[Illustration: Cover art]

'LIZBETH

OF THE DALE

BY

MARIAN KEITH

_Author of "Treasure Valley, " "Duncan Polite, " "The Silver Maple, " etc. _

HODDER & STOUGHTON

NEW YORK

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

Copyright, 1910, By GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY. 

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. THE GAY GORDONS II. THE WILD STREAK III. A GENTEEL SABBATH IV. AT THE EDGE OF THE DAWN V. A ROYAL TITLE VI. SCHOOLDAYS VII. THE AGE OF CHIVALRY VIII. A BUDDING ACTRESS IX. THE FAIRY GOD-MOTHER ARRIVES X. GREAT EXPECTATIONS XI. THE DREAM OF LIFE XII. LEFT BEHIND XIII. GETTING INTO SOCIETY AND OUT XIV. WHEN LIFE WAS BEAUTY XV. WHAT OF THE NIGHT? XVI. "THE MORNING COMETH" XVII. DAWN CLOUDS XVIII. DARKNESS XIX. SUNRISE

'LIZBETH OF THE DALE

CHAPTER I

THE GAY GORDONS

On the side porch of the gray stone house sat Miss Gordon, steadilydarning at the eight pairs of stockings belonging to her eight nephewsand nieces. The strenuous task of being foster-mother to the eight hadlong ago taught Miss Gordon the necessity of doing two things at once. At the present moment she was attending to three beside the darning, and had chosen her position with an eye to their accomplishment. Here, where the Virginia creepers shaded her from the afternoon sun, she wasnear enough to the wall enclosing the backyard to mark that theSaturday raking and tidying of that battleground of the young Gordonssuffered no serious interruption. Also, she could watch that littleJamie, tumbling about the grass in front of her, did not stray away tothe pond. And, best of all, she commanded a view of the lane leadingup to the highway, for a girl in a blue cotton gown and a big white hatwas moving up the path to the gate between the willows, and Miss Gordonhad awakened to the fact that her eldest niece needed watching. 

Miss Annie had remarked a moment before, that she thought she might aswell run up to the gate and see if Jerry Patterson, the mailman, was atthe post-office yet; and besides, it was time Malcolm and Jean werehome from the store, and she might help to carry their parcels; and, anyway, she had nothing to do, because it wasn't time to get the teaready yet. 

Miss Gordon would not have stooped to quote Shakespeare, consideringhim very irreligious and sometimes quite indelicate, and havingforbidden the reading of him in the Gordon family. Nevertheless theunspoken thought of her mind was his--that the lady did protest toomuch. 

Of the eight, Annie was her aunt's favorite. She was pretty and gentleand had caused Miss Gordon less trouble during the four years she hadbeen head of her brother's house, than John or Elizabeth had frequentlycontributed in one day. But lately it seemed as though her greatestcomfort bade fair to become her greatest anxiety. For Annie hadsuddenly grown up. The fact had been startlingly revealed by thestrange actions of young Mr. Coulson, the school-teacher, who wasprobably at this moment walking across the fields towards the big gatebetween the willows. 

At the thought, Miss Gordon closed her lips tightly and looked severe. To be sure, Annie must marry, and young Coulson seemed a rathergenteel, well-made young man. He was studying law in the evenings, too, and might make his way in the world some day. But Auntie JinitJohnstone, who lived on the next farm, and knew the minute familyhistory of everyone in the county of Simcoe, had informed the lastquilting-bee that a certain Coulson--and no distant relative of theyoung schoolmaster either--had kept a tavern in the early days down bythe lake shore. Miss Gordon had made no remark. She never took partin gossip. But she had mentally resolved that she would inquirecarefully just how distant this relative was, and then she would takemeans to place their Annie at a distance from the young man in aninverse ratio to the space between him and the tavern-keeper. 

She peered through the tangle of alder and sumach that bordered thelane and saw her suspicions confirmed. Annie was at the gate, her bluedress set against the white background of some blossom-ladencherry-boughs, while down the road, the long limbs of this probabledescendant of the tavern-keeper were bearing him swiftly towards her. 

Miss Gordon's needle flashed in and out of Malcolm's sock, in adisapproving manner. She tried to look severe, but in spite ofherself, her face showed something of pleasant excitement, for MissGordon was very much of a woman and could not but find a love affairinteresting. 

She had been a handsome girl once, and her fine, high-bred face wasstill almost beautiful. It was covered with innumerable tiny wrinkles, but her dark eyes were bright, and her cheeks bore a fixed pink flush, the birth-mark of the land of heather. Her hair, glossy black, withnot a thread of gray, was parted in the middle and lay on either sidein perfectly even waves. Her figure was slim and stiffly straight, herhands long and slender. She looked every inch a woman of refinement, and also a woman who would not flinch from any task that duty demanded. 

And duty had asked much of her during these last few years--exile, privations, uncongenial tasks, and the mothering of eight orphans. This last demand had been the hardest. Even to their own mother, uponwhom the burden had been laid gradually and gently, in Nature's wiseway, the task had been a big one; but what had it been to her, who, without a moment's warning, had one day found herself at the head of afamily, ranging from sixteen years to six days? Many times she hadneeded all her strength of character to keep her from dropping it all, and flying back to the peace and quiet of her old Edinburgh home. Andyet she had struggled on under the burden for four years--four longyears this spring; but even at this late day, she was overcome with afeeling of homesickness, as poignant as it had been in her firstCanadian springtime. 

She suspended her needle and looked about her as though inquiring thecause of this renewed longing. It was a May-day--a perfect OntarioMay-day--all a luxury of blossoms and perfume. In the morning rain hadfallen, and though now the clouds lay piled in dazzling whitemountain-heaps far away on the horizon, leaving the dome above an emptyquivering blue, still the fields and the gardens remembered the showerswith gratitude and sparkled joyously under their garniture ofdiamond-drops. The wild cherry-trees bordering the lane and thehighway, and the orchard behind the house were smothered in odorousblossoms of white and pink. A big flower-laden hawthorn grew in thelane, near the little gate leading from the garden. From its topmostspray a robin was pouring forth an ecstatic song--a song so out ofproportion to his tiny body that he was fairly shaken by his owntumult--trills and whistles, calls and chuckles, all incoherentlymingled and shouted forth in glorious hysteria. Miss Gordon looked upat the mad little musician and her face grew sad. She had recognizedthe cause of her renewed longing for home. At the little gate of herEdinburgh garden there grew just such a hawthorn, and the perfume ofthis one was telling her not of the joy and beauty before her, but ofall she had left behind. 

Miss Gordon had never seen the loveliness nor felt the lure of this newland--a garden-land though it was, of winding flower-fringed roads, ofcool, fairy-dells, and hilltops with heart-thrilling glimpses of lakeand forest and stream. Her harp was always hanging on the willows ofthis Canadian Babylon in mourning for the streets of Edinburgh. Shecould never quite rise above a feeling of resentment against the landthat held her in bondage, and never once dreamed that, should she goback to the prim little house in McGlashan Street, with Cousin Griseldaand their cats and their embroidery and their cup of tea at exactlyhalf-past four in the afternoon, she would long for the old stone housein the far-off Canadian valley, and the love and companionship of themerry rioters who now made her days a burden. 

Her grievance against Canada was due to the fact that she had crossedthe ocean merely to make one short summer's visit to brother Williamand had been held a prisoner ever since. 

It had all come about through Cousin Griselda's mistaken idea that tobe truly genteel one must travel. The cousins had ever set beforethemselves perfect refinement and gentility as the one condition to bedevoutly striven for, and the only one in keeping with the Gordontraditions. They lived in a quiet old house on a silent old street, with a sleepy old servant and two somnolent old cats. They were alwaysexcessively polite to each other and to everyone with whom they came incontact, even to the cats. Every afternoon of their lives, exceptSunday, and once a month when the Ladies' Guild met at the manse, theywore their second-best black dresses, their earrings and bracelets, andsat in the parlor with the two cats and dozed and embroidered untilhalf-past four when the tea was brought in. They always spoke slowlyand carefully, and conversed upon genteel subjects. Nothing lessimportant than the doings of the Royal Family, or at least thenobility, and, of course, once a week, the minister's sermon, was everdiscussed in their tiny parlor. And as Cousin Griselda often remarkedprivately, Who were more able to discourse with ease upon such themes?For did there not live, right in Edinburgh, Sir William Gordon, who wasalmost a second cousin to both, and whose wife, Lady Gordon, had oncecalled on them right there in McGlashan Street. 

But Cousin Griselda was not content even with perfect refinement andtitled relatives, and her vaulting ambition had led to the greatmistake of Margaret's life. The draper's wife next door had called, and when she had gone and Keziah had carried away the three tea-cups, Cousin Griselda had remarked upon the almost genuine air of grandeurpossessed by Mrs. Galbraith. Margaret had asked how it could be, forMrs. Galbraith had no family connections and a husband in trade, andCousin Griselda had thereupon expressed the firm conviction that it wasbecause Mrs. Galbraith had traveled. She had been twice to London andseveral times to Liverpool. Cousin Griselda concluded by declaringthat though a baronet in the family, and good blood were essential totrue gentility, no one could deny that travel in foreign lands gave anair of distinction which nothing else could bestow. 

The cousins were thoroughly disturbed in their minds thereafter andtalked much of travel, to the neglect of the Royal Family. And evenwhile the subject was absorbing them there had come to Margaret herbrother William's letter from far-off Canada inviting her to visit him. The bare thought that Margaret might go, set the cousins into a flutterof excitement. To be sure, Margaret argued, Canada was a very wild andfrost-bound country, scarcely the place one would choose to travel overin search of further refinement. But Griselda declared that surely, nomatter where dear William's lot might be cast, being a Gordon, he wouldbe surrounded by an atmosphere of gentility. And so, little by little, the preposterous idea grew into a reality, and by the time the cousinshad discussed the matter for a year, it was finally decided thatMargaret should go. 

All through the twenty years of his absence, William's letters had beenjust as beautifully written and as nicely phrased, as they had in hisstudent days in Edinburgh. The paper was not always what truerefinement called for, but one could overlook that, when one rememberedthat it probably came to him on dog-sleds over mountains of snow. Onehad to surmise much, of course, regarding William's experience inCanada. His letters were all of his inner life. He said muchregarding his spiritual condition, of his grievous lapses of faith, ofhis days on the Delectable Mountains and of his descents into theSlough of Despond, but very little of the hills and valleys of hisadopted country. Once, shortly after his arrival, he had stated thathe was living in a shanty where the bush came right up to the door. Margaret had had some misgivings, but Cousin Griselda had explainedthat a shanty was in all probability a dear little cottage, and thebush might be an American rose bush, or more likely a thorn, which inspringtime would be covered with May. 

But now William lived in a comfortable stone house, had married, andhad a family growing up around him, who were all anxious to see theirOld Country aunt. And so the unbelievable at last came to pass and hissister sailed for Quebec. 

In the home land William Gordon had entered training for the ministry. His parents had died, owning their chief regret that they could not seetheir son in the pulpit, and his sister received the bitterestdisappointment of her life, when he abandoned the calling. But Williamwas largely Celt by blood and wholly so by nature and had visions. Inone of them he had seen himself before the Great White Throne, worthless, sin-stricken. What was he that dared to enter such a holycalling as the ministry? He who was as the dust of the earth, a priestof the Most High God! He beat his brow at the blasphemy of thethought. It was Nadab or Abihu he was or a son of Eli, and the Arkwould depart forever from God's people, did he dare to raise hisprofaning hands in its ministry. And so, partly to escape his sister'sreproaches, he had sailed away to Canada. Here he had tried variousoccupations, and finally settled down to teaching school away back inthe forests of Lake Simcoe. He married, and when a large family wasgrowing up around him, and the ever-menacing poverty had at last seizedthem, he experienced the first worldly success of his life. 

About a mile from the school which had witnessed his latest failure, there lay a beautiful little valley. Here an eccentric Englishmannamed Jarvis had built a big stone house and for a few years hadcarried on a semblance of farming. This place he called The Dale, andhere he lived alone, except for an occasional visit from his wife, whowatched his farming operations with disapproving eye from a neighboringtown. The schoolmaster was his only friend, and when he died, while heleft the farm to his wife, he bequeathed to William Gordon his bigstone house and barns, and the four-acre field in which they stood. Fortune had looked for the first time upon the Gordons, and she deignedthem a second glance. Through the energy of his wife and the influenceof her people, the MacDonalds, who owned half the township of Oro, William Gordon obtained the position of township clerk. On the modestsalary from this office, supplemented by the four acres where theypastured their cow and raised garden produce, the family managed tolive; and here the young Gordons grew up, healthy and happy, and quiteunconscious of the fact that they were exceedingly poor. 

But someone had suffered in the fight against want, and when the worstof the struggle was over the brave mother began to droop. WilliamGordon had been a kind husband, but he lived with his head in theclouds. His eyes were so dazzled by distant visions that he had failedto notice that most beautiful vision at his side, a noble woman wearingher life away in self-forgetful toil for him and his children. Shenever spoke of her trials, for her nature was of the kind that findsits highest enjoyment in sacrifice. She was always bright and gay. Her smile and her ready laughter brightened the home in the days of herhusband's deepest spiritual gloom. But one day even the smile failed. At the birth of their eighth child she went out into a new life, andthe noble sacrifice was complete. 

The long-expected aunt from the Old Country sailed a short time beforebaby Jamie's birth. So when Miss Gordon arrived, it was to anunexpected scene--a darkened home, a brother stunned by his loss, and afamily of orphans, the eldest, a frightened-eyed girl of sixteen, theyoungest, a wailing infant of a few days. 

Miss Gordon was made of good Scotch granite, with a human heartbeneath. The veneer of gentility had underneath it the pure gold ofcharacter. She seized the helm of the family ship with a heroic hand. She sailed steadily through a sea of troubles that often threatened tooverwhelm her; the unaccustomed task of motherhood with its hundredtrials, her brother's gloom and despair, the new conditions of therough country--even the irony of a fate that had set her at hard, uncongenial toil in the very place where she had sought culture. Butshe succeeded, and had not only held her own poise in the struggle, buthad managed to permeate the family life with something of her old-worldrefinement. 

It was four long years since she had seen the hawthorn blooming in herhome garden. And now the infant of that dark springtime was the sturdyboy, rolling over the grass with Collie, and the sixteen-year-old girl, with the big frightened eyes, was the tall young woman up there at thegate beside the figure in gray tweed. 

Miss Gordon had stood the trial, partly because she had never acceptedthe situation as final. She would go back to Edinburgh and CousinGriselda soon, she kept assuring herself, and though the date of herdeparture always moved forward, rainbow-like at her approach, she foundmuch comfort in following it. 

First she decided she must stay until the baby could walk, but when weeJamie went toddling about the big bare rooms, Annie had just leftschool, and was not yet prepared to shoulder all the cares ofhousekeeping. She would wait until she saw Annie capable of managingthe home. Then when Annie's skirts came down below her boot-tops, andher hair went up in a golden pile upon her head, and she could bakebread and sweep a room to perfection, the care of the next two childrenpresented itself. Malcolm and Jean had from the first shown markedability at school, and Miss Gordon's long-injured pride found thegreatest solace in them. She determined that Malcolm must be sent tocollege, and William could never be trusted to do it. By stricteconomy she had managed to send both the clever ones to the High Schoolin the neighboring town for the past year; how could she leave them nowat the very beginning of their career?

And so the date of her return home moved steadily forward. Sometimesit went out of sight altogether and left her in despair. For even ifthe two brilliant ones should graduate and William should cease to beso shockingly absent-minded, and the younger boys so shockinglyboisterous, and Mary so delicate, there was always Elizabeth. WheneverMiss Gordon contemplated the case of her third niece her castles inEdinburgh toppled over. What would become of Elizabeth if she wereleft unguided? What was to become of Elizabeth in any case, was anever-present question. 

But in spite of all the ties that held her, Miss Gordon had determinedthat, come what might, her homegoing was finally settled this time. Itwas to take place immediately after Annie's marriage. For of courseAnnie would marry--perhaps a rich gentleman from the town--who knew?Then, when Annie was settled, Jean must leave school and keep house, and she would sail away to Edinburgh and Cousin Griselda. 

She made this final decision once again, with some stubbornness, as thebreath of the hawthorn brought a hint of her old garden. She finishedMalcolm's sock with a determined snip of her scissors, and took upJohn's. 

Near the end of the long porch, a door led through the high board wallinto the orchard and kitchen-garden. It swung noisily open, and atall, broad-shouldered young woman, arrayed in a gay print cotton gown, a dusty black velvet sacque, and a faded pink hat, bounced heavily uponthe porch. 

Miss Gordon glanced up, and her startled look changed to one of reliefand finally to severity. She bent over her darning. 

"Good-afternoon, Sarah Emily, " she remarked frigidly. 

The young person was apparently unabashed by her chilling reception. She took one stride to the green bench that stood against the house anddropped upon it, letting her carpet-bag fall with a thud to the floor. She stretched out her feet in their thick muddy boots, untied her pinkhat strings, and emitted a sounding sigh. 

"Laws--a--day, but I'm dead dog-tired, " she exclaimed cordially. 

Miss Gordon looked still severer. Evidently Sarah Emily had returnedin no prodigal-son's frame of mind. Ordinarily the mistress would havesharply rebuked the girl's manner of speech, but now she bent to herwork with an air of having washed her hands finally of this stubborncase. 

But Sarah Emily was of the sort that could not be overawed by anyamount of dignity. She was not troubled, either, with a burdensomesense of humility--no, not even though this was the third time she had"given notice, " and returned uninvited. 

"Well, " she exclaimed at length, as though Miss Gordon were arguing thecase with her, "I jist had to have a recess. There ain't no one couldstand the penoeuvres of that young Lizzie, an' the mud she trailed allover the kitchen jist after I'd scrubbed!"

Miss Gordon showed no signs of sympathy. She felt some, nevertheless, and suppressed a sigh. Elizabeth certainly was a trial. She deignedno remark, however, and Sarah Emily continued the one-sidedconversation all unabashed. 

"I hoofed it every fut o' the road, " she remarked aggrievedly. 

Miss Gordon took a new thread from her ball and fitted it into herneedle with majestic dignity. 

Sarah Emily was silent a moment, then hummed her favorite song. 

 "_My grandmother lives on yonder little green, As fine an old lady as ever was seen, She has often cautioned me with care, Of all false young men to beware!_

"I couldn't abide that there Mrs. Oliver another five minutes. She hadtoo stiff a backbone for me, by a whole pail o' starch. "

Miss Gordon's face changed. Here was news. Sarah Emily had been atservice in town during her week's absence, and not only that, she hadactually been in one of its most wealthy and influential families! ToMiss Gordon, the town, some three miles distant, was a small Edinburgh, and she pined for even a word from someone, anyone, there who moved inits social world. She longed to hear more, but realized she could notafford to relax just yet. 

"Perhaps you will understand now what it means to be under properdiscipline, " she remarked. 

"Well, I wasn't kickin' about bein' under that, whatever it is. It wasbein' under her thumb I couldn't abide--makin' me wear a white bonnetin the afternoons, jist as if I was an old granny, an' an apron not bigenough for a baby's bib!"

Miss Gordon longed to rebuke the girl sharply, but could not bear tolose the glimpse of real genteel life. 

"She has one girl an' one boy--an' that there boy! She'd dress him upin a new white get-up, 'bout every five minutes, an' he'd walk straightoutside an' wallow in the mud right after. I thought I'd a' had tostand an' iron pants for that young heathen till the crack o' doom, an'I had just one pair too many so I had. An' I up an' told her you'dthink she kep' a young centipede much less a human boy with only twolegs to him. And then I up and skedaddled. "

Miss Gordon's conscience added its protest to that of her dignity, andshe spoke. 

"I prefer that you should not discuss your various mistresses with me, Sarah Emily. I can have nothing to do with your affairs now, you see. "

Sarah Emily lilted the refrain of her song:

 "_Timmy--eigh timmy--um, timmy--tum--tum--tum, Of all false young men to beware!_

"Would you like muffins or pancakes for supper?" she finished upgraciously. 

Miss Gordon hesitated. Sarah Emily was a great trial to genteelnerves, but she was undeniably a great relief from much toilsome laborthat was quite incompatible with a genteel life. Sarah Emily noticedher hesitation and went on:

"When Mrs. Jarvis came she had me make muffins every morning forbreakfast. "

Miss Gordon dropped her knitting, completely off her guard. 

"Why, Sarah Emily!" she cried, "you don't mean--not Elizabeth's Mrs. Jarvis. "

Sarah Emily nodded, well-pleased. 

"Jist her, no less! She's been visitin' Mrs. Oliver for near a monthnow, an' she was askin' after Lizzie, too. I told her where I wasfrom. I liked her. Me and her got to be awful good chums, but Icouldn't stand Mrs. Oliver. An' Mrs. Jarvis says, 'Why, how's mylittle namesake?' An' o' course I put Lizzie's best side foremost. Imade her out as quiet as a lamb, an' as good an' bidable as Mary. "

"Sarah Emily!"--Miss Gordon had got back some of her severity--"youdidn't tell an untruth?"

"Well, not exactly, but I guess I scraped mighty nigh one. "

"What did Mrs. Jarvis say?"

"She said she wasn't much like her mother then, an' she hoped shewouldn't grow up a little prig, or some such thing. An' she toldme"--here Sarah Emily paused dramatically, knowing she was by thisreinstating herself into the family--"she told me to tell you she wasgoin' to drive out some day next week and see you all, an' see what TheDale looked like. "

Miss Gordon's face flushed pink. Not since the day Lady Gordon calledupon her and Cousin Griselda had she been so excited. It seemed toogood to be true that her dream that this rich lady, who had once ownedThe Dale and for whom little Elizabeth had been called, should reallycome to them. Surely Lizzie's fortune was made!

She turned gratefully towards her maid. Sarah Emily had arisen and wasgathering up her hat and carpet-bag. For the first time her mistressnoted the weary droop of the girl's strong frame. 

"We needn't have either muffins or pancakes, Sarah Emily, " she saidkindly. "Put away your things upstairs and I shall tell Jean and Maryto set the table for you. "

But Sarah Emily sprang airily towards the kitchen door, strengthened bythe little touch of kindness. 

"Pshaw, don't you worrit your head about me!" she cried gayly. "I'llslap up a fine supper for yous all in ten minutes. " She swung open thekitchen door at the end of the porch, and turned before she slammed it. She stood a moment regarding her mistress affectionately. 

"I tell ye what, ma'am, " she cried in a burst of gratitude, "bad as yeare, other people's worse!"

She banged the door and strode off singing loudly:

 "_Timmy--eigh timmy--um, timmy--tum--tum--tum, Of all false young men to beware!_

Miss Gordon accepted the doubtfully worded compliment for all it reallymeant from Sarah Emily's generous heart. But the crudeness of itjarred upon her genteel nerves. Unfortunately Miss Gordon was not soconstituted as to see its humor. 

She darned on, quickly and excitedly. Her dream that the rich Mrs. Jarvis should one day take a fancy to the Gordons and make theirfortune was growing rosier every moment. Little Jamie came wanderingover the grass towards her. His hands were full of dandelions and helooked not unlike an overgrown one himself with his towsled yellowcurls. He leaned across her knee, his curly head hanging down, andswayed to and fro, crooning a little sleepy song. Miss Gordon's thinhand passed lovingly over his silky hair. Her face grew soft andbeautiful. At such times the castles in Edinburgh grew dim and ceasedto allure. 

She arose and took the child's hand. "Come, Jamie dear, " she said, "and we'll meet father. " And so great was her good-humor, caused byher hopeful news, that when Annie met her shyly at the garden gate withthe young schoolmaster following, her aunt gave him a stately butcordial invitation to supper. In view of the prospects before thefamily, she felt she could for the time at least let the tavern-keepingancestor go on suspended sentence. 

The Gordons gathered noisily about the supper table, William Gordon, atall, thin man, strongly resembling his sister, but with all herseverity and force of character missing, came wandering in from hisstudy. His eyes bright and kindly, but with a far-away, absent look, beamed over the large table. He sat down, then catching sight of theguest standing beside Annie, rose, and shook him cordially by the hand. 

The family seated themselves in their accustomed places, Annie, thepretty one, at her father's right hand, then Malcolm and Jean, theclever ones, John the quiet one, and Mary, the delicate one--a palelittle girl with a sweet, pathetic mouth. On either side of their auntwere the two little boys, Archie and Jamie, and there was a platebetween Mary and John which belonged to an absent member of the family. Here the visitor sat, and Sarah Emily was squeezed into a corner nearher mistress. That Sarah Emily should sit with the family at all wascontrary to Miss Gordon's wishes, and one of the few cases in which sheyielded to her brother. She had brought Sarah Emily from a Girls' Homefour years before, and had decreed that she would show the neighborsthe proper Old Country way of treating a servant. Sarah Emily was farfrom the Old Country type, however, and William seemed to haveforgotten that servants had a place of their own since he had lived solong in the backwoods. When the family would arrange themselves attable, with the maid standing properly behind her mistress, Mr. Gordonwould wait for her to be seated before asking the blessing, regardingher with gentle inquiring eyes, and finally requesting her in a mildlyremonstrating tone to come away and sit down like a reasonable body. And Sarah Emily, highly pleased, would drag a chair across the barefloor and plant herself down with a satisfied thud right on top of thefamily gentility. Miss Gordon tried many ways to prevent repetition ofthe indignity by keeping Sarah Emily out of the way. She dislikedexplaining, for William was rather queer about some things since he hadbeen so long in this country. But Sarah Emily always contrived to beon hand just as the family were being seated. And finally, when herbrother inquired anxiously if she wasn't afraid Sarah Emily had RomanCatholic leanings, since she refused to sit down at the table forgrace, Miss Gordon gave up the struggle, and to the joy of all thechildren, Sarah Emily became one of the family indeed. 

"Where's Lizzie?" asked the guest, when the pancakes had beencirculated. He addressed his host, but looked at Annie. Mr. Gordongazed around wonderingly. "Lizzie? I didn't miss the wee lamb. Where's our little 'Lizbeth, Margaret?"

Miss Gordon sighed. William never knew where the children were. "Didyou forget it's Saturday?" she inquired. "Elizabeth always spendsSaturday afternoon with Mrs. MacAllister, " she explained to the youngman. 

"Mrs. MacAllister is very much attached to Elizabeth, " she added, feeling very kindly just now toward her most trying child. 

"Lizzie always does her home-work over there, " ventured Archie, "'causeCharles Stuart does her sums for her. " John gave the speaker a warningkick. Archie was only seven and extremely indiscreet, but John wastwelve and knew that whatever a Gordon might do or say to his sister inthe bosom of his own family, he must uphold her before all outsiders, and particularly in the presence of a school-teacher. 

But the school-teacher was in a very happy unprofessional frame ofmind. "Never mind, " he said, "Lizzie will beat you all at something, some day!"

He knew that a good word for the little sister always brought anapproving light into the blue eyes across the table. Annie smiledradiantly. 

"What is Lizzie best at?" she inquired with sweet anxiety. 

Young Mr. Coulson looked at his plate and thought desperately. Todiscover any subject in which Lizzie Gordon was efficient was enough toconfound any teacher. Then he remembered the caricatures of himself hehad discovered on her slate. 

"She has a remarkable talent for drawing, " he said generously. 

Annie beamed still brighter, and Miss Gordon glanced at himapprovingly. She really did hope the story about the tavern-keeper wasnot true. 

"Perhaps Elizabeth will be a great artist some day, " she suggested. 

"And she'll paint all our pictures, " added Jean, "and we'll be morelike the Primrose family than ever. " The Gordons all laughed. Theygenerally laughed when Jean spoke, because she was always supposed tosay something sharp. 

Mr. Gordon had lately been reading aloud the "Vicar of Wakefield, " and, as always when a book was being read by them, the Gordons lived in itsatmosphere and spoke in its language. 

"Father will be the Vicar, " said Annie, "and Aunt Margaret"--she lookedhalf-frightened at her own audacity--"Aunt Margaret will be Mrs. Primrose. "

"And you'll be Olivia, " added Jean. "I'll be Sophia, with John andMary for my sheep, and Malcolm can be Moses and wear Annie's hat withthe feather in it. "

The Gordons all laughed again. 

"And who'll be the Squire?" asked little Mary, gazing admiringly at herwonderful sister. "Mr. Coulson would do, wouldn't he?"

Two faces strove to hide their blushes behind the bouquet of cherryblossoms which Sarah Emily had placed upon the table in honor of herreturn. 

There was an intense silence. Mr. Gordon looked up. Nothing arousedhim so quickly from his habitual reverie as silence at the table, because it was so unusual. He beheld his second son indulging in oneof his spasms of silent laughter. 

"What is the fun about?" he inquired genially, and then all theGordons, except the eldest and the youngest, broke into giggles. MissGordon's voice, firm, quiet, commanding, saved the situation. Sheturned to Mr. Coulson and remarked, in her stateliest manner, that ithad been a wonderful rain, just such a downpour as they had inEdinburgh the day after Lady Gordon called--she who was the wife of SirWilliam Gordon--their cousin for whom her brother had been called. 

Young Mr. Coulson seized upon the subject with a mighty interest, andplunged into a description of a terrible storm that had swept over LakeSimcoe in his grandfather's days--thunder and hail and blackness. Thestorm cleared the atmosphere at the table, and Annie's cheeks werebecoming cool again, when the young man brought the deluge upon himselfin the most innocent manner. 

"There are signs of it yet, " he went on. "Did you ever see the oldlog-house at the first jog in the Ridge Road?" he inquired of Malcolm. "Well, there are holes in the chimney yet where the lightning camethrough. I can remember my grandfather lifting me up to look at them. He kept tavern there in the bad old days, " he added cordially, "but theCoulsons have become quite respectable since. "

There was another silence deeper than the last. Even young Archie, smothering himself with a huge slab of bread and butter and caringlittle about anything else, understood that to be related to atavern-keeper placed one far beyond the pale of respectability. Anniewas looking at her lap now, all her rosiness gone. The young manglanced about him half-puzzled, and Miss Gordon again saved the day byintroducing a genteel word about Edinburgh and Lady Gordon. 

But, as they left the table, she decided that again her home-going mustbe postponed until all danger of a Gordon uniting with the grandson ofa tavern-keeper was passed. 

CHAPTER II

THE WILD STREAK

The valley where the Gordons lived had narrowly escaped having avillage at the corner. The surrounding district held all therequirements of one, but they did not happen to be placed near enoughto one another. At the cross-roads in the center of the valley stood astore and post-office. But the blacksmith's shop, which should havebeen opposite, was missing. In the early days the blacksmith, being aHighland Scot, had refused to work opposite the storekeeper, who wasonly a Lowlander, and had set up his business over on the proudseclusion of the next concession. The school, too, had got mislaidsomehow, away to the south out of sight. So the valley was left to thefarms and orchards, and contained only five homes in all its length. 

But where man had been neglectful, nature had lavished wealth, performing great feats in the way of landscape gardening. On allsides, the vale was held in by encircling hills. The eastern boundarywas steep and straight and was known as Arrow Hill. On its summitstood a gaunt old pine stump, scarred and weather-beaten. Here, an oldIndian legend said, the Hurons were wont to tie a captive while theyshowered their arrows into his quivering body. The children of thevalley could point out the very holes in the old trunk where certainarrows, missing their victim, had lodged. Away opposite, forming thewestern wall, rose the Long Hill, with a moss-fringed road windinglingeringly up its face. Down through the cedars and balsams thathedged its side tumbled a clear little brook, singing its way throughthe marigolds and musk that lovingly strove to hold it back. Reachingthe valley, it was joined by the waters that oozed from a great darkswamp to the south, and swelling into a good-sized stream, it wound itsway past The Dale, held in by steep banks, all trilliums and pinks andpurple violets and golden touch-me-not, and hedged by a double-line offeathery white-stemmed birches. 

From east to west of the valley stretched a straight road, hard andwhite. Old Indian tales hung about it also. It was an early Hurontrail, they said, and the one followed by Champlain when he marchedover from the Ottawa valley and found Lake Simcoe hanging like asapphire pendant from the jewel-chain of the Great Lakes. It was stillcalled Champlain's Road, and had in it something of the ancient Indiancharacter. For it cut straight across country over hill and stream, all unmindful of Government surveys or civilized lines. 

Just a few miles beyond Arrow Hill it ran into the little town ofCheemaun, and on market-days its hard, white surface rang with the beatof hoofs and the rattle of wheels. In the early morning the processionrolled forward, strong and eager for the day's bargaining, and at nightit swept back bearing some weary ones, some gleeful over theirmoney-getting, some jealous and dissatisfied because of the wealth andease they had seen, and some glad to return to the quiet and peace oftheir farm homes. And there were always the few who lurched along, caring not whether they reached home or fell by the wayside, havingsold their manhood over the bar of one of Cheemaun's many hotels. 

And thus the tide of rural life ebbed and flowed, beating ceaselesslyagainst the town, leaving its impress both for good and ill, bringingback on its waves treasure-trove to be swallowed by the deep of thecountry, and often, too, carrying on its surface some of the urbancommunity's slime and filth. 

On this May evening Champlain's Road stretched across the valley, notwhite and hard, but softened by the rain, and looking like a greatbroad lilac ribbon, set here and there with sparkling jewels made bythe pools of water. The sun had slipped behind the cedars of the LongHill and the valley was clothed in a wonderful combination of allshades of blue--the cloak Mother Nature so often throws round hershoulders after a shower. The towering elms, the glossy beeches, andthe spreading maples, that grew on either side of the highway, were allbathed in the blue radiance. The old snake fences, smothered inraspberry and alder bushes, were a deep purple, and the white raptureof the cherry-trees and the orchards by the farm-houses had turned adelicate lilac. The valley had taken on heaven's own blue thisevening, and smiled back at the gleaming skies with something of theirown beauty. 

On every side the robins shouted their joy from the treetops, thebob-o'-links tinkled their fairy bells as they wheeled above theclover-fields; and from the dainty line of white-stemmed birches thatguarded the stream came the mingled even-song of the frogs and theveeries. 

There was but one pedestrian on Champlain's Road this quiet evening. This was a small person who had just emerged from a farm gate at thefoot of the Long Hill. Back from the gate stood an old farm-house andat its door a woman was standing. She was knitting a long gray sock, holding her ball under her arm, knitting swiftly, even while her eyesfollowed lovingly the little figure skipping along the lavender road. The soft blue light touched her silver hair and her white apron andturned the gray homespun dress into a royal robe of purple worthy ofthe owner's wearing. The little figure danced out of sight behind aclump of cedars and the woman turned from the doorway with a tendersmile that ended in a sigh. One evening her own little girl had passeddown the lane and along Champlain's Road to the churchyard beyond thehills, and this little one filled somewhat the dreary space in themother's heart. 

Meanwhile, the one pedestrian on the lavender road was going swiftlyon. She was clothed in a blue checked pinafore and a sunbonnet of thesame material, which absorbed the blue light and glowed with vividcolor. Beneath the sunbonnet hung a long heavy braid of shiny brownhair, with a reddish streak down the middle of it. The pinafore wastucked up round the owner's waist to form a bag, in which were carrieda pair of stockings and strong, copper-toed boots, three very wrinkledapples, a bunch of wilted marigolds, and a cake of maple-sugar. Thesmall person clutched this bundle in her arms and held up her shortskirts in a highly improper manner, while she went splashing throughthe puddles singing a loud and riotous song. 

This was Elizabeth. And this unseemly manner of peregrinationdisplayed just one of Elizabeth's trying peculiarities. For four yearsshe had been faithfully taught that little girls should never gobarefoot outside their own gardens, and that when they were on thepublic highway they must walk quietly and properly on the grass by theroadside. When she remembered, Elizabeth strove to conform to the lawsof home and social usage, for she was very docile by nature; but thenElizabeth seldom remembered. When she did, it was only to recallhopelessly her aunt's many times reiterated statement that Lizzie hadthe wild streak of the MacDuffs in her, and what could you expect? TheGordon family had generally been genteel enough to keep thisobjectionable MacDuff connection hidden, but occasionally it came outin red hair, deep gray eyes, and a wild, erratic disposition. To besure, little Elizabeth's hair was not red, but a deep nut-brown, shading to rich yellow at the ends, where it curled upwards. But downthe middle of her heavy brown braid ran a thick strand of reddish gold, quite enough to account for the vagaries of her behavior. And therewas no doubt about Elizabeth's eyes--those unfathomable gray eyes thatlooked steel blue or soft gray or deep black, according to the owner'smood. Yes, Elizabeth had the two fatal badges of the wild MacDuffs, coupled with dear knows what inheritance from her mother's people, thefighting MacDonalds, who had been the scandal of the whole countrysidein the early days. 

Having heard all this many, many times from her aunt, Elizabeth hadfinally accepted the sad fact that she had "a wild streak" in her, justas she accepted the variegated color of her hair, not without muchrebellion against her fate though, and many tears of repentance, andfrequent solemn pledges to walk in unstreaked propriety for the rest ofher days. 

At other times she recklessly concluded that it was impossible tobattle against destiny. For one never knew just how one was going toact. For a very chameleon was this strange Elizabeth, always the colorof her surroundings. Being just ten-and-a-half, she would act with thewisdom of an ancient sage when in company with Mrs. MacAllister, andthe foolishness of a spring lamb when left to gambol with her littlebrother. To-night her spirit had caught the joyous note of thewonderful spring evening, and she was like the valley, gay andsparkling and noisy with delight. Besides, this was the first time shehad ever been allowed to go home alone from Mother MacAllister's, andthe sense of freedom went to her head. 

So, along the lavender road she skipped, holding her skirts very high, splashing mud over her pinafore and even her sunbonnet, and singingloudly:

 "_She's ower the border an' awa Wi' Jock o' Hazeldean!_"

Mr. MacAllister had sung this song after supper, between the puffs ofhis pipe, as he sat on the wash bench by the door, and MotherMacAllister had told them the story, as she and Elizabeth washed up thedishes, the story of the lady of high degree who had cast aside wealthand noble lovers to hie awa wi' Jock o' Hazeldean. 

Charles Stuart, who was Mother MacAllister's really, truly child, hadinterrupted to inquire what "ower the border an' awa'" meant, andElizabeth had felt impatient enough to slap him had she dared. CharlesStuart was very stupid about some things, though he could spell andalways got the right answer to a sum in school. Elizabeth knew exactlywhat it meant, though she could not have explained. It was just whatshe was doing now, as she leaped from pool to pool with her skirts andher pinafore in a string about her waist--fleeing in ecstasy away, away, to that far-off undiscovered country of dreams, "Ower the border. "

Her joyous abandon was rudely checked. There was a quick splash from apool not a yard ahead of her, where a stone hit the water sharply. Elizabeth stopped in alarm. She whirled round towards the low fencebordering the highway. Its innocent appearance, all draped in woodbineand fringed with alder and raspberry bushes, did not deceive her in theleast. "You're a nasty, mean, mean boy, Charles Stuart MacAllister!"she cried indignantly to the thickest clump of alders. She dropped herdress and stepped to the grassy side of the road, filled with rage. Ofcourse it was Charles Stuart. He was always in the direction whencestones and abuse came. It had ever seemed to Elizabeth the strangestinjustice that a dear, lovely lady like Mother MacAllister should havebeen so shabbily treated both in the quantity and quality of the familyProvidence had given her. For while there were eight Gordons, andevery one of them fairly nice at times, there was but one singlesolitary MacAllister, and a boy at that; yes, and sometimes the verynastiest boy that went to Forest Glen School!

She walked along with a haughtiness her Aunt Margaret might have enviedand took not the smallest notice when a little turbulent fox-terrier, with many squeaks and squirms, wriggled through a hole in the fence andcame bounding towards her. And she turned her head and gazedabsorbedly across the fields when it was followed by a boy who pitchedhimself over the fence and crossed to her side. 

"Hello, Lizzie!" he cried, his brown eyes dancing in his brown face inthe friendliest manner. "Mother says I've got to see you home. "

Elizabeth's head went higher. She fixed her eyes on the line ofwhite-stemmed birches that guarded the stream. Neither did she deignto notice "Trip, " who frisked and barked about her. 

Charles Stuart came a step nearer and took hold of the long, heavybraid. "Mud-turtle, Lizzie!" he hissed. "Mud-turtle! Look out there!Your neck's gettin' that long you'll hit the telegraph wires in anotherminute. "

Elizabeth's shoulders came up towards her ears with a quick, convulsivemovement. Her dignity vanished. Her long neck, her long hair, herlong fingers, and her gray eyes were features over which much teasinghad made her acutely sensitive. 

She whirled round, made a slap at her tormentor, which he dodged, stumbled over Trip, who was always in the way, and fell full lengthupon the wet grass, scattering her treasures far and wide. Tripsnatched up a boot and began worrying it; Charles Stuart shouted withlaughter; and Elizabeth picked herself up, sank upon a stone, and beganto cry. 

The boy was all repentance immediately. He gathered up the apples, thestockings, the maple sugar, and even the faded bunch of marigolds, rescued the boot from Trip, and handed them all to their owner, remembering contritely how his mother had said he must be kind tolittle Lizzie on the way home and, above all things, not to make hercry. 

Elizabeth received her treasures with averted face. "I wish you'd goback home and leave me alone, " she wailed, as she wiped away her tearswith the muddy skirt of her pinafore. 

"Well, I'd like to, " said Charles Stuart honestly; "but mother said I'dgot to see you home. Hurrah, Lizzie! Aw, come on, I won't tease youany more. "

So Elizabeth rose, not without much of the dignity of a broken heart inher attitude, and walked forward in a very stately fashion indeed. 

Charles Stuart did his best to make amends. He pointed out theoriole's little cradle that swung from the elm bough high above theirheads. He showed her the ground-hogs' hole beside the hollow stump andthe wasps' nest in the fence corner, until at last friendly relationswere once more established. 

They walked along side-by-side: he, splashing through the bluerainpools; she, envious and proper, stepping over the soft, wet grass. She was slightly disconcerted, too; for a Charles Stuart that walkedbeside you on the public highway, and did not run and hide nor throwstones, nor even pull your hair, was something to raise even moreapprehension than when he behaved naturally. 

But the young man was really trying to atone for his sins, for a reasonElizabeth could never have guessed, and he now sidled up to her holdingsomething in his hand. 

"Say, Lizzie?"

"What?"

"Don't you want this?" He handed her, with an embarrassed attempt atnonchalance, a very sticky little candy tablet. It was pretty and pinkand had some red printing on it. Elizabeth took it, quite overwhelmedwith surprise and gratitude. She was just about to put it into hermouth when she thought of Jamie. The little brother loved sweeties so. Of course she had saved her cake of maple sugar for him, all but onetiny bite; but a pink candy was ever so much better. With a hasty"thanks, " she slipped it into her pinafore with her other treasures. 

Charles Stuart looked disappointed. He picked up some stones, shiedone at the telegraph wires, and another at the green glass fixture atthe top of the pole. This last proceeding caused Elizabeth to screamand beseech him to stop. For Malcolm had said that a dreadful manwould come out from town and put you in jail if you committed thiscrime. Charles Stuart, having accomplished his purpose in fixingElizabeth's attention upon himself once more, desisted, and cast hislast stone with a crash into the raspberry bushes by the roadside. 

"Ain't you goin' to read it?" he asked, with his back towards her. 

"Read what, the candy?"

"O' course. "

Elizabeth paused and rummaged in her pinafore. She bundled shoes andstockings aside and fished out the little pink tablet. The legend, inscribed in red letters, was, "Be my girl. " She read it aloud quiteimpersonally. She did not object to it, for fear of hurting CharlesStuart's feelings; but she wished that it had been, "Be my boy, "instead. It would have been so appropriate for Jamie. For every dayshe bribed and coaxed him to be "Diddy's boy, " in preference to Mary'sor Jean's or even Annie's. 

Charles Stuart waited for some comment, feeling that Elizabeth wascertainly very dull. No wonder she could never get a sum right atschool, and was always foot of the spelling class. He flung anotherstone to relieve his feelings; this time in the direction of a pair ofchiming bob-o'-links that, far over the clover-meadow, went up and downin an airy dance. He felt he must put forth another effort to make hisposition clear to Elizabeth's dull wits. 

"Say, Lizzie, did anybody ever--ever see you home before?"

Elizabeth stared. Surely Charles Stuart must be wandering in his mind, for how could he help knowing that his mother or father or Long PeteFowler, the hired man, often accompanied indeed by Charles Stuarthimself, had always, heretofore, seen her home?

"Of course, " she answered wonderingly. "But I'm a big girl now, I'mgoing on eleven, and I'm too old to have anybody see me home. "

This was worse than ever. Charles Stuart looked at her in perplexity. Then he came straight to the point in the wise old way. 

"Say, Lizzie, I think you're the nicest girl in all Forest Glen School. "

Elizabeth stared again; not so much at the remark, though it wasextremely absurd, for Charles Stuart hated all girls, as at hisuncomfortable subdued manner, which she now began to notice. She feltvaguely sorry for him. Charles Stuart never acted like that unless hisfather had been giving him a scolding. Her sympathy made herresponsive. 

"Do you?" she cried. "Oh, I'm so glad, Charles Stuart. "

This was making fine progress. The young man looked vastly encouraged. 

"I'm going away to the High School, in Cheemaun, if I pass nextsummer, " he said, with not so much irrelevance as might appear. 

Elizabeth was all interest. To "pass" and go to the High School in theneighboring town was the grand ambition of every boy and girl in ForestGlen School. 

"Oh, are you, Charles Stuart? Maybe John is, too. "

"Yes. " He was getting on famously now. "Father says I can. And I'mgoing to college after. "

"And what'll you be?" asked Elizabeth admiringly. 

"I'm not sure, " said Charles Stuart grandly. "Mother wants me to be aminister, but I think I'd rather be a horse-doctor. "

Elizabeth looked dubious. She did not like to differ from MotherMacAllister, but she could not see how it would be possible to makeanything like a minister out of such an uncomfortable, hair-pullingstone-thrower as Charles Stuart. 

"You'd best be a horse-doctor, Charles Stuart, " she advised wisely. After all, that was a very noble calling, Elizabeth felt. Once ahorse-doctor had come out from town to Rosie Carrick's place andRosie's pussy had been sick, and he had given it medicine which curedit. She related the incident for Charles Stuart's encouragement, buthe did not seem very favorably impressed. Pulling pussy-cats' tailswas more in Charles Stuart's line. He began to show leanings towardsthe ministry. 

"Mother says it's a grander thing to be a minister than anything elsein the world, " he asserted. "But you have to know an awful lot, Iguess. "

"And you have to be most awful good, " said Elizabeth emphatically. 

"Mother says you have to be most awful good no matter what you are, "said Charles Stuart, with greater wisdom. 

Elizabeth nodded; but she could not allow the ministry to be belittled. 

"My father was nearly a minister once, but he said he wasn't goodenough, and he's the very, very goodest man that ever lived. "

"It'll be easy to be good when we're grown up, " said Charles Stuart. 

"Oh, yes, ever so easy, " said Elizabeth comfortably. 

"And, say--Lizzie. "

"What?"

Charles Stuart was looking embarrassed again. "I'm--I'm nearly twelve, you know. "

They had reached the big gate between the willows by this time. Elizabeth flung her treasure trove upon the grass and, springing uponthe gate, swung out on to the road again. 

"Well, I know that, " she said, wondering what such gratuitousinformation had to do either with being a minister or riding a gate, "and I'm going on eleven. "

Charles Stuart mounted on the other side and swung, too. It was ratherchildish, but he was bound to be agreeable until he got something offhis mind. 

"Well, you know--when I'm done going to college, and we've grown upwe'll have to get married, you and me. Long Pete Fowler said so. "

Elizabeth did not look at all impressed. Such a proposition did notappeal to her. It was too vague and intangible. People all gotmarried, of course, some day, but not until you were very, very old andstaid, and all the joy of life had departed from it--just as everybodydied some day. But, though death was inevitable, Elizabeth did notborrow trouble from that solemn fact. Besides, she had far other andgreater ambitions than were dreamed of in Charles Stuart's philosophy. She was going to be grand and famous some day--just how, Elizabeth hadnot yet decided. One day she would be a great artist, the next amissionary in darkest Africa. But Joan of Arc's life appealed to hermost strongly, and oftenest her dreams pictured herself clad inflashing armor, mounted on a prancing charger, and leading an army ofbrave Canadians to trample right over the United States. 

So there was nothing very alluring in the prospect of exchanging allthis to settle down with Charles Stuart, even though one would beliving with dear Mother MacAllister, with whom one was always happy. She looked at Charles Stuart, about to speak out her disdain, when theexpression of his face suddenly checked her. Even as a child Elizabethhad a marvelous intuition, which told her when another's feelings werein danger of being hurt. It gave her a strange, quite unacknowledgedfeeling that she was far older and wiser than the children she playedwith. There was always an inner self sitting in judgment on allchildishness, even when she was on the highroad to every sort ofnonsense by way of the wild streak. 

That inner self spoke now. It said that Charles Stuart was very youngand silly, but he was also very nervous, and she must not hurt him. She must pretend that she thought him very wise. It would not be verywicked, for was she not always pretending? When Jamie said, "Be abear, Diddy, " or "Be a bogey-man, " Elizabeth would go down on her kneesand growl and roar, or pull her hair over her face, make goggle-eyes, and hop madly about until the little brother was screaming withecstatic terror. So when Charles Stuart said, "We'll get married, " itrequired less effort to comply than to be a bogey-man, and she noddedradiantly, and said, "All right. "

Charles Stuart looked equally radiant, and they swung back and forthsmiling at each other over the top of the gate. Elizabeth began tothink it would not be such a bad bargain after all. If Charles Stuartwas really going to like her, how much happier life would be! For, ofcourse, he would never plot with John to run away from her any more, and they three would play one perpetual game of ball for ever and ever. 

They had swung some moments in happy silence when Charles Stuart, withmasculine obtuseness, made a blunder that shattered the airy fabric oftheir dream. He had been looking down into Elizabeth's deep eyes, andexclaimed in honest surprise:

"Say, Lizzie, your eyes are green, I do declare!"

Elizabeth's face turned crimson. To accuse her of having black eyes, as many people did by lamplight, was horrid, horrid mean; to say hereyes were gray was a deadly insult. But to be told they were green!She had only a minute before delicately spared Charles Stuart'sfeelings, and now he had turned and trampled upon her most tendersensibilities. 

"They're not! They're not!" she cried indignantly. "They're blue, andI won't play with you ever again, Charles Stuart MacAllister, younasty, nasty boy!"

She flung down off the gate and swept up her treasures from the wetgrass. The sight of her roused all Charles Stuart's desire to tease. She really looked so funny snatching up a shoe or stocking and droppingit again in her wrath, while Trip grabbed everything she dropped andshook it madly. Charles Stuart jumped from the gate and beganimitating her, catching up a stone, letting it fall, with a shriek andcrying loudly at the top of his voice, while Trip, enjoying the noiseand commotion, went round and round after his tail just because hecould think of nothing else to do. 

This was too much for Elizabeth. Charles Stuart was heaping insultupon insult. She got the last article of her bundle crushed into herpinafore, and as the boy, going through the same motions, raised hishead, she gave him a sounding slap in the face, turned, darted throughthe gate, and went raging down the lane, dropping a shoe, a stocking, an apple, or a piece of maple sugar at every bound. She was blindedwith tears and choking with grief and anger--anger that Charles Stuartshould have cajoled her into thinking he intended to be nice to her, and grief that she could have been so cruel. Oh, what a terrible blowshe had struck! Her hand tingled from it yet. It must have hurt poorCharles Stuart dreadfully, and after such conduct she could never hopeto be a lady. Her aunt would be disgraced, and that wonderful lady, whose name she bore, would never come to see her. She was an outcastwhom nobody loved, for not even Mother MacAllister could like her now!

She could not go home, so she flung herself down upon the wet grass ina corner of the lane and wept bitterly. It was always so withElizabeth. She was up in the clouds one moment and down in the depthsthe next. Her heart was breaking over the injury she had done. Forthe first time in her life she experienced a feeling of warm regardtowards Charles Stuart, simply because she had hurt him. 

She stopped sobbing, and, raising herself from the ground, peeped outthrough her tears to see if he were in sight. Perhaps he was stunnedby the blow and was lying beneath the gate. She could see no sign ofhim and her heart stood still with dread. She had been vaguelyconscious of joyous shouts and cries from the field behind the houseand had heard the rifle-crack of a baseball against the bat, tellingthat there was a game in progress. She was now made aware that thejoyous shouts were growing into a noisy clamor of welcome. Above thedin she could hear John's roar: "Charles Stuart on our side! I barCharles Stuart!" And there was her false lover speeding across thefield towards her home, Trip at his heels! Elizabeth arose from theground, dry-eyed and indignant. She wished she had hit him harder. Charles Stuart MacAllister was without doubt the horridest, horridestboy that ever lived and she would never speak to him again--no, not ifshe lived to be two hundred and went over to his place every Saturdayfor a thousand years. Just see if she would!

As she passed an alder clump and caught a glimpse of her aunt standingnear the garden gate talking with Mr. Coulson, Elizabeth becamesuddenly overwhelmed with a sense of her shoeless and disheveledcondition. She knew that, while untidy hair and a dirty pinafore wereextremely reprehensible, bare feet put one quite beyond the possibilityof being genteel. That word "genteel" had become the shibboleth of theGordon family in the last four years. It was poor Elizabeth's chiefburden in life. For how could anyone hope to live up to it when shewas possessed of a wild streak?

Fortunately, her aunt was in deep conversation with Mr. Coulson, andhad not spied her. She dropped upon the grass, safely hidden by thealders, and began to drag her damp stockings over her muddy feet. There would arise dire consequences from this later, but Elizabethfound the evil of the hour sufficient unto it and never added thetroubles of the future. As she sat thus busily engaged, she wasstartled by the sound of footsteps and drew back further behind herflowery screen. The next moment Mr. Coulson strode rapidly past herand up the lane without glancing to the right or left. Elizabethstared after him. He had passed so close she might have touched him, and how pale and angry he looked! The schoolmaster was one of theobjects upon which Elizabeth showered the wealth of her devotion, andshe was vaguely disturbed for him. He looked just as if he had beenwhipping someone in school. Then her own uncomfortable conditionobtruded itself once more, and she arose. She straightened hersunbonnet, smoothed down her crumpled skirts and slowly and fearfullytook her way down the lane. She dreaded to meet her aunt, knowing bysad experience that as soon as that lady's eye fell upon her, not onlywould all the misdemeanors of which she was conscious appearsilhouetted against Miss Gordon's perfection, but dozens of unsuspectedsins would spring to light and stand out black in the glare. 

She peeped through the tangle of alders and saw that Aunt Margaret wasnow talking to Annie, with her back to the lane, and the same instantshe spied a way of escape. The lane ran straight past the big stonehouse and down to the line of birches that bordered the stream, formingthe road by which Mr. MacAllister reached his old mill, lying away downthere in the hollow. Down in the lower part of the lane where thebirches grew, William Gordon was wont to walk in the evenings, and hereElizabeth, with infinite relief, spied him just coming into view frombeyond a curve. He was walking slowly with bent head, his long, thinhands clasped behind him. At his side was a young man, of mediumheight, thick-set, and powerful-looking. This was Mr. Tom Teeter, whoworked the farm upon which The Dale stood, and lived only a few hundredyards from the Gordons. Mr. Teeter was an Irishman, with a fine giftfor speech-making. He was much sought after, for tea-meetings andduring political campaigns, and had won the proud alliterative name ofOro's Orator. Tom was now holding forth hotly upon the "onparalleledrascality and treachersome villainousness" of the Opposition in theOntario Legislature. 

Elizabeth, her eyes alight, ran swiftly past the gate towards herfather. She loved each member of her family with all the might of herpassionate heart; but she held for her father an especially tenderregard. Her love for him had in it something of the sacred grief thatclung about the memory of her dead mother, something too of mother-loveitself, felt in a longing to comfort and protect him. The stoop of histhin shoulders, the silvering hair on his bowed head, and the sound ofhis gentle voice all appealed to Elizabeth's heart in the same way aswhen Jamie cried from a hurt. Whenever he looked unusually sad andabstracted, his little daughter yearned to fling her arms about hisneck and pet and caress him. But Elizabeth knew better. Such conductwould be courting death by ridicule at the hands of the Gay Gordons. 

She ran to him now, and, as there was only Tom Teeter to see, venturedto slip her hand into his as she walked by his side. Tom Teeter wasthe bosom friend of every young Gordon, and he pulled her sunbonnet andsaid:

"Hello, Lizzie! How's the wild streak behavin'?"

Her father looked down at her, apparently just conscious of herpresence. His eyes brightened. 

"Well, well, little 'Lizbeth, " he said. "And where have you been?"

"Over to Mother MacAllister's. And look, I've got three apples andsome maple sugar, and there's a piece of it for you, father, and Ifound the marigolds at the crick. "

"Well, well, yes, yes. " He seemed suddenly to remember something. "What was it your aunt was saying? Oh, yes, that I must go to the gateand meet you. And here you are!"

Elizabeth beamed. "Come and tell her we're home then, " she saidwarily; and thus fortified, but still fearful, she walked slowly up thegarden path to the front door, where Aunt Margaret was standing. 

But to Elizabeth's amazement and infinite relief, Aunt Margaret was allsmiles and graciousness, even to Tom Teeter. She took no notice of herniece's disheveled appearance, but said cordially:

"Run away in, Elizabeth. Sarah Emily has come back, and she has somenews for you. I hope it will help to make you a very good, thankfullittle girl. "

Entranced at this marvelous escape, Elizabeth flew through the oldechoing hall and bounded wildly into the kitchen. She welcomed SarahEmily rapturously, listened with wonder and awe to the news that thefairy god-mother was no dream after all, but was really and trulycoming to see her, and finally went shrieking out to join in the gameof ball, on Charles Stuart's side, too, all forgetful that not tenminutes before she had vowed against him an undying enmity. 

CHAPTER III

A GENTEEL SABBATH

Elizabeth arose early the next morning, feeling at peace with all theworld. For the first time in her life she felt herself an importantmember of the family. Her aunt had distinguished her by specialfriendly notice, and had omitted to scold her when she went to bed thenight before. Besides, it was Sunday, and on the first day of the weekshe almost always escaped disaster. First, her aunt was more genial onSunday, because the family was on its best behavior that day, and camea little nearer to being genteel. Then Elizabeth was clothed in along, spotlessly clean, dun-colored pinafore, starched to the extremityof discomfort, and her spirits, always colored by her surroundings, were also subdued and confined. 

The Gordons assembled for breakfast early on Sunday morning. MissGordon saw that the Sabbath was strictly kept, but she believed theidea of rest might be carried to indulgence, especially with youngpeople. So, on this particular morning, breakfast was at the usualhour. Indeed, it was a little early, owing to the fact that SarahEmily, rejoiced at her reunion with the family, had arisen betimes andbroken the Sabbath by making a fine batch of breakfast biscuits. SarahEmily always sang at her work and had aroused the household, andbrought down the stern displeasure of Miss Gordon, who forbade theunholy viands to be brought to the table. 

The young Gordons assembled, sniffing hungrily and regretfully at thepleasant odor. Sarah Emily caught their glances and made a sympatheticgrimace. 

Mary giggled, but Elizabeth looked severe. She was in her best Sabbathmood and felt that Sarah Emily was not at all genteel, nor Mary either. It really gave one such a nice feeling to know one was genteel. Involuntarily she glanced at her aunt for approbation. But AuntMargaret was looking at Annie, with a strange expression in her eyes, an almost apologetic look Elizabeth would have thought if Aunt Margaretcould ever have been in such a mood. But that was quite impossiblewith one who was always right. She was looking particularly handsomethis morning in her black silk dress, with her jet earrings, and theknot of white lace at her throat. Elizabeth gazed at her in profoundadmiration, and then at Annie with some anxiety. Annie was lookingpale this morning. Elizabeth wished she had not given away all hermaple sugar to the little boys last night; a bite might have been sucha comfort to poor Annie, and she was looking sadly in need of comfort. 

When the plates of oatmeal porridge and the big pile ofbread-and-butter had disappeared, Annie handed her father his Bible andpsalm-book and they all joined in family worship. The little ceremonyopened with the singing of a paraphrase:

 "_O God of Bethel, by whose Hand Thy people still are fed. _"

The windows were open and the breath of the apple-blossoms camefloating in. The bees, droning over the honey-suckle in the gardenbelow, and the song sparrow on the cherry-bough above, both joined inthe hymn to the great Father who had made the beautiful world. 

Then Mr. Gordon read a chapter; a wonderful chapter, Elizabeth felt. She was in perfect accord with the beauty and peace of the Sabbath Dayand every word went to her heart:

"The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them; and thedesert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose. It shall blossomabundantly, and rejoice even with joy and singing. The glory ofLebanon shall be given unto it, the excellency of Carmel and Sharon----"

Elizabeth had no idea of its meaning, but its beauty, with some vaguehint of its eternal promise of love and joy, made her child's heartswell. She was dismayed to feel her eyes beginning to smart with therising tears. She did not guess why, but she could have cried out withboth joy and pain at the majestic triumph of the close:

"And the ransomed of the Lord shall return and come to Zion with songsand everlasting joy upon their heads. They shall obtain joy andgladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. "

She struggled with her tears. If John should see them! He wouldwonder why she was crying, and she could never tell him. John wouldnot understand. That was the tragedy of Elizabeth's life. One couldnever tell things, for nobody understood. 

She was relieved when they knelt in prayer and she could hide her tearsin a corner of the old sofa. Prayers were very much longer on Sundaysthan on other mornings, but, though the boys might fidget a little, themost active member of the family never moved. Elizabeth's soul wascarried away far above any bodily discomfort. But not even thesmallest Gordon made a sound. There had been a dreadful day once whenJamie and Archie, kneeling at one chair with their heads together, hadbeen caught red-handed playing "Put your finger in the crow's nest";but since then their aunt had knelt between them and the crime had notbeen repeated. 

Prayers ended, and the few household duties attended to, Mr. Gordonshut himself in his study, and the children sat out on the side-porchand studied their Sunday-school lesson, their catechism, and theirportion of the 119th Psalm, which Miss Gordon had given them tomemorize. 

