David Fleming's Forgiveness, by Margaret Murray Robertson. 

CHAPTER ONE. 

A CANADIAN SETTLEMENT. 

The first tree felled in the wilderness that lay to the south and westof the range of hills of which Hawk's Head is the highest, was felled bythe two brothers Holt. These men left the thickly-settled New Englandvalley where they were born, passed many a thriving town and village, and crossed over miles and miles of mountain and forest to seek a homein a strange country. Not that they thought of it as a strange country, for it was a long time ago, and little was known by them of limits orboundary lines, when they took possession of the fertile Canadian valleywhich had till then been the resort only of trappers and Indians. Theywere only squatters, that is, they cut down the great trees, and builtlog-houses, and set about making farms in the wilderness, with no betterright to the soil than that which their labour gave. They needed nobetter right, they thought; at least, there was no one to interfere withthem, and soon a thriving settlement was made in the valley. It turnedout well for the Holts and for those who followed them, for after a goodmany years their titles to their farms were secured to them on easyterms by the Canadian Government, but they had held them as their ownfrom the first. 

Within ten years of the coming of the brothers, the cluster of dwellingsrising around the saw-mill which Gershom Holt had built on the BeaverRiver--the store, the school-house, the blacksmith's shop--began to bespoken of by the farmers as "the village. " Every year of the ten thatfollowed was marked by tokens of the slow but sure prosperity which, when the settlers have been men of moral lives and industrious habits, has uniformly attended the planting of the later Canadian settlements. 

Gradually the clearings widened around the first log-houses, and theunsightly "stumps" grew smaller and blacker under the frequent touch offire. The rough "slash fences" made of brushwood and fallen trees, gaveplace to the no less ugly, but more substantial "zigzag" of cedar rails. The low, log farm-houses began to be dwarfed by the great framed barnswhich the increasing harvest rendered necessary, until a succession ofsuch harvests rendered possible and prudent the building of frameddwellings as well. 

As the clearings widened and the farms became more productive, theprosperity of the village advanced. A "grist-mill" was added to thesaw-mill, and as every year brought move people to the place, new artsand industries were established. The great square house of GershomHolt, handsome and substantial, was built. Other houses were made neatand pretty with paint, and green window-blinds, and door-yard fences, astime went on. 

Primitive fashions and modes of life which had done for the early daysof the settlement, gave place by degrees to the more artificialrequirements of village society. The usual homespun suit, which eventhe richest had considered sufficient for the year's wear, wassupplemented now by stuffs from other looms than those in the farm-housegarrets. Housewives began to think of beauty as well as use in theirinterior arrangements. "Boughten" carpets took the place of the yellowpaint and the braided mats once thought the proper thing for the "spareroom" set apart for company, and articles of luxury, in the shape ofhigh chests of drawers and hard hair-cloth sofas, found their way intothe houses of the ambitious and "well-to-do" among them. The changeswhich increasing means bring to a community were visible in the villageand beyond it before the first twenty years were over. They were notall changes for the better, the old people declared; but they still wenton with the years, till Gershom, as the village came to be called, beganto be looked upon by the neighbouring settlements as the centre ofbusiness and fashion to all that part of the country. 

The Holts were both rather indifferent as regarded religious matters, but they had the hereditary respect of their countrymen for "school andmeeting privileges, " and they were strong in the belief that theultimate prosperity of their community, even in material things, depended mainly on the growing intelligence and morality of the people;so it happened that much earlier than is usual in new settlements, measures were taken to secure the means of secular and religiousinstruction for the people. But it was not merely in material wealthand prosperity that was evident the progress of which the inhabitants ofGershom were becoming so justly proud. 

As the Holts were the first comers to Gershom, so for a long time theykept the first place in the town, both in social and in businessmatters. "The Holts had made Gershom, " the Holts said, and other peoplesaid it too, only sometimes it was added, that "they had also madethemselves, and that all the pains they had taken had been to that end. "But this was saying too much, for all the Holts had great pride in theplace and its prosperity, and almost all the industries that contributedto its growth, as time went on, had been commenced by one or other ofthem. 

Gershom Holt was the more successful of the two brothers, partly becauseof his greater energy and capacity for business, and partly because hehad "located" at that point on the Beaver River where the water-powercould be made easily available for manufacturing purposes. No time waslost by him in doing what skill and will could do with only limitedcapital to make a beginning in that direction, and every new artisan whocame to the town, and did well for himself in it, did something toincrease the wealth of Gershom Holt also. So in course of time hebecame the rich man of the place. He dealt closely in business matters, he liked the best of a bargain, and, as a rule, got it; but he was of akindly nature, and was never hard to the poor, and many a man in Gershomwas helped to a first start in business through his means, so that hewas better liked and more entirely trusted than the one rich man in arising country place is apt to be. 

His brother Reuben was not so fortunate, either in making money or inwinning favours. His farm bordered on the river, but the meadows werenarrow, and the land rose abruptly into round rocky hills, fit only forpasture. Beyond the hills, on the higher level, the land was fairlygood, but the cultivation of it was difficult, and he had never donemuch with it. He was neither strong nor courageous. Some of hischildren died, and others "went wrong, " and he fell into misanthropicways, and for several years before his death he was seldom seen in thevillage. 

For more than twenty years the Beaver River settlement, as it was atfirst called, was occupied by people of American origin who had come inwith the Holts, or had followed after them. But about the time when theland of which they had taken possession was secured to them by theGovernment, a number of Scotch families came to settle in that part ofthe town called North Gore, lying just under the morning shadows ofHawk's Range. To these people, for whose land and ancestry they had atraditional admiration and respect, the descendants of the PilgrimFathers extended a warm welcome, and it was called a good day for thetown when they settled down in it. 

With the best intentions on the part of all concerned, affairs will gowrong in the history of towns as well as of individuals. Unhappily thenew settlers were not at first brought into contact with the best andkindest of the people. Some of them suffered in purse, not from "badmen, " but from men whose easy consciences did not refuse to takeadvantage of their necessities, and of their ignorance of the countryand its ways; and some of them suffered in their feelings from what theybelieved to be curiosity and "meddlesomeness" on the part of neighbours, who in reality meant to be helpful and friendly. 

So the North Gore folk "kept themselves to themselves" as they expressedit, and struggled on through some hard years, which more friendlinesswith their neighbour; might have made easier. The old settlers watchedwith an interest, on the whole kindly, the patient labour, the untiringenergy which did not always take the shortest way to success, but whichmade its ultimate attainment sure. But to them the firm adherence ofthe Scotchmen to their own opinions and plans and modes of life, lookedlike obstinacy and ignorance, and they spoke of them as narrow andbigoted, and altogether behind the times, and the last charge was themost serious in their estimation. 

The new-comers refused to see anything admirable in the ease andreadiness with which most of the old settlers, disciplined by necessity, could turn from one occupation to another, as circumstances required. The farmer who made himself a carpenter to-day and a shoemaker to-morrowwas, in their estimation, a "Jack-of-all-trades, " certainly not a farmerin the dignified sense which they had been accustomed to attach to thename. 

The strong and thrifty Scotchwomen, who thought little of walking andcarrying great baskets of butter and eggs the three or four miles thatlay between North Gore and the village, found matter for contemptuousanimadversion in the glimpses they got of their neighbours' way of life, and spoke scornfully to each other of the useless "Yankee" wives, whowere content to bide within doors while their husbands did not only thelegitimate field-work, but the work of the garden, and even the milkingof the cows as well. The "Yankee" wives in their turn shrugged theirshoulders at the thought of what the housekeeping must be that was leftto children, or left altogether, while the women were in the hay orharvest-field as regularly and almost as constantly as their husbandsand brothers. Of course they did not speak their minds to one anotherabout all this, but they knew enough about one another's opinions tomake them suspicious and shy when they met. 

And they did not meet often. The mistress of a new farm found littletime for visiting. Winter had its own work, and the snow and the bittercold kept them within doors. When winter was over they could only thinkhow best to turn to account the long days of the short Canadian summerfor the subduing of the soil, out of which must come food for theirhungry little ones. Every foot reclaimed from the swamp or the forest, every unsightly thing burned out of the rough, new land, meant store ofgolden grain and wholesome bread for the future. So, with brave heartsand willing hands, the North Gore women laboured out of doors as well aswithin, content to wait for the days when only the legitimate woman'swork should fall to their share. There were some exceptions, of course, and friendly relations were established between individuals, and betweenfamilies, in the North Gore and the village; but a friendly feeling wasfor a good many years by no means general, and two distinct communitieslived side by side in the town of Gershom. 

Even the good people among them--God's own people--who have so much incommon that all lesser matters may well be made nothing of betweenthem--even they did not come together across the wall which ignoranceand prejudice and circumstances had raised. At least they did not for atime. The Grants and the Scotts and the Sangsters travelled Sabbath bySabbath the four miles between the North Gore and the village, and, passing the house where a good man preached the Gospel in the name ofthe Lord Jesus, travelled four miles further still for the sake ofhearing one of their own kirk and country preach the same Gospel in thename of the same Lord. And so the Reverend Mr Hollister, and DeaconMoses Turner, and other good men among them, thought themselvesjustified in setting them down as narrow-minded and bigoted, andincapable of appreciating the privileges which had fallen to their lot. 

There was really no good reason why they should not all have worshippedtogether as one community, for in the doctrines which they held, thedescendants of the Pilgrim Fathers differed little from those who hadbeen taught in Scottish kirks the truth for which their fathers hadfought and died. The little band who kept together, and held to theform of church government which they had learned to revere in theirnative land, were by reason of their isolation, practically asindependent in regard to the matters of their kirk as were their Puritanneighbours who claimed this independence as their right. 

In point of numbers, and in point of means, the older settlers were thestronger of the two parties; in point of character and piety, even theythemselves were not sure that the superiority was on their side. However that might be, all felt that the coming in among them of theNorth Gore men and their families was much to be desired, and after atime measures were taken to bring the subject of union before them inthe most favourable manner. 

So, accompanied and encouraged by Deacon Turner, Mr Hollister, theminister, visited the North Gore folk family by family, and wasrespectfully and kindly received by them all, but he did not make muchprogress in the good work he had undertaken. His remarks aboutbrotherly love and the healing of breaches were for the most partlistened to in silence, and so were Deacon Turner's cautious allusionsto the subscription-list for the dealing with current expenses. Nowheredid they meet with much encouragement to hope that their efforts tobring the two communities together would be successful. For severalyears after this the North Gore folk continued to make their"Sabbath-day's journey" past the village church. Then for a while theyhad the monthly ministrations of a preacher of their own order in theirown neighbourhood, and on other days kept up meetings among themselves, and did what they could in various ways to keep themselves to themselvesas of old. 

But time wrought changes. The children who had come to the North Goregrew up, and they did not grow up to be just such men and women as theirfathers and mothers had been. It is not necessary to say whether theywere worse men or better. They were different. There was not muchchange in the manner of life in many of the homes. The Sabbath was asstrictly kept, and the young people were as strictly taught andcatechised and looked after in Scottish fashion as of old, and they badefair to grow up as cautious and as "douce, " and as much attached to oldways and customs as if they had been brought up on the other side of thesea, quite beyond the reach of Yankee innovations and free-and-easycolonial ways. But even the most "douce" and cautious amongst them werewithout the stiffness and strength of the old-time prejudice, and theyoung people of the different sections of the township, brought togetherin the many pleasant ways that are open to young people in countryplaces, no longer kept apart as their fathers had done. 

There were troubles in Gershom still of various kinds, misunderstandingsand quarrels, and violations of the golden rule between individuals andbetween families, and some of them took colour, and some of them tookstrength, from national feeling and national prejudice; but there wereno longer two distinct communities living side by side in the town, asthere once had been. And by and by, when old Mr Grant and DeaconTurner, and some others of the good men who had held with one or otherof them on earth, were gone to sit down to eat bread together in thekingdom of heaven, the good men they had left behind them drew closertogether by slow degrees. And when Mr Hollister grew old and feeble, and unable to do duty as pastor of the village church, all agreed thatthe chief consideration, in the appointment of a successor, must be thegetting of such a man as might be able to unite the people of allsections into one congregation at last. 

This was the state of things in Gershom when it began to be whisperedthat there was serious trouble arising between Jacob Holt and old MrFleming. 

CHAPTER TWO. 

THE FLEMINGS. 

There were already a good many openings in the North Gore woods when theFlemings took possession of the partially cleared farm lying half-waybetween it and the village, at a little distance from the road. Theybuilt on it a house of grey, unhewn stone, long and low like the homethey had "left on the other side of the sea. " They called the placeYthan Brae, and the clear shallow brook that ran down from their rockypastures, through the swamp to Beaver River, they called the Ythan Burnbecause the familiar names were pleasant on their lips and in their earsin a strange land; but it was a long time before it seemed like home tothem. 

For a while the neighbours knew about them only what could be learnedfrom the fields visible from the North Gore road. That Mr Fleming hadexperience, tireless industry, and some money, three things to insuresuccess in his calling, the canny Scotch farmers were not slow toperceive in the change that gradually came over the once-neglected land. Mr Fleming seemed a grave, silent man, with the traces of some severetrouble showing in his face. And this trouble his wife had shared, for, though she was still a young woman when she came to Gershom, there werestreaks of white in her brown hair, and on her fair, serene face therewas the look which "tells of sorrow meekly borne. " The gloom andsternness which sometimes made people shrink from coming in contact withher husband was never seen in her. 

The eldest of their two sons was almost a man when they came to live atYthan Brae. He was a quiet, well-doing lad, reserved like his father, but pleasant-spoken and friendly like his mother. His brother Hugh hadinherited his mother's good looks and sunny temper, and he had, besides, the power which does not always accompany the possession of personalbeauty or cleverness--the power of winning love. 

Long afterward, when the mention of Hugh's name was a sorrowful matter, the people of the North Gore who knew him best used to speak of him witha kind of wonder. He was such "a bonny laddie, " with eyes like stars, and even at sixteen a head above his elder brother. He was so blitheand kindly, and clever too. According to these people there was nothinghe could not do, and nothing that he would not trouble himself to do togive pleasure to his friends. He was "the apple of his father's eye, "the delight of his life; and that his mother's heart did not break whenshe lost him, was only because, even at the worst of times, God's graceis sufficient for help and healing to those who stay themselves on Him. 

For Hugh "went wrong. " Oh, sorrowful words! seeming so little andmeaning so much: care and fear, watching and waiting, sleepless nightsand days of dread to those who looked on with no power to bring him backagain. How he went wrong may be easily guessed. He had been led astrayby evil companions his mother always said. Not that to her knowledge, or to the knowledge of any one, he had gone so very far astray till theend came. There had been doubts and fears for him, and earnestexpostulations from those who loved him, but it was a great shock andsurprise to all the countryside when it came to be known that he hadgone away never to return. 

What he had done was certainly known only to two or three. There werewhispers of forgery, and even robbery, and some said it was only debt, which his father refused to pay. There were others involved in thematter, and it was kept quiet. Some of the young Holts were among thenumber. Jacob, Gershom's eldest son, went away for a while. It was notknown whether they had gone together, but Jacob soon came home again, and as far as he was concerned, everything was as before. 

But after a time there came heavy tidings to Ythan Brae. Hugh Flemingwas dead--in the very flower of his youth--"with all his sins on hishead;" his father cried out in the agony of the knowledge. There wasonly a word or two in a strange handwriting to say that, after sharp andsudden illness, he had died among strangers. 

The father and mother lived through the time that followed. How theylived none knew, for they were alone at the Brae. They never passed thebounds of their own farm through all that terrible winter, and theneighbours, who sometimes went to see them, as a general thing only sawMrs Fleming. She stood between her husband and the sorrowfulcuriosity, the real but painful sympathy which he could not have borne--which even she found it so hard to bear. Neither then, nor in all theyears that followed, did any one but his boy's mother hear him utter hisboy's name. They lived through it, but that winter was like the "valleyof the shadow of death" to them both. 

When spring came, the worst was over, the neighbours said, and in oneway so it was. Their son James brought his wife home to live with them, and they settled down to their changed life, making the best of it. Mrs Fleming's cheerfulness came back in the midst of many cares, forher son's wife was a delicate woman, and the little children came fastto their home. Mrs Fleming governed the household still, and in asense began life anew in their midst. 

But after his son came to live with them, Mr Fleming gave up to him allthat part of their affairs that would have taken him away from home. Hewas a born farmer; his forefathers had been farmers for as manygenerations as he could trace, and he had a hereditary reverence formother earth as the giver of bread to man. He took pleasure in the workof the farm, labouring patiently and cheerfully to bring it to thehighest productiveness which the soil and the variable Canadian climatewould permit. Hollows were filled and heights were levelled, and thewide stretch of lowland on either side of the Burn near its mouth, wasyear by year made to yield. A road or two to be cleared and drained andtilled, and one might have travelled a summer day through the finefarming country without seeing a finer farm than he made it at last. 

And all this time the farm, with his interest in it and his labour onit, was doing a good work for him, and he grew to love the place as hishome, and the home of the little children who were growing up about him. 

But just as a tranquil gloaming seemed to be closing over theirchangeful day of life, a new and heavy sorrow fell upon them. Their sonJames died, and the two old people found themselves left alone to carefor his delicate widow and her fatherless children. Other troublesfollowed closely on this. James Fleming had never been a worldly-wiseman, and he died in debt. Some of the claims were just, some of themwere doubtful, none of them could have held against his father. But theold man gave not a moment's hearing to those who made this suggestion. The honour of his son's name and memory was at stake, and in his hasteand eagerness to settle all, and because he had so fallen out ofbusiness ways, the best and wisest plans were not taken in thearrangement of his affairs. 

When the time of settlement came, it was found that most of the claimsagainst James Fleming had passed into the hands of the Holts. It wasJacob alone who was to be dealt with, for his father was an old man, andhis connection with the business had long been merely nominal. JacobHolt had changed since the days when he had been, as Hugh Fleming'sfather firmly believed, the ruin of his son. He had changed from anill-doing, idle lad, into a man, noted even in that busy community forhis attention to business, a man who took pains to seek a fairreputation for honesty and generosity among his fellow-townsmen. ButMr Fleming liked the man as little as he had liked the lad, and itadded much to the misery of his indebtedness that his obligation was tohim. He was growing an old man, conscious of his increasing weaknessand inability to cope with difficulties, and he believed his "enemy, " ashe called him, to be capable of taking advantage of these. His faithfailed him sometimes, and in his anxiety and unhappiness, he utteredharder words than he knew. 

Everybody in Gershom knew of his debt, but no one knew what made thebitterness of his indebtedness to the old man. The part which JacobHolt had had in the trouble, that had come on him through his son, hadnever been clearly understood, and was now well-nigh forgotten in theplace. But the father had not forgotten it. He would gladly havemortgaged his farm, or even have given up half of it altogether, to anyfriend who could have advanced him the money to pay his debt, but nosuch friend was at hand, and it ended, as all knew it must end, in aseven years' mortgage being taken by Jacob Holt, and the only thing theold man could do now was to keep silence and hope for better days. 

The little Flemings were growing up healthy and happy, a great comfortand a great care to their grandparents. They were bright and prettychildren, and good children on the whole, the neighbours said, and theysaid also, that there seemed to be no reason why the last days of theold people should not be contented and comfortable, notwithstandingtheir burden of debt. For the Holts would never be hard on such oldneighbours, and as the boys grew up, to take the weight of the farm-workon them, the debt might be paid, and all would go well. This was thehopeful view of the matter taken by Mrs Fleming also, but the old manalways listened in silence to such words. 

When five years had past, no part of the debt had yet been paid. Eventhe interest had been in part paid with borrowed money, and there wereother signs and tokens that the Flemings were going back in the world. It was not to be wondered at; for Mr Fleming was an old man, and thegreater part of the farm-work had to be done by hired help, at a costwhich the farm could ill bear. And the chances were, that for a whileat least the state of affairs would be worse rather than better. 

Then there came to Mr Fleming this proposal from Jacob Holt. Iftwenty-five acres of the swampy land that bordered the Beaver River justwhere the brook fell into it were given up to him the mortgage should becancelled, and the debt should be considered paid. He declared that theproposal was made solely in the interest of the Fleming family, andthere were a good many people in Gershom who believed him. 

To this proposal, however, Mr Fleming returned a prompt and briefrefusal. He said little about it, but it was known that he believedevil of Jacob Holt with regard to the matter, and though he keptsilence, others spoke. The North Gore people took the matter up, and sodid the people of the village. Mr Fleming had friends in both sectionsof the town, and some of them did not spare hard words in thediscussion. 

Jacob Holt was now the rich man of Gershom, one of the chief supportersof the church and of every good cause encouraged in the town, and allthis did not promise well for the union in church matters so earnestlydesired by many good people in Gershom. 

CHAPTER THREE. 

THE HOLTS. 

Gershom Holt was to all appearance a hale old man, but for a long timebefore this he had had little to do with the management of the businessof Holt and Son. He still lived in the great square house which hadsucceeded the log-house built by him in the early days of thesettlement. Two of his children lived with him--Elizabeth, the youngestchild of his first wife, and Clifton, the only child of his second wife, who had died in giving him birth. 

Elizabeth was good, pretty, and clever, and still single at twenty-four. The persons she loved best in the world were her father and her youngerbrother. Her father loved and trusted her entirely, and every passingday made him more dependent on her for comfort and for counsel; for hewas a very old man, and in many ways needed the care which it was hisdaughter's first duty and pleasure to give. Her brother loved andtrusted her too in his way, but he was only a lad, and too wellcontented with himself and his life to know the value of her love asyet, and she was not without anxious thoughts about him. He wassupposed to be distinguishing himself in a New England College as he hadbefore distinguished himself in the High-School of the village, and onlyspent his vacations at home. 

There was a difference of nearly twenty years in the ages of GershomHolt's two sons, and they had little in common except their father'sname. Elizabeth loved them both, and respected the youngest most. Jacob was a little afraid of his sister, and took pains to be on thebest of terms with her, and he could not forget sometimes in herpresence that he had done some things in his life which he was glad shedid not know. 

He had married, early in life, a pretty, commonplace woman, who hadgrown thin and querulous in the years that had passed since then, andwho was not at all fitted to be the great lady of Gershom, as the richman's wife might have been. That place was filled by Elizabeth, whofilled it well and enjoyed it. 

With its large garden and orchard, and its sloping lawn, shaded by treesbeginning to look old and venerable beside those of more recent growthin the village street, the old square house looked far more like thegreat house of the village than the finer mansion lately built by Jacobfurther up the hill. Under Elizabeth's direction it had been modernisedand beautified by the throwing out of a bow-window and the addition of awide veranda on two sides. Everything about it, without and within, indicated wealth moderately used, for comfort and not for display. Itwas the pleasantest house in the village to visit at, everybody said;for the squire--so old Mr Holt was generally called--was veryhospitable, and all sorts of people were made welcome there. 

There were by this time people in Gershom who had outlived theremembrance of the days when all the settlers, rich and poor alike, weresocially on a level, and who spoke smoothly and loftily about "station"and "position" and "the working classes, " but the young Holts were notamong them. Elizabeth and Clifton deserved less credit than was giventhem on account of their unassuming and agreeable manners with thevillage people, for they did not need to assert themselves as someothers did. Miss Elizabeth, for all her unpretending ways, was thegreat lady of the village, and liked it, and very likely would haveresented it had a rival appeared to call her right in question. 

The Holts of the Hill were, in most respects, very different from theHolts of the village. They lived and worked and dressed and conductedthemselves generally very much as they had been used to do in the earlydays of the settlement. The old man had been long dead, and his widowand her two daughters lived on the farm. One of the daughters was achildless widow, Betsey, the other had never married. "A good womanwith an uncertain temper, " was the character which many of her friendswould have given her, and some of them might have added that she had hada hard life and many cares, and no wonder that she was a little hard andsour after all she had passed through. But this was by no means allthat could be said of Miss Betsey. 

There was little intercourse between the Holts of the Hill and thevillage Holts, and it was not the fault of Elizabeth. It was Betsey whodecidedly withdrew from any intimacy with her cousins. She was tooold-fashioned, too "set" in her way to fall in with all their newnotions, she said, and from the time that Elizabeth came home fromschool to be the mistress of her father's house, and the most popularperson in Gershom, she had had but little to do with her. It hurtElizabeth that it should be so, for she respected her cousin and wouldhave loved her, and would doubtless have profited--by their intercourseif it had been permitted. But she never got beyond a certain point inthe intimacy with her, at least she did not for a time. 

The Hill Holts were much respected in the neighbourhood, and Miss Betseyexerted an influence in its way almost as great as did Miss Elizabeth. One or two persons who knew them both well, said they were very muchalike, though to people generally they seemed in temper, in tastes, andin manner of life as different as well could be. They were alike andthey were different, and the chief difference lay in this, that MissBetsey was growing old and had passed through troubles in her time, andMiss Elizabeth was young and had most of her troubles before her. 

The village of Gershom Centre, as it was called, at this time laychiefly on the north bank of the Beaver River. Its principal street rannorth and south at right angles to the river, and the village housesclustered closest at the end of the bridge that crossed it. At thesouth end of the bridge another street turned west down the river, andat a little distance became a pleasant country road which led to thehill-farm of the Holts, and past it to the neighbouring township ofFosbrooke. Another street went east, on the north side of the river afew hundred yards, and then turned north to the Scotch settlement at theGore. 

On this street, before it turned north, the new church stood. There wasa wide green common before it, shaded by young trees, and only theinclosing fence and the road lay between this and the river, which wasbroad and shallow, and flowed softly in this part of its course. Thechurch was a very pretty one of its kind--white as snow, withlarge-paned windows, and green Venetian blinds. It had a tall slenderspire, in which hung the first bell that had ever wakened the echoes inthat part of the country for miles around, and of the church and thebell, and the pretty tree-shaded common before it, the Gershom peoplewere not a little proud. 

Behind the church lay the graveyard, already a populous place, as thefew tall monuments and the many less pretentious slabs of grey or whitestone showed. It was inclosed by a white fence tipped with black, andshaded by many young trees, and it was a quiet and pleasant place. Between the church and the graveyard was a long row of wooden sheds. They were not ornamental, quite the contrary; but they were very usefulas a shelter for the horses of the church-goers who came from adistance, and they had been added by way of conciliating the North Gorepeople when one and another of them began to come to the village church. 

Toward the church one fair Sabbath morning in June, many Gershom peoplewere hastening. Already there were vehicles of great variety in thesheds, and horses were tied here and there along the fences under thetrees. There were groups of people lingering in Gershom fashion on thechurch steps and on the grass, and the numbers, and the air ofexpectation over all, indicated that the occasion was one of more thanusual interest. All Gershom had turned out hoping to see and hear thenew minister, whose coming was to bean assurance of peace to the churchand to the congregation. They were to be disappointed for that day, however, for the minister had not come. Squire Holt and his son anddaughter came with the rest. The old man lingered at the gateexchanging greetings with his neighbours, and the young people went ontoward the door. 

"Gershom is the place after all, Lizzie, " said her brother. "It ispleasant to see all the folks again. But I don't believe I'm going tostay to see Jacob through this business. Well! never mind, Lizzie, " headded, as his sister looked grave. "I'll see you through, if you sayso. And here come Ben and Cousin Betsey; let us wait and speak tothem. "

"Clifton, " said his sister, earnestly, "Ben is Cousin Betsey's best handthis summer. It won't do to beguile him from his work, dear. You mustnot try it. "

"Nonsense, Elizabeth. It is rather soon to come down on a fellow likethat, before I have even spoken to him. I never made Ben idle, quitethe contrary. "

Coming slowly up the green slope between the gate and the church werethe two persons recognised by Clifton as Ben and Cousin Betsey. Theymoved along in a leisurely way, nodding to one and speaking to another, so that there was time to discuss them as they approached. 

"Lizzie, " said her brother, "do you suppose you'll ever come to looklike Cousin Betsey?"

"I am quite sure I shall never wear such a bonnet, " said Elizabeth, pettishly. "Why will she make a fright of herself?"

"It is as an offset to you--so fine as you are, " said Clifton, laughing. "She had that gown before Ben was born; I remember it perfectly. "

Miss Betsey Holt was a striking-looking person, notwithstanding theoddness and shabbiness of her dress. Scantiness is a better word for itthan shabbiness, for her dress was of good material, neat and wellpreserved, but it was without a superfluous fold or gather, and in thosedays, when, even in country places, crinoline was beginning to assertitself, she did look ludicrously straight and stiff. Miss Elizabeth'sdress was neither in material nor make of the fashion that had itsorigin in the current year, and city people, wise in such matters, mighthave set them both down as old-fashioned. But in appearance, as theydrew near one another, there was a great contrast between them, thoughin feature there was a strong resemblance. 

There was more than fifteen years' difference in their ages, and Betseylooked older than her forty years. She was above the middle height, thin and dark and wrinkled, and there were white streaks in the brownhair brought down low and flat upon the cheek, but in every feature thebright youthful beauty of the girl had once been hers. Some of theneighbours, who were regarding them as they met, would have said thatonce Miss Betsey had been much handsomer than ever Miss Elizabeth wouldbe. For Miss Betsey had been young at a time when there was littledanger that indolence or self-indulgence could injure the fulldevelopment of healthful beauty, and as yet Miss Elizabeth had fallen oneasy days, and was languid at times, and delicate, and if the truth mustbe told, a little discontented with what life had as yet brought her, and a little afraid of what might lie before her, and there was a shadowof this on her fair face to-day. 

They had not much to say to each other, and they stood in silencewatching the two lads. Clifton was considered in Gershom to havelearned very fine manners, since he went to college, but he hadforgotten them for the moment, and was as boyish and natural as his lesssophisticated cousin. They were only second cousins, Ben being the onlychild of Reuben Holt's eldest son, who had died early. His Aunt Betseyhad brought the boy up, and "had not had the best of luck in doing it, "she sometimes told him; but he was the dearest person in the world toher, for all her pretended discontent with her success. She watched thetwo lads as they went into the eager discussion of something thatpleased them, and so did Elizabeth, for it was a pleasant sight to see. 

"Cousin, " said Elizabeth, gently, "I do not think you need fear that myboy will harm yours. "

"I am not afraid--not much. Ben is the stronger of the two, morally, ifhe isn't so bright. My boy is to be trusted, " and she looked as thoughshe would have added, "that is more than you can say for yours. "

Elizabeth looked grave. 

"Cousin Betsey, you were always hard on my brother Clifton. "

Betsey shrugged her shoulders. 

"You are harder on him this minute than I am. I don't suppose he hasdone anything very bad this time--worse than usual, I mean. "

"Have you heard anything? Did you know he was sent home?" askedElizabeth in dismay. 

"He sent a letter to Ben a spell ago, and I saw it lying round. Youneedn't tell him so. If it is as he says, there aint much wrong thistime. Here is Hepsey Bean. "

Miss Bean had come to inquire if anything had been heard of theminister, but the cousins were too much occupied in watching the twolads to answer her, and Hepsey's eyes followed theirs. 

"Are not they alike as two peas?" said she. "Not their fixings exactly, I don't mean--"

Miss Elizabeth laughed, even Miss Betsey smiled, touched with a grimsense of humour as she regarded the lads. Their "fixings" werecertainly different. Everything, from the tips of Clifton's shiningboots to the crown of his shining hat, declared him to be a dandy. Hiscollar, necktie, coat, and all the rest, were in the latest fashion--afashion a sight of which, but for his coming home, the Gershom peoplemight not have been favoured with for a year to come. His compulsorydeparture from the seat of learning had been delayed while the tailorcompleted his summer outfit, so that there could be no mistake about his"fixings. "

As for Ben, he was fine also, in a new suit of homespun, which, since itcame from the loom, and, indeed, before it went to the loom, had passedthrough no hands but those of his Aunt Betsey. It was not handsome. The home-made thick grey cloth of the country, which the farmers' wivesof those days took pride in preparing for the winter-wear of their "menfolks, " was an article of superior wearing qualities, and handsome inits way. But it was the half-cotton fabric, dingy and napless, considered good enough for summer wear, in which Ben was arrayed. Madeas a loose frock and overall to be worn in the hay-field, or followingthe plough, it was well enough; but made into a tight-fittingSunday-suit, it was not handsome, certainly. As far as "fixings" wereconcerned, the cousins were a contrast. Betsey looked and laughedagain, but Elizabeth did not laugh. She knew that Cousin Betsey wassensitive where Ben was concerned. 

"Clothes don't amount to much anyway, " said Betsey. "Hepsey's right. They are alike as two peas, but Ben is the strongest morally, because hehasn't been spoiled by property, as Clifton has. Not that he isaltogether spoiled yet. "

"But about the minister?" interrupted Miss Bean. 

"He has not come, it seems, " said Elizabeth. "There is to be a sermonread to-day, " but she did not say that her brother Jacob was to read it. 

The bell which had been delayed beyond the usual time pealed out, andall faces were turned to the church door. Clifton and Ben lingered tillthe last. 

"There is old Mr Fleming going off home, " said Ben as he caught sightof a figure on horseback turning the corner toward North Gore. "Iexpect he don't care about your brother Jacob's preaching, " he added, gravely. 

"Isn't it his practice he don't care about?" said Clifton, laughing. 

"I shouldn't wonder, " said Ben. 

"Well, I can't say I care much about his preaching either. Come, Ben, let us go down to the big elm and talk things over. "

Ben shook his head, but followed. 

"It is not just the same as if the minister was there, " said he, doubtfully. 

"But then what will Aunt Betsey say?"

"Oh, she won't care since it's only Jacob. And she needn't know it. "

"Oh, she's got to know it. But it is not any worse for us than for oldMr Fleming. It's pleasant down here. "

It was pleasant. The largest elm tree in Gershom grew on the riverbank, and its great branches stretched far over to the other side, making cool shadows on the rippling water. The place was green andstill, "a great deal more like Sunday than the inside of themeeting-house, " Clifton declared. But Ben shook his head. 

"That's one of the loose notions you've learned at college. Your sisterbelieves in going to meetings, and so does Aunt Betsey. "

So did Clifton it seemed, for there was a good deal more said afterthat, and they quite agreed that whether it was altogether agreeable ornot, it was quite right that people generally should go to church, rather than to the river, as they had done. How it happened, Ben hardlyknew, but in a little while they found themselves in Seth Fairweather'sboat, and were paddling up the river, out and in among the shadows, pastthe open fields and the cedar swamp to the point where the Ythan Burnfell into the Beaver. They paddled about a while upon the Pool, as asudden widening of the channel of the river was called, till the heat ofthe sun sent them in among the shadows again. Then Clifton leaned backat his ease, while Ben waved about a branch of odorous cedar to keep thelittle black flies away. 

"Now tell me all about it, Cliff, " said he. 

Clifton winced, but put a bold face on the matter, and told in as fewwords as possible the story of his having been sent home. It was not apleasant story to tell, though he had been less to blame than someothers who had escaped punishment altogether. But sitting there in theshadow of the cedars, with Ben's great eyes upon him, he felt more sorryand ashamed, and more angry at himself, and those who had been concernedwith him in his folly, than ever he had felt before. 

"The fun didn't pay that time, did it, Cliff?" said Ben. "I don'tbelieve it ever does--that kind of fun. "

"That's what Aunt Betsey says, eh?" said Clifton. "Well, she's aboutright. "

"And you'll never do so, any more; will you, Cliff?"

Clifton laughed. 

"But, Cliff, you are almost a man now, you are a man, and it don't payin the long run to drink and have a good time. It didn't pay in myfather's case, and Aunt Betsey says--"

"There, that will do. I would rather hear Aunt Betsey's sermons fromher own lips, and I am going up to the Hill some time soon. "

There was silence between them for a little while, then Ben said:

"There's a meeting up in the Scott school-house 'most every Sundayafternoon, Cliff; suppose we go up there, and then I can tell AuntBetsey all about it. "

Clifton had no objections to this plan; so pushing the boat in among thebushes that hung low over the water, they left it there and took theirway by the side of Ythan Burn. But he would not be hurried. As a boyhe had liked more than anything else in the world, loitering through thefields and woods with Ben, and it gave him great satisfaction todiscover that he had not outgrown this liking. He forgot his finemanners and fine clothes, his college friends and pleasures andtroubles; and Ben forgot Aunt Betsey, and that he was doing wrong, andthey wandered on as they had done hundreds of times before. 

For though no one, not even his Aunt Betsey, thought Ben very bright, Clifton would have taken his word about beast and bird and creepingthing, and about all the growing life in the woods, rather than the wordof any other ten in Gershom. They made no haste, there fore, in thedirection of the Scott school-house, but wound in and out among the woodpaths, using eyes and ears in the midst of the rejoicing life of whichthe forest was so full at that June season. 

They kept along the side of the brook, and by and by came out of thewoods on the edge of the fine strip of land which old Mr Fleming hadmade foot by foot from the swamp. There was no finer land in thetownship, none that had been more faithfully dealt with than this. Benuttered an exclamation of admiration as he looked over it to the hillbeyond. Even Clifton, who knew less and cared less about land than hedid, sympathised with his admiration. 

"He might mow it now, and have a second crop before fall, " said Ben, with enthusiasm. "It would be a shame to spoil so fine a meadow bybuilding a factory on it, wouldn't it?"

"It would spoil it for hay, but factories are not bad in a place, I tellyou. It might be a good thing to put one here. "

"Not for Mr Fleming. He don't care for factories. He made the meadowout of the swamp, and nobody else has any business with it, whateverthey may say about mortgages and things. "

"But who is talking about mortgages and things?" asked Clifton, laughing. 

"Oh, most everybody in Gershom is talking. I don't know much about itmyself. And Jacob's one of your folks, and you'd be mad if I told youall that folks say. "

Clifton laughed. 

"Jacob isn't any more one of my folks than you are--nor so much. Do yousuppose I would stay away from meeting to come out here with Jacob? Notif I know it. "

"He wouldn't want you to, I don't suppose. "

"Not he. He doesn't care half so much about me as you do. "

"No, he don't. I think everything of you. And that's why Aunt Betseysays you ought to be careful to set me a good example. "

"That's so, " said Clifton, laughing. "Now tell me about old Fleming. "

Ben never had the power of refusing to do what his cousin asked him, buthe had little to tell that Clifton had not heard before. There was talkof forming a great manufacturing company in Gershom; but there had beentalk of that since ever Clifton could remember. The only difference nowwas that a new dam was to be built further up the river at a placebetter suited for it, and with more room for the raising of largebuildings than was the point where Mr Holt had built his first saw-millin earlier times. It was supposed to be for this purpose that JacobHolt was desirous to obtain possession of that part of the Fleming farmthat lay on the Beaver River; for, though a company was to be formed, everybody knew that he would have the most to say and do about it. ButMr Fleming had refused to sell, "and folks had talked roundconsiderable, " Ben said, and he went on to repeat a good deal that wasanything but complimentary to Jacob. 

"But I told our folks that you and Uncle Gershom would see Mr Flemingthrough, and Aunt Betsey, she said if you were worth your salt you'dstay at home and see to things for your father, and not let Jacobdisgrace the name. But I said you'd put it all straight, and AuntBetsey she said--"

"Well, what did Aunt Betsey say?" for Ben stopped suddenly. 

"She told me to shut up, " said Ben, hanging his head. 

Clifton laughed heartily. 

"And she doesn't think me worth my salt. Well, never mind. It is aneven chance that she is right. But I think she is hard on Jacob. "

There was time for no more talk. They had skirted the little brook tillthey came to a grove of birch and wild cherry-trees that had been leftto grow on a rocky knoll where the water fell over a low ledge on itsway from the pasture above. The sound of voices made them pause beforethey set foot on the path that led upwards. 

"It's the Fleming children, I suppose, " said Ben. "They'll be tellingus, mayhap, that we're breaking the Sabbath, and I expect so we be. "

David Fleming's Forgiveness--by Margaret Murray Robertson

CHAPTER FOUR. 

THE FLEMING CHILDREN. 

Instead of following the path, Clifton went round the knoll to thebrook, and paused again at the sight of a pair or two of little barefeet in the water, and thus began his acquaintance with the Flemingchildren. There were several of them, but Clifton saw first a beautifulbrown boyish face, and a pair of laughing eyes half hidden by a mass oftangled curls, and recognised Davie. Close beside the face was anotherso like it, and yet so different, that Clifton looked in wonder. Thefeatures were alike, and the eyes were the same bonny blue, and the windwas making free with the same dark curls about it. But it was a moredelicate face, not so rosy and brown, though the sun had touched it too. There was an expression of sweet gravity about the mouth, and the eyesthat were looking up through the leaves into the sky had no laughter inthem. It was a fair and gentle face, but there was something in it thatmade Clifton think of stern old Mr Fleming sitting on the Sabbath-dayamong his neighbours in the church. 

"That must be sister Lizzie's wee Katie, " said Clifton to himself. 

The slender girlish figure leaned against the rock on which the boy waslying so that the two faces were nearly on a level, and a pretty picturethey made together. Clifton had been making facetious remarks to hissister about the old-fashioned finery of the dressed-up village girls ontheir way to church, but he saw nothing to criticise in the straight, scant dress, of one dim colour, unrelieved by frill or collar, whichKatie Fleming wore. He did not think of her dress at all, but of theslim, graceful figure and the bonny girlish face turned so gravely up tothe sky. He was not sure whether it was best to go forward and speak ornot. Ben stood still, looking also. 

"I say, Katie, " said the boy, lifting his head, "what is theseven-and-twentieth?"

"Oh fie, Davie! to be thinking of propositions and such-like worldlythings, and this the Sabbath-day, " said Katie, reprovingly. 

"Just as if you werena thinking of them yourself, Katie. "

"No, I'm no' thinking of them. They come into my head whiles. But I'mno' fighting with them, or taking pleasure in them, as I do other days. I'm just resting myself in this bonny quiet place, looking at the skyand the bonny green grass. Eh, Davie, it's a grand thing to have therest and the quietness of the Sabbath-day. "

The girl shook her head at the answer which Clifton did not hear, andwent on. 

"It gives us time to come to ourselves, and to mind that there issomething else in the world besides just cheese and butter-making, andthese weary propositions. Of course it's right to go to the kirk, and Ipromised grannie I would go this afternoon to the Scott school-housewith the bairns. But I like to bide quiet here a while, too. "

"I would far rather bide here, " said Davie. 

"Yes, but, Davie, we mustna think light of the Sabbath-day. Think whatit is to grandfather. He would like it better if we were better bairns. I'm just glad of the rest. "

"You're tired of your books, " said Davie, with a little brotherlycontempt in his voice. "You're but a lassie, however, and it canna behelped. "

"I canna do two things at once. I'm tired of making cheese and keepingup with girls at the school too. And I'm glad it's the Sabbath-day forthe rest. And, Davie, " she added, after a pause, "I'm not going to theschool after you stop. Grannie needs me at home, and I'm no' going. "

"Catch me staying at home if I could go, " said Davie. 

"But, Davie, it is my duty to help grannie to make all the money we canto pay the debt, and get grandfather out of the hands of thoseavaricious Holts. What noise was yon, Davie?"

Listeners seldom hear good of themselves, and the mention of the"avaricious Holts" startled Clifton into the consciousness that he waslistening to that which was not intended for his ears, and he drew toBen's side. 

"It's the little Flemings, " said Ben; "aint they Scotchy? That is theway they always speak to one another at home. "

They went round the knoll through the trees among the broken pieces ofrock scattered over the little eminence. Before they reached the brookthe other way a voice hailed them. 

"Hallo, Ben! Does your Aunt Betsey know that you're going about in suchcompany on Sunday?"

"If meeting's out she knows, or she mistrusts, " said Ben, taking thematter seriously. "We're going over to the Scott school-house tomeeting. Aunt Betsey'll like that, anyhow. "

They all laughed, for Ben and the Fleming children had long beenfriends. 

"Here's Clif got home sooner than he expected to, and Jacob, he'sreading a sermon by himself because the minister didn't come, and so--wecame away. This is Clif. "

The smile which had greeted Ben went out of Katie's eyes, and surpriseand a little offence took its place, as she met Clifton's look. But shelaughed merrily when the lad, stepping back, took off his hat and bowedlow, as he might have done to any of the fine ladies of B--, where hehad been living of late. 

But in a little while she grew shy and uncomfortable, and conscious ofher bare feet, and moved away. Clifton noticed the change, and said tohimself that she was thinking of the mortgage, and of "those avariciousHolts. "

"Your grandfather did not go to meeting, either, " said Ben, anxious toset himself right in Katie's eyes. "We saw him turning the corner as wewent down to the river. "

"Grandfather!" repeated Katie. "I wonder why?"

"I suppose it was because Jacob was going to read the sermon, " said Ben, reddening, and looking at his cousin. 

Katie reddened too and turned to go. 

"Grandfather must be home, then, Davie; it's time to go in, " and Katelooked grave and troubled. 

"Davie, " repeated she, "it's time to come home. "

Davie followed her a step or two, and they heard him saying:

"There's no hurry, Katie; if my grandfather didna go to the kirk, he'llbe holding a meeting all by himself in Pine-tree Hollow, and he'll notbe at the house this while, and I want to speak to Ben. "

"Davie, " said his sister, "mind it's the Sabbath-day. "

The chances were against his minding it very long. It was a good whilebefore he followed his sister to the house, and he brought the Holtswith him to share their dinners of bread and milk. 

"We're all going to the meeting together, grannie, " said he, "and Kate, "he added in a whisper, "Clif Holt has promised to lend me the book thatthe master gave you a sight of the other day, and I am to keep it aslong as I like; and he's not so proud as you would think from his fineclothes and his fine manners; but he couldna tell me theseven-and-twentieth, more shame to him, and him at the college. "

"He thinks much of himself, " said Katie, "for all that. "

The little Flemings and their mother and the two Holts went to the Scottschool-house, as had been proposed, and the house was left to MrsFleming as a general thing. This "remarkable old lady, " as the Gershompeople had got into the way of calling her to strangers, greatly enjoyedthe rare hours of rest and quiet that came at long intervals in her busylife, but she did not enjoy them to-day. Her Bible lay open upon thetable, and "Fourfold State" and her "Solitude Sweetened" were withinreach of her hand, but she could not settle to read either of them. Shewandered from the door to the gate and back again in a restless, anxiousway, that made her indignant with herself at last. 

"As gin he wasna to be trusted out of my sight an hour past the settime, " said she, going into the house and sitting resolutely down withher book in her hand. "And it is not only to him, but to his master, that my anxious thoughts are doing dishonour, as though I had reallyanything to fear. But he was unco' downhearted when he went away. "

She looked a very remarkable old lady as she sat there, still and firm. She was straight as an arrow, small and slender, wrinkled indeed, butwith nothing of the weazened, sunken look which is apt to fall on smallwomen when they grow old. She was a beautiful old woman, with clearbright eyes, and a broad forehead, over which the bands of hair laywhite as snow. 

She had known a deal of trouble in her life, and, for the sake of thoseshe loved, had striven hard to keep her strength and courage through itall, and the straight lines of her firmly-closed lips told of courageand patience still. But a quiver of weakness passed over her face, andover all her frame, as at last a slow, heavy footstep came up to thedoor. She listened a moment, and then rising up, she said cheerfully:

"Is this you, gudeman? You're late, arena you? Well, you're dinner iswaiting you. "

She did not wait for an answer, nor did she look at him closely till shehad put food before him. Then she sat down beside him. He, too, wasremarkable-looking. He had no remains of the pleasant comeliness ofyouth as she had, but there were the same lines of patience and couragein his face. He was closely shaven, with large, marked features anddark, piercing eyes. It was a strong face, good and true, but still itwas a hard face, and it was a true index of his character. He was firmand just always, and almost always he was kind, slow to take offence, and slow to give it; but being offended, he could not forgive. Helooked tired and troubled to-night--a bowed old man. 

"Where are the bairns?" were the first words he uttered, and his facechanged and softened as he spoke. She told him where they had gone, andthat their mother had gone with them. Then she made some talk about thebonny day and the people he had seen at church, speaking quietly andcheerfully till he had finished his meal, and then, having set aside thedishes, she came close to him, and, laying her hand on his arm, saidgently: "David, we are o'er lane in the house. Tell me what it isthat's troubling you. "

He did not answer her immediately. 

"Is it anything new?" she asked. 

"No, no. Nothing new, " said he, turning toward her. At the sight ofher fond wet eyes he broke down. 

"Oh, Katie! my woman, " he groaned, "it's ill with me this day. I haecome to a strait bit o' the way and I canna win through. `Forgive, andye shall be forgiven, ' the Book says, and this day I feel that I havenaforgiven. "

Instead of answering, she bent over him till his grey head lay on hershoulder and rested there. He was silent for a little. 

"When I saw him younder to-day, smooth and smiling, standing so wellwith his fellow-men, my heart rose up against him; I daredna bide, lestI should cry out in the kirk before them all and call God's justice inquestion--God that lets Jacob Holt go about in His sunshine, with allmen's good word on him, when our lad's light went out in darkness solong ago. Is it just, Katie? Call ye it right and just?"

She did not answer a word, but soothed him with hand and voice as shemight have soothed a child. She had done it many times before duringthe forty years that she had been his wife, but she had never, even inthe time of their sorest troubles, seen him so moved. She sat downquietly beside him and patiently waited. 

"Has anything happened, or is anything threatening that I dinna ken of?"asked she after a little. 

"No, nothing new has happened. But I am growing an old failed man, Katie, and no' able to stand up against my ain fears. "

"Ay, we are growing old and failed; our day is near over, and so are ourfears. Why should we fear? Jacob Holt canna move the foundations ofthe earth. And even though he could, we needna fear, for `God is ourrefuge and strength. '"

He was leaning back with closed eyes, tired and fainthearted, and he didnot answer. 

"There's no fear for the bairns, " she went on, cheerfully. "They aregood bairns. There are few that hae the sense and discretion of ourKatie, and her mother's no' without judgment, though she is but afeckless body as to health, and has been a heavy handful to us. They'llbe taken care of. The Lord is ay kind. "

And so she went on, gentle soothing alternating with more gentlechiding, all the time keeping away from the sore place in his heart, notdaring for his sake and for her own to touch it till this rare moment ofweakness should be past. 

"You are wearied, and no wonder, with the heat and your long fast; liedown on your bed and rest till it be time to catechise the bairns--though I'm no' for Sabbath sleeping as an ordinary thing. Will you no'lie down? Well, you might step over as far as the pasture-bars and seeif all is right with old Kelso and her foal, for here come the bairnsand their mother, and there will be no peace with them till they gettheir supper, and your head will be none the better for their noise. "

And so she got him away, going with him a few steps up the field. Sheturned in time to meet the troop of children who, in a state of subduedmirthfulness suitable to the day and their proximity to theirgrandfather, were drawing near. She had a gentle word of caution orchiding to each, and then she said softly to Katie:

"You'll go up the brae with your grandfather and help him if there isanything wrong with old Kelso. And cheer him up, my lassie. Tell himabout the meeting, and the Sunday-school; say anything you think of tohearten him. You ken well how to do it. "

"But, grannie, " said Katie, startled, "there is nothing wrong, isthere?"

"Wrong, " repeated her grandmother. "Ken you anything wrong, lassie, that you go white like that?"

The brave old woman grew white herself as she asked, but she stoodbetween Katie and the rest, that none might see. 

"I ken nothing, grannie, only grandfather didna bide to the meetingto-day, Ben told me. "

"Didna bide to the meeting? Where went he, then? He has only just comehome. "

"It was because of Jacob Holt, " Ben said. 

"But Katie, my woman, you had no call surely to speak about the like ofthat to Ben Holt?"

"I didna, grannie. I just heard him and came away. And, grannie, Ithink maybe grandfather was at Pine-tree Hollow. It would be for awhile's peace, you ken, as the bairns were at home. "

"Pine-tree Hollow! Well, and why not?" said grannie, too loyal to theold man to let Katie see that she was startled by her words. "It hasbeen for a while's peace, as you say. And now you'll run up the braeafter him, and take no heed, but wile him from his vexing thoughts, likea good bairn as you are. "

"And there's nothing wrong, grannie?" said Katie, wistfully. 

"Nothing more than usual; nothing the Lord doesna ken o', my bairn. Runaway and speak to him, and be blithe and douce, and he'll forget histrouble with your hand in his. "

Katie's voice was like a bird's as she called: "Grandfather, grandfather, bide for me. "

The old man turned and waited for her. 

"Doesna your grandmother need you, nor your mother, and can you come upthe brae with that braw gown on?"

Katie smiled and took his hand. 

