old log bridge; a fine place for paddling with bare feet, but the two
adventurers had no time for any such trivial pastime. They plunged
into the undergrowth and followed the stream through a riotous
confusion of long grasses and shrubs, where the yellow touch-me-not,
the pink willow weed, the tall white turtle-head, and the blazing
golden-rod grew in a tangle of wild beauty. They scrambled along with
joyous shouts, sometimes on land, more often in the water. Frequently
they had to stoop and crawl beneath the green canopy of birch and elm
and willow that covered the stream and through which the golden
sunbeams scarcely struggled to the cool, brown surface. Out in the
open spaces the dragon fly darted here and there like a little blue
spear. The shy trout fled dismayed before the two noisy intruders; the
waxen blossoms of the arrowhead, the broad shining leaves and
golden-hearted blossoms of the water lily and the stately blue spikes
of the pickerel weed bent before their ruthless tramping. A
kingfisher, startled from his day's work by the uproarious pair, shot
down the stream, his derisive laugh echoing far through the leafy
avenue. The two almost forgot the great import of their journey in its
delight. Scotty splashed ahead, capering from fallen log to sunken
stump; and after him came his faithful follower, bespattered with mud,
dripping wet, even to the crown of her golden curls, and filling the
air with her joyous shrieks of laughter over Scotty's wild antics.
And to crown their happy excursion, as they came round a sudden bend in
the stream, there came a splashing sound ahead; a welcoming shout
greeted them, and here was Danny sailing down upon them, his red head
shining like a beacon in the stern of the pirate ship! They wasted
very little time in making known the grave reason for their visit, and
to their surprise they found that Danny knew much more about the
Caldwell-MacDonald trouble than they did.
Sure, wasn't his brother Mike telling them only last night that Nancy
wasn't allowed to go outside the gate, though she fought like a tiger
about it; and Tom Caldwell had said he'd kill Callum Fiach if he came
near the place; and Nancy had said she'd murder anybody that laid a
finger on him. Nancy was good stuff, and if there was any scheme for
outwitting the Caldwells, Danny was their man.
But this was grave news, and somewhat dampening to the ardour of the
adventurous spirits.
So they pulled the old punt up under the birches and sat in it with
their three heads, black, gold and red, very close together, and
concocted a new plan. The line of procedure finally settled upon was
not quite so romantic as Scotty had intended, but it answered. Danny
had access to the Caldwell home; no one would suspect him; he must see
Nancy, and offer their services as well as those of their vessel, and
meanwhile Scotty was to interview Callum, and if he had any message to
send to Nancy, then Danny would carry it.
They all went home bursting with their prodigious secret; and Scotty,
whose forest breeding had made reticence easy, never ceased all the way
home to warn Isabel of the fearful consequences of disclosure.
He could scarcely wait for an opportunity to speak to Callum alone, but
at last supper was over and the chores all done; and he crept out to
the barn where he had seen the young man disappear. He found him in
the loft, lying gloomily upon the hay; and, hesitating and fearful lest
Callum would ridicule or blame him for his interference, he made his
confession. Callum suddenly sat up and gazed into the bright eager
face with its big sparkling eyes. He sprang to his feet.
"Horo!" he shouted, and catching the boy up flung him over his head
into the hay; and when Scotty came laughing and breathless to his feet
he was filled with amazement and concern to see that there were tears
in Callum's eyes.
And so a letter was carried, but not without difficulties encountered.
Kirsty proved the first obstacle. She declared she was just going to
put a stop to such stravogin', and would not let the lass go near that
dirty crick again, for she always came home wringing wet. Isabel swept
away this barrier in a flood of tears, and all other difficulties were
met and dealt with in an equally summary manner. Danny's dangerous
part of the task was executed with wonderful skill and an answer was
piloted safely back.
They were all three somewhat disappointed when Callum announced that
the proceedings must stop there. Danny was inclined to rebel, and
Isabel failed to explain such conduct. But Scotty found ample
compensation for their restriction in the happy change in Callum. His
old gaiety came back, his eyes sparkled, and he would snatch up Isabel
and go leaping about the house with her perched shrieking upon his
shoulder, just as he used to do in the happy days before the Orangemen
came to blight their home.
