MICHAEL McGRATH, POSTMASTER BY RALPH CONNOR _Author of "The Sky Pilot, " "Black Rock, " Etc. _ FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY CHICAGO NEW YORK TORONTO COPYRIGHT 1900 BY FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY MICHAEL McGRATH, POSTMASTER. Some men and some scenes so fasten themselves into one's memory that theyears, with their crowding scenes and men, have no power to displacethem. I can never forget "Ould Michael" and the scene of my firstknowing him. All day long I rode, driving in front my pack-pony ladenwith my photograph kit, tent and outfit, following the trail that wouldend somewhere on the Pacific Coast, some hundreds of miles away. I wasweary enough of dodging round the big trees, pushing through underbrush, scrambling up and down mountain-sides, hugging cliffs where the trailcut in and wading warily through the roaring torrent of "Sixty-mileCreek. " As the afternoon wore on, the trail left the creek and woundaway over a long slope up the mountain-side. "Ginger, " said I to my riding pony, "we are getting somewhere"--for ourtrail began to receive other trails from the side valleys and the goingwas better. At last it pushed up into the open, circled round a shoulderof the mountain, clinging tight, for the drop was sheer two hundredfeet, and--there before us stretched the great Fraser Valley! From myfeet the forest rolled its carpet of fir-tops--dark-green, soft, luxurious. Far down to the bottom and up again, in waving curves itswept, to the summit of the distant mountains opposite, and through thisdark-green mass the broad river ran like a silver ribbon gleaming in thesunlight. Following the line of the trail, my eye fell upon that which has oftenmade men's hearts hard and lured them on to joyous death. There, abovethe green tree-tops, in a clearing, stood a tall white mast and from thepeak, flaunting its lazy, proud defiance, flew a Union Jack. "Now, Ginger, how in the name of the Empire comes that brave rag to beshaking itself out over these valleys!" Ginger knew not, but, in answer to my heels, set off at a canter downthe slope and, in a few minutes, we reached a grassy bench thatstretched down to the river-bank. On the bench was huddled an irregulargroup of shacks and cabins and, in front of the first and most imposingof them, stood the tall mast with its floating flag. On the wideplatform that ran in front of this log cabin a man was sitting, smokinga short bull-dog pipe. By his dress and style I saw at once that he hadserved in Her Majesty's army. As I rode up under the flag I lifted mycap, held it high and called out: "God save the Queen!" Instantly he wason his feet and, coming to attention with a military salute, repliedwith great fervor: "God bless her!" From that moment he took me to hisheart. That was my introduction to "Ould Michael, " as everyone in the Valleycalled him, and as he called himself. After his fifth glass, when he would become dignified, "Ould Michael"would drop his brogue and speak of himself as "Sergeant McGrath, late ofHer Majesty's Ninety-third Highlanders, " Irishman though he was. Though he had passed his sixtieth year, he was still erect and briskenough in his movement, save for a slight hitch in his left leg. "Atouch of a knife, " he explained, "in the Skoonder Bag. " "The where?" "Skoonder Bag, forninst the walls the Lucknow--to the left over, yeunderstand. " "I'm ashamed to say I don't, " I answered, feeling that I was on thetrack of a yarn. He looked at me pityingly. "Ye've heard av Sir Colin?" He was not going to take anything forgranted. I replied hastily: "Sir Colin Campbell, of course. " "Well, we was followin' Sir Colin up to the belagured city when we runinto the Skoonder Bag--big stone walls and windys high up, and full avmin, like a jail, or a big disthillery. " Then, like a dream from the past, it came to me that he was talking ofthat bloody fight about and in the "Secunderabogh, " where, through abreach two feet square, the men of the Ninety-third, man by man, forcedtheir way in the face of a thousand Sepoys, mad for blood and, withtheir bayonets, piled high in gory heaps the bodies of their black foes, crying with every thrust, in voices hoarse with rage and dust, "Cawnpore! Cawnpore!" That tale Ould Michael would never tell till hiscups had carried him far beyond the stage of dignity and reserve. After he had helped me to picket my ponies and pitch my tent, he led meby a little gate through his garden to the side door of the cabin. The garden was trim, like Ould Michael himself, set out in rectangularbeds, by gravel-walks and low-cut hedges of "old man. " It was filledwith all the dear old-fashioned flowers--Sweet William and Sweet Mary, bachelor's buttons, pansies and mignonette, old country daisies andsnapdragons and lilies of the valley and, in the centre of the beds, great masses of peonies, while all around, peeping from under thehedges of old man, were poppies of every hue. Beyond the garden therewas a plot of potatoes, cabbage and other vegetables and, best of alland more beautiful than all, over the whole front of the cabin, completely hiding the rough logs, ran a climbing rose, a mass offragrant bloom. Ould Michael lingered lovingly for a moment among hisflowers, and then led me into the house. The room into which we entered was a wonder for preciseness and order. The walls were decorated with prints, much-faded photographs, stuffedbirds, heads of deer and a quaint collection of old-fashioned guns, pistols and bayonets, but all arranged with an exactness and taste thatwould drive mad the modern artistic decorator. On one side of the windowhung a picture of Wellington: on the other, that of Sir Colin. To theright of the clock, on a shelf, stood a stuffed mallard; to the left ona similar shelf, stood a stuffed owl. The same balance was