CALLED TO THE COLOURS
For some time after the first stir of Burke's and Trooper's departure,
the war occupied all minds. The first shock of German brutality was
shaking civilisation, and people were trying to readjust themselves to
living back in the days of barbarity. Mr. Holmes was compelled each
day to contradict the prophecies he had made the day before until he
became quite discouraged, and the groups that met every day at the
store to wait for the daily papers which the Doctor and Mr. Sinclair
took, began to have their long-established faith in his opinions rather
disturbed.
For even if the Germans had not succeeded in persuading the postmaster
that he was wrong Dr. McGarry would have done so. The Doctor was a
tremendously loyal Briton and these disastrous days were hard on his
temper. People were afraid to ask him how the war was going, when he
opened the newspaper, for if it were bad woe betide the questioner.
The reverses of the Allies were nearly breaking his big heart and he
had to vent his grief and wrath on somebody. He railed at Britain for
being unprepared, he stormed at the United States for their neutrality,
and he denounced Canada for being so slow, and always ended up by
declaring that Germany would win and wishing with all his heart that,
instead of being sixty, he were Trooper's age and were riding with him
in the Princess Pats.
This sort of talk made an uncomfortable home atmosphere for young
Wallace, who had no desires to be up and away from the comfortable
fire-side and all the pleasant surroundings of Orchard Glen, and just
now his environment, with Christina Lindsay's bright eyes to welcome
him wherever he went, was pleasanter than he had ever dreamed it could
be.
But if the Doctor's fiery patriotism did not greatly disturb his
nephew, it made life quite miserable for his sister. Indeed the poor
lady had more troubles in these days than many a mother who had sent
her son to the Front.
The thing she had most feared had come upon her; namely that Wallace
should take up in the vulgar country fashion with one of the young
women of the village. She had to confess to herself that of all the
Orchard Glen girls the Lindsays were perhaps the least objectionable,
and Christina's manner seemed always quiet and well bred. But at best
the case was very dreadful. Suppose Wallace became infatuated, and
Wallace had a habit of doing that, what might not happen? He might
even want to settle down on a farm here and be married, and he with all
Uncle William's wealth at his disposal if he would only make proper use
of his opportunities!
There was just one fate that would be worse than remaining in Orchard
Glen, Wallace might take a notion to enlist, and his Uncle's outbursts
of temper were sufficient to drive the boy to do anything desperate.
She sat herself with all her might to the task of making him study
hard, so that he would be ready to go back to college in the States and
be away from all the temptations of both Christina and the war. But
making Wallace study was a heavy task, especially now with his
infatuation for the Lindsay girl growing stronger every day.
He was off almost every night with the village rabble. He joined the
Presbyterian choir, and the Temperance Society, and went to Bible Class
every Sunday afternoon. And the time that was left from these
engagements, she suspected, he spent at the Lindsay farm.
Indeed her mind was not at rest concerning him even during the hours
when he was supposed to be under the tutelage of Mr. Sinclair, though
Miss Margaret was away. No one knew what Mr. Sinclair would do with a
young man who came under his influence. Mrs. Sutherland wanted Wallace
to be a good boy, of course, she confessed with tears in her eyes, and
she trusted he would always be religious and go to church as she had
taught him, but Mr. Sinclair never seemed to know where to stop in
matters of religion, and might spoil all the worldly prospects of a
young man like Wallace. There was that young Neil Lindsay. Her
brother always said that he was the brightest young man that Orchard
Glen had ever sent out, and that he would make his mark in the world,
and Mr. Sinclair had spread his blighting influence over him and now he
was studying to be a minister and would likely go away off into some
dreadful heathen country and never be heard of again. And indeed
Orchard Glen could furnish many another instance of his undoing a
promising career. And who knew what he might do with Wallace? Of
course ministers existed for the purpose of seeing that wayward sons
kept in the path of rectitude, but they ought to know there should be
temperance in all things. For while Mrs. Sutherland wanted her son to
have sufficient religion to keep him from going wrong and doing
anything disgraceful, she certainly did not want him to have so much
that it would interfere with his getting on in the world. And Mr.
Sinclair seemed to have no notion that getting on in the world mattered
at all.
Wallace continued to be as gay and good-natured as ever in the face of
his mother's tears and his uncle's temper. He would pull her ear
playfully when she admonished him, and when Uncle Peter grew cross and
grumpy he would go off whistling up the hill to the Lindsay farm.