Elizabeth had no trouble with her Golden Text or the Psalm, but thecatechism was an insupportable burden. She was always appearing withit before her aunt, certain she could "say it now, " only to turn awayin disgrace. She sat on the green bench beside John and droned overher allotted portion. John was far ahead wrestling with What isrequired in the commandments, while poor Elizabeth plodded behind, struggling with the question as to Wherein consisted the sinfulness ofthat estate whereinto man fell. She rhymed over the profound words ina meaningless jargon:

"The sinfulness of that estate whereunto man fell, consists in theguilt of Adam's first sin, the want of original righteousness, and thecorruption of his whole nature, which is commonly called original sin, together with all actual transgressions which proceed from it. "

She strove to keep her mind upon it, but the exaltation of theprayer-time had passed, and the vision of Mrs. Jarvis obtruded itselfon her Sabbath thoughts. She drove it away--as with tightly-shut eyesand wrinkled brow and swaying body she attempted to get through theanswer unaided. But she stuck fast at "the want of originalrighteousness" and again at "original sin, " and was stumbling blindlyover "all actual transgressions" when there came a wicked whisper inher ear. 

"Lizzie, " hissed John, "there's 'The Rowdy'!"

Elizabeth's eyes flew open, and the sinfulness of man's estate flewaway. John had turned his grave face towards her, lit up with a quicksmile. Elizabeth flashed back at him the same smile, a sudden gleam ofwhite even teeth in a rather generous red mouth. Brother and sisterwere very much alike in their smiles, but only here, for John's facewas solemn almost to dourness, while Elizabeth's countenance was fullof light and animation. 

"The Rowdy" was enough to provoke laughter even on the Sabbath andunder Aunt Margaret's nose. He was the robin whose chiefshouting-place was the hawthorn bush in the lane. John and Elizabethhad so named him because he always made such a noise, leaping about andcalling "Hi, Hi! Whee! Whoo--Hoo!" in a most rowdy manner indeed. 

They had named many other familiar birds in The Dale fields thatspring, and now Elizabeth gave a significant nod towards the orchard toannounce the song of another favorite. This robin sang from the top ofthe big duchess tree that peeped over the wall into the front garden. His was a plaintive, quiet song, quite unlike The Rowdy's. They hadnoticed the pathetic little chant one evening when the schoolmaster satbeside Annie on the front porch. Mr. Coulson had remarked that therewas a robin in the orchard who was singing the anthem of the Exile ofErin. But John declared in private to Elizabeth that it wasn'tanything of the kind. Anyone could hear he was saying "Oh, wirra-wurra! Wirra-wurra!" just the way old Mrs. Teeter did when sherecounted her troubles of the early pioneer days, or when Oro's Oratorhad been fighting again. So to John and Elizabeth the robin of theduchess tree was known as "Granny Teeter. " They listened to him now, complaining away to the pink apple-blossoms; and, knowing it was verywicked and dangerous to laugh just then, they held themselves inconvulsions of silent mirth. 

Elizabeth forgot all about the sinfulness of man's estate as well asthe gorgeousness of Mrs. Jarvis's in listening for sounds of other oldfriends. There was a pair of meadow larks that had their nest in thepasture field just on the other side of the lane, and now one of themwas mounted in his favorite elm, pouring forth his delicious notes in adescending scale of sweetness: "Dear, hear, I am near. " Farther down, near the line of birches, in a feathery larch tree, sang a peculiarsong sparrow, who pounded four times on a loud silver bell to attractattention before he started his little melody. Then there was a crowdof jolly bob-o'-links over yonder in the clover-meadow who danced andtrilled, and a pair of blue-birds in the orchard who talked to eachother in sweet, soft notes. There was a loud and joyous oriole, proudof his golden coat, blowing up his ringing little trumpet from the pinetree near the gate, and ever so many flickers, all gorgeously dressedin red and yellow and every color their gaudy taste could suggest, eachwith his little box of money, Elizabeth explained, which he rattlednoisily, just to attract attention when he couldn't sing. But thefavorite was a gray cat-bird that sang from the bass-wood tree at theback of the vegetable garden. They liked him best, because he was sonaughty and badly behaved, always sneaking round the backyard, andnever coming out where there was an audience, as The Rowdy did. Andthen he could beat everybody, and at his own song, too! He was at themall now, one after the other--robin, song sparrow, oriole, flicker, everything--with a medley of trills and variations worked in just toshow that he had a whole lot of music of his own if he only cared touse it. 

John's silent laughter was quite safe, but Elizabeth's was of theexplosive variety. A chuckle escaped which caused Aunt Margaret tolook up from her Sunday-school paper, and the two culprits immediatelydived back to their tasks. Elizabeth felt how wicked she was to haveallowed her thoughts to wander thus, and for a time gave such goodattention to her question that she arrived at original sin with onlytwo slips. 

But Mrs. Jarvis came back again, arrayed in all the grandeur in whichElizabeth's imagination always clothed her. She planned how she wouldact when that great lady came. She would walk very slowly and solemnlyinto the parlor, just the way Aunt Margaret did, and bow very gravely. Then she would say those French words Jean always used since she hadbeen attending the High School in Cheemaun, "Commay voo, porty voo. "That was French for "Good afternoon, Mrs. Jarvis"; and of course Mrs. Jarvis would know French, and be very much impressed. She strove toweave a pious thread of catechism into the wicked fabric of herthoughts--"the sinfulness of that estate whereunto man fell"--perhapsMrs. Jarvis would ask her to go for a walk with her down the lane, oreven a drive in her carriage--"consists in the guilt of Adam's firstsin"--of course she would talk only of books, and not let her see theplayhouse she and Mary had made in the lane. That was very childish. She would tell how she had read "The Vicar of Wakefield" and "OldMortality"--of course father had read them to her, but it was all thesame thing--and "Hiawatha" and "The Lamplighter"--"the want of originalcorruption and the righteousness of his whole nature. " And surely Mrs. Jarvis would think she was genteel and know that the wild streak hadcompletely disappeared--"together with all actual transgressions whichproceed from it. " Elizabeth then and there solemnly vowed that shewould neither run nor jump, nor climb a fence, not even the little lowone between their pasture-field and Tom Teeter's, until Mrs. Jarvis'scoming. 

And so the morning passed slowly in a struggle between a restless body, a restless mind, and a restless soul, all tending in differentdirections, and at last they stood in a row before their aunt to recitetheir morning's task. Even little Jamie had his verse of Scripture tolisp, and was patted on the head when he stammered out:

"De people dat sat in dawkness saw a dwate night. "

Everyone acquitted himself well except Elizabeth. The catechismrefused to disentangle itself from the jumble of bird-voices anddream-voices with which it was mixed; and she went out to dinner withhanging head and tear-dimmed eyes. 

The light lunch of cold boiled beef and potatoes was soon disposed of, and then the hour for starting to Sunday school had arrived, bringingwith it a great relief, and making Elizabeth completely forget hertroubles. 

The Gordons had an old speckled gray horse and a queer basket phaeton, left by the eccentric Englishman in The Dale stables years before. Mr. Gordon used them to convey him to the town hall, some miles distant, where the township council meetings were held, but Miss Gordon alwaysdrove to church in this family carriage, accompanied by Malcolm, andwith little Jamie on her knee, while the remainder of the family walked. 

The church, like the school, lay a couple of miles south of The Dale, away at the other side of a great hill. There were two roads leadingthither. The one used by the school children on week-days was calledthe Short Cut. It ran down The Dale lane, crossed the pond besideMacAllister's mill, went up the opposite bank, over a wild half-clearedstretch of land called The Slash, through old Sandy McLachlan's wood, and by way of his rickety gate out on to the public highway a few yardsfrom the school. It was much shorter this way than going "down theline, " though strange to say it took far longer to traverse it on aschoolday, for it was a very enjoyable road indeed, from which one wasever making side excursions after berries or nuts or wild grapes, andwhich admitted of endless ways of beguiling dull time, and renderingoneself late for school. 

For various reasons the church-going population took to the publichighway on Sabbaths. Those who drove went this way from necessity, andthose who didn't went because they were always picked up before theyhad gone half a mile. Besides, parents had long since learned thatSabbath clothes as well as Sabbath decorum were apt to suffer from theconveniences of the Short Cut. 

William Gordon alone took this solitary road on Sabbath afternoons, forhe loved the loneliness and quiet of the woods. This arrangementsuited everyone except Elizabeth. Her heart always suffered a pang asthey all turned up the lane together, and her father went away alone inthe opposite direction. Once she had begged so hard to accompany himthat he had yielded, and she had walked by his side, holding his hand, in silent sympathy, all the way over the sunny fields and through thecool green shadows of the woods. She had been quiet and good and hehad said she was his little comforter, but Elizabeth had never goneagain. It was not that she had found the walk dull in comparison tothe companionship of the regular highway, for Elizabeth would havewalked through a fiery furnace with her father in preference to anyother road. But that wise older self had told her that her fatherpreferred to be alone. She could not have told how she knew, but shewas seldom mistaken in her intuition and followed it. And so, thoughit wrung her heart to see him go alone, she merely watched him withloving eyes, until his bowed head and thin, stooped shouldersdisappeared from view in the willowy ravine. 

Those who walked started only a few minutes before the phaeton, for ifthey were not picked up by Martin's big double buggy on the ChamplainRoad, then the MacAllisters would take them in at the corner, or theywould be gathered to the bosoms of the Wully Johnstones before they hadgone many rods down the line. 

The Martins were a trifle late to-day and, to Elizabeth's joy, theyreached the corner where four great elms stretched out their sweepingarms to each other just as MacAllister's ample three-seated buggy camelumbering along. Charles Stuart was there on the front seat beside hisfather, to be sure; but Mother MacAllister was in the back seat alone. The girls climbed in, Sarah Emily and all, and Archie and John tooktheir places in Wully Johnstone's vehicle that had just emerged fromtheir lane on to the public highway. 

Elizabeth sat in her favorite place, close up to Mother MacAllister. At first she decided she would not speak to Charles Stuart, nor looknear him. Then, recalling her undignified conduct in the ball gamewith him, she felt ashamed. It would be no use to act haughtily now, she reflected with a sigh. "I wish I hadn't forgotten, " she said toherself. "It's so much easier to forget than forgive. " She finallydecided to treat Charles Stuart politely but distantly. She must lethim see that he had behaved very badly indeed and that, though shemight be kind and forgiving, all was over between them. 

Just then Charles Stuart turned in his seat and whispered, "Look, Lizzie, look at Trip!"

Elizabeth turned in the direction he indicated. Trip had as usual beenforbidden to follow the family to church, but there he was trottingalong the roadside, stopping every now and then to lift up one paw andlook inquiringly after his master. Elizabeth returned Charles Stuart'sglance and they giggled. 

Trip was really a very dear and funny little dog and she was very fondof him. To be sure, he was often wild and bad just like CharlesStuart, but then he was so neat and cute and frisky and altogetherlovable. He had a cunning face, queerly marked. Round one eye was alarge black patch, which gave him a disreputable air, and his habit ofputting his little head on one side and looking supernaturally wise, just as though he could not see out of the bad black eye, furtheremphasized his naughty appearance. He was the noisiest thing of hissize that could be found too. He could raise more row over agroundhog's hole, Tom Teeter said, than an army would over thediscovery of an ambushed enemy. But to-day he was trotting meekly bythe roadside, unmindful of chipmunks or swallows, for he knew rightwell he was doing wrong, and felt it was safer to be quiet. 

"What'll you do with him?" asked Elizabeth anxiously. 

"Wait till I catch him at the church. I'll make him scoot for home, you bet. "

Elizabeth looked worried. "Oh, Charles Stuart, you won't hurt him?"

"I'll make him mind me, anyhow, " said Charles Stuart firmly, andElizabeth knew from past experience that it would be useless tointerfere. Nevertheless, she felt very sorry for the little dogtrotting along towards sure disappointment, and once again she quiteforgot that she had intended to be cold and distant to Trip's master. 

The old buggy rattled along through alternate sunshine and shade. Elizabeth soon forgot Trip and sat gazing off over hill and valley, noteven hearing what Annie and Jean were telling Mother MacAllister abouttheir new dresses. She was far above such thoughts. They had dippeddown into the hollow where the stream flowed brown and cool beneath thebridge and had begun to climb the big hill where the view of the lovelygreen earth grew wider at each step. As they went up and up, therolling hills seemed gradually to fall away, leaving a great space ofdeep blue sky touched with white bunches of dazzling clouds, for therealways seemed more sky in Oro than in any other place. Now the longthread of the little river lying across the valley they had left, gleamed out blue and bright, now it disappeared, and before themanother gleam of blue above far-off treetops shone forth, where LakeSimcoe lay sparkling in the sunlight. There was a little green islandaway out on its shining floor, and Elizabeth, with her dreamy eyesfixed upon it, thought it must look like Heaven. Then it all vanished, sinking like a beautiful dream-lake behind the treetops as theydescended into the wooded valley. Elizabeth sighed happily. Here theair smelt cool and sweet, a mingling of damp earth, fragrant blossoms, running water, and wood-violets. The loveliness of the world of forestand sky would on ordinary occasions have driven her to wild abandon, sent her flying over fields and fences as far removed as possible fromthe genteel. But to-day was Sunday, and Mother MacAllister's arm wasabout her, and her spirit was filled with a great content. 

She softly hummed the psalm with which they so often opened the churchservice down there in the hollow:

 "_O, come let us sing to the Lord, To Him our voices raise. With joyful noise let us the rock Of our salvation praise. _"

And from the little basket phaeton behind, Miss Gordon, watching hercharges, wondered what foolish thoughts were passing through Lizzie'sflighty little head. It could not even approach her consciousness thatthe child's very soul was raised in rapturous worship. 

Down the hill slowly wound the little procession. Elizabeth lookedback. Behind her aunt was Martin's buggy. She could see Susie, one ofher bosom-friends, on the front seat beside her father. But she didnot wave her hand, because it was Sunday and Aunt Margaret was looking. 

The little church in the hollow opposite the schoolhouse came in sightas they emerged from the woods at Sandy McLachlan's gate. It was astraight, clapboard structure, painted white, and standing in aforlorn-looking little field bare of trees. At one side stretched along shed; at the other a grass-grown graveyard with leaningheadstones. Inside there were also evidences that beauty had beensacrificed to economy in the building of Forest Glen Church. It wasseverely plain, with bare white walls, and a flat and smoky ceiling. There was a big oblong stove, the same shape as the church, at the endnear the door, and a little organ and a pulpit-table on a smallplatform at the other end. 

The only attempt at decoration was a big bunch of cherry blossomssomeone had placed upon the organ, and four mottoes, worked in coloredwools and framed in Lake Simcoe shells, which hung upon the walls. 

Sunday school was held during the hour before the church service, thetwo congregations being very much alike. For an ideal state of affairsprevailed in Forest Glen. People did not send their children to Sundayschool; they took them. Noah Clegg was the superintendent, and oldSandy McLachlan assistant. Noah operated at the end where the platformstood, while Sandy officiated at the door, ushering in the pupils, andoften during the session, calling out instructions to Noah from his endof the building. Sandy's chief duty was to let people into the churchand keep out the dogs, which like the people showed a laudable desireto attend divine service, especially in the winter. Sandy was armedwith a big stick, and if any canine approached it, woe betide him. Heand Noah Clegg were fast friends, so the double-headed organizationworked well. Besides it was a necessity, for, while the Forest Glenchurch and its minister were Presbyterians, the Sunday school had gonefar ahead of the times and was a shining example of what might beachieved by Church union. Noah Clegg was a Methodist, and SandyMcLachlan a pillar in the Presbyterian church. Old Silas Pratt, whowas secretary-treasurer, and his daughter who was the organist, wereclose-communion Baptists, and there were several Anglicans who taughtclasses. All denominations had a voice in the managing of the Sundayschool, but an hour later, when the Rev. Mr. Murray drove out fromCheemaun, the service took on a decidedly Presbyterian color. 

When the buggies from The Dale valley rumbled up to the door, SandyMcLachlan was there, stick in hand. He was a queer but intelligent oldman, who lived in a little house on the edge of the woods where theShort Cut met the highway. He was quite alone in the world, except forhis little grand-daughter Eppie. Elizabeth knew Eppie well, as theywere about the same age, and in the same class in Sunday school. Asshe alighted, she caught sight of the little girl in her coarsehomespun dress and heavy boots hiding shyly behind her grandfather. Atthe sight of Elizabeth her face broke into a radiant smile. This washer one schoolmate who was always kind to poor Eppie. 

But, as Elizabeth hurried up the steps towards her, she almost stumbledover Trip who came cowering behind. There were only two or threethings in the world that Trip was afraid of, and Martin's big yellowdog was one of them. This terrible brute was slowly approaching withgleaming teeth, bristling yellow hair, and terrible inward rumblings. Scarcely knowing what she did, Elizabeth caught up the shivering littleterrier and rolled him under her pinafore. She looked aboutdistractedly for Charles Stuart, but both he and John had driven thehorses to the sheds. Elizabeth slowly approached the door in an agonyof uncertainty. It would be dreadfully wicked to take a dog intochurch, even if one could pass old Sandy, but it was impossible toleave Trip out there to be rent in pieces by those terrible yellowjaws. She pressed behind Sarah Emily, striving to hide the squirminglittle bundle beneath her pinafore. 

"Are ye goin' to take him in?" whispered Eppie in dismay. 

"I--I don't know what to do, " faltered Elizabeth. "Brag 'll kill himif I leave him here--and your grandpa won't let him in. "

"Grandaddy 'll not be saying anything, " whispered Eppie. "Jist beslippin' in by. "

As they approached the big knotted stick, Miss Gordon, leading Jamie bythe hand, passed in ahead of them. Sandy lowered his stick and made aprofound bow. He had been heard many times to declare that Miss Gordonwas the finest lady he had seen since he left the Old Country, and heknew a lady when he saw one. Miss Gordon was aware of Sandy's opinion, and as usual bowed to him most graciously, and under cover of her entryElizabeth, breathless with dread of the fell deed she was committing, slipped inside and up to her class seat, still holding the tremblinglittle dog beneath her pinafore. 

There were already three other little girls in the class, who all gazedin amazement at the new pupil. Rosie Carrick was there, Rosie of thepink cheeks and the long curls who was Elizabeth's dearest chum. Rosiegiggled at the sight of Trip, and Elizabeth felt ashamed. Rosie wasthe dearest girl in the world, but she would giggle at anything, even atragedy. 

"Please, teacher, " said Katie Price, "Lizzie Gordon's fetched a doginto Sunday school. " Katie Price always told things, and Rosie stoppedgiggling and whispered, "Aw, tattle-tale!"

The teacher looked down at the little dog crouching between Elizabeth'sfeet and Eppie's. But she did not look the least bit cross. MarthaEllen never did. She giggled harder than Rosie, and exclaimed:

"Laws! Lizzie Gordon, where did you get him?" and then straightenedher big hat and glanced across the aisle towards Mr. Coulson's class. Elizabeth looked up at her in overwhelming gratitude. She had alwaysadored Martha Ellen Robertson, but never so much as at this minute. 

"Please, teacher, " she faltered, "Martin's Brag was going to eat himup. He's Charles Stuart MacAllister's dog, and I can give him toCharles Stuart when he comes. "

"Oh, he ain't going' to hurt anybody; are you, little doggie?"whispered Martha Ellen good-naturedly. "He'll be all right so long asyour grandpa don't see him; eh, Eppie?"

Eppie smiled shyly, and then Noah Clegg's squeaky boots sounded up theaisle and Sunday school had commenced. 

Elizabeth drew a great sigh of relief, and glanced about her to see ifanyone appeared conscious of the guilty secret squeezed between her andEppie. But apparently no one was. All her own family, seated aboutthe room, seemed absorbed in their own affairs. 

Each of the Gordons had a place in Sunday school, either as pupil orteacher. Mr. Gordon taught the old folk who sat on the front row ofseats. Every Sabbath they were there, their hard hands folded, theirgray heads and toil-worn shoulders bent, listening while the man withthe sad, sweet face told them stories of One whose hands had been rent, and whose shoulders had been bowed by the burden of their sin, and Who, could they but know Him, would, under all the labor and money-gettingof their narrow lives, reveal to them life's true and noble meaning. 

Miss Gordon taught the Young Ladies' Bible Class, her most criticalpupil being Sarah Emily, whose presence there the good lady could notbut regard as an intrusion. Annie taught a class of tiny girls nearthe front. She had taken her place beside them and sat with bent headand scarlet cheeks. Long ago she had learned that from her position itwas very easy to catch the eye of the teacher of a class of big boysacross the aisle. But one swift glance at him sitting up straight, haughty, and severe, convinced her she must never expect a kindlyglance from that source again. She had bidden him go, because her aunthad commanded her, but, oh, how could she have suspected that he wouldobey? She sat in misery, striving desperately to keep back her tears. 

Ordinarily Elizabeth would have noticed her sister's distressed face, but Trip once more claimed her attention. Just across the aisle wasOld Silas Pratt's class, to which John and Charles Stuart belonged. They had just entered, and, with a squirm and a grunt, the little dogjerked himself free from the nervous grip of his preserver's feet, anddarted across the aisle to his master. Charles Stuart shoved him underthe scat, pinning him there with his legs, and looked inquiringlytowards Elizabeth. Such an improper proceeding as this entirely suitedCharles Stuart's ideas, but how Elizabeth came to be a partner in itwas something he did not understand. 

But Sunday school was opening, and, as no one seemed to have noticedthe dog, Elizabeth, greatly relieved, gave her attention to duty. NoahClegg had sent Wully Johnstone's Johnny to look up and down the line tosee if there was anyone coming, and Johnny having reported no one butSilas Pratt's brindled cow, the service commenced. 

"Now, boys and girls, " said the superintendent, with a fine old Londonaccent, "we'll sing 'ymn number fifty-four:

 "_There is a 'appy land Far, far away. _"

Noah Clegg was a good little man, with a round, cheery face, iron-grayhair, and a short, stubby beard. He wore a shiny black suit, and hisnew Sabbath boots, which turned up at the toes like Venetian gondolasand sang like gondoliers. He held a stick in his hand, with which hebeat time, and now gave the signal to the organist to commence. 

Miss Lily Pratt struck up the tune, and the school arose. 

"Now, boys an' girls, an' grown-ups, too, " cried the superintendent, "sing up fine an' 'earty. This is a 'appy land we live in an' we'regoin' to a 'appier one; an' this is a 'appy day, an' I 'ope the goodLord 'll give us all 'appy 'earts. "

The school burst into song. Everyone, from old Granny Teeter in thefront row to little Jamie Gordon down in the primary class, sang withall his might. Then there was an equally hearty reading of the Lesson. This was a short extract from the Scriptures printed on their littleleaflets. Noah Clegg read one verse, while the school responded withthe next in rumbling unison, after which each teacher turned to hisclass. This was simply done by reversing the seat ahead, the back ofwhich turned over in the most accommodating manner, enabling theinstructor to sit facing his pupils. 

The Lesson was read again in class, verses were recited, and then theteacher asked questions or expounded the passage. A pleasant buzz andhum arose. Now and then a voice would rise above the general rumble, for old Silas Pratt was deaf, and Charles Stuart MacAllister and WullyJohnstone's Johnny, and John Gordon and all the other bad boys in hisclass, shouted their memory verses into his ear louder than evennecessity demanded. Then Wully Johnstone had a powerful andpenetrating voice and taught so loud that everyone in the church heardhim even better than he heard his own teacher. 

The little girls in Martha Ellen Robertson's class were always quietand well-behaved, partly because it was the nature of all exceptElizabeth, but mostly because they were very much in love with theirteacher and intensely proud of her. They felt they had good reason tobe, for was it not known all over the countryside that Martha Ellen wasthe best-dressed young lady outside Cheemaun. Every Sunday, Elizabethand Rosie, squeezed up against the wall to avoid the drip from thecoal-oil lamp above, sat waiting for her arrival and whispering eagerspeculations as to what new things she would wear. They were seldomdisappointed, and to-day their teacher had never looked finer. Shewore a brand new white hat, with a huge bunch of luscious red cherriesnodding over the wide brim. To be sure, the white embroidered dresswas last summer's freshly starched and ironed, but she had a new, broadblue satin ribbon round her slim waist and tied in a big bow at herside. Then Martha Ellen always wore gold bracelets and rings; and, what was her most attractive ornament to her class, a beautiful goldwatch in her belt, attached to a long gold chain about her neck. Thegirls often saw the watch, much to their joy, for several times duringSunday school Martha Ellen would pull it out and say in surprise, "Thetime's not up yet, " and would continue with the lesson. 

Martha Ellen was always kind, and one of the few people with whomElizabeth expanded. Elizabeth was often wild and foolish in school, but in Sunday school that older inner self was always predominant andshe was as wise and well behaved as Noah Clegg himself. For inside thechurch building the child's mind was held in a kind of holy fear. Shespent most of her time there dwelling upon her sins and longing to begood. She did not know that the starched pinafore that scratched herneck, the tightness of her heavy braid of hair, and the stiffness ofher Sunday boots contributed not a little to her inner discomfort. Butshe gave her undivided attention to Miss Robertson and the lesson. 

She was never distracted, as Rosie so often was by Katie Price'sclothes. Katie had on a new sash to-day, and Rosie sighed and pokedElizabeth and asked her if she didn't wish to goodness she had one, too. Elizabeth glanced at the sash quite unmoved. The Gordon girlsnever had sashes, nor finery of any kind, but why should one who knewshe would some day wear a flashing suit of silvery armor and a crimsonvelvet cloak be envious of mere ribbons? Elizabeth did not confidethis comforting assurance to Rosie, but she whispered truthfully, No, that she didn't want one like Katie Price's. She was quite unconsciousof the fact that there dwelt in her mind not a little of AuntMargaret's pride--the feeling that it was infinitely better to be aGordon in a dun-colored pinafore than a Price in a silk sash and aflower-trimmed hat. 

She soon forgot all about Katie in her absorption in the lesson. Anything savoring of religion took strong hold of Elizabeth, and evenMartha Ellen's presentation of a passage of Scripture appealed to her. When the passage was re-read, Miss Robertson read a list of questionsoff the printed page before her. "Who was Zaccheus?" was the firstquestion. Katie Price was looking at her sash and didn't know. SusieMartin hung her head and blushed, Eppie Turner was always too shy tospeak, and Rosie Carrick ventured the remark that "he was a man. " MissRobertson passed on perfectly good-natured. "Lizzie Gordon, who wasZaccheus?" Lizzie Gordon knew all about him, and spun off information, even to his being little and having to climb a tree. "I can tell lotsmore, " she said invitingly, as Miss Robertson held up her hand to stemthe flood. But the teacher smilingly shook her head. Lizzie wasgetting too far ahead. "Where did he live?" was the next question readoff in the direction of Katie Price, and so on they went until all thequestions were read and answered, Elizabeth supplying whateverinformation the rest of the class failed to give. Next came the"Application, " which Elizabeth enjoyed most, because it left room fordiscussion. The "Application" applied to each verse and was also readby the teacher. "Zaccheus was a small man. We may be small andinsignificant in the eyes of the world, but none the less doesresponsibility devolve upon each one of us. " "Zaccheus climbed a tree. We learn from this that we should all strive to climb to the loftiestthat life can attain. " Elizabeth put in an occasional remark, andMartha Ellen responded. This was one of the former's grown-up momentsand she reveled in it. There was none of the family there to carryhome the tale that Lizzie was putting on pious airs, and so expose herto Jean's ridicule; and Martha Ellen's marked appreciation drew her outto make the wisest and profoundest remarks. 

Occasionally Miss Robertson would take out her gold watch and look atit in surprise, and then continue. Occasionally, also, she glancedacross the aisle to the big boys' class, and once she was rewarded by asmile and a gracious bow from its teacher. Then Martha Ellen's cheeksgrew pink and the cherries on her hat, Elizabeth noticed, shook just asthe cherries in the orchard did when the wind swept through the boughs. She looked very much pleased, too, and glanced back to where AnnieGordon in her plain, blue cotton dress sat with drooping head, strivingto give her attention to the lesson. 

Miss Robertson had finally read all the "Application, " and again shelooked at her gold watch, while the class sat admiring it. There werestill some minutes left, and, with a sigh, the teacher twisted her goldbracelets and then turned the page. "We have just time for the moralpiece, " she said. "The moral piece" was a little sermon at the end ofthe Lesson, containing an admonition to all youthful minds, and MarthaEllen sometimes used it to fill in the last few minutes. Elizabethalways listened to it solemnly, for it was full of long, high-soundingwords that gave her an exalted feeling. But just now her attention wasdiverted by signs of dire trouble brewing across the aisle. John andCharles Stuart, all unmindful of old Silas Pratt, who was solemnlyreading the moral piece, the paper held close to his eyes, weredoubling up in convulsions of silent laughter; while from underneaththem came ominous squeaks and rumbles and a pair of wicked eyes gleamedfrom the dusky shadow of the seat. Elizabeth's heart stood still. Those dreadful boys were teasing Trip, and he would burst forth sooninto loud barking, and what would become of the culprit who had broughthim into the church?

The moral piece was drawing to a close; old Wully Johnstone hadfinished his, and a hush had fallen over the school. Noah Clegg hadleft his class, and gone squeak, squeak on tiptoe to the platform, andwas coming squeak, squeak back again with the collection box. Thelittle girls had begun to untie their cents from the corners of theirhandkerchiefs. 

Now, the window just above Elizabeth's head was open, and a littlesparrow, emboldened by the quiet, hopped upon the sill, and fell topecking at some crumbs left there from the last tea-meeting. He evenventured to the edge of the sill and with his knowing little head onone side contemplated, with one bright eye, the cherries on MarthaEllen's hat, as though he longed to get a peck at them. 

But just across the church the wicked pair of gleaming eyes werewatching the little sparrow from the dark corner. From beneath themsubterranean grumblings and mutterings warned Charles Stuart that Tripwas growing dangerously excited. John Gordon indicated the cause, by anod at the sparrow, and the two boys ducked their heads in an agony ofmirth. This was too much for Charles Stuart. Not stopping to considerthe consequences, he leaned down and whispered, "Crows, Trip, crows!"and clutched the little dog tighter between his legs. Now Trip hadbeen trained all spring to chase the crows from the corn, and this washis signal to charge. Not all the boys in Forest Glen Sunday schoolcould have held him at that moment. The word "crows" changed him intoa raging, squirming, yelping, snarling, exploding littlepowder-magazine. With a yell of wrath he burst free and leaped uponthe opposite seat, knocking the moral piece from Silas Pratt's hand andthe spectacles from his nose. With one explosive yelp he hurtledacross the aisles, landed upon Martha Ellen Robertson's seat, slid halfits slippery length, righted himself, and standing upon his hind legs, with his front paws upon the back of the seat, he burst into a storm ofwild barking. Of course the sparrow was by this time away down nearLake Simcoe, but Trip still continued his uproar. He did not bark, hefairly squalled out all his long pent-up rage, leaping and dancing onhis wicked little hind legs, and making noise enough to scare everybird out of Forest Glen woods. 

The consternation was not confined to the birds. Everybody stood upand exclaimed in horror. Martha Ellen was so alarmed that she screamedright out loud, and ran across the aisle to Mr. Coulson for protection. Noah Clegg dropped the collection all over the floor, and Silas Prattput on his spectacles again and ejaculated, "Well, well, well, well!"Even the daring Charles Stuart was rather dismayed at the havoc he hadwrought, and as for poor Elizabeth, words could not describe how rentand torn she was between shame and terror. Sandy McLachlan was theonly one who seemed equal to the emergency. He arose, exclaimingexplosively, "For peety's sake!" and in two minutes the dog was flyingthrough the doorway with yelps of terror, followed by several profaneanathemas upon his wicked little head for "pollutin' the hoose o' God. "

Noah Clegg gathered up the pennies and took his place upon the platformas if nothing had happened. Any rare case of insubordination in theSunday school was never dealt with there. It was left to homediscipline, which, being of the good old Canadian sort, was alwayssalutary. So, knowing by the MacAllister's lowering countenance thatdire consequences awaited his son upon his return home, Noah gave outthe closing hymn, with undisturbed cheerfulness:

"Come along now, boys and girls, an' we'll sing our closin' 'ymn. Never mind the poor little puppy, there ain't no bad in him at all. Come along an' we'll sing No. 148--'Oh, 'Appy Day, ' and then you'll goout an' fill your lungs full o' hair before church starts. "

CHAPTER IV

AT THE EDGE OF THE DAWN

There were many Sabbaths indelibly impressed upon Elizabeth's memory, but none that burned its way in as did that afternoon's experience withTrip. The misery of sitting through the long church service, with theawful guilt upon her soul, and the thoughts of approaching retribution, almost made her physically ill. As yet there was very little fortitudein Elizabeth's soul. She was the only coward in the Gordon family, John was wont to say, and, though she dreamed of valorous deeds as thesuccessor of Joan of Arc, in real life she had never yet been able tovindicate herself. 

She sat through the sermon, making vows, Jacob-like, that if she evercame through this time of tribulation alive she would go softly all therest of her days. She would live a life of completerenunciation--selfish pleasures, worldly ambitions centering round Mrs. Jarvis, even dreams of Joan of Arc she would put away forever. Shewould not finish that enthralling story she was surreptitiously readingin the Cheemaun _Chronicle_, the story of Lady Evelina De Lacy and thefalse Lord Algernon. She would never even wish she had curls likeRosie, but would be glad her hair was straight and plain; and when Mrs. Jarvis came, offering her a fortune and a velvet dress and a goldcrown, she would turn away, declaring firmly that for her there couldbe no pleasure in such worldly joys. 

The sermon had never seemed so long. Mr. Murray, a good old man, whosediscourses had steadily lengthened with his years, preached on and on. Forest Glen nodded and woke up and nodded again, and finally rouseditself to stand up for the closing psalm. As the people slowly andsilently filed out of church, still only half-awake, Elizabeth followedher aunt with the feelings of a criminal going to the gallows. Sheknew that her secret was safe with John and Charles Stuart. The boysmight fill her days with tribulation by teasing, but they would neverstoop to tell tales. Nevertheless, Elizabeth did not for a momentconsider this as an avenue of escape. The integrity of her souldemanded that she go straight to Mr. MacAllister and confess. And theneveryone would know she had disgraced the name of Gordon forever, andwhat Aunt Margaret would say was a thought to make one shudder. 

As she went blindly down the aisle, she found herself shoved againstMr. Coulson. He was looking straight ahead of him, very sternly, asthough to let her know he realized how wicked and ungenteel she was. But Elizabeth had in memory many blessed occasions upon which herteacher had exonerated her in the face of damaging evidence. She hadlearned to put unbounded confidence in him. He was a person whounderstood, and there were so very few people in the world who didunderstand. He possessed some wonderful divining power, whichElizabeth felt would make it possible for him even to conceive of aperson who could carry a dog into Sunday school and yet not be quite asocial outcast. 

So she slipped up close to him, so close that she forced him to lookdown at her. He saw the misery in the little girl's deep eyes, andforgot that she was Miss Gordon's niece. "Are you sick, Lizzie?" heasked. Elizabeth shook her head, speechless. She caught his coat anddrew him aside as they came outside the door. He was so big and sostrong, his very presence thrilled her with hope. 

"Oh, Mr. Coulson, " she whispered. "I--I--what'll I do? It was me tookTrip into Sunday school!"

"Trip?" Mr. Coulson had already forgotten the little incident in hisown troubles. "What about it, you poor little mite?"

"Will they put me out of Sunday school? Will Mother MacAllister beangry? Susie Martin's Brag was going to bite him, and I was afraid. "

Mr. Coulson laughed. It struck Elizabeth as almost miraculous thatanyone who had witnessed that awful scene in Sunday school could everlaugh again. He glanced around and saw that Miss Gordon had alreadydriven off in the little basket phaeton. 

"Come along, " he said, and taking Elizabeth's hand he led her up towhere the MacAllisters were climbing into their buggy. He leaned overand talked in a low tone to Mr. MacAllister and they both laughed, andthe latter called, "Hey, hey, Lizzie, come awa', bairn, and jump in!"And Mother MacAllister said, as her arms went around her, "Hoots, toots, and did the lamb do it to save the little dog?" And CharlesStuart looked at her with undisguised admiration in his eyes, and said, "Aw, you goose, what did you go and tell for?" And Elizabeth's soulwent straight from the depths right to the highest pinnacle of joy andthankfulness. 

Then Mother MacAllister said, "Come away, Mr. Coulson, come home andhave supper with father now, come away. " Mr. Coulson sprang into theseat opposite, and he was no sooner in his place than MotherMacAllister cried out "Why, father, where are the girls? Come away, children. Come, Annie girl, --come, Sarah Emily! Come away, we'rewaitin' on you!"

Sarah Emily came forward, and with one leap landed herself upon thefront seat with Mr. MacAllister and Charles Stuart; Jean climbed inbeside Mr. Coulson, but Annie held back. The young man arose hastily. "Perhaps it's too crowded, " he said hurriedly; "I'd better not go thistime. " Now this was a very absurd statement. For it had never beenknown that a MacAllister vehicle had ever been filled, much lesscrowded, and its owner turned upon the young man in wrathful amazement. 

"Hoots, man! Ye're haverin'. Sit ye doon there! Annie bairn, jumpin. What are ye gawkin' there aboot? Are ye scared o' the master?"

There was no other course but obedience. Mr. Coulson helped the younglady into the buggy and away they rattled up the hill. And Elizabeth, thrilled with joy over her escape, little realized that in savingherself she had done a good deed that day for two people very dear toherself--a deed the results of which lasted through a lifetime. 

It all turned out so beautifully. Mother MacAllister, who never in herlife was known to do such a wicked thing as go visiting on Sunday, lefther guest with Charles Stuart and his father, and went all the way overto The Dale to explain Elizabeth's case to Miss Gordon. And Annie wasso radiant, and John was so admiring, that Elizabeth fairly glowed inthe family felicity, and the sun went down behind the Long Hill inperfect peace and happiness. 

After the excitement of that Sabbath, the days sped somewhat evenly. May budded into June, June blossomed into July, and still thelong-looked-for Mrs. Jarvis did not come. Her non-appearance filledMiss Gordon with a sense of keen disappointment, but Elizabeth soonforgot all about her. She had more important things to take herattention. 

The 1st of July had come, the first day of the holidays, and Elizabethwent to bed the night before unable to sleep from excitement. Mr. Coulson had bidden them farewell that afternoon. He had resigned andwas going to Cheemaun to finish his law studies. Elizabeth and Rosiehad cried themselves sick over the good-bys. But it was not grief thatwas keeping Elizabeth awake. It was the machinations of John andCharles Stuart. On the way home from school she had been made aware bycertain nods and winks and significant signs between her two tormentorsthat some wonderful scheme was on their programme for the morrow. Elizabeth knew as well as though they had shouted it from the treetopsthat they were going fishing. They always ran away from her when theywent fishing. She firmly determined that, come what might, she wouldgo fishing, too. 

Just why the sight of those two disappearing down the lane with rodsover their shoulders always filled Elizabeth with such unbearableanguish was a question even she could not have answered. Suchexpeditions with the boys were sources of tears and tribulations. Elizabeth was always meeting with disaster. She was not satisfiedunless she was manipulating a rod and line, and she did not know whichfilled her with the greatest heartrending compunction, the sight of thepoor worm writhing on the hook or the poor fish. Then she was alwaysbeing thrown into a panic of terror by the sight of a snake or a frogor a mud-turtle, and when real dangers did not menace, the boyssupplied imaginary ones more terrible. 

But, for all this, when John and Charles Stuart went abroad Elizabethmust accompany them, and, though her aunt felt that every suchexpedition removed her niece farther from the genteel ideal, shegenerally allowed her to go. For there were quieter times at home whenthe noisy one was away. 

Elizabeth knew by experience that the two would be likely to arise atdawn and steal away, and she went to bed that night in the barewhite-washed little room, which she and Mary shared, with thedetermination that she would lie awake until morning and be ready. Bypersistent pinching of her arms and tossing about, much to poor Mary'sdiscomfort, she managed to keep herself awake for about an hour, butsleep overcame her at last, the dead, dreamless sleep of childhood, andall Elizabeth's joys and sorrows were as naught until morning. 

But her restless spirit asserted itself early. When she awoke it wasscarcely light. The old clock in the study downstairs had just struckthree. The room was quite dark, but a faint light from the window, anda strange hum of life from the outdoor world, told her that morning wasapproaching. 

She slipped stealthily from her bed and, trembling with excitement, ransilently down the long, bare hall to her brothers' room. It was a bigchamber above the dining-room. Its only furniture was two beds; a bigold four-poster, where John and Malcolm slept on a lumpy strawmattress, and a low "bunk" or box-like structure on casters, where thelittle boys, Archie and Jamie, lay tossed about in a tangle of barelimbs and blankets. Elizabeth brushed back her hair from her sleepyeyes, and peered into the dim room. The green paper blinds were partlyraised, and she could discern through the gloom John's black head onthe bolster beside Malcolm's fair one. The black head was hanging halfout of bed and its mouth was wide open. Elizabeth giggled softly. Shelonged to stuff something into that yawning cavity; but she knew thatdire consequences followed upon tampering with John. She tiptoed backto her room. The excitement was lulled and she was beginning to feelsleepy. But she suddenly bethought herself that it would be wise tolook out and see if Charles Stuart were coming. She remembered withhot indignation how once John had tied a string to his toe, which helet hang out of the window, and how Charles Stuart had come in the graydawn and pulled the string, and the two had fled away in the dusk, while she slept all unawares. If they had any such plan on foot thistime, she would be even with them. She would sit at the window andwatch for Charles Stuart. She tiptoed gleefully across the room, and, slipping between the green paper blind and the sash, shoved her headand shoulders out of the open window. 

And then her mischievous mood fell from her like a garment, and therestole over her a feeling of awe. Elizabeth had often beheld thesunrise, and, being a passionate lover of nature, her soul had arisenwith the day, radiant and full of joy. But never before had shewitnessed the first mysterious birth of the dawn, and the wonder of itheld her still. It was so strange and unreal. It was surely night, for the stars still hung above the black treetops, and yet it must beday, for above, below, on every side one great unbroken voice of songwas pouring forth from the darkness. Or was it dark? It certainlywasn't light. The swamp, away behind old Wully Johnstone's fields, layin blackness, and there was even a hint of moonlight sifted faintlythrough the gray veil of the sky. But the white line of birches by thestream stood out a soft, cloudy white, the fields were dimlydistinguishable, and here and there a tree had taken form from its darkbackground. 

But the wonder of it was the great chant the whole dark earth wasraising to heaven. As June had waned Elizabeth and John had missedmany of their bird companions, who were too busy raising their familiesto sing much. But now it seemed as though every blade of grass andevery leaf on the tree was giving forth a voice. At first no separatenote could be distinguished. It was one great voice, all-penetrating, all-pervading. But gradually the ear discerned the several parts ofthe wondrous anthem. The foundation of it seemed to come from behindthe line of birches that hedged the stream, and here and there in thedarkness of tree or bush an individual song arose to melt again intothe grand chorus. 

Elizabeth knelt by the open window, lost to everything except themystery of music and light being woven before her. It was creation'smorn again, at which the child's wondering eyes were gazing. Again thedivine Fiat had gone forth, "Let there be light. " And, moving instately march to the grand processional, slowly, majestically the lightwas coming. Softly, almost imperceptibly, the phantom world tookshape, and grew clearer as the stars grew paler. Here a bush detacheditself from its gray background, yonder a tree grew up tall andstately, there the curve of a hillock swelled up from a dark valley. And as each growing maple or cedar or alder-bush took shape, from itsdepths there awoke a sleepy little murmur, swelling into a rapturoussong and melting away again into the great anthem. Away down the dimlane, near the edge of the pond, stood a noble elm, its topmost branchtowering into the gray heavens, its lower limbs sweeping the earth. Asit gradually detached itself from the grayness and came forth beautifuland stately, there arose from its heart the musical accompaniment toits birth--not a sleepy little murmur, such as befitted a sumach or abramble, but a loud, clarion note, one wild shout of joy--and outpoured the ecstasy of a robin's song. There was a storm of music onall sides now, a splendid fortissimo, keeping pace with the growinglight. Elizabeth, suddenly mindful of former sunrises, leaned far outto look towards the east, holding her breath. Over there might beglories that were not lawful for men to look upon, much less utter. And, yes, there was a great wonder there, no sun's rays as yet, nodaylight even, but behind the black trees of Arrow Hill there shone aluminous crystal glow, a light more heart-moving than if the sun hadrisen in all his pomp of purple and gold. There was an awe, a mysteryabout this transparent clearness, a great promise of unspeakableglories to come. Elizabeth drew a long breath. She was but a child, perfectly unconscious and unthinking in all that she said and did, butshe had a heart capable of being strongly moved by any hint of theInfinite. She did not guess why, did not even imagine the reason, butthe tears came to her eyes with a smarting sting, and with them thatfeeling of overwhelming joy that was half-pain, the feeling that rushedover her so often when her father read some sublime passage from theScriptures. 

One came to her now from the psalm of the night before:

"Who coverest Thyself with light as with a garment; who stretches outthe heavens like a curtain. "

God Himself must be just behind that mysterious glow, little Elizabethsaid to herself reverently. That shining crystal was the garment inwhich He had wrapped Himself, so that people might not see Him. Butshe saw Him. Yes, He was there, she knew, and in the uplift of themoment there came to her child's heart a vision that never faded, avision that many years later bore her up on the wings of poesy to fame. 

But Elizabeth was woefully earthbound, tied down by the cares andworries that fall to humanity. As she still hung over the window-sill, gazing enraptured at the heavens, she was brought sharply down toearth. Up near the willows at the gate she dimly descried a darkfigure hastening along Champlain's Road. It paused at the gate. Instantly Elizabeth was transformed. From the rapt priestess of thedawn she descended sharply to the keen-eyed spy. That was CharlesStuart just as sure as sure! And John would be up and off in anotherfive minutes. She jerked herself back into the room so suddenly thather head came in crashing contact with the window-frame. Elizabeth wasnaturally keenly sensitive to pain, but she scarcely noticed the blow. There was no time to even complain. Though her head was spinning, shebegan to fling on her clothes in mad haste, feverishly watching Marylest the noise of the crash had awakened her. But Mary slept onsoundly; and, reassured, Elizabeth made a frantic toilet. She wrenchedherself into her clothes, pulling on garments upside down, inside out, any way that was most expeditious. Buttons would not go intobutton-holes, strings refused to tie, pins would not hold. But somehowshe managed to get herself dressed, after a fashion. There was no timeto think of washing, or combing her hair. She crushed her sunbonnetdown over her untidy head, snatched up her shoes and stockings, slippedsilently into the hall, and took her place behind a huge wardrobe atthe head of the stairs, from which hiding-place she could command aview of John's bedroom door. By this time she was bursting withmischievous glee. Wouldn't John and Charles Stuart be good and madwhen they found her following them? She knew exactly how to do it. The only way was to dog their footsteps, keeping safely out of sightuntil they were too far from home to send her back alone. Of courseshe would have to endure innuendoes all day regarding "Copy cats, " butthat was nothing to the anguish of being left at home. 

As she stood breathless and full of mirth, she was rewarded by thesound of a door creaking, and a stealthy footstep approaching thestair. She crushed back into her hiding-place. She could not helpwondering even in the midst of her excitement how John could ever moveso quietly. She held her breath as the owner of the soft footfall cameinto view. And then it returned in a little gasp of astonishment. Forit was not John at all, but Annie! Annie at this hour of the morning!Could she be going fishing, too? Elizabeth could not think of anyother justifiable reason for getting up so early; Annie certainlylooked as if she were on a very important mission. She went down thestairs hurriedly and silently, as though she were being pursued. Elizabeth had for an instant an impulse to call softly after her; butthat wiser, older self within her arose and forbade. This ancientElizabeth respected a secret, and said that here was one into whichthere must be no intrusion. She felt ashamed of herself, as though shehad done something dishonorable like listening at a keyhole, as SarahEmily had once done. 

She heard the old door leading on to the side-porch creak stealthily, then pause, and creak again. Perhaps Annie was ill, and she ought tofollow her. She softly tiptoed back to her room and peeped from herwindow. Her sister was stealing down through the orchard, her lightsummer dress plainly visible against its dim greenness. She stopped atthe bars that led into the pasture field, and as she did, CharlesStuart came vaulting over the fence from the lane and strode towardsher. And surely everybody must have been touched with a magic wand, and turned into somebody else; because it wasn't Charles Stuart at all, but Mr. Coulson, to whom Elizabeth had bidden such an agonized farewellonly yesterday! He came straight towards Annie, holding out both hishands, and when he reached the bars he leaned over them and kissed her!And then, though Elizabeth was not quite eleven, she knew that she waslooking upon something sacred and beautiful, something that should notbe exposed to the eyes of another, and she turned swiftly and, runningto the bed, hid her face in the clothes beside Mary. 

She knelt there, motionless, wondering, and in a few minutes she heardthe stealthy foot upon the stair again and the soft rustle of Annie'sskirts. She crept into bed and pulled the clothes over her sunbonnetedhead. She felt she would be doing her sister an irreparable injury ifshe let her know anyone had witnessed that parting scene. 

She lay there, trembling with excitement, until all was still again. She forgot all about the fishing expedition in this new discovery, andlay wideawake wondering why in the world Annie should kiss Mr. Coulsongood-by when she had not even gone to school to him, until worn outwith wonder and excitement she fell sound asleep. And outside the dawnstill marched majestically onward towards the day, in time to itsglorious accompaniment of song. 

When Elizabeth awoke again it was broad daylight. Sarah Emily wasalready downstairs, setting the breakfast table, stirring the oatmealporridge, and singing loudly about the many glittering but false youngmen who had sought her hand, but had been defeated in theirmachinations by the finest old lady that ever was seen, who lived onyonder little green. 

Fortunately Elizabeth escaped inquiry by slipping from the bed andarranging her clothes in a more respectable manner before Mary wasstirring. Mary was delicate, and the only one allowed to lie abed inthe morning, or to refuse porridge if she did not want it, soElizabeth's early morning adventure was not discovered. To her reliefalso she found John downstairs apparently not going fishing. Atbreakfast Annie was quieter than usual, but it was characteristic ofElizabeth that she did not by word or sign let her elder sister seethat she had the smallest knowledge of the morning's farewell. Johnwas right when he conceded to Lizzie the power of not only keepingsecrets, --deathly secrets like a pet toad under the bed or rabbits inthe barn, --but at the same time looking as if she had nothing to hide. 

It was Elizabeth's turn to help Sarah Emily with the dishes, and afterbreakfast she wearily dragged her feet towards the kitchen. Tom Teeterhad come over and was talking to her father as the latter hoed in thevegetable garden, and Tom always had candies in his pockets. ThenMalcolm and John were building a new hen-house in the barnyard, andevery stroke of the hammer shouted to Elizabeth to come. She took upthe dish-towel drearily and stood looking wistfully down the sunny paththat led into the orchard. She realized now that she was utterly wornout with the excitement of her morning adventure. Mary and the littleboys were playing in the old wagon that stood in the barnyard. Shecould hear them laughing and shouting. The old pig was grunting overhis trough, the hens were cackling. She really ought to go and gatherthe eggs. She felt just then that drying dishes was an insupportableburden. It was always so with Elizabeth. She could toil strenuouslyall day, building a playhouse, or engineering a new game, running, leaping, toiling all unwearied. But when household duties were laidupon her, except when she worked for Mother MacAllister, she wasactually overcome with physical weariness. She leaned against thetable and yawned aloud. 

"Oh, Sarah Emily, don't you hate dishes?" she groaned. "We've got suchstacks of them. "

But Sarah Emily did not hear. Tom Teeter was standing down therebetween the rows of cabbages, talking to Mr. Gordon upon the"Conscienceless greed and onmitigated rapacity" of certain emissariesof the opposing political party. To all of which his neighbor wasresponding with: "Well, well. Deary me, now, Tom. "

But Sarah Emily was firmly convinced that Tom was there for otherreasons than to talk politics with her master. Sarah Emily was neitherfair of face nor graceful of form, neither had a suitor ever been seento approach the Gordon kitchen; nevertheless, she lived in the pleasantdelusion that all the young men of the countryside were dying for loveof her. Tom Teeter's condition she believed to be the most hopeless;and, like all other proud belles sure of their power, she flouted him;and the innocent young man, when he thought about her at all, wonderedwhy Sarah Emily disliked him so, and took considerable pleasure inteasing her. 

So Sarah Emily made frequent excursions to and from the well as hestood in the garden. She sang loudly and pretended she saw no one. 

 "_The 'first that came courting was young farmer Green, As fine a young gent as ever was seen. _"

"Oh, Sarah Emily, I'm awfully tired, " said Elizabeth, when the youngwoman had at last settled to washing the dishes. "Don't you 'spose youcould do them yourself this time. I really ought to go and help Malcand John with the hen-house. "

"No, I don't, you lazy trollop, " responded Sarah Emily promptly. "Youdon't seem to think I ever get tired, an' me with that pinny of yoursto iron for Sunday, too!"

Elizabeth was immediately seized with compunction. She caught up thetowel and went at her task with feverish haste. But her eyes wouldstray down the orchard path that led to the barn. 

It was only this very morning she had witnessed that strange littlescene there in the dewy, music-thrilled twilight. It seemed so unrealnow that Elizabeth could almost believe she had dreamed it all. Shealmost wished she had. For Mr. Coulson was perfection, and Annie was alittle better, and it was rather hard to think of her two paragonsdoing anything that people might laugh at. In the Gordon family lifethere was something improper attached to any display of affection, andkissing was positively disgraceful. Elizabeth dared not even kissJamie, much as she enjoyed it, except when the older boys were at asafe distance. She herself disliked being kissed by grown-up people. Babies and little people were different. She could remember beingkissed by her aunt once, on her first arrival, but never since. Sheand Rosie had sobbed for an hour with their heads on the desk when Mr. Coulson made his good-by speech, but they would never have dreamed ofdoing what Annie did. And surely they loved him far more. 

She was recalled to present affairs by Sarah Emily's snatching theplate out of her hand and demanding if she intended to rub it clean offthe face of the earth?

Elizabeth took another rather sullenly. But such a mood never lastedlonger than half a minute with her, and she was suddenly struck withthe notion that Sarah Emily might furnish some valuable information onthe subject that was worrying her. Sarah Emily had such a vastexperience with young men. 

"Sarah Emily, " she said, rather hesitatingly, "did anybody--I mean anyyoung man ever--kiss you?"

Sarah Emily gave an hysterical shriek. She doubled up over the table, almost dipping her face into the dish-pan, and went off into ahurricane of giggles. 

"Oh, oh, you awful, awful bad girl, Lizzie Gordon!" she screamed, whereupon Elizabeth knew she had not been bad at all, but had saidsomething that had mightily pleased Sarah Emily. 

"But did they though?" she insisted, showing her even white teeth in asympathetic laugh. "Eh, Sarah Emily?"

The young woman straightened herself and suddenly became dignified. 

She darted a withering glance at Elizabeth. "Not much, they didn't!"she cried righteously. "Jist let me ketch any o' them--yes, jist anyone o' the whole gang up to any such penoeuvres. I'd soon fix 'em!"

There was so much scorn in her demeanor that Elizabeth was disconcerted. 

"Why?" she asked anxiously. "Ain't it nice, Sarah Emily?"

"No, it ain't!" snapped Sarah Emily emphatically. 

Elizabeth was much taken aback. It was surely not possible that Anniecould do anything impolite or ungenteel--Annie, the only one in thefamily whom Aunt Margaret never scolded. She was puzzled and troubled. There was no one to whom she could take the matter for advice. Elizabeth had no close confidant. John was the nearest, but there wereso few things John understood. Then one never dared tell Maryanything. Mary did not mean to be a tell-tale, but somehow everythingshe knew always oozed out sooner or later. Yes, this was a puzzleElizabeth must work out alone. 

"Well, " she said at last, determined to uphold Annie at all costs, "it's all right in stories, anyhow. I mean when people are going toget married some day. I read about it in that story about Lady Evelinain the _Chronicle_. Now, if you were going to get married to TomTeeter, Sarah Emily----"

Sarah Emily exploded in another spasm of shrieks and giggles. Sheleaned against the wall, overcome with laughter, wiping her eyes, anddeclaring that if Lizzie didn't hold still she'd be the death of her. 

Elizabeth became impatient. Her older self rose up, protesting thatSarah Emily was very silly, indeed. 

"Oh, bother you, Sarah Emily, " she cried, "you're a big goose!"

Sarah Emily made a leap towards her. "You jist say that again, LizzieGordon, and I'll give you a clout over the head that'll make you jump. "

Elizabeth dodged round to the other side of the table, and promptlysaid it again--said it many times, dancing derisively upon her toes andwaving her towel; sang it, too, in the most insulting manner to thetune of "My Grandmother Lives, etc. "

Then ensued a mad chase around the table, attended with uproar anddisaster. A plate fell crashing to the floor, the dish-pan was upset, the water splashed in all directions, and the small figure with shrieksof laughter dodged this way and that, followed by the big clumsy oneshouting vengeance. 

And then there suddenly fell a great silence as from the heavens. Thedoor had opened, and Miss Gordon was standing in it. Elizabeth stoodrigid in a pool of dish-water, and instinctively felt to find how manybuttons of her pinafore were undone. Sarah Emily promptly turned awayand went vigorously to work, presenting a solid wall of indifference toher mistress, in the form of a broad pink calico back with a row ofblack buttons down the middle. 

Elizabeth was not so incased in armor. One swift glance of shame andcontrition she gave towards her aunt, and then hung her head, waitingfor the blow to fall. Miss Gordon had never seemed so remote and sochillingly genteel. 

"Elizabeth, " she said in a despairing tone, "how is it that I can nevertrust you for even a few minutes out of my sight? You grow morerebellious and unmanageable every day. I have given up my home, andslaved and worked for you all, and you alone show me no gratitude. Ican never make a lady of you, I see. How any child belonging to aGordon could be so entirely ungenteel----"

On and on Miss Gordon's quiet, well-bred voice continued, every wordfalling like a whip upon Elizabeth's sensitive heart. She writhed inagony under a sense of her own sinfulness, coupled with a keen sense ofinjustice. She had been bad--oh, frightfully wicked--but Aunt Margaretnever arraigned a culprit for any particular crime without gathering upall her past iniquities and heaping them upon her in one load ofdespair. 

She listened until she could bear no more, and then, darting past heraunt, she tore madly upstairs in a passion of rage and grief. MissGordon's genteel voice went steadily on, adding the sin of an evil anduncontrollable temper to Elizabeth's black catalogue. But Elizabethwas out of hearing by this time. She had shut herself, with a soundingbang, into the little bedroom where she and Mary slept, and flungherself upon the mat before the bed. Even in her headlong despair shehad refrained from pitching herself upon the bed, which Annie and Jeanhad arranged so neatly under its faded patch-work quilt. Instead shelay prone upon the floor and wept bitterly. Anger and a sense ofinjustice came first, and then bitter repentance. She loved her aunt, and Sarah Emily, and she had injured both. She was always doing wrong, always causing trouble. Aunt Margaret could not understand her being aGordon at all. Probably she wasn't one. Yes, that was the solution ofthe whole matter. She was an adopted child, and not like the rest. She was sure of it now. Hadn't Aunt Margaret hinted it again and again?

Elizabeth always went through this mental process during her manytempests of anguish. But always, through it all, the older self satwaiting, sometimes quite out of sight, but always there. And in theend she brought up a picture of Elizabeth's mother--the bright littlemother whom she never forgot and who used to say, "Little Lizzie ismore like me than any of my children. " That assurance always came toElizabeth. No, her whole family might forsake her, but her mother wasalways her very own. Her mother could never, never have been so cruelas merely to adopt her. Next, as always, came contrition, and deepself-abasement. She stopped crying and lay still, wondering why it wasshe could never be good like Annie, or even Jean. Then there wasConstance Holworth, the lonely girl in the Sunday-school library book. She never got into a temper. And if she ever did, or even thought thesmallest wrong thought, she always went down to the drawing-room andsaid sweetly, "Dear mamma, please forgive me. " Even Elizabeth'simagination could not draw a congruous picture of herself speaking thusto Sarah Emily without some strange result. Besides, they had nodrawing-room, and evidently one needed that sort of chamber for theproper atmosphere. Elizabeth wondered drearily what a drawing-roomcould be. Most likely a room in which one sat and drew pictures allday long. This reminded her of her own drawing materials lying in thebottom drawer, one of her birthday presents from Mrs. Jarvis. She halfarose, with the thought that she might get out her paint-box or the oldfaded doll that Mary and she shared, then sank back despairingly uponthe mat again. What was the use trying to solace a broken heart withsuch trifles?

But when she grew up and became a great artist, and drew pictures asbig as the Vicar of Wakefield's family group, and all the Gordons cameto her drawing-room to wonder and admire, --Sarah Emily and AuntMargaret the most eager and admiring of all, --then, though she would bevery kind to them all, she would never smile. She would always wear alook of heart-broken melancholy, and when people would ask what madethe great Miss Gordon, who was Mrs. Jarvis's adopted daughter, so very, very sad, Mrs. Jarvis would explain that dreadful afflictions in herchildhood had blighted her whole life. And then Sarah Emily and AuntMargaret would go away weeping over the havoc they had wrought. 

Elizabeth gained so much comfort from these reflections that she cameup from the depths of despair sufficiently to take note of hersurroundings. The window looking out upon the orchard was open, andfrom the pasture-field there arose a great noise--whistling, shouting, rattling of tin pails, and barking. She sprang up and darted to thewindow. That double racket always proclaimed the approach of CharlesStuart and Trip. Yes, there they were, the former just vaulting overthe bars, the latter wriggling through them. Charles Stuart had a bigtin pail and a small tin cup, and, just as sure as she was a living, breathing person, he and John would be off in two minutes to pickstrawberries in Sandy McLachlan's slash!

Elizabeth went down the stairs three steps at a time. Miss Gordon wassitting by the dining-room window, Annie at her side. Both weresewing, and Annie's cheeks so pink and her eyes so bright that her auntlooked at her curiously from time to time. They were interrupted bythe bursting open of the door, and like a whirlwind a disheveled littleperson, wild-eyed and tear-stained, in a dirty, streaked pinafore, flung herself into the room. 

"Oh, Aunt Margaret! The boys are going pickin' berries. Can't I go, too? Oh, do let me go?"

Elizabeth stood before her aunt twisting her pinafore into a string inan agony of suspense. 

Miss Gordon looked at the turbulent little figure in silent despair, and Annie ventured gently:

"It would be nice to have strawberries for tea, aunt, and Lizzie couldhelp John. "

Miss Gordon sighed. "If I could only trust you, Elizabeth, " she said. "But I wonder what new trouble you'll get into?"

