he made up his mind to depart. He asked for a Bible and Mrs. Johnstone
handed him a ponderous volume, bound in gilt-edged leather, which she
took, with deep reverence and some pride, from beneath the
coffin-plate. Old Andrew drew a breath of relief. Now at last he
would see if this young man were really worthy of his high calling and
the name he bore; now surely he would speak and show that his mind was
set on higher things. Likely he would say something that would set Wee
Andra thinking and put some solemn truths in his empty head.
But John Egerton's one thought was to get away as quickly as possible.
He read a very short psalm, in a spiritless voice, and they all knelt
for a moment while he led in prayer. He took a hurried farewell of the
family; the elder scarcely spoke and Mrs. Johnstone regarded him with a
puzzled expression.
He walked homeward in the soft summer dusk, down the great wide
staircase, which grew a deeper purple towards the bottom, his heart
very heavy. He had tried so hard to do his best, but there was
something sadly wrong, he could not quite understand what.
He was beginning to fear that Mrs. McNabb's warning that "Glenoro
church was full of old cranks" was only too true.
He was passing slowly down the sloping, faintly pink road, absorbed in
his unhappy reflections when, glancing up as he neared the edge of the
valley, he noticed an old man standing at the gate of a little log
shanty. The young minister remembered shaking hands with him at
church--a quiet old fellow with a handsome, refined face. He had
opened his gate and stood as though waiting, looking so kind, so
sympathetic and so altogether different from old Andrew Johnstone that
the young man felt drawn towards him. He paused involuntarily. "Good
evening," he said pleasantly, "Mr.--Polite, I think?"
Duncan's smile grew more radiant. "Oh, indeed, they will be calling me
that foolish name, whatever," he said apologetically, "but my name will
be jist McDonald, Duncan McDonald; oh yes, and you will be coming in
for a little rest?"
His manner was so eager and kindly that John Egerton readily accepted.
He could not account, however, for the look of joy that overspread the
old man's face as he led him up the flower-bordered path; for he was
unaware that Duncan was saying to himself that Donald would be sure to
drop in on his way to the Glen, as he always did, and at last he would
see those two together and the Lord would do the rest.
The visitor sat down on the chair beside the lilac bush, having
persuaded his host that he preferred to sit out of doors. He leaned
back with a sigh of relief and gazed around him. The whole landscape
was darkly radiant with that wonderful life-like pulsation which we
call the after-glow. The sky was a suggestion of rose and amber
fainting into a delicate green and deepening again into a transparent
blue where one star hung above Duncan's pines. A world of insect life
hummed sleepily in the long grass of the meadow; across the road in the
darkness of the woods, a whip-poor-will was whistling away at his
plaintive little tune; and from far down in the valley at their feet
came up the laughter and shouts of children at play.
"This is a lovely spot," said the young man, feeling soothed and
rested. Duncan Polite's face beamed; he did not answer, from sheer
joy, but waited in silence for such words of wisdom as his pastor might
be pleased to utter. John Egerton talked easily when his company was
pleasant, and he was soon chatting away upon such topics as he
considered congenial to the old farmer--the crops, the prospects for
the haying, the mill in the valley, the amount of lumber sawn and the
money realised.
And all the time Duncan Polite's whole soul was waiting for his guest
to speak of the one great subject, the subject that would make it
possible for him to tell this young disciple of his Master that all his
hope for Glenoro and Donald lay in him. But the minister continued his
friendly chat upon indifferent topics, until it was interrupted by a
noise upon the road above, a sound of loud talking and louder laughter
drawing near. He paused to listen and involuntarily the faces of both
men broke into smiles in reflection of the mirth which was apparently
convulsing those who approached.
"Ah, those foolish lads, hoots, toots, what a noise!" said Duncan
apologetically, for he recognised Donald's voice and Sandy's, too, in
the uproarious shouts of laughter.
But as they came nearer the smile faded from John Egerton's face. He
caught the word Catchach, and suddenly the whole truth flashed upon
him. Wee Andra had witnessed the meeting of that afternoon and was
giving to the Neil boys what they apparently considered a
side-splitting description of the affair. All his ministerial dignity
rose to meet the insult.