As for Christina her golden dreams had all come true. She had at last
obtained that one great requisite to happiness, a special cavalier of
her own, to wait upon her and do her bidding. There was no more
slipping home alone forlornly from meetings, no more coaxing John to
take her to picnic or concert, no more fear of Gavin Grant seeing her
home. And not only was her cavalier always at her side on these
occasions, but he was the beau ideal of all the girls in Orchard Glen,
as Christina was the envy. Her sweetheart was young and handsome and
gallant and gay, indeed the very Dream Knight who had lingered so long
just beyond the horizon and had ridden at last up to her door.
Mary wrote her delight in Christina's good fortune, hinting just a
little surprise that she should have won a prize where Mary herself had
failed. Ellen wrote cautioning her sister not to set her heart on any
one for the present. Wallace was young and they would likely be
parted, and people saved themselves a great deal of pain if they did
not make plans for the future.
Christina was too busy to think much of the future, the present was
quite sufficient. For besides all the joyous social events and home
duties, like all the other women of the village she was called upon to
take up the burden of Red Cross work.
The Red Cross Society proved as great a blessing in the divided ranks
of Orchard Glen society, as it did on many another field of battle. It
provided a place where the Methodists and Presbyterians could meet on
common ground and it was wonderful to see the gradual drawing together
of the forces that had been rent asunder by the skirl of old Lauchie's
bagpipes It was very heartening to see Mrs. Henderson, Tremendous K.'s
wife, and Mrs. Johnnie Brown, the wife of the Methodist Sunday School
Superintendent working side by side. It was impossible to keep from
speaking when you were sewing on the same hospital shirt and gradually
people began to forget that there were Methodists and Presbyterians in
the world, remembering only that there were Germany and the Allies.
And when Tremendous K. was asked by the Red Cross Society to get up a
concert that winter to raise Red Cross funds, Methodists and Baptists
came flocking back to the choir and they all sang, "O, Canada" and
"It's a Long Way to Tipperary," together as though there had never been
a piper in Orchard Glen.
But these harmonious heights were not reached without many a rocky bit
of road for the Red Cross Society to travel.
When the Society was formed, a number of women came out from Algonquin
to organise, though Mrs. Johnnie Dunn did not see why in common sense
they couldn't form a society themselves without a lot of women from
town trolloping out to show them how to do something they all knew how
to do already. Nevertheless the ladies from town came and they
organised centres in Dalton and Greenwood and Orchard Glen and in other
places all through the country.
The Orchard Glen Red Cross Society was to meet once a week in the
basement of the Methodist Church, it being the largest available space
in the village.
Mrs. Sutherland was made President and Mrs. Sinclair Treasurer; and
young Mrs. Martin was Secretary, with Christina Lindsay to assist and
take the minutes when the children were so bad that nobody could manage
them. There was a large executive committee besides, but all these
officials were quite irrelevant, for Mrs. Johnnie Dunn was the real
head and body and limbs of the society, and looked after all its
business.
Then The Woman brought out the materials for sewing and knitting from
Algonquin, and returned the garments when she thought they ought to be
finished, and woe betide the unlucky Red Cross worker who was behind a
day with a shirt or a pair of socks! For she decreed just how much was
to be done each week, and no Prussian Militarist ever ruled with so
high a hand.
"Just add another roll o' towelling to that order," she would command
the Algonquin woman who was handing out her month's work, "there's a
lot o' lazy lumps out at our corner that's sittin' pickin' their
fingers for want o' somethin' to do."
The Society followed The Woman and the President was left far in the
rear. Indeed Orchard Glen was rather proud of Mrs. Johnnie Dunn. She
was so clever and made such a name for them in Red Cross circles. The
valentine episode was forgotten with other pre-war trivialities and she
was reinstated in her old place of leadership.
Mrs. Sutherland presided at all Red Cross meetings with something of
the air of a Queen ruling a much limited monarchy, over which a
strenuous and efficient Prime Minister is wielding unlimited power. It
was an unpleasant position and the rightful monarch might have made
efforts to retain her authority but for the ambassador who kept peace
between the Queen and the Prime Minister. The peacemaker was the last
woman in Orchard Glen to be chosen for such a task, and yet a real
peacemaker Joanna proved herself.
Joanna Falls would never have filled the position, but Joanna Boyd, as
every one was discovering, was a new creature. She came back from her
brief trip with Trooper, when the first contingent left for England.
