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THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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Ralph Connor's Talcs
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THE MAN FROM
GLEN GARRY
A Tale of the Lumber-
tnen of the Otta-wra a^
12mo, ClotK, $1.50
" As straight as a pine, as sweet as a balsam, as
sound as a white oak."— The hUerior.
"A legitimate successor to "The Sky Pilot"
and " Black Rock," which secured him the swift
fame that leaps to the author who strikes a new
and effective note."— r?ie Literary DigeU.
" His men are sturdy giantsof the forest, whose
power breathes from every word of the narra^-
tive. Leaves one's nerves tingling long after-
ward."—TrJ/pitne, Chicago.
"The material is magnificent in its contrasts
and opportunities. Ralph Connor is a man to
keep in mind as one of the most virile, faithful
and wholesome writers of the day."— Public
Ledger, Philadelphia.
THE StlY PILOT
A Tale of the Ranch-
men of the Foothills
12mo, Cloth, Illuctrated, $1.25
"As Rare as a White Blackbird"
"Ralph Connor's "Black Rock" was good, but
"Sky Pilot" is better. The matter which he
gives us is real life ; virile, tender, humorous,
pathetic, spiritual, wholesome. His style, fresh,
crisp and terse, accords with the Western life,
which he understands."- T/ie Outlook.
BLACn Rocn
A Tale of the Miners
of the SelKirKa >^ *?
12mo, ClotH, Illustrated. $1.25
'• Stirs tlie Blood like Bugle Calls to Battle"
" With perfect wholesomenesa, with exquisite
delicacy, with entire fidelitv, with truest pathos,
with freshest humor, ho has delineated char-
acter, lias annlvzfd motives and emotions, and
has portrayed life."— S(. Lmis Olohi-i:kiiwcrat.
THE MAN FROM
GLENGARRY
A TALE OF THE OTTAWA
BY
RALPH CONNOR
Author of "The Skv Pilot,"
ADD "Black Rock"
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY
CHICAGO, NEW YORK, TORONTO
M C M I
Copyright 1901
BY
fLEMING H. REVELL COMPANl
/
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
^
Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive
in 2009 witii funding from
Ontario Council of University Libraries
http://www.archive.org/details/manfromglengarrOOconn
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 pas-
sions, 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 ....
FACE
II
II
Vengeance is Mine ....
■ 30
III
The Manse in the Bush .
42
IV
The Ride for Life ....
• SI
V
Forgive Us Our Debts .
58
VI
A New Friend ....
74
VII
Maimie
. 92
VIII
The Sugaring-Off ....
103
IX
A Sabbath Day's Work .
118
X
The Home-Coming of the Shantvmen
149
XI
The Wake
166
XII
Seed-Time
185
XIII
The Logging Bee ....
197
XIV
She will not Forget
223
XV
The Revival
240
XVI
And the Glory ....
263
XVII
LeNoir's New Master
277
XVIII
He is not of My Kind . . . .
308
XIX
One Game at a Time . . . .
325
XX
Her Clinging Arms . . . .
341
XXI
I will Remember
359
XXII
Forget that I Loved You
379
XXIII
A Good, True Friend'
407
XXIV
The West
431
XXV
Glengarry Forever . . . .
449
THE MAN FROM
GLENGARRY
CHAPTER I
THE OPEN RIVER
The win^r 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
vvould have his crib made, and his outfit ready to start
or the Ottajya mills. He was sure to be ahead of the
)ig timber rafts that took up so much space, and
vhose crews with unbearable effrontery considered
hemselves the aristocrats of the river.
Yes, it was a pleasant and satisfying sight, some
hree solid miles of logs boomed at the head of the big
'ater. Suddenly Murphy turned his face up the river.
"What's that now, d'ye think, LeNware?" he
sked.
LeNoir^ or "LeNware," as they all called it in
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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!" J^£uis_LeNoir
was a French-Canadian, handsome, active, hardy, and
powerfully built. He had come from the New Bruns-
wick 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 top-
most pinnacle of a lumberman's ambition. It was
something to see LeNoir "run a log" across the river
and back; that is,~lie 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! JDa5_^Ia£donald 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 Le-
Noir, 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 stal-
12
THE OPEN RIVER
wart 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 beanntaibli,
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 EiadcHngh, 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 Mac-
donald 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 —
13
/
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 climb-
ing 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 build-
ings— 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
14
THE OPEN RIVER
from the farthest reaches of the Ottawa down the St.
Lawrence to Quebec the Macdonald gang of Glen-
garry 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 high-
lands 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 sor-
rows, 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 brul6; in winter they sought the forest, and
IS
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 su -
foundings and in hourly touch with danger, small
wonder that often the shanty-men were wild and reck-
less. 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 w jre some-
times 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 Mac-
donald, pr 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 joyousncss and devotion. Fighting was like
16
THE OPEN RIVER
wine to him, when the fight was worth while, and he
went into the fights his admirers were always arrang-
ing 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 sum-
mer 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 joy-
ousness 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, end
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
17
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 him-
self. "Behaving himself" meant taking no more
whiskey than a man could carry, and refusing all invi-
tations to fight unless "necessity was laid upon him."
The only man to object was his own brother, Mac-
donald 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 neces-
sity. 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
iS
THE OPEN RIVER
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 Mac-
donald 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 Mac-
donald 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
19
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 decrepi-
tude. 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 betth-
ers, be the powers! Sthand up, bhoys, and fill yir-
silves!"
Black Hugh and his men lined up gravely to the
bar and were straightway surrounded by the crowd
20
THE OPEN RIVER
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." Mac-
donald 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. Le-
Noir 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."
31
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 Ran-
ald, 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 surpris-
ing self-control, "It is myself that is sorry that a boy
of mine should be guilty of biting like a dog."
"Sa-c-r-r^ 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 whis-
pering 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
33
THE OPEN RIVER
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, '' Sacr^ 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 meJ" 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
S3
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
kick, he paused a moment and was about to agree
when Black Hugh broke in, harshly, spoiling all Yan-
kee'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 Mur-
phy.
"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' Diabhoil," he roared, "Glengarry for-
ever!"
24
THE OPEN RIVER
"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,
25
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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, "Glen-
garry 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 Mc-
Gregor, was supposed to be dear to Big Mack's heart.
"What a peety she could not see him the now,"
26
THE OPEN RIVER
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 begin-
ning 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 vigor-
ously.
"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
27
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 knock-
ing 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 "Fol-
low 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 French-
man, 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
28
THE OPEN RIVER
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.
29
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, "Glen-
garry!" 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?"
30
VENGEANCE IS MINE
Murphy, crouching at the back of the crowd near
the door, sought to escape.
"Ah! there you are!" cried Macdonald, and reach-
ing 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 I.eNoir. "And is it you that has done this
work?" he asked, in a voice of subdued rage.
3«
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 Le-
Noir'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 awhile, 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 — una-
wares— with his- — keeck."
"Indeed, and I'll warrant you !" agreed his brother,
"but I will be attending to him, never you fear."
32
VENGEANCE IS MINE
Macdonald was about to rise, when his brother
caught his arm.
"You will — not be — killing him," he urged, be-
tween 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: "Tt 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 him-
self 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
33
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
quietness and self-control for fear. "You no good!
Your brother is no good I 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 unpun-
ished?"
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 ap-
proached 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.
3«
VENGEANCE IS MINE
"Now the Lord be praised," he cried, joy break-
ing 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 Him-
self." 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 pressmg
on him. Again and again LeNoir rushed, but the
guard was impregnable, and steadily Macdonald ad-
vanced. 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 stom-
ach. 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 siightly, 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
35
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 ad-
vance, 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 sufificiently 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 some-
thing 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:
36
VENGEANCE IS MINE
"LeNoir, " he said, solemnly, "the clays 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 hor-
rible 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 '11 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 mel" 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.
37
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 Le-
Noir 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 arc 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.
38
VENGEANCE IS MINE
"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 Glen-
garry 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 chant-
ing 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;
39
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 kneel-
ing 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.
40
VENGEANCE IS MINE
"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.
