sweetest-tempered member of the family, with much of her father's grave
gentleness, and she received even more than her share of teasing. But
her heart was still very sore over her disagreement with Donald, and
she bent lower over her sewing.
"Be quiet, Mag," said Bella, who was the only one in the Hamilton
household who exercised any authority. "Leave Jess alone and go on
with your work."
Maggie seated herself complacently upon the sewing machine box and
swung her dish-towel to and fro. "To tell you the truth, Liza," she
said solemnly, "I believe the minister was scared. I think he thought
that when Splinterin' Andra got done makin' kindlin' wood o' the organ,
he'd make sausage meat o' him, an' if he was in that condition he
couldn't marry Jess----"
"To Don Neil," put in Sarah neatly.
"Mother, come and make the girls be quiet," pleaded the victim.
"Jess would make a fine minister's wife, though, Liza," continued
Maggie, knowing well that every word she uttered would be repeated
verbatim to Mrs. Fraser at the earliest possible date. "She takes
pious fits, doesn't she, mother?"
"I never notice much piety about any of you," retorted Mrs. Hamilton
smartly.
"Oh, mother Hamilton, you ought to be ashamed to own it, and here's
Bella and Jess getting themselves fixed to join the church. Shouldn't
wonder but I'll be doing something rash like that myself, now that I've
turned Christian Endeavourer."
"A fine specimen of a Christian Endeavorer you are," said Miss Cotton
scornfully. "An' you an active member, too!"
"Of course! I wouldn't be in anything where I couldn't be active.
It's heaps o' fun."
"My goodness, if you giddy folks had old Mr. Cameron over you, he'd
show you how to behave. It's my private opinion the minister don't
know a Christian from a wheelbarrow or he wouldn't have all you
feather-heads joining his societies."
"That's true, I do believe," agreed Maggie, "or he'd never a' got you
for President of the Ladies' Aid, for you know you say heaps more than
your prayers!"
"Maggie, you're a caution; do behave!" cried her mother, glancing at
Miss Cotton with secret pride to see how she appreciated Maggie's sharp
tongue.
"Oh, she's gone daft. Don't listen to her, 'Liza," cried Bella
impatiently. "Whatever do you 'spose made Mr. Egerton turn 'round and
act the way he did, anyhow?"
Miss Cotton looked mysterious. "I know a good bit more about that chap
than I've ever told," she said, nodding her head in a tantalising
manner. "I've got a letter over home that might throw some light on
the matter." She took up her work again, waiting for this startling
piece of intelligence to take effect.
"What in the world is it, 'Liza?" cried Mrs. Hamilton, approaching the
sewing machine. "I jist knew by the look o' you when you came in that
you'd something in your mind that----"
"That's so, she does look queer," declared Maggie, stopping, with her
dish-cloth suspended, to examine Miss Cotton critically. "Now, I've
seen 'Liza so often when her mind was empty----"
"Don't listen to her, 'Liza!" cried Jessie, her small mouth twitching
with laughter. "What were you going to say?"
"Well, if that young gas-bag would shut up for half a minit, I'd tell
you something pretty queer about the minister. But, mind you, it's a
dead secret, and you must _promise_----"
There was a chorus of solemn pledges to secrecy from the group which
collected hastily around the sewing machine. Mrs. Hamilton left her
bread-making and came, with floury hands held carefully away from the
blue silk, to listen.
Miss Cotton leaned back in her chair and raised her scissors. Such
moments as this were her happiest. "Well, I don't pretend to know what
made him change his mind so sudden," she said, lowering her voice
mysteriously, "for I don't, not any more than that sewing machine; but
I do know somethin' about him, that not a soul in Glenoro knows, an' it
makes me have some idea why he acts so queer." A solemn silence fell
over the listeners.
"I've known it for two whole days, an' never whispered it to a livin'
soul!" she added, proud of this achievement in reticence.
"My! it's a wonder you didn't explode." Maggie's voice somewhat
relieved the tension. The narrator paid no heed.
"Now I guess you won't believe me, but mind you, I seen that fellow
before he ever came here. It was when I was in Toronto that fall,
visitin' Maria, an' you'd never guess where I seen him, if you was to
try from now to the crack o' doom!"
She resumed her sewing with the most aggravating coolness.
"Drunk in the street," suggested Maggie.
"Maggie, it's awful to talk about a minister like that!" cried her
mother, weakening her reproof with a laugh.
"Where in the world was it, 'Liza?"
Miss Cotton resumed her oratorical attitude. "Well, mind you, I never
knew myself that I'd ever clapped eyes on him, till night before last,
but his face puzzled the senses out o' me ever since he came here.
