THE HILLS ABOVE ORCHARD GLEN
As soon as the word reached Craig-Ellachie that Gavin was to be sent
home to Canada, Orchard Glen began to bustle about for a grand
celebration when he arrived.
Tremendous K. got the biggest choir together that the village had ever
seen; a harmonious jumble of Presbyterians, Methodists and Baptists.
And the children of the three Sunday Schools united in a grand chorus,
and Minnie Brown and Martha Henderson worked like slaves teaching them
songs and patriotic exercises, all denominations so mixed up nobody
could tell which was which.
Mr. Sinclair was chairman of the committee to plan the celebration with
Mr. Wylie and the Baptist minister as his assistants. And nobody
raised the slightest objection when, at the very first meeting,
Marmaduke proposed that they invite Piper Lauchie McDonald to come down
from Glenoro and play Gavin home from the station.
Mr. Wylie nodded, and said "A good idea," and old Tory Brown himself
spoke up and said, "Yes, yes, let's have the buddy. I don't like his
noise, myself, but Gavin will be pleased. He aye liked the pipes."
And Piper Lauchie was vastly pleased when he received the invitation
and graciously declared that he would set his vow aside, not for the
sake of Orchard Glen, but out of his reverence for the Victoria Cross,
and permit the misguided folk to listen to his music once more.
Every one was pleased furthermore because the public reception was to
be held in the Temperance Hall instead of the Presbyterian Church, for
it was felt that for this occasion Gavin belonged to the whole village,
no Church should claim them. And this arrangement suited the good folk
who were alarmed at the possibility of hearing the piper in church, for
as old Willie Henderson said, "Even though the lad did a great deed,
that was no reason why the people of the village should pollute the
House o' God."
So the Hero was to be received in the Temperance Hall where Gavin had
sung his songs of heroic deeds, none so great as that he had done
himself. Then after the reception, with speeches and singing, all were
to gather in the basement of the Methodist Church for a great supper.
The Red Cross work was to be cleared away for the occasion, and tables
were to be set that would hold all the township of Oro. And if the
weather was fine the supper was to be taken out to the church lawn and
everybody was to have a real good old-fashioned picnic.
Young Mrs. Martin, who had once taught school, and knew how things
should be done, suggested that they arrange the supper in a more up to
date style. It could be held in the Hall also, and everybody could sit
down to the tables first and have the speeches after, as was the proper
way. But The Woman, who was running the affair, would not listen to
her.
"When you want to eat, why eat and be done with it, says I," she
commanded. "But this mixing up of a concert and speeches with the food
and dirty dishes on a table, I just can't abide. And the idea is
nothing but some foolishness of them town trollops who don't know how
to do things right anyways."
So, when everything was arranged so perfectly, and the two choirs could
sing "O Canada" and "Keep the Home Fires Burning" without a flaw, and
sufficient sandwiches and cakes and pies had been promised to feed all
the Blue Bonnets had they been coming home, it was something of a shock
to everybody's nerves when the astounding intelligence was received
that the people of Algonquin were actually claiming Gavin as their own,
and were arranging a reception for him at Algonquin on the very same
day!
Fortunately Mrs. Johnnie Dunn discovered in time what Algonquin was up
to. The Woman was now the President of the Red Cross Society in name,
as well as in reality, as poor Mrs. Sutherland had withdrawn from all
social life since her bitter disappointment over Wallace. And while
she was attending a Red Cross meeting in Algonquin, Mrs. Johnnie made
her amazing discovery. She called her forces together immediately upon
her return home and told them all the deadly plot of the towns-people
in a red hot speech that was talked about for years afterwards.
It appeared that the Algonquin people, with their unfailing habit of
gobbling up everything that came near them, had calmly appropriated the
Victoria Cross hero as their own, just because the company of the Blue
Bonnets to which he belonged had drilled for a few months in their
town! And they had published all over the countryside that he was an
Algonquin boy. He was to be met at the station,--just as if he had
nobody belonging to him,--by the Mayor, and the Council, and a member
of Parliament, and what not. And there was to be a little girl all
dressed up fit to kill, who would hand him a bunch of flowers! To
Gavin Grant, who had all the Craig-Ellachie garden waiting for him!
