Shenac's Work at Home. Margaret M. Robertson
of answering her question, the mother said, after a moment’s silence—
“He’s a good man, Elder McMillan.”
“Oh yes, I daresay he’s a good man,” said Shenac with some sharpness; “but that’s no reason why he should want to have our Hughie.”
The little boys were all in bed by this time, and Hamish and Shenac were alone with their mother. After a little impatient twitching of her thread, Shenac put aside her wheel, swept up the hearth, and moved about putting things in order in the room, and then she came and sat down beside her mother. She did not speak, however; she did not know what to say. Any allusion to the summer’s work was almost surer to make her mother shed tears, and Shenac could not bear to grieve her. She darted an impatient glance at Hamish, who seemed to have no intention of helping her to-night. He was sitting with his face upon his hands, just as he had been sitting through the elder’s visit, and Shenac could not catch his eye. It seemed wrong to risk the bringing on of a wakeful, moaning, miserable night to her mother; and she was thinking she would say no more till morning, when her mother spoke again.
“Yes, Elder McMillan is a good man. I would not be afraid for Hugh, and he would be near at hand.”
“Yes,” said Shenac, making an effort to speak quietly, “if Hugh must go, he might as well go to Elder McMillan’s as anywhere—” She stopped.
“And Dan needs a firm hand, they say,” continued the mother, her voice breaking a little; “but I’m afraid for him. Angus Dhu is a stern man, and Dan has been used to a hand gentle as well as firm. But he would not be far away.”
Shenac broke out impatiently—
“Angus Dhu’s hand was not firm enough to keep his own son at home, and he could never guide our Dan. Mother, never heed them that tell you any ill of Dan. Has he ever disobeyed you once since—since then?” Shenac’s voice failed a little, then she went on again, “Why should Dan go away, or any of us? Why can’t we bide all together, and do the best we can, till Allister comes home?”
“But that must be a long time yet, if he ever comes,” said the mother, sighing.
“Yes, it may be long,” said Shenac eagerly. “Of course it cannot be for the spring work, and maybe not for the harvest, but he’s sure to come, mother; and think of Allister coming and finding no home! Yes, I know you are to bide here; but the land would be gone, and it would be no home long to Allister or any of us without the land. Angus Dhu should be content with what he’s got,” continued Shenac bitterly. “Allister will never be content to let my father’s land go out of our hands; and Angus Dhu promised my father to give it up to Allister. Mother, we must do nothing till Allister comes home.—Hamish, why don’t you tell my mother to wait till Allister comes home?”
“Till Allister comes home! When Allister comes home!” This had been the burden of all Shenac’s comforting to her mother, even when she could take no comfort from it herself. For a year seemed a long time to Shenac; but three months of the year had passed already, and surely, surely Allister would come.
Hamish raised his face as Shenac appealed to him, but it was anything but a hopeful face, and Shenac was glad that her mother was looking the other way.
“But what are we to do in the meantime?” he asked, and his voice was as little hopeful as his face. For a moment Shenac was indignant at her brother. It would need the courage of both to make the future look otherwise than dark to their mother, and she thought Hamish was going to fail her. She was growing very eager; but she knew that the quick, hot words that might carry Hamish with her would have no force with her mother, and she put a strong restraint on herself, and said quietly—
“We can manage through the summer, mother. The wheat was sown in the fall, you know, and the elder said we were to have a bee next week for the oats, and we can do the rest ourselves—Hamish and Dan and I—till Allister comes home.”
“It would be a hard fight for you all,” said the mother despondingly.
“You should say Dan and you and little Hugh and Colin,” said Hamish bitterly. “They could help far more than I can, unless I am much better than I am now.” And then he dropped his head on his hands again.
Shenac rose suddenly and placed herself between him and her mother, and then she said quietly—
“And, mother, the elder thinks we can do it, or he wouldn’t have spoken about the bee. Nobody can think it right that Angus Dhu should take our father’s land from us; and the elder said nothing about Hugh; and Dan would never bide with Angus Dhu and work our father’s land for him. Never! never! Mother, we must try what we can do till Allister comes home.”
There was not much said after that. There was no decision in words as to their plans, but Shenac knew they were to make a trial of the summer’s work—she and her brothers—and she was content.
There were but two rooms downstairs in the little log house, and the mother and Flora slept in the one in which they had been sitting. So when Hamish came back from looking whether the gates and barn-doors were safely shut, he found Shenac, who had much to say to him, waiting for him outside.
“Hamish,” she said eagerly, “what ails you? Why did you not speak to my mother and tell her what we ought to do? Hamish,” she added, putting out her hand to detain him as he tried to pass her—“Hamish, speak to me. What ails you to-night, Hamish?”
“What right have I to tell my mother—I, who can do nothing?”
He shook off her detaining hand as if he was angry; but there was a sound of tears in his voice, and Shenac’s momentary feeling of offence was gone. She would not be shaken off, and putting her arms round his neck she held him fast. He did not try to free himself after the first moment, but he turned away his face.
“Hamish,” she repeated, “what is it? Don’t you think we can manage to keep together till Allister comes home? Is it that, Hamish? Tell me what you think it is right for us to do.”
“It is not that, Shenac; and I have no right to say anything—I, who can do nothing.”
“Hamish!” exclaimed his sister, in a tone in which surprise and pain were mingled.
“If I were like the rest,” continued Hamish—“I, who am the eldest; but even Dan can do more than I can. You must not think of me, Shenac, in your plans.”
For a moment Shenac was silent from astonishment; this was so unlike the cheerful spirit of Hamish. Then she said—
“Hamish, the work is not all. What could Dan or any of us do without you to plan for us? We are the hands, you are the head.”
Hamish made an impatient movement. “Allister would be head and hands too,” he said bitterly.
“But, Hamish, you are not Allister; you are Hamish, just as you have always been. You are not surely going to fail our mother now—you, who have done more than all of us put together to comfort her since then?”
Hamish made no answer.
“It is wrong for you to look at it in that way, Hamish,” continued Shenac. “I once heard my father say that though you were lame, God might have higher work for you to do than for any of the rest of us. I did not know what he meant then, but I know now.”
“Hush! don’t, Shenac,” said Hamish.
“No; I must speak, Hamish. It is not right to fret because the work you have to do is not just the work you would choose. And you’ll break my heart if you vex yourself about—because you are not like the rest. Not one of us all is so dear to my mother and the rest as you are; you know that, Hamish. And why should you think of this now, more than before?”
“Shenac, I have been a child till now, thinking of nothing. My looking forward was but the dreaming of idle dreams. I have wakened since my father died—wakened to find myself useless, a burden, with so much to be done.”