends on these things,” said Hamish, laughing a little.“Hamish, what should I do?” asked his sister earnestly. “I cannot do much good by staying here, can I? Ought I to stay? Don’t tell me that I ought not to go away—that you have never thought of such a thing.”“No, I cannot tell you that, Shenac; for I have thought a great deal about it; and I believe you ought to go—though what we are to do without you is more than I can tell.”So there were to be no objections from Hamish. She said to herself that was good, and she was glad; but her heart sank a little too, and she was silent.“You have been thinking about us and caring for us all so long, it is time we were thinking what is good for you,” said Hamish.“You are laughing at me, Hamish.”“No, I am not. I think it would be very nice for us if you would be content to stay at home and do for us all as you have been doing; but it would not be best for you.”“It would be best for me if it were needful,” said Shenac eagerly; “but, Hamish, it is not much that I could do here now. I mean Allister and Shenac Dhu will care for you all; and just what I could do with my hands is not much. Anybody could do it.”“And you think you could do higher work somewhere else?”“Not higher work, Hamish. But I think there must be work somewhere that I could do better—more successfully—than I can do on the farm. Even when I was doing most, before Allister came, Dan could go before me when he cared to do it. And he did it so easily, forgetting it all the moment it was out of his hand; while I vexed myself and grew weary often, with planning and thinking of what was done and what was still to do. I often feel now it was a wild thing in us to think of carrying on the farm by ourselves. If I had known all, I would hardly have been so bold with Angus Dhu that day.”“But it all ended well. You did not undertake more than you carried through,” said Hamish.“No; it kept us all together. But, Hamish, I often think that Allister came home just in time. If it had gone on much longer, I must either have given out or become an earth-worm at last, with no thought but how to slave and save and turn everything to account.”“I don’t think that would ever have happened, Shenac,” said her brother. “But I think it was well for us all, and especially for you, that Allister came home just when he did.”“I don’t mean that field-labour may not in some cases be woman’s work. For a girl living at home, of course, it must be right to help in whatever way help is needed; but I don’t think it is the work a woman should choose, except just to help with the rest. Surely I can learn to do something else. If I were to go to Christie More, she could find a place of some kind for me. Don’t you mind, Hamish, what she once said about our going with her to M—, you and me? Oh, if we could only go together!”But Hamish shook his head.“No, Shenac. It would be useless for me. I must be far stronger than I am now to undertake anything of that kind. And you must not be in a hurry to get away. You must not let Shenac think you are running away from her. Wait a while. A month or two will make no difference, and by that time the way will open before us. I don’t like the thought of your taking any place that Christie More could get for you. You will be far better at home for a while.”“But, Hamish, you really think it will be better for me to go?”“Yes—some time. Why should you be in haste? Is there any reason that you have not told me why you should wish to go?”Shenac did not answer for a moment.“Is it about Evan, Shenac?” asked her brother. “That could never be, I suppose.”“Who told you, Hamish? No; I think it could never be. Allister would like it, and Shenac Dhu; and I suppose to folk generally it would seem a good thing for me. But I don’t like Evan in that way. No, I don’t think it could ever be.”“Evan will be a rich man some day, Shenac; and you could have it all your own way there.”“Yes; Allister said that to me once. They all seem to think I would like to rule and to be rich. But I did not think you would advise me because of that, Hamish, or because Evan will be a rich man.”“I am not advising you, Shenac,” said Hamish eagerly. “If you cared for Evan it would be different; but I am very glad you do not.”“I might come to care for him in time,” said Shenac, a little wearily. “But I never thought about him in that way till—till Angus Dhu spoke to me.”“Angus Dhu!” exclaimed Hamish.“Yes—and frightened me out of my wits,” said Shenac, laughing a little. “I never answered a word, and maybe he thinks that I am willing. Allister spoke about it too. Would it please you, Hamish? I might come to like him well enough, in time.”“No, Shenac. It would by no means please me. I am very glad you do not care for Evan—in that way. I would not like to see you Evan’s wife.”There was not much said after that, though they sat a long time together in the firelight.“Did I tell you that I had a letter from Mr Stewart to-day, Shenac?” Hamish asked at last.“No,” said Shenac; “was he well?”“He has a call to be minister of the church in H—, and he is to go there soon; and he says if he can possibly do it he will come this way. It will be in six weeks or two months, if he comes at all.”Shenac said nothing to this; but when Hamish had added a few more particulars, she said,—“Perhaps it may seem foolish, Hamish, but I want to go soon.”“Because of Evan?” asked her brother.“Partly; or rather, because of Angus Dhu,” she said, laughing. “And Allister and Shenac would like it.”“But they would never urge it against your will.”“No; I suppose not. But it is uncomfortable; and, Hamish, it is not impossible that I might let myself be persuaded.”Hamish looked grave.“I don’t know but it is the best thing that could happen to me,” Shenac continued. “I am not fit for any other life, I am afraid. But I must go away for a while at any rate.”Hamish said nothing, though he looked as if he had something to say.“If you are willing, Hamish, it will go far to satisfy Allister. And I can come back again if I should find nothing to do.”

