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diff --git a/3287-0.txt b/3287-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..27fa54d --- /dev/null +++ b/3287-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14106 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Man From Glengarry, by Ralph Connor + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Man From Glengarry + A Tale Of The Ottawa + +Author: Ralph Connor + +Release Date: June 3, 2006 [EBook #3287] +Last Updated: March 5, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson + + + + + +THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY + +A TALE OF THE OTTAWA + + +By Ralph Connor + + + + +DEDICATION + +TO THE MEN OF GLENGARRY WHO IN PATIENCE, IN COURAGE AND IN THE FEAR OF +GOD ARE HELPING TO BUILD THE EMPIRE OF THE CANADIAN WEST THIS BOOK IS +HUMBLY DEDICATED + + + + +PREFACE + + +The solid forests of Glengarry have vanished, and with the forests the +men who conquered them. The manner of life and the type of character to +be seen in those early days have gone too, and forever. It is part of +the purpose of this book to so picture these men and their times that +they may not drop quite out of mind. The men are worth remembering. +They carried the marks of their blood in their fierce passions, their +courage, their loyalty; and of the forest in their patience, their +resourcefulness, their self-reliance. But deeper than all, the mark that +reached down to their hearts' core was that of their faith, for in +them dwelt the fear of God. Their religion may have been narrow, but +no narrower than the moulds of their lives. It was the biggest thing in +them. It may have taken a somber hue from their gloomy forests, but +by reason of a sweet, gracious presence dwelling among them it grew in +grace and sweetness day by day. + +In the Canada beyond the Lakes, where men are making empire, the sons +of these Glengarry men are found. And there such men are needed. For +not wealth, not enterprise, not energy, can build a nation into sure +greatness, but men, and only men with the fear of God in their hearts, +and with no other. And to make this clear is also a part of the purpose +of this book. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + +I THE OPEN RIVER + +II VENGEANCE IS MINE + +III THE MANSE IN THE BUSH + +IV THE RIDE FOR LIFE + +V FORGIVE US OUR DEBTS + +VI A NEW FRIEND + +VII MAIMIE + +VIII THE SUGARING-OFF + +IX A SABBATH DAY'S WORK + +X THE HOME-COMING OF THE SHANTYMEN + +XI THE WAKE + +XII SEED-TIME + +XIII THE LOGGING BEE + +XIV SHE WILL NOT FORGET + +XV THE REVIVAL + +XVI AND THE GLORY + +XVII LENOIR'S NEW MASTER + +XVIII HE IS NOT OF MY KIND + +XIX ONE GAME AT A TIME + +XX HER CLINGING ARMS + +XXI I WILL REMEMBER + +XXII FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU + +XXIII A GOOD, TRUE FRIEND + +XXIV THE WEST + +XXV GLENGARRY FOREVER + + + + +THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY + + +CHAPTER I + +THE OPEN RIVER + + +The winter had broken early and the Scotch River was running ice-free +and full from bank to bank. There was still snow in the woods, and with +good sleighing and open rivers every day was golden to the lumbermen +who had stuff to get down to the big water. A day gained now might save +weeks at a chute farther down, where the rafts would crowd one another +and strive for right of way. + +Dan Murphy was mightily pleased with himself and with the bit of the +world about him, for there lay his winter's cut of logs in the river +below him snug and secure and held tight by a boom across the mouth, +just where it flowed into the Nation. In a few days he would have his +crib made, and his outfit ready to start for the Ottawa mills. He was +sure to be ahead of the big timber rafts that took up so much space, +and whose crews with unbearable effrontery considered themselves the +aristocrats of the river. + +Yes, it was a pleasant and satisfying sight, some three solid miles of +logs boomed at the head of the big water. Suddenly Murphy turned his +face up the river. + +“What's that now, d'ye think, LeNware?” he asked. + +LeNoir, or “LeNware,” as they all called it in that country, was Dan +Murphy's foreman, and as he himself said, “for haxe, for hit (eat), +for fight de boss on de reever Hottawa! by Gar!” Louis LeNoir was a +French-Canadian, handsome, active, hardy, and powerfully built. He had +come from the New Brunswick woods some three years ago, and had wrought +and fought his way, as he thought, against all rivals to the proud +position of “boss on de reever,” the topmost pinnacle of a lumberman's +ambition. It was something to see LeNoir “run a log” across the river +and back; that is, he would balance himself upon a floating log, and by +spinning it round, would send it whither he would. At Murphy's question +LeNoir stood listening with bent head and open mouth. Down the river +came the sound of singing. “Don-no me! Ah oui! be dam! Das Macdonald +gang for sure! De men from Glengarrie, les diables! Dey not hout de +reever yet.” His boss went off into a volley of oaths-- + +“They'll be wanting the river now, an' they're divils to fight.” + +“We give em de full belly, heh? Bon!” said LeNoir, throwing back his +head. His only unconquered rival on the river was the boss of the +Macdonald gang. + + + Ho ro, mo nighean donn bhoidheach, + Hi-ri, mo nighean donn bhoidheach, + Mo chaileag, laghach, bhoidheach, + Cha phosainn ach thu. + + +Down the river came the strong, clear chorus of men's voices, and soon a +“pointer” pulled by six stalwart men with a lad in the stern swung round +the bend into view. A single voice took up the song-- + + + 'S ann tha mo run's na beanntaibh, + Far bheil mo ribhinn ghreannar, + Mar ros am fasach shamhraidh + An gleann fad o shuil. + + +After the verse the full chorus broke forth again-- + + + Ho ro, mo nighean, etc. + + +Swiftly the pointer shot down the current, the swaying bodies and +swinging oars in perfect rhythm with the song that rose and fell with +melancholy but musical cadence. The men on the high bank stood looking +down upon the approaching singers. “You know dem fellers?” said LeNoir. +Murphy nodded. “Ivery divil iv thim--Big Mack Cameron, Dannie Ross, +Finlay Campbell--the redheaded one--the next I don't know, and yes! be +dad! there's that blanked Yankee, Yankee Jim, they call him, an' bad +luck till him. The divil will have to take the poker till him, for he'll +bate him wid his fists, and so he will--and that big black divil is +Black Hugh, the brother iv the boss Macdonald. He'll be up in the camp +beyant, and a mighty lucky thing for you, LeNoir, he is.” + +“Bah!” spat LeNoir, “Dat beeg Macdonald I mak heem run like one leetle +sheep, one tam at de long Sault, bah! No good!” LeNoir's contempt for +Macdonald was genuine and complete. For two years he had tried to meet +the boss Macdonald, but his rival had always avoided him. + +Meantime, the pointer came swinging along. As it turned the point +the boy uttered an exclamation--“Look there!” The song and the rowing +stopped abruptly; the big, dark man stood up and gazed down the river, +packed from bank to bank with the brown saw-logs; deep curses broke from +him. Then he caught sight of the men on the bank. A word of command and +the pointer shot into the shore, and the next moment Macdonald Dubh, +or Black Hugh, as he was sometimes called, followed by his men, was +climbing up the steep bank. + +“What the blank, blank, do these logs mean, Murphy?” he demanded, +without pause for salutation. + +“Tis a foine avenin' Misther Macdonald,” said Murphy, blandly offering +his hand, “an' Hiven bliss ye.” + +Macdonald checked himself with an effort and reluctantly shook hands +with Murphy and LeNoir, whom he slightly knew. “It is a fery goot +evening, indeed,” he said, in as quiet a voice as he could command, “but +I am inquiring about these logs.” + +“Shure, an' it is a dhry night, and onpolite to kape yez talking here. +Come in wid yez,” and much against his will Black Hugh followed Murphy +to the tavern, the most pretentious of a group of log buildings--once +a lumber camp--which stood back a little distance from the river, and +about which Murphy's men, some sixty of them, were now camped. + +The tavern was full of Murphy's gang, a motley crew, mostly French +Canadians and Irish, just out of the woods and ready for any devilment +that promised excitement. Most of them knew by sight, and all by +reputation, Macdonald and his gang, for from the farthest reaches of the +Ottawa down the St. Lawrence to Quebec the Macdonald gang of Glengarry +men was famous. They came, most of them, from that strip of country +running back from the St. Lawrence through Glengarry County, known as +the Indian Lands--once an Indian reservation. They were sons of the men +who had come from the highlands and islands of Scotland in the early +years of the last century. Driven from homes in the land of their +fathers, they had set themselves with indomitable faith and courage to +hew from the solid forest, homes for themselves and their children that +none might take from them. These pioneers were bound together by ties of +blood, but also by bonds stronger than those of blood. Their loneliness, +their triumphs, their sorrows, born of their common life-long conflict +with the forest and its fierce beasts, knit them in bonds close and +enduring. The sons born to them and reared in the heart of the pine +forests grew up to witness that heroic struggle with stern nature and to +take their part in it. And mighty men they were. Their life bred in +them hardiness of frame, alertness of sense, readiness of resource, +endurance, superb self-reliance, a courage that grew with peril, and +withal a certain wildness which at times deepened into ferocity. By +their fathers the forest was dreaded and hated, but the sons, with +rifles in hand, trod its pathless stretches without fear, and with their +broad-axes they took toll of their ancient foe. For while in spring and +summer they farmed their narrow fields, and rescued new lands from the +brule; in winter they sought the forest, and back on their own farms or +in “the shanties” they cut sawlogs, or made square timber, their only +source of wealth. The shanty life of the early fifties of last century +was not the luxurious thing of to-day. It was full of privation, for +the men were poorly housed and fed, and of peril, for the making of the +timber and the getting it down the smaller rivers to the big water was +a work of hardship and danger. Remote from the restraints of law and +of society, and living in wild surroundings and in hourly touch with +danger, small wonder that often the shanty-men were wild and reckless. +So that many a poor fellow in a single wild carouse in Quebec, or more +frequently in some river town, would fling into the hands of sharks +and harlots and tavern-keepers, with whom the bosses were sometimes in +league, the earnings of his long winter's work, and would wake to find +himself sick and penniless, far from home and broken in spirit. + +Of all the shanty-men of the Ottawa the men of Glengarry, and of +Glengarry men Macdonald's gang were easily first, and of the gang Donald +Bhain Macdonald, or Macdonald More, or the Big Macdonald, for he was +variously known, was not only the “boss” but best and chief. There was +none like him. A giant in size and strength, a prince of broad-axe men, +at home in the woods, sure-footed and daring on the water, free with +his wages, and always ready to drink with friend or fight with foe, the +whole river admired, feared, or hated him, while his own men followed +him into the woods, on to a jam, or into a fight with equal joyousness +and devotion. Fighting was like wine to him, when the fight was worth +while, and he went into the fights his admirers were always arranging +for him with the easiest good humor and with a smile on his face. But +Macdonald Bhain's carousing, fighting days came to an abrupt stop about +three years before the opening of this tale, for on one of his summer +visits to his home, “The word of the Lord in the mouth of his servant +Alexander Murray,” as he was wont to say, “found him and he was a new +man.” He went into his new life with the same whole-souled joyousness as +had marked the old, and he announced that with the shanty and the river +he was “done for ever more.” But after the summer's work was done, and +the logging over, and when the snap of the first frost nipped the leaves +from the trees, Macdonald became restless. He took down his broad-axe +and spent hours polishing it and bringing it to an edge, then he put it +in its wooden sheath and laid it away. But the fever was upon him, ten +thousand voices from the forest were shouting for him. He went away +troubled to his minister. In an hour he came back with the old good +humor in his face, took down the broad-axe again, and retouched it, +lovingly, humming the while the old river song of the Glengarry men-- + + + Ho ro mo nighean, etc. + + +He was going back to the bush and to the biggest fight of his life. No +wonder he was glad. Then his good little wife began to get ready his +long, heavy stockings, his thick mits, his homespun smock, and other +gear, for she knew well that soon she would be alone for another +winter. Before long the word went round that Macdonald Bhain was for the +shanties again, and his men came to him for their orders. + +But it was not to the old life that Macdonald was going, and he gravely +told those that came to him that he would take no man who could not +handle his axe and hand-spike, and who could not behave himself. +“Behaving himself” meant taking no more whiskey than a man could carry, +and refusing all invitations to fight unless “necessity was laid upon +him.” The only man to object was his own brother, Macdonald Dubh, whose +temper was swift to blaze, and with whom the blow was quicker than the +word. But after the second year of the new order even Black Hugh fell +into line. Macdonald soon became famous on the Ottawa. He picked only +the best men, he fed them well, paid them the highest wages, and cared +for their comfort, but held them in strictest discipline. They would +drink but kept sober, they would spend money but knew how much was +coming to them. They feared no men even of “twice their own heavy and +big,” but would never fight except under necessity. Contracts began to +come their way. They made money, and what was better, they brought it +home. The best men sought to join them, but by rival gangs and by men +rejected from their ranks they were hated with deepest heart hatred. But +the men from Glengarry knew no fear and sought no favor. They asked only +a good belt of pine and an open river. As a rule they got both, and it +was peculiarly maddening to Black Hugh to find two or three miles of +solid logs between his timber and the open water of the Nation. Black +Hugh had a temper fierce and quick, and when in full flame he was a man +to avoid, for from neither man nor devil would he turn. The only man +who could hold him was his brother Macdonald Bhain, for strong man as +he was, Black Hugh knew well that his brother could with a single swift +grip bring him to his knees. + +It was unfortunate that the command of the party this day should have +been Macdonald Dubh's. Unfortunate, too, that it was Dan Murphy and his +men that happened to be blocking the river mouth. For the Glengarry men, +who handled only square timber, despised the Murphy gang as sawlog-men; +“log-rollers” or “mushrats” they called them, and hated them as Irish +“Papishes” and French “Crapeaux,” while between Dan Murphy and Macdonald +Dubh there was an ancient personal grudge, and to-day Murphy thought he +had found his time. There were only six of the enemy, he had ten times +the number with him, many of them eager to pay off old scores; and +besides there was Louis LeNoir as the “Boss Bully” of the river. The +Frenchman was not only a powerful man, active with hands and feet, but +he was an adept in all kinds of fighting tricks. Since coming to the +Ottawa he had heard of the big Macdonald, and he sought to meet him. But +Macdonald avoided him once and again till LeNoir, having never known +any one avoiding a fight for any reason other than fear, proclaimed +Macdonald a coward, and himself “de boss on de reever.” Now there was +a chance of meeting his rival and of forcing a fight, for the Glengarry +camp could not be far away where the big Macdonald himself would be. +So Dan Murphy, backed up with numbers, and the boss bully LeNoir, +determined that for these Macdonald men the day of settlement had +come. But they were dangerous men, and it would be well to take all +precautions, and hence his friendly invitation to the tavern for drinks. + +Macdonald Dubh, scorning to show hesitation, though he suspected +treachery, strode after Murphy to the tavern door and through the crowd +of shanty-men filling the room. They were as ferocious looking a lot +of men as could well be got together, even in that country and in those +days--shaggy of hair and beard, dressed out in red and blue and green +jerseys, with knitted sashes about their waists, and red and blue and +green tuques on their heads. Drunken rows were their delight, and fights +so fierce that many a man came out battered and bruised to death or to +life-long decrepitude. They were sitting on the benches that ran round +the room, or lounging against the bar singing, talking, blaspheming. At +the sight of Macdonald Dubh and his men there fell a dead silence, and +then growls of recognition, but Murphy was not yet ready, and roaring +out “Dh-r-r-i-n-k-s,” he seized a couple of his men leaning against the +bar, and hurling them to right and left, cried, “Ma-a-ke room for yer +betthers, be the powers! Sthand up, bhoys, and fill yirsilves!” + +Black Hugh and his men lined up gravely to the bar and were straightway +surrounded by the crowd yelling hideously. But if Murphy and his gang +thought to intimidate those grave Highlanders with noise, they were +greatly mistaken, for they stood quietly waiting for their glasses to +be filled, alert, but with an air of perfect indifference. Some eight or +ten glasses were set down and filled, when Murphy, snatching a couple +of bottles from the shelf behind the bar, handed them out to his men, +crying, “Here, ye bluddy thaves, lave the glasses to the gintlemen!” + +There was no mistaking the insolence in his tone, and the chorus of +derisive yells that answered him showed that his remark had gone to the +spot. + +Yankee Jim, who had kept close to Black Hugh, saw the veins in his +neck beginning to swell, and face to grow dark. He was longing to be +at Murphy's throat. “Speak him fair,” he said, in a low tone, “there's +rather a good string of 'em raound.” Macdonald Dubh glanced about him. +His eye fell on his boy, and for the first time his face became anxious. +“Ranald,” he said, angrily, “take yourself out of this. It is no place +for you whatever.” The boy, a slight lad of seventeen, but tall and +well-knit, and with his father's fierce, wild, dark face, hesitated. + +“Go,” said his father, giving him a slight cuff. + +“Here, boy!” yelled LeNoir, catching him by the arm and holding the +bottle to his mouth, “drink.” The boy took a gulp, choked, and spat +it out. LeNoir and his men roared. “Dat good whiskey,” he cried, still +holding the boy. “You not lak dat, hey?” + +“No,” said the boy, “it is not good at all.” + +“Try heem some more,” said LeNoir, thrusting the bottle at him again. + +“I will not,” said Ranald, looking at LeNoir straight and fearless. + +“Ho-ho! mon brave enfant! But you have not de good mannere. Come, +drink!” He caught the boy by the back of the neck, and made as if to +pour the whiskey down his throat. Black Hugh, who had been kept back by +Yankee Jim all this time, started forward, but before he could take a +second step Ranald, squirming round like a cat, had sunk his teeth into +LeNoir's wrist. With a cry of rage and pain LeNoir raised the bottle and +was bringing it down on Ranald's head, when Black Hugh, with one hand, +caught the falling blow, and with the other seized Ranald, and crying, +“Get out of this!” he flung him towards the door. Then turning to +LeNoir, he said, with surprising self-control, “It is myself that is +sorry that a boy of mine should be guilty of biting like a dog.” + +“Sa-c-r-re le chien!” yelled LeNoir, shaking off Macdonald Dubh; “he is +one dog, and the son of a dog!” He turned and started for the boy. But +Yankee Jim had got Ranald to the door and was whispering to him. “Run!” + cried Yankee Jim, pushing him out of the door, and the boy was off like +the wind. LeNoir pursued him a short way and returned raging. + +Yankee Jim, or Yankee, as he was called for short, came back to +Macdonald Dubh's side, and whispering to the other Highlanders, “Keep +your backs clear,” sat up coolly on the counter. The fight was sure to +come and there were seven to one against them in the room. If he could +only gain time. Every minute was precious. It would take the boy fifteen +minutes to run the two miles to camp. It would be half an hour before +the rest of the Glengarry men could arrive, and much fighting may be +done in that time. He must avert attention from Macdonald Dubh, who was +waiting to cram LeNoir's insult down his throat. Yankee Jim had not +only all the cool courage but also the shrewd, calculating spirit of +his race. He was ready to fight, and if need be against odds, but he +preferred to fight on as even terms as possible. + +Soon LeNoir came back, wild with fury, and yelling curses at the top of +his voice. He hurled himself into the room, the crowd falling back from +him on either hand. + +“Hola!” he yelled, “Sacre bleu!” He took two quick steps, and springing +up into the air he kicked the stovepipe that ran along some seven feet +above the floor. + +“Purty good kicking,” called out Yankee, sliding down from his seat. +“Used to kick some myself. Excuse ME.” He stood for a moment looking up +at the stovepipe, then without apparent effort he sprang into the air, +shot up his long legs, and knocked the stovepipe with a bang against the +ceiling. There was a shout of admiration. + +“My damages,” he said to Pat Murphy, who stood behind the counter. “Good +thing there ain't no fire. Thought it was higher. Wouldn't care to kick +for the drinks, would ye?” he added to LeNoir. + +LeNoir was too furious to enter into any contest so peaceful, but as he +specially prided himself on his high kick, he paused a moment and was +about to agree when Black Hugh broke in, harshly, spoiling all Yankee's +plans. + +“There is no time for such foolishness,” he said, turning to Dan Murphy. +“I want to know when we can get our timber out.” + +“Depinds intoirly on yirsilf,” said Murphy. + +“When will your logs be out of the way?” + +“Indade an' that's a ha-r-r-d one,” laughed Murphy. + +“And will you tell me what right hev you to close up the river?” Black +Hugh's wrath was rising. + +“You wud think now it wuz yirsilf that owned the river. An' bedad it's +the thought of yir mind, it is. An' it's not the river only, but the +whole creation ye an yir brother think is yours.” Dan Murphy was close up +to Macdonald Dubh by this time. “Yis, blank, blank, yir faces, an' ye'd +like to turn better than yirsilves from aff the river, so ye wud, ye +black-hearted thaves that ye are.” + +This, of course, was beyond all endurance. For answer Black Hugh smote +him sudden and fierce on the mouth, and Murphy went down. + +“Purty one,” sang out Yankee, cheerily. “Now, boys, back to the wall.” + +Before Murphy could rise, LeNoir sprang over him and lit upon Macdonald +like a cat, but Macdonald shook himself free and sprang back to the +Glengarry line at the wall. + +“Mac an' Diabboil,” he roared, “Glengarry forever!” + +“Glengarry!” yelled the four Highlanders beside him, wild with the +delight of battle. It was a plain necessity, and they went into it with +free consciences and happy hearts. + +“Let me at him,” cried Murphy, struggling past LeNoir towards Macdonald. + +“Non! He is to me!” yelled LeNoir, dancing in front of Macdonald. + +“Here, Murphy,” called out Yankee, obligingly, “help yourself this way.” + Murphy dashed at him, but Yankee's long arm shot out to meet him, and +Murphy again found the floor. + +“Come on, boys,” cried Pat Murphy, Dan's brother, and followed by half a +dozen others, he flung himself at Yankee and the line of men standing up +against the wall. But Yankee's arms flashed out once, twice, thrice, and +Pat Murphy fell back over his brother; two others staggered across and +checked the oncoming rush, while Dannie Ross and big Mack Cameron had +each beaten back their man, and the Glengarry line stood unbroken. +Man for man they were far more than a match for their opponents, and +standing shoulder to shoulder, with their backs to the wall, they +taunted Murphy and his gang with all the wealth of gibes and oaths at +their command. + +“Where's the rest of your outfit, Murphy?” drawled Yankee. “Don't seem's +if you'd counted right.” + +“It is a cold day for the parley voos,” laughed Big Mack Cameron. “Come +up, lads, and take a taste of something hot.” + +Then the Murphy men, clearing away the fallen, rushed again. They strove +to bring the Highlanders to a clinch, but Yankee's voice was high and +clear in command. + +“Keep the line, boys! Don't let 'em draw you!” And the Glengarry men +waited till they could strike, and when they struck men went down and +were pulled back by their friends. + +“Intil them, bhoys!” yelled Dan Murphy, keeping out of range himself. +“Intil the divils!” And again and again his men crowded down upon the +line against the wall, but again and again they were beaten down or +hurled back bruised and bleeding. + +Meantime LeNoir was devoting himself to Black Hugh at one end of the +line, dancing in upon him and away again, but without much result. Black +Hugh refused to be drawn out, and fought warily on defense, knowing the +odds were great and waiting his chance to deliver one good blow, which +was all he asked. + +The Glengarry men were enjoying themselves hugely, and when not shouting +their battle-cry, “Glengarry forever!” or taunting their foes, they were +joking each other on the fortunes of war. Big Mack Cameron, who held the +center, drew most of the sallies. He was easy-tempered and good-natured, +and took his knocks with the utmost good humor. + +“That was a good one, Mack,” said Dannie Ross, his special chum, as a +sounding whack came in on Big Mack's face. “As true as death I will be +telling it to Bella Peter. Bella, the daughter of Peter McGregor, was +supposed to be dear to Big Mack's heart. + +“What a peety she could not see him the now,” said Finlay Campbell. “Man +alive, she would say the word queeck!” + +“'Tis more than she will do to you whatever, if you cannot keep off that +crapeau yonder a little better,” said Big Mack, reaching for a Frenchman +who kept dodging in upon him with annoying persistence. Then Mack began +to swear Gaelic oaths. + +“'Tain't fair, Mack!” called out Yankee from his end of the line, “bad +language in English is bad enough, but in Gaelic it must be uncommon +rough.” So they gibed each other. But the tactics of the enemy were +exceedingly irritating, and were beginning to tell upon the tempers of +the Highlanders. + +“Come to me, ye cowardly little devil,” roared Mack to his persisting +assailant. “No one will hurt you! Come away, man! A-a-ah-ouch!” His cry +of satisfaction at having grabbed his man ended in a howl of pain, for +the Frenchman had got Mack's thumb between his teeth, and was chewing it +vigorously. + +“Ye would, would you, ye dog?” roared Big Mack. He closed his fingers +into the Frenchman's gullet, and drew him up to strike, but on every +side hands reached for him and stayed his blow. Then he lost himself. +With a yell of rage he jambed his man back into the crowd, sinking his +fingers deeper and deeper into his enemy's throat till his face grew +black and his head fell over on one side. But it was a fatal move +for Mack, and overcome by numbers that crowded upon him, he went down +fighting wildly and bearing the Frenchman beneath him. The Glengarry +line was broken. Black Hugh saw Mack's peril, and knew that it +meant destruction to all. With a wilder cry than usual, “Glengarry! +Glengarry!” he dashed straight into LeNoir, who gave back swiftly, +caught two men who were beating Big Mack's life out, and hurled them +aside, and grasping his friend's collar, hauled him to his feet, and +threw him back against the wall and into the line again with his grip +still upon his Frenchman's throat. + +“Let dead men go, Mack,” he cried, but even as he spoke LeNoir, seeing +his opportunity, sprang at him and with a backward kick caught Macdonald +fair in the face and lashed him hard against the wall. It was the +terrible French 'lash' and was one of LeNoir's special tricks. Black +Hugh, stunned and dazed, leaned back against the wall, spreading out his +hands weakly before his face. LeNoir, seeing victory within his grasp, +rushed in to finish off his special foe. But Yankee Jim, who, while +engaged in cheerfully knocking back the two Murphys and others who took +their turn at him, had been keeping an eye on the line of battle, saw +Macdonald's danger, and knowing that the crisis had come, dashed across +the line, crying “Follow me, boys.” His long arms swung round his head +like the sails of a wind-mill, and men fell back from him as if they had +been made of wood. As LeNoir sprang, Yankee shot fiercely at him, but +the Frenchman, too quick for him, ducked and leaped upon Black Hugh, who +was still swaying against the wall, bore him down and jumped with his +heavy “corked” boots on his breast and face. Again the Glengarry line +was broken. At once the crowd surged about the Glengarry men, who now +stood back to back, beating off the men leaping at them from every side, +as a stag beats off dogs, and still chanting high their dauntless cry, +“Glengarry forever,” to which Big Mack added at intervals, “To hell with +the Papishes!” Yankee, failing to check LeNoir's attack upon Black Hugh, +fought off the men crowding upon him, and made his way to the corner +where the Frenchman was still engaged in kicking the prostrate +Highlander to death. + +“Take that, you blamed cuss,” he said, catching LeNoir in the jaw and +knocking his head with a thud against the wall. Before he could strike +again he was thrown against his enemy, who clutched him and held like a +vice. + + + +CHAPTER II + +VENGEANCE IS MINE + + +The Glengarry men had fought their fight, and it only remained for their +foes to wreak their vengeance upon them and wipe out old scores. One +minute more would have done for them, but in that minute the door came +crashing in. There was a mighty roar, “Glengarry! Glengarry!” and the +great Macdonald himself, with the boy Ranald and some half-dozen of +his men behind him, stood among them. On all hands the fight stopped. A +moment he stood, his great head and shoulders towering above the crowd, +his tawny hair and beard falling around his face like a great mane, his +blue eyes gleaming from under his shaggy eyebrows like livid lightning. +A single glance around the room, and again raising his battle-cry, +“Glengarry!” he seized the nearest shrinking Frenchman, lifted him high, +and hurled him smashing into the bottles behind the counter. His men, +following him, bounded like tigers on their prey. A few minutes of +fierce, eager fighting, and the Glengarry men were all freed and on +their feet, all except Black Hugh, who lay groaning in his corner. +“Hold, lads!” Macdonald Bhain cried, in his mighty voice. “Stop, I'm +telling you.” The fighting ceased. + +“Dan Murphy!” he cried, casting his eye round the room, “where are you, +ye son of Belial?” + +Murphy, crouching at the back of the crowd near the door, sought to +escape. + +“Ah! there you are!” cried Macdonald, and reaching through the crowd +with his great, long arm, he caught Murphy by the hair of the head and +dragged him forward. + +“R-r-r-a-a-t! R-r-r-a-a-t! R-r-r-a-a-t!” he snarled, shaking him till +his teeth rattled. “It is yourself that is the cause of this wickedness. +Now, may the Lord have mercy on your soul.” With one hand he gripped +Murphy by the throat, holding him at arm's length, and raised his huge +fist to strike. But before the blow fell he paused. + +“No!” he muttered, in a disappointed tone, “it is not good enough. I +will not be demeaning myself. Hence, you r-r-a-a-t!” As he spoke he +lifted the shaking wretch as if he had been a bundle of clothes, swung +him half round and hurled him crashing through the window. + +“Is there no goot man here at all who will stand before me?” he raged +in a wild, joyous fury. “Will not two of you come forth, then?” No one +moved. “Come to me!” he suddenly cried, and snatching two of the enemy, +he dashed their heads together, and threw them insensible on the floor. + +Then he caught sight of his brother for the first time lying in the +corner with Big Mack supporting his head, and LeNoir standing near. + +“What is this? What is this?” he cried, striding toward LeNoir. “And is +it you that has done this work?” he asked, in a voice of subdued rage. + +“Oui!” cried LeNoir, stepping back and putting up his hands, “das me; +Louis LeNoir! by Gar!” He struck himself on the breast as he spoke. + +“Out of my way!” cried Macdonald, swinging his open hand on the +Frenchman's ear. With a swift sweep he brushed LeNoir aside from his +place, and ignoring him stooped over his brother. But LeNoir was no +coward, and besides his boasted reputation was at stake. He thought +he saw his chance, and rushing at Macdonald as he was bending over his +brother, delivered his terrible 'lash'. But Macdonald had not lived with +and fought with Frenchmen all these years without knowing their tricks +and ways. He saw LeNoir's 'lash' coming, and quickly turning his head, +avoided the blow. + +“Ah! would ye? Take that, then, and be quate!” and so saying, he caught +LeNoir on the side of the head and sent him to the floor. + +“Keep him off a while, Yankee!” said Macdonald, for LeNoir was up again, +and coming at him. + +Then kneeling beside his brother he wiped the bloody froth that was +oozing from his lips, and said in a low, anxious tone: + +“Hugh, bhodaich (old man), are ye hurted? Can ye not speak to me, Hugh?” + +“Oich-oh,” Black Hugh groaned. “It was a necessity--Donald man--and--he +took me--unawares--with his--keeck.” + +“Indeed, and I'll warrant you!” agreed his brother, “but I will be +attending to him, never you fear.” + +Macdonald was about to rise, when his brother caught his arm. + +“You will--not be--killing him,” he urged, between his painful gasps, +“because I will be doing that myself some day, by God's help.” + +His words and the eager hate in his face seemed to quiet Macdonald. + +“Alas! alas!” he said, sadly, “it is not allowed me to smite him as +he deserves--'Vengeance is mine saith the Lord,' and I have solemnly +promised the minister not to smite for glory or for revenge! Alas! +alas!” + +Then turning to LeNoir, he said, gravely: “It is not given me to punish +you for your coward's blow. Go from me!” But LeNoir misjudged him. + +“Bah!” he cried, contemptuously, “you tink me one baby, you strike me on +de head side like one little boy. Bon! Louis LeNware, de bes bully on de +Hottawa, he's not 'fraid for hany man, by Gar!” He pranced up and down +before Macdonald, working himself into a great rage, as Macdonald grew +more and more controlled. + +Macdonald turned to his men with a kind of appeal--“I hev given my +promise, and Macdonald will not break his word.” + +“Bah!” cried LeNoir, spitting at him. + +“Now may the Lord give me grace to withstand the enemy,” said Macdonald, +gravely, “for I am greatly moved to take vengeance upon you.” + +“Bah!” cried LeNoir again, mistaking Macdonald's quietness and +self-control for fear. “You no good! Your brother is no good! Beeg +sheep! Beeg sheep! Bah!” + +“God help me,” said Macdonald as if to himself. “I am a man of grace! +But must this dog go unpunished?” + +LeNoir continued striding up and down, now and then springing high in +the air and knocking his heels together with blood-curdling yells. +He seemed to feel that Macdonald would not fight, and his courage and +desire for blood grew accordingly. + +“Will you not be quate?” said Macdonald, rising after a few moments from +his brother's side, where he had been wiping his lips and giving him +water to drink. “You will be better outside.” + +“Oui! you strike me on the head side. Bon! I strike you de same way! By +Gar!” so saying he approached Macdonald lightly, and struck him a slight +blow on the cheek. + +“Ay,” said Macdonald, growing white and rigid. “I struck you twice, +LeNoir. Here!” he offered the other side of his face. LeNoir danced up +carefully, made a slight pass, and struck the offered cheek. + +“Now, that is done, will it please you to do it again?” said Macdonald, +with earnest entreaty in his voice. LeNoir must have been mad with his +rage and vanity, else he had caught the glitter in the blue eyes looking +through the shaggy hair. Again LeNoir approached, this time with greater +confidence, and dealt Macdonald a stinging blow on the side of the head. + +“Now the Lord be praised,” he cried, joy breaking out in his face. “He +has delivered my enemy into my hand. For it is the third time he has +smitten me, and that is beyond the limit appointed by Himself.” With +this he advanced upon LeNoir with a glad heart. His conscience was clear +at last. + +LeNoir stood up against his antagonist. He well knew he was about to +make the fight of his life. He had beaten men as big as Macdonald, but +he knew that his hope lay in keeping out of the enemy's reach. So he +danced around warily. Macdonald followed him slowly. LeNoir opened with +a swift and savage reach for Macdonald's neck, but failed to break the +guard and danced out again, Macdonald still pressing on him. Again +and again LeNoir rushed, but the guard was impregnable, and steadily +Macdonald advanced. That steady, relentless advance began to tell on the +Frenchman's nerves. The sweat gathered in big drops on his forehead and +ran down his face. He prepared for a supreme effort. Swiftly retreating, +he lured Macdonald to a more rapid advance, then with a yell he doubled +himself into a ball and delivered himself head, hands, and feet into +Macdonald's stomach. It is a trick that sometimes avails to break an +unsteady guard and to secure a clinch with an unwary opponent. But +Macdonald had been waiting for that trick. Stopping short, he leaned +over to one side, and stooping slightly, caught LeNoir low and tossed +him clear over his head. LeNoir fell with a terrible thud on his back, +but was on his feet again like a cat and ready for the ever-advancing +Macdonald. But though he had not been struck a single blow he knew that +he had met his master. That unbreakable guard, the smiling face with the +gleaming, unsmiling eyes, that awful unwavering advance, were too much +for him. He was pale, his breath came in quick gasps, and his eyes +showed the fear of a hunted beast. He prepared for a final effort. +Feigning a greater distress than he felt, he yielded weakly to +Macdonald's advance, then suddenly gathering his full strength he sprang +into the air and lashed out backward at that hated, smiling face. His +boot found its mark, not on Macdonald's face, but fair on his neck. The +effect was terrific. Macdonald staggered back two or three paces, but +before LeNoir could be at him, he had recovered sufficiently to maintain +his guard, and shake off his foe. At the yell that went up from Murphy's +men, the big Highlander's face lost its smile and became keen and cruel, +his eyes glittered with the flash of steel and he came forward once more +with a quick, light tread. His great body seemed to lose both size and +weight, so lightly did he step on tiptoe. There was no more pause, but +lightly, swiftly, and eagerly he glided upon LeNoir. There was something +terrifying in that swift, cat-like movement. In vain the Frenchman +backed and dodged and tried to guard. Once, twice, Macdonald's fists +fell. LeNoir's right arm hung limp by his side and he staggered back to +the wall helpless. Without an instant's delay, Macdonald had him by the +throat, and gripping him fiercely, began to slowly bend him backward +over his knee. Then for the first time Macdonald spoke: + +“LeNoir,” he said, solemnly, “the days of your boasting are over. You +will no longer glory in your strength, for now I will break your back to +you.” + +LeNoir tried to speak, but his voice came in horrible gurgles. His face +was a ghastly greenish hue, lined with purple and swollen veins, his +eyes were standing out of his head, and his breath sobbing in raucous +gasps. Slowly the head went back. The crowd stood in horror-stricken +silence waiting for the sickening snap. Yankee, unable to stand it any +longer, stepped up to his chief, and in a most matter of fact voice +drawled out, “About an inch more that way I guess 'll do the trick, if +he ain't double-jointed.” + +“Aye,” said Macdonald, holding grimly on. + +“Tonald,”--Black Hugh's voice sounded faint but clear in the awful +silence--“Tonald--you will not--be killing--him. Remember that now. I +will--never--forgive you--if you will--take that--from my hands.” + +The cry for vengeance smote Macdonald to the heart, and recalled him to +himself. He paused, threw back his locks from his eyes, then relaxing +his grip, stood up. + +“God preserve me!” he groaned, “what am I about?” + +For some time he remained standing silent, with head down as if not +quite sure of himself. He was recalled by a grip of his arm. He turned +and saw his nephew, Ranald, at his side. The boy's dark face was pale +with passion. + +“And is that all you are going to do to him?” he demanded. Macdonald +gazed at him. + +“Do you not see what he has done?” he continued, pointing to his father, +who was still lying propped up on some coats. “Why did you not break his +back? You said you would! The brute, beast!” + +He hurled out the words in hot hate. His voice pierced the noise of the +room. Macdonald stood still, gazing at the fierce, dark face in solemn +silence. Then he sadly shook his head. + +“My lad, 'Vengeance is mine saith the Lord.' It would have pleased me +well, but the hand of the Lord was laid upon me and I could not kill +him.” + +“Then it is myself will kill him,” he shrieked, springing like a wildcat +at LeNoir. But his uncle wound his arms around him and held him fast. +For a minute and more he struggled fiercely, crying to be set free, +till recognizing the uselessness of his efforts he grew calm, and said +quietly, “Let me loose, uncle; I will be quiet.” And his uncle set him +free. The boy shook himself, and then standing up before LeNoir said, in +a high, clear voice: + +“Will you hear me, LeNoir? The day will come when I will do to you what +you have done to my father, and if my father will die, then by the life +of God [a common oath among the shanty-men] I will have your life for +it.” His voice had an unearthly shrillness in it, and LeNoir shrank +back. + +“Whist, whist, lad! be quate!” said his uncle; “these are not goot +words.” The lad heeded him not, but sank down beside his father on the +floor. Black Hugh raised himself on his elbow with a grim smile on his +face. + +“It is a goot lad whatever, but please God he will not need to keep his +word.” He laid his hand in a momentary caress upon his boy's shoulder, +and sank back again, saying, “Take me out of this.” + +Then Macdonald Bhain turned to Dan Murphy and gravely addressed him: + +“Dan Murphy, it is an ungodly and cowardly work you have done this day, +and the curse of God will be on you if you will not repent.” Then he +turned away, and with Big Mack's help bore his brother to the pointer, +followed by his men, bloody, bruised, but unconquered. But before he +left the room LeNoir stepped forward, and offering his hand, said, “You +mak friends wit' me. You de boss bully on de reever Hottawa.” + +Macdonald neither answered nor looked his way, but passed out in grave +silence. + +Then Yankee Jim remarked to Dan Murphy, “I guess you'd better git them +logs out purty mighty quick. We'll want the river in about two days.” + Dan Murphy said not a word, but when the Glengarry men wanted the river +they found it open. + +But for Macdonald the fight was not yet over, for as he sat beside his +brother, listening to his groans, his men could see him wreathing his +hands and chanting in an undertone the words, “Vengeance is mine saith +the Lord.” And as he sat by the camp-fire that night listening to +Yankee's account of the beginning of the trouble, and heard how his +brother had kept himself in hand, and how at last he had been foully +smitten, Macdonald's conflict deepened, and he rose up and cried aloud: + +“God help me! Is this to go unpunished? I will seek him to-morrow.” And +he passed out into the dark woods. + +After a few moments the boy Ranald slipped away after him to beg that he +might be allowed to go with him to-morrow. Stealing silently through the +bushes he came to where he could see the kneeling figure of his uncle +swaying up and down, and caught the sounds of words broken with groans: + +“Let me go, O Lord! Let me go!” He pled now in Gaelic and again in +English. “Let not the man be escaping his just punishment. Grant me +this, O, Lord! Let me smite but once!” Then after a pause came the +words, “'Vengeance is mine saith the Lord!' Vengeance is mine! Ay, it +is the true word! But, Lord, let not this man of Belial, this Papish, +escape!” Then again, like a refrain would come the words, “Vengeance is +mine. Vengeance is mine,” in ever-deeper agony, till throwing himself on +his face, he lay silent a long time. + +Suddenly he rose to his knees and so remained, looking steadfastly +before him into the woods. The wind came sighing through the pines with +a wail and a sob. Macdonald shuddered and then fell on his face again. +The Vision was upon him. “Ah, Lord, it is the bloody hands and feet +I see. It is enough.” At this Ranald slipped back awe-stricken to the +camp. When, after an hour, Macdonald came back into the firelight, his +face was pale and wet, but calm, and there was an exalted look in his +eyes. His men gazed at him with wonder and awe in their faces. + +“Mercy on us! He will be seeing something,” said Big Mack to Yankee Jim. + +“Seein' somethin'? What? A bar?” inquired Yankee. + +“Whist now!” said Big Mack, in a low voice. “He has the sight. Be quate +now, will you? He will be speaking.” + +For a short time Macdonald sat gazing into the fire in silence, then +turning his face toward the men who were waiting, he said: “There will +be no more of this. 'Vengeance is mine saith the Lord!' It is not for +me. The Lord will do His own work. It is the will of the Lord.” And +the men knew that the last word had been said on that subject, and that +LeNoir was safe. + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE MANSE IN THE BUSH + + +Straight north from the St. Lawrence runs the road through the Indian +Lands. At first its way lies through open country, from which the forest +has been driven far back to the horizon on either side, for along the +great river these many years villages have clustered, with open fields +about them stretching far away. But when once the road leaves the +Front, with its towns and villages and open fields, and passes beyond +Martintown and over the North Branch, it reaches a country where the +forest is more a feature of the landscape. And when some dozen or more +of the crossroads marking the concessions which lead off to east and +west have been passed, the road seems to strike into a different world. +The forest loses its conquered appearance, and dominates everything. +There is forest everywhere. It lines up close and thick along the road, +and here and there quite overshadows it. It crowds in upon the little +farms and shuts them off from one another and from the world outside, +and peers in through the little windows of the log houses looking +so small and lonely, but so beautiful in their forest frames. At the +nineteenth cross-road the forest gives ground a little, for here the +road runs right past the new brick church, which is almost finished, and +which will be opened in a few weeks. Beyond the cross, the road leads +along the glebe, and about a quarter of a mile beyond the corner there +opens upon it the big, heavy gate that the members of the Rev. Alexander +Murray's congregation must swing when they wish to visit the manse. The +opening of this gate, made of upright poles held by auger-holes in a +frame of bigger poles, was almost too great a task for the minister's +seven-year-old son Hughie, who always rode down, standing on the hind +axle of the buggy, to open it for his father. It was a great relief +to him when Long John Cameron, who had the knack of doing things for +people's comfort, brought his ax and big auger one day and made a kind +of cradle on the projecting end of the top bar, which he then weighted +with heavy stones, so that the gate, when once the pin was pulled out +of the post, would swing back itself with Hughie straddled on the top of +it. + +It was his favorite post of observation when waiting for his mother to +come home from one of her many meetings. And on this particular March +evening he had been waiting long and impatiently. + +Suddenly he shouted: “Horo, mamma! Horo!” He had caught sight of the +little black pony away up at the church hill, and had become so wildly +excited that he was now standing on the top bar frantically waving his +Scotch bonnet by the tails. Down the slope came the pony on the gallop, +for she knew well that soon Lambert would have her saddle off, and that +her nose would be deep into bran mash within five minutes more. But her +rider sat her firmly and brought her down to a gentle trot by the time +the gate was reached. + +“Horo, mamma!” shouted Hughie, clambering down to open the gate. + +“Well, my darling! have you been a good boy all afternoon?” + +“Huh-huh! Guess who's come back from the shanties!” + +“I'm sure I can't guess. Who is it?” It was a very bright and very +sweet face, with large, serious, gray-brown eyes that looked down on the +little boy. + +“Guess, mamma!” + +“Why, who can it be? Big Mack?” + +“No!” Hughie danced delightedly. “Try again. He's not big.” + +“I am sure I can never guess. Whoa, Pony!” Pony was most unwilling to +get in close enough to the gate-post to let Hughie spring on behind his +mother. + +“You'll have to be quick, Hughie, when I get near again. There now! +Whoa, Pony! Take care, child!” + +Hughie had sprung clean off the post, and lighting on Pony's back just +behind the saddle, had clutched his mother round the waist, while the +pony started off full gallop for the stable. + +“Now, mother, who is it?” insisted Hughie, as Lambert, the +French-Canadian man-of-all-work, lifted him from his place. + +“You'll have to tell me, Hughie!” + +“Ranald!” + +“Ranald?” + +“Yes, Ranald and his father, Macdonald Dubh, and he's hurted awful bad, +and--” + +“Hurt, Hughie,” interposed the mother, gently. + +“Huh-huh! Ranald said he was hurted.” + +“Hurt, you mean, Hughie. Who was hurt? Ranald?” + +“No; his father was hurted--hurt--awful bad. He was lying down in the +sleigh, and Yankee Jim--” + +“Mr. Latham, you mean, Hughie.” + +“Huh-huh,” went on Hughie, breathlessly, “and Yankee--Mr. Latham asked +if the minister was home, and I said 'No,' and then they went away.” + +“What was the matter? Did you see them, Lambert?” + +“Oui” (“Way,” Lambert pronounced it), “but dey not tell me what he's +hurt.” + +The minister's wife went toward the house, with a shadow on her face. +She shared with her husband his people's sorrows. She knew even better +than he the life-history of every family in the congregation. Macdonald +Dubh had long been classed among the wild and careless in the community, +and it weighed upon her heart that his life might be in danger. + +“I shall see him to-morrow,” she said to herself. + +For a few moments she stood on the doorstep looking at the glow in the +sky over the dark forest, which on the west side came quite up to the +house and barn. + +“Look, Hughie, at the beautiful tints in the clouds, and see the dark +shadows pointing out toward us from the bush.” Hughie glanced a moment. + +“Mamma,” he said, “I am just dead for supper.” + +“Oh, not quite, I hope, Hughie. But look, I want you to notice those +clouds and the sky behind them. How lovely! Oh, how wonderful!” + +Her enthusiasm caught the boy, and for a few moment she forgot even his +hunger, and holding his mother's hand, gazed up at the western sky. It +was a picture of rare beauty that lay stretched out from the manse back +door. Close to the barn came the pasture-field dotted with huge stumps, +then the brule where the trees lay fallen across one another, over +which the fire had run, and then the solid wall of forest here and there +overtopped by the lofty crest of a white pine. Into the forest in the +west the sun was descending in gorgeous robes of glory. The treetops +caught the yellow light, and gleamed like the golden spires of some +great and fabled city. + +“Oh, mamma, see that big pine top! Doesn't it look like windows?” cried +Hughie, pointing to one of the lofty pine crests through which the sky +quivered like molten gold. + +“And the streets of the city are pure gold,” said the mother, softly. + +“Yes, I know,” said Hughie, confidently, for to him all the scenes and +stories of the Bible had long been familiar. “Is it like that, mamma?” + +“Much better, ever so much better than you can think.” + +“Oh, mamma, I'm just awful hungry!” + +“Come away, then; so am I. What have you got, Jessie, for two very +hungry people?” + +“Porridge and pancakes,” said Jessie, the minister's “girl,” who not +only ruled in the kitchen, but using the kitchen as a base, controlled +the interior economy of the manse. + +“Oh, goody!” yelled Hughie; “just what I like.” And from the plates of +porridge and the piles of pancakes that vanished from his plate no one +could doubt his word. + +Their reading that night was about the city whose streets were of pure +gold, and after a little talk, Hughie and his baby brother were tucked +away safely for the night, and the mother sat down to her never-ending +task of making and mending. + +The minister was away at Presbytery meeting in Montreal, and for ten +days his wife would stand in the breach. Of course the elders would take +the meeting on the Sabbath day and on the Wednesday evening, but for all +other ministerial duties when the minister was absent the congregation +looked to the minister's wife. And soon it came that the sick and the +sorrowing and the sin-burdened found in the minister's wife such help +and comfort and guidance as made the absence of the minister seem no +great trial after all. Eight years ago the minister had brought his wife +from a home of gentle culture, from a life of intellectual and artistic +pursuits, and from a circle of loving friends of which she was the pride +and joy, to this home in the forest. There, isolated from all congenial +companionship with her own kind, deprived of all the luxuries and of +many of the comforts of her young days, and of the mental stimulus of +that contact of minds without which few can maintain intellectual life, +she gave herself without stint to her husband's people, with never a +thought of self-pity or self-praise. By day and by night she labored for +her husband and family and for her people, for she thought them hers. +She taught the women how to adorn their rude homes, gathered them into +Bible classes and sewing circles, where she read and talked and wrought +and prayed with them till they grew to adore her as a saint, and to +trust her as a leader and friend, and to be a little like her. And not +the women only, but the men, too, loved and trusted her, and the big +boys found it easier to talk to the minister's wife than to the minister +or to any of his session. She made her own and her children's clothes, +collars, hats, and caps, her husband's shirts and neckties, toiling late +into the morning hours, and all without frown or shadow of complaint, +and indeed without suspicion that any but the happiest lot was hers, or +that she was, as her sisters said, “just buried alive in the backwoods.” + Not she! She lived to serve, and the where and how were not hers to +determine. So, with bright face and brave heart, she met her days and +faced the battle. And scores of women and men are living better and +braver lives because they had her for their minister's wife. + +But the day had been long, and the struggle with the March wind pulls +hard upon the strength, and outside the pines were crooning softly, +and gradually the brave head drooped till between the stitches she +fell asleep. But not for many minutes, for a knock at the kitchen door +startled her, and before long she heard Jessie's voice rise wrathful. + +“Indeed, I'll do no such thing. This is no time to come to the +minister's house.” + +For answer there was a mumble of words. + +“Well, then, you can just wait until morning. She can go in the +morning.” + +“What is it, Jessie?” The minister's wife came into the kitchen. + +“Oh, Ranald, I'm glad to see you back. Hughie told me you had come. But +your father is ill, he said. How is he?” + +Ranald shook hands shyly, feeling much ashamed under Jessie's sharp +reproof. + +“Indeed, it was Aunt Kirsty that sent me,” said Ranald, apologetically. + +“Then she ought to have known better,” said Jessie, sharply. + +“Never mind, Jessie. Ranald, tell me about your father.” + +“He is very bad indeed, and my aunt is afraid that--” The boy's lip +trembled. Then he went on: “And she thought perhaps you might have some +medicine, and--” + +“But what is the matter, Ranald?” + +“He was hurted bad--and he is not right wise in his head.” + +“But how was he hurt?” + +Ranald hesitated. + +“I was not there--I am thinking it was something that struck him.” + +“Ah, a tree! But where did the tree strike him?” + +“Here,” pointing to his breast; “and it is sore in his breathing.” + +“Well, Ranald, if you put the saddle on Pony, I shall be ready in a +minute.” + +Jessie was indignant. + +“You will not stir a foot this night. You will send some medicine, and +then you can go in the morning.” + +But the minister's wife heeded her not. + +“You are not walking, Ranald?” + +“No, I have the colt.” + +“Oh, that's splendid. We'll have a fine gallop--that is, if the moon is +up.” + +“Yes, it is just coming up,” said Ranald, hurrying away to the stable +that he might escape Jessie's wrath and get the pony ready. + +It was no unusual thing for the minister and his wife to be called upon +to do duty for doctor and nurse. The doctor was twenty miles away. So +Mrs. Murray got into her riding-habit, threw her knitted hood over her +head, put some simple medicines into her hand-bag, and in ten minutes +was waiting for Ranald at the door. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE RIDE FOR LIFE + + +The night was clear, with a touch of frost in the air, yet with the +feeling in it of approaching spring. A dim light fell over the forest +from the half-moon and the stars, and seemed to fill up the little +clearing in which the manse stood, with a weird and mysterious radiance. +Far away in the forest the long-drawn howl of a wolf rose and fell, and +in a moment sharp and clear came an answer from the bush just at hand. +Mrs. Murray dreaded the wolves, but she was no coward and scorned to +show fear. + +“The wolves are out, Ranald,” she said, carelessly, as Ranald came up +with the pony. + +“They are not many, I think,” answered the boy as carelessly; “but--are +you--do you think--perhaps I could just take the medicine--and you will +come--” + +“Nonsense, Ranald! bring up the pony. Do you think I have lived all this +time in Indian Lands to be afraid of a wolf?” + +“Indeed, you are not afraid, I know that well!” Ranald shrank from +laying the crime of being afraid at the door of the minister's wife, +whose fearlessness was proverbial in the community; “but maybe--” The +truth was, Ranald would rather be alone if the wolves came out. + +But Mrs. Murray was in the saddle, and the pony was impatient to be off. + +“We will go by the Camerons' clearing, and then take their wood track. +It is a better road,” said Ranald, after they had got through the big +gate. + +“Now, Ranald, you think I am afraid of the swamp, and by the Camerons' +is much longer.” + +“Indeed, I hear them say that you are not afraid of the--of anything,” + said Ranald, quickly, “but this road is better for the horses.” + +“Come on, then, with your colt”; and the pony darted away on her +quick-springing gallop, followed by the colt going with a long, easy, +loping stride. For a mile they kept side by side till they reached the +Camerons' lane, when Ranald held in the colt and allowed the pony to +lead. As they passed through the Camerons' yard the big black dogs, +famous bear-hunters, came baying at them. The pony regarded them with +indifference, but the colt shied and plunged. + +“Whoa, Liz!” Liz was Ranald's contraction for Lizette, the name of the +French horse-trainer and breeder, Jules La Rocque, gave to her mother, +who in her day was queen of the ice at L'Original Christmas races. + +“Be quate, Nigger, will you!” The dogs, who knew Ranald well, ceased +their clamor, but not before the kitchen door opened and Don Cameron +came out. + +Don was about a year older than Ranald and was his friend and comrade. + +“It's me, Don--and Mrs. Murray there.” + +Don gazed speechless. + +“And what--” he began. + +“Father is not well. He is hurted, and Mrs. Murray is going to see him, +and we must go.” + +Ranald hurried through his story, impatient to get on. + +“But are you going up through the bush?” asked Don. + +“Yes, what else, Don?” asked Mrs. Murray. “It is a good road, isn't it?” + +“Oh, yes, I suppose it is good enough,” said Don, doubtfully, “but I +heard--” + +“We will come out at our own clearing at the back, you know,” Ranald +hurried to say, giving Don a kick. “Whist, man! She is set upon going.” + At that moment away off toward the swamp, which they were avoiding, the +long, heart-chilling cry of a mother wolf quavered on the still night +air. In spite of herself, Mrs. Murray shivered, and the boys looked at +each other. + +“There is only one,” said Ranald in a low voice to Don, but they both +knew that where the she wolf is there is a pack not far off. “And we +will be through the bush in five minutes.” + +“Come, Ranald! Come away, you can talk to Don any time. Good night, +Don.” And so saying she headed her pony toward the clearing and was off +at a gallop, and Ranald, shaking his head at his friend, ejaculated: + +“Man alive! what do you think of that?” and was off after the pony. + +Together they entered the bush. The road was well beaten and the horses +were keen to go, so that before many minutes were over they were half +through the bush. Ranald's spirits rose and he began to take some +interest in his companion's observations upon the beauty of the lights +and shadows falling across their path. + +“Look at that very dark shadow from the spruce there, Ranald,” she +cried, pointing to a deep, black turn in the road. For answer there came +from behind them the long, mournful hunting-cry of the wolf. He was on +their track. Immediately it was answered by a chorus of howls from +the bush on the swamp side, but still far away. There was no need of +command; the pony sprang forward with a snort and the colt followed, and +after a few minutes' running, passed her. + +“Whow-oo-oo-oo-ow” rose the long cry of the pursuer, summoning help, and +drawing nearer. + +“Wow-ee-wow,” came the shorter, sharper answer from the swamp, but much +nearer than before and more in front. They were trying to head off their +prey. + +Ranald tugged at his colt till he got him back with the pony. + +“It is a good road,” he said, quietly; “you can let the pony go. I will +follow you.” He swung in behind the pony, who was now running for dear +life and snorting with terror at every jump. + +“God preserve us!” said Ranald to himself. He had caught sight of a dark +form as it darted through the gleam of light in front. + +“What did you say, Ranald?” The voice was quiet and clear. + +“It is a great pony to run whatever,” said Ranald, ashamed of himself. + +“Is she not?” + +Ranald glanced over his shoulder. Down the road, running with silent, +awful swiftness, he saw the long, low body of the leading wolf flashing +through the bars of moonlight across the road, and the pack following +hard. + +“Let her go, Mrs. Murray,” cried Ranald. “Whip her and never stop.” But +there was no need; the pony was wild with fear, and was doing her best +running. + +Ranald meantime was gradually holding in the colt, and the pony drew +away rapidly. But as rapidly the wolves were closing in behind him. +They were not more than a hundred yards away, and gaining every second. +Ranald, remembering the suspicious nature of the brutes, loosened his +coat and dropped it on the road; with a chorus of yelps they paused, +then threw themselves upon it, and in another minute took up the chase. + +But now the clearing was in sight. The pony was far ahead, and Ranald +shook out his colt with a yell. He was none too soon, for the pursuing +pack, now uttering short, shrill yelps, were close at the colt's heels. +Lizette, fleet as the wind, could not shake them off. Closer and ever +closer they came, snapping and snarling. Ranald could see them over his +shoulder. A hundred yards more and he would reach his own back lane. The +leader of the pack seemed to feel that his chances were slipping swiftly +away. With a spurt he gained upon Lizette, reached the saddle-girths, +gathered himself in two short jumps, and sprang for the colt's throat. +Instinctively Ranald stood up in his stirrups, and kicking his foot +free, caught the wolf under the jaw. The brute fell with a howl under +the colt's feet, and next moment they were in the lane and safe. + +The savage brutes, discouraged by their leader's fall, slowed down +their fierce pursuit, and hearing the deep bay of the Macdonalds' great +deerhound, Bugle, up at the house, they paused, sniffed the air a +few minutes, then turned and swiftly and silently slid into the dark +shadows. Ranald, knowing that they would hardly dare enter the lane, +checked the colt, and wheeling, watched them disappear. + +“I'll have some of your hides some day,” he cried, shaking his fist +after them. He hated to be made to run. + +He had hardly set the colt's face homeward when he heard something +tearing down the lane to meet him. The colt snorted, swerved, and then +dropping his ears, stood still. It was Bugle, and after him came Mrs. +Murray on the pony. + +“Oh, Ranald!” she panted, “thank God you are safe. I was afraid +you--you--” Her voice broke in sobs. Her hood had fallen back from her +white face, and her eyes were shining like two stars. She laid her hand +on Ranald's arm, and her voice grew steady as she said: “Thank God, my +boy, and thank you with all my heart. You risked your life for mine. You +are a brave fellow! I can never forget this!” + +“Oh, pshaw!” said Ranald, awkwardly. “You are better stuff than I am. +You came back with Bugle. And I knew Liz could beat the pony whatever.” + Then they walked their horses quietly to the stable, and nothing more +was said by either of them; but from that hour Ranald had a friend ready +to offer life for him, though he did not know it then nor till years +afterward. + + + +CHAPTER V + +FORGIVE US OUR DEBTS + + +Macdonald Dubh's farm lay about three miles north and west from the +manse, and the house stood far back from the cross-road in a small +clearing encircled by thick bush. It was a hard farm to clear, the +timber was heavy, the land lay low, and Macdonald Dubh did not make as +much progress as his neighbors in his conflict with the forest. Not but +that he was a hard worker and a good man with the ax, but somehow he did +not succeed as a farmer. It may have been that his heart was more in the +forest than in the farm. He was a famous hunter, and in the deer season +was never to be found at home, but was ever ranging the woods with his +rifle and his great deerhound, Bugle. + +He made money at the shanties, but money would not stick to his fingers, +and by the time the summer was over most of his money would be gone, +with the government mortgage on his farm still unlifted. His habits +of life wrought a kind of wildness in him which set him apart from the +thrifty, steady-going people among whom he lived. True, the shanty-men +were his stanch friends and admirers, but then the shanty-men, though +well-doing, could hardly be called steady, except the boss of the +Macdonald gang, Macdonald Bhain, who was a regular attendant and stanch +supporter of the church, and indeed had been spoken of for an elder. But +from the church Macdonald Dubh held aloof. He belonged distinctly to the +“careless,” though he could not be called irreligious. He had all the +reverence for “the Word of God, and the Sabbath day, and the church” + that characterized his people. All these held a high place in his +esteem; and though he would not presume to “take the books,” not being a +member of the church, yet on the Sabbath day when he was at home it was +the custom of the household to gather for the reading of the Word before +breakfast. He would never take his rifle with him through the woods on +the Sabbath, and even when absent from home on a hunting expedition, +when the Sabbath day came round, he religiously kept camp. It is true, +he did not often go to church, and when the minister spoke to him about +this, he always agreed that it was a good thing to go to church. When he +had no better excuse, he would apologize for his absence upon the ground +“that he had not the clothes.” The greater part of the trouble was +that he was shy and proud, and felt himself to be different from the +church-going people of the community, and shrank from the surprised +looks of members, and even from the words of approving welcome that +often greeted his presence in church. + +It was not according to his desire that Ranald was sent to the manse. +That was the doing of his sister, Kirsty, who for the last ten years +had kept house for him. Not that there was much housekeeping skill about +Kirsty, as indeed any one might see even without entering Macdonald +Dubh's house. Kirsty was big and strong and willing, but she had not +the most elemental ideas of tidiness. Her red, bushy hair hung in wisps +about her face, after the greater part of it had been gathered into a +tight knob at the back of her head. She was a martyr to the “neuralagy,” + and suffered from a perennial cold in the head, which made it necessary +for her to wear a cloud, which was only removed when it could be +replaced by her nightcap. Her face always bore the marks of her labors, +and from it one could gather whether she was among the pots or busy with +the baking. But she was kindhearted, and, up to her light, sought to +fill the place left empty by the death of the wife and mother in that +home, ten years before. + +When the minister's wife opened the door, a hot, close, foul smell +rushed forth to meet her. Upon the kitchen stove a large pot of +pig's food was boiling, and the steam and smell from the pot made +the atmosphere of the room overpoweringly fetid. Off the kitchen or +living-room were two small bedrooms, in one of which lay Macdonald Dubh. + +Kirsty met the minister's wife with a warm welcome. She helped her +off with her hood and coat, patting her on the shoulder the while, and +murmuring words of endearment. + +“Ah, M'eudail! M'eudail bheg! and did you come through the night all the +way, and it is ashamed that I am to have sent for you, but he was very +bad and I was afraid. Come away! come away! I will make you a cup of +tea.” But the minister's wife assured Kirsty that she was glad to come, +and declining the cup of tea, went to the room where Macdonald Dubh lay +tossing and moaning with the delirium of fever upon him. It was not long +before she knew what was required. + +With hot fomentations she proceeded to allay the pain, and in half an +hour Macdonald Dubh grew quiet. His tossings and mutterings ceased and +he fell into a sleep. + +Kirsty stood by admiring. + +“Mercy me! Look at that now; and it is yourself that is the great +doctor!” + +“Now, Kirsty,” said Mrs. Murray, in a very matter-of-fact tone, “we will +just make him a little more comfortable.” + +“Yes,” said Kirsty, not quite sure how the feat was to be achieved. “A +little hot something for his inside will be good, but indeed, many's the +drink I have given him,” she suggested. + +“What have you been giving him, Kirsty?” + +“Senny and dandylion, and a little whisky. They will be telling me it is +ferry good whatever for the stomach and bow'ls.” + +“I don't think I would give him any more of that; but we will try and +make him feel a little more comfortable.” + +Mrs. Murray knew she was treading on delicate ground. The Highland pride +is quick to take offense. + +“Sick people, you see,” she proceeded carefully, “need very frequent +changes--sheets and clothing, you understand.” + +“Aye,” said Kirsty, suspiciously. + +“I am sure you have plenty of beautiful sheets, and we will change these +when he wakes from his sleep.” + +“Indeed, they are very clean, for there is no one but myself has slept +in them since he went away last fall to the shanties.” + +Mrs. Murray felt the delicacy of the position to be sensibly increased. + +“Indeed, that is right, Kirsty; one can never tell just what sort of +people are traveling about nowadays.” + +“Indeed, and it's true,” said Kirsty, heartily, “but I never let them in +here. I just keep them to the bunk.” + +“But,” pursued Mrs. Murray, returning to the subject in hand, “it is +very important that for sick people the sheets should be thoroughly +aired and warmed. Why, in the hospital in Montreal they take the very +greatest care to air and change the sheets every day. You see so much +poison comes through the pores of the skin.” + +“Do you hear that now?” said Kirsty, amazed. “Indeed, I would be often +hearing that those French people are just full of poison and such, and +indeed, it is no wonder, for the food they put inside of them.” + +“O, no, “ said Mrs. Murray, “it is the same with all people, but +especially so with sick people.” + +Kirsty looked as doubtful as was consistent with her respect for the +minister's wife, and Mrs. Murray went on. + +“So you will just get the sheets ready to change, and, Kirsty, a clean +night-shirt.” + +“Night-shirt! and indeed, he has not such a thing to his name.” Kirsty's +tone betrayed her thankfulness that her brother was free from the +effeminacy of a night-shirt; but noting the dismay and confusion on Mrs. +Murray's face, she suggested, hesitatingly, “He might have one of my +own, but I am thinking it will be small for him across the back.” + +“I am afraid so, Kirsty,” said the minister's wife, struggling hard +with a smile. “We will just use one of his own white shirts.” But this +scandalized Kirsty as an unnecessary and wasteful luxury. + +“Indeed, there is plenty of them in the chist, but he will be keeping +them for the communion season, and the funerals, and such. He will not +be wearing them in his bed, for no one will be seeing him there at all.” + +“But he will feel so much better,” said Mrs. Murray, and her smile was +so sweet and winning that Kirsty's opposition collapsed, and without +more words both sheets and shirt were produced. + +As Kirsty laid them out she observed with a sigh: “Aye, aye, she was +the clever woman--the wife, I mean. She was good with the needle, and +indeed, at anything she tried to do.” + +“I did not know her,” said Mrs. Murray, softly, “but every one tells me +she was a good housekeeper and a good woman.” + +“She was that,” said Kirsty, emphatically, “and she was the light of his +eyes, and it was a bad day for Hugh when she went away.” + +“Now, Kirsty,” said Mrs. Murray, after a pause, “before we put on these +clean things, we will just give him a sponge bath.” + +Kirsty gasped. + +“Mercy sakes! He will not be needing that in the winter, and he will be +getting a cold from it. In the summer-time he will be going to the river +himself. And how will you be giving him a bath whatever?” + +Mrs. Murray carefully explained the process, again fortifying her +position by referring to the practices of the Montreal hospital, till, +as a result of her persuasions and instructions, in an hour after +Macdonald had awakened from his sleep he was lying in his Sabbath white +shirt and between fresh sheets, and feeling cleaner and more comfortable +than he had for many a day. The fever was much reduced, and he fell +again into a deep sleep. + +The two women watched beside him, for neither would leave the other +to watch alone. And Ranald, who could not be persuaded to go up to +his loft, lay on the bunk in the kitchen and dozed. After an hour had +passed, Mrs. Murray inquired as to the nourishment Kirsty had given her +brother. + +“Indeed, he will not be taking anything whatever,” said Kirsty, in a +vexed tone. “And it is no matter what I will be giving him.” + +“And what does he like, Kirsty?” + +“Indeed, he will be taking anything when he is not seek, and he is that +fond of buckwheat pancakes and pork gravy with maple syrup over them, +but would he look at it! And I made him new porridge to-night, but he +would not touch them.” + +“Did you try him with gruel, Kirsty?” + +“Mercy me, and is it Macdonald Dubh and gruel? He would be flinging the +'feushionless' stuff out of the window.” + +“But I am sure it would be good for him if he could be persuaded to try +it. I should like to try him.” + +“Indeed, and you may try. It will be easy enough, for the porridge are +still in the pot.” + +Kirsty took the pot from the bench, with the remains of the porridge +that had been made for supper still in it, set it on the fire, and +pouring some water in it, began to stir it vigorously. It was thick and +slimy, and altogether a most repulsive-looking mixture, and Mrs. Murray +no longer wondered at Macdonald Dubh's distaste for gruel. + +“I think I will make some fresh, if you will let me, Kirsty--in the way +I make it for the minister, you know.” + +Kirsty, by this time, had completely surrendered to Mrs. Murray's +guidance, and producing the oatmeal, allowed her to have her way; so +that when Macdonald awoke he found Mrs. Murray standing beside him with +a bowl of the nicest gruel and a slice of thin dry toast. + +He greeted the minister's wife with grave courtesy, drank the gruel, and +then lay down again to sleep. + +“Will you look at that now?” said Kirsty, amazed at Macdonald Dubh's +forbearance. “He would not like to be offending you.” + +Then Mrs. Murray besought Kirsty to go and lie down for an hour, which +Kirsty very unwillingly agreed to do. + +It was not long before Macdonald began to toss and mutter in his sleep, +breaking forth now and then into wild cries and curses. He was fighting +once more his great fight in the Glengarry line, and beating back +LeNoir. + +“Back, ye devil! Would ye? Take that, then. Come back, Mack!” Then +followed a cry so wild that Ranald awoke and came into the room. + +“Bring in some snow, Ranald,” said the minister's wife; “we will lay +some on his head.” + +She bathed the hot face and hands with ice-cold water, and then laid a +snow compress on the sick man's head, speaking to him in quiet, gentle +tones, till he was soothed again to sleep. + +When the gray light of the morning came in through the little window, +Macdonald woke sane and quiet. + +“You are better,” said Mrs. Murray to him. + +“Yes,” he said, “I am very well, thank you, except for the pain here.” + He pointed to his chest. + +“You have been badly hurt, Ranald tells me. How did it happen?” + +“Well,” said Macdonald, slowly, “it is very hard to say.” + +“Did the tree fall on you?” asked Mrs. Murray. + +Macdonald glanced at her quickly, and then answered: “It is very +dangerous work with the trees. It is wonderful how quick they will +fall.” + +“Your face and breast seem very badly bruised and cut.” + +“Aye, yes,” said Macdonald. “The breast is bad whatever.” + +“I think you had better send for Doctor Grant,” Mrs. Murray said. “There +may be some internal injury.” + +“No, no,” said Macdonald, decidedly. “I will have no doctor at me, and +I will soon be round again, if the Lord will. When will the minister be +home?” + +But Mrs. Murray, ignoring his attempt to escape the subject, went on: +“Yes, but, Mr. Macdonald, I am anxious to have Doctor Grant see you, and +I wish you would send for him to-morrow.” + +“Ah, well,” said Macdonald, not committing himself, “we will be seeing +about that. But the doctor has not been in this house for many a day.” + Then, after a pause, he added, in a low voice, “Not since the day she +was taken from me.” + +“Was she ill long?” + +“Indeed, no. It was just one night. There was no doctor, and the women +could not help her, and she was very bad--and when it came it was a +girl--and it was dead--and then the doctor arrived, but he was too +late.” Macdonald Dubh finished with a great sigh, and the minister's +wife said gently to him: + +“That was a very sad day, and a great loss to you and Ranald.” + +“Aye, you may say it; she was a bonnie woman whatever, and grand at the +spinning and the butter. And, oich-hone, it was a sad day for us.” + +The minister's wife sat silent, knowing that such grief cannot be +comforted, and pitying from her heart the lonely man. After a time she +said gently, “She is better off.” + +A look of doubt and pain and fear came into Macdonald's eyes. + +“She never came forward,” he said, hesitatingly. “She was afraid to +come.” + +“I have heard of her often, Mr. Macdonald, and I have heard that she was +a good and gentle woman.” + +“Aye, she was that.” + +“And kind to the sick.” + +“You may believe it.” + +“And she loved the house of God.” + +“Aye, and neither rain nor snow nor mud would be keeping her from it, +but she would be going every Sabbath day, bringing her stockings with +her.” + +“Her stockings?” + +“Aye, to change her feet in the church. What else? Her stockings would +be wet with the snow and water.” + +Mrs. Murray nodded. “And she loved her Saviour, Mr. Macdonald.” + +“Indeed, I believe it well, but she was afraid she would not be having +'the marks.'” + +“Never you fear, Mr. Macdonald,” said Mrs. Murray. “If she loved her +Saviour she is with him now.” + +He turned around to her and lifted himself eagerly on his elbow. “And do +you really think that?” he said, in a voice subdued and anxious. + +“Indeed I do,” said Mrs. Murray, in a tone of certain conviction. + +Macdonald sank back on his pillow, and after a moment's silence, said, +in a voice of pain: “Oh, but it is a peety she did not know! It is a +peety she did not know. For many's the time before--before--her hour +came on her, she would be afraid.” + +“But she was not afraid at the last, Mr. Macdonald?” + +“Indeed, no. I wondered at her. She was like a babe in its mother's +arms. There was a light on her face, and I mind well what she said.” + Macdonald paused. There was a stir in the kitchen, and Mrs. Murray, +glancing behind her, saw Ranald standing near the door intently +listening. Then Macdonald went on. “I mind well the words, as if it was +yesterday. 