4«
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 Mar-
tintown and over the North Branch, it reaches a
country where the forest is more a feature of the land-
scape. And when some dozen or more of the cross-
roads 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 for-
est 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 for-
est 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
42
THE MANSE IN THE BUSH
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
43
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 dow^n 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, Hughiel"
"Ranald!"
"Ranald?"
44
THE MANSE IN THE BUSH
"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, Lam-
bert?"
"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 look-
ing 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.
45
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 briW
where the trees lay fallen across one another, over
which the fire had run, and then the solid wall of for-
est 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?"
46
THE MANSE IN THE BUSH
"Porridge and pancakes," said Jessie, the minis-
ter'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 pan-
cakes 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 min-
ister'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 con-
47
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
flict of minds without which few can maintain intel-
lectual 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 back-
woods." 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
48
THE MANSE IN THE BUSH
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."
49
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 morn-
ing."
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 medi-
cines into her hand-bag, and in ten minutes was wait-
ing for Ranald at the door.
so
CHAPTER IV
THE RIDE FOR LIFE
The night was clear, with a touch of frost in the
air, yet with the feeHng in it of approaching spring.
A dim h'ght 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 mysteri-
ous 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 — per-
haps 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.
SI
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 Christ-
mas 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.
F,2
4
THE RIDE FOR LIFE
"And what — " he began.
"Father is not well. He is hurted, and Mrs. Mur-
ray 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 anytime. 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
53
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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.
54
THE RIDE FOR LIFE
"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 run-
ning.
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, snap-
ping and snarling. Ranald could see them over his
shoulder. A hundred yards more and he would reach
55
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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
56
THE RIDE FOR LIFE
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 what-
ever." 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.
57
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 tim-
ber 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 Avould
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 sup-
porter of the church, and indeed had been spoken of
58
FORGIVE US OUR DEBTS
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 difl"erent from the church-going
people of the community, and shrank from the sur-
prised 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 with-
out entering Macdonald Dubh's house. Kirsty was
59
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 kind-
hearted, 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 atmos-
phere of the room overpoweringly fetid. Off the kitch-
en or living-room were two small bedrooms, in one of
which lay Macdonald Dubh.
Kirsty met the minister's wife with a warm wel-
come. 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
60
FORGIVE US OUR DEBTS
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 com-
fortable."
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.
6i
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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."
62
FORGIVE US OUR DEBTS
"Night-shirt! and indeed, he has not such a thing
to his name." Kirsty's tone betrayed her thankful-
ness 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. Mur-
ray, 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,
63
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 persua-
sions 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 nourish-
ment 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."
64
i
FORGIVE US OUR DEBTS
"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 re-
mains 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 mix-
ture, and Mrs. Murray no longer wondered at Mac-
donald 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 oat-
meal, 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
6s
l^HE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 an-
swered: "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."
66
FORGIVE US OUR DEBTS
"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 vvish
you would send for him to-morrow."
"Ah, well," said Macdonald, not committing him-
self, "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 wUe sat silent, knowing that such
grief cannot be comforted, and pitying from her heart
67
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
the lonely man. After a time she said gently, "She
is better off."
A look of doubt and pain and fear came into Mac-
donald'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. Mur-
ray. "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
68
FORGIVE US OUR DEBTS
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. Macdon-
ald?"
"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 w^hat 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 yes-
terday. '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 Macdon-
ald'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
69
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
face, and Mrs. Murray could only say, brokenly,
"You know I will not."
"Aye, I do," said Macdonald, with a sigh of con-
tent, 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 Mac-
donald, 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."
70
FORGIVE US OUR DEBTS
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 re-
peated 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 tree-
tops, 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
71
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 be-
gan 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
72
FORGIVE US OUR DEBTS
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 sympa-
thize 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 wdth the faint-
est 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."
73
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, dar-
ing 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 sel-
dom mingled in the social festivities of the commu-
nity, 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
A NEW FRIEND
attendance at school was of a fragmentary and spas-
modic 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, cour-
age, 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, Ran-
ald 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."
75
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 prom-
ises! 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 evi-
dently 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."
76
A NEW FRIEND
"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. Ran-
ald 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 sugar-
ing 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;
77
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 ter-
ror 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,"
78
A NEW FRIEND
said Mrs. Murray; but Hughie hung back sulking,
unwilling to move till he had got his mother's prom-
ise.
"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 t\\Q 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 after-
noon.
79
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"And I have never seen the tapping of a tree. I
beHeve 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 un-
tapped. "You first make a gash like this." So
saying, with two or three blows of his ax, he made a
slanting gouge 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?"
80
A NEW P^RIEND
"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 for-
bade retreat. "If she would care," he said, doubt-
fully.
"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
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 pro-
posed visit of Mrs. Murray and her niece.
"Maimie," said Ranald to himself. "So that is
her name." It had a musical sound, and was differ-
ent 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 Glen-
garry 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 w^iat 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,
82
A NEW FRIEND
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-detec-
tion, 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. Mur-
ray 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 MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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
difificulty, "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-/^;«.'" 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 — "
A NEW FRIEND
"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. Mur-
ray, 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 Ran-
ald'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 estab-
lishing 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-oft.
I've been thinking that it would perhaps be better to
85
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 won-
der.
"I will be going on eighteen."
"You will soon be a man, Ranald." Ranald re^
mained 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
86
A NEW frip:nd
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.
vv tT TT W "?P
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
87
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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.
88
A NEW FRIEND
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 Avas 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 un-
derstand 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.
89
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 for-
get 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
90
A NEW FRIEND
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 her-
self 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.
91
CHAPTER VII
MAIMIE
Before Hughie came back from the sugar camp,
the minister had returned from the presbytery, bring-
ing 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. Nine-
teen 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 ele-
gance 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 pur-
suit and cultivation of those graces and manners that
are supposed to distinguish people of birth and breed-
92
M A I M I E
ing 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 educa-
tion 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."
93
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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!" Where-
upon 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 \iQY pmce-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-indul-
gence. 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 pi^ce de resistance, however, being
"Zrt Prierc (V une Vierge." She carried with her from
school a portfolio of crayons of apparently very ancient
and very battered castles; and water-colors of land-
scapes, where the water was quite as solid as the land.
True, she was quite unable to keep her own small
94
M A 1 M I E
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 hke 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 house-
hold rushed forth to see them. They were worth
seeing. Burned black with the sun and the March
95
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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, search-
ing 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 pre-
sented Ranald to her niece, it was his turn to blush
96
M A I M I E
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 look-
ing at Maimie again, he left the room, with Hughie
97
THE MAN FROiM GLENGARRY
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
98
M A I M I E
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
99
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 minis-
ter. "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
IQO
M A I M I E
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 d, 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, contemp-
tuously; "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
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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-ofT 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 Ran-
ald would have ended where it began, in which ca.se
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 jubi-
lant 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
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THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 even-
ing 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 exult-
ant 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
104
THE SUGARING-OFF
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
cither 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 ket-
tle 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 worthil)' did
he do his part. He greeted his mother with rever-
ence, cufTed 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."
I05
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
After the laughter and the chorus of "Ohs" had
subsided, Don proceeded: "The captains for the even-
ing are, Elizabeth Campbell, better known as 'Betsy
Dan,' and John Finlayson, familiar to us all as 'John-
nie the Widow,' two young people of excellent char-
acter, 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, Mar-
106
THE SUGARING-OFF
get; 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.
107
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"I thank you for the books, Mrs. Murray," he
began, in a low, hurried voice. "They are just won-
derful. 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
108
THE SUGARING-OFF
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?*
109
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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, un-
willing to be jeered at by the others for faint-hearted-
ness. "She ought to pay."
no
THE SUGARING-OFF
"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."
THE MAN FROM GLENGAP. RY
"Be careful of that fire," said Ranald, sharply,
pulling back her skirt, that had blown dangerously
near the blaze. "Stand back further," he com-
manded.
Mamie looked at him, surprise, indignation, and
fear struggling for the mastery. Was this the awk-
ward boy that had blushed and stammered before her
a week ago?
"It's very dangerous," he explained to Mrs. Mur-
ray, "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 cer-
tain 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.
THE SUGARING-OFF
"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, seiz-
ing 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 minis-
ter'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
m
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 even-
ing came on. Ranald announced that the tafify 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 deris-
ion.