diligentlypreserved in the arrangement of his weapons of war. A pine table stoodagainst one wall, flanked by a home-made chair on either side. A dooropened to the left into a bedroom, as I supposed; another, to the right, into what Ould Michael designated "My office, sir. " "Office?" I inquired. "Yes, sir, " still preserving his manual of ceremony, "Her Majesty's mailfor Grand Bend. " "And you are the Postmaster?" I said, throwing into my voice the respectand awe that I felt were expected. "That same, " with a salute. "That explains the flag, then; you are bound to keep that flying, Isuppose. " "Bound, sir? Yes, but by no law is it. " "How, then?" "For twenty-five years I marched and fought under that same flag, " saidthe old soldier, dropping into his brogue, "and under it, plaze God, I'll die. " I looked at the old man. In his large dark-blue eyes shone that "firethat never slumbers"--the fire of loyal valor, with its strange power totransform common clay into men of heroic mould. The flag, the garden, the postoffice--these were Ould Michael's household gods. The equipmentof the postoffice was primitive enough. "Where are the boxes?" I inquired; "the letter-boxes, you know; to putthe letters into. " "An' what wud I do puttin' them into boxes, at all?" "Why, to distribute the mail so that you could find every man's letterwhen he calls for it. " "An' what would I be doin' findin' a man's letter for him? Shure an'can't he find it himself on the counter there?" pointing to a wide plankthat ran along the wall. I explained fully the ordinary system of distributing mail to him. "Indade, 'tis a complicated system intoirely, " and then he proceeded toexplain his own, which he described as "simple and unpretenshus" and, sure enough, it was; for the letters were strewn upon the top of thecounter, the papers and other mail-matter thrown underneath, and everyman helped himself to his own. "But might there not be mistakes?" I suggested. "A man might take hisneighbor's letter. " "An' what would he do wid another man's letter forby the discooshun thatmight enshoo?" I was very soon to have an opportunity of observing the working of OuldMichael's system, for next day was mailday and, in the early afternoon, men began to arrive from the neighboring valleys for their monthly mail. Ould Michael introduced me to them all with much ceremony and I couldeasily see that he was a personage of importance among them. Not onlywas he, as postmaster, the representative among them of Her Majesty'sGovernment, but they were proud of him as standing for all that washeroic in the Empire's history; for a man who had touched shoulders withthose who had fought their way under India's fierce suns and throughIndia's swamps and jungles, from Calcutta to Lucknow and back, was nocommon citizen, but a man who trailed glory in his wake. More than this, Ould Michael was a friend to all, and they loved him for his simple, generous heart. Too generous, as it turned out, for every month it washis custom to summon his friends to Paddy Dougan's bar and spend thegreater part of the monthly remittance that came in his letter fromhome. That monthly letter should be placed in the category of householdgods with the flag, the garden and the postoffice. Its arrival wasalways an occasion for celebration--not for the remittance it contained, but for the wealth of love and tender memory it brought to Ould Michaelin this far-off land. Late in the afternoon, just before the arrival of the mail-stage, thererode up the bench towards the postoffice a man remarkable even in thatcompany of remarkable men. He was tall--a good deal over sixfeet--spare, bony, with huge hands and feet and evidently possessed ofimmense strength. His face and head were covered with a mass of shaggyhair--brick-red mixed with grey--and out of this mass of grizzled hairgleamed two small grey eyes, very bright and very keen. "Howly mither av Moses!" shouted Ould Michael rushing towards him; "'tisMcFarquhar. My friend, Mr. McFarquhar, " said Ould Michael, presenting mein his most ceremonious style and standing at attention. McFarquhar took my hand in his paw and gave me a grasp so cordial that, were it not for the shame of it, I would have roared out in agony. "I am proud to make the acquaintance of you, " he said, with a stronghighland accent. "You will be a stranger in these parts?" I told him as much of my history and affairs as I thought necessary anddrew from him as much information about himself and his life as I could, which was not much. He had come to the country a lad of twenty to takeservice under the Hudson Bay Company. Fifteen years ago had left theCompany and had settled in the valley of Grizzly Creek, which emptiesinto the Fraser a little below the Grand Bend. I found out too, but notfrom himself, that he had married an Indian woman and that, with her andhis two boys, he lived the half-savage life of a hunter and rancher. Hewas famous as a hunter of the grizzly bears that once frequented hisvalley and, indeed, he bore the name of "Grizzly McFarquhar" among theold-timers. He was Ould Michael's dearest friend. Many a long hunt had they takentogether, and over and over again did they owe their lives to eachother. But the hour had now come for the performance of Ould Michael'smonthly duty. The opening of the mail was a solemn proceeding. The bagwas carried in from the stage by Ould Michael, followed by the entirecrowd in a kind of triumphal procession, and reverently deposited uponthe counter. The key was taken down from its hook above the window, inserted into the lock, turned with a flourish and then hung up in itsplace. From his pocket Ould Michael then took a clasp-knife with awicked-looking, curved blade, which he laid beside the bag. He thenplaced a pair of spectacles on his nose and, in an impressive manner andamidst