'Hugh, my man,' she said, 'am no feared' (she was from the +Lowlands, but she was a fine woman); 'I haena the marks, but 'm no +feared but He'll ken me. Ye'll tak' care o' Ranald, for, oh, Hugh! I ha' +gi'en him to the Lord. The Lord help you to mak' a guid man o' him.'” + Macdonald's voice faltered into silence, then, after a few moments, he +cried, “And oh! Mistress Murra', I cannot tell you the often these words +do keep coming to me; and it is myself that has not kept the promise I +made to her, and may the Lord forgive me.” + +The look of misery in the dark eyes touched Mrs. Murray to the heart. +She laid her hand on Macdonald's arm, but she could not find words to +speak. Suddenly Macdonald recalled himself. + +“You will forgive me,” he said; “and you will not be telling any one.” + +By this time the tears were streaming down her face, and Mrs. Murray +could only say, brokenly, “You know I will not.” + +“Aye, I do,” said Macdonald, with a sigh of content, and he turned his +face away from her to the wall. + +“And now you let me read to you,” she said, softly, and taking from her +bag the Gaelic Bible, which with much toil she had learned to read since +coming to this Highland congregation, she read to him from the old Psalm +those words, brave, tender, and beautiful, that have so often comforted +the weary and wandering children of men, “The Lord is my Shepherd,” and +so on to the end. Then from psalm to psalm she passed, selecting such +parts as suited her purpose, until Macdonald turned to her again and +said, admiringly: + +“It is yourself that has the bonnie Gaelic.” + +“I am afraid,” she said, with a smile, “it is not really good, but it is +the best a south country woman can do.” + +“Indeed, it is very pretty,” he said, earnestly. + +Then the minister's wife said, timidly, “I cannot pray in the Gaelic.” + +“Oh, the English will be very good,” said Macdonald, and she knelt down +and in simple words poured out her heart in prayer. Before she rose from +her knees she opened the Gaelic Bible, and turned to the words of the +Lord's Prayer. + +“We will say this prayer together,” she said, gently. + +Macdonald, bowing his head gravely, answered: “It is what she would +often be doing with me.” + +There was still only one woman to this lonely hearted man, and with +a sudden rush of pity that showed itself in her breaking voice, the +minister's wife began in Gaelic, “Our Father which art in heaven.” + +Macdonald followed her in a whisper through the petitions until they +came to the words, “And forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors,” + when he paused and would say no more. Mrs. Murray repeated the words of +the petition, but still there was no response. Then the minister's wife +knew that she had her finger upon a sore spot, and she finished the +prayer alone. + +For a time she sat silent, unwilling to probe the wound, and yet too +brave to flinch from what she felt to be duty. + +“We have much to be forgiven,” she said, gently. “More than we can ever +forgive.” Still there was silence. + +“And the heart that cannot forgive an injury is closed to the +forgiveness of God.” + +The morning sun was gleaming through the treetops, and Mrs. Murray was +worn with her night's vigil, and anxious to get home. She rose, and +offering Macdonald her hand, smiled down into his face, and said: “Good +by! We must try to forgive.” + +As he took her hand, Macdonald's dark face began to work, and he broke +forth into a bitter cry. + +“He took me unawares! And it was a coward's blow! and I will not forgive +him until I have given him what he deserves, if the Lord spares me!” And +then he poured forth, in hot and bitter words, the story of the great +fight. By the time he had finished his tale Ranald had come in from the +kitchen, and was standing with clenched fists and face pale with passion +at the foot of the bed. + +As Mrs. Murray listened to this story her eyes began to burn, and when +it was over, she burst forth: “Oh, it was a cruel and cowardly and +brutal thing for men to do! And did you beat them off?” she asked. + +“Aye, and that we did,” burst in Ranald. And in breathless haste and +with flashing eye he told them of Macdonald Bhain's part in the fight. + +“Splendid!” cried the minister's wife, forgetting herself for the +moment. + +“But he let him go,” said Ranald, sadly. “He would not strike him, but +just let him go.” + +Then the minister's wife cried again: “Ah, he is a great man, your +uncle! And a great Christian. Greater than I could have been, for I +would have slain him then and there.” Her eyes flashed, and the color +flamed in her face as she uttered these words. + +“Aye,” said Macdonald Dubh, regarding her with deep satisfaction. His +tone and look recalled the minister's wife, and turning to Ranald, she +added, sadly: + +“But your uncle was right, Ranald, and we must forgive even as he did.” + +“That,” cried Ranald, with fierce emphasis, “I will never do, until once +I will be having my hands on his throat.” + +“Hush, Ranald!” said the minister's wife. “I know it is hard, but we +must forgive. You see we MUST forgive. And we must ask Him to help us, +who has more to forgive than any other.” + +But she said no more to Macdonald Dubh on that subject that morning. The +fire of the battle was in her heart, and she felt she could more easily +sympathize with his desire for vengeance than with the Christian grace +of forgiveness. But as they rode home together through the bush, where +death had trailed them so closely the night before, the sweet sunlight +and the crisp, fresh air, and all the still beauty of the morning, +working with the memory of their saving, rebuked and soothed and +comforted her, and when Ranald turned back from the manse door, she said +softly: “Our Father in heaven was very good to us, Ranald, and we should +be like him. He forgives and loves, and we should, too.” + +And Ranald, looking into the sweet face, pale with the long night's +trials, but tinged now with the faintest touch of color from the +morning, felt somehow that it might be possible to forgive. + +But many days had to come and go, and many waters flow over the souls +of Macdonald Dubh and his son Ranald, before they were able to say, +“Forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors.” + + + +CHAPTER VI + +A NEW FRIEND + + +The night race with the wolves began a new phase of life for Ranald, for +in that hour he gained a friend such as it falls to few lads to have. +Mrs. Murray's high courage in the bush, her skill in the sick-room, and +that fine spiritual air she carried with her made for her a place in his +imagination where men set their divinities. The hero and the saint in +her stirred his poetic and fervent soul and set it aglow with a feeling +near to adoration. To Mrs. Murray also the events of that night set +forth Ranald in a new light. In the shy, awkward, almost sullen lad +there had suddenly been revealed in those moments of peril the cool, +daring man, full of resource and capable of self-sacrifice. Her heart +went out toward him, and she set herself to win his confidence and to +establish a firm friendship with him; but this was no easy matter. + +Macdonald Dubh and his son, living a half-savage life in their lonely +back clearing, were regarded by their neighbors with a certain degree of +distrust and fear. They were not like other people. They seldom mingled +in the social festivities of the community, and consequently were +more or less excluded from friendship and free intercourse with their +neighbors. Ranald, shy, proud, and sensitive, felt this exclusion, and +in return kept himself aloof even from the boys, and especially from the +girls, of his own age. His attendance at school was of a fragmentary and +spasmodic nature, and he never really came to be on friendly terms with +his fellow-pupils. His one friend was Don Cameron, whom the boys called +“Wobbles,” from his gait in running, whose father's farm backed that +of Macdonald Dubh. And though Don was a year older, he gave to Ranald a +homage almost amounting to worship, for in all those qualities that +go to establish leadership among boys, Ranald was easily first. In the +sport that called for speed, courage, and endurance Ranald was chief +of all. Fleet of foot, there was no runner from the Twelfth to the +Twentieth that could keep him in sight, and when he stood up to fight, +the mere blaze of his eyes often won him victory before a blow was +struck. To Don, Ranald opened his heart more than to any one else; all +others he kept at a distance. + +It was in vain that Mrs. Murray, in her daily visits to Macdonald Dubh, +sought to find out Ranald and to come to speech with him. Aunt Kirsty +never knew where he was, and to her calls, long and loud, from the back +door and from the front, no response ever came. It was Hughie Murray who +finally brought Ranald once more into touch with the minister's wife. + +They had come one early morning, Hughie with Fido “hitched” in a sled +driving over the “crust” on the snow banks by the roadside, and his +mother on the pony, to make their call upon the sick man. As they drew +near the house they heard a sound of hammering. + +“That's Ranald, mother!” exclaimed Hughie. “Let me go and find him. I +don't want to go in.” + +“Be sure you don't go far away, then, Hughie; you know we must hurry +home to-day”; and Hughie faithfully promised. But alas for Hughie's +promises! when his mother came out of the house with Kirsty, he was +within neither sight nor hearing. + +“They will just be at the camp,” said Kirsty. + +“The camp?” + +“Aye, the sugaring camp down yonder in the sugar bush. It is not far off +from the wood road. I will be going with you.” + +“Not at all, Kirsty,” said the minister's wife. “I think I know where +it is, and I can go home that way quite well. Besides, I want to see +Ranald.” She did not say she would rather see him alone. + +“Indeed, he is the quare lad, and he is worse since coming back from the +shanties.” Kirsty was evidently much worried about Ranald. + +“Never mind,” said the minister's wife, kindly; “we must just be +patient. Ranald is going on fast toward manhood, and he can be held only +by the heart.” + +“Aye,” said Kirsty, with a sigh, “I doubt his father will never be able +any more to take a strap to him.” + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Murray, smiling, “I'm afraid he is far beyond that.” + +“Beyond it!” exclaimed Kirsty, astonished at such a doctrine. “Indeed, +and his father and his uncle would be getting it then, when they were as +beeg as they will ever be, and much the better were they for it.” + +“I don't think it would do for Ranald,” said the minister's wife, +smiling again as she said good by to Kirsty. Then she took her way down +the wood road into the bush. She found the camp road easily, and after +a quarter of an hour's ride, she heard the sound of an ax, and soon +came upon the sugar camp. Ranald was putting the finishing touches to a +little shanty of cedar poles and interwoven balsam brush, and Hughie was +looking on in admiration and blissful delight. + +“Why, that's beautiful,” said Mrs. Murray; “I should like to live in a +house like that myself.” + +“Oh, mother!” shouted Hughie, “isn't it splendid? Ranald and Don are +going to live in it all the sugaring time, and Ranald wants me to come, +too. Mayn't I, mother? Aw, do let me.” + +The mother looked down upon the eager face, smiled, and shook her head. +“What about the night, Hughie?” she said. “It will be very dark in the +woods here, and very cold, too. Ranald and Don are big boys and strong, +but I'm afraid my little boy would not be very comfortable sleeping +outside.” + +“Oh, mother, we'll be inside, and it'll be awful warm--and oh, you might +let me!” Hughie's tears were restrained only by the shame of weeping +before his hero, Ranald. + +“Well, we will see what your father says when he comes home.” + +“Oh, mother, he will just say 'no' right off, and--” + +A shadow crossed his mother's face, but she only answered quietly, +“Never mind just now, Hughie; we will think of it. Besides,” she added, +“I don't know how much Ranald wants to be bothered with a wee boy like +you.” + +Ranald gave her a quick, shy glance and answered: + +“He will be no trouble, Mrs. Murray”; and then, noticing Hughie's +imploring face, he ventured to add, “and indeed, I hope you will let him +come. I will take good care of him.” + +Mrs. Murray hesitated. + +“Oh, mother!” cried Hughie, seeing her hesitation, “just one night; I +won't be a bit afraid.” + +“No, I don't believe you would,” looking down into the brave young face. +“But what about your mother, Hughie?” + +“Oh, pshaw! you wouldn't be afraid.” Hughie's confidence in his mother's +courage was unbounded. + +“I don't know about that,” she replied; and then turning to Ranald, +“How about our friends of the other night?” she said. “Will they not be +about?” Hughie had not heard about the wolves. + +“Oh, there is no fear of them. We will keep a big fire all night, and +besides, we will have our guns and the dogs.” + +“Guns!” cried Mrs. Murray. This was a new terror for her boy. “I'm +afraid I cannot trust Hughie where there are guns. He might--” + +“Indeed, let me catch him touching a gun!” said Ranald, quickly, and +from his tone and the look in his face, Mrs. Murray felt sure that +Hughie would be safe from self-destruction by the guns. + +“Well, well, come away, Hughie, and we will see,” said Mrs. Murray; but +Hughie hung back sulking, unwilling to move till he had got his mother's +promise. + +“Come, Hughie. Get Fido ready. We must hurry,” said his mother again. + +Still Hughie hesitated. Then Ranald turned swiftly on him. “Did ye +hear your mother? Come, get out of this.” His manner was so fierce that +Hughie started immediately for his dog, and without another word of +entreaty made ready to go. The mother noted his quick obedience, and +smiling at Ranald, said: “I think I might trust him with you for a night +or two, Ranald. When do you think you could come for him?” + +“We will finish the tapping to-morrow, and I could come the day after +with the jumper,” said Ranald, pointing to the stout, home-made sleigh +used for gathering the sap and the wood for the fire. + +“Oh, I see you have begun tapping,” said Mrs. Murray; “and do you do it +yourself?” + +“Why, yes, mother; don't you see all those trees?” cried Hughie, +pointing to a number of maples that stood behind the shanty. “Ranald and +Don did all those, and made the spiles, too. See!” He caught up a spile +from a heap lying near the door. “Ranald made all these.” + +“Why, that's fine, Ranald. How do you make them? I have never seen one +made.” + +“Oh, mother!” Hughie's voice was full of pity for her ignorance. He had +seen his first that afternoon. + +“And I have never seen the tapping of a tree. I believe I shall learn +just now, if Ranald will only show me, from the very beginning.” + +Her eager interest in his work won Ranald from his reserve. “There is +not much to see,” he said, apologetically. “You just cut a natch in the +tree, and drive in the spile, and--” + +“Oh, but wait,” she cried. “That's just what I wanted to see. How do you +make the spile?” + +“Oh, that is easy,” said Ranald. He took up a slightly concave chisel or +gouge, and slit a slim slab from off a block of cedar about a foot long. + +“This is a spile,” he exclaimed. “We drive it into the tree, and the sap +runs down into the trough, you see.” + +“No, I don't see,” said the minister's wife. She was too thoroughgoing +to do things by halves. “How do you drive this into the tree, and how do +you get the sap to run down it?” + +“I will show you,” he said, and taking with him a gouge and ax, he +approached a maple still untapped. “You first make a gash like this.” So +saying, with two or three blows of his ax, he made a slanting notch in +the tree. “And then you make a place for the spile this way.” With the +back of his ax he drove his gouge into the corner of the notch, and then +fitted his spile into the incision so made. + +“Ah, now I see. And you put the trough under the drip from the spile. +But how do you make the troughs?” + +“I did not make them,” said Ranald. “Some of them father made, and some +of them belong to the Camerons. But it is easy enough. You just take a +thick slab of basswood and hollow it out with the adze.” + +Mrs. Murray was greatly pleased. “I'm very much obliged to you, Ranald,” + she said, “and I am glad I came down to see your camp. Now, if you will +ask me, I should like to see you make the sugar.” Had her request been +made before the night of their famous ride, Ranald would have found +some polite reason for refusal, but now he was rather surprised to find +himself urging her to come to a sugaring-off at the close of the season. + +“I shall be delighted to come,” cried Mrs. Murray, “and it is very good +of you to ask me, and I shall bring my niece, who is coming with Mr. +Murray from town to spend some weeks with me.” + +Ranald's face fell, but his Highland courtesy forbade retreat. “If she +would care,” he said, doubtfully. + +“Oh, I am sure she would be very glad! She has never been outside of the +city, and I want her to learn all she can of the country and the woods. +It is positively painful to see the ignorance of these city children in +regard to all living things--beasts and birds and plants. Why, many of +them couldn't tell a beech from a basswood.” + +“Oh, mother!” protested Hughie, aghast at such ignorance. + +“Yes, indeed, it is dreadful, I assure you,” said his mother, smiling. +“Why, I know a grown-up woman who didn't know till after she was married +the difference between a spruce and a pine.” + +“But you know them all now,” said Hughie, a little anxious for his +mother's reputation. + +“Yes, indeed,” said his mother, proudly; “every one, I think, at least +when the leaves are out. So I want Maimie to learn all she can.” + +Ranald did not like the idea any too well, but after they had gone +his thoughts kept turning to the proposed visit of Mrs. Murray and her +niece. + +“Maimie,” said Ranald to himself. “So that is her name.” It had +a musical sound, and was different from the names of the girls he +knew--Betsy and Kirsty and Jessie and Marget and Jinny. It was finer +somehow than these, and seemed to suit better a city girl. He wondered +if she would be nice, but he decided that doubtless she would be +“proud.” To be “proud” was the unpardonable sin with the Glengarry +boy. The boy or girl convicted of this crime earned the contempt of all +self-respecting people. On the whole, Ranald was sorry she was coming. +Even in school he was shy with the girls, and kept away from them. They +were always giggling and blushing and making one feel queer, and they +never meant what they said. He had no doubt Maimie would be like the +rest, and perhaps a little worse. Of course, being Mrs. Murray's niece, +she might be something like her. Still, that could hardly be. No girl +could ever be like the minister's wife. He resolved he would turn Maimie +over to Don. He remembered, with great relief, that Don did not mind +girls; indeed, he suspected Don rather enjoyed playing the “forfeit” + games at school with them, in which the penalties were paid in kisses. +How often had he shuddered and admired from a distance, while Don and +the others played those daring games! Yes, Don would do the honors for +Maimie. Perhaps Don would even venture to play “forfeits” with her. +Ranald felt his face grow hot at this thought. Then, with sudden +self-detection, he cried, angrily, aloud: “I don't care; let him; he may +for all I care.” + +“Who may what?” cried a voice behind him. It was Don himself. + +“Nothing,” said Ranald, blushing shamefacedly. + +“Why, what are you mad about?” asked Don, noticing his flushed face. + +“Who is mad?” said Ranald. “I am not mad whatever.” + +“Well, you look mighty like it,” said Don. “You look mad enough to +fight.” + +But Ranald, ignoring him, simply said, “We will need to be gathering the +sap this evening, for the troughs will be full.” + +“Huh-huh,” said Don. “I guess we can carry all there is to-day, but we +will have to get the colt to-morrow. Got the spiles ready?” + +“Enough for to-day,” said Ranald, wondering how he could tell Don of +the proposed visit of Mrs. Murray and her niece. Taking each a bundle of +spiles and an ax, the boys set out for the part of the sugar bush as yet +untapped, and began their work. + +“The minister's wife and Hughie were here just now,” began Ranald. + +“Huh-huh, I met them down the road. Hughie said he was coming day after +to-morrow.” + +“Did Mrs. Murray tell you--” + +“Tell me what?” + +“Did she tell you she would like to see a sugaring-off?” + +“No; they didn't stop long enough to tell me anything. Hughie shouted at +me as they passed.” + +“Well,” said Ranald, speaking slowly and with difficulty, “she wanted +bad to see the sugar-making, and I asked her to come.” + +“You did, eh? I wonder at you.” + +“And she wanted to bring her niece, and--and--I let her,” said Ranald. + +“Her niece! Jee-roo-sa-LEM!” cried Don. “Do you know who her niece is?” + +“Not I,” said Ranald, looking rather alarmed. + +“Well, she is the daughter of the big lumberman, St. Clair, and she is a +great swell.” + +Ranald stood speechless. + +“That does beat all,” pursued Don; “and you asked her to our camp?” + +Then Ranald grew angry. “And why not?” he said, defiantly. “What is +wrong about that?” + +“O, nothing much,” laughed Don, “if I had done it, but for you, Ranald! +Why, what will you do with that swell young lady from the city?” + +“I will just do nothing,” said Ranald. “There will be you and Mrs. +Murray, and--” + +“Oh, I say,” burst in Don, “that's bully! Let's ask some of the boys, +and--your aunt, and--my mother, and--some of the girls.” + +“Oh, shucks!” said Ranald, angrily. “You just want Marget Aird.” + +“You get out!” cried Don, indignantly; “Marget Aird!” Then, after a +pause, he added, “All right, I don't want anybody else. I'll look after +Mrs. Murray, and you and Maimie can do what you like.” + +This combination sounded so terrible to Ranald that he surrendered at +once; and it was arranged that there should be a grand sugaring-off, and +that others besides the minister's wife and her niece should be invited. + +But Mrs. Murray had noticed the falling of Ranald's face at the mention +of Maimie's visit to the camp, and feeling that she had taken him at +a disadvantage, she determined that she would the very next day put +herself right with him. She was eager to follow up the advantage she had +gained the day before in establishing terms of friendship with Ranald, +for her heart went out to the boy, in whose deep, passionate nature she +saw vast possibilities for good or ill. On her return from her daily +visit to Macdonald Dubh, she took the camp road, and had the good +fortune to find Ranald alone, “rigging up” his kettles preparatory +to the boiling. But she had no time for kettles to-day, and she went +straight to her business. + +“I came to see you, Ranald,” she said, after she had shaken hands with +him, “about our sugaring-off. I've been thinking that it would perhaps +be better to have no strangers, but just old friends, you and Don and +Hughie and me.” + +Ranald at once caught her meaning, but found himself strangely unwilling +to be extricated from his predicament. + +“I mean,” said Mrs. Murray, frankly, “we might enjoy it better without +my niece; and so, perhaps, we could have the sugaring when I come to +bring Hughie home on Friday. Maimie does not come till Saturday.” + +Her frankness disarmed Ranald of his reserve. “I know well what you +mean,” he said, without his usual awkwardness, “but I do not mind now +at all having your niece come; and Don is going to have a party.” The +quiet, grave tone was that of a man, and Mrs. Murray looked at the boy +with new eyes. She did not know that it was her own frank confidence +that had won like confidence from him. + +“How old are you, Ranald?” she said, in her wonder. + +“I will be going on eighteen.” + +“You will soon be a man, Ranald.” Ranald remained silent, and she went +on earnestly: “A strong, good, brave man, Ranald.” + +The blood rushed to the boy's face with a sudden flood, but still he +stood silent. + +“I'm going to give you Hughie for two days,” she continued, in the same +earnest voice; and leaning down over her pony's neck toward him: “I want +him to know strong and manly boys. He is very fond of you, Ranald. He +thinks you are better than any man in the world.” She paused, her lips +parting in a smile that made Ranald's heart beat quick. Then she went on +with a shy hesitancy: “Ranald, I know the boys sometimes drop words they +should not and tell stories unfit to hear”; the blood was beginning +to show in her cheek; “and I would not like my little boy--” Her voice +broke suddenly, but recovering quickly she went on in grave, sweet +tones: “I trust him to you, Ranald, for this time and afterward. He +looks up to you. I want him to be a good, brave man, and to keep his +heart pure.” Ranald could not speak, but he looked steadily into Mrs. +Murray's eyes as he took the hand she offered, and she knew he was +pledging himself to her. + +“You'll come for him to-morrow,” she said, as she turned away. By this +time Ranald had found his voice. + +“Yes, ma'am,” he replied. “And I will take good care of him.” + +Once more Mrs. Murray found herself looking at Ranald as if seeing him +for the first time. He had the solemn voice and manner of a man making +oath of allegiance, and she rode away with her heart at rest concerning +her little boy. With Ranald, at least, he would be safe. + + * * * * * + +Those two days had been for Hughie long and weary, but at last the great +day came for him, as all great days will come for those who can wait. +Ranald appeared at the manse before the breakfast was well begun, and +Hughie, with the unconscious egoism of childhood, was for rushing off +without thought of preparation for himself or of farewell for those left +behind. Indeed, he was for leaving his porridge untasted, declaring he +“wasn't a bit hungry,” but his mother brought him to his senses. + +“No breakfast, no sugar bush to-day, Hughie,” she said; “we cannot send +men out to the woods that cannot eat breakfast, can we, Ranald?” + +Hughie at once fell upon his porridge with vigor, while Ranald, who was +much too shy to eat at the minister's table, sat and waited. + +After breakfast was over, Jessie was called in for the morning worship, +without which no day was ever begun in the manse. At worship in the +minister's house every one present took part. It was Hughie's special +joy to lead the singing of the psalm. His voice rose high and clear, +even above his mother's, for he loved to sing, and Ranald's presence +inspired him to do his best. Ranald had often heard the psalm sung in +the church-- + + + I to the hills will lift mine eyes, + From whence doth come mine aid; + + +and the tune was the old, familiar “French,” but somehow it was all new +to him that day. The fresh voices and the crisp, prompt movement of the +tune made Ranald feel as if he had never heard the psalm sung before. In +the reading he took his verse with the others, stumbling a little, not +because the words were too big for him, but because they seemed to run +into one another. The chapter for the day contained Paul's injunction to +Timothy, urging him to fidelity and courage as a good soldier of Jesus +Christ. + +When the reading was done, Mrs. Murray told them a story of a young man +who had shed his blood upon a Scottish moor because he was too brave to +be untrue to his lord, and then, in a few words, made them all see +that still some conflict was being waged, and that there was still +opportunity for each to display loyal courage and fidelity. + +In the prayer that followed, the first thing that surprised Ranald was +the absence of the set forms and tones of prayer, with which he was +familiar. It was all so simple and real. The mother was telling the +great Father in heaven her cares and anxieties, and the day's needs +for them all, sure that he would understand and answer. Every one was +remembered--the absent head of the family and those present; the young +man worshiping with them, that he might be a true man and a good soldier +of Jesus Christ; and at the close, the little lad going away this +morning, that he might be kept from all harm and from all evil thoughts +and deeds. The simple beauty of the words, the music in the voice, and +the tender, trustful feeling that breathed through the prayer awakened +in Ranald's heart emotions and longings he had never known before, and +he rose from his knees feeling how wicked and how cruel a thing it would +be to cause one of these little ones to stumble. + +After the worship was over, Hughie seized his Scotch bonnet and rushed +for the jumper, and in a few minutes his mother had all the space not +taken up by him and Ranald packed with blankets and baskets. + +“Jessie thinks that even great shanty-men like you and Don and Hughie +will not object to something better than bread and pork.” + +“Indeed, we will not,” said Ranald, heartily. + +Then Hughie suddenly remembered that he was actually leaving home, and +climbing out of the jumper, he rushed at his mother. + +“Oh, mother, good by!” he cried. + +His mother stooped and put her arms about him. “Good by, my darling,” + she said, in a low voice; “I trust you to be a good boy, and, Hughie, +don't forget your prayers.” + +Then came to Hughie, for the first time, the thought that had been in +the mother's heart all the morning, that when night came he would lie +down to sleep, for the first time in his life, without the nightly story +and her good-night kiss. + +“Mother,” whispered the little lad, holding her tight about the neck, +“won't you come, too? I don't think I like to go away.” + +He could have said no more comforting word, and the mother, whose heart +had been sore enough with her first parting from her boy, was more than +glad to find that the pain was not all on her side; so she kissed him +again, and said, in a cheery voice: “Now have a good time. Don't trouble +Ranald too much, and bring me back some sugar.” Her last word braced the +lad as nothing else could. + +“Oh, mother, I'll bring you heaps!” he cried, and with the vision of +what he would bring home again shining vividly before his eyes, he got +through the parting without tears, and was soon speeding down the lane +beside Ranald, in the jumper. + +The mother stood and watched the little figure holding tight to Ranald +with one hand, and with the other waving frantically his bonnet by the +tails, till at last the bush hid him from her sight. Then she turned +back again to the house that seemed so empty, with her hand pressed hard +against her side and her lip quivering as with sharp pain. + +“How foolish!” she said, impatiently to herself; “he will be home in two +days.” But in spite of herself she went again to the door, and looked +long at the spot where the bush swallowed up the road. Then she went +upstairs and shut her door, and when she came down again there was that +in her face that told that her heart had had its first touch of the +sword that, sooner or later, must pierce all mothers' hearts. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +MAIMIE + + +Before Hughie came back from the sugar camp, the minister had returned +from the presbytery, bringing with him his wife's niece, Maimie St. +Clair, who had come from her home in a Western city to meet him. Her +father, Eugene St. Clair, was president of Raymond and St. Clair Lumber +Company. Nineteen years before this time he had married Mrs. Murray's +eldest sister, and established his home with every prospect of a +prosperous and happy life, but after three short, bright years of almost +perfect joy, his young wife, his heart's idol, after two days' illness, +fluttered out from her beautiful home, leaving with her broken-hearted +husband her little boy and a baby girl two weeks old. Then Eugene St. +Clair besought his sister to come out from England and preside over his +home and care for his children; and that he might forget his grief, he +gave himself, heart and mind, to his business. Wealth came to him, and +under his sister's rule his home became a place of cultured elegance and +a center of fashionable pleasure. + +Miss Frances St. Clair was a woman of the world, proud of her +family-tree, whose root disappeared in the depths of past centuries, and +devoted to the pursuit and cultivation of those graces and manners that +are supposed to distinguish people of birth and breeding from the common +sort. Indeed, from common men and things she shrank almost with horror. +The entrance of “trade” into the social sphere of her life she would +regard as an impertinent intrusion. It was as much as she could bear +to allow the approach of “commerce,” which her brother represented. She +supposed, of course, there must be people to carry on the trades and +industries of the country--very worthy people, too--but these were +people one could not be expected to know. Miss St. Clair thanked heaven +that she had had the advantages of an English education and up-bringing, +and she lamented the stubborn democratic opinions of her brother, +who insisted that Harry should attend the public school. She was not +surprised, therefore, though greatly grieved, that Harry chose his +friends in school with a fine disregard of “their people.” It was with +surprise amounting to pain that she found herself one day introduced by +her nephew to Billie Barclay, who turned out to be the son of Harry's +favorite confectioner. To his aunt's remonstrance it seemed to Harry a +sufficient reply that Billy was a “brick” and a shining “quarter” on the +school Rugby team. + +“But, Harry, think of his people!” urged his aunt. + +“Oh, rot!” replied her irreverent nephew; “I don't play with his +people.” + +“Yes, but Harry, you don't expect to make him your friend?” + +“But he is my friend, and I don't care what his people are. Besides, I +think his governor is a fine old boy, and I know he gives us jolly good +taffy.” + +“But, Harry,” answered his aunt, in despair, “you are positively +dreadful. Why can't you make friends in your own set? There is Hubert +Evans and the Langford boys.” + +“Evans!” snorted Harry, with contempt; “beastly snob, and the Langfords +are regular Mollies!” Whereupon Miss St. Clair gave up her nephew as +impossible. But Billie did not repeat his visit to his friend Harry's +home. Miss Frances St. Clair had a way of looking through her pince-nez +that even a boy could understand and would seek to avoid. + +With Maimie, Miss St. Clair achieved better results. She was a gentle +girl, with an affectionate, yielding disposition, tending towards +indolence and self-indulgence. Her aunt's chief concern about her was +that she should be frocked and mannered as became her position. Her +education was committed to a very select young ladies' school, where +only the daughters of the first families ever entered. What or how they +were taught, her aunt never inquired. She felt quite sure that the lady +principal would resent, as indeed she ought, any such inquiry. Hence +Maimie came to have a smattering of the English poets, could talk in +conversation-book French, and could dash off most of the notes of a few +waltzes and marches from the best composers, her piece de resistance, +however, being “La Priere d'une Vierge.” She carried with her from +school a portfolio of crayons of apparently very ancient and very +battered castles; and water-colors of landscapes, where the water was +quite as solid as the land. True, she was quite unable to keep her own +small accounts, and when her father chanced to ask her one day to do for +him a simple addition, he was amazed to find that only after the third +attempt did she get it right; but, in the eyes of her aunt, these were +quite unimportant deficiencies, and for young ladies she was not sure +but that the keeping of accounts and the adding of figures were almost +vulgar accomplishments. Her father thought otherwise, but he was a busy +man, and besides, he shrank from entering into a region strange to him, +but where his sister moved with assured tread. He contented himself with +gratifying his daughter's fancies and indulging her in every way allowed +him by her system of training and education. The main marvel in the +result was that the girl did not grow more selfish, superficial, and +ignorant than she did. Something in her blood helped her, but more, it +was her aunt's touch upon her life. For every week a letter came from +the country manse, bringing with it some of the sweet simplicity of the +country and something like a breath of heaven. + +She was nearing her fifteenth birthday, and though almost every letter +brought an invitation to visit the manse in the backwoods, it was only +when the girl's pale cheek and languid air awakened her father's anxiety +that she was allowed to accept the invitation to spend some weeks in the +country. + + * * * * * + +When Ranald and Hughie drove up to the manse on Saturday evening in the +jumper the whole household rushed forth to see them. They were worth +seeing. Burned black with the sun and the March winds, they would have +easily passed for young Indians. Hughie's clothes were a melancholy and +fluttering ruin; and while Ranald's stout homespun smock and trousers +had successfully defied the bush, his dark face and unkempt hair, his +rough dress and heavy shanty boots, made him appear, to Maimie's eyes, +an uncouth, if not pitiable, object. + +“Oh, mother!” cried Hughie, throwing himself upon her, “I'm home again, +and we've had a splendid time, and we made heaps of sugar, and I've +brought you a whole lot.” He drew out of his pockets three or four cakes +of maple sugar. “There is one for each,” he said, handing them to his +mother. + +“Here, Hughie,” she replied, “speak to your cousin Maimie.” + +Hughie went up shyly to his cousin and offered a grimy hand. Maimie, +looking at the ragged little figure, could hardly hide her disgust as +she took the dirty, sticky little hand very gingerly in her fingers. But +Hughie was determined to do his duty to the full, even though Ranald was +present, and shaking his cousin's hand with great heartiness, he held up +his face to be kissed. He was much surprised, and not a little relieved, +when Maimie refused to notice his offer and turned to look at Ranald. + +She found him scanning her with a straight, searching look, as if +seeking to discover of what sort she was. She felt he had noticed her +shrinking from Hughie, and was annoyed to find herself blushing under +his keen gaze. But when Mrs. Murray presented Ranald to her niece, +it was his turn to blush and feel awkward, as he came forward with a +triangular sort of movement and offered his hand, saying, with an access +of his Highland accent, “It is a fine day, ma'am.” It required all +Maimie's good manners to keep back the laugh that fluttered upon her +lips. + +Slight as it was, Ranald noticed the smile, and turning from her +abruptly to Mrs. Murray, said: “We were thinking that Friday would be a +good day for the sugaring-off, if that will do you.” + +“Quite well, Ranald,” said the minister's wife; “and it is very good of +you to have us.” + +She, too, had noted Maimie's smile, and seeing the dark flush on +Ranald's cheek, she knew well what it meant. + +“Come and sit down a little, Ranald,” she said, kindly; “I have got some +books here for you and Don to read.” + +But Ranald would not sit, nor would he wait a moment. “Thank you, +ma'am,” he said, “but I will need to be going.” + +“Wait, Ranald, a moment,” cried Mrs. Murray. She ran into the next +room, and in a few moments returned with two or three books and some +magazines. “These,” she said, handing him the books, “are some of Walter +Scott's. They will be good for week-days; and these,” giving him the +magazines, “you can read after church on Sabbath.” + +The boy's eyes lighted up as he thanked Mrs. Murray, and he shook hands +with her very warmly. Then, with a bow to the company, and without +looking at Maimie again, he left the room, with Hughie following at his +heels. In a short time Hughie came back full of enthusiastic praise of +his hero. + +“Oh, mother!” he cried, “he is awful smart. He can just do anything. +He can make a splendid bed of balsam brush, and porridge, and pancakes, +and--and--and--everything.” + +“A bed of balsam brush and porridge! What a wonderful boy he must be, +Hughie,” said Maimie, teasing him. “But isn't he just a little queer?” + +“He's not a bit queer,” said Hughie, stoutly. “He is the best, best, +best boy in all the world.” + +“Indeed! how extraordinary!” said Maimie; “you wouldn't think so to look +at him.” + +“I think he is just splendid,” said Hughie; “don't you, mother?” + +“Indeed, he is fery brown whatever,” mocked Maimie, mimicking Ranald's +Highland tongue, a trick at which she was very clever, “and--not just +fery clean.” + +“You're just a mean, mean, red-headed snip!” cried Hughie, in a rage, +“and I don't like you one bit.” + +But Maimie was proud of her golden hair, so Hughie's shot fell harmless. + +“And when will you be going to the sugaring-off, Mistress Murray?” went +on Maimie, mimicking Ranald so cleverly that in spite of herself Mrs. +Murray smiled. + +It was his mother's smile that perfected Hughie's fury. Without a word +of threat or warning, he seized a dipper of water and threw it over +Maimie, soaking her pretty ribbons and collar, and was promptly sent +upstairs to repent. + +“Poor Hughie!” said his mother, after he had disappeared; “Ranald is his +hero, and he cannot bear any criticism of him.” + +“He doesn't look much of a hero, auntie,” said Maimie, drying her face +and curls. + +“Very few heroes do,” said her aunt, quietly. “Ranald has noble +qualities, but he has had very few advantages.” + +Then Mrs. Murray told her niece how Ranald had put himself between her +and the pursuing wolves. Maimie's blue eyes were wide with horror. + +“But, auntie,” she cried, “why in the world do you go to such places?” + +“What places, Maimie?” said the minister, who had come into the room. + +“Why, those awful places where the wolves are.” + +“Indeed, you may ask why,” said the minister, gravely. He had heard the +story from his wife the night before. “But it would need a man to be on +guard day and night to keep your aunt from 'those places.'” + +“Yes, and your uncle, too,” said Mrs. Murray, shaking her head at her +husband. “You see, Maimie, we live in 'those places'; and after all, +they are as safe as any. We are in good keeping.” + +“And was Hughie out all night with those two boys in those woods, +auntie?” + +“Oh, there was no danger. The wolves will not come near a fire, and the +boys have their dogs and guns,” said Mrs. Murray; “besides, Ranald is to +be trusted.” + +“Trusted?” said the minister; “indeed, I would not trust him too far. He +is just wild enough, like his father before him.” + +“Oh, papa, you don't know Ranald,” said his wife, warmly; “nor his +father either, for that matter. I never did till this last week. They +have kept aloof from everything, and really--” + +“And whose fault is that?” interrupted the minister. “Why should they +keep aloof from the means of grace? They are a godless lot, that's what +they are.” The minister's indignation was rising. + +“But, my dear,” persisted Mrs. Murray, “I believe if they had a +chance--” + +“Chance!” exclaimed the minister; “what more chance do they want? Have +they not all that other people have? Macdonald Dubh is rarely seen at +the services on the Lord's day, and as for Ranald, he comes and goes at +his own sweet will.” + +“Let us hope,” said his wife, gently, “they will improve. I believe +Ranald would come to Bible class were he not so shy.” + +“Shy!” laughed the minister, scornfully; “he is not too shy to stand up +on the table before a hundred men after a logging and dance the Highland +fling, and beautifully he does it, too,” he added. + +“But for all that,” said his wife, “he is very shy.” + +“I don't like shy people,” said Maimie; “they are so awkward and +dreadful to do with.” + +“Well,” said her aunt, quietly, “I rather like people who are not too +sure of themselves, and I think all the more of Ranald for his shyness +and modesty.” + +“Oh, Ranald's modesty won't disable him,” said the minister. “For my +part, I think he is a daring young rascal; and indeed, if there is any +mischief going in the countryside you may be sure Ranald is not far +away.” + +“Oh, papa, I don't think Ranald is a BAD boy,” said his wife, almost +pleadingly. + +“Bad? I'm sure I don't know what you call it. Who let off the dam last +year so that the saw-mill could not run for a week? Who abused poor +Duncie MacBain so that he was carried home groaning?” + +“Duncie MacBain!” exclaimed his wife, contemptuously; “great, big, soft +lump, that he is. Why, he's a man, as big as ever he'll be.” + +“Who broke the Little Church windows till there wasn't a pane left?” + pursued the minister, unheeding his wife's interruption. + +“It wasn't Ranald that broke the church windows, papa,” piped Hughie +from above. + +“How do you know, sir? Who did it, then?” demanded his father. + +“It wasn't Ranald, anyway,” said Hughie, stoutly. + +“Who was it, then? Tell me that,” said his father again. + +“Hughie, go to your room and stay there, as I told you,” said his +mother, fearing an investigation into the window-breaking episode, +of which Hughie had made full confession to her as his own particular +achievement, in revenge for a broken window in the new church. + +“I think,” continued Mr. Murray, as if closing the discussion, “you'll +find that your Ranald is not the modest, shy, gentle young man you think +him to be, but a particularly bold young rascal.” + +“Poor Ranald,” sighed his wife; “he has no mother, and his father has +just let him grow up wild.” + +“Aye, that's true enough,” assented her husband, passing into his study. + +But he could have adopted no better means of awakening Maimie's interest +in Ranald than by the recital of his various escapades. Women love good +men, but are interested in men whose goodness is more or less impaired. +So Maimie was determined that she would know more of Ranald, and hence +took every opportunity of encouraging Hughie to sing the praises of his +hero and recount his many adventures. She was glad, too, that her aunt +had fixed the sugaring-off for a time when she could be present. But +neither at church on Sunday nor during the week that followed did she +catch sight of his face, and though Hughie came in with excited reports +now and then of having seen or heard of Ranald, Maimie had to content +herself with these; and, indeed, were it not that the invitation had +already been given, and the day fixed for her visit to the camp, the +chances are that Maimie's acquaintance with Ranald would have ended +where it began, in which case both had been saved many bitter days. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +THE SUGARING-OFF + + +The sugar time is, in many ways, the best of all the year. It is +the time of crisp mornings, when “the crust bears,” and the boys go +crunching over all the fields and through the woods; the time, too, of +sunny noons and chilly nights. Winter is still near, but he has lost +most of his grip, and all his terror. For the earth has heard the call +of spring from afar, and knows that soon she will be seen, dancing her +shy dances, in the sunny spaces of the leafless woods. Then, by and by, +from all the open fields the snow is driven back into the fence corners, +and lies there in soiled and sullen heaps. In the woods it still lies +deep; but there is everywhere the tinkle of running water, and it is not +long till the brown leaf carpet begins to show in patches through the +white. Then, overhead, the buds begin to swell and thrill with the new +life, and when it is broad noon, all through the woods a thousand voices +pass the glad word that winter's day is gone and that all living things +are free. But when night draws up over the treetops, and the shadows +steal down the forest aisles, the jubilant voices die down and a chill +fear creeps over all the gleeful, swelling buds that they have been +too sure and too happy; and all the more if, from the northeast, there +sweeps down, as often happens, a stinging storm of sleet and snow, +winter's last savage slap. But what matters that? The very next +day, when the bright, warm rays trickle down through the interlacing +branches, bathing the buds and twigs and limbs and trunks and flooding +all the woods, the world grows surer of its new joy. And so, in +alternating hope and fear, the days and nights go by, till an evening +falls when the air is languid and a soft rain comes up from the south, +falling all night long over the buds and trees like warm, loving +fingers. Then the buds break for very joy, and timid green things push +up through the leaf-mold; and from the swamps the little frogs begin +to pipe, at first in solo, but soon in exultant chorus, till the whole +moist night is vocal, and then every one knows that the sugar time is +over, and troughs and spiles are gathered up, and with sap-barrels and +kettles, are stored in the back shed for another year. + +But no rain came before the night fixed for the sugaring-off. It was a +perfect sugar day, warm, bright, and still, following a night of sharp +frost. The long sunny afternoon was deepening into twilight when the +Camerons drove up to the sugar-camp in their big sleigh, bringing with +them the manse party. Ranald and Don, with Aunt Kirsty, were there to +receive them. It was one of those rare evenings of the early Canadian +spring. The bare woods were filled with the tangled rays of light from +the setting sun. Here and there a hillside facing the east lay in +shadow that grew black where the balsams and cedars stood in clumps. But +everywhere else the light fell sweet and silent about the bare trunks, +filling the long avenues under the arching maple limbs with a yellow +haze. + +In front of the shanty the kettles hung over the fire on a long pole +which stood in an upright crutch at either end. Under the big kettle the +fire was roaring high, for the fresh sap needed much boiling before the +syrup and taffy could come. But under the little kettle the fire burned +low, for that must not be hurried. + +Over the fire and the kettles Ranald presided, black, grimy, and silent, +and to Don fell the duty of doing the honors of the camp; and right +worthily did he do his part. He greeted his mother with reverence, +cuffed his young brother, kissed his little sister Jennie, tossing her +high, and welcomed with warm heartiness Mrs. Murray and her niece. The +Airds had not yet come, but all the rest were there. The Finlaysons and +the McKerachers, Dan Campbell's boys, and their sister Betsy, whom every +one called “Betsy Dan,” redheaded, freckled, and irrepressible; the +McGregors, and a dozen or more of the wildest youngsters that could be +found in all the Indian Lands. Depositing their baskets in the shanty, +for they had no thought of fasting, they crowded about the fire. + +“Attention!” cried Don, who had a “gift of the gab,” as his mother +said. “Ladies and gentlemen, the program for this evening is as follows: +games, tea, and taffy, in the order mentioned. In the first, all MUST +take part; in the second, all MAY take part; but in the third, none NEED +take part.” + +After the laughter and the chorus of “Ohs” had subsided, Don proceeded: +“The captains for the evening are, Elizabeth Campbell, better known +as 'Betsy Dan,' and John Finlayson, familiar to us all as 'Johnnie the +Widow,' two young people of excellent character, and I believe, slightly +known to each other.” + +Again a shout went up from the company, but Betsy Dan, who cared not at +all for Don's banter, contented herself with pushing out her lower lip +at him with scorn, in that indescribable manner natural to girls, but to +boys impossible. + +Then the choosing began. Betsy Dan, claiming first choice by virtue of +her sex, immediately called out, “Ranald Macdonald.” + +But Ranald shook his head. “I cannot leave the fire,” he said, blushing; +“take Don there.” + +But Betsy demurred. “I don't want Don,” she cried. “Come on, Ranald; the +fire will do quite well.” Betsy, as indeed did most of the school-girls, +adored Ranald in her secret heart, though she scorned to show it. + +But Ranald still refused, till Don said, “It is too bad, Betsy, but +you'll have to take me.” + +“Oh, come on, then!” laughed Betsy; “you will be better than nobody.” + +Then it was Johnnie the Widow's choice: “Maimie St. Clair.” + +Maimie hesitated and looked at her aunt, who said, “Yes, go, my dear, if +you would like.” + +“Marget Aird!” cried Betsy, spying Marget and her brothers coming down +the road. “Come along, Marget; you are on my side--on Don's side, I +mean.” At which poor Marget, a tall, fair girl, with sweet face and shy +manner, blushed furiously, but, after greeting the minister's wife and +the rest of the older people, she took her place beside Don. + +The choosing went on till every one present was taken, not even Aunt +Kirsty being allowed to remain neutral in the coming games. For an hour +the sports went on. Racing, jumping, bear, London bridge, crack the +whip, and lastly, forfeits. + +Meantime Ranald superintended the sap-boiling, keeping on the opposite +side of the fire from the ladies, and answering in monosyllables any +questions addressed to him. But when it was time to make the tea, Mrs. +Cameron and Kirsty insisted on taking charge of this, and Mrs. Murray, +coming round to Ranald, said: “Now, Ranald, I came to learn all about +sugar-making, and while the others are making tea, I want you to teach +me how to make sugar.” + +Ranald gladly agreed to show her all he knew. He had been feeling +awkward and miserable in the noisy crowd, but especially in the presence +of Maimie. He had not forgotten the smile of amusement with which +she had greeted him at the manse, and his wounded pride longed for an +opportunity to pour upon her the vials of his contempt. But somehow, +in her presence, contempt would not arise within him, and he was driven +into wretched silence and self-abasement. It was, therefore, with +peculiar gratitude that he turned to Mrs. Murray as to one who both +understood and trusted him. + +“I thank you for the books, Mrs. Murray,” he began, in a low, hurried +voice. “They are just wonderful. That Rob Roy and Ivanhoe, oh! they are +the grand books.” His face was fairly blazing with enthusiasm. “I never +knew there were such books at all.” + +“I am very glad you like them, Ranald,” said Mrs. Murray, in tones of +warm sympathy, “and I shall give you as many as you like.” + +“I cannot thank you enough. I have not the words,” said the boy, looking +as if he might fall down at her feet. Mrs. Murray was greatly touched +both by his enthusiasm and his gratitude. + +“It is a great pleasure to me, Ranald, that you like them,” she said, +earnestly. “I want you to love good books and good men and noble deeds.” + +Ranald stood listening in silence. + +“Then some day you will be a good and great man yourself,” she added, +“and you will do some noble work.” + +The boy stood looking far away into the woods, his black eyes filled +with a mysterious fire. Suddenly he threw back his head and said, as +if he had forgotten Mrs. Murray's presence, “Yes, some day I will be a +great man. I know it well.” + +“And good,” softly added Mrs. Murray. + +He turned and looked at her a moment as if in a dream. Then, recalling +himself, he answered, “I suppose that is the best.” + +“Yes, it is the best, Ranald,” she replied. “No man is great who is not +good. But come now and give me my lesson.” + +Ranald stepped out into the bush, and from a tree near by he lifted a +trough of sap and emptied it into the big kettle. + +“That's the first thing you do with the sap,” he said. + +“How? Carry every trough to the kettle?” + +“Oh, I see,” laughed Ranald. “You must have every step.” + +“Yes, indeed,” she replied, with determination. + +“Well, here it is.” + +He seized a bucket, went to another tree, emptied the sap from the +trough into the bucket, and thence into the barrel, and from the barrel +into the big kettle. + +“Then from the big kettle into the little one,” he said, catching up a +big dipper tied to a long pole, and transferring the boiling sap as he +spoke from one kettle to another. + +“But how can you tell when it is ready?” asked Mrs. Murray. + +“Only by tasting. When it is very sweet it must go into the little +kettle.” + +“And then?” + +Her eager determination to know all the details delighted him beyond +measure. + +“Then you must be very careful indeed, or you will lose all your day's +work, and your sugar besides, for it is very easy to burn.” + +“But how can you tell when it is ready?” + +“Oh, you must just keep tasting every few minutes till you think you +have the syrup, and then for the sugar you must just boil it a little +longer.” + +“Well,” said Mrs. Murray, “when it is ready what do you do?” + +“Then,” he said, “you must quickly knock the fire from under it, and +pour it into the pans, stirring it till it gets nearly cool.” + +“And why do you stir it?” she asked. + +“Oh, to keep it from getting too hard.” + +“Now I have learned something I never knew before,” said the minister's +wife, delightedly, “and I am very grateful to you. We must help each +other, Ranald.” + +“Indeed, it is little I can do for you,” he said, shyly. + +“You do not know how much I am going to ask you to do,” she said, +lightly. “Wait and see.” + +At that moment a series of shrieks rose high above the shouting and +laughter of the games, and Maimie came flying down toward the camp, +pursued by Don, with the others following. + +“Oh, auntie!” she panted, “he's going to--going to--” she paused, with +cheeks burning. + +“It's forfeits, Mrs. Murray,” explained Don. + +“Hoot, lassie,” said Mrs. Cameron; “it will not much hurt you, anyway. +They that kiss in the light will not kiss in the dark.” + +“She played, and lost her forfeit,” said Don, unwilling to be jeered at +by the others for faint-heartedness. “She ought to pay.” + +“I'm afraid, Don, she does not understand our ways,” said Mrs. Murray, +apologetically. + +“Be off, Don,” said his mother. “Kiss Marget there, if you can--it will +not hurt her--and leave the young lady alone.” + +“It's just horrid of them, auntie,” said Maimie, indignantly, as the +others went back to their games. + +“Indeed,” said Mrs. Cameron, warmly, “if you will never do worse than +kiss a laddie in a game, it's little harm will be coming to you.” + +But Maimie ignored her. + +“Is it not horrid, auntie?” she said. + +“Well, my dear, if you think so, it is. But not for these girls, who +play the game with never a thought of impropriety and with no shock to +their modesty. Much depends on how you think about these things.” + +But Maimie was not satisfied. She was indignant at Don for offering +to kiss her, but as she stood and watched the games going on under the +trees--the tag, the chase, the catch, and the kiss--she somehow began to +feel as if it were not so terrible after all, and to think that perhaps +these girls might play the game and still be nice enough. But she had +no thought of going back to them, and so she turned her attention to +the preparations for tea, now almost complete. Her aunt and Ranald were +toasting slices of bread at the big blazing fire, on forks made out of +long switches. + +“Let me try, auntie,” she said, pushing up to the fire between her aunt +and Ranald. “I am sure I can do that.” + +“Be careful of that fire,” said Ranald, sharply, pulling back her skirt, +that had blown dangerously near the blaze. “Stand back further,” he +commanded. + +Mamie looked at him, surprise, indignation, and fear struggling for the +mastery. Was this the awkward boy that had blushed and stammered before +her a week ago? + +“It's very dangerous,” he explained to Mrs. Murray, “the wind blows out +the flames.” + +As he spoke he handed Maimie his toasting stick and retired to the other +side of the fire, and began to attend to the boiling sap. + +“He needn't be such a bear,” pouted Maimie. + +“My dear,” replied her aunt, “what Ranald says is quite true. You cannot +be too careful in moving about the fire.” + +“Well, he needn't be so cross about it,” said Maimie. She had never been +ordered about before in her life, and she did not enjoy the experience, +and all the more at the hands of an uncouth country boy. She watched +Ranald attending to the fire and the kettles, however, with a new +respect. He certainly had no fear of the fire, but moved about it and +handled it with the utmost sang-froid. He had a certain grace, too, in +his movements that caught her eye, and she wished he would come nearer +so that she could speak to him. She had considerable confidence in her +powers of attraction. As if to answer her wish, Ranald came straight to +where her aunt and she were standing. + +“I think it will be time for tea now,” he said, with a sudden return of +his awkward manner, that made Maimie wonder why she had ever been afraid +of him. “I will tell Don,” he added, striding off toward the group of +boys and girls, still busy with their games under the trees. + +Soon Don's shout was heard: “Tea, ladies and gentlemen; take your seats +at the tables.” And speedily there was a rush and scramble, and in a few +moments the great heaps of green balsam boughs arranged around the fire +were full of boys and girls pulling, pinching, and tumbling over one +another in wild glee. + +The toast stood in brown heaps on birch-bark plates beside the fire, and +baskets were carried out of the shanty bulging with cakes; the tea +was bubbling in the big tin tea-pail, and everything was ready for the +feast. But Ranald had caught Mrs. Murray's eye, and at a sign from her, +stood waiting with the tea-pail in his hand. + +“Come on with the tea, Ranald,” cried Don, seizing a plate of toast. + +“Wait a minute, Don,” said Ranald, in a low tone. + +“What's the matter?” + +But Ranald stood still, looking silently at the minister's wife. Then, +as all eyes turned toward her, she said, in a gentle, sweet voice, +“I think we ought to give thanks to our Father in heaven for all this +beauty about us and for all our joy.” + +At once Ranald took off his hat, and as the boys followed his example, +Mrs. Murray bowed her head and in a few, simple words lifted up the +hearts of all with her own in thanksgiving for the beauty of the woods +and sky above them, and all the many gifts that came to fill their lives +with joy. + +It was not the first time that Ranald had heard her voice in prayer, but +somehow it sounded different in the open air under the trees and in the +midst of all the jollity of the sugaring-off. With all other people +that Ranald knew religion seemed to be something apart from common days, +common people, and common things, and seemed, besides, a solemn and +terrible experience; but with the minister's wife, religion was a part +of her every-day living, and seemed to be as easily associated with her +pleasure as with anything else about her. It was so easy, so simple, so +natural, that Ranald could not help wondering if, after all, it was the +right kind. It was so unlike the religion of the elders and all the good +people in the congregation. It was a great puzzle to Ranald, as to many +others, both before and since his time. + +After tea was over the great business of the evening came on. Ranald +announced that the taffy was ready, and Don, as master of ceremonies, +immediately cried out: “The gentlemen will provide the ladies with +plates.” + +“Plates!” echoed the boys, with a laugh of derision. + +“Plates,” repeated Don, stepping back to a great snowbank, near a balsam +clump, and returning with a piece of “crust.” At once there was a scurry +to the snowbank, and soon every one had a snow plate ready. Then Ranald +and Don slid the little kettle along the pole off the fire, and with +tin dippers began to pour the hot syrup upon the snow plates, where it +immediately hardened into taffy. Then the pulling began. What fun there +was, what larks, what shrieks, what romping and tumbling, till all were +heartily tired, both of the taffy and the fun. + +Then followed the sugar-molding. The little kettle was set back on the +fire and kept carefully stirred, while tin dishes of all sorts, shapes, +and sizes--milk-pans, pattie-pans, mugs, and cups--well greased with +pork rind, were set out in order, imbedded in snow. + +The last act of all was the making of “hens' nests.” A dozen or so of +hens' eggs, blown empty, and three goose eggs for the grown-ups, were +set in snow nests, and carefully filled from the little kettle. In a few +minutes the nests were filled with sugar eggs, and the sugaring-off was +over. + +There remained still a goose egg provided against any mishap. + +“Who wants the goose egg?” cried Don, holding it up. + +“Me!” “me!” “me!” coaxed the girls on every side. + +“Will you give it to me, Don, for the minister?” said Mrs. Murray. + +“Oh, yes!” cried Maimie, “and let me fill it.” + +As she spoke, she seized the dipper, and ran for the kettle. + +“Look out for that fire,” cried Don, dropping the egg into its snowbed. +He was too late. A little tongue of flame leaped out from under the +kettle, nipped hold of her frock, and in a moment she was in a blaze. +With a wild scream she sprang back and turned to fly, but before she had +gone more than a single step Ranald, dashing the crowd right and left, +had seized and flung her headlong into the snow, beating out the flames +with his bare hands. In a moment all danger was over, and Ranald lifted +her up. Still screaming, she clung to him, while the women all ran to +her. Her aunt reached her first. + +“Hush, Maimie; hush, dear. You are quite safe now. Let me see your face. +There now, be quiet, child. The danger is all over.” + +Still Maimie kept screaming. She was thoroughly terrified. + +“Listen to me,” her aunt said, in an even, firm voice. “Do not be +foolish. Let me look at you.” + +The quiet, firm voice soothed her, and Maimie's screams ceased. Her aunt +examined her face, neck, and arms for any signs of fire, but could find +none. She was hardly touched, so swift had been her rescue. Then Mrs. +Murray, suddenly putting her arms round about her niece, and holding her +tight, cried: “Thank God, my darling, for his great kindness to you and +to us all. Thank God! thank God!” + +Her voice broke, but in a moment, recovering herself, she went on, “And +Ranald, too! noble fellow!” + +Ranald was standing at the back of the crowd, looking pale, disturbed, +and awkward. Mrs. Murray, knowing how hateful to him would be any +demonstrations of feeling, went to him, and quietly held out her hand, +saying: “It was bravely done, Ranald. From my heart, I thank you.” + +For a moment or two she looked steadily into his face with tears +streaming down her cheeks. Then putting her hands upon his shoulders, +she said, softly: + +“For her dear, dead mother's sake, I thank you.” + +Then Maimie, who had been standing in a kind of stupor all this while, +seemed suddenly to awake, and running swiftly toward Ranald, she put out +both hands, crying: “Oh, Ranald, I can never thank you enough!” + +He took her hands in an agony of embarrassment, not knowing what to do +or say. Then Maimie suddenly dropped his hands, and throwing her arms +about his neck, kissed him, and ran back to her aunt's side. + +“I thought you didn't play forfeits, Maimie,” said Don, in a grieved +voice. And every one was glad to laugh. + +Then the minister's wife, looking round upon them all, said: “Dear +children, God has been very good to us, and I think we ought to give him +thanks.” + +And standing there by the fire, they bowed their heads in a new +thanksgiving to Him whose keeping never fails by day or night. And then, +with hearts and voices subdued, and with quiet good nights, they went +their ways home. + +But as the Cameron sleigh drove off with its load, Maimie looked back, +and seeing Ranald standing by the fire, she whispered to her aunt: “Oh, +auntie! Isn't he just splendid?” + +But her aunt made no reply, seeing a new danger for them both, greater +than that they had escaped. + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A SABBATH DAY'S WORK + + +The Sabbath that followed the sugaring-off was to Maimie the most +remarkable Sabbath of her life up to that day. It was totally unlike the +Sabbath of her home, which, after the formal “church parade,” as +Harry called it, in the morning, her father spent in lounging with his +magazine and pipe, her aunt in sleeping or in social gossip with such +friends as might drop in, and Harry and Maimie as best they could. + +The Sabbath in the minister's house, as in the homes of his people, was +a day so set apart from other days that it had to be approached. The +Saturday afternoon and evening caught something of its atmosphere. No +frivolity, indeed no light amusement, was proper on the evening that put +a period to the worldly occupations and engagements of the week. That +evening was one of preparation. The house, and especially the kitchen, +was thoroughly “redd up.” Wood, water, and kindlings were brought in, +clothes were brushed, boots greased or polished, dinner prepared, and +in every way possible the whole house, its dwellers, and its belongings, +made ready for the morrow. So, when the Sabbath morning dawned, people +awoke with a feeling that old things had passed away and that the whole +world was new. The sun shone with a radiance not known on other days. He +was shining upon holy things, and lighting men and women to holy duties. +Through all the farms the fields lay bathed in his genial glow, at rest, +and the very trees stood in silent worship of the bending heavens. Up +from stable and from kitchen came no sounds of work. The horses knew +that no wheel would turn that day in labor, and the dogs lay sleeping in +sunny nooks, knowing as well as any that there was to be no hunting or +roaming for them that day, unless they chose to go on a free hunt; which +none but light-headed puppies or dissipated and reprobate dogs would +care to do. + +Over all things rest brooded, and out of the rest grew holy thoughts +and hopes. It was a day of beginnings. For the past, broken and stained, +there was a new offer of oblivion and healing, and the heart was +summoned to look forward to new life and to hope for better things, and +to drink in all those soothing, healing influences that memory and faith +combine to give; so that when the day was done, weary and discouraged +men and women began to feel that, perhaps after all they might be able +to endure and even to hope for victory. + +The minister rose earlier on Sabbath than on other days, the +responsibility of his office pressing hard upon him. Breakfast was more +silent than usual, ordinary subjects of conversation being discouraged. +The minister was preoccupied and impatient of any interruption of his +thoughts. But his wife came to the table with a sweeter serenity than +usual, and a calm upon her face that told of hidden strength. Even +Maimie could notice the difference, but she could only wonder. The +secret of it was hidden from her. Her aunt was like no other woman that +she knew, and there were many things about her too deep for Maimie's +understanding. + +After worship, which was brief but solemn and intense, Lambert hurried +to bring round to the front the big black horse, hitched up in the +carryall, and they all made speed to pack themselves in, Maimie and her +aunt in front, and Hughie on the floor behind with his legs under the +seat; for when once the minister was himself quite ready, and had got +his great meerschaum pipe going, it was unsafe for any one to delay him +a single instant. + +The drive to the church was an experience hardly in keeping with the +spirit of the day. It was more exciting than restful. Black was a horse +with a single aim, which was to devour the space that stretched out +before him, with a fine disregard of consequence. The first part of the +road up to the church hill and down again to the swamp was to Black, as +to the others, an unmixed joy, for he was fresh from his oats and eager +to go, and his driver was as eager to let him have his will. + +But when the swamp was reached, and the buggy began to leap from log +to log of the corduroy, Black began to chafe in impatience of the rein +which commanded caution. Indeed, the passage of the swamp was always +more or less of an adventure, the result of which no one could foretell, +and it took all Mrs. Murray's steadiness of nerve to repress an +exclamation of terror at critical moments. The corduroy was Black's +abomination. He longed to dash through and be done with it; but, however +much the minister sympathized with Black's desire, prudence forbade that +his method should be adopted. So from log to log, and from hole to hole, +Black plunged and stepped with all the care he could be persuaded to +exercise, every lurch of the carryall bringing a scream from Maimie in +front and a delighted chuckle from Hughie behind. His delight in the +adventure was materially increased by his cousin's terror. + +But once the swamp was crossed, and Black found himself on the firm +road that wound over the sand-hills and through the open pine woods, he +tossed his great mane back from his eyes, and getting his head set off +at a pace that foreboded disaster to anything trying to keep before him, +and in a short time drew up at the church gates, his flanks steaming and +his great chest white with foam. + +“My!” said Maimie, when she had recovered her breath sufficiently to +speak, “is that the church?” She pointed to a huge wooden building about +whose door a group of men were standing. + +“Huh-huh, that's it,” said Hughie; “but we will soon be done with the +ugly old thing.” + +The most enthusiastic member of the congregation could scarcely call the +old church beautiful, and to Maimie's eyes it was positively hideous. +No steeple or tower gave any hint of its sacred character. Its +weather-beaten clapboard exterior, spotted with black knots, as if +stricken with some disfiguring disease, had nothing but its row of +uncurtained windows to distinguish it from an ordinary barn. + +They entered by the door at the end of the church, and proceeded down +the long aisle that ran the full length of the building, till they came +to a cross aisle that led them to the minister's pew at the left side +of the pulpit, and commanding a view of the whole congregation. The main +body of the church was seated with long box pews with hinged doors. But +the gallery that ran round three sides was fitted with simple benches. +Immediately in front of the pulpit was a square pew which was set apart +for the use of the elders, and close up to the pulpit, and indeed as +part of this structure, was a precentor's desk. The pulpit was, to +Maimie's eyes, a wonder. It was an octagonal box placed high on one +side of the church on a level with the gallery, and reached by a spiral +staircase. Above it hung the highly ornate and altogether extraordinary +sounding-board and canopy. There was no sign of paint anywhere, but +the yellow pine, of which seats, gallery, and pulpit were all made, had +deepened with age into a rich brown, not unpleasant to the eye. + +The church was full, for the Indian Lands people believed in going +to church, and there was not a house for many miles around but was +represented in the church that day. There they sat, row upon row of men, +brawny and brown with wind and sun, a notable company, worthy of their +ancestry and worthy of their heritage. Beside them sat their wives, +brown, too, and weather-beaten, but strong, deep-bosomed, and with faces +of calm content, worthy to be mothers of their husbands' sons. The girls +and younger children sat with their parents, modest, shy, and reverent, +but the young men, for the most part, filled the back seats under +the gallery. And a hardy lot they were, as brown and brawny as their +fathers, but tingling with life to their finger-tips, ready for +anything, and impossible of control except by one whom they feared as +well as reverenced. And such a man was Alexander Murray, for they knew +well that, lithe and brawny as they were, there was not a man of them +but he could fling out of the door and over the fence if he so wished; +and they knew, too, that he would be prompt to do it if occasion arose. +Hence they waited for the word of God with all due reverence and fear. + +In the square pew in front of the pulpit sat the elders, hoary, massive, +and venerable. The Indian Lands Session were worth seeing. Great men +they were, every one of them, excepting, perhaps, Kenneth Campbell, +“Kenny Crubach,” as he was called, from his halting step. Kenny was +neither hoary nor massive nor venerable. He was a short, grizzled man +with snapping black eyes and a tongue for clever, biting speech; +and while he bore a stainless character, no one thought of him as +an eminently godly man. In public prayer he never attained any great +length, nor did he employ that tone of unction deemed suitable in this +sacred exercise. He seldom “spoke to the question,” but when he did +people leaned forward to listen, and more especially the rows of the +careless and ungodly under the gallery. Kenny had not the look of an +elder, and indeed, many wondered how he had ever come to be chosen for +the office. But the others all had the look of elders, and carried with +them the full respect and affection of the congregation. Even the young +men under the gallery regarded them with reverence for their godly +character, but for other things as well; for these old men had been +famous in their day, and tales were still told about the firesides of +the people of their prowess in the woods and on the river. + +There was, for instance, Finlay McEwen, or McKeowen, as they all +pronounced it in that country, who, for a wager, had carried a +four-hundred-pound barrel upon each hip across the long bridge over the +Scotch River. And next him sat Donald Ross, whose very face, with its +halo of white hair, bore benediction with it wherever he went. What a +man he must have been in his day! Six feet four inches he stood in his +stocking soles, and with “a back like a barn door,” as his son Danny, +or “Curly,” now in the shanty with Macdonald Bhain, used to say, in +affectionate pride. Then there was Farquhar McNaughton, big, kindly, and +good-natured, a mighty man with the ax in his time. “Kirsty's Farquhar” + they called him, for obvious reasons. And a good thing for Farquhar it +was that he had had Kirsty at his side during these years to make his +bargains for him and to keep him and all others to them, else he would +never have become the substantial man he was. + +Next to Farquhar was Peter McRae, the chief of a large clan of +respectable, and none too respectable, families, whom all alike held +in fear, for Peter ruled with a rod of iron, and his word ran as law +throughout the clan. Then there was Ian More Macgregor, or “Big John +Macgregor,” as the younger generation called him, almost as big as +Donald Ross and quite as kindly, but with a darker, sadder face. +Something from his wilder youth had cast its shadow over his life. No +one but his minister and two others knew that story, but the old man +knew it himself, and that was enough. One of those who shared his secret +was his neighbor and crony, Donald Ross, and it was worth a journey of +some length to see these two great old men, one with the sad and the +other with the sunny face, stride off together, staff in hand, at the +close of the Gaelic service, to Donald's home, where the afternoon would +be spent in