Sandy's voice could be heard distinctly above the others, interspersed
with convulsive haw haws.
"Great snakes! You did it that time, Don! Bet it scared next Sunday's
sermon clean out o' his head!"
Then Wee Andra's deep voice, "Jimminy! It was a better show than all
the monkeys at the circus!"
"Was he scared?" It was Donald Neil who dared to ask that question.
"Looked mighty skittish for a minit, but I was weepin' that hard I
couldn't see very good. Catchach swore like a trooper. I could tell
that by the way he was grinnin', but the fearful pity was neither me
nor his Reverence could understand it!"
They went off again with such utter abandon that Duncan feared the
minister might be shocked by such uproarious behaviour on the public
road. He did not at all comprehend the meaning of their conversation
himself, in fact he scarcely listened to it, so eagerly was he watching
for Donald.
The noisy crowd passed the house, and one tall figure detached itself
from the group and, swinging open the gate, came up the path. Donald
never forgot to give his uncle a call, as he passed on his way to the
Glen. Duncan rose in a tremor of joy. He did not notice that his
nephew gave a start at the sight of the minister. Mr. Egerton rose
also and for an instant the two young men looked into each other's eyes
with an expression of anything but amity.
"Oh and it will be you, Donal'," cried the old man in a voice which
trembled with pleasure. "Here is the minister come to call."
Donald came forward, clinging desperately to the forlorn hope that the
conversation had not been overheard.
"Good evening, Mr. Egerton," he said in a rather constrained voice,
holding out his hand; but the other young man did not seem to notice;
perhaps the dusk accounted for his mistake.
"Good evening, Mr. McDonald," he said stiffly. "I have remained rather
long," he continued, speaking to Duncan Polite and incidentally turning
his back upon Donald. He shook hands with his host and without so much
as a nod towards the younger man, started for the gate. Duncan
followed him, protesting, but the minister could not stay. He did not
seem to hear the old man's timid suggestion that Donald would be going
down to the village, too, and would be glad to accompany him, but
strode off alone, indignation displayed in every line of his fine,
straight figure.
VI
THE FULFILMENT OF PROMISE
There was not one dissenting voice in the chorus of admiration sung by
the young people of Glenoro after their new pastor's social triumph at
the Hamiltons'. Everybody liked him and there went through the older
folk a thrill of joy that their pastor should be the leader of the
young and unsteady set, to bring them to a higher and nobler plane of
life.
Even Mrs. Fraser, the hypochondriac, was pleased with him in a mournful
sort of way. Of course, she was somewhat alarmed when Miss Cotton
declared that the minister was "jist a terror to cut up and could play
'Dan Tucker' better than Sandy Neil himself." But Annie Fraser
explained that Mr. Egerton had done it just to show that he wasn't
stiff or "stuck up."
This phase of the matter was a relief to her mother. Mrs. Fraser was a
person to whom the world and everything in it was one series of
ever-recurring disaster. She was a doleful body, taking pleasure only
in funerals and the laying out of the dead. With her peculiar taste
for sorrow and distress, she had come to be self-appointed nurse to the
whole neighbourhood. She was always due at the house of affliction
and, with her kindly heart and a certain skill in nursing, she proved a
sort of melancholy blessing. Her predilection for disaster caused her
to be regarded as a bird of ill-omen, for where Mrs. Fraser was, there
would calamities be gathered together, and to see her issue from the
big gate on the brow of the south hill with her ominous-looking black
bag was sufficient to raise apprehension in every heart. Indeed, Mrs.
Duffy, who lived nearly opposite the Frasers and who regarded the
village nurse with something akin to superstitious fear, would throw up
her hands at the sight of the herald of misfortune passing the door and
exclaim, "God bless me sowl, who's dead now?"
So if Mrs. Fraser was willing to look hopefully on the actions of the
new minister, the rest of the congregation might feel themselves
secure. But he was not long in showing that he could be quite as
energetic in his church affairs as in playing "Dan Tucker."
He plunged into the work with a vim and ardour which commanded the
admiration of a thrifty and hard-working people.
The young folk were no longer the drones in the hive; he had not been
among them a month before he had stirred them all up to an activity and
interest in church affairs they had never dreamed of before.
