Sowing Seeds in Danny

by

Nellie L. McClung

This story is lovingly dedicated to my dear mother. 

 "SO MANY FAITHS--SO MANY CREEDS, -- SO MANY PATHS THAT WIND AND WIND WHILE JUST THE ART OF BEING KIND, -- IS WHAT THE OLD WORLD NEEDS!"

People of the Story

MRS. BURTON FRANCIS--a dreamy woman, who has beautiful theories. 

MR. FRANCIS--her silent husband. 

CAMILLA ROSE--a capable young woman who looks after Mrs. Francis's domestic affairs, and occasionally helps her to apply her theories. 

THE WATSON FAMILY, consisting of--

 JOHN WATSON--a man of few words who works on the "Section. "

 MRS. WATSON--who washes for Mrs. Francis. 

 PEARL WATSON--an imaginative, clever little girl, twelve years old, who is the mainstay of the family. 

 MARY WATSON--a younger sister. 

 TEDDY WATSON. 

 BILLY WATSON. 

 JIMMY WATSON. 

 PATSEY WATSON. 

 TOMMY WATSON. 

 ROBERT ROBLIN WATSON, known as "Bugsey. "

 DANIEL MULCAHEY WATSON--"Wee Danny. "

 "Teddy will be fourteen on St. Patrick's Day and Danny will be four come March. "

MRS. McGUIRE--an elderly Irishwoman of uncertain temper who lives on the next lot. 

DR. BARNER--the old doctor of the village, clever man in his profession, but of intemperate habits. 

MARY BARNER--his beautiful daughter. 

DR. HORACE CLAY--a young doctor, who has recently come to the village. 

REV. HUGH GRANTLEY--the young minister. 

SAMUEL MOTHERWELL--a well off but very stingy farmer. 

MRS. MOTHERWELL--his wife. 

TOM MOTHERWELL--their son. 

ARTHUR WEMYSS--a young Englishman who is trying to learn to farm. 

JIM RUSSELL--an ambitious young farmer who lives near the Motherwells. 

JAMES DUCKER--a retired farmer, who has political aspirations. 

CONTENTS

 I. Sowing Seeds in Danny II. The Old Doctor III. The Pink Lady IV. The Band of Hope V. The Relict of the Late McGuire VI. The Musical Sense VII. "One of Manitoba's Prosperous Farmers" VIII. The Other Doctor IX. The Live Wire X. The Butcher Ride XI. How Pearl Watson Wiped out the Stain XII. From Camilla's Diary XIII. The Fifth Son XIV. The Faith that Moveth Mountains XV. "Inasmuch" XVI. How Polly Went Home XVII. "Egbert and Edythe" XVIII. The Party at Slater's XIX. Pearl's Diary XX. Tom's New Viewpoint XXI. The Crack in the Granite XXII. Shadows XXIII. Saved XXIV. The Harvest XXV. Cupid's Emissary XXVI. The Thanksgiving Conclusion: Convincing Camilla

Sowing Seeds in Danny

CHAPTER I

SOWING SEEDS IN DANNY

In her comfortable sitting room Mrs. J. Burton Francis sat, at peacewith herself and all mankind. The glory of the short winter afternoonstreamed into the room and touched with new warmth and tenderness theface of a Madonna on the wall. 

The whole room suggested peace. The quiet elegance of its furnishings, the soft leather-bound books on the table, the dreamy face of theoccupant, who sat with folded hands looking out of the window, were allin strange contrast to the dreariness of the scene below, where the onelong street of the little Manitoba town, piled high with snow, stretched away into the level, white, never-ending prairie. A farmertried to force his tired horses through the drifts; a little boy with amilk-pail plodded bravely from door to door, sometimes laying down hisburden to blow his breath on his stinging fingers. 

The only sound that disturbed the quiet of the afternoon in Mrs. Francis's sitting room was the regular rub-rub of the wash-board in thekitchen below. 

"Mrs. Watson is slow with the washing to-day, " Mrs. Francis murmuredwith a look of concern on her usually placid face. "Possibly she is notwell. I will call her and see. "

"Mrs. Watson, will you come upstairs, please?" she called from thestairway. 

Mrs. Watson, slow and shambling, came up the stairs, and stood in thedoorway wiping her face on her apron. 

"Is it me ye want ma'am?" she asked when she had recovered her breath. 

"Yes, Mrs. Watson, " Mrs. Francis said sweetly. "I thought perhaps youwere not feeling well to-day. I have not heard you singing at yourwork, and the washing seems to have gone slowly. You must be verycareful of your health, and not overdo your strength. "

While she was speaking, Mrs. Watson's eyes were busy with the room, thepictures on the wall, the cosey window-seat with its numerous cushions;the warmth and brightness of it all brought a glow to her tired face. 

"Yes, ma'am, " she said, "thank ye kindly, ma'am. It is very kind of yeto be thinkin' o' the likes of me. "

"Oh, we should always think of others, you know, " Mrs. Francis repliedquickly with her most winning smile, as she seated herself in arocking-chair. "Are the children all well? Dear little Danny, how ishe?"

"Indade, ma'am, that same Danny is the upsettinest one of the nine, andhim only four come March. It was only this morn's mornin' that he sezto me, sez he, as I was comin' away, 'Ma, d'ye think she'll give ye piefor your dinner? Thry and remimber the taste of it, won't ye ma, andtell us when ye come home, ' sez he. "

"Oh, the sweet prattle of childhood, " said Mrs. Francis, clasping hershapely white hands. "How very interesting it must be to watch theiryoung minds unfolding as the flower! Is it nine little ones you have, Mrs. Watson?"

"Yes, nine it is, ma'am. God save us. Teddy will be fourteen on St. Patrick's Day, and all the rest are younger. "

"It is a great responsibility to be a mother, and yet how few there bethat think of it, " added Mrs. Francis, dreamily. 

"Thrue for ye ma'am, " Mrs. Watson broke in. "There's my own man, JohnWatson. That man knows no more of what it manes than you do yerselfthat hasn't one at all at all, the Lord be praised; and him the fatherof nine. "

"I have just been reading a great book by Dr. Ernestus Parker, on'Motherhood. ' It would be a great benefit to both you and your husband. "

"Och, ma'am, " Mrs. Watson broke in, hastily, "John is no hand for booksand has always had his suspicions o' them since his own mother'sgreat-uncle William Mulcahey got himself transported durin' life orgood behaviour for havin' one found on him no bigger'n an almanac, atthe time of the riots in Ireland. No, ma'am, John wouldn't rade it atall at all, and he don't know one letther from another, what's more. "

"Then if you would read it and explain it to him, it would be sohelpful to you both, and so inspiring. It deals so ably with theproblems of child-training. You must be puzzled many times in thetraining of so many little minds, and Dr. Parker really does throwwonderful light on all the problems that confront mothers. And I amsure the mother of nine must have a great many perplexities. "

Yes, Mrs. Watson had a great many perplexities--how to make trousersfor four boys out of the one old pair the minister's wife had givenher; how to make the memory of the rice-pudding they had on Sunday lastall the week; how to work all day and sew at night, and still be braveand patient; how to make little Danny and Bugsey forget they were coldand hungry. Yes, Mrs. Watson had her problems; but they were not thekind that Dr. Ernestus Parker had dealt with in his book on"Motherhood. "

"But I must not keep you, Mrs. Watson, " Mrs. Francis said, as sheremembered the washing. "When you go downstairs will you kindly bringme up a small red notebook that you will find on the desk in thelibrary?"

"Yes ma'am, " said Mrs. Watson, and went heavily down the stairs. Shefound the book and brought it up. 

While she was making the second laborious journey down the softlypadded stairs, Mrs. Francis was making an entry in the little red book. 

 Dec. 7, 1903. Talked with one woman to-day RE Beauty of Motherhood. Recommended Dr. Parker's book. Believe good done. 

Then she closed the book with a satisfied feeling. She was going tohave a very full report for her department at the next AnnualConvention of the Society for Propagation of Lofty Ideals. 

In another part of the same Manitoba town lived John Watson, unregenerate hater of books, his wife and their family of nine. Theirfirst dwelling when they had come to Manitoba from the Ottawa Valley, thirteen years ago, had been C. P. R. Box-car No. 722, but this hadsoon to be enlarged, which was done by adding to it other car-roofedshanties. One of these was painted a bright yellow and was a littlelarger than the others. It had been the caboose of a threshing outfitthat John had worked for in '96. John was the fireman and when theboiler blew up and John was carried home insensible the "boys" feltthat they should do something for the widow and orphans. They raisedone hundred and sixty dollars forthwith, every man contributing hiswages for the last four days. The owner of the outfit, Sam Motherwell, in a strange fit of generosity, donated the caboose. 

The next fall Sam found that he needed the caboose himself, and camewith his trucks to take it back. He claimed that he had given it withthe understanding that John was going to die. John had not fulfilledhis share of the contract, and Sam felt that his generosity had beenmisplaced. 

John was cutting wood beside his dwelling when Sam arrived with histrucks, and accused him of obtaining goods under false pretences. Johnwas a man of few words and listened attentively to Sam's reasoning. From the little window of the caboose came the discordant wail of avery young infant, and old Sam felt his claims growing more and moreshadowy. 

John took the pipe from his mouth and spat once at the woodpile. Then, jerking his thumb toward the little window, he said briefly:

"Twins. Last night. "

Sam Motherwell mounted his trucks and drove away. He knew when he wasbeaten. 

The house had received additions on every side, until it seemed tothreaten to run over the edge of the lot, and looked like a section ofa wrecked freight train, with its yellow refrigerator car. 

The snow had drifted up to the windows, and entirely over the littlelean-to that had been erected at the time that little Danny had addedhis feeble wail to the general family chorus. 

But the smoke curled bravely up from the chimney into the frosty air, and a snug pile of wood by the "cheek of the dure" gave evidence ofJohn's industry, notwithstanding his dislike of the world's bestliterature. 

Inside the floor was swept and the stove was clean, and an air ofcomfort was over all, in spite of the evidence of poverty. A greatvariety of calendars hung on the wall. Every store in town it seems hadsent one this year, last year and the year before. A large poster ofthe Winnipeg Industrial Exhibition hung in the parlour, and aMassey-Harris self-binder, in full swing, propelled by three maroonhorses, swept through a waving field of golden grain, driven by anadipose individual in blue shirt and grass-green overalls. An enlargedpicture of John himself glared grimly from a very heavy frame, on theopposite wall, the grimness of it somewhat relieved by the row ofSunday-school "big cards" that were stuck in around the frame. 

On the afternoon that Mrs. Watson had received the uplifting talk onmotherhood, and Mrs. Francis had entered it in the little red book, Pearlie Watson, aged twelve, was keeping the house, as she did six daysin the week. The day was too cold for even Jimmy to be out, and so allexcept the three eldest boys were in the kitchen variously engaged. Danny under promise of a story was in the high chair submitting to athorough going over with soap and water. Patsey, looking up from hisself-appointed task of brushing the legs of the stove with thehair-brush, loudly demanded that the story should begin at once. 

"Story, is it?" cried Pearlie in her wrath, as she took the hair-brushfrom Patsey. "What time have I to be thinkin' of stories and you thatfull of badness. My heart is bruck wid ye. "

"I'll be good now, " Patsey said, penitently, sitting on the wood-box, and tenderly feeling his skinned nose. "I got hurt to-day, mind that, Pearlie. "

"So ye did, poor bye, " said Pearlie, her wrath all gone, "and what willI tell yez about, my beauties?"

"The pink lady where Jimmy brings the milk, " said Patsey promptly. 

"But it's me that's gettin' combed, " wailed Danny. "I should say whatye'r to tell, Pearlie. "

"True for ye, " said Pearlie, "Howld ye'r tongue, Patsey. What will Itell about, honey?"

"What Patsey said'll do" said Danny with an injured air, "and don'tforget the chockalut drops she had the day ma was there and say shesent three o' them to me, and you can have one o' them, Pearlie. "

"And don't forget the big plate o' potatoes and gravy and mate she gavethe dog, and the cake she threw in the fire to get red of it, " saidMary, who was knitting a sock for Teddy. 

"No, don't tell that, " said Jimmy, "it always makes wee Bugsey cry. "

"Well, " began Pearlie, as she had done many times before. "Once upon atime not very long ago, there lived a lovely pink lady in a big housepainted red, with windies in ivery side of it, and a bell on the frontdure, and a velvet carpet on the stair and--"

"What's a stair?' asked Bugsey. 

"It's a lot of boxes piled up higher and higher, and nailed down tightso that ye can walk on them, and when ye get away up high, there isanother house right farninst ye--well anyway, there was a lovely piannyin the parlow, and flowers in the windies, and two yalla burds thatsing as if their hearts wud break, and the windies had a border ofcoloured glass all around them, and long white curtings full of holes, but they like them all the better o' that, for it shows they are owldand must ha' been good to ha' stood it so long. Well, annyway, therewas a little boy called Jimmie Watson"--here all eyes were turned onJimmy, who was sitting on the floor mending his moccasin with a pieceof sinew. "There was a little boy called Jimmy Watson who used to carrymilk to the lady's back dure, and a girl with black eyes and whiteteeth all smiley used to take it from him, and put it in a lovelypitcher with birds flying all over it. But one day the lady, herself, was there all dressed in lovely pink velvet and lace, and a train aslong as from me to you, and she sez to Jimmy, sez she, 'Have you anysisters or brothers at home, ' and Jim speaks up real proud-like, 'Justnine, ' he sez, and sez she, swate as you please, 'Oh, that's lovely!Are they all as purty as you?' she sez, and Jimmy sez, 'Purtier ifanything, ' and she sez, 'I'll be steppin' over to-day to see yer ma, 'and Jim ran home and told them all, and they all got brushed and combedand actin' good, and in she comes, laving her carriage at the dure, andher in a long pink velvet cape draggin' behind her on the flure, andwide white fer all around it, her silk skirts creakin' like a bag ofcabbage and the eyes of her just dancin' out of her head, and she says, 'These are fine purty childer ye have here, Mrs. Watson. This is a ralepurty girl, this oldest one. What's her name?' and ma ups and tells herit is Rebecca Jane Pearl, named for her two grandmothers, and Pearljust for short. She says, 'I'll be for taking you home wid me, Pearlie, to play the pianny for me, ' and then she asks all around what thechildren's names is, and then she brings out a big box, from under hercape, all tied wid store string, and she planks it on the table andtearin' off the string, she sez, 'Now, Pearlie, it's ladies first, tibby sure. What would you like to see in here?' And I says upquick--'A long coat wid fer on it, and a handkerchief smellin' strongof satchel powder, ' and she whipped them out of the box and threw themon my knee, and a new pair of red mitts too. And then she says, 'Mary, acushla, it's your turn now. ' And Mary says, 'A doll with a real headon it, ' and there it was as big as Danny, all dressed in green satin, opening its eyes, if you plaze. "

"Now, me!" roared Danny, squirming in his chair. 

"'Daniel Mulcahey Watson, what wud you like?' she says, and Danny upsand says, 'Chockaluts and candy men and taffy and curren' buns andginger bread, ' and she had every wan of them. "

"'Robert Roblin Watson, him as they call Bugsey, what would you like?'and 'Patrick Healy Watson, as is called Patsey, what is your choice?'says she, and--"

In the confusion that ensued while these two young gentlemen thusreferred to stated their modest wishes, their mother came in, tired andpale, from her hard day's work. 

"How is the pink lady to-day, ma?" asked Pearlie, setting Danny downand beginning operations on Bugsey. 

"Oh, she's as swate as ever, an' can talk that soft and kind aboutchildren as to melt the heart in ye. "

Danny crept up on his mother's knee "Ma, did she give ye pie?" heasked, wistfully. 

"Yes, me beauty, and she sent this to you wid her love, " and Mrs. Watson took a small piece out of a newspaper from under her cape. Itwas the piece that had been set on the kitchen table for Mrs. Watson'sdinner. Danny called them all to have a bite. 

"Sure it's the first bite that's always the best, a body might not likeit so well on the second, " said Jimmy as he took his, but Bugseyrefused to have any at all. "Wan bite's no good, " he said, "it justlets yer see what yer missin. "

"D'ye think she'll ever come to see us, ma?" asked Pearlie, as she setDanny in the chair to give him his supper. The family was fed indivisions. Danny was always in Division A. 

"Her? Is it?" said Mrs. Watson and they all listened, for Pearlie'sstory to-day had far surpassed all her former efforts, and it seemed asif there must be some hope of its coming true. "Why och! childer dear, d'ye think a foine lady like her would be bothered with the likes ofus? She is r'adin' her book, and writin' letthers, and thinkin' greatthoughts, all the time. When she was speakin' to me to-day, she lookedat me so wonderin' and faraway I could see that she thought I wasn'tthere at all at all, and me farninst her all the time--no childer, dear, don't be thinkin' of it, and Pearlie, I think ye'd better not beputtin' notions inter their heads. Yer father wouldn't like it. WellDanny, me man, how goes it?" went on Mrs. Watson, as her latest bornwas eating his rather scanty supper. "It's not skim milk and dhry breadye'd be havin', if you were her child this night, but taffy candyfilled wid nuts and chunks o' cake as big as yer head. " Whereupon Dannywailed dismally, and had to be taken from his chair and have the"Little Boy Blue" sung to him, before he could be induced to go on withhis supper. 

The next morning when Jimmy brought the milk to Mrs. Francis's backdoor the dark-eyed girl with the "smiley" teeth let him in, and set achair beside the kitchen stove for him to warm his little blue hands. While she was emptying the milk into the pitcher with the birds on it, Mrs. Francis, with a wonderful pink kimono on, came into the kitchen. 

"Who is this boy, Camilla?" she asked, regarding Jimmy with a criticalgaze. 

"This is Master James Watson, Mrs. Francis, " answered Camilla with herpleasant smile. "He brings the milk every morning. "

"Oh yes; of course, I remember now, " said Mrs. Francis, adjusting herglasses. "How old is the baby, James?"

"Danny is it?" said Jim. "He's four come March. "

"Is he very sweet and cunning James, and do you love him very much?"

"Oh, he's all right, " Jim answered sheepishly. 

"It is a great privilege to have a little brother like Daniel. You mustbe careful to set before him a good example of honesty and sobriety. Hewill be a man some day, and if properly trained he may be a usefulfactor in the uplifting and refining of the world. I love littlechildren, " she went on rapturously, looking at Jimmy as if he wasn'tthere at all, "and I would love to train one, for service in the worldto uplift and refine. "

"Yes ma'am, " said Jimmy. He felt that something was expected of him, but he was not sure what. 

"Will you bring Daniel to see me to-morrow, James?" she said, asCamilla handed him his pail. "I would like to speak to his young mindand endeavour to plant the seeds of virtue and honesty in that fertilesoil. "

When Jimmy got home he told Pearlie of his interview with the pinklady, as much as he could remember. The only thing that he was sure ofwas that she wanted to see Danny, and that she had said something aboutplanting seeds in him. 

Jimmy and Pearlie thought it best not to mention Danny's proposed visitto their mother, for they knew that she would be fretting about hisclothes, and would be sitting up mending and sewing for him when sheshould be sleeping. So they resolved to say "nothin' to nobody. "

The next day their mother went away early to wash for the Methodistminister's wife, and that was always a long day's work. 

Then the work of preparation began on Danny. A wash-basin full of snowwas put on the stove to melt, and Danny was put in the high chair whichwas always the place of his ablutions. 

Pearlie began to think aloud. "Bugsey, your stockin's are the best. Offwid them, Mary, and mend the hole in the knees of them, and, Bugsey, hop into bed for we'll be needin' your pants anyway. It's awful stylishfor a little lad like Danny to be wearin' pants under his dresses, andnow what about boots? Let's see yours, Patsey. They're all gone in theuppers, and Billy's are too big, even if they were here, but they'reoff to school on him. I'll tell you what Mary, hurry up wid that socko' Ted's and we'll draw them on him over Bugsey's boots and purtindthey're overstockin's, and I'll carry him all the way so's not to dirtythem. "

Mary stopped her dish-washing, and drying her hands on the thin towelthat hung over the looking glass, found her knitting and began to knitat the top of her speed. 

"Isn't it good we have that dress o' his, so good yet, that he got whenwe had all of yez christened. Put the irons on there Mary; never mind, don't stop your knittin'. I'll do it myself. We'll press it out a bit, and we can put ma's handkerchief, the one pa gev her for Christmas, around his neck, sort o' sailor collar style, to show he's a boy. Andnow the snow is melted, I'll go at him. Don't cry now Danny, man, yergoing' up to the big house where the lovely pink lady lives that hasthe chocaklut drops on her stand and chunks of cake on the table widnuts in them as big as marbles. There now, " continued Pearlie, puttingthe towel over her finger and penetrating Danny's ear, "she'll not sayshe can plant seeds in you. Yer ears are as clean as hers, " and Pearliestood back and took a critical view of Danny's ears front and back. 

"Chockaluts?" asked Danny to be sure that he hadn't been mistaken. 

"Yes, " went on Pearlie to keep him still while she fixed his shock ofred hair into stubborn little curls, and she told again with evergrowing enthusiasm the story of the pink lady, and the wonderful thingsshe had in the box tied up with store string. 

At last Danny was completed and stood on a chair for inspection. Buthere a digression from the main issue occurred, for Bugsey had growntired of his temporary confinement and complained that Patsey had notcontributed one thing to Danny's wardrobe while he had had to give upboth his stockings and his pants. 

Pearlie stopped in the work of combing her own hair to see what couldbe done. 

"Patsey, where's your gum?" she asked. "Git it for me this minute, " andPatsey went to the "fallen leaf" of the table and found it on theinside where he had put it for safe keeping. 

"Now you give that to Bugsey, " she said, "and that'll make it kind o'even though it does look as if you wuz gettin' off pretty light. "

Pearlie struggled with her hair to make it lie down and "act dacint, "but the image that looked back at her from the cracked glass was notencouraging, even after making allowance for the crack, but shecomforted herself by saying, "Sure it's Danny she wants to see, and shewon't be lookin' much at me anyway. "

Then the question arose, and for a while looked serious-- What wasDanny to wear on his head? Danny had no cap, nor ever had one. Therewas one little red toque in the house that Patsey wore, but by anunfortunate accident, it had that very morning fallen into the milkpail and was now drying on the oven door. For a while it seemed as ifthe visit would have to be postponed until it dried, when Mary had aninspiration. 

"Wrap yer cloud around his head and say you wuz feart of the earache, the day is so cold. "

This was done and a blanket off one of the beds was pressed intoservice as an outer wrap for Danny. He was in such very bad humour atbeing wrapped up so tight that Pearlie had to set him down on the bedagain to get a fresh grip on him. 

"It's just as well I have no mitts, " she said as she lifted her heavyburden. "I couldn't howld him at all if I was bothered with mitts. Openthe dure, Patsey, and mind you shut it tight again. Keep up the fire, Mary. Bugsey, lie still and chew your gum, and don't fight any of yez. "

When Pearlie and her heavy burden arrived at Mrs. Francis's back doorthey were admitted by the dark-haired Camilla, who set a rocking-chairbeside the kitchen stove for Pearlie to sit in while she unrolledDanny, and when Danny in his rather remarkable costume stood up onPearlie's knee, Camilla laughed so good humouredly that Danny felt thenecessity of showing her all his accomplishments and so made the facethat Patsey had taught him by drawing down his eyes, and putting hisfingers in his mouth. Danny thought she liked it very much, for shewent hurriedly into the pantry and brought back a cookie for him. 

The savoury smell of fried salmon, for it was near lunch time, increased Danny's interest in his surroundings, and his eyes were bigwith wonder when Mrs. Francis herself came in. 

"And is this little Daniel!" she cried rapturously. "So sweet; soinnocent; so pure! Did Big Sister carry him all the way? Kind BigSister. Does oo love Big Sister?"

"Nope, " Danny spoke up quickly, "just like chockaluts. "

"How sweet of him, isn't it, really?" she said, "with the world allbefore him, the great untried future lying vast and prophetic waitingfor his baby feet to enter. Well has Dr. Parker said; 'A little childis a bundle of possibilities and responsibilities. '"

"If ye please, ma'am, " Pearlie said timidly, not wishing to contradictthe lady, but still anxious to set her right, "it was just this blanketI had him rolled in. "

At which Camilla again retired to the pantry with precipitate haste. 

"Did you see the blue, blue sky, Daniel, and the white, white snow, anddid you see the little snow-birds, whirling by like brown leaves?" Mrs. Francis asked with an air of great childishness. 

"Nope, " said Danny shortly, "didn't see nothin'. "

"Please, ma'am, " began Pearlie again, "it was the cloud around his headon account of the earache that done it. "

"It is sweet to look into his innocent young eyes and wonder whatvisions they will some day see, " went on Mrs. Francis, dreamily, butthere she stopped with a look of horror frozen on her face, for at themention of his eyes Danny remembered his best trick and how well it hadworked on Camilla, and in a flash his eyes were drawn down and hismouth stretched to its utmost limit. 

"What ails the child?" Mrs. Francis cried in alarm. "Camilla, comehere. "

Camilla came out of the pantry and gazed at Danny with sparkling eyes, while Pearlie, on the verge of tears, vainly tried to awaken in himsome sense of the shame he was bringing on her. Camilla hurried to thepantry again, and brought another cookie. "I believe, Mrs. Francis, that Danny is hungry, " she said. "Children sometimes act that way, " sheadded, laughing. 

"Really, how very interesting; I must see if Dr. Parker mentions thisstrange phenomenon in his book. "

"Please, ma'am, I think I had better take him home now, " said Pearlie. She knew what Danny was, and was afraid that greater disgrace mightawait her. But when she tried to get him back into the blanket he lostevery joint in his body and slipped to the floor. This is what she hadfeared--Danny had gone limber. 

"I don't want to go home" he wailed dismally. "I want to stay with her, and her; want to see the yalla burds, want a chockalut. "

"Come Danny, that's a man, " pleaded Pearlie, "and I'll tell you allabout the lovely pink lady when we go home, and I'll get Bugsey's gumfor ye and I'll--"

"No, " Danny roared, "tell me how about the pink lady, tell her, andher. "

"Wait till we get home, Danny man. " Pearlie's grief flowed afresh. Disgrace had fallen on the Watsons, and Pearlie knew it. 

"It would be interesting to know what mental food this little mind hasbeen receiving. Please do tell him the story, Pearlie. "

Thus admonished, Pearlie, with flaming cheeks began the story. Shetried to make it less personal, but at every change Danny screamed hisdisapproval, and held her to the original version, and when it wasdone, he looked up with his sweet little smile, and said to Mrs. Francis nodding his head. "You're it! You're the lovely pink lady. "There was a strange flush on Mrs. Francis's face, and a strange feelingstirring her heart, as she hurriedly rose from her chair and claspedDanny in her arms. 

"Danny! Danny!" she cried, "you shall see the yellow birds, and thestairs, and the chocolates on the dresser, and the pink lady will cometo-morrow with the big parcel. "

Danny's little arms tightened around her neck. 

"It's her, " he shouted. "It's her. "

When Mrs. Burton Francis went up to her sitting-room, a few hours laterto get the "satchel" powder to put in the box that was to be tied withthe store string, the sun was shining on the face of the Madonna on thewall, and it seemed to smile at her as she passed. 

The little red book lay on the table forgotten. She tossed it into thewaste-paper basket. 

CHAPTER II

THE OLD DOCTOR

Close beside Mrs. Francis's comfortable home stood another large house, weather-beaten and dreary looking, a house whose dilapidated verandasand broken fence clearly indicated that its good days had gone by. Inthe summer-time vines and flowers grew around it to hide its scars andrelieve its grimness, pathetic as a brave smile on a sad face. 

Dr. Barner, brilliant, witty and skilful, had for many years been avictim of intemperance, but being Scotch to the backbone, he nevercould see how good, pure "Kilmarnock, " made in Glasgow, could hurtanyone. He knew that his hand shook, and his brain reeled, and his eyeswere bleared; but he never blamed the whiskey. He knew that hispatients sometimes died while he was enjoying a protracted drunk, butof course, accidents will happen, and a doctor's accidents are soonburied and forgotten. Even in his worst moments, if he could be inducedto come to the sick bed, he would sober up wonderfully, and many asufferer was relieved from pain and saved from death by his gentle andskilful, though trembling, hands. He might not be able to walk acrossthe room, but he could diagnose correctly and prescribe successfully. 

When he came to Millford years ago, his practice grew rapidly. Peoplewondered why he came to such a small place, for his skill, his wit, hiswonderful presence would have won distinction anywhere. 

His wife, a frail though very beautiful woman, at first thought nothingof his drinking habits--he was never anything but gentlemanly in herpresence. But the time came when she saw honour and manhood slowly butsurely dying in him, and on her heart there fell the terrible weight ofa powerless despair. Her health had never been robust and she quicklysank into invalidism. 

The specialist who came from Winnipeg diagnosed her case as chronicanaemia and prescribed port wine, which she refused with a queer littlewavering cry and a sudden rush of tears. But she put up a good fightnevertheless. She wanted to live so much, for the sake of Mary, herbeautiful fifteen-year-old daughter. 

Mrs. Barner did not live to see the whole work of degeneration, for theend came in the early spring, swift and sudden and kind. 

The doctor's grief for his wife was sincere. He always referred to heras "my poor Mildred, " and never spoke of her except when comparativelysober. 

Mary Barner took up the burden of caring for her father withoutquestion, for she loved him with a great and pitying love, to which heresponded in his best moments. In the winter she went with him on hisdrives night and day, for the fear of what might happen was always inher heart. She was his housekeeper, his office-girl, his bookkeeper;she endured all things, loneliness, poverty, disgrace, withoutcomplaining or bitterness. 

One day shortly after Mrs. Barner's death big John Robertson from "thehills" drove furiously down the street to the doctor's house, andrushed into the office without ringing the bell. His little boy hadbeen cut with the mower-knives, and he implored the doctor to come atonce. 

The doctor sat at his desk, just drunk enough to be ugly-tempered, andcurtly told Mr. Robertson to go straight to perdition, and as the poorman, wild with excitement, begged him to come and offered him money, heyawned nonchalantly, and with some slight variations repeated theinjunction. 

Mary hearing the conversation came in hurriedly. 

"Mary, my dear, " the doctor said, "please leave us. This gentleman isquite forgetting himself and his language is shocking. " Mary did noteven look at her father. She was packing his little satchel with allthat would be needed. 

"Now pick him up and take him, " she said firmly to big John. "He'll beall right when he sees your little boy, never mind what he says now. "

Big John seized the doctor and bore him struggling and protesting tothe wagon. 

The doctor made an effort to get out. 

"Put him down in the bottom with this under his head"--handing Big Johna cushion--"and put your feet on him, " Mary commanded. 

Big John did as she bid him, none too gently, for he could still hearhis little boy's cries and see that cruel jagged wound. 

"Oh, don't hurt him, " she cried piteously, and ran sobbing into thehouse. Upstairs, in what had been her mother's room, she pressed herface against her mother's kimono that still hung behind the door. "I amnot crying for you to come back, mother, " she sobbed bitterly, "I amjust crying for your little girl. "

The doctor was asleep when John reached his little shanty in the hills. The child still lived, his Highland mother having stopped the bloodwith rude bandaging and ashes, a remedy learned in her far-off islandhome. 

John shook the doctor roughly and cursed him soundly in both Englishand Gaelic, without avail, but the child's cry so full of pain andweakness roused him with a start. In a minute Dr. Frederick Barner washimself. He took the child gently from his mother and laid him on thebed. 

For two days the doctor stayed in John's dirty little shanty, caringfor little Murdock as tenderly as a mother. He cooked for the child, hesang to him, he carried him in his arms for hours, and soothed him witha hundred quaint fancies. He superintended the cleaning of the houseand scolded John's wife soundly on her shiftless ways; he showed herhow to bake bread and cook little dishes to tempt the child's appetite, winning thereby her undying gratitude. She understood but little of thescolding, but she saw his kindness to her little boy, for kindness isthe same in all languages. 

On the third day, the little fellow's fever went down and, peeping overthe doctor's shoulder, he smiled and chattered and asked for his"daddy" and his "mathar. "

Then Big John broke down utterly and tried to speak his gratitude, butthe doctor abruptly told him to quit his blubbering and hitch up, forlittle Murdock would be chasing the hens again in a week or two. 

The doctor went faithfully every day and dressed little Murdock's wounduntil it no longer needed his care, remaining perfectly sobermeanwhile. Hope sprang up in Mary's heart--for love believeth allthings. 

At night when he went to bed and she carefully locked the doors andtook the keys to her room, she breathed a sigh of relief. One more daywon!

But alas for Mary's hopes! They were built upon the slipping, slidingsands of human desire. One night she found him in the office of thehotel; a red-faced, senseless, gibbering old man, arguing theology witha brother Scotchman, who was in the same condition of mellowexhilaration. 

Mary's white face as she guided her father through the door had aneffect upon the men who sat around the office. Kind-hearted fellowsthey were, and they felt sorry for the poor little motherless girl, sorry for "old Doc" too. One after another they went home, feeling justa little ashamed. 

The bartender, a new one from across the line, a dapper chap withdiamonds, was indignant. "I'll give that old man a straight pointer, "he said, "that his girl has to stay out of here. This is no place forwomen, anyway"--which is true, God knows. 

Five years went by and Mary Barner lived on in the lonely house and didall that human power could do to stay her father's evil course. But theyears told heavily upon him. He had made some fatal mistakes in hisprescribing, and the people had been compelled to get in anotherdoctor, though a great many of those who had known him in his best daysstill clung to the "old man" in spite of his drinking. They could notforget how he had fought with death for them and for their children. 

Of all his former skill but little remained now except his wonderfulpresence in the sick-room. 

He could still inspire the greatest confidence and hope. Still at hiscoming a sick man's fears fell away from him, and in their stead camehope and good cheer. This was the old man's good gift that even hisyears of sinning could not wholly destroy. God had marked him for agreat physician. 

