very poor. He looked into the fire in deep disappointment. Monteith
was not a religious man, but at that moment he remembered vaguely a
passage from the Bible about the fathers having eaten sour grapes and
the children's teeth being set on edge.
But for all his talk, Captain Herbert had not settled the affair to his
own satisfaction. He was blustering up and down the room again, trying
to work off his Indignation against fate. He paused once more in front
of his visitor.
"I tell you what, Archie," he cried for the fifth time, "I hate the
whole business. It's been grinding at me for nearly fifteen years.
I've got a son of my own about that boy's age. His mother died when he
was a baby, and he's everything to me; and when I think that if I had
been taken too, he might have fared badly,--well--it's---- Look here,
what kind of ability has young Stanwell?"
Monteith gasped. "He's as bright as a steel trap; all brains."
"Well,"--the Captain was thoughtful--"what does he want?"
"He wants a chance to earn some money in a hurry so that he can go to
college. He's determined to get an education, but the money isn't
forthcoming."
"Well, if I should see him through----"
Monteith shook his head smilingly. "He wouldn't accept it. You must
remember, the boy has the real old Highland pride. No, give him some
position where he can earn some money, or think he is earning it, in a
short time."
"You're a Jew at a bargain, Archie Monteith, and a Scotch Jew, at that,
which is the worst kind. What sort of aptitude would he have for
figures?"
"He seems to display a special aptitude for almost anything he
undertakes."
"Well,--I might,--pshaw, why not? Eleanor needn't know. There's Raye
& Hemming. They want a young man in their office. It means a
responsible position, though, Archie, with good pay, and I'm depending
entirely upon your recommendation. He ought to know something about
lumber surely."
"Raye & Hemming!" Monteith started. "I'd be delighted to see the boy
get such a good opportunity, but the name of that particular lumber
company isn't absolutely synonymous with fair-dealing. Remember,
Ralph's been very strictly brought up, Captain."
"Pshaw, they're supposed to muddle a little with politics, but what's
the difference? If your paragon is so squeamish you'd better keep him
in the bush. I can't think of anything else I could do for him half so
good. Those fellows are sharp, I'll admit, but they know how to make
money."
Monteith considered for a moment, then stood up and held out his hand.
"I knew you would do the square thing, Captain," he said heartily.
"Well, to be honest, I confess I'm not entirely disinterested. That
young Carruthers the Grits are bringing out will be sure to rake up
this story if I run next fall; and those MacDonalds are double-dyed
Grits already. I don't want to give them a handle against me. Young
Stanwell will make a better friend than an enemy. I can clear my
tender conscience and get him out of the road, and save myself a great
deal of future trouble all in one stroke. So there you are, you see."
Monteith laughed. There was something irresistible about the candour
of the man.
"He certainly is an Irishman all through," was the Scotchman's mental
comment.
"And by the way, Archie, does he know anything about this?"
"Not a word. Big Malcolm never told anybody, I fancy. That's a
gentleman for you!"
Captain Herbert looked slightly embarrassed.
"I suppose you'd better tell the boy--everything?"
"I think it would be better. He's very fair-minded, and, besides,"
Monteith smiled, "he is not likely to feel any resentment against Miss
Isabel's uncle."
"That brings up a very important item in our bargain," said the Captain
frowningly, "and one upon which everything depends."
"Yes?"
"He'll have to understand that there's to be nothing between him and
Bluebell. It seems absurd to talk about such a thing already, but
Eleanor seems certain of danger. So you'll have to put the matter
plainly to the young man, and explain that if he's so much as caught
speaking to her, his position is gone as quick as a gunshot. I owe
that much to my sister. She couldn't stand the sight of him, and
neither of the youngsters is old enough to be hurt."
Monteith looked dubious, but he did not hesitate to comply. Ralph
would soon forget when he got away into the world, he told himself, and
Miss Herbert would probably make the keeping of the bargain very easy
for him.
"And now," cried Captain Herbert, rising with an expression of relief,
"that's over. It's been an abominable tangle all through, a perfect
mess, with everyone in the family mixed up in it, and it's a relief to
have it settled. Come along, let's go out and breathe some fresh air
and look at the dogs!"