And then he was to be taken up to the Town Hall and set down to a
banquet, with long speeches by all the preachers in the town, right in
the middle of the eating; one of those messed-up affairs where you sat
round amongst the dirty dishes and had speeches and singing all mixed
up with your meat and potatoes.
Yes, it was true,--every word of it! It was the Algonquin President
herself who told her,--that forward woman who was always teaching them
how to sew a band on a shirt. And it was all the talk at the Red Cross
meeting in town about the wonderful reception that was to be given to
their returned soldier.
"Who's the reception for?" says I, "for I hadn't heard of any one in
Algonquin that had done anything but dodge the recruiting officer?"
"Why one of our boys won the V. C. at the front," says she, "didn't you
hear about it?"
"The V. C.!" says I, gettin' suspicious, "it's the first time I ever
heard that any soldier from this town got anything but C. B." says I.
"Oh, yes," says she, as sweet as honey, "why, didn't you see in the
papers about Gavin Grant getting the V. C.? He's one of our Algonquin
boys. He enlisted here in The Blue Bonnets!"
And then another woman speaks up and says she, "'Why Mrs. Dunn,' says
she, 'it's a wonder you don't know Gavin Grant. I think he comes from
somewhere near Orchard Glen,' says she!"
"'Well' says I, 'it is a wonder; that's a fact! I don't seem to know
as much about him as I thought I did. He's lived almost on the next
farm to me since he was the size of a grasshopper,' says I, 'but this
is the first time I ever heard that he belonged to Algonquin!' says I."
"Well, I tell you, that blew down their clothes-line in a hurry;
especially when I told them that he was to be recepted at his own home
on the very day they were planning their spree."
"They got into a terrible sweat, and one of the women ran and
telephoned the Mayor's office, and the Mayor came runnin' over as if
the town had caught fire. He was in a great sputter I tell you, when I
let him know that he'd put his horse into the wrong stall. You'd think
it had turned out that Gavin was a German spy."
"'Why, Mrs. Dunn,' says he, 'we've got all our arrangements made,' says
he, 'and Mr. Leigh, the member, is spoken for,' says he, 'and, you'll
just have to put yours on for the next afternoon,' says he, 'we really
can't change now!'"
"'Well,' says I, 'I wouldn't have you stop Corny Leigh from makin' a
speech, for all the world,' says I, 'I know how hard it would be on
him,' says I, 'but I don't see how you'll manage,' says I, 'seein' that
Gavin Grant, V. C., is going' to get off at Silver Creek Crossing, on
the other side of Orchard Glen!' says I."
This was an inspiration on The Woman's part, and her audience burst
into clapping. Silver Creek was a little station away back in the
woods, and Orchard Glen lay midway between it and Algonquin. It was
merely a flag station set away in the swamp, and not a fitting place to
meet a hero home from the war, but every one agreed that in this
emergency it proved a real refuge from the greed of Algonquin. It was
a grand notion of The Woman's, and all Orchard Glen fairly held its
sides laughing at the enemy's discomfiture.
So there was nothing for the vanquished but a retreat. They
accomplished it hastily, and dug themselves in, there to await a later
opportunity when Gavin would be received in proper style after Orchard
Glen had got over blowing its trumpets.
But Orchard Glen had to learn that they could not keep Gavin quite to
themselves. A reporter from one of the Algonquin weekly papers came
out to the village; and later a couple of representatives of Toronto
papers. They all had dinner at Craig-Ellachie and they took pictures
of the old house, and of the three Aunties in the garden, and another
of Auntie Elspie spinning in the door way. And they carried off a
photograph of Gavin in his Highland bonnet and kilt, and it was all
published in a great page of the Saturday issue, the pictures of the
beautiful old home, and the thrilling tale of Gavin's glorious deed,
with his picture in the centre of it all, and underneath his
battle-cry, "Stand Fast, Craig-Ellachie!"
And the Aunties were so proud and happy, that they could neither eat
nor sleep, but just wandered about the house and garden in a happy daze.
