Lillies Leaf: being a concluding series of Passages in the Life of Mrs. Margaret Maitland, etc

Chapter I

" Ay, Aunt Margaret," said my niece Mary to me, as she rose from where she was sitting by me, and went to get some work out of her little table, with a heavy sigh, " ay, Aunt Margaret, these were but the troubles of our youth, and it is life we have come to now." And I did not say a word to her, though my heart was sore for my dear bairn. When the troubles of youth were upon my niece Mary, I would have had no peace till she had trusted them to me; but now 1 durst but VOL I. B LILLIESLEAF. look at her, and sigh a weary sigh, that was scarce as bitter as her own. She was a married wife, and the mother of four bairns. There were troubles in her lot, that I might not put my hand into. We kept silence, her and me, with our hearts heavy within us, and syne began to speak of other folk, and things that moved us not.

Now it is not in my heart to think that stranger folk can mind what plain stories I once telled about my niece Mary, and my own bairn Grace, and the bits of struggles the young things had before they were married, when their fortune (so to speak, as the world speaks, but never forgetting the Lord's kind hand in Providence, that has been ever bountiful to me and mine) was in their own hands, and aU their lives before them ; and it wiU not take me long to tell who Mary Maitland was. She was my brother Claud's one daughter, come of a godly house and LILLIESLEAF. 3 name, and she was married upon Allan Elphinstone, of LiUiesleaf, a young gentle man of the country, well esteemed in this world, of an honourable famUy, and a good estate. Divers doubts and troubles had come before the two were married, but at last their hands were joined together in the fullness of hope.

It was now ten years since that time, and four bairns had come into the house, every one bonnier than the other. Cosmo, that was caUed after his father's father — Claud, my brother's name son ; and little Mary and Susan ; also there were other two, sweetest of all to my Mary's heart, and they were in heaven. For me I kent but little for my own hand, of what my dear bairn meant when she said Life. The troubles of youth were known to me, and I had lost my father and my mother, but that was nigh upon thirty years ago, and I had been long at rest. If I fathomed what B LILLIESLEAF. Mary meant, it was only because she herself was in my very heart — for Sunnyside had ever been a most quiet habitation, and Oakenshaw, where my bairn Grace was dwelling, was scarce less peaceful, though it might be more blythe than my own house; which, maybe, was one reason that I kept silence, and did not say even to old Mrs. Elphinstone that Mary was white and worn, and looked not like herself.

But LiUiesleaf was a great house, and there were many servants in it, and to rule it weU cost care — and my niece Mary, though ever a gentlewoman, had been, as it was right, used to quiet ways in the Manse, her father's house, and was, doubtless, the more encumbered with her daily burdens here ; and the mother of bairns has ever cares upon her head ; and, truly, I marvel at myself that I should make a wonder about it, as if my dear bairn needed to have some secret grief upon her spirit, when, doubtless, it was only LILLIESLEAF. 5 the sober mind that became a woman, guiding her house and her servants well. We were sitting in a pleasant parlour, where Mary aye sat in the mornings, where all the furnishing was plain, and did not need to be taken care of, and where the bairns might come at their wUl.

The windows were towards the east, and the outlook was very bright and lightsome from one of them, where the trees were thinned, and you could see a far way, past the very outer gate of LiUiesleaf, to where the roofs of the cottages at the Knowe were shining in the sun ; they were mostly red tiled, and they made a glow in the light, glinting through the green trees ; and the view was aye warm and kindly to me for their sakes. Summer and winter, Mary had her seat in this window; Mr. AUan, I minded well, had caused build these bits of houses before he was married upon my dear bairn, and the place had been caUed LILLIESLEAF. Mary's Knowe. It might be that that was the cause why Mary favoured it — though I have also seen her turn her chair about, so that she might not see them, with her old spark of anger in her eye — for Mary was not to call a subdued woman, but had some of her old temper about her stiU.

A very big and soft easy chair with pillows in it stood aye by the fireside in this room, and here old Mrs. Elphinstone sat when she was able to come down the stair, early in the day. She was not here this morning, and it was a bonnie spring morning, sunny and blythe, and we had let out the fire. I was stitching white linen coUars for the bairns, and Mary was busy at something, for I do not very well mind what it was. I had only come to LUliesleaf the day before, and her and me had got but little time for our own cracks till now. " And, my dear," said I, " Grace would LILLIESLEAF. very fain have you and the bairns to see her yonder. She whiles complains* to me how you two are parted, and wonders if she would be as much taken up as you, if she had as many bairns." " The bairns make a great difference, aunt," said Mary with a little faint smile that came and was gone in a moment.

