The Silver Maple

by

Marian Keith

Author of "Duncan Polite"

TORONTO

THE WESTMINSTER COMPANY LIMITED

1905

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

 I. IN THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS II. A NEW NAME III. WINNING HIS SPURS IV. "CAPE CANADA" V. THE REFORMATION VI. AN IGNOMINIOUS TASK VII. THE AVENGING OF GLENCOE VIII. THE END OF THE FEUD IX. RALPH STANWELL AGAIN X. IN THE REALMS OF GOLD XI. THE WEAVER'S REWARD XII. A WELL-MEANT PLOT XIII. THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS XIV. THE VOYAGEURS XV. THE SECRET OF THE NILE XVI. RE-VOYAGE XVII. THE PROMISED LAND

THE SILVER MAPLE

I

IN THE VALLEY OF SHADOWS

 Like the great rest that cometh after pain, The calm that follows storm, the great surcease, This folding slumber comforts wood and plain In one white mantling peace. --WILLIAM WILFRED CAMPBELL. 

The storm was over, the snow had ceased falling, and under its mufflingmantle, white and spent with the day's struggle, lay the great swamp ofthe Oro. It seemed to hold in its motionless bosom the very spirit ofsilence and death. The delicately traced pattern of a rabbit or weaseltrack, and a narrow human pathway that wound tortuously into thesepulchral depths, were the only signs of life in all the whitestillness. Away down the dim, cathedral-like aisles, that fainted intosoftest grey in the distance, the crackling of an overburdened twigrang startlingly clear in the awesome hush. The tall firs and pinesswept the white earth with their snow-laden branches, the droopinglimbs looking like throngs of cowled heads, bent to worship in thesacred stillness of a vast temple. For the forest was, indeed, a placein which to wonder and to pray, a place all white and holy, filled withthe mystery and awe of death. 

But suddenly into this softly curtained sanctuary came a profaningsound; a clear, joyous shout rang through the sacred aisles; and, downthe narrow pathway, leaping over fallen logs, whipping aside the ladenbranches and scattering their snow-crowns in a whirling mist about him, destroying, in his ruthless progress, both the sanctity and the beautyof the place, came a human figure, a little figure, straight andsturdy, and as lithe and active as any other wild, forest-creature. His small, red-mittened hands, the scarlet woollen scarf about hisneck, and his rosy cheeks made a bold dash of colour in the sombregloom, as his abounding life disturbed the winter death-sleep. 

On he came, leaping from log to log like a hare, and setting thestately forest arches ringing to a rollicking Scottish song, tunefuland incongruous, --

 "Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a', Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a', We'll up an gie them a blaw, a blaw! Wi' a hundred pipers an' a', an' a'!"

But as he plunged down the hill into the grey depths he suddenly ceasedsinging. The awe of the place touched his child's spirit. Reared inthe forest though he had been, he suddenly felt strangely unfamiliarwith his surroundings. He had never before experienced anything likefear in the woods. The rigours of seven Canadian winters had bred ahardy spirit in this little backwoodsman, and besides what was there todread in the forest? It had been his playground ever since he wasfirst able to steal away from Granny and toddle off to "the bush" togather blue flags and poke up the goggle-eyed frogs from their fragrantmusk-pools. But here was something unfamiliar; a strange uncanny placethe swamp seemed to-day; and, being Nature's intimate, he fell intosudden sympathy with her awe-stricken mood. 

He sped silently forward, glancing fearfully down the dim, shadowyaisles, so ghostly, so mysterious, dreading he knew not what. 

"Eh, eh, it will be a fearsome place, " he whispered. "It's jist, --eh, it must be the 'valley of the shadow'!" And then he suddenlyremembered the psalm that Granny had taught him as soon as he couldspeak, --

 "Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me. "

He whispered it over from beginning to end, not because he comprehendedits meaning as applied to his case, but because it was associated withGranny and all things good, and, therefore, gave him a sense ofcomfort. For he felt as though he were home by the fireside, and shewas smoothing his curls and singing those words, as she so often didwhen he was falling asleep. 

 "And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. "

As he whispered the last line he reached the top of the hill andsuddenly emerged from the valley of shadows and fears into the light ofday. Just ahead lay a clearing, with the rose-coloured sunset floodingits white expanse and glowing between the dark tree-stems. He ranforward with joyful relief and leaped out into an open world of beauty, all ablaze in the dazzling rays of the setting sun. Here was light andsafety--yes, and friends!

He had emerged upon the public highway, known in that part of thecountry as the "Scotch Line, " and there, coming swiftly down theglittering hill, was a low, rough sleigh, drawn by a pair of bell-lesshorses. The driver was an elderly man, tall, straight, andfierce-looking, with a fine, noble head and a long, sweeping, greybeard, which gave him a patriarchal appearance. By his side sat ayoung man, almost his exact counterpart in face and figure, but lackingthe stately dignity of years. Behind, on the edge of the sleigh, swinging their feet in the snow, sat two more youths, both showing inface and figure unmistakable signs of close relationship to the elderlyman on the front seat. 

As the little figure came bounding out from the forest the wholequartette broke into a welcoming shout. With an answering whoop theboy darted forward and pitched himself upon the sleigh. 

"Horo, Scotty!" "Woohoo!" "How's our big college-student?"

He was caught up and flung from one to another like a bundle of hay, until he landed, laughing and breathless, in the arms of the driver. Big Malcolm MacDonald stood the boy up between his knees, his deep eyesshining with pride. 

"Hey, hey!" he cried. "And how's our big man that will be going toschool?"

The boy's dark eyes were blazing with excitement. 

"Oh, Grandad, it would jist be fine! It's jist grand! An' me an' BigSandy's Archie and Peter Jimmie is all readin' in one place, an' themaster says I can read jist fine, whatever!"

"Didn't you get a lickin'?" demanded a voice from the rear of thesleigh. 

The bright face suddenly fell, one could never aspire to be a herountil one had braved the master's tawse. 

"No, " was the reluctant admission. "The master would be jist fearsometo the big lads, but he would not be saying anything to me. But, " headded, brightening, "I would be having a fight!"

"Horo!" the three young men laughed delightedly. "That will be a finestart, jist keep it up!" cried the youth on the front seat. 

"Hoots, whist ye, Callum!" cried the elder man, reprovingly, while hisdancing eyes contradicted his tongue. "What will his Granny be sayin'to such goin's on, an' the first day at school, too!"

"And who would you be fightin', Scotty?" asked Uncle Rory, leaningeagerly forward. 

"Danny Murphy!" he announced truculently, "an' I would be lickin' himgood, too!"

There was a chorus of joyous approval. 

"Good for you!" shouted Callum; "jist you pitch into any o' yon Irishcrew every time you get a chance!"

"Be quate, will ye, Callum!" cried his father more sternly. "The ladwill be jist like yerself, too ready with his fists, whatever. A braveman will never be a boaster, Scotty, man. "

The would-be hero's head drooped; he looked slightly abashed. 

"What would Danny be doin' to you?" inquired Callum. 

At the question, the proud little head came up swiftly. 

"He said--he said!" cried its owner, stammering in his wrath, "he saidI would be an Englishman!"

Small comfort he received, for the report of this deadly insultproduced yells of laughter. 

"Yon was a black-hearted Irish trick, an' jist like one o' Pat Murphy'stribe, whatever, " said Callum, with a sudden affectation of solemnitythat somewhat appeased the child's rising indignation. 

"An' you would be pitchin' into him good for his lies, wouldn't you?"inquired Rory, encouragingly. 

The boy looked up shyly at his grandfather. "A wee bit, " he admittedmodestly. 

The father glanced significantly at his eldest son. "School will bethe place to learn many things, " he said in a low tone. The young manlaughed easily. "He's bound to be finding it out some time, anyway, "he answered, but not so low that the boy's quick ears could not catchthe words. He looked up intently into the faces of the two men, astartled expression in his big eyes. Then he suddenly scrambled outfrom between them, and went behind to where Hamish, his youngest uncle, sat. He felt vaguely that he was approaching some strange, unforeseentrouble, and Hamish was always sympathetic. 

The sleigh had been moving swiftly through long, narrow forest aisles, and now it suddenly turned into view of a small farm, a "clearing, "plentifully besprinkled with snow-crowned stumps and surrounded by thestill unconquered forest, dark and menacing, but sullenly and slowlyretreating. 

Here was a home, nevertheless; a home wrested by heroic struggles fromthe wilderness. In the centre, on the face of a little sloping hill, stood the citadel of this newly-conquered territory, --a farmhouse andout-buildings. 

They were all rough log structures, but the dwelling house had about itthe unmistakable atmosphere of a home. Around it, even under thesnowdrifts, were vague signs of a garden; from the low, wide chimneypoured forth a blue column of smoke; and at one of the windows a candletwinkled cheerfully; both speaking of warmth and welcome within, verygrateful in the chill, winter dusk. And at the side of the house, on asmall knoll, spreading its bare branches over the roof as though toshield the home from the biting blasts, grew a gigantic silver maple, awelcome shelter alike in summer and winter. 

As the sleigh swept past the house on its way to the barn. Big Malcolmpushed the boy gently forward. "Run away in, Scotty, man, " he said;"see, Granny will be watchin' for you at the window. "

Scotty hesitated; he wanted to go on to the stable, and there give Roryand Hamish a more detailed account of his glorious battle of themorning. But Granny was expecting him, and he must not disappoint her;even Callum dared not do that, and Callum dared almost anything else. So the boy leaped down and ran swiftly up the rough little pathway. Athis approach the old, weather-beaten door flew open; and he sprang intoa pair of outstretched arms. 

II

A NEW NAME

 Outside, the ghostly rampikes, Those armies of the moon, Stood while the ranks of stars drew on To that more spacious noon, --

 While over them in silence Waved on the dusk afar The gold flags of the Northern light Streaming with ancient war. --BLISS CARMAN. 

Scotty lay stretched before the wide fireplace, his tousled, curly headupon his small, brown hand, his eyes fastened dreamily upon the glowingmass of coals. He was waiting anxiously for the rest of the family tojoin him. Supper was over; and just as soon as his grandfather and"the boys" returned from the barn he was going to recount, for thefourth time, the great events of this, his first day at school. Hefelt like a hero just returned from an overwhelming victory. The wholefamily seemed conscious of his added importance. Even Bruce, hiscollie dog, sat close beside him, poking him occasionally with hisnose, that he might have a share in his master's glory. And as forGranny, she stopped every few moments in her work of straining andputting away the milk to exclaim:

"Eh, eh, but it's Granny would be the lonesome old body this daywithout her boy!"

The little candle on the bare, pine table shed only a small ring oflight, and the goblin shadows danced away from the wide hearth into thecorners of the room. In the darkest one stood an old four-post bedwith a billowy feather mattress, covered by a tartan quilt. Beside ithung a quantity of rough coats and caps, and beneath them stood the"boot-jack, " an instrument for drawing off the long, high-topped boots, and one Scotty yearned to be big enough to use. In another cornerstood Granny's spinning-wheel, which whizzed cheerily the whole longday, and beside it was a low bench with a tin wash-basin, a cake ofhome-made soap and a coarse towel. There was very little furniturebesides, except a few chairs, the big table, the clock with the longchains and the noisy pendulum, the picture of Queen Victoria, and thebig, high cupboard into which Granny was putting the supper dishes. This last article of furniture was always of great interest to Scotty. For away up on the top shelf, made doubly valuable by beingunattainable, stood some wonderful pieces of crockery; among them asugar-bowl that Granny had brought from the old country, and which hadblue boys and girls dancing in a gay ring about it. Then there was theglass jar with the tin lid in which Grandaddy kept some mysteriouspapers; one piece was called money. Scotty had actually seen it once, in Grandaddy's hands, and wondered secretly why such ugly, crumpled, green paper should be considered so precious. 

"An' would Peter Lauchie not be coming across the swamp with you, _m'eudail bheg_?" his grandmother was asking for the fifth time. 

"Noh!" The boy's answer was quick and disdainful. Somehow he wouldrather Granny would not pat his head and lavish endearing Gaelicepithets upon him to-night; such things had been very soothing in thepast when he was sleepy and wanted to go to bed; but now he was a bigboy, going to school, and had fought and defeated in single combat oneof the MacDonalds' enemies, and he could not be expected to endurepetting. 

"Why, Granny!" he cried, "I would be knowing the road all right. PeterLauchie jist came to his clearin', and I would be coming to the lineall alone, and then I met Grandaddy an' the boys there. "

"Eh, indeed, it is the great man you will be, whatever, " she said, regarding him wistfully. This child, her last baby, and thebest-beloved, was growing up swiftly to manhood, and like all theothers would soon have interests beyond her. "An' would Granny's boynot be fearing to cross the swamp alone?" Her voice was almostpleading. She bent down, and her thin, hard hand rested caressingly onhis dark, tumbled curls. She yearned to hear him confess himself herbaby still. He threw back his head and looked up into her tender, wrinkled face; and one little hand went up suddenly to caress its roughsurface. For Scotty had a heart quite out of proportion to the size ofhis body, and a look of grief on Granny's face could move him quickerthan the sternest command of his grandfather. 

"Yes, " he confessed in a whisper, "I would be fearing jist once, andthen I spoke the piece about 'the Lord is my Shepherd' and then Iwouldn't be minding much. Sing it, Granny. "

So Granny sang the Shepherd's psalm in Gaelic, as she went slowly abouther household tasks; sang it in a thin, quavering voice to a weird oldScottish melody that had in it the wail of winds over lone heathermoors, and the sob of waves on a wild, rock-bound coast. She came andwent, in and out of the dancing ring of fire-light, a tall, thinfigure, stooped and aged-looking, apparently more from hard work thanfrom advanced years. But her toil-bent frame, her rough hands andcoarse grey homespun dress could not quite hide the air of gentledignity that clothed her. There was a certain lofty refinement in hermovements; and on her wrinkled face and in her beautiful grey eyes theimprint of a soul that toil and pain had only strengthened andsweetened. Hers was the face of a woman who had suffered much, but hadconquered, and always would conquer through faith and love. 

To the little boy on the hearthstone, at least, the thin, stoopedfigure and worn face made up the most beautiful personality the worldcould produce. But he turned to the fire, and his dreams floated faraway beyond the ring of fire-light, and beyond Granny's gentle voice. For he had entered a new world that day, the great new world of school, and his imagination had a wider field in which to run riot. 

He was still dreaming, and Granny was half-way through the psalm forthe second time, when the stamping of snowy feet at the door announcedthe return of Big Malcolm and his sons. Callum came swinging in first, Callum who was such a gay, handsome, rollicking fellow that he wasScotty's hero and copy. The boy sprang up, pitching himself upon him, and was promptly swung over the young man's shoulders, until his feetkicked the raftered ceiling. Scotty yelled with glee, Bruce leaped upbarking, and the room was in an uproar. 

"Hooch! be quate!" shouted Big Malcolm. "It is a child you areyourself, Callum!"'

At the sounds of the noise and laughter a small figure stirred in theshadowy chimney-corner, the figure of a little, bent, old man, with aqueer, elfish, hairy visage. He sat up and his small, red eyes blinkedwonderingly. "Hech, hech, and it will be the cold night, Malcolm!" hesaid in Gaelic. 

"A cold night it is, Farquhar, " cried Big Malcolm, piling the wood uponthe fire. "But we will soon be fixing that, whatever. "

"It will be a good thing to be by a warm fire this night, " continuedOld Farquhar solemnly, "och, hone, a good thing, indeed!"

Outside the wind had once more gathered its forces, and was howlingabout the house, and the swaying branches of the silver maple weretapping upon the roof as though to remind the inhabitants that it wasstill there to protect them. But the little old man shivered at thesound, for he had once known what it was to be homeless on those hillsover which the blast was sweeping. 

How Old Farquhar came to be a member of Big Malcolm MacDonald's familyno one could quite tell. He was one of those unattached fragments ofhumanity often found in a new country. A sort of wandering minstrelwas Farquhar, content so long as he could pay for a meal or a night'slodging at a wayside tavern by a song, or a tune on his fiddle. Thushe had drifted musically for years through the Canadian backwoods, until homeless old age had overtaken him. Four years before he hadspent a summer at Big Malcolm's, helping perfunctorily in the harvestfields, working little and singing much, and when the first hard frosthad set the forest aflame he had gathered his poor, scant bundle ofclothes into his carpet-bag preparatory to taking the road again. 

"And where will you be going for the winter?" Big Malcolm had asked. 

"She'll not know, " said Old Farquhar, glancing tremulously over thegreat stretches of dying forest, "she'll not know. "

"Hooch!" cried his host angrily, "sit down with ye!" He snatched upOld Farquhar's carpet-bag and flung it into a corner, and there it hadlain ever since. 

And in another corner, the warm one by the chimney, Old Farquhar hadsat every winter since, too, smoking his pipe in utter content. Alwaysin summer his Bohemian nature asserted itself again, and he would takehis stick and wander away, remaining, perhaps, for months; but as soonas the silver maple beside the house began to turn to gold he wouldcome hobbling back, sure of a warm welcome in the home where there wasno stint. 

The family gathered about the cheerful hearth: every one of them, toScotty's great delight, for there was not half the fun at home when"the boys" went off in the evenings. At one side of the fire sat hisgrandmother, her peaceful face bent over her knitting, and opposite herBig Malcolm smoking and happy. Hamish, as usual, retired to the oldbench behind the table, and with the one candle close to him, was soonabsorbed in a book. In some miraculous way Hamish always managed tohave reading material at hand, though the luxury sometimes cost him atramp half-way across the township of Oro. Near the fire, balanceduneasily on the woodbox and whittling a stick, sat Callum; for Callumcould never sit down quietly, even at home. Callum Fiach, or WildMalcolm, they called him in this land of many MacDonalds, where thedearth of names necessitated a descriptive title. Unfortunately, Callum's especial cognomen was quite appropriate and the cause of muchanxiety to his gentle mother. But Scotty thought it was fine; heintended to be just like Callum when he grew up. He would stand upstraight and grand and cut down great trees and fight the Murphys, andgo off in the evenings and be chaffed about having a sweetheart. Rorywas always teasing Callum about Long Lauchie's Mary, and Scotty wasresolved that, when he was big, he would go to see Mary's sister, Betty; for then he and Callum could go together. He cordially despisedthe chosen Betty as a girl and a cry-baby, who gave her brother, Peter, endless trouble; but he was determined to shirk no task, howeverunpleasant, that would make him more like his hero. 

When they were all ready to listen to him, the boy seated himself upona bench beside Rory, and proceeded to relate once more to his admiringfamily the wonderful experiences of the day; the greatness of theschoolmaster; the magnificence of the school itself; the prowess ofPeter Lauchie and Roarin' Sandy's Archie, how they declared theyweren't afraid of even the master; the number of boys old McAllistercould thrash in a day, and the amount he knew; such fearsome long wordsas he could spell, and the places he could point out on the map! Hechattered on to his delighted audience; but for some strange reason hemade no further allusion to his fight. 

When there was no more to tell, Rory crossed the room and withelaborate care took down a box from a shelf above the bed. From it hetenderly took out a violin, and after much strumming and tuning up heseated himself upon a chair in the middle of the room and struck up thelively air of "The MacDonalds' Reel. " Scotty leaped to the floor;Rory's fiddle could do anything with him, make him dance with mad joyuntil he was exhausted, stir him up to a wild longing to go away and dodeeds of impossible prowess, or even make him creep into the shadowsbehind Granny's chair and weep heart-broken tears into her ample skirts. 

To-night the tune was gay, and Callum came out into the ring of light, and sitting astride a chair with his arms crossed over its back, puthis nephew through the intricacies of the Highland Fling until he wasgasping for breath. Granny saw, and stopped the dance by a nod andsmile to Rory; the music instantly changed to a slow, wailing melody, and the boy dropped into a chair and sat gazing into the fire, dreamingdreams of mystery and wonder. 

Then they all sang old-fashioned Scottish songs; songs that were oldbefore Burns came to give Scotland a new voice. And Old Farquharstruck in, during a short pause, with one of Ossian's songs of war-likedoings and glorious deaths. He sang in a cracked, weird voice to awild Gaelic air that had neither melody nor rhythm, but somehowcontained the poetic fire of the impromptu songs of the old bards. Rory followed, putting in a note here and there; but as the songwavered on and showed no signs of coming to an end, he struck up, "TheHundred Pipers an' a' an' a', " and drowned out the old man's wail. Then Burns was not forgotten, and they were all in the midst of "YeBanks and Braes o' Bonnie Doon, " a song that always made Scotty's heartache as though it would burst, he knew not why, when the door openedsuddenly, letting in a rush of frosty air, and a visitor. 

No one ever knocked at a neighbour's door in the Canadian backwoods, and James MacDonald, or Weaver Jimmie, as he was called, was such afamiliar figure at Big Malcolm's that even Bruce merely raised his eyesas he entered. Mrs. MacDonald smiled her welcome, Big Malcolm shovedforward a chair, and the music flowed on uninterrupted. 

Weaver Jimmie was a young man, short, and thick-set. He was somethingof an anomaly; for, while he was the coolest fighter in the township ofOro, and gloried in strife, he was nervous and embarrassed to the vergeof distraction when in company, particularly if it consisted of thefair sex. This diffidence partly arose from the fact that poor Jimmiewas hopelessly ugly, and painfully aware of his shortcomings. Hischief characteristics were a brilliant and bristling red beard and apair of long, flat feet. He realised to the full that these obtrusivefeatures were anything but things of beauty, and found them a sorrowforever in his vain attempts to conceal them. 

At Big Malcolm's invitation he moved up to the fire in nervous haste, and with a deprecating smile; dropped suddenly into a chair, and tiltedit back in imitation of Callum's easy nonchalance; but finding thecharacter difficult to maintain in view of his feet, he suddenly camedown to the horizontal once more, and in so doing descended upon poorBruce's tail. That unoffending canine uttered a yelp of pain, echoedby Scotty, who sprang to comfort him; and Rory, whose musical ear hadbeen irritated by the disturbance, suddenly drew his bow with adiscordant rasp across the strings, and ended the melodious song with along, wolf-like howl. 

"Hoots, toots, Rory lad!" cried his mother reproachfully. "Come away, Jimmie man, come away to the fire, it will be a cold night indeed. "

But Weaver Jimmie was so overcome by his embarrassing mistake that, instead of obeying, he backed away into the shadows like a restivehorse. 

"And how will all the folk in the glen be, Jimmie?" asked Big Malcolm. 

Under cover of the conversation that ensued, Rory gently drew his bowacross the strings, and softly sang an old ditty that had an especialmeaning for their guest--

 "Oh, Jinny banged, Jinny banged, Jinny banged the Weaver! Ah cackled like a clockin' hen, When Jinny banged the Weaver!"

Callum Fiach's eyes danced, and Weaver Jimmie laughed sheepishly. Hetook off his cap, replaced it again, smoothed his whiskers furiously, and then gazed around as if seeking a means of escape. 

"Don't you be heedin' the lad, Jimmie, " cried Mrs. MacDonald. "It isjist his foolishness. "

"Hooch, " cried Weaver Jimmie, with a fine assumption of disdain, "it'slittle I'll be carin' for the likes o' him, whatever. "

"D'ye think she'll ever have you, Jimmie?" inquired the musician withgreat seriousness. 

"I'll not be knowing for sure, " replied the Weaver, throwing one kneeover the other in a vain attempt to appear at ease. "She would belookin' a deal better these days, though!" he added, hopefully, asthough the young lady of his choice had been suffering from somewasting disease. 

"Hang me, but I believe I'll go sparkin' Kirsty John myself!" saidCallum resolutely. "I'll be wantin' a wife bad when the north clearin'is ready, and I believe Kirsty's got a fancy for me. "

"You'd better be mindin' your own business indeed, Callum Fiach!" criedWeaver Jimmie, with a sudden fierceness that contrasted strangely withhis habitual diffidence. "She will be a smarter woman than you'll beever gettin' with your feckless ways, indeed!"

"Well, I'm afraid there isn't much chance that you'll be gettin' hereither, " said Callum very seriously. "Man, she would be givin' you afine black eye the last time you asked her. "

Scotty turned away impatiently. The boys always seemed to get a greatdeal of fun out of Weaver Jimmie's tempestuous love-affair, but hefound it very uninteresting. He slipped under the table, clamberedupon the bench beside Hamish, and stuck his curly head between the bookand the young man's face; for he had long ago discovered this to be theonly effectual means of bringing Hamish back to actualities. Such aproceeding would not have been safe with Callum or Rory, but Hamish wasalways patient. "What ye readin', Hamish?" he inquired coaxingly. 

"Jist a book, " said Hamish dreamily. "Be careful of it now. Itbelongs to the Captain!"

"Captain Herbert? The Englishman Grandaddy hates?"

"Yes; whisht, will ye? I didn't get it from him, though. KirstyJohn's mother had it, and lent it to me. "

"Was you ever at the Captain's place?"

"Yes, once. "

"Is it fearful grand?"

"Yes, I suppose so. But I would jist be at the back door. Take care, now, and let me read!"

"The back door!" Scotty's eyes ranged wonderingly round the walls. With the exception of the trap-door leading to the loft the house hadbut one opening. "Eh, the Captain's folks must be awful grand, Hamish, to be having two doors to their house. "

Hamish laughed. "There's grander things than that there; there'scarpets on the floor, an' a piano to play on, an' a whole roomful o'books! Losh!" he exclaimed, "I'd like to get my hands on them jist fora day!"

"How did Kirsty John's mother get this one?"

"The lady that lives there lent it to her. Kirsty's mother used towork for them. Go on away now, and let me read!" for the boy wasrunning his fingers through the pages. "There's no pictures; go andplay with Bruce. "

But Scotty had turned to the fly-leaf and had discovered some writing. "What's that, Hamish?"

Hamish read the inscription, which was written in a round boyishscrawl, "Isabel Douglas Herbert, from her loving cousin, Harold. "

"Who're they?"

"The boy's the Captain's son, and the little girl is his niece. I sawher once at Kirsty's. She's a pretty, wee thing. "

"Huh!" Scotty was disdainful. "I don't like girls. They will jist becry-babies. Is the boy as big as me?"

"He's a little bigger, I guess. He goes to school away in Toronto. "

"Bet I could fight him. Is Toronto away over in the old country?"

"No, it's in Canada. Be quiet. I want to read. "

"Oh! Is Canady very far away?"

"No, it's right here; this is Canada. "

"Oh! An' will the school-house be in Canady too?"

"Yes. "

"An' the Captain's house?"

"Imph-n-n. "

"Oh! An' all, Oro, an' Lake Simcoe? What will you be laughing at?"

"Wait till old McAllister learns you some geography. You'll hearsomething about Canada that'll surprise you, whatever. "

"It won't be as big as the old country, though, will it?" But Hamishdid not answer. He was far away with David Copperfield once more. Theboy raised the fly-leaf and took another peep at the name. He sat veryquiet for a few moment's and then he crept closer to his uncle, a redflush creeping up under the tan of his cheeks, his black eyes shining. 

"Hamish!" he whispered, "Hamish, will that be an--_English_ name?"

"Eh? What name?" Hamish awoke reluctantly to the troublesomerealities. "I'll not know. "

"Aw, tell me, Hamish!"

"My, but you will be a bother! Yes, Herbert will be an English name, but Isabel Douglas is Scotch, an' a fine Hielan' name, too. But whatin the world would you be wanting to know for?"

Scotty hesitated. He hung his black, curly head, and swung his feet inembarrassment; but finally he looked up desperately. 

"Do you know what made Danny Murphy say I was an Englishman?" hewhispered. 

Hamish stifled a laugh. "It would likely jist be his natural Irishvillainy, " he suggested solemnly. 

But Scotty shook his head at even such a natural explanation. "No, itwould not be that, it would be--because--_the master said it_, Hamish!"

"The master?" Hamish's look of amusement changed to one of deepinterest. "Why? What would he be saying?"

The boy glanced around the room apprehensively, but the rest of thefamily were still absorbed in Weaver Jimmie. "When we would be cominginto the school, " he whispered hurriedly, "the master would be callingall the new ones to the front. An' he says to me, 'What's your name, child?' An I says, 'It's Scotty, --Scotty MacDonald. ' An' he says, 'Hut tut, another MacDonald! Yon's no name. Whose bairn are ye?' An'I told him I belonged to Grandaddy an' the boys; an' he says, --an' hesays, 'Oh tuts, I know you now. You're Big Malcolm's _Englishgrandson_!' He would be saying that, Hamish! An' he wrote a name forme; see!" He had been growing more and more excited as the recitalproceeded, and at this point he jerked from his bosom a torn andbattered primer that had done duty in the few days that Hamish hadattended school. Under the scrawling marks that stood for Hamish'sname was written in a fine scholarly flourish, "Ralph Everett Stanwell. "

"Humph!" Hamish gazed at the book, and a look of sadness crept intohis kind, brown eyes. He glanced across the room at his father. Weaver Jimmie had just departed, and Callum was leaning over the backof his chair laughing immoderately, while Rory was out in the middle ofthe floor executing a lively step-dance accompanied by voice and fiddleto the words, "Ha! Ha! the wooin' o't!"

"Look here, father, " called Hamish, "do you see what the schoolmasterwould be writing in Scotty's book?"

Big Malcolm took the primer, adjusted his spectacles, and moved thelittle book up and down before the candle to get the proper focus. "Ralph Everett Stanwell, " he read slowly. "What kind o' a name wouldthat be, whatever!" he cried, with a twinkle in his eye. 

"It's got a fearsome kind of a sough to it, " said Callum apprehensively. 

"It will be an English name!" cried Scotty fiercely, "an' Peter Lauchiewould be saying it is jist no name at all!"

The young men burst into laughter, which served only to increase theirnephew's wrath. He sprang out upon the floor, his black eyes blazing, and stamped his small foot. 

"I'll not be English!" he shouted. "It's jist them louts from theTenth is English! An' I'll be Hielan'. An' it's not my name!"

"Eh, eh, mannie!" cried his grandmother gently. She laid her hand onthe boy's arm and drew him toward her. "That will be no way for a bigboy that will be going to school to behave, " she whispered. The childturned to her and saw to his amazement that her eyes were full oftears. His sturdy little figure stiffened suddenly, and he made adesperate effort for self-control. 

"But it would be a great lie, Granny!" he faltered appealingly. 

"Hoots, never you mind!" cried his grandfather, with strange leniency;and even in the midst of his passion Scotty dimly wondered that he didnot receive a summary chastisement for his fit of temper. There was astrange, sad look in the man's eyes that alarmed the child more thananger would have done. 

"Granny will be telling you all about it, " he said, rising. "Come, lads, it will be getting late. "

The three young men followed their father out to the stable. Ordinarily they attended to the evening duties there themselves, butto-night Big Malcolm wished to leave the boy alone with hisgrandmother, realising that the situation needed a woman's delicatehandling. 

This new proceeding filled Scotty with an added alarm. He clambered upon his grandmother's knee as soon as they were alone and demanded anexplanation; surely that English name wasn't his. He whispered themomentous question, for though Old Farquhar was snoring loudly in hiscorner, Bruce was there, wide awake and looking up inquiringly, asthough he could understand. 

And so, with her arms about him, Granny told him for the first time thestory of his birth. How Granny had had only one little girl, olderthan Callum, eh, and such a sweet lassie she was; how just when theyhad landed in Canada she had married a young Englishman who had comeover with them on the great ship; how they had left them in Torontowhen they came north to the forests of Oro; how their baby had come, the most beautiful baby, Granny's little girl wrote, and how she hadwritten also that they, too, were coming north to live near the oldfolks when, --Granny's voice faltered, --when the fever came, and bothGranny's beautiful little girl and her Englishman died, and Grandaddyand Callum had journeyed miles through the bush to bring Granny herbaby, and how Kirsty John's mother had carried him all the way, and howhe was all Granny had left of her bright lass!

At the sound of grief in his grandmother's voice, the child put up hishand to stroke her face, and found it wet with tears. Instantly heforgot his own trouble in sympathy for hers, and clasping his handsabout her neck he soothed her in the best way he knew. He scarcelyunderstood her grief; was Granny crying because he was only anEnglishman after all? For to him, bereavement and death were butnames, and in the midst of abounding love he had never realised thelack of parents. 

He had often heard of them before, of his beautiful mother, whose eyeswere so dark and whose hair was so curly like his own; and how hisfather had been such a fine, big, young man, and a gentleman too, though Scotty had often vaguely wondered just what that meant. Butthat his parents had left him an inheritance of a name and lineageother than MacDonald he had never dreamed. And now there was nodenying the humiliating truth; his father had been an Englishman, hehimself was English, and that disgraceful name, at which Peter Lauchiehad sneered, was his very own. Henceforth he must be an outcast amongthe MacDonalds, and be classed with the English crew that lived over onthe Tenth, and whom, everyone knew, the MacDonalds despised. Yes, andhe belonged to the same class as that stuck-up Captain Herbert, wholived in that grand house on the north shore of Lake Oro, and whom hisgrandfather hated!

He managed to check his tears by the time the boys returned, but duringprayers he crouched miserably in a dark corner behind Hamish, a victimof despair. He derived very little comfort from the fact thatGrandaddy was reading, "And thou shalt be called by a new name"; itseemed only an advertisement of his disgrace. He wondered drearily whoelse was so unfortunate as to be presented with one, and if it would bean English name. And afterwards, when they had gone up to the loft tobed, he crept in behind Hamish, and cried himself to sleep because ofthat, which, in after years, he always remembered with pride. 

III

WINNING HIS SPURS

 The Saxon force, the Celtic fire, These are thy manhood's heritage! --C. G. D. ROBERTS. 

Old Ian McAllister, schoolmaster of Section Number Nine, Oro, wascalling his flock into the educational fold. It was no clarion ringthat summoned the youths from the forest, for the times were early anda settlement might be proud to possess a school, without going to theextremity of such foolishness as a bell, and Number Nine was notextravagant. But the schoolmaster's ingenuity had improvised a verygood substitute. He stood in the doorway, hammering upon the doorpostwith a long, flexible ruler, and making a peremptory clatter thatechoed far away into the arches of the forest and hastened the steps ofany tardy youths approaching from its depths. Good cause they had tobe expeditious, too, for well they knew, did they linger, the masterwould be apt to resume the bastinado upon their belated persons whenthey did arrive. This original method had other advantages, from theschoolmaster's point of view, for, as his pupils crowded past himthrough the narrow doorway, he had many a fine opportunity to transferoccasional whacks to the heads of such boys, and girls, too, as he feltwould need the admonition before the day was over, and who could notmanage to dodge him. So those approaching the school, even before theycame within sight of the place, could reckon exactly the state of themaster's temper, and the number of victims sacrificed thereto, by theintermittent sounds of the summoning stick. Indeed, Number Ninepossessed an almost superhuman knowledge of their master's mentalworkings. When he was fiercest then they were most hopeful; for theyknew that, like other active volcanoes, having once indulged in aterrible eruption he was not likely to break forth again for some time. He was quite dependable, for his conduct followed certain fixed rules. First came about a fortnight of stern discipline and faithful andterrifying attention to duty. During this period a subdued and busyhum pervaded Number Nine and much knowledge was gained. For IanMcAllister was a man of no mean parts, and, as the trustees of thesection were wont to boast, there was not such another man in thecounty of Simcoe for "bringing the scholars on--when he was at it. "But the trouble was he could never stay "at it" very long. A much morejoyous, though less profitable, season followed, during which theschoolmaster's energies were taken up in a bitter and losing fight withan appetite for strong drink. Poor McAllister had been intended for afine, scholarly, upright character, and he struggled desperately tomaintain his integrity. But about once in two months he yielded totemptation. During these "spells, " as Number Nine called his lapsesfrom duty, he still taught, but in a perfunctory manner, being prone toplay practical jokes upon his pupils, which, of course, they returnedwith interest. When he finally succumbed in sleep, with his feet onthe desk and his red spotted handkerchief over his face, Number Ninetook to the bush and proceeded to enjoy life. That they did notaltogether give themselves over to unbounded riot was due to the factthat the master's awakening might occur at any moment. And well theyknew he was apt to come out of his lethargy with awful suddenness, witha conscience lashing him for his weakness and with a sterndetermination to work out tremendous reparation for the lost hours. 

But Number Nine suffered little from this changeable conduct. They hadstudied their master so faithfully that they could generally calculatewhat would be the state of his temper at a given time, and guidedthemselves accordingly. Indeed, Roarin' Sandy's Archie, a giantMacDonald who had attended every winter since the schoolhouse wasbuilt, could tell almost to a day when the master was likely to relax, and he acted as a sort of barometer to the whole school. 

But to-day McAllister showed no signs of relaxation as they dodged pasthim and scrambled into their places. The room was soon filled, for thewinter term had commenced and all the big boys and girls of the sectionwere in attendance. The schoolroom was small, with rough log walls anda raftered ceiling. Down the middle ran a row of long forms for theyounger children, and along the sides were ranged a few well carveddesks, at which the elder pupils sat when they wrote in theircopy-books. At the end nearest the door stood a huge rusty stove, always red-hot in winter, and near it were a big wooden water-pail andtin dipper. At the other end of the room stood the master's desk, along-legged rickety structure, with a stool to match, from which loftythrone the ruler of Number Nine could command a view of his realm andspy out its most remote region of insubordination. Behind him was theblackboard, a piece of sheep-skin used as an eraser, and an ancient andtattered map of Europe. 

Scotty was already in his place; he had hurried to his seat as soon ashe arrived for fear someone might ask him his name, and in dread lesthe might be claimed by those English boys from the Tenth, whom his soulloathed. 

He had started to school at a time when the several nationalities thatwere being welded together to make the Canadian race were by no meansone, and he had inherited all the prejudices of his own people. NumberNine was a school eminently calculated to keep alive all the small raceanimosities that characterised the times; for English, Irish andScotch, both Highland and Lowland, had settled in small communitieswith the schoolhouse as a central point. 

The building was situated in a hollow made by a bend in the Oro River;to the north among the green hills surrounding Lake Oro, was the Oa, adistrict named after a part of Islay, and there dwelt the Highlanders;all MacDonalds, all related, all tenaciously clannish, and all suchfamous warriors that they had earned the name throughout the wholeCounty of Simcoe of the "Fighting MacDonalds, " a name which theirprogeny who attended Number Nine School strove valiantly to perpetuate. 

From the low-lying lands at the south, a region called the Flats, whichsloped gently southward until it sank beneath the blue waters of LakeSimcoe, came the Irish contingent, always merry, always quarrelling, and always headed by young Pat Murphy and Nancy Caldwell, who were thechief warriors of the section. 

And over on the western plains that stretched away from the banks ofthe Oro, on a concession locally styled "the Tenth, " lived a class ofpupils whose chief representative had been overheard by a Highlandenemy to say, as he named the forest trees along his path to school, "That there's a _hoak_, an' that there's a _hash_, an' that there's a_helm_. " Though the youth bore the highly respectable and historicname of Tommy Tucker, he was forever after branded as "Hoak" Tucker, and his two innocent brothers were dubbed, respectively, "Helm" and"Hash. "

One more nationality was represented in Number Nine, those whoapproached the school-house with the rising sun behind them. They wereScotch to a man; what was more, they proclaimed the fact upon thefence-tops and made themselves obnoxious to even the MacDonalds, forafter all they were only Lowlanders, and how could the Celt be expectedto treat them as equals?

When this heterogeneous assembly had all passed under the rod andseated themselves, the master tramped up to his desk and a solemn hushfell over the room. This was remarkable, for unless McAllister was inan unusually bad humour Number Nine buzzed like a saw-mill. But thismorning the silence was intense and ominous, and for a very goodreason. For only the evening before Number Nine had for oncemiscalculated their ruler's condition, and a flagrant act ofdisobedience had been perpetrated. McAllister had commanded that allfighting cease, and in the face of his interdict the MacDonalds and theMurphys, according to the established custom of the country, hadmanfully striven to exterminate each other. For between the Oa and theFlats there was an undying feud; partly hereditary, and partly owing tothe fact that Pat Murphy considered it an impertinence on the part ofanyone to come from the north when he chose to approach from theopposite direction. 

During school-hours a truce was preserved, all factions being unitedagainst a common foe; but as soon as school was dismissed the lines ofdemarcation became too obvious to be overlooked. The outlandish Gaelicthe MacDonalds spoke when among their brethren, their irritating way ofgathering clan-like for the journey home, always aroused resentment inthe breasts of the assembling Murphys. So, five o'clock fights hadlong ago become one of the institutions of the school, and in thewinter when the big boys were present the encounters were frequent andsanguinary. 

The schoolmaster objected to all strife in which he had no part, andsince the opening of the winter term he had set his face like adamantagainst this international warfare. But his opposition served only toincrease the ardour of the combatants. In vain he scolded andthrashed. In vain he imprisoned the Scots until the Hibernians had hada reasonable time to make an honourable retreat. The liberated partyonly waited behind stumps and fallen logs, with the faithfulness of alover to his tryst. 

So at last McAllister arose in his might and announced that the nexttime such an affair occurred he would thrash the leaders of each partywithin an inch of their lives. On such occasions the schoolmaster wasnot to be trifled with, and for a few days even the Murphys were cowed. 

But as time passed there grew up between the belligerents a tacitunderstanding that just as soon as the master entered upon a less rigidframe of mind they would settle the fast accumulating scores. 

So the night succeeding Scotty's first day at school they felt the timewas ripe. Roarin' Sandy's Archie assured all that a fight would beperfectly safe. The master's tropical season was already overdue somedays, and on the morrow he was sure to be jolly. So the forbiddencampaign had opened just a day too soon. It proved to be anArmageddon, too; Lowlander and Highlander, Sassenach and Hibernian, they battered each other right royally, and now here they were rangedbefore their judge to find to their dismay that he was clear-eyed, clear-headed, and ready to inflict upon the culprits the severestpenalties of the law. 

The strange, tense atmosphere filled Scotty with vague alarm. He feltthat the air was pregnant with disaster. Danny Murphy nudged him whenthe master closed his eyes for prayer and whispered that "Somebody wasgoin' to get an awful hidin', likely the MacDonalds. " Prayers wereextremely lengthy, always a bad sign, and Scotty felt his hair rise asat their close the master banged his desk lid, and glared fiercelyabout him. Perhaps McAllister was going to thrash him for pretendinghe was a MacDonald, he reflected fearfully. 

The master lost no time in going straight to the point, he knew hisperiod of weakness was coming over him with overwhelming rapidity; onemore visit to that which lay in his desk would, he knew, destroy hisjudgment; and struggling desperately to do what he deemed right, he puthis fists firmly upon the desk lid as if to crush down the tempter andproceeded to business. 

"So, ye've been fighting again!" he cried, fixing the row of biggerboys with his eye. "Ye uncivilised MacDonald pack, an' ye savageMurphy crew! Tearin' at each other like wolves! Aye! Roarin' an'rantin' an' ragin' like a pack o' blood-hounds! Ah, ye're nothing buta pack o' savages! Jist uncivilised savages! But Ah'll have no wildbeasts in my school. Ah'll teach ye! Ah'll take some o' the fight outo' ye!" He glared meaningly at Peter Lauchie, one of the mostbellicose Highlanders, but that young man dodged cleverly behind PatMurphy's broad shoulders. "Ye'll think Ah'll not find ye out?" themaster shouted triumphantly. "But Ah'll soon do that! Aye, it was atthe Birch Crick ye were fightin' like a pack o' wild beasts; ye thoughtye were far enough away to be safe. But Ah'll find out who startedit!" His eye ranged quickly round the room and fell upon Scotty, sitting open-mouthed straight in front of him. McAllister was notabove extorting information from the younger pupils, and Scotty went bythe Scotch Line and could be made to tell. "You, Ralph Stanwell!" hecried, fixing the boy with an admonitory finger. "Yon's your road. Now, jist tell me all about this fight!"

Now, Scotty, in his eagerness to get home, had taken the short roadacross the swamp and knew nothing of the affray. But he scarcely heardthe master's question; he had caught only that hateful name, the namethat made him an alien from the MacDonalds and classed him with thatbaby, "Hash" Tucker, who was even now weeping behind his slate lest hisbig brother should be thrashed. Scotty's face flushed crimson, hishands clenched. 