dead silence, opened the bag, poured out its contents upon thecounter, turned it inside out and carefully shook it. No one in thecrowd moved. With due deliberation Ould Michael, with the wicked-lookingclasp knife, proceeded to cut the strings binding the various bundles ofletters and papers. The papers were then deposited beneath the counterupon the floor, and the letters spread out upon the counter. The lastact of the ceremony was the selecting by Ould Michael of his own letterfrom the pile, after which, with a waive of the hand, he declared, "Gentlemen, the mail is open, " when they flung themselves upon it withan eagerness that told of the heart-hunger for news from a far-countrythat is like cool water to the thirsty soul. The half-hour that followed the distribution of the mail offered a scenestrange and touching. The men who had received letters stood away fromthe crowd and read them with varying expressions of delight or grief, orin silence that spoke more deeply than could any words. For thathalf-hour the lonely valleys in these deep forests stood back from them, and there opened up a vision of homes far away, filled with faces andechoing with voices that some of them knew they would never see nor hearagain. But no man ever saw Ould Michael read his letter. That half-hour hespent in his inner room and, when he came out, there was lingering abouthis face a glory as of a departing vision. The dark-blue eyes weredarker than before and in them that soft, abstracted look that one seesin the eye of a child just awakened from sleep. His tongue, so ready atother times, would be silent; and he would move softly over to hisfriend McFarquhar, and stand there as in a dream. As he came toward uson this occasion, McFarquhar said, in an undertone: "It is good newsto-day with Ould Michael, " adding in answer to my look of inquiry, "Hissister has charge of his little girl at home. " Ould Michael steed in silence beside his friend for some moments. "All well, Michael?" asked McFarquhar. "They are, that, " answered the old soldier, with a happy sigh. "Och, 'tis the lovely land it is, and it's ha-ard to kape away from it. " "I am thinking you are better away from it than in it, " said McFarquhar, dryly. "Indade, an' it's thrue for you, " answered Ould Michael, "but the longery're from it the more ye love it, an' it's God bless Ould Oireland sizI, " and he bore us off to celebrate. It was useless for me to protest. His duty for the month was over; hewas a free man. He had had his good news; and why should he notcelebrate? Besides, he had money in his pocket, and "what would the byesthink av me if I neglected to set 'em up?" And set 'em up he did for"the byes" and for himself, till I heard McFarquhar taking him to hiscabin to put him to bed long after I had turned in. All through thefollowing Sunday Ould Michael continued his celebration, with thehearty and uproarious assistance of the rest of the men and most of themremained over night for Ould Michael's Sunday spree, which they weresure would follow. How completely Paddy Dougan's whisky, most of which he made on his backpremises, changed Ould Michael and the whole company! From being solemn, silent, alert and generally good-natured, they became wildly vociferous, reckless, boastful and quarrelsome. That Sunday, as always happens inthe Mountains, where there are plenty of whisky and a crowd of men, wasutterly horrible. The men went wild in all sorts of hideous horseplay, brawls and general debauchery, and among them Ould Michael reigned aking. "It is bad whisky, " McFarquhar exclaimed. McFarquhar himself was neverknown to get drunk, for he knew his limit on good whisky, and he avoidedbad. Paddy Dougan knew better than to give him any of his own home-madebrew, for if, after his fourth, McFarquhar found himself growingincapable, knowing that he could enjoy his sixth and even carry withcomfort his ninth, then his rage blazed forth, and the only safety forPaddy lay in escape to the woods. It was not so much that he despisedthe weakness of getting drunk, but he resented the fraud that deprivedhim of the pleasure of leisurely pursuing his way to his proper limit. "It is the _bad_ whisky, " repeated McFarquhar "and Ould Michael ought toknow better than fill himself up with such deplorable stuff. " "Too bad!" I said. "Ay, but I'll jist take him away with me to-morrow and he'll come to ina few days. " I knew enough of the life in these valleys not to be hard with OuldMichael and his friends. The slow monotony of the long, lonely weeksmade any break welcome, and the only break open to them was thatafforded by Paddy Dougan's best home-made, a single glass of which woulddrive a man far on to madness. A new book, a fresh face, a socialgathering, a Sabbath service--how much one or all of these might do forthem! With difficulty I escaped from Ould Michael's hospitality and, leavingthe scenes of beastly debauchery behind, betook myself to the woods andriver. Here, on the lower bench, the woods became an open glade withonly the big trees remaining. I threw myself down on the river-bank and gave myself up to the graciousinfluences that stole in upon, me from trees and air and grass and theflowing river. The Sabbath feeling began to grow upon me, as the pinesbehind and the river in front sang to each other soft, crooning songs. As I lay and listened to the solemn music of the great, swaying pinesand the soft, full melody of the big river, my heart went back to myboyhood days when I used to see the people gather in the woods for the"Communion. " There was the same soothing quiet over all, the same soft, crooning music and, over all, the same sense of a Presence. In mydreaming, ever and again there kept coming to me the face of OuldMichael, with the look that it bore after reading his home-letter, and Ithought how different