The Orphans of Glen Elder

by Margaret M. Robertson

“And you mind me of the brother I loved and watched over as a child, and honoured as a man. If it is God’s will, we will not be parted, my beloved child.”

And so it was settled, and Lilias’s heart was set at rest about the matter; and in the morning her face told the tidings to Archie before her lips could speak the words.

Mrs Blair’s cottage lay at the distance of several miles from the kirk of Dunmoor, which she had all her life attended. It was some time before Archie was able to go so far, and Lilias had stayed at home with him. At length, one fine, clear Sabbath in the end of September, Mrs Blair yielded to their entreaties to be permitted to go with her; and early in the morning they set out. Instead of going by the highway, they took a pleasanter path over the hills, resting often, for Archie’s sake, on some grey stone or mossy bank. The length of the way was beguiled by pleasant talk. Mrs Blair told them of the Sabbath journeys to the kirk from Glen Elder when she and her little brother were all in all to each other; and Lilias and Archie could never grow weary of hearing of their father’s youthful days. Many in the kirk that day looked with interest on the children of Alexander Elder, as they sat by his sister’s side, in the very same seat where he used to sit so many years ago; and many an earnest “God bless them!” went up to the Father of the fatherless in their behalf. Yes, it was the very same seat in which their father used to sit; and Lilias could hardly repress her tears as she saw his initials, with a date many years back, carved in the dark wood before her. The psalm-book, too, which he had used, had never been removed; and his name, in a large schoolboy’s hand, was written many times on its blank leaves. Many of the Psalms were marked, too, as having been learnt at such or such a time; and it was long before Lilias could think of anything but the little lad like Archie (only rosy and strong) who had sat there with his sister so many years ago. The voice that spoke from the brown old pulpit was the same to which he had listened; for the aged minister had been her grandfather’s friend, and her father had grown up beneath his eye, one of the dearest of a well-beloved flock.

His face and voice were to Lilias like those of a dear, familiar friend; and when he spoke of the things of which she loved to hear, she could no longer restrain her tears: indeed, she never thought of trying.

“For my ways are not as your ways; neither are my thoughts as your thoughts,” were the words from which he spoke; and when he told them how it was oftentimes the way of our good Father in heaven to lead His chosen, worn and weary, fainting beneath heavy burdens, over rough places, through darkness and gloom, but all safe home at last, the words went to the child’s heart as though they had been spoken to her alone of all who were waiting for a portion there; and her heart made answer, “What does it matter? It is only for a little while, and then all safe home at last. Not one forgotten, not one left out, in that day.”

Archie, too, listened intently, but not with tears. There was an earnest look in his eyes, and a grave smile about his mouth, as though he were hearing some glad tidings; and when the minister sat down, he leaned over towards his sister, and whispered softly:

“I like that.”

And Lilias smiled in reply.

When the service was over, and Mrs Blair and the children had passed out into the kirk-yard, Mrs Graham, the minister’s widowed daughter, came and invited them into the manse till it should be time for the service in the afternoon. Mrs Blair went with her; but Archie was shy, and liked better to stay out in the pleasant kirk-yard; and Lilias stayed with him. The place had a quiet Sabbath look about it, which suited well the feelings of the children; and, as the resting-place of many friends of their father, it was full of interest to them. Many of the people who had come—from a distance stayed also, and seated themselves, in small parties, here and there among the grave-stones; but not a loud or discordant voice arose to break the silence that reigned around.

The kirk itself was a quaint old building, around which many interesting historical associations clustered. The large stones of which it was built were dark with age; and the ivy that grew thickly over the western wall gave it the appearance of an ancient ruin. Dark firs and yew-trees grew around the kirk-yard, and here and there over the grave of a friend the hand of affection had planted a weeping-willow. On a low slab beneath one of these the brother and sister sat for a time in silence, broken at last by Archie.