"Are ye deef?" roared the master. "Answer me my question, RalphStanwell!"

The boy leaped as if he had been struck. "That will not be my name!"he cried defiantly. 

McAllister glared at him with wild bloodshot eyes; under othercircumstances he would have been ashamed of the part he was playing;but now his nerves were raw and his temper was rendered wild by hiscraving. 

"Are ye ashamed o' yer name, ye young English upstart?" he roared. 

That opprobrious epithet "English" swept all fear and discretion fromScotty's mind. "I'll not be English!" he shouted back, "I'll beScotch, an' my name will jist be MacDonald, whatever!"

A low growl of approval came from the region of the MacDonalds at theback of the school, and Peter Lauchie MacDonald, who was Scotty's nextof kin, came out from behind Pat Murphy and snorted triumphantly. Themaster reached out his powerful arm and swept the boy up onto his desk, holding him there in a terrible grip. "Ah'll MacDonald ye!" heshouted, shaking him to and fro. "Another MacDonald to be a wild beastin the school! Ah'll knock the MacDonald out o' ye! Ye young Englishwasp, ye!"

Scotty's face was white; but he remembered Callum and held his lipsfirmly to keep from crying out. Peter Lauchie half rose, "He'll be nomore English than you!" he shouted. The master turned; he was facingrebellion. "Peter MacDonald, " he said in a low, thrilling tone, "youwill go out and cut me a stick, an' when Ah've taught this ill piecewith it Ah'll break it over your back!"

Peter Lauchie's defiance melted in the white glare of the master'swrath. He arose and stumbled sullenly out of doors on his unpleasanterrand. Scotty had been placed in his especial care both by the boy'sgrandmother and his own mother, and his soul writhed under the master'scommand. Outside the door he paused, weighing the chances of returningwithout the weapon; the master's tawse had been removed the nightbefore, and he might put off the day of judgment until the judgecollapsed. As he stood, miserably irresolute, a low hiss sounded frombeneath the door. Roarin' Sandy's Archie had crept to it on all fours. "Don't be hurryin' back, " he whispered eagerly, "I'll tell ye when tocome!"

Peter Lauchie stepped behind a hemlock and peeped through the window. The first glance convinced him of the wisdom of his friend's advice;delay was the watchword, for trouble had arisen in a new quarter. 

At one of the side desks near the platform sat Nancy Caldwell. Nancywas the biggest girl in the school and the only person in the townshipof Oro whom old McAllister feared. She was a handsome girl, belongingto one of the leading Protestant families of the Flats; she was boldand fearless and had withal such a feminine ingenuity for inventingschemes to circumvent the schoolmaster that he regarded her withsomething akin to superstitious awe. 

Nancy had a big, Irish heart, and it swelled with indignation whenScotty was put up for execution. She shrewdly guessed that McAllisterwas nearing the limit of his strength, and thought she might try a tiltwith him. So as he tramped angrily up and down the platform, shereached out, when his back was turned, and whisked the boy under herdesk. 

"Lie still!" she whispered. "Sure, I'll murder him if he touches ye!"

McAllister marched over to her, his arm raised threateningly; the girlsat and stared coolly back. For a moment the baffled man stood glaringat her. He would rather have met all the big boys in concertedrebellion than Nancy Caldwell, and felt that he must be fortifiedwithin before he could successfully combat her. He stepped up to hisdesk and clutching a half-empty bottle from it, drained the contents. 

The tension of the school was immediately relaxed; the pupils nudgedeach other and giggled and Nancy Caldwell laughed aloud and pulledScotty out from his hiding place. 

As everyone expected, McAllister sank into his chair and glaredsheepishly about him, making a desperate attempt to retain his dignity. 

Peter Lauchie stepped out from his post of observation, with a lightheart; and strolled off leisurely in search of a weapon. Since themaster was now on his way to a better frame of mind, Peter was not theone to retard his happy progress; so he sauntered about, knowing thatRoarin' Sandy's Archie would summon him when the time was ripe. 

His commander did not fail him. With the keen eye of an oldcampaigner, Roarin' Sandy's Archie saw the moment to strike. Themaster had worked up a little energy and was again making for Nancy;now was the time to divert his attention; he beckoned to his henchman. As Peter Lauchie entered he showed himself a worthy follower of aworthy leader, for he strode solemnly up the aisle, dragging in hiswake a respectably-sized hemlock tree, the branches of which swept upthe floor and whipped the boys and girls in the faces, evoking shrieksof laughter. He paused before the master's desk and solemnly handedhim the sapling. 

"Here's the switch to hide Scotty _MacDonald_, sir, " he said with greatseriousness, and a fine emphasis on the name. 

The master turned like an animal at bay, and the school broke into atorrent of laughter. He grasped the tree and raised it above his head. "Ah'll batter the cursed impidence out o' ye, ye curse o' a MacDonald!"he roared, making a drive at the boy. 

But Peter Lauchie knew that the master need not now be taken seriously;he darted down the aisle, McAllister after him, bearing his clumsyweapon, and mowing down all within three yards of his path. The boyleaped over the wood box, dodged round the stove, upset the water pailover the girls and came careering back. 

Number Nine rose to the occasion; their year of Jubilee, so longdelayed, had come at last. The boys joined in the chase, and soon themaster became the pursued as well as the pursuer. The girls shriekedand fled to the wall, all except such amazons as Nancy Caldwell andRoarin' Sandy's Teenie, who joined in the race, materially assistingPeter by getting in the master's way or catching hold of his flyingcoat-tails. 

The chase did not last long; the prey, exhausted, fled out of doors andthe master subsided into a chair. He brought the school to somesemblance of order and made a feeble attempt at teaching. But by theafternoon he was uproariously genial. He spent an hour conducting acompetition in which the boy who could stand longest on the hot stovereceived the highest marks, and finally went to sleep with his feet onthe desk and his red handkerchief spread over his face. 

But the affair was not without material benefit to Scotty. In hisgallant refutation of the charge against him, and in the miraculous wayhe had averted the master's vengeance, he had won a place in the heartof every MacDonald. Thereafter, no one outside the clan dared give himhis English name, and at last the fact that he possessed one almostfaded from his friends', as well as his own, mind. 

IV

"CAPE CANADA"

 The ocean bursts in very wrath, The waters rush and whirl As the hardy diver cleaves a path Down to the treasured pearl. --GEORGE HERBERT CLARKE. 

The days sped swiftly, and Scotty learned many things both in and outof school. In the latter department his chief instructor was hisnearest neighbour. Peter Lauchie was fourteen, and a wonderful man ofthe world in Scotty's eyes; but in spite of the great disparity ofyears the two were much together. From his companion Scotty learnedmany great lessons. The first and cardinal principle laid down wasthat all who hailed from the Oa must wage internecine war upon theFlats and must despise and ignore all English and Lowlanders. Anotherwas that one might as well make up one's mind to attend to businessduring McAllister's glacial period, but that, when a more genialatmosphere pervaded the school, the farther one went in inventing newforms of mischief the more likely was one to become a hero. 

Peter Lauchie further explained that all Pat Murphy's crew were nothingbut Fenians. He pronounced the evil word in a whisper, and added in amore sepulchral tone that the Caldwell boys and a lot more Irish fromthe Flats, yes, and "Hoak" Tucker's people, too, were Orangemen. Theseterrible disclosures filled Scotty with vague alarm; for, though hestrove to keep his companionship a secret, there could be no doubt thatmost of his time at school was spent in the very pleasant company ofDanny Murphy and "Hash" Tucker; and furthermore that, since the day shehad saved him from old McAllister's clutches, Nancy Caldwell had beenthe bright, particular star of his existence. He had no doubt thatNancy returned his devotion, either; for she brought him big lumps ofmaple sugar and the rosiest apples, and was always anxious that heshould share her cake. Of course, she was apt to exact payment forthese favours, and would chase him all over the school and kiss him inspite of his fiercest struggles. But, nevertheless, Nancy held hisheart. Surely she could not be anything very wicked. Fenians he knewsomething about; the Fenian Raids had been talked of in his home eversince he could remember. Orangemen might not be quite so bad. He madeup his mind he would ask Hamish all about it. 

There was quite a little circle of friends about the fire that evening;Long Lauchie MacDonald and three of his grown-up sons had come over fora chat, and of course Weaver Jimmie was there, having been turned outof Kirsty John's house at the point of the potato masher. 

Like most of the Highlanders, Long Lauchie was aptly described by hisname. He was a tall, thin, attenuated man. Everything about himseemed to run to a point and vanish; his long, thin hands, his flimsypointed beard, even his long nose and ears helped out his character. He rarely indulged in conversation, coming out of an habitual reverieonly occasionally to make a remark. Nevertheless he was of a sociableturn and was often seen at Big Malcolm's fireside. 

The company sat round in a comfortable, hump-backed circle, emittingclouds of smoke and discussing the affairs of the Empire; for thesemen's affections were still set on the old land, and that which touchedBritain was vital to them. 

Then Old Farquhar started upon a tale, so long and rambling that Rorytook his fiddle and strummed impatiently in the background. Scottyunderstood enough of Gaelic to gather that it was the story of abeautiful maiden who had died that night when her father and brotherand lover lay slain in the bloody massacre of Glencoe. 

Impatient of the high-flown Gaelic phrases, Scotty flew to Hamish, andhis indulgent chum put aside the book and told him the story, and whythe MacDonalds hated the name of Orange. Scotty went back to the fire, his cheeks aflame with excitement. Hereafter he would fight everythingand anything remotely connected with the name of Orange. See if hewouldn't!

The conversation had turned to quite a different subject. WeaverJimmie had the floor now, and had almost forgotten his embarrassingappendages in the thrill of relating his one great story; the story ofhow his brother fought the Fenians at Ridgeway. 

"Eh, eh, " sighed Long Lauchie, "it would maybe be what the prophetswould be telling, indeed, about wars and rumours of wars!"

For Long Lauchie not only saw sermons in stones, and books in therunning brooks, but discerned in the everyday occurrences about himfulfilment of dire prophecy. 

"Hooch!" cried Big Malcolm, "I would rather be having a Fenian raid anyday than an Orangeman living in the same township. "

Long Lauchie sadly shook his head and went off into a series of sighsand ejaculations, as was his way, receding farther and farther untilhis voice died away and he sat gazing into space. 

"Aye, indeed, and mebby you'll be gettin' one, " cried Weaver Jimmie, wagging his head. "Pete Nash himself told me that Dan Murphy and thatConnor crew an' all them low Irish would be saying at the corner theother night that they would jist be gettin' up a Fenian Raid o' theirown some o' these fine days, an' be takin' the Glen, whatever. "

"Horo!" Callum Fiach arose and came forward, the joy of a conflictdancing in his eyes. "Hech, but I wish they would!"

"Whisht ye, Callum!" cried his father sternly. "Let the evil onealone. I'll have no son o' mine mixin' with such goin's on!"

The young man eyed his father laughingly. "You'd stay at home if therewas a Fenian Raid, wouldn't you?" he asked teasingly. 

Big Malcolm glanced uneasily towards his wife. His was a hard positionto fill amid the fighting MacDonalds; his whole life was a strugglebetween his inherited tendencies and his religious convictions. Hepreached peace on earth and good will towards all men; and believedimplicitly that the meek should inherit the earth; but his warlikespirit was always clamouring to be up in arms, and sometimes, in spiteeven of the strong influence of his wife, it broke all bounds. Heshook his head at his son's raillery and made no reply. Not for a longtime had he yielded to temptation, but he felt it was not safe to boast. 

"Well, if the Fenians ever come to take Canady again, I hope I'll bethere!" cried Rory gaily, breaking into an old warlike Jacobite air. 

Weaver Jimmie threw one leg over the other, with great nonchalance. "They may take Canady, whatever; but they'll not be taking Oro!" heremarked firmly. 

"Kirsty 'll be lookin' after Oro!" cried Callum. "Losh, but she'd bangthe senses out of the wildest Fenian that ever grew, if she got afterhim!"

"They didn't take much when they did come, " said Long Lauchie's Hugh. "Only a few bullets. Say, though, don't you wish you'd been there?"

Scotty listened, his heart torn with conflicting emotions. He wantedto fight the Fenians now, but with Danny a Fenian, and Nancy and HashOrangemen, what would become of him? He guessed that Callum had somescheme afoot and he kept close to him all evening and heard himconferring with Long Lauchie's boys in low tones. There was somethingabout the Murphys, and getting them stirred up, and finally a compactto all be at the glen the following afternoon. 

The next day Scotty used all his powers to effect a journey to theglen, too. He had some difficulty, however, for it was Saturday andGranny wanted him with her; but by dint of assistance from Hamish heaccomplished his aim, and in the afternoon he drove away on the frontseat of the big sleigh between Grandaddy and Callum, full of exuberantjoy. 

The Glen was a small community at a bend in the River Oro, just a mileeast of the schoolhouse. Though it was near his home, Scotty had notbeen in it since he was a baby. He was wildly eager to see the place. To him it was a great metropolis, for it contained a tavern and astore, yes, and a real mill where they made flour. And Hamish hadpromised to show him the great water wheel that made the mill go, andthey were to spend an hour at Thompson's store, and most of all he wasanxious to learn the outcome of the boys' mysterious plans of the nightbefore. 

The day was delightful, with all the world a gleam of blue and silver, the glittering landscape softened here and there by the restful greytints of the forest. The blue skies with their dazzling white clouds, and the shimmering white earth with its bright blue shadows, were sobewilderingly alike that one might well wonder whether he was in heavenor on earth. The air was electric, setting the blood tingling, and, asthe sleigh slipped along down the winding road that led to the river, Scotty churned up and down on the seat and could with difficultyrestrain himself from leaping out and turning somersaults in the snow. 

The highway suddenly emerged from a belt of pine forest and descendedinto a little round valley made by the bend in the river. Here lay"the Glen, " the central point of the surrounding communities. Scottygrew quieter and his eyes bigger as they followed the winding steeproad that led into its depths. There was the mill by the river, givingout a strange rumbling sound; and beside it the house of old SandyHamilton, the miller; and there, on the northern slope of the riverbank, was Weaver Jimmie's little shanty, with the loom clattering awayinside; and right at the corner stood Thompson's store and opposite itPeter Nash's tavern. 

So many houses all in one clearing! Scotty could scarcely believe hiseyes. And yet the poor little place had, after all, a greaterimportance than the child could imagine. The Glen was to the grownpart of the community what the school was to the younger portion. Itlay within the boundaries of the four different settlements, and asclearings began to widen and social intercourse became easier, it hadgradually become a place where men met for mutual help or hindrance, asthe case might be. Here the several nationalities mingled, and thoughthey did not realise the fact, here they were laying the foundations ofa great nation. Such a vast work as this could scarcely be carried onwithout some commotion; the chemist must look for explosions when heproduces a strange new compound from diverse elements; and it was, therefore, no wonder that the crucible in the valley of the Oro wasoften the scene of much boiling and seething. Then the tavern came, with its brain-destroying fire, and sometimes after harvest, when theFighting MacDonalds and the belligerent Murphys met before it, thenoise of the fray might be heard in the farthest-off clearing of the Oa. 

Scotty's eyes rested fearfully on the tavern. It was a common logbuilding, wider than the ordinary ones and with a porch in front and alean-to behind. To the boy its appearance was a great surprise andsome disappointment. Grandaddy always spoke of it as "a den ofiniquity"; and Scotty's fancy had pictured such a den as Daniel hadbeen cast into, which he had seen many times in Granny's big Bible. 

He was rather sorry they did not stop there, the inside might be moreromantic; but he soon forgot it in the excitement of other scenes; forthey went to the mill and Sandy Hamilton, all floury and smiling, tookhim down to where the water came thundering over the big wheel; andthen, while the boys went off with the team, Big Malcolm took hisgrandson to the most wonderful place yet, the store. 

This was the most important place in the Glen, and the man who kept it, James Thompson, or Store Thompson, as the neighbours called him, wasthe most important and influential member of the community. He was afine, upright, intelligent man and was known far and wide for hislearning. He possessed a vocabulary of polysyllables that never failedto confound an opponent in argument, and all the township could tellhow he once vanquished a great university graduate, who was visitingCaptain Herbert at Lake Oro. He was often identified by thisillustrious deed, and was pointed out to strangers as, "Store Thompson, him that downed the Captain's college man. "

Big Malcolm and Store Thompson, though the latter was a Lowlander, hadbeen fast friends ever since they had come to Canada. They wereslightly above the average pioneer in intelligence and had manyinterests in common; so for this reason, as well as a matter ofprinciple, Big Malcolm avoided the tavern and spent his leisure momentswith his friend. 

As they entered, Store Thompson was busy weighing out sugar for acustomer, and glanced up. He was a tall man, with a kind, intelligentface and a high, bland forehead. He wore steel-rimmed spectacles, but, when not reading, had them pushed up to the scant line of hair on thetop of his head, and his pale blue eyes blinked kindly at all around. He stopped in the midst of his calculations to welcome his friends. 

"Eh, eh, Malcolm, an' is yon yersel'?" he cried heartily. "It's jist alang, lang time since Ah seen ye, man; aye, an' it's the wee man yehae. It's a lang time since ye've been to the Glen; jist anunconscionably lang time; aye, jist that, jist unconscionably like!"He lingered over the word as he shook hands, and then, after inquiringfor the wife and family, he turned his attention to Scotty, remarkedupon his wonderful growth, and his sturdy limbs, asked him how he wasgetting on at school and if he could spell "phthisis. "

Scotty hung shyly behind his grandfather, and as soon as the host'sattention was turned from him he escaped. He seated himself carefullyupon a box of red herring, and his eyes wandered wonderingly around theshop. It was a marvellous place for a boy with sharp eyes and aninquiring mind. Down one side ran a counter made of smoothed pineboards and behind it rose a row of shelves reaching to the rafteredceiling and containing everything the farmers could need, from theglass jar of peppermint drops on the top shelf to the web of factorycotton near the floor. The remaining space was crammed withmerchandise. There were boxes of boots, bales of cloth, barrels ofsugar and salt and kerosene, kegs of nails, chests of tea and boxes ofpatent medicines; and the combination of odours was not the leastwonderful thing in this wonderful museum. Nothing escaped Scotty'seyes, from the festoons of dried apples suspended from the darkraftered ceiling to the pile of axe-handles on the floor in the corner. He sat utterly absorbed, while his grandfather and Store Thompsontalked. There was much to tell on one side, at least, for StoreThompson and the schoolmaster took a weekly newspaper between them, andit all had to be gone over, especially the news from Scotland. 

Store Thompson's wife, a bright, little red-checked woman came hustlingin to greet Big Malcolm, and ask him in for a cup of tea. "Ah've hadthe Captain an' his sister an' the wee leddy to denner, " she whisperedproudly, "an' they'll jist be goin' in a minit, an' ye'll come an' havea cup o' tea with them, jist. "

But Big Malcolm, who had arisen at her invitation, suddenly sat downagain. His face darkened, and he stoutly refused the joint invitationsof husband and wife. Then the lady espied Scotty in his corner, andbore down upon him; she secured a handful of pink "bull's-eyes" from ajar behind the counter, and slipped them into his chubby fist, pattedhis curly head and declared he was "jist Callum over again. " AndScotty smiled up at her, well pleased at being likened to his hero; butwhen she caught his face between her hands and tried to kiss him, hedodged successfully; for, now that he was a big boy and going toschool, not even Granny might kiss him in public. 

When she had trotted back to her guests in the house, Scotty caught afew words of the conversation that aroused his interest. 

"Ye hae the boys in wi' ye the day, Malcolm?" Store Thompson asked, with a note of anxiety in his voice. 

"Yes?" Big Malcolm looked up inquiringly. 

"Oh, Ah suppose it's jist naething, jist a--a triviality, like; but Ahsee there's a great crood frae the Oa, the day, an' jist as manyMurphys an' Connors; an' Ah heerd a lot o' wild talk aboot Fenians, an'the like. They would be sayin' Pat Murphy was a Fenian; an' that TamCaldwell would be for sendin' him oot o' the Glen. Ah'm hopin'there'll be nae trouble. "

Big Malcolm's face was full of anxiety. "Indeed, I will be hopin' sotoo, " he said in an embarrassed tone. "You will be knowin' myweakness. I would not be hearin' about it. I hope the lads----"

"Oh, Ah suppose it's jist naething, " said Store Thompson reassuringly. "Indeed it's yersel' that's past all sich things as yon, Malcolm, neverfear. "

But Big Malcolm shook his head; for years he had purposely avoided theGlen, to be out of the way of temptation; for the sound of strife wasto him like the bugle call to a war charger. He fidgeted in his seatand looked anxiously towards the door. 

Scotty went over to the window and stood watching the crowds of mencome and go across the street. 

He could not quite make out what was going on, but there seemed to be agreat commotion, for a big crowd of men had suddenly appeared fromnowhere. And there was Danny's father, and Nancy's father, apparentlyhaving high words; and yes, there was Callum right in the centre of theseething mass. 

There were mingled cries of "Popery" and "Fenians" and "Orangemen. "Then suddenly above the noise there came a roar, "The Oa! The Oa!MacDonald! MacDonald!"

"Grandaddy! oh, Grandaddy!" cried Scotty shrilly, "they're killin'Callum, they're killin' Rory!"

At the first sound of the MacDonalds' battle-cry Big Malcolm raised hishead like a stag who has heard a challenge, and, at the boy's cry, hecleared the intervening space with one bound, flung open the door andshot out into the street. 

"Malcolm, Malcolm!" cried Store Thompson in dismay, but Big Malcolm hadheard the call to arms and nothing in the township of Oro could holdhim back. 

Scotty sprang to follow him, but Store Thompson closed the door, andhis wife, who had re-entered, put her arms about the boy and drew himback. 

"Ye mustna gang oot there, ma lad, " said the storekeeper. "Yon's noplace for a child; aye, " he added, "an' no place for yer grandfathereither!"

"Lemme go!" shouted Scotty, struggling equally with his captor and hissobs. "They--'re--killin'--Rory! Lemme go!"

"Yer Grandaddy said ye were to bide here, laddie, mind ye!" cried StoreThompson's wife soothingly. 

At the reminder of his grandfather's commands Scotty collapsed. Heretired to the window once more, bathed in tears of helpless rage. Butanother shout from the MacDonalds sent him flying again to the door, where he once more encountered the ample skirts of his keeper. 

"Ah'd niver look Marget Malcolm in the face again, Jeames, if onythinghappened the bairn, " she cried, struggling with Scotty's sturdymuscles. "He maun jist bide!"

"What in heaven's name is the matter with that child?" demanded alaughing voice from the rear of the shop. "Has he an attack of spasms?"

Scotty stopped struggling and looked up. In his absorption over thebattle outside he had not noticed that three strangers had entered theshop with Store Thompson's wife, and he drew back abashed. The speakerwas a short, well-built man under middle age, with an air andappearance quite different from the rough exterior of Scotty's ownpeople. There was a look of command in his merry blue eyes and an airof superiority in his straight, trim figure, that impressed the child. The other two strangers stood back by the stove; one, a tall lady, therustle of whose black silk dress gave Scotty a feeling of awe, theother a tiny girl, so wrapped up in furs and shawls that he could seenothing of her, except a bunch of golden curls. 

"What's the matter with the confounded little fire-eater?" asked theman, coming forward. 

"It's all his kin that's in yon fecht oot by, sir, " said StoreThompson's wife apologetically. "The puir wee mannie!"

"Oh, I see; he's starting early. I never come to the Glen but youentertain me with a battle, James. A bad crowd, those fellows from theFlats. What's your name, youngster? Murphy, eh?"

"NO!" Scotty shouted the refutation in indignant horror. This wasworse than being English! "It will be MacDonald!"

"Oh, by Jove, one of the Fighting MacDonalds!" The man burst into ahearty laugh. "I might have known. "

"But yon's not yer real name, laddie, " said Store Thompson's wife. "Tell Captain Herbert yer name; it's jist a fine one. He's Big MalcolmMacDonald's grandson, Captain, but his faether was an Englishgentleman, like yersel, an' his mither was a bonny, bonny bit lassie;aye, an' puir Marget lost her. "

The man was gazing down at the boy absorbedly. "What's his name?" hedemanded sharply. But Scotty stood silent and scowling. Confess hisdisgrace to this man whom he knew Granddaddy despised? Never!

"His patronymic, " said Store Thompson ceremoniously, "is Stanwell, Captain; and his baptismal name is jist the same as his father's was, Ralph Everett; Ralph Everett Stanwell!"

When Store Thompson delivered himself of any such high-sounding speechhe was always rewarded by signs of a deep impression made upon hishearers. He had come to look for such results; but he was totallyunprepared for the expression of aghast wonder that his words producedin the face of Captain Herbert. 

"Stanwell!" he cried, "Ralph Stanwell!" He glanced hurriedly at thetwo standing at the other end of the shop and an expression of reliefpassed over his face when he saw the tall lady was not attending. "Itcan't be!" he said, lowering his tone, "Captain Stanwell's child diedwith the parents!"

"No, sir, " said Store Thompson wonderingly. "Big Malcolm an' his sonbrought him from Toronto when he was jist an infant. "

The man still stood gazing down at the boy. Scotty's face was darkwith anger. Store Thompson, who pretended to be his grandfather'sfriend, to publish his disgrace before these strangers! It wasunbearable! "I'll not be English, " he muttered. "I'll jist be Scotch, an' my name's MacDonald!" He clenched his fists and wagged his curlyhead threateningly. "He must be right, " said the man eagerly. "Heshould certainly know. "

Store Thompson shook his head smilingly. "He lives in the Oa, sir, " heconfided in a low tone, "an' he wants to be a MacDonald. But yon's hisname, nevertheless!"

Captain Herbert turned away abruptly, as though he had not heard. "Eleanor, I shall be ready almost immediately, " he said to the lady inthe silk gown, and, with a hasty good-bye, he stepped outside, StoreThompson following. Scotty slipped out behind them; the fight wasover, the Murphys and their friends were evidently retreating. Hecould see his grandfather's tall, commanding form in the midst of avictorious crowd. He drew a great breath of relief. As he stoodgazing proudly at them, he felt his hand touched gently by little, soft, gloved fingers. He wheeled round to find a pair of big, blueeyes looking at him from out of the coquettish rim of a fur-trimmedhood. The eyes were very sympathetic. "I'm Scotch, too, " came in awhisper from inside the wrappings, "an' it's nice to be Scotch, isn'tit?"

Scotty's heart opened immediately; here was someone who evidentlybelieved in him. 

"But--but, won't you be Captain Herbert's little girl?" he asked, wonderingly. 

"Yes, " she answered with a baby-lisp, that made him feel very big andsuperior. "He's my uncle Walter; but my mamma was Scotch, an' myname's Isabel Douglas Herbert, an' Uncle Walter says I'm his Scotchlassie!"

"Oh!" Scotty looked at her with new interest. "An' you're KirstyJohn's little girl, too, ain't you?"

"Yes, " she cried delightedly. "Do you know Kirsty?"

"Yes. "

"Oh, an' Gran'mamma MacDonald? An' Weaver Jimmie?"

"Oh, yes!"

"I love Jimmie; he tells lovely stories when I go to see Kirsty, 'boutfairies, an'--an' everything. Do you know any stories?"

A silken rustle in the doorway made Scotty draw back. "Come, Isabel, "said the tall lady. She was a very pale lady, with a haughty, wearylook in her eyes; and Scotty wondered how the little girl could catchhold of that silk dress so fearlessly. 

"Goo-bye, " she said, pausing a moment. "Goo-bye, little boy. " Shepoked the fur-lined hood very close to his face, and Scotty drew backin alarm for fear she might be going to kiss him. The little girllooked disappointed, nevertheless she smiled radiantly. 

"I like you, " she whispered, "an' I'm comin' to visit you next time Igo to Kirsty's; goo-bye!"

She danced off towards the sleigh, and was bundled in among the warmrobes. She waved her hand to Scotty as they dashed away, and turnedback to gaze at him standing on the step. 

"Man, " said Store Thompson, stamping the snow from his feet as heentered, "Ah niver saw the Captain act like yon before. He wasjist, --aye, he was jist what Ah would call inimical; aye, jistinimical, like!"

Store Thompson was more perturbed over the hearty Captain's strangebehaviour than he was over the commotion that had just taken place athis door. Such affairs were of too frequent occurrence to call forcomment. But when Big Malcolm returned for Scotty, the fierce heat ofthe conflict still blazed in his eyes and his friend suddenlyremembered what had happened. 

"Eh, Malcolm, Malcolm, Ah'm sorry for this!" he cried. "These fichtsare no work for a Chreestian man!"

"And would I be sitting here, James Thompson, an' see that piece o'Popish iniquity kill my son?" demanded Big Malcolm fiercely. 

Store Thompson held up his hands. "What, what?" he cried, "would it bethe Murphys and the MacDonalds again?"

"It was a Fenian raid, James!" shouted Tom Caldwell, coming up to thesleigh, with a proud swagger, "an' Malcolm here was helpin' usOrangemen put it down, sure!"

Weaver Jimmie, his diffidence all vanished, threw his cap into the airand shouted his old shibboleth, "They may take Canady, but they'll notbe taking Oro!"

"The Orangemen 'll kape Canada!" cried Tom Caldwell reassuringly. 

"Hoh, him an' his 'kape Canada, '" cried Callum Fiach in disgust, as hepitched himself into the sleigh. "Let's get out o' this!"

"Eh, eh!" cried Store Thompson, standing in the doorway to see themdepart, "ye MacDonalds are aye too ready wi' the neeves!"

Big Malcolm took the reins and drove away without another word. Thejoy of battle was always succeeded by a season of depression. His oldfriend's reproof had already begun to work repentance in his breast. 

The homeward drive was silent and gloomy. Even Callum forbore to talk;for he was uncomfortably conscious that he had had more to do withsetting the Orangemen and the Catholics against each other than hewould like Big Malcolm to know. He had not foreseen that all theMacDonalds would plunge into it, and his father with them, and wasrather uneasy at the havoc he had caused. For this would bring sorrowupon the mother at home. 

But Scotty could not be silent, he was alive with curiosity; and, taking advantage of his grandfather's gloomy absorption, he crept outfrom between the two on the front seat, and got close to the source ofall knowledge, Hamish. 

He overflowed with questions. Why should the MacDonalds be helpingOrangemen? And hadn't Hash Tucker's father and a lot more from theTenth been on their side, too? And how in the name of allnationalities did it happen that the Caldwells and the Tuckers came tobe fighting together against the Murphys? And weren't Orangemen farworse than Fenians, anyway?

The confusion in Scotty's mind was like that which befell the buildersof the Tower of Babel; and for once Hamish failed to satisfy him. Heseemed rather ashamed of the fact that they had helped a Caldwell inbattle, and was rather inclined to drop the subject. 

That evening at home was something new to Scotty. A gloomy silencepervaded the place, and there was a look in Granny's eyes that made theboy want to put his head into her lap and cry. There were no prayersbefore they retired, either; there always came a stage in Big Malcolm'srepentence which consisted almost entirely of religious exercises, butthat was not yet. 

Scotty felt vaguely that there was something terribly wrong, for theboys, even Hamish, went off after supper, and Old Farquhar did not singhis accustomed song before retiring. And when Scotty went up to bed inthe loft he left Granny praying by the bed in the corner, and he couldhear the steady tramp, tramp of his grandfather's feet up and down inthe snow outside. He half woke late in the night and found that Hamishwas beside him; the problems of the day were still troubling his dreams. 

"Hamish, " he whispered, "where's Cape Canady?"

"What?" growled Hamish sleepily. 

"Where's Cape Canady? Tom Caldwell said somethin' about it, an' theMaster learned the Fourth Class all about capes yesterday, an' hewouldn't be saying anything about that one!"

But Hamish was snoring; and outside the steady tramp, tramp of feetwent up and down in the snow. 

V

THE REFORMATION

 O strong hearts, guarding the birthright of our glory, Worth your best blood this heritage that ye guard! These mighty streams resplendent with our story, These iron coasts by rage of seas unjarred-- What fields of peace these bulwarks will secure! What vales of plenty these calm floods supply! Shall not our love this rough, sweet land make sure, Her bounds preserve inviolate, though we die? --C. G. D. ROBERTS. 

The fathers of the Scottish settlement were gathered about the stove inStore Thompson's shop. This emporium was a respectable rival of PeteNash's tavern across the way. Anyone, weary of the noise and wranglingwhich characterised that lively establishment, might step across toStore Thompson's haven and find rest and quiet, a never-failinghospitality and a much better social atmosphere. To-night the companyrepresented the best the settlement could produce, several of theMacDonalds and a few of the inhabitants of the Glen. 

Big Malcolm was among them. It was his first visit to the Glen sincethe day of his disgrace, and he had not yet quite recovered his oldgenial spirits. 

One small lamp burned dimly on the counter and the forms of boxes andbarrels loomed up fantastically in shadowy corners. In the circleabout the stove the men's faces shone out spectrally from the cloud ofsmoke produced by some half-dozen pipes. 

As usual, Store Thompson was taking the lead in the conversation. Hestood leaning over the counter in the little ring of light, hisspectacles pushed up on his benign-looking forehead, his finger-tipsbrought carefully together. In company with the schoolmaster, StoreThompson had begun his winter's course of reading and was more thanusually oratorical. 

"Aye, " he was saying, "a dictionary 's a graund institution; aye, jista graund institution, like. When me an' the master now meets a word wedinna ken, we jist run him doon in the dictionary, an' there he is, yesee!"

"Oh, books will be fine things, " said Big Malcolm, "but that Hamish ofours will jist be no use when he will be getting his nose into one, whatever. And he will be making the wee man jist as bad. Eh, it's himthat'll make the reader!" His eyes shone as they always did at anymention of his grandson. 

"Aye, Hamish is the man for the books!" cried Store Thompsonenthusiastically. "How is he gettin' on wi' Ivanhoe?"

"Och, he would be finishing it the night after he brought it home, indeed; and now the little upstart will be trying his hand at itwhatever. "

"Feenishin' it in twa nichts!" cried Store Thompson, aghast at suchextravagance. "Hut, tut! yon's no way to use a book. When me an' thewife read Ivanhoe last winter, we jist read a wee bit at a time forfear it wouldna last; it wes that interestin'. Aye, books is tooscarce to be used yon way. "

"And what will you and the master be reading, this winter, James?"inquired Long Lauchie, who had just returned from one of his mentalexcursions. 

Store Thompson's face beamed. "Eh, it's a graund book this time, Lauchie, jist an Astronomy, like. "

"Eh, losh, an' what would it be about?"

"All aboot the stars, aye an' the moon an' the constellations, like. "

"Eh, eh!" Long Lauchie was very much impressed. "And would it betelling about the comets, whatever?"

Store Thompson stood erect and put his finger tips together. 

"A comet, " he declared solemnly, "a comet, Lauchlan, so far as Ah canmak' oot frae the book, is jist naething more nor less than anindestructible, incomprehensible combustion o' matter; aye, jist that, like. "

There was an impressive silence. When Store Thompson took his flightsthrough the vast spaces of knowledge he was always hard to follow, butwhen he soared to the heights of astronomy the district fathers felthim to be unapproachable. 

"'Seek Him that maketh the seven stars and Orion. '" The silence wasbroken by a deep, rolling voice; a voice so powerful that even whensoftened, as it now was, it gave the impression of vast possibilities. The speaker was like his voice, huge and strong; the thick, waving haircovering his massive head, and his bushy beard were a dark iron-grey, which, with his strong features and bristling eyebrows, gave him theappearance of a man carved from iron. It was Praying Donald, theearliest pioneer of the Oa, and the most pious man in many settlements. 

"'Seek Him that maketh the seven stars and Orion, ' that will be theword of the Holy Book, and it will be a poor thing to be seeking thestars first. "

Every eye was turned upon the speaker. Praying Donald was a man whospoke seldom, but when he did everyone listened. 

"Yes, indeed, it is the Word of Jehovah we should be reading, " hecontinued, "for I would be reading last night, and the Lord would bespeaking to me through the Word, and it was, 'Blow ye the trumpet inZion. .. . Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble, for the day ofthe Lord cometh, for it is nigh at hand; a day of darkness andgloominess and of thick darkness. ' And it will be this land that itwill be coming upon. For there will be the drink and the fighting, andthere will be no minister, and no house of the Lord, for we will be inthe gall of bitterness and in the bonds of iniquity. 

"Yes, we must be praying, praying night and day, and maybe that theLord in His mercy will be sending us a minister; for if He will not bevisiting us in His mercy, He will be coming in His wrath, and who shallstand in the day of His judgment?"

Weaver Jimmie flung one leg over the other nervously. Long Lauchiesighed, and Store Thompson murmured, "Undeniable, undeniable. " But BigMalcolm sat staring at the speaker as if fascinated. Praying Donald'slife of stern piety, and his knowledge of the laws governing humanaction, had often enabled him to foresee events, and had given him thereputation of a prophet. The memory of the scene in which he had solately taken part came over Big Malcolm with overwhelming force. 

"It is the true word, " he whispered, as though smitten with a suddenfear. "Och, and it will be Malcolm MacDonald that will be visited inwrath for his sins, whatever!"

"Ye're richt, Donald, " said Store Thompson, at length, "what wi' thewhuskey an' the wild goin's on this place is jist in a bad state. Butit's thae Eerish. Man, " he continued emphatically, "thae Eerish, whether Catholic or Protestant, are jist a menace to the country, aye, jist yon, jist a menace, like!"

"It is the Oa that will be as bad as the Flats, " said Praying Donaldrelentlessly. "They will be forsaking their God and be following aftertheir own evil desires!"

Long Lauchie suddenly opened his eyes. He was in the habit of seizingupon a remark and retiring with it slowly, repeating it over and overin a lessening whisper until he was lost in the echoing caverns ofimagination, and was wont to emerge from these absent fits suddenlywith the air of a diver who comes to the surface with a great treasure. He came to life at this moment, his eyes wide open, his manner alert;"Eh, it will be a fulfilment o' the prophecy o' Jeremiah, 'Out of thenorth an evil shall break forth upon all the inhabitants of the land. 'Eh, eh, out o' the north--the north--it would perhaps be meaning theOa, " he whispered fearfully to Weaver Jimmie. "Out of the north--thenorth----" His voice gradually died away and he was lost in meditation. 

"This place is not like the auld land, " said old Sandy Hamilton, moodily. "Man, we werna bothered wi' ony Fenians, nor Orangemen, norsik like there!"

"Times'll be better now the Murphys know their place, " said WeaverJimmie confidently, pitching one leg over the other. "Callum led afine charge. The Fenians may take Canady, but they'll not----"

"Hooch!" Big Malcolm broke in fiercely. Weaver Jimmie did not properlybelong either by age or sentiments to this gathering, and his remarkregarding Callum was very much out of place. "Yon son o' mine willjist be a breeder o' mischief in this place, James MacDonald!" hecried, "an' it's little check you will be on him, whatever. It is hightime, indeed, that ye were both settlin' down an' stoppin' such doings!But och, och, " he added with a sudden change of tone, "it is myselfwill be the worst of them all. "

Weaver Jimmie heaved a sentimental sigh. "It will not be any fault ofmine that I will not be settled down, " he muttered gloomily. 

Praying Donald's rumbling voice had arisen again. "Yes, oh yes, theevil will be growing; and the Judge will be coming in His wrath and wewill jist be like Sodom and Gomorrah!"

"Oh, indeed, " broke in Store Thompson, "the good Lord is slow to angerand of great mercy, Donald, ye mind!"

"Mercy!" roared Praying Donald. "Eh, James, do not be deceivingyourselves! He will be just. We must be reaping what we sow. Thisplace is sowing the wind and it will be reaping the whirlwind. 'For Ithe Lord thy God am a jealous God, visiting the iniquity of the fathersupon the children unto the third and fourth generation of them thathate me. '"

Long Lauchie came suddenly to the surface, this time with a preciouspearl: "And showing mercy unto thousands, " he continued softly. "Oh, yes, indeed and indeed, unto thousands, mercy unto thousands!" He sankagain into the ocean of his imagination, and the tide of conversationflowed over him unheeded. 

"'Visiting the sins of the father upon the children, '" repeated BigMalcolm bitterly. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. 

There was a long silence. These men were facing a great problem in thebuilding up of this new nation, one which presented graver difficultiesthan they had met even in the toil and stress of breaking the forest. In the early days the social problem had not arisen; the settler hadbeen too busy to permit of its troubling him. He needed all his timeand strength to battle with this new land and compel her to give himhis due of bread and shelter. But now, the stern young stepmother wasyielding to those whom she recognised as worthy to be her sons, and wasrewarding them with wider pasture-lands and waving fields of grain. Now the pioneer found time to draw breath and look about him. Allthrough the years of weary hardship, homesickness for the old land hadbeen heavy on his heart and his love for it had grown. And now, withsome time for sentiment and reflection, he found his thoughts turningthither; old loves were re-awakened, old traditions revived, oldenmities fanned into flame. The still wild stretches of forest calledon all sides for wild, free action; the wind swept down over the Orohills, straight from the vast expanse of the Great Lakes, setting theblood leaping for vigorous action. Little wonder, then, that in theirfirst days of leisure men should go a few steps farther back towardsthe savage stage from which we are all such a short distance removed. And little wonder, too, that the wiser ones trembled lest their newland of promise, now so smiling, so prodigal of her favours, might bescarred with the marks of evil. 

And so, these simple seers, these men, ignorant in the world's wisdom, but many of them secure in the knowledge of One, whom to know is lifeeternal, turned in their fear and perplexity to the fountain-head ofrighteousness. 

"We must be having a prayer meeting, lads, " said Praying Donald atlength. "We could be having them all this winter, once a week, andmaybe the good Lord will be sending us a minister. "

"Eh, if we could get a meenister like auld Angus McGregor!" said StoreThompson. "Ah jist heerd him once, but it was a veesitation, aye, jista veesitation, like. D'ye mind yon sermon, Lauchie, on 'Simon Peter, lovest thou me'?"

Long Lauchie awoke from his reverie with a start. The mention of thegreat Scottish preacher set going a train of tender memories. "Eh, Mr. McGregor!" he cried, "Mr. McGregor, --eh, there will not be such mennowadays I will be fearing. He was the man of God, indeed--yes--oh, yes----"

And as he faded away into the distance, the others made the necessaryarrangements. They would hold a series of prayer meetings in the Oaand the Glen to last during the winter. Store Thompson made a feeblesuggestion that they might join the Methodists, Tom Caldwell's factionin the Flats. For Tom, who was as active at wrestling in prayer as inany other sphere, in company with the population of the Tenth, hadsecured the services of a primitive Methodist preacher, and was holdingnightly meetings in the schoolhouse, where much good was done. But thenoisy devotions of the Flats met with little favour in the sight of theOa. Praying Donald, conscious of the purity of their motive, hadvisited the Methodists once, and had now little to say in commendation. 

"They will be doing the best they know, James, " he declared, "but theLord will be taking no pleasure in tumult and confusion, and we willjist be holding our meetings at the neighbours' houses, whatever. "

And so the first meeting was arranged to be held at Long Lauchie's, and, before parting, the little group knelt about the boxes and bales, and in low, solemn tones like the breaking of waves on a rocky shore, Praying Donald besought the Eternal Father for a blessing on this newland and an instilling of the righteousness that exalteth a nation. 

The news of the meeting was spread through the community, chiefly byWeaver Jimmie; and was received with much thankfulness by most of thepeople, who had been longing all the days of their exile for somethingresembling the church services of the old land. 

