The scene inside was an animated and amazing one. In the principal room
a table had been built and now groaned beneath a load such as I had not
thought the country-side could supply. It was covered with snowy linen,
and an assortment of chinaware of several varieties of pattern threw
back the yellow glint of two great oil lamps, one of which I recognized
as having recently decorated a shelf in a corner of Spoof's shack on
section Two. I had just time to catch a glimpse of a frosted
wedding-cake in the centre of the table and a steaming turkey at one end
when Jean brought me out of my trance.
"Isn't it wonderful, Frank--wonderful!--to think of it, and all of them
so poor! Why, even, there's Mr. Sneezit!"
It was true. The whole community was present. They had swarmed to our
premises in our absence, bringing the necessaries of the wedding dinner
with them, and now they were lined up around the walls, guilty-faced but
delighted. There was Brown, whom we had first found wrestling with the
architecture of a sod stable; there was Mrs. Brown, dimpled and smiling,
dreaming of far-off English Yule-log and mistletoe, and making her
dreams come true on the wind-swept plains of Canada; there were the
three little Browns, washed and on their good behavior. There was Andy
Smith, the ship builder from Glasgow, now learning the drift of
stone-boats and prairie schooners, and puffing on his short clay pipe
the while. There was Ole Hansen and Olga, his wife, and tucked into the
recesses of my room I discerned the outlines of fair-haired, tow-headed
children--doubtless six in all. And there, sure enough, was our good
friend Sneezit, and beside him Sneezit's wife, both trying to look very
proper and at ease, and failing rather sadly, except when a broad
Russian grin sent their more forbidding aspects scampering for cover.
Mrs. Sneezit's bright yellow shawl lent a dash of color to the company.
The Sneezit juniors had been left at home, where, snuggled in their warm
dug-out, they doubtless speculated proudly and somewhat wonderingly upon
their parents' _debut_ into English-speaking society. And there, too,
across the table was the American, Burke, tall, lean and lantern-jawed,
his weather-beaten cheeks still revealing a suggestion of the olive hues
of a more southern latitude, his thin lips parted over well-set teeth in
a smile of friendly amusement. Nearby was his busy wife, Lucy, short and
active and with possibilities of plumpness to compensate her for the
ravages of time. They were a wonderful company, typical foundation
stones of a nation; foundation work the quality of which shall be tested
through all the years to come.
I said the whole community was present, but I was wrong. Mrs. Alton and
the little boy, Jerry, were not there. I mentioned their absence to
Spoof when I had an opportunity.
"They must not have known about it," was his explanation. But Spoof had
evidently been at pains to make sure that all the others in the district
should know. Why had he omitted Mrs. Alton? It was one more tangle in
the puzzle of Spoof's peculiar attitude toward the widow on Eighteen.
As you may believe, our little house, with its groaning table and all
these husky neighbours, was very, very full; when Jean and Marjorie and
Jack and I and the minister and Reddy and Jake and Bella Donna and Spoof
were added we were packed like city people in a six-o'clock street car.
It was with difficulty we found elbow room to get out of our wraps, and
then there were laughing and hand-shaking and congratulations all round.
"What happened the oxen?" Burke asked, when the general buzz permitted
the question. "They came a-roarin' round here like a range stampede a
few minutes ago, trailin' a sleigh-tongue all unravelled like a
Christmas tree. I put 'em in the barn."
"You shouldn't have done that," I protested. "Their place is outside
when company comes."
"Couldn't make 'em believe it," said Burke. "They were set on goin' in,
and most obstrep'rous about bein' unyoked. I turned Ole's bucks out for
the sake o' peace."
"Yaw, dat was right," Ole assented. "Ay tank by Yimminy when folks get
married nothing's too good for nobody." Ole's references were somewhat
obscure but his good intentions could have been read a mile away.
"But what _did_ happen?" Burke persisted. "We were just goin' to
organize a search party."
"It was all the fault of the bally bullocks," Spoof explained. "I told
them to hard a-port and they slithered to starboard, and over we went."
"Ah'm affeared the skipper should lose his papers," said Andy Smith,
dryly. "He's no a safe mon on sich a sea."
"That sea is nothing to the one our friends here have just shipped on,"
Spoof rejoined. "As for losing my papers; that's a fact, I did. My
cigarette papers. Who's got a helping?"
So the banter continued until Mrs. Burke reminded us that "the turk" was
cooling off and began seating us about the table,--as far as it went.
Someone had thoughtfully brought boards to build a table and seats, and
as many as could sat down. The others were served standing.
