A path was shovelled from the front gate to the side lane above the house, into which it turned, passing barn, cow, and chicken houses.
“How well our forebears knew how to build for winter convenience,” said the doctor, tucking Brooke’s hand under his arm, as they walked, for there was a layer of treacherous ice under the new snow. “Nowadays a landscape architect would put all these outbuildings out of sight below the slope, or else up behind that knot of cedars, where it would take a day’s work to dig a road in snow time, while here all you have to do is to look out the kitchen window, and see that all is safe and sound. It is a compact little home, dear child, and in view of my practical knowledge, as well as of the sentimental value of such things, I believe that under any circumstances it is the best and most possible life for you all for many years to come; only remember, do not be discouraged if you have some blue days before the spring sun shines. There is a trite old saying, ‘Who loves the land in February loves for life.’ Simply keep working and do not try to look too far ahead; even the Bearer of the World’s Burden would only have us cope with evil day by day. There is where we often make our error—by cutting off the vista to the good with the shadow of borrowed trouble.”
Brooke looked up at him gratefully, and hesitated a moment before she said: “There is only one thing about which I am troubling a little, and that is Adam. How will dropping everything in the shape of books, and turning into my assistant farmer, much as he likes the idea, affect his future? You may not know how backward he is even now, and,” smiling archly, “I’m afraid he’ll have to work for his board this first year before I can even afford him an immigrant’s wages.”
“I’m glad that you have come straight to this point,” said Dr. Russell, “for it is one where I can meet you halfway. I had a talk with your brother on the train yesterday, and I am convinced that the practical, and not the scholastic, is his forte. When he goes to college it should be to the scientific, not to the academic school; that part of his culture must come from good reading. His first need is out-of-door air and life—so far, so good, that he can have. Last night at supper I discussed this with Robert Stead, as his early training was both at the School of Mines and the Polytechnic of Troy. The upshot,—‘Let him come to me every day,’ said Stead, ‘for as many hours as he can spare, more or less, and I will see what he lacks, and perhaps stimulate him by companionship in study, or at any rate we can fight out the essentials together. Perhaps it will warm my brain again, doctor, who knows?’”
Brooke clasped her hands with an expression of delight, and then dropped them, saying, “But we cannot pay for such a favour as that would be, and on the other hand we couldn’t put ourselves under an obligation.”
“My child,” said the doctor, stopping in the middle of the cow-house, which they chanced to be investigating at the moment, and leaning against a stall, while the gentle occupant pulled at his coat with her inquisitive tongue, “there is another way in which we all make grave mistakes. God forbid that I should advocate the shirking or casting of responsibility upon others, but there is another extreme that we are falling into in this twentieth century—an eye-for-an-eye, tooth-for-a-tooth breed of independence, while the brotherhood that should blend and sweeten all our daily actions is treated as a vocation, a thing set apart, and labelled ‘Charity’ or ‘Social Service.’ It seems to me that the Christian law of silent burden-bearing is far finer and more subtle than this, in that it leaves no obligation in its wake.
“If Robert Stead, the man cursed with lack of motive, finds a fragment of impulse in the stimulation of awakening his buried knowledge and in contact with your brother, when your brother needs this knowledge, where lies the obligation? No, the scales are evenly balanced; accept the result, and do not draw a breath to jar the adjustment. Moreover, do not judge Stead by the usual social standards, but bear with him. Perhaps at times he may even seem discourteous, for what he thinks he suffered by one woman, and a most remarkable one she was too, has made him curt with all; for his great failing is that he can never judge except by the personal measure, and unconsciously he has made a cult of selfishness.”
“I understand, oh, now I understand; how can I ever thank you for showing me the way? Do you know, Dr. Russell,” Brooke said, clasping her hands on his arm, “it seems to me I never began really to live until the day that trouble came to us;”—while as Brooke spoke, the silent hour in the Parkses’ gallery, and Marte Lorenz’ picture, stretched themselves as the inseparable background to all that had followed, and deepened the colour in her cheeks, that were already glowing with the keen air.
When Brooke and the Doctor finished their tour, and were returning to the house, Tatters still following solemnly, Bisbee’s double-runner sled with the baggage was seen coming from the lower road, while Stead’s cutter turned into the yard from the hill way. The Cub being in a very happy frame of mind as the result of his morning’s trip.