Matters were improving in other places too. Big Malcolm's second stage
of repentance, a period of prayer and fasting, had passed; he had come
once more into his old contented state, sure of the forgiveness of his
Heavenly Father for the wrong done, and determined by His grace never
again to fall. News reached the Oa, too, that Nancy Caldwell had
suddenly given up her rebellious outbursts and had settled down meekly
to her fate, and Tom Caldwell boasted all over the Flats that she
wouldn't take Callum Fiach if all the MacDonalds in the Oa came to back
him up.
And so Scotty found life happy again, and he and Isabel once more
settled down contentedly to housekeeping beneath the Silver Maple. But
the summer passed and old Brian came and took his comrade away, and
Scotty wept secretly in the haymow all the evening after her departure.
The next morning he arose with a distinct consciousness of loss
sustained. Isabel was not the only one who had left apparently. When
they sat down to breakfast Callum had not yet appeared. No one marked
his absence until Big Malcolm came in from the barn.
"Where will Callum be?" he inquired as he helped himself to his
porridge. Rory kept his eyes upon his plate, but Hamish answered in a
troubled tone, "I'll not know, father. Mebby he would be at the north
clearing, whatever. He would not be coming home last night."
Big Malcolm continued his meal with knitted brows. Suddenly he looked
up and caught a startled expression in his wife's eyes.
"What is it?" he asked anxiously.
Mrs. MacDonald's fingers were working tremulously with the hem of her
apron. "I would be thinking," she faltered, "it will be the day--the
day that was set!"
"Hoots!" cried Big Malcolm, "that will be nothing, whatever."
But a sudden ominous silence fell over the breakfast table; this was to
have been Callum's wedding day, and Callum had not appeared. The
stillness was broken by Bruce, who rose up from underneath the table
with the short bark that announced a well-known visitor. A shadow fell
over the threshold, still pink in the glow of the rising sun. Big
Malcolm looked up in surprise.
"You will be early, Jimmie!" he called heartily as the Weaver stood in
the doorway, "come away, man, and be having a bite!"
But Weaver Jimmie shook his head; he stood at the door struggling with
feet and whiskers, and apparently more than usually overcome by
embarrassment.
"I would like to be speakin' to you, Malcolm," he said. There was a
look in his face that brought the three men instantly to the doorway.
Scotty, straining his ears to catch their low remarks, could hear only,
"Run-away--Lake Simcoe." Granny arose, her face white.
"Malcolm," she whispered, "Malcolm, what is this about our son Callum?"
Big Malcolm turned. There was a look in his eyes that had not been
there since the day the Orangemen were defeated; but it suddenly faded
at the sight of her white, pained face.
"It will jist be nothing, whatever," he said gently. "They would be
saying the girl was off this morning, but Jimmie will not be sure.
Come, lads."
The four men went away without another word, passing quickly through
the barnyard and up the path that led into the woods. The mother arose
and knelt by the bedside in the corner so long that Scotty could bear
his burden of guilt no longer. He crept up to her, and when she put
her arms about him he sobbed out his dreadful secret; how he and Isabel
and Danny had carried a letter to Nancy, and another one back to
Callum; and perhaps that was what made Callum run away. And oh, oh, he
didn't know it was wicked or he wouldn't have done it; only she must
not blame Isabel; it wasn't her fault.
But Granny blamed no one. She listened gravely to his story, and to
Scotty's supreme relief seemed a little comforted by it. And she
comforted him, too, patting his head lovingly and declaring that he was
Granny's own boy with the big heart, indeed, and together they watched
and waited through the long dreary day for the men's return.
But Scotty was tired out and gone to bed long before they came. He was
half-awakened in the night by the sound of voices; strange voices, too;
not angry or clamorous, but hushed and solemn. Once he distinguished
Grandaddy's voice, broken as though with weeping, and Granny's, too,
speaking as though she were comforting him, but with a sound in it that
made the child's tender heart contract with pain. There seemed an
awesomeness about the strange, soft movements below that sent a chill
over him. None of the boys had come to bed yet; the light from below
shone up through the cracks in the floor, and he crept to the hatchway
and listened. And then he distinguished Praying Donald's low, deep
voice raised in supplication; then Grandaddy had been fighting again
and they had come to pray for him. The boy crept miserably back to his
bed and, childlike, soon fell asleep.