" I have always something to do sor them." " But many a poor man's wife has everything to do for them, Mary," said I, half meaning to reprove her ; for surely the Laird of LiUiesleaf 's wife had little occasion to com plain of what she had to do. "Ay, aunt," said Mary, and she looked up into my face with a strange smUe, that was not what I liked to see. " Do you know I think I would have made a very good poor man's wife, aunt," she said, trying to be blythe, " that was what I was intended for — to take care of aU my LILLIESLEAF. curly heads in one of the cottages on the Knowe." " My dear, Providence kent best what you were intended for," said I. " Is Mrs. Elphinstone very frail, Mary? she's very sore failed since I saw her last." " She is just like the rest of us, aunt," said Mary, " she has begun to trouble her mind, and she is not young enough, nor strong enough to bear much thinking, and care frets her spirit and disturbs it.

I see you wUl not ask me what care she can have," said Mary, glancing up at me with the colour rising on her brow, " and I thank you for it, aunt ; but she is disturbed because she thinks that Allan — because she supposes we are exceeding our means. Well, it is serious enough if it should be so. That is what troubles Mrs. Elphinstone, aunt." " And yet she tells me you are such a grand manager, Mary," said I; for the LILLIESLEAF. moment I did not understand the bairn. Mary laughed and turned away ; she made me no answer, and I was not long before I came to see the truth, and asked no more questions about that. " But, my dear, its a comfort to me to see your mother," said I, " she never was bon nier to me in aU her days." " Oh, Aunt Margaret, is she not too bonnie ?" cried Mary, coming back to me so quick that I was taken by surprise.

"I dare not think of that. I nurse Mrs. Elphin stone, and I leave my own mother to stran gers, and it makes me crazy to think of it. Oh, aunt, aunt, do not go away !" " My dear bairn," said I, " wherefore are you troubled ? You are doing what God has put in your hands. Mary, Mary, is this Uke you ?" "Yes, aunt," said Mary, drying her wet b LILLIESLEAF. cheeks, and listing up her face from the table, where she had leant it upon my hands ; " indeed it is very like me ; everything that is impatient and unreasonable is like me ; — but nobody ever sees it. I have only betrayed myself to you, and I will promise to be good, like little Susie, and never do it again. But teU me about my mother, aunt ? Do you think she is as strong as she was ? Do you think she is well ? Don't deceive me, Aunt Margaret ; but ifyou can, say there is nothing to fear."

" My dear, if anything ails my sister Mary, it is seeing you look white and dwining ; there is nothing else," said I. " Then, I wiU look well, aunt," said Mary, in an eager voice, " you may be quite sure 1 wUl look weU. My mother, surely, is not anxious about me — why should she ? You see, aunt, how very well and comfortable I am." LILLIESLEAF. 11 My poor bairn ! my poor Mary ! and with the quiver in her Up, and the tear in her eye, and the flutter and trouble in her face, she insisted with me how well she was. I said not a word, except to quiet her ; but, truly, my heart was very sore. From her earhest days, my niece Mary was of a quick and wayward spirit, and out of her griefs and her troubles, the bairn had come unchanged. But we were both blythe when the door opened, and all the bairns came in, dancing and jumping over one another, and a very decent woman with them, that was their maid.

And every one had its own story to teU ; and truly it was a pleasant sight to me, to see the wee things crowding about my bairn, and to think that they would arise and call her blessed, when they were of years to ken what a good mother was. " But Claud broke Susie's doU, mamma," LILLIESLEAF. said little Mary, who was an uncommon serious bairn ; " and I said I would teU you, because it was wrong. Mamma, I said Claud might break his ain drum, but he should not break Susie's doll." " But he said he was very sorry," said little Susie, shaking her head. And these were the common ways of the two little woman bairns — the one with her bit serious face, because it was wrong ; the other sweet thing with a tear in her eye, and aye an excuse in her mouth. Susie was but an infant when I was last at LiUiesleaf, and my heart yearned to the bairn, now.