"Oh, I promise I won't get into any!" gasped Elizabeth in solemnpledge, all unconscious that it was equivalent to a promise from thewind not to blow. 

"It's no use promising, " said Miss Gordon mournfully. "You know, Elizabeth, I have warned you repeatedly against the wild streak in you, and yet in the face of all my admonitions you still persist in actingin an unladylike manner. Now, when I was a little girl, I never wentanywhere with my brother, your dear papa, except perhaps for a littlegenteel stroll----"

Elizabeth could bear no more. The last prop of endurance gave way atthe sight of John and Charles Stuart marching calmly past the window, rattling their tin pails. 

"Oh, Aunt Margaret!" she burst out in anguished tones, "couldn'tyou--would you please finish scolding me when I get back. The boys aregone!"

Miss Gordon paused, completely baffled. This strangest child of allthis strange family of William's was quite beyond her. 

"Go then, " she said, with a gesture of despair. "Go. I have nothingmore to say. "

Elizabeth was tearing down the garden path before she had finished. Tobe cast off as hopeless was anguish, but it was nothing to the horrorof being kept at home to be made genteel. In a moment more, withshrieks of joy, she was flying down the lane, towards two disgustedlooking boys reluctantly awaiting her at the edge of the mill-pond. 

CHAPTER V

A ROYAL TITLE

"The Slash" was the name given to a piece of partially cleared landlying between the mill-pond and Sandy McLachlan's clearing. The timberon it had been cut down and it had grown up in a wild luxuriance ofunderbrush and berry bushes. The latter had from time to time beencleared away in patches, and here and there between the fallentree-trunks were stretches of green grass, where the wild strawberriesgrew. The Slash was the most delightful place in which to go roamingat large and give oneself up to a buccaneer life. On schooldays, though the Gordons passed through it morning and afternoon, there waslittle opportunity to linger over its treasures. But the memory of itscool, flowery glades, its sunny uplands, its wealth of berries or wildgrapes or hazel-nuts as the season of each came round, always beckonedthe children on holidays. The Gordon boys had long used it as aplayground. Here they could indulge in games of wild Indians andpirates, setting fire to the brush-wood, cutting down trees, andengaging in such other escapades as were not sufficiently genteel to becarried on under their aunt's eye. So on holidays thither they alwaysrepaired, either with the excuse of accompanying Charles Stuart to themill, or carrying a pail or a fishing-rod to give the proper coloringto their departure. 

But on this first summer holiday John and Charles Stuart foundthemselves, upon setting out, hampered by a much worse encumbrance thana berry-pail. 

"Lizzie Gordon!" said her brother sternly, "you ain't comin'. "

"I am so!" declared Elizabeth, secure in permission from the powers athome. "Aunt said I could. "

John looked at Charles Stuart, and Charles Stuart winked at John andnodded towards the opposite edge of the pond. Elizabeth knew only toowell that those significant glances meant, "We'll run away from her andhide as soon as we're into The Slash. "

"No, you can't then, " she cried triumphantly, just as though they hadspoken. "I can beat you at running, Charles Stuart MacAllister. "

This was a fact Charles Stuart could not contradict. Elizabeth was thewind itself for speed, and many a time he and John had tried in vain toleave her behind. But her brother knew a manoeuvre that always broughtcapitulation from the enemy. He turned away and walked for some pacesat Charles Stuart's side, then glanced back at Elizabeth resolutelyfollowing. 

"Aw, you're a nice one, " he exclaimed, "followin' boys when they'regoin' swimmin'!"

Elizabeth stopped motionless in the pathway. One might bear slightsand indignities, even positive opposition, but the insinuation that onewas vulgar enough to go swimming at all, much more with boys, was aninsult no human being could stand. She turned away slowly, and, as thetwo inexorable figures went on down the willow path into the ravine, she dropped upon the earth and burst into despairing sobs. To be leftso cruelly was bad enough, but what hurt most was John's horribleinnuendo. It fairly scorched Elizabeth's soul. 

She was lying prone upon the clover-starred grass, weeping bitterly, when she was aroused by a rustle in the willows. A face was lookingthrough the green tangle. 

"Aw, hurrah, Lizzie, " Charles Stuart was saying, "come on. We're onlyin fun. We ain't goin' swimmin' at all. "

"I won't, " wailed Elizabeth. "John doesn't want me; he never does, andI'm going right back home. "

Through her vanishing tears she had seen John approaching, and hadsuddenly became conscious of the fact that if she returned home weepingshe would be questioned and matters might not be so comfortable forJohn. That the young man recognized the danger himself was evident, for he added his olive branch to Charles Stuart's. "Hurrah, Lizzie. Don't be such a baby. Come along. We can't wait. "

But Elizabeth was a woman to the very tips of her long, taperingfingers, and finding herself in a position of power was not going tocapitulate at once. It was delightful to be coaxed, and by the boys, too. So she merely sat up and, gazing back up the lane, sighed in ahopeless way and said, "You don't want me, I know you don't, I might aswell go back. "

"Come on, you silly, " cried John, now thoroughly alarmed. "Come onnow. Mind you, we won't wait. Hurrah, Charles Stuart, and she canstay if she likes. "

They started down the ravine again; and, seeing that her air of grieveddignity was liable to be lost in the willows, Elizabeth got to her feetand went scrambling after them. 

Down at the bottom of the hollow, where the little stream widened intoa lazy brown pond, lay Mr. MacAllister's saw-mill. It ran for only afew months in the spring and early summer and was now closed. Only, away down the valley where the road wound into the lumber yard, thebanging of boards told that someone was preparing to haul away a load. 

None of The Dale children ever passed the mill without a visit, and ofcourse Charles Stuart always explored it all with a fine air ofproprietorship. So they scrambled over the silent place with its sweetsmell of running water and fresh sawdust. They beat a clamorous tattooupon the big circular saw, they went down to the lower regions andexplored the dark hole where the big water-wheel hung motionless, withonly the drip, drip of water from the flume above. They rode on thelittle car that brought the logs up from the pond, and in as many waysas possible risked life and limb as boys must ever do. 

In all these hazardous ventures Elizabeth joined. She was desperatelyfrightened, but knew she must win her spurs at the outset or run theawful risk of being left behind even yet. Her conduct provedsatisfactory, and by the time they reached the other side of the pond, and had climbed the steep bank, clinging to the bracken and dog-wood, friendly relations had been once more established. When the boys hadonce got over the disgrace of feeling that a girl was tagging afterthem, and took Elizabeth on her own merits, these three generally goton very amicably. She was often a great nuisance, but on the wholethey got as much fun as trouble from her panics over snakes andfield-mice, and, when out of sight of The Dale, they voted her as gooda fellow as the rest. 

So away they went over The Slash, tearing through underbrush, andpausing occasionally to glance over the patches of grass forstrawberries. They soon decided that there were so many they couldsoon fill their pails, and John suggested they sit down and eat thelunch Charles Stuart had brought, for he was sure it must bedinner-time by the look of the sun. 

Mother MacAllister, with a motherly thought for the Gordons, had put upa substantial repast of bread and pork and generous wedges of pie and apile of cookies big enough to make glad the heart of any boy. This, supplemented by some thick slices of bread and butter which John hadbegged from Sarah Emily, made a great feast. They grew very merry overit, and when it was finished, up from the bottom of John's pail came abook--the real reason for the berry-picking expedition. Just whetherit would be forbidden by their aunt or not, John and Elizabeth had notrun the risk of inquiring. It was a tremendously funny book, so funnythat the last time they had read a chapter--it was up in the hay-mow ona rainy Saturday--Elizabeth had laughed so loud that they had almostbeen discovered. John could go off into one of his silent fits oflaughter in the same room as Aunt Margaret and never be discovered, butElizabeth was prone to scream and dance, and when anything funny seizedher Sandy McLachlan's slash was only at a safe distance from home. 

So, as the book was so very enjoyable, they had decided that it hadbetter be read in private. Elizabeth had some conscientious scruples, which she had been bold enough to utter, but they were silenced byJohn's quoting no less an authority than Mr. Coulson. The schoolmasterhad been overheard saying to Tom Teeter that he had spent all oneSaturday forenoon reading "Innocents Abroad. " And he had told Anniesome of the funny stories in it, hence John had begged it from Malcolm, who had borrowed it from a High School boy in Cheemaun. 

So the three sat them down in a shady nook, against a mossy log, andlistened with delight while John read. They took turns at readingaloud; Charles Stuart was the best reader, and Elizabeth the worst. She either read very slowly and stumbled over all the long words, orelse so fast one could not follow her. But Charles Stuart was awonderful reader, one of the best in school. Indeed, Mr. Coulsondeclared that Charles Stuart would make a greater public speaker thanTom Teeter some day, if he set his mind to oratory. 

But to-day it was John's turn to read, and when the extracts were nottoo funny he progressed fairly well, toiling along in a quiet monotone. When the story became very laughable, however, he proved a great trialto his listeners. Before he could utter the joke, his voice would failand he would collapse into helpless laughter. When importuned by hisaudience to speak out and let them know what the fun was, he would makeagonized attempts to utter the words, failing again and again, untilCharles Stuart would snatch the book from him. Sometimes the sight ofJohn struggling to utter in anguishing whispers the thing that wasrendering him helpless was far funnier than Mark Twain himself, andElizabeth and Charles Stuart would roll over on the grass in shrieks oflaughter long before they heard what the joke was about. 

But such irresponsible conduct could not continue, and when the coolpart of the day had been consumed in the shade, they had to turn out inthe blazing noon-day sun to hunt for strawberries. The threeadventurers would have preferred the shade and Mark Twain, or else adash through the woods, but they were true Canadians, born with thatinnate idea that he who does not work should not eat. So to work theywent of their own free will. The strawberries were plentiful, and soonthe tin cups, heaped with their luscious loads, were being carried tothe pails beneath the bass-wood bushes. Elizabeth never grew wearypicking strawberries. This was a task infinitely removed from beingshut into a hot kitchen with a dish-towel, while the boys played in thebarnyard. The glory of the day, the sense of freedom from restraint, the beauty of the rosy clusters, hiding shyly beneath their prettyleaves, all combined to make work seem play. She picked so furiouslythat she was a spur to even Charles Stuart, accustomed as he was tohard work at his farm-home, and lest they be beaten by a girl the boystoiled strenuously. 

By the time the afternoon sun had begun to wane, the big pails werefilled and shaken down and filled again, the pickers had eaten almostas much more, and surfeited, hot, and thirsty they found themselves onthe edge of the slash that bordered the woods. 

Down the leafy pathway which led towards the school they could seeSandy McLachlan's log house standing in its little clearing. 

"Hurrah over and ask old Sandy for a drink, " cried Charles Stuart. "I'm chokin'. "

Elizabeth followed them into the woods, full of delight. It would besuch fun to visit Eppie in the afternoon, just as if they were grown-upladies, and she had come to stay to tea. 

There was a strange, deserted air about the little place. There wasnobody in the tiny garden, where Eppie's sunflowers and sweet peasstood blazing in the sunshine. There was even no sign of life aboutthe little log house. They went up the hard beaten path to the door. It was open, and they peeped in. Eppie's pink sunbonnet was lying on achair and the crumbs of the late dinner were still scattered over thebare pine table. 

"They must be down at the barn, " said Charles Stuart. "I'm goin' tohave a drink, anyhow. "

A rusty tin dipper hung over the well, and they helped themselves. Thesound of the pump brought a little figure round the corner of the oldlog barn. 

At the sight of Elizabeth, Eppie came running up the path. She wasbarefooted, as Eppie always was except on Sundays, and wore a coarse, gray wincey dress and a big apron. Poor Eppie's clothes were all muchtoo large for her, for the little girl had no woman's deft hand todress her. She shyly slipped past the boys and took hold ofElizabeth's hand. Her big, pathetic eyes shone with joy. "Oh, Lizzie, I'll be that glad to see you, " she whispered in her old-fashioned way. Perhaps it was her long dress, but somehow Elizabeth always had theimpression that poor Eppie had always been old and grown-up. "Comeaway down to the barn and see grandaddy, " she added, including theboys. "There's two men down there an' they're goin' to takegrandaddy's house away from him, only the master says he won't letthem. "

Here was exciting news. The boys ran on ahead, and Elizabeth and Eppiequickly followed, the former plying her hostess with wonderingquestions. 

A smart horse and a shiny top-buggy were standing in the barnyard. Inthe vehicle two men were seated, and beside them stood old Sandy andMr. Coulson. The schoolmaster was using the first two or three days ofhis holidays in which to bid farewell to his Forest Glen friends. Elizabeth had heard him say he would do so, yesterday in school, and asshe caught sight of him she could not help thinking he must have saidgood-by to hundreds and hundreds of people that day, since he hadstarted so early. The speculation passed dimly through her mind as tohow many of them he had kissed. 

But her chief feeling was one of joy at the sight of him, and keepinghold of Eppie's hand she went round to the side of the horse where hestood. Elizabeth was shy and frightened in the presence of strangers, unless some unusual encouragement brought her older self to the fore, when she could converse with the ease of an accomplished society woman. But the sight of these smart-looking strangers, evidently from town, filled her with discomfort, and she shyly drew up behind Mr. Coulson. 

"But, Mr. Oliver, " he was saying, "there must surely be some justice inhis claim. Why, Mr. McLachlan has lived here for twenty years, andchanged the place from dense woods to what you see now. "

The elder man in the buggy, a stout, good-natured looking fellow, lazily blew a whiff of smoke from his cigar and smiled in a superiorway. "Mr. Huntley, " he said, turning to the young man at his side, "when Mr. Coulson enters your office, I'm afraid you're going to havetrouble drilling him into the mysteries of meum and tuum as interpretedby the law. "

"Yes, as interpreted by the law, " repeated Mr. Coulson rather hotly. "The law sometimes speaks in a foreign language. If I thought my studyof it was going to warp my ideas of right and wrong I'd go back homeand pitch hay for the rest of my life. "

The young man in the carriage looked at him closely. He was a handsomeyoung fellow, about Mr. Coulson's own age, with a clever, clean-cutface. "There's something in your contention, John, " he said, "but I'macting for my client remember, and he has his ideas of right and wrong, too. He's paying for the place. "

The young teacher's face fell, and old Sandy McLachlan, who had beenwatching him with eyes pitifully anxious, came a step nearer. 

"They will not be turning me off?" he asked, half-fearfully, half-defiantly. "I would be working on this place for twenty years. Mr. Jarvis would be telling me it will be mine, as long as I live. Andwhat will become of me and my little Eppie?"

"Well, well, Mr. McLachlan, " said the jolly-looking man, not losing awhit of his jollity at the sight of the old man's distress. "Well, well, we won't discuss the matter any further to-day. You won't bedisturbed until the fall anyway. And Mr. Huntley here will see thatjustice is done, whatever happens. He's one of the cleverest younglawyers in Cheemaun, you know. "

"Hech!" interrupted old Sandy, his eyes blazing. "Yes, it is that Iwill be fearing. The Lord peety the man that will be falling into thehands of a clever lawyer!"

The comfortable-looking man seemed to take this as a grand joke. Helaughed heartily and dug his elbow into the side of his youngcompanion. "Hear that, Blake? Ha, ha! you lawyers deserve all youget. Ha! ha! that's good!"

The young man at his side did not reply to the raillery. He waslooking past Mr. Coulson at the group of four children, standingopen-mouthed, gazing at the men, and breathlessly listening to everyword. He was particularly struck with the smallest one, a little girlin a torn, berry-stained blue pinafore and a sunbonnet of the samematerial. Her two small brown hands held in a tight grasp the hand ofold Sandy's granddaughter, her cheeks were crimson, and her big eyeswere blazing with an expression of mingled wrath and fear. 

"Whose youngsters?" he asked, nodding towards them. "They don't allbelong here, do they?" Mr. Coulson turned, and for the first timenoticed the berry-pickers. "Hello! Charles Stuart and John Gordon andLizzie herself!" he cried. "Been picking berries, eh?"

"Who's the little brown thing with all the eyes and hair?" asked Mr. Huntley. 

Mr. Coulson took Elizabeth's hand and drew her up to the side of thebuggy. "This gentleman wants to know your name, Lizzie, " he said. 

"It's 'Lizbeth Jarvis Gordon, " said that young lady with great dignity. She was not the least bit shy or frightened now. Had she liked thisMr. Huntley she might have been, but she was filled with a longing tostand up boldly and denounce him as a cruel monster who was trying toturn Eppie and her grandfather out of Forest Glen. She looked straightinto his face with big, accusing eyes. 

"Jarvis!" said the young man in surprise. "That's a familiar name. Where did you get it, Miss 'Lizbeth Jarvis Gordon?"

Elizabeth gave that haughty turn to her long neck, which the conduct ofCharles Stuart and John so often called forth. She looked awaystraight over the fence-tops. It might be rude, it certainly was notgenteel, but she positively refused to converse with a scoundrel whowould ill-use Eppie. 

Mr. Coulson looked down at her averted face and tightly closed lips, and an amused look flitted over his countenance. He understood thispeculiar little Lizzie fairly well, and lately had been feeling verysympathetic towards her, for special reasons of his own. 

"She's a namesake of Mrs. Jarvis, " he explained. "But you're not infavor. There's a deep friendship here, you understand. " He noddedsignificantly towards Eppie, standing back pale and tearful. 

"Oh, I see. And I'm the ogre in the fairy-tale. " The young manlaughed. "Well, well, Queen Elizabeth, I hope we'll meet again undermore friendly auspices. In the meantime, here's something to rememberme by. " He dived into his pocket, and the two boys behind Elizabethgave a gasp of astonishment. He was holding towards her a shiningsilver American dollar!

And then, for the first time in his life, John Gordon felt a thrill ofpride in Lizzie. For the little girl stepped hastily back, her handsclasped tightly behind her. Her face grew crimson with shame andanger. Why, no one was ever given money to except the beggars andcrossing-sweepers she had read about in the Sunday-school librarybooks! And she--a Gordon--to be offered a coin, as if she were acharity orphan, and by such a horrid, horrid, bad man as this! Sheflashed him one look of deeply offended dignity, and, catching hold ofJohn's coat, slipped behind him. 

The man named Oliver burst again into loud laughter, and slapped hiscompanion on the back. 

"Ha! ha! Blake! Turned down that time, all right. Queen Elizabeth'sa mighty haughty young lady!"

The young man pretended to laugh, but he really looked annoyed, as hecrushed his scorned money back into his pocket, and took up the reins. He did not glance again at the haughty Queen Elizabeth, but noddedcurtly to old Sandy. "Good-by, Mr. McLachlan. Don't forget to dropinto my office when you're in town. Good-by, Coulson. See you Monday, I suppose. "

And, giving his horse a sharp cut with the whip, he went whizzing offdown the lane. 

"Lizzie Gordon, " said Mr. Coulson, catching hold of her sunbonnet andgiving her a little shake, "you gave that young man a severer rebukethan I managed in half-an-hour's hard talk. Now, cheer up, Sandy. Things aren't hopeless yet. "

"Och, and it iss not hopeless I will be, " said the old man, with astately air. His face lit up, and his eyes took on a far-away look. "I haf never seen the righteous forsaken nor his seed begging bread. That will be the word of God, Mr. Coulson, and not even the lawyers canbe breaking that. I will not be righteous, oh, no! The Lord forbidthat I say such a word, for it is the evil tongue I will be hafing thatwill be uttering ungodly words when the dogs will be coming into thehouse o' the Lord--and a curse on them for pollutin' the holy place!But, indeed an' indeed, it is a miserable sinner I will be. But myfather would be a great man of prayer, and versed in the Scriptures, and for his sake the Almighty will not be letting the wee thing come towant. Oh, no, indeed. "

There was a sublime faith in the old man's heart that rose aboveworldly disaster. His little granddaughter crept up to him and laidher little brown hand on his coarse shirt-sleeve. 

"The place will be ours, anyway; won't it, grandaddy?" she whisperedtremulously. "They couldn't be turning us out, could they?"

As he looked down at her, the old man's mood changed. His fightingblood was rising. 

"Eh, them lawyers!" he cried fiercely. "I will be begging your pardon, Mr. Coulson, " he added apologetically. "But it will be a great peetythat a fine man like yourself would be hafing anything to do with thetribe. But if they had jist been hafing the Gaelic, I would haf beengiving it to them. Och, but it will be a peety about the English. Itwould be but a poor spoke, indeed. "

"Well, Sandy, let us hope that there are some honest lawyers. I'mgoing into Mr. Huntley's office on Monday, and I'll do my best for you. Don't worry. "

When the farewells had been said, and Elizabeth had comforted Eppie inparting, the berry-pickers found to their joy that Mr. Coulson was toaccompany them for a short distance, on his way to Wully Johnstone's. They had many eager questions to ask him. What were those men doing?the boys demanded. How dared they try to turn old Sandy away? Whathad they to do with his place, anyway? Mr. Coulson explained that theycould not understand it all, for law was a very complex thing indeed. But all this property of Sandy's, as well as Tom Teeter's land, andeverything between here and The Dale, had once belonged to Mr. Jarvis, and now belonged to the lady for whom Lizzie was called. Mrs. Jarvishad come to Cheemaun this summer and had asked her lawyer to sell allthis property. And now it would appear that old Sandy's farm was forsale, too. For Sandy had no deed of his property; in fact, had merelyworked it for Mr. Jarvis, who, Sandy declared, had told him that allsouth of the Birch Creek belonged to him. But it wasn't in writing, and lawyers did not believe anything they didn't see. 

The children listened dismayed, and each proffered his own opinion asto the line of conduct old Sandy should pursue. Charles Stuart wouldbarricade the gates and put up a palisade round the whole farm, the waythey did in the old Indian days. Yes, and he would buy a gun and shootdead anyone who set foot on his property. John heartily agreed withthe plan, introducing modifications. A palisade would require all thesoldiers in the County of Simcoe to man it. Instead, he would laymines and torpedoes and deadly man-traps up the lane and all throughthe bush, so that no approach could be made to the house. 

The two walked on ahead, consumed with excitement over the warlikeplans, and Elizabeth and Mr. Coulson fell behind. He saw the distressin the little girl's face, and made light of the situation. Eppiewould be all right, she need not worry. No one would touch her, noteven Mr. Huntley, who was after all not such a bad young man. And, tochange the subject to something brighter, he said:

"It's just fine luck you came along this way. I'm going awayto-morrow, and I thought I shouldn't see you again. "

"But I was up when you were at our place this morning, " said Elizabeth, and no sooner were the words out than she could have bitten off hertongue for its indiscretion. She did not need the startled, dismayedlook in the young man's eyes, or his crimsoning face, to tell her shehad made a shocking mistake, for the older inner self rose up in severeaccusation. 

"Oh, Mr. Coulson!" she stopped in the pathway and regarded him withdeep contrition. "Oh, I didn't mean that! I--I mean I couldn't helpseeing. I was watching for fear John would run away on me, and gofishing. And nobody else saw--and Annie doesn't even know. And youknow I wouldn't ever, ever tell, don't you?"

She looked up at him with such desperate anxiety that he could not buthave confidence in her. His own face cleared. 

"You're sure nobody else saw?" he whispered. 

"Oh, yes, certain, " breathed Elizabeth. "I--I--" she stopped, overcomeby the tears of shame that were filling her eyes. 

Her teacher took her hand. He could never bear to see a little girl indistress. "There now, " he said. "It's all right, Lizzie. But youknow, little girl, this is something I can't explain to you, becauseyou are too little to understand. You will know all about it some day. But listen. " He stopped and looked at her closely. "I know we cantrust you, little Lizzie, " he said. 

Elizabeth looked up at him through her tears. It was entirely the wiseold Elizabeth that was there. 

"Yes, " she said solemnly, "I wouldn't tell. "

He slipped his little note-book from his pocket and scribbled in it. It might be just as well to warn Annie. The two boys had disappearedround a curve in the leafy pathway ahead. He folded the note carefullyand handed it to her. "You won't lose it, Lizzie?" he asked. "Andyou'll give it to Annie when there's no one around?"

"Yes! yes!" cried Elizabeth. She slipped it into the pocket of herblue pinafore, and smiled up at him. She felt wonderfully grown-up andimportant. Mr. Coulson was putting confidence in her. They had asecret between them, he and she. She said good-by to him at the placewhere the path to Wully Johnstone's branched off, and away she ranafter the boys, dancing with joy. 

When the weary and hungry berry-pickers reached home they had anexciting tale to tell and many questions to ask. Tom Teeter came overafter tea to give his opinion upon poor old Sandy's case. Jake Martinacross from him was trying to buy Sandy's land, folk said, and ifMartin did such a thing, then he, Tom Teeter, considered him a morepenurious and niggardly miser, that would skin his neighbor'sgrasshoppers for their hide and tallow, than he had already provenhimself to be. 

Mr. MacAllister had dropped in, too, as he very often did of anevening, and suspended his work to discuss the question of the moment. Mr. MacAllister's double business of farmer and mill-owner, while notat all taxing his physique, was too much for his mental powers, and hewas frequently compelled to have recourse to Mr. Gordon for help. Mr. MacAllister had a peculiar method of calculating the selling price oflumber, which he very appropriately termed "the long way of figgerin'. "It was so long that it frequently covered boards and shingles, and eventhe walls of the mill, before the final number of dollars and centsappeared, the result being that the lumber sawn was all out ofproportion to the number of figures required to compute its value. 

So Mr. Gordon was frequently appealed to, and with a few magic strokeshe would reduce the Long Way to its proper size. On this evening theproblem was put aside for the discussion of poor Sandy's affairs. Mr. Martin was known as a hard man throughout the countryside, and Mr. MacAllister gave it as his opinion that if Sandy had Jake Martin andthe lawyers after him, he might as well get out of the country. Therewas no hope for a man when the law got him. For the law was a schemeused by smart folks in town to cheat people out of their earnings. 

Mr. Gordon said, "Well, well, well, " and, "Indeed and indeed, " andhoped things would not be quite so bad. But his sister looked worriedin her stately, reserved fashion. To be sure, this business mightbring Mrs. Jarvis to her door, who could tell, especially as Mr. Oliverand Mr. Huntley had both seen Elizabeth. But what an Elizabeth to bedescribed to that lady! On the whole, she was worried, and when thevisitors were gone she followed her brother into his study and asked tosee the paper signed by the late Mr. Jarvis, stating that they hadreally a lawful claim upon The Dale. And she was not surprised, thoughmuch dismayed, to find that her unbusinesslike brother had no suchdocument in his possession. 

CHAPTER VI

SCHOOLDAYS

The Forest Glen School opened on a ripe, warm day near the end ofAugust. The Dale Valley lay basking in the sunshine, with that look ofperfect rest and content that comes from labor well done. Where thefields were not heavy with the harvest, the barns were bursting withit. The orchard trees bent to the earth with their wealth of red andgolden spheres. The wild grape-vines along the roadside were hung withpurple clusters. On sunny slopes the golden-rod waved its yellowplumes, the herald of autumn, and near, its companion, the aster, raised its little lavender stars. Summer was at its maturity, warm, ripe, and dreamily restful, with as yet no hint of days less fair. 

But dreams and rest were far from the minds of the Gay Gordons as theymet the gathering clans in the lane to take their journey down theshort-cut to school. Charles Stuart was there, and a crowd of Martins, and even Wully Johnstone's youngsters, who had come half a mile out oftheir way to join the crowd. 

Miss Gordon stood at the door, holding little Jamie by the hand, andwatched the happy troop, ladened with schoolbags and dinner-pails, godown the lane. Jamie cried because his "Diddy" was leaving him, andthere would be nobody to play with, but Miss Gordon saw them departwith feelings of unmixed pleasure. In a few days Malcolm and Jeanwould start for the High School in Cheemaun, and what a relief thelong, quiet genteel days would be with only Annie for a companion!

Down the lane gayly passed the joyous procession. For the risinggeneration of Forest Glen had not yet become sophisticated enough toconsider school a hardship. Instead, it was a joy, and often an escapefrom harder work. To the Martins, at least, it was. Jake Martin wasindeed a hard man, as the country-side declared, and nowhere did hishand lie heavier than on his own family. There was a Martin to matcheach Gordon and some left over, and not one of them but already showedsigns of toil beyond their young strength. Dairy-farming, market-gardening, poultry-raising, and every known form of making moneyon the farm was carried on by the Martins on an extensive scale, andeveryone, from Mrs. Martin down, was a slave to their swelling bankaccount. The older boys and girls had already left school to work athome, and those who did go always hurried back to plant or weed or digin the fields as the season demanded. Susie was Elizabeth's comrade, being of the same age. But there was none of the light and joyousthoughtlessness of Elizabeth's character in poor Susie's life. Thelittle girl's hands were already hardened by the broom, thechurn-dasher, and the hoe, and the only emotion Susie ever displayedwas fear lest she might be late in reaching home, and so miss fiveminutes' work and suffer punishment at the hands of her father. Elizabeth often wondered what it would be like to have a father one wasafraid of, and was very kind and gentle with Susie, though sheconsidered her a complete failure as a playmate. 

As they passed the mill, John and Charles Stuart and Wully Johnstone'sJohnny seized the car and took a couple of tumultuous rides down to thewater's edge, but the Martin boys went on steadily and solemnly. Theirfather would be sure to hear if they paused to play on the way toschool. 

The pond lay cool and brown beneath the shade of the alders andwillows. Away up at the end, where the stream entered from its jungleof water-reeds and sunken stumps and brown bullrushes, there grew atangle of water-plants all in glorious blossom. There werewater-lilies both golden and waxy-white, and blue spikes ofpickerel-weed, and clumps of fragrant musk. And over the surface ofthe golden-brown water was spread a fairy web of delicate plant life, vivid green, and woven of such tiny forms that it looked like airy foamthat a breath would dissolve. On its outer edge was an embroidery ofdainty star-blossoms, like little green forget-me-nots scattered overthe glassy surface. 

The green and golden vista of flowers that led away up from this fairynook, with the green and golden water winding between the blossomingbanks, always called aloud to Elizabeth whenever she crossed the ravineby the mill-path. She never looked up the creek without longing toexplore its winding pathway, right up to the depths of WullyJohnstone's swamp. And yet, strange Elizabeth, when she had oncegained her desire, it had given her anything but enjoyment. She andCharles Stuart and John had built a raft from old mill slabs thatspring, just when the creek was choked with blue fleur-de-lis and pinkladies'-slippers. They had gone way up stream on a voyage ofdiscovery, bumping over sunken logs, crashing into rotten stumps, andruthlessly destroying whole acres of moss and water-reeds. It had allbeen just as lovely as Elizabeth had dreamed, but there were otherthings upon which she had not reckoned. There were black water-snakescoiled amongst the rushes, and horrible speckled frogs sitting up onwater-lily leaves; frogs with awful goggle eyes that looked at you outof the darkness of your bedroom for many, many nights afterwards. There were mud-turtles that paddled their queer little rafts right upto yours, and poked their dreadful snaky heads right up at you out ofthe water. And besides all the creepy, crawly things that swarmed downin the golden-brown depths and made your hair stand on end when yourbare feet touched the water, there were thousands of frightful leggythings that wore skates and ran swiftly at you right over the surface. Even the air was filled with blue "darning-needles" and stingy-lookingthings, that buzzed and danced about your ears, so that there was nosafety nor comfort above nor below. And so Elizabeth had returned fromher first visit to her Eldorado full of mingled feelings. And all thetime she was learning that great lesson of life: that the fairy bowerswhich beckon us to come away and play give pure pleasure only whenviewed from the stony pathway that leads up to the schoolhouse of duty. But that was a lesson Elizabeth took many years to learn. 

So she merely glanced up the creek and sighed as they climbed the hill. She said nothing to Susie of all it meant to her. For Susie, though avery dear girl, was not a person who understood. 

Over The Slash they went, through old Sandy McLachlan's woods, down hislane to the highway, and with a last glad rush right into theschoolyard. 

Eppie joined Elizabeth at her barnyard gate. Childlike, they had bothpractically forgotten the fear that had hung over Eppie's head early inthe summer, and were happily unconscious that the little home in thewoods was already another's. 

Forest Glen School stood near the road; so near, indeed, that the porchactually encroached upon the Queen's Highway. But there was plenty ofroom behind the building. For beyond a lumpy yard, innocent of a bladeof grass, stretched miles of Wully Johnstone's swamp, which had beenappropriated by the pupils as a playground. This seemed only just, forremains of the forest still held possession of much of theschool-grounds proper. Nobody objected to the stumps, however, becausethey were useful as bases in the ball games, and young Forest Glen hadonce raised a storm of protest when a visiting lady from town hadsuggested to Mr. Coulson that he have them removed on Arbor Day. Therewas a battered old woodshed at the back, its walls covered withcarvings, its roof sagging wearily from the weight of many generationsof sliders who had shot down its snowy surface to the top of the hillbehind. Near it stood a crippled old pump that had brought up waterfor these same generations of sliders, and was still bringing it up, which perhaps explained its disheartened appearance. 

The Dale contingent always arrived early at school, and on this firstday they had still more than half an hour at their disposal. The boysrushed into a game of ball, but the girls gathered in groups about thegate to watch for the new teacher. For this one was new in every senseof the word--a lady in fact, and Forest Glen had always heretofore hada man; and the older girls were filled with pleasurable excitement. 

Miss Hillary was to board at Martha Ellen Robertson's place, the big, white house not a quarter of a mile down the road. All eyes werefastened upon the red gate to see her emerge, and many were thespeculations as to whether she would be tall or short, old or young, plain or pretty, and above all what she should wear. 

She appeared at last, and the chief questions were at once settled. She was tall, she was young, she was pretty, and she wore a mostbeautiful dark-blue dress with a trim white collar and cuffs. She hadpretty dark hair, just waving back from her little ears, and shaded bya dainty blue hat, trimmed with a wreath of white daisies. The girlsgravitated towards the center of the road, Elizabeth and Rosie at thehead of the group. Elizabeth fell in love at first sight. She hadvowed with sobs last June that she would never, never love a teacheragain, and here she was ready to declare that this one was the mostwonderful and beautiful creature she had ever seen. 

As the new teacher approached, she smiled in a stately fashion andsaid, "Good-morning. " As she entered the school, the boys driftedfarther away from the building and the girls drifted nearer. Some ofthem even ventured into the room, to see her hang up her hat and takeoff her gloves. Elizabeth was foremost among the latter. She longedto go up to her and offer her assistance in the many new difficultieswhich she saw the teacher might meet. She would have liked to showMiss Hillary from the first that she was really quite grown-up andgenteel. She would help her with the names in the school register, show her where the chalk was kept, and how the backs came off two ofthe blackboard brushes, but could be kept on if you just held themright, and how the bottom board of the blackboard might fall if youweren't careful; and ever so much more valuable information. MissHillary would have profited much more even than Elizabeth thought, ifshe had accepted that young lady at her most grown-up estimate; andElizabeth would have profited even more. But, unfortunately for poorElizabeth, Miss Hillary was not one who easily understood. 

The new teacher rang the bell and the school assembled, the big boysstraggling in last and flopping into their seats with a bored andembarrassed air. The room was very quiet, the unaccustomedsurroundings impressing everyone into unaccustomed silence. For theplace had been all scrubbed and white-washed, and there were wonderfulnew desks and seats that folded up all of their own accord when youstood up, as if they worked by magic. There was a strange smell ofvarnish, too, that added much to the feeling of newness. 

As soon as prayers were over, the new teacher arose and delivered heropening speech. Her manner was still distant and stately. She wishedto speak to them particularly, she said, on deportment, for she haddiscovered that the children of rural communities were sadly deficientin manners. Elizabeth quite lost the purport of the little address inher admiration of the beautiful, long, high-sounding words with whichit was garnished. Elizabeth loved long words. She wished she couldremember just one or two of the biggest, and she would use them whenMrs. Jarvis came. Suddenly a fine plan was born in her fertile brain. All unmindful that Miss Hillary had given strict commands to everyoneto sit straight with folded arms, she snatched her slate and pencil. She would write down the finest and most high-sounding of those words, and how pleased and surprised Aunt Margaret would be when she usedthem. She would look them up in the dictionary just as soon as shecould get a breathing-spell. There were "ideals" and "aspirations" and"deportment" many times, and "disciplined"--which last Elizabethspelled without a "c. " There were "principles" and "insubordination, "and "contumacious, " over the spelling of which Elizabeth had such avery bad time, and "esprit de corps, " which, fortunately, she gave upaltogether, and ever so many more, which flew over her head like birdsof paradise, brilliant and alluring, but not to be caught. Some, Elizabeth could remember having heard her father use, and, proudlyrecognizing them as old friends, let them pass. 

She was utterly absorbed in her task, her pencil flying over her slate, squeaking madly, when right in the midst of "irresponsible" with one"r" and several other letters wanting, she paused. It was a poke fromRosie that disturbed her. Elizabeth was accustomed to being poked byRosie, for her seat-mate always attracted one's attention this way; buther pokes were always eloquent and this one betokened alarm andurgency. For a moment or more Elizabeth had been vaguely consciousthat there was a lull in Miss Hillary's talk and a strange silence overthe room, but she had merely taken the opportunity to stick syllableson the ends of certain words which haste had compelled her to curtail. She was in the act of fixing up "contumacious, " and making it a littlemore un-English if possible, when the poke awoke her to hersurroundings. 

She looked up. All eyes were upon her--disapproving and ashamed Gordoneyes, others amused or only interested, and, worst of all, the newteacher's, stern and annoyed. Elizabeth's pencil dropped from herparalyzed fingers. It broke in three pieces--the beautiful, long, newpencil with the gold paper covering, which Mr. Coulson had given her atparting; and Miss Hillary said, oh, so coldly, and sternly:

"There is one little girl in the class who has been paying no attentionwhatever to anything I have been saying. That little girl will pleasecome forward and take the front seat. "

Elizabeth turned pale, and John and Mary hung their heads. Oh, wasn'tit just like Lizzie to do something to disgrace the family--and righton the first day of school, too! The culprit arose, and slowly madeher way forward, trembling with fear. This wonderful new creature whomshe adored was after all an unknown quantity, and Elizabeth was alwaysafraid of the unknown. She went up the aisle all unseeing. She didnot even notice Rosie's glance of anguish as she left. 

She stood before the teacher's desk with hanging head. "Sit down, "Miss Hillary said coldly, and Elizabeth turned to obey. Now in oldentimes there had been a row of benches in front of the platform uponwhich the classes sat before their teacher, but these were gone andinstead were those magic folding seats, all closed up tight. Elizabeth, still blind with fear, went to sit down upon a bench whereno bench was, and instead sat down soundingly upon the floor. A titterof laughter ran over the room, and she sprang to her feet. She wasquite unhurt, except her dignity, but even this she did not notice. The funny side of anything, though the joke was on herself, was alwaysirresistible to Elizabeth. Miss Hillary might kill her the nextmoment, but for the present she must laugh, and laugh she did aloud, showing her gleaming teeth in a short spasm of merriment. But the funvanished as quickly as it had come. She had no sooner struggled intothe unwilling seat, and looked up at her teacher, than she froze againwith apprehension. 

Miss Hillary had arisen and was looking down at her, a red spot oneither cheek, her eyes angry and flashing. Elizabeth could not knowthat the young teacher was in terror of the pupils, terror lest theytake advantage of her being a woman, and was nervously on the outlookfor signs of insubordination. She was almost as afraid of thismischievous-looking, little brown thing as the little thing was of her, and even suspected her of planning the ridiculous tumble for her ownand the school's amusement. Miss Hillary was weak, and displayed thecruelty that so often characterizes weakness in a place of power. 

"What is your name?" she demanded sternly. 

"'Lizbeth, " faltered the culprit. "'Lizbeth Gordon. "

"How old are you?"

"Ten, " whispered Elizabeth. She always said, "Going on eleven. " Butnow, feeling keenly that she had acted in a shocking manner, to be tendid not sound quite so bad. A mature person on the road to elevenwould never, never be called to the front the first day of school!

"Well, Elizabeth Gordon, " said Miss Hillary, "any big girl of tenshould have learned long ago that it is very rude and unladylike to sitwriting when her teacher is talking to her. I want you to remain inthis front seat, where I can watch you, until you have learned to bemannerly. To ignore your teacher is extremely reprehensible, but tolaugh over your conduct is positively impertinent. "

Poor Elizabeth crumpled up in a forlorn, little, blue-checked heap. "Rude and unladylike!" Those were the condemnatory words her aunt sooften used, but the anguish they awoke was as nothing to the awfulshame that descended upon her soul in the avalanche of those unknownwords. "Impertinent, " she remembered to have heard somewhere before. It meant something deadly--but what shameless depths might not berevealed by "reprehensible"? And, oh dear, oh dear, she had intendedto be so wise and so grown-up, and be her teacher's right hand. Thebeautiful teacher she loved so! That was the tragedy of poorElizabeth's life, she was always hurting someone she loved. What adreary twist of fate it was that when one's intentions were the bestone was always most--"reprehensible"! The tears came dripping downupon the blue pinafore. She remembered with dismay that she had nohandkerchief. She had forgotten hers in her hurry, and Mary had saidshe might use hers if she needed it. But she dared not even look inMary's direction, knowing there were rows of curious eyes down thereall turned upon her. So she wiped the tears away on her pinafore, aproceeding which Aunt Margaret had characterized as positively vulgar, but Elizabeth knew that in Miss Hillary's opinion of her nothingmattered any more. 

The new teacher finished her interrupted address, and began the regularwork of the school. Elizabeth was forgotten, and slowly came up fromthe depths of despair, mounting on the wings of future glory. MissHillary would be sorry some day--some day when she, Elizabeth Gordon, high on her white charger, with her velvet cloak streaming behind, rodeswiftly past the schoolhouse, never glancing in. Yes, Miss Hillarymight weep and wring her hands and declare she had made an awfulmistake in regard to Lizzie Gordon, but it would be too late. 

Vastly encouraged by these dreams, the heroine of them dried her tears, and sat listening to what was going on about her. Miss Hillary wascalling each class forward, taking down their names, and testing theirabilities in reading, spelling, and a few other subjects. The primaryclass was on the floor, and Archie was standing, straight and sturdy, right before his sister. Elizabeth did not dare raise her head, butshe peeped at her little brother from under her tangle of hair. Shedid hope Archie would lift the name of Gordon from the mire in whichshe had dragged it. 

Archie was certainly conducting himself manfully. He spelled everyword the teacher gave him, added like lightning, and read loud andclear: "Ben has a pen and a hen. The hen is in the pen. I see Ben andthe hen and the pen. "

Miss Hillary looked pleased, and Archie went up head. "What is yourname?" she asked kindly, and he responded, "Archie Gordon. " Theteacher glanced towards the culprit on the front seat. There was astrong family resemblance amongst all the Gay Gordons, and Elizabethfairly swelled with restored self-respect. 

The classes filed up, each in its turn, standing in a prim line withits toes to a chalk-mark Miss Hillary had drawn on the floor. Nothingexciting happened until Mary's class was called, and then Elizabethturned cold with a new fear. Just as they reached the chalk-line, onlyhalf a dozen of them, Miss Hillary said: "As this Junior Third is sosmall a class, for convenience I believe I shall put the Senior Thirdswith them. Senior Third class, rise! Forward!"

Now, Elizabeth was in the Senior Third. Strangely precocious in someways, she was woefully lacking in many branches of school work, andbarely kept a class ahead of Mary. The fear that Mary would overtakeher was the one thing that spurred her to spasmodic efforts. And now, like a bolt from the blue, came the dreadful news. She and Mary wereto be in the same class!

The Seniors arose and filed reluctantly forward. Rosie poked Elizabethas she passed. Elizabeth understood Rosie's pokes better than otherpeople's plainest statement. This one said: "Isn't this a dreadfulshame? How shall we ever live it down?" And then a sudden stubbornresolution seized Elizabeth, and she sat up straight with crimsoningcheeks. She would not go up into Mary's class, no she wouldn't! Theteacher had said she must sit there until she had learned to bemannerly. Well, she would then! She hadn't learned yet, and shelikely never would. And she would sit there on that front seat untilshe was older than old Granny Johnstone, who spoke only Gaelic and hadno teeth, before she would go up in the same class with Mary! Mary wasa good speller, and might get ahead of her, and oh, how John andCharles Stuart and Malcolm and Jean would talk if Mary beat her atschool! Elizabeth grew hot at the bare thought. 

The big class had just arranged itself when one little girl held up herhand. It was Katie Price, of course. Katie always told on everybody, and was only in the Junior Third herself. "Please, teacher, " saidKatie, "Lizzie Gordon's in the Senior Third. " "Lizzie Gordon?" Theteacher looked round vaguely. The swelling list of new names waspuzzling her. "Where is Lizzie Gordon?"

Elizabeth did not move. To be forgotten utterly was the best she hopedfor; to be noticed was the worst thing that could happen. Maryindicated her sister by a nod, and Miss Hillary grew haughty again. 

"Oh, " she said, "never mind her at present. We will let Lizzie Gordonremain where she is for the rest of the morning. " And on she went withher work, while Lizzie Gordon, the outcast, too wicked even to beincluded in a disgraced class, sat and hung her head in a veryabasement of soul. 

She came out of the depths once at a thrilling remark of the teacher. The double-class crowded and shoved this way and that, and Miss Hillarysaid, just as they were about to return to their seats: "There are fouror five too many in this class. I shall examine the Seniors thoroughlythis afternoon, and shall allow the best four to go into the JuniorFourth. "

Elizabeth fairly jumped off her penitent form. Her hopes soared to thehighest pinnacle. 

She would be one of the four! She must! Not only would it mean escapefrom Mary, but she would be but one class behind John and CharlesStuart! Yes, she would pass in spite of fate. If only Miss Hillarywould not examine them in arithmetic or spelling or grammar it would beeasy. She was equally deficient in all three, with a few disgraces infavor of spelling. But who knew but she would ask questions in historyor literature! Or even make them write a composition! Elizabeth couldnot help knowing that in this one last subject at least she farsurpassed her classmates. 

Perhaps they would have to write one, and when the new teacher read itshe would say: "Lizzie Gordon, you are too good for the Junior Fourtheven. You may go into the Senior Fourth with your brother John andCharles Stuart MacAllister. "

Elizabeth fairly ached for some distinction that would reinstate her inthe teacher's good opinion. She began to build airy castles and grewpositively happy with hope. She was thankful even for the unkind fatethat had brought her to the front seat, for now Mary would never beable to say, "Lizzie and I were once in the same class, and she's ayear and four months older than I am. " Noah Clegg had said last Sundaythat people should be thankful for trials, as they often broughtblessing. Elizabeth devoutly agreed with him. She closed her eyes andthought how thankful she should be that she had been snatched as abrand from Mary's class. No one could pray in school, of course, andsitting up straight, that would be very wicked. But she resolved thatwhen she said her prayers that night she would add a word of ferventgratitude for her escape. 

The Senior Fourth class was assembling now, the highest in the school. Elizabeth gazed in longing admiration at John and Charles Stuart. Howglorious it must be away up there, and preparing for the High School, too! Miss Hillary was asking names again, "Sammy Martin, John Gordon. "She paused and smiled. She had been growing more genial as the morningadvanced and Forest Glen showed no signs of mutiny. 

"There seems to be a Martin and a Gordon for every class, " sheremarked, and Elizabeth's heart leaped. Perhaps this was a hint thatinstead of two Gordons in the Third class there would be one in theJunior Fourth. "Charles Stuart MacAllister" was the next name. MissHillary smiled again. "Are you the Pretender?" she asked, and theSenior Fourth all laughed at Charles Stuart's expense. 

"I do not like double names, " she added pleasantly. "They are toocumbersome. " Elizabeth stored up the word greedily. "I shall callyou Stuart, as there are four other Charlies here. "

When recess was over, so good-humored had Miss Hillary become that sheapparently forgot that Lizzie Gordon was to be taught how to bemannerly, and sent her to her seat to take part in the examination. Elizabeth slipped in beside Rosie, breathless with relief. Rosie hadbeen preparing her welcome. She had sharpened the three pieces of thebroken pencil to points fine and delicate as needles, she had piled allher friend's books in a neat row, and put a pink tissue-paper frilllike her own around her ink-well. Elizabeth sighed happily. It wassuch a privilege to have a Rosie for one's friend. 

Miss Hillary had paused in her work to give a little address on theproper way to wash one's slate, and to Elizabeth's joy and pride sheheld up Rosie as a shining example. Rosie had a big pickle bottle ofwater, and a little sponge tied to her slate by a string. Everythingabout Rosie was always so dainty. Elizabeth had a slate-rag somewhere, but someone had always borrowed it when she needed it, so she generallyre-borrowed or used Rosie's sponge. Elizabeth wished she had been nicelike Rosie and Miss Hillary had commended her. But somehow she neverhad time for scrubbing her desk and decorating it with rows of cardsand frills of colored paper, as Rosie so often did. There were so manythings to do in school. She was thankful, however, that she was notlike big, fat Joel Davis across the aisle there, who spat on his slateand rubbed it with his sleeve. It was his action, one which MissHillary characterized as disgusting and unsanitary, that had calledforth the little talk. And she ended up with the announcement thatonce a week she would give a short talk on "Manners and Morals. "

Elizabeth scented a new word. "Disgusting" she knew, Aunt Margaretoften used it. It meant the opposite to genteel. But "insanitary" wasa discovery. She tried to store it in her mind, not daring to move hertightly folded hands towards her slate. Perhaps it was something likeinsanity, and Miss Hillary meant that anyone who didn't use a slate-ragand water-bottle was crazy. 

But the examination was on, and the Senior Thirds, anxious and hopeful, were soon at work. Arithmetic came first, and only the anticipation ofbetter things to come, and the forlorn hope that the problem mightsomehow turn out right by chance, kept up Elizabeth's spirits. Therewere three problems, and she could make nothing of them, though sheadded, subtracted, divided, and multiplied, and covered her slate withfigures in the hope of achieving something. She worked in somestatements, too, for Rosie had advised her that written statementsalways looked nice, and would probably make the teacher think thequestion was well done anyway. So in the complex problem inquiring howmany men would eat how much salt pork in how many days, Elizabeth setdown carefully:

 If 18 men eat 36 lbs. In 1 day, Then 1 men eat 36 lbs. X 18 men. 

It might not be right, but it looked well anyway. Rosie telegraphedher answer on her fingers, but Elizabeth shut her eyes tight and turnedaway. Not if she were to be put into Archie's class would she stoop tosuch methods to gain marks. 

Spelling was not much better. There were ten awful words, all from alesson Elizabeth had long ago given up, "Egypt and its Ruins. " Therewere "pyramids" and "hieroglyphics, " and many others quite as bad, andwhen she was through with them they presented an orthographical ruinwhich might put any of the fallen temples of Egypt to shame. 

But all her trials were forgotten when at the end Miss Hillaryannounced a composition on "A Summer Day. " The joy of it drove awayeven the remembrance of the eighteen men and their allowance of pork. Elizabeth seized a sheet of paper, and doubling up over the desk wrotefuriously. 

Rosie sighed at the sight of her flying pen. There was no pleasure forRosie in writing essays. She had already written carefully and slowly, "A summer day is a beautiful time, summer is a nice season, " then shestopped and enviously watched Elizabeth spattering ink. That youngpoetess was reveling in birds and flowers and rain-showers and walksthrough the woods, with the blue sky peeping at one through the greenbranches. 

She paused only to consult her dictionary. She was working in the listof words culled from the morning address. She would show Miss Hillarythat if she hadn't manners, at least she had forethought. She wascompelled very reluctantly to discard some of the list, as they failedto appear in the dictionary under their new arrangement of letters. She sighed especially over "contumacious"; it was so beautifully long. But there were plenty of others. "The flowers do not grow in adisciplined way, " she wrote--the word still innocent of a "c. "--"Thebirds have high aspirations. Their deportment is very nice, but it isnot always genteel. " Here Elizabeth had a real inspiration. Aquotation from Shelley's "Skylark" came into her mind. John andCharles Stuart had memorized it one evening, and the glorious rhythm ofit had sung itself into her soul. There were some things one could nothelp learning. Then, too, as it was from the Fourth Reader, Elizabethfelt that Miss Hillary would see that she was familiar with that bookand feel assured she was ready for it. So she wrote such stanzas asshe remembered perfectly, commencing:

 "_Sound of vernal showers On the twinkling grass, Rain-awakened flowers, All that ever was Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. _"

There were many misspelled words, but the quotation was aptly inserted, and she added the note that the skylark was so joyous he often acted inan insanitary manner. 

She was still writing swiftly when Miss Hillary said, "Fold papers. "Elizabeth had barely time to finish her second poetic contribution. Itwas from her own pen this time, one verse of a long poem she hadwritten in secret evenings, after Mary had gone to sleep:

 "_Oh beautiful summer thou art so fare, With thy flours and thy trees that grow everywhere, The birds on the bows are singing so gay, Oh how I love them on a bright summer's day!_

"P. S. --This pome is original--that is, made up by the author. 

 "Lizzie Gordon. "

Rosie had finished long ago and had carefully inscribed at theconclusion of her essay:

 "Rosamond Ellen Carrick, Forest Glen, Ontario, Canada, North America, Western Hemisphere. "

All of which helped to lengthen out her too brief contribution. Shewas now ready to assist her friend in her last hasty scramble. Elizabeth had no blotting-paper--she never had. Rosie provided a pieceand the composition was ready at last. Elizabeth sighed over it. There were so many clever things she might have put in had she only hadtime. There was "viz. , " for instance, instead of "that is, " in thelast sentence. "Viz. " sounded so learned. 

When the afternoon recess came, Miss Hillary called Elizabeth to her. She had an essay before her, and she was looking puzzled, and notnearly so stern. 

"Elizabeth, " she said gently, "what were you writing on your slate thismorning when I was speaking?"

Elizabeth's head drooped. In a shamed whisper she confessed that MissHillary's wonderful vocabulary had tempted her. She dared not look upand did not see that her teacher's pretty mouth twitched. 

"Well, " she said in a very pleasant tone, "you did not behave so badlyafter all. But remember, you must always sit still and listen when Iam talking. "

Elizabeth's head came up. Her face was radiant, her gray eyes shonestarlike. 

"Oh, Miss Hillary!" she gasped, overcome with gratitude at this givingback of her self-respect. Miss Hillary picked up the next essay, andthe little girl turned way. But she could not leave without one wordof hope. 

"Oh, Miss Hillary, " she whispered again, "do you think you could let mepass? If you'll only not put me in Mary's class, I'll, I'll--I believeI could learn to spell!" she finally added, as the most extravagantpromise she could possibly make. 

Miss Hillary smiled again. She looked kindly at the small, anxiousfigure, the pleading face with its big eyes, the slim, brown handstwisting nervously the long, heavy braid of brown hair with the goldenstrand through it. 

"Well, I shall do my best, " she said. "You can certainly write, evenif you can't do arithmetic. Now run away and play. "

And, wild with hope and joy, Elizabeth dashed down the aisle and out ofthe door, so noisy and boisterous that for a moment her teacher feltconstrained to call her back and give her another lesson in deportment. For Miss Hillary did not yet understand. 

CHAPTER VII

THE AGE OF CHIVALRY

Many years later there came days in Elizabeth Gordon's life when sheachieved a certain amount of fame, but never at their height did anyday shine so radiantly for her or bring her anything of the exaltationof that moment when she and Rosie tremblingly took their places side byside at the foot of the Junior Fourth class. 

For a time Elizabeth strove to live up to her lofty position. The fearof even yet being sent back to Mary's class, which Miss Hillary heldover her as an incentive to working fractions, drove her to makedesperate efforts even to learn spelling. Rosie helped her all shecould, and Rosie was a perfect wonder at finding royal roads tolearning. If you could spell a word over seventeen times withoutdrawing your breath, she promised, you would be able to repeat itcorrectly forever after. Elizabeth tried this plan with"hieroglyphics, " but reached the end of her breath, purple and gasping, with only fourteen repetitions to her credit. She attributed herfailure to spell the word the next day to this, rather than to the factthat, in her anxiety to accomplish the magic number, she had changedthe arrangement of the letters several times. 

But as the days passed, and the danger of being returned to the Thirdclass disappeared, Elizabeth relaxed her efforts and returned to herhabitual employment of drawing pictures on her slate and weaving aboutthem rose-colored romances. Another danger was disappearing, too. Miss Hillary, finding that Forest Glen School was not hatchingrebellion, gradually became less vigilant, and there was in consequencemuch pleasant social intercourse in the schoolroom. 

Of course Elizabeth, like the other pupils, found that one could notalways be sure of the teacher. She might never notice a slate droppedupon the floor, provided one took care to drop it on a day when shedidn't have a nervous headache. But on the other hand, if one choseone's occasion injudiciously, she might send one to stand for half anhour in the corner, even though one was a big girl, now going on twelve. 

But Rosie found the key to this uncertain situation, also. Rosie'sfarm joined the Robertsons', where Miss Hillary boarded, and the small, observant neighbor discovered a strange connection between herteacher's headaches and the actions of a certain young gentleman fromtown. She explained it all to Elizabeth one day, behind their slates, when the complex fraction refused to become simple. 

Rosie was very solemn and very important. Martha Ellen Robertson hadtold her big sister Minnie all about it, and Rosie had heard everyword. Miss Hillary had a fellow, only Elizabeth must promise for deadsure that she'd never, never tell. Because, of course, anything abouta fellow was always a dreadful secret. This young man was very stylishand very handsome, and he lived in Cheemaun, and, of course, must bevery rich, because everybody was who lived there. He came out nearlyevery Sunday in a top-buggy and took Miss Hillary for a drive. Minnieand Martha Ellen both said it was perfectly scand'lus to go drivingSundays, and the trustees ought to speak to her. The young man wroteto Miss Hillary, too, for every Wednesday she went to the post-office, and Mrs. Clegg said she 'most always got a letter. But sometimes shedidn't; and the important point for themselves was just here--Rosiegrew very impressive--they had to watch out on Mondays and Thursdays, if the young man didn't come, or if the letter failed, for then sureand certain Miss Hillary would go and get a headache and be awful crossand strict. Yes, it was true, because Jessie Robertson, and LottiePrice, and Teenie Johnstone, and all the big girls said so. And JessieRobertson had promised to tell them so they could be careful, andLizzie could just look out and see if she wasn't right. 

Elizabeth did look out, and found as usual that Rosie was correct. Rosie was so wonderful and so clever that, though she was only half ayear older than her friend, the latter lived in constant admiration ofher sagacity. For, as far as worldly wisdom was concerned, Rosie wasmany, many years older than the precocious Elizabeth. 

The young man of the top-buggy soon became a fruitful source of gossipin the schoolroom, especially amongst the older girls. JessieRobertson, who lived right at the base of supplies, issued semi-weeklybulletins as to whether they might expect a headache or not, and ForestGlen conducted itself accordingly. 

So, having settled exactly the periods of danger, and finding thatoften Mondays and Thursdays were days of happiness and license, ForestGlen settled down securely to its intermittent studies. 

Elizabeth soon ceased to trouble much even over spelling, and she andRosie gave themselves up to the fashion of the hour. And every hourhad its fashion. For like most rural schools, amongst the girls atleast, Forest Glen was a place of fads and fancies. 

No one ever knew just how or why a new craze arose, but there wasalways one on the tapis. At one time it was pickles. No one couldhope for any social recognition unless one had a long, green cucumberpickle in one's dinner-pail--the longer the pickle the higher one'sstanding. Fads ranged all the way from this gastronomic level to thehighly esthetic, where they broke out in a desire for the decorative inthe form of peep-shows. A peep-show was an arrangement of flowers andleaves pressed against a piece of glass and framed in coloredtissue-paper. Every girl had one on her desk; even to dirty, unkemptBecky Davis. Elizabeth was not a success at such works of art. Shewas a wonder at inventing new patterns, and gained recognition fromeven the big girls by suggesting a design of tiny, scarlet mapleleaves, green moss, and gold thread. But when it came to construction, she left that to Rosie and took to drawing new designs on her slate. No one could compete with Rosie anyway. She had something new and moreelaborate each morning. 

But the craze for peep-shows was superseded early in Miss Hillary'sreign by an entirely new fad, such as had never manifested itselfbefore in any marked degree in the school. Miss Hillary, quiteunwittingly, started it herself. 

It was a warm, languorous afternoon in October, and time hung asheavily over the heads of the pupils as the mists hung over theamethyst hollows and sunny hills of Forest Glen. It was Thursday andMiss Hillary was writing at her desk. Lottie Price, the biggest girlin school and the most curious and observing, wrote a note to TeenieJohnstone to say she bet anything the teacher was writing to herfellow. Lottie knew, because Miss Hillary often looked straight at youand didn't see you at all. That was a sure sign. In the back seat, John Gordon and the Pretender, as everyone now called Charles Stuart, were silently but busily whittling away, constructing part of awonderful new kind of ground-hog trap. Elizabeth had filled one sideof her slate with an elaborate picture of a castle on a hill, a stream, a lake, a ship, and an endless vista of town and road and church-spirestretching away into the distance. She had never heard of that schoolof artists that painted the classic landscapes, but she belonged tothem as surely as any of the old Italian masters. She was now drawingMrs. Jarvis in a trained gown standing on the steps of the castle, while Elizabeth Joan of Arc Jarvis Gordon, blowing a bugle, came ridingdown a perpendicular mountain-path on a stiff-legged steed. Rosie hadjust housecleaned her desk for the second time that day. She hadrubbed all the ink-spots off the top and put a new paper frill aroundthe ink-well. She was re-arranging her books once more and had them inan unsteady pile on the edge of her desk, when Elizabeth leaned over toher side, to display her finished landscape. Rosie's arm came againstthe toppling pile of books, and they went crashing to the floor. 

Miss Hillary looked up. The two culprits sat up very straight and madea frantic show of figuring on their slates. For Jessie had reported noletter that morning, and who knew what might happen? The teacher arosefrowning, and Rosie made a desperate dive towards the truant books, butMiss Hillary stopped her. Then, to the amazement and relief of the twotremblers, she began to rebuke, not Rosie, but Joel Davis! Joel was abig, sleepy, fat boy who sat opposite the two little girls, and thebooks had bounced over towards his seat. No boy was a gentleman, MissHillary stated, who would allow a lady to pick up anything that hadfallen. She was grieved, after all the lessons she had given inmanners and morals, to find that one of her pupils could be so lackingin refinement. Joel would, therefore, please gather up Rosie Carrick'sbooks, and put them on her desk, as a gentleman should always do for alady. 

