Christie Redferns Troubles | Page 7

see to-night if my prayer is heard; that will be something;
and then I'll begin again, and try to be good, in spite of Aunt Elsie."
CHAPTER TWO.
THE COLPORTEUR.
The cows had not passed the gate. Somebody had opened it for them,
and they were now standing or lying in the yard, in the very perfection
of animal enjoyment. The girls were not at home to milk them,
however. Christie had heard her father's voice calling to them in the
lower field, and she knew it would be full half an hour, and quite dark,
before they could be at home. So, with a sigh, she took the stool and the
milk-pails from a bench near the door, and went to the yard to her task.
If her short-sighted eyes had seen the long, low wagon that stood at the
end of the house, curiosity would have tempted her to go back to see
who might be there. If she had known that in that wagon her sister Effie
had ridden home a day sooner than she was expected, she would not
have seated herself so quietly to her milking.
[Note: In America, any light four-wheeled vehicle is called a wagon.]
Christie was not lazy, though her aunt sometimes accused her of being
so. When her heart was in her work, she could do it quickly and well;
and her strength failed her always before her patience was exhausted.
She knew she must finish the milking alone now, and she set to it with
a will. In a surprisingly short time she was standing between two
foaming milk-pails at the gate. To carry them both at once was almost,
though not quite, beyond her strength; and as she stood for a moment
hesitating whether she would try it, or go with one and return for the
other, the matter was decided for her.
"Christie!" said a voice--not Aunt Elsie's--from the door.

Turning, Christie saw her sister Effie. Surprise kept her riveted to the
spot till her sister came down the path.
"Dinna lift them, Christie: you are no more able to do it than a chicken.
I'll carry them."
But she stooped first to place her hands on her little sister's shoulders
and to kiss her softly. Christie did not speak; but the touch of her
sister's lips unsealed the fountain of her tears, and clinging to her and
hiding her face, she cried and sobbed in a way that, at last, really
frightened her sister.
"Why, Christie! Why, you foolish lassie! What ails you, child? Has
anything happened?--or is it only that you are so glad to see me home
again? Don't cry in that wild way, child. What is it, Christie?"
"It's nothing--I dinna ken--I canna help it!" cried Christie, after an
ineffectual effort to control herself.
Her sister held the trembling little form for a moment without speaking,
and then she said, cheerfully:
"See, Christie! It's growing dark! We must be quick with the milking."
"Why didna you come last week, Effie?" said Christie, rousing herself
at last.
"Oh, partly because of the rain, and partly because I thought I would
put my two holidays together. This is Thursday night, and I can stay till
Monday morning--three whole days."
Christie gave a sigh, and smiled.
"Come," said Effie; "I'll help you. I was waiting till you came from the
pasture. I didna see you come."
"No; I didna go in."
It seemed to Christie that a very heavy burden had been lifted from her

heart. She smiled without the sigh, as soon as she met her sister's grave
look.
"Did you walk home, Effie?" she asked.
"No; I got a chance to ride with the book-man. He was at the corner,
and offered to bring me home, as he was coming this way. How
beautiful your pans look, Christie! Will you need them all?"
They were in the milk-house now. It was a large, low place, partly
made by digging into the side of the hill. It was a cool, pleasant place in
summer, and well suited to the purpose for which it had been built. It
was dark, however, when the girls entered, and would have been very
gloomy but for Christie's shining milk-pans and the rows of
cream-covered dishes beyond.
They were all needed, and some new ones had just been brought from
the tinman's. "I like them," said Christie: "they're lighter than the
earthen ones, and no' so easily broken. We've got much more milk
since the cows went into the upper field. You'll see what a pailful
Fleckie gives."
"Fleckie is your favourite yet," said Effie, smiling, as they left the dairy
together.
"Oh, yes! she's the best of them all--and so gentle! and I'm sure she
knows me. I don't think she likes