would his Sabbath day have been had his sister andhis little one been near to stand between him and the dreariness andloneliness of his life. True to his promise, McFarquhar carried off Ould Michael to his ranch upGrizzly Creek. Before the sun was high McFarquhar had his own andMichael's pony ready at the door and, however unwilling Ould Michaelmight be, there was nothing for it but march. As they rode off OuldMichael took off his hat under the flag and called out: "God save Her Majesty!" "God bless her!" I echoed heartily. At once the old soldier clambered down and, tearing open his coat, pulled out a flask. "Mr. McFarquhar, " he said, solemnly, "it would be unbecoming in us toseparate from our friend without duly honoring Her Gracious Majesty'sname. " Then, raising high the flask, he called out with great ceremony, and dropping his brogue entirely: "Gentlemen, I give you the Queen, Godbless her!" He raised the flask to his lips and took a long pull andpassed it to me. After we had duly honored the toast, Ould Michael oncemore struck an impressive attitude and called out: "Gentlemen, HerMajesty's loyal forces----" when McFarquhar reached for him and, takingthe flask out of his hand, said, gravely: "It is a very good toast, but we will postpone the rest till a moresuitable occasion. " Ould Michael, however, was resolute. "It would ill become a British soldier to permit this toast to gounhonored. " "Will you come after this one is drunk?" asked McFarquhar. "I will that. " "Very well, " said McFarquhar, "I drink to the very good health of HerMajesty's army, " and, taking a short pull, he put the flask into hispocket. Ould Michael gazed at him in amazed surprise and, after the full meaningof the joke had dawned upon him, burst out into laughter. "Bedad, McFarquhar, it's the first joke ye iver made, but the lessfraquent they are the better I loike them. " So saying, he mounted hispony and, once more saluting me and then the flag, made off with hisfriend. Every now and then, however, I could see him sway in his saddleunder the gusts of laughter at the excellence of McFarquhar's joke. That was the last I saw of Ould Michael for more than six months, butoften through that winter, as I worked my way to the Coast, I wonderedwhat the monthly mails were doing for the old man and whether to him andto his friends of those secluded valleys any better relief from themonotony of life had come than that offered by Paddy Dougan's back room. In early May I found myself once more with my canvas and photographicapparatus approaching Grand Bend, but this time from the West. As Ireached the curve in the river where the trail leads to the first viewof the town I eagerly searched for Ould Michael's flag. There stood themast, sure enough, but there was no flag in sight. What had happened toOuld Michael? While he lived his flag would fly. Had he left Grand Bend, or had Paddy Dougan's stuff been too much for him? I was rathersurprised to find in my heart a keen anxiety for the old soldier. As Ihurried on I saw that Grand Bend had heard the sound of approachingcivilization and was waking up. Two or three saloons, a blacksmith'sshop, some tents and a new general store proclaimed a boom. As Iapproached the store I saw a sign in big letters across the front, "Jacob Wragge, General Store, " and immediately over the door, in smallerletters, "Postoffice. " More puzzled than ever I flung my reins over thehitching-post and went in. A number of men stood leaning against thecounter and piled-up boxes, none of whom I knew. "Is Ould Michael in?" I asked, forgetting for the moment his propername. "In where?" asked the man behind the counter. "The postoffice, " I replied. "Doesn't he keep the postoffice?" "Not much, " he answered, with an insolent laugh; "it's not much he couldkeep, unless it's whisky. " "Perhaps you can tell me where he is?" I asked, keeping my temper down, for I longed to reach for his throat. "You'll find him boozing in one of the saloons, like enough, the oldsot. " I walked out without further word, for the longing for his throat grewalmost more than I could bear, and went across to Paddy Dougan's. Paddyexpressed great delight at seeing me again and, on my asking for OuldMichael, became the picture of woe. Four months ago the postoffice had been taken from Ould Michael and setup in Jacob Wragge's store, and with the old soldier things had gonebadly ever since. "The truth is, an' I'll not desave you, " said Paddy, adopting aconfidential undertone, "he's drinkin' too much and he is. " "And where is he? And where's his flag?" "His flag is it?" Paddy shook his head as if to say, "Now you _have_touched the sore spot. Shure, an' didn't he haul down the flag the daythey took the affice frum him. " "And has he never put it up again?" "Niver a bit av it, Man dear, " and Paddy walked out with me in greatexcitement. "Do you know he niver heard a word till the stage druv be his dure withthe mail-bag an' the tap av it an' left the ould man standin' therealone. Man, do you know, you wud ha' cried, so you wud, at the look avhim; and then he walked over to the flag and hauled it down an' flung itinside the affice, an' there it's yit; an' niver a joke out av himsince. " "And what is McFarquhar doing all the time?" "Shure he's off on his spring hunt this three months; an' he thried toget Ould Michael to go along wid him, but niver a bit wud he; but Iheard he'll be in to-day and, bedad, there he is!" Sure enough there was McFarquhar, riding toward us. He gave me a warmwelcome back and then fell into talking of Ould Michael. He had onlyseen him once after the loss of his position, but he feared things weregoing badly with him. I told him all that Paddy had given me as wesearched the saloons. Ould Michael was not to be seen. "He will be at home very likely, " said McFarquhar. "We