Janet's Love and Service. Margaret M. Robertson
little lady left on the deck seemed very much inclined to resent the unceremonious disposal of so important a person, as she was always made to feel herself to be. But she took a look into the face of her new friend and thought better of it. His face was a good one, frank and kindly, and Rose suffered herself to be lifted up and placed upon his knee, and when Graeme came back again, after a brisk walk of fifteen minutes, she found the little one, usually so fretful and “ill to do with,” laughing merrily in the stranger’s arms. She would have taken her, but Rose was pleased to stay.
“You are the very first stranger that ever she was willing to go to,” said she, gratefully. Looking up, she did not wonder at Rosie’s fancy for the face that smiled down upon her.
“I ought to feel myself highly honoured,” said he.
“I think we’ll give him the benefit of little Missy’s preference,” said Captain Armstrong, who had been watching Graeme with a little amused anxiety since her walk was ended. The colour that the exercise had given her was fast fading from her face, till her very lips grew white with the deadly sickness that was coming over her.
“You had best go to the cabin a wee while. You must give up, I think,” said he.
Graeme rose languidly.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Come Rosie.”
“Leave the little one with me,” said Mr. Ruthven. And that was the last Graeme saw of Rosie for the next twelve hours, for she was not to escape the misery that had fallen so heavily upon the rest, and very wearily the day passed. It passed, however, at last, and the next, which was calm and bright as heart could wish, saw them all on deck again. They came with dizzy heads and uncertain steps it is true, but the sea air soon brought colour to their cheeks, and strength to their limbs, and their sea life fairly began.
But alas! for Janet. The third day, and the tenth found her still in her berth, altogether unable to stand up against the power that held her. In vain she struggled against it. The “Steadfast’s” slightest motion was sufficient to overpower her quite, till at last she made no effort to rise, but lay there, disgusted with herself and all the world. On the calmest and fairest days they would prevail on her to be helped up to the deck, and there amid shawls and pillows she would sit, enduring one degree less of misery than she did in the close cabin below.
“It was just a judgment upon her,” she said, “to let her see what a poor conceited body she was. She, that had been making muckle o’ herself, as though the Lord couldna take care o’ the bairns without her help.”
It was not sufficient to be told hourly that the children were well and happy, or to see it with her own eyes. This aggravated her trouble. “Useless body that I am.” And Janet did not wait for a sight of a strange land, to begin to pine for the land she had left, and what with sea-sickness and home-sickness together, she had very little hope that she would ever see land of any kind again.
The lads and Marian enjoyed six weeks of perfect happiness. Graeme and their father at first were in constant fear of their getting into danger. It would only have provoked disobedience had all sorts of climbing been forbidden, for the temptation to try to outdo each other in their imitation of the sailors, was quite irresistible; and not a rope in the rigging, nor a corner in the ship, but they were familiar with before the first few days were over. “And, indeed, they were wonderfully preserved, the foolish lads,” their father acknowledged, and grew content about them at last.
Before me lies the journal of the voyage, faithfully kept in a big book given by Arthur for the purpose. A full and complete history of the six weeks might be written from it, but I forbear. Norman or Harry, in language obscurely nautical, notes daily the longitude or the latitude, and the knots they make an hour. There are notices of whales, seen in the distance, and of shoals of porpoises seen near at hand. There are stories given which they have heard in the forecastle, and hints of practical jokes and tricks played on one another. The history of each sailor in the ship is given, from “handsome Frank, the first Yankee, and the best-singer” the boys ever saw, to Father Abraham, the Dutchman, “with short legs and shorter temper.”
Graeme writes often, and daily bewails Janet’s continued illness, and rejoices over “wee Rosie’s” improved health and temper. With her account of the boys and their doings, she mingles emphatic wishes “that they had more sense,” but on the whole they are satisfactory. She has much to say of the books she has been reading—“a good many of Sir Walter Scott’s that papa does not object to,” lent by Allan Ruthven. There are hints of discussions with him about the books, too; and Graeme declares she “has no patience” with Allan. For his favourites in Sir Walter’s books are seldom those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake; and there are allusions to battles fought with him in behalf of the good name of the Old Puritans—men whom Graeme delights to honour. But on the whole it is to be seen, that Allan is a favourite with her and with them all.
The beautiful Bay of Boston was reached at last, and with an interest that cannot be told, the little party—including the restored Janet—regarded the city to which they were drawing near. Their ideas of what they were to see first in the new world had been rather indefinite and vague. Far more familiar with the early history of New England—with such scenes as the landing of the pilgrims, and the departure of Roger Williams to a still more distant wilderness, than with the history of modern advance, it was certainly not such a city they had expected to see. But they gazed with ever increasing delight, as they drew nearer and nearer to it through the beautiful bay.
“And this is the wonderful new world, that promises so much to us all,” said Allan.
“They have left unstained what there they found.
Freedom to worship God,”
murmured Graeme, softly. “I’m sure I shall like the American people.”
But Allan was taking to heart the thought of parting from them all, more than was at all reasonable, he said to himself, and he could not answer her with a jest as he might at another time.
“You must write and tell me about your new home,” said he.
“Yes—the boys will write; we will all write. I can hardly believe that six weeks ago we had never seen you. Oh! I wish you were going with us,” said Graeme.
“Allan will see Arthur when he comes. Arthur will want to see all the country,” said Norman.
“And maybe he will like the Queen’s dominions best, and wish to settle there,” said Allan.
“Oh! but we shall see you long before Arthur comes,” said Graeme. “Is it very far to Canada?”
“I don’t know—not very far, I suppose. I don’t feel half so hopeful now that I am about to know what my fate is to be. I have a great dread on me. I have a mind not to go to my uncle at all, but seek my fortune here.”
“But your mother wouldna be pleased,” said Graeme, gravely.
“No. She has great hopes of what my uncle may do for me. But it would be more agreeable to me not to be confined to one course. I should like to look about me a little, before I get fairly into the treadmill of business.”
In her heart Graeme thought it an excellent thing for Allan that he had his uncle to go to. She had her own ideas about young people’s looking about them, with nothing particular to do, and quite agreed with Janet and Dr. Watts as to the work likely to be found for them to do. But she thought it would be very nice for them all, if instead of setting off at once for Canada, Allan might have gone with them for a little while. Before she could say this, however, Janet spoke.
“Ay, that’s bairn-like, though you hae a man’s stature. I dare say you would think it a braw thing to be at naebody’s bidding; but, my lad, it’s ae’ thing to hae a friend’s house, and a welcome waiting you in a strange land like this, and it’s anither thing to sit solitary in a bare lodging, even though you may hae liberty to come and go at your ain will. If you’re like the lads that I ken’ maist about, you’ll be none the worse of a little wholesome restraint. Be thankful for your