Janet's Love and Service

by Margaret M. Robertson

Without, the rude March winds were roaring, and within, too, for that matter. For though carpets, and curtains, and listings nailed over seams might keep out the bitter frost when the air was still, the east winds of March swept in through every crack and crevice, chilling them to the bone. It roared wildly among the boughs of the great elms in the yard, and the tall well-sweep creaked, and the bucket swung to and fro with a noise that came through Graeme’s dream and disturbed it at last. Looking up suddenly she became aware that the gloom that had been gathering over Janet for many a day hung darkly round her now. She drew near to her, and laying her arms down on her lap in the old fashion, said softly:

“The winter’s near over now, Janet.”

“Ay, thank the Lord for that, any way,” said Janet. She knew that Graeme’s words and movement were an invitation to tell her thoughts, so she bent forward to collect the scattered brands and settle the fore-stick, for she felt that her thoughts were not of the kind to bear telling to Graeme or to any one. As she gathered them together between the andirons, she sighed a sigh of mingled sorrow and impatience. And the light that leapt suddenly up made the cloud on her brow more visible. For the winter that had been so full of enjoyment to all the rest had been a time of trial to Janet.

To the young people, the winter had brought numberless pleasures. The lads had gone to the school, where they were busy and happy, and the little ones had been busy and happy at home. None had enjoyed the winter more than Graeme. The change had been altogether beneficial to Rose; and never since their mother’s death had the elder sister been so much at ease about her. There was little to be done in the way of making or mending, and, with leisure at her disposal, she was falling into her old habits of reading and dreaming. She had been busy teaching the little ones, too, and at night worked with her brothers at their lessons, so that the winter had been profitable as well as pleasant to her. At all times in his study, amid the silent friends that had become so dear to him, Mr Elliott could be content; and in his efforts to become acquainted with his people, their wants and tastes, he had been roused to something like the cheerfulness of former years.

But to Janet the winter had been a time of conflict, a long struggle with unseen enemies; and as she sat there in the dim firelight, she was telling herself sorrowfully that she would be worsted by them at last. Home-sickness, blind and unreasoning, had taken possession of her. Night by night she had lain down with the dull pain gnawing at her heart. Morning by morning she had risen sick with the inappeasable yearning for her home, a longing that would not be stilled, to walk again through familiar scenes, to look again on familiar faces.

The first letters from home, so longed for by all, so welcomed and rejoiced over by the rest, brought little comfort to her. Arthur’s letters to his father and Graeme, so clear and full of all they wished to hear about, “so like a printed book,” made it all the harder for her to bear her disappointment over Sandy’s obscure, ill-spelt and indifferently-written letter. She had of old justly prided herself on Sandy’s “hand o’ write;” but she had yet to learn the difference between a school-boy’s writing, with a copper-plate setting at the head of the page, and that which must be the result of a first encounter with the combined difficulties of writing, spelling and composition.

Poor Sandy! He had laboured hard, doubtless, and had done his best, but it was not satisfactory. In wishing to be minute, he had become mysterious, and, to the same end, the impartial distribution through all parts of the letter of capitals, commas and full stops, had also tended. There was a large sheet closely written, and out of the whole but two clear ideas could be gathered! Mr More of the parish school was dead, and they were to have a new master, and that Mrs Smith had changed her mind, and he was not to be at Saughless for the winter after all.

There were other troubles too, that Janet had to bear alone. The cold, that served to brace the others, chilled her to the bone. Unaccustomed to any greater variation of temperature than might be very well met by the putting on or taking off of her plaid, the bitter cold of the New England winter, as she went out and in about her work, was felt keenly by her. She could not resist it, nor guard herself against it. Stove-heat was unbearable to her. An hour spent in Mrs Snow’s hot room often made her unfit for anything for hours after; and sleigh-riding, which never failed to excite the children to the highest spirits, was as fatal to her comfort as the pitching of the “Steadfast” had been. To say that she was disappointed with herself in view of all this, is, by no means, saying enough. She was angry at her folly, and called herself “silly body” and “useless body,” striving with all her might to throw the burden from her.

Then, again, with only a few exceptions, she did not like the people. They were, in her opinion, at the same time, extravagant and penurious, proud and mean, ignorant, yet wise “above what is written,” self-satisfied and curious. The fact was, her ideas of things in general were disarranged by the state of affairs in Merleville. She never could make out “who was somebody and who was naebody;” and what made the matter more mysterious, they did not seem to know themselves.

Mrs Judge Merle had made her first visit to the minister’s in company with the wife of the village blacksmith, and if there was a lady between them Mrs Page evidently believed it to be herself. Mrs Merle was a nice motherly body, that sat on her seat and behaved herself, while Mrs Page went hither and thither, opening doors and spying fairlies, speiring about things she had no concern with, like an ill-bred woman as she is; and passing her remarks on the minister and the preaching, as if she were a judge. Both of them had invited her to visit them very kindly, no doubt; but Janet had no satisfaction in this or in anything that concerned them. She was out of her element. Things were quite different from anything she had been used with. She grew depressed and doubtful of herself, and no wonder that a gloom was gathering over her.