The Orphans of Glen Elder Part 9

The master's voice had nearly failed him more than once while he was speaking. He was very much in earnest; and to what he had said, Mrs Blair could have only one reply. Turning to Lilias, she said:

"Well, my dear, shall it be?"

The master had, with a few exceptions, a sort of friendly contempt for all womankind. With regard to "la.s.sie bairns" there was _no_ exception; and he was by no means pleased that the answer to his question should be referred to one of these. But Lilias' answer appeased him.

"Oh, yes,--surely, aunt. It will be much for Archie's good. And, besides," she added, with a little hesitation, "I don't wonder that the master wants Archie for his own sake."

"A sensible-like la.s.sie, that," said the master to himself, looking at her with some such curiosity as he would have looked at a strange beetle in his garden-path, "that is wise like."

"Yes, if the master thought about Archie, as you do," said Mrs Blair.

"But have you counted the cost? It will be a sad lonely winter to you without your brother, Lily."

Lilias considered a moment, and drew a long breath.

"But it will be so much better for him; and he will come home sometimes."

"That he shall," said the master, "at regular times, on which you shall agree between you, and at no other,--that you need not be troubling yourselves needlessly about him. And he shall come in time, too, that there need be no waste of good eyesight watching for him."

And so it was settled. But Archie was by no means so delighted with the arrangement as Lilias had antic.i.p.ated. He could hardly be persuaded that he could not in the winter walk backwards and forwards over the hills, as he had done in the fine days of summer and autumn. But when he was fairly settled in his little closet in the schoolmaster's quiet home, with a table full of books, and time to read them, and his friend Davie coming and going at his pleasure, he settled down with great content.

He did not miss his sister as she missed him. Poor Lilias! Many and many a time, during the first week of their separation, she asked herself if she had indeed counted the cost. She accused herself of selfishness in regretting a change which was so much for his good, and strove by attention to her duties to quiet the pain at her heart.

"I ought to be glad and thankful," said she to herself, again and again,--"glad and thankful;" but the dull pain ached on, and the days seemed like weeks; and when Sat.u.r.day afternoon came at last, and Archie rushed in, with a joyful shout, a few minutes before he was expected, she surprised herself and him by a great flood of tears.

"Lilias, my child, what ails you?" said her aunt, while Archie stood gazing at her in silent consternation.

It was some time before she found her voice to speak.

"It's nothing, aunt; indeed it's nothing, Archie. I had no thought of crying. But I think my tears have been gathering all the week, and the sight of you made them run over in spite of me."

"Lily," said Archie, gravely, "I won't go to the school again. You have been wearying for me, Lily."

It had been something more than "wearying,"--that dull pain that had ached at Lilias' heart since they parted. It was like the mother's unappeasable yearning for her lost darling. Her cheek seemed to have grown pale and thin even in these six days. Archie stood with one hand thrown over her neck, while with the other he pushed back the fair hair that had fallen on her face, and his eyes looked lovingly and gravely into hers. The tears still ran fast over her cheeks; but she forced back the sobs that were ready to burst out again; and in a little while she said, with lips that quivered while they smiled:

"Nonsense, Archie! You must go to the school. I haven't wearied much: have I, aunt? Everything has been just the same this week, except that you didn't come home."

"A woeful exception," said her aunt to herself; but aloud she said, "Yes; just the same. We have missed you sadly; but we couldn't think of keeping you at home on that account. How do you like biding with the master?"

"Oh, I liked it well, after the first night or two. I have been twice at the manse, and Davie has been with me; and the master has more books than I could read in years and years; and I have had a letter from John Graham. It came with one to Davie."

And soon Lilias was listening to his history of the week's events with as much interest as he took in giving it. She strove by her cheerfulness to make Archie forget her reception of him. Indeed, it did not require a very great effort to be cheerful now. Her heart had been wonderfully lightened by the shedding of the tears that had been gathering all the week; and she soon laughed heartily over the merry stories he had to tell about his sworn friend Davie Graham and the master.

