In her heart, Christie was saying she did not think things could be much worse, as far as she was concerned; but she only looked at her sister, without speaking.
“For, after all,” continued Effie, “we are very well off with food and shelter, and are all at home together. You are not very strong, it is true, and you have much to do and Aunt Elsie is not always considerate; or, rather, she has not always a pleasant way of showing her considerateness. She’s a little sharp sometimes, I know. But she suffers more than she acknowledges, and we all ought to bear with her. You have the most to bear, perhaps; but—”
“It’s no’ that, Effie,” interrupted Christie. “I don’t mind having much to do. And I’m sure it never enters into Aunt Elsie’s head that I have anything to bear from her. She thinks she has plenty to bear, from me and from us all. I wouldna care if it came to anything. I could bear great trials, I know, and do great things; but this continual worry and vexation about nothing—it never ends. Every day it is just to begin over again. And what does it all amount to when the year’s over?”
“Hush, Christie,” said her sister. “The time may come when the remembrance of these words will be painful to you. The only way we can prove that we would bear great trials well is by bearing little trials well. We don’t know how soon great trials may come upon us. Every night that I come home, I am thankful to find things just as I left them. We need be in no hurry to have any change.”
Christie was startled.
“What do you mean, Effie? Are you afraid of anything happening?”
“Oh, no,” she said, cheerfully, “I hope not. I dare say we shall do very well. But we must be thankful for the blessings we have, Christie, and hopeful for the future.”
“Folk say father is not a very good farmer. Is that it, Effie?” Christie spoke with hesitation, as though she was not quite sure how her sister would receive her remark. “But we are getting on better now.”
Effie only answered the last part of what she said.
“Yes, we are getting on better. Father says we have raised enough to take us through the year, with something to spare. It’s all we have to depend on—so much has been laid out on the farm; and it must come in slowly. But things will wear out; and the bairns—I wish I could bide at home this winter.”