church had had nothing whatever to do with giving up her life to the
Lord's work. She had taken that step at the last communion because
Bella and a large number of the young people of the church were doing
the same, and because she had arrived at the time of life when, in her
opinion, everyone was supposed to join a church; and most of all,
because Mr. Egerton had asked her. _He_ had never said anything about
a holy consecration. She knew her catechism perfectly and could repeat
whole chapters of the Bible; she had never done anything wicked in her
life, not even what _she_ considered wicked, and she had supposed these
qualifications were sufficient. Mr. Egerton had given her the
impression that he had thought so at least. Duncan Polite's conception
of the act seemed entirely different.
"I know we all joined the church, but it didn't seem,--I didn't think
it was like that," she faltered. "I don't think I'm any different."
"Oh, indeed, you will be a good lassie, yes indeed, oh, yes! But when
the Lord calls His chosen to take of His broken body and His shed
blood"--he whispered the sacred words tenderly--"He will be expecting
them to do much for Him."
"I don't think I'm like that. I know I'm not," burst out the girl.
"Mr. McDonald"--she looked at him, suddenly resolved to ask him some
questions that puzzled her. She had never been able to bring herself
to ask her father, and Mr. Egerton would not understand. "Is it wrong
for all us girls and boys to belong to the church, and just go on
acting the same? I--I like nice clothes, and fun, and--and it's just
the same now, I don't see any difference." She stopped, overcome.
Duncan's brown eyes were radiating kindness. "My child," he said
tenderly, "I will not be wise to tell you these things, but----" he
hesitated a moment and a tenderer light came over his face; his voice
sank to a whisper--"but if you would be having the _vision_, the vision
of Calvary; if you would be seeing how the Lord Jesus put away His life
for us, you would be knowing then that His work is all and these other
things will be just nothing."
Jessie's bright head drooped, her eyes filled with tears. She was
looking at her half-hearted, worldly interest in the work of the Master
in comparison with Duncan Polite's devotion. The old man's words were
not all; piety creates its surrounding atmosphere, stronger than any
verbal expression of it, and Duncan's manner said far more than his
tongue. He saw her emotion and with his usual tact changed the
conversation to lighter subjects. Jessie's face grew brighter after
that, and she chatted away unreservedly until it was time for her to
leave. Just before she rose, Duncan lifted his old leather-bound Bible
from the table and glanced at her timidly. "Would you be minding if I
would read jist a word?" he inquired eagerly.
"Oh, I should like it so much," said the girl gently.
Duncan opened the Book reverently, his face glowing; then he paused and
looked at her again. "Oh, but it is you will be the fine reader, and
my eyes will not be so good, indeed, since this cold, and maybe you
would jist be reading this now, and I would be much obliged, whatever."
Jessie took the Bible, and read where he had indicated. It was the
sweet story of Mary, who sat at the Master's feet. She had read it
many times before, but it had never seemed quite the same, for, when
she finished, Duncan Polite said softly, "Yes, that will be it, oh yes,
indeed, jist to sit at His feet and learn of Him."
That was the first of many visits the girl paid the old man. Duncan
never left his own house, though his sister begged him to spend the
winter with her. But the watchman must not leave his post, he felt,
and his loneliness was more than compensated for by Jessie's visits.
Through his long, weary convalescence the girl came regularly two or
three times a week, with the dainties her mother was in the habit of
lavishing upon the sick. At first her sisters teased her about her
sudden change of mind regarding visiting Duncan Polite. Maggie
declared she liked to go because she had to pass the McNabbs' and would
likely see the minister, but Sarah gave it as her opinion that she went
to get the latest news of Donald.
Jessie paid no heed to their raillery beyond smiling enigmatically.
They little guessed her real motive. She looked forward to her visits
eagerly as the winter progressed. Gradually her heart was opening to
the old man's teaching. He said very little, but every word he uttered
the girl carried away in her heart. The visit always ended by their
reading a few verses of the Bible together, and one day, before she
left, Duncan laid his hand gently upon her curls and said softly, "The
Lord bless thee, and keep thee!" and she went away feeling that a
benediction had fallen upon her.
