The Orphans of Glen Elder Part 11

"If I only were strong and well again! If G.o.d would only make me well again, and show me what to do!"

Mrs Stirling's voice startled her at last.

"Come into the house, Lilias, my dear. There's a cold wind creeping round the hill, and the ground is damp yet. You mustn't sit longer there."

She placed a seat for her in the bright little kitchen.

"I won't put you into the parlour, for a fire's pleasant yet, May though it be. Sit down here, and I'll be through with my baking in a few minutes."

The kettle was already singing on the hearth, and fresh cakes were toasting at the fire. After the usual Sat.u.r.day tidying-up, the room was "like a new pin;" and Lilias's eyes expressed her admiration as she looked, about her. Nancy hastened her work and finished it, and, as she seated herself on the other side of the hearth, she said:

"Well, my dear, what were you thinking to ask me?"

In a few words Lilias told her all her trouble: how, though the spring had come, her aunt was by no means well yet, nor able to take charge of the school again; how she sometimes felt she was growing ill herself, at least she was sometimes so weary that she feared she could not go on long. Indeed, she tried not to be weary, but she could not help it.

The feeling would come upon her, and then she grew dazed and stupid among the children; and she must try and get something else to do. This was what she wanted to be advised about.

By a strong effort, in her capacity of adviser, Nancy was able to keep back the words that came to the tip of her tongue:--"I knew it. Anybody might have seen the upshot. To put a la.s.sie like that to do the work of a strong woman! What could one expect?"

She did not speak aloud, however, but rose and mended the fire under the tea-kettle, asking, as she sat down again:

"And what are you thinking of doing, my dear?"

"It's not that I'm really ill," continued Lilias, eagerly. "I think it's because I have been within doors so much. If I could get something to do in the open air, I should soon be as well as ever again. I can't go to service now, because I must stop at home with my aunt at night.

She can't be left. But I thought if I could be a herd-girl like Elsie Ray, or get weeding to do, or light field-work, or something--" And she looked so eagerly and so wistfully that Nancy was fain to betake herself to mending the fire again. For there was a strange, remorseful feeling stirring not unkindly at Nancy's heart. To use her own words, she "had taken just wonderfully to this old-fas.h.i.+oned child." Her patience, her energy, her unselfishness, her devotion to her aunt, had ever excited her admiration and respect. But that there was "a good thick layer of pride" for all these good qualities to rest upon, Nancy never doubted.

"And why not? Who has better right? The la.s.sie is bonny and wise, and has good blood and a good name. Few have so much to be proud of. And if Mrs Blair thinks it's more becoming in her brother's daughter to teach children the catechism than to go out to common service, who can blame her that mind her youth and middle age?"

Indeed, it had always been a matter of congratulation to Mrs Stirling that this "leaven of pride" prevented Lilias's absolute perfection; but now, to see "that delicate la.s.sie, so bonny and gentle, more fit for the manse parlour or the drawing-room at Pentlands than any other place,"-- to see her so utterly unmindful of pride or station, wis.h.i.+ng so eagerly, for the sake of those she loved, to become a herd-girl or a field-labourer, quite disarranged all Nancy's ideas. By another great effort, she checked the expression of her feelings, and asked:

"And what does your aunt say to all this?"

"Oh, I have said nothing to her yet. It would only trouble her; and if I can get nothing else to do, I must keep the children till the 'harvest-play' comes. That won't be so very long now."

"But, dear me, la.s.sie! it must be that you have awful little to live on, if the few pence you could earn would make a difference," said Nancy, forgetting, in her excitement, her resolution to say nothing rashly.

"Surely it's not needful that you should slave yourself that way."

"My aunt would not like me to speak about it. But I ought to do all I can; and I would like herding best."

Nancy's patience was ebbing fast.

"Well, la.s.s, you've sought advice from me, and you shall get it. You're just as fit for herding as you are for breaking stones. Now, just be quiet, my dear. What do you ken about herding, but what you have learnt beneath Elsie Ray's plaid on a summer's afternoon? And what good could you do your aunt,--away before four in the morning, and not home till dark at night, as you would need to be?"

The last stroke told.

"I could do little, indeed," thought Lilias; but she could not speak, and soon Nancy said:

"As for light field-labour, if such a thing was to be found in the countryside, which is not my thought, your aunt would never hear of such a thing. Field-labourers canna choose their company; and they are but a rough set at best. Weeding might do better. If you could have got into the Pentlands gardens, now. But, dear me! It just shows that there's none exempt from trouble, be they high or be they low. Folk say the Laird o' Pentlands is in sore trouble, and the sins of the father are to be visited on the children. The Lady of Pentlands and her bairns are going to foreign parts, where they needn't think shame to be kenned as puir folk. There will be little done in the Pentlands gardens this while, I doubt. There's Broyra, but that is a good five miles away: you could never go there and come back at night."