He awoke in the rosy dawn, when the shadows of the forest still
stretched up to the doorstep, and found to his surprise that Hamish was
sitting by his bedside. He remembered with a chill the anxiety of the
day and the awesomeness of the night before, and asked suddenly,
"Where's Callum?"
But Hamish did not answer directly; only said that he must be good and
quiet and not ask Granny any questions, and added after a second
question that Callum was gone away. And when would he be back? He
would not be back, Hamish whispered, with his eyes upon the floor.
Would not be back? Scotty stared uncomprehending. And where was
Nancy? Nancy was with him. Had they gone to the old country? he asked
in a whisper, but Hamish shook his head and turned away. The boy's
heart seemed held by an awful dread. He wanted to ask another
question, and yet he dared not. But as the young man turned to go down
the stairs something in his white face opened a flood of awful
intelligence upon the boy's mind.
"Hamish," he cried in a sharp whisper, "is--is--Callum--dead?"
But Hamish made no reply, only gave him a glance as though he had been
smitten with a mortal wound, and went hurriedly down the stairs.
But Weaver Jimmie told him all about it as soon as he descended. For,
to his surprise, Scotty found not only Jimmie there, but many others of
the neighbours. Store Thompson's wife sat by the bed in the corner,
and Granny lay upon it white and silent. Something lay in another
corner, stretched upon boards, a figure so muffled and still that,
without knowing why, Scotty glanced at it with a feeling of terror.
Grandaddy was nowhere to be seen; but Praying Donald was there, reading
by the window. His deep voice, hushed to a solemn, low rumble, filled
the room; "Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He
bringeth them out of their distresses," he was saying, but Scotty did
not listen; he followed Weaver Jimmie out to the barn full of
awe-stricken questionings. And Jimmie, his kindly face quivering with
sympathy, told him all. Yes, that still, dark form he had seen in the
corner was Callum; they had brought him home last night, and had taken
Nancy to her home. But Hamish had said Callum was gone, Scotty argued,
and Nancy with him; had they come back then? No, they had not come
back. They had run away and tried to cross Lake Simcoe in a canoe. A
storm had come up suddenly, and though the Caldwells and the
MacDonalds, who had tracked them to the shore, tried to rescue them,
they were too late. And Callum was gone, gone never to come back, and
Nancy was with him; and if Store Thompson could get the great preacher
who had lately come to Barbay, they would bury them both in the Glen
to-morrow. Scotty did not hear any more; Callum to be buried, and
Nancy, too, to be put away in the ground as they had put Kirsty's
father! He crept off into a corner of the haymow as soon as Jimmie had
left him, and lay there, his curly head hidden deep in the hay, his
small body shaken with long convulsive sobs. Callum, his Callum,
Granny's hero, as well as his own, gone never to come back!
Voices reached him once, and lest he should be discovered, he pressed
his small hands over his quivering face and manfully strove to hold
down his grief. Praying Donald and Long Lauchie were walking slowly
with bent heads past the open barn door.
"It will be the will of the Almighty to be visiting us through this
calamity," Praying Donald was saying, "but the Father will never be
leaving His children comfortless, for the man of God himself will be
coming to the funeral."
"McAlpine?" asked Long Lauchie in an eager whisper.
"Aye, John McAlpine himself; the Lord will be very merciful to us.
But, eh, eh, that the man that poor Malcolm would be praying for all
these years should be coming to us over his dead! Eh, it will be a
mystery, a mystery!"
IX
RALPH STANWELL AGAIN
Johnnie Courteau of de mountain,
Johnnie Courteau of de hill;
Dat was de boy can shoot de gun,
Dat was de boy can jomp an' run,
An' it's not very offen you ketch heem still,
Johnnie Courteau!
--WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND.
Scotty was setting out for what he hoped was his last winter at school.
It was a performance he considered quite too juvenile, and a single
glance at him would convince anyone that it was high time he had put
away childish things. His great, strong frame, over six feet in his
"shoepacks," his brawny arms and hands, well developed under the toil
of the axe and the plough, all spoke of his having reached man's
estate. But his growth had somewhat outrun his years, and he had not
yet reached the age when he might with propriety remain away from
school during the winter. Besides, he had held a conference with Dan
Murphy and "Hash" Tucker during the Christmas holidays to consider the
matter of further education. Should they abjure the whole trivial
business, was the question discussed, or should they attend school this
winter just to see what the new master would be like, and, if possible,
make things lively for him?