"My gown will wash, and I'll take care, and grannie gave me leave tocome. "

And so the two went slowly up the hill, saying little, but content withthe silence. When they came back again Mrs Fleming, who was waitingfor them at the door, felt her burden lightened, for her first glance ather husband's face told her he was comforted. 

"My bonny Katie, gentle and wise, a bairn with the sense of a woman, "said she to herself, but she did not let her tenderness overflow. "Wehave gotten the milking over without you, Katie, my woman. And nowhaste you and take your supper, for it is time for the bairns' catechismand we mustna keep your grandfather waiting. "

That night when Ben Holt went home he found the house dark andapparently forsaken. Miss Betsey sat rocking in her chair in solitudeand darkness, and she rocked on, taking no notice when Ben came in. 

"Have you got a sick headache, Aunt Betsey?" said Ben after a little; hedid not ask for information, but for the sake of saying something tobreak the ominous silence. He knew well Aunt Betsey always had a sickheadache and was troubled when he had been doing wrong. 

"I shall get over it, I expect, as I have before; talking won't helpit. "

Ben considered the matter a little. "I don't know that, " said he, "itdepends some on what there is to say, and you don't need to have sickheadache this time, for I haven't been doing anything that you wouldthink bad. "

Miss Betsey laughed unpleasantly. 

"What has that to do with it?"

"Well, I haven't been doing anything bad, anyhow. "

"Only just breaking Sunday in the face and eyes of all Gershom. You arenot a child to be punished now. Go to bed. "

"I don't know about breaking Sunday; I didn't any more than old MrFleming. He didn't care about going to Jacob's meeting, and no more didClif and me. We went along a piece, and then we went to the Scottschool-house to meeting. It was a first-rate meeting. "

"What about Mr Fleming; has he and Jacob been having trouble?" askedMiss Betsey, forgetting in her curiosity her controversy with Ben. 

"Nothing new, I don't suppose. And Clif, he says that he don't believebut what Jacob'll do the right thing, and he says he'll see to ithimself. "

"There, that'll do, " interrupted Miss Betsey. "If Clifton Holt was totell you that white was black you'd believe him. "

"I'd consider it, " said Ben, gravely. 

"If you want any supper it's in the cupboard, " said Miss Betsey, rising, "I've had supper and dinner too, up to Mr Fleming's, and we went tomeeting at the Scott school-house. It wasn't Clif's fault this time, Aunt Betsey, and we haven't done anything very bad either. And Clif, he's going to be awful steady, I expect, and stick to his books morethan a little, and he sent his respects to you, Aunt Betsey, and hesays--"

"There, that'll do. Go to bed if you don't want to drive me crazy. "

"I'll go to bed right off if you'll come and take away my candle, AuntBetsey. No, I don't want a candle; but if you'll come in and tuck me upas you used to, for I haven't been doing anything this time, nor Clifeither. Will you, Aunt Betsey?"

"Well, hurry up, then, " said Aunt Betsey, with a break in her voice, "for this day has been long enough for two, and I'm thankful it's done, "and then she added to herself:

"I sha'n't worry about him if I can help it. But it is so much morenatural for boys to go wrong than to go right, that I can't help it byspells. After all I've seen, it isn't strange either. "

"Ben, " said she, when she took his candle in a little while, "youmustn't think you haven't done wrong because the day turned out betterthan it might have done. It only happened so. It was Sabbath-breakingall the same to leave meeting and go up the river. There, I aint goingto begin again. But wrong is wrong, and sin is sin whichever way itends. "

"That's so, " said Ben, penitently. 

"And there is only one way for sin to end, however it may look at thebeginning, and it won't help you to have Clif fall into the samecondemnation. There, good-night. "

"I don't know about that last, " said Ben to himself. "It would seemkind o' good to have Clif round 'most anywhere. But he's going to workstraight this time, I expect, and I guess he'll have all the betterchance to walk straight too. "

CHAPTER FIVE. 

THE MINISTER. 

The event of the summer to the people of Gershom was the coming of thenew minister. It is not to be supposed that with a population of a goodmany hundreds there was uniformity of opinion in religious matters inthe town. To say nothing of the North Gore people, the people ofGershom generally believed in the right of private judgment, andexercised it to such purpose that, within the limits of the township, atleast a half dozen denominations were represented. The greater numberof these, however, had not had much success in establishing their ownpeculiar form of worship, except for a little while at a time, and thegreater part of the people were at this time more or less closelyidentified with the village corporation. So that it is scarcely anexaggeration to say, that all Gershom was moved to welcome the ReverendWilliam Maxwell among them. 

Never, except perhaps in their most confidential whispers amongthemselves, did the wise men of Gershom confess that they weredisappointed in their minister. They had not expected perfection, orthey said they had not, but each and every one of them had expected someone very different from the silent, sallow, heavy-eyed young man whomJacob Holt, at whose home he was for the present to live, introduced tothem. 

Something had been said of the getting up of a monster tea-meeting towelcome him, but uncertainty in the time of his coming, because ofillness, had prevented this, and as soon as he was seen there was asilent, but general decision among those in authority that this wouldnot have been a successful measure. So he was conducted from house tohouse by Jacob Holt, or some other of the responsible people, and he waspraised to his flock, and his flock were praised to him, but there wasnot much progress made toward acquaintance for a while, and even theleast observing of them could see that there were times when contactwith strangers, to say nothing of the necessity of making himselfagreeable to them, was almost more than the poor young man could bear. 

Still, nobody confessed to disappointment. On the contrary, Jacob Holtand the rest of the leaders of public opinion declared constantly thathe was "the right man in the right place. " Of Scottish parentage, brought up from his boyhood in Canada, and having received histheological education in the United States, if he were not the man tounite the various contending national elements in Gershom society, wherewas such a man to be found?

No man could have every gift, it was said, and whatever Mr Maxwellmight seem to lack as to social qualities, he was a preacher. Allagreed that his sermons were wonderful. It was the elaborately prepareddiscourses of his seminary days, that the young man moved by a vague, but awful dread of breaking down, gave to his people first. It was wellthat the learned professor's opinion of them and of their author hadcome to Gershom before him. There could be no doubt as to the sermonsafter that testimony, so it was no uncertain sound that went forth abouthis first pulpit efforts. 

They were clear, they were logical, they were profound. Above all, theywere pronounced by the orthodox North Gore people to be "sound. " It istrue he read them, but even that did not spoil them; and it was adecided proof that these people were sincere in their admiration, and inearnest in their desire for union and "the healing of breaches" thatthis was the case. In old times, that is, in the time of old Mr Grant, and old Mr Sangster, to be a "proper minister" was in their opinion tobe a "dumb dog that could not bark, " and such a one had ever been anobject of compassion, not to say of contempt among them. But MrMaxwell's sermons were worth reading, they said, and they waited. Andso the first months were got safely over. 

Safely, but, alas! not happily, for the young minister; scarcelyrecovered from severe illness, weak in body and desponding in mind, hehad no power to accommodate himself to the circumstances toward whichall the preparation and discipline of his life had been tending. Over atime of sickness and suffering he looked back to days of congenialoccupation and companionship, with a regret so painful that the futureseemed to grow aimless and hopeless in its presence. As men struggle indreams with unseen enemies, so he struggled with the sense of unfitnessfor the work he had so joyfully chosen, and for which he had soearnestly prepared, with the fear that he had mistaken his calling, andthat he might dishonour, by the imperfect fulfillment of his duty, theMaster that he loved. 

He despised himself for the weakness which made it a positive pain forhim to come in contact with strangers with whom he had no power to makefriends. He began to regard the hopes that had sustained him during thetime of preparation, the pleasure he had taken in such remnants of otherpeople's work in the way of preaching as had fallen to him as a student;and the encouragement which had been given to him as to his gifts andtalents, as so many temptations of Satan. It was this sense ofunfitness for his work that made him fall back at first on the sermonsof his student days, and which made the pulpit services, praised by hishearers, seem to him like a mockery. It was a miserable time to him. He distrusted himself utterly, and at all points; which would not havebeen so bad a thing if he had not also distrusted his Master. 

But such a state of things could not continue long. It must becomeeither worse or better, and better it was to be. As Mr Maxwell'shealth improved, he became less despondent, and more capable of enjoyingsociety. Clifton Holt was at home again, but no one, not even MissElizabeth, could have anticipated that he would be almost the first onein Gershom to put the minister for the moment at his ease. 

Clifton had gone back to his college examinations at the appointed time;and had so far retrieved his character for steadiness and scholarship, that he was permitted to start fair another year, the last in hiscollege course. He was now at home for the regular vacation, and wasproving the sincerity and strength of his good resolutions to hissister's satisfaction, by remaining in Gershom, and contenting himselfwith the moderate enjoyments of such pleasures as village society, andthe neighbouring woods and streams afforded. 

Miss Elizabeth had seconded Jacob's rather awkward attempts to bring herbrother and the young minister together, taking a vague comfort in theidea that the intercourse must do Clifton good. But as a general thingClifton kept aloof a little more decidedly than she thought either kindor polite, so that it was a surprise to her, as well as a pleasure, whenone night they came in together; and they had not been long in thehouse, before she saw that whether the minister was to do her brothergood or not, her brother had already done good to the minister. Theywere dripping wet from a summer shower, that had overtaken them; but MrMaxwell looked a good deal more like other people, Miss Elizabeththought, than ever she had seen him look before. 

"Mr Maxwell was in despair at the thought of venturing with muddy bootsinto Mrs Jacob's `spick and span' house, so I brought him here, " saidClifton. "We have been down at the Black Pool, and I have been taking alesson in fly-fishing. We have earned our tea, and we are ready forit. "

"And you shall have it. But I thought we were to--well, never mind. Goup-stairs and make yourselves comfortable, and tea will be ready whenyou come down. "

"No one knows how to do things quite so well as Lizzie, " said Clifton tohimself, when they came down to find the tea-table laid, not in thegreat chilly dining-room, but in the smaller sitting-room, on the hearthof which a bright wood-fire was burning. The old squire had beenexamining their fish, and listened with almost boyish interest to hisson's description of their sport. In the effort he made to entertainthe old gentleman Mr Maxwell looked still more like other people, andClifton's coat, which he wore, helped to the same effect. 

"I stumbled over him lying on his face in Finlay's grove, " said Cliftonto his sister. "He would have run away, if I had not been too much forhim. We borrowed Joe Finlay's rod, and he went fishing with me. It isa great deal better for him than being stunned by women's talk at MrsJacob's. "

"Yes, the sewing-circle!" said Elizabeth, "What will Mrs Jacob say?Did he forget it? Of course he was expected home. "

"He said nothing about it, nor did I. Jacob asked me to go over in theevening. Why are you not there?"

"I have been there all the afternoon. I came home to make father's tea. I told Mrs Jacob I would go back. I am afraid Mr Maxwell's cominghere to-night will offend her. "

"Of course, but what if it does?"

"And do you like him? Does he improve on acquaintance?"

"He turns out to be flesh and blood, not a skin stuffed with logic, andthe odds and ends of other people's theological opinions. He is adyspeptic being, homesick and desponding, but he is a man. And lookhere, Lizzie; if you really want to do a good work, you must take him inhand, and not let Mrs Jacob, and the deacons, and all the rest of themsit on him. "

"How am I to help it, if such be their pleasure?"

"I have helped it to-night. Don't say a word about the sewing-circle, lest his conscience should take alarm. I hope I shall see Mrs Jacob'sface when she hears that he has spent the evening here. "

"I don't care for Mrs Jacob, but I am afraid the people may bedisappointed. " For in Gershom the ladies met week by week in eachother's houses to sew for the benefit of some good cause, and theirhusbands and brothers came to tea in the evening, and there was to be amore than usually large gathering on this occasion, Elizabeth knew. "However, I am not responsible, " thought she. 

So she said nothing, and her father in a little while said ratherquerulously, that he hoped she was not going out again. 

"Not if you want me, father. It will not matter much, I suppose. "

"You will not be missed, " said her brother. 

Mr Maxwell did not seem to think it was a matter with which he hadanything to do. He made no movement to go away when tea was over, andElizabeth put away all thought of the disappointment of the peopleassembled, and of her sister-in-law's displeasure, and enjoyed theevening. Mr Maxwell seemed to enjoy it too, though he did not saymuch. Clifton kept himself within bounds, and was amusing without beingsevere or disagreeable in his descriptions of some of the villagecustoms and characters, and though he said some things to the ministerthat made his sister a little anxious and uncomfortable for the moment, she could see that their interest in each other increased as the eveningwore on. 

It came out in the course of the conversation that Mr Maxwell had madethe acquaintance of Ben Holt in his rambles, but he had never been atthe Hill-farm, and had very vague ideas as to the Hill Holts or theircircumstances, or as to their relationship to the Holts of the village. Clifton professed to be very much surprised. 

"Has not Mrs Jacob introduced you to Cousin Betsey? Has she not toldyou how many excellent qualities Cousin Betsey has? Only just a littleset in her ways, " said Clifton, imitating so exactly Mrs Jacob's voiceand manner, that no one could help laughing. 

"Cousin Betsey is rather set in her ways, and not always agreeable inher manners to Mrs Jacob, " said Elizabeth. "But you are not to makeMr Maxwell suppose that there is any disagreement between them. "

"By no means. They are the best of friends when they keep apart, andthey don't meet often. Mrs Jacob has company when the sewing-circle isto meet at the Hill, and when it meets at Mrs Jacob's, Betsey has agreat soap-making to keep her at home, or a sick headache, or something. To tell the truth, Cousin Betsey does not care a great deal about anyof her village relations, except the squire. But she is a good soul, and a pillar in the church, though she says less about it than somepeople. I'll drive you over to the farm some day. Cousin Betsey willput you through your catechism, I can tell you, if she happens to be ina good humour. "

Mr Maxwell laughed. "I have had some experience of that sort of thingalready, " said he. "But I fear it has not been a satisfactory affair toany one concerned. "

"Cousin Betsey will manage better, " said Clifton. 

They went to the Hill at the time appointed, and the visit, and someothers that they made, were so far successful that the minister tookreal pleasure in them, and that was more than could be said of any visithe had made before. Miss Betsey did not put him through his catechismin Clifton's presence; that ceremony was reserved for a future occasion. She was rather stiff and formal in her reception of them, but shethawed out and consented to be pleased and interested before the afternoon was over. She smiled and assented with sufficient graciousnesswhen Clifton not only bespoke Ben's company, on an expedition with gunand rod, which he and Mr Maxwell were going to make further down theriver, but he invited himself and the minister to tea on their way home. 

"For you know, Cousin Betsey, that Ben and I won't be very likely to getinto mischief in the minister's company, and you can't object to ourgoing this time. "

"If anybody doesn't object to the minister's going in your company. That is the thing to be considered, I should say, " said Cousin Betsey, smiling grimly. 

"Oh, cousin! do you mean that going fishing with me will compromise theminister? No wonder that you are afraid to trust me with Ben. But Isay that a day in the woods with Ben and me will do Mr Maxwell moregood than two or three tea-meetings or sewing-circles. Only you have agood supper ready for us, and I will bring him home hungry as a hunter. "

"Which hasn't happened very often to him of late, if one may judge fromhis looks, " said Miss Betsey. 

"No, he ought to be living here at the Hill. It would suit him betterthan Jacob's. And when are you coming to see us? Lizzie wanted to comewith us to-day, but she was afraid you wouldn't be glad to see her. Younever come to our house, and she mustn't do all the visiting. And, besides, you don't ask her. "

"It aint likely that she'll be so hard up for something to amuse her, that she'll want to fall back on a visit to the Hill. But if she shouldbe, she can come along over, and try how it would seem to visit withmother and Cynthy and me. She'll always find some of us here. "

"All right. I'll tell her you asked her, and she'll be sure to come. "

The success of this visit encouraged Clifton to try more in theminister's company. For a reason that it was not difficult tounderstand, Jacob in his rounds had not taken him to visit at MrFleming's, nor had any one else, and Clifton, remembering his own visitthere, took the introduction of Mr Maxwell at Ythan Brae into his ownhands, and Elizabeth went with him. They sailed up the river, and wentthrough the woods as he and Ben had done. It was a lovely autumn day, but there were few tokens of decay in the woods and fields through whichthey took their way, and they lingered in the sweet air with a pleasurethat made them unconscious of the flight of time, and the afternoon wasfar spent before they sat down to rest on the rocky knoll where Cliftonin Ben's company had renewed his acquaintance with the Fleming children. The remembrance of the time and the scene came back so vividly, that hecould not help telling his companions about it. Elizabeth's faceclouded as he repeated Katie's words about "those avaricious Holts"which had brought him to a sense of the indiscretion he was committingin listening. 

"The Flemings are hard upon Jacob. Mr Maxwell might have been morefortunate in his escort, " said she. 

"Nonsense, Lizzie! Mrs Fleming is far too sensible to confound us withJacob; and, Lizzie, you used to be a pet of hers. "

"Yes, " said Elizabeth, "long ago. "

And as they lingered, she went on to tell them about the Flemings, andtheir opinions and manner of life, and about the troubles which hadfallen on them. She grew earnest as she went on, telling about poorHugh whom everybody had loved so well, whom she herself remembered asthe handsomest, gentlest, and best of all those who had frequented theirhouse, when her brothel Jacob was young and she was a child; and in herearnestness she said some things that surprised her brother as helistened. 

"My father and Mr Fleming were always friendly, and sometimes I wentwith my father to their house. I did not often see Mr Fleming, but Iremember his coming into the room one day, when I was sitting on a lowstool, holding the first baby of his son's family in my lap. She was alovely little creature, little Katie, just beginning to coo, and murmur, and smile at me with her bonny blue eyes, and I suppose the child, andmy pride and delight in her, must have been a pretty sight to see, forthe grandfather sat down beside us, and smiled as he looked andlistened, and made some happy, foolish talk with us both. My father wasvery much surprised, he told me afterward; and in a little while, when Iwent into another room, I found Mrs Fleming crying, with her apron overher face. But they were happy tears, for she smiled when she saw us, and clasped and kissed baby and me, with many sweet Scottish words ofendearment to us both. It was the first time she had seen her husbandsmile since their troubles, she said. The dark cloud was lifting, andwee Katie's smile would bring sunshine again. I was a favourite withher a long time after that, but we have fallen out of acquaintance oflate. "

"Which is a great mistake on your part, " said her brother. 

"Yes; I hope she will be glad to see us. She will be glad to see you, Mr Maxwell. "

"She will be glad to see us all, " said Clifton. 

CHAPTER SIX. 

A VISIT TO YTHAN BRAE. 

It was a great deal later in the afternoon than it ought to have beenfor the first visit of the minister, and the chances were he would havebeen told so in any other house in the parish. But Mrs Flemingwelcomed him warmly, and all the more warmly, she intimated, that hecame in such good company. The lateness of the hour made thisdifference in the order of events: they had their tea first, and theirvisit afterward; a very good arrangement, for their tramp through thefields and woods had made them hungry, and Mrs Fleming's oat-cakes andhoney were delicious. There were plenty of other good things on thetable, but the honey and oat-cakes were the characteristic part of themeal, never omitted in Mrs Fleming's preparations for visitors. Shehad not forgotten the old Scottish fashion of pressing the good thingsupon her guests, but there was not much of this needed now, and shelooked on with much enjoyment. 

"Will you go ben the house, or bide still where you are?" asked she, when tea was over and they still lingered. "Ben the house"--in theparlour there were tall candles burning, and other arrangements made, but no one seemed inclined to move. The large kitchen in which theywere sitting was, at this time of the year, the pleasantest place in thehouse. Later the cooking-stove, which in summer stood in the outerkitchen would be brought in, and the great fire-place would be shut up, but to-night there was a fire of logs on the wide hearth. It flickeredand sparkled, and lighted up the dark face of old Mr Fleming, and thefair face of Miss Elizabeth, as they sat on opposite sides of thehearth, and made shadows in the corners where the shy little Flemingshad gathered. It lighted, too, the beautiful old face of thegrandmother as she sat in her white cap and kerchief, with folded hands, making, to the minister's pleased eye, a fair picture of the homelyscene. 

And so they sat still. Katie and her mother moved about quietly for awhile, removing the tea-things and doing what was to be done about thehouse. When all this was over, and they sat down with the rest, Clifton, and even Elizabeth, awaited with a certain curiosity andinterest the discussion of some important matter of opinion or doctrinebetween the old people and the minister, as was the way during theminister's visits to most of the old Scotch houses of the place. ButMrs Fleming had changed, and the times had changed, since the days whenold Mr Hollister and his friend went about to discuss the question of aunion with the good folks of North Gore, and the household had changedalso. The children sitting there so quiet, yet so observant, came infor a share of the minister's notice, and when their grandmotherproposed that they should arrange themselves before him in the order oftheir ages to be catechised by him, he entered into the spirit of theoccasion as nobody in Gershom had seen him enter into anything yet. Heknew all about it. He had been catechised in his youth in the orthodoxmanner of his country, and he acquitted himself well. From "What is thechief end of man?" until one after another of the children stopped, andeven Katie hesitated, he went with shut book. It was very creditable tohim in Mrs Fleming's opinion, quite as satisfactory as a formaldiscussion would have been in assuring her of the nature and extent ofhis doctrinal knowledge, and the soundness of his views generally. 

"He'll win through, " said she to herself; "he has been dazed with bookstill he has fallen out of acquaintance with his fellow-creatures, andhe'll need to ken mair about them before he can do much good in hiswork. But he'll learn, there is no fear. "

The minister had other questions to ask at "the bairns" that had neverbeen written in any catechism, and he had new things to tell them, andold things to tell them in a new way, and, as she looked and listened, Mrs Fleming nodded to her husband and said to herself again, "He'll winthrough. "

"Bairns, " said she impressively, "you see the good of learning yourBible and your catechism when you are young; take an example from theminister. "

And with this the bairns were dismissed from their position; for therest of the evening till bedtime it was expected that they were "to beseen and not heard, " as was the way with bairns when their grandmotherwas young. The two eldest, Katie and Davie, were put forward a little, in a quiet way, and encouraged to display their book-learning to theirvisitors. But Katie was shy and uncomfortable, and did not do herselfas much credit as usual. Her grandfather put her forward as a littlegirl, and the visitors treated her as a grown woman, and she did notlike it, and at last took refuge with her knitting at her grandfather'sside, and left the field to Davie. 

As for Davie, he was shy too, but in some things he was bold to a degreethat filled Katie with astonishment. He held his own opinion aboutvarious things against the minister, who, to be sure, "was only justtrying him. " And he and young Mr Holt wrangled together over theiropinions and questions good-humouredly enough, but still very much inearnest. Young Mr Holt was the better of the two as to the subjectsunder discussion, but he was not so well up as he thought he was, or ashe ought to have been, considering his advantages, and Davie knew enoughto detect his errors, though not enough to correct them. The minister, appealed to by both, would not interfere, but listened smiling. MrFleming sat silent, as his manner was, sometimes smiling, but oftenerlooking grave. 

"Softly, Davie. Take heed to your words, my laddie, " said hisgrandmother now and then, and Elizabeth listened well pleased to see herbrother, about whom she was sometimes anxious and afraid, taking evidentpleasure in it all. 

By and by the Book was brought, and Mr Fleming, as head and priest ofthe household, solemnly asked God's blessing on the Word they were toread, before he gave it to the minister to conduct the evening worship. It chanced that the chapter read was the one from which Mr Maxwell'sSunday text had been taken; and in the pause that followed theunwilling, but unresisting departure of the little ones to bed, Cliftonsaid so. Then he added that he wished Mrs Fleming had been there tohear the sermon, as he would have liked to hear her opinion as to someof the sentiments given in it by the minister. It was said with thehope of drawing the old lady into one of the discussions of which theyhad heard, Elizabeth knew, but it did not succeed. 

"I heard the sermon, and had no fault to find with it; had you?" saidMrs Fleming. 

"Fault! No. One would hardly like to find fault with it before theminister, " said Clifton, laughing. "I am not very well up in theologymyself, but it struck me that the sermon was not just in the style ofold Mr Hollister's. "

"I doubt you werena in the way of taking much heed of Mr Hollister'ssermons, and you can ask Mr Maxwell the meaning of his words if you arenot satisfied. What was lacking in the sermon the years will supply tothose that are to follow it. It was written at the bidding of thedoctors o' divinity at the college, was it not?"

"Yes, " said Mr Maxwell with some hesitation, "it was written for them. "

"Oh! they would surely be pleased with it. It was sound and sensibleand conclusive; that is, you said in it what you set out to say, andthat doesna ay happen in sermons. You'll put more heart in yourministrations when you have been a while among us, I hope. "

There was a few minutes' silence. 

"There is a grave charge implied in your words, Mrs Fleming, and I feara true one, " said the minister. 

"I meant none, " said Mrs Fleming earnestly. "As for your sermon, whatcould you expect? It was all the work of your head, your heart hadlittle part in it. It was the doctors of divinity, and the lads, yourfellow-students--ilka ane o' them waiting to get a hit at you--that youhad in your mind when you were writing it, and no' the like of us poorfolk, who are needing to be guided and warned and fed. But it is agrand thing to have a clear head, and to be able to put things in theright way, and, according to the established rules: yon was a finediscourse; though you seemed to take little pleasure in it yourself, sir, I thought, as you went on. "

Mr Maxwell smiled rather ruefully. "I took little pleasure in itindeed. "

"I saw that. But you have no call to be discouraged. We have thetreasure in earthen vessels, as Paul says himself. But a clear head anda ready tongue are wonderful gifts for the Master's use, when they gowith a heart that He has made His dwelling. Have patience withyourself. If you are the willing servant of your Master, His word isgiven for your success in His work. It is Him you are to look to, andnot to yourself. "

"Ay! there is comfort in that. "

"It must be a great change for you coming to a place like this from thecompanionship of wise men, living and dead, and you are but young andlikely to feel it. But you'll come to yourself when the strangenesswears off. Your work lies at your hand, and plenty of it. You'll havethraward folk to counter you, and folk kind and foolish to praise youand your words and works, whatever they may be. A few will give youwholesome counsel, and a smaller few wholesome silence, and you musttake them as they come, and carry them one and all to His feet, andthere's no fear of you. "

The minister said nothing. Clifton looked curiously at his grave faceover his sister's shoulder. 

"Wholesome silence! It's not much of that he is likely to get inGershom, " said he. 

"But, " said Mrs Fleming earnestly, "you are not to put on a grave facelike that, or I shall think your visit hasna done you good, and thatwould grieve me. You have no call to look doubtfully before you. Youhave the very grandest of work laid ready to your hand, and you have thewill to do it, and I daresay you are no just that ill prepared for it. At least you are prepared to learn in God's school that He has put youin. And you have His promise that you cannot fail. It is wonderful tothink of. "

"Who is sufficient for these things?" said the minister gravely. 

"Him that God sends He makes sufficient, " said Mrs Fleming, cheerfully. "Put your trust in Him, and take good care of yourself, and above all, I would have you to beware of Mrs Jacob Holt's Yankee pies and cakesand hot bread, for they would be just the ruination of you, health andtemper, and all. But you needna say I told you. "

Elizabeth and Clifton laughed heartily at the anticlimax. Mr Maxwelllaughed too, and hung his head, remembering Mrs Jacob's dainties, whichhe had not yet been able to do justice to. Mrs Fleming might haveenlarged on the subject if time allowed, but they had a long walk beforethem. 

"I hope you'll no be such a stranger now that you have found your wayback again, " said Mrs Fleming, as Elizabeth was putting on her shawl. "I mind the old days, and you have ay been kind to my Katie, who isgrowing a woman now, and more in need of kindness and counsel thanever, " added she, looking wistfully from the one to the other. Foranswer, Elizabeth turned and kissed Katie, and then touched with herlips the brown wrinkled hand of the grandmother. 

"God bless you and keep you, and give you the desire of your heart, "said Mrs Fleming, "if it be the best thing for you, " she added, movedby a prudent after-thought, which came to her to-night more quickly thansuch thoughts were apt to come to her. "I'm no feared for you or Katie. Why should I be? You are both in good keeping. And if you are nodealt with to your pleasure, you will be to your profit, and that is thechief thing. "

They had a pleasant walk through the dewy fields in the moonlight, andmuch to say to one another, but they had fallen into silence before theypaused at the gate to say "good-night. "

"I suppose on the whole our visit may be considered a success, " saidClifton as they lingered. 

"Altogether a success, " said Elizabeth. 

"I am glad I went in your company, " said the minister. 

"Thank you, " said Elizabeth. 

"Your are welcome, " said her brother, and then he added, laughing, "Ihope all the rest of the world will be as well pleased. "

This was to be doubted. Mrs Jacob was by no means pleased for one. She had said nothing to Elizabeth on the occasion when Mr Maxwell hadstayed away from the sewing-circle, but Elizabeth knew that her silencedid not imply either forgetfulness or forgiveness. She could wait longfor an opportunity to speak, and could then put much into a few wordsfor the hearing of the offender. It was a renewal of the offence thatthe minister should have been taken to the hill-farm by Clifton, andthen to Ythan Brae by him and his sister, though why she could not haveeasily explained. Whatever Clifton did was apt to take the form of anindiscretion in her eyes, but neither her sharp words nor her soft wordswere heeded by him, and she rarely wasted them upon him. But it wasdifferent where his sister was concerned. She had turns now and then oftaking upon herself the responsibility of Elizabeth, as of a young girlto whom she stood as the nearest female relation, and she knew how tohurt her when she tried. Elizabeth rarely resented openly her littlethrusts, but all the same, she unconsciously armed herself for defencein Mrs Jacob's presence, and an attitude of defence is alwaysuncomfortable where relations who meet often are concerned. 

They had met a good many times, however, before any allusion was made tothe visits which had displeased her. She came one day into Elizabeth'ssitting-room to find Mr Maxwell there in animated discussion withClifton. She hardly recognised him in the new brightness of his face, and the animation of his voice and manner. He was as unlike as possibleto the silent, constrained young man who daily sat at her table, and whoresponded so inadequately to her efforts for his entertainment. Sheliked the minister, and wished to make him happy in her house, and therewas real pain mingled with the unreasonable anger she felt as shewatched him. Her first few minutes were occupied in answering the oldsquire's questions about Jacob and the children. She had startled himfrom his afternoon's sleep, and he was a little querulous and exacting, as was usual at such times. But in a little she said:

"Mr Maxwell had good visits at the Hill, and at Mr Fleming's, he toldus. It is a good thing you thought of going with him, Elizabeth. Youand Cousin Betsey have become reconciled. "

"Reconciled!" repeated Elizabeth; "we have never quarrelled. "

"Oh, of course not. That would not do at all. But you have never beenvery fond of one another, you know. "

"I respect Cousin Betsey entirely, though we do not often see oneanother, " said Elizabeth. "I did not go to the Hill the other day, however. Clifton went with Mr Maxwell, and they enjoyed it, as yousay. "

The squire was a little deaf, and not catching what was said, needed tohave the whole matter explained to him. 

"Betsey is a good woman, " said he; "I respect Betsey. Her mother isn'tmuch of a business woman, and it is well Betsey is spared to her. It'llbe all right about the place; I'll make it all right, and Jacob won't behard on them. "

And so the old man rambled on, till the talk turned to other matters, and Mrs Jacob kept the rest of her remarks for Elizabeth's private ear. 

"I am so glad you like Mr Maxwell, Elizabeth. I was afraid you wouldnot; you are so fastidious, you know, and he seems to have so little tosay for himself. "

"I like him very much, and so does Clifton, " said Elizabeth, waiting formore. 

"I am very glad. He seems to be having a good influence on Clifton. Hehasn't been in any trouble this time, at all, has he? How thankful youmust be. Jacob is pleased. I only hope it may last. "

The discussion of her younger brother's delinquencies, real or supposed, was almost the only thing that irritated Elizabeth beyond her power ofconcealment; and if she had been in her sister-in-law's house, thiswould have been the moment when she would have drawn her visit to aclose. Now she could only keep silence. 

"I hope Clifton may do well next year, " went on Mrs Jacob; "you willmiss him, and so shall we. "

"We must do as well as we can without him. In summer he will be homefor good, I hope. "

"Yes, if he should conclude to settle down steadily to business. Timewill show, and this winter we have Mr Maxwell. It depends some on MissMartha Langden, I suppose, how long we shall have him in our house. Youhave heard all about that, I suppose?" said she, smiling significantly. 

Elizabeth smiled too, but shook her head. 

"I have heard the name, " said she. 

"Well, you must not ask me about her. I only know that she gets a goodmany letters from Gershom about this time. It is not to be spoken ofyet. "

She rose to go, and Elizabeth went with her to the door, and she laughedto herself as she followed her with her eye down the street. She hadheard Miss Martha Langden's name once. It was on the night when MrMaxwell called on his way from the Hill-farm. He had said that he likedMiss Betsey, and that she reminded him of one of his best friends, MissMartha Langden, one who had been his mother's friend when he was achild. 

Miss Elizabeth laughed again as she turned to go into the house, and shemight have laughed all the same, if she had known that the frequentletters to Miss Martha Langden never went without a little note to someone very different from Miss Martha. But she did not know this tilllong after. 

Clifton Holt went back to college again, and Elizabeth prepared for aquiet winter. She knew that, as in other winters, she would be heldresponsible for a certain amount of entertainment to the young people ofthe village in the way of gigantic sewing-circles, and no less giganticevening parties. But these could not fall often to her turn, and theywere not exciting affairs, even when the whole responsibility of themfell on herself, as was the case when her brother was away. So it was avery quiet winter to which she looked forward. 

And because she did not dread the utter quiet, as she had done in formerwinters, and because she was able to dismiss from her thoughts, withvery little consideration of the matter, a tempting invitation to pass amonth or two in the city of Montreal, she fancied she was drawing nearto that period in a woman's life, when she is supposed to be becomingcontent with the existing order of things, when the dreams and hopes, and expectations vague and sweet, which make so large a part in girlishhappiness, give place to graver and more earnest thoughts of life andduty, to a juster estimate of what life has to give, and an acquiescentacceptance of the lot which she has not chosen, but which has come toher in it. It is not very often that so desirable a state of mind andheart comes to girls of four-and-twenty. It certainly had not come toElizabeth. However, it gave her pleasure--and a little pain as well--tothink so, and it was a good while before she found out that she had madea mistake. 

As for Mr Maxwell, he was "coming to himself, " as Mrs Fleming hadpredicted. His health improved, and as he grew familiar with his newcircumstances, the despondency that had weighed him down was dispelled. Before the snow came, he was making visits among the people, without anyone to keep him in countenance. Not regular pastoral visits, but quiteinformal ones, to the farmer in his pasture or wood-lot, or as hefollowed his oxen over the autumn fields. He dropped now and then intothe workshop of Samuel Green, the carpenter, and exchanged a word withJohn McNider as he passed his forge, where he afterward often stopped tohave a talk. The first theological discussion he had in Gershom washeld in Peter Longley's shoe-shop, one morning when he found thatamiable sceptic alone and disposed--as he generally was--for adeclaration of his rather peculiar views of doctrine and practice; andhis first temperance lecture was given to an audience of one, as hedrove in Mark Varney's ox-cart over that poor man's dreary and neglectedfields. 

CHAPTER SEVEN. 

MINISTER AND PEOPLE. 

In Gershom in these primitive days, a deep interest in the affairs oftheir neighbours, private, personal and relative, and a full and freediscussion of the same, implied to the minds of people in general noviolation of any law of morals or expediency. It was a part of theestablished order of things, which had its advantages and disadvantages. Almost everybody had a measure of enjoyment in it, and everybody had tosubmit to it. 

Even those among the people who would have found little to interest themin the comings and goings of their neighbours generally, took part inthe admiring discussion of the comings and goings of the minister. There was a comfortable sense of duty about the matter, a feeling thatthey were manifesting an interest in "the cause, " and "holding up theminister's hands" on such occasions that was agreeable. There was asense of satisfaction in the frequent allusions made to the Sunday'ssermon, in the repetition of the text and "heads, " and in the admiringremarks and comparisons which usually accompanied this, as if it werereligious conversation that was being carried on and enjoyed. Thepleasing delusion extended to the old people's endless talks aboutsubscription-lists, and ways and means of support and to the youngpeople's plans and preparations for a great fair to be held for thepurpose of obtaining funds for the future furnishing and adorning of theparsonage. So it was a happy era in the history of the congregation andthe village. Everybody was interested, almost everybody was pleased. 

If Mr Maxwell had heard half the kind and admiring things that weresaid of him, or if he had known a tenth part of what he was expected toaccomplish by his sermons, his example, his influence, he would havebeen filled with confusion and dismay. But happily "a wholesomesilence" with regard to these things was at first for the most partpreserved toward him, and he took his way among his people unembarrassedby any over-anxious effort to meet expectations too highly raised. 

To tell the truth, he was getting a good deal more credit than hedeserved just at this time. His devotion to his work, his labours "inseason and out of season, " his zeal and energy, and kindness in the wayof visiting and becoming acquainted with the people, were due less to aconscious desire to do them good, or to serve his Master, than to agrowing pleasure in friendly contact with his fellow-creatures. He wasentering on a new and wonderful branch of study, the study of livingmen, and he entered upon it with earnestness and delight. 

Hitherto his most intimate acquaintance had been with men, the greaternumber of whom had been dead for hundreds of years. His living friendshad, for the most part, been men of one type, men of more or lessintelligence, educated on the same plan, holding the same opinions--menof whose views on most subjects he might have been sure without a wordfrom them. His intercourse with the greater number of them had beenformal and conventional; upon very few had he ever had any special claimfor sympathy or interest. 

All this was different now. The interest of the Gershom people was realand evident, and he had a right to it; and he owed to them, for hisMaster's sake, both love and service. They were real men he had to dealwith, not mere embodiments of certain views and opinions. They were menwith feelings and prejudices; they were men who, like himself, sinnedand suffered, and were afraid. They had opinions also, on mostsubjects, firmly held and decidedly expressed. Indeed, some of them hada way of putting things which was a positive refreshment and stimulus tohim. It had, for the moment, the effect of genius and originality, andin the first pleasure of contact, he was inclined to give to some of hisnew friends a higher place intellectually than he gave them afterward. Happily, he kept his opinions of men and things very much to himself inthese first days, and scandalised no one by declaring Peter Longley tobe a genius, or John McNider to be a hero, or by taking the part of poorMark Varney, as one more sinned against than sinning. 

He owed his reputation for wisdom in these first months quite as much tohis silence as to his speech. His own superficial knowledge of men andthings got easily from books, seemed to him--as indeed it was--a poorthing in comparison with the wisdom which some of these quiet, unpretending men had almost unconsciously been gathering through theexperience of years. But it did not seem so to them. When he didspeak, he could, through the discipline of education and training, putinto clear right words the thoughts which they found it not easy toutter, and they gave him credit for the thought as his, when often hewas only giving back to them what he had received. And he listenedwell, and he chose his subjects judiciously when he did talk. It wasiron with the blacksmith, and wood with the carpenter, and seeds andsoils and the rotation of crops with the farmer, and without at allmeaning to exalt himself thereby, he would put the reading of someleisure hour into a few well-chosen words, which seemed like treasuresof wisdom to men who had gathered their knowledge by the slow process ofhearsay and observation; and what with one thing, and what with another, the minister grew in favour with them all. 

That there had ever been a latent sense of disappointment in the mindsof any great number of the people on his first appearance among themwould have been indignantly denied. Possibly, in the varied course ofevents, some in the parish might have their eyes opened to see failingsand faults in him, but in the meantime there existed in the congregationa wonderful unanimity of feeling with regard to him. 

"The cause was prospering in their midst, " that was the usual formula bywhich was expressed the satisfaction of the staid and elderly peopleamong them. It meant different things to different people: that thechurch was well filled; that the weekly meetings were well attended;that the subscription-list looked well; that the North Gore folks weredrawing in generally, and identifying themselves with the congregation. 

This last sign of prosperity was the one most generally seen andrejoiced over. There had all along been a difference of opinion amongthe wise men of the church as to the manner in which the desired unionwas to be brought about. The bolder spirits, and the new-comers, whodid not remember the well-meant, but futile attempts of Mr Hollisterand Deacon Turner in that direction, were of opinion that formalprospects for union should be made to the North Gore men; that mattersof doctrine and discipline should be discussed either publicly orprivately as might be decided, and that in some way the outsiders shouldbe made to commit themselves to a general movement in the direction ofunion. But the more prudent and easy-going of the flock sawdifficulties in the way. It was not impossible, the prudent peoplesaid, that in the course of discussion new elements of disagreementmight manifest themselves, and that the committing might be to the wrongside. The easy-going souls among them were of opinion that it was best"just to let things kind o' happen along easy"--saying that after awhile the sensible people of the North Gore would "realise theirprivileges" and avail themselves of the advantages which churchfellowship offered to true Christians, and all agreed, before a yearwere over, that Mr Maxwell's influence and teaching would help to bringabout all that was so much desired. 

And as time went on, one thing worked with another toward the desiredend. In the course of the winter, several of those who were looked uponas leaders among the North Gore people, both for intelligence and piety, cast in their lot with the village people by uniting formally with thechurch. A good many more became constant hearers without doing so; somehesitating for one reason, and some for another. Among these were theFlemings, whose reason for keeping aloof was supposed to be Jacob Holt, though no one had a right to speak by their authority, of the matter. 

Of course Mr Maxwell had been made acquainted with the peculiarcircumstances of the place, and he rejoiced with the rest at suchevidences of success in his work as the gathering in of the North Goreimplied, but no one had ever told him of any serious difficulty existingbetween old Mr Fleming and Jacob Holt. It was Squire Holt who firstspoke to him about it, and the winter was nearly over before that time. 

The squire in one of his retrospective moods went over "the wholestory, " speaking very kindly of the young lad who had gone astray, andof his brother who had died. He spoke kindly, too, of the old man, withwhom he had always been on the most friendly terms, but he did nothesitate to say that he thought him foolish and unreasonable in theposition he took toward Jacob. 

"It was because of something that happened when his son Hugh went away, but Jacob was no more to blame than others; and it might have been allright if the foolish young man had only stayed at home and taken therisk. I tried at the time to talk things over with the old man, but henever would hear a word. There are folks in Gershom who think hard ofJacob, because of old Mr Fleming's opinion, though they did not know aword about the matter. And I'm afraid it's going to do mischief in thechurch. "

"It is strange that I should never have heard of all this before, " saidMr Maxwell, at a loss to decide how much of the regret and anxietyevidently felt by Mr Holt was due to the weakness of age. "During allmy visits to Mr Fleming, and you know I saw him frequently during hisillness, not a word was ever spoken that could have reference to anytrouble between the two, nor has your son--"

Mr Maxwell paused. He was not so sure of the exact correctness of whathe had been about to say. A good many hints and remarks of Jacob, andof his wife also, which had seemed vague at the time, and which he hadallowed to pass without remark, occurred to him now as possibly havingreference to this trouble. 

"Probably there has been misunderstanding between them, " said he after alittle. 

"Just so, " said the old man eagerly. "Jacob aint the man to be hard onanybody--to say hard; he likes to have what is his own, and being a goodman of business he hates shiftless doings, and so shiftless folks thinkand say hard things of him. But as to taking the advantage of an oldman like Mr Fleming--why, it would be about as mean a thing as a mancould do, and Jacob aint the man to do it, whatever may be said of him. 

"Why, look here, Mr Maxwell. Just let me tell you all about it. " Andthe old man, with perfect fairness and sufficient clearness, went intoall particulars as to the state of Mr Fleming's affairs at the time ofhis son's death, and of Jacob's claims upon him. His real respect andfriendship for the old man was evident in all he said, and when helamented that his old friend's unreasonableness should make a settlementof his affairs so difficult, and should make unpleasant talk and hardfeelings in the community, Mr Maxwell could not but spare his regret. 

"Why, look here, Mr Maxwell. There hasn't been a cent paid on theprincipal yet, and not all the interest, though it is years ago now, andsome of that has been borrowed money. And there is little prospect ofits being any different for years to come. If it had been almost anyone else but Jacob, he'd have foreclosed long ago, and I don't know buthe had better when the right time comes. "

It was on Mr Maxwell's lips to express assent to this, when a glance atthe face of Miss Elizabeth arrested his words. It wore a look which hehad sometimes seen on it when she wished to turn her father's thoughtsaway from a subject which was becoming painful to him. There wasanxiety, even pain in her face as well, on this occasion, and thesedeepened as her father went on. 

"Only the other day Jacob was talking to me about it. `Father, ' sayshe, `why can't you just say a word to the old man about letting me havea piece of his land on the river, and settle matters all up. He'll hearyou, ' says he. `I don't want to make hard feelings in the church, oranywhere else, ' says he. `It's as much for the old man's interest tohave his affairs all straightened out, as it is for me, and more. Thereneed be no trouble about it, if he'd only listen to reason. ' I expect Ishall have to have a talk with Mr Fleming about it some time, " addedthe old man gravely. "Or you might speak, Mr Maxwell. He would listento you. "

"Only, father, it would be as well to wait till the old gentleman isquite well and strong again, " said Elizabeth, rising and folding up herwork, and moving about as if to prevent the chance of more talk. 

"Well, I guess so, and then I don't suppose it would amount to muchanything I could say to him. I wouldn't like to say anything to vex orworry him. He has had a deal of trouble one way and another, since hecame to the place, and it has kind of soured him, but he is always assweet as milk to me. You aren't going away, are you, Mr Maxwell?There, I have tired you all out with my talk, and I've tired myself too. But don't you hurry away. I'll go and step round a little to get thefresh air, and then I'll lie down a spell, and rest. And, Lizzie, youfind `The Puritan' for Mr Maxwell, and he can take a look at that inthe meantime. "

Elizabeth did as she was bidden, and managed to make the ministerunderstand, without saying so, that she would like him not to go away. So he sat down to the doubtful enjoyment of the paper while Elizabethfollowed her father from the room. 

CHAPTER EIGHT. 

TAKING COUNSEL. 

It was one of those soft, bright days of early March that might beguilea new-comer to the country into a temporary belief that spring had comeat last, and Elizabeth, tying her "cloud" over her head, followed herfather out into the yard. To take a walk just for the sake of the walkwas not likely to suit old Mr Holt, or to do him much good. But he andElizabeth went about here and there, in the yard and up and down thewell-swept walk from the gate to the door, where the snow lay still oneither side as high as the squire's shoulder, and Elizabeth talked tohim about the great wood-pile, and praised the industry and energy ofNathan Pell, the hired man, and of his team, Dick and Doll, that weremaking it longer every day. She spoke of the great drifts that must becleared away before the thaw came, of the bough which last night's windhad brought down from the elm in the corner, of the broken bit of fencebeyond the gate, of anything to lead his thoughts away from the themewhich for the last hour had occupied and excited him. 

She succeeded so well, that he went away by himself, to get a hammer andnails to mend the broken paling, and Elizabeth, leaning over the littlewhite gate while she waited for him to return, had an unexpectedpleasure--a little chat with Mrs Jacob. It was not the chat which gaveher the pleasure, it was her own thought that amused her, and theknowledge of her sister-in-law's thoughts as well. 

She knew that though Mrs Jacob declined to come in now at herinvitation, she had come up the street with the full design of doing so, and she knew that she was saying to herself that Mr Maxwell could notbe in the house, though Jacob had seen him going that way, or Lizziewould never be standing so long at the gate, looking down the street. 

"I am waiting for father, " said Elizabeth; "he has gone in for thehammer to drive some nails in the fence. I suppose Nathan must havedriven against it last night in the dark. " She was hoping that MrMaxwell was enjoying "The Puritan" so well that he would not be temptedto look out of the window so as to be seen. 

"Here is father; he will be glad to see you; it is a long time since youwere here. Won't you change your mind and come in?"

"Well, no, not to-day. I am going in to see Miss Ball a minute about mybonnet, and I ought to hurry home. "

Mrs Jacob knew that she would have to answer many questions about Jacoband the children. Probably the squire had seen them all to-day already, and would see them all again before the day was over. 

"I think I'll go, and not hinder him about the fence, since he doesn'tknow I am here. Why don't you come up sometimes? Well, good-bye; Iguess I'll go. "

"Good-bye, " said Elizabeth. "And now when she finds out that MrMaxwell was here all the time, though I was standing at the gate, shewill make herself and Jacob, too, believe that I am a deceitful girl;though why I should tell her, since she did not ask, I do not quitesee. "

She took the nail-box from her father's hand and followed him out of thegate, giving him each nail as he wanted it, making suggestions andpraising his work as one might do with a child. It was soon finished tothe old man's satisfaction, and by that time his excitement and histroubled thoughts were gone, and he was ready for his afternoon's rest. 

"You have something to say to me, Miss Holt, " said the minister, whenshe came again into the sitting-room. 

"No--I am not sure that I have, though a little ago I thought I had. "

"But, Miss Holt, I am almost sure you must have something to say, " saidMr Maxwell, after a pause. "I have sometimes found that I have got aclearer view of vexed questions in village politics, and even in churchmatters, where there are no vexations as yet, after a little talk withyou, than after many and long talks with other people. "

Elizabeth laughed. 

"Thank you. The reason is, that all the rest are on one side or theother of all vexed questions, and not being specially concerned in them, at least not personally concerned in them, I can see all sides: andusually there is little to see that might not as well be ignored. "

"Well, does not that hold good in this case also?"

"But in this case I may be supposed to take a side. "

The minister smiled. 

"But not so as to prevent you from seeing clearly all sides. You arenot going to tire of the task of keeping me right in village matters?"

Even when the sunshine is bright above the March air is keen and cold, and so Elizabeth, chilled with lingering so long at the gate, leanedtoward the open fire, shading her face with her hand. She was silentfor some time, thinking of several things. 

"At least tell me that in this case, also, there is little to see, or Ishall begin to fear that your father may be right when he says there maybe danger of trouble arising out of this matter to us all. "

"No. There need be no trouble, if people would only not talk, " saidElizabeth, raising her head and turning so as to look at the minister. "I will tell you what I was thinking about before I went out; I wassorry that my father had spoken to you about Mr Fleming's affairs, orthat he should have suggested the idea of your speaking to the old manabout them; I wanted you not to promise to speak--I mean I do not thinkit would do any good were you to do so. "

"Well, I did not promise. "

"No; and I think my father may forget that he has spoken to you aboutit; he forgets many things now. And if you would forget all about ittoo, it would be all the better. "

"I will be silent, and that will answer every purpose of forgetfulness, or ignorance, will it not?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "Not quite; and since I have said so much, Iought to say a little more. I can see all sides of this matter withsufficient clearness to be aware that trouble to a good many people, orat least discomfort and annoyance, might easily spring out of it. As tothe church, I am not sure. But if everybody would keep silence, thereneed be no trouble. And to tell the truth, Mr Maxwell, I was notthinking of Mr Fleming or of Jacob, or of what my father was tellingyon, except in its relation to you. It is a pity that you should havebeen told any of those old grievances. "

Elizabeth rose and took the brush from its hook, and swept up the ashesand embers that had fallen upon the hearth. Then she seated herself inher own low chair by the window, and took up her work, but laid it downagain, and folded her hands on her lap. 

Mr Maxwell smiled. "I see I am not expected to stay much longer. Butreally, Miss Holt, I don't quite see `the pity' of it. Why am I not toknow all that is going on as well as the rest? Besides, if your fatherhad not told me, some one else would have done so. "

"True. "

"And I might in such a case have committed myself to the doing or sayingof something foolish at a first hearing, as I should have done to-daybut that your face made me pause. "

"Did it?" said Elizabeth, demurely. 

"And if silence is the thing to be desired, I shall be all the morelikely to keep silence to others, if you give me the right and trueversion of troubles past, and of troubles possible in the future, withregard to this matter. Will you take up your work again, and tell meall? Or shall I come another time, Miss Elizabeth?"

But Miss Elizabeth had little to add to the story which her father hadtold. Jacob was hard, she supposed, just as business men were obligedto be hard sometimes. But then Mr Fleming was not to be regarded justas another man in the same position might be regarded--especially he wasnot to be so regarded by her brother Jacob. In the sore troubles thathad come into the old man's life. Jacob had had a part. What partElizabeth did not know she did not even know the nature of the trouble, but she knew, though she had only learned it lately, that the very sightof her brother was like wormwood to Mr Fleming; that even Mrs Fleming, friendly and sweet to all the world, was cold and distant to Jacob. Andall this seemed to Elizabeth a sufficient reason why he should be moregentle and forbearing with them than with others, that he should bewilling to forego his just claims rather than to lay himself open to thecharge of wishing or even seeming to be "hard on them. "

"For what is a little land, more or less, to Jacob, who has so much?And why should he wish to take even a small part of what old Mr Fleminghas worked so hard to improve--has put his life into, as one may say?"