She had a wedding ring on her hand and a new light in her handsome
eyes. And she was so gentle and kindly that those who did not stop to
remember that love works miracles scarcely knew her.
She became Mrs. Sutherland's life-long friend on the very day the Red
Cross Society was formed. It was after the meeting and people were
standing about asking questions and delivering opinions, Mrs.
Sutherland was still sitting on the platform with the visitors from
town and called Joanna to her.
"Mrs. Boyd, my dear," she said pleasantly, "will you come here a
moment?"
Joanna looked around in a moment's bewilderment, wondering who Mrs.
Boyd was, and then the girls all laughed, and she remembered, and,
blushing and looking very beautiful, she obeyed. Mrs. Sutherland
introduced her as "Our war bride," and told how Trooper had gone away
at the first call of his country. And the visitors asked her all about
him, and Joanna, with tears in her handsome eyes, told how he was in
the Princess Pats and expected to be in the fighting any day now. It
was so wonderful to be able to talk about Trooper and speak out her
grief without shame, that Joanna's voice grew very soft and her manner
gentle. And a lady whose only son had also ridden away in the Princess
Patricias' patted her hand and said it was the women who stayed at home
who needed to be brave and that she had many to sympathise with her.
From that day Joanna became Mrs. Sutherland's right hand, she was
always ready to do her bidding. Mrs. Sutherland would call across the
room full of shirts and towels and whirring machines, "Mrs. Boyd, my
dear, could you find me the back of this shirt? I must have mislaid
it." And Joanna would run and wait on her hand and foot, Joanna who
used to throw the dishwater so it would splash over into Mrs.
Sutherland's yard!
And another miracle caused by Trooper's going to the war was the
friendship that sprang up between Joanna and The Woman. Mrs. Johnnie
Dunn was a warrior at heart herself, and Trooper's leap to the first
sound of the bugle thrilled her. She would have parted with a year's
profits on milk before she would confess this, but she was really
inordinately proud of her soldier and her feelings were displayed in
her treatment of him. He had enough socks to foot every man in the
Princess Patricias and there was never a soldier in the Canadian Army
received such boxes of cake and candy as Trooper.
So his wife and his aunt became firm friends in their common love and
pride. They sat together at sewing meetings, sharing scraps of each
other's letters and the latest bit of news concerning the Princess Pats.
But Joanna had no easy task keeping peace in the Red Cross Society.
The course of that blessed institution ran over a rough bed of rocks
from the day of its inception.
There were a deal of rules about the fashioning of shirt collars and
the hemming of sheets and the sewing on of buttons and the folding of
bandages which The Woman characterised as tomfoolery. The President
was for keeping the rules. She believed in system, she stated in her
address to the Society, but Mrs. Johnnie Dunn believed only in her own
system, and told every one to go ahead and do things the way they had
always done and they'd be all right.
Then there was the knitting! Granny Minns, who could turn out her sock
a day, and not omit a tittle of Mitty's scolding, said the Kitchener
Toe was all humbug. She had knit for her son Tom all his life and her
husband too, and was now knitting for Burke. And Burke said her socks
were Just right, and what was good enough for Burke was good enough for
the other soldiers!
She had an army of followers who were ready to second all she said.
Mrs. Lindsay and the Grant Girls and Mrs. Brown and Tremendous K.'s
mother were all superexcellent knitters, and Mrs. Brown who was no more
afraid of Mrs. Sutherland than The Woman was, said right out in the
meeting that the Kitchener Toe was jist some norms got up by the women
in the town who hadn't enough to do, and had never learned to knit,
anyhow! And Mrs. Brown and Tremendous K.'s wife took to walking home
together after the meetings, just to discuss the foolish fashions of
some women like Mrs. Sutherland!
Mrs. Sinclair asked for one of the leaders to come out from town and
tell about the Kitchener Toe. The lady came and they had an extra
meeting in the basement of the Methodist church, and passed around tea
and cake and pie afterward. The lady spoke of the horrors of Trench
Feet, and showed how the wrong sort of knitting would be sure to
produce it. But as Granny Minns never went anywhere, and Mrs. Lindsay
and the Grant Girls went only to church, and Mrs. Brown was too deaf to
hear, and Mrs. Tremendous K. told her it was just all dishwater anyway,
the talk had very little effect.