But Archie did not forget. That night, as they stood by the rowan-tree, looking down on the foaming waters beneath, he said:

"Lily, I don't believe Davie Graham's sisters love him as you love me."

"They wouldn't need. Davie Graham's not like you. Besides, they have other brothers, and I have only you."

"Yes; that may make a difference. But I'm sure I've been more trouble to you than brothers generally are to their sisters. I wonder you don't tire of it, Lily."

"That's what makes me miss you so much. Oh, Archie! I thought the week would never be done."

"It can't be right for me to bide at Dunmoor, when you miss me so much, Lily. I ought to give up the school for awhile, I think."

But Lilias would not hear of such a thing. Stay from the school for her sake! No, indeed. That would never do, when he needed to go so much, and when she had been wis.h.i.+ng for it for his sake so long! And, besides, it would be as much for her good as his, in the end. She would far rather have him a great scholar by-and-by than to have his company now.

"If Aunt Janet were only well again!" she added, after a little pause; and a shadow pa.s.sed over her face as she spoke.

This was the cloud that had been gathering and darkening; and it was not very long before that which Lilias had feared came upon her. Her aunt grew worse and worse; and, when Christmas-time came round, she was not able to leave her bed. Privations to which she had been little accustomed during the greater part of her life were beginning to tell on her now. At first she was only feeble and incapable of exertion; but her illness soon a.s.sumed a more decided form, and a severe rheumatic attack rendered her, for a time, quite helpless. She was always cheerful, and strove to comfort Lilias by telling her that, though her illness was painful, it was not dangerous, and when the spring came round she might hope to be strong and well again. But months must pa.s.s before then, and the heart of Lilias sickened at the thought of all her aunt must suffer. Even Archie's absence came to seem but a small matter in comparison with this greater trial. By every means in her power she strove to soothe her sufferings; but, alas! it was little she could do, and slowly the winter pa.s.sed away.

"Oh, so differently from the last!" thought Lilias, many a time.

It was long a matter of earnest discussion between them whether the school should be kept up through the winter, or not. Mr Blair was fearful that it would be too much for the child; but, hoping day by day to be better, and able to take her accustomed place among them, she yielded to Lilias' entreaties, and consented that they should come for awhile.

Lilias made a new discovery about this time. After her aunt's illness the housekeeping affairs fell altogether into her hands; and she was startled to find how very small the sum was that must cover their expenses from year's end to year's end. The trifle received from the school-children, paltry as it was, seemed quite too precious to be given up. Her aunt's comforts were few, but they must be fewer still without this. No: the school must be kept up, at any cost of labour and pains to her.

"Let me just try it a while, aunt," she pleaded; "I am sure I can get on with you to advise me; and the days will seem shorter with the bairns coming and going."

And so her aunt yielded, though only half convinced that she did right.

There is no better promoter of cheerfulness than constant and earnest occupation; and so Lilias found it. She had no time during the day to think of the troubles that seemed gathering over them, and at night she was too weary to do so. But, though weary in body, her patience and energy never flagged. Indeed, never were so many children so easily taught and governed before. The gentle firmness of their young teacher wrought wonders among them. Her grave looks were punishment enough for the most unruly, and no greater reward of good behaviour could be given than to be permitted to go on an errand or do her some other little favour when school was over.

But her chief dependence for help was on Elsie Ray. Her grat.i.tude for Lilias' kindness when she first came to the school was unbounded; and she could not do too much to prove it. It was Elsie who brought in the water from the well and the fuel from the heap. It was Elsie who went far and near for anything which the varying appet.i.te of the invalid might crave. Lilias quite learnt to depend on her; and the day was darker and longer than usual, that failed to bring Elsie to the school.