CHAPTER III

THE PINK LADY

When Mrs. Francis decided to play the Lady Bountiful to the Watsonfamily, she not only ministered to their physical necessity but sheconscientiously set about to do them good, if they would be done goodto. Mrs. Francis's heart was kind, when you could get to it; but it wasso deeply crusted over with theories and reflections and abstracttruths that not very many people knew that she had one. 

When little Danny's arms were thrown around her neck, and he called herhis dear sweet, pink lady, her pseudo-intellectuality broke down beforea power which had lain dormant. She had always talked a great deal ofthe joys of motherhood, and the rapturous delights of mother-love. Notmany of the mothers knew as much of the proper care of an infant duringthe period of dentition as she. She had read papers at mothers'meetings, and was as full of health talks as a school physiology. 

But it was the touch of Danny's soft cheek and clinging arms thatbrought to her the rapture that is so sweet it hurts, and she realisedthat she had missed the sweetest thing in life. A tiny flame of reallove began to glimmer in her heart and feebly shed its beams among thedebris of cold theories and second-hand sensations that had filled ithitherto. 

She worried Danny with her attentions, although he tried hard to put upwith them. She was the lady of his dreams, for Pearl's imagination hadclothed her with all the virtues and graces. 

Hers was a strangely inconsistent character, spiritually minded, butselfish; loving humanity when it is spelled with a capital, but knowingnothing of the individual. The flower of holiness in her heart was likethe haughty orchid that blooms in the hothouse, untouched by wind orcold, beautiful to behold but comforting no one with its beauty. 

Pearl Watson was like the rugged little anemone, the wind flower thatlifts its head from the cheerless prairie. No kind hand softens theheat or the cold, nor tempers the wind, and yet the very winds thatblow upon it and the hot sun that beats upon it bring to it a grace, ahardiness, a fragrance of good cheer, that gladdens the hearts of allwho pass that way. 

Mrs. Francis found herself strongly attracted to Pearl. Pearl, thehousekeeper, the homemaker, a child with a woman's responsibility, appealed to Mrs. Francis. She thought about Pearl very often. 

Noticing one day that Pearl was thin and pale, she decided at once thatshe needed a health talk. Pearl sat like a graven image while Mrs. Francis conscientiously tried to stir up in her the seeds of rightliving. 

"Oh, ma!" Pearl said to her mother that night, when the children hadgone to bed and they were sewing by the fire. "Oh, ma! she told me moreto-day about me insides than I would care to remember. Mind ye, ma, there's a sthring down yer back no bigger'n a knittin' needle, and ifye ever broke it ye'd snuff out before ye knowed what ye was doin', andthere's a tin pan in yer ear that if ye got a dinge in it, it wouldn'tbe worth a dhirty postage stamp for hearin' wid, and ye mustn't skipma, for it will disturb yer Latin parts, and ye mustn't eat seeds, orye'll get the thing that pa had--what is it called ma?"

Her mother told her. 

"Yes, appendicitis, that's what she said. I never knowed there were somany places inside a person to go wrong, did ye, ma? I just thought wehad liver and lights and a few things like that. "

"Don't worry, alannah, " her mother said soothingly, as she cut out theother leg of Jimmy's pants. "The Lord made us right I guess, and hewon't let anything happen to us. "

But Pearl was not yet satisfied. "But, oh ma, " she said, as she hastilyworked a buttonhole. "You don't know about the diseases that are goin''round. Mind ye, there's tuberoses in the cows even, and them that slyabout it, and there's diseases in the milk as big as a chew o' gum andus not seein' them. Every drop of it we use should be scalded well, andoh, ma, I wonder anyone of us is alive for we're not half clean! Thepoison pours out of the skin night and day, carbolic acid she said, andevery last wan o' us should have a sponge bath at night--that's just toslop yerself all up and down with a rag, and an oliver in the mornin'. Ma, what's an oliver, d'ye think?"

"Ask Camilla, " Mrs. Watson said, somewhat alarmed at these hygienicproblems. "Camilla is grand at explaining Mrs. Francis's quare ways. "

Pearl's brown eyes were full of worry. 

"It's hard to git time to be healthy, ma, " she said; "we should keepthe kittle bilin' all the time, she says, to keep the humanity in theair--Oh, I wish she hadn't a told me, I never thought atin' hurtanyone, but she says lots of things that taste good is black pison. Isn't it quare, ma, the Lord put such poor works in us and us not thereat the time to raise a hand. "

They sewed in silence for a few minutes. 

Then Pearl said: "Let us go to bed now, ma, me eyes are shuttin'. I'llgo back to-morrow and ask Camilla about the 'oliver. '"

CHAPTER IV

THE BAND OF HOPE

Mary Barner had learned the lesson early that the only easing of herown pain was in helping others to bear theirs, and so it came aboutthat there was perhaps no one in Millford more beloved than she. Perhaps it was the memory of her own lost childhood that caused herheart to go out in love and sympathy to every little boy and girl inthe village. 

Their joys were hers; their sorrows also. She took slivers from littlefingers with great skill, beguiling the owners thereof with wonderfulsongs and stories. She piloted weary little plodders through pages of"homework. " She mended torn "pinnies" so that even vigilant mothersnever knew that their little girls had jumped the fence at all. Shemade dresses for concerts at short notice. She appeased angry parents, and many a time prevented the fall of correction's rod. 

When Tommy Watson beguiled Ignatius McSorley, Jr. , to leave hismother's door, and go swimming in the river, promising faithfully to"button up his back"--Ignatius being a wise child who knew hislimitations--and when Tommy Watson forgot that promise and baselydeserted Ignatius to catch on the back of a buggy that came along theriver road, leaving his unhappy friend clad in one small shirt, vainlyimploring him to return, Ignatius could not go home, for his motherwould know that he had again yielded to the siren's voice; so it was tothe Barner back door that he turned his guilty steps. Miss Barner wastalking to a patient in the office when she heard a small voice at thekitchen door full of distress, whimpering:

"Please Miss Barner, I'm in a bad way. Tommy Watson said he'd help meand he never!"

Miss Barner went quickly, and there on the doorstep stood a tiny cupidin tears, tightly clasping his scanty wardrobe to his bosom. 

"He said he'd help me and he never!" he repeated in a burst of rage asshe drew him in hastily. 

"Never mind, honey, " she said, struggling to control her laughter. "Just wait till I catch Tommy Watson!"

Miss Barner was the assistant Band of Hope teacher. On Monday afternoonit was part of her duty to go around and help the busy mothers to getthe children ready for the meeting. She also took her turn with Mrs. White in making taffy, for they had learned that when temperancesentiment waned, taffy, with nuts in it, had a wonderful power to bindand hold the wavering childish heart. 

There was no human way of telling a taffy day--the only sure way was togo every time. The two little White girls always knew, but do you thinkthey would tell? Not they. There was secrecy written all over theirblond faces, and in every strand of their straw-coloured hair. Oncethey deliberately stood by and heard Minnie McSorley and Mary Watsonplan to go down to the creamery for pussy-willows on Mondayafternoon--there were four plates of taffy on their mother's pantryshelf at the time and yet they gave no sign--Minnie McSorley and MaryWatson went blindly on and reaped a harvest of regrets. 

There was no use offering the White girls anything for the information. Glass alleys, paint cards or even popcorn rings were powerless tocorrupt them. Once Jimmy Watson became the hero of an hour bycirculating the report that he had smelled it cooking when he took themilk to Miss Barner's; but alas, for circumstantial evidence. 

Every child went to Band of Hope that Monday afternoon eager andexpectant; but it was only a hard lesson on the effect of alcohol onthe lining of the stomach that they got, and when Mrs. Whitecomplimented them on their increased attendance and gave out theclosing hymn, Oh, what a happy band are we!

the Hogan twins sobbed. 

When the meeting was over, Miss Barner exonerated Jimmy by saying itwas icing for a cake he had smelled, and the drooping spirits of theBand were somewhat revived by her promise that next Monday would surelybe Taffy Day. 

On the last Monday of each month the Band of Hope had a programmeinstead of the regular lesson. Before the programme was given thechildren were allowed to tell stories or ask questions relating totemperance. The Hogan twins were always full of communications, and onthis particular Monday it looked as if they would swamp the meeting. 

William Henry Hogan (commonly known as Squirt) told to a dot how manypairs of shoes and bags of flour a man could buy by denying himselfcigars for ten years. During William Henry's recital, John James Hogan, the other twin, showed unmistakable signs of impatience. He stood upand waved his hand so violently that he seemed to be in danger ofthrowing that useful member away forever. Mrs. White gave himpermission to speak as soon as his brother had finished, and John Jamesannounced with a burst of importance:

"Please, teacher, my pa came home last night full as a billy-goat. "

Miss Barner put her hand hastily over her eyes. Mrs. White gasped, andthe Band of Hope held its breath. 

Then Mrs. White hurriedly announced that Master James Watson wouldrecite, and Jimmy went forward with great outward composure and recited:

 As I was going to the lake I met a little rattlesnake; I fed him with some jelly-cake, Which made his little--

But Mrs. White interrupted Jimmy just then by saying that she mustinsist on temperance selections at these programmes, whereat PearlieWatson's hand waved appealingly, and Miss Barner gave her permission tospeak. 

"Please ma'am, " Pearl said, addressing Mrs. White, "Jimmy and methought anything about a rattlesnake would do for a temperance piece, and if you had only let Jimmy go on you would have seen what happenedeven a snake that et what he hadn't ought to, and please ma'am, Jimmyand me thought it might be a good lesson for all of us. "

Miss Barner thought that Pearlie's point was well taken, and took Jimmywith her into the vestry from which he emerged a few minutes later, flushed and triumphant, and recited the same selection, with a possiblechange of text in one place:

 As I was going to the lake I met a little rattlesnake; I fed him on some jelly-cake, Which made his little stomach ache. 

The musical committee then sang:

 We're for home and mother, God and native land, Grown up friend and brother, Give us now your hand. 

and won loud applause. Little Sissy Moore knew only the first verse, but it would never have been known that she was sayingdum--dum--dum--dum--dum--dum--dum--dum dum-dum-dum, if Mary Simpsonhadn't told. 

Wilford Ducker, starched as stiff as boiled and raw starch could makehim, recited "Perish, King Alcohol, we will grow up, " but was accordeda very indifferent reception by the Band of Hopers. Wilford was allowedto go to Band of Hope only when Miss Barner went for him and escortedhim home again. Mrs. Ducker had been very particular about Wilford fromthe first. 

Then the White girls recited a strictly suitable piece. It was entitled"The World and the Conscience. "

Lily represented a vain woman of the world bent upon pleasure with atendency toward liquid refreshment. Her innocent china-blue eyes andflaxen braids were in strange contrast to the mad love of glitteringwealth which was supposed to fill her heart:

 Give to me the flowing bowl, And Pleasure's glittering crown; The path of Pride shall be my goal, And conscience's voice I'll drown!

Then Blanche sweetly admonished her:

 Oh! lay aside your idle boasts, No Pleasure thus you'll find; The flowing bowl a serpent is To poison Soul and Mind. 

 Oh, sign our pledge, while yet you can, Nor look upon the Wine When it is red within the Cup, Let not its curse be thine!

Thereupon the frivolous creature repents of her waywardness, and thetwo little girls join hands and recite in unison:

 We will destroy this giant King, And drive him from our land; And on the side of Temp-er-ance We'll surely take our stand!

and the piece was over. 

Robert Roblin Watson (otherwise known as Bugsey), who had that very daybeen installed as a member of the Band of Hope, after he had avowed hisdetermination "never to touch, taste nor handle alcoholic stimulants inany form as a beverage and to discourage all traffic in the same, " wasthe next gentleman on the programme. Pearlie was sure Bugsey'sselection was suitable. She whispered to him the very last minute notto forget his bow, but he did forget it, and was off like a shot intohis piece. 

 I belong to the Band of Hope, Never to drink and never to smoke; To love my parents and Uncle Sam, Keep Alcohol out of my diaphragm; To say my prayers when I go to bed, And not put the bedclothes over my head; Fill up my lungs with oxygen, And be kind to every living thing. 

There! I guess there can't be no kick about that, Pearl thought toherself as Bugsey finished, and the applause rang out loud and louder. 

Pearlie had forgotten to tell Bugsey to come down when he was done, andso he stood irresolute, as the applause grew more and more deafening. Pearl beckoned and waved and at last got him safely landed, and whenMrs. White announced that to-day was Taffy Day, owing to Miss Barner'skindness, Bugsey's cup of happiness was full. Miss Barner said she hadan extra big piece for the youngest member, Master Danny Watson. Pearlie had not allowed any person to mention taffy to him becauseDanny could not bear to be disappointed. 

But there were no disappointments that day. Taffy enough for every one, amber-coloured taffy slabs with nuts in it, cream taffy in lusciousnuggets, curly twists of brown and yellow taffy. Oh look, there'sanother plateful! and it's coming this way. "Have some more, Danny. Oh, take a bigger piece, there's lots of it. " Was it a dream?

When the last little Band of Hoper had left the vestry, Mary Barner satalone with her thoughts, looking with unseeing eyes at the red andsilver mottoes on the wall. Pledge cards which the children had signedwere gaily strung together with ribbons across the wall behind her. Shewas thinking of the little people who had just gone--how would it bewith them in the years to come?--they were so sweet and pure and lovelynow. Unconsciously she bowed her head on her hands, and a cry quiveredfrom her heart. The yellow sunlight made a ripple of golden water onthe wall behind her and threw a wavering radiance on her soft brownhair. 

It was at that moment that the Rev. Hugh Grantley, the new Presbyterianminister, opened the vestry door. 

CHAPTER V

THE RELICT OF THE LATE MCGUIRE

Close beside the Watson estate with its strangely shaped dwelling stoodanother small house, which was the earthly abode of one Mrs. McGuire, also of Irish extraction, who had been a widow for forty years. Mrs. McGuire was a tall, raw-boned, angular woman with piercing black eyes, and a firm forbidding jaw. One look at Mrs. McGuire usually made a bookagent forget the name of his book. When she shut her mouth, no lipswere visible; her upturned nose seemed seriously to contemplate runningup under her sun bonnet to escape from this wicked world with all itstroubling, and especially from John Watson, his wife and his family ofnine. 

One fruitful cause of dispute between Mrs. McGuire and the Watsons wasthe boundary line between the two estates. In the spring Mrs. Watsonand the boys put up a fence of green poplar poles where they thoughtthe fence should be, hoping that it might serve the double purpose ofdividing the lots and be a social barrier between them and the relictof the late McGuire. The relict watched and waited and said not a word, but it was the ominous silence that comes before the hail. 

Mrs. McGuire hated the Watson family collectively, but it was upon JohnWatson, the man of few words, that she lavished the whole wealth of herSouth of Ireland hatred, for John Watson had on more than one occasiongot the better of her in a wordy encounter. 

One time when the boundary dispute was at its height, she had burstupon John as he went to his work in the morning, with a storm offar-reaching and comprehensive epithets. She gave him the history ofthe Watson family, past, present, and future--especially the future;every Watson that ever left Ireland came in for a brief but pungentnotice. 

John stood thoughtfully rubbing his chin, and when she stopped, notfrom lack of words, but from lack of breath, he slowly remarked:

"Mistress McGuire, yer a lady. "

"Yer a liar!" she snapped back, with a still more eloquent burst ofinvectives. 

John lighted his pipe with great deliberation, and when it was drawingnicely he took it from his mouth and said, more to himself than to her:

"Stay where ye are, Pat McGuire. It may be hot where ye are, but itwould be hotter for ye if ye were here, and ye'd jist have the throubleo' movin'. Stay where ye are, Pat, wherever ye are. " He walked awayleaving Mrs. McGuire with the uncomfortable feeling that he had someway got the best of her. 

The Watsons had planted their potatoes beside the fence, and did notdream of evil. But one morning in the early autumn, the earliest littleWatson who went out to get a basin of water out of the rain barrel, towash the "sleeps" out of his eyes, dropped the basin in hisastonishment, for the fence was gone--it was removed to Mrs. McGuire'swoodpile, and the lady herself was industriously digging the potatoes. 

Bugsey, for he was the early little bird, ran back into the housescreaming:

"She's robbed us! She's robbed us! and tuk our fence. "

The Watson family gathered as quickly as a fire brigade at the sound ofthe gong, but in the scramble for garments some were less fortunatethan others. Wee Tommy, who was a little heavier sleeper than theothers, could find nothing to put on but one overshoe and an old chestprotector of his mother's, but he arrived at the front, nevertheless. Tommy was not the boy to desert his family for any minor considerationsuch as clothes. 

Mrs. McGuire leaned on her hoe and nonchalantly regarded the gatheringforces. She had often thought out the scene, and her air ofindifference was somewhat overdone. 

The fence was on her ground, so it was, and so were two rows of thepotatoes. She could do what she liked with her own, so she could. Shedidn't ask them to plant potatoes on her ground. If they wanted tostand there gawkin' at her, they wur welcome. She always did likecomp'ny; but she was afraid the childer would catch cowld, they weredressed so loight for so late in the season. She picked up the lastpailful as she spoke, and retired into her own house, leaving theWatson family to do the same. 

Mrs. Watson counselled peace. John ate his breakfast in silence; butthe young Watsons, and even Pearlie, thirsted for revenge. BugseyWatson forgot his Band of Hope teaching of returning good for evil, andstanding on the disputed territory, he planted his little bare legs farapart and shouted, dancing up and down to the rhythm:

 Chew tobacco, chew tobacco, Spit, spit, spit! Old McGuire, old McGuire, Nit, nit, nit!

Mrs. McGuire did occasionally draw comfort from an old clay pipe--butBugsey's punishment was near. 

A long shadow fell upon him, and turning around he found himself faceto face with Mary Barner who stood spellbound, listening to her latelyinstalled Band of Hoper!

Bugsey's downfall was complete! He turned and ran down the road andround behind an elevator, where half an hour later Pearl found himshedding penitential tears, not alas! because he had sinned, butbecause he had been found out. 

The maternal instinct was strong in Pearlie. Bugsey in tears was inneed of consolation; Bugsey was always in need of admonition. So shecombined them:

"Don't cry, alannah. Maybe Miss Barner didn't hear yez at all at all. Ladies like her do be thinkin' great thoughts and never knowin' what'sforninst them. Mrs. Francis never knows what ye'r sayin' to her at thetoime; ye could say 'chew tobacco, chew tobacco' all ye liked beforeher; but what for did ye sass owld lady McGuire? Haven't I towld yetime out of mind that a soft answer turns away wrath, and forbye makesthem madder than anything ye could say to them?"

Bugsey tearfully declared he would never go to Band of Hope again. Taffy or no taffy, he could not bear to face her. 

"Go tell her, Bugsey man, " Pearlie urged. "Tell her ye'r sorry. Iw'uldn't mind tellin' Miss Barner anything. Even if I'd kilt a man andhid his corp, she's the very one I'd git to help me to give me a h'istwith him into the river, she's that good and swate. "

The subject of this doubtful compliment had come down so early thatmorning believing that Mrs. McGuire was confined to her bed withrheumatism. Seeing the object of her solicitude up and about, she wouldhave returned without knowing what had happened; but Bugsey'sremarkable musical turn decided her that Mrs. McGuire was sufferingfrom worse than a rheumatic knee. She went into the little house, andheard all about it. 

When she went home a little later she found Robert Roblin Watson, withresolute heart but hanging head, waiting for her on the back step. Whatpassed between them neither of them ever told, but in a very fewminutes Robert Roblin ran gaily homeward, happy in heart, shriven ofhis sin, and with one little spot on his cheek which tingled withrapture. Better still, he went, like a man, and made his peace withMrs. McGuire!

CHAPTER VI

THE MUSICAL SENSE

Mrs. Francis, in the sweetest of tea gowns, was intent upon Dr. Ernestus Parker's book on "Purposeful Motherhood. " It was the chapterdealing with the "Musical Sense in Children" which engrossed Mrs. Francis's attention. She had just begun subdivision C in the chapter, "When and How the Musical Sense Is Developed, " when she thought ofDanny. She fished into the waste-paper basket for her little rednote-book, and with her silver mounted pencil she made the followingentry:

 DANIEL WATSON, AGED 4. MUS. SENSE. DEVELOPED. IF SO, WHEN. IF NOT, HOW, AND AT ONCE. 

She read on feverishly. She felt herself to be in the throes of a greatidea. 

Then she called Camilla. Camilla is always so practical, she thought. 

To Camilla she elaborated the vital points of Dr. Parker's theory ofthe awakening of the musical sense, reading here and there from thebook, rapidly and unintelligibly. She was so excited she wasincoherent. Camilla listened patiently, although her thoughts were withher biscuits in the oven below. 

"And now, Camilla, " she said when she had gone all over the subject, "how can we awaken the musical sense in Daniel? You know I value youropinion so much. "

Camilla was ready. 

"Take him to hear Professor Welsman play, " she said. "The professorwill give his recital here on the 15th. "

Mrs. Francis wrote rapidly. "I believe, " she said looking up, "yoursuggestion is a good one. You shall have the credit of it in my notes. "

 Plan of awakening mus. Sense suggested by C--. 

Camilla smiled. "Thank you, Mrs. Francis. You are very kind. "

When Camilla went back to the kitchen and took the biscuits from theoven, she laughed softly to herself. 

"This is going to be a good time for some further suggestions. Pearlmust go with Danny. What a treat it will be for poor little Pearl! Thenwe must have a new suit for Danny, new dress for Pearl, new cap for D. , new hat for P. , all suggested by C. There are a few suggestions whichC. Will certainly make. "

On the evening of the professor's recital there were no two happierpeople in the audience than Pearlie Watson and her brother DanielMulcahey Watson; not because the great professor was about to interpretfor them the music of the masters--that was not the cause of theirhappiness--but because of the good supper they had had and the goodclothes they wore, their hearts were glad. They had spent the afternoonat Mrs. Francis's (suggested by C. ). Danny's new coat had a velvetcollar lovely to feel (suggested by C. ). Pearl had a wonderful newdress--the kind she had often dreamed of--made out of one of Mrs. Francis's tea gowns. (Not only suggested but made by C. ). It had realbuttons on it, and there was not one pin needed. Pearl felt she wasjust as well dressed as the little girl on the starch box. Her onlygrief was that when she had on her coat--which was also new, andrepresented one-half month of Camilla's wages--the velvet on her dressdid not show. But Camilla, anticipating this difficulty, laid back thefronts in stunning lapels, and to complete the arrangement, put one ofher own lace collars around the neck of the coat, the ends coming downover the turned-back fronts. When Pearl looked in the glass she couldnot believe her eyes!

Mr. Francis did not attend piano recitals, nor the meetings of theBrowning Club. Mrs. Francis was often deeply grieved with James for hisindifference in regard to these matters. But the musical sense in Jamescontinued to slumber and sleep. 

The piano recital by Professor Welsman was given under the auspices ofthe Ladies' Aid of the Methodist Church, the proceeds to be giventoward defraying the cost of the repairs on the parsonage. 

The professor was to be assisted by local talent, it said on theprogrammes. Pearl was a little bit disappointed about the programmes. She had told Danny that there would be a chairman who would say: "I seethe first item on this here programme is remarks by the chair, but asyez all know I ain't no hand at makin' a speech we'll pass on to thenext item. " But there was not a sign of a chairman, not even a chair. The people just came up themselves, without anybody telling them, anddid their piece and went back. It looked sort of bold to Pearl. 

First the choir came in and sang: "Praise Waiteth for Thee, O Lord, inZion. " Pearl did not like the way they treated her friend Dr. Clay. Twice when he began to sing a little piece by himself, doing all right, too, two or three of them broke in on him and took the words right outof his mouth. Pearl had seen people get slapped faces for things likethat. Pearl thought it just served them right when the doctor stoppedsinging and let them have it their own way. 

When the professor came up the aisle everybody leaned forward to have agood look at him. "He is just like folks only for his hair, " Pearlthought. Pearl lifted Danny on her knee and told him to look alive now. She knew what they were there for. 

Then the professor began to play. Indifferently at first after themanner of his kind, clever gymnastics to limber up his fingers perhaps, and perhaps to show how limber they are; runs and trills, brilliantexecution, one hand after the other in mad pursuit, crossing over, backagain, up and down in the vain endeavour to come up with the otherhand; crescendo, diminuendo, trills again!

Danny yawned widely. 

"When's he goin' to begin?" he asked, sleepily. 

Mrs. Francis watched Danny eagerly. The musical sense was liable towake up any minute. But it would have to hurry, for Daniel Mulcahey wasliable to go to sleep any minute. 

Pearl was disgusted with the professor and her thoughts fell intovulgar baseball slang:

"Playin' to the grand stand, ain't ye? instead o' gettin' down to work. That'll do for ketch and toss. Play the game! Deliver the goods!"

Then the professor began the full arm chords with sudden fury, writhingupon the stool as he struck the angry notes from the piano. Pearl'sindignation ran high. 

"He's lost his head--he's up in the air!" she shouted, but the wordswere lost in the clang of musical discords. 

But wait! Pearl sat still and listened. There was something doing. Itwas a Welsh rhapsodie that he was playing. It was all there--themountains and the rivers, and the towering cliffs with glimpses of thesea where waves foam on the rocks, and sea-fowl wheel and scream in thewind, and then a bit of homely melody as the country folk drive home inthe moonlight, singing as only the Welsh can sing, the songs of theheart; songs of love and home, songs of death and sorrowing, that stabwith sudden sweetness. A child cries somewhere in the dark, cries forhis mother who will come no more. Then a burst of patriotic fire, asthe people fling defiance at the conquering foe, and hold the mountainpasses till the last man falls. But the glory of the fight and themarch of many feet trail off into a wailing chant--the death song ofthe brave men who have died. The widow mourns, and the little childrenweep comfortless in their mountain home, and the wind rushes throughthe forest, and the river foams furiously down the mountain, falling inbillows of lace over the rocks, and the sun shines over all, cold andpitiless. 

"Why, Pearlie Watson, what are you crying for?" Mrs. Francis whisperedseverely. Pearl's sobs had disturbed her. Danny lay asleep on Pearl'sknees, and her tears fell fast on his tangled curls. 

"I ain't cryin', I ain't cryin' a bit. You leave me alone, " Pearlblubbered rudely, shaking off Mrs Francis's shapely hand. 

Mrs. Francis was shocked. What in the world was making Pearl cry?

The next morning Mrs. Francis took out her little red book to enter theresult of her experiment, and sat looking long and earnestly at itspages. Then she drew a writing pad toward her and wrote an illuminativearticle on "Late Hours a Frequent and Fruitful Cause of Irritability inChildren. "

CHAPTER VII

"ONE OF MANITOBA'S PROSPEROUS FARMERS"

Mr. Samuel Motherwell was a wealthy farmer who lived a few miles fromMillford. Photographs of Mr. Motherwell's premises may be seen in theagricultural journals, machinery catalogues, advertisements for wovenwire, etc. --"the home of one of Manitoba's prosperous farmers. "

The farm buildings were in good repair; a large red barn with whitetrimmings surmounted by a creaking windmill; a long, low machine shedfilled with binders, seeders, disc-harrows--everything that is neededfor the seed-time and harvest and all that lies between; a large stonehouse, square and gray, lonely and bare, without a tree or a shrubaround it. Mr. Motherwell did not like vines or trees around a house. They were apt to attract lightning and bring vermin. 

Potatoes grew from the road to the house; and around the front door, ashigh as the veranda, weeds flourished in abundance, undisturbed andunnoticed. 

Behind the cookhouse a bed of poppies flamed scarlet against thegeneral sombreness, and gave a strange touch of colour to the commongrayness. They seemed out of place in the busy farmyard. Everythingelse was there for use. Everybody hurried but the poppies; idlers ofprecious time, suggestive of slothful sleep, they held up their brazenfaces in careless indifference. 

Sam had not planted them--you may be sure of that. Mrs. Motherwellwould tell you of an English girl she had had to work for her thatsummer who had brought the seed with her from England, and of how oneday when she sent the girl to weed the onions, she had found herblubbering and crying over what looked to Mrs. Motherwell nothing morethan weeds. The girl then told her she had brought the seed with herand planted it there. She was the craziest thing, this Polly Bragg. Shewent every night to see them because they were like a "bit of home, "she said. Mrs. Motherwell would tell you just what a ridiculouscreature she was!

"I never see the beat o' that girl, " Mrs. Motherwell would say. "Themeyes of hers were always red with homesickness, and there was no reasonfor it in the world, her gettin' more wages than she ever got before, and more'n she was earnin', as I often told her. Land! the way thatgirl would sing when she had got a letter from home, the queerest songsye ever heard:

 Down by the biller there grew a green willer, Weeping all night with the bank for a piller. 

Well, I had to stop her at last, " Mrs. Motherwell would tell you withan apologetic swallow, which showed that even generous people have tobe firm sometimes in the discharge of unpleasant duties. 

"And, mind you, " Mrs. Motherwell would go on, with a grieved air, "justas the busy time came on didn't she up and take the fever--you nevercan depend on them English girls--and when the doctor was outside therein the buggy waitin' for her--he took her to the hospital--I declare ifwe didn't find her blubberin' over them poppies, and not a flower onthem no mor'n nothing. "

Sam Motherwell and his wife were nominally Presbyterians. At the timethat the Millford Presbyterian Church was built Sam had giventwenty-five dollars toward it, the money having been secured in somestrange way by the wiles of Purvis Thomas, the collector. Everybody wassurprised at Sam's prodigality. The next year, a new collector--forPurvis Thomas had gone away--called on Mr. Motherwell. 

The grain was just beginning to show a slight tinge of gold. It was oneof those cloudless sunshiny days in the beginning of August, when afaint blue haze lies on the Tiger Hills, and the joy of being aliveswells in the breast of every living thing. The creek, swollen with theJuly rain, ran full in its narrow channel, sparkling and swirling overits gravelly bed, and on the green meadow below the house a herd ofshorthorns contentedly cropped the tender after-grass. 

In the farmyard a gigantic turkey-gobbler marched majestically witharched neck and spreading wings, feeling himself very much the king ofthe castle; good-natured ducks puddled contentedly in a trough of dirtywater; pigeons, white winged and graceful, circled and wheeled in thesunshine; querulous-voiced hens strutted and scratched, and gossipedopenly of mysterious nests hidden away. 

Sam stood leaning on a pitchfork in front of the barn door. He was astout man of about fifty years of age, with an ox-like face. Hiscountenance showed the sullen stolidity of a man who spoke little butlistened always, of a man who indulged in suspicious thoughts. He kneweverything about his neighbours, good and bad. He might forget thegood, but never the evil. The tragedies, the sins, the misdeeds ofthirty years ago were as fresh in his memory as the scandal ofyesterday. No man had ever been tempted beyond his strength but SamMotherwell knew the manner of his undoing. He extended no mercy to thefallen; he suggested no excuse for the erring. 

The collector made known his errand. Sam became animated at once. 

"What?" he cried angrily, "ain't that blamed thing paying yet? I've agood notion to pull my money out of it and be done with it. What do youtake me for anyway?"

The collector ventured to call his attention to his prosperoussurroundings, and evident wealth. 

"That's like you town fellows, " he said indignantly. "You never thinkof the hired help and twine bills, and what it costs to run a placelike this. I pay every time I go, anyway. There ain't a time that I letthe plate go by me, when I'm there. By gosh! you seem to think I'vemoney to burn. "

The collector departed empty-handed. 

The next time Sam went to Millford he was considerably surprised tohave the young minister, the Reverend Hugh Grantley, stop him on thestreet and hand him twenty-five dollars. 

"I understand, sir, that you wish to withdraw the money that youinvested in the Lord's work, " he said as he handed the money to Sam, whose fingers mechanically closed over the bills as he stared at theyoung man. 

The Rev. Hugh Grantley was a typical Scotchman, tall and broadshouldered, with an eye like cold steel. Not many people hadcontradicted the Rev. Hugh Grantley, at least to his face. His voicecould be as sweet as the ripple of a mountain stream, or vibrate withthe thunder of the surf that beats upon his own granite cliffs. 

"The Lord sends you seed-time and harvest, " he said, fixing his levelgray eye on the other man, who somehow avoided his gaze, "has given youhealth of body and mind, sends you rain from heaven, makes his sun toshine upon you, increases your riches from year to year. You have givenHim twenty-five dollars in return and you regret it. Is that so?"

"I don't know that I just said that, " the other man stammered. "I don'tsee no need of these fine churches and paid preachers. It isn't them asgoes to church most that is the best. "

"Oh, I see, " the young man said, "you would prefer to give your moneyfor the relief of the poor, for hospitals or children's homes, orsomething like that. Is that so?"

"I don't know as there's any reason for me givin' up the money I workhard for. " Sam was touched on a vital spot. 

"Well, I'll tell you the reason, " the minister said; his voice was nolouder, but it fell with a sledge-hammer emphasis. He moved a stepnearer his companion, and some way caught and held his wavering vision. "God owns one-tenth of all that stuff you call your own. You havecheated Him out of His part all these years, and He has carried youover from year to year, hoping that you will pay up without harshproceedings. You are a rich man in this world's goods, but your soul islean and hungry and naked. Selfishness and greed have blinded youreyes. If you could see what a contemptible, good-for-nothing creatureyou are in God's sight, you would call on the hills to fall on you. Why, man, I'd rather take my chances with the gambler, the felon, thedrunkard, than with you. They may have fallen in a moment of strongtemptation; but you are a respectable man merely because it costs moneyto be otherwise. The Lord can do without your money. Do not think for aminute that God's work will not go on. 'He shall have dominion from seato sea, ' but what of you? You shall lie down and die like the dog. Youshall go out into outer darkness. The world will not be one bit betterbecause you have passed through it. "

Sam was incoherent with rage. "See here, " he sputtered, "what do youknow about it? I pay my debts. Everybody knows that. "

"Hold on, hold on, " the young man said gently, "you pay the debts thatthe law compels you to pay. You have to pay your hired help and yourthreshing bills, and all that, because you would be 'sued' if youdidn't. There is one debt that is left to a man's honour, the debt heowes to God, and to the poor and the needy. Do you pay that debt?"

