She did not answer a word, but soothed him with hand and voice as she might have soothed a child. She had done it many times before during the forty years that she had been his wife, but she had never, even in the time of their sorest troubles, seen him so moved. She sat down quietly beside him and patiently waited.

"Has anything happened, or is anything threatening that I dinna ken of?"

asked she after a little.

"No, nothing new has happened. But I am growing an old failed man, Katie, and no' able to stand up against my ain fears."

"Ay, we are growing old and failed; our day is near over, and so are our fears. Why should we fear? Jacob Holt canna move the foundations of the earth. And even though he could, we needna fear, for 'G.o.d is our refuge and strength.'"

He was leaning back with closed eyes, tired and fainthearted, and he did not answer.

"There's no fear for the bairns," she went on, cheerfully. "They are good bairns. There are few that hae the sense and discretion of our Katie, and her mother's no' without judgment, though she is but a f.e.c.kless body as to health, and has been a heavy handful to us. They'll be taken care of. The Lord is ay kind."

And so she went on, gentle soothing alternating with more gentle chiding, all the time keeping away from the sore place in his heart, not daring for his sake and for her own to touch it till this rare moment of weakness should be past.

"You are wearied, and no wonder, with the heat and your long fast; lie down on your bed and rest till it be time to catechise the bairns-- though I'm no' for Sabbath sleeping as an ordinary thing. Will you no'

lie down? Well, you might step over as far as the pasture-bars and see if all is right with old Kelso and her foal, for here come the bairns and their mother, and there will be no peace with them till they get their supper, and your head will be none the better for their noise."

And so she got him away, going with him a few steps up the field. She turned in time to meet the troop of children who, in a state of subdued mirthfulness suitable to the day and their proximity to their grandfather, were drawing near. She had a gentle word of caution or chiding to each, and then she said softly to Katie:

"You'll go up the brae with your grandfather and help him if there is anything wrong with old Kelso. And cheer him up, my la.s.sie. Tell him about the meeting, and the Sunday-school; say anything you think of to hearten him. You ken well how to do it."

"But, grannie," said Katie, startled, "there is nothing wrong, is there?"

"Wrong," repeated her grandmother. "Ken you anything wrong, la.s.sie, that you go white like that?"

The brave old woman grew white herself as she asked, but she stood between Katie and the rest, that none might see.

"I ken nothing, grannie, only grandfather didna bide to the meeting to-day, Ben told me."

"Didna bide to the meeting? Where went he, then? He has only just come home."

"It was because of Jacob Holt," Ben said.

"But Katie, my woman, you had no call surely to speak about the like of that to Ben Holt?"

"I didna, grannie. I just heard him and came away. And, grannie, I think maybe grandfather was at Pine-tree Hollow. It would be for a while's peace, you ken, as the bairns were at home."

"Pine-tree Hollow! Well, and why not?" said grannie, too loyal to the old man to let Katie see that she was startled by her words. "It has been for a while's peace, as you say. And now you'll run up the brae after him, and take no heed, but wile him from his vexing thoughts, like a good bairn as you are."

"And there's nothing wrong, grannie?" said Katie, wistfully.

"Nothing more than usual; nothing the Lord doesna ken o', my bairn. Run away and speak to him, and be blithe and douce, and he'll forget his trouble with your hand in his."

Katie's voice was like a bird's as she called: "Grandfather, grandfather, bide for me."

The old man turned and waited for her.

"Doesna your grandmother need you, nor your mother, and can you come up the brae with that braw gown on?"

Katie smiled and took his hand.

"My gown will wash, and I'll take care, and grannie gave me leave to come."

And so the two went slowly up the hill, saying little, but content with the silence. When they came back again Mrs Fleming, who was waiting for them at the door, felt her burden lightened, for her first glance at her husband's face told her he was comforted.

"My bonny Katie, gentle and wise, a bairn with the sense of a woman,"

said she to herself, but she did not let her tenderness overflow. "We have gotten the milking over without you, Katie, my woman. And now haste you and take your supper, for it is time for the bairns' catechism and we mustna keep your grandfather waiting."

That night when Ben Holt went home he found the house dark and apparently forsaken. Miss Betsey sat rocking in her chair in solitude and darkness, and she rocked on, taking no notice when Ben came in.

"Have you got a sick headache, Aunt Betsey?" said Ben after a little; he did not ask for information, but for the sake of saying something to break the ominous silence. He knew well Aunt Betsey always had a sick headache and was troubled when he had been doing wrong.

"I shall get over it, I expect, as I have before; talking won't help it."

Ben considered the matter a little. "I don't know that," said he, "it depends some on what there is to say, and you don't need to have sick headache this time, for I haven't been doing anything that you would think bad."

Miss Betsey laughed unpleasantly.

"What has that to do with it?"

"Well, I haven't been doing anything bad, anyhow."

"Only just breaking Sunday in the face and eyes of all Gershom. You are not a child to be punished now. Go to bed."

"I don't know about breaking Sunday; I didn't any more than old Mr Fleming. He didn't care about going to Jacob's meeting, and no more did Clif and me. We went along a piece, and then we went to the Scott school-house to meeting. It was a first-rate meeting."

"What about Mr Fleming; has he and Jacob been having trouble?" asked Miss Betsey, forgetting in her curiosity her controversy with Ben.

"Nothing new, I don't suppose. And Clif, he says that he don't believe but what Jacob'll do the right thing, and he says he'll see to it himself."

"There, that'll do," interrupted Miss Betsey. "If Clifton Holt was to tell you that white was black you'd believe him."

"I'd consider it," said Ben, gravely.

"If you want any supper it's in the cupboard," said Miss Betsey, rising, "I've had supper and dinner too, up to Mr Fleming's, and we went to meeting at the Scott school-house. It wasn't Clif's fault this time, Aunt Betsey, and we haven't done anything very bad either. And Clif, he's going to be awful steady, I expect, and stick to his books more than a little, and he sent his respects to you, Aunt Betsey, and he says--"

"There, that'll do. Go to bed if you don't want to drive me crazy."

"I'll go to bed right off if you'll come and take away my candle, Aunt Betsey. No, I don't want a candle; but if you'll come in and tuck me up as you used to, for I haven't been doing anything this time, nor Clif either. Will you, Aunt Betsey?"

"Well, hurry up, then," said Aunt Betsey, with a break in her voice, "for this day has been long enough for two, and I'm thankful it's done,"

and then she added to herself:

"I sha'n't worry about him if I can help it. But it is so much more natural for boys to go wrong than to go right, that I can't help it by spells. After all I've seen, it isn't strange either."

"Ben," said she, when she took his candle in a little while, "you mustn't think you haven't done wrong because the day turned out better than it might have done. It only happened so. It was Sabbath-breaking all the same to leave meeting and go up the river. There, I aint going to begin again. But wrong is wrong, and sin is sin whichever way it ends."

"That's so," said Ben, penitently.