At the time of these visits to Duncan Polite, Jessie was studying, with
the other members of the Christian Endeavour Society, the life of
Christ. The meetings were well attended, and Mr. Egerton gave them a
most graphic and interesting account of the historical and picturesque
aspect of the wondrous season upon earth of the Son of the Most High.
But Jessie went up to the little shanty on the hilltop for the
spiritual side. Under Duncan's gentle, humble dealing with the divine
mystery, the girl gradually came to comprehend, in a measure, what
Duncan had termed "the vision." She understood, at last, the meaning
of the Great Sacrifice, beside which all possible human sacrifice
stands poor and mean. She caught a gleam of the light from Calvary,
and in its searching effulgent blaze all the faint glitter of worldly
achievement grew dim and disappeared.
Among other things which she saw for the first time in their proper
light was her association with the young minister. She knew now that
only her poor pride in the envy she excited had made her desire his
attentions. She looked at the man himself with new eyes, and though
slow to blame another in her new-found humility, she could not help
thinking how different it might have been with her and Donald had their
pastor had more of the spirit of Duncan Polite.
But she did not criticise him; her own idle, careless life she found
too full of faults to censure another. That life was gradually being
turned to higher aims, for a new Jessie Hamilton had been born that
winter, and one who was destined to help fulfil the old watchman's
great desire.
XIII
THE CANADIAN PATRIOTIC SOCIETY
The winter passed swiftly and merrily in Glenoro. Since the accident
on the river skating had fallen into disfavour, but the minister loved
coasting, someone discovered, and the young people turned the south
hill into such a splendid slide that the teams could scarcely get down
to the mill with their saw-logs. Then there were parties and
tea-meetings, and the weekly meetings of the many organisations in
connection with the church. The young pastor and his youthful friends
lived in a constant whirl.
This state of affairs brought down many a wrathful condemnation from
the ruling elder upon the heads of the young minister and all his
generation. Andrew Johnstone had well-nigh lost all hope of the young
man's ever accomplishing any good. But he and Duncan Polite still
clung to one straw. Every winter the Methodists held a series of
revival services, and this year the Presbyterian Church was to be asked
to join them. Such friendly relations had been established between the
two denominations since Mr. Egerton's arrival in Glenoro that this was
at last possible. Andrew and his friend looked to this period of
special services as an anchor in the great tide of worldliness which,
to them, seemed to be sweeping away their church.
But when the Methodist minister approached his brother clergyman with
the proposition, Mr. Egerton was compelled to give a reluctant refusal.
He was grieved at his inability to help Mr. Ansdell in any undertaking,
but he had already promised all his spare time and energy to a scheme
of the schoolmaster's. Early in the winter Mr. Watson had dropped into
the minister's study, his small, thin face full of eagerness.
"Look here, Mr. Egerton," he said, tilting his chair back against the
wall, "let's get up a patriotic society this winter; it'll keep things
lively."
The young clergyman was already beginning to realise that he had very
little time for reading or study and scarcely relished the thought of
additional engagements. "What should you do at the meetings, for
instance?" he asked.
"Oh, stir up a spirit of loyalty. I'm not just sure how; but you'd be
sure to find a way."
"Why not make it a literary society, and study one of the poets; don't
you think that would be better?"
Mr. Watson did not look satisfied. "I don't believe you're half
patriotic," he said banteringly, "but I'll make a bargain with you. I
know a literary society would be a good thing, and I'll go in for it
head and feet, if you'll promise to call it the Canadian Patriotic
Society, and let's talk about Canada for ten minutes or so before you
begin on your poets."
John Egerton was rather pleased with the idea. Certainly young
Canadians were grievously ignorant of their own country, and a literary
society would supply a great want.
So the Canadian Patriotic Society was duly organised and from the first
was a great success.
But a quiet weekly meeting at a private house was not sufficient for
the insatiable energy and fervid patriotism of Mr. Watson. He decided
that the Canadian Patriotic Society must come before the public. His
last attempt at a patriotic demonstration had met with such humiliating
disaster that he had abandoned all such projects for a time, but here
was a grand opportunity to educate the public. They would give a
patriotic concert that very winter and astonish all the township of
Oro. Of course the society was ready for anything and was soon plunged
in monster preparations for the event. It was at this juncture that
Mr. Egerton was asked to assist in the period of revival services. But
this new society and its concert completely filled his spare time, so
the two weeks of special meetings, when the old minister laboured
faithfully to bring souls to Christ, were carried on without help from
his young confederate. The attendance was smaller than on former
occasions, and the interest seemed faint. John Egerton was sorely
troubled. He felt he could not be blamed, and yet his conscience
rebuked him.