But a day came when Shenac saw how needless all her anxious thoughts about her mother’s future had been, when she acknowledged, with tears of mingled sorrow and joy, that she had tenderer care and safer keeping than son or daughter could give.

All through the long harvest-days the mother failed slowly—so slowly that even the watchful eyes of Shenac did not see how surely. Then, as the autumn wore away, and the increasing cold no longer permitted the daily sitting in the sunshine, the change became more rapid. Then there was a time of sharper suffering. The long days and nights lingered out into weeks, and then all suffering was over—the tired heart ceased to struggle with the burden of life, and the widow was laid to rest beside her husband and son.

That this was a time of great sorrow in the household need not be told. Neighbours came from far and near with offers of help and sympathy. All that kind hearts and experienced hands could do to aid these young people in the care of their suffering mother was done; but all was only a little. It was the strong arm of Allister which lifted and laid down, and moved unceasingly, the never-resting form of the mother. It was Shenac who smoothed her pillow and moistened her lips, and performed all the numberless offices so necessary to the sick, yet too often so useless to soothe pain. It was the voice of Hamish that sometimes had the power to soothe to quietness, if not to repose, the ever-moaning sufferer. Friends came with counsel and encouragement, but her children never left her through all. It was a terrible time to them. Their mother’s failure had been so gradual that the thought of her death had not been forced upon them; and, quite unaccustomed to the sight of so great suffering, as the days and nights wore on, bringing no change, no respite, but ever the same moaning and agony, they looked into one another’s faces appalled. It was terrible; but it came to an end at last. They could not sorrow for her when the close came. They rejoiced rather that she had found rest. But they were motherless and desolate.

It was a very hushed and sorrowful home that night, when all the friends who had returned with them from the grave were gone, and the children were alone together; and for many days after that. If this trouble had come upon them a year ago, there would have been some danger that the silence and sadness that rested upon them might have changed to gloom and despondency on Shenac’s part; for she felt that her mother’s death had “unsettled old foundations,” and when she looked forward to what her life might be now, it was not always that she could do so hopefully. But she was quiet and not impatient—willing to wait and see what time might bring to them all.

By-and-by the affairs of the house and of the farm fell back into the old routine, and life flowed quietly on. The new house made progress. It was so nearly completed that they had intended to remove to it about the time their mother became worse. The work went on through all their time of trouble, and one after another the workmen went away; but nothing was said of any change to be made, till the year was drawing to a close. It was Hamish who spoke of it then, first to Shenac and then to Allister; and before Christmas they were quite settled in their new home.

Christmas passed, and the new year came in, and a month or two more went by, and then one night Shenac said to her brother,—

“Allister, when are you going to bring Shenac home?”

Allister had been the gravest and quietest of them all during the time that had passed since their mother’s death. He was silent, though he started a little when his sister spoke. In a moment she came close to him, and standing behind him, laid her hand on his shoulder, and said softly,—

“It would be no disrespect to the memory of our mother, coming now. Hamish says so too. Shenac is not like a stranger; and it might be very quiet.” Allister turned and touched with his lips the hand that lay on his shoulder, and then drew her down on the seat beside him. This was one of the things which made Allister so different from other people in Shenac’s eyes. Even Hamish, loving and kind as he was, had not Allister’s gentle, caressing ways. A touch, a smile, a fond word, came so naturally from him; and these were all the more sweet to Shenac because she was shy of giving such tokens herself, even where she loved best.

