Janet's Love and Service

by Margaret M. Robertson

A great deal besides was accomplished this week. It was not all devoted to helping, by the boys. Norman caught three squirrels in a trap of his own invention, and Harry shot as many with Mr Snow’s wonderful rifle. They and Marian had made the circuit of the pond, over rocks, through bushes and brambles, over brooks, or through them, as the case might be. They came home tired enough, and in a state which naturally suggested thoughts of another mammoth washing, but in high spirits with their trip, only regretting that Graeme and Janet had not been with them. It was Saturday night, after a very busy week, and Janet had her own ideas about the enjoyment of such a ramble, and was not a little put out with them for “their thoughtless ruining of their clothes and shoon.” But the minister had come home, and there was but a thin partition between the room that must serve him for study and parlour, and the general room for the family, and they got off with a slight reprimand, much to their surprise and delight. For to tell the truth, Janet’s patience with the bairns, exhaustless in most circumstances, was wont to give way in the presence of “torn clothes and ruined shoon.”

The next week was hardly so successful. It was cold and rainy. The gold and crimson glories of the forest disappeared in a night, and the earth looked gloomy and sad under a leaden sky. The inconveniences of the little brown house became more apparent now. It had been declared, at first sight, the very worst house in Merleville, and so it was, even under a clear sky and brilliant sunshine. A wretched place it looked. The windows clattered, the chimney smoked, latches and hinges were defective, and there were a score of other evils, which Janet and the lads strove to remedy without vexing their father and Graeme. A very poor place it was, and small and inconvenient besides. But this could not be cured, and therefore must be endured. The house occupied by Mr Elliott’s predecessor had been burned down, and the little brown house was the only unoccupied house in the village. When winter should be over something might be done about getting another, and in the meantime they must make the best of it.

The people were wonderfully kind. One man came to mend windows and doors, another to mend the chimney. Orrin Green spent two days in banking up the house. Deacons Fish and Slowcome sent their men to bring up wood; and apples and chickens, and pieces of beef were sent in by some of the village people.

There were some drawbacks. The wood was green, and made more smoke than heat; and Janet mortally offended Mr Green by giving him his dinner alone in the kitchen. Every latch and hinge, and pane of glass, and the driving of every nail, was charged and deducted from the half year’s salary, at prices which made Janet’s indignation overflow. This latter circumstance was not known, however, till the half year was done; and in the meantime it helped them all through this dreary time to find their new friends so kind.

In the course of time, things were put to rights, and the little bare place began to look wonderfully comfortable. With warm carpets on the floors, and warm curtains on the windows, with stools and sofas, and tables made out of packing boxes, disguised in various ways, it began to have a look of home to them all.

The rain and the clouds passed away, too, and the last part of November was a long and lovely Indian-summer. Then the explorations of the boys were renewed with delight. Graeme and Rosie and Will went with the rest, and even Janet was beguiled into a nutting excursion one afternoon. She enjoyed it, too, and voluntarily confessed it. It was a fair view to look over the pond and the village lying so quietly in the valley, with the kirk looking down upon it from above. It was a fine country, nobody could deny; but Janet’s eyes were sad enough as she gazed, and her voice shook as she said it, for the thought of home was strong at her heart.

In this month they made themselves thoroughly acquainted with the geography of the place, and with the kindly inmates of many a farm-house besides. And a happy month it was for them all. One night they watched the sun set between red and wavering clouds, and the next day woke to behold “the beauty and mystery of the snow.” Far-away to the highest hill-top; down to the very verge of pond and brook; on every bush, and tree, and knoll, and over every silent valley, lay the white garment of winter. How strange! how wonderful! it seemed to their unaccustomed eyes.

“It ’minds me of white grave-clothes,” said Marian, with a shudder.

“Whist, Menie,” said her sister. “It makes me think, of how full the air will be of bonnie white angels at the resurrection-day. Just watch the flakes floating so quietly in the air.”

“But, Graeme, the angels will be going up, and—”