"But does he want to take it? Have you ever spoken to your brotherabout this?"

"He is supposed to want it for the site of the new buildings to be putup for the manufacturing company--if it ever comes into existence. Buthe does not want it without a sufficient allowance to the old man forit. Only, I suppose, the debt would cover it all. But I have neverspoken about it to Jacob. It is not easy to speak to him about businessunless he wishes, " said Elizabeth, hesitating. "But Clifton, who isquite inclined to be hard on Jacob, laughs at the idea of his doingunjustly or even severely by Mr Fleming. "

"At least he has done nothing yet, it seems. "

"No, Clifton says that Mr Fleming's dislike of Jacob has become a sortof mania with him, and that he would not yield to him even if it werefor his own advantage--he has brooded over his trouble so long and sosadly, poor old man!"

"That is quite possible, " said Mr Maxwell, gravely. "And you think Ishould not speak to him about his trouble?"

"Not about his trouble with Jacob. Indeed, it is said that he will notspeak of it, nor hear of it. It would do no good. And then he likesyou so much, Mr Maxwell, and comes to church as he did not always do, and seems to take such pleasure in hearing you. It would be a pity torisk disturbing these pleasant relations between you with so small achance of any good being done by it. And besides, " Elizabeth made along pause before she added: "besides, if trouble is before us becauseof this, and if it should come to taking sides, as almost always happensin the vexing questions of Gershom life, it would be far better that youshould know nothing about the matter--that at least you should not haveseemed to commit yourself to any decided opinion with regard to it. Icannot bear to think that your comfort and usefulness may be endangeredthrough the affairs of those who should be your chief supports. Notthat I think this likely to happen, " added Elizabeth, colouring with thefear of having spoken too earnestly; "I daresay, after all, I am `makingmountains of mole-hills. '"

Mr Maxwell rose and took his hat. 

"Well, to sum up, " said he. 

"Oh, to sum up! I believe the whole of what I wanted to say was this, that I don't want you to be vexed or troubled about it, " said Elizabeth, rising also. 

"It is kind in you to say so. "

"Yes, kind to ourselves. And I daresay I may have given you a wrongimpression about the matter after all, and that it looks more serious toyou than it needs do. I had much better have kept silent, as I wouldhave other people do. "

"Don't say that, Miss Elizabeth. What should I do without you to set meright, and to keep me right about so many matters? Be anything butsilent, my friend. "

There was a good deal more said about Mr Fleming's affairs, and aboutother affairs, though Mr Maxwell stood all the time with his hat in hishand. But enough has been told to give an idea of the way in whichthese young people talked to each other. Mr Maxwell never went fromthe house without congratulating himself on the friendship of Miss Holt. How much good she always did him! What a blessing it was for him thatthere was one person in his congregation to whom he might speakunreservedly, and who had sense and judgment to see and say just whatwas best for him to do or to refrain from doing. 

This was putting it rather strongly. Elizabeth was far from assumingsuch a position in relation to the minister. But she had sense andjudgment, and frankness and simplicity of manner, and no doubt she foundit pleasant to be listened to, and deferred to, as Mr Maxwell was inthe habit of doing. And she knew she could help him, and that she hadhelped him, many a time. He was inexperienced, to say nothing more, andshe gave him many a hint with regard to some of the doubtful measuresand crooked natures in Gershom society, which prevented some stumbles, and guided him safely past some difficult places on his first entranceinto it. But she had done more and better than that for him though sheherself hardly knew it. 

Squire Holt's house was a pleasant house to visit, and during the firsthomesick and miserable days of his stay in Gershom, when he would gladlyhave turned his back on his vocation and his duties, the bright andcheerful welcome there that Elizabeth gave him on that first night whenClifton took him home with him, and ever after that night, was like astrengthening cordial to one who needed it surely. Miss Elizabeth wasseveral years younger than he, but she felt a great deal older and wiserin some respects than the student whose experience of life had been solimited and so different, and so it came to pass that, at the veryfirst, she had fallen into the way of advising him, and even ofexpostulating with him on small occasions, and he had not resented it, but had been grateful for it, and at last rather liked it. He hadbrightened under her influence, and now the thought of her wasassociated with all the agreeable and hopeful circumstances of his newlife and work. 

He said to himself often, and he wrote to his friend Miss MarthaLangden, that the friendship of Miss Elizabeth Holt was one of his besthelps in the faithful performance of his pastoral duties, and thatexcellent and venerable lady at once assigned to Mr Maxwell's friendthe same place in his regard, and in his parish generally, that sheherself had occupied in the regard of several successive pastors, and inher native parish for forty years at least. It never occurred to MissLangden, and it certainly never occurred to Mr Maxwell, that thisfriendship could be in any danger of interfering with the wishes andplans of former years. That it might affect in any way his futurerelations with the pretty and amiable young person whom Miss Langden waseducating to be his wife, and the model for all the ministers' wives ofthe generation, never came into the mind of either. Miss Elizabeth wasa true and useful friend, and the satisfaction that this afforded himwas not to his consciousness incompatible with a happy and justappreciation of his good fortune in having a claim on the affection ofMiss Langden's niece. 

Elizabeth did not know at this time of the existence of Miss Langden'sniece. If she had known it, it is not at all likely that she would haveallowed such knowledge to interfere with the friendly relations intowhich she had fallen with the minister. She would have liked him nonethe less had she known of his tacit engagement to that young lady, andwould have manifested her friendliness none the less, but rather themore because of it. And, on the whole, it was a pity that she did notknow it. 

CHAPTER NINE. 

MASTER AND PUPILS. 

At Ythan Brae the winter opened sadly. The grandfather had an illnesswhich kept both Davie and Katie at home from the school for a while; andwhat was worse, when he grew better he would fain have kept them at homestill. This would have been a serious matter to Davie, and he vexedKatie and his grandmother by suggesting possible and painfulconsequences all round should his grandfather persist. For the lad hadbeen seized with a great hunger for knowledge. He desired it partly forits own sake, but partly also because he had heard many a time andimplicitly believed that "knowledge is power, " which is true in acertain sense, but not in the sense or to the extent that it seemed trueto Davie. His grandfather was afraid of the boy's eager craving, and ofwhat might come of it, and would far rather have seen him content, ashis father had been, to plod through the winter, busy with theoccupations which the season brought, than so eager to get away to MrBurnet and his books. The grandfather had his sorrowful reasons forwishing to keep the lad in the quiet and safe paths which his father hadtrod. The grandmother knew how it was with him, and Katie and Davieguessed something of what his reasons might be. "And, bairns, " saidtheir grandmother, "ye are no to doubt that your grandfather is right, though he doesna see as ye do in this matter. For knowledge is whiles asnare and a curse; and a true heart, and an honest life, and a will todo your duty in the place in which your Maker has putten you are betterthan a' the uncanny wisdom that men gather from books, whether youbelieve it or not, Davie, my man. I canna say that I have any specialfear for you myself, but one can never ken. And your grandfather, hecanna forget; it's no' his nature. There was once one like you, Davielad, that lost himself through ill-doing folk, and--I canna speak aboutit--and what must it be to him?"

"But, grannie, " said Davie after a little, "it's different. Nobody willfollow after me because I am so handsome and clever and kindly. Andfolk say it needna have been so bad with him, if my grandfather hadnabeen hard on him. "

"Whisht, laddie, " said his grandmother, with a gasp. Katie looked athim with beseeching eyes, and Davie hung his head. 

"Davie, my laddie, have patience, " said his grandmother in a little;"what is a year or two out of a young life like yours compared withgiving a sore heart to an old man like your grandfather? He has hadsore trouble to thole in his lifetime, some that you can guess, and somethat you will never ken, and his heart is just set on Katie and you. "

"But, grannie, there's no fear of me. I'll have no time for illcompany. I'm no to be an idle gowk like Clifton Holt, to throw away mychances. And here's Katie ay to take care of me and keep me out ofmischief. "

"My lad, speak no ill of your neighbours. You'll need all the sense youhave before you get far through the world. And you'll need grace andwisdom from above, as well, whether your work lie in high places withthe great men of the earth, or just sowing and reaping in Ythan Brae. And as for Katie and her care of you, there's many a true word spoken injest, and you maun be a good laddie, Davie. "

It was all settled with fewer words than the grandmother feared would beneeded, and a happy winter began to the brother and sister. They wereyoung and strong and hopeful. No serious trouble was pressing on themor theirs. Just to be alive in such circumstances is happiness, only itis a kind of happiness that is seldom realised while the time is goingon. When it is looked back upon over years of pain or care, it is seenclearly and valued truely, and sometimes--oh, how bitterly regretted. 

They had their troubles. There was the mortgage about which theyfancied they were anxious and afraid. They were just enough anxiousabout it to find in it an endless theme for planning andcastle-building--a motive for the wonderful things they were toaccomplish in the way of making money for their grandfather, and as ameans of triumphing over Jacob Holt, whom they were inclined to regardas the villain of their life-story. 

From all the drawbacks common to the old-time schools in this part ofCanada, Gershom High-School had, to some extent, suffered. Therestraints of limited means, the value of the labour even of children ona new farm, the frequent change of teachers, the endless variety oftext-books, the vexing elements of national prejudice and religiousdifferences, had told on its efficiency and success. Yet it had been apower for good in Gershom and in all the country round. From theearliest settlement of the place the leading men had taken pains toencourage and support it. Its teachers had generally been collegestudents from the neighbouring States, who taught one year to get moneyto carry them through the next, or graduates who were willing to pass ayear or two in teaching between their college course and their choice orpursuit of a profession. Among them had come, now and then, a youth ofrare gifts, one, not only strong to govern and skilled to teach, but whokindled in the minds of the pupils an eager desire for self-improvement, an enthusiasm of mental activity which outlasted his term of office, andwhich influenced for good a far greater number than those whom hetaught, or with whom he came personally in contact. 

Mr Burnet, Davie's teacher, was not one of these. His college days hadlong been over, before he crossed the sea. He had been unfortunate inmany ways, but most of all in this, that he had been brought up toconsider wise and right that which became sin and misery to him, becauseof the strength of his appetite and the weakness of his will. And sowoeful days came to him and his, and he was sent over the sea, as somany another has been sent, to be out of sight. But on this side of thesea, too, woeful days awaited him, and after many a to and fro, he wasstranded, an utter wreck as it seemed, on the village of Gershom. Hiswife was dead by this time, and his two forlorn little daughters hadbeen sent home in rags to their mother's sister, and there was novisible reason why the wretched man should not die also, except, as hesaid to them who tried to help him, that, after all, his soul might havea chance to be saved. 

He did not die; he lived a free man, and when the time came for Davieand Katie to go back to die school, he had been its teacher for morethan a year. Not so good a teacher in some respects as two or three ofthe orderly, methodical college lads, who were still remembered withaffection in Gershom; but in other respects he surpassed any of them--all of them together. It was said of him that he had forgotten morethan all the rest of Gershom ever knew; and that he had a tongue thatwould wile the very birds from the trees. He was an eloquent man, andhe had not only "words, " but he had something to say. From thetreasures of a highly-cultivated mind he brought, for the instruction ofhis pupils, and sometimes for the instruction and delight of largeraudiences, things new and old. As an orator he was greatly admired, asa man he was much esteemed, as a teacher he was regarded with therespect due to his great powers, and with the tolerance which thedefects accompanying them needed. 

He had decided defects as a school-master. His government of his schoolwas imperfect; he took it up by fits and starts, having his stern days, when the falling of a pin might be heard in his domain, and days whenthe boys and girls were mostly left to their own devices; but there wereno idle days among them. No teacher who had ever ruled in theHigh-School could compare with him in the power he had to make the youngpeople care for their books and their school-work, or to present to theclever idle ones among them the most enticing motives to exertion. "Hegot them on, " the fathers and mothers said, and though he made nopretension to being a very good man, and sometimes used sharper wordsthan were pleasant to hear, he loved the truth and hated a lie, andlived an honourable life among them, and all men regarded him withrespect, and most men with affection. 

So, putting all things together, Davie and Katie and the other youngpeople of Gershom had a fair chance of a happy winter, and so it provedto the brother and sister. There were plenty of amusements going on inthe village, but with these they had little to do. Their grandfatherfretted if they were not at home in the evening, and it was noself-denial for them to stay away from all gay village doings--at leastit was none to Davie. Except the master's lectures, and those debatesand spelling-schools in which the reputation and honour of theHigh-School were concerned, he scorned them all. Katie did not scornthem. She would have enjoyed more of them than fell to her share, butyet was willing to agree with her grandmother that more might not begood for her, and was on the whole content without them. 

Very rarely does there come in a lifetime a triumph so unmixed as theboy enjoys who is not only declared first, but shows himself before hiswhole world to be first in the village school. It does not matterwhether he distinguishes himself by the spelling of many-syllabledwords, and the repeating of rules and the multiplication table, or byhis proficiency in higher branches, which are mysteries to the greaterpart of the admiring audience. It is all the same a triumph, pure, unmixed, satisfying. At least it possesses all these qualities in ahigher degree than any future triumph can possibly possess them. 

Such a triumph was Davie's. It was Katie's too in a way, but it wasDavie's chiefly on this occasion, because it was his for the first time. But that did not spoil Katie's pleasure at all. Quite the contrary. Davie's triumph was hers, and she almost forgot to answer when her ownname was called to receive her merited share of the honours, so full wasshe of the thought of what her grandfather would say when she shouldtell him about Davie. 

And Katie had a little triumph all her own. It troubled her for awhile, and did not come to anything after all, but still it was atriumph, and acknowledged to be such by all Gershom. She was chosen outof all the girls who had been Mr Burnet's pupils during the winter, toteach the village school. The village school stood next to theHigh-School, and for Katie Fleming, not yet sixteen, to be chosen ateacher, was a feather in her cap indeed. Her grandfather was greatlypleased and so was Miss Elizabeth. Mrs Fleming, coveting for her goodand clever Katie advantages which in their circumstances she could onlyhope to enjoy through her own exertions, would have been willing tospare her from home, and Miss Elizabeth, who had come to love the girldearly, knew that she could often have her with her, should she be inthe village during the summer. But Katie never kept the village school, nor any school. Her grandfather did not like the idea of it, nor didDavie. Miss Betsey Holt set her face against it from the very first, though why she should interest herself especially in the matter did notclearly appear. The chances were that it would be but a poor schoolthat a child like Katie Fleming would keep, clever scholar though shewas, Miss Betsey said, which was very possibly quite true. But it wason Katie's own account that she did not approve of the place. 

"Not that it would hurt her as it might some girls to `board round' inthe village houses, a week at a time, as she would have to do, and leaveher evenings free to spend with the idle young folks of the place. It, maybe, wouldn't spoil that pretty pot of violets to have the street dustblow on them for an hour or two, but you wouldn't care about having themset out to catch it. And Katie Fleming is better at home making butterfor her grandmother than she would be anywhere else, and happier too, ifshe only knew it. "

Miss Betsey said this to Miss Elizabeth one day when she called, havingsome business with the squire, and she said something like it to thegrandmother, which helped to a decision that Katie was to stay at home. Katie was a little disappointed for the moment, but she acknowledgedthat she might have failed with the school, and that she was much neededat home; and Davie's satisfaction at the decision did much to reconcileher to it. And all the rest were satisfied as well as Davie, forKatie's being at home made a great deal of difference in the house. 

Even Mrs Fleming, with her hopeful nature and her firm trust in God, had times of great anxiety with regard to Davie. He was so like the sonwho had gone so early astray, who had darkened all his father's life, and nearly broken his heart, that she could not but anxiously watch hiswords and his ways, attaching to them sometimes an importance that wasneither wise nor reasonable. His grandfather's discipline was strict, not to say severe, and Davie's resistance, or rather his unwillingsubmission and obedience, for he seldom resisted his grandfather's will, made her afraid. Though she would not have acknowledged it to Davie, she knew that his grandfather was hard on him sometimes, far harderthan, for such faults as Davie's, she herself would have been, and shefeared that unwilling or resentful obedience might in time change torebellion, and beyond such a possibility as that the anxious grandmotherdid not dare to look. 

But it was only once in a great while that she suffered herself tocontemplate the possibility of "anything happening" to Davie. The soretroubles she had passed through had shaken her somewhat, and she wasgrowing old, but her bright and sunny nature generally asserted itself, in spite of the weakness which troubles and old age bring. So when shehad occasion to speak to the old man about Davie, trying to make himmore hopeful concerning him, and more patient with his faults, she coulddo so with a faith in the boy's future which could not fail sometimes toinspire him with the same hopefulness. 

And indeed Davie was not more wilful and wayward than is often the casewith lads of his age, nor was he idle, or inclined to do less than hisjust share of what was to be done. On the contrary, he had great goodsense and perseverance in carrying out any plans of work which suitedhis ideas of how work ought to be done. But unfortunately his planswere not always exactly those of his grandfather. Of course he did nothesitate to acknowledge his grandfather's right to do as he pleased inhis own place, when his grandmother put it to him in that way, and hewas quite as ready to acknowledge that his wisdom as to matters ingeneral, and as to farm-work in particular, was "not to be mentioned inthe same day" with that of his grandfather. But when the work was to bedone, he did not yield readily to suggestions, or even to commands, andhad a way of coming back to the disputed point, and even of carrying it, to a certain extent, which looked to his grandfather like sheerperversity. 

And even when Davie's plans proved themselves to have been worthy ofconsideration, because of the success that attended them now and then, even success seemed a small matter to the stern old man, because of thedisobedience to his commands, or the ignoring of his known wishes whichthe success implied. 

So dear, bright, patient grannie had "her own adoes" between these twowhom she loved so well, and her best hope and comfort in all matterswhich concerned them was Katie. 

For Katie's first thought always was, her grandfather. That he shouldhave nothing to vex him, that his days should be brightened and hiscares lightened, seemed to Katie the chief thing there was to thinkabout. She had learned this from her grandmother, whose first thoughthe had been for many a year and day, and Katie's many pretty ways of"doing good to grandfather" did quite as much good to grannie. 

As to Davie's "fancies, " as she called his many plans and projects, shehad great interest in some of them, and gave him good help in carryingthem out, but she had no sympathy or patience with any sign ofwillfulness, or carelessness where their grandfather was concerned. Butshe loved her brother dearly, and helped him through some difficultieswith others besides her grandfather, and Davie, having confidence in heraffections, submitted to her guidance, and was more influenced by heropinions and wishes than he knew. And though she scolded him heartilysometimes, and set her face against any disobedience or seemingdisrespect to their grandfather, she gave him good help often, and soeagerly entered into all his plans, when she saw her way clearly to theend of them, that he heeded her all the more readily when she differedfrom him and refused her help. 

So Mrs Fleming's dependence on Katie was not misplaced, and shewondered at herself, when she had time to think about it, that sheshould ever have supposed it possible that she could be spared fromhome. 

"But, oh, my dear!" said she one day to Katie's mother, "it's a woefulthing to set up idols, and you must put me in mind, as I must put you, that we're both in danger here. For who among them all is like ourKatie? Not but that she has her faults, " added she, coming back to thebusiness of the moment, as she watched Katie letting her full pail runover, while she enticed the kitten into a race after its tail: "Katie, my woman, you should leave the like of that to wee Nannie; I thinkyou'll need all your time till supper-time. --But faults, did I say? Itis scarcely a fault to be lighthearted, and easily pleased. But oh, Anne, my dear, we have need to take care. "

CHAPTER TEN. 

KATIE'S FRIENDSHIPS. 

The life which healthy, good-tempered, unsophisticated children may liveon a farm has in it more of the elements of true enjoyment than can befound in almost any other kind of life. If poverty or the necessity ofconstant work press too severely upon them, of course the enjoyment isinterfered with, but not even poverty or hard work can spoil italtogether. There are always the sunshine and the sweet air; there arethe freshness and the beauty of the early morning, which not one in tenof the dwellers in town know anything of by experience; the dawn, thesunrise, the glitter of dewdrops, the numberless sweet sounds and scentsthat belong to no other time. Young people with open eyes and quicksympathies find countless sources of interest and enjoyment in thebeautiful growing things of the woods and fields, and in the ceaselesschanges going on among them. Almost unconsciously they gain through allthese a wisdom which is better than book lore, a discipline of heart andmind and temper which tends to soften and elevate the whole nature, leaving them less open to the temptations incident to youth and evilcompanionships. 

They were very happy together, these two fast and true friends, as theynever might have become had they had at this time more frequentintercourse with other young people; and true friendship between brotherand sister is the perfect ideal of friendship. It does not always existeven between brothers and sisters who love each other dearly. It issomething more than the natural affection which strengthens (as childrengrow older) into brotherly and sisterly love. It implies something thatis not always found where the ties of blood and kindred are most warmlycherished, not a blindness to each other's faults or defects ofcharacter, but a full and loving appreciation of all admirable qualitiesboth of mind and heart, a harmony of feeling, sentiments, and tasteswhich does not exist between brothers and sisters generally. 

Day by day Mrs Fleming grew more and more at ease about Davie, seeingthe love between the brother and sister. 

"A year or two and the laddie's restless time will be over, and all thatmakes us anxious about him now, his plans and fancies, his craze forbooks, and his longing to put his hand to the guiding of his ain lifewill be modified by the knowledge that comes with experience. But, ehme! What is the use of speaking o' experience? If only the good Fatherabove would take him in hand! And who shall say that He is not doing iteven now, and making our bonny Katie the instrument of His will for herbrother's good? And, Dawvid, we mustna be hard on the laddie, but justlet him have his fancies about things, and let him carry them out whenthey are harmless, and when they dinna cost ower muckle money, " addedgrannie, with prudent afterthought, for some of Davie's fancies wouldhave cost money if he had been allowed "to go the full length of histether. "

"And after all is said, there is sense in his fancies. It would be agrand thing to have a hundredweight or two of honey, as he says wemight, and never kill the bees. Think of that now! And nothing spenton them, but all the blossom on the trees, and all the flowers of thefield theirs for the taking. And as for the new milk-house, with ice init, and running water, it would be a grand thing. And, as Katie says, it's almost as easy to take care of the milk of ten cows as six, andthere is pasture enough. As to the churning, if it could be done by therunning water, wouldna that be a fine help? And we must just havepatience with him, as the Lord has had with us this many a year andday. "

Mrs Fleming got no answer to all this. She did not expect one. Thiswas the way she took to familiarise the grandfather's mind with plansthat might come to something. The old man's habitual caution waschanging with the passing years into timidity and dread of change; andhis long dwelling on his state of indebtedness, and the subjection tohis "enemy" that it implied, made him afraid of anything that wouldrender it necessary to dispense the smallest sum for any other purposethan the payment of this debt. His son James had let his money go fromhim with a free hand, and though he might have got it back again had helived, his father could not but remember that it was through his plans, through his desire to improve the fortunes of his family, which hadcarried him beyond his means, that this debt, or a part of it, had beenleft upon them. 

As for Davie, what could a lad like him know about such things? Fanciesthat would lead to nothing but waste and want! And yet his wife's wordstold upon him as all her words did sooner or later. 

"Would you like it then, Katie, my woman?" said he, as one night, whenall the work was over, he came on Katie sitting with Nannie and Sandy onthe bank of the burn. Davie was on the other side pacing up and down, measuring out, as they had done together many times before, the site ofthe new milk-house. Many thoughts and words had Davie expended upon it, and so had Katie for that matter. So she rose and walked with hergrandfather along the burnside, out of Davie's hearing, and then sheanswered brightly:

"Ay, that I would, grandfather; not just now, ye ken, but after a while, when it can be done without going into debt. It would be grand. And Icould sell twice as much butter as we make now, if we had it. I likebutter-making. " And so on, touching on more of Davie's fancies than hergrandfather had heard of yet, till they came back to the lad, stillintent on his measurements, with his eyes fixed on a paper on which hewas industriously figuring. 

"The foundation must be of stone, Katie, because of the swelling of theburn in spring and fall, but the stones are at hand, and cost no money. And we might gather them on rainy days, grandfather, not to take timefrom other work; I can make the frame myself, but the foundation must beof stone. "

Katie stood still, surprised and a little frightened. She was not surehow all this might be taken, for though they had made much enjoyment forthemselves out of the new dairy that was to be, and had spoken to"grannie" and their mother about it, this was the first directintimation they had given to their grandfather. He smiled grimly, however; indeed he laughed, which did not often happen with him. 

"A foundation! and stone, too! I didna think you needed foundations toyour fancies, Davie, lad. "

"Well, maybe no' just as long as they are fancies, grandfather, " saidDavie, looking outwardly a little sheepish, but with inward triumph, asKatie knew quite well. For to get his grandfather to listen to him wasa great step. "And now, Katie, I'll just ask grandfather which isright, you or me. Come over here, grandfather, and tell us which youthink the best place for it. Katie thinks this is ower far from thehouse, but I think not. "

The grandfather actually crossed the burn, and went with him, Katiefollowing with a smiling face and joyful heart. They did not decidemuch that night, but ever after the new milk-house was considered asettled thing, and much good they got out of it before either stone orstick was laid down beside the burn. For Davie got on better with hisgrandfather after that, and fifteen-year lad as he was, did a grownman's work from day to day, growing thin upon it for a while, butgrowing tall also, and losing his pretty boyish looks, of which Katieand his mother had been so proud. 

So the summer work was done, and the summer pleasure, which was greaterthan they knew, as the pleasure which comes with busy uneventful daysgenerally is. But it was a happy summer, and must have been so even ifthe drawbacks had been more numerous and harder to bear. 

Katie had one pleasure which her brother could not share, but whichpleased her grandmother well: this was the friendship of Miss Elizabeth. Ever since the night of her first visit with her brother and theminister, Elizabeth had taken pains to renew her intimacy with MrsFleming and Katie, to their mutual satisfaction. On stormy nightsduring the winter, Elizabeth had sometimes sent for Katie to the school, that she might be saved the long cold walk home, and Katie liked to go. During the summer she could not be spared often, but she went now andthen, and their friendship grew apace. 

On Katie's part it was more than friendship. It was like "falling inlove. " She did not say much about it, it was not her way. But shethought of her friend's words and ways, and opinions, and seeing hersuperiority to people in general, Miss Elizabeth became to her the idealof all womanly sweetness and excellence. Miss Elizabeth could not butbe touched and charmed by the affection which was thus rather betrayedthan expressed, and though she was sometimes amused by her devotion, itgreatly pleased her as well. 

"Yours must be such a happy life, Miss Elizabeth, " said Katie one nightwhen she was visiting her friend, and they were sitting together afterMrs Holt had gone to bed. 

Elizabeth smiled and shook her head. "Tell me what my life is like?"

There was a pause, during which Katie considered. 

"You have a quiet life, and you are a comfort to your father, andeverybody loves you. "

"I am afraid there are some people who do not love me much. As to myfather, yes. I shall never be quite a useless person while he needs me. But as to my life being a happy life--"

"You have leisure, " said Katie after a little, "and you take pleasure inso many things--things going on far away, and that happened long ago. And you care for books, and you understand people. And you believe ingreat principles of action, and you are not afraid. I cannot say justwhat I mean. "

"But, Katie, all that is as true of you as it is of me, except perhapsthe leisure. "

"I am only a child almost, " said Katie, with a little rising colour. "But when I am a woman I should like my life to be just like yours. "

There was silence for a minute or two, then Katie went on:

"I once heard Mr Burnet tell my grandfather that you did more by thereal interest you take in everything that is good and right, and by yourbright, unselfish ways, to keep up a healthy, happy state of thingsamong the young people of the place, than even the minister's preaching. That was in old Mr Hollister's time, however, " added the truth-lovingKatie reflectively. 

Miss Elizabeth smiled. "Mr Burnet is partial in his judgment. "

"But you are happy, Miss Elizabeth, " said Katie wistfully. 

"Am I? I ought to be, I suppose; yes, I think so. I am content, andthat is better than happiness, they say. "

This was something that required consideration. 

"`Godliness with contentment is great gain;' that is what Paul said. Perhaps he thought it better than happiness too. "

"And Solomon says, `A contented mind is a continual feast, '" said MissElizabeth, smiling at her face of grave consideration. 

"I wonder what is the difference?" said Katie. "Folk are contentedwithout knowing it, I suppose. I have been contented all my life, andif I had my wish about some things I would be happy. "

"What things?"

"If we had no debt, " said Katie, decidedly. "And if we had a littlemore money, so that we would not need to consider about things so much, and so that Davie could go to school all the year, and perhaps to thecollege, and the rest too, Nannie and Sandy and all. And we should havethe dairy built over the burn, with a store of ice in it, and marbleshelves, like one grandmother saw at Braemar. Well, not marble perhaps. That might be foolish, but we should have everything to make the worklight, and there would be time for other things. My grandfather shouldplant trees, and graft them and prime them and work away at his leisure, not troubling himself as to how it was all to come out at the end of theyear. And my mother should have a low carriage, just like yours, MissElizabeth, and old Kelso should have nothing to do but draw it for herpleasure. And grannie--oh, grannie should wear a soft grey gown everyday of the year, and neck-kerchiefs of the finest lawn, as she used todo--and such sheets and table-cloths as she should have, and she shouldnever need to wet her fingers--only I am not sure that she would be anyhappier for that, " said Katie, pulling herself up suddenly. 

"And what would you have for yourself?" said Miss Elizabeth, wishing tohear more. 

"I should have leisure, " said Katie decidedly, as though she had thoughtit over and made up her mind. "I should have time for fine sewing, andto learn things--not just making lessons of them, and hurrying over themas they do at the school. I should have time to think about them, and Ishould have books and music, and a room like yours. Oh, dear me! Whatis the use of thinking about it, " said Katie, with a sigh. 

"And after all, contentment with things as they are, would answer everypurpose, " said Miss Elizabeth. 

"Yes, but there are some things with which it is impossible to becontented--without wishing to change them, I mean--debt, and sickness, and having too much to do. And there are some things in people's livesthat cannot be changed. "

"And with such things we must just try and content ourselves, " saidElizabeth. 

"Yes. And contentment depends more on ourselves, and less on otherfolk, than happiness does. And so we are safer with just contentment, "said Katie, and in a little she added, "Submission to God's will, thatwould be contentment. "

"That would be happiness, " said Elizabeth, and there was nothing moresaid for a long time. 

They were sitting in Miss Elizabeth's sitting-room, a perfect room toKatie Fleming's mind, and the only light came from the red embers of thewood-fire, now falling low. Miss Elizabeth was leaning back among thecushions of her father's great arm-chair, and Katie sat on a low chairopposite, with a book on her lap. Miss Elizabeth was "seeing things inthe fire, " Katie knew, by the look on her face, wondering what she saw. She looked "like a picture, " sitting there in her pretty dress, with hercheek upon her hand. What a soft white hand it was, with its one brightring sparkling in the firelight! Katie looked at it, and then at herown. Hers was not very large, but it was red and roughened, bearingtraces of her daily work. She held it up and looked at it in thefirelight, not at all knowing why she did it, but with the strangestfeeling of discomfort. It was not the difference of the hands thattroubled her. Somehow she seemed to be looking, not at the two hands, but at the two lives, hers and Miss Elizabeth's. 

For Miss Elizabeth's was a pleasant life, though she had looked gravewhen she said so. She had so many things to enjoy--her music, herreading, her flowers, with only pleasant household duties, and above allshe had leisure. Katie thought of her as she had seen her often, sitting in the church, or in the garden among her flowers, or under thetrees in the village street, looking so fair and sweet, so differentfrom any one else, so very different from Katie herself, and a momentaryoverpowering discontent seized her--discontent with herself, her home, her manner of life, with the constant daily work which seemed to come tonothing but just a bare living. It was the same thing over and overagain, housework and dairy-work, and waking and sleeping, with nothingto show for it all at the year's end. What was the good of it all?

Katie let her book fall on the floor as she put her hands together witha sudden impatient movement, and the sound startled her out of hervexing thoughts. 

"What would grannie say, I wonder, if she knew?" muttered she, as shestooped to pick up the book. She felt her face grow hot, and then shelaughed at her foolishness, and looked up to meet Miss Elizabeth's eye. 

"What is it, Katie? What are you thinking about?"

"I was thinking about--grannie, " said Katie in confusion. 

"Well, what about her?"

"Oh! I don't know. I cannot tell you. Only I shall never be so good awoman as grannie, I'm afraid. "

"But then you have a long time before you. I don't think you need to bediscouraged yet, " said Miss Elizabeth, laughing. 

But Katie was very much ashamed of herself, and did not forgive herselftill she had talked the matter over, first with her grandmother, andthen with Davie. Davie only laughed at her with a little good-naturedcontempt. He did not share his sister's enthusiasm about MissElizabeth, and did not quite approve of the great friendship betweenthem. But as to making a sin of a moment's envy of her friend, and amoment's discontent with her own life--Davie laughed at the idea. 

But her grandmother did not laugh. 

"My dear lassie, it is the way with us all. We are ready to turn ourbest helps into snares to catch our feet. Miss Elizabeth's kindness maydo you much good in many ways, but if it should make you envious, andshould fill you with discontent, that would be sad indeed. And I doubtyou'll need to watch yourself, and maybe punish yourself, by hiding awayfrom her for a while. "

CHAPTER ELEVEN. 

GERSHOM MANUFACTURING COMPANY. 

The possibility and desirableness of advancing the interests of the townof Gershom by the still further "utilising" of the waters of the BeaverRiver for manufacturing purposes, had long been a matter earnestlydiscussed among the people. At various towns within the last five yearsmeasures had been proposed, tending toward the accomplishment of thisobject, but hitherto it had been with little result. 

As a rule, the various industries which now gave prosperity andimportance to the place had grown out of small beginnings. On the spotwhere now stood Cartwright's Carriage Factory, well known through allthe countryside, old Joshua Cartwright had faithfully and laboriouslyspent his days in making tubs and stools, sugar-troughs, and axe-helvesfor the early settlers. The shed where, in those days, Simon Horton hadshod their horses and oxen, had grown in the course of years into theGershom axe-factory, which bade fair to make a rich man of hisdaughter's son. 

But the slow and sure process which had served their fathers in theiradvances toward wealth were not likely to content the men of Gershomnow, and there had been much talk among them about the forming of acompany to be called "The Gershom Manufacturing Company, " the object ofwhich was to be the establishment of new industries in the town. 

Meetings were held, and speeches were made. The "enterprise and publicspirit of certain of our fellow-townsmen" were highly lauded, and awonderful future of prosperity for the town of Gershom and thesurrounding country was foretold as the result of the step about to betaken. The Beaver River was made the subject of long and laudatorydiscussion. Its motive power was calculated and valued, and the longrunning to waste of its waters deplored. A committee was appointed forthe arranging of preliminaries, and that was as far as the matterprogressed at that time. 

Other attempts were made later in the same direction. Some of thempassed beyond preliminary arrangements, and more than once the moresanguine among the promoters of these schemes made sure of a successfulissue, but all had failed when the practical part of the business hadbeen touched. 

The cause of this did not always clearly appear. Once at least it wasattributed by some of the disappointed towns-people to the obstinacy andavarice of Jacob Holt. The old woollen-mill built by Gershom Holt inthe early days of the settlement had served a good purpose in thecountry for a good many years. But it was time now, it was thought, forthe work to be carried on in Gershom on a larger scale. The oldbuilding itself was of little value, and the old-fashioned machinery itcontained was of less, but the site was considered to be the best inGershom for a manufactory of the kind. Jacob Holt professed to be quiteready to dispose of it to the company on reasonable terms; but when itcame to the point, no agreement could be made as to what were reasonableterms, and so the old mill plodded on in the old way for a while, andwithin a year a new mill was built in the neighbouring township ofFosbrooke. There was much indignation expressed with regard to thismatter in Gershom, but Jacob troubled himself little about it. The oldmill had gone the way of most old mills since then; it had caught fireone wintry night and burned to the ground, and the Gershom paper-millhad been built on the site. 

Jacob had not come down in his ideas as to the value he set upon it, buthe had been content to take shares in the building instead of the "cashdown" which he had demanded before. In this way, and in other ways, hecame by and by to be the largest shareholder in the concern, and whenlater, partly through the inefficiency of the person who had charge ofthe business, and partly for other reasons, paper-making began to looklike a losing concern, the value of the shares went down, and in courseof time most of them fell into his hands. So it was "Holt's Paper-mill"now, and there was no other manufacturing company as yet in existence inGershom. The chances were, it was said, that had the first companysucceeded with the woollen-mill it might have fallen into the samehands, and as far as the general property of the town was concerned, itmight as well have been Jacob Holt's hands as others'. But those whohad lost, or who fancied they had lost, by his part in these twotransactions, were watchful and suspicious of his movements when oncemore the wise men of Gershom began to see visions of what might be doneby the combined powers of the Beaver River, the enterprise of thepeople, and the use of a moderate amount of capital to advance theprosperity of their town. 

Their ideas had still advanced with the times. Their plans were notlimited to a woollen-mill now. Machine shops of all sorts, a matchfactory, furniture-shops, even a cotton factory was spoken of. Indeed, there were no limits to the manufacturing possibilities of the place, asfar as talk went. Money was needed, and a good deal of it, and thepeople of Gershom wisely contemplated the propriety of making use ofother people's money in building up the town, and for this purpose itwas desirable that the company should embrace the rich men of othertowns as well. Some of those rich men came in an informal way andlooked about, and admired the Beaver River, and talked and thought agood deal about the scheme. The banks of the river above and below thetown were examined with a view to deciding on the building of a new dam, and Mr Fleming's refusal to sell any part of his land had been inanswer to Jacob Holt's offer on behalf of the prospective company. 

All this had taken place about the time when Mr Maxwell came toGershom, and when he had been there a year no advance had been made inthe way of actual work. 

The greater part of the land on the north side of the river, as far upas Ythan Brae, had always belonged to the Holts. During the past yearthe land of Mark Varney, on the south side, had also fallen into theirhands. For poor Mark's wife died, and any hope that his friends werebeginning to have that he might redeem his character was quite lost forthe time. He sold his place, already heavily burdened with debt, toJacob Holt; his mother became Mr Maxwell's housekeeper in the newparsonage, taking her little grandchild with her, and poor Mark wentaway--none for a while knew whither. 

But the chief thing that concerned the people of Gershom was that JacobHolt had got his land, and the conclusion at once arrived at was that atthe point on the river where his pasture and wood-lot met, the new damwas to be made, and that on his land, and on the land opposite, the newfactories, and the new town that must grow out of them, were to bebuilt. 

"What Jacob ought to do now would be to go right on and make a goodbeginning on his own account. If there is ever going to be anythingdone in Gershom, that is the spot for it, and the company would have tocome to his terms at last. "

So said Gershom folks, wondering that the rich man of the place should"kind o' hang back" when such a chance of money-making seemed to liebefore him. But Jacob knew several things as yet only surmised byGershom folks in general. It was by no means certain after all that theGershom Manufacturing Company would come into existence immediately. And even if it should, the chances were that among its members would bemore than one man who would be little likely to yield himself to thedictation or even to the direction of Jacob Holt, as his townsmen hadfallen into the way of doing where the outlay of capital was concerned. It would be easy to make a beginning, but Jacob looked further than abeginning. 

Gershom was not the only place whose inhabitants cherished the ambitionto become a manufacturing community and there were other rivers besidesthe Beaver running to waste, which might be made available as amanufacturing power. A company, with sufficient amount of stocksubscribed and paid for, might agree to put Fosbrooke, or Fairfax, orCrowsville down as the name, and carry their money, and their influence, and the chance of acquiring wealth to either of their thriving towns;and a beginning in Gershom would amount to very little in such a case. 

And then the river bank on the Varney place was not, in Mr Holt'sopinion, the best place for the new mills and the new village. It wasnot to be compared to the point just below which Bear's Creek, or, asthe Flemings called it, Ythan Brae, flowed into the Beaver, and thisalso belonged to Mr Fleming. Jacob would have liked to make hisbeginning there. He knew, for he had taken advice on the matter, thatat the Varney place no dam of sufficient capacity to answer all thepurposes which were contemplated by the company could be made, withoutat certain seasons of the year so flooding the land above it as torender it useless for any purpose. He might have taken the risk ofprobable lawsuits, and gone on with the work, if it had depended on himalone to decide the matter. But it did not. Or he would have boughtit, but that it belonged to David Fleming, who would listen to noproposal from his "enemy. "

It was not that Mr Fleming was not satisfied with the terms offered. He would listen to no terms. Indeed he refused to discuss the matterwith his neighbours, not only with those who might be suspected ofwishing for one reason or another to convince him of the folly of nottaking advantage of a good offer for his land, but with those whosympathised with him in his dislike to Jacob Holt, who went further thanhe did even, and called the rich man not only avaricious, but worse. Hewould listen to nothing about it, but rose and turned his back on thebold man who ventured to approach the subject in his presence. 

In all this Jacob Holt felt himself to be hardly used. He declared tohimself that he wished to do the right thing by Mr Fleming. He waswilling to give him the full value of every foot of his land, and aboveits value. That the advancement of the interests of the town and thewelfare of the whole community should be interfered with, because of anobstinate old man's whim, seemed to him intolerable; he did not want theland. Let Mr Fleming treat with the company--there was no company asyet, however--and let him pay him his just debt, that was all he askedof him. 

He did not speak often about this to any one--not a man in Gershom buthad more to say about it than he. But he thought about it continually. If it had been any other man in Gershom who had so withstood him, hewould long ago have taken such measures as would have brought him to hissenses. He could do so lawfully, by and by. The law had sustained himin dealing with much harder cases than Mr Fleming's, though it was notaltogether pleasant to remember some of them. But there could be noquestion but that it would be for the interest of the Flemings, old andyoung, were his terms agreed to. No one would have a right to say aword, though he were to carry his point against the old man, and claimwhat was his due. 

All this he said to himself many times, but still he could not do it, atleast he could not bring himself to do it at once. His father, thoughhe acknowledged the unreasonableness of his friend, would yet be grievedat the taking of extreme measures against him; his sister would beindignant, and he was a little afraid of Elizabeth. The church union, which he with all the rest of Gershom had earnestly desired, would beendangered; for he knew by many tokens that some of the North Gore menwere hanging back because of him. Public opinion would not sustain himin any steps taken against so old a man, and one who had seen so muchtrouble since he came among them, and he did not wish to take severemeasures, he told himself many times. It is just possible that theremembrance of the lad who had been his companion and friend, who hadbeen cut off in the flower of his youth, to the never-dying sorrow ofthe old man who opposed him, had something to do with his hesitation inthis matter. But even to himself this was never acknowledged; all hecould do was to wait and see whether some sudden turn of events mightnot serve to bring about his purpose better than severity could do. 

In the meantime, after many thoughts about it, when the few scantyfields on the Varney place were harvested, he did make a beginning. Hebrought old Joe Middlemas to the place, who walked about with all theappliances for surveying it, and for laying it out in building lots. Hehad some trees cut down, and some hillocks levelled, and kept severalmen for a time employed in bringing loads of stone to the river's bank, in a way that looked very much like making a beginning. But the heavyautumn rains put an end to all this for a while, and as yet thereexisted no manufacturing company in Gershom, nor was there any immediateprospect that the hopes of the people with regard to it were likely tobe realised. 

"They're fine at speaking, grannie, " said young Davie, who had beenkeeping his eyes and his ears open to all that was going on in Gershom. "But grandfather and you may be at peace about the dam and the mischiefit might do for a while anyway. It may come in my day, but it winnacome in yours, unless that should happen which is not very likely tohappen, and all the rich men in the country should put their names andtheir money at the disposal of King Jacob. He may measure his land, andgather his sticks and his stones together, but that is all it will cometo, this while at any rate. Though why grandfather should be sounwilling to part with a few acres of poor land to Jacob Holt is morethan I can understand. "

"It is a wonder to me, Davie lad, where you got such a conceit ofyourself. One would think you were in folks' secrets, and spoke withauthority. It will do here at home with Katie and your mother and me, but I am thinking other folk would laugh to hear you. "

But Mrs Fleming was relieved for all that, for Davie was, in heropinion, a lad of sense and discretion for his years, though she did notthink it necessary to tell him so, and she took comfort in the thoughtthat her husband would have a while's peace, as little more could bedone till the spring opened again. 

CHAPTER TWELVE. 

THE TWO COUSINS. 

A great disappointment was preparing for Elizabeth. Her brothercompleted his studies, and brought home his diploma, whether he deservedit or not, and spent a pleasant six weeks at home, "resting from hislabours, " as he said, and then he announced his intention of going toreside in the city of Montreal, to pursue there the study of the law. It had always been taken for granted that when his studies came to anend, he was to go into the business of the Holts, and settle down inGershom. 

"And what good should I do in the business?" said he to his sister;"should I stand behind the counter in the store and sell yards of calicoand pounds of tea? Or should I take the tannery in hand, or thepaper-mill? Or should I go into the new company that Jacob seems sobent on getting up? Now, Lizzie, do be reasonable and tell me what goodI should do in the business. "

"I know that few young men in the country could hope for such a start inlife. It is not necessary that you should sell tea or calico either, except by the hands of those you may employ--though if you were to doit, it would be no discredit to you--and no more than your father didbefore you many a day. "

"Discredit! No, that is not the thing. But I can do something betterfor myself than that; I am going to try at least. "

"If self is your first consideration--But, Clifton, whether you think itor not, you could do much in the business, and you are needed in it. Jacob has more on his hands than he can do well, and even if he had not, it is your affair that the business should prosper as well as his. Allwe have is in it, and what do any of us know as to how our affairsstand? We are altogether in Jacob's hands. "

"Come, now, Lizzie! Let Cousin Betsey and the rest of them run downJacob. It is rather hard on him that his own sister should join them. I believe he is an honest man--as honesty among business men goes. "

"I am not speaking of honesty or dishonesty. But Jacob is not such aman of business as our father was. "

"No, but with his chances, he cannot but be carrying on a prosperousbusiness. Oh, I'll risk Jacob. "

"But, Clifton, all that we have is in the business, and we ought toknow. "

"Why, Lizzie! who ever thought before that you were mercenary andsuspicious, and I don't know what else besides? What has Jacob beendoing to `aggravate' you lately, that you should be down on him?"

"Clifton, you must not dismiss the matter so lightly. I am thinking farmore of you than of myself. You can never do better for yourselfanywhere, and why should you change your plans now, after all theseyears?"

"Have I ever said that I was to stay in Gershom? I don't say that Iwon't come back for good, some time. Gershom does seem to be the placefor a halt but as to going into the business right away, no, I thankyou. "

"I think you are wrong. "

"Nonsense! What do you suppose, now, Jacob would do if I were to bringhim to book, and claim a right to know all about his businesstransactions, and his plans and prospects? It would be a mere farce mymaking believe to go into the business. "

"Possibly you might make it so, but it need not be so. But I cannotthink it wise or right for you to go to Montreal. It is like settingaside the plans of your whole life to leave Gershom. "

"No; you are mistaken. Though I have said nothing about it, I have notthis many a day meant to settle down here. I may ultimately `hang outmy shingle' here, or I may be appointed judge of the district by and by, and then I'll come back and be a bigger man than Jacob, even. "

But Elizabeth could not laugh at his nonsense. She was afraid for herbrother. She had longed for his return home, saying to herself thathome influence and a busy life would be better for him than the carelesslife he had been living as a student; that with responsibility laid uponhim, he would forget his follies, and be all that she longed to see him. 

"Think of our father's disappointment. How can you ever tell him thatyou are going away?"

"While he has you he will be all right, and he will always be lookingforward to the time when I shall come home for good, for I fully intendto settle here by and by. I confess it is hard for you to be keptstationary here, Lizzie. It looks mean in me to go away and leave you, doesn't it?"

"If it were going to be for your good--But, Clifton I don't believe it. "

"I ought to give myself the best chance, ought I not? I must go toMontreal. But, Lizzie, why don't you say at once that I am not to betrusted in the city with its temptations? That is what you are thinkingof. "

Elizabeth did not deny it. She was thinking of it sadly enough. 

"That is one reason against it, " said she. 

"Well, get rid of that fear. I am all right. I should be worse offloafing round here with little to do, and I shall be home often. Now, Lizzie, don't spoil the last days by fretting about what is not to behelped. I'm bound to go. "

And go he did. Elizabeth could only submit in silence. His fathermissed him less than she had feared he might. He was home several timesduring the autumn and winter, and always spoke of the time when he wascoming for good, and his father was content with that. 

Whether her brother Jacob was really disappointed or not at Clifton'sdecision, Elizabeth could not tell. "Jacob had never counted much onany help he would be likely to get from his brother, " Mrs Jacob said. She was quite inclined to make a grievance of his going away, as shewould probably have made a grievance of his staying, if he had stayed. But Jacob said little about it, and everything went on as before. 

Elizabeth had the prospect of a quieter winter than even the last hadbeen. Her father was less able to enjoy the company of his old friendsthan he had been. He grew weary very soon now, and liked better thequiet of the house when only Elizabeth was with him. His active habitsand his interest in the business had long survived any realresponsibility as to the affairs of the farm, but even these werefailing him now. When the weather was bright and fine he usually once aday moved slowly down the village street, where every eye and voicegreeted him respectfully, and every hand was ready to guide his feeblesteps. He paid a daily visit to the store, or the tannery, or thepaper-mill, as he had done for so many years, but it was from habitmerely. He often came wearily home to slumber through the rest of theday. 

He was querulous sometimes and exacting as to his daughter's care, andshe rarely left him for a long time. She looked forward to no socialduties in the way of merry-making for the young folks of the place thisyear. Even Clifton's coming home now and then did not enliven the housein this respect as it had done in former winters. Many a quiet day andlong, silent evening did she pass before the new year came in, and shewould have had more of them had it not been for her Cousin Betsey. 

Once or twice, when her father had suffered from some slight turn ofillness, Elizabeth had sent for her cousin, whose reputation as a nursehad been long established, and Betsey had come at first, at someinconvenience to herself, from a sense of duty. Afterward she camebecause she knew she was welcome, and because she liked to come, and allthe work at home, most of which fell to her willing hands, was soplanned and arranged that she might at a moment's notice leave hermother and her sister Cynthia to their own resources and the willing andeffective help of Ben. After a time, few weeks passed that she did notlook in upon them. 

"He may drop away most any time, mother, " said she, "and she hasn't seentrouble enough yet to be good for much to help him or herself either, ata time like that. "

"And you are so good in sickness. And your uncle Gershom's been a goodfriend to us always, " said her mother. "I'm glad you should be with himwhen you can, and with her too. And trouble may do Lizzie good. "

"Well, it may be. Some folks don't seem to need so much trouble asothers, at least they don't get so much, but Cousin Lizzie isn't goingto be let alone in that respect, I don't think. Well, I guess I'll goalong over, and I'll get back before night if nothing happens, and if Iam not, as it's considerable drifted between here and the corner, Benmight come down after supper and see what is going on. "

"Trouble!" repeated Miss Betsey, as she gathered up the reins and laidthe whip lightly on the back of "old Samson. "

"Trouble is just as folks take it. I have had my own share in my day, or I thought so, " she added, with a sharp little laugh. "I just wonderwhat I should have done now if the Lord had let me have my own way aboutsome things. "

Old Samson moved steadily along, past Joel Bean's, and the bridge, andup the hill that brought Gershom in sight, and then she said aloud: "Butthen things might have been different, " and then old Samson felt thewhip laid on with a little more decision this time, and this, probablywith the anticipation of the measure of oats awaiting him in thesquire's stable, quickened his movements; and in a few minutes MissBetsey was shaking the snow from her cloak in Sally Griffith's backkitchen. It had been snowing heavily for a while, and the movement ofthe sleigh had been unheard by Elizabeth, or she would have taken theshaking of the snowy garments into her own hands. 

"Folks as usual?" said Miss Betsey, as she came into the front kitchen, where Sally reigned supreme, conscious of her value as "help, " andcareful of her dignity as a citizen of Gershom, "as good as anybody. "

"Well, pretty much so, I guess. Kind of down these days, in general. "

They had been youthful companions, these two, and had plenty to say toeach other. So Betsey warmed her feet at the oven door, and theydiscussed several questions before she went into the sitting-room. Shewent in softly, so as not to disturb the old man, should he have fallenasleep in his chair, as he sometimes did after dinner; so she had achance to see Elizabeth's face before she knew that she was not alone. It was grave and paler than Betsey had ever seen it, and there was aweary, far-away look in her eyes that were following the grey cloudsjust beginning to drift over the clearing sky. They brightened, however, as they turned at the sound of the opening door. 

"Cousin Betsey! I'm so glad to see you. You have come to stay?"

