It was not that he grudged to Jacob anything either of wealth or consideration that he had won for himself. But with every thought of him was joined the thought of the son who, in his father's eyes, had been as much above him as one human being could well be above another, in goodness, in cleverness, in beauty, in all that makes a man worthy of love and honour from his fellows, and he grew sick sometimes with the thought of it all.

But he never spoke much of all this even to his wife. It was years before the old squire knew that it was not all right between Mr Fleming and Jacob, and he never knew all the bitterness of the old man's feelings. Gershom people generally knew that there was no love lost between them, but even Mrs Fleming hardly knew how utterly her husband had become possessed of the feelings which embittered his life.

All this hurt Jacob far less than it hurt himself. Indeed, it cannot be said that it affected Jacob at all, in the way of making him ashamed or remorseful. It affected in some measure the opinion of a few of his fellow-townsmen, and gave to those who had a grudge against him for other reasons, an opportunity of saying hard things against him. But Jacob cared little for all this, and until he had been thwarted by him in the matter of the land on the bank of the river, had given few of his thoughts to Mr Fleming.

But who can say what the stern old man had endured all these years while his silent anger, which was almost hatred, was living and rankling in his heart? Even while he believed that it was the sin that he hated, and not the sinner, it had been like a canker within him. His conscience permitted the stern avoidance of this man, but it was not always silent as to the neglect or the positive avoidance of duties, which the presence of this man made distasteful, and at times even impossible to him.

When Jacob, according to the hopeful verdict of his friends, became a changed man, and cast in his lot with the people of G.o.d, it had needed the utmost exercise of the strong restraint which he imposed on himself, as far as outward acts were concerned, to keep him from crying out against what seemed to him to be a profanation of G.o.d's ordinances.

After old Mr Hollister's death, when others fell in with the new order of things, and one after another of his old friends found his place in the church, he kept back and remained a spectator, even when he would gladly have gone with them.

It was only his strong sense of the duty he owed to his family, that took him to the new church at all, and it was to be feared that had it not been for his personal interest in Mr Maxwell, and his real love for the word of truth as presented by him to the people, he would, during the winter which saw the work at Varney's farm commenced and carried on at Jacob Holt's bidding, have absented himself from the house of G.o.d altogether.

He went, but he did not derive the good from it he might have done in other circ.u.mstances, as he longed to do. He was like one bound or blinded; like one striving vainly to reach a hand held out to him, to see clearly a face of love turned toward him, indeed, but with a veil between.

"Thou art a G.o.d that hidest Thyself," was his cry. And when this word followed to his conscience, "Your sins have hid His face from you that He will not hear," he laid his hand on his mouth, acknowledging that it might well be so; but it was not the sin of his anger against Jacob Holt that came home to him. He told himself that it was the man's daily hypocrisy that he hated. And if he could not always separate the sinner from the sin in his thoughts, he yet could quiet himself, taking refuge in the knowledge that never by word or deed had he pleaded his own cause against him. He left it to G.o.d to deal with him.

But having waited long, and seeing many troubles drawing near, he asked in moments of darkness whether G.o.d had indeed forgotten him.

And so the days went on through the spring, and Mrs Fleming watched and waited, saying little, but growing sad at heart to see how rapidly the signs of old age were growing visible upon him.

CHAPTER NINETEEN.

KATIE'S WORD.

Grannie's brave heart did not fail her. She had much to comfort her at this time of trouble.

Seldom had there been a more favourable spring for the getting in of the crops, and never even at Ythan Brae had the spring work been done better, or in better time.

Davie was far enough from being perfect yet in many respects, and his grandmother did not consider it her duty, or for his good, to let him forget his faults. But she made amends to herself, if not to him, by rejoicing over him and his steadiness and goodness to his mother and Katie. None of her rebukes or cautions were needed where his grandfather was concerned, and she could not but wonder sometimes at the lad's forbearance, for the old man's burden of care made him weary and irritable often.

Katie's dairy, so long talked of and planned for, was in use now, though it was not quite finished to her mind yet. Davie made use of his spare minutes on rainy days to add to its conveniences. In the meantime it was clean and cool. The Ythan burn rippled softly through it, and with a free use of its limpid waters, and a judicious use of the limited treasure of ice which they had secured during the last winter months, Katie made such b.u.t.ter as bade fair to win her a reputation which might in course of time rival that of her grandmother. They had two more cows in the pasture than ever they had had before; but ambitious to do much, and to make much money for their possible time of need, and being perfectly healthy and strong, Katie laughed at the idea of having too much to do, and could have disposed, in the village, of twice as much of her delicious b.u.t.ter as her dairy could produce.

Everything seemed to promise a profitable summer, and a pleasant summer too, notwithstanding the knowledge that whatever evil was to come on them through Jacob Holt could not be long averted now.

"Katie," said Davie, "do you ken what they are saying about grandfather now? They say that--"

"But who are saying it? If you tell me who they are, I'll soon tell you what they are saying. Though it matters little anyway."

"Well, you needna fly out at me. I'm no' saying it," said Davie, laughing. "And as for _they_, I might as well say _he_, or maybe _she_.

It was Ben Holt who told me. He heard his Aunt Betsey telling his grandmother. But it came from Mrs Jacob in the first place. She says that poor old Mr Fleming is not right in his mind, and that something will have to be done about it."

"Davie!" gasped Katie, "how dare you?"

Davie looked up startled. Katie's face crimsoned first, and then went very white.

"Oh, Davie, Davie! How could you say it?" and her tears gushed forth.

"But, Katie--such nonsense! I didna say it. Do be reasonable. I shouldna have told you. But why should we heed what they say?"