The latter course, being the more uncertain, offered the more
entertainment and was unanimously adopted; so here was the young man,
on this dazzling January morning, swinging along the silent white
forest path, ready for any kind of adventure.
For Scotty had arrived at a period when the unknown and the forbidden
were the alluring, and the lawful and the restraining were the irksome.
Indeed Rory was wont to grumble that that young Scot was just going to
ruin; he had never been made to mind anybody when he was little, and
now he was just growing up clean wild. For since Rory had given up
fiddling and dancing and had settled down with Roarin' Sandy's Maggie
in the north clearing he had become a very staid householder and
frowned upon all youthful frivolity. And though his prophecies were
perhaps overpessimistic, there was undoubtedly some cause for
disapproval in the matter of Scotty's conduct. Even Big Malcolm and
his wife, who, as old age advanced, were more and more inclined to make
an idol of their grandson, could not quite shut their eyes to his
imperfections. He was the same big-hearted Scotty he had been in his
childhood, lavishly generous and swift to respond to the call of
suffering; but his high spirits were sometimes too much for the narrow
confines of his life, and he was wont to break out into wild,
mischievous pranks.
During the last winter of poor old McAllister's feeble misrule, Scotty
and his two leal followers, Dan Murphy and "Hash" Tucker, had contrived
to make the hard name of Number Nine notorious. So long as the three
confined their misdemeanours to the school the public had winked at
them. Disorder and ill-behaviour always seemed associated with old
McAllister, everyone felt; and indeed Mr. Cameron, the minister, was
suspected by most of the section to have had reference to the old
broken-down school-teacher when he preached that solemn discourse upon
the blind leaders of the blind. As the sermon was delivered on the
Sabbath after Scotty and Dan had knocked over the stovepipes and almost
burned down the school-house, Store Thompson declared he was "convinced
of the certainty of the application-like."
But when the boys perpetrated acts of lawlessness beyond the precincts
of school life people began to look upon them askance. Scotty had
distinguished himself rather unpleasantly on the last Hallowe'en; for
besides the usual small depredations which everyone expected on that
historic night, someone had gone to the extremity of elevating Gabby
Johnny Thompson's wagon, heavily loaded with grain, to the top of the
barn; and everyone in the Oa knew that nobody would have conceived of
such a daring thing except Big Malcolm's Scot.
Of course, the neighbours could not fail to see some poetic justice in
the affair, for Gabby Johnny, who was famed for his astute bargaining,
had been voicing a wailing desire for high wheat ever since that grain
had begun to grow along the banks of the Oro. Nevertheless, though the
neighbours might secretly approve of such retributive acts of
Providence, the medium through which they descended was liable to be
regarded with disfavour.
For while Scotty was growing up the social life of the Oro valley had
been undergoing a great transformation. John McAlpine, that great
preacher whose words always awoke his hearers to a terrible realisation
of the solemnity of life and the certainty of death, had come to the
Glen with his imperative call to higher things. And at his coming the
Sun of Righteousness had arisen over the Oro hills and the whole
countryside had awakened to a new day.
Other influences had been at work, too; the spirit of the pioneer days
was passing with the forests, the little isolated circles of cleared
land had widened out and merged into each other like the rings on the
surface of the Oro pools, and with the broader outlook came gentler
manners and more tolerant views. Then this young land was slowly but
surely absorbing into her own personality all the discordant elements
and making of them a great nation; for within the last few years a new
race had sprung up in the Oro valley, a race that was neither English,
Irish, nor Scotch, Highland nor Lowland, but a strange mixture of all,
known as Canadian. The community in the Glen had grown to quite a
respectable village, the post office adding a touch of dignity and
necessitating the new name, the name of Glenoro. And best of all,
there was the church just at the bend in the river, with the manse
beside it where the minister lived; and such had been its influence
that a fight at the corner now would have brought a shock to the whole
township.
So Scotty and his followers did not properly belong to these improved
times; they were mediaeval. The boy had been too young when Mr.
