CHAPTER THREE.

THE NEW HOME.

It was not without many tears that the two children bade farewell to the little, dark room that had been their home so long. True, they had suffered much in it. Many long, restless days and painful nights had Archie pa.s.sed there; but it was a.s.sociated with the memory of their mother, and it was like a second parting from her to leave it.

The morning was dark and dull. A heavy mist lay on the town, and for the first few miles their journey was silent and sad. But, as the sun rose higher, the clouds parted and the mist rolled away, revealing to the unaccustomed eyes of the children pleasant glimpses of hill and valley.

Their way, after they had fairly left the great city and its suburbs behind them, lay through quiet and unfrequented roads. They crossed a broad moor, and then for a time pa.s.sed between low hills covered with broom or heather. Afterwards they came upon cultivated land lying around long, low farm-houses. Sometimes these dwellings were close by the road, and then they caught, with delight, glimpses of barn-door fowls and garden-flowers; and sometimes there were children playing on the green slopes around their homes. But oftener the farm-houses were far away on the hill-sides or in the quiet valleys. In some early fields they saw the reapers busy with the harvest; but most of the way was quiet,--even lonely. For miles and miles they saw no living thing save a grey plover whistling over their heads, or now and then a flock of sheep among the hills far away.

Much of the way Mrs Blair walked, and sometimes Lilias walked with her; but she soon became weary. It was a day long to be remembered by the children,--their first day among the hills. After so long in the close streets of the town, it seemed as though they could never get enough of the clear, fresh air and the pleasant country sights and sounds.

Everything seemed beautiful to them, moors, and hills, and golden harvest-fields. They did not talk much, only now and then one would point out to the other some new object of interest, a glimpse of blue water caught between the hills, or a lark upspringing from some gra.s.sy knoll, singing as it soared.

In the middle of the day they stopped near a little village to rest.

The carrier went with his horse to the inn; but they sat down in the shadow of a tree by the wayside, and ate the simple food they had brought with them.

It was sunset before they reached their aunt's home; and a pleasant place it seemed to them, though so poor and small. It stood at a little distance from the village of Kirklands. On one side was a plot of garden-ground, which some former occupant of the cottage had redeemed from the common beyond. It was sheltered on two sides by a hawthorn hedge; and a low, whitewashed paling separated it from the highway.

There was little in it, except a few common vegetables, a border of daisies and hearts-ease, and a rose-bush or two; but to Lilias it seemed a charming place; and it was not without reluctance that she obeyed her aunt's summons to come within when the dew began to fall.

It was, indeed, a new life that the brother and sister began at the cottage. During the first few weeks, the greater part of the time, when the days were fine, was pa.s.sed out-of-doors. At first, Archie could not get beyond the turf seat at the end of the cottage; but Lilias found her way across the wide common and away to the hills and glens beyond.

After a time, Archie was able, by the help of his crutches, to go with her; and many a pleasant path and quiet resting-place they found for themselves.

Their favourite resort was at the most distant point to which Archie for a while was able to go. A great grey rock, partly covered with heather and wild creepers, jutted out into the dry bed of a mountain stream.

Pa.s.sing round it, they found a low seat made by an abrupt rent in the rock, over which hung a slender mountain-ash. In the winter, or after heavy rains, this channel was filled with water; but now a tiny rivulet only trickled down the middle of the bed, making a pleasant murmur among the smooth, white pebbles over which it pa.s.sed. Here the children spent many a happy hour.

Their most common theme of conversation was their father and mother, and the events of the past two years. The memory of the time before that was more like a dream than like the recalling of events that had really taken place. Of their mother they spoke oftenest,--sometimes with tears and regret for their own loss, but sometimes, too, with joy at the thought of her gain, and the blessed rest to which she had attained.

"Do you think she was glad to go?" asked Archie, one day, after they had been talking a long time.

"Yes; I think she was very glad to go; but at first it grieved her sorely to think of leaving us behind. I almost think she would have gone sooner but for that. After Aunt Janet came, it was different.

After that she seemed willing to go at any time."

There was a pause, and then Archie said:

"It is a pity that she didn't know, before she went away, how we should come here, and what a bonny place it is. Lily, do you think she sees us now?"

"I don't know. She may. Anyway, after that night she was willing to leave us. Indeed, she told me the night she died that she didn't fear for us."

The remembrance of that night always made Lilias' cheek grow pale; and she did not speak again for some time. At last she said:

"Yes, this is a bonny place, and we have been very happy here; but there is one thing I am grieved for. You know, Archie, Aunt Janet is poor, and I fear in this place I shall not be able to find anything to do to help her. I fear I can't bide here long."

The thought of having to part from his sister had never come into Archie's mind, and he looked at her in astonishment, as he said:

"But where would you go?"

"Oh, I don't know yet. Only I think it's not right to burden Aunt Janet more than can be helped. I heard Mrs Stirling say that Mrs Graham, at the manse, wanted some one to sew and help among the children; and maybe I would do for her."

"Oh, Lily, surely you wouldn't go away. What should I ever do without you?" said Archie, weeping.

