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McTrump, a Scotchman, who has a small greenhouse and nursery, he looks after gardens for some people." "I will go and see him," said Edith, taking his address. As she plodded off to find his place, she sighed, "Oh, dear! it's dreadful to have no men in the family. That Arden Lacey might have helped me so much, if mother was not so particular.
Edith did take and cling to it with the feeling of one ready to fall. "Oh, Mr. McTrump, you are too kind," she murmured. "Why suld I not be kind?" he said, heartily, "when I see ye nipt by the wourld's unkindness? Why suld I not be kind? Is the rose there to blame because a weed has grown alongside?
But when he saw her standing before him with her head bent down like a moss-rosebud wilting in the sun, when he met her timid, deprecating glance, his soft heart relented instantly, and coming toward her he said: "An' ha' ye coom to see ould Malcom at last? What ha' I dune that I suld be sae forgotten?" "You were not forgotten, Mr. McTrump.
"I ha' never seen an angel, na mair than I ha' seen a goolden harp, but I'm a thinkin' a modest bonny lassie like yoursel cooms as near to ane as anything can in this world." "But, Mr. McTrump," said Edith, with a half-pathetic, half-comic face, "I am in such deep trouble that I shall soon grow old and wrinkled, so I shall not be an angel long." "Na, na, dinna say that," said Malcom earnestly.
Edith shook her head sadly, and said, "I don't understand Him, and He seems far off." "It's only seemin', me dear," said the old woman kindly, "but, as Malcom says, ye'll learn it a' by and by." Mrs. McTrump was one of those simple souls who never presume to "talk religion" to any one.
McTrump," said Edith, slyly, "do you know you almost scared old Hannibal out of his wits by the wonders you wrought last night or this morning in that same garden you inquire about so innocently. How can you work so fast and hard?" "The woonders I wrought! Indeed I've not been near the garden sin ye told me not to coom. Ye could hardly expect otherwise of a Scotchman."
McTrump, I feel almost as if I had joined the church," said Edith, after a moment. "An' sae ye ha' afore God, an' I hope ere long ye'll openly profess yer faith before men." "Do you think I ought?" said Edith, thoughtfully. Ye canna gang far astray wi' that to guide ye." "I would like to join the church that you belong to, Mr.
Ah, but the Crude Husbandman gathered a fair blossom the day." "Now, Mr. McTrump," said Edith, reproachfully, but with a face like Malcom's posies, "you shouldn't give compliments on Sunday." For Arden and Rose were present also, and Edith thought, "Such foolish words will only increase his infatuation."
Perhaps many might have considered Edith's chance a very good one; but with an almost desperate energy she set her mind at work to find some other way out of her painful straits. Everything, however, seemed against her. Mr. McTrump was sick with inflammatory rheumatism. Mrs. Groody was away, and would not be back till the last of May. On account of Arden she could not speak to Mrs. Lacey.
McTrump," she continued, anxious to change the subject, also eager to speak on the topic uppermost in her thoughts, "I think I am beginning to 'learn it a', as you said, about that good Friend who suffered for us that we might not suffer. I don't feel as I did then. I think I can trust Him now." Malcom dropped his hoe and came over into the path beside her. "God be praised!" he said.
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