"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
114
THE SUGARING-OFF
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
"5
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 her-
self, 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 demonstra-
tions of feeling, went to him, and quietly held out her
Ii6
THE SUGARING-OFF
hand, saying: "It was bravely done, Ranald. From
my heart, I thank you."
For a moment or two she looked steadily into hi,-:-
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 sud-
denly 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.
117
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 sleep-
ing 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 atmos-
phere. 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 pre-
pared, and in every way possible the whole house, its
dwellers, and its belongings, made ready for the mor-
row. 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
ii8
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
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 begin-
nings. 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 dis-
couraged 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 inter-
ruption 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
119
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 Mai-
mie'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 minis-
ter 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 com-
manded 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. Mur-
ray's steadiness of nerve to repress an exclamation of
terror at critical moments. The corduroy was Black's
abomination. He longed to dash throucfh and be
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
done with it; but, however much the minister sympa-
thized 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 distin-
guish it from an ordinary barn.
121
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 con-
gregation. The main body of the church was seated
with long box pews with hinged doors. But the gal-
lery 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 octago-
nal box placed high on one side of the church on a
level with the gallery, and reached by a spiral stair-
case. 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 un-
pleasant 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
132
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
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 im-
possible of control except by one whom they feared
as well as reverenced. And such a man was Alex-
ander 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, Ken-
neth 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 suit-
able in this sacred exercise. He seldom "spoke to
the question," but when he did people leaned for-
ward 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.
123
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
But the others all had the look of elders, and carried
with them the full respect and affection of the congre-
gation. Even the young men under the gallery re-
garded 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 Mc-
Keowen, 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 through-
124
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
out 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 oppo-
sition to all innovations in connection with the Service
of Praise. He was especially opposed to the intro-
duction 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 even-
ing 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 examina-
tions, where he was the terror of pupils and teachers
125
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 intro-
duced 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 dis-
appointed. 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 stead-
fast 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 ter-
rible 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
126
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
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 re-
garded in any company and under any circumstances,
but when he stood up in his pulpit and faced his con-
127
THE MAN FROPvI GLENGARRY
gregation 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 pro-
ceeded on his way. Each line he chanted alone, after
the ancient Scottish custom, after which the congre-
gation 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.
128
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
Pkecentor
M Ji rKECENTO
:±
^-=^
Congregation.
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J f 0 i/ie 7^,^Zfe• icill lift mine eyes, I to .
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^5±3:i
^^SE3
r±
?
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M
the hills.. . will.
Precentor.
lift mine eyes;
Congregation.
S
?=t7'J J -^^-=^?=7^•
^
-^^^^^
rffei
J'rom whence doth come mine aid, From whence
Precentor.
T^
-iS'—
EE5
f— -fj 0-E^ -<^" r^~ " * i
:f:
II
m
doth... come... mine aid My safe- ty
Congregation.
^=T
SiP^?^
^s:^:^
±
:i;
i
-^-f^r=^^
:?:
il
w
com - ethfrom the Lord. My safe - ty com -
Precentor.
:^=4:
i— 1— 1-
E^
■s»-f-
icii:
:22:
:t
±=±
i:
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eth from the Lord. Who heaven and earth hath made.
Congregation.
'-^■---
:si:
:?=
-^— -f-^
Who heav'n and. . . earth hath made.
"ST. PAUL'S," AS chanted BY STRAIGHT RORY AND SUNG BY
THE congregation.
129
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 per-
mitted 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 extra-
ordinary 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 impres-
130
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
sions, the tears began to flow, till Hughie, not under-
standing, 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 im-
pression 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
131
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
humorous comments that, outside, would have pro-
duced 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
132
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
here and there in quiet reverie, or in exultant jubila-
tion over the "attributes," embracing in its world-
wide 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-bur-
dened— all were remembered with a warmth of sym-
pathy, 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 inatten
tion 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
133
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
are entering, I will tell you. Yes," he added, deliber-
ately, "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, astonish-
ment, 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, how-
ever, decided him, and he dropped into the nearest
scat with all speed, and gazed about him as if to dis-
134
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
cover 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 resig-
nation: "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 accus-
tomed to her husband's eccentricities, sat in a state
of utter bewilderment, not knowing what might hap-
pen 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.
135
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 sub-
ject 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 discrimi-
nating 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 him-
self in like manner, passed the box on. That the
lapse was only apparent was made evident by the air
136
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
of abstraction with which this operation was carried
on, the snuff being held between the thumb and fore-
finger 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 fre-
quently the case, that the remotest limits of the
alloted time had been passed, and announcing that
the subject would be concluded on the following Sab-
bath, 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 ren-
dezvous for the younger portion of the congregation
before "church went in." In the center of the group
'37
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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-humor-
edly, 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 shame-
faced 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-ofifice," 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 an-
swered 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
'38
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
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. Fight-
ing 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 ofT
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 what-
ever consequences to himself. He knew the McRaes,
and knew well their reputation, but that only made it
more impossible for him to retreat. But Alurdie 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
139
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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.
140
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
In the pause following the second verse, Murdie
was startled at the sound of angry voices from with-
out. More than Murdie heard that sound. As Mur-
die 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 singmg 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 sur-
prised 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 minis-
ter, more especially in his present mood. Instinct-
ively he turned toward the minister's pew, and reading
141
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 Ran-
ald 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 Ran-
ald 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, eveiy 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
142
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
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, luxuri-
ating 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
143
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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
144
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
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 uncomfort-
able 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 slip-
pers and cloak, ran down to the door, and in another
moment was standing before him, holding* him by the
shoulders.
MS
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 remem-
brance of the parting with his father.
"And why are you going, Ranald?" she said, look-
ing 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
146
A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
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, Ran-
ald 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 sur-
prise. "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 ter-
rible 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
H7
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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.
148
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 can-
not 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 com-
plained, "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
149
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 Ran-
ald, 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 ofif
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 cofifin. There was
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HOME-COMING OF SHANTY MEN
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. Latha,m.
The minister's wife began reading the letter, won-
dering 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 hus-
band came quickly to her, took up the letter, and read
it to the end.
*T will go at once," he said, and rang the bell.
"Tell Lambert to put Black in the buggy immedi-
ately, 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 Far-
quhar 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.
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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, what-
ever."
"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
152
HOME-COMING OF SHANTYMEN
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, for-
getting 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
153
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 ex-
tremely 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
J 54
HOME-COMING OF SHANTYMEN
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 un-
lovely 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 clear-
ing beyond. As they entered the briild, 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 brills 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 espe-
cially rich mouthful, and now and then responding to
her C9X\ with soft lowings. Gently Bella chid them.
IS5
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 sur-
prise 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. Mur-
ray, softly. Ranald made no reply, but let the colt
take her way through the britU 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."
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HOME-COMING OF SHANTY MEN
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 minis-
ter'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
rem.ained 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 sur-
157
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
prised 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, hurry-
ing 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.
15S
HOME-COMING OF SHANTYMEN
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 com-
manding 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 hesi-
tated, 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
159
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 re-
wards 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 build-
ing 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
i6o
HOME-COMING OF SHANTYMEN
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-com-
ing 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 per-
suaded 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
i6i
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
the word to him brought Ranald a sense of responsi-
bility 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 arrange-
ment 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 hag-
gard in the light of the flaring torches. Behind him,
in the shadow, stood the minister. For a few mo>
ments 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
i6a
HOME-COMING OF SHANTYMEN
have brought you back your son, and God is my wit-
ness, 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 rever-
ently, 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, Mal-
colm; come in, my boy. Your mother is waiting for
9 f
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
163
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
more. Your wife and your people will be waiting
you."
"And, please God, in good time they will be see-
ing 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, tak-
ing 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 dark-
ness.
After the minister had gone, Macdonald Bhain
took Ranald aside and asked him as to the arrange-
ments for the funeral. When Ranald had explained
to him every detail, Macdonald laid his hand on his
164
HOME-COMING OF SHANTYMEN
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
h'fe 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
i66
THE WAKE
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 scanti-
ness 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 arrang-
ing 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 ele-
ment. 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, per-
haps, 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,
167
THE MAN FROAl GLENGARRY
Yankee would have avoided the house until all was
over and the elders safely away.