will jist put astop to this kind of work. " McFarquhar was torn between grief over his friend's trouble andindignation at his weakness and folly. We rode up to Ould Michael'scabin. The "office" door was locked and the windows boarded up. In thegarden all was a wild tangle of flowers and weeds. Nature was bravelydoing her best, but she missed the friendly hand that in the past haddirected her energies. The climbing rose covered with opening buds washere and there torn from the bare logs. "Man, man!" cried McFarquhar, "this is a terrible change whatever. " We knocked at the side door and waited, but there was no answer. Ipushed the door open and there, in the midst of disorder and dirt, satOuld Michael. I could hardly believe it possible that in so short a timeso great a change could come to a man. His hair hung in long grey locksabout his ears, his face was unshaven, his dress dirty and slovenly andhis whole appearance and attitude suggested ruin and despair. But theoutward wreck was evidently only an index to the wreck of soul, that hadgone on. Out of the dark-blue eyes there shone no inner light. Thebright, brave, cheery old soldier was gone, and in his place the figureof disorder and despair. He looked up at our entering, then turned fromus, shrinking, and put his hands to his face, swaying to and fro andgroaning deeply. McFarquhar had come prepared to adopt strong measures, but the sight ofOuld Michael, besotted and broken, was more than he could stand. "Michael, man!" he cried, amazement and grief in his voice. "Aw, Michael, man! What's this? What's this?" He went to him and laid his big bony hand on Ould Michael's shoulder. Athis words and touch the old man broke into sobbing, terrible to see. "Whisht, man, " said McFarquhar, as he might to a child, "whist, whist, lad! It will be well with you yet. " But Ould Michael could not be comforted, but sobbed on and on. A man'sweeping has something terrible in it, but an old man's tears are hardestof all to bear. McFarquhar stood helpless for some moments; then, takingOuld Michael by the arm, he said: "Come out of this, anyway! Come out!" But it was long before Ould Michael would talk. He sat in silence whilehis friend discoursed to him about the folly of allowing Paddy todeceive him with bad whisky. Surely any man could tell the bad from thegood. "It is deplorable stuff altogether, and it will not be good for Paddywhen I see him. " "Och!" burst out Ould Michael at last, "it is not the whisky at all, atall. " "Ay, that is a great part of it, whatever. " "Och! me hea-art is broke, me hea-art is broke, " groaned Ould Michael. "Hoots, man! is it for the p'stoffice? That was not much worth to anyman. " But Ould Michael only shook his head. It was hopeless to try to makesuch a man appreciate his feelings. McFarquhar rambled on, making lightof the whole affair. The loss could only be very trifling. A man couldmake much more out of anything else. Poor Ould Michael bore it as longas he could and then, rising to his feet, cried out: "Howly mither av Moses! an' have ye no hea-art inside av ye at all, atall? 'Tis not the money; the money is dirt!" Here McFarquhar strongly dissented. Ould Michael heeded him not, butpoured out his bitterness and grief. "For twinty years and more did Ifolly the flag in all lands and in all climates, wid wounds all over mebody, an' medals an' good conduct sthripes an'--an' all that; an' now, wid niver a word av complaint or explanashun, to be turned aff like adog an' worse. " Then the matter-of-fact McFarquhar, unable to understand thesesentimental considerations, but secretly delighted that he had got OuldMichael to unbosom himself, began to draw him. "Not twenty years, Michael. " "Twenty-foive years it is, an' more, I'm tellin' ye, " replied OuldMichael, "an' niver wance did the inimy see the back av me coat or thedust av me heels; an' to think----" "How long was it, then, you were with Sir Colin?" continued McFarquhar, cunningly. "Wid Sir Colin? Shure an' didn't I stay wid him all the way fromCalcutta to Lucknow an' back? An' didn't I give thim faithful sarvicehere for twelve years--the first man that iver handled the mail in thevalley? An' here I am, like--like--any common man. " These were the sore spots in his heart. He was shamed before the peopleof the valleys in whose presence he had stood forth as therepresentative of a grateful sovereign. His Queen and his country--hisglory and pride for all these years--had forgotten him and his years ofservice and had cast him aside as worthless; and now he was degraded tothe ranks of a mere private citizen! No wonder he had hauled down hisflag and then, having no interest in life, nothing was left him butPaddy Dougan and the relief of his bad whisky. --Against Jacob Wragge, too, who had supplanted him, his rage burned. He would have his heart'sblood yet. McFarquhar, as he listened, began to realize how deep was the wound hisold friend had suffered; but all he could say was, "You will come outwith me Michael, and a few weeks out with the dogs will put you right, "but Ould Michael was immovable and McFarquhar, bidding me care for himand promising to return next week, rode off much depressed. Before theweek was over, however, he was back again with great news and in astate of exaltation. "The minister is coming, " he announced. "Minister?" "Ay, he has been with me. The Rev. John Macleod" (or as he made it, "Magleod") "from Inverness--and he is the grand man! He has the gift. " I remembered that he was a highlander and knew well what he meant. "Yes, yes, " he continued with his strongest accent, "he has been withme, and very faithfully has he dealt with me. Oh! he is the man of God, and I hev not heard the likes of him for forty years and more. " I listened with wonder, as McFarquhar described the visit of the Rev. John Macleod