"Marion can go to Stuart and McDonald's and get whatever she wants."
Then Marion lifted her eyes and met her father's eyes, and she smiled and nodded; and, though no word was spoken, both were well satisfied.
"Now," continued Dr. Macrae, "I am going to my study to read. You will have plenty to talk about. I should only be in your way."
"Bide a minute, Ian; what about the servant lasses? You cannot shut up this house. Donald – poor lad – must have some place to lay his head, and eat his bread."
"I suppose there are servants in the Little House. Lady Cramer said you would require to bring nothing but your clothing. All else was provided."
"I will have my own servant girls, or none at all."
"Will you be requiring more than one? You might take Aileen, and leave Janet here to look after myself and Donald."
"If that pleases you, I'll make it suit me."
"Think, and talk over the matter. You will know your wish better in the morning. Good night."
The salutation was general, but he looked at Marion, and she answered the look in a way he understood and approved. Then Mistress Caird disappeared for half an hour, and when she returned to the parlor Marion had completed her shopping list.
"Aunt," she said, as she fluttered the bit of paper, "I have made out my list. I want so many things, I fear the bill will be very large."
"You need take no thought about the bill, dear. It will be a means of grace for your father to pay it. It is very seldom he has a fit of the liberalities. Teach him to open his hand now and then. A shut hand is a shut heart."
"But he was so prompt and kind about it. He never curtailed me in any way. It is mean to take advantage of his trust and generosity."
"You have to be mean to make men generous. You must keep your father's hand open. Let me see your list."
She read it with a smile, and then, laughing gaily, said: "Well, Marion, if this is your idea of fine dressing, it is a very primitive one. You must have at least one silk dress, and what about gloves and satin slippers and silk stockings to wear with them? And you will require a spangled fan, and satin sashes, and bits of lace, and there's no mention of hats or parasols. It is a fragmentary document, Marion, and I am sure you had better begin it over again, with Jessy Caird to help you."
When this revision had been made, Marion was still more disturbed. "It does seem too much, Aunt," she said. "I cannot treat Father in this way. It is mean."
"Now I will tell you something. I maybe ought to have told you before. Listen! You are spending your own money, not his. Your mother left you all she had, and got your father's promise to give you the interest of it for your private spending, as soon as your school days were over. She knew you would then be wanting this and that, and perhaps not be liking to ask for it. Your father is just giving you your own. Spend it wisely, and I have no doubt he will continue to give it to you at regular periods."
"That makes things different. My mother! Did I ever see her?"
"She died when you were two days old. She saw you. From her breast I took you to my heart, and I have loved you, Marion, as my own child."
"I am your own child, Aunt. I love you with all my heart. Why did you never talk to me of my mother before?"
"Because it is always wise to let the Past alone. Give all your heart and sense to the Priceless Present. You have nothing to do with the unborn To-morrow or the dead Yesterday."
"But my mother – "
"Some day I'll tell you all about her. Did you notice how unconcerned your father was regarding the house, and the servant girls – and your brother, also?"
"He advised us to take one girl and leave the other here. You said 'Yes' to that proposal, Aunt."
"He took me unawares. I shall say 'No' to it to-morrow. Men have an idea that a house takes care of itself, that servants work naturally, and that dinners are bought ready cooked. He knew enough, however, to choose the best of the two girls to stay here. I am going to take both of them with me. I will not be beholden to my Lady for servants, not I! I shall send for old Maggie in the morning; she can look after the house and the two men in it – fine!"
"I wish Donald could go with us."
"If he could, your father would not let him. He is very angry with Donald, these six months past."
"Why?"
"He wanted him to go to St. Andrews to prepare for the ministry, and the lad, who usually keeps his own good sense to the fore, forgot himself and told his father – his father, mind you! – that he would 'not preach Calvinism' if he got 'the city of Glasgow for doing it.' And the minister was angry, and Donald got dour and then said a few words he should not have said to anybody in a Calvinist minister's presence."
"What did he say?"
"He said he did not believe in Election. He said every soul was elect; that even in hell Dives held fast to the fatherhood of God, and God called Dives 'son.' He said Religion was not a creed, it was a Life, and moreover, he said, Calvinism was a wall between the soul and God, and what use was there in hewing out roads to a wall?"
"Poor Father! Donald should not have said such things in his presence. No, he should not! I am angry at Donald for doing so."
"Well, the Macrae was aboon the Reverend that day. He was white angry. He could not, he did not dare to, open his mouth. He just set the door wide, and ordered Donald out with a wave of his hand."
"Poor Donald! That was hard, too."
"Yes, the Macraes are always
– 'hard to themselves
And worse to their foes.'
Donald just came to my room, and I left him alone to cry his young heart out. But my heart was, and is, with Donald. He is man grown, and he has a right to have his own opinions."
"Maybe so, Aunt. But he should not throw his opinions like a stone in Father's face."
"Perhaps you'll do the same some day."
"Me! Never! Never!"
"I'm glad to hear that."
"How came Donald to go to Reed and McBryne's shipping office?"
"He spent the next few days miserably. He did not see his father save at meal times, and the two of them never opened their mouths. So I said one morning, 'A new housekeeper will be necessary here, for I will not eat my bread like a dumb beast a day longer.' Then the mail brought the news of the break-up in your school, and your father said to me as soon as we were by ourselves, 'Jessy, you must see that Marion's room is made pretty. She is a young lady now, and, if anything is needing, get it.'"
"That was like Father's thoughtfulness."
"The thought was not all for you. There were other serious considerations, and he was keeping them in mind. I looked straight in his face and asked, 'What are you going to do about Donald's future?' He said, 'I do not know'; and I answered, 'You must find out, for, if I stay here, something must be done for Donald this day, and I will not require to tell you this again, Ian.'"
"O Aunt! how could you speak, or even think, of leaving us? What would I do here, wanting you?"
"You did not have to want me, child, and I knew that. At the dinner hour your father laid down his knife and fork in the middle of the dessert, and said, 'Donald, you will go in the morning to Reed and McBryne's shipping office. I have got you a clerkship there. The salary is small, but your home will be here, and you will have few and trifling expenses.'"
"What answer did Donald make?"
"He was red with passion when his father finished speaking, and he answered quickly, 'I will not be a shipping clerk. No, sir! I will take the Queen's shilling and go to the army. Macraes have ever been fighters. I want no pen. I will have a sword. How can you ask me to be a clerk, Father? It is cruel! Too cruel!'"
"Poor Donald!"
"I