And through all the interviews, not one of the clever, keen-scented
reporters, discovered that the hero had been just a poor waif from an
Orphan Asylum that Auntie Elspie had plucked as a brand from the
furnace of Skinflint Jenkins's cruelty.
The Grant Girls were eager to guard the secret, but that required some
finesse of which they were entirely incapable. But Mrs. Johnnie Dunn
was equal to any occasion, and she managed to be at Craig-Ellachie
during the interviews. She kept close to the reporters, answering all
their questions, and forestalling any that might be embarrassing.
Without making any direct statements that might hurt the tender
consciences of the Aunties, she led the newspaper men gently along a
train of thought that ended in the firm impression that Gavin was the
only child of their brother, with all his virtues and many more of his
own. It was a subtle suggestion of The Woman's that made the youngest
reporter notice a strong resemblance between Gavin's photograph and
Aunt Janet. And indeed The Woman made such a fine story for the
visitors, encouraging them along any and every bypath that their
imagination might suggest, that not even Auntie Elspie could recognise
her quiet, unassuming, reticent boy in the prancing warrior that Mrs.
Johnnie Dunn permitted the representatives of the press to create.
The discovery of the perfidy of Algonquin in trying to steal Gavin made
some re-arrangement for his reception necessary. As he was to be met
at the quiet little nook in the swamp, instead of the noisy station at
Algonquin, young Mrs. Martin made her second suggestion. It was that
they have their programme and addresses of welcome right there in the
open, beside the Silver Creek, and the more informal part, the supper,
and some of the performances by the children, on their return.
This new arrangement met with every one's approval; even The Woman felt
it would be a good idea to welcome Gavin properly right at the station,
as soon as he stepped off. For the papers had all announced that
Orchard Glen was preparing a grand home-coming for their hero, and who
knew but there might be half-a-dozen reporters on the train to take
notes of how they were doing it?
At last the word for which every one was waiting came. Gavin had
reached Toronto; the hospital authorities were releasing him for a
time, and the day for his home-coming was set! Sandy Lindsay was in
Toronto at the time, and he wrote to Christina that he would be up with
Gavin. For the hero of the Victoria Cross dreaded this public
reception more than German gas, and insisted upon having some support
when he was compelled to march into it.
So Sandy took matters in his own hands and telegraphed Mr. Sinclair
that Gavin would arrive at Silver Creek on the two-thirty train, on a
Friday afternoon, and Orchard Glen sat up half the night before getting
ready.
Christina had never taken such a long time dressing in her life as she
did that afternoon. At first she was seized with a sudden panic of
shyness, and told herself she would not go. She knew the girls
gossiped about her sudden change of heart, and her relation to Gavin
was no secret. For the Aunties had been too happy to keep from
telling, and Mrs. Sutherland had not been guiltless of making
Christina's faithlessness public.
The girls were rather inclined to feel sorry for Christina. It did not
seem possible that any girl would choose Gavin Grant, even with a
Victoria Cross, in preference to Wallace Sutherland with the Ford
place, and the only true explanation of the affair was that Wallace had
changed. On the other hand, Bell Brown declared that Christina Lindsay
was not like other girls and no one could tell what she would do.
So Christina well knew that they were talking about her, and at first
she declared she would stay home with her mother and Uncle Neil. But
the Aunties made it clear that they expected her to go, and she could
not bear that they be disappointed on this the greatest day of their
lives. And then Gavin would be disappointed too, and that would be
still worse, and she had to confess to her honest heart that Christina
would be more disappointed than any one, for she was impatient to see
her hero, and quite as eager to go as the Aunties themselves.
So she put away all her fears, and spent a most unreasonable length of
time getting herself ready. She wound her shining braids around her
head and put on her best white dress and her white hat, and reverently
fastened the purple band on her arm, for the dear ones who would never
come home, but who were somewhere near in the free outer ring of being
just beyond the painful confines of her life. And when she was all
ready, with her golden hair and her eyes so blue, as Gavin had so often
sung, she looked very young and fair, and far more beautiful than any
Lindsay girl had ever yet looked.