Only I'd heard so much about what old McAlpine looked like, that I
thought it was because he looked like him. But if I've told Mrs.
Fraser once, I've told her a dozen times that----"
"Oh, go on with your yarn!" Maggie's dish-cloth was waving impatiently.
"Well, you mind that fall I went to the Exhibition an' stayed with
Maria till near Christmas? My, the sights I did see that time! You
girls ought to take a trip to the city now, why----"
"Oh, never mind, 'Liza," said Maggie, knowing the narrator's weakness.
"Settle the minister first, an' you can talk Toronto all day after."
"My! but you're anxious about him, Maggie! That's a bad sign. Well,
as I was sayin', I stayed all fall, you know, an' Maria she was bound
and determined I'd see an' hear everything that was worth while, an'
her and James they jist trotted me 'round till I was near dead. James
Turner does make Maria an awful kind man, I will say, though I ain't
got much use for men. Well, one night we went to a high-toned concert,
got up by a lot o' college fellows. I tell you there's where you see
the fine lookin' chaps! Don Neil couldn't hold a candle to them, the
way they was dressed up, reg'lar doods every one o' them, an' the
style! If I'd been a young thing like one o' you girls now, I'd a lost
my heart a dozen times over. But if you'd a' seen the fellows that
took part in the concert, you'd a' died, the way they were rigged up!
They all came a-flippin' an' a-floppin' out onto the platform, an'
besides their pants an' coats, every mother's son o' them had on some
kind of a long cloak, for all the world like Mrs. Duffy's black dolman.
An' they had the curiousest things on their heads, jist exactly like
the black shingles that was flyin' 'round here the night the sawmill
burned down!"
"Why, they were college gowns and caps," said Sarah; "Don Neil and
Allan Fraser are both going to get them."
"Well, don't I know that, you young upstart. An' Mrs. Fraser's in an
awful way about Allan wearin' one, too, but that don't prove that they
didn't look jist like the mischief itself."
"Dear me, do they wear them kind o' things out amongst other folks?"
inquired Mrs. Hamilton in mild alarm. She had supposed that such
raiment would be confined to the seclusion of one's own bed chamber.
"Indeed, they jist do, Mrs. Hamilton. If Jessie an' Don Neil makes up
this little lovers' quarrel they've got up lately, you'll have him
comin' flappin' down the hill to see her in one o' them next winter.
But reelly, you wouldn't believe what awful trollops they were; an' if
I couldn't turn out a stylisher lookin' wrapper an' a mighty better
fit, too, I'd go an' choke myself."
"You'll choke before you get this story told, if you don't quit
talkin'," said the plain-spoken Maggie. "Did the minister have a
wrapper on?"
But Miss Cotton had a fine eye to the structure of a story. "Oh, I'm
comin' to him, at the right time. Well, as I was sayin', there was a
whole swarm o' these fellows came floppin' an' flounderin' onto the
platform an' they all squat down in a long row with their wrappers an'
shingles on, an' started to play like all possessed on what they call
bangjoes or some such tomfoolery."
"Banjoes," corrected Sarah. "Lots of the boys and girls play them at
the High School."
The orator paid no attention.
"An' they set there fiddle-dee-deein' for about a quarter of an
hour,--an' now I'm comin' to the important part. There was one tall,
good-lookin' chap, sittin' right in the middle o' the row----"
"Mr. Egerton," whispered Maggie.
"An' he was scratchin' away for dear life on some sort of a fryin'-pan
thing, an' I leans over to James an' I sez, 'James,' sez I, 'ain't it
for all the world like gratin' nutmegs?' sez I. Well, we were bang-up
in the very front seat, for James Turner always believes in gettin' all
he pays for, an' the fellows was makin' the awfullest clatter, an' you
know, James Turner's as deaf as a post, anyhow, an'--well, now, if any
o' you scalawags lets this out I'll massacree the whole lot o' you!"
A chorus of renewed promises and entreaties to continue followed this
terrible threat.
"Well, jist as I was sayin' it, good and loud, what should that blessed
racket do but stop short, jist as if they'd all been shot dead; an'
jist at that very min'it I was yellin' 'gratin' nutmegs!' at the top o'
my lungs!"
She joined heartily in the shrieks of laughter, for Miss Cotton loved a
joke on herself, as well as on another.
"O' course, they all went at it again, with a bang," she continued,
"but them fellas heard, o' course, an' they started to shake. An' this
tall chap in the middle, I'm tellin' you about, was the worst of all.
