David Fleming's Forgiveness Part 9

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

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

"Not about his trouble with Jacob. Indeed, it is said that he will not speak of it, nor hear of it. It would do no good. And then he likes you 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 to risk disturbing these pleasant relations between you with so small a chance of any good being done by it. And besides," Elizabeth made a long pause before she added: "besides, if trouble is before us because of this, and if it should come to taking sides, as almost always happens in the vexing questions of Gershom life, it would be far better that you should know nothing about the matter--that at least you should not have seemed to commit yourself to any decided opinion with regard to it. I cannot bear to think that your comfort and usefulness may be endangered through the affairs of those who should be your chief supports. Not that I think this likely to happen," added Elizabeth, colouring with the fear of having spoken too earnestly; "I daresay, after all, I am 'making mountains 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 wrong impression about the matter after all, and that it looks more serious to you than it needs do. I had much better have kept silent, as I would have other people do."

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

There was a good deal more said about Mr Fleming's affairs, and about other affairs, though Mr Maxwell stood all the time with his hat in his hand. But enough has been told to give an idea of the way in which these young people talked to each other. Mr Maxwell never went from the house without congratulating himself on the friends.h.i.+p of Miss Holt.

How much good she always did him! What a blessing it was for him that there was one person in his congregation to whom he might speak unreservedly, and who had sense and judgment to see and say just what was best for him to do or to refrain from doing.

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

Squire Holt's house was a pleasant house to visit, and during the first homesick and miserable days of his stay in Gershom, when he would gladly have turned his back on his vocation and his duties, the bright and cheerful welcome there that Elizabeth gave him on that first night when Clifton took him home with him, and ever after that night, was like a strengthening cordial to one who needed it surely. Miss Elizabeth was several years younger than he, but she felt a great deal older and wiser in some respects than the student whose experience of life had been so limited and so different, and so it came to pa.s.s that, at the very first, she had fallen into the way of advising him, and even of expostulating with him on small occasions, and he had not resented it, but had been grateful for it, and at last rather liked it. He had brightened under her influence, and now the thought of her was a.s.sociated with all the agreeable and hopeful circ.u.mstances of his new life and work.

He said to himself often, and he wrote to his friend Miss Martha Langden, that the friends.h.i.+p of Miss Elizabeth Holt was one of his best helps in the faithful performance of his pastoral duties, and that excellent and venerable lady at once a.s.signed to Mr Maxwell's friend the same place in his regard, and in his parish generally, that she herself had occupied in the regard of several successive pastors, and in her native parish for forty years at least. It never occurred to Miss Langden, and it certainly never occurred to Mr Maxwell, that this friends.h.i.+p could be in any danger of interfering with the wishes and plans of former years. That it might affect in any way his future relations with the pretty and amiable young person whom Miss Langden was educating to be his wife, and the model for all the ministers' wives of the generation, never came into the mind of either. Miss Elizabeth was a true and useful friend, and the satisfaction that this afforded him was not to his consciousness incompatible with a happy and just appreciation of his good fortune in having a claim on the affection of Miss Langden's niece.

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

CHAPTER NINE.

MASTER AND PUPILS.

At Ythan Brae the winter opened sadly. The grandfather had an illness which kept both Davie and Katie at home from the school for a while; and what was worse, when he grew better he would fain have kept them at home still. This would have been a serious matter to Davie, and he vexed Katie and his grandmother by suggesting possible and painful consequences all round should his grandfather persist. For the lad had been seized with a great hunger for knowledge. He desired it partly for its own sake, but partly also because he had heard many a time and implicitly believed that "knowledge is power," which is true in a certain sense, but not in the sense or to the extent that it seemed true to Davie. His grandfather was afraid of the boy's eager craving, and of what might come of it, and would far rather have seen him content, as his father had been, to plod through the winter, busy with the occupations which the season brought, than so eager to get away to Mr Burnet and his books. The grandfather had his sorrowful reasons for wis.h.i.+ng to keep the lad in the quiet and safe paths which his father had trod. The grandmother knew how it was with him, and Katie and Davie guessed something of what his reasons might be. "And, bairns," said their 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 a snare and a curse; and a true heart, and an honest life, and a will to do your duty in the place in which your Maker has putten you are better than a' the uncanny wisdom that men gather from books, whether you believe it or not, Davie, my man. I canna say that I have any special fear for you myself, but one can never ken. And your grandfather, he canna forget; it's no' his nature. There was once one like you, Davie lad, that lost himself through ill-doing folk, and--I canna speak about it--and what must it be to him?"