"But surely there's something that I can do?" said Lilias, entreatingly.

"Yes, there's just one thing you can do. You can have patience, and sit still, and see what will come out of this. If I were you, and you were me, you could, I don't doubt, give me many a fine precept and promise from the Scriptures to that effect. So just take them to yourself, and bide still a while, till you see."

"I'll have to go on with the school yet," said Lilias, quietly.

"No, no, my la.s.s: you'll do no such thing as that, unless you're tired of your life. You have been at that work over-long already, or I'm mistaken. Go into the house and look in the gla.s.s. Your face will never be paler than it is at this moment, Lilias Elder, my dear."

"I'm tired," said Lilias, faintly, her courage quite forsaking her, and the tears, long kept back, finding their way down her cheeks.

"Tired! I'll warrant you're tired; and me, like an old fool, talking away here, when the tea should have been ready long since." And Nancy dashed into her preparations with great energy. The tea was made in the little black teapot, as usual; but it was the best tray, and Nancy's exquisite china, that were laid on the mahogany stand brought from the parlour for the occasion; for Nancy seemed determined to do her great honour. By a strong effort, Lilias checked her tears after the first gush, and sat watching the movements and listening to the rather unconnected remarks of her hostess.

"It's not often they're taken down, except to wash," she said, as with a snowy napkin she dusted the fairy-like cream-pot. "There's but few folk of consideration coming to see the like of me. Young Mr Crawford doesn't seem to think that I belong to him,--maybe because I go so often to Dunmoor kirk. He hasn't darkened my door but once yet, and he's not like to do it now. They say he's to be married to one of Fivie's daughters; and I mind Fivie a poor herd-laddie. Eh me! but the Lord brings down one and puts up another! To think of the Lady of Pentlands having to leave yon bonny place! Who would have thought it? This is truly a changeful scene. Folk must have their share of trouble at one time or other of their lives. There was never a truer word said than that."

"Yes," said Lilias, softly: "it is called a pilgrimage,--a race,--a warfare."

Nancy caught the words.

"Ay, that's a good child, applying the Scripture, as you ought to do.

But you can do that at your leisure, you know. Sit by the table and take your tea. I dare say you need it."

And indeed Lilias, faint and weary, did need it. She thought she could not swallow a crumb; but she was mistaken. The tea was delicious; for Mrs Stirling was a judge of tea, and would tolerate no inferior beverage.

"I'm willing to pay for the best; and the best I must have," was the remark that generally followed her brief but emphatic grace before meat; and it was not omitted this time. "It will do you good, Lilias, my dear."

And it did do her good. The honey and cakes were beyond praise, and Lilias ate and was refreshed. When the tea was over, Mrs Stirling rather abruptly introduced the former subject of conversation.

"And what were you going to do with your brother when you made your fine plans for the summer?" she asked.

"Archie's at the school, you know," answered Lilias, shrinking rather from Nancy's tone and manner than from her words.

"Yes; he's at the school just now. But he wasn't going to stop at the school, surely, when you went to the herding?"

"Oh yes; he is far better at the school."

"Ay, he's better at the school than playing. But wherefore should not he go to the weeding or the herding as well as you?"

"Archie! Why, he's but a child! What could he do?"

"And what are you but a child?" asked Nancy, smiling. "I'm thinking there is little over the twelve months between you."

"But Archie never was strong. It would never do to expose him to all kinds of weather or to fatigue. Don't you mind such a cripple as he was when we came here? You used to think he wouldn't live long. Don't you mind?"

"Yes, I mind; but he did live, and thrive too; and he's the most life-like of the two to-day, I'm thinking. Fatigue, indeed! and he ranging over the hills with that daft laddie Davie Graham, and playing at the ball by the hour together! What should ail him, I wonder?"

"But even if Archie were strong and well, and could gain far more than I can, it would yet be far better for him to be at the school. A man can do so little in the world if he has no education; and now is Archie's time to get it."

"Well, it may be. And when's your time coming?" asked Nancy, drily.

"Oh, it is quite different with me," said Lilias, with a feeble attempt at a laugh. "A woman can slip through the world quietly, you know. I shan't need learning as Archie will. And, besides, I can do a great many things; and I can learn though I don't go to the school."