Читать книгу Janet's Love and Service - Margaret M. Robertson - Страница 14

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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 Mr. Slowcome interrupted the reading, now and then, to say interrogatively—

“You remember?”

It dawned upon her at last that these were the items that made up the subscription for the half year 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.”

“The deacon might have said that in a general kind of way, but I rather guess he didn’t mean you to take him up so. I’ve been calculating to pay my minister’s tax with that sugar, and I don’t know as I’ve got anything else handy. I’ll leave it, and if you don’t conclude to keep it, you better speak to the deacon about it, and maybe he’ll give you the money for it. I’ll leave it anyhow.”

“But you’ll no leave it here,” exclaimed Mrs. Nasmyth, whose patience was not proof against his persistence, and seizing the bucket, she rushed out at the door, and depositing it in the sleigh, was in again before the astonished Mr. Spears quite realised her intention.

“You’ll no’ find me failing in my duty to the minister, as I hae done before,” exclaimed she, a little breathless with the exertion. “If the minister canna hae his stipend paid in good siller as he has been used wi’, he shall at least hae nae trash like yon. So dinna bring here again what ither folk winna hae from you, for I’ll hae none o’ it.”

“I should like to see the minister a minute,” said Mr. Spears, seating himself with dignity. “I don’t consider that you are the one to settle this business.”

“There’s many a thing that you dinna consider that there’s sense in, notwithstanding. It’s just me that is to decide this business, and a’ business where the minister’s welfare, as regards meat and drink, is concerned. So dinna fash yourself and me mair about it.”

“I’d like to see him, anyhow,” said he, taking a step towards the study-door.

“But you’ll no’ see him about any such matter,” and Janet placed herself before him. “I’m no’ to hae the minister vexed with the like o’ that nonsense to-night, or any night. I wonder you dinna think shame, to hold up your face to me, forby the minister. What kens the minister about the like o’ that? He has other things to think about. It’s weel that there’s aye me to stand between him and the like o’ your ‘glegs and corbies’.”—And Janet, as her manner was when excited, degenerated into Scotch to such a degree, that her opponent forgot his indignation in astonishment, and listened in silence. Janet was successful. Mr. Spears was utterly nonplussed, and took his way homeward, by no means sure that he hadn’t been abused! “Considerable beat, anyhow.”

Scarcely had he taken his departure, when Mr. Elliott made his appearance, having had some idea that something unusual had been going on. Though loth to do so, Janet thought best to give a faithful account of what had taken place. He laughed heartily at her success and Mr. Spears’ discomfiture, but it was easy to see he was not quite at his ease about the matter.

“I am at a loss to know how all this will end,” he said, gravely, after a minute.

“Indeed, sir, you need be at no loss about that. It will end in a ‘toom pantry’ for us, and that before very long.”

This was the beginning of a conversation with regard to their affairs, that lasted till the children came home. Much earnest thought did the minister bestow on the subject for the next three days, and on the evening of the fourth, at the close of a full conference meeting, when most of the members of the church were present, the result of his meditations was given to the public. He did not use many words, but they were to the point.

He told them of the settlement for the past, and the prospect for the future. He told them that the value to his family of the articles brought in, was not equal to their value, as named in the subscription-lists, their real value he supposed. They could not live in comfort on these terms, and they should never try it. He had a proposal to make to them. The deacon had estimated that an annual amount equal to seven hundred dollars could be raised. Let each subscriber deduct a seventh part of what he had promised to pay, and let the remainder be paid in money to the treasurer, so that he might receive his salary in quarterly payments. This would be the means of avoiding much that was annoying to all parties, and was the only terms on which he would think it wise to remain in Merleville.

He alluded to a report that had lately reached him, as to his having money invested in Scotland. In the hand of a friend he had deposited sufficient to defray the expenses of his eldest son, until his education should be completed. He had no more. The comfort of his family must depend upon his salary; and what that was to be, and how it was to be paid, must be decided without loss of time.

He said just two or three words about his wish to stay, about the love he felt for many of them, and of his earnest desire to benefit them all. He had no other desire than to cast in his lot with theirs, and to live and die among them. But no real union or confidence could be maintained between them, while the matter of support was liable at any moment to become a source of discomfort and misunderstanding to all concerned. He added, that as so many were present, perhaps no better time than to-night could be found for arranging the matter, and so he left them.

There was quite a gathering that night. Judge Merle was there, and the deacons, and the Pages, and Mr. Spears, and a great many besides. Behind the door, in a corner seat, sat Mr. Snow, and near him, Mr. Greenleaf. He evidently felt he was not expected to remain, and made a movement to go, but Sampson laid his hand on his arm.

“Hold on, Squire,” he whispered; “as like as not they’d spare us, but I’m bound to see this through.”

There was a long pause. Then Deacon Fish got up and cleared his throat, and “felt as though he felt,” and went over much ground, without accomplishing much. Deacon Slowcome did pretty much the same. Judge Merle came a little nearer the mark, and when he sat down, there was a movement behind the door, and Sampson Snow rose, and stepped out. He laid his hand on the door latch, and then turned round and opened his lips.

“I expect you’ll all think it ain’t my place to speak in meetin’, and I ain’t goin’ to say a great deal. It’s no more than two hours or so since I got home from Rixford, and Squire Stone, he told me that their minister had given notice that he was goin’ to quit. Goin’ to Boston, I guess. And the Squire, says he to me, ‘We’ve a notion of talking a little to your Mr. Elliott,’ and says he, ‘We wouldn’t begrudge him a thousand dollars cash down, and no mistake.’ So now don’t worry any about the minister. He’s all right, and worth his pay any day. That’s all I’ve got to say,” and Mr. Snow opened the door and walked out.

Sampson’s speech was short, but it was the speech of the evening, and told. That night, or within a few days, arrangements were made for the carrying out of the plan suggested by Mr. Elliott, with this difference, that the seventh part was not to be deducted because of money payment. And the good people of Merleville did not regret their promptitude, when the very next week there came a deputation from Rixford, to ascertain whether Mr. Elliott was to remain in Merleville, and if not, whether he would accept an invitation to settle in the larger town.

Mr. Elliott’s answer was brief and decided. He had no wish to leave Merleville while the people wished him to remain. He hoped never to leave them while he lived. And he never did.