Of the elders, only four were present as yet: Don-
ald 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, in-
stinctively, 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 Scrip-
ture 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."
i68
THE WAKE
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 can-
not 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 Yan-
kee'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
169
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 com-
manded 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.
170
THE WAKE
"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, v/hitest 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,
171
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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, boss! 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 hope-
less Peter
"I am afraid you are not remembering what the
Apostle Paul said, Mr. Latham," said Peter, deter-
172
THE WAKE
mined 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." Yan-
kee 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 ©ne, ' " 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
173
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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, encourag-
ingly; "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 boss 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
174
THE WAKE
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 rratter
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
175
TPIE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 mon-
keying. 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 for-
getting 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.
176
THE WAKE
"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 busi-
ness, 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 Yan-
kee, 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,
177
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 sym-
pathy 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 sway-
ing 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."
178
THE WAKE
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 McRac, 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
179
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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. Camer-
on'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
i8o
THE WAKE
and a great voice, deep and tender, commanded her:
"Wait, lassie, sit down here a mccnute." 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, remem-
ber 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
i8i
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
were afraid to go near him, and for seex weeks, by
day and by night, watched by him and was not think-
ing 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
182
THE WAKE
all next day, where there had been the horror of un-
namable 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 fam-
ily, 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 Mc-
Naughton'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
183
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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.
1S4
CHAPTER XII
SEED-TIME
The day after Big Mack's funeral, Ranald was busy
polishing Lisette'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 bit-
terness 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 install-
ment was nearly due.
As he was putting the finishing touches upon
185
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 con-
tinued, 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
1 86
SEED-TIME
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, includ-
ing 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 3rz^//, "
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.
1S7
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 sell-
ing 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 unwill-
ing 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.
1 88
SEED-TIME
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 French-
man."
"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
189
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
fellow, from under the heap, that he took me una-
wares."
"That's so," assented Yankee. "Blamed low-
down 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 Mac-
donald Dubh. "It is myself that wants to meet him."
It was not so much the destruction of LcNoir 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.
190
SEED-TIME
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 brills, 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 dov/n, 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 brills. "It
is a fine bit of ground, Hugh, and will raise a good
crop of potatoes."
"Aye," said Macdonald Dubh, sadly. "It has lain
191
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 some-
thing 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."
19a
SEED-TIME
"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."
193
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 for-
given 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 him-
self?"
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, point-
ing 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
194
SEED-TIM t
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 buck-
board," said Macdonald Bhain.
I9S
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 Mac-
donald 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.
196
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 briiU 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
197
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
McGregor's Angus, and with him came his sister
Bella. He was shortly afterward followed by other
teams in rapid succession — the Rosses, the McKera-
chers, 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 briUL
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 log-
ging 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-
piies, 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
THE LOGGING BEE
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 bide 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 them-
selves 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,
199
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 tac-
tics. To-day, however, a new experience was await-
ing them. Farquhar was an old man and slow, and
Yankee, while he was unwilling to hurry him, w^as
equally unwilling that his team should not do a full
day's work. He persuaded Farquhar that his pres-
ence 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. Reluct-
antly 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 bniU was marked
THE LOGGING BEE
out to clear after the axes. The logs, brush, and
stumps had to be removed and dragged to the burn-
ing-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 deliber-
ation, 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 beauti-
ful 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
THE MAN P^ROM GLENGARRY
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 him-
self, 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 pri-
vate grudge. He would have to wait for his settle-
ment 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
202
THE LOGGING BEE
that when he brought them i;:to 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
203
THE MAN P^ROM GLENGARRY
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' move-
ments 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 press-
ure, 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 briili 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
204
THE LOGGING BEE
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 con-
test, 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 con-
flict at the front. One by one the ax men drew
toward the end of the field, where Ranald and Aleck
20S
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
were fighting out their fight, all pretense of deliber-
ation 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 Macdon-
ald Bhain, who had been working at the farthest
corner of the brlUld. 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
206
THE LOGGING BEE
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 safeiy 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 difificulty, 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 steadi-
ness 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
2©7
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 furi-
ously 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 neces-
sary, and once more backed his team to readjust the
chain which had slipped off the top. As he fastened
3«S
THE LOGGING BEE
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 haul-
ing 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 back-
ing 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
209
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 vic-
tory 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 your-
self," 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.
2IO
THE LOGGING BEL
To Mrs. Murray and Maimie, who with the minis-
ter 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 to-
day. 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 house-
wives and maidens of the countryside. About the
tables stood in groups the white-aproned girls, tucked
an
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
and frilled, curled and ribboned into all degrees of
bewitching loveliness. The men hurried av/ay 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 brillie.
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 pre-
cincts 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 minis-
ter's wife and her niece were standing. Here, for
212
THE LOGGING BEE
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 myseli, " 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
213
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
with the legs l.'cked 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 hand-
some 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 some-
thing 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
214
THE LOGGING BEE
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 Httle 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,
2IS
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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: "Gentle-
men, 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 senti-
ment. 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 ex-
pressive of the good will of the neighbors for Mr.
216
THE LOGGING BEE
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 com-
mand 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
217
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 Far-
quhar, rubbing his hands^ over the sleek sides of his
horses.
"Worse!" cried Yankee. "They're worth a hun-
dred 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
218
THE LOGGING BEE
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 some day,"
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. Mur-
ray, 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 for-
get Kirsty for the moment.
219
T H ii MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 oppor-
tunity 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.
THE LOGGING BEE
"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. Mac-
donald, 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 arc 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
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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.
333
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 con-
sidered an event so extraordinary as to give a decided
shock to those who regularly attended, and their pres-
ence 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 consider-
ably 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 noth-
ing of the Shorter Catechism, not to speak of the Con-
fession of Faith, and consequently was woefully igno-
rant 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
223
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"leaned toward" that peculiar sect. Such a confes-
sion 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 (Moos-
crick, 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 even-
ing 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, what-
ever," 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 deepen-
ing 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.
224
SHE WILL NOT FORGET
"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 whisper-
ing 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 evi-
dently stuck full of conceit, and as he let h's 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 con-
science 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
225
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 rever-
berate 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 enthusi-
asts 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 redoubt-
able ninth chapter, that arsenal for Calvinistic cham-
226
SHE WILL NOT FORGE 1^
pions. P'irst the verses were repeated by the class in
concert, and the members vied with each other in mak-
ingthis a perfect exercise, then the teaching of the chap-
ter 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 Doc-
trine of Sovereignty. It was significant that by
Macdonald Dubh, his brother, and the other older
and more experienced members of the class, the doc-
trine was regarded as absolutely inevitable and was
accepted without question, while by Yankee and Ran-
ald 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 con-
trol, or accepting it, refused to assume the responsi-
bility 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 state-
ment of the two great truths of Sovereignty and Free
Will without attempting the impossible task of harmo-
nizing 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 practi-
227
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
cal bearing of the great doctrine. And while the
mystery remained unsolved, the limpid clearness of
her thought, the humble attitude of mind, the sym-
pathy with doubt, and above all, the sweet and tender
pathos that filled her voice, sent the class away hum-
bled, subdued, comforted, and willing to wait the day
of clearer light. Not that they were done with Pha-
raoh 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 to-
night, 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 minis-
ter'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."
228
SHE WILL NOT FORGET
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.
229
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
**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 sing-
ing 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."
230
SHE WILL NOT FORGET
S.he 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. Tl e piano, too, was a
new and rare treat to Ranald. In all the country
231
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
there was no other, and even in the manse it was
seldom heard, for Mrs. Murray found Httle 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 splen-
didly."
"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
233
SHE WILL NOT FORGET
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 to-
night.
"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, smil-
ing 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?"
233
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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
234
SHE WILL NOT FORGET
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, "remem-
ber 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 gleam-
ing, 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
335
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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. Noth-
ing, 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
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SHE WILL NOT FORGET
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 rush-
ing 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 mc?"
he persisted.
"Why, certainly. Wouldn't I be a very ungrate-
ful 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 think-
ing of me?"
There was a movement in the kitchen, and they
237
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 interrup-
tion.
