Janet's Love and Service

by Margaret M. Robertson

“And what for no’?” demanded Janet, turning on him sharply. “I’m sure we got far more good and pleasure from it than ever we got o’ your bloody fore-quarter of beef, that near scunnered the bairns ere we were done with it. Things should stand on your papers at their true value.”

Deacon Slowcome was not, in reality, more surprised at this outbreak than he had been when his “fore-quarter of bloody beef” had been accepted unchallenged, but he professed to be so; and in his elaborate astonishment allowed Janet’s remarks about a slight mistake she had made, and about the impropriety of “looking a gift horse in the mouth” to pass unanswered.

“You were at liberty to return the beef if you didn’t want it,” said he, with an injured air.

“Weel, I’ll mind that next time,” said she in a milder tone, by no means sure how the minister might approve of her plain speaking. Deacon Fish made a diversion in favour of peace, by holding up the new subscription-list, and asking her triumphantly if that “didn’t look well.”

“Ay, on paper,” said Janet, dryly. “Figures are no’ dollars. And if your folk have been thinking that the minister and his family hae been living only on the bits o’ things written down on your paper you are mistaken. The gude money that has helped it has been worth far more than the like o’ that, as I ken weel, who hae had the spending o’ it; but I daresay you’re no’ needing me longer, sir,” she added, addressing the minister, and she left the room.

This matter was not alluded to again for several days, but it did Janet a deal of good to think about it. She had no time to indulge in homesick musings, with so definite a subject of indignant speculation as the meanness of the deacons. She “was nettled at herself beyond all patience” that she should have allowed herself, to fancy that so many of the things on the paper had been tokens of the people’s good-will.

“Two hundred and seventy dollars and more,” she repeated. “Things mount up, I ken weel; but I maun take another look at it. And I’ll hae more sense anither time, I’m thinking.”

She did not speak to Graeme. There would be no use to vex her; but she would fain have had a few words with the minister, but his manner did not encourage her to introduce the subject. A circumstance soon occurred which gave her an opening, and the subject, from first to last, was thoroughly discussed.

March was nearly over. The nights were cold still, but the sun was powerful during the day, and there were many tokens that the earth was about to wake from her long sleep and prepare for the refreshment of her children. “And time for her,” sighed Janet, taking a retrospective view of all that had happened since she saw her face.

The boys had been thrown into a state of great excitement by a proposal made to them by their friend Mr Snow. He had offered to give them sixty of the best trees in his sugar place, with all the articles necessary to the making of sugar, on terms that, to them, seemed easy enough. They were to make their own preparations, gather the sap, cut their own wood, in short, carry on the business entirely themselves; and, nothing daunted, they went the very first fine day to see the ground and make a beginning. Graeme and the other girls went with them as far as Mr Snow’s house, and Janet was left alone. The minister was in his study as usual, and when they were all gone, uncomfortable with the unaccustomed quietness of the house, she arose and went to the door and looked rather sadly down the street. She had not long to indulge her feelings of loneliness, however. A sleigh came slowly grating along the half-bare street, and its occupant, Mr Silas Spears, not one of her favourites, stopped before the door, and lost no time in “hitching” his horse to the post. Janet set him a chair, and waited for the accustomed question whether the minister was at home, and whether he could see him.