_ It was a bright day in the end of September. Shenac had been busy at the wheel all the morning, but the very last thread of their flannel was spun now. The wheel was put away, and Shenac stood before her mother, dressed in her black gown made for mourning when her father died. Her mother looked surprised, for this gown was never worn except at church, or when a visit was to be made.
"Mother," said Shenac, "I have made ready the children's supper, and filled the sacks in case Dan should want to go to the mill, and I want to go over to see if Shenac and Maggie can come some day to help me with the flax."
The mother assented, well pleased, for it was a long time since Shenac had gone to the house of Angus Dhu of her own will.
"And, mother, maybe I'll go with Shenac as far as The Eleventh. It's a long time since I have seen Mary Matheson, and I'll be home before dark."
"Well, well, go surely, if you like," said her mother; "and you might speak to McLean about the flannel, and bespeak McCallum the tailor to come as soon as he can to make the lads' clothes; and you might ask about the shoes."
"Yes, mother, I'll mind them all. I'll just speak to Hamish first, and then I'll away."
Hamish was in the garden digging and smoothing the ground where their summer's potatoes had grown, because he had nothing else to do, he said, and it would be so much done before the spring. Shenac seated herself on the fence, and began pulling, one by one, the brown oak leaves that hung low over it. There was no gate to the garden. It was doubtful whether a gate could have been made with sufficient strength, or fastened with sufficient ingenuity, to prevent the incursions of the pigs and calves, which, now that the fields were clear from grain, were permitted to wander over them at their will. So the garden was entered by a sort of stile--a board was placed with one end on the ground, and the other on the middle rail of the fence--and it was on this that Shenac sat down.
"Hamish," she said after a little, "what do you think of my asking John Firinn to plough the land for the wheat--and to sow it too, for that matter?"
"I don't think you had better call him by
that name, if you want him to do you a favour," said Hamish, laughing. "But why ask John Firinn of all the folk in the world?"
("Firinn" is the Gaelic name for "truth," and it was added to the name of one of the many John McDonalds of the neighbourhood; not, I am sorry to say, because he always spoke the truth, but because he did not.)
Shenac laughed.
"No; it's not likely. But I'm doing it for him because his wife has been sick all the summer, and has not a thread of her wool spun yet, and I am going to change work with them."
"But, Shenac," said Hamish gravely, "does our mother know? I am sure she will think you have enough to do at home, without going to spin at John Firinn's."
"I should not go there, of course; they must let me bring the wool home. And there's no use in telling my mother till I see whether they'll agree. It would only vex her. And, Hamish, it's all nonsense about my having too much to do. There's only the potatoes; and Hugh can bide at home from the school to gather them and the turnips, and Dan will be as well pleased if I leave them to him. I am only afraid that he has been fancying he is to plough, and he's not fit for it."
"No, he's not fit for it," said Hamish. "But I don't like John Firinn. Is there no one else?"
"No; for if we speak to the Camerons or Angus Dhu, it will just be the same as saying we want them to make a bee. I hate bees,--for us, I mean. It was well enough when they all thought it was just for the summer, and that then Allister would be home. But now we must do as other folk do, and be independent. So I must speak to John. He's not very trustworthy, I'm afraid; but that's maybe because few trust him. I don't think he'll wrong my mother, if he promises to do the land."
"Perhaps you are right, Shenac," said Hamish with a sigh.
"But, Hamish," said Shenac eagerly, "
you could not do this work, even if you were well and strong." She was not answering his words, but the thoughts which she knew were in his heart. "Come with me, Hamish. It will do you good, and it would be far better for you to make a bargain with John Firinn than for me. Shenac yonder is going. Come with us, Hamish."
"No," said Hamish. "The children are at the school, and maybe Dan will go to the mill; and my mother must not be left alone. And you are the one to make the bargain about the spinning. I don't believe John will be hard upon you; and if you are shamefaced, Shenac yonder will speak for you."
But Shenac did not intend her cousin to know anything about the matter till it should be settled, though she did not tell her brother so. She went away a little anxious and uncertain. For though she had been the main dependence all summer for the work both in the house and in the field, she had had very little to do with other people; and her heart failed her at the thought of speaking to any one about their affairs, especially to John Firinn. So it was with a slow step and a troubled face that she took her way over the field to find her cousin.
She had been a little doubtful all day whether she should find Shenac at home and at liberty to go with her, but she never thought of finding Shenac's father there. They were rolling--that is, clearing off--the felled trees in Angus Dhu's farther field, she knew, and Shenac might be there, and she thought that her father must be. She had not met Angus Dhu face to face fairly since that May-day by the creek; that is, she had never seen him unless some one else was present, and the thought of doing so was not at all pleasant to her. So when, on turning the corner, she saw his tall and slightly-bent figure moving towards her, in her first surprise and dismay she had some thoughts of turning and running away. She did not, however, but came straight on up the path.
"I was not sure it was you, Shenac," was her uncle's greeting; "you are seen here so rarely. It must be something more than common that brings you from home to-day, you have grown such a busy woman."