“If Shenac would come,” said Allister.

Shenac smiled. “And will she not?”

“Should I ask it now, dear?”

“Yes, I think so,” said his sister gravely. “The spring will soon be here, and the busy time. I think it should be soon. Have you spoken to Shenac since?”

“No; I have not. Though I may wish it, and Shenac might consent, there is more to be thought of. We will not have you troubled, after all you have gone through, till you are quite ready for it—you and Hamish.”

“But surely Shenac cannot doubt I will speak to her myself; and I think it should be soon,” said his sister.

They were sitting in the new, bright kitchen, and it was growing dark. There was a stove in it, one of the latest kind, for use; but there was a great wide fireplace too, for pleasure; and all the light that was in the room came from the great maple logs and glowing embers. Little Flora had gone to the mill with Dan, Hamish was at his uncle’s, and the other lads were not come in; so they had the house to themselves. There was silence between them for a little while, and then his sister said again,—

“I’ll speak to Shenac.”

The chance to do so was nearer than she thought; for there was a touch at the door-latch, and a voice said softly,—

“Are you here, Cousin Shenac? I want to speak to you. Hamish told me you were quite alone.”

“Yes, she’s quite alone, except me.” And Allister made one stride across the floor, and Shenac Dhu was held fast. She could not have struggled from that gentle and firm clasp, and she did not try.

“I thought you were at The Sixteenth, Allister,” said she. “I was there, but I am here now. And our Shenac wants to speak to you.”

He brought her to the fire-light, where our Shenac was waiting, a little shyly—that is, Shenac waited shyly. Allister brought the other Shenac forward, not at all shyly, quite triumphantly, indeed, and then our Shenac said softly,—

“When are you coming home, sister Shenac?”

With that the startled little creature gave one look into our Shenac’s face, and breaking from Allister’s gentle hold, she clasped her round the neck, and wept and sobbed in a way that astonished them more than a little. For indeed there was no cause for tears, said Shenac Bhan; and indeed she was very foolish to cry, said Allister—though there were tears in his own eyes; and as for Shenac Bhan, the tears did not stay in her eyes, but ran down over her face and fell on the soft black braids of the other Shenac’s bowed head; for joy will make tears fall as well as sorrow sometimes, and joy and sorrow mingled is the source of these.

But indeed, indeed, I never thought of telling all this. When I began my story I never meant to put a word of love or marriage in it. I meant to end it at the happy day when Allister came home. But all Shenac’s work at home was not done when her good and loving brother took the place she had filled so well. So my story has gone on, and will go on a little longer; though that night, when Shenac Dhu went away and Allister went with her, leaving Shenac Bhan to her own thoughts, she said to herself that very soon there would be nothing more for her to do. Allister and Shenac Dhu would care for the little ones better than she ever could have done; for the lads were wilful often, and sometimes her patience failed, and Allister would make men of them—wise, and strong, and gentle, like himself. And Shenac, sweet, kind, merry Shenac Dhu, would never be hard with the lads or little Flora, for she loved them dearly; and it would be better for the children just to have Allister and Shenac Dhu, and no elder sister to appeal to from them. It would be better that she should go away—at least for a little while, till other authority than hers should be established.

Yes; her work for the children was done. She said it over and over again, repeating that it was better so, and that she was glad and thankful that all would be so well. But she said it with many a tear and many a sigh and sob; for, having no experience of life beyond her long labour and care for them, it seemed to this foolish Shenac that really and truly her life’s work was done. No, she did not say it in words, even to herself; but the future looked blank and bare to her. Any future that seemed possible to her looked rather dark than bright; and she feared—oh, so much!—to take her destiny in her hands and go away alone.

But not a word of all this had been spoken to Allister and Shenac Dhu. Not even Hamish had been told of her plans. No, not her plans—she had none—but the vague blending of wishes and fears that came with all her thoughts of the future. There would be time enough by-and-by to tell him; and, indeed, Shenac was a little afraid to let the light of her brother’s sense and wisdom in on all her thoughts. For Hamish had a way of putting things in a light that made them look quite different. Sometimes this made her laugh, and sometimes it vexed her; but, whether or not, the chances were she would come round in time to see things as he saw them.

