TREASURE VALLEY

BY

MARIAN KEITH

_Author of "Duncan Polite, " "The Silver Maple, " etc, _

JENNINGS & GRAHAM

CINCINNATI, CHICAGO, KANSAS CITY, SAN FRANCISCO

1909

Copyright, 1908, by

GEORGE H. DORAN

J. F. TAPLEY CO. 

New York

CONTENTS

CHAPTERTOC I. THE HERMIT THRUSH SINGS II. AN ADVENTUROUS EXPEDITION III. HIS FIRST PATIENT IV. THE ORPHAN ARRIVES V. THE MILKSTAND CLUB VI. A FAMOUS PRACTITIONER VII. THE TRAINING OF THE ORPHANS VIII. A STRANGE COMRADESHIP IX. THE SONG IN THE NIGHT X. THE SECRET OF THE BLUE SILK GOWN XI. THE COMING OF ROSALIE XII. A RUSH FOR THE GOAL XIII. THE TREASURE-BOOK XIV. THE HERALD OF SPRING XV. THE ELOPEMENT XVI. THE CALL OF THE BANSHEE XVII. THE DAWN XVIII. THE END OF THE WAITING XIX. THE HERMIT SINGS AGAINETOC

TREASURE VALLEY

CHAPTER I

THE HERMIT THRUSH SINGS

 Then twilight falls with the touch Of a hand that soothes and stills, And a swamp-robin sings into light The lone white star of the hills. 

 Alone in the dusk he sings, And the joy of another day Is folded in peace and borne On the drift of years away. --BLISS CARMAN. 

Other years, by the time the mid-June days were come, the little brookthat sang through John McIntyre's pasture-field had shrunk to a merejeweled thread of golden pools and silver shallows, with here and thereonly the bleached pebbles to mark its course. But this summer was of anew and wonderful variety. Just two or three brilliant, hot days, andthen, as regular as the sun, up from the ocean's rim would risedazzling cloud-mountains, piling themselves up and up into glorioustowers and domes and battlements; and when the earth had begun to droopbeneath the sun's blaze, with a great thunder signal they would flingtheir banners to the zenith, and pour from their dark heights a rain ofsilver spears, till the thirsty hills were drenched with bounty, andthe valleys laughed and sang. 

And so there had never before been such a June, not even in Acadia:such lavish wealth in orchard and garden, such abundant promise ofharvest in fields choked with grain. And that was why John McIntyre'slittle brook ran brimful to the clumps of mint and sword-grass, high upon its banks, so content that it made no murmur as it slipped past theAcadian orchards to the sea. 

John McIntyre leaned against the fence that bordered his hay-field, hisfeet deep in the soft grass at the water's edge. His straw hat waspushed back, showing the line where his white forehead met the tan ofhis face. His hands were in his pockets, a sprig of mint in his mouth;his eyes were half closed in lazy content. 

Away down yonder, where the little stream met the ocean, the sun wassinking into the gleaming water, a great, fiery ball dropping from anempty sky. Far over in the east one lonely cloud reflected its glory, blossoming up from the darkening hills like a huge white rose, flushedwith pink. 

The fiery ball touched the ocean's rim, and the whole world kindledinto a glory of color. The fading green fields brightened, quiveredand glowed, as over them fell a veil of lilac mist. Through them woundthe little river, a stream of molten gold. Just at John McIntyre'sfeet it passed lingeringly through a bed of rushes, where the darkgreen of the reeds turned the golden water to a glittering bronze. Their shadows wrought a marvelous pattern on the glossy surface, amagic piece of delicate bronze filagree such as nature alone couldtrace. Above it the swallows wheeled in the violet shadows, or soaredup, flashing, into the amber light. 

John McIntyre's eye followed their dizzy curves into the vast crystaldome. Yes; to-morrow would surely be a fine day. For to-morrow he wasto take Mary and the children away down to that dazzling line of jewelson the horizon, where the winds and the waves of the Bay of Fundytumbled about and buffeted one another joyously in the coolness of theocean spray. It was their one great day in the year--the anniversaryof their wedding. They had never missed its celebration in their eighthappy years of married life. And there would be six altogether in theparty to-morrow, besides Martin. How a man's family did grow, to besure! The smiling content in John McIntyre's eyes deepened. He turnedtoward the white house on the face of the rising slope, half hidden ina nest of orchard trees. A woman's figure swayed to and fro beneaththe vines of the veranda. The sunlight glanced on her fair hair andher light gown, as she swung from the green shadows into its goldenpathway in time to the sweet notes of his baby's lullaby. The wordscame faintly across the hay-field:

 "_Abide with me, fast falls the eventide, The darkness deepens, Lord with me abide; When other helpers fail and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me!_"

Down the dim lane that led to a farther pasture-field a boy was drivinga slow-moving line of cows. Around them a frisky terrier darted hereand there, barking encouragingly. The boy was whistling gaily. He, too, knew that to-morrow promised to be fair. 

A little breeze stirred the reeds in their bronze setting, and broughtup a tang of the sea. The man slowly turned, and, skirting the edge ofthe hay-field, walked toward the house. His pathway ran parallel tothe public highway, and from it there arose the clatter of a wagonapproaching through a clump of woodland. John McIntyre waited, smiling. 

Down the road it came, bumping noisily. The driver was a young man, with a dashing air and a merry, kindly eye. He was sitting on theextreme edge of the wagon-box, his feet swinging in the dust, and hishat stuck rakishly on the side of his head, and was giving forth to theechoing landscape a long, tragic "Come-all-ye" in an uproariouslyjoyful voice:

 "_Come all yez true-born shanty byes, Whoever yous may be, I'd have yez pay atten-ti-on, To hear what I've got for to say, Concerning six Can-a-jen byes, Who manfully and brave, Did break the jam on the Gar-ry Rocks, And met a wat-e-ry grave!_"

"Whoa! Hold up!" shouted John McIntyre, as the horses' heads appearedbeyond the line of timber. "What do you mean by making such a row onthe road at night and disturbing peaceable citizens?"

The driver pulled up, and the two eyed each other with that air ofseverity which men affect when they are afraid of displaying the factthat their love for each other is deep and tender. 

"And what do you mean by holdin' up a peaceable citizen on the Queen'shighway like this?" demanded the younger man, threateningly. 

"You seem to be mighty gay about something. Another letter from AnnieLaurie?"

"Aw, go an' choke yourself! No, siree. It'd be more like it if I wasweepin' instead o' singin'. I bet you'd have been, if you'd heard thenews I did to-day. Who d'ye suppose is to be your next-door neighbor?"

"I don't know. "

"Satan Symonds--no less!"

John McIntyre's fine, gentle face expressed only surprised interest. "Well, let him come. He won't eat us. "

"Won't he, though?" cried the young wagoner, vigorously. "He's got hiseye on your farm, John McIntyre; yes, and one claw, don't forget that!I'd rather have the devil himself runnin' the next farm to me. "

The man in the field leaned his bare, brown arms on the top of thefence-rails and surveyed his friend with an indulgent smile. 

"I'm afraid he's closer than that to most of us already, Martin, " hesaid, shaking his head. "Don't you worry about Joe Symonds. Why, wewere boys at school together. There's no harm in him. "

The younger man looked at his friend with mingled admiration andimpatience in his eyes. "Lookee here, John, you're far too easy. Youtake a warning in time, and don't let that sneak get his claws anyfurther into your wool than you can help. I'd shut off every bit ofdealings with him. He's as sharp as a weasel. Don't you forget thathe's got a hold on you already. "

"Tuts! That's nothing. I'll pay that next fall, if the crops turn outonly half as well as they look now. "

The other shook his head. "John McIntyre, " he said, with affectionateseverity, "you're too honest for this world. Symonds belongs to acrooked stock. His father before him was crooked, and his grandfatherwas crookeder, and he's the crookedest o' the whole bunch. I--I"--hehesitated, boyishly--"I hate to go away thinkin' he's livin' next farmto you--that's all. "

"Well, then, why don't you rent the River Farm yourself, " said JohnMcIntyre, banteringly, "instead of running off West like this? You andthat little Ontario girl would run things just fine down there, andshow Mary and me how to do it right. "

A warm flush mingled with the tan on the younger man's cheek. "Maybewe will, some day, " he said, with a wistful note in his voice, "butI'll have to wait till that kid is on his own feet. That won't belong, either. I bet he'll plank down all the money I've lent himbefore he's through college. And then I'll come scootin' home, an'there'll be a lot o' things happen all at once, 'round about that date. "

"I hope so, Martin; I hope so. It's a big thing you're doing for thatboy. I hope he'll never forget it. "

"Not him! Bless me, it was a bigger thing he did for me. When he getsto be an M. D. I'll go back to Ontario and get little Annie Laurie, andwe'll run Symonds into the river, and set up housekeeping on histombstone. Well, so-long, John. We're goin' to have a bully day foryour honeymoonin' to-morrow. Tell Mary to put up a clothes-basket o'them lemon pies, 'cause I'll be holler 'way down past my boot-soles. Good-night, John. "

He started off noisily, but turned to shout back through a cloud ofdust: "Mind you don't let that snake come any o' his monkey-shines overyou, John! Good-night!"

The wagon rattled away down the lilac road, the driver's voice risinggaily, if jerkily, above its clatter:

 "_O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o! They broke the jam on the Gar-ry Rocks, And met a wat-e-ry grave!_"

The other man was still smiling as he turned and made his way along theedge of the wood. Good old Martin! Where was there another such afriend as he? When John McIntyre's spirit rose in thankfulness to hisMaker for the many temporal blessings lavished upon him, he neverforgot to say, "And I thank thee, Lord, most of all, for MartinHeaslip!"

The fiery ball had sunk beyond the rim of the sea; the earth was stilldarkly radiant, pulsating with the thought of his departed glory. Thegreat rose on the eastern horizon was fading to a tender mauve. Thewooded glen was dark and silent. From its warm depths arose theperfume of the young, green earth. John McIntyre stood for a moment onthe pathway, where its shadows met the lights of the open fields. Hethrew back his head and looked up into the quivering deep of theheavens. Involuntarily his eyes closed against their glory. He wasovercome, too, with the glory of a sudden devout thought. God, away upthere, encompassed by ineffable light and beauty, was like His ownabiding place--too blindingly radiant to be gazed at by mortal eye, andtherefore inscrutable and mysterious, but all-bountiful, nevertheless, sending down each day His largess of blessings, just as the heavenssent down their life-giving rains. At the thought John McIntyre tookoff his hat. 

And as he stood, out of the hush of the woods there stole the lastwondrous miracle of the departing day. The spirit of the twilight tookvoice, a marvelous voice, indescribably sweet. Away in the depths ofthe forest there arose a strain of music, the hermit thrush, in hiswoodland sanctuary, raising his hymn to the night. Calm and serene, carrying an exquisite peace, it floated out over field and hill andriver, until the very heavens seemed flooded with its harmony. 

 "_O hear all! O hear all! O holy, holy!_"

That was what the voice seemed to say to John McIntyre as he stood inthe lush June grass, just on the borderland between the purple and theamber, and held his breath to listen. God had sent more than oneprophet into the wilderness to prepare His way, he thought in reverentawe. For this voice spoke to him of all his Maker's goodness. Whatmore could a man desire than he possessed, he asked, in a rush ofgratitude; to live out his life of healthful toil in God's freesunshine, with the happy home nest, holding Mary and their little onessafe under his eye; with a friend's strong arm to help when the day'sburden grew heavy; with the world a garden of beauty and light, and atnight the solemn voice of the hermit; calling him to prayer?

Once more the strain poured forth, pure, celestial:

 "_O hear all! O hear all! O holy, holy!_"

John McIntyre turned and went up the hill, smiling, his face to thelight. 

CHAPTER II

AN ADVENTUROUS EXPEDITION

 Sing a song of loving! Let the seasons go; Hearts can make their gardens Under sun or snow; Fear no fading blossom, Nor the dying day; Sing a song of loving That will last for aye! --ELIZABETH ROBERTS MACDONALD. 

The village of Elmbrook had the finest situation for seeing what itsneighbors were about of any place in the Province of Ontario. It stoodon the crest of a high ridge, from which the whole earth fell away inbeautiful undulations. From almost any house in the village one couldsee for miles down the four roads that wound up to it, and there wasalways a brisk competition in progress as to who should be the first tospy an approaching traveler. 

Mrs. William Winters, who was the smartest woman in the township ofOro, made it her boast that many a time she had sighted a buggyload ofher Highland relatives coming down from the MacDonald settlement aboveGlenoro, when there wasn't a bite to eat in the house, and she hadfried the liveliest rooster in the barnyard and slapped up a couple ofpies before they drove up to the gate. 

For many years she easily maintained first rank among the Elmbrooksentinels, and might have done so to the end of her life had not onefamily taken an unfair advantage by calling in the aid of machinery. Silas Long, the postmaster, was a great student of astronomy, and couldtalk like a book on comets and northern lights, and all otherincomprehensible things that sailed the heavens. So no one objectedwhen he bought a telescope--in fact, the minister had advised it; butbefore long every one knew that while Si studied the celestial bodiesat night the female portion of his family kept the instrument turned onobjects terrestrial during the day. Old Granny Long, Silas' mother, was the one who put Mrs. Winters in the background. She was a poor, bedridden body, but lay there, day after day, happy as a queen, withher bed pulled up to the window, and the telescope trained on thesurrounding country; and there was little went on between Lake Simcoeand the northern boundary of the township that she did not see. Sheknew the precise hour of a Monday morning at which the family washingswere hung out, and which was the cleanest. It was she who made truancyan impossible risk, for no matter in what out-of-the-way place onemight go nutting or swimming, Granny Long was sure to see, and reportto the schoolmistress. It was from her, also, that her grandsonreceived the heart-breaking intelligence that young Malcolm Cameron hadkissed Marjorie Scott, the minister's oldest girl, at the jog in theroad, on the way to prayer-meeting one evening, and if it had not beenfor her vigilance probably no one would have discovered that Sawed-offWilmott, who managed the cheese factory down on the Lake Simcoe road, allowed his pigs to run in and out of the factory at will. Indeed, asthe deposed and indignant Mrs. Winters often declared, a body didn'tdast blow their nose inside the township without Granny Long hearing itthrough that everlasting spyglass. 

But on this particular early May morning a hostile army might havemarched up and seized Elmbrook unobserved. For there were great doingsinside the village that demanded concentrated attention. All thebustle and activity of the place seemed to be gathered at one smallhouse. In the lane, by the side door, stood a team of farm horseshitched to a large double buggy. A big, lumbering lad of aboutfifteen, half asleep, on the front seat, was holding the reins in hislimp hands. But he was the only creature on the premises, except thehorses, that was not acutely awake and supremely busy. Even the hensand geese, scratching and squawking about the garden, seemed to knowthat something unusual was in progress, and gathered about the door inexcited groups. Inside the house there was a tremendous clatter;dishes rattled, feet ran hither and thither, voices called frantically. Every few moments a woman would dart out of the doorway, sending astartled whirl of chickens before her, deposit something in the back ofthe vehicle, and dash back again. 

There seemed to be but one man on the premises, a big, benevolent-looking fellow, whose placid face wore an unaccustomedexpression of nervous tension. He came stumbling out of the house, andwalked abstractedly around the horses. He was making strange motionswith his head, strongly indicative of a tendency to strangulation, andever and anon he clutched his white collar and looked toward the housewith an air of desperation. He made three aimless pilgrimages aroundthe equipage and then paused, and addressed the goose and gander thathad been following him: "We'll miss that train as sure as blazes, " heremarked, stonily. 

A slim little woman, in a faded lilac gown that matched her fadingbeauty, came staggering down the steps with a heavy basket. The bigman put out one brawny arm and lifted it, without an effort, into theback of the vehicle. "We'll miss that train, Arabella, just as sure asblazes, " he repeated. 

The sound partially awoke the young man on the front seat. He turnedand contemplated the basket with an injured air. "What in thunder arethey taking a set of dishes for, Arabella?" he asked, wearily. 

"It's jist a basket o' things Hannah put up. She's afraid the orphanmight get hungry on the road home; and besides, she wanted to take somecookies an' cheese to Jake's folks in town. "

The man was making another circuit of the buggy, followed closely byIsaac and Rebekah, the pet goose and gander. They came to a standstillin front of the steps, and he raised his face to the morning skies andshouted, as though invoking some higher power, "Hannah! Hannah! Areye 'most ready?"

A woman's face shot out between the starched lace curtains of anupstairs window. It was a perfectly circular face, framed in thin, fair hair, which was parted in the middle, and brushed down so smoothand shiny that it looked like a coat of dull yellow paint. The facehad the same good-humored, benevolent expression as the man's, mingledwith the same strained air of desperate resolve. "'Most ready, Jake!"she mumbled through a mouthful of pins, "'most ready! Arabella!Arabella! Did you put in the bottle of raspberry vinegar?"

"Yes, yes, Hannah! Don't you worry?" cried the little faded lilacwoman, reassuringly. 

"An' the cookies, an' the pound cake, an' the home-made cheese?"

A third woman bounded down the steps, and charged through the chickenswith a bundle of wrappings. She was a smart, tidy little body, with asharp face and a determined manner. At the sight of her the big man'sgloomy face took on an expression of hope. 

"Susan! Susan Winters! D'ye think you could get us off?" he implored. "We'll miss that train as sure as blazes!"

She paid not the slightest attention. "Ras'berry vinegar!" sheshrieked. "Hannah Sawyer, don't you know that there orphant may be aninfant in arms, an' if it is, it'll die of colic on the road home ifyou fill it up with such stuff!"

The face which had disappeared from between the curtains came into viewagain, red and alarmed. "Mercy me, Susan! I didn't know. I'll giveit to Jake's cousin. Arabella, did you put in the pound cake and thehome----" The words died away amid the curtains. 

"Couldn't you get us off somehow, Susan?" besought the big man again, looking down, helplessly, at the small woman, much as a becalmedfrigate might at a noisy little tug. 

"Well, Jake Sawyer, if half them trollops o' weemin in there wouldclear out and leave me alone, I'd 'a' had you at the station by thistime. Hannah!" she addressed the window peremptorily, "you hurry upthere an' come down, whether you're ready or not! I never agreed tothis wild-goose chase after an orphant, but now that you're half readyyou've got to go!"

There was another fleeting vision of the face between the curtains, anda choking voice gasped something about being "jist ready. "

"What that orphant's got to have is a bottle o' fresh milk!" cried Mrs. Winters, darting back into the kitchen. A tall young lady, with a highpompadour, was striving to squeeze two large lemon pies into a smallbasket. She glanced up half apologetically as the village martinetentered. 

"Hannah said last night she didn't know whatever she'd do if it criedon the road home, so ma thought I'd better bring over these pies. Theykeep awful well, and the basket'll easy slip under the seat in thetrain. When our Wes was a baby there was nothing would quiet him likea piece o' lemon pie. "

"Well, Ella Anne Long, there won't be no orphant to bring home if youfolks has your way!"

The exasperated little woman darted down the cellar steps, her voicecoming up from the cool depths, indistinct, but plainly disapproving:"Lemon pie an' ras'berry vinegar! If Providence hasn't given folkschildren, it's a sign they didn't ought to have any! An' it's jistgoin' clean against nature for them to go an' adopt one, that's whatI'll always say!"

The young lady with the pies glanced irresolutely toward a stout womanwho had just entered the back door, carrying a crock of butter. "Youput them pies in, if Hannah wants them, " whispered the newcomer, looking apprehensively toward the cellar, "an' say no more about it. Half the mischief in the world's done by talking about things. " Shehurried out to the vehicle and planted her contribution beside thebundle of wrappings. 

"That there butter's for the children at the Home, Jake. Don't forgetto give it to them poor things. Like as not they give 'em lard orsometh'n'. "

"Davy!" she called to the young man on the front seat. 

"What, maw?"

"For pity's sake don't forget to call us when the train hoots forCameron's Crossin'. 'Cause they've jist got to start then. "

The boy in the buggy opened his eyes, stretched and yawned. 

"I will, if it hoots good 'n' loud, " he remarked, indifferently. 

The maelstrom of hurry and bustle surged around Master David Munn, leaving him placid and undisturbed, but to the rest of the gatheringthe affair was of no small moment. Had the Sawyers been setting out ona polar expedition it is doubtful if Elmbrook could have been moreexercised. For ten years, ever since their only baby had brightenedtheir home for one week, and then gone back to heaven, Jake and HannahSawyer had wanted to adopt a child. That they had not done so longbefore was not their fault, but because the village in general, andMrs. Winters in particular, who ruled the village, could never bebrought to consent. For already the Sawyers were about as great aburden as Elmbrook could shoulder. They were the orphan children ofthe village themselves, and needed to be perpetually adopted. Theywere as good-hearted and lovable a pair as it was possible for man andwoman to be; all the stray dogs and hungry cats and needy tramps foundtheir way to the Sawyer house by unerring instinct, and Jake was neverto be seen on his way to or from his mill without a troop of childrenclimbing all over him. Nevertheless, he and his wife were a great careto their neighbors. Not once had Hannah Sawyer got through her springhouse-cleaning or her fall pickling and preserving without help. Neveryet had the two arrived in time at church or prayer-meeting, and theycould not even go to town of a Saturday to do a half day's marketingwithout Mrs. Winters' eye on them. As for Jake's flour mill, if hispartner, Spectacle John Cross, hadn't been a capable man, and an honestone, every one declared it would have gone up in smoke long ago. 

So, naturally, the village was reluctant about adopting a third orphan;but Jake and Hannah had pleaded so, that the minister had advised Mrs. Winters to yield. And so the day had arrived when they were to takethe train to a neighboring town, near which was an orphan home, andthere they were to secure their long-yearned-for prize. 

Of course, it was out of the question to suppose that the Sawyers couldget up and catch the six-thirty train without assistance; so theCamerons had loaned their team, and the Longs their buggy, to take themto the station; Davy Munn was detailed to drive them, and all the restof the village to get them ready. 

Jake had just returned from a despairing march to the gate. "We'llmiss that train, Harriet Munn, as sure as blazes!" he cried, with theair of one who has a disagreeable formula to recite at statedintervals, and is relieved to get it off his mind. He tramped backagain with an agonized glance at the upstairs window. 

The boy in the buggy stirred to life once more. 

"Say, maw!"

"What, Davy?"

"What on earth's Hannah scratching 'round upstairs so long for? Thatorphant'll be growed up before they get it. "

"She's jist ready, " remarked his mother, hopefully, "an' there's no usetalkin' about it, either. It jist wastes time. Jake!" she called, anxiously. "Are you sure you're all ready now?"

The man turned a desperate face toward her. 

"I think so, Harriet. But if this collar don't bust soon an' give me abreath, I'll choke. "

"Did you find your pipe?"

Mr. Sawyer dived absently into his coat pockets. "We'll miss thattrain as sure as---- Where in the nation's that pipe o' mine got to?"He rummaged despairingly. "Oh, I forgot! Susan Winters said I wasn'tto take it, for fear the smoke might be bad for the orphant's eyes. D'ye think it would, Harriet?" he inquired, wistfully. 

"Tuts!" she cried, disdainfully, "not a bit. Davy, there, was broughtup on smoke. You go and get that pipe and put it in your pocket. "

Mr. Sawyer started hopefully for the kitchen door. Davy Munn might notbe exactly a bright and shining example to set for the bringing up ofthe orphan, but at least he looked healthy, and Jake was even more thanusually helpless when bereft of his pipe. He paused on the way indoorsto make one more despairing appeal to the power above. "Hannah!Aren't you 'most ready?"

Hannah's face, round and red, like the full moon, appeared for aninstant from its cloudy curtain. "Harriet! Harriet Munn!" she called, "and you, Arabella, could you run up here a minit an' pin on these bluecuffs o' mine? An' I can't find my Sunday gloves, high nor low, normy----"

The rest was lost in the curtains, but the two friends had alreadydisappeared inside, and were charging up the stairs. Mrs. Winters, whowas emerging from the kitchen door with the bottle of milk, turned anddarted after them. "She ain't goin' to put them blue cuffs on thatblack dress!" she screamed. 

"Ella Anne, " whispered Jake, sidling up to the young lady with the highpompadour, "could you take a look 'round, and see if you can find mypipe? I can't seem to think where I've laid it. "

Miss Long strolled around the kitchen, casting an absent eye here andthere. 

"Davy!" called a sharp voice from the upstairs window. "Davy Munn!Don't you dast to forget to call when the train hoots for Cameron'sCrossing!"

The only calm person on the premises glanced up with half-closed eyes. "Hoh!" he ejaculated, planting his feet upon the dashboard andexpectorating disdainfully in the direction of Rebekah's head, "Gabriel's trump'll hoot 'fore this shootin' match goes off! Goshblame, if here ain't another one!"

A tall woman was coming up the lane. She was a stately, severe person, with iron-gray hair and a stern gray eye, behind which a kindly twinklehid itself carefully from view. She had a commanding way, which, combined with the fact that she had taught the Elmbrook school fortwenty years, and was the only woman in the village who neither fearedMrs. Winters nor regarded Granny Long's telescope, had earned her thetitle of the Duke of Wellington. 

"Are you not away yet, David?" she demanded; and the boy sat up asthough he had received an electric shock. 

"N-no, but we're jist startin', " he said, apologetically. She passedhim to where Mr. Sawyer stood in the doorway wrestling with his collar. 

"Do you remember this, Jake?" she asked, holding up a baby's rattle. "I bought it for your little Joey, and put it away in my desk till hewould be big enough to use it, and it's been there ever since. Maybethe new baby'll like it. "

The man's eyes grew misty as he took the little toy and gazed at ittenderly. The woman's face had lost all its sternness; her gray eyeswere very kind. 

"Well, well, well, " he stammered, with masculine dread of givingexpression to anything like sentiment. "It--it looks quite--new. " Hehesitated, then his face brightened as he found himself once more onfamiliar ground. "Say, d'ye think you could help them weemin folks inthere to find my pipe? It seems to have got laid away somewheres, an'I'm afraid we're goin' to miss that train as sure as--anything. " Heended up lamely, making the polite alteration out of respect for theDuke's dignity. 

Miss Weir marched into the kitchen. It was a scene of wild disorder. 

"Hello!" giggled Miss Long. "We're having an awful time. Hannah ain'tready, of course. "

"_Isn't_ ready, Ella Anne. "

"Well, isn't or ain't, it's all the same; she's not started yet. An'mind you, Mrs. Munn's upstairs helping, too, and her expecting the newdoctor any minit. Say, Miss Weir, when she comes down, ask her whetherhe's married or not, aw, do. She's the closest creature. I can't getanything out of her. "

Before the schoolmistress could rebuke Miss Long's undue curiosityregarding the young doctor Mrs. Winters came flying down the stairs, having successfully routed the blue cuffs. 

"Good-morning, Miss Weir. We're here yet, you see. If these folksain't a caution, and no mistake! Davy! Davy Munn! Are you listeningfor that there train?"

"Did ye look on the pantry shelf?" whispered Jake, cautiously, puttinghis head in at the door, and avoiding Mrs. Winters' eye. "Sometimes Ileave it there. "

"Just like you, " grumbled the tidy schoolmistress, rummaging among thecans of spice and pickle bottles. 

"Perhaps it's in the sewing-machine drawer, " suggested Mrs. Munn, whohad come panting down the stairs. "Hannah's jist ready, Jake, " sheadded, hopefully. 

"What'll you do if the new doctor comes on this train?" asked MissLong, peeping at her pompadour in the little mirror above the sink. 

"I dunno, " answered the new doctor's housekeeper. "It's no use talkin'about it, anyhow. There's more harm done by talkin' over things thananything else in the world. "

Miss Long shrugged her shoulders impatiently. That was Mrs. Munn'sinvariable answer. She had been old Dr. Williams' housekeeper for tenyears, and had met all questions regarding his private affairs by thevague formula, "I dunno. " A close woman was Mrs. Mum, as the villagecalled her; a treasure of a woman, old Dr. Williams had said, when herecommended her to his young successor. 

Ella Anne sighed. "That pipe must 'a' fell down the well, " sheremarked, with an accent of despair that was not all caused by thesupposed catastrophe. 

"Is he going to have them three downstairs rooms for his offices, oronly two?" she ventured again. 

Mrs. Munn stared vacantly. "I dunno, " she said. "Mebby he is. "

"There! If there isn't that troublesome pipe right under your nose, Ella Anne!" cried Miss Weir, pouncing upon it where it lay on thewindow-sill. "Your head is so full of the new doctor you can't seestraight. Here, Jake!"

She started for the door, but before she reached it a great many thingshappened. First, Mrs. Sawyer, gowned, bonneted and shawled, though thesun promised to be blazing hot before it set, came down the stairs at areckless pace. She was followed by Miss Arabella Winters, half hiddenbeneath a bundle of coats and wraps suited for children of all ages. As the two ran for the door, Mrs. Winters with a bottle of milk, MissLong with a forgotten pie, and Mrs. Munn, who had snatched up a basketof newly laundered clothes, under the mistaken idea that they, too, were for the orphan, all rushed at the same instant for the sameportal, and jammed together between the door-posts. The Duke ofWellington, still grasping the rescued pipe, threw herself upon thehuman wedge and drove it, helter-skelter, down the steps; andsimultaneously there arose, loud and clear, not from Cameron'sCrossing, some miles distant, but just from the ravine bridge, scarcelya quarter of a mile away, the shrill whistle of the train. 

The six women turned and looked at each other in an instant's paralyzeddismay. Jake Sawyer opened his mouth and gave forth a slight variationof his despairing motto, "We've missed that train, as sure as blazes!"

No one had courage to deny the assertion. When the Lakeview & SimcoeRailroad Company laid a line across the township of Oro they hadtreated Elmbrook in a shabby fashion by placing the station a mile fromthe village. The inconvenience of this arrangement was largelyobviated, however, by the obliging ways of Conductor LauchieMcKitterick. For if any one in the village was late in starting forthe station, all one had to do was to wave a towel at the back door asthe train slowed up over the ravine bridge, and Lauchie would wait atthe station. Of course, it was understood that the belated travelerwas already on the way thither, taking the path across McQuarry'sfields. But of what use to wave all the bed-sheets in Elmbrook thismorning? For though a delay of half an hour or so was neither here northere to the Lakeview & Simcoe Limited Express, it was impossible toexpect even so neighborly a body as Lauchie to wait until the big, heavy buggy and Cameron's farm team should be driven along thecross-road and down the concession. And as for Hannah Sawyer's 185pounds being transported across the fields and over the fences in lesstime--not to speak of all the orphan's clothes and the pies and thepound cake and the crock of butter--well, there was no use thinkingabout it!

But Mrs. Winters, the indomitable, rose to even this emergency. Shesprang to the buggy and began dragging out the baskets. "We'll stophim at the bridge!" she screamed. "We can run down the back lane!Davy Munn, you jump out of that rig an' run ahead! No--Miss Weir, yougo! Lauchie'll have to stop if you tell him!"

It was the first time in her life Mrs. Winters had ever paid a tributeto the Duke of Wellington's power. Though it was wrung from her by theexigencies of the case, the schoolmistress accepted it. She snatched awhite garment off the clothes-line, darted through the barnyard, andran at top speed down the back lane toward the track, waving it onhigh, all unconscious that it was Jake's white mill overalls. Closeupon her flying footsteps came the orphan-adopting expedition: Mrs. Winters, the bottle of milk leaving a white-sprinkled trail behind her;Jake, dragging the heaps of wraps and the basket of provisions, withwhich little Miss Arabella was vainly trying to assist him; Ella AnneLong, the basket of pies on her arm, the forgotten one in her otherhand; Mrs. Munn, with the crock of butter; poor Hannah herself farbehind; and lastly, Isaac and Rebekah, their necks outthrust, theirwings wide, streaming along like a pair of comets, with a long, spreading tail of hens, all noisily hopeful that this unusual commotionmeant an unusual meal. 

Down the lane zigzagged the swift procession, Hannah flounderingfarther and farther in the rear. She raised her voice once in adespairing protest: "Oh, Jake! Jake!" she wailed, "I've forgot myfalse teeth!"

Her husband, desperately intent on his destination, did not hear theappeal, but the little woman who was generaling the flying column did, and realized that this sign of giving way must be peremptorily crushed. 

"You'll jist have to gum it, Hannah!" she shrieked relentlessly overher shoulder. "Come on, come on!"

Master Davy Munn, still enthroned calmly upon the front seat of theuseless vehicle, contemplated the tumultuous line with supremecontempt. Mr. Munn never hurried. Should all Elmbrook have risen upone morning and gone hurtling down to Lake Simcoe, it would have lefthim seated alone, undisturbed, on its vacated ridge. 

He turned leisurely and chirped to the horses. "Jim Cameron lent yousto haul that outfit to the station, " he complained, as they lumberedout through the gateway, "but I'll be darned if I promised to run 'emthere, so yous kin git home. "

Meantime, the vanguard of the Orphan Rescue Expedition had reached therailroad track. Just on the outskirts of the village lay a deepravine, spanned by a bridge. Over this the train moved slowly, andhere, with his eye on the lookout for white signals, the conductorspied the Duke of Wellington in the middle of the track, waving a whitebanner. Being an Elmbrook man, Lauchie took in the situation at once. Jake and Hannah were late, of course; too late even to run across thefields while he waited at the station. He gave the signal, and thetrain slowed down, the snorting engine coming to a standstill within afoot of the flaunting garment. 

Engine Driver Nick Boyle, who would have willingly stopped at Elmbrookevery day in the week, to talk over the back fences with the prettygirls, but who objected on principle to all that his chief did, pokedhis head out of his black box, grimy and disapproving. "What inthunder's Brass Buttons up to now?" he demanded. Miss Weir, who hadthrashed Nick times without number in his youth, fixed him with hersteady gray eye. 

"He stopped because I signaled him to, Nicholas Boyle, " she said tartly. 

The Duke was still standing in the middle of the track, waving theoveralls, as though the train were a wild animal to be kept quiet byhaving its attention diverted. The sight tickled the engineer. 

"Golly, it must be a weddin', " he remarked, facetiously. "Who'sgettin' hitched? You, Miss Weir?"

"Hold your tongue!" she commanded, and the abashed young man collapsedinto his box. 

By this time Hannah had arrived, and was being helped aboard. Thewraps, the pies, the bottle of milk, the crock of butter, the basket ofprovisions, and her husband, were bundled after her. The group offriends stood waving good-by with sunbonnets and aprons, theschoolmistress, still holding Jake's forgotten pipe, and stillfaithfully brandishing the overalls, stepped off the track to let thetrain start, and the expedition was just drawing a breath of relief, when they were suddenly thrown back into their former state ofconsternation. Conductor Lauchie leaned down from the platform, and, with his thumb pointing over his shoulder, announced in a loud whisper, "Losh keep us, I would be forgetting! He'll be aboard, Harriet Munn!Your new pill-mixer'll be aboard!"

Mrs. Munn stared at him in dismay. "Not him! Not the new doctor!"

The conductor looked abashed, as though he had brought the wrong parcelfrom town. "Och, he would be as fine a lookin' young man as you'll seein Oro!" he whispered, apologetically. "Will I jist be puttin' him offhere?"

"Don't you dast to do such a trick, Lauchie McKitterick!" cried Mrs. Winters, shaking her fist in his face. "Harriet's been up helpin'Hannah all mornin', an' she ain't ready for him. Take him on to thestation, an' we'll run up an' help her red up before he comes. An'mind you go slow!"

The conductor hastily acquiesced. He was a native of Elmbrook, andknew his place when Susan Winters was giving orders. "Awl aboard!" heshouted. 

The group gave one final, farewell flourish toward the train, and thenturned and sped up the lane to meet the new emergency. Jake andHannah, their faces settled once more into their accustomed expressionsof good-humored placidity, leaned from their windows and waved theirhands. Hannah smiled a toothless but happy smile, and Jake's eyesbeamed a great content as he sat back in his seat, and, holding therattle between his teeth, fumbled happily for a match. He lookedacross at his wife, and their eyes met in a rapturous smile; for atlast, after years of striving and longing, they were on their way tothe fulfilment of their great ambition; they were to have a child oftheir very own!

And so, as the train sped in one direction, and the group of women inanother, no one noticed the stooped, gaunt man who dropped from therear end of the baggage car, and, creeping down the bank of the ravine, disappeared into the green tangle of underbrush. 

CHAPTER III

HIS FIRST PATIENT

 Oh, the dainty, dainty maid to the borders of the brook Lingered down as lightly as the breeze; And the shy water-spiders quit their scurrying to look; And the happy water whispered to the trees. --C. G. D. ROBERTS. 

Dr. Gilbert Allen, gold-medalist of the Toronto School of Medicine, andjust home from a post-graduate course in London and Edinburgh, had hiscoat off, his sleeves rolled up, and was busy arranging bottles on theshelf of his tiny dispensary. He was whistling cheerily. It was youngDr. Allen's nature to be cheerful even under adverse circumstances, andthis morning all his prospects were bright. For after years ofspending money--and largely another man's money, too--he was at last onhis feet. His college life had been a very happy one, it is true; so, also, had been the years since his graduation, the first two spent ashouse surgeon in a Toronto hospital, the last, and best of all, in theOld Land. They had given him breadth and experience; but thoughGilbert was willing to concede that experience teaches, he was equallyassured that she does not pay bills. Now he was a free man, and masterof his profession. He used the last phrase modestly; he was ready andanxious to make the mastery more complete, and at the same time to wina name for himself and a home and a fortune for Rosalie. 

As he stacked the bottles noisily in their places he glanced around thelittle room, and wished he might turn a handspring, just to let offsteam and be able to write to Harwood and the other fellows to say hisoffice was big enough to admit of the feat. He wisely crushed thedesire, for he recognized the fact that he was under surveillance. Just outside the windows stretched a little lawn, with a star-shapedflower-bed in the middle. Up and down this green space, following aleisurely and devious course, journeyed a lawnmower, propelled by along-limbed youth. His straw hat hung limply from his head, his coatflapped limply from his shoulders, and his trousers bulged limply fromhis big top-boots. Nevertheless, he had a certain lumbering airinessof movement, and such a mien of lofty indifference to his surroundingsthat the beholder was impressed with the idea that he was a verysprightly gentleman indeed, and need never work unless he was sominded. Just why he should spend a whole morning cutting a few squareyards of short May grass was a problem the doctor had not yet solved. But even in his brief acquaintance, Gilbert had learned that theactions of this young man, who had entered into an important relationto himself as groom and general factotum, were not to be measured byany rational standard. 

The slow clatter of the lawnmower grew louder, and finally ceasedbeneath the window. The doctor turned, a bottle in each hand. Theopen sash was filled by a straw hat which formed the frame for a broad, smiling countenance. 

"Want any help?" the visitor inquired, genially. 

"No, thank you, " answered the doctor, adding, pointedly: "You haveother work to do, you know. "

"Oh, I ain't worryin' about that, " responded his man-servant, reassuringly. "Old Doc. Williams uster say he'd make kindlin' wood o'me, when I didn't hustle round, but it never fizzed on me. " He hunghimself over the window-sill with a sigh of satisfaction, and gazedadmiringly at his employer. 

A wire door, leading from the veranda to the main portion of the house, swung slowly open, and a woman, wearing a big, blue-checked apron, andcarrying a long pewter spoon, looked out anxiously. "Davy!" she calledin a loud whisper, "why don't you get on with your work?"

"I'm helpin' the doctor with his mixtures, " he answered, in a tone ofremonstrance. 

The woman's tight mouth closed emphatically. "Well, hish!" she said, raising her spoon warningly. "Susan Winters is sittin' on her porch, an' she'll hear if you don't look out. It's no use talkin' aboutthings, anyhow. "

The wire door creaked again, Mrs. Munn sailed away, and her son hunghimself farther over the window-sill. Evidently he had inherited noneof his mother's reticence. 

"Say, " he ventured, confidentially, "Elsie Cameron's home; cameyesterday, the very day you came. Ain't that funny?"

The young doctor did not seem to see anything humorous in thecoincidence. He glanced meaningly toward the lawnmower. 

"I bet she thinks it's a kind of a come-down to come back an' work onthe farm after doin' nothin' but sing for so long. She's a bullysinger, I tell you, only she's got red hair. "

He waited for some comment, but as there was none forthcoming, except alouder clatter of bottles, he continued: "Everybody thinks she's soawful good-lookin', but I don't think she's half as pretty asJean--that's her sister. Say"--his voice sank to a whisper--"didanybody tell you about her sister yet?"

There was a note of strained anxiety, almost amounting to terror, inthe boy's tone, that commanded Gilbert's attention. He looked around. Perhaps it was some serious illness, and the new doctor was badly inneed of a patient. 

"No. What's the matter with her?" he asked, interestedly. 

Davy glanced about him fearfully, as though he were about to disclosethe young woman as the author of a deadly crime. He leaned stillfarther into the room. "She's--_she's my girl_!" he exploded, in aloud whisper. 

The new doctor turned his back suddenly. There was a long pause. "Imust congratulate you, " he said at last, in a smothered voice. 

Davy gazed at his broad back uncertainly. He had heard that formulabefore, but it had always been delivered to the newly wed. He wasafraid the doctor was under a pleasant misapprehension. 

"We're jist kind o' keepin' company--yet, " he explained carefully. "An' Jean, she's an awful girl to laugh. An' then there's old ladyCameron--that's her mother. She's a blasted bother. There's never afella' goes to see them girls but she has to sit 'round an' do all thetalkin'. It ain't fair. " His tone was deeply aggrieved. "You won'tlike it any better'n' me if you keep company with Elsie, " he added, after a pause. 

The doctor turned, and his expression was so alarming that the youthslipped back several feet into the garden. "That's what everybody'sbeen sayin', " he stammered, in self-defense. "All the folks was sayin'you'd be sure to keep company with Elsie when she came home. I thoughtit would be kind o' handy 'count o' me goin' to see Jean. We'd becompany home, nights. "

The indignation that had been rising in the young doctor's gray eyesvanished. He turned quickly to his bottles and indulged in a spasm ofsilent laughter. But his face was very grave when he looked aroundagain. "Look here, David, " he said firmly, "I'd advise you not todiscuss my affairs. Neither you nor the rest of the village had bettereven speculate upon them. You're almost dead sure to be wrong. Now goon with your work. "

The boy slowly and reluctantly detached himself from the window-sill, and set the lawnmower on another zigzag journey. His hat, his coat, and his trousers hung limper than ever. He moved wearily, and at theend of the garden he sat down under a cherry-tree to muse on thestrange, sad fact that his new employer promised to be not one whitmore companionable than old Doc. Williams. 

The young doctor finished his work, and went up the stairs three stepsat a time, making a commotion that brought Mrs. Munn from herpie-baking in hurried alarm. He washed his hands, resumed his coat, and, leaning out of the window, wished with all his might that he hadsomething to do. He was seized with an honest, pagan desire that someone would get sick, or that there might be an accident in themill---just a mild accident, of course; or, better still, that thatqueer specimen of humanity sitting under his cherry-tree, down there, should be smitten with paralysis. He confessed that this last seemedthe most hopeful outlook, then laughed at himself for his monstrouswishes. He seized his hat and ran downstairs. He would go out andexplore the village. He must do something, he warned himself, or hewould be in danger of rushing into the street and lacerating the firstman he met, just for the sake of sewing him up again. 

He passed out to the gate. The long, shady village street, bordered bytall, swaying elms, stretched away on either hand, peaceful anddeserted. To the new doctor the place looked half asleep, anduncompromisingly healthful. The clear May morning air was filled witha chorus of robins and orioles. A bluebird in the orchard borderinghis lawn was singing ecstatically. Far up the street the musicalcling-clang of the blacksmith's anvil, and from the depths of theravine, in the opposite direction, the hum of the sawmill, served onlylike a lullaby to make the silence more dreamy. 

He stepped out upon the boardwalk that ran along the street. Overheadthe maples and elms met, making a cool tunnel. In this green canopynest-building was being carried on, on a great scale and withtremendous commotion. The doctor picked his way carefully along theundulating surface of the sidewalk, for the boards were damp androtten, and liable to fly up at one end and break a limb; and though hewas anxious for a patient, he did not fancy serving in that capacityhimself. 

The quiet houses, surrounded by their demure gardens, gave noindication that he was being watched from behind many a window-blind. Neither was there any stir to give hint that from the upstairs windowof the village shop at the end of the street a telescope was pointingat him, while Granny Long informed the breathless circle about her bedthat his necktie was of blue-gray satin, and that his hair was thickand wavy. 

Quite unconscious of the sensation he was creating, the new doctorwalked on. He passed a tiny white house set in a square garden brightwith early blossoms. A little woman, in a faded lilac gown, sat sewingon the porch, and a green parrot, in a cage at her side, stalked to andfro on his perch, muttering sullenly. At sight of the stranger thebird gave an indignant stare, then swung, head downward, from his perchand shouted, "Oh, Lordy, ain't we havin' a slow time!"

The remark so exactly coincided with the new doctor's sentiments thathe looked over the cedar hedge at the speaker with a feeling offriendly regard. But the little lilac lady seemed quite of anothermind. She sprang up in dismayed haste, scattering thimble and scissorsout on the pathway, and, seizing the cage, fled with it indoors. 

Gilbert passed on, feeling that there was one creature, at least, inthis new place who was in sympathy with him. His eye traveled withsatisfaction along the double row of trim houses and neat gardens; theyspoke of thrift and prosperity. There was only one exception, theplace next to the home of the ennuied parrot. Hens scratched merrilyin the midst of desert flower-beds, or nested under the lilac bushes, ahandsome goose and gander passed in stately promenade up and down thefront veranda, and the whole place had a happy, go-as-you-please air. 

The last in the line was the schoolhouse, a big, square building, scarred and worn, standing in the middle of a yard trampled bare ofgrass, and surrounded by the forlorn skeleton of a fence. From thebattered pump in one corner, to the dilapidated woodshed in the other, the whole premises had the appearance of having just weathered a longand terrible siege. The commanding voice of the Duke of Wellingtoncoming through the open windows added to its military suggestiveness. 

When he had passed the school the stranger found himself at the end ofthe village. The row of houses stopped at a rustic bridge spanning aravine. Away up this valley he could see the tall smokestack of thesawmill, with its waving plume of smoke coming up out of a fairy massof delicate May foliage. The mill-pond gleamed, green and goldenbrown, between the willow clumps along its margin. From the dam astream issued in a little, noisy, silver waterfall. It babbled acrossthe road, under the old bridge, among bracken and mint, and wound thisway and that through the deep valley until it lost itself in a swampfar to the south. A hard, beaten path led from the street down intothe gold and green depths. It was an alluring path, and Gilbertstepped into it. He slid and stumbled down the steep bank, catching atblossoming dogwood bushes and fragrant cedar boughs. A boyish lightcame into his eyes as they caught the flash of the tiny river; heregreen under an overhanging willow, there snow white under a rain ofcherry blossoms, now silver as it ran around a shallow curve, and againgold in the sunlight filtered through a tangle of elm boughs andbitter-sweet. 

The little valley was as level as a floor at the bottom, carpeted withvivid green grass spangled with dandelions, and intoxicating with theperfume of the wild-cherry blossoms. A cow stood knee deep in thestream, and another was feeding off the underbrush half way up thebank. At a sudden curve in the brook a great elm stretched up from abank of blue violets. On its topmost limb, swinging gaily, an oriolewas blowing gloriously on his little golden trumpet. 