In spite of its immense popularity the Canadian Patriotic Society met
with some opposition. As the minister was taking such an active part
in it, Duncan Polite watched its development with a faint hope. But
Splinterin' Andra soon dispelled his illusions. "It's jist some more
o' his balderdash to keep young folk oot o' their beds at night," he
declared bitterly. "Man, if the buddie'd be faithful to his Maister,
he needna' fear for his country!"
Old Mark Middleton, whose forebears were United Empire Loyalists, was
another active dissenter. Mark's ancestry placed him in a position to
speak with authority upon such subjects and his opinion had some weight
with the community. He declared that the whole thing savoured of
rebellion, and he, for one, would be very glad if he were sure the
schoolmaster and the Presbyterian minister weren't hatching some Irish
plot against the Government.
Coonie found this a tempting morsel, and delivered it duly to the
schoolmaster the first Saturday he found him at the corner. "Awful
sorry to hear about the row you'n the minister are gettin' into," he
remarked sympathetically, as he crawled into the store, and pulled his
poor, half-frozen limbs up to the stove.
Mr. Watson turned sharply from the contemplation of the pound of butter
Mrs. Watson had cautioned him to bring home, and stared at the speaker.
"What on earth do you mean?" he inquired incredulously.
"Why, didn't you hear?" Coonie's tone was a master-piece of pained
amazement. "Why, old Middleton's kickin' like a steer about this
patriotic concert you're gettin' up. Says he bets it's another
Mackenzie business all over, and he'll have the law if it ain't
stopped. An' Splinterin' Andra says that a minister o' the Gospel
who----"
"Oh, go along, Coonie!" cried the other, much relieved. "You're surely
old enough to know that Mr. Egerton's got more sense than to pay
attention to anything quite so pre-historic as Splinterin' Andra! And
as for old Mark," he continued impressively, "you can tell him, from
me, that if there'd been a few more concerts like this long ago,
William Lyon Mackenzie couldn't have raised a rebellion and wouldn't
have wanted to if he could."
Coonie shook his head doubtfully. "'Fraid it would only make trouble.
Mark says it's all danged nonsense. Awful language that old man uses!"
He sighed piously, and, lighting his pipe, proceeded to make himself
comfortable.
"Well, I'll tell you one thing," he continued seriously, putting his
feet on the top of the stove and expectorating into the open damper at
a perilous distance, "I'll tell you one thing. This here dispenser o'
religion you've got in this town tries to run too many shows at once.
He's tryin' to keep the Gospel trade hummin' an' have his eye on all
the fun that's goin' at the same time. I ain't up in the religion
business myself; there ain't likely to be any wings sproutin' 'round
where I'm at, but I can tell a minister from an alligator seven days in
the week, an' without specs, too, an' the first time I laid eyes on
that chap you've got now, I knew he wasn't the sort that made folks hop
along to Heaven any faster than they wanted to go."
"You certainly ought to be a competent judge of a minister's duty,
Coonie," replied the schoolmaster sarcastically.
Mr. Basketful paused in the operation of weighing the butter.
"Coonie's right," he said, with conviction. "Mr. Egerton can preach,
but 'e's not wot I call spiritually minded."
"That's it!" cried Coonie. "That's the word I'm rummagin' for; he's a
sort o' sleigh-ridin', tea-meetin' parson. I didn't take much stock in
old Cameron when he was livin'; you couldn't take a chaw o' tobacco
without him knowin' about it, but all the same he was the genu-_ine_
article. It was uncomfortable times for sinners when he was 'round.
This chap's different grade; he needs a label on him."
Mr. Watson went out, banging the door in disgust, and Coonie kept
himself warm for many a mile past Glenoro, chuckling over his joke.