When the night of the first meeting arrived, Scotty was in a state ofcarefully subdued excitement. He knew by his grandfather's manner thatthe occasion was one calling for solemnity of demeanour; but he couldnot help feeling very much worked up over the thought of going awayfrom home after dark; it made one feel almost as big and important asCallum. He could scarcely believe his senses when they covered thefire, closed the door and all drove away in the big sleigh. Granny saton the front seat beside Grandaddy, another strange circumstance, forGranny never went anywhere either by day or by night, except when aneighbour was sick. Scotty further emphasised his grown-up feeling bysitting behind with the boys; they conversed in low tones, and Callumsaid he'd "a good mind to skedaddle off into the bush. " But they wereunusually quiet. Rory even forbore to whistle, and the boy found hehad to amuse himself by peering into the silent blackness of the pineforest, or gazing up at the strip of clear star-spangled heavens thatshone between the lines of trees. 

Long Lauchie's house, which stood on a hill at the end of a very longlane, was brightly lighted and very silent. This last fact was worthyof note, for what with the misdemeanours of Long Lauchie's own sons, and the assistance they received from Big Malcolm's boys, the place hadlong been a rival of Pete Nash's establishment for noise, though, happily, it was of a much more innocent character. 

The room they entered, kitchen, dining-room and living-room, wasfurnished, like all the pioneers' homes, with the plainest necessities;but Long Lauchie's family had grown-up girls in it, and the placeshowed the touch of their fingers; a few bright rugs on the floor, andon the wall some pictures in homemade frames. Then there were some oillamps, replacing the candles, and the house was so far in the van ofprogress as to possess a stove, which added not a little to thecomfort, and detracted much from the picturesqueness, of the room. 

The family consisted of a troop of boys and girls, all ages and sizes, from big, six-foot Hector to little tangle-haired Betty. They werealready gathered, and several of the neighbours' families had arrivedand were seated on the improvised benches along the wall. There werePraying Donald's family, Store Thompson and his wife, several othersrepresentative of the Oa and the Glen, and, of course, Weaver Jimmie. 

Jimmie's face shone with soap and excitement, and his manner was aseries of embarrassed convulsions; for Kirsty John, the cruel object ofhis hopeless love, was there. A fine, big, strapping young woman shewas, with a strong face, and a pair of fearless, black eyes. She satbolt upright against the log wall, talking to Mary Lauchie, a sweet, pale-faced girl; and occasionally casting a withering glance in thedirection of the bench behind the stove, where the Weaver wasalternately striving to efface himself and to attract her attention. 

Scotty soon managed to slip away from his grandmother, and join Bettyand Peter in a corner. He found them in the same state of subduedexcitement as he was himself. Peter informed him in a joyous whisperthat there was a big cheese in the cupboard, and a johnny cake andblackberry preserves for the visitors, before they left. Scotty'sinterest in this delightful disclosure did not prevent his noticingCallum's entrance. Callum had gone with Hector to put up the team andnow came marching in, the object of many admiring glances. 

He displayed none of Weaver Jimmie's diffidence; but went straight overto where Mary Lauchie sat, and whispered in her ear, and Mary flushedand smiled and her plain face grew quite pretty. Even Kirsty wasgracious to the handsome youth, and poor Jimmie nearly twisted his neckout of joint in his jealous efforts to do something commendable in hersight. 

But all sounds were suddenly hushed, for Praying Donald was rising toannounce the first psalm:

 "I waited for the Lord my God, And patiently did bear, At length to me He did incline My voice and cry to hear. "

His deep, rumbling voice had just completed the first few lines when hewas interrupted by a clatter of bells. The door swung suddenly open, and, to the amazement of all the assembled Scots, in stalked TomCaldwell with his wife and family!

The appearance of the leader of Methodism in the stronghold of thePresbyterians was naturally unexpected; but Tom Caldwell had been veryfriendly with the MacDonalds since the day they "cleared the Glen ofPopery, " as he said, and hearing that they were about to imitate theFlats in having a season of prayer, had journeyed all the way to theOa, resolved to give the neighbours a helping hand in the good work, and infuse a little life and fire into the dead bones ofPresbyterianism. 

The leaders arose and shook hands with the newcomer solemnly, butheartily; while Long Lauchie's wife and daughters welcomed the family. 

"Sure, it's the right track ye're on, Donald!" cried Tom Caldwellheartily, as he seated himself and gazed happily about him; "the Glen'sgettin' to be like Sodom, that's what it is, an' it's mesilf thatcouldn't be lettin' the matin' pass widout comin' up an' givin' ye ahelpin' hand. We'll bring down a blessin', glory be; so let's jistfire ahead an' have a rousin' time!"

The MacDonald brethren looked at each other rather aghast. TomCaldwell's fervour, though well-meant, was a foreign element, savouringof irreverence and Methodistic confusion; but his hearty good will wasirresistible; Long Lauchie gave him the place of honour next to theleader, and the meeting commenced. 

Scotty scarcely heard the words of the psalm, for to his delight hefound that Nancy had come, too, and was there seated beside her mother. In spite of the fact that Nancy was Irish and tainted with Orangesentiments, Scotty had found it impossible to tear her from his heart. He had long since made up his mind that when he grew big he would go tosee her instead of Betty in the evenings. He wondered what Callumwould think of her, and glanced up to see that young man staring withall his might at the subject of his thoughts. Nancy was certainlyworth a stare; in spite of the fact that she was still at school, shewas quite one of the young ladies of the Flats, and when occasiondemanded could deport herself quite becoming the name. Her black, curly hair was tied up with a scarlet ribbon that matched her cheeks, her eyes were Irish blue, limpid and dancing, and she had a dimple inthe centre of her saucy chin. 

Seeing Callum so absorbed, Scotty slid softly up to him. "That'sNancy!" he whispered proudly. 

"Is it?" said Callum, with an air of surprise. "Where?"

"Why, there beside Granny, where you're lookin'. Ain't she pretty?"

"Oh, I guess so. " Callum showed an indifference that greatlydisappointed his nephew. Probably, though, he considered, Callum wouldnot think of admiring an Irish girl. 

At that moment the girl raised her eyes and glanced in their direction. She encountered Scotty's eager gaze, and returned it with a brilliant, laughing glance; then her eyes met Callum's and she instantly turnedaway with a coquettish toss of her head. Scotty felt she surely mighthave smiled at Callum, too. He glanced up at the young man again andwas rather troubled. He was sure Callum must be very angry at eitherhim or Nancy, for he had never seen his face get red like that unlesshe were in a rage. 

But, meantime, Praying Donald had finished the interrupted psalm andRoarin' Sandy had started the tune. The elder men caught it up, thenthe women, and lastly the young men about the stove, and the songswelled out slow and solemn, the deep, full-chested notes rolling outinto the winter night where the glittering stars and the solemn, silentforest seemed to give back in grand reverberations the words:

 "He put a new song in my mouth Our God to magnify!"

In the hush that followed, Praying Donald read a chapter from the HolyWord, read it in tones that arrested the most careless listener, andeven Scotty felt a little tingle go over him at the yearning words:

"As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul afterthee, O God. My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God. "

And then they all knelt in prayer, old and young, serious and careless;all bowed before the God for whom their souls, whether they realised itor not, panted as the hart for the cooling streams. 

The prayers were all the heartfelt repetition of the sentimentexpressed in the psalm. These pioneers were children in a strangeland, surrounded by new conditions, and in their wise simplicity wentas children to a father for what they most needed. After PrayingDonald came Big Malcolm, then Store Thompson, and Roarin' Sandy, andthen the leader called upon Tom Caldwell. Tom Caldwell's big Irishheart was overflowing with good-will to his Scottish neighbours; andcarried away by his emotions, he prayed long and loud and shoutedhallelujahs in a manner that rather alarmed the company. Indeed, StoreThompson's wife, who was considered quite a genteel person in thecommunity, declared afterwards that "it jist garred her ears tingle, "and Store Thompson himself, though never given to censure anyone, admitted that though Tom certainly had a fine gift of prayer, he was, "jist a wee thing tumultuous-like. "

The meeting had been very solemn and the youngest person there verywell-behaved during the earlier prayers, but after Tom Caldwell camethe host of the evening, and the young men began to grow restless. ForLong Lauchie was never so long as when at his devotions. Indeed, foryears it had been the scandal of the Oa that his sons were in the habitof slipping out during family worship to attend to the "chores" aboutthe stable, returning to appear decorously upon their knees when theirfather arose. 

At Callum Fiach's suggestion the "Lauchie boys" even arranged acompetition in which the five sons strove to see who could make thelongest excursion during prayer-time. The palm was yielded to Hughie, the third son, who crossed the swamp on skis one evening, and sawKirsty John chase the Weaver from her door with the porridge stick, arriving home, breathless but triumphant, just before the amen waspronounced. No one quite believed Hughie's story, until it wasruefully corroborated by Jimmie himself; whereupon the limit wasdeclared to be reached, and the boys turned their attention to newfields. 

But on this first prayer-meeting night, spurred on by the enthusiasm ofthe company, Long Lauchie bade fair to give his sons ample opportunityto journey through the length and breadth of the township of Oro andreturn before he was finished. The pious old man had a fine poetictemperament, and to-night he soared beyond anything his family had everheard. The petition ramified and expanded to an alarming length, andstill showed no signs of stopping. Even Mrs. Lauchie, whose chiefpride was her husband's devotional fluency, was somewhat concerned. 

There was a restless movement among the young men about the stove. Scotty twisted and squirmed and tried in vain to be still. It was verywicked to open one's eyes during prayer, he knew. Roarin' Sandy'sJohnny had told him that if he did he might see the Deil standingbehind him. And since then Scotty had been divided between dread ofthe awful apparition and a natural desire to see what his SatanicMajesty looked like. He was ashamed of his restlessness, for Callumwas kneeling beside him motionless. Callum would think him a baby ifhe moved. He peeped cautiously through his fingers at his uncle. Callum was kneeling at the bench, absolutely still, indeed, but withhis eyes wide open and staring straight at the black, curly head of TomCaldwell's daughter. 

Scotty felt that if it were not very wicked, he would like tostraighten up like that and stare at somebody, too. It looked so bigand manly. Mastering his fears, he turned cautiously in the directionof Betty, but Betty had slipped to the floor with her tousled yellowhead on the bench, and was sound asleep. Scotty closed his eyes again, the droning voice of Long Lauchie floated farther and farther away, hefelt himself going, too, somewhere, into immeasurable space, until atlast he dropped into the gulf of oblivion. He half woke to find Grannytying a muffler round his neck. He made an ineffectual effort to stopher, for she was saying, "Eh, eh, Granny's poor, wee, sleepy lamb, " andhe dreaded lest Peter should hear her; only Peter, like all the otherpeople, seemed an immeasurable distance away. Someone else was bendingover him, too, and saying, "And you'll be sure to let him come, then?"

"But I'm afraid he would jist be a trouble to yer mother, Kirsty, "Granny answered. 

"Tuts, not a bit!" was the reply. "Mother'll jist be glad o' him, an'the wee Isabel would be lonely. Ah'm glad she's comin', for mother'sjist wearin' to see her again, an' Miss Herbert's sick, poor lady. ". 

"Oh, well, indeed he can go, Kirsty, an' I hope he will not be roughwith the little lady. "

"Not him. " Scotty felt a strong, rough hand pass gently over hiscurls. "When she comes Ah'll send ye word by yon loon o' a weaver. It'll give him somethin' to do, an' the buddie's jist fair in want fora job. "

"Ah, Kirsty, Kirsty!" whispered Granny, "it's too hard ye'll be on poorJimmie. Take my advice an' marry him, he'll be a good man to you, indeed! There's the sleigh. Come, Hamish, lad, take the lamb out, hewill be jist dead asleep, whatever. "

As Scotty passed out like a sack of potatoes on Hamish's shoulder, therush of clear, cold air partly revived him. He cuddled under theblanket close to Granny, and dimly heard the good-nights as eachsleigh-load moved down the long lane, not gaily spoken as when theneighbours came in for an evening, but low and subdued, for all wereunder the spell of the season of prayer. He heard Granny say, "Where'sCallum? Don't be leaving the lad, " and a voice answered, "He's yonderhelpin' Tom Caldwell to hitch, " and then Callum sprang in, and thesleigh creaked slowly forward, and Scotty slid away once more down thedim road of dreamland. 

VI

AN IGNOMINIOUS TASK

 Into the dim woods full of the tombs Of the dead trees soft in their sepulchres, Where the pensive throats of the shy birds hidden Pipe to us strangely entering unbidden, And tenderly still in the tremulous glooms The trilliums scatter their white-winged stars. --ABCHIBALD LAMPMAN. 

Winter passed, and then came the spring, with its fresh, warm windscoming up from Lake Simcoe and sweeping away the ice and snow in a mad, joyous rush of water. 

Scotty went barefoot just as soon as there was enough bare ground tostep upon. He seemed for a time to cast aside all restraint with hisshoes and stockings, and when not in school lived a freebooter's lifein the forest. 

He and Bruce spent much time wandering, plundering and exploring fromthe edge of the corduroy road where the musk and marigolds andfleur-de-lis grew in glorious profusion all through the green andgolden depths to where the River Oro slipped from its sweet enthralmentof reeds and water lilies to go bounding away down the valley to LakeSimcoe. The whole place was a plantation of treasures and teemed withsounds of life: the blue-jay, the song-sparrow, the robin, the noisy, red-winged black-bird, the plaintive pee-wee, the far-off, clear-ringing whitethroat, the jolly woodpecker, the noisy squirrel, and the shy raccoon--Scotty knew them all intimately, learned theirways and lived their life. 

He was given to much idle roaming through the swamp, on the way to andfrom school, too, and when he went to bring home the cows he remainedlonger than even Granny could excuse. For that simple task should havebeen performed in a very short time. He could trace the cattle throughthe woods with the sure instinct of a sleuth-hound, could distinguishSpotty's tracks from Cherry's, and might have found his own littleheifer's in the midst of the public highway. But his skill did nothelp to make him any more expeditious, for he often forgot his errandand would lie full length upon the ground, gazing up into the restless, swishing, green sea above, and dreaming wonderful dreams. Callumdeclared he was a lazy little beggar and ought to be cowhided to makehim move, though where one could be found to perform that necessaryoperation the MacDonald family were not prepared to say. 

That he did not altogether develop into a little savage was entirelydue to Granny's tender care. Nowhere was the influence of herbeautiful character felt so strongly as by the little grandson. She, who could command her grown-up sons by her mere presence, and who wasslowly but surely transforming Big Malcolm's wild nature, was quietlymoulding the boy's character. Scotty early learned the great lessonsof life, the lessons of truth and right, and was well grounded in theknowledge of the things that are eternal. He could read the Biblebefore he ever entered school, and could repeat the Shorter Catechismwith a rapidity that sometimes alarmed Granny, as savouring ofirreverence. He learned a verse of Scripture by heart every evening ofhis life, and the Sabbath was a grand review day. 

Sunday was always a red-letter day in Scotty's life, for he generallyhad Granny to himself. Not that the others were away; for Big Malcolm, who generally ruled his household rather laxly, sternly forbade Sabbathvisiting. But the boys wandered off to the barn or the woods aftermorning prayers, and Big Malcolm dozed, or smoked, or read his Bible. And then Granny and her boy would climb the little hillock beside thehouse and sit under the Silver Maple. This was a fine position, forone could see Lake Oro, stretched out there blue and sparkling in itsring of forest, and far away to the south, a glittering string ofdiamonds and turquoise where Lake Simcoe lay smiling in the sun, andnow and then, where a clearing opened the view, the blue flash of theriver. And there, with the soft rustle of the green and silver canopyabove, and around the scent of the clover and the basswood blossoms, Scotty lay with his head in Granny's lap and heard wonderful stories ofOne who sat on a hill and spoke to the multitude as never man yetspake. And never afterwards, though he sometimes wandered fromGranny's teachings, did those Sabbath days lose their hold upon hislife. 

And so the spring slipped into summer, and one evening a new elementcame into his life. He was lying on the doorstone, his feet in thecool, dewy grass, dreamily watching the fireflies sparkling away downin the pasture by the woods, and listening to the hoarse cry of thenight hawks as they swooped overhead. It was a warm evening, and theleaves of the Silver Maple, still touched by the hot glow of thesunset, hung motionless in the still air. 

Rory came out with his fiddle, and, sitting with his chair tiltedagainst the house, droned out a low, sweet, yearning song for BonnyPrince Charlie who would return no more, no more. Grandaddy sat nearon a bench smoking contentedly. Since the day of the first prayermeeting at Long Lauchie's, Big Malcolm had lived a life of peace, andhad once more regained his attitude of happy, kind complacency. OldFarquhar was gone; he had disappeared when the Silver Maple was puttingforth its buds, and had gone "a kiltin' owre the brae, " as he musicallyexpressed it to Scotty; but everyone knew that he would come back inthe autumn as surely as the wild ducks went south. Indoors, close tothe candle, sat Hamish poring over "Waverley, " and Callum could beheard tramping about in the loft, preparing to go off for the evening. Callum took great pains with his toilette these evenings, Scottynoticed, though the boys did not tease him any more about going to seeMary Lauchie; indeed, there were no more good-natured allusions to hiscourtship. Instead, Scotty had overheard Rory tell Callum, in the barnone day, that "he'd go sparkin' old Teenie McCuaig, though she wasseventy and hadn't a tooth in her head, before he'd be seen going downto the Flats to see an Irish girl. " And Callum had seized him by theshoulders and flattened him up against the wall until he roared formercy. There was always something in the home atmosphere when Callumstarted off of an evening now that vaguely reminded Scotty of thoseterrible days following Grandaddy's fight in the Glen. He feltanxiously that his hero was doing something of which his familydisapproved, and wondered fearfully what it might be. 

His mind was turned from the contemplation of these difficulties by asudden change in Rory's tune. He stopped in the midst of his low, wailing dirge and struck up loudly the lively air that told again andagain of the mirth produced when "Jinny banged the Weaver. " Scottyraised his head and looked across the pasture-field. That tune alwaysushered Weaver Jimmy upon the stage, and there he was, coming over thefield, easily recognisable by his huge feet. Before he reached them, the MacDonalds could see that his face was shining with unusual joy. 

"Come away, Jimmie, man, " called Big Malcolm, "it will be a warm night, whatever. "

But the Weaver was too happy to notice anything wrong with the weather. "Hoots, it will be a fine night for all that, a fine night; and howwill you be yourself, Mrs. MacDonald?"

"Perhaps you'll find it chilly enough if you go round by Kirsty's, Jimmie, " suggested Rory. 

"Hooch!" Jimmie flung one leg over the other with more than usualvigour. "And that is jist where you will be mistaken, Rory Malcolm, Iwill jist be coming from there, " he admitted with an embarrassed quiver. 

"That's what you're generally doin'; how fast did you come?"

"Whisht, whisht, Rory, " cried his mother. "It's the foolish lad he is, Jimmie, don't be listening to him. And indeed it's Kirsty John will bethe fine girl, so good and so kind to her poor mother. And how wouldthe mother be to-night, Jimmie?"

"Oh, jist about the same, jist about the same; but, " he lowered hisvoice confidentially, "what do you suppose she would be doin' thenight?" "She" was understood to mean Kirsty; for Jimmie never daredtake her name upon his tongue. 

"Giving you a clout on the head, most like, " ventured Rory. 

The Weaver did not deign to notice him. "She would be sending me overhere on a message!" he cried, and his face shone as if illuminated fromwithin. 

"Hech! yon's good news, Jimmie!" cried Big Malcolm. "You're comin' on!"

"She'll be sendin' you on a message to another world some o' thesedays, " said Callum coming to the door, looking very handsome, ready fordeparture. 

"Oh, indeed it's yourself had better be lookin' after your ownsparkin', Callum Fiach!" cried Weaver Jimmie jovially. "You'll not belikely to find it as easy as I will, whatever. "

Callum turned away with an embarrassed laugh, Rory following him. Hedid not answer Weaver Jimmie's raillery, as he would have done underother circumstances, for he had caught a look on his father's face thatbetokened trouble. Big Malcolm's eyes flashed angrily and he took hispipe from his mouth as though to call after his son; but his wife'sgentle voice interposed. She had, so far, by her quiet tact, kept thefather and son from an open rupture. 

"And what would Kirsty be doing?" she asked, striving to keep heranxiety from showing in her voice. A spasm of joy jerked one of theWeaver's legs over the other. 

"She would be sending me over here on a message. A good sign, I willbe thinkin', " he added, lowering his voice, for the young men werescarcely out of earshot. "Yes, indeed, a good sign, I will bethinkin'. The wee lady from the Captain's came the other day and shewould be sending me to get Scotty to come and play with her. "

Scotty raised his head. "Hoh!" he scoffed, "play with a girl!"

Big Malcolm laughed indulgently. "See yon, Jimmie!" he said, "he'llnot be so anxious to go to Kirsty's as some people, indeed. "

Jimmie grinned delightedly. Nothing pleased him more than to betwitted about his devotion to his lady. 

"Oh, but he must be going, " said Granny. "The little girl would belonely and I would be promising Kirsty last winter that he would go. "

"Grandaddy don't like her uncle, anyhow, " said Scotty. Big Malcolmtook his pipe from his mouth. The boy had mentioned a fact for whichhis grandfather had excellent reasons, but he did not choose that itshould be made so apparent to the general public. 

"That will be none o' your business, lad, " he said sternly, "an' whenKirsty wants ye, ye'll go. " Scotty made no reply; he was not quite sochagrined as he would have others think. He really wanted to see thelittle girl with the yellow curls and the big, blue eyes, anddemonstrate to her that he was not English, no not one whit. 

So the next morning he set off across the swamp towards Kirsty John'sclearing. It was a relief that Grandaddy and the boys had gone for aday's work to the north clearing. This was a tract of timber on theshore of Lake Oro which was partially cleared, and upon which Callumhoped some day to settle. The distance to it was some miles, and theyhad taken their dinner and supper; so Scotty felt his disgracefulsecret was safe. 

He was a long time on the way, of course, for Bruce had gone to thenorth clearing too and his master had to do double work in racing afterchipmunks. Then he loitered purposely, for he was going for the firsttime in his life to pay a formal visit, and that to a girl. Thesituation was such as no discreet person would plunge into without duedeliberation. 

So the sun was high in the heavens when at last he saw ahead of him thegolden light that betokened a clearing, and heard the sound of farmlife echoing down the forest avenues. 

Kirsty John's farm was a small, rough clearing near the Scotch line. There were two or three fields, and in the centre of them a log shantyand a small stable. Everything about the place was very neat; forKirsty's mother was a Lowlander and one of the most particular of thatgreat race of housekeepers. The little barnyard, ingeniously fencedoff with rough poles, the small patch of grass around the doorway, theneat little flower garden, all showed signs of a woman's tasteful hand. But Kirsty could do the man's part as well. Black John MacDonald haddied some years before, leaving his invalid wife to the care of theironly child. And Kirsty's care had been of the tenderest; and if in therough battle of life she became a little rough and masculine, the poorcrippled mother felt none of it. Kirsty managed everything with astrong, capable hand, from felling trees to spinning yarn and makingbutter. She received plenty of help, of course; Big Malcolm and LongLauchie were her nearest neighbours, and their families vied with eachother in seeing who could do the most for her. Weaver Jimmie, too, would have been willing to let the weaving industry go to ruin ifKirsty would but let him so much as carry in a stick of firewood on awinter evening; but Kirsty kept her despised suitor so busy savinghimself from violent bodily injury, when in her presence, that hisassistance was not material. 

Scotty could see her now as he came down the forest path. She wasworking in the little rough hayfield, pitching up the forkfuls of hayon to a little oxcart with masculine energy. Her skirt was turned up, showing a striped, homespun petticoat, and beneath it her strong bareankles. Her pink calico sunbonnet made a dash of colour against thecool green of the woods. 

Scotty took a leap at the low brush fence that surrounded the clearingand went over it in one bound. Then he stood stock still with suddensurprise; for there, right in front of him, seated on a low stump withan air of patient expectancy, was a small figure almost enveloped in abig, blue sunbonnet. 

"Oh!" cried Scotty in amazement. 

"Oh!" echoed the Blue Sunbonnet. It came suddenly to life, leaped fromthe stump and pitched itself upon him. "Oh, oh! I've been watchingfor you just hours and hours, and I thought you weren't never, _never_coming!"

The visitor did not know what to say. He was scarcely prepared forsuch an effusive welcome, and was suddenly seized with a fit of shyness. 

"You're Scotty, aren't you?" she asked. He nodded and the visionlaughed aloud and clapped its small hands. The blue sunbonnet toppledoff, showing a shower of riotous golden curls, tumbled about indelightful confusion; her eyes, big and blue, danced with joy. "Oh, oh, I'm so glad!" she cried. "I 'membered you ever since I saw you inthat funny little shop!"

Scotty stared still harder. To hear Store Thompson's establishmentdesignated by such terms was beyond belief. 

"I 'membered your eyes!" she added, nodding confidentially. Her babyway of saying "'member" restored Scotty's confidence in himself. 

"Well, I will remember you, too, " he admitted sedately. 

She laughed again and capered about him, while he stood and looked ather rather puzzled. He did not see anything to laugh at, and did notyet comprehend that here was a creature so joyous by nature that shemust laugh and dance about from sheer spontaneous delight. 

"Oh, I'm so glad!" she reiterated for the tenth time. "I'll race youto the house!"

She darted down the hill like a swallow, her golden hair blown back, her little white bare feet twinkling over the grass. But Scotty was avery greyhound for speed. He leaped after her and in a moment forgedahead. When he had gone sufficiently far to show her how fast he couldrun, he looked back to find her limping slowly after him. The boy'stender heart, always quick to respond to the sight of pain, suddenlysmote him. He ran swiftly back. "What's the matter?" he asked. 

"A fisel, " she said plaintively, dropping upon the grass and showinghim the sole of her tender little foot. Running barefoot was not evento be mentioned at home, and she had not yet grown accustomed to the"freedom of the sod. " Scotty, whose sturdy little brown feet were shodwith leather of their own making, stared contemptuously; she mustcertainly be a baby to be hurt so easily. Nevertheless, he bent downand extracted the tormentor with the skill acquired in many summers'apprenticeship. Then he regarded her with half-disdainful amusement, his shyness all vanished. 

"Can't you say thistle?" he inquired. 

The big blue eyes regarded him innocently. "I did say fisel, " shedeclared wonderingly. 

"No, you didn't, you would jist be saying 'fisel. '"

She stared a moment, then laughed aloud, a clear little bubblingirresistible laugh, and this time Scotty laughed with her. 

He seated himself cross-legged upon the grass and proceeded tocatechise her. 

"Your name will be Isabel, won't it?"

"Imph--n--n, " the blue bonnet nodded emphatically, "Isabel DouglasHerbert, an' my mamma was Scotch, an' my Uncle Walter says I'm hisScotch lassie. "

Scotty nodded approval. He could not quite understand, however, howshe could be Scotch and live with the English gentry on the shores ofLake Oro instead of in the Oa. 

"Where does your mother live?" he inquired dubiously. 

"In heaven, " said the little one simply, "an' my papa lives there too. "

"Oh, " said Scotty, "an' my father and mother will be living there too, whatever. " He was not to be outdone by her in the matter of ancestry. 

"Do they? Oh, isn't that nice? I guess they visit each other everyday. An' you live with your granma, don't you?"

Scotty nodded. "Have you got a Granny too?"

"No, only Granma MacDonald here, but I've got an auntie an' an uncle, an' a cousin. His name's Harold. Have you got a cousin?"

"No. " Scotty's face fell. "No, I don't think I will be having any, unless mebby Callum an' Rory an' Hamish would be my cousins, whatever. "

"Who's Callum?" Scotty sat up straight, his eyes shining. Callum!Why, he was the most wonderful man in all the township of Oro; andthereupon he proceeded to give her a detailed account of the wonderfulachievements of "the boys"; how Callum was so big and so strong andcould run the logs down the river better than anyone else; how Rorycould play the fiddle and dance; and, oh, the stories Hamish could tell!

The blue eyes opposite him grew bigger. "Oh, " their owner exclaimeddelightedly, "I'm going over to your place to see you some day, an'we'll get Hamish to tell us 'bout fairies an' things, won't we? You'lllet me come, won't you?"

Scotty hesitated. A girl at home might be a great inconvenience and atbest would certainly be an embarrassment; but his whole life's traininghad taught him that one's home must ever be at the disposal of all whowould enter, and anyone who would not must be urged, even though thatperson were the niece of Captain Herbert. So he answered cordially, "Oh, yes, 'course, if you want to come. "

Miss Isabel sighed happily. "Oh, I think you're awful nice!" sheexclaimed. "And is your name just Scotty?"

"Yes!" cried Scotty, very emphatically, "Scotty MacDonald. "

"But that isn't all, is it? There's sumpfin' more?"

"No!" exploded Scotty, "there ain't! Some bad folks would be sayingthat would be my name; but it will be jist Scotty, whatever. And, " helooked threatening, "I don't ever be playing with anybody that would becalling me that nasty English name. "

His listener seemed properly impressed. "I won't never call youanything but just Scotty!" she promised solemnly. 

A call from the house summoned them; Kirsty had hurried in and wassearching the milk-house for bannocks and maple syrup. The childrenran through the little barnyard, causing a terrible commotion among thefowl, and up the flower-bordered path to the shanty door. Scotty hadnot been at Kirsty's since the summer before, when Granny took him tosee the poor sick woman who lay in bed weary month after weary month, and now he drew shyly behind his little hostess. 

"Come away, Scotty man!" called Kirsty heartily. "Come away, mother'swantin' to see ye!"

The door of the little log shanty stood open, revealing a bare, spotless room with whitewashed walls. There were a couple of oldchairs and a rough bench scrubbed a beautiful white like the floor; acurtain of coarse muslin, white and glistening, draped the littlewindow, and a picture of Bobby Burns in a frame made from the shells ofLake Oro, and another of the youthful Queen Victoria and the PrinceConsort in a frame ingeniously wrought from pine cones hung on thewall. A tall cupboard and an old clock with its long hanging weightslooked quite familiar and home-like to Scotty. But over in the cornerby the window was a sight that struck him painfully and made him drawback. An old four-post bed stood against the log wall and in it laythe shrivelled little figure of Kirsty's mother propped up withpillows. She was bent and twisted with rheumatism, like a little oldtree that had been battered by storms. But her face was brave andbright, and from it shone a pair of brown eyes with a pathetic inquiryin them as of a dumb, uncomprehending creature in pain. She wore astiff white cap on her thin grey hair, a snowy mutch covered her poorcrooked shoulders, and everything about her was beautifully neat andclean, showing her daughter's loving care. 

"Heh, mother!" cried Kirsty cheerfully, "here's Marget Malcolm's boy atlast. Come, Scotty, and mother will be seeing how big you are. "

The old woman took the boy's sturdy brown hand in her own poor crookedones as well as she was able, and peered eagerly into his face. 

"Eh, eh!" she cried musingly. "He will be some like Marget's lass, buthe's his faether's bairn; eh, he's got the set an' the look o' yon fineEnglish callant, forbye the MacDonald eyes. "

The aforementioned MacDonald eyes drooped and the rosy MacDonald lipspouted at the word English. 

"He's awful nice, isn't he, Granma MacDonald?" whispered the littlegirl. 

The old woman gazed at the little fair face, and then back at the boy. 

"Strange, strange, " she murmured, half audibly. "It's a queer warld, aqueer warld, the twa here thegither, an' ane has a', an' the ither hasnaething. Mebby the good Lord will be settin' it right. Och, aye, He'll set it richt some way. "

The children gazed uncomprehendingly at her, but just then Kirsty cameforward with a plate of bannocks soaked in maple syrup, and for a timethey gave it their absorbed attention. 

Then Kirsty soon had to leave them for her work, and after giving thechildren the freedom of the clearing, provided they did not go near thewell, she rearranged her mother's pillows very gently and returned tothe field. 

The two sat silent by the bedside. Now that their feast was over, thelittle girl looked with longing eyes through the doorway; but Scottyfelt constrained to wait a few minutes, for Granny had said thatKirsty's mother was sick and lonely and needed comforting. 

The old woman looked up with sudden brightness in her eyes. "Can yeread?" she asked eagerly. Oh, yes, Scotty could read, had been able todo so for a very long time. 

"I can read too, can't I, Granma MacDonald?" cried the little girl. "Iread to you sometimes, don't I?"

"Yes, yes, lassie, ye're jist a wee bit o' sunshine. Eh, what wouldyer puir auld Granny do if ye didna come to see her in the simmer? ButAh want the laddie to read me the wee bit that Kirsty reads me; ye kenit, bairnie?"

She pointed to the old worn Bible lying on the window sill, with adrowsy blue-bottle fly droning about it. The little girl tripped overand brought it to Scotty. 

"I know the place, Granma, don't I?" she chattered; "it's got the bluemark in it. There!" Her rosy finger pointed to a well-worn page, marked by a piece of woven scented grass. 

"Aye!" said the old woman, with a satisfied look, "that's the brightbit, lassie; Kirsty leaves a mark for Ah canna read. Eh, Ah wish Ahcould jist read yon bit. Ah wouldna mind ony ither, but jist yon. Ah'd like to see hoo it looks. " Her wrinkled face quivered pitifully, but she made a brave attempt to smile. "Read it, laddie, " shewhispered. 

Scotty took the book and read where his little friend indicated. Heread the Bible every day, and this extract was quite familiar; onewonderful story among the many of the Master's love and tendernesstowards all the suffering; Luke's beautiful tale of the poor woman whowas bent nearly double and was made whole by the potency of a Divineword. The boy droned laboriously on, and as he came to the words, "AndJesus called her to Him, " the old woman put out her feeble hand andcaught his arm, her bright brown eyes shining, her withered faceflushed. "Aye!" she whispered eagerly, "d'ye hear yon? D'ye hear yon?_He called her_! Aye!" she continued with an air of triumph, "that'sit! Sometimes Ah canna quite believe it, but ilka buddy reads it jistthe same; that's it! _He called her Himself_. Aye, an' a' the itherbuddies fleein' aefter Him, an' botherin' Him, but no her, no her! Eh, wasna yon graund! Go on, laddie, go on!" She made a feeble attempt towipe away the tear that coursed down her wrinkled cheek. 

"Eh, isna it bonny!" she cried as the boy finished. "Isna it bonny!Ah suppose Ah'm too auld to learn to read, but Ah'd jist like to readyon bit, " she said wistfully. 

Little Isabel went softly to her, and tenderly wiped away the tearsfrom the poor old face. "There now, Granma MacDonald, " she said in thetender tones she had heard Kirsty use, "you mustn't cry. MaybeJesus'll come and make you straight too, won't He?"

"Eh, lassie, " she whispered, "Ah'm jist waitin' for it. Ah'm houpin'He will. Ah'm jist a burden to puir Kirsty, an' whiles the pain's thatbad. Eh, but Ah wish He would. Surely He'd think as much o' me as o'yon auld buddy. Don't ye think He micht, lassie?"

"Course!" cried the little one with the hopefulness of childhood, "course He will, won't He, Scotty?"

Scotty hung his head shyly. 

"If Granny was here, she would be tellin' you, whatever, " he whispered. 

"Aye, that's true, mannie, " said the old woman brightening, "MargetMcNeil kens aboot Him, aye, she kens fine. Eh, but mebby He will, " shewhispered. She lay back and gazed through the little window, away overthe forest-clad hills and dales to where Lake Oro's shining expansesparkled through the jagged outline of the treetops. Her lips moved, "_He called her to Him_, " she whispered, "an' He said unto her, 'Woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity. '" She lay very still, a happylight shining in her eyes; the children waited a moment, and thenslipped softly out of doors. 

When he found himself alone once more with his new acquaintance, Scottysuddenly became shy again. But his diffidence was put to flight in asummary manner. The young lady gave him a smart slap in the face anddarted away. "Last tag!" she screamed back over her shoulder. Scottystood for an instant petrified with indignation, and then he was afterher like the wind. As they tore through the little barnyard Kirstycalled to them not to go near the well, but neither of them heard. Into the woods they dashed, over mossy logs and stones, tearing throughthe undergrowth and crashing among fallen boughs. In spite of herfleetness Scotty caught his tormentor as she dodged round a tree; heheld her in a sturdy grip and shook her for her impudence until hersunbonnet fell off. He was somewhat disconcerted to find her acceptthis treatment with the utmost good humour. Betty would have waileddismally, but this girl wrenched herself free and laughed derisively. 

"You can't hurt like Hal, " she said rather disdainfully, "he pulls myhair. "

"Well, I'll be doing that too if you slap me again, " said Scotty, grateful for the suggestion. 

"No, you won't, " she declared triumphantly, "'cause then I wouldn'tplay with you. I'd just go right back to Granma MacDonald and leaveyou all alone in the bush. An' I wouldn't show you all the placeshere. There's a king's castle an' a hole where the goblins comes outof, an' a tree where a bad, bad dwarf lives, an'--an', " she waswhispering now, "an' heaps of dreadfuller things than that 'way downthere. " She pointed into the green depths with an air ofproprietorship. Scotty felt a deep respect rising in his heart. 

He had thought he knew the forest as the chipmunks know it, but here itwas in a new and romantic aspect. 

"Where are they?" he inquired quite humbly; and, satisfied with hisdemeanour, his mentor led the way. Though the royal castle proved tobe only a rock and the other enchanted places equally familiar toScotty, she clothed them with such an air of mystery and related suchamazing tales concerning each, vouched for by no less an authority thanWeaver Jimmie, that her listener regarded them and their exponent withsomething like awe. 

They journeyed on, every new turn revealing untold wonders and givingan added stimulus to the leader's lively imagination. And indeed theforest was a place in which anyone might expect to meet a fairy or agoblin behind every tree. The happy sense of unreality lent by theuncertainty of distances, the airy unsubstantial appearance of theleaf-grown earth; the dazzling splashes of golden light on the green, the sudden appearance of open glades choked with blossoms; and throughall the ringing harmony of a hundred songsters combined to make thewoods a veritable fairyland. 

And Scotty soon found to his joy that he was to have his part ininterpreting its beauties too, for Isabel came to the end of her talesat last and was full of questions. What was that sad little"tee-ee-ee, " somebody was always saying away far off. It must be afairy too. But Scotty had come down to realities now, and felt more athome. That? Why, that was only a whitethroat. Didn't she hear how itsaid, "Hard-times-in-Canady!" She laughed aloud and imitated the song, setting all the woods a-ring with her clear notes. And what made thosebells ring up in the tree? Those weren't bells, they were just veerys, and they said, "Ting-a-ling-a-lee!" But the bobolinks had bells; theywould go back to the clearing and hear them ring in the hayfield, andthere was a meadow-lark's nest there, and lots of plovers; yes, and ifshe would come down to the creek that ran across the Scotch line hewould show her a mud turtle, and they could catch some fish, and therewas a boiling spring there, where the water was so cold you couldn'tput your feet into it, and it bubbled all the time, even in the winter. 

And then they found flowers, oh, so many flowers, big, pink, bobbingladles' slippers, and delicate orchids and great flaming swamp lilies;and there were wonderful pitcher-plants, too, with their tall crimsonblossoms. Scotty explained the workings of the perfidious littlevessels, and they sat down and watched with absorbed interest the poorfoolish insects slip happily down the silken stairway to certain death. And under Isabel's magic touch the little green pitchers becamedungeons, presided over by a wicked giant, and filled with helplessprisoners. 

And so they might have rambled in this enchanted land all day had notthe woman nature asserted itself. Isabel had had enough of fairies andgoblins. They must give up this wandering life and settle down, shedeclared. They would build a house in the fence corner and carpet itwith moss and have clam shells from the creek for dishes. Scotty hadfallen quite meekly into the unaccustomed rôle of follower and waswilling that they should go housekeeping, provided he was allowed toplay the man's part. He would be Big Wind, the Indian who lived downby Lake Simcoe, and he would go off shooting bears and Lowlanders allday, and she would stay at home and be his squaw and make baskets. ButMiss Isabel would be nothing of the kind. She did not like "scraws";they were very dirty, and came to the back door and sold their baskets. But Scotty might be a great hunter if he wanted, and she would be thelady who lived in the house, and she would cook the dinner and go tothe door and call "hoo-hoo" when it was ready, the way Kirsty did whenLong Lauchie's boys worked in her fields. 

"I see Kirsty now!" she called, seating herself upon a log which formedone side of their mansion. "I see her 'way over yonder!" Scottyseated himself beside her, flushed and heated with the unwontedexertions of house-building. 

"Oh, don't you love Kirsty, " she cried, giving him an ecstatic shake. "I do; an' I love you, too, Scotty, you're a dear!" Scotty lookedslightly uncomfortable, but not wholly displeased. 

"Don't you love to run away off in the bush like this, and have nobodyto bother you?" she inquired next. 

"Yes. " Scotty could cordially assent to that. "When I get a man, " hesaid, in a sudden burst of confidence, "I'm goin' to live in a wigwamlike Big Wind an' shoot bears!"

"Oh, my!" she cried in delight. "I wish I could live with you, only Idon't want to be an ugly scraw, I want to be like Kirsty when I growbig, an' live up here in the Oa, an' pile hay; but I'll have to be likeAuntie Eleanor an' wear a black silk dress, oh, dear!"

"Wouldn't you be liking a silk dress?" asked Scotty in surprise. 

"No!" she cried disdainfully. "You've always got to take care of it. I want a red petticoat like Kirsty wears, and I want to go in my barefeet all the time, and live in the bush. "

"Don't you go in your bare feet at home?" inquired Scotty in amazement. 

"No, " she admitted mournfully. "Auntie Eleanor says 'tisn't nice forlittle girls, an' I have to play the piano every morning, an' not makeany noise round the house, 'cause you know my poor auntie has headachesall the time. Do you know what's the matter with my auntie?"

"No. "

"Well, don't you tell, it's a big secret; she's got the _heartbreak_!"

"The what?" cried Scotty in alarm. 

"The heartbreak. Brian told me. Brian's our coachman, an' I heard himtell Mary Morrison, the cook, and he told me not to never, _never_tell; but I'll just tell you, and you won't tell, will you, Scotty?"

"No, never. Will it be like the rheumatics Granny has?"

"No-o, I 'spect not; it's when you have headaches an' don't smile noreat much; not even pie!" She gazed triumphantly into Scotty'sinterested countenance. "That's what my auntie's got. "

"Would she be catching it at school?" he inquired feelingly, moved byrecollections of an epidemic of measles that had raged in Number Ninethe winter preceding. 

"No, she just got it all by herself. She was going to be married inthe church, 'way over in England, and she had a beautiful satin dressand a veil and everything, and he didn't come!"

"Who?" demanded Scotty. 

"Why, the gempleman; he was a soldier-man with a grea' big sword, an'he got bad an' went away, an' my auntie got the heartbreak. An' that'swhy she's sick an' doesn't want me to make a noise or jump. "

Scotty looked at her in deep sympathy. "Won't she be letting youjump?" he asked in awe. 

"Not much, " she said with a fine martyr-like air. "She says 'tisn'tlady-like, an' she's going to send me to a school in Toronto when I getbig, where it's all girls, and not one of them ever, ever jumps once!"

They stared at each other in mutual amazement at the conception of awhole jumpless school. 

"I wouldn't be going!" cried Scotty firmly. "_I'd_ jump--I'd jump outof the window an' run away, whatever!"

Her eyes sparkled. "Oh, p'raps I could do that too! I'd run away an'come to Kirsty. She doesn't mind if I jump an' make a noise, an'Kirsty never makes me sew. Oh, Scotty, you don't ever have to sew, doyou?"

"Noh!" cried Scotty in disdain, "that's girls' work. "

She sighed deeply. "I wish I was a boy! Harold never has to sew, butHarold goes to school 'way in Toronto all the time an' maybe they don'tlet him jump there. _I'd_ jump!" she cried, springing from the log andlaughing joyously, "oh, wouldn't I! Last tag, Scotty!" and she wasonce more off into the woods and Scotty after her. 

Such a happy day as it was, but it was over at last, and after they hadeaten their supper, where Kirsty served it to them in their playhouse, Scotty went to the house to bid the old woman good-bye, and started forhome. 

The little girl followed him sadly and slowly to the edge of theclearing. 

"When'll you come back again?" she asked pleadingly. 

