Janet's Love and Service. Margaret M. Robertson
that was over; but except that her face changed a little, she gave no sign. It is possible the deacon had had some slight misgiving as to how Mrs. Nasmyth might receive the statement; certainly his voice took a relieved tone as he drew near the end, and at last read the sum total: “Two hundred and seventy-two dollars sixty-two and a-half cents.”
Again Janet’s eye sought the minister’s, and this time he did not avoid her look. The rather pained surprise had all gone out of his face. Intense amusement at Janet’s changing face, on which bewilderment, incredulity and indignation were successively written, banished, for a moment, every other feeling. But that passed, and by the look that followed Janet knew that she must keep back the words that were rising to her lips. It required an effort, however, and a rather awkward silence followed. Deacon Slowcome spoke first:
“Well, I suppose, we may consider that it stands all right. And I, for one, feel encouraged to expect great things.”
“I doubt, sirs,” said Janet in a voice ominously mild and civil, “there are some things that haena been put down on yon paper. There was a cum apples, and a bit o’ unco spare rib, and—”
“Well, it’s possible there are some folks ain’t sent in their accounts yet. That can be seen to another time.”
Janet paid no attention to the interruption.
“There were some eggs from Mrs. Sterne—a dozen and three, I think—and a goose at the New Year from somebody else; and your wife sent a pumpkin-pie; and there was the porridge and milk that Judge Merle brought over when first we came here—”
“Ah! the pie was a present from my wife,” said Deacon Fish, on whom Mrs. Nasmyth’s awful irony was quite lost.
“And I presume Judge Merle didn’t mean to charge for the porridge, or hominy, or whatever it was,” said Deacon Slowcome.
“And what for no’?” demanded Janet, turning on him sharply. “I’m sure we got far more good and pleasure from it than ever we got o’ your bloody fore-quarter of beef, that near scunnered the bairns ere we were done with it. Things should stand on your papers at their true value.”
Deacon Slowcome was not, in reality, more surprised at this outbreak than he had been when his “fore-quarter of bloody beef” had been accepted unchallenged, but he professed to be so; and in his elaborate astonishment allowed Janet’s remarks about a slight mistake she had made, and about the impropriety of “looking a gift horse in the mouth” to pass unanswered.
“You were at liberty to return the beef if you didn’t want it,” said he, with an injured air.
“Weel, I’ll mind that next time,” said she in a milder tone, by no means sure how the minister might approve of her plain speaking. Deacon Fish made a diversion in favour of peace, by holding up the new subscription-list, and asking her triumphantly if that “didn’t look well.”
“Ay, on paper,” said Janet, dryly. “Figures are no’ dollars. And if your folk have been thinking that the minister and his family hae been living only on the bits o’ things written down on your paper you are mistaken. The gude money that has helped it has been worth far more than the like o’ that, as I ken weel, who hae had the spending o’ it; but I daresay you’re no’ needing me longer, sir,” she added, addressing the minister, and she left the room.
This matter was not alluded to again for several days, but it did Janet a deal of good to think about it. She had no time to indulge in homesick musings, with so definite a subject of indignant speculation as the meanness of the deacons. She “was nettled at herself beyond all patience” that she should have allowed herself, to fancy that so many of the things on the paper had been tokens of the people’s good-will.
“Two hundred and seventy dollars and more,” she repeated. “Things mount up, I ken weel; but I maun take another look at it. And I’ll hae more sense anither time, I’m thinking.”
She did not speak to Graeme. There would be no use to vex her; but she would fain have had a few words with the minister, but his manner did not encourage her to introduce the subject. A circumstance soon occurred which gave her an opening, and the subject, from first to last, was thoroughly discussed.
March was nearly over. The nights were cold still, but the sun was powerful during the day, and there were many tokens that the earth was about to wake from her long sleep and prepare for the refreshment of her children. “And time for her,” sighed Janet, taking a retrospective view of all that had happened since she saw her face.
The boys had been thrown into a state of great excitement by a proposal made to them by their friend Mr. Snow. He had offered to give them sixty of the best trees in his sugar place, with all the articles necessary to the making of sugar, on terms that, to them, seemed easy enough. They were to make their own preparations, gather the sap, cut their own wood, in short, carry on the business entirely themselves; and, nothing daunted, they went the very first fine day to see the ground and make a beginning. Graeme and the other girls went with them as far as Mr. Snow’s house, and Janet was left alone. The minister was in his study as usual, and when they were all gone, uncomfortable with the unaccustomed quietness of the house, she arose and went to the door and looked rather sadly down the street. She had not long to indulge her feelings of loneliness, however. A sleigh came slowly grating along the half-bare street, and its occupant, Mr. Silas Spears, not one of her favourites, stopped before the door, and lost no time in “hitching” his horse to the post. Janet set him a chair, and waited for the accustomed question whether the minister was at home, and whether he could see him.
“The body has some sense and discretion,” said Janet to herself, as he announced instead that he “wa’ant a going to stay but a minute, and it wouldn’t be worth while troubling the minister.” He did stay, however, telling news and giving his opinion on matters and things in general in a way which was tolerable to Janet in her solitude. He rose to go at last.
“I’ve got a bucket of sugar out here,” said he. “Our folks didn’t seem to want it, and I thought I’d fetch it along down. I took it to Cook’s store, but they didn’t want it, and they didn’t care enough about it at Sheldon’s to want to pay for it, so I thought I might as well turn it in to pay my minister’s tax.”
So in he came within a minute.
“There’s just exactly twenty-nine pounds with the bucket. Sugar’s been sellin’ for twelve and a-half this winter, and I guess I ought to have that for it, then we’ll be about even, according to my calculation.”
“Sugar!” ejaculated Janet, touching the solid black mass with her finger. “Call you that sugar?”
“Why, yes, I call it sugar. Not the best, maybe, but it’s better than it looks. It’ll be considerable whiter by the time you drain it off, I expect.”
“And weigh considerable lighter, I expect,” said Mrs. Nasmyth, unconsciously imitating Mr. Spears’ tone and manner in her rising wrath. “I’m very much obliged to you, but we’re in no especial need o’ sugar at this time, and we’ll do without a while before we spend good siller on staff like that.”
“Well I’ll say eleven cents, or maybe ten, as sugarin’ time is ’most here. It ain’t first-rate,” he added, candidly. “It mightn’t just do for tea, but it’s as good as any to sweeten pies and cakes.”
“Many thanks to you. But we’re no’ given to the makin’ o’ pies and cakes in this house. Plain bread, or a sup porridge and milk does for us, and it’s mair than we’re like to get, if things dinna mend with us. So you’ll just take it with you again.”
“Well,” said Mr. Spears, slightly at a loss, “I guess I’ll leave it. I ain’t particular about the price. Mr. Elliott can allow me what he thinks it worth, come to use it. I’ll leave it anyhow.”
“But you’ll no’ leave it with my consent. Deacon Slowcome said the minister wasna needing to take anything he didna want, and the like o’ that we could make no use of.”