The Inglises; Or, How the Way Opened

by Margaret M. Robertson

She had no time to add more, nor had he time to answer her, even if he could have found the words. For first David came in, and then Jem, all black and dirty from the forge, and, proud of it, evidently. His greeting was rather noisy, after the free-and-easy manner which Jem affected about this time. David’s greeting was quiet enough, but a great deal more frank and friendly, than his greetings of Philip had usually been, his mother was pleased to see. Jem made a pretence of astonishment at the sight of him, meaning that he might very well have come to see his mother sooner; but David fell into eager discussion of some matter interesting to both, and then Jem went away to beautify himself, as he called the washing off the marks of his day’s work. When tea-time came, Philip hesitated about accepting Mrs Inglis’s invitation to remain.

“You may as well,” said Ned; “for I saw Violet up-town and I told her you were here, so they will be sure not to wait.”

So he staid, and made good his place among them after his long absence.

Something had been said in the early spring about Mrs Inglis and the children going to spend the summer in Gourlay again. But there was not the same necessity for a change that there had been last year, and the matter was not at once decided. While Mrs Inglis hesitated, there came tidings that decided it for her. There came, from Miss Bethia, a letter, written evidently with labour and difficulty. She had been poorly, “off and on by spells,” she said, all winter; and now, what she had long feared, had become evident to all her friends. A terrible and painful disease had fastened upon her, which must sooner or later prove fatal. “Later,” she feared it might be; for, through long months, which grew into years before they were over, she had nursed her mother in the same disease, praying daily that the end might come.

“I am not afraid of the end,” she wrote; “but remembering my poor mother’s sufferings, I am afraid of what must come before the end. It would help pass the time to have you and the children here this summer; but it might not be the best thing for them or you, and you must judge. I should like to see David, but there will be time enough, for I am afraid the end is a long way off. I am a poor creetur not to feel that the Lord knows best what I can bear. It don’t seem as though I could suffer much more than I used to, seeing my mother’s suffering. And I know the Lord is kind and pitiful, though I sometimes forget.”

Mrs Inglis’s answer to this letter was to go to Gourlay without loss of time. At the first sight of Miss Bethia, she did not think her so very ill. She thought her fears had magnified her danger to herself. But she changed her opinion when she had been there a day or two. The Angel of Death was drawing near, and all that made his coming terrible was that he came so slowly. At times she suffered terribly, and her sufferings must increase before the end.

The coming of the children was not to be thought of, Mrs Inglis could see. She would fain have staid to nurse her, but this could not be while they needed her at home. She promised to return if she were needed, and begged to be sent for if she could be a comfort to her. All that care and good nursing could do to alleviate her suffering, Miss Bethia had. Debby Stone was still with her, and Debby’s sister Serepta, whose health had much improved during the year. The neighbours were very kind and considerate, and Mrs Inglis felt that all that could be done for her would be done cheerfully and well.

So she went home; but through the summer they heard often how it was with their old friend. But first one thing and then another hindered Mrs Inglis from going to see her till September had well begun. Then there came a hasty summons for David and his mother, for there were signs and tokens that the coming of the King’s messenger was to be “sooner,” and not “later,” as she had feared. So Violet came home because they could not tell how long the mother might have to stay, and their departure was hastened.

But the King’s messenger had come before them. They saw his presence in the changed face of their friend. They did not need her whispered assurance, that she need not have been afraid—that it was well with her, and the end was come.

“David,” she said, brokenly, as her slow, sobbing breath came and went, “you’ll care for your mother always, I know; and you must follow the Lord, and keep your armour bright.”