He organised a Young People's Society of Christian Endeavour and, with
the help of Mr. Watson, a Young Men's Christian Association. He joined
the Sons of Temperance and infused new life into that organisation. He
even went so far as to get the older women out of their homes and
before they knew what they were doing they had formed a Ladies' Aid
Society and were making plans to carpet and decorate the church.
Miss Cotton was the president of this latter organisation and worked up
the interest to such a pitch that even Mrs. Neil More went to one of
the meetings, and Archie set fire to the house while she was absent,
probably feeling that as the established order of the universe had been
completely overturned, the total destruction of all material things
should naturally follow.
The Methodists were incited to emulation by all this activity and Sim
Basketful started an Epworth League. Then Mr. Egerton, in his
free-hearted way, proposed that the two societies join and hold
alternate meetings in the two churches, a suggestion which met with
hearty approval and raised the young minister to the status of a saint
in the eyes of Mr. Ansdell.
He soon established himself on friendly terms with "the boys" who met
at the corner in the evenings. He entered into all their sports.
Whether it was throwing quoits in the middle of the road, playing
foot-ball in the river pastures below the mill, swimming in the milldam
or walking the logs on the pond, he was the leader. He was a favourite
with all classes. Mr. Watson, who was rumoured to have loose notions
on religion, was his constant companion. Syl Todd, the village dandy,
worshipped him, and Pat Duffy, who was rather a liberal-minded
Catholic, declared him "a blazin' fine chap" and gave as his opinion
that it was "a relief to see a parson that didn't look scared when a
fellow swore a little"--which indulgence was a conversational necessity
to Mr. Duffy.
The Glen grew livelier every day and the meetings at the Hamiltons'
larger and more frequent. John Egerton fell into the habit of dropping
in there very often. The whole family were most hospitable and Miss
Jessie was very charming. He saw from the first that she and young
Neil were avowed sweethearts. Mrs. McNabb informed him that Jessie and
Donald had been lovers ever since the day at school when he had
thrashed Pat Duffy for taking a forcible and liberal bite out of her
one apple. The young minister assured himself that he was very much
interested in the pretty rural romance and wrote an account of it to
Helen.
But, though he admired the village belle, he could not bring himself to
have any warmth of feeling for Donald. He met him almost every evening
either at the Hamiltons' or down at the corner and, while he could find
no fault in the young man's conduct, he never quite forgave the prank
he had played and did not unbend to him as he did to the others.
Donald's honest heart was filled with remorse for the mischief he had
unwittingly caused and in his straightforward fashion he went to the
minister to make an explanation and, if need be, offer an apology. But
his friendly advances were met with such cold politeness on the part of
his pastor that the apology died on Donald's lips. Instead, he made
matters worse by referring to the disagreeable incident and from that
time forward relations between him and the minister were somewhat
strained.
They were not improved by an incident that occurred shortly. One
afternoon Duncan Polite sent his nephew on an errand to some relatives
who lived down by Lake Simcoe and he was not able to return until the
next morning. Mr. Egerton noticed, with a feeling of relief, that he
was absent from the Epworth League that evening and at the close of the
meeting the thought struck him that there would surely be no harm in
his walking down the hill with Jessie Hamilton. He had no sooner
thought of it than his mind was made up and after the close of the
meeting he found himself, somewhat to his amusement, standing with the
crowd of young men who waited, at the gate, the coming of their
respective chosen.
The young ladies crowded out, some hurriedly and anxiously, others,
sure of their power, with provoking leisureliness. The Hamilton girls
were among the last. Wee Andra seized Bella and disappeared into the
darkness as suddenly as if they had been engulfed in oblivion. Sarah
followed, very disgusted at being accompanied by Peter McNabb, Junior,
who worked in his father's blacksmith shop and did not even know that
there were such things in existence as Euclid and Algebra. Jessie came
next; John Egerton stepped out from the ranks and raised his hat. "And
may I have the pleasure of walking down the hill with you, Miss
Jessie?" he asked, and the girl, murmuring some faint, shy words of
consent, they walked side by side down the leafy path where the
moonbeams through the trees made flecks of light upon her white dress.