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.
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SHE WILL NOT FORGET
"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 eight-
een, 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 strik-
ing 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 harm-
less to him now. And then he stood silent, motion-
less, 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?
-39
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 awk-
wardness. 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!"
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THE REVIVAL
"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 wonder-
ful."
"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
«4«
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 com-
ing 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 neces-
sity of making a display of her best speed, and without
any urging, she went along the concession road, in-
creasing 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 re-
sponded, and swept up to the door with such splendid
dash that the whole household greeted her with wav-
ing applause. As the colt came to a stand, Maimie
stepped out from the buckboard, and turning toward
24a
THE REVIVAL
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 put-
ting 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
243
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
me so much that I never knew before. I see every^-
thing 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 over-
flow. For an hour they sat by the open trunk, forget-
ting 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 fol-
lowed, 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 a.11 its tics,
244
THE REVIVAL
and then said, smiling: "I am afraid, Harry, that
could hardly be. Resides, my dear boy, there is One
\vho 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 some-
thing 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
245
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 some-
times 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
246
THE REVIVAL
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 be-
lieve."
Mrs. Murray sat in silent and bitter disappoint-
ment. 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 any-
thing 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
247
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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
lieavier 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 Macdon-
ald 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 sav-
ages they are!" continued the minister. "It really
docs 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 confes;-
I am disappointed in Ranald. Well," she continued,
"we can only wait and trust."
From Hughie, who had had the story from Don,
248
THE REVIVAL
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
hammermg, 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
249
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 dis-
appointed 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 real-
ized to pay for the church furnishing, which they had
undertaken to provide.
The day following was the first of the "Communion
Season." In a Higliland congregation the Com-
250
THE REVIVAL
munion 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 associ-
ated 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 com-
mand of the memory and the imagination to the
scourging of the soul for the soul's good. The ser-
mon 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
2Sl
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 Attri-
butes 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 congre-
gation as, with a wave of his hand, he said: "Let u«5
rise and sing. Now, John, Old Hundred."
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THE REVIVAL
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 radi-
ant through her tears. After long months of ton and
waiting, they were actually singing praise to God in
the new church.
When the professor arose, it was an eager, respon-
sive congregation that waited for his word. The
people were fully prepared for a sermon that would
shake them to their souls' depths. The younger por-
tion shivered and shrank from the ordeal; the older
and more experienced shivered and waited with not
unpleasing anticipations; it did them good, that re-
morseless examination of their hearts' secret depravi-
ties. 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 perfect-
ness," read the professor from that exquisite and
353
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 excel-
lence, 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 illus-
trating 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 preach-
ing of smooth things. The people were there to con-
sider 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
254
THE REVIVAL
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
c'lnd 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-complais-
ance. 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 morn-
ing. 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 offer-
ing 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?"
355
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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, search-
ing 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 chil-
dren 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
256
THE REVIVAL
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 waiHng 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 up-
ward, 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. V/hy
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 over-
whelming. The people swayed as trees before a
mighty wind, and a voice cried aloud from the con-
gregation: "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
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THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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
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THE REVIVAL
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 forgive-
ness!" 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,
359
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 connec-
tion 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 congrega-
tion, 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 "Ques-
tion 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 unforgivcn, Mr. Mac-
donald," 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
260
THE REVIVAL
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 for-
given, Mr. Macdonald."
" Indeed, it is nothing," he said, earnestly.
" Then,' repHed 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 deliber-
ations the door opened and Macdonald Bhain and his
brother, Macdonald Dubh, walked in and stood silent
261
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 thaf day asked in the
session before Macdonald Dubh received his token.
363
CHAPTER XVI
AND THE GLORY
The first communion in the new church was marked
by very great solemnity. There were few new mem-
bers, 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 serious-
ness. The "coming forward" of Macdonald Dubh
was an event so remarkable as to make a great impres-
sion not only upon all the Macdonald men who had
been associated with him so many years in the lumber-
ing, 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 gentle-
ness were touching to see.
On the evening of Monday, the day of thanksgiv-
ing 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
263
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY'
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 pos-
sessing 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 to-
night? 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
264
AND THE GLORY
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 sin-
ner."
"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 meet-
ings 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 for-
ward."
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.
265
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 congre-
gation— 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.
266
AND THE GLORY
There was a shrinking from anything Hke 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 for-
ever. 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 meet-
ings, seemed to remain unmoved by the tide of relig-
ious 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 wait-
ing on her part, and of painful struggle on his, had
passed.
a6?
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
From the very first of the great movement his
father threw himself into it with all the earnest inten-
sity of his nature, but at the same time with a humil-
ity 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 pant-
ing 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 your-
self 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 har-
vest 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 some-
times showed itself in his father's face when weakness
268
AND THE GLORY
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, Mac-
donald 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 under-
stand 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
269
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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."
270
AND THE GLORY
"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 Jier 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 sal-
vation, 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. Mur-
ray's hand and tremblingly lifted it to his lips.
"It has been a great joy to me," said Mrs. Mur-
ray, 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
difificulty 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
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
blessing of God. You will promise me this, Ran-
ald?" 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 difificulty,
"you are your father's son; but you will not be lay-
ing this bitterness upon me now. You will be forgiv-
ing 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, unwaver-
ing 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 I" said Macdonald Dubh after her, "Aye,
272
AND THE GLORY
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. *T 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 pil-
low, 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 Mac-
donald 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 vic-
tory. 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, ^nd had drawn
their hearts toward him ; and now in his final triumph
they could not find it in their hearts to mourn.
273
THE jv:an from glengarry
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 help-
ing 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 win-
ter, and to make all things snug about the house and
barn; and when the first fall of snow fell softly, he
took down his broadax, 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
274
AND THE GLORY
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 some-
thing 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 theii 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?"
37s
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 boy-
hood, and that henceforth he would take his place
among the men. And looking at his strong, com-
posed, grave face, she felt that that place ought not
to be an unworthy one.
276
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 w^s 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 diflficult for him to fully appreciate the inten-
sity and depth of the religious feeling that was every-
where 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. Some-
thin' 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?' "
377
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
And with this Macdonald Bhain was content, and
when he told Yankee, the latter came as near to excite-
ment as he ever allowed himself. He chewed vigor-
ously for a few moments, then, slapping his thigh, he
exclaimed: "Byjings! 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 congrega-
tion ; 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 minis-
ter, 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,
378
LeNoir's new master
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 sport-
ing, 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 har-
vest all gathered in, the days were once more shorten-
ing 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
279
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 him-
self 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."
280
LeNoir's new master
"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, Ran-
ald— 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
28 1
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 Le-
Noir, 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 steam-
boat way which must be kept open.
For the firm of Raymond & St. Clair this meant
2normous 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 Maimic and her great friend Kate Ray-
2S2
LeNOir's new master
mond, 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 distingud
that even her aunt, Miss St. Clair, was completely satis-
fied. 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 represen-
tative of the family was now lieutenant, attached to
the garrison at the Citadel. Lieutenant De Lacy sug-
gested 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."
283
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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; Lieuten-
ant De Lacy, I suppose."
It was the lieutenant, handsome, tall, well made,
with a high-bred if somewhat dissipated face, an air of
blas^ indifference a little overdone, and an accent
284
LeNOIR'S new iM aster
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 lieuten-
ant 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 pro-
nounced it "shuah.") "But it is rathaw, don't you
know, not exactly clean."
"He is thinking of his boots," said Harry, scorn-
fully, 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 dis-
criminating, you know."
"I love the shantymen," exclaimed Kate, enthusi-
astically. "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?"
285
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"Let us go along, then," said Harry. "We will
have a look at them, anyway."
"From the windward side, I hope," said the lieu-
tenant, 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, jost-
ling 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
3S6
leNOIR's new master
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 Hot-
tawa. " 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 shanty-
men," 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 lieu-
tenant, 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. Sur-
prised and enraged, the Frenchman turned to demolish
the man who had dared to insult the "boss bully on
de reever Hottawa."
287
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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.
"Ehbien! Non! Pardon, Mams'elle."
"Bon jour," said Lieutenant De Lacy, with a mili-
tary 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."
288
LeNoir's new master
Harry returned in a few moments, quite excited.
