he was filled with a deep disapproval. He was an energetic,
well-meaning young man, rather injudicious and fiercely patriotic after
the spread-eagle manner of his cousins across the international
boundary. The Glenoro picnic struck him as being nothing short of
disloyal. There was not a flag to be seen anywhere in the woods, only
one of the speakers mentioned the fact that it was Dominion Day, and
then in a mere incidental way, and at the closing they actually sang
"Praise God from Whom All Blessings Flow" instead of "God Save the
Queen!" The schoolmaster made up his mind that if he lived till the
next first of July, he would show the people what a Dominion Day
celebration ought to be. For this purpose he sought the co-operation
of the minister. Old Andrew Johnstone was ruining the rising
generation, he explained, and it was time somebody showed him that he
and his old-fashioned ideas were antediluvian. John Egerton hesitated
at first. He did not like the idea of running counter to his ruling
elder, but he secretly agreed with Mr. Watson that that old man had too
much to do with the affairs of the church. He felt also that this
would be a fine opportunity to come in touch with the boys and girls;
so, after some demurring, he finally yielded and consented to give a
helping hand in the patriotic demonstration.
Mr. Watson set to work with wonderful zest. As the picnic was for the
Sabbath school, the children should properly be the entertainers, he
declared, so the public school pupils were detained every day after
school hours and the minister came down and helped drill them in
patriotic songs and exercises. Of course, they needed a musical
instrument, so they hired the Temperance Society's organ, and Jessie
Hamilton was asked to play. The whole arrangement proved highly
satisfactory to the young minister. He found himself looking forward
to the practise hour with pleasure, for he would walk down to the
Hamiltons', call for Jessie, and together they would stroll across the
bridge and up the river road beneath the trees to the school house
where they spent an hour in each other's company.
The undertaking had its drawbacks as well as its pleasure, however.
The chief one was young Neil Neil, a worse imp than Sandy even, and an
unfailing source of disorder. He and his bosom companion in iniquity,
a wild Irishman from the Flats by the name of Patrick Regan, conspired
to make the practise hour a burden to both their instructors. John
Egerton was sometimes tempted to wonder if Donald Neil was taking his
revenge by inciting his young relative to acts of rebellion. Then,
too, some of the parents grumbled because their children did not return
home in time to do "the chores." This gave the schoolmaster very
little trouble, however. He paid no attention to such base sentiments;
patriotism must be inculcated in the minds of young Canada, whether the
calves were fed or not.
But in spite of all discouragements the work progressed. There were
flag drills and motion songs, patriotic songs and public spirited
recitations and when the programme was finally completed Mr. Watson
heaved a sigh of content. There was to be only one speech, for Mr.
Egerton insisted that Mr. Ansdell be asked to say "a few words." They
quite forgot, however, that the superintendent of the Sabbath school
had always given the opening address and that Sim Basketful, though a
Methodist, had never missed contributing to the programme. For the
postmaster was undoubtedly the orator of Glenoro and had never before
seen a picnic bill between the Oa and the Flats without his name on it
in large type. Mr. Watson brushed away any doubts the minister had
regarding the innovation. "Was he going to be ruled by Splinterin'
Andra, or was he not?" he inquired, and John Egerton had responded that
he most decidedly was not, so the preparations went on unabated.
To Donald Neil the new arrangement was anything but pleasing. He never
seemed to be able to see Jessie any more. She was always trying over
some new songs with the minister or reading a book he had given her, or
in consultation with him over their preparations for the picnic.
Donald's opinion of his pastor was not improved by this. He was too
jealous to be quite impartial in his judgment and, therefore, did not
realise that his rival was more careless than culpable. Donald's
conception of a minister heretofore had been the Glenoro ideal,
heightened by Duncan Polite's teachings,--a holy man, set apart from
ordinary humanity for the Lord's special work. John Egerton was a
revelation to him. Was this the sort of man his uncle worshipped? he
asked himself. Was this the sort of man he was to emulate? He
concluded by deciding that if John Egerton was a good sample of the
ministry, then Donald McDonald would have nothing to do with the
profession.