"I'll not know, " said Scotty patronisingly, "I don't often play withgirls. "

The blue sunbonnet drooped; its owner's assurance and independence hadall vanished. "You might come next Saturday, " she suggested humbly. 

"Well, " said Scotty handsomely, "mebby I'll be coming. "

"I'm going to ask Kirsty if I can't go to school with you some day!"she cried audaciously. 

Scotty looked alarmed. In reality he was most eager to return andresume housekeeping in the fence-corner, but to have this stranger goto school with him would never do. The boys would laugh at him, andalready he had sufficient trials with Betty Lauchie since Peter stoppedgoing to school. 

"Oh, it's too far!" he cried hastily, "an' there will be an awful crossmaster there!"

"I don't care, you wouldn't let him touch me, would you?"

"If you don't ask Kirsty, I'll come over all next Saturday, an' mebbyshe'll be letting you come to my place; it's nicer than school. "

So thus comforted, Isabel climbed the stump and swung her sunbonnet aslong as the slanting sunlight showed the little figure running down thefast darkening forest-pathway; and just before the shadows swallowedhim up, he turned and waved his cap in farewell. 

VII

THE AVENGING OF GLENCOE

 Now the dewy sounds begin to dwindle, Dimmer grow the burnished rills, Breezes creep and halt, Soon the guardian night shall kindle In the violet vault, All the twinkling tapers Touched with steady gold Burning through the lawny vapours Where they float and fold. --DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT. 

The sound of a tinkling bell, crossing the pasture in tuneful harmonywith the music of the summer evening, had come to a pause in thebarnyard, and the boys had gone out with their pails to the milking. 

Scotty came capering up the path from the barn, making mischievoussnatches at Granny's rosebushes, which surrounded the house all abloomin their June dresses. He seldom returned from his evening task ofbringing home the cows in such good time. Generally he lingered in thewoods until he had almost worn out even Granny's patience, and causedCallum to threaten all kinds of dire punishments, which were neverinflicted. But to-night he had been very expeditious, and with goodreason; for hadn't Granny warned him that Isabel might arrive at anymoment? She had come to Kirsty's a few days before, and Weaver Jimmiehad promised that, if the lady who ruled his heart was in asufficiently propitious mood to admit of his leaving her door intact, he would, without fail, bring the little visitor over that evening. 

She and Scotty had become quite intimate since the first summer oftheir acquaintance. Miss Isabel was possessed of a vitality and highspirits that sometimes became unbearable to her invalid aunt; so everysummer, to her own delight and Miss Herbert's relief, she was packedoff to the home of her old nurse. For Kirsty John's mother had been aservant in the Herbert family in her youth; and when the little Isabelhad been left an orphan in the Captain's family, Kirsty herself hadbeen nurse-maid to both her and Captain Herbert's little son. Sometimes, too, during the winter, when her cousin was away at school, the child came for a lengthy visit to her Highland home, for MissHerbert had often to go to the city for medical attendance, and herbrother always accompanied her, glad of an opportunity to be with hisson. Indeed, the family at Lake Oro had what Kirsty called a bad habitof "stravogin'. " She declared they were always "jist here-awaythere-away, " and never settled down like decent folk in one place. Butthen there was no accounting for the ways of the gentry, and thesepeople were half English and half Irish, anyway, and what could a bodyexpect? She was thankful herself that the wee bit lassock had somegood Scotch blood in her, anyway. Kirsty often shook her head over herlittle charge, declaring that if the father or mother had lived, oreven the Captain's wife, who was a smart, tidy body, even if she was alady, the wee one would have had better care. Not but that theCaptain's folk were fond of the lamb; Kirsty declared it was cleanimpossible not to love her; but what with a poor girnin', sick body foran aunt, and an uncle who was such a gentleman he didn't know whetherthe roof was falling in on him or not, was it any wonder the bit thingwas wild?

Whatever neglect Miss Isabel may have suffered troubled her not a whit. For neglect spelled liberty and always contributed to the generaljoyousness of her existence. Her poor aunt's illnesses, even, wereassociated in her childish mind with the keenest delight, for theybrought her what she enjoyed most in the world, many days spent in theOa. Nominally her home was with her old nurse, but she really spentthe greater part of her time at Scotty's home. And here Weaver Jimmiebecame indirectly a partaker in the joy of the little one's presence;for Kirsty entrusted her girl to him in her journeys between theclearings; an honour of which Jimmie boasted from one end of the Oa tothe other, and fulfilled his commission with a vigilance that kept hislively young charge in a state of indignant rebellion. 

In the meantime Scotty had grown to like this new comrade and torespect her. Of course she was only a girl, but she was immeasurablysuperior to Betty, for she rarely cried, was always merry, had amarvellous inventive genius and never failed of some new and wonderfulscheme for enjoying life and escaping work. His big, generous heartexperienced no jealousy, but only a great pride in her, when sheusurped his place and became the centre of interest and admiration inhis home. One visit had been sufficient to establish her as the rulerof Big Malcolm's household. Everyone came at her beck and call; Roryfiddled, Callum danced, Old Farquhar sang, and Hamish spun impossibleyarns at her command. And Granny, who was the most abject subject ofall, would fondle her golden curls, calling her Margaret, the name ofher own little girl whom she had lost, and would let her help make thejohnny cake for supper, apparently not a whit disturbed by the factthat everything in the room was strewn with flour. Big Malcolm himselfseemed to forget that she belonged to the man against whom he had swornlifelong enmity, and like the rest, opened his heart to herunreservedly. And she returned his affection with all the might of herwarm happy nature. She called him "Grandaddy, " as Scotty did, andwould climb upon his knee and coax and tease him into doing things thateven his grandson would not have dared to ask. 

The little visitor always came at a time that Scotty found veryconvenient, just when the closing of school had deprived him of DannyMurphy's companionship; and to-night he looked forward to her comingwith more than usual pleasure, for he needed her help and advice. Oflate the boy's tender heart had been worried by signs of discord athome. Something he could not fathom was wrong with Callum. That oldtrouble that had arisen between him and Grandaddy the first winter ofthe prayer meetings had been suddenly aggravated. Scotty had heardrumours at school, and was vaguely conscious of the cause of thedissension. Isabel was so quick, perhaps she could help him to findout just what was wrong and suggest a remedy. 

"Yon's a queer-lookin' thing comin' over the bars, Scotty, " said hisgrandfather, smilingly, from his place at the doorway. 

Scotty turned eagerly; yes, there was a little blue figure scramblinghastily over the fence into the pasture-field, followed by WeaverJimmie, as anxious and flustered as a hen with a wayward duckling. Ajoyous scream announced that she had really come. 

"It's her!" shouted the boy. "It's wee Isabel!"

He darted down the hill to meet her, but Callum was there first. Callum was on his way up from the barn, and the little blue figure flewto him and made the rest of the journey to the house perchedtriumphantly upon his broad shoulder, screaming with delight, andcalling upon Scotty, her own dear Scotty, to come and meet her. 

But for all his joy, as she approached Scotty drew back shyly behindthe rosebushes. The first meeting with Isabel was something of anembarrassment, for she always pitched herself upon him and insistedupon kissing him, more than once sometimes, if he wasn't watchful, andit was certainly an unseemly thing for a boy of his size to be kissedby anybody. But the ordeal was soon over, and when they had allrejoiced over her and measured her height against the door-frame, wheretwo niches showed how she and Scotty had stood last summer, and admiredher growth, and warned Scotty to take care or she would soon be as tallas he was, the elder folk gave their attention to Weaver Jimmie andleft the children to their own devices. 

As usual the Weaver was the bearer of important tidings. 

"It's a fine job Tom Caldwell thinks he's got this time!" he declaredwith an embarrassed hitch of one big foot over the other, and a rathernervous glance towards Callum. 

"What's that?" inquired Rory, coming up to the door with his two pailsof foaming milk. "We always like to know what our relations will bedoing, " he added with a sly chuckle. 

Weaver Jimmie looked more embarrassed than ever. He attacked hiswhiskers and became so absorbed in their subduing that his audiencegrew impatient. 

"Out with it, man!" cried Callum, and thus adjured, the Weaver told hisstory. When he had finished, it appeared that a much graver dangerthan a Fenian raid threatened the Glen, for what should Tom Caldwelland all those Irish louts from the Flats be up to now but anOrangemen's raid!

Big Malcolm removed his pipe and glared at the speaker. 

"What is it ye will be saying, man?" he demanded harshly. WeaverJimmie looked encouraged, and avoiding Callum's eye, he gave furtherdetails. Tom Caldwell had lately been the means of organising anOrange lodge in the Flats, and at their last meeting the brethren haddecreed that, upon the coming 12th of July, they must have acelebration. It was to be no ordinary affair either, Pete Nash himselftold him; but such a magnificent spectacle as the pioneers had neveryet witnessed. Pete had received orders to prepare dinner for fiftyguests and whiskey for twice as many. There was to be a grand rallyearly in the morning at the home of Tom Caldwell, who was to personatethe great Protestant monarch, and at high noon a triumphal march upover the hills and down into the Glen to the feast, --with fifes anddrums and a greater display in crossing the Oro than King Williamhimself had had in crossing the historic Boyne. 

Big Malcolm sat silent, his fists clenched. He was a GlencoeMacDonald, and, like all his clan, had an abhorrence of the name ofOrange running fiercely in his veins. But he was saying to himselfover and over that he who had repented of all his strife, who had sethis face firmly against the evils of the day and become a leader of thenew movement that was bringing the community into a higher and betterlife, he certainly must not be the one to stir up dissension. And yet, to have a celebration in their own glen in honour of the MacDonalds'betrayer!

"It will be a low, scandalous, Irish trick!" he vehemently burst forth. 

Weaver Jimmie's eyes brightened. "They would be needing to learn alesson, whatever, " he suggested tentatively. 

"Malcolm, " Mrs. MacDonald's voice came in gently, "we will surely notbe forgetting that Tom Caldwell would be joining us at the meetingsthese last winters, and indeed we would jist all be praying togetherthat the Father would be putting away all strife from our hearts. "

Callum cast his mother a look of gratitude; for, though generally thefirst to scent the battle from afar and hasten its approach, for verygood reasons of his own he was on this occasion strongly inclined forpeace. Big Malcolm looked at the gentle face of his wife and the firedied out of his eyes. 

"Hoh!" he exclaimed disdainfully, "I will not be caring; let them havetheir childish foolishness if it will be doing them any good, whatever!"

Weaver Jimmie looked disappointed, but, seeing no encouragement in thefaces about him, he reluctantly dropped the subject. The conversationsoon turned from war to a topic even nearer Jimmie's heart, for Roryhad brought out his fiddle and now struck up gaily the song of thecruel Jinny and the hapless weaver. 

Before the departure of the guests Scotty found an opportunity toconfide his troubles to Isabel. He could not tell her exactly what waswrong, for that meant confessing that Callum and Grandaddy were capableof mistakes. But he vaguely hinted that he was worried over theirhero. Callum was going to do something, something strange and new, butjust what he could not discover. Isabel was equally perturbed. Whynot ask Granny? she suggested. She would tell them. But no, Scottyexplained, that was just what they must not do, for it was somethingthat made Granny sad. But Peter Lauchie knew; Peter had told him thatthe shanty at the north clearing was to be fixed up for Callum to livethere, after harvest; and then he laughed and would tell him no more. 

As usual Isabel was quick to suggest a way out of the difficulty. Whyshould they not go over to Peter's place some day and _make_ him tellall about it? She wanted to see Betty again, anyway, and perhapsHughie would put up a swing for them in the barn again. 

This was a fine plan, and the next week they proceeded to put it intoexecution, and with Kirsty's permission set off early one morning for aday's visit at Long Lauchie's. Isabel was almost as well known thereas Scotty himself, so he soon managed to leave her in Betty's companyand go off to the fields to seek Peter. 

By judicious and persistent questioning he learned the confirmation ofhis fears. Yes, Peter and all the boys knew what the trouble was. Callum was to be married, and to an Irish girl at that, and of courseall the MacDonalds were highly disgusted. 

Scotty listened in dismay. Callum to be married! That itself was badenough, people were always laughed at and chaffed when they gotmarried, and he writhed at the thought of his hero being in such anignominious position. But to be married to an Irish girl! Surely theMacDonalds would be disgraced forever. 

And yet Scotty's heart forbade his taking sides against Nancy. She wasIrish, certainly a deplorable fact, but still she was Nancy; and thoughshe had not been at school for some time, the boy had not forgottenher. He sighed deeply over the complexity of human affairs. This, then, was the cause of their unhappiness at home, of Grandaddy'smuttered threats and Granny's distressed looks. 

He did not understand that there were stronger objections to Nancy inGranny's mind than the girl's nationality. Big Malcolm's wife wasgrowing old, and the work of the farmhouse weighed heavily upon her. Ever since Callum had grown up she had cherished the hope that one dayshe would have sweet, trim Mary Lauchie, the finest girl in the Oa, anda MacDonald at that, to take the reins of government in her household. The loss of Mary would have been disappointment enough, but Callum'snew choice was a great trial to his patient, gentle mother. Thethought of Nancy Caldwell as a daughter-in-law, even though she was tolive at the north clearing, instead of with her, filled her with fear. For Nancy had a reputation that had spread beyond the Flats. Since theday she left school, where she had defied McAllister at his best, shehad ruled supreme in her own home from sheer dauntlessness of spirit. Many were the tales told in the Oa of her wild outlandish doings; howshe would dress up in her brother's clothes and drive madly all overthe country; how she could ride an unbroken colt bareback, and shootlike a man, things which everyone in the Oa knew no right-minded youngwoman could ever learn. And hadn't Store Thompson's wife been, as shedeclared, clean scandalised by seeing the hussy cross the Oro at thespring floods, standing erect in a canoe and spreading out her skirtsto the gale, "Makin' a sail o' mesilf!" as she had laughingly declaredwhen she leaped ashore. 

Scotty could not force himself to tell Isabel the disgraceful truth; hewas very quiet and gloomy as they walked homeward through thegolden-lighted forest. But Isabel had had a grand day with Betty andhad forgotten all about the original purport of their visit. Shedanced along at his side full of busy chatter. Didn't he love all LongLauchie's folks? She did; for Betty was a dear and Mrs. Lauchie was'most as nice as Scotty's Granny. But she loved Mary most of all, because she was so kind and so good. And did Mary have the heartbreaktoo, like her auntie? No; Scotty did not see how that was possible;for Mary had never had a dress ready for a wedding; nor a fine soldierman who did not come. But Isabel was sure he was mistaken. Yes, thatwas certainly what Mary had, for her face was so pale, and she had thesame look in her eyes that her auntie had when her wedding day cameround, only Mary's eyes were kinder. But Scotty was not interested inMary. Callum absorbed all his thoughts, and he left Isabel at Kirsty'sand hurried home. 

He found the boys all gone and his grandfather sitting alone by thedoor. Big Malcolm was not smoking, which was a bad sign, and hisgrandson saw by the look in his eye that he was not at peace. In hisperturbation over Callum's difficult case the boy had not noticed thata new undercurrent of excitement was running through life's everydayaffairs. 

For, though Big Malcolm had, with wonderful self-control, put aside hisindignation at the Orangemen, all the MacDonalds had not done so. Weaver Jimmie had gone up over the hills of the Oa like a bearer of thefiery cross, and wherever he appeared the beacon-fire of anger hadblazed forth. The Orangemen celebrating! The MacDonalds arose as oneman, and in all the inherited fury of generations, combined with asmuch more produced for the occasion, banded together and swore thatbefore the soil of this, their new home, should be polluted by acelebration in honour of the MacDonalds' betrayer, it should first besoaked with the MacDonalds' blood!

To do Tom Caldwell justice, he did not at all comprehend the enormityof the offence he was about to commit. Of course the Orangemenanticipated some trouble among their Catholic brethren, but ratherlooked forward to it as part of their entertainment. For though PatMurphy and his friends prophesied death and destruction to theprocession and all that had part or lot in it, what matter? Thecountry had been growing far too quiet since the fighting MacDonaldshad taken to praying instead of pugilism, and a little row at thecorner would just stir things up a bit and make it seem like old times. But while they gleefully looked for tempests in the Flats, they wereinnocently oblivious to the fact that the formerly peaceful hills ofthe Oa had been converted into raging volcanoes. Occasionally vaguerumours of an eruption in the MacDonald settlement did float down toKing William and his men, drilling in the long June evenings, but theydrowned them in the tooting of fifes and the banging of drums and wentgaily on to their doom. 

But while the MacDonalds raged, Big Malcolm remained at home alone orin company with Long Lauchie, and fought with himself the fiercestbattle in which he had ever engaged. Not since the day he had seenRory go down under Pat Murphy's feet had he been so sorely tried. Andthe MacDonalds would say he had failed them because his son was aboutto unite with one of the Caldwell crew. That was the sting of it!Callum had always been the first in any aggressive enterprise of theOa, and Callum was now conspicuous by his absence. Sometimes BigMalcolm was fiercely resolved to plunge headlong into the commotion andcompel his son to join him. And then calmer moments ensued; he couldnot forget those winter prayer meetings and the wonderful leaveningeffect they had had upon the community; nor could he forget PrayingDonald's prophetic warnings that all strife and enmity must certainlybring retribution. No; he had forever put all feuds behind him, hefinally decided, and if the MacDonalds were about to engage in strifewith the Orangemen they must learn that he, Big Malcolm, was far aboveand beyond any such unseemly brawlings. 

But upon this evening when Scotty found him alone at the doorway, hisgrandfather was experiencing none of the settled calm that might beexpected to follow such a laudable decision. For to-night theMacDonalds were holding another mass-meeting at the house of Roarin'Sandy to decide finally what punishment should be meted out to thereckless Orangemen, and his very soul was crying out to be with them. 

Scotty could elicit no answer to his remarks, and sat upon thedoorstep, a small, disconsolate heap, wondering sadly how his herocould have made such a mistake, and finding in his own forlorn heart anecho of the sweet, melancholy evening music. Around him the mosquitoeswailed out their dreary little song; away down by the edge of the wet, low pastures, where the fireflies wandered, each with his weird littletorch, the frogs were piping mournfully. The whitethroat was sendingout his "silver arrows of song" clearly and pensively from the depthsof the velvet dusk. The discordant twang of the swooping night-hawkscame down from the pale clear sky where one silver star had come outabove the black jagged line of forest. 

Granny was moving about indoors; the boy could smell the sweetfragrance of the new warm milk she was straining into the pans. Theair was heavy with the scent of clover, the world was very peaceful, but very sad. 

And then, out of the soft murmurs of the summer night, there grew astrange new sound. At first it seemed merely a movement of the air, apeculiar thrilling vibration. But gradually it grew into a note, ahigh, weird musical note, alluring, electrifying. Scotty raised hishead from the grass. "What's that, Grandaddy?" he asked sharply. BigMalcolm did not answer; he was sitting bolt upright, alert, tense, listening as if for his life. For a moment the sound faded away, therewas a wondering silence. And then, suddenly, a little pine-scentedbreeze came sweeping up from Lake Oro; and on it, high, clear, entrancing, commanding, came again that wild penetrating call--thebagpipes! playing up gloriously the MacDonalds' pibroch!

Big Malcolm leaped to his feet. It was the first time he had heardthat sound since it came ringing to him over the heather moors of hisnative land. The pipes! The pipes on the hills of Oro! There wasneither prophecy nor precept, no, nor iron bands that could have heldhim at that moment. With a wild outpouring of Gaelic, he sprangforward, overturning the bench and the water-bucket by the doorstep;and, coatless and hatless, went tearing across the fields and down theroad in obedience to that imperative call. 

"Granny, Granny!" cried Scotty, running indoors in alarm, "what's gonewrong with Grandaddy, will he be gone daft?"

Granny raised her hands in amazement and stood listening. 

"Eh, eh!" she cried, "it will be the pipes! Och, och, lad, things willbe going wrong with Grandaddy now!"

The great day, the 12th of July, dawned radiant in sunshine like anyother Canadian summer day. Mr. Nash had made tremendous preparationsfor his guests. He had his family up long before dawn and by dint ofmuch fluency of language, for which he was famous, managed by eleveno'clock to have the banquet in readiness. Tables were set in thedining-room and barroom, which two chambers constituted the groundfloor of the hotel proper. The lean-to kitchen at the back wassteaming with all the good things Mrs. Nash and her daughters and theassisting neighbours had prepared; and by half-past eleven the host, ina clean shirt and his Sunday trousers, stood on the front step ready toreceive with due ceremony the expected company. 

Store Thompson's place across the way was surrounded by a crowd ofeager spectators, for such a spectacle as a procession had not beenwitnessed in the Glen within the memory of the earliest settler. Thenthere were rumours of trouble too; Pat Murphy and his friends werethere ready to produce it; and besides, everyone suspected that theMacDonalds had some scheme afoot. Store Thompson himself was excited. He had not seen Big Malcolm for more than a fortnight, and he wasanxious about his war-like friend. Surely, he told himself a dozentimes, Malcolm would never break forth into strife again after thestand he had been taking during the past few winters for the betteringof the community. And yet, as the kindly old gentleman confided toSandy Hamilton, who had stopped the mill and come up to see what wastranspiring, he could not help feeling "a wee thing apprehensive-like. "

A few minutes before twelve, the appointed hour for the procession toappear, the patience of the crowd was rewarded. Pat Murphy had justassembled his satellites in the middle of the road and was haranguingthem and, incidentally, all the township of Oro upon their duties, whena loud, shrill yell from the hilltops rent the air; there was a dullthud, thud of marching feet. The procession was coming! For a momentnationalities and creeds were both forgotten in a common desire towitness the spectacle. English, Irish, and Scotch crowded eagerly intothe road; every eye was turned towards the south hill. Yes, theprocession was certainly coming, but what was this unearthly noise itwas making? And where were the fifes and the drums? And why, in thename of all the cardinal points, was it coming down the north hill fromthe Oa, instead of from the Flats?

And then there were no more questions, but just a sea of silent facesheld upwards in gaping amazement, for out from the pine grove of thenorthern river-bank, with a shriek of pipes and a flutter of plaids, whirled Fiddlin' Archie MacDonald in full Highland costume; and behindhim, armed and menacing, tramped every available male of the clanMacDonald, from Long Lauchie's seventeen-year-old Peter, up to--yes, alas, for the new era and its reforms!--Big Malcolm himself, all inperfect time to the wild yell of the MacDonald pibroch!

Down they swept like a Highland charge, the pipes screaming out afierce challenge to anyone reckless enough to stand in their path, andawakening such warlike echoes in the Oro hills as they had not givenback since the days when they rang to the war-whoop of Huron andIroquois braves. 

And, indeed, had an army of redskins in war paint and feathers appearedupon the hill, it is doubtful if it would have created any moreexcitement. For, though the Oa was a Highland settlement, the bagpipeshad hitherto been an unknown instrument in the township of Oro. Hardwork and hard times had precluded the indulgence in any such luxury, sothe startled population of the valley witnessed for the first time thatmagnificent combination of sight and sound known as a Highland Piper. 

Upon Pete Nash the effect was almost disastrous. The expectant hosthad been fortifying himself rather copiously against the duties andtrials of the day, and his brain was in no condition to bear any suchstrain as the appearance of Fiddlin' Archie put upon it. 

At the first sound he rushed into the road, his eyes bulging withhorror, his hands held up as if to ward off a blow. For Peter had oncebeen a good Catholic and knew he was committing a deadly sin inharbouring these Orange heretics; and here, surely, were the hosts ofthe Evil One, coming with shrieks of wrath to snatch away his guiltysoul in the midst of his iniquity. His distracted wife bounded afterhim, a half-washed frying pan in one hand, a dishcloth in the other;and seeing what was descending upon them she dropped both utensils andwailed, "Och, the Powers come down, Pater! is it Gabriel's trump, then?"

No one noticed the stricken pair, for all eyes were fixed upon theadvancing column. Right up to the tavern door it marched, and when thepipes ceased with a final defiant yelp, Big Malcolm, his eyes blazing, his head erect, stepped forward and addressed the still trembling, butmuch relieved, proprietor. 

"We will be needing our dinner, Peter, " he said very mildly, "for wewould be having a long walk, and mebby some work ahead of us, whatever, so I hope you will jist be bringin' it on queek. "

There was something in the intense politeness of Big Malcolm's tonethat aroused Mr. Nash's worst fears; a MacDonald was never so dangerousas when he was courteous. 

"And is it dinner for all this raft ye'll be after wantin', MalcolmMacDonald?" he cried in alarm. "Sure, ye know I can't give ye a bitenor sup the day, man; the byes from the Flats----"

"Whisht yer tongue, Pete Nash!" Big Malcolm's suavity vanished like awisp of straw in a flame. "Bring on yer grub, man, or"--he broughtdown his big fist upon the nearest table with a crash that made boththe crockery and its owner leap--"we'll be eating your old carcass onthe doorstep!"

Mr. Nash gave a prompt and obsequious obedience. The FightingMacDonalds individually must ever be treated with respect, but theFighting MacDonalds in a body! Surely not the most vivid Orangemancould blame him in his extremity. Perhaps the distracted landlord feltthat, after all, here was a providential means of escape from the crimehe had been about to commit, for very soon he had all Glencoe seatedabout the well-spread tables, devouring the banquet prepared forWilliam of Orange. 

The MacDonalds attacked the unholy viands with a zest that not even along tramp and a pioneer appetite could quite explain. Mrs. Nash flewback and forth hospitably, explaining to her satellites, to cover upany apparent irregularity in her husband's sudden change of patronage, that indeed they were always pleased to have the MacDonalds with them, and that she, for one, was very glad to see a Scotchman dressed theright way. 

"Sure Oi've got a sister in the owld country, married to a Scotchman, thin, " she explained quite proudly to Judy Connors. "He's in a Kiltierig'ment, an' his name's Pat O'Nale, an' aw now, it was him that hadthe foine way o' swishin' his kilt whin he walked, indade!"

Meantime the feast was progressing; the great roasts of pork, the pies, the cakes, and the puddings were vanishing like the snow on a Marchnoonday, when once more the assembly outside the tavern waselectrified, this time from the proper source. For from the summit ofthe north hill there arose such a mighty banging and tooting as mighthave been heard had the new sawmill, lately built on the shore of LakeSimcoe, taken legs and gone on a mad excursion up over the Oro hills. 

Down the slope with waving banners and thumping drums rode King Williamhimself in brave array, mounted on a white steed which bore a strongresemblance to Tom Caldwell's old grey mare, and followed by a troop ofloyal subjects, all to the stirring squeak of "The Protestant Boys. "

At the sight of this magnificent army marching straight into the jawsof disaster, Pat Murphy uttered a yell of triumph that put the fifesand drums to shame. Reckless with joy, he flew into the middle of theroad, and standing there facing the oncoming multitude, his wild eyesblazing, his red beard and hair flaring out in all directions, he shookhis huge fist at the unoffending skies and called upon the sun and themoon and all things created to witness the downfall of his enemies. 

Fortunately for the usurpers, the steed of state which King Williambestrode, though old and decrepit, still adhered to a youthful habit ofshying, or the procession might never have reached the MacDonalds. But, as the old grey mare approached the raving obstacle in her path, she swerved coquettishly and King William curvetted round his enemywith royal indifference. His subjects wisely followed his example; theprocession divided and streamed noisily on both sides of the profanewedge which had cloven it, and which gallantly held its position wavingits arms and howling forth derision until the last Orangemen had sweptpast. 

But as the revellers tooted their victorious way down the streettowards the tavern, a strange sensation of impending disaster madeitself felt. The unwelcome fact began to dawn upon the Orangemen thatthe clamour about them was neither composed of acclamation, nor yet ofthe expected tumult of the outraged Murphys. 

The suspicion grew to a horrible certainty by the time theirdestination was reached, and the instant the procession halted, KingWilliam, forgetting his royal dignity, scrambled from his horse and leda hasty charge against the doors and windows of the tavern. Theirapprehension had been too correct. There, sitting at the Orangemen'sfeast, were forty-nine armed MacDonalds, while the fiftieth swept roundthe tables, his plaid flying, his kilt waving, his ribbons streaming, and his pipes shrieking as if they would fain split the roof!

It was a crucial moment for the Glen; and, looking from his vantagepoint on the verandah, Store Thompson held his breath. That theOrangemen even hesitated to pitch themselves headlong upon the usurpersshowed that in the past two years the forces that make for law andorder had been steadily working. However it might be, they hesitated. Perhaps they were assisted to a pacific decision by the sight beforethem. There is nothing so disastrous to a man's fighting qualities asan empty stomach. King William and his followers looked at theirdinner rapidly disappearing into the capacious interiors of Glencoe;they looked at the stout clubs beneath the table; they glanced overtheir shoulders at Pat Murphy and his men, waiting eagerly for theMacDonalds to strike; they gazed at the terrible spectacle of Fiddlin'Archie, whirling round the room in an eddy of defiant yells; and thesights counselled discretion, rather than valour. 

Slowly and sullenly they began to fall back from the doors and windows. Even King William was about to join the retreat when, in glaringfiercely round the tables, his eye chanced to fall upon the man whosefamily was so soon to be connected with his own. At the sight, theroyal rage, already at boiling point, burst all bounds. Sticking hiscrowned head far in through the window, and forgetting that he had madea league with the MacDonalds to bring about a season of peace andgood-will in the community, Mr. Caldwell burst into wild and profanevituperation. Commencing with Big Malcolm at the head of the table, and, taking each in turn, he roundly and lengthily denounced theMacDonalds and all their generation; and ended his mad tirade by vowingby all things in heaven and on earth that before a daughter of hisshould unite with any such scum of savagery as was produced in the Oa, her father would strike her dead!

Such snatches of the royal ultimatum as managed to penetrate the screamof the pipes the MacDonalds heard in silence. Occasionally a pair offierce eyes would dart a look of inquiry towards the leader, and onceor twice Weaver Jimmie half rose from the table; but, with wonderfulendurance, Big Malcolm held his men and himself down. He had brokenhis great resolution, but even in his abandonment he could not quiteget away from the strong influence at home. No, he would not fight, not unless Tom Caldwell pressed him too hard, and this refusal toaccept Callum into his family was nothing short of a blessing. 

At last, through sheer dearth of remaining epithets, the royal addresscame to a termination. With much brandishing of fists and shouting ofthreats, the chagrined and hungry would-be revellers melted away beforethe sound of the MacDonalds' jig and the Murphys' jeers. 

And when the last atom of the banquet had been demolished and thelandlord paid to the utmost farthing the MacDonalds arose, and, headedby their piper, went roaring up to their native hills, fired with thetriumphant assurance that they had that day performed a great andglorious deed, and that at last Glencoe had been avenged. 

VIII

THE END OF THE FEUD

 There was a time I learned to hate, As weaker mortals learn to love; The passion held me fixed as fate, Burned in my veins early and late, But now a wind falls from above-- The wind of death, that silently Enshroudeth friend and enemy. --ETHELWYN WETHERALD. 

To Scotty the days following upon the Orangemen's defeat were filledwith misery. Even when he spent the time at Kirsty's, fishing in thestreams or racing in the woods with Isabel, he could never quite forgetthat there was trouble in the lately happy home beneath the SilverMaple. For Granny's face was full of pain and anxiety, though she wasso brave and patient; and Grandaddy walked the floor at nights ortramped up and down beneath the stars, and Callum was silent and gloomy. 

Scotty did not understand just how much reason Callum had for gloom. That young man had to contend with foes both at home and abroad. TomCaldwell had lost no time, upon his return home thenever-to-be-forgotten night of the Orangemen's downfall, in making veryclear to his daughter his views upon the burning MacDonald question. Nancy had responded, with her usual spirit, by declaring that, when theday arrived, she would marry Callum Fiach if the heavens fell. Thefather understood his daughter's spirit and took no risk; the Caldwellhomestead was guarded by armed men in quite a mediaeval fashion; Nancywas kept in strict seclusion and a cordial invitation was sent toCallum to come on the wedding day with all the MacDonalds he couldmuster and take his bride. 

Callum would have gladly accepted the challenge had there been any hopeof assistance. But when Big Malcolm returned from the glorious defeatof the Orangemen, his spirit still aflame, the sight of his son, whohad taken no part in their triumph, stirred him to fierce resentment. 

"Callum!" he cried sternly, "I will be hearing no more about you andany o' yon low Eerish crew. It is not for my son to be disgracing theMacDonalds after this day's work!"

Callum's face went suddenly white and he rose from the table. "If youmean Nancy Caldwell, " he cried, "let me be telling you that I'll marryher if she was the daughter o' the Deil, himself!"

Big Malcolm rose to his feet also, and the two men faced each otherfiercely. "The day ye marry any kin to that son o' Belial, CallumMacDonald, " he roared, shaking his fist in his son's face, "you will beno more a son of mine!"

Callum laughed harshly, and flung out of doors. Scotty's big heartswelled to bursting. Grandaddy and Callum quarrelling! It was tooawful to be believed. He dared not look at Granny's face, for hedreaded what he would see there, but he crept up close to where she satby the bare table, her face in her hands, her breath coming in longsobs. Granny's heart was breaking, he was sure, and his own heart wasbreaking, too, for her, and for Callum, and for everyone. 

The days that followed did not lighten the misery. Big Malcolm'srepentance came over him like a flood of many waters. He left the farmto the care of the boys, and sat in the house, or wandered in thefields, plunged in the deepest humiliation and despair. One look athis wife's sad face would drive him to the barn or the woods, where hewould sit, Job-like, and curse the day he was born. Like Job, too, hehad three comforters who, though well-meaning and kind, served only todeepen his spiritual gloom. Neither Store Thompson's solemnadmonitions nor Praying Donald's hints of stern retribution werecalculated to relieve his mind; and when Long Lauchie came across thefields on a Sabbath afternoon to mourn over him and see dire fulfilmentof prophecy in his woeful case, he was driven to the verge ofdesperation. 

There was no pleasure at home, and whenever Scotty had an opportunityhe went visiting in the direction of Kirsty's. Isabel's companionshipafforded him much solace, and through her wonderful ingenuity came atlast a way out of his despair. 

At first he had been reluctant to confide his troubles even to her; heknew that Granny would speak of them to no one except the one greatComforter, no, not even to Kirsty's mother; so he nursed his mournfulsecret through one long miserable day. But Isabel's eyes were verybright and soon spied the trouble in Scotty's face. So one day, asthey sat on the edge of the old log bridge and swung their feet in thecool, brown water, he opened his heart fully. 

To the boy's relief she seemed to think none the less of Callum forwanting to marry an Irish girl. Some Irish people weren't bad, shedeclared. For her Uncle Walter and Aunt Eleanor were half Irish. Maybe she was some Irish herself, she generously conceded, but, atScotty's look of incredulous dismay, she hastily concluded that shemust be entirely and exclusively Scotch. But there was Danny Murphy, that nice boy who brought her the maple sugar and the butternuts, hewas Irish; yes, and old Brian, their coachman, was Irish and said"begorra, " and Brian was a dear. And very likely Nancy must be one ofthe nice Irish, or Callum would not want to marry her. And if they didnot let him marry her, then that would be an awful thing, for if Callumfailed to appear on the wedding day Nancy would certainly take theheartbreak, like Aunt Eleanor, and be sick forever and ever, and haveto lie for days in a dark room and have headaches and nasty medicine. 

Scotty's heart was wrung at the awful prospect. Was Isabel sure? Why, of course, she knew all about heartbreak and disappointments and suchthings. Scotty declared desperately that something must be done. Andwithout an instant's meditation Isabel burst forth with the brilliantsuggestion--why could they not take their pirate ship, sail down theOro to the Flats and carry Nancy off bodily?

Scotty was dazzled. This was a thrilling project, entailing, as itdid, an adventure in their wonderful vessel. For some time before theclose of school he and Danny Murphy had been copartners in a tremendoussecret enterprise. Down in the green tunnel made by the "Birch Crick, "where it foamed along through a tangle of timber and underbrush, untilit found its way into the Oro, they had discovered, early that spring, a derelict punt. This craft had come like an answer to prayer; theyhad patched it up, launched it, and, before the holidays, had spentaboard its rotten timbers days of perfectly abandoned joy. Severaltimes, indeed, they had made adventurous voyages out upon the Oroitself, and had had hairbreadth escapes, for the vessel leaked andaccidents were frequent. But every boy of Number Nine school was anamphibious animal, and such small things as shipwrecks mattered little. With the close of school these happy excursions had to be given up. Only once had the boys been on a voyage since, and then Isabel hadaccompanied them, and they had not gone far. But here was a chance togo on a wonderful tour. They would sail down to the Flats and stealNancy; perhaps they would even take a voyage down to Lake Simcoe andaway out upon the Atlantic Ocean and have fights with pirates andFenians. Scotty's ambition was fired to be away at once, but there wasone trouble--Isabel herself. She was all right at home, but her habitof hanging on to his coat with both hands when danger threatened wouldbe embarrassing in public, and he did not even dare to think what Dannywould say if he saw him in such a disgraceful plight. And then heconceived the rest of the brilliant plan himself. They would not stealNancy away this time, but they would go to the Birch Crick, and ifDanny was there they would send a message by him to Nancy, asking herif she would not like to be kidnapped, and he mentally resolved thatIsabel could be put off while he and Danny performed the glorious deed. 

Isabel, quite innocent of his traitorous plot, agreed to thismodification of her plan; and the next morning, having obtainedKirsty's reluctant permission to go on an indefinite fishingexpedition, they set off down the Scotch Line, bursting with excitement. 

The Birch Creek crossed the road, flowing cool and brown beneath theold log bridge; a fine place for paddling with bare feet, but the twoadventurers had no time for any such trivial pastime. They plungedinto the undergrowth and followed the stream through a riotousconfusion of long grasses and shrubs, where the yellow touch-me-not, the pink willow weed, the tall white turtle-head, and the blazinggolden-rod grew in a tangle of wild beauty. They scrambled along withjoyous shouts, sometimes on land, more often in the water. Frequentlythey had to stoop and crawl beneath the green canopy of birch and elmand willow that covered the stream and through which the goldensunbeams scarcely struggled to the cool, brown surface. Out in theopen spaces the dragon fly darted here and there like a little bluespear. The shy trout fled dismayed before the two noisy intruders; thewaxen blossoms of the arrowhead, the broad shining leaves andgolden-hearted blossoms of the water lily and the stately blue spikesof the pickerel weed bent before their ruthless tramping. Akingfisher, startled from his day's work by the uproarious pair, shotdown the stream, his derisive laugh echoing far through the leafyavenue. The two almost forgot the great import of their journey in itsdelight. Scotty splashed ahead, capering from fallen log to sunkenstump; and after him came his faithful follower, bespattered with mud, dripping wet, even to the crown of her golden curls, and filling theair with her joyous shrieks of laughter over Scotty's wild antics. 

And to crown their happy excursion, as they came round a sudden bend inthe stream, there came a splashing sound ahead; a welcoming shoutgreeted them, and here was Danny sailing down upon them, his red headshining like a beacon in the stern of the pirate ship! They wastedvery little time in making known the grave reason for their visit, andto their surprise they found that Danny knew much more about theCaldwell-MacDonald trouble than they did. 

Sure, wasn't his brother Mike telling them only last night that Nancywasn't allowed to go outside the gate, though she fought like a tigerabout it; and Tom Caldwell had said he'd kill Callum Fiach if he camenear the place; and Nancy had said she'd murder anybody that laid afinger on him. Nancy was good stuff, and if there was any scheme foroutwitting the Caldwells, Danny was their man. 

But this was grave news, and somewhat dampening to the ardour of theadventurous spirits. 

So they pulled the old punt up under the birches and sat in it withtheir three heads, black, gold and red, very close together, andconcocted a new plan. The line of procedure finally settled upon wasnot quite so romantic as Scotty had intended, but it answered. Dannyhad access to the Caldwell home; no one would suspect him; he must seeNancy, and offer their services as well as those of their vessel, andmeanwhile Scotty was to interview Callum, and if he had any message tosend to Nancy, then Danny would carry it. 

They all went home bursting with their prodigious secret; and Scotty, whose forest breeding had made reticence easy, never ceased all the wayhome to warn Isabel of the fearful consequences of disclosure. 

He could scarcely wait for an opportunity to speak to Callum alone, butat last supper was over and the chores all done; and he crept out tothe barn where he had seen the young man disappear. He found him inthe loft, lying gloomily upon the hay; and, hesitating and fearful lestCallum would ridicule or blame him for his interference, he made hisconfession. Callum suddenly sat up and gazed into the bright eagerface with its big sparkling eyes. He sprang to his feet. 

"Horo!" he shouted, and catching the boy up flung him over his headinto the hay; and when Scotty came laughing and breathless to his feethe was filled with amazement and concern to see that there were tearsin Callum's eyes. 

And so a letter was carried, but not without difficulties encountered. Kirsty proved the first obstacle. She declared she was just going toput a stop to such stravogin', and would not let the lass go near thatdirty crick again, for she always came home wringing wet. Isabel sweptaway this barrier in a flood of tears, and all other difficulties weremet and dealt with in an equally summary manner. Danny's dangerouspart of the task was executed with wonderful skill and an answer waspiloted safely back. 

They were all three somewhat disappointed when Callum announced thatthe proceedings must stop there. Danny was inclined to rebel, andIsabel failed to explain such conduct. But Scotty found amplecompensation for their restriction in the happy change in Callum. Hisold gaiety came back, his eyes sparkled, and he would snatch up Isabeland go leaping about the house with her perched shrieking upon hisshoulder, just as he used to do in the happy days before the Orangemencame to blight their home. 

Matters were improving in other places too. Big Malcolm's second stageof repentance, a period of prayer and fasting, had passed; he had comeonce more into his old contented state, sure of the forgiveness of hisHeavenly Father for the wrong done, and determined by His grace neveragain to fall. News reached the Oa, too, that Nancy Caldwell hadsuddenly given up her rebellious outbursts and had settled down meeklyto her fate, and Tom Caldwell boasted all over the Flats that shewouldn't take Callum Fiach if all the MacDonalds in the Oa came to backhim up. 

And so Scotty found life happy again, and he and Isabel once moresettled down contentedly to housekeeping beneath the Silver Maple. Butthe summer passed and old Brian came and took his comrade away, andScotty wept secretly in the haymow all the evening after her departure. 

The next morning he arose with a distinct consciousness of losssustained. Isabel was not the only one who had left apparently. Whenthey sat down to breakfast Callum had not yet appeared. No one markedhis absence until Big Malcolm came in from the barn. 

"Where will Callum be?" he inquired as he helped himself to hisporridge. Rory kept his eyes upon his plate, but Hamish answered in atroubled tone, "I'll not know, father. Mebby he would be at the northclearing, whatever. He would not be coming home last night. "

Big Malcolm continued his meal with knitted brows. Suddenly he lookedup and caught a startled expression in his wife's eyes. 

"What is it?" he asked anxiously. 

Mrs. MacDonald's fingers were working tremulously with the hem of herapron. "I would be thinking, " she faltered, "it will be the day--theday that was set!"

"Hoots!" cried Big Malcolm, "that will be nothing, whatever. "

But a sudden ominous silence fell over the breakfast table; this was tohave been Callum's wedding day, and Callum had not appeared. Thestillness was broken by Bruce, who rose up from underneath the tablewith the short bark that announced a well-known visitor. A shadow fellover the threshold, still pink in the glow of the rising sun. BigMalcolm looked up in surprise. 

"You will be early, Jimmie!" he called heartily as the Weaver stood inthe doorway, "come away, man, and be having a bite!"

But Weaver Jimmie shook his head; he stood at the door struggling withfeet and whiskers, and apparently more than usually overcome byembarrassment. 

"I would like to be speakin' to you, Malcolm, " he said. There was alook in his face that brought the three men instantly to the doorway. Scotty, straining his ears to catch their low remarks, could hear only, "Run-away--Lake Simcoe. " Granny arose, her face white. 

"Malcolm, " she whispered, "Malcolm, what is this about our son Callum?"

Big Malcolm turned. There was a look in his eyes that had not beenthere since the day the Orangemen were defeated; but it suddenly fadedat the sight of her white, pained face. 