"Mamma, may we go to the Manse?" said Claud. " Robie was to make me a wheel for my miU. I didna want to break Susie's doU, I wanted to see how it was made." " Mamma, 1 want my pony," cried Cosmo, and because the laddie was older and LILLIESLEAF. 13 stronger than the rest, and had a bigger voice, I could not help but start and turn around to look at him, " and they will not do what I bid them, because papa is going to the Castle, and they're all waiting on him. WiU you order Findlay to get me my pony, mamma ?" Such a bold boy he was! but he was over bold for a bairn ; though, when I looked upon his shining e'en, and his flushed face, and the manly look he had, I scarce could wonder that Mary was slow to see him wrong. When Cosmo spoke, she stopped from answering the other bairns, and when he said the Castle, there came a red glow over her brow, and syne, it faded to the saddest whiteness I ever saw.

She had to stop to take breath before she spoke. " You shaU have your pony, Cosmo," she said, in a quiet tone, but one in the which I was sore afraid the very bairns, as weU as me, LILLIESLEAF. could read the quietness of indignation, and pain, and offence that were scarce to be controlled, "and you shall aU drive over to the Manse, little ones, with Aunt Margaret and me ; but you must not trouble me any more just now. Stay here, aU of you, tiU I come back." And she went away, and left me and the servantwoman, the bairn's maid, looking at each other. I began in a great hurry, when ever Mary was gone, to ask questions about one and another of the famUy, that the maid might not think I had any doubts in my mind about what her mistress meant. But I saw in her face that she kent all was not well.

I read it in the wistful looks of the little things, and the bold face of Cosmo, that was more witting than face of bairn should be. My Mary, my simple-hearted bairn ! what was this that had come upon her. When she came back, I was mostlv what LILLIESLEAF. you might call disappointed — such selfish folk are we ! — to see that there was no vexation on her face, but only her ordinary look. And she said, Mr. Allan was away with Lord Burrowstoun and some strangers that were at the Castle, and would, maybe, not be at home again this day. " So we will go away to the Manse and see my father and my mother, Aunt Margaret," said Mary, with a quiver of her lips, and a sigh that she did not want me to hear. " And Cosmo wiU ride all the way beside us, and be our cavalier; and everybody wUl smile to see us in the Manse — every one : we always carry pleasure there."

I wished, and yet I feared to know what Mary might mean ; but I asked not a single question. She told me Mrs. Elphinstone was keeping her ain room, but would be down at night. And I was blythe to give my consent to go to the Manse ; and we had the carriage brought, and all the bairns put in it, and LILLIESLEAF. Cosmo on his pony waiting, as proud and glad as a boy could be. But wherefore did both his mother and me turn back to look at LiUiesleaf? For my own part, indeed, I cannot teU. LILLIESLEAF.

Chapter II

It was as sweet a spring day as ever I saw; and sure am I, I never went upon the road in sweeter company. The trees were beginning to loose out their young leaves from the bud, and the horse-chesnut boughs were rich above us, with their big leaves half folded, and no a sign of blossom, except here and there on the sunniest branch of aU. It was early May, and the very air was sweet, and when I looked upon the three bonnie bairns in the carriage beside me, LILLIESLEAF. and minded where I was going, and lookit out upon this road I kent so weU, I could not keep my heart from rising. Truly, I am a woman in years, and have kent tribulation ; but I seldom can refuse to be blythe when spring is about me, and bairns by my side. But, when I looked to Mary, I could not but catch a shadow of the cloud that was upon her face.

Though Susie's bonnie hand was holding her, and aU their blythe voices round, Mary's brow was knitted, and her eyes were traveUing along a turn of the road. What she saw there in her spirit, I cannot teU. There was nought to be seen by me but the sunshine lying upon the path, and the shadows of the trees ; but it was the road to the Castle, where, may be, Mr. AUan was not long past, and woes me but she had little pleasure in it, if that was what she thought. But I was blythe to see what a pleasure LILLIESLEAF. it was to aU the bairns to go to the Manse, from Cosmo, prancing on his brisk little pony, to Susie that aye nestled like a birdie between her mamma and me. The new Manse was weU placed for seeing the country, and they saw us coming for long before we got there; so that Mary, my sister, and the minister, and Robie, the minister's man, and one of the maids, forbye, were aU waiting at the door ; and truly it was a jubUee.