Meanwhile, John Egerton went happily on his way, all unconscious that
he was doing any harm. As the date of the picnic approached he found,
to his intense amusement, that there was still another faction in
Glenoro church. This one was not at all formidable, however, for it
was neither religious nor national, but merely culinary and
geographical, namely, a strong rivalry in the production of pies and
cakes between the matrons north of Glenoro and those beyond the
southern hill. It broke out violently twice a year, at the first of
July picnic and at the New Year's tea-meeting. When the date of these
functions drew near, it was the custom for the North to muster their
forces at the house of Andrew Johnstone, while the South flocked to
their standard at Donald Fraser's and each made stupendous efforts to
out-bake the other. But very rarely was there an advantage on either
side. If one party got ahead of the other by so much as a cookie at
one festivity, the defeated were sure to produce some unheard-of
ammunition at the next. One New Year's Eve the South came charging up
with thirty different varieties of pie, causing rout and dismay in the
ranks of the enemy. But on the next Dominion Day the North responded
gallantly with an eleven-story iced cake looking like a triumphal
monument to celebrate their victory, and the balance of power was
restored.
This summer, with the inspiring presence of the new minister, efforts
were redoubled and for several days before the picnic the houses of the
Johnstones and the Frasers were turned into bake-shops, and pies and
cookies and tarts and story cakes were produced in such quantities and
with such elaboration that the producers themselves were rather alarmed.
The great day arrived at last and Nature did her part nobly. It was
one of those intensely clear, sunny days which only our Lady of the
Sunshine can produce, a day when the thermometer announces that it is
very hot, but when Nature denies the slander and the blood dances to
the time set by the bracing air.
The blood was dancing in Mr. Watson's veins, at any rate. He was up
early and had all his plans laid before noon. He collected his pupils
at the school house early in the afternoon and gave them copious
instructions. As soon as a sufficient crowd had collected at the
picnic grounds, they were to walk in procession with him down to the
grove, and just at their entry into the woods to burst into song and
march in twos up to the platform, waving their banners and singing of
the glory of Canada. After this they were to be given the freedom of
the woods until such time as the performance should commence.
The idea had been Mr. Egerton's and had been planned by him with great
care. He felt that the sight would be inspiring enough to please even
Splinterin' Andra. For the ruling elder looked with dark disfavour
upon any prominent performance by children and his young minister was
rather anxious as to the effect the programme would have upon him.
John Egerton assisted his colleague at the school house and then
repaired to the grove ahead of the procession, on purpose to be able to
report afterwards upon its appearance. When he arrived, the picnic
grounds presented a lively and pleasing appearance. Away back among
the trees, in the flecking light and shade, the long, white tables were
already being laid. White-aproned girls, among whom he recognised
Jessie's trim figure, were flitting about them, setting cups and
saucers with a musical clatter. Away in the background, a blue column
of smoke rose straight into the treetops from the old stove where Mrs.
Fraser and Miss Cotton were superintending the boiling of the tea and
at a table near by, piled with baskets, the matrons of the North and
South laughed and chatted over their rival productions. Over in an
open space of sunlight the boys and young men of the village were
engaged in athletic sports, jumping, racing and throwing the shoulder
stone. As he looked, he saw the slim, lithe figure of Donald Neil go
up over a bar with easy grace, amid the applause of the surrounding
spectators. Between the trees to the right flashed a line of blue and
silver, where the shouting and splashing of the swimmers had already
commenced. Everywhere to right and left there were swings--little
swings and big swings. The latter were patronised by young ladies and
their attendant swains and manned by two stalwart young men who sent
their burden of sober dun-coloured masculinity and fluttering muslin
and ribbon swaying far into the treetops, to the accompaniment of many
personal and highly mirth-provoking remarks from the crowd waiting to
be in the same position.
There was a mingling of shouts, laughter, neighing of horses, scraping
of turning buggies and clattering of dishes, harmonised by that
wonderful power which the forest possesses of turning all discordant
sounds within her bosom to perfect music.