"It will jist be nothing, whatever, " he said gently. "They would besaying the girl was off this morning, but Jimmie will not be sure. Come, lads. "

The four men went away without another word, passing quickly throughthe barnyard and up the path that led into the woods. The mother aroseand knelt by the bedside in the corner so long that Scotty could bearhis burden of guilt no longer. He crept up to her, and when she puther arms about him he sobbed out his dreadful secret; how he and Isabeland Danny had carried a letter to Nancy, and another one back toCallum; and perhaps that was what made Callum run away. And oh, oh, hedidn't know it was wicked or he wouldn't have done it; only she mustnot blame Isabel; it wasn't her fault. 

But Granny blamed no one. She listened gravely to his story, and toScotty's supreme relief seemed a little comforted by it. And shecomforted him, too, patting his head lovingly and declaring that he wasGranny's own boy with the big heart, indeed, and together they watchedand waited through the long dreary day for the men's return. 

But Scotty was tired out and gone to bed long before they came. He washalf-awakened in the night by the sound of voices; strange voices, too;not angry or clamorous, but hushed and solemn. Once he distinguishedGrandaddy's voice, broken as though with weeping, and Granny's, too, speaking as though she were comforting him, but with a sound in it thatmade the child's tender heart contract with pain. There seemed anawesomeness about the strange, soft movements below that sent a chillover him. None of the boys had come to bed yet; the light from belowshone up through the cracks in the floor, and he crept to the hatchwayand listened. And then he distinguished Praying Donald's low, deepvoice raised in supplication; then Grandaddy had been fighting againand they had come to pray for him. The boy crept miserably back to hisbed and, childlike, soon fell asleep. 

He awoke in the rosy dawn, when the shadows of the forest stillstretched up to the doorstep, and found to his surprise that Hamish wassitting by his bedside. He remembered with a chill the anxiety of theday and the awesomeness of the night before, and asked suddenly, "Where's Callum?"

But Hamish did not answer directly; only said that he must be good andquiet and not ask Granny any questions, and added after a secondquestion that Callum was gone away. And when would he be back? Hewould not be back, Hamish whispered, with his eyes upon the floor. Would not be back? Scotty stared uncomprehending. And where wasNancy? Nancy was with him. Had they gone to the old country? he askedin a whisper, but Hamish shook his head and turned away. The boy'sheart seemed held by an awful dread. He wanted to ask anotherquestion, and yet he dared not. But as the young man turned to go downthe stairs something in his white face opened a flood of awfulintelligence upon the boy's mind. 

"Hamish, " he cried in a sharp whisper, "is--is--Callum--dead?"

But Hamish made no reply, only gave him a glance as though he had beensmitten with a mortal wound, and went hurriedly down the stairs. 

But Weaver Jimmie told him all about it as soon as he descended. For, to his surprise, Scotty found not only Jimmie there, but many others ofthe neighbours. Store Thompson's wife sat by the bed in the corner, and Granny lay upon it white and silent. Something lay in anothercorner, stretched upon boards, a figure so muffled and still that, without knowing why, Scotty glanced at it with a feeling of terror. Grandaddy was nowhere to be seen; but Praying Donald was there, readingby the window. His deep voice, hushed to a solemn, low rumble, filledthe room; "Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and Hebringeth them out of their distresses, " he was saying, but Scotty didnot listen; he followed Weaver Jimmie out to the barn full ofawe-stricken questionings. And Jimmie, his kindly face quivering withsympathy, told him all. Yes, that still, dark form he had seen in thecorner was Callum; they had brought him home last night, and had takenNancy to her home. But Hamish had said Callum was gone, Scotty argued, and Nancy with him; had they come back then? No, they had not comeback. They had run away and tried to cross Lake Simcoe in a canoe. Astorm had come up suddenly, and though the Caldwells and theMacDonalds, who had tracked them to the shore, tried to rescue them, they were too late. And Callum was gone, gone never to come back, andNancy was with him; and if Store Thompson could get the great preacherwho had lately come to Barbay, they would bury them both in the Glento-morrow. Scotty did not hear any more; Callum to be buried, andNancy, too, to be put away in the ground as they had put Kirsty'sfather! He crept off into a corner of the haymow as soon as Jimmie hadleft him, and lay there, his curly head hidden deep in the hay, hissmall body shaken with long convulsive sobs. Callum, his Callum, Granny's hero, as well as his own, gone never to come back!

Voices reached him once, and lest he should be discovered, he pressedhis small hands over his quivering face and manfully strove to holddown his grief. Praying Donald and Long Lauchie were walking slowlywith bent heads past the open barn door. 

"It will be the will of the Almighty to be visiting us through thiscalamity, " Praying Donald was saying, "but the Father will never beleaving His children comfortless, for the man of God himself will becoming to the funeral. "

"McAlpine?" asked Long Lauchie in an eager whisper. 

"Aye, John McAlpine himself; the Lord will be very merciful to us. But, eh, eh, that the man that poor Malcolm would be praying for allthese years should be coming to us over his dead! Eh, it will be amystery, a mystery!"

IX

RALPH STANWELL AGAIN

 Johnnie Courteau of de mountain, Johnnie Courteau of de hill; Dat was de boy can shoot de gun, Dat was de boy can jomp an' run, An' it's not very offen you ketch heem still, Johnnie Courteau! --WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND. 

Scotty was setting out for what he hoped was his last winter at school. It was a performance he considered quite too juvenile, and a singleglance at him would convince anyone that it was high time he had putaway childish things. His great, strong frame, over six feet in his"shoepacks, " his brawny arms and hands, well developed under the toilof the axe and the plough, all spoke of his having reached man'sestate. But his growth had somewhat outrun his years, and he had notyet reached the age when he might with propriety remain away fromschool during the winter. Besides, he had held a conference with DanMurphy and "Hash" Tucker during the Christmas holidays to consider thematter of further education. Should they abjure the whole trivialbusiness, was the question discussed, or should they attend school thiswinter just to see what the new master would be like, and, if possible, make things lively for him?

The latter course, being the more uncertain, offered the moreentertainment and was unanimously adopted; so here was the young man, on this dazzling January morning, swinging along the silent whiteforest path, ready for any kind of adventure. 

For Scotty had arrived at a period when the unknown and the forbiddenwere the alluring, and the lawful and the restraining were the irksome. Indeed Rory was wont to grumble that that young Scot was just going toruin; he had never been made to mind anybody when he was little, andnow he was just growing up clean wild. For since Rory had given upfiddling and dancing and had settled down with Roarin' Sandy's Maggiein the north clearing he had become a very staid householder andfrowned upon all youthful frivolity. And though his prophecies wereperhaps overpessimistic, there was undoubtedly some cause fordisapproval in the matter of Scotty's conduct. Even Big Malcolm andhis wife, who, as old age advanced, were more and more inclined to makean idol of their grandson, could not quite shut their eyes to hisimperfections. He was the same big-hearted Scotty he had been in hischildhood, lavishly generous and swift to respond to the call ofsuffering; but his high spirits were sometimes too much for the narrowconfines of his life, and he was wont to break out into wild, mischievous pranks. 

During the last winter of poor old McAllister's feeble misrule, Scottyand his two leal followers, Dan Murphy and "Hash" Tucker, had contrivedto make the hard name of Number Nine notorious. So long as the threeconfined their misdemeanours to the school the public had winked atthem. Disorder and ill-behaviour always seemed associated with oldMcAllister, everyone felt; and indeed Mr. Cameron, the minister, wassuspected by most of the section to have had reference to the oldbroken-down school-teacher when he preached that solemn discourse uponthe blind leaders of the blind. As the sermon was delivered on theSabbath after Scotty and Dan had knocked over the stovepipes and almostburned down the school-house, Store Thompson declared he was "convincedof the certainty of the application-like. "

But when the boys perpetrated acts of lawlessness beyond the precinctsof school life people began to look upon them askance. Scotty haddistinguished himself rather unpleasantly on the last Hallowe'en; forbesides the usual small depredations which everyone expected on thathistoric night, someone had gone to the extremity of elevating GabbyJohnny Thompson's wagon, heavily loaded with grain, to the top of thebarn; and everyone in the Oa knew that nobody would have conceived ofsuch a daring thing except Big Malcolm's Scot. 

Of course, the neighbours could not fail to see some poetic justice inthe affair, for Gabby Johnny, who was famed for his astute bargaining, had been voicing a wailing desire for high wheat ever since that grainhad begun to grow along the banks of the Oro. Nevertheless, though theneighbours might secretly approve of such retributive acts ofProvidence, the medium through which they descended was liable to beregarded with disfavour. 

For while Scotty was growing up the social life of the Oro valley hadbeen undergoing a great transformation. John McAlpine, that greatpreacher whose words always awoke his hearers to a terrible realisationof the solemnity of life and the certainty of death, had come to theGlen with his imperative call to higher things. And at his coming theSun of Righteousness had arisen over the Oro hills and the wholecountryside had awakened to a new day. 

Other influences had been at work, too; the spirit of the pioneer dayswas passing with the forests, the little isolated circles of clearedland had widened out and merged into each other like the rings on thesurface of the Oro pools, and with the broader outlook came gentlermanners and more tolerant views. Then this young land was slowly butsurely absorbing into her own personality all the discordant elementsand making of them a great nation; for within the last few years a newrace had sprung up in the Oro valley, a race that was neither English, Irish, nor Scotch, Highland nor Lowland, but a strange mixture of all, known as Canadian. The community in the Glen had grown to quite arespectable village, the post office adding a touch of dignity andnecessitating the new name, the name of Glenoro. And best of all, there was the church just at the bend in the river, with the mansebeside it where the minister lived; and such had been its influencethat a fight at the corner now would have brought a shock to the wholetownship. 

So Scotty and his followers did not properly belong to these improvedtimes; they were mediaeval. The boy had been too young when Mr. McAlpine came to be deeply affected by his great sermons; but he hadnot outlived the stirring memory of the old fighting days when Callumkept the Oa lively. Callum was still his hero, the dear old handsomeCallum, of whom he could never think even yet without a pang of regret. Hamish and Rory had grown beyond him with the years, but Callum wasalways young and bright and dashing; and Scotty was determined to belike him and to do the great deeds Callum would certainly have done hadit not been for his untimely end. 

The bell was ringing when the three conspirators met at the schoolpump. Number Nine had a bell now, and there was even some agitationfor a new building. Poor old McAllister's wasted life had gone out theautumn before like the quenching of a smouldering fire, and now that anew man was to take his place the section was beginning to pick upcourage and look for a hopeful future. 

The young men lounged in at the end of the procession and flopped intotheir seats with the proper air of insupportable boredom. Scotty'sfirst task was to take the measure of his new instructor. At the firstglance he was conscious of a distinct sensation of disappointment. Hehad expected the stranger to be young and callow, but this man had greyhair and was apparently nearing middle age. His face, which was paleand showed signs of ill-health, was clearly cut and refined. His framewas well-built and wiry, and he had a pair of steady grey eyes and aquiet, dignified manner which seemed strangely incongruous in theposition old McAllister had so long made ridiculous. 

Nevertheless Scotty regarded him with strong disfavour. His whitecollar, his smooth hair and his English way of sharply clipping off hiswords stamped him as hopelessly "stuck-up"; and Dan Murphy reportedwith derisive joy that he had worn gloves to school, a weakness ofwhich no one who called himself a man would be guilty. Besides allthis, he had obtained his position through Captain Herbert; indeed, hehad been a close friend of the Captain when they lived in Toronto, itwas rumoured, and he probably belonged to the aristocracy, who werehated of Scotty's soul. On the other hand, he wasn't an Englishman, for his name was Archibald Monteith, that was one thing in his favour;but he stood for order and good behaviour, and the young man wasarrayed against all such. 

The new master himself was quietly taking note of his surroundings. Hehad been thoroughly informed of the bad character of Number Nine, bothby Captain Herbert and the trustees, not to speak of the unsolicitedadvice and information that had been pouring in upon him ever since hisarrival. Upon the first night of his stay at Store Thompson's, a burlyman with a great bushy head and beard had come suddenly upon him; andafter a warm handshake and welcome had given him absolute power in thematter of dealing with his family. 

"You lay it onto my Danny, " was the generous admonition. "Sure, theyoung spalpeen's mad wid the foolish goin's on, an' it's a latherin' heneeds ivery day. You mind an' lay it onto Danny!"

Quite as cordial but more ominous had been the advice proffered byGabby Johnny Thompson. In his capacity of Secretary-Treasurer of theSchool Board that gentleman felt it incumbent upon him to inform thenovice of the unsounded depths of iniquity he had to deal with inNumber Nine. His darkest hints related to "yon ill piece o' BigMalcolm MacDonald's. " A scandalous young deil he was, and Mr. Monteithwould have to keep an eye on him, for him and yon young Papish of aMurphy were a bad pair. It was young Scot Malcolm who had nearlyburned the school down, over McAllister's head; yes, and would haveburned up old McAllister, too, without a thought, he was that thrawnand ill. 

Monteith was regarding with deep interest the owner of this evilreputation. He was a rare reader of character, and understood at oncethe nature of Scotty's malady. His man's frame and boy's face, hiskeen, bright, inquiring eyes, and the signs of abounding life, allfully explained the cause of the trouble. The schoolmaster foundsomething irresistibly attractive about the boy too; there were signsof intellect in every line of his face, and he dearly loved brains. 

As the school passed out for their morning intermission he beckoned theyouth to him. Dan Murphy made a covert grimace expressive of his wholebeing's revolt against any such degrading task, and Scotty went forwardreluctantly. He wanted to disobey, but the man's courtesy held him. 

An old school register in which were written some seventy names layopen on the desk. 

"I am hopelessly entangled in all these MacDonalds, " said the newmaster, in a tone one man would use in addressing another. "Here arefour Betseys and six Johnnies, and Donalds without number. Would yoube so good as to assist me?"

Scotty's inbred Highland courtesy and the generous desire to help whichwas part of his nature, impelled him to answer politely. Striving toignore the violent pantomime being enacted by Dan in the porch, he gavethe man the key to the situation. His big finger ran awkwardly downthe page as he gave the name by which each pupil was known. Thestranger listened in some amusement and not a little bewilderment tothe list: Roarin' Sandy's Donald, Crooked Duncan's Donald, Peter ArchieRed's Donald. They were rather unwieldy, but he planted them downheroically, and then proceeded to disentangle the Murphys and theTuckers after the same fashion. 

"I am very much obliged to you, " he said with the same quietseriousness when the work was finished, and Scotty took his seatwondering if the new master ever smiled. Most likely that grave, unbending manner was just the natural outcome of his inevitablystuck-up nature, he reflected. 

Affairs went harmoniously enough until school was dismissed for thenoon recess. As soon as the word was given dinner-pails were seized, bread-and-butter, meat, pie, and cake began to appear and disappearagain with equal rapidity; a crowd of the bigger girls madepreparations for brewing tea on the stove; and before the new mastercould get on his overcoat and gloves preparatory to leaving, dinner waswell under way, and the room was filled with a strong aroma of tea andpork. 

Scotty had gone to the door to administer a farewell snowball to theunclassified aliens who went home to the village for dinner. A promptanswer came hurtling back, and as he dodged into the porch with aderisive yell of laughter, he barely escaped knocking over the newmaster. He hastily stepped aside to let him pass, but the man paused. 

"I forgot to ask you your own name, among all the others, " he said, more for the sake of engaging the youth in conversation than to gaininformation. "You are a MacDonald, too, I believe?"

Scotty had long passed the time when he felt his English name adisgrace. Of course he would have preferred one of another sort, buthe scarcely thought of it now, and most of his schoolmates hadforgotten that he possessed one. And, in the face of this grave man'scourtesy, he felt it would be childish to pretend, so he answered, notwithout some dignity, "No, my name will not be MacDonald, it will beStanwell, Ralph Stanwell. "

The new master's grey eyes grew suddenly narrow; he was well acquaintedwith all the small tricks to be played upon a newcomer, and had many atime seen this one of a fictitious name successfully practiced. He hadbeen prepared to find this boy hard to manage, but he was disgustedthat he should descend to such a small, childish prank. He knewScotty's name only too well, and, in any case, for a youth with amarked Highland accent, dressed in the grey homespun which seemed theuniform of the clan MacDonald, to stand before him and give himselfsuch a name as this was as stupid as it was insulting. 

"That is a very clumsy lie, " he remarked quietly. 

Scotty dropped his snowball and stared; for a moment he did not quitecomprehend. 

"What?" he cried artlessly. His look of innocent amazement doubled hislistener's indignation. 

"I said, " returned the man very distinctly, "that you have told me alie, and a very stupid one, for I know your name to be Scot MacDonald, and a rather notorious one you have made it, too. "

And turning his back in disgust, the new master walked quietly down thesnowy road. For an instant Scotty stood glaring after him, every dropof his rebellious blood tingling. He snatched up his snowball againand took aim. If he could only smash that conceited looking hat, orbetter still, the insufferable white collar! But there was somethingin the commanding air of the figure that went so steadily onward, notdeigning to look back, that held the boy's arm. 

Instead, he sent the missile crashing into the last remaining pane inthe porch window, and went leaping into the school, determined to findDan and relieve his feelings by working some irreparable damage. 

The schoolhouse was in a condition to invite depredations. Late in theprevious autumn, as soon as the news of the new master's expectedadvent had come, the matrons of Number Nine had organised ahousecleaning campaign in the school. Store Thompson's wife, thatqueen of housekeepers, headed the expedition against dirt, and even theminister's wife took part. The former lady had long declared that thecondition of the schoolhouse was clean ridic'l'us, and now demandedthat something be done to better it, for as the new master was comingfrom the Captain's he was sure to be a gentleman, and most like wouldbe terrible tidy. 

So the army of housekeepers had charged down upon the schoolhouse, andsuch a washing and cleansing and renovating as took place had certainlynever been paralleled except when the spring winds and waters cameswirling down the Oro hills. The poor little building was scarcelyrecognisable when it emerged from its baptism of soapy water andwhitewash. The big girls added an artistic touch by decorating thespotless walls with cedar boughs, until the place smelled as sweet asthe swamps of the Oro; and to crown all, the minister presented it witha fine picture of Queen Victoria to be hung above the master's desk. 

And this was the immaculate condition of the place where, when hisdinner was finished, Scotty's roving eye sought something upon which towork off his burning indignation. 

It had always been the custom heretofore in Number Nine to employ thenoon recess tearing round the room in a cloud of dust, yelling, throwing ink and breaking furniture. But to-day the awe of the newmaster had had a restraining influence, and most of the wilder spiritshad betaken themselves to an outdoor campaign. So there were only afew of the smaller pupils and the larger girls grouped round the stovewhen Scotty started his new enterprise. The cedar wreath above thedoor was quite dry and rather dusty and offered a fine field for aunique exploit. Lighting a splinter at the stove, he set fire to thegarland, allowed the flames to mount up, and just as they threatened toget beyond his control, beat them out with his cap. The girls shriekedin horror; Betty Lauchie screamed that he was a wretch, and theminister himself would be after him, and Biddy Murphy vowed she'd pullevery hair of his worthless head out for him if he tried it again. ButScotty was joyously reckless and quite beyond fear of even Miss Murphy. 

When Dan returned from the slaughter of the Philistines, who lived overon the Tenth, he found his chum the centre of a wildly excited group, and engaged in beating out his third conflagration. Dan wasimmediately fired to emulation. He would be disgraced forever in theeyes of the Flats if he allowed Scotty to get ahead of him, and alreadythe room was filling with admiring MacDonalds and envious Murphys. So, in spite of the imploring shrieks and commands of the girls, he strucka match and soon had the festoons along the wall crackling merrily. When this rival blaze was extinguished Hash Tucker stepped into publicnotice. Considering his blood and breeding, this son of the house ofTucker should have been a phlegmatic Saxon. But no one can say whatCanadian air will do with the blood; and under its influence Hash hadlong ago commenced a reversion to type, the aboriginal wild Indian. Whatever Scotty or Dan did therefore, that he could outdo. Seizing aburning brand from the stove, he scrambled up on the teacher's ricketyold desk, and the next moment the triumphal arch, reared in honour ofthe new master's coming, was in a blaze. But just as he reached up tobeat out the flames he was gripped violently round the knees, and downhe came to the floor, Scotty on the top of him. Hash roared lustilyfor his followers; the Tenth responded gallantly, Scotty was engulfedin their on-rush, and, to help on the good work, Dan Murphy headed arescue party from the Oa to extricate his friend from the yelling heap. 

What the outcome of this affray might have been is doubtful, but justat its inception a terrified cry of "fire, " from the remainder of theschool parted the combatants. They came to their feet to find theflames leaping up the walls, and clouds of smoke rolling through theroom. 

It was no joke this time and the boys wasted not an instant. Scottyleaped from the floor to head an impromptu fire brigade, and for a fewmoments they worked desperately. They dragged down the burningbranches and flung them out of doors; they flew to and from the pump, they flung snow and water among the flames, and after a short butdesperate struggle the fire was conquered. 

It was all over in a few moments, and the victors stood, begrimed andbreathless, and rather ruefully surveyed the havoc they had unwittinglywrought. The lately spotless walls were scorched and blackened, thedecorations depended from the fastenings, charred and ugly, and thefloor was swimming in inky water. 

"Horo!" cried Scotty, with a long, dismayed whistle. 

"It'll be bad for the gent's white collar if he comes in here, " saidDan solemnly. "Murderin' blazes, who's that?"

Now, it happened that by an evil chance Gabby Johnny, theSecretary-Treasurer, had been driving past the school on his way to thewoods, and seeing smoke issuing from the windows of the building overwhich he considered himself the especial guardian, he stopped his teamand rushed upon the scene, and there he stood now, in the silent crowdof frightened girls and sobered boys, gazing at the devastation withsuch an expression of aghast horror, that at the sight of him allScotty's compunction vanished and he laughed aloud. 

Gabby Johnny peered through the smoke and discerned his enemy, evidently rejoicing over his evil work. 

"Ah, ye ill piece!" he shouted, stepping up to the boy and shaking hisfist in his face, "Ah kenned it was you! Aye, Ah kenned! If there'sony scandal'us goin's on ye'll be in it! It's an evil end ye're comin'til, wi' yer goin's on; aye, that's what ye are! Ye neither fear God, nor regard man! Sik a like onceevilised----"

Now Gabby Johnny was prepared upon all occasions to prove his right tohis sobriquet, and Dan Murphy well knew he would not stop until he haddriven Scotty to extreme measures, so here he mercifully interfered inhis friend's behalf. He had no mind to defy a trustee, so, being of adiplomatic turn, determined to divert the tide of wrath by the simpleexpedient of producing a counter-irritant. He slipped out quietly fromthe line of culprits, and snatching up a well-packed snowball hurled itstraight and true at the team standing in the road. The missile was ahard one, and the nervous young colts, their heads erect, theirnostrils indignant, went jingling off down the road, their heelssending a fine snowstorm over the old bobsleigh, leaping in their wake. 

Gabby Johnny heard his bells and his eloquence suddenly ceased. At thesame instant Dan burst in upon him, his eyes starting from his head, his breath coming in gasps. 

"Sure, your team's runnin' away!" he bawled. "They're runnin' away! Ican't stop them; they're gone clane wild!"

Gabby Johnny waited neither to hear nor deliver more. He darted outand down the road, followed by a hailstorm of snowballs and the joyfulcheers of Number Nine. And as he went he howled breathless anathemas, alternately at his wayward horses and back at the yelling mob behindhim, both couched in language little calculated to raise the moralstatus of the already besmirched school. 

But the boys' trouble was not over; they returned from the rout of thetrustee only to find the new master entering the scene of destruction. He stood and looked about him with a manner just as quiet, but nograver, than usual. 

"How did the fire start?" he asked calmly. 

The dauntless three stepped forward, headed by Scotty. In the old daysconfession to McAllister did not appear in the code of schoolboyhonour; but there was something about this man, even though Scottycordially hated him, which demanded fair dealing. The new masterlooked them over in a manner that was hardly complimentary. Hiseyebrows rose. 

"Children!" was all he said, but the word made Scotty writhe. Then hedid not scold or rave as the boys half-wished he would. He quietlydismissed all but the three culprits, and saying he would give themthat afternoon and the next day to bring the school back to thecondition in which they had found it, and that done, he would preferthat they remain at home under their parents' control for a month orso, he turned on his heel and walked away with an air that said plainlythat this was no affair of his and was regarded by him with calmindifference. 

The boys were completely taken aback. Hitherto school discipline hadconsisted exclusively of thrashings, which though uncomfortable hadsome honour attached. But here was a new departure; to have to undoall one's mischief, and then be contemptuously dismissed was a seriousaffair. The new master acted as though he were the King of Englandtoo, and certainly, with Gabby Johnny at his back, he was not to betrifled with. 

When the three arrived the next morning, armed with whitewash andbrushes, Dan and Hash were rather inclined to feel subdued, but not soScotty. In his home discipline was not so rigid as in that of theother two, and his grandparents had not even heard of his escapade. And his heart was still raging hot against the new master. The man haddared to tell him he lied! The remembrance of it and Monteith's air ofcalm superiority maddened him. How he longed to knock him down andhear him take back his statement. Well, he could not do that, itseemed, but he would wreak his vengeance in some other way. 

So with Scotty in this mood the work of reparation did not go on verysteadily. His two companions tried to attend to business, but soonfound it impossible. They were alone in the forest with unlimitedwhitewash; and with Scotty inciting them to deeds of daring, how couldthey resist? They started by enduring their leader's pranks, and endedby embracing them, and when their morning's task was completed not evenMcAllister's ghost, could it have appeared, would have recognised itsold haunts. 

Yet no one could say the boys had not done their work, for they hadwhitewashed the school with a thoroughness even Store Thompson's wifewould never have attempted. The only fault was the lack ofdiscrimination shown by the decorators. Some critics might haveconsidered the coating of the floor and the desks a work ofsupererogation. But the boys were not stingy; they whitewashedeverything with an impartial and lavish generosity; the walls, theceiling, the blackboard, the furniture. Yes, even the stove andstovepipes were rubbed until they fairly radiated whiteness, and stoodout spectrally in their pallid surroundings, like the ghost of somedeparted heater. Scotty gave the new master's desk an extra coat, andeven polished up a stray book and dinner pail, unluckily left behindthe day before, just to have them in harmony with their environment. 

When at last the work was finished and the three bespattered workmenprepared to depart, Dan declared in an oratorical address deliveredfrom the top of the master's snowy desk, that they had nobly done theirduty, for had they not carried out the new master's instructions andwhitewashed the school?

And when they turned the white key in the white door and stole off inthree directions through the forest, bursting with mirth, they vowedthey had not experienced such a season of pure joy since the nightGabby Johnny's waggon had arisen, like Charles's Wain, in the heavens!

X

IN THE REALMS OF GOLD

 Not to be conquered by these headlong days, But to stand free: to keep the mind at brood On life's deep meaning, nature's altitude Of loveliness, and time's mysterious ways; At every thought and deed to clear the haze Out of our eyes, considering only this, What man, what life, what love, what beauty is, This is to live and win the final praise. --ABCHIBALD LAMPMAN. 

Upon his return home, Scotty went out behind the house to work off someof his superfluous mirth upon the woodpile. He had flung aside hiscoat and was swinging his axe vigorously, when, with the quickness ofthe rural eye which always spies an approaching figure, he noticed aman turn in from the highway and walk briskly up the snowy lane. Theboy gave a low whistle; his face grew dark with anger. It was the newmaster! He had found out the condition of the school then, and hadcome to report to his grandparents. McAllister at his worst was betterthan this fellow, for McAllister was no sneak. But even in his anger, he chuckled mischievously when he considered what an exhibitionMonteith would surely make of himself if he attempted to lodgecomplaints with Big Malcolm against his grandson. 

But instead of turning up the path to the door, the new master followedthe track that led round the house under the Silver Maple. 

At first Scotty was of a mind to dodge round the woodpile and escape;but he was too late; Monteith had already caught sight of him; so hewaited, sullen and defiant. 

The new master lost no time in making his errand known. 

"I came to offer an apology, Ralph Stanwell, " he said gravely, "forwhat I said concerning your name. I found out my mistake only thisafternoon. "

Scotty's defiant air changed to one of amazement; his eyes fell, hefelt suddenly ashamed. 

"I hope you will accept an explanation, though it does not at all atonefor what I said, " continued the schoolmaster earnestly. "I am trulyashamed of myself for making such a stupid blunder. "

Scotty squirmed in embarrassment. He had never in his life witnessedany such dignified reparation of a wrong, and in contrast, his own lateconduct looked childish and almost barbarous. 

"Oh, it will not matter, whatever, " he stammered abruptly, and in amanner much more ungracious than his feelings warranted. 

"But it does matter very much. It was no way for one man to speak toanother. "

Scotty experienced a glow of mingled pride and shame; the new masterconsidered him a man then, and he had not played the man's part! "But, you see, " continued Monteith, "I felt so sure. It was your Highlandaccent, and your--your general MacDonald appearance that to myignorance made your statement unbelievable. "

The schoolmaster had unwittingly struck the right chord. 

Scotty smiled shyly but amicably. "Oh, it will be jist nothing, " hesaid generously. 

"Won't you shake hands, then, and let me feel I am quite forgiven?"

But Scotty did not put out his hand; he stood shifting from one foot tothe other, looking down at the heap of chips. 

"But--I--would you not be knowing?" he faltered. 

"Knowing what?"

"That we--that I would be making the schoolhouse worse than ever?"

There was a sudden light in Monteith's eyes that would have surelyconvinced Scotty, had he seen it, of the new master's ability to smile. 

"Well, perhaps that will help to even things up a little, " he saidbrightly. "Come, are you willing to call it quits?"

Scotty put out his big hand swiftly, and felt it caught in a strongbony grip. And as their hands met Monteith's stern face suddenly brokeout into an unexpected smile, a smile so brilliant and kindly that theboy felt it illuminate his whole being, and from that moment he was thenew master's friend. 

"And now, " said the man, suddenly becoming grave again, "will you tellme how you come to have two names? How does a Highland Scot like youhappen to have such a name as Stanwell?"

Scotty gasped; was he going to ignore the whitewashing altogether?

"It would be my father's, " he answered simply, "but I would always beliving here with my grandfather, and I was always called MacDonald. "

"Ralph Stanwell, Ralph Stanwell, " repeated the schoolmasterruminatingly, "I've heard that name before. Why, yes; I wonder if youare any relation to the Captain Ralph Stanwell I once met in Toronto. The name is not common. "

"My father died there, and my mother, too, " was the answer. 

The new master stared. "Surely, surely, " he was saying, half tohimself, "it couldn't be possible; but his wife's name was MacDonaldtoo! And Herbert always said the child died!"

Under the man's steady gaze Scotty fidgeted with his axe in combinedamazement and embarrassment. 

"Was your father's second name Everett?"

"Yes, and that will be mine, too. "

The new master stared harder. 

"Well, well, well, " he muttered, "I wonder if he knows!"

The boy stood lost in a wild speculation. By some queer trick ofmemory he was back once more in Store Thompson's shop, a littlecurly-headed fellow, and felt a man's kind, playful hand upon hiscurls; and at the sound of his name saw a smiling face grow suddenlygrave with amazement, fear and defiance chasing one another across it. How was it that, all through his life, his English name seemed alwaysto produce consternation?

Monteith shook himself as though awakening from a dream. 

"I beg your pardon, " he said hastily, "your name called up some oldmemories. And now, I must be going. " He held out his hand again. "Good-bye, and I thank you for your generosity. "

"But--but you will not be leaving without your supper!" cried Scottyaghast. 

"Thank you, but your grandparents are not expecting me, and----"

Scotty stared. "But what difference would that be making?" he askedartlessly. "It will be all the better. " The new master smiled againat the unconscious hospitality of the remark, and this time acceptedthe invitation. Scotty instantly flung aside his axe, and led the wayaround to the door. 

Monteith had already learned to expect a warm greeting from theinhabitants of the Oro Highlands, but he had yet to experience a trueScottish-Canadian welcome, and was almost overwhelmed by the one hereceived in the old house under the Silver Maple. 

Big Malcolm met him at the door and made him welcome in a manner thatsomehow made the guest feel that the old man owned the whole townshipof Oro and was laying it at his feet. Mrs. MacDonald drew him up tothe fire, bewailing the long cold walk he had had, and pulling off hisovercoat, calling all the while for Scotty to run and put more wood inthe stove that she might make a fresh cup of tea. Hamish came hurryingup from the barn to shake the guest's hand and make him welcome yetagain, and even Sport, Bruce's successor, leaped round him, barkingjoyously, as though he understood that the arrival of a visitor was thebest possible thing that could happen. 

Then, there was Old Farquhar, still cackling incoherent Gaelic from thechimney corner. Before the visitor had got the snow swept from hisfeet the old man inquired if he had read Ossian's poems, and findinghim in the depths of ignorance regarding that great bard, turned hisback upon him in disgust, and for the remainder of the afternoon snoredgrumpily. 

The hostess explained apologetically, as she brought the new master asteaming cup of tea, that indeed poor Farquhar was the nice, kind body, but he had had the toothache all last night and would be terrible seton Ossian. 

Mrs. MacDonald was growing too old for the household cares devolvingupon her, and Scotty being her chief help, the housekeeping did not atall compare with what Monteith was accustomed to in his boarding placeat Store Thompson's. But he was conscious of no lack in the dingy oldhouse. He recognised the inherent refinement of Mrs. MacDonald'snature, and bowed to it; he knew Big Malcolm for a gentleman the momenthe spoke; and he saw, too, something of the mystic in Hamish. For inlater years there had grown an expression in Hamish's kind brown eyeswhich the schoolmaster understood--the look of a soul that has longedto soar, but has been kept down by narrow limitations. 

Then the supper was spread upon the table, and it was all the visitorcould desire; porridge in brown bowls, smoking and fragrant, sweetwhite bread, and bannocks with plenty of maple syrup. And afterwards, when the supper was cleared away, and Scotty and Hamish had finishedthe milking, they all gathered about the stove, which now stood infront of the old discarded fireplace. First the schoolmaster had totell of his life and lineage, during which recital he proved hisScottish blood to everyone's satisfaction. There did not seem to bemuch to tell of his past doings, though in response to the simple, kindly questionings, he gave it all. He had been born in Scotland andwas quite alone in Canada, except for Captain Herbert, who was an oldfriend, and whose wife had been a distant relative. He had studied lawfor some years, but his health had failed before his course wascompleted. Then he had knocked about the world a good deal, and hadcome north at Captain Herbert's advice to see if the Oro air would notdo him good. 

"Indeed, and it will that!" Big Malcolm declared heartily. "Jist youeat plenty o' pork and oatmeal porridge and you'll be a new man in notime. Hoots, when we would be coming here first folk would never besick like now-a-days; and indeed it wasn't often a man died except atree would be falling on him, whatever. "

"Those must have been fine times, " said the schoolmaster smilingly; andthereupon his host and hostess launched into long tales of the olddays, when the forest came up to the door, and of those older andhappier days in the homeland across the sea. 

Big Malcolm and his wife lived much in the past now, and, when theguest displayed a kindly interest in their history, they opened theirhearts even to speak of Callum, their light-hearted, bright Callum, whose end had been so untimely. The schoolmaster heard also the mannerof his death; how it had brought the great preacher, and how in thedouble grave in the Glen by the river one of the Fighting MacDonalds, at least, had buried all his feuds. And they told him, too, of theironly daughter, the beautiful little Margaret, who had been Scotty'smother. Monteith asked many questions concerning her, and Scottylistened eagerly, but his new friend offered no explanation of hisinterest. 

When it was time to depart, Big Malcolm was for insisting that heshould spend the night with them; but when he declared that he mustreturn to the Glen, or Mrs. Thompson would be worried, his hostessseized the teapot again, and another supper was spread out, of whichthe guest had perforce to partake before leaving. 

That finished, Big Malcolm reverently laid aside his bonnet, and Scottybrought him the old yellow-leaved Bible. The old man read the 103dPsalm in a triumphant tone that showed he had passed all histemptations and trials, and now in a serene old age his soul blessedthe Lord for His guidance. 

And then they sang a Psalm, Old Farquhar coming out from his corner tojoin them. They sang it in English, in deference to the guest's lackof Gaelic, and the brown rafters rang to the solemn old Scottish tunein harmony with the beautiful words:

 "Oh, taste and see that God is good: Who trusts in Him is bless'd!"

And listening, the man of the world experienced a vague sensation ofsomething like regretful envy. Had he not, in his broader life, missedsome uplifting joy, some great blessing in which these old peoplerejoiced?

While Monteith was taking a lingering farewell and promising a speedyreturn, Scotty went to a corner and lit the lantern, and in spite ofthe schoolmaster's protests, insisted upon accompanying him for a mileto show him the short road across the swamp. 

The two walked side by side along the snowy path, the lantern flashingfitfully amongst the bare branches and dark boles of the trees. Monteith chatted away pleasantly, but Scotty answered only inmonosyllables. He was employed in making desperate efforts to bringabout some allusion to the condition of the schoolhouse. But the newmaster seemed to have totally forgotten school affairs, and when theycame to the end of the forest path and stood upon the Glenoro road, saying good-night, this strange man had not in the smallest wayrecurred to the shameful subject. Scotty was in despair. "It would bea fool's trick we were doing!" he burst forth, as Monteith held out hishand in farewell, "if we could jist be having another day----" Hestopped overcome. 

The new master did not seem to need an explanation of this apparentlyirrelevant speech. "Could you fix it all up in one day?" he inquiredin a business-like manner. 

"Oh, yes!" Scotty gasped eagerly, "easy. "

"All right, we'll take to-morrow; I'll come over and help you. Good-night!"

And he turned away, leaving his pupil standing in the middle of theroad amazed and humbled. 

Number Nine learned during the following week that for someinexplicable reason the MacDonalds, whose hand had hitherto beenagainst every other man's hand, were on the side of the new master, andthat anyone who gave him trouble was courting dire calamities at thehands of Big Malcolm's Scot. As a direct result the fiat went forththat Dan Murphy, and consequently all his generation, also approved ofthe new rule. Subsequently the Tenth announced its neutrality; andfrom that time the new era, which had arisen at the building of thechurch in the social world of the Oro valley, dawned in the schoolhousetoo, and the land had rest from war. 

To no one did the new dispensation bring greater things than to Scotty. Ever since the days when all knowledge and wisdom could be extracted, by persistent questionings, from Hamish, he had experienced anunslakable thirst for books. He had been much more fortunate infinding reading material than his uncle had been, for Captain Herbert'slibrary was always at Scotty's disposal. Every summer and winterIsabel came to Kirsty's laden with books, and what feasts she andScotty had reading under the boughs of the Silver Maple or beforeKirsty's fire! Dickens, Scott, Thackeray, Macaulay--they devoured themall; and once, by mistake, she had brought some books by a wonderfulman named Carlyle, which she declared were dreadfully stupid, but whichScotty found strangely fascinating, though somewhat beyond hisunderstanding. 

But Isabel had been away at school for more than a year now, and thoughshe wrote Scotty voluminous letters, which he answered at shamefullylong intervals, and only when Kirsty's reproaches goaded him to theeffort, she had almost entirely passed out of his life. 

So when there had been no more books to read he had turned his restlessenergies into less profitable channels. But now, here were not onlybooks of all kinds, but a man ready and willing to interpret them. Scotty heard no more of the sentence of expulsion, and with the energythat characterised everything he did, he plunged headlong into a courseof study far beyond any public school curriculum. Monteith was firstamazed, then delighted, and lastly found he had to set himself severetasks to keep sufficiently ahead of his pupil. 

And in return for his pains Scotty gave an allegiance to his masterthat had in it something of homage. Not the gay, reckless Callum washis hero now, but this quiet, self-controlled gentleman. Unconsciouslythe boy copied him in every particular, and unquestioningly adopted hisopinions. Monteith had seen the world, had lived in cities, and evenin that magic land, "the old country, " and surely he should be anauthority. Scotty early learned that the new master despised thetavern, not quite in the way Store Thompson and the minister and hisgrandfather did, as a force of evil, but in lofty scorn of its lowness. 

In consequence the boy was never found hanging about its doors anymore. And though the teacher said nothing about his religious views, the pupil soon learned and adopted them too. Monteith treated allcreeds with a good-natured tolerance. The Bible, he declared, was agrand piece of literature, and he liked to go to church because Mr. Cameron's sermons gave him some intellectual stimulus. Religion hecharacterised chiefly as an emotion. A man needed only common sense toshow him how to live, he declared. Scotty felt that this was the creedfor him; he had come under Monteith's control at a period when he wasin revolt against all earlier restraint and rejoiced in the feeling ofindependence which the new belief brought. 

The two soon became fast friends in their common pursuit of learning. When the second winter came, and Scotty had become too old for school, he and Monteith studied together in the long evenings, and each monthof companionship served to deepen their friendship. But in spite oftheir intimacy the boy never elicited any explanation of his friend'sstrange behaviour when he first realised that Scotty's name wasStanwell. Monteith was always careful to call him Ralph, but heforebore from any allusion to the subject; and as the days went happilyon the matter dropped from the boy's thoughts. 

XI

THE WEAVER'S REWARD

 Love came at dawn when all the world was fair, When crimson glories, bloom and song were rife; Love came at dawn when hope's wings fanned the air, And murmured, "I am life. "

 Love came at even when the day was done, When heart and brain were tired and slumber pressed; Love came at eve, shut out the sinking sun, And whispered, "I am rest. " --WILLIAM WILFRED CAMPBELL. 

And just as Scotty entered manhood a wonderful thing happened in theHighlands, something that amazed the neighbours and convinced them ofthe instability of all things, particularly of a woman's resolution, for Kirsty John promised to marry the Weaver. All these weary years, as faithful as the sun and as untiring, Jimmie had been climbing thehills to the Oa to shed the beams of his devotion unheeded at Kirsty'sdoorstep; but now the long period of Jacob-like service was over, forhe had at last won his Rachel. 

Some declared that this was only a new method Kirsty had found fortormenting her hapless lover, and that after they were tied up shewould lead him a dog's life. But Long Lauchie's girls--there werestill girls at Long Lauchie's, though a goodly number of matrons lookedback to the place as their old home--declared that Jimmie no longerdodged when Kirsty passed him, and that he even entered her housewithout knocking. And Big Malcolm's wife would shake her headsmilingly at all the dark predictions and declare in her quiet, firmway that indeed they need never fear for Jimmie. 

And she was right; the Weaver was not undertaking any such hazardousenterprise as the neighbours supposed. For a change had come overKirsty the winter she lost the frail little mother, and only BigMalcolm's wife knew its depth. All Kirsty's bold courage, all herfearless fight with poverty, had had for its inspiration the poorsufferer on the bed in the corner of the little shanty, and when thespring of action was removed there went also the daughter's dauntlessspirit, and nowhere was the change so strongly evinced as in thispromise to marry the Weaver. 

Kirsty's grief had no bitterness in it. It had softened her greatly, for the little mother's death had been as beautiful as her patient, pain-filled life. And wonderful it seemed that, like that other womanwho had suffered so long before, just eighteen years of pain had beencompleted when the Master called her to Him and said in His infinitelove, "Woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity. "

"But you will surely not be leaving me, " pleaded Kirsty brokenly whenher mother told her the end could not be far off. "Ah've nobody butyou. "

"Eh, ma lassie, ye'll be better wi'oot such a puir auld buddie, jist aburden to ye a' these years. "

"Oh, mother, mother, ye'll surely not be talkin' that way to me, "sobbed her daughter. 

"Eh, eh, lass! There, there! It's naething but the best Ah could sayto ye, Kirsty. " The weak old hand was fumbling feebly for Kirsty'sbowed head. "For, eh, ye've jist been that guid to yer mither, theLord'll reward ye; Ah've nae fear o' ye, Kirsty, He'll reward ye. "There was a long silence in the little room. The fire flared up in theold chimney, the clock's noisy pendulum went tap, tap, tap, loud andclear in the stillness. "Read it tae me jist once mair, Kirsty, " shewhispered. Kirsty arose and fetched the old yellow-leaved Bible fromthe dresser. She did not need to be told what she was to read. 