"The Macdonald gang are in, and the Big Mac-
donald 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 I " 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
289
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 him-
self 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 tim-
ber 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 answer-
ing 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 radi-
ant with delight.
290
LeNOIR's new master
"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 lieuten-
ant'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,
291
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 embar-
rassment 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 lieuten-
ant to follow after.
And a good thing it was for Ranald that he did go
292
Lenoir's new master
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, cheer-
fully.
"Ah, the young man from Glengarry?" said Mr.
St. Clair, rising. "I am glad to know you, ana to
thank you in person for your prompt courage in saving
my daughter."
"Lucky dog!" groaned the lieutenant, in an under-
tone 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."
293
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 W9man 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.
294
lenoir'S new master
"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 lieu-
tenant.
"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.
295
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"No," said Ranald; "I will go back to the raft
first, and then come to the office. Shall I begin to-
night?" he said to Mr. St. Clair.
"To-morrow morning will do, Ranald," said Mr,
St. Clair. "Come up to the hotel and see us to-
night." 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, per-
haps?"
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 con-
sidered 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.
296
LeNOIR's new master
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 fight-
ing 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,
297
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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, wav-
ing 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
298
LeNoir's new master
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, dis-
gustedly, 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: "Abas
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
299
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 foUow^ed 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 un-
marked 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 dig-
nified and speedy retreat is in order if it can be exe-
cuted. There is a shop a little distance down here.
Let us make for it,"
But as soon as they moved two more of the Otta-
was 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 no-
300
Lenoir's new master
body's fault, but it looks rather serious. Get back,
you brute!" So saying, he caught a burly French-
man 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.
'T 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-ham-
mers.
"Hottawa a moi!" cried the Ottawa champion
again, and the relieving party faced in his direc-
tion.
"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
301
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
Maimie, he raised the Macdonald war-cry: "Glen-
garry! 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 Glen-
garry 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 Ran-
ald 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 sup-
pose," 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 bat-
tered 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 youf he said again.
302
LeNOIR's new master
"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, Ran-
ald?" 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 sud-
denly 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
303
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
silence when he finished; then he said slowly and dis-
tinctly, "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 — for-
give— 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 Mac-
donald 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 Macdon-
ald 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
304
LeNOIR's new master
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. 'Tt 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.
'T 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, to-
night, 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?"
305
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 ex-
plained 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 thian
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."
306
LeNOIR's new master
"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.
307
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 espe-
cially of their young leader who had, with such singu-
lar 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 conse-
quences 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
308
HE IS NOT OF MY KIND
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 afTair; every one is
talking about Ranald and me, as if I — as if we had
some understanding."
"And have you not? I thought — " Kate hesi-
tated 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 Mai-
mie, 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. ' '
309
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 mean-
• » »
mg.
"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."
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HE IS NOT OF MY KIND
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 deliber-
ation, 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 turn-
ing 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 breed-
ing and manners, and of course, very wealthy. Her
house in Quebec is said to be the finest in the Prov-
ince, 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 some
3"
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
day. 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 en-
couraged.' 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.
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HE IS NOT OF MY KIND
"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 prin-
ciples 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 wor-
ship," cried Harry, impatiently. "Anyway, Ranald's
coming up Sunday evening."
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THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 trous-
ers 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 peo-
ple!"
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?" inter-
posed 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 docs find out why he is
3H
HE IS NOT OF MY KIND
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 pri-
vate parlor, Harry walked in with Ranald, and an-
nounced 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 handker-
chief, 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
315
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 Ran-
ald, said: "What are you thinking of? You are look-
ing very serious?"
"He is 'thinking of home and mother,' " quoted
Mr. Sims, in a thin, piping voice, following his quo-
tation 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 know-
ing what to say. "What were they. Ran — Mr. Mac-
donald?"
"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 v/here the piano is, and John 'Aleck' will be
there, and they will be singing"; and he went on to
316
HE IS NOT OF MY KIND
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 har-
monium 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
317
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
glided into the \ove\y 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 ex-
pressed 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 lieuten-
ant, when Kate had finished. "Lovely thing that
aria, don't you know?"
"Very nice," echoed Mr. Sims, "and so beauti-
fully 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 ora-
torios "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 feel-
ing 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
318
HE IS NOT OF MY KIND
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 think-
ing 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 Mas-
ter's music.
When the song was ended, no one spoke for a
time, and even Mr. Sims was silent. Then the lieu-
tenant 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 diflficult 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 ven-
tured to remark, with a giggle: "It's awfully fine,
319
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 what-
ever! 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 re-
minded him of the days in the Glengarry manse. She
had forgotten all about his red shirt and silk hand-
kerchief. 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,
320
HE IS N O 7' OF MY KIND
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 sys-
tem is rather delicate. ' '
321
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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, apologeti-
cally, "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, Lieuten-
ant De Lacy?"
"Oh, come now. Miss Kate, that's all right," said
the lieutenant, "but you must draw the line some-
where, you know. Those colors now you must con-
fess 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.
322
HE IS NOT OF MY KIND
"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 — "
323
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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.
324
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 hence-
forth 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,
325
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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.
1 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,
326
ONE GAME AT A TIME
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.
327
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 him-
self, 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 some-
thing."
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 guid-
ance, 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
328
ONE GAME AT A TIME
difference in suits. There had never been any choos-
ing 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 vvays
of outfitters, for Ranald's ignorance of all that per-
tained 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 ex-
travagance. 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 glanc-
ing 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
3^9
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 grudg-
ingly, "though there is nothing much inside."
"What a bear," said Mr. Sims to Harry, disgust-
edly, 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
ONE GAME AT A TIME
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 French-
men playing e'cartL As the lieutenant entered, one of
them glanced up and uttered an exclamation of recog-
nition.
"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.
331
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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. Le-
Noir? And you, Mr. Rouleau? Two more glasses,
gar^on," 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 sug-
gestion was accepted, and the game went on. At
332
ONE GAME AT A TIME
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, how-
ever. 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 — "
"A^(3«/" 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 Le-
Noir each drew three cards. In a tone of triumph
which he could not altogether suppress, Rouleau ex-
claimed "Dees are good enough for me." The lieu-
tenant 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.
333
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 oppo-
nent 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, ex-
claiming, 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.
''HoldtV 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.
334
ONE GAME AT A TIME
"Do you mean that I cheated you?" he said, with
slow emphasis. "Beware what you say,"
"6^//z7" 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 I" 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."
335
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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.
336
ONE GAME AT A TIME
"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, comii.g 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 lieu-
tenant in the eyes, "or perhaps the other!"
"Good!" cried Harry, gladly seizing the opportu-
nity of averting a fight. "The game! Take your
places, gentlemen!"
The lieutenant hesitated for a moment, as if uncer-
tain 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
337
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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.
*T 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
338
ONE GAME AT A TIME
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 determina-
tion.
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 lieuten-
ant, burning to get revenge.
Without a word Ranald laid down his hundred;
the others did likewise, and once more the game pro-
ceeded. There was no change in Ranald's play.
Thorough knowledge of the game, absolute self-com-
mand, 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!"
339
THE MAN FROiM GLENGARRY
"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.
3^o
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 gal-
lant lieutenant?"
Maimie tossed her the note.
"The picnic is postponed. Well, of course the
341
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
rain told us that; and he is unavoidably prevented
from calling, and entreats your sympathy and com-
miseration. 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 j'ou mean?"
"You needn't tell me you don't know why Ran-
ald 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
343
HER CLINGING ARMS
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 curi-
ously, "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
343
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 speak-
ing solely in his interest!"
Kate's face flushed red at the insinuation, and then
grew pale. She stood for some time looking in silence
344
HER CLINGING ARMS
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 for-
given. 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 her-
self 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!"
345
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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, with-
out 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
346
HER CLINGING ARMS
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 him-
self, "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 Lieuten-
ant 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
347
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
he had had enougli, "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 con-
tempt and for cause. The lieutenant listened for a
time to all Harry had to say with apparent indiffer-
ence, 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 some-
where near Ranald. You can't get him away from
him."
