Janet's Love and Service

by Margaret M. Robertson

“I needna wonder at it. Love is blind, they say, and goes where it is sent, and it is sent far more rarely to wisdom and worth, and humble goodness, than to qualities that are far less deserving of the happiness it brings; and Mr Arthur is no’ above making a mistake. Though how he should—minding his mother as he does—amazes me. But he’s well pleased, there can be no doubt of that, as yet, and Miss Graeme is no’ ill-pleased, and love wouldna blind her. Still I canna but wonder after all is said.”

And she still wondered. There were in her vocabulary no gentler names for the pretty Fanny’s defects, than just frivolity and vanity, and even after a glimpse or two of her stepmother, Janet’s candid, straightforward nature could hardly make for those defects all the allowance that was to be made. She could not realise how impossible it was, that a fashionable education, under such a teacher as Mrs Grove should have made her daughter other than she was, and so not realising that her worst faults were those of education, which time, and experience, and the circumstances of her life must correct, she had, at times, little hope of Fanny’s future worth or wisdom.

That is, she would have had little hope but for one thing—Graeme had faith in Fanny, that was clear. Love might blind Arthur’s eyes to her faults, or enlighten them to see virtues invisible to other eyes, but it would not do that for Graeme; and Graeme was tolerant of Fanny, even at times when her little airs and exactions made her not quite agreeable to her husband. She was patient and forbearing towards her faults, and smiled at the little housekeeping airs and assumptions, which Rose openly, and even in Arthur’s presence, never failed to resent. Indeed, Graeme refused to see Fanny’s faults, or she refused to acknowledge that she saw them, and treated her always with the respect due to her brother’s wife, and the mistress of the house, as, well as with the love and forbearance due to a younger sister.

And that Fanny, with all her faults and follies, loved and trusted Graeme was very evident. There was confidence between them, to a certain extent at any rate, and seeing these things, Janet took courage to hope that there was more in the “bonny vain creature” than it was given her to see, and to hope also that Arthur might not one day find himself disappointed in his wife. Her doubts and hopes on the matter were all silent, or shared only with the worthy deacon, in the solitude of their chamber. She was slow to commit herself to Graeme, and Graeme was in no haste to ask her friend’s opinion of her brother’s wife.

They had plenty of other subjects to discuss. All their Merleville life was gone over and over during these quiet summer days.

The talk was not always gay; sometimes it was grave enough, even sad, but it was happy, too, in a way; at any rate they never grew weary of it. And Mrs Snow had much to tell them about the present state of their old home; how the old people were passing away, and the young people were growing up; how well the minister was remembered there still, and how glad all would be to see the minister’s bairns among them again; and then Sandy and Emily, and the approaching wedding made an endless subject of talk. Rose and Fanny never wearied of that, and Mrs Snow was as pleased to tell, as they were to hear.

And when Rose and Fanny were away, as they often were, and Graeme was left alone with her friend, there were graver things discussed between them. Graeme told her more of their family life, and of their first experiences than she had ever heard before. She told her of her illness, and home-sickness, and of the many misgivings she had had as to whether it had been wise for them all to come to burden Arthur. She told her of Harry, and her old terrors on his account, and how all these had given place to hope, that was almost certainty now, that she need never fear for him for the same cause more. They rejoiced together over Hilda, and Norman, and recalled to one another their old pride in the lad when he had saved the little German girl from the terrible fate that had overtaken her family, and smiled at the misgivings they had had when he refused to let her go with the friends who would have taken her. This was all to be rejoiced over now. No doubt the care and pains which Norman had needed to bestow on his little adopted sister, had done much to correct the native thoughtlessness of his character, and no doubt her love and care would henceforth make the happiness of his life. So they said to one another with smiles, and not without grateful tears, in view of the overruling love and care visible in all they had to remember of one and all.

And Will, who seemed to be Graeme’s own more than either of the other brothers, because she had cared for him, and taught him, and watched over him from the very first, she permitted herself to triumph a little over him, in private with her friend, and Janet was nothing loth to hear and triumph too, for in the lad his father lived again to her, and she was not slow to believe in his sister’s loving prophecy as to his future. Graeme could not conceal, indeed she did not try to conceal, from her friend, how much she feared the parting from him, and though Janet chid her for the tears that fell so fast, it was with a gentle tenderness that only quickened their flow.

And now and then, in these long talks and frequent silence, Janet fancied that she caught a glimpse of the cloud that had cast a shadow over Graeme’s life, but she was never sure. It was not to be spoken about, however, nothing could be clearer than that.

“For a cloud that can be blown away by a friend’s word, will lift of itself without help in a while. And if it is no’ a cloud of that kind, the fewer words the better. And time heals many a wound that the touch of the kindest hand would hurt sorely. And God is good.” But all this was said in Janet’s secret prayer. Not even her husband shared her thoughts about Graeme.