"I came for Cousin Shenac to go with me to Mary Matheson's, if she can be spared. Is she at home to-day?" said Shenac, with some hesitation, for she would far rather have made her request to Shenac's mother.
"Oh yes, she's at home. Go into the house. I daresay her mother will spare her." And he repeated a Gaelic proverb, which being translated into English would mean something like, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." Shenac smiled to herself as she thought of her mother's many messages and her dreaded mission to John Firinn. It did not seem much like play to her.
But burdens have a way of slipping easily from young shoulders, and the two Shenacs went on their way cheerily enough, and I daresay a stranger meeting them might have fancied that our Shenac was the lighter-hearted of the two. The cloud fell again, however, when they came to the turn of the road that took them to Mary Matheson's.
"I have to go down to the McDonalds', Shenac. Just go on, and I will follow you in two or three minutes."
"To the McDonalds'!" repeated Shenac Dhu. "Not to John Firinn's surely? What in all the world can you have to do with him? You had better take me with you, Shenac. They say John has a trick of forgetting things sometimes. You might need me for a witness."
Shenac Bhan laughed and shook her head.
"There's no need. Go on to Mary's, and tell her I am coming. I shall not be long."
She wished heartily that Hamish had been with her, or that she could have honestly said her mother had sent her; for it seemed to her that she was taking too much upon her to be trying to make a bargain with a man like John Firinn. There was no help for it now, however, and she knocked at the door, and then lifted the latch and went in with all the courage she could summon.
She did not need her courage for a little time, however; but her tact and skill in various matters--her "faculty," as Mr Rugg called it-- stood her in good stead for the next half-hour.
Seated on a low chair, looking ill and harassed, was poor Mrs McDonald, with a little wailing baby on her knee, and her other little ones clustering round her, while her husband, the formidable John himself, was doing his best to prepare dinner for all of them. It was long past dinner-time, and it promised to be longer still before these little hungry mouths would be stopped by the food their father was attempting to prepare. For he was unaccustomed and inexpert, and it must have added greatly to the sufferings of his wife to see his blundering movements, undoing with one hand what he did with the other, and using his great strength where only a little skill was needed. Shenac hesitated a moment, and then advanced to Mrs McDonald.
"Are you no better? Can I do anything for you?--Let me do that," she added hastily, as she saw the success of the dinner put in jeopardy by an awkward movement of the incompetent cook. In another moment Shenac's black dress was pinned up, and soon the dinner was on the table, and the father and children were seated at it. To her husband's entreaty that she would try and eat something, the poor woman did not yield. She was flushed and feverish, and evidently in great pain.
"I am afraid you are in pain," said Shenac, as she turned to her, offering to take the baby.
"Yes; I let my sister go home too soon, and what with one thing and another, I am nearly as bad as ever again." And she pressed her hand on her breast as she spoke.
A few more words told the state of the case, and in a little time the pain was relieved by a warm application, and the weary woman lay down to rest. Then there was some porridge made for the baby. Unsuitable food it seemed, but the little creature ate it hungrily, and was soon asleep. Then the kettle was boiled, and the poor woman surprised herself and delighted Shenac by drinking a cup of tea and eating a bit of toasted bread with relish. Then her hands and face were bathed, and her cap straightened, and she declared herself to be much better, as indeed it was easy to see she was. Then Shenac cleared the dinner-things away and swept the hearth, the husband and wife looking on.
When all this was done, Shenac did not think it needed so much courage to make her proposal about the change of work. Mrs McDonald looked anxiously at her husband, who had listened without speaking.
"I think I could spin it to please you," said Shenac. "My mother is pleased with ours, though she did not like the big wheel at first; and you can speak to weaver McLean. I don't think he has had much trouble with the weaving. I would do my best."
"Could you come here and do it?" asked John. "Because, if you could, it would be worth while doing the ploughing just to see you round, let alone the wool."
Shenac shook her head. She was quite too much in earnest to notice the implied compliment.
"No; that would be impossible. I could not be away from home. My mother could not spare me. She is not so strong as she used to be. But I would soon do it at home. Our work is mostly over now. Our land does much the best with the fall wheat, and the wheat is our main dependence."
"I'm rather behind with my own work," began John; "and I heard something said about the Camerons doing your field, with some help."
"Oh, a bee," said Shenac. "But that is just what I will not have. I don't want to seem ungrateful. All the neighbours have been very kind," she added humbly. "But now that Allister is not coming home, we must carry on the place by ourselves, or give it up. We must not be expecting too much from our neighbours, or they will tire of us. And I don't want a bee; though everybody has been very kind to us in our trouble."
She was getting anxious and excited.
"Bees are well enough in their way," said Mrs McDonald. "And some of the neighbours were saying they would gather one to help me with the wool. But, John, man, if you could do this for the widow Macivor, I would far rather let Shenac do the wool."
"I would do it well," said Shenac. "I would begin to-morrow."
