BLACK ROCK

A TALE OF THE SELKIRKS

By Ralph Connor

INTRODUCTION

I think I have met "Ralph Conner. " Indeed, I am sure I have--once in acanoe on the Red River, once on the Assinaboine, and twice or thrice onthe prairies to the West. That was not the name he gave me, but, if Iam right, it covers one of the most honest and genial of the strongcharacters that are fighting the devil and doing good work for menall over the world. He has seen with his own eyes the life which hedescribes in this book, and has himself, for some years of hard andlonely toil, assisted in the good influences which he traces among itswild and often hopeless conditions. He writes with the freshness andaccuracy of an eye-witness, with the style (as I think his readers willallow) of a real artist, and with the tenderness and hopefulness of aman not only of faith but of experience, who has seen in fulfillment theideals for which he lives. 

The life to which he takes us, though far off and very strange to ourtame minds, is the life of our brothers. Into the Northwest of Canadathe young men of Great Britain and Ireland have been pouring (I wastold), sometimes at the rate of 48, 000 a year. Our brothers who lefthome yesterday--our hearts cannot but follow them. With these pagesRalph Conner enables our eyes and our minds to follow, too; nor do Ithink there is any one who shall read this book and not find also thathis conscience is quickened. There is a warfare appointed unto man uponearth, and its struggles are nowhere more intense, nor the victories ofthe strong, nor the succors brought to the fallen, more heroic, than onthe fields described in this volume. 

GEORGE ADAM SMITH. 

BLACK ROCK

The story of the book is true, and chief of the failures in the makingof the book is this, that it is not all the truth. The light is notbright enough, the shadow is not black enough to give a true picture ofthat bit of Western life of which the writer was some small part. Themen of the book are still there in the mines and lumber camps of themountains, fighting out that eternal fight for manhood, strong, clean, God-conquered. And, when the west winds blow, to the open ear the soundsof battle come, telling the fortunes of the fight. 

Because a man's life is all he has, and because the only hope of thebrave young West lies in its men, this story is told. It may be that thetragic pity of a broken life may move some to pray, and that that divinepower there is in a single brave heart to summon forth hope and couragemay move some to fight. If so, the tale is not told in vain. 

C. W. G. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I

CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LUMBER CAMP

CHAPTER II

THE BLACK ROCK CHRISTMAS

CHAPTER III

WATERLOO. OUR FIGHT--HIS VICTORY

CHAPTER IV

MRS. MAVOR'S STORY

CHAPTER V

THE MAKING OF THE LEAGUE

CHAPTER VI

BLACK ROCK RELIGION

CHAPTER VII

THE FIRST BLACK ROCK COMMUNION

CHAPTER VIII

THE BREAKING OF THE LEAGUE

CHAPTER IX

THE LEAGUE'S REVENGE

CHAPTER X

WHAT CAME TO SLAVIN

CHAPTER XI

THE TWO CALLS

CHAPTER XII

LOVE IS NOT ALL

CHAPTER XIII

HOW NELSON CAME HOME

CHAPTER XIV

GRAEME'S NEW BIRTH

CHAPTER XV

COMING TO THEIR OWN

CHAPTER I

CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LUMBER CAMP

It was due to a mysterious dispensation of Providence, and a good dealto Leslie Graeme, that I found myself in the heart of the Selkirks formy Christmas Eve as the year 1882 was dying. It had been my plan tospend my Christmas far away in Toronto, with such Bohemian and booncompanions as could be found in that cosmopolitan and kindly city. ButLeslie Graeme changed all that, for, discovering me in the village ofBlack Rock, with my traps all packed, waiting for the stage to startfor the Landing, thirty miles away, he bore down upon me with resistlessforce, and I found myself recovering from my surprise only after we hadgone in his lumber sleigh some six miles on our way to his camp up inthe mountains. I was surprised and much delighted, though I would notallow him to think so, to find that his old-time power over me was stillthere. He could always in the old 'Varsity days--dear, wild days--makeme do what he liked. He was so handsome and so reckless, brilliant inhis class-work, and the prince of half-backs on the Rugby field, andwith such power of fascination, as would 'extract the heart out of awheelbarrow, ' as Barney Lundy used to say. And thus it was that Ifound myself just three weeks later--I was to have spent two or threedays, --on the afternoon of the 24th of December, standing in Graeme'sLumber Camp No. 2, wondering at myself. But I did not regret my changedplans, for in those three weeks I had raided a cinnamon bear's den andhad wakened up a grizzly--But I shall let the grizzly finish the tale;he probably sees more humour in it than I. 

The camp stood in a little clearing, and consisted of a group of threelong, low shanties with smaller shacks near them, all built of heavy, unhewn logs, with door and window in each. The grub camp, with cook-shedattached, stood in the middle of the clearing; at a little distance wasthe sleeping-camp with the office built against it, and about a hundredyards away on the other side of the clearing stood the stables, and nearthem the smiddy. The mountains rose grandly on every side, throwing uptheir great peaks into the sky. The clearing in which the camp stood washewn out of a dense pine forest that filled the valley and climbed halfway up the mountain-sides, and then frayed out in scattered and stuntedtrees. 

It was one of those wonderful Canadian winter days, bright, and with atouch of sharpness in the air that did not chill, but warmed the bloodlike draughts of wine. The men were up in the woods, and the shrillscream of the blue jay flashing across the open, the impudent chatterof the red squirrel from the top of the grub camp, and the pert chirp ofthe whisky-jack, hopping about on the rubbish-heap, with the long, lonecry of the wolf far down the valley, only made the silence felt themore. 

As I stood drinking in with all my soul the glorious beauty and thesilence of mountain and forest, with the Christmas feeling stealing intome, Graeme came out from his office, and, catching sight of me, calledout, 'Glorious Christmas weather, old chap!' And then, coming nearer, 'Must you go to-morrow?'

'I fear so, ' I replied, knowing well that the Christmas feeling was onhim too. 

'I wish I were going with you, ' he said quietly. 

I turned eagerly to persuade him, but at the look of suffering in hisface the words died at my lips, for we both were thinking of the awfulnight of horror when all his bright, brilliant life crashed down abouthim in black ruin and shame. I could only throw my arm over his shoulderand stand silent beside him. A sudden jingle of bells roused him, and, giving himself a little shake, he exclaimed, 'There are the boys cominghome. '

Soon the camp was filled with men talking, laughing, chaffing, likelight-hearted boys. 

'They are a little wild to-night, ' said Graeme; 'and to morrow they'llpaint Black Rock red. '

Before many minutes had gone, the last teamster was 'washed up, ' andall were standing about waiting impatiently for the cook's signal--thesupper to-night was to be 'something of a feed'--when the sound ofbells drew their attention to a light sleigh drawn by a buckskin bronchocoming down the hillside at a great pace. 

'The preacher, I'll bet, by his driving, ' said one of the men. 

'Bedad, and it's him has the foine nose for turkey!' said Blaney, agood-natured, jovial Irishman. 

'Yes, or for pay-day, more like, ' said Keefe, a black-browed, villainousfellow-countryman of Blaney's, and, strange to say, his great friend. 

Big Sandy M'Naughton, a Canadian Highlander from Glengarry, rose up inwrath. 'Bill Keefe, ' said he, with deliberate emphasis, 'you'll justkeep your dirty tongue off the minister; and as for your pay, it'slittle he sees of it, or any one else, except Mike Slavin, when you'retoo dry to wait for some one to treat you, or perhaps Father Ryan, whenthe fear of hell-fire is on to you. '

The men stood amazed at Sandy's sudden anger and length of speech. 

'Bon; dat's good for you, my bully boy, ' said Baptiste, a wiry littleFrench-Canadian, Sandy's sworn ally and devoted admirer ever since theday when the big Scotsman, under great provocation, had knocked himclean off the dump into the river and then jumped in for him. 

It was not till afterwards I learned the cause of Sandy's sudden wrathwhich urged him to such unwonted length of speech. It was not simplythat the Presbyterian blood carried with it reverence for theminister and contempt for Papists and Fenians, but that he had a vividremembrance of how, only a month ago, the minister had got him out ofMike Slavin's saloon and out the clutches of Keefe and Slavin and theirgang of bloodsuckers. 

Keefe started up with a curse. Baptiste sprang to Sandy's side, slappedhim on the back, and called out, 'You keel him, I'll hit (eat) him up, me. '

It looked as if there might be a fight, when a harsh voice said in alow, savage tone, 'Stop your row, you blank fools; settle it, if youwant to, somewhere else. ' I turned, and was amazed to see old manNelson, who was very seldom moved to speech. 

There was a look of scorn on his hard, iron-grey face, and of suchsettled fierceness as made me quite believe the tales I had heard of hisdeadly fights in the mines at the coast. Before any reply could bemade, the minister drove up and called out in a cheery voice, 'MerryChristmas, boys! Hello, Sandy! Comment ca va, Baptiste? How do you do, Mr. Graeme?'

'First rate. Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Connor, sometime medicalstudent, now artist, hunter, and tramp at large, but not a bad sort. '

'A man to be envied, ' said the minister, smiling. 'I am glad to know anyfriend of Mr. Graeme's. '

I liked Mr. Craig from the first. He had good eyes that looked straightout at you, a clean-cut, strong face well set on his shoulders, andaltogether an upstanding, manly bearing. He insisted on going with Sandyto the stables to see Dandy, his broncho, put up. 

'Decent fellow, ' said Graeme; 'but though he is good enough to hisbroncho, it is Sandy that's in his mind now. '

'Does he come out often? I mean, are you part of his parish, so tospeak?'

'I have no doubt he thinks so; and I'm blowed if he doesn't make thePresbyterians of us think so too. ' And he added after a pause, 'A dandylot of parishioners we are for any man. There's Sandy, now, he wouldknock Keefe's head off as a kind of religious exercise; but to-morrowKeefe will be sober, and Sandy will be drunk as a lord, and the drunkerhe is the better Presbyterian he'll be; to the preacher's disgust. ' Thenafter another pause he added bitterly, 'But it is not for me to throwrocks at Sandy; I am not the same kind of fool, but I am a fool ofseveral other sorts. '

Then the cook came out and beat a tattoo on the bottom of a dish-pan. Baptiste answered with a yell: but though keenly hungry, no man woulddemean himself to do other than walk with apparent reluctance to hisplace at the table. At the further end of the camp was a big fireplace, and from the door to the fireplace extended the long board tables, covered with platters of turkey not too scientifically carved, dishesof potatoes, bowls of apple sauce, plates of butter, pies, and smallerdishes distributed at regular intervals. Two lanterns hanging from theroof, and a row of candles stuck into the wall on either side by meansof slit sticks, cast a dim, weird light over the scene. 

There was a moment's silence, and at a nod from Graeme Mr. Craig roseand said, 'I don't know how you feel about it, men, but to me this looksgood enough to be thankful for. '

'Fire ahead, sir, ' called out a voice quite respectfully, and theminister bent his head and said-- 'For Christ the Lord who came to saveus, for all the love and goodness we have known, and for these Thy giftsto us this Christmas night, our Father, make us thankful. Amen. '

'Bon, dat's fuss rate, ' said Baptiste. 'Seems lak dat's make me hit(eat) more better for sure, ' and then no word was spoken for quarter ofan hour. The occasion was far too solemn and moments too precious foranything so empty as words. But when the white piles of bread and thebrown piles of turkey had for a second time vanished, and after thelast pie had disappeared, there came a pause and hush of expectancy, whereupon the cook and cookee, each bearing aloft a huge, blazingpudding, came forth. 

'Hooray!' yelled Blaney, 'up wid yez!' and grabbing the cook by theshoulders from behind, he faced him about. 

Mr. Craig was the first to respond, and seizing the cookee in the sameway, called out, 'Squad, fall in! quick march!' In a moment every manwas in the procession. 

'Strike up, Batchees, ye little angel!' shouted Blaney, the appellationa concession to the minister's presence; and away went Baptiste in arollicking French song with the English chorus--

 'Then blow, ye winds, in the morning, Blow, ye winds, ay oh! Blow, ye winds, in the morning, Blow, blow, blow. '

And at each 'blow' every boot came down with a thump on the plank floorthat shook the solid roof. After the second round, Mr. Craig jumped uponthe bench, and called out--

'Three cheers for Billy the cook!'

In the silence following the cheers Baptiste was heard to say, 'Bon!dat's mak me feel lak hit dat puddin' all hup mesef, me. '

'Hear till the little baste!' said Blaney in disgust. 

'Batchees, ' remonstrated Sandy gravely, 'ye've more stomach thanmanners. '

'Fu sure! but de more stomach dat's more better for dis puddin', 'replied the little Frenchman cheerfully. 

After a time the tables were cleared and pushed back to the wall, andpipes were produced. In all attitudes suggestive of comfort the mendisposed themselves in a wide circle about the fire, which now roaredand crackled up the great wooden chimney hanging from the roof. Thelumberman's hour of bliss had arrived. Even old man Nelson looked ashade less melancholy than usual as he sat alone, well away from thefire, smoking steadily and silently. When the second pipes were wella-going, one of the men took down a violin from the wall and handedit to Lachlan Campbell. There were two brothers Campbell just out fromArgyll, typical Highlanders: Lachlan, dark, silent, melancholy, with theface of a mystic, and Angus, red-haired, quick, impulsive, and devotedto his brother, a devotion he thought proper to cover under biting, sarcastic speech. 

Lachlan, after much protestation, interspersed with gibes from hisbrother, took the violin, and, in response to the call from all sides, struck up 'Lord Macdonald's Reel. ' In a moment the floor was filled withdancers, whooping and cracking their fingers in the wildest manner. ThenBaptiste did the 'Red River Jig, ' a most intricate and difficult seriesof steps, the men keeping time to the music with hands and feet. 

When the jig was finished, Sandy called for 'Lochaber No More'; butCampbell said, 'No, no! I cannot play that to-night. Mr. Craig willplay. '

Craig took the violin, and at the first note I knew he was no ordinaryplayer. I did not recognise the music, but it was soft and thrilling, and got in by the heart, till every one was thinking his tenderest andsaddest thoughts. 

After he had played two or three exquisite bits, he gave Campbell hisviolin, saying, 'Now, "Lochaber, " Lachlan. '

Without a word Lachlan began, not 'Lochaber'--he was not ready for thatyet--but 'The Flowers o' the Forest, ' and from that wandered through'Auld Robin Gray' and 'The Land o' the Leal, ' and so got at last to thatmost soul-subduing of Scottish laments, 'Lochaber No More. ' At the firststrain, his brother, who had thrown himself on some blankets behind thefire, turned over on his face, feigning sleep. Sandy M'Naughton tookhis pipe out of his mouth, and sat up straight and stiff, staring intovacancy, and Graeme, beyond the fire, drew a short, sharp breath. Wehad often sat, Graeme and I, in our student-days, in the drawing-room athome, listening to his father wailing out 'Lochaber' upon the pipes, andI well knew that the awful minor strains were now eating their way intohis soul. 

Over and over again the Highlander played his lament. He had long sinceforgotten us, and was seeing visions of the hills and lochs and glens ofhis far-away native land, and making us, too, see strange things outof the dim past. I glanced at old man Nelson, and was startled at theeager, almost piteous, look in his eyes, and I wished Campbell wouldstop. Mr. Craig caught my eye, and, stepping over to Campbell, held outhis hand for the violin. Lingeringly and lovingly the Highlander drewout the last strain, and silently gave the minister his instrument. 

Without a moment's pause, and while the spell of 'Lochaber' was stillupon us, the minister, with exquisite skill, fell into the refrain ofthat simple and beautiful camp-meeting hymn, 'The Sweet By and By. 'After playing the verse through once, he sang softly the refrain. Afterthe first verse, the men joined in the chorus; at first timidly, butby the time the third verse was reached they were shouting with throatsfull open, 'We shall meet on that beautiful shore. ' When I looked atNelson the eager light had gone out of his eyes, and in its place waskind of determined hopelessness, as if in this new music he had no part. 

After the voices had ceased, Mr. Craig played again the refrain, moreand more softly and slowly; then laying the violin on Campbell's knees, he drew from his pocket his little Bible, and said--

'Men, with Mr. Graeme's permission, I want to read you something thisChristmas Eve. You will all have heard it before, but you will like itnone the less for that. '

His voice was soft, but clear and penetrating, as he read the eternalstory of the angels and the shepherds and the Babe. And as he read, aslight motion of the hand or a glance of an eye made us see, as hewas seeing, that whole radiant drama. The wonder, the timid joy, the tenderness, the mystery of it all, were borne in upon us withoverpowering effect. He closed the book, and in the same low, clearvoice went on to tell us how, in his home years ago, he used to stand onChristmas Eve listening in thrilling delight to his mother telling himthe story, and how she used to make him see the shepherds and hear thesheep bleating near by, and how the sudden burst of glory used to makehis heart jump. 

'I used to be a little afraid of the angels, because a boy told me theywere ghosts; but my mother told me better, and I didn't fear them anymore. And the Baby, the dear little Baby--we all love a baby. ' There wasa quick, dry sob; it was from Nelson. 'I used to peek through underto see the little one in the straw, and wonder what things swaddlingclothes were. Oh, it was all so real and so beautiful!' He paused, and Icould hear the men breathing. 

'But one Christmas Eve, ' he went on, in a lower, sweeter tone, 'therewas no one to tell me the story, and I grew to forget it, and went awayto college, and learned to think that it was only a child's tale and wasnot for men. Then bad days came to me and worse, and I began to lose mygrip of myself, of life, of hope, of goodness, till one black Christmas, in the slums of a faraway city, when I had given up all, and the devil'sarms were about me, I heard the story again. And as I listened, witha bitter ache in my heart, for I had put it all behind me, I suddenlyfound myself peeking under the shepherds' arms with a child's wonder atthe Baby in the straw. Then it came over me like great waves, that Hisname was Jesus, because it was He that should save men from their sins. Save! Save! The waves kept beating upon my ears, and before I knew, Ihad called out, "Oh! can He save me?" It was in a little mission meetingon one of the side streets, and they seemed to be used to that sort ofthing there, for no one was surprised; and a young fellow leaned acrossthe aisle to me and said, "Why! you just bet He can!" His surprise thatI should doubt, his bright face and confident tone, gave me hopethat perhaps it might be so. I held to that hope with all my soul, and'--stretching up his arms, and with a quick glow in his face anda little break in his voice, 'He hasn't failed me yet; not once, notonce!'

He stopped quite short, and I felt a good deal like making a fool ofmyself, for in those days I had not made up my mind about these things. Graeme, poor old chap, was gazing at him with a sad yearning in his darkeyes; big Sandy was sitting very stiff, and staring harder than everinto the fire; Baptiste was trembling with excitement; Blaney was openlywiping the tears away. But the face that held my eyes was that ofold man Nelson. It was white, fierce, hungry-looking, his sunken eyesburning, his lips parted as if to cry. 

The minister went on. 'I didn't mean to tell you this, men, it all cameover me with a rush; but it is true, every word, and not a word will Itake back. And, what's more, I can tell you this, what He did for meHe can do for any man, and it doesn't make any difference what's behindhim, and'--leaning slightly forward, and with a little thrill of pathosvibrating in his voice--'O boys, why don't you give Him a chance at you?Without Him you'll never be the men you want to be, and you'll never getthe better of that that's keeping some of you now from going back home. You know you'll never go back till you're the men you want to be. 'Then, lifting up his face and throwing back his head, he said, as if tohimself, 'Jesus! He shall save His people from their sins, ' and then, 'Let us pray. '

Graeme leaned forward with his face in his hands; Baptiste and Blaneydropped on their knees; Sandy, the Campbells, and some others, stood up. Old man Nelson held his eyes steadily on the minister. 

Only once before had I seen that look on a human face. A young fellowhad broken through the ice on the river at home, and as the black waterwas dragging his fingers one by one from the slippery edges, there cameover his face that same look. I used to wake up for many a night afterin a sweat of horror, seeing the white face with its parting lips, andits piteous, dumb appeal, and the black water slowly sucking it down. 

Nelson's face brought it all back; but during the prayer the facechanged, and seemed to settle into resolve of some sort, stern, almostgloomy, as of a man with his last chance before him. 

After the prayer Mr. Craig invited the men to a Christmas dinner nextday in Black Rock. 'And because you are an independent lot, we'll chargeyou half a dollar for dinner and the evening show. ' Then leaving abundle of magazines and illustrated papers on the table--a godsend tothe men--he said good-bye and went out. 

I was to go with the minister, so I jumped into the sleigh first, andwaited while he said good-bye to Graeme, who had been hard hit by thewhole service, and seemed to want to say something. I heard Mr. Craigsay cheerfully and confidently, 'It's a true bill: try Him. '

Sandy, who had been steadying Dandy while that interesting broncho wasattempting with great success to balance himself on his hind legs, cameto say good-bye. 'Come and see me first thing, Sandy. '

'Ay! I know; I'll see ye, Mr. Craig, ' said Sandy earnestly, as Dandydashed off at a full gallop across the clearing and over the bridge, steadying down when he reached the hill. 

'Steady, you idiot!'

This was to Dandy, who had taken a sudden side spring into the deepsnow, almost upsetting us. A man stepped out from the shadow. It was oldman Nelson. He came straight to the sleigh, and, ignoring my presencecompletely, said--

'Mr. Craig, are you dead sure of this? Will it work?'

'Do you mean, ' said Craig, taking him up promptly, 'can Jesus Christsave you from your sins and make a man of you?'

The old man nodded, keeping his hungry eyes on the other's face. 

'Well, here's His message to you: "The Son of Man is come to seek and tosave that which was lost. "'

'To me? To me?' said the old man eagerly. 

'Listen; this, too, is His Word: "Him that cometh unto Me I will in nowise cast out. " That's for you, for here you are, coming. '

'You don't know me, Mr. Craig. I left my baby fifteen years agobecause--'

'Stop!' said the minister. 'Don't tell me, at least not to-night;perhaps never. Tell Him who knows it all now, and who never betrays asecret. Have it out with Him. Don't be afraid to trust Him. '

Nelson looked at him, with his face quivering, and said in a huskyvoice, 'If this is no good, it's hell for me. '

'If it is no good, ' replied Craig, almost sternly, 'it's hell for all ofus. '

The old man straightened himself up, looked up at the stars, then backat Mr. Craig, then at me, and, drawing a deep breath, said, 'I'll tryHim. ' As he was turning away the minister touched him on the arm, andsaid quietly, 'Keep an eye on Sandy to-morrow. '

Nelson nodded, and we went on; but before we took the next turn I lookedback and saw what brought a lump into my throat. It was old man Nelsonon his knees in the snow, with his hands spread upward to the stars, and I wondered if there was any One above the stars, and nearer than thestars, who could see. And then the trees hid him from my sight

CHAPTER II

THE BLACK ROCK CHRISTMAS

Many strange Christmas Days have I seen, but that wild Black RockChristmas stands out strangest of all. While I was revelling in mydelicious second morning sleep, just awake enough to enjoy it, Mr. Craigcame abruptly, announcing breakfast and adding, 'Hope you are in goodshape, for we have our work before us this day. '

'Hello!' I replied, still half asleep, and anxious to hide from theminister that I was trying to gain a few more moments of snoozingdelight, 'what's abroad?'. 

'The devil, ' he answered shortly, and with such emphasis that I sat boltupright, looking anxiously about. 

'Oh! no need for alarm. He's not after you particularly--at least notto-day, ' said Craig, with a shadow of a smile. 'But he is going about ingood style, I can tell you. '

By this time I was quite awake. 'Well, what particular style does HisMajesty affect this morning?'

He pulled out a showbill. 'Peculiarly gaudy and effective, is it not?'

The items announced were sufficiently attractive. The 'Frisco OperaCompany were to produce the 'screaming farce, ' 'The Gay and Giddy Dude';after which there was to be a 'Grand Ball, ' during which the 'KaliforniaFemale Kickers' were to do some fancy figures; the whole to be followedby a 'big supper' with 'two free drinks to every man and one to thelady, ' and all for the insignificant sum of two dollars. 

'Can't you go one better?' I said. 

He looked inquiringly and a little disgustedly at me. 

'What can you do against free drinks and a dance, not to speak of the"High Kickers"?' he groaned. 

'No!' he continued; 'it's a clean beat for us today. The miners andlumbermen will have in their pockets ten thousand dollars, and everydollar burning a hole; and Slavin and his gang will get most of it. But, ' he added, 'you must have breakfast. You'll find a tub in thekitchen; don't be afraid to splash. It is the best I have to offer you. '

The tub sounded inviting, and before many minutes had passed I was ina delightful glow, the effect of cold water and a rough towel, and thatconsciousness of virtue that comes to a man who has had courage to facehis cold bath on a winter morning. 

The breakfast was laid with fine taste. A diminutive pine-tree, in a pothung round with wintergreen, stood in the centre of the table. 

'Well, now, this looks good; porridge, beefsteak, potatoes, toast, andmarmalade. '

'I hope you will enjoy it all. '

There was not much talk over our meal. Mr. Craig was evidentlypreoccupied, and as blue as his politeness would allow him. Slavin'svictory weighed upon his spirits. Finally he burst out, 'Look here! Ican't, I won't stand it; something must be done. Last Christmas thistown was for two weeks, as one of the miners said, "a little suburb ofhell. " It was something too awful. And at the end of it all one youngfellow was found dead in his shack, and twenty or more crawled back tothe camps, leaving their three months' pay with Slavin and his suckers. 

'I won't stand it, I say. ' He turned fiercely on me. 'What's to bedone?'

This rather took me aback, for I had troubled myself with nothing ofthis sort in my life before, being fully occupied in keeping myself outof difficulty, and allowing others the same privilege. So I venturedthe consolation that he had done his part, and that a spree more orless would not make much difference to these men. But the next momentI wished I had been slower in speech, for he swiftly faced me, and hiswords came like a torrent. 

'God forgive you that heartless word! Do you know--? But no; you don'tknow what you are saying. You don't know that these men have beenclambering for dear life out of a fearful pit for three months past, anddoing good climbing too, poor chaps. You don't think that some of themhave wives, most of them mothers and sisters, in the east or across thesea, for whose sake they are slaving here; the miners hoping to saveenough to bring their families to this homeless place, the rest to makeenough to go back with credit. Why, there's Nixon, miner, splendid chap;has been here for two years, and drawing the highest pay. Twice he hasbeen in sight of his heaven, for he can't speak of his wife and babieswithout breaking up, and twice that slick son of the devil--that'sScripture, mind you--Slavin, got him, and "rolled" him, as the boys say. He went back to the mines broken in body and in heart. He says this ishis third and last chance. If Slavin gets him, his wife and babies willnever see him on earth or in heaven. There is Sandy, too, and the rest. And, ' he added, in a lower tone, and with the curious little thrill ofpathos in his voice, 'this is the day the Saviour came to the world. 'He paused, and then with a little sad smile, 'But I don't want to abuseyou. '

'Do, I enjoy it, I'm a beast, a selfish beast'; for somehow his intense, blazing earnestness made me feel uncomfortably small. 

'What have we to offer?' I demanded. 

'Wait till I have got these things cleared away, and my housekeepingdone. '

I pressed my services upon him, somewhat feebly, I own, for I can't beardishwater; but he rejected my offer. 

'I don't like trusting my china to the hands of a tender-foot. '

'Quite right, though your china would prove an excellent means ofdefence at long range. ' It was delf, a quarter of an inch thick. So Ismoked while he washed up, swept, dusted, and arranged the room. 

After the room was ordered to his taste, we proceeded to hold council. He could offer dinner, magic lantern, music. 'We can fill in time fortwo hours, but, ' he added gloomily, 'we can't beat the dance and the"High Kickers. "'

'Have you nothing new or startling?'

He shook his head. 

'No kind of show? Dog show? Snake charmer?'

'Slavin has a monopoly of the snakes. '

Then he added hesitatingly, 'There was an old Punch-and-Judy chap herelast year, but he died. Whisky again. '

'What happened to his show?'

'The Black Rock Hotel man took it for board and whisky bill. He has itstill, I suppose. '

I did not much relish the business; but I hated to see him beaten, soI ventured, 'I have run a Punch and Judy in an amateur way at the'Varsity. '

He sprang to his feet with a yell. 

'You have! you mean to say it? We've got them! We've beaten them!' Hehad an extraordinary way of taking your help for granted. 'The minerchaps, mostly English and Welsh, went mad over the poor old showman, andmade him so wealthy that in sheer gratitude he drank himself to death. '

He walked up and down in high excitement and in such evident delightthat I felt pledged to my best effort. 

'Well, ' I said, 'first the poster. We must beat them in that. '

He brought me large sheets of brown paper, and after two hours' hardwork I had half a dozen pictorial showbills done in gorgeous colours andstriking designs. They were good, if I do say it myself. 

The turkey, the magic lantern, the Punch and Judy show were all there, the last with a crowd before it in gaping delight. A few explanatorywords were thrown in, emphasising the highly artistic nature of thePunch and Judy entertainment. 

Craig was delighted, and proceeded to perfect his plans. He had somehalf a dozen young men, four young ladies, and eight or ten matrons, upon whom he could depend for help. These he organised into a vigilancecommittee charged with the duty of preventing miners and lumbermen fromgetting away to Slavin's. 'The critical moments will be immediatelybefore and after dinner, and then again after the show is over, ' heexplained. 'The first two crises must be left to the care of Punch andJudy, and as for the last, I am not yet sure what shall be done'; butI saw he had something in his head, for he added, 'I shall see Mrs. Mavor. '

'Who is Mrs. Mavor?' I asked. But he made no reply. He was a bornfighter, and he put the fighting spirit into us all. We were bound towin. 

The sports were to begin at two o'clock. By lunch-time everything was inreadiness. After lunch I was having a quiet smoke in Craig's shack whenin he rushed, saying--

'The battle will be lost before it is fought. If we lose Quatre Bras, weshall never get to Waterloo. '

'What's up?'

'Slavin, just now. The miners are coming in, and he will have them intow in half an hour. '

He looked at me appealingly. I knew what he wanted. 

'All right; I suppose I must, but it is an awful bore that a man can'thave a quiet smoke. '

'You're not half a bad fellow, ' he replied, smiling. 'I shall get theladies to furnish coffee inside the booth. You furnish them intellectualnourishment in front with dear old Punch and Judy. '

He sent a boy with a bell round the village announcing, 'Punch, andJudy in front of the Christmas booth beside the church'; and forthree-quarters of an hour I shrieked and sweated in that awful littlepen. But it was almost worth it to hear the shouts of approval andlaughter that greeted my performance. It was cold work standing about, so that the crowd was quite ready to respond when Punch, after beingduly hanged, came forward and invited all into the booth for the hotcoffee which Judy had ordered. 

In they trooped, and Quatre Bras was won. 

No sooner were the miners safely engaged with their coffee than I hearda great noise of bells and of men shouting; and on reaching the streetI saw that the men from the lumber camp were coming in. Two immensesleighs, decorated with ribbons and spruce boughs, each drawn by afour-horse team gaily adorned, filled with some fifty men, singing andshouting with all their might, were coming down the hill road at fullgallop. Round the corner they swung, dashed at full speed across thebridge and down the street, and pulled up after they had made thecircuit of a block, to the great admiration of the onlookers. Amongothers Slavin sauntered up good-naturedly, making himself agreeable toSandy and those who were helping to unhitch his team. 

'Oh, you need not take trouble with me or my team, Mike Slavin. Batcheesand me and the boys can look after them fine, ' said Sandy coolly. 

This rejecting of hospitality was perfectly understood by Slavin and byall. 

'Dat's too bad, heh?' said Baptiste wickedly; 'and, Sandy, he's gotgood money on his pocket for sure, too. ' The boys laughed, and Slavin, joining in, turned away with Keele and Blaney; but by the look in hiseye I knew he was playing 'Br'er Rabbit, ' and lying low. 

Mr. Craig just then came up, 'Hello, boys! too late for Punch and Judy, but just in time for hot coffee and doughnuts. '

'Bon; dat's fuss rate, ' said Baptiste heartily; 'where you keep him?'

'Up in the tent next the church there. The miners are all in. '

'Ah, dat so? Dat's bad news for the shantymen, heh, Sandy?' said thelittle Frenchman dolefully. 

'There was a clothes-basket full of doughnuts and a boiler of coffeeleft as I passed just now, ' said Craig encouragingly. 

'Allons, mes garcons; vite! never say keel!' cried Baptiste excitedly, stripping off the harness. 

But Sandy would not leave the horses till they were carefully rubbeddown, blanketed, and fed, for he was entered for the four-horse raceand it behoved him to do his best to win. Besides, he scorned to hurryhimself for anything so unimportant as eating; that he considered hardlyworthy even of Baptiste. Mr. Craig managed to get a word with him beforehe went off, and I saw Sandy solemnly and emphatically shake his head, saying, 'Ah! we'll beat him this day, ' and I gathered that he was addedto the vigilance committee. 

Old man Nelson was busy with his own team. He turned slowly at Mr. Craig's greeting, 'How is it, Nelson?' and it was with a very gravevoice he answered, 'I hardly know, sir; but I am not gone yet, though itseems little to hold to. '

'All you want for a grip is what your hand can cover. What would youhave? And besides, do you know why you are not gone yet?'