And, besides, there was something in this matter that she could not tell to Hamish—at least, it seemed to her that she could not, even if it would be right and kind to do so; and without this she feared that her wish to go away from home might not commend itself to him. Indeed, if it had not been for this thing which could not be told, she might not have wished to leave home. She would hardly have found courage to break away from them all and go to a new, untried life, of her own free will, even though her work at home were done.

This was the thing which Shenac thought she never could tell even to Hamish. One night, on her way home from his house, she had been waylaid by Angus Dhu, and startled out of measure by a request, nay, an entreaty, that “she would be kind to poor Evan.” Then the old man had gone on to say how welcome she would be if she would come home and be the daughter of the house when his Shenac went to Allister. He told her how fondly she should be cherished by them all, and how everything within and without should be ordered according to her will; for he was sure that union with one of her firm yet gentle nature was just what was needed to make a good man of his wayward lad. She had listened, because she could not break away, wishing all the time that the earth would open and that she might creep away into the fissure and get out of sight. For, indeed, she had never thought of such a thing as that. Nor Evan either, she was sure—she thought—she did not know. Oh, well, perhaps he had thought of it, and had tried to make it known to her in his foolish way. But she never really would have found it out or thought about it if his father had not spoken; and now she would never be able to think about anything else in the presence of either.

It was too bad, and wrong, and miserable, and uncomfortable, and I don’t know what else, she said to herself, for it could never be—never. And yet, why not? It would seem natural enough to people generally; her aunt would like it, her uncle’s heart was set on it, and Allister and Shenac Dhu would be pleased. Even Hamish would not object. And Evan himself? Oh, no; it could never be. She would never care for him in that way. He was not like Allister, nor like any one she cared for—so different from—from—Shenac was sitting alone in the dark, but she suddenly dropped her face in her hands. For quite unbidden, with a shock of surprise and pain that made her heart stand still for a moment, and then set it beating wildly, a name had come to her lips—the name of one so wise and good in her esteem that to speak it at such a time, even in her thoughts, seemed desecration.

“I am growing foolish, I think, with all this vexation and nonsense; and I won’t think about it any more. I have enough to keep me busy till Shenac Dhu comes home, and then I’ll have it out with Hamish.”

The wedding was a very quiet one. It was hardly a wedding at all, said the last-married sisters, who had gone away amid feasting and music. There was no groomsman nor bridesmaid, for Shenac Bhan could hardly stand in her black dress, and Shenac Dhu would have no one else; and there were no guests out of the two families. Old Mr Farquharson came up one morning, and it was “put over quietly,” as Angus Dhu said; and after dinner, which might have served half the township both for quantity and quality, Allister and his bride went away for their wedding trip, which was only to the town of M— to see Christie More and make a few purchases. They were to be away a week—certainly no longer—and then the new life was to begin.

Shenac Bhan stood watching till they were out of sight; and then she stood a little longer, wondering whether she might not go straight home without turning into the house. No; she could not. They were all expected to stay the rest of the day and have tea, and visit with her cousins, who lived at some distance, and had been little in their father’s house since they went to their own.

“Mind you are not to stay away, Hamish, bhodach,” whispered Shenac, as they turned towards the house; and Hamish, who had been thinking of it, considered himself in honour bound to return after he had gone to see that all was right at home.

It was not so very bad, after all. The two young wives were full of their own affairs, and compared notes about the butter and cheese-making which they had carried on during the summer, and talked about flannel and full-cloth and the making of blankets in a way that must have set their mother’s heart at rest about their future as notable house-keepers. And Shenac Bhan listened and joined, seemingly much interested, but wondering all the time why she did not care a pin about it all. Flannel and full-cloth, made with much labour and pains, as the means of keeping Hamish and little Flora and the lads from the cold, had been matters of intense interest; and butter put down, and cheese disposed of, as the means of getting sugar and tea and other things necessary to the comfort of her mother and the rest, had been prized to their utmost value. But flannel and full-cloth, butter and cheese, were in themselves, or as a means of wealth, matters of indifference. Allister’s good heart and strong arm were between them and a struggle for these things now; and that made the difference.

