Before the Carrs came to Melbourne, Janie had gone to hear Mr. Surber preach. "The first time I heard him," she said, "I knew it didn't sound like the kirk! I could understand him; it was so plain!" When she had heard him preach about half a dozen times, she said, "I must confess my faith!" She became an intelligent Christian. She knew a great part of the Bible by heart. "I have read the New Testament all my life," she declared, "and never knew what it meant before."
Janie worked for the Carrs all the time they staid in Melbourne. She regularly attended the Sunday services, the prayer meetings, and the other gatherings of the church. From her wages she gave one shilling every Sunday morning. She read the church papers and the daily papers while the Carrs and their boarders were at breakfast. Her room was kept clean and inviting, and a talk with her was refreshing; seldom did a preacher visit the house, who did not ask to see Janie.
Mrs. Carr would sit in the kitchen to hear Janie read "Bobbie Burns," with the proper accent. The servant had seen the places described in the poems; she had known people who had known the poet. She knew anecdotes about him that have never seen the print. She told about a working girl who, on looking into his room, found him stamping upon the floor, and rushing back and forth like mad; how she had rushed down stairs crying, "He's daft!"—how Burns on hearing the cry exclaimed, "'Daft!' the very word I was trying to think of!"—and how he slapped his knees, and fell to writing.
It was Janie's delight to take care of Mr. and Mrs. Carr,—to stand between them and those innumerable details of daily life, that sap the energies, that waste the time, and ward off the essential objects of life for those who have no Janies.
"She would go to market seeking to tempt our appetites. She would say, 'Oh, you don't eat enough to keep a bird alive!' She petted us. No one regarded her as a servant except herself—but she always held herself to be one. She was, indeed, more of a companion. A beautiful character—one who did her duty because it was duty, and who loved us till we felt that she was one of the family. Her disposition was bright and cheerful. We often found her reading while the kettle boiled, or going about her work with an open book propped upon the kitchen table. One day I went into the kitchen and found her laughing outright. 'What is it, Janie?' 'Oh, I was laughing at what Mark Twain says about the Turkish bath!' What ever concerned us seemed as sacred in her eyes as a religious matter, and she would guard it as her own interests. Hers was a life in which we could see no fault."
A high testimonial to one who serves for years in one's kitchen! A testimonial rarely given, rarely merited. Let this be an excuse, if one is needed, for giving so much space to the simple maid from Scotland. Here is one whose soul bursts through the vapors of false pride and unlovely shame that does so much to soil the beauty of the poor. Here is one who recognizes the dignity of service, and who shows by humble acts that mark each hour, she loves her neighbor as herself.
And now that we have one so efficient and willing to admit the visitors, to cook the meals and to do the washing, let us retire to the library and, without fear of interruption, enjoy a sheaf of letters, which lie before us; not, indeed, drinking them to the very lees, but sipping here and there. Our word for it, if the reader be in the mood for mail-opening, he shall not go unrewarded.
Here is a young man writing from the Agricultural College of Kentucky University, whom Carr and Surber have evidently advised to go thither for a Christian education: "I suppose when I told you I would come here to school, you thought I would never come. After hard work I got to England, and I worked hard before I got here; but when there is a craving for an education, no toil or labor will hinder that young man. I come to study the scriptures, to be able to go into the world to preach the Gospel. I work five hours in the A. & M. College on the farm, and the machine shop. I got to this place without one cent of money. What do you think my first work here was? Dropping potatoes—Sir; yes, sir!"
J. B. Myers to Mrs. Carr: "I promised to tell you about the changes in Lancaster," (from which we may glean a little local coloring of Mattie's old home.) "The railroad runs right by the old Methodist church, out by the cemetery; indeed, it took away one corner of the old brick building. The passenger depot is on the Crab Orchard pike." (Then he enumerates all the new houses on the various pikes, tells what girls are going to "set out," and remarks that he pays more attention to ladies since his sister's departure.)
"I am still in the old room over Brother Sweeney's store! I have furnished it up with a $30 bookcase, etc. I have resigned my position in the Male Academy to teach a public school no more forever! I can't live that way—too much time consumed in watching the pupils, and making them keep order,—and the rest of my time, too worried to throw my soul into the work, and give efficient instruction. I begin a private class of about 20 choice boys, right away." Then about some who have died; some who have married; a foolish young girl who has kept her marriage a secret; and a poor gentleman who is growing too fleshy, and the fond hope that—"When you and Ollie come back to old Kentucky, you must keep house, and I will board with you!" "A year of your absence is about gone. May the three pass speedily! Yea, let them all pass rapidly that you and Ollie may be returned to me. How I love you my dearest sister! Tell Ollie I love him; too, and am proud of him!" (Very different does Brother Joe talk, now that he no longer stands hatless upon the pike, stopping our stage coach!)