"Aye, " whispered the old woman with a gleam of triumph in her eyes, "aye, He called her; an' it's jist eighteen year. Aye, eighteen! Eh, it's been a long time, Kirsty, " she continued as her daughter seatedherself at the bedside again, "eh, a weary time, an' the pain's beenthat bad, whiles, Ah wished He would tak' it awa, but Ah didna ask Him. No, no! She didna ask Him, an' Ah jist waited like her, an' it'seighteen year, and Ah think He'll be callin' me. .. . Read it, Kirsty. "

Kirsty opened the Book; her eyes were blinded with tears, but she hadso often read that passage that she knew it by heart. She wasfaltering through it when a timid step sounded, a crunch, crunch on thesnow outside the door, and a low tap, scarcely audible above the noiseof the clock, announced Weaver Jimmie. Old Collie, lying before thefire, so accustomed to Jimmie's approach, merely uttered a gruff snort, as though to apprise all that he was well aware that someone hadarrived, but did not consider the visitor worthy of his notice. But asKirsty opened the door he thumped his tail upon the hearthstone. 

For the first time in his life Weaver Jimmie realised that Kirsty wasglad to see him, and his heart leaped. But he choked at the sight ofher grief-stricken face, and could only stand and look down at hisgreat "shoepacks" in the snow. 

"Will ye bring Big Malcolm's Marget, " whispered Kirsty, "mother's----"She stopped, unable to say more, but more was unnecessary, for, eagerto do her bidding, Jimmie was already off across the white clearing andwas lost to view before she could shut the door. 

Kirsty went softly back to the bed. 

"Was it Jimmie?" whispered her mother. 

"Yes. "

"He's a kind chiel, Kirsty. Ye must marry puir Jimmie, ma lassock, he's got a guid hert, an' he'll mak' ye a kind man, an' Ah'll no befearin' for ye. " She paused, and then came the whisper, "Read it. " SoKirsty read it to her for the last time, the sweet old story that hadcomforted the poor, pain-racked woman and upheld her in patience andfortitude for eighteen weary years of suffering. And when at the endof the story came those gracious words bearing a world of love anddivine compassion, "And Jesus called her to Him and said unto her, Woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity, " Kirsty paused. Hermother always interrupted there, always broke in with a word oftriumph, a renewal of the firm faith that for eighteen years hadforbidden her to ask for relief. But as she waited now there came nosound, and, looking up, she saw that the Divine Healer had loosed thisother woman from her infirmity and made her straight and beautiful inHis kingdom of happiness. 

And so Kirsty, always kind and true-hearted, had been made better andmore womanly by her trial; and although she kept her faithful suitorwaiting for a couple of years more, she yielded at last and the Weaverreceived his reward. 

As if to be in keeping with the time of life at which the bride andgroom had arrived, the wedding day was set in the autumn; the softvaporous October days when the Oro forests were all aflame. 

Kirsty had refused to leave her little farm; so Jimmie, well content, had a fine new frame house built close to her old home; and as soon asthe wedding was over he was to bring his loom from the Glen and theywould begin their new life together. 

Kirsty declared that he might bring the loom any day, for there was tobe no nonsense at her wedding; they would drive to the minister's inthe Glen by themselves, and she would be home in time to milk the cowsin the evening. 

But when she saw the bitter disappointment a quiet wedding would be tothe prospective groom, she had not the heart to insist. For yearsJimmie had buoyed up his sorely-tried courage by the ecstatic pictureof himself and Kirsty dancing on their wedding night, he the envy ofall the MacDonald boys, she the pattern for all the girls; and thoughneither he nor his bride were any longer young, he still cherished hisyouthful dream. And then Long Lauchie's girls came over in a body anddemanded a wedding and a fine big dance, and even Big Malcolm's wifedeclared it would hardly be right not to have some public recognitionof the fact that there was a wedding among the MacDonalds. 

And so, laughing at what she called their foolishness, Kirsty yielded, and the girls came over and sewed and scrubbed and baked, and Scottyand Peter Lauchie gathered in the apples and turnips and potatoes andraked away all the dead leaves and made everything neat and tidy forthe great event. 

And the day actually dawned, in spite of Weaver Jimmie's anticipationthat some dire catastrophe would befall to prevent it. A radiantautumn day it was, a Canadian autumn day, when all the best days of theyear seem combined to crown its close. The dazzling skies belonged toJune, the air was of balmiest May, and the earth was clothed in hues ofthe richest August blooms. The forest was a blaze of colour. Thesumachs and the woodbine made flaming patches on the hills and in thefence-corners. The glossy oaks, with their polished bronze leaves, andthe pale, yellow elms softened the glow and blended with the distantpurple haze. But Canada's own maple made all the rest of the forestlook pale, where it lined the road to the bride's house, in rainbows ofcolour, rose and gold and passionate crimson. 

Early in the afternoon high double buggies, waggons, and buckboardsbegan clattering up the lane to Kirsty's dwelling. And such a crowd asthey brought! In the exuberance of his joy Weaver Jimmie had biddenall and sundry between the two lakes. And besides, everyone in the Oawent to a MacDonald wedding, anyway. Invitations were always issued ina rather haphazard fashion, and if one did not get a direct call, itmattered little in this land of prodigal hospitality, for one alwaysbestowed a compliment upon one's host by attending. 

Long Lauchie's girls took the whole affair out of Kirsty's hands andarranged everything to their hearts' desire. The cooking and washingof dishes was to be done in the old house, while the double ceremony ofthe marriage and the wedding dinner was to be performed in the newestablishment. 

This place was gaily decorated with the aromatic boughs of the cedar, dressed with scarlet berries and crimson maple leaves. A table at oneend held the wedding presents. This was the work of the Lauchie girls, too, for Kirsty felt it was nothing short of ostentation to put up tothe public gaze all the fine quilts and blankets and hooked mats theneighbours had given her towards the furnishing of the new home. Butthe girls had their way in this as in all other arrangements, and mostconspicuous in the fine array were a Bible from the minister and a setof fine gilt-edged china dishes from Captain Herbert's family. 

And amidst all this splendour sat the bride, sedate and happy, arrayedin a bright blue poplin dress and the regulation white cap. 

Beside her sat Jimmie, his arm about her in proper bridegroom fashion, but loosely, for Kirsty was not to be trifled with, even on her weddingday. He sat up, erect and stiff, strangling ecstatically in a flaringwhite collar, and striving manfully to keep his broad smiles fromoverflowing into loud laughter, for poor Jimmie's belated joy borderedon the hysterical. His magnificent appearance almost eclipsed thebride. He wore a coat of black, such as the minister himself mighthave envied, a saffron waistcoat, and a pair of black and whitetrousers of a startlingly large check. His hair was oiled and combedup fiercely, his red whiskers waged a doubtful warfare for first placewith the white collar, his big feet were doubly conspicuous in a pairof red-topped, high-heeled boots which, unfortunately, met the trousershalfway and swallowed up much of their glory. But as both could not beexposed, Jimmie, evidently believing in the survival of the fittest, had allowed the boots the place of honour. 

Scotty drove his grandmother over to Kirsty's early in the morning, forthe bride said she must have her mother's old friend with her all day;and when he returned in company with Hamish, his grandfather, and OldFarquhar, it was almost the hour set for the ceremony. 

The wedding guests had already gathered in large numbers, many of themstanding about the door or in the garden--matrons in gay plaid shawls, with here and there a fantastic "Paisley" brought out, for this festiveoccasion, from the seclusion of some deep sea-chest; men, weather-beaten and stooped, in grey flannel shirtsleeves, showing anoccasional genteel Sabbath coat from the Glen; bright-eyed lasses, withgay touches of finery to brighten their young beauty; youths in heavyboots and homespun clothing, gathered in laughing groups as far fromthe house as possible; and everywhere babies of all sizes. 

Scotty left a crowd of his friends at the barn and went up to the houseto look for Monteith. The schoolmaster had spent the precedingSaturday and Sunday with his friends at Lake Oro, but had promisedJimmie faithfully that he would not miss the wedding. As the young manswung open the little garden gate and came up the pathway between rowsof Kirsty's asters he caught sight of his friend standing in thedoorway of the new house, and gave a gay whistle. Monteith looked upquickly, but instead of answering he turned to someone inside the house. 

"Here he is at last, " he called, "come and see if you think he's grownany. "

And the same instant a vision flashed into the little doorway, a visionthat nearly took away Scotty's breath--a tall young lady in a bluevelvet gown with a sweet, laughing face and a crown of golden hairovershadowed by a big plumed hat, a lady who looked as if she had juststepped out of a book of romance; a high-born princess, very remote andunapproachable, and yet, somehow, strangely, enchantingly familiar. 

The vision apparently did not want to be remote, for it came down thesteps in a little, headlong rush, casting a pair of gloves to one sideand a cape to the other, and caught hold of both Scotty's hands. 

"_Scotty_! Oh, oh, Scotty, _dear_!" it cried; and then it was nolonger an unapproachable heroine from a story-book, but just Isabel;Isabel, his old chum, and something more, something strangelywonderfully new. 

Scotty did not return her welcome with the warmth he would have shown afew years earlier. He stood gazing down at her as if in a dream, andthen the red came up under the dark tan of his cheek and overspread hisface. He dropped her hands and looked around hastily, as if he wantedto escape. But Isabel dragged him up the garden path in her old way, deluging him with questions for which she never waited an answer. Shehad seen Granny Malcolm and Betty and Peter, and she had been afraid hewasn't coming. And, oh, wasn't it an awfully long time since she hadseen any of them? And didn't he think he was very unkind not to haveanswered her last two letters? And she had been away at school allthis endless time, not home to the Grange even in the summer! And, oh, how glad she was to get back! And how he had grown! Why, he was agiant! And had he missed her? She had missed him just awfully, forHarold was away all the time now. And wasn't it just too perfectlylovely for anything that Kirsty and Jimmie were getting married, andthat he and she were together at the wedding?

Scotty stood and listened to these ecstatic outpourings, his headswimming. He was enveloped in a rose-coloured mist, a mist in whichblue velvet and golden hair and dancing eyes surrounded and dazzledhim. One moment he was a child again, and his little playmate had comeback, and the next he was a man and Isabel was the lady of romance. And while he stood in this delightful daze someone came and took thevision away; he thought it was Mary Lauchie, but was not sure. Whenshe had disappeared into the new house he awoke sufficiently to noticethat Monteith was standing at the door regarding him with twinklingeyes, and for the second time that afternoon he blushed. 

The crowd was beginning to gravitate towards the new house, and Scottysoon found an excuse to enter also. It hadn't been a dream after all, for she was there, sitting close by Kirsty, holding her hand, andsurrounded by the people who made up the more genteel portion ofsociety in the Oa and the Glen. A little space seemed to divide themfrom the common crowd, and she sat, the recognised centre of the group. Scotty noticed, too, that even Mrs. Cameron, the minister's wife, treated the young lady with bland deference, quite unlike her manner ofkind condescension towards the MacDonald girls. As he watched thegraceful gestures and easy well-bred air of his late comrade, Scottywas suddenly smitten with a sense of his own shortcomings; he wasrough, uncouth, awkward. Isabel belonged to a different sphere; shewas far removed from him and his people. It was the first time he hadrealised the difference, and he felt it just at the moment that itfirst had power to hurt him. He experienced a sudden return of the oldwild ambition that used to shake him in his childhood when Rory playeda warlike air. And then he wanted to slip out and go away from thewedding feast and never see Isabel again. He glanced at her again, andfelt resentfully that she must surely be guilty of the sin of "pride, "which so characterised the class to which she belonged. 

But he had soon to change his mind. The blue eyes had been glancingeagerly about the room, and as soon as they spied him their owner aroseand came crushing through the throng towards him. For though Scottywas distrustful, Isabel's frank simplicity of nature had not changed inher years of absence. Her happiest days had been spent in the Oa, andher return to her old home with its sense of welcome and freedom meantmore to the lonely girl than he could realise. Practically she hadbeen brought up among the MacDonalds, and at heart she was one of them. 

Scotty saw her approach in combined joy and embarrassment, and just ashe was trying to efface himself in a corner he found her at his side. She wanted to talk about the good old times, she whispered, as shepulled him down beside her on the low window sill. "They were just theloveliest old times, weren't they, Scotty? And don't you hate to begrown up?" she asked. 

Hate it? Scotty gloried in it. It was a new birth. He tried to sayso, but Isabel shook her head emphatically. 

"Well, I don't, and you wouldn't in my place, for I can't run in thebush any more. Aunt Eleanor bewails me; she says I've been spoiled byKirsty, for I can't settle down to a proper life in the city. Thebackwoods is the best place, isn't it, Scotty?"

He drew a long breath. "Do you mean you'd really like to come here andlive with--with Kirsty again?" he asked. 

"Oh, wouldn't I?" she cried, her eyes sparkling so that Scotty had tolook away. "It was never dull here. Don't you wish I'd come back, too?"

Scotty felt his head reeling. "I--don't know, " he faltered ungallantly. 

"You don't know?" she echoed indignantly. "Scotty MacDonald, how canyou say such a mean thing?"

Scotty looked up with a sudden desperate boldness. 

"Because I wouldn't be doing any work if you were here, " he exclaimedwith a recklessness that appalled even himself. 

Isabel laughed delightedly. "That's lovely, " she cried. "Do you know, I was beginning to be afraid, _almost_, that you weren't just very gladto see me, and--and you always used to be. You _are_ glad I came, aren't you, Scotty?"

Like a timid swimmer, who, having once plunged in, discovers his ownstrength and gains courage, Scotty struck out boldly into theconversational sea. 

"It was the best thing that ever happened in all my life, " he answereddeliberately. 

She was prevented from receiving this important declaration with theconsideration it deserved by a sudden silence falling over the room. The minister was standing up in the centre of the room, clearing histhroat and looking around portentously. The ceremony was about tocommence, and all conversation was instantly hushed. Mothers quietedtheir babies, and the men came clumsily tiptoeing indoors. Wheneverpossible the more ceremonious precincts of the house were left to themore adaptable sex, the masculine portion of such assemblies alwaysretiring to the greater freedom of the barn and outbuildings. Now theycame crowding in, however, obviously embarrassed, but when the ministerstood up, book in hand, and a hush fell over the room, the affair tookon a religious aspect and everyone felt more at home. 

Mr. Cameron moved to a little open space in the centre of the room, andbade Kirsty and Weaver Jimmie stand before him. Mary Lauchie, pale anddrooping as she always was now, stood at Kirsty's side, and Jimmie hadthe much needed support of Roarin' Sandy's Archie, now the mostfashionable young man in the Oa, who was resplendent in aromatic hairoil and a flaming tie. Jimmie was white and trembling, but Kirsty wascalm. Only once did she show any emotion, when she had to search forher neatly-folded handkerchief in the pocket of her ample skirt to wipeaway a tear--a tear that, all the sympathetic onlookers knew, was forthe little mother who had said so confidently she had no fears forKirsty's future. 

At last the minister pronounced them one, and the friends gatheredabout them with their congratulations, and, to the delight of all, whatshould Miss Herbert do, after hugging the bride, but fling her armsabout the bridegroom's neck also and give him a sounding kiss! Ifanything could have added to Jimmie's pride and joy at that moment, this treatment by Kirsty's little girl would certainly have done so. 

And then came the wedding supper, the tables set out with the preciousnew china dishes and weighed down and piled up with everything good theMacDonald matrons knew how to cook. The bride and groom sat closetogether at the head of the long table, Jimmie's affectionatedemonstrations partially hidden by the huge wedding cake. The ministersat at the foot, and after a long and fervent grace had been saideveryone drew a deep breath and proceeded to enjoy himself. 

There was a deal of clatter and noise and laughter and running to andfro of waiters. In the old house where the work was going on, andwhere there was no minister to put a damper on the proceedings, therewere high times indeed; for Dan Murphy was there, and wherever Dan wasthere was sure to be an uproar. Scotty was responsible for the youngman's presence; he had invited Mr. Murphy on the strength of his ownrelationship to both contracting parties, knowing a warm welcome wasassured. So, with an apron tied round his waist, Dan was making a finepretence of helping Betty Lauchie wash dishes, his chief efforts, however, being directed towards balancing pots of boiling water inimpossible positions, twirling precious plates in the air, and otheroutlandish feats that added a great deal to the enjoyment, but verylittle to the competence, of the assembled cooks. 

Scotty joined the army of workers in the shanty, but he had left theblue vision seated at the table between his grandparents, and hisculinary efforts were not much more successful than Dan's. His chumtried to rally him on his absent looks, and made a sly allusion to theeffusive greeting of the young lady from Lake Oro. But Scotty met hiswell-meant raillery with such unwonted ferocity that he very promptlysubsided. 

In the new house, where the elder guests were gathered about the table, affairs were much more ceremonious, for all the genteel folk theneighbourhood could boast were there, and Jimmie's face shone withpride as he glanced down the splendid array. 

The bridegroom's joy seemed to permeate the whole feast. There wasmuch talk and laughter, and, among the elder women, a wonderful clatterof Gaelic. For only on such rare occasions as this had they a chanceto meet, and there were many lengthy recountings of sicknesses, deaths, and burials. 

Long Lauchie, as usual, was full of vague and ominous prophecies. Hisremarks were chiefly concerning the wedding feast to which those whowere bidden refused to come, with dark reference to the man who had noton the wedding garment; neither of which allusions, surely, pointed toeither Weaver Jimmie or his marriage festivities. Near him, in alittle circle where English was spoken, Praying Donald and the ministerwere leading a discussion on the evidences of Christianity. There wasonly one quarter in which there were signs of anything but perfectamity, and that was where a heated argument had arisen between OldFarquhar and Peter Sandy Johnstone upon the respective merits of Ossianand Burns; a discussion which, in spite of the age of the disputants, would certainly have ended in blows, had it been in the old days when amarriage was scarcely considered binding without a liberal supply ofwhiskey. 

But Kirsty's wedding, happily, belonged to the new era, and theminister, glancing round the well conducted assemblage and recallingthe days, not so far past, when most of the Highlanders enlivened anyand every social function, from a barn-raising to a burial, withspirits, heaved a great sigh of gratitude. And Store Thompsonunconsciously voiced his sentiments when he declared, in a neatlyturned little speech, that the occasion was "jist an auspiciousconsummation-like. "

There were several other speakers besides the minister and StoreThompson, and each made the kindliest allusions to both bride andgroom; but, like the true Scots they were, carefully refrained frompaying compliments. There were songs and stories, too, stirringScottish choruses, and tales of the early days and of the great doingsin the homeland. Then Big Malcolm's Farquhar, who had long ago come toregard himself in the light of the old itinerant bards, sang, likeChibiabos, to make the wedding guests more contented. He had but asingle English song in his repertoire, one which he rendered with muchpride, and only on state occasions. This was a flowery love-lyric, entitled "The Grave of Highland Mary, " and was Farquhar's one tributeto the despised Burns. It consisted of a half-dozen lengthy stanzas, each followed by a still lengthier refrain, and was sung to an ancientand erratic air that rose and fell like the wail of the winter winds inthe bare treetops. The venerable minstrel sang with much fervour, andonly in the last stanza did the swelling notes subside in anynoticeable degree. This was not because the melancholy words demanded, but because the singer was rather out of breath. So he sang with somebreathless hesitation:

 "Yet the green simmer saw but a few sunny mornings Till she, in the bloom of her beauty and pride, Was laid in her grave like a bonnie young flower In Greenock kirkyard on the banks of the Clyde. "

But, when he found himself launched once more upon the familiarrefrain, he rallied his powers and sang out loudly and joyfully:

 "Then bring me the lilies and bring me the roses, And bring me the daisies that grow in the dale, And bring me the dew of the mild summer evening, And bring me the breath of the sweet-scented gale; And bring me the sigh of a fond lover's bosom, And bring me the tear of a fond lover's e'e, And I'll pour them a' doon on thy grave, Highland Mary, For the sake o' thy Burns who sae dearly loved thee!"

It did not seem the kind of song exactly suited to a hymeneal feast, but everyone listened respectfully until the old man had waveredthrough to the end and called, for the last time, for the lilies, theroses and the daisies; and before he had time to start another Fiddlin'Archie struck up "Scots Wha Hae, " and the whole company joined. 

When everyone, even to the last waiter in the old shanty, had been fedand the tables were all cleared away, Scotty deserted Monteith, andonce more took up his station on the window sill where he could catchglimpses of Isabel's golden head through the crowd. He could see shewas the object of many admiring glances; the MacDonald girls stoodapart whispering wondering remarks concerning the beauty of her velvetgown, and even Betty Lauchie seemed shy of her old playmate. Nevertheless, when, upon spying him in his corner, Isabel came againand seated herself beside him, Scotty forgot all differences betweenthem and blossomed out into friendliness under the light of her eyes. For she had clear, honest eyes that looked beneath the rough exteriorof her country friends and recognised the true, leal hearts beneath. Yes, she was the same old Isabel, Scotty declared to himself, andsomething more, something he hardly dared think of yet. 

He sat and chatted freely with her of all that had happened since theyhad last met, her life in a ladies' boarding school and his progressunder Monteith's instruction, and he found that with all her schoolinghe was far ahead of her in book knowledge. Then there were pastexperiences to recall; the playhouse they had built beneath the SilverMaple, the mud pies they had made down by the edge of the swamp, theexcursions down the Birch Creek, and the part they had played in poorCallum's sad romance. 

"And what are you going to be, Scotty?" she asked. "Don't you rememberit was always either an Indian or a soldier, a 'Black Watcher' you usedto call it? You ought to go to college, you must be more than preparedfor it since you've learned so much from Mr. Monteith. "

Scotty's eyes glowed. A college course was the dream of his life, sleeping or waking. But he shook his head. 

"I'd like it, " he said, trying to keep the gloom out of his voice, "butthere's not much chance. "

"Oh, dear, " sighed the girl, "things seem to be all wrong in thisworld. There's Harold now; Uncle Walter fairly begged him to go tocollege, but he went only one year. "

"Where is your cousin now?"

"He's in the English navy, and poor Uncle frets for him. He's anofficer too. I can't imagine Hal making anybody mind him. I alwaysused to be the 'party in power, ' as Uncle Walter used to say when Halwas home. "

Scotty laughed. "I expect he'd have a hard time if he didn't let youhave your own way, " he said slyly. 

"Now, Scotty, you know you didn't let me have my own way, now, did you?But somehow, I think I was always in a better humour at Kirsty's here, I didn't have anyone to bother me. "

"I know what I'd like most to be, " said Scotty, with a sudden burst offeeling. 

"What?"

"A Prince!"

"A Prince! Why, in all the world?"

"Because you are just like all the Princesses I have ever read about. "Scotty was making headlong progress in a subject to which he had neverbeen even introduced by Monteith. 

The girl looked up at him with an expression of half-amused wonder inher eyes. 

"Why, Scotty, " she declared, "you're as bad as any society man forpaying compliments. But you will be something great some day, I know. Mr. Monteith says so. "

Scotty's face lit up. "If I'm ever worth anything I'll owe it all tohim, " he exclaimed enthusiastically. "Isn't he fine?"

"He's just a dear. If it hadn't been for his help I should never havebeen able to come for this visit. But he told Aunt Eleanor that wewould elope if I wasn't allowed to come. Isn't he funny? And justthink, Scotty, I'm going to stay a whole month, perhaps two!"

Scotty was speechless. 

"Now, I'm sure you're glad! Yes, I'm to stay at the manse for abouttwo weeks, until poor Jimmie and Kirsty have a little honeymoon bythemselves, and then I'm coming here. Auntie and Uncle have beeninvited to spend a month with friends in Toronto, and I didn't want togo because"--she hesitated and then laughed softly--"well, because Ihave to be so horribly proper all the time, so I begged to come hereinstead, and as Mrs. Cameron had invited me and Mr. Monteith coaxedtoo, Uncle Walter consented. And there's a possibility they might notbe back till Christmas. Oh, I wish they wouldn't! Am I not wicked?"

"I've got a colt of my own, " Scotty burst forth with apparentirrelevance, "he's a fine driver. "

Isabel seemed to understand. 

"I hope Mrs. Cameron will let me go, " she said, though there had beenno invitation. She glanced around the room and found that lady makingrather anxious motions in her direction. 

The minister's wife had been taking note of the fact that Miss Herbertand one of the young MacDonald men had been renewing their acquaintancein a rather headlong fashion. Mrs. Cameron was a lady who had an eyefor the fitness of things, and, being responsible for young MissHerbert, she decided it was high time to take her home. So, when thegirl looked up her hostess beckoned her, and announced rather sedatelythat they must be going, as the minister had already begun his round ofhandshaking. 

"And when will I see you again?" Scotty asked forlornly, as the girlcame downstairs dressed for her drive. 

Isabel was intent on buttoning her glove. "I--I suppose you sometimescome to the Glen?" she suggested, without looking up. 

Scotty hastened to asseverate that he spent almost all his waking hoursthere, and that he was a daily visitor at the Manse; and before Mrs. Cameron could get through bidding the neighbours good-bye, he hadsecured permission to come with his black colt the next day, and withMrs. Cameron's consent they would drive up to the Oa to see how theSilver Maple looked in its autumn dress. 

No sooner had the minister and the elder guests turned their backs, than the young folk who remained made a joyous rush for the furniture. Chairs and benches were piled helter-skelter in the corners and aunanimous demand arose for Fiddlin' Archie's Sandy to bestir his lazybones and tune up!

Thus importuned, the musician, who had fearfully concealed his unholyinstrument from the minister's eyes all afternoon, mounted upon atable, and after much screwing up and letting down and strumming ofnotes, now high and squeaky, now low and buzzing, banged his bow downupon all the strings at once, and in stentorian tones gave forth theelectrifying command: "Take--yer--partners!"

This was the signal for a general stampede, not out upon the floor, butback to the walls, leaving a clear space down the middle of the room;for dancing before company was a serious business not to be enteredupon lightly, and it required no small courage to be the first to stepout into the range of the public eye. 

Balls were generally opened by a couple of agile young men dashingmadly into the middle of the floor to execute a clattering step danceopposite each other, and under cover of this sortie the whole armywould sweep simultaneously into the field. 

Dan Murphy and Roarin' Sandy's Archie were the two who this night firstventured into the jaws of public opinion. Jimmie's best man, as becamethe dandy of the countryside, could disport himself with marvellousskill on the terpsichorean floor, and Dan Murphy was at least warrantedto make plenty of noise. The two young men flung aside their coats andwent at their task, heel and toe, with a right good will and atremendous clatter. They pranced before each other, stepping high, like thoroughbred horses, they slapped the floor with first one foot, then the other, they reeled, they twirled, they shuffled anddouble-shuffled, and pounded the floor, as though they would fain tramptheir way through to Kirsty's new cellar; while, in his efforts to keeppace with them, the fiddler nearly sawed his instrument asunder. 

But just when they were in the midst of the most intricate part of thegyrations, the spirit of the dance seized the spectators, and the nextmoment the performers were engulfed in the whirl of the oncoming flood. 

But Roarin' Sandy's Archie was not the sort to lose his identity in thevulgar throng. He was the most famous "caller-off" in the township ofOro, as everyone knew; and staggering out of the maelstrom, he seizedBetty Lauchie and was soon in the midst of his double task, his faceset and tense, for it was no easy matter to manage one's own feet andat the same time guide the reckless movements of some twenty heedlessand bouncing couples who acted as though a dance was an affair of nomoment whatever. 

Scotty did not remain for the dance, but accompanied his uncle home. He wanted to be alone to think over the wonderful events of the day andof the joys of the morrow. There were not many youths who followed hisexample. When the dance broke up the majority of them merely retiredto the edge of the clearing to return half an hour later armed withguns, horns, tin pans, old saws from the mill, and all other implementswarranted to produce an uproar and annihilate peace. With these theyproceeded to make the night hideous by serenading the bridal pair untilthe late autumn dawn chased them to the cover of the woods. This lastfestivity gave no offence, however, being quite in accordance with thecustom of the country and the expectations of the bride and groom. 

And so Weaver Jimmie's wedding passed off just as, through the longyears of waiting, he had dreamed it would; and one young man, who hadbeen a guest at their marriage feast, entered that day upon a new life, as surely as did the bride and groom. 

XII

A WELL-MEANT PLOT

 O, Love will build his lily walls, And Love his pearly roof will rear, -- On cloud or land, or mist or sea-- Love's solid land is everywhere! --ISABELLE VALANCY CRAWFORD. 

The minister and his wife had been on a pastoral visitation to the Oa, and, having had an early tea at Long Lauchie's, were driving homeward. 

The first snow had fallen a few days before and had been succeeded byrain, which, freezing as it fell, formed a hard, glassy "crust" on thetop of the snow. This glimmering surface reflected the radiant eveningskies like a polished mirror. The surrounding fields were a sea ofglass mingled with fire, and the whole earth had become an exact copyof heaven. Away ahead stretched the road like two polished, goldenbars that gradually melted into the violet and mauve tints of the duskypines. Through the frequent openings in the purple forest they couldsee, far over hill and valley, a marvellous vista, all enveloped in thewondrous glow, the patches of woodland looking like fairy islandsfloating in a sea of gold. Overhead, the delicately green heavensshone through the marvellous tracery of the bare branches. The horse'sbells echoed far into the woods, the only sound in the winterstillness, for the whole world seemed silent and wondering before thebeauty of the dying day. 

The two travellers had not spoken for some time; the minister was lostin contemplation of the glorious night, and the minister's wife, alas, was absorbed in a subject that had been worrying her for more than amonth, the subject of Miss Isabel Herbert. 

Before her visit at the manse had terminated, Mrs. Cameron had come toconsider her invitation to that young lady as the great mistake of herhitherto well-ordered life. For no sooner had the guest been settledthan that young MacDonald, who was such a friend of Mr. Monteith, beganto appear with alarming frequency. Now, though there might have beenno harm in Captain Herbert's niece playing in the backwoods with BigMalcolm's grandson when they were children, Mrs. Cameron mentallydeclared that, now they were grown up, such a thing as intimacy betweenthem was absolutely out of the question. Miss Herbert, she well knew, would be horrified at the thought, and she set herself sternly todiscourage the young man's attentions. 

But she found this no easy task. One of her greatest obstacles was theminister himself. The good man had long yearned to bring Monteith andhis friend into the church and now hailed Scotty's visits as specialopportunities sent him by Providence. To his wife's dismay he warmlywelcomed the young man, pressed him to come again speedily, and was, inhis innocent goodness of heart, as much a trial to his wife as Isabelherself. 

And Isabel certainly was a handful. In Captain Herbert's niece onesurely might have looked for a model, but the young lady did notconduct herself with the exact propriety her hostess expected. Mrs. Cameron was quietly proud of the fact that she had been very wellbrought up herself and knew what was due one's station in life. ButMiss Isabel was an anomaly. She belonged to one of the best familiesin the County of Simcoe and had been educated in a select school foryoung ladies; but, in spite of these advantages, she would much rathertear around the house with the dog, her hair flying in the wind, thansit in the parlour with her crocheting, as a young lady should. Moreover, if she could be persuaded to settle for a moment with a pieceof sewing, at the sound of a horse's hoofs at the gate, or the whirl ofa buggy up the driveway, she would jump from her seat, scatteringspools, scissors and thimble in every direction and go dancing out tothe door, joyfully announcing to everyone within the house that herewas "dear old Scotty!"

And yet, she was so charmingly deferential, and, in spite of her highspirits, so anxious to please, that her hostess had not the heart tochide her. Her whole-hearted innocence had begun to disarm the lady'ssuspicions when, at the end of a week, the watchful eye noted signs ofan alarming change in her troublesome charge. Isabel ceased entirelyto mention Scotty's name. She did not talk, either, as had been herwont, of the delightful times they had had together in their childhood. Neither did she run to meet him any more when he came, but would sitdemurely at her sewing until he entered, or even fly upstairs when hishorse appeared at the gate. 

These were the worst possible symptoms, and Mrs. Cameron appealed tothe minister. But he, good man, was not at all perturbed. He sawnothing to worry about, he declared. Probably the young lady haddiscovered that she did not care for her old comrade as much as whenthey were children and was taking this tactful way of showing him thefact. Mrs. Cameron was in a state of mingled indignation and despairover such masculine obtuseness, and vowed that if young MacDonald werenot politely requested to discontinue his attentions to CaptainHerbert's niece, she would feel it her duty to send the aforesaid niecehome. 

But the minister would consider neither project. When he had a man'ssoul in view everything else must be made subordinate. The young manwas showing signs of an awakening conscience, he affirmed; he haddisplayed wonderful interest in the sermons lately and had asked somevery hopeful questions during their last conversation. And beside allthis the young lady was having a good influence on him, for the lad hadmissed neither church nor prayer meeting since she came. Indeed, shewas a fine lassie, and wonderfully clear on the essentials; though, ofcourse, she had a few unsound Anglican doctrines. But Kirsty John'smother had trained her well in her childhood and she was not farastray. No, it would be interfering with the inscrutable ways ofProvidence to separate these two now, they must just let them be. 

So Scotty and Isabel had things all their own way; and, when, at last, Weaver Jimmie and his wife came and carried the young lady off to theOa, her late hostess declared she washed her hands of the whole affair. 

But her guest's departure did not bring her entire relief fromresponsibility. She could not get away from the suspicion that MissHerbert would blame her, and the rumours that came from the Oa were notcalculated to allay her fears. Kirsty John's little lady from theGrange and Big Malcolm's Scot were always together, the gossips said, and indeed it was a great wonder the black colt wasn't driven to death. 

So to-night Mrs. Cameron was too much worried to notice the beauty ofthe landscape. Nearly a month had slipped past since Isabel had lefther; the Herberts had returned to the Grange, and still the young ladyshowed no signs of departing. The minister's wife looked out sharplyas they approached Weaver Jimmie's place. If she could catch sight ofher late guest she would delicately hint that propriety demanded thatshe go home. 

As they entered a little evergreen wood that bordered Weaver Jimmie'sfarm, there arose the sound of singing from the road ahead. 

A turn around a cedar clump brought into view a solitary figure a fewyards before them--the figure of a little old man, wearing a Scotchbonnet and wrapped in a gay tartan plaid. It was a bent, homelyfigure, but one containing a soul apparently lifted far above earthlythings, for he was pouring forth a psalm, expressive of his joy in theglory of the evening, and with an ecstasy that might have befittedOrpheus greeting the dawn. 

His voice was high, loud, and cracked; but the words he had chosenshowed that Old Farquhar discerned the divine in nature, a revelationthat comes only to the true artist:

 "Ye gates, lift up your heads on high; Ye doors that last for aye, Be lifted up that so the King Of Glory enter may. But who is He that is the King Of Glory? Who is this? The Lord of Hosts, and none but He The King of Glory is!"

The minister smiled tenderly, there was a mist before his eyes when hepaused to shake the old man's withered hand. 

"Yes, it is a wonderful night, Farquhar, " he said. "Truly the heavensdeclare the glory of God and the firmament showeth His handiwork. "

The old man smiled ecstatically, and after a halting greeting inEnglish to the minister's wife, dropped into Gaelic. Mrs. Cameron didnot understand the language of her husband's people, and while the twomen conversed she looked about her. Kirsty's house was just beyond thegrove, Isabel might be near. A narrow, dim pathway led from the roadacross the woods to the house, an alluring pathway bordered thicklywith firs, and now all in purple shadows, except when occasionally thegolden light sifted through the velvety branches and touched the snow. Something was moving away down the shadowy aisle. She looked sharply, it moved out into a lighter space and resolved itself into two figuresgoing slowly, so very slowly, down the path in the direction of theWeaver's house. There was no mistaking Isabel's long, grey coat, oryoung MacDonald's stalwart figure. They paused at the bars that ledinto the yard, they were evidently saying good-night. .. . 

Mrs. Cameron did not wait even to take off her bonnet, upon her returnhome, before sitting down to write Miss Herbert, of the Grange, aletter, a letter which evidently alarmed the recipient, for before manydays Miss Isabel packed her trunk with a very sober face and took herleave. 

It was partly this sudden manner of her departure that made Monteithresolve to visit his friends at Lake Oro. He wanted to see CaptainHerbert on important business--business which, he felt, had been toolong delayed, and besides he was anxious to discover, if possible, whatthe people of the Grange had done to offend Ralph on the day he hadtaken Isabel home. 

That he had been mortally offended by someone Monteith could not helpseeing; but whether by Isabel herself, or another, Scotty's reticenceprevented his discovering. 

"I'm going up to the Captain's to-morrow, " he remarked casually, as hesat and smoked by Big Malcolm's fire one evening. He glanced atScotty, and that young man arose and began to cram the red-hot stovewith wood, until his grandfather shouted to him that he must be gonedaft, for was he wanting to roast them all out?

"Oh, indeed, " said Mrs. MacDonald, suspending her knitting with a lookof pleased interest. "And you will be seeing the little lady. Eh, itis herself will be the fine girl, not a bit o' pride, with all herbeautiful manners and her learning, indeed. "

"She will be jist the same as when she used to run round this house inher bare feet with Scotty, " declared Big Malcolm enthusiastically. "Itis a great peety indeed that she will belong to that English upstart!"

Scotty had settled down in deep absorption to whittle a stick and wasapparently taking no notice of the conversation. 

Monteith regarded Big Malcolm curiously. He had been long enough inthe settlement to understand that the ordinary pioneer had no love forthe more privileged class that had settled along the waterfronts. Socially the latter belonged to a different sphere from the farmers;and having often been able, in the early days, to secure from theGovernment concessions not granted to all, they were regarded by thecommon folk with some resentment. But the difference between the twoclasses, like all other differences, was fast dying out, and theschoolmaster well knew that Big Malcolm had other and deeper reasonsfor his dislike of a man so popular as Captain Herbert. He longed toknow, before he visited the Grange, just how much his friend had sinnedagainst the old man. 

"Oh, I suppose he's no worse than many of his kind, " he saidtentatively. 

"Aye, but that is jist where you will be mistaken, " said Big Malcolm, adangerous light beginning to leap up in his eye. "If this place wouldbe knowing the kind of a man he is, indeed it would not be Parliamenthe would be thinking about next fall, but----" He stopped suddenly. "Och, hoch, the Lord forgive me, and he will be your friend, too, Mr. Monteith, " he added hastily, with a return of his natural courtesy. "Indeed I would be forgetting myself. "

"Why does your grandfather hate the Captain so?" inquired Monteith, asScotty walked with him to the gate. 

"I'll not know, " said Scotty morosely. "I think they had some quarrellong ago, about land or something, when they came here first. "

"And did he never give any hint of what the trouble was?"

"Not to us boys. It was one of those things he would always befighting against, and Granny kept him back, too. He would be oftengoing to speak of the Captain, when she would stop him. " Scotty's tonewas gloomy. This last surviving feud of his warlike grandfatherweighed heavily upon his soul. For, indeed, matters had gone sadlywrong in Scotty's world lately, and life was proving a very hard andsordid business. 

Monteith said no more, but the next morning he set off for his friend'shouse, determined to settle once for all those questions which had beentroubling him ever since he had learned that young Ralph Stanwelllived. Something must be done with Ralph, and that right away. He hadtaught him as far as he could, and the boy must not be allowed to wastehis talents in the backwoods. 

The Grange, Captain Herbert's residence on the shore of Lake Oro, was adifferent building from the homes of the people among whom theschoolmaster lived; for its owner belonged to the fortunate class forwhom life during the early settlement of the country had been made easyby money and political influence. 

The house, a long, low, white stone building with plenty of broadverandahs, stood close to the water's edge, sheltered by a stately oakgrove. It was surrounded by wide lawns and a garden, all now coveredwith their winter blanket. 

As Monteith went up the broad, well-shovelled path, a crowd of dogs ofall sizes came tearing round the house from the rear with a tumult ofbarking. He stooped to fondle a little terrier, and when he looked upthe master of the house was coming down the steps with outstretchedhands. 

"By Jove, Archie!" he cried, his face shining with pleasure, "I'dalmost come to the conclusion that the Fighting MacDonalds had eatenyou alive! Why, we haven't seen you since October, and I've beenblue-moulding for somebody to talk to. Well, I _am_ glad to see you. Get down, you confounded brute! Come in. Come in. Why, you certainlyare a stranger. And just at the right moment, too! I'm all alone. Brian drove Eleanor and Belle to Barbay this morning. Get out, youinfernal curs! Those dogs all ought to be shot!"

And so, talking loud and fast, as was his manner, the hearty Captainled the way into the house. A small room at the left of the hall, withtwo windows looking out upon the ice-bound lake, constituted theCaptain's private den. A bright wood fire blazed in the open grate. The host drew up a couple of arm-chairs before it. 

"So you've decided to immure yourself in the backwoods for anotheryear, I hear, " he said, when his guest was comfortably seated andsupplied with a cigar. "Come, Archie, this will never do. Two yearswas the limit you set when you took the school, and there's no more thematter with you than there is with me. You're actually getting fat, man!"

"Why, I do believe I am, " said the other apologetically. "I shallprobably grow corpulent and lazy, and settle down in Glenoro to apeaceful old age. "

"Not a bit of you! You look like a new man, and you ought to get backto your law books. "

Monteith drew his hand over his grey hair with a meaning smile. "Itseems rather foolish at my age, but I believe I shall; the Oro air hasreally made a new man of me, as you say. I believe I should have gonelong ago if I hadn't been interested in a certain young person there. "

"A young person! Thunder and lightning, Archie, don't tell me you'vegone and fallen in love!"

Monteith laughed. "Upon my word I believe I have, " he asserted, "butdon't look so aghast, the object of my devotion is six feet high, andis cultivating a moustache. "

"Oh, that young MacDonald chum of yours. You gave me quite a shock. "The guest noticed that his friend's face changed at the mention ofScotty; there was a moment's rather awkward silence. 

"So the ladies are away, " said Monteith at last. "I am unfortunate. "

Captain Herbert burst into a hearty laugh. "Why, bless my soul, you'vehad the escape of your life! Eleanor has it in for you, for shiftingyour responsibility and sending little Bluebell home with your youngMacDonald; an uncommonly handsome young beggar he is too, with the airsof a Highland chieftain, quite the kind calculated to be dangerous, Eleanor thinks. I'm afraid she wasn't as cordial to the boy as shemight have been, and probably lost me a couple of good MacDonald votes. "

Monteith looked enlightened. "Why, I must apologise, " he said, "but Idid not dream I was transgressing. Miss Herbert surely knows that theyhave been like brother and sister since their baby days?"

"Oh, that's just the trouble. Eleanor's scared they're not going toremain like brother and sister. She and your minister's wife downthere have got it into their busy heads that the little monkey'sinclined to think too much about this old chum of hers. Bluebell's theright sort, I assure you, Archie, never forgets an old friend. Harold's just the same. Every time he writes he sends his love toevery old codger that chopped down a tree on this place. It's a finequality. It's Irish. We get it from my mother's side, though I'm moreEnglish than Irish myself, praise the Lord. Well, it seems thisloyalty is out of place in this case, and Eleanor thinks the less Bellesees of this young man the better. All perfect bosh and unthinkablenonsense, you know; but you can never account for the mental workingsof some people. A woman's mind picks up an idea, particularly if itconcerns matrimony in the remotest degree, as a hen does a piece ofbread, and runs squawking all round this earthly barnyard advertisingthe matter until she convinces herself and all the rest of the humanfowl that she's got a whole baking in her bill. Eleanor has snatchedup some such notion about Isabel and this young MacDonald, and theyoungster hardly out of short dresses yet! But there it is. She'llnever let go. All rubbish!"

He burst into a hearty laugh, and poked the fire until it crackled androared. "Now, Archie, what sort of figure do you think I shall cutrunning for Parliament next fall? Think the Oa 'll run me off the faceof the earth?"

"Just one moment, Captain, before you leave this subject, and we'lltalk politics all day afterwards. Far be it from me to even glanceinto the dark mysteries of matchmaking, but I'd like to know why MissHerbert should object so strongly to my young friend on so short anacquaintance?"