Gilbert flung himself down on the violet bank. He had been born andbred a country boy, and now, after years of city life, the old charm ofthe free open spaces of earth and sky came over him stronger than ever. He wondered if Rosalie would not be happy, too, if she were to comedown into this green-and-gold Paradise with him, and listen to thebrook babbling along over the pebbles. And yet, how could he ask herto leave the wealth and ease of her city home and come to this dullvillage? He reflected, with a deep sigh, upon the humiliating factthat Rosalie would not consider the proposition for an instant, even ifhe had the courage to make it. Well, he would work hard, and by and byhe would go back to the city, and then she would listen--she mustlisten. He leaned back against the elm and dreamed of that day. Hecould see the light in Rosalie's eyes as he had seen it that last dayin Toronto. He would have been happier to-day if they had not been sobright and merry on the occasion of his departure. But what beautifuleyes they were! Blue--so blue; as blue as--he was gazing at somethingthe exact color--a spot of vivid azure that had appeared from among thetrees at the top of the opposite bank. It moved, and Gilbert saw thatit was the figure of a girl in a violet gown. She made a pretty ruralpicture as she stood for a moment poised upon the fence-top, a whitesunbonnet on her head and a basket on her arm. She descended sedately, holding her basket with great care, and tripped down the zigzag path tothe edge of the stream. Here some big, white stones, peeping from thegolden pools, made a passage to the other side, and the trim lassiebegan to pick her way daintily across. Gilbert watched her with amusedpleasure. He seemed to have stepped into some old rustic ballad. Whatwas that song the boys used to sing at college? Something about thepretty, dainty maiden, going a-haying, or a-Maying, or a-something, allof a bright May morning, tra la la! This one was just like her, onlyshe should be in her bare feet, and carry a pail and a stool, and becoming down to milk that cow standing so placidly in the stream. Hefelt an almost irresistible desire to sing out, "Where are you going, my pretty maid?" If he were only a gallant youth, in a velvet cloakand silken hose, he reflected, instead of a commonplacenineteenth-century young man in gray tweed, he would go down the bankand assist her over. The situation absolutely demanded it. 

Suddenly he arose, with a smothered laugh. He would have to take apart in the pretty comedy, after all, for the dainty damsel was indistress. She stood poised on a stone in midstream, like a birddesiring, yet not daring, to fly. A long leap was needed to land heron the next stone, and she paused, perplexed, evidently mindful of hereggs. Gilbert came quickly down the bank, his eyes twinkling. 

"May I help you across?" he asked, coming toward her, hat in hand. Hefelt that the words fell into a sort of jaunty rhythm of their ownaccord. 

The girl looked up quickly, startled at his sudden appearance. Themovement caused her sunbonnet to slip back, revealing her face, andGilbert felt suddenly and unaccountably abashed, for the girl lookedstraight into his amused face with a glance of grave and unapproachabledignity. He did not even notice, at first, how pretty she was. He sawonly those serious eyes. They were wonderful eyes, too; deep, and of astrange, elusive amber, like the water at her feet. They held themystery of its deep brown pools, and the light of the golden flecksupon its surface. There were the same brown shadows and golden lightsrepeated in the masses of bronze hair piled like a crown on the top ofher shapely head. 

From some impulse he did not understand, Gilbert felt a vague desire toapologize for his very existence. It seemed as though that searchingglance had read the frivolous thoughts in which he had been indulging. He wondered, in deep mortification, if she had noticed any faint tingeof familiarity in his manner. 

"I--I beg your pardon. I hope I did not startle you, " he said, halfstammering. "I hope you will let me help you across. "

"Thank you, you are very kind. " Her voice was low, and very musical, her manner was dignity itself. "I did not know the spaces were sowide. " She spoke with a frank simplicity, looking at him very honestlyand very gravely, and Gilbert felt tacitly rebuked. He was struck bythe fact that this country girl, in the coarse dress and sunbonnet, whom he had whimsically likened to a rustic lass, to be helped across abrook for a kiss, had instantly, by a mere glance, clothed thesituation in an impregnable mantle of conventionality. He took herbasket and held out his hand, feeling as though he were about to assista princess from her carriage. With a touch she sprang past him andstepped quietly up the bank. "Thank you, " she said, sedately, as shetook the basket from him. "I think it is Dr. Allen to whom I amindebted, is it not?"

Gilbert clutched his hat again. "Yes, I am very fortunate to have hadthe privilege, " he said, feeling with relief that he was beginning torecover. 

"I am Miss Cameron, " she said, with a stateliness that seemed toconvert the sunbonnet into a crown, and the basket of eggs into ascepter. 

Gilbert's mind dived back into the remembrance of his stableboy'sremarks of a few minutes earlier. What had he said? He could notremember, except that the village had designated some one of that nameas the object of his future attentions, and there was something, too, about red hair. He thought her hair beautiful--quite wonderful, indeed, in its bronze splendor. 

He murmured some polite remark, and was wondering if he might ask to beallowed to carry the basket of eggs up the hill, or if he would becommitting an outrage by so doing, when he was saved from making asecond mistake by a shout from the opposite bank:

"Elsie! Elsie, lassie! Would yon be the new doctor body ye've gotthere?"

The voice came from a little old man, hobbling, with the aid of astick, along the water's edge. His small body was almost bent double, and his whole person seemed engulfed in a huge straw hat, from underwhich appeared his only prominent feature--a long, wispy, red beard. 

The girl gave a little inarticulate sound, and Gilbert glanced at her. Her stately gravity had vanished, her face was lit with a radiantsmile. She ran down to the brink of the stream. 

"Yes, Uncle Hughie, " she called, in a clear, silvery tone, with a newcaressing quality in it, "it's Dr. Allen. Do you want to speak to him?"

"Yes, yes. Oh, yes, indeed. Come away across, man! Come away!There's a poor, sick body lying down the glen a wee bit. Come away, man, and try your hand on him whatefer. "

Gilbert glanced at the girl again, half doubtfully. This was so unlikethe first call to a patient which he had so often pictured that he wastaken unawares. She seemed to divine his thoughts. 

"Will you go?" she said gently. "It is my uncle. He is always helpingsome one in trouble. Perhaps there has been an accident in the mill. "

"Of course, of course, I shall be glad, " he cried, filled withcompunction; and with a word of farewell he sprang nimbly across thestepping-stones. 

"Do you need my help, Uncle Hughie?" called the silvery voice behindhim. 

"Och, it's the good lassie you will be!" came from under the straw hat. "No, no. It is jist a poor tramp body, and the doctor will be curinghim. "

Gilbert reached the other side, and the queer little figure hobbledtoward him with outstretched hand. He took off his hat and made astately bow, and the young man looked at him with pleasure andsurprise. The little old man's face was wrinkled and brown, and borethe marks of pain, but his eyes shone out with a warm, kind brilliancythat went straight to the stranger's heart. They were the girl's eyes, exactly, but with none of her lofty reserve. 

"Ech! hech!" he cried, disappearing once more within the hat. "Indeedand indeed, and it's the new doctor! Hoch, yes, yes, it is welcome youwill be to Elmbrook. Eh, and we would not be expecting such afine-looking one. Indeed, no! And it would be a fine Scottish name, too, oh, a fine name indeed, Allen. And--you would not be hafing theGaelic, I suppose?" His eyes gleamed wistfully from between the hatand the whiskers. 

"No, " said Gilbert, smiling. "My mother spoke it, but she did notteach us children. "

"Och, och, well, well, " he said, reassuringly. "It will not be the wayof the young Canadians, and perhaps it is better. Come away, now, comeaway! I would be finding a poor tramp body down the glen here, ech, ech, the peety of it! The peety of it!"

He hobbled away ahead, talking volubly. Gilbert glanced back as hefollowed, but the princess in the violet gown had disappeared. 

"Eh, now, it would jist be the good Lord that would be sending him tome, indeed. Eh, the Almighty would be giving me everything in theworld that I could be wanting. But I will jist be an awful complainin'body, and sometimes I would be saying, if I would only have the chanceto help some one. That's it!" he cried, turning a flashing eye uponGilbert. "That will be the only thing worth while in this world. Eh, it is you that will be finding that out, Dr. Allen, and a happy man youwill be, oh, yes, indeed. It is the doctor bodies that has thechance. " He stopped and turned again. "Eh, did ye ever think He wouldbe a doctor Himself?" he added, in an awed whisper. "Yes, yes, mostfolks now would be thinkin' He would jist be a preacher. But I wouldbe rastlin' things out sometimes at night, when the rheumatics would bekeeping me awake. The rheumatics would be a fine thing to make a bodythink, doctor, oh, yes, a fine thing, and I would be wishing one nightthat old Dr. Williams would be curing me, and then I would be rastlin'it out that He would jist be a doctor Himself. Oh, hoch, yes, yes, indeed it would be wonderful; yes, yes, wonderful!"

The young man regarded him curiously. Some strange emotion stirred inhis heart: a memory of those days when his mother made the GreatPhysician a very real person to him. It seemed so long ago that he hadalmost forgotten, and yet he experienced a feeling as though he hadsuddenly come face to face with a long-lost friend. 

"I am afraid such rheumatism as you must endure would keep me fromthinking of anything but myself, " he said, his professional eye takingin the signs of the painful disease in the old man's crippled frame. 

His companion gave a joyous laugh. "Hoots! It will jist be a weetickle sometimes. But I will be an awful complainin' body, doctor. Old Dr. Williams could be telling you I would be a terrible burden tohim, indeed; and you will be finding me a bother. Yes, oh, yes. Thatis why I would be so pleased that the Almighty would be sending me achance to help. For I would jist be grumblin' and a burden all thedays--eh, yes, yes, och, hoch!" His voice suddenly dropped to apitying, caressing tone, such as one might use to a hurt child. "Herehe is, " he whispered. "Eh, the peety of it!"

A man was half sitting, half lying, on the grassy bank of the stream, supported by a pile of balsam boughs. His long body, in its worn, patched clothing, was pitifully emaciated. His face was ghastly, anddeeply marked with the sad lines that grief alone can trace. His hairwas white, and yet, somehow, he did not seem aged, except by suffering. He opened his eyes as the young doctor bent over him. There was thepathetic look in them of an animal that had received its death-wound. But as the light of consciousness returned there was resentment in hisglance as well as pain. He looked like a man who had been pushed tothe edge of despair, but who could still fight, not in hope, but infierce anger against his lot. 

"He must be moved to some house at once, " the doctor announced after abrief examination. "He seems to be suffering from exhaustion andhunger. "

Old Hughie Cameron was fussing about him, making inarticulate, pityingremarks. "Oh, yes, yes, he will jist be coming with me, then, " hecried eagerly. "The Cameron door will always be on the latch indeed!Oh, yes, the folks will be real pleased, whatefer. "

The sick man looked up suddenly and spoke with unlooked-for strength. "I will accept charity from no living man, " he said curtly. 

"Hoots, toots!" cried Uncle Hughie, in gentle remonstrance. "Charity!It would jist be a bit of a neighborly act, man! Come away, now, come. " His voice was coaxing. "Here is the doctor, now, waiting tohelp you. Yes, yes, a fine new doctor, indeed, " he added enticingly. 

"Come, " said Gilbert authoritatively. "You must have food and shelterat once. You can't stay here. "

The man opened his eyes again. "I haven't a cent of money, " he saidweakly, but defiantly. "But if you will take me to some place I canrent, I will earn money and pay for it after. But I will enter noman's house. I will stay here and die--it would be best, anyway. " Heclosed his eyes indifferently. 

Old Hughie suddenly plucked the puzzled young doctor's sleeve. "Therewill be an old shanty down the glen here, a wee step, " he whispered, "jist by the Drowned Lands. It belongs to Sandy McQuarry, but he wouldbe giv----" He paused, for the fierce eyes opened upon him--"rentingit, " he substituted hastily. 

"I will go there, " whispered the sick man, and Gilbert stooped andraised him gently. 

"And what will your name be?" asked Uncle Hughie, striving in his pityto say something friendly which this strange man would not resent. 

"My name, " said the man slowly, "my name"--he stood and looked abouthim in a dazed way--"yes, yes, it's McIntyre--John McIntyre. " Hewavered a moment, then fell, fainting, in the young doctor's arms. 

CHAPTER IV

THE ORPHAN ARRIVES

 O little wild feet, too softly white To roam the world's tempestuous night, The years like sleet on my windows beat, Come in and be cherished, O little wild feet. My heart is a house deep-walled and warm, To cover you from the night and storm. --C. G. D. ROBERTS. 

Miss Arabella Winter and her parrot lived alone in a tiny house, nextdoor to her brother's home, and were "managed, " in company with therest of the village, by her smart sister-in-law. In all Susan Winters'realm there was no more obedient subject than the meek little lilaclady. 

She had been very pretty in her youth, and much of her girlhood'sbeauty lingered yet in the faint pink of her cheeks and the droop ofher long lashes. Her golden-brown hair was still abundant and wavy, though in accordance with her sister-in-law's instructions she pulledit back so tightly that its undulations were quite smoothed out. Andjust so Miss Arabella tied down and smoothed out all the beauty curvesof her life to suit the rigid lines of Susan's methods. That she everlonged for more breadth and freedom could never have entered the headof any one in the village. But then the village did not know the realMiss Arabella. 

She was hurrying through her morning's work, for a column of smokecurling up from the other side of her next neighbor's orchard told thatthe Sawyers had returned; and if Susan did not mind, she hoped shemight run over and see what kind of baby Jake and Hannah had broughthome. 

She shook the breakfast tablecloth out at the back door, and the henscame running to pick up the crumbs. Like all houses in Elmbrook, MissArabella's front door looked out upon the narrow confines of thevillage street, with its double row of elms and maples; but her backdoor commanded a view of a whole world of sky and field and wood. Highup in an apple-tree of the Sawyers' orchard a bluebird was carolingjoyously. Miss Arabella had never heard of the man who said that thebluebird carried the sky on his back, but she involuntarily glancedfrom the brilliant azure dot in the tree-top to the vivid blue of theheavens. "They're awful alike, " she whispered, with a smile; then sheglanced inside, "and it's the same color, too! I've a good mind"--shepaused guiltily and glanced toward her brother's house. "I'll justtake one glimpse, " she added hurriedly. She put the tablecloth away inits drawer and ran into the little sitting-room. The old floor, underits gay covering of rag-carpet and home-made rugs, sank and creakedwith even her light weight. At the sound a querulous voice from theveranda called "Arabella, Arabella!"

Miss Arabella looked severe. "Polly!" she cried, appearing at thedoor. "Now, Polly, be good. You were jist awful yesterday, when thedoctor was passing. You'll try not to say that awful thing, won't you, Polly?"

"Oh, Annie Laurie, Annie Laurie, Annie Laurie!" gabbled Polly, walkingalong her perch head downward. "I'll be good, I'll be good. "

Thus assured, Miss Arabella slipped into her spare bedroom. It was atiny room, with a close, hushed air. Most of the space was taken up bya huge feather-bed, whose white surface bulged up like a monstrousbaking of bread. Against the crinkly spars of the low headboard twostiff pillow-shams stood erect, like signboards, each bearing thelegend, worked in red, "Sweet Dreams. " The floor was covered with ahome-made rug, displaying a branch of yellow roses, upon which stood amathematically straight line of purple-breasted robins. The one windowwas draped in stiff, white lace curtains that fell from the ceiling ina billowing cascade and flowed out into the middle of the room. Herethe flood was dammed, very appropriately, by two large, pink-tintedseashells. In one corner stood a high, old-fashioned chest of drawers, covered with a white cloth worked in red to match the "Sweet Dreams" onthe pillows. It held a small looking-glass flanked by a couple ofchina figures; a gay Red Riding-Hood, with a pink wolf, set primlyopposite a striped Bo-peep and a sky-blue lamb. There were pebbles andshells and pieces of coral, and baskets of beadwork, and many otherornaments dear to Miss Arabella's heart. She closed the old, creakingdoor, placed the one chair against it, and trembling as though she wereabout to commit a burglary, she stealthily opened the lowest drawer ofthe dresser and took from it a large parcel. She sat down on the lowrocker and carefully untied the string. Her breath was coming fast, her eyes were shining. The stiff paper opened, and revealed a roll ofbright blue silk, just the tint of the May skies. Miss Arabellatouched it lovingly. 

"You're the very color, " she whispered; "you've never faded a bit, andit's been such a long time--oh, an awful long time!" She sighed deeply;her little face looked wan and old. 

"But you haven't started to ravel yet. " Her fingers had been runningcarefully up and down the silk, and she stopped with a start of dismay. She hurried to the low window. Yes, there along several of the folds, the blue fabric was showing signs of wear! Miss Arabella sank backinto her chair and sat motionless, gazing at the bright heap in herlap. Slowly two big tears gathered, and slipped down her cheeks. Shehastily covered the precious silk from possible damage, wiped her eyeswith her apron, and replaced the bundle in the drawer. 

"It must be a sign, " she whispered tremulously. "It 'ud never 'a'begun to wear if it was goin' to be any use to me. It's a sign!" Shelocked the drawer, and went out slowly. Her little figure had a morepronounced droop, her eyes were very piteous. 

She went back to her tasks in the tiny kitchen with a dull, hopelessair. She had just set a pail of soapy water on the back doorstep, preparatory to scrubbing the porch floor, for Susan insisted that thismust be done once a week, no matter how clean it might be, when Polly'svoice reached her. It was raised in uttering that shocking phrasewhich her mistress had forbidden, and which Polly refused to unlearn. Miss Arabella hurried out to the front veranda, fearful lest theminister or the new doctor might be within earshot. 

"Good-morning, Arabella!" called a sweet voice from the other side ofthe cedar hedge. 

Miss Arabella ran joyfully to the gate. "Oh, Elsie, is it you? Comeaway in and sit a minute; do, now. "

"No, thank you, Arabella; not this morning. Mother sent me up to seewhat sort of baby Jake and Hannah have adopted. Come with me. "

"I'd like to. " Miss Arabella glanced wistfully across the orchard, butthe vision of her sister-in-law hoeing in the garden quenched the lightof hope in her eyes. "I can't go for a little bit, " she added. "Ihaven't done the back stoop yet. "

The girl stood looking down at her, a splendid contrast, in her strong, erect beauty, to the little, drooping figure. Miss Arabella looked upat her with adoring eyes. There was a strange comradeship betweenthese two. 

"Oh, Arabella, dear, " cried the girl, half pityingly, half laughingly, "why don't you run away?"

Miss Arabella looked up with a sudden fire in her eyes and a flush onher cheek. "Oh, Elsie! You don't mean it--really?"

"Of course I don't really mean it, Arabella, " she answered, halfalarmed at the unexpected effect of her words. "Where would you run?Only I do wish you didn't have so much managing. "

Miss Arabella's head drooped. She seemed ashamed of her suddenoutburst. "Oh, I'm all right, " she said, in some confusion, and then, to hide it, added: "It seems awful nice to have you back, Elsie. Imissed you dreadful. "

The girl patted her hand affectionately. "Well, you're not likely tomiss me any more for a long time, " she said, with rather a forced smile. 

"I s'pose you've learned near everything there is to know about singingnow, anyway, haven't you?" asked Miss Arabella comfortably. 

Elsie Cameron laughed. "I feel as if I'd just begun to get thefaintest notion of it. "

"Well, well, well! Music must be awful slow work. Is that why you gottired of it?"

"Tired of it?"

"Yes; your ma was saying you didn't want to go back, though they'd allcoaxed you. "

The girl looked down the long, elm-bordered street; her golden-browneyes had a hurt look, but her mouth was firm. She turned again to MissArabella with a faint smile. Her answer was apparently irrelevant. 

"Don't you remember how Uncle Hughie used to be always telling us neverto 'rastle' against the place we're put in?"

Miss Arabella looked at her, uncomprehending. In contrast to hernarrow experience, Elsie Cameron seemed to possess all that heart coulddesire. 

"Your Uncle Hughie's a wonderful wise man, Elsie, " she said vaguely;then, with a deep sigh, "I suppose it's wicked to be always wantin' todo things you ain't doin'; but--I--it ain't very bad to pretend you'redoin' them, so long as you do the real things, is it?" Her color wasrising, and the girl looked at her with a kind curiosity. Even sheknew little more of the real Arabella than the rest of the village did. 

"Do you know, Arabella, " she cried merrily, "I've long suspected you ofleading a double life. And why shouldn't you? Why, Uncle Hughie saysit's one of his greatest blessings. When he gets tired or racked withpain, he just pretends he's a chieftain of the Clan Cameron, living onhis estates, and he says he's far happier than if he really were. "

Miss Arabella smiled almost tearfully. It was the first time in herlife she had heard her romantic day-dreaming condoned. 

"Now I must run, Arabella. Good-by, Polly. Are you good to-day?"

"Oh, Annie Laurie, Annie Laurie, " cried Polly, "I'll be good, I'll begood!"

Miss Arabella stood gazing after the trim figure. She sighedenviously. "She's the lucky girl, " she whispered, "but it's awfulqueer she don't want to go on with her singin'. "

A smart vehicle turned out of a gate farther up the street and camewhizzing past. The young man driving raised his hat with an air ofdeference as he passed the girl by the roadside. Miss Arabella leanedfarther over the gate. 

"He looked at her awful pleased like, " she said; and then her face grewpale with a sudden thought. "I'll give it to her, " she whispered, choking down a rising sob. "He'll marry her, I'm sure he will, and ifhe does I'll give it to her, and I won't be foolish any more, so Iwon't. " The prospect of speedy wisdom seemed a very doleful one, andMiss Arabella's figure drooped and shrank as she moved indoors. 

"Arabella!" called a sharp voice over the fence, "have you got yourplace all red up yet?"

"Not quite, Susan, " was the apologetic answer. "I've jist to do theback stoop. "

"Well, don't be so long, for pity's sakes. I'm goin' up to see whatsort of a baby Jake and Hannah's got, and you can come along jist assoon as you're done. "

"All right, Susan. " The little woman returned to her task meekly. Hersmall, slim hands and her frail body did not look at all suited toheavy toil, yet no one in the village worked harder than the littlelilac lady. For when her own house was set in order, and brushed andswept and scrubbed, exactly as Susan demanded, Miss Arabella crossedthe orchard and washed and baked, and sewed for her brother's children. 

She had just finished the lowest step of the porch when she wasstartled by a tremendous uproar in the Sawyer orchard, and the nextmoment something came hurtling over the fence and landed with a splashin the pail at her feet. It was a round object, brightly colored andshining. 

"Oh, Lordy, ain't we havin' a slow time!" screamed Polly, mostinappropriately. 

"Save us!" ejaculated Miss Arabella. 

The Sawyer orchard was separated from Miss Arabella's garden by a highboard fence, further fortified by Miss Arabella's long, neat woodpile. Hitherto, the place had been used exclusively as a parade-ground forIsaac and Rebekah, and the Sawyers' hens; but now it seemed to havebeen suddenly populated by all the children in the village, shrieking, scolding and laughing. Could the orphan be big enough to run at large?And had the McQuarry and the Cross and the Williams children all met tocelebrate its arrival?

"Save us!" ejaculated Miss Arabella again, "they must 'a' got a noisyone!"

There was a scrambling, tearing noise on the other side of the fence, and a head arose above it, followed by the figure of a boy. It was aqueer, wasted, tiny figure, with one shoulder higher than the other. The face was pinched and weird-looking, with that strange mixture ofchildishness and age that is seen in the countenances of theunfortunate little ones who are called out too early into the battle oflife. A long, claw-like arm reached out, and a finger pointed at theobject in Miss Arabella's pail. 

"That there's our ball!" said the elf sharply. "Give us a throw!"

Miss Arabella stared, motionless. 

"Are--are you Jake Sawyer's orphant?" she asked incredulously. 

The boy grinned, a queer contortion of his wizened little face withmore mischief in it than mirth. 

"Naw, I'm just the tail of it, " he answered enigmatically. "Say, whendid the folks in that there house adopt you?"

Miss Arabella was too much astonished and abashed to reply; and just atthat moment a second object appeared on the woodpile. It arose fromthe Sawyer orchard like the first, swinging itself up feet foremost insome miraculous fashion. This time it was a girl, larger and morerobust than the boy, but plainly younger. Her eyes were wild, her facewas bold, and she had a mad mop of bushy black hair. She perchedherself astride the top board of the fence and gave back MissArabella's stare with interest. 

"Where on earth did you come from?" cried Miss Arabella. 

"None o' your business!" was the prompt retort. "Hand over that thereball!"

Miss Arabella had no time to obey, for a third apparition arose out ofthe Sawyer orchard, feet first, and perching itself astride the fence, commanded, "Histe over that there ball!" It was another girl, exactlylike the first, except that her mad mop of hair was yellow instead ofblack. Miss Arabella rubbed her eyes, and wondered, in dismay, if shehad been gifted with a new kind of double vision. 

"Oh, my land alive!" she whispered. "Has Jake Sawyer been and gone andbrought home all the orphant asylum? Mercy me! Is the yard full o'ye?" For still another head was struggling to make its appearanceabove the fence-top. It was a fiery red head this time, covered withcrisp little curls. It belonged to a very small boy, the youngest ofthe quartette. His round, impish face was full of delighted grins. His dancing eyes radiated laughter and good-nature. 

The four surveyed Miss Arabella's evident consternation with greatenjoyment, while that startled lady stood and stared at the array withsomething of the feelings that Cadmus must have experienced when hebeheld the fierce warriors rise from the planting of the dragon's teeth. 

"We're the Sawyer orphant, " said the eldest imp, with apparent relish. "An' if you don't hand over that there ball mighty quick we'll all comeafter it. "

Galvanized into action by this threat, Miss Arabella flung the toy faramong the orchard trees, and with shrieks the four small figuresdisappeared. Miss Arabella darted around to the front porch in apanic, and carried her parrot into the comparative safety of the house. Fortunately the noise had scared the bird into silence. But if thosefour wild things should once get into her garden, she reflected, whatever would become of Polly?

She ran out again, but there was no sign of the newcomers, and thenoise was retreating in the direction of Jake's stable. She flung offher apron, and running to an opening in the woodpile, proceeded toclimb the fence. She must go over to Hannah's immediately; yes, evenif Susan objected, and see what was the meaning of this suddeninundation of orphans. 

She was balanced on the top of the fence when the doctor's landladyappeared, walking leisurely up the street to buy a pound of butter atLong's store for the doctor's dinner. 

Any other woman in the township would have expressed surprise at MissArabella's remarkable position, and evident perturbation, but thesilent Mrs. Munn looked at her unconcernedly. 

"Somethin' awful's happened, Harriet!" cried Miss Arabella. "Hannah'sgot her orphant, an' what d'ye s'pose it's like?"

"It's got red hair, " ventured Mrs. Munn, undisturbed. 

"Red hair! It's got red hair, an' three other kinds. An' it's gotfour heads!"

"What!" shrieked Mrs. Munn, shaken out of her accustomed indifference. "Arabella! You don't mean----"

But here Miss Arabella's hold on the fence relaxed, and she disappearedinto the orchard. Mrs. Munn turned her back on Long's store andhurried up the street in the same direction. New doctor or no newdoctor, this crisis must be met at once. The innocent and facilecharacter of the Sawyers had long been a problem in Elmbrook, but whocould have dreamed that, even in their weakest moment, Jake and Hannahcould have been decoyed into adopting a four-headed monster!

Mrs. Munn's heart was heavy with dread as she hurried up the lane. Miss Arabella had already arrived, and nearly all the other women ofthe village were there. As she reached the door a chorus of shouts andscreams broke from the enclosed yard at the back of the house. Mrs. Munn shivered. They had evidently tied up the fierce creature in thestable, where it was exercising its four pairs of lungs all at once!

But the next Instant the stable door flew open, and four figures, twomop-headed little girls in abbreviated skirts, a small, red-headedtoddler, and a queer, limping boy, the fleetest of all, wereprecipitated into the yard. They flung themselves over the fence andwent, shrieking, away across the field. Mrs. Munn drew a great breath;there was relief in it, and yet terror. It was not quite so bad, butbad enough. What was to become of Elmbrook if the Sawyers had adoptedfour orphans?

Mrs. Sawyer was sitting in the middle of a wildly disordered kitchen, surrounded by her neighbors. She had the air of a child who has donewrong, and knows it, but hopes for mercy. Evidently the orphans hadrefused to be displayed to the visitors, for their foster-mother wasapologizing for their non-appearance. "They're kind o' wild yet, " sheexplained meekly, "not ever bein' out of a big city in their lives. But Jake says jist to let them loose, an' they'll kind o' tame down allthe sooner. There ain't no use callin' after them, " she addedresignedly, as Mrs. Winters made a threatening movement toward thedoor. "It jist makes them run all the harder, an' mebby they'll get asfar as the pond. We'd better jist let them be. "

"Well, go on wi' your story, Hannah, " said old Miss McQuarry. "Whatpossessed ye to take all the bairns, wumman?"

Mrs. Sawyer folded her hands in her lap and continued:

"It kind o' came on us gradual like. Jake an' me jist couldn't helpit. Ye see, his idea was always for a little boy with red hair, likeour Joey would 'a' been, an' I was always wantin' a little girl withyellow curls. Well, Jake, he knowed what I wanted, and he said if weseen a nice little girl with curly hair we'd take her; but I knowed hisheart was set on a red-headed boy all the same, an' I stuck out for aboy. We talked about it so hard all the way there that we near forgotto get off when we got to the station, an' only that Minnie Morrison'saunt was there, we'd 'a' never moved. As it was, we forgot the basketwith the pound cake and the cookies and the home-made cheese--and--andthe crock o' butter, " she faltered, with a contrite glance towardHarriet Munn. 

"Oh, my, what a pity!" groaned Miss Arabella, remembering all she hadsuffered in toiling down the lane with the basket. 

"It don't matter much, though, " continued the narrator placidly. "Jakesaid somebody'd get them that likely needed them worse than MinnieMorrison. Well, in the afternoon, after we'd visited a while, Jakehired a livery rig an' we drove out to the orphant home. We talkedquite a while to the lady that's head over all--the matron they callher; an' then she took us into a room near as big as our mill, an'there was about two dozen or more children playin' 'round. And thevery minit we got inside that door Jake he hollers out, 'Oh, geewhittaker!' An' I seen his eyes were shinin' like a cat's in thedark. An' there he was, starin' as if he'd found a gold mine, at thewee, red-headed fellow we've got. An' no wonder, either; for he's aslike our Joey would 'a' been as two peas. The matron she saw Jake wastook with the wee fellow, an' she calls him over, an' Jake says, 'What's your name?' An' he says, as cute as cute, 'It's Joey. ' An'with that, Jake grabs him up, an' the little fellow climbed up to hisshoulder an' crowed like a little rooster, an' Jake looked near readyto cry, he was that pleased. 'Well, ' I says, 'I guess we've got ourorphant all right, ' an' Jake says, 'Oh, Hannah, but your girl!' 'Nevermind the girl, ' says I, 'this one was made for us, an' his name, too. 'Well, we jist turned 'round to tell the matron, when I sees a wee girl, with curly hair, standin' straight in front o' Jake an' starin' at him, with her lip quiverin'. That's the fair one o' the twins. An' shesays in a wee, wee voice, as if she was tryin' fearful hard not to cry, 'Are ye goin' to take our Joey away?' she says. 'Is he your brother?'says I. She jist nods her head. An' she says again, in a whisper, 'Are you goin' to take him away?' Well, Jake he looked at me, an' Ilooked at him, an' we could both see we were thinkin' the same thing. 'She's the kind of a girl you want, ' says Jake, 'an' mebby she'd helptake care o' the wee chap. ' 'D'ye think we can afford it?' says I; an'then she kind o' sidles up to me, an' says she, 'Aw, you won't takeJoey away, will you?' An' then the matron says, 'She's a good littlegirl, Mrs. Sawyer; you won't ever regret it if you take her. ' An' Ithought how lovely I'd make her hair curl, an' tie it up with a pinkribbon, an' jist then she ups an' puts her two little arms around myneck, an' she whispers, 'We couldn't get along without our Joey, ' jistawful pitiful like. An' I looks at Jake, an' Jake looks at me, an' henods, an' I says, 'All right. ' It was the only thing to do, now, wasn't it?"

Hannah paused, and gazed around appealingly. 

"She got me 'round the neck, an' I couldn't no more make her let gothan I could fly, " she added, as an unanswerable argument. 

"Well, we jist got up to go, when there was the most awful racketstarted up you ever heard tell of, and that other girl, the one withthe black head, comes runnin' up an' starts to dance 'round an' yellan' scream. An' at that, my girl she ups an' hollers, too, an' I neverheard such a bedlam, each one screamin' they didn't want to leave theother. Jake he shouted out to a big girl standin' there to know whatwas the matter, an' she yells that they was twins an' hadn't never beenapart. An' then I seen that they were jist as alike as two peas, except for the hair. Well, the black-headed one was makin' such afearful holler that the matron she says to the big girl, quite sharplike, 'Take her up to the ward, ' whatever place that may be. An' thebig girl she grabs the poor child by the arm an' begins to haul her tothe door, an' the tears streamin' down her little face. 

"Well, with that, Jake he puts the red-headed one down with a bang, an'he makes one leap for that big girl. I never seen Jake look like thatbefore, only once, and that was when Joel McMurtry kicked his dog an'broke its leg, thirteen years ago next twenty-fourth. It was an awfullook. An' he jist grabs that child away from her, an' he says--hesays--oh, I'd be ashamed to tell you the dreadful bad word he said! Iwouldn't have the minister hear about it for all the earth, for Jake'sbeen a member of the church ever since before we were married, an'never used a bit o' bad language in his life, to my knowledge. An'then he says, in a ter'ble voice, 'You leave that child alone, she'sgoin' with me, ' he says. An' with that she puts her arms 'round hisneck an' hangs on, an' calls him all the sweet names you ever heard. 

"Well, that was bad' enough, but it seems we weren't done yet. We werejist beginnin' to get collected to start again, when one o' the twinscommenced to yell again. It was the black-headed one, but I ain't sureo' their names. One's Lorena, an' the other's Lenora--ain't they awfulpretty names? But I think they must change them 'round, 'cause I cannever remember which is which, nor Jake, neither. Well, anyhow, theblack one starts to holler louder'n ever, an' she kept screamin' inbetween hollers, 'I don't want to leave Timmy! I don't want to leaveTimmy!' An' with that, the other girl starts up the same, an' the weered-head he gets at it harder'n the rest, an' there was the three o'them cryin' an' takin' on, 'Oh, let Timmy come, too! Let Timmy come, too!' 'Who's Timmy?' says Jake to the matron. 'Is he their dog?' sayshe. 'No, ' says she, 'he's their brother, ' says she. 'Lord 'a' mercy!'says I, 'don't tell me there's another one!' 'Yes, there he is, ' saysshe, an' she points to him. He was settin' on the edge of a long seat, all humped up, an' queer, watchin' everything, without sayin' a word, but if I live to be a hundred I'll never get the look o' that child'sface out o' my mind. It was so kind o' awful lonesome an' forsaken an'hungry-lookin', an' so fearful old, an' him not quite ten. "

Hannah paused to wipe her eyes. 

"I knew, the minit I seen him, we'd jist got to adopt him, or I'd wakeup nights seein' his poor little face lookin' at me with them terribleeyes. But he never asked to be took. He jist looks at the others, an'he says, kind o' gruff like, 'Go on, yous; don't you mind me. '

"Well, it was my turn this time, an' I jist bust out louder'n thetwins. An' I says, 'Oh, Jake, ' I says, 'he'll die if we don't adopthim, too, an' so'll I!' I says. An' Jake, he jist snaps his fingers atthe little fellow, an' he says, 'Come along, then, little shaver, we'lltake you, too. ' An' he gives one spring off the bench an' catches Jakearound the legs like a big spider, an' mind you, all the three otherswas hangin' on to him already like leeches, an' Jake, he looks 'roundkind o' helpless like, an' he says to the matron, 'There ain't any morebelongin' to this family, is there?' says he. 'Cause you might as welltrot 'em out. ' But the matron she laughs, an' says that was all, andwere we sure we could adopt so many. Jake says, 'I dunno, I'm sure, 'says he, 'but it seems as if they'd adopted us, and we can't helpourselves. ' That set everybody laughin', 'stead o' cryin', an' wepicked up them four orphants an' brought them home last night, an' herewe are. "

She stopped, and looked around anxiously at the circle of neighbors. "I know it was awful of us to do it. But I hope you won't mind, willyou? We jist couldn't help it. "

"Well, yen's true, Hannah, " exclaimed old Miss McQuarry emphatically. "It was jist the Lord's wull, wumman. "

Every one looked at Mrs. Winters for her verdict. 

"It's a pity to part flesh and blood, that's a fact, " she admittedreluctantly. "But how you an' Jake is ever goin' to tame down themfour wild things is more'n I can tell. "

"You send them to school, " said the Duke of Wellington, as she arose tostart for that institution herself, "and I'll answer for them thebiggest part of the day. "

Mrs. Sawyer's face lightened. "Indeed we will, jist as soon as we canget them to settle down a bit. An' Jake says the boys'll help him inthe mill, an' the girls'll help me in the house, an' we'll get alongsomehow. "

"Well, " said Mrs. Munn, rising, and forestalling any furtherdiscussion, "there's no use talkin' about things, anyhow; that doesmore harm than good. "

The company arose and drifted toward the door. 

"D'ye think they'll be awful hard to bring up, Harriet?" whispered Mrs. Sawyer tremulously, detaining the doctor's landlady for a moment behindthe others. 

Mrs. Munn looked steadily into Hannah Sawyer's kindly eyes. These twohad been stanch friends since the days when they had sat together inschool and shared dinner-pails. Only to this old comrade did HarrietMunn's reticent tongue speak out the deep thoughts of her heart. Shelaid her hand on Mrs. Sawyer's shoulder. 

"It's jist the Lord's hand that's led you, Hannah, " she said quietly, "that's what it is, and you don't need to be afraid o' nothin'. "

Hannah Sawyer's homely face grew radiant. "That's jist what theminister said last night!" she exclaimed. "We'll jist do our best, an'I'm sure, with Jake an' the Lord to look after us, we ain't likely tocome to want. "

CHAPTER V

THE MILKSTAND CLUB

 He that sees clear is gentlest of his words, And that's not truth that hath the heart to kill. --ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN. 

The Cameron homestead could scarcely be said to belong to Elmbrook, butformed a suburb all by itself. It was a comfortable-looking red-brick, set away back in its orchards and fields, and was further cut off fromthe village by the ravine where the mill-stream ran. 

Perhaps this was partly the reason why the Cameron family seemed alittle exclusive. There was a deep suspicion throughout Elmbrook thatold lady Cameron, as she was called, thought herself above ordinaryfolks, and unconsciously Elmbrook thought so, too. The father had diedwhen the children were all little, but she had kept them togetherthrough poverty and hardship, imbuing them all with her splendid, self-sacrificing spirit, until now the elder ones had each taken anhonorable position in life. James, the eldest, lived on the farm, andhad lately paid off the mortgage and built a new house and barn; Hughwas a lawyer in a neighboring city; Mary was married to a minister--thegreatest achievement of all; Elsie promised to be a singer, and bymaking special sacrifices the family had succeeded in giving her ayear's training under the best teachers in the land; Malcolm was goingto be a doctor, had finished his second year with honors, in fact; andJean and Archie were still to be given their chance. 

Old lady Cameron's brother-in-law, Uncle Hughie, was the best-knownmember of the family. He was the village philosopher, and spent histime hobbling about the farm, doing such odd jobs as his rheumatismwould permit, and "rastlin'" out the problem of human life. He wassitting on the milkstand just now, his small, stooped body almostcovered by his straw hat, his long beard sweeping his knees. He wasswinging his feet, and singing, in a high, quavering voice, hisfavorite song, "The March o' the Cameron Men. "

When Sawed-Off Wilmott started a cheese factory down on the Lake Simcoeroad each of his patrons had built, just at the gate, a small platform, called a milkstand, from which the cans were collected. The Cameronmilkstand had a flight of steps leading up to it, and a grove ofplum-trees surrounding. It was a fine place to sit, of an evening, forone could be isolated and yet see all that was going on up in thevillage. Here Uncle Hughie regularly gathered about him a little groupof friends. Next to the minister, he was considered the most learnedman in the community, and the Cameron milkstand was a sort ofhigh-class club, where only the serious-minded were admitted, and whereone heard all sorts of profound subjects discussed, such as astronomyand the destiny of the British Empire. 

To-night the club was to assemble for a special purpose. Uncle Hughiehad promised the minister that they would all accompany him down theravine to give a welcome and a kind word to the poor tramp who had cometo live in Sandy McQuarry's old shanty by the Drowned Lands. So thephilosopher was waiting for his friends, and as he sang he gazedexpectantly up the village street. 

From across the ravine, growing purple in the evening shadows, came thesound of children's voices at play, and the joyous bark of a dog. Downin the river pasture hoarse shouts, mingled with a dull thud, thud, told that the young men were playing football. Women could be seengossiping across from their home gates, for while the men might gatherin groups at the store or the post-office, Elmbrook was notsufficiently advanced to have yet felt the woman's club movement. Thesoft, plashy sound of the little waterfall, pouring down under thebridge, made a charming accompaniment to the mingled harmony. 

 "_Oh, there's many a man o' the Cameron Clan, _"

sang Uncle Hughie. 

There was a ring of triumph in his voice, for he had finished the wholeline with one start, a most unusual achievement. He generally startedon a high key, and as the tune climbed up the word "Cameron" was farbeyond the range of human voice. He would make a shrieking attempt atit, collapse, and start again, quite cheerfully. But by some strangemisunderstanding between his ear and his vocal cords, no matter howdeep he might lay the foundations of his song, he would raise upon itsuch a lofty structure that the pinnacle was sure to be unattainable. He always saw the heights ahead, and made a gasping effort to gainthem, his voice strained to its utmost, his face wearing a look ofagony. He failed many a time, but invariably succeeded in the end, andwith a broad smile of triumph would sweep into the refrain:

 "_I hear the pibroch sounding, sounding, Deep o'er the mountain and glen. _"

Old Uncle Hughie's whole pain-racked life had been like that song. Hewas always striving for the heights, often slipping back, frequentlyfailing just as the top was reached, but ever starting off again withrenewed hope and faith, and in the end always attaining. 

There was a wild patter of feet down the lane, and a harum-scarum girl, half woman, half child, came scrambling recklessly over the fence, andtumbled upon the ground at his feet. She sprang up and tossed her hairback from her handsome, mischievous face. 

"He's coming!" she announced tragically. "Where'll I hide? I saw himpaddlin' across the creek like a silly old gosling!"

Uncle Hughie's golden-brown eyes danced with laughter. 

"Hoots, toots! Och, hoch, but it is the foolish lass you will be!Poor Davy, ech, poor lad! When I would be going sparkin' the lassies, it wasn't running away they would be. "

"Oh, but then you must have been so handsome and so fine, UncleHughie, " said the girl diplomatically. "If I go up into the villagewill you tell mother you said I might?"

Uncle Hughie was not impervious to flattery, but he looked doubtful. Running up into the village in the evening was strictly forbidden tothe younger members of the Cameron household. 

"I'll jump into the pond if he comes, " she declared. "Go on, UncleHughie. Aw, haven't you got some errand for me?"

"Well, well, " said the old man indulgently, "let me see. Oh, yes, now. You might jist be stepping up to Sandy McQuarry's and tell him not tobe forgetting that this is the night to go and see poor John McIntyre. "

"Goody! You're a duck, Uncle Hughie. John McIntyre--isn't that thetramp you found in the hollow?"

"Yes; but indeed I will be thinking that it's no ordinary tramp he willbe, whatever. Poor man, eh, eh, poor buddy. If ever the Lord would belaying His hand heavier on a man than He did on Job, that man's JohnMcIntyre, or I will be mistaken. Ay, and it would be a fine Hielan'name, too--McIntyre. "

The girl danced away up the street, dodging skilfully from tree totree, and keeping a sharp eye on the figure climbing leisurely up thebank of the ravine. 

"Don't be forgetting, Jeannie, child, " the old man called after her, "not to let Sandy know the minister will be coming. "

The girl nodded over her shoulder, and Uncle Hughie continued his talkto the milkstand. 

"Ay, yes, oh, yes indeed. The peety of it, the peety of it. Well, well. Hoots! The Almighty will be knowing all about you, JohnMcIntyre. Oh, yes, indeed, never fear. I will be thinking He will bemeaning you some good yet. Oh, yes, yes, never you fear----

 "_'Oh, there's many a man o' the Ca----'_"

His voice broke on the high note, and he did not start again, for afigure was coming down the street toward the bridge. It was SilasLong, storekeeper, postmaster and astronomer, with his telescope underhis arm. He paused on the bridge, where he was joined by severalothers. They came straying down the street in aimless fashion, handsin pockets, shoulders drooping. It was the custom to assemble in themost casual manner, for it would never do to confess, even to oneself, that one had started deliberately to spend an evening in idleness. 

The group straggled slowly forward, Silas Long, William Winters, theblacksmith, Jake Sawyer, and a new member of the club, a very smallperson, whose red, curly hair shone like a halo in the light of theevening sun. Holding this little figure by the hand, Jake Sawyerwalked along with a tremendous swagger, the proudest man in the countyof Simcoe. 

Another man was strolling toward them across the golden-lighted pasturefield. It was John Cross, Jake Sawyer's partner, called SpectacleJohn, to distinguish him from a half dozen other John Crosses whodidn't wear spectacles. At sight of him Uncle Hughie sniffed, andejaculated "Huts!" Spectacle John was an Irishman, of a ratherfrivolous turn of mind, and the philosopher disapproved of him, anddiscouraged his attendance. Moreover, he and Silas Long were always atvariance, and when the two met the milkstand lost its dignity andbecame a center of futile argument. 

One by one they arrived, and dropped upon the steps of the milkstand orthe pile of stones by the gate, with a casual remark about the weather. In Elmbrook one did not say "Good-morning" or "Good-evening, " ingreeting; but "Fine day, " "Cold night, " as the case might be. So aseach man sank into his place, with a sigh for the long day's toil, heremarked "Fine night, " looking far off at the horizon, and Uncle Hughiealso examined that boundary, and remarked "Fine. " As Jake Sawyerseated himself, and raised the youngest orphan to his knee, he addedproudly, "An' a fine boy, too, eh, folks?"

"Oh, yes, indeed! And indeed, yes!" cried Uncle Hughie, patting thelittle, curly head, and resorting to the Gaelic for terms sufficientlyendearing. 

"And how many are there in your family now, Jake?" inquired SpectacleJohn facetiously. "Got another carload shipped since I seen ye last?"

The company laughed heartily. The women of the village regarded theSawyers' large family as a serious problem, but the men treated it as ahuge joke. 

"Aw, I bet my head any one o' yous would be glad to own a family halfas smart, " remarked Jake proudly. "Golly, Miss Weir says that oldestboy kin go through the 'rithmetic like a runaway team; an' as for thegirls, well, sirs"--Jake slapped his knee--"there jist ain't anythin'they can't' do 'round the house, an' Hannah'll tell you the same. "

"There don't seem to be much they can't do 'round the mill, " gruntedSpectacle John, whose days were made weary routing his partner's familyfrom his place of business. "You won't raise that oldest boy if heshows his face to me 'round the mill again, I promise you that. "

"Speakin' o' mills, " said William Winters, "when I was at Neeag'raFalls I seen a mill that you could put this whole village into an'never notice it, an' it run by electricity, too. "

The population of the milkstand settled more firmly into its place. When the blacksmith got started on his favorite topic there was noknowing when he might stop. He had visited the Toronto Exhibition andNiagara Falls one autumn, and ever since had lived in the afterglow ofthat achievement. Not the most astounding phenomena that the milkstandcould produce, either in song or story, but he could far surpass fromthe wonderful experiences of that visit. The Niagara Falls mill wasonly half finished when a new arrival interrupted. 