The weather was perfect, such a glorious day of blank blue skies, with
the smooth shaven fields lying golden-brown in the sunshine. Here and
there a field showed sheaves of wheat standing in khaki-coloured groups
like soldiers on guard. Nobody cared that the Air Service of the
clouds might bomb them with silver bullets before night, for how could
any one stay home and haul in his crop when one of their own boys was
coming home bearing the Victoria Cross?
The crowd gathered at the corner, where the order of the procession was
to be arranged. Piper Lauchie was there early this time and was
marching up and down the store veranda, so that nobody could come in or
out, and playing gloriously. Mrs. Johnnie Dunn brought her new car to
carry the three Aunties, with a space reserved for Gavin. Mr. Holmes
had recently bought a Ford and he came next with the piper, a piece of
real Christian sacrifice on the store-keeper's part. He was followed
by the ministers, all crowded amicably into one single buggy, where
there was no room for denominational differences. Next came the choir,
spreading over three big democrats, and following them, the Hendersons'
hay wagon with the children piled into it three deep. Ordinary
individuals came next without any order of precedence, and as far down
the line as possible, Christina sat beside John in their single buggy.
The procession made a brave showing, with the long line of vehicles
stretching from the corner away up the hill and down the other side,
every one decorated with flags and streamers, and Piper Lauchie
standing up in the Holmes' car playing loud enough to be heard in
Algonquin.
But not all the rest of the procession together could compare in
display with Mrs. Johnnie Dunn's car where the three Aunties sat
arrayed as no even the Grant Girls had ever appeared in public. Auntie
Elspie wore a sea-green brocaded satin, trimmed with silk fringe;
Auntie Flora was in a dazzling silk of an ancient "changeable" variety,
that was now purple and now gold, and a wonderful beaded cape of black
velvet. And Auntie Janet was in her ruby velvet with a rose silk
fringed parasol that turned to flame when the sun struck it. And
beside they had the car filled with flowers and each Auntie carried a
little posie of rosemary and pinks, Gavin's favourites of all the
garden.
"We wanted him to smell the rosemary as soon as he got off the train,"
explained Auntie Flora, "and then he would feel he was at home."
The procession were a bright and beautiful sight, indeed, and the Grant
Girls' faces, so shining and young and eager, were the brightest thing
in all the gay throng that started out to bring Gavin home.
Mrs. Johnnie Dunn had them all put into their proper places at last and
away they went skimming down the sunny River Road, under the towering
elms that fringed the highway, with the golden harvest-fields, where
the khaki-coloured sheaves stood up like soldiers on guard, smiling on
either hand, and the winding reaches of the Silver Creek peeping out
from the green, here and there, with a flash like an unsheathed sword.
The Woman had arranged the programme to be given at the Crossing, so
that there was no possibility of anything going wrong. The choirs were
to line up, right in front of the place where the train would stop,
with the Piper behind them, ready to play at the first sight of the
train coming out of the swamp. Indeed the Piper was The Woman's one
anxiety. She was afraid he could not be induced to stop in time for
the children to come in with their chorus, and she had cautioned
Marmaduke to give his old shawl a good jerk and choke him off before it
was too late.
It had been arranged, very prettily, that the Piper was to play until
the train came to a stop, then he was to stop too, and the children
were to burst into "O Canada," and were to sing it with all their
might, standing up in the wagon and waving their flags. While this was
going on Gavin would be getting off the train and was to be welcomed by
the ministers and Dr. McGarry and Mr. Holmes, the special committee
appointed for the purpose. Then the committee was to lead him to the
car where the Grant Girls were sitting, and while he was meeting them,
Marmaduke was to give the signal, and all were to burst into three
cheers, and the boys had promised they would be such cheers as had
never before wakened up the echoes of the swamp.
When Gavin was properly seated, both the choirs, and indeed everybody,
were to join in singing his regimental song, "All the Blue Bonnets are
over the Border."
And when that was finished Mr. Sinclair was to read the address, and
Mr. Wylie and the Baptist minister were to say a few words, and if
Auntie Elspie could make him, Gavin was then to step out upon the
platform and give his reply. And Auntie Elspie had promised to do her
best, but would give no assurance of success.