McAlpine came to be deeply affected by his great sermons; but he had
not outlived the stirring memory of the old fighting days when Callum
kept the Oa lively. Callum was still his hero, the dear old handsome
Callum, of whom he could never think even yet without a pang of regret.
Hamish and Rory had grown beyond him with the years, but Callum was
always young and bright and dashing; and Scotty was determined to be
like him and to do the great deeds Callum would certainly have done had
it not been for his untimely end.
The bell was ringing when the three conspirators met at the school
pump. Number Nine had a bell now, and there was even some agitation
for a new building. Poor old McAllister's wasted life had gone out the
autumn before like the quenching of a smouldering fire, and now that a
new man was to take his place the section was beginning to pick up
courage and look for a hopeful future.
The young men lounged in at the end of the procession and flopped into
their seats with the proper air of insupportable boredom. Scotty's
first task was to take the measure of his new instructor. At the first
glance he was conscious of a distinct sensation of disappointment. He
had expected the stranger to be young and callow, but this man had grey
hair and was apparently nearing middle age. His face, which was pale
and showed signs of ill-health, was clearly cut and refined. His frame
was well-built and wiry, and he had a pair of steady grey eyes and a
quiet, dignified manner which seemed strangely incongruous in the
position old McAllister had so long made ridiculous.
Nevertheless Scotty regarded him with strong disfavour. His white
collar, his smooth hair and his English way of sharply clipping off his
words stamped him as hopelessly "stuck-up"; and Dan Murphy reported
with derisive joy that he had worn gloves to school, a weakness of
which no one who called himself a man would be guilty. Besides all
this, he had obtained his position through Captain Herbert; indeed, he
had been a close friend of the Captain when they lived in Toronto, it
was rumoured, and he probably belonged to the aristocracy, who were
hated of Scotty's soul. On the other hand, he wasn't an Englishman,
for his name was Archibald Monteith, that was one thing in his favour;
but he stood for order and good behaviour, and the young man was
arrayed against all such.
The new master himself was quietly taking note of his surroundings. He
had been thoroughly informed of the bad character of Number Nine, both
by Captain Herbert and the trustees, not to speak of the unsolicited
advice and information that had been pouring in upon him ever since his
arrival. Upon the first night of his stay at Store Thompson's, a burly
man with a great bushy head and beard had come suddenly upon him; and
after a warm handshake and welcome had given him absolute power in the
matter of dealing with his family.
"You lay it onto my Danny," was the generous admonition. "Sure, the
young spalpeen's mad wid the foolish goin's on, an' it's a latherin' he
needs ivery day. You mind an' lay it onto Danny!"
Quite as cordial but more ominous had been the advice proffered by
Gabby Johnny Thompson. In his capacity of Secretary-Treasurer of the
School Board that gentleman felt it incumbent upon him to inform the
novice of the unsounded depths of iniquity he had to deal with in
Number Nine. His darkest hints related to "yon ill piece o' Big
Malcolm MacDonald's." A scandalous young deil he was, and Mr. Monteith
would have to keep an eye on him, for him and yon young Papish of a
Murphy were a bad pair. It was young Scot Malcolm who had nearly
burned the school down, over McAllister's head; yes, and would have
burned up old McAllister, too, without a thought, he was that thrawn
and ill.
Monteith was regarding with deep interest the owner of this evil
reputation. He was a rare reader of character, and understood at once
the nature of Scotty's malady. His man's frame and boy's face, his
keen, bright, inquiring eyes, and the signs of abounding life, all
fully explained the cause of the trouble. The schoolmaster found
something irresistibly attractive about the boy too; there were signs
of intellect in every line of his face, and he dearly loved brains.
As the school passed out for their morning intermission he beckoned the
youth to him. Dan Murphy made a covert grimace expressive of his whole
being's revolt against any such degrading task, and Scotty went forward
reluctantly. He wanted to disobey, but the man's courtesy held him.
An old school register in which were written some seventy names lay
open on the desk.
"I am hopelessly entangled in all these MacDonalds," said the new
master, in a tone one man would use in addressing another. "Here are
four Betseys and six Johnnies, and Donalds without number. Would you
be so good as to assist me?"