Part 34 (2/2)
She laughed happily in his face, and he s.n.a.t.c.hed a kiss from her as he carried off the tray.
The woman by the fire rose again in amazement as she saw the broad-shouldered handsome man who was bringing in the tea. Anderson had been tramping through the thin-lying snow all day, inquiring into the water-supply of a distant portion of the farm. He was ruddy with exercise, and the physical strength that seemed to radiate from him intimidated the wanderer.
”Where are you bound to?” he said kindly, as he put down the tea beside her.
The woman, falteringly, told her story. Anderson frowned a little.
”Well, I'd better go and talk to your husband. Mrs. Anderson will look after you.”
And Elizabeth held the baby, while the woman fed languidly--too tired and spiritless indeed to eat.
When she could be coaxed no further, Elizabeth took her and the babe upstairs.
”I never saw anything like this in these parts!” cried the girl, looking round her at the white-tiled bathroom.
”Oh, they're getting quite common!” laughed Elizabeth. ”See how nice and warm the water is! Shall we bathe the baby?” And presently the child lay warm and swaddled in its mother's arms, dressed in some baby-clothes produced by Elizabeth from a kind of travellers' cupboard at the top of the stairs. Then the mother was induced to try a bath for herself, while Elizabeth tried her hand at spoon-feeding the baby; and in half an hour she had them both in bed, in the bright spare-room--the young mother's reddish hair unbound lying a splendid ma.s.s on the white pillows, and a strange expression--as of some long tension giving way--on her pinched face.
”We'll not know how to thank you”--she said brokenly. ”We were just at the last. Tom wouldn't ask no one to help us before. But we'd only a few s.h.i.+llings left--we thought at Battleford, we'd sell our bits of things--perhaps that'd take us through.” She looked piteously at Elizabeth, the tears gathering in her eyes.
”Oh! well, we'll see about that!” said Elizabeth, as she tucked the blankets round her. ”n.o.body need starve in this country! Mr. Anderson'll be able perhaps to think of something. Now you go to sleep, and we'll look after your husband.”
Anderson joined his wife in the sitting-room, with a perplexed countenance. The man was a poor creature--and the beginnings of the drink-craving were evident.
”Give him a chance,” said Elizabeth. ”You want one more man in the bothy.”
She sat down beside him, while Anderson pondered, his legs stretched to the fire. A train of thought ran through his mind, embittered by the memory of his father.
He was roused from it by the perception that Elizabeth was looking tired. Instantly he was all tenderness, and anxious misgiving. He made her lie down on the sofa by the fire, and brought her some important letters from Ottawa to read, and the English newspapers.
From the elementary human need with which their minds had just been busy, their talk pa.s.sed on to National and Imperial affairs. They discussed them as equals and comrades, each bringing their own contribution.
”In a fortnight we shall be in Ottawa!” sighed Elizabeth, at last.
Anderson smiled at her plaintive voice.
”Darling!--is it such a tragedy?”
”No, I shall be as keen as anybody else when we get there. But--we are so happy here!”
”Is that really, really true?” asked Anderson, taking her hand and pressing it to his lips.
”Yes”--she murmured--”yes--but it will be truer still next year!”
They looked at each other tenderly. Anderson stooped and kissed her, long and closely.
He was called away to give some directions to his men, and Elizabeth lay dreaming in the firelight of the past and the future, her hands clasped on her breast, her eyes filling with soft tears. Upstairs, in the room above her, the emigrant mother and baby lay sleeping in the warmth and shelter gathered round them by Elizabeth. But in tending them, she had been also feeding her own yearning, quickening her own hope. She had given herself to a man whom she adored, and she carried his child on her heart. Many and various strands would have gone to the weaving of that little soul; she trembled sometimes to think of them. But no fear with her lasted long. It was soon lost in the deep poetic faith that Anderson's child in her arms would be the heir of two worlds, the pledge of a sympathy, a union, begun long before her marriage in the depths of the spirit, when her heart first went out to Canada--to the beauty of the Canadian land, and the freedom of the Canadian life.
THE END
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