I thought he'd a' took a conniption fit an' when he did manage to sober
up a bit, he stared down at me that hard, that if I'd been a skit o' a
thing like one o' you girls, I'd a' blushed, sure. But I jist stared
back at him, good and hard, I tell you, till he had to look away.
"There was lots more programme besides that, singin' an' speakin'
pieces an'--oh, land! there was one girl come switchin' in with a long
tail to her dress, that would reach clean from here to the mill, an'
the neck of it cut that low it would make a body want to get under the
seat; it was jist shameful! An' the way she sang was jist near as bad.
She squalled an' took on as if everybody she'd ever knowed had been
massacreed, an' you couldn't make out one single word she said no more
than if it had been Eyetalian. An' all them folks set with their
mouths open, an' seemed to think it was jist grand, low neck an' all,
an' when she finished up with a yell jist like the sawmill whistle,
they clapped fit to kill. I'm sure I'd heaps rather listen to Julia
Duffy singin' 'Father, dear father, come home with me now,' an' you
know what that's like."
"But that ain't near the worst yet. After all them fellas got through
some more scrabblin', out comes the tall chap again, I was tellin' you
about. Maria said it was him, or I never would a guessed it, because,
as sure as you're standin' there, Mrs. Hamilton, he was all blackened
up and togged out with a long-tailed coat, an' a high hat, an' danced,
an' cut up jist fit to kill. The people all went clean into fits; an'
I thought James Turner would a' died laughin'. It was real kind o'
comical, too, the way he went on. But now I'm comin' to the real part
o' my story. When we were goin' home on the street car, Maria says to
me, sez she, 'Do you mind the fellow that sang the coon song?' sez she.
'Well, I should think I do,' sez I, 'an' of all the bold young
scamps!'--'Well,' sez she, 'that fellow's goin' to be a Presbyterian
minister!' 'A minister!' sez I; 'what on earth's a minister doin'
flappin' 'round in a black night-gown an' playin' on a fryin' pan an'
singin' nigger songs? He ought to be home readin' his Bible!' sez I.
'Well,' sez Maria, 'he's goin' to be one anyhow. He's jist in Var-city
yet,' sez she, 'an' I guess it don't matter.' 'Well,' sez I, 'Maria
Cotton, the sooner he gets out o' _Var_-city, or whatever you call it,
the better, for it must be a wicked hole!' Well, we didn't say any
more about him, 'cause we was racin' an tearin' 'round to somethin' new
all the time, an' I clean forgot all about it, until Monday night, I
was goin' home a piece o' the road with Mrs. Fraser, an' Mrs. Basketful
called to me that there was a letter from Maria for me. I was scairt
for a minit, for I thought her an' the children must be all dead, she
writes so seldom. But here if she didn't write to tell me the most
surprisin' news you ever heard, no less than that my gigglin' dancin'
chap with the bangjo was no less than our own minister!"
There was a chorus of startled exclamations. Everyone had guessed the
end of the story, but it was astounding nevertheless when put into
words.
"How I could ha' been so stupid as to forget," continued Miss Cotton,
"I can't imagine. It's a good long time ago, though, an' Maria never
told me his name; but now what do you think o' that, Mrs. Hamilton?"
"Dear, dear, ain't it awful!" exclaimed that lady, in genuine distress.
She was of the old school, who considered a minister removed far beyond
the frivolities of ordinary mortals, and was completely bewildered.
"Mebby that was when he was sowin' his wild oats," she said at last,
with some hope.
"Pshaw, mother, ministers ain't supposed to grow wild oats!" cried
Bella piously. She was not as much enamoured of Mr. Egerton as
formerly; for Wee Andra was openly antagonistic to him since his
mysterious disagreement with Donald Neil.
"Don't any o' you girls breathe a word o' this," warned Mrs. Hamilton.
"Andra Johnstone an' some o' the other elders aren't too well pleased
with the poor fellow now."
"My!" sighed Maggie. "Wouldn't I love to tell Splinterin' Andra that
the minister could sing nigger songs and play a banjo. He'd say--'Show
me the sinfu' instrument of Belial an' Ah'll smash it into a thoosand
splinters!'" She accompanied the speech with such an exaggerated
imitation of the old man's vigorous gestures, using the poker in lieu
of a cane, that the spectators shrieked with laughter.
"I'm afraid he'd smash the minister, too," declared Sarah.
"Oh, well," said Jessie, "I don't see that there was any harm in Mr.
Egerton's singing and playing when he was young----"
"Oh, yes, o' course you'll take his part!" cried Miss Cotton. "But
I'll tell you this much, I've got something more to tell, bigger than
all that, something that'll make _you_ think he ain't quite so perfect."