"Fine night, " said a voice with a deep Scottish burr. 

"Fine, " acquiesced the milkstand. 

"Oh, and it will be you, Sandy?" said Uncle Hughie, making room for thenewcomer beside him. "Come away, man, come away. "

Sandy McQuarry was a thick-set man, with a face like a Skye terrier. He stood looking down at the contented, round-shouldered assembly, withlittle columns of smoke curling up from pipes of peace, and hisdisapproving brows bristled as though he were about to burst into loudbarking. 

"Jeannie said ye wanted me, " he remarked, by way of explaining hispresence. Sandy McQuarry was a busy man, and a great money-maker, anddid not want any one to think he could afford to spend his evenings inidle gossip on a milkstand, as some folks did. 

"Oh, yes, indeed, it would be very kind of you to be troubling. Youmust jist be coming with us to see that poor McIntyre body now, down inyour shanty. And what would you be thinking of him?"

"He's a dour body. Ah couldna git a ceevil word oot o' him. "

"He would mebby be a good workman, for all?" said Uncle Hughieinsinuatingly. 

"Ah dinna ken. He's got a bad e'e in his heid, yon man. "

"Hoots! It's not wicked the man would be!" cried Uncle Hughieindignantly. "It's a broken heart that ails him, or I'll be mistaken. "

"That's jist what I say, " agreed Jake Sawyer. "I jist got one squintat him yisterday, when I was down at the Drowned Lands, huntin' ouroldest"--Jake tried in vain to keep the quiver of pride from hisvoice--"an' he looked to me like a dog that was meant to begood-natured, but had jist been kicked straight ahead till it turnedsurly. "

"I'm thinkin' ye could surely give him some light job, Sandy, "continued old Hughie. "Night watchman, now--it's the only job he couldbe doin', he's that sick, poor body. "

Sandy McQuarry looked obstinate. "I was thinkin' o' settin' our Peterat that job this summer. "

"Eh? But you could be helping the Lord to give the poor man betterdays, Sandy, and that would be grand work, whatever. Eh, indeed, indeed, we can never tell, when we do a kind act, how far it willreach. " Uncle Hughie began to grow philosophical. "Here would beJake, now, taking all these lambs into his home, and the Lord only cantell how much good it will do to other people he will be knowingnothing about. Oh, indeed, when we would be giving the Lord a helpinghand, it would jist be starting all the machinery in the world, andmebby beyond it. "

"That there's true, 'Ughie, that's true!" cried Silas Long, laying downhis telescope. "Wen you're doin' the right thing by your neighboryou're jist 'elpin' along the turnin' o' the earth. "

There was an impatient movement from Spectacle John. Silas had touchedtheir chief point of dispute. The shape and motions of the planet theyinhabited had long served as a fierce battle-ground between these two. The astronomer held the generally accepted opinion on these matters, and could prove Columbus' theory beyond gainsaying. But, whether fromhonest disbelief, or a stubborn resolve to disagree with his adversaryupon all subjects, Spectacle John scouted his arguments as moonshine. 

"The turnin' o' the earth!" he repeated scornfully. "You'll nevercatch me takin' a hand at anny such fool chore as that!"

Uncle Hughie gazed indignantly over the golden mill-pond and hummed"The March o' the Cameron Men. "

"Well, sir, that McIntyre man has a hard row to hoe, " said Jake Sawyer, wisely steering away from the dangerous topic. "It's a caution now, ain't it, how some folks seems to have everything they want in thisworld, an' others gets all the things nobody wants?"

"Man, did you ever think what a queer, botched-up world we live in, anyhow?" inquired William Winters, who, whenever he found himselfbeyond the influence of his well-managed home, was always in arebellious state. "The minister, now, 'ud like to make ye believeeverything's ordered for our good, but it don't look that way to me. Gosh! Sometimes, when I'm patchin' up somethin' at the shop, I think Icould take my hammer an' bang things up into better shape myself thanthe Almighty's done. "

"Lord love ye, William!" cried Silas Long in alarm. "Take care wotye're sayin'!"

"Well, when I was at Neeag'ra Falls, " persisted the blacksmith, "therewas a man preachin' there on the streets that said he didn't believethere was any God at all----"

'"Ere, William, " interrupted the astronomer, shoving his telescope intoWinters' hand, as one would give a new toy to a complaining child, "youtake a squint through this 'ere spyglass, an' if you ain't convinced infive minutes that there is a God, well, sir, you can smash it, that'sall. "

Sandy McQuarry regarded the blacksmith sternly. For sufficient reasonsof his own, he never entered the Elmbrook church, but for all that hewas as strict in religious matters as he was at gaining a penny in abargain. 

"Ye've no right to creeticize the Almighty yon way, Weeliam, " headmonished. "If He wishes to make one vessel to honor, and another, such as this MacIntyre, to dishonor, it is the Lord's wull, an' we maunjist abide by it. "

The blacksmith, one eye inside the telescope, paid no attention. 

"That's so, " agreed Spectacle John, with suspicious cordiality, "especially as He's made an occasional vessel jist to hold money. "

"That's better than bein' a bag to hold wund, like some folks youadmire, John, " said Sandy McQuarry with deep meaning. 

"Lookee 'ere, Sandy, " said Silas Long solemnly, "criticizin' theminister is next thing to criticizin' the Almighty. You'd better takea warnin'. " His voice dropped to a whisper. "It ain't safe, Sandy, now, that's wot it ain't. "

Sandy McQuarry grunted scornfully. "Ony man, " he announced darkly, "that's so licht in his heid that he doesna ken ony better than toliken the land o' Burns to a few miles o' barren stones, is no a fitperson to expound the Word o' God. "

The milkstand began to look uncomfortable. There had been a day whenSandy McQuarry was an elder in the church, and as stanch a friend asthe minister possessed. But just the summer before he had beengrievously offended. Mr. Scott had gone on the annual excursion of theSons of Scotland to Muskoka. Here the endless chain of jeweled lakes, the fairy islands floating on the dark waters, the rugged, barren rocksset in masses of soft greenery, and above all the wild spirit offreedom that pervaded this new beauty land, had enchanted theminister's tired soul. So, upon his return, he had declared in atea-meeting speech at the church that Muskoka reminded him of Scotland. The next Sabbath Sandy McQuarry drove past the Elmbrook church andworshiped, fifteen miles away, with the Glenoro congregation, and therehe had worshiped ever since. 

"Och, well, indeed, " remarked Uncle Hughie, wisely reverting to anearlier subject, "it will be a question that puzzles the greatest menin the world, why some people must suffer. But, indeed, it is our ownselves that will be responsible. And as long as there will be one mansinning in this world the race must suffer. Oh, yes, we will not bebeginning to learn that lesson yet, but will be fighting against eachother! Och, hoch! it will be a peety, indeed. But it will all comeout right in the end, never you fear. He came to show us how it'sdone, oh, yes. The Almighty will be knowing what He is about, indeed. "

"It's my opinion that the Almighty lets things go pretty much as theyplease, " grumbled the blacksmith. "When I was at Neeag'ra Falls----"

"Hoots!" cried the philosopher impatiently, "that would be jist child'stalk, William. There will be an unerring law governing everything mandoes, jist as there's a law governing----" He hesitated for acomparison. 

"The movements o' this 'ere ball that we're standin' on, " finishedSilas Long, with marked emphasis, and a meaning glance at hisunbelieving enemy. 

"Standin' on a ball!" repeated Spectacle John wearily. "We'd betterall go an' join a circus, an' be done with it!"

"Well, " said Jake Sawyer reasonably, "most o' the eddicated folks'lltell you that's what the world is. Miss Weir, now, was tellin' that toour twins jist to-day. "

Spectacle John sniffed. "Huh! That young Graham, that teached herebefore her, was loony on the same notion. He's sit up half the nightargifyin' with me that the earth was spinnin' 'round like a dog afterits tail. I uster ask him how it was we didn't tumble off when we wasdanglin', head downward, in the dark, an' that uster to give him theblind staggers every time. He was a terror for argifyin', though, thatchap; an' one night he got me to give in that it was mebby round like acheese and us livin' on the flat top. It was in Sawed-Off Wilmott'scheese factory he was shootin' off that time. Well, I went that far, but further than that there's no livin' man'll get me to go. "

A tall figure had crossed the bridge and was nearing the group. Therewas a perceptible stir, and all conversation ceased. "'Ere's theminister, " said Silas Long. "We'd better get started. "

"Mr. Scott's been tryin' all day to get a light job for that McIntyre, "said Jake Sawyer innocently, "but he don't seem to've got anything easyenough yet. "

Uncle Hughie darted a warning glance at the indiscreet miller, but itwas too late. 

"He'll be well looked after, then, I'm thinkin', " said Sandy, promptlyrising. "There'll be no need o' me goin' with ye the night, Hughie. Maister Scott'll likely give him a job in"--he paused to let the heavyweight of his sarcasm fall resoundingly--"in Muskoky!"

He tramped away, and, climbing the fence, strode across the fields inthe direction of his mill. 

"Ain't 'e a caution, now?" asked Silas Long in a tone of fear. "Youmark my words, now--jist mark my words--that man's goin' to meet ajudgment some day. It ain't safe to act like that to the minister, that's wot it ain't. "

"Fine night, " the assembly remarked unanimously. Mr. Scott was agood-looking man of middle age, tall and straight, with a massive head, covered with thick iron-gray hair. He had deep blue eyes, with littlelines at their corners showing they were prone to kindly laughter. 

"What's the question to-night?" he asked, the lines around his eyesdeepening. "Have you found a new star, Silas?"

"Eh, eh, mebby, mebby, " answered Uncle Hughie. "If it is, it seems tobe a fallen one, whatever. We would jist be talkin' about yon poorbody we're goin' to see. Come away, now. "

The milkstand arose leisurely. Silas Long shouldered his telescope, Jake Sawyer slung his orphan over his back, and the group turned upCameron's lane, crossed the orchard, and went down the winding pathwayinto the ravine. 

The little stream danced along at their side, touched here and therewith the gold of the sunset, the vesper sparrows had gathered for theirtwilight chorus, and the valley was vibrating with music. 

No matter at what hour of the day, or season of the year, it might beviewed, the ravine where the mill-stream ran was a treasure-house toany one who had the seeing eye. Long before, when Elmbrook was merelya "Corners, " with one or two houses, there came to the place a queerEnglishman, who wandered all day about the fields, and painted picturesand read strange, dry books by a man named Ruskin. He first enteredthe valley on an October morning, when it was all gold and crimson, andlay shrouded in a soft violet mist. The man had sat for hours gazingdown the winding stream, and afterward he had said it was the GoldenRiver, and that the place should be called Treasure Valley. But SandyMcQuarry's father, who was living then, said that onybody with a headon him could see that it was clean ridic'l'us to give a place such adaft name. McQuarry's Corners it had been called for years, andMcQuarry's Corners it would stay. The queer Englishman left, and wasnever heard of again, and old Sandy died, and when the post-office cameold lady Cameron named the place Elmbrook; but Treasure Valley stillremained with the little Golden River flowing through it, showing newbeauties with every recurring season. 

About a mile below the village the walls of the ravine disappeared, andthe brook was lost in a deep swamp, a maze of tangled foliage and deeppools and idly wandering streams. As the water advanced the forestbecame submerged, and formed a desolate stretch known as the DrownedLands. Its slimy, green surface was dotted with rotten stumps andfantastic tree-trunks, pitched together in wild confusion, and above itrose a drear, dead forest of tall pine stems, bleached and scarred, andstripped of every limb. Around this silent, ghostly place the swampformed a ring through which it was dangerous to pass, for near the edgeof the Drowned Lands it was honeycombed with mud holes, into which itwas sure death to slip. Terrible tales were related of lives lost inthis swamp. Folks said that a banshee or a will-o'-the-wisp, or somesuch fearsome creature, wandered to and fro at nights over the surfaceof the desolate waters, waving her pale lantern and calling for help, or in other ways enticing unwary travelers to their death. Some hadbeen lured into the depths by her voice and had never returned. 

It was in this drear, lonely place that the tramp had taken up hisabode. Just where a corduroy road, now abandoned and grass-grown, passed out of the ravine and along the edge of the swamp, stood SandyMcQuarry's old lumber shanty, and here Uncle Hughie Cameron and thedoctor had taken John McIntyre. Before it lay the swamp, and throughoccasional gaps gleamed the still waters of the Drowned Lands. 

As the visitors emerged from the valley there was a loud hallo from thehill-top, and a small, limping figure came hurrying down the slope. The little fellow perched upon Jake Sawyer's shoulder gave a squeal ofwelcome, and Jake's face lit up. 

"Hello, you, Tim!" called the big man cordially, as the youngster camelimping toward him, "what you been up to now?"

The boy glanced around the group and placed himself as far as possiblefrom Spectacle John. "Jist been fishin', " he remarked vaguely; "andI'm goin' with you, " he added, with that mixture of defiance and appealwhich the orphans had already learned was sure to move theirfoster-parents. 

"Ye'd better watch out! The banshee'll git ye, " threatened SpectacleJohn. 

"Speakin' o' a banshee, " put in the blacksmith, "when I was at Neeag'raFalls----" By the time the story was finished the company had come inview of the old shanty. 

The sick man was seated in the doorway. His figure had a despairingdroop, his eyes were fixed on the forest of dead tree-trunks. Therewas something of a corresponding dreariness in his whole attitude, asthough the waters of tribulation had gone over his life and left it averitable Drowned Land, its hopes engulfed, its greenness dead. 

The company fell silent as they passed through the bars that served asa gateway and went up the slope to the shanty door. So absorbed wasthe man in his reflections that he did not notice any one approachinguntil the minister's foot struck a stone. He turned sharply and arose. 

Mr. Scott had visited him twice as he lay in bed, and the manrecognized him with a brief word. But there was no cordiality in theway he put out his hand to meet the minister's proffered one, and hetook no notice whatever of the others. 

"Good-evening, " said Mr. Scott pleasantly. "Some of the neighborsthought they would like to drop in and give you a word of welcome tothe village. I'm glad to see you are looking much better. "

"I am quite better. " The man's answer was curt and dry. 

He did not offer his visitors a seat, nor ask them to enter, but stoodthere, bent, shabby and forlorn, and looked at the minister withhaggard eyes that besought him to go. But the look only made him moreanxious to stay. 

"Do you mind if we sit a moment?" he asked, glancing at an old log nearthe doorway. 

The man hesitated. "It is a poor thing to refuse a welcome to anyman, " he said at last, with a quiet dignity, "and in the years that Ihad a fit roof to my head none was turned away; but"--he paused, asthough he disliked to say the words--"but I have spent my life alonethese last few years, and I find it better. So I am afraid I cannotoffer you a seat, sir. "

The minister was as much surprised by the stately manner in which thewords were delivered as by the astonishing declaration itself. Yet hecould not feel angry at his dismissal; the man's eyes awakened onlycompassion. 

"But it is not good for us to shut ourselves away from our fellow-men, "he said gently. "We miss much happiness and kindness. "

"And cruelty, " added John McIntyre, with sharp bitterness. "And as toits being good for me, or otherwise, that matters nothing to any one. "

"Ah, but that is where you are mistaken, " said the minister eagerly. "It matters very much to our Father. We are very precious in Hissight. The Almighty----"

He was interrupted by a harsh laugh. 

"Hoh!" cried John McIntyre derisively, "what is the use telling that toa man who knows the world? That's a tale for children and old women!What do you know about the Almighty's care?" His eyes ran fiercelyover his visitor. "You! Because you are well fed and well clothed, and prosperous, you think that all the world is the same, and that yourGod is a miracle of kindness. He may be to you. But there is anotherside. Your God causes the wicked to prosper, and sees the innocenttrampled upon, and never puts forth a hand to help. And you call Himthe Almighty! If there is an Almighty, then He takes pleasure in thepain of His creatures. He gives them the good things of this life onlythat He may take them away and enjoy their suffering. And because yourturn hasn't come yet you would make me believe that every one is aswell off as yourself. Hoh! Lies! Old women's lies!"

The minister stepped back in shocked amazement. He had lived his lifeamong a prosperous, God-fearing people, where such blasphemous words, if ever uttered, were never allowed to reach his ears. Nothing arousedhis righteous indignation like a slighting reference to the Master whomhe served, and in his quick resentment he forgot the suffering writtenon John McIntyre's face. 

"How dare you speak so of your Master?" he demanded hotly. 

The man laughed again, and the minister broke forth in stern rebuke. 

People said that when Mr. Scott denounced sin there was something ofthe fearless candor of the ancient prophets about him. But in thisinstance he forgot that the greatest Prophet was always gentle andtender in the presence of pain. He denounced John McIntyre roundly forhis irreverence, showed him plainly the appalling evil of his ways, andquoted Scripture to prove that he was hastening to everlastingperdition. 

At the mention of his inevitable destiny John McIntyre interrupted. 

"Hell!" he shouted. "I've been there for months already!" As he spokehe turned swiftly and caught up an old spade lying by the doorstep. "Get out of my sight!" he hissed fiercely, holding the weapon aloft. "Leave me, or I'll send you where I'm going! Go!" His voice wasalmost beseeching. "Go, before I do you harm!"

The Rev. James Scott was afraid of no living man, but there was aterrible gleam in John McIntyre's eyes that hinted of insanity. Helooked at him a moment and then, with a motion as though washing hishands of him, he turned away. The rest of the company had fallen backfrom the doorway, and now followed the minister in speechless concern. They tramped along the old grassy road, followed by the call of thewhip-poor-will from the darkening hillside above, and the lonely cry ofthe loon floating across the Drowned Lands. Uncle Hughie was the firstto break the dismayed silence. 

"Well! well! well! well! Ech! hech! Hoots! toots!" he ejaculatedincoherently, quite unable to express his feelings. 

"Man, ain't he a caution?" whispered Jake Sawyer fearfully. 

"Gosh! now there's some truth in what he says, " remarked the melancholyblacksmith in an undertone. 

"D'ye think he would be right in his mind, poor body?" asked UncleHughie, searching for some palliation of John McIntyre's outrageousconduct. 

"Mebby he's had notions about the earth spinnin' 'round like a top, an'they've drove him loony, " suggested Spectacle John. "That oftenhappens, they say. "

But Silas Long was too deeply concerned over the tramp's wickedness topay any heed to this frivolous remark. 

The minister was walking ahead, in gloomy silence. His heart was stillfull of hot indignation, but it was mingled with regret and deepdisappointment. He had wanted to do this lonely, sad man good, and inhis haste, he feared, he had done him only harm. 

But there was one pair of eyes that had regarded John McIntyre's actionwith perfect approval. Those eyes were now looking up at Jake Sawyer, alight with unholy joy. "Say, " whispered the eldest orphan, jerkinghis foster-father's coat, "I like that man. He's awful bad, an' Ithink he's just bully. "

The next day the tale of the tramp's outrageous treatment of theminister flew through Elmbrook like the news of a fire in the mill. Sandy McQuarry had been away in Lakeview all day, and did not hear ituntil he was seated with his family and the mill-hands at the suppertable. 

Miss Euphemia, his sister, who had been his housekeeper since Sandy'swife, as folks said, worked herself to death, was the first who daredto broach the subject, any reference to Mr. Scott being ratherhazardous. 

"Yon's a fearfu' buddy ye've got in yer shanty doon yonder, Sandy, " shebegan solemnly. "Ah'd no let him sleep there anither nicht. "

Her brother was busy distributing the fried pork around the table, aperformance at which he was an adept. In spite of a keen desire formoney-making, Sandy was a generous man at his own table, and he had away of serving his family that was the admiration of the whole millstaff. If a man but held up his plate as a slight indication that hewas ready for more, the host could flip him a slice of beef or porkwith the dexterity of a sleight-of-hand magician. At his signals, "Here, Bob, mon!" "Hi, Peter, lad!" "Look oot, Sam!" away flew eachman's portion, hitting his plate with unerring precision. He had neverbeen known to miss anybody in his life, not even Miss Euphemia, away atthe other end of the table. 

He paused now, his fork suspended, and looked at his sister from underhis bristling brows. "What's he been doin'?" he demanded. 

Now that the ice was broken, every one was ready with a differentversion of the tale. John McIntyre was an infidel and an outcast, andhad spoken blasphemy and driven the minister and old Hughie Cameron anda half dozen others away from his door, threatening them with violence. 

The company waited, expecting to hear an order summarily evicting thetramp from his refuge by the Drowned Lands. But the mill-owner made nocomment. "Huh!" he remarked, an enigmatic ejaculation that left all indoubt as to his feelings. But the next night the village knew how deepwas the elder's resentment against the minister, for early in theevening Sandy repaired to the Cameron milkstand, and, to thephilosopher's joyful amazement, announced that he had decided, afterall, to hire John McIntyre as night watchman. 

CHAPTER VI

A FAMOUS PRACTITIONER

 But dere's wan man got hees han' full t'roo ev'ry kin' of wedder, An' he's never sure of not'ing but work an' work alway-- Dat's de man dey call de doctor, when you ketch heem on de contree, An' he's only man I know--me, don't get no holiday. --WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND. 

When the new doctor's horse arrived, and he began to drive about thecountry, even the outrageous conduct of Sandy McQuarry's new watchman, and the antics of the orphans, became matters of secondary interest tothe village. When he drove away of a morning, every one ran across toevery one else's house to debate the question as to whether he had goneto see a patient or only to exercise his horse. Of course, when someone came for him the problem was solved; but sometimes he went off onan independent excursion, and that was always puzzling. Miss Weir hadonce known a doctor who used to drive like mad all over the country, with his satchel set up on the seat, where every one could see it, andnever go to see one solitary patient for weeks at a time. Ella AnneLong was sure the new doctor wasn't that kind; and anyway, Davy Munnhad told Jean Cameron that the doctor often told him, when he droveaway, that he was just going to give his horse some exercise. 

Of course, it was no use asking Mrs. Munn. As usual, she "didn'tknow. " Even when some one called for the doctor, in his absence, andhad every legitimate right to be apprised of his whereabouts, it waswith the greatest difficulty that any hint of it could be extractedfrom his housekeeper. She always spoke in broad generalities. Yes, hewas gone away. To see a patient? Well, likely. Mrs. Munn couldn'ttell. Where? Oh, out in the country. It might be up Glenoro way, ordown by Lake Simcoe. She was not sure, now, but that she had seen himdrive out east, or was it west? She hadn't remembered right. Whenwould he be back? How could she tell? She didn't know how fast he wasgoing to drive, that is, if he was driving at all. Mebby he waswalking. People knew Mrs. Munn of old, and did not waste much time onher. They passed the office door and went on to the stable, whereinformation, though often highly colored, and tinged with the productof David's imagination, was at least easily procured. 

Granny Long was the one reliable source of supply. As soon as thedoctor drove out of the gate the telescope was turned upon him, andbulletins as to his movements issued at various intervals. He wassighted turning the corner at Cameron's Crossing, and was likely goingdown to see old Mrs. McKitterick; or he had turned around at Long JohnMcLeod's old clearing, and would be back in fifteen minutes, maybeless, at the rate he was going; so it was only a drive. And onemorning, when he started off early and drove so swiftly down the LakeSimcoe road that every one was sure some one must be dying, publicopinion was much relieved when Granny Long sent Ella Anne out with thenews that it wasn't a patient, after all, but that the doctor had justbeen down to Lake Simcoe, and was coming back. And she could not bequite sure yet, but his hair looked damp and shiny, and she suspectedhe had been in swimming; she could tell for certain in a few minutes. 

And while the village discussed him, Dr. Allen drove up and down theOro hills to exercise his horse, and wished with all his heart that hehad more to do. One evening, when time was hanging more heavily thanusual on his hands, he went for a stroll down the village street. Ashe passed out to the gate Davy Munn was mowing the lawn. His groom'sassiduous attention to this one branch of industry, to the exclusion ofall other labor, still remained a mystery. "He's got a dark-bluenecktie on this time, " was the whispered remark made in Granny Long'sbedroom, "and it looks as if he was growing a mustache. He's comin'this direction. "

"Sakes alive! I wonder if he's comin' here!" cried Ella Anne's mother, all in a flutter. 

Ella Anne flew down the stairs. She softly opened the front door, andseating herself at the organ, pulled out all the stops. Miss Long wasorganist in the church, and had the loudest voice in the township ofOro. She had a favorite solo, which she had sung at three tea-meetingsthe winter before. 

 "_Oh, meet me! Oh, meet me! When you hear the first whip-poor-will's song!_"

Here was a splendid chance to let the new doctor hear her sing. As themusical invitation came pouring through the Longs' parlor door, theinnocent cause of it stopped for an instant on the unsteady sidewalk, overcome by the deluge of song. Then, full of alarm, he turned off thestreet, and made his escape up the willow-bordered path that ran alongthe edge of the mill-pond, where the sound of the waterfall, as itpoured in a silvery cascade beneath the bridge, alone broke thesilence. Looking back past the bridge, Gilbert caught a glimpse of thevalley, with its fairy windings, where he had met his first patient andthe princess in the milkmaid costume. The pond lay like a coloredmirror in its frame of feathery willows. As he advanced the treesdisappeared, and his footfall was muffled in the soft sawdust. Thesweet, clean scent of the newly sawn lumber mingled with the coolbreath of the water. 

The big mill, so noisy and busy in the daytime, was silent anddeserted, except for the watchman. He was seated in the wide doorwayof the engine-room. Behind him, in the warm darkness, shone a red linefrom beneath the furnace door. Gilbert had not seen him since hisillness, and was struck with the man's expression of utter dejection. 

"Good-evening, " said the young doctor cordially, stopping in his walk. 

The man looked up with a curt response. 

"I was just strolling about, viewing things, " continued Gilbert. "Youare night watchman here now, I believe?"

"Yes. "

"I hope you are feeling better?"

The man looked up into the speaker's face, and seemed to recognize him. "You are the doctor?" he said, half inquiringly. 

"Yes. I came to Elmbrook lately, like yourself. My name isAllen--Gilbert Allen. "

"Allen!" repeated the dark man. He arose, and gave the other asearching look. "Are you the Gilbert Allen who saved the life of a manonce in Nelson Mills?"

"Yes, " answered Gilbert, surprised; "that is, I helped to, somewhat. Do you know----"

The man interrupted with a harsh laugh, such as had startled theminister. It was as unmirthful as a cry of pain. "Yes, I know morethan you think. I know _you_, Gilbert Allen!" His voice was harshwith scorn. "Many, many a time I've heard your name--spoken with thehighest praise--oh, the very highest. But you are like all the rest ofthe world. You would let your best friend starve. Selfishness anddishonesty!" he cried, clenching his hands, "selfishness anddishonesty! Those are the commonest things in this world--the onlythings!"

He picked up his lantern, and turning his back on his astonishedvisitor, disappeared into the dark recess of the engine-room. 

The young doctor stood staring after him, undecided whether to followor not. Was the man mad? There was a wild gleam in his eye, butGilbert's professional knowledge told him it was rather a gleam ofanguish than insanity. He took a step forward, then turned and walkedaway, wondering, and hotly indignant. He was filled with rage that anyman should dare to speak to him so, and wished with all his heart thatJohn McIntyre's hair had not been so white, nor his shoulders sostooped and thin. 

But with his amazement and indignation there was struggling a newfeeling. The May night was cool, but he felt suffocatingly hot. Heshrugged his shoulders. Nonsense! The man certainly was mad. Howcould any sane person accuse him of leaving his best friend to starve?And yet--

A figure in white was coming down the village street. It was theprincess of the ravine. She was dressed as suited her now, in a long, white, filmy gown, which she held up daintily. She wore no hat, andthe bronze hair crowning her shapely head caught the sunset light andshone like gold. 

She spoke to him, with a stately sweetness that recognized theirprevious acquaintance, but invited no further advance. The deep, searching look in her eyes, the same as in her old uncle's, madeGilbert feel uncomfortable. It seemed as if she knew, and every oneknew, that he had been guilty of "selfishness and dishonesty. "

He did not worry long over the strange man and his stranger accusation, for his fortune took a sudden happy turn. 

Down on the Lake Simcoe road, about a couple of miles below thevillage, lived old Mrs. McKitterick, the mother of Conductor Lauchie. For years she had been an invalid, and a great sufferer, and poorLauchie had spent half his earnings on doctors' bills; but still shelay in her bed weary month after weary month. They called in the newdoctor, and he tried a new form of treatment, a simple operation, andbefore a month was gone the old lady walked to the barnyard gate andwaved her shawl at Lauchie's train as it came puffing out of the swamp. And the conductor blew her such a joyous salute that folks thoughtthere must be an accident, and Jake Sawyer stopped his mill and ran upthe track to see if any of the orphans had been run over. 

The real cause of the uproar was soon proclaimed from Long's upstairs, and with it went ringing over the countryside the fame of the newdoctor. 

Gilbert awoke one morning to find himself the most important man in thetownship of Oro, and the busiest. Patients came from all directions, and Speed, his trim little mare, went flying over the hills and dalesas though she, too, were heartily glad that work had begun. LauchieMcKitterick advertised him at every station along the line, and whenthe doctor wanted to go anywhere on the train Davy Munn needed only tobrandish his mother's sunbonnet from the window of the stable loft, andthe Lakeview and Simcoe express stopped just below his back gate. Hewas soon so busy that Granny Long had to give up her afternoon nap tokeep track of his swift movements. There was always something doing inthe village, too. There was often an accident in the mill, and therewas always an accident at Jake Sawyer's. The eldest orphan fell intothe mill-pond, and was nearly drowned; the twins took a dose of Parisgreen just to see if it really would turn their hair into grass; andJoey ate all the early green apples off a Duchess tree. Then there wasGranny Long's neuralgia and Uncle Hughie Cameron's rheumatism; and Mrs. Winters declared she believed folks got sick on purpose, for the sakeof calling the doctor in. 

There was some shadow of truth in this, for as the young man came andwent among the people's homes their admiration for his skill was soonmingled with a warmer feeling. He had such a "takin' way" with him, old Granny Long declared, that a body just couldn't help being glad tosee him; and old Mrs. McKitterick said the sight of his face was like adose of medicine, a compliment the young doctor accepted gratefully inits true meaning. Even Mrs. Winters, and all the other famous nursesof the district, who, over an afternoon cup of tea, would give him fullinstructions upon how to treat this case and that, agreed that thedoctor was generally right. And then, though he always had his own wayin the end, he took their advice with such good humor, and neverscoffed, the way old Dr. Williams did. He would walk into the houseand order things in a way that commanded the admiration of even theDuke of Wellington. He scolded the mothers roundly whenever he wascalled to see a sick baby. He denounced pork and pickles as a child'sdiet, and made such a fuss about air-tight bedrooms that Jake Sawyer, who, in company with his wife, lived in terror lest a draught of nightair should blow on the orphans' precious heads, was forced into thepatient complaint that though the doctor was a fine young man, andtheir eldest was just crazy over him, still he believed, if he had hisway, he'd turn folks out of house and home, to live in the road, liketinkers. 

The busier Gilbert became the happier he grew. Elmbrook stood, in thecenter of a rich agricultural district, his patients were mostlywealthy farmers, and he began to feel that he was not so far from hisambition, after all. He would be well enough off at the end of twoyears to set up a city practice and make a home for Rosalie. 

Among the doctor's first social appearances was tea at the manse, wherehe met again the beautiful Miss Cameron. She came with her brotherMalcolm, who was Gilbert's assistant since he had returned fromcollege. When he was not too busy in the fields, or in dancingattendance on Marjorie Scott, the young man rendered the doctorconsiderable help. 

It was a warm evening, and when tea was finished the company sat out onthe veranda. The manse and the church were in full view of thevillage, half a mile distant, and a fine target for the telescope, asthe minister's wife well knew. But here they were screened fromobservation by the vines. 

"You have never heard Miss Cameron sing, have you, Dr. Allen?" askedthe minister's wife. "Then there's a treat in store for you. Run inand give us a song, Elsie, dear. "

Gilbert murmured something polite. He was quite sure Miss Cameron'ssinging would be very sweet and pretty, like herself; but he still hadtingling recollections of the whip-poor-will song, and his anxiety tohear more Elmbrook talent was only mild. 

The girl arose from the steps and returned to the twilight of theparlor. "Give us 'Abide with me, ' Elsie, " called the minister, leaningback in his worn armchair with a contented sigh. 

"That's the one father always asks for, " said his wife, with a smile. "He says he'd rather hear your Elsie sing that, Malcolm, than listen tothe best minister in Canada preach. "

Young Malcolm turned reluctantly. He was seated on the bottom step, engaged in an absorbing conversation with the minister's eldestdaughter, and did not like to be interrupted; but he knew better thanto neglect Marjorie's mother. 

"Yes, Elsie whoops it up not so badly, sometimes, " he remarked withbrotherly candor not unmixed with pride. "I like to hear her, allright, when she's singing an out-and-out song that's got a head andtail to it. But when she gets on to those hee-ha, hee-ha Italianfireworks things, away up in G, I generally cut for the barn. "

"Hush!" said the minister gently. The first notes of the prelude camefloating out of the dusk, and then, soft and sweet, and uttered with aperfect enunciation, the words:

 "_Abide with me! fast falls the eventide; The darkness deepens: Lord, with me abide! When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O abide with me!_"

The voice was pure and full, and as clear as a bird's; but there wassomething deeper in it than mere beauty, some subtle, compellingquality that made the tears rise unbidden, and that forced the heart tojoin in the prayer it uttered. 

No one moved until the last line rang out triumphantly. 

 "In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me!"

When she had finished, Gilbert spoke no word of admiration. It hadbeen so much better than he had dreamed that words seemed inadequate. 

She sang again and again; now the song was gay, now grave, and sheended with an ecstatic spring song that had in it the sparkle of thestream, the song of the robin, and all the glorious delight of earth'sresurrection. 

When she came out to them again and her audience expressed theirpleasure, Gilbert looked at her with a sharp feeling of pity. They hadenjoyed her singing, no doubt, but they had no idea how wonderful itwas. And to be able to sing like that, and not be appreciated, wastragic. 

"I suppose you are going back to Toronto to study, next autumn?" hesaid, when she was seated again on the veranda steps. 

"No, I think not, " she said, with what seemed to him shockingindifference. "Not for some years at least, if ever. "

"Why--you--you are surely not going to give up studying music!" hecried bluntly. "You, with a voice like that!"

His tone was unconsciously flattering. The girl smiled gratefully. She looked at him very gravely, as though about to speak, when shecaught her brother's eye upon her, and paused with an embarrassed air. 

"That's just what we're all saying to her, doctor, " he said. "Sheought to go, but she won't. "

"Oh, I may, some time, " she said lightly, "but I have had enoughlessons for a while. Now, Marjorie, aren't you going to play for us?"

Gilbert went home, wondering over this strange young woman, and feelingtoward her a strong impatience. Either she did not know the magnitudeof the talent she possessed, or she was wofully lacking in ambition. With that voice, and a little spirit, there was nothing she might notaccomplish; while here she was, content to feed chickens, and carryeggs to the corner store, with the placid assurance that she "had hadenough lessons for a while. " If she had not been so stately, he felthe would like to shake her. 

He did not meet her again for some time; for even when he found leisureto attend a social gathering, she was seldom present. But he was onthe lookout for her. He determined that the next time he met her hewould give her some much-needed advice. She ought to be stirred up. These country folk had no ambition. 

Her brother seemed to have no lack of it, he discovered. He took youngMalcolm with him to see a patient occasionally, and on one long drivethe boy confided in him something of the struggle it had been to givethem all an education. It was a lucky thing that Elsie didn't want togo on with her music, he said, for the expense of her training would beso great that both he and Jean would have to stay home for some years, and Jean was dying to go to the high school in the fall. Both UncleHughie and mother had declared that Elsie must have first chance, butElsie didn't want to go, and it certainly was lucky, though they wereall sorry, of course, that she wasn't going on. 

Gilbert wondered a little over the lad's remarks, but forgot them untilthe next occasion when he met Miss Cameron. 

He had been up to see a patient among the Glenoro hills, and wasdriving homeward. The road was a narrow, lonely one, winding here andthere through the dense wood. On either side the trees and underbrushmade a towering green wall. Through it the eye could catch occasionalglimpses of the flower-spangled earth, or a vista of splendid trunkswith the sunlight making golden splashes on their spreading boughs. Gilbert pulled up Speed and drove slowly. Her hoofs made but asmothered pad, pad in the soft leaf-mold. The air was cool, and ladenwith the delicious scents of moss and bracken and leaf-strewn earth. Far away in the green depths a whitethroat was sending forth his long, clear, silvery call, in endless praise of "Canada! Canada! Canada!"As Gilbert turned a curve in the road a figure appeared ahead, a figurethat seemed to add the finishing touch to the almost perfect scene--agirl, her arms full of marigolds, walking along the flower-borderedpathway. 

She wore a pale-green gown, her bronze hair was shaded by a big strawhat, and she seemed a harmonious part of the gold-and-green picture ofthe summer woods. 

The young doctor drew up at her side. She was a little pale andweary-looking from her long, hot walk, and she gladly accepted hisinvitation to ride. Jim had needed another man for the haying, shesaid, and she was the only one who could be spared to go and seek one;she was very fortunate to get a ride home. 

As Gilbert helped her into his buggy he looked at her wonderingly. Wasshe really content with her homely tasks, or could it be possible thatshe was making this sacrifice voluntarily?

"Can you be quite content to settle down here in Elmbrook, when youmight be making fame for yourself in a big city?" he asked. "I don'tbelieve you realize that you might some day move throngs with yourvoice. "

She smiled, with a tinge of sadness. "Well, you see, I am quite sureof my work here, " she said half playfully, "and one could never becertain of a steady supply of 'moved throngs. '"

"You could, " he cried earnestly. "You are wasting your talents. "

She shook her head. "It is better to waste one's talents thansomething better. "

"What, for instance?"

"One's life. "

"How could it be better employed, in your case, than by giving theworld your voice? You need to be more ambitious, " he added bluntly. 

She turned upon him that steady, scrutinizing glance that, from thefirst, had made him conscious of inner unworthiness. Her eyes werebright, and had lost the tired look; the cool breeze had brought backthe rose-leaf tints to her face, and had blown one bronze curl acrossher forehead. 

"You ought to hear Uncle Hughie on that subject, " she said, withapparent irrelevance. "He is always 'rastlin'' out some problem forother people. One cannot live with him and be in doubt of one's duty. "

"And he has taught you that it is your duty to remain at home?"

"Perhaps, " she said, looking away into the mass of greenery by theroadside. It was evident that she did not care to pursue the subject. 

"Duty is generally the thing a fellow doesn't want to do, " he remarked, by way of making the conversation less personal. 

"It's Uncle Hughie's pet hobby. He lost the chance of a collegeeducation, and many other privileges, through adhering to it, and sayshe has never regretted his action for a moment. "

Gilbert was silent. The unbelievable thing must be true, then. Thisgirl was sacrificing her own chance of advancement for the sake of herbrother and sister. He looked at her with a feeling of reverence. Togive up so much was commendable, but to give it up quietly, without amurmur, without even the chance of commendation--that was splendid. 

"'You are in line with the universe, '" he quoted. 

She glanced at him as if in alarm, and quickly changed the subject. Gilbert understood; he was tacitly informed that her sacrifice was toremain a secret. 

He stifled a sigh. He could not help remembering, just then, that hehad acted quite a different part when duty had called to one path, andambition and pleasure to another. He had merely postponed the duty, ofcourse; that was not really shirking it, for he intended to perform itto the last jot. Nevertheless, he wished that it had been done yearsago; and then he recalled the words of the dark watchman, and felthimself grow hot again. 

They turned another curve, and came out of the cool, green silence intothe hard, white, sunlit road that ran straight up to Elmbrook. 

"I wonder if the telescope's on us!" cried the doctor, with a boyishdesire to get away from his uncomfortable reflections. He checkedhimself, abashed, and glanced at his companion. Her stately gravitymade him half afraid of her. He thought of Rosalie's irresistiblegaiety, and longed for her radiant companionship. To his surprise, Miss Cameron's eyes twinkled. Apparently, she had a sense of humor, after all. 

"That shows how thoroughly un-Elmbrooked you still remain. It's beenresting in the northeast window ever since you drove away, and GrannyLong has been wheeled in there to watch for your return. " Gilbert feltvastly more at his ease. 

"You make me feel as if I were a new constellation. "

"Or a rising star--I hope you are. "

"Thank you. When you get to be the second Albani----"

"And you the greatest consulting physician in Canada----"

"Of course I shall remember that you encouraged me. "

"It isn't really a joke, you know, " she said with sweet seriousness. "I don't think--I know you don't realize how important you are in theeyes of the people about you. It is an"--her eyes were very grave--"anexacting position, Dr. Allen. "

They had reached her gate, and Gilbert was assisting her to alight. Heunderstood. She was paying him a delicate compliment, and with it wasthe hint that he must line up to the Elmbrook ideal. 

"I feel overcome with humiliation at the thought, " he said, standingbefore her, hat in hand, "when I consider my shortcomings. "

She shook her head. "You ought to be glad. One can scarcely helpattaining to an ideal that is set before one so persistently every day. "

Gilbert drove away humbled. This girl, with her splendid talent, hadquietly laid aside her chance of a great career because the road tofame deviated from the path of duty. And she had done it without aword or hint of martyrdom. And he--what had he done? How much thoughthad he spent in the past ten years on the man who had given him hischance in life? Suppose he had been to him all that he should havebeen? Then he would have lost Rosalie and the two years abroad thathad brought him nearer her social level. Gilbert saw that there hadnever been a moment when he had met the issue squarely. He had merelyput it aside, saying "Next year, next year. " Well, what did it matter, anyway? Martin was not in want. If he had needed the money it wouldhave been quite different; and when the time came he was going to dosomething splendid for him. And he was doing so well now that the timewas not far off. But Gilbert was honest with himself. He knew wellthat when the two years' work which he had laid out for himself in thislittle backward place were ended it was not the neglected duty he wouldconsider, but a city practice, and a fine home worthy of Rosalie. Forthe first time in his life the prospect brought him no pleasure. 

CHAPTER VII

THE TRAINING OF THE ORPHANS

 Off on de fiel' you foller de plough, Den w'en you're tire' you scare de cow, Sickin' de dog till dey jomp de wall, So de milk ain't good for not'ing at all-- An you're only five an' a half dis fall, Little Bateese! --WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND. 

In Elmbrook, parental discipline was simple and direct, and consistedof but one method of procedure: when the rising generation departedfrom the ways of its mothers it was promptly spanked back into the pathof rectitude, and no more about it. 

But when the Sawyers found themselves possessed of a large and livelyfamily, all methods of discipline, whether sanctioned by long custom orinvented on the spur of the moment, through the extreme urgency of thecase, alike failed. 

The orphans presented an entirely unique problem in the rearing ofchildren. In the first place, the community was completely taken abackby their unexpected character. Not one of them at all conformed to thepicture of a forsaken child, as conceived by the village. The Elmbrookideal was the sort that languished on the front page of theSunday-school library books. It was quiet and pensive and hungry, andgave all its meager earnings to a small invalid brother or drunkenfather. But the Sawyer orphans were neither pensive nor appealing. There was a defiant belligerency about them that stifled the avenues ofpity and put one on the defensive. They were wild and gay, anduproarious, too, and with the exception of Tim, the eldest, they werestrong and robust. He certainly looked as though he had been starved, body and soul; but his other unorphan-like qualities were so obtrusivethat he was looked upon as the biggest counterfeit of the crowd. 

During school hours the three eldest were kept in some sort ofconformity to law and order by the strong hand of the Duke ofWellington; but at home and abroad they were a law unto themselves, andkept the whole community in a state of apprehension, like people livingnear the crater of an active volcano. 

Their life had been largely spent in the slum district of a crowdedcity, and the change to the freedom of the Oro fields and woods wasalmost too much for the orphans. After school hours they all, with oneconsent, went mad, and ranged far and wide over hill and dale, untilGranny Long's old hands grew weary readjusting the telescope. Thenwhen she did catch sight of them it was only to be grossly insulted;for whenever the small scalawags guessed they were within range of thespyglass they would stand in line, and go through frightful contortionsof the face and body, expressive of contempt for the instrument andeverything behind it. 

Wherever the orphans went, depredations of all sorts followed. Theychased the neighbors' cows from the fields out to the road, and thepigs from the road into the fields. They climbed trees and stolebirds' nests. They dammed the creek and flooded Cameron's pasture. They teased Sandy McQuarry's old ram until it was mad with rage, andbutted the ex-elder all over the barnyard. They smashed windows, andbroke down fences, and, in fact, were a caution, and no mistake. 

But in spite of all, their foster-parents lived in happyunconsciousness of their imperfections. For they were so wonderfullyclever that Jake and Hannah were lost in admiration. 

Certainly they worked a reform in the slow-moving Sawyer household. They started with the garden, and even Mrs. Winters had to admit theymade an improvement there. Jake and Hannah had long felt thehumiliation of their scratched and scarred front yard, in such uglycontrast to its trim surroundings, but they had never been able tobetter matters. Hannah had received a present, some years before, oftwelve new fowls, which, as was their pious custom, she and Jakepresented with Bible names, calling them for the twelve sons of Israel. And now each, like its namesake, had many descendants that hadmultiplied upon the face of the garden, and turned that promising landinto a desert. Every year Jake faithfully dug flower-beds, and Hannahas faithfully planted seeds; but, just as regularly, they werescratched up by the Twelve Tribes. 

But when the orphans arrived the marauders were taught their trueplace. Though it was late in the season, the twins planted a halfbushel of flower seeds, and dug and raked enough for a plantation. Then, the first time the Twelve Tribes emigrated from the back yardthey were promptly shooed across the street and over into the doctor'sgarden. Davy Munn, indignant at this unsolicited presentation, aspromptly shooed them back again, and war was declared. Tim hadhitherto looked upon the gardening enterprise with contempt, but now heentered heartily into it, and the battle raged tumultuously. Each sidewas bombarded with sticks and stones and clods of dirt and hystericalhens, until Granny Long sent word to the doctor that if he didn't wantto be buried alive he'd better do something to the orphans, and thatright speedily. So the young man marched into the field, routed bothsides, and chased the Twelve Tribes back to their own country. For along time the eldest orphan felt the terrifying strength of the armthat had lifted him from the ground and shaken him till his teethchattered. Thereafter he had such a profound admiration for the doctorthat his viceroy, Davy Munn, was allowed to rule his own yard in peace. 

But the hens had still to be conquered, so the orphans set to work andbuilt around the back yard a lofty fence of wire and laths, borrowedfrom the sawmill when Sandy McQuarry was away. Inside this the TwelveTribes were shut up in Egyptian bondage until the garden was in bloom. Even Isaac and Rebekah were permitted to promenade in the barnyardonly, among the dogs, cats and rabbits with which that interestingplace swarmed. 

Within the house, too, the children accomplished a revolution. Thegirls did nearly all the work, Hannah declared, and did it so swiftlythey left her in a state of dazed admiration. Of course, they wereliable to drop an unfinished task and take a sudden excursion to fieldor wood, but, on the whole, even Mrs. Winters was forced to confessthat they were a caution, and no mistake, and might be smarthousekeepers some day, if Hannah would only make them behave. 

Sometimes a doubt of their absolute perfection would darken, for amoment, their foster-mother's placid sky, but even then her blame wastempered with praise. 