The old man waited, looking at the minister gravely. 

'Because He hasn't let go His grip of you. '

'How do you know He's gripped me?'

'Now, look here, Nelson, do you want to quit this thing and give it allup?'

'No, no! For heaven's sake, no! Why, do you think I have lost it?' saidNelson, almost piteously. 

'Well, He's keener about it than you; and I'll bet you haven't thoughtit worth while to thank Him. '

'To thank Him, ' he repeated, almost stupidly, 'for--'

'For keeping you where you are overnight, ' said Mr. Craig, almoststernly. 

The old man gazed at the minister, a light growing in his eyes. 

'You're right. Thank God, you're right. ' And then he turned quicklyaway, and went into the stable behind his team. It was a minute beforehe came out. Over his face there was a trembling joy. 

'Can I do anything for you to-day?' he asked humbly. 

'Indeed you just can, ' said the minister, taking his hand and shaking itvery warmly; and then he told him Slavin's programme and ours. 

'Sandy is all right till after his race. After that is his time ofdanger, ' said the minister. 

'I'll stay with him, sir, ' said old Nelson, in the tone of a man takinga covenant, and immediately set off for the coffee-tent. 

'Here comes another recruit for your corps, ' I said, pointing to LeslieGraeme, who was coming down the street at that moment in his lightsleigh. 

'I am not so sure. Do you think you could get him?'

I laughed. 'You are a good one. '

'Well, ' he replied, half defiantly, 'is not this your fight too?'

'You make me think so, though I am bound to say I hardly recognisemyself to day. But here goes, ' and before I knew it I was describingour plans to Graeme, growing more and more enthusiastic as he sat in hissleigh, listening with a quizzical smile I didn't quite like. 

'He's got you too, ' he said; 'I feared so. '

'Well, ' I laughed, 'perhaps so. But I want to lick that man Slavin. I'vejust seen him, and he's just what Craig calls him, "a slick son of thedevil. " Don't be shocked; he says it is Scripture. '

'Revised version, ' said Graeme gravely, while Craig looked a littleabashed. 

'What is assigned me, Mr. Craig? for I know that this man is simply youragent. '

I repudiated the idea, while Mr. Craig said nothing. 

'What's my part?' demanded Graeme. 

'Well, ' said Mr. Craig hesitatingly, 'of course I would do nothing tillI had consulted you; but I want a man to take my place at the sports. Iam referee. '

'That's all right, ' said Graeme, with an air of relief; 'I expectedsomething hard. '

'And then I thought you would not mind presiding at dinner--I want it togo off well. '

'Did you notice that?' said Graeme to me. 'Not a bad touch, eh?'

'That's nothing to the way he touched me. Wait and learn, ' I answered, while Craig looked quite distressed. 'He'll do it, Mr. Craig, neverfear, ' I said, 'and any other little duty that may occur to you. '

'Now that's too bad of you. That is all I want, honour bright, ' hereplied; adding, as he turned away, 'you are just in time for a cup ofcoffee, Mr. Graeme. Now I must see Mrs. Mavor. '

'Who is Mrs. Mavor?' I demanded of Graeme. 

'Mrs. Mavor? The miners' guardian angel. '

We put up the horses and set off for coffee. As we approached thebooth Graeme caught sight of the Punch and Judy show, stood still inamazement, and exclaimed, 'Can the dead live?'

'Punch and Judy never die, ' I replied solemnly. 

'But the old manipulator is dead enough, poor old beggar!'

'But he left his mantle, as you see. '

He looked at me a moment

'What! do you mean, you--?'

'Yes, that is exactly what I do mean. '

'He is great man, that Craig fellow--a truly great man. '

And then he leaned up against a tree and laughed till the tears came. 'I say, old boy, don't mind me, ' he gasped, 'but do you remember the old'Varsity show?'

'Yes, you villain; and I remember your part in it. I wonder how you can, even at this remote date, laugh at it. ' For I had a vivid recollectionof how, after a 'chaste and highly artistic performance of thismediaeval play' had been given before a distinguished Toronto audience, the trap door by which I had entered my box was fastened, and I was leftto swelter in my cage, and forced to listen to the suffocated laughterfrom the wings and the stage whispers of 'Hello, Mr. Punch, where's thebaby?' And for many a day after I was subjected to anxious inquiries asto the locality and health of 'the baby, ' and whether it was able to beout. 

'Oh, the dear old days!' he kept saying, over and over, in a tone sofull of sadness that my heart grew sore for him and I forgave him, asmany a time before. 

The sports passed off in typical Western style. In addition to the usualrunning and leaping contests, there was rifle and pistol shooting, inboth of which old man Nelson stood first, with Shaw, foreman of themines, second. 

The great event of the day, however, was to be the four-horse race, for which three teams were entered--one from the mines driven by Nixon, Craig's friend, a citizens' team, and Sandy's. The race was reallybetween the miners' team, and that from the woods, for the citizens'team, though made up of speedy horses, had not been driven muchtogether, and knew neither their driver nor each other. In the miners'team were four bays, very powerful, a trifle heavy perhaps, but wellmatched, perfectly trained, and perfectly handled by their driver. Sandyhad his long rangy roans, and for leaders a pair of half-brokenpinto bronchos. The pintos, caught the summer before upon the Albertaprairies, were fleet as deer, but wicked and uncertain. They wereBaptiste's special care and pride. If they would only run straightthere was little doubt that they would carry the roans and themselves toglory; but one could not tell the moment they might bolt or kick thingsto pieces. 

Being the only non-partisan in the crowd I was asked to referee. Therace was about half a mile and return, the first and last quarters beingupon the ice. The course, after leaving the ice, led up from the riverby a long easy slope to the level above; and at the further end curvedsomewhat sharply round the Old Fort. The only condition attaching to therace was that the teams should start from the scratch, make the turn ofthe Fort, and finish at the scratch. There were no vexing regulations asto fouls. The man making the foul would find it necessary to reckonwith the crowd, which was considered sufficient guarantee for a fair andsquare race. Owing to the hazards of the course, the result would dependupon the skill of the drivers quite as much as upon the speed of theteams. The points of hazard were at the turn round the Old Fort, and ata little ravine which led down to the river, over which the road passedby means of a long log bridge or causeway. 

From a point upon the high bank of the river the whole course lay inopen view. It was a scene full of life and vividly picturesque. Therewere miners in dark clothes and peak caps; citizens in ordinary garb;ranchmen in wide cowboy hats and buckskin shirts and leggings, somewith cartridge-belts and pistols; a few half-breeds and Indians inhalf-native, half-civilised dress; and scattering through the crowd thelumbermen with gay scarlet and blue blanket coats, and some with knittedtuques of the same colours. A very good-natured but extremely uncertaincrowd it was. At the head of each horse stood a man, but at the pintos'heads Baptiste stood alone, trying to hold down the off leader, throwninto a frenzy of fear by the yelling of the crowd. 

Gradually all became quiet, till, in the midst of absolute stillness, came the words, 'Are you ready?', then the pistol-shot and the greatrace had begun. Above the roar of the crowd came the shrill cry ofBaptiste, as he struck his broncho with the palm of his hand, and swunghimself into the sleigh beside Sandy, as it shot past. 

Like a flash the bronchos sprang to the front, two lengths before theother teams; but, terrified by the yelling of the crowd, instead ofbending to the left bank up which the road wound, they wheeled to theright and were almost across the river before Sandy could swing themback into the course. 

Baptiste's cries, a curious mixture of French and English, continued tostrike through all other sounds till they gained the top of the slopeto find the others almost a hundred yards in front, the citizens' teamleading, with the miners' following close. The moment the pintos caughtsight of the teams before them they set off at a terrific pace andsteadily devoured the intervening space. Nearer and nearer the turncame, the eight horses in front, running straight and well within theirspeed. After them flew the pintos, running savagely with ears set back, leading well the big roans, thundering along and gaining at every bound. And now the citizens' team had almost reached the Fort, running hard, and drawing away from the bays. But Nixon knew what he was about, andwas simply steadying his team for the turn. The event proved his wisdom, for in the turn the leading team left the track, lost a moment or two inthe deep snow, and before they could regain the road the bays had sweptsuperbly past, leaving their rivals to follow in the rear. On came thepintos, swiftly nearing the Fort. Surely at that pace they cannot makethe turn. But Sandy knows his leaders. They have their eyes upon theteams in front, and need no touch of rein. Without the slightest changein speed the nimble-footed bronchos round the turn, hauling the bigroans after them, and fall in behind the citizens' team, which isregaining steadily the ground lost in the turn. 

And now the struggle is for the bridge over the ravine. The bays infront, running with mouths wide open, are evidently doing their best;behind them, and every moment nearing them, but at the limit of theirspeed too, come the lighter and fleeter citizens' team; while oppositetheir driver are the pintos, pulling hard, eager and fresh. Their temperis too uncertain to send them to the front; they run well following, butwhen leading cannot be trusted, and besides, a broncho hates a bridge;so Sandy holds them where they are, waiting and hoping for his chanceafter the bridge is crossed. Foot by foot the citizens' team creepup upon the flank of the bays, with the pintos in turn hugging themclosely, till it seems as if the three, if none slackens, must strikethe bridge together; and this will mean destruction to one at least. This danger Sandy perceives, but he dare not check his leaders. Suddenly, within a few yards of the bridge, Baptiste throws himself uponthe lines, wrenches them out of Sandy's hands, and, with a quick swing, faces the pintos down the steep side of the ravine, which is almostsheer ice with a thin coat of snow. It is a daring course to take, forthe ravine, though not deep, is full of undergrowth, and is partiallyclosed up by a brush heap at the further end. But, with a yell, Baptistehurls his four horses down the slope, and into the undergrowth. 'Allons, mes enfants! Courage! vite, vite!' cries their driver, and nobly do thepintos respond. Regardless of bushes and brush heaps, they tear theirway through; but, as they emerge, the hind bob-sleigh catches a root, and, with a crash, the sleigh is hurled high in the air. Baptiste'scries ring out high and shrill as ever, encouraging his team, and nevercease till, with a plunge and a scramble, they clear the brush heaplying at the mouth of the ravine, and are out on the ice on the river, with Baptiste standing on the front bob, the box trailing behind, andSandy nowhere to be seen. 

Three hundred yards of the course remain. The bays, perfectly handled, have gained at the bridge and in the descent to the ice, and are leadingthe citizens' team by half a dozen sleigh lengths. Behind both comesBaptiste. It is now or never for the pintos. The rattle of the trailingbox, together with the wild yelling of the crowd rushing down the bank, excites the bronchos to madness, and, taking the bits in their teeth, they do their first free running that day. Past the citizens' team likea whirlwind they dash, clear the intervening space, and gain the flanksof the bays. Can the bays hold them? Over them leans their driver, plying for the first time the hissing lash. Only fifty yards more. Theminers begin to yell. But Baptiste, waving his lines high in one handseizes his tuque with the other, whirls it about his head and flings itwith a fiercer yell than ever at the bronchos. Like the bursting of ahurricane the pintos leap forward, and with a splendid rush cross thescratch, winners by their own length. 

There was a wild quarter of an hour. The shantymen had torn off theircoats and were waving them wildly and tossing them high, while theranchers added to the uproar by emptying their revolvers into the air ina way that made one nervous. 

When the crowd was somewhat quieted Sandy's stiff figure appeared, slowly making towards them. A dozen lumbermen ran to him, eagerlyinquiring if he were hurt. But Sandy could only curse the littleFrenchman for losing the race. 

'Lost! Why, man, we've won it!' shouted a voice, at which Sandy's ragevanished, and he allowed himself to be carried in upon the shoulders ofhis admirers. 

'Where's the lad?' was his first question. 

The bronchos are off with him. He's down at the rapids like enough. '

'Let me go, ' shouted Sandy, setting off at a run in the track of thesleigh. He had not gone far before he met Baptiste coming back with histeam foaming, the roans going quietly, but the bronchos dancing, andeager to be at it again. 

'Voila! bully boy! tank the bon Dieu, Sandy; you not keel, heh? Ah!you are one grand chevalier, ' exclaimed Baptiste, hauling Sandy in andthrusting the lines into his hands. And so they came back, the sleighbox still dragging behind, the pintos executing fantastic figures ontheir hind legs, and Sandy holding them down. The little Frenchmanstruck a dramatic attitude and called out--

'Voila! What's the matter wiz Sandy, heh?'

The roar that answered set the bronchos off again plunging and kicking, and only when Baptiste got them by the heads could they be induced tostand long enough to allow Sandy to be proclaimed winner of the race. Several of the lumbermen sprang into the sleigh box with Sandy andBaptiste, among them Keefe, followed by Nelson, and the first part ofthe great day was over. Slavin could not understand the new orderof things. That a great event like the four-horse race should notbe followed by 'drinks all round' was to him at once disgusting andincomprehensible; and, realising his defeat for the moment, he fell intothe crowd and disappeared. But he left behind him his 'runners. ' He hadnot yet thrown up the game. 

Mr. Craig meantime came to me, and, looking anxiously after Sandy inhis sleigh, with his frantic crowd of yelling admirers, said in a gloomyvoice, 'Poor Sandy! He is easily caught, and Keefe has the devil'scunning. '

'He won't touch Slavin's whisky to-day, ' I answered confidently. 

'There'll be twenty bottles waiting him in the stable, ' he repliedbitterly, 'and I can't go following him up. '

'He won't stand that, no man would. God help us all. ' I could hardlyrecognise myself, for I found in my heart an earnest echo to that prayeras I watched him go toward the crowd again, his face set in strongdetermination. He looked like the captain of a forlorn hope, and I wasproud to be following him. 

CHAPTER III

WATERLOO. OUR FIGHT--HIS VICTORY

The sports were over, and there remained still an hour to be filledin before dinner. It was an hour full of danger to Craig's hopes ofvictory, for the men were wild with excitement, and ready for the mostreckless means of 'slinging their dust. ' I could not but admire theskill with which Mr. Craig caught their attention. 

'Gentlemen, ' he called out, 'we've forgotten the judge of the greatrace. Three cheers for Mr. Connor!'

Two of the shantymen picked me up and hoisted me on their shoulderswhile the cheers were given. 

'Announce the Punch and Judy, ' he entreated me, in a low voice. I did soin a little speech, and was forthwith borne aloft, through the street tothe booth, followed by the whole crowd, cheering like mad. 

The excitement of the crowd caught me, and for an hour I squeaked andworked the wires of the immortal and unhappy family in a manner hithertounapproached by me at least. I was glad enough when Graeme came to tellme to send the men in to dinner. This Mr. Punch did in the mostgracious manner, and again with cheers for Punch's master they troopedtumultuously into the tent. 

We had only well begun when Baptiste came in quietly but hurriedly andwhispered to me--

'M'sieu Craig, he's gone to Slavin's, and would lak you and M'sieuGraeme would follow queek. Sandy he's take one leel drink up at destable, and he's go mad lak one diable. '

I sent him for Graeme, who was presiding at dinner, and set off forSlavin's at a run. There I found Mr. Craig and Nelson holding Sandy, more than half drunk, back from Slavin, who, stripped to the shirt, wascoolly waiting with a taunting smile. 

'Let me go, Mr. Craig, ' Sandy was saying, 'I am a good Presbyterian. Heis a Papist thief; and he has my money; and I will have it out of thesoul of him. '

'Let him go, preacher, ' sneered Slavin, 'I'll cool him off for yez. Butye'd better hold him if yez wants his mug left on to him. '

'Let him go!' Keefe was shouting. 

'Hands off!' Blaney was echoing. 

I pushed my way in. 'What's up?' I cried. 

'Mr. Connor, ' said Sandy solemnly, 'it is a gentleman you are, thoughyour name is against you, and I am a good Presbyterian, and I can giveyou the Commandments and Reasons annexed to them; but yon's a thief, aPapist thief, and I am justified in getting my money out of his soul. '

'But, ' I remonstrated, 'you won't get it in this way. '

'He has my money, ' reiterated Sandy. 

'He is a blank liar, and he's afraid to take it up, ' said Slavin, in alow, cool tone. 

With a roar Sandy broke away and rushed at him; but, without movingfrom his tracks, Slavin met him with a straight left-hander and laid himflat. 

'Hooray, ' yelled Blaney, 'Ireland for ever!' and, seizing the ironpoker, swung it around his head, crying, 'Back, or, by the holy Moses, I'll kill the first man that interferes wid the game. '

'Give it to him!' Keefe said savagely. 

Sandy rose slowly, gazing round stupidly. 

'He don't know what hit him, ' laughed Keefe. 

This roused the Highlander, and saying, 'I'll settle you afterwards, Mister Keefe, ' he rushed in again at Slavin. Again Slavin met him againwith his left, staggered him, and, before he fell, took a step forwardand delivered a terrific right-hand blow on his jaw. Poor Sandy wentdown in a heap amid the yells of Blaney, Keefe, and some others of thegang. I was in despair when in came Baptiste and Graeme. 

One look at Sandy, and Baptiste tore off his coat and cap, slammed themon the floor, danced on them, and with a long-drawn 'sap-r-r-r-rie, 'rushed at Slavin. But Graeme caught him by the back of the neck, saying, 'Hold on, little man, ' and turning to Slavin, pointed to Sandy, who wasreviving under Nelson's care, and said, 'What's this for?'

'Ask him, ' said Slavin insolently. 'He knows. '

'What is it, Nelson?'

Nelson explained that Sandy, after drinking some at the stable and aglass at the Black Rock Hotel, had come down here with Keefe and theothers, had lost his money, and was accusing Slavin of robbing him. 

'Did you furnish him with liquor?' said Graeme sternly. 

'It is none of your business, ' replied Slavin, with an oath. 

'I shall make it my business. It is not the first time my men have lostmoney in this saloon. '

'You lie, ' said Slavin, with deliberate emphasis. 

'Slavin, ' said Graeme quietly, 'it's a pity you said that, because, unless you apologise in one minute, I shall make you sorry. '

'Apologise?' roared Slavin, 'apologise to you?' calling him a vile name. 

Graeme grew white, and said even more slowly, 'Now you'll have to takeit; no apology will do. '

He slowly stripped off coat and vest. Mr. Craig interposed, beggingGraeme to let the matter pass. 'Surely he is not worth it. '

'Mr. Craig, ' said Graeme, with an easy smile, 'you don't understand. Noman can call me that name and walk around afterwards feeling well. '

Then, turning to Slavin, he said, 'Now, if you want a minute's rest, Ican wait. '

Slavin, with a curse, bade him come. 

'Blaney, ' said Graeme sharply, 'you get back. ' Blaney promptly steppedback to Keefe's side. 'Nelson, you and Baptiste can see that they staythere. ' The old man nodded and looked at Craig, who simply said, 'Do thebest you can. '

It was a good fight. Slavin had plenty of pluck, and for a time forcedthe fighting, Graeme guarding easily and tapping him aggravatingly aboutthe nose and eyes, drawing blood, but not disabling him. Gradually therecame a look of fear into Slavin's eyes, and the beads stood upon hisface. He had met his master. 

'Now, Slavin, you're beginning to be sorry; and now I am going to showyou what you are made of. ' Graeme made one or two lightning passes, struck Slavin one, two, three terrific blows, and laid him quite flatand senseless. Keefe and Blaney both sprang forward, but there was asavage kind of growl. 

'Hold, there!' It was old man Nelson looking along a pistol barrel. 'Youknow me, Keefe, ' he said. 'You won't do any murder this time. '

Keefe turned green and yellow, and staggered back, while Slavin slowlyrose to his feet. 

'Will you take some more?' said Graeme. 'You haven't got much; but mindI have stopped playing with you. Put up your gun, Nelson. No one willinterfere now. '

Slavin hesitated, then rushed, but Graeme stepped to meet him, andwe saw Slavin's heels in the air as he fell back upon his neck andshoulders and lay still, with his toes quivering. 

'Bon!' yelled Baptiste. 'Bully boy! Dat's de bon stuff. Dat's larn himone good lesson. ' But immediately he shrieked, Gar-r-r-r-e a vous!'

He was too late, for there was a crash of breaking glass, and Graemefell to the floor with a long deep cut on the side of his head. Keefehad hurled a bottle with all too sure an aim, and had fled. I thoughthe was dead; but we carried him out, and in a few minutes he groaned, opened his eyes, and sank again into insensibility. 

'Where can we take him?' I cried. 

'To my shack, ' said Mr. Craig. 

'Is there no place nearer?'

'Yes; Mrs. Mavor's. I shall run on to tell her. '

She met us at the door. I had in mind to say some words of apology, butwhen I looked upon her face I forgot my words, forgot my business at herdoor, and stood simply looking. 

'Come in! Bring him in! Please do not wait, ' she said, and her voice wassweet and soft and firm. 

We laid him in a large room at the back of the shop over which Mrs. Mavor lived. Together we dressed the wound, her firm white fingers, skilful as if with long training. Before the dressing was finishedI sent Craig off, for the time had come for the Magic Lantern in thechurch, and I knew how critical the moment was in our fight. 'Go, ' Isaid; 'he is coming to, and we do not need you. '

In a few moments more Graeme revived, and, gazing about, asked, 'What's, all this about?' and then, recollecting, 'Ah! that brute Keefe'; thenseeing my anxious face he said carelessly, 'Awful bore, ain't it? Sorryto trouble you, old fellow. '

'You be hanged!' I said shortly; for his old sweet smile was playingabout his lips, and was almost too much for me. 'Mrs. Mavor and I are incommand, and you must keep perfectly still. '

'Mrs. Mavor?' he said, in surprise. She came forward, with a slightflush on her face. 

'I think you know me, Mr. Graeme. '

'I have often seen you, and wished to know you. I am sorry to bring youthis trouble. '

'You must not say so, ' she replied, 'but let me do all for you that Ican. And now the doctor says you are to lie still. '

'The doctor? Oh! you mean Connor. He is hardly there yet. You don't knoweach other. Permit me to present Mr. Connor, Mrs. Mavor. '

As she bowed slightly, her eyes looked into mine with serious gaze, notinquiring, yet searching my soul. As I looked into her eyes I forgoteverything about me, and when I recalled myself it seemed as if Ihad been away in some far place. It was not their colour or theirbrightness; I do not yet know their colour, and I have often looked intothem; and they were not bright; but they were clear, and one could lookfar down into them, and in their depths see a glowing, steady light. As I went to get some drugs from the Black Rock doctor, I found myselfwondering about that far-down light; and about her voice, how it couldget that sound from far away. 

I found the doctor quite drunk, as indeed Mr. Craig had warned; but hisdrugs were good, and I got what I wanted and quickly returned. 

While Graeme slept Mrs. Mavor made me tea. As the evening wore on I toldher the events of the day, dwelling admiringly upon Craig's generalship. She smiled at this. 

'He got me too, ' she said. 'Nixon was sent to me just before the sports;and I don't think he will break down to-day, and I am so thankful. ' Andher eyes glowed. 

'I am quite sure he won't, ' I thought to myself, but I said no word. 

After a long pause, she went on, 'I have promised Mr. Craig to singto-night, if I am needed!' and then, after a moment's hesitation, 'Itis two years since I have been able to sing--two years, ' she repeated, 'since'--and then her brave voice trembled--'my husband was killed. '

'I quite understand, ' I said, having no other word on my tongue

'And, ' she went on quietly, 'I fear I have been selfish. It is hard tosing the same songs. We were very happy. But the miners like to hear mesing, and I think perhaps it helps them to feel less lonely, and keepsthem from evil. I shall try to-night, if I am needed. Mr. Craig will notask me unless he must. '

I would have seen every miner and lumberman in the place hideously drunkbefore I would have asked her to sing one song while her heart ached. Iwondered at Craig, and said, rather angrily--

'He thinks only of those wretched miners and shantymen of his. '

She looked at me with wonder in her eyes, and said gently, 'And are theynot Christ's too?'

And I found no word to reply. 

It was nearing ten o'clock, and I was wondering how the fight was going, and hoping that Mrs. Mavor would not be needed, when the door opened, and old man Nelson and Sandy, the latter much battered and ashamed, camein with the word for Mrs. Mavor. 

'I will come, ' she said simply. She saw me preparing to accompany her, and asked, 'Do you think you can leave him?'

'He will do quite well in Nelson's care. '

'Then I am glad; for I must take my little one with me. I did not puther to bed in case I should need to go, and I may not leave her. '

We entered the church by the back door, and saw at once that even yetthe battle might easily be lost. 

Some miners had just come from Slavin's, evidently bent on breaking upthe meeting, in revenge for the collapse of the dance, which Slavinwas unable to enjoy, much less direct. Craig was gallantly holding hisground, finding it hard work to keep his men in good humour, and soprevent a fight, for there were cries of 'Put him out! Put the beastout!' at a miner half drunk and wholly outrageous. 

The look of relief that came over his face when Craig caught sight of ustold how anxious he had been, and reconciled me to Mrs. Mavor's singing. 'Thank the good God, ' he said, with what came near being a sob, 'I wasabout to despair. '

He immediately walked to the front and called out--

'Gentlemen, if you wish it, Mrs. Mavor will sing. '

There was a dead silence. Some one began to applaud, but a miner saidsavagely, 'Stop that, you fool!'

There was a few moments' delay, when from the crowd a voice called out, 'Does Mrs. Mavor wish to sing?' followed by cries of 'Ay, that's it. 'Then Shaw, the foreman at the mines, stood up in the audience and said--

'Mr. Craig and gentlemen, you know that three years ago I was known as"Old Ricketts, " and that I owe all I am to-night, under God, to Mrs. Mavor, and'--with a little quiver in his voice--'her baby. And we allknow that for two years she has not sung; and we all know why. And whatI say is, that if she does not feel like singing to-night, she is notgoing to sing to keep any drunken brute of Slavin's crowd quiet. '

There were deep growls of approval all over the church. I could havehugged Shaw then and there. Mr. Craig went to Mrs. Mavor, and after aword with her came back and said--

'Mrs. Mavor, wishes me to thank her dear friend Mr. Shaw, but says shewould like to sing. '

The response was perfect stillness. Mr. Craig sat down to the organand played the opening bars of the touching melody, 'Oft in the StillyNight. ' Mrs. Mavor came to the front, and, with a smile of exquisitesweetness upon her sad face, and looking straight at us with herglorious eyes, began to sing. 

Her voice, a rich soprano, even and true, rose and fell, now soft, nowstrong, but always filling the building, pouring around us floods ofmusic. I had heard Patti's 'Home, sweet Home, ' and of all singing thatalone affected me as did this. 

At the end of the first verse the few women in the church and some menwere weeping quietly; but when she began the words--

 'When I remember all The friends once linked together, '

sobs came on every side from these tender-hearted fellows, and Shawquite lost his grip. But she sang steadily on, the tone clearer andsweeter and fuller at every note, and when the sound of her voice diedaway, she stood looking at the men as if in wonder that they shouldweep. No one moved. Mr. Craig played softly on, and, wandering throughmany variations, arrived at last at

 'Jesus, lover of my soul. '

As she sang the appealing words, her face was lifted up, and she sawnone of us; but she must have seen some one, for the cry in her voicecould only come from one who could see and feel help close at hand. Onand on went the glorious voice, searching my soul's depths; but when shecame to the words--

 'Thou, O Christ, art all I want, '

she stretched up her arms--she had quite forgotten us, her voice hadborne her to other worlds--and sang with such a passion of 'abandon'that my soul was ready to surrender anything, everything. 

Again Mr. Craig wandered on through his changing chords till again hecame to familiar ground, and the voice began, in low, thrilling tones, Bernard's great song of home--

 'Jerusalem the golden. '

Every word, with all its weight of meaning, came winging to our souls, till we found ourselves gazing afar into those stately halls of Zion, with their daylight serene and their jubilant throngs. When the singercame to the last verse there was a pause. Again Mr. Craig softly playedthe interlude, but still there was no voice. I looked up. She was verywhite, and her eyes were glowing with their deep light. Mr. Craig lookedquickly about, saw her, stopped, and half rose, as if to go to her, when, in a voice that seemed to come from a far-off land, she went on--

 'O sweet and blessed country!'

The longing, the yearning, in the second 'O' were indescribable. Againand again, as she held that word, and then dropped down with the cadencein the music, my heart ached for I knew not what. 

The audience were sitting as in a trance. The grimy faces of the miners, for they never get quite white, were furrowed with the tear-courses. Shaw, by this time, had his face too lifted high, his eyes gazing farabove the singer's head, and I knew by the rapture in his face that hewas seeing, as she saw, the thronging stately halls and the white-robedconquerors. He had felt, and was still feeling, all the stress ofthe fight, and to him the vision of the conquerors in their glory wassoul-drawing and soul-stirring. And Nixon, too--he had his vision; butwhat he saw was the face of the singer, with the shining eyes, and, bythe look of him, that was vision enough. 

Immediately after her last note Mrs. Mavor stretched out her hands toher little girl, who was sitting on my knee, caught her up, and, holdingher close to her breast, walked quickly behind the curtain. Not a soundfollowed the singing: no one moved till she had disappeared; and thenMr. Craig came to the front, and, motioning to me to follow Mrs. Mavor, began in a low, distinct voice--

'Gentlemen, it was not easy for Mrs. Mavor to sing for us, and youknow she sang because she is a miner's wife, and her heart is with theminers. But she sang, too, because her heart is His who came to earththis day so many years ago to save us all; and she would make you loveHim too. For in loving Him you are saved from all base loves, and youknow what I mean. 

'And before we say good-night, men, I want to know if the time is notcome when all of you who mean to be better than you are should join inputting from us this thing that has brought sorrow and shame to us andto those we love? You know what I mean. Some of you are strong; will youstand by and see weaker men robbed of the money they save for those faraway, and robbed of the manhood that no money can buy or restore?

'Will the strong men help? Shall we all join hands in this? What do yousay? In this town we have often seen hell, and just a moment ago we wereall looking into heaven, "the sweet and blessed country. " O men!' andhis voice rang in an agony through the building--'O men! which shall beours? For Heaven's dear sake, let us help one another! Who will?'

I was looking out through a slit in the curtain. The men, alreadywrought to intense feeling by the music, were listening with set facesand gleaming eyes, and as at the appeal 'Who will?' Craig raised highhis hand, Shaw, Nixon, and a hundred men sprang to their feet and heldhigh their hands. 

I have witnessed some thrilling scenes in my life, but never anythingto equal that: the one man on the platform standing at full height, with his hand thrown up to heaven, and the hundred men below standingstraight, with arms up at full length, silent, and almost motionless. 

For a moment Craig held them so; and again his voice rang out, louder, sterner than before--

'All who mean it, say, "By God's help I will. "' And back from a hundredthroats came deep and strong the words, 'By God's help, I will. '

At this point Mrs. Mavor, whom I had quite forgotten, put her hand onmy arm. 'Go and tell him, ' she panted, 'I want them to come on Thursdaynight, as they used to in the other days--go--quick, ' and she almostpushed me out. I gave Craig her message. He held up his hand forsilence. 

'Mrs. Mavor wishes me to say that she will be glad to see you all, as inthe old days, on Thursday evening; and I can think of no better place togive formal expression to our pledge of this night'

There was a shout of acceptance; and then, at some one's call, the longpent-up feelings of the crowd found vent in three mighty cheers for Mrs. Mavor. 

'Now for our old hymn, ' called out Mr. Craig, 'and Mrs. Mavor will leadus. '

He sat down at the organ, played a few bars of 'The Sweet By and By, 'and then Mrs. Mavor began. But not a soul joined till the refrain wasreached, and then they sang as only men with their hearts on fire cansing. But after the last refrain Mr. Craig made a sign to Mrs. Mavor, and she sang alone, slowly and softly, and with eyes looking far away--

 'In the sweet by and by, We shall meet on that beautiful shore. '

There was no benediction--there seemed no need; and the men went quietlyout. But over and over again the voice kept singing in my ears and inmy heart, 'We shall meet on that beautiful shore. ' And after thesleigh-loads of men had gone and left the street empty, as I stood withCraig in the radiant moonlight that made the great mountains aboutcome near us, from Sandy's sleigh we heard in the distance Baptiste'sFrench-English song; but the song that floated down with the sound ofthe bells from the miners' sleigh was--

 'We shall meet on that beautiful shore. '

'Poor old Shaw!' said Craig softly. 

When the last sound had died away I turned to him and said--

 'You have won your fight. '

'We have won our fight; I was beaten, ' he replied quickly, offeringme his hand. Then, taking off his cap, and looking up beyond themountain-tops and the silent stars, he added softly, 'Our fight, but Hisvictory. '

And, thinking it all over, I could not say but perhaps he was right. 

CHAPTER IV

MRS. MAVOR'S STORY

The days that followed the Black Rock Christmas were anxious days andweary, but not for the brightest of my life would I change them now;for, as after the burning heat or rocking storm the dying day liesbeautiful in the tender glow of the evening, so these days have losttheir weariness and lie bathed in a misty glory. The years that bring usmany ills, and that pass so stormfully over us, bear away with them theugliness, the weariness, the pain that are theirs, but the beauty, thesweetness, the rest they leave untouched, for these are eternal. Asthe mountains, that near at hand stand jagged and scarred, in the fardistance repose in their soft robes of purple haze, so the rough presentfades into the past, soft and sweet and beautiful. 

