Janet's Love and Service. Margaret M. Robertson
“Yes, with me it is indeed different,” said the minister, gravely—so gravely, that Mr. Greenleaf almost regretted having spoken so freely, and when he spoke again it was to change the subject.
“It must have required a great wrench to break away from your people and country and old associations,” said he, in a little. Mr. Elliott started—
“No, the wrench came before. It would have cost me more to stay and grow old in my own land than it did to leave it, than it ever can do to live and die among strangers.”
Fearful that he had awakened painful thoughts, Mr. Greenleaf said no more. In a little Mr. Elliott went on—
“It was an old thought, this wishing to find a home for our children in this grand new world. We had always looked forward to it sometime. And when I was left alone, the thought of my children’s future, and the longing to get away—anywhere—brought me here.”
He paused, and when he spoke again it was more calmly.
“Perhaps it was cowardly in me to flee. There was help for me there, if my faith had not failed. I thought it would be better for my children when I left them to leave them here. But God knows it was no desire to enrich myself that brought me to America.”
“We can live on little. I trust you will be mistaken in your fears. But if these troubles do come, we must try, with God’s grace, and Mrs. Nasmyth’s help, to get through them as best we can. We might not better ourselves by a change, as you seem to think the evil a national one.”
“The love and pursuit of the ‘almighty dollar,’ is most certainly a national characteristic. As to the bearing it may have in church matters in other places, of course I have not the means of judging. Here I know it has been bad enough in the past.”
“Well, I can only say I have found the people most kind and liberal hitherto,” said Mr. Elliott.
“Have you had a settlement with them since you came?” asked the squire; the remembrance of various remarks he had heard of late coming unpleasantly to his mind.
“No, I have not yet. But as the half-year is nearly over, I suppose it will come soon. Still I have no fears—I think I need have none. It is not theirs but them I seek.”
“Do you remember the Sabbath I first came among you? I saw you there among the rest. If my heart rose up in thankfulness to God that day, it was with no thought of gold or gear. God is my witness that I saw not these people as possessors of houses and lands, but of precious souls—living souls to be encouraged—slumbering souls to be aroused—dead souls to be made alive in Christ, through His own Word, spoken by me and blessed by Him.
“No, I do not think I can possibly be disappointed in this matter. I may have to bear trial, and it may come to me as it oftenest comes to God’s people, in the very way that seems hardest to bear, but God will bless his Word. And even if I do not live to see it, I can rest in the assurance that afterward, ‘both he that soweth and he that reapeth shall rejoice together.’ ”
He paused. A momentary gleam of triumph passed over his face and left it peaceful.
“The peace that passeth understanding,” thought the young man, with a sigh. For he could not quite satisfy himself by saying, that Mr. Elliott was no man of business, an unworldly man. It came into his mind that even if the minister were chasing a shadow, it was a shadow more satisfying than his possible reality of political greatness. So he could not but sigh as he sat watching that peaceful face. The minister looked up and met his eye.
“And so, my friend, I think we must end where we begun. You may be disappointed even in the fulfilment of your hopes. But for me, all must end well—let the end be what it may.”
Chapter Twelve.
The time of settlement came at last. The members of the church and congregation were requested to bring to Deacon Sterne and his coadjutors an account of money and produce already paid by each, and also a statement of the sum they intended to subscribe for the minister’s support during the ensuing half year. After a delay which, considering all things, was not more than reasonable, this was done, and the different accounts being put into regular form by the proper persons, they were laid before the minister for his inspection and approval.
This was done by Deacons Fish and Slowcome alone. Deacon Sterne, as his brethren in office intimated to Mrs. Nasmyth, when she received them, having just then his hands fall of his own affairs. Deacon Fish “expected” that brother Sterne had got into trouble. It had been coming on for some time. His son, the only boy he had left, had been over to Rixford, and had done something dreadful, folks said, he did not exactly know what, and the deacon had gone over to see about it. Deacon Sterne was Janet’s favourite among the men in office, and apart from her regret that he should not be present on an occasion so important, she was greatly concerned for him on his own account.
“Dear me!” said she, “I saw him at the kirk on the Sabbath-day, looking just as usual.”
“Well, yes, I expect so,” said Mr. Fish. “Brother Sterne looks always pretty much so. He ain’t apt to show his feelin’s, if he’s got any. He’ll have something to suffer with his son William, I guess, whether he shows it or not.”
Janet liked both father and son, though it was well known in the town that there was trouble between them; so instead of making any answer, she hastened to usher them into the study. The minister awaited them, and business began. First was displayed the list of subscriptions for the coming half-year. This was quite encouraging. Three hundred and fifty and odd dollars. This looked well. There had never been so much subscribed in Merleville before. The deacons were elated, and evidently expected that the minister should be so, too. He would be well off now, said they. But the minister was always a quiet man, and said little, and the last half-year’s settlement was turned to.
There were several sheets of it. The minister in danger of getting bewildered among the items, turned to the sum total. “Two hundred and seventy-two dollars, sixty-two and a-half cents.” He was a little mystified still, and looked so.
“If there is anything wrong, anything that you object to, it must be put right,” said Deacon Slowcome.
Deacon Fish presumed, “that when Mr. Elliott should have compared it with the account which he had no doubt kept, it would be found to be all right.”
Mr. Elliott had to confess that no such account had been kept. He supposed it was all it should be. He really could say nothing with regard to it. He left the management of household affairs entirely to his daughter and Mrs. Nasmyth. It was suggested that Mrs. Nasmyth should be called in, and the deacon cleared his voice to read it to her.
“If there’s anything you don’t seem to understand or remember,” prefaced the accommodating Deacon Slowcome, “don’t feel troubled about saying so. I expect we’ll make things pretty straight after a while.”
Mrs. Nasmyth looked at the minister, but the minister did not look at her, and the reading began. After the name of each person, came the days’ work, horse hire, loads of firewood, bushels of corn, pounds of butter and cheese, sugar and dried apples, which he or she had contributed. Deacon Fish’s subscription was chiefly paid by his horse and his cow. The former had carried the minister on two or three of his most distant visits, and the latter had supplied a quart or two of milk daily during a great part of the winter. It was overpaid indeed by just seventeen and a-half cents, which, however, the deacon seemed inclined to make light of.
“There ain’t no matter about it. It can go right on to the next half year. It ain’t no matter about it anyhow,” said he, in liberal mood.
He had an attentive listener. Mrs. Nasmyth listened with vain efforts not to let her face betray her utter bewilderment at the whole proceeding, only assenting briefly when