"Well, you'll never get a cent out of me anyway. You have a mighty poorway of asking for money--maybe if you had taken me the right way youmight have got some. "

"Excuse me, Mr. Motherwell, " the young man replied with unaffected goodhumour, "I did not ask you for money at all. I gave you back what youdid give. No member of our congregation will ask you for any, thoughthere may come a time when you will ask us to take it. "

Sam Motherwell broke into a scornful laugh, and, turning away, wentangrily down the street. The fact that the minister had given him backhis money was a severe shock to some of his deep-rooted opinions. Hehad always regarded churches as greedy institutions, looking andbegging for money from everyone; ministers as parasites on society, living without honest labour, preying on the working man. Sam'sfavourite story was the old one about the woman whose child got a coinstuck in its throat. She did not send for the doctor, but for theminister! Sam had always seen considerable truth in this story and hadtold it to every minister he had met. 

He told himself now that he was glad to get back the money, twenty-fivedollars was not picked up every day. But he was not glad. The verytouch of the bills was distasteful to him!

He did not tell his wife of the occurrence. Nor did he put the money inthe black bag, where their money was always kept in the bureau drawer, safe under lock and key. He could not do that without telling his wifewhere it came from. So he shoved it carelessly into the pocket of thelight overcoat that he was wearing. Sam Motherwell was not a carelessman about money, but the possession of this particular twenty-fivedollars gave him no pleasure. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE OTHER DOCTOR

The young minister went down the street with a thoughtful face. 

"I wonder if I did right, " he was thinking. "It is a hard thing to talkthat way to a human being, and yet it seems to be the only thing to do. Oh, what it would mean for God's work if all these rich farmers weresaved from their insatiable greed. "

He turned into Dr. Clay's office. 

"Oh, Clay!" he burst out when he had answered the young man's friendlygreeting, "it is an awful thing to lay open a mean man's meanness, andtell him the plain truth about himself. "

"It is, indeed, " the young doctor answered, "but perhaps it is heroictreatment your man needed, for I would infer that you have been readingthe law to someone. Who was it?"

"Sam Motherwell, " the minister answered. 

"Well, you had a good subject, " the doctor said gravely. "Foraggravated greed, and fatty degeneration of the conscience, Mr. Motherwell is certainly a wonder. When that poor English girl took thefever out here, it was hard to convince Sam that she was really sick. 'Look at them red cheeks of hers, ' he said to me, 'and her ears ain'tcold, and her eyes is bright as ever. She's just lookin' for a rest, Ithink, if you wuz to ask me. '"

"How did you convince him?"

"I told him the girl would have to have a trained nurse, and would besick probably six weeks, and then they couldn't get the poor girl offtheir hands quick enough. 'I don't want that girl dyin' round here, 'Sam said. "

"Is Mrs. Motherwell as close as he is?" the minister asked after apause. 

"Some say worse, " the doctor replied, "but I don't believe it. Shecan't be. "

The minister's face was troubled. "I wish I knew what to do for them, "he said sadly. 

"I'll tell you something you can do for me, " the doctor said sitting upstraight, "or at least something you may try to do. "

"What is it?" the minister asked. 

"Devise some method, suggest some course of treatment, whereby my triedand trusty horse Pleurisy will cease to look so much like a saw-horse. I'm afraid the Humane Society will get after me. "

The minister laughed. 

Everybody knew Dr. Clay's horse; there was no danger of mistaking himfor any other. He was tall and lean and gaunt. The doctor had boughthim believing him to be in poor condition, which good food and goodcare would remedy. But as the months went by, in spite of all thedoctor could do, Pleurisy remained the same, eating everything thedoctor brought him, and looking for more, but showing no improvement. 

"I've tried everything except egg-nog, " the doctor went on, "and pinkpills, and I would like to turn over the responsibility to someoneelse. I think perhaps his trouble must be mental--some gnawing sorrowthat keeps him awake at night. I don't mind driving Pleurisy wherepeople know me and know that I do feed him occasionally, but it isdisconcerting when I meet strangers to have kind-looking old ladiesshake their heads at me. I know what they're thinking, and I believePleurisy really enjoys it, and then when I drive past a farmhouse tosee the whole family run out and hold their sides is not a pleasure. Talk about scattering sunshine! Pleurisy leaves a trail of merrimentwherever he goes. "

"What difference does it make what people think when your conscience isclear. You do feed your horse, you feed him well, so what's the odds, "inquired the Rev. Hugh Grantley, son of granite, child of the heather, looking with lifted brows at his friend. 

"Oh, there you go!" the doctor said smiling. "That's the shortercatechism coming out in you--that Scotch complacency is the thing Iwish I had, but I can't help feeling like a rogue, a cheat, anoppressor of the helpless, when I look at Pleurisy. "

"Horace, " the minister said kindly, with his level gray eyes fixedthoughtfully on his friend's handsome face, "a man in either yourcalling or mine has no right to ask himself how he feels. Don't feelyour own pulse too much. It is disquieting. It is for us to go on, never faltering and never looking behind. "

"In other words, to make good, and never mind the fans, " the doctorsmiled. Then he became serious. "But Grantley, I am not always so sureI am right as you are. You see a sinner is always a sinner and indanger of damnation, for which there is but one cure, but a sick manmay have quinsy or he may have diphtheria, and the treatment isdifferent. But oh! Grantley, I wish I had that Scotch-gray confidencein myself that you have. If you were a doctor you would tell a man hehad typhoid, and he'd proceed to have it, even if he had only set outto have an ingrowing toe-nail. But my patients have a decided will oftheir own. There's young Ab Cowan--they sent for me last night to goout to see him. He has a bad attack of quinsy, but it is the strangestcase I ever saw. "

The gaiety had died out of the young man's face, and he lookedperplexed and anxious. 

"I do wish the old doctor and I were on speaking terms, " he concluded. 

"And are you not?" the minister asked in surprise. "Miss Barner told methat you had been very kind--and I thought--" There was a flush on theminister's face, and he hesitated. 

"Oh, Miss Barner and I are the best of friends, " the doctor said. "Isay, Grantley, hasn't that little girl had one lonely life, and isn'tshe the brave little soul!"

The minister was silent, all but his eyes. 

The doctor went on:

"'Who hath sorrow, who hath woe, who hath redness of eyes?' Solomon, wasn't it, who said it was 'they who tarry long at the wine'? I thinkhe should have added 'those who wait at home. ' Don't you think she is aremarkably beautiful girl, Grantley?" he asked abruptly. 

"I do, indeed, " the minister answered, giving his friend a searchingglance. "But how about the doctor, why will he not speak to you?" Hewas glad of a chance to change the subject. 

"I suppose the old man's pride is hurt every time he sees me. Heevidently thinks he is all the medical aid they need around here. But Ido wish he would come with me to see this young Cowan; it's the mostpuzzling case I've ever met. There are times, Grantley, when I think Ishould be following the plough. "

The minister looked at him thoughtfully. 

"A man can only do his best, Horace, " he said kindly. 

CHAPTER IX

THE LIVE WIRE

"Who is this young gentleman or lady?" Dr. Clay asked of Pearlie Watsonone day when he met her wheeling a baby carriage with an abnormally fatbaby in it. 

"This is the Czar of all the Rooshia, " Pearl answered gravely, "and I'mhis body-guard. "

The doctor's face showed no surprise as he stepped back to get a betterlook at the czar, who began to squirm at the delay. 

"See the green plush on his kerridge, " Pearl said proudly, "and everystitch he has on is hand-made, and was did for him, too, and he's fedevery three hours, rain or shine, hit or miss. "

"Think of that!" the doctor exclaimed with emphasis, "and yet somepeople tell us that the Czar has a hard time of it. "

Pearl drew a step nearer, moving the carriage up and down rapidly toappease the wrath of the czar, who was expressing his disapproval in avery lumpy cry. 

"I'm just 'tendin', you know, about him bein' the czar, " she saidconfidentially. "You see, I mind him every day, and that's the way Iplay. Maudie Ducker said one day I never had no time to play cos we wuzso pore, and that started me. It's a lovely game. "

The doctor nodded. He knew something of "'tendin' games" too. 

"I have to taste everything he eats, for fear of Paris green, " Pearlwent on, speaking now in the loud official tone of the body-guard. "Ihave to stand between him and the howlin' mob thirstin' for his gore. "

"He seems to howl more than the mob, " the doctor said smiling. 

"He's afraid we're plottin', " Pearl whispered. "Can't trust no one. Heain't howlin'. That's his natcheral voice when he's talkin' Rooshan. Hedon't know one English word, only 'Goo!' But he'll say that every time. See now. How is a precious luvvy-duvvy? See the pitty man, pull um babytoofin!"

At which the czar, secure in his toothlessness, rippled his fat faceinto dimples, and triumphantly brought forth a whole succession of"goos. "

"Ain't he a peach?" Pearlie said with pride. "Some kids won't show offworth a cent when ye want them to, but he'll say 'goo' if you evennudge him. His mother thinks 'goo' is awful childish, and she is at himall the time to say 'Daddy-dinger, ' but he never lets on he hears her. Say, doctor"--Pearlie's face was troubled--"what do you think of hislooks? Just between ourselves. Hasn't he a fine little nub of a nose?Do you see anything about him to make his mother cry?"

The doctor looked critically at the czar, who returned his gaze withstolid indifference. 

"I never saw a more perfect nub on any nose, " he answered honestly. "He's a fine big boy, and his mother should be proud of him. "

"There now, what did I tell you!" Pearlie cried delightedly, noddingher head at an imaginary audience. 

"That's what I always say to his mother, but she's so tuk up withpictures of pretty kids with big eyes and curly hair, she don't seem tobe able to get used to him. She never says his nose is a pug, but shesays it's 'different, ' and his voice is not what she wanted. He crieslumpy, I know, but his goos are all right. The kid in the book she isreadin' could say 'Daddy-dinger' before he was as old as the czar is, and it's awful hard on her. You see, he can't pat-a-cake, orthis-little-pig-went-to-market, or wave a bye-bye or nothin'. I nevertold her what Danny could do when he was this age. But I am workin'hard to get him to say 'Daddy-dinger. ' She has her heart set on that. Well, I must go on now. "

The doctor lifted his hat, and the imperial carriage moved on. 

She had gone a short distance when she remembered something:

"I'll let you know when he says it, doc!" she shouted. 

"All right, don't forget, " he smiled back. 

When Pearlie turned the next corner she met Maudie Ducker. MaudieDucker had on a new plaid dress with velvet trimming, and Maudie knewit. 

"Is that your Sunday dress, " she asked Pearl, looking critically atPearlie's faded little brown winsey. 

"My, no!" Pearlie answered cheerfully. "This is just my morning dress. I wear my blue satting in the afternoon, and on Sundays, my purplevelvet with the watter-plait, and basque-yoke of tartaric plaid, garnished with lace. Yours is a nice little plain dress. That stufffades though; ma lined a quilt for the boys' bed with it and it fadedgray. "

Maudie Ducker was a "perfect little lady. " Her mother often said so;Maudie could not bear to sit near a child in school who had on a dirtypinafore or ragged clothes, and the number of days that she could weara pinafore without its showing one trace of stain was simply wonderful!Maudie had two dolls which she never played with. They were propped upagainst the legs of the parlour table. Maudie could play the "JavaMarch" and "Mary's Pet Waltz" on the piano. She always spoke in ahushed vox tremulo, and never played any rough games. She could notbear to touch a baby, because it might put a sticky little finger onher pinafore. All of which goes to show what a perfect little lady shewas. 

When Maudie made inquiries of Pearl Watson as to her Sabbath-dayattire, her motives were more kindly than Pearl thought. Maudie'smother was giving her a party. Hitherto the guests upon such occasionshad been selected with great care, and with respect to social standing, and blue china, and correct enunciation. This time they were selectedwith greater care, but with respect to their fathers' politics. Allconservatives and undecided voters' children were included. Thefight-to-a-finish-for-the-grand-old-party Reformers were tabooed. 

Algernon Evans, otherwise known as the Czar of all the Rooshias, onlyson of J. H. Evans, editor of the Millford Mercury, could not beoverlooked. Hence the reason for asking Pearl Watson, his body-guard. 

Millford had two weekly newspapers--one Conservative in its tendenciesand the other one Reform. Between them there existed a feud, longstanding, unquenchable, constant. It went with the printing press, thesubscription list and the good-will of the former owner, when the paperchanged hands. 

The feud was discernible in the local news as well as in theeditorials. In the Reform paper, which was edited at the time of whichwe write by a Tipperary man named McSorley, you might read of adistressing accident which befell one Simon Henry (also a Reformer), while that great and good man was abroad upon an errand of mercy, trying to induce a drunken man to go quietly to his home and family. Mr. Henry was eulogised for his kind act, and regret was expressed thatMr. Henry should have met with such rough usage while endeavouring tohold out a helping hand to one unfortunate enough to be held in thedemon chains of intemperance. 

In the Conservative paper the following appeared:

 We regret to hear that Simon Henry, secretary of the Young Liberal Club, got mixed up in a drunken brawl last evening and as a result will be confined to his house for a few days. We trust his injuries are not serious, as his services are indispensable to his party in the coming campaign. 

Reports of concerts, weddings, even deaths, were tinged with partyism. When Daniel Grover, grand old Conservative war-horse, was gathered tohis fathers at the ripe age of eighty-seven years, the Reform papersaid that Mr. Grover's death was not entirely unexpected, as his healthhad been failing for some time, the deceased having passed hisseventieth birthday. 

McSorley, the Liberal editor, being an Irishman, was not withouthumour, but Evans, the other one, revelled in it. He was like thelittle boys who stick pins in frogs, not that they bear the frogs anyill-will, but for the fun of seeing them jump. He would sit half thenight over his political editorials, smiling grimly to himself, andwhen he threw himself back in his chair and laughed like a boy theknife was turned in someone!

One day Mr. James Ducker, lately retired farmer, sometimes insuranceagent, read in the Winnipeg Telegram that his friend the HonourableThomas Snider had chaperoned an Elk party to St. Paul. Mr. Ducker hadbut a hazy idea of the duties of a chaperon, but he liked the sound ofit, and it set him thinking. He remembered when Tom Snider had enteredpolitics with a decayed reputation, a large whiskey bill, and about$2. 20 in cash. Now he rode in a private car, and had a suite of roomsat the Empire, and the papers often spoke of him as "mine host" Snider. Mr. Ducker turned over the paper and read that the genial Thomas hadreplied in a very happy manner to a toast at the Elks' banquet. Whereupon Mr. Ducker became wrapped in deep thought, and during thispassive period he distinctly heard his country's call! The call came inthese words: "If Tom Snider can do it, why not me?"

The idea took hold of him. He began to brush his hair artfully over thebald spot. He made strange faces at his mirror, wondering which side ofhis face would be the best to have photographed for his handbills. Hesaw himself like Cincinnatus of old called from the plough to theSenate, but he told himself there could not have been as good a thingin it then as there is now, or Cincinnatus would not have come back tothe steers. 

Mr. Ducker's social qualities developed amazingly. He courted hisneighbours assiduously, sending presents from his garden, stopping tohave protracted conversations with men whom he had known but slightlybefore. Every man whose name was on the voters' list began to have anew significance for him. 

There was one man whom he feared--that was Evans, editor of theConservative paper. Sometimes when his fancy painted for him a gay andalluring picture of carrying "the proud old Conservative banner thathas suffered defeat, but, thank God! never disgrace in the face of thefoe" (quotation from speech Mr. Ducker had prepared), sometimes hewould in the midst of the most glowing and glorious passagesinadvertently think of Evans, and it gave him goose-flesh. Mr. Duckerhad lived in and around Millford for some time. So had Evans, and Evanshad a most treacherous memory. You could not depend on him to forgetanything!

When Evans was friendly with him, Mr. Ducker's hopes ran high, but whenhe caught Evans looking at him with that boyish smile of his twinklingin his eyes, the vision of chaperoning an Elk party to St. Paul becamevery shadowy indeed. 

Mr. Ducker tried diplomacy. He withdrew his insurance advertisementfrom McSorley's paper, and doubled his space in Evans's, paying inadvance. He watched the trains for visitors and reported them to Evans. He wrote breezy little local briefs in his own light cow-like way forEvans's paper. 

But Mr. Ducker's journalistic fervour received a serious set back oneday. He rushed into the Mercury office just as the paper went to presswith the news that old Mrs. Williamson had at last winged her somewhatdelayed flight. Evans thanked him with some cordiality for letting himknow in time to make a note of it, and asked him to go around to Mrs. Williamson's home and find out a few facts for the obituary. 

Mr. Ducker did so with great cheerfulness, rather out of keeping withthe nature of his visit. He felt that his way was growing brighter. When he reached the old lady's home he was received with all courtesyby her slow-spoken son. Mr. Ducker bristled with importance as he madeknown his errand, in a neat speech, in which official dignity andsympathy were artistically blended. "The young may die, but the oldmust die, " he reminded Mr. Williamson as he produced his pencil andtablet. Mr. Williamson gave a detailed account of his mother's earlylife, marriages first and second, and located all her children withpainstaking accuracy. "Left to mourn her loss, " Mr. Ducker wrote. 

"And the cause of her death?" Mr. Ducker inquired gently, "generalbreaking down of the system, I suppose?" with his pencil poised in theair. 

Mr. Williamson knit his shaggy brows. 

"Well, I wouldn't say too much about mother's death if I were you. Stick to her birth, and the date she joined the church, and hermarriages--they're sure. But mother's death is a little uncertain, justyet. "

A toothless chuckle came from the adjoining room. Mrs. Williamson hadbeen an interested listener to the conversation. 

"Order my coffin, Ducker, on your way down, but never mind the flowers, they might not keep, " she shrilled after him as he beat a hasty retreat. 

When Mr. Ducker, crestfallen and humiliated, re-entered the Mercuryoffice a few moments later, he was watched by two twinkling Irish eyes, that danced with unholy merriment at that good man's discomfiture. Theybelonged to Ignatius Benedicto McSorley, the editor of the other paper. 

But Mrs. Ducker was hopeful. A friend of hers in Winnipeg had already ahouse in view for them, and Mrs. Ducker had decided the church theywould attend when the session opened, and what day she would have, andmany other important things that it is well to have one's mind made upon and not leave to the last. Maudie Ducker had been taken into thesecret, and began to feel sorry for the other little girls whose papaswere contented to let them live always in such a pokey little place asMillford. Maudie also began to dream dreams of sweeping in upon theMillford people in flowing robes and waving plumes and sparklingdiamonds, in a gorgeous red automobile. Wilford Ducker only of theDucker family was not taken into the secret. He was too young, hismother said, to understand the change. 

The nomination day was drawing near, which had something to do with thedate of Maudie Ducker's party. Mrs. Ducker told Maudie they must invitethe czar and Pearl Watson, though, of course, she did not say the czar. She said Algernon Evans and that little Watson girl. Maudie, being aperfect little lady objected to Pearl Watson on account of her scantywardrobe, and to the czar's moist little hands; but Mrs. Ducker, knowing that the czar's father was their long suit, stood firm. 

Mr. Ducker had said to her that very morning, rubbing his hands, andspeaking in the conspirator's voice: "We must leave no stone unturned. This is the time of seed-sowing, my dear. We must pull every wire. "

The czar was a wire, therefore they proceeded to pull him. They did notknow he was a live wire until later. 

Pearl Watson's delight at being asked to a real party knew no bounds. Maudie need not have worried about Pearl's appearing at the feastwithout the festal robe. The dress that Camilla had made for her wasjust waiting for such an occasion to air its loveliness. Anything thatwas needed to complete her toilet was supplied by her kind-heartedmistress, the czar's mother. 

But Mrs. Evans stood looking wistfully after her only son as Pearlwheeled him gaily down the walk. He was beautifully dressed in thefinest of mull and valenciennes; his carriage was the loveliest theycould buy; Pearl in her neat hat and dress was a little nurse girl tobe proud of. But Mrs. Evans's pretty face was troubled. She wasthinking of the pretty baby pictures in the magazines, and Algernon wasso--different! And his nose was--strange, too, and she had massaged itso carefully, too, and when, oh when, would he say "Daddy-dinger!"

But Algeron was not envious of any other baby's beauty that afternoon, nor worried about his nose either as he bumped up and down in hiscarriage in glad good humour, and delivered full-sized gurgling "goos"at every person he met, even throwing them along the street in theprodigality of his heart, as he waved his fat hands and thumped hisheavy little heels. 

Pearl held her head high and was very much the body-guard as she liftedthe weighty ruler to the ground. Mrs. Ducker ran down the steps andkissed the czar ostentatiously, pouring out such a volume of admiringand endearing epithets that Pearl stood in bewilderment, wondering whyshe had never heard of this before. Mrs. Ducker carried the czar intothe house, Pearl following with one eye shut, which was her way ofexpressing perplexity. 

Two little girls in very fluffy short skirts, sat demurely in thehammock, keeping their dresses clean and wondering if there would beice-cream. Within doors Maudie worried out the "Java March" on thepiano, to a dozen or more patient little listeners. On the lawn severallittle girls played croquet. There were no boys at the party. Wilfordwas going to have the boys--that is, the Conservative boys the nextday. Mrs. Ducker did not believe in co-education. Boys are so rough, except Wilford. He had been so carefully brought up, he was not roughat all. He stood awkwardly by the gate watching the girls play croquet. He had been left without a station at his own request. Patsey Watsonrode by on a dray wagon, dirty and jolly. Wilford called to himfurtively, but Patsey was busy holding on and did not hear him. Wilfordsighed heavily. Down at the tracks a freight train shunted andshuddered. Not a boy was in sight. He knew why. The farmers wereloading cattle cars. 

Pearl went around to the side lawn where the girls were playingcroquet, holding the czar's hand tightly. 

"What are you playin'?" she asked. 

They told her. 

"Can you play it?" Mildred Bates asked. 

"I guess I can, " Pearl said modestly. "But I'm always too busy forgames like that!"

"Maudie Ducker says you never play, " Mildred Bates said with pity inher voice. 

"Maudie Ducker is away off there, " Pearl answered with dignity. "I havemore fun in one day than Maudie Ducker'll ever have if she lives to beas old as Melchesidick, and it's not this frowsystandin'-round-doin'-nothin' that you kids call fun either. "

"Tell us about it, Pearl, " they shouted eagerly. Pearl's stories had acharm. 

"Well, " Pearl began, "ye know I wash Mrs. Evans's dishes every day, andlovely ones they are, too, all pink and gold with dinky little ivyleaves crawlin' out over the edges of the cups. I play I am at theseashore and the tide is comin' in o'er and o'er the sand and 'roundand 'round the land, far as eye can see--that's out of a book. I putall the dishes into the big dish pan, and I pertend the tide is risin'on them, though it's just me pourin' on the water. The cups are theboys and the saucers are the girls, the plates are the fathers andmothers and the butter chips are the babies. Then I rush in to savethem, but not until they cry 'Lord save us, we perish!' Of course, Iyell it for them, good and loud too--people don't just squawk at a timelike that--it often scares Mrs. Evans even yet. I save the babiesfirst, I slush them around to clean them, but they never notice that, and I stand them up high and dry in the drip-pan. Then I go in afterthe girls, and they quiet down the babies in the drip-pan; and then themothers I bring out, and the boys and the fathers. Sometimes some ofthe men make a dash out before the women, but you bet I lay them backin a hurry. Then I set the ocean back on the stove, and I rub thebabies to get their blood circlin' again, and I get them all put to bedon the second shelf and they soon forget they were so near death'sdoor. "

Mary Ducker had finished the "Java March" and "Mary's Pet Waltz, " andhad joined the interested group on the lawn and now stood listening indull wonder. 

"I rub them all and shine them well, " Pearl went on, "and get them allpacked off home into the china cupboard, every man jack o' them singin''Are we yet alive and see each other's face, ' Mrs. Evans sings it forthem when she's there. 

"Then I get the vegetable dishes and bowls and silverware and all that, and that's an excursion, and they're all drunk, not a sober man onboard. They sing 'Sooper up old boys, ' 'We won't go home till mornin'and all that, and crash! a cry bursts from every soul on board. Theyhave struck upon a rock and are going down! Water pours in at thegunnel (that's just me with more water and soap, you know), but I ain'tsorry for them, for they're all old enough to know that 'wine is amocker, strong drink is ragin', and whosoever is deceived thereby isnot wise. ' But when the crash comes and the swellin' waters burst inthey get sober pret' quick and come rushin' up on deck with pale facesto see what's wrong, and I've often seen a big bowl whirl 'round and'round kind o' dizzy and say 'woe is me!' and sink to the bottom. Mrs. Evans told me that. Anyway I do save them at last, when they see whatwhiskey is doin' for them. I rub them all up and send them home. Thesteel knives--they're the worst of all. But though they're black andstained with sin, they're still our brothers, and so we give them thegold cure--that's the bath-brick, and they make a fresh start. 

"When I sweep the floor I pertend I'm the army of the Lord that comesto clear the way from dust and sin, let the King of Glory in. Under thestove the hordes of sin are awful thick, they love darkness rather thanlight, because their deeds are evil! But I say the 'sword of the Lordand of Gideon!' and let them have it! Sometimes I pertend I'm the womanthat lost the piece of silver and I sweep the house diligently till Ifind it, and once Mrs. Evans did put ten cents in a corner just for funfor me, and I never know when she's goin' to do something like that. "

Here Maudie Ducker, who had been listening with growing wonderinterrupted Pearl with the cry of "Oh, here's pa and Mr. Evans. They'regoing to take our pictures!"

The little girls were immediately roused out of the spell thatPearlie's story had put upon them, and began to group themselves underthe trees, arranging their little skirts and frills. 

The czar had toddled on his uncertain little fat legs around to theback door, for he had caught sight of a red head which he knew andliked very much. It belonged to Mary McSorley, the eldest of theMcSorley family, who had brought over to Mrs. Ducker the extra twoquarts of milk which Mrs. Ducker had ordered for the occasion. 

Mary sat on the back step until Mrs. Ducker should find time to emptyher pitcher. Mary was strictly an outsider. Mary's father was aReformer. He ran the opposition paper to dear Mr. Evans. Mary was neverwell dressed, partly accounted for by the fact that the angels hadvisited the McSorley home so often. Therefore, for these reasons, Marysat on the back step, a rank outsider. 

The czar, who knew nothing of these things, began to "goo" as soon ashe saw her. Mary reached out her arms. The czar stumbled into them andMary fell to kissing his bald head. She felt more at home with a babyin her arms. 

It was at this unfortunate moment that Mr. Ducker and Mr. Evans camearound to the rear of the house. Mr. Evans was beginning to thinkrather more favourably of Mr. Ducker, as the prospective Conservativemember. He might do all right--there are plenty worse--he has nobrains--but that does not matter. What need has a man of brains when hegoes into politics? Brainy men make the trouble. The Grits made thatmistake once, elected a brainy man, and they have had no peace since. 

Mr. Ducker had adroitly drawn the conversation to a general discussionof children. He knew that Mr. Evans's weak point was his little sonAlgernon. 

"That's a clever looking little chap of yours, Evans, " he had remarkedcarelessly as they came up the street. (Mr. Ducker had never seen theczar closely. ) "My wife was just saying the other day that he has awonderful forehead for a little fellow. "

"He has, " the other man said smiling, not at all displeased. "It runsclear down to his neck!"

"He can hardly help being clever if there's anything in heredity, " Mr. Ducker went on with infinite tact, feeling his rainbow dreams ofresponding to toasts at Elk banquets drawing nearer and nearer. 

Then the Evil Genius of the House of Ducker awoke from his slumber, satup and took notice! The house that the friend in Winnipeg had selectedfor them fell into irreparable ruins! Poor Maudie's automobile vanishedat a touch. The rosy dreams of Cincinnatus, and of carrying the grandold Conservative banner in the face of the foe turned to clay and ashes!

They turned the corner, and came upon Mary McSorley who sat on the backstep with the czar in her arms. Mary's head was hidden as she kissedthe czar's fat neck, and in the general babel of voices, within andwithout, she did not hear them coming. 

"Speaking about heredity, " Mr. Ducker said suavely, speaking in a lowvoice, and looking at whom he supposed to be the latest McSorley, "itlooks as if there must be something in it over there. Isn't thatMcSorley over again? Low forehead, pug nose, bulldog tendencies. " Mr. Ducker was something of a phrenologist, and went blithely on to his owndestruction. 

"Now the girl is rather pleasant looking, and some of the others arenot bad at all. But this one is surely a regular little Mickey. Ibelieve a person would be safe in saying that he would not grow up aPresbyterian. "--Mr. Evans was the worshipful Grand Master of the LoyalOrange Lodge, and well up in the Black, and this remark Mr. Duckerthought he would appreciate. 

"McSorley will never be dead while this little fellow lives, " Mr. Ducker laughed merrily, rubbing his hands. 

The czar looked up and saw his father. Perhaps he understood what hadbeen said, and saw the hurt in his father's face and longed to heal himof it; perhaps the time had come when he should forever break thegoo-goo bonds that had lain upon his speech. He wriggled off Mary'sknee, and toddling uncertainly across the grass with a mighty mentalconflict in his pudgy little face, held out his dimpled arms with aglad cry of "Daddy-dinger!"

That evening while Mrs. Ducker and Maudie were busy fanning Mr. Duckerand putting wet towels on his head, Mr. Evans sat down to write. 

"Some more of that tiresome election stuff, John, " his pretty littlewife said in disappointment, as she proudly rocked the emancipated czarto sleep. 

"Yes, dear, it is election stuff, but it is not a bit tiresome, " heanswered smiling, as he kissed her tenderly. Several times during theevening, and into the night, she heard him laugh his happy boyish laugh. 

James Ducker did not get the nomination. 

CHAPTER X

THE BUTCHER-RIDE

Patsey Watson waited on the corner of the street. It was in the earlymorning and Patsey's face bore marks of a recent and mighty conflictwith soap and water. Patsey looked apprehensively every now and then athis home; his mother might emerge any minute and insist on his wearinga coat; his mother could be very tiresome that way sometimes. 

It seemed long this morning to wait for the butcher, but the only wayto be sure of a ride was to be on the spot. Sometimes there were delaysin getting away from home. Getting on a coat was one; finding a hat wasthe worst of all. Since Bugsey got the nail in his foot and could notgo out the hat question was easier. The hat was still hard to find, butnot impossible. 

Wilford Ducker came along. Wilford had just had a dose of electric oilartfully concealed in a cup of tea, and he felt desperate. His motherhad often told him not to play with any of the Watson boys, they wereso rough and unladylike in their manner. Perhaps that was why Wilfordcame over at once to Patsey. Patsey did not care for Wilford Duckereven if he did live in a big house with screen doors on it. Mind you, he did not wear braces yet, only a waist with white buttons on it, andhim seven! Patsey's manner was cold. 

"You goin' fer butcher-ride?" Wilford asked. 

"Yep, " Patsey answered with very little warmth. 

"Say, Pat, lemme go, " Wilford coaxed. 

"Nope, " Patsey replied, indifferently. 

"Aw, do, Pat, won't cher?"

Mrs. Ducker had been very particular about Wilford's enunciation. Onceshe dismissed a servant for dropping her final g's. Mrs. Duckerconsidered it more serious to drop a final g than a dinner plate. Sheoften spoke of how particular she was. She said she had insisted oncorrect enunciation from the first. So Wilford said again:

"Aw, do, Pat, won't cher?"

Patsey looked carelessly down the street and began to sing:

 How much wood would a wood-chuck chuck If a wood-chuck could chuck wood. 

"What cher take fer butcher-ride, Pat?" Wilford asked. 

"What cher got?"

Patsey had stopped singing, but still beat time with his foot to theimaginary music. 

Wilford produced a jack-knife in very good repair. 

Patsey stopped beating time, though only for an instant. It does not doto be too keen. 

"It's a good un, " Wilford said with pride. "It's a Rodger, mind ye--twoblades. "

"Name yer price, " Patsey condescended, after a deliberate examination. 

"Lemme ride all week, ord'rin' and deliv'rin'. "

"Not much, I won't, " Patsey declared stoutly. "You can ride three daysfor it. "

Wilford began to whimper, but just then the butcher cart whirled aroundthe corner. 

Wilford ran toward it. Patsey held the knife. 

The butcher stopped and let Wilford mount. It was all one to thebutcher. He knew he usually got a boy at this corner. 

Patsey ran after the butcher cart. He had caught sight of someone whomWilford had not yet noticed. It was Mrs. Ducker. Mrs. Ducker had beendown the street ordering a crate of pears. Mrs. Ducker was just asparticular about pears as she was about final g's, so she had goneherself to select them. 

When she saw Wilford, her son, riding with the butcher--well, really, she could not have told the sensation it gave her. Wilford could nothave told, either, just how he felt when he saw his mother. But bothMrs. Ducker and her son had a distinct sensation when they met thatmorning. 

She called Wilford, and he came. No sooner had he left his seat thanPatsey Watson took his place. Wilford dared not ask for the return ofthe knife: his mother would know that he had had dealings with PatseyWatson, and his account at the maternal bank was already overdrawn. 

Mrs. Ducker was more sorrowful than angry. 

"Wilford!" she said with great dignity, regarding the downcast littleboy with exaggerated scorn, "and you a Ducker!"

She escorted the fallen Ducker sadly homeward, but, oh, so glad thatshe had saved him from the corroding influence of the butcher boy. 

While Wilford Ducker was unfastening the china buttons on his waist, preparatory to a season of rest and retirement, that he might thebetter ponder upon the sins of disobedience and evil associations, Patsey Watson was opening and shutting his new knife proudly. 