Captain Herbert looked surprised. He drew himself up with a slightaccess of dignity. "Oh, come now, Monteith!" he exclaimed, "you aresurely worldly wise enough to understand that, though this young Scottymay be the most exemplary inhabitant of that excellent section whereyou teach, he would scarcely be a match for my niece. "

"I understand perfectly. And if Ralph were one of the ordinary youngmen of the place I should most heartily agree with you. But you don'tknow him. He is an exceptionally fine fellow; he has had as mucheducation as I have been able to guide him to since I came here, andindeed he is a thorough gentleman at heart. "

Captain Herbert shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose that's all true, but what difference does that make? You don't want me to offer him myniece, I hope. "

Monteith paid no attention to such frivolity. He turned squarely uponhis host. 

"Then I suppose you know he's the equal in birth to anyone in this partof the country. You know, of course, that his name is not reallyMacDonald?"

Captain Herbert seized the poker and attacked the fire again. Heseemed waiting for Monteith to proceed, but as he did not, he answeredrather shortly, "So I believe. "

There was a long silence. The host sat back again, swung one foot overthe other impatiently, and at last turned upon his silent companion. 

"Go on!" he cried. "Out with it! I know what you want to say!"

Monteith slowly turned his eyes from the fire and looked into hishost's face. 

"I don't want to say anything disagreeable, Captain, " he saidcourteously. 

Captain Herbert arose and walked to the window. 

"I knew this would come some day, when I saw you were getting soinfernally chummy with all the MacDonald clan. That dear friend ofmine, old Firebrand Malcolm, has been telling you tales, I see. "

"On the contrary, he has scarcely ever mentioned your name to me. BigMalcolm is not that sort, " said Monteith, with some dignity. "But itwas impossible for me not to remember Ralph Stanwell, Senior; it allcame to me the moment the boy told me his name. "

There was a moment of intense silence, and at last the man turned fromthe window. 

"Well, " he said, coming to the fireside, "why don't you speak? Whathave you got to say about it?" His manner was half-defiant. 

"I don't know that you'll think it's my place to say anything, Captain. But--well, since you ask my opinion, I must confess that, though I amnot in possession of all the facts, the thing does not lookexactly--straight. "

Captain Herbert glared at him. "You are the only man in Ontario whowould dare to say that to me, Archibald Monteith!" he cried. 

Monteith arose, smiling. "Well, Captain, be thankful you have at leastone honest friend in Ontario. And, " he added, with a sudden change oftone, "look here, I haven't come to you about this in anger. I amRalph's friend, but I am yours, too, and have many debts of kindnessowing you. But, honestly now, is it or is it not true that you jumpeda claim and appropriated the boy's property, perhaps unwittingly?"

"It was unwittingly, Archie, " burst out the other, with a look ofrelief. "I know the affair must look nasty to you; but, as sure as Istand here, I didn't know the child was alive until he was nearly sevenyears old. "

"But the grandfather? Did he never interfere in the child's interests?"

"That old fire-eater! If he hadn't been such a maniac, I should neverhave made the mistake I did. I tell you the whole thing wasmisrepresented to me. Stanwell and his wife and, as I was told, hischild too, died just before I landed here. This property of his waspartially cleared, but was represented to me as totally unclaimed. Youknow that as well as I do. Don't you remember the day I left Torontoto come up here? Well, after I had spent hundreds of dollars on theplace that old Lord of the Isles got wind of it away back there in thebush, and came down on me like a deposed king. He talked so loud andso fast, and half of it in Gaelic, that I paid no attention to him, andat last ordered him off the place. My brother Harold had beeninstrumental in getting the place for me, so I wrote him and asked ifit was possible that anyone connected with Captain Stanwell could haveany claim on my property. He wrote back to say that Stanwell andeveryone belonging to him were dead, but that he would come up soon andsee about it. Well, you know he died the next week, and littleBluebell was left to me. Those were hard times for me, Archie, as youknow. Maud was taken next, and I was left alone with two helplesschildren on my hands and my finances in the very deuce of a state. Iforgot all about everything but the troubles that had come upon me. Then I sent for Eleanor to look after my family, and after she came Ihad other reasons you know nothing about for keeping silent concerningCaptain Stanwell. And so the years slipped away, and there it is, yousee. If I had given up the property when I settled here first I shouldhave been almost destitute. Now, I ask you, is there any living mancould blame me?"

Monteith answered warily. "There are not many men who would have acteddifferently in your place, I fear, only--it's rather hard on the boy. "

"Pshaw, I don't believe the boy's claim was worth a brass farthing. Ifit was, why couldn't his old grandfather have gone to law about it?"

Monteith shook his head. "You don't know those Highlanders; they wouldsooner be bereft of every stick or stone they possess than enter a lawcourt. Besides, you can't deny, Captain, that even had Big Malcolmwished to take such measures, he well knew that in those days a man ofhis class hadn't much chance against one of yours. "

Captain Herbert tramped up and down the little room. Monteith satsilent, waiting. He was able to guess with some degree of accuracy theworkings of his friend's mind. Captain Herbert was a man who believedin letting circumstances take care of themselves, particularly if theywere of the disagreeable variety; but he would willingly do no man awrong; and Monteith well knew that his warm heart was a prey to regret, and he was therefore full of hope for Ralph. But the Captain had astormy journey to traverse before arriving at any conclusion. 

"If the matter were taken into a law court now, no fool would say for amoment that I wasn't the owner of this place after all these years. Itwas a howling wilderness when I came here. "

"But a court might say you were under some obligation to that boy, Captain. "

"Nonsense! Do you want me to present him with a deed of all myproperty?"

"Not at all, but I want you to act fairly by him, as I am sure youwill. "

The steady tramp ceased at last, and as Monteith had expected his hostcame and stood before the fire. 

"It's a mean business, the whole thing, I know, Archie; and I've hatedthe thought of it all these years. But what could I do? It was toolate to mend matters when I found my mistake. "

"It's never too late to mend, " quoted the imperturbable guest. "Andyou're comfortably well off now, Captain, with that last legacy. "

Captain Herbert evidently did not hear him. "I'm sorry about thatboy, " he said, staring into the grate with brows knit, "I'm trulysorry. "

Monteith felt that now was his opportunity, and he put Scotty's caseforward strongly. He was careful not to press the boy's legal claims, but made much of the moral obligation. Here was a young man withmarked ability and no worldly resources, his high ambitions fettered bypoverty. He had already spent two winters in the lumber camps; he wasgetting to be a famous river pilot, and, as matters stood, there seemednothing better ahead of him. Ralph was a youth who would probably makehis way in the world somehow, but just now he needed a helping hand. Alittle assistance at present would make his fortune, and who so fittedto give that assistance as Captain Herbert?

The appeal was received in silence. Captain Herbert sat, his browsdrawn together, his eyes fixed upon the fire. "There's another reason, stronger than any you suspect for my sister's antipathy for the youngman, " he said suddenly without looking up. Monteith's eyebrows rose. 

"It is a very unpleasant subject to refer to, but it seems necessarythat you should know. When Captain Stanwell came to this country hewas engaged to marry my sister. He came out here, presumably to make ahome for her. A pretty face among the emigrants took his fancy, and hemarried shortly after he landed. So you may imagine I am not likely tohave any warm feeling for the rascal's son. "

Monteith sat staring. He had come to represent Scotty's righteouscause, to uphold him as the wronged, and here were the tables turnedupon him. 

"All these years, Eleanor never dreamed that the child lived. Indeed, I am not sure that she knew Stanwell had a child, and of course shenever guessed who little Bluebell's Scotty was. And I naturally didn'tsee any reason for enlightening her. She nearly discovered it once, the first time I saw the boy. But when he brought Bluebell here shesaw the resemblance at once--he's the image of his father--she askedhim his name, and it all came out, and you can imagine the scene. Shesent him off, and ordered the youngster never to speak to him again, and the poor little monkey's been fairly sick over it. There couldn'tpossibly be anything between them, but she liked him; they were chums. Now don't you see how difficult it is for me to show him any kindness, even if I wanted to? And I'm sure I don't owe his scoundrel fathermuch consideration, anyway. "

The ambassador had nothing to say. Scotty's chances for redress werevery poor. He looked into the fire in deep disappointment. Monteithwas not a religious man, but at that moment he remembered vaguely apassage from the Bible about the fathers having eaten sour grapes andthe children's teeth being set on edge. 

But for all his talk, Captain Herbert had not settled the affair to hisown satisfaction. He was blustering up and down the room again, tryingto work off his Indignation against fate. He paused once more in frontof his visitor. 

"I tell you what, Archie, " he cried for the fifth time, "I hate thewhole business. It's been grinding at me for nearly fifteen years. I've got a son of my own about that boy's age. His mother died when hewas a baby, and he's everything to me; and when I think that if I hadbeen taken too, he might have fared badly, --well--it's---- Look here, what kind of ability has young Stanwell?"

Monteith gasped. "He's as bright as a steel trap; all brains. "

"Well, "--the Captain was thoughtful--"what does he want?"

"He wants a chance to earn some money in a hurry so that he can go tocollege. He's determined to get an education, but the money isn'tforthcoming. "

"Well, if I should see him through----"

Monteith shook his head smilingly. "He wouldn't accept it. You mustremember, the boy has the real old Highland pride. No, give him someposition where he can earn some money, or think he is earning it, in ashort time. "

"You're a Jew at a bargain, Archie Monteith, and a Scotch Jew, at that, which is the worst kind. What sort of aptitude would he have forfigures?"

"He seems to display a special aptitude for almost anything heundertakes. "

"Well, --I might, --pshaw, why not? Eleanor needn't know. There's Raye& Hemming. They want a young man in their office. It means aresponsible position, though, Archie, with good pay, and I'm dependingentirely upon your recommendation. He ought to know something aboutlumber surely. "

"Raye & Hemming!" Monteith started. "I'd be delighted to see the boyget such a good opportunity, but the name of that particular lumbercompany isn't absolutely synonymous with fair-dealing. Remember, Ralph's been very strictly brought up, Captain. "

"Pshaw, they're supposed to muddle a little with politics, but what'sthe difference? If your paragon is so squeamish you'd better keep himin the bush. I can't think of anything else I could do for him half sogood. Those fellows are sharp, I'll admit, but they know how to makemoney. "

Monteith considered for a moment, then stood up and held out his hand. "I knew you would do the square thing, Captain, " he said heartily. 

"Well, to be honest, I confess I'm not entirely disinterested. Thatyoung Carruthers the Grits are bringing out will be sure to rake upthis story if I run next fall; and those MacDonalds are double-dyedGrits already. I don't want to give them a handle against me. YoungStanwell will make a better friend than an enemy. I can clear mytender conscience and get him out of the road, and save myself a greatdeal of future trouble all in one stroke. So there you are, you see. "

Monteith laughed. There was something irresistible about the candourof the man. 

"He certainly is an Irishman all through, " was the Scotchman's mentalcomment. 

"And by the way, Archie, does he know anything about this?"

"Not a word. Big Malcolm never told anybody, I fancy. That's agentleman for you!"

Captain Herbert looked slightly embarrassed. 

"I suppose you'd better tell the boy--everything?"

"I think it would be better. He's very fair-minded, and, besides, "Monteith smiled, "he is not likely to feel any resentment against MissIsabel's uncle. "

"That brings up a very important item in our bargain, " said the Captainfrowningly, "and one upon which everything depends. "

"Yes?"

"He'll have to understand that there's to be nothing between him andBluebell. It seems absurd to talk about such a thing already, butEleanor seems certain of danger. So you'll have to put the matterplainly to the young man, and explain that if he's so much as caughtspeaking to her, his position is gone as quick as a gunshot. I owethat much to my sister. She couldn't stand the sight of him, andneither of the youngsters is old enough to be hurt. "

Monteith looked dubious, but he did not hesitate to comply. Ralphwould soon forget when he got away into the world, he told himself, andMiss Herbert would probably make the keeping of the bargain very easyfor him. 

"And now, " cried Captain Herbert, rising with an expression of relief, "that's over. It's been an abominable tangle all through, a perfectmess, with everyone in the family mixed up in it, and it's a relief tohave it settled. Come along, let's go out and breathe some fresh airand look at the dogs!"

XIII

THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS

 Out of the strife of conflict, Out of the nightmare wild, Thou bringest me, spent and broken, Like the life of a little child. 

 Like the spume of a far-spent wave, Or a wreck cast up from the sea, Out of the pride of being, My soul returns to Thee. --WILLIAM WILFRED CAMPBELL. 

Raye & Hemming, managers of that branch of the Great Lake LumberCompany that had its headquarters in the town of Barbay, soon learnedthat their new clerk was a young man of no mean parts. For beside anunusual ability, young Stanwell brought to his work that tenacity ofpurpose and tendency to unremitting toil which is the product of thefarm. 

Scotty found himself treated with every consideration by his chiefs. Captain Herbert's protégé was evidently a person of some importance, and he guessed that his generous salary was largely due to his patron'sinfluence. Though his feelings towards his benefactor were naturallysomewhat mixed, since hearing how he had defrauded him of hisbirthright, nevertheless Scotty could find small room in his heart forany ill-will against Isabel's uncle. He had ill-used him, no doubt, but he was making reparation, and what more could any man do? And, indeed, Scotty's affairs were turning out so much better than hisfondest hopes had pictured, that he could not wish the past different. A few years with Raye & Hemming, he felt assured, would open the goldengates of college to him, and there he would vindicate himself. 

For the young man was in happy ignorance of the fact that his presentgood fortune depended upon his separation from Isabel. Monteith hadnot seen fit to apprise him of that item in Captain Herbert's bargain. The shrewd schoolmaster had a suspicion that the foolish young manmight throw up his hopeful prospects in a fit of romantic gallantry, and determined to run no risks until all danger was past. 

So the boy did not know how hopeless was the love he and hisgolden-haired sweetheart had pledged beneath the pines at Kirsty'sgate. Miss Herbert strongly objected to him, he knew, but she could beovercome in time. They must be separated for a time, but CaptainHerbert was his friend, surely, and Isabel--well, he was certain ofher, anyway--Isabel would never forget, for had she not promised thatshe would think of him always, no matter how far apart they might be, and how could anyone doubt Isabel?

His life in the town was beneficial in many ways. Socially he learnedas much as he did in the office of Raye & Hemming, knowledge which heknew would stand him in good stead when that longed-for day would comewhen he would be permitted to visit Isabel in her home. He wasreceived in Barbay society in spite of his rural training, for was henot Captain Herbert's friend, and the only son of that dashing CaptainStanwell whom the best people knew in the early days. And was therenot the chance that he might be a young man of property some day?

And so, though Isabel and home were far away, Scotty worked awayblithely, determined to show Captain Herbert that he was worthy of thetrust reposed in him, and resolved to win in spite of all odds. 

But as he grew more accustomed to the business, and more intimate withthe inner workings of Raye & Hemming's office, there slowly spread overhis rosy hopes a shadow of misgiving. He found it impossible to shuthis eyes to the fact that the men with whom he was employed, and fromwhom he was to learn, were adepts at many of the small, sharp practiceswhich he had been taught to despise. Scotty had been brought up withno hazy ideas of right and wrong. Though Big Malcolm had left theboy's training almost entirely to his wife, still, as much by exampleas precept, he had instilled into his grandson's very soul a proudcontempt for anything resembling a lie. Any form of deceit, sharpdealing or trickery came under one despised category, and withinScotty's earliest memory had been looked upon by all his household withsupreme scorn. 

And now in his new environment he found himself a daily witness of adozen little petty transactions such as he had been taught to loathe. Sometimes, when he was compelled to assist in the sharp tricks of hisemployers and received afterwards their laughing congratulations uponhis success, he turned away from them with a feeling of nausea. Hetried to picture his grandfather in similar circumstances, but couldnot. Well he knew Big Malcolm would not stoop from his lofty height totouch the business of Raye & Hemming with his finger-tips. 

And yet they were not absolutely dishonest; perhaps this was only whatthe world considered being "sharp" in business, he argued. But hecould not quite convince himself, and in his perplexity hinted at histroubles in a letter to Monteith. 

The schoolmaster's answer did not succeed in putting his mind at rest. "I know those fellows have the name of doing some slippery things, " hewrote, "and personally I wish you had hit upon men who had a betterreputation, but there's no denying they know how to make money, and theshareholders are naturally rather fond of them. You must just learn toshut your eyes to little things that don't exactly suit you and goahead. Your chance in life depends upon your ability to please thosefellows. Don't lose it, my boy, it means everything. "

Scotty was rather bewildered by this advice, coming from one whom hehad long regarded as an infallible authority. In his backwoodssimplicity he felt himself at sea. Was there, then, a different codeof honour in the country from that which was adhered to in the town?

Not since the days when Granny had had to chide him for childishnaughtiness had he been greatly troubled over the vexed question ofright and wrong. Looking back now, he could see that he had beenhedged about by what he chose to call circumstances. First there hadbeen the influences of that home beneath the Silver Maple, and thestrong, gentle control of his grandmother. And when his high spiritshad been in danger of taking him beyond the "borderland dim, " Monteithhad come, and there had been no more trouble. Monteith's training hadbeen quite different from that which he had received at home. Theschoolmaster despised as a fool anyone who did not walk the straightand narrow path. Wrong-doing was idiotic, he declared; it didn't"pay. " But Monteith's creed did not hold here. It did pay, as far asScotty could see. And here he was with no hedging circumstances tokeep him in the right path, standing at the parting of the ways. 

And yet he did not for a moment consider the possibility of drawingback. There was too much at stake. As Monteith had said, everythingdepended upon his faithfully filling his post. To lose the favour ofRaye & Hemming meant to lose everything he had set his heart upon, Captain Herbert's friendship, his education, Isabel herself. 

No, he could not dream of giving up. And so he took Monteith's adviceand went forward doggedly. But all the enjoyment in his new work wassoon gone, his happy, sanguine days gradually changed to a season ofworry and humiliation; until he sometimes longed with all his soul tofling all the unclean business aside, take an axe and go back to thebush. 

He struggled on through the winter, morose and plodding, until thespring came with scented breezes and the songs of birds calling him tocome away. Barbay was situated picturesquely on an arm of Lake Simcoe. From the office window he could catch enchanting glimpses of sapphirelake and emerald hill, and he was seized with an intense longing toreturn to his outdoor life. If he could only get back to his oldenvironment for even a day, he felt he could readjust his ideas and seethings more clearly. The 24th of May, the birthday of the good Queen, brought him the longed-for holiday. The office claimed him for a fewhours in the morning, but early in the afternoon he hired a canoe, and, supplied with a gun and rod, a blanket and plenty of bread and meat, hepaddled away into the blue expanse. He would go on until he came tothe forest, he determined, and there he would camp for the night. 

His spirits rose like a freed bird as, with long, steady strokes, hourafter hour, he glided smoothly up the low, green shore. He was somedistance from any human habitation when the steady dip, dip of hispaddle echoed farther inland than usual. He paused and peered into thewoods. He was on the edge of a forest whose tangled fringe of birchand elm hung over the greening water. But just behind this fringe wasa little clearing, all smothered in riotous undergrowth. Scotty ranhis canoe up on the sandy beach, her bow sweeping aside the droopingelm branches, and leaped ashore. He plunged into the little tangledcircle of undergrowth, and at the first sight gave a boyish whoop ofdelight. 

In the centre of the space, facing the water, stood an old log shanty, a temporary structure erected in the lumbering days. It containedbunks filled with straw. Here was the very place to spend the night;it seemed waiting for him. He set to work to make camp with the skillof a lifelong practice. A splendid black bass that responded hungrilyto his bait made a fine addition to his larder. He soon had a merryfire in front of the cabin, sending a blue column of smoke straightinto the treetops, and when it burned down to a bed of coals he cookedhis fish. Supper was soon over, the canoe stowed safely high up on theshore, and he had nothing to do but enjoy the silence and peace of thewild, lonely spot. He built up his fire again, partly because the Maynight was cool and partly to keep off the mosquitoes, and stretchedhimself full length upon the ground before it. It was the first timein months that he had been absolutely at peace. Around him was theencircling forest, which bulked largely in his earliest memories, andalways gave him the sensation of being at home. The sweet pungentodour of burning evergreens filled the air, mingling with the scents ofthe forest. Above the dark ring of wild, luxuriant growth the skyshone a clear transparent crystal, with faint illusive suggestions ofrose and orange, for out there in the wide world the sun was setting, and Lake Simcoe glinted between the tree trunks flushed and smiling. The little breeze of the afternoon had died away, and not a leafstirred; only where the subsiding waves disturbed the shells andpebbles on the beach could be heard a soft whispering rustle. 

But as the night fell, from the darkening forest there arose theevening chorus of the birds. Each tall pine tree, silhouetted sharplyagainst the crystal sky, was soon ringing with the transporting vespersof the veery. Away back on a hill, far above the little clearing, awhip-poor-will stationed himself in a treetop to complain over and overof the darkness and loneliness of the world. Just at Scotty's righthand, from behind a screen of scented basswood, came a suddendiscordant sound, the rasping "meyow" of the cat-bird; a moment'ssilence followed and then arose a burst of delirious, bubbling melody, as though the naughty songster, hidden within his aromatic curtains, were laughing impudently at having deceived his hearers into thinkinghe was only a cat. A loon arose with a splash from the reedy shore ofan island opposite and sailed away through the amber air; his wild, derisive laugh echoed back from the glimmering sunset bay where he hadjoined his comrades. Far above, the "scree-ak, scree-ak" of thenight-hawks whirling in the heavens echoed away into the green depths;up the long dark aisles came the sweet "hoo, hoo" of the owl, and theclear ringing notes of the whitethroat "calling across the dusk. " Thefrogs, down by the whispering water's edge, joined their chorus to thenight music; and on every side, keeping at a respectful distance fromthe smoke of the fire, the mosquitoes "all in a wailful choir" utteredtheir little, thin, doleful tunes. And always, far up in the darkpinetops, like bells in a cathedral tower, rang out the clear, enchanting, metallic notes; the long liquid carol of the veery. 

Scotty drew a great sigh of content; he was home again. The magicspirit of the woods, with its sense of peace and freedom, enfolded hisvery soul. Those things of earth, the sordid meannesses of hiseveryday life, faded away; they were as far removed as that diamondstar he was watching twinkling on the sharp peak of a dark fir. He layon his back, his hands clasped beneath his head, and gazed up into thetender blue of heaven until the night began to deepen. The cracklingembers of the fire slowly smouldered down, the chorus in the treetopsbegan to subside. Gradually a great stillness settled over the velvetdarkness of the woods, and still lying motionless and content he couldhear only the soft stir of a leaf or the occasional "hush, hush!" thatthe waters and the shells whispered, as though they were telling eachother that the world was going to sleep. 

Scotty forgot his bed in the shanty, a soft balsam limb made a fragrantpillow, and mother earth was the best couch. His senses floated away. 

He was at home, lying under the Silver Maple; the sound of Granny'sspinning-wheel came drowsily through the doorway. The pathway acrossthe swamp to Kirsty's clearing was blue with violets; a white figurewas flitting down it, --coming to him with the sunshine on her goldenhair and the violets at her feet. 

Suddenly he was wide awake; not startled, but with all his keen, woodsman senses alert. Instinctively he reached for his gun. Something strange in his surroundings had aroused him, he knew. Whatwas it? He lay listening intently. 

And then out of the depths of the darkness came the answer, --a sound, dim and far off, but echoing melodiously through the leafy arches, avoice as of an angel, singing:

 "The Lord thee keeps, the Lord thy shade On thy right hand doth stay: The moon by night thee shall not smite, Nor yet the sun by day. "

Scotty raised himself upon his elbow; the sound of the old psalm, coming without warning out of the uninhabited darkness, struck him withawe. Had the forest taken voice, or was it all but a part of hisdream? He listened breathlessly until the psalm was finished and thesilence had again fallen. There seemed something too sweetlymysterious about the singing to come from a human source. There was anintense silence for a few moments, then the voice rose again, this timenearer and more distinct, "The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want, He makes me down to lie In pastures green, He leadeth me The quiet waters by. "

Scotty was overwhelmed with a sudden rush of memory. He was remindedof that day so long ago when the awesome shadows of the winter woodshad terrified him with the first conception of death, and sent him withunerring instinct to the true refuge. 

Who could be wandering in this wild, lonely place at nightsinging, --singing the very things calculated to touch the depths of hissoul?

The sound was coming nearer, growing in power, as though the singerfelt the sublime confidence of the words. 

 "Yea, though I walk through death's dark vale, Yet will I fear no ill, For Thou art with me and Thy rod And staff me comfort still. "

And then Scotty recognised the voice. It was one which, once heard, was not easily forgotten. It belonged to the great preacher, Mr. McAlpine, the man who years before had come to the Glen, and with hismessage from the Eternal roused the place to a better life. But he wasan old man now, and retired from his labours, and how came he to bewandering in this trackless wilderness after nightfall?

The voice had ceased, and now the sound of footsteps in the cracklingunderbrush could be heard. Scotty could discern a dim figure comingtowards his fire. He stood up as it approached. The old man with hislong white beard, his bare silver head, for he carried his hatreverently, his tall, gaunt figure and piercing eye gave the young manthe impression of one of the great men of Bible times, Isaiah, or thatone who preached in the wilderness beyond Jordan and called to hishearers to make straight the paths for the coming of the Messiah. 

With the mutual feeling of friendship that arises between men in thelonely places of the earth, the two met with outstretched hands. 

A smile of pleasure at the open face and fine physique of hisunexpected host flashed over the old man's face. 

"Big Malcolm MacDonald's grandson!" he cried, when Scotty hadintroduced himself. "Oh, yes, indeed, I know Big Malcolm well, "--heshook the young man's hand once more: "Ah yes, it was his eldest son'sfuneral that first took me to the Oa. God moves in a mysterious way, indeed. And you were but a child then, and now you are a man. And itis a good thing to be standing upon the threshold of life, is it not?"

A good thing? Scotty would have given a most emphatic affirmative inresponse some months before, but now he was doubtful. 

"Yes, " he said hesitatingly, "in some ways. But how do you happen tobe away back here alone, Mr. McAlpine?"

The minister explained his presence. He had been asked to go to Barbayto assist with the sacrament on the following Sabbath, and had intendedto spend the night with a friend and take the stage out in the morning. 

"But I could not wait, " he concluded, "I was constrained to come on. "There was that strange gleam in his eye which had always so filledScotty with awe in his childhood. The young man understood. Mr. McAlpine's burning restlessness, his erratic way of making arrangementsto be driven to certain places, and then suddenly setting out in thedead of night to walk prodigious distances had been the wondering talkof the Oa since he was a child. For this man carried a burden of soulsthat gave him no rest day or night, and that even now, when he wasbroken and aged, sometimes drove him to stupendous labour. 

"But you will surely stay here to-night!" cried Scotty, feeling in thecapacity of host even in this wild tangle of forest growth. "I amcamping, but there is plenty of room in the shanty, and I can cook yousome supper. "

The old man accepted the hospitality gratefully. He appeared worn andexhausted, and seemed to have suddenly lost his restless energy, asthough the spur which had driven him forth in the night had beenremoved. 

Scotty made a comfortable seat for him of cedar boughs placed against alarge tree trunk, and stirred up the fire to a blaze. Its rays dancedforth, lighting up the worn face and white hair of the old man seatedbefore it, and the strong frame of the young one standing erect insplendid contrast. The light made the log walls of the old shantystand forth, touched here and there the fantastic heaps of deadbrushwood and misshapen stumps, illumined the underside of the adjacenttrees and danced away down the dim avenues to be lost among the ghostlyshadows. 

And while his host prepared supper, the minister beguiled the time byasking after all his friends in the Oa and the Glen, especially theHighlanders, for Mr. McAlpine was not above possessing a littleweakness for anyone who spoke the Gaelic. And then he must know whatthe young man was doing, and how he came to be there. 

Scotty answered his questions in the distantly respectful manner thatall the Glenoro youth had been wont to show this man. He explained hissudden excursion to the woods as merely a natural desire to be out ofdoors. He told something too of his life with Raye & Hemming inBarbay, but he had all the reticence of his class and kin, and theminister learned little from what he said. 

And while they conversed the elder man was watching the younger withthe keen eye of a detective. For to old John McAlpine every soul withwhom he came in contact was a burden to be carried until it was laidsafely at the foot of the cross, and he was yearning to know if thisyoung man, so respectful and kindly of manner, had yet had his hearttouched by Divine love. 

He tried to read the dark, young face in the light of the dancingflames, noting every feature--the intellectual brow, the kind, brighteyes, the mouth, still boyish, and showing some wilfulness andimpatience of rule; the resolute chin. A good face, the man concluded, with rare possibilities. But he was convinced before the conversationclosed that its owner was not a follower of the meek and lowly One. 

For the minister was a marvellous reader of character, and in spite ofScotty's reserve, before the evening was gone he had allowed his guestto discover that he intended to carve out his own destiny as hedesired, fearless of consequences. 

When everything was in readiness for the night, and the young man hadreturned from making up a second bed in the shanty, the minister drewup close to the fire and took from his pocket a Bible. 

He slowly turned over the leaves, praying earnestly that he might beguided in his choice to something that would touch this young man'ssoul. The 139th Psalm caught his eye, and the deep voice slowly andsolemnly read:

"O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest mydown-sitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thoughts afaroff. .. . Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I fleefrom thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if Imake my bed in hell, behold thou art there. If I take the wings of themorning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shallthy hand lead me and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, surelythe darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me. "

Leaning back against a fallen tree trunk, his face partially hidden inshadow, Scotty listened intently. Had this man been sent out of thedarkness of the forest to show him how foolhardy were his attempts toescape from God? For had he not been saying to himself all these pastmonths that surely the darkness of secrecy would cover his wrongdoing;that somehow he would escape from God. 

He had not read the Bible since he left home, and the old familiarwords, coming like a long-lost friend, struck him with their inevitabletruth. His rest in the lap of nature had brought him to himself; hesaw things with a clearer vision, and he realised now that the fierceyearning to be away which had driven him to the forest had been reallythe desire to escape the Eye that never sleeps. The longing to takethe wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the seahad been upon him, and here God's messenger had met him, and he stoodlike a hunted animal at bay. 

The minister read on without pause almost to the end, and then stopped. 

There were two more verses, Scotty well knew; he and Isabel had learnedthat Psalm years ago at Granny's knee. "Search me, O God, and know myheart; try me, and know my thoughts; and see if there be any wicked wayin me, and lead me in the way everlasting. " He looked uphalf-inquiringly as the voice ceased. The minister smiledcomprehendingly. 

"I see you know what follows, " he said; "it is a great thing to begrounded in the Scriptures in youth. Do you know why I stopped?"

"No, " said Scotty, in a whisper. 

"Because the next is a verse I hardly dare to read. It is a fearfulthing to ask the Almighty God to search the heart, for there are wickedways in us, many and deep. " He began slowly turning over the leavesagain, and Scotty waited with a strange dread of what was coming. 

The passage was from the challenging words that came to Job out of thewhirlwind, and like a whirlwind they swept over the young man's soul. 

"Who is this that darkeneth counsel, by words without knowledge? Girdup now thy loins, like a man, for I will demand of thee, and answerthou me. "

He paused a moment and his listener held his breath. To him the wordsdid not seem to be spoken by man, but seemed to come out of thewhispering darkness of the great forest. 

"Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? declare, ifthou hast understanding. .. . Whereupon are the foundations thereoffastened? or who laid the cornerstone thereof; when the morning starssang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?"

Scotty's heart suddenly swelled. This great Jehovah was speakingdirectly to him; the Jehovah whose inexorable laws were written inman's very being, as well as in His Book. And he, His creature, wasabout to set them aside, declaring that he would walk as seemed rightin his own eyes. 

But the minister was still reading. "Hast thou commanded the morningsince thy days; and caused the day-spring to know his place?. .. Havethe gates of death been opened unto thee? or hast thou seen the doorsof the shadow of death?. .. Canst thou bind the sweet influences of thePleiades, or loose the bands of Orion?"

Scotty listened with heart and ears, and when the minister came at lastto Job's confession, he felt he could echo the words, "I have heard ofthee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth thee. WhereforeI abhor myself and repent in dust and ashes. "

The amber column of smoke rising straight to the circle of sky wassuddenly touched with a silver radiance. Up from behind the darkisland the moon had arisen, radiant and burnished, and was sending along shimmering pathway across the deep blue of Lake Simcoe. Scotty'seyes followed its glint between the tree trunks and the words came overhim again, "Now mine eye seeth thee. " But when the minister paused hecame back to realities. Another picture rose before him, the sweetface of the girl he loved, the one whom he was to win by keeping in thepath wherein he now walked. A look of defiance flitted across hisface. No. He would go on. He could never give up now!

But the leaves had rustled again, and now the minister had resumed hisword pictures. This time they were not of the mighty Jehovah, just, unapproachable, omnipotent; but of the lonely Man of Nazareth standingby the lakeside and calling the fishermen to Him, and then on toCalvary when He said, "Father, forgive them, for they know not whatthey do. "

The elder man's keen eyes saw the tokens of a conflict in the other'sface, and he was too wise to address him directly. His occasionalremarks had the effect of soliloquies, but they plunged Scotty's soulin the valley of shadows. 

He was thinking how all his life he had been compassed about. He knewnow that what he had called hedging circumstances had been God's veryHand. His grandmother's faithful teachings had guided his carelessboyish feet; his grandfather's falls from the high position he had sethimself were graphic object-lessons to teach the value ofrighteousness; Monteith's influence had kept him in the right way, andnow how dared he turn aside of his own will?

But what was the minister reading now? What but the story of a youngman, one so goodly and commendable in person and character that theMaster had regarded him with an especial feeling of comradeship; butthere was one thing he refused to give up, and he turned his back uponthe Saviour of mankind and went away sorrowful, "for his possessionswere very great. " And Scotty's possessions were great also--those hewas about to reach out and seize, infinitely beyond the value of goldand silver, and he wanted to turn away, too, but something held him. 

The minister glanced at the young man's face, and knew his heart hadbeen touched. He closed the Book. "Let us pray, " he said, and rising, knelt by the side of a moss-grown log. But Scotty did not kneel; hesat erect, staring with desperate eyes into the fire, and striving withall the force of his will to harden his heart. To his relief the oldman made no remark upon his strange conduct when he arose from hisknees, but at once went to his bed in the shanty. Some subtle instincttold him the young man would be better alone. 

Long after he had retired Scotty walked up and down before the fire, fighting out the old, weary battle; but now with a fury as if for life. 

To go on with his work at Raye & Hemming's now in the light of what hadcome to him this night would be, he knew, to cast aside all theteachings of his lifetime--the teachings of Granny, of experience, yes, even of Monteith, for he realised now they had all come from God, andwere one. He was down in the valley of the shadows, and the rod andstaff were of no comfort to him, for they meant pain and renunciation. 

He could not give up Captain Herbert's friendship and Isabel; he couldnot go on. The fire had died down to a red eye looking sullenly out ofthe smoky darkness, the moon had sunk behind the forest ring, and outof the blackness of night came a sensation of approaching change, ahint that the dawn was near. As Scotty, pale and haggard, stoodlooking into the dying fire, a step aroused him and the minister was byhis side. 

"Why, sir, " he cried in surprise, "you will surely not be getting upyet. It is quite dark. "

"I was not sleeping, " said the old man. "I could not but watch you, "he added gently, "for I cannot but see you are carrying a burden; oneheavy for your time of life, my lad, and I wondered if I could be ofany help. "

All Scotty's mental attitude of defiance melted away before this gentlesympathy. He was silent, simply through the inability to speak, andthe minister continued, "Do not speak of it if you would rather not. Iwould not force your confidence, but just come and we will pray aboutit, and you will tell the Father and He will be making it right. "

Scotty turned with a gesture of defeat. To pray was the last thing hedesired to do, it meant surrender; but this time he knelt obediently atthe minister's side by the dying fire. 

And as he bowed his head he was suddenly startled by the words thatbroke forth. It seemed as if all his own soul's struggle had beentransferred to the man at his side. Old John McAlpine had a wondrousgift of prayer, one that never failed to cast a solemn spell over hishearers, and to-night he pleaded for the soul of this young man as iffor his life. His big hands were knotted, the perspiration stood inbeads on his white forehead, and his agonised voice rose and wentringing away into the forest. Scotty was awesomely reminded of One whoprayed in a garden, quite unlike this one of nature's wild making, andsweat drops of blood because of the sin he was to bear. And before theminister had ceased it seemed as if that other One came to his side andtook up the petition, for Scotty felt his worldly desires slip from himlike a garment. The struggle was over. Henceforth there could be noindecision, for he was not his own, but had been bought with a price. 

When they arose from their knees the darkness had suddenly becometransparent. A mysterious rustle and whisper of awakening life was onall sides, the dawn was on the point of breaking. Scotty's fire, likehis worldly hopes, had died down to pale ashes, but far out on thefaintly grey bosom of Lake Simcoe, and away beyond its darkforest-ring, soon to put all lesser lights to shame in their triumphantblaze, were kindling the fires of Heaven. 

XIV

THE VOYAGEURS

 Oh, the East is but the West, with the sun a little hotter; And the pine becomes a palm by the dark Egyptian water; And the Nile's like many a stream we know that fills its brimming cup; We'll think it is the Ottawa as we track the batteaux up! Pull, pull, pull! as we track the batteaux up! It's easy shooting homeward when we're at the top. --WILLIAM WYE SMITH. 

The Imperial transport, _Ocean King_, had loosed from her moorings atMontreal and was swinging down with the tide of the mighty St. Lawrence, and on her deck, many leaning eagerly over the railing to geta last glimpse of home, stood some four hundred stalwart sons of theMaple Land. Great, strong fellows they were, all with the iron musclesand steady, clear eyes of the expert riverman. For these were thefamous voyageurs, trained from childhood on the rapids and cataracts ofCanadian streams and summoned now to the help of the mother country onthe ancient river of Egypt. 

When Lord Wolseley found himself face to face with the tremendous taskof reaching Gordon far up the hostile Nile, he remembered theassistance he had received in an earlier expedition in a western landfrom the daring, untiring, cool-headed, warm-hearted Canadian boatmen. And he asked that once more they might give him aid. And here theywere, the best the country could produce, a rollicking, light-heartedcrew, ready for anything--adventure, hard work, danger, death. 

Among those who stood longest gazing at the receding land were two whohad begun their years of apprenticeship for this great day on thelittle, noisy, foaming stream that scolded its way into the Oro river. And one of them, looking at the fast-fading outline of Mount Royal, sawinstead an old log house among the enfolding Ontario hills, with aSilver Maple spreading its protecting branches above the roof. Hishome!--and the dear home faces, how they rose up from the misty shore;and another face, the most beautiful in the world, as he had seen itthat winter night in the sunset glow!

And he had left all, had turned his back upon friends and home, andlove itself, for what? A mere sentiment? A mad notion born of thatnight in the wilderness the spring before? The man who had been hisguide and instructor, his staunchest friend and truest adviser fromboyhood, had called his new impulse by just such a name, and the lossof his esteem had been one of the bitterest drops in Scotty's cup ofrenunciation. Apparently he had done injury to himself in everyquarter, by giving up his connection with Raye & Hemming. CaptainHerbert had been disgusted and had declared he washed his hands of him, Monteith had been filled with righteous indignation over such blindfolly, and his grandparents had been keenly disappointed. And Isabel?That was the hardest part. What would Isabel think? Perhaps she, too, was offended, and he had had no opportunity to vindicate himself. Andyet, through disappointments, estrangements and doubts, he clungtenaciously to his purpose. He was done forever with Raye & Hemming, and no power on earth could drive him back. Before he left Barbay, Monteith had come down upon him to bring him to a more reasonable stateof mind. The schoolmaster had scolded, entreated, and had even broughtup arguments which Scotty was powerless to combat. In his perplexityand bewilderment he could answer nothing; only there had come vividlyto his mind the reply of another young man in somewhat similarcircumstances; a young man, who, when clever people argued that the Manwho had opened his eyes was at fault, could only say, "One thing Iknow, that, whereas I was blind, now I see. "

For that night in the wilderness had given this young man a clearervision of right and wrong, the keen perception granted to those onlywho have passed by Calvary and seen the One who suffered there andconquered. And in that uplifting moment he had heard the voice of theEternal say, "This is the way, walk ye in it"; and he could not butobey. 

So Scotty had turned his back upon all his worldly prospects, becausethey had led from the way of integrity; and early in the summer hadgone to seek employment amongst the lumbering centres of the Ottawa. And away back there he had been tracked and joined by his faithfulhenchman, Dan Murphy. This strange freak on Scotty's part had noeffect on Danny's warm heart. What cared he that his chum preferredworking in the bush to a college education? That mattered little, solong as they were together. For had Scotty turned Mohammedan and goneforth to convert the world to his beliefs, not one inch would hisfriend's loyalty have swerved. 

And, while they worked on the upper Ottawa, the call for the Nilevoyageurs had come. Here was an opportunity to see the world and servethe Empire, and the boys had gladly embraced it. And so Scotty wasgoing down into Egypt, because the great Controller of Destiny had needof him there, as He had long before needed another young man in thatsame land to perfect His divine plans. 

The Canadians commenced active work at a station on the Nile a fewmiles from Wady Halfa. The busy little trains, that came puffing upfrom Cairo, landed this latest addition to Britain's forces amid allthe bustle and stir of the departing army. Here the naval detachmentof the River Column was preparing to embark. The steel-keeledwhaleboats, the especial care of the voyageurs, were being fitted upwith masts and oars. As soon as ready they were filled with soldiersor Dongolese boatmen, the Canadian bowman and helmsman took theirplaces, and out they shot up the swift, brown current. 

Scotty and his chum found that their turn to embark was not likely tocome for some time, and they employed their first day of leisure inlooking about them. To their unaccustomed Western eyes the placepresented endless interest. It was full of the noise and display of amilitary camp, and alive with potent signs of war. Trains loaded withammunition went puffing out; bands of baggage-mules, driven byscantily-dressed natives, came down to the water's edge to drink; andstately camels swayed past. 

Now and then a detachment of a regiment swung out desertward, whetheron hostile acts intent or for exercise, only the initiated could tell. The boys stood watching them with absorbed interest. First came theColdstream Guards, then the Grenadiers, and finally the Black Watchstepping out splendidly to the rousing scream of the pipers. Scottyhad been taking in all the sights calmly, but this last was too muchfor his Highland blood; and, in spite of Dan's jeers, he leaped to hisfeet with a cheer, as they whirled past. 

But even such spectacles as these began to pall. The Canadians soondiscovered that an army is an unwieldy monster, and that even a flyingcolumn moves slowly. When the third day came and they still awaitedtheir call to the boats, Dan became restless. This period of enforcedidleness acted upon him like firewater upon a wild Indian, and hisfriend soon had his hands full keeping him from disaster. 

On the last afternoon of their waiting Scotty composed himself under agum acacia tree near the river to write home. They expected to go atany moment and he must leave a last message for Granny. With the aidof an old box for a writing desk and the battered lid of a tin can foran inkbottle he managed his task fairly well. The sun was blazing downon rock and sand and river, but the breeze from the north blew up cooland grateful, reminding him of the June zephyrs that came up from LakeOro to stir the boughs of the Silver Maple. 

Near him, stretched full length upon the ground, lay Dan, striving tobe as cross as his light-hearted Irish spirits would permit. Scottyhad just a moment before forcibly rescued him from a row with someidle, poker-playing Tommies, and the wild Irishman felt small gratitudetowards his preserver. He rolled about restlessly, pronouncingserio-comic denunciations upon everything in Egypt from Lord Wolseleyto the baggage-mules, and informing his inexorable keeper at shortintervals, that if something didn't hurry up and happen, glory be, buthe'd commit high treason--a crime of which Dan had only the vaguestnotion, but one which he imagined immeasureably transcended all otherforms of iniquity. 