discourse fitting the Lord's day and in prayer. + +The only other elder was Roderick McCuiag, who sat, not in the elders' +pew, but in the precentor's box, for he was the Leader of Psalmody. +“Straight Rory,” as he was called by the irreverent, was tall, spare, +and straight as a ramrod. He was devoted to his office, jealous of +its dignity, and strenuous in his opposition to all innovations in +connection with the Service of Praise. He was especially opposed to +the introduction of those “new-fangled ranting” tunes which were +being taught the young people by John “Alec” Fraser in the weekly +singing-school in the Nineteenth, and which were sung at Mrs. Murray's +Sabbath evening Bible class in the Little Church. Straight Rory had been +educated for a teacher in Scotland, and was something of a scholar. +He loved school examinations, where he was the terror of pupils and +teachers alike. His acute mind reveled in the metaphysics of theology, +which made him the dread of all candidates who appeared before the +session desiring “to come forward.” It was to many an impressive sight +to see Straight Rory rise in the precentor's box, feel round, with much +facial contortion, for the pitch--he despised a tuning-fork--and then, +straightening himself up till he bent over backwards, raise the chant +that introduced the tune to the congregation. But to the young men under +the gallery he was more humorous than impressive, and it is to be feared +that they waited for the precentor's weekly performance with a delighted +expectation that never flagged and that was never disappointed. It was +only the flash of the minister's blue eye that held their faces rigid +in preternatural solemnity, and forced them to content themselves with +winks and nudges for the expression of their delight. + +As Maimie's eye went wandering shyly over the rows of brown faces that +turned in solemn and steadfast regard to the minister's pew, Hughie +nudged her and whispered: “There's Don. See, in the back seat by the +window, next to Peter Ruagh yonder; the red-headed fellow.” + +He pointed to Peter McRae, grandson of “Peter the Elder.” There was no +mistaking that landmark. + +“Look,” cried Hughie, eagerly, pointing with terrible directness +straight at Don, to Maimie's confusion. + +“Whisht, Hughie,” said his mother softly. + +“There's Ranald, mother,” said the diplomatic Hughie, knowing well that +his mother would rejoice to hear that bit of news. “See, mother, just in +front of Don, there.” + +Again Hughie's terrible finger pointed straight into the face of the +gazing congregation. + +“Hush, Hughie,” said his mother, severely. + +Maimie knew a hundred eyes were looking straight at the minister's pew, +but for the life of her she could not prevent her eye following the +pointing finger, till it found the steady gaze of Ranald fastened upon +her. It was only for a moment, but in that moment she felt her heart +jump and her face grow hot, and it did not help her that she knew that +the people were all wondering at her furious blushes. Of course the +story of the sugaring-off had gone the length of the land and had formed +the subject of conversation at the church door that morning, where +Ranald had to bear a good deal of chaff about the young lady, and her +dislike of forfeits, till he was ready to fight if a chance should but +offer. With unspeakable rage and confusion, he noticed Hughie's pointing +finger. He caught, too, Maimie's quick look, with the vivid blush that +followed. Unfortunately, others besides himself had noticed this, and +Don and Peter Ruagh, in the seat behind him, made it the subject of +congratulatory remarks to Ranald. + +At this point the minister rose in the pulpit, and all waited with +earnest and reverent mien for the announcing of the psalm. + +The Rev. Alexander Murray was a man to be regarded in any company and +under any circumstances, but when he stood up in his pulpit and faced +his congregation he was truly superb. He was above the average height, +of faultless form and bearing, athletic, active, and with a “spring in +every muscle.” He had coal-black hair and beard, and a flashing blue eye +that held his people in utter subjection and put the fear of death upon +evil-doers under the gallery. In every movement, tone, and glance there +breathed imperial command. + +“Let us worship God by singing to His praise in the one hundred and +twenty-first psalm: + + + 'I to the hills will lift mine eyes, + From whence doth come mine aid.'” + + +His voice rang out over the congregation like a silver bell, and Maimie +thought she had never seen a man of such noble presence. + +After the reading of the psalm the minister sat down, and Straight Rory +rose in his box, and after his manner, began feeling about for the first +note of the chant that would introduce the noble old tune “St. Paul's.” + A few moments he spent twisting his face and shoulders in a manner that +threatened to ruin the solemnity of the worshipers under the gallery, +till finally he seemed to hit upon the pitch desired, and throwing back +his head and closing one eye, he proceeded on his way. Each line he +chanted alone, after the ancient Scottish custom, after which the +congregation joined with him in the tune. The custom survived from the +time when psalm-books were in the hands of but few and the “lining” of +the psalm was therefore necessary. + +There was no haste to be done with the psalm. Why should there be? They +had only one Sabbath in the week, and the whole day was before them. +The people surrendered themselves to the lead of Straight Rory with +unmistakable delight in that part of “the exercises” of the day in which +they were permitted to audibly join. But of all the congregation, none +enjoyed the singing more than the dear old women who sat in the front +seats near the pulpit, their quiet old faces looking so sweet and pure +under their snow-white “mutches.” There they sat and sang and quavered, +swaying their bodies with the tune in an ecstasy of restful joy. + +Maimie had often heard St. Paul's before, but never as it was chanted +by Straight Rory and sung by the Indian Lands congregation that day. +The extraordinary slides and slurs almost obliterated the notes of the +original tune, and the “little kick,” as Maimie called it, at the end of +the second line, gave her a little start. + +“Auntie,” she whispered, “isn't it awfully queer?” + +“Isn't it beautiful?” her aunt answered, with an uncertain smile. She +was remembering how these winding, sliding, slurring old tunes had +affected her when first she heard them in her husband's church years +ago. The stately movement, the weird quavers, and the pathetic cadences +had in some mysterious way reached the deep places in her heart, and +before she knew, she had found the tears coursing down her cheeks and +her breath catching in sobs. Indeed, as she listened to-day, remembering +these old impressions, the tears began to flow, till Hughie, not +understanding, crept over to his mother, and to comfort her, slipped +his hand into hers, looking fiercely at Maimie as if she were to +blame. Maimie, too, noticed the tears and sat wondering, and as the +congregation swung on through the verses of the grand old psalm there +crept into her heart a new and deeper emotion than she had ever known. + +“Listen to the words, Maimie dear,” whispered her aunt. And as Maimie +listened, the noble words, borne on the mighty swing of St. Paul's, +lifted up by six hundred voices--for men, women, and children were +singing with all their hearts--awakened echoes from great deeps within +her as yet unsounded. The days for such singing are, alas! long gone. +The noble rhythm, the stately movement, the continuous curving stream of +melody, that once marked the praise service of the old Scottish church, +have given place to the light, staccato tinkle of the revival chorus, or +the shorn and mutilated skeleton of the ancient psalm tune. + +But while the psalm had been moving on in its solemn and stately way, +Ranald had been enduring agony at the hands of Peter Ruagh sitting just +behind him. Peter, whose huge, clumsy body was a fitting tabernacle for +the soul within, labored under the impression that he was a humorist, +and indulged a habit of ponderous joking, trying enough to most people, +but to one of Ranald's temperament exasperating to a high degree. His +theme was Ranald's rescue of Maimie, and the pauses of the singing he +filled in with humorous comments that, outside, would have produced only +weariness, but in the church, owing to the strange perversity of human +nature, sent a snicker along the seat. Unfortunately for him, Ranald's +face was so turned that he could not see it, and so he had no hint of +the wrath that was steadily boiling up to the point of overflow. + +They were nearing the close of the last verse of the psalm, when Hughie, +whose eyes never wandered long from Ranald's direction, uttered a sharp +“Oh, my!” There was a shuffling confusion under the gallery, and when +Maimie and her aunt looked, Peter Ruagh's place was vacant. + +By this time the minister was standing up for prayer. His eye, too, +caught the movement in the back seat. + +“Young men,” he said, sternly, “remember you are in God's house. Let me +not have to mention your names before the congregation. Let us pray.” + +As the congregation rose for prayer, Mrs. Murray noticed Peter Ruagh +appear from beneath the book-board and quietly slip out by the back door +with his hand to his face and the blood streaming between his fingers; +and though Ranald was standing up straight and stiff in his place, Mrs. +Murray could read from his rigid look the explanation of Peter's bloody +face. She gave her mind to the prayer with a sore heart, for she had +learned enough of those wild, hot-headed youths to know that before +Peter Ruagh's face would be healed more blood would have to flow. + +The prayer proceeded in its leisurely way, indulging here and there +in quiet reverie, or in exultant jubilation over the “attributes,” + embracing in its worldwide sweep “the interests of the kingdom” far and +near, and of that part of humanity included therein present and to come, +and buttressing its petitions with theological argument, systematic and +unassailable. Before the close, however, the minister came to deal with +the needs of his own people. Old and young, absent and present, the +sick, the weary, the sin-burdened--all were remembered with a warmth +of sympathy, with a directness of petition, and with an earnestness of +appeal that thrilled and subdued the hearts of all, and made even the +boys, who had borne with difficulty the last half-hour of the long +prayer, forget their weariness. + +The reading of Scripture followed the prayer. In this the minister +excelled. His fine voice and his dramatic instinct combined to make this +an impressive and beautiful portion of the service. But to-day much of +the beauty and impressiveness of the reading was lost by the frequent +interruptions caused by the entrance of late comers, of whom, owing to +the bad roads, there were a larger number than usual. The minister was +evidently annoyed, not so much by the opening and shutting of the door +as by the inattention of his hearers, who kept turning round their heads +to see who the new arrivals were. At length the minister could bear it +no longer. + +“My dear people,” he said, pausing in the reading, “never mind those +coming in. Give you heed to the reading of God's Word, and if you must +know who are entering, I will tell you. Yes,” he added, deliberately, +“give you heed to me, and I will let you know who these late comers +are.” + +With that startling declaration, he proceeded with the reading, but had +not gone more than a few verses when “click” went the door-latch. Not +a head turned. It was Malcolm Monroe, slow-going and good-natured, with +his quiet little wife following him. + +The minister paused, looking toward the door, and announced: “My dear +people, here comes our friend Malcolm Monroe, and his good wife with +him, and a long walk they have had. Come away, Malcolm; come away; we +will just wait for you.” + +Malcolm's face was a picture. Surprise, astonishment, and confusion +followed each other across his stolid countenance; and with quicker pace +than he was ever known to use in his life before, he made his way to +his seat. No sooner had the reading began again when once more the +door clicked. True to his promise, the minister paused and cheerfully +announced to his people: “This, my friends, is John Campbell, whom +you all know as 'Johnnie Sarah,' and we are very glad to see him, for, +indeed, he has not been here for some time. Come away, John; come away, +man,” he added, impatiently, “for we are all waiting for you.” + +Johnnie Sarah stood paralyzed with amazement and seemed uncertain +whether to advance or to turn and flee. The minister's impatient +command, however, decided him, and he dropped into the nearest seat with +all speed, and gazed about him as if to discover where he was. He had +no sooner taken his seat than the door opened again, and some half-dozen +people entered. The minister stood looking at them for some moments and +then said, in a voice of resignation: “Friends, these are some of our +people from the Island, and there are some strangers with them. But +if you want to know who they are, you will just have to look at them +yourselves, for I must get on with the reading.” + +Needless to say, not a soul of the congregation, however consumed with +curiosity, dared to look around, and the reading of the chapter went +gravely on to the close. To say that Maimie sat in utter astonishment +during this extraordinary proceeding would give but a faint idea of her +state of mind. Even Mrs. Murray herself, who had become accustomed to +her husband's eccentricities, sat in a state of utter bewilderment, not +knowing what might happen next; nor did she feel quite safe until the +text was announced and the sermon fairly begun. + +Important as were the exercises of reading, praise, and prayer, they +were only the “opening services,” and merely led up to the event of the +day, which was the sermon. And it was the event, not only of the day, +but of the week. It would form the theme of conversation and afford food +for discussion in every gathering of the people until another came to +take its place. To-day it lasted a full hour and a half, and was an +extraordinary production. Calm, deliberate reasoning, flights of vivid +imagination, passionate denunciation, and fervid appeal, marked its +course. Its subject was the great doctrine of Justification by Faith, +and it contained a complete system of theology arranged with reference +to that doctrine. Ancient heresies were attacked and exposed with +completeness amounting to annihilation. Modern errors, into which our +“friends” of the different denominations had fallen, were deplored and +corrected, and all possible misapplications of the doctrine to practical +life guarded against. On the positive side the need, the ground, the +means, the method, the agent, the results, of Justification, were fully +set forth and illustrated. There were no anecdotes and no poetry. +The subject was much too massive and tremendous to permit of any such +trifling. + +As the sermon rolled on its majestic course, the congregation listened +with an attentive and discriminating appreciation that testified to +their earnestness and intelligence. True, one here and there dropped +into a momentary doze, but his slumber was never easy, for he was +harassed by the terrible fear of a sudden summons by name from the +pulpit to “awake and give heed to the message,” which for the next few +minutes would have an application so personal and pungent that it would +effectually prevent sleep for that and some successive Sabbaths. The +only apparent lapse of attention occurred when Donald Ross opened his +horn snuff-box, and after tapping solemnly upon its lid, drew forth a +huge pinch of snuff and passed it to his neighbor, who, after helping +himself in like manner, passed the box on. That the lapse was only +apparent was made evident by the air of abstraction with which this +operation was carried on, the snuff being held between the thumb and +forefinger for some moments, until a suitable resting-place in the +sermon was reached. + +When the minister had arrived at the middle of the second head, he made +the discovery, as was not frequently the case, that the remotest limits +of the alloted time had been passed, and announcing that the subject +would be concluded on the following Sabbath, he summarily brought the +English service to a close, and dismissed the congregation with a brief +prayer, two verses of a psalm, and the benediction. + +When Maimie realized that the service was really over, she felt as +if she had been in church for a week. After the benediction the +congregation passed out into the churchyard and disposed themselves in +groups about the gate and along the fences discussing the sermon and +making brief inquiries as to the “weal and ill” of the members of their +families. Mrs. Murray, leaving Hughie and Maimie to wander at will, +passed from group to group, welcomed by all with equal respect and +affection. Young men and old men, women and girls alike, were glad to +get her word. To-day, however, the young men were not at first to be +seen, but Mrs. Murray knew them well enough to suspect that they would +be found at the back of the church, so she passed slowly around the +church, greeting the people as she went, and upon turning the corner she +saw a crowd under the big maple, the rendezvous for the younger portion +of the congregation before “church went in.” In the center of the +group stood Ranald and Don, with Murdie, Don's eldest brother, a huge, +good-natured man, beside them, and Peter Ruagh, with his cousin Aleck, +and others of the clan. Ranald was standing, pale and silent, with his +head thrown back, as his manner was when in passion. The talk was mainly +between Aleck and Murdie, the others crowding eagerly about and putting +in a word as they could. Murdie was reasoning good-humoredly, Aleck +replying fiercely. + +“It was good enough for him,” Mrs. Murray heard Don interject, in a +triumphant tone, to Murdie. But Murdie shut him off sternly. + +“Whisht, Don, you are not talking just now.” + +Don was about to reply when he caught sight of Mrs. Murray. “Here's the +minister's wife,” he said, in a low tone, and at once the group parted +in shamefaced confusion. But Murdie kept his face unmoved, and as Mrs. +Murray drew slowly near, said, in a quiet voice of easy good-humor, to +Aleck, who was standing with a face like that of a detected criminal: +“Well, we will see about it to-morrow night, Aleck, at the post-office,” + and he faced about to meet Mrs. Murray with an easy smile, while Aleck +turned away. But Mrs. Murray was not deceived, and she went straight to +the point. + +“Murdie,” she said, quietly, when she had answered his greeting, “will +you just come with me a little; I want to ask you about something.” + And Murdie walked away with her, followed by the winks and nods of the +others. + +What she said Murdie never told, but he came back to them more +determined upon peace than ever. The difficulty lay, not with the +good-natured Peter, who was ready enough to settle with Ranald, but with +the fiery Aleck, who represented the non-respectable section of the +clan McRae, who lived south of the Sixteenth, and had a reputation for +wildness. Fighting was their glory, and no one cared to enter upon a +feud with any one of them. Murdie had interfered on Ranald's behalf, +chiefly because he was Don's friend, but also because he was unwilling +that Ranald should be involved in a quarrel with the McRaes, which he +knew would be a serious affair for him. But now his strongest reason for +desiring peace was that he had pledged himself to the minister's wife +to bring it about in some way or other. So he took Peter off by himself, +and without much difficulty, persuaded him to act the magnanimous part +and drop the quarrel. + +With Ranald he had a harder task. That young man was prepared to see his +quarrel through at whatever consequences to himself. He knew the McRaes, +and knew well their reputation, but that only made it more impossible +for him to retreat. But Murdie knew better than to argue with him, so +he turned away from him with an indifferent air, saying: “Oh, very well. +Peter is willing to let it drop. You can do as you please, only I know +the minister's wife expects you to make it up.” + +“What did she say to you, then?” asked Ranald, fiercely. + +“She said a number of things that you don't need to know, but she said +this, whatever, 'He will make it up for my sake, I know.'” + +Ranald stood a moment silent, then said, suddenly: “I will, too,” and +walking straight over to Peter, he offered his hand, saying, “I was too +quick, Peter, and I am willing to take as much as I gave. You can go +on.” + +But Peter was far too soft-hearted to accept that invitation, and +seizing Ranald's hand, said, heartily: “Never mind, Ranald, it was my +own fault. We will just say nothing more about it.” + +“There is the singing, boys,” said Murdie. “Come away. Let us go in.” + +He was all the more anxious to get the boys into the church when he saw +Aleck making toward them. He hurried Peter in before him, well pleased +with himself and his success as peacemaker, but especially delighted +that he could now turn his face toward the minister's pew, without +shame. And as he took his place in the back seat, with Peter Ruagh +beside him, the glance of pride and gratitude that flashed across the +congregation to him from the gray-brown eyes made Murdie feel more +than ever pleased at what he had been able to do. But he was somewhat +disturbed to notice that neither Ranald nor Don nor Aleck had followed +him into the church, and he waited uneasily for their coming. + +In the meantime Straight Rory was winding his sinuous way through +Coleshill, the Gaelic rhythm of the psalm allowing of quavers and turns +impossible in the English. + +In the pause following the second verse, Murdie was startled at the +sound of angry voices from without. More than Murdie heard that sound. +As Murdie glanced toward the pulpit he saw that the minister had risen +and was listening intently. + +“Behold--the--sparrow--findeth--out--” chanted the precentor. + +“You are a liar!” The words, in Aleck's fiery voice outside, fell +distinctly upon Murdie's ear, though few in the congregation seemed to +have heard. But while Murdie was making up his mind to slip out, the +minister was before him. Quickly he stepped down the pulpit stairs, +psalm-book in hand, and singing as he went, walked quietly to the back +door, and leaving his book on the window-sill, passed out. The singing +went calmly on, for the congregation were never surprised at anything +their minister did. + +The next verse was nearly through, when the door opened, and in came +Don, followed by Aleck, looking somewhat disheveled and shaken up, +and two or three more. In a few moments the minister came in, took his +psalm-book from the window-sill, and striking up with the congregation, +“Blest is the man whose strength thou art,” marched up to the pulpit +again, with only an added flash in his blue eyes and a little more +triumphant swing to his coat-tails to indicate that anything had taken +place. But Murdie looked in vain for Ranald to appear, and waited, +uncertain what to do. He had a wholesome fear of the minister, more +especially in his present mood. Instinctively he turned toward the +minister's pew, and reading the look of anxious entreaty from the pale +face there, he waited till the congregation rose for prayer and then +slipped out, and was seen no more in church that day. + +On the way home not a word was said about the disturbance. But after the +evening worship, when the minister had gone to his study for a smoke, +Hughie, who had heard the whole story from Don, told it to his mother +and Maimie in his most graphic manner. + +“It was not Ranald's fault, mother,” he declared. “You know Peter would +not let him alone, and Ranald hit him in the nose, and served him right, +too. But they made it all up, and they were just going into the church +again, when that Aleck McRae pulled Ranald back, and Ranald did not want +to fight at all, but he called Ranald a liar, and he could not help it, +but just hit him.” + +“Who hit who?” said Maimie. “You're not making it very clear, Hughie.” + +“Why, Ranald, of course, hit Aleck, and knocked him over, too,” said +Hughie, with much satisfaction; “and then Aleck--he is an awful fighter, +you know--jumped on Ranald and was pounding him just awful, the great +big brute, when out came papa. He stepped up and caught Aleck by the +neck and shook him just like a baby, saying, all the time, 'Would ye? I +will teach you to fight on the Sabbath day! Here! in with you, every +one of you!' and he threw him nearly into the door, and then they all +skedaddled into the church, I tell you, Don said. They were pretty badly +scart, too, but Don did not know what papa did to Ranald, and he did not +know where Ranald went, but he is pretty badly hurted, I am sure. That +great big Aleck McRae is old enough to be his father. Wasn't it mean of +him, mother?” + +Poor Hughie was almost in tears, and his mother, who sat listening too +eagerly to correct her little boy's ethics or grammar, was as nearly +overcome as he. She wished she knew where Ranald was. He had not +appeared at the evening Bible class, and Murdie had reported that he +could not find him anywhere. + +She put Hughie to bed, and then saw Maimie to her room. But Maimie was +very unwilling to go to bed. + +“Oh, auntie,” she whispered, as her aunt kissed her good night, “I +cannot go to sleep!” And then, after a pause, she said, shyly, “Do you +think he is badly hurt?” + +Then the minister's wife, looking keenly into the girl's face, made +light of Ranald's misfortune. + +“Oh, he will be all right,” she said, “as far as his hurt is concerned. +That is the least part of his trouble. You need not worry about that. +Good night, my dear.” And Maimie, relieved by her aunt's tone, said +“good night” with her heart at rest. + +Then Mrs. Murray went into the study, determined to find out what had +passed between her husband and Ranald. She found him lying on his couch, +luxuriating in the satisfaction of a good day's work behind him, and +his first pipe nearly done. She at once ventured upon the thing that lay +heavy upon her heart. She began by telling all she knew of the trouble +from its beginning in the church, and then waited for her husband's +story. + +For some moments he lay silently smoking. + +“Ah, well,” he said, at length, knocking out his pipe, “perhaps I was a +little severe with the lad. He may not have been so much to blame.” + +“Oh, papa! What did you do?” said his wife, in an anxious voice. + +“Well,” said the minister, hesitating, “I found that the young +rascal had struck Aleck McRae first, and a very bad blow it was. So I +administered a pretty severe rebuke and sent him home.” + +“Oh, what a shame!” cried his wife, in indignant tears. “It was far more +the fault of Peter and Aleck and the rest. Poor Ranald!” + +“Now, my dear,” said the minister, “you need not fear for Ranald. I do +not suppose he cares much. Besides, his face was not fit to be seen, so +I sent him home. Well, it--” + +“Yes,” burst in his wife, “great, brutal fellow, to strike a boy like +that!” + +“Boy?” said her husband. “Well, he may be, but not many men would +dare to face him.” Then he added, “I wish I had known--I fear I +spoke--perhaps the boy may feel unjustly treated. He is as proud as +Lucifer.” + +“Oh, papa!” said his wife, “what did you say?” + +“Nothing but what was true. I just told him that a boy who would break +the Lord's Day by fighting, and in the very shadow of the Lord's house, +when Christian people were worshiping God, was acting like a savage, and +was not fit for the company of decent folk.” + +To this his wife made no reply, but went out of the study, leaving the +minister feeling very uncomfortable indeed. But by the end of the second +pipe he began to feel that, after all, Ranald had got no more than +was good for him, and that he would be none the worse of it; in which +comforting conviction he went to rest, and soon fell into the sleep +which is supposed to be the right of the just. + +Not so his wife. Wearied though she was with the long day, its +excitements and its toils, sleep would not come. Anxious thoughts about +the lad she had come to love as if he were her own son or brother kept +crowding in upon her. The vision of his fierce, dark, stormy face held +her eyes awake and at length drew her from her bed. She went into the +study and fell upon her knees. The burden had grown too heavy for her to +bear alone. She would share it with Him who knew what it meant to bear +the sorrows and the sins of others. + +As she rose, she heard Fido bark and whine in the yard below, and going +to the window, she saw a man standing at the back door, and Fido fawning +upon him. Startled, she was about to waken her husband, when the man +turned his face so that the moonlight fell upon it, and she saw Ranald. +Hastily she threw on her dressing-gown, put on her warm bedroom slippers +and cloak, ran down to the door, and in another moment was standing +before him, holding him by the shoulders. + +“Ranald!” she cried, breathlessly, “what is it?” + +“I am going away,” he said, simply. “And I was just passing by--and--” + he could not go on. + +“Oh, Ranald!” she cried, “I am glad you came this way. Now tell me +where you are going.” + +The boy looked at her as if she had started a new idea in his mind, and +then said, “I do not know.” + +“And what are you going to do, Ranald?” + +“Work. There is plenty to do. No fear of that.” + +“But your father, Ranald?” + +The boy was silent for a little, and then said, “He will soon be well, +and he will not be needing me, and he said I could go.” His voice broke +with the remembrance of the parting with his father. + +“And why are you going, Ranald?” she said, looking into his eyes. + +Again the boy stood silent. + +“Why do you go away from your home and your father, and--and--all of us +who love you?” + +“Indeed, there is no one,” he replied, bitterly; “and I am not for +decent people. I am not for decent people. I know that well enough. +There is no one that will care much.” + +“No one, Ranald?” she asked, sadly. “I thought--” she paused, looking +steadily into his face. + +Suddenly the boy turned to her, and putting out both his hands, burst +forth, his voice coming in dry sobs: “Oh, yes, yes! I do believe you. +I do believe you. And that is why I came this way. I wanted to see your +door again before I went. Oh, I will never forget you! Never, never, and +I am glad I am seeing you, for now you will know--how much--” The boy +was unable to proceed. His sobs were shaking his whole frame, and to his +shy Highland Scotch nature, words of love and admiration were not easy. +“You will not be sending me back home again?” he pleaded, anticipating +her. “Indeed, I cannot stay in this place after to-day.” + +But the minister's wife kept her eyes steadily upon his face without a +word, trying in vain to find her voice, and the right words to say. She +had no need of words, for in her face, pale, wet with her flowing tears, +and illumined with her gray-brown eyes, Ranald read her heart. + +“Oh!” he cried again, “you are wanting me to stay, and I will be ashamed +before them all, and the minister, too. I cannot stay. I cannot stay.” + +“And I cannot let you go, Ranald, my boy,” she said, commanding her +voice to speech. “I want you to be a brave man. I don't want you to be +afraid of them.” + +“Afraid of them!” said the boy, in scornful surprise. “Not if they were +twice as more and twice as beeg.” + +Mrs. Murray saw her advantage, and followed it up. + +“And the minister did not know the whole truth, Ranald, and he was sorry +he spoke to you as he did.” + +“Did he say that?” said Ranald, in surprise. It was to him, as to any +one in that community, a terrible thing to fall under the displeasure of +the minister and to be disgraced in his eyes. + +“Yes, indeed, Ranald, and he would be sorry if you should go away. I am +sure he would blame himself.” + +This was quite a new idea to the boy. That the minister should think +himself to be in the wrong was hardly credible. + +“And how glad we would be,” she continued, earnestly, “to see you prove +yourself a man before them all.” + +Ranald shook his head. “I would rather go away.” + +“Perhaps, but it's braver to stay, and to do your work like a man.” And +then, allowing him no time for words, she pictured to him the selfish, +cowardly part the man plays who marches bravely enough in the front +ranks until the battle begins, but who shrinks back and seeks an easy +place when the fight comes on, till his face fell before her in shame. +And then she showed him what she would like him to do, and what she +would like him to be in patience and in courage, till he stood once more +erect and steady. + +“Now, Ranald,” she said, noting the effect of her words upon him, “what +is it to be?” + +“I will go back,” he said, simply; and turning with a single word of +farewell, he sprang over the fence and disappeared in the woods. The +minister's wife stood looking the way he went long after he had passed +out of sight, and then, lifting her eyes to the radiant sky with its +shining lights, “He made the stars also,” she whispered, and went up to +her bed and laid her down and slept in peace. Her Sabbath day's work was +done. + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE HOME-COMING OF THE SHANTYMEN + + +For some weeks Ranald was not seen by any one belonging to the manse. +Hughie reported that he was not at church, nor at Bible class, and +although this was not in itself an extraordinary thing, still +Mrs. Murray was uneasy, and Hughie felt that church was a great +disappointment when Ranald was not there. + +In their visits to Macdonald Dubh the minister and his wife never +could see Ranald. His Aunt Kirsty could not understand or explain his +reluctance to attend the public services, nor his unwillingness to +appear in the house on the occasion of the minister's visits. “He is +busy with the fences and about the stables preparing for the spring's +work,” she said; “but, indeed, he is very queer whatever, and I cannot +make him out at all.” Macdonald Dubh himself said nothing. But the books +and magazines brought by the minister's wife were always read. “Indeed, +when once he gets down to his book,” his aunt complained, “neither his +bed nor his dinner will move him.” + +The minister thought little of the boy's “vagaries,” but to his wife +came many an anxious thought about Ranald and his doings. She was more +disappointed than she cared to confess, even to herself, that the boy +seemed to be quite indifferent to the steadily deepening interest in +spiritual things that marked the members of her Bible class. + +While she was planning how to reach him once more, an event occurred +which brought him nearer to her than he had ever been before. As they +were sitting one evening at tea, the door unexpectedly opened, and +without announcement, in walked Ranald, splashed with hard riding, pale, +and dazed. Without a word of reply to the greetings that met him from +all at the table, he went straight to the minister's wife, handed her +an opened letter, and stood waiting. It was addressed to Ranald himself, +and was the first he had ever received in his life. It was from Yankee +Jim, and read as follows: + + +Dear Ranald--The Boss aint feelin like ritin much and the rest of the +boys is all broke up, and so he told me to rite to you and to tell you +some purty bad news. I don't know how to go about it, but the fact is, +Mack Cameron got drownded yesterday tryin to pull a little fool of a +Frenchman out of the river just below the Lachine. We'd just got through +the rough water and were lyin nice and quiet, gettin things together +again when that ijit Frenchman got tite and got tryin some fool trick or +other walking a timber stick and got upsot into the wet. I'd a let him +go, you bet, but Mack cudn't stand to see him bobbin up and down so he +ripped off and in after him. He got him too, but somehow the varmint +gripped him round the neck. They went down but we got em out purty +quick and the Frenchman come round all right, but somehow Mack wouldn't, +choked appearinly by that tarnel little fool who aint worth one of +Mack's fingers, and if killin him wud do any good, then he wudn't be +livin long. We are all feelin purty bad. We are comin' home on Thursday +by Cornwall, eight or ten of us. The rest will go on with the rafts. The +Boss says, better have rigs to meet us and Mack. That's all. I haint +no good at weepin', never was, wish I cud somehow, it might ease off a +feller a little, but tell you what, Ranald, I haint felt so queer since +I was a boy lookin at my mother in her coffin. There was nothin mean +about Mack. He was good to the heart. He wud do his work slick and never +a growl or a groan, and when you wanted a feller to your back, Mack was +there. I know there aint no use goin on like this. All I say is, ther's +a purty big hole in the world for us to-night. Boss says you'd better +tell the minister. He says he's good stuff and he'll know what to do at +Mack's home. No more at present. Good-bye. Yours truely, + +J. LATHAM. + + +The minister's wife began reading the letter, wondering not a little +at Ranald's manner, but when she came to the words, “Mack Cameron got +drownded,” she laid the letter down with a little cry. Her husband came +quickly to her, took up the letter, and read it to the end. + +“I will go at once,” he said, and rang the bell. “Tell Lambert to +put Black in the buggy immediately, Jessie,” he said, when the maid +appeared. “Do you think you ought to go, my dear?” + +“Yes, yes, I shall be ready in a moment; but, oh, what can we do or +say?” + +“Perhaps you had better not go. It will be very trying,” said the +minister. + +“Oh, yes, I must go. I must. The poor mother!” Then she turned to Ranald +as the minister left the room. “You are going home, Ranald, I suppose,” + she said. + +“No, I was thinking I would go to tell the people. Donald Ross will +go, and the Campbells, and Farquhar McNaughton's light wagon would be +best--for the--for Mack. And then I will go round by the McGregors.” + +Ranald had been thinking things out and making his plans. + +“But that will be a long round for you,” said Mrs. Murray. “Could not we +go by the Campbells', and they will send word to Donald Ross?” + +“I think it would be better for me to go, to make sure of the teams.” + +“Very well, then. Good by, Ranald,” said the minister's wife, holding +out her hand to him. + +But still Ranald lingered. “It will be hard on Bella Peter,” he said, in +a low voice, looking out of the window. + +“Bella Peter? Bella McGregor?” + +“Yes,” said Ranald, embarrassed and hesitating. “She was Mack's--Mack +was very fond of her, whatever.” + +“Oh, Ranald!” she cried, “do you say so? Are you sure of that?” + +“Yes, I am sure,” said Ranald, simply. “The boys in the shanty would be +teasing Mack about it, and one day Mack told me something, and I know +quite well.” + +“I will go to her,” said Mrs. Murray. + +“That will be very good,” said Ranald, much relieved. “And I will be +going with you that way.” + +As Mrs. Murray left the room, Maimie came around to where Ranald was +standing and said to him, gently, “You knew him well, didn't you?” + +“Yes,” replied Ranald, in an indifferent tone, as if unwilling to talk +with her about it. + +“And you were very fond of him?” went on Maimie. + +Ranald caught the tremor in her voice and looked at her. “Yes,” he said, +with an effort. “He was good to me in the camp. Many's the time he made +it easy for me. He was next to Macdonald Bhain with the ax, and, man, +he was the grand fighter--that is,” he added, adopting the phrase of +the Macdonald gang, “when it was a plain necessity.” Then, forgetting +himself, he began to tell Maimie how Big Mack had borne himself in +the great fight a few weeks before. But he had hardly well begun when +suddenly he stopped with a groan. “But now he is dead--he is dead. I +will never see him no more.” + +He was realizing for the first time his loss. Maimie came nearer him, +and laying her hand timidly on his arm, said, “I am sorry, Ranald”; +and Ranald turned once more and looked at her, as if surprised that she +should show such feeling. + +“Yes,” he said, “I believe you are sorry.” + +Her big blue eyes filled suddenly with tears. + +“Do you wonder that I am sorry? Do you think I have no heart at all?” + she burst forth, impetuously. + +“Indeed, I don't know,” said Ranald. “Why should you care? You do not +know him.” + +“But haven't you just told me how splendid he was, and how good he was +to you, and how much you thought of him, and--” Maimie checked her rush +of words with a sudden blush, and then hurried on to say, “Besides, +think of his mother, and all of them.” + +While Maimie was speaking, Ranald had been scanning her face as if +trying to make up his mind about her. + +“I am glad you are sorry,” he said, slowly, gazing with so searching a +look into her eyes that she let them fall. + +At this moment Mrs. Murray entered ready for her ride. + +“Is the pony come?” she asked. + +“Indeed, it is the slouch I am,” said Ranald, and he hurried off to the +stable, returning in a very short time with the pony saddled. + +“You would not care to go with your uncle, Maimie?” said Mrs. Murray, as +Lambert drove up Black in the buggy. + +“No, auntie, I think not,” said Maimie. “I will take care of Hughie and +the baby.” + +“Good by, then, my dear,” said Mrs. Murray, kissing her. + +“Good by, Ranald,” said Maimie, as he turned away to get his colt. + +“Good by,” he said, awkwardly. He felt like lifting his cap, but +hesitated to do anything so extremely unnatural. With the boys in that +country such an act of courtesy was regarded as a sign of “pride,” if +not of weakness. + +Their way lay along the concession line for a mile, and then through the +woods by the bridle-path to Peter McGregor's clearing. The green grass +ran everywhere--along the roadside, round the great stump roots, over +the rough pasture-fields, softening and smoothing wherever it went. The +woods were flushing purple, with just a tinge of green from the bursting +buds. The balsams and spruces still stood dark in the swamps, but the +tamaracks were shyly decking themselves in their exquisite robes of +spring, and through all the bush the air was filled with soft sounds +and scents. In earth and air, in field and forest, life, the new spring +life, ran riot. How strangely impertinent death appeared, and how +unlovely in such a world of life! + +As they left the concession road and were about to strike into the +woods, Mrs. Murray checked her pony, and looking upon the loveliness +about her, said, softly, “How beautiful it all is!” + +There was no response from Ranald, and Mrs. Murray, glancing at his +gloomy face, knew that his heart was sore at the thought of the pain +they were bearing with them. She hesitated a few moments, and then said, +gently: “And I saw a new heaven and a new earth. And there shall be no +more death.” + +But still Ranald made no reply, and they rode on through the bush in +silence till they came to the clearing beyond. As they entered the +brule, Ranald checked his colt, and holding up his hand, said, “Listen!” + +Through the quiet evening air, sweet and clear as a silver bell, came +the long, musical note of the call that brings the cows home for the +milking. It was Bella's voice: “Ko--boss, ko--boss, ko--boss!” + +Far across the brule they could see her standing on a big pine stump +near the bars, calling to her cows that were slowly making toward her +through the fallen timber, pausing here and there to crop an especially +rich mouthful, and now and then responding to her call with soft +lowings. Gently Bella chid them. “Come, Blossom, come away now; you are +very lazy. Come, Lily; what are you waiting for? You slow old poke!” + Then again the long, musical note: “Ko--boss, ko--boss, ko--boss!” + +Ranald groaned aloud, “Och-hone! It will be her last glad hour,” he +said; “it is a hard, hard thing.” + +“Poor child, poor child!” said Mrs. Murray; “the Lord help her. It will +be a cruel blow.” + +“That it is, a cruel blow,” said Ranald, bitterly; so bitterly that Mrs. +Murray glanced at him in surprise and saw his face set in angry pain. + +“The Lord knows best, Ranald,” she said, gravely, “and loves best, too.” + +“It will break her heart, whatever,” answered Ranald, shortly. + +“He healeth the broken in heart,” said Mrs. Murray, softly. Ranald made +no reply, but let the colt take her way through the brule toward the +lane into which Bella had now got her cows. How happy the girl was! Joy +filled every tone of her voice. And why not? It was the springtime, the +time of life and love. Long winter was gone, and soon her brothers would +be back from the shanties. “And Mack, too,” she whispered to her happy +heart. + + + “And are ye sure the news is true? + And are ye sure he's weel? + Is this a time to think o' wark? + Ye jades, fling by your wheel. + + “For there's nae luck aboot the hoose, + There's nae luck ava, + There's little pleesure in the hoose + When oor gude man's awa.” + + +So she sang, not too loud; for the boys were at the barn and she would +never hear the end of it. + +“Well, Bella, you are getting your cows home. How are you, my dear?” + +Bella turned with a scarlet face to meet the minister's wife, and her +blushes only became deeper when she saw Ranald, for she felt quite +certain that Ranald would understand the meaning of her song. + +“I will go on with the cows,” said Ranald, in a hoarse voice, and Mrs. +Murray, alighting, gave him her pony to lead. + +Peter McGregor was a stern man to his own family, and to all the world, +with the single exception of his only daughter, Bella. His six boys he +kept in order with a firm hand, and not one of them would venture to +take a liberty with him. But Bella had no fear of his grim face and +stern ways, and “just twiddled her father round her finger,” as her +mother said, with a great show of impatience. But, in spite of all +her petting from her big brothers and her father, Bella remained quite +unspoiled, the light of her home and the joy of her father's heart. It +had not escaped the father's jealous eye that Big Mack Cameron found +occasion for many a visit to the boys on an evening when the day's work +was done, and that from the meetings he found his shortest way home +round by the McGregor's. At first the old man was very gruff with him, +and was for sending him about his business, but his daughter's happy +face, and the light in her eyes, that could mean only one thing, made +him pause, and after a long and sleepless night, he surprised his +daughter the next morning with a word of gentle greeting and an unusual +caress, and thenceforth took Big Mack to his heart. Not that any word or +explanation passed between them; it had not come to that as yet; but +Big Mack felt the change, and gave him thenceforth the obedience and +affection of a son. + +The old man was standing in the yard, waiting to help with the milking. + +Ranald drove the cows in, and then, tying up the horses, went straight +to him. + +“I bring bad news, Mr. McGregor,” he said, anxious to get done with his +sad task. “There has been an accident on the river, and Mack Cameron is +drowned.” + +“What do you say, boy?” said Peter, in a harsh voice. + +“He was trying to save a Frenchman, and when they got him out he was +dead,” said Ranald, hurrying through his tale, for he saw the two +figures coming up the lane and drawing nearer. + +“Dead!” echoed the old man. “Big Mack! God help me.” + +“And they will be wanting a team,” continued Ranald, “to go to Cornwall +to-morrow.” + +The old man stood for a few moments, looking stupidly at Ranald. Then, +lifting his hat from his gray head, he said, brokenly: “My poor girl! +Would God I had died for him.” + +Ranald turned away and stood looking down the lane, shrinking from the +sight of the old man's agony. Then, turning back to him, he said: “The +minister's wife is coming yonder with Bella.” + +The old man started, and with a mighty effort commanding himself, said, +“Now may God help me!” and went to meet his daughter. + +Through the gloom of the falling night Ranald could see the frightened +white face and the staring, tearless eyes. They came quite near before +Bella caught sight of her father. For a moment she hesitated, till the +old man, without a word, beckoned her to him. With a quick little run +she was in his arms, where she lay moaning, as if in sore bodily pain. +Her father held her close to him, murmuring over her fond Gaelic words, +while Ranald and Mrs. Murray went over to the horses and stood waiting +there. + +“I will go now to Donald Ross,” Ranald said, in a low voice, to the +minister's wife. He mounted the colt and was riding off, when Peter +called him back. + +“The boys will take the wagon to-morrow,” he said. + +“They will meet at the Sixteenth at daylight,” replied Ranald; and then +to Mrs. Murray he said, “I will come back this way for you. It will soon +be dark.” + +But Bella, hearing him, cried to her: “Oh, you will not go?” + +“Not if you need me, Bella,” said Mrs. Murray, putting her arms around +her. “Ranald will run in and tell them at home.” This Ranald promised to +do, and rode away on his woeful journey; and before he reached home that +night, the news had spread far and wide, from house to house, like a +black cloud over a sunny sky. + +The home-coming of the men from the shanties had ever been a time of +rejoicing in the community. The Macdonald gang were especially welcome, +for they always came back with honor and with the rewards of their +winter's work. There was always a series of welcoming gatherings in the +different homes represented in the gang, and there, in the midst of the +admiring company, tales would be told of the deeds done and the trials +endured, of the adventures on the river and the wonders of the cities +where they had been. All were welcome everywhere, and none more than Big +Mack Cameron. Brimming with good nature, and with a remarkable turn for +stories, he was the center of every group of young people wherever he +went; and at the “bees” for logging or for building or for cradling, Big +Mack was held in honor, for he was second in feats of strength only to +Macdonald Bhain himself. It was with no common grief that people heard +the word that they were bringing him home dead. + +At the Sixteenth next morning, before the break of day, Ranald stood in +the gloom waiting for the coming of the teams. He had been up most of +the night and he was weary in body and sore at heart, but Macdonald +Bhain had trusted him, and there must be no mistake. One by one the +teams arrived. First to appear was Donald Ross, the elder. For years he +had given over the driving of his team to his boys, but to-day he felt +that respect to the family demanded his presence on such an errand as +this; and besides, he knew well that his son Dannie, Mack's special +chum, would expect him to so honor the home-coming of his dead friend. +Peter McGregor, fearing to leave his daughter for that long and lonely +day, sent his son John in his place. It was with difficulty that Mack's +father, Long John Cameron, had been persuaded to remain with the mother +and to allow Murdie to go in his stead. + +The last to arrive was Farquhar McNaughton, Kirsty's Farquhar, with his +fine black team and new light wagon. To him was to be given the honor +of bearing the body home. Gravely they talked and planned, and then left +all to Ranald to execute. + +“You will see to these things, Ranald, my man,” said Donald Ross, with +the air of one giving solemn charge. “Let all things be done decently +and in order.” + +“I will try,” said Ranald, simply. But Farquhar McNaughton looked at him +doubtfully. + +“It is a peety,” he said, “there is not one with more experience. He is +but a lad.” + +But Donald Ross had been much impressed with Ranald's capable manner the +night before. + +“Never you fear, Farquhar,” he replied; “Ranald is not one to fail us.” + +As Ranald stood watching the wagons rumbling down the road and out of +sight, he felt as if years must have passed since he had received the +letter that had laid on him the heavy burden of this sad news. That his +uncle, Macdonald Bhain, should have sent the word to him brought Ranald +a sense of responsibility that awakened the man in him, and he knew he +would feel himself a boy no more. And with that new feeling of manhood +stirring within him, he went about his work that day, omitting no detail +in arrangement for the seemly conduct of the funeral. + +Night was falling as the wagons rumbled back again from Cornwall, +bringing back the shantymen and their dead companion. Up through the +Sixteenth, where a great company of people stood silent and with bared +heads, the sad procession moved, past the old church, up through the +swamp, and so onward to the home of the dead. None of the Macdonald gang +turned aside to their homes till they had given their comrade over +into the keeping of his own people. By the time the Cameron's gate was +reached the night had grown thick and black, and the drivers were glad +enough of the cedar bark torches that Ranald and Don waved in front of +the teams to light the way up the lane. In silence Donald Ross, who was +leading, drove up his team to the little garden gate and allowed the +great Macdonald and Dannie to alight. + +At the gate stood Long John Cameron, silent and self-controlled, but +with face showing white and haggard in the light of the flaring torches. +Behind him, in the shadow, stood the minister. For a few moments they +all remained motionless and silent. The time was too great for words, +and these men knew when it was good to hold their peace. At length +Macdonald Bhain broke the silence, saying in his great deep voice, as he +bared his head: “Mr. Cameron, I have brought you back your son, and God +is my witness, I would his place were mine this night.” + +“Bring him in, Mr. Macdonald,” replied the father, gravely and steadily. +“Bring him in. It is the Lord; let Him do what seemeth Him good.” + +Then six of the Macdonald men came forward from the darkness, Curly and +Yankee leading the way, and lifted the coffin from Farquhar's wagon, and +reverently, with heads uncovered, they followed the torches to the door. +There they stopped suddenly, for as they reached the threshold, there +arose a low, long, heart-smiting cry from within. At the sound of that +cry Ranald staggered as if struck by a blow, and let his torch fall to +the ground. The bearers waited, looking at each other in fear. + +“Whisht, Janet, woman!” said Long John, gravely. “Your son is at the +door.” + +“Ah, indeed, that he is, that he is! My son! My son!” + +She stood in the doorway with hands uplifted and with tears streaming +down her face. “Come in, Malcolm; come in, my boy. Your mother is +waiting for you.” + +Then they carried him in and laid him in the “room,” and retiring to the +kitchen, sat down to watch the night. + +In half an hour the father came out and found them there. + +“You have done what you could, Mr. Macdonald,” he said, addressing him +for all, “and I will not be unmindful of your kindness. But now you can +do no more. Your wife and your people will be waiting you.” + +“And, please God, in good time they will be seeing us. As for me, I will +neither go to my home nor up into my bed, but I will watch by the man +who was my faithful friend and companion till he is laid away.” + +And in this mind he and his men remained firm, taking turns at the +watching all that night and the next day. + +As Macdonald finished speaking, the minister came into the kitchen, +bringing with him the mother and the children. The men all rose to their +feet, doing respect to the woman and to her grief. When they were seated +again, the minister rose and said: “My friends, this is a night for +silence and not for words. The voice of the Lord is speaking in our +ears. It becomes us to hear, and to submit ourselves to His holy will. +Let us pray.” + +As Ranald listened to the prayer, he could not help thinking how +different it was from those he was accustomed to hear from the pulpit. +Solemn, simple, and direct, it lifted the hearts of all present up to +the throne of God, to the place of strength and of peace. There was +no attempt to explain the “mystery of the Providence,” but there was +a sublime trust that refused to despair even in the presence of +impenetrable darkness. + +After the minister had gone, Macdonald Bhain took Ranald aside and asked +him as to the arrangements for the funeral. When Ranald had explained to +him every detail, Macdonald laid his hand on his nephew's shoulder and +said, kindly, “It is well done, Ranald. Now you will be going home, and +in the morning you will see your aunt, and if she will be wishing to +come to the wake to-morrow night, then you will bring her.” + +Then Ranald went home, feeling well repaid for his long hours of anxiety +and toil. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE WAKE + + +The wake was an important feature in the social life of the people of +Indian Lands. In ancient days, in the land of their forefathers, the +wake had been deemed a dire necessity for the safeguarding of the dead, +who were supposed to be peculiarly exposed to the malicious attacks +of evil spirits. Hence, with many lighted candles, and with much +incantation, friends would surround the body through the perilous hours +of darkness. It was a weird and weary vigil, and small wonder if it +appeared necessary that the courage and endurance of the watchers should +be fortified with copious draughts of “mountain dew,” with bread and +cheese accompaniments. And the completeness of their trust in the +efficacy of such supports was too often evidenced by the condition of +the watchers toward the dawn of the morning. And, indeed, if the spirits +were not too fastidious, and if they had so desired, they could have +easily flown away, not only with the “waked,” but with the “wakers” as +well. + +But those days and those notions had long passed away. The wake still +remained, but its meaning and purpose had changed. No longer for the +guarding of the dead, but for the comfort of the living, the friends +gathered to the house of mourning and watched the weary hours. But +Highland courtesy forbade that the custom of refreshing the watchers +should be allowed to die out, and hence, through the night, once and +again, the whisky, bread, and cheese were handed around by some close +friend of the family, and were then placed upon the table for general +use. It was not surprising that, where all were free to come and +welcome to stay, and where anything like scantiness in providing or +niggardliness in serving would be a matter of family disgrace, the wake +often degenerated into a frolic, if not a debauch. In order to check +any such tendency, it had been the custom of late years to introduce +religious services, begun by the minister himself and continued by the +elders. + +As the evening fell, a group of elders stood by the back door of Long +John Cameron's sorrow-stricken home, talking quietly over the sad event +and arranging for the “exercises” of the night. At a little distance +from them sat Yankee, with Ranald beside him, both silent and listening +somewhat indifferently to the talk of the others. Yankee was not in his +element. He was always welcome in the homes of his comrades, for he was +ready with his tongue and clever with his fingers, but with the graver +and religious side of their lives he had little in common. It was, +perhaps, this feeling that drew him toward Macdonald Dubh and Ranald, so +that for weeks at a time he would make their house his home. He had “no +use for wakes,” as he said himself, and had it not been that it was one +of the gang that lay dead within, Yankee would have avoided the house +until all was over and the elders safely away. + +Of the elders, only four were present as yet: Donald Ross, who was ever +ready to bring the light of his kindly face to cheer the hearts of the +mourners; Straight Rory, who never, by any chance, allowed himself +to miss the solemn joy of leading the funeral psalm; Peter McRae, who +carried behind his stern old face a heart of genuine sympathy; and Kenny +Crubach, to whom attendance at funerals was at once a duty and a horror. + +Donald Ross, to whom all the elders accorded, instinctively, the place +of leader, was arranging the order of “the exercises.” + +“Mr. McCuaig,” he said to Straight Rory, “you will take charge of the +singing. The rest of us will, in turn, give out a psalm and read a +portion of Scripture with a few suitable remarks, and lead in prayer. We +will not be forgetting, brethren,” said old Donald, “that there will be +sore hearts here this night.' + +Straight Rory's answer was a sigh so woeful and so deep that Yankee +looked over at him and remarked in an undertone to Ranald, “He ain't so +cheerful as he might be. He must feel awful inside.” + +“It is a sad and terrible day for the Camerons,” said Peter McRae. + +“Aye, it is sad, indeed,” replied Donald Ross. “He was a good son and +they will be missing him bad. It is a great loss.” + +“Yes, the loss is great,” said Peter, grimly. “But, after all, that is a +small thing.” + +Straight Rory sighed again even more deeply than before. Donald Ross +said nothing. + +“What does the old duck mean, anyhow?” said Yankee to Ranald. + +The boy made no reply. His heart was sick with horror at Peter's +meaning, which he understood only too well. + +“Aye,” went on Peter, “it is a terrible, mysterious Providence, and a +heavy warning to the ungodly and careless.” + +“He means me, I guess,” remarked Yankee to Ranald. + +“It will perhaps be not amiss to any of us,” said Kenny Crubach, +sharply. + +“Indeed, that is true,” said Donald Ross, in a very humble voice. + +“Yes, Mr. Ross,” said Peter, ignoring Kenny Crubach, “but at times the +voice of Providence cannot be misunderstood, and it will not do for +the elders of the church to be speaking soft things when the Lord is +speaking in judgment and wrath.” + +Donald was silent, while Straight Rory assented with a heartrending +“Aye, aye,” which stirred Yankee's bile again. + +“What's he talkin' about? He don't seem to be usin' my language,” he +said, in a tone of wrathful perplexity. Ranald was too miserable to +answer, but Kenny was ready with his word. + +“Judgment and wrath,” he echoed, quickly. “The man would require to be +very skillful whatever in interpreting the ways of Providence, and very +bold to put such a meaning into the death of a young man such as Malcolm +yonder.” The little man's voice was vibrating with feeling. + +Then Yankee began to understand. “I'll be gol-blamed to a cinder!” he +exclaimed, in a low voice, falling back upon a combination that seemed +more suitable to the circumstances. “They ain't sendin' him to hell, +are they?” He shut up the knife with which he had been whittling with a +sharp snap, and rising to his feet, walked slowly over to the group of +elders. + +“Far be it from me to judge what is not to be seen,” said Peter. “But +we are allowed and commanded to discern the state of the heart by the +fruits.” + +“Fruits?” replied Kenny, quickly. “He was a good son and brother and +friend; he was honest and clean, and he gave his life for another at the +last.” + +“Exactly so,” said Peter. “I am not denying much natural goodness, for +indeed he was a fine lad; but I will be looking for the evidence that he +was in a state of grace. I have not heard of any, and glad would I be to +hear it.” + +The old man's emotion took the sharpness out of Kenny's speech, but he +persisted, stoutly, “Goodness is goodness, Mr. McRae, for all that.” + +“You will not be holding the Armenian doctrine of works, Mr. Campbell?” + said Peter, severely. “You would not be pointing to good works as a +ground of salvation?” + +Yankee, who had been following the conversation intently, thought he saw +meaning in it at last. + +“If I might take a hand,” he said, diffidently, “I might contribute +somethin' to help you out.” + +Peter regarded him a little impatiently. He had forgotten the concrete, +for the moment, in the abstract, and was donning his armor for a battle +with Kenny upon the “fundamentals.” Hence he was not too well pleased +with Yankee's interruption. But Donald Ross gladly welcomed the +diversion. The subject was to him extremely painful. + +“We will be glad,” he said to Yankee, “to hear you, Mr. Latham.” + +“Well,” said Yankee, slowly, “from your remarks I gathered that you +wanted information about the doings of--” he jerked his head toward the +house behind him. “Now, I want to say,” he continued, confidentially, +“you've come to the right shop, for I've ate and slept, I've worked and +fought, I've lived with him by day and by night, and right through he +was the straightest, whitest man I ever seen, and I won't except the +boss himself.” Yankee paused to consider the effect of this statement, +and to allow its full weight to be appreciated; and then he continued: +“Yes, sir, you may just bet your--you may be right well sure,” + correcting himself, “that you're safe in givin'”--here he dropped +his voice, and jerked his head toward the house again--“in givin' the +highest marks, full value, and no discount. Why,” he went on, with an +enthusiasm rare in him, “ask any man in the gang, any man on the river, +if they ever seen or heard of his doin' a mean or crooked thing, and if +you find any feller who says he did, bring him here, and, by”--Yankee +remembered himself in time--“and I give you my solemn word that I'll eat +him, hat and boots.” Yankee brought his bony fist down with a whack into +his hand. Then he relapsed into his lazy drawl again: “No, siree, hoss! +If it's doin's you're after, don't you be slow in bankin' your little +heap on HIS doin's.” + +Donald Ross grasped Yankee's hand and shook it hard. “I will be thanking +you for that word,” he said, earnestly. + +But Peter felt that the cause of truth demanded that he should speak +out. “Mr. Latham,” he said, solemnly, “what you have been saying is +very true, no doubt, but if a man is not 'born again he cannot see the +kingdom of God.' These are the words of the Lord himself.” + +“Born again!” said Yankee. “How? I don't seem to get you. But I guess +the feller that does the right thing all round has got a purty good +chance.” + +“It is not a man's deeds, we are told,” said Peter, patiently, “but his +heart.” + +“There you are,” said Yankee, warmly, “right again, and that's what I +always hold to. It's the heart a man carries round in his inside. Never +mind your talk, never mind your actin' up for people to see. Give me the +heart that is warm and red, and beats proper time, you bet. Say! you're +all right.” Yankee gazed admiringly at the perplexed and hopeless Peter. + +“I am afraid you are not remembering what the Apostle Paul said, Mr. +Latham,” said Peter, determined to deal faithfully with Yankee. “'By the +deeds of the law shall no flesh be justified.'” + +It was now Yankee's turn to gaze helplessly at Peter. “I guess you have +dropped me again,” he said, slowly. + +“Man,” said Peter, with a touch of severity, “you will need to be more +faithful with the Word of God. The Scriptures plainly declare, Mr. +Latham, that it is impossible for a man to be saved in his natural +state.” + +Yankee looked blank at this. + +“The prophet says that the plowing and sowing, the very prayers, of the +wicked are an abomination to the Lord.” + +“Why, now you're talkin', but look here.” Yankee lowered his tone. “Look +here, you wouldn't go for to call”--here again he jerked his head toward +the house--“wicked, would you? Fur if you do, why, there ain't any more +conversation between you and me.” + +Yankee was terribly in earnest. + +“'There is none righteous, no, not one,'” quoted Peter, with the air of +a man who forces himself to an unpleasant duty. + +“That's so, I guess,” said Yankee, meditatively, “but it depends some on +what you mean. I don't set myself up for any copy-book head-line, but +as men go--men, say, just like you here--I'd put--I'd put him alongside, +wouldn't you? You expect to get through yourself, I judge?” + +This was turning the tables somewhat sharply upon Peter, but Yankee's +keen, wide-open eyes were upon him, and his intensely earnest manner +demanded an answer. + +“Indeed, if it will be so, it will not be for any merit of my own, but +only because of the mercy of the Lord in Christ Jesus.” Peter's tone was +sincerely humble. + +“Guess you're all right,” said Yankee, encouragingly; “and as for--as +for--him--don't you worry about that. You may be dead sure about his +case.” + +But Peter only shook his head hopelessly. “You are sorely in need of +instruction, Mr. Latham,” he said, sadly. “We cannot listen to our +hearts in this matter. We must do honor to the justice of God, and the +word is clear, 'Ye must be born again.' Nothing else avails.” Peter's +tone was final. + +Then Yankee drew a little nearer to him, as if settling down to work. + +“Now look here. You let me talk awhile. I ain't up in your side of +the business, but I guess we are tryin' to make the same point. Now +supposin' you was in for a hoss race, which I hope ain't no offense, +seein' it ain't likely but suppose, and to take first money you had to +perdoose a two-fifteen gait. 'Purty good lick,' says you; 'now where +will I get the nag?' Then you sets down and thinks, and, says you, 'By +gum, which of course you wouldn't, but supposin' says you, 'a Blue Grass +bred is the hoss for that gait'; and you begin to inquire around, but +there ain't no Blue Grass bred stock in the country, and that race is +creepin' up close. One day, just when you was beginnin' to figure on +takin' the dust to the hull field, you sees a colt comin' along the road +hittin' up a purty slick gait. 'Hello,' says you, 'that looks likely,' +and you begin to negotiate, and you finds out that colt's all right and +her time's two-ten. Then you begin to talk about the weather and the +crops until you finds out the price, and you offer him half money. Then, +when you have fetched him down to the right figure, you pulls out your +wad, thinkin' how that colt will make the rest look like a line of +fence-posts. 'But hold on,' says you, 'is this here colt Blue Grass +bred?' 'Blue Grass! Not much. This here's Grey Eagle stock, North +Virginny' says he. 'Don't want her,' says you. 'What's the matter with +the colt?' says he. 'Nothin', only she ain't Blue Grass. Got to be Blue +Grass.' 'But she's got the gait, ain't she?' 'Yes, the gait's all right, +action fine, good-looking, too, nothing wrong, but she ain't Blue Grass +bred.' And so you lose your race. Now what kind of a name would you call +yourself?” + +Peter saw Yankee's point, but he only shook his head more hopelessly +than before, and turned to enter the house, followed by Straight Rory, +still sighing deeply, and old Donald Ross. But Kenny remained a moment +behind the others, and offering his hand to Yankee, said: “You are a +right man, and I will be proud to know you better.” + +Yankee turned a puzzled face to Kenny. “I say,” he inquired, in an +amazed voice, “do you think he didn't catch on to me?” + +Kenny nodded. “Yes, he understood your point.” + +“But look here,” said Yankee, “they don't hold that--that he is--” + Yankee paused. The thought was too horrible, and these men were experts, +and were supposed to know. + +“It's hard to say,” said Kenny, diplomatically. + +“See here,” said Yankee, facing Kenny squarely, “you're a purty +level-headed man, and you're up in this business. Do you think with +them? No monkeying. Straight talk now.” Yankee was in no mood to be +trifled with. He was in such deadly earnest that he had forgotten all +about Ranald, who was now standing behind him, waiting, with white face +and parted lips, for Kenny's answer. + +“Whisht!” said Kenny, pointing into the kitchen behind. Yankee looked +and saw Bella Peter and her father entering. But Ranald was determined +to know Kenny's opinion. + +“Mr. Campbell,” he whispered, eagerly, and forgetting the respect due to +an elder, he grasped Kenny's arm, “do you think with them?” + +“That I do not,” said Kenny, emphatically, and Yankee, at that word, +struck his hand into Kenny's palm with a loud smack. + +“I knew blamed well you were not any such dumb fool,” he said, +softening his speech in deference to Kenny's office and the surrounding +circumstances. So saying, he went away to the stable, and when Ranald +and his uncle, Macdonald Bhain, followed a little later to put up Peter +McGregor's team, they heard Yankee inside, swearing with a fluency and +vigor quite unusual with him. + +“Whisht, man!” said Macdonald Bhain, sternly. “This is no place or time +to be using such language. What is the matter with you, anyway?” + +But Macdonald could get no satisfaction out of him, and he said to his +nephew, “What is it, Ranald?” + +“It is the elders, Peter McRae and Straight Rory,” said Ranald, +sullenly. “They were saying that Mack was--that Mack was--” + +“Look here, boss,” interrupted Yankee, “I ain't well up in Scriptures, +and don't know much about these things, and them elders do, and they +say--some of them, anyway--are sending Mack to hell. Now, I guess you're +just as well up as they are in this business, and I want your solemn +opinion.” Yankee's face was pale, and his eyes were glaring like a wild +beast's. “What I say is,” he went on, “if a feller like Mack goes to +hell, then there ain't any. At least none to scare me. Where Mack is +will be good enough for me. What do you say, boss?” + +“Be quiet, man,” said Macdonald Bhain, gravely, but kindly. “Do you not +know you are near to blasphemy there? But I forgive you for the sore +heart you have; and about poor Mack yonder, no one will be able to say +for certain. I am a poor sinner, and the only claim I have to God's +mercy is the claim of a poor sinner. But I will dare to say that I have +hope in the Lord for myself, and I will say that I have a great deal +more for Mack.” + +“I guess that settles it all right, then,” said Yankee, drawing a big +breath of content and biting off a huge chew from his plug. “But what +the blank blank,” he went on, savagely, “do these fellers mean, stirring +up a man's feelin's like that? Seem to be not a bad sort, either,” he +added, meditatively. + +“Indeed, they are good men,” said Macdonald Bhain, “but they will not be +knowing Mack as I knew him. He never made any profession at all, but he +had the root of the matter in him.” + +Ranald felt as if he had wakened out of a terrible nightmare, and +followed his uncle into the house, with a happier heart than he had +known since he had received Yankee's letter. + +As they entered the room where the people were gathered, Donald Ross was +reading the hundred and third psalm, and the words of love and pity and +sympathy were dropping from his kindly lips like healing balm upon +the mourning hearts, and as they rose and fell upon the cadences of +“Coleshill,” the tune Straight Rory always chose for this psalm, the +healing sank down into all the sore places, and the peace that passeth +understanding began to take possession of them. + +Softly and sweetly they sang, the old women swaying with the music: + + + “For, as the heaven in its height + The earth surmounteth far, + So great to those that do him fear, + His tender mercies are.” + + +When they reached that verse, the mother took up the song and went +bravely on through the words of the following verse: + + + “As far as east is distant from + The west, so far hath he + From us removed, in his love, + All our iniquity.” + + +As she sang the last words her hand stole over to Bella, who sat beside +her quiet but tearless, looking far away. But when the next words rose +on the dear old minor strains, + + + “Such pity as a father hath + Unto his children dear,” + + +Bella's lip began to tremble, and two big tears ran down her pale +cheeks, and one could see that the sore pain in her heart had been a +little eased. + +After Donald Ross had finished his part of the “exercises,” he called +upon Kenny Crubach, who read briefly, and without comment, the exquisite +Scottish paraphrase of Luther's “little gospel”: + + + “Behold the amazing gift of love + The Father hath bestowed + On us, the sinful sons of men, + To call us sons of God--” + + +and so on to the end. + +All this time Peter McRae, the man of iron, had been sitting with +hardening face, his eyes burning in his head like glowing coals; and +when Donald Ross called upon him for “some words of exhortation and +comfort suitable to the occasion,” without haste and without hesitation +the old man rose, and trembling with excitement and emotion, he began +abruptly: “An evil spirit has been whispering to me, as to the prophet +of old, 'Speak that which is good,' but the Lord hath delivered me from +mine enemy, and my answer is, 'As the Lord liveth, what the Lord said +unto me, that will I speak'; and it is not easy.” + +As the old man paused, a visible terror fell upon all the company +assembled. The poor mother sat looking at him with the look of one +shrinking from a blow, while Bella Peter's face expressed only startled +fear. + +“And this is the word of the Lord this night to me,” the elder went on, +his voice losing its tremor and ringing out strong and clear: “'There is +none righteous, no, not one, for all have sinned and come short of the +glory of God. He that believeth shall be saved, and he that believeth +not shall be damned.' That is my message, and it is laid upon me as a +sore burden to hear the voice of the Lord in this solemn Providence, and +to warn one and all to flee from the wrath to come.” + +He paused long, while men could hear their hearts beat. Then, raising +his voice, he cried aloud: “Woe is me! Alas! it is a grievous burden. +The Lord pity us all, and give grace to this stricken family to kiss the +rod that smites.” + +At this word the old man's voice suddenly broke, and he sat down amid +an awful silence. No one could misunderstand his meaning. As the awful +horror of it gradually made its way into her mind, Mrs. Cameron threw up +her apron over her head and rocked in an agony of sobs, while Long John +sat with face white and rigid. Bella Peter, who had been gazing with +a fascinated stare upon the old elder's face while he was speaking his +terrible words, startled by Mrs. Cameron's sobs, suddenly looked wildly +about as if for help, and then, with a wild cry, fled toward the door. +But before she had reached it a strong hand caught her and a great +voice, deep and tender, commanded her: “Wait, lassie, sit down here a +meenute.” It was Macdonald Bhain. He stood a short space silent before +the people, then, in a voice low, deep, and thrilling, he began: “You +have been hearing the word of the Lord through the lips of his servant, +and I am not saying but it is the true word; but I believe that the Lord +will be speaking by different voices, and although I hev not the gift, +yet it is laid upon me to declare what is in my heart, and a sore heart +it is, and sore hearts hev we all. But I will be thinking of a fery +joyful thing, and that is that 'He came to call, not the righteous, but +sinners,' and that in His day many sinners came about Him and not one +would He turn away. And I will be remembering a fery great sinner who +cried out in his dying hour, 'Lord, remember me,' and not in vain. And +I'm thinking that the Lord will be making it easy for men to be saved, +and not hard, for He was that anxious about it that He gave up His own +life. But it is not given me to argue, only to tell you what I know +about the lad who is lying yonder silent. It will be three years since +he will be coming on the shanties with me, and from the day that he left +his mother's door, till he came back again, never once did he fail me in +his duty in the camp, or on the river, or in the town, where it was fery +easy to be forgetting. And the boys would be telling me of the times +that he would be keeping them out of those places. And it is not soon +that Dannie Ross will be forgetting who it was that took him back from +the camp when the disease was upon him and all were afraid to go near +him, and for seex weeks, by day and by night, watched by him and was not +thinking of himself at all. And sure am I that the lessons he would be +hearing from his mother and in the Bible class and in the church were +not lost on him whatever. For on the river, when the water was quiet +and I would be lying in the tent reading, it is often that Mack Cameron +would come in and listen to the Word. Aye, he was a good lad”--the great +voice shook a little--“he would not be thinking of himself, and at the +last, it was for another man he gave his life.” + +Macdonald stood for a few moments silent, his face working while he +struggled with himself. And then all at once he grew calm, and throwing +back his head, he looked through the door, and pointing into the +darkness, said: “And yonder is the lad, and with him a great company, +and his face is smiling, and, oh! it is a good land, a good land!” His +voice dropped to a whisper, and he sank into his seat. + +“God preserve us!” Kenny Crubach ejaculated; but old Donald Ross rose +and said, “Let us call upon the name of the Lord.” From his prayer it +was quite evident that for him at least all doubts and fears as to poor +Mack's state were removed. And even Peter McRae, subdued not so much by +any argument of Macdonald Bhain's as by his rapt vision, followed old +Donald's prayer with broken words of hope and thanksgiving; and it was +Peter who was early at the manse next morning to repeat to the minister +the things he had seen and heard the night before. And all next day, +where there had been the horror of unnamable fear, hope and peace +prevailed. + +The service was held under the trees, and while the mother and Bella +Peter sat softly weeping, there was no bitterness in their tears, for +the sermon breathed of the immortal hope, and the hearts of all were +comforted. There was no parade of grief, but after the sermon was over +the people filed quietly through the room to take the last look, and +then the family, with Bella and her father, were left alone a few +moments with their dead, while the Macdonald men kept guard at the door +till the time for “the lifting” would come. + +After Long John passed out, followed by the family, Macdonald Bhain +entered the room, closed the lid down upon the dead face, and gave the +command to bear him forth. + +So, with solemn dignity, as befitted them, they carried Big Mack from +his home to Farquhar McNaughton's light wagon. Along the concession +road, past the new church, through the swamp, and on to the old +churchyard the long procession slowly moved. There was no unseemly +haste, and by the time the last words were spoken, and the mound +decently rounded, the long shadows from the woods lay far across the +fields. Quietly the people went their ways homeward, back to their life +and work, but for many days they carried with them the memory of those +funeral scenes. And Ranald, though he came back from Big Mack's grave +troubled with questions that refused to be answered, still carried with +him a heart healed of the pain that had torn it these last days. He +believed it was well with his friend, but about many things he was +sorely perplexed, and it was this that brought him again to the +minister's wife. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +SEED-TIME + + +The day after Big Mack's funeral, Ranald was busy polishing Lizette's +glossy skin, before the stable door. This was his favorite remedy for +gloomy thoughts, and Ranald was full of gloomy thoughts to-day. His +father, though going about the house, was still weak, and worse than +all, was fretting in his weakness. He was oppressed with the terrible +fear that he would never again be able to do a man's work, and Ranald +knew from the dark look in his father's face that day and night the +desire for vengeance was gnawing at his heart, and Ranald also knew +something of the bitterness of this desire from the fierce longing that +lay deep in his own. Some day, when his fingers would be feeling for +LeNoir's throat, he would drink long and fully that sweet draught of +vengeance. He knew, too, that it added to the bitterness in his father's +heart to know that, in the spring's work that every warm day was +bringing nearer, he could take no part; and that was partly the cause of +Ranald's gloom. With the slow-moving oxen, he could hardly hope to get +the seed in in time, and they needed the crop this year if ever they +did, for last year's interest on the mortgage was still unpaid and the +next installment was nearly due. + +As he was putting the finishing touches upon Lisette's satin skin, +Yankee drove up to the yard with his Fox horse and buckboard. His box +was strapped on behind, and his blankets, rolled up in a bundle, filled +the seat beside him. + +“Mornin',” he called to Ranald. “Purty fine shine, that, and purty +fine mare, all round,” he continued, walking about Lisette and noting +admiringly her beautiful proportions. + +“Purty fine beast,” he said, in a low tone, running his hands down her +legs. “Guess you wouldn't care to part with that mare?” + +“No,” said Ranald, shortly; but as he spoke his heart sank within him. + +“Ought to fetch a fairly good figure,” continued Yankee, meditatively. +“Le's see. She's from La Roque's Lisette, ain't she? Ought to have some +speed.” He untied Lisette's halter. “Take her down in the yard yonder,” + he said to Ranald. + +Ranald threw the halter over Lisette's neck, sprang on her back, and +sent her down the lane at a good smart pace. At the bottom of the lane +he wheeled her, and riding low upon her neck, came back to the barn like +a whirlwind. + +“By jings!” exclaimed Yankee, surprised out of his lazy drawl; “she's +got it, you bet your last brick. See here, boy, there's money into that +animal. Thought I would like to have her for my buckboard, but I have +got an onfortunit conscience that won't let me do up any partner, so I +guess I can't make any offer.” + +Ranald stood beside Lisette, his arm thrown over her beautiful neck, and +his hand fondling her gently about the ears. “I will not sell her.” His +voice was low and fierce, and all the more so because he knew that +was just what he would do, and his heart was sick with the pain of the +thought. + +“I say,” said Yankee, suddenly, “cudn't bunk me in your loft, cud you! +Can't stand the town. Too close.” + +The confining limitations of the Twentieth, that metropolitan center of +some dozen buildings, including the sawmill and blacksmith shop, were +too trying for Yankee's nervous system. + +“Yes, indeed,” said Ranald, heartily. “We will be very glad to have you, +and it will be the very best thing for father.” + +“S'pose old Fox cud nibble round the brule,” continued Yankee, nodding +his head toward his sorrel horse. “Don't think I will do much drivin' +machine business. Rather slow.” Yankee spent the summer months selling +sewing-machines and new patent churns. + +“There's plenty of pasture,” said Ranald, “and Fox will soon make +friends with Lisette. She is very kind, whatever.” + +“Ain't ever hitched her, have you?” said Yankee. + +“No.” + +“Well, might hitch her up some day. Guess you wudn't hurt the +buckboard.” + +“Not likely,” said Ranald, looking at the old, ramshackle affair. + +“Used to drive some myself,” said Yankee. But to this idea Ranald did +not take kindly. + +Yankee stood for a few moments looking down the lane and over the +fields, and then, turning to Ranald, said, “Guess it's about ready to +begin plowin'. Got quite a lot of it to do, too, ain't you?” + +“Yes,” said Ranald, “I was thinking I would be beginning to-morrow.” + +“Purty slow business with the oxen. How would it do to hitch up Lisette +and old Fox yonder?” + +Then Ranald understood the purpose of Yankee's visit. + +“I would be very glad,” said Ranald, a great load lifting from his +heart. “I was afraid of the work with only the oxen.” And then, after +a pause, he added, “What did you mean about buying Lisette?” He was +anxious to have that point settled. + +“I said what I meant,” answered Yankee. “I thought perhaps you would +rather have the money than the colt; but I tell you what, I hain't got +money enough to put into that bird, and don't you talk selling to any +one till we see her gait hitched up. But I guess a little of the plow +won't hurt for a few weeks or so.” + +Next day Lisette left behind her forever the free, happy days of +colthood. At first Ranald was unwilling to trust her to any other hands +than his own, but when he saw how skillfully and gently Yankee handled +her, soothing her while he harnessed and hitched her up, he recognized +that she was safer with Yankee than with himself, and allowed him to +have the reins. + +They spent the morning driving up and down the lane with Lisette and +Fox hitched to the stone-boat. The colt had been kindly treated from +her earliest days, and consequently knew nothing of fear. She stepped +daintily beside old Fox, fretting and chafing in the harness, but +without thought of any violent objection. In the afternoon the colt +was put through her morning experience, with the variation that the +stone-boat was piled up with a fairly heavy load of earth and stone. And +about noon the day following, Lisette was turning her furrow with all +the steadiness of a horse twice her age. + +Before two weeks were over, Yankee, with the horses, and Ranald, with +the oxen, had finished the plowing, and in another ten days the fields +lay smooth and black, with the seed harrowed safely in, waiting for the +rain. + +Yankee's visit had been a godsend, not only to Ranald with his work, +but also to Macdonald Dubh. He would talk to the grim, silent man by the +hour, after the day's work was done, far into the night, till at length +he managed to draw from him the secret of his misery. + +“I will never be a man again,” he said, bitterly, to Yankee. “And there +is the farm all to pay for. I have put it off too long and now it is too +late, and it is all because of that--that--brute beast of a Frenchman.” + +“Mean cuss!” ejaculated Yankee. + +“And I am saying,” continued Macdonald Dubh, opening his heart still +further, “I am saying, it was no fair fight, whatever. I could whip him +with one hand. It was when I was pulling out Big Mack, poor fellow, from +under the heap, that he took me unawares.” + +“That's so,” assented Yankee. “Blamed lowdown trick.” + +“And, oh, I will be praying God to give me strength just to meet him! +I will ask no more. But,” he added, in bitter despair, “there is no use +for me to pray. Strength will come to me no more.” + +“Well,” said Yankee, brightly, “needn't worry about that varmint. He +ain't worth it, anyhow.” + +“Aye, he is not worth it, indeed, and that is the man who has brought me +to this.” That was the bitter part to Macdonald Dubh. A man he despised +had beaten him. + +“Now look here,” said Yankee, “course I ain't much good at this, but +if you will just quit worryin', I'll undertake to settle this little +account with Mr. LeNware.” + +“And what good would that be to me?” said Macdonald Dubh. “It is myself +that wants to meet him.” It was not so much the destruction of LeNoir +that he desired as that he should have the destroying of him. While +he cherished this feeling in his heart, it was not strange that the +minister in his visits found Black Hugh unapproachable, and concluded +that he was in a state of settled “hardness of heart.” His wife knew +better, but even she dared not approach Macdonald Dubh on that subject, +which had not been mentioned between them since the morning he had +opened his heart to her. The dark, haggard, gloomy face haunted her. She +longed to help him to peace. It was this that sent her to his brother, +Macdonald Bhain, to whom she told as much of the story as she thought +wise. + +“I am afraid he will never come to peace with God until he comes to +peace with this man,” she said, sadly, “and it is a bitter load that he +is carrying with him.” + +“I will talk with him,” answered Macdonald Bhain, and at the end of the +week he took his way across to his brother's home. + +He found him down in the brule, where he spent most of his days toiling +hard with his ax, in spite of the earnest entreaties of Ranald. He was +butting a big tree that the fire had laid prone, but the ax was falling +with the stroke of a weak man. + +As he finished his cut, his brother called to him, “That is no work for +you, Hugh; that is no work for a man who has been for six weeks in his +bed.” + +“It is work that must be done, however,” Black Hugh answered, bitterly. + +“Give me the ax,” said Macdonald Bhain. He mounted the tree as his +brother stepped down, and swung his ax deep into the wood with a mighty +blow. Then he remembered, and stopped. He would not add to his brother's +bitterness by an exhibition of his mighty, unshaken strength. He stuck +the ax into the log, and standing up, looked over the brule. “It is a +fine bit of ground, Hugh, and will raise a good crop of potatoes.” + +“Aye,” said Macdonald Dubh, sadly. “It has lain like this for three +years, and ought to have been cleared long ago, if I had been doing my +duty.” + +“Indeed, it will burn all the better for that,” said his brother, +cheerfully. “And as for the potatoes, there is a bit of my clearing that +Ranald might as well use.” + +But Black Hugh shook his head. “Ranald will use no man's clearing but +his own,” he said. “I am afraid he has got too much of his father in him +for his own good.” + +Macdonald Bhain glanced at his brother's face with a look of mingled +pity and admiration. “Ah,” he said, “Hugh, it's a proud man you are. +Macdonalds have plenty of that, whatever, and we come by it good enough. +Do you remember at home, when our father”--and he went off into a +reminiscence of their boyhood days, talking in gentle, kindly, loving +tones, till the shadow began to lift from his brother's face, and he, +too, began to talk. They spoke of their father, who had always been to +them a kind of hero; and of their mother, who had lived, and toiled, and +suffered for her family with uncomplaining patience. + +“She was a good woman,” said Macdonald Bhain, with a note of tenderness +in his voice. “And it was the hard load she had to bear, and I would to +God she were living now, that I might make up to her something of what +she suffered for me.” + +“And I am thankful to God,” said his brother, bitterly, “that she is +not here to see me now, for it would but add to the heavy burden I often +laid upon her.” + +“You will not be saying that,” said Macdonald Bhain. “But I am saying +that the Lord will be honored in you yet.” + +“Indeed, there is not much for me,” said his brother, gloomily, “but the +sick-bed and six feet or more of the damp earth.” + +“Hugh, man,” said his brother, hastily, “you must not be talking like +that. It is not the speech of a brave man. It is the speech of a man +that is beaten in his fight.” + +“Beaten!” echoed his brother, with a kind of cry. “You have said the +word. Beaten it is, and by a man that is no equal of mine. You know +that,” he said, appealing, almost anxiously, to his brother. “You know +that well. You know that I am brought to this”--he held up his gaunt, +bony hands--“by a man that is no equal of mine, and I will never be +able to look him in the face and say as much to him. But if the Almighty +would send him to hell, I would be following him there.” + +“Whisht, Hugh,” said Macdonald Bhain, in a voice of awe. “It is a +terrible word you have said, and may the Lord forgive you.” + +“Forgive me!” echoed his brother, in a kind of frenzy. “Indeed, he will +not be doing that. Did not the minister's wife tell me as much?” + +“No, no,” said his brother. “She would not be saying that.” + +“Indeed, that is her very word,” said Black Hugh. + +“She could not say that,” said his brother, “for it is not the Word of +God.” + +“Indeed,” replied Black Hugh, like a man who had thought it all out, +“she would be reading it out of the Book to me that unless I would be +forgiving, that--that--” he paused, not being able to find a word, but +went on--“then I need not hope to be forgiven my own self.” + +“Yes, yes. That is true,” assented Macdonald Bhain. “But, by the grace +of God, you will forgive, and you will be forgiven.” + +“Forgive!” cried Black Hugh, his face convulsed with passion. “Hear +me!”--he raised his hand to heaven.--“If I ever forgive--” + +But his brother caught his arm and drew it down swiftly, saying: +“Whisht, man. Don't tempt the Almighty.” Then he added, “You would not +be shutting yourself out from the presence of the Lord and from the +presence of those he has taken to himself?” + +His brother stood silent a few moments, his hard, dark face swept with a +storm of emotions. Then he said, brokenly: “It is not for me, I doubt.” + +But his brother caught him by the arm and said to him, “Hear me, Hugh. +It is for you.” + +They walked on in silence till they were near the house. Ranald and +Yankee were driving their teams into the yard. + +“That is a fine lad,” said Macdonald Bhain, pointing to Ranald. + +“Aye,” said his brother; “it is a pity he has not a better chance. He +is great for his books, but he has no chance whatever, and he will be a +bowed man before he has cleared this farm and paid the debt on it.” + +“Never you fear,” said his brother. “Ranald will do well. But, man, what +a size he is!” + +“He is that,” said his father, proudly. “He is as big as his father, and +I doubt some day he may be as good a man as his uncle.” + +“God grant he may be a better!” said Macdonald Bhain, reverently. + +“If he be as good,” said his brother, kindly, “I will be content; but I +will not be here to see it.” + +“Whisht, man,” said his brother, hastily. “You are not to speak such +things, nor have them in your mind.” + +“Ah,” said Macdonald Dubh, sadly, “my day is not far off, and that I +know right well.” + +Macdonald Bhain flung his arm hastily round his brother's shoulder. “Do +not speak like that, Hugh,” he said, his voice breaking suddenly. And +then he drew away his arm as if ashamed of his emotion, and said, with +kindly dignity, “Please God, you will see many days yet, and see your +boy come to honor among men.” + +But Black Hugh only shook his head in silence. + +Before they came to the door, Macdonald Bhain said, with seeming +indifference, “You have not been to church since you got up, Hugh. You +will be going to-morrow, if it is a fine day?” + +“It is too long a walk, I doubt,” answered his brother. + +“That it is, but Yankee will drive you in his buckboard,” said Macdonald +Bhain. + +“In the buckboard?” said Macdonald Dubh. “And, indeed, I was never in a +buckboard in my life.” + +“It is not too late to begin to-morrow,” said his brother, “and it will +do you good.” + +“I doubt that,” said Black Hugh, gloomily. “The church will not be doing +me much good any more.” + +“Do not say such a thing; and Yankee will drive you in his buckboard +to-morrow.” + +His brother did not promise, but next day the congregation received a +shock of surprise to see Macdonald Dubh walk down the aisle to his place +in the church. And through all the days of the spring and summer his +place was never empty; and though the shadow never lifted from his face, +the minister's wife felt comforted about him, and waited for the day of +his deliverance. + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE LOGGING BEE + + +Macdonald Bhain's visit to his brother was fruitful in another way. +After taking counsel with Yankee and Kirsty, he resolved that he would +speak to his neighbors and make a “bee,” to attack the brule. He knew +better than to consult either his brother or his nephew, feeling sure +that their Highland pride would forbid accepting any such favor, and all +the more because it seemed to be needed. But without their leave the bee +was arranged, and in the beginning of the following week the house of +Macdonald Dubh was thrown into a state of unparalleled confusion, and +Kirsty went about in a state of dishevelment that gave token that +the daily struggle with dirt had reached the acute stage. From top +to bottom, inside and outside, everything that could be scrubbed was +scrubbed, and then she settled about her baking, but with all caution, +lest she should excite her brother's or her nephew's suspicion. It was +a good thing that little baking was required, for the teams that brought +the men with their axes and logging-chains for the day's work at the +brule brought also their sisters and mothers with baskets of provisions. +A logging bee without the sisters and mothers with their baskets would +hardly be an unmixed blessing. + +The first man to arrive with his team was Peter McGregor's Angus, and +with him came his sister Bella. He was shortly afterward followed +by other teams in rapid succession--the Rosses, the McKerachers, the +Camerons, both Don and Murdie, the Rory McCuaigs, the McRaes, two or +three families of them, the Frasers, and others--till some fifteen teams +and forty men, and boys, who thought themselves quite men, lined up in +front of the brule. + +The bee was a great affair, for Macdonald Bhain was held in high regard +by the people; and besides this, the misfortune that had befallen his +brother, and the circumstances under which it had overtaken him, had +aroused in the community a very deep sympathy for him, and people were +glad of the opportunity to manifest this sympathy. And more than all, +a logging bee was an event that always promised more or less excitement +and social festivity. + +Yankee was “boss” for the day. This position would naturally have fallen +to Macdonald Bhain, but at his brother's bee, Macdonald Bhain shrank +from taking the leading place. + +The men with the axes went first, chopping up the half-burned logs into +lengths suitable for the burning-piles, clearing away the brushwood, +and cutting through the big roots of the fire-eaten stumps so that +they might more easily be pulled. Then followed the teams with their +logging-chains, hauling the logs to the piles, jerking out and drawing +off the stumps whose huge roots stuck up high into the air, and drawing +great heaps of brush-wood to aid in reducing the heavy logs to ashes. +At each log-pile stood a man with a hand-spike to help the driver to get +the log into position, a work requiring strength and skill, and above +all, a knowledge of the ways of logs which comes only by experience. It +was at this work that Macdonald Bhain shone. With his mighty strength he +could hold steady one end of a log until the team could haul the other +into its place. + +The stump-pulling was always attended with more or less interest and +excitement. Stumps, as well as logs, have their ways, and it takes a +long experience to understand the ways of stumps. + +In stump-hauling, young Aleck McGregor was an expert. He rarely failed +to detect the weak side of a stump. He knew his team, and what was +of far greater importance, his team knew him. They were partly of +French-Canadian stock, not as large as Farquhar McNaughton's big, fat +blacks, but “as full of spirit as a bottle of whisky,” as Aleck himself +would say. Their first tentative pulls at the stump were taken with +caution, until their driver and themselves had taken the full measure of +the strength of the enemy. But when once Aleck had made up his mind that +victory was possible, and had given them the call for the final effort, +then his team put their bodies and souls into the pull, and never drew +back till something came. Their driver was accustomed to boast that +never yet had they failed to honor his call. + +Farquhar's handsome blacks, on the other hand, were never handled after +this fashion. They were slow and sure and steady, like their driver. +Their great weight gave them a mighty advantage in a pull, but never, +in all the solemn course of their existence, had they thrown themselves +into any doubtful trial of strength. In a slow, steady haul they were +to be relied upon; but they never could be got to jerk, and a jerk is +an important feature in stump-hauling tactics. To-day, however, a new +experience was awaiting them. Farquhar was an old man and slow, and +Yankee, while he was unwilling to hurry him, was equally unwilling that +his team should not do a full day's work. He persuaded Farquhar that his +presence was necessary at one of the piles, not with the hand-spike, +but simply to superintend the arranging of the mass for burning. “For it +ain't every man,” Yankee declared, “could build a pile to burn.” As for +his team, Yankee persuaded the old man that Ranald was unequaled in +handling horses; that last winter no driver in the camp was up to him. +Reluctantly Farquhar handed his team over to Ranald, and stood for some +time watching the result of the new combination. + +Ranald was a born horseman. He loved horses and understood them. Slowly +he moved the blacks at their work, knowing that horses are sensitive to +a new hand and voice, and that he must adapt himself to their ways, if +he would bring them at last to his. Before long Farquhar was contented +to go off to his pile, satisfied that his team was in good hands, and +not sorry to be relieved of the necessity of hurrying his pace through +the long, hot day, as would have been necessary in order to keep up with +the other drivers. + +For each team a strip of the brule was marked out to clear after the +axes. The logs, brush, and stumps had to be removed and dragged to the +burning-piles. Aleck, with his active, invincible French-Canadians, +Ranald with Farquhar's big, sleek blacks, and Don with his father's +team, worked side by side. A contest was inevitable, and before an hour +had passed Don and Aleck, while making a great show of deliberation, +were striving for the first place, with Aleck easily leading. Like a +piece of machinery, Aleck and his team worked together. Quickly and +neatly both driver and horses moved about their work with perfect +understanding of each other. With hardly a touch of the lines, but +almost entirely by word of command, Aleck guided his team. And when he +took up the whiffletrees to swing them around to a log or stump, +his horses wheeled at once into place. It was beautiful to see them, +wheeling, backing, hauling, pulling, without loss of time or temper. + +With Don and his team it was all hard work. His horses were willing and +quick enough, but they were ill-trained and needed constant tugging at +the lines. In vain Don shouted and cracked his whip, hurrying his team +to his pile and back again; the horses only grew more and more awkward, +while they foamed and fretted and tired themselves out. + +Behind came Ranald, still humoring his slow-going team with easy hand +and quiet voice. But while he refrained from hurrying his horses, he +himself worked hard, and by his good judgment and skill with the chain, +and in skidding the logs into his pile, in which his training in the +shanty had made him more than a match for any one in the field, many +minutes were saved. + +When the cowbell sounded for dinner, Aleck's team stepped off for the +barn, wet, but fresh and frisky as ever, and in perfect heart. Don's +horses appeared fretted and jaded, while Ranald brought in his blacks +with their glossy skins white with foam where the harness had chafed, +but unfretted, and apparently as ready for work as when they began. + +“You have spoiled the shine of your team,” said Aleck, looking over +Ranald's horses as he brought them up to the trough. “Better turn them +out for the afternoon. They can't stand much more of that pace.” + +Aleck was evidently trying to be good-natured, but he could not hide the +sneer in his tone. They had neither of them forgotten the incident at +the church door, and both felt that it would not be closed until more +had been said about it. But to-day, Ranald was in the place of host, +and it behooved him to be courteous, and Aleck was in good humor with +himself, for his team had easily led the field; and besides, he was +engaged in a kind and neighborly undertaking, and he was too much of +a man to spoil it by any private grudge. He would have to wait for his +settlement with Ranald. + +During the hour and a half allowed for dinner, Ranald took his horses to +the well, washed off their legs, removed their harness, and led them to +a cool spot behind the barn, and there, while they munched their oats, +he gave them a good hard rub-down, so that when he brought them into the +field again, his team looked as glossy and felt as fresh as before they +began the day's work. + +As Ranald appeared on the field with his glossy blacks, Aleck glanced at +the horses, and began to feel that, in the contest for first place, it +was Ranald he had to fear, with his cool, steady team, rather than +Don. Not that any suspicion crossed his mind that Farquhar McNaughton's +sleek, slow-going horses could ever hold their own with his, but he made +up his mind that Ranald, at least, was worth watching. + +“Bring up your gentry,” he called to Ranald, “if you are not too fine +for common folks. Man, that team of yours,” he continued, “should never +be put to work like this. Their feet should never be off pavement.” + +“Never you mind,” said Ranald, quietly. “I am coming after you, and +perhaps before night the blacks may show you their heels yet.” + +“There's lots of room,” said Aleck, scornfully, and they both set to +work with all the skill and strength that lay in themselves and in their +teams. + +For the first hour or two Ranald was contented to follow, letting +his team take their way, but saving every moment he could by his own +efforts. So that, without fretting his horses in the least, or without +moving them perceptibly out of their ordinary gait, he found himself a +little nearer to Aleck than he had been at noon; but the heavy lifting +and quick work began to tell upon him. His horses, he knew, would not +stand very much hurrying. They were too fat for any extra exertion in +such heat, and so Ranald was about to resign himself to defeat, when he +observed that in the western sky clouds were coming up. At the same time +a cool breeze began to blow, and he took fresh heart. If he could hurry +his team a little more, he might catch Aleck yet; so he held his own a +little longer, preserving the same steady pace, until the clouds from +the west had covered all the sky. Then gradually he began to quicken his +horses' movements and to put them on heavier loads. Wherever opportunity +offered, instead of a single log, or at most two, he would take three or +four for his load; and in ways known only to horsemen, he began to stir +up the spirit of his team, and to make them feel something of his own +excitement. + +To such good purpose did he plan, and so nobly did his team respond to +his quiet but persistent pressure, that, ere Aleck was aware, Ranald was +up on his flank; and then they each knew that until the supper-bell +rang he would have to use to the best advantage every moment of time and +every ounce of strength in himself and his team if he was to win first +place. + +Somehow the report of the contest went over the field, till at length it +reached the ears of Farquhar. At once the old man, seized with anxiety +for his team, and moved by the fear of what Kirsty might say if the +news ever reached her ears, set off across the brule to remonstrate with +Ranald, and if necessary, rescue his team from peril. + +But Don saw him coming, and knowing that every moment was precious, and +dreading lest the old man would snatch from Ranald the victory which +seemed to be at least possible for him, he arrested Farquhar with a call +for assistance with a big log, and then engaged him in conversation upon +the merits of his splendid team. + +“And look,” cried he, admiringly, “how Ranald is handling them! Did you +ever see the likes of that?” + +The old man stood watching for a few moments, doubtfully enough, while +Don continued pouring forth the praises of his horses, and the latter, +as he noticed Farquhar's eyes glisten with pride, ventured to hint that +before the day was done “he would make Aleck McRae and his team look +sick. And without a hurt to the blacks, too,” he put in, diplomatically, +“for Ranald is not the man to hurt a team.” And as Farquhar stood and +watched Ranald at his work, and noted with surprise how briskly and +cleverly the blacks swung into their places, and detected also with +his experienced eye that Aleck was beginning to show signs of hurry, he +entered into the spirit of the contest, and determined to allow his team +to win victory for themselves and their driver if they could. + +The ax men had finished their “stent.” It wanted still an hour of +supper-time, and surely if slowly, Ranald was making toward first place. +The other teams were left far behind with their work, and the whole +field began to center attention upon the two that were now confessedly +engaged in desperate conflict at the front. One by one the ax men drew +toward the end of the field, where Ranald and Aleck were fighting out +their fight, all pretense of deliberation on the part of the drivers +having by this time been dropped. They no longer walked as they hitched +their chains about the logs or stumps, but sprang with eager haste to +their work. One by one the other teamsters abandoned their teams and +moved across the field to join the crowd already gathered about the +contestants. Among them came Macdonald Bhain, who had been working at +the farthest corner of the brule. As soon as he arrived upon the scene, +and understood what was going on, he cried to Ranald: “That will do now, +Ranald; it will be time to quit.” + +Ranald was about to stop, and indeed had checked his horses, when Aleck, +whose blood was up, called out tauntingly, “Aye, it would be better for +him and his horses to stop. They need it bad enough.” + +This was too much for even Farquhar's sluggish blood. “Let them go, +Ranald!” he cried. “Let them go, man! Never you fear for the horses, if +you take down the spunk o' yon crowing cock.” + +It was just what Ranald needed to spur him on--a taunt from his foe and +leave from Farquhar to push his team. + +Before each lay a fallen tree cut into lengths and two or three +half-burned stumps. Ranald's tree was much the bigger. A single length +would have been an ordinary load for the blacks, but their driver felt +that their strength and spirit were both equal to much more than this. +He determined to clear away the whole tree at a single load. As soon as +he heard Farquhar's voice, he seized hold of the whiffletrees, struck +his team a sharp blow with the lines--their first blow that day--swung +them round to the top of the tree, ran the chain through its swivel, +hooked an end round each of the top lengths, swung them in toward the +butt, unhooked his chain, gathered all three lengths into a single +load, faced his horses toward the pile, and shouted at them. The blacks, +unused to this sort of treatment, were prancing with excitement, and +when the word came they threw themselves into their collars with a +fierceness that nothing could check, and amid the admiring shouts of the +crowd, tore the logs through the black soil and landed them safely at +the pile. It was the work of only a few minutes to unhitch the chain, +haul the logs, one by one, into place, and dash back with his team at +the gallop for the stumps, while Aleck had still another load of logs to +draw. + +Ranald's first stump came out with little trouble, and was borne at full +speed to the pile. The second stump gave him more difficulty, and before +it would yield he had to sever two or three of its thickest roots. + +Together the teams swung round to their last stump. The excitement in +the crowd was intense. Aleck's team was moving swiftly and with the +steadiness of clockwork. The blacks were frantic with excitement and +hard to control. Ranald's last stump was a pine of medium size, whose +roots were partly burned away. It looked like an easy victim. Aleck's +was an ugly-looking little elm. + +Ranald thought he would try his first pull without the use of the ax. +Quickly he backed up his team to the stump, passed the chain round a +root on the far side, drew the big hook far up the chain, hitched it so +as to give the shortest possible draught, threw the chain over the top +of the stump to give it purchase, picked up his lines, and called to +his team. With a rush the blacks went at it. The chain slipped up on +the root, tightened, bit into the wood, and then the blacks flung back. +Ranald swung them round the point and tried them again, but still the +stump refused to budge. + +All this time he could hear Aleck chopping furiously at his elm-roots, +and he knew that unless he had his stump out before his rival had his +chain hitched for the pull the victory was lost. + +For a moment or two he hesitated, looking round for the ax. + +“Try them again, Ranald,” cried Farquhar. “Haw them a bit.” + +Once more Ranald picked up the lines, swung his horses round to the +left, held them steady a moment or two, and then with a yell sent them +at their pull. Magnificently the blacks responded, furiously tearing up +the ground with their feet. A moment or two they hung straining on their +chain, refusing to come back, when slowly the stump began to move. + +“You have got it,” cried Farquhar. “Gee them a point or two.” + +But already Ranald had seen that this was necessary, and once more +backed his team to readjust the chain which had slipped off the top. As +he fastened the hook he heard a sharp “Back!” behind him, and he knew +that the next moment Aleck's team would be away with their load. With a +yell he sprang at his lines, lashed the blacks over the back, and called +to them once more. Again his team responded, and with a mighty heave, +the stump came slowly out, carrying with it what looked like half a ton +of earth. But even as it heaved, he heard Aleck's call and the answering +crash, and before he could get his team a-going, the French-Canadians +were off for their pile at a gallop, with the lines flying in the air +behind them. A moment later he followed, the blacks hauling their stump +at a run. + +Together he and Aleck reached the pile. It only remained now to unhook +the chain. In vain he tugged and hauled. The chain was buried deep +beneath the stump and refused to move, and before he could swing his +team about and turn the stump over, he heard Aleck's shout of victory. + +But as he dropped his chain and was leisurely backing his horses, he +heard old Farquhar cry, “Hurry, man! Hurry, for the life of you!” + +Without waiting to inquire the reason, Ranald wheeled his team, gave the +stump a half turn, released his chain, and drove off from the pile, to +find Aleck still busy hooking his chain to his whiffletree. + +Aleck had had the same difficulty in freeing his chain as Ranald, but +instead of trying to detach it from the stump, he had unhooked the other +end, and then, with a mighty backward jerk, had snatched it from the +stump. But before he could attach it to his place on the whiffletree +again, Ranald stood ready for work. + +“A win, lad! A win!” cried old Farquhar, more excited than he had been +for years. + +“It is no win,” said Aleck, hotly. + +“No, no, lads,” said Macdonald Bhain, before Farquhar could reply. “It +is as even a match as could well be. It is fine teams you both have got, +and you have handled them well.” + +But all the same, Ranald's friends were wildly enthusiastic over what +they called his victory, and Don could hardly keep his hands off him, +for very joy. + +Aleck, on the other hand, while claiming the victory because his team +was at the pile first, was not so sure of it but that he was ready +to fight with any one venturing to dispute his claim. But the men all +laughed at him and his rage, until he found it wiser to be good-humored +about it. + +“Yon lad will be making as good a man as yourself,” said Farquhar, +enthusiastically, to Macdonald Bhain, as Ranald drove his team to the +stable. + +“Aye, and a better, pray God,” said Macdonald Bhain, fervently, looking +after Ranald with loving eyes. There was no child in his home, and his +brother's son was as his own. + +Meanwhile Don had hurried on, leaving his team with Murdie that he +might sing Ranald's praises to “the girls,” with whom Ranald was highly +popular, although he avoided them, or perhaps because he did so, the +ways of women being past understanding. + +To Mrs. Murray and Maimie, who with the minister and Hughie, had come +over to the supper, he went first with his tale. Graphically he depicted +the struggle from its beginning to the last dramatic rush to the pile, +dilating upon Ranald's skill and pluck, and upon the wonderful and +hitherto unknown virtues of Farquhar's shiny blacks. + +“You ought to see them!” cried Don. “You bet they never moved in their +lives the way they did today. Tied him!” he continued. “Tied him! Beat +him, I say, but Macdonald Bhain says 'Tied him'--Aleck McRae, who thinks +himself so mighty smart with his team.” + +Don forgot in his excitement that the McRaes and their friends were +there in numbers. + +“So he is,” cried Annie Ross, one of Aleck's admirers. “There is not a +man in the Indian Lands that can beat Aleck and his team.” + +“Well,” exulted Don, “a boy came pretty near it to-day.” + +But Annie only stuck out her lip at him in the inimitable female manner, +and ran off to add to the mischief that Don had already made between +Ranald and his rival. + +But now the day's work was over, and the hour for the day's event had +come, for supper was the great event to which all things moved at bees. +The long tables stood under the maple trees, spread with the richest, +rarest, deadliest dainties known to the housewives and maidens of the +countryside. About the tables stood in groups the white-aproned girls, +tucked and frilled, curled and ribboned into all degrees of bewitching +loveliness. The men hurried away with their teams, and then gave +themselves to the serious duty of getting ready for supper, using many +pails of water in their efforts to remove the black from the burnt wood +of the brule. + +At length the women lost all patience with them, and sent Annie +Ross, with two or three companions, to call them to supper. With arms +intertwined, and with much chattering and giggling, the girls made +their way to the group of men, some of whom were engaged in putting the +finishing touches to their toilet. + +“Supper is ready,” cried Annie, “and long past ready. You need not be +trying to fix yourselves up so fine. You are just as bad as any girls. +Oh!” Her speech ended in a shriek, which was echoed by the others, for +Aleck McRae rushed at them, stretching out his black hands toward them. +But they were too quick for him, and fled for protection to the safe +precincts of the tables. + +At length, when the last of the men had made themselves, as they +thought, presentable, they began to make their approach to the tables, +slowly and shyly for the most part, each waiting for the other. Aleck +McRae, however, knew little of shyness, but walked past the different +groups of girls, throwing on either hand a smile, a wink, or a word, as +he might find suitable. + +Suddenly he came upon the group where the minister's wife and her niece +were standing. Here, for the moment, his ease forsook him, but Mrs. +Murray came to meet him with outstretched hand. + +“So you still retain your laurels?” she said, with a frank smile. “I +hear it was a great battle.” + +Aleck shook hands with her rather awkwardly. He was not on the easiest +terms with the minister and his wife. He belonged distinctly to the +careless set, and rather enjoyed the distinction. + +“Oh, it was not much,” he said; “the teams were well matched.” + +“Oh, I should like to have been there. You should have told us +beforehand.” + +“Oh, it was more than I expected myself,” he said. “I didn't think it +was in Farquhar's team.” + +He could not bring himself to give any credit to Ranald, and though Mrs. +Murray saw this, she refused to notice it. She was none the less anxious +to win Aleck's confidence, because she was Ranald's friend. + +“Do you know my niece?” she said, turning to Maimie. + +Aleck looked into Maimie's face with such open admiration that she felt +the blush come up in her cheeks. + +“Indeed, she is worth knowing, but I don't think she will care to take +such a hand as that,” he said, stretching out a hand still grimy in +spite of much washing. But Maimie had learned something since coming to +her aunt, and she no longer judged men by the fit of their clothes, or +the color of their skin, or the length of their hair; and indeed, as she +looked at Aleck, with his close-buttoned smock, and overalls with the +legs tucked neatly into the tops of his boots, she thought he was the +trimmest figure she had seen since coming to the country. She took +Aleck's hand and shook it warmly, the full admiration in his handsome +black eyes setting her blood tingling with that love of conquest that +lies in every woman's heart. So she flung out her flag of war, and +smiled back at him her sweetest. + +“You have a fine team, I hear,” she said, as her aunt moved away to +greet some of the other men, who were evidently waiting to get a word +with her. + +“That I have, you better believe,” replied Aleck, proudly. + +“It was very clever of Ranald to come so near beating you, wasn't it?” + she said, innocently. “He must be a splendid driver.” + +“He drives pretty well,” admitted Aleck. “He did nothing else all last +winter in the shanties.” + +“He is so young, too,” went on Maimie. “Just a boy, isn't he?” + +Aleck was not sure how to take this. “He does not think so,” he +answered, shortly. “He thinks he is no end of a man, but he will have to +learn something before he is much older.” + +“But he can drive, you say,” continued Maimie, wickedly keeping her +finger on the sore spot. + +“Oh, pshaw!” replied Aleck, boldly. “You think a lot of him, don't you? +And I guess you are a pair.” + +Maimie tossed her head at this. “We are very good friends, of course,” + she said, lightly. “He is a very nice boy, and we are all fond of him; +but he is just a boy; he is Hughie's great friend.” + +“A boy, is he?” laughed Aleck. “That may be, but he is very fond of +you, whatever, and indeed, I don't wonder at that. Anybody would be,” he +added, boldly. + +“You don't know a bit about it,” said Maimie, with cheeks glowing. + +“About what?” + +“About Ranald and--and--what you said.” + +“What I said? About being fond of you? Indeed, I know all about that. +The boys are all broke up, not to speak of myself.” + +This was going a little too fast for Maimie. She knew nothing, as yet, +of the freedom of country banter. She was new to the warfare, but she +was not going to lower her flag or retreat. She changed the subject. +“Your team must have been very tired.” + +“Tired!” exclaimed Aleck, “not a bit. They will go home like birds. Come +along with me, and you will see.” + +Maimie gasped. “I--” she hesitated, glanced past Aleck, blushed, and +stammered. + +Aleck turned about quickly and saw Ranald staring at Maimie. “Oh,” he +said, banteringly, “I see. You would not be allowed.” + +“Allowed!” echoed Maimie. “And why not, pray? Who will hinder me?” + +But Aleck only shrugged his shoulders and looked at Ranald, who passed +on to his place at the table, black as a thunder-cloud. Maimie was +indignant at him. What right had he to stare and look so savage? She +would just show him. So she turned once more to Aleck, and with a gay +laugh, cried, “Some day I will accept your invitation, so just make +ready.” + +“Any day, or every day, and the more days the better,” cried Aleck, as +he sat down at the table, where all had now taken their places. + +The supper was a great success. With much laughter and chaffing, the +girls flitted from place to place, pouring cups of tea and passing the +various dishes, urging the men to eat, till, as Don said, they were +“full to the neck.” + +When all had finished, Mr. Murray, who sat at the head of the table, +rose in his place and said: “Gentlemen, before we rise from this table, +which has been spread so bountifully for us, I wish to return thanks on +behalf of Mr. Macdonald to the neighbors and friends who have gathered +to-day to assist in this work. Mr. Macdonald asked me to say that he is +all the more surprised at this kindness, in that he feels himself to be +so unworthy of it. I promised to speak this word for him, but I do not +agree with the sentiment. Mr. Macdonald is a man whom we all love, and +in whose misfortune we deeply sympathize, and I only hope that this +Providence may be greatly blessed to him, and that we will all come to +know him better, and to see God's hand in his misfortune.” + +The minister then, after some further remarks expressive of the good +will of the neighbors for Mr. Macdonald, and in appreciation of the kind +spirit that prompted the bee, returned thanks, and the supper was over. + +As the men were leaving the table, Aleck watched his opportunity and +called to Maimie, when he was sure Ranald could hear, “Well, when will +you be ready for that drive?” + +And Maimie, who was more indignant at Ranald than ever because he had +ignored all her advances at supper, and had received her congratulations +upon his victory with nothing more than a grunt, answered Aleck +brightly. “Oh, any day that you happen to remember.” + +“Remember!” cried Aleck; “then that will be every day until our ride +comes off.” + +A few minutes later, as Ranald was hitching up Farquhar's team, Aleck +passed by, and in great good humor with himself, chaffingly called out +to Ranald in the presence of a number of the men, “That's a fine girl +you've got, Ranald. But you better keep your eye on her.” + +Ranald made no reply. He was fast losing command of himself. + +“Pretty skittish to handle, isn't she?” continued Aleck. + +“What y're talkin' 'bout? That Lisette mare?” said Yankee, walking round +to Ranald's side. “Purty slick beast, that. Guess there ain't anythin' +in this country will make her take dust.” + +Then in a low voice he said to Ranald, hurriedly, “Don't you mind him; +don't you mind him. You can't touch him to-day, on your own place. Let +me handle him.” + +“No,” said Aleck. “We were talking about another colt of Ranald's.” + +“What's that?” said Yankee, pretending not to hear. “Yes, you bet,” he +continued. “Ranald can handle her all right. He knows something about +horses, as I guess you have found out, perhaps, by this time. Never saw +anything so purty. Didn't know your team had got that move in them, Mr. +McNaughton,” Yankee went on to Farquhar, who had just come up. + +“Indeed, they are none the worse of it,” said Farquhar, rubbing his +hands over the sleek sides of his horses. + +“Worse!” cried Yankee. “They're worth a hundred dollars more from this +day on.” + +“I don't know that. The hundred dollars ought to go upon the driver,” + said Farquhar, putting his hand kindly upon Ranald's shoulder. + +But this Ranald warmly repudiated. “They are a great team,” he said to +Farquhar. “And they could do better than they did to-day if they were +better handled.' + +“Indeed, it would be difficult to get that,” said Farquhar, “for, in +my opinion, there is not a man in the country that could handle them as +well.” + +This was too much for Aleck, who, having by this time got his horses +hitched, mounted his wagon seat and came round to the door at a gallop. + +“Saved you that time, my boy,” said Yankee to Ranald. “You would have +made a fool of yourself in about two minutes more, I guess.” + +But Ranald was still too wrathful to be grateful for Yankee's help. “I +will be even with him someday,” he said, between his teeth. + +“I guess you will have to learn two or three things first,” said Yankee, +slowly. + +“What things?” + +“Well, how to use your head, first place, and then how to use your +hands. He is too heavy for you. He would crumple you up in a couple of +minutes.” + +“Let him, then,” said Ranald, recklessly. + +“Rather onpleasant. Better wait awhile till you learn what I told you.” + +“Yankee,” said Ranald, after a pause, “will you show me?” + +“Why, sartin sure,” said Yankee, cheerfully. “You have got to lick him +some day, or he won't be happy; and by jings! it will be worth seein', +too.” + +By this time Farquhar had come back from saying good by to Macdonald +Dubh and Mr. and Mrs. Murray, who were remaining till the last. + +“You will be a man yet,” said Farquhar, shaking Ranald's hand. “You +have got the patience and the endurance.” These were great virtues in +Farquhar's opinion. + +“Not much patience, I am afraid,” said Ranald. “But I am glad you +trusted me with your team.” + +“And any day you want them you can have them,” said Farquhar, his +reckless mood leading him to forget Kirsty for the moment. + +“Thank you, sir,” said Ranald, wondering what Kirsty would look like +should he ever venture to claim Farquhar's offer. + +One by one the teams drove away with their loads, till only the minister +and his party were left. Away under the trees Mr. Murray was standing, +earnestly talking to Macdonald Dubh. He had found the opportunity he had +long waited for and was making the most of it. Mrs. Murray was busy with +Kirsty, and Maimie and Hughie came toward the stable where Yankee and +Ranald were still standing. As soon as Ranald saw them approaching he +said to Yankee, abruptly, “I am going to get the minister's horse,” and +disappeared into the stable. Nor did he come forth again till he heard +his father calling to him: “What is keeping you, Ranald? The minister is +waiting for his horse.” + +“So you won a great victory, Ranald, I hear,” said the minister, as +Ranald brought Black to the door. + +“It was a tie,” said Ranald. + +“Oh, Ranald!” cried Hughie, “you beat him. Everybody says so. You had +your chain hitched up and everything before Aleck.” + +“I hear it was a great exhibition, not only of skill, but of endurance +and patience, Ranald,” said the minister. “And these are noble virtues. +It is a great thing to be able to endure.” + +But Ranald made no reply, busying himself with Black's bridle. Mrs. +Murray noticed his gloom and guessed its cause. + +“We will see you at the Bible class, Ranald,” she said, kindly, but +still Ranald remained silent. + +“Can you not speak, man?” said his father. “Do you not hear the +minister's wife talking to you?” + +“Yes,” said Ranald, “I will be there.” + +“We will be glad to see you,” said Mrs. Murray, offering him her hand. +“And you might come in with Hughie for a few minutes afterward,” she +continued, kindly, for she noted the misery in his face. + +“And we will be glad to see you, too, Mr. Macdonald, if it would not be +too much for you, and if you do not scorn a woman's teaching.” + +“Indeed, I would be proud,” said Macdonald Dubh, courteously, “as far as +that is concerned, for I hear there are better men than me attending.” + +“I am sure Mrs. Murray will be glad to see you, Mr. Macdonald,” said the +minister. + +“I will be thinking of it,” said Macdonald Dubh, cautiously. “And you +are both very kind, whatever,” he said, losing for a time his habitual +gloom. + +“Well, then, I will look for you both,” said Mrs. Murray, as they were +about to drive off, “so do not disappoint me.” + +“Good by, Ranald,” said Maimie, offering Ranald her hand. + +“Good by,” said Ranald, holding her hand for a moment and looking hard +into her eyes, “and I hope you will enjoy your ride, whatever.” + +Then Maimie understood Ranald's savage manner, and as she thought it +over she smiled to herself. She was taking her first sips of that cup, +to woman's lips the sweetest, and she found it not unpleasant. She had +succeeded in making one man happy and another miserable. But it was when +she said to herself, “Poor Ranald!” that she smiled most sweetly. + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +SHE WILL NOT FORGET + + +If Mrs. Murray was not surprised to see Macdonald Dubh and Yankee walk +in on Sabbath evening and sit down in the back seat, her class were. +Indeed the appearance of these two men at the class was considered an +event so extraordinary as to give a decided shock to those who regularly +attended, and their presence lent to the meeting an unusual interest, +and an undertone of excitement. To see Macdonald Dubh, whose attendance +at the regular Sabbath services was something unusual, present at a +religious meeting which no one would consider it a duty to attend, was +enough in itself to excite surprise, but when Yankee came in and sat +beside him, the surprise was considerably intensified. For Yankee was +considered to be quite outside the pale, and indeed, in a way, incapable +of religious impression. No one expected Yankee to be religious. He was +not a Presbyterian, knew nothing of the Shorter Catechism, not to speak +of the Confession of Faith, and consequently was woefully ignorant of +the elements of Christian knowledge that were deemed necessary to any +true religious experience. + +It was rumored that upon Yankee's first appearance in the country, some +few years before, he had, in an unguarded moment, acknowledged that +his people had belonged to the Methodists, and that he himself “leaned +toward” that peculiar sect. Such a confession was in itself enough to +stamp him, in the eyes of the community, as one whose religious history +must always be attended with more or less uncertainty. Few of them had +ever seen a Methodist in the flesh. There were said to be some at Moose +Creek (Mooscrick, as it was called), but they were known only by report. +The younger and more untraveled portion of the community thought of them +with a certain amount of awe and fear. + +It was no wonder, then, that Yankee's appearance in Bible class +produced a sensation. It was an evening of sensations, for not only were +Macdonald Dubh and Yankee present, but Aleck McRae had driven up a load +of people from below the Sixteenth. Ranald regarded his presence with +considerable contempt. + +“It is not much he cares for the Bible class, whatever,” he confided to +Don, who was sitting beside him. + +But more remarkable and disturbing to Ranald than the presence of Aleck +McRae, was that of a young man sitting between Hughie and Maimie in the +minister's pew. He was evidently from the city. One could see that from +his fine clothes and his white shirt and collar. Ranald looked at him +with deepening contempt. “Pride” was written all over him. Not only did +he wear fine clothes, and a white shirt and collar, but he wore them +without any sign of awkwardness or apology in his manner, and indeed +as if he enjoyed them. But the crowning proof of his “pride,” Don noted +with unutterable scorn. + +“Look at him,” he said, “splits his head in the middle.” + +Ranald found himself wondering how the young fop would look sitting in +a pool of muddy water. How insufferable the young fellow's manners were! +He sat quite close to Maimie, now and then whispering to her, evidently +quite ignorant of how to behave in church. And Maimie, who ought to +know better, was acting most disgracefully as well, whispering back and +smiling right into his face. Ranald was thoroughly ashamed of her. He +could not deny that the young fellow was handsome, hatefully so, but he +was evidently stuck full of conceit, and as he let his eyes wander +over the congregation assembled, with a bold and critical stare, making +remarks to Maimie in an undertone which could be heard over the church, +Ranald felt his fingers twitching. The young man was older than Ranald, +but Ranald would have given a good deal for an opportunity to “take him +with one hand.” + +At this point Ranald's reflections were interrupted by Mrs. Murray +rising to open the class. + +“Will some one suggest a Psalm?” she asked, her cheek, usually pale, +showing a slight color. It was always an ordeal for her to face her +class, ever since the men had been allowed to come, and the first +moments were full of trial to her. Only her conscience and her fine +courage kept her from turning back from this, her path of duty. + +At once, from two or three came responses to her invitation, and a Psalm +was chosen. + +The singing was a distinct feature of the Bible class. There was nothing +like it, not only in the other services of the congregation, but in +any congregation in the whole county. The young people that formed that +Bible class have long since grown into old men and women, but the echoes +of that singing still reverberate through the chambers of their hearts +when they stand up to sing certain tunes or certain Psalms. Once a week, +through the long winter, they used to meet and sing to John “Aleck's” + sounding beat for two or three hours. They learned to sing, not only the +old psalm tunes but psalm tunes never heard in the congregation before, +as also hymns and anthems. The anthems and hymns were, of course, never +used in public worship. They were reserved for the sacred concert which +John “Aleck” gave once a year. It was in the Bible class that he and his +fellow enthusiasts found opportunity to sing their new Psalm tunes, with +now and then a hymn. When John “Aleck,” a handsome, broad-shouldered, +six-footer, stood up and bit his tuning-fork to catch the pitch, the +people straightened up in their seats and prepared to follow his lead. +And after his great resonant voice had rolled out the first few notes +of the tune, they caught him up with a vigor and enthusiasm that carried +him along, and inspired him to his mightiest efforts. Wonderful singing +it was, full toned, rhythmical and well balanced. + +With characteristic courage, the minister's wife had chosen Paul's +Epistle to the Romans for the subject of study, and to-night the +lesson was the redoubtable ninth chapter, that arsenal for Calvinistic +champions. First the verses were repeated by the class in concert, and +the members vied with each other in making this a perfect exercise, then +the teaching of the chapter was set forth in simple, lucid speech. The +last half hour was devoted to the discussion of questions, raised either +by the teacher or by any member of the class. To-night the class was +slow in asking questions. They were face to face with the tremendous +Pauline Doctrine of Sovereignty. It was significant that by Macdonald +Dubh, his brother, and the other older and more experienced members of +the class, the doctrine was regarded as absolutely inevitable and +was accepted without question, while by Yankee and Ranald and all the +younger members of the class, it was rejected with fierce resentment. +The older men had been taught by the experience of long and bitter +years, that above all their strength, however mighty, a power, +resistless and often inscrutable, determined their lives. The younger +men, their hearts beating with conscious power and freedom, resented +this control, or accepting it, refused to assume the responsibility for +the outcome of their lives. It was the old, old strife, the insoluble +mystery; and the minister's wife, far from making light of it, allowed +its full weight to press in upon the members of her class, and wisely +left the question as the apostle leaves it, with a statement of the +two great truths of Sovereignty and Free Will without attempting the +impossible task of harmonizing these into a perfect system. After a +half-hour of discussion, she brought the lesson to a close with a very +short and very simple presentation of the practical bearing of the great +doctrine. And while the mystery remained unsolved, the limpid clearness +of her thought, the humble attitude of mind, the sympathy with doubt, +and above all, the sweet and tender pathos that filled her voice, sent +the class away humbled, subdued, comforted, and willing to wait the day +of clearer light. Not that they were done with Pharaoh and his untoward +fate; that occupied them for many a day. + +The class was closed with prayer and singing. As a kind of treat, the +last singing was a hymn and they stood up to sing it. It was Perronet's +great hymn sung to old Coronation, and when they came to the refrain, +“Crown him Lord of all,” the very rafters of the little church rang with +the mighty volume of sound. The Bible class always closed with a +great outburst of singing, and as a rule, Ranald went out tingling and +thrilling through and through. But tonight, so deeply was he exercised +with the unhappy doom of the unfortunate king of Egypt, from which, +apparently, there was no escape, fixed as it was by the Divine decree, +and oppressed with the feeling that the same decree would determine the +course of his life, he missed his usual thrill. He was walking off by +himself in a perplexed and downcast mood, avoiding every one, even +Don, and was nearly past the minister's gate when Hughie, excited and +breathless, caught up to him and exclaimed: “Oh, Ranald, was not that +splendid? Man, I like to hear John 'Aleck' sing 'Crown him' that way. +And I say,” he continued, “mother wants you to come in.” + +Then all at once Ranald remembered the young man who had behaved so +disgracefully in church. + +“No,” he said, firmly, “I must be hurrying home. The cows will be to +milk yet.” + +“Oh, pshaw! you must come,” pleaded Hughie. “We will have some singing. +I want you to sing bass. Perhaps John 'Aleck' will come in.” This was +sheer guessing, but it was good bait. But the young man with “his head +split in the middle” would be there, and perhaps Maimie would be “going +on,” with him as she did in the Bible class. + +“You will tell your mother I could not come,” he said. “Yankee and +father are both out, and there will be no one at home.” + +“Well, I think you are pretty mean,” said Hughie, grievously +disappointed. “I wanted you to come in, and mother wanted Cousin Harry +to see you.” + +“Cousin Harry?” + +“Yes; Maimie's brother came last night, you know, and Maimie is going +back with him in two weeks.” + +“Maimie's brother. Well, well, is that the nice-looking fellow that sat +by you?” + +“Huh-huh, he is awful nice, and mother wanted--” + +“Indeed he looks it, I am sure,” Ranald said, with sudden enthusiasm; “I +would just like to know him. If I thought Yankee would--” + +“Oh, pshaw! Of course Yankee will milk the cows,” exclaimed Hughie. +“Come on, come on in. And Ranald went to meet one of the great nights of +his life. + +“Here is Ranald!” called Hughie at the top of his voice, as he entered +the room where the family were gathered. + +“You don't say so, Hughie?” answered his cousin, coming forward. “You +ought to make that fact known. We all want to hear it.” + +Ranald liked him from the first. He was not a bit “proud” in spite of +his fine clothes and his head being “split in the middle.” + +“You're the chap,” he said, stretching out his hand to Ranald, “that +snatched Maimie from the fire. Mighty clever thing to do. We have heard +a lot about you at our house. Why, every week--” + +“Let some one else talk, Harry,” interrupted Maimie, with cheeks +flaming. “We are going to have some singing now. Here is auntie. Mayn't +we use the piano?” + +“Why, yes, I suppose so,” said Mrs. Murray. “I was glad to see your +father there to-night,” she said to Ranald. + +“And Yankee, mother.” + +“Hush, Hughie; you must call people by their right names. Now let us +have some singing. I hear Ranald is singing bass these days.” + +“And bully good bass, too,” cried Hughie. “John 'Aleck' says that it's +the finest bass in the whole singing school.” + +“Well, Hughie,” said his mother, quietly, “I don't think it is necessary +to shout even such pleasant information as that. Now go to your singing, +and I shall listen.” + +She lay back in the big chair, looking so pale and weary that Harry +hardly believed it was the same woman that had just been keeping a +hundred and fifty people keenly alert for an hour and a half, and +leading them with such intellectual and emotional power. + +“That class is too hard for you, auntie,” he said. “If I were your +husband I would not let you keep it on.” + +“But you see my husband is not here. He is twelve miles away.” + +“Then I would lock you up, or take you with me.” + +“Oh!” cried Hughie, “I would much rather teach the Bible class than +listen to another sermon.” + +“Something in that,” said his cousin, “especially if I were the +preacher, eh?” at which they all laughed. + +It was a happy hour for Ranald. He had been too shy to join the singing +school, and had never heard any part singing till he began to attend the +Bible class. There he made the delightful discovery that, without any +instruction, he could join in the bass, and had made, also, the further +discovery that his voice, which he had thought rough and coarse, and for +a year past, worse than ever, could reach to extraordinary depths. One +Sabbath evening, it chanced that John “Aleck,” who always had an ear +open for a good voice, heard him rolling out his deep bass, and seizing +him on the spot, had made him promise to join the singing school. There +he discovered a talent and developed a taste for singing that delighted +his leader's heart, and opened out to himself a new world. The piano, +too, was a new and rare treat to Ranald. In all the country there was no +other, and even in the manse it was seldom heard, for Mrs. Murray found +little time, amid the multitude of household and congregational duties, +to keep up her piano practice. That part of her life, with others of +like kind, she had been forced to lose. + +But since Maimie's coming, the piano had been in daily use, and even on +the Sabbath days, though not without danger to the sensibilities of the +neighbors, she had used it to accompany the hymns with which the day +always closed. + +“Let us have the parts,” cried Hughie. “Maimie and I will take the air, +and Ranald will take the bass. Cousin Harry, can you sing?” + +“Oh, I'll hum.” + +“Nonsense,” said Maimie, “he sings tenor splendidly.” + +“Oh, that's fine!” cried Hughie, with delight. He himself was full of +music. “Come on, Ranald, you stand up behind Maimie, you will need to +see the notes; and I will sit here,” planting himself beside his mother. + +So Hughie arranged it all, and for an hour the singing went on, the +favorite hymns of each being sung in turn. For the most part, Mrs. +Murray sat silent, but now and then she would join with the others, +singing alto when she did so, by Hughie's special direction. Her voice +was not strong, but it was true, mellow, and full of music. Hughie loved +to hear her sing alto, and more especially because he liked to join in +with her, which he was too shy to do alone, even in his home, and which +he would never think of doing in the Bible class, or in the presence of +any of the boys who might, for this reason, think him “proud.” When they +came to Hughie's turn, he chose the hymn by Bliss, recently published, +“Whosoever will,” the words seem to strike him tonight. + +“Mother,” he said, after singing it through, “does that mean everybody +that likes?” + +“Yes, my dear, any one that wishes.” + +“Pharaoh, mother?” + +“Yes, Pharaoh, too.” + +“But, mother, you said he could not possibly.” + +“Only because he did not want to.” + +“But he could not, even if he did want to.” + +“I hope I did not say that,” said his mother, smiling at the eager and +earnest young face. + +“No, auntie,” said Harry, taking up Hughie's cause, “not exactly, but +something very like it. You said that Pharaoh could not possibly have +acted in any other way than he did.” + +“Yes, I said that.” + +“Not even if he wanted to?” asked Hughie. + +“Oh, I did not say that.” + +“The Lord hardened Pharaoh's heart,” quoted Ranald, who knew his Bible +better than Harry. + +“Yes, that is it,” said Harry, “and so that made it impossible for +Pharaoh to do anything else. He could not help following after those +people.” + +“Why not?” said Mrs. Murray. “What made him follow? Now just think, what +made him follow after those people?” + +“Why, he wanted to get them back,” said Hughie. + +“Quite true,” said his mother. “So you see, he did exactly as he wanted +to.” + +“Then you mean the Lord had nothing to do with it?” asked Ranald. + +“No, I could not say that.” + +“Then,” said Harry, “Pharaoh could not help himself. Now, could he?” + +“He did what he wished to do,” said his aunt. + +“Yes,” said Ranald, quickly, “but could he help wishing to do what he +did?” + +“If he had been a different man, more humble minded, and more willing to +be taught, he would not have wished to do what he did.” + +“Mother,” said Hughie, changing his ground a little, and lowering his +voice, “do you think Pharaoh is lost, and all his soldiers, and--and all +the people who were bad?” + +Mrs. Murray looked at him in silence for a few moments, then said, very +sadly, “I can't answer that question, Hughie. I do not know.” + +“But, mother,” persisted Hughie, “are not wicked people lost?” + +“Yes, Hughie,” replied his mother, “all those who do not repent of their +sins and cry to God for mercy.” + +“Oh, mother,” cried Hughie, “forever?” + +His mother did not reply. + +“Will He never let them out, mother?” continued Hughie, in piteous +appeal. + +“Listen to me, Hughie,” said his mother, very gently. “We know very +little about this. Would you be very sorry, even for very bad men?” + +“Oh, mother,” cried Hughie, his tender little heart moved with a great +compassion, “think of a whole year, all summer long, and all winter +long. I think I would let anybody out.” + +“Then, Hughie, dear,” said his mother, “remember that God is much kinder +than you are, and has a heart far more tender, and while He will be just +and must punish sin, He will do nothing unjust or unkind, you may be +quite sure of that. Do not forget how He gave up His own dear son for +us.” + +Poor Hughie could bear it no longer. He put his head in his mother's lap +and sobbed out, “Oh, mother, I hope he will let them out.” + +As he uttered this pitiful little cry, his cousin Harry got up from his +chair, and moved across to the window, while Maimie openly wiped her +eyes, but Ranald sat with his face set hard, and his eyes gleaming, +waiting eagerly for Mrs. Murray's answer. + +The mother stroked Hughie's head softly, and while her tears fell on the +brown curls, said to him, “You would not be afraid to trust your mother, +Hughie, and our Father in heaven loves us all much more than I love +you.” + +And with that Hughie was content. + +“Now let us sing one more hymn,” said his mother. “It's my choice.” + And she chose one of the new hymns which they had just learned in the +singing school, and of which Hughie was very fond, the children's hymn, +“Come to the Saviour.” While they were singing they heard Mr. Murray +drive into the yard. + +“There's papa,” said Mrs. Murray. “He will be tired and hungry,” and she +hurried out to meet her husband, followed by Harry and Hughie, leaving +Ranald and Maimie in the room together. Ranald had never been alone with +her before, nor indeed had he ever spent five minutes of his life alone +with any girl before now. But he did not feel awkward or shy; he was +thinking now, as he had been thinking now and then through the whole +evening, of only one thing, that Maimie was going away. That would +make a great difference to him, so great that he was conscious of a +heart-sinking at the mere thought of it. During the last weeks, his life +had come to move about a center, and that center was Maimie; and now +that she was going away, there would be nothing left. Nothing, that is, +that really mattered. But the question he was revolving in his mind was, +would she forget all about him. He knew he would never forget her, that +was, of course, impossible, for so many things would remind him of her. +He would never see the moonlight falling through the trees as it fell +that night of the sugaring-off, without thinking of her. He would never +see the shadows in the evening, or hear the wind in the leaves, without +thinking of her. The church and the minister's pew, the manse and all +belonging to it would remind him of Maimie. He would recall how she +looked at different times and places, the turn of her head, the way her +hair fell on her neck, her laugh, the little toss of her chin, and the +curve in her lips. He would remember everything about her. Would she +remember him, or would she forget him? That was the question burning +in his heart; and that question he must have settled, and this was the +time. + +But though these thoughts and emotions were rushing through his brain +and blood, he felt strangely quiet and self-controlled as he walked over +to her where she stood beside the piano, and looking into her eyes with +an intensity of gaze she could not meet, said, in a low, quick voice: +“You are going away?” + +“Yes,” she replied, so startled that the easy smile with which she had +greeted him faded out of her face. “In two weeks I shall be gone.” + +“Gone!” echoed Ranald. “Yes, you will be gone. Will you forget me?” His +tone was almost stern. + +“Why, no,” she said, in a surprised voice. “Of course not. Did not you +save my life? You will be far more likely to forget me.” + +“No,” he said, simply, as if that possibility need not be considered. “I +will never forget you. I will always be thinking of you. Will you think +of me?” he persisted. + +“Why, certainly. Wouldn't I be a very ungrateful girl if I did not?” + +“Ungrateful!” exclaimed Ranald, impatiently. “What I did was nothing. +Forget that. Do you not understand me? I will be thinking of you every +day, in the morning and at night, and I never thought of any one else +before for a day. Will you be thinking of me?” + +There was a movement in the kitchen, and they could hear the minister +talking to Harry; and some one was moving toward the door. + +“Tell me, Maimie, quick,” said Ranald, and though his voice was intense +and stern, there was appeal in it as well. + +She took a step nearer him, and looking up into his face, said, in a +whisper, “Yes, Ranald, I will always remember you, and think of you.” + +Swiftly, almost fiercely, he threw his arms about her, and kissed her +lips, then he stood back looking at her. + +“I could not help it,” he said, boldly. “You made me.” + +“Made you?” exclaimed Maimie, her face hot with blushes. + +“Yes, you made me. I could not help it,” he repeated. “And I do not care +if you are angry. I am glad I did it.” + +“Glad?” echoed Maimie again, not knowing what to say. + +“Yes, glad,” he said, exultantly. “Are you?” + +She made no reply. The door opened behind them. She sank down upon the +piano-stool and let her hands fall upon the keys. + +“Are you?” he demanded, ignoring the interruption. + +With her head low down, while she struck the chords of the hymn they had +just sung, she said, hesitatingly, “I am not sorry.” + +“Sorry for what?” said Harry. + +“Oh, nothing,” said Maimie, lightly. + +“Nobody is, if he has got any sense.” + +Then Mrs. Murray came in. “Won't you stay for supper, Ranald? You must +be hungry.” + +“No, thank you,” said Ranald. “I must go now.” + +He shook hands with an ease and freedom that the minister had never seen +in him, and went out. + +“That young man is coming on,” said the minister. “I never saw any one +change and develop as he has in the last few months. Let me see. He is +only eighteen, isn't he, and he might be twenty-one.” The minister spoke +as if he were not too well pleased with this precocity in Ranald. + +But little did Ranald care. That young man was striding homeward through +the night, his head striking the stars. His path lay through the woods, +and when he came to the “sugar camp” road, he stood still, and let the +memories of the night when he had snatched Maimie from the fire troop +through his mind. Suddenly he thought of Aleck McRae, and laughed aloud. + +“Poor Aleck,” he said. Aleck seemed so harmless to him now. And then he +stood silent, motionless, looking straight toward the stars, but seeing +them not. He was remembering Maimie's face when she said, “Yes, Ranald, +I will always remember you and think of you”; and then the thought of +what followed, sent the blood jumping through his veins. + +“She will not forget,” he said aloud, and went on his way. It was his +happy night, the happiest of his life thus far, and he would always be +happy. What difference could anything make? + + + +CHAPTER XV + +THE REVIVAL + + +Those last days of Maimie's visit sped by on winged feet. To Ranald they +were brimming with happiness, every one of them. It was the slack time +of the year, between seeding and harvest, and there was nothing much +to keep him at home. And so, with Harry, his devoted companion, Ranald +roamed the woods, hitching up Lisette in Yankee's buckboard, put her +through her paces, and would now and then get up such bursts of speed as +took Harry's breath away; and more than all, there was the chance of +a word with Maimie. He had lost much of his awkwardness. He went about +with an air of mastery, and why not? He had entered upon his kingdom. +The minister noticed and wondered; his wife noticed and smiled +sometimes, but oftener sighed, wisely keeping silence, for she knew that +in times like this the best words were those unspoken. + +The happiest day of all for Ranald was the last, when, after a long +tramp with Harry through the woods, he drove him back to the manse, +coming up from the gate to the door like a whirlwind. + +As Lisette stood pawing and tossing her beautiful head, Mrs. Murray, who +stood with Maimie watching them drive up, cried out, admiringly: “What a +beauty she is!” + +“Isn't she!” cried Harry, enthusiastically. “And such a flyer! Get in, +auntie, and see.” + +“Do,” said Ranald; “I would be very glad. Just to the church hill and +back.” + +“Go, auntie,” pleaded Harry. “She is wonderful.” + +“You go, Maimie,” said her aunt, to whom every offered pleasure simply +furnished an opportunity of thought for others. + +“Nonsense!” cried Harry, impatiently. “You might gratify yourself a +little for once in your life. Besides,” he added, with true brotherly +blindness, “it's you Ranald wants. At least he talks enough about you.” + +“Yes, auntie, do go! It will be lovely,” chimed in Maimie, with +suspicious heartiness. + +So, with many protestations, Mrs. Murray took her place beside Ranald +and was whirled off like the wind. She returned in a very few minutes, +her hair blown loose till the little curls hung about her glowing face +and her eyes shining with excitement. + +“Oh, she is perfectly splendid!” she exclaimed. “And so gentle. You must +go, Maimie, if only to the gate.” And Maimie went, but not to turn at +even the church hill. + +For a mile down the concession road Ranald let Lisette jog at an easy +pace while he told Maimie some of his aims and hopes. He did not mean +to be a farmer nor a lumberman. He was going to the city, and there +make his fortune. He did not say it in words, but his tone, his manner, +everything about him, proclaimed his confidence that