I have set myself to recall the pain and anxiety of those days andnights when we waited in fear for the turn of the fever, but I can onlythink of the patience and gentleness and courage of her who stood besideme, bearing more than half my burden. And while I can see the faceof Leslie Graeme, ghastly or flushed, and hear his low moaning or thebroken words of his delirium, I think chiefly of the bright face bendingover him, and of the cool, firm, swift-moving hands that soothed andsmoothed and rested, and the voice, like the soft song of a bird in thetwilight, that never failed to bring peace. 

Mrs. Mavor and I were much together during those days. I made my homein Mr. Craig's shack, but most of my time was spent beside my friend. Wedid not see much of Craig, for he was heart-deep with the miners, layingplans for the making of the League the following Thursday; and though heshared our anxiety and was ever ready to relieve us, his thought and histalk had mostly to do with the League. 

Mrs. Mavor's evenings were given to the miners, but her afternoonsmostly to Graeme and to me, and then it was I saw another side of hercharacter. We would sit in her little dining-room, where the pictures onthe walls, the quaint old silver, and bits of curiously cut glass, allspoke of other and different days, and thence we would roam the worldof literature and art. Keenly sensitive to all the good and beautiful inthese, she had her favourites among the masters, for whom she was readyto do battle; and when her argument, instinct with fancy and vividimagination, failed, she swept away all opposing opinion with the swiftrush of her enthusiasm; so that, though I felt she was beaten, I wasleft without words to reply. Shakespeare and Tennyson and Burns sheloved, but not Shelley, nor Byron, nor even Wordsworth. Browning sheknew not, and therefore could not rank him with her noblest three; butwhen I read to her 'A Death in the Desert, ' and, came to the noble wordsat the end of the tale--

 'For all was as I say, and now the man Lies as he once lay, breast to breast with God, '

the light shone in her eyes, and she said, 'Oh, that is good and great;I shall get much out of him; I had always feared he was impossible. 'And 'Paracelsus, ' too, stirred her; but when I recited the thrillingfragment, 'Prospice, ' on to that closing rapturous cry--

 'Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest!'--

the red colour faded from her cheek, her breath came in a sob, and sherose quickly and passed out without a word. Ever after, Browning wasamong her gods. But when we talked of music, she, adoring Wagner, soared upon the wings of the mighty Tannhauser, far above, into regionsunknown, leaving me to walk soberly with Beethoven and Mendelssohn. Yet with all our free, frank talk, there was all the while that in hergentle courtesy which kept me from venturing into any chamber of herlife whose door she did not set freely open to me. So I vexed myselfabout her, and when Mr. Craig returned the next week from the Landingwhere he had been for some days, my first question was--

'Who is Mrs. Mavor? And how in the name of all that is wonderful andunlikely does she come to be here? And why does she stay?'

He would not answer then; whether it was that his mind was full of thecoming struggle, or whether he shrank from the tale, I know not; butthat night, when we sat together beside his fire, he told me the story, while I smoked. He was worn with his long, hard drive, and with theburden of his work, but as he went on with his tale, looking into thefire as he told it, he forgot all his present weariness and lived againthe scenes he painted for me. This was his story:--

'I remember well my first sight of her, as she sprang from the frontseat of the stage to the ground, hardly touching her husband's hand. Shelooked a mere girl. Let's see--five years ago--she couldn't have been aday over twenty three. She looked barely twenty. Her swift glance sweptover the group of miners at the hotel door, and then rested on themountains standing in all their autumn glory. 

'I was proud of our mountains that evening. Turning to her husband, sheexclaimed: "O Lewis, are they not grand? and lovely, too?" Every minerlost his heart then and there, but all waited for Abe the driver to givehis verdict before venturing an opinion. Abe said nothing until he hadtaken a preliminary drink, and then, calling all hands to fill up, helifted his glass high, and said solemnly--

'"Boys, here's to her. "

'Like a flash every glass was emptied, and Abe called out, "Fill her upagain, boys! My treat!"

'He was evidently quite worked up. Then he began, with solemn emphasis--

'"Boys, you hear me! She's a No. 1, triple X, the pure quill with a beadon it: she's a--, " and for the first time in his Black Rock history Abewas stuck for a word. Some one suggested "angel. "

'"Angel!" repeated Abe, with infinite contempt. "Angel be blowed, " (Iparaphrase here); "angels ain't in the same month with her; I'd liketo see any blanked angel swing my team around them curves without ashiver. "

'"Held the lines herself, Abe?" asked a miner. 

'"That's what, " said Abe; and then he went off into a fusilade ofscientific profanity, expressive of his esteem for the girl who hadswung his team round the curves; and the miners nodded to each other, and winked their entire approval of Abe's performance, for this was hisspecialty. 

'Very decent fellow, Abe, but his talk wouldn't print. '

Here Craig paused, as if balancing Abe's virtues and vices. 

'Well, ' I urged, 'who is she?'

'Oh yes, ' he said, recalling himself; 'she is an Edinburgh younglady--met Lewis Mayor, a young Scotch-English man, in London--wealthy, good family, and all that, but fast, and going to pieces at home. Hispeople, who own large shares in these mines here, as a last resortsent him out here to reform. Curiously innocent ideas those old countrypeople have of the reforming properties of this atmosphere! They sendtheir young bloods here to reform. Here! in this devil's camp-ground, where a man's lust is his only law, and when, from sheer monotony, a manmust betake himself to the only excitement of the place--that offeredby the saloon. Good people in the east hold up holy hands of horror atthese godless miners; but I tell you it's asking these boys a good dealto keep straight and clean in a place like this. I take my excitementin fighting the devil and doing my work generally, and that gives meenough; but these poor chaps--hard worked, homeless, with no break orchange--God help them and me!' and his voice sank low. 

'Well, ' I persisted, 'did Mavor reform?'

Again he roused himself. 'Reform? Not exactly. In six-months he hadbroken through all restraint; and, mind you, not the miners' fault--nota miner helped him down. It was a sight to make angels weep when Mrs. Mavor would come to the saloon door for her husband. Every miner wouldvanish; they could not look upon her shame, and they would send Mavorforth in the charge of Billy Breen, a queer little chap, who hadbelonged to the Mavors in some way in the old country, and between themthey would get him home. How she stood it puzzles me to this day; butshe never made any sign, and her courage never failed. It was always abright, brave, proud face she held up to the world--except in church;there it was different. I used to preach my sermons, I believe, mostlyfor her--but never so that she could suspect--as bravely and as cheerilyas I could. And as she listened, and especially as she sang--how sheused to sing in those days!--there was no touch of pride in her face, though the courage never died out, but appeal, appeal! I could havecursed aloud the cause of her misery, or wept for the pity of it. Beforeher baby was born he seemed to pull himself together, for he wasquite mad about her, and from the day the baby came--talk aboutmiracles!--from that day he never drank a drop. She gave the baby overto him, and the baby simply absorbed him. 

'He was a new man. He could not drink whisky and kiss his baby. Andthe miners--it was really absurd if it were not so pathetic. It was thefirst baby in Black Rock, and they used to crowd Mavor's shop and peepinto the room at the back of it--I forgot to tell you that when helost his position as manager he opened a hardware shop, for his peoplechucked him, and he was too proud to write home for money--just for achance to be asked in to see the baby. I came upon Nixon standing at theback of the shop after he had seen the baby for the first time, sobbinghard, and to my question he replied: "It's just like my own. " You can'tunderstand this. But to men who have lived so long in the mountains thatthey have forgotten what a baby looks like, who have had experience ofhumanity only in its roughest, foulest form, this little mite, sweetand clean, was like an angel fresh from heaven, the one link in all thatblack camp that bound them to what was purest and best in their past. 

'And to see the mother and her baby handle the miners!

'Oh, it was all beautiful beyond words! I shall never forget the shockI got one night when I found "Old Ricketts" nursing the baby. A drunkenold beast he was; but there he was sitting, sober enough, makingextraordinary faces at the baby, who was grabbing at his nose andwhiskers and cooing in blissful delight. Poor "Old Ricketts" looked asif he had been caught stealing, and muttering something about having togo, gazed wildly round for some place in which to lay the baby, when incame the mother, saying in her own sweet, frank way: "O Mr. Ricketts"(she didn't find out till afterwards his name was Shaw), "would you mindkeeping her just a little longer?--I shall be back in a few minutes. "And "Old Ricketts" guessed he could wait. 

'But in six months mother and baby, between them, transformed "OldRicketts" into Mr. Shaw, fire-boss of the mines. And then in theevenings, when she would be singing her baby to sleep, the little shopwould be full of miners, listening in dead silence to the baby-songs, and the English songs, and the Scotch songs she poured forth withoutstint, for she sang more for them than for her baby. No wonder theyadored her. She was so bright, so gay, she brought light with her whenshe went into the camp, into the pits--for she went down to see the menwork--or into a sick miner's shack; and many a man, lonely and sickfor home or wife, or baby or mother, found in that back room cheer andcomfort and courage, and to many a poor broken wretch that room became, as one miner put it, "the anteroom to heaven. "'

Mr. Craig paused, and I waited. Then he went on slowly--

'For a year and a half that was the happiest home in all the world, tillone day--'

He put his face in his hands, and shuddered. 

'I don't think I can ever forget the awful horror of that bright fallafternoon, when "Old Ricketts" came breathless to me and gasped, "Come!for the dear Lord's sake, " and I rushed after him. At the mouth ofthe shaft lay three men dead. One was Lewis Mavor. He had gone down tosuperintend the running of a new drift; the two men, half drunk withSlavin's whisky, set off a shot prematurely, to their own and Mavor'sdestruction. They were badly burned, but his face was untouched. A minerwas sponging off the bloody froth oozing from his lips. The others werestanding about waiting for me to speak. But I could find no word, for myheart was sick, thinking, as they were, of the young mother and her babywaiting at home. So I stood, looking stupidly from one to the other, trying to find some reason--coward that I was--why another should bearthe news rather than I. And while we stood there, looking at one anotherin fear, there broke upon us the sound of a voice mounting high abovethe birch tops, singing--

 "Will ye no' come back again? Will ye no' come back again? Better lo'ed ye canna be, Will ye no' come back again?"

'A strange terror seized us. Instinctively the men closed up in front ofthe body, and stood in silence. Nearer and nearer came the clear, sweetvoice, ringing like a silver bell up the steep--

 "Sweet the lav'rock's note and lang, Liltin' wildly up the glen, But aye tae me he sings ae sang, Will ye no' come back again?"

'Before the verse was finished "Old Ricketts" had dropped on hisknees, sobbing out brokenly, "O God! O God! have pity, have pity, havepity!"--and every man took off his hat. And still the voice came nearer, singing so brightly the refrain, '"Will ye no' come back again?'

'It became unbearable. "Old Ricketts" sprang suddenly to his feet, and, gripping me by the arm, said piteously, "Oh, go to her! for Heaven'ssake, go to her!" I next remember standing in her path and seeing herholding out her hands full of red lilies, crying out, "Are they notlovely? Lewis is so fond of them!" With the promise of much finer ones Iturned her down a path toward the river, talking I know not what folly, till her great eyes grew grave, then anxious, and my tongue stammeredand became silent. Then, laying her hand upon my arm, she said withgentle sweetness, "Tell me your trouble, Mr. Craig, " and I knew my agonyhad come, and I burst out, "Oh, if it were only mine!" She turned quitewhite, and with her deep eyes--you've noticed her eyes--drawing thetruth out of mine, she said, "Is it mine, Mr. Craig, and my baby's?"I waited, thinking with what words to begin. She put one hand to herheart, and with the other caught a little poplar-tree that shiveredunder her grasp, and said with white lips, but even more gently, "Tellme. " I wondered at my voice being so steady as I said, "Mrs. Mavor, Godwill help you and your baby. There has been an accident--and it is allover. "

'She was a miner's wife, and there was no need for more. I could seethe pattern of the sunlight falling through the trees upon the grass. Icould hear the murmur of the river, and the cry of the cat-bird in thebushes, but we seemed to be in a strange and unreal world. Suddenly shestretched out her hands to me, and with a little moan said, "Take me tohim. "

'"Sit down for a moment or two, " I entreated. 

'"No, no! I am quite ready. See, " she added quietly, "I am quitestrong. "

'I set off by a short cut leading to her home, hoping the men would bethere before us; but, passing me, she walked swiftly through the trees, and I followed in fear. As we came near the main path I heard the soundof feet, and I tried to stop her, but she, too, had heard and knew. "Oh, let me go!" she said piteously; "you need not fear. " And I had notthe heart to stop her. In a little opening among the pines we met thebearers. When the men saw her, they laid their burden gently down uponthe carpet of yellow pine-needles, and then, for they had the hearts oftrue men in them, they went away into the bushes and left her alonewith her dead. She went swiftly to his side, making no cry, but kneelingbeside him she stroked his face and hands, and touched his curls withher fingers, murmuring all the time soft words of love. "O my darling, my bonnie, bonnie darling, speak to me! Will ye not speak to me just onelittle word? O my love, my love, my heart's love! Listen, my darling!"And she put her lips to his ear, whispering, and then the awfulstillness. Suddenly she lifted her head and scanned his face, and then, glancing round with a wild surprise in her eyes, she cried, "He will notspeak to me! Oh, he will not speak to me!" I signed to the men, and asthey came forward I went to her and took her hands. 

'"Oh, " she said with a wail in her voice; "he will not speak to me. "The men were sobbing aloud. She looked at them with wide-open eyes ofwonder. "Why are they weeping? Will he never speak to me again? Tellme, " she insisted gently. The words were running through my head--

 '"There's a land that is fairer than day, "

and I said them over to her, holding her hands firmly in mine. She gazedat me as if in a dream, and the light slowly faded from her eyes as shesaid, tearing her hands from mine and waving them towards the mountainsand the woods--

'"But never more here? Never more here?"

'I believe in heaven and the other life, but I confess that for a momentit all seemed shadowy beside the reality of this warm, bright world, full of life and love. She was very ill for two nights, and when thecoffin was closed a new baby lay in the father's arms. 

'She slowly came back to life, but there were no more songs. The minersstill come about her shop, and talk to her baby, and bring her theirsorrows and troubles; but though she is always gentle, almost tender, with them, no man ever says "Sing. " And that is why I am glad she sanglast week; it will be good for her and good for them. '

'Why does she stay?' I asked. 

'Mavor's people wanted her to go to them, ' he replied. 

'They have money--she told me about it, but her heart is in the graveup there under the pines; and besides, she hopes to do something for theminers, and she will not leave them. '

I am afraid I snorted a little impatiently as I said, 'Nonsense! why, with her face, and manner, and voice she could be anything she liked inEdinburgh or in London. '

'And why Edinburgh or London?' he asked coolly. 

'Why?' I repeated a little hotly. 'You think this is better?'

'Nazareth was good enough for the Lord of glory, ' he answered, witha smile none too bright; but it drew my heart to him, and my heat wasgone. 

'How long will she stay?' I asked. 

'Till her work is done, ' he replied. 

'And when will that be?' I asked impatiently. 

'When God chooses, ' he answered gravely; 'and don't you ever think butthat it is worth while. One value of work is not that crowds stare atit. Read history, man!'

He rose abruptly and began to walk about. 'And don't miss the wholemeaning of the Life that lies at the foundation of your religion. Yes, 'he added to himself, 'the work is worth doing--worth even her doing. '

I could not think so then, but the light of the after years proved himwiser than I. A man, to see far, must climb to some height, and I wastoo much upon the plain in those days to catch even a glimpse of distantsunlit uplands of triumphant achievement that lie beyond the valley ofself-sacrifice. 

CHAPTER V

THE MAKING OF THE LEAGUE

Thursday morning found Craig anxious, even gloomy, but with fightin every line of his face. I tried to cheer him in my clumsy way bychaffing him about his League. But he did not blaze up as he often did. It was a thing too near his heart for that. He only shrank a little frommy stupid chaff and said--

'Don't, old chap; this is a good deal to me. I've tried for two years toget this, and if it falls through now, I shall find it hard to bear. '

Then I repented my light words and said, 'Why! the thing will go sureenough: after that scene in the church they won't go back. '

'Poor fellows!' he said as if to himself; 'whisky is about the onlyexcitement they have, and they find it pretty tough to give it up; anda lot of the men are against the total abstinence idea. It seems rot tothem. '

'It is pretty steep, ' I said. 'Can't you do without it?'

'No; I fear not. There is nothing else for it. Some of them talk ofcompromise. They want to quit the saloon and drink quietly in theirshacks. The moderate drinker may have his place in other countries, though I can't see it. I haven't thought that out, but here the onlysafe man is the man who quits it dead and fights it straight; anythingelse is sheerest humbug and nonsense. '

I had not gone in much for total abstinence up to this time, chieflybecause its advocates seemed for the most part to be somewhatill-balanced; but as I listened to Craig, I began to feel that perhapsthere was a total abstinence side to the temperance question; and as toBlack Rock, I could see how it must be one thing or the other. 

We found Mrs. Mavor brave and bright. She shared Mr. Craig's anxietybut not his gloom. Her courage was of that serene kind that refuses tobelieve defeat possible, and lifts the spirit into the triumph of finalvictory. Through the past week she had been carefully disposing herforces and winning recruits. And yet she never seemed to urge orpersuade the men; but as evening after evening the miners dropped intothe cosy room downstairs, with her talk and her songs she charmed themtill they were wholly hers. She took for granted their loyalty, trustedthem utterly, and so made it difficult for them to be other than truemen. 

That night Mrs. Mavor's large storeroom, which had been fitted up withseats, was crowded with miners when Mr. Craig and I entered. 

After a glance over the crowd, Craig said, 'There's the manager; thatmeans war. ' And I saw a tall man, very fair, whose chin fell away tothe vanishing point, and whose hair was parted in the middle, talkingto Mrs. Mavor. She was dressed in some rich soft stuff that became herwell. She was looking beautiful as ever, but there was something quitenew in her manner. Her air of good-fellowship was gone, and she wasthe high-bred lady, whose gentle dignity and sweet grace, while verywinning, made familiarity impossible. 

The manager was doing his best, and appeared to be well pleased withhimself. 'She'll get him if any one can. I failed, ' said Craig. 

I stood looking at the men, and a fine lot of fellows they were. Free, easy, bold in their bearing, they gave no sign of rudeness; and, fromtheir frequent glances toward Mrs. Mavor, I could see they were alwaysconscious of her presence. No men are so truly gentle as are theWesterners in the presence of a good woman. They were evidently ofall classes and ranks originally, but now, and in this country of realmeasurements, they ranked simply according to the 'man' in them. 'Seethat handsome, young chap of dissipated appearance?' said Craig; 'that'sVernon Winton, an Oxford graduate, blue blood, awfully plucky, but quitegone. When he gets repentant, instead of shooting himself, he comes toMrs. Mavor. Fact. '

'From Oxford University to Black Rock mining camp is something of astep, ' I replied. 

'That queer-looking little chap in the corner is Billy Breen. How inthe world has he got here?' went on Mr. Craig. Queer-looking he was. Alittle man, with a small head set on heavy square shoulders, longarms, and huge hands that sprawled all over his body; altogether a mostungainly specimen of humanity. 

By this time Mrs. Mavor had finished with the manager, and was in thecentre of a group of miners. Her grand air was all gone, and she wastheir comrade, their friend, one of themselves. Nor did she assume therole of entertainer, but rather did she, with half-shy air, cast herselfupon their chivalry, and they were too truly gentlemen to fail her. Itis hard to make Western men, and especially old-timers, talk. Butthis gift was hers, and it stirred my admiration to see her draw on agrizzled veteran to tell how, twenty years ago, he had crossed the GreatDivide, and had seen and done what no longer fell to men to see or doin these new days. And so she won the old-timer. But it was beautiful tosee the innocent guile with which she caught Billy Breen, and drew himto her corner near the organ. What she was saying I knew not, but poorBilly was protesting, waving his big hands. 

The meeting came to order, with Shaw in the chair, and the handsomeyoung Oxford man secretary. Shaw stated the object of the meeting in afew halting words; but when he came to speak of the pleasure he and allfelt in being together in that room, his words flowed in a stream, warmand full. Then there was a pause, and Mr. Craig was called. But he knewbetter than to speak at that point. Finally Nixon rose hesitatingly;but, as he caught a bright smile from Mrs. Mavor, he straightenedhimself as if for a fight. 

'I ain't no good at makin' speeches, ' he began; 'but it ain't speecheswe want. We've got somethin' to do, and what we want to know is how todo it. And to be right plain, we want to know how to drive this cursedwhisky out of Black Rock. You all know what it's doing for us--at leastfor some of us. And it's time to stop it now, or for some of us it'llmighty soon be too late. And the only way to stop its work is to quitdrinkin' it and help others to quit. I hear some talk of a League, andwhat I say is, if it's a League out and out against whisky, a TotalAbstinence right to the ground, then I'm with it--that's my talk--I movewe make that kind of League. '

Nixon sat down amid cheers and a chorus of remarks, 'Good man!' 'That'sthe talk!' 'Stay with it!' but he waited for the smile and the glancethat came to him from the beautiful face in the corner, and with that heseemed content. 

Again there was silence. Then the secretary rose with a slight flushupon his handsome, delicate face, and seconded the motion. If they wouldpardon a personal reference he would give them his reasons. He had cometo this country to make his fortune; now he was anxious to make enoughto enable him to go home with some degree of honour. His home heldeverything that was dear to him. Between him and that home, between himand all that was good and beautiful and honourable, stood whisky. 'I amashamed to confess, ' and the flush deepened on his cheek, and his lipsgrew thinner, 'that I feel the need of some such league. ' His handsomeface, his perfect style of address, learned possibly in the 'Union, 'but, more than all, his show of nerve--for these men knew how to valuethat--made a strong impression on his audience; but there were nofollowing cheers. 

Mr. Craig appeared hopeful; but on Mrs. Mavor's face there was a look ofwistful, tender pity, for she knew how much the words had cost the lad. 

Then up rose a sturdy, hard-featured man, with a burr in his voicethat proclaimed his birth. His name was George Crawford, I afterwardslearned, but every one called him Geordie. He was a character in hisway, fond of his glass; but though he was never known to refuse a drink, he was never known to be drunk. He took his drink, for the most part, with bread and cheese in his own shack, or with a friend or two in asober, respectable way, but never could be induced to join the wildcarousals in Slavin's saloon. He made the highest wages, but was far tootrue a Scot to spend his money recklessly. Every one waited eagerlyto hear Geordie's mind. He spoke solemnly, as befitted a Scotsmanexpressing a deliberate opinion, and carefully, as if choosing his bestEnglish, for when Geordie became excited no one in Black Rock couldunderstand him. 

'Maister Chairman, ' said Geordie, 'I'm aye for temperance in a' things. 'There was a shout of laughter, at which Geordie gazed round in painedsurprise. 'I'll no' deny, ' he went on in an explanatory tone, 'that Itak ma mornin', an' maybe a nip at noon; an' a wee drap aifter wark inthe evenin', an' whiles a sip o' toddy wi' a freen thae cauld nichts. But I'm no' a guzzler, an' I dinna gang in wi' thae loons flingin' abootguid money. '

'And that's thrue for you, me bye, ' interrupted a rich Irish brogue, tothe delight of the crowd and the amazement of Geordie, who went calmlyon--

'An' I canna bide yon saloon whaur they sell sic awfu'-like stuff--it'smair like lye nor guid whisky, --and whaur ye're never sure o' yer richtchange. It's an awfu'-like place; man!'--and Geordie began to warmup--'ye can juist smell the sulphur when ye gang in. But I dinna careaboot thae Temperance Soceeities, wi' their pledges an' havers; an'I canna see what hairm can come till a man by takin' a bottle o' guidGlenlivet hame wi' him. I canna bide thae teetotal buddies. '

Geordie's speech was followed by loud applause, partly appreciative ofGeordie himself, but largely sympathetic with his position. 

Two or three men followed in the same strain advocating a league formutual improvement and social purposes, but without the teetotal pledge;they were against the saloon, but didn't see why they should not take adrink now and then. 

Finally the manager rose to support his 'friend, Mistah--ah--Cwafoad, 'ridiculing the idea of a total abstinence pledge as fanatical and indeed'absuad. ' He was opposed to the saloon, and would like to see a clubformed, with a comfortable club-room, books, magazines, pictures, games, anything, 'dontcheknow, to make the time pass pleasantly'; but it was'absuad to ask men to abstain fwom a pwopah use of--aw--nouwishingdwinks, ' because some men made beasts of themselves. He concluded byoffering $50. 00 towards the support of such a club. 

The current of feeling was setting strongly against the total abstinenceidea, and Craig's face was hard and his eyes gleamed like coals. Then hedid a bit of generalship. He proposed that since they had the two plansclearly before them they should take a few minutes' intermission inwhich to make up their minds, and he was sure they would be glad to haveMrs. Mavor sing. In the interval the men talked in groups, eagerly, evenfiercely, hampered seriously in the forceful expression of their opinionby the presence of Mrs. Mavor, who glided from group to group, droppinga word here and a smile there. She reminded me of a general riding alongthe ranks, bracing his men for the coming battle. She paused besideGeordie, spoke earnestly for a few moments, while Geordie gazed solemnlyat her, and then she came back to Billy in the corner near me. What shewas saying I could not hear, but poor Billy was protesting, spreadinghis hands out aimlessly before him, but gazing at her the while indumb admiration. Then she came to me. 'Poor Billy, he was good to myhusband, ' she said softly, 'and he has a good heart. '

'He's not much to look at, ' I could not help saying. 

'The oyster hides its pearl, ' she answered, a little reproachfully. 

'The shell is apparent enough, ' I replied, for the mischief was in me. 

'Ah yes, ' she replied softly, 'but it is the pearl we love. '

I moved over beside Billy, whose eyes were following Mrs. Mavor as shewent to speak to Mr. Craig. 'Well, ' I said; 'you all seem to have a highopinion of her. '

'An 'igh hopinion, ' he replied, in deep scorn. 'An 'igh hopinion, youcalls it. '

'What would you call it?' I asked, wishing to draw him out. 

'Oi don't call it nothink, ' he replied, spreading out his rough hands. 

'She seems very nice, ' I said indifferently. 

He drew his eyes away from Mrs. Mavor, and gave attention to me for thefirst time. 

'Nice!' he repeated with fine contempt; and then he added impressively, 'Them as don't know shouldn't say nothink. '

'You are right, ' I answered earnestly, 'and I am quite of your opinion. '

He gave me a quick glance out of his little, deep-set, dark-blue eyes, and opened his heart to me. He told me, in his quaint speech, how againand again she had taken him in and nursed him, and encouraged him, andsent him out with a new heart for his battle, until, for very shame'ssake at his own miserable weakness, he had kept out of her way for manymonths, going steadily down. 

'Now, oi hain't got no grip; but when she says to me to-night, saysshe, "Oh, Billy"--she calls me Billy to myself' (this with a touch ofpride)--'"oh, Billy, " says she, "we must 'ave a total habstinence leagueto-night, and oi want you to 'elp!" and she keeps a-lookin' at me withthose heyes o' hern till, if you believe me, sir, ' lowering his voice toan emphatic whisper, 'though oi knowed oi couldn't 'elp none, afore oiknowed oi promised 'er oi would. It's 'er heyes. When them heyes says"do, " hup you steps and "does. "'

I remembered my first look into her eyes, and I could quite understandBilly's submission. Just as she began to sing I went over to Geordie andtook my seat beside him. She began with an English slumber song, 'Sleep, Baby, Sleep'--one of Barry Cornwall's, I think, --and then sanga love-song with the refrain, 'Love once again'; but no thrills came tome, and I began to wonder if her spell over me was broken. Geordie, whohad been listening somewhat indifferently, encouraged me, however, bysaying, 'She's just pittin' aff time with thae feckless sangs; man, there's nae grup till them. ' But when, after a few minutes' pause, she began 'My Ain Fireside, ' Geordie gave a sigh of satisfaction. 'Ay, that's somethin' like, ' and when she finished the first verse he gave mea dig in the ribs with his elbow that took my breath away, saying in awhisper, 'Man, hear till yon, wull ye?' And again I found the spellupon me. It was not the voice after all, but the great soul behind thatthrilled and compelled. She was seeing, feeling, living what she sang, and her voice showed us her heart. The cosy fireside, with its bonnie, blithe blink, where no care could abide, but only peace and love, wasvividly present to her, and as she sang we saw it too. When she came tothe last verse--

 'When I draw in my stool On my cosy hearth-stane, My heart loups sae licht I scarce ken't for my ain, '

there was a feeling of tears in the flowing song, and we knew the wordshad brought her a picture of the fireside that would always seem empty. I felt the tears in my eyes, and, wondering at myself, I cast a stealthyglance at the men about me; and I saw that they, too, were lookingthrough their hearts' windows upon firesides and ingle-neuks thatgleamed from far. 

And then she sang 'The Auld Hoose, ' and Geordie, giving me anotherpoke, said, 'That's ma ain sang, ' and when I asked him what he meant, he whispered fiercely, 'Wheesht, man!' and I did, for his face lookeddangerous. 

In a pause between the verses I heard Geordie saying to himself, 'Ay, Imaun gie it up, I doot. '

'What?' I ventured. 

'Naething ava. ' And then he added impatiently, 'Man, but ye're aninqueesitive buddie, ' after which I subsided into silence. 

Immediately upon the meeting being called to order, Mr. Craig made hisspeech, and it was a fine bit of work. Beginning with a clear statementof the object in view, he set in contrast the two kinds of leaguesproposed. One, a league of men who would take whisky in moderation; theother, a league of men who were pledged to drink none themselves, and toprevent in every honourable way others from drinking. There was no longargument, but he spoke at white heat; and as he appealed to the mento think, each not of himself alone, but of the others as well, theyearning, born of his long months of desire and of toil, vibrated inhis voice and reached to the heart. Many men looked uncomfortable anduncertain, and even the manager looked none too cheerful. 

At this critical moment the crowd got a shock. Billy Breen shuffledout to the front, and, in a voice shaking with nervousness and emotion, began to speak, his large, coarse hands wandering tremulously about. 

'Oi hain't no bloomin' temperance horator, and mayhap oi hain't no rightto speak 'ere, but oi got somethin' to saigh (say) and oi'm agoin' tosaigh it. 

'Parson, 'ee says is it wisky or no wisky in this 'ere club? If yehask me, wich (which) ye don't, then no wisky, says oi; and if ye haskwhy?--look at me! Once oi could mine more coal than hany man in thecamp; now oi hain't fit to be a sorter. Once oi 'ad some pride andhambition; now oi 'angs round awaitin' for some one to saigh, "Ere, Billy, 'ave summat. " Once oi made good paigh (pay), and sent it 'omeregular to my poor old mother (she's in the wukus now, she is); oihain't sent 'er hany for a year and a 'alf. Once Billy was a good fellowand 'ad plenty o' friends; now Slavin 'isself kicks un hout, 'ee does. Why? why?' His voice rose to a shriek. 'Because when Billy 'ad moneyin 'is pocket, hevery man in this bloomin' camp as meets un at heverycorner says, "'Ello, Billy, wat'll ye 'ave?" And there's wisky atSlavin's, and there's wisky in the shacks, and hevery 'oliday and heverySunday there's wisky, and w'en ye feel bad it's wisky, and w'en ye feelgood it's wisky, and heverywhere and halways it's wisky, wisky, wisky!And now ye're goin' to stop it, and 'ow? T' manager, 'ee says pictersand magazines. 'Ee takes 'is wine and 'is beer like a gentleman, 'eedoes, and 'ee don't 'ave no use for Billy Breen. Billy, 'ee's a beast, and t' manager, 'ee kicks un hout. But supposin' Billy wants to stopbein' a beast, and starts a-tryin' to be a man again, and w'en 'eegets good an' dry, along comes some un and says, "'Ello, Billy, 'ave asmile, " it hain't picters nor magazines 'ud stop un then. Picters andmagazines! Gawd 'elp the man as hain't nothin' but picters and magazinesto 'elp un w'en 'ee's got a devil hinside and a devil houtside a-shovin'and a-drawin' of un down to 'ell. And that's w'ere oi'm a-goin'straight, and yer bloomin' League, wisky or no wisky, can't help me. But, ' and he lifted his trembling hands above his head, 'if ye stop thewisky a-flowin' round this camp, ye'll stop some of these lads that'sa-followin' me 'ard. Yes, you! and you! and you!' and his voice rose toa wild scream as he shook a trembling finger at one and another. 

'Man, it's fair gruesome tae hear him, ' said Geordie; 'he's no' canny';and reaching out for Billy as he went stumbling past, he pulled him downto a seat beside him, saying, 'Sit doon, lad, sit doon. We'll mak a mano' ye yet. ' Then he rose and, using many r's, said, 'Maister Chairman, a' doot we'll juist hae to gie it up. '

'Give it up?' called out Nixon. 'Give up the League?'