But, as she sat listening and wondering, Shenac did not understand all this, and felt vexed and mortified with herself at the change. Annie and Mary, her cousins, were content to look forward to a long routine of spinning and weaving, dairy-work and house-work, and all the rest. Why should she not do the same? She used to do so. No; she used to work without looking forward. She could do so still, if there were any need for it—any good in it—if it were to come to anything. But to work on for yards of flannel and pounds of butter that Flora and the rest, and all the world indeed, would be just as well without—the thought of that was not pleasant.

She grew impatient of her thoughts, as well as the talk, at last, and went to help her aunt to set out the table for tea. This was better. She could move about and chat with her concerning the cream-cheese made for the occasion, and of the cake made by Shenac Dhu from a recipe sent by Christie More, of which her mother had stood in doubt till it was cut, but no longer. Then there were the new dishes of the bride, which graced the table—pure white, with just a little spray of blue. They were quite beautiful, Shenac thought. Then her aunt let her into the secret of a second set of knives and forks—very handsome, which even the bride herself had not seen yet; and so on till Hamish came in with Angus Dhu. Then Shenac could have cried with vexation, she felt so awkward and uncomfortable under the old man’s watchful, well-pleased eye; and when Evan and the two Dans came in it was worse. She laid hands on a long grey stocking, her aunt’s work, and betook herself to the corner where Annie and Mary were still talking more earnestly than ever. She startled them by the eagerness with which she questioned first one and then the other as to the comparative merits of madder and—something else—for dyeing red. It was a question of vital importance to her, one might have supposed, and it was taken up accordingly. Mrs McLay thought the other thing was best—gave much the brighter colour; but Mrs McRea declared for the madder, because, instead of fading, it grew prettier the longer it was worn and the oftener it was washed. But each had enough to say about it; and this lasted till the lads and little Flora came in from their play, and Shenac busied herself with them till tea was ready. After tea they had worship, and sung a little while, and then they went home.

“Oh, what a long day this has been!” said Shenac, as they came in.

“Yes; I fancied you were a little weary of it all,” said Hamish.

“It would be terrible to be condemned to do nothing but visit all one’s life. It is the hardest work I ever undertook—this doing nothing,” said Shenac.

Hamish laughed.

“Well, there is comfort in knowing that you have not had much of that kind of work to do in your lifetime, and are not likely to have.”

There were several things to attend to after coming home, and by the time all these were out of the way the children had gone to bed, and Hamish and Shenac were alone.

“I may as well speak to Hamish to-night,” said Shenac to herself. “Oh dear! I wish it were well over. If Hamish says it is right to go, I shall be sure I am right, and I shall not be afraid. But I must go—I think it will be right to go—whether Hamish thinks so or not. Hamish can do without me; but how shall I ever do without him?”

She sat looking into the fire, trying to think how she should begin, and started a little when Hamish said,—

“Well, Shenac, what is it? You have something to tell me.”

“I am going to ask you something,” said his sister gravely. “Do you think it is wrong for me to wish to go away from home—for a while, I mean?”

“From home? Why? When? Where? It all depends on these things,” said Hamish, laughing a little.

“Hamish, what should I do?” asked his sister earnestly. “I cannot do much good by staying here, can I? Ought I to stay? Don’t tell me that I ought not to go away—that you have never thought of such a thing.”

“No, I cannot tell you that, Shenac; for I have thought a great deal about it; and I believe you ought to go—though what we are to do without you is more than I can tell.”

So there were to be no objections from Hamish. She said to herself that was good, and she was glad; but her heart sank a little too, and she was silent.

“You have been thinking about us and caring for us all so long, it is time we were thinking what is good for you,” said Hamish.

“You are laughing at me, Hamish.”

“No, I am not. I think it would be very nice for us if you would be content to stay at home and do for us all as you have been doing; but it would not be best for you.”

“It would be best for me if it were needful,” said Shenac eagerly; “but, Hamish, it is not much that I could do here now. I mean Allister and Shenac Dhu will care for you all; and just what I could do with my hands is not much. Anybody could do it.”

“And you think you could do higher work somewhere else?”