Joel scratched his shaggy head in perplexity, and gazed sleepily at histeacher, then at the debris of books and pictures and tissue-papersquares that littered the floor. He muttered growlingly that a kidlike Rosie Carrick wasn't no lady anyhow; but he good-naturedly scoopedup an armful of the fallen, and without moving himself unduly reachedthem out towards their owner. The school giggled, poor Rosie blushed, and in a spasm of embarrassment strove to take them. Between them thebooks once more descended to the floor in an avalanche of gayly-coloredcards and papers. Rosie stooped for them, so did Joel, and their headsbumped together. The young gentleman, now blushing as furiously as theyoung lady, grasped the books in a promiscuous heap and slammed themdown upon Rosie's desk with, "There now, butter-fingers. " The schoollaughed aloud, and Rosie curled up behind the pile of books and criedwith vexation. Joel Davis was such a horrid, horrid, dirty, fat boythat it was just real nasty mean of Miss Hillary to let him pick up herbooks, so it was. Elizabeth, all sympathy, patted her comfortingly, and twisted one of Rosie's curls round her fingers as she whisperedsoothing words. 

But Miss Hillary was again talking, and she slid over to her own sideof the seat and gave scared attention. It was time she gave anothertalk upon manners and morals, the teacher declared, and Elizabeth'sheart sank. She knew she had no manners to speak of, and on Sundaysshe was often doubtful of her morals. And when Miss Hillary gavesemi-monthly lectures on these two troublesome subjects they caused heracute misery. But to-day the address was chiefly to the boys. Evidently it was only the masculine side of the school that was lackingin manners and morals. Miss Hillary declared she must strive toinculcate a spirit of chivalry in them, and teach them the properattitude towards girls. 

Elizabeth gave a sigh of relief. This was no concern of hers, exceptthat she devoutly hoped it might make John and the Pretender stoppulling hair. So she gave her attention to softly taking down thelongest words the little lecture contained. Miss Hillary had gonesufficiently far on the road of understanding to make this safe. Shesometimes even glanced approvingly at her disciple's flying fingerswhen she uttered a polysyllable of more than usual distinction. Rosiecame from behind her shelter of books, and, wiping away her tears, attempted to help Elizabeth. There was a word that Lizzie had missed, she cautioned. Something like "shivering"--a spirit of shivering or"shivaree. " But Elizabeth, in the midst of "gallantry, " shook herhead. That was just chivalry. She knew all about that. It was aglorious word that took in Ivanhoe, and the ladye that went ower theborder and awa', and Joan of Arc, yes--and Elizabeth herself. Butthere was no use trying to explain it to Rosie, for, though Rosie wasthe dearest dear that ever sat with anybody in school, there were manythings that even she did not understand. 

Meanwhile, the talk on manners and morals had drawn to a close andElizabeth went back to her classic landscape and Rosie to herhouse-cleaning. But the effect of the lecture did not end there. Hector McQueen, who was the handsomest boy in the school, as well asthe only one who was really well-behaved, gave Rosie Carrick the tindipper before he drank himself, at the pump the next day. WullyJohnstone's Johnny followed by opening the gate for Sissy Clegg onemorning, which was quite gratuitous, for Sissy always climbed the fenceanyway. Soon the older boys were vying with each other in acts ofgallantry. The spirit of chivalry had been awakened and it took effectin a way the teacher had not anticipated. 

For a time Elizabeth was all unconscious of the turn affairs weretaking. John and Charles Stuart were not the kind who attractedattention by acts of elaborate politeness, and other boys did not enterinto her world. So it was a great surprise to her one morning, whenRosie whispered, as she packed away her latest peep-shows in the desk, that the girls were not going to make any more; they were going to havebeaux instead. 

"Bows?" queried Elizabeth absently, all absorbed in a winding river, amoat, and a drawbridge. "Aunt Margaret won't let me have one, I know. Will they wear them on their hair?"

Rosie dived down behind her slate and her curls shook violently withconvulsive giggles. Elizabeth had no idea what the joke was, butlaughter was always contagious, and she got behind her slate andgiggled, too; so loud, indeed, that Miss Hillary--it was Monday and thetop-buggy had not come out from Cheemaun--rapped sharply on her deskand looked very severe. The giggles subsided immediately, but when asafe interval had elapsed Rosie explained the nature of the bows, andanother spasm ensued. 

"What are they going to have them for?" asked Elizabeth, drying hereyes on her pinafore. She could understand one desiring a bow on thehair, but what would be the function, either useful or ornamental, ofthe kind Rosie indicated was hard to understand. 

Rosie twisted one of her curls coyly. "Oh, just because, " sheexplained. "All the girls are getting them. "

Elizabeth became interested. "Have you one, Rosie?" she whispered, andRosie tossed her curls and giggled, but gave no answer. Elizabethlooked puzzled. Often Rosie seemed so old and wise and far away, making her feel as if she were Jamie's age. 

"How do you get one?" was the next question. 

"Oh, my goodness!" giggled Rosie. Such ignorance did not admit of anyenlightenment. "They just--come, " she explained vaguely. 

The Junior Fourth class was being called forward and there was no moreopportunity for explanations. But, as they passed up the aisle, Elizabeth noticed Rosie flirt her curls and glance towards HectorMcQueen's seat, and Hector's admiring eyes followed Rosie all the wayto her class. "Is yours Hector McQueen?" Elizabeth whispered as soonas they reached their scat again, and Rosie nodded radiantly. Elizabeth was both proud and pleased. She did not know much aboutboys, apart from John and Malcolm and the Pretender. All outside thislist were classed in her mind as "other boys, " and were an unknownwaste. But Hector McQueen, everybody knew, was quite the nicest boy inschool. It was just like Rosie to carry off the prize. 

As the days went on, Elizabeth, now fully awake to the fashion of thehour, noticed that Rosie had been quite right--"all the girls" hadbeaux. Even big, untidy Becky Davis was receiving attentions from NoahClegg, Junior. She furthermore discovered that your beau brought youapples and butter-nuts to school. That you trimmed his hat withcolored maple leaves at recess, and always chose him as your partner ingames; that he wrote you notes in school, when Miss Hillary wasanswering her Wednesday letter, and you wrote back; and, above all, that the other girls wrote your name and his side-by-side on a slate, struck out all the common letters, and over the remainder chanted, "Friendship, Love, Hatred, Marriage. " If the result on both sides wassatisfactory, there was nothing more to be desired. 

Elizabeth noticed all this commotion and felt rather forlorn. Personally she would have preferred very much not to have a beau. Itwas something quite unnecessary; but then one hated to be different, and she was the only girl in her class, except Eppie Turner, who wastoo shy to speak to a boy, who was in a beauless state. Rosie, in herloyalty, felt Elizabeth's undesirable condition and strove to better it. 

"I'll tell you, Lizzie, " she advised one day. "You pick out a boy andI'll cancel your names and then you can have him for your fellow. "

Elizabeth looked about her reluctantly. This was a most distastefultask. Yet, when pickles were the fad, though green cucumbers made herdeadly sick, she had always had one in her desk; so surely a beau couldnot be worse. Rosie followed her eyes trying to assist. "You musthave somebody older than yourself, " she admonished, as her chum's eyesrested fondly on the row of little fellows in Archie's class. Elizabeth sighed; to have Rosie's little, curly-headed brother Dickyfor one's beau would have been perfectly lovely. She glanced furtherdown the aisle. Rosie indicated those who were "taken. " The rights ofproperty were strictly observed and there were no flirts in the ForestGlen School. 

Suddenly Rosie exclaimed joyfully: "Why, I know who you'll have, Lizzie, Charles Stuart MacAllister, of course. Nobody's took him oryour John, but you couldn't have your brother. " But Elizabeth shookher head hopelessly. No, never, never. She would go down to historyas the only unbeaued girl in Forest Glen School forever and ever beforeshe would have Charles Stuart. Why, she had tried him. Yes, shereally, truly had, long ago last summer. He'd been her beau for mostnearly an hour. But it hadn't worked at all. He had told her she hadgreen eyes right after she had promised to marry him, and she didn'tlike him anyway. Rosie looked disappointed. Couldn't she just canceltheir names anyway? But Elizabeth was obdurate. No, she couldn't. Besides there was one boy whom she liked just a teenty, weenty bit, ifRosie would promise really, truly she'd never, never tell. Rosiesnuggled up to her joyfully, making wholesale promises that surecertain, cross her heart, she'd never think of it again. Well--Elizabeth made her confession hesitatingly--it was--CharliePeters. 

Rosie drew back with a gasp of dismay and bit her lip. Now every girlin Forest Glen School knew that when another girl took her lower lipbetween her teeth and looked sideways, girl number one had done or saidsomething requiring a deadly reproof. Elizabeth was startled. "Whynot?" she asked anxiously. 

Rosie looked at her helplessly. Lizzie was so queer about some things. Poor, dirty Charlie Peters! What in the world had possessed her? Hewas a quiet, sickly boy, who came from a place away back in the swampwhere his father worked a portable saw-mill. He was always unkempt andragged; his long, straight hair clung round his pale face and his rightsleeve hung empty, his arm having been cut off in the mill when he wasquite little. Elizabeth could not explain the fascination that poorCharlie's empty sleeve had for her, nor the great compassion his paleface and his pitiful efforts to write with his left hand raised in herheart. But he aroused far more interest in her mind than all the"other boys" put together. Rosie argued the matter, but at lastconsented. A dirty, ragged sweetheart was perhaps after all betterthan none. "Besides it doesn't matter much, " she concludedpractically. "'Cause it's only to tease you about, and cancel yournames. " She added cautiously that Lizzie had better not tell anybodyelse, it would be a secret between them, thus loyally saving her friendfrom public disgrace. 

Elizabeth consented, and Rosie wrote Elizabeth Jarvis Gordon andCharles Henry Peters on her slate and performed the necessary ceremony. It turned out quite satisfactorily, and Rosie's next duty was to chantthe usual incantation over the buttons of her friend's pinafore:

 "_Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief, Doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief. _"

There were just eleven buttons, which brought the ominous result, "beggar man. " Rosie gave herself up to renewed dismay, but Elizabethgrew more joyful every moment. It would be very romantic to marry abeggar man, and likely poor Charlie would have to be one, seeing he wasso sick and had only one arm. It would be just like the story in the_Chronicle_, of the lovely Lady Evelina, who ran away with thecoachman, and he turned out a count! She accordingly set to work ather slate, and drew a picture of herself riding up in all her grandeurof velvet-cloak, armor, and spear to rescue a ragged, one-armed boyfrom an enemy's camp. Elizabeth's instincts were right, the touch ofself-sacrifice she dimly divined was necessary to make an act ofperfect heroism. 

For the next few days Rosie lived in distress, lest Elizabeth'sunfortunate love affair became public and both she and her chum bedisgraced. But, before disaster could descend, Elizabeth's cloudeddestiny changed to one of dazzling splendor in the most miraculous way. 

One morning there appeared in school, with Noah Clegg, Junior, a newboy; a wonderfully handsome boy, in a black velvet suit and broad whitecollar, altogether such a magnificent creature as had never before beenseen in Forest Glen. 

He had not been in school ten minutes before everybody knew all abouthim, Hannah Clegg proudly giving the information. He was fromCheemaun. His name was Horace Oliver, and his father was a richlumberman. The Cleggs had supplied Mrs. Oliver with fresh butter andeggs for years, and Hannah herself had been at their house, which was avery magnificent mansion on the hill overlooking the lake. He had asister older than himself, whose name was Madeline, and she had foursilk dresses besides dozens of other kinds. And this Horace had beensick, so when Hannah's father and mother went into town with the butterand eggs on Saturday they had brought him back with them to stay on thefarm and drink plenty of milk until he should get strong again. 

The new boy was the center of interest during the morning. The girlswere all admiration, and the Cleggs rose in popular favor, to be theenvied of all the school. Enthusiasm amongst the boys was much milder. John Gordon and Charles Stuart MacAllister were scarcely enthusiasticat all. John privately informed his friend that any fellow oftwelve--and he must be that if he wasn't thirteen--who would wear awhite collar and velvet rig-up like that to school must be a baa-lamb, and ought to stay home and sit on his mother's knee. The Pretenderdiscovered, to their further disgust, that the stranger could play apiano. This innocent accomplishment raised a strange feeling ofirritation in the breast of Charles Stuart. He mentally resolved towatch the new boy, and if he showed signs of becoming too popular hewould take him out behind the woodshed and settle him. 

But to the school, as a whole, the new boy was all that could bedesired. Even Miss Hillary shared in the popular adulation and smiledupon him at every chance. He was such a nice boy, no teacher couldresist him. He had evidently been brought up on morals and manners, for when Miss Hillary dropped her brush he sprang from his seat andhanded it to her before she could stoop for it. 

Altogether things went very pleasantly that first day, so pleasantlythat in the afternoon Lottie Price dared to hold up her hand and ask ifthey mightn't have a spelling match. Now no one had ever heard of sucha thing on any day but Friday, and Jessie Robertson and TeenieJohnstone nudged each other. Lottie Price was the most disagreeablegirl in Forest Glen School; indeed, all the Prices were noted for theircapacity for making mischief. Lottie had not spoken to the girls inher class for three days, and her two chief rivals understood this movefor a spelling match. Jessie whispered to Teenie that it was just likeLottie Price. She was the best speller in the school and wanted toshow off before the new boy. 

To the surprise of most, Miss Hillary smilingly granted the request. Jessie, however, nodded her head significantly. She wasn't surprised, not she. Why, the top-buggy had come early in the morning yesterdayand stayed both to dinner and tea, and she thought it was just horridmean of Lottie Price, so she did. She had done it just because sheknew Jessie couldn't spell. 

Meanwhile, the spelling match was being arranged. Of course, Lottiewas sent as captain to one side, and then Miss Hillary asked would theschool choose a boy for captain on the other side. A swarm of handswent up, and almost unanimously the new boy was chosen. 

This was indeed a triumph for Lottie, and as the two took their placesshe swept a glance of disdain towards a seat where two young ladies satgazing with averted faces far out of the window. 

Rosie was "mad at" Katie Price, so she also stared in the oppositedirection. But Elizabeth never had time nor opportunity to quarrelwith anyone, and she gazed at Lottie with frank admiration, and wishedshe could spell half so well. It seemed such a pity that the grandstranger should find out so soon how stupid she was. She was alwayschosen the very last in a spelling match, except when Mary or Rosiehappened to be a captain and selected her for private reasons. 

The captains were in place, and Miss Hillary smilingly nodded toLottie. Since the age of chivalry had dawned, the girl-captain in aspelling match was always given the first chance to select. Lottiehesitated. She had her beau, but he could not spell, and her bosomfriend, but they had vowed never to speak again so long as they bothshould live. Miss Price was too wise to allow sentiment to injure hercampaign, but too bad-tempered to permit any magnanimity to assist it. Therefore, she called Hannah Clegg. No one ever quarreled with theCleggs, not even the Prices; they were too good-natured. Besides, Hannah was a fair speller. 

Miss Hillary nodded approvingly and turned to the boy, who was standingregarding the sea of strange faces in a puzzled manner. He had beenrelying upon Hannah as first choice. Miss Hillary came to his aid. "Now, Horace, you are in a rather difficult position, as you do notknow who are our best spellers. So you may call up anyone you like whowill help you in your further selection. " The visitor's facebrightened. He looked right across the school and electrified everyoneby calling out, "Elizabeth Jarvis Gordon. "

The owner of the name could not believe her ears. She had to be pokedtwice by Rosie before she finally arose and took her place beside thevelvet boy, overcome with wonder. It was as though one had suddenlybeen called out to be a Joan of Arc without any warning. Lottie Pricegiggled. Everyone knew Lizzie Gordon couldn't spell c-a-t without acouple of mistakes, and she saw her victory assured. 

But there was one thing Elizabeth could do, and that was name all thespellers in the room. Who knew them as well as she, when each one wasa reproach to her? When the velvet boy's turn came, he looked at herand she proved a fine support. Rosie came first, of course, but thenRosie not only knew every word in the Complete Speller, but was aComplete Speller herself in curls and a pink pinafore. John andCharles Stuart were next. Elizabeth was devoutly thankful she couldask them with a clear conscience. She longed for Susie Martin andEppie Turner also, but Susie had had five mistakes yesterday, and Eppieseven; it wouldn't be fair to the velvet boy. An exalted position, sherealized, brought heavy responsibilities. She really made a very finecampaign, for she had almost all the Senior Fourth girls at hercommand, seeing that Lottie disdained to call them. She whisperedtheir names to Horace, and as he summoned them to his ranks Lottie'sface grew dark with anticipation of defeat. 

At last everyone in the three highest classes was on the floor and thebattle began. From the first the sullen face of the lady-captain, andher rapidly thinning ranks, showed upon which side the laurels werelikely to rest. 

Of course Elizabeth fell at the second volley, but as she left, overcome with humiliation, the velvet boy whispered: "Never mind. Itwas a beast of a word. " Further comfort came to her when he himselfwent down on the next word and smiled at her sympathetically. But theyleft behind them plenty of veterans to carry on the war, and at lastLottie was left alone and there still stood on the other side asplendid array of six, headed by John Gordon. It was the hour forclosing, and Miss Hillary announced the spelling match won by HoraceOliver; and Lottie Price almost tossed her head out of the window, thegirls declared, as she passed Jessie and Teenie on her way to her seat. 

When school was dismissed, the new boy paused at Elizabeth's seat, where she and Rosie were putting their books together. 

"I remembered your name, " he said triumphantly. 

"How did you?" asked Elizabeth, amazed. 

"Papa told us. Do you remember my papa? He was out here one day lastsummer with our lawyer. His name's Mr. Huntley. Mr. Huntley calls you'Queen Elizabeth. '"

It was all clear to Elizabeth now. So that jolly, fat man, who didn'tseem to care whether Eppie and her grandpa kept their farm or not, wasthe velvet boy's father; and the nasty man who was trying to take itfrom them was his friend. And, further, this must be the dreadful badboy whom Sarah Emily called the "Centipede, " and for whom she used toiron all day, and whose mother was so proud and haughty. She feltrather disillusioned. She wished, too, that he hadn't said "papa. "She was afraid John and Charles Stuart would do something violent ifthey heard him. 

But when Elizabeth reached home that afternoon, and Mary related allthe day's exciting experiences, to her surprise, her aunt seemed almostjoyful. She even smoothed Elizabeth's hair, and said she had behavedvery discreetly. Mrs. Jarvis might hear about her from the little boy, when she returned, and perhaps something might happen. Further, shewas sure the little Oliver boy was a gentleman and had a genteelbringing-up. Elizabeth looked vastly pleased, but John hung his headand scowled, and Sarah Emily snorted quite out loud. When supper wasover, Annie drew Elizabeth away from the others and questioned her. 

"Did the Oliver boy say anything about Mr. Huntley--or--or anyone else?"

Elizabeth understood perfectly. There was a strong tie between thesetwo since the younger sister had delivered a certain precious note withsuch care and discretion. Elizabeth knew who "anyone else" meant. No, the velvet boy had not said anything about other people; but to-morrowshe would ask him. 

The velvet boy proved a source of valuable information, being verywilling to talk. Of course, he knew Mr. Coulson. He had often seenhim in Mr. Huntley's office; he was fine fun and could tell dandystories. And Mrs. Jarvis, for whom Elizabeth was called, was hismamma's aunt. She was ever and ever so rich, and was away in the OldCountry now, just pitching her money around, mamma said; and she mighthave taken her and Madeline along. Aunt Jarvis was very fond ofMadeline, and mamma said she would be sure to leave her and Horace allher money when she died, though why she couldn't give them a littlemore of it now, was something she couldn't understand. 

All this information and more, Elizabeth carried home, distributing itjudiciously where it was most appreciated. She found that any news ofMrs. Jarvis warded off a scolding, and when a torn pinafore orunusually untidy hair made her dread her home-coming, she made Horacewalk with her as far as Eppie's bars and gathered from him sufficientnews of the great lady to insure her a welcome from her aunt. 

Meantime in school she was living in a new world. She was wonderfullypopular. There was no more talk of a poor makeshift for a beau likeCharlie Peters. All the girls in the school canceled her name withthat of the velvet boy, and Rosie was so proud because Katie Price wasso envious that she fairly hugged Elizabeth for joy. 

But the latter was not altogether happy. Of course it was fine to bethe chosen one of the boy from town, but there were drawbacks. Horacewas not strong enough to play baseball, and his mamma had forbidden himto play shinney, so he always stayed with the girls at recess, whichwas often very inconvenient when Elizabeth and Rosie wanted to teeterby themselves or stay indoors and tell secrets. Then, too, John andthe Pretender teased her unmercifully. They called her beau "Booby"Oliver and said he should have been a girl. She took his partvaliantly, but she did wish he wouldn't say "papa" and "mamma, " it madeher ashamed of him. 

On the whole, Elizabeth was not sorry when his two-weeks' visit to theCleggs' ended and he went back to Cheemaun. Rosie did not regret hisdeparture either; he had served his day. For there was no doubt theage of chivalry was drawing to a close. Winter was coming on and themantle of squire of dames was slipping off the boys' shoulders. Thespirit of chivalry did not thrive in the day of snowballs. 

The first news of the change in affairs came to Elizabeth, as usual, through Rosie. The latter confided to her friend that she didn'tbelieve she liked Hector McQueen half so well as she used to. He hadjust been horrid mean only that morning. He had thrown a snowballright at her. Of course he didn't hit her, but she was mad at him, soshe was, and if he wrote her a note she just wouldn't answer it, see ifshe would. 

This was but one indication of the decay of chivalry. There were manyothers, and at last it was swept away altogether in a new fashion thatshortly broke out. Jessie Robertson's uncle from Vancouver came home, bringing all the Robertsons presents, Jessie's being an autographalbum. She brought it to school and each of her friends proudlyinscribed their names therein, attached to verses sentimental orotherwise. 

Within a week every girl in the Fourth Book had an autograph album, even if it were only one made of foolscap and trimmed with tissue-papersuch as Rosie made for Elizabeth. It proved far more interesting andtwice as tractable as a beau. A new era dawned in Forest Glen, an ageof learning, when one racked one's brains to compose a poem for afriend's book, and the age of chivalry was forgotten. 

CHAPTER VIII

A BUDDING ACTRESS

During those golden autumn months, the spirit of chivalry had beenmanifesting itself in other parts of Forest Glen beside the schoolroom. That in which the grown-up part of the community shared centered roundSandy McLachlan's little clearing. 

The lawyers had made a bad mess of poor Sandy's affairs, the countrydeclared. He had virtually lost his farm, as far as the law went, andall because of some technicality regarding the lack of a fence on allsides, one which the rural mind considered highly absurd. And not onlythat, but the place had been sold to Jake Martin, who had given Sandynotice to leave early in October. 

But the old man was hard to move. Sure of his rights, and convinced ofthe injustice of all legal proceedings, he clung tenaciously to hislittle property. It was not a place anyone need grieve over losing, anobserver might say--a few acres of stumpy, cleared land, an indefinitepiece of forest, and an old log cabin. But it was Sandy's home--theonly one he had known since he left his father's fisher-hut on thewind-swept shore of Islay. And every stone and tree on the roughlittle place, and the very birds that sang in the evening from the darkcircle of forest were very dear to the old man's heart. From thedoorway he could see down the leafy lane to the church and beyond itinto the grassy graveyard with its leaning headstones. There was onethere, an old moss-grown, wooden slab, once painted white. It markedtwo graves, those of Sandy's wife and his daughter, their only child, who had been Eppie's mother. 

Yes, it was hard to think of leaving it all, and he was fiercelydetermined to stay. 

His friends did their best to help him. Mr. Coulson took the libertyof writing to Mrs. Jarvis, the owner of the property, begging her tonotice Sandy's claim. But there came no answer, and Mr. Huntley, thelawyer, laughed at him, saying by the time he had done business withthat lady as long as he had he'd know better. Mr. MacAllister offeredSandy work in the mill, with pay commuted the long way. Noah Clegginvited both him and Eppie to share his home until such time as hecould look about him for a new place. For, though the twoSunday-school superintendents were wont to sit up all night arguingfiercely on points of doctrine, in the day of affliction alldifferences were forgotten. Jake Martin even loudly declared himselfpowerful sorry, but then business was business, and he supposed therewould always be shiftless folk like Sandy in the world who could neverget on. 

Wully Johnstone came next. He strolled over through the woods oneafternoon and casually remarked that that old house of his by thespring was just fair totterin' for lack of care, and he wished to peacesome obleegin' body would move intil it an' save him all the worry. 

But Sandy would accept no man's hospitality, however delicatelyoffered. He was proud, even for a Highlander, and not Noah Clegghimself, who was his closest friend, might extend to him charity. 

Besides, as time went on, it would appear that he stood in little needof it. When the Jarvis property had been put up for sale, Mr. Martinhad looked with a longing eye upon the Teeter farm, where The Dalestood. But Tom's claim had been safely established, and great was hiswrath when he heard of his neighbor's machinations. Oro's Orator was afighter in other beside forensic fields. He had a true Irishresentment against the law, and understood that somehow Jake Martin, inleague with the lawyers, had outraged justice; therefore, he, Mr. Teeter, would ignore the lawyers and settle Jake, see if he wouldn't. Mr. Martin had voted Tory at the last election anyhow, and was badly inneed of being settled. 

So there broke out a war in Forest Glen which raged all autumn. WhenJake Martin finally appeared at Sandy's door to formally assert hisownership, Mr. Teeter met him. He carried an ancient piece of firearmsthat had not been loaded since the day, some thirty years before, whenthe last bruin of Forest Glen had come ambling up out of WullyJohnstone's swamp. 

Mr. Martin, not knowing how harmful the weapon might be, but being onlytoo well aware that the man behind the gun was always to be feared, retired precipitately, and the whole countryside laughed long and loudover the victory. 

He returned to the farm many times, but Tom seemed always to be onhand. Finally Mr. Martin declared, after they had come to blows thesecond time, that he would have the law. Mr. Teeter joyfully invitedhim to have all he could get of it; but the enemy hesitated. He knewhis case was not looked upon with favor by his neighbors, and hedreaded to fly in the face of public opinion. For a lawsuit, aseveryone in the countryside knew, was held as a disgrace, no matter howrighteous one's case might be. And besides, the lawyers were apt totake so much money that a thrifty man like Jake naturally hesitatedbefore approaching them. 

So all autumn he went on making ineffectual efforts to remove theobstructions from his property, and times were very lively indeed; solively that Auntie Jinit McKerracher, who led public opinion, declaredit was clean scand'lus to have such goin's on in a Christian land; andGranny Teeter wrung her hands and said "Wirra wurra" many times a dayover the Orator's waywardness. 

At last, to save his reputation, Mr. Martin compromised. He wouldgraciously allow Sandy to remain on his lawful property, he announced, till springtime. But, just as soon as the snow was gone, Tom Teeterhad better watch out. For it was a penitentiary job he'd been at, andif there was any law in Canada, Mr. Martin was going to have thebenefit of it. 

So the countryside settled down for the winter, and as Christmasapproached the Martin-Teeter conflict ceased to occupy the public mind. Even in the schoolroom it was soon forgotten, and this was a greatrelief to Elizabeth. For, of course, Eppie's trouble could not butdirectly affect her. Elizabeth and Rosie had both stood loyally byEppie, declaring it was a dreadful shame the way Jake Martin and thelawyers acted. But this loyalty entailed an estrangement from poor, hard-working Susie; and Elizabeth's tender heart was torn between hertwo friends. She realized that Susie was right in taking her father'sside. For, of course, one must stand by a father, no matter how bad hewas, she argued. Elizabeth's position was a difficult one, and she wasvastly relieved when the matter was dropped, and she and Rosie, withEppie and Susie as their opponents, played puzzle during school hoursand tag during recess, as of yore. 

But all outside affairs of whatever moment would soon have beenforgotten in any case. Every other interest was speedily swallowed upin the excitement over the Christmas concert Forest Glen was to have atthe closing of school. 

It was Jean Gordon and Wully Johnstone's Bella who imported this newestfad, bringing it all the way from Cheemaun High School. They generallykept Forest Glen posted as to what was the latest school fashion; andabout the beginning of winter it appeared that concerts in which onetook part were necessary to one's intellectual existence. Forest Glenat once decided it must have one, and Lottie Price, seeing a chance todistinguish herself as a reciter, once more took at the flood the tidethat would sweep her on to glory, and boldly proffered a request forpublic closing exercises. 

Miss Hillary graciously consented. Indeed, Miss Hillary was in agracious mood almost all the time now. For, since sleighing had come, a smart, red cutter, the successor of the top-buggy, came out fromCheemaun with such regularity and frequency that the schoolroom was aplace of peace and idleness. 

As soon as preparations for the concert were set on foot, Elizabeth andRosie became completely absorbed in them. The former became so busyshe had scarcely time to draw pictures. They were both in a dialogue, and Rosie was to sing a solo besides. So how could one find time toworry over vulgar fractions?

The Dale contingent were all honored by being each given a special partin the performance. Archie, of course, was too young to participate;but Mary was to sing "Little drops of water, little grains of sand, " incompany with Wully Johnstone's Betty. John was to give a reading, andCharles Stuart and Teenie Johnstone were in Elizabeth's dialogue. 

The Martins alone were not amongst the artists, and Elizabeth's heartached for Susie. As soon as the dismissal bell rang, and everyone elseran to his or her allotted corner to be "trained, " the poor Martinssadly made their way to the pegs where hung coats and dinner-pails, andhurried away home to work. No wonder they did not succeed at school. Mr. Coulson had always said the no-play rule of Jake Martin was makingdullards of his children, just when he was over-anxious that theyshould be made very sharp and so be great money-makers. 

There had been Christmas concerts in Forest Glen before, but never onelike this. Other times one had to get up one's own programme, but nowthe teacher drilled and trained the performers until they becameoverwhelmed with the thought of their own importance. Besides, severalyoung ladies of the place, Martha Ellen Robertson amongst them, camedown to the school every afternoon and helped, and Elizabeth found anespecial joy in being "trained" by her Sunday-school teacher and notingher daily change of finery. 

Sometimes, as the date of the concert approached, groups would meet inthe evenings for practice, and one night the half-dozen who were inElizabeth's dialogue assembled at The Dale. 

Miss Gordon would never have consented to such an irregularity as latehours for her family, but that the occasion served to heal a slightbreach between them and the Wully Johnstones. 

Since the first snowfall, her neighbors had been driving their two HighSchool pupils into Cheemaun, and, of course, had taken Malcolm and Jeanwith them. The Wully Johnstones had not heretofore shown any leaningstowards education, but, since Miss Gordon had set the pace by sendingher nephew and niece to the High School, learning became highlyfashionable about The Dale. Wully Johnstone declared his boys andgirls were as smart as any Gordons living and they would show the truthof the same. 

Such sturdy young Canadians as these High School pupils were, thoughtlittle of a few miles' walk morning and evening. But the girls weredeveloping into lengthening skirts, and Miss Gordon thankfully acceptedthe ride through the deep snow for Jean. Nevertheless, she wastroubled over receiving constant favors from even such good neighborsas the Johnstones, for she had not yet learned that in theScottish-Canadian countryside a horse and vehicle on the highway ispractically common property. 

So one evening, when Miss Gordon took tea at Mrs. Johnstone's, she hadpolitely hinted that she and her brother would like to offer someremuneration for the kindness shown the children. Mrs. Johnstone'shospitable feelings were very badly hurt indeed, but she said nothing, being a peaceable body. But her sister-in-law, Mrs. Janet McKerracher, known all over the neighborhood as "Auntie Jinit, " was the real head ofthe Johnstone household. And, being a lady of no little spirit, shedeclared, when Miss Gordon had gone, that the mistress of The Dale wasan uppish bit buddie, and it was jist fair scand'lus to treat a neeboryon fashion. 

Miss Gordon was very much grieved when she discovered her lack of tact, and, seeing a chance to make amends, she relaxed her rigid laws for oneevening and permitted the gathering at The Dale. And a few eveningsearlier she sent Malcolm with a graciously worded note, asking Mr. AndMrs. Johnstone and Mrs. McKerracher to accompany the young people. 

The invitation was as graciously accepted. The elder folk came and sataround the fire and watched the young folk fill the house with noiseand merriment, and the breach was healed. The MacAllisters were there;and Miss Hillary and all those from Forest Glen who were taking partwere driven up in the Robertsons' sleigh. 

It was like a magic evening out of a fairy tale to Elizabeth. Therewas a roaring fire in both the parlor and dining-room; all doorsbetween the rooms were opened, giving a spacious effect, and every lampand candle in the place was alight. The big, bare house seemed likesome great festive palace to Elizabeth, and, as she sat on the stairswatching their guests file in, she felt sure she could realize exactlyhow Lady Evelina felt when she stood in her father's banqueting halland received a glittering array of lords and dukes and earls. Butsurely no Lady Evelina of song or story ever experienced the rapturefelt by Elizabeth when Rosie came dancing up the steps. 

To Miss Gordon the evening proved highly satisfactory. The atmosphereof festivity made her feel young again, and the reconciliation with theJohnstones, common folk though they undoubtedly were, was very gratefulto her warm heart, and above all she was vouchsafed a surprisingrevelation. Elizabeth proved to be the vision revealed. There washope that Elizabeth was not stupid after all. 

The dialogue in which she figured was one Martha Ellen Robertson hadchosen from the "Complete Temperance Reciter, " and was intended toinculcate a lesson of a highly moral character, namely, the folly ofmarrying a drunkard. Martha Ellen had indulgently chosen her pet pupilas heroine. Elizabeth was a haughty belle who persisted in the face ofall opposition in marrying Charles Stuart, who staggered through thewhole three acts with a big, green catsup bottle in each pocket. RosieCarrick and Teenie Johnstone did their best to dissuade the mistakenone from her strange infatuation, even setting the good example ofchoosing Willie Carrick and Johnny Johnstone, exemplary young men, astheir sweethearts, but all in vain. The haughty belle would listen tono one, and at the end of act three, now a weeping drudge, she trailedoff the stage, with the maudlin owner of the catsup bottles staggeringahead. Then Rosie and Teenie, holding the hands of their two virtuousyouths, recited in unison a little verse bearing upon the unwisdom ofbeing a haughty belle and marrying the victim of a catsup bottle. 

Though the little scene was well-meant, and held within its simplestory a deep truth, the incongruities of it, chiefly those contributedby the childish actors, might have made the dialogue extremelylaughable had it not been for the acting of the leading lady. Elizabeth proved a star from the moment she set foot upon the stage. She was radiantly happy there. All unconsciously she had found amethod of complete self-expression that was not forbidden, and the joyand relief of it lifted her to brilliant success. She was playing atsomething in a legitimate fashion at last; pretending, when it was theright and proper thing to pretend, with one's father and aunt andteacher looking on with approval. It was next best thing to being Joanof Arc. From the day of her power, when she haughtily turned away thevirtuous William and the exemplary John, who severally came seeking herhand, to that of her humiliation, when she knelt before Charles Stuartand besought him with tears to give up catsup bottles, her whole coursewas one of complete triumph. Teenie Johnstone forgot her lines threetimes in watching her, and Charles Stuart said he wished she wouldn'tgo at it quite so hard, she made him feel queer all over. And at theend of one stormy scene, Rosie ran to her and said: "Oh, Lizzie, it wasawful! I thought you must be really, truly crying!" And Elizabeth didnot confess that she had been really and truly crying, and was nowrather ashamed and quite amazed at herself. 

Mrs. Wully Johnstone was quite overcome, and Auntie Jinit declared itjist garred her greet to look at the bairn, she did it jist too well. And Miss Hillary turned to Miss Gordon and said, "She will make a greatactress some day, perhaps, " and Miss Gordon held up her shapely handsin horror and answered: "An actress! I'd rather see her in her grave. "

Elizabeth noticed that Mother MacAllister was the only one who did notpraise her; she who was always so ready with commendation whenever itcould be truthfully expressed. So she slipped up to her and whispered, "Do you like it?" and Mother MacAllister looked rather wistfully at thecrimson cheeks and shining eyes. She stroked the little girl's hairgently. "It would be a very pretty little piece, hinny, " she saidsoftly. "But you must not be letting yourself get too much excitedover it, little Lizzie. It'll make you forget your sums. "

But otherwise Elizabeth's triumph was complete. She noticed her aunt'sapproving looks, and overheard her saying to Martha Ellen Robertsonthat the child really had talent. 

But such a condition of affairs could not last long with Elizabeth. Anatmosphere of approval was not for her to dwell in long. Her downfallcame speedily. 

When the practice was over, they all sat around the room and MissGordon bade Sarah Emily and the two older girls pass the grape cordialand the Johnny-cake, which were all in readiness. It was at thismoment that Miss Hillary turned to Mr. Gordon. 

"You must be chairman at the concert, " she said engagingly. "It willbe so fitting, as you are secretary-treasurer. "

Mr. Gordon, who had been sitting at a table with Mr. MacAllister, intent on reducing the Long Way, looked up, ran his fingers through hislong hair, and laughed. 

"What, what?" he said. "Me for chairman! Never, never. I'd forgetwhat night it was on. Thank you very much for the honor, Miss Hillary, but you can do better than that. Here's Mr. Johnstone, now, he's justthe man. "

Mr. Johnstone spat at great length into the stove damper, to cover hisembarrassment. 

"Hut tut, sic like havers!" was all he said, and motioned with histhumb over his shoulder towards his next-door neighbor. 

Mr. MacAllister, just emerged from the depths of the Long Way, lookedat her in a dazed fashion. 

"For peety's sake, " he said, "can ye no dae better than ask all theauld buddies in the countryside; an' the place jist swarmin' wi' youngcallants. There's Tom Teeter, now, he'd jump at the chance, only ye'dhae to gag him atween pieces. "

"It's too great a risk to run, " laughed Miss Hillary. She knit herpretty brows in perplexity. "Perhaps Mr. Clegg will take pity on me. "

"There's yon gay chiel that comes oot frae toon, " resumed Mr. MacAllister slyly. "Mebby ye'd hae mair influence ower him. "

The young schoolmistress blushed and tried not to smile; Sarah Emilyducked her head into her apron and giggled, and a titter went round theroom. And then Elizabeth, quite unconscious of any joke, spoke upeagerly. 

"Oh, Miss Hillary, won't you ask that lovely gentleman that comes tosee you to bring Mr. Coulson out and let him be chairman!"

Miss Hillary blushed harder than ever and laughed; so did Annie Gordonand Martha Ellen Robertson. Mr. MacAllister laughed, too, and slappedhis knee, and said yon was a fine idea, and all the younger folkexclaimed in delight. And so it was promptly settled there and then, and Elizabeth understood when Annie passed her the Johnny-cake again. 

But she did not understand why she was sternly ordered to bed by heraunt just the moment the company was gone; and wondered drearily why itwas that this one day of triumph should end in tears. 

The next morning she found matters no better, for the day had scarcelybegun before Aunt Margaret singled her out to be talked to solemnly onthe sin of being bold and forward, and speaking up when older peoplewere present. Elizabeth partially brought the rebuke upon herself. Remembering only the joys of the night before, she arose early and inthe exuberance of her spirits pulled Mary out of bed and tickled heruntil she was seized with a fit of coughing; and Mary's cough was aserious affair. Next she visited the boys' room and started apillow-fight with John. 

The noise brought Miss Gordon from her room. It was a chill wintermorning, and the lady's temper was not any too sweet. Elizabeth fledto her room and began dressing madly. Her aunt slowly entered, seatedherself on the little bench by the window, and, while her niece dressedand combed her hair, she gave her a long and aggrieved dissertationupon genteel conduct for little girls. 

"And now, " she concluded, as Elizabeth gave way to tears and showedsigns of collapsing upon the bed, "I want you to learn two extra versesof your psalm before you come down to breakfast. And I do hope andtrust it may lead you to be a better girl. " She arose with a sigh, which said her hopes were but feeble and, bidding Mary follow her, descended the stairs. 

When they were gone, Elizabeth got out her Bible, and sat by the frostywindow, looking out drearily at the red morning sunshine. She wishedwith all her might that she had never been born. Likely she would dieof grief soon anyway, she reflected, and never act in the dialogueafter all. Yes, she would get sick and go to bed and be in a ragingfever. And, just like the little girl in her latest Sunday-schoolbook, who had been so badly used, she would cry out in her ravings thatAunt Margaret was killing her because she wasn't genteel. 

Somewhat solaced by these gloomy reflections, she took the hairpinAnnie had loaned her to pin up a lock of her heavy hair, and begantracing out pictures on the window-pane. There was already a magictapestry there, woven by the frost-fairies; ferns, and sea-weed andtropical flowers of fantastic shapes, and wonderful palm branches allexquisitely intertwined. To these Elizabeth added the product of herimagination. Lords and ladies rode through the sea-weed, and Joan ofArc stood surrounded by palms. She had almost forgotten her woes intheir icy beauty, and had quite forgotten the task her aunt had set, when Annie came flitting into the room. Annie's step was lighter thanever and her eyes were radiant. "Come down to breakfast, Lizzie, " shewhispered. "We're nearly through, and I've saved some toast for you. Aunt said if you said the verses before school-time it would do. "

Elizabeth sprang up joyously, and hand-in-hand the two ran downstairs. 

"Annie, " said her little sister, gazing up at the glowing countenance, "you make me think of a girl in a story book. You look like LadyEvelina. "

Annie laughed. "Why?" she asked. 

"Oh, I don't know. But I guess it's because your eyes are so shiny. It says in that story in the _Chronicle_ that Lady Evelina's lover rodepast, and she looked out of her something or other, casement, I think, but I guess it was just a window, and it says her face flushed like awild rose and her eyes shined like twin stars. Say, what are twinstars, Annie?"

"Oh, Lizzie, " whispered her sister, her face flushing deeper than awild rose, "for pity's sake don't let aunt hear you saying things likethat. You know she doesn't like you to read that continued story. "With which wise counsel, and an appreciative pat of her little sister'sarm, Annie led the way to breakfast. 

The night before the concert Elizabeth and Mary could scarcely go tosleep. There was another source of insomnia beside the prospect ahead. They had both cajoled Annie into putting their hair up in curl papers, because all the girls, even to Becky Davis, were going to do somethingnew and wonderful with their hair. So the two victims of fashion sleptin half-wakeful discomfort, until Elizabeth's heavy locks overcametheir bounds and gave her relief and rest. But there was greatdisappointment in the morning, for while Mary's short, flaxen hairstood out round her head in a very halo of frizzly curls, Elizabeth'shung heavy, straight, and limp, and had to be braided in the usual oldfashion. 

However, she was never prone to think much of her personal appearance, and merely gave a sigh as Mary stood before the glass looking quitelike a fairy. 

"My, but your hair is so nice, " said Elizabeth. 

"Well, " said Mary, as with a smile of satisfaction she surveyed whatwas visible of her small self in the little mirror on the wall, "Isuppose I do look awful grand. But I must try and not think about it, "she added piously; "aunt says so. "

Since the night the practice had been held at The Dale, Miss Gordon, strange to say, had displayed a growing disinclination to attend theconcert. And when the evening finally came she decided to remain athome. It was only for children, after all, she remarked at thetea-table, and she and Annie would just stay at home together by thefire; adding that she didn't suppose even Malcolm and Jean would careto go to anything so childish. But even the quiet Malcolm protestedmildly, and his sister did the same vigorously. Such an expedition asgoing from home after dark was too rare to be missed. "Why, AuntMargaret!" she cried, for Miss Jean was an independent young lady, byvirtue of being the cleverest of the family. "Why, Aunt Margaret, Inever dreamed we'd have to stay home, and I'd just love to go--andAnnie wants to go, too; don't you, Ann?"

One glance at Annie's despairing face was enough to convince anyonethat to miss the concert would be a more bitter disappointment than itwould be even to Elizabeth, who was fidgeting about in her chair, withscarlet cheeks and shining eyes, scarcely eating anything. Miss Gordonglanced at her eldest niece apprehensively, and hesitated. Then herbrother spoke up. 

"Well, well, " he said indulgently, "you must just all go. Archie andJamie and I will keep house, and you'll tell us all about it when youget home. "

Miss Gordon was too genteel to oppose her brother publicly, andaccepted the situation with much chagrin. She determined, however, that she would keep Miss Annie close to her side all evening. Andafter all, she argued, probably the young man had forgotten all abouther by this time. It was a way young men had, she reflected, with asigh for a dream of her youth to which she never referred. She sighedagain as she looked at Annie's bright face, and wondered if she haddone wrong in separating these two. Annie never by the slightest hintlet her know her real feelings. And herein lay the great misfortune ofMiss Gordon's life. She loved the girl passionately, and would havemade any sacrifice she felt was for her good, but Annie lived by herside day after day, and gave her not the smallest confidence. Heraunt, in her mistaken worldly ambition, had forever shut between themthe door of true companionship. 

They were all ready, in various stages of excitement, when theMacAllister sleigh came jingling up to the door. In the winter, sleighs generally took the sawlog road along the short-cut to ForestGlen, and the Wully Johnstones had promised to come round that way, too, and pick up anybody who was left. 

To Elizabeth, this driving abroad after nightfall was like taking avoyage to a new planet. It was so wonderful and mysterious, this new, white, moon-lit world. Away in the vast blue dome the stars smiledfaintly, outshone by the glory of the big, round moon that rode highabove the black tree-tops. The billowing drifts along the road blazedunder a veil of diamonds, and the strip of ice on the pond, whereElizabeth and John had swept away the snow for a slide, shone likepolished silver. The fields melted away gray and mysterious into thedarkness of the woods. Here and there a light twinkled from thefarm-houses of the valley. The sleigh-bells jingled merrily, and thecompany joined their own joyous notes to them and sang the songs thatwere to be given at the concert. The woods rang with their gay voicesas they passed old Sandy McLachlan's place. Sandy still heldpossession, and was looking forward hopefully to some providentialinterference in the springtime. 

The old man and Eppie were plunging down the snowy lane. The horseswere pulled up and they were hauled joyously aboard; and in a fewminutes the happy sleighload dashed up to the schoolhouse, which stoodthere looking twice its usual size and importance, with the lightblazing from every window. 

CHAPTER IX

THE FAIRY GOD-MOTHER ARRIVES

They found the schoolhouse already rapidly filling. To Elizabeth, thelittle room presented a scene of dazzling splendor. The place wasindeed transformed. It was decorated with festoons of evergreens andwreaths of paper flowers; and lamps twinkled from every window-sill. Across the platform was stretched a white curtain, constructed fromMrs. Robertson's and Mrs. Clegg's sheets, while from behind this magicscreen--hiding one could not guess what wonders--shone all the lanternsowned by the population of Forest Glen, and across its glowing surfaceflitted gigantic shadows. 

Martha Ellen Robertson, in a brilliant pink satin waist, and all herjewelry; and Miss Hillary in a new white dress, were already hurryingup and down the aisle marshaling their forces. As the artists appearedthey arranged them on the row of improvised benches at the front, charging them to sit there quietly until their turn came for steppingbehind the magic curtain. 

Elizabeth and Rosie found each other immediately, and sat closetogether on the very front row. Rosie was a perfect vision in a whitedress, with a string of beads around her neck and her curls tied up bya broad pink ribbon. Elizabeth, in her Sunday pinafore, starched alittle stiffer than usual, gazed at her in boundless admiration. Shehad supposed, before leaving home, that Mary would be the mostbeautiful creature present; but Mary's pale flaxen curls and colorlesspinafore were lost in the gorgeous display on all sides. Katie andLottie Price were the grandest. They fairly bristled with ribbons andlace; but indeed all the girls were so gayly dressed that the Gordonslooked like little gray sparrows in a flock of birds of Paradise. Marysighed and looked around miserably at the gay throng; but little didElizabeth care. She sat on the front bench, with Rosie on one side andEppie on the other, and rapturously swung her feet and laughed andtalked, all oblivious of her dun-colored clothes. It was quiteimpossible not to be wildly happy at such a grand festive gathering. The schoolroom seemed some wonderful place she had never seen before. The middle section of the sheets was drawn back, displaying theplatform with the teacher's desk and the blackboard, all fairlysmothered in cedar and balsam boughs and tissue-paper roses, andsmelling as sweet as the swamp behind the school. It was such a bowerof beauty that Elizabeth could scarcely believe she had stood thereonly yesterday, striving desperately to make a complex fraction turnsimple. 

The crowd was steadily gathering, and the noise steadily increasing. Right at the back a group of boys were bunched together, laughing, talking, and whistling. Elizabeth was ashamed to see that John andCharles Stuart were amongst those whom Miss Hillary was vainly strivingto bring up to the performers' seats of honor. 

In the midst of the pleasant hum and stir there arose a commotion nearthe door. A group of strangers was entering. At the sight of them, Miss Hillary plunged behind the curtains, and Rosie and Elizabeth couldsee her through a division in the sheets, anxiously arranging her hairbefore the little mirror. Then the wise old Rosie nodded her headsignificantly, and standing up, peered between the rows of people'sheads. "I knew it was him!" she cried triumphantly. "I knew just bythe way Miss Hillary jumped, "--and so it was--the owner of the redcutter! Then Elizabeth, forgetting her aunt's eye, jumped up too, andalmost cried out with joy, for the man with him, the tall one with thehandsome fur collar and cap, was none other than Mr. Coulson! Therewere two ladies with him, too--but she did not notice them in herdelight. He was recognized at once by his old pupils, and they all setup a storm of clapping. The older people, gathered around the stove, crowded about him, shaking his hand and clapping him on the back. Thenthe Red Cutter came with him up to the curtains and introduced him toMiss Hillary. And all the other young ladies who were helping in theconcert shook hands with the old teacher, and Martha Ellen laughed andtalked so loud that Elizabeth was delighted and wondered what hadpleased her so. Next, Mr. Coulson spied the row of little girls gazingup at him with eager eyes, and he pulled Rosie's curls and Elizabeth'sbraid, and kissed Mary and pinched Katie and patted all the others onthe head. Then he boxed the boys' ears, and told Miss Hillary theywere a bad lot, and he didn't see how she put up with them, andaltogether behaved so funnily that they fairly shouted with delight. Suddenly he turned abruptly, and, marching up to the platform, took hisplace at the desk. 

Elizabeth was greatly disappointed. She had expected he would at leastshake hands with Annie. She curled round Rosie and peeped through therows of people to catch a sight of her sister. Annie, strange to say, did not look in the least disappointed. She was laughing and chattingwith Jean and Bella Johnstone, and looking just as gay and happy aspossible. Elizabeth gave up the problem. It was really no use tryingto understand the queer ways of grown-up folks. 

Mr. Coulson stood up to make his chairman's speech and to tell them hewas very glad to come back to Forest Glen. Elizabeth thought hisaddress was wonderfully clever, her partial eyes failing to notice thathe was big and awkward, that he did not know what to do with his hands, and that he was more than usually nervous. There was another pair ofeyes, besides Elizabeth's, that, when they dared lift themselves, looked upon his blundering performance with tender pride. But MissGordon gazed at him coldly, thanking herself that she had put an end toall nonsense between him and Annie before it was too late. Thegrandson of a tavern-keeper, though he might rise to have good morals, could never reach the height of genteel manners. 

At last the chairman's halting remarks were concluded, and theprogramme fairly started. First came a chorus by all the girls of theschool, and such of the boys as could be coaxed or driven to theplatform; the masculine portion of the artists having suddenlydeveloped an overwhelming modesty. But the girls were all eager toperform; and they sang "Flow gently, sweet Afton" with great vigor, and, as Mr. Coulson said afterwards, "just like the robins inspringtime. "

As they burst into the second verse, Elizabeth, who stood directlybehind Mary, and had to view the audience through the halo, wassurprised to see a boy down near the stove making vigorous signs toattract her attention. She stared in amazement, and almost stoppedsinging. It was Horace! There he was in a brand new velvet suit, smiling at her with the greatest glee, and pointing her out to hiscompanions. He sat between two ladies, the very two Elizabeth had seenenter with Mr. Coulson. One was a tall, thin lady in a sealskin coat, probably Horace's mamma, as he called her. The other lady was verystout and wonderfully dressed. Elizabeth could scarcely see her facefor the enormous plumed hat she wore. She seemed to be a very grandlady, indeed, for, every time she moved, jewels glittered on her hat orat her throat. 

Elizabeth quite forgot the words of the song watching her, and wasabsently singing:

 "_There oft as mild evening weeps over the Tea, There daily I wander as noon rises high, _"

when Rosie poked her back to consciousness. 

When they had come down from the platform and the stir of preparationfor the next number was going on behind the billowing sheets, Elizabethfelt herself pulled vigorously from behind. She whirled about; Horacewas beside her, all smiles. 

"Hello, " he cried cordially. "Say, you sang just jolly, Lizzie. "

"Hello!" responded Elizabeth, forgetting in her delight that this wasnot a genteel salutation. "I'm awful glad to see you, Horace. " Thiswas quite true; since he did not appear in the role of beau any more, she was genuinely pleased at the sight of her old playmate. Rosieexpressed the same sentiment rapturously. Susie and Katie followed, and even Eppie faltered out some words of welcome. 

"How did you come to be here?" Elizabeth asked. 

"Mr. Coulson told me there was a concert, and I just coaxed mamma tolet me come until she was nearly crazy and just had to let me. I canmanage her all right. Papa's different, though. He wouldn't let mecome with Mr. Coulson alone, and I wanted to!" His handsome facecurled up in a pout. "They always tag round after me as if I was akid. But Mr. Coulson fixed it up. Say, he's a dandy. He came overand coaxed papa to let me come, and he got Aunt Jarvis to come, too. That's Aunt Jarvis next the stove. She likes Mr. Coulson awful welland said she'd come to oblige him, and then mamma said she'd come, too. Madeline intended to come, too, but she was going to a party. She goesto one 'most every night. I wish I could, but I always get sick. Say, Lizzie, I've got a new dog, and I hitch him to my sleigh, and oh, say, he's the dandiest fun----"

But Elizabeth was not listening. She was too much overcome by thewonderful news. Mrs. Jarvis, the fairy god-mother, who had alwaysseemed unreal, was really and truly there in the flesh! She couldscarcely believe it. 

Horace, finding his audience inattentive, moved away, chatting volublyto all his old friends, and the next moment Jean came crushing her waythrough the crowd to Elizabeth's side, her eyes shining with excitement. 

"Lizzie, aunt sent me to tell you to do your very, very best. Mrs. Jarvis is really and truly down there, " she whispered excitedly. "Andshe says to be sure and smooth your hair just before your dialogue, anddon't for the world let your boot laces come untied. And when it's allover, aunt says you're to come down with her and be introduced. "

Elizabeth did not hear a word of her sister's admonitions. Sherealized only that Mrs. Jarvis was there to watch her act in adialogue! Her heart stood still at the thought, and then went on againmadly. 

Meanwhile, Mary had spread the news of the town visitors, and all thegirls were in a flutter. 

"It's too bad, " Katie Price whispered to Rosie, "that Lizzie Gordon'sgot that awful lookin' pinny on. Mrs. Jarvis 'll be ashamed of her. And her hair ain't curled even. "

"She can beat anybody in the school at speakin' a dialogue, anyhow, "declared Rosie loyally. "And Martha Ellen's goin' to dress her up inlong clothes anyway, so it don't matter. "

The concert was going steadily on, each performer showing signs of theepidemic of excitement that the arrival of the town visitors hadproduced. Lottie Price stopped short three times in reciting "Curfewmust not ring to-night, " and had to be helped from behind the sheets byMiss Hillary. No one felt very sorry, for, as Teenie Robertson said, "Lottie Price was just showing off, anyhow, and it served her right. "But everyone else seemed to go wrong from the moment the strangers wereannounced, and to Elizabeth's dismay even poor Rosie did not escape. 

The programme partook largely of a temperance sentiment, and Rosie'ssong was "Father, dear father, come home with me now, " a selectionwhich at the practices had almost moved the spectators to tears. JoelDavis, because he was the biggest boy in the school, and hadn'tanything to do but sit still, acted the part of Rosie's father. He satat a table with three or four companions, all arrayed in rags, anddrank cold tea from a vinegar jar. Rosie came in, and taking Joel bythe sleeve, sang:

 "_Father, dear father, come home with me now, The clock in the steeple strikes one, You said you were coming right home from the shop, As soon as your day's work was done. _"

Then from behind the curtain some of the bigger girls, led by MarthaEllen Robertson, sang softly:

 "_Come home, come home, Please, father, dear father, come home. _"

Rosie sang another verse at two o'clock, and still another at three, singing the hands right round to twelve, and still the obdurate Joelsat immovable and still drank tea. 

It had been considered, even by Miss Hillary, one of the best pieces onthe programme, and Elizabeth was almost as excited over it as she wasover her dialogue. And to-night Rosie looked so beautiful in her whitedress and pink bow that Elizabeth felt sure Mrs. Jarvis would think herthe sweetest, dearest girl in the whole wide world. 

But what was the dismay of all the singer's friends, and the rage andhumiliation of the singer's mother, when she emerged from MissHillary's hands and stood before the audience! All her glory of sashand beads and frills was swallowed up in Mrs. Robertson's shawl--theold, ragged "Paisley" she wore only when she went to milk the cows orfeed the chickens! Miss Hillary had even taken the pink ribbon out ofthe poor little singer's curls; and Rosie confided to Elizabethafterwards, with sobs, she had actually bidden her take off her bootsand stockings and go barefoot! Rosie had been almost overwhelmed bythis stripping of her ornaments, but she found spirit enough remainingto rebel at this last sacrifice. And, as Elizabeth indignantlydeclared, even a worm would turn at being commanded to take off itsboots, when they were a brand new copper-toed pair with a lovely loudsqueak! But even the copper toes were concealed by the trailing endsof Mrs. Robertson's barnyard shawl, and the poor little worm was nonethe better for her turning. 

The song was a melancholy failure. Rosie sang in such a dismayed, quavering voice that no one could hear her, and everyone was relievedwhen she finally broke down and had to leave before the clock in thesteeple had a chance to strike more than ten. 

Rosie's mother had sat through the pitiful performance, fairly boilingover with indignation, and as soon as the Paisley shawl, heaving withsobs, had disappeared behind the sheets, she followed it and "had itout" violently with Miss Hillary. Wasn't her girl as good as anybodyelse's girl, was what she wanted to know, that she had to be dressed uplike a tinker's youngster before all those people from town? MissHillary tried to explain that the play's the thing, and the artist mustmake sacrifices to her art, but all in vain. Mrs. Carrick took Rosieaway weeping, before the concert was over, and Miss Hillary sat downbehind the sheets and cried until the Red Cutter had to come up andmake her stop. 

One disaster was followed by another. Elizabeth suffered even moreagony in the next number, for this was a reading by John. Why heshould have been chosen for an elocutionary performance no one coulddivine, except that he flatly refused to do anything else in public, and his teacher was determined he should do something. WithElizabeth's help, John had faithfully practiced in the privacy of hisroom, but had never once got through his selection without breakingdown with laughter. It was certainly the funniest story in the world, Elizabeth was sure--so funny they had not submitted it to AuntMargaret. It was about a monkey named Daniel that had been trained towait upon his master's table, and Elizabeth would dance about andscream over the most comical passages, and had been of littleassistance to her brother in his efforts at self-control. 

At first the elocutionist did fairly well, reading straight ahead inhis low monotone, and, hoping all would be well, Elizabeth ceased tosquirm and twist her braid. But as John approached the funniest part, he forgot even the elegant strangers. Daniel grew more enchantingevery moment; grew irresistible at last, and the droning voice of hisexponent stopped short--lost in a spasm of silent laughter. Herecovered, read a little further, and collapsed again. Once more hestarted, his face twisted in agony, his voice husky, but again he fellbefore the side-splitting antics of Daniel. 

The audience had not caught any of the monkey's jokes as yet, but theyfully appreciated the joke of the performance; and as the elocutionistlabored on, striving desperately to overcome his laughter and alwaysbeing overcome by it, the schoolhouse fairly rocked with merriment. Elizabeth, who had begun to fear no one would hear all Daniel'saccomplishments, was greatly relieved, and laughed louder than anyoneelse. John was enjoying himself, and the audience was enjoying itself, and she was so proud of him and so glad everyone was having such a goodtime!

But, as the reader finally choked completely and had to retire amidstthunderous applause before Daniel's last escapade was finished, she wasbrought to a realization of the real state of affairs by glancing backat her aunt. Miss Gordon was sitting up very straight, with crimsonchecks, and an air of awful dignity which Elizabeth's dismayed sensestold her belonged only to occasions of terrible calamity. Annie, too, was looking very much distressed, and Jean and Malcolm wore expressionsof anger and disgust. Elizabeth's heart sank. Evidently John haddisgraced the family, poor John, and she thought he had made such ahit! This was awful! First Rosie and then John! There came over hera chill of terror, a premonition of disaster. When those two stars hadfallen from the firmament, how could she expect to shine with Mrs. Jarvis sitting there in front of her?

Had she guessed how much her aunt was depending upon her, she wouldhave been even more terrified. Miss Gordon was keenly alive to thefact that this evening might make or mar Elizabeth's fortune. Mrs. Jarvis had from time to time recognized her namesake by a birthday giftand had often intimated that she should like to see the little girl. Miss Gordon had dreams of her adopting Elizabeth, and making the wholefamily rich. And now she was to see the child for the first time, andunder favorable auspices. Elizabeth certainly showed talent in heracting. The others were like wooden images in comparison to her. 

As the curtains were drawn back for the dialogue in which she figured, Miss Gordon drew a great breath. If Mrs. Jarvis didn't feel that shemust give that child an education after seeing how she could perform, then all the stories of that lady's generosity, which she had heard, must be untrue. 

But, alas, for any hopes centered upon Elizabeth! Miss Gordon toldherself bitterly, when the dialogue was over, that she might have knownbetter. The vivacious actress, who had thrown herself into her part athome, making it seem real, came stumbling out upon the little stage, hampered by Annie's long skirts, and mumbled over her lines in a toneinaudible beyond the front row of seats. Poor Elizabeth, the honor ofperforming before Mrs. Jarvis had been too much for her. She did herpart as badly as it was possible to do it, growing more scared andwhite each moment, and finally forgetting it altogether. Miss Gordonhung her proud head, and Mrs. Oliver exclaimed quite audibly, "Dear me, how did that poor child ever come to be chosen to take part?"

Elizabeth had not awakened from her stage-struck condition when theconcert was over, and her aunt, with set face, came to straighten herpinafore, smooth her hair, and get her ready for presentation to theladies from town. 