So a secret society was formed, of which Joanna and Mrs. Sutherland
were the leaders. They met at night with drawn blinds and locked
doors, and ripped out the uneven and condemned knitting and knit it up
again. And before long Orchard Glen was mentioned in the Algonquin
papers as the one place that always sent in perfect socks. And a
photographer came out from town and took a picture of Granny Minns, as
the oldest knitter of faultless socks, and it was put in the paper and
Orchard Glen was held up as an example for the countryside and was the
envy of the whole knitting public.
The excitement over Red Cross troubles during the winter almost made
folk forget the war. The terrible onrush of the enemy had been stopped
at the Marne, and, lulled by an over-censored press, the public settled
down to the belief that when the Spring came the Germans would be
forced back across the Rhine and the war would be over. Britain was
safe anyway, every one knew that. For there was the Navy and that, as
every one knew, was invincible.
The first contingent had gone; English and Scottish reservists like
Burke had left, and many another Old Country man had volunteered, going
back to give the old land a helping hand. Then there were the gay lads
full of adventure like Trooper, up and away at the first glad chance of
looking into "the bright face of danger," and some serious minded ones
also, knowing that a terrible danger menaced humanity and they must
stand as a wall between. But the great mass of young Canada was as yet
undisturbed, and while the press could have called them with one bugle
sound, the press sent them back to their work and their play, and so
they lingered undisturbed.
Wallace had to part with Christina at Christmas time, a consummation
that had been devoutly looked forward to by his mother. He left her
with many promises to write and to be home for Easter. Christina had
scarcely time to miss him for Sandy and Neil came home and Mary and
Hugh McGillivray came up from Port Stewart and the house rang with the
good times they all had together. And Grandpa could scarcely be
persuaded to go to bed lest he miss some of Jimmie's and Sandy's antics.
On Christmas day a letter came from the two absent ones. They were
invited to take dinner with some friends in Prairie Park, people who
had heard Neil preach when he was in the west, and they declared he
would be one of Canada's leading preachers some day.
Allister wrote a longer letter than usual to Christina. There was an
entirely new note in it.
"This war has knocked things endways for me I'm afraid," he said. "You
needn't say anything to John or the boys yet, but if everything keeps
rolling down hill as fast as it's been going there will be no college
for any one next year. So perhaps you were just as wise to stay home.
I didn't know just how good you were to let Ellen come till she told me
all about it. It's been rough on Ellen and you've been a brick to let
her come. But if things don't get too rotten we'll win out yet and
make the world sit up and take notice. Ellen's got the craze to go
nursing and she wants to start right away. Only she thinks she ought
to go home. If she trains maybe she'll be going overseas if this war
doesn't show some signs of ending."
It was not at all like Allister, and Christina was filled with anxiety.
What if Sandy and Neil had to be stopped in their college course? And
Allister had furnished many a comfort on the farm that made life easier
for them all and especially for John and had hinted that there might be
a car in the Spring. If his money all went with the war, there would
be never again any chance for her. But she did not worry over herself,
only wrote to Ellen urging her to take her nurse's course by all means,
for everything was quite all right at home.
When the pleasant rush of Christmas was over she was rather surprised
to find that life was not so dull as she had expected. She missed
Wallace, but not quite so much as she felt she should. She grew
impatient with herself and began to wonder if she were different from
other girls. Mary lived for Hugh, and Ellen's days had arranged
themselves around Bruce's coming and going, and she could not but ask
why she was not as joyous over Wallace's preference for her as she had
expected to be.
When he was away from her he seemed to be her very ideal Knight, so
handsome and brave and good, but when he was in her presence, he was
just a very ordinary, pleasant young man, with no halo of romance about
him. She was rather disappointed in herself. She wondered if she were
of a dissatisfied nature whom nothing could please.
And then she had no sooner settled down to a lonely winter than
suddenly Wallace came back. He came up to see her on the very evening
of his return, to explain his sudden appearance and tell her all the
tragic sum of his experiences.
It appeared that his hopes were all blasted; his uncle had behaved in a
shameful manner. In spite of the fact that Wallace had almost studied
himself ill all Fall, Uncle William simply refused to let him go back
to college.
"But your examination!" cried Christina in dismay. "You passed that,
didn't you?"
Wallace had neglected to explain about the examination. One paper, the
Latin prose, was quite beyond belief. The man who set it was crooked,
there was no doubt about it, and anyway Wallace had always felt that
Mr. Sinclair was very old-fashioned in his methods. A fellow just
couldn't learn under him.