'Na! na! lad, but juist the wee drap whusky. It's nae that guid onyway, and it's a terrible price. Man, gin ye gang tae Henderson's in BuchananStreet, in Gleska, ye ken, ye'll get mair for three-an'-saxpence thanye wull at Slavin's for five dollars. An' it'll no' pit ye mad like yonstuff, but it gangs doon smooth an' saft-like. But' (regretfully) 'ye'llno' can get it here; an' a'm thinkin' a'll juist sign yon teetotalthing. ' And up he strode to the table and put his name down in the bookCraig had ready. Then to Billy he said, 'Come' awa, lad! pit yer namedoon, an' we'll stan' by ye. '

Poor Billy looked around helplessly, his nerve all gone, and sat still. There was a swift rustle of garments, and Mrs. Mavor was beside him, and, in a voice that only Billy and I could hear, said, 'You'll signwith, me, Billy?'

Billy gazed at her with a hopeless look in his eyes, and shook hislittle, head. She leaned slightly toward him, smiling brightly, and, touching his arm gently, said--

'Come, Billy, there's no fear, ' and in a lower voice, 'God will helpyou. '

As Billy went up, following Mrs. Mavor close, a hush fell on the menuntil he had put his name to the pledge; then they came up, man byman, and signed. But Craig sat with his head down till I touched hisshoulder. He took my hand and held it fast, saying over and over, underhis breath, 'Thank God, thank God!'

And so the League was made. 

CHAPTER VI

BLACK ROCK RELIGION

When I grow weary with the conventions of religion, and sick in my soulfrom feeding upon husks, that the churches too often offer me, inthe shape of elaborate service and eloquent discourses, so that in mysickness I doubt and doubt, then I go back to the communion in BlackRock and the days preceding it, and the fever and the weariness leaveme, and I grow humble and strong. The simplicity and rugged grandeur ofthe faith, the humble gratitude of the rough men I see about the table, and the calm radiance of one saintly face, rest and recall me. 

Not its most enthusiastic apologist would call Black Rock a religiouscommunity, but it possessed in a marked degree that eminent Christianvirtue of tolerance. All creeds, all shades of religious opinion, wereallowed, and it was generally conceded that one was as good as another. It is fair to say, however, that Black Rock's catholicity was negativerather than positive. The only religion objectionable was that insistedupon as a necessity. It never occurred to any one to consider religionother than as a respectable, if not ornamental, addition to life inolder lands. 

During the weeks following the making of the League, however, thisnegative attitude towards things religious gave place to one of keeninvestigation and criticism. The indifference passed away, and with it, in a large measure, the tolerance. Mr. Craig was responsible for theformer of these changes, but hardly, in fairness, could he be heldresponsible for the latter. If any one, more than another, was to beblamed for the rise of intolerance in the village, that man was GeordieCrawford. He had his 'lines' from the Established Kirk of Scotland, andwhen Mr. Craig announced his intention of having the Sacrament of theLord's Supper observed, Geordie produced his 'lines' and promptly handedthem in. As no other man in the village was equipped with like spiritualcredentials, Geordie constituted himself a kind of kirk-session, chargedwith the double duty of guarding the entrance to the Lord's Table, andof keeping an eye upon the theological opinions of the community, andmore particularly upon such members of it as gave evidence of possessingany opinions definite enough for statement. 

It came to be Mr. Craig's habit to drop into the League-room, and towardthe close of the evening to have a short Scripture lesson from theGospels. Geordie's opportunity came after the meeting was over and Mr. Craig had gone away. The men would hang about and talk the lesson over, expressing opinions favourable or unfavourable as appeared to them good. Then it was that all sorts of views, religious and otherwise, were airedand examined. The originality of the ideas, the absolute disregard ofthe authority of church or creed, the frankness with which opinionswere stated, and the forcefulness of the language in which they wereexpressed, combined to make the discussions altogether marvellous. The passage between Abe Baker, the stage-driver, and Geordie wasparticularly rich. It followed upon a very telling lesson on the parableof the Pharisee and the Publican. 

The chief actors in that wonderful story were transferred to the BlackRock stage, and were presented in miner's costume. Abe was particularlywell pleased with the scoring of the 'blanked old rooster who crowed soblanked high, ' and somewhat incensed at the quiet remark interjected byGeordie, 'that it was nae credit till a man tae be a sinner'; andwhen Geordie went on to urge the importance of right conduct andrespectability, Abe was led to pour forth vials of contemptuous wrathupon the Pharisees and hypocrites who thought themselves betterthan other people. But Geordie was quite unruffled, and lamentedthe ignorance of men who, brought up in 'Epeescopawlyun or Methody'churches, could hardly be expected to detect the Antinomian or Arminianheresies. 

'Aunty Nomyun or Uncle Nomyun, ' replied Abe, boiling hot, 'my mother wasa Methodist, and I'll back any blanked Methodist against any blanketyblank long-faced, lantern-jawed, skinflint Presbyterian, ' and thishe was eager to maintain to any man's satisfaction if he would stepoutside. 

Geordie was quite unmoved, but hastened to assure Abe that he meantno disrespect to his mother, who he had 'nae doot was a clever enoughbuddie, tae judge by her son. ' Abe was speedily appeased, and offered toset up the drinks all round. But Geordie, with evident reluctance, hadto decline, saying, 'Na, na, lad, I'm a League man ye ken, ' and I wassure that Geordie at that moment felt that membership in the League hadits drawbacks. 

Nor was Geordie too sure of Craig's orthodoxy; while as to Mrs. Mavor, whose slave he was, he was in the habit of lamenting her doctrinalcondition--

'She's a fine wumman, nae doot; but, puir cratur, she's fair carried awawi' the errors o' thae Epeescopawlyuns. '

It fell to Geordie, therefore, as a sacred duty, in view of the laxityof those who seemed to be the pillars of the Church, to be all themore watchful and unyielding. But he was delightfully inconsistent whenconfronted with particulars. In conversation with him one night afterone of the meetings, when he had been specially hard upon the ignorantand godless, I innocently changed the subject to Billy Breen, whomGeordie had taken to his shack since the night of the League. He wasvery proud of Billy's success in the fight against whisky, the credit ofwhich he divided unevenly between Mrs. Mavor and himself. 

'He's fair daft aboot her, ' he explained to me, 'an' I'll no' deny butshe's a great help, ay, a verra conseederable asseestance; but, man, shedoesna ken the whusky, an' the inside o' a man that's wantin' it. Ay, puir buddie, she diz her pairt, an' when ye're a bit restless an thrawnaifter yer day's wark, it's like a walk in a bonnie glen on a simmereve, with the birds liltin' aboot, tae sit in yon roomie and hear hersing; but when the night is on, an' ye canna sleep, but wauken wi' an'awfu' thurst and wi' dreams o' cosy firesides, and the bonnie sparklin'glosses, as it is wi' puir Billy, ay, it's then ye need a man wi' a guidgrup beside ye. '

'What do you do then, Geordie?' I asked. 

'Oo ay, I juist gang for a bit walk wi' the lad, and then pits thekettle on an' maks a cup o' tea or coffee, an' aff he gangs tae sleeplike a bairn. '

'Poor Billy, ' I said pityingly, 'there's no hope for him in the future, I fear. '

'Hoot awa, man, ' said Geordie quickly. 'Ye wadna keep oot a puir craturfrae creepin' in, that's daein' his best?'

'But, Geordie, ' I remonstrated, 'he doesn't know anything of thedoctrines. I don't believe he could give us "The Chief End of Man. "'

'An' wha's tae blame for that?' said Geordie, with fine indignation. 'An' maybe you remember the prood Pharisee and the puir wumman that cam'creepin' in ahint the Maister. '

The mingled tenderness and indignation in Geordie's face were beautifulto see, so I meekly answered, 'Well, I hope Mr. Craig won't be toostrict with the boys. '

Geordie shot a suspicious glance at me, but I kept my face like a summermorn, and he replied cautiously--

'Ay, he's no' that streect: but he maun exerceese discreemination. '

Geordie was none the less determined, however, that Billy should 'comeforrit'; but as to the manager, who was a member of the English Church, and some others who had been confirmed years ago, and had forgotten muchand denied more, he was extremely doubtful, and expressed himself invery decided words to the minister--

'Ye'll no' be askin' forrit thae Epeescopawlyun buddies. They juist kennaething ava. '

But Mr. Craig looked at him for a moment and said, "Him that comethunto Me I will in no wise cast out, "' and Geordie was silent, though hecontinued doubtful. 

With all these somewhat fantastic features, however, there was nomistaking the earnest spirit of the men. The meetings grew largerevery night, and the interest became more intense. The singing becamedifferent. The men no longer simply shouted, but as Mr. Craig wouldcall attention to the sentiment of the hymn, the voices would attunethemselves to the words. Instead of encouraging anything like emotionalexcitement, Mr. Craig seemed to fear it. 

'These chaps are easily stirred up, ' he would say, 'and I am anxiousthat they should know exactly what they are doing. It is far too seriousa business to trifle with. '

Although Graeme did not go downstairs to the meetings, he could not butfeel the throb of the emotion beating in the heart of the community. I used to detail for his benefit, and sometimes for his amusement, theincidents of each night. But I never felt quite easy in dwelling uponthe humorous features in Mrs. Mavor's presence, although Craig did notappear to mind. His manner with Graeme was perfect. Openly anxious towin him to his side, he did not improve the occasion and vex him withexhortation. He would not take him at a disadvantage, though, as Iafterwards found, this was not his sole reason for his method. Mrs. Mavor, too, showed herself in wise and tender light. She might have beenhis sister, so frank was she and so openly affectionate, laughing at hisfretfulness and soothing his weariness. 

Never were better comrades than we four, and the bright days speeding soswiftly on drew us nearer to one another. 

But the bright days came to an end; for Graeme, when once he was ableto go about, became anxious to get back to the camp. And so the last daycame, a day I remember well. It was a bright, crisp winter day. 

The air was shimmering in the frosty light. The mountains, with theirshining heads piercing through light clouds into that wonderful blue ofthe western sky, and their feet pushed into the pine masses, gazed downupon Black Rock with calm, kindly looks on their old grey faces. Howone grows to love them, steadfast old friends! Far up among the pineswe could see the smoke of the engine at the works, and so still and soclear was the mountain air that we could hear the puff of the steam, andfrom far down the river the murmur of the rapids. The majestic silence, the tender beauty, the peace, the loneliness, too, came stealing in uponus, as we three, leaving Mrs. Mavor behind us, marched arm-in-arm downthe street. We had not gone far on our way, when Graeme, turning round, stood a moment looking back, then waved his hand in farewell. Mrs. Mavorwas at her window, smiling and waving in return. They had grown tobe great friends these two; and seemed to have arrived at someunderstanding. Certainly, Graeme's manner to her was not that he boreto other women. His half-quizzical, somewhat superior air of mockingdevotion gave place to a simple, earnest, almost tender, respect, verynew to him, but very winning. 

As he stood there waving his farewell, I glanced at his face and saw fora moment what I had not seen for years, a faint flush on Graeme's cheekand a light of simple, earnest faith in his eyes. It reminded me ofmy first look of him when he had come up for his matriculation to the'Varsity. He stood on the campus looking up at the noble old pile, andthere was the same bright, trustful, earnest look on his boyish face. 

I know not what spirit possessed me; it may have been the pain of thememory working in me, but I said, coarsely enough, 'It's no use, Graeme, my boy; I would fall in love with her myself, but there would be nochance even for me. '

The flush slowly darkened as he turned and said deliberately--

'It's not like you, Connor, to be an ass of that peculiar kind. Love!--not exactly! She won't fall in love unless--' and he stoppedabruptly with his eyes upon Craig. 

But Craig met him with unshrinking gaze, quietly remarking, 'Her heartis under the pines'; and we moved on, each thinking his own thoughts, and guessing at the thoughts of the others. 

We were on our way to Craig's shack, and as we passed the saloon Slavinstepped from the door with a salutation. Graeme paused. 'Hello, Slavin!I got rather the worst of it, didn't I?'

Slavin came near, and said earnestly, 'It was a dirty thrick altogether;you'll not think it was moine, Mr. Graeme. '

'No, no, Slavin! you stood up like a man, ' said Graeme cheerfully. 

'And you bate me fair; an' bedad it was a nate one that laid me out; an'there's no grudge in me heart till ye. '

'All right, Slavin; we'll perhaps understand each other better afterthis. '

'An' that's thrue for yez, sor; an' I'll see that your byes don't getany more than they ask for, ' replied Slavin, backing away. 

'And I hope that won't be much, ' put in Mr. Craig; but Slavin onlygrinned. 

When we came to Craig's shack Graeme was glad to rest in the big chair. 

Craig made him a cup of tea, while I smoked, admiring much the deftneatness of the minister's housekeeping, and the gentle, almostmotherly, way he had with Graeme. 

In our talk we drifted into the future, and Craig let us see what werehis ambitions. The railway was soon to come; the resources were, as yet, unexplored, but enough was known to assure a great future for BritishColumbia. As he talked his enthusiasm grew, and carried us away. Withthe eye of a general he surveyed the country, fixed the strategic pointswhich the Church must seize upon. Eight good men would hold the countryfrom Fort Steele to the coast, and from Kootenay to Cariboo. 

'The Church must be in with the railway; she must have a hand in theshaping of the country. If society crystallises without her influence, the country is lost, and British Columbia will be another trap-door tothe bottomless pit. '

'What do you propose?' I asked. 

'Organising a little congregation here in Black Rock. '

'How many will you get?'

'Don't know. '

'Pretty hopeless business, ' I said. 

'Hopeless! hopeless!' he cried; 'there were only twelve of us at firstto follow Him, and rather a poor lot they were. But He braced them up, and they conquered the world. '

'But surely things are different, ' said Graeme. 

'Things? Yes! yes! But He is the same. ' His face had an exalted look, and his eyes were gazing into far-away places. 

'A dozen men in Black Rock with some real grip of Him would make thingsgo. We'll get them, too, ' he went on in growing excitement. 'I believein my soul we'll get them. '

'Look here, Craig; if you organise I'd like to join, ' said Graemeimpulsively. 'I don't believe much in your creed or your Church, butI'll be blowed if I don't believe in you. '

Craig looked at him with wistful eyes, and shook his head. 'It won't do, old chap, you know. I can't hold you. You've got to have a grip of someone better than I am; and then, besides, I hardly like asking you now';he hesitated--'well, to be out-and-out, this step must be taken not formy sake, nor for any man's sake, and I fancy that perhaps you feel likepleasing me just now a little. '

'That I do, old fellow, ' said Graeme, putting out his hand. 'I'll behanged if I won't do anything you say. '

'That's why I won't say, ' replied Craig. Then reverently he added, 'theorganisation is not mine. It is my Master's. '

'When are you going to begin?' asked Graeme. 

'We shall have our communion service in two weeks, and that will be ourroll-call. '

'How many will answer?' I asked doubtfully. 

'I know of three, ' he said quietly. 

'Three! There are two hundred miners and one hundred and fiftylumbermen! Three!' and Graeme looked at him in amazement. 'You think itworth while to organise three?'

'Well, ' replied Craig, smiling for the first time, 'the organisationwon't be elaborate, but it will be effective, and, besides, loyaltydemands obedience. '

We sat long that afternoon talking, shrinking from the breaking up; forwe knew that we were about to turn down a chapter in our lives which weshould delight to linger over in after days. And in my life there is butone brighter. At last we said good-bye and drove away; and though manyfarewells have come in between that day and this, none is so vividlypresent to me as that between us three men. Craig's manner with me wassolemn enough. '"He that loveth his life"; good-bye, don't fool withthis, ' was what he said to me. But when he turned to Graeme his wholeface lit up. He took him by the shoulders and gave him a little shake, looking into his eyes, and saying over and over in a low, sweet tone--

'You'll come, old chap, you'll come, you'll come. Tell me you'll come. '

And Graeme could say nothing in reply, but only looked at him. Then theysilently shook hands, and we drove off. But long after we had gotover the mountain and into the winding forest road on the way to thelumber-camp the voice kept vibrating in my heart, 'You'll come, you'llcome, ' and there was a hot pain in my throat. 

We said little during the drive to the camp. Graeme was thinking hard, and made no answer when I spoke to him two or three times, till we cameto the deep shadows of the pine forest, when with a little shiver hesaid--

'It is all a tangle--a hopeless tangle. '

'Meaning what?' I asked. 

'This business of religion--what quaint varieties--Nelson's, Geordie's, Billy Breen's--if he has any--then Mrs. Mavor's--she is a saint, ofcourse--and that fellow Craig's. What a trump he is!--and without hisreligion he'd be pretty much like the rest of us. It is too much forme. '

His mystery was not mine. The Black Rock varieties of religion werecertainly startling; but there was undoubtedly the streak of realitythough them all, and that discovery I felt to be a distinct gain. 

CHAPTER VII

THE FIRST BLACK ROCK COMMUNION

The gleam of the great fire through the windows of the great camp gavea kindly welcome as we drove into the clearing in which the shantiesstood. Graeme was greatly touched at his enthusiastic welcome by themen. At the supper-table he made a little speech of thanks for theirfaithfulness during his absence, specially commending the care andefficiency of Mr. Nelson, who had had charge of the camp. The mencheered wildly, Baptiste's shrill voice leading all. Nelson being calledupon, expressed in a few words his pleasure at seeing the Boss back, andthanked the men for their support while he had been in charge. 

The men were for making a night of it; but fearing the effect uponGraeme, I spoke to Nelson, who passed the word, and in a short time thecamp was quiet. As we sauntered from the grub-camp to the office wherewas our bed, we paused to take in the beauty of the night. The moon rodehigh over the peaks of the mountains, flooding the narrow valley withmellow light. Under her magic the rugged peaks softened their harshlines and seemed to lean lovingly toward us. The dark pine masses stoodsilent as in breathless adoration; the dazzling snow lay like a garmentover all the open spaces in soft, waving folds, and crowned every stumpwith a quaintly shaped nightcap. Above the camps the smoke curled upfrom the camp-fires, standing like pillars of cloud that kept watchwhile men slept. And high over all the deep blue night sky, with itsstar jewels, sprang like the roof of a great cathedral from range torange, covering us in its kindly shelter. How homelike and safe seemedthe valley with its mountain-sides, its sentinel trees and arching roofof jewelled sky! Even the night seemed kindly, and friendly the stars;and the lone cry of the wolf from the deep forest seemed like the voiceof a comrade. 

'How beautiful! too beautiful!' said Graeme, stretching out his arms. 'Anight like this takes the heart out of me. '

I stood silent, drinking in at every sense the night with its wealth ofloveliness. 

'What is it I want?' he went on. 'Why does the night make my heart ache?There are things to see and things to hear just beyond me; I cannot getto them. ' The gay, careless look was gone from his face, his dark eyeswere wistful with yearning. 

'I often wonder if life has nothing better for me, ' he continued withhis heartache voice. 

I said no word, but put my arm within his. A light appeared in thestable. Glad of a diversion, I said, 'What is the light? Let us go andsee. '

'Sandy, taking a last look at his team, like enough. '

We walked slowly toward the stable, speaking no word. As we neared thedoor we heard the sound of a voice in the monotone of one reading. Istepped forward and looked through a chink between the logs. Graeme wasabout to open the door, but I held up my hand and beckoned him to me. Ina vacant stall, where was a pile of straw, a number of men were grouped. Sandy, leaning against the tying-post upon which the stable-lanternhung, was reading; Nelson was kneeling in front of him and gazing intothe gloom beyond; Baptiste lay upon his stomach, his chin in his handsand his upturned eyes fastened upon Sandy's face; Lachlan Campbell satwith his hands clasped about his knees, and two other men sat near him. Sandy was reading the undying story of the Prodigal, Nelson now and thenstopping him to make a remark. It was a scene I have never been ableto forget. To-day I pause in my tale, and see it as clearly as when Ilooked through the chink upon it years ago. The long, low stable, withlog walls and upright hitching-poles; the dim outlines of the horsesin the gloom of the background, and the little group of rough, almostsavage-looking men, with faces wondering and reverent, lit by the mistylight of the stable-lantern. 

After the reading, Sandy handed the book to Nelson, who put it in hispocket, saying, 'That's for us, boys, ain't it?'

'Ay, ' said Lachlan; 'it is often that has been read in my hearing, butI am afraid it will not be for me whatever, ' and he swayed himselfslightly as he spoke, and his voice was full of pain. 

'The minister said I might come, ' said old Nelson, earnestly andhopefully. 

'Ay, but you are not Lachlan Campbell, and you hef not had hisprivileges. My father was a godly elder in the Free Church of Scotland, and never a night or morning but we took the Books. '

'Yes, but He said "any man, "' persisted Nelson, putting his hand onLachlan's knee. But Lachlan shook his head. 

'Dat young feller, ' said Baptiste; 'wha's hees nem, heh?'

'He has no name. It is just a parable, ' explained Sandy. 

'He's got no nem? He's just a parom'ble? Das no young feller?' askedBaptiste anxiously; 'das mean noting?'

Then Nelson took him in hand and explained to him the meaning, whileBaptiste listened even more eagerly, ejaculating softly, 'ah, voila!bon! by gar!' When Nelson had finished he broke out, 'Dat young feller, his name Baptiste, heh? and de old Fadder he's le bon Dieu? Bon! dasgood story for me. How you go back? You go to de pries'?'

'The book doesn't say priest or any one else, ' said Nelson. 'You go backin yourself, you see?'

'Non; das so, sure nuff. Ah!'--as if a light broke in upon him--'you goin your own self. You make one leetle prayer. You say, "Le bon Fadder, oh! I want come back, I so tire, so hongree, so sorree"? He, say, "Comeright 'long. " Ah! das fuss-rate. Nelson, you make one leetle prayer forSandy and me. '

And Nelson lifted up his face and said: 'Father, we're all gone faraway; we have spent all, we are poor, we are tired of it all; we wantto feel different, to be different; we want to come back. Jesus came tosave us from our sins; and he said if we came He wouldn't cast usout, no matter how bad we were, if we only came to Him. Oh, JesusChrist'--and his old, iron face began to work, and two big tears slowlycame from under his eyelids--'we are a poor lot, and I'm the worst ofthe lot, and we are trying to find the way. Show us how to get back. Amen. '

'Bon!' said Baptiste. 'Das fetch Him sure!'

Graeme pulled me away, and without a word we went into the office anddrew up to the little stove. Graeme was greatly moved. 

'Did you ever see anything like that?' he asked. 'Old Nelson! thehardest, savagest, toughest old sinner in the camp, on his knees beforea lot of men!'

'Before God, ' I could not help saying, for the thing seemed very real tome. The old man evidently felt himself talking to some one. 

'Yes, I suppose you're right, ' said Graeme doubtfully; 'but there's alot of stuff I can't swallow. '

'When you take medicine you don't swallow the bottle, ' I replied, forhis trouble was not mine. 

'If I were sure of the medicine, I wouldn't mind the bottle, and yet itacts well enough, ' he went on. 'I don't mind Lachlan; he's a Highlandmystic, and has visions, and Sandy's almost as bad, and Baptiste is animpulsive little chap. Those don't count much. But old man Nelson is acool-blooded, level-headed old fellow; has seen a lot of life, too. And then there's Craig. He has a better head than I have, and is ashot-blooded, and yet he is living and slaving away in that hole, andreally enjoys it. There must be something in it. '

'Oh, look here, Graeme, ' I burst out impatiently; 'what's the use ofyour talking like that? Of course there's something in it. I here'severything in it. The trouble with me is I can't face the music. Itcalls for a life where a fellow must go in for straight, steady work, self-denial, and that sort of thing; and I'm too Bohemian for that, andtoo lazy. But that fellow Craig makes one feel horribly uncomfortable. '

Graeme put his head on one side, and examined me curiously. 

'I believe you're right about yourself. You always were a luxuriousbeggar. But that's not where it catches me. '

We sat and smoked and talked of other things for an hour, and thenturned in. As I was dropping off I was roused by Graeme's voice--

'Are you going to the preparatory service on Friday night?'

'Don't know, ' I replied rather sleepily. 

'I say, do you remember the preparatory service at home?' There wassomething in his voice that set me wide awake. 

'Yes. Rather terrific, wasn't it? But I always felt better after it, ' Ireplied. 

'To me'--he was sitting up in bed now--'to me it was like a call toarms, or rather like a call for a forlorn hope. None but volunteerswanted. Do you remember the thrill in the old governor's voice as hedared any but the right stuff to come on?'

'We'll go in on Friday night, ' I said. 

And so we did. Sandy took a load of men with his team, and Graeme and Idrove in the light sleigh. 

The meeting was in the church, and over a hundred men were present. There was some singing of familiar hymns at first, and then Mr. Craigread the same story as we had heard in the stable, that most perfect ofall parables, the Prodigal Son. Baptiste nudged Sandy in delight, and whispered something, but Sandy held his face so absolutelyexpressionless that Graeme was moved to say--

'Look at Sandy! Did you ever see such a graven image? Something has hithim hard. '

The men were held fast by the story. The voice of the reader, low, earnest, and thrilling with the tender pathos of the tale, carried thewords to our hearts, while a glance, a gesture, a movement of the bodygave us the vision of it all as he was seeing it. 

Then, in simplest of words, he told us what the story meant, holding usthe while with eyes, and voice, and gesture. He compelled us scorn thegay, heartless selfishness of the young fool setting forth so jauntilyfrom the broken home; he moved our pity and our sympathy for theyoung profligate, who, broken and deserted, had still pluck enough todetermine to work his way back, and who, in utter desperation, at lastgave it up; and then he showed us the homecoming--the ragged, heart-sicktramp, with hesitating steps, stumbling along the dusty road, and thenthe rush of the old father, his garments fluttering, and his voice heardin broken cries. I see and hear it all now, whenever the words are read. 

He announced the hymn, 'Just as I am, ' read the first verse, and thenwent on: 'There you are, men, every man of you, somewhere on the road. Some of you are too lazy'--here Graeme nudged me--'and some of youhaven't got enough yet of the far country to come back. May there be achance for you when you want to come! Men, you all want to go back home, and when you go you'll want to put on your soft clothes, and you won'tgo till you can go in good style; but where did the prodigal get hisgood clothes?' Quick came the answer in Baptiste's shrill voice--

'From de old fadder!'

No one was surprised, and the minister went on--

'Yes! and that's where we must get the good, clean heart, the good, clean, brave heart, from our Father. Don't wait, but, just as you are, come. Sing. '

They sang, not loud, as they would 'Stand Up, ' or even 'The Sweet By andBy, ' but in voices subdued, holding down the power in them. 

After the singing, Craig stood a moment gazing down at the men, and thensaid quietly--

'Any man want to come? You all might come. We all must come. ' Then, sweeping his arm over the audience, and turning half round as if to moveoff, he cried, in a voice that thrilled to the heart's core--

'Oh! come on! Let's go back!'

The effect was overpowering. It seemed to me that the whole companyhalf rose to their feet. Of the prayer that immediately followed, Ionly caught the opening sentence, 'Father, we are coming back, ' formy attention was suddenly absorbed by Abe, the stage-driver, who wassitting next me. I could hear him swearing approval and admiration, saying to himself--

'Ain't he a clinker! I'll be gee-whizzly-gol-dusted if he ain't amalleable-iron-double-back-action self-adjusting corn-cracker. ' Andthe prayer continued to be punctuated with like admiring and evenmore sulphurous expletives. It was an incongruous medley. The earnest, reverent prayer, and the earnest, admiring profanity, rendered chaoticone's ideas of religious propriety. The feelings in both were akin; themethod of expression somewhat widely diverse. 

After prayer, Craig's tone changed utterly. In a quiet, matter-of-fact, businesslike way he stated his plan of organisation, and called for allwho wished to join to remain after the benediction. Some fifty men wereleft, among them Nelson, Sandy, Lachlan Campbell, Baptiste, Shaw, Nixon, Geordie, and Billy Breen, who tried to get out, but was held fast byGeordie. 

Graeme was passing out, but I signed him to remain, saying that I wished'to see the thing out. ' Abe sat still beside me, swearing disgustedly atthe fellows 'who were going back on the preacher. ' Craig appeared amazedat the number of men remaining, and seemed to fear that something waswrong. He put before them the terms of discipleship, as the Master putthem to the eager scribe, and he did not make them easy. He pictured thekind of work to be done, and the kind of men needed for the doing of it. Abe grew uneasy as the minister went on to describe the completeness ofthe surrender, the intensity of the loyalty demanded. 

'That knocks me out, I reckon, ' he muttered, in a disappointed tone; 'Iain't up to that grade. ' And as Craig described the heroism called for, the magnificence of the fight, the worth of it, and the outcome of itall, Abe ground out: I'll be blanked if I wouldn't like to take a hand, but I guess I'm not in it. ' Craig finished by saying--

'I want to put this quite fairly. It is not any league of mine; you'renot joining my company; it is no easy business, and it is for your wholelife. What do you say? Do I put it fairly? What do you say, Nelson?'

Nelson rose slowly, and with difficulty began--

'I may be all wrong, but you made it easier for me, Mr. Craig. You saidHe would see me through, or I should never have risked it. Perhaps I amwrong, ' and the old man looked troubled. Craig sprang up. 

'No! no! Thank God, no! He will see every man through who will trusthis life to Him. Every man, no matter how tough he is, no matter howbroken. '

Then Nelson straightened himself up and said--

'Well, sir! I believe a lot of the men would go in for this if they weredead sure they would get through. '

'Get through!' said Craig; 'never a fear of it. It is a hard fight, along fight, a glorious fight, ' throwing up his head, but every manwho squarely trusts Him, and takes Him as Lord and Master, comes outvictor!'

'Bon!' said Baptiste 'Das me. You tink He's take me in dat fight, M'sieuCraig, heh?' His eyes were blazing. 

'You mean it?' asked Craig almost sternly. 

'Yes! by gar!' said the little Frenchman eagerly. 

'Hear what He says, then'; and Craig, turning over the leaves of hisTestament, read solemnly the words, 'Swear not at all. '

'Non! For sure! Den I stop him, ' replied Baptiste earnestly; and Craigwrote his name down. 

Poor Abe looked amazed and distressed, rose slowly, and saying, 'Thatjars my whisky jug, ' passed out. There was a slight movement near theorgan, and glancing up I saw Mrs. Mavor put her face hastily in herhands. The men's faces were anxious and troubled, and Nelson said in avoice that broke--

'Tell them what you told me, sir. ' But Craig was troubled too, andreplied, 'You tell them, Nelson!' and Nelson told the men the story ofhow he began just five weeks ago. The old man's voice steadied as hewent on, and he grew eager as he told how he had been helped, and howthe world was all different, and his heart seemed new. He spoke of hisFriend as if He were some one that could be seen out at camp, that heknew well, and met every day. 

But as he tried to say how deeply he regretted that he had not known allthis years before, the old, hard face began to quiver, and the steadyvoice wavered. Then he pulled himself together, and said--

'I begin to feel sure He'll pull me through--me! the hardest man in themountains! So don't you fear, boys. He's all right. '

Then the men gave in their names, one by one. When it came to Geordie'sturn, he gave his name--

'George Crawford, frae the pairish o' Kilsyth, Scotland, an' ye'll juistpit doon the lad's name, Maister Craig; he's a wee bit fashed wi' thediscoorse, but he has the root o' the maitter in him, I doot. ' And soBilly Breen's name went down. 

When the meeting was over, thirty-eight names stood upon the communionroll of the Black Rock Presbyterian Church; and it will ever be one ofthe regrets of my life that neither Graeme's name nor my own appearedon that roll. And two days after, when the cup went round on that firstCommunion Sabbath, from Nelson to Sandy, and from Sandy to Baptiste, andso on down the line to Billy Breen and Mrs. Mavor, and then to Abe, thedriver, whom she had by her own mystic power lifted into hope and faith, I felt all the shame and pain of a traitor; and I believe, in my heartthat the fire of that pain and shame burned something of the selfishcowardice out of me, and that it is burning still. 

The last words of the minister, in the short address after the tablehad been served, were low, and sweet, and tender, but they were words ofhigh courage; and before he had spoken them all, the men were listeningwith shining eyes, and when they rose to sing the closing hymn theystood straight and stiff like soldiers on parade. 

And I wished more than ever I were one of them. 

CHAPTER VIII

THE BREAKING OF THE LEAGUE

There is no doubt in my mind that nature designed me for a greatpainter. A railway director interfered with that design of nature, as hehas with many another of hers, and by the transmission of an order formountain pieces by the dozen, together with a cheque so large that Ifeared there was some mistake, he determined me to be an illustrator anddesigner for railway and like publications. I do not like these peopleordering 'by the dozen. ' Why should they not consider an artist's finerfeelings? Perhaps they cannot understand them; but they understand mypictures, and I understand their cheques, and there we are quits. Butso it came that I remained in Black Rock long enough to witness thebreaking of the League. 

Looking back upon the events of that night from the midst of gentle anddecent surroundings, they now seem strangely unreal, but to me then theyappeared only natural. 

It was the Good Friday ball that wrecked the League. For the fact thatthe promoters of the ball determined that it should be a ball ratherthan a dance was taken by the League men as a concession to the newpublic opinion in favour of respectability created by the League. Andwhen the manager's patronage had been secured (they failed to get Mrs. Mavor's), and it was further announced that, though held in the BlackRock Hotel ballroom--indeed, there was no other place--refreshmentssuited to the peculiar tastes of League men would be provided, it wasfelt to be almost a necessity that the League should approve, shouldindeed welcome, this concession to the public opinion in favour ofrespectability created by the League. 