some day he +would be a great man. And Maimie believed him, not because it seemed +reasonable, or because there seemed to be any ground for his confidence, +but just because Ranald said it. His superb self-confidence wrought in +her assurance. + +“And then,” he said, proudly, “I am going to see you.” + +“Oh, I hope you will not wait till then,” she answered. + +“I do not know,” he said. “I cannot tell, but it does not matter much. I +will be always seeing you.” + +“But I will want to see you,” said Maimie. + +“Yes,” said Ranald, “I know you will,” as if that were a thing to be +expected. “But you will be coming back to your aunt here.” But of this +Maimie could not be sure. + +“Oh, yes, you will come,” he said, confidently; “I am sure you will +come. Harry is coming, and you will come, too.” And having settled this +point, he turned Lisette and from that out gave his attention to his +driving. The colt seemed to realize the necessity of making a display +of her best speed, and without any urging, she went along the concession +road, increasing her speed at every stride till she wheeled in at the +gate. Then Ranald shook the lines over her back and called to her. +Magnificently Lisette responded, and swept up to the door with such +splendid dash that the whole household greeted her with waving applause. +As the colt came to a stand, Maimie stepped out from the buckboard, and +turning toward Ranald, said in a low, hurried voice: “O, Ranald, that +was splendid, and I am so happy; and you will be sure to come?” + +“I will come,” said Ranald, looking down into the blue eyes with a look +so long and steady and so full of passionate feeling that Maimie knew he +would keep his word. + +Then farewells were said, and Ranald turned away, Harry and Mrs. Murray +watching him from the door till he disappeared over the church hill. + +“Well, that's the finest chap I ever saw,” said Harry, with emphasis. +“And what a body he has! He would make a great half-back.” + +“Poor Ranald! I hope he will make a great and good man,” said his aunt, +with a ring of sadness in her voice. + +“Why poor, auntie?” + +“I'm sure I do not know,” she said, with a very uncertain smile playing +about her mouth. Then she went upstairs and found Maimie sitting at the +window overlooking the church hill, and once more she knew how golden is +silence. So she set to work to pack Maimie's trunk for her. + +“It will be a very early start, Maimie,” she said, “and so we will get +everything ready to-night.” + +“Yes, auntie,” said Maimie, going to her and putting her arms about her. +“How happy I have been, and how good you have been to me!” + +“And how glad I have been to have you!” said her aunt. + +“Oh, I will never forget you! You have taught me so much that I never +knew before. I see everything so differently. It seems easy to be good +here, and, oh! I wish you were not so far away from me, auntie. I am +afraid--afraid--” + +The tears could no longer be denied. She put her head in her aunt's lap +and sobbed out her heart's overflow. For an hour they sat by the open +trunk, forgetting all about the packing, while her aunt talked to Maimie +as no one had ever talked to her before; and often, through the long +years of suffering that followed, the words of that evening came to +Maimie to lighten and to comfort an hour of fear and sorrow. Mrs. Murray +was of those to whom it is given to speak words that will not die with +time, but will live, for that they fall from lips touched with the fire +of God. + +Before they had finished their talk Harry came in, and then Mrs. Murray +told them about their mother, of her beauty and her brightness and her +goodness, but mostly of her goodness. + +“She was a dear, dear girl,” said their aunt, “and her goodness was of +the kind that makes one think of a fresh spring morning, so bright, +so sweet, and pure. And she was beautiful, too. You will be like her, +Maimie,” and, after a pause, she added, softly, “And, most of all, she +loved her Saviour, and that was the secret of both her beauty and her +goodness.” + +“Auntie,” said Harry, suddenly, “don't you think you could come to us +for a visit? It would do father--I mean it would be such a great thing +for father, and for me, too, for us all.” + +Mrs. Murray thought of her home and all its ties, and then said, +smiling: “I am afraid, Harry, that could hardly be. Besides, my dear +boy, there is One who can always be with you, and no one can take His +place.” + +“All the same, I wish you could come,” said Harry. “When I am here I +feel like doing something with my life, but at home I only think of +having fun.” + +“But, Harry,” said his aunt, “life is a very sacred and very precious +thing, and at all costs, you must make it worthy of Him who gave it to +you.” + +Next morning, when Harry was saying “Farewell” to his aunt, she put her +arms round him, and said: “Your mother would have wished you to be a +noble man, and you must not disappoint her.” + +“I will try, auntie,” he said, and could say no more. + +For the next few weeks the minister and his wife were both busy and +anxious. For more than eight years they had labored with their people +without much sign of result. Week after week the minister poured into +his sermons the strength of his heart and mind, and then gave them to +his people with all the fervor of his nature. Week after week his wife, +in her women's meetings and in her Bible class, lavished freely upon +them the splendid riches of her intellectual and spiritual powers, and +together in the homes of the people they wrought and taught. At times +it seemed to the minister that they were spending their strength for +naught, and at such times he bitterly grudged, not his own toils, but +those of his wife. None knew better than he how well fitted she was, +both by the native endowments of her mind and by the graces of her +character, to fill the highest sphere, and he sometimes grew impatient +that she should spend herself without stint and reap no adequate reward. + +These were his thoughts as he lay on his couch, on the evening of the +last Sabbath in the old church, after a day's work more than usually +exhausting. The new church was to be opened the following week. For +months it had been the burden of their prayers that at the dedication +of their church, which had been built and paid for at the cost of +much thought and toil, there should be some “signal mark of the divine +acceptance.” No wonder the minister was more than usually depressed +to-night. + +“There is not much sign of movement among the dry bones,” he said to his +wife. “They are as dry and as dead as ever.” + +His wife was silent for some time, for she, too, had her moments of +doubt and fear, but she said: “I think there is some sign. The people +were certainly much impressed this morning, and the Bible class was very +large, and they were very attentive.” + +“So they are every day,” said the minister, rather bitterly. “But what +does it amount to? There is not a sign of one of these young people +'coming forward.' Just think, only one young man a member of the church, +and he hasn't got much spunk in him. And many of the older men remain as +hard as the nether millstone.” + +“I really think,” said his wife, “that a number of the young people +would 'come forward' if some one would make a beginning. They are all +very shy.” + +“So you always say,” said her husband, with a touch of impatience; +“but there is no shyness in other things, in their frolics and their +fightings. I am sure this last outrageous business is enough to break +one's heart.” + +“What do you mean?” said his wife. + +“Oh, I suppose you will hear soon enough, so I need not try to keep it +from you. It was Long John Cameron told me. It is strange that Hughie +has not heard. Indeed, perhaps he has, but since his beloved Ranald is +involved, he is keeping it quiet.” + +“What is it?” said his wife, anxiously. + +“Oh, nothing less than a regular pitched battle between the McGregors +and the McRaes of the Sixteenth, and all on Ranald's account, too, I +believe.” + +Mrs. Murray sat in silent and bitter disappointment. She had expected +much from Ranald. Her husband went on with his tale. + +“It seems there was an old quarrel between young Aleck McRae and Ranald, +over what I cannot find out; and young Angus McGregor, who will do +anything for a Macdonald, must needs take Ranald's part, with the result +that that hot-headed young fire-eater Aleck McRae must challenge the +whole clan McGregor. So it was arranged, on Sunday morning, too, mind +you, two weeks ago, after the service, that six of the best of each side +should meet and settle the business. Of course Ranald was bound to be +into it, and begged and pleaded with the McGregors that he should be one +of the six; and I hear it was by Yankee's advice that his request was +granted. That godless fellow, it seems, has been giving Ranald daily +lessons with the boxing-gloves, and to some purpose, too, as the fight +proved. It seems that young Aleck McRae, who is a terrible fighter, +and must be forty pounds heavier than Ranald, was, by Ranald's especial +desire and by Yankee's arrangement, pitted against the boy, and by +the time the fight was over, Ranald, although beaten and bruised to +a 'bloody pulp,' as Long John said, had Aleck thoroughly whipped. And +nobody knows what would have happened, so fierce was the young villain, +had not Peter McGregor and Macdonald Bhain appeared upon the scene. It +appears Aleck had been saying something about Maimie, Long John did not +know what it was; but Ranald was determined to finish Aleck up there and +then. It must have been a disgusting and terrible sight; but Macdonald +Bhain apparently settled them in a hurry; and what is more, made them +all shake hands and promise to drop the quarrel thenceforth. I fancy +Ranald's handling of young Aleck McRae did more to bring about the +settlement than anything else. What a lot of savages they are!” + continued the minister. “It really does not seem much use to preach to +them.” + +“We must not say that, my dear,” said his wife, but her tone was none +too hopeful. “I must confess I am disappointed in Ranald. Well,” she +continued, “we can only wait and trust.” + +From Hughie, who had had the story from Don, and who had been pledged to +say nothing of it, she learned more about the fight. + +“It was Aleck's fault, mother,” he said, anxious to screen his hero. +“He said something about Maimie, that Don wouldn't tell me, at the +blacksmith shop in the Sixteenth, and Ranald struck him and knocked him +flat, and he could not get up for a long time. Yankee has been showing +him how. I am going to learn, mother,” interjected Hughie. “And then +Angus McGregor took Ranald's part, and it was all arranged after church, +and Ranald was bound to be in it, and said he would stop the whole thing +if not allowed. Don said he was just terrible. It was an awful fight. +Angus McGregor fought Peter McRae, Aleck's brother, you know and--” + +“Never mind, Hughie,” said his mother. “I don't want to hear of it. It +is too disgusting. Was Ranald much hurt?” + +“Oh, he was hurt awful bad, and he was going to be licked, too. He +wouldn't keep cool enough, and he wouldn't use his legs.” + +“Use his legs?” said his mother; “what do you mean?” + +“That's what Don says, and Yankee made him. Yankee kept calling to him, +'Now get away, get away from him! Use your legs! Get away from him!' and +whenever Ranald began to do as he was told, then he got the better of +Aleck, and he gave Aleck a terrible hammering, and Don said if Macdonald +Bhain had not stopped them Aleck McRae would not have been able to walk +home. He said Ranald was awful. He said he never saw him like he was +that day. Wasn't it fine, mother?” + +“Fine, Hughie!” said his mother. “It is anything but fine. It is simply +disgusting to see men act like beasts. It is very, very sad. I am very +much disappointed in Ranald.” + +“But, mother, Ranald couldn't help it. And anyway, I am glad he gave +that Aleck McRae a good thrashing. Yankee said he would never be right +until he got it.” + +“You must not repeat what Yankee says,” said his mother. “I am afraid +his influence is not of the best for any of those boys.” + +“Oh, mother, he didn't set them on,” said Hughie, who wanted to be fair +to Yankee. “It was when he could not help it that he told Ranald how to +do. I am glad he did, too.” + +“I am very, very sorry about it,” said his mother, sadly. It was a +greater disappointment to her than she cared to acknowledge either to +her husband or to herself. + +But the commotion caused in the community by the fight was soon +swallowed up in the interest aroused by the opening of the new church, +an event for which they had made long and elaborate preparation. The big +bazaar, for which the women had been sewing for a year or more, was held +on Wednesday, and turned out to be a great success, sufficient money +being realized to pay for the church furnishing, which they had +undertaken to provide. + +The day following was the first of the “Communion Season.” In a Highland +congregation the Communion Seasons are the great occasions of the year. +For weeks before, the congregation is kept in mind of the approaching +event, and on the Thursday of the communion week the season opens with a +solemn fast day. + +The annual Fast Day, still a national institution in Scotland, although +it has lost much of its solemnity and sacredness in some places, was +originally associated with the Lord's Supper, and was observed with +great strictness in the matter of eating and drinking; and in Indian +Lands, as in all congregations of that part of the country, the custom +of celebrating the Fast Day was kept up. It was a day of great solemnity +in the homes of the people of a godly sort. There was no cooking of +meals till after “the services,” and indeed, some of them tasted +neither meat nor drink the whole day long. To the younger people of the +congregation it was a day of gloom and terror, a kind of day of doom. +Even to those advanced in godliness it brought searchings of heart, +minute and diligent, with agonies of penitence and remorse. It was a +day, in short, in which conscience was invited to take command of the +memory and the imagination to the scourging of the soul for the soul's +good. The sermon for the day was supposed to stimulate and to aid +conscience in this work. + +For the communion service Mr. Murray always made it a point to have the +assistance of the best preachers he could procure, and on this occasion, +when the church opening was combined with the sacrament, by a special +effort two preachers had been procured--a famous divine from Huron +County, that stronghold of Calvinism, and a college professor who had +been recently appointed, but who had already gained a reputation as a +doctrinal preacher, and who was, as Peter McRae reported, “grand on the +Attributes and terrible fine on the Law.” To him was assigned the honor +of preaching the Fast Day sermon, and of declaring the church “open.” + +The new church was very different from the old. Instead of the high +crow's nest, with the wonderful sounding-board over it, the pulpit was +simply a raised platform partly inclosed, with the desk in front. There +was no precentor's box, over the loss of which Straight Rory did not +grieve unduly, inasmuch as the singing was to be led, in the English +at least, by John “Aleck.” Henceforth the elders would sit with their +families. The elders' seat was gone; Peter McRae's wrath at this being +somewhat appeased by his securing for himself one of the short side +seats at the right of the pulpit, from which he could command a view +of both the minister and the congregation--a position with obvious +advantages. The minister's pew was at the very back of the church. + +It was a great assemblage that gathered in the new church to hear the +professor discourse, as doubtless he would, it being the Fast Day, upon +some theme of judgment. With a great swing of triumph in his voice, Mr. +Murray rose and announced the Hundredth Psalm. An electric thrill went +through the congregation as, with a wave of his hand, he said: “Let us +rise and sing. Now, John, Old Hundred.” + +Never did John “Aleck” and the congregation of Indian Lands sing as +they did that morning. It was the first time that the congregation, as +a whole, had followed the lead of that great ringing voice, and they +followed with a joyous, triumphant shout, as of men come to victory. + + + “For why? The Lord our God is good,” + + +rolled out the majestic notes of Old Hundred. + +“What's the matter, mother?” whispered Hughie, who was standing up in +the seat that he might look on his mother's book. + +“Nothing, darling,” said his mother, her face radiant through her tears. +After long months of toil and waiting, they were actually singing praise +to God in the new church. + +When the professor arose, it was an eager, responsive congregation that +waited for his word. The people were fully prepared for a sermon that +would shake them to their souls' depths. The younger portion shivered +and shrank from the ordeal; the older and more experienced shivered +and waited with not unpleasing anticipations; it did them good, that +remorseless examination of their hearts' secret depravities. To some it +was a kind of satisfaction offered to conscience, after which they could +more easily come to peace. With others it was an honest, heroic effort +to know themselves and to right themselves with their God. + +The text was disappointing. “Above all these things, put on charity, +which is the bond of perfectness,” read the professor from that +exquisite and touching passage which begins at the twelfth verse of the +fifteenth chapter of Colossians. “Love, the bond of perfectness,” was +his theme, and in simple, calm, lucid speech he dilated upon the beauty, +the excellence, and the supremacy of this Christian grace. It was the +most Godlike of all the virtues, for God was love; and more than zeal, +more than knowledge, more than faith, it was “the mark” of the new +birth. + +Peter McRae was evidently keenly disappointed, and his whole bearing +expressed stern disapproval. And as the professor proceeded, extolling +and illustrating the supreme grace of love, Peter's hard face grew +harder than ever, and his eyes began to emit blue sparks of fire. This +was no day for the preaching of smooth things. The people were there to +consider and to lament their Original and Actual sin; and they expected +and required to hear of the judgments of the Lord, and to be summoned to +flee from the wrath to come. + +Donald Ross sat with his kindly old face in a glow of delight, but +with a look of perplexity on it which his furtive glances in Peter's +direction did not help to lessen. The sermon was delighting and touching +him, but he was not quite sure whether this was a good sign in him or +no. He set himself now and then to find fault with the sermon, but the +preacher was so humble, so respectful, and above all, so earnest, that +Donald Ross could not bring himself to criticise. + +The application came under the third head. As a rule, the application to +a Fast Day sermon was delivered in terrifying tones of thunder or in an +awful whisper. But to-day the preacher, without raising his voice, began +to force into his hearers' hearts the message of the day. + +“This is a day for self-examination,” he said, and his clear, quiet +tones fell into the ears of the people with penetrating power. “And +self-examination is a wise and profitable exercise. It is an exercise of +the soul designed to yield a discovery of sin in the heart and life, and +to induce penitence and contrition and so secure pardon and peace. But +too often, my friends,” and here his voice became a shade softer, +“it results in a self-righteous and sinful self-complaisance. What is +required is a simple honesty of mind and spiritual illumination, and +the latter cannot be without the former. There are those who are ever +searching for 'the marks' of a genuinely godly state of heart, and +they have the idea that these marks are obscure and difficult for plain +people to discover. Make no mistake, my brethren, they are as easily +seen as are the apples on a tree. The fruits of the spirit are as +discernible to any one honest enough and fearless enough to look; and +the first and supreme of all is that which we have been considering this +morning. The question for you and for me, my brethren, is simply +this: Are our lives full of the grace of love? Do not shrink from the +question. Do not deceive yourselves with any substitutes; there are many +offering zeal, the gift of prayer or of speech, yea, the gift of faith +itself. None of these will atone for the lack of love. Let each ask +himself, Am I a loving man?” + +With quiet persistence he pursued them into all their relations in +life--husbands and wives, fathers and sons, neighbor and neighbor. He +would not let them escape. Relentlessly he forced them to review their +habits of speech and action, their attitude toward each other as church +members, and their attitude toward “those without.” Behind all refuges +and through all subterfuges he made his message follow them, searching +their deepest hearts. And then, with his face illumined as with divine +fire, he made his final appeal, while he reminded them of the Infinite +love that had stooped to save, and that had wrought itself out in the +agonies of the cross. And while he spoke his last words, all over the +church the women were weeping, and strong men were sitting trembling and +pale. + +After a short prayer, the professor sat down. Then the minister rose, +and for some little time stood facing his people in silence, the gleam +in his eyes showing that his fervent Highland nature was on fire. + +“My people,” he began, and his magnificent voice pealed forth like a +solemn bell, “this is the message of the Lord. Let none dare refuse to +hear. It is a message to your minister, it is a message to you. You are +anxious for 'the marks.' Search you for this mark.” He paused while +the people sat looking at him in fixed and breathless silence. Then, +suddenly, he broke forth into a loud cry: “Where are your children at +this solemn time of privilege? Fathers, where are your sons? Why were +they not with you at the Table? Are you men of love? Are you men of +love, or by lack of love are you shutting the door of the Kingdom +against your sons with their fightings and their quarrelings?” Then, +raising his hands high, he lifted his voice in a kind of wailing chant: +“Woe unto you! Woe unto you! Your house is left unto you desolate, and +the voice of love is crying over you. Ye would not! Ye would not! O, +Lamb of God, have mercy upon us! O, Christ, with the pierced hands, +save us!” Again he paused, looking upward, while the people waited with +uplifted white faces. + +“Behold,” he cried, in a soul-thrilling voice, “I see heaven open, and +Jesus standing at the right hand of God, and I hear a voice, 'Turn ye, +turn ye. Why will ye die?' Lord Jesus, they will not turn.” Again he +paused. “Listen. Depart from me, ye cursed, into everlasting fire. +Depart ye! Nay, Lord Jesus! not so! Have mercy upon us!” His voice broke +in its passionate cry. The effect was overwhelming. The people swayed +as trees before a mighty wind, and a voice cried aloud from the +congregation: “God be merciful to me, a sinner!” + +It was Macdonald Dubh. At that loud cry, women began to sob, and some of +the people rose from their seats. + +“Be still,” commanded the minister. “Rend your hearts and not your +garments. Let us pray.” And as he prayed, the cries and sobs subsided +and a great calm fell upon all. After prayer, the minister, instead of +giving out a closing psalm, solemnly charged the people to go to their +homes and to consider that the Lord had come very near them, and adjured +them not to grieve the Holy Spirit of God. Then he dismissed them with +the benediction. + +The people went out of the church, subdued and astonished, speaking, if +at all, in low tones of what they had seen and heard. + +Immediately after pronouncing the benediction, the minister came down to +find Macdonald Dubh, but he was nowhere to be seen. Toward evening Mrs. +Murray rode over to his house, but found that he had not returned from +the morning service. + +“He will be at his brother's,” said Kirsty, “and Ranald will drive over +for him.” + +Immediately Ranald hitched up Lisette and drove over to his uncle's, but +as he was returning he sent in word to the manse, his face being not yet +presentable, that his father was nowhere to be found. It was Macdonald +Bhain that found him at last in the woods, prone upon his face, and in +an agony. + +“Hugh, man,” he cried, “what ails you?” But there were only low groans +for answer. + +“Rise up, man, rise up and come away.” + +Then from the prostrate figure he caught the words, “Depart from me! +Depart from me! That is the word of the Lord.” + +“That is not the word,” said Macdonald Bhain, “for any living man, +but for the dead. But come, rise, man; the neighbors will be here in a +meenute.” At that Black Hugh rose. + +“Let me away,” he said. “Let me not see them. I am a lost man.” + +And so his brother brought him home, shaken in spirit and exhausted in +body with his long fast and his overpowering emotion. All night through +his brother watched with him alone, for Macdonald Dubh would have no one +else to see him, till, from utter exhaustion, toward the dawning of the +day, he fell asleep. + +In the early morning the minister and his wife drove over to see him, +and leaving his wife with Kirsty, the minister passed at once into +Macdonald Dubh's room. But, in spite of all his reasoning, in spite of +all his readings and his prayers, the gloom remained unbroken except by +occasional paroxysms of fear and remorse. + +“There is no forgiveness! There is no forgiveness!” was the burden of +his cry. + +In vain the minister proclaimed to him the mercy of God. At length he +was forced to leave him to attend the “Question Meeting” which was to be +held in the church that day. But he left his wife behind him. + +Without a word, Mrs. Murray proceeded to make the poor man comfortable. +She prepared a dainty breakfast and carried it in to him, and then she +sat beside him while he fell into a deep sleep. + +It was afternoon when Macdonald Dubh awoke and greeted her with his +wonted grave courtesy. + +“You are better, Mr. Macdonald,” she said, brightly. “And now I will +make you a fresh cup of tea”; and though he protested, she hurried out, +and in a few moments brought him some tea and toast. Then, while he +lay in gloomy silence, she read to him, as she did once before from his +Gaelic psalm book, without a word of comment. And then she began to tell +him of all the hopes she had cherished in connection with the opening of +the new church, and how that day she had felt at last the blessing had +come. + +“And, O, Mr. Macdonald,” she said, “I was glad to hear you cry, for then +I knew that the Spirit of God was among us.” + +“Glad!” said Macdonald Dubh, faintly. + +“Yes, glad. For a cry like that never comes but when the Spirit of God +moves in the heart of a man.” + +“Indeed, I will be thinking that He has cast me off forever,” he said, +wondering at this new phase of the subject. + +“Then you must thank Him, Mr. Macdonald, that He has not so done; and +the sure proof to you is that He has brought you to cry for mercy. That +is a glad cry, in the ears of the Saviour. It is the cry of the sheep in +the wilderness, that discovers him to the shepherd.” And then, without +argument, she took him into her confidence and poured out to him all her +hopes and fears for the young people of the congregation, and especially +for Ranald, till Macdonald Dubh partly forgot his own fears in hers. And +then, just before it was time for Kirsty to arrive from the “Question +Meeting,” she took her Gaelic Bible and opened at the Lord's Prayer, as +she had done once before. + +“It is a terrible thing to be unforgiven, Mr. Macdonald,” she said, +“by man or by God. And God is unwilling that any of us should feel that +pain, and that is why he is so free with his offer of pardon to all who +come with sorrow to him. They come with sorrow to him now, but they will +come to him some day with great joy.” And then she spoke a little of the +great company of the forgiven before the throne, and at the very last, +a few words about the gentle little woman that had passed out from +Macdonald Dubh's sight so many years before. Then, falling on her knees, +she began in the Gaelic, + + + “Our Father which art in Heaven.” + + +Earnestly and brokenly Macdonald Dubh followed, whispering the petitions +after her. When they came to + + + “Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors,” + + +Macdonald Dubh broke forth: “Oh, it is a little thing, whatever! It is +little I have to forgive.” And then, in a clear, firm voice, he repeated +the words after her to the close of the prayer. + +Then Mrs. Murray rose, and taking him by the hand to bid him good +by, she said, slowly: “'For if ye forgive men their trespasses, your +heavenly Father will also forgive you your trespasses.' You have +forgiven, Mr. Macdonald.” + +“Indeed, it is nothing,” he said, earnestly. + +“Then,” replied Mrs. Murray, “the Lord will not break his promise to +you.” And with that she went away. + +On Saturday morning the session met before the service for the day. In +the midst of their deliberations the door opened and Macdonald Bhain +and his brother, Macdonald Dubh, walked in and stood silent before +the elders. Mr. Murray rose astonished, and coming forward, said to +Macdonald Bhain: “What is it, Mr. Macdonald? You wish to see me?” + +“I am here,” he said, “for my own sake and for my brother's. We wish to +make confession of our sins, in that we have not been men of love, and +to seek the forgiveness of God.” + +The minister stood and gazed at him in amazed silence for some moments, +and then, giving his hand to Macdonald Dubh, he said, in a voice husky +with emotion: “Come away, my brother. The Lord has a welcome for you.” + +And there were no questions that day asked in the session before +Macdonald Dubh received his token. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +AND THE GLORY + + +The first communion in the new church was marked by very great +solemnity. There were few new members, but among the older men who had +hitherto kept “back from the table” there was a manifest anxiety, and +among the younger people a very great seriousness. The “coming forward” + of Macdonald Dubh was an event so remarkable as to make a great +impression not only upon all the Macdonald men who had been associated +with him so many years in the lumbering, but also upon the whole +congregation, to whom his record and reputation were well known. His +change of attitude to the church and all its interests, as well as his +change of disposition and temperament, were so striking as to leave in +no one's mind any doubt as to the genuineness of his “change of heart,” + and every week made this more apparent. A solemn sense of responsibility +and an intensity of earnestness seemed to possess him, while his +humility and gentleness were touching to see. + +On the evening of Monday, the day of thanksgiving in the Sacrament Week, +a great congregation assembled for the closing meeting of the Communion +Season. During the progress of the meeting, Mr. Murray and the ministers +assisting him became aware that they were in the presence of some +remarkable and mysterious phenomenon. The people listened to the Word +with an intensity, response, and eagerness that gave token of a state +of mind and heart wholly unusual. Here and there, while the psalms were +being sung or prayers being offered, women and men would break down in +audible weeping; and in the preaching the speaker was conscious of a +power possessing him that he could not explain. + +At length the last psalm was given out, and the congregation, contrary +to their usual custom, by the minister's direction, rose to sing. +As John “Aleck” led the people in that great volume of praise, the +ministers held a hasty consultation in the pulpit. The professor had +never seen anything so marvelous; Mr. Murray was reminded of the days of +W. C. Burns. The question was, What was to be done? Should the meetings +be continued, or should they close tonight? They had a great fear of +religious excitement. They had seen something of the dreadful reaction +following a state of exalted religious feeling. It was the beginning of +harvest, too. Would it be advisable to call the people from their hard +work in the fields to nightly meetings? + +At length, as the congregation were nearing the close of the psalm, +the professor spoke. “Brethren,” he said, “this is not our work. Let us +leave it to the Lord to decide. Put the question to the people and abide +by their decision.” + +After the psalm was sung, the minister motioned the congregation to +their seats, and without comment or suggestion, put before them the +question that had been discussed in the pulpit. Was it their desire that +the meetings should be continued or not? A deep, solemn silence lay +upon the crowded church, and for some time no one moved. Then the +congregation were startled to see Macdonald Dubh rise slowly from his +place in the middle of the church. + +“Mr. Murray,” he said, in a voice that vibrated strangely, “you will +pardon me for letting my voice be heard in this place. It is the voice +of a great sinner.” + +“Speak, Mr. Macdonald,” said the minister, “and I thank God for the +sound of your voice in His house.” + +“It is not for me to make any speeches here. I will only make bold to +give my word that the meetings be continued. It may be that the Lord, +who has done such great things for me, will do great things for others +also.” And with that he sat down. + +“I will take that for a motion,” said the minister. “Will any one second +it?” + +Kenny Crubach at once rose and said: “We are always slow at following +the Lord. Let us go forward.” + +The minister waited for some moments after Kenny had spoken, and then +said, in a voice grave and with a feeling of responsibility in it: “You +have heard these brethren, my people. I wait for the expression of your +desire.” + +Like one man the great congregation rose to their feet. It was a scene +profoundly impressive, and with these serious-minded, sober people, one +that indicated overwhelming emotion. + +And thus the great revival began. + +For eighteen months, night after night, every night in the week except +Saturday, the people gathered in such numbers as to fill the new church +to the door. Throughout all the busy harvest season, in spite of +the autumn rains that filled the swamps and made the roads almost +impassable, in the face of the driving snows of winter, through the +melting ice of the spring, and again through the following summer and +autumn, the great revival held on. No fictitious means were employed +to stir the emotions of the people or to kindle excitement among them. +There were neither special sermons nor revival hymns. The old doctrines +were proclaimed, but proclaimed with a fullness and power unknown at +other times. The old psalms were sung, but sung perhaps as they had +never been before. For when John “Aleck's” mighty voice rolled forth in +its full power, and when his band of trained singers followed, lifting +onward with them the great congregation--for every man, woman, and +child sang with full heart and open throat--the effect was something +altogether wonderful and worth hearing. Each night there was a sermon by +the minister, who, for six months, till his health broke down, had sole +charge of the work. Then the sermon was followed by short addresses or +prayers by the elders, and after that the minister would take the men, +and his wife the women, for closer and more personal dealing. + +As the revival deepened it became the custom for others than the elders +to take part, by reading a psalm or other Scripture, without comment, or +by prayer. There was a shrinking from anything like a violent display of +emotion, and from any unveiling of the sacred secrets of the heart, but +Scripture reading or quoting was supposed to express the thoughts, the +hopes, the fears, the gratitude, the devotion, that made the religious +experience of the speaker. This was as far as they considered it safe or +seemly to go. + +One of the first, outside the ranks of the elders, to take part in this +way was Macdonald Dubh; then Long John Cameron followed; then Peter +McGregor and others of the men of maturer years. A distinct stage in the +revival was reached when young Aleck McRae rose to read his Scripture. +He was quickly followed by Don, young Findlayson, and others of +that age, and from that time onward the old line that had so clearly +distinguished age from youth in respect to religious duty and privilege, +was obliterated forever. It had been a strange, if not very doubtful, +phenomenon to see a young man “coming forward,” or in any way giving +indication of religious feeling. But this would never be again. + +It was no small anxiety and grief to Mrs. Murray that Ranald, though he +regularly attended the meetings, seemed to remain unmoved by the tide of +religious feeling that was everywhere surging through the hearts of +the people. The minister advised letting him alone, but Mrs. Murray was +anxiously waiting for the time when Ranald would come to her. That time +came, but not until long months of weary waiting on her part, and of +painful struggle on his, had passed. + +From the very first of the great movement his father threw himself into +it with all the earnest intensity of his nature, but at the same time +with a humility that gave token that the memory of the wild days of his +youth and early manhood were never far away from him. He was eager to +serve in the work, and was a constant source of wonder to all who had +known him in his youth and early manhood. At all the different meetings +he was present. Nothing could keep him away. “Night cometh,” he said to +his brother, who was remonstrating with him. His day's work was drawing +to its close. + +But Ranald would not let himself see the failing of his father's health, +and when, in the harvest, the slightest work in the fields would send +his father panting to the shade, Ranald would say, “It is the hot +weather, father. When the cool days come you will be better. And why +should you be bothering yourself with the work, anyway? Surely Yankee +and I can look after that.” And indeed they seemed to be quite fit to +take off the harvest. + +Day by day Ranald swung his cradle after Yankee with all a man's +steadiness till all the grain was cut; and by the time the harvest +was over, Ranald had developed a strength of muscle and a skill in the +harvest work that made him equal of almost any man in the country. He +was all the more eager to have the harvest work done in time, that his +father might not fret over his own inability to help. For Ranald could +not bear to see the look of disappointment that sometimes showed itself +in his father's face when weakness drove him from the field, and it was +this that made him throw himself into the work as he did. He was careful +also to consult with his father in regard to all the details of the +management of the farm, and to tell him all that he was planning to do +as well as all that was done. His father had always been a kind of hero +to Ranald, who admired him for his prowess with the gun and the ax, as +well as for his great strength and courage. But ever since calamity +had befallen him, the boy's heart had gone out to his father in a new +tenderness, and the last months had drawn the two very close together. +It was a dark day for Ranald when he was forced to face the fact that +his father was growing daily weaker. It was his uncle, Macdonald Bhain, +who finally made him see it. + +“Your father is failing, Ranald,” he said one day toward the close of +harvest. + +“It is the hot weather,” said Ranald. “He will be better in the fall.” + +“Ranald, my boy,” said his uncle, gravely, “your father will fade with +the leaf, and the first snow will lie upon him.” + +And then Ranald fairly faced the fact that before long he would be alone +in the world. Without any exchange of words, he and his father came to +understand each other, and they both knew that they were spending +their last days on earth together. On the son's side, they were days of +deepening sorrow; but with the father, every day seemed to bring him +a greater peace of mind and a clearer shining of the light that never +fades. To his son, Macdonald Dubh never spoke of the death that he felt +to be drawing nearer, but he often spoke to him of the life he would +like his son to live. His only other confidant in these matters was the +minister's wife. To her Macdonald Dubh opened up his heart, and to her, +more than to any one else, he owed his growing peace and light; and it +was touching to see the devotion and the tenderness that he showed to +her as often as she came to see him. With his brother, Macdonald Bhain, +he made all the arrangements necessary for the disposal of the farm and +the payment of the mortgage. + +Ranald had no desire to be a farmer, and indeed, when the mortgage was +paid there would not be much left. + +“He will be my son,” said Macdonald Bhain to his brother; “and my home +will be his while I live.” + +So in every way there was quiet preparation for Macdonald Dubh's going, +and when at last the day came, there was no haste or fear. + +It was in the afternoon of a bright September day, as the sun was +nearing the tops of the pine-trees in the west. His brother was +supporting him in his strong arms, while Ranald knelt by the bedside. +Near him sat the minister's wife, and at a little distance Kirsty. + +“Lift me up, Tonal,” said the dying man; “I will be wanting to see the +sun again, and then I will be going. I will be going to the land where +they will not need the light of the sun. Tonal, bhodaich, it is the +good brother you have been to me, and many's the good day we have had +together.” + +“Och, Hugh, man. Are you going from me?” said Macdonald Bhain, with +great sorrow in his voice. + +“Aye, Tonal, for a little.” Then he looked for a few moments at Kirsty, +who was standing at the foot of the bed. + +“Come near me, Kirsty,” he said; and Kirsty came to the bedside. + +“You have always been kind to me and mine, and you were kind to HER as +well, and the reward will come to you.” Then he turned to Mrs. Murray, +and said, with a great light of joy in his eyes: “It is you that came to +me as the angel of God with a word of salvation, and forever more I will +be blessing you.” And then he added, in a voice full of tenderness, +“I will be telling her about you.” He took Mrs. Murray's hand and +tremblingly lifted it to his lips. + +“It has been a great joy to me,” said Mrs. Murray, with difficulty +steadying her voice, “to see you come to your Saviour, Mr. Macdonald.” + +“Aye, I know it well,” he said; and then he added, in a voice that sank +almost to a whisper, “Now you will be reading the prayer.” And Mrs. +Murray, opening her Gaelic Bible, repeated in her clear, soft voice, the +words of the Lord's Prayer. Through all the petitions he followed her, +until he came to the words, “Forgive us our debts.” There he paused. + +“Ranald, my man,” he said, raising his hand with difficulty and laying +it upon the boy's head, “you will listen to me now. Some day you will +find the man that brought me to this, and you will say to him that your +father forgave him freely, and wished him all the blessing of God. You +will promise me this, Ranald?” said Macdonald Dubh. + +“Yes, father,” said Ranald, lifting his head, and looking into his +father's face. + +“And, Ranald, you, too, will be forgiving him?” But to this there was no +reply. Ranald's head was buried in the bed. + +“Ah,” said Macdonald Dubh, with difficulty, “you are your father's son; +but you will not be laying this bitterness upon me now. You will be +forgiving him, Ranald?” + +“Oh, father!” cried Ranald, with a breaking voice, “how can I forgive +him? How can I forgive the man who has taken you away from me?” + +“It is no man,” replied his father, “but the Lord himself; the Lord who +has forgiven your father much. I am waiting to hear you, Ranald.” + +Then, with a great sob, Ranald broke forth: “Oh, father, I will forgive +him,” and immediately became quiet, and so continued to the end. + +After some moments of silence, Macdonald Dubh looked once more toward +the minister's wife, and a radiant smile spread over his face. + +“You will be finishing,” he said. + +Her face was wet with tears, and for a few moments she could not speak. +But it was no time to fail in duty, so, commanding her tears, with a +clear, unwavering voice she went on to the end of the prayer-- + +“For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory, forever and ever. +Amen.” + +“Glory!” said Macdonald Dubh after her. “Aye, the Glory. Ranald, my boy, +where are you? You will be following me, lad, to the Glory. SHE will be +asking me about you. You will be following me, lad?” + +The anxious note in his voice struck Ranald to the heart. + +“Oh, father, it is what I want,” he replied, brokenly. “I will try.” + +“Aye,” said Macdonald Dubh, “and you will come. I will be telling HER. +Now lay me down, Tonal; I will be going.” + +Macdonald Bhain laid him quietly back on his pillow, and for a moment he +lay with his eyes closed. + +Once more he opened his eyes, and with a troubled look upon his face, +and in a voice of doubt and fear, he cried: “It is a sinful man, O Lord, +a sinful man.” + +His eyes wandered till they fell on Mrs. Murray's face, and then the +trouble and fear passed out of them, and in a gentler voice he said: +“Forgive us our debts.” Then, feeling with his hand till it rested on +his son's head, Macdonald Dubh passed away, at peace with men and with +God. + +There was little sadness and no bitter grief at Macdonald Dubh's +funeral. The tone all through was one of triumph, for they all knew his +life, and how sore the fight had been, and how he had won his victory. +His humility and his gentleness during the last few weeks of his life +had removed all the distance that had separated him from the people, +and had drawn their hearts toward him; and now in his final triumph they +could not find it in their hearts to mourn. + +But to Ranald the sadness was more than the triumph. Through the wild, +ungoverned years of his boyhood his father had been more than a father +to him. He had been a friend, sharing a common lot, and without much +show of tenderness, understanding and sympathizing with him, and now +that his father had gone from him, a great loneliness fell upon the lad. + +The farm and its belongings were sold. Kirsty brought with her the big +box of blankets and linen that had belonged to Ranald's mother. Ranald +took his mother's Gaelic Bible, his father's gun and ax, and with the +great deerhound, Bugle, and his colt, Lisette, left the home of his +childhood behind him, and with his Aunt Kirsty, went to live with his +uncle. + +Throughout the autumn months he was busy helping his uncle with the +plowing, the potatoes, and the fall work. Soon the air began to nip, +and the night's frost to last throughout the shortening day, and then +Macdonald Bhain began to prepare wood for the winter, and to make all +things snug about the house and barn; and when the first fall of snow +fell softly, he took down his broad-ax, and then Ranald knew that the +gang would soon be off again for the shanties. That night his uncle +talked long with him about his future. + +“I have no son, Ranald,” he said, as they sat talking; “and, for your +father's sake and for your own, it is my desire that you should become +a son to me, and there is no one but yourself to whom the farm would go. +And glad will I be if you will stay with me. But, stay or not, all that +I have will be yours, if it please the Lord to spare you.” + +“I would want nothing better,” said Ranald, “than to stay with you and +work with you, but I do not draw toward the farm.” + +“And what else would you do, Ranald?” + +“Indeed, I know not,” said Ranald, “but something else than farming. But +meantime I should like to go to the shanties with you this winter.” + +And so, when the Macdonald gang went to the woods that winter, Ranald, +taking his father's ax, went with them. And so clever did the boy prove +himself that by the time they brought down their raft in the spring +there was not a man in all the gang that Macdonald Bhain would sooner +have at his back in a tight place than his nephew Ranald. And, indeed, +those months in the woods made a man out of the long, lanky boy, so +that, on the first Sabbath after the shantymen came home, not many in +the church that day would have recognized the dark-faced, stalwart youth +had it not been that he sat in the pew beside Macdonald Bhain. It was +with no small difficulty that the minister's wife could keep her little +boy quiet in the back seat, so full of pride and joy was he at the +appearance of his hero; but after the service was over, Hughie could +be no longer restrained. Pushing his way eagerly through the crowd, he +seized upon Ranald and dragged him to his mother. + +“Here he is, mother!” he exclaimed, to Ranald's great confusion, and to +the amusement of all about him. “Isn't he splendid?” + +And as Ranald greeted Mrs. Murray with quiet, grave courtesy, she felt +that his winter in the woods and on the river had forever put behind him +his boyhood, and that henceforth he would take his place among the men. +And looking at his strong, composed, grave face, she felt that that +place ought not to be an unworthy one. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +LENOIR'S NEW MASTER + + +The shantymen came back home to find the revival still going on. Not a +home but had felt its mighty power, and not a man, woman, or even child +but had come more or less under its influence. Indeed, so universal +was that power that Yankee was heard to say, “The boys wouldn't go in +swimmin' without their New Testaments”--not but that Yankee was in very +fullest sympathy with the movement. He was regular in his attendance +upon the meetings all through spring and summer, but his whole previous +history made it difficult for him to fully appreciate the intensity and +depth of the religious feeling that was everywhere throbbing through the +community. + +“Don't see what the excitement's for,” he said to Macdonald Bhain one +night after meeting. “Seems to me the Almighty just wants a feller to do +the right thing by his neighbor and not be too independent, but go 'long +kind o' humble like and keep clean. Somethin' wrong with me, perhaps, +but I don't seem to be able to work up no excitement about it. I'd like +to, but somehow it ain't in me.” + +When Macdonald Bhain reported this difficulty of Yankee's to Mrs. +Murray, she only said: “'What doth the Lord require of thee, but to do +justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?'” And with +this Macdonald Bhain was content, and when he told Yankee, the latter +came as near to excitement as he ever allowed himself. He chewed +vigorously for a few moments, then, slapping his thigh, he exclaimed: +“By jings! That's great. She's all right, ain't she? We ain't all built +the same way, but I'm blamed if I don't like her model.” + +But the shantymen noticed that the revival had swept into the church, +during the winter months, a great company of the young people of the +congregation; and of these, a band of some ten or twelve young men, with +Don among them, were attending daily a special class carried on in the +vestry of the church for those who desired to enter training for the +ministry. + +Mrs. Murray urged Ranald to join this class, for, even though he had no +intention of becoming a minister, still the study would be good for him, +and would help him in his after career. She remembered how Ranald had +told her that he had no intention of being a farmer or lumberman. And +Ranald gladly listened to her, and threw himself into his study, using +his spare hours to such good purpose throughout the summer that he +easily kept pace with the class in English, and distanced them in his +favorite subject, mathematics. + +But all these months Mrs. Murray felt that Ranald was carrying with him +a load of unrest, and she waited for the time when he would come to her. +His uncle, Macdonald Bhain, too, shared her anxiety in regard to Ranald. + +“He is the fine, steady lad,” he said one night, walking home with her +from the church; “and a good winter's work has he put behind him. He is +that queeck, there is not a man like him on the drive; but he is not the +same boy that he was. He will not be telling me anything, but when the +boys will be sporting, he is not with them. He will be reading his book, +or he will be sitting by himself alone. He is like his father in the +courage of him. There is no kind of water he will not face, and no man +on the river would put fear on him. And the strength of him! His arms +are like steel. But,” returning to his anxiety, “there is something +wrong with him. He is not at peace with himself, and I wish you could +get speech with him.” + +“I would like it, too,” replied Mrs. Murray. “Perhaps he will come to +me. At any rate, I must wait for that.” + +At last, when the summer was over, and the harvest all gathered in, the +days were once more shortening for the fall, Ranald drove Lisette one +day to the manse, and went straight to the minister's wife and opened up +his mind to her. + +“I cannot keep my promise to my father, Mrs. Murray,” he said, going +at once to the heart of his trouble. “I cannot keep the anger out of my +heart. I cannot forgive the man that killed my father. I will be waking +at night with the very joy of feeling my fingers on his throat, and I +feel myself longing for the day when I will meet him face to face and +nothing between us. But,” he added, “I promised my father, and I +must keep my word, and that is what I cannot do, for the feeling of +forgiveness is not here,” smiting his breast. “I can keep my hands off +him, but the feeling I cannot help.” + +For a long time Mrs. Murray let him go on without seeking to check the +hot flow of his words and without a word of reproof. Then, when he had +talked himself to silence, she took her Bible and read to him of the +servant who, though forgiven, took his fellow-servant by the throat, +refusing to forgive. And then she turned over the leaves and read once +more: “'God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet +sinners, Christ died for us.'” + +She closed the book and sat silent, waiting for Ranald to speak. + +“I know,” he said, deliberately; “I have read that often through the +winter, but it does not help the feeling I have. I think it only makes +it worse. There is some one holding my arm, and I want to strike.” + +“And do you forget,” said Mrs. Murray, and her voice was almost stern, +“and do you forget how, for you, God gave His Son to die?” + +Ranald shook his head. “I am far from forgetting that.” + +“And are you forgetting the great mercy of God to your father?” + +“No, no,” said Ranald; “I often think of that. But when I think of that +man, something stirs within me and I cannot see, for the daze before +my eyes, and I know that some day I will be at him. I cannot help my +feeling.” + +“Ranald,” said Mrs. Murray, “have you ever thought how he will need +God's mercy like yourself? And have you never thought that perhaps he +has never had the way of God's mercy put before him? To you the Lord has +given much, to him little. It is a terrible thing to be ungrateful for +the mercy of God; and it is a shameful thing. It is unworthy of any true +man. How can any one take the fullness of God's mercy and his patience +every day, and hold an ungrateful heart?” + +She did not spare him, and as Ranald sat and listened, his life and +character began to appear to him small and mean and unworthy. + +“The Lord means you to be a noble man, Ranald--a man with the heart and +purpose to do some good in the world, to be a blessing to his fellows; +and it is a poor thing to be so filled up with selfishness as to have no +thought of the honor of God or of the good of men. Louis LeNoir has done +you a great wrong, but what is that wrong compared with the wrong you +have done to Him who loved you to His own death?” + +Then she gave him her last word: “When you see Louis LeNoir, think of +God's mercy, and remember you are to do him good and not evil.” + +And with that word in his heart, Ranald went away, ashamed and humbled, +but not forgiving. The time for that had not yet come. But before he +left for the shanties, he saw Mrs. Murray again to say good by. He met +her with a shamed face, fearing that she must feel nothing but contempt +for him. + +“You will think ill of me,” he said, and in spite of his self-control +his voice shook. “I could not bear that.” + +“No, I could never think ill of you, Ranald, but I would be grieved to +think that you should fail of becoming a noble man, strong and brave; +strong enough to forgive and brave enough to serve.” + +Once more Ranald went to the woods, with earnest thoughts in his +mind, hoping he should not meet LeNoir, and fighting out his battle +to victory; and by the time the drive had reached the big water next +spring, that battle was almost over. The days in the silent woods and +the nights spent with his uncle in the camp, and afterward in his cabin +on the raft, did their work with Ranald. + +The timber cut that year was the largest that had ever been known on the +Upper Ottawa. There was great crowding of rafts on the drive, and for +weeks the chutes were full, and when the rafts were all brought together +at Quebec, not only were the shores lined and Timber Cove packed, but +the broad river was full from Quebec to Levis, except for the steamboat +way which must be kept open. + +For the firm of Raymond & St. Clair this meant enormous increase of +business, and it was no small annoyance that at this crisis they should +have detected their Quebec agent in fraud, and should have been forced +to dismiss him. The situation was so critical that Mr. St. Clair +himself, with Harry as his clerk, found it necessary to spend a month in +Quebec. He took with him Maimie and her great friend Kate Raymond, the +daughter of his partner, and established himself in the Hotel Cheval +Blanc. + +On the whole, Maimie was not sorry to visit the ancient capital of +Canada, though she would have chosen another time. It was rather +disappointing to leave her own city in the West, just at the beginning +of the spring gayeties. It was her first season, and the winter had been +distinguished by a series of social triumphs. She was the toast of all +the clubs and the belle of all the balls. She had developed a rare and +fascinating beauty, and had acquired an air so distingue that even her +aunt, Miss St. Clair, was completely satisfied. It was a little hard for +her to leave the scene of her triumphs and to abandon the approaching +gayeties. + +But Quebec had its compensations, and then there were the De Lacys, one +of the oldest English families of Quebec. The St. Clairs had known them +for many years. Their blood was unquestionably blue, they were wealthy, +and besides, the only son and representative of the family was now +lieutenant, attached to the garrison at the Citadel. Lieutenant De +Lacy suggested possibilities to Maimie. Quebec might be endurable for a +month. + +“What a lovely view, and how picturesque!” + +Maimie was standing at the window looking down upon the river with its +fleet of rafts. Beside her stood Kate, and at another window Harry. + +“What a lot of timber!” said Harry. “And the town is just full of +lumbermen. A fellow said there must be six thousand of them, so there +will be lots of fun.” + +“Fun!” exclaimed Kate. + +“Fun! rather. These fellows have been up in the woods for some five +or six months, and when they get to town where there is whisky +and--and--that sort of thing, they just get wild. They say it is awful.” + +“Just horrible!” said Maimie, in a disgusted tone. + +“But splendid,” said Kate; “that is, if they don't hurt any one.” + +“Hurt anybody!” exclaimed Harry. “Oh, not at all; they are always +extremely careful not to hurt any one. They are as gentle as lambs. +I say, let us go down to the river and look at the rafts. De Lacy was +coming up, but it is too late now for him. Besides, we might run across +Maimie's man from Glengarry.” + +“Maimie's man from Glengarry!” exclaimed Kate. “Has she a man there, +too?” + +“Nonsense, Kate!” said Maimie, blushing. “He is talking about Ranald, +you know. One of Aunt Murray's young men, up in Glengarry. You have +heard me speak of him often.” + +“Oh, the boy that pulled you out of the fire,” said Kate. + +“Yes,” cried Harry, striking an attitude, “and the boy that for love of +her entered the lists, and in a fistic tournament upheld her fair name, +and--” + +“Oh, Harry, do have some sense!” said Maimie, impatiently. “Hush, here +comes some one; Lieutenant De Lacy, I suppose.” + +It was the lieutenant, handsome, tall, well made, with a high-bred +if somewhat dissipated face, an air of blase indifference a little +overdone, and an accent which he had brought back with him from Oxford, +and which he was anxious not to lose. Indeed, the bare thought of the +possibility of his dropping into the flat, semi-nasal of his native land +filled the lieutenant with unspeakable horror. + +“We were just going down to the river,” said Maimie, after the +introductions were over, “but I suppose it is all old to you, and you +would not care to go?” + +“Aw, charmed, I'm sure.” (The lieutenant pronounced it “shuah.”) “But it +is rathaw, don't you know, not exactly clean.” + +“He is thinking of his boots,” said Harry, scornfully, looking down at +the lieutenant's shining patent leathers. + +“Really,” said the lieutenant, mildly, “awfully dirty street, though.” + +“But we want to see the shantymen,” said Kate, frankly. + +“Oh, the men! Very proper, but not so very discriminating, you know.” + +“I love the shantymen,” exclaimed Kate, enthusiastically. “Maimie told +me all about them.” + +“By Jove! I'll join to-morrow,” exclaimed the lieutenant with gentle +excitement. + +“They would not have you,” answered Kate. “Besides, you would have to +eat pork and onions and things.” + +The lieutenant shuddered, gazing reproachfully at Kate. + +“Onions!” he gasped; “and you love them?” + +“Let us go along, then,” said Harry. “We will have a look at them, +anyway.” + +“From the windward side, I hope,” said the lieutenant, gently. + +“I am going right on the raft,” declared Kate, stoutly, “if we can only +find Ranald.” + +“Meaning who, exactly?” questioned De Lacy. + +“A lumberman whom Maimie adores.” + +“How happy!” said De Lacy. + +“Nonsense, Lieutenant De Lacy,” said Maimie, impatiently and a little +haughtily; “he is a friend of my aunt's up in the county of Glengarry.” + +“No nonsense about it,” said Harry, indignant that his sister should +seem indifferent to Ranald. “He is a great friend of us all; and you +will see--she will fly into his arms.” + +“Heaven forbid!” ejaculated the lieutenant, much shocked. + +“Harry, how can you be so--?” said Maimie, much annoyed. “What will the +lieutenant think of me?” + +“Ah, if I only might tell!” said the lieutenant, looking at her with +languishing eyes. But already Kate was downstairs and on her way to the +street. + +As they neared the lower town, the narrow streets became more and more +crowded with men in the shantymen's picturesque dress, and they had some +difficulty in making their way through the jolly, jostling crowds. As +they were nearing the river, they saw coming along the narrow sidewalk +a burly French-Canadian, dressed in the gayest holiday garb of the +shantymen.--red shirt and sash, corduroys tucked into red top-boots, a +little round soft hat set upon the back of his black curls, a gorgeous +silk handkerchief around his neck, and a big gold watch-chain with +seals at his belt. He had a bold, handsome face, and swaggered along the +sidewalk, claiming it all with an assurance fortified by whisky enough +to make him utterly regardless of any but his own rights. + +“Hello!” he shouted, as he swaggered along. “Make way, I'm de boss bully +on de reever Hottawa.” It was his day of glory, and it evidently pleased +him much that the people stood aside to let him pass. Then he broke into +song:-- + + + “En roulant ma boule roulant, + En roulant me boule.” + + +“This, I suppose, is one of your beloved shantymen,” said the +lieutenant, turning to Kate, who was walking with Harry behind. + +“Isn't he lovely!” exclaimed Kate. + +“Oh,” cried Maimie, in terror, “let us get into a shop!” + +“Quite unnecessary, I assure you,” said the lieutenant, indifferently; +“I have not the least idea that he will molest you.” + +The lumberman by this time had swaggered up to the party, expecting them +to make way, but instead, De Lacy stiffened his shoulder, caught the +Frenchman in the chest, and rolled him off into the street. Surprised +and enraged, the Frenchman turned to demolish the man who had dared to +insult the “boss bully on de reever Hottawa.” + +“Vous n'avez pas remarque la demoiselle,” said the lieutenant, in a tone +of politeness. + +The lumberman, who had swaggered up ready to strike, glanced at Maimie, +took off his hat, and made a ceremonious bow. + +“Eh bien! Non! Pardon, Mams'elle.” + +“Bon jour,” said Lieutenant De Lacy, with a military salute, and moved +on, leaving the lumberman staring after them as if he had seen a vision. + +“Beauty and the Beast,” murmured the lieutenant. “Thought I was in for +it, sure. Really wonderful, don't you know!” + +“Do you think we had better go on?” said Maimie, turning to Kate and +Harry. + +“Why not? Why, certainly!” they exclaimed. + +“These horrid men,” replied Maimie. + +“Dear creatures!” said the lieutenant, glancing at Kate with a mildly +pathetic look. “Sweet, but not always fragrant.” + +“Oh, they won't hurt us. Let us go on.” + +“Certainly, go on,” echoed Harry, impatiently. + +“Safe enough, Miss St. Clair, but,” pulling out his perfumed +handkerchief, “rather trying.” + +“Oh, get on, De Lacy,” cried Harry, and so they moved on. + +The office of Raymond & St. Clair stood near the wharves. Harry paused +at the door, not quite sure whether to go in or not. It was easy to +discover work in that office. + +“You might ask if Ranald has come,” said Kate. “Maimie is too shy.” + +Harry returned in a few moments, quite excited. + +“The Macdonald gang are in, and the Big Macdonald was here not half an +hour ago, and Ranald is down at the raft beyond the last wharf. I know +the place.” + +“Oh, do let us go on!” cried Kate, to whom Harry had been extolling +Ranald on the way down. “You really ought to inspect your timber, Harry, +shouldn't you?” + +“Most certainly, and right away. No saying what might happen.” + +“Awful slush,” said the lieutenant, glancing at Maimie's face. “Do you +think the timber wouldn't keep for a week?” + +“Oh, rubbish! A week!” cried Harry. “He is thinking of his boots again.” + +To be quite fair to the lieutenant, it was Maimie's doubtful face, +rather than his shiny boots, that made him hesitate. She was evidently +nervous and embarrassed. The gay, easy manner which was her habit was +gone. + +“I think perhaps we had better go, since we are here,” she said, +doubtfully. + +“Exactly; it is what I most desired,” said the lieutenant, gallantly. + +Scores of rafts lay moored along the wharves and shore, and hundred +of lumbermen were to be seen everywhere, not only on the timber and +wharves, but crowding the streets and the doors of the little saloons. + +For half an hour they walked along, watching the men at work with the +timber on the river. Some were loading the vessels lying at anchor, some +were shifting the loose timber about. When they reached the end of the +last wharf, they saw a strapping young lumberman, in a shanty costume +that showed signs of the woods, running some loose sticks of timber +round the end of the raft. With great skill he was handling his pike, +walking the big sticks and running lightly over the timber too small to +carry him, balancing himself on a single stick while he moved the timber +to the bit of open water behind the raft, and all with a grace and +dexterity that excited Kate's admiration to the highest degree. + +“Rather clever, that,” said the lieutenant, lazily. “Hello! close call, +that; ha! bravo!” It was not often the lieutenant allowed himself the +luxury of excitement, but the lumberman running his timber slipped his +pike pole and found himself balancing on the edge of open water. With a +mighty spring he cleared the open space, touched a piece of small timber +that sank under him, and at the next spring landed safe on the raft. +Maimie's scream sounded with the lieutenant's “bravo.” At the cry the +young fellow looked up. It was Ranald. + +“Hello, there!” cried Harry; and with an answering shout, Ranald, using +his pike as a jumping-pole, cleared the open space, ran lightly over the +floating sticks, and with another spring reached the shore. Without a +moment's hesitation he dropped his pole and came almost running toward +them, his face radiant with delight. + +“Maimie!” he exclaimed, holding out his hand, wet and none too clean. + +“How do you do?” said Maimie. She had noticed the look of surprise and +mild disgust on the lieutenant's face, and she was embarrassed. Ranald +was certainly not lovely to look at. His shirt was open at the neck, +torn, and dirty. His trousers and boots were much the worse of their +struggle with the bush. + +“This is Mr. Macdonald, Lieutenant De Lacy,” Maimie hurried to say. The +lieutenant offered a limp hand. + +“Chawmed, I'm suah,” he murmured. + +“What?” said Ranald. + +“Lovely weather,” murmured the lieutenant again, looking at his fingers +that Ranald had just let go. + +“Well, old chap,” said Harry, grasping Ranald's hand and throwing his +arm about his shoulder, “I am awfully glad to find you. We have +been hunting you for half an hour. But hold up, here you are. Let me +introduce you to Miss Kate Raymond, the best girl anywhere.” + +Kate came forward with a frank smile. “I am very glad to meet you,” + she said. “I have heard so much about you, and I am going to call you +Ranald, as they all do.” + +“How lovely!” sighed De Lacy. + +Her greeting warmed Ranald's heart that somehow had been chilled in +the meeting. Something was wrong. Was it this fop of a soldier, or had +Maimie changed? Ranald glanced at her face. No, she was the same, only +more beautiful than he had dreamed. + +But while she was shaking hands with him, there flashed across his mind +the memory of the first time he had seen her, and the look of amusement +upon her face then, that had given him such deadly offense. There was +no amusement now, but there was embarrassment and something else. Ranald +could not define it, but it chilled his heart, and at once he began to +feel how badly dressed he was. The torn shirt, the ragged trousers, and +the old, unshapely boots that he had never given a thought to before, +now seemed to burn into his flesh. Unconsciously he backed away and +turned to go. + +“Where are you off to?” cried Harry; “do you think we are going to let +you go now? We had hard enough work finding you. Come up to the office +and see the governor. He wants to see you badly.” + +Ranald glanced at the lieutenant, immaculate except where the slush had +speckled his shiny boots, and then at his own ragged attire. “I think I +will not go up now,” he said. + +“Well, come up soon,” said Maimie, evidently relieved. + +“No!” said Kate, impetuously, “come right along now.” As she spoke she +ranged herself beside him. + +For a moment or two Ranald hesitated, shot a searching glance at +Maimie's face, and then, with a reckless laugh, said, “I will go now,” + and set off forthwith, Kate proudly marching at one side, and Harry on +the other, leaving Maimie and the lieutenant to follow after. + +And a good thing it was for Ranald that he did go that day with Harry to +his “governor's” office. They found the office in a “swither,” as Harry +said, over the revelations of fraud that were coming to light every +day--book-keeper, clerk, and timber-checker having all been in +conspiracy to defraud the company. + +“Where have you been, Harry?” said his father in an annoyed tone as his +son entered the office. “You don't seem to realize how much there is to +do just now.” + +“Looking up Ranald, father,” said Harry, cheerfully. + +“Ah, the young man from Glengarry?” said Mr. St. Clair, rising. “I am +glad to know you, and to thank you in person for your prompt courage in +saving my daughter.” + +“Lucky dog!” groaned the lieutenant, in an undertone to Maimie. + +Mr. St. Clair spoke to Ranald of his father and his uncle in words of +highest appreciation, and as Ranald listened, the reckless and hard look +which had been gathering ever since his meeting with Maimie passed away, +and his face became earnest and touched with a tender pride. + +“I hear about you frequently from my sister, Mr. Macdonald--or shall +I say Ranald?” said Mr. St. Clair, kindly. “She apparently thinks +something of you.” + +“I am proud to think so,” replied Ranald, his face lighting up as he +spoke; “but every one loves her. She is a wonderful woman, and good.” + +“Yes,” said Mr. St. Clair, “that's it; wonderful and good.” + +Then Maimie drew nearer. “How is auntie?” she said. “What a shame not to +have asked before!” + +“She was very well last fall,” said Ranald, looking keenly into Maimie's +face; “but she is working too hard at the meetings.” + +“Meetings!” exclaimed Harry. + +“Aye, for a year and more she has been at them every night till late.” + +“At meetings for a year! What meetings?” cried Harry, astonished. + +“Oh, Harry, you know about the great revival going on quite well,” said +Maimie. + +“Oh, yes. I forgot. What a shame! What is the use of her killing herself +that way?” + +“There is much use,” said Ranald, gravely. “They are making bad men +good, and the whole countryside is new, and she is the heart of it all.” + +“I have no doubt about that,” said Mr. St. Clair. “She will be the head +and heart and hands and feet.” + +“You're just right, governor,” said Harry, warmly. “There is no woman +living like Aunt Murray.” + +There was silence for a few moments. Then Mr. St. Clair said suddenly: +“We are in an awful fix here. Not a man to be found that we can depend +upon for book-keeper, clerk, or checker.” + +Harry coughed slightly. + +“Oh, of course, Harry is an excellent book-keeper,” Harry bowed low; +“while he is at it,” added Mr. St. Clair. + +“Very neat one,” murmured the lieutenant. + +“Now, father, do not spoil a fine compliment in that way,” cried Harry. + +“But now the checker is gone,” said Mr. St. Clair, “and that is +extremely awkward.” + +“I say,” cried Harry, “what will you give me for a checker right now?” + +Mr. St. Clair looked at him and then at the lieutenant. + +“Pardon me, Mr. St. Clair,” said that gentleman, holding up his hand. “I +used to check a little at Rugby, but--” + +“Not you, by a long hand,” interrupted Harry, disdainfully. + +“This awfully charming brother of yours, so very frank, don't you know!” + said the lieutenant, softly, to Maimie, while they all laughed. + +“But here is your man, governor,” said Harry, laying his hand on Ranald. + +“Ranald!” exclaimed Mr. St. Clair. “Why, the very man! You understand +timber, and you are honest.” + +“I will answer for both with my head,” said Harry. + +“What do you say, Ranald?” said Mr. St. Clair. “Will you take a day to +think it over?” + +“No,” said Ranald; “I will be your checker.” And so Ranald became part +of the firm of Raymond & St. Clair. + +“Come along, Ranald,” said Harry. “We will take the girls home, and then +come back to the office.” + +“Yes, do come,” said Kate, heartily. Maimie said nothing. + +“No,” said Ranald; “I will go back to the raft first, and then come to +the office. Shall I begin tonight?” he said to Mr. St. Clair. + +“To-morrow morning will do, Ranald,” said Mr. St. Clair. “Come up to the +hotel and see us tonight.” But Ranald said nothing. Then Maimie went up +to him. + +“Good by, just now,” she said, smiling into his face. “You will come and +see us to-night, perhaps?” + +Ranald looked at her, while the blood mounted slowly into his dark +cheek, and said: “Yes, I will come.” + +“What's the matter with you, Maimie?” said Harry, indignantly, when they +had got outside. “You would think Ranald was a stranger, the way you +treat him.” + +“And he is just splendid! I wish he had pulled ME out of the fire,” + cried Kate. + +“You might try the river,” said the lieutenant. “I fancy he would go in. +Looks that sort.” + +“Go in?” cried Harry, “he would go anywhere.” The lieutenant made no +reply. He evidently considered that it was hardly worth the effort to +interest himself in the young lumberman, but before he was many hours +older he found reason to change his mind. + +After taking the young ladies to their hotel there was still an hour +till the lieutenant's dinner, so, having resolved to cultivate the St. +Clair family, he proposed accompanying Harry back to the office. + +As they approached the lower portion of the town they heard wild shouts, +and sauntering down a side street, they came upon their French-Canadian +friend of the afternoon. He was standing with his back against a wall +trying to beat off three or four men, who were savagely striking and +kicking at him, and crying the while: “Gatineau! Gatineau!” + +It was the Gatineau against the Ottawa. + +“Our friend seems to have found the object of his search,” said the +lieutenant, as he stood across the street looking at the melee. + +“I say, he's a good one, isn't he?” cried Harry, admiring the Ottawa's +dauntless courage and his fighting skill. + +“His eagerness for war will probably be gratified in a few minutes, by +the look of things,” replied the lieutenant. + +The Gatineaus were crowding around, and had evidently made up their +minds to bring the Ottawa champion to the dust. That they were numbers +to one mattered not at all. There was little chivalry in a shantymen's +fight. + +“Ha! Rather a good one, that,” exclaimed the lieutenant, mildly +interested. “He put that chap out somewhat neatly.” He lit a cigar and +stood coolly watching the fight. + +“Where are the Ottawas--the fellow's friends?” said Harry, much excited. + +“I rather think they camp on another street further down.” + +The Ottawa champion was being sorely pressed, and it looked as if in a +moment or two more he would be down. + +“What a shame!” cried Harry. + +“Well,” said the lieutenant, languidly, “it's beastly dirty, but the +chap's done rather well, so here goes.” + +Smoking his cigar, and followed by Harry, he pushed across the street to +the crowd, and got right up to the fighters. + +“Here, you fellows,” he called out, in a high, clear voice, “what the +deuce do you mean, kicking up such a row? Come now, stop, and get out of +here.” + +The astonished crowd stopped fighting and fell back a little. The calm, +clear voice of command and her majesty's uniform awed them. + +“Mon camarade!” said the lieutenant, removing his cigar and saluting, +“rather warm, eh?” + +“You bet! Ver' warm tam,” was the reply. + +“Better get away, mon ami. The odds are rather against you,” said the +lieutenant. “Your friends are some distance down the next street. +You better go along.” So saying, he stepped out toward the crowd of +Gatineaus who were consulting and yelling. + +“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, politely, waving his little cane. Those +immediately in front gave back, allowed the lieutenant, followed by the +Ottawa man and Harry, to pass, and immediately closed in behind. +They might have escaped had it not been that the Ottawa man found it +impossible to refrain from hurling taunts at them and inviting them to +battle. They had gone not more than two blocks when there was a rush +from behind, and before they could defend themselves they were each in +the midst of a crowd, fighting for their lives. The principal attack +was, of course, made upon the Ottawa man, but the crowd was quite +determined to prevent the lieutenant and Harry from getting near him. In +vain they struggled to break through the yelling mass of Gatineaus, who +now had become numerous enough to fill the street from wall to wall, +and among whom could be seen some few of the Ottawa men trying to force +their way toward their champion. By degrees both Harry and De Lacy +fought their way to the wall, and toward each other. + +“Looks as if our man had met his Waterloo,” said the lieutenant, waiting +for his particular man to come again. + +“What a lot of beasts they are!” said Harry, disgustedly, beating off +his enemy. + +“Hello! Here they come again. We shall have to try another shot, I +suppose,” said the lieutenant, as the crowd, which had for a few moments +surged down the street, now came crushing back, with the Ottawa leader, +and some half-dozen of his followers in the center. + +“Well, here goes,” said De Lacy, leaving the wall and plunging into the +crowd, followed by Harry. As they reached the center a voice called out: +“A bas les Anglais!” + +And immediately the cry, a familiar enough one in those days, was taken +up on all sides. The crowd stiffened, and the attack upon the center +became more determined than ever. The little company formed a circle, +and standing back to back, held their ground for a time. + +“Make for the wall. Keep together,” cried De Lacy, pushing out toward +the side, and followed by his company. But, one by one, the Ottawas +were being dragged down and trampled beneath the “corked” boots of their +foes, till only two of them, with their leader, beside Harry and De +Lacy, were left. + +At length the wall was gained. There they faced about and for a time +held their lives safe. But every moment fresh men rushed in upon them, +yelling their cries, “Gatineau! Gatineau! A bas les Anglais!” + +The Ottawa leader was panting hard, and he could not much longer hold +his own. His two companions were equally badly off. Harry was pale and +bleeding, but still in good heart. The lieutenant was unmarked as yet, +and coolly smoking his cigar, but he knew well that unless help arrived +their case was hopeless. + +“We can't run,” he remarked, calmly, “but a dignified and speedy retreat +is in order if it can be executed. There is a shop a little distance +down here. Let us make for it.” + +But as soon as they moved two more of the Ottawas were dragged down and +trampled on. + +“It begins to look interesting,” said the lieutenant to Harry. “Sorry +you are into this, old chap. It was rather my fault. It is so beastly +dirty, don't you know.” + +“Oh, fault be hanged!” cried Harry. “It's nobody's fault, but it looks +rather serious. Get back, you brute!” So saying, he caught a burly +Frenchman under the chin with a straight left-hander and hurled him back +upon the crowd. + +“Ah, rather pretty,” said the lieutenant, mildly. “It is not often you +can just catch them that way.” They were still a few yards from the shop +door, but every step of their advance had to be fought. + +“I very much fear we can't make it,” said the lieutenant, quietly to +Harry. “We had better back up against the wall here and fight it out.” + +But as he spoke they heard a sound of shouting down the street a little +way, which the Ottawa leader at once recognized, and raising his voice +he cried: “Hottawa! Hottawa! Hottawa a moi!” + +Swiftly, fiercely, came the band of men, some twenty of them, cleaving +their way through the crowd like a wedge. At their head, and taller +than the others, fought two men, whose arms worked with the systematic +precision of piston-rods, and before whom men fell on either hand as if +struck with sledge-hammers. + +“Hottawa a moi!” cried the Ottawa champion again, and the relieving +party faced in his direction. + +“I say,” said the lieutenant, “that first man is uncommonly like your +Glengarry friend.” + +“What, Ranald?” cried Harry. “Then we are all right. I swear it is,” he +said, after a few moments, and then, remembering the story of the great +fight on the Nation, which he had heard from Hughie and Maimie, he +raised the Macdonald war-cry: “Glengarry! Glengarry!” + +Ranald paused and looked about him. + +“Here, Ranald!” yelled Harry, waving his white handkerchief. Then Ranald +caught sight of him. + +“Glengarry!” he cried, and sprang far into the crowd in Harry's +direction. + +“Glengarry! Glengarry forever!” echoed Yankee--for he it was--plunging +after his leader. + +Swift and sharp like the thrust of a lance, the Glengarry men pierced +the crowd, which gave back on either side, and soon reached the group at +the wall. + +“How in the world did YOU get here?” cried Ranald to Harry; then, +looking about him, cried: “Where is LeNware? I heard he was being killed +by the Gatineaus, and I got a few of our men and came along.” + +“LeNware? That is our Canadian friend, I suppose,” said the lieutenant. +“He was here a while ago. By Jove! There he is.” + +Surrounded by a crowd of the Gatineaus, LeNoir, for he was the leader of +the Ottawas, was being battered about and like to be killed. + +“Glengarry!” cried Ranald, and like a lion he leaped upon them, followed +by Yankee and the others. Right and left he hurled the crowd aside, and +seizing LeNoir, brought him out to his own men. + +“Who are you?” gasped LeNoir. “Why, no, it ees not possible. Yes, it is +Yankee for sure! And de Macdonald gang, but”--turning to Ranald--“who +are YOU?” he said again. + +“Never mind,” said Ranald, shortly, “let us get away now, quick! Go on, +Yankee.” + +At once, with Yankee leading, the Glengarry men marched off the field of +battle bearing with them the rescued party. There was no time to lose. +The enemy far outnumbered them, and would soon return to the attack. + +“But how did you know we were in trouble, Ranald?” said Harry as he +marched along. + +“I didn't know anything about you,” said Ranald. “Some one came and said +that the bully of the Ottawa was being killed, so I came along.” + +“And just in time, by Jove!” said the lieutenant, aroused from his +languor for once. “It was a deucedly lucky thing, and well done, too, +'pon my soul.” + +That night, as Ranald and his uncle were in their cabin on the raft +talking over the incidents of the day, and Ranald's plans for the +summer, a man stood suddenly in the doorway. + +“I am Louis LeNoir,” he said, “and I have some word to say to de young +Macdonald. I am sore here,” he said, striking his breast. “I cannot +spik your languige. I cannot tell.” He stopped short, and the tears +came streaming down his face. “I cannot tell,” he repeated, his breast +heaving with mighty sobs. “I would be glad to die--to mak' over--to not +mak'--I cannot say de word--what I do to your fadder. I would give my +life,” he said, throwing out both his hands. “I would give my life. I +cannot say more.” + +Ranald stood looking at him for a few moments in silence when he +finished; then he said slowly and distinctly, “My father told me to say +that he forgave you everything, and that he prayed the mercy of God for +you, and,” added Ranald, more slowly, “I--forgive--you--too.” + +The Frenchman listened in wonder, greatly moved, but he could only +reiterate his words: “I cannot spik what I feel here.” + +“Sit down, Mr. LeNoir,” said Macdonald Bhain, gravely, pointing to a +bench, “and I will be telling you something.” + +LeNoir sat down and waited. + +“Do you see that young man there?” said Macdonald Bhain, pointing to +Ranald. “He is the strongest man in my gang, and indeed, I will not be +putting him below myself.” Here Ranald protested. “And he has learned to +use his hands as I cannot. And of all the men I have ever seen since I +went to the woods, there is not one I could put against him. He could +kill you, Mr. LeNoir.” + +The Frenchman nodded his head and said: “Das so. Das pretty sure.” + +“Yes, that is very sure,” said Macdonald Bhain. “And he made a vow to +kill you,” went on Macdonald Bhain, “and to-night he saved your life. Do +you know why?” + +“No, not me.” + +“Then I will be telling you. It is the grace of God.” + +LeNoir stared at him, and then Macdonald Bhain went on to tell him how +his brother had suffered and struggled long, and how the minister's wife +had come to him with the message of the forgiveness of the great +God. And then he read from Ranald's English Bible the story of the +unforgiving debtor, explaining it in grave and simple speech. + +“That was why,” he concluded. “It was because he was forgiven, and on +his dying bed he sent you the word of forgiveness. And that, too, is the +very reason, I believe, why the lad here went to your help this day.” + +“I promised the minister's wife I would do you good and not ill, when it +came to me,” said Ranald. “But I was not feeling at all like forgiving +you. I was afraid to meet you.” + +“Afraid?” said LeNoir, wondering that any of that gang should confess to +fear. + +“Yes, afraid of what I would do. But now, tonight, it is gone,” said +Ranald, simply, “I can't tell you how.” + +“Das mos' surprise!” exclaimed LeNoir. “Ne comprenne pas. I never see +lak dat, me!” + +“Yes, it is wonderful,” said Macdonald Bhain. “It is very wonderful. It +is the grace of God,” he said again. + +“You mak' de good frien' wit me?” asked LeNoir, rising and putting his +hand out to Macdonald Bhain. Macdonald Bhain rose from his place and +stepped toward the Frenchman, and took his hand. + +“Yes, I will be friends with you,” he said, gravely, “and I will seek +God's mercy for you.” + +Then LeNoir turned to Ranald, and said; “Will you be frien' of me? Is it +too moche?” + +“Yes,” said Ranald, slowly, “I will be your friend, too. It is a little +thing,” he added, unconsciously quoting his father's words. Then LeNoir +turned around to Macdonald Bhain, and striking an attitude, exclaimed: +“See! You be my boss, I be your man--what you call--slave. I work for +noting, me. Das sure.” + +Macdonald Bhain shook his head. + +“You could not belong to us,” he said, and explained to him the terms +upon which the Macdonald men were engaged. LeNoir had never heard of +such terms. + +“You not drink whisky?” + +“Not too much,” said Macdonald Bhain. + +“How many glass? One, two, tree?” + +“I do not know,” said Macdonald Bhain. “It depends upon the man. He must +not take more than is good for him.” + +“Bon!” said LeNoir, “das good. One glass he mak' me feel good. Two das +nice he mak' me feel ver fonny. Three glass yes das mak' me de frien' +of hevery bodie. Four das mak' me feel big; I walk de big walk; I am de +bes' man all de place. Das good place for stop, eh?” + +“No,” said Macdonald Bhain, gravely, “you need to stop before that.” + +“Ver' good. Ver' good me stop him me. You tak' me on for your man?” + +Macdonald Bhain hesitated. LeNoir came nearer him and lowering his +voice said: “I'm ver' bad man me. I lak to know how you do dat--what you +say--forgive. You show me how.” + +“Come to me next spring,” said Macdonald Bhain. + +“Bon!” said LeNoir. “I be dere on de Nation camp.” + +And so he was. And when Mrs. Murray heard of it from Macdonald Bhain +that summer, she knew that Ranald had kept his word and had done LeNoir +good and not evil. