“I have a great mind to send her home to you in the spring, Graeme. It seems very sad for a child like her to be growing up with no other home but a school. She seems happy enough, however.”
“And would she like to come?”
“She says she wouldn’t; but, of course, she would like it, if she were once here. I must see about it in the spring.”
The wedding-day came, and in spite of many efforts to prevent it, it was rather a sad day to them all. It found Janet still “in a swither.” She could not divest herself of the idea that she was forsaking “the bairns.”
“And, Oh! Miss Graeme, my dear, if it werena for the thought of seeing my mother and Sandy, my heart would fail me quite. And are you quite sure that you are pleased now, dear?”
“Janet, it was because I was selfish that I wasna pleased from the very first; and you are not really going away from us, only just down the brae.”
Graeme did not look very glad, however. But if the wedding-day was rather sad, Thanksgiving-day, that soon followed, was far otherwise. It was spent at the Deacon’s. Miss Lovejoy distinguished herself forever by her chicken-pies and fixings. Mr and Mrs Snow surpassed themselves as host and hostess; and even the minister was merry with the rest. Emily was at home for the occasion; and though at first she had been at a loss how to take the change, Menie’s delight decided her, and she was delighted, too.
They grew quiet in the evening but not sad. Seated around the fire in the parlour, the young people spoke much of the time of their coming to Merleville. And then, they went further back, and spoke about their old home, and their mother, and their long voyage on the “Steadfast.”
“I wonder what has become of Allan Ruthven,” said Marian. “It’s strange that you have never seen him, Arthur.”
“I may have seen him twenty times without knowing him. You mind, I was not on the ‘Steadfast’ with you.”