"It was easy done, " he was saying to himself. "I'm kinder sorry I jewedhim down now. Might as well ha' let him have the week. Sure, there's noluck in being mane. "

CHAPTER XI

HOW PEARL WATSON WIPED OUT THE STAIN

Mrs. Motherwell felt bitterly grieved with Polly for failing her justwhen she needed her the most; "after me keepin' her and puttin' up withher all summer, " she said. She began to wonder where she could securehelp. Then she had an inspiration!

The Watsons still owed ten dollars on the caboose. The eldest Watsongirl was big enough to work. They would get her. And get ten dollars'worth of work out of her if they could. 

The next Saturday night John Watson announced to his family that oldSam Motherwell wanted Pearlie to go out and work off the caboose debt. 

Mrs. Watson cried, "God help us!" and threw her apron over her head. 

"Who'll keep the dandrew out of me hair?" Mary said tearfully, "ifPearlie goes away?"

"Who'll make me remember to spit on me warts?" Bugsey asked. 

"Who'll keep house when ma goes to wash?" wee Tommy wailed dismally. 

Danny's grievance could not be expressed in words. He buried his tousyhead in Pearl's apron, and Pearl saw at once that her whole house wereabout to be submerged in tears, idle tears. 

"Stop your bleatin', all of yez!" she commanded in her mostauthoritative voice. "I will go!" she said, with blazing eyes. "I willgo, I will wipe the stain off me house once and forever!" waving herarm dramatically toward the caboose which formed the sleeping apartmentfor the boys. "To die, to die for those we love is nobler far than weara crown!" Pearl had attended the Queen Esther cantata the winterbefore. She knew now how poor Esther felt. 

On the following Monday afternoon everything was ready for Pearl'sdeparture. Her small supply of clothing was washed and ironed andneatly packed in a bird-cage. It was Mary who thought of the bird-cage"sittin' down there in the cellar doin' nothin', and with a handle onit, too. " Mary was getting to be almost as smart as Pearl to think ofthings. 

Pearl had bidden good-bye to them all and was walking to the door whenher mother called her back to repeat her parting instructions. 

"Now, mind, Pearlie dear, not to be pickin' up wid strangers, andspeakin' to people ye don't know, and don't be showin' yer money ormakin' change wid anyone. "

Pearl was not likely to disobey the last injunction. She had seventeencents in money, ten cents of which Teddy had given her, and theremaining seven cents had come in under the heading of small sums, fromthe other members of the family. 

She was a pathetic little figure in her brown and white checked dress, with her worldly effects in the bird-cage, as she left the shelter ofher father's roof and went forth into the untried world. She went overto Mrs. Francis to say good-bye to her and to Camilla. 

Mrs. Francis was much pleased with Pearl's spirit of independence andspoke beautifully of the opportunities for service which would open forher. 

"You must keep a diary, Pearl, " she said enthusiastically. "Set down init all you see and feel. You will have such splendid opportunities forobserving plant and animal life--the smallest little insect iswonderfully interesting. I will be so anxious to hear how you areimpressed with the great green world of Out of Doors! Take care of yourhealth, too, Pearl; see that your room is ventilated. "

While Mrs. Francis elaborated on the elements of proper living, Camillain the kitchen had opened the little bundle in the cage, and put intoit a pair of stockings and two or three handkerchiefs, then she slippedin a little purse containing ten shining ten-cent pieces, and anorange. She arranged the bundle to look just as it did before, so thatshe would not have to meet Pearl's gratitude. 

Camilla hastily set the kettle to boil, and began to lay the table. Shecould hear the velvety tones of Mrs. Francis's voice in the library. 

"Mrs. Francis speaks a strange language, " she said, smiling to herself, "but it can be translated into bread and butter and apple sauce, andeven into shoes and stockings, when you know how to interpret it. Butwouldn't it be dreadful if she had no one to express it in the tangiblethings of life for her. Think of her talking about proper diet and aidsto digestion to that little hungry girl. Well, it seems to be mymission to step into the gap--I'm a miss with a mission"--she wasslicing some cold ham as she spoke--"I am something of a health talker, too. "

Camilla knocked at the library door, and in answer to Mrs. Francis'sinvitation to enter, opened the door and said:

"Mrs. Francis, would it not be well for Pearl to have a lunch beforeshe starts for her walk into the country; the air is so exhilarating, you know. "

"How thoughtful you are, Camilla!" Mrs. Francis exclaimed with honestadmiration. 

Thus it happened that Pearlie Watson, aged twelve, began her journeyinto the big unknown world, fully satisfied in body and soul, and witha great love for all the world. 

At the corner of the street stood Mrs. McGuire, and at sight of herPearl's heart stopped beating. 

"It's bad luck, " she said. "I'd as lief have a rabbit cross me path asher. "

But she walked bravely forward with no outward sign of her inwardtrembling. 

"Goin' to Sam Motherwell's, are ye?" the old lady asked shrilly. 

"Yes'm, " Pearl said, trembling. 

"She's a tarter; she's a skinner; she's a damner; that's what she is. She's my own first cousin and I know HER. Sass her; that's the only wayto get along with her. Tell her I said so. Here, child, rub yer j'intswith this when ye git stiff. " She handed Pearl a black bottle ofhome-made liniment. 

Pearl thanked her and hurried on, but at the next turn of the streetshe met Danny. 

Danny was in tears; Danny wasn't going to let Pearlie go away; Dannywould run away and get lost and runned over and drownded, now! Pearl'sheart melted, and sitting on the sidewalk she took Danny in her arms, and they cried together. A whirr of wheels aroused Pearl and looking upshe saw the kindly face of the young doctor. 

"What is it, Pearl?" he asked kindly. "Surely that's not Danny I see, spoiling his face that way!"

"It's Danny, " Pearl said unsteadily. "It's hard enough to leave himwidout him comin' afther me and breakin' me heart all over again. "

"That's what it is, Pearl, " the doctor said, smiling. "I think it ismighty thoughtless of Danny the way he is acting. "

Danny held obstinately to Pearl's skirt, and cried harder than ever. Hewould not even listen when the doctor spoke of taking him for a drive. 

"Listen to the doctor, " Pearl commanded sternly, "or he'll raise agumboil on ye. "

Thus admonished Danny ceased his sobs; but he showed no sign ofinterest when the doctor spoke of popcorn, and at the mention ofice-cream he looked simply bored. 

"He's awful fond of 'hoo-hung' candy, " Pearlie suggested in a whisper, holding her hand around her mouth so that Danny might not hear her. 

"Ten cents' worth of 'hoo-hung' candy to the boy that says good-bye tohis sister like a gentleman and rides home with me. "

Danny dried his eyes on Pearl's skirt, kissed her gravely and climbedinto the buggy beside the doctor. Waterloo was won!

Pearl did not trust herself to look back as she walked along the deeplybeaten road. 

The yellow cone-flowers raised their heads like golden stars along theroadside, and the golden glory of the approaching harvest lay uponeverything. To the right the Tiger Hills lay on the horizon wrapped ina blue mist. Flocks of blackbirds swarmed over the ripening oats, andangrily fought with each other. 

"And it not costin' them a cent!" Pearl said in disgust as she stoppedto watch them. 

The exhilaration of the air, the glory of the waving grain, theprofusion of wild flowers that edged the fields with purple and yellowwere like wine to her sympathetic Irish heart as she walked through thegrain fields and drank in all the beauties that lay around, and it wasnot until she came in sight of the big stone house, gloomy and bare, that she realised with a start of homesickness that she was PearlWatson, aged twelve, away from home for the first time, and bound towork three months for a woman of reputed ill-temper. 

"But I'll do it, " Pearl said, swallowing the lump that gathered in herthroat, "I can work. Nobody never said that none of the Watsonscouldn't work. I'll stay out me time if it kills me. "

So saying, Pearl knocked timidly at the back door. Myriads of fliesbuzzed on the screen. From within a tired voice said, "Come in. "

Pearl walked in and saw a large bare room, with a long table in themiddle. A sewing machine littered with papers stood in front of onewindow. 

The floor had been painted a dull drab, but the passing of many feethad worn the paint away in places. A stove stood in one corner. Overthe sink a tall, round-shouldered woman bent trying to get water froman asthmatic pump. 

"Oh, it's you, is it?" she said in a tone so very unpleasant that Pearlthought she must have expected someone else. 

"Yes'm, " Pearl said meekly. "Who were ye expectin'?"

Mrs. Motherwell stopped pumping for a minute and looked at Pearl. 

"Why didn't ye git here earlier?" she asked. 

"Well, " Pearl began, "I was late gettin' started by reason of thewashin' and the ironin', and Jimmy not gettin' back wid the boots. Hewent drivin' cattle for Vale the butcher, and he had to have the bootsfor the poison ivy is that bad, and because the sugar o' lead is alldone and anyway ma don't like to keep it in the house, for wee Dannymight eat it--he's that stirrin' and me not there to watch him now. "

"Lord! what a tongue you have! Put down your things and go out and pickup chips to light the fire with in the morning. "

Pearl laid her bird-cage on a chair and was back so soon with the chipsthat Mrs. Motherwell could not think of anything to say. 

"Now go for the cows, " she said, "and don't run them home!"

"Where will I run them to then, ma'am?" Pearl asked innocently. 

"Good land, child, have I to tell you everything? Folks that can't dowithout tellin' can't do much with, I say. Bring the cows to the bars, and don't stand there staring at me. "

When Pearl dashed out of the door, she almost fell over the old dog wholay sleepily snapping at the flies which buzzed around his head. Hesprang up with a growl which died away into an apologetic yawn as shestooped to pat his honest brown head. 

A group of red calves stood at the bars of a small field plaintivelycalling for their supper. It was not just an ordinary bawl, but adouble-jointed hyphenated appeal, indicating a very exhausted conditionindeed. 

Pearl looked at them in pity. The old dog, wrinkling his nose andturning away his head, did not give them a glance. He knew them. Noisythings! Let 'em bawl. Come on!

Across the narrow creek they bounded, Pearl and old Nap, and up theother hill where the silver willows grew so tall they were hidden inthem. The goldenrod nodded its plumy head in the breeze, and the tallGaillardia, brown and yellow, flickered unsteadily on its stem. 

The billows of shadow swept over the wheat on each side of the narrowpasture; the golden flowers, the golden fields, the warm goldensunshine intoxicated Pearl with their luxurious beauty, and in thathour of delight she realised more pleasure from them than SamMotherwell and his wife had in all their long lives of barrenselfishness. Their souls were of a dull drab dryness in which no flowertook root, there was no gold to them but the gold of greed and gain, and with it they had never bought a smile or a gentle hand pressure ora fervid "God bless you!" and so it lost its golden colour, and turnedto lead and ashes in their hands. 

When Pearl and Nap got the cows turned homeward they had to slackentheir pace. 

"I don't care how cross she is, " Pearl said, "if I can come for thecows every night. Look at that fluffy white cloud! Say, wouldn't thatmake a hat trimming that would do your heart good. The body of the hatblue like that up there, edged 'round with that cloud over there, thena blue cape with white fur on it just to match. I kin just feel thatwhite stuff under my chin. "

Then Pearl began to cake-walk and sing a song she had heard Camillasing. She had forgotten some of the words, but Pearl never was at aloss for words:

 The wild waves are singing to the shore As they were in the happy days of yore. 

Pearl could not remember what the wild waves were singing, so she sangwhat was in her own heart:

 She can't take the ripple from the breeze, And she can't take the rustle from the trees; And when I am out of the old girl's sight I can-just-do-as-I-please. 

"That's right, I think the same way and try to act up to it, " a man'svoice said slowly. "But don't let her hear you say so. "

Pearl started at the sound of the voice and found herself looking intosuch a good-natured face that she laughed too, with a feeling ofgood-fellowship. 

The old dog ran to the stranger with every sign of delight at seeinghim. 

"I am one of the neighbours, " he said. "I live over there"--pointing toa little car-roofed shanty farther up the creek. "Did I frighten you? Iam sorry if I did, but you see I like the sentiment of your song somuch I could not help telling you. You need not think it strange if youfind me milking one of the cows occasionally. You see, I believe indealing directly with the manufacturer and thus save the middleman'sprofit, and so I just take what milk I need from So-Bossie over there. "

"Does she know?" Pearl asked, nodding toward the house. 

"Who? So-Bossie?"

"No, Mrs. Motherwell. "

"Well, no, " he answered slowly. "You haven't heard of her having a fit, have you?"

"No, " Pearl answered wonderingly. 

"Then we're safe in saying that the secret has been kept from her. "

"Does it hurt her, though?" Pearl asked. 

"It would, very much, if she knew it, " the young man replied gravely. 

"Oh, I mean the cow, " Pearl said hastily. 

"It doesn't hurt the cow a bit. What does she care who gets the milk?When did you come?"

"To-night, " Pearl said. "I must hurry. She'll have a rod in steep forme if I'm late. My name's Pearl Watson. What's yours?"

"Jim Russell, " he said. "I know your brother Teddy. "

Pearl was speeding down the hill. She shouted back:

"I know who you are now. Good-bye!" Pearl ran to catch up to the cows, for the sun was throwing long shadows over the pasture, and theplaintive lowing of the hungry calves came faintly to her ears. 

A blond young man stood at the bars with four milk pails. 

He raised his hat when he spoke to Pearl. 

"Madam says you are to help me to milk, but I assure you it is quiteunnecessary. Really, I would much prefer that you shouldn't. "

"Why?" Pearl asked in wonder. 

"Oh, by Jove! You see it is not a woman's place to work outside likethis, don't you know. "

"That's because ye'r English, " Pearl said, a sudden light breaking inon her. "Ma says when ye git a nice Englishman there's nothing nicer, and pa knowed one once that was so polite he used to say 'Haw Buck' tothe ox and then he'd say, 'Oh, I beg yer pardon, I mean gee. ' It wasn'tyou, was it?"

"No, " he said smiling, "I have never driven oxen, but I have done agreat many ridiculous things I am sure. "

"So have I, " Pearl said confidentially, as she sat down on a littlethree-legged stool to milk So-Bossie. "You know them fluffy whitethings all made of lace and truck like that, that is hung over the bedsin rich people's houses, over the pillows, I mean?"

"Pillow-shams?" he asked. 

"Yes, that's them! Well, when I stayed with Camilla one night at Mrs. Francis's didn't I think they were things to pull down to keep theflies off ye'r face. Say, you should have heard Camilla laugh, and masaw a girl at a picnic once who drank lemonade through her veil, andshe et a banana, skin and all. "

Pearl laughed heartily, but the Englishman only smiled faintly. Canadian ways were growing stranger all the time. 

"Say, " Pearl began after a pause, "who does the cow over there with thehorns bent down look like? Someone we both know, only the cow lookspleasanter. "

"My word!" the Englishman exclaimed, "you're a rum one. "

Pearl looked disappointed. 

"Animals often look like people, " she said. "We have two cows at home, one looks like Mrs. White, so good and gentle, wouldn't say boo to agoose; the other one looks just like Fred Miller. He works in the mill, and his hair goes in a roll on the top; his mother did it that way witha hair-pin too long, I guess, and now it won't go any other way, and Iknow an animal that looks like you; he's a dandy, too, you bet. It isWhite's dog, and he can jump the fence easy as anything. "

"Oh, give over, give over!" the Englishman said stiffly. 

Pearl laughed delightedly. 

"It's lots of fun guessing who people are like, " she said. "I'm awfulsmart at it and so is Mary, four years younger'n me. Once we could notguess who Mrs. Francis was like, and Mary guessed it. Mrs. Francislooks like prayer--big bug eyes lookin' away into nothin', but hopin'it's all for the best. Do you pray?"

"I am a rector's son, " he answered. 

"Oh, I know, minister's son, isn't that lovely? I bet you know prayersand prayers. But it isn't fair to pray in a race is it? When JimmyMoore and my brother Jimmy ran under twelve, Jimmie Moore prayed, andsome say got his father to pray, too; he's the Methodist minister, youknow, and, of course, he won it; but our Jimmy could ha' beat him easyin a fair race, and no favours; but he's an awful snoopie kid and praysabout everything. Do you sing?"

"I do--a little, " the Englishman said modestly. 

"Oh, my, I am glad, " Pearl cried rapturously. "When I was two years oldI could sing 'Hush my babe lie, ' all through--I love singin'--I cansing a little, too, but I don't care much for my own. Have they got anorgan here?"

"I don't know, " he answered, "I've only been in the kitchen. "

"Say, I'd like to see a melodeon. Just the very name of it makes methink of lovely sounds, religious sounds, mountin' higher and higherand swellin' out grander and grander, rollin' right into the greatwhite throne, and shakin' the streets of gold. Do you know the 'HolyCity, '" she asked after a pause. 

The Englishman began to hum it in a rich tenor. 

"That's it, you bet, " she cried delightedly. "Just think of you comingall the way across the ocean and knowing that just the same as we do. Iused to listen at the keyhole when Mrs. Francis had company, and I wasthere helping Camilla. Dr. Clay sang that lots of times. "

The Englishman had not sung since he had left his father's house. Hebegan to sing now, in a sweet, full voice, resonant on the quietevening air, the cows staring idly at him. The old dog came down to thebars with his bristles up, expecting trouble. 

Old Sam and his son Tom coming in from work stopped to listen to thesestrange sounds. 

"Confound them English!" old Sam said. "Ye'd think I was payin' him todo that, and it harvest-time, too!"

When Dr. Clay, with Danny Watson gravely perched beside him, drovealong the river road after saying good-bye to Pearl, they met MissBarner, who had been digging ferns for Mrs. McGuire down on the riverflat. 

The doctor drew in his horse. 

"Miss Barner, " he said, lifting his hat, "if Daniel Mulcahey Watson andI should ask you to come for a drive with us, I wonder what you wouldsay?"

Miss Barner considered for a moment and then said, smiling:

"I think I would say, 'Thank you very much, Mr. Watson and Dr. Clay, Ishall be delighted to come if you have room for me. '"

Life had been easier for Mary Barner since Dr. Clay had come toMillford. It was no longer necessary for her to compel her father to gowhen he was sent for, and when patients came to the office, if shethought her father did not know what he was doing, she got Dr. Clay tocheck over the prescriptions. 

It had been rather hard for Mary to ask him to do this, for she had afair share of her father's Scotch pride; but she had done too many hardthings in her life to hesitate now. The young doctor was genuinely gladto serve her, and he made her feel that she was conferring, instead ofasking, a favour. 

They drove along the high bank that fell perpendicularly to the riverbelow and looked down at the harvest scene that lay beneath them. Theair was full of the perfume of many flowers and the chatter of birds. 

The Reverend Hugh Grantley drove swiftly by them, whereupon Danny madehis presence known for the first time by the apparently irrelevantremark:

"I know who Miss Barner's fellow is! so I do. "

Now if Dr. Clay had given Danny even slight encouragement, he wouldhave pursued the subject, and that might have saved complications inthe days to come. 

CHAPTER XII

FROM CAMILLA'S DIARY

It is nearly six months since I came to live with Mrs. Francis, and Ilike housework so well and am so happy at it, that it shows clearlythat I am not a disguised heiress. My proud spirit does not chafe a bitat having to serve meals and wear a cap (you should see how sweet Ilook in a cap). I haven't got the fear on my heart all day that I willmake a mistake in a figure that will rise up and condemn me at the endof the month as I used to be when I was book-keeping on a high stool, for the Western Hail and Fire Insurance Company (peace to its ashes!). "All work is expression, " Fra Elbertus says, so why may I not expressmyself in blueberry pie and tomato soup?

Mrs. Francis is an appreciative mistress, and she is not so entirelywrapped up in Browning as to be insensible to a good salad either, I amglad to say. 

One night after we had company and everything had gone off well, Mr. Francis came out into the kitchen, and looked over his glasses at me. He opened his mouth twice to speak, but seemed to change his mind. Iknew what was struggling for utterance. Then he laid fifty cents on thewindow sill, pointed at it, nodded to me, and went out hurriedly. Myfirst impulse was to hand it back--then I thought better of it--wordsdo not come easily to him. So he expressed himself in currency. I putthe money into my purse for a luck penny. 

Mrs. Francis is as serene as a summer sea, and can look at you withoutknowing you are there. Mr. Francis is a peaceful man, too. He looks athis wife in a helpless way when she begins to explain the differencebetween the Elizabethan and the Victorian poets--I don't believe hecares a cent for either of them. 

Mrs. Francis entertains quite a bit; I like it, too, and I do not goand cry into the sink because I have to wait on the guests. Sheentertains well and is a delightful hostess, but some of the peoplewhom she entertains do not appreciate her flights of fancy. 

I do not like to see them wink at each other, although I know it isfunny to hear Mrs. Francis elaborate on the mother's influence in thehome and the proper way to deal with selfishness in children; but shemeans well, and they should remember that, no matter how funny she gets. 

April 18th. --She gave me a surprise to-day. She called me upstairs andread to me a paper she was preparing to read before some society--shebelongs to three or four--on the domestic help problem. Well, it hadn'tvery much to do with the domestic help problem, but of course I couldnot tell her that so when she asked me what I thought of it I said:

"If all employers were as kind as you and Mr. Francis there would be nodomestic help problem. "

She looked at me suddenly, and something seemed to strike her. Ibelieve it came to her that I was a creature of like passions withherself, capable of gratitude, perhaps in need of encouragement. Hitherto I think she has regarded me as a porridge and coffee machine. 

She put her arm around me and kissed me. 

"Camilla, " she said gently--she has the softest, dreamiest voice I everheard--"I believe in the aristocracy of brains and virtue. You haveboth. "

Farewell, oh Soulless Corporation! A long, last, lingering farewell, for Camilla E. Rose, who used to sit upon the high stool and addfigures for you at ten dollars a week, is far away making toast for twokindly souls, one of whom tells her she has brains and virtue and theother one opens his mouth to speak, and then pushes fifty cents at herinstead. 

Danny Watson, bless his heart! is bringing madam up. He has woundhimself into her heart and the "whyness of the what" is packing up togo. 

May 1st. --Mrs. Francis is going silly over Danny. A few days ago sheasked me if I could cut a pattern for a pair of pants. I told her I hadmade pants once or twice and meekly inquired whom she wanted the pantsfor. She said for a boy, of course--and she looked at me ratherseverely. I knew they must be for Danny, and cut the pattern about thesize for him. She went into the sewing-room, and I only saw her at mealtimes for two days. She wrestled with the garment. 

Last night she asked me if I would take a parcel to Danny with herlove. I was glad to go, for I was just dying to see how she had gotalong. 

When I held them up before Mrs. Watson the poor woman gasped. 

"Save us all!" she cried. "Them'll fit none of us. We're poor, but, thank God, we're not deformed!"

I'll never forget the look of those pants. They haunt me still. 

May 15th. --Pearl Watson is the sweetest and best little girl I know. Her gratitude for even the smallest kindness makes me want to cry. Shetold me the other day she was sure Danny was going to be a doctor. Shebases her hopes on the questions that Danny asks. How do you know youhaven't got a gizzard? How would you like to be ripped clean up theback? and Where does your lap go to when you stand up? She said, "Maand us all have hopes o' Danny. "

Mrs. Francis has a new role, that of matchmaker, though I don't supposeshe knows it. She had Mary Barner and the young minister for teato-night. Mary grows dearer and sweeter every day. People say it is notoften one girl praises another; but Mary is a dear little gray-eyedsaint with the most shapely hands I ever saw. Reverend Hugh thinks so, too, I have no doubt. It was really too bad to waste a good fruit saladon him though, for I know he didn't know what he was eating. Excelsiorwould taste like ambrosia to him if Mary sat opposite--all of which isvery much as it should be, I know. I thought for a while Mary liked Dr. Clay pretty well, but I know it is not serious, for she talks quitefreely of him. She is very grateful to him for helping her so oftenwith her father. But those gray-eyed Scotch people never talk of whatis nearest the heart. I wonder if he knows that Mary Barner is a queenamong women. I don't like Scotchmen. They take too much for granted. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE FIFTH SON

Arthur Wemyss, fifth son of the Reverend Alfred Austin Wemyss, Rectorof St. Agnes, Tilbury Road, County of Kent, England, had but recentlycrossed the ocean. He and six hundred other fifth sons of rectors andearls and dukes had crossed the ocean in the same ship and had beenscattered abroad over Manitoba and the Northwest Territories to beinstructed in agricultural pursuits by the honest granger, andincidentally to furnish nutriment for the ever-ready mosquito or wasp, who regarded all Old Country men as their lawful meat. 

The honest granger was paid a sum varying between fifty and one hundredfifty dollars for instructing one of these young fellows in farming forone year, and although having an Englishman was known to be a prettygood investment, the farmers usually spoke of them as they would of theFrench-weed or the rust in the wheat. Sam Motherwell referred to hisquite often as "that blamed Englishman" and often said, unjustly, thathe was losing money on him every day. 

Arthur--the Motherwells could not have told his other name--had learnedsomething since he came. He could pull pig-weed for the pigs and throwit into the pen; he had learned to detect French-weed in the grain; hecould milk; he could turn the cream-separator; he could wash dishes andchurn, and he did it all with a willingness, a cheerfulness that wouldhave appealed favourably to almost any other farmer in theneighbourhood, but the lines had fallen to Arthur in a stony place, andhis employer did not notice him at all unless to find fault with him. Yet he bore it all with good humour. He had come to Canada to learn tofarm. 

The only real grievance he had was that he could not get his "tub. " Thenight he arrived, dusty and travel-stained after his long journey, hehad asked for his "tub, " but Mr. Motherwell had told him in language hehad never heard before--that there was no tub of his around theestablishment, that he knew of, and that he could go down and have adip in the river on Sunday if he wanted to. Then he had conducted himwith the lantern to his bed in the loft of the granary. 

A rickety ladder led up to the bed, which was upon a temporary floorlaid about half way across the width of the granary. Bags of mustysmelling wheat stood at one end of this little room. Evidently Mr. Motherwell wished to discourage sleep-walking in his hired help, forthe floor ended abruptly and a careless somnambulist would beprecipitated on the old fanning mill, harrow teeth and other debriswhich littered the floor below. 

The young Englishman reeled unsteadily going up the ladder. He couldstill feel the chug-chug-chug of the ocean liner's engines and had tohold tight to the ladder's splintered rungs to preserve his equilibrium. 

Mr. Motherwell raised the lantern with sudden interest. 

"Say, " he said, more cheerfully than he had yet spoken, "you haven'tbeen drinking, have you?"

"Intoxicants, do you mean?" the Englishman asked, without turningaround. "No, I do not drink. "

"You didn't happen to bring anything over with you, did you, forseasickness on the boat?" Mr. Motherwell queried anxiously, holding thelantern above his head. 

"No, I did not, " the young man said laconically. 

"Turn out at five to-morrow morning then, " his employer snapped inevident disappointment, and he lowered the lantern so quickly that itwent out. 

The young man lay down upon his hard bed. His utter weariness was ablessing to him that night, for not even the racing mice, the mustysmells or the hardness of his straw bed could keep him from slumber. 

In what seemed to him but a few minutes, he was awakened by a loudknocking on the door below, voices shouted, a dog barked, cow-bellsjangled; he could hear doors banging everywhere, a faint streak ofsunlight lay wan and pale on the mud-plastered walls. 

"By Jove!" he said yawning, "I know now what Kipling meant when he said'the dawn comes up like thunder. '"

A few weeks after Arthur's arrival, Mrs. Motherwell called him from thebarn, where he sat industriously mending bags, to unhitch her horsefrom the buggy. She had just driven home from Millford. Nobody hadtaken the trouble to show Arthur how it was done. 

"Any fool ought to know, " Mr. Motherwell said. 

Arthur came running from the barn with his hat in his hand. He graspedthe horse firmly by the bridle and led him toward the barn. As theycame near the water trough the horse began to show signs of thirst. Arthur led him to the trough, but the horse tossed his head and wasunable to get it near the water on account of the check. 

Arthur watched him a few moments with gathering perplexity. 

"I can't lift this water vessel, " he said, looking at the horsereproachfully. "It's too heavy, don't you know. Hold! I have it, " hecried with exultation beaming in his face; and making a dash for thehorse he unfastened the crupper. 

But the exultation soon died from his face, for the horse still tossedhis head in the vain endeavour to reach the water. 

"My word!" he said, wrinkling his forehead, "I believe I shall have tolift the water-vessel yet, though it is hardly fit to lift, it is sowet and nasty. " Arthur spoke with a deliciously soft Kentish accent, guiltless of r's and with a softening of the h's that was irresistible. 

A light broke over his face again. He went behind the buggy and liftedthe hind wheels. While he was holding up the wheels and craning hisneck around the back of the buggy to see if his efforts weresuccessful, Jim Russell came into the yard, riding his dun-colouredpony Chiniquy. 

He stood still in astonishment. Then the meaning of it came to him andhe rolled off Chiniquy's back, shaking with silent laughter. 

"Come, come, Arthur, " he said as soon as he could speak. "Stop tryingto see how strong you are. Don't you see the horse wants a drink?"

With a perfectly serious face Jim unfastened the check, whereupon thehorse's head was lowered at once, and he drank in long gulps the waterthat had so long mocked him with its nearness. 

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Russell, " the Englishman cried delightedly. "Thanksawfully, it is monstrously clever of you to know how to do everything. I wish I could go and live with you. I believe I could learn to farm ifI were with you. "

Jim looked at his eager face so cruelly bitten by mosquitoes. 

"I'll tell you, Arthur, " he said smiling, "I haven't any need for a manto work, but I suppose I might hire you to keep the mosquitoes off thehorses. They wouldn't look at Chiniquy, I am sure, if they could get anip at you. "

The Englishman looked perplexed. 

"You are learning as well as any person could learn, " Jim said kindly. "I think you are doing famously. No person is particularly bright atwork entirely new. Don't be a bit discouraged, old man, you'll be arich land-owner some day, proprietor of the A. J. Wemyss Stock Farm, writing letters to the agricultural papers, judge of horses at thefairs, giving lectures at dairy institutes--oh, I think I see you, Arthur!"

"You are chaffing me, " Arthur said smiling. 

"Indeed I am not. I am very much in earnest. I have seen more unlikelylooking young fellows than you do wonderful things in a short time, andjust to help along the good work I am going to show you a few thingsabout taking off harness that may be useful to you when you arepresident of the Agricultural Society of South Cypress, or some otherfortunate municipality. "

Arthur's face brightened. 

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Russell, " he said. 

That night Arthur wrote home a letter that would have made anappropriate circular for the Immigration Department to send toprospective settlers. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE FAITH THAT MOVETH MOUNTAINS

When supper was over and Pearl had washed the heavy white dishes Mrs. Motherwell told her, not unkindly, that she could go to bed. She wouldsleep in the little room over the kitchen in Polly's old bed. 

"You don't need no lamp, " she said, "if you hurry. It is light upthere. "

Mrs. Motherwell was inclined to think well of Pearl. It was not hersoft brown eyes, or her quaint speech that had won Mrs. Motherwell'sheart. It was the way she scraped the frying-pan. 

Pearl went up the ladder into the kitchen loft, and found herself in alow, long room, close and stifling, one little window shone lightagainst the western sky and on it innumerable flies buzzed unceasingly. Old boxes, old bags, old baskets looked strange and shadowy in thegathering gloom. The Motherwells did not believe in giving awayanything. The Indians who went through the neighbourhood each falllooking for "old clo'" had long ago learned to pass by the big stonehouse. Indians do not appreciate a strong talk on shiftlessness the waythey should, with a vision of a long cold winter ahead of them. 

Pearl gazed around with a troubled look on her face. A large basket ofold carpet rags stood near the little bed. She dragged it into thefarthest corner. She tried to open the window, but it was nailed fast. 

Then a determined look shone in her eyes. She went quickly down thelittle ladder. 

"Please ma'am, " she said going over to Mrs. Motherwell, "I can't sleepup there. It is full of diseases and microscopes. "

"It's what?" Mrs. Motherwell almost screamed. She was in the pantrymaking pies. 

"It has old air in it, " Pearl said, "and it will give me the fever. "

Mrs. Motherwell glared at the little girl. She forgot all about thefrying pan. 

"Good gracious!" she said. "It's a queer thing if hired help are goingto dictate where they are going to sleep. Maybe you'd like a bed set upfor you in the parlour!"

"Not if the windies ain't open, " Pearl declared stoutly. 

"Well they ain't; there hasn't been a window open in this house sinceit was built, and there isn't going to be, letting in dust and flies. "

Pearl gasped. What would Mrs. Francis say to that?

"It's in yer graves ye ought to be then, ma'am, " she said with honestconviction. "Mrs. Francis told me never to sleep in a room with thewindies all down, and I as good as promised I wouldn't. Can't we openthat wee windy, ma'am?"

Mrs. Motherwell was tired, unutterably tired, not with that day's workalone, but with the days and years that had passed away in graydreariness; the past barren and bleak, the future bringing only visionsof heavier burdens. She was tired and perhaps that is why she becameangry. 

"You go straight to your bed, " she said, with her mouth hard and hereyes glinting like cold flint, "and none of your nonsense, or you cango straight back to town. "

When Pearl again reached the little stifling room, she fell on herknees and prayed. 

"Dear God, " she said, "there's gurms here as thick as hair on a dog'sback, and You and me know it, even if she don't. I don't know what todo, dear Lord--the windy is nelt down. Keep the gurms from gittin' intome, dear Lord. Do ye mind how poor Jeremiah was let down into the mireand ye tuk care o' him, didn't ye? Take care o' me, dear Lord. Poor mahas enough to do widout me comin' home clutterin' up the house widsickness. Keep yer eye on Danny if ye can at all, at all. He's awfulstirrin'. I'll try to git the windy riz to-morrow by hook or crook, somebbe it's only to-night ye'll have to watch the gurms. Amen. "

Pearl braided her hair into two little pigtails, with her littledilapidated comb. When she brought out the contents of the bird-cageand opened it in search of her night-dress, the orange rolled out, almost frightening her. The purse, too, rattled on the bare floor as itfell. 

She picked it up, and by going close to the fly-specked window shecounted the ten ten-cent pieces, a whole dollar. Never was a littlegirl more happy. 