Many, many times had Elizabeth pictured this meeting, each timeplanning with greater elaboration the part she should act. But when atlast she stood before the lady in the sealskin coat, realizing onlywhat a miserable failure she had been, she could think of not one ofthe clever speeches she had prepared, but hung her head in a mostungenteel manner and said nothing. 

Her aunt's voice sounded like a forlorn hope as she presented her. 

"This is your namesake, Mrs. Jarvis, " she said. 

Mrs. Jarvis was a tall, stately lady, with a sallow, discontented face. Her melancholy, dark eyes had a kindly light in them, however, andoccasionally her face was lit up with a pleasant smile. She was richlybut quietly dressed, and in every way perfectly met Miss Gordon'sideal. Her companion was something of a shock, however. Mrs. Oliverwas stout and red-faced, and was dressed to play the part of twentywhen Manager Time had cast her for approaching fifty. Miss Gordonwould have pronounced any other woman, with such an appearance and aless illustrious relative, not only ungenteel but quite common, and thesort of person Lady Gordon would never have recognized on the streetsof Edinburgh. 

But Mrs. Jarvis was Mrs. Jarvis, and whoever was related to her mustsurely be above the ordinary in spite of appearances. 

Mrs. Jarvis was looking down at Elizabeth with a smile illuminating hersad face. "So this is the little baby with the big eyes my dearhusband used to talk so much about. " She heaved a great sigh. "Ah, Miss Gordon, you cannot understand what a lonely life I have led sincemy dear husband was taken from me. "

Miss Gordon expressed warm sympathy. She was a little surprised at theexpression of grief, nevertheless, for she had always understood that, as far as the companionship of her husband went, Mrs. Jarvis had alwaysled a lonely life. 

"Mr. Jarvis was always very much interested in Elizabeth, " she saiddiplomatically. "I understand it was he who named her. "

"She doesn't seem to have inherited your talent for the stage, AuntJarvis, " said the stout lady, laughing. "Horace, did you hear metelling you to put on your overcoat? We must go at once. "

Miss Gordon looked alarmed. It would be fatal if they left withoutsome further word. 

"I am sure Elizabeth would like to express her pleasure at meeting you, Mrs. Jarvis, " she said, suggestively. "She has been wanting anopportunity to thank you for your many kind remembrances. "

She glanced down at her niece, and Elizabeth realized with agony thatthis was the signal for her to speak. She thought desperately, but nota gleam of one of those stately speeches she had prepared showeditself. She was on the verge of disgracing her aunt again when Mrs. Oliver mercifully interposed. 

"Aunt Jarvis, " she cried sharply, "we really must be going. The horsesare ready. Come, Horace, put on your overcoat this instant, sir. "

But Master Horace was not to be ordered about by a mere mother. Hejerked himself away from her and caught his aunt's hand. 

"Aunt Jarvis, " he said in a wheedling tone, "we're coming out here tovisit Lizzie's place some day, ain't we? You promised now, don't youremember?"

Mrs. Jarvis patted his hand. 

"Well, I believe I did, boy, " she said, "and we'll come some day, " sheadded graciously, "provided the owners of The Dale would like to haveus. "

Miss Gordon hastened to reply. "The owners of The Dale. " That soundedlike the reprieve of a sentence. "Indeed we should all be very muchpleased, " she said, striving to hide her excitement. "Just tell mewhen it would be most convenient for you to come. You see, sinceleaving my old associations in Edinburgh, I have dropped all socialduties. You can understand, of course, that one in my position wouldbe quite without congenial companionship in a rural community. So Ishall look forward to your visit with much pleasure. "

Mrs. Jarvis appeared visibly impressed. Evidently Miss Gordon was notof common clay. "Now let me see, " she said, "perhaps Horace and Imight drive out. "

"I don't see how you can possibly find time, Aunt Jarvis, " cried Mrs. Oliver, who was forcing her unwilling son into his overcoat. "We haveengagements for three months ahead, I am sure!"

Miss Gordon drew herself up rigidly. She had heard enough of Horace'sartless chatter the summer before, to understand his mother's jealousy. Mrs. Oliver lived in a panic of fear lest the money that should be herchildren's might stray elsewhere. 

There was further enlightenment waiting. Mrs. Jarvis deliberatelyturned her back upon her niece. 

"You are so kind, " she said to Miss Gordon with elaborate emphasis, "and indeed I shall be exceedingly glad to accept. Horace and I shallcome, you may be sure, provided he has not too many engagements; andthen, " her words became more emphatic and distinct, "we shall have moreopportunity to discuss what is to be done with little Elizabeth. " Sheturned to where her namesake was standing, her kindly smileilluminating her face. 

"What do you want most in the world, little Elizabeth?" she askedalluringly. 

Miss Gordon held her breath. This surpassed even her brightest dreams!

"Elizabeth, " she said, her voice trembling. "Do you hear what Mrs. Jarvis is asking you?"

Yes, Elizabeth had heard, and was looking up with shining eyes, heranswer ready. But as usual she was busy exercising that special talentshe possessed for doing the unexpected. 

She had been glancing about her for some means of escape from herembarrassing position, when she had espied Eppie. The little girl, muffled in her grandfather's old tartan plaid, for the cold drivehomeward, was slipping past, glancing wistfully at Elizabeth, thecenter of the grand group from town. Elizabeth instantly forgot herown troubles in a sudden impulse to do Eppie a good turn. This was anopportunity not to be lost. She caught her little friend by the handand drew her near. 

"Oh, Mrs. Jarvis!" she cried, grown quite eloquent now that she hadfound a subject so near her heart, "I'd rather have Eppie stay on thefarm than anything else in the wide, wide world!"

"Elizabeth!" cried her aunt in dismay, "what are you saying?"

Mrs. Jarvis looked down with a puzzled expression at the quaint littlefigure wrapped in the old plaid. But she smiled in a very kindly way. 

"What is she talking about?" she inquired. 

Elizabeth hung her head, speechless again. She had been importuned tospeak only a moment before, but, now that she had found her tongue, apparently she had made a wrong use of it. 

Horace came to the rescue. He spoke just whenever he pleased, and heknew all about this matter. He had not been Elizabeth's and Rosie'schum for two weeks without hearing much of poor Eppie's wrongs. 

"That's Eppie, auntie, Eppie Turner, and that's her grandpa overthere, " he explained, nodding to where old Sandy stood with a group ofmen. "Mr. Huntley sold his farm, and he won't leave it. "

Mrs. Jarvis glanced at the bent figure of the old Highlander, and thenat the shy face of his little granddaughter; those two whose livescould be made or marred by a word from her. But this was not the sortof charity that appealed to Mrs. Jarvis. It meant interfering inbusiness affairs and endless trouble with lawyers. She remembered thatromantic young Mr. Coulson had bothered her about either this or someaffair like it not so long ago. 

"Horace, my dear, " she said wearily, "don't you know by this time thatthe very mention of lawyers and all their business gives your poorauntie a headache?" She patted Eppie's cheek with her gloved fingers. "A sweet little face, " she murmured. "Good-by, Miss Gordon. I shallsee you and your charming family very soon, I hope. "

She shook hands most cordially, but Miss Gordon was scarcely able tohide her chagrin. Elizabeth had let the great chance of her life slipthrough her fingers! The good-bys were said, even Mrs. Oliver, nowthat her aunt had for the moment escaped temptation, bidding the ladyof The Dale a gracious farewell. 

And not until Miss Gordon had collected her family and was seated inWully Johnstone's sleigh, ready for the homeward drive, did sheremember that in her anxiety over Elizabeth she had not once within thelast dangerous half-hour given a glance towards Annie!

CHAPTER X

GREAT EXPECTATIONS

For the remainder of the winter, Elizabeth lived under the shadow ofMrs. Jarvis's expected visit. And though she was supposed to be theone who should benefit chiefly from it, a shadow it indeed proved. Didshe tear her pinafore, burst through the toes of her boots, run, leap, scream, or do any one of the many ungenteel things she was so prone todo, the stern question faced her: What did she suppose Mrs. Jarviswould think of a big girl, going on twelve, who could conduct herselfin such a shocking manner? Elizabeth mourned over her shortcomings, and longed to be proper and genteel. At the same time, while shecondemned herself for the traitorous thought, she had almost come tolook upon the expected visit as a not altogether unmixed blessing. Forthe Mrs. Jarvis of reality was not the glorious creature of Elizabeth'sdreams. Her queens were one by one abdicating their thrones. Thebeautiful teacher was steadily growing less worshipful, in spite ofmuch incense burned before her, and now even the fairy god-mother wasproving but mortal. She had laid aside her golden scepter at thatmoment when, with perfect faith, her namesake had looked up to her asto a goddess and asked for a blessing upon Eppie. But as yetElizabeth's soul refused to acknowledge the loss of either idol; andshe lived in a state of excitement and worry over the impending visit. 

At school she escaped from the thraldom of being the lady's namesake, for Miss Hillary of course made no allusion to the fatal name ofJarvis, and the Red Cutter averted nearly all other troubles. So, inthe reaction from home restrictions, Elizabeth gave herself up almostentirely to drawing pictures and weaving romances. For Joan of Arcnever disappointed one. She was always great and glorious, beingcomposed entirely of such stuff as dreams are made of, and Elizabethturned to her from fallible mortals with much joy and comfort. 

But Mary's reports of school-life always showed the dreamer at the footof her class, and Miss Gordon grew apprehensive. Mrs. Jarvis mightarrive any day, ready to repeat the glorious offer she had already madeto that improvident child. But if she found her dull and far behindher classmates, how could she be expected to offer anything in the wayof higher education?

"Elizabeth, " her aunt said one evening as the family were gatheredabout the dining-room table, all absorbed in their lessons, except thetroublesome one, "I do wish you had some of Jean's ambition. Now, don't you wish you could pass the entrance next summer with John andCharles Stuart?"

Elizabeth glanced across the table at those two working decimals, withtheir heads close together. Mr. MacAllister had come over to getadvice on the Long Way, and had brought his son with him. 

"Oh, my, but wouldn't I love to!" she gasped. 

"Then why don't you make an effort to overtake them? I am sure youcould if you applied yourself. "

"But I'm only in the Junior Fourth yet, aunt, and besides I haven't gota--something Jean told me about. What is it I haven't got, Jean?"

Jean, in company with Malcolm, was absorbed in a problem in geometry. 

"I don't think you've got any common sense, Lizzie Gordon, or youwouldn't interrupt, " she said sharply. 

"I mean, " persisted Elizabeth, who never quite understood her smartsister, "I mean what is it I haven't got that makes me always get thewrong answer to sums?"

"Oh! A mathematical head, I suppose. There, Malc, I've got it. See;the angle A. B. C. Equals the angle B. C. D. "

"Yes, that's what's the matter, " said Elizabeth mournfully. "I haven'ta mathematical head. Miss Hillary says so, too. "

"But you might make up for it in other things, " said Annie, who wasknitting near. "It would be lovely to pass the entrance before you arequite twelve, Lizzie. Jean is the only one, so far, that passed ateleven. You really ought to try. "

After this Elizabeth did try, spasmodically, for nearly a week, butgradually fell back into her old idle habits of compiling landscapesand dreaming dreams. 

Miss Gordon questioned Miss Hillary next in regard to the difficultcase. There was an afternoon quilting-bee at Mrs. Wully Johnstone's, to which some young people had been invited for the evening, and thereshe met the young schoolmistress. As a rule, the lady of The Dalemingled very little in these social gatherings. The country folk werekind and neighborly, no doubt; and, living amongst them, one mustunbend a little, but she felt entirely out of her social element at atea-party of farmers' wives--she who had drunk tea in Edinburgh withLady Gordon. But Auntie Jinit McKerracher had asked her on thisoccasion, and even Lady Gordon herself might have hesitated to offendthat important personage, particularly as there had so lately beendanger of a breach between the families. So, suppressing her pride, Miss Gordon went, and sat in stately grandeur at the head of the quilt, saying little until the young schoolmistress appeared. She, at least, did not murder Her Majesty's English when she spoke, though her mannerswere not by any means quite genteel. 

Miss Gordon opened the conversation by inquiring after the attainmentsof her family in matters scholastic. 

They were all doing very well indeed, Miss Hillary reported. She spokea little vaguely, to be sure. The Red Cutter appeared with suchpleasant frequency these days that she was not quite sure what herpupils were doing. But she remembered that the Gordons were generallyat the head of their classes, and said so, adding the usual reservationwhich closed any praise of the family, "except Elizabeth. "

Miss Gordon sighed despairingly. "Elizabeth does not seem as bright asthe rest, " she mourned. "I cannot understand it at all. Her fatherwas extremely clever in his college days; indeed, his course wasexceptional, his professors all said. All our family were of aliterary turn, you know, Miss Hillary. Sir William Gordon'sfather--Sir William is the cousin for whom my brother was named--wroteexceedingly profound articles, and my dear father's essays were spokenof far and wide. No; I do not at all understand Elizabeth. I amafraid she must be entirely a MacDuff. "

It did not seem so much lack of ability, Miss Hillary said, as lack ofapplication. Lizzie always seemed employed at something besides herlessons. But perhaps it was because she hadn't a mathematical head. Then she changed the subject, feeling she was on uncertain ground. Shewas secretly wondering whether it was Rosie Carrick or Lizzie Gordonwho never got a mark in spelling. 

Elizabeth was made aware, by her aunt's remarks that evening, as theysat around the table for the usual study hour, that she had beentransgressing again; but just how, she failed to understand. MissGordon talked in the grieved, vague way that always put Elizabeth'snerves on the rack. To be talked at this way in public was far worseeven than being scolded outright in private. For one never knew whatwas one's specific sin, and there was always the horrible danger ofbreaking down before the boys. 

Before retiring she sought an explanation from Mary. Yes, Mary knew;she had overheard aunt telling Annie that Miss Hillary had complainedabout Lizzie not doing her sums. This was a blow to Elizabeth. It wasnot so dreadful that anyone should complain of her to Aunt Margaret;that was quite natural; but that Miss Hillary should do thecomplaining! Her teacher persistently refused to sit upon the thronewhich Elizabeth raised again and again for her in her heart. MissHillary did not understand--did not even care whether she understood ornot, while her pupil's worshiping nature still made pitiful attempts toput her where a true teacher could have ruled so easily and with suchfar-reaching results. 

But the unmathematical head was not long troubled over even thisdisaster. It was soon again filled with such glorious visions as droveout all dark shadows of unspellable words and unsolvable problems. Elizabeth's ambition reached out far beyond the schoolroom. There wasno romance or glory about getting ninety-nine per cent. In anarithmetic examination, as Rosie so often did, after all, and Elizabethcould not imagine Joan of Arc worrying over the spelling of Orleans. So she solaced herself with classic landscapes, with rhymes writtenconcerning the lords and ladies that peopled them, and with dreams offuture glory. 

And so the days of anxious waiting for the great visit sped past; andin the interval Elizabeth might have fallen hopelessly into idle habitshad it not been for the one person who, quietly and unnoticed, exercised the strongest influence over her life. To the little girl'ssurprise, Mother MacAllister was the one person who held out no hopesconcerning Mrs. Jarvis. It seemed strange; for Mother MacAllister wasthe most sympathetic person in the whole wide world, and, besides, theonly person who could always be depended upon to understand. But shedid not seem to care how rich or great or glorious that great lady was, and took no interest whatever in the hopes of her coming visit. Butshe did take a vital interest in her little girl's progress at school, and one day she managed to find the key to those intellectual facultieswhich Elizabeth had kept so long locked away. 

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the two comrades--the tall, stoopedwoman with the white hair and the beautiful wrinkled face, and thelittle girl with the blue-checked pinafore, the long, heavy braid, andthe big inquiring eyes--were washing up the supper dishes. They werealone, for Charles Stuart and his father and Long Pete Fowler, thehired man, were away at the barn attending to the milking and thechores. The long bars of golden light from the setting sun cameslanting down through the purple pines of the Long Hill. The snowyfields were gleaming with their radiance--rose pink and pure gold withdeep blue shadows along the fences and in the hollows. The oldkitchen, spotlessly clean, was flooded with the evening light--theyellow painted floor, the shining kettle sputtering comfortably on thestove, and the tin milk-pans ranged along the walls all gave back thesunset glow. This was the hour Elizabeth enjoyed most--the hour whenshe and Mother MacAllister were safe from the teasing and tormenting ofCharles Stuart. 

She was wiping the cups and saucers with great pride and care. Theywere the half-dozen blue willow-pattern cups and saucers which MotherMacAllister had saved from the wreck of her once complete set. Theywere used only on rare occasions, but to-night Elizabeth had beenpermitted to set them out. She never tired of hearing their romanticstory, and Mother MacAllister told it again, as they washed and wipedand put them away on the top shelf of the cupboard. 

They had been Mother MacAllister's finest wedding present, given justbefore she left the Old Country, years and years ago, when she andFather MacAllister were young, and there was no Charles Stuart. Theyhad packed the precious blue dishes in a barrel with hay, and hadbrought them safely over all the long way. The stormy sea voyage oftwo months in a sailing vessel, the oft-interrupted train and boatjourney from Quebec to Toronto, the weary jolting of the wagon-trail tothe Holland Landing, and the storms of Lake Simcoe--the blue dishes, safe in their hay nest, had weathered them all. But the great disastercame when they were near home, just coming along the rough wagon trackcut through the bush from Cheemaun--Champlain's Road, they called iteven then. And such a road as it was, little Lizzie never saw--allstumps and roots, and great mud-holes where the wagon wheels sunk tothe axle. There were two wagons tied together and drawn by a team ofoxen, and the barrel of precious dishes was in the first one. And justas they were coming bumping and rattling down Arrow Hill, the hindwagon came untied and went crashing into the front one. And the tonguewent straight through the barrel of blue dishes--from end toend--smashing everything except these few cups and saucers that hadlaid along the sides. 

Elizabeth wiped one of the cracked cups very carefully and a lump arosein her throat. She always felt the pathos of the story, though MotherMacAllister expressed no regrets. But somehow, as the woman held oneof the treasured dishes in her hard, worn hands, the tenderness in hereyes and voice conveyed to the child something of what their losstypified. They seemed to stand for all the beauty and hope and lightof the young bride's life, that had been ruthlessly destroyed by thehardness and drudgery of the rough new land. 

"They are to be yours when you grow up, you mind, little Lizzie, "Mother MacAllister said, as she always did when the story of the bluecups and saucers was finished. Elizabeth sighed rapturously. "Oh, I'djust love them!" she cried, "but I couldn't bear to take them away fromhere. The cupboard would look so lonesome without them. I suppose Iwouldn't need to, though, if I married Charles Stuart, would I?" sheadded practically. 

Mother MacAllister turned her back for a few minutes. When she lookedat Elizabeth again there was only a twinkle in her deep eyes. 

"You would be thinking of that?" she asked quite seriously. 

"Oh, I suppose so, " said Elizabeth with a deep sigh, as of one who wasdetermined to shoulder bravely life's heaviest burdens. "Of courseaunt thinks Mrs. Jarvis may take me away and make a lady of me, but Idon't really see how she could; do you, Mother MacAllister?"

"I would not be thinking about that, hinny. Mother MacAllister wouldbe sad, sad to see her little girl carried away by the cares o' theworld and the deceitfulness of riches. "

"I hope I won't ever be, " said Elizabeth piously. "Sometimes I thinkI'd like to be a missionary, cause girls can't be like Joan of Arc now. But it says in the g'ogerphy that there's awful long snakes in heathenlands. I don't believe I'd mind the idols, or the black people withoutmuch clothes on, though of course it wouldn't be genteel. But MarthaEllen says we shouldn't mind those things for the sake of the gospel. But, oh, Mother MacAllister! Think of a snake as long as this room!Malcolm heard a missionary in Cheemaun tell about one. I think I'd betoo scared to preach if they were round. And I couldn't take yourlovely dishes away amongst people like that anyway; so sometimes Ithink I'll just marry Charles Stuart when I get big. "

Mother MacAllister busied herself arranging the dishes on the top shelfof the cupboard. Her twinkling eyes showed not the slightestresentment that her son should be chosen only as an alternative tosavages and boa constrictors. 

"Well, well, " she said at last, very gently, "you and Charles Stuartwould be too young to be thinking of such things for a wee while, lovey. But, indeed, it's Mother MacAllister prays every day that youmay both be led to serve the dear Master no matter where He places you. Eh, eh, yes indeed, my lassie. "

Elizabeth swung her dish-towel slowly, standing with eyes fixed on thepink and gold stretch of snow that led up to the glory of the skiesabove the Long Hill. 

"I'm going to try when I grow big, " she whispered. 

"But you don't need to be waiting for that, little Lizzie, " said MotherMacAllister, and seeing this was an opportunity for a lesson, added, "Come and we will be sitting down for a rest now, until the boys comein. "

The dishes were all away, the oil-cloth covered table was wipedspotlessly clean and the shining milkpans were laid out upon it. Therewas nothing more to be done until Charles Stuart and Long Pete Fowlercame in with the milk. So Mother MacAllister sat down in the oldrocker by the sun-flooded window with her knitting, and Elizabeth saton an old milking-stool at her feet. And there in the midst of thegolden glow reflected from the skies, while one pale star far above inthe delicate green kept watch over the dying day, there the little girlwas given a new vision of One who, though He was rich, yet forElizabeth's sake became poor, who, though He stretched out thoseshining heavens as a curtain, and made the glowing earth His footstool, had lived amongst men and for thirty-three beautiful years hadperformed their humblest tasks. 

"Run and bring the Book, Lizzie, " Mother MacAllister said at last, "andwe'll jist be readin' a word or two about Him. "

Elizabeth had not far to run. The old Bible, with the edges of itsleaves all brown and ragged--and most brown and ragged where thewell-read psalms lay--was always on the farthest window-sill withFather MacAllister's glasses beside it. She brought it, and, sittingagain at Mother MacAllister's feet, heard story after story of thoseacts of love and gracious kindness that had made His life the wonderand the worship of the ages. 

And didn't little Lizzie want to do something for Him? MotherMacAllister asked, and Elizabeth nodded, unable to speak for the greatlump in her throat. And then the wise woman showed her how He waspleased with even a tidy desk at school, or a sum with the right answeror all the words correct in a spelling lesson. 

The memory of that golden afternoon never left Elizabeth, never ceasedto illuminate her after-life. Always a shining sunset recalled thatwinter evening; the view from the broad, low window of the gloriousstaircase of earth leading up to the more glorious heavens, thereflection from it all flooding the old kitchen, lighting up the sacredpages, and the beautiful face and white hair bent above her. And, bestof all, the memory of the lesson she had learned that evening at MotherMacAllister's knee never lost its influence over her life. It was partof the glory and the most radiant part, that vision of the One who isthe center of all beauty and joy and life. 

Sometimes in later years the brightness of the vision waned, often italmost faded from view; but there always remained a gleam towards whichElizabeth's soul ever looked. And one day the vision began tobrighten, slowly and imperceptibly, like the coming of the dawn, but assurely and steadily, until at last its glory filled her whole life andmade it beautiful and noble, meet for the use of Him who is the Fatherof Lights. 

Meantime, without any warning or apparent reason, Elizabeth suddenlybegan to learn her lessons. No one but Mother MacAllister understoodwhy, but everybody saw the results. The connection between Elizabeth'sheart and brain had been made, and that done she even began to developa mathematical head. It was no easy task getting over her idle habits;and it was so easy when a complex fraction proved stubborn to turnone's slate into an easel. But the Saturday afternoon talks alwaysturned upon the subject of the vital connection between fractions andthe glories of the infinite, and every Monday Elizabeth went back toher tasks with renewed vim. And soon she began to taste something ofthe joy of achievement. It was fairly dazzling to feel oneself slowlycreeping up from the foot of the class, and she found a strangeexhilaration in setting herself against a rival and striving tooutspell her in a match. Here was glory right ready to hand. She wasJoan of Arc herself, riding through the arithmetic and slaying everycomplex fraction that lay in her path. 

Miss Gordon witnessed the transformation in Elizabeth with amazement, and with devout thankfulness that by the judicious use of Mrs. Jarvis'sname she had at last succeeded in arousing her niece's ambition. Rosiesaw and was both proud and puzzled. It seemed so queer to see Lizzieworking in school. Mary gave up all hopes of ever catching up to her, and John and Charles Stuart were sometimes seized with spasms of alarmlest by some unexpected leap she might land some morning in their class. 

Elizabeth's days were not too full of work to preclude other interests, and just as the winter was vanishing in sunshiny days and little riversof melting snow, two very great events occurred. Just the last daybefore the Easter vacation, Miss Hillary bade Forest Glen farewell androde away for the last time in the red cutter. Elizabeth and Rosieleft their decimals and the Complete Speller to take care of themselvesfor fully an hour, while with their heads on the desk they weptbitterly. For, after all, Miss Hillary was a teacher, and parting witheven the poorest kind of teacher, especially one who was so pretty, washeart-breaking. 

That was bad enough, but on the very same day old Sandy McLachlan cameto the school and took Eppie away. Fortunately, her two friends didnot know until the evening that Eppie, too, was gone forever; but whenthey did discover it, Elizabeth's grief was not to be assuaged. 

The next morning Eppie and her grandfather drove away from Forest Glen. Jake Martin had not resorted to the law as he had threatened, neitherhad Tom Teeter relaxed his vigilance. The old man's Highland pride hadat the last driven him forth. The hardest part of it all had been thatthe thrust that had given him his final hurt had come from his closestfriend. Noah Clegg was the warmest-hearted man in Forest Glen andwould have given over his whole farm to Sandy if he would have acceptedit. But, as Tom Teeter declared hotly, Noah had no tact and was ablazing idiot beside, and a well-intentioned remark of his sent oldSandy out of the community. Noah was not a man of war and was soanxious that his old friend should give up his untenable positionpeaceably that he had very kindly and generously explained to Sandythat it would be far better for him to come and live on a neighbor thatwanted him than on a man like Jake Martin, who didn't. 

That very day, proud, angry, and cut to the heart, Sandy packed hishousehold goods and left the place. There was much talk over theaffair and everyone expressed deep regret--even Jake Martin. But hewisely refrained from saying much, for Tom Teeter excelled all hisformer oratorical nights in his hot denunciation of such a heartlesscrocodile, who could dance on his neighbor's grave and at the same timeweep like a whited sepulchre. Long after the countryside had given uptalking of poor Sandy's flitting, they discussed Tom's wonderful speech. 

Elizabeth and Rosie had one letter from Eppie. They were living inCheemaun, she said, and grandaddy was working in a big garden nearbyand she was going to a great school where there were six teachers. Elizabeth's sorrow changed to admiration and envy; and soon theexcitement of having a new teacher drove Eppie from her mind. 

And still the winter slowly vanished and spring advanced, and stillMrs. Jarvis did not come. Vigilance at The Dale was never relaxedthrough the delay, however. Everything was kept in a state ofpreparation, and Miss Gordon ordered her household as soldiers awaitingan onset of the enemy. Sarah Emily had a clean apron every morning, and the house was kept in speckless order from the stone step of thefront porch to the rain-barrel by the back door of the woodshed. Eventhe barnyard was swept every morning before the younger Gordons leftfor school, and every day their Sabbath clothes were laid out inreadiness to slip on at the sight of a carriage turning in offChamplain's Road. 

But the days passed and no carriage appeared, neither did a line comefrom the expected lady explaining her tardiness. Hope deferred madeMiss Gordon's nerves unsteady and her heart hard towards the cause ofher daily disappointment. By some process of unreason which oftendevelops in the aggrieved feminine mind, she conceived of Elizabeth asthat cause, and the unfortunate child found herself, alluncomprehending as usual, fallen from the heights of approbation towhich her progress at school had raised her, to the old sad level ofconstant wrong-doing. 

And so the days passed until once more May came down Arrow Hill withher arms full of blossoms, and turned the valley into a garden. Dandelions starred the green carpet by the roadside, violets andmarigolds draped the banks of the creek with a tapestry of purple andgold. The wild cherry-trees fringed Champlain's Road with a whitelacey hedge, heavy with perfume and droning with bees. The cloverfields flushed a soft lilac tint, the orchards were a mass of pink andwhite blossoms, and the whole valley rang with the music of birds fromthe robin's first dawn note to the whip-poor-will's evensong. 

Elizabeth tried not to be wildly happy, in view of her shortcomings, but found it impossible. May was here and she, too, must be riotouslyjoyful. The boys were wont to be off on fishing expeditions once more, and over hill and dale she followed them in spite of all opposition. One radiant afternoon John and Charles Stuart went, as usual, farafield on their homeward journey from school. They crossed the creekfar below the mill and, making a wide circuit round the face of ArrowHill, came home by way of Tom Teeter's pasture-field. They had chosenthis route on purpose to rid themselves of Elizabeth, but she haddogged their footsteps; and now arrived home with them, weary buttriumphant. As they approached the old stone house, she rememberedthat she bore dismaying signs of her tumultuous journey. She had metwith many accidents by the way, among others a slip into a mud-hole asthey crossed the creek. So, when they reached the low bars that ledfrom Tom's property into The Dale field, she allowed the boys to go onalone, while she sat upon the grass and strove to repair damages. 

As she was scraping the mud from her wet stockings and struggling tore-braid her hair, she heard voices coming from Tom Teeter's barnyard. Glancing through the tangle of alder and raspberry bushes she wasoverjoyed to see Annie standing by the strawstack talking to GrannyTeeter. Annie was the old woman's especial pet, and often went over tokeep her company when Tom was in town or on an oratorical tour. Elizabeth sighed happily. She would wait and go home with Annie. Onewas almost always safe in her company. 

So she sat down on the end of a rail, teetering contentedly. Therattle of a wagon could be heard on Champlain's Road. Tom was drivingin at the gate, coming from town. He would be sure to have somesweeties, and would probably send them home with Annie. Granny washobbling about the barnyard, a red and black checked shawl round herhead and shoulders, a stick in her hand, which she used as much to rapthe unruly pigs and calves as for a support. She was complaining inher high querulous voice about her turkeys, the _contrary_ littlebastes, that would nivir stay to home at all, at all, no matter if yegive them the whole farm to ate up. Tom rode up and stood talking withthem, and Elizabeth, watching him through the raspberry bushes forsigns of a package of candy, saw him take a letter from his pocket. Then he pointed to the straying turkeys going "peep, peep" over thehillside, and, as Granny turned to look at them, he slipped the letterinto Annie's hand. Elizabeth remembered having seen Tom do this onceor twice before, when he came over of an evening. She wondered whatthis could be about, and decided to ask Annie as soon as she came. Suppose it should be a letter from Mrs. Jarvis, saying she had started!

Her sister was a long time in coming, and when she did appear at last, walking along the path, she came very slowly. She was reading theletter and smiling very tenderly and happily over it. 

"Hello, Annie!" shouted Elizabeth, scrambling up on the fence top. Theletter disappeared like a flash into the folds of Annie's skirt; and atonce Elizabeth's older self told her she must not ask questions aboutthat letter, must not even allude to it. Some faint recollection ofthat early dawn when she had seen the farewell in their orchard driftedthrough her mind. 

"Why, Lizzie, " said her older sister, "how did you come here?" Shecaught sight of the books. John carried the dinner-pail on conditionthat Elizabeth bore the school-bag. "Haven't you got home yet?"

"No. The boys went 'way round, miles below the mill to hunt moles, andI got into the creek. And just look at my stockings, Annie!"

"Oh, Lizzie!" cried her sister in distress, "what will aunt say?" thenadded that which always attached itself to Elizabeth's misdemeanors, "What would Mrs. Jarvis think if she were to come to-day?"

"Oh, bother! I don't believe she'll ever come for years and years, "said Elizabeth recklessly. "Do you, Ann; now, really?"

"Ye-s, I think she might soon be here now. " Something in her bigsister's voice made Elizabeth look up quickly. Dimples were showing inAnnie's cheeks. Her eyes were radiant. 

"Oh, _do_ you think so? Well, Horace promised to come anyway, but whatmakes you think she'll come soon?"

Annie shook her head, still smiling. "Aw, do tell me, " coaxedElizabeth. "Did aunt get a letter?"

"No, " the dimples were growing deeper, the eyes brighter, "but if she'scoming at all she's coming this week, because--because the year'snearly up. " She added the last words in a whisper and looked startledas soon as she had uttered them. 

"Because what?" cried Elizabeth, bristling with curiosity. 

"Nothing, nothing, " said Annie hastily. "It's, " she was whisperingagain, "it's got something to do with our secret, Lizzie, and youmustn't ask me like a good little girl. And you won't tell what Isaid, will you?"

Elizabeth was quite grown-up now. "Oh, no, I won't ever, ever tell. But you're not quite sure she's coming, are you? 'Cause I neverfinished working the motto she sent me. "

"No, I'm not quite sure. But I think she will. "

Elizabeth nodded. She understood perfectly, she told herself. Thatletter was from Mrs. Jarvis, but having something to do with Annie'ssecret--which meant Mr. Coulson--its contents must not be disclosed. 

She went to work at her lessons that evening and forgot all about theletter and Mrs. Jarvis, too. Decimals were not so alluring since theMay flowers had blossomed. A thousand voices of the coming summercalled her away from her books. But Elizabeth was determined to finisha certain exercise that week, for Mother MacAllister was looking forit. Malcolm and Jean were sitting down on the old pump platform doinga Latin exercise. Elizabeth could not understand anyone studyingthere, with the orioles building their nest above and thevesper-sparrows calling from the lane. So she took her books up to herroom, pulled down the green paper blind to shut out all sights andsounds, lit the lamp, and there in the hot, airless little place kneltby a chair and crammed her slate again and again with figures. 

Miss Gordon had been darning on the side porch, but had left her work amoment and gone out to the kitchen to request Sarah Emily tosing--provided it were necessary to sing at all--a little lessboisterously. Tom Teeter was in the study with Mr. Gordon, and, toshow her indifference, Sarah Emily was calling forth loud and clear thechronicles of all those "finest young gents that ever were seen, " whohad come a-courting all in vain. 

The singer being reduced to a sulky silence, the mistress of the housepassed out on a tour of inspection. She glanced approvingly at the twoeager young students in the orchard, calling softly to Jean not toremain out after the dew began to fall. The little boys were playingin the lane. Mary was with them, but the absence of noise showed thatElizabeth was not. Miss Gordon moved quietly upstairs. The door ofElizabeth's room was closed; she tapped, then opened it. 

Elizabeth's face, hot and flushed, was raised from her slate. The lampwas flaring, and the room was stifling and smelt of kerosene. But shelooked up at her aunt with some confidence. She half-expected to becommended. She was certainly working hard and surely was not doinganything wrong. 

For a moment Miss Gordon stood staring. She was seized with a suddenfear that perhaps Elizabeth was not quite in her right senses. Thenshe noted the extravagant consuming of kerosene in the day-time. 

"Elizabeth, " she said despairingly, "how is it possible that you canact so strangely? Is the daylight not good enough that you must shutyourself up here? Take your books and go downstairs immediately, andblow out the lamp and tell Sarah Emily to clean it again. Really, Icannot understand you!"

Elizabeth went tumultuously down the stairs. No, her aunt didn'tunderstand, that was just the trouble. If she ever showed any signs ofdoing so, one might occasionally explain. She flung her books upon thekitchen table and went out to the back kitchen door and, sitting downheavily upon a bench there, gave herself up to despair. She gazeddrearily at Malcolm and Jean and listened to the laughter from the lanewithout wanting to join either group. Mr. MacAllister had come over afew minutes earlier, bringing the Pretender as usual. John and thelatter were upstairs. Elizabeth knew they were planning to run awayfrom her on the Queen's Birthday, but she did not care. She toldherself she did not care about anything any more. Her heart wasbroken, and if Mrs. Jarvis were to drive in at the gate that verymoment she would not take ten million dollars from her, though shebegged her on her bended knees. 

Miss Gordon went back to her darning on the side porch, and worked atit feverishly, wondering if the child were really in her right mind. She had much to worry her these days, poor lady. Her ambition for thefamily threatened to be disappointed. Mrs. Jarvis was evidently notcoming. Malcolm and Jean would probably graduate from the High Schooland there their education must stop. And Annie was acting sostrangely. She could not but remember that it was just one year agothat evening that she had bidden Annie dismiss her undesirable suitor. And now, rumor said the young man bade fair to be highly desirable, andno other lover had as yet appeared. Of course, Mr. Coulson had gone, declaring his exile would last a year, and then he would return. ButMiss Gordon had little faith in young men. 

Annie had not fretted, only for a day or so--that was the strangepart--but their life together had never been the same. There were nopretty, sweet confidences from her favorite, such as used to make MissGordon feel young and happy, and lately Annie had been so silent andyet with a face that shone with an inner light. Her aunt felt lonelyand shut out of the brightness of the girl's life. Much she wonderedand speculated. But Annie's firm mouth closed tightly and the steadyeyes looked far away when the young school-teacher's name was mentioned. 

Well, it was a blessing the girl did not fret, the aunt said toherself, for there was little likelihood of his returning. He hadprobably forgotten all about her since last winter--young men were likethat. She sighed as she confessed it, remembering one who had declaredhe would come back--but who had remained away in forgetfulness. 

As she sat there in gloomy meditation, a rumbling noise made her lookup. A carriage was coming swiftly along Champlain's Road, one of thosesmart buggies that came only from the town. It stopped at the gate, and the driver, a young man, alighted. Elizabeth saw him, too, andsuddenly forgot her despondency. She had seen Annie but ten minutesbefore, walking across the pasture-field towards Granny Teeter's. Shearose with a spring and went tearing through the orchard, bringingforth indignant remarks from her studious brother and sister as sheflashed past. Annie had just reached the gate leading from theorchard. Elizabeth flung herself upon her. 

"Oh, Annie!" she gasped, radiant and breathless. "Somebody's coming. And you'll never, never guess, 'cause it's Mrs. Jarvis, and she'sbrought Mr. Coulson!"

CHAPTER XI

THE DREAM OF LIFE

"Miss Gordon is wanted in the Principal's room at once. "

The Science Master of Cheemaun High School put his head in at the doorof the room where the "Moderns" teacher was instructing his class inFrench grammar. There was a flutter among the pupils as a tall younglady in a neat dark-blue dress arose. The flutter had something ofapprehension in it. Miss Gordon was a prime favorite--and this was notthe first time she had been summoned to what was known amongst herschoolmates as The Judgment Hall. 

"Oh, Beth!" giggled the fair, plump young lady who shared her seat. "He's found you out certain!"

"You're in for it, Beth!" whispered another. "Old Primmy's seen yourpicture!"

Miss Gordon's deep gray eyes took on a look of mock terror. She wentout with bent head and a comical air of abject humility that left theroom in a titter. The "Moderns" teacher frowned. Miss Gordon wasirrepressible. 

Nevertheless, when she found herself passing down the wide echoing hallalone, the young lady was seized with misgivings. For which of hermisdemeanors was she to be arraigned this time? There was thatdreadful caricature she had drawn of the Principal--the one with theshining expanse of bald head towards which swarms of flies andmosquitoes, bearing skates and toboggans and hockey-sticks, werehurrying gayly, while upon poor old Dr. Primrose's one tuft of hairshone the conspicuous sign, "This way to the Great Slide. "

Now, what on earth had she done with that picture? Oh, yes, HoraceOliver had borrowed it to show to Parker Raymond. Perhaps Park hadlost it--he was such a careless fellow--and Dr. Primrose had found it!And there was that poem, too, the one on little Mr. Kelly, the ScienceMaster. It was a long, lugubrious effusion, telling of the search by aheart-broken chemistry class for a beloved teacher, who hadunaccountably disappeared. It described them as wandering aboutweeping pitifully, looking into desks and ink-bottles, and under books;until at last they discovered to their horror that a careless girl haddropped her pen-wiper upon him and smothered him! That poem hadcirculated through the class, causing much merriment. And where was itnow? The poetess could not remember. Suppose someone had dropped itand Mr. Kelly had found it? He was so small, and so sensitive abouthis size. No wonder Miss Gordon went very slowly to the Principal'sroom. 

Usually her days were all unalloyed joy. High School, except foroccasional skirmishes with troublesome teachers, was a delight. ForElizabeth Gordon had arrived at a place in life where one could have agood time without hurting anyone; there was so much fun in the world, laughter was so easy--and nobody seemed ever to be in trouble any more. Even as she tapped at the door beyond which probable retribution lay, she smiled at the nodding lilac bush with its bunch of amethystblossoms that waved a greeting to her from the open window. MissGordon's mind was prone to wander thus from the subject in hand to suchsights, her teachers often found. The song of a yellow warbler in theschool maples, the whirl of scarlet leaves across the window pane, orthe gleam of snow on the far-off hilltops, would drive away every itemof knowledge concerning the value of (a+b)2 or the characteristics of aparallelogram. 

The door swung suddenly open and the Principal's bald head shot intoview. His eyes were stern. Evidently he had come in war and not inpeace. 

"Ah, Miss Gordon!" he said, briskly. "Yes, Miss Gordon! Just stepthis way a minute!"

He held open the door and Miss Gordon stepped in, leaving all hercourage on the other side. She slipped sideways into a chair andlooked up at him with scared attention. Evidently it was the picture. 

"Miss Gordon, " said the Principal, seating himself in his revolvingchair, which creaked in a way that reminded Miss Gordon horribly ofstories of the guillotine, "I am making out the list of those whom Iconsider competent to write on the final examinations, and I feel it myduty to notify you that I cannot see my way clear to include your name. "

Elizabeth fairly crumpled up in her chair. This was awful--the thingshe had most feared had come upon her at last. She sat speechless. 

"Your papers on mathematics are quite hopeless, " he continued, growingmore querulous because his pity was aroused. "It's out of the questionthat you should write. I've done my best to show you that you shouldgive less time to English subjects and devote more to Algebra and yourEuclid. " He arose and blustered up and down the room. 

"You haven't a mathematical head, " he was saying for the third timewhen a sharp rap upon the door interrupted. Dr. Primrose, looking verymuch relieved, opened it. Miss Gordon turned away to the window tohide the rising tears. 

There was a short, hurried conversation at the door, and the teacherturned to his victim. He had a big, warm heart that was vastlyrelieved at the prospect of escape from a most unpleasant duty. 

"Ah, Miss Gordon, " he said briskly. "Here are two gentlemen to seeyou. You have permission to go home early this afternoon, by specialrequest. Kindly bear in mind what I have told you. "

He stepped quickly aside, and ushered in two tall, young men, at thesame time closing the door behind him. 

At the same instant all Miss Gordon's troubles were shut out with him, and her face lit up with rapturous delight. She skipped across theroom with a joyful scream. 

"Oh, John, John Gordon, you dear old sneak; why didn't you tell me youwere coming to-day?"

She flung her arms about his neck and gave him a sounding kiss. JohnGordon had been a whole year in college, but he had not yet becomesufficiently grown-up to accept a salute from his sister. He drew backrather embarrassed, but his blue eyes shone in his dark face. He wastremendously glad to see Lizzie again, and could not quite hide thefact. 

The other young man seemed equally pleased. "I say, Lizzie!" heexclaimed, as she joyously shook both his hands. "You're grown about ayard. And her neck's longer than ever, isn't it, John?"

"You mean old Pretender, " she said with a pout; nevertheless, she didnot look offended. Miss Gordon had quite changed her views regardingthe possession of a long neck. Estella Raymond, her dearest chum, whowas short and plump, had declared many times that she would give tenthousand dollars--not specifying how she was to come by such a sum--ifshe could have a neck one-half as long and slim and graceful as BethGordon's. 

"Never mind, she's getting better looking, I do declare, " the Pretenderadded. "How's everybody?"

"Oh, just splendid--that is, they were when I was home last. I don'tgo every Friday, you know. When did you come? Am I to go home withyou?"

"We just got here on the noon train, " her brother explained, "and weswarmed up to Annie's and she gave us the dinner of our lives. "

"Say, it didn't taste much like boarding-house hash, did it?" cried Mr. MacAllister fervently. 

"And John Coulson's going to stand a treat for the whole family, anddrive us all out to The Dale--the Kid and all. And you're to comealong. Scoot and get your hat. "

Elizabeth danced away down the hall to the cloakroom dizzy with joy. Examinations, mathematics, principals of High Schools, all unkind andtroublesome things had vanished in a rosy mist. The old delight ofgetting "off with the boys, " was as strong at seventeen as at ten. Theboys themselves seemed to have changed their minds in the interveningyears as to the advisability of allowing Lizzie to "tag after them. "John's deep blue eyes, looking after her dancing figure, showed thelove and pride in his sister which he was always so careful to hide, and his companion looked with somewhat the same expression and withal alittle puzzled--as one who had seen something unexpected which haddazzled him. 

It was but the work of a moment for Elizabeth to put on her hat andgloves. She did not linger over the correct adjustment of the formeras she so often did. Miss Gordon was prone to look much in the mirrorthese days. It was always the fixing of a bow or a frill of lace orsome other ornament that took her attention. She scarcely looked, asyet, at the shining wealth of nut-brown hair, with the golden strandthrough it, nor at the deep gray eyes, nor the straight line of teeththat gleamed when she laughed. Miss Gordon was not interested inthese, but she could become absorbed in the arrangement of ribbon atsuch length that her sister, Mrs. John Coulson, sometimes worried forfear Lizzie was growing vain. 

As she hurried to the main entrance where the boys stood waiting, agroup of young ladies came straying out of the classroom for theafternoon recess. 

"Beth Gordon!" cried the fair, plump one, making a dive at her friend. "Are you expelled or are you off for a holiday, you mean thing? Who'sout there?" She craned her short neck. "Goodness, what swells! Arethey waiting for you?"

"It's only our John and Stuart MacAllister, they've just got in fromToronto, and I'm going home with them. "

"MacAllister and Gordon! Goodness gracious! I'm going to ask them ifthey've ever met Ted Burns at 'Varsity. Ted's just crazy to get me tocorrespond with him. "

She tore down the hall and was soon in hilarious conversation with hertwo old schoolmates, while Elizabeth remained behind to explain hersudden departure. 

"Just look at Estella!" cried a tall sallow girl, regarding thatvivacious young lady with disgust. 

"How is it she always has so much attention from boys?" asked ElizabethGordon, half-wistfully. 

"My goodness, you're so innocent, Beth! Can't you see she runs afterthem and demands attention. I wouldn't stoop to the means she employsnot if a boy never spoke to me again, would you?"

Elizabeth was silent. Somehow she could not help thinking it would bemost enjoyable to have two or three swains always dancing attendance onone, the way they did on Estella Raymond, even though one did have toencourage them. Of course Estella did resort to means that were notquite genteel--but then boys seemed to always come about her, anyway, as bees did about a flower; while Madeline Oliver never had a beau. Elizabeth had to confess that she hadn't one herself--except Horace, who, of course, didn't count. She sighed. It really would be nice tobe like Stella, even though one hadn't Madeline's dignity. 

"Good-by, girls!" she called gayly. "I'll bring you somelady's-slippers if they're out, " and she ran out to the group on thesteps. 

It took some time for the two young men to tear themselves away fromMiss Raymond's gentle hands. They were further delayed by herfollowing Elizabeth to the gate, her arm about her waist, while sheimplored her darling Beth to come back soon, and kissed her twicebefore she let her go. They got away at last, and the three went downthe leafy street. 

They were a very different looking trio from the one that used to strayover field and through woods about The Dale, fishing, berry-picking, nutting, or merely seeking adventure. They had not been separated verylong. During the boys' first year in the High School, Elizabeth hadworked madly, and when she managed to graduate from Forest Glen, MotherMacAllister had insisted that Charles Stuart take the buck-board andthe sorrel mare and that the three inseparables drive to and from thetown to school. 

For though Mrs. Jarvis had really appeared in the flesh at The Dale forthat one visit, she had never repeated it nor her munificent offer todiscuss Elizabeth's future. Her talk had all been of Annie, and what agood match young Mr. Coulson would make. And Miss Gordon had to becontent, never guessing that the astute young man whose cause the ladychampioned, and not her own influence had brought Mrs. Jarvis to TheDale. 

So Elizabeth's fortune had not been made after all, but she had managedto get on quite well without a fortune, it would seem. Her High Schooldays had been days of perfect joy. Even when the boys had graduatedand gone to Toronto, she had managed to be happy. For Annie lived inCheemaun by this time, lived in a fine brick house too in the best partof the town, and Elizabeth had spent this last year with her. And nownearly five years had passed, and not Mrs. Jarvis, but Mr. Coulson hadbecome the family's hope. 

Miss Gordon had long ago become reconciled to the tavern-keepingancestor. It would appear that social lines could not be strictlydrawn in this new country, and when one lived in Canada apparently onemust marry as Canadians married. For it would appear also that hereJack was not only as good as his master, but might be in the master'splace the next day. And certainly John Coulson was a model husband, and a rising lawyer besides. On the whole, Miss Gordon was perfectlysatisfied with the match she now firmly believed she had made for herniece. Each year she grew more absorbed in her ambition for William'sfamily. They were all responding so splendidly to her efforts. Shewould raise them to social eminence, she declared to herself, in spiteof William's neglect and Mrs. Jarvis's indifference. With JohnCoulson's help Malcolm had secured a position in the bank of aneighboring town. Jean was teaching school in Toronto, and becauseJean must needs do the work of two people, she was reading up thecourse Charles Stuart was taking in the University and attending suchlectures as she could. Even Elizabeth, through Annie's goodness, wasgetting such learning as she was capable of taking. And John was atcollege learning to be a doctor. That was the hardest task of all, thesending of John to college. And only Miss Gordon knew how it had beenaccomplished. She had managed it somehow for the first year, and Johnwas to earn money during his first summer vacation for his next year. 

Down the long leafy street Elizabeth was moving now between the twotall figures. There was so much to tell, so many questions to ask, andshe talked all the time. To the boys' disgust they could extract fromher very little information respecting any person except the onesupreme personage who now ruled her days--Annie's baby. She wasovercome with indignation that Annie had not already displayed him. What if he was asleep! It was a shame to make anybody wait fiveminutes for a sight of such a vision. Why, he was the most angelic anddivinely exquisite, sweetest, dearest, darlingest pet that evergladdened the earth. He was a vision, that's what he was! Just avision all cream satin and rose-leaf and gold. Elizabeth described himat such length that the boys in self-defense uttered their old, oldthreat. They would climb a fence and run away--and Elizabeth, whoselong skirts now precluded the possibility of her old defiantcounter-threat to follow them, desisted and bade them "just wait. "

They were climbing the heights that formed the part of the town calledSunset Hill. It was a beautiful spot, with streets embowered in mapletrees and bordered by lawns and gardens. At the end of each leafyavenue gleamed Cheemaun Lake with its white sails. Sunset Hill was notonly the prettiest residential part of the town, it was the region ofsocial eminence; and it were better to dwell in a cot on those heightsand have your card tray filled with important names, than exist inluxury down by the lake shore and not be known by Society. The houseson Sunset Hill were all of red brick with wide verandas supported bywhite pillars--the wider the veranda, and the thicker the pillars, thegreater the owner's social distinction. For some years this form ofarchitecture was the only one accepted by people of fashion, until Mr. Oliver, who was a wealthy lumberman, inadvertently put an end to it. He too built his new house on Sunset Hill, and Mrs. Oliver, just tooutpillar the other pillars of society, had her veranda supported bygroups of columns, three in a group. Thereafter builders lost courage, seeming to feel that the limit had been reached. Shortly after, adaring young contractor put up a gray stone house with slim blackveranda posts, and no one raised a protest. And fashion, having beenchased in this manner from pillar to post, so to speak, Society turnedits attention to other than architectural fields. But the dull redbricks of Sunset Hill with their white ornamentations mellowing in thekeen Canadian winters, stood thereafter as a title clear tounquestionable social standing. 

It had always been a source of great satisfaction to Elizabeth thatJohn Coulson had taken Annie to a white-pillared home on Sunset Hill;for Madeline and Horace lived in the finest home there, and Estella, though on the wrong side of Elm Crescent, the street that, curvinground Sunset Hill, divided it from the vulgar world, dwelt in a veryfine residence indeed. Elizabeth had learned many things besidesFrench and Chemistry in Cheemaun High School. 

They found a big carriage drawn up before the door of Annie's house, and Annie already in it holding the Vision, now merely a bundle of laceand shawls. Elizabeth grasped the bundle from her sister's arms andproceeded to display its many charms. "Oh, John, just look at him!Look, Stuart, see him's dear dear itty nose, an' him's grea' bigpeepers! Isn't he the darlingest pet----"

The boys attempted to be sufficiently admiring, but just as they werelamely trying to say something adequate to the great occasion, toElizabeth's dismay, the Vision opened its mouth and yelled lustily. 

"Betsey, you're a nuisance!" said John Coulson, with that indulgentlook he always bent upon the young sister-in-law, who had been such ahelp to him in those days when he sorely needed help. "Come, tumblein, everybody. All aboard for The Dale, --Champlain and Cheemaun R. R. !" The Vision was quieted, the travelers sprang in, the whipcracked, the wheels rattled, the horses pranced, and away they spundown the leafy streets--down, down, to the long level stretch ofChamplain's Road that ran straight out into the country. 

There was much to be told of college pranks and college work, and thetelling of it lasted until the horses climbed Arrow Hill and the oldfamiliar valley lay stretched before them. 

"Yook, yook, Dackie!" chattered Aunt Elizabeth, clutching the Vision, whose big blue eyes were gazing wonderingly from the depths of hiswrappings. "Yook at de pitty pitty wobin! A teenty weenty itty wobinwed best!"

There was a groan from the front seat. 

"Do you often get it as bad as that, Lizzie?" asked John anxiously. 

"Remember The Rowdy, Lizzie?" asked Charles Stuart, "the fellow thatused to sing in the hawthorn bush?"

"I should think I do--and Granny Teeter. Listen, there is The Rowdy'slineal descendant, for sure!"

It seemed to be The Rowdy's very reincarnation, singing and shoutingfrom an elm bough by the roadside. 

"That's a gay bachelor all right, " said John Coulson, who, because hewas so supremely happy in his married life, had to make allusion to hiscondition as often as possible, even if only by way of contrast. 

"He sounds more like a widower, " said Elizabeth gloomily; "one that hadbeen bereaved about a year. "

"Hush, hush, Betsey!" cried her brother-in-law. "Remember whose landhe's on. "

"That's just what I am remembering. "

"You don't mean that Jake's beginning to 'take notice, ' surely?" askedJohn Gordon, in wicked delight. For only the spring before poorworn-out Mrs. Martin had suddenly ceased her baking, churning, andhoeing, and had gone to her long rest in the Forest Glen churchyard, and already rumor said that Jake was on the lookout for another baker, churner, and hoer. 

"I'm afraid he is, " said John Coulson. "There he is now prowling roundhis asparagus beds. He's probably got his eye on Betsey. "

Elizabeth was not prepared to answer this sally. She was looking outeagerly for some glimpse of Susie. All the elder Martins had left homejust as soon as they were old enough to assert their independence. ButSusie's strength had given way before the hard work, and she lay allday in bed, or dragged her weary limbs about the house, a hopelessinvalid, and her father's chief grievance in life. Elizabeth's warmheart was always filled with a passionate pity for Susie, and sherarely visited home without running across the fields to brighten ahalf-hour for the sick girl. 

Just at this moment there arose from the fields opposite the Martinfarm a rollicking song--loud, clear, compelling attention, and pouredforth in a rich baritone. 

 "_O, and it's whippity-whoppity too, And how I'd love to sing to you, I'd laugh and sing With joy and glee, If Mistress McQuarry would marry me, If Mistress McQuarry would marry me!_"

The last line was fairly shouted in a way that showed the singer wasanxious to be heard. 

"Tom's trying to outsing the robins, " cried John Coulson, pulling uphis horses. Mr. Teeter was coming across a rich brown field behind hisharrow. John Coulson waved his hat. 

"Hello, Tom, I tell you they lost a fine singer when they made anorator out of you! Give us a shake!"

Tom was over the fence in a twinkling, and shaking the newcomers' hands. 

"Sure it's awful college swells ye're gettin' to be, wid your highcollars. Have ye made up yer mind to be a preacher yet?" He looked atCharles Stuart. 

"No, I haven't, " said Charles Stuart hastily. 

"Well ye ought to be ashamed o' yerself, wid the mother ye've got. Soye heard me singin' now?" His eyes gleamed with mischievous delight. "I was shoutin' for a purpose. " He jerked his thumb over his shoulderin the direction of the man working in the Martin fields. "Look atthat say-sarpent wigglin' over there. It makes him so mad he could setfire to me. " He laughed so explosively that the horses started. "He'scoortin'. Yes, siree, but he don't like to have it advertised. "

"Who's the poor woman?" asked Mrs. Annie in distress. 

"Auntie Jinit McKerracher! They say she throwed the dish-water on himthe last time he went sparkin'. Hi! young shaver!" This to theVision, who had insisted upon sitting erect, and was now looking abouthim. "Oh, he's the broth of a boy, sure enough, Lizzie. Now ye'll besure all o' yez to come over and see mother; don't ye dare go backwidout. I suppose yous two didn't hear anything o' poor Sandy and thewee girl in Toronto, did ye?"

John shook his head. "We heard they were living with Eppie's father. He kept a corner grocery store in the east end, but we couldn't findthem. "

"Eh, eh, " sighed Tom, "poor Sandy. A fine old fellow. Eh, I hope he'snot in want. " He shook his fist towards his neighbor. "An' jist go onrobbin' widows an' tramplin' on orphans till ye perish in thecorruption o' yer own penuriousness. Yes, an' me lady Jarvis too!" hecried, abruptly finishing his apostrophe. "She'll have to answer forold Sandy an' the wee thing, see if she don't. " The company smiled inspite of his earnestness, all but Elizabeth. She regarded him with bigsolemn eyes. "Now yous 'll be over to see mother early, mind, " headded as he swung one leg over the fence. 

As they drove away they heard his song rising again loud and clear--

 "_O, and it's whippity-whoppity too, And how I'd love to sing to you. _"

"Tom's a great lad, " laughed John Coulson. "He'll never grow old. Iwonder why he never married, " he added, returning to his favorite topic. 

"Does Sarah Emily still think he's pining for her?"

"She's sure of it, " said Elizabeth. "And poor old granny is so angrythat Tom won't get married. 'Aw wirra wurra, if Tom'd only git a wifenow. '" She wrung her hands and imitated old Granny Teeter's wail toperfection. "'Sure an' he nades a wife to tind to the chickens an' thepigs an' the turkeys--the contrary little bastes that'll niver bestayin' at home, at all at all. '"

The young men laughed, and John Coulson looked admiringly at her. JohnCoulson was too apt to encourage Lizzie in this sort of thing, Anniefelt. She smiled indulgently at her sister, but said nothing. Mrs. John Coulson alone knew why poor unselfish Tom had never married, buthers was a loyal friendship and she had kept his secret as faithfullyas he had once kept hers. 

And now they had come prancing out from behind the screen of elm trees, and The Dale lay spread out before them--the big gate between the oldwillows, the long lane bordered by blossoming cherry-trees, and the oldstone house with its prim flower beds in front. Their homecoming was afew days earlier than expected, and Mr. Gordon was all unconsciouslyhoeing at the back of the field, but Sarah Emily spied them as theypulled up at the gate, and came running round the house shouting in amost ungenteel but warm-hearted fashion that the folks was come home. 

Elizabeth sprang from the carriage and ran down the lane to meet Mary. Though she came home often, the joy of reunion with her family neverpalled. There was no place like The Dale for Elizabeth, no folk likeher own folk. She did not even notice in her joyous hurry that CharlesStuart had left and was striding homeward down Champlain's Road. 

Mary came running out to meet her. She was a tall girl now, tallerthan Elizabeth, but her delicately beautiful face was wasted and pale, except for two pink spots on her cheeks. Miss Gordon was just behindher. She had not grown much older looking in the past few years, andunconsciously had lost some of her stately rigidity. She lookedextremely handsome, her face flushed and alight with happiness. Shedid not kiss the visitors, except Baby Jackie, but her eyes shone withwelcome. As she greeted John, she laid one hand for a moment on hisshoulder. She looked at him closely, noting with pride the new air ofgentility even one year at college had given the boy. But as she tookAnnie's boy into her arms Miss Gordon's face grew positively sweet. 

She had not the privilege of bearing the precious bundle far. SarahEmily, who had rushed back to the house to don a clean apron, met herat the door, and snatching the Vision fled upstairs with him, inquiringloudly of the blessed petums if it wasn't just Sarah Emily's ownest, darlingest love. 

Mr. Gordon came hurrying in from the field, and after he had made themall welcome over again, he followed John about in a happy daze, sayingagain and again that if only Mary and Malcolm were here--no, no, Archieand Lizzie--tuts, it was Malcolm and Jean he meant, --if they were onlyhome now, the family would be complete--"almost complete, " he added. And then his eyes once more took on their far-away look, and he slippedaway into the study, whither Elizabeth softly followed him. 

In the late afternoon the younger boys came home from school, and theexcitement had to be all lived through again. They all wandered aboutthe old house, everyone following in the wake of the baby. The Dalerooms were not the bare, echoing spaces they once were. Just two yearsbefore, Cousin Griselda had passed quietly away, and her littleannuity, as well as the property in McGlashan Street, had passed toMiss Gordon. The latter had experienced much real grief over her loss, and had taken pains in the intervening time to impress upon all herfamily that this bereavement was part of the sacrifice she haddeliberately made for them. Nevertheless, the Gordons had benefitedsome from the slight addition to their income, and there were manycomforts in the big stone house which had been absent in the earlydays. Early in the evening Mother MacAllister and Charles Stuart cameover, and Granny Teeter returned their visit, bringing with her AuntieJinit McKerracher, who had dropped in. Elizabeth and Mary and SarahEmily, when they were not quarreling over who should nurse Baby Jackie, managed to set the table for a second late tea. A grand tea it wastoo, with the big shining tablecloth Aunt Margaret had brought from theOld Country, and the high glass preserve dish that always had remindedElizabeth in her early years of the pictures of the laver in thetabernacle court. It was a great day altogether, and Elizabeth enjoyedso much the old joy of straying down the lane and over the fields withJohn and Charles Stuart, that when John Coulson drove up to the door, and Annie with the Vision, once more a bundle of shawls, was put intothe carriage, she was glad she was to remain at home till Monday. 

The Coulson family drove away, with a bunch of early Dale rhubarb, andgreen onions, under the carriage seat, along with a fresh loaf ofMother MacAllister's bread, and a roll of Auntie Jinit McKerracher'sbutter, and a jar of Granny Teeter's cider. When they were gone, Johnwent into the study for a talk with his father alone, and Elizabeth andMary repaired to their little room to discuss the week's doings. Itwas not the bare room it once was; the girl's deft hands had decoratedit with cheap but dainty muslin curtains, pictures, and bric-a-brac. Elizabeth went down on her knees to clear out a bureau drawer for theclothes she had brought. 