"Whisht, Archie," said his sister, soothingly; "do you think I would like to go away from you? But if it is right, we mustn't think whether it is pleasant or not. We won't grieve before the time, however. Maybe I'll never have to go. We'll speak to Aunt Janet."

And so that night, after Archie was asleep, Lilias spoke to her aunt.

"Are you weary of me, Lilias, that you wish to leave me so soon?" asked her aunt, gravely.

"Oh, aunt, you cannot think that. If it were only not wrong for me to bide here always!"

"And why do you not think it right to bide here always?" asked her aunt.

"Because I am young and strong, and I ought to be working for you, rather than that you should be doing so much for me."

"But you have been working for me. You have helped me greatly since you came here."

"Yes, a little, perhaps," said Lilias, thoughtfully. "But that's not what I mean. Are you not very poor now, Aunt Janet?"

"Well, I cannot say that I am very rich," said her aunt, smiling. "But I'm not so poor but that I can shelter my brother's orphan bairns for a while at least." And then she added, gravely, "I have no doubt but you could make yourself very useful, and I dare say Mrs Graham would like to have you there; but there are many reasons why such a thing is not to be thought of."

"Will you tell me some of them, aunt?"

"You have no need to go, my child; and, even if you had, you are not strong enough. You are by no means fit for the work you would have to do there; though you could have no better place than the manse. No, no, my la.s.sie, you must bide here among the hills, and gather health and strength for the struggles that life must bring to you as well as to others. All you could gain would but ill repay you for the loss of health; and you are not very strong, dear."

"But I am stronger than one would think to see me; and I'll be getting stronger, living in a country place. I think I might be strong enough for Mrs Graham."

"But, even if you were strong enough, for all our sakes, it is not to be thought of that you should go now. Archie would pine without you. And unless you are weary of this quiet place, and wish for a change, you must put away all thought of leaving us, for a time at least."

"Weary! Oh, no, aunt. And I know Archie would miss me; but he could spare me; and I could go if it was right. I can do a great many things, and I would try to learn."

"Yes, you can do a great many things; and that is one reason why I can't spare you, Lily. I think I have the best right to my brother's daughter." And she drew the little girl fondly towards her as she spoke.

"Oh, aunt," exclaimed Lilias eagerly, "if I could really help you and be a comfort to you, I would like nothing half so well."

"You can be useful to me. You are a comfort to me. I hardly know how I could part from you now, dear. Our way of living must be very humble; but that will not be so bad as being parted--will it, my Lily? You have learnt to love me a little, my child?"

Lilias answered by putting her arms round her aunt's neck, and kissing her again and again. Then in a low voice she said:

"You mind me of my father."

"And you mind me of the brother I loved and watched over as a child, and honoured as a man. If it is G.o.d's will, we will not be parted, my beloved child."

And so it was settled, and Lilias's heart was set at rest about the matter; and in the morning her face told the tidings to Archie before her lips could speak the words.

Mrs Blair's cottage lay at the distance of several miles from the kirk of Dunmoor, which she had all her life attended. It was some time before Archie was able to go so far, and Lilias had stayed at home with him. At length, one fine, clear Sabbath in the end of September, Mrs Blair yielded to their entreaties to be permitted to go with her; and early in the morning they set out. Instead of going by the highway, they took a pleasanter path over the hills, resting often, for Archie's sake, on some grey stone or mossy bank. The length of the way was beguiled by pleasant talk. Mrs Blair told them of the Sabbath journeys to the kirk from Glen Elder when she and her little brother were all in all to each other; and Lilias and Archie could never grow weary of hearing of their father's youthful days. Many in the kirk that day looked with interest on the children of Alexander Elder, as they sat by his sister's side, in the very same seat where he used to sit so many years ago; and many an earnest "G.o.d bless them!" went up to the Father of the fatherless in their behalf. Yes, it was the very same seat in which their father used to sit; and Lilias could hardly repress her tears as she saw his initials, with a date many years back, carved in the dark wood before her. The psalm-book, too, which he had used, had never been removed; and his name, in a large schoolboy's hand, was written many times on its blank leaves. Many of the Psalms were marked, too, as having been learnt at such or such a time; and it was long before Lilias could think of anything but the little lad like Archie (only rosy and strong) who had sat there with his sister so many years ago. The voice that spoke from the brown old pulpit was the same to which he had listened; for the aged minister had been her grandfather's friend, and her father had grown up beneath his eye, one of the dearest of a well-beloved flock.

His face and voice were to Lilias like those of a dear, familiar friend; and when he spoke of the things of which she loved to hear, she could no longer restrain her tears: indeed, she never thought of trying.

"For my ways are not as your ways; neither are my thoughts as your thoughts," were the words from which he spoke; and when he told them how it was oftentimes the way of our good Father in heaven to lead His chosen, worn and weary, fainting beneath heavy burdens, over rough places, through darkness and gloom, but all safe home at last, the words went to the child's heart as though they had been spoken to her alone of all who were waiting for a portion there; and her heart made answer, "What does it matter? It is only for a little while, and then all safe home at last. Not one forgotten, not one left out, in that day."