But the schoolmaster was too enthusiastic to be depressed by such
ignorant opposition. He felt that he was creating an epoch in Canadian
history; he was stirring up a sentiment which would permeate the whole
country from Halifax to Vancouver and from the international boundary
to the north pole, a sentiment which would fire the lukewarm blood of
this people and bring glory and honour upon Canada and George Watson.
If he had remained long enough in Glenoro, he might have witnessed a
condition of affairs which would have surprised him. Could he have
seen the boys he had taught in the school, grown to men, pushing and
jostling each other in their jealous and frantic efforts to be of the
glorious chosen few who marched away to uphold the old flag on the
African veldt, could he have foreseen that the disloyal young Neil, who
had been the first on that shameful Dominion Day to throw away his flag
and desert his country, would one day face a whole regiment for Queen
and Empire, he might have confessed that he had mistaken British
reticence for lack of sentiment. But the schoolmaster, though
whole-souled and well-meaning, was not by any means far-seeing, so he
went on stirring up a spirit of loyalty with an energy worthy of a
better cause.
Through it all John Egerton was dissatisfied and worried. He felt
positively grieved over the loss of an opportunity to show his
appreciation of Mr. Ansdell's friendship, and he knew that the elder
people of his own congregation blamed him. He had another trouble,
too, which he scarcely confessed to himself; it was the strange, subtle
change in Jessie Hamilton. When Donald ignored his humble letter, his
repentant mood had slowly vanished. He told himself the young man was
all he had suspected, and not worth his trouble. He would have resumed
his attentions to Jessie with a clear conscience, but was met by a
gentle but firm opposition. He was puzzled and annoyed by the change
in her. She was as sweet and friendly towards him as of old, but her
manner of timid deference seemed to have changed to an intangible air
of superiority. The young pastor could not know that she had passed
far beyond him on the spiritual road, and the distance between them
bewildered him. He began to realise too, to his chagrin, that she was
avoiding him. No matter what pains he took to seek her company, she
managed, in some mysterious way, to elude him. He wondered gloomily
how much Donald Neil had to do with the change.
But soon all personal affairs had to be set aside, for the date of Mr.
Watson's great celebration had arrived. Whatever diverse opinions
there may have been in the community regarding the aims of the
patriotic society, all seemed unanimous in regard to attending their
entertainment. The concert was to be given in the Methodist Church,
while tea was served previously in the Temperance Hall across the
street.
At an early hour eager spectators began to pour in.
Inside the hall, waiters, struggling through the crowd around the
tables, left more cake and pie upon the human obstructions around them
than they carried to the hungry folks already seated. Turkey,
sandwiches, cake and pie disappeared as if by magic, as the long tables
were filled again and again.
Waiters flew, dishes rattled, babies cried and everyone talked and
laughed and made a noise. And every five minutes the door would fly
open, creaking on its frosty hinges, to admit a rush of chill, fresh
air and still another crowd.
The cooking had been done on a tremendous scale, and the results were
beyond praise. The North and the South had "played a drawn game," Wee
Andra declared; for even Mr. Egerton, seated with the Methodist
minister at the head of the longest and most heavily-laden board, was
unable to detect one slight shade of greater excellence in one than the
other and ate Northern pies and Southern tarts with an impartial relish.
He and Mr. Watson succeeded after supper in extricating themselves from
the hungry crowd. They crossed the street to where the windows of the
church gleamed warm and bright.
"Well, Watson," said the minister encouragingly, "the crowd is here at
any rate, whether it's a patriotic one or not."
"Yes siree!" The schoolmaster was in high spirits. "If it's not
patriotic now, I'll bet my head it will be before we're done with them.
This is all owing to our efforts!"
But John Egerton did not share his enthusiasm. He was watching
morosely three figures that were just disappearing into the church
ahead of him. They were Jessie and her father and mother. She had
formed the habit lately of going out only with her parents, and when
they remained at home she stayed with them, much to their wonder and
delight. When he entered the church he found her safely ensconced
between the two, and knew there was no opportunity for him to gain a
word with her.
"Here comes the choir!" announced a voice from the back, as the broad
shoulders of Wee Andra heralded their approach. That august body
walked leisurely to their seats of honour in a bower of evergreens
behind the organ, secure in the knowledge that the meeting could not
possibly commence without them. They were soon settled in their
places, and Syl Todd found to his unspeakable delight that he was
seated next to Maggie Hamilton. His father and mother, seated in the
front row, nudged each other in ecstasy at the sight of their son
sitting up there on the platform with the minister and the schoolmaster
and looking far handsomer and better dressed than either of them.