There were extreme men on both sides, of course. 'Idaho' Jack, professional gambler, for instance, frankly considered that the wholetown was going to unmentionable depths of propriety. The organisation ofthe League was regarded by him, and by many others, as a sad retrogradetowards the bondage of the ancient and dying East; and that he could notget drunk when and where he pleased, 'Idaho, ' as he was called, regardedas a personal grievance. 

But Idaho was never enamoured of the social ways of Black Rock. He wasshocked and disgusted when he discovered that a 'gun' was decreed byBritish law to be an unnecessary adornment of a card-table. The mannerof his discovery must have been interesting to behold. 

It is said that Idaho was industriously pursuing his avocation inSlavin's, with his 'gun' lying upon the card-table convenient tohis hand, when in walked policeman Jackson, her Majesty's solerepresentative in the Black Rock district. Jackson, 'Stonewall' Jackson, or 'Stonewall, ' as he was called for obvious reasons, after watching thegame for a few moments, gently tapped the pistol and asked what he usedthis for. 

'I'll show you in two holy minutes if you don't light out, ' said Idaho, hardly looking up, but very angrily, for the luck was against him. ButJackson tapped upon the table and said sweetly--

'You're a stranger here. You ought to get a guide-book and postyourself. Now, the boys know I don't interfere with an innocent littlegame, but there is a regulation against playing it with guns; so, 'he added even more sweetly, but fastening Idaho with a look fromhis steel-grey eyes, 'I'll just take charge of this, ' picking up therevolver; 'it might go off. '

Idaho's rage, great as it was, was quite swallowed up in his amazeddisgust at the state of society that would permit such an outrage uponpersonal liberty. He was quite unable to play any more that evening, andit took several drinks all round to restore him to articulate speech. The rest of the night was spent in retailing for his instruction storiesof the ways of Stonewall Jackson. 

Idaho bought a new 'gun, ' but he wore it 'in his clothes, ' and used itchiefly in the pastime of shooting out the lights or in picking offthe heels from the boys' boots while a stag dance was in progress inSlavin's. But in Stonewall's presence Idaho was a most correct citizen. Stonewall he could understand and appreciate. He was six feet three, and had an eye of unpleasant penetration. But this new feeling in thecommunity for respectability he could neither understand nor endure. TheLeague became the object of his indignant aversion, and the Leaguemen of his contempt. He had many sympathisers, and frequent were theassaults upon the newly-born sobriety of Billy Breen and others of theLeague. But Geordie's watchful care and Mrs. Mavor's steady influence, together with the loyal co-operation of the League men, kept Billy safeso far. Nixon, too, was a marked man. It may be that he carried himselfwith unnecessary jauntiness toward Slavin and Idaho, saluting the formerwith, 'Awful dry weather! eh, Slavin?' and the latter with, 'Hello, oldsport! how's times?' causing them to swear deeply; and, as it turnedout, to do more than swear. 

But on the whole the anti-League men were in favour of a respectableball, and most of the League men determined to show their appreciationof the concession of the committee to the principles of the League inthe important matter of refreshments by attending in force. 

Nixon would not go. However jauntily he might talk, he could not trusthimself, as he said, where whisky was flowing, for it got into his nose'like a fish-hook into a salmon. ' He was from Nova Scotia. For likereason, Vernon Winton, the young Oxford fellow, would not go. When theychaffed, his lips grew a little thinner, and the colour deepened inhis handsome face, but he went on his way. Geordie despised the 'halehypothick' as a 'daft ploy, ' and the spending of five dollars upon aticket he considered a 'sinfu' waste o' guid siller'; and he warnedBilly against 'coontenancin' ony sic redeeklus nonsense. '

But no one expected Billy to go; although the last two months he haddone wonders for his personal appearance, and for his position in thesocial scale as well. They all knew what a fight he was making, andesteemed him accordingly. How well I remember the pleased pride in hisface when he told me in the afternoon of the committee's urgent requestthat he should join the orchestra with his 'cello! It was notsimply that his 'cello was his joy and pride, but he felt it to be arecognition of his return to respectability. 

I have often wondered how things combine at times to a man'sdestruction. 

Had Mr. Craig not been away at the Landing that week, had Geordie notbeen on the night-shift, had Mrs. Mavor not been so occupied with thecare of her sick child, it may be Billy might have been saved his fall. 

The anticipation of the ball stirred Black Rock and the camps with athrill of expectant delight. Nowadays, when I find myself forced toleave my quiet smoke in my studio after dinner at the call of somesocial engagement which I have failed to elude, I groan at my hard lot, and I wonder as I look back and remember the pleasurable anticipationwith which I viewed the approaching ball. But I do not wonder now anymore than I did then at the eager delight of the men who for seven daysin the week swung their picks up in the dark breasts of the mines, orwho chopped and sawed among the solitary silences of the great forests. Any break in the long and weary monotony was welcome; what matteredthe cost or consequence! To the rudest and least cultured of them thesameness of the life must have been hard to bear; but what it was to menwho had seen life in its most cultured and attractive forms I fail toimagine. From the mine, black and foul, to the shack, bare, cheerless, and sometimes hideously repulsive, life swung in heart-grinding monotonytill the longing for a 'big drink' or some other 'big break' became toogreat to bear. 

It was well on towards evening when Sandy's four horse team, with aload of men from the woods, came swinging round the curves of themountain-road and down the street. A gay crowd they were with theirbright, brown faces and hearty voices; and in ten minutes the wholestreet seemed alive with lumbermen--they had a faculty of spreadingthemselves so. After night fell the miners came down 'done up slick, 'for this was a great occasion, and they must be up to it. The managerappeared in evening dress; but this was voted 'too giddy' by themajority. 

As Graeme and I passed up to the Black Rock Hotel, in the largestore-room of which the ball was to be held, we met old man Nelsonlooking very grave. 

'Going, Nelson, aren't you?' I said. 

'Yes, ' he answered slowly; 'I'll drop in, though I don't like the lookof things much. '

'What's the matter, Nelson?' asked Graeme cheerily. 'There's no funeralon. '

'Perhaps not, ' replied Nelson, 'but I wish Mr. Craig were home. ' Andthen he added, 'There's Idaho and Slavin together, and you may bet thedevil isn't far off. '

But Graeme laughed at his suspicion, and we passed on. The orchestra wastuning up. There were two violins, a concertina, and the 'cello. BillyBreen was lovingly fingering his instrument, now and then indulginghimself in a little snatch of some air that came to him out of hishappier past. He looked perfectly delighted, and as I paused to listenhe gave me a proud glance out of his deep, little, blue eyes, and wenton playing softly to himself. Presently Shaw came along. 

'That's good, Billy, ' he called out. 'You've got the trick yet, I see. '

But Billy only nodded and went on playing. 

'Where's Nixon?' I asked. 

'Gone to bed, ' said Shaw, 'and I am glad of it. He finds that the safestplace on pay-day afternoon. The boys don't bother him there. '

The dancing-room was lined on two sides with beer-barrels andwhisky-kegs; at one end the orchestra sat, at the other was a table withrefreshments, where the 'soft drinks' might be had. Those who wantedanything else might pass through a short passage into the bar justbehind. 

This was evidently a superior kind of ball, for the men kept on theircoats, and went through the various figures with faces of unnaturalsolemnity. But the strain upon their feelings was quite apparent, and itbecame a question how long it could be maintained. As the trips throughthe passage-way became more frequent the dancing grew in vigour andhilarity, until by the time supper was announced the stiffness hadsufficiently vanished to give no further anxiety to the committee. 

But the committee had other cause for concern, inasmuch as after suppercertain of the miners appeared with their coats off, and proceeded to'knock the knots out of the floor' in break-down dances of extraordinaryenergy. These, however, were beguiled into the bar-room and 'filled up'for safety, for the committee were determined that the respectability ofthe ball should be preserved to the end. Their reputation was at stake, not in Black Rock only, but at the Landing as well, from which most ofthe ladies had come; and to be shamed in the presence of the Landingpeople could not be borne. Their difficulties seemed to be increasing, for at this point something seemed to go wrong with the orchestra. The 'cello appeared to be wandering aimlessly up and down the scale, occasionally picking up the tune with animation, and then dropping it. As Billy saw me approaching, he drew himself up with great solemnity, gravely winked at me, and said--

'Shlipped a cog, Mishter Connor! Mosh hunfortunate! Beauchifulhinstrument, but shlips a cog. Mosh hunfortunate!'

And he wagged his little head sagely, playing all the while for dearlife, now second and now lead. 

Poor Billy! I pitied him, but I thought chiefly of the beautiful, eagerface that leaned towards him the night the League was made, and of thebright voice that said, 'You'll sign with me, Billy?' and it seemed tome a cruel deed to make him lose his grip of life and hope; for this iswhat the pledge meant to him. 

While I was trying to get Billy away to some safe place, I heard agreat shouting in the direction of the bar, followed by trampling andscuffling of feet in the passage-way. Suddenly a man burst through, crying--

'Let me go! Stand back! I know what I'm about!'

It was Nixon, dressed in his best; black clothes, blue shirt, red tie, looking handsome enough, but half-drunk and wildly excited. The highlandFling competition was on at the moment, and Angus Campbell, Lachlan'sbrother, was representing the lumber camps in the contest. Nixon lookedon approvingly for a few moments, then with a quick movement he seizedthe little Highlander, swung him in his powerful arms clean off thefloor, and deposited him gently upon a beer-barrel. Then he steppedinto the centre of the room, bowed to the judges, and began a sailor'shornpipe. 

The committee were perplexed, but after deliberation they decided tohumour the new competitor, especially as they knew that Nixon withwhisky in him was unpleasant to cross. 

Lightly and gracefully he went through his steps, the men crowding infrom the bar to admire, for Nixon was famed for his hornpipe. But when, after the hornpipe, he proceeded to execute a clog-dance, garnished withacrobatic feats, the committee interfered. There were cries of 'Put himout!' and 'Let him alone! Go on, Nixon!' And Nixon hurled back into thecrowd two of the committee who had laid remonstrating hands upon him, and, standing in the open centre, cried out scornfully--

'Put me out! Put me out! Certainly! Help yourselves! Don't mind me!'Then grinding his teeth, so that I heard them across the room, he addedwith savage deliberation, 'If any man lays a finger on me, I'll--I'lleat his liver cold. '

He stood for a few moments glaring round upon the company, and thenstrode toward the bar, followed by the crowd wildly yelling. The ballwas forthwith broken up. I looked around for Billy, but he was nowhereto be seen. Graeme touched my arm--

'There's going to be something of a time, so just keep your eyesskinned. '

'What are you going to do?' I asked. 

'Do? Keep myself beautifully out of trouble, ' he replied. 

In a few moments the crowd came surging back headed by Nixon, who waswaving a whisky-bottle over his head and yelling as one possessed. 

'Hello!' exclaimed Graeme softly, 'I begin to see. Look there!'

'What's up?' I asked. 

'You see Idaho and Slavin and their pets, ' he replied. 

'They've got poor Nixon in tow. Idaho is rather nasty, ' he added, 'butI think I'll take a hand in this game; I've seen some of Idaho's workbefore. '

The scene was one quite strange to me, and was wild beyond description. A hundred men filled the room. Bottles were passed from hand to hand, and men drank their fill. Behind the refreshment-tables stood thehotelman and his barkeeper with their coats off and sleeves rolled up tothe shoulder, passing out bottles, and drawing beer and whisky from twokegs hoisted up for that purpose. Nixon was in his glory. It washis night. Every man was to get drunk at his expense, he proclaimed, flinging down bills upon the table. Near him were some League men hewas treating liberally, and never far away were Idaho and Slavin passingbottles, but evidently drinking little. 

I followed Graeme, not feeling too comfortable, for this sort of thingwas new to me, but admiring the cool assurance with which he made hisway through the crowd that swayed and yelled and swore and laughed in amost disconcerting manner. 

'Hello!' shouted Nixon as he caught sight of Graeme. 'Here you are!'passing him a bottle. 'You're a knocker, a double-handed front doorknocker. You polished off old whisky-soak here, old demijohn, ' pointingto Slavin, 'and I'll lay five to one we can lick any blankety blankthieves in the crowd, ' and he held up a roll of bills. 

But Graeme proposed that he should give the hornpipe again, and thefloor was cleared at once, for Nixon's hornpipe was very popular, andtonight, of course, was in high favour. In the midst of his dance Nixonstopped short, his arms dropped to his side, his face had a look offear, of horror. 

There, before him, in his riding-cloak and boots, with his whip in hishand as he had come from his ride, stood Mr. Craig. His face was pallid, and his dark eyes were blazing with fierce light. As Nixon stopped, Craig stepped forward to him, and sweeping his eyes round upon thecircle he said in tones intense with scorn--

'You cowards! You get a man where he's weak! Cowards! you'd damn hissoul for his money!'

There was dead silence, and Craig, lifting his hat, said solemnly--

'May God forgive you this night's work!'

Then, turning to Nixon, and throwing his arm over his shoulder, he saidin a voice broken and husky--

'Come on, Nixon! we'll go!'

Idaho made a motion as if to stop him, but Graeme stepped quicklyforeword and said sharply, 'Make way there, can't you?' and the crowdfell back and we four passed through, Nixon walking as in a dream, withCraig's arm about him. Down the street we went in silence, and on toCraig's shack, where we found old man Nelson, with the fire blazing, andstrong coffee steaming on the stove. It was he that had told Craig, onhis arrival from the Landing, of Nixon's fall. 

There was nothing of reproach, but only gentlest pity, in tone and touchas Craig placed the half-drunk, dazed man in his easy-chair, took offhis boots, brought him his own slippers, and gave him coffee. Then, ashis stupor began to overcome him, Craig put him in his own bed, and cameforth with a face written over with grief. 

'Don't mind, old chap, ' said Graeme kindly. 

But Craig looked at him without a word, and, throwing himself into achair, put his face in his hands. As we sat there in silence the doorwas suddenly pushed open and in walked Abe Baker with the words, 'Whereis Nixon?' and we told him where he was. We were still talking whenagain a tap came to the door, and Shaw came in looking much disturbed. 

'Did you hear about Nixon?' he asked. We told him what we knew. 

'But did you hear how they got him?' he asked, excitedly. 

As he told us the tale, the men stood listening, with faces growinghard. 

It appeared that after the making of the League the Black Rock Hotel manhad bet Idaho one hundred to fifty that Nixon could not be got to drinkbefore Easter. All Idaho's schemes had failed, and now he had only threedays in which to win his money, and the ball was his last chance. Hereagain he was balked, for Nixon, resisting all entreaties, barred hisshack door and went to bed before nightfall, according to his invariablecustom on pay-days. At midnight some of Idaho's men came battering atthe door for admission, which Nixon reluctantly granted. For half anhour they used every art of persuasion to induce him to go down to theball, the glorious success of which was glowingly depicted; but Nixonremained immovable, and they took their departure, baffled and cursing. In two hours they returned drunk enough to be dangerous, kicked at thedoor in vain, finally gained entrance through the window, hauled Nixonout of bed, and, holding a glass of whisky to his lips, bade him drink. But he knocked the glass sway, spilling the liquor over himself and thebed. 

It was drink or fight, and Nixon was ready to fight; but after parleythey had a drink all round, and fell to persuasion again. The night wascold, and poor Nixon sat shivering on the edge of his bed. If he wouldtake one drink they would leave him alone. He need not show himself sostiff. The whisky fumes filled his nostrils. If one drink would getthem off, surely that was better than fighting and killing some one orgetting killed. He hesitated, yielded, drank his glass. They sat abouthim amiably drinking, and lauding him as a fine fellow after all. Onemore glass before they left. Then Nixon rose, dressed himself, drank allthat was left of the bottle, put his money in his pocket, and came downto the dance, wild with his old-time madness, reckless of faith andpledge, forgetful of home, wife, babies, his whole being absorbed in onegreat passion--to drink and drink and drink till he could drink no more. 

Before Shaw had finished his tale, Craig's eyes were streaming withtears, and groans of rage and pity broke alternately from him. Aberemained speechless for a time, not trusting himself; but as he heardCraig groan, 'Oh, the beasts! the fiends!' he seemed encouraged tolet himself loose, and he began swearing with the coolest and mostblood-curdling deliberation. Craig listened with evident approval, apparently finding complete satisfaction in Abe's performance, whensuddenly he seemed to waken up, caught Abe by the arm, and said in ahorror-stricken voice--

'Stop! stop! God forgive us! we must not swear like this. '

Abe stopped at once, and in a surprised and slightly grieved voicesaid--

'Why! what's the matter with that? Ain't that what you wanted?'

'Yes! yes! God forgive me! I am afraid it was, ' he answered hurriedly;'but I must not. '

'Oh, don't you worry, ' went on Abe cheerfully; 'I'll look after thatpart; and anyway, ain't they the blankest blankety blank'--going offagain into a roll of curses, till Craig, in an agony of entreaty, succeeded in arresting the flow of profanity possible to no one but amountain stage-driver. Abe paused looking hurt, and asked if they didnot deserve everything he was calling down upon them. 

'Yes, yes, ' urged Craig; 'but that is not our business. '

'Well! so I reckoned, ' replied Abe, recognising the limitations of thecloth; 'you ain't used to it, and you can't be expected to do it; but itjust makes me feel good--let out o' school like--to properly do 'em up, the blank, blank, ' and off he went again. It was only under the pressureof Mr. Craig's prayers and commands that he finally agreed 'to hold in, though it was tough. '

'What's to be done?' asked Shaw. 

'Nothing, ' answered Craig bitterly. He was exhausted with his long ridefrom the Landing, and broken with bitter disappointment over the ruin ofall that he had laboured so long to accomplish. 

'Nonsense, ' said Graeme; 'there's a good deal to do. '

It was agreed that Craig should remain with Nixon while the others of usshould gather up what fragments we could find of the broken League. Wehad just opened the door, when we met a man striding up at a great pace. It was Geordie Crawford. 

'Hae ye seen the lad?' was his salutation. No one replied. So I toldGeordie of my last sight of Billy in the orchestra. 

'An' did ye no' gang aifter him?' he asked in indignant surprise, addingwith some contempt, 'Man! but ye're a feckless buddie. '

'Billy gone too!' said Shaw. 'They might have let Billy alone. '

Poor Craig stood in a dumb agony. Billy's fall seemed more than hecould bear. We went out, leaving him heart-broken amid the ruins of hisLeague. 

CHAPTER IX

THE LEAGUE'S REVENGE

As we stood outside of Craig's shack in the dim starlight, we could nothide from ourselves that we were beaten. It was not so much grief asa blind fury that filled my heart, and looking at the faces of the menabout me I read the same feeling there. But what could we do? The yellsof carousing miners down at Slavin's told us that nothing could be donewith them that night. To be so utterly beaten, and unfairly, and with nochance of revenge, was maddening. 

'I'd like to get back at 'em, ' said Abe, carefully repressing himself. 

'I've got it, men, ' said Graeme suddenly. 'This town does not requireall the whisky there is in it'; and he unfolded his plan. It was to gainpossession of Slavin's saloon and the bar of the Black Rock Hotel, andclear out all the liquor to be found in both these places. I did notmuch like the idea; and Geordie said, 'I'm ga'en aifter the lad; I'llhae naethin' tae dae wi' yon. It's' no' that easy, an' it's a sinfu'waste. '

But Abe was wild to try it, and Shaw was quite willing, while old Nelsonsternly approved. 

'Nelson, you and Shaw get a couple of our men and attend to the saloon. Slavin and the whole gang are up at the Black Rock, so you won't havemuch trouble; but come to us as soon as you can. '

And so we went our ways. 

Then followed a scene the like of which I can never hope to see again, and it was worth a man's seeing. But there were times that night when Iwished I had not agreed to follow Graeme in his plot. As we went up tothe hotel, I asked Graeme, 'What about the law of this?'

'Law!' he replied indignantly. 'They haven't troubled much about law inthe whisky business here. They get a keg of high wines and some drugsand begin operations. No!' he went on; 'if we can get the crowd out, andourselves in, we'll make them break the law in getting us out. The lawwon't trouble us over smuggled whisky. It will be a great lark, and theywon't crow too loud over the League. '

I did not like the undertaking at first; but as I thought of the wholewretched illegal business flourishing upon the weakness of the menin the mines and camps, whom I had learned to regard as brothers, andespecially as I thought of the cowards that did for Nixon, I let myscruples go, and determined, with Abe, 'to get back at 'em. '

We had no difficulty getting them out. Abe began to yell. Some menrushed out to learn the cause. He seized the foremost man, making ahideous uproar all the while, and in three minutes had every man out ofthe hotel and a lively row going on. 

In two minutes more Graeme and I had the door to the ball-room lockedand barricaded with empty casks. We then closed the door of the bar-roomleading to the outside. The bar-room was a strongly built log-shack, with a heavy door secured, after the manner of the early cabins, withtwo strong oak bars, so that we felt safe from attack from that quarter. 

The ball-room we could not hold long, for the door was slight andentrance was possible through the windows. But as only a few casks ofliquor were left there, our main work would be in the bar, so that thefight would be to hold the passage-way. This we barricaded with casksand tables. But by this time the crowd had begun to realise what hadhappened, and were wildly yelling at door and windows. With an axe whichGraeme had brought with him the casks were soon stove in, and left toempty themselves. 

As I was about to empty the last cask, Graeme stopped me, saying, 'Letthat stand here. It will help us. ' And so it did. 'Now skip for thebarricade, ' yelled Graeme, as a man came crashing through the window. Before he could regain his feet, however, Graeme had seized him andflung him out upon the heads of the crowd outside. But through theother windows men were coming in, and Graeme rushed for the barricade, followed by two of the enemy, the foremost of whom I received at the topand hurled back upon the others. 

'Now, be quick!' said Graeme; 'I'll hold this. Don't break any bottleson the floor--throw them out there, ' pointing to a little window high upin the wall. 

I made all haste. The casks did not take much time, and soon the whiskyand beer were flowing over the floor. It made me think of Geordie'sregret over the 'sinfu' waste. ' The bottles took longer, and glancing upnow and then I saw that Graeme was being hard pressed. Men would leap, two and three at a time, upon the barricade, and Graeme's arms wouldshoot out, and over they would topple upon the heads of those nearest. It was a great sight to see him standing alone with a smile on his faceand the light of battle in his eye, coolly meeting his assailants withthose terrific, lightning-like blows. In fifteen minutes my work wasdone. 

'What next?' I asked. 'How do we get out?'

'How is the door?' he replied. 

I looked through the port-hole and said, 'A crowd of men waiting. '

'We'll have to make a dash for it, I fancy, ' he replied cheerfully, though his face was covered with blood and his breath was coming inshort gasps. 

'Get down the bars and be ready. ' But even as he spoke a chair hurledfrom below caught him on the arm, and before he could recover, a man hadcleared the barricade and was upon him like a tiger. It was Idaho Jack. 

'Hold the barricade, ' Graeme called out, as they both went down. 

I sprang to his place, but I had not much hope of holding it long. I hadthe heavy oak bar of the door in my hands, and swinging it round my headI made the crowd give back for a few moments. 

Meantime Graeme had shaken off his enemy, who was circling about himupon his tip-toes, with a long knife in his hand, waiting for a chanceto spring. 

'I have been waiting for this for some time, Mr. Graeme, ' he saidsmiling. 

'Yes, ' replied Graeme, 'ever since I spoiled your cut-throat game in'Frisco. How is the little one?' he added sarcastically. 

Idaho's face lost its smile and became distorted with fury as hereplied, spitting out his words, 'She--is--where you will be before I amdone with you. '

'Ah! you murdered her too! You'll hang some beautiful day, Idaho, ' saidGraeme, as Idaho sprang upon him. 

Graeme dodged his blow and caught his forearm with his left hand andheld up high the murderous knife. Back and forward they swayed over thefloor, slippery with whisky, the knife held high in the air. I wonderedwhy Graeme did not strike, and then I saw his right hand hung limp fromthe wrist. The men were crowding upon the barricade. I was in despair. Graeme's strength was going fast. With a yell of exultant fury Idahothrew himself with all his weight upon Graeme, who could only cling tohim. They swayed together towards me, but as they fell I brought downmy bar upon the upraised hand and sent the knife flying across the room. Idaho's howl of rage and pain was mingled with a shout from below, andthere, dashing the crowd right and left, came old Nelson, followed byAbe, Sandy, Baptiste, Shaw, and others. As they reached the barricade itcrashed down and, carrying me with it, pinned me fast. 

Looking out between the barrels, I saw what froze my heart with horror. In the fall Graeme had wound his arms about his enemy and held him ina grip so deadly that he could not strike; but Graeme's strength wasfailing, and when I looked I saw that Idaho was slowly dragging bothacross the slippery floor to where the knife lay. Nearer and nearer hisoutstretched fingers came to the knife. In vain I yelled and struggled. My voice was lost in the awful din, and the barricade held me fast. Above me, standing on a barrel-head, was Baptiste, yelling like a demon. In vain I called to him. My fingers could just reach his foot, andhe heeded not at all my touch. Slowly Idaho was dragging his almostunconscious victim toward the knife. His fingers were touching theblade point, when, under a sudden inspiration, I pulled out my penknife, opened it with my teeth, and drove the blade into Baptiste's foot. Witha blood-curdling yell he sprang down and began dancing round in hisrage, peering among the barrels. 

'Look! look!' I was calling in agony, and pointing; 'for heaven's sake, look! Baptiste!'

The fingers had closed upon the knife, the knife was already high inthe air, when, with a shriek, Baptiste cleared the room at a bound, and, before the knife could fall, the little Frenchman's boot had caught theuplifted wrist, and sent the knife flying to the wall. 

Then there was a great rushing sound as of wind through the forest, andthe lights went out. When I awoke, I found myself lying with my head onGraeme's knees, and Baptiste sprinkling snow on my face. As I looked upGraeme leaned over me, and, smiling down into my eyes, he said--

'Good boy! It was a great fight, and we put it up well'; and then hewhispered, 'I owe you my life, my boy. '

His words thrilled my heart through and through, for I loved him as onlymen can love men; but I only answered--

'I could not keep them back. '

'It was well done, ' he said; and I felt proud. I confess I was thankfulto be so well out of it, for Graeme got off with a bone in his wristbroken, and I with a couple of ribs cracked; but had it not been for theopen barrel of whisky which kept them occupied for a time, offering toogood a chance to be lost, and for the timely arrival of Nelson, neitherof us had ever seen the light again. 

We found Craig sound asleep upon his couch. His consternation on wakingto see us torn, bruised, and bloody was laughable; but he hastened tofind us warm water and bandages, and we soon felt comfortable. 

Baptiste was radiant with pride and light over the fight, and hoveredabout Graeme and me giving vent to his feelings in admiring French andEnglish expletives. But Abe was disgusted because of the failure atSlavin's; for when Nelson looked in, he saw Slavin's French-Canadianwife in charge, with her baby on her lap, and he came back to Shaw andsaid, 'Come away, we can't touch this'; and Shaw, after looking in, agreed that nothing could be done. A baby held the fort. 

As Craig listened to the account of the fight, he tried hard not toapprove, but he could not keep the gleam out of his eyes; and as Ipictured Graeme dashing back the crowd thronging the barricade till hewas brought down by the chair, Craig laughed gently, and put his handon Graeme's knee. And as I went on to describe my agony while Idaho'sfingers were gradually nearing the knife, his face grew pale and hiseyes grew wide with horror. 

'Baptiste here did the business, ' I said, and the little Frenchmannodded complacently and said--

'Dat's me for sure. '

'By the way, how is your foot?' asked Graeme. 

'He's fuss-rate. Dat's what you call--one bite of--of--dat leel bees, he's dere, you put your finger dere, he's not dere!--what you call him?'

'Flea!' I suggested. 

'Oui!' cried Baptiste. 'Dat's one bite of flea. '

'I was thankful I was under the barrels, ' I replied, smiling. 

'Oui! Dat's mak' me ver mad. I jump an' swear mos' awful bad. Dat'spardon me, M'sieu Craig, heh?'

But Craig only smiled at him rather sadly. 'It was awfully risky, ' hesaid to Graeme, 'and it was hardly worth it. They'll get more whisky, and anyway the League is gone. '

'Well, ' said Graeme with a sigh of satisfaction, 'it is not quite such aone-sided affair as it was. '

And we could say nothing in reply, for we could hear Nixon snoring inthe next room, and no one had heard of Billy, and there were others ofthe League that we knew were even now down at Slavin's. It was thoughtbest that all should remain in Mr. Craig's shack, not knowing what mighthappen; and so we lay where we could and we needed none to sing us tosleep. 

When I awoke, stiff and sore, it was to find breakfast ready and old manNelson in charge. As we were seated, Craig came in, and I saw that hewas not the man of the night before. His courage had come back, his facewas quiet and his eye clear; he was his own man again. 

'Geordie has been out all night, but has failed to find Billy, ' heannounced quietly. 

We did not talk much; Graeme and I worried with our broken bones, and the others suffered from a general morning depression. But, afterbreakfast, as the men were beginning to move, Craig took down his Bible, and saying--

'Wait a few minutes, men!' he read slowly, in his beautiful clear voice, that psalm for all fighters--

 'God is our refuge and strength, '

and soon to the noble words--

 'The Lord of Hosts is with us; The God of Jacob is our refuge. '

How the mighty words pulled us together, lifted us till we grew ashamedof our ignoble rage and of our ignoble depression!

And then Craig prayed in simple, straight-going words. There wasacknowledgement of failure, but I knew he was thinking chiefly ofhimself; and there was gratitude, and that was for the men about him, and I felt my face burn with shame; and there was petition for help, and we all thought of Nixon, and Billy, and the men wakening from theirdebauch at Slavin's this pure, bright morning. And then he asked that wemight be made faithful and worthy of God, whose battle it was. Then weall stood up and shook hands with him in silence, and every man knew acovenant was being made. But none saw his meeting with Nixon. He sent usall away before that. 

Nothing was heard of the destruction of the hotel stock-in-trade. Unpleasant questions would certainly be asked, and the proprietordecided to let bad alone. On the point of respectability the success ofthe ball was not conspicuous, but the anti-League men were content, ifnot jubilant. 

Billy Breen was found by Geordie late in the afternoon in his ownold and deserted shack, breathing heavily, covered up in his filthy, mouldering bed-clothes, with a half-empty bottle of whisky at his side. Geordie's grief and rage were beyond even his Scotch control. He spokefew words, but these were of such concentrated vehemence that no onefelt the need of Abe's assistance in vocabulary. 

Poor Billy! We carried him to Mrs. Mavor's home; put him in a warm bath, rolled him in blankets, and gave him little sips of hot water, then ofhot milk and coffee; as I had seen a clever doctor in the hospital treata similar case of nerve and heart depression. But the already weakenedsystem could not recover from the awful shock of the exposure followingthe debauch; and on Sunday afternoon we saw that his heart was failingfast. All day the miners had been dropping in to inquire after him, forBilly had been a great favourite in other days, and the attention of thetown had been admiringly centred upon his fight of these last weeks. Itwas with no ordinary sorrow that the news of his condition was received. As Mrs. Mavor sang to him, his large coarse hands moved in time to themusic, but he did not open his eyes till he heard Mr. Craig's voice inthe next room; then he spoke his name, and Mr. Craig was kneeling besidehim in a moment. The words came slowly--

'Oi tried--to fight it hout--but---oi got beaten. Hit 'urts to think'E's hashamed o' me. Oi'd like t'a done better--oi would. '

'Ashamed of you, Billy!' said Craig, in a voice that broke. 'Not He. '

'An'--ye hall--'elped me so!' he went on. 'Oi wish oi'd 'a donebetter--oi do, ' and his eyes sought Geordie, and then rested on Mrs. Mavor, who smiled back at him with a world of love in her eyes. 

'You hain't hashamed o' me--yore heyes saigh so, ' he said looking ather. 

'No, Billy, ' she said, and I wondered at her steady voice, 'not a bit. Why, Billy, I am proud of you. '

He gazed up at her with wonder and ineffable love in his little eyes, then lifted his hand slightly toward her. She knelt quickly and took itin both of hers, stroking it and kissing it. 

'Oi haught t'a done better. Oi'm hawful sorry oi went back on 'Im. Hitwas the lemonaide. The boys didn't mean no 'arm--but hit started the'ell hinside. '

Geordie hurled out some bitter words. 

'Don't be 'ard on 'em, Geordie; they didn't mean no 'arm, ' he said, andhis eyes kept waiting till Geordie said hurriedly--

'Na! na! lad--a'll juist leave them till the Almichty. '

Then Mrs. Mavor sang softly, smoothing his hand, 'Just as I am, ' andBilly dozed quietly for half an hour. 

When he awoke again his eyes turned to Mr. Craig, and they were troubledand anxious. 

'Oi tried 'ard. Oi wanted to win, ' he struggled to say. By this timeCraig was master of himself, and he answered in a clear, distinctvoice--

'Listen, Billy! You made a great fight, and you are going to winyet. And besides, do you remember the sheep that got lost over themountains?'--this parable was Billy's special delight--'He didn't beatit when He got it, did he? He took it in His arms and carried it home. And so He will you. '

And Billy, keeping his eyes fastened on Mr. Craig, simply said--

'Will 'E?'