Mrs Stirling's visits, too, became more frequent as the winter wore away; and there was seldom a Sat.u.r.day afternoon, be it raining or s.h.i.+ning, that failed to bring her to the cottage. Nor was she by any means unwelcome there. For Nancy could be very helpful, when she willed it; and, by some strange witchcraft or other, Lilias had crept into her murmuring, though not unkind heart. It is true that she always came and went with the same ominous shake of the head, and the same dismal prophecy that, "unless she was much mistaken, Mrs Blair would never set her foot to the ground again;" but she strove in various ways to soothe the pain of the sufferer, and her strong arms accomplished many a task that Lilias in her weakness must have left undone. Once, in Lilias'

absence from the cottage, she collected and carried off the used linen of the family which had been acc.u.mulating for weeks, and quite resented the child's exclamation of surprise and grat.i.tude when she brought them back done up in her very best style. "She had done it to please herself, as the most of folks do favours; and there need be no such ado made about it. If she had thought it a trouble, she would have left it alone."

She was never weary of suggesting new remedies for Mrs Blair's complaint, and grumbled by the hour if each in turn had not what she called a fair trial. Fortunately, her remedies were not of the "kill or cure" kind. If they could do no good, they could do little harm; and Mrs Blair was generally disposed to submit to a trial of them.

In all her intercourse with Lilias there was a singular blending of respectful tenderness with the grumbling sourness that had become habitual to her. The child's unfailing energy and patience were a source of never-failing admiration to her; yet she always spoke to her as if she thought she needed a great deal of encouragement, and not a little reproof and advice, to keep her in the right way.

"You mustn't grumble, Lilias, my dear, that you have to bear the yoke in your youth. I dare say you need all you're getting. Many a better woman has had more to bear. We all have our share of trouble at one time or another. Who knows but you may see prosperous days yet,--you and your aunt together? Though indeed that's more than I think," she added, with the old ominous shake of the head; "but, grumble here or grumble there, it will make little difference in the end."

Lilias would listen sometimes with a smile, sometimes with tears in her wistful eyes, but always with a respect which was all the more grateful to Nancy that it was not often given by those on whom she bestowed her advice.

But notwithstanding the kindness of friends, and (what Lilias valued even more) the weekly visits of Archie, the afternoon walks, and the long evening spent in talking over all that the week had brought to each, the winter pa.s.sed away slowly and heavily. To the children in the school, Lilias always appeared in all respects the same; as indeed she was during school-hours. But when the little ones had gone home, and her household duties were all over, when there was no immediate call for exertion, her strength and spirits flagged. Sitting in the dim light of the peat fire, her weary eyes would close, and her work would fall upon her lap. It is true, the lowest tone of her aunt's voice would awaken her again, as indeed it would at any hour of the night; but, waking still weary and unrefreshed, no wonder that the power to step lightly and speak cheerfully was sometimes more than she could command. She was always gentle and mindful of her aunt's comfort; but as the spring drew near she grew quiet and grave, and her laugh, which had been such pleasant music in the cottage, was seldom heard.

"You never sing now, Lily," said her aunt, one night, as Lilias was busily but silently putting things to rights after the children had gone home.

"Don't I?" said Lilias, standing still.

"Well, maybe not, though I had not thought about it. I am waiting for the birds to begin again, I suppose; and that won't be long now."

But spring seemed long in coming. March pa.s.sed over, and left matters no better in the cottage. Indeed, it was the worst time of all. The damp days and bleak winds aggravated Mrs Blair's illness, and increased her suffering. The young lambs and calves at home needed Elsie's care, and she could seldom come now; and Lilias' burden grew heavier every day. Two rainy Sat.u.r.days in succession had presented Archie's coming home; and time seemed to move on leaden wings.

"You have need of patience, Lily," said her aunt one night, as the child seated herself on a low stool and laid her head down on the side of the bed.

"Have I, aunt?" said she, raising herself quickly, for she thought her aunt's words were intended to convey reproof.

"Yes; and G.o.d is giving it to you, my child. It ought to be some comfort to you, love, that you are doing good in the weary life you are leading. You are not living in vain, my child."