"Well! well! well!" she remarked one evening, "yous youngsters is awfulsmart, that's a fact; but I'm 'most scared you're too smart. "

This confession was wrung from her by the black-haired twin's dexterityin catching a plate that the fair-haired one had let fall, and at thesame instant administering a sharp slap to the delinquent's ear. 

Hannah was preparing the evening meal, with spasmodic assistance fromthe family. She stood over the stove, frying pancakes, while theorphans darted about her like swallows. Tim, always the swiftest, inspite of his lameness, was rushing about in his usual capacity ofsuperintendent, cramming more wood into the already red-hot stove, tasting the pancakes to see if they were just right, and rapping Joeyover the head with the dripping batter-spoon when he attempted tofollow his example. At brief intervals he would dart into thedining-room to settle a dispute between the belligerent twins. 

The latter were setting the table with the best china teaset, aprecious relic handed down from Jake's grandmother, and used only whenthere was distinguished company. No visitors were expected to-night, but the twins loved variety, and had arrayed the table in its best as apleasant surprise for daddy. Joey was busiest of all. He had wailedloudly for a task, and Hannah had given him permission to fill thewoodbox and the water-bucket. He was diligently carrying out herinstructions, with one slight variation that showed him to be a trueorphan. He filled the bucket with sticks, and then went paddling toand from the water-barrel, leaving a wet and muddy trail behind him, and gleefully deposited dipperfuls of water into the woodbox. He wasfinally discovered by his brother, promptly cuffed, and set to reversethe order of his going. 

The arrival of Jake from the mill was the signal for a shrieking exodusin his direction, and soon afterward they were all seated around thetable. The twins were placed opposite each other, to preventhair-pulling--making faces did not cause much disturbance--and Jake andHannah sat at either end, gazing at the array with much the same air asthat with which a pair of good-tempered, puzzled hens might regard aswarm of agile ducklings. 

After Jake had rapturously praised the fine appearance of the table, the orphans were, with some difficulty, prevailed upon to sit stillwhile the blessing was being asked; and then the pancakes and the hotbiscuits and the maple syrup began to disappear in an amazing manner. 

"Well, an' how's daddy's little woodpecker?" asked Jake, passing hisbig hand fondly over Joey's red curls. "Been a good boy to-day?"

"Yep, " answered the baby in muffled tones. He looked up at hisfoster-father cunningly. "You won't t'rash me w'en I been a good boy, will yeh?"

"Bless the baby's heart! Who'd talk o' thrashin' you?" roared the bigman. "If any fellow lifts a finger to you, you let daddyknow--an'--an'--he'll bash their heads in for them!" he addedexplosively. 

The elder boy glanced up at the man with an admiring flash in his old, weary eyes. "Ole Mis' Cummins uster lambaste him when she came home atnight, " he said in a hard voice. "That's what's made them marks on hislegs. "

Jake Sawyer set his teeth and Hannah sighed and shook her head. Anymention of the old drunken woman with whom the children had lived, before the Home rescued them, the orphans well knew always stirredtheir foster-parents' tender hearts. 

"Tim uster throw stones at her, an' stick pins into her when she wasdrunk!" cried the black-haired twin, in shrill triumph. "An' she usterpull my hair, too, an' Lennie's, an' we stole her scissors an' cut itoff awful short. But it didn't do no good, 'cause she uster whack usover the heads with her walkin'-stick. "

"Well, there ain't nobody goin' to whack any o' yous any more, " saidbig Jake Sawyer grimly. "'Ceptin' it's me, when you're bad, " he addedwarningly. 

This awful threat was received with loud laughter, and Joey hammeredthe table with his spoon and shouted joyfully, knowing there must be agrand joke somewhere. 

Hannah looked across the table and nodded to her husband; it was a goodtime to disclose an important secret. 

"Now we want yous to be awful good kids to-night, " said Jake, pushingback his plate, and taking Joey on his knee, "because the minister'scomin' to see you. "

"The minister! Why, he's been here already!" cried the black-hairedtwin indignantly. "What's he comin' again for?"

"That was jist a call, " said Hannah. "This is different. It's apastoral visitation this time, " she added solemnly. The orphans lookedat each other apprehensively. 

"What's that?" demanded Tim. 

"It's when he comes to hear you say your verses an' your catechism, "explained Jake soothingly; "and you'll all show him how much you know;an' then he prays, and you must be awful good and quiet. Eh, littlewoodpecker?"

The black-haired twin looked across the table at the fair-haired twin, and each read aright the other's rebellious thought; one sharp glancefrom Tim, and the matter was settled. The minister might make hispastoral visitation, if he wanted to, but if he thought they were goingto stay home to say verses, and be quiet, he was mistaken. 

The Sawyer parents were dreading signs of rebellion, and Hannah nowadded enticingly: "We're goin' to pass 'round the gingerbread and theras'berry vinegar, and Susan Winters said yous girls could dress up inyour new plaid dresses. "

The twins looked doubtful. Gingerbread and their new frocks! Thisgave the pastoral visitation a festive aspect. They slipped away fromthe table, and followed their elder brother out to the back yard. 

"Whatter ye goin' to do, Tim?" asked the black-haired twin, dividedbetween dread of what the pastoral visitation might bring forth and anatural curiosity to sound its unknown depths. 

"Mammy says we can wear our Sunday dresses, " said the fair-haired oneweakly. 

Tim was drifting slowly, but surely, toward a hole in the back fence. 

"Yous can stay, if ye wanter, but you bet I don't!" He wagged his headominously. 

"Why, what'll he do?" The black-haired twin balanced herselfmiraculously on the edge of the water-barrel and stared. 

"He'll ast ye"--Tim's voice was sepulchral--"he'll ast ye if ye'resaved. "

"If ye're what?" cried the twins, in alarm. 

"If ye're saved. Preachers always does that. It means if ye're goin'to the bad place. "

"Well, I ain't, " said the black-headed twin stoutly. 

"Me neither, " promptly echoed her sister. 

Their brother regarded them darkly. "You can't never tell, " heanswered ominously. "You'd better look out, when the minister's'round. He ast Billy Winters if he'd got his soul saved. "

"His sole?" The fair-haired twin looked down at the flapping and wornfoundation of the shoes so lately purchased, and then at the familyoracle. 

"Aw, it ain't your boot-sole, " he said disdainfully; "it's somethin' inyour insides; an' if ye don't get it fixed up, an' saved, theminister'll send ye to the bad place, sure. He'll ast ye about it, " headded threateningly. 

This was too much for the courage of the twins. Even the charms of thegingerbread and their new plaid dresses could scarcely compensate forthe terrors of that occult something concerning whose mysteries theminister would be sure to inquire. 

Their brother was backing through the hole in the fence. "He'll tellye ye've gotter to be awful good, too, " he added, more explicitly. 

That settled it. This was something one could understand, and was notto be tolerated for a moment. The twins made a dive after him, and thethree did not stop running until they began to roll down the bank ofthe ravine. When they were safely hidden in the green depths Timdelivered his ultimatum. "Yous two kids ain't goin' to tag after me, mind ye that, " and swaggered away. 

The black-haired twin stood for a moment glaring after him, in darkrebellion. She opened her mouth to scream imprecations, but thoughtbetter of it. Tim had a long memory, and an uncomfortable way ofexacting penalties for any such indignity. She soothed her outragedfeelings somewhat by throwing a stone after the little, limping figure, her erratic aim saving her from discovery. 

"Le's go an' play lady, " said the fair-haired twin comfortingly. "Ibar be Elsie Cameron. "

"No, you don't!" cried her stronger-minded sister. "I'm goin' to beElsie. You can be old Arabella Winters, an' you can have Rebekah foryour parrot, " she said derisively. 

But the fair-haired twin, though of a yielding disposition, was subjectto stubborn fits. "I won't play, then, " she said, sitting down heavilyupon a stone. 

Her sister understood the sign, and compromised. 

"Well, we'll say 'Eevery ivery, ' an' see who's to be her, " shesuggested. 

"All right. " The answer was delivered in a weary tone and with a totallack of interest. 

The black-haired one mounted a stone, and pointing her fingeralternately at herself and at her sister, went through the incantation:

 "_Eevery, ivery, ickery Ann, Fillacy, fallacy, Nicholas Dan; Queevery, quavery, English navy, Come striddle, come straddle, come out!_"

The last word was uttered as she pointed at her sister, and thefair-haired twin sprang up in triumph. "It's me!" she chanted, "it'sme! I'm to be Elsie Cameron!"

Her sister succumbed to the inevitable as good-naturedly as possible. No one ever dreamed of calling into question the final decision of themystic rhyme. They flew down the bank to a green bower which had beentheir playhouse ever since their arrival, and soon were amicablyengaged in a charming drama, in which Lenora was Miss Cameron, andLorena Dr. Allen, who, mounted upon a barrel-hoop, dashed gallantly upto the door to take the young lady for a drive. 

Meantime, Tim was still hurrying up the ravine, fired with a newpurpose. Ever since the day he had seen the strange, dark man of theDrowned Lands defy the minister, the eldest orphan had regarded theoffender with worshiping interest. Among the other peculiarities ofthe child's queer, twisted nature, was a feeling of comradeship withthe wicked and outcast. He had belonged to that class all his life, and as public opinion grew in strength against John McIntyre, in likeproportion grew Tim's admiration. 

To-night he was resolved to visit him. It was a fine opportunity, forhe could let the man see that he, too, was frightfully wicked, anddespised ministers--in fact, had left home that night because one wascoming. 

As he scrambled along beneath the bridge he heard footsteps and voicesabove him. He crouched down among the bracken. Billy Winters and theother fellows might be there, and he did not want them when he went tovisit a man like John McIntyre. The voices passed, and he peeped out. It was only Dr. Allen and that Cameron girl who sang. Tim decided notto throw a stone, after all. The girl had come over and sung Joey tosleep when he was sick, and the doctor was an uncomfortable sort ofperson to hit with a rock. 

He limped along the bank of the pond, dodging behind the willows, untilhis feet sank in the soft sawdust. Then he paused behind a heap oflogs to reconnoiter. 

Yes, there was the man sitting in the doorway of the engine-room, andlooking as dark and wicked as he had done that night when he hadthrilled Tim's heart by his shocking conduct. The boy drew slowlynear, half fearful of his own daring. What if the dark man should notat first recognize him as a kindred spirit, and should leap at him witha hand-spike? John McIntyre looked up. 

"What do you want?" he asked harshly. "You'd better go home. "

This was not a propitious beginning, and the visitor squirmed around inembarrassment. His pride was rather hurt at the man's failure torecognize him, and he could scarcely announce, just at the outset, thathe had run away from the minister and had come to him as a companion ininiquity. Suddenly he thought of a remark that had hitherto neverfailed to arouse the liveliest interest in a new acquaintance. 

"I'm one o' the Sawyer orphants, " he announced proudly. 

The dark man looked no whit impressed. He made no reply, and Timgained courage to sidle up closer, and finally seated himself, in aninsinuating manner, on the extreme end of a piece of timber that laybefore the door. He turned cautiously and peered with absorbedinterest into the engine-room. The great black monster lay there, dimly outlined in the warm darkness, giving forth a hissing sound, likea giant breathing heavily in his sleep. The man arose and opened thefurnace door. That was like the giant's mouth, and he was eating hissupper of porridge, Tim thought, as the watchman shoveled in thesawdust. The red glow lit up the dark man's face and arms, and theboy's small, pinched countenance, and sent a red splash out on thesurface of the pond. The door slammed, and again only one bright linebeneath the damper showed against the darkness. The man came back, andin silence resumed his seat. Tim was vastly interested in allmachinery, and Spectacle John, knowing the eldest orphan's peculiarpropensity toward accidents, had ordered him, on pain of sudden death, not to show his face in the flour mill. Now, here was a chance toexamine a far bigger engine than Spectacle John's. There was anothercharm besides his wickedness in this strange man. Tim became veryingratiating. 

"Who made that engine?" he asked in a friendly tone. 

There was no reply. The man seemed unaware of his presence. 

"Must have been somebody awful smart, " added the visitor insinuatingly. 

Still no answer. 

"Mebby God made it, " he ventured, just to see what effect this piousremark would have on such a wicked unbeliever. 

The man turned and looked at him. "You know better than that, " he saidsharply. 

Tim felt ashamed. John McIntyre would think him young and innocent, like Billy Winters and Johnny McQuarry, who believed everything theirSunday-school teacher said. 

"Huh! I bet God ain't smart enough to make an engine like that, " hesaid profanely. He waited for the effect of this, but there wasapparently none; so he proceeded to give forth some more of theunorthodox views that never failed to shock pretty Miss Marjorie Scott, his Sunday-school teacher. "I don't believe half folks tell about God, 'cause I'm a--I'm a----" He hesitated, rummaging through his memoryfor that terribly wicked name that Silas Long had given the newwatchman. It came to light at last. "I'm a infiddle!" he burst forthproudly. 

He waited, but even this tremendous disclosure called forth no remark. Probably the man had consorted with infidels and such like all hislife, and thought nothing of them. Tim drew a deep breath. It gaveone a feeling of ecstatic fear to be able to utter such statementsunrebuked. He tried another. 

"Miss Scott says--she's my Sunday-school teacher, only I don't go toSunday-school much, you bet--she says God made everybody, but I toldher if He made Spectacle John Cross He'd orter be ashamed. An' I betthe devil made ole Mis' Cummins. She was the woman that brought us up, an' I say, she was a corker!"

The man slowly turned his weary eyes and fixed them on the child'sface. The reflected light from the glimmering pond lit up the small, wizened countenance, and for the first time he noted the signs it boreof cruel suffering and ill usage. 

"Another, " he said, half aloud. 

"What?" asked Tim, glad to have elicited even one word. 

The man did not repeat it. "Where do you live?" he asked. 

"Up at Jake Sawyer's. I'm one o' the Sawyer orphants, I told you. "

It was impossible for even John McIntyre, living a life apart, thoughhe did, not to have heard something of the Sawyer orphans' fame. Henodded. 

"Are they good to you?"

Tim hesitated. He would have liked to tell a tale of woe and terribletortures, but his genuine regard for his foster-parents forbade. "Yes, course, " he answered shortly. "Only they tried to make me stay hometo-night 'cause the preacher was comin'. But I cut out, you bet; Ican't stand preachers. "

The man made no comment. His sudden interest seemed to have assuddenly vanished. He arose and took up his lantern. 

"You must go home now, " he said. "I have work to do. "

He spoke in a voice that the child understood must be obeyed. Timarose and moved away, slowly and reluctantly. 

"I'm comin' another night, " he called back, in a voice half appealing, half threatening. The man took no notice, and accepting this aspermission, the boy limped away, whistling gaily. 

Meanwhile, at home, dire events were pending for the orphans. When theminister arrived, and Jake and Hannah could produce only Joey as thesole representative of their large family, they were covered withhumiliation. Never before, except in cases of severe illness, had itbeen known throughout the whole Elmbrook congregation that the familyhad failed to appear in full force at an official visit from theminister. The visitor himself did not treat the matter lightly. Hehinted that Jake and Hannah had better keep a firm hand on theirchildren, if they intended to do their duty by them, and that obediencemust be exacted, at all costs. When he was gone the husband and wifesat despondently in the empty parlor, while Joey ate the remains of thegingerbread and drank all the raspberry vinegar, unnoticed. This was aserious problem. The orphans had really disgraced themselves thistime, and something must be done. 

"Let's go and ask Susan Winters; she'll know, " suggested Hannah. "Mebby hers might 'a' run away once when the minister called. "

Jake shook his head mournfully. He was quite sure such a thing couldnever have happened in the Winters' well-managed family. Nevertheless, he shouldered Joey, and they went down the street to consult thevillage oracle. The Duke of Wellington had dropped in for a chat, andthe two vigorously took up the case of the absconded orphans. Mrs. Winters, backed up by the schoolmistress, declared that the family'sonly salvation lay in a thorough, all-around thrashing; and after muchscolding, and dire prophecies of the gallows as the termini of theorphans' careers, Jake and Hannah, like two frightened children, weredriven to make the desperate promise that as soon as the culpritsreturned they would administer to each a severe castigation. 

When the stern parents returned home, and sat on the front step toconsider what was before them, they were filled with dismay. 

"If the little woodpecker'd been into it I wouldn't 'a' promised--no, not even for Susan Winters, " announced Jake gloomily, as he watchedJoey tumbling about the grass with Joshua, the dog. "Spankin' kidsain't a man's work, anyhow, " he added, glancing meaningly at his wife. 

"Oh, Jake!" she cried tremulously, "you wouldn't think o' makin' me doit? I--jist couldn't!"

"Well, somebody's got to, " said Jake, setting his teeth, "'cordin' toSusan an' the Dook. What does an old maid like her know about bringin'up kids, anyhow?" he added rebelliously. 

A scrambling noise, and the sound of smothered giggles, floated fromthe back yard. 

"That's them!" cried Jake in a terrified voice. "You go and order themto come 'round here, Hannah, " he added, with the air of one who isputting off the day of execution, "an' I'll get the gad. "

Hannah arose and slowly passed out to the back door. The three truantswere trying to make themselves invisible behind the pump. 

"Come on 'round to the front, children!" called their foster-mother, ina voice that trembled. "You've been awful bad children, so you have!"

With this bold statement Hannah's courage vanished. She turned andfled indoors to find refuge with Jake. But, alas for the poor wife!In the most trying ordeal of her life her husband had basely desertedher. Neither Jake nor Joey was to be seen. The instrument ofexecution, a small, twig-like branch from the lilac bush, was lyingupon the doorstep. Mrs. Sawyer took it up with a Spartan air. If Jakecould so meanly fly from his duty then she must so much the more facehers. 

"Yous youngsters has been awful bad, " she reiterated, returning to theback door, and shaking the innocent-looking branch menacingly, "an'you've jist got to be--to be--whipped, " she ended up faintly. 

The orphans stared at her for a moment in open-mouthed amazement; then, with shrieks of hysterical laughter, the twins bounded off the verandaand scrambled up to the safe sanctuary of the woodpile. 

Tim alone stood his ground. He surveyed the meager weapon in thewoman's hand, contempt in his wise old eyes. "Ye kin lick me, if yelike, for the hull o' them, " he said, with weary indifference. "Idon't care. I'm used to it. "

At this pathetic confession, Mrs. Sawyer threw down the discipliningrod and sank upon the doorstep. She buried her face in her apron andburst into sobs. At the sight of her grief, so inexplicable, soterrifying, the twins pitched themselves off the woodpile and flungthemselves upon her. They wound their arms chokingly about her neck;they petted and caressed, and besought her not to cry; they bewailedtheir own shortcomings, and made unconditional promises of perfectionin the future. And even Tim sidled up, and volunteered a vague hintconcerning contemplated reformation. 

So Hannah dried her tears, and lighting a lamp, fetched moregingerbread and raspberry vinegar from the cellar, and they allrepaired to the parlor to celebrate the family reunion. They were inthe midst of the feast when there came a stealthy movement at the backdoor, and Jake crept sheepishly in, leading Joey by the hand. Helooked at his wife with an expression of mingled contrition andfrightened inquiry. Hannah beamed back perfect forgiveness andassurance, and in his overwhelming relief Jake caught up the twins andswung them over his head. The whole family immediately gave itself upto riot, and when the Duke of Wellington and Mrs. Winters came over tosee if the orphans had been properly subdued they found theundisciplined household, Hannah included, engaged in a glorious game ofblind man's buff. Even while the two officers of the law were peepingthrough the kitchen window, Jake upset the water-pail, and the twinsbroke a glass pitcher, all unheeded. 

Mrs. Winters and the Duke turned, and marched indignantly homeward. 

"Well!" exclaimed the exasperated village manager, as she stumbledthrough the Sawyers' lumpy garden, "what we've got to do 'fore we canraise them orphants, is to raise them two old fools they've got for afather and mother, and I guess it's about fifty years too late!"

Not till the still unchastened orphans were in bed and asleep did Jakeagain broach the subject of corporal punishment. For some time hewalked up and down the kitchen, scratching his head, as he always didwhen worrying out a mental problem. 

At length he gave a sigh of satisfaction, and paused before the tablewhere Hannah sat mending Tim's riven trousers. 

"We ain't a-goin' to try that Winters dodge no more, Hannah, " heannounced firmly, "an' that's all about it. "

Hannah looked up joyfully. "Oh, Jake, I'm awful glad! I couldn't doit--I jist couldn't!"

"Of course you couldn't, " he cried sympathetically, "An', what's more, you don't have to try any more. We'll do our best by them kids otherways, an' the good Lord'll see they don't turn out bad. But there'sone thing dead sure, an' you can tell Susan Winters, and the Dook, too--I ain't a-goin' to raise my hand to no motherless child; no, notif they burn down the mill; and may the Lord help me so to do!"

CHAPTER VIII

A STRANGE COMRADESHIP

 O wind of death, that darkly blows Each separate ship of human woes Far out on a mysterious sea, I turn, I turn my face to thee. --ETHELWYN WETHERALD. 

In spite of the excitement attendant upon the orphans' waywardness andthe doctor's growing practice, Elmbrook did not lose sight of the newwatchman in the mill. 

Since the minister's rebuff, the village generally had ceased alladvances; but they watched John McIntyre from a distance, with deepinterest, not unmixed with fear. There was something in his wholeconduct to arouse apprehension. Every evening at dusk he came stealingup the valley from the Drowned Lands, and every morning, in the graydawn, he stole away again. Silent and morose, avoiding all contactwith his fellow-men, he came and went with the darkness, until heseemed a creature of night and shadows. One or two of the more kindlysouls of the village still made vain attempts to be friendly. OldHughie Cameron visited the mill several evenings, and Silas Longcarried his telescope down to the engine-room door, and strove tointroduce the strange man to the joys of star-gazing. Even theminister, grieved at his former harshness, paid him a second visit. But all alike were repulsed. John McIntyre would accept kindness fromno man, and one by one they were forced to leave him to himself. Someof the women, too, tried to pierce his reserve, with as little effect. The Longs lived near the mill-pond, and Mrs. Long had been in the habitof sending Jerry Coombs, the former watchman, a nightly lunch. So oneevening she borrowed Davy Munn, and sent him down to the mill with astrawberry pie and a plate of cookies that would have tempted anyliving man. They were returned with dignified thanks, and Silas andhis wife sat and exclaimed over the strange man's obstinacy, while DavyMunn and the eldest orphan despatched the despised viands. Mrs. Longtold her story the next afternoon at Miss McQuarry's, where the villagemothers had met to make a quilt for the Sawyer twins' bed. Every oneagreed that John McIntyre certainly was a caution, and the hostessdeclared, with a sigh, that she was jist terrible feared he would bringretribution upon Sandy for his treatment of the minister. 

Ella Anne Long remarked, between stitches, that his house was a sightto behold, and no mistake. 

"Did you see into it with the spyglass?" inquired Mrs. Winters, fromthe other end of the quilt, glad to get a slap at the mischievousinstrument. 

"No, I didn't!" said Miss Long indignantly. "It was when Arabella andme were down there, pickin' strawberries in the old clearin'. You canask Arabella, there, if you don't believe me. "

Miss Arabella, with an apologetic glance at her sister-in-law, corroborated the statement. They had seen inside the door that dayquite by accident, and the place was a dreary sight: a broken-down oldtable, and only a piece of a log for a seat, and a heap of rags andstraw in an old bunk for a bed. 

"Eh, poor man! poor buddy!" cried old lady Cameron pityingly. "An' himwith such a fine Hielan' name, too!"

Mrs. Winters suggested that they make a raid upon the place someevening after he had left for the mill, and scrub and clean up. It wasa disgrace to the village to have such conditions not a mile from yourvery door!

But old lady Cameron did not quite sanction such extreme measures. Aman's home was his castle, her brother Hughie always said, and no onehad any right to enter without his permission. So the quilting-beeended in a great deal of talk, and John McIntyre's condition remainedunbettered. 

The Elmbrook Temperance League next took him up. Spectacle John Crosswas president of the society, and was assured that it was drink thatailed John McIntyre. No one had ever seen him overcome with liquor, neither had he ever been known to go to Lakeview, where was the nearestpoint at which it could be obtained. But Spectacle John said you couldnever tell. He might run a private still in that old place away backin the swamp, and he just looked like the kind that could carry agallon and yet walk steady. Spectacle John had met that sort often onhis temperance campaigns. 

So they sent invitations to John McIntyre to join their ranks, all ofwhich he emphatically refused. Spectacle John received littleencouragement from the milkstand. Old Hughie Cameron was of theopinion, having rastled it out one evening to the tune of "The CameronMen, " that to ask that poor buddy to join his bit of a society was likeasking the folks at a funeral to come and play hop-scotch. Likely, theman never touched liquor; and, anyway, his trouble was a sad one, whatever it was, and needed a remedy that would go deeper. 

While the village thus pondered over John McIntyre's case, there wasone person who was slowly, but surely, piercing his armor of reserve. Ever since his first visit, the eldest orphan had felt the fascinationof the wicked watchman growing, and gradually he fell into the habit ofpaying him a short visit every evening. He had various reasons forgoing. First, he really felt a strange affinity for this outcast. John McIntyre was very bad, he hated good people and law and order, andTim was convinced that he also was the enemy of all such. Then, too, when the boys at school learned that he was McIntyre's intimate itthrew an evil glamor over him. He added to it by dark hints of theplots he and the watchman were hatching; the breaking of the dam andthe burning of the mill being among the smallest. Then there was thatwonderful engine he was free to examine. And last of all, Tim noticeda strange and delightful circumstance that often attended his visits toMcIntyre. When he had been spending an evening at the mill, old HughieCameron was often on the bridge as he came down the willow path; and henever failed to pat him on the head and slip a cent into his hand. 

At first, Jake and Hannah were greatly exercised over the growingintimacy between their boy and the wicked man who had defied theminister. They even had horrible visions of resorting to Mrs. Winters'extreme measures once more to keep their eldest away from the mill; butold Hughie Cameron allayed their fears. John McIntyre would never harma child, he declared firmly. So, much relieved, the Sawyers let theboy have his way. 

At first the man merely tolerated the child's presence in silence; butas he grew accustomed to it he sometimes caught himself glancing downthe willow-bordered path to see if the little, hobbling figure, in thescant trousers and the big straw hat, were yet in sight. Allconversation remained, for a time, one-sided. It consisted chiefly ofa string of questions on the boy's part, interspersed with reluctantanswers from the man. Sometimes, weary of seeking informationunsuccessfully, Tim would deliver it himself, and would talk allevening about his past hard life. After some of its sad disclosures henoticed that his companion was less taciturn, and he seized suchopportunities for wringing from him something of his views on religion. 

"Who made this pond?" he asked one night, when the water was a radianceof golden ripples. 

"I don't know, " answered his companion shortly. 

"But who d'ye s'pose made it?"

"I suppose it was Sandy McQuarry, when he put the mill here. "

"How did he do it?"

"He dammed the creek. "

"Oh, and who made the crick?"

"It was always there. "

"Yes, but who made it in the first place?"

No answer. 

"Was it God?"

"I--I suppose so. "

"Oh, ain't you dead sure? Who could it 'a' been, then?"

Still silence. 

"Was it God?"

"Yes. "

Tim looked surprised. "Miss Scott, she says God made everything, butshe never knew ole Mother Cummins, or she'd never 'a' said that. Shedon't know much, though, " he added, with a sigh for the narrowexperience of his Sunday-school teacher. "You don't s'pose God would'a' let anybody like ole Mother Cummins live if He bothered much aboutthings, do you?"

The man flashed a look of sympathy into the child's old, pinched face. This boy's problem was his. How could the Almighty care, and yetpermit such things to be? John McIntyre had answered that question forhimself by saying that the Almighty--if there were an Almighty--did notcare; but when he looked into the child's hungry, questioning eyes hisunbelief seemed inadequate. 

"D'ye think He would?" persisted the boy. 

John McIntyre hesitated. For the first time he recoiled fromexpressing his contempt for God and humanity. "Most people are bad, but----" He paused. Then, to his own surprise, he added: "There'syour new father and mother, you know. "

"Yes, God must 'a' made them, all right, " agreed Tim emphatically. "Mebby he couldn't help folks like ole Mis' Cummins an' Spectacle John. Ole Hughie Cameron said Spectacle John was a son of Belial, an' I betthat's right, 'cause he won't let us go near daddy's mill. Say"--helooked up, and put the question in an awed whisper--"are you a son o'Belial, too? Silas Long said you was. "

There was no reply to this, and the boy sat regarding John McIntyrethoughtfully. He was beginning to fear he was not so gloriously wickedas the village believed. 

"Say, you ain't a--a infiddle, after all, are you?" he added, in adisappointed tone. And John McIntyre did not deny the charge. 

Little by little, the man was inveigled into conversation. At first, his few remarks were merely about the engine or the lumber, as the boyfollowed him on his rounds through the mill. But the field graduallywidened, until one night he was led to speak of his past--those days oflove and peace, now separated from him by years of bitter sorrow. Itwas a little bird that opened the door into those golden days. The twoincongruous figures were sitting, as usual, in the wide, dark doorway. In front lay the shining water, in its feathery willow frame, and stillrosy with the last faint radiance of the sunset. As the pond slowlypaled to a mirror-like crystal, the moon, round and golden, rose upfrom the darkness of the Drowned Lands. It sent a silver shaft downinto the shadowy ravine, and a gleam from the brook answered. Just asits light came stealing on through the willowy fringe to touch thewaters of the pond there arose, from the dark grove opposite the mill, a rapturous song. 

"What's that?" cried Tim, in startled joy. 

"A catbird, " answered John McIntyre. 

"Oh, say! That's the little beggar that was meyowing jist now, ain'tit?"

"Yes. "

"Billy Winters always said it was a wildcat, and was scarder'n arabbit. Hello! There he goes again! Say! ain't he a little corker, though? Did you ever hear him before?"

"Yes. "

"Any other place than here?"

"Yes. "

"Where?"

"Far away. "

"Where you uster live 'fore you came here?"

"Yes. "

"Were there Canada birds an' blue jays there, too?"

"Yes. "

"Any other kinds?"

"Yes. "

"What were they?"

The man's face betokened a deep pain and reluctance. He sat for amoment, staring ahead, and then answered in a hushed tone, "There wasone they called the hermit thrush. "

"The hermit thrush, " repeated Tim. "I've never sawn him. What does hesay?"

"He says, " began the man dreamily, "he says--'Oh'----" He stopped, asthough afraid of what he had done. "I--I forget what he said, " headded confusedly. 

"Do you?" The boy's tone was disappointed. "Mebby if you think hardyou'll remember it, " he added encouragingly. "What color was it?"

"Brown. "

"Did it sing like a robin?"

"No. "

"Can't you remember one little, teenty speck of it?" incredulously. 

"No. "

"Aw, think hard. That's what the Dook tells me in school, and then itcomes to me. Ole Mother Cummins uster lambaste me with a stick when Iforgot things, but she jist walloped it all out of me. The Dook givesme a whackin' sometimes, too, but she can't lick for sour apples'longside o' ole Mother Cummins. What did ye say was the bird's name?"

"The hermit thrush. "

"Doesn't it ever sing here?"

"I don't think so, I've never heard it. "

"If you could mind what it sings like I could listen for it. "

The remark was broadly insinuating, but elicited no response. 

"Where did you hear it?"

"Far away from here. "

"In another country?"

"I guess so--yes. "

"In Nova Scotia?"

The man turned sharply. "What made you say that?" he cried. 

"I--we came from there, " whispered the boy; "but you won't tell, willyou?"

"No. "

"Only Daddy an' Mammy Sawyer knows. Our father he was a bad man, so wedon't tell. The kids don't mind him, but I do. He wasn't bad to us, but he done somethin' awful, an' then he ran away, an' our mother died, an' he sent us miles an' miles away to a city, an' we lived with oldMother Cummins. But I mind the ocean--it smelt like--ok, it smeltawful good! Did you ever smell the ocean?"

The man was supporting his head on his hand; his face was turned away. 

"Oh, say! it's bully! It's somethin' like the smell o' the crick, jistbelow the falls, on a hot day--only--only different. That's why I playhookey so often down in the holler, 'cause it smells like the ocean. "

Tim made his statement proudly. It was a wonderful privilege to boastof how bad you were, and be sure you would be unreproved. 

"We had good times when we lived there, but when ole Mother Cummins gotus it was different. She wasn't so awful bad at first, 'cause ourfather uster send money; but he stopped. I guess he must 'a' died, orrun away farther. An' after that, say! didn't our ole woman usterhammer us? She'd get drunk an' sleep on the floor, an' I uster pinchher black an' blue an' stick pins into her for poundin' Joey!" Hissmall, withered face was fierce, his old eyes were cruel. "An' one dayshe cut Lorry's head open with her stick; so we all lit out. I carriedJoey for miles an' miles, an' then some folks took us to the Home, an'then Daddy an' Mammy Sawyer came. Do you s'pose God sent them for us?Miss Scott said He did. Did He? Eh?"

"I--I suppose so. "

"You ain't dead sure about anything God does, are you?" asked Timsympathetically. "Ain't you remembered about the harmless thrush yet?"

John McIntyre did not answer. He sat still so long, with his face inhis hands, that the boy grew weary, and rising, hobbled homeward. 

The man's gray head sank lower. His thin hands, hard, and worn withheavy toil, were trembling violently. His stooped shoulders, in theirpoor, thread-bare covering, heaved convulsively. For the first time inyears he had dared to look back into the blossom-strewn past, and thesight had been too much for his strength. 

His misfortunes had come upon him in a way that, at first, had left himno time to reflect. His home had gone, and then his friend, just atthe time when he needed his help. Then had come greater trials. Sickness stalked hand in hand with poverty. One by one his childrenwere laid away in the earth; and then toil and want and grief had atlast taken her, his best beloved, and in her grave John McIntyre hadburied happiness and hope and faith. 

What had he left in life? His home, his loved ones, were gone--evenMartin must be dead, or he would have come to him long ago. Nothingremained but misery, and distrust of his fellow-men--and hatred--hatredof the man who had defrauded him, and who was now, no doubt, living inwealth and prosperity. 

And what had he done to deserve it all? That had always been JohnMcIntyre's cry. Why must he and his be singled out for such suffering?Why should his innocent loved ones be the victims of a villain'srapacity?

And how he had worked to save them from want! Oh, God! how he hadtoiled, until his back was bent and his health broken! And it had allbeen of no use--no use!

He clenched his shaking hands, striving to gain control of himself. Inthe early days of his misfortunes the necessity for straining everyeffort had kept him from brooding upon his losses, and finally anumbness of despair had seized him. But to-night the child's artlesstalk had brought back vividly the old home scene. He could see it now, as he had seen it so often in the light of a summer evening. Thesparkling sea, with the tang of salt water wafted up over his fields;the rippling stream, winding like a thread of gold down to the Bay ofFundy; his cozy home peeping from its orchard nest, and Mary at thedoorway, singing their baby's lullaby; Martin's gay voice passing downthe road; and in the purpling woods the tender song of the hermitthrush:

 "_O hear all! O hear all! O holy, holy!_"

A wave of desperate longing for the old days swept over him; a verypassion of loneliness and homesickness shook his desolate soul. 

Why should he struggle against it? he asked himself. Why live on inmisery, only to die in misery at the end? Why not end it now? Therewas no God, at least none that cared; and as for the future--he hadlaughed when the minister mentioned hell. What profounder wretchednesscould it hold than all he had already endured?

He rose to his feet stealthily. His eyes were burning in his whiteface. He stepped cautiously along the bank of the pond to a placewhere the water was deep. He glanced about fearfully. His onlyfeeling was one of dread lest he be intercepted. He slipped into theshadow of a pile of logs, then crept to the edge of the dark water. Suddenly he paused, startled. Something had rustled in the willows. It was only a muskrat; but as he stood, listening, another sound fellupon his ear, the sound of a voice singing a familiar hymn. There wassomething in the singer's tone, a compelling sweetness, that made JohnMcIntyre pause on the brink of death to listen. 

CHAPTER IX

THE SONG IN THE NIGHT

 Though strife, ill fortune and harsh human need Beat down the soul, at moments blind and dumb With agony; yet, patience--there shall come Many great voices from life's outer sea, Hours of strange triumph, and, when few men heed, Murmurs and glimpses of eternity. --ABCHIBALD LAMPMAN. 

Miss Ella Anne Long was busy "reddin' up" the parlor, for to-night theyoung people of the village who were musically inclined--and, for thatmatter, who wasn't?--were to hold a final practice for the TemperanceSociety's concert. 

The Longs' home was the musical center of the village, the organ beingkept as busy as the telescope, and Miss Long was the leading musician. Even Elsie Cameron could not compete with her, for Ella Anne wasorganist in the church, and had a voice that, when she wished, coulddrown out all the rest of the choir. Every one in Elmbrook wasmusically inclined, irrespective of talent. To "play a piece" or singa solo at a public gathering was the great ambition of every young ladyin the place. Masculine performance on any instrument, except amouth-organ or a fiddle, which last was distinctly worldly, wasregarded as rather inclining to effeminacy. But the men all sang, for, of course, it went without saying that every one could sing bass. Tenors were scarce, there being only one at present--a young Englishmanwho had come out to learn farming at Sandy McQuarry's, and who sufferedfrom chronic huskiness. 

Each of the sopranos had an attendant swain in the basses. That was anecessity to any smallest hope of enjoyment when the choir went abroad. To have a sweetheart who could sing alone in public was to bedistinguished far above one's fellow-songstresses. Bella Winters oncesang "The Larboard Watch" with Wes Long at the Glenoro Dominion Daypicnic, and until this was transcended she was the envy of one and all. Ella Anne Long, of course, was the one who achieved even greaterheights. She and Mack McQuarry sang "The Larboard Watch" at the nextElmbrook harvest home, while at one and the same time she played theaccompaniment. No one had ever before conceived of such a tripletriumph, and it was felt by all that Ella Anne would surely experiencesome disciplining misfortune to balance things. So, every one noddedher head and said, "I told you so, " when Mack went off to Athabasca, orsome such out-of-the-way corner of Canada, and married a half-breed, when Ella Anne had her wedding clothes all ready. And now she was nolonger quite one of the young people of the village, and, besides, wasreceiving attentions from Sawed-Off Wilmott, a little widower, who ranthe cheese factory, and who could not have sung even bass if he had hadall his teeth. 

Nevertheless, as Miss Long went about her duties she was watchingeagerly for Mr. Wilmott's buggy. It was not for the reasons why amaiden usually looks for her lover, but because Davy Munn and theoldest orphan were sitting on the sidewalk at the doctor's gate, withmischievous designs upon her middle-aged admirer. As she stood on theporch, shading her eyes from the slanting rays of the sun, Sawed-Off'sbuggy came whizzing down the street, and Miss Long modestly withdrew. Two or three of the earliest arrivals had already entered by the storedoor, and Mr. Wilmott soon joined them. He had safely passed Scyllaand Charybdis at the doctor's gate, but a worse fate awaited him, forthe Sawyer twins were there, and his youthful spirits proved soattractive that they appropriated him as their own, and kept him fromeven speaking to Ella Anne all evening. 

On practice nights the whole village gathered at the Longs', thecompany dividing itself into three parts. Ella Anne's friendsassembled in the parlor, Mrs. Long received the mothers in the kitchen, and Silas entertained on the store veranda. 

The Elmbrook kitchen was a fine place to receive one's friends; it wasnot the tiny workshop now in fashion, but a big, roomy place, where thehomemaker sacrificed to the household gods, with the stove a sort ofshining high altar in the center, and the incense from the merry kettlecurling up to the ceiling. 

The frequenters of the milkstand got on the nail-kegs and packing-boxesof the veranda, and discussed astronomy and enjoyed the music. It wasa fine situation for studying the stars, for the house stood at the endof the village, opposite the school, and commanded a view of the pondand the valley and a great stretch of sky. 

The planet Mars, and its possible inhabitants, was under discussionwhen Spectacle John Cross came up the steps with a bundle of hymn-booksunder his arm. 

"Ye see, " Silas was explaining, "it ain't one o' yer ordinary stars. Lord love ye! it's a 'igh sight better'n that. It's a planet, that'swot it is, like our own world, an' it keeps a-spinnin' 'round the sunlike our earth, too. " He ended up with a descriptive sweep of his arm, and gazed triumphantly at his enemy. 

"Did ye ever hear the likes o' such balderdash?" sneered SpectacleJohn, appealing to Jake Sawyer. 

Jake passed his hands, in some perplexity, over the youngest orphan'scurls. "Most folks'll tell ye the same, John, " he said, regarding hispartner doubtfully. "The doctor, there, now--look at the eddicationhe's had!--an' he says the same. "

"It's my opinion, " said the miller, "that the more book learnin' a mancrams into his head the more common sense gets squeezed out. It standsto reason that there couldn't be room for everything unless his headwas to swell like a punkin. "

"Huh!" cried Sandy McQuarry impatiently. "Ony fool can see the world'sround; but when folks go far enough to tell a body that pin-points likeyon are as big as this world, that's jist clean ridic'l'us. "

"Well, " exclaimed Spectacle John, "if ye once get it fixed in yer headthat this world's bumpin' 'round through the air like a football, thereisn't anny fool yarn you're not ready to believe. " He stoppedsuddenly. The Duke of Wellington was coming up the steps, and hisremarks trailed off into coughs and incoherent murmurs about theweather. Spectacle John knew better than to air his scientifictheories before the Duke. She gave a contemptuous sniff and passedinto the parlor. 

Silas Long chuckled. "John knows w'en to shut his mouth, don't ee, now, John?" he asked facetiously. 

Sandy McQuarry grunted scornfully. "Losh! afore Ah'd be scared by awumman!" he exclaimed witheringly. 

Spectacle John looked sheepish. "There's weemin an' weemin, " heannounced meaningly. "I'm no more afraid of the ordinary run o' themthan you, Sandy. I got a wife that can hold her own with annybody, andmy word's law at home. But I'm not ashamed to say that woman's one toomany for me. I've been a trustee, " he ended up feelingly. 

"Sandy thinks he's a mighty hand at managin' folks, " put in WilliamWinters, happy to second any one who lived in fear of the gentler sex. "But I'm willin' to make a bet right here that if he was to run again'the Dook she'd come out ahead. "

"Ah'm willin' to take ye ony day, Weeliam. Ah'd like to see the wummanthat'd get the upper hand o' me. Jist name yer bet, man. "

"Hoots! toots!" cried Uncle Hughie in his stateliest manner. "Indeed, it is surely not making a bet on a lady you will be, whatever!"

"I'll tell ye!" cried Spectacle John, his eyes twinkling. "If you an'the Dook gets to argifyin', or gets into any difference, an' she getsthe best o' the bargain, you'll promise William and all of us here thatyou'll go back to church and tell the minister you was a darn fool forthe way you acted. "

Sandy McQuarry's bristling brows came together, "Ah'll take ye!" hecried, slapping his knee fiercely. "Ah'd be a fool onyway, if Ah let awumman scare me the way you did, John. Ah, ha! Here's his reverencenow, comin' to tell ye about Muskoky, very like. Ah'll jist be biddin'ye a good-evenin'. " He tramped down the steps as the tall form of theminister came into the ring of light. 

"Fine night, " remarked each of the company in turn. 

"We would jist be talkin' about the play-net Mars a minute ago, indeed, " said Uncle Hughie Cameron, striving to cover Sandy's retreat. 

"Yes, yes, " said the minister with a sigh. "Astronomy's a wonderfulsubject--wonderful. The more we learn of the Creator's works, the morewe wonder at His greatness and goodness. "

"Eh! eh! it will jist be fearsome, indeed!" cried Uncle Hughie. "Howfar, now, would you be saying the sun is from us, Silas--ninety--nowwhat would it be?"

"Ninety-five million mile!" declared the astronomer impressively. "There's a fine day's walk for ye!"

"Ninety-five million!" cried the blacksmith, astounded. "Are ye sureit's not feet ye mean, Si?" he asked hopefully. 

"No--miles, " was the inexorable answer. "Lord love ye, man! it's agood thing. If she was any nearer she'd burn us all to a frazzle!"

"Eh, now, ain't that a caution!" cried Jake Sawyer, with the air of onewho has just had a narrow escape from destruction. 

"Astronomy's a orful subject, " continued Silas. "I sometimes wish I'adn't meddled with the thing. It makes me feel like nothing--like aworm o' the dust. "

"'When I consider Thy heavens, the work of Thy fingers, '" quoted theminister, "'the moon and the stars which Thou hast ordained, what isman, that Thou art mindful of him or the son of man that Thou visitesthim?'"

"That's it! that's jist it!" cried Silas. "The Psalmist knew! 'E must'a' 'ad a telescope. D'ye think 'e 'ad?"

"Hoots!" cried Uncle Hughie. "How could the buddie? an' he would belivin' away back in the times when nobody even knew"--he added in aloud tone--"that the world was round. " But Spectacle John haddisappeared indoors, and the minister added:

"Yes, we have a great many advantages that the Psalmist never had, andthe greatest is the knowledge that we need not be afraid. For Hebecame flesh and dwelt among us, you know, Silas. " A reverent silencefell over the little group. 

At the farther end of the veranda a door led into the lamp-lit parlor. It was open, and from it now burst the opening notes of a rousingchorus. In Elmbrook there were fashions in songs, just as there werein the sopranos' hats. The former varied, not with the season, butwith the sentiments of the people. One winter the Methodists heldrevival meetings for two months in the schoolhouse, and for nearly ayear after it was considered very worldly to sing anything but hymns. The other extreme was reached one fall when Hank Winters came home fora visit from the States, and set all the village singing "coon songs. "

This spring, and during the past winter, the rousing, Salvation Armyvariety of hymn was greatly in vogue. The opening chorus for theconcert was of this kind, a stirring sort of semi-religious song, called "The King's Highway. " It was with this the chorus now burstforth into tumultuous harmony:

 "_Wherever you may be, Whatever you may see, That would lead you into evil, Say you nay, say you nay, Be sure you take no heed, They're trying to mislead; Just keep along the middle Of the King's highway!_"

The verse was no extraordinary feat, but in the chorus the bass singershad a part calling for marvelous dexterity and tremendous speed. For, while the ladies sang leisurely, "Just keep along the middle of theKing's Highway, " the gentlemen were expected to get over about fourtimes the space in the same time. They had to repeat the self-samewarning a half dozen times, with sundry advices and variationsconcerning the turning to the right of the King's Highway and the leftof the King's Highway, so many, and so complicated, that they arrivedat the end gasping for breath. Spectacle John warned the sopranosagain and again to go slowly, so as to admit of their overworkedfollowers getting in all their parts about the middle, left and right. But Ella Anne Long was the real leader, and would wait for no man. Shehastened along the King's Highway at such a pace that it was beyond thepowers of human breath to keep up with her. Pete McQuarry declaredthat it kept a fellow puffing just to stay anywheres on the King'sHighway, without bothering about the middle; and Davy Munn did not evenattempt the feat, but sang the air an octave lower. 

They were scampering through the song for the third time when there wasa stir at the door, and a group of four entered: Elsie Cameron and herbrother Malcolm, with the minister's daughter and--actually--the busydoctor himself. It was the first time Elsie had attended one of themusical gatherings since her return, but she took her old place assimply and naturally as though she had never left it. Malcolm wentover to the corner where the husky young Englishman stood, alone andunheard, and gave him some assistance with the tenor, while the doctorjoined the other young men, and sang bass like a native. 

They weathered through "The King's Highway" again, and sang atemperance anthem, and several other choruses, and then they all sataround the room, on the red and green plush chairs, and took a restwhile Ella Anne and her mother passed around raspberry vinegar andlayer-cake. 