'Sure!' said Craig. 

'Will 'E?' he repeated, turning his eyes upon Mrs. Mavor. 

'Why, yes, Billy, ' she answered cheerily, though the tears werestreaming from her eyes. 'I would, and He loves you far more. '

He looked at her, smiled, and closed his eyes. I put my hand on hisheart; it was fluttering feebly. Again a troubled look passed over hisface. 

'My--poor--hold--mother, ' he whispered, 'she's--hin--the--wukus. '

'I shall take care of her, Billy, ' said Mrs. Mavor, in a clear voice, and again Billy smiled. Then he turned his eyes to Mr. Craig, and fromhim to Geordie, and at last to Mrs. Mavor, where they rested. She bentover and kissed him twice on the forehead. 

'Tell 'er, ' he said, with difficulty, ''E's took me 'ome. '

'Yes, Billy!' she cried, gazing into his glazing eyes. He tried to lifther hand. She kissed him again. He drew one deep breath and lay quitestill. 

'Thank the blessed Saviour!' said Mr. Craig, reverently. 'He has takenhim home. '

But Mrs. Mavor held the dead hand tight and sobbed out passionately, 'Oh, Billy, Billy! you helped me once when I needed help! I cannotforget!'

And Geordie, groaning, 'Ay, laddie, laddie, ' passed out into the fadinglight of the early evening. 

Next day no one went to work, for to all it seemed a sacred day. Theycarried him into the little church, and there Mr. Craig spoke of hislong, hard fight, and of his final victory; for he died without a fear, and with love to the men who, not knowing, had been his death. And therewas no bitterness in any heart, for Mr. Craig read the story of thesheep, and told how gently He had taken Billy home; but, though no wordwas spoken, it was there the League was made again. 

They laid him under the pines, beside Lewis Mavor; and the miners threwsprigs of evergreen into the open grave. When Slavin, sobbing bitterly, brought his sprig, no one stopped him, though all thought it strange. 

As we turned to leave the grave, the light from the evening sun camesoftly through the gap in the mountains, and, filling the valley, touched the trees and the little mound beneath with glory. And I thoughtof that other glory, which is brighter than the sun, and was not sorrythat poor Billy's weary fight was over; and I could not help agreeingwith Craig that it was there the League had its revenge. 

CHAPTER X

WHAT CAME TO SLAVIN

Billy Breen's legacy to the Black Rock mining camp was a new League, which was more than the old League re-made. The League was new in itsspirit and in its methods. The impression made upon the camp by BillyBreen's death was very remarkable, and I have never been quite able toaccount for it. The mood of the community at the time was peculiarlysusceptible. Billy was one of the oldest of the old-timers. His declineand fall had been a long process, and his struggle for life and manhoodwas striking enough to arrest the attention and awaken the sympathy ofthe whole camp. We instinctively side with a man in his struggle forfreedom; for we feel that freedom is native to him and to us. The suddencollapse of the struggle stirred the men with a deep pity for the beatenman, and a deep contempt for those who had tricked him to his doom. Butthough the pity and the contempt remained, the gloom was relieved andthe sense of defeat removed from the men's minds by the transformingglory of Billy's last hour. Mr. Craig, reading of the tragedy of Billy'sdeath, transfigured defeat into victory, and this was generally acceptedby the men as the true reading, though to them it was full of mystery. But they could all understand and appreciate at full value the spiritthat breathed through the words of the dying man: 'Don't be 'ard on 'em, they didn't mean no 'arm. ' And this was the new spirit of the League. 

It was this spirit that surprised Slavin into sudden tears at thegrave's side. He had come braced for curses and vengeance, for all knewit was he who had doctored Billy's lemonade, and instead of vengeancethe message from the dead that echoed through the voice of the livingwas one of pity and forgiveness. 

But the days of the League's negative, defensive warfare were over. The fight was to the death, and now the war was to be carried intothe enemy's country. The League men proposed a thoroughly equipped andwell-conducted coffee-room, reading-room, and hall, to parallel theenemy's lines of operation, and defeat them with their own weapons upontheir own ground. The main outlines of the scheme were clearly definedand were easily seen, but the perfecting of the details called for allCraig's tact and good sense. When, for instance, Vernon Winton, who hadcharge of the entertainment department, came for Craig's opinion as toa minstrel troupe and private theatricals, Craig was prompt with hisanswer--

'Anything clean goes. '

'A nigger show?' asked Winton. 

'Depends upon the niggers, ' replied Craig with a gravely comic look, shrewdly adding, 'ask Mrs. Mavor'; and so the League Minstrel andDramatic Company became an established fact, and proved, as Craigafterwards told me, 'a great means of grace to the camp. '

Shaw had charge of the social department, whose special care it was tosee that the men were made welcome to the cosy, cheerful reading room, where they might chat, smoke, read, write, or play games, according tofancy. 

But Craig felt that the success or failure of the scheme would largelydepend upon the character of the Resident Manager, who, while caringfor reading-room and hall, would control and operate the importantdepartment represented by the coffee-room. 

'At this point the whole business may come to grief, ' he said to Mrs. Mavor, without whose counsel nothing was done. 

'Why come to grief?' she asked brightly. 

'Because if we don't get the right man, that's what will happen, ' hereplied in a tone that spoke of anxious worry. 

'But we shall get the right man, never fear. ' Her serene courage neverfaltered. 'He will come to us. '

Craig turned and gazed at her in frank admiration and said--

'If I only had your courage!'

'Courage!' she answered quickly. 'It is not for you to say that'; andat his answering look the red came into her cheek and the depths in hereyes glowed, and I marvelled and wondered, looking at Craig's cool face, whether his blood were running evenly through his veins. But his voicewas quiet, a shade too quiet I thought, as he gravely replied--

'I would often be a coward but for the shame of it. '

And so the League waited for the man to come, who was to be ResidentManager and make the new enterprise a success. And come he did; but themanner of his coming was so extraordinary, that I have believed in thedoctrine of a special providence ever since; for as Craig said, 'If hehad come straight from Heaven I could not have been more surprised. '

While the League was thus waiting, its interest centred upon Slavin, chiefly because he represented more than any other the forces of theenemy; and though Billy Breen stood between him and the vengeance of theangry men who would have made short work of him and his saloon, nothingcould save him from himself, and after the funeral Slavin went to hisbar and drank whisky as he had never drunk before. But the more he drankthe fiercer and gloomier he became, and when the men drinking with himchaffed him, he swore deeply and with such threats that they left himalone. 

It did not help Slavin either to have Nixon stride in through the crowddrinking at his bar and give him words of warning. 

'It is not your fault, Slavin, ' he said in slow, cool voice, 'that youand your precious crew didn't sent me to my death, too. You've won yourbet, but I want to say, that next time, though you are seven to one, orten times that, when any of you boys offer me a drink I'll take you tomean fight, and I'll not disappoint you, and some one will be killed, 'and so saying he strode out again, leaving a mean-looking crowd of menbehind him. All who had not been concerned in the business at Nixon'sshack expressed approval of his position, and hoped he would 'see itthrough. '

But the impression of Nixon's words upon Slavin was as nothing comparedwith that made by Geordie Crawford. It was not what he said so muchas the manner of awful solemnity he carried. Geordie was strugglingconscientiously to keep his promise to 'not be 'ard on the boys, ' andfound considerable relief in remembering that he had agreed 'to leavethem tae the Almichty. ' But the manner of leaving them was so solemnlyawful, that I could not wonder that Slavin's superstitious Irish naturesupplied him with supernatural terrors. It was the second day after thefuneral that Geordie and I were walking towards Slavin's. There was agreat shout of laughter as we drew near. 

Geordie stopped short, and saying, 'We'll juist gang in a meenute, 'passed through the crowd and up to the bar. 

'Michael Slavin, ' began Geordie, and the men stared in dead, silence, with their glasses in their hands. 'Michael Slavin, a' promised the lada'd bear ye nae ill wull, but juist leave ye tae the Almichty; an' Iwant tae tell ye that a'm keepin' ma wur-r-d. But'--and here he raisedhis hand, and his voice became preternaturally solemn--'his bluid isupon yer han's. Do ye no' see it?'

His voice rose sharply, and as he pointed, Slavin instinctively glancedat his hands, and Geordie added--

'Ay, and the Lord will require it o' you and yer hoose. '

They told me that Slavin shivered as if taken with ague after Geordiewent out, and though he laughed and swore, he did not stop drinking tillhe sank into a drunken stupor and had to be carried to bed. His littleFrench-Canadian wife could not understand the change that had come overher husband. 

'He's like one bear, ' she confided to Mrs. Mavor, to whom she wasshowing her baby of a year old. 'He's not kees me one tam dis day. He's mos hawful bad, he's not even look at de baby. ' And this seemedsufficient proof that something was seriously wrong; for she went on tosay--

'He's tink more for dat leel baby dan for de whole worl'; he's tink morefor dat baby dan for me, ' but she shrugged her pretty little shouldersin deprecation of her speech. 

'You must pray for him, ' said Mrs. Mavor, 'and all will come right. '

'Ah! madame!' she replied earnestly, 'every day, every day, I pray lasainte Vierge et tous les saints for him. '

'You must pray to your Father in heaven for him. '

'Ah! oui! I weel pray, ' and Mrs. Mavor sent her away bright with smiles, and with new hope and courage in her heart. 

She had very soon need of all her courage, for at the week's end herbaby fell dangerously ill. Slavin's anxiety and fear were not relievedmuch by the reports the men brought him from time to time of Geordie'sominous forebodings; for Geordie had no doubt but that the Avenger ofBlood was hot upon Slavin's trail; and as the sickness grew, he becameconfirmed in this conviction. While he could not be said to findsatisfaction in Slavin's impending affliction, he could hardly hide hiscomplacency in the promptness of Providence in vindicating his theory ofretribution. 

But Geordie's complacency was somewhat rudely shocked by Mr. Craig'sanswer to his theory one day. 

'You read your Bible to little profit, it seems to me, Geordie: or, perhaps, you have never read the Master's teaching about the Tower ofSiloam. Better read that and take that warning to yourself. '

Geordie gazed after Mr. Craig as he turned away, and muttered--

'The toor o' Siloam, is it? Ay, a' ken fine aboot the toor o' Siloam, and aboot the toor o' Babel as weel; an' a've read, too, about theblaspheemious Herod, an' sic like. Man, but he's a hot-heided laddie, and lacks discreemeenation. '

'What about Herod, Geordie?' I asked. 

'Aboot Herod?'--with a strong tinge of contempt in his tone. 'AbootHerod? Man, hae ye no' read in the Screepturs aboot Herod an' thewur-r-ms in the wame o' him?'

'Oh yes, I see, ' I hastened to answer. 

'Ay, a fule can see what's flapped in his face, ' with which bit ofproverbial philosophy he suddenly left me. But Geordie thenceforthcontented himself, in Mr. Craig's presence at least, with ominoushead-shakings, equally aggravating, and impossible to answer. 

That same night, however, Geordie showed that with all his theories hehad a man's true heart, for he came in haste to Mrs. Mavor to say:

'Ye'll be needed ower yonder, a'm thinkin'. '

'Why? Is the baby worse? Have you been in?'

'Na, na, ' replied Geordie cautiously, 'a'll no gang where a'm no wanted. But yon puir thing, ye can hear ootside weepin' and moanin'. '

'She'll maybe need ye tae, ' he went on dubiously to me. 'Ye're a kindo' doctor, a' hear, ' not committing himself to any opinion as to myprofessional value. But Slavin would have none of me, having got thedoctor sober enough to prescribe. 

The interest of the camp in Slavin was greatly increased by the illnessof his baby, which was to him as the apple of his eye. There were a fewwho, impressed by Geordie's profound convictions upon the matter, were inclined to favour the retribution theory, and connect the baby'sillness with the vengeance of the Almighty. Among these few was Slavinhimself, and goaded by his remorseful terrors he sought relief in drink. But this brought him only deeper and fiercer gloom; so that between hersuffering child and her savagely despairing husband, the poor mother wasdesperate with terror and grief. 

'Ah! madame, ' she sobbed to Mrs. Mavor, 'my heart is broke for him. He'sheet noting for tree days, but jis dreenk, dreenk, dreenk. '

The next day a man came for me in haste. The baby was dying and thedoctor was drunk. I found the little one in a convulsion lying acrossMrs. Mavor's knees, the mother kneeling beside it, wringing her hands ina dumb agony, and Slavin standing near, silent and suffering. I glancedat the bottle of medicine upon the table and asked Mrs. Mavor the dose, and found the baby had been poisoned. My look of horror told Slavinsomething was wrong, and striding to me he caught my arm and asked--

'What is it? Is the medicine wrong?'

I tried to put him off, but his grip tightened till his fingers seemedto reach the bone. 

'The dose is certainly too large; but let me go, I must do something. '

He let me go at once, saying in a voice that made my heart sore for him, 'He has killed my baby; he has killed my baby. ' And then he cursed thedoctor with awful curses, and with a look of such murderous fury on hisface that I was glad the doctor was too drunk to appear. 

His wife hearing his curses, and understanding the cause, broke out intowailing hard to bear. 

'Ah! mon petit ange! It is dat wheeskey dat's keel mon baby. Ah! moncheri, mon amour. Ah! mon Dieu! Ah, Michael, how often I say thatwheeskey he's not good ting. '

It was more than Slavin could bear, and with awful curses he passedout. Mrs. Mavor laid the baby in its crib, for the convulsion hadpassed away; and putting her arms about the wailing little Frenchwoman, comforted and soothed her as a mother might her child. 

'And you must help your husband, ' I heard her say. 'He will need youmore than ever. Think of him. '

'Ah oui! I weel, ' was the quick reply, and from that moment there was nomore wailing. 

It seemed no more than a minute till Slavin came in again, sober, quiet, and steady; the passion was all gone from his face, and only the griefremained. 

As we stood leaning over the sleeping child the little thing opened itseyes, saw its father, and smiled. It was too much for him. The big mandropped on his knees with a dry sob. 

'Is there no chance at all, at all?' he whispered, but I could givehim no hope. He immediately rose, and pulling himself together, stoodperfectly quiet. 

A new terror seized upon the mother. 

'My baby is not--what you call it?' going through the form of baptism. 'An' he will not come to la sainte Vierge, ' she said, crossing herself. 

'Do not fear for your little one, ' said Mrs. Mavor, still with her armsabout her. 'The good Saviour will take your darling into His own arms. '

But the mother would not be comforted by this. And Slavin too, wasuneasy. 

'Where is Father Goulet?' he asked. 

'Ah! you were not good to the holy pere de las tam, Michael, ' shereplied sadly. 'The saints are not please for you. '

'Where is the priest?' he demanded. 

'I know not for sure. At de Landin', dat's lak. '

'I'll go for him, ' he said. But his wife clung to him, beseeching himnot to leave her, and indeed he was loth to leave his little one. 

I found Craig and told him the difficulty. With his usual promptness, hewas ready with a solution. 

'Nixon has a team. He will go. ' Then he added, 'I wonder if they wouldnot like me to baptize their little one. Father Goulet and I haveexchanged offices before now. I remember how he came to one of my peoplein my absence, when she was dying, read with her, prayed with her, comforted her, and helped her across the river. He is a good soul, andhas no nonsense about him. Send for me if you think there is need. Itwill make no difference to the baby, but it will comfort the mother. '

Nixon was willing enough to go; but when he came to the door Mrs. Mavorsaw the hard look in his face. He had not forgotten his wrong, for dayby day he was still fighting the devil within that Slavin had called tolife. But Mrs. Mavor, under cover of getting him instructions, drew himinto the room. While listening to her, his eyes wandered from one to theother of the group till they rested upon the little white face in thecrib. She noticed the change in his face. 

'They fear the little one will never see the Saviour if it is notbaptized, ' she said, in a low tone. 

He was eager to go. 

'I'll do my best to get the priest, ' he said, and was gone on his sixtymiles' race with death. 

The long afternoon wore on, but before it was half gone I saw Nixoncould not win, and that the priest would be too late, so I sent for Mr. Craig. From the moment he entered the room he took command of us all. He was so simple, so manly, so tender, the hearts of the parentsinstinctively turned to him. 

As he was about to proceed with the baptism, the mother whispered toMrs. Mavor, who hesitatingly asked Mr. Craig if he would object to usingholy water. 

'To me it is the same as any other, ' he replied gravely. 

'An' will he make the good sign?' asked the mother timidly. 

And so the child was baptized by the Presbyterian minister with holywater and with the sign of the cross. I don't suppose it was orthodox, and it rendered chaotic some of my religious notions, but I thought moreof Craig that moment than ever before. He was more man than minister, orperhaps he was so good a minister that day because so much a man. As heread about the Saviour and the children and the disciples who tried toget in between them, and as he told us the story in his own simpleand beautiful way, and then went on to picture the home of the littlechildren, and the same Saviour in the midst of them, I felt my heartgrow warm, and I could easily understand the cry of the mother--

'Oh, mon Jesu, prenez moi aussi, take me wiz mon mignon. '

The cry wakened Slavin's heart, and he said huskily--

'Oh! Annette! Annette!'

'Ah, oui! an' Michael too!' Then to Mr. Craig--

'You tink He's tak me some day? Eh?'

'All who love Him, ' he replied. 

'An' Michael too?' she asked, her eyes searching his face, 'An' Michaeltoo?'

But Craig only replied: 'All who love Him. '

'Ah, Michael, you must pray le bon Jesu. He's garde notre mignon. ' Andthen she bent over the babe, whispering--

'Ah, mon cheri, mon amour, adieu! adieu! mon ange!' till Slavin puthis arms about her and took her away, for as she was whispering herfarewells, her baby, with a little answering sigh, passed into the Housewith many rooms. 

'Whisht, Annette darlin'; don't cry for the baby, ' said her husband. 'Shure it's better off than the rest av us, it is. An' didn't ye hearwhat the minister said about the beautiful place it is? An' shure hewouldn't lie to us at all. ' But a mother cannot be comforted for herfirst-born son. 

An hour later Nixon brought Father Goulet. He was a little Frenchmanwith gentle manners and the face of a saint. Craig welcomed him warmly, and told him what he had done. 

'That is good, my brother, ' he said, with gentle courtesy, and, turningto the mother, 'Your little one is safe. '

Behind Father Goulet came Nixon softly, and gazed down upon the littlequiet face, beautiful with the magic of death. Slavin came quietly andstood beside him. Nixon turned and offered his hand. But Slavin said, moving slowly back--

'I did ye a wrong, Nixon, an' it's a sorry man I am this day for it. '

'Don't say a word, Slavin, ' answered Nixon, hurriedly. 'I know how youfeel. I've got a baby too. I want to see it again. That's why the breakhurt me so. '

'As God's above, ' replied Slavin earnestly, 'I'll hinder ye no more. 'They shook hands, and we passed out. 

We laid the baby under the pines, not far from Billy Breen, and thesweet spring wind blew through the Gap, and came softly down the valley, whispering to the pines and the grass and the hiding flowers of the NewLife coming to the world. And the mother must have heard the whisper inher heart, for, as the Priest was saying the words of the Service, shestood with Mrs. Mavor's arms about her, and her eyes were looking faraway beyond the purple mountain-tops, seeing what made her smile. AndSlavin, too, looked different. His very features seemed finer. Thecoarseness was gone out of his face. What had come to him I could nottell. 

But when the doctor came into Slavin's house that night it was the oldSlavin I saw, but with a look of such deadly fury on his face that Itried to get the doctor out at once. But he was half drunk and after hismanner was hideously humorous. 

'How do, ladies! How do, gentlemen!' was his loud-voiced salutation. 'Quite a professional gathering, clergy predominating. Lion and Lambtoo, ha! ha! which is the lamb, eh? ha! ha! very good! awfully sorry tohear of your loss, Mrs. Slavin; did our best you know, can't help thissort of thing. '

Before any one could move, Craig was at his side, and saying in a clear, firm voice, 'One moment, doctor, ' caught him by the arm and had him outof the room before he knew it. Slavin, who had been crouching in hischair with hands twitching and eyes glaring, rose and followed, stillcrouching as he walked. I hurried after him, calling him back. Turningat my voice, the doctor saw Slavin approaching. There was something soterrifying in his swift noiseless crouching motion, that the doctor, crying out in fear 'Keep him off, ' fairly turned and fled. He was toolate. Like a tiger Slavin leaped upon him and without waiting to strikehad him by the throat with both hands, and bearing him to the ground, worried him there as a dog might a cat. 

Immediately Craig and I were upon him, but though we lifted him clearoff the ground we could not loosen that two-handed strangling grip. Atwe were struggling there a light hand touched my shoulder. It was FatherGoulet. 

'Please let him go, and stand away from us, ' he said, waving us back. We obeyed. He leaned over Slavin and spoke a few words to him. Slavinstarted as if struck a heavy blow, looked up at the priest with fear inhis face, but still keeping his grip. 

'Let him go, ' said the priest. Slavin hesitated. 'Let him go! quick!'said the priest again, and Slavin with a snarl let go his hold and stoodsullenly facing the priest. 

Father Goulet regarded him steadily for some seconds and then asked--

'What would you do?' His voice was gentle enough, even sweet, but therewas something in it that chilled my marrow. 'What would you do?' herepeated. 

'He murdered my child, ' growled Slavin. 

'Ah! how?'

'He was drunk and poisoned him. '

'Ah! who gave him drink? Who made him a drunkard two years ago? Who haswrecked his life?'

There was no answer, and the even-toned voice went relentlessly on--

'Who is the murderer of your child now?'

Slavin groaned and shuddered. 

'Go!' and the voice grew stern. 'Repent of your sin and add notanother. '

Slavin turned his eyes upon the motionless figure on the ground andthen upon the priest. Father Goulet took one step towards him, and, stretching out his hand and pointing with his finger, said--

'Go!'

And Slavin slowly backed away and went into his house. It was anextraordinary scene, and it is often with me now: the dark figure on theground, the slight erect form of the priest with outstretched arm andfinger, and Slavin backing away, fear and fury struggling in his face. 

It was a near thing for the doctor, however, and two minutes moreof that grip would have done for him. As it was, we had the greatestdifficulty in reviving him. 

What the priest did with Slavin after getting him inside I know not;that has always been a mystery to me. But when we were passing thesaloon that night after taking Mrs. Mavor home, we saw a light andheard strange sounds within. Entering, we found another whisky raidin progress, Slavin himself being the raider. We stood some momentswatching him knocking in the heads of casks and emptying bottles. Ithought he had gone mad, and approached him cautiously. 

'Hello, Slavin!' I called out; 'what does this mean?'

He paused in his strange work, and I saw that his face, though resolute, was quiet enough. 

'It means I'm done wid the business, I am, ' he said, in a determinedvoice. 'I'll help no more to kill any man, or, ' in a lower tone, 'anyman's baby. ' The priest's words had struck home. 

'Thank God, Slavin!' said Craig, offering his hand; 'you are much toogood a man for the business. '

'Good or bad, I'm done wid it, ' he replied, going on with his work. 

'You are throwing away good money, Slavin, ' I said, as the head of acask crashed in. 

'It's meself that knows it, for the price of whisky has riz in townthis week, ' he answered, giving me a look out of the corner of his eye. 'Bedad! it was a rare clever job, ' referring to our Black Rock Hotelaffair. 

'But won't you be sorry for this?' asked Craig. 

'Beloike I will; an' that's why I'm doin' it before I'm sorry for it, 'he replied, with a delightful bull. 

'Look here, Slavin, ' said Craig earnestly; 'if I can be of use to you inany way, count on me. '

'It's good to me the both of yez have been, an' I'll not forget it toyez, ' he replied, with like earnestness. 

As we told Mrs. Mavor that night, for Craig thought it too good tokeep, her eyes seemed to grow deeper and the light in them to glow moreintense as she listened to Craig pouring out his tale. Then she gave himher hand and said--

'You have your man at last. '

'What man?'

'The man you have been waiting for. '

'Slavin!'

'Why not?'

'I never thought of it. '

'No more did he, nor any of us. ' Then, after a pause, she added gently, 'He has been sent to us?'

'Do you know, I believe you are right, ' Craig said slowly, and thenadded, 'But you always are. '

'I fear not, ' she answered; but I thought she liked to hear his words. 

The whole town was astounded next morning when Slavin went to work inthe mines, and its astonishment only deepened as the days went on, andhe stuck to his work. Before three weeks had gone the League had boughtand remodelled the saloon and had secured Slavin as Resident Manager. 

The evening of the reopening of Slavin's saloon, as it was still called, was long remembered in Black Rock. It was the occasion of the firstappearance of 'The League Minstrel and Dramatic Troupe, ' in whatwas described as a 'hair-lifting tragedy with appropriate musicalselections. ' Then there was a grand supper and speeches and greatenthusiasm, which reached its climax when Nixon rose to propose thetoast of the evening--'Our Saloon. ' His speech was simply a quiet, manlyaccount of his long struggle with the deadly enemy. When he came tospeak of his recent defeat he said--

'And while I am blaming no one but myself, I am glad to-night that thissaloon is on our side, for my own sake and for the sake of those whohave been waiting long to see me. But before I sit down I want to saythat while I live I shall not forget that I owe my life to the man thattook me that night to his own shack and put me in his own bed, and metme next morning with an open hand; for I tell you I had sworn to Godthat that morning would be my last. '

Geordie's speech was characteristic. After a brief reference to the'mysteerious ways o' Providence, ' which he acknowledged he mightsometimes fail to understand, he went on to express his unqualifiedapproval of the new saloon. 

'It's a cosy place, an' there's nae sulphur aboot. Besides a' that, ' hewent on enthusiastically, 'it'll be a terrible savin'. I've juist beencoontin'. '

'You bet!' ejaculated a voice with great emphasis. 

'I've juist been coontin', ' went on Geordie, ignoring the remark and thelaugh which followed, 'an' it's an awfu'-like money ye pit ower wi' thewhusky. Ye see ye canna dae wi' ane bit glass; ye maun hae twa or threeat the verra least, for it's no verra forrit ye get wi' ane glass. Butwi' yon coffee ye juist get a saxpence-worth an' ye want nae mair. '

There was another shout of laughter, which puzzled Geordie much. 

'I dinna see the jowk, but I've slippit ower in whusky mair nor a hunnerdollars. '

Then he paused, looking hard before him, and twisting his face intoextraordinary shapes till the men looked at him in wonder. 

'I'm rale glad o' this saloon, but it's ower late for the lad that cannabe helpit the noo. He'll not be needin' help o' oors, I doot, but thereare ithers'--and he stopped abruptly and sat down, with no applausefollowing. 

But when Slavin, our saloon-keeper, rose to reply, the men jumped upon the seats and yelled till they could yell no more. Slavin stood, evidently in trouble with himself, and finally broke out--

'It's spacheless I am entirely. What's come to me I know not, nor howit's come. But I'll do my best for yez. ' And then the yelling broke outagain. 

I did not yell myself. I was too busy watching the varying lights inMrs. Mavor's eyes as she looked from Craig to the yelling men on thebenches and tables, and then to Slavin, and I found myself wondering ifshe knew what it was that came to Slavin. 

CHAPTER XI

THE TWO CALLS

With the call to Mr. Craig I fancy I had something to do myself. Thecall came from a young congregation in an eastern city, and was basedpartly upon his college record and more upon the advice of those amongthe authorities who knew his work in the mountains. But I flatter myselfthat my letters to friends who were of importance in that congregationwere not without influence, for I was of the mind that the man who couldhandle Black Rock miners as he could was ready for something larger thana mountain mission. That he would refuse I had not imagined, though Iought to have known him better. He was but little troubled over it. Hewent with the call and the letters urging his acceptance to Mrs. Mavor. I was putting the last touches to some of my work in the room at theback of Mrs. Mavor's house when he came in. She read the letters and thecall quietly, and waited for him to speak. 

'Well?' he said; 'should I go?'

She started, and grew a little pale. His question suggested apossibility that had not occurred to her. That he could leave his workin Black Rock she had hitherto never imagined; but there was other work, and he was fit for good work anywhere. Why should he not go? I saw thefear in her face, but I saw more than fear in her eyes, as for a momentor two she let them rest upon Craig's face. I read her story, and I wasnot sorry for either of them. But she was too much a woman to show herheart easily to the man she loved, and her voice was even and calm asshe answered his question. 

'Is this a very large congregation?'

'One of the finest in all the East, ' I put in for him. 'It will be agreat thing for Craig. '

Craig was studying her curiously. I think she noticed his eyes upon her, for she went on even more quietly--

'It will be a great chance for work, and you are able for a largersphere, you know, than poor Black Rock affords. '

'Who will take Black Rock?' he asked. 

'Let some other fellow have a try at it, ' I said. 'Why should you wasteyour talents here?'

'Waste?' cried Mrs. Mavor indignantly. 

'Well, "bury, " if you like it better, ' I replied. 

'It would not take much of a grave for that funeral, ' said Craig, smiling. 

'Oh, ' said Mrs. Mavor, 'you will be a great man I know, and perhaps youought to go now. '

But he answered coolly: 'There are fifty men wanting that Easterncharge, and there is only one wanting Black Rock, and I don't thinkBlack Rock is anxious for a change, so I have determined to stay where Iam yet a while. '

Even my deep disgust and disappointment did not prevent me from seeingthe sudden leap of joy in Mrs. Mavor's eyes, but she, with a greateffort, answered quietly--

'Black Rock will be very glad, and some of us very, very glad. '

Nothing could change his mind. There was no one he knew who could takehis place just now, and why should he quit his work? It annoyed meconsiderably to feel he was right. Why is it that the right things areso frequently unpleasant?

And if I had had any doubt about the matter next Sabbath evening wouldhave removed it. For the men came about him after the service and lethim feel in their own way how much they approved his decision, thoughthe self-sacrifice involved did not appeal to them. They were too trulyWestern to imagine that any inducements the East could offer couldcompensate for his loss of the West. It was only fitting that the Westshould have the best, and so the miners took almost as a matter ofcourse, and certainly as their right, that the best man they knew shouldstay with them. But there were those who knew how much of what most menconsider worth while he had given up, and they loved him no less for it. 

Mrs. Mavor's call was not so easily disposed of. It came close uponthe other, and stirred Black Rock as nothing else had ever stirred itbefore. 

I found her one afternoon gazing vacantly at some legal documents spreadout before her on the table, and evidently overcome by their contents. There was first a lawyer's letter informing her that by the death of herhusband's father she had come into the whole of the Mavor estates, andall the wealth pertaining thereto. The letter asked for instructions, and urged an immediate return with a view to a personal superintendenceof the estates. A letter, too, from a distant cousin of her husbandurged her immediate return for many reasons, but chiefly on accountof the old mother who had been left alone with none nearer of kin thanhimself to care for her and cheer her old age. 

With these two came another letter from her mother-in-law herself. Thecrabbed, trembling characters were even more eloquent than the wordswith which the letter closed. 

'I have lost my boy, and now my husband is gone, and I am a lonelywoman. I have many servants, and some friends, but none near to me, noneso near and dear as my dead son's wife. My days are not to be many. Cometo me, my daughter; I want you and Lewis's child. '

'Must I go?' she asked with white lips. 

'Do you know her well?' I asked. 

'I only saw her once or twice, ' she answered; 'but she has been verygood to me. '

'She can hardly need you. She has friends. And surely you are neededhere. '

She looked at me eagerly. 

'Do you think so?' she said. 

'Ask any man in the camp--Shaw, Nixon, young Winton, Geordie. AskCraig, ' I replied. 

'Yes, he will tell me, ' she said. 

Even as she spoke Craig came up the steps. I passed into my studio andwent on with my work, for my days at Black Rock were getting few, andmany sketches remained to be filled in. 

Through my open door I saw Mrs. Mavor lay her letters before Mr. Craig, saying, 'I have a call too. ' They thought not of me. 

He went through the papers, carefully laid them down without a wordwhile she waited anxiously, almost impatiently, for him to speak. 

'Well?' she asked, using his own words to her; 'should I go?'

'I do not know, ' he replied; 'that is for you to decide--you know allthe circumstances. '

'The letters tell all. ' Her tone carried a feeling of disappointment. Hedid not appear to care. 

'The estates are large?' he asked. 

'Yes, large enough--twelve thousand a year. '

'And has your mother-in-law any one with her?'

'She has friends, but, as she says, none near of kin. Her nephew looksafter the works--iron works, you know--he has shares in them. '

'She is evidently very lonely, ' he answered gravely. 

'What shall I do?' she asked, and I knew she was waiting to hear himurge her to stay; but he did not see, or at least gave no heed. 

'I cannot say, ' he repeated quietly. 'There are many things to consider;the estates--'

'The estates seem to trouble you, ' she replied, almost fretfully. Helooked up in surprise. I wondered at his slowness. 

'Yes, the estates, ' he went on, 'and tenants, I suppose--yourmother-in-law, your little Marjorie's future, your own future. '

'The estates are in capable hands, I should suppose, ' she urged, 'and myfuture depends upon what I choose my work to be. '

'But one cannot shift one's responsibilities, ' he replied gravely. 'These estates, these tenants, have come to you, and with them comeduties. '

'I do not want them, ' she cried. 