"But, grannie," said Davie after a little, "it's different. n.o.body will follow after me because I am so handsome and clever and kindly. And folk say it needna have been so bad with him, if my grandfather hadna been hard on him."

"Whisht, laddie," said his grandmother, with a gasp. Katie looked at him 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 with giving a sore heart to an old man like your grandfather? He has had sore trouble to thole in his lifetime, some that you can guess, and some that 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 ill company. I'm no to be an idle gowk like Clifton Holt, to throw away my chances. And here's Katie ay to take care of me and keep me out of mischief."

"My lad, speak no ill of your neighbours. You'll need all the sense you have before you get far through the world. And you'll need grace and wisdom from above, as well, whether your work lie in high places with the 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 in jest, and you maun be a good laddie, Davie."

It was all settled with fewer words than the grandmother feared would be needed, and a happy winter began to the brother and sister. They were young and strong and hopeful. No serious trouble was pressing on them or theirs. Just to be alive in such circ.u.mstances is happiness, only it is a kind of happiness that is seldom realised while the time is going on. When it is looked back upon over years of pain or care, it is seen clearly and valued truely, and sometimes--oh, how bitterly regretted.

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

From all the drawbacks common to the old-time schools in this part of Canada, Gershom High-School had, to some extent, suffered. The restraints of limited means, the value of the labour even of children on a new farm, the frequent change of teachers, the endless variety of text-books, the vexing elements of national prejudice and religious differences, had told on its efficiency and success. Yet it had been a power for good in Gershom and in all the country round. From the earliest settlement of the place the leading men had taken pains to encourage and support it. Its teachers had generally been college students from the neighbouring States, who taught one year to get money to carry them through the next, or graduates who were willing to pa.s.s a year or two in teaching between their college course and their choice or pursuit of a profession. Among them had come, now and then, a youth of rare gifts, one, not only strong to govern and skilled to teach, but who kindled in the minds of the pupils an eager desire for self-improvement, an enthusiasm of mental activity which outlasted his term of office, and which influenced for good a far greater number than those whom he taught, or with whom he came personally in contact.

Mr Burnet, Davie's teacher, was not one of these. His college days had long been over, before he crossed the sea. He had been unfortunate in many ways, but most of all in this, that he had been brought up to consider wise and right that which became sin and misery to him, because of the strength of his appet.i.te and the weakness of his will. And so woeful days came to him and his, and he was sent over the sea, as so many another has been sent, to be out of sight. But on this side of the sea, too, woeful days awaited him, and after many a to and fro, he was stranded, an utter wreck as it seemed, on the village of Gershom. His wife was dead by this time, and his two forlorn little daughters had been sent home in rags to their mother's sister, and there was no visible reason why the wretched man should not die also, except, as he said to them who tried to help him, that, after all, his soul might have a chance to be saved.

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

He had decided defects as a school-master. His government of his school was 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 when the boys and girls were mostly left to their own devices; but there were no idle days among them. No teacher who had ever ruled in the High-School could compare with him in the power he had to make the young people care for their books and their school-work, or to present to the clever idle ones among them the most enticing motives to exertion. "He got them on," the fathers and mothers said, and though he made no pretension to being a very good man, and sometimes used sharper words than were pleasant to hear, he loved the truth and hated a lie, and lived an honourable life among them, and all men regarded him with respect, and most men with affection.

So, putting all things together, Davie and Katie and the other young people of Gershom had a fair chance of a happy winter, and so it proved to the brother and sister. There were plenty of amus.e.m.e.nts going on in the village, but with these they had little to do. Their grandfather fretted if they were not at home in the evening, and it was no self-denial for them to stay away from all gay village doings--at least it was none to Davie. Except the master's lectures, and those debates and spelling-schools in which the reputation and honour of the High-School were concerned, he scorned them all. Katie did not scorn them. She would have enjoyed more of them than fell to her share, but yet was willing to agree with her grandmother that more might not be good for her, and was on the whole content without them.

Very rarely does there come in a lifetime a triumph so unmixed as the boy enjoys who is not only declared first, but shows himself before his whole world to be first in the village school. It does not matter whether he distinguishes himself by the spelling of many-syllabled words, and the repeating of rules and the multiplication table, or by his proficiency in higher branches, which are mysteries to the greater part of the admiring audience. It is all the same a triumph, pure, unmixed, satisfying. At least it possesses all these qualities in a higher 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 was Davie'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 own name was called to receive her merited share of the honours, so full was she of the thought of what her grandfather would say when she should tell him about Davie.