The young minister moved about from group to group with a pleasant word
for all. He swung with Maggie Hamilton and Annie Fraser and Julia
Duffy; he entered keenly into the young men's athletic competitions; he
carried water for Miss Cotton and waited on the young ladies at the
tables; and finally he strolled over towards the platform where the
fathers of Glenoro were gathered. They sat on mossy logs or stumps,
with drooping shoulders, smoking their pipes in solemn content,
discussing crops and creeds, horses and heresies and enjoying life to
the full. Old Andrew Johnstone was there; but Duncan Polite was not
with him. Duncan never went anywhere except to church. The ruling
elder seemed in a rather mild frame of mind in spite of the fact that
the reins of government had been taken out of his hands. The young
pastor could not know that Duncan Polite's influence had soothed his
wrath. He sat beside the old man and chatted away genially, while
Splinterin' Andra watched him solemnly and with a certain wistfulness
in his stern face.
But John Egerton did not rest long; he was beginning to wonder why Mr.
Watson and his flock had not by this time startled them all into
admiration by their appearance. The time set for their arrival had
long passed and still the burst of music and the gleam of banners which
was to herald their approach did not come. He arose and walked towards
the road to see if they were in sight, when he saw the schoolmaster
approaching alone and with a haste which betokened disaster. His
friend hurried to meet him. "Why, what has happened?" he cried.
"Where are the children?"
But Mr. Watson was in a state of speechless wrath. The heat of the
summer sun combined with the internal burning of his indignation would
have produced apoplexy in a less cadaverous person. Some minutes
passed before he could quite explain the situation. When at length he
could tell it, it appeared that he had collected his flock at the
school in proper order and supplied them all with full instructions.
Then he delivered a flag to each boy and a maple branch to each girl,
to be waved as they entered the woods singing. Mr. Watson had an eye
for the artistic, and had at first decreed that each flag should march
beside a maple bough; but the proposition was received with such
hysterical squeals and giggles from beneath the Canadian emblems and
such dark looks of terrible rebellion from the red banners that the
schoolmaster was compelled to change the order of their going. So the
boys led the procession, going two and two, with the girls tripping
demurely behind, as was compatible with the masculine idea of the
fitness of things. The procession marched along quietly enough. Only
one digression occurred, when Neil Neil and Patsy Regan halted long
enough to hold a muscular dispute as to who should lead the van, a
contest in which both the Flag that Braved a Thousand Years and the
Maple Leaf Forever were trampled in the dust of the highway. The
matter was settled by their teacher setting the two belligerents, with
sundry cuffs and jerks, to march side by side, which they did in
perfect peace until they reached the grove.
And then it occurred--the great disaster! Just how it was managed, or
whether it was impromptu or with malice aforethought, the schoolmaster
did not know. But just as they entered the leafy path and he was
clearing his throat to give the keynote of "Upon the Heights of
Queenston," without warning or disturbance, the flags of their country
were flung to the ground and the disloyal young Britons were scurrying
off through the woods in twenty different directions, leaping over
fallen logs, crashing through underbrush and whooping like a pack of
wild Indians. The crucial moment had proved too much for schoolboy
modesty. Mr. Watson glared around to find himself left with only a
handful of embarrassed and giggling girls. Just one boy remained,
little Tommy Basketful, who was too small to run away and who held to
his sister's hand. There was no use trying to have the procession now;
the master dismissed the girls in a choking voice and went raging
through the woods to find Mr. Egerton, his progress and his wrath
accelerated by snatches of the interrupted song coming in high falsetto
voice or deep bass growl, from tree-top or hollow stump.
"I'll wager my next year's salary it's that young Turk, Neil, who's at
the bottom of it all!" he cried when he had finished the dismal recital
and wiped the perspiration from his face. "By Jove, if it isn't a fix!
There's Splinterin' Andra over by the platform; he'll never get over
it! Yes sir, it's young Neil Neil's done it all, with Patsy Regan's
help. They think they're safe because it's holidays, but I'll lay my
rawhide on to them next term or my name's not George Watson!"
"Never mind," said the minister, with his usual kindly cheerfulness,
"we shall have the programme at any rate."
"Programme! That's just what we won't have! Those young reprobates
are gone for good. I know them! The girls can't do the drills alone
and there won't be one piece fit to be given!"