But poor Syl did not derive as much enjoyment from his proud position
as did his parents. Maggie was extremely difficult. "Ain't the
decorations lovely," he remarked, by way of a propitiatory opening of
conversation. "If it hadn't a' been for you, Maggie, them flags
wouldn't a' been hung near so graceful."
His divinity jerked herself round impatiently. "Oh, my goodness, I
wish something else had been hung besides flags," she said with
heartless meaning.
Syl laughed nervously. "Oh Maggie, you are such a tease! I never seen
such a monkey of a girl as you. Look here what I got you." He handed
her a little white candy tablet on which was printed a sentimental
inscription. "I bought three pounds of them congregational lozengers
at Basketful's to-day jist for you."
Maggie glared at the unoffending piece of confectionery, but did not
deign to touch it. "My, but you must have thought I could eat like a
horse!" she remarked scathingly. "You can give them to Julia Duffy,"
and she flounced out of the seat to another at some distance, leaving
Syl to endure an evening of tormenting doubt as to whether he might see
her home.
Mr. Watson came bustling over nervously to confer with the choir
leader. "The crowd's nearly all here, do you think we'd better start,
Andrew?"
"Jist as you like," was the reply. Wee Andra was of too huge
proportions to be moved by any excitement. "There's Mr. Thomas Hayes,
M. P., no less, comin' in at the door now!" he added, stretching his
neck to get a view of the other end of the church and sending a rather
unstable cedar tree and a deluge of flags crashing upon the organ.
"Gosh, I've pulled down the whole shootin' match!"
Mr. Hayes was the Member of Parliament for Glenoro's constituency, as
well as the Burke of the Flats, Oro's Irish settlement. He was the
only orator honoured with an invitation to address the meeting. Mr.
Watson hurried down the aisle to welcome the distinguished visitor,
amid a hail-storm of conversation lozenges. When he had been brought
to the platform and duly honoured everything was in readiness.
Glenoro custom demanded that all such affairs should be opened with
prayer, but in his capacity of chairman, Mr. Watson did not see fit to
call upon either clergyman to perform that ceremony; the programme was
long enough, he reflected, and the praying could be dispensed with
easier than anything else. The audience settled into expectant silence
as Mr. Egerton arose and in a few well-chosen words explained the
double mission of the Patriotic Society, and the aim of its
entertainment. His audience listened attentively, and, judging from
the applause that followed, seemed to be quite in sympathy with the
movement. It is true that some of the babies, not yet old enough to
realise their glorious heritage, occasionally interrupted his remarks,
and one disloyal youth shied a "congregational lozenger" across the
room; but the speaker did not appear at all disturbed.
The programme which followed was one calculated to arouse the most
sluggish soul present. The choir sang quite thrillingly "The Maple
Leaf Forever"; the mouth organ and concertina band played "Upon the
Heights of Queenston" four times through without stopping to take
breath; while the boys at the back of the church kept time vigorously
with their feet. During the performance Sim Basketful made several
ineffectual excursions to that abandoned region to demand order, but
was met by a fusillade of confectionery. Wee Andra roared out "The
Battle of the Baltic" at the top of his prodigious lungs, and was
thunderously encored. The fact that in his exit he once more knocked
over the evergreen tree with its burden of flags detracted not one whit
from either his or Nelson's glory. Then Annie Fraser played "The
Battle of Waterloo" on the organ with an execution quite worthy of the
carnage of that event. The only drawback to it was that Sandy Neil,
who had been detailed to announce each different part of the action,
and apprise the audience of the fact that certain sounds meant
"cannonade," while others symbolised the "cries of the wounded," as
usual allowed his spirit of mischief to carry him away. He sang out
the names of the different movements in the long-drawn-out tone
associated with "calling-off" at a dance, much to the horror of the
staider portion of the audience. Mrs. Fraser told 'Liza Cotton
afterwards that it just gave her a turn with her heart to see her Annie
sitting right up there in the midst of such iniquity.