“Yes, Hamish,” she said humbly, “I see it. But, oh, I am glad you are better again!”
But was he really better? Shenac asked herself the question many a time in the days that followed. For the May that had come in so brightly was, after all, a dreary month. There were some cold days and some rainy days, and never a day, till June came, that was mild enough for Hamish to venture out again. And when he did, it was not on the hillock by the creek where Shenac spread the plaid, but close to the end of the old log-house, where the mother used to sit in the sunshine. For the creek seemed a long way off to Hamish now. When Allister came down the hill to speak to his brother, it came into Shenac’s mind that his face was graver, and his greeting not so cheery, as it had been that May-day. As for Dan, he did not hail him as he had done then, but only looked a moment with wistful eyes, and then went away.
“Truly, the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun,” said Hamish softly, as he leaned back against the wall. “I thought, the last time I was out, that nothing could be lovelier than the sky and the fields were then; but they are lovelier to-day. It helps one to realise ‘the living green’ that the hymn speaks about, Shenac:—
“‘There everlasting spring abides,
And never-withering flowers,’”
he murmured.
But Shenac had no answer ready. Day by day she was coming to the knowledge of what must be, but she could not speak about it yet. Nay, she had never really put it to herself in words that her brother was going to die. She had all these days been putting the fear from her, as though by that means she might also put away the cause. Now in the sunshine it looked her in the face, and would not be put aside. But, except that she sat very still and was very pale, she gave no token of her thoughts to Hamish; and if he noticed her, he said nothing.
“Shenac,” said he in a little while, “when Allister takes away the poor old house to make the garden larger, he should make a summer-seat here, just where the end of the house comes, to mind you all of my mother and me. Will you tell him, Shenac?”
“He may never change the garden as he thought to do,” answered Shenac. “He will have little heart for the plans we have all been making.”
“Yes, just at first, I know; but afterwards, Shenac. Think of the years to come, when Allister’s children will be growing up about him. He will not forget me; but he will be quite happy without me, as the time goes on; and you too, Shenac. It is well that it should be so.”
Shenac neither assented nor denied. Soon Hamish continued:—