And Katie had a little triumph all her own. It troubled her for a while, and did not come to anything after all, but still it was a triumph, and acknowledged to be such by all Gershom. She was chosen out of all the girls who had been Mr Burnet's pupils during the winter, to teach the village school. The village school stood next to the High-School, and for Katie Fleming, not yet sixteen, to be chosen a teacher, was a feather in her cap indeed. Her grandfather was greatly pleased and so was Miss Elizabeth. Mrs Fleming, coveting for her good and clever Katie advantages which in their circ.u.mstances she could only hope to enjoy through her own exertions, would have been willing to spare her from home, and Miss Elizabeth, who had come to love the girl dearly, knew that she could often have her with her, should she be in the village during the summer. But Katie never kept the village school, nor any school. Her grandfather did not like the idea of it, nor did Davie. Miss Betsey Holt set her face against it from the very first, though why she should interest herself especially in the matter did not clearly appear. The chances were that it would be but a poor school that a child like Katie Fleming would keep, clever scholar though she was, Miss Betsey said, which was very possibly quite true. But it was on 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' in the village houses, a week at a time, as she would have to do, and leave her 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 dust blow on them for an hour or two, but you wouldn't care about having them set out to catch it. And Katie Fleming is better at home making b.u.t.ter for her grandmother than she would be anywhere else, and happier too, if she only knew it."

Miss Betsey said this to Miss Elizabeth one day when she called, having some business with the squire, and she said something like it to the grandmother, which helped to a decision that Katie was to stay at home.

Katie was a little disappointed for the moment, but she acknowledged that she might have failed with the school, and that she was much needed at home; and Davie's satisfaction at the decision did much to reconcile her to it. And all the rest were satisfied as well as Davie, for Katie'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 G.o.d, had times of great anxiety with regard to Davie. He was so like the son who 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 his words and his ways, attaching to them sometimes an importance that was neither wise nor reasonable. His grandfather's discipline was strict, not to say severe, and Davie's resistance, or rather his unwilling submission 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 harder than, for such faults as Davie's, she herself would have been, and she feared that unwilling or resentful obedience might in time change to rebellion, and beyond such a possibility as that the anxious grandmother did not dare to look.

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

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

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

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

For Katie's first thought always was, her grandfather. That he should have nothing to vex him, that his days should be brightened and his cares lightened, seemed to Katie the chief thing there was to think about. She had learned this from her grandmother, whose first thought he 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, she had great interest in some of them, and gave him good help in carrying them out, but she had no sympathy or patience with any sign of willfulness, or carelessness where their grandfather was concerned. But she loved her brother dearly, and helped him through some difficulties with others besides her grandfather, and Davie, having confidence in her affections, submitted to her guidance, and was more influenced by her opinions and wishes than he knew. And though she scolded him heartily sometimes, and set her face against any disobedience or seeming disrespect to their grandfather, she gave him good help often, and so eagerly entered into all his plans, when she saw her way clearly to the end of them, that he heeded her all the more readily when she differed from him and refused her help.

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

"But, oh, my dear!" said she one day to Katie's mother, "it's a woeful thing 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 our Katie? Not but that she has her faults," added she, coming back to the business of the moment, as she watched Katie letting her full pail run over, 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 think you'll need all your time till supper-time.--But faults, did I say? It is scarcely a fault to be lighthearted, and easily pleased. But oh, Anne, my dear, we have need to take care."

CHAPTER TEN.

KATIE'S FRIENDs.h.i.+PS.

The life which healthy, good-tempered, unsophisticated children may live on a farm has in it more of the elements of true enjoyment than can be found in almost any other kind of life. If poverty or the necessity of constant work press too severely upon them, of course the enjoyment is interfered with, but not even poverty or hard work can spoil it altogether. There are always the suns.h.i.+ne and the sweet air; there are the freshness and the beauty of the early morning, which not one in ten of the dwellers in town know anything of by experience; the dawn, the sunrise, the glitter of dewdrops, the numberless sweet sounds and scents that belong to no other time. Young people with open eyes and quick sympathies find countless sources of interest and enjoyment in the beautiful growing things of the woods and fields, and in the ceaseless changes going on among them. Almost unconsciously they gain through all these a wisdom which is better than book lore, a discipline of heart and mind and temper which tends to soften and elevate the whole nature, leaving them less open to the temptations incident to youth and evil companions.h.i.+ps.