XIII
THE VOICE IN THE WILDERNESS
Out of the strife of conflict,
Out of the nightmare wild,
Thou bringest me, spent and broken,
Like the life of a little child.
Like the spume of a far-spent wave,
Or a wreck cast up from the sea,
Out of the pride of being,
My soul returns to Thee.
--WILLIAM WILFRED CAMPBELL.
Raye & Hemming, managers of that branch of the Great Lake Lumber
Company that had its headquarters in the town of Barbay, soon learned
that their new clerk was a young man of no mean parts. For beside an
unusual ability, young Stanwell brought to his work that tenacity of
purpose and tendency to unremitting toil which is the product of the
farm.
Scotty found himself treated with every consideration by his chiefs.
Captain Herbert's protege was evidently a person of some importance,
and he guessed that his generous salary was largely due to his patron's
influence. Though his feelings towards his benefactor were naturally
somewhat mixed, since hearing how he had defrauded him of his
birthright, nevertheless Scotty could find small room in his heart for
any ill-will against Isabel's uncle. He had ill-used him, no doubt,
but he was making reparation, and what more could any man do? And,
indeed, Scotty's affairs were turning out so much better than his
fondest hopes had pictured, that he could not wish the past different.
A few years with Raye & Hemming, he felt assured, would open the golden
gates of college to him, and there he would vindicate himself.
For the young man was in happy ignorance of the fact that his present
good fortune depended upon his separation from Isabel. Monteith had
not seen fit to apprise him of that item in Captain Herbert's bargain.
The shrewd schoolmaster had a suspicion that the foolish young man
might throw up his hopeful prospects in a fit of romantic gallantry,
and determined to run no risks until all danger was past.
So the boy did not know how hopeless was the love he and his
golden-haired sweetheart had pledged beneath the pines at Kirsty's
gate. Miss Herbert strongly objected to him, he knew, but she could be
overcome in time. They must be separated for a time, but Captain
Herbert was his friend, surely, and Isabel--well, he was certain of
her, anyway--Isabel would never forget, for had she not promised that
she would think of him always, no matter how far apart they might be,
and how could anyone doubt Isabel?
His life in the town was beneficial in many ways. Socially he learned
as much as he did in the office of Raye & Hemming, knowledge which he
knew would stand him in good stead when that longed-for day would come
when he would be permitted to visit Isabel in her home. He was
received in Barbay society in spite of his rural training, for was he
not Captain Herbert's friend, and the only son of that dashing Captain
Stanwell whom the best people knew in the early days. And was there
not the chance that he might be a young man of property some day?
And so, though Isabel and home were far away, Scotty worked away
blithely, determined to show Captain Herbert that he was worthy of the
trust reposed in him, and resolved to win in spite of all odds.
But as he grew more accustomed to the business, and more intimate with
the inner workings of Raye & Hemming's office, there slowly spread over
his rosy hopes a shadow of misgiving. He found it impossible to shut
his eyes to the fact that the men with whom he was employed, and from
whom he was to learn, were adepts at many of the small, sharp practices
which he had been taught to despise. Scotty had been brought up with
no hazy ideas of right and wrong. Though Big Malcolm had left the
boy's training almost entirely to his wife, still, as much by example
as precept, he had instilled into his grandson's very soul a proud
contempt for anything resembling a lie. Any form of deceit, sharp
dealing or trickery came under one despised category, and within
Scotty's earliest memory had been looked upon by all his household with
supreme scorn.
And now in his new environment he found himself a daily witness of a
dozen little petty transactions such as he had been taught to loathe.
Sometimes, when he was compelled to assist in the sharp tricks of his
employers and received afterwards their laughing congratulations upon
his success, he turned away from them with a feeling of nausea. He
tried to picture his grandfather in similar circumstances, but could
not. Well he knew Big Malcolm would not stoop from his lofty height to
touch the business of Raye & Hemming with his finger-tips.
And yet they were not absolutely dishonest; perhaps this was only what
the world considered being "sharp" in business, he argued. But he
could not quite convince himself, and in his perplexity hinted at his
troubles in a letter to Monteith.
The schoolmaster's answer did not succeed in putting his mind at rest.