The case was certainly more serious than the minister had at first
thought. They had advertised their entertainment far and wide and the
people were expecting something unique. If Neil Neil would not bring
back his rebel band the whole affair would be a complete failure; he
and Mr. Watson would be the laughing stock of the community and
Splinterin' Andra would be grimly pleased. The young man's face
darkened when he reflected that it was Donald Neil's brother who had
wrought all this mischief. Was that whole family in league against
him? The two looked at each other in dismay.
"Those Neil boys are a bad lot!" Mr. Watson burst forth again.
"They've been the plague of Glenoro school ever since Donald
started---- By Jove!" He started up suddenly, his face aglow, "I have
it! Don can make young Neil do anything. We'll get him to order the
young rascal back and to bring the others with him! Let's hunt him up!"
John Egerton drew back; he knew his relations with Donald Neil had not
improved since Jessie had begun to help with the picnic programme and
he did not at all relish the idea of asking his assistance in his
dilemma. But Mr. Watson was already tearing off impetuously and, as
there seemed no other way out of the difficulty and he could not leave
his friend to bear the burden alone, he reluctantly followed.
A rapid survey of the grove showed that Donald was not at the sports,
nor at the swings. Mr. Egerton noted with satisfaction that he was not
with Jessie. She had put aside her apron and was on one of the big
swings with a youth from the Tenth, her muslin dress swaying in the
breeze, her brown curls flying. But Mr. Watson would not suffer him to
stop one moment to admire the picture.
"He'll be down at the water," he cried, plunging headlong into a little
path which led to the river. "Come along, we've no time to lose--if I
only had my rawhide on that young Turk's back!"
The path they were following dipped suddenly into a little hollow where
it was completely concealed from the picnickers by thick clumps of
cedar and, at a sudden turn in the most secluded part, Mr. Watson
almost ran against the object of their search. He was hurrying up from
the river; his face was flushed, his hair damp and curly; he had
evidently just emerged from the water. He drew back suddenly to let
the schoolmaster pass.
"Are you playing tag?" he asked.
But Mr. Watson was in no mood for joking. "You're just the chap we're
looking for, Don! Mr. Egerton and I are in a beast of a pickle. That
young brother of yours has got to be looked after; he upset the
procession from the school, and he's cleared off with all the other
boys and we can't have any programme without them, and our whole
entertainment's ruined!"
Donald glanced past him at the minister, standing in dignified silence,
awaiting the issue, and for an instant a gleam of mischievous pleasure
flashed in his eyes, a glance John Egerton did not fail to detect and
at that moment he would have preferred to let the whole picnic be
ruined rather than ask a favour of Donald Neil.
"What have I to do with it?" Donald was asking gravely.
"Oh, you know," returned the schoolmaster in a wheedling tone; "you can
make Neil do anything. You order him to come back and bring the other
chaps, and we'll be eternally grateful; that's a good fellow, Don."
Donald's eyes were beginning to twinkle again; he could not help
enjoying his pastor's discomfort. "Why don't you discipline him
yourself?" he asked teasingly. "If he's amenable to neither religion
nor education"--he glanced at the minister again--"I am afraid I can do
nothing with him."
John Egerton's face flushed angrily. "I think you should feel yourself
responsible for your brother's action, Mr. McDonald," he said coldly.
"I must say he has been an unmitigated nuisance ever since we commenced
to practise, and now he promises to spoil everything. If you have the
slightest interest in the entertainment, you will see that he does his
duty."
Donald looked steadily into his pastor's eyes. For an instant a wild
desire to refuse help, to even command Neil to see that the programme
was a failure, entered his heart. But it was only momentary; Donald
was incapable of being petty. But he could not resist the retort, "I
couldn't think of assuming such honours in the presence of the
clergyman and the schoolmaster, but I can at least produce the cause of
this serious mishap." He put his fingers to his lips and gave three
sharp whistles, ending in a long musical note. A moment later a boy
came bounding up the path from the river; he was barefooted, his coat
was off and he was plainly preparing for a swim. He stopped suddenly a
few paces away when he saw who was with his brother and hung his black
curly head sheepishly.
"What d'ye want?" he called.
"Come here," said Donald quietly, and Neil obeyed; he knew that
whatever judgment was to be meted out to him, Don would see that he got
justice. "Mr. Egerton and Mr. Watson have something to say to you."