She laughed as she brought up some old treasures. Here was a pair ofwhite pillow covers that Mrs. Jarvis had sent her on her thirteenthbirthday. There was a motto outlined on each, and silk threads forworking it had accompanied the gift. But Elizabeth had finished onlyone, and put a half-dozen stitches into the other. "Look at those!"she cried, half-laughing, half-ashamed, as she hung them over a chair. "I wonder when I'll ever get them finished. " Mary picked them up, andexamined them. "You really ought to do them, Lizzie. They'd be sopretty for our bed done in the pale blue silk. " She read the mottoesaloud, "I slept and dreamed that life was beauty, " and the second, "Iawoke and found that life was duty. " "It's just like you to drop athing in the middle and not finish it. " Mary was growing more like herAunt Margaret every day in her stately prim manner. 

"I didn't drop it in the middle, Miss Wiseacre, " said her sister. "Can't you see I started the Duty one. It's ten stitches past themiddle!" She caught them up, bound "the beauty one" about her head, stuck the other into her belt for an apron, twisted her face up into aperfect imitation of Auntie Jinit McKerracher, and proceeded to giveMary the latest piece of gossip, in a broad Scotch accent, ending up asAuntie Jinit always did, "Noo, ah'm jist tellin' ye whit ah heered, an'if it's a lee, ah didna mak it!"

Mary laughed till the tears came. Lizzie was so absurd and so funny. But the fit of laughter at her antics brought on a fit of coughing, anda voice called from the foot of the stairs--"Mary, Mary, are yousitting up in that chilly room? Come right down to the stove at once. "

Mary went coughing down the stairs, and Elizabeth listened unconcerned. Mary had always been coughing and always been chased to the stove eversince she could remember. She folded her head-dress and put it intothe drawer. She glanced at its inscription, "I slept and dreamed thatlife was beauty. " She was sleeping these happy days, and dreaming toothat life was all joy. The other pillow-cover slipped from her beltand lay on the floor. Her careless foot trampled it. It was the onethat read, "I awoke and found that life was duty. " The significance ofher unconscious act did not reach her. She hummed a gay song learnedat school, as she crammed the pieces of embroidery into a drawer. Theywere merely embroidery to Elizabeth, and so was life. She had not yetread the inscription traced over it by the finger of God, and knew notits divine meaning. 

But in the silence of the little room, the remembrance of Dr. Primrose's fell message suddenly returned. It was the first time shehad recalled it all that long, happy day. Well, there was no useworrying, she concluded philosophically. Sufficient unto the day wasthe evil thereof, and she ran down the stairs singing. 

The summer holidays soon came, and Elizabeth left Cheemaun under acloud. She had failed, while the rest of the family had succeeded. Everyone came home bearing laurels but her, and her aunt keenly feltthe one shadow over the family glory. 

Nevertheless, for Elizabeth the vacation passed gayly. She seemed tobe the only one who did not grieve over her lack of success. She wasindeed the only really Gay Gordon, so studious and hard-working hadthey all become. 

Elizabeth somehow seemed the only one also who managed to play all thetime. She had the faculty of turning everything into play. John hiredwith Tom Teeter for the summer, and Charles Stuart toiled all day inhis own fields. Jean came home laden with books, and studied bothnight and day. Even Malcolm in his two weeks' vacation busied himselfin the garden with his father. But Elizabeth seemed to have nodefinite place assigned her in the domestic economy. Mary had suchlight duties as her health permitted, but she refused all her sister'soffers of assistance. Lizzie was sure to get the darning all tangledand spoiled, and if one left her any sewing to do, one might see hernext moment chasing Jamie down the lane, with the unsewed article lefthanging over a raspberry bush. Yes, Lizzie was no good, as Sarah Emilydeclared when she ventured into the kitchen, and the only time sheappeared at an advantage was during Annie's weekly visits when sheexcelled everyone in her care of the baby. Even her aunt had to admither superiority here. She was as careful, as wise and responsible asMiss Gordon could wish, and she often wondered how the reckless, nonsensical girl could be so suddenly transformed. But then MissGordon was still far from understanding her niece. 

Elizabeth's days were very full in spite of her idleness. There wereher weekly visits to Mother MacAllister, frequent calls on poor Susielying in pain on her hard bed, and even an occasional call upon Rosieaway down in Forest Glen. Rosie hailed Elizabeth's visits withdelight, though she was too busy to return them. The Carricks weretoiling night and day, sewing, and preserving fruit, and "hooking" matsand quilting quilts. For in the fall, just at the season when awedding trip to the Toronto Autumn Exhibition was looked upon as themost fashionable social departure in the countryside, Rosie and HectorMcQueen, who had never outlived the days of chivalry, were to bemarried! It made Elizabeth feel old and queer and dreadfully sorry forRosie all at one moment just to think about it. 

Elizabeth was sometimes possessed with the feeling that she was outsideeverybody else's life. Of course there was John. He was her chum andher soul's companion, but the rest of the family seemed to live in aworld full of interests into which she could not enter. Jean wasburning with ambition. She talked only of her studies, of her progressand aspirations in the teaching profession, and of Miss Mills, withwhom she studied. Miss Mills was a mathematical wonder, Jean declared, but in Elizabeth's opinion, she was a tough mathematical problemclothed in partially human flesh. She wondered much at Miss Mills, andat Jean too, and tried to catch her enthusiasm. But she could seenothing in Jean's life over which to grow enthusiastic. 

Another person who seemed to have grown away from her was CharlesStuart. The Pretender had changed within the last few years. He was atall, broad-shouldered young man now, and his dark eyes did not danceso mischievously in his handsome face. They wore something of theexpression of dreamy kindness that lay in the depths of his mother'sgray eyes. He was generally very quiet too, given to sitting alonewith a book, and Elizabeth often found him dull and stupid. 

Mother MacAllister sometimes seemed worried over him, and Elizabethwondered much what could be the reason. Had the Pretender been wildand bad as he used to be she could have understood, but he seemed soquiet and steady. 

One evening she came near divining the reason for her anxious looks. 

Elizabeth still kept up her Saturday afternoon visit to MotherMacAllister, and to-night they had had the blue dishes for tea. As shewiped them and arranged them on the high shelf of the cupboard, MotherMacAllister went down cellar to attend to her milk. Elizabeth finishedher work and picked up a book Charles Stuart had left on the window. It was a theological work, and as Mother MacAllister came out of thecool cellar, the girl looked up joyfully. 

"Then Stuart is going to be a minister after all, is he?"

The mother's beautiful eyes grew eager, hungry. "Would he be sayingthat to you, lovey?" she asked in a half-whisper. 

"No. But this book; it's a theological work. I thought from it----"Elizabeth's heart was touched by the expression on Mother MacAllister'sface. It had grown very sad. She glanced at the book and shook herhead. "No, no, dearie, " she said, and there was a quiver in her voicethat made the girl's heart contract. "I am afraid it is books likethat one that will be keeping young men away from the truth. "

Elizabeth patted her arm in silent sympathy. She knew MotherMacAllister's great ambition for her boy. And Charles Stuart was suchan orator too--it seemed too bad. She picked up the book again, glancing through it, and thought surely Mother MacAllister must bemistaken. It seemed such an entirely good sort of book, like"Pilgrim's Progress, " or something of that sort. 

"What are you going to be?" she asked as Charles Stuart walked homewith her in the golden August, evening along Champlain's Road. 

"I don't know, " said the young man. "Sometimes I think I'd like to goin for medicine. But my four years in Arts will put me hopelesslybehind John. I really haven't decided what I'll do. "

"I remember you used to be divided between the ministry and veterinarysurgery, " reminded Elizabeth. 

He laughed. "I think there is about equal chances between them still, "he said, and Elizabeth's older self saw he did not wish to pursue thesubject. She was very sorry for Mother MacAllister, but on the wholeshe still thought Charles Stuart was wise in choosing some lessexacting profession than the ministry. 

But the joyous holidays, driving over the country with John and CharlesStuart, wandering on berry-picking tramps with Archie and Jamie, orspending hours of adoration before the Vision, could not last forever. Malcolm's departure after his short vacation saw the beginning of theend. The last week of August came and Jean packed her books and wentback to her teaching, her studies, and her beloved Miss Mills. Andthen September ripened into October, and college days had come. 

As the day of the boys' departure approached, Elizabeth felt as thoughshe had come to the end of all things. Her own High School days wereover, ended in failure; she was not needed at home, she was no use awayfrom home, and she had a vague feeling that she was not wanted anywhere. 

The night before the boys left, Charles Stuart came over to saygood-by, and before he went home Mr. Gordon led family worship. Heread the 91st Psalm, that one he always chose for the evening readingthe night before any of his loved ones left the home nest. He had readit often by this time, but it never lost its effect upon the youngpeople's hearts. It made a grand farewell from the father to hischildren, a promise to both of perfect security in the midst of alldangers. 

"He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abideunder the shadow of the Almighty. .. . Surely He shall deliver thee fromthe snare of the fowler and from the noisome pestilence. He shallcover thee with His feathers, and under His wings shall thou trust. .. . Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for the arrowthat flieth by day. .. . For He shall give His angels charge over theeto keep thee in all thy ways. "

The spell of the wonderful words was still over the young folks' heartsas Elizabeth and John walked up the lane with Charles Stuart. Thelatter was particularly quiet. Elizabeth had noticed that his eyeswere moist and his voice very husky when he had bidden her fathergood-by. She herself was very, very sad and lonely to-night, and theweird beauty of the moonlit valley only added to her melancholy. 

The night was still young, and up above the Long Hill there lingeredthe gold and pink of the sunset. Above the black pines of Arrow Hill agreat round moon hung in the amethyst skies. And low over the valleythere stretched a misty veil of gold and silver, a magic web woven bythe fingers of the moonrise held out in farewell to touch the fairyhands of the sunset. It was such a night as could intoxicateElizabeth. As the boys stood making arrangements for their earlymorning drive to Cheemaun, she leaned over the gate and looked down thelong ghostly white line of Champlain's Road, hearing only the softsplash of the mill water-fall coming up through the scented dusk. Shescarcely noticed Charles Stuart's farewell; nor his lingeringhand-clasp. When he was gone she went upstairs to her room, and longafter Mary and the rest of the household were asleep, she sat by thewindow. And for the first time she strove to put on paper the thoughtsthat were surging in her heart, demanding expression. 

Elizabeth had written many, many rhymes, but they had all been gay andnonsensical. She had never tried before to express a serious thought. And to-night, she did not guess that her success was due to the factthat her heart was aching over the parting with John. 

CHAPTER XII

LEFT BEHIND

And so the barque Elizabeth was left stranded while the stream ofprogress swept onward, bearing her friends. After the boys had left, the languorous October days passed very slowly at The Dale, andElizabeth's energies of both body and mind soon began to cry out for awider field of activity. 

She was hourly oppressed with a sense of her own uselessness, a feelingher aunt's aggrieved manner tended to foster. Her heart smote her asshe saw everyone at work but herself. She tried to help her fatherwith his township affairs, but he met all her offers of assistance withhis indulgent smile, and the remark that little girls could notunderstand business, and she must not bother her head. 

Neither could she find any regular occupation about the house. SarahEmily, who had conceived a great respect for Elizabeth since she hadbeen living in the town, refused to let her soil her hands in thekitchen. It was too much of a come-downer, she declared, for a ladyeducated away up high the way Lizzie was to be sloppin' round with anapron on. Why didn't she sit still and read books, the way Jean did?

And Sarah Emily's will was not to be disputed. She was even more thanusually independent these days, for without doubt a real suitor for herhand had appeared at The Dale kitchen. He was none of those "finestyoung gents as ever was seen, " that existed only in Sarah Emily'simagination; but a real, solid, flesh-and-blood young farmer, none lessthan Wully Johnstone's Peter, now the eldest son at home, and to whomthe farm was to eventually fall. Since Peter had openly avowed hisintentions, Sarah Emily had been thrown into alternate fits of ecstasyover her good fortune, --which she strove to hide under a mask ofhaughty indifference--and spasms of dismay over the wreck she wasmaking of poor Tom Teeter's life. That Tom was in a frightful way, shecould not but see; for, as she confided to Elizabeth, it fairly madeher nerves all scrunch up to hear him sing that awful doleful songabout wishin' she would marry him. 

Elizabeth suggested to her aunt, that as Sarah Emily was likely soon togive notice finally and forever, that she should be the one to take upthe burden of the housekeeping. But Miss Gordon seemed unwilling thatElizabeth should find any settled place in the household. Mary wasquite sufficient help, she said, and when Sarah Emily left of courseanother maid must succeed her. There really was nothing for Elizabethto do, she added, with a grieved sigh. 

She was equally averse to any proposition on the part of the girl to goaway and earn her own living. Now that there was no hope of her everbecoming a school-teacher, Miss Gordon said, with a heavier sigh thanusual, there was really no other avenue open for a young lady that wasquite genteel. 

And then Elizabeth would sigh too, very deeply, and wish with all hersoul that she had had just sufficient mathematics in her head to meetthe requirements of the cast-iron system of the Education Department, which unfortunately required all heads to be exactly alike. 

Meanwhile, her nature being too buoyant to allow her to fret, shemanaged to put in the days in a way that made even her aunt confessthat the old house was much brighter for her presence. Mary was herconstant companion, glad of any contingency that kept Lizzie near her. But beyond the home-circle she found little congenial friendship. 

She visited Mother MacAllister once a week, of course, and was somereal help to her, as she was to poor Susie Martin. But she hadoutgrown her schoolmates, or grown away from them, even had her auntapproved of her associating with them. The Price girls had spent alltheir father's substance in riotous dressing, and were now in domesticservice in Cheemaun. Rosie was living away up north on the McQueenfarm, a new, practical, careful money-making little Rosie. And MarthaEllen Robertson even was gone. Martha Ellen was married and now livedon an Alberta ranch and had many gold watches and all the dresses shecould desire. The only familiar sight in Forest Glen for Elizabeth wasNoah Clegg. He was still superintendent of the Sunday school, stillwore the same squeaky Sabbath boots, and though he had never quiteregained his old-time cheerfulness since the day his assistant left, hestill smilingly urged his flock to "sing up an' be 'appy. "

Elizabeth often wondered what had become of old Sandy and Eppie. Shehad not quite outgrown her childish desire to right poor Eppie'swrongs, and often, even yet, she told herself that some day she wouldintercede with Mrs. Jarvis, and Eppie would be brought back to ForestGlen. 

But in spite of her buoyant nature Elizabeth was not happy. Great newaspirations were springing up in her heart. She had submitted to awell-known magazine her little verses, born of that night of moonriseand sunset, when the boys said good-by. They had not been accepted, but the reviewer, a lady of some insight, had written the young poetessa long and encouraging letter. Miss Gordon must read and study nature, she advised, and she would do something some day. So Elizabeth triedto obey. Studying nature was like breathing and came very easily, andreading was always a joy; but she grew restless in spite of it all, notknowing what was the matter with her. 

"I wish I could go away and do something, John Coulson, " she said toher brother-in-law on an afternoon which he and Annie and the baby werespending at The Dale. "I'm no use here. I have horrible suspicionsthat I'm a cumberer of the ground. "

"You're surely not going to develop into a new woman, Betsey, " saidJohn Coulson with alarm. "One never knows which way the wild streak isgoing to shoot off next. "

Elizabeth was kneeling by the old dining-room sofa, upon which theVision rolled from side to side, waving his bare pink toes in the air. She had just been busy saying over for the fifth time, "Dis 'itty pigwent to market, " and had evoked such gurgles and coos and giggles fromthe owner of the "'itty pigs, " that it was hard to give her attentionelsewhere. 

"Maybe I am, " she said at last, looking up at him with serious grayeyes. "I don't know. But I do know I don't want to sit on a cushionand sew a fine seam forever and ever like the lady in Baby's book. Therest are working hard. I wonder if I couldn't earn my living somehow. "

John Coulson looked at her gravely. He generally treated his youngsister-in-law as a joke, but evidently she wanted to be taken seriously. 

"What do you think you would like to be?" he asked gently. 

Elizabeth chucked the Vision under the chin, rolled him from side toside, and kissed each separate dimple in his plump hand beforeanswering. 

"Oh, I don't care. I'd just as soon be one thing as another. "

"Well, well, " John Coulson's eyes twinkled again. "Have you noambition at all, Betsey Bobbett?"

Elizabeth looked across at him, her eyes half-veiled by her longlashes, in that way she had when she wished to hide her thoughts. Theforced reticence of her childhood had grown to be a fixed habit, andfor all her love for her brother-in-law, which had grown steadily withthe years, she could not confide in him. For Elizabeth had ambitions, though her aunt would have found it hard to believe in them. They werequite as radiant as her old dreams of Joan of Arc, though different. They were such conflicting aspirations, too, that she was puzzled bythem herself. She was filled with vague golden dreams of one dayoverturning the world and righting all wrongs, and making all Eppiesrich and Susies happy, and giving all Mother MacAllisters theirrewards. And side by side with these glorious visions lived thedesire, very real and very deep, to be like Estella Raymond and have ahalf-dozen boys expiring for love of her. Elizabeth would have diedrather than confess this wish--even to herself. Nevertheless, it wasthere, and back of it lay another, still hazy, but also very real, theambition to be an Annie and have a John Coulson and a brick house withwhite pillars and a Vision lying on a sofa waving ten pink rosebud toesin one's face. But these were things one would not breathe, soElizabeth answered lightly. 

"I guess I haven't--much. I think I'd like to teach school--maybe. Atleast I'd like it just as well as anything else, but you see I can't, now. "

"My, but you're enthusiastic. But isn't there something you'd likebetter than anything else?"

Elizabeth's long lashes drooped again. That was forbidden ground. Sheshook her head, and poked the Vision's ribs until he screamed withlaughter. 

"Some of the girls in your class have gone to Toronto to learn nursing. Would you care about that?"

"I suppose that would do to earn my own living; only John makes me sickwhen he talks about operations. Look, Sweetie; pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker's man. "

"I suppose you wouldn't like to hammer a typewriter in my office? Ineed a girl, but perhaps Aunt Margaret wouldn't think it was genteel. "

"That would do, if I wouldn't bother you too much; and I'd just love tobe with you, John Coulson, only--oh, oh, look at the darling petswallowin' him's own pinky toes. Oh, John Coulson, just look!"

John Coulson laughed indulgently. 

"Oh, Betsey!" he said in despair, while his eyes were very kind, "you're no use in the world. We'll just have to get you married. "

Nevertheless, he thought much about the girl after his return home andtalked over her case with his wife. "Send her a note and tell her tocome here for a week, " was his final decision. "We must do somethingfor the poor kid. "

So Annie very willingly wrote her sister, and on the day her letterarrived at The Dale Elizabeth received another. This one was fromEstella. It was an ecstatic letter, as everything emanating fromEstella generally was. It chronicled page after page of her trialswith her beaux. An embarrassment of riches was what troubled Estella. She did wish Beth would come to Cheemaun and take some of them off herhands. But of course Beth didn't care about boys, she had forgotten. Madeline Oliver was just as bad, boys never looked near her. Andspeaking of Madeline, what did Beth think? Since they'd left schoolshe had been putting on frightful airs, and was just perfectly, dreadfully horrid to all the girls except the Annsleys and theDelafields and a few others of those nobs on Sunset Hill. Madelineseemed to forget she'd ever known half her old chums. And Mrs. Olivergave Bridge parties in the afternoon now, and didn't ask half thepeople she used to ask. And it was all on account of Mrs. Jarvis. Shehad just come back from the Old Country, and the Olivers were making aterrible fuss about her. They said she intended to spend the winter inCalifornia, and Madeline was working to get taken with her. And theOlivers had given a great big reception last week for Madeline's comingout, and such airs Beth never saw, and Mrs. Jarvis was there dressedlike a queen. And she, Estella, had asked Madeline if she wasn't goingto ask Beth Gordon to her party, seeing she'd been called for Mrs. Jarvis, and Madeline just tossed her head and said, "Oh, Aunt Jarvisnever thinks about her now. " And Horace was there; it was down in theice-cream parlor where Frank Harper had taken her--really, he wasgetting perfectly awful he called so often--and Horace spoke up andsaid he bet his Aunt Jarvis would just like jolly well to see Beth, andhe'd a good mind to drive out and fetch her in; and Madeline lookedcrosser than ever. And so now, here was Estella's plan. She was justgoing to show Madeline Oliver, see if she wasn't! She was going to"come out, " and mamma was going to give a reception--one far bigger andgrander than the Olivers' had been, too. And they were going to askMrs. Jarvis, of course, and Mrs. Oliver daren't refuse because papa hada hold on Mr. O. In business, and the whole family would just have tocome. And darling Beth was to come, too--with Mrs. Coulson, and wearher white dress and the blue bows in her hair, and Mrs. Jarvis wouldsee her, and be certain sure to love her. She couldn't help it. Andbetween them they'd spite that nasty Madeline, see if they wouldn't. Horace himself had said he knew his aunt would like to see Beth. Hetold her that, going home one evening from choir practice. Horace haddone that twice, and Frank Harper and Will Drummond were both just wildabout it. But of course there was nothing at all between her andHorace, and if Beth minded the tiniest bit she'd never speak to himagain as long as she lived, etc. , etc. 

The letter went on in this strain for many more pages. Elizabethlaughed and handed it to her aunt, anticipating some fun when MissGordon gave her opinion of it. But to Elizabeth's intense surprise thelady made no comment upon the writer's manners and heartily approved ofher niece accepting the invitation. Elizabeth had fully expectedEstella to be pronounced entirely ungenteel, and no sort of person toassociate with a Gordon. But Elizabeth did not yet understand heraunt, any more than her aunt understood her. 

So very joyfully an acceptance of both invitations was written, andMiss Gordon helped Elizabeth prepare for her visit to Annie's with hopeonce more rising in her heart. Surely, surely, upon this occasion, this one unsuccessful member of her family would grasp opportunitybefore he passed her for the last time. 

They were debating as to how Elizabeth was to reach town, for both thegray horse and the old phaeton were now tottering on the verge ofdissolution, when Auntie Jinit McKerracher came across the brown shavenfields, to make a call and an offer. Auntie Jinit had heard ofElizabeth's proposed visit to Cheemaun, for the lady knew minutely thedownsitting and the uprising of everyone in the valley. She, too, wasbent on a journey thither, on the morrow, --on important business, shesaid mysteriously, --and she invited Elizabeth to accompany her. 

The offer was gladly accepted, though Miss Gordon would have preferredthat her niece make a more dignified entry into the town than could beaccomplished in Wully Johnstone's old buck-board with the bunch of haysticking out behind, and Auntie Jinit leaning far forward slapping theold gray mare with the lines. But little cared Elizabeth. She wasgoing on a tour into the unknown--she was to enter Cheemaun society, and it mattered little to her how she got there, she was sure to have agood time. 

The day they set out was a glorious October morning, warm and bright, with a hint of that soft blue-gray mist on the horizon which in theafternoon would clothe the landscape in an amethyst haze. AuntieJinit's old gray horse ambled along easily, and Elizabeth gave herselfup to hilarity. To go abroad with Mrs. McKerracher was to have one'sentertainment insured. She was a highly diverting lady, with ayouthful twinkle in her eye contradicting the shining gray hair that, parted demurely in the middle, waved down over her ears. There wasyouth, too, in her round plump face and the soft flush of her cheeks. Plainly Auntie Jinit had been a pretty girl once and had not yetoutlived the memories of that potent fact. 

As the white road dipped into the first hollow, where the crimsonleaves of the maples and the gold of the elms softly floated down fromthe blue above, there arose from a barnyard on their right the sound ofloud, uproarious singing. 

 "_Oh, and it's whippity whoppity too, And how I'd love to sing to you! I'd laugh and sing, With joy and glee, If Mrs. --ti-dee-dilly-dee-dilly-dee!_"

The singer had fortunately caught sight of the familiar gray horse, with the accustomed bunch of hay sticking out behind, and had saved hislife by an adroit improvisation. For Tom had been in the habit ofsubstituting another name for "Mrs. McQuarry, " and though he might takeliberties with his neighbor across the way, well he knew the direconsequences of taking Auntie Jinit's name in vain. 

Elizabeth crumpled up with silent laughter; but either Mrs. McKerracherdid not notice, or designedly ignored the singer. She was looking inthe opposite direction, examining with a critical eye the trim fieldsof Jake Martin's prosperous-looking farm. 

"Yon's no a place to be sneezed at, Lizzie, " she remarked tentatively. 

"The place is lovely, Auntie Jinit, " Elizabeth returned, with markedemphasis. "Only--only----"

Auntie Jinit gave a little giggle. There was a queer mixture ofgirlish coquetry and masculine strength about her that wasdisconcerting. Elizabeth paused, afraid to go on. 

Auntie Jinit gave her trim bonnet-strings a jerk, flapped the old graymare with the lines and began her confidences in a business-like manner. 

"Ye're a wise lassock, Lizzie, " she said, by way of introduction, "an'ah'm gaun to hae a bit private crack wi' ye. Ye're aunt's brocht ye upweel, an' ah ken ah'm takin' nae risk in confidin' in ye. Some o' theneeighbors 'll be sayin' ye're a' that prood, but ah've always stood upfor the Gordons, an' said ye were nae mair prood than ye ocht to be. Noo, aboot this business. Ah wanted tae get yer help. " The girlishmanner had returned, she hesitated and gave Elizabeth a half-shy, half-sly glance over her shoulder. "It's aboot him--yonder, ye ken. "She jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the receding farm-house. "There's a pint o'--o' beesiness ah'd like ye tae see Maister Coulsonaboot, Lizzie--if ye would'na mind obleegin' an' auld neeighbor buddy. "

Elizabeth's risibilities were nearly upsetting her composure. 

"Yes, " she faltered, "I--I'll do anything I can for you, and I'm sureJohn Coulson will, too, in your--business. "

"It's no jist what a buddy might ca' beesiness, exactly. " There wasanother coquettish glance and a toss of the pink roses in AuntieJinit's bonnet. "But it's a thing a lawyer buddy would ken a' aboot. An' ye ken, lassie, a modest buddy like me disna like to talk abootsich like things to a--a man, hersel. " She gave another glance, quiteshy this time. Her companion was silent, afraid to speak lest herlaughter break forth. The contrast between Auntie Jinit's staid, middle-aged appearance, and the gay, naughty glance of her eye wasalmost too much for a frivolous person like Elizabeth. 

"Ah want his advice, ye ken, because ah dinna ken jist whit's the bestto dae. Ah ken whit ah want to dae, "--another coquettish toss of theroses, --"but ah'm no so sure jist whit's best--aboot--merryin', ye ken. "

"Yes, " said Elizabeth faintly. 

"He's tarrible took wi' me, mind ye, "--she looked archly at herlistener, --"but ah'm no sae saft as to be took wi' men, ma' lass. Ah've seen lots o' them in ma' day. " She paused and smiledreminiscently as though reviewing past conquests; and, looking at herbright eyes and pink cheeks and the waves of her once abundant hair, Elizabeth could not but imagine that many hearts lay strewn alongAuntie Jinit's past. 

"Ye see, it's this way, lassock: Ah've jist got to mak' ma' way in thewarld. Wully is a kind brither, but the hoose is too fu' already. An'the bairns are aye merryin' here an merryin' there, an' yon daft Peter'll be bringin' yon harum-scarum girl o' yours in ane o' thae days--notbut that she's a guid honest lass, but ah dinna see whit he wants wi'an Eerish thing like yon; an' the land jist owerrun wi' guid Scotchlassies that ye ken a' aboot wha their faethers an' mithers were. "

"But Sarah Emily will make Peter a fine wife, Auntie Jinit, " exclaimedElizabeth loyally. "Aunt Margaret has spared no pains to make herclean and tidy and saving----"

"Hoots havers! Ah ken yon. But there's nae cleanin' nor scrubbin' norwashin' that'll scour the Eerish oot o' a body, lass, mind ye that. But niver mind her. Ye see, when Wully an' Betsey gets auld ah'll beleft on their hands. Aye, an' ah'll be auld masel then, and, it's hightime ah wes pittin' ma best fit foremost an' settlin' masel. " Shepaused, and the shrewd, business-like air fell from her. Her eyes grewsomber, she looked far away down the crimson and golden vista ofChamplain's Road. 

"Ah'd no be left this way, lassie, gin ma' lad, Tam, had been sparedme. He wes oor only bairn, an' ah sometimes think the Lord surelymicht a' left me him. But He kens best, " she sighed brokenly, "aye, aye, He kens best. But it wes a hard day for me the last time theybrocht ma Tam to me. He'd jist gaed awa wi' the lads aefter hissupper, an' it wes no an oor, till they brocht ma bairnie hame drooned. An' ah couldna even see his bonny face. He'd fallen aff a bridge, an'bruised it that bad. Aye, aye, "--a big sigh came againconvulsively, --"an' his faether not deid a month. Ma Tam wes sax feetin his socks--a bonny lad, an' eh, eh, sik a guid laddie to his mither. "

Elizabeth felt a lump rising in her throat. She stroked the blackalpaca arm next her in silent sympathy. Auntie Jinit fumbled in herblack leather bag, and brought out a neatly folded handkerchief withwhich she wiped away the tear that had slipped down her cheek. Therewas a long silence. 

"So ye see, Lizzie, lass, " she said at length, her voice still thrilledwith the sorrow of her great motherless, "ye see, lassie, ah've naebodybut Wully an' Betsey to look to. Ma Jeams left me a wee bit siller, but it's no enough gin a wes pit oot in the warld, an' if Wully slipsawa' ah canna say whit'll happen--so ah must look for a hame, ye ken. An' there's this ane ah kin have. " She tossed her head towards thereceding farm-house. The coquettish all-sufficient air was returning. 

"Oh, yes; but, Auntie Jinit, " said Elizabeth very gently, "youknow--he--Mr. Martin, you know, he's a little--well, the neighbors sayhe's rather disagreeable at home. "

"Hits!" said Auntie Jinit lightly. "He couldna be ony waur than theman ah had. Ah'm no feared but ah'll manage _him_. " She drew hermouth up into a firm line, and Elizabeth looked at her, forced toadmiration. Certainly Mrs. McKerracher was a many-sided woman--and oneperfectly capable of taking care of herself. "But ah'm wantin' ye, lassie, " she lowered her voice, "jist to speak quiet like to MaisterCoulson. Ah want to know jist how _he's_ fixed. " She pointed with herthumb towards the big, red brick house of Jake Martin. "He tells mebraw tales aboot his siller, but ah'm jalousin' he's no tae be trusted. The first time he cam' sparkin', he tauld me he wes jist fufty-sax, an'then ah catchet him up aboot hoo auld he wes the time he cam' to thesepairts, an' anither time ah got it oot o' him hoo lang yon wes aforethe railroad wes pit in to Cheemaun, an' a rin it up in ma mind, an' ahcalcalate he was saxty-siven. Noo yon's a tarrible descreepancy, yeken, so ah says to masel, ah'll be up sides wi' ye, ma lad. Naebody'sgot the better o' Jinit Johnstone yet, an' naebody's gaun tae; an' ahthocht Maister Coulson could jist tell me if the lads hae ony hand onthe ferm--lawyer bodies kens a' aboot thae things--an' whit a wife'sportion is, gin he should slip awa. An' ax him tae, whit ma rights 'llbe. Ah've got a buggie, ye ken, an' a coo o' ma ain', foreby a settin'o' Plymouths, an' ah'm to have a horse, he says, to drive toCheemaun--ah got that oot o' him in writin' an' he didna ken whet ahwes up to. But ah'd like to ken jist hoo much ah'm to expact. Ah'm nogoin' to leap an' look aefterwards. "

Elizabeth listened with mixed feelings. Auntie Jinit was not so muchto be pitied after all. It would seem that Nemesis was after JakeMartin all right; but suppose she caught Susie too, and the younger onestill at home? What would become of Susie if her stepmother securedher "rights"?

"I--I hope, " she ventured hesitatingly, "that you'll get all you want, Auntie Jinit, but poor Susie and Charlie have slaved there for yearsand it would be cruel to turn them out. "

The woman turned and looked at Elizabeth with a flash of her brillianteyes. "An' d'ye think ah'd do yon?" she exclaimed indignantly. "Eh, eh, lassie, it's no Jinit Johnstone wad ill use a bairn. If there'sonything we kin dae in this warld we suld dae it, and there's JakeMartin's bairns need a mither if ever onybody did--aye, for they niverhad ane yit, ah misdoot--jist a pair drudge that hadna the spunk toprotect her ain. But ah'm no that kind. Aye, but ah'm no!"

Elizabeth, looking at her, could not doubt her--neither could she doubtthat Susie and the younger Martins would fare well at Auntie Jinit'shands. 

"What about church, Auntie Jinit?" she asked teasingly. "Mr. Martinwon't go to Dr. Murray since Tom Teeter goes--you'll have to turnMethody!"

The lady gave her a reassuring look out of the corner of her eye. "Nolikely, " she said, with a setting of her firm mouth. "Dinna ye fearfor me. He's gaun to Maister Murray--an' no sik a late date neither. "She smiled slyly and her eyes twinkled. "He ses tae me, ses he, 'Ahdinna like ye in black, ' ses he, 'Ah'd like to see ye in somethin'that's mair spicy, ' ses he. An' ses ah, 'Weel, if ah hed a nice brawhusband to gang to the kirk wi' me foreby, it's a braw spicy goon ah'dbe wearin'--an' ah'm thinkin' o' gettin' a gray poplin the day, mebby. 'An' he's promised to come--gin ah merry him--but ah'm jist no sure yet. "

It was impossible to describe the air of youthful coquetry and mischiefmixed with hard determination and assurance of triumphant power thatbeamed in Auntie Jinit's eyes. The most successful society belle, accomplished in all the arts of refined flirtation, might have enviedher that glance. 

Elizabeth arrived at Annie's white-pillared house bursting with mirth. She described the interview to John Coulson at the mid-day meal in sucha diverting manner that he roared with laughter, and declared he wouldundertake Auntie Jinit's cause and tie up Jake so tight financiallythat he would never be able to spend five cents again withoutpermission. 

Elizabeth took full possession of the Vision during her visit. It waswell she was willing to accept the position of nurse, for he welcomedher with leaps and squeals of joy, and wept loudly and bitterlywhenever she dared leave him. His mother was relieved greatly by hersister's help. For Mrs. John Coulson was suffering from the chronichousekeeping malady, an incompetent maid. A faithful servant of twoyears' standing had gone off in a temper the week before because hermistress had announced that henceforth they should have dinner at sixo'clock in the evening. Everyone on Sunset Hill had evening dinnersand Annie had long felt the disgrace of their mid-day meal. But socialeminence, she discovered, was dearly bought, for the faithful Bellaimmediately departed, declaring "she'd wash pots and pans for no livingwoman on nights when her gentleman friends was calling. " Her successorwas a leisurely young lady with an elaborate dressing of hair, whocould not have got dinner a minute earlier than six o'clock in theafternoon in any case, and the Coulsons were now fashionable anduncomfortable. 

During the week preceding Estella's reception, the young lady visitedElizabeth frequently to report progress. Preparations were goingforward on a grand scale, and the plan to "show the Olivers" hadexpanded into "showing Cheemaun" what might be done in the way of anup-to-date social function. 

Others of Elizabeth's old schoolmates called, but Madeline Oliver wasnot one of the number. Horace, however, had not forgotten his oldallegiance, and often dropped in of an evening with a box of candy tosit on the veranda with Elizabeth and tell her how badly his father wasusing him in still keeping him at school. When Elizabeth was perfectlyhonest with herself she was forced to confess that Horace bored her, and she wished he would stay away and let her play with Baby Jackie. On the other hand, it was very nice to sit on their white-pillaredveranda with him and see the other girls pass. For, as Estella hadpointed out, it was so poky and slow to be like Madeline Oliver andnever have a boy come near you, and whatever Beth did, she warned, shewas not to get like that. 

"But boys don't like me, " Elizabeth explained dolefully, "and Horace isawfully tiresome; now, Stella, isn't he?"

"Why, no, I think he's heaps of sport if you just know how to take him, Beth, " Estella declared. "But you don't know how to treat boys. Now, when you're sitting here on the veranda in the evening, and any of thefellows pass, why don't you call to them, and ask them something, or godown to the gate and talk about the lacrosse matches or the regatta. All the boys like to talk sport. You just try it. "

But Elizabeth did not follow this wise advice. It had quite the wrongeffect, for when she sat alone on the steps of an evening, and some ofher old boy schoolmates passed, the remembrance of Estella'sadmonitions made her turn her back and pretend she did not see them, oreven rise and retreat indoors. But she had plenty of company, for shewas very popular with her girl friends, and Horace saved her fromEstella's entire disapproval. 

"I was telling Aunt Jarvis you were here, Beth, " he said one evening ashe passed the chocolates to Mrs. Coulson. Annie looked interested. "Isuppose Mrs. Jarvis would not recognize Elizabeth now, " she saidtentatively. 

"She said she'd like to see her. Why don't you come and call on aunt, and bring her?" asked the boy. 

But Mistress Annie knew better than that, and made some vague excuse. She well knew that Elizabeth would not be a welcome visitor just now atthe house with the triple pillars. And so the days went by, and thoughthe lady on whom Elizabeth's hopes were supposed to depend was only afew streets away, she did not see her, and Mrs. Coulson, rememberingher aunt's admonitions, was forced to wait for the reception. 

CHAPTER XIII

GETTING INTO SOCIETY AND OUT

At last the day of Estella's coming-out--the day Elizabeth was to meether fairy god-mother once more--arrived. When the Vision was finallytucked away into his crib for his afternoon nap, and the leisurelyyoung lady warned again and again to watch him carefully, Elizabethdressed in the required white gown with the blue ribbons, and, withAnnie looking very sweet and youthful in John Coulson's favorite shadeof dove-gray, set off down the shady streets towards the Raymond home. 

It was a hot, still afternoon, one of those days that seem left overfrom August which so often descend upon the coolness of October. Thelong rows of maples that bordered the street hung their scarlet bannersmotionless in the sultry air. The sky, a hazy warm blue, seemed muchnearer the earth than usual. Away down at the end of each leafy avenueLake Cheemaun lay like a silver mirror. As they crossed a dusty streeton the hilltop, Elizabeth could see a little crimson and golden islandreflected perfectly in the glassy depths. Another street gave apicture of a yellow elm, with an oriole's empty nest depending from adrooping branch. It hung over the roadway, making a golden curtainthrough which gleamed the blue and silver. 

Elizabeth sighed happily, and, as was her habit, fell into the mood ofthe day, listless, languorous. She strolled along, all unmindful ofthe dust on her new slippers, and of Estella's reception, until hersister recalled her to the business of the afternoon by declaring thatthey must hurry, for they were already late. 

"It's fortunate I wasn't asked to play cards, or we'd have to be theresharp at four. "

"I suppose Stella 'll turn it into a garden-party, won't she?" murmuredElizabeth, gazing far down the street at a motionless sail on thesilver mirror--standing like a painted ship on a painted lake. "It'sso lovely out of doors. "

"A garden-party, oh, no! That's dreadfully old-fashioned, " said Anniesolemnly. "No one in Cheemaun would dare to give one now. This is tobe a Bridge--partially, but Mrs. Raymond is asking a great many otherpeople who are old-fashioned like me, and won't play, so they are tocome late and remain in the drawing-room while the players sit in thelibrary. "

"It's like dividing the sheep from the goats, " said Elizabethfrivolously. "Aren't you sorry just to be a sheep, Ann? It's soold-fashioned. " Annie laughed uncertainly. She never quite understoodElizabeth, and felt she ought to rebuke her frivolity. "No, I'm not. What would become of Baby if his mother----"

"Turned goat? But say, I'd love to learn just to see what it was liketo go out every day and be a--what is it?--a social success. I believethat is what Aunt Margaret would like. "

Annie rebuked her gently. She was always just a little afraid ofLizzie. The wild streak seemed to be in abeyance lately, but it mightbreak out in a new form any day. 

Their arrival at the Raymond home forbade her admonishing her at anylength. It was a beautiful house--a fine red brick with white porchpillars, of course, and surrounded by a spacious lawn dotted withshrubbery and flower-beds. Its only drawback was its position, itbeing placed on the wrong side of Elm Crescent, the street borderingSunset Hill. In consequence the Raymonds had suffered somewhat fromsocial obscurity, and this At Home was partially to serve the purposeof raising them nearer the level of the proud homes on the hilltop. 

Elizabeth became suddenly shy and nervous as she followed her sister upthe broad steps and saw the rooms crowded with fashionably dressedpeople. She was not generally conscious of her clothes, but she couldnot help feeling, as she glanced over the sea of bonnets and hats andwhite kid gloves, that her muslin dress and blue ribbons must look veryshabby indeed. And somehow Annie had become transformed. Uponstarting out she had appeared to be the very pattern of fashionableelegance. Now she looked like a demure little gray nun. Elizabethfelt that neither of them was likely to make any impression upon Mrs. Jarvis, and began to hope devoutly that she would not meet the lady. 

There seemed little fear of it. The rooms were crowded and stiflinghot. The Raymond house had plenty of doors and windows, but good formin Cheemaun society demanded that all light and air be excluded from afashionable function. So the blinds were drawn close, and Estella andher mother stood broiling beneath the gas-lamps, for though the formerwas half-suffocated with the heat, she would have entirely suffocatedwith mortification had she received her guests in the vulgar light ofday. 

By the time Elizabeth and her sister arrived, the sheep had beenthoroughly divided from the goats. From the drawing-room on the leftside of the spacious hall a babel and scream of voices mingled with thenoisy notes of a piano poured forth, but in the library on the rightthere was a deathly silence, except for the click, click of the cardson the polished tables. 

The guests were met at the door by an exceedingly haughty young womanwith a discontented face beneath a huge pompadour of hair. "Will youcome upstairs and lay off your wraps?" she demanded frigidly. 

"Why, Katie!" cried Elizabeth, recognizing her old schoolmate, even inher unaccustomed garb of a black silk gown and white cap, "I'm so gladto see you. "

But Miss Price was not going to forgive Lizzie Gordon for being a guestat a house where she was a servant. Had their positions been reversedKatie would have been quite as haughty and forbidding as she was now. "How d'ye-do, " she said, with an air her young mistress, now settingher foot upon the social ladder, might well have envied. "You're to goupstairs, " she commanded further. 

"But we haven't anything to take off, " protested Mrs. John Coulson, nervously, afraid she was omitting some requisite part of the ceremony. "We'd better not if Mrs. Raymond doesn't mind. "

The young woman relaxed none of her haughtiness. "She said to takeeverybody up, " she remarked disdainfully. 

They were interrupted by a very large Hat coming violently out of thelibrary door. 

"Goodness, it's not her!" gasped the occupant of the hat, a tiny womanwith a brisk, sharp manner. She turned to the room again. "No luck!It's Mrs. Coulson. " She spoke as if Mrs. Coulson had made a mistake incoming. "You didn't see that Mrs. Oliver on your way down, did you?"she demanded of the unwelcome one. 

No, they had not seen her. Mrs. Coulson answered apologetically, andthe big Hat flounced back into the library and sat down heavily in itschair. The Hat was bitterly disappointed, and no wonder. She had cometo the Function sure of the prize, being one of Cheemaun star players, but had met with a succession of incompetent partners. At present Mrs. Oliver, a fine old Bridge warrior, should have been sitting oppositeher, but Mrs. Oliver was late, which was criminal, and the Hat'spartner was a nervous young matron who had left two sick babies and herwits at home. Consequently the aspirant for the prize had lost gameafter game and was now losing her temper. One of her opponents, afrivolous lady whose score-card was decorated with green stars, giggledand whispered to the hapless partner not to mind, the Hat was only anold crank anyway; old maids always got like that. She would havecontinued in the same strain but for a look of deep rebuke from her ownpartner. The partner was a stately, middle-aged lady, a president ofthe Cheemaun Whist Club, and a second Sarah Battle. She had sufferedmuch from the silly inattention of the winner of the green stars, shefrowned majestically, not because she objected to the young woman'scondemnation of the Hat, but because she considered it much worse formto talk during a game of cards than during prayers in church. 

Again deep silence fell, and they all went furiously to work once morein the breathless heat. 

Elizabeth was very much interested, but Mrs. John Coulson drew her awaytowards the palm and fern-embowered door of the drawing-room. She wassomewhat disappointed at the news of Mrs. Oliver's non-appearance, forthat meant that neither was Mrs. Jarvis present. The fates did seem tobe against Lizzie certainly. 

They were once more delayed. A couple of ladies who had just enteredwere about to make their way to the drawing-room door, but had beenencountered by Miss Price, and a rather heated argument was inprogress. The ladies belonged to the old school, and were notacquainted with the intricacies of a fashionable function. Theforemost was a fine, stately matron who had been Sarah Raymond's stanchfriend ever since the days when they had run barefoot to schooltogether. And while under her sensible black Sabbath bonnet therestill remained much warm affection and sympathy with all Sarah'sdoings, at the same time there was developing not a little impatiencewith what she termed Sarah's norms. She had just caught sight of thecard-players in the library, too, and was righteously indignant thatshe, an elder's wife, should have been bidden to such a questionableaffair. So she had not much patience left to waste on Miss Price whenthat haughty young lady insisted upon her going upstairs. "We'venothing to take off, young woman, " she declared at last; "can't you seethat? Do you want us to undress and go to bed?" And with that shebrushed Katie aside and proceeded on her way. A dapper little man in adress-suit, the only man anywhere in sight, popped out from behind agreat palm and demanded, "Name, please, madam?" Elizabeth regarded himwith awe. He represented the zenith point of Estella's ambition. Theyalways had such a functionary at swell receptions in the city, she hadexplained to Elizabeth, a man who announced the names of the guests tothe hostess. No one had ever had anything so magnificent in Cheemaun. Of course he had to come up from Toronto to do the catering anyway, because Madeline had had him at her reception, and Estella was going togo just a little farther, and didn't Beth think it was a perfectlysplendid idea--so grand and stylish?

Beth supposed it was. But of what use would he be. "I thought a manlike that was to tell the hostess the names because she wouldn't knowthem, " she had ventured very practically. "But you know every cat anddog in Cheemaun, Stella. "

Stella was disgusted with Beth's obtuseness. "Style was the thingafter all, " she explained. "People who gave social functions neverbothered about whether things were any use or not. That wasn't thepoint at all. "

Elizabeth had not attempted further to see the point, as the Vision hadclaimed her attention, and she now looked at the young man with somepride. Evidently Estella was doing things up magnificently. But theladies whom he addressed were differently impressed. Mrs. ColinMcTavish's patience was exhausted. The idea of anyone in SarahRaymond's house asking her her name! She looked down at the dapperlittle man with disdain. He was a forward young piece, she decided, some uppish bit thing that was dangling after Stella, most likely. "Young man, " she said severely, "where's your manners? Can ye no waitto be introduced to a body?"

The young man looked alarmed. He glanced appealingly at Mrs. JohnCoulson, and Annie, with her more perfect knowledge of Estella's ways, whispered tactfully:

"He wants to call out your names, Mrs. McTavish; he's doing it foreverybody. "

Mrs. McTavish stared. "And what for would he be shouting out my name?"she demanded. "If Sarah Raymond doesn't know my name by this time shenever will. Come away, Margit, " she added to her companion, and thetwo passed in unheralded. 

"Mrs. Coulson! Miss Gordon!" piped the little man, and Elizabeth foundherself shaking hands with Mrs. Raymond and Estella. Or was it Estella?

The young debutante, in a heavy elaborate satin gown, stood with afixed and anguished smile upon her face, squeezing the fingers of eachguest in a highly elevated position, and saying in a tone and accententirely unlike her old girlish hoydenish manner:

"How do you do, Mrs. McTavish, it was so good of you to come. How doyou do, Mrs. Cameron, it was so good of you to come. How do you do, Mrs. Coulson, etc. , etc. "

A wild desire for laughter with which Elizabeth was struggling wasquenched by a feeling of pity. She wondered how many hundred timespoor Estella had said those words during that long hot afternoon, andwondered how long she herself could stand there in that awful heat andrepeat them in that parrot-fashion, ere the wild streak would assertitself and send her flying out of doors. Estella was made of wonderfulstuff, she reflected, admiringly. Mrs. Raymond had succumbed long agoand stood drooping and perspiring, scarcely able to speak, and quiteunable to smile. 

Elizabeth felt queer and strange when Estella shook her two fingersjust as she shook everyone else's and with the same smile made the sameremark to her. She tried to say something to bring back her oldschoolmate, but Estella turned to the next person and she found herselfshoved on. And shoved on she was from that time forth, conscious onlyof heat and noise and fag and a desire to get away. 

She found herself at last, after having been shoved into thedining-room for ice-cream, and shoved out again, packed into a cornerbehind Annie. The latter had been pinioned by a fat lady who, for thelast quarter of an hour, had been shouting above the din a minutelydetailed account of a surgical operation through which she had latelycome, omitting not one jot of her sufferings. Elizabeth felt faint. The rich sweetmeats of the tea-table, the heat, the noise, and thelady's harrowing tale, were rendering her almost ill. She looked abouther desperately. Just behind her was a French window. It was open, but the heavy lace-bordered blind was drawn down to within a couple offeet from the floor. All unmindful of the conventionalities, Elizabethstooped and peeped out. The breath of fresh air revived her. Thesight of the garden, and beyond, the free stretch of the out-door worldwent to her head like wine. She jumped up, her eyes sparkling with asudden glorious thought. One more glance around the buzzing hot sea offlowery hats and white gloves made the thought a resolution. 

"Ann!" she whispered recklessly, "I'm going to jump through this windowand run away! I am so!"

"Lizzie!" gasped Mrs. Coulson in dismay. The fat lady was still underthe surgeon's knife and talked on undisturbed. Annie's heart sank. One glance at the gleam in Elizabeth's eyes showed her the wild streakwas uppermost. "What are you saying?" she faltered, but before shecould remonstrate further Elizabeth had acted. With a lightning-likemotion she dropped upon her knees, and, fortunately concealed by thecrowd and the heavy curtains, she darted cat-like beneath thewindow-blind and disappeared. 

She found herself upon a secluded side of a veranda, and still on allfours; she gave a mad caper across the floor, and staggered to herfeet, her hat flopping rakishly over one ear. 

Then she stood, motionless with dismay. Right in front of her, half-reclining in a veranda chair, was a lady, a richly dressed lady ofvery sedate appearance, who was gazing with startled eyes at thetumultuous apparition. 

"I--I beg your pardon, " gasped Elizabeth. "But I couldn't stand itanother minute. "

The two looked at each other for a moment, and then the stately womanand the hoydenish girl, with one accord, burst out laughing. 

Elizabeth flung herself upon a chair and rocked convulsively. 

"It--it's the first time I've ever got into society, " she said betweengasps; "and now I've gone and got out of it again. "

"And a peculiar manner of exit you chose, " said the lady, wiping hereyes on a lace handkerchief. "But I must confess I ran away too. "

"You?" cried Elizabeth, amazed. 

"Yes. I came here with my niece, I am sure an [Transcriber's note:line missing from source book?] hours ago. She disappeared into thecard-room, and I slipped out here. I didn't come in your originalmanner, however. " She laughed again. 

"I should think not, " said Elizabeth, sitting up and straightening herhat. She was now quite at her ease, since the lady was proving sodelightfully sympathetic. "I am afraid I'm not truly genteel, or Ishouldn't have bolted at my first sight of high life. "

"How will you feel when you have been to hundreds of such affairs, allexactly alike, I wonder?" asked the lady wearily. 

Elizabeth shook her head. "I couldn't stand it. My aunt thinks I needthe refining influence of good society, but it doesn't seem to have hadthat effect upon me, " she added rather mournfully. 

The lady laughed again. "Well, as receptions go, it seemed to me avery pretty one indeed, and Miss Raymond is a beautiful girl. "

"Oh, Stella's lovely, " cried Elizabeth enthusiastically, "andeverything is just grand, far more splendid than anything I ever sawbefore. You see, I never was at anything but a High School tea orsomething of that sort, " she added artlessly. "But the refreshmentsmade me ill; really, I was quite sick. "

The lady looked both amused and interested, and Elizabeth rattled on:

"You see, I got my ice-cream in a mould--a little chicken; what wasyours?"

"A rose, I think--some sort of flower. "

"Oh, that would be lovely!--to eat a rose. But mine was a chicken, andbefore I thought I cut his poor little pink head off with my spoon. And it reminded me of the day when we were little and my brother Johnmade me hold our poor old red rooster while he chopped his head offwith the ax, and of course it made me sick, and I just had to run away. "

"You mustn't let your imagination play tricks with your digestion thatway. "

"It shows that the refined part of me must be just a thin veneer on theoutside, " said Elizabeth, her eyes twinkling. "I don't believe myinsides are a bit genteel, or I'd never have thought of the rooster. "

"Well, you are a treat, " said the lady--"Miss--Miss--why, I don't evenknow your name, child. "

"It's Elizabeth Gordon, " said the owner of the name, adding with somedignity--"Elizabeth Jarvis Gordon. "

"Elizabeth Jarvis Gordon!" repeated the lady, half-rising, anexpression of pleasure illuminating her face, "Why--surely, my littlenamesake! Don't you remember me?"

"Oh, " cried Elizabeth, overwhelmed by the memory of her indiscretions. "It isn't--is it--Mrs. Jarvis?"

"It really is!" cried the lady very cordially. She drew the girl downand kissed her. "And I'm delighted to meet you again, Elizabeth JarvisGordon, you're the most refreshing thing I've seen in years!"

CHAPTER XIV

WHEN LIFE WAS BEAUTY

No. 15, Seaton Crescent, Toronto, was a students' boarding-house. Mrs. Dalley, the landlady, declared every day of the university term thatthey were the hardest set going for a body to put up with. Nevertheless, being near the college buildings, she put up with them, both going and coming, and No. 15 was always full. A short street wasSeaton Crescent proper, running between a broad park which bordered thecollege campus, and a big business thoroughfare. At one endstreet-cars whizzed up and down with clanging bells, and crowds of busyshoppers hurried to and fro; at the other end spread the greenstretches of a park, and farther over stood the stately university. Buildings. A street of student boarding-houses it was, and No. 15stood midway between the clanging and the culture. 

But Seaton Crescent presented much more than a double row ofboarding-houses. Passing out of its narrow confines, it curved roundone side of the park bordered by a grand row of elms. Here the houseswere mansions, set back in fine old gardens that had smiled there manya summer before the boarding-houses were built. The last house in therow, Crescent Court, was of a newer date. It was a pretentiousapartment house, set up on the corner commanding a view of the campusand the park. Just far enough removed from the boarding-house regionwas Crescent Court to be quite beyond the noise of the street-cars andthe shoppers, and consequently its inmates felt themselves far removedfrom the work-a-day world. 

In one of its front rooms, a little rose-shaded boudoir, luxuriouslyfurnished, sat a lady. She had been handsome once, but her face nowbore the marks of age--not the beautiful lines of years gracefullyaccepted, but the scars of a long battle against their advance. Shewore a gay flowered dressing-gown much too youthful in style, herslippered toes were stretched out to the crackling fire, and a cup offragrant tea was in her hand. Her cosy surroundings did not seem tocontribute much to her comfort, however, for her face had a look ofsettled melancholy, and she glanced up frowningly at a girl standing bythe window. 

"I sometimes think you are growing positively frivolous, Beth, " shecomplained. "I don't understand you, in view of the strict religioustraining both your aunt and I have given you. When I was your age, allchurch-work appealed strongly to me. "

The girl looked far across the stretches of the park, now growingpurple and shadowy in the autumn dusk. Her gray, star-like eyes werebig and wistful. She did not see the winding walks, nor the row ofrusset elms with the twinkling lights beneath. She saw instead anold-fashioned kitchen with a sweet-faced woman sitting by the window, the golden glow of a winter sunset gilding her white hair. There wasan open Bible on her knee, and the girl felt again the power of thewords she spoke concerning the things that are eternal. She breathed adeep sigh of regret for the brightness of that day so long ago, andwondered if her companion's accusation was true. 

"I didn't mean to be frivolous, " she said, turning towards the lady inthe chair. "I do want to be some use in the world. But all the girlswho are getting up this new charitable society are--well, for instance, Miss Kendall belongs. "

"And why shouldn't she? There's nothing incompatible in her being afine bridge-player and doing church-work. You must get rid of thoseold-fashioned ideas. Take myself, for instance. You know I neverneglect my social duties, and nothing but the severest headache everkeeps me from church. "

The wistful look in the girl's eyes was being replaced by a twinkle. "But you know a Sunday headache is always prostrating, " she saiddaringly. 

The lady in the deep chair looked up with an angry flash of her darkeyes; but the girl had stepped out into the light of the fire, revealing the mischievous gleam in her dancing eyes. She knew herpower; it was a look the elder woman could rarely resist. For with alltheir vast differences in temperament there had grown up a warmattachment between these two, since that day, now several years past, when they had run away together from an afternoon tea. 

The lady's frown faded; but she spoke gravely. 

"Beth, don't be so nonsensical. You know it is your duty to me--toyourself, to join the Guild. We have not established ourselvessocially yet. Toronto is ruined by pandering to wealth. I've seen theday when the name of Jarvis was sufficient to open any door, but timeshave changed, and we must make the best of it. But you are culpablycareless regarding your best interests. Now, I particularly want youto cultivate Blanche Kendall; the Kendalls are the foremost people inSt. Stephen's Church, and if you join this society it will make yourposition assured. Only the best people are admitted. Mrs. Kendallassured me of that herself. Now, don't trifle with your chance inlife. "

"A chance in life? That's what I've been looking for ever since wecame to Toronto, " said the girl, gazing discontentedly into the fire. "But I don't think it's to be found in St. Stephen's Church. I hatebeing of no use in the world. "

The elder woman looked amused in her turn, now that she felt she wasgaining her point. 

"You talk like a child. Will you never grow up, I wonder?"

"Not likely, " said the girl in a lighter tone. She stepped across theroom and picked up a fur-lined cloak from a chair. "My body got intolong dresses too soon, my soul is still hopping about with a sun-bonneton, and you really mustn't expect me to be proper and fashionable untilI've turned ninety or so. Is there any reason why I shouldn't run overand have dinner with Jean and the boys to-night?"

"Certainly there is. Didn't I tell you Mr. Huntley is just back fromthe West? He's coming to dinner. "

"But you won't want a frivolous person like me round. He'll want totalk business to you all evening. "

"That doesn't matter. You ought to be interested in my business. Besides, he's a charming bachelor, so I want you to behave nicely. "

"I couldn't think of it. I feel sure I'd make a better impression if Istayed away, anyway. " She was gathering the dark folds of her cloakabout her light evening dress as she spoke. "He might feel embarrassedif we met again. The last time he laid his fortune at my feet and Ispurned it with scorn. "

"What are you talking about, you absurd child? Did you ever meet BlakeHuntley in Cheemaun?"

The girl came back to the fire, her eyes dancing. "No, it was inprehistoric times--at Forest Glen. I remember I was dressed mostly ina sunbonnet and the remains of a pinafore--and I think I was inHighland costume as to shoes and stockings. Mr. Huntley evidently feltsorry for me and offered me a silver dollar, which was too much for myGordon pride. Even Aunt Margaret approved of my refusing it, thoughshe felt it might have been done in a more genteel manner. "

The lady in the lounging chair laughed, and her astute young companionsaw her chance. "I'm going to run over and see Jean and the boys justfor five minutes, " she said in a wheedling tone. "I shall be back intime for dinner. "

"Well, see that you are. " The elder woman's voice had lost all itsfretfulness. She looked quite pleased. "You must remind Blake Huntleyof your former acquaintance. What was he doing at The Dale?"

"He had come to see about"--the girl hesitated--"selling old SandyMcLachlan's farm. " Her big gray eyes looked steadily and solemnly intoher companion's. 

The lady poured herself another cup of tea. She gave an impatientshrug. The old subject of Eppie Turner's wrongs had become unbearablywearisome. "Well, don't air any more of your romantic ideas concerningher. You'll never find her anyway. And don't stay long at No. 15. You go there so often I shall soon begin to suspect you have lost yourheart to that bonny Prince Charlie--he's handsome enough. "

"Charles Stuart?" The girl laughed aloud at the absurdity. "The poorPretender! Don't hint your horrible suspicions to him, please, he'dnever get over it. "

"I'm glad you think it ridiculous. In view of the chances you arelikely to have this winter, you'd be a fool to think of him. I hopeyou have some ambition, Beth. "

The girl had turned away again and was carefully tucking a magazineinto the folds of her cloak. Her long eyelashes drooped--that oldsubject of her ambition was still forbidden ground. 

"Yes, I have a burning ambition at this very minute to go and see Jeanand John, " she said lightly, and whipping her cloak about her slimfigure she waved her hand in a gay farewell and danced away out of theroom. 

The lady by the fire sighed. "Was there ever such a monkey?" she saidto herself, and then she smiled. And as the girl ran down the stairs, she also sighed and said to herself: "I wonder how much longer I canbear this life. Pshaw, what does it matter anyway?" And then shelaughed. 

The short autumn day had closed and lights twinkled along the streetand blazed on the busy thoroughfare--violet electric stars half-hiddenhigh in the trees and golden gas lamps nearer the earth. The glow ofone shone on the girl as she mounted the steps of No. 15 with agraceful little run. It showed her tall and willowy, lit up her sweetface, and the gray, star-like eyes that looked out from beneath heavymasses of nut-brown hair, and was reflected from them with a gleam asof bronze. 

She opened the door, as one familiar with the place, and hurried up thesteps of the stairs. 

"I'm prowling round as usual, Mrs. Dalley, " she called to the landladywho was passing through the lower hall. 

The woman's tired face brightened. She liked this Miss Gordon and wasalways glad when she dropped in to see her brother and sister. She wasever willing to listen to complaints concerning maids and medicalstudents. 

"Dear, dear, it must be nice to be you, Miss Gordon, " she sighed, "nothing in the wide world to do. I've been clear distracted thisafternoon with that new maid. I dismissed her at last. She would noteven carry the plates to the table properly, and as for the way shewashed the dishes! Really, Miss Gordon, I tried to do my duty by her. I scolded and explained till I was hoarse. But I believe the hussy wasjust stubborn. I felt sorry to dismiss her, as it was Mr. MacAllisterwho asked me to give her a trial. Don't say anything to him about it, please, Miss Gordon. I hate to tell him I had to send her away. "

Miss Gordon laughed. "Has Mr. MacAllister turned into an intelligenceoffice? Or is he squire of domestic dames?" She retreated up thestairs as she spoke. It was not safe to get caught in the full tide ofMrs. Dalley's talk, one might find a whole evening swept away by it. 