When this was over, there was to be another patriotic song by the
choirs, then the Piper could have a chance again, and every one was to
climb back into their rigs, and they would all go back home and have
such a supper as nobody would believe until they saw it!
It was really to be a fine welcome home, and Orchard Glen could not
help feeling some regret, that Algonquin's mean habit of hero-snatching
should have prevented the whole town witnessing the splendid scene.
When they all drew up with much noise and dust at Silver Creek
Crossing, the crowd made a great stir in the lonely place, and the
sound of their gay voices echoed far away into the swamp as they
arranged themselves around the tiny platform, and along the green bank
of the stream.
Willie Meek, the one inhabitant of the lonely place, came out of his
tiny habitation with a tattered cloth on a stick and stood ready to
flag the train. And then when every one was ready and waiting, of
course the Martin children were constrained to stir up trouble! As
soon as the children's choir was put into its proper place, these two
"limbs," as Mrs. Johnnie Dunn called them, slipped away from the
confines of the hay wagon, and no one missed them till a terrible
scream from the crossing bridge announced that one of them had fallen
into the creek.
Mrs. Martin echoed the scream and called out as she always did in time
of disaster, "Oh, Alfred!" And Alfred left his horses and ran to the
rescue. Willie Meek dropped his flag and Piper Lauchie dropped his
pipes, and joined the crowd that was pulling the eldest Martin out of
the soft mud and water of the creek. And at the same moment the shriek
of the train just on the other side of the bend came thrilling through
the woods. Tremendous K. saw that there was nobody to flag the train
and he rushed gallantly onto the track, waving his hands and shouting
on the monster to stop.
But they might have known that the train would stop if there had been
no one there at all. For all the way from Toronto hadn't two returned
soldiers been tormenting the conductor with warnings to stop at Silver
Creek Crossing, if he valued his life. And at every station he would
come into then and say hopefully, "Only six more stops, boys," or "Just
five more, and we're there," and finally it had been "Silver Creek
comes next," and, with fine sarcasm, "Did you say you wanted to get off
there?"
And so, when the train swept round the bend out of the swamp, with a
shriek and a roar, and came thundering down upon the Crossing, there
was no need for Tremendous K., who, nevertheless, stood his ground in
the middle of the track, waving his arms to be quite sure there was no
danger of its tearing through, and carrying Gavin on to Algonquin.
The roaring monster stopped with a grumbling of brakes and an impatient
hissing of steam, with Gavin's car right in front of the waiting crowd.
All eyes were turned upon the two khaki-clad figures. The young
officer was in the background, the kilted figure was on the step.
Gavin was leaning far out, his eager eyes sweeping the crowd. He
looked very tall and very, very thin, with a red spot burning on either
sunken cheek, but his eyes were bright and he stood up very straight
and looked a gallant figure for all he held a heavy stick in his one
hand, and his poor empty sleeve was tucked into his pocket.
And at the sight of him Auntie Elspie gave a cry, and before any of the
committee could get near him, Gavin had fairly fallen off the car
platform, and at the same moment the three Aunties had tumbled from the
car where they were supposed to sit decorously, and the four were in
each other's arms, and the Grant Girls were crying over their battered
hero, as they had not cried even when they heard he was lying dead on
the battlefield of France. And Gavin, half-laughing, half-crying,
himself, was trying to gather the three of them into his one poor arm
which was needed so badly for his supporting stick!
And all Orchard Glen stood and looked on in dead silence, with a lump
in every throat and a mist in every eye, and everybody forgot entirely
that there was such a thing as a programme to be followed.
Finally, Mr. Sinclair and Dr. McGarry led the Aunties back to the car
and as Gavin climbed in he cried out, "Oh, Auntie Flora, I'm really
home. I smell the garden." And the Aunties took to crying harder than
ever.
Then all the mothers, who were weeping in sympathy, came and hugged and
kissed him, and shed tears over him, and all the rest left their
appointed places and crowded round the hero to get in a word of
welcome, and speakers and choir and everybody got all mixed up in
hopeless confusion.
Nobody noticed that the train had pulled out again, and that every one
on board (and who knew but half of them might be newspaper reporters?)
had seen the Orchard Glen had done nothing but stand and stare in
perfect silence when one of their boys came home bearing the Victoria
Cross, and what would the people of Algonquin say when they heard?