“Not higher work, Hamish. But I think there must be work somewhere that I could do better—more successfully—than I can do on the farm. Even when I was doing most, before Allister came, Dan could go before me when he cared to do it. And he did it so easily, forgetting it all the moment it was out of his hand; while I vexed myself and grew weary often, with planning and thinking of what was done and what was still to do. I often feel now it was a wild thing in us to think of carrying on the farm by ourselves. If I had known all, I would hardly have been so bold with Angus Dhu that day.”

“But it all ended well. You did not undertake more than you carried through,” said Hamish.

“No; it kept us all together. But, Hamish, I often think that Allister came home just in time. If it had gone on much longer, I must either have given out or become an earth-worm at last, with no thought but how to slave and save and turn everything to account.”

“I don’t think that would ever have happened, Shenac,” said her brother. “But I think it was well for us all, and especially for you, that Allister came home just when he did.”

“I don’t mean that field-labour may not in some cases be woman’s work. For a girl living at home, of course, it must be right to help in whatever way help is needed; but I don’t think it is the work a woman should choose, except just to help with the rest. Surely I can learn to do something else. If I were to go to Christie More, she could find a place of some kind for me. Don’t you mind, Hamish, what she once said about our going with her to M—, you and me? Oh, if we could only go together!”

But Hamish shook his head.

“No, Shenac. It would be useless for me. I must be far stronger than I am now to undertake anything of that kind. And you must not be in a hurry to get away. You must not let Shenac think you are running away from her. Wait a while. A month or two will make no difference, and by that time the way will open before us. I don’t like the thought of your taking any place that Christie More could get for you. You will be far better at home for a while.”

“But, Hamish, you really think it will be better for me to go?”

“Yes—some time. Why should you be in haste? Is there any reason that you have not told me why you should wish to go?”

Shenac did not answer for a moment.

“Is it about Evan, Shenac?” asked her brother. “That could never be, I suppose.”

“Who told you, Hamish? No; I think it could never be. Allister would like it, and Shenac Dhu; and I suppose to folk generally it would seem a good thing for me. But I don’t like Evan in that way. No, I don’t think it could ever be.”

“Evan will be a rich man some day, Shenac; and you could have it all your own way there.”

“Yes; Allister said that to me once. They all seem to think I would like to rule and to be rich. But I did not think you would advise me because of that, Hamish, or because Evan will be a rich man.”

“I am not advising you, Shenac,” said Hamish eagerly. “If you cared for Evan it would be different; but I am very glad you do not.”

“I might come to care for him in time,” said Shenac, a little wearily. “But I never thought about him in that way till—till Angus Dhu spoke to me.”

“Angus Dhu!” exclaimed Hamish.

“Yes—and frightened me out of my wits,” said Shenac, laughing a little. “I never answered a word, and maybe he thinks that I am willing. Allister spoke about it too. Would it please you, Hamish? I might come to like him well enough, in time.”

“No, Shenac. It would by no means please me. I am very glad you do not care for Evan—in that way. I would not like to see you Evan’s wife.”

There was not much said after that, though they sat a long time together in the firelight.

“Did I tell you that I had a letter from Mr Stewart to-day, Shenac?” Hamish asked at last.

“No,” said Shenac; “was he well?”

“He has a call to be minister of the church in H—, and he is to go there soon; and he says if he can possibly do it he will come this way. It will be in six weeks or two months, if he comes at all.”

Shenac said nothing to this; but when Hamish had added a few more particulars, she said,—

“Perhaps it may seem foolish, Hamish, but I want to go soon.”

“Because of Evan?” asked her brother.

“Partly; or rather, because of Angus Dhu,” she said, laughing. “And Allister and Shenac would like it.”

“But they would never urge it against your will.”

“No; I suppose not. But it is uncomfortable; and, Hamish, it is not impossible that I might let myself be persuaded.”

Hamish looked grave.

“I don’t know but it is the best thing that could happen to me,” Shenac continued. “I am not fit for any other life, I am afraid. But I must go away for a while at any rate.”

Hamish said nothing, though he looked as if he had something to say.

“If you are willing, Hamish, it will go far to satisfy Allister. And I can come back again if I should find nothing to do.”

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