Friendly as they had become of late, Elizabeth did not often venture tokiss her cousin. She did this time, however, repeating:

"You have come to stay?"

"Well, yes. I came fixed so as to stay a spell if I was wanted. JoelBean's folks heard somewhere that Uncle Gershom hadn't been seen out inthe street these two days, and I thought I'd just come over and see howhe was keeping along. "

"That was good of you. He was not out yesterday, and to-day has been sosnowy. But he is no worse; a little better and brighter, if anything. But all the same, I want you to stay. "

"Well, I don't care if I do a spell. You must be hard up for company tobe so glad to see me. "

Miss Betsey sat down by the fire, and took her knitting from her pocket. There were tears in Elizabeth's eyes which Betsey pretended not to see, and which Elizabeth did her best to keep back. She went into herfather's room for a minute, and looked cheerful enough as she took herseat on the other side of the hearth opposite her cousin, with her workin her hand. But when she began to answer Betsey's questions about herfather--his appetite, his strength, his nights, his days--the tears cameagain, and this time they fell over her cheeks. For she found herselfsorrowfully telling that though he had comfortable days, and days whenhe seemed just as he used to do, it was evident that his strength wasfailing more rapidly than it had ever done during any winter before. She let her work fall on her lap, and leaning her elbow on the table, covered her face with her hands. 

"He is an old man, " said Betsey, gravely. 

"Yes. But he is all I have got, " said Elizabeth, speaking withdifficulty. 

"He is your father, but he is not all you've got. Don't say that. "

"There is no one else that cares very much about me. If I were sick orin trouble, I think I would have a better right to come to you, CousinBetsey, than to any one else in the world. "

"Well, and why not? You ought to have had a sister, " said Betsey. 

Elizabeth laughed a little hysterically. 

"I have--Jacob's wife, " said she. 

"Humph, " said Betsey. "I'll tell you what's the matter with you; you'renervous, and no wonder. "

"Oh, Cousin Betsey! don't be hard on me. I'll be all right in a minute. I know I'm foolish, and it is a shame now that you are here not to bebetter company. "

"You are nervous, " repeated Betsey. "And what you want is to feel thefresh air blowing about you. See here, old Samson is right here in theshed. You go and put on your things and have a drive. It will do youall the good in the world. "

"And will you come with me?"

"No, I guess not. Then you'd want to hurry right home again, because ofyour father. I'll stay with him, and then you won't worry. If he'spretty well, I want to have a talk with him anyway, and now will be asgood a time as any. So don't you hurry back. "

"Well, I won't. But it doesn't seem worth while to go alone. "

"Yes, it does. And see here! You go over as far as Mrs Fleming's. She'll do you good, and maybe she'll let Katie come home with you tostay a day or two. What you want is to have somebody to look at besidesSally Griffith, and I don't know anybody any better for that than littleKatie Fleming. Her grandmother will let her come, seeing you arealone. "

It was not a blight day even yet, though the snow had ceased to fall, and the clouds were clearing away. Elizabeth looked out of the window, hesitating. 

"If any one should come in, " said she. 

"Well, I guess I could say all that need be said--unless it was anybodyvery particular, and then I could keep them till you came home again. "

"Well, I'll go; and thank you, cousin, " said Elizabeth, laughing. 

She did not drive old Samson. He was safely stabled by this time. Shedrove her own horse and sleigh with its pretty robes, and acknowledgedherself better the very first breath of wind that fanned her cheek. Thesnow had fallen so heavily as to make it not easy to drive rapidly, andso she enjoyed all the more the winter sights and sounds that were abouther. The whole earth was dazzlingly white. The evergreen trees in thegraveyard looked like pyramids of snow. The trunks of the great maplesunder which she passed as she drew near Mr Fleming's house, showedblack and rugged, and so did the leafless boughs that met each otheroverhead. 

But even the great boughs were bending under their load of new-fallensnow, and every now and then, as the wind stirred them, it fell ingreat, soft masses silently to the ground. How still and restful itwas. The sleigh-bells tinkled softly, and there was a faint rushing ofthe wind through the trees, and the sharp stroke of an axe was heard nowand then in the distance. That was all. Elizabeth put away alltroubled thoughts to enjoy it, and there were no traces of tears, nosigns of nerves visible, when she drove up to Mrs Fleming's door. Shehad been there a good many times since the night she had made the visitwith Clifton and the minister, and she never came but that she washeartily welcomed by them all. 

"Especially welcome to-day, when we never expected to see any one aftersuch a fall of snow. Come awa' ben, Miss Elizabeth, and when Daviecomes down with his load of wood, he'll put in the horse, and you'llbide to your tea, and go home by light of the new moon. "

But Elizabeth could not stay long. Betsey, who was with her father, would be anxious to be home early, and she must not leave her fatheralone, though she would like to stay. 

"Well, you know best, and we winna spoil the time you're here by teasingyou about staying longer. So sit you down here by the fire and warmyour hands, though you look anything but chilled and cold. Your cheeksare like twin roses. "

Elizabeth thought of Betsey's dismissal of her and laughed. 

"My drive has done me good. "

She stayed a good while and enjoyed every minute of it. It was a greatrest and pleasure to listen to Mrs Fleming's cheerful talk, withKatie's quiet mother putting in a word, and now and then Katie herself. Neither Katie nor Davie were at the school this winter. The studiesthat Davie liked best he would have had to go on with alone, even if hehad gone, and he liked as well to get a little help from the master nowand then and stay at home. But he had not much time for study. For hehad taken "just a wonderful turn for work, " his grandmother said, andmuch was told of the land he was clearing and the cord-wood he waspiling for the market. Katie brought in a wonderful bee-hive he hadmade, to show Miss Elizabeth, and told her how much honey they had had, and how much more they were to have next year, because of Davie's skill. Davie had made an ice-house too, for the summer butter--a ratherprimitive one it seemed to be as Katie described it--on a plan ofDavie's own, and it had to be proved yet, but it gave great satisfactionin the meantime. And the frame of the new dairy was lying ready besidethe burn to be put up as soon as the snow melted, and the water was tobe made to run round the milk-pans in the warm nights, and Katie, underthe direction of her grandmother, was to make the best butter in thecountry. All this might not seem of much interest to any one butthemselves, but listening to them, and watching their happy, eagerfaces, Elizabeth, who had more than the common power of enjoying otherpeople's happiness, felt herself to be refreshed and encouraged as shelistened, especially to what was said about Davie. The troubles of theFlemings would soon be over should Davie prove to be a prop on which, intheir old age, they might lean. 

"He is wonderfully taken up about the work, and the best way of doing itjust now, and I only hope it may last, " said Mrs Fleming, and thenKatie said, "Oh, grannie!" so deprecatingly that they all laughed ather. 

When Mr Fleming came in, and had heard all about the squire, and howCousin Betsey was staying with him while Elizabeth made her visit andgot a breath of fresh air, she took courage to present her petition thatKatie might be allowed to go home with her and stay a day or two. Itneeded some courage to urge it, for she knew that her grandfather wasnever quite at peace when Katie was not at home. "It was Cousin Betsey, Mrs Fleming, that bade me ask you for Katie for a little while. Shesaid her coming would do me good, and Katie no harm; and she said youwould be sure to let her come since I was so lonesome at home. "

Katie looked with wistful eyes at her grandmother, and she looked at theold man. 

"We might spare her a while to Miss Elizabeth, who is kept so close athome with her father. And you must take your seam with you, Katie, mylassie, " added the old lady, as no dissenting frown from the grandfatherfollowed her first words. "And maybe Miss Elizabeth has a new stitch, or some other new thing to teach you. These things are easy carriedabout with a person, and they ay have a chance to come in use sometime. Oh, ay, you can take a while with a book, too, now and then when MissElizabeth is occupied with her father. Only be reasonable, and don'tforget all else, as is awhiles the way with you. And you can put onyour bonny blue frock, but be sure and take good care o' it, " and manymore last words the happy Katie heard, and then they went away. 

CHAPTER THIRTEEN. 

TWO FRIENDS. 

A day with Miss Elizabeth was one of Katie's chief pleasures, and it wasscarcely less a pleasure to Miss Elizabeth to have her with her; so thefaces of both were bright and smiling as they drove away from the door. 

"It's no' often that you see two like these two, " said Mrs Fleming, asthey all stood looking after them for a minute. "And it's only goodthat they are like to do one another. May the Lord have them both inHis keeping. There is nothing else that can keep them safe and happy;but that is enough, and I'm not afraid. "

They drove slowly down the slope, and waited at the gate for a word withDavie, who was coming from the wood with his great brown oxen, with thelast load for the night. He did not look more than half pleased to seehis sister at Miss Elizabeth's side. 

"You are not to grudge her to me, Davie, for a little while, " said MissHolt. 

"Oh, she can please herself, " said Davie, with a shrug. "When will yoube home again, Katie?"

"Oh, in a day or two. I cannot just tell; but soon. "

They had not time to linger, and the horse did not care to stand, sowith a hurried good-bye they were away and moved on rapidly for a while. 

"I don't think Davie likes me very well, " said Miss Elizabeth. 

"Oh, it's not you he doesn't like, " said Katie eagerly. 

"It is Jacob, I suppose?"

It was not Jacob that Katie meant, but she said nothing. 

"Well, never mind; we are going to think and speak only of pleasantthings for the next three days, and that was a bad beginning. "

Though the snow was deep it was light, and the horse, with the prospectof home before him, was willing to go, and strong as well, so they flewalong, down the hill beneath the maples, past the graveyard and thechurch, into the long street of the town; and then, though it wasgrowing late, Miss Elizabeth turned to the left over the bridge insteadof going up the hill toward home. They came into the road on the otherside of the bridge that brought most people to the town, and the snowwas already well beaten down, and they went on in perfect enjoyment ofthe easiest of all movements. 

It was neither sunlight nor moonlight, or rather it was both, for theclouds had all cleared away, and a red glow lingered in the west, andhigh above hung the moon, a silver crescent, and in the sky beyond abright star here and there; all the rest was white, with streaks ofblack where the fences were and the wayside trees, and far in thedistance a long stretch of forest hid the line where the white of theearth touched the blue of the sky. 

In the light so faint, and yet so clear, that shone around them, allthings had an unfamiliar look--a look of mystery, and it seemed, even tothe sensible Katie, as though almost any strange adventure might happento them to-night. 

"I could almost fancy that we were going away together into some strangecountry, into the country of the `wraiths' maybe, that grannie whilestells the bairns about. Don't all things seem to have a strange lookto-night, Miss Elizabeth?"

Miss Elizabeth started. She had fallen into thought, and Katie couldsee when she turned her face that her thoughts had not been happy. 

"What were you saying, Katie? Going away together? Oh, how I wish wewere, away beyond the hills yonder, to leave all our troubles behindus. "

That was to be considered. Katie was not so ready to assent to herfriend's words as usual. 

"But we should be leaving our comforts behind us too, all the people wholove us, and all those whom we love. "

"Ah, yes, I know; and all our work as well. And it would be no good, for we should carry our troubles with us. It was a foolish thing tosay, Katie, dear. It must be time to turn back when such foolish wordscome to one's lips. "

Besides they had come to a place where turning was easy, and it might besome time before they could get another chance, so deep was the snow oneither side. So they turned round toward home, and Katie thought itmore wonderful still, for the red glow in the sky was before them now, and the new moon, and more stars shone as the glow faded. 

"But it would be fine to go away with you, Miss Elizabeth, to some farcountry, to see strange sights--if we could be spared, I mean, and withthe thought of coming back again. "

"Wouldn't it be fine!" said Miss Elizabeth, rousing herself. "Some daywe'll go--you and I together, Katie. We'll cross the sea, and wanderthrough the countries that we read about in books, and among the greatcities that have stood for hundreds and hundreds of years. Wouldn't youlike to see Scotland, Katie, and the heather hills that grannie tells usabout; and the great castles that they used to hold against all comersin the old times, and the parks, and the deer, and the gardens full ofwonderful flowers, and the lakes and the mountains--only we can seelakes and mountains at home. "

"And the moors and glens where they worshipped in the dark days. "

And so they went on in turn, telling what they would like to see--theywere going slowly now--till they came to the bridge again. 

"I like to think about it, but it could never be, " said Katie gravely. 

"And why not? It might very easily be, I think. "

"But it could never be for me, until--the saddest things had happened. I could never leave my grandfather and my grandmother, and all the rest;only the rest might live till I came back again; but grannie--and him--"

"Yes, Katie, and it is as true for me as for you. Our work is here, andour happiness too; and, after all, we have fallen into sad thoughtsagain. But we are nearly home now. "

"There was no light in the minister's study to-night, " said Katie, asthey went slowly up the hill. "Nor in the dining-room either. He mustbe away from home. "

Elizabeth had noticed the darkened window, but she did not say so. Indeed she said nothing. She was thinking: "Perhaps he went in to seemy father, knowing I was away. "

And so he had, for when they went into the hall they heard his voice, indeed several voices in the sitting-room. But they went firstup-stairs to take off their wraps in Miss Elizabeth's room, and camedown just in time to find the tea-table ready, and the company waitingfor them. There was coffee on the table too, for Mr Burnet was there, and Sally knew his tastes. 

"There! You feel better, don't you?" said Miss Betsey, who was thefirst to notice their entrance. "You look better, anyway. "

"Like two roses, " said Mr Burnet. 

Elizabeth laughed and thanked him, and then shook hands with MrMaxwell. 

"I hope you have had a good time, daughter. I have, " said the squire. 

"Yes. I see you have had company. "

"Yes, Betsey is always good company. Mr Maxwell came when he saw youpass down the street. He didn't know Betsey was here, and he thought Imight be lonesome. "

"It was very kind, " said Elizabeth. 

All the rest sat down, but Mr Maxwell continued standing. The squirewould not listen to him, when he said that doubtless his tea would bewaiting for him at home, but urged him almost petulantly to remain. 

"Lizzie, why don't you ask the minister to stay?"

For Elizabeth was listening to something that Mr Burnet was saying toKatie, but she turned round when her father spoke to her. 

"We haven't Mr Burnet and Cousin Betsey here very often, Mr Maxwell. You might stay to-night for their sakes. "

So he stayed, and the squire had a good time still, and so had all therest, it seemed, for they were in no haste to leave the table till Sallycame to take the things away. When she came in again it was to say that"Ben had been waiting for his Aunt Betsey for the biggest part of anhour, and it was getting on for nine o'clock. " Even then Miss Betseyseemed in no hurry to go, but when she went, Mr Burnet went also, andElizabeth went out of the room with her cousin, and did not come backfor what seemed to Katie a long time. Her father was tired and she wentout with him afterward. Mr Maxwell talked with Katie a while, abouther mother and her grandparents, about Davie and his bees, and the workthat had occupied him all the winter, and then he sat for a long timelooking into the fire in silence. When Miss Elizabeth came in again herose to go away. 

"It is not very late, " said she. 

"No--and it is very pleasant here, " said the minister, and he sat downagain. 

Miss Elizabeth took her work, and they were all silent for a while, andin the silence a sudden sense of embarrassment and discomfort seizedKatie Fleming. She had a book in her hand, but she was not sure whethershe ought to read or not. She would have liked to go with it to theside-table, where Miss Elizabeth had carried the lamp before she satdown, or even out into the kitchen to see Sally for a while. 

"Are you deep in your story already? Well, take your book to the lamp, if you like, for a little while, " said Miss Elizabeth, just as if shehad known her thoughts. 

But Katie would not have liked her to know her thoughts. She was gladto go to the lamp, but she did not care for her story. She was thinkingof something else, of a single word she had heard one day, which puttogether significantly the names of the minister and her friend. Shehad been indignant at first. "They were just friends, " she had said toherself. Afterward she could not help giving them a good many of herthoughts, and she was not sure about it. As she sat with the book onthe table before her, shading her eyes with her hands, she felt a littleguilty and greatly interested, for the story before her was better thanany story in a book. 

Perhaps she ought to go away, she thought again. It was not right tolisten, and she could not help listening. But indeed there was nothingsaid which all the world might not hear. Mrs Varney had burned herhand. Old Mrs Lawrence was sick, and Miss Elizabeth promised to go andsee her. Then Mr Maxwell told her about a meeting he had attended inFairfax, and about another that he meant to attend, and so on. 

"It might be grannie and he, " said Katie, with a little impatientwonder. "Only grannie would say it all a great deal better, and notjust `yes' and `no, ' and `I hope so indeed, ' like Miss Elizabeth. Whathas come to her, I wonder? Mrs Stacy's rheumatism, and the mothers'meeting at North Gore. That is not how people talk, surely--when--when--"

Suddenly looking up she met Miss Elizabeth's eye, and reddened, and hungher head. Then she rose as Miss Elizabeth beckoned to her, and came tothe fireside again, still holding her book in her hand. 

After that Miss Elizabeth took a letter which she had that day receivedfrom her brother Clifton, and read bits of it aloud. It was a veryamusing letter, she seemed to think, and so did the minister, but Katiedid not understand all the allusions in it, and missed the point. Andbesides, Clifton Holt was not a favourite with her. She was a littlescornful of a lad who seemed to care so little for the opportunities hehad, and who did so little good work with them. He was idle, shethought, and conceited, and she could not but wonder at Miss Elizabeth'sdelight in him, and listened with some impatience to the discussion ofhim and his affairs that followed the reading of the letter. 

"To be sure he is her brother, and she must make the best of him, " saidKatie. 

By and by Mr Maxwell rose to go away, and Miss Elizabeth bade himgood-night in the sitting-room, and did not go with him to the hall, aswas her way usually with visitors who were going away. Then she saidshe had to see Sally about something, and was so long away that Katiehad time to get fairly into her story, and so she read on after she camein again, and it was a good while before she noticed that her friend wasgazing with a strange, fixed look into the embers, and that her roseshad paled sadly since Mr Burnet had praised them when they first camein. But she smiled brightly enough when she turned and met Katie'swistful look. 

"Well! How do you like it, Katie? But we must do something besidesreading to-morrow, dear, or grannie will not be pleased. "

And then she went on to tell of some pretty fancy-work that they were tolearn together, and was so full of it, and of all they were to do thenext three days, that Katie forgot her grave looks for that night. Asthe days went on, and she saw how feeble Mr Holt had become, she didnot wonder at her sadness, and it did not come into Katie's mind thatthere could be any other cause for her sadness and her grave looks thanher father's illness gave. 

"Except, perhaps, her brother may not be doing so well as he ought. Andthat is enough of itself to make her sad, " said Katie. "For what shouldI do if it were our Davie?"

Katie had a pleasant visit in many ways. The leisure was delightful toher. They had a drive every day. Sometimes Mr Holt went with them, and then they had the large sleigh and a pair of horses, and sometimesKatie laughed, and made Miss Elizabeth laugh too, pretending that shewas a rich lady riding in her own sleigh, and taking her friends for adrive. But she liked it best when Miss Elizabeth drove her own horseLion, and they went alone together. It seemed to Katie that the talksthey had at such times, in the keen, clear winter air, were differentfrom the talks they sometimes fell into sitting by the fireside, whenall the rest had gone to bed and they had the home to themselves. Underthe bright sunshine they seemed to get away from Gershom and its newsand its troubles and vexations, into a wider and brighter world, andsome of the things that Miss Elizabeth said to her then, Katie toldherself she would never forget while she lived. 

There were visitors now and then, and at such times, if they werestrangers to her, Katie took her book into a corner, or into Sally'sbright kitchen, and read it there; but if the visitors were her friendsas well, she stayed and enjoyed their visits also. Just one thinghappened that it was not pleasant to think about afterward. Indeed ithad been very unpleasant at the time, and Katie had some trouble indeciding whether or not she should say anything about it to grannie andher mother when she went home. 

This was a visit made one day to Elizabeth by Mrs Jacob Holt. Katiedid not go away this time, because she was afraid it might not pleaseher friend, but she did not join in the conversation. She sat beyondthe flower-stand in the bay-window, reading and knitting; but she wasnot so interested in her book as not to hear something of what was said. Mrs Jacob told some village news, and then spoke about Clifton, andabout a new dress that was to be finished for her to-day, and much moreof the same kind. 

It was not Mrs Jacob's fault that the conversation took the turn itdid. It was the squire, who questioned her about Jacob, and aboutvarious matters connected with their business; and then he saidsomething about Silas Bean, who had got hurt in his employment, and thedifficulty was to make him understand what Silas Bean should be doing atthe Varney place with two yoke of oxen, and what Jacob had to do withit. Elizabeth reminded him that Jacob had bought the Varney place, andthat Mark Varney had gone away, and tried to end the discussion of thematter. But Mrs Jacob went still on to remind him of the GershomManufacturing Company, that would no doubt be formed by and by, and howJacob hated to have time lost, and was taking advantage of the snow tohave stones and timber drawn that would be needed in the building of thenew dam; and that was the way that Silas Bean came to be there with hisoxen. 

"And the company will take the timber off his hands, I suppose, " saidshe. "Only it's likely Jacob will be pretty much the company himself--at least he will have most to say in it. He most generally does. "

"But it seems to me that Jacob should not have undertaken so muchwithout consulting me, " said the squire, with some excitement. "Itseems to me he's going ahead pretty fast, isn't he?"

"Oh! he's told you all about it, I expect. You've forgotten. Yourmemory isn't what it once was, you know. "

But the squire was inclined to resent the idea that he could haveforgotten a matter of such importance, and though Mrs Jacob assured himthat his son had gone away for the day to Fosbrooke, it was all that hisdaughter could do to prevent him from going in search of him. Shealmost regretted not permitting him to go, however, for he would notleave the subject, and insisted on Mrs Jacob telling him all about thematter. She, with less sense and more malice than Elizabeth could havesupposed possible, went on to tell of what was to be done, and went overthe old grievance as to Mr Fleming's obstinacy in refusing to come toterms for a piece of land which was the best for the mill-site, and goodfor very little else, "just to spite Jacob. "

"We won't talk about that, " said the squire, seeming to forget the firstcause of grievance. "Jacob knows my mind about that matter. And it isdoubtful whether the company they talk about will ever amount to much--at least for a time. "

"Well, it isn't for me to say. But I must go. They'll think at homethat I am lost, " and as she rose and pushed away her chair, she added ina voice that the squire could not hear, "It is not for me to say muchabout it. But Jacob generally does get things fixed pretty much to hismind, and I guess he sees his way clear to get this as well. Of courseit will be just as much for Mr Fleming's benefit as for the rest of thetown, and his land will be paid for, he needn't fear that. "

At the first mention of her grandfather's name, Katie had risen, and shewas standing with burning cheeks and shining eyes when Mrs Jacob turnedtoward her to say good-bye. 

"I hope you'll come and make me a visit before you go home. If Lizziecan spare you I shall be pleased to have you come any day--sayto-morrow. Will you come?"

"No, " said Katie, and then she sat down and put her book to her facelest Mrs Jacob should see the angry tears which she feared would not bekept back. For once in her life Mrs Jacob looked uncomfortable anddisconcerted in Elizabeth's presence. Elizabeth uttered not one of themany angry words that had almost risen to her lips, but opened the doorand closed it again with only the usual words of good-bye. 

CHAPTER FOURTEEN. 

THE MINISTER'S FRIENDSHIP. 

When Mr Maxwell left Squire Holt's house that first night of Katie'svisit to Miss Elizabeth, he did not return directly to the parsonage. He stood a moment at the gate considering which direction it would bewisest for him to take for the long walk which he felt he must havebefore he slept. For the minister to be seen walking at that hour ofthe night to no particular place, and for no particular purpose, wouldgive matter for discussion among some of those who specially interestedthemselves in his comings and goings, and though the interest might beflattering, the discussion was to be avoided. 

So he hastened up the street in the direction of Jacob Holt's, andturning into the field to the right, he took the path made as a shortcut by such of the North Gore boys as were this winter attending theHigh-School. He would not be likely to meet any one there, nor on theNorth Gore road, to which it led, certainly not in the field-path. Thesnow had fallen heavily during the first part of the day, and now thewind had risen, and when he came higher up the hill, it was withdifficulty that he got through the drifts that were growing deeper withevery blast. He soon lost the path, indeed every trace of it had longdisappeared, and if it had not been, that the broken line of the woodswhich skirted the field on the other side of the hill was visible evenin the darkness, he might have lost himself altogether in hiswanderings. 

As it was he made a long journey of the fields that lay between the twohighways, and when he reached the North Gore road he found he had hadenough of it; and a little breathless, but glowing with the pleasantwarmth which the exercise had excited, and a good deal more cheerful inspirits than when he left Squire Holt's gate, he turned toward home. His buffet with the wind and the great drifts had done him good. Hewould doubtless have a sounder sleep and a brighter waking because ofit. 

But something had to be done before he slept, and for this, too, it ispossible that the buffet with the snow and the wind was a preparation. 

That something had happened to disturb the friendly relations in whichhe had from the first stood with regard to Miss Elizabeth he had longfelt, and he had never felt it more painfully than to-night. He couldscarcely make clear to himself the nature of the change that had come totheir intercourse, and he did not know the reason of it--or he hadhitherto told himself that he did not. There was nothing in his life, nor in his plans and prospects, that had not been there before thefriendliness of Miss Holt had been given him. There was nothing towhich he looked forward in the future which could interfere to make herfriendship less precious to him--nothing which could be a sufficientreason for its withdrawal on her part--nothing which could compensatehim for its loss. 

And yet it was slipping from him, or rather that which had made itpleasant to him as no other friendship had ever been, and useful as noother friendship in Gershom could ever be, was missed by him, to hisgreat loss and discomfort. Miss Holt was kind and frank and friendlystill. He would have used those very words--indeed he had used them--indescribing their relations to each other soon after their firstacquaintance, but there was a difference which, though it did not touchthe kindness and the friendliness, made itself felt still. 

Was the change in Miss Holt or in himself? or was it caused bycircumstances which neither of them could help? This was the pointwhich Mr Maxwell proposed to settle that night before he slept. Hemust see this clearly, he said to himself, and then he might also see away to prevent the pain and loss which estrangement from his friend mustcause. 

It would be useless to follow him through all the troubled thoughts andanxious questionings of the night. Out of them all came first a doubt, and then a certainty, painful and not unmixed with shame, that thefriendship he feared to lose was more to him than was the love that putit in jeopardy. Nay, that he had for many a month been mistaking lovefor friendship, and friendship for love. 

There were more troubled thoughts and anxious questionings, and theyended in the conviction that he had made a great mistake for which thereseemed no remedy. He must suffer, but he knew that with God's help hewould overcome. For a time he must submit to the loss of that societywhich had been so much to him since he came to Gershom. By and by, whenhe should be wiser and stronger, and when other changes should have comeinto his life, as they must come, his friendship with Miss Holt might berenewed and strengthened, and through all his thoughts and questioningsit never came into his mind that the suffering might not be his alone. 

About three months before this time, when Mr Maxwell had been aresident of Gershom for a year and a half, circumstances occurred whichmade it advisable for him to pay a visit to the place which had been hishome during the last years of his mother's life, and during the yearswhich followed her death while his course of study continued. It was avisit which he anticipated with lively pleasure, and much enjoyed. Hishome while there was, of course, in the house of his friend and hismother's friend, Miss Martha Langden; and visiting her aunt at the sametime, as had frequently happened in former years when he had been thislady's guest, was her niece, Miss Essie. She was a very pretty girl, and a good girl as well, eight or ten years younger than Mr Maxwell, but not too young to be his wife, his mother and her aunt had decidedlong ago when Miss Essie was a child. These loving and rather romanticfriends had set their hearts on a union in every way to their view sosuitable, and they had been at less pains than was quite prudent to keeptheir hopes and their plans to themselves. Indeed, as presented by afond mother to a studious and utterly inexperienced lad, such as youngMaxwell was at twenty, the prospect of a wife so pretty and winning andwell dowered could not but be agreeable enough, and though no formalengagement was entered into between them, they had correspondedfrequently, and to an engagement it was taken for granted by all partiesthis correspondence was to lead when the right time came. 

The idea that the time of this visit might be the right time had notpresented itself so clearly to Mr Maxwell as it had to his friend MissMartha. Still it was natural enough and pleasant enough for him to fallinto the old relations with the pretty and good Miss Essie. Not quitethe old relations, however, for Miss Essie was a child no longer, buteighteen years of age, and a graduate of one of the most popular ladies'seminaries of the State, and quite inclined to stand on her dignity andclaim due consideration for her years and acquirements. She had beenone of the model young ladies of the seminary, it seemed, and in variouspretty ways, and with words sufficiently modest, she sought to make heradmiring friends aware of the fact, and dwelt with untiring interest onthe trials and triumphs of the time. But she by no means considered hereducation completed, she gravely assured Mr Maxwell. She had a plan ofstudy drawn out by the distinguished principal of the seminary, which, after she should be quite rested from the work of the last years, sheintended steadily to pursue, to the further development of her powers, and the acquisition of knowledge which should fit her for usefulness inany sphere which she might be called to occupy. She had much to say onthese themes, her present self-improvement and her future work andinfluence in the world, and Mr Maxwell sometimes smiled in secret as helistened, but he liked to listen all the same. Her views were not veryclear to herself, nor very practical, but she was very earnest inexpressing them; and being perfectly sincere in her beliefs and honestin her intentions, she had also perfect confidence in the success ofwhat she was pleased to call her "life's work, " and never doubted thatshe should accomplish through her labours find see with her eyes, allthe good which she planned. 

It was her earnestness and evident sincerity that charmed Mr Maxwell, and though all this looked to him sometimes like a child's mimicassumption of responsibilities and duties, with a child's power ofimagining what is desired, and ignoring all else, yet he was moreimpatient of his own doubts than of her illusions. 

But dare he speak or think of them as illusions? He recalled his ownearly youth--the plans he had formed, the hopes he had cherished of allhe was to dare and do for his Master's sake, the battles he was to win, the souls he was to conquer, and he grew grave and self-reproachful atthe remembrance. He was young yet as to his work and his office, andyoung in years, but in the presence of all his earnestness, this desireto do good and true work in the world, he could not but acknowledge thathis own early zeal had cooled somewhat, that something had gone from himin life, and in his discontent with himself his admiration for thelittle enthusiast grew apace. And though he could not but smile now andthen, still as she made her modest little allusions to her private diaryand to certain "resolutions" written therein, and though he could notalways respond with sufficient heartiness to satisfy himself when sheshowed him little letters on very thin paper that had come to her from"distant lands, " and confessed to anxious thoughts as to the claimswhich the "foreign field" and the "dark places of the earth" might haveupon her, yet listening to her, and meeting Aunt Martha's admiringglances, and hearing her more extended accounts of her self-devotion andself-denial, he could not but consider himself fortunate in hisrelations to them both, and desire almost as earnestly as Aunt Marthadid that the young girl should consent to share his life's work and makeit hers. To this end all their intercourse tended, and the course oflove, in their case, promised to be as smooth as could be desired for atime. 

But an interruption occurred as the end of Mr Maxwell's visit drewnear, which, however, seemed hardly to be an interruption as they tookit, or rather, it should be said, as the young lady whom it wasspecially designed to influence seemed to take it. 

Up to this time Miss Martha had been permitted to do very much as shechose with her pretty niece. Miss Essie's mother, a dear friend of MissMartha's, had died when her daughter was an infant, and the child'shome, even after the second marriage of her father, had been almost asoften with her aunt as with him. Her aunt had chosen her teachers andher schools, and had introduced her to a social circle far more refinedand intellectual than she could have found in the large manufacturingtown where her father lived. She had formed the girl's mind, andpossessed her affections, and had come to look upon her as her own childrather than as the child of her hitherto somewhat indifferent father, who had another family growing up around him. It certainly never cameinto Miss Martha's mind that the future she had been planning for herdarling might be regarded by the father with unfavourable eyes. So thathis decided refusal to permit his daughter to enter into an engagementof marriage with the young man was a surprise as well as a pain to her. 

The father was not unreasonable in his objections. Mr Maxwell might beall that his partial old friend declared him to be, worthy in allrespects of his daughter. But that a child--he called her a child--should ignorantly make a blind promise that must affect her whole futurelife, he would not allow. A girl just out of school, who had seennothing of the world, who could not possibly know her own mind on anymatter of importance, must not be suffered to do herself this wrong. Hesmiled a little when Aunt Martha, hoping to move him, dwelt earnestly onher dear Essie's views of life, her plans of usefulness, and her desireabove all things to do some good in the world. It was all right, hesaid, just what he should expect from a girl brought up by a good womanlike Aunt Martha. But all the same she was only a child, and she couldnot know whether she cared enough for Mr Maxwell to be happy in doingher life's work in his company. 

Even when Miss Martha in her eagerness betrayed how long the thought ofher niece's engagement had been familiar to her, he only laughed, thoughhe saw that he had a good right to be angry, and he stood firm to hisfirst determination that for two years at least there should be noengagement. Essie must have more experience of life; she must visit hermother's relations, and see more of the world. He intended she shouldspend the next winter with her aunt in New York, and he would not haveher hampered by any engagement, out of which, if she should find thatshe had mistaken her own heart, trouble might spring. He was firm, andpoor Miss Martha was heart-broken at the turn which affairs had taken. 

Not so her niece. She had no words with her father with regard to thematter, but she gave her aunt to understand that she considered a mereformal engagement a matter of little consequence where true and lovinghearts were concerned. She must not disobey her father, but time wouldshow that he had been mistaken and not she. 

"And after all, auntie, a year, or even two, does not make so muchdifference, and I rather like the idea of spending the winter with AuntEsther in New York. "

Aunt Martha sighed. She did not like the idea at all. She would missher darling, and she had no great confidence in her Aunt Esther, and shedreaded some of the influences to which the child must be exposed, forshe was little more than a child, Aunt Martha acknowledged, a wise andgood child indeed, but one never could know what might come in thecourse of two years to change her views of life. And altogether, thedear old lady was not so hopeful as she felt she ought to be, knowing asshe so well did, that our days and our ways are all ordered by a higherwisdom than our own. 

Miss Essie was not downhearted; on the contrary, her sweetness andresignation in the presence of her aunt's sorrow and anxiety werebeautiful to see. She acknowledged with a readiness that pleased herfather greatly, that he was quite right in thinking her too young andinexperienced to take the decision of so serious a matter into her ownhands; and when she added that the years which might be supposed tobring wisdom as well as experience would find her unchanged as to thepurpose of her life, he only smiled and nodded his head a good manytimes, and let it pass. 

Mr Maxwell may be said to have been resigned and hopeful also. Indeedhe had not expected to take the young lady to Gershom for a good whileto come. He acknowledged that Mr Langden's view of the case was justand reasonable, and looking at it from a Gershom point of view, heacknowledged to himself, though he did not think it necessary to sayanything of it to any one else, that a few more years and a widerexperience would be of advantage to a minister's wife in relation toeven the comparatively primitive community where his lot was cast. Sohe went away cheerfully enough, content to wait. 

It must be confessed that Miss Martha was the greatest sufferer of thethree at this time. She too was obliged to allow that her niece wasvery young, and she did not doubt that the years would add to her manygifts and graces. Nor did she doubt her constancy, or she believed shedid not, but she knew that a change had come to the means andcircumstances of her brother of late. He had always been a prosperousman in a safe and quiet way, but of late he had become a rich man, andthough no decided change had as yet been made in the manner of life ofhis family, she knew by various signs and tokens that Miss Essie atleast was to have the benefit of those advantages which wealth can give. And though she told herself that she did not doubt that she would bebrought safely through the temptations to which wealth might expose her, she sometimes thought of her picture with a troubled heart. 

A short absence was just what Mr Maxwell had needed to prove to himselfhow content he was to look upon Gershom as his home, and upon his churchand congregation and upon the people of the place generally, as hisfriends. His visit had been so arranged as to include the New EnglandThanksgiving Day, which falls in the end of November, and the winter, which set in early this year, was beginning when he returned. Winter isthe time of leisure in Canada among farmers, and in country placesgenerally, for the long winter evenings give opportunity for doing manythings never undertaken at other seasons. So Gershom folks were busywith special arrangements of one sort and another for pleasure andprofit, and Mr Maxwell made himself busy with the rest. Winter was thetime for special courses of lectures and sermons, for social gatheringsamong the people of the congregation, and for a good deal more ofregular pastoral visiting than was ever undertaken by him at otherseasons, and it was with satisfaction, even with thankfulness, that hefound himself looking forward without dread to his work. 

A quiet and busy winter lay before him. Of course there must be theusual anxieties and vexations, he thought; and he also thought that hewould have the kindly counsel and sympathy of Miss Elizabeth. But afterhis first visit to the squire's house a difference made itself apparentin their intercourse. It was not that Miss Holt was less friendly orless ready with counsel or encouragement when it was needed. But therewas something wanting, and what this might be he set himself to consideron that night after his walk in the snowy fields. 

He did not discover it, but he discovered something else which startledhim--something which could neither be helped nor hindered--somethingwhich could only be borne silently and patiently. Through time and aloyal devotion to the work which his Master had given him to do, thepain should wear away. 

In one of the long letters which Mr Maxwell received about this timefrom Miss Langden, there came, to his surprise and momentarydiscomfiture, a little note to Miss Holt. He knew that Miss Essie wasvery fond of writing little notes to her friends and also to the friendsof her friends, and when he came to think about it, the only wonder wasthat she had not written to Miss Holt before. 

For, of course, he had spoken to her of Miss Elizabeth, as he had spokenof others who were his special friends among his parishioners. MissMartha had been set right as to her age and her place in the world ofGershom, and he had answered many questions with regard to her. He hadanswered questions about other people too--about John McNider, and theFlemings and Miss Betsey, and there might come a little letter to one ofthem some day. He laughed when he thought of this, but he did not laughwhen he thought of giving the note to Miss Elizabeth. 

He need not have been troubled. It was a very innocent little letter, which Miss Elizabeth received without any expression of surprise andread in his presence. 

"It is not the first letter I have received from Miss Essie Langden. Iheard from her while you were still away. "

Miss Elizabeth's colour changed a little as she said this. 

"She did not tell me, " said Mr Maxwell. 

"I was glad she wrote to me, " said Miss Elizabeth. 

There had not been much in the first letter, either. Miss Essie hadthanked Miss Holt for her goodness to her friend "Will Maxwell, " as shecalled him. Then there was something about knowing and loving eachother at some future time, and something more about a common work and acommon purpose in life, and something about "the tie that binds, " andthat was all. 

It might mean much or little according as it was read, and to Elizabethit had meant much. It did not find her altogether untroubled. She hadmissed Mr Maxwell more than she had supposed possible, and had beenobliged to confess to herself that the winter in Gershom would be a verydifferent matter if he were not to be there. But then it would be adifferent matter to all the rest of the people, as well as to her, andso she had quieted herself till Miss Essie's letter came. It startledher, but the pain it gave her made her glad of its coming. She wasfrank with herself, or she meant to be so. She had been receiving andenjoying more from Mr Maxwell's friendship than could possibly be hersas time went on and circumstances changed, and then she might miss itmore than would be reasonable or pleasant. So she was very glad thatthe letter had been written and awaited Mr Maxwell's return, expectingto hear more, and preparing herself to be sympathetic andcongratulatory. 

But she had heard no more, and she could not but be surprised. Forthough he might not for various reasons be ready to make known hisengagement to all Gershom, she thought he owed it to their friendship toacknowledge it to her. 

"I have been longing to congratulate you, Mr Maxwell--though you havetold me nothing, " said she as she folded the note and laid it down. 

"I have nothing to tell that would call for congratulation--in the wayyou mean, " said the minister. "But I would like to talk a little toyou, Miss Elizabeth, if you will be so kind as to listen to me. "

It was growing dark, and there was only the firelight in the room, andtaking her knitting in her hands, Miss Elizabeth sat down to listen. Hemade rather a long story of it, telling of the friendship between hismother and Miss Essie's aunt--of their hopes and plans for them, oftheir correspondence, and lastly of Mr Langden's interference as to apositive engagement because of his daughter's youth. Of course therewas no chance for congratulation, he said. 

But Miss Elizabeth had hopes to express and good wishes, and one goodthing came out of their talk: the coldness or distance, or whatever itmight be called, that had come between the friends for a while, seemedto pass away, and they fell into their old ways again. 

Miss Elizabeth counselled and encouraged, and discussed church affairsand Gershom affairs very much as she had always done, and no doubt theminister was as much the better through it as he had been from thefirst. Miss Essie sent letters to Mr Maxwell, many and long, and nowand then a note to Miss Elizabeth, but that young lady's name was notvery often mentioned between them. 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN. 

JACOB'S TROUBLES. 

This was by no means so happy a winter in Gershom church and society aslast winter had been. The various circumstances that had been thoughtcauses for congratulation last year were to be rejoiced over still. MrMaxwell was holding his own among them. His sermons were admired asmuch as ever. The various meetings were well attended; there was noperceptible falling off in the subscription-list, and many of the NorthGore people were as regular in their attendance, and to all appearanceas loyal to church interests as could be desired. Still it was not sopleasant or so prosperous a winter as the last had been. 

There was not much said about it, even by the privileged grumblers amongthem, for a while, and the people who made the best of things generallysaw only what was to be expected. In the best laid plans there will besome points of doubtful excellence. In all new arrangements there willbe grating and friction which cannot even with the best intentions be atfirst overcome. The only way was to have patience and be ready with"the oil of gentleness and the feather of forbearance, " so as to give atouch here or there as it was needed, and everything would be sure tomove smoothly after a while. 

No special cause was assigned for this state of things. No one thoughtof connecting Jacob Holt's name with it, but as the winter wore over agood many eyes were turned toward him, and a good many tongues were busydiscussing his affairs, and chiefly his affairs as they had reference toMr Fleming. No one whose opinion or judgment he cared about blamed himopenly. It would have required some courage to do so. For Jacob wasthe rich man of the church, as he was of the town, and had much in hispower in a community where voluntary offerings were depended upon as ameans of covering all expenses. But the work commenced on the Varneyplace made matter for discussion among people who had not the motive forsilence that existed among Jacob's personal friends and brethren. 

That he meant to bring Mr Fleming to his own terms could not bedoubted. The mortgage on the farm had only another year to run. Theland above the Blackpool would be taken possession of, or if this shouldbe hindered in any way, the land would be ruined by the building of thenew dam at the Varney place. What would Jacob Holt care for thebringing of a lawsuit against him by a poor man like Mr Fleming afterthe dam should be built and operations commenced?

True, it was the Gershom Manufacturing Company which was to decide as tothe site of the mills, and which would be called upon to pay alldamages. But how was that to help Mr Fleming? Within the memory ofthe oldest inhabitant no enterprise commenced or carried on in Gershombut had, at one point or mother in its course, felt the guiding orrestraining touch of a Holt, and so it was not easy for lookers-on ingeneral to put Jacob out of the question when the mind and will of thefuture manufacturing company was under discussion. 

It is not to be supposed that all this time Mr Maxwell had heard noother version of this trouble than that which the squire and MissElizabeth had given him. He had heard at least ten correspondinggenerally to theirs as to facts, but differing in spirit and colouringaccording to the view of the narrator. He had not as yet found itnecessary to commit himself to any expression of opinion with regard toit. He listened gravely, and often with a troubled heart, doubting thatevil to the people he had learned to love might grow out of it. But helistened always as though he were listening for the first time. 

The matter could not be brought before him as pastor of the church, asbetween Jacob Holt and Mr Fleming, for Mr Fleming was not a churchmember. He still kept aloof, as did others of the elderly people of hisneighbourhood; and though Mr Maxwell had spoken with several of them asto their duty in the circumstances, he had never spoken to Mr Fleming. He was on the most friendly terms with the family, and had always beenkindly received and respectfully treated by the old man, but as topersonal matters Mr Fleming was as reserved with him as with the restof the world. It would have seemed to Mr Maxwell an impertinence onhis part to seek either directly or indirectly to force the confidenceof a man like him. And indeed he felt that he might have little to sayto the purpose should his confidence be spontaneously given. He thoughtit possible that it might do Mr Fleming good to freely and fully tellhis troubles, real and imaginary, to a sympathising and judiciouslistener, but he was far from thinking himself the right man to hearhim. 

He had a strong desire to help and comfort him. In church, when he saw, as he now and then did, the stern old face softening and brighteningunder some strong sweet word of his Lord, like the face of a littlechild, he had an unspeakable longing to do him good. In his study theremembrance of the look came often back to him, and almost unconsciouslythe thought of him, and his wants, and possible experiences, influencedhis preparations for the Sabbath. His thoughts of him were alwaysgentle and compassionate. That there is likely to be wrong on bothsides, where anger, or coldness, or contempt comes between those whoacknowledge the Lord of love and peace as their Master, Mr Maxwell wellknew, but in thinking of the trouble between these two men, neither thesympathy nor the blame was equally awarded. When he prayed that bothmight be brought to a better mind through God's grace given and His wordspoken, he almost unconsciously assumed that this grace was to make theword a light, a guide, a consoler to one, and to the other a fire and ahammer to break the rock in pieces. 

It would not have been difficult at this time to bring back the oldstate of things when two distinct communities lived side by side inGershom; and in the main the two communities would have stood inrelation to each other very much as the North Gore folk and thevillagers had stood in the old times. Not altogether, however. TheNorth Gore folk, as a general thing, sided with Mr Fleming, or theywould have done so if he had not been dumb and deaf to them and to allothers on the subject of his troubles, but all the towns-people wouldnot have been on the other side. 

For Jacob lacked some of the qualities that during the past years hadmade his father so popular in the town. He was not the man his fatherhad been in any respect. "Jacob bored with a small auger, " Mr Green, the carpenter, used to say, and the miscellaneous company who were wontto assemble in his shop for the discussion of things in general did notdiffer from him in opinion. Jacob was small about small matters, theysaid, and lost friends and failed to make money, where his father wouldhave made both friends and money safe. As a business man he had not oflate proved himself worthy of the respect of his fellow-townsmen as hisfather had always done. 

Things had gone well with the Holts for a long time. They had had ashare in most of the well-established business of the town. In helpingothers, as they had certainly done, to a living, they had helpedthemselves to wealth, and on many farms in the vicinity, and on some ofthe village homes, they had held claims. In many cases these claims hadbeen paid in time; in others the property had passed from the hands ofthe original owners into the hands of the Holts, father and son. Veryrarely in old Mr Holt's active days had this happened in a way toexcite the feeling of the community against the rich man; but of late ithad been said that Jacob had done some hard things, and some of thosewho discussed his affairs were indignant because of the people whosuffered, and some who did not like Jacob for reasons of their ownjoined in the cry; but it was to David Fleming and his affairs thatattention was chiefly turned when any one wanted to say hard things ofJacob Holt. 

Jacob was having a hard time altogether. Not because men were sayinghard things of him. Few of these hard sayings would be likely to reachhis ears. Some of the men who growled and frowned behind his back, before his face were mild and deprecatory, and listened to his words andsmiled at his jokes, and carried themselves in his company very much asthey had done in years past. 

As for Mr Fleming's affairs, it was coming to that with Jacob, that hewould have done to him all the evil that he was accused of planning, ifhe could have had his way; but, nevertheless, not with a desire toharass and annoy the man who had always shunned him, and who now defiedhim, as people sometimes declared. 

It cannot be said that he had not felt and secretly resented what hecalled the folly of the unreasonable old man. But Mordecai might havesat stiff and stern at the gate all day long for him and every day ofthe year, if the refusal to rise with the rest and do him reverence hadbeen all the trouble between them. He knew that Mr Fleming had bitterthoughts against him because of all that had befallen his son long ago, and though he believed himself to have been no more guilty toward himthan others had been, he knew that they had all been guilty together, and he had therefore submitted quietly, if not patiently, to theconstant rebuke which he felt, and which all Gershom felt, the old man'sstern silence to be. He could understand how the sight of him and hisprosperity should be an aggravation to the sorrow of this man, who didnot seem to be able to forget, and he had a sort of compassion for himin his loss--not merely of the handsome, kindly lad who had gone away solong ago, but of the man to which the much-loved Hugh might by this timehave grown. His desire to resent the father's manner to himself hadnever been more than a momentary feeling and if he could have conferredupon him some great benefit, and placed him under such obligation to himas should be seen and acknowledged by all Gershom, he would gladly havedone so. Indeed he believed that in the terms agreed on by his father, with regard to Mr Fleming's mortgage, such a benefit had beenconferred, and as he thought about it his anger grew. 

For now Mr Fleming's unreasonable obstinacy in refusing to dispose ofhis land seemed the only hindrance in the way of the new enterprisewhich promised so well. If he had had the power to make him yield, hewould have exerted it to the uttermost, even if it would have ruined theold man, instead of placing him and the children dependent on him abovethe fear of want forever. But as yet he had no power, and before theyear should be out, when the law would allow him to take possession ofthe land, the ruin which men were saying might fall on Mr Fleming, might, nay must, fall on himself. 

Ruin? Well, that was putting it strongly perhaps. But the delay wouldcause loss and trouble terrible to anticipate--not to him only, but tothe whole town of Gershom--loss which years of common prosperity wouldhardly make up for. Jacob rarely spoke of David Fleming or hisrelations to him, but when he did so, this was the way he put it. Theprosperity of Gershom and of the country round was hindered by hisrefusal to sell his land. But in his heart he knew that the prosperityof Gershom was a very secondary consideration with him at the moment. 

For Jacob was in trouble, had been in trouble a long time, though he wasonly just beginning to confess it to himself. To no one else would heconfess it, till nothing else could be done. He ought never to havecome to any such determination. He was not strong enough to bear theweight of such trouble alone, and he was not wise enough to see theright means of getting through it. 

There were times when he owned this to himself. He had not nerve forgreat ventures. It made him sick to think of one or two transactions, out of which he might have come triumphant as others had done, only thathis courage had failed to carry him through to the end. He needed morecourage, and less conscientiousness, he liked to add in his thoughts, and perhaps he was not altogether without warrant in doing so. At anyrate, something had come between him and success where other men hadsucceeded. 

Mr Green and his friends were right in their opinion that he was notsuch a man as his father. Even in conducting his Gershom business, which had almost come to be mere routine with him, they could see thathe sometimes made mistakes. His persistent way of standing out against, or apart from, any movement that was to benefit the whole community, unless it was made in his way or to his evident advantage, was veryunlike his father. It is true, that in his father's day there had beenfewer men in Gershom to share either responsibility or power. But thesquire had known when to yield, and by judicious yielding it frequentlyhappened that he was allowed to hold all the faster to his own plans. 

Jacob had to yield his own will also now and then, but at such times hecould not help seeing that his fellow-townsmen looked upon him as havingbeen beaten, and that they rather enjoyed it. Even when he succeeded ingetting his own way in some matters, it often happened that his successwas more in appearance than in reality. Still, if he had kept to hislegitimate business, he might have done well in it, and kept theconfidence of the community as being a man "who knew what he was about, "and certainly he would have had an easier mind. 

It was a little before this time that the discovery of the existence ofmineral wealth, and the speculation in mining property which has sincemade a curious chapter in the history of this part of Canada, werebeginning to occupy the attention of moneyed men, and Jacob had made hisventure with the rest. But he had not come out of the affairs so wellas some others had done. A history of their operations as to buying andselling would not interest. The result, as far as Jacob Holt wasconcerned, was disastrous enough, for in one way and another he hadinvolved himself to an extent that to people generally would haveappeared incredible. But people generally knew little about it. Thosewho did know were those who had been engaged with him, who had eithermade much money or lost much in the course of their transactions, and aprudent silence seemed to be considered best. Of course it could notbut be known in the country to some extent who were the gainers and whothe losers, but no one guessed that the Holts would be "In" for anyconsiderable amount. But in the giving up of much valuable property ata great loss, in order to preserve his credit, Jacob was made to feelhis position bitterly. 

Squire Holt had bought and held for many years large tracts of wildlands in various parts of the country, content to sink thepurchase-money and to pay the taxes for the present, in the certainknowledge that as new settlers came in, and the country was opened up bythe making of roads and the building of bridges, the value of the landswould be greatly increased. Many of these tracts Jacob was at this timeobliged to sacrifice. He rather ruefully congratulated himself on thefact that the transfer of such property to other names might be donequietly, so that his difficulties need not be fully known or discussedin the community, but it was a terrible blow to him, and the necessityof keeping the knowledge of it from his father made it all the harder. 