But nobody thought of all this just yet, not even The Woman, for she
too was crying over Gavin's empty sleeve, and thinking of the one who
would never come back. Every one was coming up to shake his hand now
and Gavin's eyes were wandering searchingly over the crowd, even when
Marmaduke and Tremendous K. and the minister were making him welcome.
And suddenly the restless, hungry look was replaced by a flash of
rapture, for Christina, all flushed and trembling, and looking more
beautiful than any one would have dreamed she could look, came forward,
hanging tightly to Sandy's arm. She forgot all about the crowd for
just a moment, when she took his one hand in both hers, and whispered,
"Oh, Gavin!" And he looked at her with his eyes shining and said with
equal incoherence, "Oh, Christine!"
They stood for a moment looking into each other's eyes, the world
blotted out, and remembered the night they parted. And they did not
say what they had expected to say at all. For Gavin whispered, looking
at her dress, "You are wearing my pin." And she looked down for her
ring, and remembered that the hand that had worn it was gone! And she
could only look at him with the tears welling up in her eyes, and then
she was pushed on to make room for Tilly who was crying her pretty eyes
out for no reason at all. It was not much of an interview, but it was
a very great deal to the lovers, and the red spot that had faded from
Gavin's cheeks at the first sight of Christina, flamed up again, and he
rallied Tilly gaily and asked her was she sorry that he had come home?
And when the mothers had all kissed him and bewailed him and rejoiced
over him again, and they had all climbed into their cars and buggies,
and Piper Lauchie had tuned up for a homeward march, The Woman suddenly
remembered that there had been no singing and no addresses and no
programme and nothing but dead silence and tears to welcome the hero of
the Victoria Cross on his return from the war!
It was perfectly outrageous, and not to be tolerated for a moment. She
sprang from her car, leaving Gavin and his Aunts to themselves, and
shouted to Tremendous K. and Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Holmes to come right
back and do it all over again!
But nobody paid the slightest attention. The procession was already
moving down the road without the slightest regard to order. The strain
had been removed, and everybody seemed seized with a joyous madness.
Even Mr. Sinclair waved his hat and laughed at her as his buggy swung
past, leaving the hero in the rear.
Then Marmaduke forsook his companions and without asking permission
scrambled into her car with Gavin, and sat on the silk fringe of Auntie
Elspie's dress, and shouted and waved encouragement to every one that
passed while The Woman screamed expostulations.
"Never mind," he roared, to each one, "we didn't forget to flag the
train!" and from each buggy and car the long delayed cheers burst forth.
In spite of all her efforts the procession dashed away. Though it
wasn't a real procession at all, but a joyous scramble, with every one
getting in every one else's way. The children would not go back into
their hay-wagon, but scrambled all over into the best cars, and the
girls in the choir got mixed up with the boys in single buggies, and a
crowd of foolish young fellows got into Mr. Holmes' car with the Piper,
and actually persuaded that staid and proper pillar of the Baptist
Church to race with Dr. McGarry. And the Piper was so shaken up he
couldn't play at all. And young Mr. Martin's horse took fright at the
noise and confusion, and nearly ran away, and just escaped throwing all
the children into the ditch. And so they all scampered gaily,
helter-skelter, back to the village, the hero far in the rear, hidden
in clouds of dust, with his friends gambolling ahead. And indeed
Gavin's homecoming was no more like a triumphal procession than any of
the foot-ball games in which he used to take part in the river pasture.
But whatever faults The Woman or Tremendous K. might have found with
his reception, it was perfect in Gavin's eyes and the eyes of the three
Aunties. For all its mistakes were but the result of the overwhelming
sympathy and joy of his friends, and relief that the Aunties had not,
after all, lost the light of their eyes. And indeed if no one had met
him but had left him to find his way to Craig-Ellachie alone, and
afterwards over the hills to Christina, Gavin would have been perfectly
happy. For he was still much the same shy boy who had gone away, with
no thought of glory or public notice, but only a simple desire to do
his duty. He was not a boy any more, for he had been through scenes
that make men old, and the remembrance of them lingered in his deep
eyes, and showed in a new staidness of manner. But he was the same
simple-hearted Gavin, reticent and unassuming and in his heart he
almost could wish, except for the joy it gave his Aunties, that he had
never heard of the Victoria Cross. He had only done his duty, he
repeated over and over, and all the men at the Front were doing that.