It took Katie a good while to get over the shock she had received, and Davie sat watching her a little shamefaced and sorry, saying to himself what queer creatures girls were, and what an especially queer creature Katie was, and he wished heartily that he had said nothing about it.

But Katie was not shocked in the way that Davie supposed. It was not that she was indignant at Mrs Jacob for saying such a thing of her grandfather. That there should be anything in her grandfather's words or ways to make the saying of such things possible made the pain. For a terrible fear had come upon Katie. Or rather, by the constant watching of her grandmother's looks and words, she had come to the knowledge that she feared for the old man something which she had never put into words.

It was Sunday afternoon, a lovely June day, and they were sitting at the foot of the little knoll under the birch-tree, where the two Holts had found them on that Sunday morning long ago. The rest of the bairns had gone with their mother to the Sunday-school at the Scott school-house as usual, and their grandfather and grandmother were sitting together in the house. Davie had been sitting there too, with his book in his hand, but he had not enjoyed it much; he had nodded over it at last and dropped asleep, and then grannie had bidden him go out to the air for a while and stretch himself, adding to his grandfather as he went:

"He's wearied with his week's work, poor laddie, and canna keep his eyes open, and it will do him good to stroll quietly down the brae to the burn. And Katie, la.s.sie, you can go with him for a little till the bairns and your mother come home."

So, her grandfather saying nothing, Katie went well pleased, and the two soon found themselves at their favourite place of rest, at the point where the Ythan begins to gurgle and murmur over the stones at the foot of the birch knoll.

They had both changed a good deal since the day the Holts found them sitting there. There seemed a greater difference in their ages than there had seemed then, for Katie, as bonnie and fresh as ever, was almost a woman now. Davie was a boy still, long and lank, and not nearly so handsome as he used to be, but there was promise of strength and good looks too, when a few years should be over. He had worked constantly and hard for the last year, and he stooped a little sometimes when he was tired, and Katie was beginning to fear lest he should become round-shouldered and "slouching," and was in the way of giving him frequent hints about carrying himself uprightly, as he went about the farm. But he was as fine a young fellow as one could wish to see, and his looks promised well for the manhood that did not lie very far before him.

They were silent for a good while after Katie's outburst. She sat on the gra.s.s, her hands clasped round her knees, and her eyes fixed on the rippling water of the burn. Davie lay back on the gra.s.s with his head on his clasped hands regarding her. She turned round at last with a grave face.

"I cannot understand it, Davie. I suppose Jacob Holt is not a good man, and grandfather thinks he did him a great wrong long ago, and that he is only waiting for an opportunity to do him still another. But yet it seems strange to me that grandfather should care so much, and be so hard on him. It should not matter so much to him, for Jacob Holt is but a poor creature after all."

Davie looked at her in astonishment.

"Is that the way you look at it? Do you know what happened long ago?"

"I don't know, nor do you; but we can guess. And even grannie thinks him hard on Jacob. Oh, Davie; it is a terrible thing not to be able to forget."

Davie said nothing, and Katie went on:

"I hate myself for thinking that grandfather may not be right in everything, so good as he is, so upright and so true. He never did a mean or unjust deed in all his life. If he is not one of G.o.d's people, who is? And yet, Davie, the Bible says, 'If ye forgive not men their trespa.s.ses, neither will your Father in heaven forgive your trespa.s.ses.'

And to think that one like Jacob Holt should have the power to harden a good man's heart like that!"

"What do you suppose grannie would think if she were to hear you?" said Davie in amazement.

"Of course I wouldna speak to grannie, or to any one else but you. And whiles I think that grannie herself is feared at his silence, and--and at his unchangeableness," said Katie, with an awed look. "And grandfather is growing an old man now, and what will it matter to him in a little while about Jacob Holt or any other man?"

Davie got up and walked about restlessly for a while, and when he came and stood before her on the other side of the burn, Katie want on again:

"Grandfather must ken that the Lord knows about it all, and that it is sure 'to work for good' to him, as the Bible says it must. 'All things,' it says. And the Lord knew grandfather's trouble long ago, and grandfather knows that He knew it, and it is a wonder that he should never be comforted."

"It is something that we canna understand," said Davie gravely. "But, Katie, grandfather is not ay dwelling on it as you suppose. Did he ever do an ill deed to Jacob Holt, or say an ill word of him? He canna be friendly with him, because he canna trust him or respect him. But as to not forgiving him--that is not likely."

"But, Davie, he hasna spoken a word to Jacob Holt for years. He has not heard his name spoken--unless by the old squire, who forgets things whiles. None of us name him in his hearing, nor the neighbours. And all this about the land and the site for the mills is not natural, is it, if he has forgiven and forgotten? And it is not Christian, if he has not," added Katie with a sob.

"And what you mean by all this is, that--that something is the matter with him--as Mr Jacob said," and Davie turned angry eyes on his sister.

"Davie, I whiles think grannie is feared. She is ay longing for his home-coming when he is away. And I hear her speaking softly to him when they are alone. And I hear him often praying in the night; last night it was for hours, I think. Oh, Davie! and then grannie went to him, and he went back to his bed again, and grannie looked, oh, so white and spent in the morning."

"And he was at Pine-tree Hollow the other night," said Davie.

"Yes! And grannie went to meet him, and my mother was waiting for them at the gate, and she burst out crying when she saw them coming home together through the gloaming."

They sat for a long time silent after that. Indeed, there was not another word spoken till they heard the children's voices, and knew that it was time to go to the house again. Then Katie stooped and laved the water on her tear-stained face before she turned to go.