'That life has great possibilities of good, ' he said kindly. 

'I had thought that perhaps there was work for me here, ' she suggestedtimidly. 

'Great work, ' he hastened to say. 'You have done great work. But youwill do that wherever you go. The only question is where your worklies. '

'You think I should go, ' she said suddenly and a little bitterly. 

'I cannot bid you stay, ' he answered steadily. 

'How can I go?' she cried, appealing to him. 'Must I go?'

How he could resist that appeal I could not understand. His face wascold and hard, and his voice was almost harsh as he replied--

'If it is right, you will go--you must go. '

Then she burst forth--

'I cannot go. I shall stay here. My work is here; my heart is here. Howcan I go? You thought it worth your while to stay here and work, whyshould not I?'

The momentary gleam in his eyes died out, and again he said coldly--

'This work was clearly mine. I am needed here. '

'Yes, yes!' she cried, her voice full of pain; 'you are needed, butthere is no need of me. '

'Stop, stop!' he said sharply; 'you must not say so. '

'I will say it, I must say it, ' she cried, her voice vibrating withthe intensity of her feeling. 'I know you do not need me; you have yourwork, your miners, your plans; you need no one; you are strong. But, 'and her voice rose to a cry, 'I am not strong by myself; you have mademe strong. I came here a foolish girl, foolish and selfish and narrow. God sent me grief. Three years ago my heart died. Now I am living again. I am a woman now, no longer a girl. You have done this for me. Yourlife, your words, yourself--you have showed me a better, a higher life, than I had ever known before, and now you send me away. '

She paused abruptly. 

'Blind, stupid fool!' I said to myself. 

He held himself resolutely in hand, answering carefully, but his voicehad lost its coldness and was sweet and kind. 

'Have I done this for you? Then surely God has been good to me. And youhave helped me more than any words could tell you. '

'Helped!' she repeated scornfully. 

'Yes, helped, ' he answered, wondering at her scorn. 

'You can do without my help, ' she went on. 'You make people help you. You will get many to help you; but I need help, too. ' She was standingbefore him with her hands tightly clasped; her face was pale, and hereyes deeper than ever. He sat looking up at her in a kind of maze as shepoured out her words hot and fast. 

'I am not thinking of you. ' His coldness had hurt her deeply. 'I amselfish; I am thinking of myself. How shall I do? I have grown to dependon you, to look to you. It is nothing to you that I go, but to me--' Shedid not dare to finish. 

By this time Craig was standing before her, his face deadly pale. Whenshe came to the end of her words, he said, in a voice low, sweet, andthrilling with emotion--

'Ah, if you only knew! Do not make me forget myself. You do not guesswhat you are doing. '

'What am I doing? What is there to know, but that you tell me easily togo? She was struggling with the tears she was too proud to let him see. 

He put his hands resolutely behind him, looking at her as if studyingher face for the first time. Under his searching look she dropped hereyes, and the warm colour came slowly up into her neck and face; then, as if with a sudden resolve, she lifted her eyes to his, and looked backat him unflinchingly. 

He started, surprised, drew slowly near, put his hands upon hershoulders, surprise giving place to wild joy. She never moved her eyes;they drew him towards her. He took her face between his hands, smiledinto her eyes, kissed her lips. She did not move; he stood back fromher, threw up his head, and laughed aloud. She came to him, put her headupon his breast, and lifting up her face said, 'Kiss me. ' He put hisarms about her, bent down and kissed her lips again, and then reverentlyher brow. Then putting her back from him, but still holding both herhands, he cried--

'Not you shall not go. I shall never let you go. '

She gave a little sigh of content, and, smiling up at him, said--

'I can go now'; but even as she spoke the flush died from her face, andshe shuddered. 

'Never!' he almost shouted; 'nothing shall take you away. We shall workhere together. '

'Ah, if we could, if we only could, ' she said piteously. 

'Why not?' he demanded fiercely. 

'You will send me away. You will say it is right for me to go, ' shereplied sadly. 

'Do we not love each other?' was his impatient answer. 

'Ah! yes, love, ' she said; 'but love is not all. '

'No!' cried Craig; 'but love is the best'

'Yes!' she said sadly; 'love is the best, and it is for love's sake wewill do the best. '

'There is no better work than here. Surely this is best, ' and hepictured his plans before her. She listened eagerly. 

'Oh! if it should be right, ' she cried, 'I will do what you say. You aregood, you are wise, you shall tell me. '

She could not have recalled him better. He stood silent some moments, then burst out passionately--

'Why then has love come to us? We did not seek it. Surely love is ofGod. Does God mock us?'

He threw himself into his chair, pouring out his words of passionateprotestation. She listened, smiling, then came to him and, touching hishair as a mother might her child's, said--

'Oh, I am very happy! I was afraid you would not care, and I could notbear to go that way. '

'You shall not go, ' he cried aloud, as if in pain. 'Nothing can makethat right. '

But she only said, 'You shall tell me to-morrow. You cannot seeto-night, but you will see, and you will tell me. '

He stood up and, holding both her hands, looked long into her eyes, thenturned abruptly away and went out. 

She stood where he left her for some moments, her face radiant, and herhands pressed upon her heart. Then she came toward my room. She found mebusy with my painting, but as I looked up and met her eyes she flushedslightly, and said--

'I quite forgot you. '

'So it appeared to me. '

'You heard?'

'And saw, ' I replied boldly. 'It would have been rude to interrupt, yousee. '

'Oh, I am so glad and thankful. '

'Yes; it was rather considerate of me. '

'Oh, I don't mean that, ' the flush deepening; 'I am glad you know. '

'I have known some time. '

'How could you? I only knew to-day myself. '

'I have eyes. ' She flushed again. 

'Do you mean that people--' she began anxiously. 

'No; I am not "people. " I have eyes, and my eyes have been opened. '

'Opened?'

'Yes, by love. '

Then I told her openly how, weeks ago, I struggled with my heart andmastered it, for I saw it was vain to love her, because she loved abetter man who loved her in return. She looked at me shyly and said--

'I am sorry. '

'Don't worry, ' I said cheerfully. 'I didn't break my heart, you know; Istopped it in time. '

'Oh!' she said, slightly disappointed; then her lips began to twitch, and she went off into a fit of hysterical laughter. 

'Forgive me, ' she said humbly; 'but you speak as if it had been afever. '

'Fever is nothing to it, ' I said solemnly. 'It was a near thing. ' Atwhich she went off again. I was glad to see her laugh. It gave me timeto recover my equilibrium, and it relieved her intense emotional strain. So I rattled on some nonsense about Craig and myself till I saw she wasgiving no heed, but thinking her own thoughts: and what these were itwas not hard to guess. 

Suddenly she broke in upon my talk--

'He will tell me that I must go from him. '

'I hope he is no such fool, ' I said emphatically and somewhat rudely, I fear; for I confess I was impatient with the very possibility ofseparation for these two, to whom love meant so much. Some people takethis sort of thing easily and some not so easily; but love for a womanlike this comes once only to a man, and then he carries it with himthrough the length of his life, and warms his heart with it in death. And when a man smiles or sneers at such love as this, I pity him, andsay no word, for my speech would be in an unknown tongue. So myheart was sore as I sat looking up at this woman who stood before me, overflowing with the joy of her new love, and dully conscious of thecoming pain. But I soon found it was vain to urge my opinion that sheshould remain and share the work and life of the man she loved. She onlyanswered--

'You will help him all you can, for it will hurt him to have me go. '

The quiver in her voice took out all the anger from my heart, and beforeI knew I had pledged myself to do all I could to help him. 

But when I came upon him that night, sitting in the light of his fire, I saw he must be let alone. Some battles we fight side by side, withcomrades cheering us and being cheered to victory; but there are fightswe may not share, and these are deadly fights where lives are lost andwon. So I could only lay my hand upon his shoulder without a word. Helooked up quickly, read my face, and said, with a groan--

'You know?'

'I could not help it. But why groan?'

'She will think it right to go, ' he said despairingly. 

'Then you must think for her; you must bring some common-sense to bearupon the question. '

'I cannot see clearly yet, ' he said; 'the light will come. '

'May I show you how I see it?' I asked. 

'Go on, ' he said. 

For an hour I talked; eloquently, even vehemently urging the reason andright of my opinion. She would be doing no more than every woman does, no more than she did before; her mother-in-law had a comfortable home, all that wealth could procure, good servants, and friends; the estatescould be managed without her personal supervision; after a few years'work here they would go east for little Majorie's education; why shouldtwo lives be broken?--and so I went on. 

He listened carefully, even eagerly. 

'You make a good case, ' he said, with a slight smile. 'I will take time. Perhaps you are right. The light will come. Surely it will come. But, 'and here he sprang up and stretched his arms to full length above hishead, 'I am not sorry; whatever comes I am not sorry. It is great tohave her love, but greater to love her as I do. Thank God! nothing cantake that away. I am willing, glad to suffer for the joy of loving her. '

Next morning, before I was awake, he was gone, leaving a note for me:--

'MY DEAR CONNOR, --I am due at the Landing. When I see you again I thinkmy way will be clear. Now all is dark. At times I am a coward, andoften, as you sometimes kindly inform me, an ass; but I hope I may neverbecome a mule. 

I am willing to be led, or want to be, at any rate. I must do thebest--not second best--for her, for me. The best only is God'swill. What else would you have? Be good to her these days, dear oldfellow. --Yours, CRAIG. '

How often those words have braced me he will never know, but I am abetter man for them: 'The best only is God's will. What else would youhave?' I resolved I would rage and fret no more, and that I would worryMrs. Mavor with no more argument or expostulation, but, as my friend hadasked, 'Be good to her. '

CHAPTER XII

LOVE IS NOT ALL

Those days when we were waiting Craig's return we spent in the woodsor on the mountain sides, or down in the canyon beside the stream thatdanced down to meet the Black Rock river, I talking and sketching andreading, and she listening and dreaming, with often a happy smile uponher face. But there were moments when a cloud of shuddering fear wouldsweep the smile away, and then I would talk of Craig till the smile cameback again. 

But the woods and the mountains and the river were her best, her wisest, friends during those days. How sweet the ministry of the woods to her!The trees were in their new summer leaves, fresh and full of life. Theyswayed and rustled above us, flinging their interlacing shadows uponus, and their swaying and their rustling soothed and comforted like thevoice and touch of a mother. And the mountains, too, in all the glory oftheir varying robes of blues and purples, stood calmly, solemnly aboutus, uplifting our souls into regions of rest. The changing lights andshadows flitted swiftly over their rugged fronts, but left them ever asbefore in their steadfast majesty. 'God's in His heaven. ' What would youhave? And ever the little river sang its cheerful courage, fearing notthe great mountains that threatened to bar its passage to the sea. Mrs. Mavor heard the song and her courage rose. 

'We too shall find our way, ' she said, and I believed her. 

But through these days I could not make her out, and I found myselfstudying her as I might a new acquaintance. Years had fallen from her;she was a girl again, full of young warm life. She was as sweet asbefore, but there was a soft shyness over her, a half-shamed, half-frankconsciousness in her face, a glad light in her eyes that made her allnew to me. Her perfect trust in Craig was touching to see. 

'He will tell me what to do, ' she would say, till I began to realise howimpossible it would be for him to betray such trust, and be anything buttrue to the best. 

So much did I dread Craig's home-coming, that I sent for Graeme andold man Nelson, who was more and more Graeme's trusted counsellor andfriend. They were both highly excited by the story I had to tell, for Ithought it best to tell them all; but I was not a little surprisedand disgusted that they did not see the matter in my light. In vain Iprotested against the madness of allowing anything to send these twofrom each other. Graeme summed up the discussion in his own emphaticway, but with an earnestness in his words not usual with him. 

'Craig will know better than any of us what is right to do, and he willdo that, and no man can turn him from it; and, ' he added, 'I should besorry to try. '

Then my wrath rose, and I cried--

'It's a tremendous shame! They love each other. You are talkingsentimental humbug and nonsense!'

'He must do the right, ' said Nelson in his deep, quiet voice. 

'Right! Nonsense! By what right does he send from him the woman heloves?'

'"He pleased not Himself, "' quoted Nelson reverently. 

'Nelson is right, ' said Graeme. 'I should not like to see him weaken. '

'Look here, ' I stormed; 'I didn't bring you men to back him up in hisnonsense. I thought you could keep your heads level. '

'Now, Connor, ' said Graeme, 'don't rage--leave that for the heathen;it's bad form, and useless besides. Craig will walk his way where hislight falls; and by all that's holy, I should hate to see him fail; forif he weakens like the rest of us my North Star will have dropped frommy sky. '

'Nice selfish spirit, ' I muttered. 

'Entirely so. I'm not a saint, but I feel like steering by one when Isee him. '

When after a week had gone, Craig rode up one early morning to his shackdoor, his face told me that he had fought his fight and had not beenbeaten. He had ridden all night and was ready to drop with weariness. 

'Connor, old boy, ' he said, putting out his hand; 'I'm rather played. There was a bad row at the Landing. I have just closed poor Colley'seyes. It was awful. I must get sleep. Look after Dandy, will you, like agood chap?'

'Oh, Dandy be hanged, !' I said, for I knew it was not the fight, nor thewatching, nor the long ride that had shaken his iron nerve and given himthat face. 'Go in and lie down I'll bring you something. '

'Wake me in the afternoon, ' he said; 'she is waiting. Perhaps you willgo to her'--his lips quivered--'my nerve is rather gone. ' Then with avery wan smile he added, 'I am giving you a lot of trouble. '

'You go to thunder!' I burst out, for my throat was hot and sore withgrief for him. 

'I think I'd rather go to sleep, ' he replied, still smiling. I could notspeak, and was glad of the chance of being alone with Dandy. 

When I came in I found him sitting with his head in his arms upon thetable fast asleep. I made him tea, forced him to take a warm bath, and sent him to bed, while I went to Mrs. Mavor. I went with a fearfulheart, but that was because I had forgotten the kind of woman she was. 

She was standing in the light of the window waiting for me. Her facewas pale but steady, there was a proud light in her fathomless eyes, aslight smile parted her lips, and she carried her head like a queen. 

'Come in, ' she said. 'You need not fear to tell me. I saw him ride home. He has not failed, thank God! I am proud of him; I knew he would betrue. He loves me'--she drew in her breath sharply, and a faint colourtinged her cheek--'but he knows love is not all--ah, love is not all!Oh! I am glad and proud!'

'Glad!' I gasped, amazed. 

'You would not have him prove faithless!' she said with proud defiance. 

'Oh, it is high sentimental nonsense, ' I could not help saying. 

'You should not say so, ' she replied, and her voice rang clear. 'Honour, faith, and duty are sentiments, but they are not nonsense. '

In spite of my rage I was lost in amazed admiration of the high spiritof the woman who stood up so straight before me. But, as I told how wornand broken he was, she listened with changing colour and swelling bosom, her proud courage all gone, and only love, anxious and pitying, in hereyes. 

'Shall I go to him?' she asked with timid eagerness and deepeningcolour. 

'He is sleeping. He said he would come to you, ' I replied. 

'I shall wait for him, ' she said softly, and the tenderness in her tonewent straight to my heart, and it seemed to me a man might suffer muchto be loved with love such as this. 

In the early afternoon Graeme came to her. She met him with both handsoutstretched, saying in a low voice--

'I am very happy. '

'Are you sure?' he asked anxiously. 

'Oh, yes, ' she said, but her voice was like a sob; 'quite, quite sure. '

They talked long together till I saw that Craig must soon be coming, andI called Graeme away. He held her hands, looking steadily into her eyesand said--

'You are better even than I thought; I'm going to be a better man. '

Her eyes filled with tears, but her smile did not fade as she answered--

'Yes! you will be a good man, and God will give you work to do. '

He bent his head over her hands and stepped back from her as from aqueen, but he spoke no word till we came to Craig's door. Then he saidwith humility that seemed strange in him, 'Connor, that is great, toconquer oneself. It is worth while. I am going to try. '

I would not have missed his meeting with Craig. Nelson was busy withtea. Craig was writing near the window. He looked up as Graeme came in, and nodded an easy good-evening; but Graeme strode to him and, puttingone hand on his shoulder, held out his other for Craig to take. 

After a moment's surprise, Craig rose to his feet, and, facing himsquarely, took the offered hand in both of his and held it fast withouta word. Graeme was the first to speak, and his voice was deep withemotion--

'You are a great man, a good man. I'd give something to have your grit. '

Poor Craig stood looking at him, not daring to speak for some moments, then he said quietly--

'Not good nor great, but, thank God, not quite a traitor. '

'Good man!' went on Graeme, patting him on the shoulder. 'Good man! Butit's tough. '

Craig sat down quickly, saying, 'Don't do that, old chap!'

I went up with Craig to Mrs. Mavor's door. She did not hear us coming, but stood near the window gazing up at the mountains. She was dressed insome rich soft stuff, and wore at her breast a bunch of wild-flowers. Ihad never seen her so beautiful. I did not wonder that Craig paused withhis foot upon the threshold to look at her. She turned and saw us. With a glad cry, 'Oh! my darling; you have come to me, ' she came withoutstretched arms. I turned and fled, but the cry and the vision werelong with me. 

It was decided that night that Mrs. Mavor should go the next week. Aminer and his wife were going east, and I too would join the party. 

The camp went into mourning at the news; but it was understood thatany display of grief before Mrs. Mavor was bad form. She was not to beannoyed. 

But when I suggested that she should leave quietly, and avoid the painof saying good-bye, she flatly refused--

'I must say good-bye to every man. They love me and I love them. '

It was decided, too, at first, that there should be nothing in the wayof a testimonial, but when Craig found out that the men were coming toher with all sorts of extraordinary gifts, he agreed that it wouldbe better that they should unite in one gift. So it was agreed that Ishould buy a ring for her. And were it not that the contributions werestrictly limited to one dollar, the purse that Slavin handed her whenShaw read the address at the farewell supper would have been many timesfilled with the gold that was pressed upon the committee. There were nospeeches at the supper, except one by myself in reply on Mrs. Mavor'sbehalf. She had given me the words to say, and I was thoroughlyprepared, else I should not have got through. I began in the usualway: 'Mr. Chairman, ladies and gentlemen, Mrs. Mavor is--' but I got nofurther, for at the mention of her name the men stood on the chairs andyelled until they could yell no more. There were over two hundred andfifty of them, and the effect was overpowering. But I got through myspeech. I remember it well. It began--

'Mrs. Mavor is greatly touched by this mark of your love, and she willwear your ring always with pride. ' And it ended with--

'She has one request to make, that you will be true to the League, andthat you stand close about the man who did most to make it. She wishesme to say that however far away she may have to go, she is leaving herheart in Black Rock, and she can think of no greater joy than to comeback to you again. '

Then they had 'The Sweet By and By, ' but the men would not join in therefrain, unwilling to lose a note of the glorious voice they loved tohear. Before the last verse she beckoned to me. I went to her standingby Craig's side as he played for her. 'Ask them to sing, ' she entreated;'I cannot bear it. '

'Mrs. Mavor wishes you to sing in the refrain, ' I said, and at once themen sat up and cleared their throats. The singing was not good, but atthe first sound of the hoarse notes of the men Craig's head went downover the organ, for he was thinking I suppose of the days before themwhen they would long in vain for that thrilling voice that soared highover their own hoarse tones. And after the voices died away he kepton playing till, half turning toward him, she sang alone once more therefrain in a voice low and sweet and tender, as if for him alone. Andso he took it, for he smiled up at her his old smile full of courage andfull of love. 

Then for one whole hour she stood saying good-bye to those rough, gentle-hearted men whose inspiration to goodness she had been for fiveyears. It was very wonderful and very quiet. It was understood thatthere was to be no nonsense, and Abe had been heard to declare that hewould 'throw out any cotton-backed fool who couldn't hold himself down, 'and further, he had enjoined them to remember that 'her arm wasn't apump-handle. '

At last they were all gone, all but her guard of honour--Shaw, VernonWinton, Geordie, Nixon, Abe, Nelson, Craig, and myself. 

This was the real farewell; for, though in the early light of the nextmorning two hundred men stood silent about the stage, and then as itmoved out waved their hats and yelled madly, this was the last touchthey had of her hand. Her place was up on the driver's seat between Abeand Mr. Craig, who held little Marjorie on his knee. The rest of theguard of honour were to follow with Graeme's team. It was Winton'sfine sense that kept Graeme from following them close. 'Let her go outalone, ' he said, and so we held back and watched her go. 

She stood with her back towards Abe's plunging four-horse team, andsteadying herself with one hand on Abe's shoulder, gazed down upon us. Her head was bare, her lips parted in a smile, her eyes glowing withtheir own deep light; and so, facing us, erect and smiling, she droveaway, waving us farewell till Abe swung his team into the canyon roadand we saw her no more. A sigh shuddered through the crowd, and, with asob in his voice, Winton said: 'God help us all. '

I close my eyes and see it all again. The waving crowd of dark-facedmen, the plunging horses, and, high up beside the driver, the swaying, smiling, waving figure, and about all the mountains, framing the picturewith their dark sides and white peaks tipped with the gold of the risingsun. It is a picture I love to look upon, albeit it calls up anotherthat I can never see but through tears. 

I look across a strip of ever-widening water, at a group of men upon thewharf, standing with heads uncovered, every man a hero, though not a manof them suspects it, least of all the man who stands in front, strong, resolute, self-conquered. And, gazing long, I think I see him turn againto his place among the men of the mountains, not forgetting, but everyday remembering the great love that came to him, and remembering, too, that love is not all. It is then the tears come. 

But for that picture two of us at least are better men to-day. 

CHAPTER XIII

HOW NELSON CAME HOME

Through the long summer the mountains and the pines were with me. Andthrough the winter, too, busy as I was filling in my Black Rock sketchesfor the railway people who would still persist in ordering them by thedozen, the memory of that stirring life would come over me, and oncemore I would be among the silent pines and the mighty snow-peakedmountains. And before me would appear the red-shirted shantymen ordark-faced miners, great, free, bold fellows, driving me almost mad withthe desire to seize and fix those swiftly changing groups of picturesquefigures. At such times I would drop my sketch, and with eager brushseize a group, a face, a figure, and that is how my studio comes to befilled with the men of Black Rock. There they are all about me. Graemeand the men from the woods, Sandy, Baptiste, the Campbells, and in manyattitudes and groups old man Nelson; Craig, too, and his miners, Shaw, Geordie, Nixon, and poor old Billy and the keeper of the League saloon. 

It seemed as if I lived among them, and the illusion was greatly helpedby the vivid letters Graeme sent me from time to time. Brief notes camenow and then from Craig too, to whom I had sent a faithful account ofhow I had brought Mrs. Mavor to her ship, and of how I had watched hersail away with none too brave a face, as she held up her hand that borethe miners' ring, and smiled with that deep light in her eyes. Ah!those eyes have driven me to despair and made me fear that I am no greatpainter after all, in spite of what my friends tell me who come in tosmoke my good cigars and praise my brush. I can get the brow and hair, and mouth and pose, but the eyes! the eyes elude me--and the faces ofMrs. Mavor on my wall, that the men praise and rave over, are not suchas I could show to any of the men from the mountains. 

Graeme's letters tell me chiefly about Craig and his doings, and aboutold man Nelson; while from Craig I hear about Graeme, and how he andNelson are standing at his back, and doing what they can to fill the gapthat never can be filled. The three are much together, I can see, and Iam glad for them all, but chiefly for Craig, whose face, grief-strickenbut resolute, and often gentle as a woman's, will not leave me nor letme rest in peace. 

The note of thanks he sent me was entirely characteristic. There wereno heroics, much less pining or self-pity. It was simple and manly, notignoring the pain but making much of the joy. And then they had theirwork to do. That note, so clear, so manly, so nobly sensible, stiffensmy back yet at times. 

In the spring came the startling news that Black Rock would soon beno more. The mines were to close down on April 1. The company, havingallured the confiding public with enticing descriptions of marvellousdrifts, veins, assays, and prospects, and having expended vast sums ofthe public's money in developing the mines till the assurance of theirreliability was absolutely final, calmly shut down and vanished. Withtheir vanishing vanishes Black Rock, not without loss and much deepcursing on the part of the men brought some hundreds of miles to aid thecompany in its extraordinary and wholly inexplicable game. 

Personally it grieved me to think that my plan of returning to BlackRock could never be carried out. It was a great compensation, however, that the three men most representative to me of that life were soon tovisit me actually in my own home and den. Graeme's letter said that inone month they might be expected to appear. At least he and Nelson weresoon to come, and Craig would soon follow. 

On receiving the great news, I at once looked up young Nelson andhis sister, and we proceeded to celebrate the joyful prospect with aspecially good dinner. I found the greatest delight in picturing thejoy and pride of the old man in his children, whom he had not seen forfifteen or sixteen years. The mother had died some five years before, then the farm was sold, and the brother and sister came into the city;and any father might be proud of them. The son was a well-made youngfellow, handsome enough, thoughtful, and solid-looking. The girlreminded me of her father. The same resolution was seen in mouth andjaw, and the same passion slumbered in the dark grey eyes. She was notbeautiful, but she carried herself well, and one would always look ather twice. It would be worth something to see the meeting between fatherand daughter. 

But fate, the greatest artist of us all, takes little count of thecareful drawing and the bright colouring of our fancy's pictures, butwith rude hand deranges all, and with one swift sweep paints out thebright and paints in the dark. And this trick he served me when, oneJune night, after long and anxious waiting for some word from the west, my door suddenly opened and Graeme walked in upon me like a spectre, grey and voiceless. My shout of welcome was choked back by the look inhis face, and I could only gaze at him and wait for his word. He grippedmy hand, tried to speak, but failed to make words come. 

'Sit down, old man, ' I said, pushing, him into my chair, 'and take yourtime. '

He obeyed, looking up at me with burning, sleepless eyes. My heart wassore for his misery, and I said: 'Don't mind, old chap; it can't be soawfully bad. You're here safe and sound at any rate, ' and so I went onto give him time. But he shuddered and looked round and groaned. 

'Now look here, Graeme, let's have it. When did you land here? Where isNelson? Why didn't you bring him up?'

'He is at the station in his coffin, ' he answered slowly. 

'In his coffin?' I echoed, my beautiful pictures all vanishing. 'How wasit?'

'Through my cursed folly, ' he groaned bitterly. 

'What happened?' I asked. But ignoring my question, he said: 'I must seehis children. I have not slept for four nights. I hardly know what Iam doing; but I can't rest till I see his children. I promised him. Getthem for me. '

'To-morrow will do. Go to sleep now, and we shall arrange everythingto-morrow, ' I urged. 

'No!' he said fiercely; 'to-night--now!'

In half an hour they were listening, pale and grief-stricken, to thestory of their father's death. 

Poor Graeme was relentless in his self-condemnation as he told how, through his 'cursed folly, ' old Nelson was killed. The three, Craig, Graeme, and Nelson, had come as far as Victoria together. There theyleft Craig, and came on to San Francisco. In an evil hour Graeme met acompanion of other and evil days, and it was not long till the old fevercame upon him. 

In vain Nelson warned and pleaded. The reaction from the monotony andpoverty of camp life to the excitement and luxury of the San Franciscogaming palaces swung Graeme quite off his feet, and all that Nelsoncould do was to follow from place to place and keep watch. 

'And there he would sit, ' said Graeme in a hard, bitter voice, 'waitingand watching often till the grey morning light, while my madness held mefast to the table. One night, ' here he paused a moment, put his face inhis hands and shuddered; but quickly he was master of himself again, andwent on in the same hard voice--'One night my partner and I were playingtwo men who had done us up before. I knew they were cheating, but couldnot detect them. Game after game they won, till I was furious at mystupidity in not being able to catch them. Happening to glance at Nelsonin the corner, I caught a meaning look, and looking again, he threw mea signal. I knew at once what the fraud was, and next game charged thefellow with it. He gave me the lie; I struck his mouth, but beforeI could draw my gun, his partner had me by the arms. What followed Ihardly know. While I was struggling to get free, I saw him reach for hisweapon; but, as he drew it, Nelson sprang across the table, and bore himdown. When the row was ever, three men lay on the floor. One was Nelson;he took the shot meant for me. '

Again the story paused. 

'And the man that shot him?'

I started at the intense fierceness in the voice, and, looking upon thegirl, saw her eyes blazing with a terrible light. 

'He is dead, ' answered Graeme indifferently. 

'You killed him?' she asked eagerly. 

Graeme looked at her curiously, and answered slowly--

'I did not mean to. He came at me. I struck him harder than I knew. Henever moved. '

She drew a sigh of satisfaction, and waited. 

'I got him to a private ward, had the best doctor in the city, and sentfor Craig to Victoria. For three days we thought he would live--he waskeen to get home; but by the time Craig came we had given up hope. Oh, but I was thankful to see Craig come in, and the joy in the old man'seyes was beautiful to see. There was no pain at last, and no fear. Hewould not allow me to reproach myself, saying over and over, "You wouldhave done the same for me"--as I would, fast enough--"and it is betterme than you. I am old and done; you will do much good yet for the boys. "And he kept looking at me till I could only promise to do my best. 

'But I am glad I told him how much good he had done me during the lastyear, for he seemed to think that too good to be true. And when Craigtold him how he had helped the boys in the camp, and how Sandy andBaptiste and the Campbells would always be better men for his lifeamong them, the old man's face actually shone, as if light were comingthrough. And with surprise and joy he kept on saying, "Do you thinkso? Do you think so? Perhaps so, perhaps so. " At the last he talked ofChristmas night at the camp. You were there, you remember. Craig hadbeen holding a service, and something happened, I don't know what, butthey both knew. '

'I know, ' I said, and I saw again the picture of the old man under thepine, upon his knees in the snow, with his face turned up to the stars. 

'Whatever it was, it was in his mind at the very last, and I can neverforget his face as he turned it to Craig. One hears of such things:I had often, but had never put much faith in them; but joy, rapture, triumph, these are what were in his face, as he said, his breath comingshort, "You said--He wouldn't--fail me--you were right--not once--notonce--He stuck to me--I'm glad he told me--thank God--for you--youshowed--me--I'll see Him--and--tell Him--" And Craig, kneeling besidehim so steady--I was behaving like a fool--smiled down through hisstreaming tears into the dim eyes so brightly, till they could see nomore. Thank him for that! He helped the old man through, and he helpedme too, that night, thank God!' And Graeme's voice, hard till now, brokein a sob. 

He had forgotten us, and was back beside his passing friend, and all hisself-control could not keep back the flowing tears. 

'It was his life for mine, ' he said huskily. 

The brother and sister were quietly weeping, but spoke no word, though Iknew Graeme was waiting for them. 

I took up the word, and told of what I had known of Nelson, and hisinfluence upon the men of Black Rock. They listened eagerly enough, butstill without speaking. There seemed nothing to say, till I suggestedto Graeme that he must get some rest. Then the girl turned to him, and, impulsively putting out her hand, said--

'Oh, it is all so sad; but how can we ever thank you?'

'Thank me!' gasped Graeme. 'Can you forgive me? I brought him to hisdeath. '

'No, no! You must not say so, ' she answered hurriedly. 'You would havedone the same for him. '

'God knows I would, ' said Graeme earnestly; 'and God bless you for yourwords!' And I was thankful to see the tears start in his dry, burningeyes. 

We carried him to the old home in the country, that he might lie by theside of the wife he had loved and wronged. A few friends met us at thewayside station, and followed in sad procession along the country road, that wound past farms and through woods, and at last up to the ascentwhere the quaint, old wooden church, black with the rains and snows ofmany years, stood among its silent graves. The little graveyard slopedgently towards the setting sun, and from it one could see, far on everyside, the fields of grain and meadowland that wandered off over softlyundulating hills to meet the maple woods at the horizon, dark, green, and cool. Here and there white farmhouses, with great barns standingnear, looked out from clustering orchards. 

Up the grass-grown walk, and through the crowding mounds, over whichwaves, uncut, the long, tangling grass, we bear our friend, and lethim gently down into the kindly bosom of mother earth, dark, moist, andwarm. The sound of a distant cowbell mingles with the voice of the lastprayer; the clods drop heavily with heart-startling echo; the mound isheaped and shaped by kindly friends, sharing with one another thetask; the long rough sods are laid over and patted into place; the oldminister takes farewell in a few words of gentle sympathy; the brotherand sister, with lingering looks at the two graves side by side, the oldand the new, step into the farmer's carriage, and drive away; the sextonlocks the gate and goes home, and we are left outside alone. 

Then we went back and stood by Nelson's grave. 

After a long silence Graeme spoke. 

'Connor, he did not grudge his life to me--and I think'--and here thewords came slowly--'I understand now what that means, "Who loved me andgave Himself for me. "'

Then taking off his hat, he said reverently, 'By God's help Nelson'slife shall not end, but shall go on. Yes, old man!' looking down uponthe grave, 'I'm with you'; and lifting up his face to the calm sky, 'Godhelp me to be true. '

Then he turned and walked briskly away, as one might who had pressingbusiness, or as soldiers march from a comrade's grave to a merry tune, not that they have forgotten, but they have still to fight. 