"It was Camilla, " she whispered to herself. "Oh, I love Camilla! and Inever said 'God bless Camilla, '"--with a sudden pang of remorse. 

She was on her knees in a moment and added the postscript. 

"I can send the orange home to ma, and she can put the skins in thechist to make the things smell nice, and I'll git that windy opento-morrow. "

Clasping her little purse in her hand, and with the orange close besideher head, she lay down to sleep. The smell of the orange made herforget the heavy air in the room. 

"Anyway, " she murmured contentedly, "the Lord is attendin' to all that. "

Pearl slept the heavy sleep of healthy childhood and woke in the graydawn before anyone else in the household was stirring. She threw onsome clothing and went down the ladder into the kitchen. She startedthe fire, secured the basin full of water and a piece of yellow soapand came back to her room for her "oliver. "

"I can't lave it all to the Lord to do, " she said, as she rubbed thesoap on her little wash-rag. "It doesn't do to impose on good nature. "

When Tom, the only son of the Motherwells, came down to light the fire, he found Pearl setting the table, the kitchen swept and the kettleboiling. 

Pearl looked at him with her friendly Irish smile, which he returnedawkwardly. 

He was a tall, stoop-shouldered, rather good-looking lad of twenty. Hehad heavy gray eyes, and a drooping mouth. 

Tom had gone to school a few winters when there was not much doing, buthis father thought it was a great deal better for a boy to learn tohandle horses and "sample wheat, " and run a binder, than learn the"pack of nonsense they got in school nowadays, " and when the prettylittle teacher from the eastern township came to Southfield school, Mrs. Motherwell knew at one glance that Tom would learn no good fromher--she was such a flighty looking thing! Flowers on the under side ofher hat!

So poor Tom grew up a clod of the valley. Yet Mrs. Motherwell wouldtell you, "Our Tom'll be the richest man in these parts. He'll getevery cent we have and all the land, too; and I guess there won't bemany that can afford to turn up their noses at our Tom. And, mind ye, Tom can tell a horse as well as the next one, and he's a boy that won'twaste nothin', not like some we know. Look at them Slaters now! Fredand George have been off to college two years, big over-grown hulksthey are, and young Peter is going to the Agricultural College inGuelph this winter, and the old man will hire a man to take care of thestock, and him with three boys of his own. Just as if a boy can learnabout farmin' at a college! and the way them girls dress, and the oldlady, too, and her not able to speak above a whisper. The old ladywears an ostrich feather in her bonnet, and they're a terrible costlything, I hear. Mind you they only keep six cows, and they send everydrop they don't use to the creamery. Everybody can do as they like, Isuppose, but I know they'll go to the wall, and they deserve it too!"

And yet!

She and Mrs. Slater had been girls together and sat in school with armsentwined and wove romances of the future, rosy-hued and golden. Whenthey consulted the oracle of "Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, richman, poor man, beggar man, thief, " the buttons on her gray winsey dresshad declared in favour of the "rich man. " Then she had dreamed dreamsof silks and satins and prancing steeds and liveried servants, andease, and happiness--dreams which God in His mercy had let her forgetlong, long ago. 

When she had become the mistress of the big stone house, she hadstruggled hard against her husband's penuriousness, defiantlysometimes, and sometimes tearfully. But he had held her down with aheavy hand of unyielding determination. At last she grew weary ofstruggling, and settled down in sullen submission, a hopelessheavy-eyed, spiritless women, and as time went by she became greedierfor money than her husband. 

"Good-morning, " Pearl said brightly. "Are you Mr. Tom Motherwell?"

"That's what!" Tom replied. "Only you needn't mind the handle. "

Pearl laughed. 

"All right, " she said, "I want a little favor done. Will you open thewindow upstairs for me?"

"Why?" Tom asked, staring at her. 

"To let in good air. It's awful close up there, and I'm afraid I'll getthe fever or somethin' bad. "

"Polly got it, " Tom said. "Maybe that is why Polly got it. She's awfulsick now. Ma says she'll like as not die. But I don't believe ma willlet me open it. "

"Where is Polly?" Pearl asked eagerly. She had forgotten her ownworries. "Who is Polly? Did she live here?"

"She's in the hospital now in Brandon, " Tom said in answer to her rapidquestions. "She planted them poppies out there, but she never seen theflowers on them. Ma wanted me to cut them down, for Polly used to putoff so much time with them, but I didn't want to. Ma was mad, too, youbet, " he said, with a reminiscent smile at his own foolhardiness. 

Pearl was thinking--she could see the poppies through the window, bright and glowing in the morning light. They rocked lightly in thewind, and a shower of crimson petals fell. Poor Polly! she hadn't seenthem. 

"What's Polly's other name?" she asked quickly. 

"Polly Bragg, " he answered. "She was awful nice, Polly was, and jolly, too. Ma thought she was lazy. She used to cry a lot and wish she couldgo home; but my! she could sing fine. "

Pearl went on with her work with a preoccupied air. 

"Tom, can you take a parcel for me to town to-day?"

"I am not goin', " he said in surprise. "Pa always goes if we needanything. I haven't been in town for a month. "

"Don't you go to church?" Pearl asked in surprise. 

"No, you bet I don't, not now. The preacher was sassy to pa and triedto get money. Pa says he'll never touch wood in his church again, andpa won't give another cent either, and, mind you, last year we gavetwenty-five dollars. "

"We paid fourteen dollars, " Pearl said, "and Mary got six dollars onher card. "

"Oh, but you town people don't have the expenses we have. "

"That's true, I guess, " Pearl said doubtfully--she was wondering aboutthe boot bills. "Pa gets a dollar and a quarter every day, and ma getsseventy-five cents when she washes. We're gettin' on fine. "

Then Mrs. Motherwell made her appearance, and the conversation came toan end. 

That afternoon when Pearl had washed the dishes and scrubbed the floor, she went upstairs to the little room to write in her diary. She knewMrs. Francis would expect to see something in it, so she wrotelaboriously:

 I saw a lot of yalla flowers and black-burds. The rode was full of dust and wagging marks. I met a man with a top buggy and smelt a skunk. Mrs. M. Made a kake to-day--there was no lickens. 

 I'm goin' to tidy up the granary for Arthur. He's offel nice--an' told me about London Bridge--it hasn't fallen down at all, he says, that's just a song. 

All day long the air had been heavy and close, and that night whilePearl was asleep the face of the heavens was darkened withstorm-clouds. Great rolling masses came up from the west, shot throughwith flashes of lightening, and the heavy silence was more ominous thanthe loudest thunder would have been. The wind began in the hills, gustyand fitful at first, then bursting with violence over the plain below. There was a cutting whine in it, like the whang of stretched steel, fateful, deadly as the singing of bullets, chilling the farmer's heart, for he knows it means hail. 

Pearl woke and sat up in bed. The lightning flashed in the littlewindow, leaving the room as black as ink. She listened to the whistlingwind. 

"It's the hail, " she whispered delightedly. "I knew the Lord would finda way to open the windy without me puttin' my fist through it--I'llhave a look at the clouds to see if they have that white edge on them. No--I won't either--it isn't my put in. I'll just lave the Lord alone. Nothin' makes me madder than when I promise Tommy or Mary or any ofthem something and then have them frettin' all the time about whetheror not I'll get it done. I'd like to see the clouds though. I'll betthey're a sight, just like what Camilla sings about:

 Dark is His path on the wings o' the storm. 

In the kitchen below the Motherwells gathered with pale faces. Thewindows shook and rattled in their casings. 

"Keep away from the stove, Tom, " Mrs. Motherwell said, trembling. "That's where the lightnin' strikes. "

Tom's teeth were chattering. 

"This'll fix the wheat that's standing, every--bit of it, " Sam said. Hedid not make it quite as strong as he intended. Something had taken theprofanity out of him. 

"Hadn't you better go up and bring the kid down, ma?" Tom asked, thinking of Pearl. 

"Her!" his father said contemptuously. "She'll never hear it. " The windsuddenly ceased. Not a breath stirred, only a continuous glare oflightning. Then crack! crack! crack! on the roof, on the windows, everywhere, like bad boys throwing stones, heavier, harder, faster, until it was one beating, thundering roar. 

It lasted but a few minutes, though it seemed longer to those wholistened in terror in the kitchen. 

The roar grew less and less and at last ceased altogether, and only agentle rain was falling. 

Sam Motherwell sat without speaking, "You have cheated the Lord allthese years, and He has borne with you, trying to make you pay upwithout harsh proceedings"--he found himself repeating the minister'swords. Could this be what he meant by harsh proceedings? Certainly itwas harsh enough taking away a man's crop after all his hard work. 

Sam was full of self-pity. There were very few men who had ever beentreated as badly as he felt himself to be. 

"Maybe there'll only be a streak of it hailed out, " Tom said, breakingin on his father's dismal thoughts. 

"You'll see in the mornin', " his father growled, and Tom went back tobed. 

When Pearl woke it was with the wind blowing in upon her; the morningbreeze fragrant with the sweetness of the flowers and the ripeninggrain. The musty odours had all gone, and she felt life and health inevery breath. The blackbirds were twittering in the oats behind thehouse, and the rising sun was throwing long shadows over the field. Scattered glass lay on the floor. 

"I knew the dear Lord would fix the gurms, " Pearl said as she dressed, laughing to herself. But her face clouded in a moment. What about thepoppies?

Then she laughed again. "There I go frettin' again. I guess the Lordknows they're, there and He isn't going to smash them if Polly reallyneeds them. "

She dressed herself hastily and ran down the ladder and around behindthe cookhouse, where a strange sight met her eyes. The cookhouse roofhad been blown off and placed over the poppies, where it had shelteredthem from every hailstone. 

Pearl looked under the roof. The poppies stood there straight andbeautiful, no doubt wondering what big thing it was that hid them fromthe sun. 

When Tom and his father went out in the early dawn to investigate thedamage done by the storm, they found that only a narrow strip throughthe field in front of the house had been touched. 

The hail had played a strange trick; beating down the grain along thisnarrow path, just as if a mighty roller had come through it, until itreached the house, on the other side of which not one trace of damagecould be found. 

"Didn't we get off lucky?" Tom exclaimed "and the rest of the grain isnot even lodged. Why, twenty-five dollars would cover the whole loss, cookhouse roof and all. "

His father was looking over the rippling field, green-gold in the rosydawn. He started uncomfortably at Tom's words. 

Twenty-five dollars!

CHAPTER XV

INASMUCH

After sundown one night Pearl's resolve was carried into action. Shepicked a shoe-box full of poppies, wrapping the stems carefully in wetnewspaper. She put the cover on, and wrapped the box neatly. 

Then she wrote the address. She wrote it painfully, laboriously, inround blocky letters. Pearl always put her tongue out when she wasdoing anything that required minute attention. She was so anxious tohave the address just right that her tongue was almost around to herear. The address read:

 Miss Polly Bragg, english gurl and sick with fever Brandon Hospittle Brandon. 

Then she drew a design around it. Jimmy's teacher had made them once inJimmy's scribbler, just beautiful. She was sorry she could not do abird with a long strip of tape in his mouth with "Think of Me" or "Froma Friend" or "Love the Giver" on it. Ma knew a man once who could dothem, quick as wink. He died a drunkard with delirium trimmings, butwas terrible smart. 

Then she stuck, under the string, a letter she had written to Camilla. Camilla would get them sent to Polly. 

"I know how to get them sent to Camilla too, you bet, " she murmured. "There are two ways, both good ones, too. Jim Russell is one way. Jimknows what flowers are to folks. "

She crept softly down the stairs. Mrs Motherwell had left the kitchenand no one was about. The men were all down at the barn. 

She turned around the cookhouse where the poppies stood straight andstrong against the glowing sky. A little single red one with whiteedges swayed gently on its slender stem and seemed to beckon to herwith pleading insistence. She hurried past them, fearing that she wouldbe seen, but looking back the little poppy was still nodding andpleading. 

"And so ye can go, ye sweetheart, " she whispered. "I know what yewant. " She came back for it. 

"Just like Danny would be honin' to come, if it was me, " she murmuredwith a sudden blur of homesickness. 

Through the pasture she flew with the speed of a deer. The tallsunflowers along the fence seemed to throw a light in the gatheringgloom. 

A night hawk circled in the air above her, and a clumsy bat camebumping through the dusk as she crossed the creek just below Jim'sshanty. 

Bottles, Jim's dog, jumped up and barked, at which Jim himself came tothe door. 

"Come back, Bottles, " he called to the dog. "How will I ever get intosociety if you treat callers that way, and a lady, too! Dear, dear, ismy tie on straight? Oh, is that you Pearl? Come right in, I am glad tosee you. "

Over the door of Jim's little house the words "Happy Home" were printedin large letters and just above the one little window another signboldly and hospitably announced "Hot Meals at all Hours. "

Pearl stopped at the door. "No, Jim, " she said, "it's not visitin' Iam, but I will go in for a minute, for I must put this flower in thebox. Can ye go to town, Jim, in a hurry?"

"I can, " Jim replied. 

"I mean now, this very minute, slappet-bang!"

Jim started for the door. 

"Howld on, Jim!" Pearl cried, "don't you want to hear what ye'r goin'for? Take this box to Camilla--Camilla E. Rose at Mrs. Francis's--andshe'll do the rest. It's flowers for poor Polly, sick and dyin' maybewith the fever. But dead or alive, flowers are all right for folks, ain't they, Jim? The train goes at ten o'clock. Can ye do it, Jim?"

Jim was brushing his hair with one hand and reaching for his coat withthe other. 

"Here's the money to pay for the ride on the cars, " Pearl said, reaching out five of her coins. 

Jim waved his hand. 

"That's my share of it, " he said, pulling his cap down on his head. "You see, you do the first part, then me, then Camilla--just like thefiery cross. " He was half way to the stable as he spoke. 

He threw the saddle on Chiniquy and was soon galloping down the roadwith the box under his arm. 

Camilla came to the door in answer to Jim's ring. 

He handed her the box, and lifting his hat was about to leave without aword, when Camilla noticed the writing. 

"From Pearl, " she said eagerly. "How is Pearl? Come in, please, while Iread the letter--it may require an answer. "

Camilla wore a shirt-waist suit of brown, and the neatest collar andtie, and Jim suddenly became conscious that his boots were notblackened. 

Camilla left him in the hall, while she went into the library and readthe contents of the letter to Mr. And Mrs. Francis. 

She returned presently and with a pleasant smile said, holding out herhand, "You are Mr. Russell. I am glad to meet you. Tell Pearl theflowers will be sent to-night. "

She opened the door as she spoke, and Jim found himself going down thesteps, wondering just how it happened that he had not said one word--hewho was usually so ready of speech. 

"Well, well, " he said to himself as he untied Chiniquy, "little Jimmy'slost his tongue, I wonder why?"

All the way home the vision of lovely dark eyes and rippling brown hairwith just a hint of red in it, danced before him. Chiniquy, takingadvantage of his master's preoccupation, wandered aimlessly against abarbed wire, taking very good care not to get too close to it himself. Jim came to himself just in time to save his leg from a prod from thespikes. 

"Chiniquy, Chiniquy, " he said gravely, "I understand now something ofthe hatred the French bear your illustrious namesake. But no matterwhat the man's sins may have been, surely he did not deserve to have alittle flea-bitten, mangey, treacherous, mouse-coloured deceiver likeyou named for him. "

When Camilla had read Pearl's letter to Mr. And Mrs. Francis, thelatter was all emotion. How splendid of her, so sympathetic, so full ofthe true inwardness of Christian love, and the sweet message of thepoppy, the emblem of sleep, so prophetic of that other sleep that knowsno waking! Is it not a pagan thought, that? What tender recollectionsthey will bring the poor sufferer of her far away, happy childhood home!

Mrs. Francis's face was shining with emotion as she spoke. Then shebecame dreamy. 

"I wonder is her soul attune to the melodies of life, and will she feelthe love vibrations of the ether?"

Mr. Francis had noiselessly left the room when Camilla had finished herrapid explanation. He returned with his little valise in his hand. 

He stood a moment irresolutely looking, in his helpless dumb way, athis wife, who was so beautifully expounding the message of the flowers. 

Camilla handed him the box. She understood. 

Mrs. Francis noticed the valise in her husband's hand. 

"How very suddenly you make up your mind, James, " she said. "Are youactually going away on the train to-night? Really James, I believe Ishall write a little sketch for our church paper. Pearl'sthoughtfulness has moved me, James. It really has touched me deeply. Ifyou were not so engrossed in business, James, I really believe it wouldmove you; but men are so different from us, Camilla. They are not sosoulful. Perhaps it is just as well, but really sometimes, James, Ifear you give business too large a place in your life. It is allbusiness, business, business. "

Mrs. Francis opened her desk, and drawing toward her her gold pen anddainty letter paper, began her article. 

Camilla followed Mr. Francis into the hall, and helped him to put onhis overcoat. She handed him his hat with something like reverence inher manner. 

"You are upon the King's business to-night, " she said, with shiningeyes, as she opened the door for him. 

He opened his mouth as if to speak, but only waved his hand with animpatient gesture and was gone. 

CHAPTER XVI

HOW POLLY WENT HOME

"We'll have to move poor Polly, if she lives thro' the night, " thenurse said to the house doctor in the hospital that night. "She ismaking all the patients homesick. To hear her calling for her mother orfor 'someone from 'ome' is hard on the sick and well. "

"What are her chances do you think?" the doctor asked gravely. 

He was a wiry little man with a face like leather, but his touchbrought healing and his presence, hope. 

"She is dying of homesickness as well as typhoid, " the nurse saidsadly, "and she seems so anxious to get better, poor thing! She oftensays 'I can't die miss, for what'll happen mother. ' But for the lasttwo days, in her delirium, she seems to be worrying more about her workand her flowers. I think they were pretty hard people she lived with. 'Surely she'll praise me this time, ' she often says, 'I've tried my'ardest. ' The strenuous life has been too much for poor Polly. Listento her now!"

Polly was singing. Clear and steady and sweet, her voice rang over thequiet ward, and many a fevered face was raised to listen. Polly's mindwas wandering in the shadows, but she still sang the songs of home in astrange land:

 Down by the biller there grew a green willer A weeping all night with the bank for a piller. 

And over and over again she sang with a wavering cadence, incoherentlysometimes, but always with tender pleading, something about "where thestream was a-flowin', the gentle kine lowin', and over my grave keepthe green willers growin'. "

"It is pathetic to hear her, " the nurse said, "and now listen to herasking about her poppies. "

"In the box, miss; I brought the seed hacross the hocean, and they wuzbeauties, they wuz wot came hup. They'll be noddin' and wavin' now redand 'andsome, if she hasn't cut them. She wouldn't cut them, would she, miss? She couldn't 'ave the 'eart, I think. "

"No indeed, she hasn't cut them, " the nurse declared with decision, taking Polly's burning hand tenderly in hers. "No one could cut downsuch beauties. What nonsense to think of such a thing, Polly. They'reblooming, I tell you, red and handsome, almost as tall as you are, Polly. "

The office-boy touched the nurse's arm. 

"A gentleman who gave no name left this box for one of the typhoidpatients, " he said, handing her the box. 

The nurse read the address and the box trembled in her hands as shenervously opened it and took out the contents. 

"Polly, Polly!" she cried, excitedly, "didn't I tell you they wereblooming, red and handsome. "

But Polly's eyes were burning with delirium and her lips babbledmeaninglessly. 

The nurse held the poppies over her. 

Her arms reached out caressingly. 

"Oh, miss!" she cried, her mind coming back from the shadows. "Theyhave come at last, the darlin's, the sweethearts, the loves, thebeauties. " She held them in a close embrace. "They're from 'ome, they're from 'ome!" she gasped painfully, for her breath came withdifficulty now. "I can't just see them, miss, the lights is movin' somuch, and the way the bed 'eaves, but, tell me, miss, is there a littlesilky one, hedged with w'ite? It was mother's favourite one of hall. I'd like to 'ave it in my 'and, miss. "

The nurse put it in her hand. She was only a young nurse and her facewas wet with tears. 

"It's like 'avin' my mother's 'and, miss, it is, " she murmured softly. "Ye wouldn't mind the dark if ye 'ad yer mother's 'and, would ye, miss?"

And then the nurse took Polly's throbbing head in her strong youngarms, and soothed its restless tossing with her cool soft touch, andtold her through her tears of that other Friend, who would go with herall the way. 

"I'm that 'appy, miss, " Polly murmured faintly. "It's like I was goin''ome. Say that again about the valley, " and the nurse repeated tenderlythat promise of incomparable sweetness:

 Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil, for thou art with me, thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. 

"It's just like 'avin' mother's 'and to 'old the little silky one, "Polly murmured sleepily. 

The nurse put the poppies beside Polly's face on the pillow, anddrawing a screen around her went on to the next patient. A case ofurgent need detained her at the other end of the ward, and it was notuntil the dawn was shining blue in the windows that she came back onher rounds. 

Polly lay just as she had left her. The crimson petals lay thick uponher face and hair. The homesickness and redness of weeping had goneforever from her eyes, for they were looking now upon the King in hisbeauty! In her hand, now cold and waxen, she held one little silkypoppy, red with edges of white. Polly had gone home. 

There was a whisper among the poppies that grew behind the cookhousethat morning as the first gleam of the sun came yellow and wan over thefields; there was a whisper and a shivering among the poppies as themorning breezes, cold and chill, rippled over them, and a shower ofcrystal drops mingled with the crimson petals that fluttered to theground. It was not until Pearl came out and picked a handful of themfor her dingy little room that they held up their heads once more andwaved and nodded, red and handsome. 

CHAPTER XVII

"EGBERT AND EDYTHE"

When Tom Motherwell called at the Millford post office one day he gotthe surprise of his life. 

The Englishman had asked him to get his mail, and, of course, there wasthe Northwest Farmer to get, and there might be catalogues; but thepossibilities of a letter addressed to Mr. Thos. Motherwell did notoccur to him. 

But it was there!

A square gray envelope with his own name written on it. He had neverbefore got a real letter. Once he had a machinery catalogue sent tohim, with a typewritten letter inside beginning "Dear Sir, " but hismother had told him that it was just money they were after, but whatwould she say if she saw this?

He did not trust himself to open it in the plain gaze of the people inthe office. The girl behind the wicket noticed his excitement. 

"Ye needn't glue yer eye on me, " Tom thought indignantly. "I'll notopen it here for you to watch me. They're awful pryin' in this office. What do you bet she hasn't opened it?" He moved aside as others pressedup to the wicket, feeling that every eye was upon him. 

In a corner outside the door, Tom opened his letter, and laboriouslymade out its contents. It was written neatly with carefully shadedcapitals:

 Dear Tom: We are going to have a party to-morrow night, because George and Fred are going back to college next week. We want you to come and bring your Englishman. We all hope you will come. 

 Ever your friend, NELLIE SLATER. 

Tom read it again with burning cheeks. A party at Slater's and himinvited!

He walked down the street feeling just the same as when his colt gotthe prize at the "Fair. " He felt he was a marked man--eagerly soughtafter--invited to parties--girls writing to him! That's what it was tohave the cash!--you bet pa and ma were right!--money talks every time!

When he came in sight of home his elation vanished. His father andmother would not let him go, he knew that very well. They were afraidthat Nellie Slater wanted to marry him. And Nellie Slater was noteligible for the position of daughter-in-law. Nellie Slater had neverpatched a quilt nor even made a tie-down. She always used baking powderinstead of cream of tartar and soda, and was known to have a leaningtoward canned goods. Mrs. Motherwell considered her just the girl tospend a man's honest earnings and bring him to seedy ruin. Moreover, she idled away her time, teaching cats to jump, and her eighteen yearsold, if she was a day!

Tom knew that if he went to the party it must be by stealth. When hedrove up to the kitchen door his mother looked up from her ironing andasked:

"What kept you, Tom?"

Tom had not been detained at all, but Mrs. Motherwell always used thisform of salutation to be sure. 

Tom grumbled a reply, and handing out the mail began to unhitch. 

Mrs. Motherwell read the addresses on the Englishman's letters:

 Mr. Arthur Wemyss, c/o Mr. S. Motherwell, Millford P. O. , Manitoba, Canada, Township 8, range 16, sec't. 20. North America. 

"Now I wonder who's writing to him?" she said, laying the two lettersdown reluctantly. 

There was one other letter addressed to Mr. Motherwell, which she tookto be a twine bill. It was post-marked Brandon. She put it up in thepudding dish on the sideboard. 

As Tom led the horse to the stable he met Pearl coming in with the eggs. 

"See here, kid, " he said carelessly, handing her the letter. 

Tom knew Pearl was to be trusted. She had a good head, Pearl had, for agirl. 

"Oh, good shot!" Pearl cried delightedly, as she read the note. "Won'tthat be great? Are your clothes ready, though?" It was the eldest ofthe family who spoke. 

"Clothes, " Tom said contemptuously. "They are a blamed sight readierthan I am. "

"I'll blacken your boots, " Pearl said, "and press out a tie. Say, howabout a collar?"

"Oh, the clothes are all right, but pa and ma won't let me go nearNellie Slater. "

"Is she tooberkler?" Pearl asked quickly. 

"Not so very, " Tom answered guardedly. "Ma is afraid I might marry her. "

"Is she awful pretty?" Pearl asked, glowing with pleasure. Here was arapturous romance. 

"You bet, " Tom declared with pride. "She's the swellest girl in theseparts"--this with the air of a man who had weighed many feminine charmsand found them wanting. 

"Has she eyes like stars, lips like cherries, neck like a swan, and alaugh like a ripple of music?" Pearl asked eagerly. 

"Them's it, " Tom replied modestly. 

"Then I'd go, you bet!" was Pearl's emphatic reply. "There's yourmother calling. "

"Yes'm, I'm comin'. I'll help you, Tom. Keep a stout heart and all willbe well. "

Pearl knew all about frustrated love. Ma had read a story once, called"Wedded and Parted, and Wedded Again. " Cruel and designing parents hadparted young Edythe (pronounced Ed'-ith-ee) and Egbert, and Egbert justpined and pined and pined. How would Mrs. Motherwell like it if poorTom began to pine and turn from his victuals. The only thing that savedEgbert from the silent tomb where partings come no more, was the olddoctor who used to say, "Keep a stout heart, Egbert, all will be well. "That's why she said it to Tom. 

Edythe had eyes like stars, mouth like cherries, neck like a swan, anda laugh like a ripple of music, and wasn't it strange, Nellie Slaterhad, too? Pearl knew now why Tom chewed Old Chum tobacco so much. Menoften plunge into dissipation when they are crossed in love, and maybeTom would go and be a robber or a pirate or something; and then hemight kill a man and be led to the scaffold, and he would turn hishaggard face to the howling mob, and say, "All that I am my mother mademe. " Say, wouldn't that make her feel cheap! Wouldn't that make a womanfeel like thirty cents if anything would. Here Pearl's gloomyreflections overcame her and she sobbed aloud. 

Mrs. Motherwell looked up apprehensively

"What are you crying for, Pearl?" she asked not unkindly. 

Then, oh, how Pearl wanted to point her finger at Mrs. Motherwell, andsay with piercing clearness, the way a woman did in the book:

"I weep not for myself, but for you and for your children. " But, ofcourse, that would not do, so she said:

"I ain't cryin'--much. "

Pearl was grating horse-radish that afternoon, but the tears she shedwere for the parted lovers. She wondered if they ever met in themoonlight and vowed to be true till the rocks melted in the sun, andall the seas ran dry. That's what Egbert had said, and then a rift ofcloud passed athwart the moon's face, and Edythe fainted dead awaybecause it is bad luck to have a cloud go over the moon when people arebusy plighting vows, and wasn't it a good thing that Egbert was thereto break her fall? Pearl could just see poor Nellie Slater standingdry-eyed and pale at the window wondering if Tom could get away fromhis lynx-eyed parents who dogged his every footstep, and Pearl's tearsflowed afresh. 

But Nellie Slater was not standing dry-eyed and pale at the window. 

"Did you ask Tom Motherwell?" Fred, her brother, asked, looking up froma list he held in his hand. 

"I sent him a note, " Nellie answered, turning around from thebaking-board. "We couldn't leave Tom out. Poor boy, he never has anyfun, and I do feel sorry for him. "

"His mother won't let him come, anyway, " Fred said smiling. "So don'tset your heart on seeing him, Nell. "

"How discouraging you are Fred, " Nellie replied laughing. "Now, Ibelieve he will come. Tom would be a smart boy if he had a chance, Ithink. But just think what it must be like to live with two people likethe Motherwells. You do not realise it, Fred, because you have had thesuperior advantages of living with clever people like your brotherPeter and your sister Eleanor Mary; isn't that so, Peter?"

Peter Slater, the youngest of the family, who had just come in, laiddown the milk-pails before replying. 

"We have done our best for them all, Nellie, " he said modestly. "I hopethey will repay us. But did I hear you say Tom Motherwell was coming?"

"You heard Nell say so, " Fred answered, checking over the names. "Nellseems to like Tom pretty well. "

"I do, indeed, " Nellie assented, without turning around. 

"You show good taste, Eleanor, " Peter said as he washed his hands. 

"Who is going to drive into town for Camilla?" Nellie asked thatevening. 

"I am, " Fred answered promptly. 

"No, you're not, I am, " Peter declared. 

George looked up hastily. 

"I am going to bring Miss Rose out, " he said firmly. 

Then they laughed. 

"Father, " Nellie said gravely, "just to save trouble among the boys, will you do it?"

"With the greatest of pleasure, " her father said, smiling. 

Under Pearl's ready sympathy Tom began to feel the part of the strickenlover, and to become as eager to meet Nellie as Egbert had been to meetthe beautiful Edythe. He moped around the field that afternoon and letArthur do the heavy share of the work. 

The next morning before Mrs. Motherwell appeared Pearl and Tom decidedupon the plan of campaign. Pearl was to get his Sunday clothes taken tothe bluff in the pasture field, sometime during the day. Then in theevening Tom would retire early, watch his chance, slip out the frontdoor, make his toilet on the bluff, and then, oh bliss! away to Edythe. Pearl had thought of having him make a rope of the sheets; but sheremembered that this plan of escape was only used when people wereleaving a place for good--such as a prison; but for coming back again, perhaps after all, it was better to use the front door. Egbert had usedthe sheets, though. 

Fortune favoured Pearl's plans that afternoon. A book agent called atthe back door with the prospectus of a book entitled, "Woman'sInfluence in the Home. " While he was busy explaining to Mrs. Motherwellthe great advantages of possessing a copy of this book, and she wasequally busy explaining to him her views on bookselling as anoccupation for an able-bodied man, Pearl secured Tom's suit, ran downthe front stairs, out the front door and away to the bluff. 

Coming back to the house she had an uneasy feeling that she was doingsomething wrong. Then she remembered Edythe, dry-eyed and pale, and herfears vanished. Pearl had recited once at a Band of Hope meeting a poemof her own choosing--this was before the regulations excluding secularsubjects became so rigid. Pearl's recitation dealt with a captiveknight who languished in a mouldy prison. He begged a temporaryrespite--his prayer was heard--a year was given him. He went back tohis wife and child and lived the year in peace and happiness. The hourcame to part, friends entreated--wife and child wept--the knight alonewas calm. 

He stepped through the casement, a proud flush on his cheek, castingaside wife, child, friends. "What are wife and child to the word of aknight?" he said. "And behold the dawn has come!"

Pearl had lived the scene over and over; to her it stood for all thatwas brave and heroic. Coming up through the weeds that day, she wasthat man. Her step was proud, her head was thrown back, her brown eyesglowed and burned; there was strength and grace in every motion. 

When Tom Motherwell furtively left his father's house, and made his wayto the little grove where his best clothes were secreted, his movementswere followed by two anxious brown eyes that looked out of the littlewindow in the rear of the house. 

The men came in from the barn, and the night hush settled down upon thehousehold. Mr. And Mrs. Motherwell went to their repose, littledreaming that their only son had entered society, and, worse still, wasexposed to the baneful charms of the reckless young woman who was knownto have a preference for baking powder and canned goods, and curled herhair with the curling tongs. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE PARTY AT SLATER'S

"I wonder how we are going to get all the people in to-night, " EdithSlater said gravely as the family sat at supper. "I am afraid the wallswill be bulged out to-morrow. "

"The new chicken-house and the cellar will do for the overflowmeetings, " George remarked. 

"I borrow the pantry if it comes to a crush, you and I, Camilla, " PeterSlater said, helping himself to another piece of pie. Camilla had comeout in the afternoon to help with the preparations. 

"No, Camilla is my partner, " Fred said severely. "Peter is growing uptoo fast, don't you think so, mother? Since I lent him my razor to playwith there's no end to the airs he gives himself. I think he should goto bed at eight o'clock to-night, same as other nights. "

Peter laughed scornfully, but Nellie interposed. 

"You boys needn't quarrel over Camilla for Jim Russell is coming, andwhen Camilla sees him, what chance do you suppose you'll have?"

"And when Jim sees Camilla, what chance will you have, Nell?" Georgeasked. 

"Not one in a hundred; but I am prepared for the worst, " Nellieanswered, good-naturedly. 

"That means she has asked Tom Motherwell, " Peter explained. 

Then Mrs. Slater told them to hurry along with their supper for thepeople would soon be coming. 

It was Mrs. Slater who had planned the party. Mrs. Slater was theleading spirit in everything in the household that required dash anddaring. Hers was the dominant voice, though nothing louder than awhisper had been heard from her for years. She laughed in a whisper, she cried in a whisper. Yet in some way her laugh was contagious, andher tears brought comfort to those with whom she wept. 

When she proposed the party the girls foresaw difficulties. The housewas small--there were so many to ask--it was a busy time. 

Mrs. Slater stood firm. 

