Christine by Amelia Edith Huddleston Barr (top 5 ebook reader txt) 📕

conclusion that he had arrived at. "There has been a great mistake," she said softly to herself, "and we be to mak' the best o' it. It isna beyond God's power to sort it right yet."

So Neil was seldom named unless a letter came from him, which was not a frequent occurrence. The boxes filled with home delicacies were no longer sent, nor was their absence noted, nor their presence requested. Neil was making money as a coach to younger and wealthier students. He now dined at the best hotel, and had a very good breakfast in his comfortable rooms. But Christine felt that the breaking of this tie of "something good to eat" was a serious thing. Home was a long way further off to Neil, when the motherly baskets of homemade dainties ceased coming to him, and all Christine's apologies--whether they touched his mother's ill health, or his own prosperity's making them unnecessary, did not mend the matter. They were just common bread and meat, mere physical things, but their want was heart-hunger, and doubt and suspicion, in place of the love and pleasure they had always caused.

Generally, however, as one interest in life dies out, another springs up, and the school building, and the little laddie kept the Ruleson family happily busy. Ruleson had been asked to superintend the building and he did the work with a completeness which was natural to him. He looked over every load of stone, and saw that the blocks of granite were well fitting, and perfect in color. He examined all the mortar made, lest the builders follow modern habits and put too much sand among the lime. He returned as unworthy many pounds of nails, which were either too short, or too slight, for the purposes for which they were intended; and the slating for the roof was a thing he did not trust to anyone but James Ruleson. So the school house and his fishing kept him busy and happy, and Margot and Christine looked at him with wonder and pleasure. He was always smiling, and always listening to Jamie, who was chattering at his side, whenever he was on land.

So life at Culraine pursued the even tenor of its way, until the middle of March, when the school was opened for a short quarter until the herring should come on in July. The building was by no means finished, but the walls were up, the windows in, the slate roof on, and the desks and forms in place. The master's room, the painting, plastering, and decoration were untouched. Ruleson thought they could be attended to during the herring fishing, and the school formally opened in September.

To a man quite unaccustomed to business, these were tremendous, yet delightful responsibilities; and Ruleson lived between his boat and the school. When he was on land, Jamie was always at his side. Hitherto Ruleson had been noted for his reticence. Even among such a silent race as the Fife fishers his silence was remarkable. He had held his peace even from good, but the child always chattering at his side had taught him to talk. Jamie's thirst for knowledge was insatiable, he was always wanting to know something or other, and the inquisitive "why" was constantly on his lips. Few people could remember James Ruleson's laughing, now his big guffaw constantly carried on its echo the little lad's shrill treble laugh. Ruleson had many amiable qualities unused and undeveloped that the boy brought out in many different ways. In his little grandson's company he was born again, and became as a little child. This was an actual and visible conversion. The whole village testified to this wonderful new birth.

On the fourteenth of March the dream of his heart came true. He saw the little children come running through the sand hills, and over the heather, to the school. From far and near, they came, wearing their best clothes, and happy as if it was a holiday. He listened to them reciting, after their teachers, a morning prayer. He heard them learning in class together the alphabet, and the first lessons in numbers and addition, a lesson which all acquired rapidly by some secret natural process. For if the teacher asked how many two and two made, he had not to wait a moment for a correct answer from every baby mouth. It amazed Ruleson, until he remembered that no one had ever taught him to count. Through generations of clever bargaining mothers, had this ability become a natural instinct. The Domine thought it might have done so.

In some way or other, the school made Christine's life very busy. She was helping weary mothers make little dresses, and little breeches, or doing a bit of cleaning for them, or perhaps cooking a meal, or nursing the baby for an hour. She was mending or weaving nets, she was redding up her own home. She was busy with the washing or ironing, or hearing Jamie's lessons, or helping her mother with the cooking. Her hands were never idle, and there was generally a smile on her face, a song on her lips, or a pleasant word for everyone within the sound of her cheerful voice.

She had also her own peculiar duties. There were long and frequent letters from Cluny to answer, and occasionally one from Angus Ballister, the latter always enclosing a pretty piece of lace, or a trifle of some kind, special to the city he was in. Ballister's letters troubled her, for they were written still in that tone of "it might have been," with a certain faint sense of reproach, as if it was her fault, that it had not been. This was so cleverly insinuated, that there was nothing for her to deny, or to complain of. She wished he would not write, she wished he would cease sending her any reminders of "days forever gone." His sentimental letters were so evidently the outcome of a cultivated heart-breaking disappointment, that they deeply offended her sense of truth and sincerity.