For the squire had given his voice against all operations in miningmatters. He was conscious that he was no longer equal to a contest withyounger men in a new field of action, and his advice to his son, whosepowers he had measured, had been "to let well alone, " and leave to thosewho had less to lose, the chance of being winners in the new game. Itwould have been well if his words had been heeded, Jacob owned tohimself; and partly for his own sake and partly for the sake of hisfather, he said little about his losses. He was willing to have him andothers believe that railroad matters were not prospering as he wouldhave liked, which indeed was true. "The Hawkshead and Dunn Valley"railroad, which he had been chiefly instrumental in starting, and thestock of which he held largely, had promised well for a time, and woulddoubtless pay well in the end; but in the meantime, the big men ofFosbrooke, who had been allowed to say less than they wished to say asto the location of the road, were agitating the subject of another roadto connect more directly with the Grand Trunk, and with other lines onthe south side of the border, and "Hawkshead and Dunn Valley" stock hadgone down. 

So Jacob candidly acknowledged that "the banks were crowding a little, "whenever he found it necessary to ask for the use of a fellow-townsman'sname to his paper. He found it necessary a good many times these days, and he was not very often refused. For there were few of the oldsettlers whom he or his father had not obliged in the same way at onetime or the other, as he took occasion to tell the sons of some of themnow and then. And besides this, giving one's name was a mere form, veryconvenient in the way of business, which in those days was supposed tobe done more rapidly than had been the way in old times. 

That any of the signers, "joint and several, " ever imagined that theymight, in the course of untoward events, be called upon to make good thepromise to pay that stood over their names, is not likely. Nor didJacob himself ever contemplate so painful a possibility. Serious as hesaw his difficulties to be, he saw a way out of them--or he would havedone so, he said to himself bitterly, if the will of an unreasonable oldman had not stood in his way. 

In the establishment and success of the new Company, so long the subjectof discussion in the town, lay his best chance of freeing himself fromhis present embarrassment. If he might have had his way as to the site, so that the building might have been commenced, there would have been notrouble about the Company. A few good names with his own, and amoderate amount of capital, with the dam and the buildings commenced, there would have been no trouble about the rest. He felt that he wouldthen have been master of the situation. Every cottage needed for theMill hands and their families must be built on his land; and the chanceswere that by judicious management as to building, every one of themmight become his tenant; and he had already in view certain arrangementsby which most of the materials for building, and many of the suppliesfor the work-people, should be made to pass through his hands. By thesemeans, and by the combination of other favourable circumstances, whichhe foresaw, he did not doubt that he could not only escape from presentembarrassments, but recover much of what he had been obliged tosacrifice. 

It is possible that he was quite mistaken in all this, but he believedit all, and no wonder that his indignation grew and strengthened as hethought of Mr Fleming. 

CHAPTER SIXTEEN. 

JACOB'S EXPERIENCE. 

Jacob spoke wonderfully little of all this, considering how much it wasin his mind. He sometimes spoke to his wife, but even to her he saidnothing of the losses that had fallen upon him, or of the fears thatwere weighing him down; but he did allow the bitterness which wasgathering in his heart toward old Mr Fleming to overflow, once in awhile, in her hearing. He knew it was not a wise thing to do, for shecould only listen and add a word or two, which did no good, but harm. She dropped bitter words to other people too, nay, poured them forth toElizabeth, and to Clifton when he came home, and to Miss Betsey, even, when a rare opportunity occurred. 

It did not matter much as far as they were concerned, for they knew thevalue of her words, and did not repeat them; but she uttered them toother people as well, and they were repeated, as all village talk isrepeated, and commented upon, and exaggerated, and no one did moretoward the stirring up of strife, and the making of two parties inGershom, than did Mrs Jacob. She did her husband no good, but she didhim less harm than she might have done had she been a woman of a higherand stronger nature. He did not have perfect confidence in her senseand judgment, and was apt to hesitate rather than yield to hersuggestions even when he would have liked to do so. But her intenseinterest and sympathy were very grateful to him, and all the more thathe neither asked nor expected sympathy from any one else. 

He often longed to ask it; there were several men in Gershom with whomhe would have liked to discuss his grievances, but he hardly dared toenter upon the subject, lest in confessing how great a matter a sixmonths' delay was to him, he should betray how serious his losses hadbeen. He did not intend to make his wife aware of his embarrassments, but she could not fail to see that all his anxiety could not spring fromdoubts as to the company or indignation toward Mr Fleming. She couldnot bring herself to speak of his losses while he remained silent, butshe was all the more bitter in speaking of the old man's obstinacy. 

"And there are people who call him a sincere and exemplary Christian!The hard, selfish, sour old man!"

"Well, " said Jacob, after a pause of consideration, "I guess he is aChristian--as Christians go. There are few Christians who live up totheir light in all respects, I'm afraid. "

"That's so; but then there is a difference between failings andshortcomings, or even open yieldings to sudden temptations, and thiskeeping up of anger and uncharitableness, as he has been doing, year inand year out, since ever I can remember, almost. "

"We cannot judge him; he has had great troubles, and he is an old man, "said Jacob, rising. Any allusion to Mr Fleming's disapproval of himfretted him more than it used to do, and once or twice lately he hadallowed himself to say more than he would have liked to reach the earsof his neighbours, and so he rose to go. 

"He has never done me any hurt that I know of, and I don't suppose he'lldo enough to speak of now. It will come all round right I guess, andthen if I can do him a good turn I will. "

If he had stayed a minute longer, his wife would have told him that heat least was showing a Christian spirit in thus saying, but being leftalone, it came into her mind that no better revenge could be taken uponthe hard old man than that his enemy should heap kindness upon him. 

"Not that such a thought was in Jacob's heart, " she said to herself, "but I guess he's got some new notion in his head. I never can telljust what he means by what he says; it will be queer if he doesn't gethis own way first or last. "

It was no great stretch of charity on Jacob's part to allow that thepeople who believed in the Christianity of Mr Fleming might be right, notwithstanding the old man's unreasonable antipathy to himself. He hadnever doubted it, and his wife's words had startled him. 

"If he is not a Christian, I am afraid some of the rest of us had betterbe looking to our little deeds. I guess he has as fair a chance as themost of us. "

He did not get rid of his thoughts when he sat down in his office andbegan the work of the afternoon. The remembrance of some things that hewould gladly never have remembered came back to him even while he wasbusy with his writing, and he said to himself that if the controversybetween him and Mr Fleming were to be decided according to hischaracter, it would go hard with him, and for a moment it seemed as ifthe sins of his youth were to be remembered against him, and that hispunishment was coming upon him after all those years. But he pulledhimself up when he got thus far, saying he was growing foolish and asnervous as a woman, and then he rose and took his hat and went down tothe mill. 

He met his father on the way, and the old man turned back with him downthe street again. There was always something the squire wanted to sayto his son about business, and Jacob owed more than he acknowledged--andhe acknowledged that he owed much--to the keen insight of his father. He seemed to be able to see all sides of a matter at once, and thoughJacob liked to manage his affairs himself, and believed that he did so, yet there had been occasions when a few words from his father hadmodified his plans, and changed the character of important transactionsto his profit. At the first glimpse he got of him to-day, a greatlonging came over him to tell him all his trouble and get the help ofhis judgment and advice. 

It was possibly only a passing feeling which he might have acted on inany circumstances. But his father's first querulous words made itevident that he could not act upon it to-day. It is doubtful whetherany of Jacob's friends or acquaintances, whether even his wife or hissister, would have believed in the sudden, sharp pain that smote throughJacob's heart at the moment. He himself half believed that it wasdisappointment because he could not get the benefit of his father'sexperience and counsel at this juncture of affairs, but it was more thanthat. He really loved his father and honoured him. He had been proudof his abilities and his success, and of the respect in which he washeld by the community, both as a man of business and as a man. He hadtried since his manhood to atone to him for the sins of his youth, andhad striven as far as he knew how to be a dutiful son, and on the wholehe had satisfied his father, though doubtless a son with a larger heartand higher capabilities would have satisfied him better. But they lovedone another, and the squire respected his son in a way, and they hadbeen much more to each other than people generally, knowing the two men, would have supposed possible. 

When Jacob saw his father so feeble and broken that afternoon, and heardhis querulous lament over this thing and that which had gone wrong inthe mill, the thought came home to him that he was failing fast, andthat the end could not be very far away, and the pain that smote him wasreal and sharp. A sense of loss such as had never touched him, thoughhe had long known that his days were numbered, made him sick for themoment, and left a weight of despondency on him that he could not shakeoff. He spoke soothingly to him, and walked with him over the mill, telling him of changes that might be made, and asking him questions tillhe grew cheerful again, and more like his usual self; then takingpossession of Silas Bean's sleigh that was "hitched" at the mill-door, he proposed to drive him home, because the March sun had melted thenew-fallen snow, leaving the street both slippery and wet, as he tookcare to explain, so that he need not suspect that he was more carefulthan usual about him. 

When Elizabeth, a little startled, came to meet them at the door, herepeated all this to her in cheerful tones, but when his father went in, the look of care came back to his face as he said that he had beenafraid to let him try the long walk up the hill. 

"I was just thinking of going down to meet him, " said Elizabeth. "Itwas very kind of you to bring him home. "

"Kind!" repeated Jacob, and then he pulled his hat over his eyes andwent away. 

Elizabeth looked after him a moment in surprise. Even Elizabeth, whothought more kindly of him than any one, except perhaps his father, didnot imagine how much the sight of the old man's increasing weakness hadmoved him. 

Jacob went to a prayer-meeting that night, and, as his custom was, saton a back seat near the door. The rich man of the village was not apower in the church when one looked beyond material things--the regularsubscription-list, the giving of money, the exercise of hospitality--andexcept in regularity of attendance, he was certainly not a power in theprayer-meeting. But regularity of attendance is something, and onnights when winter storms, or bitter cold, or domestic contingencies ofany sort, kept the "regular stand-bys" at home, he could and did fillthe place of one or other of them by "taking a part. " But he had no"gift" in that way, and knew it, and kept himself in the background. His neighbours knew it too, and some of them said sharp things, and someof them said slighting things of him because of this. But "thediversity of gifts" was pretty generally acknowledged, and peoplegenerally were not hard on him because of silence. 

To-night there was no call on him. The school-room was well filled, asthere was a prospect of the winter roads breaking up early, so thatpeople from a distance could not come for a while. Besides, it was notthe usual prayer-meeting, but the preparatory lecture before thecommunion, and Mr Maxwell had the meeting altogether in his own hands;and perhaps there were others there as well as Jacob, who took the goodof the thought that there was no special responsibility resting uponthem for the night. 

If it had been the regular meeting, it is possible that Jacob might havesat in his corner as usual, supposing himself to be attending to thewords of Deacon Scott and old Mr Wainwright, and all the rest of them, and through habit and the associations of time and place, he might havefallen into old trains of thought which did not always exclude a glanceover the business of the day, or a glance toward the business ofto-morrow; and so the unwonted stir of fears and feeling which had movedhim in the afternoon might have been set at rest, and the cloud of careand pain dissolved for the time. But Mr Maxwell had the word, andstill moved and troubled, Jacob could not but listen with the rest. 

It was not the minister's usual way to give one of his elaborate writtendiscourses on such an occasion as the present. There might be adifference of opinion among the people now and then, as to whether hegave them something better, or something not so good. But to-night thegreater part of them did not remember to make any comparisons of thatkind, but found themselves wondering whether anything had happened tothe minister, so earnest and solemn was he both in word and mannerto-night. 

The words he spoke from were these, "If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the righthand of God. " I could not give the discourse, even if it would be wiseto do so. It was such an one as his hearers could not but listen to. 

As he went on to tell them some of the wondrous things implied in being"risen with Christ, " the Head, crowned and glorious of the Church, "Hisbody, " of which they were "the members, " and to insist on the seekingthe "things above" as the result and sole evidence of this life from thedead, none listened more intently than did Jacob. And perhaps becauseof the unusual experience of the afternoon, he did not listen, as he wasrather apt to do on common occasions, for the rest of the congregation, this for Deacon Scott, that for Mr Wainwright, the other for some oneelse, for whom it seemed a suitable portion; he listened for himself, with his father all the while in his mind. And when it came to the"result and evidence, " he had not, for the moment, a word to say forhimself. 

As for his father--well, his father had never made a public professionof faith in Christ. He had "kept aloof, " as the village people said, whatever had been his reasons. But it came into Jacob's mind--moved andstirred out of its usual dull acceptance of things as they seemed--thatto eyes looking deeper than the surface, his father's life might countfor more as "evidence" than his own profession could do. And as theminister put it, would even his father's life count for much as"evidence" of his being "risen with Christ?" Whose life would?

"Mine would amount to just nothing!" was Jacob's decision as he left thehouse, when the meeting was over, and having got thus far it mightnaturally be supposed that he would not rest until he got farther. Hehad got thus far many a time before, but the cares of this world and thedeceitfulness of riches had done their part in the past to put thethought away, and they did the same again. 

But not so readily this time. For Jacob was unsettled and anxious, longing for the help and counsel which his father could never givemore--longing also, but not always, for the help which he knew hisyounger brother was capable of giving him if he would; and he askedhimself often, whether it paid even for this world, to wear one's selfout for the making of money which one might lose, as he had done, andwhich all must leave, as his father was about to do. 

But the day's work had to be done, and the day's cares met, and Jacobfound himself after a little moving on in the old paths, not altogethersatisfied with himself or his life, but pretty well convinced thatthough it might be well to take higher ground as to some things, both inhis business and his religion, now was not the time for the change. Andbesides, he also believed in "the diversity of gifts, " as they werepleased to term it in Gershom. If he could not lead a meeting, or speaka word in season in private, as some of the brethren could do, he triedto use his influence on the right side in all moral and religiousquestions; and though he knew that there were several among the brethrenwho, if they could have seen their way clear, would perhaps have calledin question the character of certain business transactions with whichhis name had got mixed up, he set over against the unpleasant fact theother fact, that no three of these men gave so much to sustain the causeof religion in the place as he did. 

It might be considered doubtful whether the church itself would havebeen built, if he had not taken hold of it as he did. That had helpedthe coming in of the North Gore people, and that with other things hadbrought Mr Maxwell to them as their minister. Gershom would have beena different place, as to the state of morality and religion, if it hadnot been for the Holts--and when Jacob said the Holts in thisconnection, he meant himself, as far as the last ten years wereconcerned. 

Of course he did not say, even to himself, that any amount of giving ordoing could make a man safe, either for this world or the next; but hedid say that doing and giving to the good cause must count for somethingas evidence of one's state. And though he was not satisfied that he wasall that he ought to be, he thought that, taking all things intoaccount, he was as good as most of his neighbours, and with this for thepresent he contented himself. 

A visit from his brother Clifton gave him about this time something tothink about, and something to do as well. Clifton had heard, thoughtheir father had not, of Jacob's mining speculations, and he had heardof several transactions of so serious a nature that he could not but becurious, not to say anxious, as to results. It cannot be said that hegot either information or satisfaction from his inquiries. Jacob, nevercommunicative, was altogether silent to his brother as to the extent ofhis loans, and as to the property he had been obliged to sacrifice tosatisfy pressing claims. 

To tell the truth, Clifton was disposed to take matters easily. TheHolts must expect their turn of reverses, as well as other people, andthey were better able to meet them, he imagined, than most people. IfElizabeth at this time had pressed upon him the propriety of his makinghimself aware of the exact state of their affairs, he might haveinquired to better purpose. As it was, he returned to his morecongenial pursuits in Montreal, not quite satisfied, but with no verygrave misgivings as to the state of their affairs. 

His visit was not without result, however. Though Jacob had only givenhim the vaguest kind of talk as to mining matters, and had blamed hisunfortunate railroad ventures for such pressure as to money as could notbe concealed, he had much to say about the new mills, which at somefuture time must be a source of wealth to the Holts, and to the town. He did not succeed in making his brother believe all that he promisedfrom them should they be built and in running order within the year, buthe did succeed in getting more of his sympathy than ever he had gotbefore, as to his loss through the obstinacy of old Mr Fleming. AsJacob put it, it did seem a pity that so much should be lost to theHolts, and the town through him, when so much might be gained to MrFleming and his family, by yielding the point at once. Of course itmust come to Jacob's having the land in the end, he acknowledged, and hehad never acknowledged so much before. 

"As it seems to be personal spite that keeps him to his resolution--forof course a shrewd man like him must see the advantage that the buildingof the mills so near his land must be--you should get some one else totreat with him. "

But that had been tried. The Gershom Manufacturing Company had aslittle prospect of success as a company as Jacob had had as anindividual, and Clifton could only suggest that everybody concernedshould wait patiently for another year for the chance of getting rich bythe mills, which was easy for him to say, but hard for Jacob to hear. The hint which renewed his hope, and gave him another chance, was thrownto him over his brother's shoulder when he rose to go away. 

"What about this Mr Langden, whose name I hear mentioned by Mr Maxwelland others as a rich man? Why don't you suggest to him that he might doa good thing for himself by putting some of his money into the newmills? It would be a better investment than this mining business whichour neighbours on the other side of the line seem so eager about. If hewere to offer the money down to Mr Fleming, ten to one he would notrefuse to sell. You need not appear in the business. "

Jacob shook his head. 

"You might try it, anyway. It would not be a bad speculation for him. It is up to-day and down to-morrow with some of these men over there, and he might so manage it, that anything he put into mills in Canadamight be made secure to him in case of a smash on the other side. Itmight be done, I suspect. If I were you I would make a move in thatdirection. "

And then with a smile and a nod for good-bye, he went away, neversuspecting that he left his brother in a very different state of mindfrom that in which he had found him. Jacob was not, as a general thing, quick at taking up new ideas or in acting upon them, but this ought notto have been a new idea to him, he said almost angrily to himself afterhis brother was gone. Why had he not thought of Mr Langden and hismoney before?

Some correspondence had passed between them with regard to certainmining operations in which Mr Langden had, or hoped to have, aninterest. At the time Jacob had been much occupied with similartransactions, and had hoped, through Mr Langden's means, to advancetheir mutual interests. But things had gone wrong with him beyond hopeof help, and later he had with a clear conscience advised him to havenothing to do with any venture in mining stock within the area of whichhe had any personal knowledge, and then the correspondence had ceased. Now he greatly regretted that he had not thought of proposing the otherinvestment to him. 

After much consideration of the subject, and some rather indirectdiscussion with Mr Maxwell as to Mr Langden's means, opinions, andprejudices, he came to the conclusion that he could make the wholematter clearer to him and more satisfactory to both if they were to meetface to face, and so his plans were made for a visit to him. But springhad come before this was brought about. He went south in May, and wasaway from Gershom several weeks. When he returned nothing transpired asto his success. Even to Clifton, who had come to Gershom to accompanyhis father and sister to C. Springs, where the squire was to spend amonth or two, he only spoke of his intercourse with the rich man as oneof the pleasant circumstances attending his trip, and Clifton took itfor granted that there was not much to tell. 

Nor was there; but the rich man had spoken of a possible visit to Canadaduring the summer, and he had promised that if this took place he shouldcome to Gershom and discuss the matter of the mills on the spot, andthough Jacob said little about it, he permitted himself to hope muchfrom the visit. 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. 

SUGARING-TIME. 

The season opened cheerfully at Ythan Brae. It had been a peacefulwinter with them; there had been less frequent communication with thevillage than usual. Davie had been both master and man for the mostpart, and had had little time for anything else. Katie had been now andthen for a visit to Miss Elizabeth, and to other people too, for Katieconfessed to being fond of visiting, and above most things disliked theidea of being called odd or proud, or whatever else one was liable to becalled in Gershom who "set out to be different from her neighbours. "The younger children were not yet considered to be beyond such teachingas they had at the Scott school-house, so that there had been littlecoming and going to the village, and all the talk that had been indulgedin there as to their affairs had hurt no one at Ythan. 

They had their own talks, that is, Davie and Katie had. Theirgrandfather was as silent at home as elsewhere as to the ill that hisenemy meditated toward him, so silent that even hopeful grannie grewfirst doubtful and then anxious, fearing more than she would have fearedany outburst of bitterness, this silent brooding over evils that mightbe drawing near. She dropped a cheerful word now and then as to thecertainty that they would never be left in their old age to anxiety andtrouble; but though he usually assented to her words, it was almostalways silently. 

"It is all in God's hands, " he said once, and he never got beyond that. 

But as for the young ones, there was no end to the talk they had as toJacob Holt and his plans, not that they knew much about them, or were inthe least afraid of them. Katie was troubled sometimes, but Davie madelight of her fears, and the rest followed Davie's lead. Davie was ofMr Green's opinion:

"It will never amount to anything, all that he'll do to my grandfather. He'll stop before he gets to the end. Mind, I don't say that he won'tbe as great a rogue as he knows how to be, but he is a small man, isJacob, and he'll make a muddle of it. He couldn't do his worst with theeyes of all Gershom on him. He hasn't pluck to take even what is hisown against the general opinion. "

But Katie thought him hard on Jacob. 

"He is not a fool, Davie; and surely he's not a rogue altogether. ButI'm not caring for him; I'm only thinking of grandfather. "

And though Katie did not say it, she was thinking that her grandfather'ssilence and gloom might do him more harm than even the loss of half ofYthan. But Davie did not know her thoughts, and he answered the words alittle scornfully:

"Of course it is grandfather that we all think of. Who thinks of Jacob, or what may happen to him? And where is your faith, Katie lass? Whatdo you suppose the Lord would be thinking of to take sides with JacobHolt against such a man as our grandfather? `He will not suffer hisfeet to be moved. ' That's what the Psalm says, and after that we'lljust wait and see. "

"But, Davie, " said Katie, her eyes wide with surprise and something thatfelt like dismay, "I doubt that it is not what it means. The Lorddoesna take sides that way. And do you think that grandfather would letgo his hold--of the Lord even if--even if--and what would become of himthen?" added Katie, appalled. 

"But that is just what I am saying can never happen. We'll wait andsee. "

Katie was not satisfied. 

"But, Davie, even if trouble should come--the worst that could come, itwould not be the Lord taking sides against us. The Lord has lettrouble, great trouble, fall on grandfather already. And you mind theother Psalm:--

 "`Therefore, although the earth remove, We will not be afraid. '"

"We'll just wait and see, " repeated Davie. 

"But, Davie, do you think it would be a sign that the Lord was againstgrandfather if He should let Jacob Holt do his worst? I cannot bear tohear you say such things, as though we were just trying him. "

"Well, and is not that just what we are bidden do? It's no' me that issaying grandfather is to be forsaken in his old age. "

"And I'm sure its no' me. Grandfather forsaken! Never. And, Davie, the loss of Ythan even wouldna mean that to grandfather. Do you no'mind: `Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him. ' What is Ythan, andwhat are any of us to grandfather, in comparison to having the LordHimself?" said Katie, with rising colour and shining eyes. 

"Well, it is no' me that say it. There are plenty of folk in Gershomjust waiting to see how it will turn--to see which is going to beat--theLord or--or the other side. I wouldna say that grandfather himself isnot among the number. "

"Davie, " said Katie solemnly, "my grandfather kens how it must end. Doyou think he puts his trust in God on a venture like that? You littleken. "

Davie made no reply at this time. But they were never weary of thetheme, and sometimes went so far as to plan what it would be best to doshould they have to leave Ythan. Grannie sometimes watched with sadeyes the shadow on the old man's face, but no one was more ready thangrannie to laugh to scorn the idea that any real harm could happen tothem. 

So the season opened cheerfully to them all. Davie was indeed the chiefdependence now, and went about his work in a way that must havegladdened his grandfather's heart, though he said little about it. There was no other man about the place. They got a day's work now andthen from a neighbour, and later they must have a man to help, orperhaps two, when the heaviest of the work should come on. But in themeantime, Davie and his brothers did all that was to be done in thesugar-place, and sometimes Katie helped them. 

Indeed, as far as sugaring-time was concerned, they might have had helpevery day and all day. There was not so much sugar made in the vicinityof Gershom as there used to be, and the idle lads of the place enjoyedbeing in the Ythan woods, in the sweet spring air and sunshine, even ondays when working hard at carrying in the sap was all that could bedone. But there was always this drawback to Davie's pleasure in theirhelp or their company, that his grandfather did not like either the oneor the other. It was partly his own reserved nature that made thepresence of strangers distasteful to him, and it was partly, too, because of painful remembrances of the time when one like Davie had beenled astray by the influence of such lads. So Davie did not encouragehis friends of the village to come, as he might have done in othercircumstances. 

On "sugaring-off" days there were usually plenty of visitors. Sugaring-off is the final process of sugar-making, when the syrup intowhich the sap has been made by long boiling down, is clarified andskimmed and boiled still until it is clear as amber, ready, when cooled, to become a solid mass of glittering sweetness. It is astonishing whata quantity of the warm brown liquid can be consumed with pleasure, andwithout satiety, and on sugaring-off days not even the half-acknowledgeddread of Mr Fleming and his stern looks and ways prevented a gatheringof young people larger than would have been welcome to less open-handedfolk. But the consumption of a few pounds of warm sugar, more or less, was a small matter in the opinion of the old people, provided allbehaved themselves as they ought; and whatever might have been likely tohappen in Mr Fleming's absence, his presence was a sufficient check onthe most foolish among them. And even the wild young lads of thevillage found the old man less grim and stern in the spring woods, withthe sunshine about them, than they had learned to think him as theywatched him sitting in the meeting-house on Sundays. 

Sugaring-time is a time of hard and unpleasant work, and this was a morefavourable year than usual. Davie had been too busy with other thingsall the winter to be able to do much in the way of improving the toolsand utensils necessary in the making of sugar. By another year therewould be a change, he told Katie in confidence. But in the meantime, the three great iron kettles that had been in use during his father'slifetime made the only boiling apparatus; they hung over a fire of greatlogs, on a strong pole the ends of which rested on the "crotch" of twogreat logs or ports set up fifteen or twenty feet apart, and there wasno roof above them. 

The "camp" or "shanty" used for shelter if it rained, was close by thefire, made of boards, one end of which rested in the ground, while theother end was raised to rest on a pole extended between the boughs oftwo overhanging trees; but the young people rarely cared to enter it. It held the syrup tubs and such stores of food as were needed from dayto day, but it was small and low, and "out of doors" suited them better, even at night when their work detained them. 

Into the great maple trees, scattered over an area of many acres, smallscooped spouts of cedar were fastened, and out of a tiny cutting, madeby a common axe above it, the sap flowed over these into a primitivebucket of cedar, or a still more primitive trough placed beneath. Thissap was carried from all parts of the place in pails sustained by arough wooden yoke placed on the shoulders of the carrier, and emptiedinto great wooden sap-holders beside the kettles. This part of thework, to be done well, and with the smallest amount of labour, had to bedone in the early morning, before the sun had melted the crust which thenight's frost had made on the snow. For even when the open fields werebare, the snow still lingered in the hollows of the wood, and to carryfull pails safely, when one's feet were sinking into the mass made softby the sunshine, was a feat not to be accomplished easily. 

This carrying of the sap and the cutting of the wood for fires, was thehard part of the work; the boiling of the sap and all the rest of it wasconsidered by Davie and his brothers as only fun. When there was agreat run of sap, as usually happens several times in the season, theboiling had to be carried on through the night, as well as during theday, and when the weather was fine, this only made the fun the greater. At such times Davie usually secured the companionship of a friend, andthe chances were the friend brought another friend or two with him; andthere were few things happening in Gershom or elsewhere that were notfreely discussed at such times. 

Katie had less to do with sugar-making this year than ever she hadbefore, and was inclined to murmur a little because of it. But she wasless needed in the wood now, her grandmother said, when the other bairnswere growing able to help their brother, and Katie was needed in thehouse. Early as it was, there were calves to be fed and milk to becared for, and this year it was understood that Katie was to beresponsible for all that was done in the dairy. There was plenty to do;Katie's mother was not strong, and grannie confessed that she wasfeeling herself not so young as she used to be, and Katie was the mainstay now. 

And, besides, Katie was too nearly a grown woman now to play herselfwith the bairns in the wood, grannie went on to say, and it was farbetter for Davie to get Ben Holt or some other lad to help, when helpwas needed, than to take his sister from her work at home to do work forwhich she was not fit. Of course Katie assented, and yielded her ownpleasure, as she always did at any word of grannie's; but grannieherself felt a little uncomfortable about it. For it was not herthought that Katie should be kept, as a general thing, out of the wood, but Davie's. Between indignation and amusement, she had had somedifficulty in keeping her countenance when the lad had spoken. 

"I dinna need her, grannie, and she's better at home. Help! There's nofear but I'll get help enough. Jim Miller will be over, and MosesGreen, and more besides, very likely, and I'm no' wanting Katie. "

"You're well off for helpers, it seems, Davie, my lad. But as forKatie's going--"

"Grannie, she's no' going. As for helpers, they may come and go, andhelp or not help, as suits themselves. But the less they have to sayabout our Katie in the town, the better. Helpers! Do you suppose, grannie dear, that they all come to help me?"

His grandmother looked at him in amazement. 

"I doubt, laddie, you hardly ken what you are saying. "

"I ken fine, grannie. If they want to see Katie, they must come to thehouse here, to my mother and you. I'm no' to have the responsibility. "

"Davie, lad, " said grannie solemnly, "if you kenned what you are saying, you would deserve the tawse. Responsibility, indeed! A laddie likeyou; and my bonnie simple-hearted Katie. "

"I'm saying nothing about Katie, grannie. I'm speaking about otherfolk. Jim to-day and Moses to-morrow, and maybe young Squire Holt--noless, the next--with their compliments and their nonsense. And as forKatie, she likes it well enough, or she might come to like it; she's buta lassie after all. "

"Oh, laddie, laddie!" was all his astonished grandmother could say. 

"I'm no' needing her to-day, " repeated Davie. 

"Davy, you are to say nothing of all this to your sister. I wouldna formuch that she would hear the like of that from you. "

"I thought it better to speak to you, grannie, " said Davie with gravity. 

Grannie would have liked to box his ears. 

"Grannie, you needna be angry at me. I'm no saying that Katie isheeding; but other folk call her bonnie Katie as well as you, and she'salmost a woman now, and it canna be helped. "

"Whisht, Davie. Well, never mind; I'm no' angry. But say nothing toKatie to put things in her head. A laddie like you. " And grannielaughed in spite of her indignation. But she kept her "bonnie Katie" athome for the most part, unless there was some special reason for hergoing with the rest. 

There were many other visitors at the sugar-place--visitors whom evenDavie could not suspect of coming altogether for Katie's sake. Mostpeople who had a chance to do so, liked to go at least once into thewoods when the sugar-making was going on, and the Flemings' place wasnot very far from the village, and lay high and dry and was easy ofaccess, so that few days passed without a visit from some one. 

Sometimes they were visitors to mind and sometimes they were not, butthe laws of hospitality held good in the woods as in the house, and theywere welcomed civilly at least. Once or twice, when particular friendsof his came on sap-boiling days, Davie ventured on an impromptusugaring-off on his own responsibility. He made use of a small kettlefor the purpose, so that the important matter of boiling down the sapneed not be interfered with. He told himself that he was not disobeyinghis grandfather, but he knew that probably it had never come into hismind that such a thing would be attempted, and he did not enjoy it much, though his visitors did. He acknowledged afterward to Katie, that neverin the course of his life had he "felt so mean" as he did on the lastoccasion of the kind. The sugar was just coming to perfection, when theeager barking of the dog proclaimed the approach of some one, and Davienever doubted that it was his grandfather. It was all that he could doto prevent himself from snatching the sugar from the fire and putting itout of sight. He did not do it, however, and it was not hisgrandfather. But Davie's feeling of discomfort stayed with him, thoughhe had no reason to suppose that any one of the party had noticed histrouble. 

But in this he was mistaken. The very last person to whom he would haveliked to betray himself had observed him. Mr Maxwell had only been afew minutes at the camp, and was not one of those for whoseentertainment Davie had prepared. Of course he knew that whoever cameto the place on regular sugaring-off days, was made welcome to all thatcould be enjoyed on the occasion, but even with his knowledge that theFlemings were open-handed on all occasions, he did feel somewhatsurprised that such special pains should be taken for the entertainmentof chance comers. But it was the anxious look that came over Davie'sface that struck him painfully. 

That Davie, whose character for straightforwardness and courage no onedoubted--his grandfather's right hand, the staff and stay of the wholehousehold--that Davie should be found turning aside, ever so little, from what was open and right, hurt the minister greatly. He loved thelad too well to forbear from reproof, or at least a caution, so hestayed till the others had left the wood to say a word to him. This wasnot his first visit to the camp, for Davie and he were friends, and MrMaxwell had proved his friendship in a way that the boy liked--bylending him books, and by helping him to a right appreciation of theircontents. He had a book in his hand now, as he waited while Daviefilled the kettles and stirred the fire, and it troubled him to thinkthat he was going to prove his friendship this time in a way the boywould not like so well. He did not know what to say, and had notdecided, when Davie, perhaps surprised at his unwonted silence, lookedup and met his eye. 

"Davie, lad, was it your grandfather that you expected to see whenCollie barked a little while ago?"

Davie reddened and hung his head, and then looking up, said with a touchof anger in his voice:

"You are thinking worse of me than I deserve, Mr Maxwell. "

"Well, I shall be glad to be set right, Davie. "

"You don't suppose my grandfather would grudge a few pounds of sugar insuch a year as this? Why, there has been no such season since I canremember, at least we have never made so much. "

"No, I did not suppose that. It would not be like him. "

"And there was no time lost; I was helped rather than hindered. Andanybody would do the same in any sugar-place in the country, only--"Davie hesitated. 

"It was not the sugar I thought of, it was the look that came over yourface when you thought your grandfather was coming, that accused you. You accused yourself, Davie. "

After a moment's silence, Davie said:

"My grandfather is not just like other folks in all things, and therewere two or three here that he does not like--and he might have spokenhastily--being taken by surprise, and--I didn't like the thought of it. "

The hesitation was longer this time. 

"The chances are, he would--have given me--a blowing up, and that is notso pleasant before folks. "

"Well, " said the minister again. 

"Well, he might have been uneasy at the sight of Hooker and Piatt, andhe might have thought I was not to be trusted. And then it would havevexed grannie and them all. My grandfather is queer about some things--I mean he is an old man, and has had trouble in his life, with moreahead, if some folks get their way and so I would have been sorry to seehim just then. "

"And, Davie, should all this make you less careful to do his will, ormore, both as to the spirit and the letter?"

"But, Mr Maxwell, it was not that I thought I was doing wrong, only Ihoped grandfather might not come; and even grannie has whiles to--to--No, I won't say it. Grannie is as true as steel. And I was wrong to doanything to encourage Hooker and Piatt to stay, and I am sorry. "

"Davie, " said the minister kindly and solemnly, "be always loyal in wordand deed, as I know you are in heart, to your grandparents. You areeverything to them. I know of no nobler work than you have been doingall winter. I beg your pardon if I have been hard on you; but it hurtme dreadfully to see that doubtful look on your face. I did not mean tobe hard. "

Davie told all this to Katie a few nights afterward, as they were goinghome through the fields together. But he did not tell her that he madean errand round behind the camp lest Mr Maxwell should see the tearsthat came rushing to his eyes; nor did he tell her anything that wassaid after that. 

Indeed, there was but a word or two about the Lord and Master, whoseclaims to a loving loyalty are supreme, words which Davie never forgot, and only alluded to long afterward, when he and Katie found it easier totalk together about such things. And that the minister had not puttheir friendship in jeopardy, Katie plainly saw. 

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN. 

MR FLEMING'S TROUBLES. 

A few days after the minister's talk with Davie, the squire and MissElizabeth came to pay a visit at Ythan Brae. The squire's visits wererare now, and his coming gave them all pleasure; and as the day wasfine, and the old man expressed a wish to go to the sugar-place, theylost no time after dinner in setting out. 

The squire and Mr Fleming went in Mr Holt's buggy, as far as it couldbe taken, but Mrs Fleming went, with Miss Elizabeth and Katie, the nearway through the fields. It was an afternoon long to be remembered. Katie could not tell which she liked best, the walk up the hill withthese two, or the walk home again with Davie when he told her of MrMaxwell's talk with him in the wood. It was pleasant sitting in thesunshine too, and listening to the old squire, and grannie, and themall, and if there had been nothing else to delight her, it would havebeen enough to see Davie behave so well. For Davie did not think somuch of Miss Elizabeth's friendship as Katie did, and did not as ageneral thing take so much pains as she thought he ought to do to bepolite to her friend. But to-day Davie, in his sister's opinion, waskind and "nice" to them all. They heard the sharp ring of his axe asthey went up through the pasture, and when they came in among the treesthey heard him singing merrily to himself. He made much of grannie, whose first visit it was for the season, and when he heard that hisgrandfather and Mr Holt were coming by the road, he went off with greatstrides, like a young giant, to meet them before they should reach acertain hole in the wood road which was deeper than it looked, and wherepossibly they might have to alight and leave the buggy. By and by hecame back with them, carrying the squire's great coat, which he hadfound heavy in coming up the hill. Then with some boards and an oldbuffalo-skin and quilt from the camp, he hastened to make comfortableseats for them all. 

"I think, grandfather, " said he, "since the squire and Miss Elizabethhave come so far--to say nothing of grannie--we should make it worththeir while. If Katie will wash out the little kettle, while I make aplace for it on the fire, we will have a sugaring-off in an hour or two. If you had come to-morrow, Miss Elizabeth, you would have seen usturning off a hundredweight and more. "

"If there will be time for it, " said Mr Fleming doubtfully. 

"Plenty of time, grandfather. I will set it a-going, and Katie canattend to it, for there are some buckets east yonder that I have notseen to-day, and I must gather the sap and make an end of it to-night, if I can. "

"I think I might be trusted to set it a-going myself, Davie, " saidKatie, laughing and turning up her sleeves. 

Davie had made his morning porridge in the kettle, having been busy veryearly in the woods, and there were traces of former sugar-making on italso, but of this Katie said nothing. It was pretty to see her quick, light movements, as she busied herself with the work. Even the washingof a porridge pot may be done in a way to interest on-lookers, andwell-pleased eyes followed her movements. 

A tub of syrup which was to form part of to-morrow's "batch" stood inthe camp, and from this a portion was carefully taken that the groundsneed not be disturbed, a beaten egg and a cup of sweet milk were addedfor clarifying purposes, and it was placed on the fire. As it grew hota dark scum rose to the top, which Katie with her skimmer removed, andby and by there was nothing to be done but to see that the clear, amber-coloured liquid did not boil over. All the help that her brothergave her was by way of advice, and of this she made as much use assuited her, and Miss Elizabeth listened to them much amused. 

But neither Miss Elizabeth nor Katie lost a word of the quiet talk thatwas going on between the old people. The squire and Mrs Fleming hadmost of it to themselves, Mr Fleming putting in a word now and then. Their talk was mostly of old times. If the squire had heard anythingnew of his friend's trouble as to his debt to Jacob he had forgotten it, as he forgot most things happening from day to day now. It was of theold times in Gershom, even before Mr Fleming's coming, that he wasspeaking; most of what he said he had said to them often before. Hecalled Davie Hughie, and did not notice that Elizabeth looked anxiousand tried to change the talk. 

Davie did his part in setting things right by bringing up the questionwhich Ben and he had been discussing lately, as to the salmon fishing onthe Beaver River, before the building of the saw-mills had kept the fishaway. Then Davie went to his sap-gathering, and after that the talkfell upon graver matters; and though all took part, it was grannie whohad most to say, and Elizabeth liked to think afterward of the eager, childlike way in which her father had listened and responded to it all. 

He was very fond of telling of his early days, and of his success inlife, poor old man, but to-day he acknowledged that this life, if itwere all, would be but a poor thing. 

"I might have done differently in some things, and I wish I had, thoughI don't know that it would have amounted to much, anything that I coulddo. "

"And it is well that it is not our ain doings we have to trust to whenlife is wearing over, " said Mrs Fleming, gravely. "I doubt the best ofus would find but poor comfort in looking back over our life, when theend is drawing on; it is to Him who is able and willing to save to theuttermost that we have, one and all, to look. "

"Yes, I know, there is no one else. And my life is most done, but Ihaven't never confessed Him, not before men. "

"But it's no' too late for that even yet, " said Mrs Fleming, gently;"and you _have_ confessed Him in a way, for you have fed the hungry andclothed the naked, and all men trust your word, which, God forgive them, is more than can be said of some who have His name oftenest on theirlips. "

"Folks ought to get religion young, as Lizzie did here, and Jacob. Ihope it's all right with Jacob. I've seen the time when I would havebeen glad to come forward and confess Him and do my part in the church, before Lizzie's mother died. But when a man gets on in years it isn'teasy for him to come out before the world and do as he ought. I hope itwill be all right, and as I told Jacob the other day, when the time doescome for me to be judged I'd full as lief be standing on the sameplatform with old David Fleming as with most any of the professors inGershom. "

"Eh, man! It would be but a poor place to stand in, " said Mr Fleming, with a startled movement. Mrs Fleming looked from one to the other alittle startled also. 

"It is just this, " said she, quickly and softly. "Do we love Him best, and honour Him most? No professing or doing will stand to us instead ofthat, either now or afterwards. And it is our life rather than our lipsthat should have the telling of our love. Though they should bothspeak, " added she, gravely. 

"Ay! that should they, " said her husband. 

"And if we love Him best and honour Him, that is so far an evidence thatwe are His, and we need fear no evil. "

"I love Him; I know I love Him, " said the squire gravely. "As to havinghonoured Him before the world all these years--I have little to sayabout that. And now my life is most gone--most gone--"

Davie came back for the last time with his full pails, and MissElizabeth was glad that the talk should come to an end, for her fatherwas showing signs of weariness and weakness. There was a littlediscussion about the propriety of boiling all the sap down to-night, sothat the morning's "batch" of sugar should be the larger. That wasDavie's plan, but his grandfather objected, and to Katie's intensedelight Davie yielded to his decision cheerfully enough. So he set towork to build up the fires, that the process of boiling to syrup whatwas now in the kettle might be hastened, for it must be taken from thefire and strained and put safely into the camp before they went home. 

Katie's sugar was by this time pronounced ready to be tested, and Daviehastened to bring from some distant hollow a bucketful of the snow whichstill lingered in shady places. Over this a spoonful or two of theclear brown liquid from the kettle was spread, and as it stiffened, andafter a little became solid, it was pronounced to be sugar--though tounaccustomed eyes it would have seemed only a brown syrup still. But bythe time it cooled it would be mostly solid sugar, and when theremaining moist part should be drawn off, it would be maple sugar of thevery best, Squire Holt declared, and no one knew better than be. 

It is not to be supposed that the old people had cared much to have thesugar made for them, or that they tasted it very freely now that it wasdone. But they had enjoyed seeing it made, and had had a pleasantafternoon. They did not fall into much talk after this. It was nearlysunset, and time for the squire to be at home. So he and Elizabeth didnot return to the house, but took the buggy at the point where it hadbeen left, and went straight to the village. Mr and Mrs Fleming wenthome together over the fields, and Katie was left to help Davie with thestraining of the syrup, which was nearly ready now. 

"We have had a pleasant afternoon, " said Katie; "I only wish theminister had been here, and Miss Betsey, and Mr Burnet. If we hadknown we might have sent for them. "

"It is better as it was. Grandfather liked it better, " said Davie. "The minister was here the other day. "

"And you didna tell us!"

"Well--I'm telling you now. " And in a little he had told the wholestory, shamefacedly, but quite honestly. Katie did not say that shethought the minister had been hard on him--thought it for a while. However, Davie did not think he had been hard, she could see, and noharm was done. 

In Katie's opinion Davie had been wonderfully good and thoughtful allwinter. He had very rarely laid himself open to his grandfather'sdoubts or displeasure. But after this time there was a difference thatmade itself apparent to eyes that were less watchful than Katie's. "Loving loyalty, " that was just the name for it. In great things andsmall, after this, the lad laid himself out to please his grandfather. 

He was captious with his sisters "whiles, " she acknowledged in secret;he was arbitrary with his little brothers when they neglected tasks ofhis giving; and tried his mother and his grandmother, now and then, asyoung lads always have, and always will try their mothers andgrandmothers, until old heads can be put on young shoulders. 

But with his grandfather he was gentle, patient, and considerate, to adegree that surprised even Katie, who had been gentle, patient, andconsiderate with him all her life. She used to wonder whether hergrandfather noticed it. He never spoke of it, but he found fault lessfrequently, and was less exacting as to times and seasons for work, andas to the lad's comings and goings generally. 

Mr Fleming had for a long time said little either of past troubles orfuture fears, and it was on the past rather than the future that histhoughts dwelt. The future looked dark enough in some of its aspects, but it was by no means hopeless. Davie was more nearly right than Katiewas willing to believe, when he said that his grandfather, as well as agood many others in Gershom, were waiting to see "what the Lord wasgoing to do about it, " whether it was to be a case of "the righteousnever forsaken, " or whether this time "the race was to be to the swift, and the battle to the strong. "

It may be said of the old man, that on the whole he waited hopefully, or, rather, he looked forward without any special anxiety as to whatmight be the result of his long controversy with his enemy. Nothing soterrible could happen as had come to him in the past, when his boy hadgone down to a dishonoured grave, beyond the reach of hope. Nothing soterrible could happen to the bairns. Every summer and winter passingover their heads, made them more able to meet hardship, if hardship laybefore them. Of Katie he had long been sure, and of Davie he wasgrowing surer every day. The rest were healthy, wholesome bairns, withno special gift of beauty or cleverness to lay them open to specialtemptation. They would do well by their mother, and by one another, andGod would guide them, the old man said. 

As for himself and his Katie, his dear old wife, their time was nearlyover, and they would soon be at peace. At peace! That was the way heput it to himself always. He did not dwell at this time on all that hasbeen promised of the glory to be revealed. He never said that he shrankfrom the thought of entering through the gates into the heavenly city, out of which his boy must be shut. That would have been rebellionagainst God, and he would not rebel. 

But he was walking in darkness. His eyes were turned away from His facewho is the light of the world, and even when he strove to lift them up, there were clouds and shadows between, that grew darker for a while. 

All this had come upon him gradually. After the utter darkness of thewinter that followed his son's death, he might have ceased to think soconstantly of his loss and his son's ruin if it had not been for thesight of Jacob Holt. If Jacob had never returned, or if he had gone onin his old ways till the end came to him also, he might have forgivenhim, at least he might have outlived the bitterness of his anger, and intime might have been comforted for his son, and as other fathers arecomforted. 

But Jacob came home, and had another chance, and became a changed man, or so it was said of him. As years passed he did well for himself, andhad power and influence in the town, as his father had had before him. And when James Fleming died, and the old man fell into his enemy's hand, as he thought, his whole life was made bitter to him. 

It was not that he grudged to Jacob anything either of wealth orconsideration that he had won for himself. But with every thought ofhim was joined the thought of the son who, in his father's eyes, hadbeen as much above him as one human being could well be above another, in goodness, in cleverness, in beauty, in all that makes a man worthy oflove and honour from his fellows, and he grew sick sometimes with thethought of it all. 

But he never spoke much of all this even to his wife. It was yearsbefore the old squire knew that it was not all right between Mr Flemingand Jacob, and he never knew all the bitterness of the old man'sfeelings. Gershom people generally knew that there was no love lostbetween them, but even Mrs Fleming hardly knew how utterly her husbandhad become possessed of the feelings which embittered his life. 

All this hurt Jacob far less than it hurt himself. Indeed, it cannot besaid that it affected Jacob at all, in the way of making him ashamed orremorseful. It affected in some measure the opinion of a few of hisfellow-townsmen, and gave to those who had a grudge against him forother reasons, an opportunity of saying hard things against him. ButJacob cared little for all this, and until he had been thwarted by himin the matter of the land on the bank of the river, had given few of histhoughts to Mr Fleming. 

But who can say what the stern old man had endured all these years whilehis silent anger, which was almost hatred, was living and rankling inhis heart? Even while he believed that it was the sin that he hated, and not the sinner, it had been like a canker within him. Hisconscience permitted the stern avoidance of this man, but it was notalways silent as to the neglect or the positive avoidance of duties, which the presence of this man made distasteful, and at times evenimpossible to him. 

When Jacob, according to the hopeful verdict of his friends, became achanged man, and cast in his lot with the people of God, it had neededthe utmost exercise of the strong restraint which he imposed on himself, as far as outward acts were concerned, to keep him from crying outagainst what seemed to him to be a profanation of God's ordinances. After old Mr Hollister's death, when others fell in with the new orderof things, and one after another of his old friends found his place inthe church, he kept back and remained a spectator, even when he wouldgladly have gone with them. 

It was only his strong sense of the duty he owed to his family, thattook him to the new church at all, and it was to be feared that had itnot been for his personal interest in Mr Maxwell, and his real love forthe word of truth as presented by him to the people, he would, duringthe winter which saw the work at Varney's farm commenced and carried onat Jacob Holt's bidding, have absented himself from the house of Godaltogether. 

He went, but he did not derive the good from it he might have done inother circumstances, as he longed to do. He was like one bound orblinded; like one striving vainly to reach a hand held out to him, tosee clearly a face of love turned toward him, indeed, but with a veilbetween. 

"Thou art a God that hidest Thyself, " was his cry. And when this wordfollowed to his conscience, "Your sins have hid His face from you thatHe will not hear, " he laid his hand on his mouth, acknowledging that itmight well be so; but it was not the sin of his anger against Jacob Holtthat came home to him. He told himself that it was the man's dailyhypocrisy that he hated. And if he could not always separate the sinnerfrom the sin in his thoughts, he yet could quiet himself, taking refugein the knowledge that never by word or deed had he pleaded his own causeagainst him. He left it to God to deal with him. 

But having waited long, and seeing many troubles drawing near, he askedin moments of darkness whether God had indeed forgotten him. 

And so the days went on through the spring, and Mrs Fleming watched andwaited, saying little, but growing sad at heart to see how rapidly thesigns of old age were growing visible upon him. 

CHAPTER NINETEEN. 

KATIE'S WORD. 

Grannie's brave heart did not fail her. She had much to comfort her atthis time of trouble. 

Seldom had there been a more favourable spring for the getting in of thecrops, and never even at Ythan Brae had the spring work been donebetter, or in better time. 

Davie was far enough from being perfect yet in many respects, and hisgrandmother did not consider it her duty, or for his good, to let himforget his faults. But she made amends to herself, if not to him, byrejoicing over him and his steadiness and goodness to his mother andKatie. None of her rebukes or cautions were needed where hisgrandfather was concerned, and she could not but wonder sometimes at thelad's forbearance, for the old man's burden of care made him weary andirritable often. 

Katie's dairy, so long talked of and planned for, was in use now, thoughit was not quite finished to her mind yet. Davie made use of his spareminutes on rainy days to add to its conveniences. In the meantime itwas clean and cool. The Ythan burn rippled softly through it, and witha free use of its limpid waters, and a judicious use of the limitedtreasure of ice which they had secured during the last winter months, Katie made such butter as bade fair to win her a reputation which mightin course of time rival that of her grandmother. They had two more cowsin the pasture than ever they had had before; but ambitious to do much, and to make much money for their possible time of need, and beingperfectly healthy and strong, Katie laughed at the idea of having toomuch to do, and could have disposed, in the village, of twice as much ofher delicious butter as her dairy could produce. 

Everything seemed to promise a profitable summer, and a pleasant summertoo, notwithstanding the knowledge that whatever evil was to come onthem through Jacob Holt could not be long averted now. 

"Katie, " said Davie, "do you ken what they are saying about grandfathernow? They say that--"

"But who are saying it? If you tell me who they are, I'll soon tell youwhat they are saying. Though it matters little anyway. "

"Well, you needna fly out at me. I'm no' saying it, " said Davie, laughing. "And as for _they_, I might as well say _he_, or maybe _she_. It was Ben Holt who told me. He heard his Aunt Betsey telling hisgrandmother. But it came from Mrs Jacob in the first place. She saysthat poor old Mr Fleming is not right in his mind, and that somethingwill have to be done about it. "

"Davie!" gasped Katie, "how dare you?"

Davie looked up startled. Katie's face crimsoned first, and then wentvery white. 

"Oh, Davie, Davie! How could you say it?" and her tears gushed forth. 

"But, Katie--such nonsense! I didna say it. Do be reasonable. Ishouldna have told you. But why should we heed what they say?"

It took Katie a good while to get over the shock she had received, andDavie sat watching her a little shamefaced and sorry, saying to himselfwhat queer creatures girls were, and what an especially queer creatureKatie was, and he wished heartily that he had said nothing about it. 

But Katie was not shocked in the way that Davie supposed. It was notthat she was indignant at Mrs Jacob for saying such a thing of hergrandfather. That there should be anything in her grandfather's wordsor ways to make the saying of such things possible made the pain. For aterrible fear had come upon Katie. Or rather, by the constant watchingof her grandmother's looks and words, she had come to the knowledge thatshe feared for the old man something which she had never put into words. 