Christina's heart was striving to excuse him, declaring that he had
been ill-used, while her head was protesting that he was only a spoiled
boy who had wasted his opportunities, and was now ready to lay the
blame at any door but his own.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," she declared with real sympathy. "And what will
you do now?"
"I think I'll enlist," he declared despondently, sinking down into the
depths of the soft couch, one of the comforts that Allister's money had
made possible. "There isn't anything else for me to do. I've had such
rotten luck."
He glanced at Christina as he spoke and was rather disconcerted to see
that she made no opposition. His mother always wept and wrung her
hands, and made any concession at the merest suggestion of his going to
the Front, and he had supposed that Christina would, at least, show
some agitation.
But instead there came a sudden light into her eyes.
"Oh," she declared, "it must be grand to be a man and go away and fight
for freedom!"
Wallace raised his head and stared at her.
"I don't believe you'd care a mite if I were killed!" he cried
reproachfully.
Christina's eyes dropped to the grey sock she was knitting.
"Oh, I--I didn't mean that!" she cried apologetically. "I--I just
thought maybe you wanted to go."
"I can't leave mother," he declared, "that's one sure thing. And
another is that I'm going to give up the University. I never wanted to
go anyway. I think I'll go into business, or perhaps I'll farm. I'm
going to stay home for a week or so anyway and talk things over with
Uncle Peter."
He seemed to forget his troubles after this resolution and became his
old gay self, and Christina's head gave way to her heart and she was
altogether happy that he had come home.
But there was not much happiness or comfort in the red house with the
pillars. Dr. McGarry had helped his sister indulge they boy and now he
was angry with him for turning out the exact product to be expected
from their indulgence. The Doctor stormed and scolded and Mrs.
Sutherland wept. Wallace threatened to enlist. Uncle Peter said it
was the best thing he could do and then, when things were really
getting quite intolerable and Wallace was packing his trunk for parts
unspecified, fate intervened once more and he was taken down with what
the Doctor said was a very heavy cold but which Mrs. Sutherland
declared might easily develop into pneumonia.
Mitty Wright, who did Mrs. Sutherland's washing, reported that the way
his mother waited on the young gentleman and babied him was a caution,
and the Doctor was nearly as bad, running up and down stairs, scolding
one minute and giving medicine the next. The patient responded to the
good nursing and before the middle of January he was able to be
outdoors again. He convalesced very happily, especially after he was
able to walk as far as the Lindsay hill. Uncle William showed no sign
of repentance, though Mrs. Sutherland told him how near to death's door
the boy had been, but Wallace did not seem disturbed. The evil
provided by Uncle Peter's war-distemper was sufficient unto the day
without worrying over Uncle William. The old man would come round yet,
Wallace felt sure, and meanwhile he was having a very pleasant time and
Orchard Glen with Christina in it was a very delightful place.
Jimmie came stamping in one wild boisterous evening when February had
began to shout across the country from hill to hill and turn the world
into a whirling whiteness.
It was Friday evening and he was earlier than usual as Mrs. Johnnie
Dunn had given him a lift more than half way in her cutter. And she
had so much Red Cross truck piled into it, he complained, that his feet
stuck out into the drifts all the way home.
He had stopped at the postoffice for the mail, and there was a letter
from Neil. His regular Tuesday letter had come as usual and a second
one was rather surprising.
Christina ran with it into the sitting room where her mother was sewing
overtime on a couple of hospital shirts that The Woman said had to be
ready for Monday, and not a minute later.
"A letter from Neily," Mrs. Lindsay said, stopping her work and taking
off her spectacles to await the reading. "What will he be wanting to
say at this time o' the week?"
Christina tore it open and went to the window to catch the last light
of the short winter day. The letter started as usual with the weekly
budget of college news. Every one was speeding up, now, for Spring and
exams, had just turned the last corner and were coming straight at
them. Sandy's new room was something superfine and much warmer than
the last, but board wasn't getting any better. They were all longing
for a taste of Mother's biscuits and Christine's pies. And then the
letter fell back into reminiscences of old days, as Neil's letters had
a habit of doing.
