Shenac's Work at Home Part 15

We need Hamish to scold us and set us right. Why should we be afraid?

If there was any cause for fear there would be plenty to tell us of it.

n.o.body seems afraid for them except my father; and it is not fear with him. He has never settled down in the old way since the letter came saying that Allister would bring Evan home."

Yes, they needed Hamish more than they knew. It was the anxiety for the mother, the sleepless nights and unoccupied days, that, all together, unnerved Shenac Bhan. It was the dwelling on the same theme, the going over and over the same thing--"nothing would happen to him?"--"he would be sure to come?"--till the words seemed to mock her, they made her so weary of hoping and waiting.

For, indeed, n.o.body seemed to think there was anything strange in the longer stay of Allister. He had stayed so long and done so well, he might be trusted surely to come home when the right time came. No, there was no real cause for fear, Shenac repeated to herself often. If her mother had been well and quite herself, and if Hamish had been at home, she thought she would never have fallen into this miserable dread.

She was partly right. It was better for them all when Hamish came home.

He was well, for him, and cheerful. He had never imagined how sadly the time was pa.s.sing at home, or he would not have stayed away so long.

He was shocked at the wan looks of the two girls, and quite unable to understand how they should have grown so troubled at a few weeks' or even a few months' delay. His wonder at their trouble did them good.

It could not be so strange--the silence and the delay--or Hamish would surely see it. The mother was better too after the return of Hamish.

The sight of him, and his pleasant, gentle talk, gave a new turn to her thoughts, and she was able again to take an interest in what was going forward about her; and when there came a return of the old restlessness and pain, it was Hamish who stayed in the house to soothe her and to care for her, while Shenac betook herself with her old energy to the harvest-field.

The harvest pa.s.sed. Dan kept very steady at it, though every night he went to the new kirk, where the meetings were still held. He did not say much about these meetings even when questioned, but they seemed to have a wonderful charm for him; for night after night, wet or dry, he and Angus Dhu's man, Peter, walked the four miles that lay between them and the new kirk to hear--"What?" Shenac asked one night.

"Oh, just preaching, and praying, and singing."

"But that is nonsense," insisted Shenac. "You are not so fond of preaching as all that. What is it, Dan?"

"It's just that," said Dan; "that is all they do. The minister speaks to folk, and sometimes the elders; and that's all. But, Shenac, it's wonderful to see so many folk listening and solemn, as if it was the judgment day; and whiles one reads and prays--folk that never used; and I'm always wondering who it will be next. Last night it was Sandy McMillan. You should have heard him, Shenac."

"Sandy McMillan!" repeated Shenac contemptuously. "What next, I wonder?

I think the folk are crazed. It must be the singing. I mind when I was at Uncle Allister's last year I went to the Methodist watch-meeting, and the singing--oh, you should have heard the singing, Hamis.h.!.+ I could not keep back the tears, do what I would. It must be the singing, Dan."

Dan shook his head.

"They just sing the psalms, Shenac. I never heard anything else--and the old tunes. They do sound different, though."

"Well, it goes past me," said Shenac. "But it is all nonsense going every night, Dan--so far too."

"There are plenty of folk who go further," said Dan. "You should go yourself, Shenac."

"I have something else to do," said Shenac.

"Everybody goes," continued Dan; and he repeated the names of many people, far and near, who were in the new kirk night after night. "Come with me and Peter to-night, Shenac."

But Shenac had other things to think about, she said. Still she thought much of this too.

"I wonder what it is, Hamish," said she when they were alone. "I can understand why Dan and Peter McLay should go--just because other folk go; and I daresay there's some excitement in seeing all the folk, and that is what they like. But so many others, sensible folk, and worldly folk, and all kinds of folk, in this busy harvest-time! You should go, Hamish, and see what it is all about."

But the way was long and the meetings were late, and Hamish needed to save his strength; and he did not go, though many spoke of the meetings, and the wonderful change which was wrought in the heart and life of many through their means. He wondered as well as Shenac, but not in the same way; for he had felt in his own heart the wondrous power that lies in the simple truth of G.o.d to comfort and strengthen and enlighten; and it came into his mind, sometimes, that the good days of which he had read were coming back again, when the Lord used to work openly in the eyes of all the people, making his Church the instrument of spreading the glory of his name by the conversion of many in a day. It did not trouble or stumble him, as it did his sister, that it was not in their church--the church of their fathers--that this was done. They were G.o.d's people, and it made no difference; and so, while she only wondered, he wondered and rejoiced.

But about this time news came that put all other thoughts out of their minds for a while. The mother was sleeping, and Shenac and Hamish were sitting in the firelight one evening in September, when the door opened and their cousin Shenac came in. She seemed greatly excited, and there were tears on her cheeks, and she did not speak, but came close up to Shenac Bhan, without heeding the exclamations of surprise with which they both greeted her.

"Did I not tell you, Shenac, that G.o.d would never drown them in the sea?"

She had run so fast that she had hardly a voice to say the words, and she sank down at her cousin's feet, gasping for breath. In her hands she held a letter. It was from Evan--the first he had written to his father since he went away. Shenac told them that her father had received it in the morning, but said nothing about it then, going about all day with a face like death, and only told them when he broke down at wors.h.i.+p-time, when he prayed as usual for "all distant and dear."