Spectacle John was just calling them all to order again for anotherchorus when the minister put his head in at the door. Marjorie was toget her hat, as they must be going in a moment, he announced, happilyunconscious of the scorching glance from the region of the tenors, andwould Elsie sing "Abide With Me" before he left?

The girl arose and went to the organ. Since her home-coming she hadbeen regarded with some disapproval in Elmbrook social circles becauseof the promptness with which she answered an invitation to sing. Itwas considered much more genteel and modest to at first disclaimpositively all musical ability, and to yield only after muchimportuning. Every one felt that, though Elsie had been away in thecity, she ought to show a little backwardness. 

 "_Abide with me! fast falls the eventide, The darkness deepens. Lord, with me abide. _"

She sang, as she always did, with her heart as well as her voice. Thesong hushed the gay chatter in the room; it passed out to the group onthe veranda, and their conversation ceased; it floated through the openwindows and rang across the darkly luminous water of the pond. Andthere it reached the ear of a man with whom only despair and loss hadbeen abiding, and who was fighting a losing battle with these darkcompanions. The sound of the old hymn, that had been his children'slullaby, arrested John McIntyre on the brink of self-destruction:

 "Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day, Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away, Change and decay in all around I see, O Thou, who changest not, abide with me!"

A trembling weakness seized him. He shrank back against the heap oflogs. He seemed to have no power against the imperative sweetness ofthat voice. It called him away, it called him up. He clutched therough bark of a log, and stood listening till the song swept on to itstriumphant ending:

 "_Heaven's morning breaks and earth's vain shadows flee, In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me!_"

The last echo died away in the shadow of the willows. John McIntyrestood a moment, dazed by the glimpse into the depths to which hisdespair had brought him. He glanced down at the dark water andshuddered, then staggered weakly to his old place at the mill door, andsank in the sawdust. Something, not a prayer, but nearer it thananything he had uttered for years, burst from him--the name of hisMaker, spoken unwittingly, in an abandon of weakness. "My God!" hewhispered shakingly. The strength of desperation which had driven himon was gone, but his despair remained. And so he lay, spent and weak, in utter blackness of soul, not knowing that the prayer of the song hadbeen answered, and that, though he knew Him not in the darkness, hisFather was abiding with him still. 

CHAPTER X

THE SECRET OF THE BLUE SILK GOWN

 O love, can the tree lure the summer bird Again to the bough where it used to sing, When never a throat in the autumn is heard, And never the glint of a vagrant wing? --ARTHUR STRINGER. 

The autumn days came, and all the landscape within the range of GrannyLong's telescope turned golden with its wealth of harvest. The applesdropped, rosy-cheeked, from the orchard trees, the corn and thepumpkins ripened in the garden. All day the binder sang in the yellowfields, and at night a great harvest moon hung alone in the violetheavens. As soon as the first blue haze of autumn settled over theravine the mill closed, and the men scattered to work in the fields, orat threshing-bees, or went farther north to the winter lumber camps. 

John McIntyre did not leave, as people had expected. He remained inhis old shanty by the Drowned Lands, harvesting his little crop ofpotatoes, or laying up his stock of winter wood from the adjacentswamp. The village saw him only on the rare occasions when he came upto the flour-mill or store for provisions. But he did not live asolitary life, for the eldest Sawyer orphan had now become his chum andconfidant, and would have gone down to visit him almost every evening, even if old Hughie Cameron had reversed proceedings and paid him tostay away. 

When the silent, dark man was removed from the village, and there wasno likelihood of encountering him on the street in the evening, Dr. Gilbert Allen experienced a feeling of relief. Every time he met theman's disdainful gaze, the remembrance of his accusation returned, andwith it a feeling of self-abasement. He longed to vindicate himself, to put it beyond the range of possibility that any man could say he hadbeen dishonest. But that meant a great sacrifice, one that Gilbert wasnot yet prepared to make. 

When the first chill of the waning year came the doctor had a newpatient. All summer Miss Arabella Winters' health had been steadilyfailing. She never complained, nor did she seem to have any disease, but just pined quietly away. Susan scolded and petted and doctoredher, and made her wear flannel on her chest, but all to no avail. MissArabella, in her gentle, unobtrusive fashion, grew steadily worse. Sheseemed to have lost not only the power, but the desire, to get better. 

Elsie Cameron had long noted the change in her friend, and strove inevery way to arouse her. One day she organized a nutting party downinto Treasure Valley, a still, smoky autumn day, when the rainbowleaves floated down and rested lightly upon the earth with a fairytouch. The orphans came, of course, and they flew up and down thehill, gathering hazelnuts and red berries and scarlet leaves, whileMiss Arabella strayed here and there, her arms full of purple asters, until the look of hopelessness left her eyes and her face took on apretty pink flush. But the twins strayed away, and before they werefound the amethyst mists of the autumn evening were filling the valley. Miss Arabella took a severe cold, and the next day she went to bed. 

Mrs. Winters scolded the whole picnic party, Arabella most of all; andhaving used all her medical skill upon her to no avail, she grewalarmed, and called in Dr. Allen. 

He came to see the quiet, patient little woman nearly every day for aweek, and at the end of that time was forced to confess that she wasgrowing steadily worse, and that there was something wrong with herthat quite baffled his skill. 

He left her house one afternoon, and went slowly down the walk with avery grave face. Polly called after him from the veranda that timeswere still very slow, but he did not hear, and he almost stumbledagainst Elsie Cameron as she came through the gateway carrying acovered bowl. 

"Ah, you are the very person I want to consult, " he said, his facebrightening. "I wish you would do something for my patient in there. "

"Is her cold worse?"

"No, it isn't a cold that ails her; I confess I don't know what it is. There seems to be some secret trouble weighing on her mind. I wish youcould discover what it is, and see if you can help her. I am doing herno good, and there's no doubt that she is steadily growing weaker. "

His manner was very serious, and Elsie entered the little house with aforeboding at her heart. He was right. Some strange trouble had beenpressing upon Arabella's mind all summer, she felt sure. She passedthrough the house and placed the bowl on the kitchen table. 

Mrs. Winters was there, and the place was dazzlingly clean. "There!"she exclaimed, with a sigh of satisfaction, "I've polished the stoveand scrubbed the floor, an' put up five quarts o' pickled pears, an'to-morrow I'm goin' to house-clean the front part. Arabella alwayskept things kind of in order, but she was never anything of a manager. If you were thinkin' o' stayin' a little, Elsie, I'd run over an' lookafter my bread, an' then give Hannah a hand with her sewing. It's acaution how them twins get through their clothes. They ought to bewell whipped for it. Now, that soup's just awful nice, Elsie. It wasgood of your ma to send it, an' it's only slops like that Arabella'lltake. No, she ain't a bit better, the doctor says; an' I say it jistlooks like as if she was too stubborn to quit bein' sick, now she'sstarted. If yous folks hadn't gone gallivantin' off down the crickthat day this would never 'a' happened. Arabella's too old for suchfoolishness, anyhow. Well, I'll run home. Tell her I'll be back in anhour or so an' shake out the mats. "

Elsie went into the spare bedroom, where Miss Arabella lay, propped upon pillows. Her little, wan face brightened at the sight of hervisitor. 

"Oh, Elsie, is it you? It's good o' you to come. " She lookedanxiously past her. "Where's Susan?"

"She's gone home, and I'm going to sit with you till she comes back. "

Miss Arabella tried not to look relieved. "D'ye think it would hurt memuch to have the curtains put back, Elsie? I'd love to see out. "

"Of course not. You shall have the window taken right out if you wantit. " The girl rolled up the green paper blind, pushed back the stifflace curtains, and opened the window from the top. It was a perfectOctober day, and Miss Arabella felt the gentle breeze, and saw thesumach at her gate, a patch of vivid scarlet against the deep blue ofthe sky. At a corner of the window the boughs of an old apple-tree, still green, looked in and nodded in a friendly manner. The invalidlooked bright and interested for a few minutes, then sighed and grewwan and listless again. 

Elsie pulled her chair up close to the bedside. 

"Arabella, dear, " she said earnestly, "what is the matter with you?"

"I--I--guess it's jist that cold I caught, hangin' on. Susan says itis. "

"Dr. Allen doesn't think so. He says he doesn't know what is makingyou ill, and Susan doesn't know, and I don't know. But you do, Arabella, and, oh, I wish you'd tell me!"

She put her two strong, young hands over the thin little one lying onthe coverlid. Her deep eyes were full of sympathy. A slow flush roseinto Miss Arabella's face. She turned away from the girl's steady gaze. 

"Elsie, " she whispered, "he's right. There--there is something thematter with me, and I--I think--I'm pretty sure--I'm going to die. "

"No, no, Arabella! You mustn't say that--you really mustn't!"

The invalid was perfectly calm. "I think I am, though, " she saidquietly. "It's about the best thing I can do now, since----" Shepaused and turned away her head again. 

Elsie slipped to her knees by the bedside. "Won't you tell me what iswrong, Arabella?" she whispered. "Something's been troubling you allsummer. I've noticed it ever since I came home. "

"Yes, it's jist about that time. But it can't be helped now. And itwon't be long till it's all over. And, Elsie"--she glanced around, asthough fearful of being overheard--"I'm goin' to leave you something!"

"Oh, Arabella! don't!" cried the girl, tears rising to her eyes. "Ican't bear to hear you talk like that. You'll be better in a day ortwo. "

Miss Arabella shook her head firmly. "No, Susan says I've gotstubborn, an' I guess she's right; because I don't seem to want tobother about getting better. But I'd like you to have something toremember me by, Elsie. You were always different from the other girls, an' never acted as if I was old an' queer, an' I'm goin' to leaveyou--something. "

She lay still for a few moments while her companion regarded her withsorrow-filled eyes. "Elsie, " she whispered suddenly, "if I tell yousomething--something awful, mind you, will you promise never, never totell it to a living soul? Not even after I'm gone?"

Elsie looked at her half alarmed. "Oh, Arabella!" she stammered, "ofcourse I wouldn't tell--if you--that is if you'd really like to tellme. "

Miss Arabella's cheeks were growing pale. "Yes, I'd better tell you. I'll have to if I--I leave it to you. Run out an' lock the door, Elsie--the back door, too, and bring Polly in. Somebody might come inan' see it. "

Elsie obeyed, with a feeling of growing apprehension. She hadevidently stirred up depths of which she had never dreamed. When shereturned the invalid was half sitting up in bed, flushed withexcitement. She pointed to the gay Red Riding-Hood upon the dresser. "There's a key behind her, just inside the wolf, " she whispered. "Itunlocks that bottom drawer, an' you hand me out what's there. "

Elsie opened the drawer and took out a large parcel, done up in brownpaper. Miss Arabella took it tenderly, and for a few moments laysmoothing it gently. Then, slowly and tremblingly, she untied thestring and let a billow of sky-blue silk roll out upon the bed. 

Elsie gave a little exclamation of admiration. "Oh, Arabella, what alovely thing! It looks as though it had been intended for anold-fashioned wedding dress. "

"That's just what it was for, " whispered Arabella, with drooping head. 

The girl looked at her for a moment, and then, with a woman'sintuition, she divined the secret. She sank upon her knees again andput her arms about the shrinking little figure. 

"Yours, Arabella?" she whispered. "Was it intended for you?"

Miss Arabella nodded. Her head went down on her friend's shoulder. The girl patted her lovingly, as though she had been a hurt child. "There, there, dear, " she said soothingly, "tell me all about it. Iwon't tell, you know I won't. "

"Do you promise, sure and certain, Elsie?" came the frightened whisper. 

"Yes, sure and certain. "

"I don't think I could stand it if Susan an' Bella were to know. Evenafter I'm gone I'd like it kept a secret. I guess I'm foolish, an'Susan says there's no fool like an old fool, but I jist can't help it. "

She lay back again on her pillow, her thin fingers passing caressinglyup and down the shining folds of silk. She was silent for someminutes, and at last, with much halting, she began the story of theblue silk gown. She told in a shy whisper of the lover of her girlhooddays. She had met him a long time ago, while on a visit to an aunt, away over in Bruce County. He was foreman in the mill there, and hewas--well, she couldn't exactly tell what he was like, he was so awfulnice. Through the sentences Elsie Cameron could make out a picture ofhim: big, handsome, honest, whole-hearted, and as tender as a womanwith his shy little sweetheart; but in Miss Arabella's worshiping eyeshe was a very demigod. 

His home was down in Nova Scotia, the story went on, his father andmother lived there alone on the home farm, and some day he was to takeher there. And then she had come home, and her mother had helped hermake her clothes for her wedding day. And once he had come to Elmbrookand had taken her to a circus at Lakeview, and they had seen this pieceof silk in a store window. He had said it was just the color of hereyes--Miss Arabella blushed and hung her head at this confession--andhe had gone right in and bought it, in spite of her. He was just thatkind, always giving other folks everything. He had given her Polly, too, had sent her all the way from Halifax after he went back. He hadtaught her to say "Annie Laurie"--that was the name he always calledher. But he had not taught Polly that other dreadful thing she said;she learned that from the men on the ship. 

It was while he was still working over in Bruce County that the day wasset for their wedding, and she and her mother were planning how sheshould have the blue silk made, when he wrote that he had had anaccident. He had been almost killed by the saw in the mill, and hewould have died only that a boy who worked there saved his life. "Bert" was the boy's name; she did not remember his last one. He set agreat store by that boy after that, and helped to send him to school, and to put him through college to make him a doctor. That took a lotof money, of course, and she said they had better wait until the boywas old enough to help himself. Martin didn't want to, but Susan saidthey must; and while they were waiting he went back to Nova Scotia totake care of the old folks. Then they both died, and he found that hisfather didn't own a cent; everything belonging to him was gone. A manhad cheated the old people out of it. So now he had nothing to offerher, he said, and so he started away West to make a new home. He hadwanted her to come with him then, but her mother had died the summerbefore, and Susan managed her affairs. And Susan said no, she was notstrong enough to go away out West and rough it, and she had biddenArabella write him a letter saying she would wait till he had a properhome ready. Susan was always a great manager. Here Miss Arabellasighed deeply. So she had let him go away alone, and for a long timeshe heard from him regularly; then only at long intervals, and at lastnot at all. He had taken up land in Alberta, but everything seemed togo against him. The crops were frozen the first year and the next yearhis cattle died. Then just about this time he heard that his best andoldest friend, away down in Nova Scotia--old John, he always calledhim--was in great trouble, had lost everything through the same manthat had got his own property. Old John had left the place and goneaway, no one knew where, and he was writing here and there hunting him. At last he got word that his friend had gone to the Klondyke. Hethought he would be far more likely to make money there, so he sold hisranch and went away north to find John and make a fortune for her. That was five years ago last spring, and she had never heard from himsince. But she had never quite given up hope until this last summer. She had always kept the blue silk, hoping that she might even yet wearit some day. But last May she had noticed it had begun to ravel;see--she held it up to the light--that was a sure sign. Something toldher, the minute she saw it, she would never wear it. Likely he wasdead; and she was going to die very soon herself. Yes, she was; andshe knew Dr. Allen thought so, too. 

She stopped, and closed her eyes to hide the rising tears. A secret ofso many years' growth could not be uprooted without some pain. 

There was a moment's silence. Polly craned her neck to see into theroom, and murmured, "Oh, Annie Laurie! Annie Laurie!" in a melancholytone. 

Elsie drew a deep breath. "How long ago is it since you first met him, Arabella?" she whispered. 

"Fifteen years, an' I never told a soul I was waitin' all this time. Susan never said anything about him, and everybody thought he was dead. "

"And this boy that he educated, Arabella--what about him? Didn't hehelp when his friend needed it so badly?"

"No; he kind of forgot about it, I guess. Young folks is often likethat, you know. You see, he jist put him through high school an'helped him some, at first, in college, an' learnin' doctorin' seems totake an awful long time. But I guess the boy must 'a' forgot abouthim, or he'd 'a' been able to come back before this. You won't evertell, Elsie, will you?"

"No, no, Arabella! Never!"

"Mebby I'm foolish, but I can't bear to think o' Susan knowin' I waswaitin' all this time, an' Bella would laugh, an' William, too. But Itold you, 'cause when I die I want you to have this dress to wear onyour wedding day. I intended to give it to you, anyway, jist as soonas I found out I wasn't ever goin' to wear it. "

"Oh, Arabella!" There was a choking lump in Elsie's throat. "You mustnot talk like that! You must not! You don't know that he's dead. Hemay be on the way home now, for all you know. No! no!" she added, pressing the blue silk back into the owner's hands, "I won't take it!I just won't! You just cheer up, and wait a little longer, dear, andwho knows but you may hear any day that he's coming?" She was growingradiantly hopeful. 

Miss Arabella looked up with hopeful eyes, but shook her head. "No, it's no use, Elsie. It's awful good o' you, and I used to feel likethat, too; but I've waited too long. I guess I'm jist tired, " sheadded pathetically. 

"Arabella, " whispered the girl, with heightening color, "haveyou--don't you ever pray about it?"

"I used to, but lately--ever since that dress gave way--I--I kind o'gave way, too. An' it seemed wicked, anyhow--like prayin' for deadfolks, the way Catholics does, and I knew Mr. Scott would think it wasawful of me. "

The beautiful eyes looked at her despairingly. 

"Oh, Arabella! Don't you care about me? Think how lonesome I'll bewithout you---- What's that?"

She was interrupted by a scrambling, tearing noise in the region of theold apple-tree. For an instant a strange object outside darkened thewindow, there was a shriek, a splintering crash, and down from theapple boughs, breaking a window-pane in its head-long descent, andlanding upon the veranda floor with a terrible bang, came theblack-haired twin of the Sawyer orphans!

Miss Arabella sat up with a cry of alarm. Polly gave a long squall, and shouted out that times were very slow indeed, and Elsie sprang up, and, unlocking the door, ran to the rescue. 

The black-haired twin was scratched and torn and disheveled, and washowling lustily, but the young lady who picked her up showed her smallsympathy. "Lorena Sawyer, " she demanded solemnly, "where did you dropfrom?"

"I was sittin' up in the apple-tree, " roared the fallen one, "an' themean ole thing busted, an' I--I--tu-m-bled!"

"You were up at the window, listening to what Arabella and I weresaying! You know you were!"

The child nodded. "O' course, " she answered innocently. "An' say, Elsie"--she began to wipe away her tears--"if Arabella's fellah doesn'tcome back, will you give me an' Lenny a bit o' the silk for our dolls'dresses?"

Elsie caught her by the arm and shook her. 

"Hush!" she cried, glancing toward the open window in dismay. "Arabella'll hear you, and if you tell--if you breathe a word of it, she'll get sick and die; do you understand?"

"But will y' give us some of the blue silk?" asked the black-hairedtwin, with orphan-like persistence. 

"Elsie!" It was Miss Arabella's voice. "Elsie, come here quick!"

With a parting warning to the culprit, the girl ran back to the bedroomin deep concern. Surely this shock would be too much for the invalid, and now she certainly would die. 

"Arabella!" she cried in amazement, as she reached the bedroom door, "what are you doing?"

For the sick woman was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressing herselfin trembling haste. She turned upon the alarmed girl, the fire ofresolution in her eyes. 

"I'm going to get up, " she answered firmly. "I ain't going to die. That child heard every word I said. "

"But, Arabella, " began the bewildered nurse, "I----" She stopped, unable to divine the connection between Lorry's eavesdropping and thissudden determination to live. "Don't be frightened. I'll make herpromise she won't tell. "

"She might keep her word, an' she mightn't; an' if Susan an' Bella wasto find out I'd died because he never came back an' left me an oldmaid, I couldn't rest in my grave. I jist couldn't! An' she might letit out, Elsie, now mightn't she?"

Elsie paused a moment. She was about to reassure her, but checkedherself. Evidently soothing was not what the invalid needed. 

"Yes, Arabella, " she said honestly, "she might. "

CHAPTER XI

THE COMING OF ROSALIE

 Silvery soft by the forest side, Wine-red, yellow and rose, The Wizard of Autumn, faint-blue eyed, Swinging his censer, goes. --ABCHIBALD LAMPMAN. 

As the tenth of October approached, there was but one subject ofinterest in the township of Oro--the Elmbrook fall fair. "The show, "it was called, the name indicating that there could be only one. Itwas as much a social as an agricultural function. Oro was largely aScottish township, and on show day there was a gathering of the clansfrom far and near. Old friends who never saw each other between fairs, met on that day, and had a grand review, both in Gaelic and English, ofthe year's doings, and the alien who did not "have" the former languagemissed half the benefit of the institution. 

On the evening before the fair, Gilbert was surprised by a visit fromMalcolm Cameron. The boy had left for college only two weeks before, but, like many other sons of Oro, he had come back for "the show. "

"Say, " he began, balancing himself on the corner of the doctor's desk, "I'm going to ask you a most awfully big favor. "

"Ask away, " said the other, smiling; "it's granted, if I can do it. "

"Oh, say, you're the best chap in the country. Elsie would kill me ifshe knew, but you won't let on, will you? I've got to take her to theshow in our single buggy. Jim's taking mother and Uncle Hughie in thedouble rig, and all our truck has to come home in it, and youknow--well--Marjorie's going with her father and mother, and I mightdrive her home if Elsie had some one to go with, and I thought--if youhadn't made any other arrangements, I thought, perhaps----"

"That Miss Cameron might come home with me?" interposed Gilbert, comingto his aid. "Why, I'd be delighted; that is, if she wouldn't mind. "

"Oh, Elsie'd be tickled to death!" cried Elsie's brother, growingreckless in his gratitude. "Say, doctor, it's awfully decent of you. You see, I won't see Marjorie again till Christmas, likely--and--youknow----"

"Yes, yes, I understand, " said Gilbert sympathetically. "I wonder if Imight ask to take your sister there, and you'd have two drives withMiss Scott, " he added, with wonderful generosity. 

"I thought of that myself, " said Malcolm ingenuously, "but motherwouldn't let Elsie do that, and it would just be like Mrs. Scott toobject, too; but they won't say anything about just driving home. You'll ask Elsie at the show, will you? You're a brick; and don't giveit away, or she'd pull all my hair out when we got home. "

The Elmbrook fair was held in the Agricultural Hall, about two milesfrom the village. Those who had no horses started off on the happymeans of transportation called "chancing it. " This consisted inwalking along the highway for a short distance, on the sure chance ofbeing picked up by some passing vehicle, for an Oro buggy was like acity street car, and always held one more. 

Gilbert started out alone, and overtook Hannah and Jake Sawyer strayingalong the dusty roadside, early for once in their lives, having beenspurred to the unusual achievement by the energy of the orphans. 

Little Joey trotted between them, but Tim had gone to the show in themorning, with Keturah, the cow, and Isaac and Rebekah and the pumpkins;and the twins were far ahead, their parents knew not where. Gilberttook Hannah and Joey in with him, and they joined the long line ofvehicles that had already formed and was winding swiftly down thehighway. 

Overhead the sky was deeply brilliant, and near the horizon a tender, misty blue. The golden landscape was lit with patches of gay woodland, and here and there by the roadside a scarlet maple, a clump of flamingsumach, or the blood-red vine of the woodbine. High up on the top of adead tree-trunk, in the center of a smoky hollow, a flicker wasshouting out derisively, "Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!" in scorn of allthis frivolous humanity gone a-fairing. 

The procession crossed the railroad track just as the afternoon expresswent thundering past. The conductor caught sight of the doctor'sbuggy, and blew him a salute that set all the horses upon their hindlegs in indignant alarm. 

A smart vehicle dashed past in a cloud of dust. It was Miss Long, driving her own horse, with Sawed-Off Wilmott by her side, his chestnutdriver having been sent on ahead in charge of a friend. 

"Ella Anne's goin' to show her horse, " said Hannah admiringly. "She'stook first prize every year for ever so long. She's a wonderfuldriver. "

"Dere's Lorry!" screamed Joey, pointing to a little tousled black headpeeping from between Malcolm Cameron and his sister, just a little inadvance. 

"Elsie's awful good to her, " said Hannah gratefully. "Her an' ArabellaWinters jist makes a pet o' that child. Lorry says they've got asecret, the three o' them, and she feels that big about it you neversaw the likes! Why, that's Lenny's voice, ain't it?"

From a buggy a little farther down the line greetings were beingshrieked back to the black-haired twin. Hannah drew a deep sigh ofcontent. 

"Well, now, there's every single one o' them settled, " she exclaimedhappily. "If Jake jist gets a chance, now, an' Timmy gets a prize forhis pumpkins, we jist won't have anythin' more to ask. "

The Elmbrook fair ground was a long field, with a big, barn-likebuilding at one end. Gilbert had often passed the place before, andfound it silent and grass-grown; but now it was thronged with people, and resounding with a joyous bedlam of all the noises that all thefarms in Oro, joined together, could produce. Horses neighed, cattlebawled, sheep bleated, hens cackled, babies cried and boys shouted. Amerry-go-round, that charged only five cents for a horseback ride, waswhirling giddily to the tune of "The Maple Leaf Forever. " As thedoctor guided his horse carefully through the thronged gateway Joeyspied the twins, already mounted astride the largest team, and spinningaround with joyous shrieks. A man with a wheel of fortune was shoutingto the passers-by to come and take a turn, and make money enough to buya farm. A row of tents, each with its roaring proprietor in front, held all sorts of wonderful spectacles, from a three-headed pig to apanorama of Queen Victoria's Jubilee. In front of a large tent, setoff in one corner, a solemn, stout man, wrapped in a whitewinding-sheet, was marching to and fro, ringing a funereal bell, andcalling out in melancholy tones that this was the last chance fordinner. 

But above all the various clamor one sound arose, penetrating, triumphant, the sound that was the true voice of the Elmbrook fair, andwithout which it would surely have died away in silence--the high, thrilling skirl of the bagpipes. The piper, splendid in kilt and plaidand bare knees, was marching magnificently from the hall to the racingtrack. Lesser beings had to push and jostle through the throng, but hehad a long lane sacred to his own footsteps, and no matter what newattraction appeared, he always had his following of gaping admirers. 

Young ladies, with their attendant swains, in holiday attire, wanderedabout arm in arm, eating peanuts. Some lovers, of the old-fashionedtype, who plainly knew very little of the requirements of fashion, wentabout hand in hand, and were the object of many witty remarks on thepart of those who followed the more up-to-date method. Farmers withlong beards, their backs bent with honest toil, collected around theshow horses, or sat in the high buggies, round-shouldered and content, and smoked and chewed and spat, and were, withal, supremely happy. Whole family circles, the young father proudly carrying the baby, themother holding as many as possible by the hand, revolved in an aimlessbut joyous orbit. Old women in plaid shawls gathered in groups nearthe piper's avenue, and talked a continuous stream of Gaelic. 

The hall, containing the product of the women's deft fingers, stoodnear the gates. At one side was a long shed devoted to the display offarm produce, and the homely place was beautiful with scarlet apples, golden pumpkins, cabbages opening like great, pale-green roses, andheaps of purple grapes and plums. Opposite this, in a corner, thecattle and sheep, and other farm stock, were herded, each livingcreature lifting up its voice in protest against the sudden disturbanceof its hitherto even and well-ordered life. At the end of the field, opposite the gate, a rocky and uneven road, in the shape of an ellipse, served as the race track. A grand-stand, formed by nature from agrassy knoll, covered with sweet-smelling pines, rose at one side, andmade a convenient and delightful resting place. 

Having handed Hannah and Joey over to Jake, who arrived in a neighbor'sbuggy, just behind them, Gilbert tied his horse and wandered about, shaking hands and looking at the prizes. He was captured by Tim andDavy, the former in a state of wild excitement, because his pumpkinshad taken first prize, and Davy's only second. On the other hand, Keturah, his cow, had taken only third; but old Sandy McKitterick hadsaid that Spectacle John was judge, and that he didn't know a cow froma giraffe. And Isaac and Rebekah had taken first, anyhow, and thedoctor must come and see the red tickets on them. Gilbert started offthrough the crowd, but fell a captive by the way. As he passed aGaelic-speaking group of checked shawls he was grasped violently by thesleeve and forced into the circle. 

"There she will be now. Jist be takin' a look at her, whatefer. Och, hoch! this is what you would be doing!" And the young doctor smiledradiantly and blushed like a schoolboy, for there was Mrs. McKitterickherself, surrounded by an admiring crowd, and enjoying her first showin ten years! The hero was petted and praised in two languages, andclapped on the back and admired, until he was overwhelmed withconfusion. He was rescued from his embarrassment by the impatientorphan and dragged off to witness the triumph of Isaac and Rebekah. When the geese had been sufficiently admired, and even poor Keturah'ssmall achievement duly noted, the doctor escaped, and making a widedetour of the tartan shawls, found his way to the grand-stand. Here, seated on the dry pine-needles, under a spreading tree, was a group ofthree: Malcolm Cameron, with his sister and the minister's daughter. 

"Hello, doctor!" cried the boy joyfully. "I've been looking all overfor you. Come along. We're going to the hall. "

"What's to be seen there?" asked Gilbert, helping the ladies to rise. 

"Well, for one thing, there's your new mitts. "

"Hush, Malcolm!" cried his sister. "Mrs. McKitterick wanted it kept asecret. "

"Great Caesar! Would you let a pair of shackles like that be sprung onan innocent man without a moment's warning?"

"What's this?" asked Gilbert, in the alarm that the name of old Mrs. McKitterick always raised in his breast. "What's going to happen now?"

"It's only a pair of mittens, Dr. Allen, " said Miss Marjorie. "Mrs. McKitterick knit them, and if they take first prize they are to begiven to you. "

"It was too bad to tell, " said Elsie. 

"No, it wasn't!" cried her brother. "They're to be presented to him atChristmas, and he'll need three months to get resigned. Come along andsee them. "

As they threaded their way toward the hall Malcolm glanced at the otheryoung man significantly. Gilbert understood. 

"Miss Cameron, " he said, "I am all alone in my buggy. Won't you drivehome with me?"

She glanced up at him with one of her swift, searching looks. "DidMalcolm ask you to relieve him?" she whispered. This strong, gravegirl did not often laugh, Gilbert had noticed, but when she was amusedher eyes danced. They were sparklingly radiant now. 

He felt his face growing hot. "I--I----" he began. 

"Oh, never mind, " she cried, and this time she permitted her lips tojoin her eyes in a smile. "Don't apologize. I know why he did it. He's so transparent, poor lad. I knew last night, when he went over tosee you, that he had some tremendous scheme on foot. "

"But you are not going to punish me for his sins, surely?" saidGilbert, recovering. "If you knew with how much pleasure I grasped theopportunity you would come. Won't you?"

"Oh, yes, " she answered frankly. "It would be too bad to spoil poorMalc's happy day; and besides, " she added, with a return of her gravedignity, "I am sure I shall enjoy the drive, thank you. "

Gilbert felt strangely grateful. The girl always made him feel asthough she were immeasurably above him. "Because she really is, Isuppose, " he concluded, as he watched her, and thought of all she wassacrificing, silently, for the careless, happy boy walking so gailyahead. Yes, she was very noble, he confessed. And then he sighed, hedid not know why. 

They squeezed their way into the building and passed slowly around. The long tables were piled with every sort of work that a woman'sneedle might encompass, and while the two girls examined each exhibitminutely, going into raptures over this or that, the two young mengazed vacantly about in weary bewilderment. There were doilies andtidies and pillow-covers of all patterns, crocheted lace and knittedlace and lace made every other way. There was painting on china andsatin and velvet and silk and every other known fabric, and the wallswere hung with homespun blankets, quilts and floor rugs. 

Notwithstanding the growing display and keen competition that eachsuccessive fair brought, there were those who had been winners of firstprizes ever since the Elmbrook show was instituted, and would probablyalways be. The Elmbrook prize-list was a stable institution, and ifany one but Ella Anne Long should have taken first for managing ahorse, or Bella Winters for painting apple blossoms on white velvet, orold Miss McQuarry for bread and butter, all Oro would have felt uneasy, and folks would have begun to doubt the stability of the British Empire. 

For example, there was Mrs. Spectacle John Cross's quilt. It had takenfirst prize for the last ten years, and was likely to do so for as manymore. It hung resplendent now, like a triumphal banner, the conquerorof yet one more campaign. It was a remarkable quilt, to be sure, andno wonder all competitors faded before it. It was composed entirely ofsmall pieces of silk and velvet, sewed together in that style known ascrazy patchwork. Nevertheless, there was nothing haphazard about theirarrangement. The colors were put together so as to represent alandscape. A large round sun, of pumpkin-colored silk, with rays ofred satin flying from it, arose from behind a mountain of green velvet. The sky was of blue silk, with white plush clouds, and in theforeground bloomed a flower garden of such various colors that the eyegrew dazzled in contemplation. 

"Here's your Minjekahwun, doctor, " whispered Malcolm, graspingGilbert's arm. "Ain't they lurid? Oh, crickey! they've got firstprize! You're in for it! You'll look like the prize quilt when youget inside 'em. "

The future owner of the mittens surveyed them in some dismay. Theywere long and roomy, even for his brawny hands, and of many and vividcolors. He looked around appealingly. Elsie Cameron's face was grave, but her eyes were laughing, while little Miss Scott was in a fit ofmerriment. 

"Cheer up, " cried Malcolm encouragingly. "They're the very thing tocatch the public. You've got the purple and the orange, and that'llsuit Spectacle John's crowd; and the green'll appeal to the Catholicsover on the flats; and the whole thing looks like Highland tartan. Why, there isn't a nationality in Oro that'll be able to resist youwhen you wear them. "

They emerged from the crowded building into the brilliant light ofoutdoors, and Gilbert had just helped his companion down the steep, rickety steps, when a new sound arose above the babel of the fair, andquenched for a moment even the scream of the bagpipes. It came fromthe highway, a hoarse "honk, honk, " strange, and yet, to Gilbert, familiar. An astonished stillness fell over the group around the gate. The whole show, in fact, stood wide-eyed and agape with wonder, forwhat should be coming up the road, moving entirely of its own accord, without horse or other visible means of locomotion, but a huge reddouble buggy, with wheels like a stone-crusher, and the appearance of athreshing-machine! It paused at the gate, and a clear, gay voicecalled, "Good-afternoon, Dr. Allen!"

With a hasty word of apology, only half uttered, Gilbert was down thesteps and standing by the motor-car. When the best thing possiblehappens to a man, the thing far too good to be dreamed of, it is atfirst unbelievable. But there she was, surely, Rosalie, her very self, in a long tan motoring coat, with a filmy scarf tied under her dimplingchin, her cheeks pink, her blue eyes dancing!

"Oh!" cried Gilbert, too overcome with joy for coherent speech, "itcan't be you!"

"Yes, it's me, " trilled Rosalie, laughing at her own lapse of English. "Here's Aunt Eleanor, and Maud, and all the rest of us!"

He greeted them in a half-dazed manner. He could see no one butRosalie, could realize nothing but the dazzling joy of her coming. 

He scarcely listened even to her explanation of their appearance. Theyhad started north on a short tour, but had never dreamed of going sofar. They had spent the night at a friend's in Lakeview, and thoughtthey must run out here and see him and his practice in their primitivestate. Would they come in? Why, of course they would! She wanted toget nearer to that gorgeous piper, not to speak of the hens and ducksand pigs. And did he raise geese and turkeys himself? And had hetaken a prize?

Gilbert helped the ladies to alight. He was well acquainted withRosalie's aunt and sister, and shook hands with the elder woman warmly. She had ever been a good friend to him, and had helped him many a timewhen Rosalie had contrived to make him miserable. The two young men hehad met before. He recognized the owner of the car as an old rival, and looked at him with dark suspicion. His name had been coupled withRosalie's during the past season oftener than he liked. 

As the party of strangers entered the grounds they caused moreexcitement than the piper and the merry-go-round combined. Such apiece of mechanism as a motor-car had never before come within therange of Granny Long's telescope. Folks who had been fortunate enoughto attend the Toronto Exhibition came home with great tales of havingseen just such machines shooting around the city streets without anyaid, and Bella Winters and Wes Long had even had their pictures takentogether in one for twenty-five cents. But to most people this greatred monster, looking, for all the world, as Spectacle John said, like alive threshing-mill, was an astounding sight. When the party left, acrowd of men gathered about it, keeping carefully out of its track, forWilliam Winters had seen one at Niagara Falls that ran backward as wellas forward, and you could never tell when such uncanny things mightshoot off in any direction. The women were more interested in therustling silks and veils of the ladies of the party, and formed asilent and admiring lane for them as they passed to the pine knoll. 

As Gilbert walked by Rosalie's side his tumultuous joy gradually becamemingled with other feelings. He wanted, more than anything else in theworld, to get a word with her alone, and Blackburn was walking at herother side, with a maddening air of proprietorship. He was a genial, harmless sort of young man, but he was wealthy, and the sight of hisprosperous complacency made the impecunious young doctor long to do himsome bodily injury. And all the while Rosalie laughed and chatted asthough every one in the world was as happy as herself. She went intofits of merriment over young Blackburn's facetious remarks, for, asthey walked through the crowds, that gentleman was making presumablywitty comments upon all he saw, from Piper Angus down, and Gilbertwondered drearily if even he, himself, thought he was saying anythingfunny. 

"I say, Allen!" he cried, "you've got a fine collection for the zoohere. If Barnum had only lived to see this day! I--oh, I say! Lookthere!" He stood still, and gazed ahead of him in genuine admiration. "Say, there's somebody that doesn't look as if she belonged to thismenagerie. The Queen of Sheba, all right. Who is her royal highness?Know her, Allen?"

Gilbert looked in the same direction, and became possessed of anunreasoning anger. Elsie Cameron was standing by her brother's side, under a spreading pine. Her trim, dark-green dress and hat, the softrose-leaf tints of her face, and the rich bronze gold of her hair, madea picture so perfect that he might easily have excused the stranger'soutburst. But he longed, more than ever, to knock him down. 

"Yes, " he answered shortly, "I know her. "

"You do! Oh, come, now! You've simply got to introduce us. Hasn'the, Mrs. Windale? Do make him. "

"I should like to meet the young lady, " said Rosalie's aunt graciously. "She is very beautiful. Don't you think so, Rose?"

"Oh, yes, I suppose so, rather, " said Rosalie dryly. "But it's thepiper I want to meet. "

"Mrs. Windale and I will go up to the throne and present ourselves, ifyou don't, Allen, " Blackburn cried. 

"Dr. Allen, " exclaimed Rosalie's sister, with laughing impatience, "dointroduce us. Guy will rave about her all the way home, and bore us todeath, if he doesn't get his own way. "

Without a word, Gilbert led his party up to the pine knoll andpresented them to his three friends. 

He was conscious of a feeling of relief that they were such as couldnot possibly provoke the visitors' mirth. As he introduced Blackburnhe was forcibly impressed by the sudden change in the young man'smanner. His flippant gaiety vanished before Miss Cameron's statelycandor, and he addressed her with the greatest deference. 

Now was Gilbert's chance. He turned from the group for a word alonewith Rosalie. She seemed quite eager for it herself. She had suchheaps to tell him, she declared, that she never had time to put into aletter. She had had the most gorgeous summer at the seaside, and hadbeen on two motoring tours since her return, and they were planning forthe gayest winter. She chatted away, but with never a word for him;not a question as to his welfare or his work, and though she spoke tohim alone, her eyes kept darting annoyed glances toward the two underthe pines. 

Gilbert's heart sank. "And where do I come in, Rosalie?" he askedpleadingly. 

"You, " she said, pouting, "you simply refuse to come in. Why don't youleave this dreadful place and come to the city? It must be like livingin a graveyard to exist here. "

"I have told you often that I can't yet, Rosalie, " he said humbly. "But you promised not to forget me in the meantime, don't you remember, dear?"

She turned away that he might not see her eyes, for her betterself--the real woman that cared for him, and knew his true worth--waslooking from them just then. And there was another Rosalie that cared, oh, so much, for wealth and social position. 

"You know--I--I've told you, " she said tremulously, "what I want you todo. "

"I know, and I will settle in Toronto just as soon as I possibly can. You have my promise. But I cannot come just now. "

"When, then?"

"Perhaps at the beginning of the new year. If I----"

A frightened look came into her eyes, and she interrupted him. 

"If you don't come at the beginning of the year it will be too late, "she said breathlessly. 

"Rosalie! What do you mean?"

"Hush! I--oh, I can't tell you, " glancing apprehensively towardBlackburn. "We are going on through Elmbrook when we leave, " shewhispered hurriedly, "and you may drive me as far as the village, andwe can talk over--things. "

Gilbert felt a chill at his heart. Here, indeed, was the irony of fate. 

"I--oh, I'm so sorry, " he stammered, in blank dismay. "I've promisedto drive some one else back. " The confession was out before he thought. 

"It's that Miss Cameron with the red hair!" cried Rosalie, withstartling suddenness. 

Gilbert's face grew hot. "Well, and what of that?" he asked reasonably. 

Rosalie held her pretty head high. "Tell her you must take me, " shesaid firmly. 

"Rosalie!" cried Gilbert, "you couldn't ask me to do that. MissCameron is a lady, and she is proud, and----wait. Come for a littledrive now. We can be back before the others are ready to leave. "

"I will, if you promise me you will not drive her home afterward. "

"Surely, " he cried in dismay, "you wouldn't want me to be rude to her?"

Rosalie stood for a moment looking searchingly at him. He was changed. He was not the boy who for three years had been ready to do herslightest bidding, no matter what the consequences. Just because shehad condescended to become engaged to him he was assuming airs ofauthority. Well, their engagement was a secret yet--she had insistedupon that--and she could soon find a way to frighten him intosubmission. 

"It's the only favor I've asked of you for six months, " she saidcoldly, "and if you do not want to grant it I shall never humiliatemyself by asking another. "

"Rosalie!" cried Gilbert desperately, "if you only understood----"

"I understand only too well, " she flashed back. "Are you coming, orare you not?"

"I am very sorry, " said Gilbert, politely but stubbornly, "but I cannotbe rude to a lady even for your sake. "

She turned her back upon him without another word, and walking straightup to Elsie Cameron, began to talk to her in the friendliest manner. Gilbert stood watching her, puzzled and dismayed, and wonderingdesperately what he should do, when the attention of all was called bya singular proceeding on the race track. 

An interesting display, the chief number on the program, had justclosed--the exhibition of ladies' horsemanship, and, as usual, EllaAnne Long had carried off the palm. After the prizes were awarded itwas the custom for the winners to drive around the ring several times, each lady bearing with her some highly-favored youth, somewhat as theconquering Romans attached their most distinguished captives to theirtriumphal car. While Miss Long, flushed with victory, was holding herhorse till the judge fastened the ticket to his tossing head, Sawed-OffWilmott stepped forward, feeling sure that the place of honor by EllaAnne's side would certainly be his. But just as he came sidling up, with a boyish step, a stalwart young farmer, one of the Highland Scotchgiants from the Glenoro hills, elbowed his way up to the buggy. He hadbeen casting admiring glances at Miss Long all afternoon, and now, without permission or apology, he sprang into the seat beside her. 

"Thanks, awful much!" he cried jovially. Then in a lower tone, halfhumble, half daring, "You're going to take me around, ain't you?"

Miss Long cast him a disdainful side glance. "Well, you are a coolone!" she exclaimed haughtily. Nevertheless, she did not order himout, but touched her horse with the whip, and away they sped. 

Poor Sawed-Off stood for an instant, glaring after them; then, at alaugh from the bystanders, he turned swiftly and leaped into his ownconveyance. His horse was all ready to go on for the next exhibit, anda few of the men were already ambling around the ring in theirtwo-wheeled vehicles. Mr. Wilmott gave his steed a cut with the whipand dashed fiercely into the ring after his faithless lady and herimpudent Lochinvar. He would pass them, and humiliate her before thewhole crowd. He came thundering down the track, his feet spread out, one on each side of his horse's flanks, his little two-wheeled sulkybobbing up and down over the rough road, his coat-tails flying, hiswhiskers parted by the breeze and streaming behind, and a forgottenbundle of hay, he had brought to feed his horse, sticking out rakishlyfrom under his seat. 

Sawed-Off was a caution of a driver, every one admitted, and in a fewminutes he had all but overtaken the truant pair. Miss Long turned andtook in the situation. She sat just a shade straighter, grasped herwhip more firmly, and urged her horse to the utmost. Around and aroundthe ring flew the runaways, and around and around behind them, gainingat every leap, bounced the sulky, the hay, and the angry pursuer. 

They had just passed the grand-stand for the second time, and the crowdwas beginning to cheer, when a third competitor joined the swiftprocession. The eldest Sawyer orphan had been herding his third-prizecow in an ignominious corner, which properly belonged to the pigs andsheep; but growing weary of his task, he had given Davy Munn half aliquorice stick and three walnuts to whack [Transcriber's note: watch?]Keturah just long enough to admit of his taking one ride on themerry-go-round. Davy had consented; but as the orphan had remainedaway long enough to ride through all the money Jake Sawyer had upon hisperson, Mr. Munn calmly left Keturah to her own devices and swaggeredleisurely away. The cow wandered off, and making her way behind thepine grove, arrived at the race course just as the bundle of hay inSawed-Off's sulky shot past. Whether Keturah saw a good mealdisappearing, and wisely made after it, or whether the enraged shriekof her young master, who just then discovered her position, frightenedthe gentle animal into flight, no one will ever know. Whatever thecause, Keturah threw up her horns, her tail and her heels, and with herthird-prize ticket dangling in view of the whole township, shescampered into the ring in the wake of Sawed-Off's flying coattails;while after her, mad with rage that she should have dared to advertiseher shame, and shrieking most un-orphan-like anathemas, came her youngkeeper. 

Now, poor Sawed-Off Wilmott, being only a maker of cheese, wasnaturally considered slightly beneath his farmer neighbors in thesocial scale. His employment had a touch of effeminacy about it, andgave a man the air of being merely an assistant to the cow. And now, at the sight of this animal pursuing him relentlessly, as though toclaim him for her own, the whole of Elmbrook fair burst into athunderous roar of laughter. Sawed-Off glanced back to see the cause, just as his horse's head passed the front wheel of his lady's buggy. With a start of chagrin he realized his ignominious position. To goaround the track again in the face of that jeering crowd, with the cowclose at his heels, was impossible. He pulled up sharply, jerked hishorse aside, and drove off behind the sheds. Miss Long and Lochinvarmade one more triumphant circuit, and disappeared in another direction. Tim succeeded at last in forcing Keturah to dodge into a path that ledto her corner, and the unique race ended. 

Gilbert's visitors were laughing heartily; Rosalie had completelyforgotten her ill-temper, and danced about consumed with merriment. 

"Oh, I say!" cried Blackburn, leaning weakly against a tree, "that'sbetter than the king's plate!"

"Oh, if Piper Angus had only got in behind the kid!" cried MalcolmCameron. "There's never anything in this world so good but it might bea little better. "

"Well, this comes as near perfection as anything I ever saw, " saidBlackburn's friend. "Come, ladies, this makes a splendid finale; wemust be getting on our way. "

Gilbert walked by Rosalie's side to the car. She was radiantlygood-humored now, but not a word could he get from her of the subjectnearest his heart. Of course she forgave him, she declared, chokingback her laughter to say it, but oh! oh! did he ever see anything sofrantically funny as that outrageous cow and that mad youngster afterher? Gilbert felt almost as much resentment against Keturah as poorSawed-Off must have experienced. Fate had always used him thus in hisdealings with Rosalie. Whenever he wanted her especially to beserious, then something invariably occurred to set her laughing; buthow charming she was, to be sure, when she laughed, with her littlehead thrown back, and the tears in her dancing eyes!