It seemed to me, as if the house was lying sleeping aU its life, but just when Mary and the bairns came; but at sight of them it wakened up, and was like itself again. They were dwelhng their lane, as in the first days of their youth, my brother and my sister. Their hopes had come to pass, and were departed from them. Their bairns had entered into their own life ; and truly, it is but a sad thing for the father and the mother of a bonnie family to look forward LILLIESLEAF. to, that in the natural course of time, the young things will aU depart from them, and the nursing birds be left their lane. The very maids were moved as if it was a ploy ; and there was a tray set already in the parlour, with fine scones and butter of Bessie's own making, and more than one kind of jam for pieces to the bairns ; and it is many a long day since I have seen Mary, my sister, look so like herself.

"Now," said she, " if we had but Claud, and Grace, and little Maggie here ;" and, for myself, I was very nigh being jealous, that the little bairn at Oakenshaw, my Grace's one child, would be forgotten among the family of LiUiesleaf. Mary, my niece, threw off her shawl and her bonnet, and sat down with a dreary look, that every one of us old folk took note of; and when her mother came to ask how she was, she first said she was very well, and then that she was no very weU, LILLIESLEAF. and then she laughed, and looked at me. " I like to complain, when I come home, aunt," said Mary, " even though it makes my mother anxious. I like to be ill, and to be petted and taken care of, and to mind that I was once young. Mother, indeed, I am quite weU — it is only for the pleasure of having your hand about me, that I pretend to complain."

I did not hear what Mary, my sister, answered to that ; for the tears came in mv eyes, and I turned away to the little things who were gathering about the table. Little Mary had climbed up upon her grandpapa's knee, and was lifting up her little serious face to him, and telling him some story ; though I kent not what it was about ; and Cosmo was mounting Susie high up upon a bairn's chair — a new chair, that was right enough for a nursery, but strange here ; but, LILLIESLEAF. to teU the truth, my brother and sister cared more for the pleasure of these bairns, than for anything else in the world. They told me Mary was Claud's pet — I doubt not because of her name. " We wiU stay and dine, if you like, mother," said my niece Mary; "for Allan has gone out — I mean, he will be at the Castle. There are a great many people there now; but I suppose Lord Burrowstoun will soon go away again, and he is always seeking Allan — so, we are alone to-day."

" When were you there yourself, Mary ?" said her mother. " Not since the first time? But it would be little pleasure to you." " It was no pleasure to me," said Mary, very quietly. " I do not wish to go again." '' Mary, come and do your duty," said the minister. " Cosmo is not bold enough to meddle with the jams. My boy, is there LILLIESLEAF. anything else in the world you would be afraid to do ?" " Yes ;" said Cosmo, readily. " I'm some times very feared, grandpapa. When I fell into Sedgie Burn, and when I broke my arm, and when they lest me at night in the old tower at Lochlee — I was quite as feared as Susie. Now it's true." "And what might you be feared for, Cosmo?" said I. " I was feared mamma would be angry," the caUant said ; and he took time to say no more, for he was busy with one of Bessie's beautiful scones, and it was just wonderful to see the way it disappeared.

They were aU very good at that, and, by the time they were done, the jam and the bread were done too, and no very much milk left in the big china jug. So they all went away out to the garden, to their own plays, and we were left in quietness. " When are you to have a tutor for LILLIESLEAF. Cosmo, Mary ?" said the minister. " He is old enough to be a good scholar. I spoke to LiUiesleaf about young Richard Blythe. Have you heard him speak of it again ?" " I — I can scarcely teU you, father," said Mary, looking down. " AUan was to see about it; but somebody mentioned to him some one from Oxford — and — and, I suppose there is nothing settled. He has so much to do." " Well, my dear, LiUiesleaf is the best judge," said my brother, rising up, not with out anger, as I thought ; " and they do attend more to the classics in England — but — well, well, Mary, never mind.

I thought I might have been able to do something for young Blythe." " Father — father ! I cannot help it ! Do not be displeased," cried Mary, " I will speak to Allan again ; he wiU have more time when these people are away." LILLIESLEAF. 25 " And I wish with all my heart they were away," cried the minister, and he went away to his study, still with a gloom upon his brow. " My father does not quite understand, mother," said Mary, turning to us with a pleading voice. " Allan is so kind, and so good-hearted himself, he would like to help everybody — and somebody had spoken to him at the Castle — and he has so many friends there — and it is difficult for him to refuse to help any one, or do a service. You understand, mother?" " Yes, Mary, yes," said my sister The bairn turned to me with her eyes full of tears.

