The Orphans of Glen Elder

by Margaret M. Robertson

But the pleasant May days did not make Lilias her old self again. She did not begin to sing with the birds, though she tried sometimes. The old burden was there, and she could not. Often she accused herself of ingratitude, and wondered what ailed her, that she could not be so cheerful as she used to be. The feeling of weariness and depression did not wait now till the children had gone home. Sometimes it came upon her as she sat in the midst of them, and the hum of their voices would die away into a dull murmur, and she would fall into a momentary forgetfulness of time and place. Sometimes it came upon her as an inexpressible longing for rest and quiet, and to get away from it all for a little while.

Her spirits were unequal; and it required a daily and unceasing effort to go about quietly, as she used to do. More than once she startled herself and others by sudden and violent bursts of weeping, for which, as she truly said, she could give no reason. In vain she expostulated with herself; in vain she called herself ungrateful and capricious. The weary weight would not be reasoned away.

At length the knowledge that she was overtired, and not so well as usual, relieved her heart a little; but not very long. She was ill; and that was the cause of all her wretched feelings. She was not selfish and ungrateful.

She would be her old self again when she grew better.

Yes; but would she ever grow better? and when? and how? Never in the school. She knew now that she had been doing too much for her strength,—that the longing to get away from the noise and turmoil did not arise from dislike of her work, but from inability to perform it. And yet, what could she do even now? Her aunt was not able to take her old place in the school. Must it be given up? They needed the small sum it brought in as much as ever they had done, and more. Archie was fast outgrowing the clothes so carefully preserved, and where could he get more? And there were other things, comforts which her aunt needed, which must be given up, unless the school could be kept on.

She could not go to service now. She could not leave her aunt. If she could only get something to do that could be done at home. Or if she could only be a herd-girl, like Elsie Ray, or keep the sheep of some of the farmers, so that she might come home at night. Then she would soon get strong, and, maybe, have the children again after the harvest. Oh, if she only had some one to tell her what to do! The thought more than once came into her mind to write to Dr Gordon; but she did not. He could not advise her. He could help them in no other way than to send them money. No: something else must be tried first. Oh, if she only knew what to do!

It would not have solaced Lilias much to know that the very same thoughts were hourly in the mind of her aunt. None of Mrs Blair’s friends knew the exact amount of her yearly income. None of them knew how small the sum was that the widow’s little family had to maintain them, or imagined the straits to which they were sometimes reduced. Mrs Blair blamed herself for not having done before what now seemed inevitable. She ought to have asked assistance, alms she called it, before it came to this pass with them; and yet she had done what she thought was for the best. She had hoped that her illness would not last long,—that when spring came all would go on as usual again.

But this could not be now. She had watched Lilias with great anxiety. She had seen the struggle which it had sometimes cost her to get through the days; and she knew that it could not go on long. Her own strength came back, but slowly. She could not take Lilias’ place; and the children must go. Some change must be made, even if it involved the necessity of Lilias’ leaving her for a while. Indeed, it might have been better, she sometimes thought, if she had never sought to keep the child with her. It would be hard to part from her now.

Lilias, in the meantime, had come to the same resolution. The school must be given up and she must tell her aunt and Archie; but first she must think of something else, weeding, or herding, or going out to service. Suddenly a new thought presented itself. It would not have won for her much credit for wisdom in the parish, this idea of hers; but Lilias only wondered that it had not occurred to her before.

“I’ll ask Mrs Stirling’s advice. If she’s not down before Saturday, I’ll go up and speak to her. She’ll surely know of something that I can do.”