One day she received from him a letter dated Madrid, and it contained a handsome lace collar, which she was asked to wear for his sake, and thus remember his love "so sorrowfully passionate, and alas, so early doomed to disappointment and despair!"

"The leeing lad!" she angrily exclaimed. "I'll just tell him the truth, and be done wi' him. I'll send him the collar back, and tell him I'm no carin' to be reminded o' him, in ony shape or fashion. I'll tell him he kens naething about love, and is parfectly ignorant o' any honest way o' makin' love. I'll tell him that he never loved me, and that I never loved him worth talking about, and that I'll be obligated to him if he'll drop the makin' believe, and write to me anent village matters, or not write at a'."

Days so full and so happy went quickly away, and though there had been so much to do, never had the village been ready for the herring visit, as early, and so completely, as it was this summer. When Margot's roses began to bloom, the nets were all leaded, and ready for the boats, and the boats themselves had all been overhauled and their cordage and sails put in perfect condition. There would be a few halcyon days of waiting and watching, but the men were gathering strength for the gigantic labor before them, as they lounged on the pier, and talked sleepily of their hopes and plans.

It was in this restful interval that James and Margot Ruleson received a letter from their son Neil, inviting them to the great Commencement of his college. He said he was chosen to make the valedictory speech for his class, that he had passed his examination with honor, and would receive his commission as one of Her Majesty's attorneys at law. "If you would honor and please me by your presence, dear father and mother," he wrote, "I shall be made very happy, and I will secure a room for you in the house where I am living, and we can have our meals together."

It is needless to say this letter canceled all faults. Margot was delighted at the prospect of a railway journey, and a visit to Aberdeen. She was going to see for hersel' what a university was like--to see the hundreds o' lads studying for the law and the gospel there--to hae a change in the weary sameness of her hard fisher life. For a few days she was going to be happy and play, hersel', and see her lad made a gentleman, by the gracious permission o' Her Majesty, Queen Victoria.

The invitation being gladly accepted, Margot had anxious consultations with Christine about her dress. She knew that she was the handsomest woman in Culraine, when she wore her best fishing costume; "but I canna wear the like o' it," she said in a lingering, rather longing tone.

"Na, na, Mither, ye be to dress yoursel' like a' ither ladies. Your gray silk is fine and fitting, but you must hae a new bonnet, and white gloves, and a pair o' patent leather shoon--a low shoe, wi' bows o' black ribbon on the instep. There's few women hae a neater foot than you hae, and we'll gae the morn and get a' things needfu' for your appearance. Feyther hes his kirk suit, and he is requiring naething, if it be not a pair o' gloves."

"He never puts a glove on his hand, Christine."

"Ay, weel, he can carry them in his hand. They are as respectable in his hands, as on them. It is just to show folk that he can afford to glove his hands, if he wants to do it. That is maistly what people wear fine claes of all kinds for. They would be happier i' their ivery day loose and easy suits, I'm thinking," said Christine.

"I wonder why Neil didna ask you, Christine. You helped him many a weary hour to the place he is now standing on. If he had not asked anyone else, he ought to hae bidden you to his finishing and honoring. Why didn't he do that proper thing? Hae ye ony quarrel wi' him?"

"Not a word oot o' place between us. I wrote him a four-page letter three days syne."

"What's the matter, then?"

"He's feared for me, Mither. He's feared his friend Reginald will do as Angus did, fa' in love wi' me, and then get oot o' love wi' him. Men are silly as bairns anent some things. I'm not carin', Mither. Someone must bide at hame, and look after wee Jamie, and you yoursel' will be mair contented if you ken I am here to tak' tent o' the house and bairn, and the lave o' things."

"Ay, it's better. You canna leave a house its lane, any mair than a bairn. The ane will get into dole and mischief, as quick as the ither. You'll be minding Polly Cromarty's bit cottage, taking fire and burning to the ground, and not a man, woman, or bairn near it. And Bella Simpson the same, and Kate Dalrymple losing a' her savings, and the house locked and barr'd and naebody in it, or near it. I'll go to Aberdeen real happy if you are watching the house, while I'm awa' playing, mysel'."

So there was a week of happy preparation, and then on a fine Monday morning Mr. and Mrs. Ruleson went to Aberdeen. Margot was satisfied to leave her house in Christine's care, but at the last hour, she had discovered another likelihood of trouble. It was the herring.

"They are maistly twa weeks earlier, or later than looked for, Christine,"