"Why, 'Liza!" cried Mrs. Hamilton in alarm, "there surely ain't more!"
"There jist is, Mrs. Hamilton, an' something pretty queer." She was
whispering again, and her audience drew near with bated breath. "Maria
wrote two whole pages about him, an' she left the worst to the last.
She said, 'I s'pose he's a great fella' for the girls, he always was in
Toronto, an'--Jessie's lookin' scairt, I do declare! Well, she said
he'd better take care 'cause he was engaged to a high-toned lady in
Toronto, engaged to be _married_, mind you! It's true, too, because
Maria knows. She's rich, an' awful stylish, an' her name's Helen
Weir-Huntley, mind ye, one o' them high-toned names with a stroke in
the middle. An' Mrs. McNabb told Mrs. Fraser on the sly that Mrs.
Basketful told her he wrote to a girl by that name every week o' his
life, only not to tell. An' he gets a letter back every week, too,
with a big chunk of red wax on it, an' some kind of a business stamped
on; jist stylish folks uses that kind. So I guess you girls had better
quit playin' organs an' doin' things for him!"
Jessie's face flushed crimson. "I don't see what difference that would
make, 'Liza," she said with a steady look from her deep grey eyes.
"Well, well, ain't it awful!" commented Mrs. Hamilton for the fifth
time, quite overcome by this second disclosure.
"Well, I think it's a pretty queer thing, anyhow," said the narrator,
setting the sewing machine whirring again; "I don't set up for no saint
myself----"
"That's a good thing, 'Liza," interrupted Maggie, who had recovered
somewhat; "just think how it would bother you!"
"But I _do_ say," continued the other, imperturbably, "that ministers
ought to act different from common folks. And when I heard about his
goin's on, I jist thought it wasn't any wonder he acted so queer about
the organ. Bella, let's see if this band fits. Goodness gracious,
girls, speak of angels! Who's that comin' in at the front gate?"
"It's him! It's the minister!" cried Maggie, dancing wildly around,
"Let's go an' ask him how Miss
Thingy-me-bob-with-the-stroke-in-the-middle-of-her-name is!"
"For pity's sake!" cried Mrs. Hamilton, an ejaculation of no particular
meaning, but one she always used under unusual excitement.
"Bella, run an' show him into the settin' room, while I wash my hands
out o' this bread. Who'd a' thought of him comin' here this mornin'
an' us jist talkin' about him!"
"Mercy me, mother! I can't go to the door in this wrapper. Send
somebody else; Jess, you look all right."
"Yes, Jess, you trot out an' show him in. Tell him the President of
the Ladies' Aid's here, in a most pious frame of mind, and she'd like
to hear him play the bangjo and sing the other Joe--'Old Black Joe,' or
whatever you call him, and maybe he'll dance the 'Highland Fling,' too!"
"Maggie!" implored her mother. "He'll hear you! There's the knocker!"
The minister's sudden appearance put an abrupt termination to Miss
Cotton's gossip, but the story did not end there. Jessie concluded for
the time, that, though a minister, Mr. Egerton must be something of a
flirt, and as Donald was now repentant she soon found no time to bestow
upon his rival. The young minister missed the girl's pleasant
companionship, but he soon discovered that there was much greater
trouble ahead of him. The story of his musical attainments in his
college days rolled through Glenoro, gaining in bulk as it progressed.
For, contrary to Miss Cotton's warning but quite in accord with her
expectations, the tale leaked out. Bella told it to Wee Andra, who
told "the boys" at the corner. Syl Todd rehearsed it before Coonie the
next morning, and that was all that was necessary. Coonie embellished
it to suit himself, and produced such a work of art that he shocked
Mrs. Fraser beyond speech when he delivered it to her at the top of the
hill.
By the time it reached the Oa it was to the effect that in his college
days Mr. Egerton had been a very wild and dissolute youth. Glenoro
might not have objected to a thoroughly reformed villain, but this
young man's gay conduct left them in doubt whether at heart he was any
better now than in the past. Old Andrew Johnstone, who had been
somewhat mollified by the young man's action in regard to the organ,
was once more aroused. At first he paid no heed to the story, for his
son had told it to him. Wee Andra did not think it necessary to repeat
it verbatim; he was rather vague concerning details, but extremely
serious. Some tale 'Liza Cotton had heard, he explained. It was quite
true, he feared, something or other about his playing a fiddle and
dancing, far worse than Sandy Neil had ever been guilty of, for this
was in a theatre. Wee Andra knew the word theatre was to his father a
synonym for the bottomless pit. "Mebbe the minister had been an actor
once." Wee Andra hoped, for the sake of the Church, that it wasn't
true.