to his home. I could easily imagine the close dealingbetween the minister and McFarquhar, who would give him all reverenceand submission, but when I imagined the highland minister dealingfaithfully with the Indian wife and mother and her boys I failedutterly. "He could not make much of her, " meaning his wife, "and the lads, " saidMcFarquhar sadly, "but there it was that he came very close to myself;and indeed--indeed--my sins have found me out. " "What did is say to you? What sins of yours did he discover?" I asked, for McFarquhar was the most respectable man in all the valley. "Oh did he not ask me about my family altar and my duties to my wife andchildren?" There was no manner of doubt but Mr. Macleod had done some searching inMcFarquhar's heart and had brought him under "deep conviction, " as hesaid himself. And McFarquhar had great faith that the minister would dothe same for Ould Michael and was indignant when I expressed my doubts. "Man aliou" (alive), he cried, "he will make his fery bones to quake. " "I don't know that that will help him much, " I replied. But McFarquharonly looked at me and shook his head pityingly. On Saturday, sure enough, McFarquhar arrived with the minister, and aservice for the day following was duly announced. We took care that OuldMichael should be in fit condition to be profited by the Rev. JohnMacleod's discourse. The service was held in the blacksmith's shop, thelargest building available. The minister was a big, dark man with amassive head and a great, rolling voice which he used with tremendouseffect in all the parts of his service. The psalm he sang mostly alone, which appeared to trouble him not at all. The scripture lesson he readwith a rhythmic, solemn cadence that may have broken every rule ofelocution, but was nevertheless most impressive. His prayer, duringwhich McFarquhar stood, while all the rest sat, was a most extraordinaryproduction. In a most leisurely fashion it pursued its course through awhole system of theology, with careful explanation at critical places, lest there should be any mistaking of his position. Then it proceeded todeal with all classes and condition of men, from the Queen downward. Asto McFarquhar, it was easy to see from his face that the prayer was onlyanother proof that the minister had "the gift, " but to the others, whohad never had McFarquhar's privilege, it was only a marvelous, thoughimpressive performance. Before he closed, however, he remembered thepeople before him and, in simple, strong, heart-reaching words, heprayed for their salvation. "Why, in Heaven's name, " I said afterwards to McFarquhar, "didn't hebegin his prayer where he ended? Does he think the Almighty isn't postedin theology?" But McFarquhar would only reply: "Ay, it was grand? He hasthe gift!" The sermon was, as McFarquhar said, "terrible powerful. " The text Iforget, but it gave the opportunity for an elaborate proof of theuniversal depravity of the race and of their consequent condemnation. Hehad no great difficulty in establishing the first position to thesatisfaction of his audience, and the effect produced wascorrespondingly slight; but when he came to describe the meaning and theconsequences of condemnation, he grew terrible, indeed. His pictureswere lurid in the extreme. No man before him but was greatly stirred up. Some began to move uneasily in their seats; some tried to assumeindifference; some were openly enraged; but none shared McFarquhar'svisible and solemn delight. Ould Michael's face showed nothing; but, after all was over, in answer to McFarquhar's enthusiastic exclamationhe finally grunted out: "A great sermon, is it? P'raps it was and p'raps it wasn't. It took hima long time to tell a man what he knew before. " "And what might that be?" asked McFarquhar. "That he was goin' fast to the Divil. " This McFarquhar could not deny and so he fell into disappointed silence. He began to fear that the minister might possibly fail with OuldMichael, after all. I frankly acknowledged the same fear and tried tomake him see that for men like Ould Michael, and the rest, preaching ofthat kind could do little good. With this position McFarquhar warmlydisagreed, but as the week went by he had to confess that on OuldMichael the minister had no effect at all, for he kept out of his wayand demoted himself to Paddy Dougan as far as we would allow him. Then McFarquhar began to despair and to realize how desperate is thebusiness of saving a man fairly on the way to destruction. But help cameto us--"a mysterious dispensation of Providence, " McFarquhar called it. It happened on the Queen's birthday, when Grand Bend, in excess of loyalfervor, was doing its best to get speedily and utterly drunk. In otherdays Ould Michael had gloried beyond all in the display of loyal spirit;but to-day he sat, dark and scowling, in Paddy Dougan's barroom. McFarquhar and I were standing outside the door keeping an eye, but nottoo apparently, upon Ould Michael's drinking. A big German from the tie-camps, who had lived some years across theborder, and not to his advantage, was holding forth in favor of libertyand against all tyrannous governments. As Paddy's whisky began to tellthe German became specially abusive against Great Britain and theQueen. Protests came from all sides, till, losing his temper, theGerman gave utterance to a foul slander against Her Majesty's privatelife. In an instant Ould Michael was on his feet and at the bar. "Dhrink all around!" he cried. The glares were filled and all stoodwaiting. "Gentlemen, " said Ould Michael, in his best manner; "I give youHer Gracious Majesty the Queen, God bless her!" With wild yells theglasses were lifted high and the toast drunk with three times three. TheGerman, meantime, stood with his glass untouched. When the cheers wereover he said, with a sneer: "Shentlemen, fill