And so he lay back among the cushions, surrounded by flowers, his one
hand in Auntie Elspie's, and looked with shining eyes, not at the
beautiful familiar bits of landscape which were passing, and to which
the Aunties were calling his attention, but at the gleam of a
golden-brown head that was occasionally visible from John Lindsay's
buggy. Marmaduke pointed out this and that historical landmark; the
hill where they used to go coasting in winter; the old burnt stump up
which Gavin had climbed to get the hawk's nest one day at recess; the
hole below the mill where the teacher forbade them to swim and into
which they all plunged at noon quite regularly, and Gavin smiled and
nodded, and saw nothing but the gleam of gold ahead.
Whatever had been wrong with the reception and the procession, no fault
could be found with the supper. It had been set outdoors on the church
lawn, and the tables were so ladened with chicken and ham and jellies
and salads and cake and pie, that instinctively the men took off their
coats before sitting down to the attack. And after everything was
eaten nobody seemed able either to hear or make a speech. And there
was no music and no programme, for the juvenile choir, after gorging
itself in a truly dangerous fashion, went out into the dust of the
village street, and played tag and hide-and-seek, and not even the Pied
Piper, himself, could have collected them again. And the other choir
was either waiting on the tables, or eating so much that they couldn't
sing either.
The address was read, but there was so much noise and joyous running to
and fro that not even Gavin heard it. And his speech was as short as a
speech could possibly be, just a word of thanks for himself and his
Aunts and his oft reiterated statement, he had only done his duty, and
all the fellows at the Front, and many at home were doing that.
But everybody had a grand time, nevertheless, such a time of laughing
and talking and eating together as had not been experienced in Orchard
Glen since the fell day the Piper came to rend the village
asunder,--the Piper, who was at this very moment cementing it again
with "Tullochgorum," which he was blowing uproariously as he marched up
and down in front of the Methodist Church!
When Christina reached home she found there was little work to be done.
Uncle Neil and Mitty had come home early and had already finished the
milking. Sandy was tired and had stretched himself in the hammock, to
have a talk with his mother. Contrary to her custom Christina did not
lay aside her white dress for a plainer garb. She spent a long time
rearranging the shining crown of her braids, and when the shadows of
the poplars began to stretch across the garden, she slipped away
through the barn-yard and up the back lane, up to the sun-lit hill top,
where Gavin had promised to meet her.
The peace of evening was falling with the dew. From far down in the
village came the sound of children's voices, beyond the orchards a
binder was singing its way through the golden fields. Up on the hill
top there was a sense of remoteness from the world, all sound and
movement seemed far away. Only the vesper sparrows were here, filling
the amber twilight with their soft murmurs, and away in the dim green
aisles of the Slash a phoebe was calling sweetly. Christina came up
into the light of the setting sun, and when Gavin's eyes first spied
her, its rays were lighting up her white gown and touching her
uncovered head to pure gold. He took off his Scotch bonnet at the
sight of her.
There was an old heavy gate opening from his fields, and Christina, who
was lingering that Gavin might come to her, saw that he was trying
vainly to open it with his one hand, his stick held under what remained
of his poor left arm. She forgot all her shyness and her pride at the
sight, forgot everything but that Gavin needed her, and ran swiftly to
him, down the green woodland pathway.
She took the heavy gate in her strong, brown hands and pushed it back.
"Oh, Gavin," she cried radiantly, "I will have to be your other hand,
won't I?"
Even Gavin's unready tongue could not miss this great opportunity,
"Yes, you will be everything,--my whole life, Christine," he murmured.
The heavy gate between them was open at last. It had been a long, hard
climb, up their separate hills of suffering and self-sacrifice, but
they had come up steadily and bravely. And now they met, and stood
hand in hand, on the rosy hill-top.
THE END