"I know those fellows have the name of doing some slippery things," he
wrote, "and personally I wish you had hit upon men who had a better
reputation, but there's no denying they know how to make money, and the
shareholders are naturally rather fond of them. You must just learn to
shut your eyes to little things that don't exactly suit you and go
ahead. Your chance in life depends upon your ability to please those
fellows. Don't lose it, my boy, it means everything."
Scotty was rather bewildered by this advice, coming from one whom he
had long regarded as an infallible authority. In his backwoods
simplicity he felt himself at sea. Was there, then, a different code
of honour in the country from that which was adhered to in the town?
Not since the days when Granny had had to chide him for childish
naughtiness had he been greatly troubled over the vexed question of
right and wrong. Looking back now, he could see that he had been
hedged about by what he chose to call circumstances. First there had
been the influences of that home beneath the Silver Maple, and the
strong, gentle control of his grandmother. And when his high spirits
had been in danger of taking him beyond the "borderland dim," Monteith
had come, and there had been no more trouble. Monteith's training had
been quite different from that which he had received at home. The
schoolmaster despised as a fool anyone who did not walk the straight
and narrow path. Wrong-doing was idiotic, he declared; it didn't
"pay." But Monteith's creed did not hold here. It did pay, as far as
Scotty could see. And here he was with no hedging circumstances to
keep him in the right path, standing at the parting of the ways.
And yet he did not for a moment consider the possibility of drawing
back. There was too much at stake. As Monteith had said, everything
depended upon his faithfully filling his post. To lose the favour of
Raye & Hemming meant to lose everything he had set his heart upon,
Captain Herbert's friendship, his education, Isabel herself.
No, he could not dream of giving up. And so he took Monteith's advice
and went forward doggedly. But all the enjoyment in his new work was
soon gone, his happy, sanguine days gradually changed to a season of
worry and humiliation; until he sometimes longed with all his soul to
fling all the unclean business aside, take an axe and go back to the
bush.
He struggled on through the winter, morose and plodding, until the
spring came with scented breezes and the songs of birds calling him to
come away. Barbay was situated picturesquely on an arm of Lake Simcoe.
From the office window he could catch enchanting glimpses of sapphire
lake and emerald hill, and he was seized with an intense longing to
return to his outdoor life. If he could only get back to his old
environment for even a day, he felt he could readjust his ideas and see
things more clearly. The 24th of May, the birthday of the good Queen,
brought him the longed-for holiday. The office claimed him for a few
hours in the morning, but early in the afternoon he hired a canoe, and,
supplied with a gun and rod, a blanket and plenty of bread and meat, he
paddled away into the blue expanse. He would go on until he came to
the forest, he determined, and there he would camp for the night.
His spirits rose like a freed bird as, with long, steady strokes, hour
after hour, he glided smoothly up the low, green shore. He was some
distance from any human habitation when the steady dip, dip of his
paddle echoed farther inland than usual. He paused and peered into the
woods. He was on the edge of a forest whose tangled fringe of birch
and elm hung over the greening water. But just behind this fringe was
a little clearing, all smothered in riotous undergrowth. Scotty ran
his canoe up on the sandy beach, her bow sweeping aside the drooping
elm branches, and leaped ashore. He plunged into the little tangled
circle of undergrowth, and at the first sight gave a boyish whoop of
delight.
In the centre of the space, facing the water, stood an old log shanty,
a temporary structure erected in the lumbering days. It contained
bunks filled with straw. Here was the very place to spend the night;
it seemed waiting for him. He set to work to make camp with the skill
of a lifelong practice. A splendid black bass that responded hungrily
to his bait made a fine addition to his larder. He soon had a merry
fire in front of the cabin, sending a blue column of smoke straight
into the treetops, and when it burned down to a bed of coals he cooked
his fish. Supper was soon over, the canoe stowed safely high up on the
shore, and he had nothing to do but enjoy the silence and peace of the
wild, lonely spot. He built up his fire again, partly because the May
night was cool and partly to keep off the mosquitoes, and stretched
himself full length upon the ground before it. It was the first time
in months that he had been absolutely at peace. Around him was the
encircling forest, which bulked largely in his earliest memories, and
always gave him the sensation of being at home. The sweet pungent
odour of burning evergreens filled the air, mingling with the scents of
the forest. Above the dark ring of wild, luxuriant growth the sky
shone a clear transparent crystal, with faint illusive suggestions of
rose and orange, for out there in the wide world the sun was setting,
and Lake Simcoe glinted between the tree trunks flushed and smiling.