The culprit's bright eyes took on a look of alarm; he wriggled his
small bare toes in the dead leaves.
Donald pushed him towards the minister half mockingly. "Here," he said
with suspicious gravity, "you must judge this grave matter for
yourself."
John Egerton's sensitive face flushed hotly. He felt himself to be in
an extremely ludicrous position, Mr. Watson stood in the background
ready to second anything he might say, but very glad to be able to take
a subordinate position in the affair, and Donald leaned back against a
tree and looked upon the little scene with an extravagant solemnity
which was maddening.
At that moment the young clergyman would have enjoyed turning upon the
insolent fellow standing there with his arms folded so evidently
enjoying his discomfiture and thrashing him soundly, had he been able
to find an excuse. Unhappily he had none, however, and his wrath all
burst forth upon the boy.
"What did you mean by breaking up Mr. Watson's procession and leading
all the boys away?" he demanded hotly.
Neil's inbred reverence for the cloth had suffered somewhat under Mr.
Egerton's efforts to teach him to sing, so he answered promptly, "I
never! I jist cut off with the other fellows."
The minister's temper was fast slipping from his control. "Don't dare
to tell me that!" he cried, snatching the boy's arm. "You know you
planned this disgraceful affair!"
But the lad had darted a glance at his brother, and the keen instinct
of childhood had perceived that Donald was not in league with his
judges. So he looked up into the minister's face and said with
incisive impudence, "It's a lie!"
John Egerton might have restrained his rage even then, had he not again
caught the gleam of laughter in Donald's eyes. The double insult was
too much. He promptly caught the saucy boy a sounding box upon the ear
which sent him sprawling upon the ground.
The next instant Donald was in front of him. "Try something nearer
your own size, you coward!" he was saying, and barely giving his
opponent time to prepare, he planted a blow right between the
minister's eyes and sent him reeling back against a tree.
He was up and at Donald in an instant, and so sudden and terrible was
his onslaught that the champion boxer of Glenoro had a distinct
impression that he was meeting his match. Donald was just settling to
the fierce joy of battle when the schoolmaster flung himself upon them.
"There's somebody coming! Stop, Donald! For heaven's sake stop, Mr.
Egerton!" he implored frantically.
The antagonists parted with a sudden awakening to their position. The
minister was fighting with one of his church members! For an instant
the two young men stood back and regarded each other with something
like horror. Donald looked at the dark bruise on the other's lately
handsome face, and, realising who it was he had struck, his generous
heart smote him.
The approaching group turned off into another path, and as their voices
died away a terrible silence fell upon the four. Donald was the first
to break it. Duncan Polite's nephew could be courteous even in the
midst of his anger.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Egerton," he said with quiet dignity; "I should
not have struck you; I forgot your position."
But John Egerton's rage was still shaking him. "I regret very much
that my position makes it impossible for me to give you the thrashing
you deserve. If I were not the minister of this place----" His voice
choked with anger.
Donald's lips grew tight at this reception of his apology. "You are
happy in your choice of profession, sir," he said quietly. "It is at
least--safe."
The other stepped forward, his hands clenched. "Do you intend to
insult me again?" he demanded, his face white.
"I was merely going to add," said Donald with a smile, "that it's
rather hard on the profession."
Mr. Watson caught his pastor round the waist in a determined grasp.
"Splinterin' Andra's coming down the path!" he whispered wildly.
"He'll be here in two minutes! Don Neil, you ought to be ashamed of
yourself! Mr. Egerton," he implored, "for goodness' sake come away!"
He dragged the unwilling young man out of the pathway. "If this gets
out you'll not be able to stay in Glenoro another day! Think of
yourself! Think how it would look!"
Donald stood for a moment after they had left, torn between anger and
shame. The small cause of all this commotion stood shifting from one
foot to another and looking up at his big brother with frightened eyes.
"I never made the other fellows cut off, Don," he whispered as they
stepped quickly out of the way of the elder, "honor bright, I didn't."
"I know," said Donald dully. "It's all right; run off now. And look
here, Neil, not a word about this to anyone, remember, and you and the
other boys be at the platform when Mr. Watson wants you."