"Ask everybody, " she whispered. "Nobody minds being crowded at a party. I was at a party once where we had to go outside to turn around, thehouse was so small. I'll never forget what a good time we had. "

Mr. Slater was dressed and ready for anything long before the time hadcome for the guests to arrive. An hour before he had sat downresignedly and said, "Come, girls, do as you think best with the oldman, scrub him, polish him, powder him, blacken his eyebrows, do notspare him, he's yours, " and the girls had laughingly accepted theprivilege. 

George, whose duty it was to attend to the lamps for the occasion, camein with a worried look, on his usually placid face. 

"The aristocratic parlour-lamp is indisposed, " he said. "It has balked, refuses to turn up, and smells dreadfully. "

"Bring in the plebeians, George, " Fred cried gaily, "and never mind thepatrician--the forty-cent plebs never fail. I told Jim Russell to bringhis lantern, and Peter can stand in a corner and light matches if weare short. "

"It's working now, " Edith called from the parlour, "burningbeautifully; mother drew her hand over it. "

Soon the company began to arrive. Bashful, self-conscious girls, someof them were, old before their time with the marks of toil, heavy andunremitting, upon them, hard-handed, stoop-shouldered, dull-eyed andawkward. These were the daughters of rich farmers. Good girls theywere, too, conscientious, careful, unselfish, thinking it a virtue tostifle every ambition, smother every craving for pleasure. 

When they felt tired, they called it laziness and felt disgraced, andthus they had spent their days, working, working from the gray dawn, until the darkness came again, and all for what? When in after yearsthese girls, broken in health and in spirits, slipped away to prematuregraves, or, worse still, settled into chronic invalidism, of what availwas the memory of the cows they milked, the mats they hooked, thenumber of pounds of butter they made. 

Not all the girls were like these. Maud Murray was there. Maud Murraywith the milkmaid cheeks and curly black hair, the typical country girlof bounding life aid spirits, the type so often seen upon the stage andso seldom elsewhere. 

Mrs. Motherwell had warned Tom against Maud Murray as well as NellieSlater. She had once seen Maud churning, and she had had a newspaperpinned to the wall in front of her, and was reading it as she worked, and Mrs. Motherwell knew that a girl who would do that would come to nogood. 

Martha Perkins was the one girl of whom Mrs. Motherwell approved. Martha's record on butter and quilts and mats stood high. Martha was anice quiet girl. Mrs. Motherwell often said a "nice, quiet, unappearinggirl. " Martha certainly was quiet. Her conversational attainments didnot run high. "Things is what they are, and what's the good of sayinganything, " Martha had once said in defence of her silent ways. 

She was small and sallow-skinned and was dressed in an anaemic gray;her thin hay-coloured hair was combed straight back from a rather fineforehead. She stooped a little when she walked, and even when notemployed her hands picked nervously at each other. Martha's shyness, the "unappearing" quality, was another of her virtues in the eyes ofTom's mother. Martha rarely left home even to go to Millford. Marthadid not go to the Agricultural Fair when her mats and quilts and butterand darning and buttonholes on cotton got their red tickets. Marthastayed at home and dug potatoes--a nice, quiet, unappearing girl. 

When they played games at the Slaters that evening, Martha would notplay. She never cared for games she said, they tired a person so. Shewould just watch the others, and she wished again that she had herknitting. 

Then the kitchen floor was cleared; table, chairs and lounge were setoutside to make room for the dancing, and when the violins rang outwith the "Arkansaw Traveller, " and big John Kennedy in his officialvoice of caller-off announced, "Select your partners, " every personfelt that the real business of the evening had begun. 

Tom had learned to dance, though his parents would have been surprisedhad they known it. Out in the granary on rainy days hired men hadobligingly instructed him in the mysteries of the two-step and waltz. He sat in a corner and watched the first dance. When Jim Russell cameinto the hall, after receiving a warm welcome from Mr. And Mrs. Slater, who stood at the door, he was conscious of a sudden thrill of pleasure. It was the vision of Camilla, at the farther end of the dining-room, asshe helped the Slater girls to receive their guests. Camilla wore a reddress that brought out the blue-black of her eyes, and it seemed to Jimas he watched her graceful movements that he had never seen anyone sobeautiful. She was piloting a bevy of bashful girls to the stairway, and as she passed him she gave him a little nod and smile that set hisheart dancing. 

He heard the caller-off calling for partners for a quadrille. Thefiddlers had already tuned their instruments. From where he stood hecould see the figures forming, but Jim watched the stairway. At lastshe came, with a company of other girls, none of whom he saw, and heasked her for the first dance. Jim was not a conceited young man, buthe felt that she would not refuse him. Nor did she. 

Camilla danced well and so did Jim, and many an eye followed them asthey wound in and out through the other dancers. When the dance wasover he led her to a seat and sat beside her. They had much to talk of. Camilla was anxious to hear of Pearl, and it seemed all at once thatthey had become very good friends indeed. 

The second dance was a waltz. Tom did not know that it was the musicthat stirred his soul with a sudden tenderness, a longing indefinite, that was full of pain and yet was all sweetness. Martha who sat nearhim looked at him half expectantly. But her little gray face andtwitching hands repelled him. On the other side of the room, NellieSlater, flushed and smiling was tapping her foot to the music. 

He found himself on his feet. "Who cares for mats?" he muttered. He wasbeside Nellie in an instant. 

"Nellie, will you dance with me?" he faltered, wondering at his owntemerity. 

"I will, Tom, with pleasure, " she said, smiling. 

His arm was around her now and they were off, one, two, three; one, two, three; yes, he had the step. "Over the foam we glide, " in and outthrough the other dancers, the violins weaving that story of love neverending. "What though the world be wide"--Nellie's head was just belowhis face--"Love's golden star will guide. " Nellie's hand was in his asthey floated on the rainbow-sea. "Drifting along, glad is oursong"--her hair blew against his cheek as they swept past the opendoor. What did he care what his mother would say. He was Egbert now. Edythe was in his arms. "While we are side by side" the violins sang, glad, triumphant, that old story that runs like a thread of goldthrough all life's patterns; that old song, old yet ever new, deathless, unchangeable, which maketh the poor man rich and withoutwhich the richest becomes poor!

When the music stopped, Tom awoke from his idolatrous dream. He broughtNellie to a seat and sat awkwardly beside her. His old self-complacencyhad left him. Nellie was talking to him, but he did not hear what shesaid. He was not looking at her, but at himself. Before he knew it shehad left him and was dancing with Jim Russell. Tom looked after them, miserable. She was looking into Jim's face, smiling and talking. Whatthe mischief were they saying? He tried to tell himself that he couldbuy and sell Jim Russell; Jim had not anything in the world but aquarter of scrub land. They passed him again, still smiling andtalking. "Nellie Slater is making herself mighty cheap, " he thoughtangrily. Then the thought came home to him with sudden bitterness--howhandsome Jim was, so straight and tall, so well-dressed, so clever, and, bitterest of all, how different from him. 

When Jim and Camilla were sitting out the second dance he told herabout Arthur, the Englishman, who sat in a corner, shy anduncomfortable. Camilla became interested at once, and when he broughtArthur over and introduced him, Camilla's friendly smile set him at hisease. Then Jim generously vacated his seat and went to find NellieSlater. 

"Select your partners for a square dance!" big John, the caller-offannounced, when the floor was cleared. This was the dance that Mr. AndMrs. Slater would have to dance. It was in vain that Mrs. Slaterwhispered that she had not danced for years, that she was a Methodistbred and born. That did not matter. Her son Peter declared that hismother could dance beautifully, jigs and hornpipes and things likethat. He had often seen her at it when she was down in the milkhousealone. 

Mrs. Slater whispered dreadful threats; but her son Peter insisted, andwhen big John's voice rang out "Honors all, " "Corners the same, " Mrs. Slater yielded to the tide of public opinion. 

Puffing and blowing she got through the "First four right and left, ""Right and left back and ladies' chain"; but when it came to "Righthand to partner" and "Grand right and left, " it was good-bye to mother!Peter dashed into the set to put his mother right, but mother wasalways pointing the wrong way. "Swing the feller that stole the sheep, "big John sang to the music; "Dance to the one that drawed it home, ""Whoop 'er up there, you Bud, " "Salute the one that et the beef" and"Swing the dog, that gnawed the bone. " "First couple lead to theright, " and mother and father went forward again and "Balance all!"Tonald McKenzie was opposite mother; Tonald McKenzie didsteps--Highland fling steps they were. Tonald was a Crofter from thehills, and had a secret still of his own which made him a sort ofuncrowned king among the Crofters. It was a tight race for popularitybetween mother and Tonald in that set, and when the two stars met faceto face in the "Balance all!" Tonald surpassed all former efforts. Hecracked his heels together, he snapped his fingers; he threaded theneedle; he wrung the dishcloth--oh you should have seen Tonald!

Then big John clapped his hands together, and the first figure was over. 

In the second figure for which the violins played "My Love Is but aLassie Yet, " Mrs. Slater's memory began to revive, and the dust oftwenty years fell from her dancing experience. She went down the centreand back again, right and left on the side, ladies' chain on the head, right hand to partner and grand right and left, as neat as you please, and best of all, when all the ladies circled to the left, and all thegentlemen circled to the right, no one was quicker to see what was theupshot of it all; and before big John told them to "Form the basket, "mother whispered to father that she knew what was coming, and fathertold mother she was a wonderful woman for a Methodist. "Turn the basketinside out, " "Circle to the left--to the centre and back, circle to theright, " "Swing the girl with the hole in her sock, " "Promenade once anda half around on the head, once and a half around on the side, " "Turn'em around to place again and balance all!" "Clap! Clap! Clap!"

Mother wanted to quit then, but dear me no! no one would let her, theywould dance the "Break-down" now, and leave out the third figure, andas a special inducement, they would dance "Dan Tucker. " She would stayfor "Dan Tucker. " Peter came in for "Tucker, " an extra man beingnecessary, and then off they went into

 Clear the way for old Dan Tucker, He's too late to come to supper. 

Two by two they circled around, Peter in the centre singing--

 Old Dan Tucker Was a fine old man--

Then back to the right--

 He washed his face In the frying-pan. 

Then around in a circle hand in hand--

 He combed his hair On a wagon-wheel, And died with the tooth-ache In his heel!

As they let go of their partners' hands and went right and left, Petermade his grand dash into the circle, and when the turn of the tune camehe was swinging his mother, his father had Tonald's partner, and Tonaldwas in the centre in the title roll of Tucker, executing some of themost intricate steps that had ever been seen outside of the Isle ofSkye. 

Then the tune changed into the skirling bag-pipe lilt all Highlanderslove--and which we who know not the Gaelic profanely call "Weel may thekeel row"--and Tonald got down to his finest work. 

He was in the byre now at home beyond the sea, and it is not strangefaces he will be seein', but the lads and lassies of the Glen, and itis John McNeash who holds the drone under his arm and the chanter inhis hands, and the salty tang of the sea comes up to him and thepeat-smoke is in his nostrils, and the pipes skirl higher and higher asTonald McKenzie dances the dance of his forbears in a strange land. They had seen Tonald dance before, but this was different, for it wasnot Tonald McKenzie alone who danced before them, but the incarnatespirit of the Highlands, the unconquerable, dauntless, lawlessHighlands, with its purple hills and treacherous caverns that flingdefiance at the world and fear not man nor devil. 

Tonald finished with a leap as nimble as that with which a cat springson its victim while the company watched spellbound. He slipped awayinto a corner and would dance no more that night. 

When twelve o'clock came, the dancing was over, and with the smell ofcoffee and the rattle of dishes in the kitchen it was not hard topersuade big John Kennedy to sing. 

Big John lived alone in a little shanty in the hills, and the prospectof a good square meal was a pleasant one to the lonely fellow who hadbeen his own cook so long. Big John lived among the Crofters, whosemethods of cooking were simple in the extreme, and from them he hadpicked up strange ways of housekeeping. He ate out of the frying pan;he milked the cow in the porridge pot, and only took what he needed foreach meal, reasoning that she had a better way of keeping it than hehad. Big John had departed almost entirely from "white man's ways, " andlived a wild life free from the demands of society. His ability to"call off" at dances was the one tie that bound him to the Canadianpeople on the plain. 

"Oh, I can't sing, " John said sheepishly, when they urged him. 

"Tell us how it happened any way John, " Bud Perkins said. "Give us thestory of it. "

"Go on John. Sing about the cowboy, " Peter Slater coaxed. 

"It iss a teffle of a good song, that, " chuckled Tonald. 

"Well, " John began, clearing his throat, "here it's for you. I'veruined me voice drivin' oxen though, but here's the song. "

It was a song of the plains, weird and wistful, with an uncouthplaintiveness that fascinated these lonely hill-dwellers. 

 As I was a-walkin' one beautiful morning, As I was a-walkin' one morning in May, I saw a poor cowboy rolled up in his blanket, Rolled up in his blanket as cold as the clay!

The listener would naturally suppose that the cowboy was dead in hisblanket that lovely May morning; but that idea had to be abandoned asthe song went on, because the cowboy was very much alive in thesucceeding verses, when--

 Round the bar bummin' where bullets were hummin' He snuffed out the candle to show why he come!

Then his way of giving directions for his funeral was somewhat out ofthe usual procedure but no one seemed to notice these littlediscrepancies--

 Beat the drum slowly boys, beat the drum lowly boys, Beat the dead march as we hurry along. To show that ye love me, boys, write up above me, boys, "Here lies a poor cowboy who knows he done wrong. "

In accordance with a popular custom, John SPOKE the last two words in avery slow and distinct voice. This was considered a very fine thing todo--it served the purpose of the "Finis" at the end of the book, or the"Let us pray, " at the end of the sermon. 

The applause was very loud and very genuine. 

Bud Perkins, who was the wit of the Perkins family, and called by hismother a "regular cut-up, " was at last induced to sing. Bud's"Come-all-ye" contained twenty-three verses, and in it was set forththe wanderings of one, young Willie, who left his home and native landat a very tender age, and "left a good home when he left. " His mothertied a kerchief of blue around his neck. "God bless you, son, " shesaid. "Remember I will watch for you, till life itself is fled!" Thesong went on to tell how long the mother watched in vain. Young Willieroamed afar, but after he had been scalped by savage bands and left fordead upon the sands, and otherwise maltreated by the world at large, hebegan to think of home, and after shipwrecks, and dangers andhair-breadth escapes, he reached his mother's cottage door, from whichhe had gone long years before. 

Then of course he tried to deceive his mother, after the manner of allboys returning after a protracted absence--

 Oh, can you tell me, ma'm, he said, How far to Edinboro' town. 

But he could not fool his mother, no, no! She knew him by the kerchiefblue, still tied around his neck. 

When the applause, which was very generous, had been given, Jim Russellwanted to know how young Willie got his neck washed in all his longmeanderings, or if he did not wash, how did he dodge the healthofficers. 

George Slater gravely suggested that perhaps young Willie used adry-cleaning process--French chalk or brown paper and a hot iron. 

Peter Slater said he did not believe it was the same handkerchief atall. No handkerchief could stand the pace young Willie went. It wasanother one very like the one he had started off with. He noticed themin the window as he passed, that day, going cheap for cash. 

The young Englishman looked more and more puzzled. It was strange howCanadians took things. He turned to Camilla. 

"It is only a song, don't you know, " he said with a distressed look. "It is really impossible to say how he had the kerchief still tiedaround his neck. "

The evening would not have been complete without a song from BillyMcLean. Little Billy was a consumptive, playing a losing game against arelentless foe; but playing like a man with unfailing cheerfulness, andeyes that smiled ever. 

 There is a bright ship on the ocean, Bedecked in silver and gold; They say that my Willie is sailing, Yes, sailing afar I am told, was little Billy's song, known and loved in many a thresher's caboose, but heard no more for many a long day, for little Billy gave up thestruggle the next spring when the snow was leaving the fields and thetrickle of water was heard in the air. But he and his songs are stilllovingly remembered by the boys who "follow the mill, " when theirthoughts run upon old times. 

Peter and Fred Slater came in with the coffee. Jim Russell with a whiteapron around his neck followed with a basket of sandwiches, and TomMotherwell with a heaping plate of cake. 

"Did you make this cake, Nell?" Tom whispered to Nellie in the pantryas she filled the plate for him. 

"Me!" she laughed. "Bless you no! I can't make anything but pancakes. "

Martha Perkins still sat by the window. She looked older and morecareworn--she was thinking of how late it was getting. Martha couldmake cakes, Tom knew that. Martha could do everything. 

"Go along Tom, " Nellie was saying, "give a piece to big John. Don't yousee how hungry he looks. " Their eyes met. Hers were bright and smiling. He smiled back. 

Oh pshaw! pancakes are not so bad. 

Jim Russell whispered to Camilla, as he passed near where she andArthur sat, "Will you please come and help Nellie in the pantry? Weneed you badly. "

Camilla called Maud Murray to take her seat. She knew Maud would bekind to the young Englishman. 

When Camilla reached the pantry she found Nellie and Tom Motherwellhappily engaged in eating lemon tarts, and evidently not needing her atall. Jim was ready with an explanation. "I was thinking of poor Thursa, far across the sea, " he said, "what a shock it would be to her ifArthur was compelled to write home that he had changed his mind, " andCamilla did not look nearly so angry as she should have, either. 

After supper there was another song from Arthur Wemyss, the youngEnglishman. He played his own accompaniment, his fingers, stiffenedthough they were with hard work, ran lightly over the keys. Everyperson sat still to listen. Even Martha Perkins forgot to twirl herfingers and leaned forward. It was a simple little English ballad hesang:

 Where'er I wander over land or foam, There is a place so dear the heart calls home. 

Perhaps it was because the ocean rolled between him and his home thathe sang with such a wistful longing in his voice, that even his dullestlistener felt the heart-cry in it. It was a song of one who reacheslonging arms across the sea to the old home and the old friends, whomhe sees only in his dreams. 

In the silence that followed the song, his fingers unconsciously beganto play Mendelssohn's beautiful air, "We Would See Jesus, for theShadows Lengthen. " Closely linked with the young man's love of home washis religious devotion. The quiet Sabbath morning with its silverychimes calling men to prayer; the soft footfalls in the aisle; thewhite-robed choir, his father's voice in the church service, so full ofdivine significance; the many-voiced responses and the swelling notesof the "Te Deum"--he missed it so. All the longing for the life he hadleft, all the spiritual hunger and thirst that was in his heart sobbedin his voice as he sang:

 We would see Jesus, For the shadows lengthen O'er this little landscape of our life. We would see Jesus, Our weak faith to strengthen, For the last weariness, the final strife. We would see Jesus, other lights are paling, Which for long years we have rejoiced to see, The blessings of our pilgrimage are failing, We would not mourn them for we go to Thee. 

He sang on with growing tenderness through all that divinely tenderhymn, and the longing of it, the prayer of it was not his alone, butarose from every heart that listened. 

Perhaps they were in a responsive mood, easily swayed by emotion. Perhaps that is why there was in every heart that listened a desire tobe good and follow righteousness, a reaching up of feeble hands to God. The Reverend Hugh Grantley would have said that it was the Spirit ofGod that stands at the door of every man's heart and knocks. 

The young man left the organ, and the company broke up soon after. Before they parted, Mr. Slater in whom the Englishman's singing hadrevived the spiritual hunger of his Methodist heart, requested them tosing "God be with you till we meet again. " Every one stood up andjoined hands. Martha, with her thoughts on the butter and eggs; TonaldMcKenzie and big John with the vision of their lonely dwellings in thehills looming over them; Jim and Camilla; Tom and Nellie, hand in hand;little Billy, face to face with the long struggle and its certainending. Little Billy's voice rang sweet and clear above the others--

 God be with you till we meet again, Keep love's banner floating o'er you, Smite death's threatening wave before you; God be with you till we meet again!

CHAPTER XIX

PEARL'S DIARY

When Pearl got Tom safely started for the party a great weight seemedto have rolled from her little shoulders. Tom was going to spend thenight--what was left of it--with Arthur in the granary, and so avoidthe danger of disturbing his parents by his late home-coming. 

Pearl was too excited to sleep, so she brought out from her bird-cagethe little note-book that Mrs. Francis had given her, and endeavouredto fill some of its pages with her observations. 

Mrs. Francis had told her to write what she felt and what she saw. 

She had written:

August 8th. --I picked the fethers from 2 ducks to-day. I call themcusmoodles. I got that name in a book. The cusmoodles were just full ofcheety-wow-wows. That's a pretty name, too, I think. I got that out ofmy own head. The cheety-wow-wows are wanderers to-night, I guess. Theylost their feather-bed. 

Arthur's got a girl. Her name is Thursa. He tells me about her, andshowed me her picter. She is beautiful beyond compare, and awful savin'on her clothes. At first I thought she had a die-away-ducky look, but Iguess it's because she was sorry Arthur was comin' away. 

August 9th. --Mrs. Motherwell is gittin' kinder, I think. When I wasgittin' the tub for Arthur yesterday, and gittin' water het, she said, "What are you doin', Pearl?" I says, "gittin' Arthur a bath. " She says, "Dear me, it's a pity about him. " I says, "Yes'm, but he'll feel betternow. " She says, "Duz he want anyone to wash his back?"--I says, "Idon't know, but I'll ask him, " and I did, too; but he says, "No, thanksawfully. "

August 10th. --The English Church minister called one day to see Arthur. He read some of the Bible to us and then he gave us a dandy prayer. Hedidn't make it--it was a bot one. 

There's wild parsley down on the crik. Mrs. M. Sed't wuz poison, but Iwanted to be sure, so I et it, and it isn't. There's wild sage allover, purple an lovely. I pickt a big lot ov it, to taik home--we mitehave a turkey this winter. 

August 11th. --I hope tom's happy; it's offel to be in love. I hope I'llnever be. 

My hands are pretty sore pullin' weeds, but I like it; I pertend it'sbad habits I'm rootin' out. 

Arthur's offel good: he duz all the work he can for me, and he singsfor me and tells me about his uncle the Bishop. His uncle's gotservants and leggin's and lots of things. Arthur's been kind of sicklately. 

I made verses one day, there not very nice, but there true--I saw it:

 The little lams are beautiful, There cotes are soft and nice, The little calves have ringworm, And the 2-year olds have lice!

Now I'm going' to make more; it seems to bad to leve it like that. 

 It must be very nasty, But to worrie, what's the use; Better be cam and cheerfull, And appli tobaka jooce. 

Sometimes I feal like gittin' lonesum but I jist keep puttin' it of. Isay to myself I won't git lonesum till I git this cow milked, and thenI say o shaw I might as well do another, and then I say I won't gitlonesum till I git the pails washed and the flore scrubbed, and I keepsettin' it of and settin' it of till I forgit I was goin' to be. 

One day I wuz jist gittin' reddy to cry. I could feel tears startin' inmy hart, and my throte all hot and lumpy, thinkin' of ma and Danny an'all of them, and I noticed the teakettle just in time--it neadedskourin'. You bet I put a shine on it, and, of course, I couldn't dabtears on it and muss it up, so I had to wait. Mrs. M. Duzn't talk tome. She has a morgage or a cancer I think botherin' her. Ma knowed awoman once, and everybuddy thot she was terrible cross cos she wouldn'ttalk at all hardly and when she died, they found she'd a tumult in herinsides, and then you bet they felt good and sorry, when we're cross athome ma says it's not the strap we need, but a good dose of kastor oilor Seany and we git it too. 

I gess I got Bugsey's and Patsey's bed paid fer now. Now I'll doTeddy's and Jimmy's. This ain't a blot it's the liniment Mrs. McGuiregave me. I have it on me hands. 

I'm gittin on to be therteen soon. 13 is pretty old I gess. I'll soonturn the corner now and be lookin' 20 square in the face--I'll never behomesick then. I ain't lonesome now either--it's just sleep that's inmy eyes smuggin them up. 

Jim Russell is offel good to go to town he doesn't seem to mind it abit. Once I said I wisht I'd told Camilla to remind Jimmy to spit onhis warts every day--he's offell careless, and Jim said he'd tellCamilla, and he often asks me if I want to tell Camilla anything, andit's away out of his rode to go round to Mrs. Francis house too. I likeJim you bet. 

CHAPTER XX

TOM'S NEW VIEWPOINT

Pearl was quite disappointed in Tom's appearance the morning after theparty. Egbert always wore a glorified countenance after he had seenEdythe; but Tom looked sleepy and somewhat cross. 

He went to his work discontentedly. His mother's moroseness annoyedhim. His father's hard face had never looked so forbidding to him as itdid that morning. Mrs. Slater's hearty welcome, her good-naturedmotherly smiles, Mr. Slater's genial and kindly ways, contrastedsharply with his own home life, and it rankled in him. 

"It's dead easy for them Slater boys to be smart and good, too, " hethought bitterly; "they are brought right up to it. They may not havemuch money, but look at the fun they have. George and Fred will be offto college soon, and it must be fun in the city, --they're dressed upall the time, ridin' round on street cars, and with no chores to do. "

The trees on the poplar bluff where he had made his toilet the eveningbefore were beginning to show the approach of autumn, although therehad been no frost. Pale yellow and rust coloured against the green oftheir hardier neighbours, they rippled their coin-like leaves in gladgood-will as he drove past them on his way to the hayfield. 

The sun had risen red and angry, giving to every cloud in the sky afacing of gold, and long streamers shot up into the blue of themid-heaven. 

There is no hour of the day so hushed and beautiful as the earlymorning, when the day is young, fresh from the hand of God. It is a newpage, clean and white and pure, and the angel is saying unto us"Write!" and none there be who may refuse to obey. It may be graciousdeeds and kindly words that we write upon it in letters of gold, or itmay be that we blot and blur it with evil thoughts and stain it withunworthy actions, but write we must!

The demon of discontent laid hold on Tom that morning as he worked inthe hayfield. New forces were at work in the boy's heart, forces mightyfor good or evil. 

A great disgust for his surrounding filled him. He could see from wherehe worked the big stone house, bare and gray. It was a place to eat in, a place to sleep in, the same as a prison. He had never known any realenjoyment there. He knew it would all be his some day, and he tried tofeel the pride of possession, but he could not--he hated it. 

He saw around him everywhere the abundance of harvest--the grain thatmeant money. Money! It was the greatest thing in the world. He had beentaught to chase after it--to grasp it--then hide it, and chase againafter more. His father put money in the bank every year, and never sawit again. When money was banked it had fulfilled its highest mission. Then they drew that wonderful thing called interest, money withoutwork--and banked it--Oh, it was a great game!

It was the first glimmerings of manhood that was stirring in Tom'sheart that morning, the new independence, the new individualism. 

Before this he had accepted everything his father and mother had saidor done without question. Only once before had he doubted them. It wasseveral years before. A man named Skinner had bought from Tom's fatherthe quarter section that Jim Russell now farmed, paying down aconsiderable sum of money, but evil days fell upon the man and hiswife; sickness, discouragement, and then, the man began to drink. Hewas unable to keep up his payments and Tom's father had foreclosed themortgage. Tom remembered the day the Skinners had left their farm, thewoman was packing their goods into a box. She was a faded woman in afaded wrapper, and her tears were falling as she worked. Tom saw hertears falling, and he had told her with the awful cruelty of a childthat it was their own fault that they had lost the farm. The woman hadshrunk back as if he had struck her and cried "Oh, no! No! Tom, don'tsay that, child, you don't know what you say, " then putting her handson his shoulders she had looked straight into his face--he rememberedthat she had lost some teeth in front, and that her eyes were sweet andkind. "Some day, dear, " she said, "when you are a man, you willremember with shame and sorrow that you once spoke hard to abroken-hearted, homeless woman. " Tom had gone home wondering andvaguely unhappy, and could not eat his supper that night. 

He remembered it all now, remembered it with a start, and with a suddentightening of his heart that burned and chilled him. The hot bloodrushed into his head and throbbed painfully. 

He looked at the young Englishman who was loading the hay on the rack, with a sudden impulse. But Arthur was wrapped in his own mask ofinsular reserve, and so saw nothing of the storm that was sweeping overthe boy's soul. 

Then the very spirit of evil laid hold on Tom. When the powers of goodare present in the heart, and can find no outlet in action, they turnto evil. Tom had the desire to be kind and generous; ambition wasstirring in him. His sullenness and discontent were but the outwardsigns of the inward ferment. He could not put into action the powersfor good without breaking away, in a measure at least, from his fatherand mother. 

He felt that he had to do something. He was hungry for the society ofother young people like himself. He wanted life and action andexcitement. 

There is one place where a young man can always go and find life andgaiety and good-fellowship. One door stands invitingly open to all. When the church of God is cold and dark and silent, and the homes ofChrist's followers are closed except to the chosen few, the bar-roomthrows out its evil welcome to the young man on the street. 

Tom had never heard any argument against intemperance, only that it wasexpensive. Now he hated all the petty meanness that he had been socarefully taught. 

The first evening that Tom went into the bar-room of the Millford hotelhe was given a royal welcome. They were a jolly crowd! They knew how toenjoy life, Tom told himself. What's the good of money if you can'thave a little fun with it?

Tom had never had much money of his own, he had never needed it orthought anything about it. Now the injustice of it rankled in him. Hehad to have money. It was his. He worked for it. He would just take it, and then if it was missed he would tell his father and mother that hehad taken it--taking your own is not stealing--and he would tell themso and have it out with them. 

Thus the enemy sowed the tares. 

CHAPTER XXI

A CRACK IN THE GRANITE

While Pearl was writing her experiences in her little red book, Mr. AndMrs. Motherwell were in the kitchen below reading a letter which Mr. Motherwell had just brought from the post office. It read as follows:

BRANDON HOSPITAL, August 10th. 

Dear Mr. And Mrs. Motherwell: I know it will be at least some slightcomfort for you to know that the poppies you sent Polly reached her intime to be the very greatest comfort to her. Her joy at seeing them andholding them in her hands would have been your reward if you could haveseen it, and although she had been delirious up to that time forseveral days, the sight of the poppies seemed to call her mind back. She died very peacefully and happily at daybreak this morning. She wasa sweet and lovable girl and we had all grown very fond of her, as I amsure you did, too. 

May God abundantly bless you, dear Mr. And Mrs. Motherwell, for yourkind thoughtfulness to this poor lonely girl. "Inasmuch as ye have doneit unto the least of these, ye have done it unto Me. "

Yours cordially, (Nurse) AGNES HUNT. 

"By Jinks. "

Sam Motherwell took the letter from his wife's hand and excitedly readit over to himself, going over each word with his blunt forefinger. Heturned it over and examined the seal, he looked at the stamp and insideof the envelope, and failing to find any clue to the mystery heejaculated again:

"By Jinks! What the deuce is this about poppies. Is that them thingsshe sowed out there?"

His wife nodded. 

"Well, who do you suppose sent them? Who would ever think of sendingthem?"

Mrs. Motherwell made no reply. 

"It's a blamed nice letter anyway, " he said, looking it over again, "Iguess Polly didn't give us a hard name to them up there in the'ospital, or we wouldn't ha' got a letter like this; and poor Polly'sdead. Well, she was a kind of a good-natured, willin' thing too, andnot too slow either. "

Mrs. Motherwell was still silent. She had not thought that Polly woulddie, she had always had great faith in the vitality of English people. "You can't kill them, " she had often said; but now Polly was dead. Shewas sick, then, when she went around the house so strangely silent andflushed. Mrs. Motherwell's memory went back with crueldistinctness--she had said things to Polly then that stung her now witha remorse that was new and terrible, and Polly had looked at her dazedand wondering, her big eyes flushed and pleading. Mrs. Motherwellremembered now that she had seen that look once before. She had helpedSam to kill a lamb once, and it came back to her now, how through itall, until the blow fell, the lamb had stood wondering, pleading, yetunflinching, and she had run sobbing away--and now Polly was dead--andthose big eyes she had so often seen tearful, yet smiling, were closedand their tears forever wiped away. 

That night she dreamed of Polly, confused, troubled dreams; now it wasPolly's mother who was dead, then it was her own mother, dead thirtyyears ago. Once she started violently and sat up. Someone had beensinging--the echo of it was still in the room:

 Over my grave keep the green willers growing. 

The yellow harvest moon flooded the room with its soft light. She couldsee through the window how it lay like a mantle on the silent fields. It was one of those glorious, cloudless nights, with a hint of frost inthe air that come just as the grain is ripening. From some place downthe creek a dog barked; once in a while a cow-bell tinkled: a horsestamped in the stable and then all was still. Numberless stars shonethrough the window. The mystery of life and death and growing thingswas around her. As for man his days are as grass; as a flower of thefield so he flourisheth--for it is soon cut off and we fly away--flyaway where?--where?--her head throbbed with the question. 

The eastern sky flushed red with morning; a little ripple came over thegrain. She watched it listlessly. Polly had died at daybreak--didn'tthe letter say? Just like that, the light rising redder and redder, thestars disappearing, she wondered dully to herself how often she wouldsee the light coming, like this, and yet, and yet, some time would bethe last, and then what?

 We shall be where suns are not, A far serener clime. 

came to her memory she knew not from whence. But she shuddered at it. Polly's eyes, dazed, pleading like the lamb's, rose before her; or wasit that Other Face, tender, thorn-crowned, that had been looking uponher in love all these long years!

She spoke so kindly to Pearl when she went into the kitchen that thelittle girl looked up apprehensively. 

"Are ye not well, ma'am?" she asked quickly. 

Mrs. Motherwell hesitated. 

"I did not sleep very well, " she said, at last. 

"That's the mortgage, " Pearl thought to herself. 

"And when I did sleep, I had such dreadful dreams, " Mrs. Motherwellwent on, strangely communicative. 

"That looks more like the cancer, " Pearl thought as she stirred theporridge. 

"We got bad news, " Mrs. Motherwell said. "Polly is dead. "

Pearl stopped stirring the porridge. 

"When did she die, " she asked eagerly. 

"The morning before yesterday morning, about daylight. "

Pearl made a rapid calculation. "Oh good!" she cried, "goody--goody--goody! They were in time. "

She saw her mistake in a moment, and hastily put her hand over hermouth as if to prevent the unruly member from further indiscretions. She stirred the porridge vigorously, while her cheeks burned. 