When we were settled Mr. Locke arose and asked a blessing. I don't
exactly remember his words, but I do remember the reverent hush that
swept over our little throng, and the wonderful dynamic quality of the
man which lifted us in an instant from the commonplace into the
infinite. He gave thanks for the food before us; then asked a blessing
upon the principals in the day's events. Might their lives be prosperous
and fruitful; might they be useful and glad in all their days; might
they enter the crimson glow of life's Indian Summer with the same high
purpose and romantic love as crowned them in the yellow dawning at the
thresholds of their career. And might the little community now gathered
in neighbourly kindness about our table thrive and prosper and bring
forth food for the sustenance of the world and souls for the Kingdom.
The serious words sobered us for a minute, but it was only a minute. The
stimulus of turkey with cranberry sauce and scalloped potatoes and
boiled turnips and creamed carrots would have stirred to gaiety hearts
much heavier than ours, and it soon developed into a noisy and
frolicsome meal. The turkey was an enormous bird; the attack of all our
hungry party left the skeleton not entirely stripped. I remember that
one of the little Hansens, venturing up like Oliver Twist with a demand
for more, was soundly rapped on his yellow head by a drumstick in the
heavy hand of Ole, but the children as a whole were well behaved,
allowing for the example set them by their elders. Then we had plum
pudding and sauce and apple pie and cheese, and nuts and candy for
everybody. Jean and I mentally ricocheted between amazement at the
generosity of the meal and speculation as to whence it had come. No one
ever told us the secret, but we did learn that Spoof had a fat cheque
from England just before Christmas, and that Mrs. Burke's cooking of
turkey and apple pie was the talk of Humboldt county in Iowa, and that
Mrs. Brown positively refused first place to anyone when it came to
making plum pudding, and so we formed our own conclusions.
After the meal the table was knocked to pieces and carried out so that
there might be more room, and as the bridal couple stood about wondering
what was to happen next they suddenly found themselves the objects of a
number of presentations. Mrs. Brown made hers first; six wonderful
pieces of Limoges china, hand painted by the squire's daughter herself,
and presented to Mrs. B. on her departure for Canada.
"The dear miss--she were a good soul, if I say it--said as 'ow she 'ad
read in a book that they drank tea in Canada, just like _real_ people
and may be these would be useful as well as hornamental, but love me,
dearies, I need the room more. I suppose I should 'ardly give 'em away,
but if the squire's daughter hever comes a-visiting me I'll 'ave to
borrow 'em back." Her lips were smiling as she made this little speech,
but a tell-tale splash fell on one of the pieces as she handed it over.
"Our present is outside, and I'm a-goin' to bring it in," said Burke,
putting on his cap and coat.
"Oh, I wouldn't bring it in, Tom," his wife suggested. "Let them see it
out there."
But Burke was bound to do it in style. "In it comes," he insisted, and
plunged into the night. In a few minutes he returned with a heavy sack
of his back, which he set in the middle of the floor. Again and again he
made the trip until five sacks were in the pile.
"Ten bushels of seed wheat," he exclaimed proudly, "and may every kernel
yield a hundred-fold!"
"Pretty good speech, Tom," said his wife. "I was sure you'd forget it."
"Forget nothin'!" Tom retorted. "I made that up, right off the bat."
"You'll be Member of Parliament some day, with a gift like that," Jack
prophesied.
"Fer the constitooency of Sittin' Crow," Jake added, maliciously, but
the point of his shaft was lost on the audience.
"Weel, Ah'm thinkin' Ah'll be next," remarked the placid Andy Smith,
tapping his clay pipe and returning it to his pocket. From somewhere he
produced a kit of steel-worker's tools; wonderful pieces of British
workmanship, they were. I believe Jack still carries some of them in the
back seat of his automobile.
"No as much as Ah could o' wisht," said Andy, modestly, "but richt guid
in the makin', and they'll come gey handy when you buy that
threshing-mill for the neighbourhood."
Just then we observed the color mantling to the tawny hair of Ole
Hansen.
"Ay tank by Yimminy Ay mak myself maybe a yoke (joke)," the tall Swede
confessed. "Ay say to Olga, 'By dam, Olga, what you tank, Ay tak a load
o' hay?' She say, 'Ole, you get more fool all the time. Hay for a
marriaging! What you tank dey are, oxes?' Den Ay say, 'Well, den, w'at
else?' an' she say, 'Dere ain't nodding else,' an' den Ay say 'Dah hay
gets it', an' so it does."