He tried to join her, with poor success. He was consumed with anxietyto know what the secret was she had intended to confide in him, and hadalmost made up his mind to obey her, and offend Miss Cameron andMalcolm and everybody. What did it matter when it meant Rosalie'sfavor? But she gave him no second chance. She sprang gaily into thecar by Blackburn's side, and waved her hand in farewell. She was stilllaughing as they moved off, and he could hear her saying betweenripples, "Oh! oh! and to think I didn't want to come, and I might havemissed that race!"

CHAPTER XII. 

A RUSH FOR THE GOAL

 The shorelark soars to his topmost flight, Sings at the height where morning springs, What though his voice be lost in the light? The light comes dropping from his wings. 

 Mount, my soul, and sing at the height Of thy clear flight in the light and the air, Heard or unheard in the night, in the light, Sing there! Sing there! --DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT. 

Elmbrook felt keenly disappointed that the red threshing-machine didnot pass through the village on its return journey. Though no oneguessed it, Dr. Allen was the most deeply disappointed of all. Indeed, such was the effect upon him, that he packed his suitcase the next day, Davy Munn hung his mother's sunbonnet upon the top of the stable, andthe doctor boarded the train at the back lane and went to Toronto. 

Elmbrook literally sat up nights, speculating as to the possiblereasons for his sudden departure. Mrs. Munn hadn't the faintest idea. She even wasn't sure of his destination, had forgotten whether he tookmany clothes or not, and was perfectly at sea in regard to his possiblereturn. Her son was more explicit, if more imaginative. He bet thatthe doctor had gone to see the swell young lady that came in thethreshing-mill; he was quite sure he would get drunk and show people afew things when he came back, for he was a very wild and fierce youngman, and nobody in the place, except Mr. Munn, knew just what awfulthings he could do. 

Fortunately, people paid no heed to Davy, and when the doctor returnedthe following day, looking his usual self, no one suspected him ofriotous conduct. Mrs. Munn kept her own counsel, of course, but shewondered secretly what had happened to make him so quiet, and why hedid not run up the stairs three steps at a time, whistling loudly, ashe used to do. 

And yet, according to his own view, there was really no reason whyGilbert should have been less happy. Everything had turned out just ashe had wanted. First, Rosalie had forgiven him--that was just likeRosalie, he reflected fondly--and, moreover, had promised--yes, promised faithfully this time--that if he would come down to her NewYear's party she would that day announce their engagement. There wasanother provision attached, however; he must, yes, must, come to thecity in the spring; no, not a month later. There was no use in histhinking she would live anywhere else, because she simply would die;and if he wanted to kill her, why, she would just marry Guy Blackburn, and go motoring over a precipice. Surely, when he saw that she wasgiving up so much for his sake, he might make a little sacrifice forher. And Gilbert had declared, with a rush of gratitude, that he woulddo anything she asked. 

So there was surely no good reason for his apparent lack of spirits. There was every prospect of his being successful in Toronto, andHarwood, his old college chum, had assured him there would be a fineopening in the spring. Nevertheless, Gilbert Allen was not as glad atheart as might have been expected. For Rosalie had been right in herjudgment; he was changed. Several influences had been at work to makea new man of him. Hitherto his life had been unconsciously selfish. It had been all getting, and no giving. That had seemed inevitable inhis college days; but when they were over, self-interest had stillremained the strongest force. To attain, to gain what he desired mostfor himself, had brought him to this country practice, and for a whilehe was in danger of quenching finally the generous impulses that were apart of his nature. But until Gilbert Allen had almost reached man'sestate there had been a good mother in his home, one who had neverfailed, day and night, to lay her boy's highest welfare before her God. So it was impossible that he should go very far astray, and now, allunknowing, he was turning into the path where that mother had alwaysdesired he should walk. He had set himself the task of reaching theshining mark of success, all for his own ends; but he found the road toit so absorbing, the daily duty demanding so strenuously theobliteration of self, that, little by little, he was losing sight ofhis own interests and living primarily for the people that needed hishelp. He smiled at himself in surprise one day, when, after anunusually busy fortnight, he found that he had forgotten to keep anyaccount of the money owing him. That was not the Gilbert Allen who hadsat down, in the first days of his career as a physician, to calculatecarefully just how much each mile would bring. He found it was hardfor a true physician to be selfish. 

And as he went about his task of relieving pain, day by day, unconsciously he was trying to live up to the high ideal that Elmbrookhad placed for him. 

"Give a dog a bad name and you can be hanging him, " quoted old HughieCameron one evening when the doctor had joined the company on themilkstand, and the talk was more than usually profound. "That will bea true saying, indeed. But, hoots! toots! it will be working the otherway, whatever. Give him a good name, now, and----"

"And he'll git up on his hind legs and walk like a man, " said SpectacleJohn Cross, much to Uncle Hughie's disgust. 

Dr. Allen had merely laughed, and forgotten the remark soon after. Nevertheless, the underlying truth was working out in his own life. Hewas being made a better man because he had been given a fine name andreputation. He had no petty conceit to be fed by his patients'adulation. It brought him only a saving sense of his own shortcomingsand an honest desire to be more worthy. And there had been stillanother influence at work, one of which he was entirelyunconscious--the quiet life of noble self-sacrifice lived by the girlon the other side of Treasure Valley was a constant source of reproachto him, though he recognized it not. 

So, being the man he was, Gilbert could not be happy in view of what hehad promised to do. Even Rosalie's smile was scarcely compensation forthe pang he felt when he reflected that the splendid Christmas presenthe had in store for the man who had given him his chance in life mustbe used for selfish ends, and Martin must wait. That was the sting;Martin was always waiting, and when would the waiting end?

But he soon lost sight of the future, its joys, as well as its pangs, in the imperative call of the present. When the winter set in hediscovered that, hitherto, his work had been but child's play. Thehigh ridge of Elmbrook offered a splendid battle-ground for all theopposing winds. Here they met in furious combat, filling the air withthe white dust of battle, and piling up their ramparts of snow untilroads and fields and fences were blotted out, and the whole earth layone dazzling waste. 

With the opening of winter came an epidemic of grip [Transcriber'snote: grippe?], and other seasonable maladies. The orphans wentsliding on the pond before the ice was as thick as window-glass, andbroke through and got severe colds; Mrs. McKitterick fell ill ofpneumonia, and all the children up among the stormy hills of Glenorotook the measles. So the young doctor learned all that it meant to bea country physician during an Ontario winter. An early December stormmade some of the roads impassable, and he often had to leave Speed, orthe new horse he had lately bought, at some wayside farmhouse while hemade the rest of the journey on snowshoes. Often he drove home in thegray winter dawn staggering for want of sleep, only to change his horseand start off in another direction. But he never shirked. Histroubled conscience drove him to a vigorous fulfilment of the duty athand. He had a vague notion that in this way he was atoning for theneglect of the greater obligation. 

His capacity for toil won the admiration of the hard-working peopleamong whom he lived. Often, as they watched his lonely cutter movingdown the road, like a little ship in a stormy sea, now rising high on asnowy billow, now almost disappearing in the hollow, as he fought hisway against the bitter blast to relieve some one's pain, theyunanimously voted the doctor a man. 

And the cures he worked! They talked them over around the kitchen fireat night, never wearying of the theme. There was Mrs. McKitterick--everybody knew about her, of course. And there wasArabella Winters, who was in bed and like to die, one day, and thedoctor had her sitting up and going around the next. And as for JakeSawyer's orphans--well, there was no knowing how often he had savedtheir lives. Yes, the doctor certainly was a caution. 

As he worked the days flew past, and Rosalie's New Year's celebration, which was to bring him such happiness, was fast approaching. He hadall the arrangements made for his holidays several weeks before. Harwood was coming to take his work for a week, and everything promisedto turn out exactly as he had hoped. 

On the last night of December he drove down the Lake Simcoe road to paya farewell visit to Mrs. McKitterick. Harwood had arrived the daybefore, and the next morning Gilbert was to take the early train forToronto. Lauchie had promised to wait at the back lane for him, andDavy had shoveled a path down to the railroad track. 

Gilbert wore his first-prize mittens under his fur gauntlets, and Mrs. McKitterick praised him for the wonderful care he was taking of them. She was better, quite herself again, but she warned him to be back inless than a week, for how could she get on without him? He had not theheart to tell her that he would not likely be with her much longer. Hehad to wait for a cup of tea, and by the time he had made another callit was getting late. 

As he was hurrying homeward he bethought himself of a short road to thevillage, a winter highway, that went up the ravine, past the DrownedLands, following the old abandoned corduroy track. It had been made bySandy McQuarry's teams hauling logs up to the mill, and beingsheltered, was comparatively free from drifts. The doctor turned intoit, and passed into the breathless silence of the cedar swamp. Hishorse's bells sounded startlingly clear in the tense Stillness. To hisright lay the cold, drear stretches of the Drowned Lands; the gaunttree-trunks were but dimly discernible against the gray landscape, andlooked more ghostly than ever, standing there, stark and silent, likean army of the dead. Not a light could be seen, nor a sign of humanhabitation. Above stretched the illimitable blue of heaven, steelycold, like the frozen earth, and spangled with glittering stars. Forseveral nights Gilbert had had very little sleep, and as he moved onthrough the unbroken silence his head drooped forward on his breast, the lines hung loosely in his limp hand, and he swayed from side toside like a drunken man. Speed trotted steadily onward, picking herway carefully, like the wise little animal she was. She seemed theonly living thing in all the ghostly stillness. 

Suddenly the horse stopped, and her sleepy driver lurched forward andalmost fell over the dashboard. He sat bolt upright and staredstupidly about him. Then he guessed that something was probably wrongwith the harness. Speed was a dainty little animal, and always refusedto move when her attire was not in perfect order. She had oncecleverly forestalled what might have been a serious accident, bystanding stock-still when a strap gave way. Gilbert stumbled out andwent around to her head. Sure enough, a buckle had broken. He pattedthe little mare affectionately. 

"Ah, Speed, you're a finicky old girl, " he grumbled. "If you were asdead for want of sleep as I am you wouldn't know whether you had anyharness or not. "

Speed rubbed him ingratiatingly with her nose as he strove, with numbfingers, to repair the damage. The bells were still, and the silenceof the winter night was oppressive. The dry rustle of some dead leavesthat still clung forlornly to a ghostly beech by the wayside soundedloud and startling. All at once the doctor was conscious of anothersound, one that appealed to his professional ear--the sound of asmothered, strangling cough. He looked about him wonderingly, andfound that he had stopped just in front of the old shanty where JohnMcIntyre lived. He had seen the man only once or twice since the millclosed, though he often heard the eldest orphan talk about him. ButTim had been confined to the house for the past week, the result of hispremature skate on the pond, and the village had heard nothing of thewatchman for some time. 

Gilbert stood a moment, doubtful as to what he should do. The coughingbegan again, with a sound in it, this time, that told the physician hemust hesitate no longer. He drew his horse up to the old tumbled-downbars, tied and blanketed her, and taking his satchel, plunged throughthe deep snow to the shanty. He drew off his fur gauntlet and knockedon the shaky door, but the moment he had done so he recognized thefutility of the act. He tried the latch, it lifted, and he stepped in. The place was in utter darkness, and bitingly cold, a chill dampnessthat struck the heart. The man's strangled breathing came from acorner of the room. The doctor spoke, but there was no answer. Hehastily struck a match and looked around. The little flickering lightshowed a rickety table, an old stove red with rust, and a dark objectin a far corner. It showed, also, a lantern on the floor. Gilbert litit, and going to the corner, bent over the sick man. John McIntyre laystretched on a low straw bed, covered with a ragged quilt and a heap ofnondescript clothing. His breath was coming in choking gasps, and hegazed up at his visitor with staring, but unseeing, eyes. The doctorfelt his burning forehead and his leaping pulse, and uttered a sharpexclamation. John McIntyre was sick, so sick that relief must comespeedily or it would not come at all. 

Gilbert was wide awake now. The weary man was lost in the alertphysician. He forced some medicine down the man's throat, found somekindling-wood in the shed, and soon had a blazing fire and a boilingkettle. Then he flung aside his cap and coat and went rummaging in themeager cupboard; he must have something--anything--for poultices. Hegave a relieved whistle as he stumbled upon a can of linseed meal, andreflected, with some amusement, upon how approvingly Mrs. Winters wouldhave regarded the homely treatment. When he had adjusted the hotpoultice he ran out and led his shivering horse around into the shelterof the old shed behind the house. Then he hurried back to JohnMcIntyre's bedside and took up his night's work. A hard battle he knewit would be, with, as yet, almost even chances for life and death. Hewent into the struggle eagerly, with not only the strong desire torelieve pain and save life, which is part of the true physician, butwith his fighting instinct keenly aroused. The battle was on; therewas only his strength and skill against the dread specter, and he wasdetermined to win. 

All night long he hung over his patient, watchful, careful, seizingevery smallest vantage ground, swiftly changing his tactics when hesighted defeat ahead. Once or twice he sank into the single chair theplace possessed and snatched a few minutes' sleep; but when the instantcame to administer medicine or change the poultices, he was wide awakeagain. So completely was he absorbed in his task that he lost allconsciousness of time and place, until he noticed a sickly appearancein the lantern's light, and glancing at the little frosted window-pane, he saw the ghosts of the Drowned Lands standing out plainly against thedawn. Gilbert drew a deep breath. The night had ended, and with itthe struggle. The doctor bent over his patient, pale and worn-looking, but his eyes aglow with the light of conquest. For he had won thebattle. John McIntyre lay there, spent and white, but he was saved. 

When he had made his patient as comfortable as possible with hisinadequate means, Gilbert prepared to go home. He left reluctantly, but he promised himself he would send Harwood back immediately. Hehurried out to the cutter, and sent Speed spinning up the road towardthe village. As he faced the brightening horizon it came to him with aleap of his heart that it was New Year's Day! He would barely havetime to catch the train! He drove swiftly into his own yard and dashedin at the kitchen door. 

"Is Dr. Harwood up?" he demanded, coming suddenly upon Mrs. Munn, andparalyzing her preparations for breakfast. 

Had he not been in such a hurry he would have known it was too much toexpect his silent housekeeper to vouchsafe, all at once, the amount ofinformation required to answer that question. 

"Dear! dear!" she cried, in consternation, standing with the drippingporridge-stick held over the hot stove. "I dunno. There's a letter onyour desk, " she added reluctantly. 

Gilbert darted into his office and tore open the note. Harwood hadbeen called out in the night to an urgent case, fifteen miles away, andwould not be back till the afternoon. 

The young doctor walked slowly to the frosty window and looked out uponthe white lawn, the paper crushed in his hand. He stood there, motionless, for fully a minute, and when he turned away his face wasvery stern. He walked upstairs and knocked peremptorily on the door ofDavy's room. 

The high, falsetto squeak of a gramophone was coming gaily through theportal, and without waiting for an answer Gilbert impatiently put hishead through the doorway. Since the lawnmower had gone to itswell-earned rest Mr. Munn lived only for this other instrument, thesound of whose music he found similar to that of his lost treasure. 

He was sitting up in bed now, shrouded in blankets, a smile of contentilluminating his face, while the buzzing little machine on the table athis side was grinding out a Sousa march. 

The stern look on the doctor's face startled the young man. He staredin perturbation. 

"Is anybody dead?" he whispered. 

"Jump up quick, " said the doctor sharply, "and run down and feed Speedright away; I want her again in a few minutes, do you understand? Thengo down to the track when Lauchie stops, and give him a telegram I wantsent on. Tell him I'm not going to Toronto. "

On the third day of the new year, when John McIntyre was quite out ofdanger, Gilbert went over to Mrs. Winters' to ask if she could dosomething to make the man's surroundings more comfortable. This wasjust the opportunity for which the village manager had been longingever since the watchman had taken up his residence at the DrownedLands. She organized a housecleaning brigade, and every woman in theplace joined the ranks. Old Hughie Cameron drove them down the ravinein Sandy McQuarry's big sleigh, and they descended upon John McIntyre'sestablishment, and soaked and washed and scrubbed until there seemed nosmall danger of the little shanty's joining the Drowned Lands under adeluge of soapy water. They brought all sorts of comforts, too. MissArabella donated her bedroom rug with the purple robins. Miss McQuarrybrought bedclothes, Mrs. Winters a feather mattress, and the Longscooking utensils; and they made beef-tea and chicken broth and jellies, until, from fearing that his patient might die of neglect, the doctorchanged to apprehensions lest he be killed with over-attention. 

When the rush and excitement of it was all over Gilbert felt as thoughhe had fallen from some great height, and was not yet certain how badlyhe was hurt. That he had grievously offended Rosalie this time he wasassured. She would listen to no explanations. He might have come ifhe had wanted, she declared; and when he humbly asked if he might notcome yet, he was answered by a newspaper with a paragraph in thesociety column marked. Miss Rosalie Lane, it stated, was visitingfriends in New York. 

Harwood went back to the city, and, left alone, Gilbert was too busy tospeculate much upon his wrongs. He put them behind him manfully, hisindignation at the unfairness of Rosalie's treatment helping him tobear them. But he wrote to her again, very humbly, as usual, andrepeated his promise to come to the city in the spring. Shecondescended to answer, but her brief note was all about the fun shewas having, and she made no allusion to his future plans. And withthis he was forced to be content. 

He was passing John McIntyre's shanty one dazzling mid-January day, and, tying his horse, ran in to see how he was faring. He found hispatient, dressed in one of his own warm bathrobes--a present from Mrs. Munn--sitting in a cushioned rocking-chair by the fire. The place wasexquisitely clean and tidy, and there was a subtle touch here andthere--a blooming geranium in the window, a smoothness of the featherbed--that showed the recent mark of a woman's hand. Seated in the mostcomfortable chair, behind the stove, was the eldest Sawyer orphan, happily devouring the remains of a boiled chicken, and talking fast andfuriously. John McIntyre was pale and haggard, as usual, but his airof fierce reserve had changed to a dreary toleration of thecompanionship of his fellow-mortals. He was still reticent and silent, but in a helpless, broken-hearted way. 

Since his recovery the young doctor felt constrained in his presence. He could not forget their first interview; so he confined his remarksand questions to strictly professional matters, and made his visits asshort as possible. 

"And how are you feeling to-day?" he asked cheerily, as he removed hiscoat, and stood warming his hands by the shining stove. 

"Oh, better--quite better. " It was John McIntyre's unfailing answer. The doctor slipped his fingers over his pulse, and nodded in asatisfied way. 

"I don't know that it's very wise of you to be out of bed yet, though, "he said. "You must not sit up too long. "

He placed a bottle on the table, gave a few instructions concerningdiet, and then turned to go. John McIntyre had been regarding him asthough he wanted to speak. 

"Sit down a moment, I would like to say something, " he said suddenly. 

Gilbert took a chair opposite, and looked at him inquiringly. 

"They were telling me yesterday how you saved my life that night youfound me here, " he began slowly. 

"Oh, never mind that. It's nothing. Any doctor would have done thesame. "

"I am not thanking you for it, " said John McIntyre, in his old hardvoice. "I would much rather you had left me alone. But you did whatyou thought best, and you have been very kind since. " He paused amoment, then went on slowly: "I once said something to you, it islikely you have not forgotten. I would like to take it back. I knownow I must have been mistaken. "

Dr. Gilbert Allen arose. The room felt stifling. "Will you tell meexactly what you meant? Who was the friend you mentioned?" he asked ina low tone. 

The man shook his head. "No; what is the use?" he asked wearily. "Heis dead and gone, long ago. I was mistaken, that was all. "

Gilbert went away puzzled. The "friend" was dead? Then the man hadnot meant Martin, after all. It was a case of conscience making acoward of him, he reflected. And so the two parted, all unconscious ofhow near each had come to giving an uplift to the other's life. 

Gilbert drove up the glittering road, following the fairy windings andturnings of the valley. Down in the shadows the bare trees were vividblue, up on the heights the snow was a blinding silver. He wasmeditating deeply on John McIntyre's words. They had hurt him morethan his angry accusation that evening in the mill. How he hatedhimself! Why not plunge in and do the right thing now, whether Martinneeded it or not, and then, after that, let the future bring what itwould?

A woman's figure appeared on the road ahead of him, carrying a basket, and explaining by her presence the immaculate state of John McIntyre'shome. Gilbert recognized the shimmer of Elsie Cameron's deep gold hairwith renewed feelings of compunction. If he had only had the calmcourage to walk the path of duty as this girl was doing! He touchedhis horse and drew up beside her. The keen air had given her cheeks adeeper tint, her hair was glorious in the sunlight, and her eyes werebrilliant. 

She thanked him smilingly as he helped her into the cutter. He couldnot help remembering the last time they had ridden together, and thedisastrous consequences. 

They spun along the smooth road, and just as they were rounding a turnin the winding valley a heavy sleigh, with a load of wood, came out ofthe forest and moved slowly along in the track ahead. Gilbert utteredan exclamation of impatience. "Now we shall have to crawl, " he said. "Sandy might have let us pass. "

"Perhaps he didn't see us. He looks preoccupied. "

"Likely he's concocting some scheme for sending the minister to Muskokyfor the rest of the winter. "

"I really believe he'll drive him away from here some day. No oneknows how much Sandy's conduct has made poor Mr. Scott suffer. "

"Well, the end is near, according to Silas Long's predictions. Heprophesies sure retribution, and it's not far off now, he says. Such alearned astronomer ought to know. Hello! what's the matter?"

The sleigh ahead had stopped, and its driver was haranguing someobstacle in his pathway. The two in the cutter leaned out and gazedforward inquiringly. 

Right in the middle of the highway, facing Sandy McQuarry's team, stoodthe schoolmistress. She had a basket on her arm, and was bound forJohn McIntyre's place with a mold of jelly, but she was really bent onfinding out if that eldest orphan-imp had been spending the day withthat dreadful old man instead of coming to school. 

The ravine road was narrow, and on either side the deep, untrodden snowmade it impossible for a sleigh to turn out without risking an upset. It was an unwritten law of the winter highway that pedestrians mustgive the right of way to vehicles, particularly those that bore loads. But the Duke of Wellington was subject to no law she did not wish toobey. To turn off the road meant plunging into the deep snow, and thatshe had not the smallest intention of doing. 

"Ye'll hae to turn oot!" shouted Sandy McQuarry peremptorily. 

"Do you think I'm going to flounder through that snow to my waist?"demanded the Duke indignantly. 

"Move aside and let me pass!"

"Ah canna move oot, wumman!" he cried, with truth. "Ma load'll upset!"

"What are you going to do about it, then?" Sandy McQuarry glared. "Ah'm goin' to drive on, " he declared grimly. 

"Indeed!" Miss Weir placed her basket exactly in the middle of theroad, carefully adjusted her shawl over it, and, with perfectdeliberation, sat down upon it. 

"Hoh!" Sandy McQuarry grunted disdainfully. He could soon scare eventhe Duke of Wellington out of such an untenable position. "Maconscience, but ye'll no sit there lang!" he muttered. He urged histeam forward until the nose of one of his grays was right over herhead. But he had not calculated on the immovability of the Iron Duke. She did not stir a muscle, but sat, with a calm, meditative face, gazing across the valley. The grays tossed their heads, puzzled andindignant, and then stopped. 

Sandy McQuarry was red with rage. 

"D'ye want me to run over ye, ye thrawn piece o' humanity, ye?" heshouted. 

The Duke did not appear to hear him. He rose to his feet, whip in hand. 

"Jemima Weir!" he thundered, "will ye, or will ye no step off that roadand let me drive on?"

"I will no!" answered the Duke, with unkind emphasis. 

The man raised his whip over his horses' backs and then paused. Plainly she intended to be slain rather than yield, and though murderwas in Sandy's heart he hesitated to commit it. He glanced about himwith a movement of impotent rage. Never before had he been balked inhis will by man, nor had he ever met the woman who had dared to crosshim. And here he was, held up in his own particular saw-log road byone of the despised sex! He remembered, in choking wrath, that he wasa pillar of the Glenoro church, that before him was the schoolmistress, and behind the doctor and old Hughie Cameron's niece, and he dared notgive adequate expression to the rage with which he was being consumed. 

In a voice inarticulate with anger he opened a parley. He declaredthat he would have the law, that he would publish her high-handed actfrom one end of the county of Simcoe to the other, that he would gethimself elected for trustee and drive her out of the section. Heblustered, he threatened, he scolded, he argued. And through it allthe obstacle sat on her basket, in the middle of the highway, notdeigning him even a glance. But as the maddened man foamed on, therearose once to the surface the lurking twinkle in the Duke's gray eyes. For there was no doubt Sandy was weakening. He had even stooped toreason with her now. 

"The snow's no more nor a half fut deep!" he was bellowing. 

The Duke caught the first symptom of yielding, but was too wise to makeanswer. 

"Yon's the doctor back there, " he cried, with a great show of righteousconcern, "he'll mebby be in a hurry. "

There was no sign of impatience from the two, choking down theirlaughter, in the cutter behind; and though she could not see them, wellthe Duke knew they were enjoying themselves. Nevertheless, shecondescended to answer. 

"You'd better not keep him waiting, then, " she advised. 

The man darted one more glance around, the glance of an imprisoned lionwhich suddenly realizes its position. Slowly, his brows erect, hisface dark, he descended from the sleigh and walked around to her side. He stood for a moment regarding her, with a dawning expression ofsomething like respect struggling with the gleam of his fierce eyes. 

"If Ah tramp ye a path 'round the sleigh will ye walk in it?" he asked, his voice tremulous with wrath. 

The Duke weighed the proposition with great deliberation. She wouldhave died there under the horses' feet rather than show the slightestinterest in it. "Well, " she admitted indifferently, "I can't say. IfI don't get my skirts snowy, I might. You tramp the road, and thenI'll see. "

With smothered imprecations, Sandy plunged into the snow. 

Dr. Allen, quenching his unseemly mirth, sprang from the cutter andcame to his aid. There was something to arouse pity in the downfall ofthe man of strength. Neither by word nor sign did Sandy recognizeeither his or Elsie Cameron's presence. The atmosphere was too highlycharged to admit of ordinary courtesies. When the two men had trampleda wide pathway, and made it sufficiently smooth and firm, the Duke ofWellington condescended to march out of her citadel. There was nosmallest sign of haste in her movements; she stood and eyed the trackcritically, as if doubtful as to whether she would use it, after all. Her hesitation proved the last straw to her enemy's endurance. With aninarticulate cry of rage Sandy McQuarry sprang toward her. The Dukewas tall and stately, and of no light weight, but he caught her up asif she had been a child, and with a few mighty strides bore her alongthe pathway. Reaching the road, he planted her in the middle of itwith a violent thud. 

"The Lord Almighty peety the man that gets a wumman like you!" heexclaimed with vehement solemnity. He strode back to his sleigh, leaped upon his load, and lashed his horses into a gallop. 

The Duke was perfectly calm. She bowed in her stateliest fashion toElsie and the doctor, but the twinkle in her eye answered the laughterin the girl's. Then, arranging her basket more carefully on her arm, she passed on her way as if nothing had happened. 

Gilbert sprang into his cutter, and the two witnesses of poor Sandy'sWaterloo followed his tumultuous retreat up the valley. They wereyoung and light-hearted, and what wonder if one put aside her gravityand the other his troubles, and both laughed all the way to the village?

It was not until they had gained the main highway, and Sandy haddisappeared, that they recovered their composure and could speak ofother things. 

"And you did not get away for your vacation at New Year's, " the girlsaid. "That was too bad. "

"No, " said Gilbert, suddenly growing somber at the recollection. "Everything conspired against me, it seemed. I couldn't get away. "

"Uncle Hughie would say that everything had conspired for you. Histheory is the happiest one. He would tell you that if you had goneprobably some disastrous circumstance would have followed. "

"Perhaps he is right, " said the young man meditatively. He could notyet regard his failure to meet Rosalie's demands as anything but amisfortune. And yet, there was that money still in the bank thatMartin might have. That was surely a satisfaction. 

"Oh, everything seems to me to be guided by the merest chance, " he saidhalf bitterly. 

The girl shook her head. "I think it seems so only on the surface. There can be no hazard about one's duty. The results are as sure ascause and effect. You know that, Dr. Allen. "

"Yes, I know it, " said Gilbert as he assisted her to alight at thedoor. "I am aware of it, I mean, but I don't act upon it. "

He looked up at her, standing on the steps above him, and felt againthat longing her presence always inspired within him to do somethinggood and great. Why was he such a sham? John McIntyre's words ofpraise returned, with their weight of humiliation, and he drove away inutter self-contempt. 

At college, the boys always said that generally Easy Allen, as theycalled him, was only a very ordinary football player. He ambledcheerily about the field, and seemed to enjoy the game so much that hedid not bother trying to do anything remarkable. But let somethingarouse him to a sense of responsibility, a goal for the other side, aknockdown that stirred his temper, then look out! He would put hishead down and pitch himself into the fray, and then something had togive way, and the boys knew it wouldn't be Easy. To-day, something ofthat old conquering mood had come over him. He was possessed with arage against his former dilatory self, and a fierce desire to win, todo the clean, square thing, no matter what the consequences. He haddone it that New Year's morning, when John McIntyre's life lay in hishand. The call of duty had been imperative then. He had not evenconsidered the possibility of shirking it, and in spite of all thedisappointment and sorrow his action had brought, he had never onceviewed it with regret. And now, once more, he had his head down, infierce determination, and cared for nothing but to score and feelhimself a man. 

He marched straight past a group of patients waiting in his office andsat down at his desk. What a long time since he had written to Martin!He had almost forgotten his address. The letter was short and humble, and inside it he slipped a check. When he left it at the post-office, half an hour later, he was a poor man, and his prospects of starting acity practice in the spring were of the slimmest sort; nevertheless, hewalked very straight, and held up his head with an air of pride, asthough he owned the whole earth. 

But his exultation did not last long. The next morning Miss Ella AnneLong handed him a letter; it was in Rosalie's handwriting. He tore itopen on the street, not being able to wait till he reached home. Itwas merely a note, very short and very merry, telling how she had justreturned from New York, and in a brief postscript, crowded in at thebottom, she announced her engagement to Guy Blackburn. 

CHAPTER XIII

THE TREASURE-BOOK

 And yet, O God, I know not how to fail! Within my heart still burns an unquenched fire, Like Israel of old I must prevail, Or failing, still reach on to something higher. They counted _Him_ a failure when He trod The slopes of Calvary that led to God! --HELENA COLEMAN. 

All winter the eldest orphan's reformed conduct had been the subject ofjoyous wonder on the part of his parents. Hannah was of the opinionthat the boy had been converted at Mr. Scott's series of specialmeetings at Christmas time, but Jake, having been a boy himself, shookhis head, and said it was likely just a spell he had taken with thecold weather, and it would work off when the summer came, like Joey'swhooping-cough. But, strange to say, Tim went no more abroad with DavyMunn on lawless expeditions. Sawed-Off Wilmott and the young Lochinvarfrom Glenoro came regularly, on alternate evenings, to see Ella AnneLong, and never found ropes tied across the gate, nor whips norlap-robes missing, as in Tim's unregenerate days. Even Miss Weirtestified that sometimes he would not do anything particularlyoutrageous in school for a week at a time. The truth was that theeldest orphan had neither time nor inclination for childish mischief. Mentally, he had grown up. He dwelt no more in the common walks ofhumanity, but in the land of romance. For one who consorted withheroes, fought great battles, and performed mighty deeds of valor, childish pranks had no interest. He cared now for nothing in the worldbut to read all day long, and half the night; to read anything andeverything, from the hair-raising cowboy tales Davy Munn loaned him, tothe ponderous histories from the minister's book-shelf. Through thisselfsame book-shelf the minister had become one of Tim's closestfriends, and might have made a pastoral visitation every day in theweek and been welcome. He had almost got ahead of the doctor in theeldest orphan's regard; for while the doctor had plenty of books, wholeshelves of them, they were queer, stupid things, full of long, hardwords, and never a battle or a shipwreck from one cover to the other. 

At first, the boy's greedy desire to devour a story at one sittingfilled him with impatience at his own slowness. He found, to hischagrin, that he could not read the "Waverley Novels" with theswiftness the course of events demanded. He tried having them readaloud by his father, but though Jake was always willing, he stumbledand spelled his way through the battles and adventures with alaboriousness that nearly set his young listener mad. 

But one winter night Tim discovered a royal road to learning. Theminister had called, and left "Quentin Durward. " It was an evening theboy had been in the habit of spending with John McIntyre, so he slippedthe volume inside his coat and sped away with it down to the DrownedLands. 

And wonderful good fortune, John McIntyre proved a splendid reader. Not only that, but after his first reluctance had been overcome, heseemed to like the task. 

That was the beginning of a new life for both of them. The boy camealmost every evening now, and as John McIntyre grew stronger he oftenread on, as absorbed as his listener, until the hour was late. Then, instead of going home, Tim would curl up snugly in bed behind hisfriend, and sleep until he was awakened in time to start for school. 

One evening, when the sick man had almost recovered his wontedstrength, Tim came hobbling down the road with a large volume bulgingout the front of his coat. John McIntyre sat before his fire, lookingthrough his little frosted panes at the beauty of the winter sunset, and something of the sadness in his weary eyes vanished as the littlefigure appeared against the filmy rose mists of Treasure Valley, andcame trotting down the glittering road. There seemed to be areflection of the sunset glow in the man's face as the boy bounded in. 

"Hello!" he shouted, pitching his snowy mittens under the stove and hiscap upon the bed. "I've got a new story. " He struggled to extract thebook from his coat. "Old Hughie Cameron gave it to me. Hech! hech!hoots! toots! indeed and indeed!" he added, hobbling about the room, and imitating the old man's caressing manner to perfection. 

No one in Elmbrook had ever seen John McIntyre smile, nor did he do sonow; but as he watched the absurd attempts of the youngster to portraythe queer gait of the village philosopher there came into his eyes alook as though there had passed before them the ghost of the days whenhe, himself, was young and light-hearted and full of boyish pranks. Hearose, and lighting the little lamp, placed it upon the table. 

"It's a bully story, " went on the boy. "Old Hughie started to read itto me an' the twins las' night, but they got to scrappin', an' I had tolambaste 'em both, an' so he didn't finish. He said mebby you would. It's about an old guy who was rich an' had chunks o' money, an' a bigfamily, an' all the rest; an' the devil got after him an' busted up thewhole thing. He got all his cows an' his horses an' things struck withlightning, an' his boys an' his girls were all at a swell birthdayspree, an' the house up an' fell down, an' smashed every bloomin' oneo' them--oh, say! it's a dandy!"

He placed the book on the table and shoved it toward John McIntyre. The man reached for it, but quickly drew back. 

"It's--the Bible!" he said sharply. 

"Yes, " said Tim, "'course. Did ye ever read any of it?" He paused inembarrassment. John McIntyre, being such a particularly bad man, afact he was prone to forget, would naturally scorn to read the Bible. He felt ashamed of himself. "It's got a whole lot o' bully yarns init, " he added apologetically. 

The man was looking at the Book as though he were afraid of it. 

"This man's name was Job. D'ye ever hear about him?" continued Timinsinuatingly. 

"Yes, I've read it. "

"Oh, have you? Well, read it again. Aw, go on. It won't hurt!"

He shoved the book into the man's hands. He had learned, long erethis, that John McIntyre was his obedient servant. "Begin at thebeginning, 'cause I kinder forget how it starts. "

So, for the first time in many long years, John McIntyre took into hishands the Word of God--the Book he had been wont to read every evening, so long ago, in the light of his happy home circle. 

"There was a man in the land of Uz whose name was Job, and that man wasperfect and upright, and one that feared God and eschewed evil. "

Tim snuggled down on Miss Arabella's rug, close to the stove, his chinin his hands, and stared up with eager, devouring eyes. At first, JohnMcIntyre read in a strained, hard voice, but soon he seemed to forgeteverything but the absorbing tale--the tale of his own life--a man'sstruggle with overwhelming sorrow; and yet how different from his own. For Job had not sinned, nor "charged God foolishly, " while he, in hisbitterness, had thrown the blame of his evil case upon his Maker, anddeclared that He knew not compassion. 

Throughout the early portion of the story Tim listened with eyes andears, but when they entered upon the long discourses of Job's friendshe grew restless. There was not enough action here. Thunder andlightning, sudden deaths, and overwhelming catastrophes were exactlysuited to the orphan's taste, but theological controversy was aweariness to his soul. He wriggled around impatiently, counted thepurple robins again and again, and gouged holes in the single eye eachpossessed. But still the dreary talk went on. 

"Say! ain't that coon ever goin' to get done shootin' off?" he broke inwearily, in the midst of a long speech from Eliphaz the Temanite. 

John McIntyre did not hear. He had come to the answer of Job, wordsthat found an echo in his own bitter heart:

"I was at ease, but He hath broken me asunder; He hath also taken me bymy neck and shaken me to pieces, and set me up for His mark. Hisarchers compass me round about. He cleaveth my reins asunder, and dothnot spare. "

The anguish in the reader's voice, conveying the strength of the man'smighty grief, made itself felt in the child's soul, and stilled him. He gazed up into John McIntyre's haggard face with a strange heavinessat his heart. Through chapter after chapter he waited, silent andsubdued, but at last his weariness overcame his fears. He rolled overon the rug and yawned loudly. 

"Aw, shucks!" he muttered; "they're as bad at gassin' as Ella AnneLong!" He waited through another chapter, and then broke in once more. 

"Say! couldn't you skip all that blather, an' tell us what happenednext? Didn't the devil get after him again?"

The reader paused, and gazed down at the boy in a dazed fashion. "Whatdo you want?" he asked vaguely. 

"I wish them fellows would hustle up, an' quit chewin'. Did Job getall right again?"

John McIntyre mechanically turned the leaves. He experienced a grimsatisfaction in the boy's complaints. What did these wordy friends ofJob know of sorrow and despair? As though they were conditions thatcould be explained away! He turned almost to the end of the story, andthere he paused. A new actor had entered the sorrowful drama. Out ofthe whirlwind there came a Voice--the voice of the Infinite--and beforeits thunder the souls of Job and his friends bowed in self-abasement. 

The reading went on again, continuing uninterrupted to the end. Theman closed the Book, dropping it heavily upon the table. 

"Is that all?" demanded Tim, fearing to be cheated out of one word ofthe story. 

"That is all, " said John McIntyre in a whisper. He shaded his eyeswith his hand. What long, weary days and nights had passed over himsince he last looked into that Book! He had thought never to look intoit again, and yet its pages held their old convincing power. There wasstill that magic touch that went straight to a man's heart, as onlyGod's word can. Job had suffered, had been bereft of all that madelife worth the holding, and yet he had garnered from the seed sown inanguish, not bitterness and despair and hatred of God and man, but agolden harvest of divine revelation, a wealth of eternal hope and joy:"I know that my Redeemer liveth!"

When the eldest orphan started out for the Drowned Lands the nextevening he sighted the minister on the village street ahead of him. Hewas about to hasten his footsteps to overtake him, when he noticed Mr. Scott pause and speak to some one. 

As the boy drew slowly near, he was amazed to see that it was SandyMcQuarry. They seemed to be talking in quite a friendly tone, too, while over at Long's store Tim's foster-father, and his enemy, Spectacle John, and the blacksmith, were craning their necks throughthe doorway, and apparently enjoying the scene. Sandy did not speaklong, but they parted with a hearty handshake. 

"Hello!" cried the boy, coming up alongside the tall figure. Theorphans could never be accused of stiffness or formality. 

"Hello!" cried the minister, with equal cordiality. His eyes wereshining, and he looked as though he had just received great and goodnews. 

"Ain't he mad at ye any more?" asked Tim, jerking his thumb over hisshoulder to indicate Sandy McQuarry, the way he had seen his father do. 

The minister's eyes grew brighter. "No, Tim, he's not mad at me anymore, and, please God, he never will be. "

"Did you take it back, what you said about Muskoka?"

"Well, yes, partly; but it wasn't that. " The laughter lines weredeepening around the minister's eyes. "When you grow older you willunderstand better. And how are you feeling to-night? Cold better, eh?"

"Oh, I'm fine and dandy. How's yourself?" He was prancing along bythe man's side, with a gait peculiar, even to himself. The orphans allhad a curious, orphan-like habit of rendering pedestrianism asdifficult as possible. The twins would stagger around for a whole daytied together at the ankles, and Tim now displayed this familypeculiarity by hirpling along, one foot up on the smooth, hard roadway, the other plunging far into the deep snow. 

"Very well, thank you, " said Mr. Scott. "Where are you going?"

"Down to see John. " His tone revealed his pride in the daringconfession. It was a splendid thing to have such a wicked man for achum, a man whom folks said even the minister feared. 

"Ah! What are you reading now?"

"'We haven't got anything new for to-night. I was wishin' I had abook. " He looked up slyly, to see if the hint had taken effect. 

The minister fell easily into the trap. "Dear me! I'm sorry I didn'tknow that. You might have had 'Nicholas Nickleby. ' I'll send it toschool with Tommy to-morrow, if you promise you won't read any of it inschool, eh?"

"All right; 'course not, " cried Tim righteously. 

"And what have you been reading since you finished 'Pilgrim'sProgress'?"

The minister looked down enviously at the small, hobbling figure. Ifhe had only been wise enough, he reflected, to go to that man with thischild's faith and good-fellowship, they might have been on such termsof intimacy now, and he might have helped to cure that look of pain inJohn McIntyre's eyes. 

"We've been readin' about a chap named Job. It's in the Bible. Everread it?"

"The Bible!" The minister paused in the road. What miracle had ledthe child thither? "Did McIntyre read Job to you?"

"Yes. "

"Every bit of it?"

"Yes--all but a lot o' mushy talk in the middle. Them jiggers had suchan awful lot to say we skipped some of it. But we read the end. "

"Ah, you've got a fine story-book now, Tim! You'll not find suchanother. Ask McIntyre to read you some more of its stories. They'rebetter than 'Nicholas Nickleby. '"

Tim looked dubious. With the exception of Job, and Daniel in thelions' den, and extracts from one or two thrilling tales like that, heconsidered the Bible rather tame. His foster-father read a chapter tothem every night before they went to bed, but the eldest of the familywas generally too much occupied in pinching the twins, or keeping themin order, to give the reading anything better than a very desultoryattention. But Jake's slow, droning voice was not calculated to arouseinterest. "I dunno, " he said, glancing up sidelong at the man. "Mebbyhe--I don't think he likes it--much. "

"Oh, you set him at the right stories, and he will. Don't you likestories of shipwreck?"

"You bet!"

"Well, get him to read to you about Paul; he had some wonderfuladventures on the sea. And there's a better story than that there, about some people who were nearly shipwrecked, and a Man on board savedthem. And how do you think He did it? Why, He got up and stopped thestorm and the waves. "

The child nodded. "Daddy read us that one night, " he said. 

So the Book remained in John McIntyre's shanty, and often, when someother story was finished, the boy would bring it out. The books ofEsther and Daniel, the tales of Samson and Gideon, and the wonderfulstories of the Savior Himself, all had to be gone over again and again. And one night John McIntyre read of love's great sacrifice, when theskies grew dark and the earth trembled with the agony of Calvary. 

Tim lay on the floor, staring up at the reader. John McIntyre'ssorrowful voice had brought home to him some inkling of thestupendousness of that tragedy. 

"What did they kill Him for?" he demanded sharply. "He never didanything bad, did He?"

"No. " John McIntyre's voice was almost inaudible. 

"Couldn't He have stopped them if He had wanted to?"

"Yes, " hesitatingly. 

"Why didn't He, then?" scornfully. 

Why? There had been a day when John McIntyre could have given a readyanswer. He would have told the boy it was God's love and man's greatneed that held the Savior there; but he had long ceased to believe inthat love, and he was silent. 

Tim waited a while, and then tried another question. "Where is Jesusnow? Is He in Heaven?"

"I suppose so--yes. "

"That's where our mother is--an' your boys, too, eh?"

"I suppose so, " faltered the man. 

"Were they very bad boys?" asked Tim in an awed whisper. 

"No. " The answer was almost fierce. 

"Oh, then they'll be in Heaven for sure, won't they?"

"Yes. "

"Are you _dead_ sure?"

"Yes, sure. " The man drew a deep breath as he answered. 

The boy lay silent, evolving a new question. It came at last. 

"Say! all boys and girls have to have mothers, don't they?"

"Yes. "

"Then your boys must 'a' had one, too, eh?"

"Yes. "

"Is--is she in Heaven, too?"

"Yes, she is. " John McIntyre spoke with a defiant firmness thatstartled the boy. 

"You're dead sure about that, ain't you?" he inquired, half admiringly. 

"Yes. If there's a heaven, she's there, even if no one else is. "

"But ain't there one?" cried Tim eagerly. It would be rather nice toshock Miss Scott on Sunday with the news that there was no such place, backed up by an authority like John McIntyre. 

"Yes, there is. " The answer was long in coming, but when it did comeit sounded final. 

Tim was slightly disappointed. "Well, " he argued at last, "I guessthere oughter be, anyhow, for good people like Mammy and Daddy Sawyerand Dr. Allen and Mr. Scott--eh?"

"I suppose so. "

"Why, daddy read about it one night in the Bible. It was a city, hesaid--aw, shucks! I'd rather it was the country. But it had goldstreets, and was all pearls and diamonds and things. Say! find it, will you?"

So the next reading was of the New Jerusalem, the city that had no needof the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it; for the glory of Goddid lighten it, and the Lamb was the light thereof. 

"For there shall be no night there. " When John McIntyre came to thosewords his voice broke, and he closed the Book quickly, as though ithurt him. He had not shed a tear since that day when he and Mary laidtheir last child in the grave; and a far deeper sorrow had come uponhim since; but something shone in his eyes now as he turned his back tothe light. 

For some minutes Tim lay staring into the fire, and wondering. It wasa wild winter night, and the storm came wailing across the DrownedLands, and shook the old door of the little cabin. But itssorrow-laden notes, that always found an echo in the winter of JohnMcIntyre's lonely heart, spoke to him of something new andwonderful--of that other land where there would be "no more death, neither sorrow nor crying. "

"It must be an awful pretty place, " Tim ventured at last, ratherwistfully. "Say!"--he looked up eagerly--"d'ye s'pose it 'ud benicer'n Nova Scotia?" His companion did not answer, and he went on:"Our mother's there, 'cause she was good; but if our father's dead, heain't. "

John McIntyre looked down at the child, and Tim nodded his heademphatically. "Oh, but I know he ain't, " he said with firm conviction. "He was so awful bad. Don't you mind I told you? He cheated a lot ofother folks, an' got all their money, an' then he ran away, for fearthey'd put him in jail. The last time I seen him he come to give oleMother Cummins money for keepin' us. She was drunk that night, and Isneaked out o' bed an' listened, an' he didn't give her 'nough, an' sheyelled at him, an' she says, 'Joseph Symonds, you're a----'Wha--what's the matter?"

John McIntyre had leaned forward in his chair and was glaring at theboy. "That name!" he cried. "What was your father's name?"

"Symonds--Joseph Symonds, " repeated the child, staring. "That's ourname, too, an' Joey was called after him. "

"Was Fair Hill the place you were born in?"

"Yes. How did you know? It was right beside the ocean----" Hepaused. The look in John McIntyre's face alarmed him. "Ye--ye ain'tgoin' to get sick again, are ye?"

He arose and came nearer, and the man drew back, with a gesture ofloathing. "Your--father--was Joseph Symonds!" he repeated, dazed. 