ub!" The order was obeyed with alacrity. "I gif you, 'our noble selfs, ' and for de Queen" (using a vile epithet), "she can look after her ownself. " Quick as thought Ould Michael raisedhis glass and flung its contents into the German's face, saying, as hedid so: "God save the Queen!" With a roar the German was at him, andbefore a hand could be raised to prevent it, Ould Michael was struck tothe floor and most brutally kicked. By this time McFarquhar had tossedback the crowd right and left and, stooping down, lifted Ould Michaeland carried him out into the air, saying in a husky voice: "He is dead! He is dead!" But in a moment the old man opened his eyes and said faintly: "Niver a bit av it, God save----" His eyes closed again and he became unconscious. They gave him brandyand he began to revive. Then McFarquhar rose and looked round for theGerman. His hair was fairly bristling round his head; his breath came inshort gasps and his little eyes were blood-shot with fury. "You have smitten an old man and helpless, " he panted, "and you ought tobe destroyed from the face of the earth; but I will not smite you as Iwould a man, but as I would a wasp. " He swung his long arm like a flail and, with his open hand, smote theGerman on the side of the head. It was a terrific blow; under it theGerman fell to the earth with a thud. McFarquhar waited a few momentswhile the German rose, slowly spitting out broken teeth and blood. "Will you now behave yourself, " said McFarquhar, moving toward him. "Yes, yes, it is enough, " said his antagonist hurriedly and went intothe saloon. We carried Ould Michael to his cabin and laid him on his bed. He wassuffering dreadfully from some inward wound, but he uttered not a wordof complaint. After he had lain still for some time he looked atMcFarquhar. "What is it, lad?" asked McFarquhar. "The flag, " whispered poor Ould Michael. "The flag? Do you want the flag?" He shook his head slowly, still looking beseechingly at his friend. Allat once it came to me. "You want the flag hauled up, Michael?" I said. He smiled and eagerly looked towards me. "I'll run it up at once, " I said. He moved his hand. I came to him and bending over him caught the words"God save----" "All right, " I answered, "I shall give it all honor. " He smiled again, closed his eyes and a look of great peace came upon hisface. His quarrel with his Queen and country was made up and all thebitterness was gone from his heart. After an examination as full as Icould make, I came to the conclusion that there were three ribs brokenand an injury, more or less serious, to the lungs; but how serious, Icould not tell. McFarquhar established himself in Ould Michael's cabinand nursed him day and night. He was very anxious that the ministershould see Ould Michael and, when the day came for Mr. Macleod's servicein Grand Bend, I brought him to Ould Michael's cabin, giving him thewhole story on the way. His highland loyalty was stirred. "Noble fellow, " he said, warmly, "it is a pity he is a Romanist; a sorepity. " His visit to Ould Michael was not a success. Even McFarquhar had toconfess that somehow his expounding of the way of salvation to OuldMichael and his prayers, fervent though they were, did not appeal to theold soldier; the matter confused and worried him. But however much hefailed with Ould Michael there was no manner of doubt that he wassucceeding with McFarquhar. Long and earnest were their talks and, afterevery "season, " McFarquhar came forth more deeply impressed with thegrand powers of the minister. He Had already established the "familyaltar" in his home and was making some slow progress in instructing hiswife and children in "the doctrine of grace, " but as Ould Michael beganto grow stronger, McFarquhar's anxiety about _his state_ grew deeper. Again and again he had the minister in to him, but Ould Michael remainedunmoved; indeed, he could hardly see what the minister would be at. One evening as we three were sitting in Ould Michael's main room, McFarquhar ventured to express his surprise at Ould Michael's continued"darkness" as he said: "My friend, " said the minister, solemnly, "it has been given me thatyou are the man to lead him into the light. " "God pity me!" exclaimed McFarquhar. "That I could lead any man!" "And more, " said the minister, in deepening tones, "it is borne in uponme that his blood will be upon you. " McFarquhar's look of horror and fear was pitiable and his voice rose inan agony of appeal. "God be merciful to me! you will not be saying such a word as that. " "Fear not, " replied the minister, "he will be given to you for a jewelin your crown. " McFarquhar was deeply impressed. "How can this thing be?" he inquired in despair. "You are his friend!" The minister's voice rose and fell in solemnrhythm. "You are strong; he is weak. You will need to put away from youall that causeth your brother to offend, and so you will lead him intothe light. " The minister's face was that of a man seeing visions and McFarquhar, deeply moved, bowed his head and listened in silence. After a time hesaid, hesitatingly: "And Ould Michael has his weakness and he will be drinking PaddyDougan's bad whisky; but if he would only keep to the Company's goodwhisky----" "Man, " interrupted the minister, simply, "don't you know it is the goodwhisky that kills, for it is the good whisky that makes men love it. " McFarquhar gazed at him in amazement. "The good whisky!" "Ay, " said the minister, firmly, "and indeed there is no good whisky fordrinking. " McFarquhar rose and from a small cupboard brought back a bottle of theHudson Bay Company's brand. "There, " he said, pouring out a glass, "youwill not be saying there is no good whisky. " The minister lifted the glass and smelled it. "Try it, " said McFarquhar in triumph. The minister put it to his lips. "Ay, " he