"Yes, they were, " Mrs. Motherwell said quietly. 

Pearl set the porridge on the back of the stove and ran out to wherethe poppies nodded gaily. Never before had they seemed so beautiful. Mrs. Motherwell watched her through the window bending over them. Something about the poppies appealed to her now. She had once wantedTom to cut them down, and she thought of it now. 

She tapped on the window. Pearl looked up, startled. 

"Bring in some, " she called. 

When the work was done for the morning, Mrs. Motherwell went up thenarrow stair way to the little room over the kitchen to gather togetherPolly's things. 

She sat on Polly's little straw bed and looked at the dismal littleroom. Pearl had done what she could to brighten it. The old bags andbaskets had been neatly piled in one corner, and quilts had been spreadover them to hide their ugliness from view. The wind blew gently in thewindow that the hail had broken. The floor had been scrubbed clean andwhite--the window, what was left of it--was shining. 

She was reminded of Polly everywhere she looked. The mat under her feetwas one that Polly had braided. A corduroy blouse hung at the foot ofthe bed. She remembered now that Polly had worn it the day she came. 

In a little yellow tin box she found Polly's letters--the letters thathad given her such extravagant joy. She could see her yet, how eagerlyshe would seize them and rush up to this little room with them, transfigured. 

Mrs. Motherwell would have to look at them to find out Polly's mother'saddress. She took out the first letter slowly, then hurriedly put itback again in the envelope and looked guiltily around the room. But ithad to be done. She took it out again resolutely, and read it with somedifficulty. 

It was written in a straggling hand that wandered uncertainly over thelines. It was a pitiful letter telling of poverty bitter and grinding, but redeemed from utter misery by a love and faith that shone fromevery line:

 My dearest polly i am glad you like your plice and your misses is so kind as wot you si, yur letters are my kumfit di an nit. Bill is a ard man and says hif the money don't cum i will ave to go to the workus. But i no you will send it der polly so hi can old my little plice hi got a start todi a hoffcer past hi that it wos the workhus hoffcer. Bill ses he told im to cum hif hi cant pi by septmbr but hi am trustin God der polly e asn't forgot us. Hi 'm glad the poppies grew. Ere's a disy hi am sendin yu hi can mike the butonoles yet. Hi do sum hevry di mrs purdy gave me fourpence one di for sum i mide for her hi ad a cup of tee that di. Hi am appy thinkin of yu der polly. 

"And Polly is dead!" burst from Mrs. Motherwell as something gatheredin her throat. She laid the letter down and looked straight ahead ofher. 

The sloping walls of the little kitchen loft, with its cobwebbed beamsfaded away, and she was looking into a squalid little room where an oldwoman, bent and feeble, sat working buttonholes with trembling fingers. Her eyes were restless and expectant; she listened eagerly to everysound. A step is at the door, a hand is on the latch. The old womanrises uncertainly, a great hope in her eyes--it is the letter--theletter at last. The door opens, and the old woman falls cowering andmoaning, and wringing her hands before the man who enters. It is theofficer!

Mrs. Motherwell buried her face in her hands. 

"Oh God be merciful, be merciful, " she sobbed. 

Sam Motherwell, knowing nothing of the storm that was passing throughhis wife's mind, was out in the machine house tightening up the screwsand bolts in the binders, getting ready for the harvest. The barley waswhitening already. 

The nurse's letter had disturbed him. He tried to laugh at himself--theidea of his boxing up those weeds to send to anybody. Still the nursehad said how pleased Polly was. By George, it is strange what willplease people. He remembered when he went down to Indiana buyinghorses, how tired he got of the look of corn-fields, and how the sightof the first decent sized wheat field just went to his heart, when hewas coming back. Someway he could not laugh at anything that morning, for Polly was dead. And Polly was a willing thing for sure; he seemedto see her yet, how she ran after the colt the day it broke out of thepasture, and when the men were away she would hitch up a horse for himas quick as anybody. 

"I kind o' wish now that I had given her something--it would havepleased her so--some little thing, " he added hastily. 

Mrs. Motherwell came across the yard bareheaded. 

"Come into the house, Sam, " she said gently. "I want to show yousomething. "

He looked up quickly, but saw something in his wife's face thatprevented him from speaking. 

He followed her into the house. The letters were on the table, Mrs. Motherwell read them to him, read them with tears that almost chokedher utterance. 

"And Polly's dead, Sam!" she cried when she had finished the last one. "Polly's dead, and the poor old mother will be looking, looking forthat money, and it will never come. Sam, can't we save that poor oldwoman from the poorhouse? Do you remember what the girl said in theletter, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my littleones, ye have done it unto Me?' We didn't deserve the praise the girlgave us. We didn't send the flowers, we have never done anything foranybody and we have plenty, plenty, and what is the good of it, Sam?We'll die some day and leave it all behind us. "

Mrs. Motherwell hid her face in her apron, trembling with excitement. Sam's face was immovable, but a mysterious Something, not of earth, wasstruggling with him. Was it the faith of that decrepit old woman inthat bare little room across the sea, mumbling to herself that God hadnot forgotten? God knows. His ear is not dulled; His arm is notshortened; His holy spirit moves mightily. 

Sam Motherwell stood up and struck the table with his fist. 

"Ettie, " he said, "I am a hard man, a danged hard man, and as you sayI've never given away much, but I am not so low down yet that I have toreach up to touch bottom, and the old woman will not go to the poorhouse if I have money enough to keep her out!"

Sam Motherwell was as good as his word. 

He went to Winnipeg the next day, but before he left he drew a checkfor one hundred dollars, payable to Polly's mother, which he gave tothe Church of England clergyman to send for him. About two monthsafterwards he received a letter from the clergyman of the parish inwhich Polly's mother lived, telling him that the money had reached theold lady in time to save her from the workhouse; a heart-broken letterof thanks from Polly's mother herself accompanied it, calling on God toreward them for their kindness to her and her dear dead girl. 

CHAPTER XXII

SHADOWS

One morning when Tom came into the kitchen Pearl looked up with aworried look on her usually bright little face. 

"What's up, kid?" he asked kindly. He did not like to see Pearl lookingtroubled. 

"Arthur's sick, " she said gravely. 

"Go on!" he answered, "he's not sick. I know he's been feeling kind ofused up for about a week, but he worked as well as ever yesterday. Whatmakes you think he is sick?"

"I went out last night to be sure I had shut the henhouse door, and Iheard him groanin', and I said, knockin' on the door, 'What's wrong, Arthur?' and he said, 'Oh, I beg your pardon, Pearl, did I frightenyou?' and I said, 'No, but what's wrong?' and he said, 'Nothing at all, Pearl, thank you'; but I know there is. You know how polite heis--wouldn't trouble anybody. Wouldn't ask ye to slap 'im on the backif he was chokin'. I went out two or three times and once I brought himout some liniment, and he told me every time he would be 'welldirectly, ' but I don't believe him. If Arthur groans there's somethingto groan for, you bet. "

"Maybe he's in love, " Tom said sheepishly. 

"But you don't groan, Tom, do you?" she asked seriously. 

"Maybe I ain't in love, though, Pearl. Ask Jim Russell, he can tellyou. "

"Jim ain't in love, is he?" Pearl asked anxiously. Her responsibilitieswere growing too fast. One love affair and a sick man she felt was allshe could attend to. 

"Well, why do you suppose Jim comes over here every second day to getyou to write a note to that friend of yours?"

"Camilla?" Pearl asked open-mouthed. Tom nodded. 

"Camilla can't leave Mrs. Francis, " Pearl declared with conviction. 

"Jim's a dandy smart fellow. He only stays on the farm in the summer. In the winter he book-keeps for three or four of the stores in Millfordand earns lots of money, " Tom said, admiringly. 

After a pause Pearl said thoughtfully, "I love Camilla!"

"That's just the way Jim feels, too, I guess, " Tom said laughing as hewent out to the stable. 

When Tom went out to the granary he found Arthur dressing, but flushedand looking rather unsteady. 

"What's gone wrong with you, old man?" he asked kindly. 

"I feel a bit queer, " Arthur replied, "that's all. I shall be welldirectly. Got a bit of a cold, I think. "

"Slept in a field with the gate open like as not, " Tom laughed. 

Arthur looked at him inquiringly. 

"You'll feel better when you get your breakfast, " Tom went on. "I don'twonder you're sick--you haven't been eatin' enough to keep a canarybird alive. Go on right into the house now. I'll feed your team. "

"It beats all what happens to our help, " Mrs. Motherwell complained toPearl, as they washed the breakfast dishes. "It looks very much as ifArthur is goin' to be laid up, too, and the busy time just on us. "

Pearl was troubled. Why should Arthur be sick? He had plenty of freshair; he tubbed himself regularly. He never drank "alcoholic beveragesthat act directly on the liver and stomach, drying up the blood, andrendering every organ unfit for work. " Pearl remembered the Band ofHope manual. No, and it was not a cold. Colds do not make people groanin the night--it was something else. Pearl wished her friend, Dr. Clay, would come along. He would soon spot the trouble. 

After dinner, of which Arthur ate scarcely a mouthful, as Pearl wascleaning the knives, Mrs. Motherwell came into the kitchen with a hardlook on her face. She had just missed a two-dollar bill from hersatchel. 

"Pearl, " she said in a strained voice, "did you see a two-dollar billany place?"

"Yes, ma'am, " Pearl answered quickly, "Mrs Francis paid ma with oneonce for the washing, but I don't know where it might be now. "

Mrs. Motherwell looked at Pearl keenly. It was not easy to believe thatthat little girl would steal. Her heart was still tender after Polly'sdeath, she did not want to be hard on Pearl, but the money must be someplace. 

"Pearl, I have lost a two-dollar bill. If you know anything about it Iwant you to tell me, " she said firmly. 

"I don't know anything about it no more'n ye say ye had it and nowye've lost it, " Pearl answered calmly. 

"Go up to your room and think about it, " she said, avoiding Pearl'sgaze. 

Pearl went up the narrow little steps with a heart that swelled withindignation. 

"Does she think I stole her dirty money, me that has money o' me own--athief is it she takes me for? Oh, wirra! wirra! and her an' me wuzgittin' on so fine, too; and like as not this'll start the morgage andthe cancer on her again. "

Pearl threw herself on the hot little bed, and sobbed out herindignation and her homesickness. She could not put it off this time. Catching sight of her grief-stricken face in the cracked looking glassthat hung at the head of the bed, she started up suddenly. 

"What am I bleatin' for?" she said to herself, wiping her eyes on herlittle patched apron. "Ye'd think to look at me that I'd been caughtstealin' the cat's milk"--she laughed through her tears--"I haven'tstolen anything and what for need I cry? The dear Lord will get me outof this just as nate as He bruk the windy for me!"

She took her knitting out of the bird-cage and began to knit at fullspeed. 

"Danny me man, it is a good thing for ye that the shaddah of suspicionis on yer sister Pearlie this day, for it gives her a good chance toturn yer heel. 'Sowin' in the sunshine, sowin' in the shaddah, ' onlyit's knittin' I am instead of sewin', but it's all wan, I guess. I mindhow Paul and Silas were singin' in the prison at midnight. I know howthey felt. 'Do what Ye like, Lord, ' they wur thinkin'. 'If it's in jailYe want us to stay, we're Yer men. '"

Pearl knit a few minutes in silence. Then she knelt beside the bed. 

"Dear Lord, " she prayed, clasping her work-worn hands, "help her tofind her money, but if anyone did steal it, give him the strength toconfess it, dear Lord. Amen. "

Mrs. Motherwell, downstairs, was having a worse time than Pearl. Shecould not make herself believe that Pearl had stolen the money, and yetno one had had a chance to take it except Pearl, or Tom, and that, ofcourse, was absurd. She went again to have a look in every drawer inher room, and as she passed through the hall she detected a strangeodour. She soon traced it to Tom's light overcoat which hung there. What was the smell? It was tobacco, and something more. It was thesmell of a bar-room!

She sat down upon the step with a nameless dread in her heart. Tom hadgone to Millford several times since his father had gone to Winnipeg, and he had stayed longer than was necessary, too; but no, no. Tom wouldnot spend good money that way. The habit of years was on her. It wasthe money she thought of first. 

Then she thought of Pearl. 

Going to the foot of the stairway she called:

"Pearl, you may come down now. "

"Did ye find it?" Pearl asked eagerly. 

"No. "

"Do ye still think I took it?"

"No, I don't, Pearl, " she answered. 

"All right then, I'll come right down, " Pearl said gladly. 

CHAPTER XXIII

SAVED!

That night Arthur's condition was, to Pearl's sharp eyes, alarming. 

He tried to quiet her fears. He would be well directly, it was nothing, nothing at all, a mere indisposition (Pearl didn't know what that was);but when she went into the granary with a pitcher of water for him, andfound him writing letters in the feeble light of a lantern, she tookone look at him, laid down the pitcher and hurried out to tell Tom. 

Tom was in the kitchen taking off his boots preparatory to going to bed. 

"Tom, " she said excitedly, "get back into yer boots, and go for thedoctor. Arthur's got the thing that Pa had, and it'll have to be cutout of him or he'll die. "

"What?" Tom gasped, with one foot across his knee. 

"I think he has it, " Pearl said, "he's actin' just like what Pa did, and he's in awful pain, I know, only he won't let on; and we must getthe doctor or he might die before mornin', and then how'd we feel?"

Tom hesitated. 

"Remember, Tom, he has a father and a mother and four brothers, and agirl called Thursa, and an uncle that is a bishop, and how'd we everface them when we go to heaven if we just set around and let Arthurdie?"

"What is it, Pearl?" Mrs. Motherwell said coming into the room, havingheard Pearl's excited tones. 

"It's Arthur, ma'am. Come out and see him. You'll see he needs thedoctor. Ginger tea and mustard plasters ain't a flea-bite on a painlike what he has. "

"Let's give him a dose of aconite, " Tom said with conviction; "that'llfix him. "

Mrs. Motherwell and Pearl went over to the granary. 

"Don't knock at the door, " Pearl whispered to her as they went. "Yecan't tell a thing about him if ye do. Arthur'd straighten up and bepolite at his own funeral. Just look in the crack there and you'll seeif he ain't sick. "

Mrs. Motherwell did see. Arthur lay tossing and moaning across his bed, his letter pad and pencil beside him on the floor. 

Mrs. Motherwell did not want Tom to go to Millford that night. One ofthe harvesters' excursions was expected--was probably in--then--therewould be a wild time. Besides, the two-dollar bill still worried her. If Tom had it he might spend it. No, Tom was safer at home. 

"Oh, I don't think he's so very bad, " she said. "We'll get the doctorin the morning if he isn't any better. Now you go to bed, Pearl, anddon't worry yourself. "

But Pearl did not go to bed. 

When Mrs. Motherwell and Tom had gone to their own rooms, she built upthe kitchen fire, and heated a frying-pan full of salt, with which shefilled a pair of her own stockings and brought them to Arthur. Sheremembered that her mother had done that when her father was sick, andthat it had eased his pain. She drew a pail of fresh water from thewell, and brought a basinful to him, and bathed his burning face andhands. Arthur received her attentions gratefully. 

Pearl knew what she would do. She would run over and tell Jim, and Jimwould go for the doctor. Jim would not be in bed yet, she knew, andeven if he were, he would not mind getting up. 

Jim would go to town any time she wanted anything. One time when shehad said she just wished she knew whether Camilla had her new suit madeyet, Jim jumped right up and said he'd go and see. 

Mrs. Motherwell had gone to her room very much concerned with her owntroubles. Why should Tom fall into evil ways? she asked herself--a boywho had been as economically brought up as he was. Other people's boyshad gone wrong, but she had alway thought that the parents were toblame some way. Then she thought of Arthur; perhaps he should have thedoctor. She had been slow to believe that Polly was really sick--andhad had cause for regret. She would send for the doctor, in themorning. But what was Pearl doing so long in the kitchen?--She couldhear her moving around--Pearl must go to her bed, or she would not beable to get up in the morning. 

Pearl was just going out of the kitchen with her hat and coat on whenMrs. Motherwell came in. 

"Where are you going, Pearl, " she asked. 

"To git someone to go for the doctor, " Pearl answered stoutly. 

"Is he worse?" Mrs. Motherwell asked quickly. 

"He can't git worse, " Pearl replied grimly. "If he gits worse he'll bedead. "

Mrs. Motherwell called Tom at once, and told him to bring the doctor assoon as he could. 

"Where's my overcoat mother?" Tom called from the hall. 

"Take your father's" she said, "he is going to get a new one while heis in Winnipeg, that one's too small for him now. I put yours outsideto air. It had a queer smell on it I thought, and now hurry, Tom. BringDr. Barner. I think he's the best for a serious case. Dr. Clay is tooyoung, Anyway, the old man knowns far more than he does, if you canonly get him sober. "

Pearl's heart sank. 

"Arthur's as good as dead, " she said as she went to the granary, cryingsoftly to herself. "Dr. Clay is the only man who could save him, andthey won't have him. "

The sun had gone down and heavy clouds filled the sky. Not a star wasto be seen, and the night was growing darker and darker. 

A sound of wheels came from across the creek, coming rapidly down theroad. The old dog barked viciously. A horse driven at full speed dashedthrough the yard; Pearl ran shouting after, for even in the gatheringdarkness she recognised the one person in all the world who could saveArthur. But the wind and the barking of the dog drowned her voice, andthe sound of the doctor's wheels grew fainter in the distance. 

Only for a moment was Pearl dismayed. 

"I'll catch him coming back, " she said, "if I have to tie binding twineacross the road to tangle up Pleurisy's long legs. He's on his way toCowan's, I know. Ab Cowan has quinsy. Never mind, Thursa, we'll gethim. I hope now that the old doctor is too full to come--oh, no I don'teither, I just hope he's away and Dr. Clay will have it done before hegets here. "

When Tom arrived in Millford he found a great many people thronging thestreets. One of the Ontario's harvesters' excursions had arrived a fewhours before, and the "Huron and Bruce" boys were already makingthemselves seen and heard. 

Tom went at once to Dr. Barner's office and found that the doctor wasout making calls, but would be back in an hour. Not at all displeasedat having some time to spend, Tom went back to the gaily lighted frontstreet. The crowds of men who went in and out of the hotels seemed topromise some excitement. 

Inside of the Grand Pacific, a gramophone querulously sang "Any Rags, Any Bones, Any Bottles To-day" to a delighted company of listeners. 

When Tom entered he was received with the greatest cordiality by thebartender and others. 

"Here is life and good-fellowship, " Tom thought to himself, "here's theplace to have a good time. "

"Is your father back yet, Tom?" the bartender asked as he served a lineof customers. 

"He'll come up Monday night, I expect, " Tom answered, rather proud ofthe attention he was receiving. 

The bartender pushed a box of cigars toward him. 

"Have a cigar, Tom, " he said. 

"No, thank you, " Tom answered, "not any. " Tom could not smoke, but hedrew a plug of chewing tobacco from his pocket and took a chew, to showthat his sympathies were that way. 

"I guess perhaps some of you men met Mr. Motherwell in Winnipeg. He'sin there hiring men for this locality, " the bartender said amiably. 

"That's the name of the gent that hired me, " said one. 

"Me too. "

"And me, " came from others. "I'd no intention of comin' here, " a manfrom Paisley said. "I was goin' to Souris, until that gent got a holtof me, and I thought if he wuz a sample of the men ye raise here, I'dhike this way. "

"He's lookin' for a treat, " the bartender laughed. "He's sized you up, Tom, as a pretty good fellow. "

"No, I ain't after no treat, " the Paisley man declared. "That'sstraight, what I told you. "

Tom unconsciously put his hand in his coat pocket and felt the moneyhis father had put there. He drew it out wondering. The quick eyes ofthe bartender saw it at once. 

"Tom's getting out his wad, boys, " he laughed. "Nothin' mean about Tom, you bet Tom's goin' to do somethin'. "

In the confusion that followed Tom heard himself saying:

"All right boys, come along and name yer drinks. "

Tom had a very indistinct memory of what followed. He remembered havinga handful of silver, and of trying to put it in his pocket. 

Once when the boys were standing in front of the bar at his invitationhe noticed a miserable, hungry looking man, who drank greedily. It wasSkinner. Then someone took him by the arm and said something about hishaving enough, and Tom felt himself being led across a floor that roseand fell strangely, to a black lounge that tried to slide away from himand then came back suddenly and hit him. 

The wind raged and howled with increasing violence around the granarywhere Arthur lay tossing upon his hard bed. It seized the door andrattled it in wanton playfulness, as if to deceive the sick man withthe hope that a friend's hand was on the latch, and then racedblustering and screaming down to the meadows below. The fanning milland piles of grain bags made fantastic shadows on the wall in thelantern's dim light, and seemed to his distorted fancy like dark andterrible spectres waiting to spring upon him. 

Pearl knelt down beside him, tenderly bathing his burning face. 

"Why do you do all this for me, Pearl?" he asked slowly, his voicecoming thick and painfully. 

She changed the cloth on his head before replying. 

"Oh, I keep thinkin' it might be Teddy or Jimmy or maybe wee Danny, "she replied gently, "and besides, there's Thursa. "

The young man opened his eyes and smiled bravely. 

"Yes, there's Thursa, " he said simply. 

Pearl kept the fire burning in the kitchen--the doctor might need hotwater. She remembered that he had needed sheets too, and carbolic acid, when he had operated on her father the winter before. 

Arthur did not speak much as the night wore on, and Pearl began to growdrowsy in spite of all her efforts. She brought the old dog into thegranary with her for company. The wind rattled the mud chinking in thewalls and drove showers of dust and gravel against the little window. She had put the lantern behind the fanning mill, so that its lightwould not shine in Arthur's eyes, and in the semi-darkness, she and oldNap waited and listened. The dog soon laid his head upon her knee andslept, and Pearl was left alone to watch. Surely the doctor would comesoon... It was a good thing she had the dog... He was so warm beside her, and... 

She sprang up guiltily. Had she been asleep... What if he had passedwhile she slept... She grew cold at the thought. 

"Did he pass, Nap?" she whispered to the dog, almost crying. "Oh Nap, did we let him go past?"

Nap yawned widely and flicked one ear, which was his way of tellingPearl not to distress herself. Nobody had passed. 

Pearl's eyes were heavy with sleep. 

"This is not the time to sleep, " she said, yawning and shivering. Arthur's wash-basin stood on the floor beside the bed, where she hadbeen bathing his face. She put more water into it. 

"Now then, " she said, "once for his mother, once for his father, a biglong one for Thursa, " holding her head so long below the water that itfelt numb, when she took it out. "I can't do one for each of the boys, "she shivered, "I'll lump the boys, here's a big one for them. "

"There now, " her teeth chattered as she wiped her hair on Arthur'stowel, "that ought to help some. "

Arthur opened his eyes and looked anxiously around him. Pearl wasbeside him at once. 

"Pearl, " he said, "what is wrong with me? What terrible pain is thisthat has me in its clutches?" The strength had gone out of the man, hecould no longer battle with it. 

Pearl hesitated. It is not well to tell sick people your gravest fears. "Still Arthur is English, and the English are gritty, " Pearl thought toherself. 

"Arthur, " she said, "I think you have appendicitis. "

Arthur lay motionless for a few moments. He knew what that was. 

"But that requires an operation, " he said at length, "a very skilfulone. "

"It does, " Pearl replied, "and that's what you'll get as soon as Dr. Clay gets here, I'm thinking. "

Arthur turned his face into his pillow. An operation for appendicitis, here, in this place, and by that young man, no older than himselfperhaps? He knew that at home, it was only undertaken by the oldest andbest surgeons in the hospitals. 

Pearl saw something of his fears in his face. So she hastened toreassure him. She said cheerfully:

"Don't ye be worried, Arthur, about it at all at all. Man alive! Dr. Clay thinks no more of an operation like that than I would o' cuttin'your nails. "

A strange feeling began at Arthur's heart, and spread up to his brain. It had come! It was here!

 From lightning and tempest; from plague, pestilence and famine; from battle and murder and sudden death;--Good Lord, deliver us!

He had prayed it many times, meaninglessly. But he clung to it now, clung to it desperately. As a drowning man. He put his hand over hiseyes, his pain was forgotten:

 Other lights are paling--which for long years we have rejoiced to see... We would not mourn them for we go to Thee!

Yes it was all right; he was ready now. He had come of a race of menwho feared not death in whatever form it came. 

 Bring us to our resting beds at night--weary and content and undishonoured--and grant us in the end the gift of sleep. 

He repeated the prayer to himself slowly. That was it, weary andcontent, and undishonoured. 

"Pearl, " he said, reaching out his burning hand until it rested onhers, "all my letters are there in that black portmanteau, and the keyis in my pocket-book. I have a fancy that I would like no eye but yoursto see them--until I am quite well again. "

She nodded. 

"And if you... Should have need... To write to Thursa, tell her I hadloving hands around me... At the last. "

Pearl gently stroked his hand. 

"And to my father write that I knew no fear"--his voice grewsteadier--"and passed out of life glad to have been a brave man's son, and borne even for a few years a godly father's name. "

"I will write it, Arthur, " she said. 

"And to my mother, Pearl" his voice wavered and broke--"my mother... ForI was her youngest child... Tell her she was my last... And tenderestthought. "

Pearl pressed his hand tenderly against her weather-beaten littlecheek, for it was Danny now, grown a man but Danny still, who laybefore her, fighting for his life; and at the thought her tears fellfast. 

"Pearl, " he spoke again, after a pause, pressing his hand to hisforehead, "while my mind holds clear, perhaps you would be good enough, you have been so good to me, to say that prayer you learned. My fatherwill be in his study now, and soon it will be time for morning prayers. I often feel his blessing on me, Pearl. I want to feel it now, bringingpeace and rest... Weary and content and undishonoured, and... Undishonoured... And grant us... " His voice grew fainter andtrailed away into incoherency. 

And now, oh thou dignified rector of St. Agnes, in thy home beyond thesea, lay aside the "Appendix to the Apology of St. Perpetua, " overwhich thou porest, for under all thy dignity and formalism there beatsa loving father's heart. The shadows are gathering, dear sir, aroundthy fifth son in a far country, and in the gathering shadows therestalks, noiselessly, relentlessly, that grim, gray spectre, Death. Onthy knees, then, oh Rector of St. Agnes, and blend thy prayers with thefeeble petitions of her who even now, for thy house, entreats theThrone of Grace. Pray, oh thou on whom the bishop's hands have beenlaid, that the golden bowl be not broken nor the silver cord loosed, for the breath of thy fifth son draws heavily, and the things of timeand sense are fading, fading, fading from his closing eyes. 

Pearl repeated the prayer. 

 --And grant, oh most merciful Father for His sake; That we may hereafter lead a godly, righteous and a sober life--

She stopped abruptly. The old dog lifted his head and listened. Snatching up the lantern, she was out of the door before the dog was onhis feet; there were wheels coming, coming down the road in mad haste. Pearl swung the lantern and shouted. 

The doctor reined in his horse. 

She flashed the lantern into his face. 

"Oh Doc!" she cried, "dear Doc, I have been waitin' and waitin' for ye. Git in there to the granary. Arthur's the sickest thing ye ever saw. Git in there on the double jump. " She put the lantern into his hand asshe spoke. 

Hastily unhitching the doctor's horse she felt her way with him intothe driving shed. The night was at its blackest. 

"Now, Thursa, " she laughed to herself, "we got him, and he'll do it, dear Doc, he'll do it. " The wind blew dust and gravel in her face asshe ran across the yard. 

When she went into the granary the doctor was sitting on the box byArthur's bed, with his face in his hands. 

"Oh, Doc, what is it?" she cried, seizing his arm. 

The doctor looked at her, dazed, and even Pearl uttered a cry of dismaywhen she saw his face, for it was like the face of a dead man. 

"Pearl, " he said slowly, "I have made a terrible mistake, I have killedyoung Cowan. "

"Bet he deserved it, then, " Pearl said stoutly. 

"Killed him, " the doctor went on, not heeding her, "he died in myhands, poor fellow! Oh, the poor young fellow! I lanced his throat, thinking it was quinsy he had, but it must have been diphtheria, for hedied, Pearl, he died, I tell you!"

"Well!" Pearl cried, excitedly waving her arms, "he ain't the first manthat's been killed by a mistake, I'll bet lots o' doctors kill peopleby mistake, but they don't tell--and the corpse don't either, and thereye are. I'll bet you feel worse about it than he does, Doc. "

The doctor groaned. 

"Come, Doc, " she said, plucking his sleeve, "take a look at Arthur. "

The doctor rose uncertainly and paced up and down the floor with hisface in his hands, swaying like a drunken man. 

"O God!" he moaned, "if I could but bring back his life with mine; butI can't! I can't! I can't!"

Pearl watched him, but said not a word. At last she said:

"Doc, I think Arthur has appendicitis. Come and have a look at him, andsee if he hasn't. "

With a supreme effort the doctor gained control of himself and made ahasty but thorough examination. 

"He has, " he said, "a well developed case of it. "

Pearl handed him his satchel. "Here, then, " she said, "go at him. "

"I can't do it, Pearl, " he cried. "I can't. He'll die, I tell you, likethat other poor fellow. I can't send another man to meet his Maker. "

"Oh, he's ready!" Pearl interrupted him. "Don't hold back on Arthur'saccount. "

"I can't do it, " he repeated hopelessly. "He'll die under my knife, Ican't kill two men in one night. O God, be merciful to a poor, blundering, miserable wretch!" he groaned, burying his face in hishands, and Pearl noticed that the back of his coat quivered like humanflesh. 

Arthur's breath was becoming more and more laboured; his eyes rovedsightlessly around the room; his head rolled on the pillow in a vainsearch for rest; his fingers clutched convulsively at the bed-clothes. 

Pearl was filled with dismay. The foundations of her little world weretottering. 

All but One. There was One who had never failed her. He would not failher now. 

She dropped on her knees. 

"O God, dear God, " she prayed, beating her hard little brown handstogether, "don't go back on us, dear God. Put the gimp into Doc again;he's not scared to do it, Lord, he's just lost his grip for a minute;he's not scared Lord; it looks like it, but he isn't. You can bank onDoc, Lord, he's not scared. Bear with him, dear Lord, just aminute--just a minute--he'll do it, and he'll do it right, Amen. "

When Pearl rose from her knees the doctor had lifted his head. 

"Do you want hot water and sheets and carbolic?" she asked. 

He nodded. 

When she came back with them the doctor was taking off his coat. Hisinstruments were laid out on the box. 

"Get a lamp, " he said to Pearl. 

Pearl's happy heart was singing with joy. "O Lord, dear Lord, You neverfail, " she murmured as she ran across to the kitchen. 

When she came back with the lamp and a chair to set it on, the doctorwas pinning a sheet above the bed. His face was white and drawn, buthis hand was firm and his mouth was a straight line. 

Arthur was tossing his arms convulsively. 

The doctor listened with his ear a minute upon the sick man's heart, then the gauze mask was laid upon his face and the chloroform soon didits merciful work. 

The doctor handed Pearl the bottle. "A drop or two if he moves, " hesaid. 

Then Horace Clay, the man with a man's mistakes, his fears, hisheart-burnings, was gone, and in his place stood Horace Clay, thedoctor, keen, alert, masterful, indomitable, with the look of battle onhis face. He worked rapidly, never faltering; his eyes burning with thejoy of the true physician who fights to save, to save a human life fromthe grim old enemy, Death. 

"You have saved his life, Pearl, " the doctor said two hours later. Arthur lay sleeping easily, the flush gone from his face, and hisbreath coming regularly. 

The doctor put his hand gently on her tumbled little brown head. 

"You saved him from death, Pearl, and me--from something worse. "

And then Pearl took the doctor's hand in both of hers, and kissed itreverently. 

"That's for Thursa, " she said, gravely. 

Tom was awakened by some one shaking him gently. 

"Tom, Tom Motherwell, what are you doing here?"

A woman knelt beside him; her eyes were sweet and kind and sad beyondexpression. 

"Tom, how did you come here?" she asked, gently, as Tom struggled torise. 

He sat up, staring stupidly around him. "Wha' 's a matter? Where'sthis?" he asked thickly. 

"You're in the sitting-room at the hotel, " she said. He would have laindown again, but she took him firmly by the arm. 

"Come Tom, " she said. "Come and have a drink of water. "

She led him out of the hotel to the pump at the corner of the street. Tom drank thirstily. She pumped water on his hands, and bathed hisburning face in it. The cold water and the fresh air began to clear hisbrain. 

"What time is it?" he asked her. 

"Nearly morning, " she said. "About half-past three, I think, " and Tomknew even in the darkness that she had lost more teeth. It was Mrs. Skinner. 

"Tom, " she said, "did you see Skinner in there? I came down to gethim--I want him--the child is dead an hour ago. " She spoke hurriedly. 

Tom remembered now. Yes, he had seen Skinner, but not lately; it was along, long time ago. 

"Now Tom, go home, " she said kindly. "This is bad work for you, my dearboy. Stop it now, dear Tom, while you can. It will kill you, body andsoul. "

A thought struggled in Tom's dull brain. There was something he wantedto say to her which must be said; but she was gone. 

He drank again from the cup that hung beside the pump. Where did he getthis burning thirst, and his head, how it pounded! She had told him togo home. Well, why wasn't he at home? What was he doing here?

Slowly his memory came back--he had come for the doctor; and the doctorwas to be back in an hour, and now it was nearly morning, didn't shesay?

He tried to run, but his knees failed him--what about Arthur? He grewchill at the thought--he might be dead by this time. 

He reached the doctor's office some way. His head still throbbed andhis feet were heavy as lead; but his mind was clear. 

A lamp was burning in the office but no one was in. It seemed a monthago since he had been there before. The air of the office was close andstifling, and heavy with stale tobacco smoke. Tom sat down, wearily, inthe doctor's armchair; his heart beat painfully--he'll be dead--he'llbe dead--he'll be dead--it was pounding. The clock on the table wassaying it too. Tom got up and walked up and down to drown the sound. Hestopped before a cabinet and gazed horrified at a human skeleton thatgrinned evilly at him. He opened the door hastily, the night windfanned his face. He sat down upon the step, thoroughly sober now, butsick in body and soul. 