"I hope you're not going to bring it in, too," said Lucy Burke.
"Yah!" said Ole, opening his mouth in a great circular orifice and
laughing silently while his head rocked in inward appreciation of Mrs.
Burke's joke. "Ay tank she make good bedding, but not to-night. Ay pitch
'im off beside dah barn."
We found it was true. Ole, having nothing to bring but a load of hay, in
the fullness of his heart brought that.
But an even more striking token of that community spirit which was the
salvation of those early days was now to be presented. Sneezit had
slipped out while the hay was under discussion and now came thundering
in, his broad back bearing a whole dressed carcass of pig. Sneezit did
not trust his English to make any remarks, but he smiled broadly under
his bristly mustache. . . . . But what I saw was a dug-out full of
children, with eyes peering through the gloom, and little, wistful,
silent mouths.
"Now it's my turn," said Spoof, but Jake interrupted.
"As it happened, I was down in Regina on business connected with my
estate when news o' this approachin' tie-up on Fourteen reached me, by
means of a note from Spoof," Jake explained. "At first I couldn't make
head or hinder of it, it was so bad wrote. So I took it to a young
fellow I know with lots o' learnin'; got to know him on account o' the
int'rest he usta take in the people on Twenty-two; he found out I
located youse boys an' girls and usta come roun' pretty reg'lar askin'
questions casual-like, an' I says to him, 'How many shirts does a fellow
get on this laundry ticket?' Well, he read it over slow to himself, an'
then he jus' sits lookin' at nothin' till I begun to think maybe there
was some bad langwidge such as he couldn't repeat in my presence. An'
after awhile he says, 'Jake, jus' another mirage; you know, those
phenom'na'--that's what he called it--'on the prairie that makes you
think things is what they ain't. Let's go down town,' he says, an' on
the way he tells me what's in the ticket. Well, I thought he was leadin'
for a bar, which is the best place I know of to raise a new mirage when
your old one goes bust, but danged if he don' head me into a jewelry
store. And there he buys this."
Jake delved into a pocket and brought out a little gold pendant, a
chaste and delicate example of the goldsmith's art. He held it for a
moment to the admiring gaze of all present before resuming his
narrative.
"'Give that,' my friend says, 'with my good wishes an' a touch o' my
regrets, to the young lady on Twenty-two, with the compliments o'
Sergeant Brook,' he-says," and so Jake placed the little golden trinket
in Jean's hands. . . . . It was a difficult situation. Jean's first
impulse was to hand it back.
"Better accept it," I whispered to her. "The fewer explanations the
better."
"But it--it's a wedding present," she remonstrated. "How can I . . . ?"
"Keep it until you need it," I suggested. Jean was very lovely in the
heightened color of her embarrassment, and as her hand fell by my side I
seized it surreptitiously in my own.
"Oh, Jean, why not make it to-night?" I whispered, mad with her beauty
and her nearness.
"It's quite impossible," she answered, but she did not immediately
withdraw her hand. She left me marvelling more and more over the
tantalizing complexity of her attitude toward me.
Fortunately, the interest of those about us had been quickly rearrested
by Jake. "Havin' a little weakness o' my own," Jake was continuing,
"although I never said nothin' about it, not wishing to take advantage
o' my young friend, Sittin' Crow, or to start a scene with Bella Donna,
I bought its mate fer the lady on Fourteen." And with this little speech
he placed another pendant in the hands of Marjorie.
"When I came to Canada to farm," said Spoof, after the excitement over
Jake's gift had died down, "I came equipped for everything but farming.
I could have started a second-hand store, a curiosity shop, an arsenal,
or a music hall much better than I could start a farm. In fact, I feel
like all of these things, except, perhaps, the music hall, when I look
around my shack. Particularly well was I equipped against savages,
grizzly bears, and mountain lions. I remember the days I spent in
picking out my rifles, weighing the qualities of this arm and that, and
the penetrating power of the different bullets. My biggest game so far
has been a badger, _alias_ a chinook, whose hide now adorns the den of
my immediate and admiring ancestor. Out of the abundance of my defences
I now bring to you, John Lane, this piece of artillery, with the
injunction that it must never be pointed toward section Two, and,
preferably, not at anything else. Hang it over your portal, as evidence
that you can be a desperate man upon occasion, and let it go at that. I
have been thoughtful enough not to bring any ammunition." Spoof then
produced, out of the bedroom where Brown, acting as his agent, had
secretly cached it, a repeating rifle, which Jack handled with as much
admiration as Marjorie spent on her pendant, and then placed it lovingly
away.