Tim had a fashion, when he was very much interested in anything hisfriend was saying, of seizing a button of the man's coat and twistingit. He took hold of it now, and turned it around and around, gazing athim wonderingly. 

"Yes; did ye know him?" he asked, innocently eager. 

John McIntyre's clenched hands relaxed. His first impulse had been tohurl far from him the offspring of the scoundrel who had been his ruin. But one look into the boy's inquiring eyes, gazing at him in perfectfaith, rendered him powerless. He let his hand fall heavily upon Tim'sshoulder, and holding him back, stared into his wondering face. Lineby line he traced resemblances, hitherto unnoticed, to the man he hadhated. There was the same pointed chin, the same cunning droop of theeyes. And yet, oh, miracle of love! those very hated features nowformed the one thing in the world to which his heart clung. He wasovercome by a feeling of utter impotence. Hitherto, his strength hadlain in his relentless hatred; and now, what had become of it? It wasgone--transformed into another feeling infinitely more potent. Something of the all-conquering force of love--the impossibility ofescape from it--was borne in upon John McIntyre's soul. For an instantthe veil of mystery that shrouded human suffering seemed to growtransparent, and behind it shone Divine Love in the agony of Calvary. Inevitable, all-pervading, like the voice of the Apocalypse thunderingfrom heaven, it spoke: "I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and theending. "

The man placed his hand on the boy's head in a helpless fashion. 

"Are ye sick?" whispered Tim. 

"It's nothing, " he faltered weakly. "I--I was just feeling weak. Come, it's time you were in bed. It is too stormy for you to go home. "

And that night John McIntyre slept with a protecting arm placed aroundthe son of the man who had ruined his life. 

CHAPTER XIV

THE HERALD OF SPRING

 Pale season, watcher in unvexed suspense, Still priestess of the patient middle day, Betwixt wild March's humored petulance And the warm wooing of green-kilted May. --ARCHIBALD LAMPMAN. 

All day the rain had poured, a real March rain, descending in chill, driving torrents. Now and then bursts of wavering sunlight brokethrough the storm, but the next moment the patch of blue sky was shutout by rolling gray clouds, and followed by another downpour. 

In one of the brief sunlit intervals, Miss Arabella threw a shawl overher head and ran down to Long's store for a pound of tea. She wasstill pale and wan, as she had always been since her illness last fall;but there was a light in her eyes and an expression of quietdetermination about her mouth, telling that the little lilac lady'sspirit was still on guard over her secret. 

It was the hour when Silas Long and his son were having their earlysupper, and Ella Anne kept shop. As the sharp ring of the little bellannounced a customer, she came from behind the pigeon-holed partitionthat served as a post-office. "Oh, I say, Arabella!" she cried, turning back at the sight of the little wind-blown figure, "mind you, there's a letter for you! Who'd ever 'a' thought o' you gettin' aletter?"

Miss Arabella's sensitive face flushed. "I guess it's a bootadvertisement again, " she ventured. "I got one year before last. "

"No, it ain't. " Miss Long reappeared with the missive, examining itminutely. "Them advertising things are open, and this one's sealed. It's got writing on the inside, too, 'stead o' print; I can make thatmuch out through the envelope, only I can't read a word of it. It'sfrom a place called Nugget Hill. Who do you know there?"

Miss Arabella took the letter, her reticent soul shrinking from thefrank inquisitiveness. "I don't know anybody, " she said honestly. "Inever heard of the place. "

"Miss Weir was in here, a minit ago, an' I showed it to her, an' shesaid that was the name of a place in the Klondyke. Who on earth wouldbe writing to you all the way from there?"

Miss Arabella suddenly crushed the letter into her pocket; her faceturned white. "I--I want a pound o' that green tea, Ella Anne, please, " she stammered hurriedly. 

"Aren't you goin' to read it?" asked Miss Long, reaching for thetea-scoop. 

"I ain't in any hurry, " faltered Miss Arabella, "but I want thetea--quick!"

"Well, if you ain't a caution! Here, give it to me. I'll read it foryou, if you like. "

"Oh, no, thanks, Ella Anne, I'd rather wait. " There was panic in thelittle woman's voice. "I--I _always_ wait quite a _long_ while beforeI open my letters. "

"Well, my gracious!" grumbled Miss Long. As she measured out the tea, and bound it up, she kept an inquiring eye upon her customer, and couldnot help seeing that she was greatly agitated. 

"Well, sakes! I could no more do that than fly. Why, mebby some one'sleft you a fortune. "

Miss Arabella made no reply. She hurriedly tucked the parcel under hershawl, and forgetting to pay for her purchase, made for the door. 

"Likely Wes an' me'll be over to William's to-night for a sing, so youcan run in an' tell us all about it then, " Miss Long called after her. 

Miss Arabella paid no heed. Just now she cared not what the futuremight hold, she must get beyond all prying eyes immediately, and seewhat that letter contained. She ran along the sodden pathway, splashing unheedingly through the mud and snow, and repeating toherself, over and over again, that he must be living, he must be, afterall. Without waiting to take off her wet shawl, and all unheedingPolly's loud and profane complaint that times were dull, she fled tothe safety of her spare bedroom. She pulled down the window-blind, till the place was all in darkness, dragged the chair against the door, sat upon it, and with shaking hand drew the letter from her pocket. Her cheeks were pink, her eyes were shining like stars, and she wastrembling from head to foot. She opened the envelope with tender careand unfolded the well-filled sheets. Her devouring eyes seemed to takethem all in at a glance. 

No, he was not dead, and he had not forgotten her. But he had long agogiven up hope of ever seeing her again; he had felt he had no right totrouble her--such a useless chap as he was. He had never found poorold John McIntyre, nor had he succeeded in anything else, for he hadbeen sick, and had lost all his money, and had years of poverty thatmade him ashamed to think of her. But his luck had taken a wonderfulturn. He had made his pile. He was just on the verge of losingeverything again, and going to the dogs last winter, when a fine oldchum of his sent him a haul of money. It came just in the nick oftime, and not only saved him, but made his fortune. Yes, that friendwas a bully old chap, but he wasn't going to tell her anything abouthim just now; there was a big surprise in store for her. And he was arich man now, and she might wear silk dresses all the rest of her lifeif she liked. And he was coming home in June, just as fast as thetrain could carry him, and if it didn't go fast enough he would get outand run ahead. That is, if she wanted him still. Did she think shecould forgive him? Forgive him! Miss Arabella wiped her eyes to readthat again, wondering dimly what it meant. Or had she forgotten him inthese long years, or was she still waiting? Somehow, he couldn't helpthinking it would be just like her to wait. And was Polly living yet?And could she still say "Annie Laurie" as he had taught her? And hadshe kept the blue silk, as she had promised? She must answer rightaway, and if she did not want him he would not come; but if shedid--well, look out--there would be a wedding along about the first ofJune. 

Again and again Miss Arabella read the letter, trying to convince herdazed senses that it was real. When she had succeeded in graspingsomething of the joyous truth she arose dizzily and went to the dresserdrawer. Very carefully she took out the roll of blue silk, and layingthe letter between its shining folds, she sat down and cried over them. 

"You didn't wear out, after all, " she sobbed, running her fingersgently over the blue folds, "no, you didn't. "

She was roused by the clicking of the front gate, and peeped fearfullyunder the window-blind. Susan was coming! She had paused for a momentto harangue the orphans, who were splashing up and down the middle ofthe road, knee deep in mud. Miss Arabella sprang up in a panic. Susanwould find out. There would be no use trying to hide from her thatsomething tremendous had happened, and she and William and the childrenwould laugh at old Aunt Arabella's foolishness. And Susan would stepin, with her strong will, and turn poor Martin away, as she had done solong ago. She must get away; she must find some hiding place for hersecret. She snatched up the blue silk in frantic haste and bundled itbeneath her shawl. Like a refuge to a pursued hare, came the thoughtof Elsie Cameron. She would run to Elsie. A glance at the windowshowed Susan still in violent dispute with the orphans. There was yettime to escape. Miss Arabella darted for the kitchen, frighteningPolly into incoherent squalls, tore open the door, and dashed out intothe storm. She splashed through the back garden, scrambled recklesslyover the fence, and went staggering along the soft, yielding fieldbehind the line of houses. The rain beat in her face, the wind flungher shawl over her head and twisted her thin skirt about her, and sheknew, if Granny Long's telescope spied her, as it was almost sure todo, the whole village would be sure she had gone mad. But she wasreckless. The chance of happiness had come with dazzlingunexpectedness, and she was like a drowning man, who forgets all elsebut, the life-line thrown to him. On she ran, like a little brown leafdriven by the wind and rain, her head bent, her shawl clutched closelyaround her precious bundle. 

She was plunging down among the dripping cedars of Treasure Valley, when she noticed, with dismay, that the stream was flowing high abovethe stepping-stones. It came roaring out from under the bridge, swiftand swollen, with clumps of ice and snow whirling down its oilysurface. Not a moment did she hesitate, but turned and scrambled upthe bank again. She would likely be seen as soon as she crossed thebridge, but she must get to Elsie, no matter what the consequences. Asshe reached the bridge the doctor's buggy came splashing down thestreet behind her. He smiled, and pulled up beside the littlewind-blown figure. 

"May I drive you to your destination, Miss Winters?" he asked. 

Miss Arabella, without a word, scrambled in. The sudden and unexpectedrelief almost took away her breath. If she had eluded the telescope sofar, she was comparatively safe. She gave her rescuer a gratefulglance as he tucked the rubber lap-robe about her. Then a pang ofremorse seized her in the midst of her joy. She had intended the bluesilk for Elsie's wedding day, and his wedding day, too, of course. Howselfish she was to have forgotten! She glanced up at him timidly, feeling as if she were defrauding him of his rights. She remembered, regretfully, that he had looked overworked and very much older duringthe past few months. Her anxiety for him helped to calm her ownagitation. 

"You must be all wore out, doctor, " she said sympathetically. "You'vehad such an awful winter's work. "

Dr. Allen looked embarrassed. It was not the hard toil of the pastwinter that had so often made him feel weary. "Oh, I'm all right, " hesaid evasively. "And you--the winter seems to have benefited you, MissWinters, " he continued, looking kindly at her shining eyes and flushedface. "It's a pleasure to see you looking so well, when I remember howill you were last fall. "

The little woman blushed guiltily. "It's--it's the spring, I guess, "she stammered; and she was right, for Miss Arabella's long winter wasover, and for her the birds had already begun to sing. 

The young man smiled as he helped her out at the Camerons' gate. Hecould not help seeing that she was concealing something beneath hershawl, and was as frightened as though it had been a dynamite bomb. Hewas amused, and wondered, as he always did when he met Miss Arabella, what the queer little body was thinking about. He never dreamed thathis conduct could have had the smallest effect upon her odd behavior, so blind was he to the far-reaching influence of all human action, goodor evil. 

Her heart once more in her mouth, Miss Arabella sped up the Camerons'lane to the back door. Old lady Cameron was seated by the sitting-roomwindow, knitting. She wore her best black dress and her lace collarwith the big cairngorm brooch; for the minister and his wife wereexpected to tea. She tapped upon the window-pane with herknitting-needle, and smilingly beckoned Miss Arabella to come in by thefront way. But she shook her head and sped on. She darted up thesteps and into the kitchen, without knocking. Elsie, in a trim cottongown and a spotless white apron, was setting the tea-table; and in awarm corner behind the stove Uncle Hughie, crippled with a bad attackof rheumatism, was rocking in his old arm-chair, and singing the "Marcho' the Cameron Men. "

"Hoots! toots! Come away, Arabella! Come away!" he cried. "Eh, hech!And would you be coming over in all the rain? Well! well! well! andthat would be kind, whatefer. "

Elsie put down the pitcher of milk she was bringing from the pantry andcame forward to remove the visitor's dripping shawl. 

"Don't, Elsie, don't!" whispered Miss Arabella, clutching it tighter. "Come on upstairs. I want to tell you something--something awful. "

Elsie's big eyes opened wide. "Is anything wrong, Arabella?" shewhispered. 

"I--I don't know. No; but somethin' awful's happened, or goin' tohappen--I don't know which. "

Without another word the girl opened the door leading to the hall. Shelooked in at the sitting-room door as she passed. 

"Mother, Arabella's coming upstairs with me for a few minutes, " shecalled. "We'll be down soon. "

She said no more until they were in the privacy of her own bedroom. She placed the trembling visitor in a chair by the window, whereoccasional bursts of sunlight came through the soft muslin curtains. Then she drew up another chair and sat close beside her. 

"Arabella, " she said, "you've heard from him?"

Miss Arabella hung her head like a schoolgirl caught in a naughtyprank. "Yes, " she whispered guiltily. 

Elsie flung her arms about the little wet figure. "Oh, Arabella, dear, I'm so glad! I'm so glad! Now aren't you glad I wouldn't let you giveme the dress? Is he coming home?"

"Yes. "

"When?"

"Next summer--in June. "

"Oh! And is he well? Where does he live? And why didn't--oh, tell meall about it!"

The sympathetic joy was bringing the tears to Miss Arabella's eyesagain. "Oh, Elsie, you're so awful good! I--would you--would it lookkind o' foolish if I was to let you read his letter?"

"Not a bit, if you don't mind, you know. I'd really love to see it, "she confessed honestly. 

Miss Arabella threw back her shawl and carefully unrolled the bluesilk. She took the letter from its folds and then hesitated. "Mebby, "she began breathlessly, "I--perhaps I'd better read it to you, Elsie--because there's parts, you know, that might sound--foolish. "She looked at the girl apologetically. 

"Of course, Arabella, I understand. " Elsie pushed the letter back intoher hand. "After all, no third person ought to see a love-letter, youknow. "

Much assured, and still blushing and stammering, Miss Arabella readaloud a few of the more practical details of the letter. She passedtremulously over the tender passages, and she also omitted the partabout Martin's receiving help from a friend. Somehow, her jealouspride in him forbade that another should know he had not succeededunaided. 

"Poor little Arabella, " whispered the girl when it was finished. "Andit's coming true at last. And what a nice name he'sgot--Martin--what's the rest of it?"

"Martin Heaslip, " whispered Arabella, as though afraid to utter it. 

"Martin Heaslip--I like the sound of it. And he's rich, too. Why, itseems too good to be true. "

Miss Arabella glanced up quickly, and a look of apprehension came overher radiant face. "That's just what I can't help thinking, Elsie. Don't it seem too good to happen to me?"

"Pooh! Nonsense!" laughed the other, with the sure hopefulness ofyouth. "Of course it'll happen. You must take your dress to Mrs. Longright away, and she and Ella Anne----"

"No! no! _no_!" Miss Arabella sat up straight, her eyes dilated withfear. "No, nobody's to know a whisper about it. Not anybody! Mind, Elsie, you promised. Oh, Elsie, you did!"

"Yes, yes, Arabella!" cried the girl, alarmed at the agitation she hadaroused. "But who's to make your dress and give you a wedding? Theymust all know some time. "

"No, there's nobody to know until it's all over. Once, just after hewent West, he wrote and ast me to come out, an' he sent the money, an'--an'--Susan wouldn't let me go! She made me send the money back. She said I wasn't strong enough to go out and live there, and--she--meant it for kindness, you know, Elsie, but--he--I guess hefelt bad. " Miss Arabella carefully covered the blue silk from harm, for the tears were dropping again. "Anyhow, it, made him think he'dgot to get things fixed up awful grand for me, or else he'd 'a' sentfor me long ago. And Susan wouldn't let me go this time--I know shewouldn't. She'd say I was too old for such foolishness. Do you thinkI look awful old, Elsie?" she asked piteously. 

"Oh, Arabella, dear! No! no! You look young and as pretty as apicture!" she exclaimed, truthfully. "But, Arabella"--her browpuckered worriedly--"if no one knows, how are you going to do it?"

"I'm going to write and tell him to come for me, and never let on toany one, an' we'll--we'll--what do you call it when they run away?"

"Not elope, Arabella!" cried Elsie in dismay. 

"Yes, that's it. We'll elope, " said Miss Arabella calmly. 

The girl looked at her, and for an instant the vision of the shy, drooping little woman figuring in a runaway match filled her with adesire for laughter. But it was quenched the next instant by thegravity of the situation. What did Elsie know of this man, after all?What if the innocent little child-woman were being deceived! Thatfeeling she often experienced, of being far older than Arabella, tookpossession of her. 

"Arabella, " she said gravely, but gently, "are you quite, quite surethat he is kind, and--and--good, and all you could wish him to be?"

Miss Arabella looked at her in childlike wonder, and then her face litup with a heavy smile. "Oh, my! there's no fear of him!" she criedradiantly. 

Elsie was silent. She dared not disturb her beautiful faith. "But, Arabella, " she pleaded, "even if you told Susan and Bella and all, whenhe came they would have to let you marry him. And I think it would bebetter, much better, than to elope. It looks as though you were doingsomething wrong--and you're not. "

Miss Arabella's head drooped again. She nervously fingered a corner ofthe blue silk. "It ain't exactly that, " she said shyly, "but I kind offeel scared about it, Elsie. " Her voice sank to a whisper. "You see, I've got so used to bein' disappointed that I guess I can't standanything else for a while, " she added, with unconscious pathos. "And Iain't dead sure that it'll happen, you know. It seems as if it was toogood to be true, and if it didn't"--her face looked suddenly old andgray--"Susan and William and Ella Anne, an' all the folks, would talkand _talk_. " She shivered. "I can't stand to be talked about, Elsie. It was just because I was so scared o' bein' talked about that I gotbetter last fall. And, oh, I want you to make Ella Anne keep stillabout my letter, won't you, Elsie, please? And you'll not tell, willyou?"

"No, Arabella, not a soul. " She sighed in perplexity. To assist in anelopement! The staid, earnest upbringing of the country girl, coupledwith her high sense of duty, made her shrink from the very word. 

"And the dress, Arabella? Shall I help you make it?"

"That's what I was jist thinkin' about. I can't have it made at home, 'cause Susan an' Bella's in an' out every day. An' you can't have ithere, for Jean an' the boys'll be home soon, an' they'd find out, an'if Lorry Sawyer was to get a sight of it, she'd remember all she'sforgot. I was thinkin' on the way ever there's jist one woman in thevillage would make it an' never tell a soul, an' that's----"

Elsie nodded. "Mrs. Munn. "

"Yes. Harriet dressmaked for a long time before Munn died; he wasn'tno more use than Davy. An' she'd make it an' never tell. An' you'dhelp a little, wouldn't you, an' see that she made it--kind o'--jist alittle--fashionable, Elsie?"

"Yes, Arabella; oh, yes. " The answer was absently given. The girl'seyes were troubled. But Miss Arabella gazed at her in perfect faith, feeling sure she was evolving some new style for the fashioning of theblue silk gown. 

"Elsie, my girl!" Old lady Cameron's soft voice, with its HighlandScotch accent, came from the foot of the stairs. "The minister's jistdriving across the bridge. Come away down, and bring Arabella withyou. "

Elsie went into the preparations for Arabella's elopement withsomething of the feeling that she was assisting in a bank robbery. Shesuffered from a very anxious conscience the day she took the blue silkto Mrs. Munn. No need to tell that silent lady that the affair must bekept a secret; Mrs. Munn guarded everything that came her way as if itwere a deadly crime in which she was implicated. She seemed not a whitdisturbed by the astonishing fact that Arabella was going to elope. Such a method of getting married quite coincided with her generalbelief that things should not be talked about. She asked no questionsconcerning the prospective bridegroom, but promised to make the weddinggown entirely on faith, and if Granny Long found out she was makinganything--well, she'd have to get a spy-glass as long as the sawmillsmokestack!

Elsie had expected some advice and help from the elder woman, and feltdisappointed and worried. The burden of the secret was beginning toweigh on her. Suppose she was helping Arabella to take a step thatwould end in life-long unhappiness!

She went slowly homeward, and sat down alone in her little room, sorelyperplexed. She was gazing with troubled eyes down the lane, when alight came into them, and a little flush mounted to her cheek. A smarthorse and buggy had turned in at the gate, and was passing below herwindow. The next moment Archie came up the stairs with a message. Dr. Allen wanted to know if she would like a drive. 

She came down the steps clad in a long, brown coat, and a little toquewith a coquettish bronze wing on it, the color of her hair. Dr. Allenlooked at her approvingly. He had no smallest notion of the details ofa woman's dress, but he knew that this one always seemed a wonderfulharmony of color. 

They sped down the lane and out upon the open, smooth highway. Theroads were almost dry now, and in the dun-colored fields and thepurple-gray woods there was an air of expectancy, as though the earthknew that a great change was near. It was a glorious, blusteringspring day. The wind was working strenuously to keep the sky clear ofclouds, and a time of it she was having. A hard-working, tidy body shewas, this April afternoon, but she did not go about her worksystematically. For no sooner had she swept her great floor a clear, gleaming blue, than, with a careless flourish of her broom, shescattered great rolling heaps of down all over it, and had to gofrantically to work and brush them together again. Nevertheless, thewind and the clouds, and indeed the whole world, seemed to be having agrand time. The trees swung giddily before the gale, the bare, brownfields were smiling and tidy, and as clean as a floor, and the littlestreams by the roadside leaped and laughed at the sunlight. Only thebirds seemed to be in trouble. A gasping robin clung for a moment toan unsteady perch in a lashing elm, and tried his poor little best toget out a few notes. But the frolicsome wind slapped him in the face, and choked him, and he fled before it to the shelter of the woods. Everywhere was tremendous rush and bustle and glad hurry, for was notall the world preparing for the arrival of Summer? She might come anyday now, and the earth must be tidied and swept and washed and dried, to make ready for the glorious paraphernalia of green carpets andcurtains, and flower cushions, and endless bric-a-brac, that grand ladywas sure to bring. 

Even Gilbert felt the joy of the spring day, and behaved quitecheerfully for a young man who had had his heart broken only the winterbefore. The two had not driven together since the day they hadwitnessed Sandy McQuarry's Waterloo, and they recalled it withlaughter, and discussed, with even more merriment, the wonderfulsequel. For since Sandy had fulfilled his wager, and come back toElmbrook church, and had apparently decided to go softly all the restof his days, the gossips had noticed patent signs of a stronginclination on his part to go even deeper in his humility, and make alife treaty with his conqueror, and Elmbrook was all agog over theunbelievable prospect. Since that last drive Elsie Cameron had droppedsome of her reserve, and Gilbert felt they were on a friendly footing. He was not so afraid of her now, since he had done his duty, and hefound her a most pleasant comrade. They talked of many things, graveand gay. They exchanged reminiscences of schooldays, for they wereboth Canadian born and country bred, and had a wholesome, happy past torecall. In the talk of his boyhood days Gilbert was led to tell of hisearly ambitions, and of the struggle he had had to get an education. 

"I went to the public school until I was fourteen, and I alwayscherished dreams of one day being a doctor. But our farm was small, and our family large, and when father died we older boys had to turnout to earn our living. I got a job that first summer working in asawmill near home, and there I met my fortune. There was a big, warm-hearted, rollicking chap there, who was foreman, and I thought hewas the most wonderful man alive; and upon my word, I rather think soyet. He was just the sort of fellow to be a tremendous hero in theeyes of a youngster of fifteen. He could walk the logs on the riverany old way, and could jump and run and throw the shoulder-stone, anddo all manner of stunts, away ahead of everybody else. We kids thoughthe was the greatest thing outside a dime novel; and I tell you, he wasa fine chap all through. I've met a good many people of all sortssince those days, but I've never seen the equal of Martin Heaslip. "

"Who?" His listener whirled around in her seat, her eyes startled, herlips parted. 

"Heaslip--Martin Heaslip. You don't happen to know him, do you?"

"Oh, no; not at all!" The answer came in hurried confusion. "I--itwas the name--I--please go on. I beg your pardon for the interruption. "

"He was a Bluenose--one of those Scotch-Irish Nova Scotians, the bestkind going; but he had lots of relatives over in Bruce County; perhapsyou knew some of them?"

"No, oh, no! I--it was a mistake. "

"Well, one day the poor old chap met with rather a serious accident. He was walloping around the mill, as usual, singing a crazy oldlumberjack song about 'six brave Cana-jen byes, ' who broke a lumberjam. Martin was always whooping away at that dirge, I think I can hearhim yet. I'm not up in musical terms, but I think the tune was a kindof Gregorian chant, and as mournful as a dog howling at night. It goessomething like this:

 '_They broke the jam on the Garry Rocks, And they met a wat-e-ry grave. '_

Martin could sing about as well as I can, so you may imagine what acontinuous performance of that sort was like. He was bellowing away atthis, as usual, never looking where he was stepping, when he stumbled, and fell against the big saw, and the mill going at top speed. Ihappened to be standing right behind him at the time, and I managed tojerk him back before he went right over; but he cut his foot badly, asit was, poor chap. I had always loved to tinker away at cuts andbruises, so I managed to patch him up a bit, and stop the bleeding, till the doctor came. It was nothing, any one could have done it, butpoor old Martin made a great fuss over it; and he literally dragged meout of the mill and shoved me back to school. Paid every cent of myexpenses until I was through my first year at college. After that Igot on my own feet. I taught school for a while, and paid my way; butI'll never forget that Martin Heaslip was the man that gave me mychance. I just fancy I see him now, sailing down the river on theslipperiest log in the bunch, and roaring out his song about a'wat-er-y grave' as gay as a lark. "

The doctor paused, in happy reminiscence. There was a tense silence. At last his companion spoke. 

"Where is he now?" Her voice trembled; she had turned away, and waslooking far off over the clean brown fields. 

"He was a wandering sort of chap. He went back to Nova Scotia; thenWest, somewhere, and the last move was to the Klondyke. He's beenthere for several years now, I fancy; hoping to make a fortune, nodoubt. "

Gilbert paused, slightly confused. He was ashamed to discover howlittle he really knew about Martin. There was no remark from hiscompanion. She could not help noticing his evident embarrassment, andthe poverty of his knowledge regarding his old friend, and she wasdrawing her own damaging conclusions. As the silence continued heglanced at her half inquiringly. There was a look of distress in thegolden-brown depths of her eyes. 

"Are you cold?" he asked, with hasty compunction. "I've been yarningaway and forgetting time and place. Go on, there, Speed! You are notcold?"

"No, not at all, thank you. " She answered absently. Her mind was busyrunning over Arabella's story, and putting the two tales side by side. So this was "the boy, " who had been so generously treated and been soselfish in return; the boy who had repaid Martin's generosity withforgetfulness, and had helped to lengthen poor little Arabella's yearsof waiting. Her anxiety for Arabella had been swept away. She wastelling herself that she should be relieved and thankful for that, but, strange to say, her feelings were exactly the opposite. 

When Gilbert helped her out at her own door she bade him a hurriedfarewell, and ran up the steps. There was something in her movementslike a hurt fawn running for cover. Her uncle sat in his accustomedcorner by the window, where the sunlight came through a little greenhedge of geraniums. His stockinged feet were on the stove damper, hisweekly newspaper in his hand. 

"Ech! hech! Elsie, lass!" he cried. "Look ye here, now! Here's thefinest receep for trouble ye ever heard. Jist listen!" She paused byhis chair and smiled wanly. "There's a long bit in the newspaper herethat would be telling that wherever a poisonous weed grows, jist rightbeside it, mind ye, you will be finding the herb that cures the poison. Eh! eh! wouldn't that be jist beautiful, whatefer?" His golden-browneyes were radiant. "Och! hoch! but it takes the Almighty to bemanaging things, indeed! Now, last night I would be rastlin' away whenthe rheumatics wouldn't let me sleep--the rheumatics would be a finething to make a body think--I would be rastlin' away about the poisono' sin an' trouble that would be in the world; and here, jist to-day, Iwould be reading this piece--and hoots! there it is, ye see! Yes, yes, it takes the Almighty to manage things, indeed! And ye mind He wouldbe coming and living among us, ye see. There it is again: He wouldjist be the cure planted right among the poison! Oh! hoch! Yes! yes!"

The girl laid her hand for a minute on his rough shirt-sleeve. "Andthe rheumatism is bad again, is it, Uncle Hughie?"

"Hoots! not much, not much. It will jist be the April wind--and thedoctor would be giving me a fine liniment last time. Oh, it is thefine young man he will be, indeed. And you would be out for a drivewith him?" he added, in kindly interest. 

"Yes, uncle. " Her face flushed, and she moved toward the door leadingto the stairs. "Yes, I was out for a little drive with Dr. Allen. "She passed out, and closing the door behind her, added softly toherself, "For the last time. "

CHAPTER XV

THE ELOPEMENT

 For Law immutable hath one decree, "No deed of good, no deed of ill can die; All must ascend unto my loom and be Woven for man in lasting tapestry. " --ISABELLA VALANCY CRAWFORD. 

In the middle of May Miss Arabella's wedding gown was completed, andpresented a blue cascade of frills and flounces that delighted theowner's beauty-loving soul. Just once had she tried it on, and thenonly in sections, for Mrs. Munn said it was dreadful bad luck to wearyour wedding gown before the day. So at one time Miss Arabella had puton the billowy skirt with her lilac waist; and at another the blue silkblouse with her old gingham skirt, and even then she had been seizedwith such a fit of trembling that Elsie Cameron had to hold her up. 

The dressmaking had been carried on in a large empty room above thedoctor's surgery, and when it was finished Miss Arabella left the gownthere. She dared not take it home, for fear Susan would discover it. So Mrs. Munn wrapped it carefully in a sheet and hung it behind thedoor. There were bunches of dried sage and mint and lavender hangingalong the low rafters above it, and just to move the wedding dress gaveone a whiff as sweet as a breath from all the spices of Araby. 

Often, when Dr. Allen drove away, Miss Arabella would run over to Mrs. Munn's, and up the back stairs, for a look at the gown, just toconvince herself that it had not been merely a beautiful dream. It wassomething tangible, the outward and visible sign that her happiness wasreal. For hours afterward she would go about her work in a kind ofblissful daze, until Susan declared it was a caution how Arabellaforgot things, and she wondered what on earth was the matter with her. She looked well enough, but sometimes her appetite was bad, and she, Susan, had a good mind to take her over to Dr. Allen, and see if hecouldn't cure her up in a day, the way he did last fall. 

Arabella had another mysterious source of forgetfulness. When Susan'swatchfulness kept her from visiting Mrs. Munn's lumber room, she wouldslip away into her spare bedroom, shut the door, and taking out twoletters from her top drawer, would sit down and read them again andagain. The last letter was always convincing; it breathed Martin'sstrong, joyous spirit from every line, and drove away all fears. Ithad come promptly in answer to hers, and had been sent under cover toMrs. Munn, for fear Ella Anne's curiosity might again be aroused. 

Martin evidently retained his old rollicking spirits, for he fell inmost cordially with the plan for eloping. It suited him down to theground, he declared. He would come to Lakeview on the last night ofMay, and early in the morning of the first of June he would drive outin the finest livery rig the place possessed, and away they would fly, without a howd'ye-do to any one. But they must come back for a littlevisit after their honeymoon, for there was a certain old friend of hisin Elmbrook he must see. He was not going to tell even her about him, because it was to be a big surprise. He felt like going out andshooting up the town when he thought about it all. 

Miss Arabella had taken the letter to Elsie soon after its arrival, andhad read parts of it aloud. Whom did Elsie suppose he meant by an oldfriend in the village? She couldn't remember that he had known any onehere very well, except William. Martin and William had taken to eachother from the first. Yes, likely he meant William. 

Elsie was fashioning a white lace ruffle for the collar of the bluesilk gown, and bent her shining head lower over her work. Here wasanother proof of Martin's whole-souled generosity. There was not ahint of blame for his ungrateful friend. 

"D'ye know, Elsie, " said Miss Arabella hesitatingly, "it jist makes mefeel bad to see you sewing anything for that dress, because--because--it was to have been yours, you know. "

"But, indeed, Arabella, you know I'd far rather see you wear it. Whenshould I ever put on such a grand dress as that, with all the work Ihave to do?"

"Oh, but I Intended it for your wedding dress! You mind, I told you?"

"Wedding dress!" Elsie laughed. "Why, Arabella, it might have beenworn into rag-carpet strips before I'd need it!"

"But I thought--it seemed to me, he--he always acts as if he liked youso awful, Elsie. "

"He? Who? Do you mean Lauchie McKitterick or Sawed-Off Wilmott, orSandy McQuarry, or whom do you mean, Arabella Winters?"

"Oh, dear me, Elsie!" Miss Arabella gave a half-distressed littlelaugh. "You know they wouldn't, one o' them, dast look at you. Youknow right well I mean the doctor. "

The girl bent lower over her work, and a flush crept over her face. She shook her head decidedly. "Oh, no! no! Arabella. You are allwrong. Dr. Allen has no more idea of caring for me in that way than Iof caring for him. Come, let me see if these wrist-bands are largeenough. "

Miss Arabella felt the gentle rebuke, and sighed. It was really toobad, because they were both so good-looking, and so well suited, and soyoung. And the faded little lilac lady thought regretfully of her lostyouth. 

The second letter allayed any lingering fears Elsie had felt regardingthe elopement. According to Dr. Allen, she might safely trust Arabellato Martin Heaslip, and his own words went to prove the same. So ifthey wanted to run away, let them; they would run back in a few days, anyway, and then what would happen? Would the young man have the graceto be ashamed of himself? Martin, she was sure, would never blame him;his letter had breathed nothing but heartiest good-will. But Martin'sgenerosity only made the other's ingratitude the blacker. 

Meanwhile, the first of June was fast approaching, and as yet no onehad a suspicion of the treasure hidden away in Mrs. Munn's lumber room. Even that lady's talent for keeping a secret might have been ratherseverely taxed had it not been that those around her were absorbed inother interests. There were Davy and his bosom comrade, the eldestorphan. They certainly would have divined that something unusual wastranspiring in the old storeroom; but just now they had no time forsuch trivial things. For the race between Sawed-Off Wilmott and youngLochinvar, begun on the last show day, and continued hotly all winter, was fast reaching a culminating point. The boys were vastly interestedin it, and since the long evenings had passed Tim had discarded booksand fallen back into his old evil ways. So between them and Ella Anne, life was made a thorny path for the rival lovers. 

Then the shrewd Mrs. Munn had noticed that lately the doctor seemed tobe absent-minded. Indeed, he was very much worried over a problem ofhis own that had nothing to do with his patients. The question was, what had he done to offend Miss Cameron? Why she should have suddenlychanged from warm friendship to cold avoidance of him he could notunderstand. Whenever he called, she was out, or overwhelmingly busy, or just about to fulfil another engagement, until he understood, andceased calling. Her conduct hurt him more than he could have thoughtpossible. He had long known and admired her profoundly. He cared muchfor her good opinion; but that her disapproval could wound him wassomething he had not suspected. He had supposed that Rosalie had madeanything like that quite impossible for him forever. 

So, in the midst of these abstractions, Miss Arabella's wedding gownhung, all unnoticed, in the fragrance of lavender and mint, until atlast the end of May arrived, the eve of the day set for the elopement. 

Dr. Allen had been driving Speed all day, and his other horse was outin the pasture-field; so, early in the evening, he walked down towardthe Drowned Lands to see a patient, taking the pathway through theravine. He had not been down there since the winter road had brokenup, and he found Treasure Valley all a wonder of purple and gold--wherethe violets carpeted the banks and the marigolds choked the stream. Down in the fragrant stillness the sounds of the village grew faint andfar away. Here was only the murmur of the water over the white stones, or the even-song of the vesper sparrows in the sumachs along the banks. As Gilbert came down to the water's edge he spied another figureapproaching from the opposite bank, a slim figure in a white gown, witha crown of hair that rivaled the golden blossoms in the stream. Hehesitated a moment, then crossed over to her. 

"May I help you across?" he asked with a stiff formality he would nothave used a few weeks previous. 

The minds of both recurred to their first meeting in this very spot, alittle more than a year before. 

"I hope you will not object to my company for that length of time, " headded, finding it impossible to keep something of his grievance out ofhis voice. 

"Oh, no, certainly not, " she stammered, not knowing how to truthfullyrefute his implied charge. 

There was that look of distress in her eyes that filled him withcompunction. When they reached the other side he stood and looked downat her with the old feeling that, somehow, he was all in the wrong, andshe entirely right. 

"Won't you tell me what I have done to offend you?" he asked abruptly. 

A deeper rose color came to her cheeks. This was just the question shewas dreading. "I--I--nothing, " she stammered incoherently. 

"Then won't you tell me why you treat me so?" His indignation hadvanished; his tone was very humble. "I cannot help seeing that youhave changed, and I have done nothing, I _could_ do nothing, wittingly, to hurt you. "

"You have not done anything to offend _me_, " she said in a low tone, with a slight accent on the pronoun. 

"Then what has changed you? We are not good friends any more?" Hisvoice was inquiring. 

She would have given much to contradict him, but her nature wasessentially honest, and she breathed the low answer, "No. "

"I feared it, I knew it; but don't you think you might, at least, tellme the reason?" He was surprised at his own meekness. 

The girl looked down into the murmuring, brown Water. Something arosein her throat and threatened to choke her. If he would only not be sohumble. If he were haughty and indignant, her task would be mucheasier. And then, might she not be wrong? Oh, if he would only tellher she was mistaken! She struggled for some words by which she mightavoid telling him the truth, but she was a country-bred girl, allunused to the small equivocations of social usage, and theuncompromising integrity of her nature forbade trifling. 

"Dr. Allen, " she faltered at last, "I--perhaps I have judged youharshly. Please do not ask me the reason. I would rather not talkabout it. "

"But I do ask you, " said Gilbert determinedly. "Is it quite fair tocondemn a man unheard?"

"I may have accused you wrongly, " she said, the necessity of the casedriving her again to speech, "but I--we all"--she plucked a featheryspray of the long-stemmed water-grass and examined itminutely--"everybody thought you so good and kind--and I learnedsomething--accidentally--that disappointed me. "

She glanced up with a mute appeal; but his looks were uncompromising. "Well?" he asked quietly. 

She looked up and down the shadowy ravine as if seeking help. Why nottell him? There could be no harm to Arabella. He would know soon, anyway, and she need not mention the wedding, and perhaps he mightvindicate himself. So, with her eyes on the golden-brown pool at herfeet, she told him the story, simply and sorrowfully, and as gently aspossible, of Miss Arabella's years of patient waiting, of the blue silkgown laid away so long, of all Martin had suffered from poverty andsickness, unhelped when he needed help so badly; and then of the sequelof the story which he himself had told. 

She looked at him when she had ended, and Gilbert could not help seeingthat the telling of it had hurt her almost as much as it had hurt him. And how it had stung him! Martin starving in a mining camp while hespent his money on roses and theater tickets for Rosalie Lane! Martin, sick, poor, and struggling to make a home for the woman he loved, whilehe--the man he had made--spent all upon his own pleasures andambitions! He was aghast at the far-reaching power of his fault. Hehad selfishly neglected a man away off in the Klondyke, and had hurt afrail little woman at his door, whom every instinct of his manhoodcalled upon him to protect. 

His sorrowful-eyed accuser was looking at him, in the eager hope thathe might deny the charge. But he did not attempt the smallestpalliation. He scorned to make the paltry plea that, at the eleventhhour, he had paid the debt of so many years' standing. As if he couldever pay Martin!

"I must, at least, thank you for your candor, " he said at last, alittle unsteadily. 

Her eyes grew dark with disappointment. Her suspicions had been onlytoo well founded, then! She spoke no word of blame, there was norighteous indignation in her face, only a cutting disappointment; andthere Gilbert felt the greater sting. He had not offended herpersonally, it seemed; he had merely fallen wofully short of herstandard. There was no more to be said. He bade her a courteousgood-evening, and she turned slowly and passed up the hill, while hefollowed the path down the stream. One of old Hughie Cameron'sphilosophic remarks, which he had heard one evening on the milk-stand, was sounding in his ears: "The Almighty would be laying his boundsabout every one of us--the bounds of His righteous laws. We may bedodging them on one side, oh, yes; but they will be catching us up onthe other. "

The girl climbed slowly up the bank. Her head was bent, and couldGilbert have seen her face he would not have been quite so sure thathis shortcoming was to her such an entirely impersonal affair. Withher usual self-effacement, she made a brave attempt to put aside hergrief. She had promised to spend this last evening with Arabella, andshe must be cheerful and comforting. As she neared Mrs. Munn's house, Davy and Tim were sitting on the sidewalk before the gate, talking sovolubly that they did not notice her approach. 

"Yessir, " Mr. Munn was saying, in a voice muffled by a mouthful ofchewing-gum, "they're goin' to do that thing--what d'ye call it whentwo folks that's sparkin' run away?"

"Elope, " said the orphan, from the depths of a profound experience ofthe world. 

"Yes, elope. Don't you ever tell, Tim; but I bet that's what Jeanniean' me'll do some day; only I wish she wasn't such an awful girl tolaugh!" He sighed deeply, and the orphan grunted disgustedly. 

"Aw, g'wan, ye silly duck! Say! le's set up all night an' watch. They'll be goin' 'fore daylight, I bet----"

Elsie Cameron's light footfall sounded on the sidewalk, and the twosuddenly fell silent. Their shoulders sagged, and they sat gazingvacantly across the street, as though life were a deadly bore. 

The girl regarded the two curved, inscrutable backs in dismay. How onearth had those two scamps penetrated Arabella's secret?

"Oh, boys!" she cried, coming up to them in hurried distress. "Hush!How did you find out? Promise me you won't tell. "

The two stood up and looked at her sheepishly. "We ain't tattlers, "said the eldest orphan haughtily. "How'd _you_ find out?" he addedindignantly. 

"Are you sure you've neither of you told anybody?" she asked, fixingher searching eyes upon each in turn. 

"Sure! Cross my heart!" declared Tim; and Davy nodded agreement. 

The wire door of the doctor's house swung open creakingly, and Mrs. Munn came slowly down the garden path. "Listen, " whispered the girlhurriedly, "I'll give you each a quarter to-morrow night if you'llpromise faithfully you won't tell, and that you'll do everything youcan--everything, mind--to help. Now, you will, won't you, boys?"

It was impossible to resist such an appeal to their chivalry. Timbecame a man on the spot. "Don't you worry, " he declared with a grandair. "We'll look after things. Me an' Dave here'll not squeak, youbet. "

Mrs. Munn opened the gate. "I'm goin' along with you to Arabella's fora minit, " she said. "Davy, don't you go away from the house while I'mout, mind ye. "

"How long'll ye be?" Inquired her son, in a tone that showed he wasprepared to argue the question. 

"Jist a minit. If anybody comes for the doctor, jist say he's goneaway. "

"I know he walked down the holler to see John Cross's kids. "

"Hish!" she cried, looking about in alarm, as though the doctor hadgone off on a murderous expedition. "You can jist say he won't be hometill it's late. I guess there'll be no harm in them knowin' that. Nowmind. "

Elsie gave a parting glance full of warning, and Tim answered with asolemn wink. 

The two boys watched the retreating figures until they disappeared intoMiss Arabella's gateway. Instantly Tim's languid air changed to keenalertness. 

"Say!" he exclaimed, "Ella Anne must 'a' told her! Lookee here! We'vegotter help them to 'lope now, or there's no quarter. What'll we do?"

Davy humped his shoulders rebelliously. "I ain't stuck on helpin' thatMacDonald coon to 'lope with nobody, " he grumbled. "Don't you mind thetime he took after us?"

The orphan chuckled. "Cracky! he did lambaste you, though, didn't he?Sawed-Off told the doc on us, though, the time we took the wheel offhis buggy. We've promised, anyhow, " he continued righteously. 

"Yes, an' I'd have to help Elsie anyhow, " added Davy, with an air ofcrushing responsibility. "Ye see, she's a sort o' a sister, ye know, Tim, 'count o' Jean. "

Tim made a horrible grimace. "Well, come on! Let's think o' somethin'good an' awful to do to Sawed-Off!" he cried, anxious to change thesubject. 

All winter the double wooing of Miss Long had caused great excitementin the village. Folks declared it was scandalous the way Ella Annecarried on with those two fellows of hers, never giving either one morechance than the other, and it would be a caution if she wasn't leftagain, the way she was when young McQuarry married the squaw. 

Ella Anne's conduct caused consternation in the Long family, too. Theyoung lady was suspected of favoring young MacDonald, while her parentsstrongly encouraged Mr. Wilmott. Sawed-Off was decidedly "well fixed, "with his cattle and his cheese factory, while the young fellow from theHighlands was a gay lad, with never an acre to his name, and no matchfor a girl who had had a year's music lessons, not to speak of all theother attainments of Miss Long. 

So far, Davy and Tim had been quite impartial, and had strewn bothsuitors' paths with such difficulties that the younger man had finallylaid violent hands upon them; and Sawed-Off had complained to therespective authorities set over each. The latter treatment had nottroubled the mischief-makers much. Mrs. Munn declared that talkingalways did harm, and talking to boys was worse than useless. Jake andHannah bewailed their eldest's sudden fall from grace, and wondered ifhis growing intimacy with John McIntyre was having an evil effect uponthe child. And there it ended. The boys still continued theirattentions to the rival lovers, and so closely had they watched theproceedings that on the last night of May they were in possession of asecret plot for the morrow, which the lovers fondly believed to betheir own. 

Hidden behind the Longs' cedar hedge one night, the eldest orphan hadoverheard some whispers between Ella Anne and the young Lochinvar. They were going to run away, Tim had gathered--have a regularelopement, like Evelina and Daring Dick, in the book he and Davy hadjust read. "The night before the mill starts, " young MacDonald hadwhispered, "everybody'll be too busy to notice. " Well, the millstarted to-morrow! And besides that, Davy, who had been on the lookoutwhile his fellow conspirator lay beneath the hedge, had spied Sawed-OffWilmott come crawling from behind the lilac bushes at the Longs' gate, and go sneaking down the road. So the boys were anticipating hightimes. Sawed-Off would certainly be along to prevent the elopement, and they had determined to be on the watch, and miss none of the sport. And here, like two chivalrous knights, at the request of a distresseddamsel, they had pledged themselves to help the lovers! Elsie wasevidently in the plot with Ella Anne, and evidently neither girlguessed at Sawed-Off's perfidy. Tim jumped up in excitement and beganto swagger up and down, his hands in his pockets. It was as good asDaring Dick's dilemmas, this situation. Elsie would certainly admirehim, and consider him the cleverest young man in the village. Theymust perform some glorious deed that very night. 

"What'll we do?" asked Davy. He was a ready helper when Tim was on thewarpath, but the orphan's more fertile brain always supplied thematerial for their misdeeds. 

Tim's eyes grew luminous. "Say! he's scared stiff about the bansheethat yells down in the Drowned Lands. He'll be comin' up that waysoon's it gets dark. If he seen a ghost there, he'd cut an' run, an'never come back. "

Davy's languor dropped from him like a garment. "Come on!" hewhispered, his eyes shining. "You scoot home an' git that last year'spunkin skin, an' I'll sneak some white duds out o' maw's bureau. Golly! Ella Anne an' her feller'll be back from their weddin' tower'fore Sawed-Off quits runnin'!"

Meanwhile, in a little house farther up the street, the three peopleconcerned in another runaway match were sitting in the twilight. Noone would have guessed that the forlorn, drooping little figure by thewindow was the bride of the morrow, and the idea of an elopement was asfar removed from her as from a Jenny Wren. For, as the crucial momentapproached, poor Miss Arabella's small courage had dwindled away. Toget married would have been a tremendous undertaking in itself, but toelope! For the first time, she realized the magnitude of theenterprise. To get away from Susan's rule back into the joy ofgirlhood dreams, had seemed, at first sight, like escaping from prison;but now Susan and her laws seemed her only support, and Martin seemedstrange and far away. 

