Janet's Love and Service. Margaret M. Robertson
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From the time of their arrival, the minister and his family excited great curiosity and interest among the good people of Merleville. The minister himself, as Mr. Snow told Mrs. Nasmyth, was “popular.” Not, however, that any one among them all thought him faultless, unless Mr. Snow himself did. Every old lady in the town saw something in him, which she not secretly deplored. Indeed, they were more unanimous, with regard to the minister’s faults, than old ladies generally are on important subjects. The matter was dispassionately discussed at several successive sewing-circles, and when Mrs. Page, summing up the evidence, solemnly declared, “that though the minister was a good man, and a good preacher, he lacked considerable in some things which go to make a man a good pastor,” there was scarcely a dissenting voice.
Mrs. Merle had ventured to hint that, “they could not expect everything in one man,” but her voice went for nothing, as one of the minister’s offences was, having been several times in at the Judge’s, while he sinfully neglected others of his flock.
“It’s handy by,” ventured Mrs. Merle, again. But the Judge’s wife was no match for the blacksmith’s lady, and it was agreed by all, that whatever else the minister might be, he was “no hand at visiting.” True he had divided the town into districts, for the purpose of regularly meeting the people, and it was his custom to announce from the pulpit, the neighbourhood in which, on certain days, he might be expected. But that of course, was a formal matter, and not at all like the affectionate intercourse that ought to exist between a pastor and his people. “He might preach like Paul,” said Mrs. Page, “but unless on week days he watered the seed sown, with a word in season, the harvest would never be gathered in. The minister’s face ought to be a familiar sight in every household, or the youth would never be brought into the fold,” and the lady sighed, at the case of the youth, scattered over the ten miles square of Merleville. The minister was not sinning in ignorance either, for she herself, had told him his duty in this respect.
“And what did he say?” asked some one.
“Oh! he didn’t say much, but I could see that his conscience wasn’t easy. However, there has been no improvement yet,” she added, with grave severity.
“He hain’t got a horse, and I’ve heard say, that deacon Fish charges him six cents a mile for his horse and cutter, whenever he has it. He couldn’t afford to ride round much at that rate, on five hundred dollars a year.”
This bold speech was ventured by Miss Rebecca Pettimore, Mrs. Captain Liscome’s help, who took turns with that lady, in attending the sewing-circle. But it was well known, that she was always “on the off side,” and Mrs. Page deigned no reply. There was a moment’s silence.
“Eli heard Mr. Snow say so, in Page’s shop yesterday,” added Rebecca, who always gave her authority, when she repeated an item of news. Mrs. Fish took her up sharply.
“Sampson Snow had better let the minister have his horse and cutter, if he can afford to do it for nothing. Mr. Fish can’t.”
“My goodness, Mis’ Fish, I wouldn’t have said a word, if I’d thought you were here,” said Rebecca, with an embarrassed laugh.
“Mr. Snow often drives the minister, and thinks himself well paid, just to have a talk with him,” said a pretty black-eyed girl, trying to cover Rebecca’s retreat. But Rebecca wouldn’t retreat.
“I didn’t mean any offence, Mis’ Fish, and if it ain’t so about the deacon, you can say so now, before it goes farther.”
But it was not to be contradicted, and that Mrs. Fish well knew, though what business it was of anybody’s, and why the minister, who seemed to be well off, shouldn’t pay for the use of a horse and cutter, she couldn’t understand. The subject was changed by Mrs. Slowcome.
“He must have piles and piles of old sermons. It don’t seem as though he needs to spend as much time in his study, as Mrs. Nasmyth tells about.”
Here there was a murmur of dissent. Would sermons made for the British, be such as to suit free-born American citizens? the children of the Puritans? The prevailing feeling was against such a supposition.
“Old or new, I like them,” said Celestia Jones, the pretty black-eyed girl, who had spoken before. “And so do others, who are better judges than I.”
“Squire Greenleaf, I suppose,” said Ruby Fox, in a loud whisper. “He was up there last Sunday night; she has been aching to tell it all the afternoon.”
Celestia’s black eyes flashed fire at the speaker, and the sly Ruby said no more. Indeed, there was no more said about the sermons, for that they were something for the Merleville people to be proud of, all agreed. Mr. Elliott’s preaching had filled the old meeting-house. People who had never been regular churchgoers came now; some from out of the town, even. Young Squire Greenleaf, who seemed to have the prospect of succeeding Judge Merle, as the great man of Merleville, had brought over the judges from Rixford, and they had dined at the minister’s, and had come to church on Sunday. Young Squire Greenleaf was a triumph of himself. He had never been at meeting “much, if any,” since he had completed his legal studies. If he ever did go, it was to the Episcopal church at Rixford, which, to the liberal Mrs. Page, looked considerably like coquetting with the scarlet woman. Now, he hardly ever lost a Sunday, besides going sometimes to conference meetings, and making frequent visits to the minister’s house. Having put all these things together, and considered the matter, Mrs. Page came to the conclusion, that the squire was not in so hopeless a condition as she had been wont to suppose, a fact which, on this occasion, she took the opportunity of rejoicing over. The rest rejoiced too. There was a murmur of dissent from Miss Pettimore, but it passed unnoticed, as usual. There was a gleam which looked a little like scorn, in the black eyes of Miss Celestia, which said more plainly than Miss Pettimore’s words could have done, that the squire was better now, than the most in Merleville, but like a wise young person as she was, she expended all her scornful glances on the shirt sleeve she was making, and said nothing.
The minister was then allowed to rest a little while, and the other members of the family were discussed, with equal interest. Upon the whole, the conclusion arrived at was pretty favourable. But Mrs. Page and her friends were not quite satisfied with Graeme. As the minister’s eldest daughter, and “serious,” they were disposed to overlook her youthfulness, and give her a prominent place in their circle. But Graeme hung back, and would not be prevailed upon to take such honour to herself, and so some said she was proud, and some said she was only shy. But she was kindly dealt with, even by Mrs. Page, for her loving care of the rest of the children had won for her the love of many a motherly heart among these kind people. And she was after all but a child, little more than fifteen.
There were numberless stories afloat about the boys—their mirth, their mischief, their good scholarship, their respect and obedience to their father, which it was not beneath the dignity of the ladies assembled to repeat and discuss. The boys had visited faithfully through the parish, if their father had not, and almost everywhere they had won for themselves a welcome. It is true, there had been one or two rather serious scrapes, in which they had involved themselves, and other lads of the village; but kind-hearted people forgot the mischief sooner than the mirth, and Norman and Harry were very popular among old and young.
But the wonder of wonders, the riddle that none could read, the anomaly in Merleville society was Janet, or Mrs. Nasmyth, as she was generally called. In refusing one of the many invitations which she had shared with the minister and Graeme, she had thought fit to give society in general a piece of her mind. She was, she said, the minister’s servant, and kenned her place better than to offer to take her tea with him in any strange house; she was obliged for the invitation all the same.
“Servant!” echoed Mrs. Sterne’s help, who was staying to pass the evening, while her mistress went home, “to see about supper.”
And, “servant!” echoed the young lady who assisted Mrs. Merle in her household affairs.
“I’ll let them see that I think myself just as good as Queen Victoria, if I do live out,”