"Then he told my mother and me," continued Shenac Dhu, spreading out a crushed morsel of paper with hands that trembled. It was only a line or two, broken and blurred, praying for his father's forgiveness and blessing on his dying son. He meant to come home with his cousin. They were to meet at Saint F---, and sail together, But he had been hurt, and had fallen ill of fever in an inland town, and he was dying. "And now the same s.h.i.+p that takes this to you will take Allister home. He will not know that I am dying, but will think I have changed my mind as I have done before. I would not let him know if I could; for he would be sure to stay for my sake, and his heart is set on getting home to his mother and the rest. And, father, I want to tell you that it was not Allister that beguiled me from home, but my own foolishness. He has been more than a brother to me. He has saved my life more than once, and he has saved me from sins worse than death; and you must be kind to him and to them all for my sake."

"And then," said Shenac Dhu, "there is his name, written as if he had been blind; and that is all."

The three young people sat looking at one another in silence. Shenac Bhan's heart beat so strongly that she thought her mother must hear it in her bed; but she could not put her thought in words--"Allister is coming home." Shenac Dhu spoke first.

"Hamish--Shenac, I told my father that Allister would never leave our Evan alone to die among strangers."

She paused, looking eagerly first at one and then at the other.

"No," said Hamish; "he would never do that, if he knew it in time to stay. We can but wait and see."

"Wait and see!" Shenac Bhan echoed the words in her heart. If they had heard that he was to stay for months, or even for years, she thought she could bear it better than this long suspense.

"Shenac," said her cousin, reading her thought, "you would not have Allister come and leave him? It will only be a little longer whether Evan lives or dies."

"No," said Shenac; "but my mother."

"We will not tell her for a little while," said Hamish. "If Allister is coming it will be soon; and if he has stayed, it will give my mother more hope of his coming home at last to hear that he is well and that he is waiting for Evan."

"And my father," said Shenac Dhu. "Oh! if you had seen how he grasped at the hope when I said Allister was sure to stay, you would not grudge him for a day or two. Think of the poor lad dying so far from home and from us all!" And poor Shenac clung to her cousin, bursting into sobs and bitter tears.

"Whisht, Shenac, darling," said her cousin, her own voice broken with sobs; "we can only have patience."

"Yes," said Hamish; "we can do more than that--we can trust and pray.

And we will not fear for the mother, Shenac. She will be better, now that there is a reason for Allister's stay.--And, Cousin Shenac, you must take hope for your brother. No wonder he was downcast thinking of being left. You must tell your father that there is no call to give up hope for Evan."

"O Hamish, my father loved Evan dearly, though he was hard on him. He has grown an old man since he went away; and to-day,--oh, I think to-day his heart is broken."

"The broken and contrite heart He will not despise," murmured Hamish.

"We have all need of comfort, Shenac, and we'll get it if we seek it."

And the two girls were startled first, and then soothed, as the voice of Hamish rose in prayer. It was no vague, formal utterance addressed to a G.o.d far away and incomprehensible. He was pleading with a Brother close at hand--a dear and loving elder Brother--for their brothers far away.

He did not plead as one who feared denial, but trustfully, joyfully, seeking first that G.o.d's will might be done in them and theirs. Hamish was not afraid; nothing could be plainer than that. So the two Shenacs took a little comfort, and waited and trusted still.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

And so they waited. For a few days it did not seem impossible to Shenac that Allister might come; and she watched each hour of the day and night, starting and trembling at every sound. But he did not come, and in a little while Hamish broke the tidings to his mother, how they had heard that Allister was to have sailed on a certain day, but his Cousin Evan having been taken ill, they were to wait for another s.h.i.+p; but they would be sure to come soon.

Happily, the mother's mind rested more on having heard that her son was well, and was coming some time, than on his being delayed; and she was better after that. She fell back for a little time into her old ways, moving about the house, and even betaking herself to the neglected flax-spinning. But she was very feeble, going to bed early, and rising late, and requiring many an affectionate stratagem on the part of her children to keep her from falling into invalid ways.

It was a sad and weary waiting to them all, but to none more than to Angus Dhu. If he had heard of his son's death, it would not have been so terrible to him as the suspense which he often told himself need not be suspense. There was no hope, there could be none, after the words written by his son's trembling hands. He grew an old, feeble man in the short s.p.a.ce between the harvest and the new year. The grief which had fallen on all the family when Evan's letter came gave way before the anxiety with which they all saw the change in him. His wife was a quiet, gentle woman, saying little at any time, perhaps feeling less than her stern husband. They all sorrowed, but it was on the father that the blight fell heaviest.

It was a fine Sabbath morning in October. It was mild, and not very bright, and the air was motionless. It was just like an Indian-summer day, only the Indian summer is supposed to come in November, after some snow has fallen on brown leaves and bare boughs; and now the woods were brilliant with crimson and gold, except where the oak-leaves rustled brown, or the evergreens mingled their dark forms with the pervading brightness. It was a perfect Sabbath day, hushed and restful. But it must be confessed that Shenac shrank a little from its long, quiet, unoccupied hours; and when something was said about the great congregation that would be sure to a.s.semble in the new kirk, she said she would like to go.

"Go, by all means," said the mother; "and Hamish too, if you are able for the walk. Little Flora can do all that is to be done. There's nothing to hinder, if you would like to go."

There was nothing to hinder; the mother seemed better and more cheerful than she had seemed for many days. They might very well leave her for a little while; they would be home again in the afternoon. So they went early--long before the people were setting out--partly that they might have time to rest by the way, and partly that they might enjoy the walk together.