"Charles Stuart is so queer, " she soliloquized. "I wonder what he's upto now. "

She tapped briskly upon a bedroom door at the head of the stairs, thenshoved it open. A young woman with loose raiment, untidy hair, and agreen shade over her eyes looked up from her studies. She raised abook and aimed it threateningly. 

"Lizzie Gordon, don't dare show your idle and frivolous head in thisplace. Miss Mills is coming down in five minutes, and we are going togrind for an hour before tea. "

"The mills of the Gordons grind at most inconvenient seasons, " said thevisitor giddily. She entered just as though she had been cordiallyinvited, concealing the magazine beneath her cloak. "I'll stay untilthe wheels begin to rumble, anyway. Any letters from home?" Sherummaged through the books and papers that littered the table, keepingher magazine carefully hidden. 

"Just that note from Malc. He was home for Sunday. Jamie's started tothe High School, and Archie's in John Coulson's office. Is that reallyanother new dress, Lizzie?"

Elizabeth, absorbed in Malcolm's business flourishes, made no reply. "Mrs. Jarvis spoils you, " her sister continued. "You've had your hairdone at the hair-dresser's again, I do believe. Do you know that lightstreak in it has almost disappeared, hasn't it?"

Elizabeth folded the letter. The gray star-eyes were very tender. "I'm so glad Mary's cough is better. My hair?" She patted the heavybrown braids. "Yes, of course. That means that the wild streak isgone. I'm perfectly genteel, I assure you, Jean. I left all myimproprieties scattered over the continent of Europe last summer, andhave come home prepared to give up all my penoeuvres. "

"I wish you wouldn't use those foolish expressions of Sarah Emily's, dear, they sound so illiterate. "

Elizabeth put down the letter and gave her sister's ear a pull. 

"Jean Gordon, you are becoming so horribly particular I'm scared ofyou. Every time I come over here I spend the day before getting out anexpurgated edition of everything I intend to say, and even then I fallinto rhetorical pits. "

"You're hopeless, " sighed Jean. "What were you at to-day, a tea?"

"Yes, some kind of pow-wow of that sort. I'm at one every day. " Shemoved about the room straightening photographs and arranging cushions. "Do you know, Jean, I'm so tired of it all I feel like running awayback home sometimes. "

"Dear me, you don't know how fortunate you are. You'd soon discover, if you got home, that life at The Dale would be dreadfully monotonous. "

"It couldn't be more monotonous than fashionable life. Thosereceptions are all so horribly alike. There is always a woman at oneend of a polished table cutting striped ice-cream, and another at theother end pouring tea; with a bouquet between them. If I ever so farforget my genteel upbringing as to give a Pink Tea I'll put the bouquetat one end and make the ice-cream cutter sit in the middle of the tablewith her feet in the tea-pot. "

"Don't be absurd. If you dislike it all so thoroughly, why do you doit?"

"Mrs. Jarvis does it, and I have to go with her. After all, that's theway I earn my living. "

"That's the way I'd earn my death in a month, " said her sister, lookingproudly at the pile of books before her. "Are there no girls amongstthose you meet who have a purpose in life?"

"None that I've discovered, except the supreme purpose of getting aheadof her dearest friend. Society is just like the old teeter we used toride at school. When Rosie Carrick was up, I was down, and vice versa. "

Jean Gordon looked at her younger sister seriously. Jean tookeverything in life seriously, and plainly Lizzie was determined tocontinue a problem in spite of her brilliant prospects. She did notunderstand that the girl's old desire for love and service had grownwith the years, and her whole nature was yearning for some expressionof it. It was this desire to get back to the old simplicity of lifethat drove her so often to her brother and sister in their crampedboarding-house. 

"Why don't you read some improving books, " said Jean primly. "I wish Ihad your chance. If Mrs. Jarvis had taken a fancy to me I'd be a Ph. D. Some day. "

Elizabeth regarded her in silent wonder. The hard life of student andteacher which Jean still pursued was telling on her. She was pale andstooped, and deep lines marked her forehead. To Elizabeth her lifeseemed a waste of strength. She could never get at Jean's point ofview. 

"And what would you do then--even if you should turn into a P. D. H. , orwhatever you call him?"

"Why, just go on studying, of course. "

"Until you died?" whispered Elizabeth, appalled at the thought of alife-long vista of green eye-shades and Miss Millses and mathematics. 

Jean opened her book. "You can't understand, " she said patiently. "You haven't any ambition. "

It was the old, old accusation under which Elizabeth had always lived. She thought of Annie's cosy home which three Visions now made radiant, of John Coulson's love and devotion, and her heart answered theaccusation and declared it false. She wondered if other girls were assilently ambitious as she, and why this best of all ambitions must bealways locked away in secret, while lesser ones might be proudlyproclaimed upon the house-tops. 

"Evidently I haven't, " she said, pulling her cloak about her with alaugh. "I'm a butterfly. Gracious! I believe I hear the Millsrumbling. I'm going to get out of the way. "

"Wait and talk to her. She'll fire you with a desire to do something. She's the brainiest woman that's ever come under his tuition, ProfessorTelford says. "

"I haven't a doubt of it, " said Elizabeth, with a look of alarm. "That's just the reason I'm scared of her. She's always in a sort ofpost-graduate attitude of mind when I'm round, and it makes me feelyoung and foolish. Good-night. I'm going up to molest the boys. "

"Don't bother them long, Lizzie--there's a good girl. John needs everyminute. "

But Elizabeth had caught her cloak around her and was already fleeingup the second flight of stairs. She barely escaped Miss Mills, who wascoming down the hall. Miss Mills did not approve of Jean Gordon'sfashionable sister, and Elizabeth feared her clever, sarcastic tongue. 

John and Charles Stuart shared a bedroom and sitting-room on the topflat. Elizabeth tapped on the door of the latter room, and in responseto a "come in, " entered. They were already at work. Her brother wasdoubled up over a table close to a reading-lamp; the Pretender waswalking the floor note-book in hand. They were men now, these two, both in their last year at college. John Gordon had the same dark, solemn face of boyhood, lit by that sudden gleaming smile which madehim so resemble his sister. Charles Stuart had changed more. He wasgraver and quieter, and a great man in his year at 'Varsity by reasonof his prowess on the public platform. Everyone said MacAllister wouldbe sure to go into politics, but Charles Stuart, remembering thewistful look in a beautiful pair of eyes away back in the old homevalley, would never say what would be his calling. 

Elizabeth burst radiantly into the room and was received with joyousacclaim. No matter how busy these two might be, there was never anydoubt of her welcome here. 

"Miss Gordon, I declare!" cried the Pretender, making a deep bow. Hehanded her a chair and John pulled her into it. 

"Hello, Betsey! I say it's a great comfort and uplift to Malc and mewhen we toil and moil and perspire up here, to remember there's onelady in the family anyhow. It keeps up a fellow's self-respect. "

"I hope you're going to be nice to me, " said Elizabeth, turning to theother young man. "It's a great strain on a frivolous person like mebelonging to a clever family. Jean's grinding at the Mills, and I cameup here for relaxation, and now John's throwing witticisms at me. "

"Jean's studying too hard, " said Charles Stuart. "It is enough todrive those girls out of their minds the way they go at it. "

"Well, I hope they won't go that distance. It's hard enough to havethem out of temper all the time, " said Elizabeth. Charles Stuart wasalways so staid and solemn, she took an especial pleasure in beingfrivolous in his presence. She knew he disapproved of her fondness fordress, so she turned to her brother. 

"How do you like my new frock, Johnny?" she asked. 

She slipped out of her cloak, dropping the magazine into a chair withit, and walked across the room, with an exaggerated air of haughtygrandeur. The soft gray folds of the gown swept over the carpet. There was a hint of rose-color in it that caught the lamp-light. Elizabeth glanced teasingly over her shoulder at the Pretender, whoturned abruptly away. He was a very poor sort of Pretender, after all, and he feared the mocking gaze of those gray eyes. They might read thesecret in his own and laugh at it. He picked up the magazine she haddropped and began turning over its pages, just to show his loftydisapproval, Elizabeth felt sure. 

John proceeded to make sarcastic remarks upon her appearance, while hisadmiring eyes belied his tongue. But Elizabeth and John had neveroutlived the habits of their reserved childhood, and found it necessaryalways to keep up a show of indifference lest they reveal the deeptenderness between them. Lizzie looked frightfully skinny in thedress, he announced, and her neck was too long by a foot. Besides, asher medical adviser, he felt it his duty to tell her that she wouldlikely get tangled up in that long tail and break some of her bones. 

"I'll bet a box of chocolates you can't tell the color of it, "Elizabeth said. She was glancing nervously at Charles Stuart. He wassurely near the place in the magazine. The guessing grew lively, Johnfinally giving his verdict that the dress was "some sort of darkwhite, " when Elizabeth saw Charles Stuart pause and read absorbedly. 

"It's your turn, Stuart, " she cried, to gain time. "John'scolor-blind. "

Charles Stuart glanced up. It was no easy task this, examiningElizabeth's gown, under the fire of her eyes. 

"Another new dress, " he said evasively. "I suppose that woman has beentaking you to another Green Tea this afternoon. "

From the day Mrs. Jarvis had made Elizabeth her paid companion, CharlesStuart had taken a strong dislike to the lady, and always spoke of heras "that woman. "

"A 'Green Tea, '" groaned Elizabeth. "Charles Stuart MacAllister! Itsounds like something Auntie Jinit would brew at a quiltin'. It'spositively shameful not to be better acquainted with the terms ofpolite society. "

"Well, here's something I _can_ appreciate, " he said, still avoidingher glance and turning to the magazine again. "Listen to this. It'sas pretty as the dress. "

Elizabeth stiffened. It was her poem. He walked over to the lamp andread it aloud. It was that old, old one of the moonrise and sunset shehad written long ago, now polished and re-dressed in better verse; apretty little thing, full of color, bright and picturesque, nothingmore. But it was Elizabeth's first success. The _Dominion_ hadaccepted it with a flattering comment that had made her heart beatfaster ever since. But the young poetess was far more anxious as towhat "the boys" would think of it than the most critical editor in allbroad Canada. 

Charles Stuart knew how to read, and he expressed the sentiment of thepretty verses in a way that made Elizabeth look at him with her breathsuspended. They sounded so much better than she had dared hope. 

John looked up with shining eyes. "I've seen that very thing at home, at The Dale, in the evening. " He turned sharply and looked at hissister's flushed face and downcast eyes. "Hooroo!" he shouted. "Apoetess! Oh, Lizzie. This is a terrible blow!" He fell back into hischair and fanned himself. 

"Do you really truly like it, John?" the author asked tremblingly. 

John stretched out his hand for the magazine, and Elizabeth, watchinghim as he read, drew a big breath of joy. She could tell by hiskindling eye that he was both proud and pleased. But, as she expected, he expressed no praise. 

"There's a good deal of hot air in it, Lizzie, " he remarked dryly. "And say, you and Mac must have been collaborating. He had that verysame expression in his speech last night--'member, Mac, when youbrought down the house that time when you flung something 'against theeternal heavens, ' or some such disorderly act. Here's Lizzie up to thesame business. "

The young orator looked foolishly pleased, and the young poetess pulledthe critic's ears. But her heart was light and joyous. John liked herpoem, and that was more to her than the most flattering praise from thepublic. For Elizabeth was much more a woman than a poet. 

"You're a barbarian, John Gordon, " she cried. "He doesn't know afinely turned phrase from a dissecting-knife; does he, Stuart? Butreally, it sounds far better than I thought it could. You read sowell. "

"When did you take to rhyming, Lizzie?" asked her brother. "I reallydidn't know it was in you. "

But Elizabeth was watching Charles Stuart anxiously. He had taken upthe magazine again and was reading it absorbedly. She waited, but hesaid nothing. But those dark, deep eyes of his, so like his mother's, had a wistful look, a look that reminded Elizabeth of the expression inMother MacAllister's on the occasion of her last visit home. Sheregarded him, rather troubled. What was the matter with her littleverses? She knew Charles Stuart was much more capable of a soundjudgment than John; she knew also that his kindly heart would prompthim to say something pleasant if he could. 

There was an awkward silence. Happily it was broken by the sound ofstumbling footsteps in the passage without. The door opened noisilyand a wild-looking head, with long, tangled hair, was poked into theroom. It emitted in sepulchral tones:

"I say, Gordon, will you lend me your bones?"

The wild eyes caught sight of Elizabeth, and the visitor backed outsuddenly with a look of agony, crashing against the door frame as hedisappeared. 

"It's Bagsley!" cried John, springing up. "Hi, Bags, come back here!"He whistled as if for a dog. 

"He's scared to death of girls, " said Charles Stuart; "better get underthe table, Lizzie. "

"Hurrah, Bagsley!" cried John cordially, "you can have 'em. Here, they're under the bed!"

A tall young man, incredibly thin and disheveled-looking, sidled intothe room, moving around Elizabeth in a circular course like a shyinghorse. He stumbled over a chair, begged its pardon, floundered intothe adjoining bedroom, and dived under the bed. He reappeared with hisarms full of human bones, and shot across the room, muttering somethinglike thanks. As he fled down the dark hall, he collided with a pieceof furniture, his burden fell, and with a terrific clatter rolled fromthe top of the stairs to the bottom. John rushed out to help gather upthe fallen, and Elizabeth ran across the room and hid her faceshudderingly in the folds of her cloak. 

"What's the matter?" asked Charles Stuart, shaking with amusement. "Ifyou feel ill, I'll call old Bags back, Lizzie. He's a medical--inJohn's year, and they all say he's going to be gold-medalist. "

"U-g-h!" Elizabeth sat up and regarded the bedroom door with disgust. "Human bones under the bed! Charles Stuart MacAllister, I do thinkmedical students are the most abominable----"

"It's a fact, " he agreed cordially. "When a man borrows your bones Ithink the limit is reached. It's bad enough when John borrows my tiesand my boots. "

He was speaking absently, and Elizabeth looked at him. He was glancingdown at the magazine again, which was lying open on the table. Shewent straight to the point. "Stuart, you don't like my little verses. "

He started. "Why, I--what makes you think so? I think they arebeautiful--full of light and music and"--he paused. 

"You looked disappointed when you finished, " she persisted. 

He was silent. "What was the reason?"

"I--I was looking for something I couldn't find, " he said hesitatingly. 

"What?"

"Its soul. "

"Its soul?--'the light that never was on land or sea. ' You are tooexacting. Only real poets do things like that. I'm not a genius. "

"You don't need to be. But one must live a real life to write realthings, " he said bluntly. 

"And I don't, " she said half-defiantly. She looked at him wonderingly, at his broad shoulders and his grave face, feeling as though this wasthe first time she had seen him. He seemed suddenly to be entirelyunlike the old Charles Stuart who had always been merely a sort ofappendage to John--a second John in fact, only not one-half so dear. It came to her like a revelation that he was not at all the old CharlesStuart, but somebody new and strange; and he was sitting in judgmentupon her useless way of living! She picked up the _Dominion_ and at aglance she saw the verses as he saw them. He was right--they wereshallow, pretty little things, nothing more. Her lip quivered. 

"Oh, I beg your pardon, Lizzie, " he was saying contritely--"that's onlyone opinion--and I may be wrong. "

"No, you're right, " said Elizabeth, "only I didn't see it before. "

They were interrupted by John's return. "Jean's calling you, Lizzie. She's got a pleasant little job for you downstairs. Don't be scared. I locked Bags and the skeleton into his room. He won't catch you. "

Elizabeth, glad to get away, ran out and down to the next floor. Jeanwas standing at her room door, the green shade still over her wrinkledbrow, her collar and belt both missing. She held up a card. 

"Lizzie, could you go downstairs and interview the owner of this?" shepleaded, frowningly. "It's a caller. She's been sent by some newsociety your fashionable friends have organized in St. Stephen's. I dowish those idle people would leave busy ones alone. I haven't time togo down, and Mills simply won't be bothered. "

Elizabeth took the card. "Miss Blanche Kendall, " she read. "Why, thisis the very thing Mrs. Jarvis wants me to join. Of course I'll go. What excuse shall I make?"

"Anything at all. I don't care. "

"Very well. I'll tell her my brother has loaned his bones and mysister her clothing, and therefore they cannot come. "

Jean did not resent the hint regarding her disorderly appearance. Shedisappeared, slamming the door with a sigh of relief. Elizabeth wenthopefully downstairs. She was on the whole rather glad of theunexpected meeting. Miss Kendall she knew to be a very fashionableyoung lady indeed. Hunting up lonely students hardly seemed anoccupation that would appeal to her. Who knew, the girl told herself, but she had been mistaken, and these young ladies were whole-heartedand sincere in their efforts. She entered the long, dingy parlor fullyprepared to learn from Miss Kendall. 

The visitor, a rather handsome young woman in a smart tailored suit, was sitting on the extreme edge of an uncomfortable chair, lookingbored. She showed no sign of recognition as Elizabeth advancedsmilingly. The latter was not surprised. She had met Miss Kendallonly once--at a card-party--and Elizabeth had learned long ago thatcard-parties were not functions where one went to get acquainted withpeople. She remembered that Miss Kendall had sat at a table near her, that she had played with a kind of absorbed fury, and had gone offradiant, bearing a huge brass tray, the winner's trophy. 

"Miss Mills?" she inquired, giving two of Elizabeth's fingers a twitch. 

"No, Miss Gordon, " said Elizabeth. "Miss Mills asks if you will be sogood as to excuse her this evening. She has an unusual amount ofwork. " She was about to add an apology for her sister, when MissKendall, looking frankly relieved, broke in: "Oh, it doesn't matter. You see, I'm sent by our Young Women's Guild--of St. Stephen's, youknow; they are trying to call upon all the young women in this districtwho are away from home and likely to be lonely, and our president gaveme Seaton Crescent. It will be perfectly satisfactory if I just reporton them. "

She opened a little elegant leather-bound note-book and consulted it ina business-like manner. "I mustn't miss anyone; Miss Withrow, ourpresident, is so particular. Let me see. You are Miss Gordon, "--sheput a mark opposite the name, --"one call; Miss Mills--two calls. Ishall leave her a card. Then there are Miss Brownlee and MissChester--they are out, I understand, but I shall leave cards so I cancount them too. Now, do you know of any others in this house whoshould attend St. Stephen's?"

Elizabeth's eyes were growing bigger every moment. This was anentirely new and original manner of comforting the lonely. EvidentlyMiss Kendall believed in bringing all her business ability to bear onher acts of charity. "Just what I thought they'd do, " she said toherself. Then her love of mischief came to her undoing. Her longlashes drooped over her eyes. 

"There are my brother and his friend, Mr. MacAllister, " she said withwicked intent. 

"Oh, I don't want young men, " said Miss Kendall all unsuspicious. "There is another society for looking after them. MacAllister"--sheconsulted the note-book. "I think that was the name of the person whosent in another young woman's name--Turner. Is there a Miss Turnerboarding here?"

Elizabeth wondered what in the world Charles Stuart had to do with it, as she ran over the list of boarders in her mind. 

"I can't remember anyone of that name, " she answered. 

"Oh, well, never mind. I have enough, anyway, " said the visitor with arelieved sigh. She dropped the little book into her hand-bag andclosed it with a snap. Then she looked about her as if trying to findsomething to talk about. Elizabeth sat mischievously silent and waited. 

The caller seemed to get little inspiration from the furniture. "I wassent to call by our Guild, of course, " she remarked again, as thoughshe felt it necessary to account for her presence. 

"How nice of them, " murmured Elizabeth. "Do you do much of this sortof work, Miss Kendall?"

"No, this is my first attempt, but I think I have taken it up prettythoroughly. It comes rather heavy on one who has so many social dutiesas I have, but of course one does not expect these church callsreturned. "

"Oh, " said Elizabeth demurely, "I thought one always returned calls. "

"Oh, not necessarily, I assure you, " the lady remarked rather hastily. 

"You see, I never received a church call before, " said Elizabeth meekly. 

The visitor looked at her a moment almost suspiciously, but the air ofchildlike innocence was disarming. There was another long silence, while Elizabeth sat with folded hands and vowed that if thechurch-caller didn't speak before the clock struck twelve neither wouldshe. She was wickedly hoping she was uncomfortable. 

Miss Kendall seemed to suddenly note some incongruity betweenElizabeth's fashionable attire and the life of a student. She lookedmore like a milliner or dressmaker, she decided. "Do you study veryhard?" she inquired at last. 

"Rather hard, " was the sly answer. 

"I suppose one must. "

"Yes, one must. " Elizabeth had suddenly decided upon her line ofaction. She remembered how, whenever Noah Clegg's daughters wenta-visiting about Forest Glen, they would sit for a whole long afternoonwith hands primly folded, and reply to all remarks by a politerepetition of the remarker's last statement, never volunteering a wordof their own. She could recall a long, hot afternoon when her aunt andAnnie had essayed alternate remarks upon the weather, the crops, thegarden, church, Sunday school, and the last sermon, to the verge ofnervous prostration without varying their visitors' echoing responsesby so much as one syllable. Elizabeth felt that Miss Kendall deservedall the discomfort she could give her. She folded her hands moreprimly and waited. Her victim glanced along the chromos on the wall. 

"It's been very warm for November, has it not?" she said at last. 

"Yes, very warm, " said Elizabeth, also examining the chromos. 

"I suppose you go to church regularly?"

"Yes, quite regularly. "

"Dr. Harrison is such a clever speaker, isn't he?"

"Yes, very clever. "

"His sermons, I think, are quite profound. "

"Yes indeed, very profound. "

It reminded Elizabeth of the Cantata they had sung in the joyous olddays at Cheemaun High School, where the chorus answered the soloistagain and again with "Yes, that's so!" She wondered how long she daredkeep it up and not laugh. She began to be just a little afraid thatshe might give way altogether and make Miss Kendall think she was quitemad. 

But apparently the church call was drawing to a close. The caller oncemore consulted her notebook and arose. "Four calls, " she said with asatisfied air. "I wonder if I couldn't put down five. You said therewasn't a Miss Turner here?"

"No, unless she came recently. Shall I inquire?"

"Oh, no thank you, I really can't spare the time. I have several otherplaces to visit. I think she's a domestic, Mr. MacAllister said. Onehas to take all sorts, you know. I can count her, anyway, and here's acard for her if you happen to find her. "

Elizabeth took the little bundle. She noticed that Miss Kendall's daywas not marked in the corner, but instead the inscription, "St. Stephen's Young Women's Christian Guild. "

"Those are our cards, " said the visitor, noticing Elizabeth's glance. "Of course everyone understands by that, that it's not a social callone is making. You see, Miss Gordon, one must keep those thingsseparate. "

"Yes, I am sure one ought to, " agreed Elizabeth with deep meaning, asshe bowed the church caller out. She fairly soared to the top flat, convulsed with mirth. Jean would not appreciate the church call, shewould not see the funny side of it, and might even resent it. But theboys would understand. 

They did not fail her, they put away their books and gave themselvesover to hilarity as she described the manner in which the Young Woman'sChristian Guild of St. Stephen's had set about welcoming the homelessgirls of Seaton Crescent. 

"How 'll you explain your Dr. Jekyll-and-Mr. Hyde existence next timeyou meet Miss Kendall at a Green Tea?" asked John as the supper-bellinterrupted the nonsense. 

Elizabeth paused as she gathered up her cloak. 

"John Gordon! I never thought of that! And I had orders to cultivateher society!" For a moment she looked troubled. "May a kind fate sendher a short memory, " she added. "Come along, which of you isn't toohungry to see me home?"

Neither was, and they both saw her safely to the door of the SeatonCourt vestibule; and as she rehearsed the church call once more by theway, she quite forgot to ask Charles Stuart how his name happened to bemixed up with it. 

Her eyes were still sparkling with fun, as she ran up the stairs andswept into Mrs. Jarvis's sitting-room. 

"At last!" cried that lady looking up with a pleased smile, and at thesame moment a tall man arose from a seat near the fire. He was a veryfine-looking gentleman, faultlessly dressed and slightly pompous inmanner. A certain stoutness of figure and thinness of hair told thathe had passed his youth. He had, moreover, the air of a man who hasreached a high rung on the ladder of success. 

Mrs. Jarvis stretched out her hand and drew Elizabeth forward, the girlcould not help noticing that she seemed pleasurably excited. 

"Come, Beth, here is an old acquaintance. This is Mr. Huntley, MissGordon. "

Mr. Huntley advanced with a look of genuine pleasure on his ratherround face. 

"Ah, " he said, with a most flattering accent. "I am charmed to bepresented once more to Queen Elizabeth. "

CHAPTER XV

WHAT OF THE NIGHT?

Since that day in Cheemaun when Elizabeth had met Mrs. Jarvis, andunconsciously stumbled upon what Miss Gordon deemed her fortune, thegirl had enjoyed her aunt's highest approval. She had made severalholiday visits to the old home, and each time Miss Gordon had noted newsigns of improvement. And now that Elizabeth had further distinguishedherself by writing a poem, Miss Gordon's approbation broke out in anaffectionate letter, that warmed the girl's love-craving heart. 

The Gay Gordons, each after his own fashion, expressed his views ofthis new development of the wild streak, producing all sorts ofopinions from Mr. Gordon, who memorized the pretty verses and hummedthem over at his work and to Jean, who, while confessing that thelittle rhyme had no literary value, declared herself exceedingly gladthat Lizzie was about to do something. 

Mrs. Jarvis was the most highly pleased, and to add further to her joy, sent a copy of the _Dominion_ containing the poem to her niece inCheemaun. The Olivers had not been on the best of terms with theiraunt since Madeline had been superseded by an interloper, and Mrs. Jarvis was not above enjoying her niece's chagrin. 

Elizabeth heard of the effect of the poem from Estella. She wrote arapturous letter, two pages of which were filled with congratulations, the other ten with a description of the perfectly horrid, mean way theOlivers were acting--except Horace--and the perfectly frightful timeshe was having with all her clamoring suitors. Horace was not exceptedthis time. She ended up by declaring she almost felt like marryingHorry just to spite Madeline--who still refused to notice hersocially, --only he had been Beth's beau so long, she felt it would becruel and wicked. 

Elizabeth wrote renouncing all claim upon the youth, and signing overwhatever rights she may have had to Estella. She sighed a little overMadeline's case, for they had been old school-mates, and Elizabeth feltkeenly her position as usurper. Nevertheless, she was happier now thanshe had been since she left The Dale as Mrs. Jarvis's companion. Shebelieved that her pen had found for her a purpose in life. Under allElizabeth's gay exterior, unquenched by the idle life of fashion, therelay a strong desire to be of use in a large, grand way--the old Joan ofArc dream. When she had first entered the new world with Mrs. Jarvis, her dream had centered about Eppie, her forlorn little school-mate. The pathos of Eppie's old-fashioned figure and pale face had neverceased to touch Elizabeth's heart. 

At first her conscience, trained by Mother MacAllister, had rebelled atthe thought of accepting a luxurious home from the woman who had, through callous indifference, allowed Eppie to be turned away from herpoor little log-cabin home in the forest. But Elizabeth could neverhave explained to her aunt her reluctance to accept the brilliantprospects before her, so she had gone into the new life determined touse whatever influence she could gain with her new companion towardsbringing back Eppie and her grandfather to Forest Glen. But the yearshad passed, and, so far, she had accomplished nothing. Old Sandy andEppie had disappeared, and even should she find them Elizabeth hadlittle hope of help from Mrs. Jarvis. She could be indolently andweakly generous in the face of a pressing need, presented directly toher, but her young companion had always found her callously indifferentto any tale of distress that called for an effort of any sort. 

And so Elizabeth's ambition had gradually waned, until she was indanger of developing into a mere woman of fashion. But now she hadfound a new avenue for her activities. She would produce a great songone day, something that would make the world better and that wouldcommand Charles Stuart's approbation, no matter how unwilling he was togive it. Accordingly she made a bolder flight into the realm of poesy, and sent this second venture to the _Dominion_. To her dismay it waspromptly sent back without a remark. A third and fourth effort to gainan entrance to lesser publications, ending in failure, convinced herthat once more she had made a mistake. The Pretender was right, shehad not the divine fire. She tried prose next, but she could not weavea story had her life depended upon it, and as for those clever articlesother women wrote, she did not even understand what they were about. No, she was a failure surely, she told herself. This little song waslike her acting on the school stage in the old days at home. She hadpromised to be a star and had suddenly set in oblivion. 

She gave up literature entirely, and once more that old imperativequestion, of what use was she to be in the world, faced her. She mighthave found opportunities in plenty in St. Stephen's Church, but theonly young ladies she knew in the congregation belonged to the selectGuild of which Miss Kendall was a member, and since her encounter withthat lady Elizabeth had wisely avoided her. Besides, she felt thatJohn and Charles Stuart would surely disown her if she were caughtconnecting herself with that society. 

But the opportunities for self-examination and consequentself-dissatisfaction grew fewer as the winter advanced. Luncheons, receptions, bridge tournaments, and theater parties followed each otherwith such bewildering swiftness that Elizabeth seldom had time forserious thought. So busy was she that often a week flew past withoutan opportunity even to run over to No. 15, much to the satisfaction ofMrs. Jarvis, who was often jealous of its attractions. 

There was a new reason, too, for Elizabeth's many engagements, otherthan her popularity. Ever since the evening early in the autumn whenMr. Huntley had recognized his little Queen Elizabeth of the ForestGlen woods, he had been paying her marked attentions. He was a wealthyman now, one of the city's most prominent lawyers, a large shareholderin one of the new and most promising railroads, and--as Mrs. Jarvisjoyfully pointed out to Elizabeth at every opportunity--the best matchto be met in their social circle. 

At first his notice had flattered Elizabeth and pleased her. It wasjust what she had thought she wanted. There had been very little ofsuch pleasant experiences in her life. She had been a spectator ofmany pretty romances, but had always stood on the outer edge of theenchanted land, longing, yet fearing to enter. Looking back she had toconfess that Horace Oliver had produced her only romance, and nowHorace was gone. Some of the young men she met in the fashionableworld attracted her at first, and finally bored her. Often some one ofthem, captivated by her star-like eyes and her vivacity, would singleher out for special favors, and be met with great cordiality. Thensuddenly, to Mrs. Jarvis's disgust, Elizabeth would grow weary of himand take no pains to hide her feelings. The young men soon ceased torun the risk of being so treated. "Miss Gordon was eccentric, " theysaid, "and besides had a sharp tongue. " Elizabeth noticed wistfullythat all possible suitors drifted away and wondered what was the matterwith her. 

But Mr. Huntley promised to be entirely constant, and his intentionsgrew more obvious every day. 

He was almost a middle-aged man now, and not likely to have passingfancies. But here as elsewhere Elizabeth found herself behaving in anunexpected fashion. She told herself that Mrs. Jarvis was right, andthat if Mr. Huntley asked her to marry him she would indeed be afortunate young woman, and yet when he came to their apartments inCrescent Court she was always seized with a wild desire to run away toJean and the boys. 

Nevertheless she reveled in the idea of being loved, and as long agoshe had striven to put her pretty teacher upon a pedestal forworshipping, just because a teacher was always a glorified being, soshe sought to surround Mr. Huntley's rather pompous middle-aged figurewith the rose mist of her girlish dreams. For Elizabeth wanted to beloved more than anything else in the wide world. 

And so the winter sped away in days crammed with pleasure-seeking, andthe light of Mother MacAllister's teaching had almost faded fromElizabeth's life. But just as it had grown too dim to be seen bymortal eye, there came softly stealing into her heart the first hint ofthat dawn which was soon to break over her spirit and melt thegathering clouds of uselessness and selfishness. Slowly and almostimperceptibly the day was advancing, just as it had risen that summermorning so long ago when her wondering child-eyes had seen it stealover The Dale. There was no light as yet. Forms of right and wrongremained dim and not yet to be distinguished from each other;nevertheless the first note of the approaching dawn-music was soon tobe sounded. It was to be a very feeble note, --the cry of a bird with abroken pinion--but it was to usher in the day of Elizabeth's new life. 

Spring had begun to send forth her heralds in the form of high Marchwinds. It was a chilly afternoon, and Mrs. Jarvis, her attempts atyouthfulness all laid aside, was sitting huddled between the grate fireand the steam radiator drinking her tea. 

"Beth, " she called sharply, "don't forget your engagement for thisafternoon. "

Mrs. Jarvis's tone told Elizabeth that the usual dispute regarding hergoings and comings was at hand. Generally she managed to cajole herquerulous companion into permitting her her own way, but prospects didnot look very bright at present. She emerged slowly from the prettyblue bedroom looking very handsome in her rich furs and a gray-bluetoque that matched her eyes. 

"You mean that committee of Miss Kendall's? I'm afraid if I go I'llget tangled up in that awful Guild. "

Since the day she had met Miss Kendall doing charitable work in SeatonCrescent, Elizabeth had managed by much scheming to avoid that younglady. But a few days previous a little note had come from her askingMiss Gordon to come to the committee rooms at the church to helparrange some private theatricals which the Young Woman's Guild purposedgiving for an Easter entertainment. The proceeds were to go to thepoor, and Miss Kendall felt sure Miss Gordon would be interested;besides, she had heard Miss Gordon had especial talent for the stage. As Miss Kendall knew nothing whatever about Miss Gordon, the latter hadwondered where she got her information, until Mr. Huntley hadenlightened her. He had dropped in the same evening with a dozenroses, and had intimated that he had helped Miss Kendall make out herlist. Mrs. Jarvis had been overjoyed, and now the day had come andElizabeth was in some dismay as to how she was to get out of thepredicament. 

"Miss Withrow, the president, sent me an invitation to come to ameeting in the church. Some missionary man is to give an address. Now, wouldn't you rather I'd go there than to those giddy theatricals?The Withrows are quite as important as the Kendalls. "

"Don't be sarcastic. It's very unladylike. I'm not so anxious for youto join the Guild, but I want you to go to Blanche's meeting. Mr. Huntley was telling me those girls are getting their heads full ofromantic notions about slumming and all that nonsense. I know hedoesn't like that type of woman, so you are as well out of it. "

Elizabeth's long lashes drooped rebelliously. 

"What has he to do with my affairs?"

"Oh indeed! What has he to do with them?" Mrs. Jarvis imitated hervoice and manner. "He acts just now as though he had everything to dowith you. " She suddenly grew serious. "Mr. Huntley is a veryfastidious gentleman, Miss Elizabeth, and you'd better not let him knowanything about your eccentric tricks. It might spoil your chances. "

Elizabeth's face flushed. "My chances of what, for instance?" sheinquired. 

Mrs. Jarvis laughed good-naturedly. 

"Don't be absurd. Whatever you are you're not dull. Why do youpersist in ignoring what is patent to everybody? Do you mean to standthere, Elizabeth Gordon, and tell me you never imagined yourself Mrs. Huntley?"

"Oh, as to that: there's no limit to what one can imagine. I'veimagined myself Joan of Arc, often--and Mrs. Horace Oliver, and JakeMartin's third--supposing he dared outlive Auntie Jinit--and a circusrider, and a pelican of the wilderness, and any other absurd thing, without seriously considering taking up any of the afore-mentionedprofessions. "

"Oh, you absurd young hypocrite. Run away now, and don't bother me. Go right over to the church at once and help Blanche. You always seemto miss every chance for getting better acquainted with her. "

Elizabeth went slowly down the stairs, telling herself whimsically thatthe way of the transgressor was hard. She had not gone many stepsbefore her spirit caught the mood of the radiant March day. There hadbeen a light fall of snow in the morning, and the streets werebeautiful for the moment under their fresh covering. The keen air andthe dazzling sunlight brought a glow to her checks and a light to hereyes. She could not be troubled on such a radiant day by all the MissKendalls in Canada. 

As she crossed the park, now a sparkling fairy garden, she was suddenlymade conscious that a familiar figure was hastening along a crosspathin her direction; a comfortable-looking, middle-aged figure that movedwith a stately stride. For an instant Elizabeth was possessed with aperverse feeling of irritation, as though he were guilty of therestrictions laid upon her. That he was the innocent cause of some ofthem could not be denied, for he was a very particular gentleman as tohis own and everyone else's deportment, and the sight of him alwaysraised in her a desire to do something shocking. 

He smiled with genuine pleasure as he greeted her; though his mannerwas formal and a trifle pompous. 

"And how is Queen Elizabeth this afternoon?" he asked. "As radiant asusual, I perceive. "

She returned his greeting a trifle constrainedly, gave the requestedpermission to accompany her, and walked demurely at his side, her eyescast down. She was wondering mischievously what he would say if sheshould tell him her reasons for wishing to escape her afternoon'sengagement. 

Their way led for a short distance along a splendid broad avenue that, starting at the park, stretched away down into the heart of the city. Its four rows of trees, drooping under their soft mantle of snow, extended far into the dim white distance. 

"Toronto is a fine city, " said Mr. Huntley proudly, "and just at thispoint one sees its best. Here are our legislative buildings, yonder aglimpse of our University, here a hospital, there a church and----"

"And here, " said Elizabeth, unexpectedly turning a corner--"anotheraspect of the same city. "

She had turned aside into a narrow alley, which, in but a few steps ledinto a scene of painful contrast to the avenue. It was the slumdistrict--right in the center of the beautiful city--the worm at theheart of the flower. Here the streets were narrow and dirty. Noisyragged children, Italian vendors, Jewish ragpickers, slatternly women, and drunken men brushed against them as they passed. 

"You should not have come this way, Miss Gordon, " said Mr. Huntleysolicitously, as he guided her across the black muck of the crossing, to which the snow had already been converted. "I hope you do not comehere alone. "

"I was never here before, " said Elizabeth. "How terrible to live incomfort with this at one's back door, as it were. " She shuddered. 

Mr. Huntley looked slightly disturbed. "I am glad you are not one ofthose sentimental young ladies of St. Stephen's, who have been seizedwith the romantic idea that they can overturn conditions here. Thesepeople are better left alone. "

Elizabeth was silent. They had just passed a wee ragged girl, whoseblue, pinched face and hungry eyes made her sick with pity. The childwas calling shrilly to an equally ragged boy who had paused on thesidewalk a little ahead of them. The youngster was absorbed intormenting a feeble old man, whose little wagon with its load of soiledclothing he had just overturned into the mud of the street. The manwas making pitiful attempts to gather up his bundle, but his poor oldframe, stiffened and twisted with rheumatism, refused to bend. Theurchin shouted with laughter, and his victim leaned against a wallwhimpering helplessly. The sight of him hurt Elizabeth even more thanthe little girl's hungry face. She thought of her own father, and felta hint of the anguish it would mean if ho should one day beill-treated. The tears came, blinding her eyes so that she stumbledalong the rotten sidewalk. 

A young woman suddenly appeared from the door of a hovel that stoodhalf-way down an alley just across the way. She had a ragged shawlover her head, her thin cotton shirt flapped about her meager limbs, and her feet were incased in men's boots. She ran swiftly to the oldman, routed the urchin, and with many pitying, comforting words begangathering up the contents of the wagon. Elizabeth longed to stay andhelp and comfort them both; she listened eagerly, after they hadpassed, to catch what the girl was saying. "Poor grandaddy, " she heardagain and again. "Poor grandaddy, I shouldn't have let ye go alone. "

There was something about her that drew Elizabeth to her. She wantedto stop and thank her for the assurance that love could blossom sobeautifully even in this barren spot. Her voice, too, haunted her. Where had she heard that soft Highland accent before? It seemed tobring some vague memory of childhood. She glanced up at her companion, wondering if she dared step back and speak to the pair. 

But Mr. Huntley did not seem to have noticed them. He was lookingacross the street with an air of half-amused interest. 

"I'm rather glad you brought me around this way, Miss Gordon, " he said, the amusement in his face deepening. "I own some property here that Ihaven't seen for years. " He waved his cane in the direction of the rowof houses across the street. Elizabeth looked back, the old man andthe girl were disappearing down the alley into one of them. 

"They are a hard lot, my tenants. If some of the young ladies of St. Stephen's experienced a little of the difficulty my agent hascollecting rent, or came across one fraction of the fraud and trickerythese people can practice, their philanthropy would cool slightly. "

Elizabeth was too much moved to speak. It hurt her so to find himunsympathetic. To her unaccustomed eyes the signs of want on all sideswere unspeakably pitiful, and in the face of it his indifference wascallous and cruel. She struggled to keep back the tears, tears of bothsorrow and indignation. 

They had emerged into the region of broad, clean streets now, and hercompanion, glancing down at her, saw she was disturbed. He strove toraise her spirits by cheerful talk, but Elizabeth refused to respond. She looked so depressed he suddenly thought of a little surprise he hadin store for her, which would be likely to make her happy. 

"By the way, what is your brother going to do when he graduates nextspring?" he inquired. 

"I don't know, " said Elizabeth, reviving somewhat at the mention ofJohn. This was a subject upon which the brother and sister had hadmuch anxious discussion. It was imperative that he should earn somemoney immediately, to pay his college debts, for this last year was tobe partially on borrowed money. 

"John's just worrying about that, " she added frankly. "He'd like toget some experience in a hospital, but he really ought to be earningmoney. "

"They want a young medical this spring up on this new North Americanline I'm interested in. There are hundreds of men on the construction. Ask him if he'd like that. It is a good thing, lots of practice, andmore pay. "

Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes aglow with gratitude. To helpJohn was to do her the greatest favor. She had heard him again andagain expressing a desire for some such appointment. 

"Oh, how can I thank you?" she cried, the light returning to her face. "It would mean everything to John. You are so kind. " She gave himanother glance, that set his middle-aged heart beating just a triflefaster. 

They had reached the steps of St. Stephen's by this time, andElizabeth's leave-taking was warmly grateful. Yes, she would be homein the evening when he called, she promised. 

As she ascended the steps of the church she was reminded by the boomingof the bell in the city tower that she was half an hour early. Why notrun back to No. 15 and tell John the good news? His afternoon lectureshad stopped and he would probably be studying. She turned quickly andran down the steps. As she did so she was surprised to meet severalyoung men and women ascending them. Surely they could not all belongto Miss Kendall's dramatic troupe, she reflected, as she hurried away. 

John was in his room and alone, and when he heard Elizabeth's news hecaught her round the waist and danced about until Mrs. Dalley sent upby one of her maids to inquire if them young men didn't care if theplaster in the ceiling below all fell down? The dancers collapsedjoyously upon the sofa, and Elizabeth, looking at John's glowing face, felt what happiness might be hers one day if she had wealth enough tohelp her family to their desires. 

"This is the bulliest thing that ever happened, " cried John boyishly. "Say, he thinks all manner of things about you, Lizzie, I can see. "

Elizabeth blushed. "Nonsense. It's your profound learning and greatmedical skill that attracted him. "

"When did he tell you?"

"Just this afternoon. I was going to the church to a committee meetingof Miss Kendall's--the church caller, John, just think, haven't I thecourage of a V. C. ?--and he walked there with me--and oh, John, we camethrough Newton Street, and it's an awful place. I never dreamed therewas such poverty right near us. Isn't it wicked to eat three meals aday and be well dressed, when people are starving right at one's door?"

"I suppose some of those poor beggars do have a kind of slim diet, butit's half their own fault. Don't you go and get batty over them, now. Mac has it so bad I can't stand another. "

"Stuart? What about him?"

"He's got into some kind of mission business down in that hole; butdon't tell him I let it out. He's the kind that would cut his righthand off if it hinted its doings to his left hand. "

"Why, what does he do there?" Elizabeth's voice had a wistful note. This was just what she should have been doing, but Charles Stuart hadnever appealed to her for help. He knew better, she told herself, withsome bitterness. 

"Oh, all sorts of stunts--boys' club and Sunday school; everything fromnursing babies to hammering drunks that abuse their wives. He keeps meand old Bagsley humping, too. It's good practice, but the pay's allglory. Bags has about a dozen patients down there now. "

Elizabeth was silent; that old, old feeling of despair that used tocome over her when John and Charles Stuart disappeared down the lane, leaving her far behind, was stealing over her. They had gone awayahead again, and she--she was no use in the world, and so was left todrift. 

"I suppose he's going to be a minister after all, then, " she said atlast, rising and wrapping her fur around her slim throat. "MotherMacAllister will be happy. "

"I don't know if he is. He's got all muddled up in some theologicaltangle. Knox fellows come over here and they argue all nightsometimes, and Mac doesn't seem to know where he's at in regard to theBible. " John laughed easily. "Never mind, Betsey, I'm actingphysician to the new British North American Railroad, and you're abrick, so you are!"

But the light did not return to Elizabeth's face. John followed herdown to the door, bidding her an affectionate and grateful farewell. 

"This is better than putting up my shingle in Forest Glen and living inold Sandy's house, eh?" he asked laughingly, as they parted. 

Elizabeth smiled and nodded good-by. John had always prophesieddolefully that he would set up a practice in Forest Glen with her ashis housekeeper. They would live in old Sandy McLachlan's log house, for he was sure he could not afford anything better, and it would suitLizzie's style of housekeeping. 

The reference to the old place cleared some misty memory that had beenstruggling for recognition in Elizabeth's brain. She stopped short onthe street--"Eppie!" she said, almost aloud. Could it be Eppie she hadseen on Newton Street, and could that old man be her grandfather?

CHAPTER XVI

"THE MORNING COMETH"

She dismissed the notion, the next moment, as absurd; but it returnedagain and again, each time more persistent; slowly she once moreascended the steps of the church absorbed in the thought. 

At one side of the wide vestibule, a door led into a long hall. In oneof the many rooms opening from it Miss Kendall was holding her meeting. The door was heavy and swung slowly. Just before Elizabeth opened itsufficiently to gain a view of the hall, she heard her own name spokenin Miss Kendall's decisive tones. 

"Pardon me, Miss Withrow, but you are mistaken. The Miss Gordon youhave reference to is a student or milliner or something; we certainlyhaven't asked her to join us. I know because I met her over on SeatonCrescent when I was calling on those tiresome boarders. Mrs. Jarvis'sMiss Gordon is quite another person, I don't know her personally, butthey say Mr. Huntley is quite enamored and----"

Elizabeth shrank back closing the door softly. Here was a predicamentindeed! The approaching swish of silken skirts sounded along the hall, and she ran noiselessly up the carpeted stairway looking for some placeof concealment. The door leading into the auditorium confronted her, and shaking with silent laughter she pushed it open and slippednoiselessly within. A soft hushed movement like one breathing in sleepfilled the great space. She paused, startled--the church was crowded. 

Away up in the dim pulpit at the other end a man was speaking. Elizabeth dropped breathlessly and embarrassed into the pew nearest thedoor. She had no idea what this gathering was for or who the speakerwas. Mrs. Jarvis attended the regular Sunday morning services in St. Stephen's, whenever a headache did not prevent, and Elizabethaccompanied her. But beyond this the girl had not the slightestconnection with any of the activities of this religious body of whichshe was a member. Otherwise she might have known that this was a greatgathering of students, many of whom were young volunteers for the armyof the King that was fighting sin far away in the stronghold ofheathenism. She would have heard, too, that the man up there in thepulpit, with every eye set unwaveringly upon him, was one who hadstirred the very pulses of her native land by his call to the laymen ofthe church to a wider vision of their duty to the world. But poorElizabeth knew very little more about this great movement than if shehad been one of the heathen in whose behalf it was being made. 

And perhaps because she had been so long shut away from the greatthings of life, for which her heart vainly cried, her very soul wentout to the words of the speaker. He was nearing the end of hisaddress, and was making his appeal to those young people to investtheir lives in this great work for God and humanity. 

Looking back upon that scene afterwards, it almost seemed miraculous toElizabeth, that the first words of his message she heard were from thatprophetic poem that had always moved her to tears in her childhood dayswhen her father read them at family worship. 

"The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them, thedesert shall rejoice and blossom as the rose. It shall blossomabundantly and rejoice, even with joy and singing. " This was thepromise to those who responded to their Master's call. Thewildernesses of the earth, the sad and solitary places, were to be madeglad and beautiful at their coming. 

And then Elizabeth grasped the purpose of the gathering. She read itas much in the sea of eager upturned faces as in the speaker's words. She knew, too, that he was not speaking to her. She had no part norlot in this great onward march of the world. She belonged to those whowere clogging the wheels of progress. A feeling of intense envy seizedher, all her old yearning for love and service came over her withtwofold strength, and with it the bitter remembrance that she hadwasted her life in worse than idleness. 

The low, deep, appealing voice went on, and she bowed her head inhumiliation. But surely he was speaking to her now. "Do you want tofind Jesus Christ?" he was asking. "Have you lost your hold on Him?Then go out where the drunkard and the orphan and the outcast throng intheir sin and misery--you will find Him there!"

For a brief space Elizabeth heard no further word. That message wasespecially for her. For she had lost her hold upon Him, and with Him, she realized it for the first time, she had lost the joy and power oflife. She had been very near Him many times--when her father read ofHis love and sacrifice, or Mother MacAllister showed her the beauty ofHis service. The Vision Beautiful had been hers, and she had refusedto go out at the call of the hungry, and so it had not stayed. 

And now a new vision--the tormenting picture of what she might havemade of her life was being shown her through the magic of the speaker'swords. "The King's Highway, " he called his address. "And an highwayshall be there, and a way, and it shall be called the way of holiness. The unclean shall not pass over it, the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein. " He pictured to their eager young eyes, whatthat Way would be for the world, when they prepared it for the comingof their King. 

"Would they make this way of holiness accessible to someone?" he asked. "To those wayfaring men who were sure to err unless guided thereto. "

He ended with the Prophet's words, and the choir, away up in theirbrightly lighted gallery arose and burst forth into the glorious wordsthat closed the vision. 

"Then shall the redeemed of the Lord come to Zion with songs andeverlasting joy upon their heads. They shall receive joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. "

Elizabeth could bear no more. She arose, the tears blinding her, andslipped quietly out. She had seen Jean looking over the galleryrailing with serious eyes, and Stuart standing by a pillar with a groupof fellow-students, his face pale and tense. She dared not riskmeeting them or anyone else she knew. She hurried down the stairs andout along the street struggling for her self-control. Half consciouslyher footsteps turned in the direction of that little street where shehad seen the girl that looked like Eppie. The tumult ofself-accusation within drove her to immediate action. She would godown there at once and see that girl, and help and comfort her, andperhaps--even though she had wandered so far away, she might prove thespeaker's words true--she might find the Vision return. Choking backher sobs she hurried along. The memory of the sad sight, that pitifulill-clad girl striving to comfort the still more pitiful old mandriving her forward as if with a whip. 

The twilight had fallen and the dingy street looked even more gloomy. She was terrified by the glimpses of rough-looking men and slatternlywomen, by the loud voices and the sounds of violence that issued frommany of the houses. But her fear did not once make her think ofturning back. Her soul now recognized the fact that there were thingsmore to be dreaded in the life of uselessness from which she wasfleeing. 

She turned down the dark alley from which she had seen the girl emerge, stumbling over heaps of garbage. Even in her terror she had a faintsense of grim enjoyment at the thought of how horrified Mr. Huntleywould be could he know. She almost hated him for his solicitous careof her when she compared it with his indifference to these raggedshrill-voiced women about her. She paused at length before one of thelow hovels and timidly knocked. At the same moment the door suddenlyopened and a young man came lounging heavily out. By the light fromthe doorway Elizabeth caught a glimpse of a heavy brutal face, as heslouched past her. She started back, about to run, but stopped. Justbeyond him in the doorway stood the girl she sought. The pale light ofa flickering gas jet above her head revealed her face. There was nomistaking her now. Elizabeth forgot her fears and went forward with ajoyful little run. 

"Eppie!" she cried, "oh, Eppie! Do you know me?"

The girl stood staring. 

"Is it?--Is it you--Lizzie?" she whispered. 

"Yes--it's Lizzie. May I come in, Eppie?"

The girl shrank back as though afraid, but there was a pleading look inher hungry eyes, a gleam of something like hope that drew Elizabeth in. She stepped down into the chilly little room. The flickering gas jetshed a pale circle of light around the wretched place. At one glanceevery detail of the sordid surroundings seemed to be stamped uponElizabeth's brain; the low bed in the corner under the sloping roof, where the old man lay, covered by a ragged quilt, the rusty firelessstove, with the water falling drip, drip upon it from the melting snowon the sagging roof, the old cupboard with its cracked dishes and itssmell of moldy bread. And yet she looked only at her lost school-mate, at the hungry, frightened eyes and the white thin face. She saw, too, how the girl shrank from her, fearful and yet hopeful, and a greatflood of pity surged over her. She took both the thin rough hands inher delicately gloved ones and tried to smile. 

"Oh, Eppie!" she cried, "where have you been this long, long time, mydear?"

The effect of her words alarmed her. Eppie clutched her hands andburst into a storm of sobs. Frightened and dismayed, and at a losswhat to do, Elizabeth blindly did the very best thing. She put herarms about the shaking little figure and held it close. She drew herdown to an old box that stood by the damp wall, and the two oldschool-mates, so widely separated by fate, clung to each other andsobbed. 

"Oh, Lizzie! oh, Lizzie, " the girl kept repeating her friend's nameover and over. "You always promised you'd come and see me, and Ithought you'd forgot me--you being such a grand lady. I thought you'dforgot me!"

"Eppie, " whispered Elizabeth, "don't! oh, don't! I wanted to findyou--long ago--but I didn't know where you were. Hush, dear, don't cryso, you will make yourself ill. See, you will waken your grandfather. "

She stopped at this, choking back her sobs. "It's because I'm so gladyou came, Lizzie, and you such a fine lady, " she whispered. "I hadn'tnobody left. " She sat up and wiped away her tears on her ragged apron. 

"I seen you at that boarding-house where Charles Stuart was, " shecontinued, "but you looked so grand I wouldn't let on to you I wasthere. I thought you wouldn't want me. And I wouldn't let him telleven Jean. But the woman wouldn't keep me, I was no good, and I wasashamed to tell Charles Stuart I'd gone, he was so awful good, and some and grandaddy moved in here and I didn't let on, and I got washing;but the lady didn't pay me, and oh, Lizzie, grandaddy's sick andI--couldn't help it. "

"Couldn't help what?" asked Elizabeth, puzzled over the incoherentrecital. "Tell me all about it, Eppie. "

"Tell me, dear, " she patted her as though she had been a hurt child. 

So Eppie began at the day they came to Toronto and told their whole sadhistory. They had lived with her father for a time. He had writtenthem to come, for he had a little grocery store and was doing well. Hehad been kind and good at first, and they had been happy. But he hadbegan to drink again--drink had always been his trouble, and at lasteverything had to be sold and he went away West, leaving her and hergrandfather alone. Then commenced a sorrowful story--the story ofincompetence struggling with greed and want. They would have starvedshe declared only for Charles Stuart. It was he was the good kind lad. He had met her on the street one day last autumn and for a long whilehe had done everything to help them. He had found a place wheregrandaddy could board, and got work for her again and again. But shehad always failed. "I tried, Lizzie, " she said, sitting before herfriend with hanging head, twisting the corner of her ragged apronpitifully, "but I'd never been learned how to do things, and I guess Iwas awful slow. When the ladies scolded I would just be forgettingeverything, and then they would send me away. And when Charles Stuartgot me a place at Mrs. Dalley's and I lost it, too, I was that ashamedI couldn't tell him. So we moved down here to this house, for I'dsaved a little money, and grandaddy was pleased because he said it wasa home of our own again, and he didn't seem to mind the water coming inon the bed. But the rent's awful dear, and the man that owns it hesaid he'd send me to jail if I didn't pay him next time. I hadn't anymoney last time, because the lady I worked for wouldn't pay me. Oh, Lizzie, don't you think rich people ought to pay folks that work forthem?"

"Who didn't pay you?" asked Elizabeth, her eyes burning. 

"Miss Kendall. She's a grand lady and works in the church and CharlesStuart asked her to let me work for her. But she'd always tell me tocome back some other day when I went and asked her for money, and nextweek they're going to turn us out. Oh, Lizzie, do you mind yon Mr. Huntley that put grandaddy and me off our farm? He owns this house andnow he's putting us out again! Grandaddy says God is good and kind andthat He'll never forsake us. But I don't think He cares about us, orHe wouldn't let all these awful things happen to us. " She had beengrowing more and more excited as the recital continued. Her cheeksburned and she plucked nervously at her apron. Now a desperate lookcame into her eyes, her voice rose shrilly and Elizabeth gazed at herin terror. 

"Did you see that man that was here when you came?" Elizabeth nodded, a new terror clutching her heart. Until now she had not realized thatthere might be far fiercer beasts of prey than even the wolves ofpoverty following Eppie's footsteps. "He's a bad man, Lizzie, but he'sbeen kind to me. He gave me money yesterday or grandaddy would a'starved. Bad people are better to you than good people. He gave memoney if I'd promise to go and keep house for him. And I'mgoing--to-morrow--and I'll get bad too--everybody round here's bad andI don't care any more----"

She burst into violent sobbing again, and Elizabeth could only hold hertight and say over and over in helpless woe, "Oh, Eppie, my poorEppie. " For of the two girls clinging together in the damp littlehovel, perhaps the more fortunate one was experiencing a greater depthof despair. A very chaos of darkness had descended upon Elizabeth'ssoul. She was taking her first glimpse of that world of misery andshame into which Eppie was being so ruthlessly driven, and her wholesoul recoiled. To her excited imagination the girl in her arms was thesacrifice offered for her own comfort. It seemed as though the priceof the boxes of roses and candy that were lavished upon her, had beenwrung from those poor helpless hands now clutching her so desperately. And Mrs. Jarvis too; Elizabeth arraigned her before the ruthlesstribunal of her awakened conscience. Why had she let all this happen, when she could have prevented it with a word?

Suddenly Eppie stopped sobbing and raised her head listening. Elizabeth looked at her and followed her eyes to the bed. The old manhad made a slight movement, and uttered a strange, choking cough. Hisgranddaughter ran to him with incoherent murmurs of endearment. Elizabeth following tenderly, the girl turned down the ragged coverlid, and laid her hand on his wrinkled forehead. There was the stamp ofdeath on his peaceful old face. 

"What's the matter?" whispered Elizabeth. 

Eppie turned upon her wild eyes of terror. "I don't know. There'ssomething wrong with him. Oh, what'll I do? What'll I do?"

"I'll get a doctor, " cried Elizabeth, darting towards the door. Herheavy fur stole slipped from her shoulders, but she took no notice ofit. She fled out into the night and went stumbling once more over thegarbage heaps of the dark alley. 

Mr. MacAllister had come in late for his supper that evening, and Mrs. Dalley's latest dining-room maid had served him with an air of coldreproach that almost gave that kind-hearted young man an attack ofindigestion. He hurried away from the uncomfortable atmosphere, andfound that his room-mate had gone out. He did not go to his books atonce, but sat in their one easy-chair, his hands deep in his pockets, staring at his boots. John always declared the Pretender drew hisinspiration therefrom, for after any prolonged study of thosegoodly-sized appendages he always arose and accomplished somethingstartling. This time his meditation was longer than usual; his mindwas on the lecture of that afternoon. Finally he arose and drew fromthe table a writing-pad. He wrote a long letter, and as he sealed ithis dark eyes shone. For he knew that away up in a little northernvalley, a woman with a sweet wistful face, who had waited for themessage that letter contained, many long anxious years, was stillwaiting for it, and its coming would fill her heart with joy andthankfulness. 

He had just finished when he heard his chum come thundering up thestairs. He looked up with laughing expectation. He knew by the mannerof John's ascent that there was something grand and glorious doing. 

"What's up now? You came up that stairs like an automobilly-goat. Isthe house on fire?"

John leaped across the room, threw his cap upon the floor, and hadpoured out his good news before he got his overcoat off. 

"Isn't that the dandiest luck?" he finished up. "I've just been downat Huntley's office. He telephoned just before supper. And I'm tohave all expenses paid beside, and nothing but Dagoes and Chinamen todope. " He had taken off his boots by this time and was rummaging inthe bedroom for his slippers, never pausing a moment in his talk. 

"Huntley's a gentleman all right, isn't he? Of course, it's all 'causehe's so sweet on Lizzie; but I'm mighty thankful his sweetness came inmy direction. A chap like you, with one of the best farms in Ontarioat his back, can't have any idea what it's like to go to college onwind. Say, won't it seem funny to have little Lizzie married to thatchap. She wouldn't confess to-day, but I could see there was somethingup. "

He paused at last, for it was being borne in upon his joy-blendedsenses that his chum, who had always heretofore rejoiced when herejoiced, was making no response. 

"It'll be good practice for my first year, don't you think?" he askedrather lamely. 

"Oh, yes, I suppose so. " Charles Stuart's answer was even lamer. 

John emerged from his room bearing the captured slippers. 

"You're not sick, are you, old man?" he asked. 

"Sick? No! What makes you ask such a fool question?"

"Why, you're looking perfectly green round the gills. You're not goingout, are you?"

For the Pretender had sprung up and was dragging on his boots. He wasfinding it impossible to pretend any longer. 

John watched him anxiously, all uncomprehending. 

"Better let me take your temperature, Mac. Diphtheria's fairly boomingin your year. Packard has it now. "

"Nonsense! I'm all right. You meds. Are always on the trail of deathand disease. "

"I thought you said you were going to plug to-night. "

Charles Stuart was savagely dragging on his overcoat. "Well, I'm not, I'm going out. "

"You haven't a pain or an ache anywhere, have you?"

The patient might have answered truthfully that he was conscious onlyof one great ache through his whole being, but instead he answeredshortly: "Pain? Your granny! No, of course not!"

The door slammed soundingly behind him, and John sat gazing at it untilthe house shook with another tremendous bang, this time from the streetdoor. 

"Well, I'll be----" said the young man, and then paused, feeling howutterly hopeless it was to find a word expressive of his feelings. Inall the years of their life-long comradeship he had never known CharlesStuart to behave in such a manner. "He's gone batty!" he said at lastto the closed door, and then slowly and meditatively he returned to hisbooks. "He's fixing for dip. All right, " he added; "I'll have Bags into overhaul him when he comes back. " Then, with the satisfaction of amedical student who has correctly diagnosed and prescribed for a case, he settled himself comfortably in the easy-chair and went to work. 