"Now, I believe that's all," said Spoof.
"Not yet," Reddy interrupted. "I want to be in on this, although I
didn't come prepared." He had written something in a note-book, which he
now tore out and handed to Jack. It was a receipt for the price of his
wedding ring. Jack protested, but Reddy would have it no other way.
The only one not represented by a presentation was the minister, but he
proved equal to the occasion.
"My children," he said,--he was not much older than Jack or I, perhaps
about the age of Spoof--"I am not a man of the world, and consequently
cannot give you of the good things which the world provides. The theory
that a minister should lay up his treasure in Heaven is taken rather
literally in these times. I am not quarreling with that. Materialism is
the murderous outlaw of the age, an enemy that goes bullying through
the land, outraging our finer natures, overturning our ideals, polluting
our ambitions. I hope I am not envious of his followers. And to you, and
all of you, I give something that money could not buy--my blessing, with
a promise of my ministrations, without charge, on those future occasions
upon which it may be assumed you will be in need of them."
The minister had escaped from a somewhat embarrassing position with the
dignity that became his calling, and with a gentle joke that showed how
very human he was at heart.
"Clear out the pork and the seed wheat," Spoof ordered, as there seemed
likely to be a lull in the night's enjoyment. "Ole, it is fortunate that
Mrs. Burke persuaded you not to bring in your load of hay."
So the floor was cleared. The door, when opened, revealed a wedge of
snow-storm whistling by, but inside the wintry weather was forgotten and
the tremor of our shanty's timbers passed unnoticed. Reddy had mounted
himself on our own table--the big one had been taken out, in pieces--and
was twisting the strings of a violin to tune. Presently his bow cut
loose a drone of dancing rhythm, and feet began to tap the plain pine
boards of the floor.
"Pardners all!" Jake commanded. It was evident he was to be master of
ceremonies; he had just taken a great chew of tobacco to promote the
flow of language. The insistent note of the violin brought Jack and me,
with Marjorie and Jean, Mr. and Mrs. Burke, and Mr. and Mrs. Brown, to
the centre of the room. The dancing would be of the "square-dance"
variety which was no novelty to us or to the Burkes, and which the
others would soon pick up under the guidance of Professer Jake.
"S'lute yer pardner! . . . Pass 'er by. . . Balance to the next." And we
were off. Jake and the fiddler warmed up with the dancers, and presently
the shanty was rocking with the stamp and the swing of it. Those were
not the days of dancing that is little more than a walk; one danced with
all his heart and body, and was not afraid to shake the floors and
ceilings.
The end of the set found us perspiring and happy.
And so the evening wore on. Ole and Olga joined the dancers in the third
set, and thereafter never left the floor; Andy Smith ventured into
Marjorie's arms, and in five minutes was feeling younger than in the
days of his apprenticeship on the Clyde; Spoof danced with Jean as much
as seemed necessary. When Spoof was not monopolizing her, Burke or Brown
or Smith was. But at length she spurned us all in order that she might
win Mr. Sneezit to the floor. The Russian hesitated, fearing to appear
foolish, but he would have been more or less than human if he could have
resisted Jean's enticements, and presently she was leading him through
the simple movements of a cotillion.
Then it was that the minister distinguished himself. He had kept aloof
from the dancing, but now, seeing Mrs. Sneezit being left somewhat out
of the party, his Christianity overcame his creed and, sweeping down
upon her, he seized her in his strong arms and had her upon her feet
before she knew it. Her protestations were of no avail; she must dance
with him and dance she did. The music and the kindness and the humanity
of it all seemed to penetrate her stolid heart, and Mrs. Sneezit--she of
the brood with the peering eyes and the wistful, hungry mouths--was won
by the magic of fiddle and foot back into the gay days of girlhood and
danced as though the world were hers.
At length they went. The flurries of snow had driven by; the moon poured
its silver radiance on a world of downy ivory, and the bigger stars
blinked stolidly from a steel-blue heaven as our guests bundled
themselves into jumpers and sleighs and took their departure. Their
cries of good wishes and good luck were wafted back to us above the
crunching of the snow. We watched them until they faded out of sight in
the white moonlight.
Soon after Jack and Marjorie and Jean crossed the snow-filled valley to
their over-crowded house, and left me to one that was over-empty. For a
long time I stood looking into the stove, with lid and lifter in my
hand, in the act of putting on more wood. The glow of the coals went
grey as I watched, and, for the first time in my life, I measured the
depth to which the plummet of loneliness can plunge. . . .