Janet's Love and Service

by Margaret M. Robertson

Chapter Seventeen.

They all went away—the lads and Emily, and quietness fell on those that remained. The reaction from the excitement in which they had been living for the last few weeks was very evident in all. Even Will and Rosie needed coaxing to go back to the learning of lessons, and the enjoyment of their old pleasures; and so Graeme did not wonder that Marian was dull, and did not care to exert herself. The weather had changed, too, and they quite agreed in thinking it was much nicer to stay within doors than to take their usual walks and drives. So Marian occupied the arm-chair or the sofa, with work in her hand, or without it, as the case might be, and her sister’s fears with regard to her were, for a time, at rest. For she did not look ill; she was as cheerful as ever, entering into all the new arrangements which Janet’s departure rendered necessary with interest, and sharing with Graeme the light household tasks that fell to her lot when the “help” was busy with heavier matters.

There was not much that was unpleasant, for the kind and watchful eyes of Mrs Snow were quite capable of keeping in view the interests of two households, and though no longer one of the family, she was still the ruling spirit in their domestic affairs. With her usual care for the welfare of the bairns, she had sent the experienced Hannah Lovejoy up the brae, while she contented herself with “breaking in” Sephronia, Hannah’s less helpful younger sister. There was a great difference between the service of love that had all their life long shielded them from trouble and annoyance, and Miss Lovejoy’s abrupt and rather familiar ministrations. But Hannah was faithful and capable, indeed, “a treasure,” in these days of destitution in the way of help; and if her service was such as money could well pay, she did not grudge it, while her wages were secure; and housekeeping and its responsibilities were not so disagreeable to Graeme as she had feared. Indeed, by the time the first letter from Norman came, full of mock sympathy for her under her new trials, she was quite as ready to laugh at herself as any of the rest. Her faith in Hannah was becoming fixed, and it needed some expostulations from Mrs Snow to prevent her from letting the supreme power, as to household matters, pass into the hands of her energetic auxiliary.

“My dear,” said she, “there’s many a thing that Hannah could do well enough, maybe better than you could, for that matter; but you should do them yourself, notwithstanding. It’s better for her, and it’s better for you, too. Every woman should take pleasure in these household cares. If they are irksome at first they winna be when you are used to them; and, my dear, it may help you through many an hour of trouble and weariness to be able to turn your hand to these things. There is great comfort in it sometimes.”

Graeme laughed, and suggested other resources that might do as well to fall back upon in a time of trouble, but Mrs Snow was not to be moved.

“My dear, that may be all true. I ken books are fine things to keep folk from thinking, for a time; but the trouble that is put away that way comes back on one again; and it’s only when folk are doing their duty that the Lord gives them abiding comfort. I ken by myself. There have been days in my life when my heart must have been broken, or my brain grown crazed, if I hadna needed to do this and to do that, to go here and to go there. My dear, woman’s work, that’s never done, is a great help to many a one, as well as me. And trouble or no trouble, it is what you ought to know and do in your father’s house.”

So Graeme submitted to her friend’s judgment, and conscientiously tried to become wise in all household matters, keeping track of pieces of beef and bags of flour, of breakfasts, dinners and suppers, in a way that excited admiration, and sometimes other feelings, in the mind of the capable Hannah.

So a very pleasant winter wore on, and the days were beginning to grow long again, before the old dread was awakened in Graeme. For only in one way was Marian different from her old self. She did not come to exert herself. She was, perhaps, a little quieter, too, but she was quite cheerful, taking as much interest as ever in home affairs and in the affairs of the village. Almost every day, after the sleighing became good, she enjoyed a drive with Graeme or her father, or with Mr Snow in his big sleigh after the “bonny greys.” They paid visits, too, stopping a few minutes at Judge Merle’s or Mr Greenleaf’s, or at some other friendly home in the village; and if their friends’ eyes grew grave and very tender at the sight of them, it did not for a long time come into Graeme’s mind that it was because they saw something that was invisible as yet to hers. So the time wore on, and not one in the minister’s happy household knew that each day that passed so peacefully over them was leaving one less between them and a great sorrow.

The first fear was awakened in Graeme by a very little thing. After several stormy Sabbaths had kept her sister at home from church, a mild, bright day came, but it did not tempt her out.