"Do you remember, Mother, when we were little and any danger
threatened, I was always the shy one who ran and got behind your
skirts? And do you remember you were always saying to John and me, and
especially to me, 'Lads must be brave?' It was not so bad, I remember
your saying, if Ellen or Mary were to take fright when a stranger came
to the house, or Mr. Sinclair called to hear our Catechism, but it was
a real disgrace for a boy. 'Lads must be brave' was your slogan. And
many a time it has braced me in hard places since. Out on the prairie,
for instance, when it was deadly lonesome, and the work seemed to be no
use, and down here in the city when I gave out my text the night I
preached in Hamilton Street Church, and looked up and saw old Professor
Johnstone sitting straight in front of me, looking at his boots. I
tell you, Mother, the consolations of religion were not so upholding at
such moments as your 'Lads must be brave.'
"And how it has been 'dingin' in my ears these days to fairly deeve
me," as Tremendous K. would say. "The bugle calls it every morning
when the boys march out on the campus. I see it in every headline of
the paper; I hear it in every call for men, and I'm afraid I haven't
wanted to listen. I have wanted my life to run along a smooth road,
the one I have planned for myself; a fine church with a big salary,
plenty of time to study and a little to travel, and you sitting in the
Manse pew with the best silk dress in the church. That has been my
programme. But the pleasant road was not the way the Master went, and
the servant cannot choose. He trod the hard way, and there is not the
slightest doubt in my mind which way He wants me to go. I know you are
guessing already at what I am going to ask of you. And now I must turn
upon you with your own slogan and say, 'Mothers must be brave!' Oh,
how brave and gallant they must be in these days, only they can know.
But I know you, Mother, well enough to tell that you will say yes when
I ask you to be brave enough to let me enlist. It is not a matter of
choice with me, I am constrained. Woe is me if I go not to Belgium!"
"I wish I could say this is all I am asking you to give up. Is it too
much that we ask you to let Sandy go, too? He is more eager than I and
saw his duty clearly from the first. We both realise that yours is the
hardest part. But your sons couldn't be slackers. And after all the
war may not last so long, and we'll be home before you know it. Sandy
will likely be a general, and who knows but I may get to be a
lance-corporal!"
There was more in the same light strain and a note for Christina from
Sandy, saying he was taking the officers' course and she must remember
when he came home to say "sir" to him when she addressed him.
But Christina did not read the letter through at first. When the full
meaning of it burst upon her she turned to her mother, expecting to see
tears, but instead her mother's small bent figure had grown suddenly
straight and her eyes were shining with a strange mingling of pride and
anguish.
"Oh, Mother!" cried Christina, "oh, don't I wish I were a boy!"
"Whisht, whisht!" cried her mother, "I could ill spare you, Christine,
I can ill spare the lads." And then she rose and went quietly into the
bedroom and shut the door, and Christina knew that her mother had gone
for strength to bear this trial to the source of all power.
When Wallace came up the hill the next evening, he found the Lindsays
in a state of subdued excitement. Christina's cheeks were crimson and
her eyes shone until she looked positively handsome.
"Sandy and Neil are both going to the war," she cried half in dismay,
half in exultation.
"Are they really?" asked Wallace. "They're lucky. This beastly
breakdown of mine has spoiled all my chances. My, I'd like to be in
their boots!"
Christina felt a sudden rising of resentment. "I don't think they are
a bit lucky," she burst forth. "You surely don't call it lucky to go
to the front and get badly wounded, and perhaps killed?"
Wallace smiled a superior smile. "There's not much danger of that.
The boys won't get over there for a year at best, and the war will
likely be all over by that time. Germany can't stand this strain for
many more months."
Christina had a distinct feeling of disappointment. She had wanted
Wallace to admire the boys for all they were giving up, and he was
calling them lucky, and maintaining an envious attitude as though they
were off on a free trip to Europe. She changed the subject hastily and
he did not refer to the war again that evening.
Jimmie and Uncle Neil alone were filled with rejoicing. Uncle Neil
felt an exultation that he was at pains to hide. He said little, for
his sister's anguished eyes forbade that he voice the pride that was
consuming him, but he sat up half the night playing his fiddle, and for
the next few days he went about whistling all the warlike songs he knew.
The news was shouted to Grandpa, along with extracts from Neil's
letter, before he went to bed. He made little comment, merely saying
that "they were fine lads and would do their duty." But Christina knew
he was deeply grieved that Neil should be turned aside from the
ministry. He expressed no sorrow but he did not sing the Hindmost Hymn
and the next morning at family worship he read,
"Why art thou cast down, oh, my soul, and why art thou disquieted
within me?"