"I don't know what makes me feel so queer, " she faltered, "but eversince that dress was finished I feel jist as if I'd been finished, too. "

"Oh, you're jist nervous, Arabella, " said Mrs. Munn, while Elsie pattedher hand soothingly. "It ain't no use talkin' about it now, anyhow. It jist makes you feel worse. I tell you, " she said, suddenly rising, "let's go over to my place, an' I'll get you a drink o' my last year'salderberry wine. The doctor's away, an' nobody'll see. "

Elsie acquiesced, glad to second anything that would distractArabella's mind from her fears. She would go in with them for a fewminutes, and then slip away before Dr. Allen came back. 

"No sign o' Davy, " sighed Mrs. Munn, as they entered the dark anddeserted house. "Well, I s'pose it's no use talkin' to boys, talkin'only makes things worse. Come in, an' I'll get a light. "

She groped her way through the parlor, and lit the lamp that stood on ayellow crocheted mat in the middle of the table. "Now, we'll go an'have a drink o' that alderberry, " she said cheerfully. 

Miss Arabella touched Elsie's arm timidly, "Couldn't we have jist onemore look at the dress, first?" she whispered. "I feel as if the sightof it would do me more good than a dose o' medicine. I know I'm anawful goose, Harriet, " she faltered. 

Mrs. Munn smiled indulgently. "Come along, " she said, "we'll go rightup now, an' you can slip it home in the dark, an' it'll be ready forto-morrow. "

She led the way upstairs, and along the creaking floor to the backhall. As she opened the door of the lumber room a little breeze, bearing the scent of lavender and mint, met them, and made the lampflare. 

"Goodness me!" said Mrs. Munn in surprise, "how on earth did thatwindow come to be opened?"

Miss Arabella uttered a cry. She clutched Elsie's arm and pointed tothe wall. Mrs. Munn set the lamp down upon the bare pine table andstared. There was the hook where the dress had so lately hung, in itswinding-sheet; there on the floor were great muddy tracks across to itfrom the doorway, and where--oh, where---- The three women turned andlooked at each other in speechless dismay. The room was empty; thewedding gown had eloped!

CHAPTER XVI

THE CALL OF THE BANSHEE

 The sunset has faded, there's but a tinge Saffron pale, where a star of white Has tangled itself in the trailing fringe Of the pearl-gray robe of the summer night. --JEAN BLEWETT. 

By the time Gilbert had attended to his patients, and was returningalong the old corduroy road, the night had long fallen. The birdchorus of the swamp had died away, and only the sweet note of thelittle screech-owl awoke the echoes of the dark woods. Now and then agleam of spectral light through the trees showed where lay the watersof the Drowned Lands. The young man tramped moodily along the pathway, following the strip of pale sky between the black lines of trees. Hewas thinking of Martin's last letter, in answer to the money he hadsent. It contained only the humblest thanks, with never a hint of pastsuffering. He could see before him his old friend's honest, generousface, with no reproach in it, and beside it another face, with itsgolden-brown eyes full of sorrowful accusation. 

He was aroused from his painful reflections by the appearance of apoint of light far down the dim roadway. It was not so much the lightitself that attracted his attention, as its strange movements. Itdarted hither and thither, crossing and recrossing the road; now itdisappeared among the trees, now reappeared, and swung wildly to andfro. Gilbert was reminded of the ghostly tales of thewill-o'-the-wisp, and the banshee, and other terrifying creatures, which, village gossip said, inhabited the Drowned Lands. But he had amore practical explanation of the strange phenomenon. 

"If it isn't some other infernal agency, " he said to himself grimly, "I'm willing to take my oath that it's Jake Sawyer's eldest orphanthat's performing those queer dodges. "

As he drew nearer, the light stood still, and he could discern twoforms, Tim, of course, and equally of course, his companion inmischief, Davy Munn. They stood in the ring of light and gazedapprehensively toward the approaching figure. "Hello!" called theyoung man. "What are you two scamps doing down here at this hour ofthe night?"

The boys' expression of fear changed to relief, and then to sheepishapprehension. "Jist walkin' 'round, " replied Davy vaguely, making apoor attempt at his usual leisurely indifference. 

"You've got a mighty queer method of taking exercise, " said the doctor, coming to a standstill in front of them. "Come, you might as well tellme right out what you're up to. "

"We--we lost somethin', " stammered the eldest orphan. 

"What is it? Yourselves?"

The boys glanced at each other interrogatively. Should they make aclean breast of their plight and enlist the doctor's help, or would itbe quite safe? Davy nodded acquiescence, and Tim burst forth:

"Aw, say! It ain't no joke. Somethin' fearful's happened. Me an'Dave we rigged up a ghost down here to scare Sawed-Off when he wascomin' to stop--to see Ella Anne. "

"He played lots o' mean tricks on us, you bet, " put in Davy, for hisown safety. 

"He didn't scare, though, worth a cent, " complained the orphan, "an' hesaw us hidin' behind it, an' put after us"--in spite of hisperturbation the boy grinned at the remembrance of the excitingchase--"an' we lost the ghost somewheres 'way back here, an' when wegot home, Dave's maw an' old Arabella Winters an' Elsie Cameron was allover to your place, chewin' away like wildcats, 'cause it wasArabella's weddin' dress we'd took for a ghost. Dave's maw'd beenmakin' it. An' Elsie Cameron said we'd gotter find it, or whenArabella's fella'd come he'd bust up somethin'!"

The doctor uttered a sharp exclamation. 

"When is he coming?"

"I dunno, " answered Tim wonderingly. "She never told us. ElsieCameron needn't 'a' got so mad, either, " put in Davy aggrievedly. "Itwas her put us up to it in the first place, 'cause Sawed-Off----"

"Shut up!" hissed his accomplice in his ear. "Don't you go an' blab itall, now. "

The culprits were anticipating at least a vigorous shaking for theirmisdemeanor, and were filled with amazed relief when the doctor graspedthe lantern. "You two will end on the gallows yet, " was all thecensure he vouchsafed. "Come along! We must find it! Now tell meexactly where you started on this idiotic business. "

The boys led the way with grateful alacrity. Fortune had indeed takena wonderful turn. 

"My! Elsie Cameron was mad!" complained Davy, encouraged by thedoctor's cordial assistance. "An' she needn't 'a' been. It was allher own fault. An' she up an' told maw that me an' Tim knew all aboutold Arabella goin' to get married, an' that's a whoppin' lie, 'cause----"

"Hold your tongue!" cried the doctor, so fiercely that Davy collapsedin scared silence, and gave his undivided attention to the trail of thelost ghost. 

They led the way through the tangle to the stump where the specter hadbeen enthroned. Some matches and a half-burned candle, dropped hastilyupon the moss, testified to the correctness of their discovery. Then, taking the lantern, Tim led on through the dense underbrush, past blackpools of water, over fallen logs, and back to the road again, whitherthey had fled from Sawed-Off's swift vengeance. 

But the ghost had apparently vanished in true ghost fashion. Gilberttook the lantern and carefully went over the ground again. With thetwo boys close at his heels, he scrambled about, here and there, pushing through the cedars, clambering over rotten tree-trunks, andleaping pools of black water. They were soon deeper in the yieldingswamp than was quite safe, and the leader was forced to suggestreturning without their prize. He climbed upon a mossy stump, andswung his lantern in a circle for a last survey. The light flashed farinto the wild, tangled wilderness, and revealed a white object hangingover a low cedar. Tim gave a whoop of joy and pounced upon it. 

"It's him! It's Mr. Ghost!" he shouted jubilantly. The rustle of silkproclaimed that the specter still contained the wedding gown. Thedoctor glanced over it in the light of the lantern; it was apparentlyundamaged, except for a few spots of mud. To the boys' surprise, herolled it up with great care and bundled it under his arm. 

"Come, now, let's get back, " he said, with a look of pleased relief. "And look out where you jump. If either of you young Turks tumbles in, I'll leave you for the banshee, and serve you right!"

They were standing for a moment, looking for the best way to retracetheir steps, when out of the black silence behind them there came afaint, far-off cry. 

Tim clutched the doctor's coat. Davy turned white. 

"Wha'--what's that?" they whispered together. 

The three stood motionless, listening, and again the sound arose. Itcame from the far-off edge of the Drowned Lands, faint, and full ofagony, like a human voice calling for help. 

"The _banshee_!" whispered Tim in terror. 

"Oh, Lord save us!" groaned Davy. 

In spite of his concern, Gilbert laughed. "It's somebody caught in themud, you young idiots!" he cried. "Listen!"

Once more the cry came floating out, terrible in its appeal. "Help, h-e-l-p!" it called faintly. 

Davy gave a leap. "That's her! That's the banshee!" he gasped. "Comeon! _Run_! It always calls folks like that--into the DrownedLands--an' they never come back! _Run_!"

"Shut up, you fool!" cried Gilbert sharply. "Listen to me. You twoget back to the road as quickly as you can. Come! I'll show you outwith the light. "

"Are--are you goin' after her?" whispered Davy, horror-stricken. 

"Of course! Look here! I thought you two fellows had a little moresnap in you than to get scared at a man calling for help. "

"I'll go with you an' pull him out, " cried Tim, stung into valor bythis crushing remark. 

"Me, too!" cried Davy with a gulp. It was awful to contemplatefollowing that ghostly voice away into the death trap of the DrownedLands; but it was worse to remain there alone. 

"No; you'd likely get mired, and cause more trouble. Get back to theroad, quick, and wait for me there. If I need your help, I'll call. "

The cry arose again, this time fainter and more agonized. "Hurry!"cried the young man. "Here, Tim! Take this, and don't lose it again, for the life of you!"

He handed the boy the wedding dress, and hurried them forward untilthey were beyond the perilous area of the swamp. There he left them, and turning, plunged back into the woods. 

Through the dense tangle, leaping from moss-clump to fallen log, heforced his way, the lantern, like a swaying will-o'-the-wisp, nowcasting a red splash on the surface of a pool, now leaving it inblackness, to light up a new circle of vine and stump and riotousundergrowth. 

The two left behind stood for a moment gazing after him in terrifieddismay. While he was with them his scorn of their fears, and hispractical explanation of the dread sound, had acted like a stimulant;but now that they were left alone in the darkness they gave way totheir worst apprehensions. He was gone! Gone straight to his doom, atthe call of that luring voice, as so many before him had gone! And noone ever came back! Davy sank to the ground in a sobbing heap. Tim, more inured to disaster, stood silent, his small face white andfear-stricken. 

Suddenly he flung himself upon his companion and clutched him by thehair. "Le's tell the folks! They'll save him! Le's tell daddy an'Spectacle John an' John McIntyre! They'll come an' bring him back!"He was already tearing up the road in the direction of the village, andall his languor put to flight by his fears, Davy came flying after him. In an incredibly short time they burst upon the Cameron milkstand, gasping out the appalling news that the banshee had got the doctor, andhe was being murdered in the Drowned Lands!

CHAPTER XVII

THE DAWN

 Then in the darkness came a voice that said, "As thy heart bleedeth so My heart hath bled; As I have need of thee Thou needest me. " --FREDERICK GEORGE SCOTT. 

All evening John McIntyre had been sitting alone in the doorway. Hewas to resume work in the mill to-morrow, and as it was his last nightat home, he had half expected his boy to spend it with him. But Timhad not come, and as he sat waiting, John McIntyre had picked up theBible. It was the first time he had opened it of his own accord, andhe had intended merely to glance into it to pass the time. But he hadread on and on, till now the light had faded from the evening skies, and the bare phantom trees of the Drowned Lands had vanished in thenight. The whip-poor-will that all evening had been mourning on thehillside, and the loon that had called across the water, were hushed. The faint stars looked down on the silent blackness of the woods andthe gray mists of the water beyond. But in those mists the lonely manat the doorway could discern a picture--a scene the Book had just nowrevealed to him. It was a weary group of Galilean fishermenapproaching the shore, after a night of fruitless toil, while on thesands, shrouded in mists, stood One waiting for them in the dawn. Oneman in the little boat, straining his eyes to discern that mysteriousFigure, suddenly felt his heart awake. He uttered in a thrillingwhisper, "_It is the Lord_!" And without waiting for a word of reply, Peter, the disciple, who had so lately denied that One with curses, flung himself headlong into the sea and swam straight to Him. 

John McIntyre's heart swelled. Well he understood the feeling thatprompted Peter's act, for there was in his own homesick soul a longingto do the same, to plunge through the sea of loss and disappointmentand go back to his denied Master. For this man's long night of stormand stress and fruitless toil was almost over, too. All unknown tohimself, he had been slowly nearing the shore. The companionship andartless devotion of the boy--his enemy's child, but his now by all therights of love--the kindness of the village folk in spite of rebuffs, the young doctor's care, and, above all, the tender message of the Bookhe had been constrained to read, had combined to guide him to theharbor. Yes, he was nearing the shore, and though he had not yet beenable to discern Him through the night mists, there stood One waitingfor him just behind the dawn. 

Long into the night he sat, filled with a feeling of expectancy. Hewas half-consciously waiting for something, he knew not what. Supposing that same One had been watching for him to return, all thisweary time of sorrow and rebellion? The thought made his breath comequicker. Could it be possible? Could it be that the same Man whostood that morning on the shore of Galilee was waiting for evenhim--waiting with no rebuke for the curses and the denial, but onlywith outstretched, crucified hands, and the tender question He had putto that other faithless disciple, "Lovest thou me?"

A tear slipped down John McIntyre's hollow cheek, the first tear he hadshed since he and Mary had laid their last baby in its little grave. It fell upon his toil-hardened hand unnoticed, for a resolution wasforming in his heart. He arose, stumbled hurriedly indoors, and lithis lamp. He must look once more into that Book. He must find out atonce if this wonderful thing could be true, if life and happiness mightstill be his. With trembling hands he took up the Bible, as though itheld for him a sentence of life or death, and turned over the leaves ina groping way. His movements were like those of a man in darkness, fumbling for a door that he hopes will lead him out into light andfreedom. He stopped and gazed at the open page with a great wonder inhis eyes. Perhaps he had been searching haphazard, or perhaps, underDivine guidance, his fingers, so long familiar with those pages, hadgone unerringly to that marvelous story of the Fatherhood of God. Forthis was the message:

"_And while he was yet a great way off his Father saw him and hadcompassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him. _"

The Book dropped to the floor; John McIntyre sank to his knees besideit, his gray head bowed to the ground. He uttered an inarticulate cry. It was like the sound a babe utters when first it sees its mother'sface after a day's absence--a cry that contains both the anguish oftheir separation and the joy of their reunion. He could form nocoherent prayer, but the supreme thought of his homing soul burst fromhim: "My Father!" he sobbed, "my Father! I've been away! I've beenaway!" How long he knelt thus he had no idea. But in that meetingwith his lost Master he lived through a supreme joy that faroutmeasured all the bitterness of the past. He was aroused by thesound of footsteps near his door. Two figures were coming slowly upthe pathway. Half dazed, John McIntyre arose and went forward with thelamp. As the light fell upon the two men he uttered an exclamation ofconcern. Dr. Allen, pale and exhausted, and splashed with mud, wasstanding there, supporting a staggering, half-drowned man. 

"I found an old friend caught in the swamp, " faltered the young manweakly. "May I bring him in for a minute, Mr. McIntyre?"

"Yes! yes! Come in! come in!" cried John McIntyre, setting down thelamp and hurrying forward with a chair. "I'll fix up the bed----" Hestopped suddenly and gazed stupidly at the stranger. His eyes dilated, his face became overspread with the awe and wonder of some discoverytoo great to be grasped. The chair fell from his hands with a crash. He uttered a single word, and in it there was a world of unbelievingjoy and fear. 

"Martin!" he whispered. 

The stranger raised his drooping head. He stared in turn at thestooped shoulders, the drawn face, and the white hair of John McIntyre, and his strength seemed suddenly to return. He pushed Gilbert aside asif he had been a child, and caught the man's shoulders in a mightygrip. He held him away from him for a moment, and then broke into agreat sob:

"John! My God! old John! Have I found you?"

With a face of deep wonder, Gilbert slipped softly outside, closing thedoor behind him. And as he looked toward the place where he had solately had a desperate struggle with death, he saw that the night mistswere slowly vanishing. The whole dark earth was awakening in one grandbird-chorus, for the dawn was breaking over the Drowned Lands. 

CHAPTER XVIII

THE END OF THE WAITING

 Blue on the branch and blue in the sky, And naught between but the breezes high; And naught so blue by the breezes stirred As the deep, deep blue of the indigo bird. 

 Joy in the branch and joy in the sky, And naught between but the breezes high, And naught so glad on the breezes heard As the gay, gay note of the indigo bird. --ETHELWYN WETHERALD. 

Miss Arabella's wedding day was a perfect rose of June as it dawnedover the hills and dales of Oro and waked the robins in Treasure Valleyto ecstatic song. The date was two weeks later than that set for theelopement, for the bridegroom needed some time to recover from hisinjudicious attempt to cross the swamp and surprise his little bride byarriving a day earlier. 

Then the doctor was in almost as bad a plight, with a wrenched arm anda great gash in his forehead; and in any case, the wedding must needswait until he could make a respectable appearance as best man. Mrs. Winters, too, declared she must have a few days to recover her breathand get used to the idea of Arabella getting married, not to speak ofall the preparations for the grand wedding she had decreed they musthave. 

And besides, the village needed two weeks, at least, to settle downafter the memorable night when they had almost lost their doctor. Whenthe boys arrived with the terrible news that he had been decoyed intothe Drowned Lands, every man in the community, and most of the women, too, headed by Susan Winters, set off to his rescue. They found theirfears happily disappointed, however, and they carried him home intriumph, and with him the man he had saved at the risk of his own life. And the wonderful discovery that the stranger was Dr. Allen's oldestand dearest friend, and that he was coming, all unknown, to marryArabella Winters--well! well! it was a caution if the foundations ofthe village didn't give way altogether, and everything and everybody gotoppling over into Treasure Valley!

As if this were not excitement enough for a lifetime, right on top ofall that night's adventures came another shock. When the population ofElmbrook returned, after the rescue of the doctor, Sawed-Off Wilmottrushed through the village, wild-eyed, with the astounding news thatElla Anne Long had disappeared with the ne'er-do-weel from Glenoro!Granny Long lifted her voice above the general family bewailment todeclare that it was all Si's fault, for taking the spyglass with himwhen he went to hunt the doctor; for if she had had it, Ella Anne wouldnever have got away without her knowledge--no, not even though it wasblack midnight!

So there was a runaway match from Elmbrook on the first of June, afterall, even though little Miss Arabella was to be married in the properfashion. She was thankful for all the excitement and the talk and therunning to and fro, for they made it possible to keep her own proposedelopement a profound secret. That Arabella should be preparing, allunsuspected, for her wedding day was a surprise, of course, to everyone, especially Susan; but deep secrecy in such affairs was the generalrule, and caused no especial comment. 

These two weeks before her marriage were magic days for the littlelilac lady. She found herself in a new atmosphere. From being of noconsequence at all to anybody, she had suddenly become the mostimportant member of the family, and she almost lost a sense of her ownidentity when Susan consulted her as to the number of eggs to be putinto the wedding cake. 

Susan, indeed, was deeply impressed. For was not Arabella going tomarry a rich man, and the doctor's bosom friend, at that? To be sure, she could not help wishing he wouldn't spend so much of his time withthat queer old John McIntyre, but there was no denying his wealth, andthe way he did spend money was a caution. On the whole, he was quite awonderful match for Arabella, much better than he had been ten yearsago, and almost all Mrs. Winters could have wished for Bella herself. So the wedding must be in keeping with his position, and thepreparations for it were put forward on a grand scale. 

And through all the bustle and activity Miss Arabella moved in a happydaze, conscious of one thing only, that Martin had come back, and, under the love and appreciation, growing more beautiful every day. Therose tints crept into her cheeks, and her eyes shone like the blue ofthe June skies. Elsie Cameron took advantage of Susan's relaxation, and puffed out the little bride-elect's pretty hair, and decked herwith ribbons and lace, until Martin declared she wasn't a day olderthan when he went away, and twice as pretty. 

Quite irrespective of his wealth, Martin, himself, took the village bystorm. The orphans adopted him as their very own, and moved over in abody to the doctor's house whenever he was staying there. The men inthe mill stopped work the moment he appeared, and all the women in theplace, from Susan Winters down, fell in love with him. Every eyewatched him admiringly as he moved about, here and there, during thosetwo weeks. Folks said you could hardly tell whether he thought most ofArabella or the doctor or old John McIntyre. Certainly he spent muchof his time with the dark watchman, and it was beautiful to see thelight his presence brought to John McIntyre's deep eyes. But he didnot by any means neglect Arabella. Two or three times a day he wouldcome rollicking up from the doctor's house, loudly chanting the praisesof the "brave Canajen byes" who had met a watery grave; would swingopen Miss Arabella's little gate with a force that nearly wrenched itfrom its hinges, and after teasing Polly into saying all the naughtythings her mistress had hoped she had forgotten, he would bid littleAnnie Laurie put on the faded lilac gown he admired so much, and theywould go off for a stroll through the village, the admiration of everyone in the place. They always walked down along the green-and-goldfloor of Treasure Valley, because Martin said it reminded him of home;and always, before they returned, they went up the willow path to themill, or down to the shanty at the Drowned Lands, for a visit to JohnMcIntyre. 

But while Miss Arabella walked about idly in her radiant dream, Susanwas slaving day and night. For the wedding she and her eldest daughterwere planning was to be no small affair. Bella wanted her aunt to bemarried in the church. She knew just how a church wedding should beconducted, and Wes Long had promised to write a piece about it and haveit printed in the Lakeview papers. One sentence was already composed, "The happy party then repaired to the house of the bride's brother, where a sumptuous _recherché déjeuner_ was served. " Bella was almostalarmed at the high-sounding words, but Wes said they were used in allaccounts of high-class weddings. There were two obstacles, however, inthe way of a church wedding. One was the bridegroom, and the other thebride's brother. Martin announced that if Bella came any such talldoings as that over her old uncle, he'd kick over the traces, and heand Arabella would elope. Here he winked solemnly, and inquired if shedidn't suppose Arabella was just the sort that would run away; and thelittle lilac lady hung her head and blushed, and Bella wondered whyElsie Cameron should laugh so. Then there was the blacksmith himself. Like most yielding husbands, he was subject to unaccountable fits ofstubbornness, and seized this inopportune occasion to indulge in one. He positively refused, he announced dourly, even in the face of Susan'sdemands, to make an Uncle Tom's Cabin parade of himself and Arabella bygoing trolloping up the church aisle with her. He regarded the wholescheme as one of the many indications of feminine folly, and confidedmournfully to the bridegroom that he might as well give up, for Susan'slatest dodge was to make them have their dinner out in the yard, likethe pigs. Why folks that had a decent roof over their heads shouldturn themselves out of house and home to eat like the tinkers, was pasthis knowledge. But you could never tell what weemen would be up tonext. Why, when he was at Neeag'ra Falls----

But while he poured out his complaints his wife went on with herpreparations, all unheeding. Though the church parade had to be givenup for a house wedding, she saw to it that its grandeur was no whitdiminished. The ceremony was to be performed in Arabella's own littleparlor, while the grand wedding dinner was to be served--not till twoo'clock, the blacksmith learned with dismay--at her brother's house, under the orchard trees. 

Only one thing more troubled the mistress of ceremonies. As the doctorwas to be best man, and Elsie Cameron bridesmaid, and since the groomwas rich, the Winters would have preferred to ask only the more genteelfolks of the neighborhood--the minister's family, and a few of theirGlenoro relatives. But Martin spoiled it all by asking John McIntyreand Davy Munn and the eldest orphan. Susan tried to object, but Martindeclared that Tim and Davy had helped to bring about the wedding; forif they had not been obliging enough to steal Arabella's dress, andlose it in the swamp, he argued, he would be there yet; so the boysdeserved all the fun that was going. When the twins heard that anexception had been made in favor of Tim, they raised their voices inshrieking protest, and would have gone to the wedding willy-nilly, hadnot Mrs. Winters interviewed them, promising them unlimitedbride's-cake when the affair was over, if they remained out of sight, and dire retribution should they disobey. 

So the matter was finally settled by asking every one, irrespective ofsocial position, and when the evening of Miss Arabella's wedding daycame around once again everything was in readiness. Elsie Cameron cameover in her white bridesmaid's gown, to see how Arabella liked her, andthe doctor dropped in to show Martin how to stand up and behavehimself, for once in his life. So when the time came to go home--forMrs. Winters sent them away early, declaring she couldn't get a hand'sturn done in such a crowd--what was more natural than that thegroomsman should walk with the bridesmaid? He did not ask if he might;there was no need, for they were very good friends now. When he hadreturned that night from the rescue of Martin, all mud-splashed andexhausted, he had read, with a glad leap of his heart, the message inher eyes and in her faltering words--he had vindicated himself. 

By tacit consent they left the street and followed the path down intoTreasure Valley. And as they went, Gilbert told her more fully thestory of his relations with Martin; how his friend's heroic silence andhis own selfish ambition had made him forget his duty. He did notspare himself; but he could afford to be severe, for Martin had toldher everything, and she was full of contrition for her late blame. 

They strolled through the rose-tinted mists of the valley, the perfumerising from the scented grasses and flowers at their feet. She lookedlike a tall June flower herself, Gilbert thought, as she walked aheadof him in the narrow pathway, slender and erect in her clinging whitegown, with her delicately poised head like a golden blossom on itsstem. As they left the violet-carpeted bank and crossed the whitestepping-stones, an oriole, swinging far up on the topmost branch ofthe elm-tree, just where his golden wing caught the slant rays of thesetting sun, suddenly burst into joyous, bubbling song. The ringingnotes followed them even after they had climbed the hill and werepassing up the shadowy avenue of the orchard. And though they wereneither aware of it as yet, he was singing the opening strains of thatharmony that was some day to fill their united lives. 

 "_Oh, there's many a man o' the Ca----_"

Uncle Hughie came hobbling down the orchard path. His voice had anunusually joyous ring, therefore he reached a tremendous altitude, andthe song ended abruptly in a husky shriek. 

"Huh! huh! hoots! toots!" he was muttering to himself disgustedly, ashe came upon the pair. "Och! hoch! yes! yes! indeed and indeed!" heremarked, with a significant smile that brought the color to Elsie'scheeks. "And is the arm better, doctor?" he asked, stopping, andpatting the young man's injured member tenderly. 

"Oh, yes; it's nothing. I'm in fine shape for the wedding to-morrow. "

"Eh! eh! yes! yes!" The old man's face was alight with joy. "Eh! ittakes the Almighty to be managing things, indeed. But, mind ye this!I would be finding out something about how He will be managing. " Hisvoice sank to a mysterious whisper. "I would be rastlin' it out lastnight, an' thinkin' how He'd been workin' an' turnin' an' twistin'things for the good o' the poor McIntyre body, an' the poor bits o'things Jake Sawyer adopted. I would be rastlin' it all out, an' mindye--listen to this--He wouldn't be doin' it by Himself. " His eyesshone like living amber. "Oh, no, indeed. He would be handing overthe job to folks--jist folks, mind ye! Eh! eh! wouldn't that bewonderful? An' it will jist be because we are such poor potterin'bodies, that we wouldn't be having the world patched up an' fixed rightlong ago. Och! it would be a great thing, indeed, that we would behaving a hand in making the earth! And some day we will all belearning to do our part, jist as He wants it, and then that will be afine day for the world, oh, a fine day, I tell you!" He started tomove away. 

"Where are you going, Uncle Hughie?" asked his niece. "The dew isfalling, remember. "

"Och! hoch! it is the troublesome lass you will be!" he cried, lookingat her fondly. "I will jist be away a meenit. The minister and mewould jist be goin' up to the mill for a word with John McIntyre. He'scome home again--eh! eh! yes, he's jist come home. The dew! Hoch!"

 "_Oh, there's many a man o' the Ca----_"

He hobbled joyfully away, and the two moved on up the green orchardaisle. 

Early the next morning there was a tremendous rushing to and frobetween the bride's house and her brother's. Everything in the villagetook on a holiday aspect. The orphans were up at dawn, and, decked intheir best, flew hither and thither, keeping things stirred up andlively. The school children had a holiday, because the Duke had to goto the wedding early, to help Mrs. Winters set the tables. The milldid not exactly stop running, but nobody settled down to work, for WesLong, who left at ten o'clock to run home and put on his Sundayclothes, came tearing back in his white shirt-sleeves and with his hairall soapy and wet, with the news that Sandy McQuarry was already atWinters', dressed in his Sabbath blacks, and fetching and carrying forthe Duke like a trained poodle. Whereupon every man in the mill threwup his job and went down and walked the logs in the pond, and danced, and shoved each other into the water, and behaved in a way that, asGranny Long reported afterward to Sandy, was nothing but defying theAlmighty. 

When the time set for the ceremony approached, Miss Arabella, arrayedin her blue wedding dress and a long white veil, stood in the littlespare bedroom, surveying her trembling image in the mirror, between RedRiding-Hood and Little Bo-peep. She dared not sit down, for Susan saidshe would crush her flounces, and she stood clinging to the bedpost forsupport, looking like a little, frightened gray sparrow that hadsomehow got into a bluebird's feathers. Her bridesmaid stood by her, cheerful and encouraging; Bella was giving pulls and jerks to heraunt's gown and veil, and Susan was hurrying in and out, breathless andanxious. The guests had already begun to crush their way into theparlor, and their subdued voices came through the door. 

"There's all Aunt Christena's folks jist drove up, maw, " whisperedBella, rustling to the window in her stiff pink silk. "Cousin Martha'sgot the book with the wedding march under her arm. Goodness! there'sthe minister! Arabella, are you sure you're ready? An' there's Martinand Dr. Allen comin' down the street!" The bridesmaid came and peepedover her shoulder. "An' there's Marjorie Scott, Elsie! She's got hernew blue dress on, and she said she was going to wear her old white! Ibet that's because your Malcolm's home!"

The handle of the door rattled loudly. "Arabella!" hissed a deep voicethrough the keyhole. 

"Yes, William?" whispered his sister faintly. 

"Here's the preacher. You'd best come on out. "

"Hish, William!" commanded his wife, on the other side of the keyhole. "She'll come out when I say so. He's a caution, " she continued, straightening up, and looking at the drooping bride as though herbrother's untoward conduct were all her fault. Miss Arabella droopedfarther. She slipped her arm inside her bridesmaid's. 

"Elsie, if anybody else comes, don't--_don't_ let them tell me, " shewhispered piteously. "It makes me feel awful!"

The bridesmaid took her hand and patted it soothingly. "I won't, " shepromised cheerily. "Don't listen to a word any one says. I'll tellyou when it's time to go out, and there's nothing to be afraid of. Why, you look just lovely! And think how proud Martin will be! Youmustn't get nervous, for his sake, you know. "

"Arabella!" The keyhole once more gave forth a hissing whisper. "We've all been waiting half an hour. "

Mrs. Winters tightened her teeth. "He'll spoil everything!" shedeclared. "It's awful old-fashioned for the bride to be on time, butyou can't knock that into William's head. You might as well go, Arabella; and for pity's sakes, stand up straight, an' don't look soscared!"

She pushed the trembling little blue figure toward the door. "Elsie, you go first, and walk slow; no--wait! Bella, open the door and nod toCousin Martha to start playin'. "

Bella's head shot out and in, the door slammed again, and there arosefrom the other side of it faint, squeaky sounds from the organ. 

"Goodness me! you can hardly hear her!" cried Mrs. Winters. "I toldChristena Martha'd spoil it! My sakes! I wish Ella Anne Long hadn'trun away so soon! Now open the door, Bella, awful slow. Now, Elsie, go on. Arabella, hang on to your flowers! It's a perfect shame yourbrother ain't with you! For goodness' sake, stand up straight, an'don't look as if you was goin' to be hung! Go on, Elsie!"

But the bride was clinging desperately to her maid's arm, and refusedto let her go. "I--I can't go, Susan!" she whispered. 

"Oh, mercy me! Everything's goin' to be spoiled!" wailed hersister-in-law. 

"Arabella's going to walk out holding my arm, " said Elsie firmly, seeing that the little bride's condition demanded immediate relief. 

"Well, go on, then, " said Mrs. Winters, with a gesture of despair. "It'll be a fool of a thing, anyhow. Now, Bella, open the door, slow--slow!"

The door swung gradually, but when it was half open Mrs. Wintersslammed it again. 

"Arabella, " she cried, in a panic, "did you shut Polly up?"

The bride stared at her, uncomprehending. 

"No, she never, maw, " whispered Bella hysterically, "an' she'll be sureto come right out with them swear-words in the middle of everything. "

Once more the bridesmaid met the emergency. "It can't be helped now, "she said. "Please don't bother her. Open the door, Bella. "

The door swung back for the third and last time, and the little bluefigure and the tall white one walked slowly up to where Martin and thedoctor stood before the minister. The distance from the spare bedroomdoor to their destination was a matter of about three yards, and Mrs. Winters had overlooked the fact that it was out of all proportion tothe wedding march. Cousin Martha from Glenoro, in a panic ofnervousness, was laboring hard to get to the end of it, but long afterthe bridal party was in position the faint, jerky sounds still waveredon, now vanishing altogether in a dumb show, now, just as the peoplewere hopefully thinking the ordeal over, becoming huskily audible. There seemed enough of the thing, Mrs. Long said afterward, to giveArabella time to walk over to the next concession to get married. 

The minister put on his glasses, took them off, fumbled with hishandkerchief in his coat-tail pocket, and cleared his throat. Thegroom shifted from one foot to the other. Over in a corner, behind thesofa, Davy Munn and the eldest orphan ducked their heads and giggled. Bella rattled her pink silk nervously; Mrs. Winters frowned at herhusband. 

Cousin Martha from Glenoro turned another page, the wedding march tooka new start, and grew stronger; and the blacksmith's small remnant ofpatience vanished. He leaned over the heads of half a dozen guests, and said in a loud whisper, "For the Lord's sake, Marthy, hold up aminit an' let 'em get hitched!" The wedding march ceased abruptly; theguests drew a sigh of relief, and the ceremony began. 

A deep hush fell over the crowded little room. To several there, besides the bride and groom, this ceremony was especially impressive. The groomsman felt a lump in his throat as he looked at Martin, andthought of all the years his little bride and the blue silk gown hadwaited, and how he had helped to lengthen the time. And over in acorner, sitting beside Tim, John McIntyre gazed at his old comrade'sradiant face, and raised his heart in reverent thankfulness that theyhad been spared to see this day together. 

The ceremony ended in a hushed solemnity, and when the ministerpronounced them man and wife, and all bowed in prayer, even Tim, touched by the signs of emotion in John McIntyre's face, was quiet andwell behaved. But, unfortunately, the house was too near the Sawyers'household to long enjoy peace and prosperity. Jake and Hannah, ofcourse, were among the guests, and, the evening before, Mrs. Wintershad secured a promise from Uncle Hughie Cameron to take the youngestorphan under his care during the wedding, and had wrung from the twinsa solemn promise that they would neither be seen nor heard until afterthe dinner had been served. Faithful to their contract, the two hadlain concealed beneath the lilacs, watching Arabella's home, andtalking in breathless whispers while the guests were arriving. Butwhen every one had disappeared indoors, and silence settled upon thevillage, time hung heavily upon the orphans' hands. They crawled outfrom their ambush, and simultaneously their fertile brains werepossessed of a scheme for enlivening the dull hours. They would have awedding themselves! They had witnessed a ceremony at the Orphans'Home, when one of the maids was married, and knew exactly how it shouldbe conducted. There were Isaac and Rebekah strutting about the backyard; they would serve as the bridal couple, and the twelve tribeswould be guests. No sooner said than done; the twins set vigorously towork. The first and most important consideration, of course, was thebride's toilette, and there was that remnant of blue silk Miss Arabellahad given them from her gown. The twins ran upstairs for it withscreams of delight. It would fit beautifully around Rebekah'sshoulders, and the smart tan shoes Nature had bestowed upon her wouldlook perfectly elegant with a blue silk dress. They tore down thelittle lace curtain from the kitchen window for a bridal veil; and thenext thing to be done was to catch Rebekah and dress her. 

Now, the Sawyer cat, and the dog, yes, and even the pig, had at varioustimes been arrayed in human apparel, but never yet had Rebekah beenforced into the habiliments of civilization. She showed, from thefirst, a decided distaste for them. The twins struggled and panted, while the unwilling bride dodged and squawked and disarranged hertoilet again and again, and the alarmed bridegroom flew hither andthither, with widespread pinions, uttering loud protests. 

But in spite of her struggles, Rebekah was at last made ready, and thenarose the question of Isaac's dress. The black-haired twin, being themore venturesome of the two, suggested dressing him up in Joey's Sundaysuit; but he was even harder to manage than the bride, and as he wasjust now showing an inclination to be violent, the breathless modistesdecided, after the fashion of the day, not to bother about thebridegroom's clothes. So the fair-haired twin held Rebekah in a tightgrip while her sister hitched Joshua to Joey's little cart, and placedhim ready at the steps, to be used after the ceremony. Next, theblack-haired twin took her turn at holding the protesting bride, whilethe other proceeded to dress up the veranda as a church; for this wasto be no common home wedding like Arabella's. The parlor chairs werethe pews, the sewing-machine was the organ, and Hannah's bestred-and-white bedspread made a beautiful carpet for the aisle. Theonly thing needed now was a pulpit, and soon Lenora appeared in triumphfrom the kitchen, dragging an old wash-stand. It had a round openingin the top, in which the wash-basin fitted, and when she climbed up andlet herself down into this aperture she looked as like Mr. Scott in hispulpit, her admiring sister declared, as two peas. 

When everything was in readiness, and the fair-haired twin was settingout to capture the bridegroom, there arose an unfortunate dispute. 

"I bar be the minister, " said the black-haired twin. 

"No, you don't! It's goin' to be me! I thought of the pulpit!"

"I don't care! I barred it first. You can play the organ. "

"I won't! An' I can't, anyhow; somebody's got to hold Rebekah. "

"Well, I'm goin' to be Mr. Scoot, so there!"

"Ain't!"

"Are so!"

The two would-be divines made a simultaneous dash for the place ofhonor, and scrambling upon it, crushed their way, side by side, intothe hole, which was scarcely large enough for one. In the struggleRebekah gained her liberty, and with a loud squawk she leaped down thesteps, her blue gown and her bridal veil streaming behind. She floppedright on top of Joshua, who had lain down in his harness, and rudelybroke his slumber. Now, Joshua was a wise dog, who knew his ownhousehold, and would no more have thought of barking at Rebekah than atHannah. But when this madly struggling bundle of clothes dashed overhis nose he saw in it no smallest resemblance to anything he had everpermitted to pass his gateway. So, hampered though he was by Joey'scart, he made a dash at his disguised friend, and, barking madly, chased her out through the gate. The two rival clergymen, nearlysqueezed to death within the narrow confines of the pulpit, screamed, and struggled for liberty, and called on Joshua to come back, but to nopurpose. Down the street he clattered, snapping at Rebekah's flyingveil. The runaway bride dodged this way and that, and finally dartedin at Miss Arabella's gate, Joshua following fiercely. Miss Arabella'sdoor also stood open. Rebekah dashed up the walk and into the house. 

All had been very still in the crowded little parlor. The ceremony wasover, and the bowed heads had just been raised from prayer, when intothe reverent hush there penetrated from the kitchen a loud, complainingvoice: "Oh, Lordy! ain't we havin' a slow time!" An electric currentquivered through the room, the two boys in the corner writhed in aspasm of giggles, and the minister said sternly, "Hush!" But the nextinstant the necessity for constraint was over. A tremendous uproarburst from the front doorway, and into the midst of the wedding gueststhere dashed an astounding pair--a small, turbulent creature, dressedexactly like the bride, in blue silk and a streaming white veil, followed fiercely by a dog, dragging the remnants of a shattered cart. Around the room they leaped in a mad circle, upsetting everything intheir way. Then the blue-robed creature, with a scream, rose above theheads of the astonished guests, and landed in the kitchen, with adeafening crash of breaking dishes. The rest of the disturbancefollowed, barking madly; Tim and Davy arose, and went bounding afterthem with whoops of joy, and above the din arose Polly's loud squall, in a most unseasonable complaint about the dullness of the times. 

Everybody declared afterward that no woman in the county of Simcoecould have brought order out of that chaos except Susan Winters. Shedrove out the noisy intruders with the broomstick, silenced the twouproarious wedding guests with the same instrument, and brought thehilarious company to something like decorum by ordering them to form inprocession for the wedding dinner. A slight delay occurred when it wasfound that Jake and Hannah Sawyer were missing. Attracted by agonizedshrieks from the direction of their home, they left precipitately, andseveral of the wedding guests, unacquainted with the orphans' ways, followed them in consternation. They soon returned, however. Jake hadliberated the twins by sawing the washstand asunder, and the parentsbrought the two unfortunates with them. Even Mrs. Winters made themwelcome when she saw their tearful faces, and they joined theprocession, profoundly thankful for the untoward circumstance that hadproduced such joyful results. 

But the little episode had another happy outcome that made thebridegroom's eyes shine with something deeper than even his own joy. Just as the fantastic figure of Rebekah had disappeared into thekitchen, the groomsman touched Martin's arm gently, and whispered, "Look at McIntyre!" The bridegroom turned; his grave, silent friendhad been watching the grotesque little creature with a smile slowlybreaking over his face, and when Tim arose, with a yell, and boundedafter her, John McIntyre threw back his head and laughed. Yes, therepellant, dark-faced watchman laughed, a deep, hearty, joyous laugh, and the sound of it brought a smarting mist to the kindly, watchingeyes of his friend. 

The procession was soon formed, and it slowly moved out through thefront door, across the tiny garden, and down the shady avenue of theorchard. Very proudly the big bridegroom walked with his little brideon his arm. She was no longer drooping and pathetic-looking now, buterect and radiant. Behind came their two attendants, Gilbert'swondering eyes watching the changing bronze and gold of thebridesmaid's hair, as the sunlight and the green shadows alternatelyplayed over it. The minister and the triumphant mistress of ceremoniescame next, followed by the blacksmith, leading the minister's wife, andgrowing more cheerful each moment as he neared his dinner. The resthad arranged themselves as best suited their inclinations, and not fardown the line moved a happy quartette--Marjorie and Malcolm, obliviousto everything but each other, and behind them Sandy McQuarry and thestately Duke; and a glance at the faces of the four would have puzzledan observer to guess which pair was at that moment experiencing more ofthe joy of youth and love. 

Down the grassy aisle the happy procession passed, through the fleckinglight and shade, where the long, white tables were laid beneath theapple boughs. And as they moved, a bluebird, swinging far above themin the sunlight, caroled forth a joyous marriage hymn. And down below, the little blue silk gown, of the same shade as his dazzling plumage, covered a heart just as happy. 

CHAPTER XIX

THE HERMIT SINGS AGAIN

 Then twilight falls with the touch Of a hand that soothes and stills, And a swamp-robin sings into light The lone white star of the hills. Alone in the dusk he sings, And a burden of sorrow and wrong Is lifted up from the earth And carried away in song. --BLISS CARMAN. 

John McIntyre, still dressed in the fine black suit Martin had givenhim for the wedding, was slowly walking up the old swamp road towardthe ravine. The festivities of the day, and the gracious manner of theDuke, had so wrought upon Sandy McQuarry that he had, in a moment ofreckless extravagance, bidden his watchman take a rest that night, instead of returning to the mill. So Tim and he were going off on animportant expedition. They had promised Martin that before he andArabella returned they would walk down past the Drowned Lands and takea look at the fine new farm he had bought, and which they were allthree to work together. And Tim's impatience demanded that they gothis evening, for he had already laid great plans for sowing the entirethree hundred acres with prize pumpkins, to be raised for the show. 

John McIntyre moved along lingeringly, watching for the little, limpingfigure of his boy. He could see far up the green vista of the ravine, where the shades of evening were gathering. He smiled as he thought ofthe name the queer Englishman had given it; a Treasure Valley, indeed, the place had proved to him, for here, after long groping in darkness, he had found again the treasure of life. 

He turned and looked back, his eyes following the course of the littlestream. It wound past his old cabin, lost itself in the greenwilderness of the Drowned Lands, and passed on again through the openfields to that rose-colored line on the horizon, where Lake Simcoesmiled responsive to the glow of the western heavens. He gazed at itearnestly, and was struck with the strange feeling that he had seen itall before, long ago. The slow music of a bell from a cow feeding fardown the corduroy road echoed musically up the wooded aisle. Far offin a clover meadow a clear "cling-cling" floated up, where young DonaldMcKitterick stood sharpening his scythe. Some subtle influence seemedto have transported him into the past. He looked at the darkeningpurple of the woods, on one side, and at the sunny undulations of thefields on the other, and the feeling of familiarity grew stronger. This strange spirit of peace, this sense of tender associations, whatwas causing it? Then a little breeze, laden with the clean scent ofrunning water, came dancing through the long grass, and all at onceJohn McIntyre understood. In his blindness, he had not noticed itbefore--it was his old home come back to him! Here at his side ran theriver that passed his farm, there was the strip of woodland; andyonder, on the horizon, not Lake Simcoe, but the dazzling stretches ofthe Bay of Fundy! And how wondrously like it all was, this evening, tothat last peaceful night he remembered so well, just before the shadowsof distress had begun to gather. 

Over there, to the west, the sun was slipping down to the earth, agreat fiery ball dropping from an empty sky. It touched the earth, andkindled the fields to a glory of color; the woods took on a deeperpurple tone, and the little river ran into its depths, a stream ofmolten gold. Just at John McIntyre's feet it passed through a bronzefretwork of reeds, and above it the swallows wheeled, flashing, up andup into the amber light. 

The man stood, with a rising mist in his eyes obscuring the dearfamiliarity of the scene. Yes, he was home again truly; and up therebeyond the glowing heavens, safer and happier than they had ever beenin the home nest among the orchards; they waited for him, Mary andtheir little ones. 

And still he stood, waiting, in the long, scented June grass, with afeeling of further expectancy. This was home truly, but there wassomething wanting--some subtle touch, half remembered, half forgotten. 

And then from the shadowy hush of the woods the answer came. Away inthe darkening depths there arose a strain of music, serene as thoughthe spirit of the twilight had taken voice:

 "_O hear all! O hear all! O holy, holy!_"

John McIntyre's heart gave a leap of joy that was almost pain. Thehermit thrush! _His_ thrush, singing in the Ontario woods! The songfloated out, filling the purple valley, sweet, tender, celestial, speaking perfect peace and tranquillity, and calling to his soul to bowin thankfulness before his Maker. The man took off his hat, and stoodwith bowed head. Perhaps it was a miracle, part of the miracle oflove, that had recreated his old home about him. And why not? For wasthere anything too wonderful to happen to one who knew that his Fatherruled, and was a Being whose very name was Love? Perhaps the hermitthrush had been sent to him, a special messenger to remind him that Hewas with him still, and would be to the end--that One who had spoken tohim out of the dawn mists of the Drowned Lands, the One who would walkwith him through the lonely years till he joined Mary in the Homeabove, the One from whose tender care he could never be separated, either by sorrow or death. 

A long, clear call from the hilltop behind, and Tim's little figurecame scrambling over the fence. The man did not move, for once morethe song arose, and poured forth a strain of purest melody:

 "_O hear all! O hear all! O holy, holy!_"

It died lingeringly away. The woods were dark and silent. JohnMcIntyre turned and went up the hill, smiling, his face to the Light. 

THE END