348
HER CLINGING ARMS
"Well, do," said the lieutenant, lazily. "Bring
LeNoir to see me. I owe that Rouleau chap an apol-
ogy. Beastly business! And I'll fix it up with Mac-
donald. 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-mor-
row 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 Rou-
leau! 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!"
''BotiV 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 enthu-
siastic 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
349
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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, sun-
bathed 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 abend along, clear
3SO
HER CLINGING ARMS
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 waying 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
351
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 chil-
dren 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 lieu-
tenant 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 diffi-
culty and holding fast to Ranald's arm. With charm-
ing 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, hold-
ing by the lieutenant's hand, the treacherous moss
352
HER CLINGING ARMS
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 lieuten-
ant 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. ' '
353
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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.
354
HER CLINGING ARMS
"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, per-
haps 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."
355
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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
356
HER CLINGING ARMS
weary look in her face, turned, and with the lieuten-
ant, 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
357
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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.
3S8
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 entr^ 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 unvul-
gar 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
359
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 par-
ticular, 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
360
I WILL REMEMBER
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 magnifi-
cent 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
361
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 cap-
tain 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 him-
362
I WILL REMEMBER
self, slipped into one of the private rooms. The man-
ager of the Raymond & St. Clair Company and
prominent clubman, much sought after in social cir-
cles, he was bound to find letters of importance await-
ing him, but hastily shufifling 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 writ-
ing. 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 pres-
ence 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 radi-
ant 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-mor-
row night, I will know!" He placed the letter in its
envelope and put it carefully in his inside pocket.
363
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 remon-
strances, 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; "un-
selfish, 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 hur-
riedly, then with a curious blending of surprise, per-
plexity, 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
364
I WILL REMEMBER
an awkward position. Last May, just after you left for the north,
Colonel Thorp, of the British-American Coal and Lumber Com-
pany, operating in British Columbia and Michigan, called to
see me, and made an o£fer of $75,000 for our Bass River
limits. Of course you know we are rather anxious to unload,
and at first I regarded his o£fer 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
365
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
it took some time for the full significance of the situ-
ation to dawn upon him. None knew better than he
how important it was to the firm that this sale should
be efTected. 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 pros-
pects, but misery to her whom he loved better than
life; and after all, what he was asked to do was noth-
ing 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 inform-
ing himself in regard to the value of the limits in
question, and when he, as an employ^ 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-Ameri-
can 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
366
I WILL REMEMBER
mistake the suggestion in Mr. St. Clair's closing
words. Every interest he had in life would be fur-
thered 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 infor-
mation 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. Every-
where 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 wel-
comed 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,
367
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 necessa-
rily upon the regular curriculum of study. Some tiine
after Ranald's appearance in the Institute as an assist-
ant, it happened one night that a sudden illness of
the superintendent laid upon his shoulders the respon-
sibility of government. The same night it also hap-
pened 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 lock-
ing 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 am-
bition of Coley's life to bring the ward and its deni-
zens 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."
I WILL R E M E M B l: R
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 Cnsti-
tute and tell Mr. Locke, if he is there, that I would
like him to call around at my ofifice 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-abase-
ment, 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
369
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
think only of their own pleasure. 1 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 cere-
mony 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. Mur-
ray, 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
370
I WILL REMEMBER
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 can-
not tell you the joy it gave me."
"Oh, it is not much that I have done," said Ran-
ald, 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 your-
self, 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 every-
where 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.
371
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
With eyes shining, and in ton s of humble, grateful
wonder they reminded each oLher of the various inci-
dents, 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 won-
derful 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 con-
gregation.
"Besides what she has to do in the manse!" ex-
claimed 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."
372
I WILL REMEMBER
"But, auntie, don't you feci 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
373
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 lec-
tured, 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, ear-
nestly. "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.
374
I WILL R E iM E M B E R
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 ^^Ir. 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
375
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 Hariy, 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 de-
vouring 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."
37^
I WILL REMEMBER
"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?"
377
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"What I said? How awful of you; don't you
dare! How can I remember?"
"Yes, you do remember, and then do you remem-
ber what / said?"
"What^^z^ 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."
378
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.
379
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 some-
thing 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 possibil-
ity 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 writ-
ing when the inner door of his office opened and Mr.
St. Clair came in. His welcome was kindly and cor-
dial, 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.
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FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU
"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, maska-
longe 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 strin-
gency 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
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THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
reference to Mrs. Murray, he had lost. The thought
of her was not in perfect harmony with purely com-
mercial 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 f^rm."
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.
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FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU
Then Ranald pulled himself together. He must
break free or the fight would be lost before he had
struck a blow.
'T 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." Ran-
ald'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 difificult 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
383
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 re-
port, 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
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FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU
refuse Colonel Thorp the information he is entitled
to from us."
"Sir!" exclaimed Mr. St. Clair, "this is outra-
geous, 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 ofHce.
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."
385
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 — "
"AIJ 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.
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FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU
"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."
"Lotsof game, eh? Small and big?" The colonel
387
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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. "
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FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU
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 sup-
pose," 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
389
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 turn-
ing 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 em-
phasis 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, inno-
cently. "Wall, here's lookin' at you," he continued,
bowing toward Ranald; "and by the great Sam, you
390
FORGET THAT I LOVED 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 re-
covered 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 mo-
ments 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 mat-
ter? 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
391
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
dealing, you would have dismissed me. It is impos-
sible 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.
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FORGET IHA'F 1 LOVED YOU
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
3''0ur wife."
Ranald bowed his head.
'Tt 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
iast 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."
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THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 rub-
bish?"
"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
394
FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU
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.
395
THE MAN FRO M GLENGARRY
"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
396
FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU
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 to-
night," 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; Ran-
ald 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 to-
night. 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
Sony 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.
397
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"Oh, auntie, I am so miserable!"
"But, Maim.ie," continued her aunt, "in this mat-
ter, 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 any-
thing 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
398
FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU
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-mor-
row? 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 to-
night. 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
399
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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.
Flastily 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 irri-
table; Harry perplexed and sullen; Maimie nervously
talkative. Mrs. Murray was heroically holding her-
self 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 someone; come upstairs."
Harry stood looking at the sweet face, trying to
smile so bravely in spite of the tremulous lips.
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FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU
"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 lift-
ing her in his arms in spite of her laughing protests, car-
ried 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 ap-
pointments 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 evening's 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 ordi-
nary 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
401
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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-mor-
row. 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 htr 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 con-
duct 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, look-
ing bafifled.
402
FORGET THAT 1 LOVED YOU
"Of course one cannot tell in such a case," an-
swered 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 Ran-
ald, 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 inso-
lence— 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 stretch-
ing 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.
403
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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.
404
FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU
"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 alow, 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
405
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 Mac-
donald! 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.
406
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.
407
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 seri-
ous 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."
408
A GOOD TRUE FRIEND
"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 recog-
nize me."
"And why not?"
"Because I shall be gray-haired by the time 1 reach
the station."
"There's the train I do believe," cried Kate, flour-
ishing 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.
409
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 vv^ith age."
"But what's this about Colonel Thorp?" said Mrs.
Murray. "Sometimes Ranald writes of him, in high
terms, too."
410
A GOOD TRUE FRIEND
"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 annex-
ation 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
411
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 sup-
pose 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 fare-
well supper by this young lady, and when the men
had well drunk — fed, I mean — and were properly dis-
solved in tears over the prospect of Ranald's depart-
ure, 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!
412
A GOOD TRUE FRIEND
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 mys-
terious 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 leader-
ship, 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 thor-
oughly 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 inci-
dentally 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.
413
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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, sud-
denly, "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 conversa-
tion should be deflected from the subject in hand, so
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A GOOD TRUE FRIEND
since Mrs. Murray was willing, Kate turned into the
park. For an hour they drove along its shady, wind-
ing roads while Mrs. Murray talked of many things,
but mostly of Ranald, and of the tales that the Glen-
garry 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. Mur-
ray. "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 confi-
dent 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."
41S
THE MAN P^ROM GLENGARRY
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. Mur-
ray 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:
416
A GOOD TRUE FRIEND
"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 ami
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 thought 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
417
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 'era 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 wander-
in' '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
418
A GOOD TRUE FRIEND
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 lie 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 w» 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
419
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 gintle-
man.' '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 '11 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 every-
thing 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 terri-
ble? Aren't they dreadful?"