The little breeze of the afternoon had died away, and not a leaf
stirred; only where the subsiding waves disturbed the shells and
pebbles on the beach could be heard a soft whispering rustle.
But as the night fell, from the darkening forest there arose the
evening chorus of the birds. Each tall pine tree, silhouetted sharply
against the crystal sky, was soon ringing with the transporting vespers
of the veery. Away back on a hill, far above the little clearing, a
whip-poor-will stationed himself in a treetop to complain over and over
of the darkness and loneliness of the world. Just at Scotty's right
hand, from behind a screen of scented basswood, came a sudden
discordant sound, the rasping "meyow" of the cat-bird; a moment's
silence followed and then arose a burst of delirious, bubbling melody,
as though the naughty songster, hidden within his aromatic curtains,
were laughing impudently at having deceived his hearers into thinking
he was only a cat. A loon arose with a splash from the reedy shore of
an island opposite and sailed away through the amber air; his wild,
derisive laugh echoed back from the glimmering sunset bay where he had
joined his comrades. Far above, the "scree-ak, scree-ak" of the
night-hawks whirling in the heavens echoed away into the green depths;
up the long dark aisles came the sweet "hoo, hoo" of the owl, and the
clear ringing notes of the whitethroat "calling across the dusk." The
frogs, down by the whispering water's edge, joined their chorus to the
night music; and on every side, keeping at a respectful distance from
the smoke of the fire, the mosquitoes "all in a wailful choir" uttered
their little, thin, doleful tunes. And always, far up in the dark
pinetops, like bells in a cathedral tower, rang out the clear,
enchanting, metallic notes; the long liquid carol of the veery.
Scotty drew a great sigh of content; he was home again. The magic
spirit of the woods, with its sense of peace and freedom, enfolded his
very soul. Those things of earth, the sordid meannesses of his
everyday life, faded away; they were as far removed as that diamond
star he was watching twinkling on the sharp peak of a dark fir. He lay
on his back, his hands clasped beneath his head, and gazed up into the
tender blue of heaven until the night began to deepen. The crackling
embers of the fire slowly smouldered down, the chorus in the treetops
began to subside. Gradually a great stillness settled over the velvet
darkness of the woods, and still lying motionless and content he could
hear only the soft stir of a leaf or the occasional "hush, hush!" that
the waters and the shells whispered, as though they were telling each
other that the world was going to sleep.
Scotty forgot his bed in the shanty, a soft balsam limb made a fragrant
pillow, and mother earth was the best couch. His senses floated away.
He was at home, lying under the Silver Maple; the sound of Granny's
spinning-wheel came drowsily through the doorway. The pathway across
the swamp to Kirsty's clearing was blue with violets; a white figure
was flitting down it,--coming to him with the sunshine on her golden
hair and the violets at her feet.
Suddenly he was wide awake; not startled, but with all his keen,
woodsman senses alert. Instinctively he reached for his gun.
Something strange in his surroundings had aroused him, he knew. What
was it? He lay listening intently.
And then out of the depths of the darkness came the answer,--a sound,
dim and far off, but echoing melodiously through the leafy arches, a
voice as of an angel, singing:
"The Lord thee keeps, the Lord thy shade
On thy right hand doth stay:
The moon by night thee shall not smite,
Nor yet the sun by day."
Scotty raised himself upon his elbow; the sound of the old psalm,
coming without warning out of the uninhabited darkness, struck him with
awe. Had the forest taken voice, or was it all but a part of his
dream? He listened breathlessly until the psalm was finished and the
silence had again fallen. There seemed something too sweetly
mysterious about the singing to come from a human source. There was an
intense silence for a few moments, then the voice rose again, this time
nearer and more distinct,
"The Lord's my Shepherd, I'll not want,
He makes me down to lie
In pastures green, He leadeth me
The quiet waters by."