The few stragglers still standing at the gate noticed the little scene
and many were the comments upon what would likely transpire if the
minister took to "keeping company with Don Neil's girl."
There was one who had noted the affair with perfect approval. Sylvanus
Todd had long worshipped Maggie Hamilton from afar with absolutely no
success; but so far from being disheartened by continuous rebuffs, he
only seemed to increase in ardour under them. He adored Mr. Egerton's
elegant ease and tried to copy it upon all occasions. His manner of
addressing Jessie he considered irresistible and felt sure it would not
fail with even so hardhearted a divinity as was his. Maggie was just
emerging from the church, talking and laughing in a way that would have
scandalised old Andrew Johnstone, when Syl stepped forward to put his
new formula to the test. Raising his hat in precise imitation of the
young minister's easy grace, he said, in as near an approach to Mr.
Egerton's deep, musical tone as he could manage, "And may I have the
pleasure of walking down the hill with you, _Miss_ Maggie?"
But the result was quite different. Maggie turned and stared at him in
genuine consternation. "Merciful gracious!" she screamed, "he's gone
clean, stark, staring crazy!"
Mr. Todd was about to reply with some dignity, when Allan Fraser, who
followed the more expeditious if less elegant method of the ordinary
young man of Glenoro and never asked permission, caught Maggie's arm
and swept her unceremoniously from underneath Sylvanus' nose.
Meanwhile, John Egerton, strolling slowly down the leafy path at
Jessie's side, was enjoying himself. This was the first time he had
ever been alone with the girl and by tactful questions he found out
more about her in their short walk than in all of their previous
acquaintance. His discoveries were all pleasant. As he had surmised,
she was more serious than her sisters; she had read a little,
too,--Dickens and Scott and some of Tennyson. They stood at the gate
in the moonlight for a long time, talking of books. He found she had a
thirst for them and he promised to lend her as many as she could read.
It was late when at last he left her; the radiant moonlight, the heavy
scent of the dewy garden, the soft rushing sound of the river and the
slim, graceful girl beneath the wide oaks had made a combination which
was intoxicating. He did not describe this scene to Helen, however, as
he had done so many others.
But of course Donald heard of it, and very soon. When Coonie came down
with the mail the next morning, Syl Todd confided his troubles to the
mail-carrier as he watered his horse. "Now, that there Allan Fraser
ain't got no more manners than if he'd never been outside of Glenoro,"
he said in conclusion of his mournful recital; "he don't know nothin'
about how to treat a lady." Syl was the only young man in Glenoro who
gave "the girls" the dignified title of "ladies."
"Always the way with them college chaps," agreed Coonie. "They think
they're some punkins and they don't know enough to make cheese."
"That's true," assented Mr. Todd, warmed by this unwonted sympathy.
"An' there's Don Neil; he's another that's been puttin' on airs, but
I'll bet he'll quit now; mind you, Coonie, the minister went home with
Jessie last night."
"Gosh!" exclaimed Coonie, expectorating copiously, "that's noos!"
"You bet! Don'll be hoppin' when he hears it. All the fellows has
been sayin' they bet Mr. Egerton would have liked to go with Jessie
ever since he come here if Don didn't keep him shooed off. Wait till
he goes back to college and the minister'll have his turn. Long's he
don't go hangin' 'round Maggie, _I_ won't bother him." And Mr. Todd
put his head on one side and gazed sentimentally up the hill, a pose
which was slightly damaged by old Bella throwing up her head and
spattering him with water.
As Donald Neil came cantering homeward, he met the mail driver dropping
down the Glenoro hills towards the Flats. "Hello, Coonie!" called the
young man, "how's yourself to-day?"
Coonie pulled up his old horse, which stopped with as much difficulty
as she started. He was very glad to meet Donald. "Oh, jist chawin'
an' spittin'," he answered with suspicious cordiality. "What kind o' a
new apostle's this you've got up here?"
"Who? Mr. Egerton? Oh! he's all right," said Donald, giving Bella a
poke in the ribs with his whip. "Haven't you seen him?"