It was Sunday afternoon, a lovely June day, and they were sitting at thefoot of the little knoll under the birch-tree, where the two Holts hadfound them on that Sunday morning long ago. The rest of the bairns hadgone with their mother to the Sunday-school at the Scott school-house asusual, and their grandfather and grandmother were sitting together inthe house. Davie had been sitting there too, with his book in his hand, but he had not enjoyed it much; he had nodded over it at last anddropped asleep, and then grannie had bidden him go out to the air for awhile and stretch himself, adding to his grandfather as he went:

"He's wearied with his week's work, poor laddie, and canna keep his eyesopen, and it will do him good to stroll quietly down the brae to theburn. And Katie, lassie, you can go with him for a little till thebairns and your mother come home. "

So, her grandfather saying nothing, Katie went well pleased, and the twosoon found themselves at their favourite place of rest, at the pointwhere the Ythan begins to gurgle and murmur over the stones at the footof the birch knoll. 

They had both changed a good deal since the day the Holts found themsitting there. There seemed a greater difference in their ages thanthere had seemed then, for Katie, as bonnie and fresh as ever, wasalmost a woman now. Davie was a boy still, long and lank, and notnearly so handsome as he used to be, but there was promise of strengthand good looks too, when a few years should be over. He had workedconstantly and hard for the last year, and he stooped a little sometimeswhen he was tired, and Katie was beginning to fear lest he should becomeround-shouldered and "slouching, " and was in the way of giving himfrequent hints about carrying himself uprightly, as he went about thefarm. But he was as fine a young fellow as one could wish to see, andhis looks promised well for the manhood that did not lie very far beforehim. 

They were silent for a good while after Katie's outburst. She sat onthe grass, her hands clasped round her knees, and her eyes fixed on therippling water of the burn. Davie lay back on the grass with his headon his clasped hands regarding her. She turned round at last with agrave face. 

"I cannot understand it, Davie. I suppose Jacob Holt is not a good man, and grandfather thinks he did him a great wrong long ago, and that he isonly waiting for an opportunity to do him still another. But yet itseems strange to me that grandfather should care so much, and be so hardon him. It should not matter so much to him, for Jacob Holt is but apoor creature after all. "

Davie looked at her in astonishment. 

"Is that the way you look at it? Do you know what happened long ago?"

"I don't know, nor do you; but we can guess. And even grannie thinkshim hard on Jacob. Oh, Davie; it is a terrible thing not to be able toforget. "

Davie said nothing, and Katie went on:

"I hate myself for thinking that grandfather may not be right ineverything, so good as he is, so upright and so true. He never did amean or unjust deed in all his life. If he is not one of God's people, who is? And yet, Davie, the Bible says, `If ye forgive not men theirtrespasses, neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespasses. 'And to think that one like Jacob Holt should have the power to harden agood man's heart like that!"

"What do you suppose grannie would think if she were to hear you?" saidDavie in amazement. 

"Of course I wouldna speak to grannie, or to any one else but you. Andwhiles I think that grannie herself is feared at his silence, and--andat his unchangeableness, " said Katie, with an awed look. "Andgrandfather is growing an old man now, and what will it matter to him ina little while about Jacob Holt or any other man?"

Davie got up and walked about restlessly for a while, and when he cameand stood before her on the other side of the burn, Katie want on again:

"Grandfather must ken that the Lord knows about it all, and that it issure `to work for good' to him, as the Bible says it must. `Allthings, ' it says. And the Lord knew grandfather's trouble long ago, andgrandfather knows that He knew it, and it is a wonder that he shouldnever be comforted. "

"It is something that we canna understand, " said Davie gravely. "But, Katie, grandfather is not ay dwelling on it as you suppose. Did he everdo an ill deed to Jacob Holt, or say an ill word of him? He canna befriendly with him, because he canna trust him or respect him. But as tonot forgiving him--that is not likely. "

"But, Davie, he hasna spoken a word to Jacob Holt for years. He has notheard his name spoken--unless by the old squire, who forgets thingswhiles. None of us name him in his hearing, nor the neighbours. Andall this about the land and the site for the mills is not natural, isit, if he has forgiven and forgotten? And it is not Christian, if hehas not, " added Katie with a sob. 

"And what you mean by all this is, that--that something is the matterwith him--as Mr Jacob said, " and Davie turned angry eyes on his sister. 

"Davie, I whiles think grannie is feared. She is ay longing for hishome-coming when he is away. And I hear her speaking softly to him whenthey are alone. And I hear him often praying in the night; last nightit was for hours, I think. Oh, Davie! and then grannie went to him, andhe went back to his bed again, and grannie looked, oh, so white andspent in the morning. "

"And he was at Pine-tree Hollow the other night, " said Davie. 

"Yes! And grannie went to meet him, and my mother was waiting for themat the gate, and she burst out crying when she saw them coming hometogether through the gloaming. "

They sat for a long time silent after that. Indeed, there was notanother word spoken till they heard the children's voices, and knew thatit was time to go to the house again. Then Katie stooped and laved thewater on her tear-stained face before she turned to go. 

"It will all work for good, Katie, you may be sure of that, " said herbrother huskily, as they went up the brae together. 

"Yes, to those who love Him. So the promise is good for grannie andhim--and, oh, Davie! if we were only sure for us all. "

There were smiles on Katie's face when she said this, and tears too, andit was doubtful which of them would have way, till her grandfather'svoice settled it. She had only smiles for him, as he came out at thedoor with his staff in his hand, and looking as if he needed it to leanupon, but looking, at the same time, brighter and more like himself thanKatie had seen him for a while. She turned and went with him toward thepasture-bars, his favourite walk. They went slowly on together, speaking few words, content to be silent in each other's company. 

It was a bonny day, the old man said, and the grass was fine and green;and Katie bade him look at the barley turning yellow already, and at thepurple shadows on the great hay-field as the wind passed over it. 

"I like to watch them, " said Katie, "and, grandfather, doesna it mindyou of the waves of the sea?"

Her grandfather shook his head. 

"It's a bonny sight, but it is no like the waves of the sea. "

And thus a word dropped here and there till they came to thepasture-bars. The sheep and the young lambs crowded together close tothe bars over which they leaned, expecting the usual taste of salt fromtheir hands, and old Kelso and her colt neighed their welcome. It was apeaceful, pleasant scene, and would do her grandfather good, Katie saidto herself joyfully. But in a minute her heart gave a sudden throb, aswith a look at her face, from which neither the water of the burn, northe mild sweet air had quite effaced the traces of tears, he saidgravely:

"And what was it that Davie was saying to you as you came up the brae?"

Katie gave a quick look into his face, and her eyes fell, and she couldnot utter a word. 

"Was he vexing you with his nonsense? Was he scolding you, my lassie?"

"Davie! Oh, grandfather! I would never heed Davie. And besides, it isI who scolded Davie, " added she with a laugh, much relieved. 

"I dare say he's no' out of the need of it whiles, though he maybe needsit less than he once did. "

"Yes, indeed! grandfather. Is he not steady now? As good as gold?"

"As gold? Well, gold is good in its place, if it could be kept there. And what were you two discoursing about, down yonder by the burn?"

It never came into Katie's mind that she could answer him otherwise thanindirectly. 

"We were speaking--about you, grandfather, and about--Jacob Holt. "

"Well?"

"And Davie was saying how impossible it was that anything that that mancan do could hurt you, grandfather. "

"He thinks he kens, does he?"

"But he says everybody kens that, though Jacob is a greedy man, he isbut a poor creature, and wouldna dare to harm you, because all Gershomwould cry out against him if he were to do his will. "

"I'm no' sure of that. But, indeed, I think he has done his worst on mealready. " And the look, the dark look, that always brought the shadowto grannie's eyes came over his face as he said it. Katie's heart beathard, but her courage rose to the occasion, and she said softly andreverently:

"It was God's will, grandfather, and surely Jacob must be sorry now. "

The old man uttered a sound between a groan and a cry. 

"Was it God's will? It was a great sin, and God has never punished himfor it. Lassie, you little ken. "

"No, grandfather, but God kens. And it was His will, " repeated Katie, not knowing what to say. 

"God's will! Ay, since He permitted it; we can say nothing else. Butthat it should be God's will that yon man should have a name and a placehere--and it may be, hereafter--passes me. "

Except to his wife, Mr Fleming had never spoken such words before, andthe pain and anger on his face it was sorrowful to see. 

"Grandfather, don't you mind how, at the very last, our Lord said, `Father, forgive them'?"

He had been sitting, with his face averted from her, but he turned nowwith a strange, dazed look in his eyes:

"Ay. And He said, `Love your enemies, ' and `Forgive and ye shall beforgiven. ' And Katie, my bonny woman, I canna do it. "

Katie slid down to the ground beside him, and laid her wet face on hisknee without a word. What was there to be said, only "God comfort him, God comfort him?" and she said it many times in the silence that camenext. 

By and by the clouds drifted toward the west and hid the sun, and itseemed to grow dreary and chill around them. 

"We'll go to the house to your grandmother, " said he at last in a voicethat to Katie seemed hard and strange. 

Was he angry with her? Ought she not to have spoken? She dared not askhim, but she touched his hand with her lips, and wet it with her tearsbefore she rose. He took no notice, but said again: "We'll go home toyour grandmother;" and no word was spoken till they reached the house, and then Katie slipped away out of sight, lest her grandmother shouldsee her tears. 

But as the days went on she knew that he was not angry. He was verygrave and silent, and grannie was never quite at rest when he was longout of sight. But summer wore on, and nothing happened to make one daydifferent from another till haying-time came. 

CHAPTER TWENTY. 

A DEMONSTRATION. 

Mr Fleming's failing strength, and the high rate of wages paid for farmlabour, had for several years made it necessary for him to depart fromwhat seemed to him the best mode of farming, in order to save bothstrength and wages. So there was a larger part of the place in hay andpasture-land than there had been at first, a larger proportion thanthere ought to be for really good farming on such land as his, he waswilling to acknowledge. Haymaking was, therefore, the most importantpart of summer work at Ythan. 

There was much to be done, both in the house and in the fields. Severalmen were required to help for a month or more, and if they were not ofthe right stamp, both as to character and capabilities, the oversight ofthem became a trouble to the grandfather, and that, of course, troubledthem all. No choice could be exercised in the matter. They wereusually men who came along from the French country, either before orafter their own narrow fields were cut, in order to make a little moneyby helping their English-speaking neighbours, and those who hired themmust take their chance. 

As a general thing the men were good workers, and did well when theiremployers worked with them. But they were for the most parteye-servants, who took things easy when it might be done, and witheye-service Mr Fleming had less patience than with most things. 

But the "good luck" that had followed Davie and his doings on the farmall the summer, followed him still. One night there came to Ythan astranger, who introduced himself as Ira Hemmenway, an American, soleagent in Canada for the celebrated Eureka mowing-machine, and he"claimed the privilege" of introducing this wonderful invention to thenotice of the discriminating and intelligent farmers of Gershom. Heasked nothing better for his own share of profit than a chance to showwhat he could do with it on some of the smooth fields of Ythan. 

If he had been aware of Mr Fleming's distaste for all things untried, or "new-fangled, " it is likely he would have carried his requestelsewhere. But, greatly to Davie's surprise, his grandfather listenedto the proposition of Mr Hemmenway with no special signs of disfavour, and he could only hope that the wonderful eloquence of their Yankeefriend might not hinder rather than help his cause. 

"With a fair start in the morning we calculate, with a middlin' span ofhorses, to get over by noon as much ground as six men would get over, ifthey worked from sunrise to sundown, if they didn't have to stop to eator drink or take a resting-spell. We cut clean and even. There'll be alittle clipping, maybe, round the stumps and stone piles, but you don'tseem to have many of them. You just see me go once round your big fieldthere with my team, and you'll never want to touch a scythe again. Onlygive me the chance. The first day sha'n't cost you nothing but myvictuals and good feed of oats for my team. Now come, what do you say?"

Mr Fleming listened with patience and with some amusement, Daviethought. 

"That is cheap enough surely, " said he. 

"And nothing risked, " continued Mr Hemmenway. "It'll be good for youand good for me, and it doesn't often happen that both sides get thebest of the bargain. Say yes, and I'll be along by sunrise, and if Idon't make this young man here open his eyes first time round, I shallbe some surprised. "

The only difficulty seemed lest there might be too much grass cut to beproperly cared for, since they had not as yet engaged help. 

"Don't you fret about that. You'll have the whole neighbourhood herelooking on, and I don't suppose they'll stand still and do it. I'llrisk the making of the hay that'll be cut to-morrow. "

The idea of the whole neighbourhood looking on, or even helping to makehay, was not so agreeable to Mr Fleming as Mr Hemmenway might havesupposed, and Davie hastened to suggest that Ben Holt and two or threeothers who had not yet commenced in their own fields might give help forone day, and so the matter was arranged. Mr Hemmenway lost no time. The machine was brought to Ythan that night, and when Mr Fleming cameout in the morning operations had long been commenced in Mr Hemmenway'sbest style, and Davie was occupying his place on the high seat of themachine, and driving "the team" steadily round the great square, whichwas growing beautifully less at every turn. 

Not quite the whole neighbourhood came to look on, but a good many did. Among the rest was Deacon Scott, who was almost as much averse to"new-fangled" notions as was Mr Fleming. But he engaged the machinefor the next day, and paid a good price for it--which was all cleargain, Mr Hemmenway admitted to Davie in confidence. Going about fromfield to field for a few days in a neighbourhood was the company's wayof advertising. If it did not pay this year it would next, for half thefarmers in the country would have a machine by another year. 

"And I don't say it is any way among the impossibles that we shouldconclude to give your little town a lift, by establishing a branchfactory in it. You've got a spry little stream here, and some goodland, and there'll be some handsome fields for the Eureka to operateupon when the stumps get cleared out. But you are considerably behindthe times in the way of implements. You want to be put up to a dodge ortwo, and we are the folks to do it, in the way of machinery, " and so on. 

Two more days of the Eureka at Ythan laid low the grass in every field, and within eight days of the time when Mr Hemmenway made his appearancethere, all the hay was well made and safely housed, without a drop ofrain having fallen upon it. 

Davie was tired, but triumphant. "Providence is ay kind, " said granniesoftly, and grandfather's assent, though silent as usual, was pleasedand earnest, and he was "in better heart" than he had been for a while. 

Davie had some good hard work in other hay-fields in return for the helpthey had had at Ythan, and it was done gratefully and heartily. 

And when most of the hay-fields in Gershom were bare and brown, waitingfor the showers that were to make them green and beautiful for the fallpasture, in the short "resting-spell" that usually comes in this part ofCanada between the hay and grain harvest, thoughts of pleasure seemed totake possession of young and old in Gershom. 

It would be impossible to say to whom was due the honour of originatingthe idea of assembling for a grand pleasure party of some sort, all thepeople of Gershom "and vicinity. " A good many people claimed it, and itis probable they all had a right to do so. For so natural and agreeablea plan might well suggest itself to several minds at the same time. Ittook different forms in different minds, however. All were forpleasure, but there were various opinions as to how it could best besecured. 

The young people generally were in favour of an expedition to Hawk'sHead, or to the more distant, but more accessible wonders of Clough'sChasm, where in a sudden deep division of the hills lay a clear, stilllake, whose depths it was said had never yet been sounded. Othersapproved rather of some plan that would allow a far larger number toparticipate in it, than such an expedition would allow. And while thiswas being discussed in a manner that threatened the falling through ofthe whole affair, it was taken up by that part of the community whoconsidered themselves chiefly responsible for the well-being of the bodypolitic, and who considered themselves also, on the whole, eminentlyqualified to perform the duties which the responsibilities implied. Andby them it was declared that a great temperance demonstration was atthis time desirable. 

Such a demonstration would do good in many ways. It would revive thedrooping spirits of those who were inclined to despond as to theprosperity of the cause. It would rouse from slumber the consciences ofsome who had once been its active friends, and it would strengthen thehands of all faithful workers; it would bring on the field all the bestspeakers of the country, and give an impulse to the cause generally. 

All this was said with much energy and reiteration, and a good deal ofit was believed; at any rate, all other plans for pleasure were made togive way before it. It did not so much matter what might be made theoccasion of the gathering, so that folks got together to have a goodtime, said the young and foolish, who thought much of whatever wouldgive enjoyment for the time, and little of anything else. As tolistening to speech-making--there need be no more of that than eachmight choose; so in the end almost all fell in with the idea of thegreat temperance demonstration, and notice was given to the country atlarge accordingly. 

But it is only as far as two or three people concerned themselves withit that we have anything to do with the matter, either as an occasionfor amusement or as a demonstration of principle. Davie brought home toKatie the news of all that was intended, and added a good deal as to hisopinion of it, which he acknowledged he would have liked to give at ameeting called to make arrangements, which he and Ben had just attended. 

"You should have heard them, grannie, and then you would shake your headat them and not at me. "

And Davie gave them a specimen of the remarks that had been made and themanner of them, that made even his grandfather smile. There had been agreat deal of inconsequent talking, as is usual on such occasions, andthe chances were that the meeting would have come to an end withouthaving definitely settled a single point which they had met for thepurpose of settling, if it had not happened that Clifton Holt--at homefor his vacation, he said--strayed into the school-house toward the end. 

"And it must be acknowledged that Clif has a head, " said Daviediscontentedly. "He is a conceited fellow but he is smart. In tenminutes they had decided on the place, the grove above Varney's place, and had appointed committees for all manner of things. And he made themall believe that the meeting had settled the whole and not himself. Youshould have heard John McNider `moving, ' and Sam Green `seconding, ' andJim Scott `suggesting, ' and every one of them believing that he wasdoing it out of his own head. It is a good thing that Clif thinksGershom too small a place for him. He'd play the old squire in a newway. He's got more gumption in his little finger than Jacob has in hiswhole body;" and remembering that his grandfather was present, hepaused, and then added: "He'll make a spoon or spoil a horn, will Clif. And, grannie, I'm hungry. "

"Well, there is milk and bread in the pantry. Bring it to your brother, Katie, as he's tired. And we'll hope, Davie lad, that the spoon will bemade and the horn no' spoiled. You're over ready with your judgments, Idoubt. "

When Katie brought the bread and milk she ventured to ask some furtherparticulars as to arrangements. 

"Oh, you'll hear all about it. You are on two or three committees atleast. No, I don't remember what they are. Setting tables, I think. You'll hear all about it, and if you don't, then all the better, " saidDavie shortly. 

"And what have they given you to do? Surely they didna neglect thegeneral interest so far as to overlook you. "

For when Davie took that line with Katie, grannie considered that heneeded to be put down a bit. Davie laughed. He understood it quitewell. 

"No, grannie dear, I'm on two or three of their committees as well asKatie--and so is half the town for that matter. And they think they aredoing it for `the cause, '" added Davie, laughing. "Grannie, I wouldgive something if I could write down every word just as it was spoken. I never read anything half so ridiculous in a book. "

"My lad, things are just as folk look at them. I daresay your friendsBen, and Sam and Jim Scott saw nothing ridiculous about it till you madethem see it. And the master was there, and John McNider--"

"But the master didna bide long; and as for John--if you give him achance to make a speech, that is all he needs--"

"Whisht, Davie lad, and take the good of things. It is a good causeanyway. "

"Oh, grannie, grannie! as though the cause had anything to do with it, at least with the most of them!"

"Well, never mind. You can take the good of the play without makingfolk think it's for the cause. And you'll need to help thepreparations. As for Katie, I doubt I canna so well spare her--exceptfor the day itself. "

The last few words had been between these two when the others had goneout of the room. Grannie had a little of the spirit of which Katie hada good deal. She was sociably inclined, and, though it troubled herlittle that she or those belonging to her should be called odd, she knowit troubled Katie, and she wanted her to have the harmless enjoymentthat other young girls had, and to take the good of them. And shedesired for Davie, also, that he should be able to do and to enjoysomething else besides the work of the farm, which was certainly hisfirst duty. But she knew that his grandfather's desire to keep him fromevil companionship might keep him also from such companionship as mightcorrect some faults into which he was in danger of falling, being lefttoo much to himself, and might do him good in other ways. So, whenevera fair opportunity occurred to give the young people a taste ofamusement which seemed harmless and enjoyable, she quietly gave hervoice in favour of it. And in her opinion this was one of theoccasions. 

"If we are to refuse to put a hand to any good work till all who wish tohelp are models of discretion, we'll do little in this world, Davie lad. And you'll do what you can to make the occasion what it ought to be forthe honour of the town, since it is to be in Gershom. "

"Oh, grannie, grannie! What would folk say to hear you? As though thewhole town werena agog for the fun of it, and as though I could make astraw's difference. "

"You can make a difference to your mother and Katie and the bairns. AndI dinna like to hear you laughing at folk, as though you didna believein them and their doing. We canna all be among the wise of the earth, and I would like Katie to get the good of this--she who gets so littlein the way of pleasure. "

"Oh, Katie! She's better at home than holding sham committee meetingswith a parcel of idle folk. There's plenty to do it all without her. "

"Oh, as to committee meetings, I doubt she could be ill spared to manyof them, but for the day itself, to hear the speaking and see the showlike the rest. And you are not to spoil it to her beforehand, Davie. "

"Well, I winna, grannie. It will be great fun I dare say. "

"And as it's a leisure time, you must do what you can to help with therest, and all the more as I canna spare Katie. And she will havepreparations to make at home. But we'll hear more about it, it islikely. "

"Plenty more, grannie. Oh, yes; I'll help. It is to be a grandoccasion. "

"But the preparing beforehand is the best of all, they say, " said Katie. 

But even her grandmother was as well pleased that Katie should havenothing to do with general preparations. All sorts of young people wereto help, and it could hardly be but that some foolish things should besaid and done where there was so much to excite and nothing to restrain, and her Katie's name was as well to be kept out of it all. But she putno limit as to the preparations that were to be made at home in the wayof cakes and tartlets and little pats of butter, for it was to be agreat occasion for Gershom. 

There had been demonstrations of this kind before in Gershom and thevicinity. Indeed, this was a favourite way of promoting the cause oftemperance, as it has more recently become the favourite way ofpromoting other causes in Canada. In some spot chosen for generalconvenience a great many people assembled. The greater the number thegreater the good accomplished, it was supposed. The usual plan was forparties of friends to keep together, and either before or after thespeech-making--which was supposed to be the chief interest of the day--to seek some suitable spot in field or grove for the enjoyment in commonof the many nice things stored in the baskets with which all weresupplied. 

But Gershom folk aimed at something beyond the usual way. In FinlayGrove, which had been chosen as the place of meeting, tables were to beset up and covered for--

"Well--we'll say five hundred people, " Clifton Holt suggested at one ofthe meetings for the settling of preliminaries. "And let us show themwhat Gershom can do. "

Of course he did not know in the least what he was undertaking forGershom in this off-hand way, nor did any one else till it was too lateto change the plan. Not that there was any serious thought of changingit. The honour of Gershom was at stake, and "to spend and be spent" forthis--to say nothing of "the cause"--seemed to be the general desire. 

Davie Fleming did his part well. He drew loads of boards from thesaw-mill, and loads of crockery from the various village stores. Hehelped to fix the tables and many seats, and to build the platform for"the speakers from a distance, " vaguely promised as a part of the day'sfeast. Indeed, he distinguished himself by his zeal and efficiency, andwas in such request that he was obliged to promise that he would be onthe ground early in the morning of the day to help about whatever mightstill have to be done. 

He had got quite into the spirit of it by this time. It was great fun, he said, and he was a little ashamed of the part he had taken in keepingKatie out of it all. So he proposed that she should go with him thatmorning and stay for an hour or two. She could go quite easily, hesaid, for he could put her over the river on a raft which he had madefor his own convenience, to save the walk round by the bridge. ButKatie could not be spared. The children were all expected to go withthe Scott's Corner Sunday-school to the High-School, from thence to walkwith several other Sunday-schools in procession to the Grove, and Katiemust help to get them ready and see them off. When Davie came back atnoon he had some news to give her. 

"The squire and Miss Elizabeth have come home, and they have company atJacob's--friends of Mr Maxwell's, they say; but it is likely they wouldbe staying at the parsonage if they were. They have come at a goodtime. They'll see folks enough in their meeting-clothes for once. "

Davie had come home to put on his own "meeting-clothes, " and declinedhis dinner in his hurry to get away again. Katie took it more quietly. In her joy at the prospect of seeing Miss Elizabeth again, the prospectof seeing so many people "in their meeting-clothes" seemed a secondarymatter, and this was too openly acknowledged to please her brother. 

"Katie, " said he discontentedly, "I think the less we have to do withthe Holts to-day the better. "

"Jacob and his wife, you mean, " said Katie, laughing. "Oh, I shall havenothing in the world to do with them. "

"I mean Jacob and his wife and all the rest of them. However, therewill be so many there to-day for Clif to show his fine clothes and hisfine manners to, that he'll have no time for the like of you. "

"But I'll see his fine clothes and his fine manners too, as well as therest. And there are some things that look best a little way off, youknow. "

"That's so. And if it's Holts you want, you'd better stick to Betsey. "

"Yes, and Ben, " said Katie, laughing. 

"Bairns, " said grannie gravely, "you're no quarrelling, I hope. Are youready, Katie? And, Davie lad, are you sure it's quite safe for yoursister to go over the river on your raft? And will she no' be in dangerof wetting her clean frock? It would save her a long walk, and the dayis warm, if you are sure it's safe. "

"It has carried me safe enough, grannie dear, and Ben Holt and more ofus. I ken Katie's precious gear beside me, to say nothing of her frock. But it's safe enough. "

"Well, go away, like good bairns, and dinna be late in coming home. "

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. 

A TEMPERANCE SPEECH. 

Both Katie and her frock got safely over the river on Davie's raft, which was a very primitive affair. They had a field or two to crossfrom the landing-place, and at the opening made in the fence for thepeople from the village to pass through on their way to the Grove, shefound the squire and Miss Elizabeth. They were sitting in MissElizabeth's low carriage, at a loss what to do, because they had beentold that the committee had decided that no carriage was to be admittedwithin the grounds, and Miss Elizabeth did not like to set rules andregulations at defiance, but neither did she like that her father shouldhave to walk up the hill to the Grove. In this dilemma she appealed toDavie. 

"Oh, never mind the committee, Miss Elizabeth. Go ahead up the hill;and, besides, I'm on that committee, and I'll give you a pass, " saidDavie, appreciating the situation. 

Miss Elizabeth laughed, and so did Katie; but when Miss Elizabethproposed that he should take her place in the carriage and drive herfather up to the stand where he was to sit, Katie laughed more than theoccasion required, Davie thought. Of course he could not refuse, andyielded with a good grace. 

The field was none of the smallest, and the carriage moved slowly, sothat Elizabeth and Katie reached the neighbourhood of the speakers'stand almost as soon as the squire. They were in time to see Cliftonhelp his father up the steps to his place on the stand, where a goodmany other gentlemen were seated. Then they saw him hand into thecarriage a very pretty young lady, a stranger, and drive away with her. Davie looked after them with a grimace. 

"That is cool! Holts indeed. "

"I hope my brother is not committing an indiscretion, " said MissElizabeth gravely. 

"Oh, I guess she likes it. And he is one of the managers; he may do ashe likes. "

"I am not so sure of that, " said Miss Elizabeth. 

"But who is she?" asked Katie; "I think she is the prettiest girl I eversaw--and such a pretty dress!"

"Yes, she is very pretty. She is Miss Langden. She and her father camelast night. They are staying at my brother's. They are friends of MrMaxwell's, I hope Clifton has not done a foolish thing in taking heraway. "

The little carriage was making slow progress round the grounds, withmany eyes fixed upon it, and certainly the handsome young couple sittingin it were a pleasant sight to see. Many a remark was passed upon themby friends and strangers alike; admiring remarks generally they were, and though they did not reach the ears of the young people, Cliftoncould very easily imagine them. He enjoyed the situation, and if hiscompanion did not, as one observing lady remarked, "her looks beliedher. " By and by they came round to the stand again and stopped to speakwith Elizabeth. 

"I am glad you brought the carriage, Lizzie, " said her brother. "It isa sight well worth seeing, and one gets the best view in going all theway round. "

It was a sight worth seeing. There were already many hundreds of peopleon the ground. It was a large grassy field, sloping down graduallynearly to the river. The Grove, where the speakers' stand had beenplaced, and where many long tables were spread, was toward the upperpart of it, but there were trees scattered through all the field, andgroups of people were sitting and walking about here and there throughthe whole of it, and more were arriving every moment. 

There was a good deal of bright colour about the "meeting-clothes" ofsome of them, and the effect at a distance was pleasing. In the lowerpart of the field toward the right, where there were trees enough forshade, but an open space also, many children were running about, andtheir voices, possibly too noisy for the pleasure of those close besidethem, came up the hill with only a cheerful murmur that heightened theeffect of the scene. 

"I consider myself fortunate in being permitted to witness such agathering, " said the young lady in the carriage. "You must feel it tobe very encouraging to see so many people showing themselves to be onthe right side. "

"Yes, there is a very respectable gathering. There are a great manyfrom neighbouring towns, " said Elizabeth; "I am very glad we have sofine a day. "

"We can make room for you, Miss Holt, " said Miss Langden. 

"Yes, Lizzie, come; we will drive round again. You can have a farbetter idea of the numbers when you see the whole field. "

But Elizabeth declined. Indeed, she ventured to express a doubt whetherit were the right thing to do. But Clifton only laughed, and asked herwho she supposed would be likely to object. 

"All the same; I would rather not do what others are not permitted todo, " said Elizabeth gravely. 

"All right, Lizzie, " said her brother. 

The young lady at his side made no movement. 

"Shall we take another turn round the field?" said Clifton. "Oh, yes, Lizzie, we shall be back before the speech-making begins. We would notlose a word of that for a great deal, " said Clifton, laughing. 

Elizabeth stood looking after them, with a feeling of some discomfort. It was very foolish for Clifton to make himself so conspicuous, shethought, and then she turned at somebody's suggestion to go and look atthe tables before they were disturbed. Here she fell in with Katieagain, and with her cousin Betsey, and they all went together round thetables. 

They were twelve in number, and were capable of seating not quite fivehundred, but a great many people, and they were loaded with good thingsof all sorts. The speakers' table was splendid with flowers and glassand silver. The good and beautiful from all baskets, or a part ofwhatever was best and most beautiful, had been reserved for it, andKatie hoped that the stranger young lady had got a good view of it. Theother tables were leaded also. There did not seem to be a full supplyof plates and knives and things on some of them, but that woulddoubtless be considered a secondary matter as long as the good thingslasted; and there seemed little chance of their failing. 

The supply reserved for the second tables, and even for the third andfourth tables, seemed to Miss Elizabeth to be inexhaustible. Baskets ofcookies and doughnuts, and little cakes of all kinds; great trays oftartlets and crullers, boxes of biscuits, and buns and rolls of allshapes and sizes, fruit-pies, and crackers, and loaves of bread: thereseemed to be no end of them. 

"End of them! If they hold out, we may be glad, " said Miss Betsey. "Every child on the field is good for one of each thing, at least, biscuits and cookies and all the rest, and there are hundreds ofchildren, to say nothing of the grown-up folks. They've been allcalculating to have the children come in at the last, but two or threeof us have concluded to fix it different. "

The speaking was to come before the eating, and as the crowd who wouldwish to hear would leave no room for the children, Miss Betsey's planwas that they should have their good things while the speaking was goingon, at a sufficient distance to prevent their voices from beingtroublesome, and that the tables should be left undisturbed. Somedozens of young people were detailed to carry out this arrangement, andDavie and Katie were among them. Miss Elizabeth would have liked to gowith them; but she was a little anxious about her father, who had beenmade the chairman of the occasion, and did not wish to be far away fromhim. 

The children's tea was the best part of the entertainment, David saidafterward. There was some danger that the third, or even the secondtables would have little to show, for it had been agreed by those whoserved the children that while any of them could eat a morsel, it shouldbe supplied. And it was a good deal more than Miss Betsey's "one apieceall round" of everything. The quantity that disappeared was amazing. 

Miss Betsey came out wonderfully in her efforts in behalf of the youngpeople. Miss Elizabeth had been rather surprised to find her in theGrove at all, and had quite unintentionally allowed her surprise toappear. It was not like her cousin Betsey to take part in this sort ofthing, on pretence of its being a duty, and her thought was answered asif she had spoken it. 

"I told mother I wasn't going to set up to be any wiser than the rest ofthe folks this time. It's a good cause, and if we don't help it much, we can't do much harm. I mean the children shall have a good time asfar as victuals are concerned. " And so they did. 

Betsey sacrificed her chance of hearing some good speaking, which was agreater disappointment to her than it would have been to some others, and Katie stayed with her. But when the children were at lastsatisfied, they turned their faces toward the stand, still hoping tohear something. They passed along slowly, for there was a great crowdof people, not half of whom were listening to what was said. At oneside of the stand, a little removed from it, but yet near enough to hearif they cared to listen, they saw Miss Elizabeth and her brother, andMiss Langden. Katie pointed her out to Miss Betsey. 

"How pretty she is, and such a pretty dress, and everything to match!Look, Miss Betsey. Did you ever see anything prettier?"

"Why, yes. I don't know but I have. The dress is well enough, " saidBetsey. 

Which was faint praise. The dress was a marvel of elegant simplicity insome light material of soft dim grey, with just enough of colour inflowers and ribbons to make the effect perfect. It was worth whilecoming a long way just to see it, more than one young personacknowledged. The dress and the wearer made a very pretty picture tomany eyes. She was very modest and gentle in manner, and listened, orseemed to listen, like the rest, but Clifton Holt claimed much of herattention, smiling and whispering now and then in a way that made hissister uncomfortable, she scarcely knew why, for the young lady herselfdid not seem to resent it. 

Betsey had not lost much, it was several times intimated to her duringher progress up the hill. "The speakers from a distance" had all failedto appear except two. The forte of one of these seemed to bestatistics. He astonished his audience if he did not edify them, putting into round numbers every fact connected with the temperancecause that could possibly be expressed by figures--the quantity ofspirits consumed in Canada, the money paid for it, the quantity of grainemployed in its manufacture, the loss in flour and meal to the country, the money received for licences, the number of crimes caused by its use, and the cost of these to the country. The other "went in" for "wit andhumour, " and there was much clapping of hands and laughter from such ofthe audience as had not heard his funny stories before, and his wasgenerally pronounced a first-rate speech. 

Squire Holt was in "the chair, " but the duty of introducing the speakerswas performed by Mr Maxwell, for the squire was feeble, and not equalto all that devolved upon him. Indeed, he dropped asleep, poor oldgentleman, while the statistics were being given, and lost the point ofthe stories and got very tired, as Elizabeth could see. But Mr Maxwelldid his part well, and just as Betsey settled herself to hear, heintroduced Mr Langden, a friend of the cause from the States. 

Mr Langden gave them some statistics also, and expressed himselfdelighted with the gathering, and the evidence of interest in the goodcause. He was delighted, too, with their little town and thewater-power, and with their country generally, which was a finer countrythan he had imagined it to be, and not so far behind his own section. He said a great many agreeable things, and though it did not, in theopinion of the critical part of the audience, amount to much as atemperance address, it was such a speech as it was pleasant to hear. 

Then Mr Burnet came forward and charmed the audience with his grandflowing periods. But though his words were splendid, they were few; forMr Burnet did not care to waste his words on a weary and hungry people. And then came the speech of the day. 

Just as Mr Maxwell was considering whether he should give the people aten minutes' address, as was of course expected, or dismiss them at onceto the tables, toward which some of them were already directing theirsteps, Clifton Holt came on to the stand and whispered a few words tohim, and then came forward, asking leave, not to make a speech, but tointroduce a new speaker. He did make a speech, however, short, buttelling, and was cheered heartily; but the cheering rose to its loudestand longest when Mark Varney came forward on the stand. 

Was it Mark Varney? It was a very different man from the down-looking, heartless poor fellow who had disappeared from Gershom two years ago. Erect and broad and brown he stood, with a look of strength and firmnesson his face, though his lips trembled, that no one remembered to haveseen there since his early youth, before his foe had mastered him. 

In the silence that fell after the first shout of welcome, the peoplepressed forward, eager to see and hear. A movement toward the point ofinterest took place through all the field. Those who had grown tired oflistening, and those who had not cared to listen, drew near, and severalof those on the platform pressed forward the better to see and hear. 

Mr Maxwell did not; he drew back rather, after a glance toward the spotwhere Miss Holt and Miss Langden were sitting, and, resting his elbow onthe back of Squire Holt's chair, leaned his head on his hand. MissLangden did not see the glance, for she was listening to Clifton, whohad returned and was saying something to her. But Elizabeth saw thatthere was a strange look, grave and glad, on his face, and that he wasvery pale. 

Gradually the rustle and movements which had given Mark time to quietthe trembling of his lips came to an end, and then he and all the throngwere startled by a sudden cry--loud and strong, though it was but oneman's voice:

"Mark Varney, before all!"

It might have terribly spoiled the effect, but it did not. It gave poorMark, who was no orator, and who, with his heart full, did not find theright words ready, a beginning. 

"Yes, Tim Cuzner, it is Mark Varney, who hasn't been seen in these partsfor two years, nor for a good while before that, in his right mind--andyou are the very man I want to talk to, Tim, you and a few others. I'vegot something to tell you. A few others? Yes, I've got something tosay to every man in this Grove. I am not going in for a temperancelecture, though it wouldn't be the first time. I was a livingtemperance lecture in the streets of Gershom for a long while, as SquireHolt and Jacob and all the folks here know. 

"But I want to say a word to every young man here because there isn't ayoung man in this Grove, I don't care who he is, whose feelings as toliquor I don't know all about. I know, and I remember this minute, justhow it feels never to have tasted a drop. I remember how the firsttemptation to drink came to me, and I know how it feels after the firstglass, and the second, and the third. I know just how strong andscornful a young man feels when folks begin to warn him, and howimpossible it looks to him that danger should be near. I know everystep of the dark way that leads down to the gates of death--to the verygates--for I have been there. 

"I don't know just how far down that road any of you young men may havegot by this time, but I know that some of you are on it somewhere. Iknow where you used to be, Tim Cuzner, and you haven't been standingstill since then. No. Come now, don't get mad and go away. If my lifewould help you to set your feet on solid ground in any other road, youshould have it and welcome. But it wouldn't; no, nor ten such lives. 

"But I'll tell you what will help you, and what every young man here whofeels the curse of strong drink needs as much as you do, and what we allneed to keep us safe from the temptations that are everywhere. There isonly one thing in the earth beneath or the heaven above that will touchthe spot, and that's the grace of God!

"That doesn't seem much, does it? The grace of God! You've heard oldMr Hollister tell about it time and again, and you've heard MrMaxwell, and the folks in conference meeting talk of it, and it has gotto seem to you just like a word, a name, and that's all. But I tellyou, Tim and boys, it is a power. I know it, for it has dealt with meand broken me to pieces, and made me over new. "

Mark was no orator, though he had the clear, firm, penetrating voice ofone; but his words, because of the surprise of his presence, and thechange which had been wrought in him, and because of his earnestness andsimplicity, had on his audience all the effect of the loftiesteloquence. He had a great deal more to tell them of the darkness andmisery and sin through which he was passing, when the minister found himand laid hands on him, and followed him day in and day out, and nevergot tired of him, nor discouraged about him, but laboured with him, andencouraged him, and gave him the hope that though he could not savehimself, God could save him. 

He tried to say a word about the night which they two passed togetherbeside his wife's coffin, but he broke down there, and went on to tellhow he went away to give himself a chance, because it had seemed to himthen, that if he should stay among his old companions and the dailytemptations of his life nothing could save him. 

He did not tell his mother, and he did not write to her, because atfirst he never knew what day his enemy might overcome him, and then shewould have had to put away hope and take up her old burden again. 

But he had fallen into good hands over yonder in the States, and he hadmuch to tell of the kindness shown him there, and the Lord had stood byhim and helped him, as He would help all who came to Him in their need. 

The people who heard all this were moved by it in a wonderful way. Itwas like a miracle, they said to one another, that Mark Varney's lipsshould be opened to speak as he was speaking. It was like life from thedead to see him standing there, they said, as indeed it was. 

"And you must excuse me for saying so much about myself, because that isjust what I came here to do. I was coming home soon, at any rate; butwhen I saw in a newspaper a notice of this gathering in Finlay's Grove, I thought it would be as good a time as any to come and show which sideI am on now. And if I can, I mean to get back my farm again. And if Ican't, why, I shall have to get another, and if God will let me help Himto save two or three such as I was when our minister found me, I'll becontent with my work. I can't talk. I don't suppose I shall ever speakfrom a platform again as long as I live, but I mean to help some poorsouls I know of up out of the pit. 

"And I tell you, I'm glad to get home. I have only just seen mother aminute and my little Mary. And I haven't seen Squire Holt yet to speakto, nor the minister. "

Then he turned his back on his audience, and a good many people thoughtthat was a lame ending to a good speech, but all did not think so. Atleast it was good to see the old squire holding his hand, and to hearhim telling him that he had got to his right place at last. And it wasgood to see how he and Mr Maxwell were shaking hands, and all the restof the people on the stand crowding round to have their turn. Indeed, it seemed to be a general business, for Mr Burnet was shaking handswith Mr Maxwell, and so was the old squire, and John McNider clamberedup on the stand on purpose to do the same thing, and so did severalother people. 

By and by the minister came forward, and they all thought he was goingto make a speech. But he did not. He told them tea was ready, and thatall the elderly people were to go to the tables first, and that theyoung people were to serve them. But nobody seemed in a hurry to move, and then Squire Holt came forward, and instead of making a speech, heasked them to sing the Doxology. 

And didn't they sing it? Mark Varney, who had led the choir once on atime--and a good many in the crowd vowed that he should lead it again--began in his wonderful, clear tenor, and then the sound rose up like amighty wind, till all the hills echoed again. And then they all went totea. 

Elizabeth meant that her father should go home at this time, but whenMr Maxwell brought him down to her, he declined to acknowledge himselftired, and went to the table with the rest, and Elizabeth took her placeto serve. Miss Langden had a seat at the "speakers' table, " and waswell served, as was right. Clifton had the grace to deny himself thepleasure of sitting down beside her, as there were more than guestsenough for all the seats, but he devoted himself to her service, asevery lady said, and enjoyed it as well as he would have enjoyed histea. 

Davie was on the "tea and coffee committee, " and his business at thistime was to be one of several to carry great pitchers of one or other ofthose beverages from mighty cauldrons, where they were being made in acorner of the field, to a point where cups could be conveniently filledand distributed at the tables. 

But from the midst of the pleasant confusion that reigned supreme inthis department, Davie suddenly disappeared, leaving the zealous, butless expert Ben to take his place. 

"He's got something else to do, I expect, Aunt Betsey, and you'll haveto get along with me somehow, for I saw him tearing down toward theriver like sixty, and there would be no catching him even if I was goingto try. "

"There was nothing the matter, was there, Ben?" asked Katie; but solittle did she think it possible, that she did not even wait for theanswer which Ben was very ready to give. 

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. 

POOR DAVIE. 

It was not that Davie thought anything serious was the matter that, asBen said, "he went tearing" down the hill toward the river, but that hefeared there might be before all was done, unless there was some way ofpreventing it. 

"Where are them boys?" he heard one mother say to another, as he passedwith his empty pitcher in his hand, and the answer was--

"They've gone down to the river, I expect. But I don't suppose there'sany danger--not to Gershom boys, who swim there every summer day oftheir lives. "

But there were many boys and girls also on the grounds who did notbelong to Gershom, and to some of them a river big enough for a boat tosail on, would have a charm which must certainly draw them to its banks, and it would have been a good plan to appoint a committee to see tosuch, Davie thought. 

"I'll just have a look down there, " he said to himself, and as soon ashe was over the fence and out of sight, he ran rapidly toward the river. There were all sorts of children there, some of whom had wandered downto the mill-pond. There were two boats on the river, but there weregrown people as well as children in them, and there were grown peoplewalking on the bank who might justly be considered responsible for thesafety of those who could not take care of themselves, and Davie wasabout to turn up the hill again, when a little fellow hailed him. 

"I say, Davie, what do you suppose Dannie Green and Frankie Holt and twomore boys are doing? They have taken your raft and are going to have asail on the Black Pool--so they said. "

"They could never do it, " said Davie, with a sudden fear rising. 

There was no turning up the hill after that. He ran across the twofields to the point where the raft had been left. It was gone sureenough, and he hastened on, stumbling over the stones and timber whichJacob Holt had last winter accumulated on the Varney place. Then hewent through the strip of woods, and round the rocky point beyond, thinking all the time that such little fellows never could have pushedthe raft so far up the stream, and that it was foolish for him to run. 

But he was not a minute too soon. He could never tell afterward, whether he saw the raft, or heard the frightened cry first, but he knewthat a boy had overbalanced and fallen into the water while trying toreach bottom with his pole in the deeper waters of the pool; and thenext moment he had thrown off boots and coat, and was striking outtoward the spot where he had disappeared. The boy would rise in aminute, he thought, and he could get hold of him. 

But he did not rise for what seemed to Davie a very long time, and mightnever rise of himself. There was not a particle of risk, Davie knew, indiving to search for him, and if there had been, he would hardly haveconsidered it in the excitement of the moment. It would have been thelast of little Frank Holt if he had considered it long. The littlefellow had fallen head foremost, and possibly had struck his head on oneof the roots or sticks that had accumulated in the bottom of the pool, for when Davie brought him to the surface, he seemed quite insensible, and he struck out for the Ythan side of the pool. He did what he couldfor the boy, letting the water flow from his mouth and ears, and rubbinghim rapidly for a time. 

He caught sight of the other lads as they reached the opposite shorewith the raft, and saw them running at full speed in the direction ofthe Grove. But he felt that he must not wait for the help they would besure to send, and gently lifting the boy in his arms, he went with himwith all speed through the wood and up the hill to the house. 

A single sentence told the story, and in a minute little Frank was in awarm bath and then in a warm bed. He soon showed such signs of life asencouraged them to hope that there was not much the matter with him; andthen Davie thought of the consternation which the other lads would causewhen they carried the tale to the Grove. 

"I doubt you'll need to go as quick as you can, Davie. Think of thepoor father and mother if they should hear. "

"Ay, lad, make what haste you can, " said his grandfather, and neither ofthem were the less urgent that the child was the son of their "enemy. "

So Davie went down the field again in his wet clothes, but that matteredthe less as he had the river to swim, the raft being on the other side. He put on his dry coat over his wet garments, and no one seemed tonotice as he entered the Grove. No rumour of the accident had as yetspread through the crowd, and Davie spoke only to Miss Elizabeth, as hemet her on the way home with her father. Happily the father and motherknew nothing of the matter, till by and by the boy, wrapped in one ofMrs Fleming's best blankets, was carried and set with his bundle of wetclothes in the hall. It was his uncle Clifton who took him home, andall that he could tell about the matter was that he had fallen into theBlack Pool, and somebody had taken him out. 

Dan Green kept his own counsel, running straight home and puttinghimself to bed. After his first sleep, however, he woke in such afright that he could keep the tale no longer, but told it to his motherwith many sobs and tears. His mother soothed and comforted him, believing that he had been startled out of a troubled dream. But thenext day the story was told in Gershom at least a thousand times; andwhen Davie went into the post-office for his grandfather's weekly paper, he heard, with mingled amazement and disgust, extravagant praises of hiscourage in saving the boy's life. 

"Courage? Nonsense! Risk? Stuff!" He never bathed in Black Pool thathe did not dive in at one side and come out at the other. Why, hislittle brother could do that. There was no more danger for them thanfor a musk-rat, and Davie hurried away to escape more words about it, and to avoid meeting Mr Maxwell and his friends, who were coming downthe street. In his haste he nearly stumbled over Jacob Holt, who heldhim fast, and that was worse than all the rest. For Jacob could notutter a word, but choked and mumbled and shook his hand a great manytimes, and when David fairly got away, he vowed that he should not beseen at the post-office again for a while, and he was not, but it wasfor a better reason than he gave to himself then. 

For Davie went about all next day with a heavy weight upon him, and adull aching at his bones, as new as it was painful. He refused hisdinner, and grew sick at the sight of his supper; and tossed, andturned, and muttered all night upon his bed, longing for the day. Butthe slow-coming light made him wish for the darkness again, for itdazzled his heavy eyes, and put strange shapes on the most familiarobjects, and set them all in motion in the oddest way. A queer sort oflight it seemed to be, for though he closed his eyes he did not shut itout, and the changes on things and the odd movements seemed to be goingon still within the lids. 

So in a little he rose and dressed, and roused his brothers to bring thecows into the yard, meaning to help as usual with the milking. But themilking was done and the breakfast over, and worship, and no one hadseen Davie. He was lying tossing and muttering on the hay in the bigbarn, and there at last, in the course of his morning's work, hisgrandfather found him. He turned a dull, dazed look upon him as heraised himself up, but he did not speak. 

"Are you no' well, Davie? Why did you no' come to your breakfast?"

"I'm coming, " said Davie, but he did not move. 

His grandfather touched his burning hand and his heart sank. 

"Come awa' to your grandmother. "

"Yes, we'll go to grannie, " said Davie. 

Blinded by the sunlight, he staggered on, and his grandfather put hisarm about him. Mrs Fleming met them at the door as they drew near. 

"What can ail the laddie?" asked his grandfather, with terror in hiseyes. 

They made him sit down, and Katie brought some cold water. He dranksome and put some on his head, and declared himself better. 

"It is some trash that he has eaten at that weary picnic, " said grannie. 

"No, grannie, I hadna a chance to eat. "

"And you have eaten little since. Well, never mind. You'll go to yourbed, and I'll get your mother to make you some of her herb tea. "

"And I'll be better the morn, grannie, " said Davie, with an uncertainsmile. 

He drank his mother's bitter infusion, and tossed and turned and moanedand muttered, all day and all night, and for many days and nights, tillweeks had passed away, and a time of sore trial it was to them all. 

He was never very ill, they said. He was never many hours together thathe did not know those who were about his bed, and young Dr Wainwright, who came every day to see him, never allowed that he was in greatdanger. But as day after day went on, and he was no better, theirhearts grew sick with hope deferred. Grannie alone never gave way tofear. She grew weak and weary, and could only sit beside him, littleable to help him; but he never opened his eyes but her cheerful smilegreeted him, and her cheerful words encouraged him. His mother waitedon him for a while, but she was not strong, and had no spring of hopewithin her. Katie worked all day and watched all night, and scorned theidea of weariness, but the Ythan water that trickled around hermilk-pans in the dairy, carried daily some tears of hers down to theBlack Pool. 

"It is grandfather I'm thinking about, " said she one day when she burstout crying in Miss Betsey's sight. "I am afraid I shall never be ableto keep from thinking that God has been hard on grandfather, if anythingshould happen to Davie. "

"But God is not hard on your grandfather and there is nothing going tohappen to Davie, " said Betsey, too honest to reprove the girl for theexpression of thoughts which she had not been able to keep out of herown mind. It was the plunge into the Black Pool and the going aboutafterward in his wet clothes that had brought on this illness, and thatit should be God's will that David Fleming's grandson, his hope andstay, should lose his health, perhaps his life, in saving the son ofJacob Holt, looked to Miss Betsey a terrible mystery. She did not saythat God was hard on him, as poor Katie was afraid of doing; but when, now and then, there came a half hour when it seemed doubtful whetherDavie would get through, the thought that God would not afflict Hisservant to the uttermost helped her to still hope for the lad. As faras words and deeds went, she showed herself always hopeful for him, anddid more than even the doctor himself in helping him to pull through. 

In country places like Gershom, where professional nurses were not oftento be found, when severe sickness comes into a family necessitatingconstant attention by night as well as by day, the neighbours, far andnear, might be relied upon for help, as far as it could be given bypersons coming and going for a night or a day. The Flemings had hadsevere sickness among them more than once, but they had never called ontheir neighbours for help, and they could not bring themselves to do sonow, even for night-watching. That she should trust Davie to any of thekind young fellows who night after night offered, their services, was togrannie impossible. She did not doubt their good-will, but she doubtedtheir wisdom and their power to keep awake after their long day's work. "And it is no' our way, " said Mrs Fleming, and that ended thediscussions, as it had ended them on former occasions. 

"But they never can get through it alone this time, " said Miss Betsey, "and I don't know but it is my duty to see about it, as much asanybody. "

It was just in the hot days in the beginning of August when Betsey waswont to give up butter-making and set to the making of cheese, the veryworst time of the year for her to get away from home. But she saw nohelp for it. 