" Oh, aunt ! will you help me with my father and my mother," she cried. " My mother only says ' yes,' to please me. She is not satisfied — she is never satisfied. Aunt Margaret, you see what I mean." vol. i. c LILLIESLEAF. The Lord help and bless my poor bairn ! She was not satisfied herself, but far, far from tha _— and what did she mean insisting with her mother and me ? Were we to be pleased, when she was not pleased herself? Woes me ! but it is hard to ken the secrets of the heart. To make a divert, I began to ask about old neighbours, and the news of the coun tryside — the new bairns, and who was married, and who had departed into the better country. Truly, there were but few of our age abiding in these borders, that had been young when we were young ; and my sister Mary and me grew quiet as we spoke, no to caU sad, but taking thought of what lay near to us both in the natural course of time.

But this was far from pleasing my niece Mary ; she would not let us be still and quiet, and commune in a serious way. She was restless her own self, LILLIESLEAF. and it seemed to fret her spirit more to see us grave. She would have in the bairns again, and when they were dancing about the room, she drew a chair to the window, and took up her mother's seam, and was more like what it was my desire to see her ; but, poor bairn, she was never at rest. It may seem strange to folk that know us not, to hear me calling her a bairn that had a house and a family of her own ; but Mary, my niece, was aye young to me. I could see care upon her bonnie brow, and have a sore heart to see it there ; but I could not see the mark of years upon her ; though whiles she would smile and look in my face, and tell me she was older than me.

Ay, I would not say; maybe her hands were full of troubles, that were unkent in the quiet life the Lord had granted to me ; but I smUed back again and said nought, but kent full well tbe c LILLIESLEAF. difference — the strong spring that was weUing up in her heart, and the still waters that lay subdued in mine. We took our dinner at the Manse in the middle of the day, the bairns being with us ; and I was well pleased when Mary went out to see a school near at hai_d, and left my sister and me our lane. But stiU we did not speak of her, though our hearts were full of nothing else ; and when we did come to mention her name, it was all what a good mother she was, and how she cared for her bairns, and how she was aye our own bairn to us, notwithstanding aU. "They were always different," said Mary, my sister, in a thoughtful way ; " but what think you now, Margaret?

Mary and Grace — is there a great difference between them now ? They are both young mothers — both in their own house. Are they any way like each other?" LILLIESLEAF, 29 " It is not so long since you saw Grace yourself, Mary," said I. " Yes ; but I have not lived with her, I have not — I want your opinion, Marga ret," said my sister, in a very hasty manner. It was the same way with all of us ; we were aye wanting each to persuade the other that aU was well with our dear bairn. " They were aye different," said 1 ; " but Grace is married upon Claud, and you ken what your son is." My sister's eyes grew bright, and then she sighed. Claud was an honoured man, happy and beloved in his own house, and in the countryside. But Mary, Mary ! — the one that was in trouble, was nearest to our hearts. " Grace has a lighter heart ; but then she has less care.

And Mary, wHh her family, has so many things to think of," said I. LILLIESLEAF. " That is it, Margaret !" cried my sister. " I always say that is it ; and LiUiesleaf is of a gayer temper, you see, and the responsibility is left upon the mistress of the house. We have every reason to believe he is a very kind husband. Do you not think so ? Only, you know, he was brought up in a worldly way, and he's a young man yet ; and it is all perfectly innocent, though it is not what we have been used to. I blame myself for being so anxious about Mary ; but I am sure, Margaret, you don't think there is any cause." " I see her in the garden herself — she is coming back," said I, "and she looks full blythe among all these bonnie bairns. The little things ken already what she is. What should we be anxious for ?

Look at them all, and be thankful, Mary. God will take care of her, as he bas taken care of us ; and truly he has blessed her now." LILLIESLEAF. And my sister came to the window beside me, and looked forth upon them, and was comforted. It was as pleasant a sight as eye could look upon — the littlest one of all holding her dress, and little serious Mary, the third of the name, clinging to her hand, and little Claud sitting on the grass at her feet, minding nothing but the wood he was whittling with his knife ; and that bonnie bold Cosmo standing by his mother as if he was as proud of her as we were, to whom she was a bairn. And so bright, and young, and womanlike she was herself — our Mary ! I could not see that sight, and be heavy at my heart. By and bye we went back again, when the afternoon shadows were lengthening, and Susie was wearied, being but delicate, and feU asleep on my knee.