Scotty was overwhelmed with a sudden rush of memory. He was reminded
of that day so long ago when the awesome shadows of the winter woods
had terrified him with the first conception of death, and sent him with
unerring instinct to the true refuge.
Who could be wandering in this wild, lonely place at night
singing,--singing the very things calculated to touch the depths of his
soul?
The sound was coming nearer, growing in power, as though the singer
felt the sublime confidence of the words.
"Yea, though I walk through death's dark vale,
Yet will I fear no ill,
For Thou art with me and Thy rod
And staff me comfort still."
And then Scotty recognised the voice. It was one which, once heard,
was not easily forgotten. It belonged to the great preacher, Mr.
McAlpine, the man who years before had come to the Glen, and with his
message from the Eternal roused the place to a better life. But he was
an old man now, and retired from his labours, and how came he to be
wandering in this trackless wilderness after nightfall?
The voice had ceased, and now the sound of footsteps in the crackling
underbrush could be heard. Scotty could discern a dim figure coming
towards his fire. He stood up as it approached. The old man with his
long white beard, his bare silver head, for he carried his hat
reverently, his tall, gaunt figure and piercing eye gave the young man
the impression of one of the great men of Bible times, Isaiah, or that
one who preached in the wilderness beyond Jordan and called to his
hearers to make straight the paths for the coming of the Messiah.
With the mutual feeling of friendship that arises between men in the
lonely places of the earth, the two met with outstretched hands.
A smile of pleasure at the open face and fine physique of his
unexpected host flashed over the old man's face.
"Big Malcolm MacDonald's grandson!" he cried, when Scotty had
introduced himself. "Oh, yes, indeed, I know Big Malcolm well,"--he
shook the young man's hand once more: "Ah yes, it was his eldest son's
funeral that first took me to the Oa. God moves in a mysterious way,
indeed. And you were but a child then, and now you are a man. And it
is a good thing to be standing upon the threshold of life, is it not?"
A good thing? Scotty would have given a most emphatic affirmative in
response some months before, but now he was doubtful.
"Yes," he said hesitatingly, "in some ways. But how do you happen to
be away back here alone, Mr. McAlpine?"
The minister explained his presence. He had been asked to go to Barbay
to assist with the sacrament on the following Sabbath, and had intended
to spend the night with a friend and take the stage out in the morning.
"But I could not wait," he concluded, "I was constrained to come on."
There was that strange gleam in his eye which had always so filled
Scotty with awe in his childhood. The young man understood. Mr.
McAlpine's burning restlessness, his erratic way of making arrangements
to be driven to certain places, and then suddenly setting out in the
dead of night to walk prodigious distances had been the wondering talk
of the Oa since he was a child. For this man carried a burden of souls
that gave him no rest day or night, and that even now, when he was
broken and aged, sometimes drove him to stupendous labour.
"But you will surely stay here to-night!" cried Scotty, feeling in the
capacity of host even in this wild tangle of forest growth. "I am
camping, but there is plenty of room in the shanty, and I can cook you
some supper."
The old man accepted the hospitality gratefully. He appeared worn and
exhausted, and seemed to have suddenly lost his restless energy, as
though the spur which had driven him forth in the night had been
removed.
Scotty made a comfortable seat for him of cedar boughs placed against a
large tree trunk, and stirred up the fire to a blaze. Its rays danced
forth, lighting up the worn face and white hair of the old man seated
before it, and the strong frame of the young one standing erect in
splendid contrast. The light made the log walls of the old shanty
stand forth, touched here and there the fantastic heaps of dead
brushwood and misshapen stumps, illumined the underside of the adjacent
trees and danced away down the dim avenues to be lost among the ghostly
shadows.
And while his host prepared supper, the minister beguiled the time by
asking after all his friends in the Oa and the Glen, especially the
Highlanders, for Mr. McAlpine was not above possessing a little
weakness for anyone who spoke the Gaelic. And then he must know what
the young man was doing, and how he came to be there.
Scotty answered his questions in the distantly respectful manner that
all the Glenoro youth had been wont to show this man. He explained his
sudden excursion to the woods as merely a natural desire to be out of
doors. He told something too of his life with Raye & Hemming in
Barbay, but he had all the reticence of his class and kin, and the
minister learned little from what he said.