"But if you were to do the wool, and then something was to happen that I could not plough or sow the field, what then?" asked John gravely.
Shenac looked at him, but said nothing.
"What could happen, John, man?" said his wife.
"We could have it written down, however," said John, "and that would keep us to our bargain. Should we have it written down, Shenac?"
"If you like," said Shenac gravely; "but there is no need. I would begin the wool to-morrow, and do it as soon as I could."
"Oh ay, oh ay! but you might need the bit of writing to bind
me, Shenac, my wise woman. I might slip out of it when the wool was done."
"John, man!" remonstrated his wife.
"You would never do that," said Shenac quietly. "If you wished to do it, a paper would not hold you to it. I don't see the use of a writing; but if you want one I don't care, of course."
But neither did John care, and so they made the bargain. John was to charge the widow a certain sum for the work to be done, and Shenac was to be allowed the usual price for a day's work of spinning; and it was thought that when the wool was spun and the field ploughed and sowed, they would be about even. There might be a little due on one side or the other, but it would not be much.
"Well then, it's all settled," said Shenac, and she did not attempt to conceal her satisfaction.
It came into John's mind that being settled was one thing and being done was quite another; but he did not say so. He said to himself, as he saw Shenac busy about his wife and child,--
"If there is a way to put that wheat in better than wheat was ever put in before, I shall find it out and do it."
He said the same to his wife, as together they watched her running down the road to meet Shenac Dhu.
"What in the world kept you so long?" asked her cousin. "Have you been hearkening to one of John Firinn's stories? Better not tell it again. What made you bide so long?"
"Do you know how ill the wife has been?" asked Shenac Bhan. Then she told how she found the poor woman suffering, and about the children and their dinner, and so was spared the necessity of telling what her business with John had been.
Greatly to the surprise of Angus Dhu and all the neighbours, in due time John McDonald brought his team into the widow Macivor's field. Many were the prophecies brought by Dan to Hamish and Shenac as to the little likelihood there was of his doing the work to the satisfaction of all concerned.
"It will serve you right too, Shenac," said the indignant Dan. "To think of a girl like you fancying you could make a bargain with a man like John Firinn!"
"Is it Angus Dhu that is concerned, and the Camerons?" asked Shenac. "It's a pity they shouldn't be satisfied. But if the work is done to please the mother and Hamish and me, they'll need to content themselves, I doubt, Dannie, my lad."
"Johnnie Cameron said they were just going to call a bee together and do it up in a day or two; and then it would have been done right, and you would have been saved three weeks' spinning besides."
"We're obliged to the Camerons all the same," said Shenac a little sharply. "But if it had needed six weeks' spinning instead of three, it would please me better to do it than to trouble the Camerons or anybody. Why should we need help more than other folk?" she added impatiently. "I'm ashamed of you, Dan, with your bees."
"Well, I'll tell them what you say, and you'll not be troubled with their offers again, I can tell you," said Dan sulkily.
"You'll do nothing of the kind," said Hamish. "Nonsense, Dan, my lad; Shenac is right, and she's wrong too. She's right in thinking the less help we need the better; but she should not speak as though she did not thank the neighbours for their wishing to help us."
"Oh, I'm very thankful," said Shenac, dropping a mocking courtesy to Dan. "But I'm not half so thankful for their help as I am for the chance to spin John Firinn's wool. And Dan can tell the Camerons what he likes. I'm not caring; only don't let us hear any more of their bees and their prophecies."
Lightly as Shenac spoke of the spinning of the wool, it was no light work to do. For her mother was not pleased that she had undertaken it without her knowledge and consent, and fretted, and cast difficulties in the way, till Shenac, more harassed and unhappy than she had ever been before, offered to break the bargain and send back the wool. Her mother did not insist on this, however, and Shenac span on in the midst of her murmurings. Then Hamish took the mother away to visit her sister in the next township, and during their absence Shenac kept little Flora away from the school to do such little things as she could do about the house, and finished the wool by doing six days' work in three, and then confessed to Dan in confidence, that she was as tired as she ever wished to be.
She need not have hurried so much, for mother came home quite reconciled to the spinning--indeed a little proud of all that had been said in Shenac's praise when the matter was laid before the friends they had been to see. So she said, as Mrs McDonald was far from well yet, she would dye her worsted for her; and Shenac was glad to rest herself with the pleasant three miles' walk to give the message and get directions.
Shenac's part of the bargain was fulfilled in spirit and letter; and certainly nothing less could be said as to the part of John Firinn. Even Angus Dhu and John Cameron, who kept sharp eyes on him during his work, had no fault to find with the way in which it was done. It was done well and in the right time, and it was with satisfaction quite inexpressible that Shenac looked over the smooth field and listened to her mother's congratulations that this was one good job well and timely done. Ever after that she was John McDonald's fast friend, and the friend of his sickly wife. No one ever ventured to speak a disrespectful word of John before her; and the successful sowing of the wheat-field was by no means the last piece of work he did, and did well, for the widow and her children. _