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Marg’et Ann
by
“Of course you will do right, father, and I will see about the school; I think I can get it. You must not worry; we shall get on very well.”
Out in the June sunshine Lloyd was coming up the walk with Nancy Helen. She had been gathering wild strawberries in the meadow across the lane, and they had met at the gate. Her sunbonnet was pushed back from her crinkly hair, and her cheeks were stained redder than her finger-tips by Lloyd’s teasing.
Marg’et Ann looked at them and sighed.
* * * * *
After her brother’s return from presbytery Miss Nancy McClanahan borrowed her sister-in-law’s horse and rode over to visit the Morrisons. It was not often that Miss Nancy made a trip of this kind alone, and Marg’et Ann ran down the walk to meet her, rolling down her sleeves and smoothing her hair.
Miss Nancy took the girl’s soft cheeks in her hands and drew them into the shadow of her cavernous sunbonnet for a withered kiss.
“I want to see your father, Margie,” she whispered, and the gentle constraint of spiritual things came into Marg’et Ann’s voice as she answered,–
“He’s in the best room alone; I moved him in there this morning to be out of the sweeping. You can go right in.”
She lingered a little, hoping her old friend’s concern of soul might not have obscured her interest in the salt-rising bread, which had been behaving untowardly of late; but Miss Nancy turned her steps in the direction of the best room, and Marg’et Ann opened the door for her, saying,–
“It’s Miss McClanahan, father.”
The minister looked up, wrinkling his forehead in the effort to disentangle himself from his thoughts. The old maid crossed the room toward him with her quick, hitching step.
“Don’t try to get up, Joseph,” she said, as he laid his hand on his crutches; “I’ll find myself a chair.”
She sat down before him, crossing her hands in her lap. The little worn band of gold was not on her finger, but there was a smooth white mark where it had been.
“Samuel got home from presbytery yesterday; he told me what was before them. I thought I’d like to have a little talk with you.”
Her voice trembled as she stopped. A faint color showed itself through the silvery stubble on the minister’s cheeks; he patted the arms of his chair nervously.
“I’m hardly prepared to discuss my opinions. They are vague, very vague, at best. I should be sorry to unsettle the faith”–
“I don’t care at all about your opinions,” Miss Nancy interrupted, pushing his words away with both hands; “I only wanted to speak to you about Marg’et Ann.”
“Marg’et Ann!” The minister’s relief breathed itself out in gentle surprise.
“Yes, Marg’et Ann. I think it’s time somebody was thinking of her, Joseph.” Miss Nancy leaned forward, her face the color of a withered rose. “She’s doing over again what I did. Perhaps it was best for you. I believe it was, and I don’t want you to say a word,–you mustn’t,–but I can speak, and I’m not going to let Marg’et Ann live my life if I can help it.”
“I don’t understand you, Nancy.”
The minister laid his hands on his crutches and refused to be motioned back into his chair. He stood before her, looking down anxiously into her thin, eager face.
“I know you don’t. Esther never understood, either. You didn’t know that Marg’et Ann gave up Lloyd Archer because he had doubts, but I knew it. I wanted to speak then, but I couldn’t–to her–Esther,–and now you don’t know that she’s going to give him up again because you have doubts, Joseph. That’s the way with women. They have no principles, only to do the hardest thing. But I know what it means to work and worry and pinch and have nothing in the end, not even troubles of your own,–they would be some comfort. And I’m going to save Marg’et Ann from it. I’m going to come here and take her place. I’ve got a little something of my own, you know; I always meant it for her.”