Coonie spat disapprovingly. "Yes, you bet. Seen him this mornin'
showin' off the soles o' his boots on Peter McNabb's veranda an'
readin' novels. Soft snap them preacher fellows have. Nothin' in the
world to do but run after the girls. Don't wonder that you're headin'
that way yourself; guess Mr. Egerton thinks you're tryin' to get up to
him in the religion business, so he'll race you in the sparkin' line.
Haw! Haw!"
Donald looked down at him calmly. "Go on," he said quietly, "you've
got something on your mind, Coonie, and you'll never be easy till it's
off. I saw you were loaded when I was half a mile back; what's the
trouble?"
Coonie did not enjoy this; Donald Neil was not the right sort of person
to torment. He took that sort of thing too indifferently and one was
always left in the tantalising doubt as to whether he cared or not.
Coonie did not believe in casting his pearls before swine, so he
cracked his long whip with the usual admonitory inquiry, "Gedap there!
What're ye doin'?"
Bella gave her preliminary scramble, stopped, tried again and slowly
shambled off. But her driver could not resist turning in his teetering
seat, as the dust began to rise, to shout back, "If I'd a girl I was as
spooney over as you are, I'd keep an eye skinned for chaps as good
lookin' as the parson. Haw! Haw!--_Gedap_!"
Donald rode off with a laugh, but his face became grave as he climbed
the hill. A dark suspicion that the minister might some day be his
rival had long been forming in his mind. Perhaps jealousy was the
cause of his unforgiving spirit. He went to Wee Andra for an
explanation of just what Coonie meant and his mind was not eased by it.
He had never had a dangerous rival before and he was forced to confess
that the minister was certainly a very captivating young man.
Duncan Polite had hoped that ere this his nephew and Mr. Egerton would
have been firm friends. He wondered sadly over his failure to bring
them together at his house. He wondered over other things, too. He
regarded the revival of activity in the church with a heart of
overflowing joy, but a joy tinged with a puzzled uncertainty. He knew
that the young people of the congregation were now taking a greater
interest in religious matters than they had ever done, and yet he could
not quite understand why it was that, though the boys went regularly to
the meetings of the various organisations and were constant in their
attendance at the weekly prayer-meeting, which they had formerly
eschewed, still they showed no consequent change of conduct. Sandy's
fiddling and dancing went on uninterruptedly, parallel with his
Christian Endeavour meetings. Wee Andra was even more irreverent than
formerly and Donald showed no signs of an added desire to enter the
ministry. Donald's case was particularly disappointing. He wanted
Donald to sit at his young pastor's feet and learn the lesson of true
consecration. He never dreamed that those two whom he desired to be
fast friends were in great danger of becoming enemies, and that events
were shaping themselves to widen the breach between them.
VII
A DISASTROUS PICNIC.
Dominion Day was approaching, the day upon which Glenoro had held a
picnic in Isaac Thompson's maple grove, about half a mile down the
river, ever since there was a Dominion Day.
The affair was ostensibly for the Presbyterian Sabbath School, but all
Glenoro and the surrounding neighbourhood attended. The people from
the Oa and the Flats and even from over on the Tenth flocked to
Thompson's grove and swung in the trees and joined the swimming matches
and helped on the festivity. Besides the sports and other attractions,
there was always a programme of music and speeches after tea. Andrew
Johnstone, as superintendent of the Sabbath School, was responsible for
this part of the entertainment. The young men erected a platform of
new pine boards from the mill and the young women decorated it with
evergreen boughs and the visiting clergymen and township orators seated
themselves upon it in dignified array. Peter McNabb led the whole
assembly in a psalm or paraphrase and then Mr. Cameron and the
Methodist minister and all others honoured with a seat upon the
platform delivered addresses to the people seated in semi-circles on
the ground. Some of the speeches were sound and edifying, some were of
a lighter tone and were sprinkled with judicious jokes culled from many
sources for the occasion. Old Mr. Lawton, an itinerant Baptist
preacher who, no matter what his peregrinations might be, always
happened to be in Glenoro on Dominion Day, had told the same jokes
annually within the memory of the oldest picnicker, but, as they came
only once a year, they were quite fresh after their long rest and the
audience laughed at them each season with unabated mirth.