"You must do the best you can, mother, you and Cynthy, and Ben will givewhat help you need with the lifting. If I should never make anothercheese as long as I live, I can't let Mrs Fleming wear herself out, andmaybe lose her boy after all. "

So Miss Betsey went over one morning "to inquire, " she said, and sometrifling help being needed for a minute, she took off her bonnet, and"concluded to stay a spell, " and that night Ben brought her bag overwhich she had packed in the morning, and she stayed as long as she wasneeded, to the help and comfort of them all. 

As for the grandfather, it went hard with him these days. He wasoutwardly silent and grave as usual, giving no voice to the anxiety thatdevoured him. But at night when his wife slumbered, worn out with theday's watching, or when she seemed to slumber, and in Pine-tree Hollow, which in the time of his former troubles had become to him a refuge anda sanctuary, his cry ascended to God in an agony of confession andentreaty. He, too, wondered that it should be God's will that the childof his enemy should be saved, and his child's life made the sacrifice;but he did not consciously rebel against that will. It was God's doing;Davie had not even known whose child it was whom he tried to save. Thiswas God's doing from beginning to end. 

Far be it from him to rebel against God, he said to his wife when, fearing for him and all that he might be thinking, she spoke to himabout it. It was a terrible trouble, but it did not embitter him asformer trouble had done, and his enemy had fewer of his thoughts at thistime than might have been supposed. 

But he had not forgiven him. He knew in his heart that he had notforgiven him. When Jacob came with his wife, grateful and sorry, andeager to do something to express it, he kept quiet in a corner ofDavie's room, into which they were not permitted to enter. Mrs Flemingsaid all that was needful on the occasion, and when Jacob broke down andcould not speak of his boy who had been given back to them almost fromthe dead, she laid her hand gently upon his arm and said, "Let God'sgoodness make a better man of you, " and even Mrs Jacob did not feellike resenting the words. But there was no one who could help them intheir present trouble, she repeated, as they went sorrowfully away. 

No one except Miss Betsey, grannie felt gratefully, as she turned intothe house again--Miss Betsey, who seemed made of iron, and never ownedto being tired. She slept one night in three, when Katie and her motherkept the watching, and at other times she took "catnaps" in therocking-chair, or on Mrs Fleming's bed, when grannie was at herbrightest and could care for Davie in the early part of the day. 

And poor Davie tossed and muttered through many days and nights, neverso delirious as to have forgotten the summer's work, but never quiteclear in his mind, and always struggling with some unknown power that, against his will, kept him back from doing his part in it. Till one dayhe looked into his grandfather's face with comprehending eyes, and saidweakly, but clearly:

"It must be time for the cutting of the wheat, grandfather; I have beensick a good while, surely?"

"Ay, have you; a good while. But you are better now, the doctor says. But never heed about the cutting of the wheat. Mark Varney has done allthat, and more. We have had a good harvest, Davie. "

"Have we, grandfather?" said Davie, looking with surprise and dismay atthe tears on his grandfather's face. 

"God has been good to us, laddie, " said Mr Fleming, trying to speakcalmly, and then he rose and went out. 

"So we've had a good harvest, have we? And Mark Varney! I wonder wherehe turned up. Oh, well! it's all right I daresay--and--I'm tiredalready. " And he turned his head on the pillow and fell asleep. 

Yes, Mark Varney had taken Davie's work into his own hand. He came overwith Mr Maxwell as soon as he heard the lad was ill. He made no formaloffer of help, but just set himself to do what was to be done. He hadall his own way about it, for Mr Fleming was too anxious to take muchheed of the work, since some one else had taken it in hand; and no oneknew better how work should be done than Mark. He had all the help heneeded, for the neighbours were glad to offer help, and give it, too, inthis time of need. The harvest was got through and the grain housed assuccessfully as the hay had been before Davie, lank and stooping, creptout over the fields of Ythan. 

It was Sunday afternoon again when Katie and he went slowly down thebrae toward the cherry-trees. Their grandfather and grandmother lookedafter them with loving eyes. 

"The Lord is ay kind, " said Mrs Fleming, and then she read the 103rdPsalm in the old Scottish version, which she "whiles" liked to do. Shepaused now and then because her voice trembled, and on some of theverses she lingered, reading them twice over, seeking from her husbandaudible assent to the comfort they gave:

 "`The Lord our God is merciful, And He is gracious, Long-suffering, and slow to wrath, In mercy plenteous. '

"Ay is He! as we ken well this day. And again:--

 "`Such pity as a father hath Unto his children dear, Like pity shows the Lord to such As worship Him in fear. '

"`Such pity as a father hath. ' We ken well what that means, Dawvid; afather's pity; such pity and love as we felt for our Davie, when he laytossing in his bed, poor laddie. And--as we felt for--him that'sgone--"

She could say no more at the moment, even if it would have been wise todo so. But by and by she rose and came toward him, and standing halfbehind him, laying her soft, wrinkled old hand on his grey head, shesaid softly:

"If I could but hear you say that you forgive--Jacob Holt!"

Then there was a long silence in which she did not move. 

"Because--I have been thinking that the Lord let our laddie do that--good turn for His--to put us in mind--" Again she paused. "And I wouldfain hear you say it, for His sake who has loved us, and forgiven somuch to us. "

"I wish him no ill. I wouldna hurt a hair of his head. I leave him inGod's hands. "

He spoke huskily, with long pauses between the sentences. Whether hewould have said more or not she could not tell. There was no time formore, for the bairns came in with their mother from the Sunday-school, and quiet was at an end for the moment. 

It was a long time before the subject was touched upon between themagain, and it was he who spoke first. 

CHAPTER TWENTY THREE. 

POOR GRANNIE. 

The Langdens had stayed ten days in Gershom. Half the time Miss Langdenhad passed with Miss Holt, and they had both enjoyed the visit, thoughnot quite in the same way. Her father needed much of Elizabeth's careand attention at this time, and it would not have been possible for herto devote herself constantly to her visitor. But Miss Essie was not adifficult person to entertain--quite the contrary. 

She took interest in many things. She had her journal to keep up, andmany letters to write. And then Mr Clifton Holt was at home, and ather service. Mr Maxwell was a frequent visitor also; and when he came, Miss Holt felt at liberty to attend to her own affairs, knowing thatthey did not need her presence. Clifton was not so mindful of their oldfriendship, or not so well aware of their present relation, for he didnot seem to think it was the thing to do to leave their visitors toentertain each other; and certainly he was never made to feel himself tobe an intruder, though his sister often feared that he might be so. 

Then Miss Langden had a great desire to see as much as possible of "thisinteresting country" as she politely called Canada; and as much of it ascould be seen while driving about with Clifton in his sister's lowcarriage, or in the larger carriage with Clifton and Mr Maxwell, or herfather, she saw, and professed herself delighted with it. She admiredthe farm-houses and the farmers, and the farmers' wives and daughters, and laid herself out to captivate them in a way that Clifton declared tobe wonderful. To Elizabeth it seemed natural enough. 

They saw a good deal of company in a quiet way. The Holts took pains toinvite, at one time or another, the greater part of Mr Maxwell'sfriends, in order that Mr Langden and his daughter might make theiracquaintance, and both in different ways won golden opinions among them. 

The good people of Gershom were naturally well-disposed toward thefriends of their minister, and Mr Langden was a quiet, shrewd businessman, without a particle of pretence, whose company they would haveenjoyed under even less favourable circumstances. He took much interestin listening to the very things they liked best to tell about--the earlysettlement of that part of the country, its features and resources, agricultural, mineral, commercial; the history of railroads, manufactures, and business ventures generally. If there were anythingworth knowing about any of these matters that Mr Langden did not knowbefore his visit came to an end, it was not for want of questions asked, Clifton Holt said, laughing, to his daughter. Which was quite true--andhe had asked some questions and received some answers which neitherClifton nor Jacob had heard, and knew more about some things in Gershomthan Clifton himself knew at that time. Some hints that there had beenthoughts of business as well as pleasure in his mind in visiting Gershomhad transpired, and it would have been agreeable to hear more about it, but Mr Langden was better at asking questions than at answering them, and no one knew any more about his plans when he went than when he came. But people liked him, and liked to talk about him and his visitafterward. 

And his daughter was very much admired also. That is to say, she wasadmired in her character of visitor to Miss Elizabeth--as a pretty andamiable and beautifully-dressed young lady from "the States. " But whenthe discussion went farther, and her possible future as a resident ofGershom was hinted at, all were not so sure about her. A minister'swife! That was another affair. Would she fit into that spot? She didnot look much like the ministers' wives that the Gershom people knewmost about. 

"I suppose it comes as natural to her to have gloves, and boots, andbonnets to match every gown she puts on, as it does for the most of folkto wear one pair as long as they'll last, " said Miss Smith fromFosbrooke--a much more primitive place than Gershom--"and she looks asif she set a value on such things, as even good folks will do tillthey've learned better. "

"And the minister's salary isn't equal to all that, and wouldn't be, notif it was raised to eight hundred dollars, which isn't likely yet aspell, " said Mrs Coleman, the new deacon's wife. 

"Not unless she has money of her own. And if she has--well, ministers'folks are pretty much so, wherever they be, or whatever they've got; andsuch articles of luxury are not the thing for ministers' wives--not in_this_ wooden country. "

"I know one thing, " said Miss Hall, the dressmaker. "Her trunk wasnever packed to come here short of five hundred dollars, to say nothingof jewellery. I've handled considerable dry-goods in my time, and Iknow that much. "

"Ah, well. I guess any one that's lived in `the States, ' and that talksas cool as a cucumber about going to travel in Europe, isn't very likelyto settle down in Gershom--not and be contented, " said Myrilla Green, who had lived in "the States" herself, and was supposed to know thedifference. 

"Ah! I guess there's as good folks as her in Gershom;" and so the talkwent on. 

But it was the opinion of several of the ladies interested in thediscussion, that clothes, and even money, did not amount to much in somecases. The young lady had the missionary spirit, as any one who hadheard her talk must see, and she was not likely to be influenced bysecondary motives. 

Of course the discussion of the possibility implied by all this wasinevitable in the circumstances, though no one in Gershom _knew_anything about the matter; and the parties most concerned could havegiven them little satisfactory information with regard to it. The firstof the two years of probation, which Mr Langden had insisted upon, hadnot yet passed, and Mr Maxwell could not have renewed the question ofan engagement, if he had wished to do so, or if Miss Essie had given himan opportunity, which she did not. Not a word was spoken between themthat all Gershom might not have heard, though nothing could be morefriendly and pleasant than their intercourse during these ten days. 

But then Miss Essie was on friendly terms with every one. Nothing couldbe more charming than her manners, it was said. She was "not a bitstuck up, " the Gershom girls acknowledged. If she had any "citifiedairs" they were not of the kind that are especially displeasing tocountry people. She was friendly with every one, and before her visitcame to an end, it came into Elizabeth's mind that she was particularlypleasant in words and ways with her brother Clifton. 

It had come into Clifton's mind also, and Elizabeth longed to tell himjust how matters stood between Miss Langden and Mr Maxwell. But shedid not feel at liberty to do so, and she could only hope that Clifton'sdevotion would be in this case, as it had been in others, onlytransitory, and that he would not suffer more than was reasonable forhis folly. Of what passed between Mr Langden and Jacob Holt verylittle was known. They went together over the ground which Jacob had solong coveted, and Mr Langden saw the advantages which the localityoffered for the purpose proposed. He would have considered the purchaseof the land to be a good investment, but Jacob could not bring himselfto urge the unpleasant subject of sale on Mr Fleming, now that Daviewas so ill, and he knew that urging would avail nothing, but it was agreat disappointment to him. 

He said little about it to Mr Langden; but that gentleman knew more ofthe relations existing between him and Mr Fleming, and of other thingsbesides, than Jacob fancied. They saw a good many people who wereinterested in the proposed enterprise, and got information which wouldhelp him to decide about future investments, he said, but he took nodefinite step with regard to the matter before he went away. 

It had been understood that Mr Maxwell was to take his "vacation" atthis time, and that he was to go with his friends through a part oftheir travels. But Davie Fleming was at the worst, and his mother andhis grandparents were in great trouble, and the minister could not bringhimself to leave them. Of course his friends were disappointed, but notunreasonably so, for they could understand his feeling, and it wasagreed that if it were possible he should join them at some point intheir route, and so they said good-bye lightly. 

Clifton Holt went with them to the city of Montreal, where they stayed afew days, as all American tourists do. Then they sailed down the SaintLawrence to Quebec and farther, and up the Saguenay, and he sailed withthem, and doubtless added to their pleasure by the information he wasable to give as to events and places in which all travellers aresupposed to interest themselves. 

Clifton enjoyed it, and would have enjoyed going farther with them. Buton their return to Montreal, they met with a party of friends whom theyfound it expedient to join, and so Clifton returned to Gershom, with theintention of remaining at home for a time. His father was still feeble, and Clifton seemed inclined to take the advice which his sister had longago given him, to seek to obtain some knowledge of the business whichJacob had hitherto been carrying on in his own name and his father's. 

Elizabeth received a little note or two from Miss Langden before sheleft Canada, in which much admiration was expressed for her friend's"interesting country, " and much pleasure in her remembrance of the daysspent in Gershom; and she had another after her return to her aunt'shouse, where she was to pass some time. And then she did not hear fromher again for a long time. 

Davie got better, but not very rapidly. He remained gaunt and stooping, and had little strength, and Miss Betsey, who still considered herselfresponsible for his health, carried him away to the Hill; and thengiving Ben a holiday after his busy summer, sent them both away to visither cousin Abiah, who had a clearing and a saw-mill ten miles away. There were partridges there, and rumours of a bear having been seen, andthere was fishing at any rate, and Davie was assured that ten days ofsuch sport as could be got there in the woods ought to make a new man ofhim. 

But Betsey had another reason for sending him away. On the day of hervisit, Mrs Fleming, who had acknowledged herself to be weak and wearyfrom anxiety and watching, knew herself to be ill; not very ill, however. She had often, in her younger days, kept about the house, anddone all her work when she felt far worse than she did now, she said. But she could not "keep about" now, and that was the difference. Daviewould be well away, for he would fret about his grandmother, and thatwould do neither of them any good. 

Davie's visit to the woods did not make a new man of him; but it did himgood, and he needed all his strength and courage when he came homeagain, for grannie, who had been "not just very well" when he went away, was no better when he returned. 

"And they never told me, grannie, " said he, indignantly. 

"There was nothing to tell, my laddie, and you are better for going. And now you must help Katie to cheer your grandfather, and keep yourbrothers at their work. "

And Davie saw that his grandfather needed to be cheered. He seemed tohave grown a very old man during the last few months, he thought. Hehad gone about the farm, and kept the boys at their work, and had helpedsometimes, Katie said, while Davie was away. But now he gave all thatup to him. Mark Varney came now and then when there was anything extrato be done; and though Davie was not so strong as before his illness, they were as well on with their fall work as the neighbours generally. 

But except with a word of advice, or an answer to questions, which Daviewas pertinacious in asking, as to what was to be done, and what leftundone, the old man took little part in what had filled his life before. He went about the house and barns, with his head bowed, and his handsclasped behind him, making Katie wild with the wistful, helpless longingof his face. 

"It is no good for grannie to see you so downcast, grandfather. Courageis what is needed more than anything in a time of sickness, Betsey says. And, grandfather, grannie is no' so very ill. "

"Is she no', think you, Katie? She says it, but oh, my heart fails me. "

"She says it, and I think she is right. And, grandfather, she oftensays, you ken that the Lord is ay kind. "

"Ay, lass! but His kindest touch cuts sore whiles. And if He were todeal with me after my sins--"

"But, grandfather; He never does, and He hurts to heal--as I have heardyou say yourself. "

"Ay. I have said it with my lips, but I doubt I was carrying a sore andangry heart whiles, when I was putting the folk in mind. And, oh, Katie, lassie, He is far awa'. He has hidden His face from me. "

"But only for a moment, grandfather; don't you mind, `For a small momenthave I forsaken thee, but with great mercies will I visit thee'? Andgrannie is no' so very ill. "

She drew him gently from the room where grannie was slumbering, so thatshe need not be disturbed. It seemed to her the strangest thing thather grandfather should speak to her in this way, and that she shouldhave courage to answer him. He sat down on a seat by the door, andleaned his chin on the hand that rested on his staff, and looked awayover Ythan fields to the hills beyond. But whether he saw them or notwas doubtful, for his eyes were dazed and heavy with trouble, and Katiecould not bear to see him so. 

"She is not so very ill, " she repeated. "She is sometimes better andsometimes worse, but she has no thought that she is going to die. Shewill be better soon. "

"She is a good ten years younger than I am. I should go first byrights. But she has had much to weary her, and she would doubtless beglad to rest. "

"No, grandfather, she would not. She is glad at the thought that shewill be spared a little while for--all our sakes. "

"Who is that coming down the road? It is the minister, I think, andBetsey Holt. "

The old man rose hastily. 

"I'll awa' up the brae, " said he. "No, it is no disrespect to theminister, but I canna hear his words to-day. "

And up the hill he went to the pasture-bars, and through the pasture "toPine-tree Hollow, " Katie thought, as her eyes followed him anxiously. 

"But He may show him His face, up yonder, " said Katie, with tears; "andI am sure, and so is Miss Betsey, that she is no' so very ill. "

Grannie had never thought herself very ill. Even when all her days werespent in bed, she only called herself weary at first. There had been avery warm week about that time, and she had suffered from the heat, andhad kept herself quiet. But she did not think herself ill, andcertainly Katie did not think it. For though she was not strong, shedid not suffer much, except that she was feverish and restless now andthen, and she was always sweet and bright and easily pleased, and not atall like the sick people that Katie had seen. It was a pleasure to bewith her, to wait on her, and to listen to her. For there were timeswhen she had much to say, soothing her own restlessness with happy talkof many things which Katie liked to hear. 

She told her about her father--so grave and kind and trustworthy--andabout Hughie, who was so good and clever, but who had "gone wrong, " andbeen lost to them, leaving their life so dreary. And once or twice shespoke of one over whom she had kept the silence of many a year. It wasKatie's own name she heard--but it was of another "bonnie Katie" thather grandmother murmured so fondly, one who had been beguiled--who hadsinned and suffered, and died long ago. But she always spoke brokenlyof her when she was restless and feverish, and Katie, though she wouldhave liked to hear more, strove always to turn her thoughts away. 

But almost always her talk was happy and bright. In those days Katieheard more of her grandmother's youthful days than she had ever heardbefore. She spoke about her home, and her brothers and sisters, andabout "the gowany braes" and "the silver Ythan, " and the songs they usedto sing, before it had ever come into her mind that there was troubleand care before her. She even tried to sing again, in her faint sweetvoice, some of the dear old songs, laughing softly at her ownfoolishness. 

But she never once spoke as though she thought she might not recover;even when she gave Katie words of counsel or caution, it was just in theway she used to do when they were going about their work together, andthe girl was sure that she would soon be well again, and that that wasMiss Betsey's thought too. 

But seeing her as she stood looking down on her grandmother's sleepingface that morning, Katie was not so sure of what Miss Betsey's thoughtsmight be. Still, her grandmother's eyes opened and she smiled her oldcheerful smile, as she said she was glad to see them. 

"You must tell grandfather that the minister is come, Katie, " said she. 

Mr Maxwell had seen Mr Fleming stepping up the brae, and he knew wellthat no words of his could comfort him. He could only hope as Katiedid, that his Lord and Master might show him His face in the solitude hesought. 

He had few words to say to Mrs Fleming, for she seemed inclined toslumber through the afternoon. 

"I wish you could stay with us to-night, Miss Betsey, " said Katie'smother. "I am afraid grandmother is not so well. "

"There is not much difference either way, I think. I would be glad tostay, but Uncle Gershom has had another bad turn, and I promised cousinLizzie I would stay with her to-night. But I will come over to-morrowmorning before I go home if I can get away. "

"Do you think her very ill?" asked Mr Maxwell as they walked down thehill together. 

"I have not thought her very ill. I don't know that she is worseto-day, but she is certainly no better. I suppose it depends on whetherher strength holds out. She is an old woman now. "

These were anxious days to Katie; but her grandfather had more of herthoughts than her grandmother. 

"And it is a wonder to me that he should be so broken down, a good manlike him, even by such sore trouble. Even the loss of grannie would bebut for a few days, and he has the Lord Himself in the midst of it all. "

But this was a mistake on Katie's part. For all this time, strangelyand sadly enough, he was ringing the changes on his old complaint: "Thouart a God that hidest Thyself. " He had not the Lord Himself in thosedays. Even when he pleaded, as he did day and night, for Davie's life, it was the cry of despair that came out of his sore trouble, rather thanthe "prayer of faith" to which the promise of healing to the sick isgiven. 

And as he bowed himself down beneath the pines, it was the same. He wasin a maze of perplexity and fear. Had he been sinning against God allthis time? Had he been hating not the sin, but the sinner? Had it beenbeneath God's hand that he had been refusing to bow? And now was Godleaving him to hardness of heart?

For he was utterly broken and spent, and in the weakness of mind whichexhaustion of body caused, he had almost lost the power to discriminateor reason. He could not command his thoughts. The wind moaned in thepines above him, and the sunshine came and went, flickering and fading, and brightening again, and with the monotonous sound and theever-changing light, there came voices and visions, and he seemed tolisten as in a dream:

"It was God's will, grandfather. God kens, and it was His will. Iwould fain hear you say once that you have forgiven your enemy. "

His enemy! Was Jacob Holt his enemy? And if he were, could even anenemy bring evil on him or his without permission? What had it all cometo--the long pain, the persistent shrinking from this man, whom Godalone might judge? Had he been hating him all this time--bringingleanness to his own soul, and darkness, and all the evil that hatredmust ever bring? And where was it all to end? And what must he do, nowthat his sin had found him out?

For his time was short, and the end near. And then his thoughtswandered away to the old squire lying on his death-bed--the man who haddeclared himself willing to stand on the same platform with old DavidFleming, when his time should come to be judged. And that time wasclose at hand now, and his own time could not be far away, and then hemust stand face to face with Him whose last words were, "Father, forgivethem!"--face to face with Him who had said, "Love your enemies, ""Forgive, and it shall be forgiven unto you. "

Over and over the same round his thoughts went, till, worn out withanxiety and watching, and lulled unconsciously by the soft "sough" ofthe wind in the pines, he fell asleep. Pine-tree Hollow was all inshadow when he awoke, but when he had gone a few steps, he saw thesunlight lying on the high hills to the east. His first thoughts wereof what might have been happening at home while he slept, and hequickened his steps. 

And as he walked he was conscious that his sleep had done him good. Hewas stronger and calmer, and could command his thoughts again, and hehurried eagerly on. The sight of Katie passing quietly out and in tothe dairy quieted him still more. It must be well with grannie or Katiewould not be there. 

"Well, my lassie?"

"Yes. Grannie has been sleeping, but she is awake now, and has beenasking for you. Mother is with her now. "

He went into the house slowly and quietly. Katie's mother was sittingby the bed, with her sad eyes fastened on the face of the grandmother, who seemed to have fallen into slumber again. 

"She has been wandering a little, I think, " said Mrs James. 

"Wandering?" repeated Mr Fleming drearily. 

Grannie opened her eyes, and looked first at one and then at the other. 

"No, my dear, it wasna that I was wandering. I was dreaming, I think--astrange grand dream--of a far country. And--Dawvid--I saw our Katiethere, and her little bairn--and I saw our Hughie, and James, and manyanother. But I saw them first and best; and we have no cause to fear. "

Even as she spoke her eyes closed again. The old man sat down with asinking heart. Did not these sound like "last words?" Had she not gota first glimpse of the "far country" to which she was hastening? Howvain to struggle against God, he thought. He never uttered a word. Hisdaughter-in-law looked at him with compassionate eyes that he couldhardly bear. Katie came in with a glass of milk in her hand. 

"She is not asleep again, is she? Well, I must waken her, because shemust take something. The sleeping is good for her, but she must takesomething to keep up her strength. Grannie dear, take this, " and sheraised her gently. 

She opened her eyes and smiled. 

"Oh, ay! I'll take it. And I could take a bit of bread, I think. "

"Well, mother will bring a bit. " But Katie was greatly surprised. 

"I think I'm better, if I were only stronger a bit, " said grannie. 

Over Katie's bright face Mr Fleming saw the grave face of her mother, and though he knew that it was her way rather to fear than to hope, hisheart sank. 

"I'll soon be better, I think. Are you there, Dawvid? You ken Icouldna go and stand before the Lord and tell Him that you hadnaforgiven your enemy. "

"She is wandering, " whispered Katie's mother. 

"No; I'm no wandering, but whiles I feel--as if I were slipping awa'--and you'll give me your hand, Dawvid, and that will keep me back. Ay. That will do, " and her eyes closed again. 

Katie followed her mother from the room. 

"It is not far away now. "

"Mother, don't say it. She is not going to die. Oh, mother! mother!Surely God is not going to take her from us yet. No. I'm not going tocry; I havena time, " said Katie. "And, mother, she says it herself, andI don't think she is going to die. Oh, if Miss Betsey could have beenhere to-night!"

Katie resolutely put away her tears and her fears, and prepared for anight of watching. First, she made her mother lie down with a warmwrapper on her, so that she might be ready to come at any moment. Thenshe sent the bairns to their beds, and wished that Davie would comehome. Then she remembered, with a pang of remorse, that her grandfatherhad not had his supper, and she got his accustomed bowl of bread andmilk, and carried it into the room. Neither of them had moved, andstooping and listening, it seemed to Katie that her grandmother wassleeping naturally and sweetly. Her grandfather shook his head at thesight of the food. 

"You must take it, grandfather, " said Katie in a whisper. 

She put the bowl on a chair, and knelt down beside him. 

"You need not move, " she said softly, and she fed him as he had oftenfed her when she was a little child. 

"My good Katie!" said he, but it would not have been well for him to tryto say more. 

Davie came in before the supper was over. Katie nodded cheerfully, butdid not speak till they were both in the kitchen. 

"Well?" said Davie. 

"She is no worse. I think she seems better. She has eaten a wee bit ofbread, but mother says you cannot always tell by that. We must justwait. "

It was a long and anxious night to these two. It was well that grannieshould sleep, but in her utter weakness it was also necessary that sheshould have nourishment often. She had grown sick of the sight ofeverything in the way of food, and she had had her choice of whateverthe best housewives of Gershom could supply. For days she had onlytaken a little milk, and to-night she seemed to take it with relish. Ina little she woke and spoke:

"Are you no' coming to your bed, Dawvid? It is time surely. "

Her clasp of his hand loosened as Katie offered the milk to her lips. The old man rose, but he had been sitting in an uneasy posture, andtottered as he moved to the door. 

"Grandfather, " said Davie, "lie down on the other side. It will bebetter for you and grannie too. Come grandfather. Katie, lay thepillow straight. "

"But I might disturb her--and I might fall asleep. "

But he yielded. 

"She would like it, grandfather, and we can waken you if you fallasleep. "

So the two old people slumbered together, and Katie had to steal away toweep a few tears in the dark while her brother watched beside them, andthey did not dare to ask themselves whether they hoped or feared in thestillness that fell on them. 

"They say this is the old squire's last night, " whispered Davie at last. "I saw Ben coming out as I passed. "

"Maybe no, " said Katie, who was determined to be hopeful to-night. "They have said that before. Maybe he'll win through this time too. "

"Ay. But he is an old man, and it must come soon. "

Now and then they exchanged a word or two, and Katie put the cup to hergrandmother's lips, and the night wore on. Whether their grandfatherslept or not they could not tell, but he made no movement that coulddisturb her, and he still held her hand, to keep her from "slippingaway, " as she had said. 

Once the mother came in and looked, but she only said she was sleepingquietly, and they made her lie down again. Toward morning Katie broughta quilt and a pillow, and Davie lay down on the floor beside the bed, and Katie prayed and waited for the dawn. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR. 

POOR OLD SQUIRE. 

Betsey Holt had not found the old squire so low as she expected to findhim when she went to his house after leaving Mr Fleming's, and seeinghim comfortable, and apparently no weaker than she had seen him before, she hesitated as to what she ought to do. 

"There will be nights when you will need me more cousin, " said she, "andI think--"

But Elizabeth's face made her pause. 

"Dear cousin, stay with me to-night. No, I do not think he is going todie to-night, though Dr Wainwright thought it could not be long. Butdo stay with me, cousin. I seem to be alone and good for nothing. "

"You are tired, and no wonder. You look sick. Yes, I'll stay. Ithink, on the whole, I'd better. "

Betsey did not say that it was Mrs Fleming she had been thinking ofwhen she hesitated. She took off her bonnet and prepared to stay. 

"I made up my mind to be here to-night as soon as I heard that yourfather wasn't well. I thought once I'd go home and come back aftersundown, but it doesn't matter about going. They'll know why I stay, and I guess likely Ben will come along over after milking is done. "

"Is there no one we could get to help your mother and Cynthia for a fewdays? I would send anywhere for help to them if you could only staywith me till--"

"Oh, I guess they'll get along, and Hepsey Bean is near by. If they getinto a fix they can send for her. I'll stay anyway. Isn't your brotherClifton round?"

"No, he went to the city yesterday; he left before we thought my fatherworse. I hope he will be home to-morrow. "

"Well, I hope he will, and I guess he'd better stay a spell next time hecomes. "

Elizabeth had been up for the night, and after a visit to her father, who was still sleeping quietly, Betsey persuaded her to go and lie down, promising to call her at the turn of the night, or sooner if thereshould be any change. Elizabeth was glad to go, for she was very tired. 

"I feel so safe in leaving him with you, cousin, " said Elizabeth, thetears starting in her eyes. "You must not think that I am always so--downhearted, but I feel as if I might give way--as if I might lay alittle of my burden on you, and--"

"And so you may, with no _if_ about it, only there is a better place tolay it, as you don't need me to tell you by this time. She thinks sheknows what trouble is, and perhaps she does, " continued Betsey as shefollowed Elizabeth with her thoughts. "For trouble is just as folkstake it, and she has been pretty tenderly dealt with hitherto. But Iguess she is not one that trouble can do any real harm to. The Lordsees it all, and she is in His hand, and I needn't worry about her. She'll be kept safe through it all. "

But she gave a good many thoughts to Elizabeth's possible troubles asshe sat there alone. Before the "turn of the night" Elizabeth came downrested and refreshed, she said. Jacob came in and sat a while, butscarcely a word was spoken. He offered to stay, but it was notnecessary, his sister said. 

"No! When is Clifton coming back?" asked he. 

"To-morrow, I hope, " said Elizabeth. 

"He must not go away again. "

"No. Not for a time. "

Elizabeth's rest and refreshment "did not seem to amount to much, "Betsey thought as she watched her sitting in the firelight after Jacobwent away. Not many people had ever seen on Elizabeth's face the lookit wore now. She seemed to have forgotten that there was any one tosee. Except that she raised her head now and then to listen for soundsin her father's room, she sat perfectly motionless, "limp and hopeless, "Betsey said to herself, and after a little she said aloud:

"Cousin Lizzie, you are not going to be `swallowed up of overmuchsorrow, ' are you? That would be rebellion, and there is no deeper deepof misery to a Christian than that. "

Elizabeth looked up startled. 

"I don't think I rebel, but--"

"You have been expecting this for a good while. Your father is a veryold man now, Lizzie. "

"He is all I have got. "

"You said that to me before, but that is not so. He isn't all you'vegot by many. "

"He is the only one who has needed me ever. When he is gone, there willnot be one left in the world who might not do without me as well as not, though perhaps there are one or two who might not think so for a littlewhile. "

"Well, that may be said of most folks, I guess, but of you with lesstruth than of most. "

Elizabeth made a movement of dissent. 

"You are young enough to make friends, and it is easy for you to makethem. I don't believe anybody ever saw your face who didn't want to seeit again. You want to do good in the world, and you have the means andthe natural gifts for doing it, and that is happiness. "

Elizabeth raised herself up and looked at her in amazement. 

"How you talk, Cousin Betsey!" said she. 

"Well, that's the way I feel about it. No matter what trouble you maybe going through now, there is the other side, and when you get thereyou'll find good work to do, because you have the heart to do it. Andyou'll get your wages--rest, and a quiet mind. "

Elizabeth's eyes were on the red embers again, but the expression of herface had changed a little. Betsey moved so that her own face would bein the shadow, and then she went on:

"You may think it an unnatural thing for me to say, cousin, but I feelas if there would be more gone from my life than from yours, when UncleGershom goes. More in comparison with what will be left. "

Elizabeth said nothing to this. 

"Do you remember the two or three elms there are left on the side of thehill, just beyond the Scott school-house? There were a great many morethere once, and we used to call it Elm Grove in old times. There areonly three or four left that are not dying. I hear the children callingit the grove still. The young trees are growing up fast round them, notelms, many of them but wild cherry-trees, and poplars, and a few sprucesbut the poor old elms seem to be all the more alone because of thesecond growth. When your father and my mother are gone, there won't bea great many left to me. I suppose I shall find something to do, however, till my time comes. "

There was a long silence after that. Betsey went once or twice into thesick-room, but the old man slept peacefully. 

"It will not be to-night, " said she softly. Then she sat down again. 

"Cousin, " said she gravely in a little, "you are not worrying about yourfather, as though it may--not be well with him now?"

Elizabeth looked at her startled. 

Betsey went on:

"I have been exercised about him considerably myself, one time andanother. I have felt as if I must have him to come out and acknowledgehimself on the Lord's side, confess Him before men, by openly unitinghimself with the Church. But he has been hindered. I do not know wherehas been the stumbling-block altogether. But the Lord knows, andactions speak louder than words. He has lived a Christian life sinceever I can remember. And it is by their fruits ye shall know them. "

Elizabeth's face had fallen on her hands again, and her tears werefalling fast, but she had no words with which to answer her. 

"A good many years ago, at communion seasons, I used to grieve over himmore than a little. I couldn't bear to have him miss the privilege--deprive himself of the privilege of remembering the Lord in the way Heappointed. He didn't consider himself worthy, he told me once, when Isaid a word to him about it--at the time my father died that was. 

"I tell you, Lizzie, it made me feel poor and mean enough--a hypocrite, almost, when I heard him say it. Not that any one can be worthy, in onesense. But out Lord said, `Except ye be converted and become as littlechildren, ' and he had the heart of a little child about some things, more than any one I ever knew. 

"Cousin, if I were to tell you--but I couldn't begin to tell you, all hehas done for us--for father and the boys when they were in trouble, andfor me. And the way he did it, as though it was his business, that heneedn't be thanked for. The patience he showed, and the gentleness--yes, and the strength and firmness, when these were needed. I shouldhave fallen down under my burden in those days, if it hadn't been forUncle Gershom. I have often wondered, Lizzie, if you knew just what aman your father was. "

Elizabeth turned her tearful face, smiling now, toward her cousin, butshe said nothing. 

"I never could tell you--never! My father, for a good while, wasn'teasy to get along with. Well, he wasn't himself all the time, and if ithadn't been for Uncle Gershom--

"But there--I mustn't talk about it, not to-night, " she said, rising andwalking about the room. "It kind of puts me off the balance to go backto those days, and I'd better let it alone to-night. "

"Some time you will tell me, " said Elizabeth. 

"Well, I don't promise. But if I could tell you just how like the faceof an angel your father's face has been to me many and many a time. "

"I think I know, " said Elizabeth. 

"And I wish we were all as fit for heavenly places as he is. I don'tdeny that I should have been glad for the sake of the cause, if he couldhave seen his way clear to unite with the Church before he went--to sitdown at the Lord's table here on earth, before he goes to sit down at itabove, and I wish he might even yet. "

"I'll tell you what I would like. If he should revive a little, as hemay, and if the minister had no objections, a few might come in, motherand Cynthia, and old Davie Fleming, and two or three others, and takethe cup and the bread with him, not that it would make any realdifference--"

"Betsey, " said the squire's voice from the other room. 

They were both with pale faces at his bedside in a moment. 

"Did I hear Betsey's voice? Or did you only say she was coming, Lizzie?Oh, she is here, is she? Well, I've got something to say to Betsey. It isn't best to put off these things too long. "

Poor old squire! He had said almost the same words every time he hadseen Betsey for the last year or two, and it never occurred to either ofthem that he would not forget the words as soon as they were uttered. After taking some nourishment he was much revived and strengthened. 

"Yes, I want to speak to Betsey about some business. Jacob isn't here, is he? Because this is between Betsey and me. It was all over and donewith before Jacob knew anything about my business, and he needn't knownow. Go up-stairs, Lizzie, to the store-room where the old bureau is, and your mother's little wheel, and you'll find what I want--the oldsaddle-bag--in the left-hand, deep drawer. There are papers in it; butyou'd better bring the bag down. "

Elizabeth waited a moment, thinking he might drop asleep again, but hedid not. 

"I feel rested. It won't hurt me, Lizzie. Better go now, and have itover with--"

Elizabeth looked at her cousin. 

"You'd better go, I guess. It will satisfy him, even if he cannot doanything about it. "

Elizabeth returned almost immediately, and spent a little time brushingthe dirt from the old bag, which she remembered as always taken by herfather on his journeys on horseback long ago, though she had not seen itfor years. 

"I brought it from Massachusetts with me well-nigh on fifty year ago, "said the old man, laying his hand on it. "Where are my glasses? But Iguess you'll find what I want, Lizzie. "

There was no lock to be opened. There were a number of folded papers, laid loosely in the compartments. They were arranged with some order, however, and Elizabeth read the few words written on the outside of eachas she lifted them out. They were a strange medley, notes of hand, receipted accounts, the certificate of the squire's first marriage, hiswife's letter of dismissal from the Massachusetts church, dated, as thesquire said, "well-nigh on fifty year ago. " Then there was a bundle ofpapers marked "Brother Reuben. "

"That is it. I ought to look them all over myself. But you'll have todo it, Lizzie. "

There were several acknowledgments of money received, and notes of handto a large amount that had passed between the brothers. On one waswritten, "Paid for my Joe, " and a date; on another, "Lent to my son. Parley, at the time he went west, " and several more of the same kind. The dates ran over many years, and the father had made himselfresponsible for all to the squire. 

"He was very independent, was my brother Reuben, always, " said thesquire. "He wanted to mortgage his place to me, but I wouldn't have it. I thought his notes good enough; more easily dealt with anyway than amortgage. He would have paid every cent if he could, and if he had itwould have all gone into the bank for the benefit of his womenfolk, whohave had a hard time mostly. "

He seemed to have forgotten Betsey's presence, for he went on:

"I want you to give them to Betsey. Jacob needn't hear of them. Hemight think he had some claim on them, but he hasn't a mite. Betseyshall have the satisfaction of knowing that at no time to come they canbe claimed--the value of them, I mean. Betsey knew about them, I guess, though her father didn't mean she should. She is a good woman, Betsey, if ever there was one, and she has had her share of trouble. "

"Father, I will burn them now; that will be best, " said Elizabeth, eagerly. 

"And not say anything to Betsey? But she knows there is something due, and it might worry her, thinking that some time or other it might beclaimed. If you burn them I think you should let her see you do it. "

"Yes, father; Betsey is here, and we shall burn them together. "

"Well, that is pretty much all, I guess; and I'm tired now. Look outthe rest of them when you have time, and you'll know what to burn. There is nothing there that Jacob or Clifton has anything to do with. Ioften have been sorry that I didn't just take old Mr Fleming's note, instead of the mortgage. It might have saved some hard feelings. There, that's all. I feel better, I'll try and sleep again. "

They sat beside him till he fell asleep, and then they moved into theother room, Elizabeth carrying the bag with her. 

"Cousin Lizzie, " said Betsey, "wait a minute. I don't more than halfbelieve it's lawful to burn these notes and things. "

"It is quite lawful. My father told me to burn them. "

"But wait. Do you know that folks are beginning to say that yourbrother Jacob is hard up, that he is pressed for money?"

"Yes, he told me so himself. He said the difficulty was only temporary, and that--that I should hear more about it soon. "

"They say it's pretty bad, and you know everything has been mixed up inthe business, and your share might have to go with the rest. There is agood deal represented by the papers you have in your hands, cousin. "

"I see what you mean. All the more this must be made safe. "

She rose, and going toward the hearth, dropped the papers one by oneinto the fire. 

"Now, Cousin Betsey, that is done with. Forget all about it. We willnever speak of this again. "

Elizabeth took the old bag to carry it away. Several papers fell fromthe other side as she moved it. She looked at each one as she put it inthe bag again, reading aloud what was written on each. One was a sealedletter, thick and folded as letters used to be before envelopes were inuse. It was addressed to her father in very beautiful handwriting whichshe had seen somewhere before. She held it before her cousin that shemight see it. 

"It is Hughie Fleming's writing! I know it well, " said Betsey. 

"It looks as if it had never been opened, " Elizabeth said, turning itover and over in her hand. "How strange! My father must surely haveread it?"

"Who knows? It is possible he never did. "

"I wonder if I should keep it and speak to him about it?"

Betsey shook her head. 

"It isn't likely he'd remember it, and it might trouble him. It isabout that old trouble likely. "

"Perhaps I should drop it into the embers?"

"It is hard to say. I should hate to know from it anything that wouldmake me think less of poor Hugh. "

"But it may be quite different. Ought I to open it? My father gave allthe papers to me to examine. I wonder if I should open it, cousin?"

Miss Betsey took the letter in her hand and looked at it for a minute ortwo. 

"It looks like a message from the dead, " said she. 

"Open it, cousin. You remember him and his trouble better than I can. Open it, and if there is nothing in it that his friends would be glad toknow, you shall burn it without a word. "

Betsey still hesitated. 

"It comes from the dead, " said she, but she opened it at last, cuttinground the large seal with a pair of scissors. But their hesitation asto what they ought to do was not over. There was an inclosure addressedto David Fleming, at which Betsey looked as doubtfully as ever, and thenshe gave it to Elizabeth. There were only a few words in the firstletter:

"Honoured Sir:--I write to confess the sin I sinned against you, thoughyou must know it already. I ask your forgiveness, and I send this moneyas the first payment of what I owe you, and if I live, full restitutionshall be made. If my father will read a letter of mine, will you takethe trouble to give him the lines I send with this?"

And then was signed the name of Hugh Fleming. It was only a hint of thesad story they knew something of before. There was an American bankbill for a small sum, and the inclosure to his father, and that was all. 

"Poor Hughie! poor dear, bonnie laddie!" said Betsey softly. "Can it bepossible that your father never opened or read this? It was writtenwithin a week of the poor boy's death, " added she, looking at the dateon the letter. 

"My father never could have opened it or Mr Fleming would have hadthis, " said Elizabeth, holding up the inclosed note, "I wonder how itcould have happened that it was overlooked. "

She never knew, nor did any one. She tried next day to say something toher father about it, but she could not make him understand. He saidnothing in reply that had any reference to the letter, or to poor Hugh, or to his father. It must have been, by some unhappy chance, overlookedand placed with other papers in the old saddle-bag, where it had lainall these years. 

"And now what shall we do about this?" asked Elizabeth, still holdingthe other letter in her hand. 

It was a single small leaf folded like a letter and one edge slipped inas though it was to have been sealed or fastened with a wafer. But itwas open. 

"I don't know, the least in the world, " said Betsey, much moved. "Itmight hold a medicine for the old man over there, but it might also bepoison. "

"But since he wrote to my father of confession and restitution, we mayhope that there is a confession in this also. "

"Yes, there is something in that. But it was a great while ago now, andall the old misery would come back again. Not that he has everforgotten it. And now I fear there is more trouble before him. "

They were greatly at a loss what to do. 

"If we could consult some one. "

"It would not help much. As it is not sealed you might just look at it. If there is comfort in it the poor old father ought to have it. Thereis no better time to give it. "

Elizabeth opened it with trembling fingers. 

"I hope it is not wrong. "

"It would be too great a risk either to give it or to withhold itwithout having known its nature. It was written so long ago, and itwould be terrible to have sorrow added to sorrow now. "

A single glance was enough. 

"Father, I have sinned against heaven and in thy sight. "

Elizabeth read no more. That was enough. She burst into suddenweeping. 

"And he never saw his father again. "

"No. And the father never saw the words his son had written, " saidBetsey, scarcely less moved. 

Daylight was coming in by this time and there was the sound of footstepsat the door. Then Jacob's voice was heard, and remembering that thesquire had said that the papers were for Elizabeth's eyes alone, Betseylifted the bag from the table and carried it into the sick-room. MrMaxwell was with Jacob, and other people were waiting to hear how thenight had been passed. 

"He has had a good night, and is still sleeping quietly, " saidElizabeth. 

"And he seemed quite revived when he was awake last, " Betsey added, asshe came out of his room. 

"Mr Maxwell, Jacob, " said Elizabeth, "the strangest thing has happened. Jacob, look at this, " and she put into his hand the letter with the redseal on it, on which his eyes had been fixed since ever he came in. 

He grew pale when he saw his father's name in the once familiarhandwriting, and when he saw the money, and read the words to hisfather, written on the other side, he sat down suddenly without a word. If Elizabeth had thought a moment, she might have hesitated about givingit to him while others were looking on. Betsey was glad that she haddone it. Elizabeth took the letter which Jacob had laid down and gaveit to Mr Maxwell:

"You have heard of Hugh Fleming, the lad who went wrong. Betsey cantell you more than I can. I found the letter among some old papers ofmy father's. I think he cannot have read it, for the seal was notbroken. There must have been some mistake. "

Mr Maxwell read it in silence. 

"But it is this that has troubled us. A letter from Hugh to his father. Think of it, Jacob. After all these years!"

Yes. After all these years! "Be sure your sin will find you out. "That is what Jacob was saying to himself. Even Betsey could have foundit in her heart to pity the misery seen in his face. 

"He can't be so cold-blooded as people suppose, " thought she. 

"Should it be given to his father at once? I think the worst part ofthe trouble to him has been the thought that his son was cut off sosuddenly--that he died unrepenting. "

Mr Maxwell looked at the folded paper and then at Jacob. 

"It may trouble the old man, but I do not think we have a right towithhold it. "

Elizabeth was about to say that she had looked at the note, but Betseyinterrupted her:

"He was sorry for his sin--whatever it was. His written words to UncleGershom prove that. And if there is in it any kind of sorrow, or anyproof that others were more guilty than he, it might comfort the oldman. "

"Will you take it to him by and by, Mr Maxwell?" said Elizabeth. 

"If I am the best person to take it. But he has never spoken to me ofhis son. "

"He has never spoken a word to any one but the mother. And I feel thatthere is comfort to him in this little letter, and you will be glad tocarry him comfort, I know. "

"Thank you. Well, I will take it at once. Some one will be up at thisearly hour with the grandmother. I will go now. "

Elizabeth put the folded paper in her father's letter with the money andgave it to him. 

"I will go too, " said Jacob, rising. 

"Had you better?"

Both Elizabeth and Betsey spoke these words with a little excitement. He turned a strange look from one to the other. Whether it was of painor anger, neither knew, and he went out with the minister. Elizabethwatching, saw them turn into the path that led a near way to the NorthGore road. 

"Oh, Betsey! I hope we have done right. God comfort the poor father bythese words, " cried Elizabeth, with a sudden rush of tears. 

"Amen!" said Betsey, solemnly. 

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE. 

FORGIVENESS. 

The longed-for dawn came to Katie with a sudden chill and sinking of theheart that felt for a minute like the utter failure of bodily strength. When she put the lamp out, and put aside the curtain so that thedaylight fell on the two grey old faces lying on the same pillow, herheart beat hard with sudden fear. 

How wan and sunken and spent they looked! What if they were both todie? The little gleam of red that had now and then, through all herillness, showed itself on grannie's cheeks was quite gone now, and shewould never be whiter, Katie thought, as she bent down to catch thesound of her breath coming and going so faintly. The two wrinkled, toil-worn hands still clasped each other in sleep. 

"They should go together, " said Katie, with a sob, "but oh! not yet. "

She was not experienced enough to know whether this motionless sleep, sodifferent from the fitful, broken slumbers of the last few weeks, was ahopeful sign or not; if her strength could be kept up, the doctor hadsaid, and so had Miss Betsey--and perhaps she ought to wake her and giveher something. As she stood looking at her, her grandfather opened hiseyes. 

"Grannie's better, I think, " said she, with a quick impulse to give himcomfort. "She has been sleeping quietly, and her hand is cool andmoist. If you'll bide still beside her, I'll go and get a drop of warmmilk from Brownie, to be ready when she wakes. "

If she had stayed a minute longer she must have cried at the sight ofthe old man's face as he raised himself up and bent over that other faceso white and still. She did cry a little when she went out, andshivered in the chill of the September morning, but she did not lingerover her task. When she came in she found her grandfather risen, andstanding by the bed. Her grandmother was awake now. 

"Are you there, Katie? Is your tea masket? Give a cup of tea to yourgrandfather now; it will refresh him; and I think I could take a cupmyself. "

"All right, grannie dear, " said Katie, cheerfully; "and in the meantimetake a little milk, " and she held the cup to her lips. "And now, if youshould fall asleep, it will be all the better till the tea be ready. "

Katie smoothed the pillows and put the bedclothes straight, and touchedher lips to the white cheek; then it was turned to rest on the thin handand grannie fell asleep. Davie rose up at Katie's bidding, and went toget wood to kindle the fire. Katie let the curtain fall again over theopen window, and softly closed the door, as she followed her grandfatherout of the room. 

"We'll let her sleep, " said the old man, and he went out with slow, languid steps into the sunshine. 

It was hardly sunshine yet, for though the light lay clear on thehill-tops, all the valley was in shadow, and the mist lay low along thecourse of Beaver River in great irregular masses, white, but with great"splatches" of colour here and there where the sun touched it. The dewlay heavy on the grass, and the garden bushes and the orchard trees, andon Katie's flowers, and the sweet breath of green things came pleasantlyto his sense as he sat down on his accustomed seat by the door. 

Birds were chirping in the orchard trees, and there was the scarcelyless pleasant sound of barn-door fowls near at hand. The sheep behindthe pasture-bars sent their greeting over the dewy fields, and the cowsin the yard "mowed" placidly as they stirred one another with soft, slowmovements. How fair and peaceful the place looked! How full of calmand quiet, yet strong life!

The old man closed his eyes on it all. He was not thinking, he washardly feeling. The night had brought broken slumbers, but not rest, and he was very weary. A wondering question, whether she could be goingto die on such a day as this, passed through his mind. It did not seempossible. 

"And besides, she and he said she could not die till I had forgiven myenemy. "

But he was too weary to go over it all again--the long heart-breakingstory. He could only sit still with closed eyes, waiting. 

And it was thus that the minister and Jacob Holt found him. They hadsaid little to one another as they passed through the dewy fields, andunder the long shadows of the wayside trees together. Mr Maxwell atfirst had said a word as to the mission they had undertaken, and asked aquestion or two as to how they had better make it known, but Jacob hadanswered in monosyllables, or not at all. 

The last part of their walk had been over the fields again, and theycame suddenly upon Mr Fleming sitting at the door. Katie had seen themcoming, and was standing at her grandfather's side, her hand laid on hisshoulder, and she looked at them as they drew near with questioning, almost angry eyes. Mr Maxwell held out his hand to her. 

"Is he sleeping, Katie?"

But as he spoke Mr Fleming looked up. He did not see Jacob for themoment. He held out his hand and tried to rise. 

"No; sit still, " and Mr Maxwell sat down beside him. 

"It is kind of you to come so early. Katie thinks her--no worse thismorning. But you must think her dying to come so soon again, and atthis hour. "

"No. I am glad she is no worse. It was not that I thought her dying. I came for another reason. "

"Well, you are kindly welcome anyway. "

"I went to see Squire Holt this morning. No--he is not dying, though itcannot be long now. "

"Ay! ay! Well, he is an old man, and he is ending a useful life. "

He spoke dreamily in his utter weariness, looking away over the fieldsto the sunshiny hills beyond. 

"I have something to give you, Mr Fleming, " said the minister gently, "something which Miss Holt found among her father's papers. "

"Well, well, " said the old man, waiting quietly, almost indifferently, for what might be said. 

"It is a letter, written long ago by one dead and gone, who was verydear to you. "

A change came over her grandfather's face, but whether it was because ofwhat Mr Maxwell had said, or because he saw Jacob Holt standing beforehim, and quite near him, Katie could not tell. Jacob moistened his drylips, and tried twice to speak before a sound came. 