Scotty paid no attention to these threats; he finished his letter, packed his writing materials into his kit bag, and stood up to stretchhis limbs. Over near the officers' quarters a couple of Tommies weremaking strenuous efforts to hold down a reluctant and evil-minded camellong enough to permit a fat and pompous Colonel to mount. 

"That brute must be some relation to you, Dan, " said Scotty laughingly, "he seems to have got up a mighty objection to everything in the way ofcommon sense. "

Dan did not reply; he had raised himself upon his elbow and waslistening eagerly to something else. His attention had been caught bythe conversation of a couple of officers who were coming up from thewater-side. One was a young army subaltern, fresh from home, veryinnocent and well-meaning, but belonging to that class of youth who, because of a serene consciousness of vast inward resources, is certainto fall a prey to circumstances. His companion was slightly older, ayoung officer of the Naval Brigade under Lord Beresford. He wassquarely-set, with a frank, good-humoured face. 

The subaltern was evidently showing his newly-arrived friend thesights. "Those are the American Indians we've brought out to pilot theboats, " he explained, with a nod in the direction of a group of FrenchCanadians standing at the boat-slip; "rather a fine looking lot o'beggars, aren't they?"

His companion laughed. "Indians be hanged!" he exclaimed merrily. "More than half those fellows are no more Indians than you are. Jove, it does a fellow's eyes good to see something from home. I'm going tohave a chat with them. "

"Pshaw, you don't expect to find friends there, I hope. 'Pon honour, they're red Indians, every one of them. Wolseley got 'em. AndHarcourt says they're the aboriginal thing. "

"Your Colonel's an insular baa-lamb, Bobby; you can bet Wolseley neversaid it. Surely, as I was born and brought up in Canada I'm likely toknow a red Indian from myself now, am I not?"

The subaltern looked annoyed. "I think you're mistaken this time, " hesaid with some dignity; "perhaps an odd one or so may be white, but themajority are the real thing. Look at that big fellow there, now. I'llbet two to one he's a full blood, anyway. "

The other glanced at the man indicated. Scotty's face and arms, alwaysbrown, had become almost copper-coloured in even his short exposure tothe Egyptian sun, and his lithe, muscular figure, leaning easilyagainst the tree, was not unlike that of the stalwart Caughnawagas fromthe St. Lawrence, but as the young naval officer looked at him helaughed derisively. 

"Done with you, " he cried gaily. "Go and ask him. "

The subaltern marched up promptly to the voyageur. "I say, Canadian, "he said somewhat stiffly, "here's a gentleman who says you're not anIndian. Just tell him politely that he's mistaken, please. "

Scotty turned from his contemplation of the camel to find, to hissurprise, that he was being addressed. But before he could reply, Danhad forestalled him. That young man, whose red hair and Hibernianfeatures could have left no doubt even in the subaltern's mind as tohis nationality, had been listening, with huge enjoyment, to theconversation. He had risen to his feet and was saluting with graverespect. 

"Sure it's yourself that's right, sir, " he said with an apologetic air. "Anybody can see he's an Indian. He belongs to one of our worsttribes--the Blood-drinkers, they call themselves. His name's BigScalper. And sure, " he added, lowering his voice fearfully, "it's thebloodthirsty brute he is, an' no mistake!"

The young naval officer came forward and gazed fixedly into thespeaker's meek and innocent countenance, but could detect there nosmallest sign of deceit. The subaltern looked solemn. 

"Is that all true he's telling us, Big Scalper?" he asked dubiously. 

"Sure, there's no use talkin' to him, sir, " broke in Dan, with patientsurprise; "he can't spake a word but his own outlandish jabber. Thecratur was jist runnin' wild in the bush when Colonel Denison caughthim an' brought him out here. " The young man's air of kindly anxiety, mingled with innocent seriousness, was too much for mortal gravity. Big Scalper turned his back with strange suddenness and stared fixedlyout upon the hot, grey glint of the river. 

A little group of idle Canadians had begun to gravitate towards them. Dan Murphy had already earned a reputation among them as a source ofentertainment, and was particularly interesting whenever anyone evinceda desire to learn anything of his native land. The officers were wontto question the voyageurs, and Dan played upon their ignorance of thewestern half of their Empire, which was deep enough to begin with, andmade it abysmal. 

"I told you, " cried the subaltern triumphantly. "I've won my bet, oldfellow!"

"Strange how he's going to pilot a boat-load of men up the riverwithout the use of the English language, " suggested the young navalofficer, with a slightly sarcastic drawl. 

"Aw, ye don't know him, " cried Mr. Murphy in a tone expressive of fear, "he'll find a way to make them mind or he'll bash all their heads in. Sure, he's the Divil himself, sir. Jist look at the wicked eye o' himnow, will ye?"

This was going too far for safety, and Big Scalper turned upon hisloquacious showman. He was too much an artist to spoil the play byproclaiming it a sham, so he spoke a few rapid words in Gaelic. TheMurphy's knowledge of that language was naturally limited, but therewas never a boy in Glenoro school, be his nationality what it might, who did not pick up much of the war-vocabulary of the FightingMacDonalds, and Dan had no difficulty in gathering from Scotty's remarkthat he was being strongly advised to immediately shut his mouth. 

"What's he sayin'?" inquired the subaltern interestedly. 

Dan's face was a study in pained and polite anxiety. 

"I'm askin' yer pardon, sir, " he said nervously, "but I think it wouldbe safer if ye wouldn't be lookin' at him anny longer. He's askin' mewhich o' yer scalps I think would look best danglin' from his belt!"

There was a shout of long-suppressed laughter from the on-lookingCanadians, and the young officer's face flamed up angrily. 

"I shall report you for this insolence!" he cried, suddenly awakeningto his ignominious position. 

But his friend caught his arm and drew him away. 

"Come out of this, Bob!" he cried in a choking voice. "You'll reportnothing! You'd better not monkey with those fellows. That young Irishruffian was improvising as he went along. And I'm awfully sorry, Bobbydear, but I'm afraid I've won my bet, " he added, allowing his laughterto overcome him, "because--because--oh, Holy Maria, hold me up, I'mgoing to die!--because Big Scalper speaks a language that's amazinglylike the stuff the pipers of the Black Watch jabber to one another!"

As Scotty moved down to the landing he gave his tormentor agood-humoured shaking. "It's lots of fun, I know, Dan; but you'dbetter keep that long, Irish tongue of yours still before the officers, or you'll get into trouble. I don't know what that fellow's going todo. "

"Be jabers, it would be worth pickin' oakum for a year jist to takedown his blamed consate. Did ye iver see such a banty rooster as theyoung wasp was? The little sailor chap wasn't half bad. And, say, Scot, did ye hear him say he was a Canadian or from Canady, orsomethin' like that? It accounts for his good manners. "

"Who, the bluejacket?" Scotty looked with interest after the youngman's retreating form. There was something in his trim, straightfigure that somehow seemed familiar. 

"What's his name, I wonder?" he began, when a peremptory orderinterrupted. "Stanwell, into number 150!" cried the sharp voice of theoverseer, and Scotty sprang into the stern of the boat and was off forhis first battle with the cataracts of the Nile. 

XV

THE SECRET OF THE NILE

 O mystic Nile! Thy secret yields Before us; thy most ancient dreams Are mixed with far Canadian fields And murmur of Canadian streams. --C. D. G. ROBERTS. 

The awe-inspiring designation which Dan had bestowed upon his friendwas not readily dropped. The Canadians seized and used it joyfully. Others who heard the name and were not aware of the joke in which itoriginated supposed that the bearer of it was really an Indian chief, about whose bloody prowess they were ready to believe any tales whichthe ingenious Mr. Murphy might invent. And so, for the remainder ofthe voyage, Scotty was known throughout the column as Big Scalper, thefiercest Indian from the Canadian wilds. 

But in the days that followed Dan found few opportunities for indulginghis reckless humour, for soon the army was moving forward rapidly andthe boatmen were in the midst of stupendous toil. The River Column hadbeen bidden to make haste. Gordon was shut up in Khartoum waiting hisrescuers, and no one must rest. On they went, day after day, pastdreary stretches of sand, broken only by an occasional and equallydreary dom palm; past barren ledges of rock, deserted mud villages andruined temples; battling madly with a rapid, only to find when it wasovercome that another lay ahead; toiling strenuously to catch up withthe enemy, only to see at nightfall their spearheads disappearing overthe last brown ridge of sand hills. Scotty felt himself becoming amachine, something that did the day's work mechanically. To toil allday in the bow or stern of a boat in the scorching heat of the pitilesssun, or walk over blistering rock and dazzling sand; to sleep at nightinside a square of good British bayonets, chilled by the numbing windfrom the north; to rise at the bugle-call and go at it again--that wasthe unvarying programme. Cataract and sand plain succeeded cataractand sand plain with such deadly monotony, that all sense of time, place, and progress was blotted out. They seemed stationary in anendless desert, toiling against an endless river, always moving butnever advancing. 

He often wondered, as he watched the brown, turbid water racing down tomeet him, what secret the mysterious Nile held for him. What would beits bearing upon his life? But he always ended his questionings withthe assurance that whatever the outcome might be, even though he shouldnever see it, it was controlled by a higher Power, and he was content. 

And through all the hardships and stress of the work, the struggle withthe rapids, the hunger and privations, the new life which had beenimplanted in Scotty's heart was his greatest stay. Many a time in theface of temptation he blessed the saintly old woman far away in theCanadian backwoods for the godly training he had received beneath theSilver Maple. He found he needed all his strength in this new, wildlife; for a more gaily-gallant, reckless, devil-may-care crew than theCanadian voyageurs, who fought and overcame the ancient Nile, surelynever wielded paddles. His chief trial was his own faithful follower, for Dan Murphy strove to out-Canadian the wildest river-driver of theOttawa valley. And had Scotty's strong hand not been often placed uponthe unsteady tiller of his friend's life, there might have been asadder wreck among the Nile voyageurs than has been set down inhistory. His vigilant oversight of Dan's conduct did not prevent himdistinguishing himself in quite a unique way. 

Ever since he had left Cairo that young man's one hope in life had beento participate in a battle. There came a day, later, when he andScotty worked side by side on the blood-stained rocks of the desert, helping to remove the dead and wounded; when they saw their General'sbody lowered into its lonely grave, and witnessed the hundred harrowingsights of a battlefield; and then and there, much of the boyish glamourof battle faded before the horrible reality. But that time had not yetcome; and, like Napoleon, Dan was convinced that war was a grand game. 

So when the reluctant enemy at last massed itself upon the rocky ledgesof Kirbekan to delay the column, and the joyful news spread through theimpatient army that at last they were to meet the foe, none was soeager for the fray as Dan. In spite of Scotty's admonitions, he wentto one of his officers to beg permission to join the advance the nextmorning. The request was promptly refused, and the volunteer biddenwith scant ceremony to go back to his boat and mind his own business. But Mr. Murphy was convinced that his business lay with the front rankof the advancing column. He had not been trained to army disciplineand was not minded to lose the glorious chance of participating in areal battle for such a trifling consideration as one man's opinion. 

So in the grey dawn of the morning, when the troops marched out oversand and barren rock, there went with them a man who had neither theuniform nor the dogged stride of the rank and file. But he made up inenthusiasm what he lacked in military precision; for, havingappropriated the arms and accoutrements of the first man who fell, herushed to the front, and was right in the van of the victorious chargethat swept the enemy from their rocky stronghold. 

Dan Murphy was the hero of the Canadian voyageurs for the remainder ofthe journey. When the six months' term for which they had signed hadexpired, and he and Scotty resolved to go on to the end, there weremany who remained with the column because the former chose to act as anindependent recruiting officer. If he was going to Khartoum, then theywould follow, for where Murphy was there must surely be some fun. 

But the end of the journey came sooner than was expected. A littleabove Kirbekan General Brackenbury received the tragic news of the fallof Khartoum and the martyred Gordon's death. Just a few days earlier, just a little more haste, and the gallant heart that had looked bravelyinto the face of despair for so many weary weeks, still patient, stillhoping, might have seen the answer to his prayers! But the succorswere too late by less than a week. Gordon was murdered, Khartoum wasfallen, and at Huella the baffled column received orders to return. 

If the toil of descending the Nile was not equal to that experienced inthe ascent, the skill and vigilance required of the pilots was evengreater. Only a few days' journey had been completed when the columnhalted at the head of a long series of cataracts. Here the Dongoleseboatmen had been put to their utmost strength to haul up the boatsthrough the boiling, writhing channel, and the question was, could anyboat go down it and live? General Brackenbury gave orders that nonebut the Canadians should be entrusted with the descent; so, early inthe morning, the voyageurs walked down the stream to survey it. Theypronounced the channel bad, but not impossible, while one old St. Lawrence pilot sniffed contemptuously and declared that the Lachinewould make this puddle look "seek. "

But the Nile cataract was bad enough, as Scotty realised, when he foundhimself among the first called to go down. Dan was his bowman and thestroke oar was a hardy old Scotch sergeant. Upon both of these hecould rely with certainty. Nevertheless, as he steered out into themiddle of the river, he realised that they had good need of all theircourage and resource. On an overhanging rock above him stood thecommander with some of his staff, anxiously watching the experiment. The shore was lined with soldiers, as though they had come to witness aboat-race. Scotty had a fleeting glimpse of them as he raced past, andthen his boat was caught in the swift current and shot forward withlightning speed. The men bent to their oars with all the might oftheir brawny arms, to give their helmsman more power, Dan stood in thebow, alert and tense, his paddle ready, and Scotty held the tiller inan iron grip. The channel curved sharply to right and left; at thequickest turns great rocks stood in mid-stream over which the angrywaters boiled and roared. At many points an instant's hesitation onhis own part, Scotty well knew, or a second's relaxation of Dan'svigilance, would hurl boat and crew to destruction. They were in itnow, dashing through a blinding rain of spray, leaping, turning, dodging, twisting, as though the boat were a living creature pursued. 

Down they shot through the boiling zig-zag current, now avoiding great, jagged rocks by a hair's-breadth, now bounding like a deer over asmooth incline, now plunging into a seething white billow; and, when atlast they swept round into the quiet bay at the foot of the cataract, Dan leaped up, and waving his paddle on high uttered a wild war-whooplearned long ago in the swamps of the Oro. There was an answeringcheer from the group of men waiting at the landing. "Well done, BigScalper!" cried the foreman. 

A young naval officer who had just ridden down from the head of therapid turned quickly at the words. 

"What, Big Scalper, is that you?" he cried as the pilots stepped fromthe boat. "How is it you're not hanged yet?"

Scotty glanced up and encountered a laughing glance from the speaker'smerry eyes. He recognised the young man whom Dan had vainly tried tobefool, away back at the beginning of the voyage. He was preventedfrom replying by a word from the officer in command. As the voyageurswere few and the boats many they had to walk back to the head of thecataract as soon as one descent was accomplished and prepare foranother. Their commander was bidding them make haste, and, when Scottyturned to leave the landing, the young man had disappeared. He wasvaguely disappointed. There was something very attractive in hisgood-humoured familiarity, so different from the manner of the ordinaryunder officers. 

When the long day's labour was over and the darkness prevented thedescent of any more boats, the Canadians received orders to return tothe upper camp to be in readiness for the morning's work. Dan had beenrequired for steering early in the day, and had been separated from hisfriend, so Scotty found himself upon the rocky path leading to the headof the cataract quite alone. 

Dan had promised to join him, but when Dan was in the company of thevoyageurs there was generally sufficient cause for delay. Scottywalked on slowly, glad to be alone for a few moments after thetremendous toil of the day; the desert was quiet, and acted upon hisspirits as did the deep, fragrant swamps at home. 

The sun had set and the desert, which had glowed golden in theblistering sun all day, now lay grey and ghostly in the moonlight. Away ahead stood the ruins of an ancient temple overgrown with dustymimosa bushes. The whispering Nile, brown and gleaming in the daytime, ran swiftly past, touched to silver by the moon that hung in the greatempty space overhead. The breeze from the north was cool; the nightwas quiet and restful. He strolled along easily, looking backoccasionally for signs of his comrades; a solitary figure in the barrendesert. 

The toil over rocks and rapids of the last few months, though it hadhardened his physique and left him in superb health, had played havocwith his clothes; and he was so disreputable and tattered a figure, that he smiled to himself, as he pictured Granny's distress could shehave seen him. 

He reached a turn in the rocky path and stopped to listen for sounds ofthose who were to follow. The breeze from the north brought faintlythe music of the old French Canadian song that had so often enlivenedalike the toil of the shantymen on the Ottawa and the pilots on theNile. 

 "En roulant, ma boule roulant, En roulant, ma boule. "

The boys were coming, then; he seated himself upon a rock to awaitthem. The sound died away for a moment, only the dry rustle of themimosa bushes disturbed the silence. 

He seemed absolutely alone in the world, until from a break in therocks to his right a camel emerged with its stately, undulating stride. It bore an officer presumably riding down to the foot of the cataract. The long, fantastic shadow moved across the grey sand. Scotty couldhear the rider's voice urging the animal forward. As they came outinto the open, the two figures were silhouetted against the pale sky; asplendid mark for a prowling Dervish, he reflected. 

As if in answer to his thought there came the sudden crack of a riflefrom the direction of the ruined temple. The figure of the riderlurched over, and, with a leap, the animal had thrown him and was offdesertward. There was a fiendish yell from the mimosa bushes. Threeor four dark forms rose like magic from their shadows, their spearsglinting in the moonlight as they leaped forward. The wounded man laybetween his assailants and Scotty, somewhat nearer the latter. As itwas Scotty reached him first. The man was lying on the sand. He hadhis revolver in his hand and was striving desperately to raise himselfinto a position to shoot. Scotty dragged him into a sheltering nookbetween two ledges of rock, snatched the weapon from his hand, andcrouching down sent a bullet spinning out to meet the advancing rush. The Dervishes halted; the revolver spoke again; there was a howl as aman fell. Scotty felt a moment's inner exultation in that steady aimhe had never lost since the days he and Dan shot chipmunks behind theschoolhouse. But the yell had been answered by another farther fromthe river; three more glinting spearheads suddenly appeared from thedark expanse beyond, and came hurtling towards him. He poured theremaining chambers of his revolver into the mad charge; but, when thelast was gone, the enemy were still leaping forward. He threw down theweapon and looked about swiftly. The wounded man had a sword at hisside. Scotty grasped it and the same instant the yelling savages wereupon him. There was no use trying to take cover now. He stood erectand struck out madly. He was dimly surprised when the first man wentdown before him. He swung his weapon fiercely, with no thought of aim;but he was as agile as even these wild sons of the desert and his armhad the strength of ten. It could not last long, he knew, and hefought with the energy of despair. There was a strange roaring in hiscars, as though he were in the midst of the cataract again, somethingwarm was streaming down his face and obscuring his vision; he struckout blindly, desperately. 

But now another sound arose, even above the roaring in Scotty's head, the sound of a familiar voice; a shout from down the river. Scotty'sheart leaped; he uttered a strange, weird yell--"Oro, Oro, woo-hoo!"It was the long, fierce battle-cry of Glenoro school. If Dan were inEgypt that would bring him, he knew!

"Oro! Oro!" came the answer; and like a sandstorm across the desertcame the company of voyageurs, Dan at their head, uttering theblood-curdling war-whoop with which he had so often awakened the echoesof the Canadian swamps. 

The fierce-eyed Soudanese who had raised his spear to hurl at hisopponent hesitated. He must have thought that all GeneralBrackenbury's army was upon him. He leaped back with a sharp word ofcommand; one more yell from the advancing column, followed by the crackof a random shot decided him; the dark figures took to their heels, andin the magic way known only to the desert-born, had melted in a momentover the low hills. 

Scotty's head was spinning wildly, and when Dan flung himself upon himhe sank unsteadily upon the ground. 

"Hello, Danny, " he tried to say, with his usual calmness, "just ontime. "

Dan clutched him by the shoulders and shook him violently; his voicewas unsteady. "Be jabers, didn't I hear ye bleatin' like a stray lamb, half-a-mile back. How did ye happen to have such luck, ye beggar? Aw, the black-hearted brutes has give ye a bang, Scotty, boy. Hold on tome now, old man, here, an' we'll fix ye up in no time. "

"The other fellow needs it worse, " said Scotty, making a motion towardsthe man at his feet. Someone struck a light; the voyageurs raised thewounded man gently. His eyes opened. 

"Are you much hurt?" asked one of the rescuers, bending over him. 

Scotty looked down at him and was conscious of a feeling of gladsurprise. It was the young naval officer who had spoken to him thatmorning. 

"Not much, " he gasped pluckily. "It's under my arm here. You werejust in the nick of time, Canadian. "

Another match was lit to enable the men to see the rough bandages theywere trying to adjust. The light flashed up into Scotty's face, andthe wounded man's eyes brightened. 

"Why, was it you, Big Scalper?" he asked, with a faint attempt at asmile. "The Devil's not so bad as he's painted----" He made an effortto hold out his hand, but before Scotty could take it the young man'shead fell back and he had fainted in Dan's arms. 

The buzzing in Scotty's head grew louder, other sounds became dim andfar away. He was vaguely conscious that the boys were binding up hishead, hurting him most unnecessarily in the process, and that they wereleading him away, away, through the revolving darkness, over aninterminable desert. 

But the next morning saw him in the stern of his boat ready to take thecataract once more. His head was still bandaged and felt rather light, but he did his day's work as usual. And before the next evening he wasat the head of the column, far down the Nile, without knowing even thename of the man whose life he had saved. 

And that same day a young naval officer, lying in a hospital boat askedanxiously if he might not see the Canadian pilot, known as Big Scalper, and was informed that the Indian of that name had gone on at the frontof the column, but that he would see him when they disbanded at Korti. 

But when the voyageurs drew up before the flagstaff to receive theGeneral's farewell, the young officer lay tossing in delirium; and whennext he saw his preserver it was not in Egyptian bondage, but in thenew land of promise. 

XVI

RE-VOYAGE

 "For dere's no place lak our own place, don't care de far you're goin', Dat's what the whole worl's sayin', w'enever dey come here, 'Cos we got de fines' contree, an' de beeges' reever flowin', An' le bon Dieu sen' de sunshine nearly twelve mont' ev'ry year. " --WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND. 

And surely the Israelites, on the borders of Canaan, felt no more joythan did the two voyageurs when they first sighted the green shores ofCanada. As they steamed up the St. Lawrence Dan's delight reached thedangerous stage. He was dying for a fight, and a fight he must have, he declared. And for this purpose he danced about the deck, brandishing his fists, and beseeching everyone within hearing to speakup and say that Canady wasn't jist the flower garden of creation, barrin' ould Ireland. Before he succeeded in getting himself intoserious trouble, Scotty wisely put the wild Irishman down upon the deckand sat on him until the first spasms of the home-coming ecstasy wereover. 

But when the boys reached the little railway station a few miles fromGlenoro, and saw Hamish's kind, brown eyes and old Pat Murphy's redface beaming a double welcome, there were no noisy demonstrations. Foras they drove up through the ever-changing panorama of hill and valley, with the flash of the river and the blue gleam of lakes peeping throughthe green, Scotty had a choking lump in his throat--and even Dan wassilent. For they were home again, and Oro was vocal with the joy ofreturning spring. 

The pink-tinted buds were everywhere bursting into green, the marshmarigolds lit the dark borders of the swamp with their little goldenlamps, the hepaticas and trilliums spangled the dun-coloured carpet ofthe woods; just the same, Scotty thought, as in the happy days when heand Isabel scampered among them. The air was deliciously laden withthe exhilarating scents of the young green earth, the bluebirds flashedfrom bough to bough of the elm trees, and the robins, how they sang!Dan declared the little spalpeens knew he was home, for what else wouldmake them bust their foolish little throats wid shoutin'?

His quiet mood did not last long. The Canadian air was getting intohis blood again. A sudden whirr and flash, where a host of red-wingedblackbirds arose in a cloud from the road, proved too much for him. Heleaped from the buggy, yelling like a madman, and for the rest of thejourney was quite beyond the limits of reason. He sat in the vehicleonly on rare occasions, and spent his time scrambling over fences, tearing into the woods and back again, chasing squirrels and whoopinglike an Indian, until his father privately questioned Scotty as to theeffect of the Egyptian sun on the brain. 

Scotty sat beside Hamish, laughing helplessly at poor old Dan'smadness, and in his quieter way revelling just as much in all the dearfamiliar sights. He was feeling how good it was to be a son of thenorth land, to live in this garden of lake and river, forest andmeadow, and see it come to life afresh each year, and as they climbed ahill, and he stood up in the old buggy to catch his first glimpse ofLake Oro he realised solemnly that, though he might be called English, Irish, Scotch, Indian, Egyptian, what not, he was altogether andentirely and overwhelmingly Canadian. 

And at the brow of the hill came the Murphy homestead, with all theMurphys far and near assembled to greet the returned wanderer. Scottyand Hamish had intended to leave Dan at his home and hurry away, butwhen the hero of the house of Murphy was dropped into the arms of theexcited crowd, they found leave-taking a difficult enterprise. Irishhospitality, especially when transplanted to the land of Canadianplenty, is a compelling force. 

At first Scotty's impatience to get home resisted all invitations, andold Pat was about to reluctantly allow them to depart, when Mrs. Murphy, who until now had been weeping loudly on Dan's broad shoulder, oblivious to everything but his return, suddenly awoke to the shamefulfact that someone was about to leave her doors without stopping to eat. She issued no further invitation, but with her apron still to her eyesand still exclaiming over and over in muffled sobs, that "the darlin'had come back to his mother, " she darted into the road; and snatchingthe horses' bridle, dragged her guests through the gate and up to thedoor, amid the applause of the assembled Flats. 

And so they had supper in the Murphy home perforce, and all the greatdeeds of their expedition had to be recounted. Scotty told how Dan haddisobeyed orders and run away at the battle of Kirbekan; only, like atrue Irishman, he had run to, not from the fight. But when his friendreturned the compliment and launched into an account of the midnightskirmish at the ruined temple, the hero of that event arose hastily, and declared they must be going. 

There was much for Hamish both to tell and hear on the road, so theafternoon was fading into evening when at last they reached the ScotchLine. They had taken a detour round the Glen, for Scotty did not wantto be delayed by more friends. They passed the Weaver's clearing, andHamish declared how Jimmie and Kirsty were such an agreeable pair asnever was, for indeed the two lived in such a state of connubialfelicity as was a wonder to all the neighbours. Scotty caught aglimpse of the little path through the cedars, the path where he andIsabel had walked so often in those magic days succeeding Kirsty'swedding. And there was the boiling spring by the roadside where theyhad so often played, and the pools where they had gathered musk, andyonder in the fence-corner they had built their first house. 

And then there came a turn in the road and there it was! His old home!It was just the same: the old garden in front with the rose bushesturning green, and the Silver Maple putting forth its pink buds abovethe roof! And there was Granny at the door, shading her eyes with herhand; and beside her Mary Sandy, Rory's sister-in-law, who was now herhelp; and Grandaddy, who had been pretending to cut wood all afternoon, still holding the axe in his hand; yes, and even Old Farquhar, bobbingabout as excited as any!

With the instinct of long custom, Scotty jumped from the vehicle toopen the gate, but his trembling fingers refused to pull out the pin, and the next moment he had cleared the bars in one mighty spring, leaving Hamish, helpless with laughter, to shift for himself. Beforethe gate was open he had charged up the hill like a whirlwind andcaught Granny off her feet. 

And then such a time as there was with talking and hand-shaking andlaughter and tears, for even Mary Sandy took to crying out of sympathywith her mistress, and Scotty himself had some work to keep his eyesdry. 

And no one could hear a word anyone else said, for as the long-absentone crossed the threshold, Old Farquhar burst into loud and joyoussong. And what could do justice to the great occasion but "The Graveof Highland Mary"? The old man's voice was strong with excitement, andhe drowned both the noise of joyful greeting and the din of the barkingdogs as he shouted triumphantly, --

 "Then bring me the sigh of a fond lover's bosom And bring me the tear of a fond lover's e'e, And I'll pour them a' doon on thy grave, Highland May-ay-re, For the sake o' thy Bur-urns who sae dearly loved thee!"

When the excitement had slightly subsided they had to sit down andpartake of such a supper as had never before been set out in thathouse; for Granny would not listen to such foolish nonsense as thatthey had eaten at Murphy's. She sat beside her boy, never touching herown food, but heaping his plate, clapping him upon the back andshowering upon him all the endearing epithets she knew in a languagethat is famous for them. 

Big Malcolm sat close to him on the other side, his old warlike spiritaroused, as his boy told his story. Scotty softened the hardships forhis grandmother's ears and said nothing of his own encounter in thedesert. He was graphically describing the manoeuvres of theHighlanders at Kirbekan, much to his grandfather's delectation; when, as if to give point to his narrative, there suddenly arose from thedirection of the road a splendid roar of pipes; and behold here cameRory driving up the lane in a wagon, his whole family aboard; and hehimself, forgetful of his dignity as the father of the family, standingup in the wagon and blowing up a tremendous pibroch on Fiddlin'Archie's Sandy's bagpipes!

Scotty flung out of doors to meet him and had scarcely time for agreeting when they sighted Weaver Jimmie and Kirsty hurrying up thepath from the bush. Then a shout from the hill behind the barnattracted everyone's attention, and Long Lauchie's whole householdappeared trooping down the slope; Long Lauchie himself ploddingjoyfully at the tail of the procession, full of bewildering propheciesand analogies, in which there was something about Lake Simcoe's beingthe Red Sea, and the Oa, Mount Pisgah. 

It was well that Mary Sandy merited her mistress's oft-repeateddeclaration that she was "jist the smartest, tidiest girl in the Oa, indeed. " The multitude had to be fed, in accordance with the laws ofCanadian hospitality, which alter not, no matter what the circumstancesmay be, and without Kirsty's and Mary Lauchie's help even Mrs. MacDonald's paragon might have found herself inadequate. 

Big Malcolm and his wife were quite helpless with excess of happiness. The latter moved about in a happy daze, making ineffectual efforts toassist her friends, picking up articles and putting them down again ina haphazard fashion. 

At last Kirsty declared that they must all clear out and let her dosome work. Yes, and Mrs. Malcolm was to go too, for how could she beof any use with a big gomeril like Scotty clattering after her everystep, as if he was a bairn, and mostly with Big Malcolm and Rory's weeCallum trailing behind. It was enough to put a body fair daft. 

Thus banished, Scotty laughingly followed his grandmother out of doors. He was well pleased, for he was longing to get a word with her alone. He knew that her tender eyes had long ago read his heart's secret, andif she had any news for him she would surely give it without asking. 

There was a new stone milk-house a few yards from the door, built sincehis departure; and he must needs see it, Granny said. So she took himwith her when she went for a jug of buttermilk for the guests. Andwhen he had admired the place and the buttermilk had been procured, they stood in the cool, sweet dampness, and Granny told him how all thefriends had asked for him so often. The minister, indeed, came upseveral times just to inquire if they had had a letter, and StoreThompson's wife had said that whenever the Captain himself came to theGlen he always asked for him. Then she went to the farther end of thelittle chamber and commenced a diligent search for something that wasnot there, and, with her back turned to him, remarked with elaboratecarelessness that the Captain's family were expected at the Grange anyday now. The Captain had been away nearly all the time since he lostthe election, he had been that disappointed, poor body. They had spentthe last winter in Toronto. The wee Isabel hadn't been jist very wellall winter, Kirsty had said, and the aunt had wanted to take her to theseashore, but she had said that nothing but the Oro air would do herany good, and Kirsty was expecting her some of these days. 

Scotty drew a deep breath. She was coming back then! She would be atthe Grange, she might even come to Kirsty's! And then Kirsty herselfdarted in and snatched the pitcher of buttermilk from Granny's handsand disappeared as quickly. Neither of them noticed her, for Scottywas in a rosy but hopeless dream, and Granny was patting him lovinglyupon the arm in expression of the sympathy she dared not speak. Therewas silence for a moment, the old woman still caressing him tenderly. 

"Eh, it would be the Lord would be bringing you back to me, _m' eudailbheg_, " she said at last. "He would be good to Malcolm and me in ourold age, for you would jist be our Benjamin, whatever. And has it beenwell with Granny's boy all this weary time?" she added in a whisper. 

Scotty put his hands upon her shoulders and looked long into her lovingeyes. 

"Granny, " he whispered, "do you remember the first day I went toschool, and how I came through the swamp alone on the way home. "

"Eh, the wee man it was! And how would I be forgetting, indeed, for itwould be the first time you would be leaving me!"

"And do you remember what I found a comfort then? The swamp was solonely it frightened me, and I thought it must be like the valley ofthe shadow of death; so I said over the Shepherd's Psalm, because youhad taught it to me and I knew it must be good, and I wasn't afraid anymore. And now I've been away from you again, Granny, in the valley ofthe shadow of death, yes, and worse than death often, but--the rod andthe staff were always with me. "

The tears were running down the old wrinkled face, happy tears, forGranny had feared often for her boy; not so much the temporal ills; thearrow that flieth by day was not to her so dangerous as the "secretfear. " But her fears had been happily disappointed, he had had thegreat Keeper with him, and one more joy was added to her deep content. 

The celebration at Big Malcolm's lasted half the night, and before ithad ended Scotty found he had yet one more draught to drink from hiscup of happiness. The assembly was sitting round him breathless as herelated the many incidents of his journey, when Weaver Jimmie, who wassitting in the doorway to allow his feet to hang in the greater freedomof outdoors, suddenly interrupted with an exclamation, "Losh keep us, is yon the Schoolmaster come back?" Scotty came to the doorway with aspring and met the outstretched hands of his friend. Monteith hadheard the boys were expected and had journeyed all the way from Barbay, where he now resided, to bid his pupil welcome. Scotty was speechlessover this last greeting, for in the long warm handshake of his oldfriend there was not the smallest hint of a past estrangement. 

XVII

THE PROMISED LAND

 Love and Hope and Truth and Duty Guide the upward striving soul, Still evolving higher beauty As the ages onward roll. --AGNES MAULE MACHAR. 

The next day Scotty found that he was not yet through with hislionising. With the morning sun up came Dan from the Flats with thenews that "the boys" were to meet at Store Thompson's that evening, andthey must both go down and show themselves. At first Scotty was forrefusing, but his grandfather decided for him. Big Malcolm, who was nobetter at dissembling than his wife, suddenly remembered that he hadurgent reasons for going into the Glen that evening and promised thathe would bring his grandson with him. 

So there was nothing for Scotty to do, as Monteith, who was still withhim, explained, but to be a real lion and roar properly. Granny madethem an early tea and, the schoolmaster accompanying them, they droveoff in the old buckboard. 

On the way Big Malcolm regaled the two exiles with tales of the greatevents that had transpired since their absence. The most important onerelated to Store Thompson's latest achievement in the philologicalfield. This time he had routed completely young Mike Murphy. Mike hadnever received anything through the post office in his life, but nevera day passed but he poked his head in at the little wicket and demandedin a loud voice, "Anythin' for Murphy the day?" Store Thompson hadendured the youth's uncouthness with his usual serenity, but one dayMike asked twice at the wicket. That was once too often, and StoreThompson fell back on his reserve forces. "Murphy?" he queried. "Young man, ye're jist ambeeguous like, aye, ye're jist ambeeguous. "Mike had never inquired for letters since. He retired in a rage, underthe impression that Store Thompson had called him some insulting name, but, like many another brave man, overawed by the mystery of theunknown. Ever since, Store Thompson had been free from his tormentorand the young man was known between the Oa and the Flats as "AmbiguousMike. " Big Malcolm chuckled audibly and jerked the lines in delightover the remembrance of his old friend's victory. 

The way seemed very short to Scotty, there was so much of interest tosee. Soon they left the Highlands and began to descend into the Glen, and he found his eyes growing misty again as they dwelt on the windingwhite road, the silver curves of the river between the faint green ofthe hills, and the cosy homesteads nestled in the budding orchards. 

The place was so little changed in the two years he could almostbelieve he had never left it. He noticed only one radical difference. Pete Nash's establishment had disappeared. The tavern had not beenable to withstand the united progress of commerce and righteousness;Mr. Cameron's advent had heralded its downfall, and the toot of therailway train through Oro had sounded its death knell. 

Big Malcolm had not finished dilating upon the blessing its departurehad been to the community, when they reached the post office. A crowdstood collected about it, eager but quiet. They hid their concern inthe true rural fashion and stood leaning against every availablesupport with supreme indifference, shoulders high, hands in pockets, caps on one side. Store Thompson was more ceremonious. Before Scottycould alight, out he came with hands outstretched in greeting. He hadprepared an elaborate speech of welcome, adorned with all the availablepolysyllables in the dictionary; but, when he saw Scotty's familiarface, his eyes shining with the joy of his home-coming, and BigMalcolm, erect and full of fire as though he had suddenly droppedtwenty years of his life, his heart got the better of his head and hecould only shake the voyageur's hand again and again and say:

"Aye, ye're home again. Aye, ye've jist come home, like!"

And then out bustled Store Thompson's wife, who was as blithe and briskas she had been twenty years before, and she had no difficulty inkissing Scotty this time, though she had to stand on tip-toe to do it. 

And at last the crowd flung off its lethargy and one by one cameforward in greeting. Dan had already arrived and was resplendent amidthe whole population of the Flats; and not the Flats only, for such acosmopolitan crowd had not been seen in the Glen since the old days ofthe fights. There were all the Murphys and the Caldwells and, ofcourse, every MacDonald from far and near. And Hash Tucker had broughtover a goodly representation of the Tenth to do honour to his oldschoolmates. Scotty had got through only half the hand shakes when theminister came up from the manse to welcome the boys and tell them theyhad made him proud of Canada. 

Scotty found, somewhat to the dismay of his reticent soul, that Dan hadbeen spreading abroad the story of his gallant rescue of an Englishofficer against overwhelming odds, and the ovation he received wasparticularly trying. 

"It's a pity you couldn't have kept your long, Irish tongue still for aday!" he grumbled, and Dan laughed and thumped him soundly upon thechest for an ungrateful and stony-hearted old Scotchman. 

The two were standing, the centre of a breathless ring, while Dan, withtrue Irish fluency, described the fight at Kirbekan, when the sound ofrapidly approaching wheels partly diverted the attention of theaudience. 

"Eh, yon must be the Captain an' his family jist gettin' home, " saidStore Thompson, turning away to welcome the new arrivals. For, sincethe departure of the tavern, Store Thompson was public host in theGlen. Scotty heard and felt his heart leap into his mouth. Would shebe there?

The wheels were stopping. "That'll be his son most like, the youngman, " he heard someone say above the buzzing in his ears. "He's beenaway in the wars. "

Captain Herbert's voice came next, "No, thank you, James, not to-night;we just want to water the horses. But what's all this? You haven'tlapsed into the old warlike days in my absence, I hope?"

And then Scotty shoved Dan aside and looked up. Yes, there she was, and not at all pale and ill as his heart had feared, but smiling andflushed like a wild rose. And her eyes were looking a welcome straightinto his, over the heads of the people; such a welcome as not all thelove of his own kin had been able to give. 

And the next instant a marvellous thing happened, a thing thatastounded all the spectators and left them amazed and gaping. For thepale young man at Captain Herbert's side suddenly leaped to his feet asthough he had gone mad. He gave a shout, "_Big Scalper!_" and the samemoment he had cleared the carriage wheels and several people's headsand had flung himself upon Scotty and delivered him a blow that senthim staggering back against the verandah. And instead of resentingsuch outrageous treatment, as any right-minded descendant of theFighting MacDonalds should, Scotty submitted very meekly. In alaughing, half-ashamed manner he allowed himself to be pounded andshaken, and when his assailant had almost wrung his hands off, evenpermitted himself to be dragged up to the carriage wheels. 

"Father!" cried the young man, his voice high with excitement, "it'sthe very fellow himself! It's Big Scalper!"

At that Dan Murphy uttered a yell that made the topmost pine on the Orobanks ring. 

"It's the English spalpeen!" he roared to the dumbfounded crowd. "It'sthe cratur Scotty pulled out o' the black divils in Agypt. Oh, hooray!"

It seemed as if all the township of Oro joined him in one mighty shout. Some said afterwards that even Store Thompson cheered, though mostpeople believed that the excitement of the moment gave birth to thatwild rumour. But certain it is that an equally wonderful thinghappened, for at the sound of the uproar the minister turned back fromthe manse gate, and when he was made aware of the cause, he actuallywaved his hat in the air and made everyone give three more cheers. 

And such a prodigious handshaking ensued that Scotty was almostovercome. Captain Herbert acted as if he could never let him go; andthere was Store Thompson and the minister and half the crowd to shakehands with again, and it seemed to Scotty that every second man was theyoung Egyptian officer, and he found to his amusement that even thatabsurd Dan was greeting him as though they had not met for years!

But he was only half-conscious of it all, only half realised what itmeant even when Miss Herbert took both his hands in hers and whisperedsoftly: "God bless you, my boy. " For he could see nothing but Isabel'sface and her blue eyes swimming in happy tears, and felt only herclinging hands as she whispered brokenly: "Oh, Scotty, isn't itwonderful, wonderful?" And Scotty knew that even she did not quiterealise just how wonderful it was. 

Then, amid all the expressions of good will, Big Malcolm steppedforward and held out his hand to Captain Herbert. It was graspedwarmly and the old man felt, with a great uplifting of his spirit, thathis last forgiveness was accomplished and his last feud buried. 

It was very late that night when the company broke up and Scotty foundhimself at home once more. Monteith had returned with him, and as hetook his leave the young man accompanied him to the gate. 

"I wanted a chance to tell you, before I go, " he said, as they pausedin the moonlight, "that you were right, after all, Ralph. "

"In giving up?" asked Scotty eagerly. "Is it because of what you sawthis afternoon?"

"No; the reward of a right act doesn't always come so suddenly; butbecause I have learned something since you went away, something thatyour grandmother taught me up there under the Silver Maple. I know nowthat when a man has once realised what the Great Sacrifice means hecannot choose his own way. "

And Scotty went up to his old bed in the loft and lay listening to thebranches of the Silver Maple softly caressing the roof, unable to sleepfor joy and thankfulness. 

The days that followed were very busy ones. Scotty was often at theGrange; not altogether because inclination turned his feet thither, butbecause there was much business to settle. Lieutenant Herbert wantedto return soon to England, and he would not leave until his new friendhad received due restitution and more. Scotty wanted nothing; the lookin Isabel's eyes was enough, but Harold would not listen. No, he musthave the Grange and all that pertained to it, he declared; for theCaptain and his sister had long thought of going back to England to endtheir days. "So, " he concluded, "when you are through that collegecourse, which it appears you must take, you and Bluebell can settledown here to farming; and good luck go with you, because I don't envyyou your lot!"

But Scotty and Isabel cared very little whether they were envied ornot. Their own happiness was sufficient. 

And so Ralph Stanwell came into his inheritance at last, and by theright road, the road of truth and equity, which, though it may oftendescend by the way of the cross, is sure and straight and leadeth untolife eternal. 

 * * * * *

The day before he left to take up his studies in the city, Scotty wentdown to the Grange and brought Isabel up, ostensibly to spend the daywith Kirsty, but really because they wanted to say farewell among theirold haunts. The girl had spent the afternoon at Big Malcolm's and asevening fell and Scotty prepared to take her home, they went round tothe side of the house and sat for a few moments under the Silver Maple. Lake Oro was a sea of gems flashing between the dusky points of the firtrees. The hilltops were flushed with rose, the valleys steeped inpurple, and the vesper sparrows filled the golden twilight with theirmusic. 

"Scotty, " said the girl softly, "I've been reminded all day of thepsalm Granny Malcolm taught us here--'Thou hast beset me behind andbefore and hast laid Thine Hand upon me!'"

And Scotty, whose mind held the vivid remembrance of a greattemptation, to which he had almost yielded and from which he had beensaved that wonderful night in the wilderness, added: "'Such knowledgeis too wonderful for me. It is high. I cannot attain unto it. '"

And a little breeze, dancing up from the golden bosom of Lake Oro, tossed the green canopy above their heads and showed that every darkemerald leaf had its silver lining. 

THE END