Soon a heavy step sounded on the sidewalk, and the old doctor came intothe patch of light that shone from the door. 

"Do you want me?" he asked as Tom stood up. 

"Yes, " Tom answered; "at once. "

"What's wrong?" the doctor asked brusquely. 

Tom told him as well as he could. 

"Were you here before, early in the evening?"

Tom nodded. 

"Hurry up then and get your horse, " the doctor said, going past himinto the office. 

"Yes, I thought so, " the doctor said gathering up his instruments. "Iought to know the signs--well, well, the poor young Englishman has hadplenty of time to die from ten in the evening till four the nextmorning, without indecent haste either, while this young fellow washitting up the firewater. Still, God knows, I shouldn't be hard on him. I've often kept people waiting for the same reason and, " he addedgrimly, "they didn't always wait either. "

When Tom and the old doctor drove into the yard everything was silent. The wind had fallen, and the eastern sky was bright with morning. 

The old dog who lay in front of the granary door raised his head attheir approach and lifted one ear, as if to command silence. 

Tom helped the doctor out of the buggy. He tried to unhitch the horse, but the beating of his heart nearly choked him--the fear of what mightbe in the granary. He waited for the exclamation from the doctor whichwould proclaim him a murderer. He heard the door open again--the doctorwas coming to tell him--Tom's knees grew weak--he held to the horse forsupport--who was this who had caught his arm--it was Pearl crying andlaughing. 

"Tom, Tom, it's all over, and Arthur's going to get well, " shewhispered. "Dr. Clay came. "

But Pearl was not prepared for what happened. 

Tom put his head down upon the horse's neck and cried like a child--no, like a man--for in the dark and terrible night that had just passed, sullied though it was by temptations and yieldings and neglect of duty, the soul of a man had been born in him, and he had put away childishthings forever. 

Dr. Clay was kneeling in front of the box cleaning his instruments, with his back toward the door, when Dr. Barner entered. He greeted theolder man cordially, receiving but a curt reply. Then the professionaleye of the old doctor began to take in the situation. A half-used rollof antiseptic lint lay on the floor; the fumes of the disinfectants andof the ansthetic still hung on the air. Tom's description of the casehad suggested appendicitis. 

"What was the trouble?" he asked quickly. 

The young doctor told him, giving him such a thoroughly scientifichistory of the case that the old doctor's opinion of him underwent aradical change. The young doctor explained briefly what he hadattempted to do by the operation; the regular breathing and apparentlynormal temperature of the patient was, to the old doctor, sufficientproof of its success. 

He stooped suddenly to examine the dressing that the young doctor wasshowing him, but his face twitched with some strong emotion--pride, professional jealousy, hatred were breaking down before a stronger anda worthier feeling. 

He turned abruptly and grasped the young doctor's hand. 

"Clay!" he cried, "it was a great piece of work, here, alone, and bylamplight. You are a brave man, and I honour you. " Then his voicebroke. "I'd give every day of my miserable life to be able to do thisonce more, just once, but I haven't the nerve, Clay"; the hand that theyoung doctor held trembled. "I haven't the nerve. I've been going on awhiskey nerve too long. "

"Dr. Barner, " the young man replied, as he returned the other's grasp, "I thank you for your good words, but I wasn't alone when I did it. Thebravest little girl in all the world was here and shamed me out of myweakness and, " he added reverently, "I think God Himself steadied myhand. "

The old man looked up wondering. 

"I believe you, Clay, " he said simply. 

CHAPTER XXIV

THE HARVEST

Tom went straight to his mother that morning and told hereverything--the party he had gone to, his discontent, his desire forcompany and fun, and excitement, taking the money, and the events ofthe previous night. 

Mrs. Motherwell saw her boy in a new light as she listened, and Tom hada glorified vision of his mother as she clasped him in her arms crying:"It is our fault Tom, mine and your father's; we have tried to make youinto a machine like we are ourselves, and forgot that you had a soul, but it's not too late yet, Tom. I hate the money, too, if it's only tobe hoarded up; the money we sent to Polly's mother has given me morepleasure than all the rest that we have. "

"Mother, " Tom said, "how do you suppose that money happened to be inthat overcoat pocket?"

"I don't know, " she answered; "your father must have left it there whenhe wore it last. It looks as if the devil himself put it there to temptyou, Tom. "

When his father came back from Winnipeg, Tom made to him a fullconfession as he had to his mother; and was surprised to find that hisfather had for him not one word of reproach. Since sending the money toPolly's mother Sam had found a little of the blessedness of giving, andit had changed his way of looking at things, in some measure at least. He had made up his mind to give the money back to the church, and nowwhen he found that it had gone, and gone in such a way, he felt vaguelythat it was a punishment for his own meanness, and in a small measure, at least, he was grateful that no worse evil had resulted from it. 

"Father, did you put that money there?" Tom asked. 

"Yes, I did Tom, " he answered. "I ought to be ashamed of myself forbeing so careless, too. "

"It just seemed as if it was the devil himself, " Tom said. "I had nointention of drinking when I took out that money. "

"Well, Tom, " his father said, with a short laugh, "I guess the devilhad a hand in it, he was in me quite a bit when I put it there, I kintell ye. "

The next Sunday morning Samuel Motherwell, his wife and son, went tochurch. Sam placed on the plate an envelope containing fifty dollars. 

On the following morning Sam had just cut two rounds with the binderwhen the Reverend Hugh Grantley drove into the field. Sam stopped hisbinder and got down. 

"Well, Mr. Motherwell, " the minister said, holding out his handcordially as he walked over to where Sam stood, "how did it happen?"

Sam grasped his hand warmly. 

"Ask Tom, " he said, nodding his head toward his son who was stookingthe grain a little distance away. "It is Tom's story. "

Mr. Grantley did ask Tom, and Tom told him; and there in the sunshine, with the smell of the ripe grain in their nostrils as the ministerhelped him to carry the sheaves, a new heaven and a new earth wereopened to Tom, and a new life was born within him, a life of godlinessand of brotherly kindness, whose blessed influence has gone far beyondthe narrow limits of that neighbourhood. 

It was nearly noon when the minister left him and drove home throughthe sun-flooded grain fields, with a glorified look on his face as onewho had seen the heavens opened. 

Just before he turned into the valley of the Souris, he stopped hishorse, and looked back over the miles and miles of rippling gold. Theclickety-click-click of many binders came to his ears. Oh what a day itwas! all sunshine and blue sky! Below him the river glinted through thetrees, and the railway track shimmered like a silver ribbon, and as hedrove into the winding valley, the Reverend Hugh Grantley sang, despitehis Cameronian blood, sang like a Methodist:

 Praise God from whom all blessings flow, Praise Him all creatures here below, Praise Him above, ye heavenly host, Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 

CHAPTER XXV

CUPID'S EMISSARY

Mrs. McGuire did not look like Cupid's earthly representative as shesat in her chintz-covered rocking-chair and bitterly complained of theweather. The weather was damp and cloudy, and Mrs. McGuire said her"jints were jumpin'. "

The little Watsons were behaving so well that even with her rheumatismto help her vision she could find no fault with them, "just now"; butshe reckoned the mischief "was hatchin'. "

A change was taking place in Mrs. McGuire, although she was unconsciousof it; Mary Barner, who was a frequent and welcome visitor, was havingan influence even on the flinty heart of the relict of the lateMcGuire. Mary "red up" her house for her when her rheumatism was bad. She cooked for her, she sang and read for her. Above all things, Marywas her friend, and no one who has a friend can be altogether at warwith the world. 

One evening when Mary was reading the "Pilgrim's Progress" to her, theReverend Hugh Grantley came in and begged to be let stay and enjoy thereading, too. He said Miss Barner's voice seemed to take the tanglesout of his brain, whereupon Mrs. McGuire winked at herself. 

That night she obligingly fell asleep just where Christian resolved topress on to the Heavenly City at all costs, and Mistrust and Timorousran down the hill. 

After that the minister came regularly, and Mrs. McGuire, though shecomplained to herself that it was hard to lose so much of the reading, fell asleep each night, and snored loudly. She said she had been youngherself once, and guessed she knew how it was with young folks. Justhoped he was good enough for Mary, that was all; men were suchdeceivers--they were all smooth as silk, until it came to livin' with'em, and then she shook her head grimly, thinking no doubt of thevagaries of the late McGuire. 

The Reverend Hugh Grantley walked up and down the floor of his study indeep meditation. But his thoughts were not on his Sunday sermon nor yeton the topic for the young people's meeting, though they were seriousenough by the set of his jaw. 

His friend Clay had just left him. Clay was in a radiant humour. Dr. Barner's friendly attitude toward him had apparently changed the aspectof affairs, and now the old doctor had suggested taking him intopartnership. 

"Think of it, Grantley, " the young man had exclaimed, "what this willmean to me. He is a great man in his profession, so clever, so witty, so scholarly, everything. He was the double gold medallist in his yearat McGill, and he has been keeping absolutely sober lately--thanks toyour good offices"--at which the other made a gesture of dissent--"andthen I would be in a better position to look after things. As it hasbeen, any help I gave Mary in keeping the old man from killing peoplehad to be done on the sly. "

The minister winced and went a shade paler at the mention of her name, but the doctor did not notice. 

"Mary is anxious to have it brought about, too, " he went on, "for ithas always been a worry to her when he was away, but now he will do theoffice work, and I will do the driving. It will be a distinct advantageto me, though of course I would do it anyway for her sake. "

Then it was well for the minister that he came of a race that can holdits features in control. This easy naming of her name, the apparentproprietorship, the radiant happiness in Clay's face, could mean butone thing. He had been blind, blind, blind!

He heard himself saying mechanically. 

"Yes, of course, I think it is the only thing to do, " and Clay had goneout whistling. 

He sat for a few minutes perfectly motionless. Then a shudder ranthrough him, and the black Highland blood surged into his face, andanger flamed in his eyes. He sprang to his feet with his huge handsclenched. 

"He shall not have her, " he whispered to himself. "She is mine. Howdare he name her!"

Only for a moment did he give himself to the ecstasy of rage. Then hisarms fell and he stood straight and calm and strong, master of himselfonce more. 

"What right have I?" he groaned wearily pressing his hands to his head. "Who am I that any woman should desire me. Clay, with his easy grace, his wit, his manliness, his handsome face, no wonder that she prefershim, any woman would, and Clay is worthy, more worthy, " he thought inan agony of renunciation. He thought of Clay's life as he had known itnow for years. So fair and open and clean. "Yes, Clay is worthy ofher. " He repeated it dully to himself as he walked up and down. 

Every incident of the past three months came back to him now with crueldistinctness--the sweetness of her voice, the glorious beauty of herface, so full sometimes of life's pain, so strong too in the overcomingof it, and her little hands--oh what pretty little hands they were--hehad held them once only for a moment, but she must have felt the lovethat throbbed in his touch, and he had thought that perhaps--perhapsOh, unutterable blind fool that he was!

He pressed his hands again to his head and groaned aloud; and He whohears the cry of the child or of the strong man in agony drew near andlaid His pierced hands upon him in healing and benediction. 

The next Sunday the Reverend Hugh Grantley was at his best, and hissermons had a new quality that appealed to and comforted many a wearyone who, like himself, was traveling by the thorn-road. 

In Mrs. McGuire's little house there was nothing to disturb the readingnow, for the minister came no more, but the joyousness had all gonefrom Mary's voice, and Mrs. McGuire found herself losing all interestin Christian's struggles as she looked at Mary's face. 

Once she saw the minister pass and she beat upon the window with herknitting needle, but he hurried by without looking up. Then the angerof Mrs. McGuire was kindled mightily, and she sometimes woke up in thenight to express her opinion of him in the most lurid terms she couldthink of, feeling meanwhile the futility of human speech. It was a hardposition for Mrs. McGuire, who had always been able to settle her ownaffairs with ease and grace. 

One day when this had been going on about a month, Mrs. McGuire sat inher chintz-covered rocking-chair and thought hard, for something had tobe done. She narrowed her black eyes into slits and thought andthought. Suddenly she started as if she heard something, and perhapsshe did--the angel who brought the inspiration may have whirred hiswings a little. 

Mary Barner was coming that afternoon to "red up" a little for her, forher rheumatism had been very bad. With wonderful agility she rose andmade ready for bed. First, however, she carefully examined the latch onher kitchen door. Now this latch had a bad habit of locking itself ifthe door was closed quickly. Mrs. McGuire tried it and found it woulddo this every time, and with this she seemed quite satisfied. 

About half after three o'clock Mary came and began to set the littlehouse in order. When this was done Mrs. McGuire asked her if she wouldmake her a few buttermilk biscuits, she had been wishing for them allday. 

When she saw Mary safely in the kitchen her heart began to beat. Now ifthe minister was at home, the thing was as good as done. 

She watched at the window until Jimmy Watson came from school, andthen, tapping on the glass, beckoned him to come in, which he did withgreat trepidation of spirit. 

She told him to go at once and tell Mr. Grantley to come, for sheneeded him very badly. 

Then she got back into bed, and tried to compose her features into someresemblance of invalidism. 

When Mr. Grantley came she was resting easier she said (which wastrue), but would he just get her a drink of water from the kitchen, andwould he please shut the door quick after him and not let the cat up. 

Mr. Grantley went at once and she heard the door shut with a snap. 

Just to be sure that it was "snibbed, " Mrs. McGuire tiptoed after himin her bare feet, a very bad thing for a sick-a-bed lady to do, too, but to her credit, be it written, she did not listen at the keyhole. 

She got back into bed, exclaiming to herself with great emphasis:

"There, now, fight it out among yerselves. "

When the minister stepped quickly inside the little kitchen, closingthe door hurriedly behind him to prevent the invasion of the cat (ofwhich there wasn't one and never had been any), he beheld a very busyand beautiful young woman sifting flour into a baking-dish. 

"Mary!" he almost shouted, hardly believing his senses. 

He recovered himself instantly, and explained his errand, but thepallor of his face was unmistakable. 

When Mary handed him the cup of water she saw that his hand wasshaking; but she returned to her baking with the greatest composure. 

The minister attempted to lift the latch, he rattled the door in vain. 

"Come out this way, " Mary said as sweetly as if she really wanted himto go. 

She tried to open the outside door, also in vain. Mrs. McGuire hadsecured it from the outside with a clothes-line prop and a horse nail. 

The minister came and tried it, but Mrs. McGuire's work held good. Thenthe absurdity of the position struck them both, and the little houserang with their laughter--laughter that washed away the heartaches ofthe dreary days before. 

The minister's reserve was breaking down. 

"Mary, " he said, taking her face between his hands, "are you going tomarry Horace Clay?"

"No, " she answered, meeting his eyes with the sweetest light in hersthat ever comes into a woman's face. 

"Well, then, " he said, as he drew her to him, "you are going to marryme. "

The day had been dark and rainy, but now the clouds rolled back and thesunshine, warm and glorious, streamed into the kitchen. The teakettle, too, on the stove behind them, threw up its lid and burst into athunder of bubbles. 

The next time they tried the door it yielded, Mrs. McGuire having madea second barefoot journey. 

When they came up from the little kitchen, the light ineffable wasshining in their faces, but Mrs. McGuire called them back to earth byremarking dryly:

"It's just as well I wasn't parchin' for that drink. "

CHAPTER XXVI

THE THANKSGIVING

The prairie lay sere and brown like a piece of faded tapestry beneaththe November sun that, peering through the dust-laden air, seemed oldand worn with his efforts to warm the poor old faded earth. 

The grain had all been cut and gathered into stacks that had dotted thefields, two by two, like comfortable married couples, and these in turnhad changed into billowy piles of yellow straw, through which herds ofcattle foraged, giving a touch of life and colour to the unendingcolourless landscape. The trees stood naked and bare. The gardens whereonce the corn waved and the hollyhocks flaunted their brazen beauty, now lay a tangled litter of stalks, waiting the thrifty farmer's torchto clear them away before the snow came. The earth had yielded of herfruits and now rested from her labour, worn and spent, taking nothought of comeliness, but waiting in decrepit indifference for herfriend, the North Wind, to bring down the swirling snow to hide herscars and heal her unloveliness with its kindly white mantle. 

But although the earth lay sere and brown and dust-laden, the granariesand elevators were bursting with a rich abundance. Innumerablefreight-trains loaded with wheat wound heavily up the long grade, carrying off all too slowly the produce of the plain, and still theloads of grain came pouring in from the farms. The cellars were full ofthe abundance of the gardens--golden turnips, rosy potatoes and rows ofpale green cabbages hanging by their roots to the beams gave an air ofsecurity against the long, cold, hungry winter. 

Inside of John Watson's home, in spite of November's dullness, joy andgladness reigned, for was not Pearl coming home? Pearl, her mother'shelper and adviser; Pearl, her silent father's wonder and delight, thesecond mother of all the little Watsons! Pearl was coming home. 

Events in the Watson family were reckoned from the time of Pearl'sdeparture or the time of her expected home-coming. "Pa got raised fromone dollar and a quarter to one dollar and a half just six weeks fromthe day Pearl left, lackin' two days, " and Mrs. Evans gave Mary a new"stuff" dress, "on the Frida' as Pearl left or the Thursda' three weeksbefore, " and, moreover, the latest McSorley baby was born "on theWednesda' as Pearl was comin' home on the Saturda' four weeks after. "

Domestic affairs were influenced to some degree by Pearl's expectedarrival. "Don't be wearin' yer sweater now, Tommy man, I'm feart thered strip'll run in it when its washed; save it clean till Pearliecomes, there's a man. "

"Patsey, avick, wobble yer tooth now man alive. Don't be havin' thatloose thing hangin' in yer jaw, and Pearlie comin' home so soon. "

The younger children, whose appetites were out of all proportion to thesupply, were often "tided over" what might have been a tearful time bya promise of the good time coming. When Danny cried because the bottomof his porridge plate was "always stickin' through, " and later in thesame day came home in the same unmanned condition because he hadsmelled chickens cooking down at the hotel when he and Jimmy went withthe milk, Mary rose to the occasion and told him in a wild flight ofunwarranted extravagance that they would have a turkey when Pearl camehome. 'N cranberry sauce. 'N brown gravy. No-ow!

The house had undergone some preparations for the joyous event. Everything was scrubbed that could be scrubbed. An elaboratelyscalloped newspaper drape ornamented the clock shelf; paper chains, made of blue and yellow sale-bills, were festooned from the elbow ofthe stove pipes to the window curtains; the wood box was freshlypapered with newspaper; red flannel was put in the lamps. 

The children were scrubbed until they shone. Bugsey's sweater had ahole in the "chist, " but you would never know it the way he held hishand. Tommy's stocking had a hole in the knee, but he had artfullyinserted a piece of black lining that by careful watching kept upappearances. 

Mrs. Watson, instigated by Danny, had looked at the turkeys in thebutcher shop that morning, asked the price and came away sorrowful. Even Danny understood that a turkey was not to be thought of. Theycompromised on a pot-roast because it makes so much gravy, and withthis and the prospect of potatoes and turnips and prune-pie, the familyhad to be content. 

On the day that Pearlie was expected home, Mrs. Watson and Mary werebusy preparing the evening meal, although it was still quite early inthe afternoon. Wee Danny stood on a syrup keg in front of the window, determined to be the first to see Pearlie. 

Mrs. Watson was peeling the potatoes and singing. Mrs. Watson sangbecause her heart was glad, for was not Pearlie coming home. She neverallowed her singing to interfere with more urgent duties; the singingcould always wait, and she never forgot just where she had left it, butwould come back and pick up at the exact place she had discarded it. 

"Sure ain't it great the way ma never drops a stitch in her singin', "her eldest son Teddy had said admiringly one day. "She can lave a notehalf turned up in the air, and go off and lave it, and ye'd think she'dforgot where she left it, but never a fear o' ma, two days afthershe'll rache up for it and bring it down and slip off into the choonagin, nate as nate. "

On this particular day Mrs. Watson sang because she couldn't help it, for Pearlie was coming home--

 From Greenland's icy mountains, From India's coral strands, she sang, as she peeled the potatoes--

 Where Africa's sunny fount--

"Come, Mary alanna, and scour the knives, sure an' I forgot them atnoon to-day. 

 -tains Flow down their crimson sands; From many an ancient river And many a sandy--

Put a dhrop more wather in the kittle Tommy--don't ye hear it spittin'?"

 -plain They call us to deliver--

Here a shout sounded outside, and Bugsey came tumbling in and said hethought he had seen Pearlie coming away down the road across the track, whereupon Danny cried so uproariously that Bugsey, like the gentlemanhe was, withdrew his statement, or at least modified it by saying itmight be Pearlie and it might not. 

But it was Pearl, sure enough, and Danny had the pleasure of giving thealarm, beating on the window, maudlin with happiness, while Pearl saidgood-bye to Tom Motherwell, who had brought her home. Tommy and Bugseyand Patsey waited giggling just inside the door, while Mary and Mrs. Watson went out to greet her. 

Pearl was in at last, kissing every little last Watson, forgetting shehad done Tommy and doing him over again; with Danny holding tightly toher skirt through it all, everybody talking at once. 

Then the excitement calmed down somewhat, but only to break right outagain, for Jimmy who had been downtown came home and found the boxwhich Tom Motherwell had left on the step after Pearl had gone in. Theycarried it in excitedly and eager little hands raised the lid, eagerlittle voices shouted with delight. 

"Didn't I tell ye we'd have a turkey when Pearlie came home, " Maryshouted triumphantly. 

Pearlie rose at once to her old position of director-in-chief. 

"The turkey'll be enough for us, and it'll be done in time yet, andwe'll send the chicken to Mrs. McGuire, poor owld lady, she wuz good tome the day I left. Now ma, you sit down, me and Mary'll git along. HereBugsey and Tommy and Patsey and Danny, here's five cents a piece for yeto go and buy what ye like, but don't ye buy anything to ate, for ye'llnot need it, but yez can buy hankies, any kind ye like, ye'll need themnow the winter's comin' on, and yez'll be havin' the snuffles. "

When the boys came back with their purchases they were put in a rowupon their mother's bed to be out of the way while the supper was beingprepared, all except wee Bugsey, who went, from choice, down to thetracks to see the cars getting loaded--the sizzle of the turkey in theoven made the tears come. 

Two hours later the Watson family sat down to supper, not in sections, but the whole family. The table had long since been inadequate to thefamily's needs, but two boards, with a flour-sack on them, from the endof it to the washing machine overcame the difficulty. 

Was there ever such a turkey as that one? Mrs. Watson carved it herselfon the back of the stove. 

"Sure yer poor father can't be bothered with it, and it's a thing heain't handy at, mirover, no more'n meself; but the atin' is on it, praise God, and we'll git at it someway. "

Ten plates were heaped full of potatoes and turnips, turkey, browngravy, and "stuffin"; and still that mammoth turkey had layers of meatupon his giant sides. What did it matter if there were not enoughplates to go around, and Tommy had to eat his supper out of thesaucepan; and even if there were no cups for the boys, was not the pailwith the dipper in it just behind them on the old high-chair. 

When the plates had all been cleaned the second time, and the turkeybegan to look as if something had happened to it, Mary brought in thesurprise of the evening--it was the jelly Mrs. Evans had sent them whenshe let Mary come home early in the afternoon, a present from Algernon, she said, and the whipped cream that Camilla had given Jimmy when heran over to tell her and Mrs. Francis that Pearlie had really come. Then everyone saw the advantage of having their plates licked clean, and not having more turkey than they knew what to do with. Danny wasinarticulate with happiness. 

"Lift me down, Pearlie, " he murmured sleepily as he poked down the lastspoonful, "and do not jiggle me. "

When Patsey and Bugsey and Tommy and Danny had gone to bed, and Maryand Mrs. Watson were washing the dishes (Pearlie was not allowed tohelp, being the guest of honour), John Watson sat silently smoking hispipe, listening with delight while Pearl related her experiences of thelast three months. 

She was telling about the night that she had watched for the doctor. Not a word did she tell about, her friend, the doctor's agitation, norwhat had caused it on that occasion, and she was very much relieved tofind that her listeners did not seem to have heard about thecircumstances of Ab Cowan's death. 

"Oh, I tell ye, Doctor Clay's the fellow, " she said, her eyes sparklingwith enthusiasm. "He knew what was wrong wid Arthur the minute heclapped his eyes on him--tore open his little satchel, slapped thechloroform into his face, whisked out his knives and slashed into himas aisy as ma wud into a pair of pants for Jimmie there, and himwaitin' for them. "

"Look at that now!" her father exclaimed, pulling out the damper of thestove and spitting in the ashes. "Yon's a man'll make his mark whereverhe goes. "

A knock sounded on the door. Teddy opened it and admitted Camilla andJim Russell. 

"I've got a letter for you Pearl, " Jim said when the greetings wereover. "When Tom brought the mail this evening this letter for you wasin with the others, and Arthur brought it over to see if I would bringit in. I didn't really want to come, but seeing as it was for you, Pearl, I came. "

Camilla was not listening to him at all. 

Pearl took the letter wonderingly. "Read it Camilla, " she said, handingit to her friend. 

Camilla broke the seal and read it. It was from Alfred Austin Wemyss, Rector of St. Agnes, Tillbury Road, County of Kent, England. 

It was a stately letter, becoming a rector, dignified and chaste in itslanguage. It was the letter of a dignitary of the Church to an unknownand obscure child in a distant land, but it told of a father andmother's gratitude for a son's life saved, it breathed an admirationfor the little girl's devotion and heroism, and a love for her thatwould last as long as life itself. 

Pearl sat in mute wonder, as Camilla read--that could not mean her!

We do not mean to offer money as a payment for what you have done, dearchild (Camilla read on), for such a service of love can only be paid inlove; but we ask you to accept from us this gift as our own daughterwould accept it if we had had one, and we will be glad to think that ithas been a help to you in the securing of an education. Our brother, the bishop, wishes you to take from him a gift of 20 pounds, and it ishis desire that you should spend it in whatever way will give you themost pleasure. We are, dear Pearl, Your grateful friends, ALFRED A. And MARY WEMYSS. 

"Here is a Bank of England draft for 120 pounds, nearly $600, " Camillasaid, as she finished the letter. 

The Watson family sat dumb with astonishment. 

"God help us!" Mrs. Watson cried at last. 

"He has, " Camilla said reverently. 

Then Pearl threw her arms around her mother's neck and kissed her overand over again. 

"Ma, dear, " she cried, "ye'll git it now, what I always wanted ye tohave, a fur-lined cape, and not lined wid rabbit, or squirrel or skunkeither, but with the real vermin! and it wasn't bad luck to have Mrs. McGuire cross me path when I was going out. But they can't mane me, Camilla, sure what did I do?"

But Camilla and Jim stood firm, the money was for her and her only. Everyone knew, Jim said, that if she had not stayed with Arthur thatlong night and watched for the doctor, that Arthur would have been deadin the morning. And Arthur had told him a dozen times, Jim said, thatPearl had saved his life. 

"Well then, 't was aisy saved, " Pearl declared, "if I saved it. "

Just then Dr. Clay came in with a letter in his hand. 

"My business is with this young lady, " he said as he sat on the chairMrs. Watson had wiped for him, and drew Pearl gently toward him. "Pearl, I got some money to-night that doesn't belong to me. "

"So did I, " Pearl said. 

"No, you deserve all yours, but I don't deserve a cent. If it hadn'tbeen for this little girl of yours, Mr. Watson, that young Englishmanwould have been a dead man. "

"Faith, that's what they do be sayin', but I don't see how that wuz. You're the man yerself Doc, " John replied, taking his pipe from hismouth. 

"No, " the doctor went on. "I would have let him die if Pearl hadn'theld me up to it and made me operate. "

Pearl sprang up, almost in tears. "Doc, " she cried indignantly, "haven't I towld ye a dozen times not to say that? Where's yer sense, Doc?"

The doctor laughed. He could laugh about it now, since Dr. Barner hadquite exonerated him from blame in the matter, and given it as hisprofessional opinion that young Cowan would have died any way--thelancing of his throat having perhaps hastened, but did not cause hisdeath. 

"Pearl, " the doctor said smiling, "Arthur's father sent me 50 poundsand a letter that will make me blush every time I think of it. Now Icannot take the money. The operation, no doubt, saved his life, but ifit hadn't been for you there would have been no operation. I want youto take the money. If you do not, I will have to send it back toArthur's father and tell him all about it. "

Pearl looked at him in real distress. 

"And I'll tell everyone else, too, what kind of a man I am--Jim hereknows it already"--the doctor's eyes were smiling as he watched hertroubled little face. 

"Oh, Doctor Clay, " she cried, "you're worse 'n Danny when you get anotion inter yer head. What kin I do with ye?"

"I do not know, " the doctor laughed, "unless you marry me when you growup. "

"Well, " Pearl answered gravely, "I can't do that till ma and me git thefamily raised, but I'm thinkin' maybe Mary Barner might take ye. "

"I thought of that, too, " the doctor answered, while a slight shadowpassed over his face, "but she seems to think not. However, I'm not ina hurry Pearl, and I just think I'll wait for you. "

After Camilla and Jim and the doctor had gone that night, and Teddy andBilly and Jimmy had gone to bed, Pearl crept into her father's arms andlaid her head on his broad shoulder. 

"Pa, " she said drowsily, "I'm glad I'm home. "

Her father patted her little brown hand. 

"So am I, acushla, " he said; after a pause he whispered, "yer a goodwee girl, Pearlie, " but Pearl's tired little eyes had closed in sleep. 

Mrs. Watson laid more wood on the fire, which crackled merrily up thechimney. 

"Lay her down, John dear, " she whispered. "Yer arms'll ache, man. "

On the back of the stove the teakettle simmered drowsily. There was nosound in the house but the regular breathing of the sleeping children. The fire burned low, but John Watson still sat holding his littlesleeping girl in his arms. Outside the snow was beginning to fall. 

CONCLUSION

CONVINCING CAMILLA

"If you can convince me, Jim, that you are more irresponsible and morein need of a guiding hand than Mrs. Francis--why then I'll--I'll be--"

Jim sprang from his chair. 

"You'll be what, Camilla? Tell me quick, " he cried eagerly. 

"I'll be--convinced, " she said demurely, looking down. 

Jim sat down again and sighed. 

"Will you be anything else?" he asked. 

"Convince me first, " she said firmly. 

"I think I can do it, " he said, "I always have to write down what Iwant to do each day, and what I need to buy when I come in here, andonce, when I wrote my list, nails, coffee, ploughshare, mail, I forgotto put on it, 'come back, ' and perhaps you may remember I came herethat evening and stayed and stayed--I was trying to think what to donext. "

"That need not worry you again, Jim, " she said sweetly. "I can easilyremember that, and will tell you every time. "

"To 'come back'?" he said. "Thank you, Camilla, and I will do it too. "

She laughed. 

"Having to make a list isn't anything. Poor Mrs. Francis makes a listand then loses it, then makes a second list, and puts on it to find thefirst list, and then loses that; and Jim, she once made biscuits andforgot the shortening. "

"I made biscuits once and forgot the flour, " Jim declared proudly. 

Camilla shook her head. 

"And, Camilla, " Jim said gravely, "I am really very irresponsible, youknow Nellie Slater--she is a pretty girl, isn't she?"

"A very pretty girl, " Camilla agreed. 

"About your size--fluffy hair--"

"Wavy, Jim, " Camilla corrected. 

"Hers is fluffy, yours is wavy, " Jim said firmly--"lovely darkeyes--well, she was standing by the window, just before the lamps werelighted, and I really am very absent-minded you know--I don't know howit happened that I mistook her for you. "

Camilla reached out her hand. 

He seized it eagerly. 

"Jim--I am convinced, " she said softly. 

Fifteen minutes afterwards Camilla said:

"I cannot tell her, Jim, I really cannot. I don't how know to begin totell her. "

"Why do you need to tell her?" Jim asked. "Hasn't the lady eyes andunderstanding? What does she think I come for?"

"She doesn't know you come. She sees somebody here, but she thinks it'sthe grocery-boy waiting until I empty his basket. "

"Indeed, " Jim said a little stiffly, "which one, I wonder. "

"Don't you remember the night she said to me 'And what did you say thisyoung man's name is, Camilla'--no, no, Jim, she hasn't noticed you atall. "

Jim was silent a moment. 

"Well now, " he said at last, "she seemed to be taking notice thatmorning I came in without any very good excuse, and she said 'How doesit happen that you are not harvesting this beautiful day, Mr. Russell?'"

"Yes, and what did you say?" Camilla asked a trifle severely. 

Jim looked a little embarrassed. 

"I said--I had not felt well lately, and I had come in to see thedoctor. "

"And what was that?" Camilla was still stern. 

"The ingenious device of an ardent lover, " he replied quickly. 

"'Ardened sinner you mean, Jim, " she laughed. "But the next time youhad a splendid excuse, you had a message from Pearl. Was my new suitdone?"

"Yes, and then I came to see--"

There was a frou-frou of skirts in the hall. Camilla made a quick moveand Jim became busy with the books on the table. 

Mrs. Francis entered. 

"Camilla, " she began after she had spoken cordially to Jim, "Mr. Francis is in need of a young man to manage his business for him, andhe has made up his mind--quite made up his mind, Camilla, to take Mr. Russell into partnership with him if Mr. Russell will agree. Mr. Francis needs just such a young man, one of education, good habits andbusiness ability and so, Camilla, I see no reason why your marriageshould not take place at once. "

"Marriage!" Camilla gasped. 

"Yes, " Mrs. Francis said in her richest tones. "Your marriage, Camilla, at once. You are engaged are you not?"

"I am--convinced, " Camilla said irrelevantly. 

And then it was Mrs. Francis who laughed as she held out a hand to eachof them. 

"I do see--things--sometimes, " she said.