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +HE IS NOT OF MY KIND + + +The story of the riot in which Ranald played so important a part filled +the town and stirred society to its innermost circles--those circles, +namely, in which the De Lacys lived and moved. The whole town began +talking of the Glengarry men, and especially of their young leader who +had, with such singular ability and pluck, rescued the Ottawas with +Harry and Lieutenant De Lacy, from their perilous position. + +The girls had the story from Harry's lips, and in his telling of it, +Ranald's courage and skill certainly lost nothing; but to Maimie, while +it was pleasant enough for her to hear of Ranald's prowess, and while +she enjoyed the reflected glory that came to her as his friend, the +whole incident became altogether hateful and distressing. She found +herself suddenly famous in her social world; every one was talking of +her, but to her horror, was connecting Ranald's name with her's in a +most significant way. It was too awful, and if her Aunt Frances should +hear of it, the consequences would be quite too terrible for her to +imagine. She must stop the talk at once. Of course she meant to be kind +to Ranald; he had done her great service, and he was her Aunt Murray's +friend, and besides, she liked him; how much she hardly cared to say to +herself. She had liked him in Glengarry. There was no doubt of that, but +that was two years ago, and in Glengarry everything was different! There +every one was just as good as another, and these people were all her +Aunt Murray's friends. Here the relations were changed. She could not +help feeling that however nice he might be, and however much she might +like him, Ranald was not of her world. + +“Well, tell him so; let him see that,” said Kate, with whom Maimie was +discussing her difficulty. + +“Yes, and then he would fly off and I--we would never see him again,” + said Maimie. “He's as proud as--any one!” + +“Strange, too,” said Kate, “when he has no money to speak of!” + +“You know I don't mean that, and I don't think it's very nice of you. +You have no sympathy with me!” + +“In what way?” + +“Well, in this very unpleasant affair; every one is talking about Ranald +and me, as if I--as if we had some understanding.” + +“And have you not? I thought--” Kate hesitated to remind Maimie of +certain confidences she had received two years ago after her friend had +returned from Glengarry. + +“Oh, absurd--just a girl and boy affair,” said Maimie, impatiently. + +“Then there's nothing at all,” said Kate, with a suspicion of eagerness +in her voice. + +“No, of course not--that is, nothing really serious.” + +“Serious? You mean you don't care for him at all?” Kate looked straight +at her friend. + +“Oh, you are so awfully direct. I don't know. I do care; he's nice in +many ways, and he's--I know he likes me and--I would hate to wound him, +but then you know he's not just one of us. You know what I mean!” + +“Not exactly,” said Kate, quietly. “Do you mean he is not educated?” + +“Oh, no, I don't mean education altogether. How very tiresome you are! +He has no culture, and manners, and that sort of thing.” + +“I think he has very fine manners. He is a little quaint, but you can't +call him rude.” + +“Oh, no, he's never rude; rather abrupt, but oh, dear, don't you know? +What would Aunt Frank say to him?” + +Kate's lip curled a little. “I'm very sure I can't say, but I can +imagine how she would look.” + +“Well, that's it--” + +“But,” went on Kate, “I can imagine, too, how Ranald would look back at +her if he caught her meaning.” + +“Well, perhaps,” said Maimie, with a little laugh, “and that's just it. +Oh, I wish he were--” + +“A lieutenant?” suggested Kate. + +“Well, yes, I do,” said Maimie, desperately. + +“And if he were, you would marry him,” said Kate, a shade of contempt in +her tone that Maimie failed to notice. + +“Yes, I would.” + +Kate remained silent. + +“There now, you think I am horrid, I know,” said Maimie. “I suppose you +would marry him if he were a mere nobody!” + +“If I loved him,” said Kate, with slow deliberation, and a slight tremor +in her voice, “I'd marry him if he were--a shantyman!” + +“I believe you would,” said Maimie, with a touch of regret in her voice; +“but then, you've no Aunt Frank!” + +“Thank Providence,” replied Kate, under her breath. + +“And I'm sure I don't want to offend her. Just listen to this.” Maimie +pulled out a letter, and turning over the pages, found the place and +began to read: “'I am so glad to hear that you are enjoying your stay in +Quebec'--um-um-um--'fine old city'--um-um-um--'gates and streets,' 'old +days'--um-um-um--'noble citadel,' 'glorious view'--um-um-um-um--'finest +in the world'--No, that isn't it--Oh, yes, here it is: 'The De Lacys +are a very highly connected English family and very old friends of my +friends, the Lord Archers, with whom I visited in England, you know. +The mother is a dear old lady--so stately and so very particular--with +old-fashioned ideas of breeding and manners, and of course, very +wealthy. Her house in Quebec is said to be the finest in the Province, +and there are some English estates, I believe, in their line. Lieutenant +De Lacy is her only son, and from what you say, he seems to be a very +charming young man. He will occupy a very high place someday. I suppose +Kate will'--um-um-um--'Oh yes, and if Mrs. De Lacy wishes you to visit +her you might accept'--um-um--um--'and tell Kate that I should be +delighted if she could accompany me on a little jaunt through the +Eastern States. I have asked permission of her father, but she wrote you +herself about that, didn't she?--um-um-um--And then listen to this! +'How very odd you should have come across the young man from Glengarry +again--Mac Lennon, is it? Mac-something-or-other! Your Aunt Murray seems +to consider him a very steady and worthy young man. I hope he may not +degenerate in his present circumstances and calling, as so many of his +class do. I am glad your father was able to do something for him. These +people ought to be encouraged.' Now you see!” Maimie's tone was quite +triumphant. + +“Yes,” said Kate! “I do see! These people should be encouraged to make +our timber for us that we may live in ease and luxury, and even to save +us from fire and from blood-thirsty mobs, as occasions may offer, but as +for friendships and that sort of thing--” + +“Oh, Kate,” burst in Maimie, almost in tears, “you are so very unkind. +You know quite well what I mean.” + +“Yes, I know quite well; you would not invite Ranald, for instance, +to dine at your house, to meet your Aunt Frank and the Evanses and +the Langfords and the Maitlands,” said Kate, spacing her words with +deliberate indignation. + +“Well, I would not, if you put it in that way,” said Maimie, petulantly, +“and you wouldn't either!” + +“I would ask him to meet every Maitland of them if I could,” said Kate, +“and it wouldn't hurt them either.” + +“Oh, you are so peculiar,” said Maimie, with a sigh of pity. + +“Am I,” said Kate; “ask Harry,” she continued, as that young man came +into the room. + +“No, you needn't mind,” said Maimie; “I know well he will just side with +you. He always does.” + +“How very amiable of me,” said Harry; “but what's the particular issue?” + +“Ranald,” said Kate. + +“Then I agree at once. Besides, he is coming to supper next Sunday +evening!” + +“Oh, Harry,” exclaimed Maimie, in dismay, “on Sunday evening?” + +“He can't get off any other night; works all night, I believe, and would +work all Sunday, too, if his principles didn't mercifully interfere. He +will be boss of the concern before summer is over.” + +“Oh, Harry,” said Maimie, in distress, “and I asked Lieutenant De Lacy +and his friend, Mr. Sims, for Sunday evening--” + +“Sims,” cried Harry; “little cad!” + +“I'm sure he's very nice,” said Maimie, “and his family--” + +“Oh, hold up; don't get on to your ancestor worship,” cried Harry, +impatiently. “Anyway, Ranald's coming up Sunday evening.” + +“Well, it will be very awkward,” said Maimie. + +“I don't see why,” said Kate. + +“Oh,” cried Harry, scornfully, “he will have on his red flannel shirt +and a silk handkerchief, and his trousers will be in his boots; that's +what Maimie is thinking of!” + +“You are very rude, Harry,” said Maimie. “You know quite well that +Ranald will not enjoy himself with the others. He has nothing in common +with them.” + +“Oh, I wouldn't worry about that Maimie,” said Kate; “I will talk to +Ranald.” But Maimie was not quite sure how she should like that. + +“You are just your Aunt Frank over again,” said Harry, in a disgusted +tone; “clothes and people!” + +Maimie was almost in tears. + +“I think you are both very unkind. You know Ranald won't enjoy it. He +will be quite miserable, and--they'll just laugh at him!” + +“Well, they'd better laugh at him when he isn't observing,” said Harry. + +“Do you think Ranald would really mind?” interposed Kate, addressing +Harry. “Do you think he will feel shy and awkward? Perhaps we'd better +have him another evening.” + +“No,” said Harry, decidedly; “he is coming, and he's coming on Sunday +evening. He can't get off any other night, and besides, I'd have to lie +to him, and he has an unpleasant way of finding you out when you are +doing it, and once he does find out why he is not asked for Sunday +evening, then you may say good by to him for good and all.” + +“Oh, no fear of that,” said Maimie, confidently; “Ranald has good sense, +and I know he will come again.” + +“Well,” cried Harry, “if you are not going to treat him as you would +treat De Lacy and that idiotic Sims, I won't bring him!” And with that +he flung out of the room. + +But Harry changed his mind, for next Sunday evening as the young ladies +with De Lacy and his friend were about to sit down to supper in their +private parlor, Harry walked in with Ranald, and announced in triumph: +“The man from Glengarry!” Maimie looked at him in dismay, and indeed she +well might, for Ranald was dressed in his most gorgeous shanty array, +with red flannel shirt and silk handkerchief, and trousers tucked into +his boots. Sims gazed at him as if he were an apparition. It was Kate +who first broke the silence. + +“We are delighted to see you,” she cried, going forward to Ranald with +hands outstretched; “you are become quite a hero in this town.” + +“Quite, I assure you,” said the lieutenant, in a languid voice, but +shaking Ranald heartily by the hand. + +Then Maimie came forward and greeted him with ceremonious politeness +and introduced him to Mr. Sims, who continued to gaze at the shantyman's +attire with amused astonishment. + +The supper was not a success; Ranald sat silent and solemn, eating +little and smiling not at all, although Mr. Sims executed his very best +jokes. Maimie was nervous and visibly distressed, and at the earliest +possible moment broke up the supper party and engaged in conversation +with the lieutenant and his witty friend, leaving Harry and Kate to +entertain Ranald. But in spite of all they could do a solemn silence +would now and then overtake the company, till at length Maimie grew +desperate, and turning to Ranald, said: “What are you thinking of? You +are looking very serious?” + +“He is 'thinking of home and mother,'” quoted Mr. Sims, in a thin, +piping voice, following his quotation with a silly giggle. + +Kate flushed indignantly. “I am quite sure his thoughts will bear +telling,” she said. + +“I am sure they would,” said Maimie, not knowing what to say. “What were +they, Ran--Mr. Macdonald?” + +“I was thinking of you,” said Ranald, gravely, looking straight at her. + +“How lovely,” murmured the lieutenant. + +“And of your aunt, Mrs. Murray, and of what they would be doing this +night--” + +“And what would that be?” said Kate, coming to the relief of her friend. +But Ranald was silent. + +“I know,” cried Harry. “Let's see, it is ten o'clock; they will all be +sitting in the manse dining-room before the big fire; or, no, they will +be in the parlor where the piano is, and John 'Aleck' will be there, +and they will be singing”; and he went on to describe his last Sabbath +evening, two years before, in the Glengarry manse. As he began to +picture his aunt and her work, his enthusiasm carried him away, and made +him eloquent. + +“I tell you,” he concluded, “she's a rare woman, and she has a hundred +men there ready to die for her, eh, Ranald?” + +“Yes,” said Ranald, and his deep voice vibrated with intense feeling. +“They would just die for her, and why not? She is a great woman and a +good.” His dark face was transformed, and his eyes glowed with an inner +light. + +In the silence that followed Kate went to the harmonium and began to +play softly. Ranald stood up as to go, but suddenly changed his mind, +and went over and stood beside her. + +“You sing, don't you?” said Kate, as she played softly. + +“You ought to just hear him,” said Harry. + +“Oh, what does he sing?” + +“I only sing the psalm tunes in church,” said Ranald, “and a few hymns.” + +“Ye gods!” ejaculated the lieutenant to Maimie, “psalms and hymns; and +how the fellow knocked those Frenchmen about!” + +“Sing something, Kate, won't you?” said Maimie, and Kate, without a word +began the beautiful air from Mendelssohn's St. Paul:-- + + + “But the Lord is mindful of His own,” + + +singing it with a power of expression marvellous in so young a girl. +Then, without further request, she glided into the lovely aria, “O Rest +in the Lord.” It was all new and wonderful to Ranald. He did not dream +that such majesty and sweetness could be expressed in music. He sat +silent with eyes looking far away, and face alight with the joy that +filled his soul. + +“Oh, thanks, very much,” murmured the lieutenant, when Kate had +finished. “Lovely thing that aria, don't you know?” + +“Very nice,” echoed Mr. Sims, “and so beautifully done, too.” + +Ranald looked from one to the other in indignant surprise, and then +turning away from them to Kate, said, in a tone almost of command: “Sing +it again.” + +“I'll sing something else,” she said. “Did you ever hear--” + +“No, I never heard anything at all like that,” interrupted Ranald. “Sing +some more like the last.” + +The deep feeling showing in his face and in his tone touched Kate. + +“How would this do?” she replied. “It is a little high for me, but I'll +try.” + +She played a few introductory chords, and then began that sweetest bit +of the greatest of all the oratorios “He shall Feed His Flock.” And from +that passed into the soul-moving “He Was Despised” from the same noble +work. The music suited the range and quality of her voice perfectly, and +she sang with her heart thrilling in response to the passionate feeling +in the dark eyes fixed upon her face. She had never sung to any one who +listened as Ranald now listened to her. She forgot the others. She +was singing for him, and he was compelling her to her best. She was +conscious of a subtle sense of mastery overpowering her, and with a +strange delight she yielded herself to that commanding influence; but +as she sang she began to realize that he was thinking not of her, but of +her song, and soon she, too, was thinking of it. She knew that his eyes +were filled with the vision of “The Man of Sorrows” of whom she sang, +and before she was aware, the pathos of that lonely and despised life, +set forth in the noble words of the ancient prophet, was pouring forth +in the great Master's music. + +When the song was ended, no one spoke for a time, and even Mr. Sims +was silent. Then the lieutenant came over to the harmonium, and leaning +toward Kate, said, in an earnest voice, unusual with him, “Thank you +Miss Raymond. That was truly great.” + +“Great indeed;” said Harry, with enthusiasm. “I never heard you sing +like that before, Kate.” + +But Ranald sat silent, finding no words in which to express the thoughts +and feelings her singing had aroused in him. + +There is that in noble music which forbids unreality, rebukes frivolity +into silence, subdues ignoble passions, soothes the heart's sorrow, and +summons to the soul high and holy thoughts. It was difficult to begin +the conversation; the trivial themes of the earlier part of the evening +seemed foreign to the mood that had fallen upon the company. At length +Mr. Sims ventured to remark, with a giggle: “It's awfully fine, don't +you know, but a trifle funereal. Makes one think of graves and that +sort of thing. Very nice, of course,” he added, apologetically, to Kate. +Ranald turned and regarded the little man for some moments in silence, +and then, with unutterable scorn, exclaimed: “Nice! man, it's wonderful, +wonderful to me whatever! Makes me think of all the great things I ever +saw.” + +“What things?” Kate ventured to say. + +For a few moments Ranald paused, and then replied: “It makes me think +of the big pine trees waving and wailing over me at night, and the big +river rolling down with the moonlight on it--and--other things.” + +“What other things, Ranald,” persisted Kate. + +But Ranald shook his head and sat silent for some time. Then he rose +abruptly. + +“I will be going now,” he said. + +“You will come again soon, Ranald,” said Maimie, coming toward him with +a look on her face that reminded him of the days in the Glengarry manse. +She had forgotten all about his red shirt and silk handkerchief. As +Ranald caught that look a great joy leaped into his eyes for a moment, +then faded into a gaze of perplexity. + +“Yes, do come,” added Kate. + +“Will you sing again?” he asked, bluntly. + +“Yes, indeed,” she replied, with a slight blush, “if you want me to.” + +“I will come. When? To-morrow night?” + +“Yes, certainly, to-morrow night,” said Kate, blushing deeply now, for +she noticed the slight smile on Harry's face, and the glance that passed +between Mr. Sims and the lieutenant. Then Ranald said good night. + +“I have never had such pleasure in my life,” he said, holding her hand +a moment, and looking into her eyes that sparkled with a happy light. +“That is,” he added, with a swift glance at Maimie, “from music or +things like that.” + +Kate caught the glance, and the happy light faded from her eyes. + +“Good night,” said Ranald, offering his hand to Maimie. “I am glad I +came now. It makes me think of the last night at the manse, although I +am always thinking of it,” he added, simply, with a touch of sadness in +his voice. Maimie's face grew hot with blushes. + +“Yes,” she answered, hurriedly. “Dear Aunt Murray!” + +He stood a moment or two as if about to speak, while Maimie waited in +an agony of fear, not knowing what to expect in this extraordinary young +man. Then he turned abruptly away, and with a good night to De Lacy and +a nod to Mr. Sims, strode from the room. + +“Great Caesar's ghost!” exclaimed the lieutenant; “pardon me, but has +anything happened? That young man now and then gives me a sense of +tragedy. What HAS taken place?” he panted, weakly. + +“Nonsense,” laughed Maimie, “your nervous system is rather delicate.” + +“Ah, thanks, no doubt that's it. Miss Kate, how do you feel?” + +“I,” said Kate, waking suddenly, “thank you, quite happy.” + +“Happy,” sighed De Lacy. “Ah, fortunate young man!” + +“Great chap, that,” cried Harry, coming back from seeing Ranald to the +door. + +“Very,” said De Lacy, so emphatically that every one laughed. + +“Some one really ought to dress him, though,” suggested Mr. Sims, with a +slight sneer. + +“Why?” said Kate, quietly, facing him. + +“Oh, well, you know, Miss Raymond,” stammered Mr. Sims, “that sort of +attire, you know, is hardly the thing for the drawing-room, you know.” + +“He is a shantyman,” said Maimie, apologetically, “and they all dress +like that. I don't suppose that he has any other clothes with him.” + +“Oh, of course,” assented Mr. Sims, retreating before this double +attack. + +“Besides,” continued Kate, “it is good taste to dress in the garb of +your profession, isn't it, Lieutenant De Lacy?” + +“Oh, come now, Miss Kate, that's all right,” said the lieutenant, “but +you must draw the line somewhere, you know. Those colors now you must +confess are a little startling.” + +“You didn't mind the colors when he saved you the other day from that +awful mob!” + +“One for you, De Lacy,” cried Harry. + +“Quite right,” answered the lieutenant, “but don't mistake me. I +distinguish between a fellow and his clothes.” + +“For my part,” said Kate, “I don't care how a man is dressed; if I like +him, I like him should he appear in a blanket and feathers.” + +“Don't speak of it,” gasped the lieutenant. + +“Do let's talk of something else,” said Maimie, impatiently. + +“Delighted, I am sure,” said De Lacy; “and that reminds me that madam +was thinking of a picnic down the river this week--just a small company, +you know. The man would drive her down and take the hamper and things, +and we would go down by boat. Awful pull back, though,” he added, +regretfully, “but if it should give any pleasure--delighted, you know,” + bowing gallantly to the ladies. + +“Delightful!” cried Maimie. + +“And Ranald pulls splendidly,” said Kate. + +Maimie looked at her, wondering how she knew that. “I don't think Ranald +can get away every day. I'm sure he can't; can he, Harry?” she said. + +“No,” said Harry, “no more can I, worse luck! The governor is sticking +awfully close to work just now.” + +“And, of course, you can't be spared,” said Kate, mockingly. “But +couldn't you both come later? We could wait tea for you. + +“Might,” said Harry. “I shall make my best endeavor for your sake,” + bowing toward Kate, “but I am doubtful about Ranald. Perhaps we'd better +not--” + +“Why, certainly, old chap,” said the lieutenant, “what's the matter?” + +“Well, the fact is,” blurted out Harry, desperately, “I don't want to +drag in Ranald. I like him awfully, but you may feel as if he were not +quite one of us. You know what I mean; your mother doesn't know him.” + +Harry felt extremely awkward knowing that he came perilously near to +suspecting the lieutenant of the most despicable snobbery. + +“Why, certainly,” repeated the lieutenant. “That's all right. Bring your +Glengarry man along if any one wants him.” + +“I do,” said Kate, decidedly. + +“Kismet,” replied the lieutenant. “It is decreed. The young man must +come, for I suspect he is very much 'one of us.'” But of this the +lieutenant was not quite so certain by the time the day of the picnic +had arrived. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +ONE GAME AT A TIME + + +The Glengarry men were on the Montreal boat leaving for home. Macdonald +Bhain's farewell to his nephew was full of sadness, for he knew that +henceforth their ways would lie apart, and full of solemn warnings +against the dangers of the city where Ranald was now to be. + +“It is a wicked place, and the pitfalls are many, and they are not in +the places where the eyes will be looking for them. Ye are taking the +way that will be leading you from us all, and I will not be keeping you +back, nor will I be laying any vows upon you. You will be a true +man, and you will keep the fear of God before your eyes, and you will +remember that a Macdonald never fails the man that trusts him.” And long +after the great man was gone his last words kept tugging at Ranald's +heart: “Ranald, lad, remember us up yonder in the Indian Lands,” he +said, holding his hand with a grip that squeezed the bones together; “we +will be always thinking of you, and more than all, at the Bible class +and the meetings she will be asking for you and wondering how you are +doing, and by night and by day the door will be on the latch for your +coming; for, laddie, laddie, you are a son to me and more!” The break in +the big Macdonald's voice took away from Ranald all power of speech, and +without a word of reply, he had to let his uncle go. + +Yankee's good by was characteristic. “Well, guess I'll git along. Wish +you were comin' back with us, but you've struck your gait, I guess, and +you're goin' to make quite a dust. Keep your wind till the last quarter; +that's where the money's lost. I ain't 'fraid of you; you're green, but +they can't break you. Keep your left eye on the suckers. There ain't no +danger from the feller that rips and rares and gits up on his hind legs, +but the feller that sidles raound and sorter chums it up to you and +wants to pay fer your drinks, by Jings, kick him. And say,” Yankee's +voice here grew low and impressive, “git some close. These here are all +right for the woods, but with them people close counts an awful lot. +It's the man inside that wins, but the close is outside. Git 'em and git +'em good; none of your second-hand Jew outfits. It'll cost, of course, +but--(here Yankee closed up to Ranald) but here's a wad; ain't no +pertickaler use to me.” + +Then Ranald smote him in the chest and knocked him back against a lumber +pile. + +“I know you,” he cried; “you would be giving me the coat off your back. +If I would be taking money from any man I'd take it from you, but let me +tell you I will have no money that I do not earn;” then, seeing Yankee's +disappointed face, he added, “but indeed, I owe you for your help to +me--and--mi--mine, when help was needed sore, more than I can ever pay +back.” Then, as they shook hands, Ranald spoke again, and his voice was +none too steady. “And I have been thinking that I would like you to have +Lisette, for it may be a long time before I will be back again, and I +know you will be good to her; and if ever I need your help in this way, +I promise I will come to you.” + +Yankee chewed his quid of tobacco hard and spat twice before he could +reply. Then he answered slowly: “Now look-ye-here, I'll take that little +mare and look after her, but the mare's yours and if--and if--which I +don't think will happen--if you don't come back soon, why--I will send +you her equivalent in cash; but I'd ruther see--I'd ruther see you come +back for it!” + +It was with a very lonely heart that Ranald watched out of sight the +steamboat that carried to their homes in the Indian Lands the company +of men who had been his comrades for the long months in the woods and +on the river, and all the more that he was dimly realizing that this +widening blue strip of flowing river was separating him forever from the +life he so passionately loved. As his eyes followed them he thought of +the home-coming that he would have shared; their meetings at the church +door, the grave handshakings from the older folk, the saucy “horos” from +the half-grown boys, the shy blushing glances from the maidens, and last +and dearest of all, the glad, proud welcome in the sweet, serious face +with the gray-brown eyes. It was with the memory of that face in his +heart that he turned to meet what might be coming to him, with the +resolve that he would play the man. + +“Hello, old chap, who's dead?” It was Harry's gay voice. “You look like +a tomb.” He put his arm through Ranald's and walked with him up the +street. + +“Where are you going now?” he asked, as Ranald walked along in silence. + +“To get some clothes.” + +“Thank the great powers!” ejaculated Harry to himself. + +“What?” + +“And where are you going to get them?” + +“I do not know--some store, I suppose.” Ranald had the vaguest notions +not only of where he should go, but of the clothes in which he ought to +array himself, but he was not going to acknowledge this to his friend. + +“You can't get any clothes fit to wear in this town,” said Harry, +in high contempt. Ranald's heart sank. “But come along, we will find +something.” + +As they passed in front of the little French shops, with windows filled +inside and out with ready-made garments, Ranald paused to investigate. + +“Oh! pshaw,” cried Harry, “don't know what you'll get here. We'll find +something better than this cheap stuff,” and Ranald, glad enough of +guidance, though uncertain as to where it might lead him, followed +meekly. + +“What sort of a suit do you want?” said Harry. + +“I don't know,” said Ranald, doubtfully. It had never occurred to him +that there could be any great difference in suits. There had never been +any choosing of suits with him. + +“Like yours, I suppose,” he continued, glancing at Harry's attire, but +adding, cautiously, “if they do not cost too much.” + +“About forty dollars,” said Harry, lightly; then, noticing the dismayed +look on Ranald's face, he added quickly, “but you don't need to spend +that much, you know. I say, you let me manage this thing.” And +fortunate it was for Ranald that he had his friend's assistance in this +all-important business, but it took all Harry's judgment, skill, and +delicacy of handling to pilot his friend through the devious ways +of outfitters, for Ranald's ignorance of all that pertained to a +gentleman's wardrobe was equaled only by the sensitive pride on the +one hand that made him shrink from appearing poor and mean, and by his +Scotch caution on the other that forbade undue extravagance. It was +a hard hour and a half for them both, but when all was over, Ranald's +gratitude more than repaid Harry for his pains. + +“Come up to-night,” said Harry, as they stood at the door of the Hotel +du Nord, where Ranald had taken up his quarters. + +“No,” said Ranald, abruptly, unconsciously glancing down at his rough +dress. + +“Then I'll come down here,” said Harry, noting the glance. + +“I will be very glad,” replied Ranald, his face lighting up, for he was +more afraid than he cared to show of the lonely hours of that night. It +would be the first night in his life away from his own kin and friends. +But he was not so glad when, after tea, as he stood at the door of the +hotel, he saw sauntering toward him not only Harry, but also Lieutenant +De Lacy and his friend Mr. Sims. + +“These fellows would come along,” explained Harry; “I told them you +didn't want them.” + +“Showed how little he knew,” said the lieutenant. “I told him you would +be delighted.” + +“Will you come in?” said Ranald, rather grudgingly, “though there is +nothing much inside.” + +“What a bear,” said Mr. Sims to Harry, disgustedly, in a low voice. + +“Nothing much!” said the lieutenant, “a good deal I should say from what +one can hear.” + +“Oh, that is nothing,” replied Ranald; “the boys are having some games.” + +The bar-room was filled with men in shanty dress, some sitting with +chairs tipped back against the wall, smoking the black French “twist” + tobacco; others drinking at the bar; and others still at the tables that +stood in one corner of the room playing cards with loud exclamations and +oaths of delight or disgust, according to their fortune. The lieutenant +pushed his way through the crowd, followed by the others. + +“A jolly lot, by Jove!” he exclaimed, looking with mild interest on the +scene, “and with the offer of some sport, too,” he added, glancing at +the card-players in the corner, where men were losing their winter's +wages. + +“What will you take?” said Ranald, prompted by his Highland sense of +courtesy, “and would you have it in the next room?” + +“Anywhere,” said the lieutenant, with alacrity; “a little brandy and +soda for me; nothing else in these places is worth drinking.” + +Ranald gave the order, and with some degree of pride, noticed the +obsequious manner of the bar-tender toward him and his distinguished +guests. They passed into an inner and smaller room, lit by two or three +smoky lamps in brackets on the walls. In this room, sitting at one +of the tables, were two Frenchmen playing ecarte. As the lieutenant +entered, one of them glanced up and uttered an exclamation of +recognition. + +“Ah, it is our warlike friend,” cried De Lacy, recognizing him in +return; “you play this game also,” he continued in French. + +“Not moche,” said LeNoir, for it was he, with a grand salute. “Will the +capitaine join, and his friends?” + +Ranald shook his head and refused. + +“Come along,” said the lieutenant, eagerly, to Ranald. The game was his +passion. “Mr. Sims, you will; Harry, what do you say?” + +“I will look on with Ranald.” + +“Oh, come in Macdonald,” said the lieutenant, “the more the better, and +we'll make it poker. You know the game?” he said, turning to LeNoir; +“and your friend--I have not the pleasure--” + +“Mr. Rouleau,” said Ranald and LeNoir together, presenting the young +Frenchman who spoke and looked like a gentleman. + +“Do you play the game?” said the lieutenant. + +“A verie leetle, but I can learn him.” + +“That's right,” cried the lieutenant, approvingly. + +“What do you say, Ranald,” said Harry, who also loved the game. + +“No,” said Ranald, shortly, “I never play for money.” + +“Make it pennies,” said Mr. Sims, with a slight laugh. + +“Go on, De Lacy,” said Harry, angry at Mr. Sims's tone. “You've got +four--that'll do!” + +“Oh, very well,” said De Lacy, his easy, languid air returning to him. +“What shall it be--quarter chips with a dollar limit? Brandy and soda, +Mr. LeNoir? And you, Mr. Rouleau? Two more glasses, garcon,” and the +game began. + +From the outset Rouleau steadily won till his chips were piled high in +front of him. + +“You play the game well,” said the lieutenant. “Shall we raise the +limit?” + +“As you lak,” said Rouleau, with a polite bow. + +“Let's make it five dollars,” suggested Mr. Sims, to which all agreed. + +But still the game was Rouleau's, who grew more and more excited with +every win. The lieutenant played coolly, and with seeming indifference, +in which he was imitated by Mr. Sims, the loss of a few dollars being a +matter of small moment to either. + +“It would make it more interesting if we made it a dollar to play,” at +length said Mr. Sims. The suggestion was accepted, and the game went +on. At once the luck began to turn, and in a half hour's play Rouleau's +winnings disappeared and passed over to the lieutenant's hand. In +spite of his bad luck, however, Rouleau continued to bet eagerly and +recklessly, until Ranald, who hated to see the young lumberman losing +his season's wages, suggested that the game come to an end. + +“The night is early,” said the lieutenant, “but if you have had enough,” + he said, bowing to LeNoir and Rouleau. + +“Non!” exclaimed Rouleau, “the fortune will to me encore. We mak it de +two-dollar to play. Dat will brak de luck.” + +“I think you ought to stop it,” said Harry. + +But the demon of play had taken full possession of both Rouleau and the +lieutenant and they were not to be denied. Rouleau took from his pocket +a roll of bills and counted them. + +“Fifty dollars,” he cried. “Bon! I play him, me!” + +The others deposited a like sum before them, and the game proceeded. +The deal was De Lacy's. After a few moment's consideration, Mr. Sims and +LeNoir each drew three cards. In a tone of triumph which he could not +altogether suppress, Rouleau exclaimed “Dees are good enough for me.” + The lieutenant drew one card, and the betting began. + +Twice Rouleau, when it came to his turn, bet the limit, the others +contenting themselves by “raising” one dollar. On the third round +LeNoir, remarking, “Das leetle too queek for me,” dropped out. + +Once more Rouleau raised the bet to the limit, when Mr. Sims refused, +and left the game to him and the lieutenant. There was no mistaking +the eager triumph in the Frenchman's pale face. He began to bet more +cautiously, his only fear being that his opponent would “call” too +soon. Dollar by dollar the bet was raised till at last Rouleau joyously +gathered his last chips, raised the bet once more by the limit, +exclaiming, as he did so, “Alas! dere ees no more!” + +He had played his season's wages that night, but now he would recover +all. + +De Lacy, whose coolness was undisturbed, though his face showed signs of +his many brandy-and-sodas, covered the bet. + +“Hola!” exclaimed Rouleau in triumph. “Eet ees to me!” He threw down his +cards and reached for the pile. + +“Excuse me,” said the lieutenant, quietly looking at Rouleau's cards. +“Ah, a straight flush, queen high.” Coolly he laid his cards on the +table. “Thought you might have had the ace,” he said, languidly, leaning +back in his chair. He, too, held a straight flush, but with the king. + +Rouleau gazed thunderstruck. + +“Mort Dieu!” he exclaimed, excitedly. “The deal was from you.” + +“Mine,” said De Lacy, quietly, looking up at the excited Frenchman. + +“Ah,” cried Rouleau, beside himself. “It is--what you call? One cheat! +cheat!” + +The lieutenant sat up straight in his chair. + +“Do you mean that I cheated you?” he said, with slow emphasis. “Beware +what you say.” + +“Oui!” cried the Frenchman; “sacr-r-re--so I mean!” + +Before the words had well left his lips, and before any one could +interfere De Lacy shot out his arm, lifted the Frenchman clear off his +feet, and hurled him to the floor. + +“Stop! you coward!” Ranald stood before the lieutenant with eyes blazing +and breath coming quick. + +“Coward?” said De Lacy, slowly. + +“You hit a man unprepared.” + +“You are prepared, I suppose,” replied De Lacy, deliberately. + +“Yes! Yes!” cried Ranald, eagerly, the glad light of battle coming into +his eyes. + +“Good,” said De Lacy, slowly putting back his chair, and proceeding to +remove his coat. + +“Glengarry!” cried LeNoir, raising the battle cry he had cause to +remember so well; and flinging off his coat upon the floor, he patted +Ranald on the back, yelling, “Go in, bully boy!” + +“Shut the door, LeNoir,” said Ranald, quickly, “and keep it shut.” + +“De Lacy,” cried Harry, “this must not go on! Ranald, think what you are +doing!” + +“You didn't notice his remark, apparently, St. Clair,” said the +lieutenant, calmly. + +“Never mind,” cried Harry, “he was excited, and anyway the thing must +end here.” + +“There is only one way. Does he retract?” said De Lacy, quietly. + +“Ranald,” Harry cried, beseechingly, “you know he is no coward; you did +not mean that.” + +By this time Ranald had himself in hand. + +“No,” he said, regretfully, forcing himself to speak the truth. “I know +he is no coward; I have seen him where no coward would be, but,” he +added, “he struck a man unguarded, and that was a coward's blow.” + +“Macdonald,” said De Lacy deliberately, “you are right. True, he called +me a cheat, but I should have given him time. Still,” he added, rolling +up his sleeves, “I hope you will not deprive yourself or me of the +privilege of settling this little business.” + +“I will be glad,” said Ranald, his eyes once more lighting up. “Very +glad indeed, if you wish.” + +“Nonsense,” cried Harry, passionately, “I tell you I will not have it. +He has given you ample apology, De Lacy; and you, Ranald, I thought a +Macdonald never fought except for sufficient cause!” Harry remembered +the fighting rule of the Macdonald gang. + +“That is true,” said Ranald, gravely, “but it was a cruel blow,” + pointing to Rouleau, who, supported by LeNoir, was sitting on a chair, +his face badly cut and bleeding, “and that, too, after taking from him +the wages of six months in the bush!” + +“I suppose you admit the game was fair,” said the lieutenant, moving +nearer to Ranald, the threat in his tone evident to all. + +“The game was fair,” said Ranald, facing De Lacy, “but I will say the +lad was no fair match for you!” + +“He chose to risk his money, which you were not willing to do.” De Lacy +felt that he was being put in an unpleasant light and was determined to +anger Ranald beyond control. Ranald caught the sneer. + +“If I did not play,” he cried, hotly, “it was for no fear of you or any +of you. It was no man's game whatever,” he continued, contemptuously. + +“Now, De Lacy,” cried Harry, again, “let this stop. The man who fights +will first fight me!” + +“Perhaps Mr. Macdonald would show us how the game should be played,” + said Mr. Sims, coming as near to a sneer as he dared. + +“It would not be hard to show you this game,” said Ranald, ignoring Mr. +Sims, and looking the lieutenant in the eyes, “or perhaps the other!” + +“Good!” cried Harry, gladly seizing the opportunity of averting a fight. +“The game! Take your places, gentlemen!” + +The lieutenant hesitated for a moment, as if uncertain what to do. Then, +with a slight laugh, he said, “Very well, one thing at a time, the other +can wait.” + +“Come on!” cried Harry, “who goes in? LeNoir, you?” + +LeNoir looked at Ranald. + +“What you say?” + +“No,” said Ranald, shortly, “this is my game!” With that he turned +aside from the table and spoke a few words in a low tone to LeNoir, +who assisted Rouleau from the room, and after some minutes' absence, +returned with a little linen bag. Ranald took the bag and began to count +out some money upon the table before him. + +“I will play to one hundred dollars,” he said. + +The lieutenant and Mr. Sims each laid the same amount before them upon +the table. + +“I have not so much on me,” said Harry, “but perhaps my I. O. U. will +do.” + +“What shall we say,” said Mr. Sims, “a dollar to play and five dollars +limit?” + +“Say five and twenty-five,” said De Lacy, who was commanding himself +with a great effort. + +“Is that too high?” said Harry, looking toward Ranald. + +“No,” said Ranald, “the higher the better.” + +It was soon evident that Ranald knew the game. He had learned it during +the long winter nights in the shanty from Yankee, who was a master at +it, and he played it warily and with iron nerve. He seemed to know as +by instinct when to retreat and when to pursue; and he played with the +single purpose of bleeding the lieutenant dry. Often did he refuse to +take toll of Harry or Mr. Sims when opportunity offered, but never once +did he allow the lieutenant to escape. + +“You flatter me,” said the lieutenant, sarcastically, as Ranald's +purpose became increasingly clear. + +“I will have from you all you have won,” replied Ranald, in a tone of +such settled resolve that it seemed as if nothing could prevent the +accomplishment of his purpose. In vain the lieutenant sought to brace +his nerves with his brandy-and-sodas. He played now recklessly and again +with over-caution, while Ranald, taking advantage of every slip and +every sign of weakness, followed him with relentless determination. + +With such stakes the game was soon over. It was not long before the +lieutenant was stripped of his hundred, while Harry and Mr. Sims had +each lost smaller amounts. + +“You will try another hundred?” said the lieutenant, burning to get +revenge. + +Without a word Ranald laid down his hundred; the others did likewise, +and once more the game proceeded. There was no change in Ranald's play. +Thorough knowledge of the game, absolute self-command, an instinctive +reading of his opponent's mind, and unswerving purpose soon brought +about the only result possible. The lieutenant's second hundred with a +part of Harry's and Mr. Sims's passed into Ranald's possession. + +Again De Lacy challenged to play. + +“No,” said Ranald, “I have done.” He put back into his linen bag his one +hundred dollars, counted out two hundred, and gave it to LeNoir, saying: +“That is Rouleau's,” and threw the rest upon the table. “I want no man's +money,” he said, “that I do not earn.” + +The lieutenant sprang to his feet. + +“Hold!” he cried, “you forget, there is something else!” + +“No,” said Ranald, as Harry and Mr. Sims put themselves in De Lacy's +way, “there is nothing else to-night; another day, and any day you wish, +you can have the other game,” and with that he passed out of the room. + + + +CHAPTER XX + +HER CLINGING ARMS + + +The ancient capital of Canada--the old gray queen of the mighty St. +Lawrence--is a city of many charms and of much stately beauty. Its +narrow, climbing streets, with their quaint shops and curious gables, +its old market, with chaffering habitant farmers and their wives, +are full of living interest. Its noble rock, crowned with the ancient +citadel, and its sweeping tidal river, lend it a dignity and majestic +beauty that no other city knows; and everywhere about its citadel and +walls, and venerable, sacred buildings, there still linger the romance +and chivalry of heroic days long gone. But there are times when neither +the interests of the living present nor the charms of the romantic past +can avail, and so a shadow lay upon Maimie's beautiful face as she sat +in the parlor of the Hotel de Cheval Blanc, looking out upon the mighty +streets and the huddled roofs of the lower town. She held in her hand an +open note. + +“It is just awfully stupid,” she grumbled, “and I think pretty mean of +him!” + +“Of whom, may I ask?” said Kate, pausing in her singing, “or is there +any need? What says the gallant lieutenant?” + +Maimie tossed her the note. + +“The picnic is postponed. Well, of course the rain told us that; and he +is unavoidably prevented from calling, and entreats your sympathy and +commiseration. Well, that's a very nice note, I am sure.” + +“Where has he been these three days! He might have known it would be +stupid, and Harry gives one no satisfaction.” Maimie was undeniably +cross. “And Ranald, too,” she went on, “where has he been? Not even your +music could bring him!” with a little spice of spite. “I think men are +just horrid, anyway.” + +“Especially when they will keep away,” said Kate. + +“Well, what are they good for if not to entertain us? I wish we could do +without them! But I do think Ranald might have come.” + +“Well,” said Kate, emphatically, “I can't see why you should expect +him.” + +“Why not?” + +“I think you ought to know.” + +“I, how should I know?” Maimie's innocent blue eyes were wide open with +surprise. + +“Nonsense,” cried Kate, with impatience rare in her, “don't be absurd, +Maimie; I am not a child.” + +“What do YOU mean?” + +“You needn't tell me you don't know why Ranald comes. Do you want him to +come?” + +“Why, of course I do; how silly you are.” + +“Well,” said Kate, deliberately, “I would rather be silly than cruel and +unkind.” + +“Why, Kate, how dreadful of you!” exclaimed Maimie; “'cruel and +unkind!'” + +“Yes.” said Kate; “you are not treating Ranald well. You should not +encourage him to--to--care for you when you do not mean to--to--go on +with it.” + +“Oh, what nonsense; Ranald is not a baby; he will not take any hurt.” + +“Oh, Maimie,” said Kate, and her voice was low and earnest, “Ranald is +not like other men. He does not understand things. He loves you and he +will love you more every day if you let him. Why don't you let him go?” + +“Let him go!” cried Maimie, “who's keeping him?” But as she spoke the +flush in her cheek and the warm light in her eye told more clearly than +words that she did not mean to let him go just then. + +“You are,” said Kate, “and you are making him love you.” + +“Why, how silly you are,” cried Maimie; “of course he likes me, but--” + +“No, Maimie,” said Kate, with sad earnestness, “he loves you; you can +see it in the way he looks at you; in his voice when he speaks and--oh, +you shouldn't let him unless you mean to--to--go on. Send him right +away!” There were tears in Kate's dark eyes. + +“Why, Katie,” cried Maimie, looking at her curiously, “what difference +does it make to you? And besides, how can I send him away? I just treat +him as I do Mr. De Lacy.” + +“De Lacy!” cried Kate, indignantly. “De Lacy can look after himself, but +Ranald is different. He is so serious and--and so honest, and he means +just what he says, and you are so nice to him, and you look at him in +such a way!” + +“Why, Kate, do you mean that I try to--” Maimie was righteously +indignant. + +“You perhaps don't know,” continued Kate, “but you can't help being +fascinating to men; you know you are, and Ranald believes you so, +and--and you ought to be quite straightforward with him!” Poor Kate +could no longer command her voice. + +“There, now,” said Maimie, caressing her friend, not unpleased with +Kate's description of her; “I'm going to be good. I will just be horrid +to both of them, and they'll go away! But, oh, dear, things are all +wrong! Poor Ranald,” she said to herself, “I wonder if he will come to +the picnic on Saturday?” + +Kate looked at her friend a moment and wiped away her tears. + +“Indeed I hope he will not,” she said, indignantly, “for I know you mean +to just lead him on. I have a mind to tell him.” + +“Tell him what?” said Maimie, smiling. + +“Just what you mean to do.” + +“I wish you would tell me that.” + +“Now I tell you, Maimie,” said Kate, “if you go on with Ranald so any +longer I will just tell him you are playing with him.” + +“Do,” said Maimie, scornfully, “and be careful to make clear to him at +the same time that you are speaking solely in his interest!” + +Kate's face flushed red at the insinuation, and then grew pale. She +stood for some time looking in silence at her friend, and then with a +proud flash of her dark eyes, she swept from the room without a word, +nor did Maimie see her again that afternoon, though she stood outside +her door entreating with tears to be forgiven. Poor Kate! Maimie's shaft +had gone too near a vital spot, and the wound amazed and terrified her. +Was it for Ranald's sake alone she cared? Yes, surely it was. Then why +this sharp new pain under the hand pressing hard upon her heart? + +Oh, what did that mean? She put her face in her pillow to hide the red +that she knew was flaming in her cheeks, and for a few moments gave +herself up to the joy that was flooding her whole heart and soul and all +her tingling veins. Oh, how happy she was. For long she had heard of the +Glengarry lad from Maimie and more from Harry till there had grown up +in her heart a warm, admiring interest. And now she had come to know him +for herself! How little after all had they told her of him. What a man +he was! How strong and how fearless! How true-hearted and how his eyes +could fill with love! She started up. Love? Love? Ah, where was her joy! +How chill the day had grown and how hateful the sunlight on the river. +She drew down the blind and threw herself once more upon the bed, +shivering and sick with pain--the bitterest that heart can know. Once +more she started up. + +“She is not worthy of him!” she exclaimed, aloud; “her heart is not deep +enough; she does not, cannot love him, and oh, if some one would only +let him know!” + +She would tell him herself. No! No! Maimie's sharp arrow was quivering +still in her heart. Once more she threw herself upon the bed. How could +she bear this that had stricken her? She would go home. She would go to +her mother to-morrow. Go away forever from--ah--could she? No, anything +but that! She could not go away. + +Over the broad river the warm sunlight lay with kindly glow, and the +world was full of the soft, sweet air of spring, and the songs of mating +birds; but the hours passed, and over the river the shadows began to +creep, and the whole world grew dark, and the songs of the birds were +hushed to silence. Then, from her room, Kate came down with face serene, +and but for the eyes that somehow made one think of tears, without a +sign of the storm that had swept her soul. She did not go home. She was +too brave for that. She would stay and fight her battle to the end. + +That was a dreary week for Ranald. He was lonely and heartsick for the +woods and for his home and friends, but chiefly was he oppressed with +the sense of having played the fool in his quarrel with De Lacy, whom he +was beginning to admire and like. He surely might have avoided that; and +yet whenever he thought of the game that had swept away from Rouleau all +his winter's earnings, and of the cruel blow that had followed, he felt +his muscles stiffen and his teeth set tight in rage. No, he would do it +all again, nor would he retreat one single step from the position he had +taken, but would see his quarrel through to the end. But worst of all +he had not seen Maimie all the week. His experience with Harry in the +ordering of his suit had taught him the importance of clothes, and he +now understood as he could not before, Maimie's manner to him. “That +would be it,” he said to himself, “and no wonder. What would she do with +a great, coarse tyke like me!” Then, in spite of all his loyalty, +he could not help contrasting with Maimie's uncertain and doubtful +treatment of him, the warm, frank friendliness of Kate. “SHE did not +mind my clothes,” he thought, with a glow of gratitude, but sharply +checking himself, he added, “but why should she care?” It rather pleased +him to think that Maimie cared enough to feel embarrassed at his rough +dress. So he kept away from the Hotel de Cheval Blanc till his new +suit should be ready. It was not because of his dress, however, that he +steadily refused Harry's invitation to the picnic. + +“No, I will not go,” he said, with blunt decision, after listening to +Harry's pleading. “It is Lieutenant De Lacy's picnic, and I will have +nothing to do with him, and indeed he will not be wanting me!” + +“Oh, he's forgotten all about that little affair,” cried Harry. + +“Has he? Indeed then if he is a man he has not!” + +“I guess he hasn't remembered much of anything for the last week,” said +Harry, with a slight laugh. + +“Why not?” + +“Oh, pshaw, he's been on a big tear. He only sobered up yesterday.” + +“Huh!” grunted Ranald, contemptuously. He had little respect for a man +who did not know when he had had enough. “What about his job?” he asked. + +“His job? Oh, I see. His job doesn't worry him much. He's absent on +sick-leave. But he's all fit again and I know he will be disappointed if +you do not come to-morrow.” + +“I will not go,” said Ranald, with final decision, “and you can tell him +so, and you can tell him why.” + +And Harry did tell him with considerable fullness and emphasis not only +of Ranald's decision, but also Ranald's opinion of him, for he felt that +it would do that lordly young man no harm to know that a man whom he was +inclined to patronize held him in contempt and for cause. The lieutenant +listened for a time to all Harry had to say with apparent indifference, +then suddenly interrupting him, he said: “Oh, I say, old chap, +I wouldn't rub it in if I were you. I have a more or less vague +remembrance of having rather indulged in heroics. One can't keep his +head with poker and unlimited brandy-and-sodas; they don't go together. +It's a thing I almost never do; never in a big game, but the thing got +interesting before I knew. But I say, that Glengarry chap plays a mighty +good game. Must get him on again. Feels hot, eh? I will make that all +right, and what's the French chap's name--Boileau, Rondeau, eh? Rouleau. +Yes, and where could one see him?” + +“I can find out from LeNoir, who will be somewhere near Ranald. You +can't get him away from him.” + +“Well, do,” said the lieutenant, lazily. “Bring LeNoir to see me. I owe +that Rouleau chap an apology. Beastly business! And I'll fix it up with +Macdonald. He has the right of it, by Jove! Rather lucky, I fancy, he +didn't yield to my solicitations for a try at the other game--from what +I remember of the street riot, eh? Would not mind having a go with him +with the gloves, though. I will see him to-morrow morning. Keep your +mind at rest.” + +Next morning when LeNoir came to his work he was full of the +lieutenant's praises to Ranald. + +“Das fine feller le Capitaine, eh? Das de Grand Seigneur for sure! He's +mak eet all right wit Rouleau! He's pay de cash money and he's mak eet +de good posish for him, an' set him up the champagne, too, by gar!” + +“Huh,” grunted Ranald. “Run that crib around the boom there LeNoir; +break it up and keep your gang moving to-day!” + +“Bon!” said LeNoir, with alacrity. “I give 'em de big move, me!” + +But however unwilling Ranald was to listen to LeNoir singing the +lieutenant's praises, when he met Harry at noon in the office he was +even more enthusiastic than LeNoir in his admiration of De Lacy. + +“I never saw the likes of him,” he said. “He could bring the birds out +of the trees with that tongue of his. Indeed, I could not have done what +he did whatever. Man, but he is a gentleman!” + +“And are you going this evening?” + +“That I am,” said Ranald. “What else could I do? I could not help +myself; he made me feel that mean that I was ready to do anything.” + +“All right,” said Harry, delighted, “I will take my canoe around for you +after six.” + +“And,” continued Ranald, with a little hesitation, “he told me he would +be wearing a jersey and duck trousers, and I think that was very fine of +him.” + +“Why, of course,” said Harry, quite mystified, “what else would he +wear?” + +Ranald looked at him curiously for a moment, and said: “A swallow-tail, +perhaps, or a blanket, maybe,” and he turned away leaving Harry more +mystified than ever. + +Soon after six, Harry paddled around in his canoe, and gave the stern to +Ranald. What a joy it was to him to be in a canoe stern again; to feel +the rush of the water under his knees; to have her glide swiftly on her +soundless way down the full-bosomed, sunbathed river; to see her put her +nose into the little waves and gently, smoothly push them asunder with +never a splash or swerve; to send her along straight and true as an +arrow in its flight, and then flip! flip to swing her off a floating +log or around an awkward boat lumbering with clumsy oars. That was to be +alive again. Oh, the joy of it! Of all things that move to the will of +man there is none like the canoe. It alone has the sweet, smooth glide, +the swift, silent dart answering the paddle sweep; the quick swerve +in response to the turn of the wrist. Ranald felt as if he could have +gladly paddled on right out to the open sea; but sweeping around a bend +a long, clear call hailed them, and there, far down at the bottom of a +little bay, at the foot of the big, scarred, and wrinkled rock the smoke +and glimmer of the camp-fire could be seen. A flip of the stern paddle, +and the canoe pointed for the waving figure, and under the rhythmic +sweep of the paddles, sped like an arrow down the waters, sloping to the +shore. There, on a great rock, stood Kate, directing their course. + +“Here's a good landing,” she cried. Right at the rock dashed the canoe +at full speed. A moment more and her dainty nose would be battered out +of all shape on the cruel rock, but a strong back stroke, a turn of the +wrist, flip, and she lay floating quietly beside the rock. + +“Splendid!” cried Kate. + +“Well done, by Jove!” exclaimed the lieutenant, who was himself an +expert with the paddle. + +“I suppose you have no idea how fine you look,” cried Kate. + +“And I am quite sure,” answered Harry, “you have no suspicion of what +a beautiful picture you all make.” And a beautiful picture it was: the +great rocky cliff in the background, tricked out in its new spring green +of moss and shrub and tree; the grassy plot at its foot where a little +stream gurgled out from the rock; the blazing camp-fire with the little +group about it; and in front the sunlit river. How happy they all were! +And how ready to please and to be pleased. Even little Mr. Sims had his +charm. And at the making of the tea, which Kate had taken in charge with +Ranald superintending, what fun there was with burning of fingers +and upsetting of kettles! And then, the talk and the laughter at the +lieutenant's brilliant jokes, and the chaffing of the “lumbermen” over +their voracious appetites! It was an hour of never-to-be-forgotten +pleasure. They were all children again, and with children's hearts were +happy in childhood's simple joys. And why not? There are no joys purer +than those of the open air; of grass and trees flooded with the warm +light and sweet scents of the soft springtime. Too soon it all came +to an end, and then they set off to convoy the stately old lady to her +carriage at the top of the cliff. Far in front went Kate, disdaining +the assistance of Harry and Mr. Sims, who escorted her. Near at hand +the lieutenant was in attendance upon Maimie, who seemed to need his +constant assistance; for the way was rough, and there were so many +jutting points of rock for wonderful views, and often the very prettiest +plants were just out of reach. Last of all came Madame De Lacy, climbing +the steep path with difficulty and holding fast to Ranald's arm. With +charming grace she discoursed of the brave days of old in which her +ancestors had played a worthy part. An interesting tale it was, but in +spite of all her charm of speech, and grace of manner, Ranald could not +keep his mind from following his heart and eyes that noted every step +and move of the beautiful girl, flitting in and out among the trees +before them. And well it was that his eyes were following so close; for, +as she was reaching for a dainty spray of golden birch, holding by the +lieutenant's hand, the treacherous moss slipped from under Maimie's +feet, and with a piercing shriek she went rolling down the sloping +mountain-side, dragging her escort with her. Like a flash of light +Ranald dropped madame's arm, and seizing the top of a tall birch that +grew up from the lower ledge, with a trick learned as a boy in the +Glengarry woods, he swung himself clear over the edge, and dropping +lightly on the mossy bank below, threw himself in front of the rolling +bodies, and seizing them held fast. In another moment leaving the +lieutenant to shift for himself, Ranald was on his knees beside Maimie, +who lay upon the moss, white and still. “Some water, for God's sake!” + he cried, hoarsely, to De Lacy, who stood dazed beside him, and then, +before the lieutenant could move, Ranald lifted Maimie in his arms, as +if she had been an infant, and bore her down to the river's edge, and +laid her on the grassy bank. Then, taking up a double handful of water, +he dashed it in her face. With a little sigh she opened her eyes, and +letting them rest upon his face, said, gently, “Oh, Ranald, I am so glad +you--I am so sorry I have been so bad to you.” She could say no more, +but from her closed eyes two great tears made their way down her pale +cheeks. + +“Oh, Maimie, Maimie,” said Ranald, in a broken voice, “tell me you are +not hurt.” + +Again she opened her eyes and said, “No, I am not hurt, but you will +take me home; you will not leave me!” Her fingers closed upon his hand. + +With a quick, strong clasp, he replied: “I will not leave you.” + +In a few minutes she was able to sit up, and soon they were all about +her, exclaiming and lamenting. + +“What a silly girl I am,” she said, with a little tremulous laugh, “and +what a fright I must have given you all!” + +“Don't rise, my dear,” said Madame De Lacy, “until you feel quite +strong.” + +“Oh, I am quite right,” said Maimie, confidently; “I am sure I am not +hurt in the least.” + +“Oh, I am so thankful!” cried Kate. + +“It is the Lord's mercy,” said Ranald, in a voice of deep emotion. + +“Are you quite sure you are not hurt?” said Harry, anxiously. + +“Yes, I really think I am all right, but what a fright I must look!” + +“Thank God!” said Harry fervently; “I guess you're improving,” at which +they all laughed. + +“Now I think we must get home,” said Madame De Lacy. “Do you think you +can walk, Maimie?” + +“Oh, yes,” cried Maimie, and taking Ranald's hand, she tried to stand +up, but immediately sank back with a groan. + +“Oh, it is my foot,” she said, “I am afraid it is hurt.” + +“Let me see!” cried Harry. “I don't think it is broken,” he said, after +feeling it carefully, “but I have no doubt it is a very bad sprain. You +can't walk for certain.” + +“Then we shall have to carry her,” said Madame De Lacy, and she turned +to her son. + +“I fear I can offer no assistance,” said the lieutenant, pointing to his +arm which was hanging limp at his side. + +“Why, Albert, are you hurt? What is the matter? You are hurt!” cried his +mother, anxiously. + +“Not much, but I fear my arm is useless. You might feel it,” he said to +Ranald. + +Carefully Ranald passed his hand down the arm. + +“Say nothing,” whispered the lieutenant to him. “It's broken. Tie it up +some way.” Without a word Ranald stripped the bark of a birch tree, +and making a case, laid the arm in it and bound it firmly with his silk +handkerchief. + +“We ought to have a sling,” he said, turning to Kate. + +“Here,” said Madame De Lacy, untying a lace scarf from her neck, “take +this.” + +Kate took the scarf, and while Ranald held the arm in place she deftly +made it into a sling. + +“There,” said the lieutenant, “that feels quite comfortable. Now let's +go.” + +“Come, Maimie, I'll carry you up the hill,” said Harry. + +“No,” said Ranald, decidedly, “she will go in the canoe. That will be +easier.” + +“Quite right,” said the lieutenant. “Sims, perhaps you will give my +mother your arm, and if Miss Kate will be kind enough to escort me, we +can all four go in the carriage; but first we shall see the rest of the +party safely off.” + +“Come, then, Maimie,” said Harry, approaching his sister; “let me carry +you.” + +But Maimie glanced up at Ranald, who without a word, lifted her in his +arms. + +“Put your arm about his neck, Maimie,” cried Harry, “you will go more +comfortably that way. Ranald won't mind,” he added, with a laugh. + +At the touch of her clinging arms the blood mounted slowly into Ranald's +neck and face, showing red through the dark tan of his skin. + +“How strong you are,” said Maimie, softly, “and how easily you carry me. +But you would soon tire of me,” she added with a little laugh. + +“I would not tire forever,” said Ranald, as he laid her gently down in +the canoe. + +“I shall send the carriage to the wharf for you,” said Madame De Lacy, +“and you will come right home to me, and you, too, Miss Raymond.” + +Ranald took his place in the stern with Maimie reclining in the canoe so +as to face him. + +“You are sure you are comfortable,” he said, with anxious solicitude in +his tone. + +“Quite,” she replied, with a cosy little snuggle down among the cushions +placed around her. + +“Then let her go,” cried Ranald, dipping in his paddle. + +“Good by,” cried Kate, waving her hand at them from the rock. “We'll +meet you at the wharf. Take good care of your invalid, Ranald.” + +With hardly a glance at her Ranald replied: “You may be sure of that,” + and with a long, swinging stroke shot the canoe out into the river. For +a moment or two Kate stood looking after them, and then, with a weary +look in her face, turned, and with the lieutenant, followed Madame De +Lacy and Mr. Sims. + +“You are tired,” said the lieutenant, looking into her face. + +“Yes,” she replied, with a little sigh, “I think I am tired.” + +The paddle home was all too short to Ranald, but whether it took minutes +or hours he could not have told. As in a dream he swung his paddle and +guided his canoe. He saw only the beautiful face and the warm light +in the bright eyes before him. He woke to see Kate on the wharf before +them, and for a moment he wondered how she came there. Once more, as he +bore her from the canoe to the carriage, he felt Maimie's arms clinging +about his neck and heard her whisper, “You will not leave me, Ranald,” + and again he replied, “No, I will not leave you.” + +Swiftly the De Lacy carriage bore them through the crooked, climbing +streets of the city and out along the country road, then up a stately +avenue of beeches, and drew up before the stone steps, of a noble old +chateau. Once more Ranald lifted Maimie in his arms and carried her up +the broad steps, and through the great oak-paneled hall into Madame De +Lacy's own cosy sitting-room, and there he laid her safely in a snug +nest of cushions prepared for her. There was nothing more to do, but to +say good by and come away, but it was Harry that first brought this to +Ranald's mind. + +“Good by, Ranald,” said Maimie, smiling up into his face. “I cannot +thank you for all you have done to-day, but I am sure Madame De Lacy +will let you come to see me sometimes.” + +“I shall be always glad to see you,” said the little lady, with gentle, +old-fashioned courtesy, “for we both owe much to you this day.” + +“Thank you,” said Ranald, quietly, “I will come,” and passed out of the +room, followed by Harry and Kate. + +At the great hall door, Kate stood and watched them drive away, waving +her hand in farewell. + +“Good by,” cried Harry, “don't forget us in your stately palace,” but +Ranald made no reply. He had no thought for her. But still she stood and +watched the carriage till the beeches hid it from her view, and then, +with her hand pressed against her side, she turned slowly into the hall. + +As the carriage rolled down the stately avenue, Ranald sat absorbed in +deepest thought, heeding not his companion's talk. + +“What's the matter with you, Ranald? What are you thinking of?” at last +cried Harry, impatiently. + +“What?” answered Ranald, in strange confusion, “I cannot tell you.” + Unconsciously as he spoke he put up his hand to his neck, for he was +still feeling the pressure of those clinging arms, and all the way back +the sounds of the rolling wheels and noisy, rattling streets wrought +themselves into one sweet refrain, “You will not leave me, Ranald,” and +often in his heart he answered, “No, I will not,” with such a look on +his face as men wear when pledging life and honor. + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +I WILL REMEMBER + + +The Albert was by all odds the exclusive club in the capital city of +upper Canada, for men were loath to drop the old name. Its members +belonged to the best families, and moved in the highest circles, and the +entre was guarded by a committee of exceeding vigilance. They had a very +real appreciation of the rights and privileges of their order, and they +cherished for all who assayed to enter the most lofty ideal. Not wealth +alone could purchase entrance within those sacred precincts unless, +indeed, it were of sufficient magnitude and distributed with judicious +and unvulgar generosity. A tinge of blue in the common red blood of +humanity commanded the most favorable consideration, but when there was +neither cerulean tinge of blood nor gilding of station the candidate for +membership in the Albert was deemed unutterable in his presumption, and +rejection absolute and final was inevitable. A single black ball shut +him out. So it came as a surprise to most outsiders, though not to +Ranald himself, when that young gentleman's name appeared in the list of +accepted members in the Albert. He had been put up by both Raymond and +St. Clair, but not even the powerful influence of these sponsors would +have availed with the members had it not come to be known that young +Macdonald was a friend of Captain De Lacy's of Quebec, don't you +know! and a sport, begad, of the first water; for the Alberts favored +athletics, and loved a true sport almost as much as they loved a lord. +They never regretted their generous concession in this instance, for +during the three years of his membership, it was the Glengarry Macdonald +that had brought glory to their club more than any half dozen of their +other champions. In their finals with the Montrealers two years ago, +it was he, the prince of all Canadian half-backs, as every one +acknowledged, who had snatched victory from the exultant enemy in the +last quarter of an hour. Then, too, they had never ceased to be grateful +for the way in which he had delivered the name of their club from +the reproach cast upon it by the challenge long flaunted before their +aristocratic noses by the cads of the Athletic, when he knocked out in +a bout with the gloves, the chosen representative of that ill-favored +club--a professional, too, by Jove, as it leaked out later. + +True, there were those who thought him too particular, and undoubtedly +he had peculiar ideas. He never drank, never played for money, and he +never had occasion to use words in the presence of men that would be +impossible before their mothers and sisters; and there was a quaint, +old-time chivalry about him that made him a friend of the weak and +helpless, and the champion of women, not only of those whose sheltered +lives had kept them fair and pure, but of those others as well, sad-eyed +and soul-stained, the cruel sport of lustful men. For his open scorn of +their callous lust some hated him, but all with true men's hearts loved +him. + +The club-rooms were filling up; the various games were in full swing. + +“Hello, little Merrill!” Young Merrill looked up from his billiards. + +“Glengarry, by all the gods!” throwing down his cue, and rushing at +Ranald. “Where in this lonely universe have you been these many months, +and how are you, old chap?” Merrill was excited. + +“All right, Merrill?” inquired the deep voice. + +“Right, so help me--” exclaimed Merrill, solemnly, lifting up his hand. +“He's inquiring after my morals,” he explained to the men who were +crowding about; “and I don't give a blank blank who knows it,” continued +little Merrill, warmly, “my present magnificent manhood,” smiting +himself on the breast, “I owe to that same dear old solemnity there,” + pointing to Ranald. + +“Shut up, Merrill, or I'll spank you,” said Ranald. + +“You will, eh?” cried Merrill, looking at him. “Look at him vaunting his +beastly fitness over the frail and weak. I say, men, did you ever behold +such condition! See that clear eye, that velvety skin, that--Oh, I say! +pax! pax! peccavi!” + +“There,” said Ranald, putting him down from the billiard-table, “perhaps +you will learn when to be seen.” + +“Brute,” murmured little Merrill, rubbing the sore place; “but ain't he +fit?” he added, delightedly. And fit he looked. Four years of hard work +and clean living had done for him everything that it lies in years to +do. They had made of the lank, raw, shanty lad a man, and such a man as +a sculptor would have loved to behold. Straight as a column he stood two +inches over six feet, but of such proportions that seeing him alone, one +would never have guessed his height. His head and neck rose above his +square shoulders with perfect symmetry and poise. His dark face, tanned +now to a bronze, with features clear-cut and strong, was lit by a pair +of dark brown eyes, honest, fearless, and glowing with a slumbering fire +that men would hesitate to stir to flame. The lines of his mouth told +of self-control, and the cut of his chin proclaimed a will of iron, and +altogether, he bore himself with an air of such quiet strength and cool +self-confidence that men never feared to follow where he led. Yet there +was a reserve about him that set him a little apart from men, and a kind +of shyness that saved him from any suspicion of self-assertion. In vain +he tried to escape from the crowd that gathered about him, and more +especially from the foot-ball men, who utterly adored him. + +“You can't do anything for a fellow that doesn't drink,” complained +Starry Hamilton, the big captain of the foot-ball team. + +“Drink! a nice captain you are, Starry,” said Ranald, “and Thanksgiving +so near.” + +“We haven't quite shut down yet,” explained the captain. + +“Then I suppose a cigar is permitted,” replied Ranald, ordering the +steward to bring his best. In a few minutes he called for his mail, and +excusing himself, slipped into one of the private rooms. The manager of +the Raymond & St. Clair Company and prominent clubman, much sought after +in social circles, he was bound to find letters of importance awaiting +him, but hastily shuffling the bundle, he selected three, and put the +rest in his pocket. + +“So she's back,” he said to himself, lifting up one in a square +envelope, addressed in large, angular writing. He turned it over in his +hand, feasting his eyes upon it, as a boy holds a peach, prolonging the +blissful anticipation. Then he opened it slowly and read: + + +MY DEAR RANALD: All the way home I was hoping that on my return, fresh +from the “stately homes of England,” and from association with lords and +dukes and things, you would be here to receive your share of the luster +and aroma my presence would shed (that's a little mixed, I fear); but +with a most horrible indifference to your privileges you are away at the +earth's end, no one knows where. Father said you were to be home to-day, +so though you don't in the least deserve it, I am writing you a note of +forgiveness; and will you be sure to come to my special party to-morrow +night? I put it off till to-morrow solely on your account, and in spite +of Aunt Frank, and let me tell you that though I have seen such heaps of +nice men, and all properly dear and devoted, still I want to see you, so +you must come. Everything else will keep. Yours, + +MAIMIE. + + +Over and over again he read the letter, till the fire in his eyes began +to gleam and his face became radiant with a tender glow. + +“'Yours, Maimie,' eh? I wonder now what she means,” he mused. “Seven +years and for my life I don't know yet, but to-morrow night--yes, +to-morrow night, I will know!” He placed the letter in its envelope and +put it carefully in his inside pocket. “Now for Kate, dear old girl, no +better anywhere.” He opened his letter and read: + + +DEAR RANALD: What a lot of people will be delighted to see you back! +First, dear old Dr. Marshall, who is in despair over the Institute, +of which he declares only a melancholy ruin will be left if you do not +speedily return. Indeed, it is pretty bad. The boys are quite terrible, +and even my “angels” are becoming infected. Your special pet, Coley, +after reducing poor Mr. Locke to the verge of nervous prostration, has +“quit,” and though I have sought him in his haunts, and used my very +choicest blandishments, he remains obdurate. To my remonstrances, he +finally deigned to reply: “Naw, they ain't none of 'em any good no more; +them ducks is too pious for me.” I don't know whether you will consider +that a compliment or not. So the Institute and all its people will +welcome you with acclaims of delight and sighs of relief. And some one +else whom you adore, and who adores you, will rejoice to see you. I have +begged her from Maimie for a few precious days. But that's a secret, and +last of all and least of all, there is + +Your friend, + +KATE. + +P. S.