Eunice

by Margaret M. Robertson

They buried her beside her kinsfolk in the little graveyard of Halsey; and her memory still lives in the hearts of her friends and neighbours who knew and loved her so well.

Then, for a time, life and all its interests seemed to stand still for Fidelia. She was weary and spent, and they left her alone to rest and grow strong again. By-and-by, with no word of appeal or entreaty from any one, she came back to her old ways, and tried to take up her work again. It was not easy for her to do this, but it was easier than it would have been had her loss come a year sooner.

“It is God’s will that I should go first; and, dear, though you cannot see it now, God’s will in this, as in all things, is best,” Eunice had said to her many times; and she knew in her heart that it was true.

“And, oh, how much the best for my Eunice!” she said with many tears, yet with submission also.

But her occupation was gone; and, though friends and neighbours did what kind friends and neighbours may do at such a time, to cheer her, the days passed slowly and heavily, till one night Jabez came up “to have a little talk” with her. She had not seen much of him since her sister’s death. He had kept away, he told her, “because it hurt him dreadfully to see her in trouble that he could not help.” It cannot be said that she had missed him much, but she was glad to see him when he came.

Jabez’s “little talk” was about himself, and nothing could have been farther from his thoughts than a desire to give a lesson to his teacher. But she got her lesson all the same. They sat for awhile in the front porch, which was bright with the glory of the sunset. Mrs Stone was there as well as Fidelia, and they spoke about various matters at first; and a few words were said about Eunice. When Mrs Stone rose to go about some household duty, the others rose also, and went through the house into the garden, and down the walk between the tall hollyhocks, to the fence, where there was an opening between the apple-trees—a spot where Fidelia always stood a minute or two whenever she came there. They lingered for awhile in silence, looking down over the river flowing softly between wide irregular meadows, and over to the broken hill country beyond, beautiful now in the glow that fell on it from the west.

Something—perhaps it was the familiar voice of White Star coming suddenly to her ear—brought back to Fidelia the remembrance of the time when she stood there petting the pretty creature, the day after her first return from the seminary—the day when Jabez came up to speak about the garden. It came back so vividly that when Jabez began to speak his first words were lost in the surprise which seized her when she turned towards him.

What had happened to the lad since then? He was a boy no longer, for one thing. As he stood there regarding her with grave eyes, speaking quietly and earnestly, he was very different from the lad who had come whistling up the field, with his hoe over his shoulder, to greet her that day. A man? Well, hardly that yet; but with the promise of manhood on his good and pleasant face, to which, though she was tall herself, she had to look up now! A shadow passed over his face, and he ceased speaking and looked away, as a smile, of which she was quite unconscious, parted Fidelia’s lips.

“I thought maybe you would like to hear about it,” said he in a little, without turning round.

“Of course I shall like to hear about it. Excuse me; I was thinking about something else. You must begin again. Do you know, Jabez, that you are changed lately. You are not a boy any longer; you are a man, and I have only just found it out.”