said, "I know it well! It is the best, but it is also theworst. For this men have lost their souls. There is no good whisky for_drinking_, I'm saying. " "And what for, then?" asked McFarquhar faintly. "Oh, it has its place as a medicine or a lotion. " "A lotion, " gasped McFarquhar. "Yes, in case of sprains--a sprained ankle, for instance. " "A lotion!" gasped McFarquhar; "and would you be using the good whiskyto wash your feet with?" The minister smiled; but becoming immediately grave, he answered: "Mr. McFarquhar, how long have you been in the habit of taking whisky?" "Fifty years, " said McFarquhar promptly. "And how many times have you given the bottle to your friend?" "Indeed, I cannot say, " said McFarquhar; "but it has never hurt himwhatever. " "Wait a bit. Do you think that perhaps if Michael had never got the goodwhisky from his good friends he might not now be where he is?" McFarquhar was silent. The minister rose to go. "Mr. McFarquhar, the Lord has a word for you" (McFarquhar rose and stoodas he always stood in church), "and it is this: 'We, then, that arestrong, ought to bear the infirmities of the weak, and not to pleaseourselves. ' It is not given to me to deliver Michael from the bondage ofdeath, but to you it is given, and of you He will demand, 'Where isAbel, thy Brother?'" The minister's last words rolled forth like words of doom. "Man, it is terrible!" said McFarquhar to me as the minister disappeareddown the slope; but he never thought of rejecting the burden ofresponsibility laid upon him. That he had helped Ould Michael down hewould hardly acknowledge, but the minister's message bore in upon himheavily. "Where is Abel, thy brother?" he kept saying to himself. Thenhe took up the bottle and, holding it up to the light, he said withgreat deliberation: "There will be no more of you whatever!" From that time forth McFarquhar labored with Ould Michael with apatience and a tact that amazed me. He did not try to instill theologyinto the old man's mind, but he read to him constantly the gospelstories and followed his reading with prayer--always in Gaelic, however, for with this Ould Michael found no fault as to him it was no new thingto hear prayers in a foreign tongue. But one day McFarquhar ventured astep in advance. "Michael, " he said timidly, "you will need to be prayin' for yourself. " "Shure an' don't I inthrate the Blessed Virgin to be doin' that same forme?" McFarquhar had learned to be very patient with his "Romish errors, " sohe only replied: "Ay, but you must take words upon your own lips, " he said, earnestly. "An' how can I, then, for niver a word do I know?" Then McFarquhar fell into great distress and looked at me imploringly. Irose and went into the next room, closing the door behind me. Then, though I tried to make a noise with the chairs, there rose the sound ofMcFarquhar's voice; but not with the cadence of the Gaelic prayer. Hehad no gift in the English language, he said; but evidently Ould Michaelthought otherwise, for he cared no more for Gaelic prayers. By degrees McFarquhar began to hope that Ould Michael would come to thelight, but there was a terrible lack in the old soldier of "convictionof sin. " One day, however, in his reading he came to the words, "theCaptain of our Salvation. " "Captain, did ye say?" said Ould Michael. "Ay, Captain!" said McFarquhar, surprised at the old man's eager face. "And what's his rigimint?" Then McFarquhar, who had grown quick in following Ould Michael'sthoughts, read one by one all the words that picture the Christian lifeas a warfare, ending up with that grand outburst of that noblest ofChristian soldiers, "I have fought the fight, I have kept the faith. "The splendid loyalty of it appealed to Ould Michael. "McFarquhar, " he said with quivering voice, "I don't understand muchthat ye've been sayin' to me, but if the war is still goin' on, an' ifhe's afther recruits any more bedad it's mesilf wud like to join. " McFarquhar was now at home; vividly he set before Ould Michael thewarfare appointed unto men against the world, the flesh and the Devil;and then, with a quick turn, he said: "An' He is calling to all true men, 'Follow me!'" "An' wud He have the like av me?" asked Ould Michael, doubtfully. "Ay, that He would and set you some fightin'. " "Then, " said Ould Michael, "I'm wid Him. " And no soldier in that warfareever donned the uniform with simpler faith or wore it with truer heartthan did Ould Michael. Meantime I had, through political friends, set things in motion atOttawa for the reinstating of Ould Michael in his position as postmasterat Grand Bend, and this, backed up by a petition, which throughMcFarquhar's efforts bore the name of every old-timer in the valleys, brought about the desired end. So one bright day, when Ould Michael wassunning himself on his porch, the stage drove up to his door and, as inthe old days, dropped the mail-bag. Ould Michael stood up and, wavinghis hand to the driver, said: "Shure, ye've made a mistake; an' I'm not blamin' ye. " "Not much, " said the driver. "I always bring my mail to the postmaster. " "Hurrah!" I sung out. "God save the Queen!" The little crowd that had gathered round took up my cheer. "What do ye mean, byes?" said Ould Michael, weakly. "It means, " said McFarquhar, "that if you have the strength you mustlook after your mail as the postmaster should. " There was a joyous five minutes of congratulation; then the precessionformed as before and, led by Ould Michael, marched into the old cabin. With trembling fingers Ould Michael cut the strings and selected hisletter-- "But there'll be no more celebration, byes, " he said, nor was there. [Transcriber's Notes: Standardized punctuation. Left one instance of clasp-knife and one of clasp knife. Page 10: Changed tell to tall. Page 29: Changed extarordinary to extraordinary. ]