"It is a letter--and before you read it--I beg you to forgive me for anyharm I may ever have done--to you or yours. "

The little Flemings had gathered about the door, but their mother drewthem away into the house. Katie kept her place by her grandfather, andso did Davie, but he was out of sight in the porch. Mr Fleming rose, and stood face to face with his enemy; but when he spoke it was to MrMaxwell that he turned. 

"She said, she could never go--up yonder--till I have forgiven him--andI am an old man, now. "

He tottered a little as he turned to Jacob, but he held out his hand:

"God forgive you. And God help me to forgive you. And God forgive metoo, for I doubt it has been rebellion with me all this time. "

"Amen, " said Jacob, and then he moved away, and Mr Fleming sank down onthe seat again. He seemed to have forgotten that there was anythingmore to be said, and after a moment's hesitation, Mr Maxwell put theletter into Katie's hand. 

"The letter, grandfather, " said she softly. 

"Ay, the letter. "

He took it, holding it out at arm's length that he might see, but whenhis eye rested on the familiar characters he uttered a sharp, inarticulate cry and let it fall. The blood rushed to his face till itwas crimson, and then receding, left him pale as death. 

"Grandfather, come into grannie, " said Katie, putting her arms abouthim. "Davie, come and help our grandfather. "

"Grannie's better, grandfather, " said Davie; "come. "

"But the letter, " said the old man, faintly. "Oh, ay! Grandmother willlike to see the letter!"

But he did not rise. 

"The letter. Where's the letter?"

Jacob Holt stooped and lifted it from the grass where it had fallen, andDavie looked at him with amazed and angry eyes, as he opened it andtaking out the folded slip of paper, offered it to him, while he keptthe squire's letter and the money in his hand. 

"Read that first, " said Jacob hoarsely, and then he went away round thecorner of the house out of sight, and Mr Maxwell followed him. 

"Read it, Katie, lassie. "

With trembling fingers Davie opened the letter and gave it to hissister. Kneeling beside him, Katie read:

"Father, I have sinned against heaven, and in thy sight, and am no moreworthy to be called thy son. "

There was more written, but she got no further, for a cry burst from hislips--whether of joy or pain they could not tell--and his head fell onKatie's shoulder. 

"Whisht, Davie. Lay him down gently, and get a little water. Be quiet, man. Grannie will hear you. "

For Davie had cried out in his terror at the sight of his grandfather'sdeathlike face. The cry brought out his mother, and Mr Maxwell andJacob hurried back again. He was better in a minute, and they led himinto the house, and made him lie down. In a little while Katie broughthim some tea. 

"Grannie bade me, grandfather, and you must take it you ken. "

She knelt beside him, holding the cup for him, and by coaxing andentreating made him take a little food. 

"And now you must just rest a while. "

They had brought him into the front room "for quiet, " Katie said, as helooked round in surprise; "rest and think about it, " she whispered, hardly venturing to say more. Gradually it came back to him thatsomething had happened. By this time breakfast was over, and worship, and Katie brought Mr Maxwell in and left him there. 

Jacob Holt would not stay to breakfast, though Davie and his mother hadasked him to stay. Before he went he gave the squire's letter to Davie. 

"Give it to your grandfather, but do not read it, " said he. 

He had something to say to Mr Maxwell also. 

"I don't know just how much Mr Fleming knows of what happened long ago. Hugh Fleming, after much entreaty from several of us, signed myfather's name where he ought not. He alone had the skill to do it. Itwas to save--some of us from much trouble. He was not in the scrape. He was not to be benefited personally by it, except that he waspersuaded that some foolish deed of his could be more easily kept fromhis father's knowledge if he helped to screen the rest by yielding. Ifhe had stayed at home and met it, it would have been well; my fathermade no trouble about it. But he went away--and died. And you musttell his father--"

Jacob turned his back upon the minister for a full minute, and thenwithout another word went away. 

It was Mr Maxwell who read the letter to Mr Fleming after all. Therewere only a few lines more than Katie read: "I trust God has forgivenme, and that He will keep me safe from sin. Forgive me, dear father andmother and James. "

And then his name and another line: "I will make up to you, dear father, for all you suffer now for me. "

"And He has kept him safe, " said the minister, "all these years. "

Katie came now and then, and looked in, but she did not speak, exceptonce to say that grannie was sleeping still. Even Katie never knew howthe minister and her grandfather passed the long morning. It was noonwhen she went in and told them that dinner was nearly ready, and thatgrannie was awake and asking for them. Afterward Mr Maxwell told MissElizabeth something about it. 

How as it gradually became clear to the father that his dear son's lighthad not gone out in darkness, but that he had repented of his sin, andconfessed it, and had been as he trusted forgiven, his grief and shameand penitence were even deeper than his joy. 

"To think that I should have been misdoubting the Lord all this time, asthough He had broken His promise to me! And how patient He has been--long-suffering and full of compassion. I have been hard on Jacob Holt. If God had dealt with me as I have in my heart dealt with him!"

The minister did not always know whether he was speaking to him, or tohimself. By and by, when he got calmer, and "better acquainted" withthe thought of the new joy, he told the minister, in broken words, thestory of his love for his son, and the bitterness of his loss, and hiswonder and sympathy grew as he listened. 

What depths of woe the old man had sounded! With what agonies ofbitterness and anger which had grown to be hatred almost, as the yearswent on, had he struggled. And he had sometimes yielded to the miseryof doubt of God's care. He had thought the struggle vain. 

He had never been quite at peace with himself through it all. God hadnever left him to an easy conscience, where Jacob Holt was concerned, even at his quietest time, and when things were at their best with him. He had never left him to himself, and now the evil spirit was cast out. 

"The patience He has had with me. It is wonderful!" he said again andagain. "And now I ask nothing but that He may do His will with me andmine, " he added, as Katie came in. 

"I think grannie is no worse, though she is very weak and cannot bearmuch, " was Katie's gentle caution, lest she should be excited overmuch. 

He did not answer her, but turned to Mr Maxwell and repeated his words:

"I ask nothing but that God may do His will with me and mine. "

"That is always best, " said the minister. 

Katie looked from one to the other. 

"Come, grandfather, " said she. 

He went slowly out, touching the door and the walls to steady himselfby, and when he went in to grannie, Katie softly shut the door. Therewas no one to tell what was said there between the two. If Mr Fleminghad needed anything utterly to break his heart with loving shame, andthankfulness, and sorrow, the glad serenity and trust of his dear oldwife would have done it. He put restraint upon himself lest he shouldexcite her beyond her strength, but she smiled at him. 

"Joy seldom does harm, and I am better, though I am but weak andfeckless. I'll soon mend now. "

"And are you really better? I could almost find it in my heart to letyou go to Him, nay, I canna say gladly, but God's will be done, whetheryou be to stay or go. "

"Surely. And in His good time He'll take me, but no' just yet. Youcanna spare me yet. "

The old man laughed a glad, tremulous laugh, but the tears were not veryfar from his eyes, and he patted gently the wrinkled hand, grown thinand limp. 

"And you'll just go to your dinner with the minister and the bairns, andI'll rest myself a wee while, for, oh! I have little strength. ButI'll soon have more. "

After dinner Mr Maxwell came in to say a few words to Mrs Fleming, and"to give thanks, " as she said, and then the old people were left alonetogether again. Whether they slept or not, grannie could not tell. 

"But we didna think long, my dear, " said she to Katie, with her faint, glad smile. 

Mr Maxwell would have liked to lie all the afternoon on the orchardgrass, with Davie and his mother sitting near, and Katie and the restcoming and going, as the work permitted, for it was sweet and restfulthere. But the old squire might wish to see him. He had visited himalmost daily for a while, and so after a little he rose and said he mustgo. 

"And grannie is better, but Miss Elizabeth will have no glad morning. Oh, if we could comfort her, " said Katie, gravely. 

"And don't you think that all that has comforted you all to-day, willcomfort her also?" said Mr Maxwell. 

"Miss Elizabeth has always rejoiced with the joyful, and sympathisedwith those who were in sorrow, " said Katie's mother. 

"And that is why she is loved so dearly, " said Katie. 

"And she was ay fond of grannie, " said Davie. 

"She will be comforted, " said the minister. 

And Miss Betsey had her wish. One day her mother and Cynthia came down, and Ben went over for Mr Fleming, and old Mrs Wainwright, and DeaconStone, and two or three others, and the minister, and they allremembered their Lord together. The "cup of blessing" was passed fromthe trembling hands of Mr Fleming to the hands of Jacob Holt, whichtrembled also, and so the very last drop of bitterness passed out of theold man's heart forever. 

The end was drawing near now, and the old squire, looking glad andsolemn too, held his daughter's hand, and welcomed them all by name asthey came, and bade them farewell as they went away, "hoping to see themagain, " he said, but knowing, as did they all, that it must be on "theother side. " Mr Fleming stayed when the others went away, andElizabeth gave him her seat by her father for a little while. They hadnot much to say to one another. In all their intercourse the squire hadbeen the talker, but he was past all that now. But he was not pastnoticing the peaceful look that had already come to the face of hisfriend. 

"You feel better, don't you? It has done you good?" meaning doubtlessthe communion they had enjoyed together with their Lord and Master. 

Mr Fleming hardly knew what he meant, but he said gently, "Ay, it hasdone me good. "

For a moment it came into his thoughts to speak to the squire about theletter, and the joy it had brought to him at last. But he was tired andhis thoughts were beginning to wander, and he doubted whether he couldmake him understand. 

"He'll ken where he is going, " said he to himself, but to the dying manhe said nothing but "Fare ye well; and the Lord be with you in thevalley. " And then he went away. 

But not without a word from Elizabeth. 

"Dear Mr Fleming, " said she, holding his hand when they were at thedoor, "you must let me say how glad I am for you and for his mother. "

"Ay, that you are, I am very sure. "

"If only it had come--long ago, " said Elizabeth. 

A momentary shadow passed over his face. 

"Ay. It seems strange to us. There is only one thing sure--His time isbest. "

Then Elizabeth sent her love to Mrs Fleming and to Katie, and hermother, and then she touched with her lips the old man's furrowed cheek, and some who saw him leave his old friend's house could not but wonderat the peaceful brightness of his face that day. 

There was another day of watching and waiting, and then a few days ofsilence in the darkened house, and then the old squire was laid in hisgrave with such marks of honour as his fellow-townsmen could give. People from other towns, and from all the country round, came to Gershomthat day, and many a kindly word was spoken of the dead, and many a taletold of good deeds done in secret, of friendly help and counsel given intime of need, and all agreed that a good man and true had gone to hisrest from among them, and that not many like him were left behind. 

And though all that great multitude could not see the open grave andElizabeth and Clifton and Jacob at the head, and Betsey and her motherand Ben and all the rest standing near, no man left Gershom that day whohad not heard how, when the first clods fell on the coffin-lid, andJacob shuddered and grew white as death, old David Fleming, one of thebearers, went forward and gave him his arm to lean upon till the gravewas filled and the last word spoken. Of course these strangers did notknow all that this implied to both these men, but every one in Gershomknew and was glad for them both. 

And then when all was over, and Mr Maxwell, in a voice that was notquite firm, had, in the name of the mourners, thanked the assembledfriends for their presence and sympathy on the solemn occasion, Elizabeth and Clifton and Jacob went home with the feeling strong uponthem that the old life was at an end forever, and it was truer for themall than either of them knew. 

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX. 

BUSINESS. 

It would have been no longer possible for Clifton Holt to refuse allactive interest in the business that had hitherto been carried on byJacob in the name of himself and father. The brothers had long knownthe arrangements made by their father with regard to the division of hisproperty among his children after his death, and this division made itnecessary that Clifton should give both time and pains to a rightunderstanding of how affairs stood. 

Elizabeth was to have the house in the village and the home farm, together with a certain sum of money, part of which was invested in thebusiness. She was not to be a partner in the business. It would bewrong, her father said, at least it would be uncomfortable for her to bemade in that way responsible for risks of which she knew nothing. Ifall should agree that her money should be retained in the business, thenof course her brothers would give her the same security that they wouldgive to any one else who intrusted property to them. The sum was alarge one, but, had all things been going well with them during the lastfew years, not larger than was right as her share of her father'swealth. 

For the rest, the business was to be equally in the hands of the twobrothers, and the real estate equally divided between them. All thishad been arranged at the time when Jacob was formally received as hisfather's partner. It was a just arrangement, giving the younger brotherno undue advantage, though it might seem to do so, for Jacob had beforethat time spent a large part of the share of the property to which, according to Canadian law, he had a claim at his father's secondmarriage. He had acknowledged the arrangement to be just at the time itwas made, and still acknowledged it, although the fact that his brotherhad not, as was expected, come to take his share of the work and risksof the business when he came of age might have given him some cause tocomplain. 

He might have complained if all this time he had been prospering in hismanagement of their affairs; but as it was, he said little, and allowedClifton to come gradually to a knowledge of how it was with them. 

Up to a late date Clifton's plan had been, either to remain as a sort ofsleeping partner in the business, thus securing a certain income tohimself without trouble; or to claim a division of the property, andtake his share, leaving Jacob to carry on the business in his own name. This was the course which his sister foresaw and feared, knowing thatsuch a course must bring trouble and loss to them all. 

But within the last few months Clifton's idea and plans had undergone achange. By the way in which he set himself to work, intent on masteringthe details of the business in all its branches, it became evident thatbefore many years were over he would stand fair to take his father'splace as the first man in that part of the country. 

The more Clifton looked into the state of their affairs, the lesssatisfaction he felt with regard to them. When, in the course of hisinvestigation, he discovered the extent of the sacrifice of real estatewhich had attended the settling up of the mining operations, it isscarcely too much to say that he was for the moment utterly appalled. He was, upon the whole, moderate in his expression of surprise andvexation at the state of things, and whatever he said which went beyondmoderation, his brother did not often resent, at least he rarelyanswered otherwise than mildly. But Jacob's cool way of answeringquestions and suggesting expedients that might serve for a time, asthough he had been freed by his brother's presence from any specialresponsibility with regard to their present straits, amazed and provokedClifton. Of course he could not now abandon the concern withoutdishonour to the name, and without the sacrifice of plans and projectsto which he had of late been giving many of his thoughts. 

No, there was nothing to be done but to make the best of matters as theystood. 

"If you had come into the firm two years ago, as you should have done, "said Jacob one day, returning, as his manner was, to matters discussedand dismissed too often already, in his brother's opinion; "if you hadthrown yourself right into it, you might have made the GershomManufacturing Company go. I hadn't the time to give to it. And Ihaven't the power of talking folks over to see a thing, as you have. Itwas all square with us then, as far as folks generally knew, and if thecompany had been formed, and the mills put right up and set a-going, itwould have made all the difference in the world to us. "

"It's too late to talk now, " said Clifton, shortly, and he rose and leftthe room. 

But he recognised the fact. If he had been in the business for the lasttwo years, he knew that he would now have been in a far better positionfor carrying out the plans, which more than anything else had broughthim back to Gershom; and it was toward the forming of such a company--or, rather, it was toward the commencing and carrying on of the workwhich such a company might be expected to do, that all his plans nowpointed. 

Business had not been a secondary consideration with Mr Langden when hepaid his visit to Gershom. The success which had been almost theuniform result of his undertakings during the last ten years had beenvery pleasant to him, and had made it difficult for him to resist thetemptation to engage in still other enterprises which offered fairly forthe making of money. It was not that he loved money for its own sake, or for the sake of what it might bring. He parted with it readilyenough, and held himself responsible for more liberal giving inproportion as his means increased. 

There was nothing added to the enjoyment of his life by the luxuriousappliances which wealth can command. He took a certain pride in beingregarded as a man who had built up his own fortune, and who hadbenefited his native place and the community generally, by hisincreasing wealth. But the highest enjoyment he had was in the actualdoing of work--in the beginning and carrying on to a successful end anyenterprise which it required skill and will and a strong hand to guide. 

It was not the passion for speculation--the passion of the gambler--which may take possession of the man of business as of the man ofpleasure. He made no daring ventures and took no special risks. Heinvestigated patiently and saw clearly, and then he acted. Hisweakness, if it could be called weakness, lay in this, that he found itdifficult to refrain from entering into new schemes when opportunityoccurred. 

A less clear-sighted man than he might during a ten days' visit toGershom have seen enough of the state of affairs there, and enough ofJacob Holt himself, to prevent him from entering into any seriousbusiness relations with him. He had disappointed Jacob by his apparentindifference to the evident advantages offered for the establishment ofnew industries, and the opening of new sources of wealth to himself, andof prosperity to Gershom. But he was not indifferent in the matter. Hesaw the opportunity clearly enough, but he did not see in Jacob Holt, orin any other man he met in Gershom, the right sort of agent by whom tomake the opportunity available. 

He changed his opinion as to this, however, when he came to know more ofClifton. Their long sail together, down the Saint Lawrence, and up theSaguenay, gave time for much talk between them. Jacob was right when hesaid that Clifton had his father's head for business, and the shrewd andobserving Mr Langden was not long in discovering his powers. SquireHolt had been engrossed with business during the boyhood of his youngerson, and Clifton had been on too familiar terms with him, not to haveacquired much knowledge with regard to the details of business matterswithout any effort on his part. His views and opinions, modified andenlarged by contact with others during the two years' residence in thecity of Montreal, commended themselves to the judgment of his newfriend, and Mr Langden expressed surprise that he should not havepreferred entering on such a business as that left by his father, ratherthan to take a new and untried path. 

From one thing they went to another, till the capabilities of the BeaverRiver as a water-power, and the chances of Gershom as a manufacturingtown, were fully discussed between them. The result was that Cliftonalmost decided to give up for the present his legal studies, and take uphis abode in Gershom as Mr Langden's partner in such a business as ithad been Jacob's hope that the Gershom Manufacturing Company mightestablish. Such an enterprise need not prevent him from going on asJacob's partner. On the contrary, his position in such a case would bean advantage to him, and from his share of his father's wealth heexpected to obtain the means necessary as his part in the investment ofwhich Mr Langden was to supply the larger part. And so, to thesurprise and joy of Elizabeth, and of Jacob as well, Clifton came homefor good. Mr Langden did not see, or did not seem to see, one of thechief motives that had influenced the young man in considering thisstep. Clifton at first did not acknowledge to himself that his interestin Mr Langden's daughter had much to do with the decision. There weregood reasons enough for it to fall back upon without this, and thesewere so clearly and earnestly dwelt on in his talks with his sister, that he went far toward convincing himself that to settle in Gershom anddo as his father had done before him was the most reasonable course totake. 

He had greatly admired Miss Langden everybody saw, and a good manypeople had seemed to see that the admiration was mutual. But if theirintercourse had ended when they left Gershom, it would hardly have gonefurther than admiration between them. Up to that time Clifton hadshared the general opinion that Miss Essie would at some future dayprobably become a resident of the parsonage, and he had his doubts, assome others in Gershom had, whether that might prove the most suitableplace for the dainty little lady. 

But the sail together down the Saint Lawrence changed his opinion, andset his doubts at rest. Mr Maxwell was almost her dearest friend, ashis mother had been the dearest friend of her Aunt Martha. He was likea cousin or an elder brother, she said, admiring and praising him quiteopenly, as no young lady would be likely to speak of her lover. And asfor the parsonage, well, the intimations, quite frankly given, as towhat she meant to see and to do in the future, did not point that way. And Clifton told himself, as he listened to her, that having seen themso much together, he might have known from the nature of theirintercourse that there was nothing but friendship between them. 

In the comparative isolation of the sail on the two great rivers, theseyoung people became more intimate than they could have become in soshort a time in almost any other circumstances, and Miss Essie was apretty and winning little creature. She was very frank and friendlywith him, and an occasional touch of shyness and reserve made herfrankness and friendliness all the more charming. What with the one wayand the other, she bewitched the happy young fellow, and she hadbewitched several others since the Thanksgiving visit of Mr Maxwell. 

Clifton scarcely knew what had happened to him till he stood in thedesolate station in Montreal, watching the train that carried her andher friends to meet the upward-bound boat at Lachine. After that therecame with the thought of the pretty, bright little girl, the thought ofher father, who was a rich man, and who would not, he feared, be easilyapproached in any matter that had reference to his daughter. Cliftonforth with came to what was probably the wisest resolution that he couldhave taken in the circumstances, to keep silence at present, and to dowhat might be done, at least to put himself in the way of becoming arich man also. 

A good deal had passed between the gentlemen as to possible futurebusiness relations, but nothing had been definitely settled while MrLangden was in Canada. That is, Clifton had not fully decided whetherhe should change his plans and settle in Gershom. But there had been afull discussion of all that was to follow should he do so. 

The unsatisfactory state into which their own affairs had fallen underhis brother's management was doubly vexing to him, because of thedifficulties which were thus thrown in the way of the new enterprise. Not only must there be delay, there must be a new plan of operations. 

There was far more than enough of property of one kind or another intheir possession still to cover all the liabilities of the firm, butmoney was needed and the banks were pressing. An honourable settlementmight be made, and their good name preserved, and even their fortunesretrieved to some extent--provided that time should be given them, andprovided also the settlement of their affairs should be left in theirown hands. An extensive and varied country business like theirs mightbe carried on through years of ill-success without an utter breakdown, and years of care and labour would be required, if the sacrifice of muchvaluable property was to be avoided, and this care and labour he sawmust fall on him. He could no longer hope for a partnership with MrLangden in the new enterprise. It seemed even doubtful whether, occupied as he must be with their own affairs for the next year or two, Mr Langden would consider the question of making him his agent incarrying out his plans. 

"You can but lay the matter before him, " said his sister Elizabeth. 

To her alone had Clifton permitted himself to speak of Mr Langden'splans, and of the disappointment that threatened his own hopes becauseof the losses that had come upon them. 

"That is easily said, " said he, impatiently. "A statement of ouraffairs; such as it would be necessary to put before him, would bealmost impossible at the present moment, at least in writing. "

"Why don't you go and see him, then?"

Clifton looked at her a moment in silence. 

"The matter ought to be settled in one way or another, at once, " saidhis sister. "You would feel quite differently about Jacob's troublesand your own if you were not in suspense. "

And so it came about that Clifton found his opportunity, and went. 

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. 

CHANGES. 

A surprise awaited the people of Gershom--indeed a series of surprises. But the greatest of all was this, David Fleming not only sold that partof his farm which bordered on the Black Pool and lay beyond it, higherup the river, but he sold it to the Holts. He sold it on such termsthat the longstanding debt to them was more than cancelled, and in sodoing did well for himself and for the Holts also. 

When the winter had fairly set in, and there was snow enough for goodwinter roads, the stones and timber which Jacob Holt had accumulated onthe Varney place last year were all removed higher up the river, andpreparations on a larger scale than ever Jacob had attempted, commencedfor the making of the new dam, at the point long ago decided upon as thebest on the river for such a purpose. And the building of the dam wasto be but the beginning of what was to be done. 

Clifton Holt did not say much to any one, except his sister Elizabeth, of all that was to be undertaken soon in Gershom. But the good peopletook too much interest in him and his undertakings not to give much timeand talk to them. Clifton Holt's undertakings, they were always called, though he was but the agent of Mr Langden, the complications in the oldbusiness with which he had still to do making it wiser for him to occupythat position for the present. But that he was to be at the head of allthat was to be done, as far as buildings were concerned, was easilyseen. 

And Mark Varney was to be one of his right hands. It was Mark who hadthe immediate oversight of the numerous workmen who were employed duringthe winter collecting the materials required. It was he who, when thespring opened, superintended the digging and levelling, the cutting andcarting that were being carried on, on a scale and with a rapidity thatsurprised even Jacob Holt, who in imagination had seen something like itdone a hundred times over. It was in Mark's pastures, once again hisown, that the horses and oxen used in the work found rest when it wasneeded, and it was he who had all to say that was to be said of them, and of much besides. And the surprise, as far as he was concerned, wasthat he should be capable of taking all this in hand, and that beingtrusted with it he should so quickly and clearly show that he wascapable of doing it all well. 

No one was surprised at Clifton. He had the old squire's head forbusiness, they said, as Jacob had said before, and he had such aneducation as the squire had never had, which must tell in the long run. Then he had so good an opinion of his own powers, that he would neverthink any work too great to undertake, and being "backed" by MrLangden, and by several other rich men, both at home and at a distance, to whom Mr Langden's movement in the matter of the new mills had givenconfidence, the chances were, everybody said, that he would do what hehad set out to do. 

And so he did, as far as the new dam on the Beaver River, and the millsand workshops, and many other works besides, which he put his hand tofor the benefit of Gershom and his own benefit, were concerned. And sohe did in the course of years in his own business--that is, he and Jacobtogether did much to recover that which had been lost, and to make oncemore the name of the firm a power in Gershom, and in all thecountryside. But a good many years passed before all that was broughtabout. 

Mr Fleming parted with a portion of his farm, not without regret, indeed; but with none of the bitterness of feeling which in former dayshad always risen within him at the thought of possibly having to do so;and Davie was triumphant. Katie grieved over the prospect of having the"bonny quiet place" spoiled with mills and shops and other folks'houses, and the clatter of looms and factory-bells. Grannie thought asKatie did, and would have grieved over this also if anything except afear of the wrong-doing of any of the bairns could have moved her fromthe sweet content which, since the joyful ending of her long illness, had rested in her heart, and made itself evident in every word and deed. 

But still grannie found much that was to be rejoiced over in that whichmade Katie grieve. It was a fine thing to be free of debt, and it waswell that since they must part with the land it was to be put to a gooduse. 

As for grandfather there was no sign of grumbling in him. Indeed, whenthe spring opened, and the work at the Pool made progress, he began totake much interest in all that was going on there, and his evening walkoften took him in that direction. It was a silent, and not always anapproving interest. But there was neither bitterness nor anger in histhoughts now. He was content, like his dear old wife, to let the worldmove on and take its way, since he had so nearly done with it all. 

There was for Davie a constant fascination in the skill and powerdisplayed by those employed in directing the work that was going on. Hehaunted the place at every spare moment, and even did a day's workthere, at leisure times, for the sake of getting an insight into theprinciples of things of which he had read, but which he had never had anopportunity of seeing applied. The engineer employed about the dam, ascientific man, capable of doing far higher work than fell to him inGershom, well pleased with the lad's eager interest, gave him many ahint that went beyond the work in hand, and lent him books, andencouraged him in various other ways to educate himself in the directiontoward which his tastes and inclinations seemed to lead. He claimed hishelp on occasions when intelligence and skill rather than strength wereneeded, and Davie, well pleased, did his best. The end of it all was, that the lad's vulgar wishes for other work and another kind of lifethan that which had fallen to him on the farm, took a definite form, andas usual his confidence was given to his sister, and as usual, also, Katie's first thought was:

"But, Davie, think of grandfather. "

"Oh, there is no special hurry about it, and we'll break it to himeasily. And you must mind that there is less land now, and Sandy andJamie are coming on. There is not room for so many of us here, Katie. And I'll be first to slip out of the nest, that is all. "

"But that you should be so glad to think about it, Davie, " said Katiemournfully. 

"Oh, as to that, I'm no' awa' yet. You needna fear that I'll doanything that grandfather will take to heart. And besides, Katie, grandfather is different now. "

Davie said these last words with a little hesitation, because he hadbeen taken up rather sharply on a former occasion when he had saidsomething of the same kind. Katie seemed to have forgotten her oldunhappy thoughts about her grandfather and Jacob Holt, and how hard ithad been for her grandfather to forgive his enemy, and it almost seemedlike reflection on his past life when it was said how greatly he waschanged. 

"It is not so much that he is changed, " said Katie; "it is just the`shining more and more unto the perfect day. ' It is that he is becomingmore like the `little child' our Lord speaks about, and so more fit forthe kingdom of heaven as the time draws nearer. For grandfather isgrowing an old man now, Davie, " said Katie, not without tears. 

"Yes, that's so. Well, I'll never grieve him, Katie, you needna fear. There is no hurry, and I am not losing time while Mr Davenport is here. And I don't despair of being a civil engineer, as good as the best ofthem yet. "

"Shining more and more unto the perfect day. " Yes, that was so. MrFleming was almost as silent in these days as had been his way all hislife, but it was a different silence--a silence serene and peaceful, that told better than words could have done, of the joy and confidencewith which he was waiting for all that life had to bring him, and forall that lay beyond. 

One Sabbath-day in the beginning of the winter, when Mrs Fleming hadgathered a little strength after her illness, grandfather and she, withDavie and Katie and their mother, went to the village church and satdown together at the table of our Lord. Jacob Holt was there too, and agood many more who had sympathised with one or the other of them whentrouble was between them, and every one who saw the old man's bowedhead, and the childlike look on his face as he sat there among them all, knew that all hard feelings had passed out of his heart forever. 

Jacob Holt's head was bowed also, but his face did not tell of peace asyet. That might come later, but Jacob was now in the midst of histroubles, and was having a hard time. But there was peace between himand Mr Fleming. In former days the old man's eyes had never lighted onhis enemy, either in church or market, as all the world knew. Butto-day it was Jacob who tied old Kelso in the shed, Davie not being athand. He helped Mrs Fleming up the steps too, Cousin Betsey and a goodmany other people being there to see, and then the two men walked up thechurch aisle together. 

"It was as good to Jacob as Mr Fleming's name to a note for a thousanddollars, " Mr Green said afterward. And that was quite true. For athousand dollars, more or less, would have made little difference to himin the present state of affairs, and the open friendliness of the manwho had so long shunned and slighted him, was good and pleasant to himto-day. 

"And it was done on purpose, " Betsey told her mother afterward, for MrFleming was not accustomed to say much to any one by salutation onSunday, and had passed several of his friends, Betsey herself among thenumber, without a word or even a nod of recognition. But he seemed gladof the chance to say a word to Jacob before them all. 

"And it was a good day for Gershom, " people said. There was no longerany question as to union now in church matters, and in other matters aswell. No one had said less about union and brotherly love and aChristian spirit among brethren than Mr Fleming; but his silentinfluence had always been stronger than most men's loudly-spokenreasons, either for or against the union so much desired, and now hisopen adherence to the church in the village did much to decide those whohad long hung back, and it was acknowledged to be a good day by themall. 

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. 

CLIFTON'S SUCCESS. 

Jacob Holt was having a hard time, and it did not for the moment makehis troubles any lighter that his younger brother seemed likely, by andby, to show him a way out of them all. Indeed, it was rather anaggravation to his troubles to see Clifton's success. He was carryingout with apparent ease an enterprise on which he had spent time andstrength in vain, and with fewer drawbacks than would have been likelyto come to him had the Gershom Manufacturing Company been formed when hemoved in the matter years ago. 

Of course success was for Jacob's benefit, and by and by he would beable to appreciate and take advantage of it. But in the meantime it wasnot a pleasant thing to find himself superseded--left on one side--as hesaid to himself often. It was not pleasant to be second where he had solong been first. 

On the whole, Clifton carried himself with as much moderation as couldhave been expected toward his elder brother, and he made him useful invarious ways that told for the good of both. 

Elizabeth rejoiced greatly, as each month passed over, that her brothernot only showed himself equal to the duties of the position in which hewas placed, but that he seemed to enjoy them, and would, therefore, notbe likely to be tempted to seek other work elsewhere. 

Of his work and his plans, and all he meant to do and be in the future, Clifton said more to his sister than to all the rest of Gershom puttogether. He was as frank and free in his talk, and as eagerly claimedher sympathy and approval as ever he had done in his boyish days aboutless important matters, and the chief interest of her life now, as then, was in throwing herself heartily into all his plans and prospects. 

But on one subject he was for the most part silent, and his sister couldonly guess at the motives that had chiefly decided him in returning toGershom, and at the hopes he might be cherishing with regard to MissLangden, and of both motives and hopes she was afraid. She was afraidthat disappointment awaited him, and that the end of it would be tounsettle him again, and to disgust him with the life he had chosen. 

Elizabeth's knowledge of the tacit engagement existing between MissEssie and Mr Maxwell made her anxious and unhappy about her brother, and at the same time it made it difficult for her to say anything thatmight incline him to speak more freely to her. For Clifton's firstsuccessful visit to Mr Langden had by no means been his last. Businesstook him southward several times during the year, and more than onevisit united business with pleasure. Once he had seen Miss Langden inher aunt's house in New York, and once he had turned aside to one of thefashionable summer resorts in the mountains where she was staying withher aunt's family. He enjoyed both visits, as may be supposed. MissEssie was as bright and sweet as ever, and doubtless enjoyed them also. 

Even Mrs Weston, who had seen a good deal more of society, and of theworld in general, than her niece, acknowledged that the young Canadiancarried himself well, and held his place among the idle gentlemen whowere helping them and their friends to spend their summer daysagreeably. Mrs Weston would have been as well pleased if he had notcarried himself so well, or made himself so agreeable, as far as herniece was concerned, though she did not allow him to suspect any suchfeelings, and had self-respect enough to say nothing to her niece tillafter their visitors had departed. 

She did not say much to her even then. She laughed a little at her andthe conquest she had made, declaring that if she were determined tospend her life in the far North, it would be wise to give up allthoughts of the parsonage, and make good her claim to be the great ladyof Gershom. Mrs Weston had always laughed at the idea of theparsonage, and had no thought of allowing her pretty niece to betakeherself to the far North in any circumstances. But she did not expressherself very openly with regard to this. For, with all Miss Essie'sgentleness and sweetness, and her willingness to submit to guidance whennothing of particular importance to herself was depending upon it, shehad a mind and will of her own, and did not hesitate to assert herselfon occasion, and her aunt had seen enough of this to make her cautiousin dealing with her when their opinions differed. Upon the whole, however, she thought she had reason to congratulate herself on thesuccess that had hitherto attended her efforts on her niece's behalf. 

Miss Langden, who could "hold her own" among the scores of fine people--the fashionable and elegant ladies and gentlemen who formed the circlein which they moved at present--was a very different creature from thequaint and prudish little school-girl whom her father had brought to NewYork a year and a half ago. 

"Improved! Yes, indeed, " she said to herself, and Mr Langden agreedwith his sister in the main, but on all points was not so sure. However, he doubted nothing less than that in all essential respects hisgood and pretty daughter would come out right in the end. Whether thatmight mean the parsonage and the far North, either or both, he did notsay to himself or any one else. He had exchanged no words with hisdaughter on the subject, though they had been at Gershom together. 

Mrs Weston was not afraid of Mr Maxwell and the parsonage, but, afterhis summer visit, she was a little afraid of Clifton Holt. She knew howhigh he stood both as to character and capabilities in the opinion ofEssie's father, and though he had not liked the idea of his daughter'smarriage with the minister, she thought it possible that he might notobject seriously a second time, should Essie indeed prefer the newaspirant to her favour. 

But all the same her aunt did not intend that either of them should haveher pretty niece if she could manage matters so as to prevent it. 

CHAPTER TWENTY NINE. 

CONCLUSION. 

Clifton went southward again not long after his summer visit to themountains, and on his return he had more to say about what he had seenand done and enjoyed than was usual with him. Whether he was led intodoing so by the fact that Mr Maxwell had come in for the evening, andtook pleasure in hearing about old friends and familiar scenes, orwhether he spoke with intention, Elizabeth could not afterward decide. 

He had not seen Miss Langden at this time. She was paying a visit tofriends at a distance. If she had been visiting her Aunt Maltha, hewould have gone there to see her, he said, as though it were quite hisright to do so, and a matter of course. Elizabeth listened to all thiswith much discomfort, and glanced at Mr Maxwell now and then to see howit was taken. The minister met her glance frankly and smilingly, andcertainly did not seem to have any thought of resenting the young man'stone and manner. 

"He is sure of his ground, " thought Elizabeth; "and he can wait; but, mypoor Clifton, I fear he has disappointment before him. "

She knew that such a disappointment might be got over, and he be nonethe worse, but rather the better, for what he might have to passthrough. But it hurt her beforehand to think of his suffering, and tothink that it must come to him through his friend. Even as the talkwent on between them, she was trying to bring her courage to the pointof asking Mr Maxwell to tell her brother how matters stood between himand Miss Langden. It was only that they were waiting for the end of thetwo years of probation, she supposed, and they were nearly over now. She came out of her own thoughts in time to hear Mr Maxwell say:

"Yes, I mean to get away for a week or two by and by, and I mean to passThanksgiving either there or with Miss Martha at New B--. If I cannotget away at that time I shall certainly go later, but I should like tobe there on Thanksgiving Day for various reasons. "

Elizabeth looked from one to the other with some surprise. Mr Maxwellspoke, and Clifton listened, with faces that were grave enough, but theeyes of both were smiling as they met hers. 

"Mr Maxwell ought to tell him, " thought she, with a touch of anger ather heart. 

But he did not need to be told. When Mr Maxwell was gone, and Cliftonhad returned from seeing him to the gate, he said to his sister:

"Did you know, Lizzie, that Mr Maxwell had once asked Miss Langden tomarry him?"

Elizabeth was moving about the room, putting things in order, as was herway before going up-stairs for the night. She removed the lamp to theside-table, and sat down before she answered him. 

"Yes, I have long known it. I have often, often wished to tell you, butI did not feel at liberty to do so. "

"And why not, pray? One may surely repeat a rumour of that kind withouta breach of confidence. "

"But I did not hear it as a rumour, and I had no permission to repeatit. And besides, it was Mr Maxwell who told me. "

"Rather queer--his telling you, wasn't it?"

"No. In the circumstances it was natural enough. I knew it, or I hadguessed it before he told me. "

And then she went on to tell of the first note that Miss Essie had senther, because she was one of the Gershom friends of her friend "WillMaxwell, " as she called him. "But it is a long time now since one ofher pretty notes has come to me. But they correspond, and have alwaysdone so, since he came to Gershom. "

Clifton said nothing, and his sister was silent for a time. Then sheasked:

"Who told you of their engagement?"

"Engagement! There is no engagement, " said Clifton shortly. 

"No formal engagement, but that was only because her father thought MissEssie too young; but the time of waiting is nearly over now. "

"Lizzie, if I had been asked who had been most in Mr Maxwell's thoughtsfor the last year I should not certainly have said it was Miss Langden. "

"Well, your penetration would have been at fault, that is all. "

"And I should not have said that Miss Langden had been giving many ofher thoughts to him, for the last year at least. "

"Of that I can say nothing. But who told you of the proposal? Not MrMaxwell?"

"No. Mr Langden told me. "

"Mr Langden!" exclaimed Elizabeth, and by and by she added: "Is thatall I am to hear, brother?"

"It is all I have to tell at present. Perhaps I may have more by andby. "

"Or perhaps it may be Mr Maxwell who may have something to tell, " saidElizabeth gravely, "when he comes home from Thanksgiving. "

Clifton laughed. 

"Possibly he may--but--"

"Clifton, I cannot bear to think that Mr Maxwell and you may not alwaysbe friends. "

"Well, you needn't fret about it beforehand, need you?" and then he roseand went away. 

They both had something to tell before Thanksgiving Day, but it was notjust what Elizabeth had expected to hear. Clifton did not tell his partbefore Thanksgiving, however. Indeed, he never told it. He was away agood deal about that time; and was so much occupied when he was at home, that Elizabeth saw less of him, and heard less from him than had everbeen the case before during the same length of time, and she could onlywait till it should be his pleasure to speak. But Mr Maxwell lost notime in saying to his friend what he had to say. 

One fair September morning, about a year after her father's death, Elizabeth saw the minister coming in at the gate with an open letter inhis hand, and though she could give no reason for the thought, she toldherself at once to prepare for tidings. Her first impulse was to goaway, so as to gain time, for a sharp and sudden pain, which she couldnot but fear was not all for her brother, smote her heart as she caughtsight of Mr Maxwell's moved and smiling face. But she felt that it wasbetter not to go, so she rose and met him at the door. 

"Well, " she said, smiling and preparing to be glad for him, at least. 

Her face was moved out of its usual quiet too, as Mr Maxwell could notbut see, and he said:

"Have you heard anything? Has your brother anything to tell?"

"Clifton is not at home; I have heard nothing. "

"Ah, well! All in good time, I suppose. "

Mr Maxwell did not sit down, though Elizabeth did, but walked about theroom, looking out first at one window and then at the other in a waythat startled her. 

"Well, " she said after a little, "I am waiting for your news. "

"News? I have no news--yes, I have something to say. I have beenwaiting these two years to say it--may I speak, Elizabeth?"

And then he sat down on the sofa beside her. To that which he had tosay Elizabeth listened with a surprise which would have been painful toher friend if something more than surprise had not soon appeared. 

In a few words he told her of the discovery he had made soon after hisreturn home two years ago, and how he had thought nothing else right orpossible but to wait patiently till the two years of probation were overto see what might befall. He had not always waited patiently, heacknowledged. He had had little hope that Miss Holt had more thanfriendship to give him, and believed himself to be content with that forthe present, till he had known how, after her father's death, some oneelse was asking for the hand for which he had no right to ask, and thenit had gone hard with him. 

He had not been blind to Clifton's hopes and pretensions, and he hadbeen for some time quite aware that whatever Miss Langden might have togive to Clifton, she had only friendship to give to him. But he hadremained silent because he believed himself bound not to speak toElizabeth till the two years were over. And now they were over. 

Mr Langden, knowing that his plan was to visit them soon, consideredthat he ought to know how he was to be received, and had insisted thathis daughter should tell him her mind distinctly as to her future. Itis not be supposed that she did that altogether, but she acknowledgedthat her views of life and duty had somewhat changed, and she feared itwould not be for their mutual happiness to renew her engagement with MrMaxwell. A little note to that effect was inclosed in her father'sletter which had reached him this morning, and certainly the ministerhad lost no time. 

If Elizabeth hesitated to answer the question which came next, it wasnot for a reason that seemed to trouble the questioner much. She wasnot sure that she would make a good minister's wife--and especially shewas not sure that she would make a good minister's wife for Gershom. But all that was put aside for the present. She was not afraid to trusther happiness in the hands of her friend. She was willing to share hislife and his labours, and to do what she could to aid him in his work. And with that her friend was well content. 

When he said something of the inequality of their relations to eachother, because of that which she possessed, she declared herself willingto let all that pass into the hands of her brothers, and to share theparsonage and comparative poverty with him. Whether she was showing herusual wisdom and prudence in making such a declaration, there was no onethere to decide, and when the right time came for the decision it wasnot left in her hands. 

Clifton did not return home triumphant, as Elizabeth had never doubtedthat he would. He was well pleased to hear all she had to tell him ofthe new happiness that had come into her life; but he had nothing totell her in return. By and by she heard, through Mr Maxwell, that MissLangden had gone with her aunt to pass at least a year in Europe, andthen Clifton told her that he had known her plans all along. He saidlittle about his disappointment, indeed he did not acknowledge himselfdisappointed. But he did not succeed in concealing it from Elizabeth. He went on as usual with all that he had to do, with no less interestand energy, and with no less success than before. 

Mr Langden paid a visit to Gershom in the following spring, and therewas perfect confidence and satisfaction between him and Clifton as faras business relations were concerned. And hearing his daughter's namefrequently mentioned by him, and taking some other things intoconsideration, Elizabeth could not but hope that in good time all thingswould end as her brother desired, and since he was silent, she did notthink it would be right for her to speak. 

But it did not all end as Clifton wished it to end. Miss Langdenreturned with her aunt at the close of the year, as had been expected, but she returned engaged to marry a New York gentleman whom they had metabroad. She and Clifton had never been engaged. Her father hadforbidden the young man to speak to her till the two years of MrMaxwell's waiting were over, and before that time the European trip wasdecided on and close at hand. 

This meeting and parting at that time had been all that Clifton coulddesire, except that she had refused to bind herself by a promise to him, and her aunt had sustained her in this, as was perhaps right, knowingall that she knew. Without her promise Clifton had trusted herentirely, and doubtless she meant to be true to him. 

But temptation came in the form of wealth and family and fashion, andher aunt was at hand to show her the advantages of these things. Indeed, it must be said the young lady saw them for herself only tooclearly, and was glad that she had no promise to break to secure them. 

If there was any comfort in the knowledge that her father wasdisappointed and indignant at what she had done without his knowledge orconsent, Clifton had that comfort, but it possibly did not go far tohelp him. He said little about it, but it went hard with him for awhile. 

However, he did not make his misery an excuse for neglecting his duty. He was past the age for such folly now and besides, he was too reallyinterested in his work not to find it a resource in the time of histrouble, and the changes which his sister had feared might follow suchdisappointment, did not come. 

"And after all, " she said, comforting herself, "he will get over it intime. " Which was perfectly true. 

The new dam and the new establishments of various sorts, which followedits completion, did much for Gershom. That is to say, they increasedthe population and the wealth of the place, and made it more than everthe centre of the surrounding country as to all business transactions. But it is a question whether it made it a pleasanter place of residencefor any of our friends there. A state of transition from a countryvillage to a country town of some importance is never pleasant for theold residents for a time. But progress is to be desired for all that, and Gershom is now an incorporated town with a mayor and council-men ofits own, and on the whole it may be considered that its prosperity isestablished on a good foundation. 

Changes came to the people also, some of them to be rejoiced over, andsome of them not. The High-School lost Mr Burnet as a teacher, which, considering his utter inability to fall in with certain new-fanglednotions as to schools and schoolmasters, which the influx of new-comersbrought with it, was not a bad thing for him, whatever it might be forthe school. He went home to Scotland to take possession of some moneyleft to him by an elder brother, who had been a rich man. He came back, however, to make his home in Canada, as people who have lived in it forany length of time are almost sure to do. 

He brought back with him his two daughters, bonnie lassies of fifteenand sixteen, and took up his abode with them in the house that had beenthe parsonage. The big house on the hill answered the purpose of aparsonage now. His daughters were nice, merry girls, but they werequite ignorant of housekeeping matters, and they did not get on verywell with the new ways of the place for a while. They had, perhaps, been too much restrained by the friends who had brought them up, forsome of the staid people of Gershom thought that they did not know howto use their liberty wisely. 

Perhaps their father thought so too, and that he needed help to guidethem; at any rate, to the surprise of most people, he asked Miss BetseyHolt to come and take care of them, and of himself also, and after somehesitation, caused by doubt as to how "mother and Cynthy and Ben wouldget along without her, " she consented. 

All eyes were on the household for a time, for dutiful submission on thepart of the young step-daughters was considered doubtful by a good manyof their friends. It is likely that Betsey had her own troubles withthem till they knew her better, but no one in Gershom was the wiser foranything that she told them, and things righted themselves in time, asthey always do where good and sensible people are concerned. 

Mark Varney redeemed his farm and moor, and carried his mother and hislittle daughter home again when Mr Maxwell was married. His farm wasnot so large after a time, for a part of it was laid out in buildinglots for the new village, and Mark, as the neighbours declared, was soon"well-to-do, " and doing well. 

And though he never made so good a speech again as he made that day atthe picnic, he has done for many a suffering and miserable man what inthe first days of his coming to Gershom, Mr Maxwell did for him. Hehas followed, and comforted, and brought back to life and hope more thanone or two poor besotted wretches, whom the rising prosperity of Gershomdrew thither in the hope of getting bread. And he has never grown wearyof the work, though sometimes he has had to grieve over ill-success. 

It would be going beyond the truth to say that all Gershom was satisfiedwhen the engagement of Miss Holt and the minister was announced, becausethere are some people who are never satisfied. But they whose opinionthey valued most were satisfied. Mrs Fleming and Cousin Betsey hadbeen hoping for it--almost expecting it all along, and one or two ofElizabeth's special old-lady friends acknowledged that they had beenpraying for such a marriage all the while. As for Katie, it was in hereyes the only fitting end to the romance which she had guessed at longago, and which she had been secretly and silently watching all theseyears. 

As to whether or not she made a good minister's wife, Elizabeth wasnever quite sure. But the minister was content, and so were most of thepeople. And even those who were never quite contented with anything, acknowledged that "she did as well as she knew how, " and that would behigh praise for the most of us. 

Clifton lived in the old home with them, for his good and theirpleasure, till the time came when he made a home of his own, which, considering all things, was not so very long a time after all. 

Although Jacob's change from the first place to the second both in thebusiness and in the town was not pleasant to him, it was wholesome. Hehad never been equal to the _role_ of the great man of the place, andafter the first feelings of humiliation wore away, and their affairsbegan to look prosperous again, the fact that "two heads are better thanone" made itself apparent to him even more clearly than had been thecase in the days when he found his father unable, and his brotherunwilling, to give him help and counsel. 

He came to be much better liked by his neighbours than he used to be, and was really a better man. He had fewer worries and fewertemptations, and though he was not what might be called "a shininglight" either in the church or in the world, it was the opinion of hisbrethren and townsmen that his troubles had been blessed to him, andthat he was getting along--not very fast, but in the right direction. 

But that which did most for Jacob in his time of trouble was theknowledge of Mr Fleming's forgiveness and friendship. It is not likelythat he had ever acknowledged, even to himself, that he had sinnedagainst him through his son more than others had done, but a sense ofthe old man's silent anger had always been in him, and had been painfuland humiliating to him--how painful he knew by the sense of relief heexperienced whenever they came in contact afterward. He no longerstepped aside when he saw him approaching, so that the neighbours shouldnot remark about the old man's steadily averted face. They had nevermuch to say to each other, but they met and exchanged kindly greetingsas other men did, and all Gershom saw the change that had come over themboth. Even his cousin Betsey grew friendly and frank in her intercoursewith him and his wife, and that was a change certainly. 

Few people ever knew just what had brought about this changed state offeeling. There was nothing to tell which Jacob cared to repeat. Itwould have done no good to bring up the old, sad story again, he wellknew, and he said little about it even to his wife. 

As for Mr Fleming--and indeed all the Flemings--the joyful tidings thatthe letter brought on that fair September morning were too sacred andsweet to be discussed much even among themselves. Katie always heldthat her grandfather would have forgiven Jacob Holt all the same if theletter had never come, because there was the Lord's command clear andplain, "Forgive and ye shall be forgiven, " and it must have come to thatat last. 

"And, indeed, Davie, it was near at hand before the letter came. TheLord had touched him. First there was the fear of losing you, and thenthe fear of losing grannie, and then the letter came from the son he hadlost so long, and that was the last touch for which the rest had madehim ready. Oh! how good He has been to us! Surely, surely, Davie, wecan never through all our lives forget. "

Mrs Fleming thought as Katie did, though they had never spoken togetherof the subject. In her innermost heart she had believed--though even toherself she had hardly put the thought into words--that on the subjectof Jacob Holt's past misdeeds her husband was hardly responsible for histhoughts. The misery of his son's loss, not for this brief life only, but forever and ever, as he could not but believe, had taken such fullpossession of him as to leave him no power to struggle against thebitterness which became almost hatred as time went on. If he had diedunforgiving, the Lord would have still received him, she had believed, and she had striven to content herself with this belief in silence, feeling how vain were spoken words to him. 

"Only a miracle would make him see God's will in this; and I have noright to ask for that. "

No miracle was wrought. The letter came, and was the last touch of theloving Hand which even at the worst times had wounded but to heal; andlying with his lips in the dust, but with eyes looking upward, the cloudparted, and he saw the face of God, and was at peace. 

After this there came nothing to trouble these two old people as theymoved softly down the hill together. Grannie was never very strongagain after her long illness, and no longer took the lead in all thatwas done in the house--that was Katie's part in life for several yearsto come; but she was quite content to rest and to look at other folkbusy with the work which had once been hers, and that does not alwayshappen in the last days of a life so active and so full as hers hadbeen. 

And what was true of the grandmother was true of the grandfather aswell. He seemed to have no more anxious thoughts about anything. Hedid not need to have while Davie stayed at home; but even after Daviewent away, and the management of the farm fell for the most part intothe less skillful hands of the younger brothers, their grandfather "tookthings easy, " the lads said, and rarely found fault. 

And so they had still a peaceful gloaming, these two old people, whentheir changeful day of life was drawing to a close. Only it was likethe dawn rather than the gloaming, Katie said, because of the softbrightness that shone on them both. It was "light at evening time, " andtheir last days were their best to themselves and to all by whom theywere beloved. 

For the last days were days of waiting for the change of which theyspoke often to the bairns so dear, and to one another. Once, as Katiesat with her grandfather at the pasture-bars on Sabbath afternoon, shesaid to him--after many other words had been spoken between them--thatshe would like to put that verse on his grave-stone after he was gone:

"At evening time it shall be light. "

But her grandfather said:

"Na, na, my lassie! If I have a grave-stone--which matters little--andif any verse at all be put upon it, let it be this:--

"`Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven. '" Then Katie stooped and touchedhis hand with her lips, as she had done once long ago, and said softly:"Yes, grandfather, so it shall be. " And so it was. 

THE END.