"Ah, ye tale-bearer!" cried his father with a withering contempt, which
could not quite hide his perturbation. "It's a fine pack ye meet every
night in the Glen! Their only thought is to hear or tell some new
thing, let it be false or true! Ye canna' even keep yer ill tongues
aff a meenister o' the Gospel!"
"But this is true, father," declared the young man seriously. "'Liza
Cotton saw him herself; you can ask her, if you don't believe me.
Man!" he continued, growing frivolous again, "it'll be fine here next
winter if he plays the fiddle! Sandy Neil's goin' to ask him to learn
him some new dance tunes!"
"Ah, ye irreverent fool!" shouted his father, rising up from the dinner
table where this conversation had been held. "Man, ye an' yon Neil
pack neither fear God nor regard man! Get oot o' ma' sight!"
Wee Andra, having wisely deferred his last shot until his dinner was
finished, obeyed his father's injunction with alacrity, and went off to
the fields, consumed with unfilial mirth.
Meantime the subject of all this discussion was not oblivious to the
fact that some strange undercurrent of feeling was working against him.
Coonie was the instrument used to make a reality out of the intangible
thing.
The mail-carrier was coming slowly down the hill one September morning
with hanging head and sullen mien. Eliza Cotton had been sewing down
on the Flats for over a week and he had not had any fun for a long
time. He was just sweeping the valley with his green eyes like a huge
spider in search of prey, when he caught sight of a tempting fly. The
young minister was coming up the leaf-strewn path by the roadside. He
was just turning in at the McNabbs' gateway, when Coonie pulled up. He
had brought a bundle from Lakeview for the blacksmith's wife with his
accustomed grumblings, and had intended to fling it over the gate, as
he passed, in the hope that it contained something breakable. But now
he recognised in it an instrument in the hand of Providence to give him
the long-wished-for speech with the minister.
"Good-mornin'!" he called, rather crustily, for Coonie affected good
manners before no one, no matter what was his aim. "Will you hand this
bundle to the Missus in there, if you're goin'. It's some o' the fool
truck I've got to lug across the country for weemen."
Mr. Egerton stepped towards the buckboard, and Coonie grinned as he saw
the brilliant polish of his boots disappear in the grey dust of the
road.
"Hope you're likin' Glenoro," he said as he handed out the parcel.
John Egerton met the unaccustomed friendliness of the mail-carrier with
the utmost cordiality. "Oh, yes, very well indeed, thank you!" he
answered, but without the enthusiasm he would have displayed a couple
months previous.
"Awful place for talk," replied Coonie righteously. "Never saw the
likes. If a fellow's ever done anythin' in his life he shouldn't a'
done, cried too much when he was a baby, or anythin' like that, they'll
find it out. S'pose you'll find they're rakin' up all the things you
ever did?"
John Egerton looked at the questioner keenly. He was not sufficiently
acquainted with this queer specimen to be able to answer him according
to his folly; so he said curtly, "I am perfectly willing they should,
Mr. Greene; I never did anything I am ashamed of."
Coonie's face expressed profound astonishment, not unmixed with gentle
reproof. "Is _that_ so? Glad to hear it, sir, glad to hear it." He
shook his head doubtfully as he spoke, and rode away, his shoulders
drooping suspiciously. He was in such good humour that seeing some of
the Hamilton girls on the veranda, he drew in all the breath he was
capable of and bawled, "Say, which o' yous girls is goin' to marry the
minister? I hear you're all after him!"
There was a chorus of smothered shrieks and a sudden vanishing of
whisking skirts within the doorway, and having satisfied himself that
Mr. Egerton must have heard, Coonie swung his whip round old Bella and
clattered up to the post-office in high glee. And Duncan Polite from
his watchtower on the hilltop witnessed his meeting with the minister
and prayed that the young servant of his Master might be speaking to
Coonie of things eternal.
John Egerton returned to his study in deep annoyance. He now realised
certainly that someone was circulating slanderous tales about him,
tales that had caused Jessie Hamilton to avoid him. His thoughts
instantly reverted to Donald. He had noticed him and Jessie strolling
along the river bank nearly every evening lately; probably he was
filling the girl's mind with disagreeable untruths regarding her
pastor. He believed young Neil capable of it. The knowledge of his
perfect innocence in the past only served to increase his anger at
anyone who had dared to malign him. He waited until four o'clock and
then went up to the schoolmaster's house and demanded an explanation.