"Poor fellows," said Mrs. Murray; "it's a very
hard life for them."
420
A GOOD TRUE FRIEND
"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 w^ent
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 worthyo 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 man-
ner of the fine ladies of the old school, and not after
the flat-footed, heel-first modern style, the colonel
45.t
I'HE MAN P^ROM GLENGARRY
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
3^ou? She has other friends that think much of you."
"Yes," said Mrs. Murray, "Ranald has often
spoken of you, Colonel Thorp, and of your kind-
ness," 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 commer-
422
A GOOD TRUE FRIEND
cial 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 under-
stand. 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 con-
cern."
"But how?" said Mrs. Murray.
Then the colonel enumerated the features of Ran-
ald'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."
423
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
Then Mrs. Murray proceeded to deal with the
company's contentions, going at once with swift intu-
ition 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 b.onorable way with
424
A GOOD TRUE FRIEND
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. Mur-
ray; "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 Ran-
ald suffers he is suffering, not because he has been
unfaithful or incompetent, but because the market is
42s
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 enthu-
siasm 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 can-
not be bought for money — in the lives and souls of
men, for unjust and uncharitableMealing 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 claim-
ing 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
426
A GOOD TRUE FRIEND
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, any-
way."
"I am glad to have met you, Colonel Thorp," said
427
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 remon-
strances. 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
438
A GOOD TRUE FRIEND
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 break-
fast, there were not a few who agreed with Harry
when, in his speech, he threw down his gage as cham-
pion 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 Maimic the envy of all her set,
there was in her a wholesomcness, 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 Maimic," 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.
4-9
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
It- "Yes, it is much better," replied Mrs. Murray;
^nd 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.
430
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 dis-
gusted 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 ta
43s
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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, cut-
ting 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."
Mn 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 pro-
ceeded, "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
432
THE WEST
this has an exceedingly depressing effect upon busi-
ness."
"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
tlie 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 non-
sense 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 directo-
rate 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 even
to consider Colonel Thorp's request, and both the
president and secretary exhausted their eloquence in
eulogizing his value to the company. As a compromise
433
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
it was finally decided to continue operations in British
Columbia for another season. Colonel Thorp declared
that the reforms and reorganization schemes inaugu-
rated 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 him-
self 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,
434
THE WEST
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 coun-
try 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 Parlia-
ment 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 meetfyou 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."
435
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 over-
awed by the colonel's wrath.
"Well, I hope he knows himself," said the colonel.
"Oh, don't make any mistake about that. Colo-
nel," 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
mc."
The colonel made no mistake in deciding for Ran-
ald's quarters. They consisted of two rooms that
formed one corner of a long, wooden, single-story build-
ing in the shape of an L. One of these rooms Ranald
made his dining-room and bedroom, the other was his
office. The re:"t 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
436
THE VV EST
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 pri-
vate room the same simplicity in furniture and decora-
tion was apparent, but when the colonel was ushered
into the bedroom his eye fell at once upon two photo-
graphs, 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."
4J!7
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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'U 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 hu-
manity.
"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, iin-
perturbably.
"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
438
THE WEST
aroused. Pots, pans, and other utensils were in im-
mediate 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 entries
and side dishes that would have done credit to a New
York cJicf. 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 him-
self, "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 Can-
ning 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."
439
THE MAN FRO A/I GLENGARRY
"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, enthusi-
astically; "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 gov-
ernment 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 3^ou a promise.
If after the first week you want to return from any
point, I shall send you back with all speed. But you
440
THE WEST
won't want to, I guarantee you that. Wliy, 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, pla3nng 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 altitude
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, 'Tt'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 daz-
zling brightness, and every part of the engine moved
in smooth, sweet harmony.
441
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"Slick little engine," said the colonel, with dis-
criminating admiration.
"It's no that bad the noo, but ye sud hae seen it
afore Jem, there, took a hand o' it — a wheezin* rat-
tlin' 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
442
THE WEST
the colonel went back with Colcy to his rooms con-
vinced 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 colo-
nel, 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
Eraser Valley, clothed with a mighty forest. "It's
only a question of holdin' on for a few years, the
thing's dead sure."
443
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 Kootanie 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. ' '
4UM
T PI E WEST
"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 West-
minster the next week. For the people were exasper-
ated 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 Ran-
ald's speech, every one said, that turned the tide.
His calm logic made clear the folly of even consider-
ing 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 enthu-
siastic cries, "Macdonald! Macdonald!" and in one of
445
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
the pauses a single voice was heard, "Glengarry for-
ever!" Then again the crowd broke forth, "Glen-
garry! 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. "Gentle-
men, 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, fol-
lowed 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 any-
thing 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.
446
THE WEST
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, slap-
ping him on the back. "This here trip East. Now
we've got 'em over the ropes, by the great and ever-
lasting 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
447
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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."
448
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 state-
room.
"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
449
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 fel-
low 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."
US
GLENGARRY FOREVER
"Harry is a very decent fellow," said Ranald, ris-
ing 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 immedi-
ately 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
4S»
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 inter-
est, 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. Dur-
ing 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
45a
GLENGARRY FOREVER
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 repre-
senting the larger and more important constituency.
But when Sir John began to ask questions, the Vic-
toria 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.
453
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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 im-
patience 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 admir-
ers of my government, and perhaps you, Mr. Macdon-
ald, share in the opinion of your county."
"I have no opinion in regard to Dominion politics.
I am for British Columbia."
454
GLENGARRY FOREVER
"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 some-
thing 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 sud-
denly 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." Ran-
ald would have refused, but De Lacy would not accept
any apology, and carried him ofT.
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
455
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 look-
ing 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 intelli-
gence 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."
456
GLENGARRY FOREVER
"Very," said Ranald.
"When we were quite young,"
"Very young," replied Ranald, with great em-
phasis.
"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 intro-
duced 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?"
457
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"Tell me about the West," Lady Mary was say-
ing, 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 cap-
tured 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
458
GLENGARRY FOREVER
Ranald with questions, listening eagerly and intelli-
gently 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 congratula-
tions," 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 feel-
459
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
ing of exultation. He had gone with some sh'ght
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 Excel-
lency 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 astonish-
ment 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?"
"Weil, I came for you, I guess. Heard you were
460
GLENGARRY FOREVER
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 com-
ing 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 after-
noon of the second day, he felt himself more content
461
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 with-
out 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 feel-
ings of delight and perplexity and pain. The minis-
ter'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 con-
ditions. 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
462
GLENGARRY FOREVER
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 indig-
nation 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 any-
thing 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.
"Doyeu know, Hughie," he said, and the fire in
463
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 hun-
dred 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 share-
holders 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-
b^pwn eyes.
After the service he walked home with the minis-
464
GLENGARRY FOREVER
ter'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 disappoint-
ment 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 feci like sending him to me, I will gladly do for
4(5
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 pres-
ent 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 com-
munity as witness his visit to Ottawa as representa-
466
GLENGARRY FOREVER
tive, 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 prov-
ince 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 com-
pany'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 share-
holder, scornfully.
467
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
"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," repHed the share-holder, "I place
not the slightest confidence in any such promise as
that."
"And I," said Ranald, calmly, "have every con-
fidence 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 Rail-
way should be begun that fall. After the cheers had
468
GLENGARRY FOREVER
died away, Ranald rose again, and said, "Mr. Presi-
dent 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 colon^^l.
"I've got to go to Toronto for a day," said Ran-
ald; "the boys are foolish enough to get up d kind of
dinner at the Albert y and besides," he added, reso-
lutely, "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 dis-
appointment 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
469
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 Mer-
rill. "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* wait-
ing-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
470
GLENGARRY FOREVER
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 fel-
low."
By this time Ranald had regained control of him-
self, and was speaking in a tone of frank and brothcily
affection. Kate looked at him with a slightly puzzled
air.
"I've seen Maimie," Ranald went ^n, "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 lower-
ing 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
47J
THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
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 fe.uows
I'm not going on this train."'
471
GLENGARRY FOREVER
"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 Hamil-
ton, 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!"
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