--Of course you will be at the party to-morrow night. Maimie looks +lovelier than ever, and she will be so glad to see you. + +K. + + +“What a trump she is,” murmured Ranald; “unselfish, honest to the core, +and steady as a rock. 'Some one else whom you adore.' Who can that be? +By Jove, is it possible? I will go right up to-night.” + +His last letter was from Mr. St. Clair, who was the chief executive of +the firm. He glanced over it hurriedly, then with a curious blending +of surprise, perplexity, and dismay on his face, he read it again with +careful deliberation: + + +MY DEAR RANALD: Welcome home! We shall all be delighted to see you. +Your letter from North Bay, which reached me two days ago, contained +information that places us in rather an awkward position. Last May, just +after you left for the north, Colonel Thorp, of the British-American +Coal and Lumber Company, operating in British Columbia and Michigan, +called to see me, and made an offer of $75,000 for our Bass River +limits. Of course you know we are rather anxious to unload, and at first +I regarded his offer with favor. Soon afterwards I received your first +report, sent apparently on your way up. I thereupon refused Colonel +Thorp's offer. Then evidently upon the strength of your report, which I +showed him, Colonel Thorp, who by the way is a very fine fellow, but a +very shrewd business man, raised his offer to an even hundred thousand. +This offer I feel inclined to accept. To tell you the truth, we have +more standing timber than we can handle, and as you know, we are really +badly crippled for ready money. It is a little unfortunate that your +last report should be so much less favorable in regard to the east half +of the limits. However, I don't suppose there is any need of mentioning +that to Colonel Thorp, especially as his company are getting a good +bargain as it is, and one which of themselves, they could not possibly +secure from the government. I write you this note in case you should run +across Colonel Thorp in town to-morrow, and inadvertently say something +that might complicate matters. I have no doubt that we shall be able to +close the deal in a few days. + +Now I want to say again how delighted we all are to have you back. We +never realized how much we were dependent upon you. Mr. Raymond and I +have been talking matters over, and we have agreed that some changes +ought to be made, which I venture to say will not be altogether +disagreeable to you. I shall see you first thing in the morning about +the matter of the limits. + +Maimie has got home, and is, I believe, expecting you at her party +to-morrow night. Indeed, I understand she was determined that it should +not come off until you had returned, which shows she shares the opinion +of the firm concerning you. + +I am yours sincerely, + +EUGENE ST. CLAIR. + + +Ranald sat staring at the letter for a long time. He saw with perfect +clearness Mr. St. Clair's meaning, and a sense of keen humiliation +possessed him as he realized what it was that he was expected to do. +But it took some time for the full significance of the situation to dawn +upon him. None knew better than he how important it was to the firm that +this sale should be effected. The truth was if the money market should +become at all close the firm would undoubtedly find themselves in +serious difficulty. Ruin to the company meant not only the blasting of +his own prospects, but misery to her whom he loved better than life; and +after all, what he was asked to do was nothing more than might be done +any day in the world of business. Every buyer is supposed to know the +value of the thing he buys, and certainly Colonel Thorp should not +commit his company to a deal involving such a large sum of money without +thoroughly informing himself in regard to the value of the limits in +question, and when he, as an employee of the Raymond and St. Clair +Lumber Company, gave in his report, surely his responsibility ceased. He +was not asked to present any incorrect report; he could easily make +it convenient to be absent until the deal was closed. Furthermore, the +chances were that the British-American Coal and Lumber Company would +still have good value for their money, for the west half of the limits +was exceptionally good; and besides, what right had he to besmirch the +honor of his employer, and to set his judgment above that of a man +of much greater experience? Ranald understood also Mr. St. Clair's +reference to the changes in the firm, and it gave him no small +satisfaction to think that in four years he had risen from the position +of lumber checker to that of manager, with an offer of a partnership; +nor could he mistake the suggestion in Mr. St. Clair's closing words. +Every interest he had in life would be furthered by the consummation +of the deal, and would be imperiled by his refusing to adopt Mr. St. +Clair's suggestion. Still, argue as he might, Ranald never had any +doubt as to what, as a man of honor, he ought to do. Colonel Thorp was +entitled to the information that he and Mr. St. Clair alone possessed. +Between his interests and his conscience the conflict raged. + +“I wish I knew what I ought to do,” he groaned, all the time battling +against the conviction that the information he possessed should by +rights be given to Colonel Thorp. Finally, in despair of coming to +a decision, he seized his hat, saying, “I will go and see Kate,” and +slipping out of a side door, he set off for the Raymond home. “I will +just look up Coley on the way,” he said to himself, and diving down an +alley, he entered a low saloon with a billiard hall attached. There, as +he had expected, acting as marker, he found Coley. + +Mike Cole, or Coley, as his devoted followers called him, was king of +St. Joseph's ward. Everywhere in the ward his word ran as law. About +two years ago Coley had deigned to favor the Institute with a visit, his +gang following him. They were welcomed with demonstrations of joy, and +regaled with cakes and tea, all of which Coley accepted with lordly +condescension. After consideration, Coley decided that the night classes +might afford a not unpleasant alternative on cold nights, to alley-ways +and saloons, and he allowed the gang to join. Thenceforth the successful +conduct of the classes depended upon the ability of the superintendent +to anticipate Coley's varying moods and inclinations, for that young man +claimed and exercised the privilege of introducing features agreeable to +the gang, though not necessarily upon the regular curriculum of study. +Some time after Ranald's appearance in the Institute as an assistant, it +happened one night that a sudden illness of the superintendent laid upon +his shoulders the responsibility of government. The same night it +also happened that Coley saw fit to introduce the enlivening but quite +impromptu feature of a song and dance. To this Ranald objected, and was +invited to put the gang out if he was man enough. After the ladies +had withdrawn beyond the reach of missiles, Ranald adopted the unusual +tactics of preventing exit by locking the doors, and then immediately +became involved in a discussion with Coley and his followers. It cost +the Institute something for furniture and windows, but thenceforth in +Ranald's time there was peace. Coley ruled as before, but his sphere of +influence was limited, and the day arrived when it became the ambition +of Coley's life to bring the ward and its denizens into subjection to +his own over-lord, whom he was prepared to follow to the death. But like +any other work worth doing, this took days and weeks and months. + +“Hello, Coley!” said Ranald, as his eyes fell upon his sometime ally and +slave. “If you are not too busy I would like you to go along with me.” + +Coley looked around as if seeking escape. + +“Come along,” said Ranald, quietly, and Coley, knowing that anything but +obedience was impossible, dropped his marking and followed Ranald out of +the saloon. + +“Well, Coley, I have had a great summer,” began Ranald, “and I wish very +much you could have been with me. It would have built you up and made a +man of you. Just feel that,” and he held out his arm, which Coley +felt with admiring reverence. “That's what the canoe did,” and then he +proceeded to give a graphic account of his varied adventures by land and +water during the last six months. As they neared Mr. Raymond's house, +Ranald turned to Coley and said: “Now I want you to cut back to the +Institute and tell Mr. Locke, if he is there, that I would like him to +call around at my office to-morrow. And furthermore, Coley, there's no +need of your going back into that saloon. I was a little ashamed to see +one of my friends in a place like that. Now, good night, and be a man, +and a clean man.” + +Coley stood with his head hung in abject self-abasement, and then +ventured to say, “I couldn't stand them ducks nohow!” + +“Who do you mean?” said Ranald. + +“Oh, them fellers that runs the Institute now, and so I cut.” + +“Now look here, Coley,” said Ranald, “I wouldn't go throwing stones at +better men than yourself, and especially at men who are trying to do +something to help other people and are not so beastly mean as to think +only of their own pleasure. I didn't expect that of you, Coley. Now quit +it and start again,” and Ranald turned away. + +Coley stood looking after him for a few moments in silence, and then +said to himself, in a voice full of emphasis: “Well, there's just one +of his kind and there ain't any other.” Then he set out at a run for the +Institute. + +It was Kate herself who came to answer Ranald's ring. + +“I knew it was you,” she cried, with her hand eagerly outstretched and +her face alight with joy. “Come in, we are all waiting for you, and +prepare to be surprised.” When they came to the drawing-room she flung +open the door and with great ceremony announced “The man from Glengarry, +as Harry would say.” + +“Hello, old chap!” cried Harry, springing to his feet, but Ranald +ignored him. He greeted Kate's mother warmly for she had shown him a +mother's kindness ever since he had come to the city, and they were +great friends, and then he turned to Mrs. Murray, who was standing +waiting for him, and gave her both his hands. + +“I knew from Kate's letter,” he said, “that it would be you, and I +cannot tell you how glad I am.” His voice grew a little unsteady and he +could say no more. Mrs. Murray stood holding his hands and looking into +his face. + +“It cannot be possible,” she said, “that this is Ranald Macdonald! How +changed you are!” She pushed him a little back from her. “Let me look at +you; why, I must say it, you are really handsome!” + +“Now, auntie,” cried Harry, reprovingly, “don't flatter him. He is +utterly ruined now by every one, including both Kate and her mother.” + +“But really, Harry,” continued Mrs. Murray, in a voice of delighted +surprise, “it is certainly wonderful; and I am so glad! And I have been +hearing about your work with the boys at the Institute, and I cannot +tell you the joy it gave me.” + +“Oh, it is not much that I have done,” said Ranald, deprecatingly. + +“Indeed, it is a noble work and worthy of any man,” said Mrs. Murray, +earnestly, “and I thank God for you.” + +“Then,” said Ranald, firmly, “I owe it all to yourself, for it is you +that set me on this way.” + +“Listen to them admiring each other! It is quite shameless,” said Harry. + +Then they began talking about Glengarry, of the old familiar places, of +the woods and the fields, of the boys and girls now growing into men and +women, and of the old people, some of whom were passed away. Before long +they were talking of the church and all the varied interests centering +in it, but soon they went back to the theme that Glengarry people +everywhere are never long together without discussing--the great +revival. Harry had heard a good deal about it before, but to Kate +and her mother the story was mostly new, and they listened with eager +interest as Mrs. Murray and Ranald recalled those great days. With eyes +shining, and in tones of humble, grateful wonder they reminded each +other of the various incidents, the terrors, the struggles, the joyful +surprises, the mysterious powers with which they were so familiar during +those eighteen months. Then Mrs. Murray told of the permanent results; +how over three counties the influence of the movement was still felt, +and how whole congregations had been built up under its wonderful power. + +“And did you hear,” she said to Ranald, “that Donald Stewart was +ordained last May?” + +“No,” replied Ranald; “that makes seven, doesn't it?” + +“Seven what?” said Kate. + +“Seven men preaching the Gospel to-day out of our own congregation,” + replied Mrs. Murray. + +“But, auntie,” cried Harry, “I have always thought that all that must +have been awfully hard work.” + +“It was,” said Ranald, emphatically; and he went on to sketch Mrs. +Murray's round of duties in her various classes and meetings connected +with the congregation. + +“Besides what she has to do in the manse!” exclaimed Harry; “but it's a +mere trifle, of course, to look after her troop of boys.” + +“How can you do it?” said Kate, gazing at her in admiring wonder. + +“It isn't so terrible as Harry thinks. That's my work, you see,” said +Mrs. Murray; “what else would I do? And when it goes well it is worth +while.” + +“But, auntie, don't you feel sometimes like getting away and having a +little fun? Own up, now.” + +“Fun?” laughed Mrs. Murray. + +“Well, not fun exactly, but a good time with things you enjoy so much, +music, literature, and that sort of thing. Do you remember, Kate, the +first time you met auntie, when we took her to Hamlet?” + +Kate nodded. + +“She wasn't quite sure about it, but I declare till I die I will never +forget the wonder and the delight in her face. I tell you I wept that +night, but not at the play. And how she criticised the actors; even +Booth himself didn't escape,” continued Harry; “and so I say it's a +beastly shame that you should spend your whole life in the backwoods +there and have so little of the other sort of thing. Why you are made +for it!” + +“Harry,” answered Mrs. Murray, in surprise, “that was my work, given +me to do. Could I refuse it? And besides after all, fun, as you say, +passes; music stops; books get done with; but those other things, the +things that Ranald and I have seen, will go on long after my poor body +is laid away.” + +“But still you must get tired,” persisted Harry. + +“Yes, I get tired,” she replied, quietly. At the little touch of +weariness in the voice, Kate, who was looking at the beautiful face, so +spiritual, and getting, oh, so frail, felt a sudden rush of tears in +her eyes. But there was no self-pity in that heroic soul. “Yes, I get +tired,” she repeated, “but, Harry, what does that matter? We do our work +and then we will rest. But oh, Harry, my boy, when I come to your city +and see all there is to do, I wish I were a girl again, and I wonder at +people thinking life is just for fun.” + +Harry, like other young men, hated to be lectured, but from his aunt he +never took anything amiss. He admired her for her brilliant qualities, +and loved her with a love near to worship. + +“I say, auntie,” he said, with a little uncertain laugh, “it's like +going to church to hear you, only it's a deal more pleasant.” + +“But, Harry, am I not right?” she replied, earnestly. “Do you think that +you will get the best out of your life by just having fun? Oh, do you +know when I went with Kate to the Institute the other night and saw +those boys my heart ached. I thought of my own boys, and--” The voice +ceased in a pathetic little catch, the sensitive lips trembled, the +beautiful gray-brown eyes filled with sudden tears. For a few moments +there was silence; then, with a wavering smile, and a gentle, apologetic +air, she said: “But I must not make Harry think he is in church.” + +“Dear Aunt Murray,” cried Harry, “do lecture me. I'd enjoy it, and you +can't make it too strong. You are just an angel.” He left his seat, and +going over to her chair, knelt down and put his arms about her. + +“Don't you all wish she was your aunt?” he said, kissing her. + +“She IS mine,” cried Kate, smiling at her through shining tears. + +“She's more,” said Ranald, and his voice was husky with emotion. + +But with the bright, joyous little laugh Ranald knew so well, she +smoothed back Harry's hair, and kissing him on the forehead, said: “I am +sure you will do good work some day. But I shall be quite spoiled here; +I must really get home.” + +As Ranald left the Raymond house he knew well what he should say to Mr. +St. Clair next morning. He wondered at himself that he had ever been in +doubt. He had been for an hour in another world where the atmosphere was +pure and the light clear. Never till that night had he realized the +full value of that life of patient self-sacrifice, so unconscious of its +heroism. He understood then, as never before, the mysterious influence +of that gentle, sweet-faced lady over every one who came to know her, +from the simple, uncultured girls of the Indian Lands to the young men +about town of Harry's type. Hers was the power of one who sees with open +eyes the unseen, and who loves to the forgetting of self those for whom +the Infinite love poured Itself out in death. + +“Going home, Harry?” inquired Ranald. + +“Yes, right home; don't want to go anywhere else to-night. I say, old +chap, you're a better and cleaner man than I am, but it ain't your +fault. That woman ought to make a saint out of any man.” + +“Man, you would say so if you knew her,” said Ranald, with a touch of +impatience; “but then no one does know her. They certainly don't down in +the Indian Lands, for they don't know what she's given up.” + +“That's the beauty of it,” replied Harry; “she doesn't feel it that way. +Given up? not she! She thinks she's got everything that's good!” + +“Well,” said Ranald, thoughtfully, after a pause, “she knows, and she's +right.” + +When they came to Harry's door Ranald lingered just a moment. “Come in a +minute,” said Harry. + +“I don't know; I'm coming in to-morrow.” + +“Oh, come along just now. Aunt Frank is in bed, but Maimie will be up,” + said Harry, dragging him along to the door. + +“No, I think not to-night.” While they were talking the door opened and +Maimie appeared. + +“Ranald,” she cried, in an eager voice, “I knew you would be at Kate's, +and I was pretty sure you would come home with Harry. Aren't you coming +in?” + +“Where's Aunt Frank?” asked Harry. + +“She's upstairs,” said Maimie. + +“Thank the Lord, eh?” added Harry, pushing in past her. + +“Go away in and talk to her,” said Maimie. Then turning to Ranald and +looking into his devouring eyes, she said, “Well? You might say you're +glad to see me.” She stood where the full light of the doorway revealed +the perfect beauty of her face and figure. + +“Glad to see you! There is no need of saying that,” replied Ranald, +still gazing at her. + +“How beautiful you are, Maimie,” he added, bluntly. + +“Thank you, and you are really quite passable.” + +“And I AM glad to see you.” + +“That's why you won't come in.” + +“I am coming to-morrow night.” + +“Everybody will be here to-morrow night.” + +“Yes, that's certainly a drawback.” + +“And I shall be very busy looking after my guests. Still,” she added, +noticing the disappointment in his face, “it's quite possible--” + +“Exactly,” his face lighting up again. + +“Have you seen father's study?” asked Maimie, innocently. + +“No,” replied Ranald, wonderingly. “Is it so beautiful?” + +“No, but it's upstairs, and--quiet.” + +“Well?” said Ranald. + +“And perhaps you might like to see it to-morrow night.” + +“How stupid I am. Will you show it to me?” + +“I will be busy, but perhaps Harry--” + +“Will you?” said Ranald, coming close to her, with the old imperative in +his voice. + +Maimie drew back a little. + +“Do you know what you make me think of?” she asked, lowering her voice. + +“Yes, I do. I have thought of it every night since.” + +“You were very rude, I remember.” + +“You didn't think so then,” said Ranald, boldly. + +“I ought to have been very angry,” replied Maimie, severely. + +“But you weren't, you know you weren't; and do you remember what you +said?” + +“What I said? How awful of you; don't you dare! How can I remember?” + +“Yes, you do remember, and then do you remember what _I_ said?” + +“What YOU said indeed! Such assurance!” + +“I have kept my word,” said Ranald, “and I am coming to-morrow night. +Oh, Maimie, it has been a long, long time.” He came close to her and +caught her hand, the slumbering fire in his eyes blazing now in flame. + +“Don't, don't, I'm sure there's Aunt Frank. No, no,” she pleaded, in +terror, “not to-night, Ranald!” + +“Then will you show me the study to-morrow night?” + +“Oh, you are very mean. Let me go!” + +“Will you?” he demanded, still holding her hand. + +“Yes, yes, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. My hand is quite sore. +There, now, good night. No, I won't shake hands! Well, then, if you must +have it, good night.” + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU + + +“The night for dreaming, but the morn for seeing.” And so Ranald found +it; for with the cold, calm light of the morning, he found himself +facing his battle with small sense of victory in his blood. He knew he +had to deal that morning with the crisis of his life. Upon the issue his +whole future would turn, but his heart without haste or pause preserved +its even beat. The hour of indecision had passed. He saw his way and he +meant to walk it. What was beyond the turn was hid from his eyes, but +with that he need not concern himself now. Meantime he would clear away +some of this accumulated correspondence lying on his desk. In the midst +of his work Harry came in and laid a bundle of bills before him. + +“Here you are, old chap,” he said, quietly. “That's the last of it.” + +Ranald counted the money. + +“You are sure you can spare all this? There is no hurry, you know.” + +“No,” said Harry, “I can't spare it, but it's safer with you than with +me, and besides, it's yours. And I owe you more than money.” He drew +a deep breath to steady himself, and then went on: “And I want to say, +Ranald, that I have bet my last stake.” + +Ranald pushed back his chair and rose to his feet. + +“Now that's the best thing I've heard for some time,” he said, offering +Harry his hand; “and that's the last of that business.” + +He sat down, drew in his chair, and turning over his papers with a +nervousness that he rarely showed, he continued: “And, Harry, I want you +to do something for me. Before you go home this afternoon, will you come +in here? I may want to send a note to Maimie by you.” + +“But--” began Harry. + +“Wait a moment. I want to prevent all possibility of mistake. There may +be a reply, and Harry, old chap, I'd rather not answer any questions.” + +Harry gazed at him a moment in perplexity. “All right, Ranald,” he said, +quietly, “you can trust me. I haven't the ghost of an idea what's up, +but I know you're square.” + +“Thanks, old fellow,” said Ranald, “I will never give you reason to +change your opinion. Now get out; I'm awfully busy.” + +For some minutes after Harry had left the room Ranald sat gazing before +him into space. + +“Poor chap, he's got his fight, too, but I begin to think he'll win,” he +said to himself, and once more returned to his work. He had hardly begun +his writing when the inner door of his office opened and Mr. St. Clair +came in. His welcome was kindly and cordial, and Ranald's heart, +which had been under strong discipline all morning, leaped up in warm +response. + +“You had a pleasant trip, I hope?” inquired Mr. St. Clair. + +“Fine most of the way. Through May and June the flies were bad, but not +so bad as usual, they said, and one gets used to them.” + +“Good sport?” + +“Never saw anything like it. What a country that is!” cried Ranald, his +enthusiasm carrying him away. “Fishing of all kinds and superb. In those +little lonely lakes you get the finest black and white bass, beauties +and so gamy. In the bigger waters, maskalonge and, of course, any amount +of pike and pickerel. Then we were always running up against deer, moose +and red, and everywhere we got the scent of bear. Could have loaded a +boat with furs in a week.” + +“We must go up some day,” replied Mr. St. Clair. “Wish I could get away +this fall, but the fact is we are in shallow water, Ranald, and we can't +take any chances.” + +Ranald knew well how serious the situation was. “But,” continued Mr. St. +Clair, “this offer of the British-American Lumber and Coal Company is +most fortunate, and will be the saving of us. With one hundred thousand +set free we are certain to pull through this season, and indeed, the +financial stringency will rather help than hinder our operations. Really +it is most fortunate. Indeed,” he added, with a slight laugh, “as my +sister-in-law would say, quite providential!” + +“I have no doubt of that,” said Ranald, gravely; “but, Mr. St. Clair--” + +“Yes, no doubt, no doubt,” said Mr. St. Clair, hastening to recover the +tone, which by his unfortunate reference to Mrs. Murray, he had lost. +The thought of her was not in perfect harmony with purely commercial +considerations. “The fact is,” he continued, “that before this offer +came I was really beginning to despair. I can tell you that now.” + +Ranald felt his heart tighten. + +“One does not mind for one's self, but when family interests are +involved--but that's all over now, thank God!” + +Ranald tried to speak, but his mind refused to suggest words. His +silence, however, was enough for Mr. St. Clair, who, with nervous haste +once more changed the theme. “In my note to you last night--you got it, +I suppose--I referred to some changes in the firm.” + +Ranald felt that he was being crowded against the ropes. He must get +to freer fighting ground. “I think before you go on to that, Mr. St. +Clair,” he began, “I ought to--” + +“Excuse me, I was about to say,” interrupted Mr. St. Clair, hastily, +“Mr. Raymond and I have felt that we must strengthen our executive. As +you know, he has left this department almost entirely to me, and he now +realizes what I have long felt, that the burden has grown too heavy for +one to carry. Naturally we think of you, and I may say we are more than +glad, though it is a very unusual thing in the business world, that +we can, with the fullest confidence, offer you a partnership.” Mr. St. +Clair paused to allow the full weight of this announcement to sink into +his manager's mind. + +Then Ranald pulled himself together. He must break free or the fight +would be lost before he had struck a blow. + +“I need not say,” he began once more, “how greatly gratified I am by +this offer, and I feel sure you will believe that I am deeply grateful.” + Ranald's voice was low and even, but unknown to himself there was in +it a tone of stern resolve that struck Mr. St. Clair's ear. He knew his +manager. That tone meant war. Hastily he changed his front. + +“Yes, yes, we are quite sure of that,” he said, with increasing +nervousness, “but we are thinking of our own interests as well as +yours. Indeed, I feel sure”--here his voice became even more kindly and +confidential--“that in advancing your position and prospects we are--I +am only doing what will bring myself the greatest satisfaction in the +end, for you know, Ranald, I--we do not regard you as a stranger.” + Ranald winced and grew pale. “We--my family--have always felt toward you +as--well, in fact, as if you were one of us.” + +Mr. St. Clair had delivered his last and deadliest blow and it found +Ranald's heart, but with pain blanching his cheek Ranald stood up +determined to end the fight. It was by no means easy for him to +strike. Before him he saw not this man with his ingenious and specious +pleading--it would not have been a difficult matter to have brushed him +aside--but he was looking into the blue eyes of the woman he had for +seven years loved more than he loved his life, and he knew that when his +blow fell it would fall upon the face that, only a few hours ago, had +smiled upon him, and upon the lips that had whispered to him, “I will +remember, Ranald.” Yet he was none the less resolved. With face set and +bloodless, and eyes of gleaming fire, he faced the man that represented +what was at once dearest in life and what was most loathsome in conduct. + +“Give me a moment, Mr. St. Clair,” he said, with a note of authority +in his tone. “You have made me an offer of a position such as I could +hardly hope to expect for years to come, but I value it chiefly because +it means you have absolute confidence in me; you believe in my ability +and in my integrity. I am determined that you will never have cause to +change your opinion of me. You are about to complete a deal involving a +very large sum of money. I have a report here,” tapping his desk, “which +you have not yet seen.” + +“It really doesn't matter!” interjected Mr. St. Clair; “you see, my dear +fellow--” + +“It matters to me. It is a report which not only you ought to have, but +which, in justice, the buyer of the Bass River Limits ought to see. That +report, Mr. St. Clair, ought to be given to Colonel Thorp.” + +“This is sheer folly,” exclaimed Mr. St. Clair, impatiently. + +“It is the only honorable course.” + +“Do you mean to insult me, sir?” + +“There is only one other thing I would rather not do,” said Ranald, in +a grave voice, “and that is refuse Colonel Thorp the information he is +entitled to from us.” + +“Sir!” exclaimed Mr. St. Clair, “this is outrageous, and I demand an +apology or your resignation!” + +“Colonel Thorp,” announced a clerk, opening the door. + +“Tell Colonel Thorp I cannot--ah, Colonel Thorp, I am glad to see you. +Will you step this way?” opening the door leading to his own office. + +The colonel, a tall, raw-boned, typical “Uncle Sam,” even to the chin +whisker and quid of tobacco, had an eye like an eagle. He shot a keen +glance at Mr. St. Clair and then at Ranald. + +“Yes,” he said, helping himself to a chair, “this here's all right. This +is your manager, eh?” + +“Mr. Macdonald,” said Mr. St. Clair, introducing him. + +“How do you do? Heard about you some,” said the colonel, shaking hands +with him. “Quite a knocker, I believe. Well, you rather look like it. +Used to do some myself. Been up north, so the boss says. Good country, +eh?” + +“Fine sporting country, Colonel,” interrupted St. Clair. “The game, Mr. +Macdonald says, come right into your tent and bed to be shot.” + +“Do, eh?” The colonel's eagle eye lighted up. “Now, what sort of game?” + +“Almost every kind, Colonel,” replied Ranald. + +“Don't say! Used to do a little myself. Moose?” + +“Yes, I saw a number of moose and any amount of other deer and, of +course, plenty of bear.” + +“Don't say! How'd you come to leave them? Couldn't have done it myself, +by the great Sam! Open timber?” + +“Well,” replied Ranald, slowly, “on the east of the Bass River--” + +“All that north country, Colonel,” said Mr. St. Clair, “is pretty much +the same, I imagine; a little of all kinds.” + +“Much water, streams, and such?” + +“Yes, on the west side of the Bass there is plenty of water, a number of +small streams and lakes, but--” + +“Oh, all through that north country, Colonel, you are safe in having a +canoe in your outfit,” said Mr. St. Clair, again interrupting Ranald. + +“Lots of water, eh? Just like Maine, ha, ha!” The colonel's quiet +chuckle was good to hear. + +“Reminds me”--here he put his hand into his inside pocket and pulled out +a flask, “excuse the glass,” he said, offering it to Mr. St. Clair, who +took a slight sip and handed it back. + +“Have a little refreshment,” said the colonel, offering it to Ranald. + +“I never take it, thank you.” + +“Don't? Say, by the great Sam, how'd you get through all that wet +country? Wall, it will not hurt you to leave it alone,” solemnly winking +at St. Clair, and taking a long pull himself. “Good for the breath,” he +continued, putting the flask in his pocket. “Now, about those limits of +mine, the boss here has been telling you about our deal?” + +“A little,” said Ranald. + +“We've hardly had time to look into anything yet,” said Mr. St. Clair; +“but if you will step into my office, Colonel, I have the papers and +maps there.” Mr. St. Clair's tone was anxious. Once more the colonel +shot a glance at him. + +“You have been on the spot, I judge,” he said to Ranald, rising and +following Mr. St. Clair. + +“Yes, over it all.” + +“Wall, come along, you're the map we want, eh? Maps are chiefly for +purposes of deception, I have found, ha, ha! and there ain't none of 'em +right,” and he held the door for Ranald to enter. + +Mr. St. Clair was evidently annoyed. Unfolding a map he laid it out on +the table. “This is the place, I believe,” he said, putting his finger +down upon the map. + +“Ain't surveyed, I judge,” said the colonel to Ranald. + +“No, only in part; the old Salter lines are there, but I had to go away +beyond these.” + +“Warn't 'fraid of gettin' lost, eh? Ha, ha! Wall show us your route.” + +Ranald put his finger on the map, and said: “I struck the Bass River +about here, and using that as a base, first explored the whole west +side, for, I should say, about ten miles back from the river.” + +“Don't say! How'd you grub? Game mostly?” + +“Well, we carried some pork and Hudson Bay hard tack and tea, and of +course, we could get all the fish and game we wanted.” + +“Lots of game, eh? Small and big?” The colonel was evidently much +interested in this part of Ranald's story. “By the great Sam, must go up +there!” + +“It would do you all the good in the world, Colonel,” said Mr. St. +Clair, heartily. “You must really go up with your men and help them lay +out the ground, you know.” + +“That's so! Now if you were lumbering in there, how'd you get the timber +out?” + +“Down the Bass River to Lake Nipissing,” said Ranald, pointing out the +route. + +“Yes, but how'd you get it to the Bass? These limits, I understand, lie +on both sides of the Bass, don't they?” + +“Yes.” + +“And the Bass cuts through it the short way?” + +“Yes.” + +“Wall, does that mean six or eight or ten miles of a haul?” + +“On the west side,” replied Ranald, “no. There are a number of small +streams and lakes which you could utilize.” + +“And on the east side?” + +“You see, Colonel,” broke in Mr. St. Clair, “that whole country is one +net-work of water-ways. Notice the map here; and there are always a +number of lakes not marked.” + +“That is quite true,” said Ranald, “as a rule; but on the east side--” + +“Oh, of course,” said Mr. St. Clair, hastily, “you will find great +differences in different parts of the country.” + +Mr. St. Clair folded up the map and threw it on the table. + +“Let's see,” said the colonel, taking up the map again. “Now how about +the camps, Mr. Macdonald, where do you locate them?” + +“I have a rough draught here in which the bases for camps are +indicated,” said Ranald, ignoring the imploring and angry looks of his +chief. + +“Let's have a look at 'em,” said the colonel. + +“Oh, you haven't shown me this,” said Mr. St. Clair, taking the draught +from Ranald. + +“No, sir, you have not seen my final report.” + +“No, not yet, of course. We have hardly had time yet, Colonel, but Mr. +Macdonald will make a copy of this for you and send it in a day or two,” + replied Mr. St. Clair, folding up the sketch, nervously, and placing it +on his desk. The colonel quietly picked up the sketch and opened it out. + +“You have got that last report of yours, I suppose,” he said, with a +swift glance at Mr. St. Clair. That gentleman's face was pallid and +damp; his whole fortune hung on Ranald's reply. It was to him a moment +of agony. + +Ranald glanced at his face, and paused. Then drawing his lips a little +tighter, he said: “Colonel Thorp, my final report has not yet been +handed in. Mr. St. Clair has not seen it. In my judgment--” here Mr. St. +Clair leaned his hand hard upon his desk--“you are getting full value +for your money, but I would suggest that you go yourself or send your +inspector to explore the limits carefully before you complete the deal.” + +Colonel Thorp, who had been carefully scanning the sketch in his hand, +suddenly turned and looked Ranald steadily in the eye. “These marks on +the west side mean camps?” + +“Yes.” + +“There are very few on the east side?” + +“There are very few; the east side is inferior to the west.” + +“Much?” + +“Yes, much inferior.” + +“But in your opinion the limit is worth the figure?” + +“I would undertake to make money out of it; it is good value.” + +The colonel chewed hard for a minute, then turning to Mr. St. Clair, he +said: “Wall, Mr. St. Clair, I'll give you one hundred thousand for your +limit; but by the great Sam, I'd give twice the sum for your manager, if +he's for sale! He's a man!” The emphasis on the he was ever so slight, +but it was enough. Mr. St. Clair bowed, and sinking down into his chair, +busied himself with his papers. + +“Wall,” said the colonel, “that's settled; and that reminds me,” he +added, pulling out his flask, “good luck to the Bass River Limits!” + +He handed the flask to Mr. St. Clair, who eagerly seized it and took a +long drink. + +“Goes good sometimes,” said the colonel, innocently. “Wall, here's +lookin' at you,” he continued, bowing toward Ranald; “and by the great +Sam, you suit me well! If you ever feel like a change of air, indicate +the same to Colonel Thorp.” + +“Ah, Colonel,” said Mr. St. Clair, who had recovered his easy, pleasant +manner, “we can sell limits but not men.” + +“No, by the great Sammy,” replied the colonel, using the more emphatic +form of his oath, “ner buy 'em! Wall,” he added, “when you have the +papers ready, let me know. Good day!” + +“Very good, Colonel, good by, good by!” + +The colonel did not notice Mr. St. Clair's offered hand, but nodding to +Ranald, sauntered out of the office, leaving the two men alone. For a +few moments Mr. St. Clair turned over his papers in silence. His face +was flushed and smiling. + +“Well, that is a most happy deliverance, Ranald,” he said, rubbing his +hands. “But what is the matter? You are not well.” + +White to the lips, Ranald stood looking at his chief with a resolved +face. + +“Mr. St. Clair, I wish to offer you my resignation as manager.” + +“Nonsense, Ranald, we will say no more about that. I was a little hasty. +I hope the change I spoke of will go into immediate effect.” + +“I must beg to decline.” The words came slowly, sternly from Ranald's +white lips. + +“And why, pray?” + +“I have little doubt you can discover the reason, Mr. St. Clair. A few +moments ago, for honorable dealing, you would have dismissed me. It is +impossible that I should remain in your employ.” + +“Mr. Macdonald, are you serious in this? Do you know what you are doing? +Do you know what you are saying?” Mr. St. Clair rose and faced his +manager. + +“Only too well,” said Ranald, with lips that began to quiver, “and all +the more because of what I must say further. Mr. St. Clair, I love your +daughter. I have loved her for seven years. It is my one desire in life +to gain her for my wife.” + +Mr. St. Clair gazed at him in utter astonishment. + +“And in the same breath,” he said at length, “you insult me and ask my +permission.” + +“It is vain to ask your permission, I fear, but it is right that you +should know my desire and my purpose.” + +“Your purpose?” + +“My unalterable purpose.” + +“You take my daughter out of my house in--in spite of my teeth?” Mr. St. +Clair could hardly find words. + +“She will come with me,” said Ranald, a little proudly. + +“And may I ask how you know? Have you spoken to my daughter?” + +“I have not spoken to her openly.” The blood rose in his dark face. “But +I believe she loves me.” + +“Well, Mr. Macdonald, your confidence is only paralleled by your +prodigious insolence.” + +“I hope not,” said Ranald, lowering his head from its proud pose. “I +have no desire to be insolent.” + +Once more Mr. St. Clair looked at him in silence. Then slowly and with +quiet emphasis, he said: “Mr. Macdonald, you are a determined man, but +as God lives, this purpose of yours you will never carry out. I know +my daughter, I think, better than you know her, and I tell you,” here +a slight smile of confidence played for a moment on his face, “she will +never be your wife.” + +Ranald bowed his head. + +“It shall be as she wills,” he said, in a grave, almost sad, voice. “She +shall decide,” and he passed into his office. + +All day long Ranald toiled at his desk, leaving himself no time for +thought. In the late afternoon Harry came in on his way home. + +“Thanks, old chap,” said Ranald, looking up from his work; “sha'n't be +able to come to-night, I am sorry to say.” + +“Not come?” cried Harry. + +“No, it is impossible.” + +“What rot, and Maimie has waited ten days for you. Come along!” + +“It is quite impossible, Harry,” said Ranald, “and I want you to take +this note to Maimie. The note will explain to her.” + +“But, Ranald, this is--” + +“And, Harry, I want to tell you that this is my last day here.” + +Harry gazed at him speechless. + +“Mr. St. Clair and I have had a difference that can never be made right, +and to-night I leave the office for good.” + +“Leave the office for good? Going to leave us? What the deuce can the +office do without you? And what does it all mean? Come, Ranald, don't be +such a confounded sphynx! Why do you talk such rubbish?” + +“It is true,” said Ranald, “though I can hardly realize it myself; it is +absolutely and finally settled; and I say, old man, don't make it +harder for me. You don't know what it means to me to leave this place, +and--you, and--all!” In spite of his splendid nerve Ranald's voice shook +a little. Harry gazed at him in amazement. + +“I will give your note to Maimie,” he said, “but you will be back here +if I know myself. I'll see father about this.” + +“Now, Harry,” said Ranald, rising and putting his hand on his shoulder, +“you are not going to mix up in this at all; and for my sake, old chap, +don't make any row at home. Promise me,” said Ranald again holding him +fast. + +“Well, I promise,” said Harry, reluctantly, “but I'll be hanged if I +understand it at all; and I tell you this, that if you don't come back +here, neither shall I.” + +“Now you are talking rot, Harry,” said Ranald, and sat down again to his +desk. Harry went out in a state of dazed astonishment. Alone Ranald sat +in his office writing steadily except that now and then he paused to let +a smile flutter across his stern, set face, as a gleam of sunshine over +a rugged rock on a cloudy day. He was listening to his heart, whose +every beat kept singing the refrain, “I love her, I love her; she will +come to me!” + +At that very moment Maimie was showing her Aunt Murray her London +dresses and finery, and recounting her triumphs in that land of social +glory. + +“How lovely, how wonderfully lovely they are,” said Mrs. Murray, +touching the beautiful fabrics with fond fingers; “and I am sure they +will suit you well, my dear. Have you worn most of them?” + +“No, not all. This one I wore the evening I went with the Lord Archers +to the Heathcote's ball. Lord Heathcote, you know, is an uncle of +Captain De Lacy.” + +“Was Captain De Lacy there?” inquired Mrs. Murray. + +“Yes, indeed,” cried Maimie, “and we had a lovely time!” either the +memory of that evening brought the warm blushes to her face, or it may +be the thought of what she was about to tell her aunt; “and Captain De +Lacy is coming to-morrow.” + +“Coming to-morrow?” + +“Yes, he has written to Aunt Frank, and to papa as well.” + +Mrs. Murray sat silent, apparently not knowing what to say, and Maimie +stood with the dress in her hands waiting for her aunt to speak. At +length Mrs. Murray said: “You knew Captain De Lacy before, I think.” + +“Oh, I have known him for a long time, and he's just splendid, auntie, +and he's coming to--” Maimie paused, but her face told her secret. + +“Do you mean he is going to speak to your father about you, Maimie?” + Maimie nodded. “And are you glad?” + +“He's very handsome, auntie, and very nice, and he's awfully well +connected, and that sort of thing, and when Lord Heathcote dies he has a +good chance of the estates and the title.” + +“Do you love him, Maimie?” asked her aunt, quietly. + +Maimie dropped the dress, and sitting down upon a low stool, turned her +face from her aunt, and looked out of the window. + +“Oh, I suppose so, auntie,” she said. “He's very nice and gentlemanly +and I like to be with him--” + +“But, Maimie, dear, are you not sure that you love him?” + +“Oh, I don't know,” said Maimie, petulantly. “Are you not pleased, +auntie?” + +“Well, I confess I am surprised. I do not know Captain De Lacy, and +besides I thought it was--I thought you--” Mrs. Murray paused, while +Maimie's face grew hot with fiery blushes, but before she could reply +they heard Harry's step on the stairs, and in a moment he burst into the +room. + +“Ranald isn't coming!” he exclaimed. “Here's a note for you, Maimie. +But what the--but what he means,” said Harry, checking himself, “I can't +make out.” + +“Not coming?” cried Maimie, the flush fading from her face. “What can +he mean?” She opened the note, and as she read the blood rushed +quickly into her face again, and as quickly fled, leaving her pale and +trembling. + +“Well, what does he say?” inquired Harry, bluntly. + +“He says it is impossible for him to come tonight,” said Maimie, putting +the note into her bosom. + +“Huh!” grunted Harry, and flung out of the room. + +Immediately Maimie pulled out the note. + +“Oh, auntie,” she cried, “I am so miserable; Ranald is not coming and he +says--there read it.” She hurriedly thrust the note into Mrs. Murray's +hands, and Mrs. Murray, opening it, read: + + +MY DEAR MAIMIE: It is impossible for me to go to you tonight. Your +father and I have had a difference so serious that I can never enter his +house again, but I am writing now to tell you what I meant to tell you +to-night. I love you, Maimie. I love you with all my heart and soul. I +have loved you since the night I pulled you from the fire. + + +“Maimie,” said Mrs. Murray, handing her back the note, “I do not think +you ought to give me this. That is too sacred for any eyes but your +own.” + +“Oh, I know, auntie, but what can I do? I am so sorry for Ranald! What +shall I do, auntie?” + +“My dear child, in this neither I nor any one can advise you. You must +be true to yourself.” + +“Oh, I wish I knew what to do!” cried Maimie. “He wants me to tell +him--” Maimie paused, her face once more covered with blushes, “and I do +not know what to say!” + +“What does your heart say, Maimie?” said Mrs. Murray, quietly. + +“Oh, auntie, I am so miserable!” + +“But, Maimie,” continued her aunt, “in this matter, as I said before, +you must be true to yourself. Do you love Ranald?” + +“Oh, auntie, I cannot tell,” cried Maimie, putting her face in her +hands. + +“If Ranald were De Lacy would you love him?” + +“Oh yes, yes, how happy I would be!” + +Then Mrs. Murray rose. “Maimie, dear,” she said, and her voice was very +gentle but very firm, “let me speak to you for your dear mother's sake. +Do not deceive yourself. Do not give your life for anything but love. +Ranald is a noble man and he will be a great man some day, and I love +him as my own son, but I would not have you give yourself to him unless +you truly loved him.” She did not mention De Lacy's name nor utter a +word in comparison of the two, but listening to her voice, Maimie knew +only too well whither her love had gone. + +“Oh, auntie,” she cried, “I cannot bear it!” + +“Yes, Maimie dear, you can bear to do the right, for there is One in +whose strength we can do all things.” + +Before Maimie could reply her Aunt Frances came in. + +“It is dinner-time,” she announced, “and your father has just come in, +Maimie, and we must have dinner over at once.” + +Maimie rose, and going to the glass, smoothed back her hair. Her Aunt +Frances glanced at her face and then at Mrs. Murray, and as if fearing +Maimie's reply, went on hurriedly, “You must look your very best +to-night, and even better to-morrow,” she said, smiling, significantly. +She came and put her hands on Maimie's shoulders, and kissing her, said: +“Have you told your Aunt Murray who is coming to-morrow? I am sure +I'm very thankful, my dear, you will be very happy. It is an excellent +match. Half the girls in town will be wild with envy. He has written a +very manly letter to your father, and I am sure he is a noble fellow, +and he has excellent prospects. But we must hurry down to dinner,” she +said, turning to Mrs. Murray, who with a look of sadness on her pale +face, left the room without a word. + +“Ranald is not coming,” said Maimie, when her Aunt Murray had gone. + +“Indeed, from what your father says,” cried Aunt Frank, indignantly, “I +do not very well see how he could. He has been most impertinent.” + +“You are not to say that, Aunt Frank,” cried Maimie. “Ranald could not +be impertinent, and I will not hear it.” Her tone was so haughty and +fierce that Aunt Frank thought it wiser to pursue this subject no +further. + +“Well,” she said, as she turned to leave the room, “I'm very glad he has +the grace to keep away tonight. He has always struck me as a young man +of some presumption.” + +When the door closed upon her Maimie tore the note from her bosom and +pressed it again and again to her lips: “Oh, Ranald, Ranald,” she cried, +“I love you! I love you! Oh, why can it not be? Oh, I cannot--I cannot +give him up!” She threw herself upon her knees and laid her face in +the bed. In a few minutes there came a tap at the door, and her Aunt +Frances's voice was heard, “Maimie, your father has gone down; we must +not delay.” The tone was incisive and matter-of-fact. It said to Maimie, +“Now let's have no nonsense. Be a sensible woman of the world.” Maimie +rose from her knees. Hastily removing all traces of tears from her face, +and glancing in the glass, she touched the little ringlets into place +and went down to dinner. + +It was a depressing meal. Mr. St. Clair was irritable; Harry perplexed +and sullen; Maimie nervously talkative. Mrs. Murray was heroically +holding herself in command, but the look of pain in her eyes and the +pathetic tremor on her lips belied the brave smiles and cheerful words +with which she seconded Aunt Frank. + +After dinner the company separated, for there were still preparations +to make for the evening. As Mrs. Murray was going to her room, she met +Harry in the hall with his hat on. + +“Where are you going, Harry?” + +“Anywhere,” he growled, fiercely, “to get out of this damnable +hypocrisy! Pardon me, Aunt Murray, I can't help it, it IS damnable, and +a whole lot of them are in it!” + +Then Mrs. Murray came, and laying her hand on his arm, said: “Don't go, +Harry; don't leave me; I want some one; come upstairs.” + +Harry stood looking at the sweet face, trying to smile so bravely in +spite of the tremulous lips. + +“You are a dear, brave little woman,” he said, hanging up his hat, “and +I'll be hanged if I don't stay by you. Come along upstairs.” He stooped, +and lifting her in his arms in spite of her laughing protests, carried +her upstairs to her room. When they came down to the party they both +looked braver and stronger. + +The party was a great success. The appointments were perfect; the music +the best that could be had, and Maimie more beautiful than ever. In +some mysterious way, known only to Aunt Frank, the rumor of Maimie's +approaching engagement got about among the guests and produced an +undertone of excitement to the evenings gayety. Maimie was too excited +to be quite natural, but she had never appeared more brilliant and +happy, and surely she had every cause. She had achieved a dizzy summit +of social success that made her at once the subject of her friends' +congratulations and her rivals' secret envy, and which was the more +delightful it would be hard to say. Truly, she was a fortunate girl, +but still the night was long, and she was tired of it all before it was +over. The room seemed empty, and often her heart gave a leap as her eyes +fell upon some form that appeared more handsome and striking than others +near, but only to sink again in disappointment when a second glance told +her that it was only some ordinary man. Kate, too, kept aloof in a very +unpleasant way, and Harry, devoting himself to Kate, had not done his +duty. But in spite of everything the party had been a great success, +and when it was over Maimie went straight to bed to sleep. She knew that +Ranald would be awaiting the answer to his note, but she could not bring +herself to face what she knew would be an ordeal that might murder sleep +for her, and sleep she must have, for she must be her best to-morrow. It +would have been better for all involved had she written her answer that +night; otherwise Ranald would not have been standing at her door in the +early afternoon asking to see her. It was Aunt Frances who came down +to the drawing-room. As Ranald stood up and bowed, she adjusted her +pince-nez upon her aristocratic nose, and viewed him. + +“You are wishing to see Miss St. Clair,” she said, in her very chilliest +tone. + +“I asked to see Maimie,” said Ranald, looking at her with cool, steady +eyes. + +“I must say, Mr. Macdonald, that after your conduct to my brother +yesterday, I am surprised you should have the assurance to enter his +house.” + +“I would prefer not discussing office matters with you,” said Ranald, +politely, and with a suspicion of a smile. “I have come to see Maimie.” + +“That, I am glad to say, is impossible, for she is at present out with +Captain De Lacy who has just arrived from the East to--see--to--in +short, on a very special errand.” + +For a moment Ranald stood without reply. + +“She is out, you say?” he answered at length. + +“She is out with Captain De Lacy.” He caught the touch of triumph in her +voice. + +“Will she be back soon?” inquired Ranald, looking baffled. + +“Of course one cannot tell in such a case,” answered Miss St. Clair, +“but I should think not.” Miss St. Clair was enjoying herself. It did +her good to see this insolent, square-jawed young man standing helpless +before her. + +“It is important that I should see her,” said Ranald, after a few +moments' thought. “I shall wait.” Had Miss St. Clair known him better +she would have noticed with some concern the slow fires kindling in his +eyes. As it was she became indignant. + +“That, Mr. Macdonald, you shall not; and allow me to say frankly that +your boldness--your insolence--I may say, is beyond all bounds.” + +“Insolence, and when?” Ranald was very quiet. + +“You come to the house of your employer, whom you have insulted, and +demand to see his daughter.” + +“I have a right to see her.” + +“Right? What right have you, pray?” + +Then Ranald stood up and looked Miss St. Clair full in the face with +eyes fairly alight. + +“Miss St. Clair, have you ever known what it is to love with all your +soul and heart?” Miss St. Clair gasped. “Because if not, you will not +understand me; if you have you will know why I must see Maimie. It is +seven years now since I began to love her. I remember the spot in +the woods; I see the big tree there behind her and the rising ground +stretching away to the right. I see the place where I pulled her out of +the fire. Every morning since that time I have waked with the thought of +her; every night my eyes have closed with a vision of her before me. It +is for her I have lived and worked. I tell you she is mine! I love her! +I love her, and she loves me. I know it.” His words came low, fierce, +and swift. + +Miss St. Clair stood breathless. What a man he looked and how handsome +he was! + +With but a moment's pause Ranald went on, but his voice took a gentler +tone. “Miss St. Clair, do you understand me? Yes, I know you do.” The +blood came flowing suddenly to her thin cheeks. “You say she is out with +Captain De Lacy, and you mean me to think that she is to give herself to +him. He loves her, I know, but I say she is mine! Her eyes have told me +that. She is mine, I tell you, and no man living will take her from me.” + The fire that always slumbered in his eyes was now blazing in full fury. +The great passion of his life was raging through his soul, vibrating in +his voice, and glowing in his dark face. Miss St. Clair sat silent, and +then motioned him to a seat. + +“Mr. Macdonald,” she said, with grave courtesy, “you are too late, I +fear. I did not realize--Maimie will never be yours. I know my niece.” + At the sad earnestness of her voice, Ranald's face began to grow pale. + +“I will wait for her,” he said, quietly. + +“I beg you will not.” + +“I will wait,” he repeated, with lips tight pressed. + +“It is vain, Mr. Macdonald, I assure you. Spare yourself and her. I know +what--I could have--” Her voice grew husky. + +“I will wait,” once more replied Ranald, the lines of his face growing +tense. + +Miss St. Clair rose and gave him her hand. “I will send a friend to you, +and I beg you to excuse me,” Ranald bowed gravely, “and to forgive me,” + and she left the room. Ranald heard her pass through the hall and up the +stairs and then a door closed behind her. Before he had time to gather +his thoughts together he heard a voice outside that made his heart stand +still. Then the front door opened quickly and Maimie and De Lacy stood +in the hall. She was gayly talking. Ranald rose and stood with his back +to the door. Before him was a large mirror which reflected the hall +through the open door. He stood waiting for them to enter. + +“Hang up your hat, Captain De Lacy, then go in and find a chair while I +run upstairs,” cried Maimie, gayly. “You must learn your way about here +now.” + +“No,” said De Lacy, in a low, distinct voice. “I can wait no longer, +Maimie.” + +She looked at him a moment as if in fear. + +“Come,” he said, holding out his hands to her. “There was no chance in +the park, and I can wait no longer.” Slowly she came near. “My darling, +my sweetheart,” he said, in a low voice full of intense passion. Then, +while she lay in his arms, he kissed her on the lips twice. Ranald stood +gazing in the mirror as if fascinated. As their lips met a low groan +burst from him. He faced about, and with a single step, stood in the +doorway. Shriek after shriek echoed through the house as Maimie sprang +from De Lacy's arms and shrank back to the wall. + +“Great heavens,” cried De Lacy, “why it's Macdonald! What the deuce do +you mean coming in on people like that?” + +“What is it, Maimie,” cried her Aunt Frank, hurrying down stairs. + +Then she saw Ranald standing in the doorway, with face bloodless, +ghastly, livid. Quickly she went up to him, and said, in a voice +trembling and not ungentle: “Oh, why did you wait, Mr. Macdonald; go +away now, go away.” + +Ranald turned and looked at her with a curious uncomprehending gaze, and +then said, “Yes, I will go away.” He took a step toward Maimie, his eyes +like lurid flames. She shrank from him, while De Lacy stepped in his +path. With a sweep of his arm he brushed De Lacy aside, hurling him +crashing against the wall, and stood before the shrinking girl. + +“Good by, Maimie; forget that I loved you once.” + +The words came slowly from his pallid lips. For some moments he stood +with his burning eyes fastened upon her face. Then he turned slowly from +her and groped blindly for his hat. Miss St. Clair hurried toward him, +found his hat, and putting it in his hand, said, in a broken voice, +while tears poured down her cheeks: “Here it is; good by, good by.” + +He looked at her a moment as if in surprise, and then, with a smile of +rare sweetness on his white lips, he said, “I thank you,” and passed +out, going feebly like a man who has got a death wound. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +A GOOD TRUE FRIEND + + +It was springtime and the parks and avenues were in all the dainty +splendor of their new leaves. The afternoon May sun was flooding the +city with gold and silver light, and all the air was tremulous with the +singing of birds. A good day it was to live if one could only live in +the sunny air within sight of the green leaves and within sound of the +singing birds. A day for life and love it was; at least so Kate thought +as she drew up her prancing team at the St. Clair house where Harry +stood waiting for her. + +“DEAR Kate,” he cried, “how stunning you are! I love you!” + +“Come, Harry, jump up! Breton is getting excited.” + +“Stony-hearted wretch,” grumbled Harry. “Did you hear me tell you I love +you?” + +“Nonsense, Harry, jump in; I'll report to Lily Langford.” + +“Don't tell,” pleaded Harry, “and do keep Breton on all fours. This +isn't a circus. You terrify me.” + +“We have only time to make the train, hurry up!” cried Kate. “Steady, my +boys.” + +“Some day, Kate, those 'boys' of yours will be your death or the death +of some of your friends,” said Harry, as he sprang in and took his place +beside Kate. “That Breton ought to be shot. It really affects my heart +to drive with you.” + +“You haven't any, Harry, you know that right well, so don't be alarmed.” + +“Quite true,” said Harry, sentimentally, “not since that night, don't +you remember, Kate, when you--” + +“Now, Harry, I only remind you that I always tell my girl friends +everything you say. It is this wedding that's got into your blood.” + +“I suppose so,” murmured Harry, pensively; “wish it would get into +yours. Now seriously, Kate, at your years you ought--” + +“Harry,” said Kate, indignantly, “I really don't need you at the +station. I can meet your aunt quite well without you. Shall I set you +down here, or drive you to the office?” + +“Oh, not to the office, I entreat! I entreat! Anything but that! Surely +I may be allowed this day! I shall be careful of your sensitive points, +but I do hope this wedding of Maimie's will give you serious thoughts.” + +Kate was silent, giving her attention doubtless to her team. Then, with +seeming irrelevance, she said: “Didn't I see Colonel Thorp yesterday in +town?” + +“Yes, the old heathen! I haven't forgiven him for taking off Ranald as +he did.” + +“He didn't take off Ranald. Ranald was going off anyway.” + +“How do you know?” said Harry. + +“I know,” replied Kate, with a little color in her cheek. “He told me +himself.” + +“Well, old Thorp was mighty glad to get him; I can tell you that. The +old sinner!” + +“He's just a dear!” cried Kate. “Yes, he was glad to get Ranald. What a +splendid position he gave him.” + +“Oh, yes, I know, he adores you like all the rest, and so you think him +a dear.” + +But this Kate ignored for the team were speeding along at an alarming +pace. With amazing skill and dash she threaded her way through the +crowded streets with almost no checking of her speed. + +“Do be careful,” cried Harry, as the wheels of their carriage skimmed +the noses of the car-horses. “I am quite sure my aunt will not be able +to recognize me.” + +“And why not?” + +“Because I shall be gray-haired by the time I reach the station.” + +“There's the train I do believe,” cried Kate, flourishing her whip over +her horses' backs. “We must not be late.” + +“If we ever get there alive,” said Harry. + +“Here we are sure enough.” + +“Shall I go to the train?” + +“No, indeed,” cried Kate. “Do you think I am going to allow any one to +meet MY Aunt Murray but myself? I shall go; you hold the horses.” + +“I am afraid, really,” cried Harry, pretending terror. + +“Oh, I fancy you will do,” cried Kate, smiling sweetly, as she ran off +to meet the incoming train. In a few moments she returned with Mrs. +Murray and carrying a large, black valise. + +“Hello, auntie dear,” cried Harry. “You see I can't leave these brutes +of Kate's, but believe me it does me good to see you. What a blessing a +wedding is to bring you to us. I suppose you won't come again until it +is Kate's or mine.” + +“That would be sure to bring me,” cried Mrs. Murray, smiling her bright +smile, “provided you married the right persons.” + +“Why, auntie,” said Harry, dismally, “Kate is so unreasonable. She won't +take even me. You see she's so tremendously impressed with herself, and +all the fellows spoil her.” + +By this time Kate had the reins and Harry had climbed into the back +seat. + +“Dear old auntie,” he said, kissing his aunt, “I am really delighted +to see you. But to return to Kate. Look at her! Doesn't she look like a +Roman princess?” + +“Now, Harry, do be sensible, or I shall certainly drive you at once to +the office,” said Kate, severely. + +“Oh, the heartlessness of her. She knows well enough that Colonel Thorp +is there, and she would shamelessly exult over his abject devotion. She +respects neither innocent youth nor gray hairs, as witness myself and +Colonel Thorp.” + +“Isn't he a silly boy, auntie?” said Kate, “and he is not much improving +with age.” + +“But what's this about Colonel Thorp?” said Mrs. Murray. “Sometimes +Ranald writes of him, in high terms, too.” + +“Well, you ought to hear Thorp abuse Ranald. Says he's ruining the +company with his various philanthropic schemes,” said Harry, “but you +can never tell what he means exactly. He's a wily old customer.” + +“Don't believe him, auntie,” said Kate, with a sagacious smile. “Colonel +Thorp thinks that the whole future of his company and of the Province +depends solely upon Ranald. It is quite ridiculous to hear him, while +all the time he is abusing him for his freaks.” + +“It must be a great country out there, though,” said Harry, “and what a +row they are making over Confederation.” + +“What do you mean, Harry?” said Mrs. Murray. “We hear so little in the +country.” + +“Well, I don't know exactly, but those fellows in British Columbia are +making all sorts of threats that unless this railway is built forthwith +they will back out of the Dominion, and some of them talk of annexation +with the United States. Don't I wish I was there! What a lucky fellow +Ranald is. Thorp says he's a big gun already. No end of a swell. Of +course, as manager of a big concern like the British-American Coal and +Lumber Company, he is a man of some importance.” + +“I don't think he is taking much to do with public questions,” said +Kate, “though he did make a speech at New Westminster not long ago. He +has been up in those terrible woods almost ever since he went.” + +“Hello, how do you know?” said Harry, looking at her suspiciously; “I +get a fragment of a note from Ranald now and then, but he is altogether +too busy to remember humble people.” + +“I hear regularly from Coley. You remember Coley, don't you?” said Kate, +turning to Mrs. Murray. + +“Oh, yes, that's the lad in whom Ranald was so interested in the +Institute.” + +“Yes,” replied Kate; “Coley begged and prayed to go with Ranald, and so +he went.” + +“She omits to state,” said Harry, “that she also 'begged and prayed' and +further that she outfitted the young rascal, though I've reason to thank +Providence for removing him to another sphere.” + +“How does it affect you?” said Mrs. Murray. + +“Why, haven't you heard, Aunt Murray, of the tremendous heights to which +I have attained? I suppose she didn't tell you of her dinner party. That +was after you had left last fall. It was a great bit of generalship. +Some of Ranald's foot-ball friends, Little Merrill, Starry Hamilton, +that's the captain, you know, and myself among them, were asked to +a farewell supper by this young lady, and when the men had well +drunk--fed, I mean--and were properly dissolved in tears over the +prospect of Ranald's departure, at a critical moment the Institute +was introduced as a side issue. It was dear to Ranald's heart. A most +effective picture was drawn of the Institute deserted and falling into +ruins, so to speak, with Kate heroically struggling to prevent utter +collapse. Could this be allowed? No! a thousand times no! Some one would +be found surely! Who would it be! At this juncture Kate, who had been +maintaining a powerful silence, smiled upon Little Merrill, who being +distinctly inflammable, and for some mysterious reason devoted to +Ranald, and for an even more mysterious reason devoted to Kate, swore +he'd follow if some one would lead. What could I do? My well-known +abilities naturally singled me out for leadership, so to prevent any +such calamity, I immediately proposed that if Starry Hamilton, the great +foot-ball chief, would command this enterprise I would follow. Before +the evening was over the Institute was thoroughly manned.” + +“It is nearly half true, aunt,” said Kate. + +“And by our united efforts,” continued Harry, “the Institute has +survived the loss of Ranald.” + +“I cannot tell you how overjoyed I am, Harry, that both of my boys are +taking hold of such good work, you here and Ranald in British Columbia. +He must have a very hard time of it, but he speaks very gratefully of +Colonel Thorp, who, he says, often opposes but finally agrees with his +proposals.” + +Harry laughed aloud. “Agrees, does he? And do you know why? I remember +seeing him one day, and he was in a state of wild fury at Ranald's +notions. I won't quote his exact words. The next day I found him in a +state of bland approval. Then I learn incidentally that in the meantime +Kate has been giving him tea and music.” + +“Don't listen to his mean insinuations, auntie,” said Kate, blushing a +little. + +Mrs. Murray turned and looked curiously into her face and smiled, and +then Kate blushed all the more. + +“I think that may explain some things that have been mysterious to me,” + she said. + +“Oh, what, auntie?” cried Harry; “I am most anxious to know.” + +“Never mind,” said Mrs. Murray; “I will explain to Kate.” + +“That won't help me any. She is a most secretive person, twiddles us all +round her fingers and never lets us know anything until it's done. It is +most exasperating. Oh, I say, Kate,” added Harry, suddenly, “would you +mind dropping me at the florist's here?” + +“Why? Oh, I see,” said Kate, drawing in her team. “How do you do, Lily? +Harry is anxious to select some flowers,” she said, bowing to a very +pretty girl on the sidewalk. + +“Kate, do stop it,” besought Harry, in a low voice, as he leaped out of +the carriage. “Good by, auntie, I'll see you this evening. Don't believe +all Kate tells you,” he added, as they drove away. + +“Are you too tired for a turn in the park,” said Kate, “or shall we +drive home?” + +A drive is always pleasant. Besides, one can talk about some things with +more freedom in a carriage than face to face in one's room. The horses +require attention at critical moments, and there are always points of +interest when it is important that conversation should be deflected from +the subject in hand, so since Mrs. Murray was willing, Kate turned into +the park. For an hour they drove along its shady, winding roads while +Mrs. Murray talked of many things, but mostly of Ranald, and of the +tales that the Glengarry people had of him. For wherever there was +lumbering to be done, sooner or later there Glengarry men were to be +found, and Ranald had found them in the British Columbia forests. And +to their people at home their letters spoke of Ranald and his doings +at first doubtfully, soon more confidently, but always with pride. To +Macdonald Bhain a rare letter came from Ranald now and then, which he +would carry to Mrs. Murray with a difficult pretense of modesty. For +with Macdonald Bhain, Ranald was a great man. + +“But he is not quite sure of him,” said Mrs. Murray. “He thinks it is a +very queer way of lumbering, and the wages he considers excessive.” + +“Does he say that?” asked Kate. “That's just what Colonel Thorp says his +company are saying. But he stands up for Ranald even when he can't see +that his way is the best. The colonel is not very sure about Ranald's +schemes for the men, his reading-room, library, and that sort of thing. +But I'm sure he will succeed.” But Kate's tone belied her confident +words. + +Mrs. Murray noticed the anxiety in Kate's voice. “At least we are +sure,” she said, gently, “that he will do right, and after all that is +success.” + +“I know that right well,” replied Kate; “but it is hard for him out +there with no one to help him or to encourage him.” + +Again Mrs. Murray looked at Kate, curiously. + +“It must be a terrible place,” Kate went on, “especially for one like +Ranald, for he has no mind to let things go. He will do a thing as it +ought to be done, or not at all.” Soon after this Kate gave her mind to +her horses, and in a short time headed them for home. + +“What a delightful drive we have had,” said Mrs. Murray, gratefully, as +Kate took her upstairs to her room. + +“I hope I have not worried you with my dismal forebodings,” she said, +with a little laugh. + +“No, dear,” said Mrs. Murray, drawing her face down to the pillow where +Kate had made her lay her head. “I think I understand,” she added, in a +whisper. + +Then Kate laid her face beside that of her friend and whispered, “Oh, +auntie, it is so hard for him”; but Mrs. Murray stroked her head softly +and said: “There is no fear, Kate; all will be well with him.” + +Immediately after dinner Kate carried Mrs. Murray with her to her own +room, and after establishing her in all possible comfort, she began to +read extracts from Coley's letters. + +“Here is the first, auntie; they are more picturesque than elegant, but +if you knew Coley, you wouldn't mind; you'd be glad to get any letter +from him.” So saying Kate turned her back to the window, a position with +the double advantage of allowing the light to fall upon the paper and +the shadow to rest upon her face, and so proceeded to read: + + +DEAR MISS KATE: We got here--(“That is to New Westminster.”) last night, +and it is a queer town. The streets run every way, the houses are all +built of wood, and almost none of them are painted. The streets are full +of all sorts of people. I saw lots of Chinamen and Indians. It makes +a feller feel kind o' queer as if he was in some foreign country. +The hotel where we stopped was a pretty good lookin' place. Of course +nothin' like the hotel we stopped at in San Francisco. It was pretty +fine inside, but after supper when the crowd began to come in to the +bar you never saw such a gang in your life! They knew how to sling their +money, I can tell you. And then they begun to yell and cut up. I tell +you it would make the Ward seem like a Sunday school. The Boss, that's +what they call him here, I guess didn't like it much, and I don't think +you would, either. Next morning we went to look at the mills. They are +just sheds with slab roofs. I don't think much of them myself, though I +don't know much about mills. The Boss went round askin' questions and +I don't think he liked the look of them much either. I know he kept +his lips shut pretty tight as we used to see him do sometimes in the +Institute. I am awful glad he brought me along. He says I have got to +write to you at least once a month, and I've got to take care of my +writin' too and get the spellin' right. When I think of the fellers back +in the alleys pitchin' pennies I tell you I'd ruther die than go back. +Here a feller feels he's alive. I wish I'd paid more attention to my +writin' in the night school, but I guess I was pretty much of a fool +them days, and you were awful good to me. The Boss says that a man must +always pay his way, and when I told him I wanted to pay for them clothes +you gave me he looked kind o' funny, but he said “that's right,” so I +want you to tell me what they cost and I will pay you first thing, for +I'm goin' to be a man out in this country. We're goin' up the river +next week and see the gangs workin' up there in the bush. It's kind o' +lonesome here goin' along the street and lookin' people in the faces to +see if you can see one you know. Lots of times I though I did see some +one I knew but it wasn't. Good by, I'll write you soon again. + +Yours truly, + +MICHAEL COLE. + + +“The second letter,” Kate went on, “is written from the camp, Twentymile +Camp, he calls it. He tells how they went up the river in the steamer, +taking with them some new hands for their camp, and how these men came +on board half drunk, and how all the way up to Yale they were drinking +and fighting. It must have been horrible. After that they went on +smaller boats and then by wagons. On the roads it must have been +terrible. Coley seems much impressed with the big trees. He says:” + + +“These big trees are pretty hard to write about without sayin' words the +Boss don't allow. It makes you think of bein' in St. Michaels, it's so +quiet and solemn-like, and I never felt so small in all my life. The +Boss and me walked the last part of the way, and got to camp late and +pretty tired, and the men we brought in with us was all pretty mad, but +the Boss never paid no attention to 'em but went whistlin' about as if +everything was lovely. We had some pork and beans for supper, then went +to sleep in a bunk nailed up against the side of the shanty. It was as +hard as a board, but I tell you it felt pretty good. Next day I went +wanderin' 'round with the foreman and the Boss. I tell you I was afraid +to get very far away from 'em, for I'd be sure to get lost; the bush is +that thick that you can't see your own length ahead of you. That night, +when the Boss and me and the foreman was in the shanty they call the +office, after supper, we heard a most awful row. 