Meanwhile the supposed victim of incipient diphtheria was striding downthe street as though pursued by that and every other fell disease. Aworse malady had seized him, and he was calling himself a fool that hehad been so blind to its symptoms. Life without the sunshine ofElizabeth's presence was a problem he had never faced. That he and shebelonged to each other since the beginning of time had always been hisdeep-rooted conviction. And now he had lost her, and had realized itfor the first time on the very day when he had found the true gloriousmeaning of life. His senses were numbed by the irony of his fate. Hewas conscious only of the fact that he had received a blow, and that hemust move swiftly and more swiftly. He was whirling round a cornerwhen he heard his name called sharply. He stopped short in mingled joyand fear. Someone was crossing the street towards him with headlongspeed. It was she herself!--Elizabeth--coming to him with outstretchedhands. He went swiftly to meet her. 

"Lizzie! What is it?" he cried, catching the hands in his. 

"Oh, Charles Stuart!" she cried with a sob of relief, "come--quick!I've found Eppie!"

CHAPTER XVII

DAWN CLOUDS

"And so you see; Aunt Margaret, I could not possibly have actedotherwise. I had to leave it all. "

Miss Gordon sat a trifle straighter in her stiff chair. "I fear I mustconfess I cannot see it as you do at all, Elizabeth. You say yourselfthat Mrs. Jarvis would have been willing to pay Eppie's expenses uphere, or support her in the city, and why you should have made her thecause of such an eccentric act I cannot understand. "

Elizabeth looked out of the window in silent misery. Before her, TomTeeter's fields stretched away bare and brown, with patches of snow inthe hollows and the fence-corners. Rain had fallen the night before, acold March rain, freezing as it fell, and clothing every object of thelandscape in an icy coat that glittered and blazed in the morninglight. But the sun and the fresh wind, dancing up from the south andbringing a fragrant hint of pussy-willows from the creek banks, werecausing this fairy world of glass to dissolve. Such a glorious worldas it was seemed too radiant and unreal to last. There was a sound ofpouring water and a rattle as of shattered glass as the airy thingstumbled to pieces. 

The fences along Champlain's Road and the lane were made of polishedsilver rails that gave back the sunbeams in blinding flashes. Theroofs of the houses and barns were covered with glass, the trees wereloaded with diamonds. From the east windows of the dining-room whereElizabeth sat by the fire, she could see the orchard and theout-houses. They were all transformed, the former into a fairy forestof glass, the latter into crystal palaces. Even the old pump had beenchanged into a column of silver. 

The breeze, dancing up over The Dale, set the fairy forest of glassswaying, with a silken rustle. On every swinging branch millions ofjewels flashed in the sunlight. With a soft crashing sound some treewould let fall its priceless burden in a dazzling rain of diamonds. Crash! and the silver roof of the barn slid down into the yard, collapsing in a flood of opals. The whole world seemed unreal andunstable, toppling to pieces and vanishing in the rising mist. 

To Elizabeth it seemed like her new radiant world of usefulness, whichshe had been building on her journey from Toronto. It was falling topieces about her ears, before the breath of her aunt's disapproval. 

The glorious freshness of the breeze, the dazzling blue of the sky, andthe quivering, flashing radiance of the bejeweled world set all hercity-stifled nerves tingling to be up and away over the wind-sweptfields and the wet lanes. But she sat in the old rocker by thedining-room fire and clasped her hands close in her efforts to keepback the tears. This homecoming had been so sadly different from allothers. She had not been welcome. The Dale and every dear oldfamiliar nook and corner of the surrounding fields had seemed to opentheir arms to her and Eppie when John Coulson brought them out fromCheemaun three days before. Her father had received them withunquestioning joy. Mary and the boys had been hilarious in theirwelcome. Her aunt alone had met her with a greeting tempered bydoubts. Notwithstanding the years of worldly success to Elizabeth'scredit, Miss Gordon still lived in some fear lest the wild streakreappear. She had reserved her judgment, however, until her nieceshould explain, and the opportunity for a quiet talk had come upon thethird morning after their arrival. As soon as breakfast was over, andthe early morning duties attended to, Miss Gordon took herembroidery--Mary did the darning now--to the dining-room fire andcalled Elizabeth to her. 

The old stone house was very quiet. Sarah Emily's successor, a shylittle maid from an orphan home, was moving noiselessly about thekitchen under Mary's able supervision. Jamie was far on the road toCheemaun High School, his books slung over his back, and Mr. Gordon wasshut in his study. Eppie lay upstairs in the big airy room that hadonce been the boys'. Even where she sat Elizabeth could catch the echoof her racking cough. 

Miss Gordon seated herself comfortably before the fire, biddingElizabeth do the same. 

They had not yet had a moment to talk about the future, she saidpleasantly. There had been so much to say about poor little Eppie. But they must discuss Elizabeth's own affairs now. First, how longcould she remain at home? She hoped Mrs. Jarvis did not want her toreturn immediately?

Elizabeth felt, rather than saw, the look of sharp inquiry her auntbent upon her. There was no hope of putting off the explanation anylonger. She turned towards her with a sinking heart. It had alwaysbeen impossible to explain her actions to Aunt Margaret. And now, though she was a woman, Elizabeth felt a return of her old childishdread of being misunderstood. 

She began carefully--away back at the resolution her young heart hadmade to use her influence with Mrs. Jarvis to help Eppie. Of herhigher aims and aspirations she could not speak; and because she wasforced to do so, to be silent concerning her yearnings for a higherlife, and the revelation that had come to her that wonderful afternoonin St. Stephen's; because of this, even to her own ears, her story didnot sound convincing. Her course of conduct did not appear soinevitable as it had before she faced her aunt. 

When she had bidden Mrs. Jarvis farewell, declaring she could no longerendure the life of fashion and idleness which they lived, and hadburied poor old Sandy and taken Eppie and fled home with her, she hadbeen as thoroughly convinced as Charles Stuart, her aider and abettor, that this was the only line of conduct to pursue. To Elizabeth's mindit had appeared beyond doubt that, from the day her benefactress, acting through Mr. Huntley, had allowed Eppie to be driven from herhome, that those two had been directly responsible for all the girl'smisery. And this one case had revealed to her the awful train ofinnocent victims that must surely follow in the path of selfishidleness which Mrs. Jarvis pursued, or that of money-making followed byMr. Huntley. And Elizabeth, too, was of their world, eating of theirbread, accepting all the luxury that came from this wrong-doing. Thiswas the thought that had stung her into such headlong action. She hadtold Mrs. Jarvis the whole truth, offending her bitterly thereby, andhad escaped without even a word of farewell to Mr. Huntley. But now, in the telling of it all, she seemed to see herself each moment growingmore culpable and ridiculous in her aunt's eyes. 

And when she finished her story with an appeal, she was met by thatold, old sentence that had been so many times pronounced upon her:

"I cannot understand you. "

Elizabeth did not quite understand herself. She knew only that aninner voice--an echo from the thrilling words spoken in the church--hadcommanded and she could not but obey. The King's Highway was callingfor her--she was needed to make it smooth for someone's feet. Thatvoice had promised great things, too, --that the wilderness and thesolitary places should be glad because of her coming, that the rose ofSharon should blossom by her side--that, because of her, some little ofthe sorrow and sighing of this sad world should flee away. And now, instead, there were thorns along the pathway, and she had broughtdistress upon one she loved. 

If she could only explain, she said to herself in despair. She lookedout of the west window away down Champlain's Road with its swaying, towering hedge of bejeweled elms, to the old farm-house against thepines of Long Hill. Mother MacAllister would understand without anyexplanation. If she were only telling Mother MacAllister!

"It seems so unnecessary, your leaving Mrs. Jarvis, " Miss Gordoncontinued. "Someone else could have brought Eppie. And what we are todo with her I cannot tell. You cannot but see that she is consumptive, and it would be folly for us to allow her to be in the same home withMary. Even you must understand that Mary is in danger of that disease, Elizabeth. "

The girl's face blanched. "I will take complete care of her, aunt, "she said hastily. "Mary need not go near her. But both Mr. Bagsleyand Mrs. Jarvis's doctor said Eppie would soon get better with freshair and good nursing. "

"One never can tell with a disease like that. And as for goodnursing--I see clearly that as usual the burden must fall upon me. "Miss Gordon sighed deeply and hunted in her basket for her spool. "Itis quite out of the question for you to undertake nursing her. I couldnot allow it in any case, but it would be unfair to Mrs. Jarvis. Shemust expect your return any day?" She looked up inquiringly, andElizabeth's clasped hands clenched each other again. She made adesperate attempt to be brave, and turned squarely towards her aunt. The very necessity of the case drove her to take courage. 

"Aunt Margaret, " she said deliberately, "you do not quite understandyet. I--I cannot--I am not going back to Mrs. Jarvis--any more. "

Miss Gordon dropped the linen square she was embroidering, butrecovered it instantly. Even in the shock of dismay, she was dignifiedand self-restrained. 

"Elizabeth, " she said with a dreadful calm, "what is this you aretelling me?"

"I cannot go back, " repeated the girl with the courage of despair. "Iam sorry--oh, sorrier than I can possibly tell you, Aunt Margaret, thatI have brought all this trouble upon you. But I had to leave. Iexplained to Mrs. Jarvis how I felt--that it seemed as if we both hadprofited at Eppie's expense, and that as she had allowed Eppie to beturned out of her home, I felt as if she were responsible--as well asmyself. And so I came away. I couldn't live that kind of life afterseeing Eppie's home--and what she was almost driven to. Oh, AuntMargaret, can't you understand that I couldn't!"

Miss Gordon was staring at her in a way that robbed Elizabeth of hersmall stock of courage. "Wait, " she said, raising her hand to stop theincoherent flow. "Do I understand you to say that you--you insultedMrs. Jarvis--and left her?"

"I didn't mean to insult her, " whispered Elizabeth with dry lips. "I--I felt I was as much to blame as she--and I said so. "

"And Mr. Huntley? What of him?" The girl looked up suddenly, a waveof indignation lending a flash to her gray eyes. 

"Aunt Margaret, he owned the house Eppie lived in!" she cried, asthough it were a final condemnation. 

Miss Gordon waved her aside. 

"And he was ready to offer you marriage. Mrs. Jarvis told me so in herlast letter. Elizabeth, --do you at all comprehend what a disastrousthing you have done?"

Elizabeth looked out of the window in dumb despair. Miss Gordon arose, and, crossing the room, closed the door leading into the hall. In allthe years in which she had seen her aunt disturbed over herwrong-doing, Elizabeth had never witnessed her so near losing herself-control. The sight alarmed her. 

Miss Gordon came back to her seat and threw her work aside. She facedher niece, clasping and unclasping her long slender hands, until herheavy, old-fashioned rings made deep marks in the flesh. 

"Elizabeth, " she said with an effort at calm, "the only possible excusethat can be made for your conduct is that you must have been out ofyour mind when you acted so. If you realized what you were doing, youhave acted criminally. You have brought this consumptive girl here, and endangered Mary's life, just when I felt she was beginning to bestrong. You have destroyed John's prospects. He cannot possiblyaccept this position, since you have treated Mr. Huntley in thisfashion. You have utterly ruined your own chances in life. And whatchances you have had! Never was a girl so fortunate as you. But youhave all your life deliberately flung aside every piece of good fortunethat came your way. And wait, "--as Elizabeth strove to speak--"this isnot the worst. You have never known that we live here in The Dalemerely by Mrs. Jarvis's favor. Your father has no deed for thisproperty, no more than old Sandy McLachlan had for his. He might claimit by law, now, --but if Mrs. Jarvis asks us to leave, we must do so. Thank Heaven, some of the Gordons have pride! And that she will ask usnow, after the outrageous manner in which you have met all hergenerosity, I have not the slightest doubt. We shall all be turned outof our home, and you will bring your father's gray hairs down withsorrow to the grave. "

She arose and walked up and down, wringing her hands. Her extravagantwords and actions were so pregnant with genuine grief and despair, thatthey smote Elizabeth's heart with benumbing blows. Mary, John, heraunt, and now the best beloved of all--her father! She was bringingruin upon them all! Totally unaccustomed to deliberate thinking, shewas unable to view the situation calmly, and took every accusation ofher aunt's literally. 

"Aunt Margaret!" she cried desperately, moved more by the sight of thestately woman's abandon than by the thought of her own shortcomings. "Oh, Aunt Margaret, --don't! It may not be so bad! And can't you see Ididn't mean to do wrong? Oh, I truly didn't. You always taught us todo our duty first. We knew it was the sense of duty that kept you herewhen you wanted to go back to Edinburgh. And I felt it was my duty tobring Eppie and come away. Oh, if you could only have seen the placewhere poor old Sandy died! And Eppie need not stay here. Tom andGranny Teeter want to take her--and the Cleggs, and, --oh, if you'llonly forgive me!" Elizabeth broke down completely. She had made ahorrible mistake somehow--she did not understand how, any more than shehad understood in her childhood how she was always bringing sorrow uponher aunt. 

Miss Gordon came and stood over her. She was once more calm andself-contained. "I can never forgive you, Elizabeth, " she saiddeliberately, "until you have become reconciled to Mrs. Jarvis. Goback to her and beg her pardon for your conduct, and then come and askmine. "

She gathered up her work, and in her stateliest manner walked from theroom. Elizabeth's first impulse was to fling herself upon the sofa ina passion of despair, but the remembrance of Eppie saved her. She sata few minutes fighting for self-control, and praying for help, thefirst real prayer she had uttered for years. When she was sufficientlycalm she went up to the room where Eppie lay with the March sunshinestreaming over her pillow. Her eyes brightened at the sight ofElizabeth, but instantly the old look of dull despair came back. "You're a little better to-day, aren't you, dear?" Elizabeth asked, striving to be cheerful. Eppie nodded. "Yes, I'm better, " she saiddrearily. 

"And it's the loveliest day, Eppie. Why, we have glass trees in thelane, and it's so sunshiny. If you'll only hurry up and get strong, you'll be in time to pick the first May flowers that grow down by theold place. "

"I think I'd rather not see it, Lizzie, " said the sick girl. "Grandaddy and me used to talk by the hour about comin' back to ForestGlen. And I always wanted to get back that bad it made me sick. Butnow I think I'd sooner not see the old place, because he can't see ittoo. "

Elizabeth's forced calm was forsaking her. The tears welled up in hereyes. 

"Ye're not well yourself to-day, Lizzie, " whispered Eppie. "What'stroublin'?"

"Nothing you can help, dear, " said Elizabeth hastily. "See, I'm goingto get you some milk and then you must sleep. " She fled from the room, and down the hall towards her own little bedroom. At the head of thestairs she met Mary carrying a covered dish. Mary was not ignorant ofthe turn affairs had taken, and her sympathy was all for her sister, for she would have welcomed any disaster that brought Lizzie home. 

"I've made Eppie a custard, " she said comfortingly. "I'll give it toher and you can go to see Mother MacAllister--she'll help. " There wasa secret bond of sympathy between the sisters that enabled Mary todivine that whatever was the nature of Elizabeth's trouble, MotherMacAllister would prove an excellent doctor. 

But Elizabeth took the bowl. "No, I must attend to Eppie myself. AuntMargaret does not want you to be with her. Never mind me, Mary dear, I've made a big muddle of things, as usual, but it can't be helped now. I shall go and see Mother MacAllister as soon as Eppie goes to sleep. "

It was afternoon before Elizabeth found an opportunity to leave. Eppie's cough was painful and persistent, and Miss Gordon kept her roomprostrated with a nervous headache. But late in the day both invalidssank into slumber, and finding nothing to do, Elizabeth flung on hercoat and hat and fled downstairs. 

She paused for a moment at the study door as she passed. Her fatherwas sitting at his desk, over his accounts. Elizabeth approached andgently laid her hand upon his shoulder. It was a very thin, stoopedshoulder now, and the hair on his bowed head was almost white. Themental picture of him being driven from The Dale through her act roseup before his daughter, and choked her utterance. Unaccustomed to anyaffectionate demonstrations as the Gordon training had made her, shecould not even put her arms about his neck, as she longed to do, butstood by him silent, her hand on his shoulder. 

"Well, Mary, child, " he said in his absent way. Then he glanced up. "Eh, eh, it's little Lizzie? Well, well! Tuts, tuts, of course youare home again. " He patted the hand on his shoulder affectionately. 

"Are you glad to have me home, father?" whispered the girl when shecould find her voice. It was a foolish question, but she longed tohear him say she was welcome. 

"Glad?" he said. "Tuts, tuts, there's been no sunshine in the housesince 'Lizbeth left. Eh, eh, indeed, I think I must just be sendingword to that Mrs. Jarvis that I can't spare you any longer. "

Elizabeth smiled wanly. She could not trust herself to speak again. She wanted to tell him she had come home to stay, and all that herhomecoming meant. But she could not bear to trouble him. She merelypatted his hand and slipped away before the tears could come. 

The radiant morning had been succeeded by a dull afternoon. Every opaland diamond of the opening day had vanished. Low sullen clouds driftedover the dim-colored earth, and the wind was chill and dreary. Elizabeth's mood was in perfect accord with the grayness. She wasabout to give herself up to melancholy when, as she plodded up themuddy lane, she was hailed cheerfully from the road. The speaker wasAuntie Jinit McKerracher, as she was still called, though correctlyspeaking, she had been for some time past Auntie Jinit Martin. Evidently her life as mistress of the red-brick house, from which shehad just come, had been a success. Auntie Jinit looked every inch awoman of prosperous independence. Though the low clouds threatenedrain, she wore a very gay and expensive bonnet, adorned with many pinkroses that scarcely rivaled the color of her cheeks. The dress sheheld up in both hands, high above her trim gaiter-tops, was of blacksatin, much bedecked with heavy beaded trimming. From all appearancesAuntie Jinit had, to use her own phrase, been "up sides" with JakeMartin, since her second marriage. 

"And is yon yersel', Lizzie lass!" she cried heartily. "An' hoo's thepair bit lamb the day?"

"Eppie? Oh, not much better, Auntie Jinit. I'm afraid sometimes poorEppie will never be better. "

A sympathetic light shone in Auntie Jinit's bright eyes, and a shrewd, knowing pair of eyes they were. Not much escaped them, and her visitto The Dale the day before, coupled with Elizabeth's disappointedappearance, told her plainly that all was not well between the girl andher aunt. 

"Tuts, lass, " she said, "the warm weather 'll be along foreby, an'she'll pick up. Ah'll send oor Charlie ower wi' a bit jug o' creamivery morn, an' it'll mak the pair thing fatten up a wee. "

"Thank you, Auntie Jinit, " said Elizabeth, the kindness bringing thetears to her eyes. "You're so good. "

Mrs. Martin glanced at her sideways again. She had seen little ofElizabeth within the last few years, but her regard for the girl hadnever changed. She was as proud of her as though she had been her owndaughter. Her eyes rested fondly on the slim, erect figure in the longgray coat, the smart, blue-gray velvet toque that matched the deep eyesbeneath, and the soft, warm coils of the girl's brown hair. Lizzie wasa lady and no mistake, Mrs. Martin declared to herself, a lady from herheart out to her clothes; and if that stuck up bit buddy at The Dale, who thought herself so much above her neighbors, had been worrying thelass, she, Auntie Jinit, was going to find out about it. 

"Ye'll need help in lookin' after her, " she said, feeling her way, "an'Mary's no able to gie it. "

"That's just the trouble, " said Elizabeth, responding to the sympathy. "I wouldn't mind caring for her myself entirely, but Aunt Margaret--Imean we all feel a little afraid for Mary--she's not strong. And, totell you the truth, Auntie Jinit, " she added hesitatingly, "I don'tquite know what to do with poor Eppie. "

"Hoots, lassie. " Auntie Jinit's voice was very sympathetic. She wasbeginning to understand fully. "There's mair folk than ah can namethat's jist wearyin' to tak the bairn. There's Tom Teeter----"

"But granny could never give her proper care, auntie, and it wouldn'tbe right to burden her. "

"Weel, there's Noah Clegg, an' there's yer ain Mother MacAllister, aye, an' there's Jinit Martin, tae. We've a braw hoose ower by yonder, jistwearyin' to be filled. Ah'll tak the bit lass masel, " she finished upsuddenly, and closed her firm mouth with a resolute air. 

Elizabeth looked at her in amazement and admiration. Jake Martin'shouse was the last place in Ontario she had supposed one would chooseas a refuge for an orphan. Certainly Auntie Jinit had worked arevolution there. 

"But there's Susie, Auntie Jinit, she's not as strong as Mary. "

"Ah'll mind Susie, niver you fear, ma lass----"

"And--Mr. Martin?" hesitatingly. 

Auntie Jinit laughed a gay, self-sufficient laugh. "Ah'll mind himtae, " she said firmly. "Ah've sed to Jake mony's the time--there'll besome awfu' jedgment come upon this house, Jake Martin, because yeturned a bit helpless bairn an' a decreepit auld buddy oot o' theirhame. An' Jake kens ah'm richt. He's been a bit worrit aboot it, an'ah'll jist pit it till him plain that if he taks Eppie it'll jist avertthe wrath o' the Almichty. "

Had Elizabeth's heart been a little less heavy, she must have enjoyedimmensely this slight revelation of the change in affairs at the Martinhome. Auntie Jinit had indeed worked a transformation there. Thehouse was well-furnished and comfortable. The younger children werereceiving an education; Charlie, one of the older sons, had returned tohelp his father on the farm; Susie, under the care of the best doctorsin Cheemaun, was slowly creeping back to health and strength, and Mrs. Martin herself was the finest dressed woman who drove along Champlain'sRoad of a Saturday with her butter and eggs. 

Something like a smile gleamed in Elizabeth's eyes, as she looked ather, tripping along by the muddy roadside. 

"So don't ye worry, ma lass, " she said. "It's a braw fine thing yedid, bringin' the pair stray lamb back to the auld place, an' berryin'the auld man; an' it's no fit ye'll be carryin' the burden. Beside, ye'll be leavin' us a' sune, ah doot. Yon braw leddy 'll no be able tospare ye lang. "

Elizabeth slowly shook her head. "I don't intend going back, " shewhispered. 

"Not gaun back!" Auntie Jinit's very figure was a living interrogationmark. But her penetrating glance saw the misery in the girl's face, and her pity, always more active than even her curiosity, made herpause. She tactfully changed the subject. She could afford to wait;for all things that were hidden within the surroundings of Forest Glenwere certain to be revealed sooner or later to Mrs. Jake Martin. 

"It's a raw day, " she said. "Ah didna like to venture oot, but ahthocht ah'd jist rin ower an' see pair Wully. He's no weel, an' hewearies for me whiles. Ah tauld Jake if he wesna jist himsel, ah'dbide wi him the nicht. " She gave a sidelong glance as she said this, half amused, half defiant. But Elizabeth had not been home long enoughto understand the full meaning of the words and look. These periodicalillnesses to which "pair Wully" was so strangely subject had a peculiarsignificance in the Martin household. It was reported throughout theneighborhood that when Jake grew obdurate, as he sometimes dared, evenyet, his wife, by some process of mental telepathy, became convinced ofthe notion that pair Wully would be jist wearyin' for her, he wasna'weel onyway, an' micht jist slip awa' afore she saw him; and away thedevoted sister would hie, leaving the forsaken husband and his home towhatever ill-luck fate might send. As his house was faultlessly andeconomically run when its mistress was there, and fell into ruinousneglect in her absence, Jake generally succumbed at an early date. Wully's physical condition having a strange correspondence to Jake'smental state, they always recovered at precisely the same time, andAuntie Jinit returned triumphant. On this present occasion, theproposed papering of the Martin parlor had caused a seriousindisposition in the Johnstone home, and Auntie Jinit was on her waygayly thither, prepared to nurse her brother until the paper was readyto be hung. She anticipated a struggle over Eppie, but Auntie Jinitknew her power and was ready for the fray. 

She kissed Elizabeth affectionately as she left her at the MacAllistergate, bidding her be cheery, it would all end right, and tripped awaydown the road to her brother's home. Elizabeth found MotherMacAllister sitting in her accustomed seat by the kitchen window. Shehad more time to sit there now, for Wully Johnstone's only unmarrieddaughter had come to be the helper in the MacAllister kitchen whenSarah Emily became the wife of Peter, and declared she couldn't put upwith anybody's penoeuvres when she was cooking a dinner. 

Mother MacAllister's eyes rested fondly on the girl as she laid off hercoat and hat. Lizzie was still to her the little daughter she hadlost, and her homecomings brought her joy second only to that of herown son. 

"And you'll not be looking yourself, lovey, " she said tenderly whenEppie had been inquired for. "Is it a trouble I could be helping?"

Yes, it was just for help she had come, Elizabeth explained, andsitting on her old seat, the milking-stool, at Mother MacAllister'sknee, she told her all, how she had left Mrs. Jarvis, and the life offashion they had lived, because she had been given a glimpse of anotherlife--one employed in the King's service. And she had seen also thelife that the unfortunate ones of the earth led, the cruel misery theysuffered, and it had all seemed to her the direct result of her ownself-indulgence. She had fled from that selfish life, and now her actwas likely to bring disaster upon those she loved best, and she was indoubt. Perhaps she had done wrong. Had she? And was it possible aright act could bring such dire results?

And then Mother MacAllister went, as she always did in times ofperplexity, to the story of the One Who had suffered all man'sinfirmities and knew as no other knew how to sympathize with man'stroubles. She read of how He turned away from worldly power andtriumph and chose a life of poverty, and a death of shame, because Heloved, and love gave all. And sitting there, listening, with swellingheart Elizabeth lived again that radiant evening when MotherMacAllister had first shown her a glimpse of what His service meant. And this was a renewed vision, a lifting of the clouds that stillobscured the dawn. She went home with a feeling of exaltation in herheart. "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, ye havedone it unto Me, " Mother MacAllister had said in parting. Lizzie haddone right and she must leave the consequences with Him. He would seethat it came out all right. As she paused to open the sodden gateleading into The Dale lane, she glanced back at the old farm-houseagainst the dark background of pines. Above the long hill the wind hadopened a long golden rent in the gray skies. Elizabeth smiled. It wasa beautiful omen, and hopeful. 

She soon discovered that she needed all the light that her vision oflove and duty could shed upon her pathway; for the ensuing days proveddark ones. The possibilities of coming disaster hung over her head, and her aunt's attitude of aggrieved reproachfulness was torture to thegirl's loving heart. To add to her suffering, Miss Gordon insisted, martyr-like, in taking charge of Eppie. Elizabeth strove to assist, but she was always doing things wrong, and her aunt sighed and declaredshe only added to her burdens. Offers of a home for Eppie had comefrom all sides, but at first Miss Gordon refused each one. For, afterall, the lady of The Dale was made of fine material. Never could shebe brought to turn an orphan from her door, and her stern sense of dutydrove her to nurse the girl with all the care and skill she couldcommand. But hers was a nature that, while it was capable of rising tothe height of a difficult task, failed in the greater task of carryingthe burden bravely. 

So Tom Teeter, the Johnstones, the Cleggs, and the MacAllisters wereforced to content themselves with sending gifts of cream and fresh eggsand chicken-soup and currant jelly to the poor little guest at TheDale, until her hosts were embarrassed by their riches. But AuntieJinit's offer was not to be so put aside. For what was the use ofvanquishing a husband if one could not display the evidence of one'striumph? The new gay paper on the parlor wall witnessed to brotherWully's complete recovery from rheumatism, but the crick in his back, brought on by his brother-in-law's stormy refusal to take old SandyMcLachlan's child into his home was long and persistent. It hadvanished at last on a certain evening when Jake sheepishly presentedhimself at the Johnstone home to inquire when his truant wife wascoming back. This was always the enemy's sign of capitulation. AuntieJinit sailed home with flying colors, and the next morning presentedherself at The Dale and demanded that Eppie go home with her. 

Not even Miss Gordon dared deny her, and so Eppie went to her newhome--one where every care a motherly heart could contrive was givenher. But Elizabeth's position was no less uncomfortable after Eppiewas gone. Her aunt treated her with stately politeness, her mannersaying plainly that she was merely waiting for her erring niece toconfess herself mistaken, and ready to make amends. But Elizabethstill clung forlornly to her resolution. She gained some comfort fromseeing Eppie growing strong and rosy, and much from MotherMacAllister's counsel. 

Annie and John Coulson sympathized, too, though even Annie could notquite understand. 

Just one event broke the monotony of Elizabeth's days before John'shomecoming. This was a visit from Estella and Horace. They drove outone sunny afternoon and remained to tea. Horace wore an apologeticair, as though he felt guilty of having jilted Elizabeth, and Estella'smanner was of the same quality, with a dash of triumph. On her wayupstairs to remove her wraps, Estella explained in an ecstatic whisperthat they were really and truly engaged, and didn't Beth think she hadthe loveliest diamond ring ever? Horace was such a dear, and the onlything that marred her perfect happiness was--well, of course it was adelicate matter--but neither she nor Horry could ever be quite happyuntil Beth said she would forgive them. 

Too amused to resent the imputation, Elizabeth granted a free and fullpardon, and then the true purport of Estella's visit was revealed. 

"What on earth has happened between you and Aunt Jarvis?" she asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed and fluffing up her light hairbefore the mirror. "You see I call her Aunt Jarvis already--I might aswell, you know, we'll be married so soon. Whatever has happened, Beth;was the old crank nasty to you?"

"Oh, Stella! No, she was always good and kind, but I--oh, I can'texplain, only it was all my fault. "

"Well, then, you'd better get to work and make it all right, you sillything. Madeline's just out of her head with joy about it. She's quitethe nastiest thing that ever lived, Beth Gordon, even if she is to bemy sister-in-law. Neither she nor old mother Oliver have called on me, or noticed our engagement in any way, and Madeline's getting ready togo to the Old Country with Aunt Jarvis--instead of you, Beth, and ifyou let her I'll never, never forgive you. We'd just love to take ourwedding-trip to the Old Country--I mean to go abroad, nobody inCheemaun ever says the Old Country now--but we can't. Mr. Oliver's asstingy mean with poor darling Horry as ever he can be. And if Madelinegoes I'll--Oh, Beth, whatever did happen to make you act so?"

Elizabeth explained that she could not possibly interfere. She was notto return to Toronto. Mrs. Jarvis probably did not want her any more. Then, to quit the uncomfortable subject, she suggested they go down toher aunt and Horace. 

"My, you're so close, " grumbled Estella, rising and shaking out hersilk skirts. "I came out here on purpose to get it all out of you. But I'll do it anyway--see if I don't. "

"Do what?" added Elizabeth, half-alarmed. 

Estella laughed gayly. "Never you mind, Betsey dear. I can be as mumas yourself, never fear. It'll be a good turn for you, anyway, " andshe kissed her old schoolmate with genuine affection. 

The subject was not referred to again, as Estella occupied theremainder of her visit talking about her trousseau, and she leftwithout Elizabeth discovering just what she intended to do. 

The days passed slowly and painfully, and the next event was John'shomecoming. Elizabeth had looked forward to it, with something of thefeeling a ship-wrecked mariner experiences when he sees an approachingvessel. 

But John's presence did not bring the comfort she had fondly expected. He said not one word of reproach; but his sister could not help seeinghe was deeply disappointed over the loss of his position. He hadreceived no further orders from Mr. Huntley regarding his appointment, and had hesitated to approach him. He would send for him, the lawyerhad said, when all arrangements were completed, but no summons had comeyet, and John was feeling very much depressed indeed. 

"Oh, John, " groaned Elizabeth, as they wandered in the lane one warmspring evening, "I wish--I can't tell you how I wish I hadn't spoiledthis chance of yours. But I can't see how I could have actedotherwise. "

"It's all right, Lizzie, " he said comfortingly. "Don't you worry. Ofcourse, I can't see just why you went and busted up things in such awholesale manner. But I know you felt it was the thing to do, and Ican go somewhere else. I may get in with Dr. Harper here in Cheemaun. "

"I feel I did right, " Elizabeth said mournfully, "but it seems to haveturned out all wrong. What does Jean say?"

"Jean?" John laughed. "She wasn't saying anything to anybody but oldBags when I came away. Boys, oh! If I didn't forget. She cautionedme to break the news that they were engaged. "

"Engaged! Who?"

"Why, Jean and Bagsley. "

"Jean and--and what?" screamed Elizabeth. "Not the bone man?"

"Yes, why not? He's all right I tell you, Lizzie. Finest chap in ouryear. Going to be gold medalist, sure. "

"But how on earth?--what in the world?--John Gordon, are you telling methe truth or is it a joke?"

"Both. Mac and I nearly took hysterics the night Bags told us. Wenever suspected it. He never met a girl on the street without shying, and how he and Jean made it up is a mystery. But it's all right, andAunt Margaret 'll be tickled to death. Say, you must tell her. Go anddo it now like a good kid. I'm going over to have a chat with Tom. "

But Elizabeth would not let him go. She had not recovered from theshock. For the first time since her return home she felt her oldspirits return. As yet, to Elizabeth, all love-making was something ofa joke, and this was undoubtedly the funniest thing that had everhappened in Cupid's line. She deluged John with questions. What hadput it into the bone-collector's shaggy head? And having got it there, where did he get the courage to propose? He must have done it bytelephone, and long-distance, too. Or did he come stumbling intoJean's study and inquire in awful tones, "Miss Gordon, will you lend meyour heart?" and then dash out and fall downstairs? And even if onecould imagine his offering himself, how could anyone who knew Jeanconjure up a picture of her stopping her mathematics long enough eitherto accept or reject? What a "come-downer" it would be for Jean to bemerely married!

The brother and sister laughed together, in the disrespectful way thatyounger brothers and sisters have, and Miss Gordon, seated at hersewing by the open parlor window, heard Elizabeth's gay voice withrising resentment. The care-free laughter seemed to her but anotherindication of the girl's defiant indifference to her wishes. 

Elizabeth entered, radiant with her news, but the sight of her aunt'sface smote her. Miss Gordon had aged under her disappointment, andlooked pale and dispirited. 

"Is your head aching, Aunt Margaret?" the girl asked timidly. 

"No, I thank you, Elizabeth, " was the answer in the tones of statelypoliteness which Miss Gordon always used towards her wayward niece. "Iam merely worried. But I have become accustomed to that lately. "

She sighed deeply, and glad of a diverting subject, Elizabeth deliveredJohn's report of Jean. The effect was most gratifying. Her aunt grewimmediately alert and full of eager questions. Elizabeth had verylittle to tell. She wisely kept her own impressions of the young manto herself, but she dwelt upon the glowing report of Dr. Bagsley bothJohn and Charles Stuart had given, not forgetting to add that he hadgreatly helped the latter in his philanthropic work. 

"Jean has really done very well, then, " Miss Gordon said, her facesuffused with a pleased flush. "I really did not look to her for agood match. But Jean will always be a success, no matter in whatsphere she is placed. "

Elizabeth was silent. She could not picture Jean as a great success atcooking the bone-man's dinner, though perhaps he never ate anything. Mary was coming up the garden path from the lane, and as she looked ather she wondered why girls always seemed to be trained for some otherlife than that which fate brought them. She herself should have been anurse, and so prepared to care for Eppie, and to do that work uponwhich she had now determined. Mary was perfectly fitted for ahome-maker, and the chances of Mary's marrying were very small, andJean was a mathematical machine and knew no more about housekeepingthan Dr. Bagsley himself might be expected to know. It was such apuzzling world--especially for girls. 

"Two letters for you, Lizzie, " Mary cried. "Jamie's been to thepost-office. One's a gentleman's handwriting, I can tell, " she added, teasingly, "and the other's from Mrs. Jarvis. I know her writing. "

Elizabeth took the letters tremblingly. She recognized Mr. Huntley'shand on the first, and the second was indeed from Mrs. Jarvis. She waspainfully conscious that her aunt was watching her keenly as she openedthe latter. The contents were even more of a surprise. It began, asMrs. Jarvis's letters invariably did, with an account of hersufferings. Such prostrating headaches she had endured. Dr. Ralstonhad declared she was on the verge of a nervous collapse, and must leavethe city as soon as she was able to travel. She did not wish toreproach Beth, but there could be no doubt as to the cause. It hadbeen so all her life. Those to whom she had given most, for whom shehad made the greatest sacrifices, were always the ones who turnedagainst her. First her husband, then her niece and Madeline, andlastly Both, whom she had believed really loved her. But--and hereElizabeth received her surprise--she was ready to forgive. It was herway--her weakness, indeed, but she always forgave those who used hermost cruelly. Yes, she would take Beth back if she would say she wassorry. That she was truly repentant Miss Raymond had assured her. Horace and his pretty fiancée had called to see her when they were inthe city the day before, and Mrs. Jarvis had understood from them thatBeth loved her in spite of her strange, cruel actions, and was ready toreturn. The doctor had prescribed a sea voyage, and just as soon asshe could get a little strength to do some shopping, she would startfor Europe. She was going with a party--Mr. Huntley was to be one ofthem--and Beth must come too. Yes, she really must. Mrs. Jarvis wasready to forgive and forget. So was Mr. Huntley, she felt sure. Ofcourse, he was grieved and hurt at Beth's conduct. He could notunderstand why she had gone away without a word of farewell. Sheherself had smoothed matters over as well as she could, but the worryof it all had got on her nerves. She did not pretend to understandwhat strange notions Beth had got into her head. As though she and Mr. Huntley and Blanche Kendall were responsible for all the poverty inToronto. Well, there was no use discussing the matter further--it onlymade her nerves worse--and Dr. Ralston had said any more worry mightprove fatal. But she felt that the sea-voyage would perhaps help her. Beth must write at once and say what she would do, for Madeline wouldcome if Beth forsook her. Madeline had written, indeed, offering herservices. There was more about the headaches and nerves, but it endedwith words of genuine affection, that brought the tears to Elizabeth'seyes. To fight against love was the hardest task for Elizabeth. Almost everyone she cared for, John, her aunt, Mrs. Jarvis, andEstella, warm-hearted and loyal as she was in spite of many faults, seemed arrayed against her to force her to yield. 

The other letter was in Mr. Huntley's best formal and semi-pompousstyle. He, too, began in a slightly aggrieved tone. He did not knowuntil lately that Miss Gordon was not coming back to Toronto at once. He had fancied that some slight announcement of her departure was duehim, but, of course, she knew best. Her brother, too, had gone withoutacquainting him of the fact. His appointment was still open, and hewould be expected to be on duty within a week's time. Of course, Dr. Gordon might not care to accept the position now; Mr. Huntley hadgathered from Mrs. Jarvis that somehow Miss Gordon was offended withhim. He was not conscious of any offense given, and hoped to hear fromher that their relations were as friendly as when she had left thecity. In which case he hoped to meet Dr. Gordon at his office notlater than Thursday, when the final arrangements for his work would bemade. 

Elizabeth scarcely noticed the polite closing of the letter. Her heartwas beating to suffocation. She was dazzled by the prospect that hadsuddenly opened before her. To accept meant to gain everything theworld could give to make her happy; her home secured, John establishedin his profession, her aunt content. Then she thought of the sermon inSt. Stephen's Church with its call to a higher life, of MotherMacAllister's words concerning One Who had Himself trod a thorny pathand Whose true disciple must be content to follow. 

She looked up and saw her aunt's eyes fixed upon her in intenseeagerness. 

"Your letter is from Mrs. Jarvis?" Miss Gordon could not keep thepainful anxiety from showing in her face. 

"Yes, " faltered Elizabeth. She did not offer to show it, as had beenher habit in the old days. Miss Gordon turned away with a hurt, grieved air. "Of course, " she said coldly, "I must not ask for yourconfidence, Elizabeth. I find it hard to remember that you do notconsult me any more in your affairs. "

"Oh, Aunt Margaret!" cried the girl brokenly. It was the cry of amotherless child appealing for its rights to the one who had, in spiteof all deficiencies, filled a mother's place in her life. "Here, --readthem both. I do want your advice. " She shoved both letters into heraunt's hands as she spoke. Then she rose and fled upstairs to herlittle room. Something told her that in that act she had put away fromherself the power to choose; that she had turned her back upon theVision. 

CHAPTER XVIII

DARKNESS

And so, once more Elizabeth failed. This time the world did notrecognize the failure as such, and it was regarded by her family, andespecially by her aunt, as the highest success. But Elizabeth knew;that wiser inner self, always sternly honest, called her action by itsright name. On the very evening she wrote Mrs. Jarvis, promising toreturn, she felt the full bitterness of failure. For at family worshipher father read from the life of that One whom she had, for a brieftime, tried to follow. The Man of Nazareth had been showing Hisdisciples how His pathway must lead to the cross, and "from that timemany of His disciples went back and walked no more with Him. " Thesorrowful words kept repeating themselves over and over to Elizabethafter she had gone to bed--"went back and walked no more with Him"; andthough she had that day chosen wealth and worldly prosperity, in placeof hardship, poverty, and discomfort, she sobbed herself to sleep. 

As the days passed and preparations for her departure went forward, shestruggled to regain her habitual cheerfulness. John had gone West, full of joyful ambitions, her home and her father's peace were assured, her aunt was once more kind and happy. But Elizabeth could not becontent. Too honest to compromise with her conscience, she allowedherself no false hopes in regard to making her life with Mrs. Jarvis auseful one. She could not bear to look into Mother MacAllister's eyesthe day she told her of her altered plans. For the joy over CharlesStuart's new life had made those eyes shine with a beautiful newradiance, and the girl was grieved to see it dim. And just whatCharles Stuart himself would say when he returned and found her gone, was a speculation that could not but be disturbing. 

By working hard, visiting here and there, writing letters, and spendingmuch time with Eppie, she managed to make the few remaining days pass. When left alone she found her only refuge from pangs of regret was inkeeping herself extremely busy. For this reason, having the big stonehouse to herself one morning, she set to work at the housecleaning. Annie and the babies had been with them for a day, and had gone home, taking Mary and Miss Gordon with them for a day's shopping. Elizabeth, whose fickle allegiance was always given to the latest arrived Visionin Annie's family, missed the soft cooing little voice and adorableantics of Baby Betty, to the verge of heartache. She realized that onthis quiet day she must do something strenuous. 

Her first task was to see her father happily at work in his garden, andher next was to send her little maid to the Martin farm to help AuntieJinit with her late spring soap-making. Not that Auntie Jinit neededhelp, but the Gordons strove in every way to show their friendlinesstowards their kind neighbor. Thus safe from the shocked protestationsthat were sure to follow upon her engaging in anything useful, Elizabeth set feverishly to work. 

She would thoroughly clean the room Eppie had occupied, she resolved. Arraying herself in a dress of Mary's which was much too long, an apronof the little maid's that was much too short, and a huge dust-cap ofher aunt's, she set vigorously to work, washing, scrubbing, andcleaning windows. There was some grim satisfaction in the hardphysical labor, her last chance, she felt, to do something useful, somesatisfaction, too, in wondering what the fastidious Mr. Huntley wouldsay, could he see her. 

She had finished the hardest part of her task and was just tacking upwith loving hands an old photograph of Annie's first Vision, in a long, white robe, when she heard the front door open suddenly, and knew bythe bounding step that Sarah Emily had arrived. Ever since hermarriage Mrs. Peter Johnstone regularly visited The Dale, at shortintervals, and in spite of many broad hints from her former mistress, she had never yet become sufficiently formal to knock at the door. "Come right up, Sarah Emily, " Elizabeth called over the balustrade. 

"I knowed you'd be alone, Lizzie, " said the visitor, mounting gayly. "I seen the rest o' the folks goin' off in all directions, an' ses I, 'I'll scoot over an' slap up a batch o' biscuits or somethin', ' for Iknowed you couldn't get any dinner. For the love o' the crows, youain't housecleanin'!"

"Doesn't this room look as if I were?"

Sarah Emily sniffed the damp clean odor. "Well, I never. If thisain't a come-downer for a lady like you!" She turned and regarded thegirl with affectionate reproach. "What d'ye do it for?" she continued, puzzled. 

"Because I like it, Sarah Emily. I'd like to go on doing it all mylife. "

Sarah Emily laughed. Of course this was only Lizzie's nonsense, andshe didn't mean a word of it. 

"You're a pretty one, " she declared, assuming her old air of authority, which came to her easily in the presence of the Gordon children. "Here, if you ain't gone and cleaned up the whole place an' thatstove-pipe not moved. "

Elizabeth uttered an ejaculation of dismay. "Oh, I forgot. Can't wedo it yet?"

"Course we can!" said Sarah Emily cordially. "Come along, I'll showyou!"

She flung aside her shawl and soon Elizabeth was in her old subordinateposition. Sarah Emily took matters in her own hands. She proceeded toremove the stove from the study below and the pipes from the roomabove, flying upstairs and downstairs in her old authoritative way, much to Elizabeth's amusement. At her peremptory summons Mr. Gordoncame in from his garden to lend a hand, evidently under the impressionthat Sarah Emily had never left, and was merely attending to hercustomary duties. There was much running to and fro, and banging ofstove-pipes, and a great deal of talk and laughter, for Sarah Emily wasalways in the gayest spirits if she happened to be at The Dale duringthe absence of its mistress. Besides, she was a born commander, andshouted orders to her two subordinates with the greatest enjoyment. 

All went smoothly and swiftly until the work was almost accomplished, when a delay occurred. Mr. Gordon was downstairs removing thestove-pipes from the study. Above, Sarah Emily, mounted upon a chair, was supporting the long black column that ran into the chimney, whileElizabeth, down on her knees, was preventing another column fromdescending into the room below. 

"Now, you down there!" shouted Sarah Emily, "you carry out them pipesto the barnyard, so's the sut won't fly onto them clothes on the line, an' me an' Lizzie 'll hold these till you get back. "

Mr. Gordon, obedient to the voice from above, took the pipes, and hisretreating footsteps could be heard along the passage leading to thekitchen. While they waited his return Sarah Emily beguiled the timewith a story of how she circumvented that there Pete, who haddetermined to sell the brindled cow to a butcher in Cheemaun. But sheshowed him who was boss, so she did. Though married Sarah Emily stillkept up her show of cruel indifference, and never lost an opportunityof telling how she trampled upon her husband. The neighbors, however, knew that she waited upon Peter hand and foot, and that he was growingfat and arrogant. So Elizabeth did not know just how much thebrindled-cow story was colored by the story-teller's imagination. Sheresponded with a tale of the city, such as Sarah Emily liked, full offinely dressed ladies, and flower-bedecked drawing-rooms. Then SarahEmily recounted once again her experiences when she worked as maid forMrs. Oliver and first became acquainted with high life and Mrs. Jarvis. This last circumstance she thankfully declared to be the beginning ofLizzie's good luck. 

But in spite of much entertaining talk, it soon began to be borne inupon the minds of the two that both time and the stove-pipes werehanging rather heavily on their hands. Elizabeth shifted her crampedposition and wondered what could be keeping father; and Sarah Emilybraced herself against the wall and declared some folks were slowerthan a seven years' famine. It was impossible to leave their places, for the pipes would collapse into the study below, so that there wasnothing to do but wait, Casabianca-like. Elizabeth misquoted somethingabout the noble two who held the pipes in the brave days of old. ButSarah Emily did not understand the allusion, and the joke fell veryflat. Her arms were cramped too, and her sense of humor was becomingdulled. 

They waited and called and waited, until at last Elizabeth becamealarmed, fearing something had happened to her father. Still holdingher uncomfortable burden, she rose to her feet, whence she couldcommand a view from the windows overlooking the kitchen-garden. Oneglimpse she caught and uttered a shriek of laughter, which threateneddislodgment of the stove-pipes. For there, far down the garden, nearto Tom Teeter's fence, peacefully hoeing in his potato-patch, stood herabsent-minded father!

But Sarah Emily did not laugh. Declaring that Lizzie's pa was the mostforgettable man that ever pestered the soul out of a body, she managedto place herself so that her strong arms supported both sections of thepipe and dispatched Elizabeth after the truant. 

Mr. Gordon flung up his hands in dismay at his daughter's appearance, and fled back to the house full of apologies enough to appease evenSarah Emily, who was by this time both cramped and cross. Elizabethfollowed more slowly, filled with laughter. It was impossible to hurryindoors on such a morning. The orchard path was bordered with softgrass, vividly green. The bluebirds hopped and twittered in thebranches above, and on every side the undulating fields stretched away, shimmering in the warm sunshine. When Elizabeth looked back in lateryears at the picture of herself walking gayly down the orchard path onthat radiant morning, she wondered how she could have laughed, and howit was possible that not the smallest premonition was given her of thestorm of anguish so rapidly approaching. 

As she reached the end of the orchard path the rattle of wheelsattracted her. She looked up to see John Coulson driving slowly downthe lane. She ran through the house and out to the garden gate in gladsurprise, full of questions. What had brought him out here at thishour? And why did he come alone? And what did he mean by leaving BabyBet at home? And what did he do with Mary and Aunt Margaret? Anddidn't he think she looked fetching in this cap and apron?

And then some subtle change in John Coulson's kindly manner made itselffelt. She slipped her hand into his arm as they went up the gardenpath. 

"Is anybody sick, John Coulson? How is baby?"

"She's all right, dear. No, Annie isn't ill, nor anyone--only--I--havesomething to tell you, Lizzie. Come in, I want to see you alone. "

The study stove-pipes were still being removed, and Elizabeth led herbrother-in-law into the parlor. Her heart seemed clutched by a coldhand. Something was the matter, or why should John Coulson call herLizzie, and look at her with such sorrowful eyes. 

"John Coulson!" she cried, clutching his arm, "I know something'shappened. Oh, is it baby?"

No, it wasn't baby, he answered her again, but he led her to the sofaand sat beside her, holding her hand. And then he told her--Elizabethnever knew just how he broke the news, whether it had been gently orsuddenly. She only knew that he had come to tell her that John wasdead; that John had been killed by an explosion of dynamite, at theblasting of a tunnel on the British North American Railroad. 

She listened quietly to the faltering words, and when they were endedshe said nothing. She sat looking at her brother-in-law, her handshanging inertly, and thought how strange it seemed to see a big, strongman like John Coulson with tears running down his face. It seemedstrange, too, that she was not sorry that John had been killed. Oftenin earlier years she had tormented herself by imagining the death ofsome member of the family, and her heart had scarcely been able to bearthe anguish of such a thought. And now John was dead, and she did notmind. She felt sorry for John Coulson, of course, he seemed so very, very sad. He was looking at her with such anguished eyes, that shepatted his arm comfortingly. 

"Poor John Coulson, " she said. "Why, we won't need to call you JohnCoulson any more, will we?--only John. " Then she arose and called herfather and Sarah Emily, so that they might be told, and went quietlyupstairs to finish the task she had left. 

But she did not go to work. Instead she sat down in the chair uponwhich Sarah Emily had stood, and tried to reason herself into somefeeling of grief. Why, she had not even felt like shedding a tear, andAunt Margaret would be home soon, and she would think her so cold andcruel. She must really try to cry a little when Aunt Margaret came, even though she didn't feel sorry that John was dead. The stove-pipeshad been removed, and she sat by the empty pipe-hole listening idly tothe sound from below. She could hear John Coulson's low, deep voice, and Sarah Emily's loud lamentations. She wished she could act likeSarah Emily, it seemed so much more sympathetic. Her mind seemed tohave become possessed of a keenness never felt before. She thought outevery detail of the changed circumstances John's death must bring, forgetting nothing. It would mean that she could not leave home quiteso soon, she reflected, and even wondered how Mrs. Jarvis would feelwhen she learned that Elizabeth must wear black. 

And all the time she was feeling ashamed that she could sit socallously making plans, while even now John's dead body must be on itsway home. But then she did not feel sorry. She wondered if there hadever before been anyone bereaved who had been so heartless. 

The sound of wheels reached her alert senses, and she arose and went tothe window overlooking the lane. She saw a carriage come down with heraunt and Mary in it, and Charles Stuart driving. She did not think itstrange that he should be there, but only wondered if he felt sorryabout John. Evidently Mary did, for she was sobbing convulsively, andAunt Margaret walked so slowly that Charles Stuart gave her his arm upthe garden path. Elizabeth arose and softly closed the door, lest heraunt come and find her. She was not sorry that John was killed. 

She came back to her seat by the pipe-hole and again listened to thesounds of lamentation from below. Then the study door closed and shecould hear only the voices of Charles Stuart and John Coulson. Shepeeped down and saw Charles Stuart's face. He was sitting by herfather's desk, and he did not look sorry, only angry. His face wasghastly pale and his eyes burned red as he stretched his clenched fistalong the top of the desk. Elizabeth leaned down and deliberatelylistened in the hope that she might hear some details of the accident, that would make her feel sorry. 

"Oh, John Coulson, " the low, anguished voice was saying, "it's devilishwork this money-making. It's blood money that man Huntley is getting, and he declares he knew nothing about it--and I suppose he doesn't, buthe'll take the money, you'll see! And Mrs. Jarvis has shares in it. And--and Lizzie----"

His voice broke. There was a deathly silence. 

"This must never reach her ears, Stuart, nor any of them. It wouldkill Aunt Margaret. " That was John Coulson's voice, and Elizabeth heldher breath to catch what this was she must not hear. If it were soterrible, surely it would make her feel just a little regretfulconcerning John. 

"No, no, " Charles Stuart answered. "They'll never know, and the publicwill never know. The man who did the dastardly thing will see to that. And his company, headed by Huntley, will shield him. "

"Can't they be exposed?" John Coulson's voice was a mere whisper. 

"Exposed! Not they. The papers say it was merely an accident, withonly one white man killed. That is Huntley's story too, and who caresthat a hundred or so Chinamen were blown to pieces? Nobody is going tobe so crude as to announce that they were put out of the way when thecompany was done with them, to save big arrears in wages. And nobodycan prove it. They'll make a fuss about John----" The voice brokeagain. Elizabeth did not wait to hear more. She arose and wentquietly down to the study. She opened the door and stood facing thetwo men. She did not feel one pang of grief as yet, but she wanted tomake things plain. She wanted to explain to John Coulson and CharlesStuart that it was not the President of the British North AmericanRailroad that had killed John, but she, his favorite sister; because itwas she who in her stepping aside from the path of her plain duty hadsent him to his death. This she was determined to tell, but somehowthe words seemed so slow in coming. She stretched out her hands in anattempt to explain herself. Then she saw Charles Stuart spring towardsher out of a mist, and there fell over her a great darkness. 

CHAPTER XIX

SUNRISE

Long before the sun appeared above Arrow Hill Elizabeth was dressed andsitting at her bedroom window watching the lane. For she had promisedAuntie Jinit that she would be off to the creek at the earliest hour togather violets and lady's-slippers and swamp lilies to decorate thetables for the wedding breakfast. Charlie Stuart had promised to callfor her at sunrise, but she was too excited to rest. 

For this was Eppie's wedding-day. Poor little Eppie had found her homeat last--her old home too. Jake Martin, at his wife's instigation, hadhanded over to his son the little farm that had once belonged to oldSandy and there Charlie and Eppie were to start their new life. And sojust as the stars were sinking into the faint blue vault of heaven, andthe earth was rising slowly from its shroud of darkness and sleep, Elizabeth had arisen and was now dressed and waiting for Charles Stuartlong before he could be expected. 

The grand forward march of day had commenced; very slowly andmajestically it was approaching, and the waking earth stirred at thesound of its footsteps. From every bush and tree looming up from thegrayness, from every field spread out in dark waving folds, and fromthe black swamp beyond uprose the welcoming chorus. Elizabeth wasreminded of that early dawn she had witnessed so long ago when she hadsat at this same window watching for Charles Stuart. That was themorning she had seen Annie steal down the orchard path to meet herlover, the morning she had experienced her first hint of that desire, now strong within her, to sing of the glories of earth and sky. 

She leaned forward over the window-sill, listening to the great chantearth was raising to heaven. Up behind the black trees of Arrow Hillshone a faint crystal transparency--the airy curtain that yet obscuredthe wonders of the dawn. A mist gathered in Elizabeth's eyes. Thosewords that had come to her in that dawn years before returned:--"Whocoverest thyself with light as with a garment; who stretchest out theheavens like a curtain. " Slowly, imperceptibly, that garment of lightwas growing brighter, changing to a faint luminous gold as the grayearth changed to a deep blue. 

Down the drive lane, near the creek stood the old elm, its topmostbranch still towering into the heavens, its lower limbs sweeping theearth. Remembering how it had come to life that other morning, Elizabeth leaned farther out to listen. And as it slowly took form, gathering itself from the blue background, there arose the musicalaccompaniment to its birth, the loud rapture of a robin's morning hymn. 

It paeaned the waking note to the watcher as well. Elizabeth's soulsoared up with it in ecstatic worship, voiced in the notes of a newsong, that came from her heart as freely as did the robin's. For yearsher fettered spirit had been struggling to express its music, but therepression of her early life, disobedience to the call to higher andnobler things, and later a crushing sorrow had stifled her voice. Butnow she was free. She had not been disobedient to the heavenly vision. Her soul had turned at last to meet the dawning need, valiant fordoing. It had arisen at last, warm and radiant, and she was permittedto sing its welcoming chorus in notes that were to make her name knownthroughout the length and breadth of her native land. 

The dawn had come to Elizabeth through storm and darkness. She neverquite recovered from the blow that had driven her back, wounded andfaint, to the path of duty. Never a day passed that she did not missthe dear companionship of John, did not listen half-unconsciously forhis footsteps, never a night she did not remember with anguished heartthe manner of his death. But a year had passed, helping to heal thewound, and Elizabeth had found happiness in service. One year more andshe would be a graduate of a nurses' training school, and a brilliantgraduate too, her superior officers predicted. For at last Elizabethwas succeeding. And so her useless days left, she had chosen her lifethis time without hesitation. Mrs. Jarvis had gone, bidding her anaffectionate farewell, and leaving in her hands the title-deeds to TheDale. Her going closed the door of that side of Elizabeth's life. Shewas to be some use in the world at last. And because she had found aplace that satisfied the highest instincts of her nature, thelong-stifled song came welling forth. 

The faint gold of the east was turning to a soft rose, the blue of theearth was growing brighter. And keeping pace with the growing light, the earth-chorus was swelling into a storm of music. Elizabeth thoughtof that dawn of her childhood days, and of her struggle to grasp itsmeaning. Now she knew. Its message came to her in the words of ahymn. They were the words they had sung in Forest Glen Church the daythey laid John in the grassy graveyard:

 "_But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day, The saints triumphant rise in bright array, The King of Glory passes on His way, Hallelujah!_"

The King of Glory had come, and the gates of Elizabeth's soul hadlifted up their heads that He might enter. 

She slipped noiselessly from the room, taking care to waken no one, anddescended to her father's study. There she seated herself at the deskand strove to put upon paper the great hope and longing and happinessthat were filling her heart. 

Charles Stuart was whistling at the garden gate before she noticed him. She ran down the path to meet him, brushing the dew from the border ofmignonette with her light gown. 

"What a glorious day Eppie's going to have!" she cried, plucking a rosysweet-pea that nodded over the gate. 

"I wish it was our day, " Charles Stuart said enviously. "Two yearsmore to wait, Lizzie. "

She smiled up at him hopefully. "But we'll make them beautiful years, "she whispered. "See, " she held up a sheet of paper. "I've done itagain. "

He took it, but did not look at it immediately. For Elizabeth was asradiant as the morning, and his eyes could not turn from her so soon. He did not need to be a Pretender any more either, for the love-lightin his eyes was answered by her own. 

As they walked down the lane with the sunrise gleaming in Elizabeth'suncovered head, he read her verses. 

"Has it a soul?" she asked mischievously. 

There was a mist in Charles Stuart's deep eyes as he turned towards her. 

"Lizzie! It has an immortal soul! It's a musical morning-glory! Ithas come at last, hasn't it?"

"It was my own fault that it was so long in coming, " she said. "But Ithink it was waiting for you, Stuart. "

Charles Stuart's answer was not verbal, but it was more expressive thanthe most eloquent words. 

They plunged gayly down the bank of the creek, hand in hand like twochildren. 

"Oh, oh, " cried Elizabeth, "just look at the forget-me-nots! I'm goingto make a wreath of them for Eppie's hair. "

Far up the creek, a cat-bird, hidden amongst scented basswood blossoms, was singing a gay medley of purest music. On either side the bankswere hidden in a luxury of reeds, water-lily leaves, blueforget-me-nots, and gay bobbing lady's-slippers. And between, thewinding stream shone pink and gold in the sunrise. 

Charles Stuart stood watching his lady as she filled her hands withblossoms. 

"You love this place, don't you, 'Lizbeth of The Dale?" he said. 

"Love it? There is no spot on earth like it. "

"And how can you bear to leave it all to come away with me--and to aforeign land, too?"

She raised her face from her rosy bouquet and looked into his eyes. And Charles Stuart smiled, knowing he had said a very absurd thingindeed. 

They sat down under an overhanging willow, and talked of the days thatwere past, and the yet more interesting days to come. 

"I remember I used to discuss the possibility of my being a foreignmissionary with Mother MacAllister, " Elizabeth said, "in sun-bonnetdays. But I did not think the dream would really come true. "

"I remember, too, that when your contemplation of unclothed heathen andboa-constrictors was too much for your courage, you used to remarkdespairingly that you supposed you would just stay at home and marryCharles Stuart. "

Elizabeth laughed. Her ideas concerned with marrying Charles Stuarthad undergone a radical change in the past year. 

From the tower over the Martin woodshed a big bell clanged out astartling interruption. They sprang up, looking at each otherguiltily. Auntie Jinit had threatened to so remind them of their dutyif they remained too long at the creek. For such a pair for stravagin'over the fields as Lizzie and Charles Stuart, she declared she hadnever seen, and she was thankful Eppie wasn't given that way. 

They scrambled gayly up the bank. "They're ringing the wedding-bellsalready, " cried Elizabeth. "There go Mary and Jean; they promised toset the tables--and brother Bone-Bagsley too--the dear! We must hurry. "

Nevertheless they still lingered. When they reached the top of theslope, they stood for a moment in the rosy sunlight and, with a commonimpulse, looked back. 

"It's almost a year ago, " whispered Elizabeth. 

"Yes, almost a year, " answered Charles Stuart. 

Down the bank past the mill, and up the opposite shore ran the littlestony path they had so often trodden in schooldays. It crossed TheSlash, now a trim clover-field, and disappeared into the cool depths ofForest Glen. But they could follow it still in imagination. It passedEppie's old-new home they knew, went down the lane, skirted thehighway, and curved round into the grassy churchyard where John lay. 

They turned at last and went up the lane together. There were tears inElizabeth's eyes, but the words of a song were on her lips:--

 "_And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long, Steals on the ear the distant triumph song, And hearts are brave again and arias are strong, Hallelujah!_"

THE END