And this was the way old man Nelson came home. 

CHAPTERS XIV. 

GRAEME'S NEW BIRTH

There was more left in that grave than old man Nelson's dead body. Itseemed to me that Graeme left part, at least, of his old self there, with his dead friend and comrade, in the quiet country churchyard. Iwaited long for the old careless, reckless spirit to appear, but he wasnever the same again. The change was unmistakable, but hard to define. He seemed to have resolved his life into a definite purpose. He washardly so comfortable a fellow to be with; he made me feel even morelazy and useless than was my wont; but I respected him more, and likedhim none the less. As a lion he was not a success. He would not roar. This was disappointing to me, and to his friends and mine, who had beenwaiting his return with eager expectation of tales of thrilling andbloodthirsty adventure. 

His first days were spent in making right, or as nearly right as hecould, the break that drove him to the west. His old firm (and I havehad more respect for the humanity of lawyers ever since) behaved reallywell. They proved the restoration of their confidence in his integrityand ability by offering him a place in the firm, which, however, hewould not accept. Then, when he felt clean, as he said, he posted offhome, taking me with him. During the railway journey of four hours hehardly spoke; but when we had left the town behind, and had fairlygot upon the country road that led toward the home ten miles away, hisspeech came to him in a great flow. His spirits ran over. He was like aboy returning from his first college term. His very face wore the boy'sopen, innocent, earnest look that used to attract men to him in hisfirst college year. His delight in the fields and woods, in the sweetcountry air and the sunlight, was without bound. How often had we driventhis road together in the old days!

Every turn was familiar. The swamp where the tamaracks stood straightand slim out of their beds of moss; the brule, as we used to call it, where the pine-stumps, huge and blackened, were half-hidden by the newgrowth of poplars and soft maples; the big hill, where we used to getout and walk when the roads were bad; the orchards, where the harvestapples were best and most accessible--all had their memories. 

It was one of those perfect afternoons that so often come in the earlyCanadian summer, before Nature grows weary with the heat. The whitegravel road was trimmed on either side with turf of living green, closecropped by the sheep that wandered in flocks along its whole length. Beyond the picturesque snake-fences stretched the fields of springinggrain, of varying shades of green, with here and there a dark brownpatch, marking a turnip field or summer fallow, and far back were thewoods of maple and beech and elm, with here and there the tufted top ofa mighty pine, the lonely representative of a vanished race, standingclear above the humbler trees. 

As we drove through the big swamp, where the yawning, haunted gullyplunges down to its gloomy depths, Graeme reminded me of that night whenour horse saw something in that same gully, and refused to go past; andI felt again, though it was broad daylight, something of the grue thatshivered down my back, as I saw in the moonlight the gleam of a whitething far through the pine trunks. 

As we came nearer home the houses became familiar. Every house had itstale: we had eaten or slept in most of them; we had sampled apples, andcherries, and plums from their orchards, openly as guests, or secretlyas marauders, under cover of night--the more delightful way, I fear. Ah! happy days, with these innocent crimes and fleeting remorses, howbravely we faced them, and how gaily we lived them, and how yearninglywe look back at them now! The sun was just dipping into the tree-topsof the distant woods behind as we came to the top of the last hill thatoverlooked the valley, in which lay the village of Riverdale. Woodedhills stood about it on three sides, and, where the hills faded out, there lay the mill-pond sleeping and smiling in the sun. Through thevillage ran the white road, up past the old frame church, and on to thewhite manse standing among the trees. That was Graeme's home, and minetoo, for I had never known another worthy of the name. We held up ourteam to look down over the valley, with its rampart of wooded hills, itsshining pond, and its nestling village, and on past to the church andthe white manse, hiding among the trees. The beauty, the peace, thewarm, loving homeliness of the scene came about our hearts, but, beingmen, we could find no words. 

'Let's go, ' cried Graeme, and down the hill we tore and rocked andswayed to the amazement of the steady team, whose education fromthe earliest years had impressed upon their minds the criminality ofattempting to do anything but walk carefully down a hill, at leastfor two-thirds of the way. Through the village, in a cloud of dust, we swept, catching a glimpse of a well-known face here and there, andflinging a salutation as we passed, leaving the owner of the face rootedto his place in astonishment at the sight of Graeme whirling on in hisold-time, well-known reckless manner. Only old Dunc. M'Leod was equal tothe moment, for as Graeme called out, 'Hello, Dunc. !' the old man liftedup his hands, and called back in an awed voice: 'Bless my soul! is ityourself?'

'Stands his whisky well, poor old chap!' was Graeme's comment. 

As we neared the church he pulled up his team, and we went quietly pastthe sleepers there, then again on the full run down the gentle slope, over the little brook, and up to the gate. He had hardly got his teampulled up before, flinging me the lines, he was out over the wheel, forcoming down the walk, with her hands lifted high, was a dainty littlelady, with the face of an angel. In a moment Graeme had her in his arms. I heard the faint cry, 'My boy, my boy, ' and got down on the other sideto attend to my off horse, surprised to find my hands trembling and myeyes full of tears. Back upon the steps stood an old gentleman, withwhite hair and flowing beard, handsome, straight, and stately--Graeme'sfather, waiting his turn. 

'Welcome home, my lad, ' was his greeting, as he kissed his son, and thetremor of his voice, and the sight of the two men kissing each other, like women, sent me again to my horses' heads. 

'There's Connor, mother!' shouted out Graeme, and the dainty littlelady, in her black silk and white lace, came out to me quickly, withoutstretched hands. 

'You, too, are welcome home, ' she said, and kissed me. 

I stood with my hat off, saying something about being glad to come, but wishing that I could get away before I should make quite a fool ofmyself. For as I looked down upon that beautiful face, pale, except fora faint flush upon each faded cheek, and read the story of pain enduredand conquered, and as I thought of all the long years of waiting andof vain hoping, I found my throat dry and sore, and the words would notcome. But her quick sense needed no words, and she came to my help. 

'You will find Jack at the stable, ' she said, smiling; 'he ought to havebeen here. '

The stable! Why had I not thought of that before? Thankfully now mywords came--

'Yes, certainly, I'll find him, Mrs. Graeme. I suppose he's as much ofa scapegrace as ever, and off I went to look up Graeme's young brother, who had given every promise in the old days of developing into asstirring a rascal as one could desire; but who, as I found out later, had not lived these years in his mother's home for nothing. 

'Oh, Jack's a good boy, ' she answered, smiling again, as she turnedtoward the other two, now waiting for her upon the walk. 

The week that followed was a happy one for us all; but for the mother itwas full to the brim with joy. Her sweet face was full of content, andin her eyes rested a great peace. Our days were spent driving aboutamong the hills, or strolling through the maple woods, or down into thetamarack swamp, where the pitcher plants and the swamp lilies and themarigold waved above the deep moss. In the evenings we sat under thetrees on the lawn till the stars came out and the night dews drove usin. Like two lovers, Graeme and his mother would wander off together, leaving Jack and me to each other. Jack was reading for divinity, andwas really a fine, manly fellow, with all his brother's turn for rugby, and I took to him amazingly; but after the day was over we would gatherabout the supper table, and the talk would be of all things underheaven--art, football, theology. The mother would lead in all. How quickshe was, how bright her fancy, how subtle her intellect, and through alla gentle grace, very winning and beautiful to see!

Do what I would, Graeme would talk little of the mountains and his lifethere. 

'My lion will not roar, Mrs. Graeme, ' I complained; 'he simply willnot. '

'You should twist his tail, ' said Jack. 

'That seems to be the difficulty, Jack, ' said his mother, 'to get holdof his tale. '

'Oh, mother, ' groaned Jack; 'you never did such a thing before! Howcould you? Is it this baleful Western influence?'

'I shall reform, Jack, ' she replied brightly. 

'But, seriously, Graeme, ' I remonstrated, 'you ought to tell your peopleof your life--that free, glorious life in the mountains. '

'Free! Glorious! To some men, perhaps!' said Graeme, and then fell intosilence. 

But I saw Graeme as a new man the night he talked theology with hisfather. The old minister was a splendid Calvinist, of heroic type, andas he discoursed of God's sovereignty and election, his face glowed andhis voice rang out. 

Graeme listened intently, now and then putting in a question, as onewould a keen knife-thrust into a foe. But the old man knew his ground, and moved easily among his ideas, demolishing the enemy as he appeared, with jaunty grace. In the full flow of his triumphant argument, Graemeturned to him with sudden seriousness. 

'Look here, father! I was born a Calvinist, and I can't see how any onewith a level head can hold anything else, than that the Almighty hassome idea as to how He wants to run His universe, and He means to carryout His idea, and is carrying it out; but what would you do in a caselike this?' Then he told him the story of poor Billy Breen, his fightand his defeat. 

'Would you preach election to that chap?'

The mother's eyes were shining with tears. 

The old gentleman blew his nose like a trumpet, and then said gravely--

'No, my boy, you don't feed babes with meat. But what came to him?'

Then Graeme asked me to finish the tale. After I had finished thestory of Billy's final triumph and of Craig's part in it, they sat longsilent, till the minister, clearing his throat hard and blowing his nosemore like a trumpet than ever, said with great emphasis--

'Thank God for such a man in such a place! I wish there were more of uslike him. '

'I should like to see you out there, sir, ' said Graeme admiringly;'you'd get them, but you wouldn't have time for election. '

'Yes, yes!' said his father warmly; 'I should love to have a chancejust to preach election to these poor lads. Would I were twenty yearsyounger!'

'It is worth a man's life, ' said Graeme earnestly. His younger brotherturned his face eagerly toward the mother. For answer she slipped herhand into his and said softly, while her eyes shone like stars--

'Some day, Jack, perhaps! God knows. ' But Jack only looked steadily ather, smiling a little and patting her hand. 

'You'd shine there, mother, ' said Graeme, smiling upon her; 'you'dbetter come with me. ' She started, and said faintly--

'With you?' It was the first hint he had given of his purpose. 'You aregoing back?'

'What! as a missionary?' said Jack. 

'Not to preach, Jack; I'm not orthodox enough, ' looking at his fatherand shaking his head; 'but to build railroads and lend a hand to somepoor chap, if I can. '

'Could you not find work nearer home, my boy?' asked the father; 'thereis plenty of both kinds near us here, surely. '

'Lots of work, but not mine, I fear, ' answered Graeme, keeping his eyesaway from his mother's face. 'A man must do his own work. '

His voice was quiet and resolute, and glancing at the beautiful face atthe end of the table, I saw in the pale lips and yearning eyes that themother was offering up her firstborn, that ancient sacrifice. But notall the agony of sacrifice could wring from her entreaty or complaintin the hearing of her sons. That was for other ears and for the silenthours of the night. And next morning when she came down to meet us herface was wan and weary, but it wore the peace of victory and a glory notof earth. Her greeting was full of dignity, sweet and gentle; but whenshe came to Graeme she lingered over him and kissed him twice. And thatwas all that any of us ever saw of that sore fight. 

At the end of the week I took leave of them, and last of all of themother. 

She hesitated just a moment, then suddenly put her hands upon myshoulders and kissed me, saying softly, 'You are his friend; you willsometimes come to me?'

'Gladly, if I may, ' I hastened to answer, for the sweet, brave face wastoo much to bear; and, till she left us for that world of which she wasa part, I kept my word, to my own great and lasting good. When Graememet me in the city at the end of the summer, he brought me her love, andthen burst forth--

'Connor, do you know, I have just discovered my mother! I have neverknown her till this summer. '

'More fool you, ' I answered, for often had I, who had never known amother, envied him his. 

'Yes, that is true, ' he answered slowly; 'but you cannot see until youhave eyes. '

Before he set out again for the west I gave him a supper, asking the menwho had been with us in the old 'Varsity days. I was doubtful as to thewisdom of this, and was persuaded only by Graeme's eager assent to myproposal. 

'Certainly, let's have them, ' he said; 'I shall be awfully glad to seethem; great stuff they were. '

'But, I don't know, Graeme; you see--well--hang it!--you know--you'redifferent, you know. '

He looked at me curiously. 

'I hope I can still stand a good supper, and if the boys can't stand me, why, I can't help it. I'll do anything but roar, and don't you begin towork off your menagerie act--now, you hear me!'

'Well, it is rather hard lines that when I have been talking up my lionfor a year, and then finally secure him, that he will not roar. '

'Serve you right, ' he replied, quite heartlessly; 'but I'll tell youwhat I'll do, I'll feed! Don't you worry, ' he adds soothingly; 'thesupper will go. '

And go it did. The supper was of the best; the wines first-class. I hadasked Graeme about the wines. 

'Do as you like, old man, ' was his answer; 'it's your supper, but, ' headded, 'are the men all straight?'

I ran them over in my mind. 

'Yes; I think so. '

If not, don't you help them down; and anyway, you can't be too careful. But don't mind me; I am quit of the whole business from this out. ' So Iventured wines, for the last time, as it happened. 

We were a quaint combination. Old 'Beetles, ' whose nickname wasprophetic of his future fame as a bugman, as the fellows irreverentlysaid; 'Stumpy' Smith, a demon bowler; Polly Lindsay, slow as ever and assure as when he held the half-back line with Graeme, and used to make myheart stand still with terror at his cool deliberation. But he wasnever known to fumble nor to funk, and somehow he always got us out safeenough. Then there was Rattray--'Rat' for short--who, from a swell, haddeveloped into a cynic with a sneer, awfully clever and a good enoughfellow at heart. Little 'Wig' Martin, the sharpest quarter ever seen, and big Barney Lundy, centre scrimmage, whose terrific roar and rush hadoften struck terror to the enemy's heart, and who was Graeme's slave. Such was the party. 

As the supper went on my fears began to vanish, for if Graeme did not'roar, ' he did the next best thing--ate and talked quite up to hisold form. Now we played our matches over again, bitterly lamenting the'if's' that had lost us the championships, and wildly approving thetackles that had saved, and the runs that had made the 'Varsity crowd gomad with delight and had won for us. And as their names came up in talk, we learned how life had gone with those who had been our comrades of tenyears ago. Some, success had lifted to high places; some, failure hadleft upon the rocks, and a few lay in their graves. 

But as the evening wore on, I began to wish that I had left out thewines, for the men began to drop an occasional oath, though I had letthem know during the summer that Graeme was not the man he had been. ButGraeme smoked and talked and heeded not, till Rattray swore by that namemost sacred of all ever borne by man. Then Graeme opened upon him in acool, slow way--

'What an awful fool a man is, to damn things as you do, Rat. Things arenot damned. It is men who are; and that is too bad to be talked muchabout but when a man flings out of his foul mouth the name of JesusChrist'--here he lowered his voice--'it's a shame--it's more, it's acrime. '

There was dead silence, then Rattray replied--

'I suppose you're right enough, it is bad form; but crime is ratherstrong, I think. '

'Not if you consider who it is, ' said Graeme with emphasis. 

'Oh, come now, ' broke in Beetles. 'Religion is all right, is a goodthing, and I believe a necessary thing for the race, but no one takesseriously any longer the Christ myth. '

'What about your mother, Beetles?' put in Wig Martin. 

Beetles consigned him to the pit and was silent, for his father was anEpiscopal clergyman, and his mother a saintly woman. 

'I fooled with that for some time, Beetles, but it won't do. You can'tbuild a religion that will take the devil out of a man on a myth. Thatwon't do the trick. I don't want to argue about it, but I am quiteconvinced the myth theory is not reasonable, and besides, it wont work. '

'Will the other work?' asked Rattray, with a sneer. 

'Sure!' said Grame; 'I've seen it. '

'Where?' challenged Rattray. 'I haven't seen much of it. '

'Yes, you have, Rattray, you know you have, ' said Wig again. But Rattrayignored him. 

'I'll tell you, boys, ' said Graeme. 'I want you to know, anyway, why Ibelieve what I do. '

Then he told them the story of old man Nelson, from the old coast days, before I knew him, to the end. He told the story well. The stern fightand the victory of the life, and the self-sacrifice and the pathos ofthe death appealed to these men, who loved fight and could understandsacrifice. 

'That's why I believe in Jesus Christ, and that's why I think it a crimeto fling His name about!'

'I wish to Heaven I could say that, ' said Beetles. 

'Keep wishing hard enough and it will come to you, ' said Graeme. 

'Look here, old chap, ' said Rattray; 'you're quite right about this;I'm willing to own up. Wig is correct. I know a few, at least, of thatstamp, but most of those who go in for that sort of thing are not muchaccount'

'For ten years, Rattray, ' said Graeme in a downright, matter-of-factway, 'you and I have tried this sort of thing'--tapping a bottle--'andwe got out of it all there is to be got, paid well for it, too, and--faugh! you know it's not good enough, and the more you go in forit, the more you curse yourself. So I have quit this and I am going infor the other. '

'What! going in for preaching?'

'Not much--railroading--money in it--and lending a hand to fellows onthe rocks. '

'I say, don't you want a centre forward?' said big Barney in his deepvoice. 

'Every man must play his game in his place, old chap. I'd like to seeyou tackle it, though, right well, ' said Graeme earnestly. And so hedid, in the after years, and good tackling it was. But that is anotherstory. 

'But, I say, Graeme, ' persisted Beetles, 'about this business, do youmean to say you go the whole thing--Jonah, you know, and the rest ofit?'

Graeme hesitated, then said--

'I haven't much of a creed, Beetles; don't really know how much Ibelieve. But, ' by this time he was standing, 'I do know that good isgood, and bad is bad, and good and bad are not the same. And I knowa man's a fool to follow the one, and a wise man to follow the other, and, ' lowering his voice, 'I believe God is at the back of a man whowants to get done with bad. I've tried all that folly, ' sweeping hishand over the glasses and bottles, 'and all that goes with it, and I'vedone with it'

'I'll go you that far, ' roared big Barney, following his old captain asof yore. 

'Good man, ' said Graeme, striking hands with him. 

'Put me down, ' said little Wig cheerfully. 

Then I took up the word, for there rose before me the scene in theLeague saloon, and I saw the beautiful face with the deep shining eyes, and I was speaking for her again. I told them of Craig and his fight forthese men's lives. I told them, too, of how I had been too indolent tobegin. 'But, ' I said, 'I am going this far from to-night, ' and I sweptthe bottles into the champagne tub. 

'I say, ' said Polly Lindsay, coming up in his old style, slow but sure, 'let's all go in, say for five years. ' And so we did. We didn't signanything, but every man shook hands with Graeme. 

And as I told Craig about this a year later, when he was on his way backfrom his Old Land trip to join Graeme in the mountains, he threw up hishead in the old way and said, 'It was well done. It must have been worthseeing. Old man Nelson's work is not done yet. Tell me again, ' and hemade me go over the whole scene with all the details put in. 

But when I told Mrs. Mavor, after two years had gone, she only said, 'Old things are passed away, all things are become new'; but the lightglowed in her eyes till I could not see their colour. But all that, too, is another story. 

CHAPTER XV

COMING TO THEIR OWN

A man with a conscience is often provoking, sometimes impossible. Persuasion is lost upon him. He will not get angry, and he looks at onewith such a far-away expression in his face that in striving to persuadehim one feels earthly and even fiendish. At least this was my experiencewith Craig. He spent a week with me just before he sailed for the OldLand, for the purpose, as he said, of getting some of the coal dust andother grime out of him. 

He made me angry the last night of his stay, and all the more that heremained quite sweetly unmoved. It was a strategic mistake of mine totell him how Nelson came home to us, and how Graeme stood up beforethe 'Varsity chaps at my supper and made his confession and confusedRattray's easy-stepping profanity, and started his own five-year league. For all this stirred in Craig the hero, and he was ready for all sortsof heroic nonsense, as I called it. We talked of everything but the onething, and about that we said not a word till, bending low to poke myfire and to hide my face, I plunged--

'You will see her, of course?'

He made no pretence of not understanding but answered--

'Of course. '

'There's really no sense in her staying over there, ' I suggested. 

'And yet she is a wise woman, ' he said, as if carefully considering thequestion. 

'Heaps of landlords never see their tenants, and they are none theworse. '

'The landlords?'

'No, the tenants. '

'Probably, having such landlords. '

'And as for the old lady, there must be some one in the connection towhom it would be a Godsend to care for her. '

'Now, Connor, ' he said quietly, 'don't. We have gone over all there isto be said. Nothing new has come. Don't turn it all up again. '

Then I played the heathen and raged, as Graeme would have said, tillCraig smiled a little wearily and said--

'You exhaust yourself, old chap. Have a pipe, do'; and after a pause headded in his own way, 'What would you have? The path lies straight frommy feet. Should I quit it? I could not so disappoint you--and all ofthem. '

And I knew he was thinking of Graeme and the lads in the mountains hehad taught to be true men. It did not help my rage, but it checked myspeech; so I smoked in silence till he was moved to say--

'And after all, you know, old chap, there are great compensations forall losses; but for the loss of a good conscience towards God, what canmake up?'

But, all the same, I hoped for some better result from his visit toBritain. It seemed to me that something must turn up to change such anunbearable situation. 

The year passed, however, and when I looked into Craig's face again Iknew that nothing had been changed, and that he had come back to take upagain his life alone, more resolutely hopeful than ever. 

But the year had left its mark upon him too. He was a broader and deeperman. He had been living and thinking with men of larger ideas andricher culture, and he was far too quick in sympathy with life to remainuntouched by his surroundings. He was more tolerant of opinions otherthan his own, but more unrelenting in his fidelity to conscience andmore impatient of half-heartedness and self-indulgence. He was full ofreverence for the great scholars and the great leaders of men he hadcome to know. 

'Great, noble fellows they are, and extraordinarily modest, ' hesaid--'that is, the really great are modest. There are plenty of theother sort, neither great nor modest. And the books to be read! I amquite hopeless about my reading. It gave me a queer sensation toshake hands with a man who had written a great book. To hear him makecommonplace remarks, to witness a faltering in knowledge--one expectsthese men to know everything--and to experience respectful kindness athis hands!'

'What of the younger men?' I asked. 

'Bright, keen, generous fellows. In things theoretical, omniscient; butin things practical, quite helpless. They toss about great ideas asthe miners lumps of coal. They can call them by their book names easilyenough, but I often wondered whether they could put them into English. Some of them I coveted for the mountains. Men with clear heads and bighearts, and built after Sandy M'Naughton's model. It does seem a sinfulwaste of God's good human stuff to see these fellows potter away theirlives among theories living and dead, and end up by producing a book!They are all either making or going to make a book. A good thing wehaven't to read them. But here and there among them is some quiet chapwho will make a book that men will tumble over each other to read. '

Then we paused and looked at each other. 

'Well?' I said. He understood me. 

'Yes!' he answered slowly, 'doing great work. Every one worships herjust as we do, and she is making them all do something worth while, asshe used to make us. '

He spoke cheerfully and readily as if he were repeating a lessonwell learned, but he could not humbug me. I felt the heartache in thecheerful tone. 

'Tell me about her, ' I said, for I knew that if he would talk it woulddo him good. And talk he did, often forgetting me, till, as I listened, I found myself looking again into the fathomless eyes, and hearingagain the heart-searching voice. I saw her go in and out of the littlered-tiled cottages and down the narrow back lanes of the village; Iheard her voice in a sweet, low song by the bed of a dying child, orpouring forth floods of music in the great new hall of the factory townnear by. But I could not see, though he tried to show me, the statelygracious lady receiving the country folk in her home. He did not lingerover that scene, but went back again to the gate-cottage where she hadtaken him one day to see Billy Breen's mother. 

'I found the old woman knew all about me, ' he said, simply enough; 'butthere were many things about Billy she had never heard, and I was gladto put her right on some points, though Mrs. Mavor would not hear it. '

He sat silent for a little, looking into the coals; then went on in asoft, quiet voice--

'It brought back the mountains and the old days to hear again Billy'stones in his mother's voice, and to see her sitting there in the verydress she wore the night of the League, you remember--some soft stuffwith black lace about it--and to hear her sing as she did for Billy--ah!ah!' His voice unexpectedly broke, but in a moment he was master ofhimself and begged me to forgive his weakness. I am afraid I said wordsthat should not be said--a thing I never do, except when suddenly andutterly upset. 

'I am getting selfish and weak, ' he said; 'I must get to work. I am gladto get to work. There is much to do, and it is worth while, if only tokeep one from getting useless and lazy. '

'Useless and lazy!' I said to myself, thinking of my life beside his, and trying to get command of my voice, so as not to make quite a foolof myself. And for many a day those words goaded me to work and to theexercise of some mild self-denial. But more than all else, after Craighad gone back to the mountains, Graeme's letters from the railwayconstruction camp stirred one to do unpleasant duty long postponed, andrendered uncomfortable my hours of most luxurious ease. Many of the oldgang were with him, both of lumbermen and miners, and Craig was theirminister. And the letters told of how he laboured by day and by nightalong the line of construction, carrying his tent and kit with him, preaching straight sermons, watching by sick men, writing their letters, and winning their hearts; making strong their lives, and helping themto die well when their hour came. One day, these letters proved too muchfor me, and I packed away my paints and brushes, and made my vow untothe Lord that I would be 'useless and lazy' no longer, but would dosomething with myself. In consequence, I found myself within three weekswalking the London hospitals, finishing my course, that I might jointhat band of men who were doing something with life, or, if throwingit away, were not losing it for nothing. I had finished being a fool, I hoped, at least a fool of the useless and luxurious kind. The letterthat came from Graeme, in reply to my request for a position on hisstaff, was characteristic of the man, both new and old, full of gayesthumour and of most earnest welcome to the work. 

Mrs. Mavor's reply was like herself--

'I knew you would not long be content with the making of pictures, whichthe world does not really need, and would join your friends in the dearWest, making lives that the world needs so sorely. '

But her last words touched me strangely--

'But be sure to be thankful every day for your privilege. . . . It willbe good to think of you all, with the glorious mountains about you, andChrist's own work in your hands. . . . Ah! how we would like to chooseour work, and the place in which to do it!'

The longing did not appear in the words, but I needed no words to tellme how deep and how constant it was. And I take some credit to myself, that in my reply I gave her no bidding to join our band, but ratherpraised the work she was doing in her place, telling her how I had heardof it from Craig. 

The summer found me religiously doing Paris and Vienna, gaining a moreperfect acquaintance with the extent and variety of my own ignorance, and so fully occupied in this interesting and wholesome occupationthat I fell out with all my correspondents, with the result of weeks ofsilence between us. 

Two letters among the heap waiting on my table in London made my heartbeat quick, but with how different feelings: one from Graeme telling methat Craig had been very ill, and that he was to take him home as soonas he could be moved. Mrs. Mavor's letter told me of the death of theold lady, who had been her care for the past two years, and of herintention to spend some months in her old home in Edinburgh. And thisletter it is that accounts for my presence in a miserable, dingy, dirtylittle hall running off a close in the historic Cowgate, redolent ofthe glories of the splendid past, and of the various odours of theevil-smelling present. I was there to hear Mrs. Mavor sing to the crowdof gamins that thronged the closes in the neighbourhood, and that hadbeen gathered into a club by 'a fine leddie frae the West End, ' forthe love of Christ and His lost. This was an 'At Home' night, and themothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, of all ages and sizes werepresent. Of all the sad faces I had ever seen, those mothers carried thesaddest and most woe-stricken. 'Heaven pity us!' I found myself saying;'is this the beautiful, the cultured, the heaven-exalted city ofEdinburgh? Will it not, for this, be cast down into hell some day, ifit repent not of its closes and their dens of defilement? Oh! the utterweariness, the dazed hopelessness of the ghastly faces! Do not thekindly, gentle church-going folk of the crescents and the gardens seethem in their dreams, or are their dreams too heavenly for these ghastlyfaces to appear?'

I cannot recall the programme of the evening, but in my memory-galleryis a vivid picture of that face, sweet, sad, beautiful, alight with thedeep glow of her eyes, as she stood and sang to that dingy crowd. As Isat upon the window-ledge listening to the voice with its flowing song, my thoughts were far away, and I was looking down once more upon theeager, coal-grimed faces in the rude little church in Black Rock. I wasbrought back to find myself swallowing hard by an audible whisper from awee lassie to her mother--

'Mither! See till yon man. He's greetin'. '

When I came to myself she was singing 'The Land o' the Leal, ' the Scotch'Jerusalem the Golden, ' immortal, perfect. It needed experience of thehunger-haunted Cowgate closes, chill with the black mist of an easternhaar, to feel the full bliss of the vision in the words--

 'There's nae sorrow there, Jean, There's neither cauld nor care, Jean, The day is aye fair in The Land o' the Leal. '

A land of fair, warm days, untouched by sorrow and care, would be heavenindeed to the dwellers of the Cowgate. 

The rest of that evening is hazy enough to me now, till I find myselfopposite Mrs. Mavor at her fire, reading Graeme's letter; then all isvivid again. 

I could not keep the truth from her. I knew it would be folly to try. SoI read straight on till I came to the words--

'He has had mountain fever, whatever that may be, and he will notpull up again. If I can, I shall take him home to my mother'--when shesuddenly stretched out her hand, saying, 'Oh, let me read!' and Igave her the letter. In a minute she had read it, and began almostbreathlessly--

'Listen! my life is much changed. My mother-in-law is gone; she needsme no longer. My solicitor tells me, too, that owing to unfortunateinvestments there is need of money, so great need, that it is possiblethat either the estates or the works must go. My cousin has his all inthe works--iron works, you know. It would be wrong to have him suffer. Ishall give up the estates--that is best. ' She paused. 

'And come with me, ' I cried. 

'When do you sail?'

'Next week, ' I answered eagerly. 

She looked at me a few moments, and into her eyes there came a lightsoft and tender, as she said--

'I shall go with you. '

And so she did; and no old Roman in all the glory of a Triumph carried aprouder heart than I, as I bore her and her little one from the train toGraeme's carriage, crying--

'I've got her. '

But his was the better sense, for he stood waving his hat and shouting--

'He's all right, ' at which Mrs. Mavor grew white; but when she shookhands with him, the red was in her cheek again. 

'It was the cable did it, ' went on Graeme. 'Connor's a great doctor! Hisfirst case will make him famous. Good prescription--after mountain fevertry a cablegram!' And the red grew deeper in the beautiful face besideus. 

Never did the country look so lovely. The woods were in their gayestautumn dress; the brown fields were bathed in a purple haze; the air wassweet and fresh with a suspicion of the coming frosts of winter. Butin spite of all the road seemed long, and it was as if hours had gonebefore our eyes fell upon the white manse standing among the goldenleaves. 

'Let them go, ' I cried, as Graeme paused to take in the view, and downthe sloping dusty road we flew on the dead run. 

'Reminds one a little of Abe's curves, ' said Graeme, as we drew up atthe gate. But I answered him not, for I was introducing to each otherthe two best women in the world. As I was about to rush into the house, Graeme seized me by the collar, saying--

'Hold on, Connor! you forget your place, you're next. '

'Why, certainly, ' I cried, thankfully enough; 'what an ass I am!'

'Quite true, ' said Graeme solemnly. 

'Where is he?' I asked. 

'At this present moment?' he asked, in a shocked voice. 'Why, Connor, you surprise me. '

'Oh, I see!'

'Yes, ' he went on gravely; 'you may trust my mother to be discreetlyattending to her domestic duties; she is a great woman, my mother. '

I had no doubt of it, for at that moment she came out to us with littleMarjorie in her arms. 

'You have shown Mrs. Mavor to her room, mother, I hope, ' said Graeme;but she only smiled and said--

'Run away with your horses, you silly boy, ' at which he solemnly shookhis head. 'Ah, mother, you are deep--who would have thought it of you?'

That evening the manse overflowed with joy, and the days that followedwere like dreams set to sweet music. 

But for sheer wild delight, nothing in my memory can quite come up tothe demonstration organised by Graeme, with assistance from Nixon, Shaw, Sandy, Abe, Geordie, and Baptiste, in honour of the arrival in campof Mr. And Mrs. Craig. And, in my opinion, it added something to theoccasion, that after all the cheers for Mr. And Mrs. Craig had diedaway, and after all the hats had come down, Baptiste, who had nevertaken his eyes from that radiant face, should suddenly have swept thecrowd into a perfect storm of cheers by excitedly seizing his tuque, andcalling out in his shrill voice--

'By gar! Tree cheer for Mrs. Mavor. '

And for many a day the men of Black Rock would easily fall into the oldand well-loved name; but up and down the line of construction, in allthe camps beyond the Great Divide, the new name became as dear as theold had ever been in Black Rock. 

Those old wild days are long since gone into the dim distance of thepast. They will not come again, for we have fallen into quiet times;but often in my quietest hours I feel my heart pause in its beat to hearagain that strong, clear voice, like the sound of a trumpet, biddingus to be men; and I think of them all--Graeme, their chief, Sandy, Baptiste, Geordie, Abe, the Campbells, Nixon, Shaw, all stronger, betterfor their knowing of him, and then I think of Billy asleep under thepines, and of old man Nelson with the long grass waving over him in thequiet churchyard, and all my nonsense leaves me, and I bless the Lordfor all His benefits, but chiefly for the day I met the missionary ofBlack Rock in the lumber-camp among the Selkirks.