'What's that?' says +the Boss. 'O, that's nothin',' says the foreman; 'the boys is havin' a +little fun, I guess.' He didn't say anything, but went on talkin', but +in a little while the row got worse, and we heard poundin' and smashin'. +'Do you allow that sort of thing?' says the Boss. 'Well,' he says, +'Guess the boys got some whiskey last night. I generally let 'em alone.' +'Well,' says the Boss, quiet-like, 'I think you'd better go in and +stop it.' 'Not if I know myself,' says the foreman, 'I ain't ordered my +funeral yet.' 'Well, we'll go in and see, anyway,' says the Boss. I tell +you I was kind o' scared, but I thought I might as well go along. When +we got into the sleepin' shanty there was a couple of fellers with +hand-spikes breakin' up the benches and knockin' things around most +terrible. 'Say, boys,' yelled the foreman, and then he began to swear +most awful. They didn't seem to pay much attention, but kept on knockin' +around and swearin'. 'Come, now,' says the foreman, kind o' coaxin' +like, 'this ain't no way to act. Get down and behave yourselves.' But +still they didn't pay no attention. Then the Boss walked up to the +biggest one, and when he got quite close to 'em they all got still +lookin' on. 'I'll take that hand-spike,' says the Boss. 'Help yourself,' +says the man swingin' it up. I don't know what happened, it was done +so quick, but before you could count three that feller was on his knees +bleedin' like a pig and the hand-spike was out of the door, and the Boss +walks up to the other feller and says, 'Put that hand-spike outside.' He +begun to swear. 'Put it out,' says the Boss, quiet-like, and the feller +backs up and throws his hand-spike out. And the Boss up and speaks and +says, 'Look here, men, I don't want to interfere with nobody, and won't +while he behaves himself, but there ain't goin' to be any row like that +in this camp. Say, you ought to have seen 'em! They sat like the gang +used to in the night school, and then he turned and walked out and we +all follered him. I guess they ain't used to that sort of thing in this +camp. I heard the men talkin' next day pretty big of what they was goin' +to do, but I don't think they'll do much. They don't look that kind. +Anyway, if there's goin' to be a fight, I'd feel safer with the Boss +than with the whole lot of 'em.” + + +“The letter after this,” went on Kate, “tells of what happened the +Sunday following.” + + +“We'd gone out in the afternoon, Boss and me, for a walk, and when we +got back the camp was just howlin' drunk, and the foreman was worst of +all. They kind o' quieted down for a little when we come in and let us +get into the office, but pretty soon they began actin' up funny again +and swearin' most awful. Then I see the Boss shut up his lips hard, and +I says to myself 'Look out for blood.' Then he starts over for the bunk +shanty. I was mighty scared, and follered him close. Just as we shoved +open the door a bottle come singin' through the air and smashed to a +thousand bits on the beam above. 'Is that the kind of cowards you +are?' says the Boss, quite cool. He didn't speak loud, but I tell you +everybody heard him and got dead still. 'No, Boss,' says one feller, +'not all.' 'The man that threw that bottle,' says the boss, 'is a +coward, and the meanest kind. He's afraid to step out here for five +minutes.' Nobody moved. 'Step up, ye baste,' says an Irishman, 'or it's +mesilf will kick ye out of the camp.' And out the feller comes. It was +the same duck that the Boss scared out of the door the first night. +'Sthand up till 'im Billie,' says the Irishman; 'we'll see fair play. +Sthand up to the gintleman.' 'Billie,' says the Boss, and his eyes was +blazin' like candles; 'yer goin' to leave this camp to-morrow mornin'. +You can take your choice; will you get onto your knees now or later?' +With that Billie whipped out a knife and rushes at him; but the Boss +grabs his wrist and gives it a twist, and the knife fell onto the floor. +The Boss holds him like a baby, and picks up the knife and throws it +into the fire. 'Now,' says he, 'get onto your knees. Quick!' And the +feller drops on his knees, and bellered like a calf. + +“'Let's pray,' says some one, and the crowd howls. 'Give us yer hand, +Boss,' says the Irishman. 'Yer the top o' this gang.' The Irishman +shoves out his clipper, and the Boss takes it in an easy kind of a way. +My you o't to seen that Irishman squirm. 'Howly Mither!' he yells, and +dances round, 'what do ye think yer got?' and he goes off lookin' at his +fingers, and the Boss stands lookin' at 'em, and says, 'You'r a nice +lot of fellers, you don't deserve it; but I'm goin' to treat you fair. +I know you feel Sunday pretty slow, and I'll try to make it better for +you; but I want you to know that I won't have any more row in this +camp, and I won't have any man here that can't behave himself. To-morrow +morning, YOU,' pointin' at the foreman, 'and you, Billie,' and YOU, +pointin' at another chap, leave the camp, and they did too, though they +begged and prayed to let 'em stay, and by next Sunday we had a lot +of papers and books, with pictures in 'em, and a bang-up dinner, and +everything went nice. I am likin' it fine. I'm time-keeper, and look +after the store; but I drive the team too every chance I get, and I'd +ruther do that a long way. But many a night I tell you when the Boss and +me is alone we talk about you and the Institute fellers, and the Boss--” + + +“Well, that's all,” said Kate, “but isn't it terrible? Aren't they +dreadful?” + +“Poor fellows,” said Mrs. Murray; “it's a very hard life for them.” + +“But isn't it awful, auntie? They might kill him,” said Kate. + +“Yes, dear,” said Mrs. Murray, in a soothing voice, “but it sounds worse +to us perhaps than it is.” + +Mrs. Murray had not lived in the Indian Lands for nothing. + +“Oh, if anything should happen to him?” said Kate, with sudden +agitation. + +“We must just trust him to the great Keeper,” said Mrs. Murray, quietly, +“in Whose keeping all are safe whether there or here.” + +Then going to her valise, she took out a letter and handed it to Kate, +saying: “That's his last to me. You can look at it, Kate.” + +Kate took the letter and put it in her desk. “I think, perhaps, we had +better go down now,” she said; “I expect Colonel Thorp has come. I think +you will like him. He seems a little rough, but he is a gentleman, and +has a true heart,” and they went downstairs. + +It is the mark of a gentleman to know his kind. He has an instinct +for what is fine and offers ready homage to what is worthy. Any one +observing Colonel Thorp's manner of receiving Mrs. Murray would have +known him at once for a gentleman, for when that little lady came into +the drawing-room, dressed in her decent silk gown, with soft white lace +at her throat, bearing herself with sweet dignity, and stepping with +dainty grace on her toes, after the manner of the fine ladies of the +old school, and not after the flat-footed, heel-first modern style, the +colonel abandoned his usual careless manner and rose and stood rigidly +at attention. + +“Auntie, this is my friend, Colonel Thorp,” said Kate. + +“Proud to know you madam,” said the colonel, with his finest military +bow. + +“And I am glad to meet Colonel Thorp; I have heard so much of him +through my friends,” and she smiled at him with such genuine kindliness +that the gallant colonel lost his heart at once. + +“Your friends have been doing me proud,” he said, bowing to her and then +to Kate. + +“Oh, you needn't look at me,” said Kate; “you don't imagine I have been +saying nice things about you? She has other friends that think much of +you.” + +“Yes,” said Mrs. Murray, “Ranald has often spoken of you, Colonel Thorp, +and of your kindness,” said Mrs. Murray. + +The colonel looked doubtful. “Well, I don't know that he thinks much of +me. I have had to be pretty hard on him.” + +“Why?” asked Mrs. Murray. + +“Well, I reckon you know him pretty well,” began the colonel. + +“Well, she ought to,” said Kate, “she brought him up, and his many +virtues he owes mostly to my dear aunt's training.” + +“Oh, Kate, you must not say that,” said Mrs. Murray, gravely. + +“Then,” said the colonel, “you ought to be proud of him. You produced a +rare article in the commercial world, and that is a man of honor. He is +not for sale, and I want to say that I feel as safe about the company's +money out there as if I was settin' on it; but he needs watching,” added +the colonel, “he needs watching.” + +“What do you mean?” said Mrs. Murray, whose pale face had flushed with +pleasure and pride at the colonel's praise of Ranald. + +“Too much philanthropy,” said the colonel, bluntly; “the +British-American Coal and Lumber Company ain't a benevolent society +exactly.” + +“I am glad you spoke of that, Colonel Thorp; I want to ask you about +some things that I don't understand. I know that the company are +criticising some of Ranald's methods, but don't know why exactly.” + +“Now, Colonel,” cried Kate, “stand to your guns.” + +“Well,” said the colonel, “I am going to execute a masterly retreat, +as they used to say when a fellow ran away. I am going to get behind my +company. They claim, you see, that Ranald ain't a paying concern.” + +“But how?” said Mrs. Murray. + +Then the colonel enumerated the features of Ranald's management most +severely criticised by the company. He paid the biggest wages going; the +cost of supplies for the camps was greater, and the company's stores +did not show as large profits as formerly; “and of course,” said the +colonel, “the first aim of any company is to pay dividends, and the +manager that can't do that has to go.” + +Then Mrs. Murray proceeded to deal with the company's contentions, +going at once with swift intuition to the heart of the matter. “You +were speaking of honor a moment ago, Colonel. There is such a thing in +business?” + +“Certainly, that's why I put that young man where he is.” + +“That means that the company expect him to deal fairly by them.” + +“That's about it.” + +“And being a man of honor, I suppose he will also deal fairly by the men +and by himself.” + +“I guess so,” said the colonel. + +“I don't pretend to understand the questions fully, but from Ranald's +letters I have gathered that he did not consider that justice was being +done either to the men or to the company. For instance, in the matter +of stores--I may be wrong in this, you will correct me, Colonel--I +understand it was the custom to charge the men in the camps for the +articles they needed prices three or four times what was fair.” + +“Well,” said the colonel, “I guess things WERE a little high, but that's +the way every company does.” + +“And then I understand that the men were so poorly housed and fed and so +poorly paid that only those of the inferior class could be secured.” + +“Well, I guess they weren't very high-class,” said the colonel, “that's +right enough.” + +“But, Colonel, if you secure a better class of men, and you treat them +in a fair and honorable way with some regard to their comfort you ought +to get better results in work, shouldn't you?” + +“Well, that's so,” said the colonel; “there never was such an amount +of timber got out with the same number of men since the company started +work, but yet the thing don't pay, and that's the trouble. The concern +must pay or go under.” + +“Yes, that's quite true, Colonel,” said Mrs. Murray; “but why doesn't +your concern pay?” + +“Well, you see, there's no market; trade is dull and we can't sell to +advantage.” + +“But surely that is not your manager's fault,” said Mrs. Murray, “and +surely it would be an unjust thing to hold him responsible for that.” + +“But the company don't look at things in that light,” said the colonel. +“You see they figure it this way, stores ain't bringing in the returns +they used to, the camps cost a little more, wages are a little higher, +there ain't nothing coming in, and they say, Well, that chap out there +means well with his reading-rooms for the mill hands, his library in the +camp, and that sort of thing, but he ain't sharp enough!” + +“Sharp enough! that's a hard word, Colonel,” said Mrs. Murray, +earnestly, “and it may be a cruel word, but if Ranald were ever so sharp +he really couldn't remove the real cause of the trouble. You say he has +produced larger results than ever before, and if the market were normal +there would be larger returns. Then, it seems to me, Colonel, that if +Ranald suffers he is suffering, not because he has been unfaithful or +incompetent, but because the market is bad, and that I am certain you +would not consider fair.” + +“You must not be too hard on us,” said the colonel. “So far as I +am concerned, I think you are right, but it is a hard thing to make +business men look at these things in anything but a business way.” + +“But it should not be hard, Colonel,” said Mrs. Murray, with sad +earnestness, “to make even business men see that when honor is the price +of dividends the cost is too great,” and without giving the colonel an +opportunity of replying, she went on with eager enthusiasm to show how +the laws of the kingdom of heaven might be applied to the great problems +of labor. “And it would pay, Colonel,” she cried, “it would pay in +money, but far more it would pay in what cannot be bought for money--in +the lives and souls of men, for unjust and uncharitable dealing injures +more the man who is guilty of it than the man who suffers from it in the +first instance.” + +“Madam,” answered the colonel, gravely, “I feel you are right, and I +should be glad to have you address the meeting of our share-holders, +called for next month, to discuss the question of our western business.” + +“Do you mean Ranald's position?” asked Kate. + +“Well, I rather think that will come up.” + +“Then,” said Mrs. Murray, unconsciously claiming the colonel's +allegiance, “I feel sure there will be one advocate at least for fair +and honorable dealing at that meeting.” And the colonel was far too +gallant to refuse to acknowledge the claim, but simply said: “You may +trust me, madam; I shall do my best.” + +“I only wish papa were here,” said Kate. “He is a share-holder, isn't +he? And wish he could hear you, auntie, but he and mamma won't be home +for two weeks.” + +“Oh, Kate,” cried Mrs. Murray, “you make me ashamed, and I fear I have +been talking too much.” + +At this point Harry came in. “I just came over to send you to bed,” he +said, kissing his aunt, and greeting the others. “You are all to look +your most beautiful to-morrow.” + +“Well,” said the colonel, slowly, “that won't be hard for the rest of +you, and it don't matter much for me, and I hope we ain't going to lose +our music.” + +“No, indeed!” cried Kate, sitting down at the piano, while the colonel +leaned back in his easy chair and gave himself up to an hour's unmingled +delight. + +“You have given more pleasure than you know to a wayfaring man,” he +said, as he bade her good night. + +“Come again, when you are in town, you are always welcome, Colonel +Thorp,” she said. + +“You may count me here every time,” said the colonel. Then turning to +Mrs. Murray, with a low bow, he said, “you have given me some ideas +madam, that I hope may not be quite unfruitful, and as for that young +man of yours, well--I--guess--you ain't--hurt his cause any. We'll put +up a fight, anyway.” + +“I am glad to have met you, Colonel Thorp,” said Mrs. Murray, “and I am +quite sure you will stand up for what is right,” and with another bow +the colonel took his leave. + +“Now, Harry, you must go, too,” said Kate; “you can see your aunt again +after to-morrow, and I must get my beauty sleep, besides I don't want +to stand up with a man gaunt and hollow-eyed for lack of sleep,” and she +bundled him off in spite of his remonstrances. But eager as Kate was for +her beauty sleep, the light burned late in her room; and long after +she had seen Mrs. Murray snugly tucked in for the night, she sat with +Ranald's open letter in her hand, reading it till she almost knew it by +heart. It told, among other things, of his differences with the +company in regard to stores, wages, and supplies, and of his efforts to +establish a reading-room at the mills, and a library at the camps; but +there was a sentence at the close of the letter that Kate read over and +over again with the light of a great love in her eyes and with a cry of +pain in her heart. “The magazines and papers that Kate sends are a great +boon. Dear Kate, what a girl she is! I know none like her; and what +a friend she has been to me ever since the day she stood up for me at +Quebec. You remember I told you about that. What a guy I must have been, +but she never showed a sign of shame. I often think of that now, how +different she was from another! I see it now as I could not then--a man +is a fool once in his life, but I have got my lesson and still have a +good true friend.” Often she read and long she pondered the last words. +It was so easy to read too much into them. “A good, true friend.” She +looked at the words till the tears came. Then she stood up and looked at +herself in the glass. + +“Now, young woman,” she said, severely, “be sensible and don't dream +dreams until you are asleep, and to sleep you must go forthwith.” But +sleep was slow to come, and strange to say, it was the thought of the +little woman in the next room that quieted her heart and sent her to +sleep, and next day she was looking her best. And when the ceremony was +over, and the guests were assembled at the wedding breakfast, there were +not a few who agreed with Harry when, in his speech, he threw down his +gage as champion for the peerless bridesmaid, whom for the hour--alas, +too short--he was privileged to call his “lady fair.” For while Kate +had not the beauty of form and face and the fascination of manner that +turned men's heads and made Maimie the envy of all her set, there was +in her a wholesomeness, a fearless sincerity, a noble dignity, and that +indescribable charm of a true heart that made men trust her and love her +as only good women are loved. At last the brilliant affair was all over, +the rice and old boots were thrown, the farewell words spoken, and tears +shed, and then the aunts came back to the empty and disordered house. + +“Well, I am glad for Maimie,” said Aunt Frank; “it is a good match.” + +“Dear Maimie,” replied Aunt Murray, with a gentle sigh, “I hope she will +be happy.” + +“After all it is much better,” said Aunt Frank. + +“Yes, it is much better,” replied Mrs. Murray; and then she added, “How +lovely Kate looked! What a noble girl she is,” but she did not explain +even to herself, much less to Aunt Frank, the nexus of her thoughts. + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE WEST + + +The meeting of the share-holders of the British-American Lumber and +Coal Company was, on the whole, a stormy one, for the very best of +reasons--the failure of the company to pay dividends. The annual report +which the president presented showed clearly that there was a slight +increase in expenditure and a considerable falling off in sales, and it +needed but a little mathematical ability to reach the conclusion that +in a comparatively short time the company would be bankrupt. The +share-holders were thoroughly disgusted with the British Columbia end +of the business, and were on the lookout for a victim. Naturally their +choice fell upon the manager. The concern failed to pay. It was the +manager's business to make it pay and the failure must be laid to his +charge. Their confidence in their manager was all the more shaken by the +reports that had reached them of his peculiar fads--his reading-room, +library, etc. These were sufficient evidence of his lack of business +ability. He was undoubtedly a worthy young man, but there was every +ground to believe that he was something of a visionary, and men with +great hesitation intrust hard cash to the management of an idealist. It +was, perhaps, unfortunate for Mr. St. Clair that he should be appealed +to upon this point, for his reluctance to express an opinion as to the +ability of the manager, and his admission that possibly the young man +might properly be termed a visionary, brought Colonel Thorp sharply to +his feet. + +“Mr. St. Clair,” said the colonel, in a cool, cutting voice, “will not +hesitate to bear testimony to the fact that our manager is a man whose +integrity cannot be tampered with. If I mistake not, Mr. St. Clair has +had evidence of this.” + +Mr. St. Clair hastened to bear the very strongest testimony to the +manager's integrity. + +“And Mr. St. Clair, I have no doubt,” went on the colonel, “will be +equally ready to bear testimony to the conspicuous ability our manager +displayed while he was in the service of the Raymond and St. Clair +Lumber Company.” + +Mr. St. Clair promptly corroborated the colonel's statement. + +“We are sure of two things, therefore,” continued the colonel, “that +our manager is a man of integrity, and that he has displayed conspicuous +business ability in his former positions.” + +At this point the colonel was interrupted, and his attention was called +to the fact that the reports showed an increase of expenditure for +supplies and for wages, and on the other hand a falling off in the +revenue from the stores. But the colonel passed over these points as +insignificant. “It is clear,” he proceeded, “that the cause of failure +does not lie in the management, but in the state of the market. The +political situation in that country is very doubtful, and this has an +exceedingly depressing effect upon business.” + +“Then,” interrupted a share-holder, “it is time the company should +withdraw from that country and confine itself to a district where the +market is sure and the future more stable.” + +“What about these fads, Colonel?” asked another share-holder; “these +reading-rooms, libraries, etc? Do you think we pay a man to establish +that sort of thing? To my mind they simply put a lot of nonsense +into the heads of the working-men and are the chief cause of +dissatisfaction.” Upon this point the colonel did not feel competent to +reply; consequently the feeling of the meeting became decidedly hostile +to the present manager, and a resolution was offered demanding his +resignation. It was also agreed that the board of directors should +consider the advisability of withdrawing altogether from British +Columbia, inasmuch as the future of that country seemed to be very +uncertain. Thereupon Colonel Thorp rose and begged leave to withdraw his +name from the directorate of the company. He thought it was unwise to +abandon a country where they had spent large sums of money, without a +thorough investigation of the situation, and he further desired to enter +his protest against the injustice of making their manager suffer for a +failure for which he had in no way been shown to be responsible. But the +share-holders refused to even consider Colonel Thorp's request, and both +the president and secretary exhausted their eloquence in eulogizing his +value to the company. As a compromise it was finally decided to continue +operations in British Columbia for another season. Colonel Thorp +declared that the reforms and reorganization schemes inaugurated by +Ranald would result in great reductions in the cost of production, and +that Ranald should be given opportunity to demonstrate the success or +failure of his plans; and further, the political situation doubtless +would be more settled. The wisdom of this decision was manifested later. + +The spirit of unrest and dissatisfaction appeared again at the next +annual meeting, for while conditions were improving, dividends were +not yet forthcoming. Once again Colonel Thorp successfully championed +Ranald's cause, this time insisting that a further test of two seasons +be made, prophesying that not only would the present deficit disappear, +but that their patience and confidence would be amply rewarded. + +Yielding to pressure, and desiring to acquaint himself with actual +conditions from personal observation, Colonel Thorp concluded to visit +British Columbia the autumn preceding the annual meeting which was to +succeed Ranald's period of probation. + +Therefore it was that Colonel Thorp found himself on the coast steamship +Oregon approaching the city of Victoria. He had not enjoyed his voyage, +and was, consequently, in no mood to receive the note which was handed +him by a brisk young man at the landing. + +“Who's this from, Pat,” said the colonel, taking the note. + +“Mike, if you please, Michael Cole, if you don't mind; and the note is +from the boss, Mr. Macdonald, who has gone up the country, and can't be +here to welcome you.” + +“Gone up the country!” roared the colonel; “what the blank, blank, does +he mean by going up the country at this particular time?” + +But Mr. Michael Cole was quite undisturbed by the colonel's wrath. “You +might find the reason in the note,” he said, coolly, and the colonel, +glaring at him, opened the note and read: + + +“MY DEAR COLONEL THORP: I am greatly disappointed in not being able to +meet you. The truth is I only received your letter this week. Our mails +are none too prompt, and so I have been unable to re-arrange my plans. +I find it necessary to run up the river for a couple of weeks. In the +meantime, thinking that possibly you might like to see something of +our country, I have arranged that you should join the party of the +Lieutenant Governor on their trip to the interior, and which will take +only about four weeks' time. The party are going to visit the most +interesting districts of our country, including both the famous mining +district of Cariboo and the beautiful valley of the Okanagan. Mr. Cole, +my clerk, will introduce you to Mr. Blair, our member of Parliament for +Westminster, who will present you to the rest of the party. Mr. Blair, I +need not say, is one of the brightest business men in the West. I shall +meet you at Yale on your return. If it is absolutely impossible for you +to take this trip, and necessary that I should return at once, Mr. Cole +will see that a special messenger is sent to me, but I would strongly +urge that you go, if possible. + +“With kind regards.” + + +“Look here, young man,” yelled the colonel, “do you think I've come all +this way to go gallivanting around the country with any blank, blank +royal party?” + +“I don't know, Colonel,” said young Cole, brightly; “but I tell you I'd +like mighty well to go in your place.” + +“And where in the nation IS your boss, and what's he after, anyway?” + +“He's away up the river looking after business, and pretty big business, +too,” said Coley, not at all overawed by the colonel's wrath. + +“Well, I hope he knows himself,” said the colonel. + +“Oh, don't make any mistake about that, Colonel,” said young Cole; “he +always knows where he's going and what he wants, and he gets it.” But +the colonel made no reply, nor did he deign to notice Mr. Michael Cole +again until they had arrived at the New Westminster landing. + +“The boss didn't know,” said Coley, approaching the colonel with some +degree of care, “whether you would like to go to the hotel or to his +rooms; you can take your choice. The hotel is not of the best, and he +thought perhaps you could put up with his rooms.” + +“All right,” said the colonel; “I guess they'll suit me.” + +The colonel made no mistake in deciding for Ranald's quarters. They +consisted of two rooms that formed one corner of a long, wooden, +single-story building in the shape of an L. One of these rooms Ranald +made his dining-room and bedroom, the other was his office. The rest +of the building was divided into three sections, and constituted a +dining-room, reading-room, and bunk-room for the men. The walls of these +rooms were decorated not inartistically with a few colored prints +and with cuts from illustrated papers, many and divers. The furniture +throughout was home-made, with the single exception of a cabinet organ +which stood in one corner of the reading-room. On the windows of the +dining-room and bunk-room were green roller blinds, but those of the +reading-room were draped with curtains of flowered muslin. Indeed the +reading-room was distinguished from the others by a more artistic and +elaborate decoration, and by a greater variety of furniture. The room +was evidently the pride of the company's heart. In Ranald's private room +the same simplicity in furniture and decoration was apparent, but when +the colonel was ushered into the bedroom his eye fell at once upon two +photographs, beautifully framed, hung on each side of the mirror. + +“Hello, guess I ought to know this,” he said, looking at one of them. + +Coley beamed. “You do, eh? Well, then, she's worth knowin' and there's +only one of her kind.” + +“Don't know about that, young man,” said the colonel, looking at the +other photograph; “here's one that ought to go in her class.” + +“Perhaps,” said Coley, doubtfully, “the boss thinks so, I guess, from +the way he looks at it.” + +“Young man, what sort of a fellow's your boss?” said the colonel, +suddenly facing Coley. + +“What sort?” Coley thought a moment. “Well, 'twould need a good +eddication to tell, but there's only one in his class, I tell you.” + +“Then he owes it to this little woman,” pointing to one of the +photographs, “and she,” pointing to the other, “said so.” + +“Then you may bet it's true.” + +“I don't bet on a sure thing,” said the colonel, his annoyance vanishing +in a slow smile, his first since reaching the province. + +“Dinner'll be ready in half an hour, sir,” said Coley, swearing +allegiance in his heart to the man that agreed with him in regard to the +photograph that stood with Coley for all that was highest in humanity. + +“John,” he said, sharply, to the Chinese cook, “got good dinner, eh?” + +“Pitty good,” said John, indifferently. + +“Now, look here, John, him big man.” John was not much impressed. “Awful +big man, I tell you, big soldier.” John preserved a stolid countenance. + +“John,” said the exasperated Coley, “I'll kick you across this room and +back if you don't listen to me. Want big dinner, heap good, eh?” + +“Huh-huh, belly good,” replied John, with a slight show of interest. + +“I say, John, what you got for dinner, eh?” asked Coley, changing his +tactics. + +“Ham, eggs, lice,” answered the Mongolian, imperturbably. + +“Gee whiz!” said Coley, “goin' to feed the boss' uncle on ham and eggs?” + +“What?” said John, with sudden interest, “Uncle boss, eh?” + +“Yes,” said the unblushing Coley. + +“Huh! Coley heap fool! Get chicken, quick! meat shop, small, eh?” The +Chinaman was at last aroused. Pots, pans, and other utensils were in +immediate requisition, a roaring fire set a-going, and in three-quarters +of an hour the colonel sat down to a dinner of soup, fish, and fowl, +with various entrees and side dishes that would have done credit to a +New York chef. Thus potent was the name of the boss with his cook. + +John's excellent dinner did much to soothe and mollify his guest; +but the colonel was sensitive to impressions other than the purely +gastronomic, for throughout the course of the dinner, his eyes wandered +to the photographs on the wall, and in fancy he was once more in the +presence of the two women, to whom he felt pledged in Ranald's behalf. +“It's a one-horse looking country, though,” he said to himself, “and no +place for a man with any snap. Best thing would be to pull out, I +guess, and take him along.” And it was in this mind that he received the +Honorable Archibald Blair, M. P. P., for New Westminster, president of +the British Columbia Canning Company, recently organized, and a director +in half a dozen other business concerns. + +“Colonel Thorp, this is Mr. Blair, of the British Columbia Canning +Company,” said Coley, with a curious suggestion of Ranald in his manner. + +“Glad to welcome a friend of Mr. Macdonald's,” said Mr. Blair, a little +man of about thirty, with a shrewd eye and a kindly frank manner. + +“Well, I guess I can say the same,” said Colonel Thorp, shaking hands. +“I judge his friends are of the right sort.” + +“You'll find plenty in this country glad to class themselves in that +list,” laughed Mr. Blair; “I wouldn't undertake to guarantee them all, +but those he lists that way, you can pretty well bank on. He's a young +man for reading men.” + +“Yes?” said the colonel, interrogatively; “he's very young.” + +“Young, for that matter so are we all, especially on this side the water +here. It's a young man's country.” + +“Pretty young, I judge,” said the colonel, dryly. “Lots of room to +grow.” + +“Yes, thank Providence!” said Mr. Blair, enthusiastically; “but there's +lots of life and lots to feed it. But I'm not going to talk, Colonel. It +is always wasted breath on an Easterner. I'll let the country talk. You +are coming with us, of course.” + +“Hardly think so; my time is rather limited, and, well, to tell the +truth; I'm from across the line and don't cater much to your royalties.” + +“Royalties!” exclaimed Mr. Blair. “Oh, you mean our governor. Well, +that's good rather, must tell the governor that.” Mr. Blair laughed long +and loud. “You'll forget all that when you are out with us an hour. No, +we think it well to hedge our government with dignity, but on this trip +we shall leave the gold lace and red tape behind.” + +“How long do you propose to be gone?” + +“About four weeks. But I make you a promise. If after the first week you +want to return from any point, I shall send you back with all speed. But +you won't want to, I guarantee you that. Why, my dear sir, think of +the route,” and Mr. Blair went off into a rapturous description of the +marvels of the young province, its scenery, its resources, its climate, +its sport, playing upon each string as he marked the effect upon his +listener. By the time Mr. Blair's visit was over, the colonel had made +up his mind that he would see something of this wonderful country. + +Next day Coley took him over the company's mills, and was not a little +disappointed to see that the colonel was not impressed by their size or +equipment. In Coley's eyes they were phenomenal, and he was inclined to +resent the colonel's lofty manner. The foreman, Mr. Urquhart, a shrewd +Scotchman, who had seen the mills of the Ottawa River and those in +Michigan as well, understood his visitor's attitude better; and besides, +it suited his Scotch nature to refuse any approach to open admiration +for anything out of the old land. His ordinary commendation was, +“It's no that bad”; and his superlative was expressed in the daring +concession, “Aye, it'll maybe dae, it micht be waur.” So he followed the +colonel about with disparaging comments that drove Coley to the verge of +madness. When they came to the engine room, which was Urquhart's pride, +the climax was reached. + +“It's a wee bit o' a place, an' no fit for the wark,” said Urquhart, +ushering the colonel into a snug little engine-room, where every bit of +brass shone with dazzling brightness, and every part of the engine moved +in smooth, sweet harmony. + +“Slick little engine,” said the colonel, with discriminating admiration. + +“It's no that bad the noo, but ye sud hae seen it afore Jem, there, took +a hand o' it--a wheezin' rattlin' pechin thing that ye micht expect tae +flee in bits for the noise in the wame o't. But Jemmie sorted it till +it's nae despicable for its size. But it's no fit for the wark. Jemmie, +lad, just gie't its fill an' we'll pit the saw until a log,” said +Urquhart, as they went up into the sawing-room where, in a few minutes, +the colonel had an exhibition of the saw sticking fast in a log for lack +of power. + +“Man, yon's a lad that kens his trade. He's frae Gleska. He earns his +money's warth.” + +“How did you come to get him?” said the colonel, moved to interest by +Urquhart's unwonted praise. + +“Indeed, just the way we've got all our best men. It's the boss picked +him oot o' the gutter, and there he is earnin' his twa and a half a +day.” + +“The boss did that, eh?” said the colonel, with one of his swift glances +at the speaker. + +“Aye, that he did, and he's only one o' many.” + +“He's good at that sort of business, I guess.” + +“Aye, he kens men as ye can see frae his gang.” + +“Doesn't seem to be able to make the company's business pay,” ventured +the colonel. + +“D'ye think ye cud find one that cud?” pointing to the halting saw. “An +that's the machine that turned oot thae piles yonder. Gie him a chance, +though, an' when the stuff is deesposed of ye'll get y're profit.” + Urquhart knew what he was about, and the colonel went back with Coley +to his rooms convinced of two facts, that the company had a plant that +might easily be improved, but a manager that, in the estimation of those +who wrought with him, was easily first in his class. Ranald could have +adopted no better plan for the enhancing of his reputation than by +allowing Colonel Thorp to go in and out among the workmen and his +friends. More and more the colonel became impressed with his manager's +genius for the picking of his men and binding them to his interests, and +as this impression deepened he became the more resolved that it was +a waste of good material to retain a man in a country offering such a +limited scope for his abilities. + +But after four weeks spent in exploring the interior, from Quesnelle to +Okanagan, and in the following in and out the water-ways of the coast +line, the colonel met Ranald at Yale with only a problem to be solved, +and he lost no time in putting it to his manager. + +“How in thunder can I get those narrow-gauge, hidebound Easterners to +launch out into business in this country?” + +“I can't help you there, Colonel. I've tried and failed.” + +“By the great Sam, so you have!” said the colonel, with a sudden +conviction of his own limitations in the past. “No use tryin' to tell +'em of this,” swinging his long arm toward the great sweep of the Fraser +Valley, clothed with a mighty forest. “It's only a question of holdin' +on for a few years, the thing's dead sure.” + +“I have been through a good part of it,” said Ranald, quietly, “and I am +convinced that here we have the pick of Canada, and I venture to say +of the American Continent. Timber, hundreds of square miles of it, +fish--I've seen that river so packed with salmon that I couldn't shove +my canoe through--” + +“Hold on, now,” said the colonel, “give me time.” + +“Simple, sober truth of my own proving,” replied Ranald. “And you saw a +fringe of the mines up in the Cariboo. The Kootenai is full of gold and +silver, and in the Okanagan you can grow food and fruits for millions of +people. I know what I am saying.” + +“Tell you what,” said the colonel, “you make me think you're speakin' +the truth anyhow.” Then, with a sudden inspiration, he exclaimed: “By +the great Sammy, I've got an idea!” and then, as he saw Ranald waiting, +added, “But I guess I'll let it soak till we get down to the mill.” + +“Do you think you could spare me, Colonel?” asked Ranald, in a dubious +voice; “I really ought to run through a bit of timber here.” + +“No, by the great Sam, I can't! I want you to come right along,” replied +the colonel, with emphasis. + +“What is he saying, Colonel?” asked Mr. Blair. + +“Wants to run off and leave me to paddle my way home alone. Not much! I +tell you what, we have some important business to do before I go East. +You hear me?” + +“And besides, Macdonald, I want you for that big meeting of ours next +week. You simply must be there.” + +“You flatter me, Mr. Blair.” + +“Not a bit; you know there are a lot of hot-heads talking separation and +that sort of thing, and I want some level-headed fellow who is in with +the working men to be there.” + +And as it turned out it was a good thing for Mr. Blair and for the cause +he represented that Ranald was present at the great mass-meeting held +in New Westminster the next week. For the people were exasperated beyond +all endurance at the delay of the Dominion in making good the solemn +promises given at the time of Confederation, and were in a mood to +listen to the proposals freely made that the useless bond should be +severed. “Railway or separation,” was the cry, and resolutions embodying +this sentiment were actually proposed and discussed. It was Ranald's +speech, every one said, that turned the tide. His calm logic made clear +the folly of even considering separation; his knowledge of, and his +unbounded faith in, the resources of the province, and more than all, +his impassioned picturing of the future of the great Dominion reaching +from ocean to ocean, knit together by ties of common interest, and a +common loyalty that would become more vividly real when the provinces +had been brought more closely together by the promised railway. They +might have to wait a little longer, but it was worth while waiting, and +there was no future in any other policy. It was his first speech at a +great meeting, and as Mr. Blair shook him warmly by the hand, the crowd +burst into enthusiastic cries, “Macdonald! Macdonald!” and in one of +the pauses a single voice was heard, “Glengarry forever!” Then again +the crowd broke forth, “Glengarry! Glengarry!” for all who knew Ranald +personally had heard of the gang that were once the pride of the Ottawa. +At that old cry Ranald's face flushed deep red, and he had no words to +answer his friends' warm congratulations. + +“Send him East,” cried a voice. + +“Yes, yes, that's it. Send him to Ottawa to John A. It's the same clan!” + +Swiftly Mr. Blair made up his mind. “Gentlemen, that is a good +suggestion. I make it a motion.” It was seconded in a dozen places, +and carried by a standing vote. Then Ranald rose again and modestly +protested that he was not the man to go. He was quite unknown in the +province. + +“We know you!” the same voice called out, followed by a roar of +approval. + +“And, besides,” went on Ranald, “it is impossible for me to get away; +I'm a working man and not my own master.” + +Then the colonel, who was sitting on the platform, rose and begged to be +heard. “Mr. Chairman and gentlemen, I ain't a Canadian--” + +“Never mind! You can't help that,” sang out a man from the back, with a +roar of laughter following. + +“But if I weren't an American, I don't know anything that I'd rather +be.” (Great applause.) “Four weeks ago I wouldn't have taken your +province as a gift. Now I only wish Uncle Sam could persuade you to +sell.” (Cries of “He hasn't got money enough. Don't fool yourself.”) +“But I want to say that this young man of mine,” pointing to Ranald, +“has given you good talk, and if you want him to go East, why, I'll let +him off for a spell.” (Loud cheers for the colonel and for Macdonald.) + +A week later a great meeting in Victoria indorsed the New Westminster +resolutions with the added demand that the railway should be continued +to Esquinalt according to the original agreement. Another delegate was +appointed to represent the wishes of the islanders, and before Ranald +had fully realized what had happened he found himself a famous man, and +on the way to the East with the jubilant colonel. + +“What was the great idea, Colonel, that struck you at Yale?” inquired +Ranald, as they were fairly steaming out of the Esquinalt harbor. + +“This is it, my boy!” exclaimed the colonel, slapping him on the back. +“This here trip East. Now we've got 'em over the ropes, by the great +and everlasting Sammy!” the form of oath indicating a climax in the +colonel's emotion. + +“Got who?” inquired Ranald, mystified. + +“Them gol-blamed, cross-road hayseeds down East.” And with this the +colonel became discreetly silent. He knew too well the sensitive pride +of the man with whom he had to deal, and he was chiefly anxious now that +Ranald should know as little as possible of the real object of his going +to British Columbia. + +“We've got to make the British-American Coal and Lumber Company know the +time of day. It's gittin'-up time out in this country. They were talkin' +a little of drawin' out.” Ranald gasped. “Some of them only,” the +colonel hastened to add, “but I want you to talk like you did the other +night, and I'll tell my little tale, and if that don't fetch 'em then +I'm a Turk.” + +“Well, Colonel, here's my word,” said Ranald, deliberately, “if the +company wish to withdraw they may do so, but my future is bound up with +that of the West, and I have no fear that it will fail me. I stake my +all upon the West.” + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +GLENGARRY FOREVER + + +The colonel was an experienced traveler, and believed in making himself +comfortable. Ranald looked on with some amusement, and a little wonder, +while the colonel arranged his things about the stateroom. + +“May as well make things comfortable while we can,” said the colonel, +“we have the better part of three days before us on this boat, and if +it gets rough, it is better to have things neat. Now you go ahead,” he +added, “and get your things out.” + +“I think you are right, Colonel. I am not much used to travel, but I +shall take your advice on this.” + +“Well, I have traveled considerable these last twenty years,” replied +the colonel. “I say, would you mind leaving those out?” + +“What?” + +“Those photos. They're the two you had up by the glass in your room, +aren't they?” Ranald flushed a little. + +“Of course it ain't for every one to see, and I would not ask you, but +those two ain't like any other two that I have seen, and I have seen a +good many in forty years.” Ranald said nothing, but set the photographs +on a little bracket on the wall. + +“There, that makes this room feel better,” said the colonel. “That there +is the finest, sweetest, truest girl that walks this sphere,” he said, +pointing at Kate's photograph, “and the other, I guess you know all +about her.” + +“Yes, I know about her,” said Ranald, looking at the photograph; “it is +to her I owe everything I have that is any good. And Colonel,” he added, +with an unusual burst of confidence, “when my life was broken off short, +that woman put me in the way of getting hold of it again.” + +“Well, they both think a pile of you,” was the colonel's reply. + +“Yes, I think they do,” said Ranald. “They are not the kind to forget +a man when he is out of sight, and it is worth traveling two thousand +miles to see them again.” + +“Ain't it queer, now, how the world is run?” said the colonel. “There's +two women, now, the very best; one has been buried all her life in a +little hole in the woods, and the other is giving herself to a fellow +that ain't fit to carry her boots.” + +“What!” said Ranald, sharply, “Kate?” + +“Yes, they say she is going to throw herself away on young St. Clair. +He is all right, I suppose, but he ain't fit for her.” Ranald suddenly +stooped over his valise and began pulling out his things. + +“I didn't hear of that,” he said. + +“I did,” said the colonel; “you see he is always there, and acting as if +he owned her. He stuck to her for a long time, and I guess she got tired +holding out.” + +“Harry is a very decent fellow,” said Ranald, rising up from his +unpacking; “I say, this boat's close. Let us go up on deck.” + +“Wait,” said the colonel, “I want to talk over our plans, and we can +talk better here.” + +“No,” said Ranald; “I want some fresh air. Let us go up.” And without +further words, he hurried up the gangway. It was some time before +Colonel Thorp found him in the bow of the boat, and immediately began to +talk over their plans. + +“You spoke of going to Toronto first thing,” he said to Ranald. + +“Yes,” said Ranald; “but I think I ought to go to Ottawa at once, and +then I shall see my people in Glengarry for a few days. Then I will be +ready for the meeting at Bay City any time after the second week.” + +“But you have not put Toronto in there,” said the colonel; “you are not +going to disappoint that little girl? She would take it pretty hard. +Mind you, she wants to see you.” + +“Oh, of course I shall run in for a day.” + +“Well,” said the colonel, “I want to give you plenty of time. I will +arrange that meeting for a month from to-day.” + +“No, no,” said Ranald, impatiently; “I must get back to the West. Two +weeks will do me.” + +“Well, we will make it three,” said the colonel. He could not understand +Ranald's sudden eagerness to set out for the West again. He had spoken +with such enthusiastic delight of his visit to Toronto, and now he was +only going to run in for a day or so. And if Ranald himself were asked, +he would have found it difficult to explain his sudden lack of interest, +not only in Toronto, but in everything that lay in the East. He was +conscious of a deep, dull ache in his heart, and he could not quite +explain it. + +After the colonel had gone down for the night, Ranald walked the deck +alone and resolutely faced himself. His first frank look within revealed +to him the fact that his pain had come upon him with the colonel's +information that Kate had given herself to Harry. It was right that he +should be disappointed. Harry, though a decent enough fellow, did not +begin to be worthy of her; and indeed no one that he knew was worthy of +her. But why should he feel so sorely about it? For years Harry had +been her devoted slave. He would give her the love of an honest man, and +would surround her with all the comforts and luxuries that wealth could +bring. She would be very happy. He had no right to grieve about it. +And yet he did grieve. The whole sky over the landscape of his life had +suddenly become cold and gray. During these years Kate had grown to be +much to him. She had in many ways helped him in his work. The thought of +her and her approval had brought him inspiration and strength in many an +hour of weakness and loneliness. She had been so loyal and so true from +the very first, and it was a bitter thing to feel that another had come +between them. Over and over again he accused himself of sheer madness. +Why should she not love Harry? That need not make her any less his +friend. But in spite of his arguments, he found himself weary of the +East and eager to turn away from it. He must hurry on at once to Ottawa, +and with all speed get done his business there. + +At Chicago he left the colonel with a promise to meet him in three weeks +at the headquarters of the British-American Coal and Lumber Company at +Bay City. He wired to Ottawa, asking an appointment with the government, +and after three days' hard travel found himself in the capital of the +Dominion. The premier, Sir John A. Macdonald, with the ready courtesy +characteristic of him, immediately arranged for a hearing of the +delegation from British Columbia. Ranald was surprised at the +indifference with which he approached this meeting. He seemed to have +lost capacity for keen feeling of any kind. Sir John A. MacDonald and +his cabinet received the delegation with great kindness, and in every +possible way strove to make them feel that the government was genuinely +interested in the western province, and were anxious to do all that +could be done in their interest. In the conference that ensued, the +delegate for Victoria took a more prominent part, being an older man, +and representing the larger and more important constituency. But when +Sir John began to ask questions, the Victoria delegate was soon beyond +his depth. The premier showed such an exactness of knowledge and +comprehensiveness of grasp that before long Ranald was appealed to for +information in regard to the resources of the country, and especially +the causes and extent of the present discontent. + +“The causes of discontent are very easy to see,” said Ranald; “all +British Columbians feel hurt at the failure of the Dominion government +to keep its solemn obligations.” + +“Is there nothing else now, Mr. Macdonald?” + +“There may be,” said Ranald, “some lingering impatience with the +government by different officials, and there is a certain amount of +annexation sentiment.” + +“Ah,” said Sir John, “I think we have our finger upon it now.” + +“Do not over-estimate that,” said Ranald; “I believe that there are only +a very few with annexation sentiments, and all these are of American +birth. The great body of the people are simply indignant at, and +disappointed with, the Dominion government.” + +“And would you say there is no other cause of discontent, Mr. +Macdonald?” said Sir John, with a keen look at Ranald. + +“There is another cause, I believe,” said Ranald, “and that is the party +depression, but that depression is due to the uncertainty in regard +to the political future of the province. When once we hear that the +railroad is being built, political interest will revive.” + +“May I ask where you were born?” said Sir John. + +“In Glengarry,” said Ranald, with a touch of pride in his voice. + +“Ah, I am afraid your people are not great admirers of my government, +and perhaps you, Mr. Macdonald, share in the opinion of your county.” + +“I have no opinion in regard to Dominion politics. I am for British +Columbia.” + +“Well, Mr. Macdonald,” said Sir John, rising, “that is right, and you +ought to have your road.” + +“Do I understand you to say that the government will begin to build the +road at once?” said Ranald. + +“Ah,” smiled Sir John, “I see you want something definite.” + +“I have come two thousand miles to get it. The people that sent me +will be content with nothing else. It is a serious time with us, and I +believe with the whole of the Dominion.” + +“Mr. Macdonald,” said Sir John, becoming suddenly grave, “believe me, it +is a more serious time than you know, but you trust me in this matter.” + +“Will the road be begun this year?” said Ranald. + +“All I can say to-day, Mr. Macdonald,” said Sir John, earnestly, “is +this, that if I can bring it about, the building of the road will be +started at once.” + +“Then, Sir John,” said Ranald, “you may depend that British Columbia +will be grateful to you,” and the interview was over. + +Outside the room, he found Captain De Lacy awaiting him. + +“By Jove, Macdonald, I have been waiting here three-quarters of an hour. +Come along. Maimie has an afternoon right on, and you are our lion.” + Ranald would have refused, but De Lacy would not accept any apology, and +carried him off. + +Maimie's rooms were crowded with all the great social and political +people of the city. With an air of triumph, De Lacy piloted Ranald +through the crowd and presented him to Maimie. Ranald was surprised +to find himself shaking hands with the woman he had once loved, with +unquickened pulse and nerves cool and steady. Here Maimie, who was +looking more beautiful than ever, and who was dressed in a gown of +exquisite richness, received Ranald with a warmth that was almost +enthusiastic. + +“How famous you have become, Mr. Macdonald,” she said, offering him her +hand; “we are all proud to say that we know you.” + +“You flatter me,” said Ranald, bowing over her hand. + +“No, indeed. Every one is talking of the young man from the West. And +how handsome you are, Ranald,” she said, in a low voice, leaning toward +him, and flashing at him one of her old-time glances. + +“I am not used to that,” he said, “and I can only reply as we used to in +school, 'You, too.'” + +“Oh, now you flatter me,” cried Maimie, gayly; “but let me introduce you +to my dear friend, Lady Mary Rivers. Lady Mary, this is Mr. Macdonald +from British Columbia, you know.” + +“Oh, yes,” said Lady Mary, with a look of intelligence in her beautiful +dark eyes, “I have heard a great deal about you. Let me see, you opposed +separation; saved the Dominion, in short.” + +“Did I, really?” said Ranald, “and never knew it.” + +“You see, he is not only famous but modest,” said Maimie; “but that +is an old characteristic of his. I knew Mr. Macdonald a very long time +ago.” + +“Very,” said Ranald. + +“When we were quite young.” + +“Very young,” replied Ranald, with great emphasis. + +“And doubtless very happy,” said Lady Mary. + +“Happy,” said Ranald, “yes, so happy that I can hardly bear to think of +those days.” + +“Why so?” inquired Lady Mary. + +“Because they are gone.” + +“But all days go and have to be parted with.” + +“Oh, yes, Lady Mary. That is true and so many things die with them, as, +for instance, our youthful beliefs and enthusiasms. I used to believe in +every one, Lady Mary.” + +“And now in no one?” + +“God forbid! I discriminate.” + +“Now, Lady Mary,” replied Maimie, “I want my lion to be led about and +exhibited, and I give him over to you.” + +For some time Ranald stood near, chatting to two or three people to whom +Lady Mary had introduced him, but listening eagerly all the while to +Maimie talking to the men who were crowded about her. How brilliantly +she talked, finding it quite within her powers to keep several men busy +at the same time; and as Ranald listened to her gay, frivolous talk, +more and more he became conscious of an unpleasantness in her tone. It +was thin, shallow, and heartless. + +“Can it be possible,” he said to himself, “that once she had the power +to make my heart quicken its beat?” + +“Tell me about the West,” Lady Mary was saying, when Ranald came to +himself. + +“If I begin about the West,” he replied, “I must have both time and +space to deliver myself.” + +“Come, then. We shall find a corner,” said Lady Mary, and for half an +hour did Ranald discourse to her of the West, and so eloquently +that Lady Mary quite forgot that he was a lion and that she had been +intrusted with the duty of exhibiting him. By and by Maimie found them. + +“Now, Lady Mary, you are very selfish, for so many people are wanting to +see our hero, and here is the premier wanting to see you.” + +“Ah, Lady Mary,” said Sir John, “you have captured the man from +Glengarry, I see.” + +“I hope so, indeed,” said Lady Mary; “but why from Glengarry? He is from +the West, is he not?” + +“Once from Glengarry, now from the West, and I hope he will often come +from the West, and he will, no doubt, if those people know what is good +for them.” And Sir John, skillfully drawing Ranald aside, led him +to talk of the political situation in British Columbia, now and then +putting a question that revealed a knowledge so full and accurate that +Ranald exclaimed, suddenly, “Why, Sir John, you know more about the +country than I do!” + +“Not at all, not at all,” replied Sir John; and then, lowering his +voice to a confidential tone, he added, “You are the first man from that +country that knows what I want to know.” And once more he plied Ranald +with questions, listening eagerly and intelligently to the answers so +enthusiastically given. + +“We want to make this Dominion a great empire,” said Sir John, as he +said good by to Ranald, “and we are going to do it, but you and men like +you in the West must do your part.” + +Ranald was much impressed by the premier's grave earnestness. + +“I will try, Sir John,” he said, “and I shall go back feeling thankful +that you are going to show us the way.” + +“Going so soon?” said Maimie, when he came to say good by. “Why I +have seen nothing of you, and I have not had a moment to offer you my +congratulations,” she said, with a significant smile. Ranald bowed his +thanks. + +“And Kate, dear girl,” went on Maimie, “she never comes to see me now, +but I am glad she will be so happy.” + +Ranald looked at her steadily for a moment or two, and then said, +quietly, “I am sure I hope so, and Harry is a very lucky chap.” + +“Oh, isn't he,” cried Maimie, “and he is just daft about her. Must you +go? I am so sorry. I wanted to talk about old times, the dear old days.” + The look in Maimie's eyes said much more than her words. + +“Yes,” said Ranald, with an easy, frank smile; “they were dear days, +indeed; I often think of them. And now I must really go. Say good by to +De Lacy for me.” + +He came away from her with an inexplicable feeling of exultation. He had +gone with some slight trepidation in his heart, to meet her, and it was +no small relief to him to discover that she had lost all power over him. + +“What sort of man could I have been, I wonder?” he asked himself; “and +it was only three years ago.” + +Near the door Lady Mary stopped him. “Going so early, and without saying +good by?” she said, reproachfully. + +“I must leave town to-night,” he replied, “but I am glad to say good by +to you.” + +“I think you ought to stay. I am sure His Excellency wants to see you.” + +“I am sure you are good to think so, but I am also quite sure that he +has never given a thought to my insignificant self.” + +“Indeed he has. Now, can't you stay a few days? I want to see more--we +all want to hear more about the West.” + +“You will never know the West by hearing of it,” said Ranald, offering +his hand. + +“Good by,” she said, “I am coming.” + +“Good,” he said, “I shall look for you.” + +As Ranald approached his hotel, he saw a man that seemed oddly familiar, +lounging against the door and as he drew near, he discovered to his +astonishment and joy that it was Yankee. + +“Why, Yankee!” he exclaimed, rushing at him, “how in the world did you +come to be here, and what brought you?” + +“Well, I came for you, I guess. Heard you were going to be here and +were comin' home afterwards, so I thought it would be quicker for you +to drive straight across than to go round by Cornwall, so I hitched up +Lisette and came right along.” + +“Lisette! You don't mean to tell me? How is the old girl? Yankee, you +have done a fine thing. Now we will start right away.” + +“All right,” said Yankee. + +“How long will it take us to get home?” + +“'Bout two days easy goin,' I guess. Of course if you want, I guess we +can do it in a day and a half. She will do all you tell her.” + +“Well, we will take two days,” said Ranald. + +“I guess we had better take a pretty early start,” said Yankee. + +“Can't we get off to-night?” inquired Ranald, eagerly. “We could get out +ten miles or so.” + +“Yes,” replied Yankee. “There's a good place to stop, about ten miles +out. I think we had better go along the river road, and then take down +through the Russell Hills to the Nation Crossing.” + +In half an hour they were off on their two days' trip to the Indian +Lands. And two glorious days they were. The open air with the suggestion +of the coming fall, the great forests with their varying hues of green +and brown, yellow and bright red, and all bathed in the smoky purple +light of the September sun, these all combined to bring to Ranald's +heart the rest and comfort and peace that he so sorely needed. And when +he drove into his uncle's yard in the late afternoon of the second day, +he felt himself more content to live the life appointed him; and if +anything more were needed to strengthen him in this resolution, and +to fit him for the fight lying before him, his brief visit to his home +brought it to him. It did him good to look into the face of the great +Macdonald Bhain once more, and to hear his deep, steady voice welcome +him home. It was the face and the voice of a man who had passed through +many a sore battle, and not without honor to himself. And it was good, +too, to receive the welcome greetings of his old friends and to feel +their pride in him and their high expectation of him. More than ever, he +resolved that he would be a man worthy of his race. + +His visit to the manse brought him mingled feelings of delight and +perplexity and pain. The minister's welcome was kind, but there was a +tinge of self-complacent pride in it. Ranald was one of “his lads,” and +he evidently took credit to himself for the young man's success. Hughie +regarded him with reserved approval. He was now a man and teaching +school, and before committing himself to his old-time devotion, he had +to adjust his mind to the new conditions. But before the evening was +half done Ranald had won him once more. His tales of the West, and of +how it was making and marring men, of the nation that was being built +up, and his picture of the future that he saw for the great Dominion, +unconsciously revealed the strong manhood and the high ideals in the +speaker, and Hughie found himself slipping into the old attitude of +devotion to his friend. + +But it struck Ranald to the heart to see the marks of many a long day's +work upon the face of the woman who had done more for him than all the +rest of the world. Her flock of little children had laid upon her a load +of care and toil, which added to the burden she was already trying to +carry, was proving more than her delicate frame could bear. There were +lines upon her face that only weariness often repeated cuts deep; but +there were other lines there, and these were lines of heart pain, and +as Ranald watched her closely, with his heart running over with love and +pity and indignation for her, he caught her frequent glances toward her +first born that spoke of anxiety and fear. + +“Can it be the young rascal is bringing her anything but perfect +satisfaction and joy in return for the sacrifice of her splendid life?” + he said to himself. But no word fell from her to show him the secret +of her pain, it was Hughie's own lips that revealed him, and as the lad +talked of his present and his future, his impatience of control, his +lack of sympathy to all higher ideals, his determination to please +himself to the forgetting of all else, his seeming unconsciousness of +the debt he owed to his mother, all these became easily apparent. With +difficulty Ranald restrained his indignation. He let him talk for some +time and then opened out upon him. He read him no long lecture, but his +words came forth with such fiery heat that they burned their way clear +through all the faults and flimsy selfishness of the younger man till +they reached the true heart of him. His last words Hughie never forgot. + +“Do you know, Hughie,” he said, and the fire in his eyes seemed to burn +into Hughie's, “do you know what sort of woman you have for a mother? +And do you know that if you should live to be a hundred years, and +devoted every day of your life to the doing of her pleasure, you could +not repay the debt you owe her? Be a man, Hughie. Thank God for her, and +for the opportunity of loving and caring for her.” + +The night of his first visit to the manse Ranald had no opportunity for +any further talk with the minister's wife, but he came away with the +resolve that before his week's visit was over, he would see her alone. +On his return home, however, he found waiting him a telegram from +Colonel Thorp, mailed from Alexandria, announcing an early date for the +meeting of shareholders at Bay City, so that he found it necessary to +leave immediately after the next day, which was the Sabbath. It was +no small disappointment to him that he was to have no opportunity of +opening his heart to his friend. But as he sat in his uncle's seat +at the side of the pulpit, from which he could catch sight of the +minister's pew, and watched the look of peace and quiet courage grow +upon her face till all the lines of pain and care were quite smoothed +out, he felt his heart fill up with a sense of shame for all his +weakness, and his soul knit itself into the resolve that if he should +have to walk his way, bearing his cross alone, he would seek the same +high spirit of faith and patience and courage that he saw shining in her +gray-brown eyes. + +After the service he walked home with the minister's wife, seeking +opportunity for a few last words with her. He had meant to tell her +something of his heart's sorrow and disappointment, for he guessed that +knowing and loving Kate as she did, she would understand its depth and +bitterness. But when he told her of his early departure, and of the fear +that for many years he could not return, his heart was smitten with a +great pity for her. The look of disappointment and almost of dismay he +could not understand until, with difficulty, she told him how she had +hoped that he was to spend some weeks at home and that Hughie might be +much with him. + +“I wish he could know you better, Ranald. There is no one about here to +whom he can look up, and some of his companions are not of the best.” + The look of beseeching pain in her eyes was almost more than Ranald +could bear. + +“I would give my life to help you,” he said, in a voice hoarse and +husky. + +“I know,” she said, simply; “you have been a great joy to me, Ranald, +and it will always comfort me to think of you, and of your work, and I +like to remember, too, how you helped Harry. He told me much about you, +and I am so glad, especially as he is now to be married.” + +“Yes, yes,” replied Ranald, hurriedly; “that will be a great thing for +him.” Then, after a pause, he added: “Mrs. Murray, the West is a hard +country for young men who are not--not very firmly anchored, but if at +any time you think I could help Hughie and you feel like sending him to +me, I will gladly do for him all that one man can do for another. And +all that I can do will be a very poor return for what you have done for +me.” + +“It's little I have done, Ranald,” she said, “and that little has been +repaid a thousand-fold, for there is no greater joy than that of seeing +my boys grow into good and great men and that joy you have brought me.” + Then she said good by, holding his hand long, as if hating to let him +go. + +“I will remember your promise, Ranald,” she said, “for it may be that +some day I shall need you.” And when the chance came to Ranald before +many years had gone, he proved himself not unworthy of her trust. + + * * * * * + +At the meeting of share-holders of the British-American Coal and Lumber +Company, held in Bay City, the feeling uppermost in the minds of those +present was one of wrath and indignation at Colonel Thorp, for he +still clung to the idea that it would be unwise to wind up the British +Columbia end of the business. The colonel's speech in reply was a +triumph of diplomacy. He began by giving a detailed and graphic account +of his trip through the province, lighting up the narrative with +incidents of adventure, both tragic and comic, to such good purpose that +before he had finished his hearers had forgotten all their anger. Then +he told of what he had seen of Ranald's work, emphasizing the largeness +of the results he had obtained with his very imperfect equipment. +He spoke of the high place their manager held in the esteem of the +community as witness his visit to Ottawa as representative, and lastly +he touched upon his work for the men by means of the libraries and +reading-room. Here he was interrupted by an impatient exclamation on the +part of one of the share-holders. The colonel paused, and fastening +his eye upon the impatient share-holder, he said, in tones cool and +deliberate: “A gentleman says, 'Nonsense!' I confess that before my +visit to the West I should have said the same, but I want to say right +here and now, that I have come to the opinion that it pays to look +after your men--soul, mind, and body. You'll cut more lumber, get better +contracts, and increase your dividends. There ain't no manner of doubt +about that. Now,” concluded the colonel, “you may still want to close up +that business, but before you do so, I want you to hear Mr. Macdonald.” + +After some hesitation, Ranald was allowed to speak for a few minutes. +He began by expressing his amazement that there should be any thought +on the part of the company of withdrawing from the province at the very +time when other firms were seeking to find entrance. He acknowledged +that the result for the last years did not warrant any great confidence +in the future of their business, but a brighter day had dawned, the +railroad was coming, and he had in his pocket three contracts that it +would require the company's whole force for six months to fulfill, and +these contracts would be concluded the day the first rail was laid. + +“And when will that be?” interrupted a shareholder, scornfully. + +“I have every assurance,” said Ranald, quietly, “from the premier +himself, that the building of the railroad will be started this fall.” + +“Did Sir John A. MacDonald give you a definite promise?” asked the man, +in surprise. + +“Not exactly a promise,” said Ranald. + +A chorus of scornful “Ohs” greeted this admission. + +“But the premier assured me that all his influence would be thrown in +favor of immediate construction.” + +“For my part,” replied the share-holder, “I place not the slightest +confidence in any such promise as that.” + +“And I,” said Ranald, calmly, “have every confidence that work on the +line will be started this fall.” And then he went on to speak of the +future that he saw stretching out before the province and the whole +Dominion. The feeling of opposition in the air roused him like a call +to battle, and the thought that he was pleading for the West that he +had grown to love, stimulated him like a draught of strong wine. In the +midst of his speech the secretary, who till that moment had not been +present, came into the room with the evening paper in his hand. He gave +it to the president, pointing out a paragraph. At once the president, +interrupting Ranald in his speech, rose and said, “Gentlemen, there +is an item of news here that I think you will all agree bears somewhat +directly upon this business.” He then read Sir John A. MacDonald's +famous telegram to the British Columbia government, promising that the +Canadian Pacific Railway should be begun that fall. After the cheers had +died away, Ranald rose again, and said, “Mr. President and gentlemen, +there is no need that I should say anything more. I simply wish to add +that I return to British Columbia next week, but whether as manager for +this company or not that is a matter of perfect indifference to me.” And +saying this, he left the room, followed by Colonel Thorp. + +“You're all right, pardner,” said the colonel, shaking him vigorously by +the hand, “and if they don't feel like playing up to your lead, then, +by the great and everlasting Sammy, we will make a new deal and play it +alone!” + +“All right, Colonel,” said Ranald; “I almost think I'd rather play it +without them and you can tell them so.” + +“Where are you going now?” said the colonel. + +“I've got to go to Toronto for a day,” said Ranald; “the boys are +foolish enough to get up a kind of dinner at the Albert, and besides,” + he added, resolutely, “I want to see Kate.” + +“Right you are,” said the colonel; “anything else would be meaner than +snakes.” + +But when Ranald reached Toronto, he found disappointment awaiting him. +The Alberts were ready to give him an enthusiastic reception, but to his +dismay both Harry and Kate were absent. Harry was in Quebec and Kate +was with her mother visiting friends at the Northern Lake, so Ranald was +forced to content himself with a letter of farewell and congratulation +upon her approaching marriage. In spite of his disappointment, Ranald +could not help acknowledging a feeling of relief. It would have been +no small ordeal to him to have met Kate, to have told her how she had +helped him during his three years' absence, without letting her suspect +how much she had become to him, and how sore was his disappointment that +she could never be more than friend to him, and indeed, not even that. +But his letter was full of warm, frank, brotherly congratulation and +good will. + +The dinner at the Albert was in every way worthy of the club and of the +occasion, but Ranald was glad to get it over. He was eager to get away +from the city associated in his mind with so much that was painful. + +At length the last speech was made, and the last song was sung, and the +men in a body marched to the station carrying their hero with them. +As they stood waiting for the train to pull out, a coachman in livery +approached little Merrill. + +“A lady wishes to see Mr. Macdonald, sir,” he said, touching his hat. + +“Well, she's got to be quick about it,” said Merrill. “Here, Glengarry,” + he called to Ranald, “a lady is waiting outside to see you, but I say, +old chap, you will have to make it short, I guess it will be sweet +enough.” + +“Where is she?” said Ranald to the coachman. + +“In here, sir,” conducting him to the ladies' waiting-room, and taking +his place at the door outside. Ranald hurried into the room, and there +stood Kate. + +“Dear Kate!” he cried, running toward her with both hands outstretched, +“this is more than kind of you, and just like your good heart.” + +“I only heard last night, Ranald,” she said, “from Maimie, that you were +to be here to-day, and I could not let you go.” She stood up looking so +brave and proud, but in spite of her, her lips quivered. + +“I have waited to see you so long,” she said, “and now you are going +away again.” + +“Don't speak like that, Kate,” said Ranald, “don't say those things. I +want to tell you how you have helped me these three lonely years, but I +can't, and you will never know, and now I am going back. I hardly dared +to see you, but I wish you everything that is good. I haven't seen Harry +either, but you will wish him joy for me. He is a very lucky fellow.” + +By this time Ranald had regained control of himself, and was speaking +in a tone of frank and brotherly affection. Kate looked at him with a +slightly puzzled air. + +“I've seen Maimie,” Ranald went on, “and she told me all about it, and +I am--yes, I am very glad.” Still Kate looked a little puzzled, but the +minutes were precious, and she had much to say. + +“Oh, Ranald!” she cried, “I have so much to say to you. You have become +a great man, and you are good. I am so proud when I hear of you,” and +lowering her voice almost to a whisper, “I pray for you every day.” + +As Ranald stood gazing at the beautiful face, and noticed the quivering +lips and the dark eyes shining with tears she was too brave to let fall, +he felt that he was fast losing his grip of himself. + +“Oh, Kate,” he cried, in a low, tense voice, “I must go. You have been +more to me than you will ever know. May you both be happy.” + +“Both?” echoed Kate, faintly. + +“Yes,” cried Ranald, hurriedly, “Harry will, I'm sure, for if any one +can make him happy, you can.” + +“I?” catching her breath, and beginning to laugh a little hysterically. + +“What's the matter, Kate? You are looking white.” + +“Oh,” cried Kate, her voice broken between a sob and a laugh, “won't +Harry and Lily enjoy this?” + +Ranald gazed at her in fear as if she had suddenly gone mad. + +“Lily?” he gasped. + +“Yes, Lily,” cried Kate; “didn't you know Lily Langford, Harry's dearest +and most devoted?” + +“No,” said Ranald; “and it is not you?” + +“Not me,” cried Kate, “not in the very least.” + +“Oh, Kate, tell me, is this all true? Are you still free? And is there +any use?” + +“What do you mean?” cried Kate, dancing about in sheer joy, “you silly +boy.” + +By this time Ranald had got hold of her hands. + +“Look here, old chap,” burst in Merrill, “your train's going. Oh, beg +pardon.” + +“Take the next, Ranald.” + +“Merrill,” said Ranald, solemnly, “tell the fellows I'm not going on +this train.” + +“Hoorah!” cried little Merrill, “I guess I'll tell 'em you are gone. May +I tell the fellows, Kate?” + +“What?” said Kate, blushing furiously. + +“Yes, Merrill,” cried Ranald, in a voice strident with ecstasy, “you may +tell them. Tell the whole town.” + +Merrill rushed to the door. “I say, fellows,” he cried, “look here.” + +The men came trooping at his call, but only to see Ranald and Kate +disappearing through the other door. + +“He's not going,” cried Merrill, “he's gone. By Jove! They've both +gone.” + +“I say, little man,” said big Starry Hamilton, “call yourself together +if you can. Who've both gone? In short, who is the lady?” + +“Why, Kate Raymond, you blessed idiot!” cried Merrill, rushing for the +door, followed by the whole crowd. + +“Three cheers for Macdonald!” cried Starry Hamilton, as the carriage +drove away, and after the three cheers and the tiger, little Merrill's +voice led them in the old battle-cry, heard long ago on the river, but +afterward on many a hard-fought foot-ball field, “Glengarry forever!” + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Man From Glengarry, by Ralph Connor + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY *** + +***** This file should be named 3287-0.txt or 3287-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/8/3287/ + +Produced by Donald Lainson + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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